“Jack, you’ve been drinking; put that glass down.”
“Have I? Then I haven’t. Look here,” and he told the story of his wanderings in Warden, and all it had led up to.
“How’s that for an adventure?” he said, when he had finished.
“It would do for a mediæval romance. And she has gone, you say?”
“Clean gone,” said Jack, with a sigh and a long pull at the tumbler. “Gone like a—a dream, you know. How is that for an adventure? You don’t believe in them, though.”
Leonard Dagle looked up, and there was a strange, half-shy expression in his face.
“You are right, Jack. I didn’t till the day before yesterday.”
“The day before yesterday? What do you mean?”
“Simply that I, too, have had an adventure.”
“Seems to me that we’re like those confounded nuisances who used to meet on a coach and tell stories to amuse themselves. Go on; it’s your turn now.”