John nodded, with the solemnity befitting so weighty a dictum.
"You old idiot!" cried Stanley. "It's nothing of the sort. Miss Fitzgerald's share in this matter was merely a coincidence."
"Didn't you tell me has it was she suggested your taking han hold letter to keep score hon, knowing well you 'ad the letter in your hinside pocket hall the time?"
"Nonsense!" exclaimed the Secretary. "How could she have known anything about it? She had never laid eyes on the letter till I produced it."
"Mr. Stanley," returned the messenger, with a dignity against which the two glasses he had consumed struggled unsuccessfully, "h'I've fostered young gentlemen, an' got h'em hout hof scrapes, an' taught h'em their ha, b, c's of diplomacy, afore you was weaned, han' I knows whereof h'I speaks, h'I tells yer, hit's the woman!"
"I wish you'd get me out of this scrape. I'd be your friend for life."
"That's heasy enough. You must get the letter."
"But how—I tell you——"
"Get it," reiterated the messenger, whose potations had made him optimistic. "Blow this bally hold barn into the next county, hif need be, but open that door and get it."
The Secretary looked despairingly at the despatch, and tossing it to John, said: