"You would not have been, perhaps, had you been honest in the first place, instead of asking unnecessary questions about tariffs," replied Nattie.
"Yes, but you were to recognize me by intuition you know, and I wanted to give you a chance," responded Clem, quickly.
Nattie looked a trifle abashed.
"But I am quite sure I should have suspected it was you, had I not given you up as hopelessly red-headed," she persisted; "why, almost the very first question the creature asked was, 'do you see that twinkle?'"
"So he heard and treasured that remark to some purpose," he said; "well, I will not dispute your intuition theory, since your last words assure me that I do not fall so far short of your imaginary 'C,' as did my personator. I imagine your expression of countenance, on learning the intelligence, was hardly flattering to his vanity."
Nattie, who had colored at the first of his remark, replied contemptuously,
"His self-conceit was too great to attribute my very uncordial reception to anything except, as he said, 'my bashfulness.' I presume it has afforded him great enjoyment to think how successfully he stepped into your shoes, and what a joke he had played upon me."
"Upon us, you mean," corrected Clem.
"Certainly; upon us," Nattie replied, with another flush of color. "I remember how indifferent he seemed when I hinted that now we had met the chief pleasure of talking on the wire was gone. And I believe he didn't actually say in so many words that he was 'C,' but left me to understand it so."
"And I am indebted to him for being such a lonesome, miserable fellow the latter part of my telegraphic career," said Clem, rather savagely.