"Indeed, sir!" said Leander, with respectful sympathy.
"You see," explained the youth, "I've been playing the goat—the giddy goat. Know what that means?"
"I used to," said Leander; "I never touch alcoholic stimulants now, myself."
"Wish I didn't. I say, Tweddle, have you been to the Cosmopolitan lately?"
"I don't go to music-'alls now," said Leander; "I've give up all that now I'm keeping company."
"Well, you go and see the new ballet," the youth exhorted him earnestly; not that he cared whether the hairdresser went or not, but because he wanted to talk about the ballet to somebody.
"Ah!" observed Leander; "is that a good one they've got there now, sir?"
"Rather think so. Ballet called Olympus. There's a regular ripping little thing who comes on as one of Venus's doves." And the youth went on to intimate that the dove in question had shown signs of being struck by his powers of fascination. "I saw directly that I'd mashed her; she was gone, dead gone, sir; and——I say, who's that in the corner over there—eh?"
He was staring intently into the pier-glass in front of him. "That?" said Leander, following his glance. "Oh! that's a statue I've bought. She—she brightens up the place a bit, don't she?"
"A statue, is it? Yes, of course; I knew it was a statue. Well, about that dove. I went round after it was all over, but couldn't see a sign of her; so——That's a queer sort of statue you've got there!" he broke off suddenly; and Leander distinctly saw the goddess shake her arm in fierce menace. "He's said something that's put her out," he concluded. "I wish I knew what it was."