“The fact is,” said his friend, “that Alexander Junior was not so awfully far wrong—about the past, at all events. You never did anything in your life except make yourself agreeable. And you don’t seem to have succeeded in that with him.”
“Oh, he used to think me agreeable enough,” laughed the younger man. “He used to play billiards with me by the month for his liver, and then call me idle for playing with him. I suppose that if I had given up billiards he would have been impressed with the idea that I was about to reform. It wouldn’t have cost me much. I hated the stupid game and only played to amuse him.”
“All the same—I wish I had your chances—I mean, I wish I may have as good a chance as you, when I think of getting married.”
“My chances!” Ralston did not smile now, and his tone was harsh as he repeated the words. He glanced at his companion. “When will that be?” he asked after a moment’s pause. “Why don’t you get married, Ham? I’ve often wondered. But then—you’re so cursedly reasonable about everything! I suppose you’ll stick to the single ticket as long as you have strength to resist, and then you’ll marry a nurse. Wise man!”
“Thank you. You’re as encouraging as usual.”
“You don’t need encouragement a bit, old man. You’re so full of it anyhow, that you can spare a lot for other people. You have a deuced good effect on my liver, Ham. Do you know it? You ought to look pleased.”
“Oh, yes. I am. I only wish the encouragement might last a little longer.”
“I can’t help being gloomy sometimes—rather often, I ought to say. I fancy I’m a born undertaker, or something to do with funerals. I’ve tried a lot of other things for a few days and failed—I think I’ll try that. By the by, I’m very thirsty and here’s the Hoffman House.”
“It’s not far to the club, if you want to drink,” observed Bright, stopping on the pavement.
“You needn’t come in, if you think it’s damaging to your reputation,” answered Ralston.