"Should it not be the other way about?" he asked, half smiling.
"Perhaps it should," said I. "But if you honour me by telling me, it is enough for me just to say I am sorry. Would you have me preach?"
He looked on me with great friendliness.
"I understand the sentiment," said he. "But I should like you to preach, if you wish."
"Well," said I, "I have no doubt you could, with the brains you have and your turn for sophistry, make out a very entertaining defence for such a life. 'Murder as a fine art,' you know——"
"Murder?" asked Donoghue; but Apache Kid silenced him with a gesture, and I continued:
"But neither you nor those who heard your defence could treat it otherwise than as a piece of airy and misplaced, misdirected wit, on a par with your misplaced love of adventure."
He nodded at that part, and his face cleared a little.
"That but makes me all the more sorry," said I, "to know you are——" I paused. "A parasite!"
I blurted out.