A Fool and His Money

by George Barr McCutcheon

"Quite true!" I roared. "What's quite true, sir?"

"Isn't it, sir?" he asked, dismayed.

"Isn't what?"

"I mean to say, sir, isn't it true?"

"My God!" I cried, throwing up my hands in hopeless despair. "You—you—wait! I'm going to get to the bottom of this. I want the truth, Britton. Who put it into that confounded head of yours that I am—er—in love with the Countess? Speak! Who did it?"

He lowered his voice, presumably because I had dropped mine to a very loud whisper. I also had glanced over both shoulders.

"Begging your pardon, sir, but I must be honest, sir. It was you as first put it into my 'ead, sir."

"I?" My face went the colour of a cardinal's cap.

"You, sir. It's as plain as the nose on your—"

"That will do, Britton," I commanded. He remained discreetly silent. "That will do, I say," I repeated, somewhat testily. "Do you hear, sir?"