“Look here, Orthur, my lad,” he said confidentially; “you’re having a fine old time of it just now, but recollect this: the sex is soft, and smooth, and pleasant, and as you may say sweet, but don’t you make a mistake and think that girls are fools.”
“I don’t,” said Arthur, complacently—“Old boy’s a bit jealous,” he added to himself.
“Then don’t act as if you did. They’re sharp enough, and before long they’ll begin talking. One of ’em ’ll be jealous of you taking out another, and then out’ll come the claw from the soft paws, and there’ll be a row.”
“Well, they must settle it among themselves if there is.”
“But don’t you see that the disappointed one that you’ve made an enemy ’ll begin to talk nasty-like and she’ll know what your wages are.”
“Eh?”
“That’s it, my boy; she’ll be wanting to know how you can be treating some of ’em to music-halls, and paying for cabs and railway fares, and supper afterwards, on five pound a quarter.”
“Dash it!” cried Arthur.
“Yes, that’s it, my lad. You and me’s doing very nicely just now; don’t spoil a good thing. See what I mean?”
“Yes, I see what you mean, old chap,” said Arthur, who had suddenly become sobered.