“I’ll talk to the old man like a young Solomon, and he shall say that never did youth choose more wisely for his friend than Harry Vine, otherwise Henri, Comte des Vignes.”
“Look here,” said Harry peevishly—“‘otherwise Comte des Vignes.’ Why don’t you say alias at once? Why, if the old man heard that he’d want to know how long it was since you were in a police court. Here, you’d better stay down here.”
“All right, my dear fellow. Anything to help you on.”
“No; I’d rather you came too.”
There was a pause in a niche of the rocks, and then, after the scratching of a match, the young men went up the cliff-path, smoking furiously, as they prepared themselves for the attack.
Volume One—Chapter Fourteen.
Diogenes in his Tub.
Uncle Luke was in very good spirits. He had rid himself of his incubus, as he called the sum of money, and though he would not own it, he always felt better when he had had a little converse with his fellow-creatures. His lonely life was very miserable, and the more so that he insisted upon its being the highest form of happiness to exist in hermit fashion, as the old saints proved.