“Really, Mr Hopper,” began Max indignantly, and he half rose.
But the old man laid his stick upon his shoulder like a sceptre, and forced him down.
“Sit still, stupid!” cried the old man. “I know what you are going to say. Surprised at my making such remarks, and so on. But you would like to, and I believe you’d do it if it was not for the fear of the law. I say, Max,” he chuckled, “it would take a strong new rope to hang you.”
Max laid his hands upon the arms of his handsome, well-stuffed easy chair, and turned of a pale dough colour, as he glared at his visitor.
“I don’t wonder at it,” chuckled Hopper. “It must be very unpleasant to have a man come to see you, and invade the sanctity—sanctity, yes, sanctity, that’s the word—of your home and private office, who knows what a scoundrel you are.”
“For Heaven’s sake, speak lower!” cried Max, in a hoarse whisper.
“All right,” said Hopper, nodding. “Especially to a man like you, who goes in for the religious dodge, and is so looked up to and respected by every one. Ha! ha! ha!” he chuckled—“what a wonderful deal is done in this world, Max, by humbug!”
Max began to wipe his wet face with his handkerchief, glaring the while helplessly at his tormentor.
“You’re such a good man, too, now,” said Hopper, laughing, and evidently enjoying the other’s discomfiture. “I saw you coming from service last Sunday, with the wife, and that dear youth in the next room, Fred, all carrying limp hymn-books. I say, Max, your prayers must be precious limp, too.”
“Say what you have to say, and then go, for Heaven’s sake!” gasped Max.