“You call. But, I say, what are we tossing for? We can’t draw lots for the girl like the fellows in Homer. We haven’t captured her yet.”
This was obviously a point that required consideration. Jeremy scratched his head.
“How will this do?” he said. “The winner to have a month to make the running in, the loser not to interfere. If she won’t have anything to say to him after a month, then the loser to have his fling. If she will, loser to keep clear.”
“That will do. Stand clear; up you go.”
The shilling spun in the air.
“Tails!” howled Jeremy.
It lit on the beak of the astonished bittern and bounded off on to the floor, finally rolling under a box full of choice specimens of the petrified bones of antediluvian animals that had been washed out of the cliffs. The box was lugged out of the way with difficulty, and the shilling disclosed.
“Heads it is!” said Ernest exultingly.
“I expected as much; just my luck. Well, shake hands, Ernest. We won’t quarrel about the girl, please God.”
They shook hands heartily enough and parted; but from that time for many a long day there was an invisible something between them that had not been there before. Strong indeed must be the friendship of which the bonds do not slacken when the shadow of a woman’s love falls upon it.