"Marry, and then you will not have to," I said flippantly.
"You're a sad dog. Do you know, I've been thinking about epigrams."
"No!"
"Yes. I find that an epigram is produced by the same cause that produces the pearl in the oyster."
"That is to say, a healthy mentality never superinduces an epigram? Fudge!" said I, yanking the pup from his lap on to mine. "According to your diagnosis, your own mind is diseased."
"Have I cracked an epigram?"—with pained surprise.
"Well, you nearly bent one," I compromised. Then we both laughed, and the pup started up and licked my face before I could prevent him.
"Did I ever show you this?"—taking out a locket which was attached to one end of his watch-chain. He passed the trinket to me.
"What is it?" I asked, turning it over and over.
"It's the one slender link that connects me with my babyhood. It wag around my neck when Scharfenstein picked me up. Open it and look at the face inside."