“No more than the rest of you,” said Danforth.
“I don’t know about that, Dan. I think you might have been taken for master of those premises. Look here now, Dan, why didn’t you take little Lill yourself? Everybody thought you were going to last year.”
“Didn’t want her; knew too much,” said Danforth. “Didn’t want to keep her; she’s too cursedly extravagant. It’s jolly to have this sort of concern on hand; but I’d rather Seymour’d pay her bills than I.”
“Who thought you were so practical, Dan?”
“Practical! that I am; I’m an old bird. Take my advice, boys, now: keep shy of the girls, and flirt with the married ones,—then you don’t get roped in.”
“I say, boys,” said Tom Nichols, “isn’t she a case, now? What a head she has! I bet she can smoke equal to any of us.”
“Yes; I keep her in cigarettes,” said Danforth; “she’s got a box of them somewhere under her ruffles now.”
“What if Seymour should find them?” said Tom.
“Seymour? pooh! he’s a muff and a prig. I bet you he won’t find her out; she’s the jolliest little humbugger there is going. She’d cheat a fellow out of the sight of his eyes. It’s perfectly wonderful.”
“How came Seymour to marry her?”