“Rats!” he exclaimed. “All things are fair in love and war, aren't they? Don't be a fool.”
“Bony, there isn't an honest hair in your head,” I answered. “He's a knave who isn't square with the girl he intends to marry.”
“All right,” said he. “I'll see McCarthy myself and leave you out of it.”
“You'd better keep away from him,” I said, “or you'll get into trouble. We're against you and all men like you, and, as to the young lady, I warn you now that I shall do everything in my power to prevent the marriage.”
“Bosh!” he hissed, as I was leaving him.
That night McCarthy attended a committee meeting at the Capitol. I had some letters to write, and remained in our rooms.
The gentleman returned about midnight, hatless and dishevelled.
“What's the matter?” I asked.
“Why, I've just had a little argument—that's all. I was coming home by my usual route; the street was deserted; and by-and-by I came to a stretch where every light was out for some reason. I suppose the stage had been set for its drama. Suddenly a man approached me from behind.
“'Is this Mr. McCarthy?' he asked.