“Colonel Wilton!” I said, puzzling over the name with its new title. Even the American gentlemen enjoy titles.
“Don't you remember meeting us in Saint Paul's? And didn't you trade hats and coats with him in New York?”
“No, he traded with me,” I said. “I know him like a book.”
“Is he not a friend of yours?”
“It would be truer to say that I am a friend of his.”
I was on dangerous ground and thinking hard through all this.
“But he knows Mr. Norris very well. I believe they are great friends.”
“You may believe it, but I don't,” I answered, rather gravely.
I had to decide what to do, and quickly. I had not forgotten my promise to let Muggs alone, and it was of course the safer thing to do—just to let him alone. But he had gone too far in expecting me to furnish him a character.
Mrs. Mullet began to change color, and that led me to ask: