"Macrorie, my boy," said Jack.
"What?"
"You didn't bring your flask, I suppose," said Jack, gloomily.
"No," said I; "and it's well I didn't, for I think you've done enough of that sort of thing to-day."
"To-day? This is the day of all days when I ought. How else can I keep up? I must stupefy myself, that's all. You don't know, old boy, how near I am to doing something desperate."
"Come, Jack, don't knock under that way. Confound it, I thought you had more spirit."
"Why the deuce does she drive me mad with her delay?" cried Jack, a few minutes after. "Why doesn't she come and be done with it? Am I to spend the whole day waiting for her? By Jove, I've a great mind to go home, and, if she wants me, she may come for me."
"Do," said I, eagerly. "She's missed the appointment; why should you care?"
"Pooh! a fellow can't act in that sort of way. No. Have it out. I've acted badly enough, in a general way, but I won't go deliberately and do a mean thing. I dare say this sort of thing will wear off in the long run. We'll go to England next week. We'll start for New York to-night, and never come back. I intend to try to get into the 178th regiment. It's out in Bombay, I believe. Yes. I've made up my mind to that. It's the only thing to be done. Yes—it's the best thing—far the best for both of us."
"Both of you!"