"I'll be hanged if you know what you're talking about," said Jack, pettishly.
"Nonsense! I'm all right now; go on."
"You don't know who this letter is from."
"Yes, I do."
"Who is it?" said Jack, watching me with jealous scrutiny.
"Why," said I, "it's that other one—the—hang it! I don't know her name, so I'll call her Number Three, or Number Four, whichever you like."
"You're a cool hand, any way," said Jack, sulkily. "Is this the way you take a matter of life and death?"
"Life and death?" I repeated.
"Life and death!" said Jack. "Yes, life and death. Why, see here, Macrorie, I'll be hanged if I don't believe that you've forgotten every word I told you about my scrape. If that's the case, all I can say is, that I'm not the man to force my confidences where they are so very unimportant." And Jack made a move toward the door.
"Stop, Jack," said I. "The fact is, I've been queer for a couple of days. I had a beastly time on the river. Talk about life and death! Why, man, it was the narrowest scratch with me you ever saw. I didn't go to Point Levi at all."