Faithful to the minute the major arrived at one o'clock, inquired for Mr. Jenkins, and was requested to wait in the reception room, since Mr. Jenkins had not yet come in. After he had been sitting there for about five minutes I decided that the time for action had arrived; so I walked into the reception room myself.
"Why—hello, Major!" said I, as cordially as I really felt. "How are you these days?"
"I'm all right," he said coldly, ignoring my outstretched hand.
"What are you doing here?" I asked.
"I don't know that that's any of your business, Bangs," said he, bridling up; "but I don't mind telling you that I've come to meet a man who when it comes to writing real humor has got you skinned eight billion miles."
"Good!" said I. "Who is this eighth wonder of the world?"
"His name," said Major Pond, "is Wilberforce Jenkins."
"Oh, Lord!" said I. "That faker? Well, I am at least glad to know what your standards of humor are."
"Faker?" retorted the major. "You seem to have some gift for saying nice things about your friends, Bangs," he added witheringly.
"Friends?" said I, with a laugh of scorn. "You don't call that idiot Wilberforce Jenkins a friend of mine, do you? You must think I let myself go pretty cheap."