“He means to rub it in by slow degrees, by his peculiar and unspeakable methods of torture,” was Jimmie’s comment when Tony had told him of the interview later. “You were an ass not to let me share the responsibility. The Gumshoe accept an apology! why, he hasn’t the charity of a mosquito. As Kit would say,” he added thoughtfully, “he is ‘a gloomy ass.’ Well, I reckon, Tonio, old sport, we’ll have to chuck The Spectacle.”
“Hang it, of course, we will. It was a poor fool sheet, Jim; rather a sad business for two good little schoolboys like us to be taken up with.”
“And like most wicked things, amusing,” remarked Reggie from the depths of an armchair where he had been an interested hearer of the conversation. “Like most forbidden things, diverting.”
“What a crude philosopher you sometimes are, Reggie,” said Lawrence. “One looks to you for illuminating comment—not for the obvious platitude.”
“True, my poet,” drawled Carroll, “but there are moments when one inadvertently sinks below one’s normal level. But adieu to some diverting moments!”
“Thanks! Adieu, too, to my Addisonian English! I wish we could as easily bid adieu to the consequences.”
“I fancy it will be a long time before you say farewell to those, my young friends.”
“Hm, he evidently doesn’t mean to take it to the Head,” said Tony.
“No, not yet,” said Reggie, with the air of a prophet, “the time is not ripe; but the Gumshoe, like Fate, will take a fall out of you in the hour of your pride. Beware.”
“Bosh!” said Tony, “I’m going to forget it.” And he fell to work.