“There isn’t any more to tell,” he said. “I was only thinking to myself how queer it is altogether.”
I gave a little laugh, half derisively.
“Why, that’s what everybody thinks,” I said, “who knows anything about it. There’s nothing original in that.”
“I didn’t suppose there was,” said Moore, beginning to get cross.
I was feeling cross too. I think one often does after any unusual strain or excitement, especially when it ends in nothing, as our present adventure now seemed to do.
“I thought,” I continued unwisely, “that you had made some wonderful discovery, or at least that you thought yourself on the road to one, and now it has all ended in smoke!”
My tone must have been very provoking, but Moore was a queer boy in some ways. His irritation seemed to have disappeared.
“There is a certain proverb,” he said oracularly, “which your words remind me of. ‘There is no smoke without fire.’ What do you say to that?—Eh?—I beg your pardon. What did you remark?”
I had not remarked anything. I suppose I had muttered something inarticulate in my irritation.
“Don’t be nonsensical,” I said sharply. “You needn’t begin hinting, with nothing to hint about!”