"The madam is a mite impulsive," he admitted.
"And leaving me laying there and putting a lily in my hand!"
"That was her playfulness," explained Mr. Molloy. "Girls will have their bit of fun."
"Fun! Say...."
Mr. Molloy felt that it was time to point the moral.
"It was your fault, Chimpie. You brought it on yourself by acting greedy and trying to get the earth. If you hadn't stood us up for that sixty-five—thirty-five of yours, all this would never have happened. Naturally no high-spirited girl like the madam wasn't going to stand for nothing like that. But listen while I tell you what I've come about. If you're willing to can all that stuff and have a fresh deal and a square one this time—one-third to me, one-third to you, and one-third to the madam—I'll put you hep to something that'll make you feel good. Yes, sir, you'll go singing about the house."
"The only thing you could tell me that would make me feel good," replied Chimp, churlishly, "would be that you'd tumbled off of that bicycle of yours and broken your damned neck."
Mr. Molloy was pained.
"Is that nice, Chimpie?"
Mr. Twist wished to know if, in the circumstances and after what had occurred, Mr. Molloy expected him to kiss him. Mr. Molloy said No, but where was the sense of harsh words? Where did harsh words get anybody? When had harsh words ever paid any dividend?