“Well, I suppose you don’t exactly imagine you’ve anything to be proud of over last night’s performances?” said he.
“No, I was ashamed of myself for that,” I said.
“Humph! I suppose you’d come again to-night and do the same thing if I asked you?”
I hesitated. “I don’t think—” I began, but there pulled up. I knew well enough I would go if he asked me.
“Of course you would,” said he; “you’d go anywhere. Just because a fellow a peg above you asks you, you’ll go and make a fool of yourself and risk every chance you’ve got, because you’ve not the pluck to make yourself disagreeable!”
How true it all was! Yet why had I never seen it before?
“I’m afraid—I’m sure you’re right,” I said.
“I don’t flatter myself,” went on Doubleday, beginning on a new quill, “I’m very particular. I dare say I’m about as rackety a lot as any you’d pick up near here. But somehow I’ve no fancy for seeing a fellow going to the dogs out of sheer folly. It spoils my pleasure, in fact.”
“I have been a fool, I know,” I said.
“Of course you have, and so you will be unless you kick. Well, I’m off now,” added he, taking up his hat. “I dare say I’ve offended you, and you’ll call me an officious humbug. I may be a fool for concerning myself about a young muff like you; but anyhow I’ve told you what I think of you. So good-night, young un.”