“I have it, by George!” he cried. “I’ll get the poor fellow out of this box, if the old girl did induce him to pop, and accepted him out of hand! Andy! I say, Andy, wake up!” and he ran into his chum’s room, dragged him out of bed, and had him at the fire, before he was well awake.
Mr. Andrew Browne was no longer in a mood even approaching the jubilant. He had utterly forgotten the secret per esser felice, during his two hours’ nap. He confessed to a consuming desire for Congress-water, and made use of improper words upon finding only empty bottles, aggravating in reminiscence of it, in the carved ebony sideboard.
Finally he sat down, with his head in his hands, and told his story dismally enough.
Miss Rose Wood’s carriage had been dismissed, as per programme. Andy had led the German with her, and a bottle of champagne at his side. He had walked home with her; had told her—in what 189 wild words he knew not—that he loved her; and had been, as Van had surmised, “accepted out of hand.”
“And, Van, I’m bound, as a man of honor, to marry her!” finished the now thoroughly dejected fiancé. “Yes, I know what you’d say; it is a pretty rum thing to do; but then she mustn’t suffer for my cursed folly!”
“Suffer? Rose Wood suffer for missing fire one time more?”
Surprise struggled with contempt in the exclamation Morris shot out by impulse.
“But, if she loves me well enough to engage—” Andy began, rather faintly; but his mentor cut him short.
“Love the d—deuce!” he retorted. “Why, she’s a beggar and a husband-trap!”
“But her family? What will they think?” pleaded Andy, but with very little soul in the plea.