"Pshaw, Ned, spare your remonstrances, if you please,—I'm tired of the little fool's nonsense."
"But the boy is sick, my dear fellow, and requires to be treated more gently. His mind is diseased, and it would not take much to drive him quite desperate."
"No such good luck, Ned. I wish I could make him pitch into somebody or something. Nothing would do the beggar so much good, just now, as to get himself into a regular scrape. It would act like a shower-bath, wake him up, and purge him of these dismal humors."
"Still, you would not like to have it said that you were the cause of his getting into any difficulty; and you know very well he is not one to extricate himself easily, if once involved."
"Never fear. 'Il y a un Dieu pour les enfants et les ivrognes', says a proverb in which I place implicit faith."
* * * * *
We saw nothing of Clarian until some three or four nights after this, when he came hurriedly into our room. It was quite late, but Mac was still at his Mathematics, while I was dawdling with my pipe and a volume of Sternberg's pleasant tales. Clarian walked directly up to Mac, holding out his hand, and saying, "I have come to ask your forgiveness, my dear Mac; I was wrong and foolish the other day."
"Nonsense, you flighty canary-bird!" said Mac; "you owe me nothing, so have done with that. Sit down and smoke a pipe with us."
"No,—I have come for you and Ned; I want you to see my picture to-night. Come, I will take no denial,—I am about to finish it, and I want your criticisms before I lay on the final touches."
"Why not to-morrow, Clarian?"