Morrison surrendered, himself to another season of cogitation, in which he probably found his vagueness growing upon him. He ended by fumbling in all his pockets, and bringing up from the last a crumpled scrap of paper. “What you—what you say that?”
Bartley took the extended scrap with an easy air. “Miss Morrison's handwriting, I think.” He held it up before him and read aloud, “'I love my love with an H because he is Handsome.' This appears to be a confidence of Miss Morrison to her Muse. Whom do you think she refers to, Mr. Morrison?”
“What's—what's the first letter your name?” demanded Morrison, with an effort to collect his dispersing severity.
“B,” promptly replied Bartley. “Perhaps this concerns you, Henry. Your name begins with an H.” He passed the paper up over his head to Bird, who took it silently. “You see,” he continued, addressing Bird, but looking at Morrison as he spoke, “Mr. Morrison wishes to convict me of an attempt upon Miss Hannah's affections. Have you anything else to urge, Mr. Morrison?”
Morrison slid at last from his difficult position into a convenient chair, and struggled to keep himself from doubling forward. “I want know what you mean,” he said, with dogged iteration.
“I'll show you what I mean,” said Bartley with an ugly quiet, while his mustache began to twitch. He sprang to his feet and seized Morrison by the collar, pulling him up out of the chair till he held him clear of the floor, and opened the door with his other hand. “Don't show your face here again,—you or your girl either!” Still holding the man by the collar, he pushed him before him through the office, and gave him a final thust out of the outer door.
Bartley returned to his room in a white heat: “Miserable tipsy rascal!” he panted; “I wonder who has set him on to this thing.”
Bird stood pale and silent, still, nolding the crumpled scrap of paper in his hand.
“I shouldn't be surprised if that impudent little witch herself had put him up to it. She's capable of it,” said Bartley, fumbling aimlessly about on his table, in his wrath, without looking at Bird.
“It's a lie!” said Bird.