“Well, they must have said something,” insisted Berry jocosely. “Give a fellow some little clue, and I can piece it out for myself. What did she say? I don't ask which she was? but I have my suspicions. All I want to know is what she said. Anything like beautiful middle distance, or splendid chiaroscuro, or fine perspective, or exquisite modelling? Come now! Try to think, Barker.” He gave Lemuel time, but to no purpose. “Well,” he resumed, with affected dejection, “I'll have to try to imagine it; I guess I can; I haven't worked my imagination much since I took up the law. But look here, Barker,” he continued more briskly, “now you open up a little. Here I've been giving you my confidence ever since I saw you—forcing it on you; and you know just how far I'm gone on Miss Swan, to a hundredth part of an inch; but I don't know enough of your affections to swear that you've got any. Now, which one is it? Don't be mean about it. I won't give you away. Honest Injun!”
Lemuel was goaded to desperation. His face burned, and the perspiration began to break out on his forehead. He did not know how to escape from this pursuit.
“Which is it, Barker?” repeated his tormentor. “I know it's human nature to deny it; though I never could understand why; if I was engaged, the Sunday papers should have it about as quick!”
“I'm not engaged!” cried Lemuel.
“You ain't?” yelled Berry.
“No!”
“Give me your hand! Neither am I!”
He shook Lemuel's helpless hand with mock heroic fervour. “We are brothers from this time forth, Barker! You can't imagine how closely this tie binds you to me, Barker. Barker, we are one; with no particular prospect, as far as I am concerned, of ever being more.”
He offered to dramatise a burst of tears on Lemuel's shoulder; but Lemuel escaped from him.
“Stop! Quit your fooling! What if somebody should come in?”