“A horse?  Can’t say that I do,” returned Mr. Marcus Wilkeson.

“And I can’t say that I do, either,” added Mr. Matthew Maltboy.  “A horse!  Why not say a donkey?  I should see it quite as well.”

“As you please,” resumed the impetuous Overtop.  “A donkey, then.  Perhaps the metaphor will be better.  What I mean—­what you two are so dull as not to see—­is to put this unreliable Maltboy on a moderate allowance of flirtation; to keep him, for example, within the limits of this block.  D’ye see?  D’ye catch the idea?”

“It begins to dawn on me,” said Wilkeson.

“And I catch a ray or two of it,” added Maltboy.  But—­”

“Excuse me,” interrupted Overtop, stepping between his two companions, and gesticulating wildly at each of them in turn, as if he would dart conviction into them like electricity from the tips of his fingers.  “Here is a block full of people.  Their houses are joined together, or nearly so, all the way round.  The inhabitants hear each other’s pianos playing and each other’s babies squalling all day long.  If a fire breaks out in the block, it may be all burned down together.  If the measles makes its appearance on the block, it probably runs through it.  Is there not, therefore, a community of dangers among us; and if of dangers, why not of pleasures?  Why should not the inhabitants of a block be regarded as a distinct settlement, or tribe, whose members owe kindness and goodwill to each other before the rest of the world?  Looking at it in the light of humanity, is it not our duty to know our neighbors?”

“And Matt would say, To love them too—­that is, the young and pretty ones,” observed “Wilkeson.

“Precisely,” said Maltboy.

“Excuse me,” continued Overtop, deprecating further interruption with both hands.  “That is the point I was just coming to.  Since Maltboy must have female society, and cannot be kept out of it by main force, why not give him the range of this block?  Catch the idea, eh?—­in its full force and bearings?”

“Wilkeson and Maltboy implied, by nods, that they caught it.

“And—­ahem—­I think I’ll take the same range too,” added Overtop.  “Not because I care a pin about female society, but just to test my new theory.”

Cries of “Oh! oh!” from Marcus Wilkeson.

Overtop laughed.  “You’ll be a convert to it yet, my good fellow.”

“Never,” said Marcus, inflexibly, “so long as books and tobacco hold out.”

“We’ll see,” replied Overtop.  “But let me think how we are to begin.”  He rubbed his nose with a forefinger, then tossed back the cowlick, and said, impetuously:  “I have it—­I have it!  We know Quigg, the grocer, at the corner below, for we are customers of his.  Of course, he has an immense number of customers on the block, and will make New Year’s calls on all of them, in the way of business.  Why can’t he take us in tow?  It’s as plain as daylight.”