“You’ve been stealin’ my letter, somehow!” flamed Cai.

But ’Bias did not seem to hear.  He continued to breathe hard, to stare into vacancy.  “Did you pay a visit to Peter Benny this mornin’?” he asked at length, very slowly.

“Well, yes—­if you must know,” Cai answered sullenly, his wrath checked by confusion, much as the onset of a tall wave is smothered as it meets a backwash.

“That’s right,” ’Bias nodded.  “Somehow or ’nother Benny’s sold us a dog:  and, what’s more, he sold us the same dog. . . .  I don’t think,” went on ‘Bias after a pause, “that it showed very good feelin’ on your part, your goin’ to Benny.”

“Why not?” demanded Cai, whose thoughts were beginning to work.  “Far as I can see you did the very same thing; so anyway you can’t complain.”

“Yes, I can.  You know very well I never set up to be a scholar, same as you.  By rights you’re the scratch boat on this handicap, yet you tried to steal allowance.  I thought you’d a-been a better sportsman.”

“My goin’ to Benny,” urged Cai sophistically, “was a case of one eddicated man consultin’ another, as is frequently done.”

“Oh, is it?  Well, you done it pretty thoroughly, I must say.”

“Whereas your goin’ was a clean case o’ tryin’ to pass off goods that weren’t your own, or anything like it. . . .  Come, I’ll put it to you another way.  Supposin’ your letter had worked the trick, and she’d said ‘yes’ on the strength of it—­I’m puttin’ this for argyment’s sake, you understand?”

“Go on.”

“And supposin’ one day, after you was married, she’d come to you and said, ‘’Bias, I want a letter written.  I thought o’ writin’ it myself, but you’re such a famous hand at a letter.’  A nice hole you’d a-been in!”

“No, I shouldn’.  I’d say, ‘You rate me too high, my dear.  Still,’ I’d say, ’if you insist upon it, you just scribble down the main points on a sheet o’ paper, and I’ll take a walk and think it over.’  Then I’d carry it off to Benny.”  ’Bias, who so far had held the better of the argument by keeping his temper, clinched his triumph with a nod and refilled his pipe.

“Benny’s an old man, and might die at any moment,” objected Cai.

“Now you’re gettin’ too far-fetched altogether. . . .  Besides, ‘twouldn’t be any affair o’ yours—­would it?—­after I’m married to her.”

“Well, you won’t be—­now:  and no more shall I,” said Cai bitterly.  “Benny’s seen to that!”

“’Tis a mess, sure enough,” agreed ’Bias, lighting his pipe and puffing.

“She’ll be affronted—­oh, cuss the word!  Just fancy it, to-morrow morning, when she opens her post!  A nice pair of jokers she’ll think us!” Cai paced the room.  “Couldn’t we go up to-night and explain?”

“Five minutes to ten,” said ’Bias with a glance at the clock.  “Ask her to get out o’ bed and come down to hear we’ve made fools of ourselves?  I don’t see myself.  You can do what you like, o’ course.”