“I want you to recover yourself and get out of my rooms as soon as you can,” I said, insultingly.  “I’ve told you what I think of you.  If you have any honour or honesty left you will think twice before you attempt again to associate with gentlemen.  She’s a poor girl, isn’t she?” I sneered.  “Somewhat too plain and unfashionable for us since we got our money.  Be ashamed to walk on Fifth Avenue with her, wouldn’t you?  Hopkins, you’re forty-seven times worse than a cad.  Who cares for your money?  I don’t.  I’ll bet that girl don’t.  Perhaps if you didn’t have it you’d be more of a man.  As it is you’ve made a cur of yourself, and”—­I thought that quite dramatic—­“perhaps broken a faithful heart.” (Old Tom Hopkins breaking a faithful heart!) “Let me be rid of you as soon as possible.”

I turned my back on Tom, and winked at myself in a mirror.  I heard him moving, and I turned again quickly.  I didn’t want a hundred and ninety-eight pounds falling on me from the rear.  But Tom had only turned partly over, and laid one arm across his face.  He spoke a few words rather more distinctly than before.

“I couldn’t have—­talked this way—­to you, Billy, even if I’d heard people—­lyin’ ‘bout you.  But jus’ soon’s I can s-stand up—­I’ll break your neck—­don’ f’get it.”

I did feel a little ashamed then.  But it was to save Tom.  In the morning, when I explained it, we would have a good laugh over it together.

In about twenty minutes Tom dropped into a sound, easy slumber.  I felt his pulse, listened to his respiration, and let him sleep.  Everything was normal, and Tom was safe.  I went into the other room and tumbled into bed.

I found Tom up and dressed when I awoke the next morning.  He was entirely himself again with the exception of shaky nerves and a tongue like a white-oak chip.

“What an idiot I was,” he said, thoughtfully.  “I remember thinking that quinine bottle looked queer while I was taking the dose.  Have much trouble in bringing me ’round?”

I told him no.  His memory seemed bad about the entire affair.  I concluded that he had no recollection of my efforts to keep him awake, and decided not to enlighten him.  Some other time, I thought, when he was feeling better, we would have some fun over it.

When Tom was ready to go he stopped, with the door open, and shook my hand.

“Much obliged, old fellow,” he said, quietly, “for taking so much trouble with me—­and for what you said.  I’m going down now to telegraph to the little girl.”

X

A GHOST OF A CHANCE

“Actually, a hod!” repeated Mrs. Kinsolving, pathetically.

Mrs. Bellamy Bellmore arched a sympathetic eyebrow.  Thus she expressed condolence and a generous amount of apparent surprise.