“Not in the least,” said Richard, dropping upon a rustic bench, and beginning to fan himself with his straw hat.  “What’s the use of fretting about a boy who hasn’t sense enough to fret about himself?”

“`Boy?’” Mr. Vilas affected puzzlement.  “Do I hear aright?  Sir, do you boy me?  Bethink you, I am now the shell of five mint-juleps plus, and am pot-valiant.  And is this mere capacity itself to be lightly boyed?  Again, do I not wear a man’s garment, a man’s garnitures?  Heed your answer; for this serge, these flannels, and these silks are yours, and though I may not fill them to the utmost, I do to the longmost, precisely.  I am the stature of a man; had it not been for your razor I should wear the beard of a man; therefore I’ll not be boyed.  What have you to say in defence?”

“Hadn’t you better let me get Joe to bring you something to eat?” asked Richard.

“Eat?” Mr. Vilas disposed of the suggestion with mournful hauteur.  “There!  For the once I forgive you.  Let the subject never be mentioned between us again.  We will tactfully turn to a topic of interest.  My memories of last evening, at first hazy and somewhat disconcerting, now merely amuse me.  Following the pleasant Spanish custom, I went a-serenading, but was kidnapped from beneath the precious casement by—­by a zealous arrival.  Host, `zealous arrival’ is not the julep in action:  it is a triumph of paraphrase.”

“I wish you’d let Joe take you back to bed,” said Richard.

“Always bent on thoughts of the flesh,” observed the other sadly.  “Beds are for bodies, and I am become a thing of spirit.  My soul is grateful a little for your care of its casing.  You behold, I am generous:  I am able to thank my successor to Carmen!”

Lindley’s back stiffened.  “Vilas!”

“Spare me your protests.”  The younger man waved his hand languidly.  “You wish not to confer upon this subject——­”

“It’s a subject we’ll omit,” said Richard.

His companion stopped swinging, allowed the hammock to come to rest; his air of badinage fell from him; for the moment he seemed entirely sober; and he spoke with gentleness.  “Mr. Lindley, if you please, I am still a gentleman—­at times.”

“I beg your pardon,” said Richard quickly.

“No need of that!” The speaker’s former careless and boisterous manner instantly resumed possession.  “You must permit me to speak of a wholly fictitious lady, a creature of my wanton fancy, sir, whom I call Carmen.  It will enable me to relieve my burdened soul of some remarks I have long wished to address to your excellent self.”

“Oh, all right,” muttered Richard, much annoyed.

“Let us imagine,” continued Mr. Vilas, beginning to swing again, “that I thought I had won this Carmen——­”

Lindley uttered an exclamation, shifted his position in his chair, and fixed a bored attention upon the passing vehicles in the glimpse of the street afforded between the house and the shrubberies along the side fence.  The other, without appearing to note his annoyance, went on, cheerfully: