He looked quite capable of crying over it again, and his honest, manly face bore mute witness to his words.  Though addressing himself to Miss Hemingway, his eyes were more often fixed on Grace Sinclair, and it was plain that it was her good opinion he valued most.  But she was as merciless as Dolly, and showed not the least sign of relenting.

“We have decided that we do not care for the further pleasure of your acquaintance,” said Miss Hemingway.  “It’s a disagreeable thing to have to say—­but it’s the truth!  We liked you at first because there was something breezy and Western about you; then you got breezier and Westerner til it was more than the traffic could stand.”

“Now see here,” broke out Mr. Bassity in pleading accents, “have I ever done anything caddish or ungentlemanly—­intentionally, I mean—­anything that could possibly justify my being dropped like this—­that could—­”

“Perhaps not intentionally,” Interrupted Miss Hemingway, “though it’s no good your coming around here to say you didn’t know any better.  You ought to have known better, that’s all.”

“Known what?” bleated Mr. Bassity.  “In Heaven’s name, tell me what?”

“Oh, it isn’t one thing—­it’s a thousand,” said Dolly.  “It’s—­it’s —­general social ineptitude!”

Mr. Bassity looked more depressed than ever.  He didn’t know what the word meant, and it seemed to cover a terrifying accusation.  He was seen silently making a note of it for a future reference to a dictionary.

“I’m just a rough, uncouth fellow,” said he at last.  “I know that well enough without three young ladies’ telling me so:  An oil man—­a successful oil man—­hasn’t much chance to cultivate the social graces.  If he can keep on the right side of common honesty he has done more than most.  I guess even our best people out there would give you a shock—­and I don’t pretend I even ran with them!”

“That’s the most redeeming thing you’ve said yet,” remarked Grace.

“Oh, they wouldn’t have me,” remarked Coal Oil Johnny with fatal truthfulness.

“All you need is toning down,” said Miss Hemingway, with a suspicion of kindness in her voice.  “You’re too exuberant, that’s all.  You’re always rushing in where angels fear to tread, till it has grown on you like a habit.  When other people stop you’re just beginning!”

“Couldn’t you give me another chance?” he asked, still with his eyes pathetically on Grace Sinclair’s face.  “Just one more chance to try and hit it off better next time?  Now, just sit up, every one of you, and tell me frankly what I’ve done to offend you—­stamp all over me—­bite my head off—­and then let’s begin again with a clean slate, and see if I can’t buck up”

“I’ll leave it to the general vote,” said Miss Hemingway.  “You certainly have a very winning nature in some ways—­and who knows?—­you might possibly do better after this awful warning.  Only you mustn’t come round here next time demanding explanations.  The next time will be positive and final.  Yes,” she went on, “I propose that Mr. Bassity be given a good talking to, and then have his name put on the probation list.”