“But he had never even been in Colorado,” vociferated Coal Oil Johnny.  “It was all lies and hearsay and gas.  But I have, and I know all about it, and if you want proof I have a scar on my head where a dago shot me at Telluride!”

“Prisoner’s motion to show scar overruled,” said the court.

“Isn’t it about time to let me off?” pleaded Mr. Bassity.  “Surely I’ve listened like a lamb to everything you’ve said to me?  I’ve been slapped on one cheek and then on the other, and if I haven’t always come up smiling it isn’t that I haven’t tried.  It stings a fellow to hear such things to his face; it hurts a fellow more than I think you know; for I may not be up to the general standard of your friends, but I guess my feelings are just as sensitive, and my regard and respect for all three of you is not a whit behind theirs.  I dare say this has amused you very much, and I don’t grudge for a minute the fun you’ve had out of it—­but suppose we call it off now and be friends again, and—­and —­talk about something else!” He looked earnestly from one to another.

There was something so naive and affecting in Bassity’s plea for mercy that for a moment his three persecutors looked almost ashamed of themselves.  Grace Sinclair’s eyes filled with tears, and she rose and went over to him and patted his hand.

“Cheer up,” she said, smiling.  “We’ve reinstated you now, and like you better than we ever did before.”

“And oo’ll be mamma’s little darling and will never be naughty again?” added Miss Hemingway.

“Poor old Johnny!” said Miss Felton sympathetically; “that’s the trouble about being a rough diamond and being polished while you wait—­makes you sorry you ever came, doesn’t it?”

“Now you can smoke a cigar, Mr. Bassity,” said Dolly, “and improve your mind listening to us talk!”

“So long as I’m not the subject of it,” observed Coal Oil Johnny ruefully.

“Oh, we can’t bother about you for always,” said Miss Hemingway.  “You’ve had your little turn and must now give way to something mere important!”

“Delighted!” said Mr. Bassity.

“And don’t look as though your own cigars were better than papa’s,” added Dolly.

“But they are,” he retorted.

“Will nothing ever prevent your speaking the truth?” cried Miss Sinclair.  “There ought to be tracts about the young man who always spoke the truth—­and his awful end!”

“Do you want me to listen intelligently or unintelligently?” Mr. Bassity asked Dolly.

“Oh, any old way,” she said.  “We don’t mind particularly which.”

“But you might tell me what the next topic’s about,” he said.  “It might improve my mind more, you know, to have some glimmering of what’s going on.  Possibly—­I say it with all diffidence—­possibly I might be able to contribute some valuable suggestions.”

At this there arose such a chorus of incredulity that even the dogs jumped up and barked.