restin' mug, though, and it's so full of repose that it seems
almost a shame to disturb him.

Someone had to notify him, though, that he'd overslept. I tried clearin'
my throat and shufflin' my feet to bring him to; but that gets no action
at all. So there was nothing for it but to go over and tap him on the
shoulder.

"Excuse me," says I, "but your friend has gone."

"Ah, quite so," says he, still starin' out of the window and rubbin' his
chin. "'Tis a way friends have. They come, and they go. Quite so."

"Nobody's debatin' that point," says I; "but just now I wa'n't speakin'
of friends in gen'ral. I was referrin' to Pinckney. He didn't leave any
word; but I suspicion he was called up by----"

"Thanks," breaks in Marmaduke. "I know. Mrs. Purdy-Pell consults him
about dinner favors--tremendous trifles, to be coped with only by a
trained intelligence. We meet at the club later."

"Oh, that's it, is it?" says I. "In that case, make yourself to home.
Have an evening paper?"

"Please take it away," says he. "I might be tempted to read about the
beastly stock market."

"Been taking a little flyer, eh?" says I.

"What, I?" says he. "Why, I haven't enough cash to buy a decent dinner.
But everybody you meet follows the market, you know. It's a contagious
disease."

"So?" says I. "Now I've been exposed a lot and haven't caught it very
hard."

"Gifted of the gods!" says he.

"Eh?" says I.

"I'm Marmaduke, you know," says he.

"I've heard that much," says I.

"To him that hath ears--mufflers," says he.

"Mufflers?" says I. "I guess I must be missin' some of my cues, Mister."

"Never care," says he. "Why cry over spilt milk when one can keep a
cat?"

"Look here!" says I. "Are you stringin' me, or am I stringin' you?"

"Of what use to fret the oracle?" says he. "They say silence is
golden--well, I've spent mine."

And, say, he had me doin' the spiral dip at that. I don't mind indulgin'
in a little foolish conversation now and then; but I hate to have it so
one sided. And, honest, so far as I figured, he might have been readin'
the label off a tea chest. So with that I counters with one of my rough
and ready comebacks.

"Marmaduke--did you say it was?" says I. "If you did, where's the can?"

"By Jove! That's rather good, though!" says he, rappin' the floor with
his stick. "A little crude; but the element is there. Brava!
Bravissimo!"

"Stirred up the pigeons, anyway," says I.

"Pigeons?" says he, look