n
inditing a letter of "explanation" to Crofter. I had come to the
conclusion this would be easier and safer than a personal interview, and
that the sooner it was done the better. How to do it was another
problem. To write a letter in the raggery was out of the question. I
tried it, but failed miserably. For either my paper was twitched away
from under my pen, or some one looked over my shoulder and pretended to
read expressions of endearment which were not there, or some one got
under the table and heaved it about tempestuously to the detriment of my
handwriting, or some one drew skeleton figures of spider-legged bipeds
on the margin of the paper. Worse still, it was evident every word I
wrote would be common property, which I did not desire. I had therefore
to abandon the attempt till later on; when, finding myself in Pridgin's
study, I ventured to inquire if I might write there.

Pridgin was good enough to express admiration of my cheek, but said if I
spread one newspaper over his carpet and another over his table-cloth to
catch the blots, and didn't ask him how to spell any word of less than
four letters, or borrow a stamp, I might.

All which I faithfully undertook to do, and sat down to my delicate
task. It took me a long time, considering the result, and I was by no
means satisfied with the performance when it was done.

"Dear Crofter," I wrote; but that seemed too familiar, whereas "Dear
Sir" from one schoolfellow to another was too formal. So I attempted my
explanation in the "oblique oration":--

"Jones iv. is sorry he accidentally told Crofter he was a beast
yesterday. He did not know it was him when he saw him, or he would not
have told him what Tempest said about him, which was quite
unintentional. He also must explain that what he said about his being
expelled was in consequence of a dog's death, about which there was a
misunderstanding. He hopes Crofter will not tell him he told him, as he
would be very angry with him."

"Done?" said Pridgin, who, comfortably ensconced in his easy-chair with
his feet upon the window-ledge, was reading a comic paper.

"Yes, thanks," said I, half terrified lest he should demand to read my
not too lucid epistle.

"All right. Go and tell Crofter I want him, will you? Look alive, and
then cut to bed."

Here was a blow! I had been at all this labour in order to avoid the
painful necessity of an interview with Crofter, and here I was as badly
off as ever