a lot of endearing epithets and big
professions, perhaps you would believe me. Some time you will know
whether I care for you or not; whether I've got anything in me, and am
capable of acting like a man. You wait and see. But I wish I knew what
you are going to do with poor Jim."

"Some time you will know: you wait and see. You can go and comfort him
now. Good night, poor Bob."

XI.

EXPLANATIONS.

I went and comforted him. "Well, old man," I said with a cheerful air,
"how do you get on?"

"Robert," said he, "do you suppose I would have come here if I had known
what an atrocious humbug you are? Do you imagine for a moment that my
relatives, if I had any, would have subjected my innocence to such
insidious guardianship? Have you brought me here to destroy my faith,
and pollute my morals, and poison my young life with the spectacle of
your turpitude?"

"You're improving already, Jim. When I saw you last you hadn't any
faith, nor much morals; your youth was away back in the past, and your
strength was dried up like railroad doughnuts; you were ready to fall
with the first leaves of autumn. Well, since you are here, you can stay
till you see how you like us. What do you think of Clarice?"

"She has given me no basis on which to think of her, beyond her looks;
they rather take one's breath away. You beast, what do you mean by
springing a face like that on me without warning, after all your
humbugging talk last night, pretending to post me on every one I was to
meet? And I say, do you always stand guard over her when anybody comes
near?"

"Well, you see, you were so overcome by the first sight of her this
morning, that it seemed no more than fair to let you recover your
breath, as you say, and get used to her by degrees. But, James, this is
unseemly levity on your part. What have we to do with girls? Let us
leave them to the baser spirits who have use for them. The world's a
bubble, and the life of man of no account at all. We have tried it, and
it is empty; hark, it sounds. Vain pomp and glory of it all, we hate ye.
Ye tinsel gauds, ye base embroideries, ye female fripperies, have but
our scorn. What are flashing eyes, and tossing ringlets, and rosy lips,
and jewelled fingers, to minds like ours? Let us go off to the Nitrian
desert, Jim, away from this eternal simper, this harrowing routine."

"You must have been reading up lately, my boy. I left all that in the
woods, Bob, and came down here in good fai