“It's nothing but his ridiculous, romantic way of taking the world to heart,” Olive interposed. “You may be sure he's troubled about something that doesn't concern him in the least. It's what comes of the life-long conscientiousness of his parents. If Ben doesn't turn out a philanthropist of the deepest dye yet, you'll have me to thank for it. I see more and more every day that I was providentially born wicked, so as to keep this besottedly righteous family's head above water.” She feigned an angry impatience with the condition of things; but when her father went out, she joined her mother in earnest conjectures as to what Ben had on his mind. Halleck wandered about till nearly ten o'clock, and then he went to the little house on Clover Street. The servant-girl answered his ring, and when he asked for Mrs. Hubbard, she said that Mr. Hubbard wished to see him, and please would he step upstairs. He found Bartley seated at the window, with a wet towel round his head, and his face pale with headache. “Well, old man,” he said, with an assumption of comradery that was nauseous to Halleck, “you've done the handsome thing by me. I know all about it. I knew something about it all the time.” He held out his hand, without rising, and Halleck forced himself to touch it. “I appreciate your delicacy in not telling my wife. Of course you _couldn't_ tell,” he said, with depraved enjoyment of what he conceived of Halleck's embarrassment. “But I guess she must have smelt a rat. As the fellow says,” he added, seeing the disgust that Halleck could not keep out of his face, “I shall make a clean breast of it, as soon as she can bear it. She's pretty high-strung. Lying down, now,” he explained. “You see, I went out to get something to make me sleep, and the first thing I knew I had got too much. Good thing I turned up on your doorstep; might have been waltzing into the police court about now. How did you happen to hear me?” Halleck briefly explained, with an air of abhorrence for the facts. “Yes, I remember most of it,” said Bartley. “Well, I want to thank you, Halleck. You've saved me from disgrace,--from ruin, for all I know. Whew! how my head aches!” he said, making an appeal to Halleck's pity, with closed eyes. “Halleck,” he murmured, feebly, “I wish you would do me a favor.” “Yes? What is it?” asked Halleck, dryly. “Go round to the Events office and tell old Witherby that I sha'n't be able to put in an appearance to-day. I'm not up to writing a note, even; and he'd feel flattered at your coming personally. It would make it all right for me.” “Of course I will go,” said Halleck. “Thanks,” returned Bartley, plaintively, with his eyes closed. XXVI.