McIlheny, darkly: “Never moind my thrain, sor! My wife says it was a put-up jahb between ye. She says ye were afther laughun’, and lukun’ and winkun’ at her before this mahn slipped up to spake to her. Now what do ye make of that?” Campbell: “We were laughing, of course. I had been laughing at my friend’s predicament, in being left to meet a lady he’d never seen before. You laughed at it yourself.” McIlheny: “I did, sor.” Roberts, basely truckling to him: “It was certainly a ludicrous position.” Campbell: “And when we explained it, it amused your good lady too. She laughed as much as yourself--” McIlheny: “She did, sor. Ye’re right. Sure it would make a cow laugh. Well, gintlemen, ye must excuse me. Mrs. McIlheny says I mustn’t stop for the next thrain, and I’ll have to ask you to join me in that glass of wine some other toime.” Campbell: “Oh, it’s all right, Mr. McIlheny. You’ve only got about half a minute.” He glances at the clock, and McIlheny runs out, profusely waving his hand in adieu. Roberts, taking out his handkerchief and wiping his forehead: “Well, thank Heaven! we’re rid of him at last.” Campbell: “I’m not so sure of that. He’ll probably miss the train. You may be sure Mrs. McIlheny is waiting for him outside of it, and then we shall have them both on our hands indefinitely. We shall have to explain and explain. Fiction has entirely failed us, and I feel that the truth is giving way under our feet. I’ll tell you what, Roberts!” Roberts, in despair: “What?” Campbell: “Why, if McIlheny should happen to come back alone, we mustn’t wait for him to renew his invitation to drink; we must take him out ourselves, and get him drunk; so drunk he can’t remember anything; stone drunk; dead drunk. Or, that is, _you_ must. I haven’t got anything to do with him. I wash my hands of the whole affair.” Roberts: “You mustn’t, Willis! You know I can’t manage without you. And you know I can’t take the man out and get him drunk. I couldn’t. I shouldn’t feel that it was right.” Campbell: “Yes, I know. You’d have to drink with him; and you’ve got no head at all. You’d probably get drunk first, and I don’t know what I should say to Agnes.” Roberts: “That isn’t the point, Willis. I couldn’t ask the man to drink; I should consider it immoral. Besides, what should you do if the cook came while I was away? You wouldn’t know her.” Campbell: “Well, neither would you, if you stayed.” Roberts: “That’s true. There doesn’t seem to be any end of it, or any way out of it. I must just stay and bear it.” Campbell: “Of _course_ you must stay. And when McIlheny comes back, you’d better ask him out to look upon the wine when it is red.” Roberts: “No; that’s impossible, quite. I shouldn’t mind the association--though it isn’t very pleasant; but to offer drink to a man already--Do you suppose it would do to ask him out for a glass of soda? Plain soda would be good for him. Or I could order claret in it, if the worst came to the worst.”