Now, there was nothing disagreeable either in the remark or the way Duggie made it; he seemed perfectly good-natured, and, although in a great hurry, very much amused. But, somehow, it was n’t quite as if any one else had said it. I don’t know what "reading between the lines" is called when there aren’t any lines to read between; but anyhow that’s what I couldn’t help doing. Duggie’s little thrust was made at Berri—but it was intended for me. And that ’s what I mean when I say Duggie has me on his mind. He would have Berri there, too, if he liked him; but he does n’t. I think he firmly believes that he regards us both with the utmost impartiality; yet I know (this is recorded in all modesty, merely as a fact) that he likes me, and that for poor Berri he has no use at all. Berrisford is tactless; he had no business, for instance, to tell Duggie about the watch. One Saturday morning when Berrisford had finished his lectures for the day, and I found that a cut was to be given in my last one, we strolled along Massachusetts Avenue, without really meaning to go anywhere, until we came to the bridge across the Back Bay. We leaned over the rail awhile and watched the tide clutching viciously at the piers as it swirled out, and then, farther up, I noticed a flock of ducks paddling about in a most delightful little mud-hole left by the falling tide. "I could hit one of those birdies if I had a shotgun," I said, closing one eye. (It just shows what a trivial remark may sometimes lead one into.) "It wouldn’t do you any good," Berrisford yawned; "you couldn’t get it." "I don’t see why not. I could borrow a boat from the Humane Society and row out," I answered, rather irritated by Berrisford’s languid scepticism. "Well, what on earth would you do with the poor little beast after you did get him?" he pursued. "What do you suppose?" I exclaimed. "What do people usually do when they shoot a duck?" "I think they usually say that they really hit two, but that the other one managed to crawl into a dense patch of wild rice growing near by," Berrisford answered. "I should have it cooked and then I ’d eat it," I said, ignoring his remark. "What an extremely piggish performance! There would not be enough for any one but yourself. I would much rather go into town with somebody and have one apiece at the Touraine." "Oh, Berrisford," I murmured; "this is so sudden!" When we reached the other side of the bridge we got on a passing car, and after we sat down Berrisford said, "You ’ll have to pay for me; I have n’t any money either here or in Cambridge." As I had just eight cents in the world and had taken it for granted that Berri was going to pay for me, we jumped out before the conductor came around, and resumed our walk.