“Dody, Dody! Why do you call him Dody?” “I called him the Don,” said Charley, doggedly. “And Dody, too! Why Dody? What a droll nickname!” And she laughed. “You are mistaken; I did not call him Dody.” “You didn’t?” “No; but my tongue,” said Charley, coloring, “is like a mustang,—buck-jumps occasionally, and unseats its rider—_her_ rider.” “Oh, I beg your pardon!” said Alice, with tender earnestness, and gave his arm—this time consciously—an affectionate, apologetic squeeze. [I don’t deny it! _Al Frob._] “So the Don is not only a lover, but a double-barrelled one?” “No, we don’t think that,” said Alice, laughing; “but there is a dispute among us which of two birds he wishes to bring down.” “Which of two birds? Really, you puzzle me,” said Charley, reflecting. “I could guess the name of one, perhaps; but the other—I am completely at sea.” And he looked up in inquiry. “Is it possible! How blind, blind, blind you men are! And yet they tell me that nothing ever escapes your lynx eyes! Why, Lucy and Mary, of course.” “Lucy and Mary!” cried Charley, and, throwing back his head, he exploded with a shout of single-barrelled amazement. “Wit and humor!” “Repeat, repeat, Alice!” cried voices from the piazza. The strollers looked up in surprise at finding themselves so near the porch, while the occupants of this favorite lounging-place were in no less wonder at hearing Frobisher giving forth so unusual a sound. Alice swept the faces of her friends with a bright smile of greeting, but there was a certain preoccupation in her look. Charley’s laugh had startled her. “Unconscious wit, then;” and turning, she looked up into her companion’s face with a puzzled air. It would seem that that sudden and unusual draft upon Charley’s cachinnatory apparatus had exhausted that mechanism, for he was not even smiling now, but in what is called a brown study. He slowly turned on his heel as though to return to the Argo, or, rather, as if he had no intentions of any kind, his movements being directed by what Dr. Carpenter calls unconscious cerebration. Alice, holding her companion’s arm, turned upon him as a pivot (though with conscious cerebration, for she could almost feel upon the back of her head the smiles raying forth from the porch). “Mary and Lucy, did you say?” inquired he, turning quickly upon her as though it had suddenly flashed upon him that he had not, perhaps, heard aright. “Yes, Mr. Frobisher. What on earth is the matter?” “What’s the matter? Why, nothing, of course. You simply amused me, that is all.” And smiling stiffly, he threw up his head with a sort of shake and made as though he would join the party on the porch.