It did me an immense deal of good to make Rattler mix my drinks for
me--Rattler! the gay, brilliant, and unconquerable Rattler, who had
tried to snub me two years ago. I talked to him about old Fagg and
Nellie, particularly as I thought the subject was distasteful. He never
liked Fagg, and he was sure, he said, that Nellie didn't. Did Nellie
like anybody else? He turned around to the mirror behind the bar and
brushed up his hair! I understood the conceited wretch. I thought I'd
put Fagg on his guard and get him to hurry up matters. I had a long talk
with him. You could see by the way the poor fellow acted that he was
badly stuck. He sighed, and promised to pluck up courage to hurry
matters to a crisis. Nellie was a good girl, and I think had a sort of
quiet respect for old Fagg's unobtrusiveness. But her fancy was already
taken captive by Rattler's superficial qualities, which were obvious and
pleasing. I don't think Nellie was any worse than you or I. We are more
apt to take acquaintances at their apparent value than their intrinsic
worth. It's less trouble, and, except when we want to trust them, quite
as convenient. The difficulty with women is that their feelings are apt
to get interested sooner than ours, and then, you know, reasoning is out
of the question. This is what old Fagg would have known had he been of
any account. But he wasn't. So much the worse for him.

It was a few months afterward and I was sitting in my office when in
walked old Fagg. I was surprised to see him down, but we talked over the
current topics in that mechanical manner of people who know that they
have something else to say, but are obliged to get at it in that formal
way. After an interval Fagg in his natural manner said:

"I'm going home!"

"Going home?"