forgotten to do before. Then he gave three long, solemn, and
portentous puffs. Then he took the cigar between his first and second
fingers, and stretched his hand out toward Hawbury.

"Hawbury, my boy," said he again.

"All right."

"You remember the time when I got that bullet in Uruguay?"

"Yes."

"Well, I had a shot to-day."

"A shot! The deuce you had. Cool, too. Any of those confounded bandits
about? I thought that was all rot."

"It wasn't a real shot; only figurative."

"Figurative!"

"Yes; it was a--a girl."

"By Jove!" cried Hawbury, starting up from an easy posture which he
had secured for himself after fifteen minutes shifting and changing.
"A girl! You, Dacres, spooney! A fellow like you, and a girl! By
Jove!"

Hawbury fell back again, and appeared to be vainly trying to grapple
with the thought.