"Thank God, there's no real business between us," retorted Adams, "and
that's why it's a rest to spend a half-hour with you--because you don't
know a piece of literature from a publisher's advertisement."

"We're such old friends, you know," pursued Perry, forgetting the moment
which he had wasted upon the pretty woman, "that when there's a thing on
my mind I feel--well, I feel a--a deuced queer fish not to tell you."

Adams laughed good naturedly.

"For heaven's sake don't remain long in a fishy sensation," he
rejoined. "Let's have it out and over. By the way, may I ask if it
concerns you or me?"

Perry shook his head as he tugged nervously at his fair moustache. "Look
here, old man," he said at last, "I know, of course, that Mrs. Adams is
as innocent as a baby--Gerty's just like her and there are plenty of
women made that way. It's the men who are such confounded brutes," he
commented with pensive morality.

"Oh, is that it?" responded Adams, and he turned upon the other a look
that was coolly interrogative. "Come, now, we'll take it quietly. You're
one of the best friends I have, and I want to know what they're saying
about my wife."

"It's that damned Brady!" exclaimed Perry, while he felt for his
handkerchief, and blew his nose with violence.

"All right--it's that damned Brady?" repeated Adams.