"You might have taken a brace," says Mr. Robert.

"Not I!" says Bunny. "Anyway, not after Trixie DeBrett got hold of me.
The trouble was, Bob, you didn't half appreciate her. She had beauty,
brains, wit, a thousand fascinations, and no more soul than a she boa
constrictor. I was just a rabbit to her, a meal. She thought the
governor would buy her off, say, for a couple hundred thousand or so.
I suppose he would too, if it hadn't been for the Sally complication.
He thought a lot of little Sally. And the way it happened was too raw.
I don't blame him, mind you, nor any of you. I don't even blame
Trixie. That was her game. And, by Jove! she was a star at it. I'd
go back to her now if she'd let me."

"You're a fool!" snorts Mr. Robert.

"Always was, my dear Bob," says Bunny placid. "You often told me as
much."

"But I didn't think," goes on Mr. Robert, "you'd get as low as--as
tonight--begging!"

"Quite respectable for me, I assure you," says Bunny. "Why, my dear
fellow, during the last few years there's been hardly a crime on the
calendar I shouldn't have committed for a dollar--barring murder, of
course. That requires nerve. How long do you suppose the few
thousands I got from Aunt Eunice lasted? Barely six months. I thought
I knew how to live rather luxuriously myself. But Trixie! Well, she
taught me. And we were in Paris, you know. I didn't cable the
governor until I was down to my last hundred-franc note. His reply was