inconsequently but with sincerity.

'Father, you're very horrid to-night. What have the evening papers
been doing?'

'Well, my young madame, they've got me in for one, and you for
another; and they're manufacturing mysteries like fun. It's young
Dimmock's death that has started 'em.'

'Well, Father, you surely didn't expect to keep yourself out of the
papers.

Besides, as regards newspapers, you ought to be glad you aren't in
New York.

Just fancy what the dear old Herald would have made out of a little
transaction like yours of last night'

'That's true,' assented Racksole. 'But it'll be all over New York
to-morrow morning, all the same. The worst of it is that Babylon
has gone off to Switzerland.'

'Why?'

'Don't know. Sudden fancy, I guess, for his native heath.'

'What difference does it make to you?'

'None. Only I feel sort of lonesome. I feel I want someone to lean
up against in running this hotel.'