"Don't you think this a little uncalled for?" I asked, beginning to lose
my temper.

"Bless you, no. Not among friends: not among such friends as we are."

"I didn't know we were such devilish good friends," I retorted warmly.

"Oh, yes, we are, devilish good friends," he answered with assurance;
"known each other from boyhood, and all that. And I say, old chap," he
added, "you needn't be jealous of me, you know. I got out of that long
ago. And I'm after something else now."

For a space I was speechless. Then the ludicrous side of the matter
struck me, and I laughed in spite of myself. Better, after all, to
deal with a fool according to his folly. The Celebrity glanced at the
door and drew his chair closer to mine.

"Crocker," he said confidentially, "I'm glad you came here to-day. There
is a thing or two I wished to consult you about."

"Professional?" I asked, trying to head him off.

"No," he replied, "amateur,--beastly amateur. A bungle, if I ever made
one. The truth is, I executed rather a faux pas over there at Asquith.
Tell me," said he, diving desperately at the root of it, "how does Miss
Trevor feel about my getting out? I meant to let her down easier; 'pon
my word, I did."

This is a way rascals have of judging other men by themselves.