"I don't know that I ought to tell you," said Mrs. Henshaw, reluctantly,
"but I get so sick and tired of him coming home and grumbling about
you."

"Go on," said the waiting Stokes.

Mrs. Henshaw stole a glance at him. "He says you act as if you thought
yourself everybody," she said, softly, "and your everlasting clack,
clack, clack, worries him to death."

"Go on," said the listener, grimly.

"And he says it's so much trouble to get you to pay for your share of
the drinks that he'd sooner pay himself and have done with it."

Mr. Stokes sprang from his chair and, with clenched fists, stood angrily
regarding the horrified Mr. Bell. He composed himself by an effort and
resumed his seat.

"Anything else?" he inquired.

"Heaps and heaps of things," said Mrs. Henshaw; "but I don't want to
make bad blood between you."

"Don't mind me," said Mr. Stokes, glancing balefully over at his
agitated friend. "P'raps I'll tell you some things about him some day."

"It would be only fair," said Mrs. Henshaw, quickly. "Tell me now; I
don't mind Mr. Bell hearing; not a bit."