"Nothing, nothing,"--laughing.

But I could see that his spirits had gone up several degrees.

"The whole thing is likely to be in the evening papers," I said. He
needed a little worrying. And I knew his horror of publicity.

"The newspapers? In the newspapers? Oh, I say, Chuck, can't you use
your influence to suppress the thing? Think of the girls."

"I'll do the best I can. And there's only one thing for you to do,
and that is to cut out of town till your beard has grown. It would
serve you right, however, if the reporters got the true facts."

"I'm for getting out of town, Chuck; and on the next train but one."

Here our conversation was interrupted by the entrance of a policeman.

"A note for _Mister_ Osborne,"--ironically. He tossed the letter
to Warburton and withdrew.

_Mister_ Osborne eagerly tore open an end of the envelope--a
very aristocratic envelope, as I could readily discern--and extracted
the letter. I closely watched his facial expressions. First, there
was interest, then surprise, to be succeeded by amusement and a
certain exultation. He slapped his thigh.

"By George, Chuck. I'll do it!"