“I’ve no good news for you, Jim!” said I.

“You’ve come—­that’s the good news that I want,” he replied.  “O, how I’ve longed for you, Loudon!”

“I couldn’t do what you wrote me,” I said, lowering my voice.  “The creditors have it all.  I couldn’t do it.”

“Ssh!” returned Jim.  “I was crazy when wrote.  I could never have looked Mamie in the face if we had done it.  O, Loudon, what a gift that woman is!  You think you know something of life:  you just don’t know anything.  It’s the GOODNESS of the woman, it’s a revelation!”

“That’s all right,” said I.  “That’s how I hoped to hear you, Jim.”

“And so the Flying Scud was a fraud,” he resumed.  “I didn’t quite understand your letter, but I made out that.”

“Fraud is a mild term for it,” said I.  “The creditors will never believe what fools we were.  And that reminds me,” I continued, rejoicing in the transition, “how about the bankruptcy?”

“You were lucky to be out of that,” answered Jim, shaking his head; “you were lucky not to see the papers.  The Occidental called me a fifth-rate Kerbstone broker with water on the brain; another said I was a tree-frog that had got into the same meadow with Longhurst, and had blown myself out till I went pop.  It was rough on a man in his honeymoon; so was what they said about my looks, and what I had on, and the way I perspired.  But I braced myself up with the Flying Scud.  How did it exactly figure out anyway?  I don’t seem to catch on to that story, Loudon.”

“The devil you don’t!” thinks I to myself; and then aloud:  “You see we had neither one of us good luck.  I didn’t do much more than cover current expenses; and you got floored immediately.  How did we come to go so soon?”

“Well, we’ll have to have a talk over all this,” said Jim with a sudden start.  “I should be getting to my books; and I guess you had better go up right away to Mamie.  She’s at Speedy’s.  She expects you with impatience.  She regards you in the light of a favourite brother, Loudon.”

Any scheme was welcome which allowed me to postpone the hour of explanation, and avoid (were it only for a breathing space) the topic of the Flying Scud.  I hastened accordingly to Bush Street.  Mrs. Speedy, already rejoicing in the return of a spouse, hailed me with acclamation.  “And it’s beautiful you’re looking, Mr. Dodd, my dear,” she was kind enough to say.  “And a miracle they naygur waheenies let ye lave the oilands.  I have my suspicions of Shpeedy,” she added, roguishly.  “Did ye see him after the naygresses now?”

I gave Speedy an unblemished character.

“The one of ye will niver bethray the other,” said the playful dame, and ushered me into a bare room, where Mamie sat working a type-writer.

I was touched by the cordiality of her greeting.  With the prettiest gesture in the world she gave me both her hands; wheeled forth a chair; and produced, from a cupboard, a tin of my favourite tobacco, and a book of my exclusive cigarette papers.