“I am nothing of the sort!  I’m a perfect bear!” he growled.

“Not inconsistent with my former observation that you were better than usual,” observed Roundjacket, with an agreeable smile.  “I can prove to you quite readily that—­”

“You are a ninny—­I have no doubt of it—­if I would listen to your wretched jabber!  Enough! if you talk any more I’ll go home again.  A fine state of things, truly—­that I am to have my mind dissipated when I’m in working trim by the nonsense of a crack-brained poet!”

Roundjacket’s indignation at this unfeeling allusion to his great poem was so intense, that for the moment he was completely deprived of utterance.

“And as for you, young man,” said Mr. Rushton, smiling grimly at Verty, “I suppose you are following the ordinary course of foolish young men, and falling in love!  Mark me, sir! the man that falls in love makes a confounded fool of himself—­you had better at once go and hang yourself.  Pretty people you are, with your ‘eyes’ and ’sighs’—­your ‘loves’ and ’doves’—­your moonlight, and flowers and ecstacies!  Avoid it, sir! it’s like honey-water—­it catches the legs of flies like you, and holds you tight.  Don’t think you can take a slight sip of the wine, sir, and there leave off—­no, sir, you don’t leave off, you youngsters never do; you guzzle a gallon!  The consequence is intellectual drunkenness, and thus you make, as I said before, confounded fools of yourselves!  Bah! why am I wasting my time!—­a vast deal of influence we people who give good advice possess!  Young men will be fools to the end—­go and see your sweetheart!”

And with a grim smile, the shaggy lawyer entered his sanctum, and banged the door, just as Roundjacket, still irate about the slur cast upon his poetry, had commenced reading in a loud voice the fine introductory stanzas—­his hair sticking up, his eyes rolling, his ruler breaking the skulls of invisible foes.  Alas for Roundjacket!—­nobody appreciated him, which is perhaps one of the most disagreeable things in nature.  Even Verty rose in a minute, and took up his hat and rifle, as was his habit.

Roundjacket rolled up his manuscript with a deep sigh, and restored it to the desk.

“Where are you going, young man?” he said.  “But I know—­and that is your excuse for such shocking taste as you display.  As for the within bear,” and Roundjacket pointed toward Mr. Rushton’s apartment, “he is unpardonable!”

“Well, good-bye.”

These latter words were uttered as Verty went out, followed by Longears, and closed the door of the office after him.

He had scarcely heard or understood Mr. Rushton’s extraordinary speech:  but had comprehended that he was free to go away, and in the troubled state of his mind, this was a great boon.  Yes! he would go and suffer again in Redbud’s presence—­this time he would know whether she really hated him.  And then that passage in the letter!  The thought tore his heart.