The Humorist
on, for selling the kind of beer—well, the kind he did sell. You do believe, me don't you? You've been so nice to me, I'd rather you'd believe me."
"Oh!" Drusilla took her offered hand with a bewildered air. "Of course I believe you," she said, her instinct to be kind under any circumstances prompting her words, "but this man?" She pointed to Lappin. "Who is he?"
"He is my husband," said the sparkling comedienne, with a sigh.
Once on our way back to Marybeach and Matthew Arnold, Drusilla and I looked at each other and laughed. Then I stooped to revenge.
"It is nice to think," I murmured, "that in times of trouble our Georgie always turns to us."
She flushed.
"Don't be unkind, Martin. Georgie really is—I do hope those people won't lead him into anything rash and disreputable. He always thought he could sing,
113
