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 thing to Brunt about it till I had got my own ideas straightened out a little. However, by the time luncheon was over, and we were sitting, the sole occupants of the smoking-room, I had decided that, though I had got Jack into the scrape, he would have to get himself out of it. So with as indifferent an air as I could muster, I said:

"By the way, John, here's a letter for the author of Spoils." He took it and glanced at the superscription.

"The Devil!" said he, with a very red face.

"The writer would be flattered if she could hear you," said I.

"I wonder how she would feel if she could see us both," John retorted, and he looked from the back of the letter to me in a very fierce manner Then, tossing the letter across the table, he said: "Well, it is your affair this time and not mine, I'm thankful to say. What are you going to do with the thing?"

"Do with it? I've done with it," said I.