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 "You're right, Mr. Kinvig," said Christian, under his breath, "a cursed shame." And he stretched out his hand impatiently to bid good-bye.

"No. I'll go with you to Tommy-Bill-beg's. Oh, don't mind me. I've nothing particular on hand, or I wouldn't waste my time on ye. Yes, as I say, it's wrong. Besides, Christian, what you want to do now is to marry a girl with a property. That's the only thing that will put yonder Balladhoo right again, and—in your ear, man—that's about what your father's looking for."

Christian winced, and then tried to laugh.

"Oh, that's it, is it?" he said, absently.

"But leave the girls alone. They're amazin' like the ghos'es, are the girls; once you start them you never know where they'll stop, and they get into every skeleton closet about the house—but of course, of course, I'm an old bachelor, and as the saying is, I don't know nothin'."

"Ha! ha! ha! of course not," laughed Christian with a tragic effort.

They had stopped outside the ivy cottage of the harbor-master, and that worthy, who was standing there, had overheard the last loud words of Kinvig's conversation.

"What do you say, Tommy-Bill-beg?" asked Kinvig, giving him a prod in the ribs.

"I say that the gels in these days ought to get wedded while they're babbies in arms—"

"That'll do, that'll do," shouted Kinvig with a roar of laughter.