Chapter XXXIX - Page 2

old," was the answer. "I know I ought, but I
really haven't the heart. It doesn't seem to matter."

"For his mother's sake," Brissenden urged.

"It's worth considering," Martin replied; "but it doesn't seem
worth while enough to rouse sufficient energy in me. You see, it
does take energy to give a fellow a poking. Besides, what does it
matter?"

"That's right - that's the way to take it," the cub announced
airily, though he had already begun to glance anxiously at the
door.

"But it wasn't true, not a word of what he wrote," Martin went on,
confining his attention to Brissenden.

"It was just in a general way a description, you understand," the
cub ventured, "and besides, it's good advertising. That's what
counts. It was a favor to you."

"It's good advertising, Martin, old boy," Brissenden repeated
solemnly.

"And it was a favor to me - think of that!" was Martin's
contribution.

"Let me see - where were you born, Mr. Eden?" the cub asked,
assuming an air of expectant attention.

"He doesn't take notes," said Brissenden. "He remembers it all."

"That is sufficient for me." The cub was trying not to look
worried. "No decent reporter needs to bother with notes."

"That was sufficient - for last night." But Brissenden was not a
disciple of quietism, and he changed his attitude abruptly.
"Martin, if you don't poke him, I'll do it myself, if I fall dead
on the floor the next moment."

"How will a spanking do?" Martin asked.

Brissenden considered judicially, and nodded his head.

The next instant Martin was seated on the edge of the bed with the
cub face downward across his knees.

"Now don't bite," Martin warned, "or else I'll have to punch your
face. It would be a pity, for it is such a pretty face."

His uplifted hand descended, and thereafter rose and fell in a
swift and steady rhythm. The cub struggled and cursed and
squirmed, but did not offer to bite. Brissenden looked on gravely,
though once he grew excited and gripped the whiskey bottle,
pleading, "Here, just let me swat him once."

"Sorry my hand played out," Martin said, when at last he desisted.
"It is quite numb."

He uprighted the cub and perched him on the bed.

"I'll have you arrested for this," he snarled, tears of boyish
indignation running down his flushed cheeks. "I'll make you sweat
for this. You'll see."

"The pretty thing," Martin remarked. "He doesn't realize that he
has entered upon the downward path. It is not honest, it is not
square, it is not manly, to tell lies about one's fellow-creatures
the way he has done, and he doesn't know it."

"He has to come to us to be told," Brissenden filled in a pause.