Mr. Basket rose to his feet, with a half-regretful glance at the
undepleted decanter.
"To-morrow night," said he, "we will treat old friendship more
piously. Believe me, Hymen, if it weren't for the seats being
reserved--"
"My dear fellow," the Major assured him, with a challenging smile for
Mrs. Basket, "if you don't come back and tell me you've forgotten for
three hours my very existence, I shall pack my valise and tramp off
to an inn."
Having dismissed the worthy couple to the theatre--but a couple of
streets distant--the Major retired with glass and decanter to his
room, drank his quantum, smoked two pipes of tobacco very leisurably,
and then, with a long sigh, drew up his chair to the table (which
Mrs. Basket had set out with writing materials) and penned, with many
pauses for consideration, the following letter; which, when the
reader has perused it, will sufficiently explain why our hero had
blushed a while ago under Mr. Basket's interrogatory.
"My dear Martha,--'Sweet,' says our premier poet, 'are the uses
of adversity.' The indignity (I will call it no less) to which
my fellow-townsmen by their folly, and Sir Felix by his perfidy,
have recently subjected me, is not without its compensations.
On the one hand it has disillusioned me; on the other it has
removed the scales from my eyes. It has, indeed, inspired me
with a disgust of public life; it has taught me to think more
meanly of mankind as a whole.
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