Why should not he call himself an old wreck, if it amuses him?
I suppose he only means to express a gentleman decidedly in the decline of life, which, in my eyes, he is; so I say kindly and acquiescingly-- "Yes, it _is_ rather hard, is it not ?" "Forty-one--forty-two--yes, forty-two years since I first saw him," he continues, reflectively, "running about in short, stiff, white petticoats and bare legs, and going bawling to his mother, because he tumbled up those steps to the hall-door, and cut his nose open." I lift my face out of my muff, in which, for the sake of warmth, I have been hiding it, and, opening my mouth, give vent to a hearty and undutiful roar of laughter.
"Cut his nose open!" repeat I, indistinctly.

"How pleased he must have been, and what sort of a nose was it?
already hooked?
It never _could_ have been the conventional button, _that_ I am sure of; _yours_ was, I dare say, but _his_--_never_.

Good Heavens!" (with a sudden change of tone, and disappearance of mirth) "here he is! Come to look for you, no doubt! I--I--think I may go now, may not I ?" "Go!" repeats he, looking at me with unfeigned wonder.

"Why?
It is more likely _you_ that he has missed, _you_, who are no doubt his daily companion." "Not quite daily," I answer, with a fine shake of irony, which, by reason of his small acquaintance with me, is lost on my friend.

"Two, you know, is company, and three none.