"I understand you," said Marcus; "you are sick of this."

"Well--hum--it's a little prosy at times." Maltboy yawned again.

"Incorrigible monster!" cried Marcus. "What shall we do with him, Top?"

The person addressed swung back the rebellious cowlick from his
forehead, as if to clear his thinking faculties from a load while he
considered the grave question. "Do with him? Do with him? Oh! I'll tell
you." Here the speaker's eyes flashed with the light of a great
discovery. "Tether him like a horse, with a certain limited area to feed
in. D'ye see? D'ye see?"

"A horse? Can't say that I do," returned Mr. Marcus Wilkeson.

"And I can't say that _I_ do, either," added Mr. Matthew Maltboy. "A
horse! Why not say a donkey? I should see it quite as well."

"As you please," resumed the impetuous Overtop. "A donkey, then. Perhaps
the metaphor will be better. What I mean--what you two are so dull as
not to see--is to put this unreliable Maltboy on a moderate allowance of
flirtation; to keep him, for example, within the limits of this block.
D'ye see? D'ye catch the idea?"

"It begins to dawn on me," said Wilkeson.

"And I catch a ray or two of it," added Maltboy. But--"

"Excuse me," interrupted Overtop, stepping between his two companions,
and gesticulating wildly at each of them in turn, as if he would dart