3How d**k got home that day he could never rightly have told. His head seemed to be full of deafening noises. When he reached the little room in Soho, he tore off the hateful rig which had betrayed him, and cast it underfoot. In some sort of fashion he told his friend what had happened. Plug, as a man’s best friend too often will, proved to be a Job’s comforter.
“Then you might just as well have walked up the front steps and rung the bell,” he said.
“Well, you needn’t rub it in!” said d**k.
“Just think of all the money and time you spent on that make-up, and it only brought about the very thing you were afraid of!”
“For God’s sake shut up!” cried d**k. “You hadn’t a word to say against the scheme beforehand.”
“You wouldn’t have listened to me.”
“Well, shut up, anyhow?”
Plug got sore
