"Well, you confessed to a fearful sense of goneness yourself."
"Don't tell anybody," she said.
"I should think not!" I retorted, with dignity. "I hope I have _some_
pride."
"Have you presented your letter to the ambassador?" she asked.
"Yes, but it's so near Christmas that I suppose he won't bother about
two waifs like us until after it's over."
"My! but you _are_ blue," she said. "I never heard you refer to
yourself as a waif before."
"I am a worm of the dust. I wish there wasn't such a thing as
Christmas! I wonder what Billy will say when he sees his tree."
"You might cable and find out," she said. "It only costs about three
marks a word. 'What did Billy say when he saw his tree?'--nine
words--it would cost you about eight dollars, without counting the
address."
Dead silence. I didn't think she was at all funny.
"Don't you think we ought to have champagne to-morrow?" she asked.
"What for? I hate the stuff. It makes me ill. Do _you_ want it?"
"No, only I thought that, being Christmas, and very expensive, perhaps
it would do you good to spend--"
A knock on the door made us both jump.
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