And then, all his satisfaction gone and his scowl come back, Jeff shook his head as if a persistent fly had lighted on him, and again he disclaimed achievement.
"Amabel," said he, "I'm awfully sick of that, you know."
"But, dear boy, you revolutionised—" she was about to add, "the prison," but stumbled lamely—"the place."
"The papers told us that," said Choate. It was apparent he was helping somebody out, but whether Jeff or Miss Amabel even he couldn't have said.
"It isn't revolutionised," said Jeff. He turned upon Choate brusquely. "It's exactly the same."
"They say it's revolutionised," Miss Amabel offered anxiously.
"Who says so?" he countered, now turning on her.
"The papers," she told him. "You didn't write me about it. I asked you all sorts of questions and you wouldn't say a word."
"But you wrote me," said Jeff affectionately, "every week. I got so used to your letters I sha'n't be able to do without them; I shall have to see you every day."
"Of course we're going to see each other," she said. "And there's such a lot you can do."