“It is most preposterous in me thus to force myself upon you, and then trouble you with my cares. But I had been alone so long, and I was so weary of it!”
“By Jove, and so had I. Make no apology. And let me tell you this,—though perhaps you will not credit me,—that I would sooner laugh with a comrade than cry with him is true enough; but, if occasion demands, I can do the latter also.”
He then put out his hand to me, and I pressed it in token of my friendship. My own hand was hot and rough with the heat and sand; but his was soft and cool almost as a woman’s. I thoroughly hate an effeminate man; but, in spite of a certain womanly softness about this fellow, I could not hate him. “Yes,” I continued, “though somewhat unused to the melting mood, I also sometimes give forth my medicinal gums. I don’t want to ask you any questions, and, as a rule, I hate to be told secrets, but if I can be of any service to you in any matter I will do my best. I don’t say this with reference to the present moment, but think of it before we part.”
I looked round at him and saw that he was in tears. “I know that you will think that I am a weak fool,” he said, pressing his handkerchief to his eyes.
“By no means. There are moments in a man’s life when it becomes him to weep like a woman; but the older he grows the more seldom those moments come to him. As far as I can see of men, they never cry at that which disgraces them.”
“It is left for women to do that,” he answered.
“Oh, women! A woman cries for everything and for nothing. It is the sharpest arrow she has in her quiver,—the best card in her hand. When a woman cries, what can you do but give her all she asks for?”
“Do you—dislike women?”
“No, by Jove! I am never really happy unless one is near me, or more than one. A man, as a rule, has an amount of energy within him which he cannot turn to profit on himself alone. It is good for him to have a woman by him that he may work for her, and thus have exercise for his limbs and faculties. I am very fond of women. But I always like those best who are most helpless.”
We were silent again for a while, and it was during this time that I found myself lying with my head in his lap. I had slept, but it could have been but for a few minutes, and when I woke I found his hand upon my brow. As I started up he said that the flies had been annoying me, and that he had not chosen to waken me as I seemed weary. “It has been that double bathing,” I said, apologetically; for I always feel ashamed when I am detected sleeping in the day. “In hot weather the water does make one drowsy. By Jove, it’s getting dark; we had better have the horses.”