He hurried back into the hall. Toboso took the note from the table and pocketed it. “Ain't no use taking risks.”
They went out into the warm night, under pleasant stars, and along the road together arm in arm.
“I feel pretty gay, Elder.” He broke into bellowing song, “Hey, Jinny! Ho, Jinny! Listen, love, to me.”
“Really, I feel cheerful, too, Mr. Toboso, wonderfully cheerful.”
“Dulcinea, Elder. Dulcinea's me name. Hey, Jinny! Ho, Jinny!”
“How singular it is! I feel very cheerful. I think—really, I think I should like to learn that song about Jinny. It seems such a cheerful song.”
“Hit her up, Elder,” wheezed Toboso jovially. “Now then”—
“Hey, Jinny! Ho, Jinny! Listen, love, to me.”
So they went arm in arm with a roaring and a tremulous piping.
The lamp flickered by the open window as the night breeze rose. Bettina came home betimes and cleared the table. The memory of a Scandinavian caress was too recent to leave room for her to remark that there were signs of devastating appetite, that dishes had been used unaccountably, and that “Fater” had gone somewhat early to bed. Timothy and his wife returned late. All windows and doors in the house of Timothy were closed, and the last lamp was extinguished.