It was like the slap of a cold towel when Tweet's face suddenly displaced Lucy's in the haze. Up there in the lounging room Tweet had been waiting for him four hours! Tweet was doubtless hungry—he, Hiram, had been to a feast of love!
He felt like sneaking away to another lodging house till Tweet had disappeared. But he did not. Instead he sneaked up the dusty stairs and through the door of the lounging room.
Tweet was there, half hidden behind his paper. Hiram sidled into a seat, swallowed twice, and said "Hello."
Tweet at once lowered the paper and looked at him at if he did not quite recall his face.
"Why, hello there!" he returned carelessly. "Back, eh? Here's somethin' may int'rest you."
He got up, folding the paper, and carried it over to Hiram, pointing to an article headed:
"New Ditch Digger Makes Good."
Hiram stared at the heading in dire confusion. He had been half prepared for a rating; Tweet's complete disregard of his remissness was distressing.
"Mr. Tweet, I've got to apologize," he began.
"Bad practice," Tweet interrupted. "The better way is to never do anythin' that calls for an apology. Can't say that I live up to it, but I do my darnedest—and angels can do no more. After the first half hour I knew you wouldn't show up, so I went down and had lunch. More'n you've had, I'll bet. Just glance over that article and see what you think of it."