“Brilliant,” said Jona.
“I don’t know,” said Luke, wagging his ears, “I sometimes doubt whether I am sufficiently in touch with real life. I must consult somebody about it.”
“Consult me. No, not now. Show me the first of the little books that you ever wrote.”
He handed her the little lilac-bound copy of “The Romance of a Raspberry.” She put it reverently to her lips, patted it gently, and laid it down again.
“Do you talk it over with Mabel? Isn’t Mabel tremendously proud of it?”
“She is tremendously proud, but she has great self-restraint.” He recalled the end of the perfect day. “As a general rule,” he added, “when nothing happens to irritate her.”
“Does she love you very much?”
“I don’t remember her mentioning anything of the kind recently. But it’s you I want to talk about, Jona. Tell me about your life.”
“I don’t live. I’m marking time. You throw a brick into the stream——”
“No,” said Luke, “not a brick. I sometimes play boats.”