“Three-four, regular,” Jim told him.
“Very few people will really miss them,” B. B. said. “People do so many things, just because they’re in the habit, and the things are waiting to be done. It’s surprising how much a man can give up without realizing that he’s giving up anything. I don’t suppose you ever thought of that.”
“Can’t say I ever did,” said Jim, and spat into the stove.
“Like the horse in the story. You’ve heard about the horse?”
“What horse?”
“Oh, you haven’t heard it? The horse that was trained to live without eating.”
Jim looked mildly interested. “I’ll say that was some horse,” he remarked. “What happened to him?”
“Why, just as the man got him trained, the horse died,” said B. B.; and Jim chuckled, and B. B. laughed in the silently uproarious way habitual to him. Then Jim saw V. R. Kite pass by on the way to the Bazaar and got up quickly.
“There’s Kite,” he said. “See you later.”
He overtook the little man just inside the Bazaar; and Kite heard his step and turned and looked at him, and Jim saw that Kite knew. But he only said: