“Yes?” Mr Hamlin’s voice and manner expressed some obvious bewilderment.
“I may say,” continued Gilead, “in this very peculiar, and perhaps unique way.”
“Ah! That is so? And what then, Mr Balm?”
What then, in very truth? All in one amazed instant Gilead seemed to recognize the preposterous character of his mission. Even supposing the Jennett of the trial were the Jennett of the advertisement, what then? Exactly. A sudden consciousness of absurdity bubbled up in him—an inclination to hysterical laughter.
“Upon my word I don’t know,” he said, with a little gasp.
A sense of reciprocal humour seemed to tickle the dealer. His cheeks rounded, his teeth showed dazzlingly.
“O, this is too ridiculous!” said Gilead, steadying himself. “I don’t know why I’m here; I don’t know what to say next. There’s nothing for it now but unqualified frankness.”
He then explained to the dealer the rather forlorn promise which had been extracted from him by his recent visitor, and the shadowy justification it had seemed to possess in the advertisement.
“And that justification is gone somehow,” he said. “I don’t know what’s become of it. There must be a hole in my mind, and it’s slipped through; and now only a sense of empty impertinence remains.”
He was winningly apologetic. Mr Hamlin smiled and nodded at him, staring in his face, but he hardly spoke a word in reply. Finally, Gilead, turning to go, paused to put a question.