"H-u-m, hu-e-e-um, hum——"
He leaped from his chair, strutted into the hall and out upon the veranda.
"Hu-u-e-e hum!"
It followed him through the windows of the library, which were open.
He rushed back, his hands clenched behind his back, his whole body inflated with rage.
"Agatha!" he exclaimed, planting himself squarely in front of her. "Will you stop making a trombone of your nose?"
"You must be nervous," she said, looking up at him serenely.
"I am nervous, I'm nearly crazy. This town is going to hell!"
"Your language, Stark! If——"
"Don't talk to me about my language, Agatha! The native speech of hell is blasphemy, and I've been in it for two months. I should think you would have noticed the condition I'm in."