Connor warned him back.
“Let him talk in his own way,” he said.
“This admirable person,” the old man went on, happily striking on the subject again, “desired information that I was not disposed to give, Mr. Connor, remembering your many kindnesses, particularly in respect to one Mr. Vinnis.”
“Yes, go on,” urged Connor, and the face of Vinnis was tense.
“I fear there are times when my usually active mind takes on a sluggishness which is foreign to my character—my normal character”—old George was again the pedant—“when the unobservant stranger might be deceived into regarding me as a negligible quantity. The admirable young man so far treated me as such as to remark to his companion that there was a rope—yes, distinctly a rope—for the said Mr. Vinnis.”
The face of Vinnis was livid.
“And,” asked Connor, “what happened next? There were two of them, were there?”
The old man nodded gravely; he nodded a number of times, as though the exercise pleased him.
“The other young man—not the amiable one, but another—upon finding that I could not rent or hire the rooms—as indeed I could not, Mr. Connor, without your permission—engaged me in conversation—very loudly he spoke, too—on the relative values of cabbage and carrot as food for herbaceous mammals. Where the amiable gentleman was at that moment I cannot say——”
“I can guess,” thought Connor.