“I had to leave the reading-room. A perfectly horrible person came in! He simply drove me out.”
“Yes, madam. He is insane. It is a very sad case.”
“Goodness! What a narrow—“.
“Oh, he is quite harmless, madam.”
“It's a wonder a first-class hotel, like this claims to be, allows—”
“You are right!” agreed the wise young woman, whose business was to encourage generosity.
The old lady went away, muttering. Thomas Thome Merriwether sat down in the vacated chair, put his hat between his knees, and waited. The mahogany clock on the mantel presently began to chime the hour and Tom felt a pang of angry disappointment. Nothing had happened—except that he again had made an ass of himself!
A tall, strongly built man at that moment entered the room, looked at Tom, saw the hat held between the knees, and turned away as if the last person in the world he wished to see was young Mr. Merriwether.
Tom saw him stretch his hand toward a panel in the wall. Instantly the room was in darkness. It occurred to Tom that this would be a good way to attack him; but there instantly followed the reflection that it was not a good place in which to do any robbing or murdering.
Therefore young Merriwether sat on quietly. He felt something drop into his hat. A faint odor of sweet peas came to his nostrils—the odor he had associated with his youth until he began to associate it with her, and therefore with love.