“If it seems hot to you in here,” said Thomas Murphy, settling still further back in his chair, “what do you think it has been to me a-sittin’ out under that canopy in the sun?”
Billy grew desperate. “Mr. Murphy,” he said, “it seems to me—do you think, Mr. Murphy—I mean—don’t you think that Mr. Prescott expects you are sitting out there now?”
“That may be,” answered Thomas Murphy.
“Don’t you think,” said Billy, growing more and more desperate, “that it would be a good plan for us to go out there together?”
“Sometimes,” said Thomas Murphy, in an injured tone, “a man’s best friends can make things very hard for him.”
“Can I help you to get up?” asked Billy, going up to Thomas Murphy, and putting his hand on his arm.
“No, William,” said Thomas Murphy, moving his arm with more decision than was really necessary. “Thomas Murphy is still able to rise without the assistance of a—a friend.”
Slowly Thomas Murphy drew himself from the depths of the chair.
Billy, backing out the great door, saw the clock.
Ten minutes more gone!