Bartrow rocked gently on the hinder legs of his chair, assuring himself that one of the things needed not to be listed. After which he became diplomatically abstruse on his own account. Two of the decorated ones came by, promenading arm in arm, and he waited until they were out of hearing.
"Found them good people to know, didn't you? Bueno! You used to hibernate a heap too much." Then, with labored indifference: "What do you think of Miss Van Vetter?"
Lansdale laughed.
"Whatever you would like to have me think, my dear boy. Shall I say that she is the quintessence of all the virtuous graces and the graceful virtues?—a paragon of para—"
"Oh, come off!" growled the abstruse one. "You've been taking lessons of Connie. You know what I mean. Do I—that is—er—do you think I stand a ghost of a show there? Honest, now."
"My dear Richard, if I could look into the heart of a young woman and read what is therein written, I could pass poverty in the street with a nod contemptuous. I'd be a made man."
"Oh, you be hanged, will you? You're a wild ass of the lamb-ranches, and wisdom has shook you," Bartrow rejoined, relapsing into vituperation. "Why can't you quit braying for a minute or so and be serious? It's a serious world, for the bigger part."
"Do you find it so? with a Miss Van Vetter for an eye-piece to your telescope? I am astonished."
Bartrow pulled his hat over his eyes and enveloped himself in a cloud of smoke. "When you're ready to fold up your ears and be human people again, just let me know, will you?" This from the midst of the smoke-cloud.