And for a minute I went off in a jolly trance.
"Good-by, sir!"
It was O'Keefe's voice—oddly constrained.
"Eh?" I ejaculated, blinking at him as I came back. Then I remembered—but what was it he had been asking? Something—
"Just, good-by!" he repeated with elaborated gentleness. Then, straightening: "No offense, I hope, if we let it go at that—I mean, I guess you won't miss it if we don't shake hands?"
I glanced at the gloves he was drawing on.
"Oh, dash it, no!" I responded absently, and my eyes coasted up the slope again—then dropped back disappointedly, for she had disappeared within the pavilion.
"Of course, rich people has got privileges," Mr. O'Keefe was ruminating somberly; "and I ain't saying a word, not a word, mind you!"—the glove that lightly emphasized this displayed all fingers widely and generously spread. "The captain'll tell you he ain't having to tell me, like some of 'em, to be careful about keeping off the grass"—he shrugged—"oh, well, perhaps enough said!"—and he turned away.
Then he turned back. "Of course, that other part of it"—it would seem that his club, extended pistol-like, was not leveled at Jenkins so much as at the pajamas—"of course, nobody can't help that—that's Nature—I'm some that way myself, though nothing like so much, and nothing like so heavy as I was. We'll leave that part out of it—I'm willing—but, gentlemen"—Jenkins paled, and swayed so horribly, I was almost sure he would go—"when it comes to—comes to—" With a helpless head-shake, he gave it up and contented himself with expectorating violently upon the ground. Then he moved slowly away.
His helmet tossed as he looked back. "I guess we all've got our little prejudices," he remarked sententiously; "I know I have! I'm from the South!"