Bennett was meekly obedient.
“Now you can sit down. Go on. Sit down.”
Bennett felt that the heat of the day was much worse as he took a near chair. The stranger flung up his glass again with the suggestion that the liquid must fall into a hollow, held the tumbler away from him, turned it about reflectively, put it on the floor, and lay back, closing his eyes. He sighed. His feet were bare, except for a pair of crimson slippers which hung loosely from his toes. Bennett listened through five minutes of tense silence for sounds of an approaching car. The figure reclining on the chair then opened its querulous eyes, raised its head, and spoke.
“My name’s Hopkins. Ever heard of me, Mr. Nobody?”
“No, sir. I’m afraid not. I’m only just out, you see.”
Mr. Hopkins chuckled in his beard. “Then don’t stop unless you want to.”
“Never heard of me,” mumbled Mr. Hopkins, several times. “Never heard of me.”
This old fellow, thought Bennett, is not in his right mind, and here I am, told to wait till somebody comes for me, though I’m not sure that they know I’m here. How can I keep this graybeard amused? He’s a truculent old ruffian. Bennett looked out over the treetops in the sun. The crowns of some palms were individual above the mass of green. They were lifeless. A bird or something was calling, “Raup, Raup.” What could he talk about to an old reprobate like that?
“What ship did you come out in?” asked Mr. Hopkins, playing with the end of his beard.
“The Trojan.” The young man relapsed at once into a bankrupt memory.