“Gosh! we ain’t eager for him to speak. The stiller he is the better we like it.”
“He knows that. He’s given up––he is going to see what 96 I can make you feel––I’m one of you, you know that, Twombley.”
“Never would have guessed it, son!” Twombley leered.
“Well, my wife’s always been your friend––what’s the difference? I’ve been on my job; she’s been on hers––it’s all the same, only now I’m going to prove it!”
“Gosh! you’ll be a shock to Maclin all right.”
“No, I won’t, Twombley. You’re wrong about him. He’s meant right, but not being one of us he’s bungled, he knows it now. He’s listened to me at last.”
Larry could be a most important-appearing person when there was no one to prick his little bubble. Twombley eyed his visitor calmly.
“Funny thing, life is,” he ruminated, seeming to forget Larry’s presence. “Yer get to thinking you’re running down hill on a greased plank, and sudden––a nail catches yer breeches and yer stop in time to see where yer was going!”
“What then, Twombley?”
“Oh! nothing. Only as long as yer breeches hold and the nail don’t come out, yer keep on looking!”