“Yes, siree, she's a smart girl,” corroborated the father, “and I have always impressed on her mind that some day she was bound to rise high and get what she deserves to have. Come early, Tasper, and we'll make a pleasant evening of it.”
Mr. Britt went early, but not early enough to catch Vona before she left for the rehearsal.
Although it had been particularly easy to get Mr. Britt to come to the house, Mr. Harnden was not finding it easy to hold his prospective backer's attention. The patent project under consideration was what the inventor called “a duplex door,” designed to keep kitchen odors from dining rooms. Mr. Harnden had a model of the apparatus. With his forefinger he kept tripping the doors, showing how a person's weight operated the contrivance, shutting the doors behind and simultaneously opening the doors in front; but Mr. Harnden did not draw attention to the palpable fact that a waiter would need to have the agility of a flea to escape being swatted in the rear or banged in the face.
Mr. Britt watched the model's operations with lackluster eyes; he seemed to be looking through the little doors and at something else that was not visible to the inventor.
Mr. Harnden was short and roly-poly, with a little round mouth and big round eyes, and a curlicue of topknot that he wagged in emphasis as a unicorn might brandish his horn. Mr. Harnden considered that he was a good talker. He was considerably piqued by Britt's apparent failure to get interested, although the banker was making considerable of an effort to return suitable replies when the inventor pinned him to answers.
“Suppose I go over the whole plan again, from the start,” suggested Harnden.
“Joe, Mr. Britt looks real tired,” protested Mrs. Harnden from the chimney corner. Her querulous tone fitted her lackadaisical looks; her house dress had too many flounces on it; she had a paper-covered novel in her hand.
“Yes, I am tired,” declared Britt, mournfully. “Sort of worn out and all discouraged. I feel terribly alone in this world.”
“Too bad!” Mrs. Harnden cooed her sympathy, affectedly.
“And I've been through hell's torments in the last few hours,” declared Britt; ire succeeded his dolor.