"That's the way for a friend to talk!" she declared, suddenly radiant —a full Fran-sun, now, instead of the slender penetrating Fran-beam.
Seeing a leg-lined lane opening before her, she darted forward.
Abbott called—"But I can't promise to talk to you as a friend, when we meet—I mean, just as a friend."
Fran looked back at him, still dazzling. "I only ask you to treat me as well," she said with assumed humility, "as we are told we ought to treat our—enemies."
CHAPTER XXIII
THE CONQUEROR
After the extinguishment of the Fran-beam, Abbott wanted to be alone, to meditate on stellar and solar brightness, but in this vociferous wilderness, reflection was impossible. One could not even escape recognition, one could not even detach oneself from a Simon Jefferson.
"Got back to town again, hey?" said Simon. That was enough about Abbott; Simon passed at once to a more interesting theme: "Taken in the Lion Show, yet?"
"I'm just waiting for nine-thirty….I have an engagement." Futile words, indeed, since it was now only about eight o'clock.
"You come with me, then, I know all the ropes. Hey? Oh, yes, I know mother thinks me in bed—for goodness' sake don't tell on me, she'd be scared to death. But actually, old man, this carnival is good for my heart. 'Tisn't like going to church, one bit. Preaching makes me feel oppressed, and that's what scares me—feeling oppressed." He rubbed his grizzled hair nervously. "Just for fear somebody'd go tell, I've had to sneak into all these shows like I'd been a thief in the night."