The blind man ceased to whittle and scoop.
“I like independence,” he said; “I like a man that can go his own way. Ever noticed cats? Men are like dogs, mostly; only once in a way you get a man that’s like a cat. What were you, if it’s not a rude question. In the taxes?”
“Medico.”
“What’s a good thing for ’eartburn?”
“Which kind?”
“Wind, ain’t it? But I see your meanin’. Losin’ my sight used to burn my ’eart a lot; but I got over that. What’s the use? You couldn’t have any worse misfortune. It gives you a feelin’ of bein’ insured—like.”
“You’re right,” said Late—299, rising to go.
The blind man lifted his face in unison. “Got your smile on?” he said. “Just let me ’ave another feel at it, will you?”
Late—299 bent to the outstretched fingers.