Brown was surprised. “I asked if you were married, that's all,” he said. “I can't see—”
“Stop!” Seth's voice shook, and he bent down to glare through the darkness at his companion's face. “Stop!” he ordered. “You asked me if I was—married?”
“Yes. Why shouldn't I?”
“Why shouldn't you? See here, young feller, you—you—what made you ask that?”
“What made me?”
“Stop sayin' my words after me. Are you a man or a poll-parrot? Can't you understand plain United States language? What made you? Or WHO made you? Who told you to ask me that question?”
He pounded the bench with his fist. The pair stared at each other for a moment; then Brown leaned back and began to whistle. Seth seized him by the shoulders.
“Quit that foolishness, d'you hear?” he snarled. “Quit it, and answer me!”
The answer was prefaced by a pitying shake of the head.
“It's the mosquitoes,” observed the young man, musingly. “They get through and puncture the brain after a time, I presume. I'm not surprised exactly, but,” with a sigh, “I'm very sorry.”