“Not in the least. I asked merely because it occurred to me that you might be. Of course, I had seen nothing of your wife, but it was barely possible that she was away on a visit, or somewhere. There is no regulation forbidding lightkeepers marrying—at least, I never heard of any—and so I asked; that's all.”
Seth nodded. “I see,” he said, slowly; “yes, yes, I see. So you didn't have no special reason.”
“I did not. Of course, if I had realized that you were subject to—er—fits, I should have been more careful.”
“Hum! . . . Well, I—I beg your pardon again. I—I am kind of touchy on some p'ints. Didn't I tell you no women came here? Married! A wife! Do I look like a dum fool?”
“Not now.”
“Well, then! And I've apologized for bein' one a few minutes ago, ain't I.”
“Yes, you have. No grudge on my part, I assure you. Let's forget it and talk of something else.”
They did, but the dialogue was rather jerky. Brown was thinking, and Atkins seemed moody and disinclined to talk. After a time he announced that it was getting late and he cal'lated he would go up to the light room. “You'd better turn in,” he added, rising.
“Just a minute,” said the young man. “Wait just a minute. Atkins, suppose I asked you another question—would you become violent at once? or merely by degrees?”
Seth frowned. The suspicious look returned to his face.