“Have you tried the—the little, unimportant things?”
“As for example?”
“Well, just as a suggestion: you know you weren’t carrying a stick when you came in to-night.”
“Oh, that sort of thing. You see, that’s not in my line at all. I wouldn’t know how to carry a stick, or where to put it. I don’t see any use in ’em except to beat off dogs, maybe—and all the dogs like me!”
Bonnie May nodded. “After all, I believe you’re right in not taking up that sort of thing. Anyway, I wasn’t criticising. What I was saying was just—just confederate stuff, you know.”
“Yes, I understand.”
“Would you.... Would you mind telling me what you think about mostly? When you’re not thinking about Miss Flora?”
Mr. Addis smiled quite delightedly. “Not at all. I think of a nice home, you know. A place out in the suburbs, with several acres of ground, with a driveway, and—and chickens,” he concluded somewhat lamely.
“Chickens!” echoed Bonnie May.
“Well, there would be fresh eggs, you know; and then the look of them about the place—especially the little ones, and roosters crowing in the morning.”