“All this reminds me,” he said, “that I have promised to go to work tonight. But this is so—er—thrilling that I guess the work can wait. Well—now go on.”
Oh, the Joy of that night! How can I describe it? To be at last in the company of one who understood, who—as he himself had said in “Her Soul”—spoke my own languidge! Except for the occasional mosquitoe, there was no sound save the turgescent sea and his Voice.
Often since that time I have sat and listened to conversation. How flat it sounds to listen to father prozing about Gold, or Sis about Clothes or even to the young men who come to call, and always talk about themselves.
We were at last interupted in a strange manner. Mr. Patten came down their walk and crossed to us, walking very fast. He stopped right in front of us and said:
“Look here, Reg, this is about all I can stand.”
“Oh, go away, and sing, or do somthing,” said Mr. Beecher sharply.
“You gave me your word of Honor,” said the Patten man. “I can only remind you of that. Also of the expence I’m incuring, and all the rest of it. I’ve shown all sorts of patience, but this is the limit.”
He turned on his Heal, but came back for a last word or two.
“Now see here,” he said, “we have everything fixed the way you said You wanted it. And I’ll give you ten minutes. That’s all.”
He stocked away, and Mr. Beecher looked at me.