Their Moods
"Forgive me, Rosemary—I'm a brute. I have no right to inflict my moods upon you."
"Why not? Don't I bring mine to you?"
"Sometimes—not often."
"Let's get them out where we can look them over," she suggested, practically. "What do you hate most?"
"Grapes," he replied, readily, "and then children who aren't interested in the alphabet. All day I've been saying: 'See the cat. Can the cat run? Yes, the cat can run.' Of course they could repeat it after me, but they couldn't connect it in any way with the printed page. I sympathised strongly with an unwashed child of philosophical German lineage who inquired, earnestly: 'Teacher, what's the good of dat?'"
"What else do you hate?"
"Being tied up. Set down in one little corner of the world and being obliged to stay in it. I know to a certainty just what's going to happen to-morrow and next day and the day after that. Point out any day on the calendar, months ahead, and I can tell you just what I'll be doing. Nothing is uncertain but the weather."
His Looks
"Some people pray for anchorage," she said.