“You may laugh, Watts,” said Peter, “but such a request would have saved many a young fellow from ruin, and society from an occasional terrible occurrence which even my little social experience has shown me. And it would soon be so much a matter of course, that it would be no more than showing your ticket, to prove yourself entitled to a ride. It solves the problem of drunkenness. And that is all we can hope to do, till humanity is—” Then Peter, who had been looking at Leonore, smiled.
“Is what?” asked Leonore.
“The rest is in cipher,” said Peter, but if he had finished his sentence, it would have been, “half as perfect as you are.”
After this last relay of callers had departed, it began to pour so nobly that Peter became hopeful once more. He wandered about, making a room-to-room canvass, in search of happiness, and to his surprise saw happiness descending the broad stair incased in an English shooting-cap, and a mackintosh.
“You are not going out in such weather?” demanded Peter.
“Yes. I’ve had no exercise to-day, and I’m going for a walk.”
“It’s pouring torrents,” expostulated Peter.
“I know it.”
“But you’ll get wet through.”
“I hope so. I like to walk in the rain.”