The kind that snuggled up?
In vain I walk along Broadway—
Where is the girl of yesterday,
Whose pretty——"
"All right! Go on with the facts!"
"Well, that's what I was repeating," said Sayre, tartly, "and it's as good verse as you can do!"
Langdon bit into another flapjack with resignation. Sayre swallowed a cup of coffee, dodging an immersed June-beetle.
"I was just repeating that poem aloud," he said, shuddering. "The woods were very still—except for the flies and mosquitoes; sunlight lay warm and golden on the mossy tree-trunks——"
"Cut it. You're not on space rates."
"I was trying to give you a picture of the scene——"