Henry looked at the man. Anger swelled within him.
'Because you're here?' He bit the sentence off.
He felt stifled. He wanted to run out, past the man, and breathe in the cool night air.
Mr Henderson looked up, then down again at the cigar. Then he pushed open the screen door.
'May as well sit down and talk this over,' he said. 'Cooler on the porch. Dam' queer line o' talk. You're young, Calverly. You don't know life. You don't understand these things. My God! When I think... Well, what is it? You seem to be in on this. Speak out! Tell me what she wants. That's one thing about me—I'm straight out. Fair and square. Give and take. I'm no hand for beating about the bush. Come on with it. What does she think I ought to do?'
'I can't tell you what she thinks.' Henry was downright angry now.
'Oh, yes! It's easy for you! You haven't been through...' His face seemed to be working. And his voice had a choke in it. 'But how could a kid like you understand I How could you know the way you get tied up and... all the little things... My God, man! It hurts. Can you understand that. It's tough.' He subsided. Finally, after a long silence, he said huskily but quietly, with resignation, 'You'd say I ought to go.'
Henry was silent.
Mr Henderson got up.
'I guess I know how to be a sport,' he said.