I think she saw Henry pretty clearly, saw that he was driven by an emotional dynamo that was to bring him suffering and success both.... Mildred, of course, never really belonged in a small town.
It was at the close of the following afternoon that Henry came in and found Humphrey's long figure stretched out on the window-seat—he was smoking, of course—of all things, blowing endless rings up at the curtains Mildred had made and hung for him. His dark skin looked gray. There were deep lines in his face. He couldn't speak at first. But he stared at Henry.
That young man put away hat and stick, had his coat off, and was rolling back his shirt sleeves for a wash, humming the refrain of Kentucky Babe. Then, through a slow moment, the queer silence about him, Humphrey's attitude—that fact, for that matter, that Hump was here, at all; he was a great hand to work until six or after at the Voice office—these things worked in on him like a premonition. The little song died out. He went on, a few steps, toward the bathroom, then came to a stop, turned toward the silent figure on the window-seat, came slowly over.
Now he saw his friend clearly. As he sank on the arm of a chair—it was where he had sat the evening before—he caught his breath.
'Wha—what is it?' he asked. His voice was suddenly husky. His mind went blank. There was sensation among the roots of his hair. 'What's the matter, Hump?'
Finally Humphrey took out his pipe and spoke. His voice, too, was low and uncertain. But he gathered control of it as he went on.
'Where've you been?' he asked.
'Me? Why, over at Rockwell Park. Bob McGibbon wanted me to see about a regular correspondent for the “Rockwell Park Doings.”'
'Heard anything?'
'Me? No. Why?... Hump, what is it? What you getting at?'