'Oh, thunder, Hump! Do you think I don't appreciate—'
'I'd be glad to help you. But you've got to do a little on your own account. For God's sake show some spine!' Sand-fly! Damn it, this is more than I can stand! It smothers me! How can I work! How can I think!' He stopped short; bit his lip; turned back to the window and thrust his pipe into his mouth.
Humphrey knew without looking that the boy was fussing endlessly at that absurd moustache. And sighing—he heard that. He bit hard on his pipe-stem. The day was wrecked already. He would be boiling up every few moments; tripping over Henry's things; regretting his perhaps too harsh words. Yes, they were too harsh, of course.
Henry was muttering, mumbling, tracing out the pattern in the rug-border with his silly little stick. These words were audible:—
'I don't see why you asked me to come here. I suppose I... Of course, if you don't want me to stay here with you, I suppose I... Oh, well! I guess I ain't much good....'
The voice trailed huskily off into silence.
After all, there didn't seem to be any place the boy could stay, if not here. Living alone in a boarding-house hadn't worked at all. To send him out into the world would be like condemning him.
Henry moved off down the stairs, slowly, pausing once as if he had not yet actually determined to go.
Walking more briskly, he emerged from the alley and swung around into Filbert Avenue. The starched and shining children were pouring in an intermittent stream into the First Presbyterian chapel, behind the big church.
Gloom in his eyes, striking in a savage aimlessness with his cane at the grass, he passed the edifice. Walking thus, he felt a presence and lifted his eyes.