The sand-flies served as an excuse for silence between Humphrey and Henry on the walk back. Nevertheless, the silence was awkward. It held until they were up in the curiously, hauntingly empty living-room.
Humphrey scraped and lighted his pipe.
Henry, rather surprisingly unhappy again, was moving toward a certain closed door.
'Tell me,' said Humphrey gruffly, slowly, 'where is Mister Arthur V. Henderson?'
'He travels for the Camman Company, reapers and binders and ploughs.'
Humphrey very deliberately lighted his pipe.
Henry moved on toward the closed door. Emotions were stirring uncomfortably within him. And conflicting impulses. Suddenly he shot out a muffled 'Good-night,' and entered the bedroom, shutting the door after him.
An hour later Humphrey—a gaunt figure in nightgown and slippers, pipe in mouth—tapped at that door.
Henry, only half undressed, flushed of face, dripping with sweat, quickly opened it.
Humphrey looked down in surprise at a fully packed trunk and suit-case and a heap of bundles tied with odd bits of twine—sofa cushions, old clothes, what not.