'What's all this?' Humphrey waved his pipe.
'Well—I just thought I'd go in the morning.'
'Don't be a dam' fool.'
'But—but'—Henry threw out protesting hands—'I know I'm no good at all these fussy things. I'd just spoil your——'
The pipe waved again. 'That's all disposed of, Hen.' A somewhat wry smile wrinkled the long face. 'Mildred Henderson's running it, apparently. There's a certain Mrs Olson who is to come in mornings and clean up. And—oh yes, I've got a lot of change for you. Your share was only eight-five cents.'
There was a long silence. Henry looked at his feet; moved one of them slowly about on the floor.
'We're different kinds,' said Humphrey. 'About as different as they make'em. But that, in itself, isn't a bad thing.'
He thrust out his hand.
Henry clasped it; gulped down an all but uncontrollable uprush of feeling; looked down again.
Humphrey stalked back to his room.