It was Corinne. She was pressing her finger to her lips and shaking her head.
She motioned him out toward the kitchen. There he found his hostess.
'Seen Henry?' he asked. 'Old Boice fired him to-day, and he's disappeared. Not at the rooms. And I looked in at the Y.M.C.A.'
'He's here,' said Mildred. 'A very interesting thing is happening, Humphrey. I've always told you he was a genius.'
'But what's up?'
'We've got him upstairs at my desk. He's writing something.
I think it's a poem for Corinne.'
'A poem! But——'
'It's really quite wonderful. Now don't you go and throw cold water on it, Humphrey.' She came over, very trim and pretty in her long apron, her face flushed with the heat of the stove, slipped her hand through his arm, and looked up at him. 'It's really very exciting. I haven't seen the boy act this way for two years. He came in here, all out of breath, and said he had to write. He didn't seem to know what. He's quite wild I never in my life saw such concentration. It seems that he's promised Corinne a poem.'
'Wonder what's got into him,' Humphrey mused.