'We won't either of us be long on the Voice. Not now. But it's great going while it lasts.'
And he wondered, with a little stir of excitement, just why that purse wasn't enough for Charlie Waterhouse... just what old Boice knew... Why it was a chance! Curious! Something back of it, something that McGibbon was eternally pounding at—hinting—insinuating. Something real there; something that might never be known.
10
Humphrey felt that the little triumph—though it might indeed prove temporary; any victory over old Boice in Sunbury affairs was likely to be that—called for celebrating in some special degree. He had, it seemed, a few bottles of beer at the rooms.
So thither they adjourned; Mildred and Humphrey strolling slowly ahead, Corinne and Henry strolling still more slowly behind.
Henry seemed fagged. At least he was quiet.
Corinne, stirred with a sympathetic interest not common to her sort of nature, stole hesitant glances at him, even, finally, slipped her hand through his arm.
She hung back. Mildred and Humphrey disappeared in the shadows of the maples a block ahead.
'I suppose you're pretty tired, aren't you?' Corinne murmured.
Her voice seemed to waken him out of a dream.