“Here we are, now,” says Pyramid, “and here’s Professor McCabe, Gridley. If he can’t make you forget your troubles, you will be the first on record. Come on in and see.”
But Gridley he shakes his head. “Nothing so strenuous for me,” says he. “My heart wouldn’t stand it. I’ll wait for you, though.”
“Better come in and watch, then,” says I, with a side glance at Marmaduke.
“No, thanks; I shall be quite as uncomfortable here,” says Gridley, and camps his two hundred and ten pounds down in my desk chair.
It was a queer pair to leave together,—this Gridley gent, who was jugglin’ millions, and gettin’ all kinds of misery out of it, and Marmaduke, calm and happy, with barely one quarter to rub against another. But of course there wa’n’t much chance of their findin’ anything in common to talk about.
Anyway, I was too busy for the next hour to give ’em a thought, and by the time I’d got Pyramid breathin’ like a leaky air valve and glowin’ like a circus poster all over, I’d clean forgot both of ’em. So, when I fin’lly strolls out absent minded, it’s something of a shock to find ’em gettin’ acquainted, Marmaduke tiltin’ back careless in his chair, and Gridley eyin’ him curious.
It appears that Pyramid’s friend has got restless, discovered Marmaduke, and proceeded to try to tell him how near he comes to bein’ a nervous wreck.
“Ever get so you couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep, couldn’t think of but one thing over and over?” he was just sayin’.
“To every coat of arms, the raveled sleeve of care,” observes Marmaduke sort of casual.
“Hey?” says Gridley, facin’ round on him sharp.