“Would you mind not whistling!” snapped Carl. “It’s the most maddening sound. Hang it! I’m trying to study.”
Paul’s mournful whistling stopped.
Baking pies! So that was to be his future, was it? Well, he still had something to say. It wasn’t too late to take the other road yet. He’d walk a thousand miles before he would let himself be trussed up in a canvas apron, and put to kneading dough for the rest of his days.
He glanced around for his cast off clothes, and saw them hanging, still dismally wet over a chair. But not even the cheerless prospect of a clammy shirt dampened his resolution. He began to fling off his dry clothing, sending collar, necktie, socks and shoes flying in all directions.
Presently Carl, aroused by the commotion, put down his book. Then he stared in astonishment, at the sight of his cousin rapidly climbing into the soaking, muddy garments. But he felt that it was not in keeping with the dignity he had assumed, to inquire into the reasons for this strange proceeding. All he said was,
“Would you mind not shaking that mud over my things?”
Without replying, Paul shouldered his ridiculous bundle, felt in his pocket to make sure that his quarter was still there, and marched out of the room, down the stairs, and to the door.
Then it occurred to him that this abrupt departure, without a word of farewell to anyone was rather a shabby way of returning the hospitality he had received, and he hesitated.
“Well, if I don’t get out now, it’ll mean a lot of argument and explanation. I could write a note.” But he had no paper, and he did not want to go back to Carl’s room. So there he stood uneasily enough, wriggling in his damp clothes, and glancing uncertainly toward the closed door of the dining room behind which his uncle sat waiting for his decision. Overhead, he heard the low murmur of his aunt’s voice, and the thudding of the twins’ little bare feet as they romped and squealed in a pillow fight. Paul felt his resolution waver, and then anger at his own weakness steadied his determination. He opened the door, strode out, and pulled it to quietly behind him.
A wild gust of wind nearly robbed him of his breath, and made him stagger. The rain had gathered up its forces, and now came down in a solid sheet, swept this way and that by the wind.