“See how it was? Course I was as anxious to have those beggars licked to a standstill as anybody else, but gosh, no reason for not seeing their side. For a fellow’s own sake, he’s got to be broad-minded and liberal, don’t you think so?”
“Oh, I do!” Sitting on the hard little couch, she clasped her hands beside her, leaned toward him, absorbed him; and in a glorious state of being appreciated he proclaimed:
“So I up and said to the fellows at the club, ‘Look here,’ I—”
“Do you belong to the Union Club? I think it’s—”
“No; the Athletic. Tell you: Course they’re always asking me to join the Union, but I always say, ‘No, sir! Nothing doing!’ I don’t mind the expense but I can’t stand all the old fogies.”
“Oh, yes, that’s so. But tell me: what did you say to them?”
“Oh, you don’t want to hear it. I’m probably boring you to death with my troubles! You wouldn’t hardly think I was an old duffer; I sound like a kid!”
“Oh, you’re a boy yet. I mean—you can’t be a day over forty-five.”
“Well, I’m not—much. But by golly I begin to feel middle-aged sometimes; all these responsibilities and all.”
“Oh, I know!” Her voice caressed him; it cloaked him like warm silk. “And I feel lonely, so lonely, some days, Mr. Babbitt.”