"Why, it's a short tale. I'm not going to trouble you much longer. A fine holiday you're having! But you'll never have another like it, I believe. I—I want your advice before I go. Besides, you have kept to your green, sunny love so long, I would like to give you a notion of what's going on the other side of the fence."
"Then we will walk," said Summerman, "if it's agreeable to you, sir, I mean, of course. I always walk around the lake at this hour." The little man had put on his overcoat while he spoke, and now stood waiting the stranger's pleasure, cap in hand.
"Dare you leave that face of mine among the other faces?" asked Mr. Rush, with all seriousness.
The organist looked nervously around as if he expected something to justify the trouble this question occasioned him.
"Yes—yes—I'll take the risk," he answered, but he spoke without a smile. One thought alone prevented him from heartily wishing himself rid of this companion, who, in spite of him, had cast such a gloom over his Christmas day. The man seemed to have more need of him than Summerman had of his dinner deferred.
They set out together to walk through the frosty air under the cloudless sky. The sun was near to setting. In half an hour a deep orange belt would unroll round the east, flaming signs would mark the heavens, and a great star hang in the midst of an amethyst hemicycle.
They noticed that the sun was near to setting, and one of them saw the glory.
"I want you to tell me honestly," said the other. "You have taken my picture; what do you think it looks like? That is a fair question."
"Like misery," replied Summerman, promptly enough.
"Is that all? I thought worse. I thought it looked like a very devil's face. When I go back, I'll destroy it. But, then, it looks like me! Now, I can't afford to live a scarecrow. I believe I wasn't made to frighten others to death. I'd choose to die myself first." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I've been trying to do that. Tried twice. Is there any particular luck in a third time, that you know of?"