“You’re all out of yourself-like——”
“That’s it,” said the man.
More words would have stuck in his throat. Davy got it—got something of it. Bellair had come to ask so little, that this seemed a great deal.... He followed Davy down and into the street. It was still two hours before he was due at the Castle.
“How long does it take to get to your house, Davy?”
“About twenty-five minutes. It’s ’way down town.”
“Suppose I should go home and meet your mother. I have the time——”
“Yes, come with me. She will be watching.”
They passed a delicatessen-store, ripe cherries in the window, and a counter full of provisions that would have been far more thrilling had they not dined so well.
“Do you suppose we might take home an armful of these things?” Bellair asked.
Davy dissuaded weakly.... That clerk must have thought him mad, for Bellair merely pointed to bottles and jars and baskets—until they were both loaded. There was a kind of passion about it for the man. He hated to stop; in fact did not, until it occurred to him that this was not the last night of the world, and that Davy doubtless required many more substantial matters, which would furnish a rapturous forenoon among the stores—to-morrow forenoon....