“Yes; that’s the biggest plum on the university tree. It can’t grow anything larger.”
In his place Darley Roberts dropped back as though he had nothing to say. Involuntarily, with a nervous impatience distinctive of him, his fingers tapped twice on the edge of the chair; then, aroused to attention, the hand lay still.
“Well?” commented Armstrong at length.
Roberts merely looked at him, not humorously nor with intent to tantalize, but with unconscious analysis written large upon his face.
“Well?” repeated Armstrong, “I’m waiting. The floor is yours.” 16
“I was merely wondering,” slowly, “how it would seem to be a person like you. I can’t understand.”
“No, you can’t, Darley. As I said a moment ago, we’re different as day is from night.”
“I was wondering another thing, too, Armstrong. Do you want to know what it was?”
“Yes; I know in advance I’ll not have to blush at a compliment.”
“I don’t know about that. I’m not the judge. I merely anticipated in fancy the time when you will wake up. You will some day. It’s inevitable. To borrow your phrase, ‘it’s written.’”