Darley Roberts halted. For the third time he laughed.
“You gather, perhaps,” he said, “that I bought a house this morning. Afterward I bought a few other things—just a few. After that I moved in; into two rooms. I’ve had rather a busy day, all told, celebrating—celebrating December the sixth.... How about it, Elice, now that I’ve elaborated. Any signs of senility, irresponsibility, yet?”
“No,” very steadily. “It seems perfectly natural to me for a man to want a house.”
“Perhaps you’re right. Yes; I do want a house, no doubt about it; particularly that house. I’ve been intending to own it sometime for quite a spell—for some eight years now; 173 to be exact, since the time I saw it before.... You know the place, don’t you?”
“Yes, very well.”
“I fancied so.... By the way, do you recall that—occasion I referred to?”
“Indistinctly.”
“I fancied that too.... You don’t remember by any chance what a lion I was that night?”
“No, Mr. Roberts.”
“Not ‘no, Darley’?”