“I will if you request. You don’t wish it for yourself, do you?”
“No, not for myself. Perhaps not at all. I’ve not decided yet. Anyway get it, please, and be ready if I should ask.” He flashed a look no man had ever questioned, could question. “You don’t doubt my motive?” 194
“No. The manuscript will be ready. I’ll answer for that.”
No further question of interest was asked, no additional hint of purpose proffered. The subject merely dropped, as in the beginning it had merely begun. In some ways they were similar, these two men in general so dissimilar.
“I had another object in calling to-night,” said Roberts, and again the announcement was made without preface. “The opportunity to buy a house presented itself to-day and I accepted. Perhaps you know the place,—J. C. Herbert’s, on top of the hill.”
“Yes.” Open wonder spoke in the voice, open mystification. “Yes, I know it.”
“It’s been vacant for some time. I moved this afternoon, just into a couple of rooms. My boy is there now trying to warm up the place; but even then it won’t be particularly inviting. Besides, I’m out of town quite a bit and in the future am likely to be called away still more. It occurred to me that if I could find some married people whom I trusted, who would take a personal interest in it and make it a home, it would be pleasanter for me than being tucked away in a couple of rooms alone and the rest of the barn empty.” 195
“Yes,” repeated Randall, impersonally, “I think I appreciate your point of view. It’s a little cheerless to be in a house alone.”
“I wouldn’t expect to interfere with them in any way,” Roberts drifted on, “or live with them—nothing of the kind. As I said, I probably shouldn’t even be there much; only at night. I’d expect to keep it up—coal and light and that sort of thing—just the same as I would have to do if I were alone. I’d naturally wish to help furnish it, too; the things that would inevitably fit in with it and wouldn’t fit any place else. But the main thing would be to have somebody about to make my own corner livable, to sort of humanize the place. You catch my idea?”
“Yes, I think so.” Harry Randall’s hand was on his bald spot, caressing it absently. “Yes, I think so,” he repeated.