“No, you won’t do that. I shan’t influence you in the least.”
For answer Armstrong stood up, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders square. A minute perhaps he stood so. Once he cleared his throat. He sat down. An instant later he laughed—naturally, in genuine amusement.
“I surrender, Elice,” he said; “foot, horse, and officers. I can succeed in deceiving myself, easily; but when it comes to you—” He dropped his hands hopelessly. “On the square, though, and between ourselves, do you want me to quit the University and accept this—job? It’s a good lead, I realize.” 50
“I’d rather not say either way,” slowly. “I repeat that it’s useless to disagree, when nothing would be gained.”
“Disagree! We never disagree. We never have in all the time we’ve known each other.”
“We’ve never discussed things where disagreement was probable.”
“Maybe that’s right. I never thought of it before.” A pause. “Has that harmony been premeditated on your part?”
“Unconsciously so, yes. It’s an instinct with me, I think, to avoid the useless.”
Armstrong stared across the dim light of the porch. Mentally he pinched himself.
“Well, I am dumb,” he commented, “and you are wonderful. Let’s break the rule, though, for once, and thresh this thing out. I want your opinion on this Graham matter, really. Tell me, please.”