“I don't know what you mean by a scrape,” said Dan, resenting the word more than the idea. Boardman tacitly refused to modify or withdraw it, and Dan said, after a sulky silence, in which he began to dramatise a meeting with his family: “I'm going home; I can't stand it here. What's the reason you can't come with me, Boardman?”
“Do you mean to your rooms?”
“No; to the Falls.”
“Thanks. Guess not.”
“Why not?”
“Don't care about being a fifth wheel.”
“Oh, pshaw, now, Boardman! Look here, you must go. I want you to go. I—I want your support. That's it. I'm all broken up, and I couldn't stand that three hours' pull alone. They'll be glad to see you—all of them. Don't you suppose they'll be glad to see you? They're always glad; and they'll understand.”
“I don't believe you want me to go yourself. You just think you do.”
“No. I really do want you, Boardman. I want to talk it over with you. I do want you. I'm not fooling.”
“Don't think I could get away.” Yet he seemed to be pleased with the notion of the Falls; it made him smile.