Mr. Kane leaned back in the chair he had taken, and murmured as if to himself: “Ah, youth, youth! Yes, it has to throw chances away. Waste is a condition of survival. Otherwise we should perish of mere fruition. But could you,” he asked, addressing Ray more directly, “without too much loss to the intimacies that every man ought to keep sacred, could you tell me just why you had to refuse us your company?”
“Oh, yes,” said Ray, with the self-scorn which Mr. Kane’s attitude enabled him to show. “I was so low-spirited that I couldn’t rise to the hands that offered to pull me out of my Slough of Despond. I felt that the slightest exertion would sink me over head and ears. I had better stay as I was.”
“I understand,” said Mr. Kane. “But why should a man of your age be in low spirits?”
“Why? Nobody can tell why he’s in low spirits exactly. I suppose I got to thinking the prospect for my book wasn’t very gay. It’s hard to wait.”
“Was that all?”
“I was a little homesick, too. But wasn’t the other enough?”
“I can’t say. It’s a long time since I was your age. But shall I tell you what I first thought your unhappiness was, when you confessed it just now?”
“Yes, by all means.”
“I wonder if I’d better! I supposed it was not such as any man could inflict. Excuse me!” He kept his eyes smilingly on the young fellow’s face, as if to prevent his taking the audacity in bad part. “I don’t know why I should say this to you, except that it really went through my mind, and I did you the wrong to wonder why you should mention it.”
“I can forgive the wrong; it’s so very far from the fact”—Ray began.