“Bernie, I haven’t asked you to marry me! At least if I did, I wasn’t conscious of it!”
“Then why are you here to see me?”
“To—to—talk over—old times—in Paris!”
“Fiddlesticks! Why should I want to talk over old times in Paris, when I despise and detest the place—and all it stands for?”
“I didn’t know you despised and detested the place. How could I? The trouble with you seems to be, Bernie, you want a man to anticipate what’s in your mind, or think of what you’re thinking about, before you even begin to think about it yourself——”
“Well, a brainy man would! Not being able to do it is another phase of your provincialism—the deficiency and mediocrity that’s held you back so that right now, sitting in that chair, you’re not a millionaire, a great success in life, a big-leaguer socially——”
“I simply happened to be ’way off here, passing through Chicago——”
“‘Way off here! A long, long way from home, aren’t you? A long, long way from Vermont and the General Store and the Village School and Uncle Josh Weatherbee’s Farm? Faugh! Yes, I think you’d better go! And I’m going to bed—and call a doctor. And if I’m ill as a result of this, your firm will get my doctor’s bill, and don’t you forget it!”
V
Nathan walked back to The Morrison. It was still early evening. The wind off the lake was delightfully welcome. As he walked he carried his hat in his hand and let that night wind cool his hot forehead.