With Nap on a leash he
was keenly aware that he was "some class." He was arrayed in the new
suit of a quiet check. The cravat with the red stripe shimmered in the
sunlight. He had a new straw hat with a coloured band, bought the day
before at a shop advertising "Snappy Togs for Dressy Men." He lightly
twirled a yellow stick and carried yellow gloves in one hand. He was
almost the advanced dresser, dignified but unquestionably a bit
different. He seemed to be one who has tamed the world to his ends; but,
though he stood erect, expanded his chest and drew in his waist, as
instinctively do all those who wear America's greatest eighteen-dollar
suit, he was nevertheless wondering with a lively apprehension just what
was going to be done with him. This life of "affairs" was making him
uncomfortable.
Taking Nap along, he somehow felt, was a wise precaution. He didn't know
what mad thing you might expect of Grandma, the Demon, but surely
nothing very discreditable could occur in the presence of that innocent
dog. And he would play the waiting game; make 'em show their hands.
At twenty minutes after three he wondered if he mightn't reasonably
disappear. He would walk in the park and say afterward--if there should
be an afterward--that he had given them up. An easy way out. He would do
it. Twenty minutes more passed and he still meant to do it, knowing he
wouldn't.
Then came the blare of a motor horn and Breede's biggest and blackest
car descended upon him, stopping neatly at the curb.
Pages:
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174