What business have you with
luxuries of that kind?"
"It came of itself. Who's the man that says that we're all islands shouting
lies to each other across seas of misunderstanding?"
"He's right, whoever he is,--except about the misunderstanding. I don't think
we could misunderstand each other."
The blue smoke curled back from the ceiling in clouds. Then Torpenhow,
insinuatingly--"Dick, is it a woman?"
"Be hanged if it's anything remotely resembling a woman; and if you begin to
talk like that, I'll hire a red-brick studio with white paint trimmings, and
begonias and petunias and blue Hungarias to play among three-and-sixpenny pot-
palms, and I'll mount all my pics in aniline-dye plush plasters, and I'll
invite every woman who maunders over what her guide-books tell her is Art, and
you shall receive 'em, Torp,--in a snuff-brown velvet coat with yellow trousers
and an orange tie. You'll like that?"
"Too thin, Dick. A better man than you once denied with cursing and swearing.
You've overdone it, just as he did. It's no business of mine, of course, but
it's comforting to think that somewhere under the stars there's saving up for
you a tremendous thrashing. Whether it'll come from heaven or earth, I don't
know, but it's bound to come and break you up a little.
Pages:
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928