"Come in. Come into the house," she commanded, briskly.
Mr. Bangs took a step toward her. Then he hesitated.
"I--I am very wet, I'm afraid," he said. "Really, I am not sure that--"
"Rubbish! It's because you are wet--wet as a drowned rat--that I'm
askin' you to come in. Come now--quick."
Her tone was not unkind, but it was arbitrary.
Galusha made no further protest. She held the door open and he preceded
her into a room, then into another, this last evidently a sitting room.
He was to know it well later; just now he was conscious of little except
that it was a room--and light--and warm--and dry.
"Sit down!" ordered his hostess.
Galusha found himself standing beside a couch, an old-fashioned sofa. It
tempted him--oh, how it tempted him!--but he remembered the condition of
his garments.
"I am very wet indeed," he faltered. "I'm afraid I may spoil your--your
couch."
"Sit DOWN!"
Galusha sat. The room was doing a whirling dervish dance about him, but
he still felt it his duty to explain.
"I fear you must think this--ah--very queer," he stammered. "I realize
that I must seem--ah--perhaps insane, to you. But I have, as I say, been
ill and I have walked several miles, owing to--ah--mistakes in locality,
and not having eaten for some time, since breakfast, in fact, I--"
"Not since BREAKFAST? Didn't you have any dinner, for mercy sakes?"
"No, madam.
Pages:
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40