I have been thinking about it a great deal of late
and--ah--I--well, you know, I am very sure I shall be lonely."
"Lonely? You! Lonesome over in Egypt, after all you've told me about
your lovin' it so, Mr. Bangs! Lonesome for what, for mercy sakes?"
"Why, for--for the Cape, you know; and this house and this pleasant room
and--and the kindness which has been shown me here."
"Don't. What do what you call kindnesses amount to--the little things
Primmie and I have been able to do for you--what do they amount to
compared to what you did for me? I shouldn't be in this house, I
shouldn't own it, if it wasn't for the interest you took and the trouble
you went to. Lonesome! I think I'M goin' to be the real lonesome one
this winter. Since you've been livin' here, Mr. Bangs, I've had a chance
to talk of somethin' beside the little two-for-a-cent things that most
of us Gould's Bluffs people have to talk about from December to
June. I've had the chance to talk about somethin' besides Primmie's
foolishness or Cap'n Jethro's 'spirits,' or the post office gossip. It
has been wonderful for me. When father was alive no gale that ever blew
could keep him from trampin' up to the office after his mornin' paper.
He used to say that readin' the paper was the only way he could keep
enough canvas drawing to pull him out of the doldrums. More of his sea
talk, that was, of course, but you understand what he meant.
Pages:
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378