CHAPTER 18

I had taken the hut the first week in April. Not a day passed up to May first that I did not sweep the Carrel estate with my glass. No people lived near me, so, like a hermit, I lived and worked undisturbed, and, as I supposed, unseen. Not once through those days of my vigilance did Marion’s figure appear within the range of my glass. I would divide my time between watching and studying, save for the intervals passed in doing my crude housekeeping. There would come times when I wearied of my books, of my enforced solitude, and I would long for company, the company of my silent kind down in the city. But I knew that once I began to mix with them and they learned my whereabouts, I would be disturbed by their friendly visits. So I decided to bear this loneliness, and to remain in or near the hut.

I did not even slip away to find my artists; they were wholly ignorant of my whereabouts. I had dropped out of their world, too, and quite as unexpectedly and unceremoniously as I had entered it. As days thus passed I began to lose hope of ever meeting Marion again, or even seeing her; in fact, I began to lose faith in myself. Had I not been guilty of a fine bit of youthful foolishness? What if Mr. Carrel’s designs were nothing else but the good care it pleased him to give his daughter? With such wealth as he possessed, such a fortune someday to fall to the girl, he might naturally hold a jealous eye over Marion and the sort of men who might seek her hand, I saw myself in the light of a foolish dreamer; and again, I saw Marion in just such a situation as I had been told some other deaf children had been placed in, the unhappy victims of family pride, shut in and denied the right to enjoy life.

My repeated failures to get in communication with Marion now began to work on my sensitive spirit and nerves. I grew restless and morose. The longer I was separated from her the more acute grew the pain.

In one of such moods I recalled the hand mirror. How had I come to overlook it? How had I forgotten it? Every deaf person instinctively notices any unusual object, motion, or signal. I had bought this mirror for an express purpose, then laid it aside and let its use pass out of my mind! Rummaging through a drawer of the dresser, I brought it to light. That thing could send an attracting flash across the valley and into Marion’s bedroom! If her room were on this side I would yet attract her. Going outside and finding the sun in a favorable position I sent a shower of rapid, short flashes against the walls of the great mansion, against every visible window, but with no response. I cared nothing if I did attract Mr. Carrel. He might not pay much heed to the flash; but I was sure Marion would, once she saw it.

These efforts, made not on one day only, but on several days, having failed to bring forth Marion, I decided to make some inquiries among the few residents in that rural district. But most of those I approached were transients and could not enlighten me. One day, however, I took my landlord into my confidence, and he told me that the great place and its owner were something of a mystery. Neither he nor any of his friends knew Carrel, except so far as a courteous nod on passing. What a dilemma I was in! What in reason, or out of it, was old Carrel doing with himself and that beautiful, but unfortunate girl? One thing was clear: I was making no progress. Marion was as far away from me as ever. I at last decided to make a final effort to see her by boldly approaching the house and ringing the bell, or using that old Russian knocker to rouse Quong. There was such an air of finality about my decision that I actually began packing my belongings fully determined to return to the city should I be unsuccessful.

But I did not come back unsuccessful. Half a block from that formidable iron gate whom should I see but Mr. Carrel and Marion approaching in a light buggy! They might have rolled up in a fine car, but there they were, the astute old gentlemen holding in a spirited mare, and that beautiful girl, the object of my dreams, snugly seated beside him. I am sure Carrel did not see me, he was engrossed with the reins and the action of his animal. But Marion was glancing freely about her, glad to see the old home again, I thought. In my ecstasy I raised my hand and waved it, and to my delight the girl caught the signal, recognized me, and waved her hand. The rig shot up to the gate, Carrel got out and swung the great, iron barriers apart, reseated himself and drove through.

The Carrel estate lay between my hut and the point of sunrise. Next morning I was up with the sun. With my precious mirror in hand I resumed my old trick of sending flashes against that great, forbidding mansion. With my glass I could see that the windows were clear—the shades up and the draperies slightly parted. It was the work of but a moment to get my aim. I shot the flashes through one window after another. Now I remembered the location of the room I had occupied weeks before, and I felt sure that Marion’s room must also be on this side. So I went ahead with a recklessness consistent with youth and shot the spirited beams into every room I could reach. No Romeo ever went through such a game to meet his Juliet; no ardent knight cut off from his fair one by moat or wall of stone ever devised such a means to attract her.

Within a luxurious room of that great house was a dark-eyed girl. Warmly tucked in her soft bed, yet wide awake, she lay dreaming of a youth she had seen the day before. She had lain awake other mornings dreaming of him. But in that home of plenty she had been starving, yet not of the body, but of the heart and spirit, a spirit vibrating with youth and youth’s longings—with love and indescribable uncertainty. Hers was the nervous craving for the companionship of others—of boys and girls, so strangely denied. And as she thus lay dreaming a light flashed across her room and danced against the wall. It disappeared for an instant, and returned. The girl roused herself to a sitting posture and her eyes followed the strange visitor. “ What is it? What causes it? ” she almost uttered aloud. Her mind cleared of its dreams and she laughed with sparkling eyes. Leaping from her bed she threw on her kimono, and again followed the dancing light. Then she hurried to the window and looked out. The beam struck full on her eager face! She covered her eyes with her hands as the flash blinded her. Marion was now thoroughly aroused.

My mirror had done it! I had succeeded in attracting the prisoner. With an intense and tantalizing earnestness I played the rays on her and about her, then let it slowly make a track across the land lying between us. Marion’s eyes followed it. I waved my handkerchief. She saw, and her eager hands went up in response. We were in communication!

That afternoon the position of the sun was such as to facilitate the use of a mirror from both Marion’s position—her bedroom—and mine. I was sitting on the hillside waiting an opportunity to use my glass again, waiting for Marion to appear, as I believed she would, when a flash shot in my own face and blinded me. Recovering, I followed the ray as it moved slowly across the valley and over the Carrel estate. It made its way over the north end of the grounds, where it dwelt. It disappeared, and in a moment it again caught me, and again I followed it over the same course. Again it dwelt at that same spot, a part of the garden, safely removed from the house, and among heavy shade trees. The trick was repeated a third time, when I interpreted its meaning, and replied by sending a furious fusillade of beams against the Carrel house, and then slowly tracing the way to the spot Marion had indicated. “ Meet me there, ” she had signalled, as plain as written or spoken words, and in fifteen minutes I was over that great wall and at the trysting place. And there was Marion, all aglow. Marion’s arm had knitted. I grasped both hands.

“ I’ve been trying for a month to find you, or to attract you, ” I said, disengaging one hand.

“ Daddy took me away—he’s always taking me somewhere when I’m home from my studies. ”

“ But why has he forbidden me to see you, Marion? I fear I am taking an awful chance with him. ” We sat down on a bench within a latticed bower of jasmine.

“ It’s the law—I don’t know why. Daddy has always kept me away from young people—from boys. I might as well put on the veil if it’s going to be so always. Oh, no, I’m not Catholic; but what does it matter what I am, if I must spend my life walled in, so to speak, and be denied everything a girl wants? I’m just like any other girl, hearing girl, I mean. I know I am, I have read so many books, and the girls are just like me, or I am like them. Daddy says I’m different, and I’m not. ” She looked into my face as if seeking an answer that would clear her perplexed and injured soul.

“ But you’ve got about everything on earth any reasonable or unreasonable girl could wish for— ”

“ Except my freedom, ” she broke in, quickly. “ I’m a prisoner, Michael, and I’m desperate. ”

“ But why are you a prisoner, Marion? I, too, am getting a little desperate. Your father is queer. ”

“ I don’t know, I repeat. Over there in San Quentin every poor soul knows the why of it—of his being there, but with me it’s different. ” She looked anxiously into my face as she asked, “ Tell me, are other deaf girls treated as I am? ”

“ Goodness no! At least, all I have known are just as free as I am, or any ordinary person. But I have heard of some parents who were ashamed to own a deaf child, and would try to conceal him or her. It was just pride and ignorance. Mr. Carrel isn’t that way, I am sure. He loves you and is proud of you—I am very sure. ” Marion’s head turned slightly, and she seemed to drop into reverie.

The natural pose she now unconsciously assumed gave me a chance to study her. My eyes slowly roamed from her face that had beauty in every line and curve and tint, and those wonderful eyebrows, downward over her slim white neck and symmetrical form to her small feet and beautifully cut ankle. I used to pass hours in the art room at college, trying to draw. There I had picked up enough of human anatomy and of facial expression, enough of form and proportion, as they belong to the human figure, to find in Marion one singularly blessed with female loveliness. I had heard my art instructor complain of the difficulty of getting satisfactory models: Where the figure was good the face was not, and vice versa. Here, in Marion, I was sure, was all that could be desired. I thought of Dermit and Edsum. Wouldn’t the one like to chisel out a face and form like Marion’s? And wouldn’t Edsum take just one glance at that face and form to make him go wild to paint her?

Marion turned her head and her eyes again met mine. There was a strange dreaminess in her eyes, now. Her face had changed to a sadness that reflected her passing thoughts. I broke the spell. “ Are we likely to be found, or seen, here? ”

“ If Daddy should discover my absence, or want me, he would send Quong to find me. ”

“ And if the Chinaman should find us together would he tell your father? ”

Marion’s face changed with unexpected suddenness.

“ Not if I ordered him otherwise, ” she laughed.

“ Then Quong will do your bidding, and keep still? ”

“ I’m sure he would—we have had lots of little doings on the sly. He took me to town one time and Daddy never found it out. ”

“ Then that’s more liberty than you dream of. ”

She looked up, undoubtedly she then realized that Quong might yet come to our aid.

My mind went back to its erstwhile train of thought. “ Do you know the deaf artist Edsum? ” I asked.

“ No. ”

“ The deaf sculptor, Dermit? ”

“ How should I? Daddy has never let me meet any deaf people around here—if your friends live here. ”

“ I met them at Cliff House the evening after I left your house. They live across the bay, but have their studios on this side. ”

“ I know a few deaf people back East. I saw them a few times, but my teacher was always beside me. I have grown up denied the companionship of boys, and to some extent, that of anyone. Now you can understand why Daddy sent you away—you’re a boy, ” she broke into a laugh, “ and Daddy won’t let me see boys. ”

“ But you’re seeing one now. ” I returned, merrily, “ You’re talking to one—you told him to meet you here—by means of that mirror. ”

Marion hung her head.

A pretty state of affairs, I thought; and a lucky boy was I to have met this girl and to have been so much in her company by virtue of that railroad disaster. But how it was that Marion had been permitted to cross the continent alone, puzzled me; but then I reflected that Marion had already explained that—she had broken loose and came of her own accord. We sat in silence, breathing the fragrant air of the garden, when it slowly dawned on me that Mr. Carrel might be one of those people who are under the conviction that if deaf people marry the deaf, their children will be deaf, that one deaf person in his family was enough; he would end it with that. But how did it happen that this girl was born deaf? My curiosity was aroused.

“ Marion, ” I said, breaking the silence, “ was your mother deaf? ”

“ No; nor was either of my grandparents. ”

“ How do you know? You seem to have been told so little about yourself and your forebears. ”

“ Daddy has told me that much. ”

Ideas were coming to me. I felt that now, with what Marion had just said, I was getting down to something explainable. I let Marion talk.

“ Daddy worships physical perfection. He said his father was a eugenist. Daddy has a fine figure and carriage for one of his age—you have noticed that? He said he has never been sick a day; and neither have I, Michael. I seem to just have all one could wish, physically, save my ears. ” She paused, giving me time to think; yes, indeed, “ all one could wish. ” The dearest thing a young woman might wish for is beauty, and Marion had it, and she had wealth and culture. To be struck down by deafness after both nature and man had wrought so wonderfully, struck me as a problem unanswerable, a bit of irony carried too far, too cruelly. An awful trick of Nature.

“ Marion, ” I drew closer to her and took her hand, “ you are the most beautiful creature I ever set eyes on, and there is something behind it—behind your beauty and your awful misfortune. My deafness is of no concern; but yours is a calamity. Nature had no business making you deaf! ” I paused a moment, then, as a fitting ending of my sudden burst of passion:

“In all the world there’s not a fairer one

Than my sweet, silent little Marion.”

Her eyes grew large and bright, her slightly flushed face breaking into a smile of wonder. She grasped and pressed my hand. She seemed unable to grasp my sudden emotion, my praise. A deaf-mute has no sense of rhyme, no concord of sound. Even one that has been taught to speak can hardly appreciate a rhymed couplet. But here it seemed that a faint impression of it came to her, causing this momentary pause of wonder. Her eyes danced with a new light, as of joy born of perplexity.

In such a state of ecstasy is it any wonder that neither of us was aware of another figure standing close by? I turned my head, and there, some eight feet away under an acacia was Quong, quiet, smiling, obedient Quong in his rich blue brocade silk coat and yellow pants. Bedecked with wonderful gold lace, and his fantastic imported shoes, he made a striking and interesting picture. Then Marion turned and met his blinking little eyes.

The Chinaman bowed and approached, saying something that Marion understood. She turned to me:

“ Daddy has sent Quong to find me—he wants me. ”

“ Tell Quong to be a good sport and not tell on us. ” I signed and spelled quickly. Marion could have understood me if I had spoken aloud, reading my lips; but I didn’t want Quong to hear it. I was already a bit alarmed.

Marion stood up and stepped close to Quong, laughingly shaking a warning finger at him, and then pressing it against her lips, conveying very clearly to Quong that he must not tell what he had seen. Quong smiled, blinked, and nodded very emphatically to assure us.

“ Now I must go, ” I said, quickly. “ I live over there, up on the hill, in a hut, I’ll be here tomorrow at the same time I came today. If you can’t be here, leave a note under that stone. ” I pointed to a large stone near the acacia. Marion gave me her hand, and turning to the Chinaman, walked away.

That evening I went to the city for the first time since taking my hermitage. I went straight after Dermit, meaning to find him and then get Edsum.

I pushed open the studio door. Dermit was settled in a badly worn overstuffed armchair, whose days of beauty, like those of a crone, were all in the past. He was reading a book. I stamped my foot lightly, whereupon he turned drowsily. The book closed on his thumb. He said, “ I thought you had lost yourself. ” He extended his hand.

“ On the contrary, I’ve just realized that I’ve found myself. Do you know where Edsum is? ”

“ Off sketching, I think. I haven’t seen him in a week—or longer! ”

“ Where sketching? ” I drew up a chair and sat down.

“ How should I know? That fellow is here and there, like a wandering cloud, looking for sketching grounds—usually poppy fields, sometimes marine scenes, sleeping anywhere he can find a bunk. ”

“ What does he do with his pictures? ”

“ Sells them, usually to cheating dealers who re-sell them for five times what they pay him for them. He’s got a reputation, has won honors at national and international expositions, but he can’t handle the selling side of his work because he’s deaf. Dealers know it and catch him in need of money and get his work for a song. The trouble with Edsum is, he’s too often in need of a good Samaritan. ”

“ You hardly refer to the dealers as good Samaritans. ”

“ Heavens no! They’re ravaging vultures, they’d pick the flesh off his bones when he’s down if they could; but Edsum isn’t quite that easy. ” Dermit closed his Ruskin and motioned me to a nicer chair. The studio was in disorder, and I had to lift a clumsy chair over the piles of castings and overthrown mannikins.

“ Does Edsum paint portraits—figures? ”

“ Can, but doesn’t; no orders, no money in it. ” I didn’t think there was any money in poppy fields and marines, either, if what Dermit had said about dealers was true.

“ I’ve found Marion again, and I want Edsum to paint her. Most wonderful deaf girl you ever saw. She’s all beauty and innocence and romance. ”

Dermit laughed. “ If you go about this country and keep your eyes open, only half open, you dreamer, you’ll find beautiful girls all around you; and they’re prettier in the Southland than here—it’s California. ”

“ I know beauty and form when I see them, ” I half retorted, taking it for granted that Dermit was laughing at my judgment.

“ Who would pay for the portrait? ”

“ Nobody, perhaps. I want Edsum to do it as a study, and exhibit it. If he has a reputation he’ll have a bigger one if he does justice to Marion Carrel—and I believe she’ll inspire him to that end. It’s worth trying. ” I drew my chair closer. “ Mr. Dermit, you say you don’t know Marion Carrel, nor her father—never heard of them. I can’t find anyone that has heard of them, close neighbors; yet there they are, living in a palace on a magnificent estate not fifteen miles from here, all alone, save for a grinning Oriental—Quong. Marion is the most wonderful creature you can imagine. Born deaf, yet cultured as a princess, educated miles ahead of the usual run of her class; her disposition is lovely, she is bright and full of the spirit of independence. She has blood—high blood—surcharging every vein, and the face and figure of a young goddess. Still, in the face of all this, and I’m not exaggerating, she’s held almost a prisoner by Mr. Carrel, who seems to be infernally jealous and cranky about her. It’s my opinion the girl is the victim of some family matter, and is doomed to a shut-in life that the world may not know— ”

Dermit understood. I dropped back in my chair, my hands tired from the rapid spelling and long word picture.

“ Do you smoke, Mickey? ” Dermit picked up his briar and at the same time handed me a cigar. I had never smoked. “ If you smoke you can write better, ” he smiled, as I declined the proffered luxury.

He urged, “ Try it, it’s a very mild Havana. You’re not mama’s little boy, you’re a man. Smoke it only part way and so get used to it. ”

I took the cigar, and with the ways of a novice managed to bite off an end, and light it. It was, in fact, mild and soothing; I charged myself with having been too good.

As Dermit watched my pleased features, he smiled. “ You’re late in the ways of our kind, Mickey; but there’s no harm in a mild cigar every now and then, and you’ll write better, as I have said. Now there’s Edsum, he can smoke the strong ones like a volcano, from morning ‘ til night, then get up and begin puffing again before breakfast—providing he has the cigars. Maybe that is why he can paint so well. ” The pipe and my cigar were filling the room with smoke, and I could appreciate the pleasurable emotion the pipe was producing in my host by his livelier talk and his whimsical expressions. I, too, was the victim of the soothing plant, for it was bringing forth in me a relaxation and dreaminess never before experienced.

“ You speak of Marion as being a probable victim of family pride, or something, ” Dermit took up the thread of our talk. “The causes of deafness are not so numerous, and there’s little chance of a case reflecting on family honor; but one does not like the idea of it running in the blood from one generation to another. That might be the case with Mr. Carrel. He may be over sensitive about Marion and is seeking to prevent its recurrence in the family.

“ However, most deaf people can marry without the fear of a deaf offspring; others, because of a tendency toward deafness in the line, should not marry, or, if they do, then should not have children. Now, I’ve heard of at least one case where a deaf youth was penned up, to ‘ save the family, ’ and the isolation drove him mad. He took his own life. But from what you have said about Marion, it seems that she has been given every advantage, and her beauty should only make her father very proud of her. ”

“ Suppose you, Edsum, and I call on Mr. Carrel some afternoon and probe him—make him break his seal. I’m so wrought up over Marion and her strange case that I can’t half study or work until I get to the bottom of it. Her father is not proud, I’m sure of that; and I know that he loves Marion dearly, and is not ashamed of her—her physical misfortune. But it seems that he is just determined to keep her isolated, and she is actually suffering—she told me so. ” My face grew earnest.

“ Then, ” hastily inferred Dermit, “ he may be, as I have said, one of those who have the idea that deafness will surely come of deafness and means to prevent his daughter from marrying, particularly a deaf man; or maybe he intends to keep his huge fortune out of another’s grasp—or wants the girl to marry a hearing man who can take care of that fortune—but in that case, goodbye to Marion’s happiness. ” Dermit knocked some ashes from his pipe bowl.

I felt my cigar tasting a bit stronger as the fire approached the thicker, middle part. He continued, “ I’m not in the least concerned in this affair, or over it, Mickey, you’ve brought it on me. I know about all there is to know about the deaf, I’ve rubbed elbows with them and delved into endless printed stuff about them until I have the whole business at my fingertips. I think you’re just crazy over this girl and naturally want to get the old man to ease up on her. Maybe she’s the result of a consanguineous marriage, maybe Carrel married a first cousin, to the displeasure of his family, and this deaf child is the result—not at all unusual—and now the old man is bearing the punishment. He violated a natural law, maybe. ”

A sudden dizziness seized me. My head began to swim and ache. An awful, nauseating sensation disturbed my stomach, and before I could step to the fireplace the upheaval came, and I vomited, oh, so sick, over the floor!

Dermit roared with laughter, I pressed my stomach, my face the picture of agony and hopelessness, pale and distorted.

“ Good Lord! ” I cried, my hand shaking and head tossing, “ Get me a pan, let me lie down. ” I spoke the words, fingerspelling was too slow for my needs just then, Dermit ran for a towel and pan, shoving me back into my chair as he placed the pan before me. The half-smoked cigar lay upon the rug, burning a nice hole in it. Dermit picked it up and threw it into the pan, and as we both casually turned our heads about we both beheld a silent figure in the doorway taking in the scene with mild humor, and I should think, some pity.

A soft gray hat rested upon the visitor’s head, a tan raincoat covered his shoulders, a cigar kept his lips compressed, and under one arm he held a package, square and flat. He was so large he quite filled the doorway, and he was so impressive I almost forgot my horrible spasm.

Dermit sprang to the door.

“ How the devil did you get here? ” It was Edsum, and the two friends grasped hands.

“ There’s Mickey—love-sick, I tried to work it out of him with a cigar, and have made him worse! There’s an idea for your brush—‘His First Cigar.’ ”

Edsum came over and took my hand, shook it unnecessarily hard and gave me a good laugh. He belched a cloud of smoke and I sank back as the fumes again disturbed my stomach. “ Take it away, Edsum, take it away, I’ve had enough for one day! ” He put his hand into his big coat pocket and drew forth a lemon.

“ Here, old boy, this will ease up that stomach. I carry them when I go sketching in the country where it’s sometimes dry and hot. ”

I took the proffered fruit and began to suck it, experiencing almost instant relief, and blessing him accordingly.

“ I’ve been in the Alhambra Valley, sketching, ” explained Edsum, putting down his package and removing his coat. “ Stayed there two weeks, sleeping at a dago’s ranch, or vineyard, at night. Made three pictures, or sketches ”—Edsum was very exact—“ kept them hid in my room. Had them all as good as sold, by order. Money began to run out via the dago for room and board, so I packed to leave and found two pictures missing! Let a dago—an Alhambra Valley dago—know you suspect him of a theft or a crime and you get a dirk, or a stiletto, in your belly. I’m here with one picture and—five cents. ”

“ Had lunch? ” It was past eleven.

“ No. ”

“ Breakfast? ” Dermit knew his man, but wanted his own word.

“ Been home? ”

“ No. ” Edsum glanced at the pan at my feet and turned to Dermit.

“ Get it out—I want to eat something, that pan will kill my appetite! ”

I turned in my chair and bent over, meaning to take the pan away, when Dermit relieved me. Edsum was particular and fastidious, and that pan had affected him unpleasantly.

A lunch of French bread, sausage, fruit and coffee, the last made over an alcohol stove, was set before the artist. Dermit explained as he spread the fare,

“ Mickey has been here an hour telling me that he is very much in love with Marion Carrel; wishes us to understand that she is the most wonderful and beautiful creature that man was ever blessed with seeing—the last word in physical and aesthetic development—save for her deafness; wants one Jonathan Edsum to paint her—assures me that a great future awaits him if he will. ”

The lemon had brought about a most welcome relief, hence I could appreciate the grave humor of my friend as the artist ate and listened, never interrupting, waiting like a good listener until the period.

“ Can you pay for it? ” Edsum looked at me.

“ I didn’t look on it that way, ” I replied, “ I—I had in mind the Art of it—not the money. I reasoned that you’d go crazy over her, call yourself lucky to get the model. It was that way. ”

“ So it was that way? Maybe your cigar put you in a sweet dream. ” Edsum looked at me half blandly, half amusedly. “ I can’t live that way, and I’ve got a family to feed and clothe. ”

“ I’m sure that if you do Marion Carrel justice you’ll sell the picture at a big figure. ”

“ To whom—who’d buy it? ”

“ I— ”

“ You—Could you afford it? ”

“ I didn’t mean myself; I meant to say that I believe any lover of art, if rich, would snatch it up. ”

Dermit and Edsum laughed.

“ The best work I have done in a year is down at the dealer’s now—can’t sell it. Pot boilers sell; art stays on the wall. ”

I hadn’t thought of that. My enthusiasm dropped with a thud, and another sickening sensation began to rise in me. I sank into my chair for a moment. Then came a burst of courage. Edsum was big enough to have hidden me from view, as an oak might hide a bamboo, but, conscious of this as I was, and not at all fully recovered from the effects of that “ mild ” Havana, I sprang to my feet and broke out with a recklessness and boldness which won by its sheer audacity and unexpectedness.

“ Mr. Edsum, ” I said, looking at him straight in the face, yet with due respect and cordiality, “ you paint the picture for me and I’ll see that you get the price. You come to my shack tomorrow afternoon and I’ll have it all arranged. ” I then gave him explicit directions for finding my shack.

“ Now, ” I said, turning to Dermit, “ it’s all arranged—all settled. Thanks for that cigar. Good-bye, ” and taking my hat, I left the studio.

When I saw Dermit again he told me that when I left the studio, he said to Edsum, “ A fool is a fool, and a fellow in love is not responsible. ”