"We'd better keep away from them except when business requires an
interview," I concluded.
"Why," he pointed out in annoyance, "that leaves _me_ out entirely."
"Of course. I shall not think of Thusis at all except on terms of
business. That's the safe idea, Smith, business,--strictly business.
It neutralizes everything; it's a wet blanket on folly; it paralyzes
friskiness; it slays sentiment in its tracks. Become a business man.
Engage in some useful occupation. Suppose, for example, I pay you a
franc a week to feed my chickens."
"I've plenty to do, I tell you."
"Then do it, old top, and steer shy of that little blue-eyed parlor maid
of mine."
He made no answer. We prowled about until nearly lunch-time. But the
odd thing was that I had lost my appetite. It may have happened because
I'd begun to worry a little about Thusis.
What the deuce had that girl been doing in Zurich all this while? She
was too attractive to go about that seething city alone with market-cart
and horse. Some fresh young officer--
"Smith?"
He looked up, mildly surprised at my vehemence.
"Where the devil do you suppose Thusis is?" I asked.
"In Zurich, isn't she?"
"Yes, but she's been gone a long time and she ought to be back."
"Probably," he said, "she's gallivanting with some handsome young fellow
along the Lake promenade. Possibly she's lunching at the Baur-au-Lac
with some fascinating lieutenant. Or maybe they've strolled over to the
Cafe de la Terrasse or to Rupps; or," he went on as though interested in
his irritating speculations, "it may be that Thusis has gone out in a
motor launch with some sprightly cavalier; or she may be at the
Tonhalle, or at Belvoir Park."
"No doubt," said I, exasperated. "You needn't speculate further."
"Business over, why shouldn't Thusis kick up her pretty heels a bit?" he
inquired.
"Because Thusis isn't that sort."
"How do _you_ know that she isn't that sort?"