Abner tramped down the corridor and walked in on Giles. He found the
decorator busy over two or three large sketches for panels.
"For another Trust man?" he asked.
"No," replied Giles; "these are for a blameless old gentleman that has
passed a life of honest toil in the wholesale hardware business. Don't
you think he's entitled to a few flowers by this time?"
"What kind of flowers are they?"
"Passion-flowers and camellias."
"Humph! Do they grow round here?"
"Hardly. My old gentleman hasn't given himself a vacation for twenty-five
years, and he wants to get as far away from 'here' as possible."
Abner gave another "Humph!" Wigs and brocades; passion-flowers and
camellias. All this in a town that had just seen the completion of the
eighteenth chapter of _Regeneration_. Well, regeneration was coming none
too soon.
"What's the matter with Bond?" he asked suddenly.
"I do' know. Is anything?"
"I've just been talking with him, and he seemed sort of skittish and
dissatisfied and paradoxical."
"He's often like that. We never notice."
"He seemed to shilly-shally considerable too. Has he got any convictions,
any principles?"
"I can't say I've ever thought much about that. He never mentions such
things himself, but I suppose he must have them about him somewhere. He
generally behaves himself and treats other people kindly. Everybody
trusts him and seems to believe in him. I presume he's got _something_
inside that holds him up--moral framework, so to speak."
Abner shook his head. If the framework was there it ought to show
through. Every articulation should tell; every rib should count.
"If a man has got principles and beliefs, why not come out flat-footedly
with them _like_ a man?"
"I do' know. Dare say Bond doesn't want to wear his heart on his sleeve.
Hates to live in the show-window, you understand."
"He was fussing most about writing some new thing or other in a new way.
I seem to have kind of started him up."
"He has been talking like that for quite a little while. He's tenderly
interested--that's the real reason for it. He wants more
reputation--something to lay at the dear one's feet, you know. And he
wants bigger returns--though he _has_ got something in the way of an
independent income, I believe."
"Who is she?"
"That little Miss Summers."
"He may have her," said Abner quickly. "She may 'dine' _him_ at her
settlement." Then, more slowly: "Why, they hardly spoke to each other,
that day--except once or twice to joke. They barely noticed each other."
"What should they have done? Sit side by side, holding hands?"
"Oh, the city, the city!" murmured Abner, overcome by the artificiality
of urban society and the mockery in Giles's tone.
"You should have seen them in the country last summer."
"Them! In the country!"
"Why, yes; why not? We had them both out on the farm."
"Farm? Whose?"
"My father's. We try to do a little livening up for the old people every
July and August. They got acquainted there; they took to it like ducks to
water. That's where Bond got his idea for his cow masterpiece,--he may
have spoken to you about it."
"Humph!" said Abner. Why heed such insignificant poachings as these on
his own preserves?
"We're going out home week after next for the holidays," continued Giles.
"Better go with us."
"So you're a farmer's boy?" pondered Abner. He looked again at the
camellias, then at Giles's loose Parisian tie, and lastly at his
finger-nails,--all too exquisite by half.
"Certainly. Brought up on burdock and smart-weed. That's why I'm so fond
of this,"--with a wave toward one of his panels.
"Well, what do you say? Will you go? We should like first-rate to have
you."
Abner considered. The invitation was as hearty and informal as he could
have wished, and it would take him within thirty miles of Flatfield
itself.
"Is your sister going along?"
"Surely. She will run the whole thing."
"Well," said Abner slowly, "I don't know but that I might find it
interesting." This, Giles understood, was his rustic manner of accepting.