"
"What's that, young fellow?"
"You love Miss Sherwood, don't you? At least you've the same as told
me that in words, and you've told me that in loud-voiced actions every
time you've seen her."
"Well--what if I do?"
"If you had the clearness of vision that is in the glassy eye of a
cold boiled lobster you would see that she feels the same way about
you."
"See here, Larry"--all the boisterous quality had gone from Hunt's
voice, and it was low-pitched and a bit unsteady--"I don't mind your
joshing me about myself or my painting, but don't fool with me about
anything that's really important."
"I'm not fooling you. I'm sure Miss Sherwood feels that way."
"How do you know?"
"I've got a pair of eyes that don't belong to a cold boiled lobster.
And when I see a thing, I know I see it."
"You're all wrong, Larry. If you'd heard what she said to me less than
a year ago--"
"You make me tired!" interrupted Larry. "You two were made for each
other. She's waiting for you to step up and talk man's talk to her--
and instead you sulk in your tent and mumble about something you think
she might have thought or said a year ago! You're too sensitive;
you're too proud; you've got too few brains. It's a million dollars to
one that in your handsome, well-bred way you've fallen out with her
over something that probably never existed and certainly doesn't exist
now.
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