“Jarvis!” she exclaimed. “What has happened? Where have you been?”
“Sleeping in the garden.”
“Dat’s it—dat’s it! Dat was wat I was to remin’ the Perfessor of, dat a man was sleepin’ in the garden.”
“Sleeping in our garden? But why?”
“Because of the filthy commercialism of this age! Here I am, at the climax of my big play, a revolutionary play, I tell you, teeming with new and vital ideas, for a people on the down-slide, and a landlady, a puny, insignificant ant of a female, interrupts me to demand money, and when I assure her, most politely, that I have none, she puts me out, actually puts me out!”
Bambi choked back a laugh.
“Why didn’t you come here?”
“I did. Your father refused to see me; he was working at his crazy figures. I burst in, and demanded you, but he couldn’t remember where you had gone.”
“What a pity! Well–”
“I told him I would wait in the garden. If necessary, I would sleep there.”
“Yas’m, yas’m, dat’s when he called me in, to tell me to bemin’ him.”
