A BAYARD OF BROADWAY
right queer, you know. Why don't she marry you? She can't love you very much, if it depends on me. You're a man o' the world, you know, man o' world"—he grew absent-minded and stared at the wall. Dillon snapped his fingers nervously, and the speaker began again with a start:
"That's what I say—a man o' world. Tell her it's all bosh worryin' over me, tell her that, Dill, tell her I say so. No use her tryin' to be my mother. Now is there, Dill, as a man, is there? If she got married and had some children of her own"
"Bob," the older man burst out, "for heaven's sake, shut up, will you, and listen to me! I'm going to tell you the truth. You've got the whole thing in your hands—God knows why, but you have—and I'm going to lay it before you once for all. Then do as you please: make us all happy, or go to the devil your own way—and I'll go mine," he added, lower and quicker.
Bob sat up, blinked rapidly, and smoothed his hair down tight over his ears—sure sign that he was nearly himself.
"Go ahead," he said shortly, "I'll come in."
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