He knitted his brows like one who encounters a problem.
"Well, I enjoy the sunlight—the atmosphere—I go along this path, through that gate"—he jerked his head over his shoulder—"and round———"
"You don't. You never have been. It's all nonsense. There isn't a way. To-night for instance———"
"Oh! to-night! Let me see. Ah! I just glanced at my watch, saw that I had already been out just three minutes over the precise half-hour, decided there was not time to go round, turned———"
"You always do."
He looked at me—reflected. "Perhaps I do, now I come to think of it. But what was it you wanted to speak to me about?"
"Why, this!"
"This?"
"Yes. Why do you do it? Every night you come making a noise———"
"Making a noise?"
"Like this"—I imitated his buzzing noise.
He looked at me, and it was evident the buzzing awakened distaste. "Do I do that?" he asked.
"Every blessed evening."
