"Here's your cap." And I
pulled it out of my pocket and tossed it to him.
"Thanks," he said, as cool as you please. "And here's your
horse-shoe. Fair exchange!"
I burst out laughing, and he looked disconcerted, as I hoped he would.
"I thought you'd be in Brooklyn by now," I said, "at 600
Abingdon Avenue, laying out Chapter One. What do you mean by
following me this way? You nearly frightened me to death
last night. I felt like one of Fenimore Cooper's heroines,
shut up in the blockhouse while the redskins prowled about."
He flushed and looked very uncomfortable.
"I owe you an apology," he said. "I certainly never intended
that you should see me. I bought a ticket for New York and
checked my bag through. And then while I was waiting for the
train it came over me that your brother was right, and that it
was a darned risky thing for you to go jaunting about alone in
Parnassus. I was afraid something might happen. I followed
along the road behind you, keeping well out of sight."
"Where were you while I was at Pratt's?"
"Sitting not far down the road eating bread and cheese," he
said. "Also I wrote a poem, a thing I very rarely do."
"Well, I hope your ears burned," I said, "for those Pratts
have certainly raised you to the peerage.
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