"Please don't regard the last twenty-four hours as typical of
me," he said with a chuckle. "I am so unused to being a squire
of dames that perhaps I take the responsibilities too seriously."
"Did you sleep at all last night?" I asked. I think I began
to realize for the first time that the gallant little creature
had been out all night in a drizzling rain, simply to guard me
from possible annoyance; and I had been unforgivably churlish
about it.
"I found a very fine haystack in a field overlooking the
quarry. I crawled into the middle of it. A haystack is
sometimes more comfortable than a boarding-house."
"Well," I said penitently, "I can never forgive myself for the
trouble I've caused you. It was awfully good of you to do
what you did. Please put your cap on and don't catch cold."
We walked for several minutes in silence. I watched him out
of the corner of my eye. I was afraid he might have caught
his death of cold from being out all night in the wet, to say
nothing of the scuffle he had had with the tramp; but he
really looked as chipper as ever.
"How do you like the wild life of a bookseller?" he said.
"You must read George Borrow. He would have enjoyed Parnassus.
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