"Condy
Rivers, you've been here and in this room at least twice a week
for the last year and a half, and that clock, and no other, has
always hung there."
But already Condy had forgotten or lost interest in the clock.
"Is that so? is that so?" he murmured absent-mindedly, seating
himself at the table.
Mr. Bessemer was murmuring: "That clock's a little fast. I can
not make that clock keep time. Victorine has lost the key. I
have to wind it with a monkey-wrench. Now I'll try some more
beans. Maggie has put in too much pepper. I'll have to have a
new key made to-morrow."
"Hey? Yes--yes. Is that so?" answered Condy Rivers, bewildered,
wishing to be polite, yet unable to follow the old man's
mutterings.
"He's not talking to you," remarked Travis, without lowering her
voice. "You know how Papum goes on. He won't hear a word you
say. Well, I read your story in this morning's 'Times.'"
A few moments later, while Travers and Condy were still discussing
this story, Mr. Bessemer rose. "Well, Mr. Rivers," he announced,
"I guess I'll say good-night. Come, Snooky."
"Yes, take her with you, Papum," said Travis. "She'll go to sleep
on the lounge here if you don't. Howard, have you got your
lessons for to-morrow?"
It appeared that he had not. Snooky whined to stay up a little
longer, but at last consented to go with her father. They all
bade Condy good-night and took themselves away, Howard lingering a
moment in the door in the hope of the nickel he dared not ask for.
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