There, there, he's a thousand miles away. He's not
heard a single word I've said. Condy, are you listening to me?"
"Blix," he murmured, staring at her vaguely. "Blix--you look that
way; I don't know, look kind of blix. Don't you feel sort of
blix?" he inquired anxiously.
"Blix?"
He smote the table with his palm. "Capital!" he cried; "sounds
bully, and snappy, and crisp, and bright, and sort of sudden.
Sounds--don't you know, THIS way?"--and he snapped his fingers.
"Don't you see what I mean? Blix, that's who you are. You've
always been Blix, and I've just found it out. Blix," he added,
listening to the sound of the name. "Blix, Blix. Yes, yes;
that's your name."
"Blix?" she repeated; "but why Blix?"
"Why not?"
"I don't know why not."
"Well, then," he declared, as though that settled the question.
They made ready to go, as it was growing late.
"Will you tie that for me, Condy," she asked, rising and turning
the back of her head toward him, the ends of the veil held under
her fingers. "Not too tight. Condy, don't pull it so tight.
There, there, that will do. Have you everything that belongs to
you? I know you'll go away and leave something here. There's your
cigarette case, and your book, and of course the banjo."
As if warned by a mysterious instinct, the fat Chinaman made his
appearance in the outer room. Condy put his fingers into his vest
pocket, then dropped back upon his stool with a suppressed
exclamation of horror.
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