right, "Chuck,"'
he says, kinder gloomy like. Now, whatjer think of that, and him going
to be married to Flo Dearmore in August?"

"Tommy Watson is?"

"Sure."

"I always thought he was an old bachelor."

"Well, you think again, Lucien, think again. Tommy ain't so old; and
it seems to me every man's a bach-e-lor until he gets married. Now,
you'd think Tommy'd be fairly bustin' with joy, and maybe he is; I
don't know. But he goes around singing all them mournful songs, and,
say, you'd ought to hear him singing. Oh, gee! Honest, Lucien, the
fog horn over on the Island's a treat to it. Your boss was over once
when Tommy was whanging away on oner them songs, and he says, 'Heavens,
Tommy, when's the funeral?' and Tommy says, 'Guess again, Simmons,' he
says. 'It's for very joy I'm singing.' So your boss says, 'Well, it
ain't a fair deal for you to be so all fired joyful as to kill
everybody else's joy,' he says; so Tommy shies a book at him, and
Simmons ducks, and the book hits a vase and smashes it. Well, you'd
think Tommy would be mad at himself and at everybody else because of
that, but he laughs and says to Simmons, 'Better the vase than your
head, Simmons. Gee! I'm so happy I could smash everything in the
place.' So your boss says, 'Wait till your wife begins to try her
cookin' on you.' Then Tommy gets after him, and Simmons scoots, and
Tommy begins again on Scotch songs; all the slow, sad ones, and,
honest, I had to go out too."

"You spend a lot of time there, don't you, William?"

"Sh--sh--Don't be sleuthing around, Lucien, you might find out
something, and I'm afraid the blow would kill you. Anyway, I asked my
Pa about this love business, and he kinder laughs, and looks at Ma, and
she laughs too, like when she's pleased about something, and they
kisses each other right there, and Pa says, 'It'll come to you some
day, boy, please God, and when it comes----' and then he kisses Ma
again and don't finish what he's started to say, and I don't ask him.
I know enough anyway to know when Pa ain't going to be no mark for a
buncher questions, but it's got me going. There's Miss Whimple loved a
fellow when she's young, and he gets carved up by some black fellows in
a desert around Egypt somewhere----"

"The Soudan."

"That's the name; who told you?"

"My father's brother is a soldier, and he fought the Dervishes."

"That's the bunch. Say, you certainly know something, Lucien,
sometimes. So, Miss W