Oh, come on, Phil, for Heaven's sake! If there were really any
reason--any logical reason for this genius-in-the-garret business, I'd
not say a word. But there isn't; you're going to make money--"
"Oh, yes, I've got to," said Selwyn simply.
"Well, then! In the meanwhile--"
"No. Listen, Boots; I couldn't be free in your house. I--they--there are
telegrams--unexpected ones--at all hours."
"What of it?"
"You don't understand."
"Wait a bit! How do you know I don't? Do the telegrams come from Sandy
Hook?"
"No."
Boots looked him calmly in the eye. "Then I _do_ understand, old man.
Come on out of this, in Heaven's name! Come, now! Get your dressing-gown
off and your coat on! Don't you think I understand? I tell you I _do_!
Yes, the whole blessed, illogical, chivalrous business. . . . Never mind
how I know--for I won't tell you! Oh, I'm not trying to interfere with
you; I know enough to shun buzz-saws. All I want is for you to come and
take that big back room and help a fellow live in a lonely house--help a
man to make it cheerful.
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