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Page 93
He was not again left alone. The waster came back and supposed he would
do some golfing "over across."
Bean loathed golf and gathered the strange power to say so.
"Sooner be a mail-carrier than a golf-player," he answered stoutly.
"Looks more fun, anyway."
"_My_ word!" exclaimed the waster, "aren't you even keen on watching
it?"
"Sooner watch a lot of Italians tearing up a street-car track," Bean
persisted.
"Oh, come!" protested the waster.
"Like to have another fumed egg," said Bean.
"You've had one too many," declared the waster, knowing that no sober
man could speak thus of the sport of kings.
Grandma, the Demon, entered and portentously shook hands with him. She
seemed to have discovered that marriage was very serious.
"Fumed eggs," said Bean, regarding her shrewdly.
"What?" demanded Grandma.
"Fumed eggs, hundred p'cent efficient," he declared stoutly.
The Demon eyed him more closely.
"My grandmother smoked, too," said Bean, "but I never went in for it
much."
"U-u-u-mmm!" said the Demon. It was to be seen that she felt puzzled.
Breede slunk into the room, garbed in an unaccustomed frock coat. He
went through the form of shaking hands with Bean.
Bean felt a sudden necessity to tell Breede a lot of things. He wished
to confide in the man.
"Principle of the thing's all I cared about," he began. "Anybody make
money that wants to be a Wall Street crook and take it away from the
tired business man. What I want to be is one of the idle rich ... only not
idle much of the time, you know. Good major league club for mine. Been
looking the ground over; sound 'vestment; keep you out of bad company,
lots time to read good books."
"Hanh! Wha's 'at?" exploded Breede.
"Fumed eggs," said Bean, feeling witty. He affected to laugh at his own
jest as he perceived that the mourning mother had entered the room.
Breede drew cautiously away from him. Mrs. Breede nodded to him bravely.
He mentioned the name of the world's greatest pitcher, with an impulse
to take the woman down a bit.
"Get our shirts same place; he's going to have a suit just like
this--no, like another one I have in that little old steamer trunk."
He was aware that they all eyed him too closely. The waster winked at
him. Then he found himself shaking hands with a soothing old gentleman
in clerical garb who called him his young friend and said that this was
indeed a happy moment.
The three Breedes and the waster stood apart, studying him queerly. He
was feeling an embarrassed need to make light conversation, and he was
still conscious of that strange power to make it. He was going to tell
the old gentleman, whose young friend he was, that fumed eggs were a
hundred p'cent efficient.
But the flapper saved him from that. She came in, quiet but
businesslike, and in a low yet distinct voices aid she wished it to be
perfectly over at once. She did not relax her grasp of Bean's arm after
she approached him, and he presently knew that something solemn was
going on in which he was to be seriously involved.
"Say, 'I do,'" muttered the old gentleman, and Bean did so. The flapper
had not to be told.
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