Clarence had got a
"soft thing." That it was more or less the result of his "artfulness,"
and that he was unduly "puffed up" by it, was, in Hooker's
characteristic reasoning, equally clear. As his host smilingly advanced
with outstretched hand, Mr. Hooker's efforts to assume a proper
abstraction of manner and contemptuous indifference to Clarence's
surroundings which should wound his vanity ended in his lolling back at
full length in the chair with his eyes on the ceiling. But, remembering
suddenly that he was really the bearer of a message to Clarence, it
struck him that his supine position was, from a theatrical view-point,
infelicitous. In his experiences of the stage he had never delivered a
message in that way. He rose awkwardly to his feet.
"It was so good of you to wait," said Clarence courteously.
"Saw you in the theatre," said Hooker brusquely. "Third row in parquet.
Susy said it was you, and had suthin' to say to you. Suthin' you ought
to know," he continued, with a slight return of his old mystery of
manner which Clarence so well remembered. "You saw HER--she fetched the
house with that flag business, eh? She knows which way the cat is
going to jump, you bet. I tell you, for all the blowing of these
secessionists, the Union's goin' to pay! Yes, sir!" He stopped, glanced
round the handsome room, and added darkly, "Mebbee better than this.
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