Aside from the odor of drying things it was a
fine study, and I decided to take a small table there, and the
various tools of my Profession.
Climbing down, however, I had a surprise. For a man was
just below, and I nearly put my foot on his shoulder in the
darkness.
"Hello!" he said. "So it's _you_."
I was quite speachless. It was Mr. Beecher himself, in his
dinner clothes and bareheaded.
Oh flutering Heart, be still. Oh Pen, move steadily. _Oh
tempora o mores_!
"Let me down," I said. I was still hanging to the latice.
"In a moment," he said. "I have an idea that the instant I
do you'll vanish. And I have somthing to tell you."
I could hardly beleive my ears.
"You see," he went on, "I think you must move that Bench."
"Bench?"
"You seem to be so very popular," he Said." And of course
I'm only a transient and don't matter. But some evening one of
the admirers may be on the Patten's porch, while another is with
you on the bench. And--the Moon rises beyond it."
I was silent with horor. So that was what he thought of me.
Like all the others, he, to, did not understand.
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