I have written Norah all about it.
She has replied, advising me to stick to the good-fellow
role but not to dress the part. So when next you see me
I shall be a perfectly safe and sane comrade in
petticoats. And I promise you--no more outbursts."
So it happened that on the afternoon of New Year's
day Von Gerhard and I gravely wished one another many
happy and impossible things for the coming year, looking
fairly and squarely into each other's eyes as we did so.
"So," said Von Gerhard, as one who is satisfied. "The
nerfs are steady to-day. What do you say to a brisk walk
along the lake shore to put us in a New Year frame of
mind, and then a supper down-town somewhere, with a toast
to Max and Norah?"
"You've saved my life! Sit down here in the parlor
and gaze at the crepe-paper oranges while I powder my
nose and get into some street clothes. I have such a
story to tell you! It has made me quite contented with
my lot."
The story was that of the Nirlangers; and as we
struggled against a brisk lake breeze I told it, and
partly because of the breeze, and partly because of the
story, there were tears in my eyes when I had finished.
Von Gerhard stared at me, aghast.
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