A week of unseasonable weather had come upon the
city. June was going out in a wave of torrid heat such
as August might have boasted. The day had seemed endless and
intolerably close. I was feeling very limp and languid.
Perhaps, thought I, it was the heat which had wilted
Blackie's debonair spirits.
"It has been a long time since we've had a talk-talk,
Blackie. I've missed you. Also you look just a wee bit
green around the edges. I'm thinking a vacation wouldn't
hurt you."
Blackie's lean brown forefinger caressed the bowl of
his favorite pipe. His eyes, that had been gazing out
across the roofs beyond his window, came back to me, and
there was in them a curious and quizzical expression as
of one who is inwardly amused.
"I've been thinkin' about a vacation. None of your
measly little two weeks' affairs, with one week on
salary, and th' other without. I ain't goin' t' take my
vacation for a while--not till fall, p'raps, or maybe
winter. But w'en I do take it, sa-a-ay, girl, it's goin'
t' be a real one."
"But why wait so long?" I asked. "You need it now.
Who ever heard of putting off a vacation until winter!"
"Well, I dunno," mused Blackie. "I just made my
arrangements for that time, and I hate t' muss 'em up.
Pages:
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245