"Little, nervous, slangy, restless Blackie, how bored and
ill at ease he would be in such a heaven! How lonely,
without his old black pipe, and his checked waistcoats,
and his diamonds, and his sporting extra. Oh, I hope
they have all those comforting, everyday things up there,
for Blackie's sake."
"How you grew to understand him in that short year,"
mused Von Gerhard. "I sometimes used to resent the bond
between you and this little Blackie whose name was always
on your tongue."
"Ah, that was because you did not comprehend. It is
given to very few women to know the beauty of a man's
real friendship. That was the bond between Blackie and
me. To me he was a comrade, and to him I was a
good-fellow girl--one to whom he could talk without
excusing his pipe or cigarette. Love and love-making
were things to bring a kindly, amused chuckle from
Blackie."
Von Gerhard was silent. Something in his silence
held a vague irritation for me. I extracted a penny from
my purse, and placed it in his hand.
"I was thinking," he said, "that none are so blind as
those who will not see."
"I don't understand," I said, puzzled.
"That is well," answered Von Gerhard, as we entered
the building.
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