How beautiful it is!"
"How beautiful what is?" asked Wilson, astonished.
"The sunset, you ass!"
"I don't see anything special about it," said Wilson. "An ordinary
affair!"
"Ordinary affair! Ugh, you idiot. Look at those lovely colours mingling
one with another, those light fleecy clouds floating in a purple sea,
that beautiful tint in the woods yonder, that--that--"
"Steady, Grim. Take time," said Wilson, squirming away from his chum.
"Wilson, you haven't any soul for beauty. A sunset is the loveliest
sight on earth, you duffer."
"Didn't know a sunset ever was on earth," said Wilson, sarcastically.
"Is that funny?"
"All serene, Grimmy," said Wilson, elaborately agreeing with his friend
as a mother might with a sick child. "Matter of fact, it is rather fine.
Not unlike a Zingari blazer, eh?"
"Zingari blazer!"
"Exactly like. And that pink on the trees would do for the Westminster
shirts."
"Blazers and shirts," cried Grim, in disgust. "Oh! get out."
"Let's get in, Grimmy, instead. You'd better see the doctor. 'Pon
honour, you aren't well."
"I can't help it," said W.E. Grim, resignedly, "if you haven't any soul.
Yes, I'll come. I've got Merishall's work."
There was a coolness that night between the two friends as they sat at
the opposite sides of their common table doing their work for Merishall,
and Wilson was determined to find out what was disturbing their
accustomed peace. He had soon done his modicum of prose and forthwith
broached matters.
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