Instantly, stronger than you can imagine, I see
a dime in my hand. Then it appears on the wet bar. I _smell_ the _smell_
of the liquor. And there you are!"
We did not talk much more that day. We got up and shook hands and looked
each other in the eye. The bee-man turned away, but came back
hesitatingly.
"I am glad of this talk, Mr. Grayson. It makes me feel like taking hold
again. I have been in hell for years----"
"Of course," I said. "You needed a friend. You and I will come up
together."
As I walked toward home that evening I felt a curious warmth of
satisfaction in my soul--and I marvelled at the many strange things that
are to be found upon this miraculous earth.
* * * * *
I suppose, if I were writing a story, I should stop at this point; but I
am dealing in life. And life does not always respond to our impatience
with satisfactory moral conclusions. Life is inconclusive: quite open at
the end. I had a vision of a new life for my neighbour, the bee-man--and
have it yet, for I have not done with him--but----
Last evening, and that is why I have been prompted to write the whole
story, my bee-man came again along the road by my farm; my exuberant
bee-man.
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