Two or three days after that, as I started down-town from Mrs.
Apperthwaite's, Beasley came out of his gate, bound in the same
direction. He gave me a look of gay recognition and offered his hand,
saying, "WELL! Up in THIS neighborhood!" as if that were a matter of
considerable astonishment.
I mentioned that I was a neighbor, and we walked on together. I don't
think he spoke again, except for a "Well, sir!" or two of genial
surprise at something I said, and, now and then, "You don't tell me!"
which he had a most eloquent way of exclaiming; but he listened visibly
to my own talk, and laughed at everything that I meant for funny.
I never knew anybody who gave one a greater responsiveness; he seemed to
be WITH you every instant; and HOW he made you feel it was the true
mystery of Beasley, this silent man who never talked, except (as my
cousin said) to children.
It happened that I thus met him, as we were both starting down-town, and
walked on with him, several days in succession; in a word, it became a
habit. Then, one afternoon, as I turned to leave him at the "Despatch"
office, he asked me if I wouldn't drop in at his house the next day for
a cigar before we started. I did; and he asked me if I wouldn't come
again the day after that. So this became a habit, too.
A fortnight elapsed before I met Hamilton Swift, Junior; for he, poor
little father of dream-children, could be no spectator of track events
upon the lawn, but lay in his bed up-stairs.
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