"
Old Charley Lohr assured him that he would speak a good word if
opportunity became available; then, after the cab had driven
away, he went up to his small apartment on the third floor and
muttered ruminatively until his wife inquired what he was talking
to himself about.
"Ole Virg Adams," he told her. "He's out again after his long
spell of sickness, and the way it looks to me he'd better stayed
in bed."
"You mean he still looks too bad to be out?"
"Oh, I expect he's gettin' his HEALTH back," Lohr said, frowning.
"Then what's the matter with him? You mean he's lost his mind?"
"My goodness, but women do jump at conclusions!" he exclaimed.
"Well," said Mrs. Lohr, "what other conclusion did you leave me
to jump at?"
Her husband explained with a little heat: "People can have a
sickness that AFFECTS their mind, can't they? Their mind can get
some affected without bein' LOST, can't it?"
"Then you mean the poor man's mind does seem affected?"
"Why, no; I'd scarcely go as far as that," Lohr said,
inconsistently, and declined to be more definite.
Adams devoted the latter part of that evening to the composition
of his letter--a disquieting task not completed when, at eleven
o'clock, he heard his daughter coming up the stairs. She was
singing to herself in a low, sweet voice, and Adams paused to
listen incredulously, with his pen lifted and his mouth open, as
if he heard the strangest sound in the world.
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