He had gone to bed, hoping to
sleep well and rise early for a long day's work, but he could not
rest, and now, in his nightgown and slippers, he was pacing the
floor of his room.
"I wish I DID know," he thought, over and over. "I DO wish I
knew how he feels about it."
CHAPTER XVIII
That was a thought almost continuously in his mind, even when he
was hardest at work; and, as the days went on and he could not
free himself, he became querulous about it. "I guess I'm the
biggest dang fool alive," he told his wife as they sat together
one evening. "I got plenty else to bother me, without worrying
my head off about what HE thinks. I can't help what he thinks;
it's too late for that. So why should I keep pestering myself
about it?"
"It'll wear off, Virgil," Mrs. Adams said, reassuringly. She
was gentle and sympathetic with him, and for the first time in
many years he would come to sit with her and talk, when he had
finished his day's work. He had told her, evading her eye, "Oh,
I don't blame you. You didn't get after me to do this on your
own account; you couldn't help it."
"Yes; but it don't wear off," he complained. "This afternoon I
was showing the men how I wanted my vats to go, and I caught my
fool self standing there saying to my fool self, 'It's funny I
don't hear how he feels about it from SOMEbody.
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