I sauntered up to Hopkins' office. "Hopkins," said I, "I just met your
wife."
"You did?"
"Yes, and I stepped on her foot and hurt her badly, I know." Then I told
him about it.
"What did she say?" asked Hopkins, and I noticed a queer look. I thought
it might be jealousy.
"Why, well, why I don't know as I remember, but it was very kindly and
ladylike."
There was a queer expression on Hopkins' face.
"Of course--"
"Sure she spoke?" asked Hopkins. "How did you know it was my wife
anyway?"
"Because it was the same face that is pictured on your clock, and some
one in the crowd said it was Mrs. Hopkins. You know Hop., I ran by that
clock for a few weeks, and I noticed the eyes."
"Anything queer about 'em?" This was a challenge.
"Yes, I think there is. In the first place, I know you will understand
me when I say they are handsome eyes, and I'm free to confess that they
had a queer influence on me, I imagined they changed and expressed
things and--"
"Talked, eh."
"Well, yes." Then I told Hopkins the influence the "Eyes" had on me.
He listened intently, watching me; when I had finished, he came over,
reached out his hand and said:
"Shake, friend, you're a damned good fellow.
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