"That's all right, Fred--rub it in all you like. It's because I've
been an ass myself that I can see more plainly than any one, perhaps,
what cursed folly it is. We spend our time and substance on some
wretched wanton, who never gives us a thought save how much money she
can squeeze out of us, and what have we in return? Nothing. The years
slip quickly by; we find ourselves getting old, and there's no one
round who really cares a jot whether we live or die--except, possibly
our relatives, who look forward to the latter. Genuine affection is
absolutely foreign to our existence. We have no one to bestow it on;
no one to bestow it on us. To be quite frank, that is another reason
why I don't care to spend too much time in my Riverside home. I feel
lonesome there. The place is quiet; it lacks the life and bustle of a
hotel, and Oku, decent little Jap as he is, hardly makes an ideal
companion--"
Sending a cloud of tobacco smoke up to the ceiling, Hadley gave vent
to a low, expressive whistle.
"So--that's where the land lays, eh? You are lonesome. In other words,
you want a wife to share with you the artistic treasures of your
Riverside home. You are tired of being a bachelor--"
Stafford laughed--a resounding, wholesome laugh, that fairly shook the
room.
"You've guessed it, Fred, you've guessed it. You're a mind-reader. I
confess I'm tired of bumming. You and Stanton and the rest of the boys
are a jolly crowd. You've given me many a good time, but, I tell you,
old man, I'm tired of it all.
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