The Professors House
together, after which the Professor and Rosamond
took the Marsellus brothers to the LaSalle Street
station. When Louie had again and again kissed
his hand to them from the rear platform of the
Twentieth Century observation car, and was rolled
away in the very act of shouting something to his
wife, St. Peter, who had so often complained that
there was too much Louie in his life, now felt a
sudden drop, a distinct sense of loss.
He took Rosamond’s arm, and they turned away from the shining rails. “We must be diligent, Rosie. He expects wonders of us.”
Scott McGregor got on the Blue Bird Express one afternoon, returning from a business trip for his paper. On entering the smoking-car, he came upon his father-in-law lying back in a leather chair, his clothes covered with dust, his eyes closed, a dead cigar hanging between the relaxed fingers of his dark, muscular hand. It gave Scott a start; he thought the Professor didn’t look well.
“Hello, Doctor! What are you doing here? Oh, yes! the shopping expedition. Where’s Rosamond?”
“In Chicago. At the Blackstone.”
“Outlasted you, did she?”
“That’s it.” The Professor smiled apologetically, as if he were ashamed to admit it.
—152—
