confession to an unusual virtue had aroused her suspicion. He might be a drug fiend!
He faltered wretchedly, wishing Breede would send for him.
"I—well, I used to be made to take sulphur and molasses every spring . . . but I never kept it up after I left home."
"Hum!" said the old lady, looking as if he could tell a lot more if he chose.
She gripped one of his biceps. He was not ashamed of these. The night and morning drill with that home exerciser had told, even though he was not yet so impressive as the machine's inventor, who, in magazine advertisements, looked down so fondly upon his own flexed arm.
"For goodness sake!" exclaimed the Demon respectfully.
Bean thrilled at this, feeling like a primitive brute of the cave times, accustomed to subduing women by force.
After that they seemed tacitly to agree that they would pretend to show him over the "grounds." Bean hated the grounds, which were worried to the last square inch into a chilling formality, and the big glass conservatory was stifling, like an overcrowded, overheated auditorium. And he knew they were "drawing him out." They looked meaningly at each other when ever he spoke.
They questioned him about his early life, but learned only that his father had been "engaged in the express business." He was ably reticent.
