I had noted that there were upon a ponderous table six popular
novels, as many magazines, and piles of the great dailies. Nowhere could
I descry even a small collection of books of the sort which may furnish
material for conversation. I tried to imagine the Philosopher drawing a
certain beloved book of essays from his pocket, settling himself
comfortably with his back to the drop-light, and beginning to read aloud
to us, as he is accustomed to do in the Skeptic's little rooms. Here was
not even a drop-light for him to do it by, only electric sconces set
high upon the walls, and a fanciful centre electrolier. He must,
perforce--for he needs a strong light for reading--have stood close
under one of the sconces to read from his book of essays. I tried to
fancy Althea and the Promoter politely listening--or appearing to
listen. This really drew too heavily upon my imagination, and I gave it
up.
At a late hour we escaped. I learned afterward that before we left the
Promoter took our men aside and offered them one more thing to drink.
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