pitately. He then ponderously marched his
charge to the door, where, assuredly, he did a strange thing. Instead of
knocking or ringing, he stood on the step and called out sharply, "Hie,
hie, hie!" until the door was opened.

The whimsy, for it could be nothing more, curtailed me of my sleep that
night, and you may picture me trying both sides of the pillow.

I recalled other queer things of Paterson, and they came back to me
charged with new meanings. There was his way of shaking hands. He now
did it in the ordinary way, but when first we knew him his arm had
described a circle, and the hand had sometimes missed mine and come
heavily upon my chest instead. His walk, again, might more correctly
have been called a waddle.

There were his perfervid thanks. He seldom departed without thanking me
with an intensity that was out of proportion to the little I had done
for him. In the Gardens, too, he seemed ever to take the sward rather
than the seats, perhaps a wise preference, but he had an unusual way of
sitting down. I can describe it only by saying that he let go of himself
and went down with a thud.

I reverted to the occasion when he lunched with me at the Club. We had
cutlets, and I noticed that he ate his in a somewhat finicking manner;
yet having left the table for a moment to consult the sweets-card,
I saw, when I returned, that there was now no bone on his plate. The
waiters were looking at him rather curiously.

David was very partial to him, but showed it in a somewhat singular
manner, used to pat his head, for instance. I remembered, also, that
while David shouted to me or Irene to attract our attention, he usually
whistled to Paterson, he could not explain why.

These ghosts made me to sweat in bed, not merely that night, but often
when some new shock brought them back in force, yet, unsupported,
they would have disturbed me little by day. Day, however, had its
reflections, and they came to me while I was shaving, that ten minutes
when, brought face to face with the harsher realities of life, we see
things most clearly as they are. Then the beautiful nature of Paterson
loomed offensively, and his honest eyes insulted over me. No one come to
nigh twenty years had a right to such faith in his fellow-creatures. He
could not backbite, nor envy, nor prevaricate, nor jump at mean motives
for generous acts. He had not a single base story about women. It all
seemed inhuman.

What creatures we be! I was more tha