“He’s wasting his money,” I said.  “They’re all crazy about the simple life.”

He looked around and, seeing no one in the lobby, reached over and took one of my hands.

“Strange,” he said, looking at it.  “No webs, and yet it’s been an amphibious little creature most of its life.  My dear girl, our friend Thoburn is a rascal, but he is also a student of mankind and a philosopher.  Gee,” he said, “think of a woman fighting her way alone through the world with a bit of a fist like that!”

I jerked my hand away.

“It’s like this, my dear,” he said.  “Human nature’s a curious thing.  It’s human nature, for instance, for me to be crazy about you, when you’re as hands-offish as a curly porcupine.  And it is human nature, by the same token, to like to be bullied, especially about health, and to respect and admire the fellow who does the bullying.  That’s why we were crazy about Roosevelt, and that’s why Pierce is trailing his kingly robes over them while they lie on their faces and eat dirt—­and stewed fruit.”

He reached for my hand again, but I put it behind me.

“But alas,” he said, “there is another side to human nature, and our friend Thoburn has not kept a summer hotel for nothing.  It is notoriously weak, especially as to stomach.  You may feed ’em prunes and whole-wheat bread and apple sauce, and after a while they’ll forget the fat days, and remember only the lean and hungry ones.  But let some student of human nature at the proper moment introduce just one fat day, one feast, one revel—­”

“Talk English,” I said sharply.

“Don’t break in on my flights of fancy,” he objected.  “If you want the truth, Thoburn is going to have a party—­a forbidden feast.  He’s going to rouse again the sleeping dogs of appetite, and send them ravening back to the Plaza, to Sherry’s and Del’s and the little Italian restaurants on Sixth Avenue.  He’s going to take them up on a high mountain and show them the wines and delicatessen of the earth, and then ask them if they’re going to be bullied into eating boiled beef and cabbage.”

“Then I don’t care how soon he does it,” I said despondently.  “I’d rather die quickly than by inches.”

“Die!” he said.  “Not a bit of it.  Remember, our friend Pierce is also a student of human nature.  He’s thinking it out now in the cold plunge, and I miss my guess if Thoburn’s sky-rocket hasn’t got a stick that’ll come back and hit him on the head.”

He had been playing with one of the chewing-gum jars, and when he had gone I shoved it back into its place.  It was by the merest chance that I glanced at it, and I saw that he had slipped a small white box inside.  I knew I was being a silly old fool, but my heart beat fast when I took it out and looked at it.  On the lid was written “For a good girl,” and inside lay the red puffs from Mrs. Yost’s window down in Finleyville.  Just under them was an envelope.  I could scarcely see to open it.