I was sunk in dejected reverie when some one came on the roof.
When he was opposite the opening in the tent, I saw Mr. Harbison,
and at that moment he saw me. He paused uncertainly, then he made
an evident effort and came over to me.

"You are--better today?"

"Quite well, thank you."

"I am glad you find the tent useful. Does it keep off the wind?"

"It is quite a shelter"--frigidly.

He still stood, struggling for something to say. Evidently
nothing came to his mind, for he lifted the cap he was wearing,
and turning away, began to work with the wiring of the roof. He
was clever with tools; one could see that. If he was a
professional gentleman-burglar, no doubt he needed to be. After a
bit, finding it necessary to climb to the parapet, he took off
his coat, without even a glance in my direction, and fell to work
vigorously.

One does not need to like a man to admire him physically, any
more than one needs to like a race horse or any other splendid
animal. No one could deny that the man on the parapet was a
splendid animal; he looked quite big enough and strong enough to
have tossed his slender bridge across the gulf to the next roof,
without any difficulty, and coordinate enough to have crossed on
it with a flourish to safety.