"By all means put a pipe in. In return, tell me of what you were
thinking for the four hours and the seven minutes."

He laughed shyly. "You do ask a man such questions."

"Did you simply waste the time?"

"I suppose so."

"I thought that Colonel Robert Ingersoll says you must be
strenuous."

At the sound of this name he whisked open a little cupboard, and
declaring, "I haven't a moment to spare," took out of it a pile
of "Clarion" and other reprints, adorned as to their covers with
bald or bearded apostles of humanity. Selecting a bald one, he
began at once to read, occasionally exclaiming, "That's got
them," "That's knocked Genesis," with similar ejaculations of an
aspiring mind. She glanced at the pile. Reran, minus the style.
Darwin, minus the modesty. A comic edition of the book of Job, by
"Excelsior," Pittsburgh, Pa. "The Beginning of Life," with
diagrams. "Angel or Ape?" by Mrs. Julia P. Chunk. She was amused,
and wondered idly what was passing within his narrow but not
uninteresting brain. Did he suppose that he was going to "find
out"? She had tried once herself, but had since subsided into a
sprightly orthodoxy. Why didn't he read poetry, instead of
wasting his time between books like these and country like that?

The cloud parted, and the increase of light made her look up.
Over the valley she saw a grave sullen down, and on its flanks a