"Jest that way," said Uncle William. "I didn't _want_ to believe I
wa'n't al'ays goin' to be sick. I kep' kind o' thinkin' I'd rather be
sick'n not--jest as if the devil had me."

"Yes"--the young man spoke almost eagerly--"it's the way I've been! Only
I didn't know it till you said so."

"The' 's a good many things we don't know--not jest exactly know--till
somebody says 'em."

They sat quiet, listening to the hum from the street.

"I've done some queer things," said the artist.

"Like enough." Uncle William did not ask what they were.

"They begin to look foolish." He turned his head a little.

"Do you good--best thing in the world."

"I don't see how I _could_." The tone was uneasy. "I must have been
beastly to her."

Uncle William said nothing.

"She didn't tell you?" The artist was looking at him.

"She? Lord, no! women don't tell anything you've done to 'em--not if
it's anything bad."