of it" was just that he was BORN quiet.

My note-book remained noteless, and finally, at some odd evasion of his,
accomplished by a monosyllable, I laughed outright--and he did, too! He
joined cachinnations with me heartily, and with a twinkling
quizzicalness that somehow gave me the idea that he might be thinking
(rather apologetically) to himself: "Yes, sir, that old Beasley man is
certainly a mighty funny critter!"

When I went away, a few moments later, and left him still intermittently
chuckling, the impression remained with me that he had had some such
deprecatory and surreptitious thought.

Two or three days after that, as I started down-town from Mrs.
Apperthwaite's, Beasley came out of his gate, bound in the same
direction. He gave me a look of gay recognition and offered his hand,
saying, "WELL! Up in THIS neighborhood!" as if that were a matter of
considerable astonishment.

I mentioned that I was a neighbor, and we walked on together. I don't
think he spoke again, except for a "Well, sir!" or two of genial
surprise at something I said, and, now and then, "You don't tell me!"
which he had a most eloquent way of exclaiming; but he listened visibly
to my own talk, and laughed at everything that I meant for funny.

I never knew anybody who gave one a greater responsiveness; he seemed to
be WITH you every instant; and HOW he made you feel it was the true
mystery of Beasley, this silent man who never talked, except (as my
cousin said) to children.