"How a woman like you can waste her time on the road is more than I
can see. And--I want to thank you. I'm not such a fool--"

"I haven't let you finish a sentence so far and I'm not going to yet.
Wait a minute. There's one more paragraph to this sermon. You remember
what I told you about old stagers, and the roast beef diet? Well, that
applies right through life. It's all very well to trifle with the
little side-dishes at first, but there comes a time when you've got to
quit fooling with the minced chicken, and the imitation lamb chops of
this world, and settle down to plain, everyday, roast beef, medium.
That other stuff may tickle your palate for a while, but sooner or
later it will turn on you, and ruin your moral digestion. You stick to
roast beef, medium. It may sound prosaic, and unimaginative and dry,
but you'll find that it wears in the long run. You can take me over to
the hotel now. I've lost an hour's sleep, but I don't consider it
wasted. And you'll oblige me by putting the stopper on any
conversation that may occur to you between here and the hotel. I've
talked until I'm so low on words that I'll probably have to sell
featherlooms in sign language to-morrow."

They walked to the very doors of the Berger House in silence. But at
the foot of the stairs that led to the parlor floor he stopped, and
looked into Emma McChesney's face. His own was rather white and tense.

"Look here," he said. "I've got to thank you. That sounds idiotic, but
I guess you know what I mean. And I won't ask you to forgive a hound
like me. I haven't been so ashamed of myself since I was a kid. Why,
if you knew Bess--if you knew--"

"I guess I know Bess, all right. I used to be a Bess, myself. Just