"You'll find us vastly different here," he said with a sigh, as I held
his coat for him. "Crude, I may say. In truth, Red Gap, where my
interests largely confine me, is a town of impossible persons. You'll
see in no time what I mean."
"I can already imagine it, sir," I said sympathetically.
"It's not for want of example," he added. "Scores of times I show them
better ways, but they're eaten up with commercialism--money-grubbing."
I perceived him to be a person of profound and interesting views, and
it was with regret I left him to bully Cousin Egbert into evening
dress. It is undoubtedly true that he will never wear this except it
have the look of having been forced upon him by several persons of
superior physical strength.
The evening passed in a refined manner with cards and music, the
latter being emitted from a phonograph which I was asked to attend to
and upon which I reproduced many of their quaint North American
folksongs, such as "Everybody Is Doing It," which has a rare native
rhythm. At ten o'clock, it being noticed by the three playing dummy
bridge that Cousin Egbert and the Mixer were absent, I accompanied our
host in search of them. In Cousin Egbert's hut we found them, seated
at a bare table, playing at cards--a game called seven-upwards, I
learned.
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