The organist looked nervously around as if he expected something to justify the trouble this question occasioned him.
"Yes--yes--I'll take the risk," he answered, but he spoke without a smile. One thought alone prevented him from heartily wishing himself rid of this companion, who, in spite of him, had cast such a gloom over his Christmas day. The man seemed to have more need of him than Summerman had of his dinner deferred.
They set out together to walk through the frosty air under the cloudless sky. The sun was near to setting. In half an hour a deep orange belt would unroll round the east, flaming signs would mark the heavens, and a great star hang in the midst of an amethyst hemicycle.
They noticed that the sun was near to setting, and one of them saw the glory.
"I want you to tell me honestly," said the other. "You have taken my picture; what do you think it looks like? That is a fair question."
"Like misery," replied Summerman, promptly enough.
"Is that all? I thought worse. I thought it looked like a very devil's face. When I go back, I'll destroy it. But, then, it looks like me! Now, I can't afford to live a scarecrow. I believe I wasn't made to frighten others to death. I'd choose to die myself first." He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I've been trying to do that. Tried twice. Is there any particular luck in a third time, that you know of?"
Summerman did not answer, though Rush was looking full upon him; neither did he avoid the long and piercing gaze the stranger fixed upon him. He met that like a man.
"You think I'm mad," at last said Mr. Rush.
"Thank you. But you are a gipsy. Read my fortune."
Gravely Summerman looked at the fair, smooth palm that was suddenly stretched before him.
"Oh, no; you mustn't admit that. Only a little money lost, that's all."
"Is it all, indeed?" asked Summerman, and he dropped the palm. Then he shook his head. "I do not think it could have served you so. A little loss!" said he.
"That is because fortune never made a fool of you. Let me alone; I want to think." He spoke in the quick, peremptory manner of a man who is accustomed to command; but he came very near to smiling the next moment, as he looked down at the little person whom he had ordered into silence.