“And he must remember,” went on Chloe, “to remind me of what I want when I do not know, myself, what I want.”
“You’re rising in the scale,” I said. “What you seem to need is a first-class clairvoyant.”
“And if I say that I am dying to hear a Beethoven sonata, and stamp my foot when I say it, he must know by that that what my soul craves is salted almonds; and he will have them ready in his pocket.”
“Now,” said I, “I am at a loss. I do not know whether your soul’s affinity is to be an impresario or a fancy grocer.”
Chole turned her pearly smile upon me.
“Take less than half of what I said as a jest,” she went on. “And don’t think too lightly of the little things, Boy. Be a paladin if you must, but don’t let it show on you. Most women are only very big children, and most men are only very little ones. Please us; don’t try to overpower us. When we want a hero we can make one out of even a plain grocer the third time he catches our handkerchief before it falls to the ground.”
That evening I was taken down with pernicious fever. That is a kind of coast fever with improvements and high-geared attach-
