Mr. Benjamin Wright stood, panting, at the foot of the porch steps; he
could hardly lift his head to look up at the figure in the doorway.
"You--Mrs. Richie?" he gasped.
"Yes, sir," she said. "May I help you? These steps are so steep."
"No," he snarled. "Do you think I'm so decrepit that I have to have a
female help me up-stairs?" Then he began toiling up the steps. "My
name is Wright. You know my grandson? Sam? Great fool! I've come to
call on you." On the porch he drew a long breath, pulled off his mangy
old beaver hat, and, with a very courtly bow, held out his hand.
"Madam, permit me to pay my respects to you. I am your neighbor. In
fact, your only neighbor; without me, 'Montium domina ut fores silvarumque virentium saltuumque reconditorum
amniumque sonantum.' Understand that? No? Good. I don't like learned females."
She took his hand in a bewildered way, glancing back over her shoulder
at Mr. Pryor, uncertain what she ought to do. Mr. Wright decided for
her.
"I know this house," he said, pushing past her into the dusky hall;
"friend of mine used to live here. Ho! This is the parlor. Well; who's
this?" He stood chewing orange-skin and blinking up at Lloyd Pryor,
who came forward reluctantly.
"My name is Pryor, sir, I--"
"Oh! Yes. I know. I know. The lady's brother. Here! Push that
chair out for me."
And Mr. Lloyd Pryor found himself bringing a chair forward and taking
the hat and stick from the trembling old hand. Helena had gone quickly
into the dining-room, and came back with a decanter and glass on a
little tray. She gave a distressed glance at her other guest as though
to say, "I can't help it!"
Benjamin Wright's old head in its brown wig was still shaking with
fatigue, but under the prickle of white on his shaven jowl the
purplish color came back in mottled streaks. He sipped the sherry
breathlessly, the glass trembling in his veined and shrunken hand.
"Well," he demanded, "how do you two like this God-forsaken place?"
Mr. Pryor, looking over their visitor's head at Helena, shrugged his
shoulders.
"It is very nice," she said vaguely, "It's a narrowing place," he demurred, "very narrowing; sit down, sit
down, good people! I'll take some more sherry. My grandson," he went
on, as Helena filled his glass, "is always talking about you, madam.
He's a great jackass. I'm afraid he bothers you with his calls?"