So passed
a threatening meal, which Mrs. Schofield hurried, by every means with
decency, to its conclusion. She felt that somehow they would all be
safer out in the dark of the front porch, and led the way thither as
soon as possible.
"No cigar, I thank you." Mr. Kinosling, establishing himself in a wicker
chair beside Margaret, waved away her father's proffer. "I do not smoke.
I have never tasted tobacco in any form." Mrs. Schofield was confirmed
in her opinion that this would be an ideal son-in-law. Mr. Schofield was
not so sure.
"No," said Mr. Kinosling. "No tobacco for me. No cigar, no pipe, no
cigarette, no cheroot. For me, a book--a volume of poems, perhaps.
Verses, rhymes, lines metrical and cadenced--those are my dissipation.
Tennyson by preference: 'Maud,' or 'Idylls of the King'--poetry of the
sound Victorian days; there is none later. Or Longfellow will rest me
in a tired hour. Yes; for me, a book, a volume in the hand, held lightly
between the fingers."
Mr. Kinosling looked pleasantly at his fingers as he spoke, waving his
hand in a curving gesture which brought it into the light of a window
faintly illumined from the interior of the house. Then he passed those
graceful fingers over his hair, and turned toward Penrod, who was
perched upon the railing in a dark corner.
"The evening is touched with a slight coolness," said Mr. Kinosling.
"Perhaps I may request the little gentleman----"
"B'gr-r-RUFF!" coughed Mr.
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