embarrassment.

"Good place. Yes," said the old man, nodding a great many times
and beaming like a flattered landlord. "Good shape. Long and
narrow, with a point. Like this," and he made lovingly with his
hands a map of the room in the air.

"But that's not the best," he added, confidentially. "Squares
very good; I have a nice long holiday, and can count them. But
that's not the best."

"What is the best?" asked Turnbull in great distress.

"Spike is the best," said the old man, opening his blue eyes
blazing; "it sticks out."

The words Turnbull spoke broke out of him in pure pity. "Can't we
do anything for you?" he said.

"I am very happy," said the other, alphabetically. "You are a
good man. Can I help you?"

"No, I don't think you can, sir," said Turnbull with rough
pathos; "I am glad you are contented at least."

The weird old person opened his broad blue eyes and fixed
Turnbull with a stare extraordinarily severe. "You are quite
sure," he said, "I cannot help you?"

"Quite sure, thank you," said Turnbull with broken brevity. "Good