Fanny turned back to the telephone. "Yes, thanks. We can
both go. We'll be ready at four."
Fanny decided that Fenger's muttered reply couldn't have
been what she thought it was.
Ella busied herself with the unpacking of a bag. She showed
a disposition to spoil Fanny. "You haven't asked after your
friend, Mr. Heyl. My land! If I had a friend like that--"
"Oh, yes," said Fanny, vaguely. "I suppose you and he are
great chums by this time. He's a nice boy."
"You don't suppose anything of the kind," Ella retorted,
crisply. "That boy, as you call him--and it isn't always
the man with the biggest fists that's got the most fight in
him--is about as far above me as--as--" she sat down on the
floor, ponderously, beside the open bag, and gesticulated
with a hairbrush, at loss for a simile "as an eagle is above
a waddling old duck. No, I don't mean that, either,
because I never did think much of the eagle, morally. But
you get me. Not that he knows it, or shows it. Heyl, I
mean. Lord, no! But he's got something--something kind of
spiritual in him that makes you that way, too.
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