Renton was unaffectedly glad to see Farrell. "Well, Mr. Farrell," he
said, as they shook hands, "well, _sir!_ If this isn't a sight for
sore eyes! And--when I've been meaning, every fall, to step across
home and see your luck--to think that it should be you first dropping
in upon me!" He rushed Farrell up and down elevators, over floor
after floor of his great establishment, perspiring (for the afternoon
was hot), swelling with hospitality and pardonable pride. "And when
we've done, sir, I must take you to my little place up town and make
you acquainted with Mrs. Renton. She's not by any means the least
part of my luck, sir. She'll be all over it when I present you,
having so often heard tell--You've aged, Mr. Farrell! And yet,
in a way, you haven't. . . . You were putting on waist when I saw you
last, and now you're what-one-might-call in good condition--almost
thin. Yes, sir, I heard about your poor lady . . . I wrote about it,
if you remember. Sudden, as I understand? . . . But if you look at
it in one way, that's often for the best: and in the midst of life--
You'll be taking dinner with us.
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