No--it was not even beating; it was
skipping.
"Y-Yates," he stammered, "you don't think that I could p-possibly have
become inadvertently mixed up with that horrible machine--do you?"
Now Yates was a generous youth; resentment at the treatment meted out to
him by this florid, bad-tempered and pompous gentleman changed to
instinctive sympathy when he suddenly realized the plight his future
father-in-law might now be in.
"Yates," repeated Mr. Carr in an agitated voice, "tell me honestly: _do_
you think there is anything unusual the matter with me? I--I seem to
f-feel unusually--young. Do I look it? Have I changed? W-watch me while
I walk across the room."
Mr. Carr arose with a frightened glance at Yates, put on his hat, and
fairly pranced across the room. "Great Heavens!" he faltered; "my hat's
on one side and my walk is distinctly jaunty! Do you notice it, Yates?"
"I'm afraid I do, Mr. Carr."
"This--this is infamous!" gasped Mr. Carr. "This is--is outrageous! I'm
forty-five! I'm a widower! I detest a jaunty widower! I don't want to be
one; I don't want to----"
Yates gazed at him with deep concern.
"Can't you help lifting your legs that way when you walk--as though a
band were playing? Wait, I'll straighten your hat. Now try it again."
Mr. Carr pranced back across the room.
"I _know_ I'm doing it again," he groaned, "but I can't help it! I--I
feel so gay--dammit!--so frivolous--it's--it's that infernal machine.
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