"Misery wants
pleasant company. At least, that sort of misery which comes from
isolation and unfriendliness makes me appreciate even chance
companionship."
"Is it so bad as that?" she asked quickly. The tone of her voice made
Hollister quiver, it was so unexpected, so wistful.
"Just about. I've become a stray dog in this old world. And it used to
be a pretty good sort of a world for me in the old days. I'm not
whining. But I do feel like kicking. There's a difference, you know."
He felt ashamed of this mild outburst as soon as it was uttered. But
it was true enough, and he could not help saying it. There was
something about this girl that broke down his reticence, made him want
to talk, made him feel sure he would not be misunderstood.
She nodded.
"There is a great difference. Any one with any spirit will kick if
there is anything to kick about. And it's always shameful to whine.
You don't seem like a man who _could_ whine."
"How can you tell what sort of man I am?" Hollister inquired. "You
just said that I was only a disembodied voice.
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