Little Eve Edgarton

"But you live like such a fool-of course you're bored!" drawled the Older Man, rummaging listlessly through his pockets for the ever-elusive match. "Well, I like your nerve!" protested the Younger Man with unmistakable asperity. "Do you-really?" mocked the Older Man, still smiling very faintly. For a few minutes then both men resumed their cigars, staring blinkishly out all the while from their dark green piazza corner into the dazzling white tennis courts that gleamed like so many slippery pine planks in the afternoon glare and heat. The month was August, the day typically handsome, typically vivid, typically caloric. It was the Younger Man who recovered his conversational interest first. "So you think I'm a fool?" he resumed at last quite abruptly.