You tell her--"
"Well, you act pretty funny!" Albert exclaimed, fumbling in the pockets
of his coat. "Why can't you go on over and tell her yourself?"
"I would," said Ramsey. "I'd be perfectly willing to go only I got to
get back home to breakfast."
Albert stared. "Well, I got to go upstairs and eat my own breakfast in
about a minute, haven't I? But just as it happens there wouldn't be any
use your goin' over there, or me, either."
"Why not?"
"Milla ain't there," said Albert, still searching the pockets of his
coat. "When we went by her house last night to tell her about your
headache and stomach and all, why, her mother told us Milla'd gone up to
Chicago yesterday afternoon with her aunt, and said she left a note for
you, and she said if you were sick I better take it and give it to you.
I was goin' to bring it over to your house after breakfast." He found
it. "Here!"
Ramsey thanked him feebly, and departed in a state of partial
stupefaction, brought on by a glimpse of the instabilities of life. He
had also, not relief, but a sense of vacancy and loss; for Milla, out of
his reach, once more became mysteriously lovely.
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