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Freeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin), 1862-1943

"The Vanishing Man"

And I wanted a friend badly just now.
"I am afraid," I began shyly, "it is not a matter that admits of much
help, and it's hardly the sort of thing that I ought to worry you by
talking about----"
"If it is enough to make you unhappy, my dear fellow, it is enough to
merit serious consideration by your friend; so, if you don't mind
telling me----"
"Of course I don't, sir!" I exclaimed.
"Then fire away; and don't call me 'sir.' We are brother practitioners
now."
Thus encouraged, I poured out the story of my little romance; bashfully
at first and with halting phrases, but, later, with more freedom and
confidence. He listened with grave attention, and once or twice put a
question when my narrative became a little disconnected. When I had
finished he laid his hand softly on my arm.
"You have had rough luck, Berkeley. I don't wonder that you are
miserable. I am more sorry than I can tell you."
"Thank you," I said. "It's exceedingly good of you to listen so
patiently, but it's a shame for me to pester you with my sentimental
troubles.


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