He had lost tons, he
said, in Texas.
Before daybreak the first morning he terrified his cellmate, Kedzie,
by starting up in his sleep with a gasp: "Was that reveille? My God,
I'll be late!"
The joy of finding himself no longer in a tent and of falling back
on his pillow was worth the bad dream. Life was one long bad dream
to Kedzie. She was guilty whichever way she turned, and afraid of
both men.
Jim had a valet to wait on him. He had the problem of selecting his
scarf and his socks for the morning. Jim had come into a lot of
money. He had been earning a bank clerk's salary, with no way of
spending it. And now he had a bank to spend and a plenty of places
to throw it.
But it was hard for him to believe that he was a free man again.
He was amazed to find Newport without cactus and without a scorpion.
He kept looking for a scorpion on his pillow. He found one there,
but did not recognize her.
Jim was as much of a parvenu in Newport as Kedzie had ever been. He
swept her away at times by his juvenile enthusiasm and she neglected
Strathdene atrociously for a week.
A large part of the colony had decamped for New York and Boston and
Chicago, but those that remained made a throng for Jim. His mother
was not well enough to be moved back to New York, but his sister
had reached England safely and he was happy in his luxuries.
But he was the only one that was. His mother was bitter against
Kedzie for having fed the gossips.
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