"Um," said Brower, moodily, from the depth of an absurd jealousy. The man
whose voice was coming to them with a certain deep indistinctness from
the bay-window was an American--decidedly so.
"And not only an American," pursued Marshall, "but a Westerner."
"Um," said Brower, with an increasing gloom. The man who had just
provoked that last clouded response from Jane was a Westerner, truly.
"And not only a Western man, but an out-and-out Chicago man; one who
knows the town, one who is in sympathy with it, one who has done a little
something to make it what it is."
"Um," said Brower once more, with a deeper despondency. Who had done more
to make the town what it was than Bingham had done?
"Then I should understand his ideas and ambitions," the old man
proceeded, in a tone of plaintive yet unavailing protest. "I should know
better about his connections and belongings. I should be able to foresee
the future in some degree. I should have a clearer idea of what to
expect. I should know, perhaps, where he--where he meant to live."
Marshall ended this discourse with a feeble and helpless sigh.
There was nothing indefinite about Bingham, thought poor Brower; there
was no doubt as to where _he_ would continue to exist. "You mean to say
it isn't decided yet where they are going to live?" Brewer's inquiry was
prompted by civility rather than by interest. It was the first
observation of any length that he had made for some time.
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