Heylyn�s bad bargain.
man with a handsome wife, everybody in Detroit
knew him though my informant spoke only from
hearsay. A hot drive back to the lower fall, both
vehicles full. Anon a drive to a point on the river
where we took boats and rowed the women and young
folks up to the fall which looked pretty enough.
Rogers and I propelled one boat, Risdale another.
Back. Supper. Evening; some talk, and presently
I got to reading, as the rest played cribbage or
talked among themselves. Rogers and folks were
friendly, but American hospitality won�t begin to
compare with English. You leave the latter loving
20. Friday. Rain, clearing up as Rogers drove
me to the city. Goodbye to him. To Heylyn�s fishing
tackle shop, where he came by 1. P. M. Home to
dinner with him. Afternoon dozing and drawing;
he and his wife (who were at discord with each other)
nailing down carpets. When, after tea, I bade her
farewell, she was sitting in a darkened parlor, in
a state of moody, miserable, vixenish exasperation
on the Brinton question, Heylyn, half-crying, trying
to soothe her. �I wish I were going with you!� he
said, when she had given me a friendly good-bye.
�I wish you were!� she rejoined. We passed out,
he still crying. �This getting married isn�t
what it�s cracked up to be,� he commented. �I was