"How--did--you--come--here?"
"Why, you see, I'm visiting the Holts--Jack Holt was my chum at
college--and when they asked me if I wanted to see the oldest house in
the city, and meet the most famous man 'on this side of the bay,' why,
of course, I said I'd come. But, gods! I didn't know it would be like
this, although Jack said the tail of a wild mustang couldn't get him
through the front door. Being on my first visit to the widely renowned
California, I thought it my duty to see all the sights. Where did you
come from?"
"Oh, I live here. I've lived here for twenty-four years."
"Great Scott!" His eyes bulged. "You've lived in this house for
twenty-four years?"
"Twenty-four years."
"And you're not dead yet--I beg pardon," hastily. "I am afraid you think
me very rude."
"No, I do not. I am glad you realize how dreadful it is. Nobody else
ever does. These people have known me for most of that time, and it has
never occurred to them to wonder how I stood it. Do you know that you
are the first young person I have spoken with for years and years?"
"You don't mean it?" His boyish soul was filled with pity. "Well, I
should think you'd bolt and run."
"What use? I've stayed too long.
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