As for myself, let the Sunflower tell, in the times he elected to be gone, of how often I wondered when Leith would come back again, Leith the Lovable.
Leith dreamily surveyed the long ash of his cigar and turned to me.
"But how could you, Leith," I cried, the picture of the consumptive lad strong before me, "how could you treat him so barbarously?"
The lingo was rippling from Leith's lips, but perforce I stopped him.
Leith struck a match, lighted his dead cigar, and opened the book on his knees.