He was sated; his soul
longed to wipe a spiritual mouth on the back of a spiritual hand, and
have done. His face, now that the curtain was down and he was leaving
the stage, was doleful, almost sullen.
Stuhk met him anxiously in the wings, and walked with him to his
dressing-room. He felt suddenly very weary of Stuhk.
"Nothing the matter, Gideon, is there? Not feeling sick or anything?"
"No, Misteh Stuhk; no, seh. Jes don' feel extry pert, that's all."
"But what is it--anything bothering you?"
Gideon sat gloomily before his mirror.
"Misteh Stuhk," he said at last, "I been steddyin' it oveh, and I
about come to the delusion that I needs a good po'k-chop. Seems
foolish, I know, but it do' seem as if a good po'k-chop, fried jes
right, would he'p consid'able to disumpate this misery feelin' that's
crawlin' and creepin' round my sperit."
Stuhk laughed.
"Pork-chop, eh? Is that the best you can think of? I know what you
mean, though. I've thought for some time that you were getting a
little overtrained. What you need is--let me see--yes, a nice bottle
of wine. That's the ticket; it will ease things up and won't do you
any harm.
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