In Winesburg, Seth Richmond was called the "deep one." "He's like his father," men said as he went through the streets.
The talk of the town and the respect with which men and boys instinctively greeted him, as all men greet silent people, had affected Seth Richmond's outlook on life and on himself.
George Willard was older than Seth Richmond, but in the rather odd friendship between the two, it was he who was forever courting and the younger boy who was being courted.
The idea that George Willard would some day be- come a writer had given him a place of distinction in Winesburg, and to Seth Richmond he talked con- tinually of the matter, "It's the easiest of all lives to live," he declared, becoming excited and boastful.
In George Willard's room, which had a window looking down into an alleyway and one that looked across railroad tracks to Biff Carter's Lunch Room facing the railroad station, Seth Richmond sat in a chair and looked at the floor.
Running forward he stood in the darkness trying to look into Seth's face.
"Come, Ben, lad," said Seth, in a persuasive tone, "don't let's have a quarrel about it.
"I binna frighted at Adam," said Ben, "but I donna mind sayin' as I'll let 't alone at your askin', Seth."
"Which was ye thinkin' on, Seth," he began--"the pretty parson's face or her sarmunt, when ye forgot the panels?"
"Come and hear her, Ben," said Seth, good-humouredly; "she's going to preach on the Green to-night; happen ye'd get something to think on yourself then, instead o' those wicked songs you're so fond on.
"All i' good time for that, Seth; I'll think about that when I'm a-goin' to settle i' life; bachelors doesn't want such heavy earnin's.
Happen ye can tell me, Seth, if so be as I shouldna come up i' time for't.