"What do you call your line? What are you here for?"
For a moment he is silent. With surprise I watch his face blush darkly.
"You're a dead give-away. Oh, excuse me, Mr. Berkman," he corrects himself, "I sometimes lapse into lingo, under provocation, you know. I meant to say, it's easy to see that you are not next to the way—not familiar, I mean, with such things. You should never ask a man what he is in for."
"Why not?"
"Well, er—"
"You are ashamed."
"Not a bit of it. Ashamed to fall, perhaps,—I mean, to be caught at it—it's no credit to a gun's rep, his reputation, you understand. But I'm proud of the jobs I've done. I'm pretty slick, you know."
"But you don't like to be asked why you were sent here."
"Well, it's not good manners to ask such questions."