“Of course,” Carstairs interposed indignantly.
“Whoop-la!” cried Breen. “So you’ve come to your decision, Brother John? How did it happen, you sly dog?”
“I haven’t come to any decision,” Carstairs denied wearily. “I told you in the beginning what I thought of Erna.”
“That’s so,” Breen gave in with a tone of fatherly wisdom. “But when and where did you find opportunity to strengthen your belief? You haven’t been coming here very often of late?”
“That’s my affair,” Carstairs retorted.
He was in a melancholy mood. Erna had been neglecting him since their evening together. Moreover, she had treated him with more or less indifference as well, as though his visits bored her, and had allowed him no opening for inviting her again.
Nielsen wisely changed the subject: “Been doing much work lately, John?”
“Yes, I’ve been busy.”
“I’ve been writing a little set of piano songs,” he rejoined.