"For ready money, naturally, until I can get something good."
"Am I to understand you have left my roof?"
"Absolutely. Left it last night, and returned for clothes and a few personal belongings this morning. You piled it on a bit thick last evening—too thick. I've quit."
"Saved me the trouble of throwing you out!" said Simon between his teeth. "What did you tell your mother?"
"The truth. I didn't intend to, but I found Aunt Ocky had overheard our little chat and had told her we'd had a holy row. Sorry."
"Blast your Aunt Ocky!"
That did not seem to call for a reply and Copley made none. After a few seconds of silence he raised his pencil suggestively.
"Speaking as a prominent citizen, Mr. Varr, what have you to say regarding the opening of the new sewer in State Street?"
"Nothing—except that I hope you'll fall into it!" said his father with asperity, and walked away.
Copley wrote an item on another sheet of paper. "Among those lunching at the Hambleton Hotel yesterday was Mr. Simon Varr, of the Varr-Bolt Tanneries. He did not tip the waiter." He cocked his head at a critical angle and contemplated the last six words before reluctantly obliterating them. Discretion must be his watchword, he told himself, and a job is better than a jest.