"Oh, every one's a gentleman."
"No, Hugh, every one isn't. I know men right here in New York who could buy and sell Mr. Strangways a thousand times, perhaps a million times over, and who wouldn't be worthy to valet him."
His small wide-apart blue eyes were turned on me questioningly.
"You don't know many men right here in New York. Who do you mean?"
I saw that he had me there and, not wishing to be driven into a corner, I beat a shuffling retreat.
"I don't mean any one in particular. I'm speaking in general." As we had reached an empty bench and the afternoon was hot, I suggested that we sit down.
We had been silent a little while, when he asked the question I had been expecting.
"Who was the person who offered you the—the—" I saw how he hated the word—"the employment?"
I had already decided to betray no knowledge of matters which didn't concern me.
"It's a Mr. Grainger," I said, as casually as I could.