"Have you known him long?" I asked, for the sake of speaking, though I was only thinking of myself.
"Never knew him at all." He came nearer to me. "I've a confession to make, though it won't be of interest to you. All the while I've been here, playing with little Broke Rossiter, I've been—don't laugh—I've been contributing to the press—moi qui vous parle!"
"What about?"
"Oh, politics and finance and foreign policy and public things in general. Always had a taste that way. Now it seems that something I wrote for the Providence Express—people read it a good deal—has attracted the attention of the great Stacy. Yes, he's great, too—J. Howard's big rival for—"
I began to recall something I had heard. "Wasn't there a story about him and Mr. Brokenshire and Mrs. Brokenshire?"
"That's the man. Well, he's noticed my stuff, and written to the editor—and to me, and I'm to go to him."
I was still thinking of myself and the loss of his camaraderie. "I hope he's going to pay you well."
"Oh, for me it will be wealth."
"It will probably be more than that. It will be the first long step up."
He nodded confidently. "I hope so."