Some one, perhaps old Mrs. Billing, laughed. The father continued to speak with great if dangerous courtesy.
"Ah? Indeed! That's interesting. And may I ask at what?"
"At what I can find."
"That's more interesting still. Earning a living in New York is like the proverbial looking for the needle in the haystack. The needle is there, but it takes—"
"Very good eyesight to detect it. All right, dad. I shall be on the job."
"Good! And when do you propose to begin?"
It had not been Hugh's intention to begin at any time in particular, but, thus challenged, he said, boldly, "To-morrow."
"That's excellent. But why put it off so long? I should think you'd start out—to-night."
Mrs. Billing's "Ha-a!" subdued and prolonged, was like that tense exclamation which the spectators utter at some exiting moment of a game. It took no sides, but it did justice to a sporting situation. As Hugh told me the story on the following day he confessed that more than any other occurrence it put the next move "up to him." According to Ethel Rossiter he lumbered heavily to his feet and crossed the room toward his father. He began to speak as he neared the architectural chimneypiece, merely throwing the words at J. Howard as he passed.
"All right, father. Since you wish it—"