"Says he is going to build stores only, strictly commercial purposes," pursued the interviewer.
There was a murmur of surprise, which could not, however, be construed as an interruption.
"He said he had concluded to go out of the theatrical business,—he had got sick of it; I asked why, and—and"—The young man broke into a laugh of mingled scorn and enjoyment. It was expressive, but clogged utterance.
"Why?" demanded the coterie in chorus.
"His mother was a Methodist," exclaimed the young sprig with another burst of hilarity.
A moment of dumb amazement.
"Has he just found that out?" asked the editor at last.
The writer who had smeared his face with ink accented its effect with a sneer. "Just found it out when he has gotten rid of a ruinous piece of property, converted into a splendid commercial building site, and with his pockets full of spot cash, his insurance."
"Ah, but his pockets are not full of cash," said the interviewer. "I was just coming to that. The insurance companies haven't as yet ponied up. They have paid nothing. They seem 'rather slow,' he said. He supposes there must be 'a little hitch' somewhere,—it is a large sum with each company,—but he expects it presently. That is what he said. Upon my word I can't make him out. He told it all as innocently as a baby."
Ned could not make them out. He hardly felt that he understood the language in which they spoke, so little meaning did their words convey to him. He puzzled over this conversation often, but without result.