Jesse, accepting the nodded invitation, took a seat at the table at which Judd, alone, was eating his heavy luncheon. They exchanged market talk in brief, brittle phrases, for a while. Then Jesse, his too-prominent lips curving, and seeming to be gazing over the top of Judd's bare poll, said:
"Sumptious, isn't she?"
Judd, used to Jesse's adversions to the sumptuosity of women—many women—went on doggedly eating. After a space he replied with a monosyllable:
"Who?"
Jesse did not answer for a moment; nor did Judd seem to be particularly worried over that fact.
"I dropped into your—er—your place on the Drive on Sunday night," said Jesse, fastening an abnormally long cigarette into a remarkably long cigarette holder of amber and gold.
Judd, his fork poised in the air, looked up at Jesse. There was a question in his red-rimmed eyes; but Judd made it a point not to submit questions of any consequence until he had turned them over in his mind several times.
"So I heard," said Judd, with no obvious interest, pronging away again with his fork.
"Who told you," asked Jesse, with a sharp glance at Judd. "Not——"
"How the devil should I remember who told me?" replied Judd in a matter-of-fact tone. "What's the difference who told me, anyhow?"