"His mother's a fine looking woman," Henry Kemp put in. "She's the smart one. Practically runs the business, I hear. Old Dick is kind of a dreamer. I guess dreaming doesn't go in the delicatessen business."
"It'll be nice for Charley," Mrs. Payson remarked, grimly. "With her training at college. I shouldn't wonder if they'd put her in charge of all the cold meats, maybe. Or the cheese."
"Now Mother Payson, Charley's only a kid. Don't you go worrying——"
Belle spoke with some hauteur. "He does not live at home. He has a room near the University. He's fond of his parents but not in sympathy with the business. His work appears regularly in Poetry, and they accept only the best. He worked his way through college without a penny from his people. And," as a triumphant finish—"he has a book coming out this spring."
"Ha!" laughed Henry Kemp, jovially. Then suddenly sobering, regarded the glowing end of his cigar. "But they do say it's darned good poetry. People who know. Crazy—but good. I read one of 'em. It's all about dead horses and entrails and——" he stopped and coughed apologetically. "His new book is going to be called——" Here he went off into a silent spasm of laughter.
"Henry, you know that's just because you don't understand. It's the new verse."
"His new book," Henry Kemp went on, gravely, "is called 'White Worms.'"
He looked at Ben Gartz. The two men laughed uproariously.
Mrs. Payson sat forward stiffly in her rocking chair. "And you let Charley go about with this person!"
"Oh, mother, please. Let's not discuss Charley's affairs. Mr. Gartz can't be interested."