“Possibly it is to his interest,” murmured Presley. “The fairs and festivals bring people to the city over his railroad.”
But the others turned on him, expostulating.
“Ah, you Philistine,” declared Mrs. Cedarquist. “And this from YOU!, Presley; to attribute such base motives——”
“If the poets become materialised, Mr. Presley,” declared Hartrath, “what can we say to the people?”
“And Shelgrim encourages your million-dollar fairs and fetes,” said a voice at Presley's elbow, “because it is throwing dust in the people's eyes.”
The group turned about and saw Cedarquist, who had come up unobserved in time to catch the drift of the talk. But he spoke without bitterness; there was even a good-humoured twinkle in his eyes.
“Yes,” he continued, smiling, “our dear Shelgrim promotes your fairs, not only as Pres says, because it is money in his pocket, but because it amuses the people, distracts their attention from the doings of his railroad. When Beatrice was a baby and had little colics, I used to jingle my keys in front of her nose, and it took her attention from the pain in her tummy; so Shelgrim.”
The others laughed good-humouredly, protesting, nevertheless, and Mrs. Cedarquist shook her finger in warning at the artist and exclaimed:
“The Philistines be upon thee, Samson!”
“By the way,” observed Hartrath, willing to change the subject, “I hear you are on the Famine Relief Committee. Does your work progress?”