“Thanks,” answered Don. “Guess I’ll wait a bit.”
Watson went on.
Don returned to a consideration of Barton’s proposal. He was forced to admit that the old lawyer had an irritating knack of ignoring all incidental issues and stripping a problem to a statement of irrefutable fact. It was undeniable, for example, that what Don might desire in the way of salary did not affect the truth of Barton’s contention that twelve hundred dollars was a great deal more than nothing. With a roof over his head assured him, it was possible that he might, with economy, be able at least to keep alive on this salary. That, of course, was a matter to be considered. As for Frances, she was at present well provided for and need not be in the slightest affected by the smallness of his income. Then, there was the possibility of a rapid advance. He had no idea how those things were arranged, but his limited observation was to the effect that his friends who went into business invariably had all the money they needed, and that most of his older acquaintances––friends of his father––were presidents 30 and vice-presidents with unlimited bank accounts. Considering these facts, Don grew decidedly optimistic.
In the mean time his hunger continued to press him. His body, like a greedy child, demanded food. Watson came out and, lighting a fresh cigarette, sank down comfortably into a chair next him.
“What’s the matter, Don––off your feed?” he inquired casually.
“Something of the sort,” nodded Don.
“Party last night?”
“No; guess I haven’t been getting exercise enough.”
He rose. Somehow, Watson bored him this morning.
“I’m going to take a hike down the Avenue. S’long.”