“Do you mean to say that you stay in the country by yourself all winter? What do you do? Read?”
“N-o-o-o. I don’t care much about books. We have a big farm and I run it, and I skate and drive and ride and smoke—Oh, there’s plenty to do. Occasionally I go to town and have a little fun.”
“What do you call fun if you don’t like society,—the theatre?”
“The theatre!” he laughed. “I never sat out a play in my life. Oh, I don’t know you well enough to tell you everything yet. Sometime, I’ll tell you a lot of funny things.”
“Perhaps you enjoy the newspapers in winter,” said Patience, hastily.
“Oh, I read even the advertisements. The papers are all the reading any man wants. There are two or three good sensational stories every day.”
“I don’t read those,” said Patience, disgustedly. This idol appeared to be clay straight up to his hair. “I like to read the big news and Mr. Field’s editorials.”
“Oh, you need educating. I read those too—not Field; he’s too much for me. But I didn’t come here to talk about newspapers—”
“Won’t you smoke a cigar?”
“No, thanks. I smoked all the way down, and in the cab too, for that matter—”