"Perhaps you're more particular than I was."
"I'm not a bit particular," cried the younger man earnestly. "I'd do anything. I've gotten over being particular."
"No, my boy, you haven't," smiled Good. Then a faint shadow crossed his face, and he added softly, "You've never been hungry."
Judith hoped that he would amplify the intimation. But as so often happened, he began a theme only to dismiss it. His tone changed and he turned briskly to her.
"Well, Miss Wynrod, why don't you do something to help the lad?"
"Me?" she echoed in surprise. "What can I do?"
"Would you be willing to spend some money—quite a large sum, too, as such things go? Not very large for you, though," he added with the reflective candour that never failed to astonish and delight her. "Would you invest something—to see him well started in an enterprise of the utmost—value?"
Roger's curiosity was plain on his face. But Good seemed only to watch Judith narrowly. She looked wonderingly up at him, as he stood, half-smiling, before her.
"Have you a definite opening?"
"Perhaps," he said quizzically.