He waved his hand toward the cluster of houses.
“There are eighteen hundred people in this town, they tell me,” he said. “Permanent residents, I mean. What do they all do?”
“Do?”
“Yes. How do they get a living? They must get it somehow. In the regular summer resorts they squeeze it out of the city people, I know that. But there aren't so many cottagers and boarders here. What do you all do for a living?”
I told him that most of masculine Denboro fished or farmed or kept store.
“Which do you do?” he asked. “You said you weren't a boat-builder.”
“I'm not doing anything at present,” I replied, shortly.
“Out of a job?”
“You might call it that. Is this a part of the business you wished to see me about, Mr. Colton?”
I was boiling inwardly and a little of the heat was expressed in my tone. I don't know whether he took the hint or merely lost interest in the subject. At any rate his reply was a brief “No,” and we continued our walk.