The young man named Billy showed no irritation. With the composure which he wore as a garment, he went on with his occupation.
For a time McCutcheon bore this aloofness, then he opened a new attack. "What are you reading, my son? Makes a man sort of want his breakfast to see that hungry look in your eyes. Share the provender, won't you?"
Billy looked up sedately.
"You fellows think my life's a game," he said. "But I tell you it takes some doing to keep in touch with things."
Blake laughed chaffingly. "And the illustrated weekly papers are an excellent substitute for Blue-books?"
Billy remained undisturbed. "It's all very well to scoff, but one may get a side-light anywhere. In diplomacy nothing's too insignificant to notice."
Again Blake laughed. "The principle on which it offers you a living?"
"Oh, come," said Billy, "that's rather rough! You know very well what I mean. 'Tisn't always in the serious reports you get the color of a fact, just as the gossip of a dinner-table is often more enlightening than a cabinet council."
"Apropos?"
"I was thinking of this Petersburg affair."