"There's that old snob," they would exclaim at first recognition, to their companions, "look at him," and under pretense of gazing at the stage, the opera glasses would be turned on the box. "Looks as if he owned the whole town, eh?"
"He is awfully handsome, isn't he?" every salesman's companion would exclaim, looking at Jasper pale and quiet, in the most secluded part of the box.
"Yes," said every one of the men, only seeing the old gentleman, "but he's too toploftical to live"—or something to that effect—and then they would forget all about it till the companion's opera glasses leveled in the same direction, brought the conversation around to the old topic.
"They had a flare-up with Mr. Marlowe this morning," confided one salesman to his friend in the entr'acte, "and he's off," with a nod over to Jasper's private box.
"Oh dear me!" exclaimed the young girl, with a pang at her heart, "has he left your business?"
"Yes," said the salesman, and a real regret passed over his careless face, "and it's a shame, for no one would have thought he owned a penny; he was just digging at the business all the time, like the rest of us."
"Is he very rich?" asked the young girl.
"Well, I should say," began the salesman, unable to find words to express Jasper's financial condition. Then the curtain rang up.
The next morning, old Mr. King broke the egg into his cup thoughtfully.
"I suppose I might as well look about a bit, now that I'm here, Jasper.
I haven't been in this town for twenty years or so."
"Very well, father," said Jasper, trying not to be listless. "Where shall we go to-day?"