“But, Gringo, I thought your master was a saloon-keeper?”
“So he is, or was. He’s given up all his saloons, and gone into real estate. He never stood behind a bar himself. He hired other men for it. He was always running the streets, making or dropping money.”
“He looks interesting,” I said, poking my nose further out from under the sofa to look at him.
“Interesting,” said Gringo scornfully, “he’s a whole bag full of men in one. Watch that eyelid of his.”
Mr. Bonstone had very fine eyes. They seemed to talk without the aid of his lips. I noticed that though he appeared to be taking his part in the conversation, he scarcely opened his mouth.
“He’s a most intelligent listener,” I said, “but why doesn’t he talk himself? Can’t he?”
“He’s afraid of making a break,” said Gringo with a sigh. “Used to gabbing with men. If he kept his mouth open, something might slip out that would frighten those two fashion-plates.”
“Does he really like Miss Stanna, or is he marrying for social position?”
“He wants her,” said Gringo emphatically, “and he wishes she was a barmaid.”
“Oh! I see—he’s a man that doesn’t want to shine in society.”