“I do—property left to me by my mother.”
“You have no need to work.”
“Well, perhaps not. Some day when I take the notion I mean to figure up my income from this property, and if it’s a good sum, by Jove! I’ll fling business to the winds and take my little wife to Europe for a year—that is, if—”
Darrell did not let him finish.
“Why, man alive, you talk as though you didn’t hardly know what property you owned, yourself.”
“Neither do I—it’s all come to me since I married, and I’ve been so much taken up with my wife that I haven’t found time to attend to it as I should.”
Darrell winked hard.
He knew certain facts that would seem to indicate that Joe found time to spend an hour every afternoon with some one besides Lillian. If so then this was rank perjury.
What was he to think of a hypocrite?
“Jove! that’s a queer case. I don’t suppose your wife has any idea of where your property lies—never saw such places as this Twenty-seventh Street house, for instance?”