The sudden question seemed to change the whole atmosphere. Watson, I fancy, had been ready to enter upon a defense of Shaw, and Miss Day to convert Quarles to Bach worship; in fact, I firmly believe that every one except myself had forgotten all about the dead man until that moment.
"Why do you ask!" Watson inquired after a pause.
"You are such a musical set, it would be strange if one of your company could not play any instrument at all. I am told he sang tenor songs, and was wondering whether that was all he could do."
"As a fact he played the banjo and the guitar," said Watson, "but he has not done so in Fairtown. The people here are high-class people, and we have to vary our performance to suit our audiences. At Brighton, where we go next week, Henley's banjo playing might have been the most popular item on the program."
"I can understand that. You know very little about Mr. Henley, I am told," and he waved his hand in my direction to show where he had got his information.
"Very little," Watson replied. "He told us he had no relations, and he received very few letters, which seemed to be from agents and business people. I did not question him very closely when he applied to me. I judged that he was down on his luck, but he fitted my requirements, and my wife was favorably impressed with him."
"And you have no reason to regret taking him into your company?"
"On the contrary, he proved a great acquisition, a far better man than the one whose place he took."
"That is not quite what I meant," said Quarles. "Companies of entertainers vary, not only in ability, but in individual tastes, in personnel. By engaging Mr. Henley you were obliged to admit him into your private circle, and I imagine—"
"That is what I meant by saying my wife approved of him," said Watson. "I wouldn't engage the finest tenor in the world unless he were a decent fellow. It wouldn't be fair to the rest of us."