Mr. Deeley addressed him tolerantly. "What line are you in, Mr. Bottle?" he asked.
"Barbers' supplies," admitted Mr. Pottle.
"Ah, yes. Barbers' supplies. How interesting," said Mr. Deeley. "Climbing the lather of success, eh?"
Mr. Pottle did not join in the merriment.
"What line are you in?" he asked. He prayed that Mr. Deeley would say "Shoes," for by a happy inspiration he was prepared to counter with, "Ah, starting at the bottom," and thus split honors with the Xenian.
But Mr. Deeley did not say "Shoes." He said "Literature." Mrs. Gallup beamed.
"Oh, are you, Mr. Deeley? How perfectly thrilling!" she said rapturously. "I didn't know that."
"Oh, yes indeed," said Mr. Deeley. He changed the subject by turning to Mr. Pottle. "By the way, Mr. Poodle, are you interested in Abyssinia?" he inquired.
"Why, no—that is, not particularly," confessed Mr. Pottle. He looked toward her who had quickened his pulse, but her eyes were fastened on Mr. Deeley.
"I'm surprised to hear you say that," said Mr. Deeley. "A most interesting place, Abyssinia—rather a specialty of mine."