"He's turned into what I knew he was—a damned snob!" said the colonel, sitting with widened legs, a rich cigar tucked in under his military mustache, and furtively loosening the rear buckle of his white waistcoat.
"He doesn't pay for his keep," he went on. "What use to you is a man who sits around looking unapproachable?"
"I have no difficulty in approaching him," observed Mr. Rivett.
"You pay him. To look at him, one would think he paid you."
"He pays me his services."
"Ah, but he doesn't! He's off with that little Diana girl half the time."
"That's their affair."
"By gad! Is it? They're both here on a salary if it comes to that, Jake.... Say, did it ever strike you as funny—this cousin business he puts up?"
Mr. Rivett's burned-brown eyes fixed themselves on the jaunty colonel.
"How?"