“Please yourself, Palla,” he repeated. “I guess you can afford to from all I hear. I guess you can do as you’ve a mind to, now.... So you’re fixing to locate in New York, eh?”
“I think so.”
“Live in a flat?”
“I don’t know.”
“What are you going to do in New York?” he asked curiously.
“I’m sure I don’t know. There’ll be plenty to do, I suppose.”
“You bet,” he said, blinking rapidly, “there’s always something doing in that little old town.” He slapped his knee: “Palla,” he said, “I’m thinking of going into the movie business.”
“Really?”
“Yes, I’m considering it. Slovaks and bum farms are played out. There’s no money in Shadow Hill––or if there is, it’s locked up––or the income tax has paralysed it. No, I’m through. There’s nothing doing in land; no commissions. And I’m considering a quick getaway.”
“Where do you expect to go?”