Angelo began to talk. As he continued to talk he began to glow. He was full of his subject.
“Wait!” The stout man held up a hand.
“Drysdale,” he said to the gray, steel-eyed man, “you had better sit in on this.”
Gray Steel arose, dragged a chair forward and sat down.
“All right.” The stout man nodded to Angelo.
“Shall—shall I begin over again?”
“Not necessary. Drysdale is clever. Takes a thing in the middle, and works both ways.”
Angelo talked and glowed once more. For fully half an hour, like a small car on a country road at night, he rattled and glowed.
“What do you think of it?” the stout man demanded, when the recital was finished. “Drysdale, what do you think? Find a chorus, right enough. Know one right now. House is dark. What do you think?”
“Paris.” Gray Steel Face cupped his chin. “Americans go wild over Paris.”