“I don’t want to. But I want to be able to if I do want to. Am I talking like a fool, Andy?”
“I don’t know,” answered the other, troubled.
A silence fell between them. Galpin whittled a pencil to so careful and delicate a point that it immediately broke. He repeated the experiment with like result before he spoke.
“Say, Jem.”
The other looked up, attentive. Seldom, since their new relationship had the older man employed any formula of address other than the half-jocular, half-official, “Boss.”
“Say it, Andy.”
“Who are you making this paper for?”
Across the editor’s face passed a swift shock, as of thought surprised and betrayed.
“Making it for?” he said slowly.
“Ay-ah. For yourself, I guess. Huh?”