“Fired? Hy—when?”
“To-day. Chucked out. I haven't got half of that—to live on, even.”
“Oh, my dear boy, you oughtn't to live in this careless way, not saving a cent—”
“Of course I oughtn't. But I do. That's me.”
“But what on earth—what reason—”
“Conduct. I'm a bad one.” He was almost triumphant. “Only last night I was seen leaving a questionable restaurant—where they dance and drink—with a young lady—”
The tears were not falling now. Miss Silvia So-rana was looking straight at him, thoughtful, even cool.
“Are you telling me the truth, Hy Lowe?”
“The gospel. I'm not even the proletariat. I'm the unemployed.”
“Well,” said she—“well!” And she thought it deliberately out. “Well—I guess you can't be blamed for that!”