“Off and on, about six years.”
“Why did you go into that particular sort of thing?”
Orde selected a twig and carefully threw it at a lump in the turf.
“Because there's nothing ahead of shovelling but dirt,” he replied with a quaint grin.
“I see,” said Newmark, after a pause. “Then you think there's more future to that sort of thing than the sort of thing the rest of your friends go in for—law, and wholesale groceries, and banking and the rest of it?”
“There is for me,” replied Orde simply.
“Yet you're merely river-driving on a salary at thirty.”
Orde flushed slowly, and shifted his position.
“Exactly so—Mr. District Attorney,” he said drily.
Newmark started from his absorption in his questioning and shifted his unlighted cigar.