“Because your conversation in this particular instance seemed to me to be that of a person who was concealing something. Politician’s talk, Grogan, is specious, but notable for its reticence.”
“Well, Harry,” returned Grogan, “your own line of talk is not particularly illuminating, either.”
“What do you mean, Mike?”
“Well, here I am, an old friend of your father’s, mixed up with him in half a dozen deals. I’ve known you ever since you sat in a high chair and spooned gruel from a bowl. I come on you in this out of the way corner and you say never a word of why you’re here, or what you’re doing. I think Clam is your middle name.”
“Why,” replied Harry, “I came down to Millville to collect some rents.”
“Only rents?” queried Grogan pointedly.
“What the devil do you mean?”
“Youngsters of your age sometimes amuse themselves collecting—shirtwaists.”
“Stop that, Grogan,” retorted Harry angrily.
“Stop what, me boy?”