“And what did you say his business was?” he asked, with that implication of a previous statement on your part which some people think it so clever to make when they question you.
I always hate it, and I avenged myself by answering simply, “Bless my soul, he has no business!” and letting him take up the word now or not, as he liked.
“Then he is a man of independent means?”
I could not resist answering, “Independent means? Kendricks has no means whatever.” But having dealt this blow, I could add, “I believe his mother has some money. They are people who live comfortably.”
“Then he has no profession?” asked Mr. Gage, with a little more stringency in his smile.
“I don’t know whether you will call it a profession. He is a writer.”
“Ah!” Mr. Gage softly breathed. “Does he write for your—paper?”
I noted that as to the literary technicalities he seemed not to be much more ignorant than Kendricks’s own family, and I said, tolerantly, “Yes; he writes for our magazine.”
“Magazine—yes; I beg your pardon,” he interrupted.
“And for any others where he can place his material.”