"I am an orphan," I said sadly, "with no relatives."

"A pitiful position," sneered Moriway. "You look so much like
a boy I know that--"

"Do you really think so?" So awfully polite was Latimer to such
a rat as Moriway. Why? Well, wait. "I can't agree with you. Do
you know, I find Miss Omar very feminine. Of course, short
hair--"

"Her hair is short, then!"

"Typhoid," I murmured.

"Too bad!" Moriway sneered.

"Yes," I snapped. "I thought it was at the time. My hair was
very heavy and long, and I had a chance to sit in a window at
Troyon's where they were advertising a hair tonic and--"

Rotten? Of course it was. I'd no business to gabble, and just
because you and your new job, Mag, came to my mind at that
minute, there I went putting my foot in it.

Moriway laughed. I didn't like the sound of his laugh.

"Your reader is versatile, Mr. Latimer," he said.

"Yes." Latimer smoothed the soft silk rug that lay over him.
"Poverty and that sort of versatility are often bedfellows, eh?