aptly that she could think of no argument sufficiently biting to
confound him. She deliberately framed a stinging reference to his
pose in the matter of dress, though in frankness she had to admit
that he wore his gray sweater vest with an air of genuine comfort
and unconsciousness. Then she remembered, barely in time, that her
own style in garments both on and off the stage was far more
startling than his, and decided that she would merely be laying
herself open to a disastrous counter-attack if she hurled her
sarcasm in that direction; therefore she sought another opening.
She had made up her mind to begin humbling his conceit by voicing
her contemptuous regard for newspaper men in general when he once
more forestalled her by giving crisp expression to the very
sentiments she was rehearsing. Of course, it was all affectation,
like his slovenly disregard of fashion--and yet, she was
interested to hear him tell Bob:

"I don't like the business--never have. Every time I get some
money ahead I quit it and try something else. Writing isn't a
man's exercise, anyhow, and journalism is just a form of body-
snatching. The average reporter is a ghoul."

"You don't do reporting," said Bob.

"No, I don't; but that's all a dramatic review ought to be--a news
story. Why not have social critics to comment on society
entertainments--or financial critics to roast unhealthy commercial
enterprises and advertise safe ones? How long d'you think Wall
Street would stand for that? Why don't the papers hire dry-goods
experts to prowl through the department stores, publishing the
cost prices of merchandise and warning the public against bargain