He laughed derisively as if it was absurd to imagine he was going to
remain a shipping clerk all his life.

"Oh, I'm only a clerk now, but I'll be boss some day--see if I don't."

"Might I ask what your present income is?" inquired the widow blandly.

For the first time Mr. Gillie seemed at a loss for an answer.
Awkwardly shifting his cigar to the other corner of his mouth, he
stammered:

"I'm not getting much now--ten a week--that's all." Hastily he
continued: "But it won't be for long. The big men down town know
me--they know what I'm worth to them. They're just watching me. Any
day they may make me an offer that would land me in Easy Street.
Besides, sooner or later I'll astonish people with one of my
inventions. I'm full of new ideas. Some of them are bound to make
money. It's a cinch!"

How long he would have continued in this strain there is no telling,
for, although not talkative usually, he always became extraordinarily
loquacious when encouraged to speak of his own affairs. Utterly
exhausted by his chatter and feeling dreadfully tired, Mrs. Blaine
began to wish that her unwelcome visitor would go. The room was full
of tobacco smoke and his free-and-easy manner irritated her extremely.
Of course, his proposal was ridiculous, an impertinence. It was
Fanny's fault for having encouraged him. But it was best to say
nothing--to just drop him gently. An awkward pause followed during
which the widow, fatigued as she was, plied her needle more