"Well?" Verrian asked, looking at him.

"How does it happen you're up so late, after everybody else is wrapped in
slumber?"

"I might ask the same of you."

"Well, I found I wasn't making it a case of sleep, exactly, and so I got
up."

"Well, I hadn't gone to bed for much the same reason. Why couldn't you
sleep? A real-estate broker ought to have a clean conscience."

"So ought a publisher, for that matter. What do you think of this
ghost-dance, anyway?"

"It might be amusing--if it fails." Verrian was tempted to add the
condition by the opportunity for a cynicism which he did not feel. It is
one of the privileges of youth to be cynical, whether or no.

Bushwick sat down before the fire and rubbed his shins with his two hands
unrestfully, drawing in a long breath between his teeth. "These things
get on to my nerves sometimes. I shouldn't want the ghost-dance to
fail."

"On Mrs. Westangle's account?"

"I guess Mrs. Westangle could stand it. Look here!" It was rather a
customary phrase of his, Verrian noted. As he now used it he looked