language.

"Are you in the same business he's in?" said Bagley, in a louder voice.

"I--write," said Larcher, coldly.

Bagley looked him over, and, with evident approval of his clothes,
remarked: "You seem to've made a better thing of it than Dav has."

"I make a living," said Larcher, curtly, with a glance at Davenport, who
showed no feeling whatever.

"Well, I guess that's about all Dav does," said Bagley, in a jocular
manner. "How is it, Dav, old man? But you never had any business sense."

"I can't return the compliment," said Davenport, quietly.

Bagley uttered a mirthful "Yah!" and looked very well contented with
himself. "I've always managed to get along," he admitted. "And a good
thing for you I have, Dav. Where'ud you be to-day if you hadn't had me
for your good angel whenever you struck hard luck?"

"I haven't the remotest idea," said Davenport, as if vastly bored.

"Neither have I," quoth Bagley, and filled his mouth with mutton and
potato. When he had got these sufficiently disposed of to permit further
speech, he added: "No, sir, you literary fellows think yourselves very
fine people, but I don't see many of you getting to be millionaires by
your work."