I've nothing to complain of." "That's all I wanted to know," said Dryfoos; but apparently he had not finished, and he did not go, though the silence that Beaton now kept gave him a chance to do so.

He began a series of questions which had no relation to the matter in hand, though they were strictly personal to Beaton.

"What countryman are you ?" he asked, after a moment.
"What countryman ?" Beaton frowned back at him.
"Yes, are you an American by birth ?" "Yes; I was born in Syracuse." "Protestant ?" "My father is a Scotch Seceder." "What business is your father in ?" Beaton faltered and blushed; then he answered: "He's in the monument business, as he calls it.

He's a tombstone cutter." Now that he was launched, Beaton saw no reason for not declaring, "My father's always been a poor man, and worked with his own hands for his living." He had too slight esteem socially for Dryfoos to conceal a fact from him that he might have wished to blink with others.
"Well, that's right," said Dryfoos.

"I used to farm it myself.