That's the way I excuse myself."
"And you say Mrs. Mandel done right?" asked Dryfoos, as if he wished
simply to be assured of a point of etiquette.
"Yes, she did right. 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.
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