parently no invisible means of support?" I ask him, over the cheese and crackers.
Robert turns a rosy red.
"I imagine that must look a bit odd," he says. "But allow me to call your attention to the fact that I'm occupying the cheapest room in the—eh—hostelry, and I must have a good address to get even casual attention from the theatrical producers."
"Listen," I says quietly. "As long as you have failed to set the lake ablaze as a playwright, are in debt and have no more idea than a rabbit where you're going to promote any money, why not forget about the hard hearted theatrical producers and go to work?"
Robert's knife clatters to the table and his mouth opens wide. In his eyes is a look of genuine amazement. Then he smiles.
"You're joking," he says calmly.
I gaze at him, coolly sitting there eating the food I have paid for and grinning at the idea of earning his living, and honestly I get burnt up!
"You see something comical in the idea of getting a job?" I ask him, in a kind of strained voice.
"Naturally!" he answers, packing some more cheese on a cracker. "My dear girl, I wouldn't even know how to go about it! What would I do, for instance?"
"What would you do?" I says angrily. "Why, anything! Drive a truck, dig streets, sell books, learn
