"What's this to do with—"
"Are you"
"No."
"His wife was worse Boston than he; he'd get changed some during the day and he'd get all Boston again overnight. So maybe there's more hope for you."
"Hope" said Calvin, astounded.
"For you to find some use in people who maybe haven't been born your kind and got your exact ideas. Ket sure hasn't. He's a liar; and I was a liar for a while last night. He went down and did something, I don't know what; but I know it wasn't shooting Adele.
"He was untrue to her; but he wasn't stingy. He petted around with a lot of girls, and I don't doubt he went the limit with most. He's got nothing behind him but a manicure mother and a papa who'd picked her up, I suppose. So whether or not you figure he shot his wife, he's nothing to you. You'd never have taken any interest in him—would you?—except to hang him. He's nobody for the University Club; he's not a hand-me-down man, like you. He's not already made—by his papa and people. He's just a lot of goods which is getting together; and you just give him a chance to get himself together! You just give him a chance, Mr. Clarke! Then you'll see something.
"He won't be like you; so you won't like him, though. That shoe man I was telling you about was awful worried about this section; he was sure the country was going to the dogs because it was running out of ready-mades like him—and you. Now, you know, I liked that man; yes, I admired him; but somehow it didn't keep me awake nights to think of the supply of him running short. I'd look around and I'd see Ket, who came from God knows where, and running his own band at twenty!"
Calvin had recoiled, conscious of the policewoman
