It interested me so much that I've come back
to talk to you about it."
"Fire ahead," acquiesced Orde.
"I'm going to ask you a few questions about yourself, and you can
answer them or not, just as you please."
"Oh, I'm not bashful about my career," laughed Orde.
"How old are you?" inquired Newmark abruptly.
"Thirty."
"How long have you been doing that sort of thing--driving, I mean?"
"Off and on, about six years."
"Why did you go into that particular sort of thing?"
Orde selected a twig and carefully threw it at a lump in the turf.
"Because there's nothing ahead of shovelling but dirt," he replied
with a quaint grin.
"I see," said Newmark, after a pause. "Then you think there's more
future to that sort of thing than the sort of thing the rest of your
friends go in for--law, and wholesale groceries, and banking and the
rest of it?"
"There is for me," replied Orde simply.
"Yet you're merely river-driving on a salary at thirty."
Orde flushed slowly, and shifted his position.
"Exactly so--Mr. District Attorney," he said drily.
Newmark started from his absorption in his questioning and shifted
his unlighted cigar.
"Does sound like it," he admitted; "but I'm not asking all this out
of idle curiosity.
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