As soon as dinner had been ordered,--a matter much complicated by Mr. Bagley's calling for things which the house didn't serve, and then wanting to know why it didn't,--he plunged at once into the details of some business with Davenport, to which the ignored Larcher, sulking behind an evening paper, studiously refrained from attending. By the time the chops and potatoes had been brought, the business had been communicated, and Bagley's mind was free to regard other things. He suddenly took notice of Larcher. “So you're a friend of Dav's, are you?” quoth he, looking with benign patronage from one young man to the other. “I've known Mr. Davenport a--short while,” said Larcher, with all the iciness of injured conceit. “Same business?” queried Bagley. “I beg your pardon,” said Larcher, as if the other had spoken a foreign language. “Are you in the same business he's in?” said Bagley, in a louder voice. “I--write,” said Larcher, coldly. Bagley looked him over, and, with evident approval of his clothes, remarked: “You seem to've made a better thing of it than Dav has.” “I make a living,” said Larcher, curtly, with a glance at Davenport, who showed no feeling whatever. “Well, I guess that's about all Dav does,” said Bagley, in a jocular manner. “How is it, Dav, old man? But you never had any business sense.” “I can't return the compliment,” said Davenport, quietly. Bagley uttered a mirthful “Yah!” and looked very well contented with himself. “I've always managed to get along,” he admitted. “And a good thing for you I have, Dav. Where'ud you be to-day if you hadn't had me for your good angel whenever you struck hard luck?” “I haven't the remotest idea,” said Davenport, as if vastly bored. “Neither have I,” quoth Bagley, and filled his mouth with mutton and potato. When he had got these sufficiently disposed of to permit further speech, he added: “No, sir, you literary fellows think yourselves very fine people, but I don't see many of you getting to be millionaires by your work.” “There are other ambitions in life,” said Larcher. Mr. Bagley emitted a grunt of laughter. “Sour grapes! Sour grapes, young fellow! I know what I'm talking about. I've been a literary man myself.” Larcher arrested his fork half-way between his plate and his mouth, in order to look his amazement. A curious twitch of the lips was the only manifestation of Davenport, except that he took a long sip of ale. “Nobody would ever think it,” said Larcher. “Yes, sir; I've been a literary man; a playwright, that is. Dramatic author, my friend Dav here would call it, I s'pose. But I made it pay.” “I must confess I don't recognize the name of Bagley as being attached to any play I ever heard of,” said Larcher. “And yet I've paid a good deal of attention to the theatre.”