d
Gumble to death; I've read myself stupid. What's going on, Billy?"

So Fleetwood sketched for him a gay cartoon of events, caricaturing
various episodes in the social kaleidoscope which might interest him.
He gossiped cynically, but without malice, about people they both knew,
about engagements, marriages, and divorces, plans and ambitions; about
those absent from the metropolis and the newcomers to be welcomed.
He commented briefly on the opera, reviewed the newer plays at the
theatres, touched on the now dormant gaiety which had made the season at
nearby country clubs conspicuous; then drifted into the hunting field,
gossiping pleasantly in the vernacular about horses and packs and
drag-hunts and stables, and what people thought of the new English
hounds of the trial pack, and how the new M. F. H., Maitland Gray, had
managed to break so many bones at Southbury.

Politics were touched upon, and they spoke of the possibility of
Ferrall going to the Assembly, the sport of boss-baiting having become
fashionable among amateurs, and providing a new amusement for the idle
rich.

So city, State, and national issues were run through lightly, business
conditions noticed, the stock market speculated upon; and presently
conversation died out, with a yawn from Fleetwood as he looked into his
empty glass at the last bit of ice.

"Don't do that, Billy," smiled Siward. "You haven't discoursed upon art,
literature, and science yet, and you can't go until you've adjusted the
affairs of the nation for the next twenty-four hours."

"Art?" yawned Fleetwood. "Oh, pictures? Don't like 'em. Nobody ever
looks at 'em except debutantes, who do it out of deviltry, to floor a
man at a dinner or a dance."

"How about literature?" inquired Siward gravely. "Anything doing?"

"Nothing in it," replied Fleetwood more gravely still. "It's another
feminine bluff--like all that music talk they hand you after the opera."

"I see. And science?"

"Spider Flynn is matched to meet Kid Holloway; is that what you mean,
Stephen? Somebody tumbled out of an air-ship the other day; is that what
you mean? And they're selling scientific jewelry on Broadway at a dollar
a quart; is that what you want to know?"

Siward rested his head on his hand with a smile. "Yes, that's about
what I wanted to know, Billy--all about the arts and sciences. ... Much
obliged. You needn't stay any longer, if you don't want to."

"How soon will you be out?" inquired Fleetwood