Page:The Whisper on the Stair by Lyon Mearson (1924).djvu/157

 put in Teck. “Especially to the obstinate.” He took another mouthful.

“Smells good,” suggested Val, hopefully.

“It is good,” Teck assured him. “There are very few better cooks than O’Hara, when he isn’t⸺”

“When he isn’t engaged in the delightful pastime of assassination, I suppose. I say, is he a union murderer, or does he have to put in more than eight hours a day at manslaughter? This is not mere curiosity, you know; I ask because I am interested in the betterment of conditions for the working classes. Does he have to specialize, or is he permitted to vary his duties by a little burglary here and there, or an occasional bit of assault and battery? You know for yourself how boring and monotonous it is, committing nothing but murder all the time, with never a chance⸺”

“Hope you’re enjoying yourself, Mr. Morley,” put in Teck tersely. “It’s your last chance, you know. Still thirsty?”

“Why? Aren’t thinking of giving me food and drink, are you?” Val asked.

The other shook his head. “No,” he said regretfully, “it would not be in strict accord with the most elementary principles of economics. Suppose you promise what I ask—what happens? Why, you go free, and in five minutes are buying your own food at a restaurant. Suppose you don’t—what happens?” he asked this judicially. “Why, in a short time you won’t feel the need of food—it’ll be all the same whether you were hungry or whether you were sated—see! That being the case, why should I waste my substance on you? Do you find any flaw in my reasoning? Speak up if you do—I’m rather proud of that sequence of thought.”