His favorite newspaper was the Times, which he began at breakfast in the morning often with manifest irritation, and carried off to finish in the train, leaving no other paper at home. He stopped, panting hard, slamming his cane to the floor to make use of its much-needed support. He was smiling under his heavy mustache, and his head was a little on one side as he looked at her. "But, I own, I think it is like. Earles recovered his spirits. “Perhaps,” he queried, “you wish to avoid being seen about with any one—er— connected with the profession, under present circumstances.
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