“You are enjoying yourself looking at his grave,” the poet began; “and I don’t blame you. I like looking at the graves of people I’ve known. But you go further than I could go, Solent. You are the clever one, the wise one, the old cunning one! You can enjoy looking at a grave though you never knew the person who’s in it.”

“You can’t expect me not to be interested in Redfern, can you?” retorted Wolf, a little crustily.

“Of course not. That’s just it. We all feel an interest⁠—a nice, merry interest⁠—in being alive when someone else is dead. He only came down here for money,” he added unexpectedly, “like you!”

“If I came for it, I assure you I don’t get it,” said Wolf.

Jason chuckled a great deal at this remark. Then he grew grave. “I’ve got a poem here I’d like to read to you, if it wouldn’t spoil your pleasure in looking at this young man’s grave. I won’t, if it would .”