“I know it well,” he protested. “Yours is not an uncommon name, I believe, in England. It is less common in the States. Your Christian name is—is—is—?”
“John,” I submitted modestly.
His brow cleared. “Exactly,” he nodded. “I know it well.”
Then he seemed uncertain again, and looked thoughtfully but absently at a castle-crowned hill. I imagine he was running through and ticking off as the names occurred to him the list of all the illustrious John Browns. Possibly he thought of the author of Rab and His Friends, and decided that I was too young. Possibly of Queen Victoria’s favourite gillie, who was generally pictured in kilts, whereas I wore knickerbockers.
“You have published books?” he asked.
I nodded.
“Only in England perhaps?”
“No, they have been issued in America too.”
“Sold?”
“The people who bought them were,” I said.