He took back the meerschaum, filled and lit before he replied.
"I know you have never forgiven me, Dale, for giving up the practice of medicine. I wish I could make you understand that it was not entirely my fault, and that there is no place for the medical profession in my country."
"I never could understand that, Nick, for it always seemed to me that a young man could make his best start where he was known."
"It is difficult to make you Americans understand that tout le monde, as the French say, is not American. In the first place there is no city, town or hamlet near my home place; and in the second the people—although I say it who love them well—are not progressive. They still live under the laws of the middle ages and the wonders of modern medicine would appear as witchcraft in their eyes."
"Your country must be most peculiar," I said. Such was the rapport between us that Nick took my reply as I meant it, a gentle suggestion that he tell me more about his mysterious native land. Deep down in my heart I always resented his secrecy in the matter, and could never understand his reason for keeping anything from one who loved him like a brother.
A frown gathered upon his brow as he studied the carpet.
"If you still want to make a mystery of yourself," I said when he remained silent, "you need tell me nothing and I shall not be offended."
"When I first came to you, old friend," he said, "I kept my own counsel for various reasons. One was because I desired you, and all who knew me, to like me because I was just Nick Fremsted and not the descendant of an old and illustrious family. Another was because you Americans are inclined to smile at anything smaller than your own country and my Fatherland is not any larger than the state of Delaware."
"Let it pass," I replied, "and instead tell me what you have done since last we met."
"All right," said he. "Where shall I begin?"