It was stupid as well as gross, in his hearer's opinion. If he had known what was good for him he would have been clever enough to ignore the practical presentation of his case made half an hour or so earlier.
“No, there is not,” Palliser replied, with serene mendacity. “No suggestion of that sort has been made. My business proposition was given out on an entirely different basis. You, of course, choose to put your personal construction upon it.”
“Gee whiz!” ejaculated T. Tembarom. “I was 'way off, wasn't I?”
“I told you that professing to be an ass wouldn't be good enough in this case. Don't go on with it,” said Palliser, sharply.
“You're throwing bouquets. Let a fellow be natural,” said Tembarom.
“That is bluff, too,” Palliser replied more sharply still. “I am not taken in by it, bold as it is. Ever since you came here, you have been playing this game. It was your fool's grin and guffaw and pretense of good nature that first made me suspect you of having something up your sleeve. You were too unembarrassed and candid.”
“So you began to look out,” Tembarom said, considering him curiously, “just because of that.” Then suddenly he laughed outright, the fool's guffaw.
It somehow gave Palliser a sort of puzzled shock. It was so hearty that it remotely suggested that he appeared more secure than seemed possible. He tried to reply to him with a languid contempt of manner.
“You think you have some tremendously sharp `deal' in your hand,” he said, “but you had better remember you are in England where facts are like sledge-hammers. You can't dodge from under them as you can in America. I dare say you won't answer me, but I should like to ask you what you propose to do.”
“I don't know what I'm going to do any more than you do,” was the unilluminating answer. “I don't mind telling you that.”