“There is only one man who stands in the way,” he calculated. “He will be removed immediately upon my return.”
There was something so uncanny about this that even the practical and the direct Allison was shocked for an instant, and then he laughed.
“We have still much to learn from your country,” he courteously confessed.
When Ivan Strolesky had gone, Allison went to his globe and drew a bright red line across the land of the frozen seas.
There came a famous diplomat, a heavy blonde man with a red face and big spectacles and a high, wide, round forehead.
“I do not know what you want,” said the visitor, regarding Allison with a stolid stare. “I have come to see.”
“I merely wish to chat international politics,” returned Allison. “There is an old-time feud between you and your neighbours to the west.”
“That is history,” replied the visitor noncommittally. “We are now at peace.”
“Never peace,” denied Allison. “There will never be friendship between phlegmatism and mercurialism. You might rest for centuries with your neighbours to the west, but rest is not peace.”
“Excuse me, but what do you mean?” and the visitor stared stolidly.