"I didn't meet any."
"What, and you went to Chicago!"
"Exactly," Duncan replied. "They say there that one has to go away to meet them. The right sort don't seem to know them."
"What were the people like, anyway?" asked Howard-Jones.
"The women are dears, some of the men are queer, most of them are passable, and a few are the whitest chaps I ever came across. I was treated like a prince. I lived at the City Club, and they could not do enough for me there."
"Did you get anything fit to eat?" asked Howard-Jones dubiously.
"You must imagine the people out there eat jerked venison and dine in their shirt-sleeves," replied Duncan. "They don't live in wigwams, and buffalo don't run wild in the streets."
"Don't get huffy, Duncan; I was only judging by what I had heard. You remember what Waterman said about Chicago."
"Yes, and I repeat again," replied that worthy, "it is the beastliest hole it has ever been my luck to get stranded in."
"Then you display your ignorance," said Duncan.