He began with a wave of his arm. “That’s the place, George,” he said. “See?”
“Eh!” I cried—for I had been thinking of remote things.
“I got it.”
“Got what?”
“For a house!—a Twentieth Century house! That’s the place for it!”
One of his characteristic phrases was begotten in him.
“Four-square to the winds of heaven, George!” he said. “Eh? Four-square to the winds of heaven!”
“You’ll get the winds up here,” I said.
“A mammoth house it ought to be, George—to suit these hills.”
“Quite,” I said.