“We have, sir,” I said, “but I hardly think you remember it.”
“I remember it very well,” he said. “You see our meeting was an incident too good to be kept, so your friend Mr. Clay has told it to several of my friends, through whom it comes to me.” And he again laughed softly at my evident embarrassment. I was thunderstruck.
“I am very sorry, Mr. Minister,” I stammered; “Mr. Clay has been very unkind in repeating what I told him. I assure you there was no malicious intention on my part.”
“Tut, tut,” said the Minister, “don’t apologise. You acted wisely, and Clay was not unkind. The mistake was mine.”
“I am very sorry;” I began again lamely.
“No necessity to be sorry,” said he. “I have a sense of humour, and quite understand how the whole thing came about. Clay has told me everything.”
“I am obliged to Mr. Clay,” I said, rising from my chair with as much dignity as I could command. I was very uncomfortable, and hoped the roasting was over.
“Pray sit down,” said the Minister. “I wish to talk to you.”
Again I sat.
“I understand,” he said, “that you do not like pot holes.”