Mr. Longdon, his nippers again in place, hesitated. “Yes, I know.”
“And you’ve accepted it.”
“How could I help it? To reckon with such cleverness—!”
“Was beyond you? Ah it wasn’t my cleverness,” Mitchy said. “There’s a greater than mine. There’s a greater even than Van’s. That’s the whole point,” he went on while his friend looked at him hard. “You don’t even like it just a little?”
Mr. Longdon wondered. “The existence of such an element—?”
“No; the existence simply of my knowledge of your idea.”
“I suppose I’m bound to keep in mind in fairness the existence of my own knowledge of yours.”
But Mitchy gave that the go-by. “Oh I’ve so many ‘ideas’! I’m always getting hold of some new one and for the most part trying it—generally to let it go as a failure. Yes, I had one six months ago. I tried that. I’m trying it still.”
“Then I hope,” said Mr. Longdon with a gaiety slightly strained, “that, contrary to your usual rule, it’s a success.”
It was a gaiety, for that matter, that Mitchy’s could match. “It does promise well! But I’ve another idea even now, and it’s just what I’m again trying.”