"One quarter Potawatomi."
"Also, I'm told that you are something of an authority on the history of the American Indian."
"I've written books on the subject and expect to write a good many more."
"You speak the language?"
"What language?"
He floundered a little. "Why—ah—the—ah—Indian language."
"Look, Mr. Kramer," I said, "there are scores of Indian languages. Nobody in history, red man or white, could ever speak all of them. Fortunately most Indians belonged to one of several great families, and the language of each family was close enough for the tribes in that family to understand each other. I can handle the language of the Algonquin like a native, being part Potawatomi myself. I can get by in the tongue of the Iroquois, the Caddoan, the Siouan, and the Muskhogean. The Déné and Uto-Aztecan would give me considerable trouble, while the Penutian would be just about a blank."
I stopped there, and shrugged. "Sorry. I didn't mean to turn this into a lecture."
Kramer's weathered face stayed expressionless. "Are you familiar with the customs of Indians of, say, two hundred years ago?"