“I was never sufficiently imaginative,” he answered.
“You travel a good deal,” I suggested.
He had apparently made up his mind to abandon himself to his fate, for he turned towards me with a resigned air. An ancient nurse of mine had always described me as the most “wearing” child she had ever come across. I prefer to speak of myself as persevering.
“I should go about more,” he said, “were I able to see any difference between one place and another.”
“Tried Central Africa?” I inquired.
“Once or twice,” he answered. “It always reminds me of Kew Gardens.”
“China?” I hazarded.
“Cross between a willow-pattern plate and a New York slum,” was his comment.
“The North Pole?” I tried, thinking the third time might be lucky.
“Never got quite up to it,” he returned. “Reached Cape Hakluyt once.”