The door was locked. The old gentleman settled back in his twirling chair and regarded me with a twinkle in his eye as I vainly tried to pull the door open, and I realized that I was helpless.
"Better sit down and enjoy a quiet smoke with me," he said, calmly. "Take off that absurd-looking tile and talk to me."
"I haven't anything to say to you," I replied. "Not a word. Do you intend to let me out of this or not?"
"All in good time—all in good time," he said. "Let's talk it over. Why do you wish to go? Don't you find me good company?"
"You're a stupid old idiot!" I shouted, almost weeping with rage. "Locking me up in your rotten old den here when you must realize what you are depriving me of. What earthly good it does you I can't see."
"It does me lots of good," he said, with a chuckle. "Really, sir, it gives me a new sensation—first new sensation I have had in a long, long time. Let me see now, just how many names have you called me in the three minutes I have had the pleasure of your acquaintance?"
"Give me time, and I'll call you a lot more," I retorted, sullenly.
"Good—I'll give you the time," he said. "Go ahead. I'll listen to you for a whole hour. What am I besides a meddler, and a stupid old idiot, and an old fool?"