“We call him the Duc de Mersch,” I interrupted, flippantly. It was a matter of nuances. The Elective Grand Duke was a philanthropist and a State Founder, the Duc de Mersch was the hero as financier.
“Of Holstein-Launewitz,” Callan ignored. The titles slipped over his tongue like the last drops of some inestimable oily vintage.
“I might have saved you the trouble. I’m going to see him myself.”
“You,” I italicised. It struck me as phenomenal and rather absurd that everybody that I came across should, in some way or other, be mixed up with this portentous philanthropist. It was as if a fisherman were drawing in a ground line baited with hundreds of hooks. He had a little offended air.
“He, or, I should say, a number of people interested in a philanthropic society, have asked me to go to Greenland.”
“Do they want to get rid of you?” I asked, flippantly. I was made to know my place.
“My dear fellow,” Callan said, in his most deliberate, most Olympian tone. “I believe you’re entirely mistaken, I believe ... I’ve been informed that the Système Groënlandais is one of the healthiest places in the Polar regions. There are interested persons who....”
“So I’ve heard,” I interrupted, “but I can assure you I’ve heard nothing but good of the Système and the ... and its philanthropists. I meant nothing against them. I was only astonished that you should go to such a place.”
“I have been asked to go upon a mission,” he explained, seriously, “to ascertain what the truth about the Système really is. It is a new country with, I am assured, a great future in store. A great deal of English money has been invested in its securities, and naturally great interest is taken in its affairs.”
“So it seems,” I said, “I seem to run upon it at every hour of the day and night.”