"Be it far from me! I'm a good deal tickled though by your genial assumption that if I offered myself to this lady I should be declined with thanks. You have fretted yourself into a state of mind that bodes ill for American philosophy."
He was again belligerent. It may have occurred to him that I might know as much as he, but at any rate he grinned; it was a saturnine grin I did not like.
"I'm starving to death at the door of an inn, and you must excuse me. Have you seen Hartley Wiggins lately?"
"I have, indeed! He's taken to lonely horseback rides; he's off somewhere now. He has n't the stamina for a contest like this. One by one the autumn leaves are falling," he added, with special intention, "and I have given you your chance."
"Thanks, light-bringing Socrates from the lands of the Ogalallas! For so much courtesy I shall take pleasure in reading all your posthumous works. Let us cease being absurd."
He laid his hand on my arm and lowered his tone.
"Don't be an ass. If you and I both know what's underneath all this mystery we might come to an understanding."
"I don't follow you. Please make a light, like a man about to have an idea."
"You mean that you don't understand?" He eyed me doubtfully, uncertain whether I knew or not.
"You have implied that I am incapable of understanding; suppose we let it go at that."