His jaw dropped, as well it might. I knew that for a moment he was wondering whether I had taken leave of my senses.
"Eh?" he said.
I repeated the question. Of course, I no more wanted information about Aerodynamic Resistance than I did about briar pipes and amber beads. It was information about Charles Valentine Smith that I wanted and intended to have.
I date my possession of him from the moment that that look of consternation came into his face. It broke upon me that I had put him into some position that he felt he must immediately explain. Indeed he half rose, as if, having obtained my acquaintance under false pretenses, he must set himself right or leave me.
"Oh, I say, sir!" he broke anxiously out. "Do you mean those Journals and things?"
"That's what I had in my mind. Especially the blue-covered ones."
"Oh lord! You don't suppose I can make head or tail of those!"
"Not make head or tail of them? But I've seen you reading them."
He seemed positively sick to extricate himself from my too flattering opinion of him.
"Me understand all that! I could kick myself if you think that! Why, that's all designers' stuff—they've got brains, those chaps—shiploads of them—why, I should never have heard of the things but for——" He checked himself.