"These Easterners make me tired," said Mr. Waddington.
George confessed to a similar fatigue.
"When you think that at this very moment out in Utah and Arizona," said Mr. Waddington, "strong men are packing their saddle-bags and making them secure with their lassoes you kind of don't know whether to laugh or cry, do you?"
"That was the very problem," said George.
"Say, listen," said Mr. Waddington, "I'll just push these pot-bellied guys off upstairs, and then you and I will sneak off to my study and have a real talk."
2
Nothing spoils a tête-à-tête chat between two newly-made friends more than a disposition towards reticence on the part of the senior of the pair: and it was fortunate therefore, that, by the time he found himself seated opposite to George in his study, the heady influence of Zane Grey and the rather generous potations in which he had indulged during dinner had brought Sigsbee H. Waddington to quite a reasonably communicative mood. He had reached the stage when men talk disparagingly about their wives. He tapped George on the knee, informed him three times that he liked his face, and began.
"You married, Winch?"
"Finch," said George.
"How do you mean, Finch?" asked Mr. Waddington, puzzled.