"You beat it?" said Mr. Walpole.
"Yes, I just up and skidooed."
"You skidooed?"
I saw that I should have to talk like John Milton. "Sure," I said, "I left without much preparation." And then we spoke of some writer I do not care for. "I don't get him," I said.
"You don't get him?" inquired Mr. Walpole.
"No," I said, "I can't see him at all."
"You can't see him?" queried Mr. Walpole.
More Milton, I perceived. "I quite fail," I said, "to appreciate the gentleman's writings."
Mr. Walpole got that.
"Fortitude" had done him very well. The idea of Russia had always fascinated him; he had enough money to run him for a couple of years, and he was leaving shortly for Russia. "Is there any one here you would like me to help you to see?" he asked. Queer way for a gentleman to treat a probable crook. "Have you met Mr. James?" Walpole was very strong with Mr. James, it seemed.