“Pray, Sir, be seated,” said the “Overland.”
I took a chair and screwed up my courage for a cross-examination.
“Can you drive an engine?”
“I can.”
“Can you speak French?”
“Yes.”
“German and Italian?”
I nodded affirmatively.
“Arabic?” I was about to assent to this query also, but suddenly recollecting that my interrogator might himself be an adept at that tongue, I seasoned my denial with the assurance that I could make myself master of it in a fortnight.
“Do you understand book-keeping by doubly entry?”