Hemming blushed and sat down. The man was evidently crazy. "My name is Tetson," said the President. He rang the bell and a native servant entered.
"Thank you, a Scotch and soda," said Hemming.
"Ah, I knew it," laughed the other, "though I always take rye myself."
The servant bowed and retired.
"I see the illustrated weeklies of both New York and London," continued Tetson, "and I always look for your articles. I like them. I know something about your family, also, Hemming. I have 'Burke's Landed Gentry' and 'Who's Who' on my desk. You are a grandson of Sir Bertram Hemming of Barracker."
"Yes," replied Hemming, both surprised and embarrassed.
"Well," said the President, "I have some blood in me, too. My mother's grandmother was a Gostwycke. Did you notice the three stars and six choughs?"
"I know the head of your house at home, Colonel Bruce-Gostwycke, and another distinguished member of it in the colonies, Sir Henry Renton," replied Hemming. "But," he continued, briskly, twisting his moustache, "you are something bigger than that here. Why do you hold this little half-dead county family so high?"
"My mother in New York taught me to," replied Tetson, "and then this business is different. I did it, as you Englishmen say, off my own bat. A pile of money, a lot of gall, a little knowledge of the weakness of men in office,—this is all about it. Even now most of my friends think me a fool." He gravely relit his yellow cigar. The reek of it was worse than jerked beef to Hemming. "I will tell you my story some day, but now you want a shower-bath and a change. Please consider yourself at home. Sudden friendships may not be good form in England, but they are all right back here."
"Ah," said Hemming, "I have brushed about a bit; I'm not such a—so English as I look."