As T.-T. talked my mind wandered away into regions of its own—Aunt Jane's rheumatic gout, my broken niblick, the necessity for getting my hair cut. But sub-consciously I reserved a courteous minimum of attention for T.-T., and said, "H'm" and "Ha" with decent frequency. He went on and on, shedding several ounces of the burden. I decided that Aunt Jane ought to have a shot at Christian Science.
"... very much the same plight as the Poles," said T.-T., emerging from a cloud of Czecho-Slovakism and pausing to clear his meagre throat.
I felt it was up to me. "Of course," I said, "the Poles don't strike one as being—er—very—that is—"
"Precisely. They are not," said T.-T., as I knew he would. "But I am very relieved to see that M. Grabski...."
This was something new and sounded amusing. "Grabski?" I said. "What's happened to dear old—"I mean, I thought M. Paderewski was—"
"I am referring to the recent Spa Conference," said T.-T. severely.
"Of course, how silly of me," I murmured.
T.-T. gave me another twenty minutes of Poland. Then he released me, with a final word of warning against putting too much faith in M. Daschovitch. I promised I wouldn't.
T.-T. shook me cordially.by the hand and said, "It has been a pleasure to talk to such a sympathetic listener."
What led me to revolt was T.-T.'s hat-trick. Three evenings in succession he unloaded on me chunks of the burden. Probably he thought the third time made it my own property.