“Gee whizz!” ejaculated T. Tembarom. “I was ’way off, wasn’t I?”
“I told you that professing to be an ass wouldn’t be good enough in this case. Don’t go on with it,” said Palliser, sharply.
“You’re throwing bouquets. Let a fellow be natural,” said Tembarom.
“That is bluff, too,” Palliser replied more sharply still. “I am not taken in by it, bold as it is. Ever since you came here, you have been playing this game. It was your fool’s grin and guffaw and pretense of good nature that first made me suspect you of having something up your sleeve. You were too unembarrassed and candid.”
“So you began to look out,” Tembarom said, considering him curiously, “just because of that.” Then suddenly he laughed outright, the fool’s guffaw.
It somehow gave Palliser a sort of puzzled shock. It was so hearty that it remotely suggested that he appeared more secure than seemed possible. He tried to reply to him with a languid contempt of manner.
“You think you have some tremendously sharp ‘deal’ in your hand,” he said, “but you had better remember you are in England, where facts are like sledge-hammers. You can’t dodge from under them as you can in America. I dare say you won’t answer me, but I should like to ask you what you propose to do.”
“I don’t know what I’m going to do any more than you do,” was the unilluminating answer. “I don’t mind telling you that.”
“And what do you think he will do?”
“I’ve got to wait till I find out. I’m doing it. That was what I told you. What are you going to do?” he added casually.