This led to an awkward pause, Mr. Crewe not being a man who found profit in idle discussion. He glanced at Mr. Braden's philanthropic and beaming countenance, which would have made the fortune of a bishop. It was not usual for Mr. Crewe to find it difficult to begin a conversation, or to have a companion as self-sufficient as himself. This man Braden had all the fun, apparently, in sitting in a chair and looking into space that Stonewall Jackson had, or an ordinary man in watching a performance of “A Trip to Chinatown.” Let it not be inferred, again, that Mr. Crewe was abashed; but he was puzzled.
“I had an engagement in Ripton this morning,” he said, “to see about some business matters. And after I received your telephone I thought I'd drop in here.”
“Didn't telephone,” said Mr. Braden, placidly.
“What!” said Mr. Crewe, “I certainly got a telephone message.”
“N—never telephone,” said Mr. Braden.
“I certainly got a message from you,” Mr. Crewe protested.
“Didn't say it was from me—didn't say so—did they—”
“No,” said Mr. Crewe, “but—”
“Told Ball you wanted to have me see you, didn't you?”
Mr. Crewe, when he had unravelled this sentence, did not fancy the way it was put.