He suppressed a yawn, and replied "Mornin'"--dropping the "g." The custom was just coming into fashion; he was always correct. "Going to be a very hot day, I am afraid," I continued. "'Fraid so," was the response, after which he turned his head away and gently closed his eyes. I opined that conversation was not to his wish, but this only made me more determined to talk, and to talk to him above all others in London. The desire took hold of me to irritate him--to break down the imperturbable calm within which he moved and had his being; and I gathered myself together, and settled down to the task. "Interesting paper the _Times_," I observed. "Very," he replied, taking it from the floor and handing it to me. "Won't you read it?" I had been careful to throw into my voice an aggressive cheeriness which I had calculated would vex him, but his manner remained that of a man who is simply bored. I argued with him politely concerning the paper; but he insisted, still with the same weary air, that he had done with it. I thanked him effusively. I judged that he hated effusiveness. "They say that to read a _Times_ leader," I persisted, "is a lesson in English composition." "So I've been told," he answered tranquilly. "Personally I don't take them." The _Times_, I could see, was not going to be of much assistance to me. I lit a cigarette, and remarked that he was not shooting. He admitted the fact. Under the circumstances, it would have taxed him to deny it, but the necessity for confession aroused him. "To myself," he said, "a tramp through miles of mud, in company with four gloomy men in black velveteen, a couple of depressed-looking dogs, and a heavy gun, the entire cavalcade being organised for the purpose of killing some twelve-and-sixpence worth of poultry, suggests the disproportionate." I laughed boisterously, and cried, "Good, good--very good!" He was the type of man that shudders inwardly at the sound of laughter. I had the will to slap him on the back, but I thought maybe that would send him away altogether. I asked him if he hunted. He replied that fourteen hours' talk a day about horses, and only about horses tired him, and that in consequence he had abandoned hunting. "You fish?" I said. "I was never sufficiently imaginative," he answered. "You travel a good deal," I suggested. He had apparently made up his mind to abandon himself to his fate, for he turned towards me with a resigned air. An ancient nurse of mine had always described me as the most "wearing" child she had ever come across. I prefer to speak of myself as persevering. "I should go about more," he said, "were I able to see any difference between one place and another." "Tried Central Africa?" I inquired. "Once or twice," he answered. "It always reminds me of Kew Gardens." "China?" I hazarded. "Cross between a willow-pattern plate and a New York slum," was his comment. "The North Pole?" I tried, thinking the third time might be lucky.