Some queer chance founded upon his ill-humour, his disgust of Germany and
all things in it, induced Norgate to tell a deliberate falsehood.

"Sorry," he replied in English. "I don't speak German."

The man's satisfaction was complete.

"But I--I speak the most wonderful English. It pleases me always to speak
English. I like to do so. It is practice for me. We will talk English
together, you and I. These comic papers, they do not amuse. And books in
the train, they make one giddy. What I like best is a companion and a
bottle of Rhine wine."

"Personally," Norgate confessed gruffly, "I like to sleep."

The other seemed a little taken aback but remained, apparently, full of
the conviction that his overtures could be nothing but acceptable.

"It is well to sleep," he agreed, "if one has worked hard. Now I myself
am a hard worker. My name is Selingman. I manufacture crockery which I
sell in England. That is why I speak the English language so wonderful.
For the last three nights I have been up reading reports of my English
customers, going through their purchases. Now it is finished. I am well
posted. I am off to sell crockery in London, in Manchester, in Leeds, in
Birmingham. I have what the people want. They will receive me with open
arms, some of them even welcome me at their houses. Thus it is that I
look forward to my business trip as a holiday."

"Very pleasant, I'm sure," Norgate remarked, curling himself up in his
corner. "Personally, I can't see why we can't make our own crockery. I