I had frequently hinted to Gregory that I was old enough to be his
father, and that in calling me his son, his language was misplaced; and I
repeated it at that moment. He nodded good-humouredly, and continued:

"I was born insolent, my s--my ancestor. Well, after I had cleared a
space at the supper table, and had, with permission, lighted my pipe,
I began to talk. . . Oh yes, I did give them a chance occasionally;
don't interrupt. . . . I gossiped about England, France, the
universe. From the brief comments they made I saw they knew all about
it, and understood my social argot, all but a few words--is there
anything peculiar about any of my words? After having exhausted Europe
and Asia I discussed America; talked about Quebec, the folklore of the
French Canadians, the 'voyageurs' from old Maisonneuve down. All the
history I knew I rallied, and was suddenly bowled out. For Malbrouck
followed my trail from the time I began to talk, and in ten minutes he
had proved me to be a baby in knowledge, an emaciated baby; he eliminated
me from the equation. He first tripped me on the training of naval
cadets; then on the Crimea; then on the taking of Quebec; then on the
Franco-Prussian War; then, with a sudden round-up, on India. I had been
trusting to vague outlines of history; I felt when he began to talk that
I was dealing with a man who not only knew history, but had lived it.
He talked in the fewest but directest words, and waxed eloquent in a
blunt and colossal way. But seeing his wife's eyes fixed on him
intently, he suddenly pulled up, and no more did I get from him
on the subject. He stopped so suddenly that in order to help over the
awkwardness, though I'm not really sure there was any, I began to hum a
song to myself. Now, upon my soul, I didn't think what I was humming;
it was some subterranean association of things, I suppose--but that
doesn't matter here. I only state it to clear myself of any unnecessary