name?"

"My young friend," Mr. Parker said, eying with approval the fresh portion
of chicken that had been brought him, "it is my business to know many
things. I go about the world with my eyes and ears open. Things that
escape other people interest me. Your name is Mr. Paul Walmsley. You are
one of a class of men that practically doesn't exist in America. You have
no particular occupation that I know of, save that you have a small estate
in the country, which no doubt takes up some of your time. You have rooms
in London, which you occupy occasionally. You probably write a little--I
have noticed that you are fond of watching people."

"You really seem to know a good deal about me," I confessed, a little
taken aback.

"I am not far from the mark, am I?"

"You are not," I admitted.

"As regards your lack of occupation," Mr. Parker went on, "I am not the
man to blame you for it. There are very few things in life a man can
settle down to nowadays. To a person of imagination the ordinary routine
of the professions and the ordinary curriculum of business life is a
species of slavery. We live in overcivilized times. There seems to be very
little room anywhere for a man to gratify his natural instincts for change
and adventure."

I murmured my acquiescence with his sentiments and my companion paused for
a few minutes, his whole attention devoted to his dinner.