"I suppose you don't remember some advice you gave me, that first day I met you?" I asked.
"About what?"
"About reading Browning," I reminded him.
"Did you?" he asked, with a new light in his face.
"I did," I acknowledged. "And it nearly drove me nuts!"
"Nuts?" he repeated. "Oh, yes; of course, nuts. By that I infer that you mean insane?"
"If you prefer it that way," I said. But I wasn't thinking of Browning, at the moment, for I'd just kicked the black bag to make sure it was at my feet.
"I'm afraid a great many of us are that way, if we only knew it," generalized my quiet-eyed companion, as he reached for a cigarette.
I had leaned forward against the table, and the pressure of Copperhead Kate's automatic under my waist made me suddenly think of other things.
"Do you know," I told the man across the table from me, "I rather believe the whole world has gone nuts!"
He did not speak for a moment or two.
"And to what do you attribute this—er—this somewhat disturbing belief?"
"To what I've gone through during the last six hours," was my prompt response.
