"Staying for good?"
"It's time I stayed somewhere permanently. I've been nearly everywhere, you know, temporarily."
"Then that'll account for your accent."
"It accounts for many things. Or, to put it the other way round, many things account for it—for my nomadism." He felt he was being too precious for his audience, but went on. "I mean that accidents of birth, circumstance, and temperament send one roaming over the world." He had almost said, under the influence of the other's idiom, "the known world."
"What's your line?"
"I haven't decided yet. I'm looking for ideas."
The American puffed hard at his cigar, then leaned forward impulsively. "Say, listen!" he exclaimed. "Mebbe you and me could join forces!"
Paul wondered whether he had enough strength of character to peddle chewing gum.
The American accompanied him back to his compartment and expatiated upon social and commercial conditions in Egypt.
"Where are you stayin'?" he asked, as the train drew into the terminus.
Paul briefly explained the situation.
His companion pursed his lips, slapped Paul on the shoulders, then said:
"Listen here, son, you're comin' right along with papa, see. I got two rooms at Shepheard's. I only live there because it's good for trade. Got to keep up the bluff, you know. I'll sleep you on a sofa. My name's Coyle—Patrick Coyle."
Paul gratefully took the hand extended to him. "Mine's Minas," he said. "I'm sure it's most awfully decent of you to"
"Aw, keep the change," briskly interposed his new friend.
