I was
absolutely wrong, he said, half-past-ten was the time, and he remembered
perfectly naming that hour, because he wanted a long drive and he had an
engagement with Mr. Paterson at noon.
"I'm awfully sorry," I began, "if I misunderstood you, but really..."
He dismissed the matter abruptly by saying, "For God's sake, don't argue
about it. Get in and sit next to me so that I can hear you talk."
As soon as we had got clear of the village, and were spinning along at a
good rate on the Corniche road, which circles the Bay of Monaco, high on
the mountain side, Mr. Pulitzer began to put me through my paces.
"Now, Mr. Ireland," he began, "you will understand that if any
arrangement is to be concluded between us I must explore your brain,
your character, your tastes, your sympathies, your prejudices, your
temper; I must find out if you have tact, patience, a sense of humor,
the gift of condensing information, and, above all, a respect, a love, a
passion for accuracy."
I began to speak, but he interrupted me before I had got six words out
of my mouth.
"Wait! Wait!" he cried, "let me finish what I have to say. You'll find
this business of being a candidate a very trying and disagreeable one;
well, it's damned disagreeable to me, too.
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