THE AMERICAN
"Well, a man of any sense does n't lay his plans to be angry," said Newman, "and it's in fact so long since I've been displeased that I've quite forgotten it."
"I don't believe," she returned "that you're never angry. A man ought to be angry sometimes, and you're neither good enough nor bad enough always to keep your temper."
"I lose it perhaps every five years."
"The time's coming round then," said his hostess. "Before I've known you six months I shall see you in a magnificent rage."
"Do you mean to put me into one?"
"I should n't be sorry. You take things too coolly. It quite exasperates me. And then you're too happy. You've what must be the most agreeable thing in the world—the consciousness of having bought your pleasure beforehand, having paid for it in advance. You've not a day of reckoning staring you in the face. Your reckonings are over."
"Well, I suppose I'm happy," said Newman almost pensively.
"You've been odiously successful."
"Successful in copper," he recalled, "but very mixed in other mining ventures. And I've had to take quite a back seat on oil."
"It's very disagreeable to know how Americans have come by their money," his companion sighed. "Now, at all events, you've the world before you. You've only to enjoy."
"Oh, I suppose I'm all right," said Newman. "Only I'm tired of having it thrown up at me.
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