On the other hand....
With a sigh of resignation, John lifted one hand to hi forehead, a wry grin twisting his face as he shook his head slightly.
"Vladimir Ilyich," He said, patiently, "That has nothing to do with the point I was trying to make. In fact, you just twisted something I said into something else entirely, just to have a spring-board from which to make a point that, I'm quite sure, you were fully planning to make before I even said anything!'
His companion bristle with indignation that was, in John's opinion, at least partially feigned.
"Nyet!" Vladimir asserted. "I simply am pointing out that you are not having properly considered..."
"Whoa, hold on a second..." John interrupted, his gaze suddenly going distant as he peered over Vladimir's shoulder - and he groaned.
"Pardon me..." He hastily excused himself, rising from his chair. "Chinggis and Napoleon are at it again..."
Not even bothering to listen as Lenin expounded on the inevitability of of conflict between two decadant bourgeois something-or-others, John hurried towards the two mounted men, almost absently displaying a politely firm manner as he forced his way through the crowd. He was nearly to where the pair of men were shaking fists and hurling multilingual imprecations at each other, when he suddenly checked his stride - almost as if by magic, another figure had materialized out of the ring of people surrounding the two horsemen.
John made no effort to hide a grin as the bespectacled, swarthy-skinned little bald man calmly strode between the two restive mounts. Though Mohandas' methods were almost diametrically opposed to his own, John had faith in Ghandi's ability to keep the two men from actually coming to blows...
(*grin*)
