Citizen Drew was not ready with comment on this amazing suggestion. He clawed his hand into his sparse hair and wrinkled his forehead in attempt to decide whether or not he ought to resent this playful retort to his lament. The next moment he dealt Farr a swift jab in the ribs with his elbow.
“Take a good look at this man coming,” he mumbled.
The oncomer was close upon them, and in spite of the dusk Farr's sharp gaze took him all in.
In garb and mien he was a fine type of the American gentleman who is marked by a touch of the old school. There was a clean-cut crispness about him; the white mustache and the hair which matched it looked as if they would crackle if rubbed. His eyes were steely blue, and he held himself very erect as he walked, and he tapped the pavement briskly with his cane.
He passed them, marched up the steps of a large building, and disappeared through a door which a boy in club uniform held open for him.
“That man,” explained Citizen Drew, complacently displaying his boasted knowledge of public men in minute detail, “is the Honorable Archer Converse, whose father was General Aaron Converse, the war governor of this state. Lawyer, old bach, rich, just as crisp in talk as he is in looks, just as straight in his manners and morals and honesty as he is in his back, arrives every night at the Mellicite Club for his dinner on the dot of eight”--Citizen Drew waved his hand at the illuminated circle of the First National clock--“leaves the club exactly at nine for a walk through the park, then marches home, plays three games of solitaire, and goes to bed.”
Citizen Drew's air betrayed a bit of a showman's disappointment.
“I never saw him before--never heard of him. But I mean I know him now after your description--know his nature, his thoughts. You have a fine touch in your size-ups, Citizen Drew.”
“Never a thing. He is one of the kind I was complaining about. Too high-minded.”
“But, ho, how a man like that would swim if he were once thrown in!” declared Farr.
“I know the style when I see it,” pursued Farr. He did not look at Citizen Drew. He was talking as much to himself as to his companion. “Spirit of a crusader harnessed by every-day habit! Righteousness in a rut! Achievement timed to the tick of the clock. But, once in, how he would swim!”