"How are you, Sandford? Fine day. Anything doing? Money more in demand,
they say. Hope all is right; though it looks like a squall."
Mr. Sandford merely bowed, with an occasional "Ah!" or "Indeed!"
"How about politics?" Bullion continued. "Talk of sending you to the
Senate. Couldn't do better,--I mean the city couldn't; _you'd_ be a
d---d fool to go. Somebody has to, though. You as well as any. Can I
help you?"
"You rather surprise me. I had not thought of the honor."
Bullion turned his eye upon him,--a cool, gray eye, overhung by an
eyebrow that seemed under perfect muscular control; for the gray wisp
of hair grew pointed like a paint-brush, and had a queer motion of
intelligence.
"Oh, shy, I see! Just as well. Too forward is bad. We'll fix it. Good
morning!"
And Bullion, sticking his hands in his pockets, went away with a
half-audible whistle, to look after his debtors, and draw in his
resources before the anticipated "squall" should come. Mr. Sandford had
lost the opportunity of making his carefully studied speech; but, as
Bullion had said, it was just as well.
Mr. Stearine came next,--a tall, thin man, with a large, bony frame,
and a bilious temperament.
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