Hollow was a man with very short legs. This gave him an unfortunate, pattering appearance when he walked with a taller man; and as he and Gergue turned down Main Street toward the station, this fact was commented upon. Some of the comments were direct, some subtle. For example, one of a group of four men at the hotel corner, when the two approached, looked all about him and whistled shrilly.
“Hey, doggie! Hey, doggie! Heel!” he called.
James T. Hollow was not without perception. He blushed painfully. But Gergue took no notice of the jest, for as they approached the group, one of the men detached himself and came to meet them.
This was Winthrop Chase—Winthrop Chase, Senior—the candidate opposing Hollow for the mayoralty. Hardiston felt that it was gracious of Chase to offer himself for the office, for he was a man of affairs, chief owner of the biggest furnace, a coal operator of importance in other fields, and not unknown in state political circles. He was an erect man, so erect that he leaned backward, and with a peculiarly healthy look about him. He had a strong jaw and a small, governed mouth. His manner was courtly and gracious. Some considered it condescending.
“Good morning, Gergue,” he said now. “Good morning, Mr. Hollow.”
“Howdo,” Gergue returned. Hollow was more loquacious. “How do you do, Mr. Chase.”
“The Congressman comes back to-day?” Chase asked.
“Yep,” said Gergue.
“We ought to have a reception for him at the station. He has made a name for himself at this session.”
“Always had a name,” Gergue commented, and spat carelessly, so close to Winthrop Chase, Senior’s polished shoes that the great man moved uneasily to one side.