“Perhaps you and Martha and ‘Aunt Mary’ could come and dine with me some night next week,” the Judge suggested. “I should like to hear about your sister’s first experience in society.”
“Of course we will all come, with pleasure,” said Van Dyne.
As the elder man walked away, the younger followed him with his eyes. Then he turned and went up the steps of the City Hall.
Almost at the top of the flight stood two men, who parted company as Van Dyne drew near. One of them waited for him to come up. The other started down, smiling at the young lawyer as they met, and saying: “Good morning, Mr. Van Dyne. It’s rain we’re going to have, I’m thinking.”
“Good morning, Mr. O’Donnell,” returned Van Dyne, roused from his reverie.
“There’s Mr. McCann waiting to have a word with you,” cried O’Donnell over his shoulder, as he passed.
The young lawyer looked up and saw the other man at the top of the steps. He wanted time to think over his conversation with Judge Jerningham, and he had no desire for a talk just then with the district leader. Perhaps he unconsciously revealed this feeling in the coolness with which he returned the other’s greeting, courteous as he always was, especially toward those whom he did not consider his equal.
“It’s glad I am to see you, Mr. Van Dyne,” said the politician, patting the young man on the shoulder as they shook hands.
Van Dyne drew back instinctively. Never before had Pat McCann’s high hat seemed so very shiny to him, or Pat McCann’s fur overcoat so very furry. The big diamond in Pat McCann’s shirt-front was concealed by the tightly buttoned coat; but Van Dyne knew that it was there all the same, and he detested it more than ever before.
“It’s a dark morning it is,” said McCann. “Will we take a little drop of something warm?”