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A friend who stands since “Auld Lang Syne” To all that’s fine related; To him, this little book of mine Is duly dedicated. |
| —Charles M. Snyder. |
| New York, September, 1909. |
THE FLAW IN THE SAPPHIRE
CHAPTER I
Not long since there lived, in the city of Philadelphia, a young man of singular identity.
His only parallel was the comedian who is compelled to take himself seriously and make the most of it, or a tart plum that concludes in a mellow prune.
He was the affinity of two celebrated instances to the contrary.
To those who enjoy the whimsies of paradox he presented an astonishing resemblance, in countenance, to the late Benjamin Disraeli, and maintained in speech the unmistakable accent of O’Connell, the Hebrew statesman’s Celtic antagonist.
For these reasons, until the nature of his business was discovered, he was regarded with interest by that class which is disposed to estimate the contents of a book by the character of the binding, or thinks it can measure a man’s ability by the size of his hat.