"Has the heavenly person also a profession?"
"He is"—Mrs. Ravenel hesitated a minute—"he is an international lawyer and a Wall Street man."
"It sounds imposing," Frank returned. "What does it mean?"
"I don't know," his mother answered. "I have enough of the artist in me to be satisfied with the mere sound. His English—"
"His Irish," Frank interrupted.
—"is that of Dublin University, the most beautiful speech in the world. He is here in the in
terest of the Mainwaring people, he says, who want some information concerning those disputed mines. Added to his other attractions, he can talk in rhyme. Do you understand? Can talk in rhyme," she repeated, with emphasis, "and carries a Tom Moore in his waistcoat-pocket."
There came a sound of singing outside—a man's voice, musical, with an indescribably jaunty clip to the words:
"I was never addicted to work,
'Twas never the way o' the Gradys;
But I'd make a most excellent Turk,
For I'm fond of tobacco and ladies."
And with the song still in the air, the singer came through the shadow of the porch and stood in the doorway—a man tall and well set-up, in black riding-clothes, cap in hand, who saluted the two with his crop, and as he did so a jewel gleamed in the handle, showing him to be something of a dandy.