Galt bowed. "Why, I suppose so," he responded gravely. "It's a good day's work. Am I to presume that you are not interested in oysters?"
"An' he gits fo' dollars a day for saying them things," commented the other shortly. "I tell you 'tain't wo'th fo' cents, suh."
He lifted his bony hand and gave a tug at his scraggy beard. In a moment he spoke again.
"Can you p'int out the young fellow from Goochland?" he inquired. "That's whar I come from."
Galt pointed out the representative in question, and smiled because it was a man who had dined with him the evening before.
"That he?" exclaimed the countryman contemptuously. "Why, I've been down here sence Saturday, an' that young spark ain't opened his mouth. I ain't heerd him mention Goochland sence I come."
"Oh, there's time enough," ventured Galt good-humouredly. "He's young yet, and Goochland is immortal!"
"An' I reckon he gits fo' dollars same as the rest," went on the stranger reflectively, "jest for settin' thar an' whittlin' at that desk. I used to study a good deal about politics fo' I come here, but they air jest a blamed swindle, that's what they air."
He turned on his heel, and in a moment Galt entered the elevator and ascended to the office of the chief executive.
Reaching the landing he crossed a small gallery, where hung portraits of historic Virginians—governors in periwigs and lace ruffles and statesmen of a later age in high neckcloths. At the end of a short passage he opened the door of the anteroom and faced the private secretary, who was busy with his typewriter.