SUN and wind of thirty-six out-of-door years had tanned Mr. Jeff Bransford’s cheek to a rosy-brown, contrasting sharply with the whiteness of the upper part of his forehead, when exposed—as now—by the pushing up of his sombrero. These same suns and winds had drawn at the corners of his eyes a network of fine lines: but the brown eyes were undimmed, and his face had a light, sure look of unquenchable boyishness; sure mark of the unattached, and therefore carefree and irresponsible man, who, as the saying goes, “is at home wherever his hat is hung.”
The hat in question was a soft gray one, the crown deeply creased down the middle, the wide brim of it joyously atilt, merging insensibly from one wavy curve into another and on to yet a third, like Hogarth’s line of beauty.
Mr. Bransford’s step was alert and springy: perhaps it had even a slight, unconscious approach to a swagger, as of one not unsatisfied with himself. He turned at the corner of Temple Street, skipped lightsome up a stairway and opened an office door, bearing on its glass front the inscription:
SIMON HIBLER
ATTORNEY-AT-LAW
“Is Mr. Hibler in?”
The only occupant of the room—a smooth-faced and frank-eyed young man—rose from his desk and came forward.
“Mr. Hibler is not in town.”
“Dee-lightful! And when will he be back?” The rising inflection on the last word conveyed a resolute vivacity proof against small annoyances.
“To tell you the truth, I do not know. He is over in Arizona, near San Simon—for change and rest.”
“H’m!” The tip of the visitor’s nose twitched slightly, the brown eyes widened reflectively; the capable mouth under the brown mustache puckered as if to emit a gentle whistle. “He’ll bring back the change. I’ll take all bets on that. San Simon! H’m!” He shrugged his shoulders, one corner of his mouth pulled down in whimsical fashion, while the opposite eyebrow arched, so giving his face an appearance indescribably odd: the drooping side expressive of profound melancholy, while the rest of his face retained its habitual look of invincible cheerfulness. “San Simon! Dear, oh dear! And I may just nicely contemplate my two thumbs till he gets back with the change—and maybeso the rest!” He elevated the thumbs and cast vigilant glances at each in turn: half-chanting, dreamily: