In that moment Tembarom felt that he was looked over, taken in, summed up, and without favor. The sharp, steady eye, however, did not seem to have moved from his face. At the same time it had aided him to realize that he was, to this well-dressed person at least, a too exhilarated young man wearing a ten-dollar “hand-me-down.”
“My name is Palford,” he said concisely. “That will convey nothing to you. I am of the firm of Palford & Grimby of Lincoln's Inn. This is my card.”
Tembarom took the card and read that Palford & Grimby were “solicitors,” and he was not sure that he knew exactly what “solicitors” were.
“Lincoln's Inn?” he hesitated. “That's not in New York, is it?”
“No, Mr. Tembarom; in London. I come from England.”
“You must have had bad weather crossing,” said Tembarom, with amiable intent. Somehow Mr. Palford presented a more unyielding surface than he was accustomed to. And yet his hard courtesy was quite perfect.
“I have been here some weeks.”
“I hope you like New York. Won't you have a seat?”
The young lady from the notion counter and her friends began to sing the chorus of “He sut'nly was Good to Me” with quite professional negro accent.
“That's just the way May Irwin done it,” one of them laughed.