He had risen earlier than usual and had dressed himself with the greatest care and with every detail perfect. His shoes with their patches, one on each toe, were polished to more than Chad’s customary brilliancy; his gray hair was brushed straight back from his forehead, its ends overlapping the high collar behind; his goatee was twisted to a fish-hook point and curled outward from his shirt-front; his moustache was smooth and carefully trimmed.
The coat,—it was the same old double-breasted coat, of many repairs—was buttoned tight over his chest giving his slender figure that military air which always distinguished the Virginian when some matter of importance, some matter involving personal defence or offence, had to be settled. In one hand he carried his heavy cane with its silver top, the other held his well-brushed hat.
“What has kept Fitz?” he asked with some anxiety.
“Nothing, Colonel. Board doesn’t open till ten o’clock. He’ll be along presently,” I answered.
Half an hour passed and still no Fitz. By this time I, too, had begun to feel nervous. This was a day of all others for a man in Fitz’s position to be on hand early.
I interviewed the clerk privately.
“Stopped at the Bank,” he said in an undertone. “He took some cats and dogs up with him last night and is trying to get a loan. Going to rain down here to-day, I guess, and somebody’ll get wet. Curb market is steady, but you can’t tell anything till the Board opens.”
At ten minutes before ten by the clock on the wall Fitz burst into the office, pulled a package from inside his coat, thrust it through the hole in the glass partition, whispered something to a second clerk who had just come in, and who at Fitz’s command grabbed up his hat, and with three plunges was through the doorway and racing down the street. Then Fitz turned and saw us.