There was a definite ease of equality about these men; each seemed to possess poise and leadership. In action, manner, and deportment, they were much alike. Yet in facial appearance and physical proportions, there were noticeable differences.
The difference became particularly evident during a peculiar ceremony which the men performed. They were drinking to the health of each in turn — apparently a regular procedure.
One man would keep to his seat as the other three stood and lifted their glasses.
"To George Ellsworth," those drinking the toast first recited in unison, "the best of luck and health!" They drank and sat down, plopping their empty glasses before the man whom they had toasted.
"Fill them up, Butcher. Fill them up!"
The one called George Ellsworth complied. His manner was characteristic of his nickname, "Butcher." He was a big, bluff fellow, some forty odd years of age. His face was full, his lips jocular. His fat, beefy hand gripped the bottle and filled the glasses.
Then Ellsworth rose, and two others got to their feet with him. The fourth of the group remained seated.
"To Howard Best," came the chant, "the best of luck and health!" Down went the drinks; down plopped the glasses.
"Your turn to fill them, Deacon," said Butcher.
Solemn-faced and taciturn, Howard Best silently filled the glasses, his white, scrawny hands tense. He was the sober-minded member of the group. The sobriquet of "Deacon" fitted him like a slipper. He appeared years older than Butcher. Standing next to the huge man, Deacon looked very lean and withered.