"Good, capable forehead," observed Bülow; "something behind that."
"No obstinacy, I hope," said the War Lord. Next he let the photograph's eyes be seen.
"Cold, steadfast, may be some disposition for cruelty," was Bülow's verdict.
"A good nose, mouth disdainful, somewhat high cheekbones—it's von Bohlen und Halbach!" cried the Chancellor.
"You know him?"
"To some extent, both officially and unofficially. Never had any chance to distinguish himself, but decidedly adaptable, yet not lacking executive ability, I believe."
The War Lord was delighted with the endorsement his own views received.
"Look at that chin," he said; "firm isn't the word for it—bulldog, regular bulldog. He will lead you the deuce of a dance, Bertha!"
At the mention of the name the Chancellor winced perceptibly. "I endorsed his capacity for business; I know nothing about his personal character," he ventured, adding: "He must be at least fifteen years older than Bertha."
The War Lord consulted Phili's notes. "Old enough to vote, as they say in the States—to vote for me, nota bene, at directors' meetings. Call up your office and find out what kind of subordinate he is."