“One rule is that you mustn’t deny any accusations of future magnificence, for two reasons: they may come true, and they help things on. You are supposed to have left your modesty in cold storage somewhere. Read on.”
“Mr. Barslow,” I read, “has long been a most potent political factor in his native state, but is, first of all, a business man. He brings his charming young wife—”
“Really, a most discriminating journalist,” interjected Alice.
“—and social circles, as well as the business world, will find them a most desirable accession to Lattimore’s population.”
“Why this is absolute, slavish devotion to facts,” said Jim; “where does the word-painting come in?”
“Here it is,” said I.
“Mr. Barslow is some years under middle age, and looks the intense modern business man in every feature. His mind seems to have already become saturated with the conception of the enormous possibilities of Lattimore. He impresses those who have met him as one of the few men capable of pulling his share in double harness with James R. Elkins.”
“The fellow piles it on a little strong at times, doesn’t he, Mrs. Barslow?” said Jim.
“He brings to our city,” I read on, “his vigorous mind, his fortune, and a determination never to rest until the city passes the 100,000 mark. To a Herald representative, last night, he spoke strongly and eloquently of our great natural resources.”
Then followed a skillfully handled expansion of our tête-à-tête talk in the lobby.