That service had demanded sacrifice from him—why not demand something from that service? An idea, sudden, brazen, undefendable, even outrageous, popped into his head. He had no time for sensible planning. Mr. Converse was glancing about with the air of a citizen who would like to catch the eye of a policeman.
“I know all about you, Mr. Converse, even if you know nothing about me. I'm making a curious appeal—it's to your chivalry!”
That was appeal sufficiently novel, so the demeanor of Mr. Converse announced, to arrest even the attention of a gentleman who usually refused to allow the routine of his life to be interrupted by anything less than an earthquake. He halted and fronted this stranger.
“A man who wears that,” proceeded Farr, indicating the rosette of the Military Order of the Loyal Legion in the lapel of Mr. Converse's coat, “and wears it because it came to him by inheritance from General Aaron Converse is bound to listen to that appeal.”
“Explain, sir.”
“Do you know a Richard Dodd who is the nephew of Colonel Dodd?”
“I do, sir. You aren't asking me to assist him, are you? I will have nothing to do with him—no help from me!”
“Just a moment—wait one moment! Mr. Converse, do you know a man named Dennis Burke who has been in prison for ballot frauds?”
“I helped send him there, sir. Are you reciting the rogues' roster to me?”
“Richard Dodd has dressed Burke up as a parson and is trying to force a young woman into a marriage. I haven't time to tell you how I happened to know about this affair—but it is in Rose Alley and there's no time to waste.”