“Draw round to the fire, sir,” he continued. “Though we have not met before we may often meet again. We travellers do run against each other in strange ways.” (Here the gray old man groaned out another “Y-e-s.”) “The commercial interest of this great country is entirely in our hands, and if we don’t take care of ourselves it is our own fault.”
The smoking tumblers having been supplied, and the party seated round the fire, the conversation became gradually more brisk, chiefly led by the man in gray, whose opinion on all points seemed absolute.
I was a tacit listener, understanding very little of that part of the conversation which related to business, viz.: “Quoting 7-18ths at 223 and sliding 347 and 19 net;” but at length anecdotes and experience took the place of business, and proved intensely amusing.
I should have enjoyed the occasion if I could have divested myself of the idea that, as regards my vocation, I was an impostor, with no right to be there.
It was evident that the gray man of the “yes” had his suspicions as to my not being a member of the craft.
Many glances he directed at me, each accompanied by a muttered “yes.” All doubts upon the subject were at length dispelled by a question from the little man in the black-silk waistcoat, Mr. Ruffins, who abruptly inquired:
“What is your route from here? Who are your clients?”
“I am not here,” I replied, “on any particular business, and, to own the truth, gentlemen, I doubt if I have any in this room.”
“Excuse me, sir, did I not see you on the coach this morning?”