Knowing all Fox’s peculiarities, his not infrequent relaxations, and the complex influences which were at work upon his temperament—the irresponsible temperament of genius—Allestree could not but speculate a little upon that future which was beginning to be of poignant interest to more than one aspirant in the great arena of public life.
But his reflections were cut short at this point by the abrupt appearance of Fox himself. He came out of the same door which had, a few moments earlier, emitted his critics, and as he emerged upon the terrace the keen light from the electric globes at the head of the steps fell full on his remarkable face and figure. For, while by no means above the average in stature, Fox possessed one of those personalities which cannot be overlooked. Genius like beauty has magnetic qualities of its own and, even at night and out of doors, Allestree was fully aware of the singular brilliance and penetration of his glance.
“Well, Bob,” he said genially, as he joined his cousin, “you’re a lucky dog, out here in the open! The House has steamed like the witches’ cauldron to-night and brewed devil’s broth, tariff revision and all manner of damnable heresies.”
Allestree smiled grimly in the dusk. “Then you must be the father of them,” he retorted; “I just heard that you’d been making a speech.”
“Eh? you did, did you?” Fox paused an instant to light his cigar; “so I did,” he admitted, tossing away the match, “I talked tommyrot for an hour and a half to keep the House sitting; I might be going on still if old Killigrew hadn’t got to his feet and howled for adjournment. He usually dines at six sharp, and it’s a quarter to seven now; he had death and starvation in his eye, and I yielded the point as a matter of humanity.”
“According to recent information you have very little humanity in you,” Allestree replied, as they descended the long flight of steps from the terrace, “in fact, you are a ‘damned egoist.’”
Fox threw back his head with a hearty, careless laugh. “Which of my enemies have you been interviewing?” he asked, with unruffled good humor.
His cousin briefly related the result of his accidental début in the rôle of eavesdropper, incidentally describing the two men.
“I know who they are,” Fox said amusedly; “one is Burns of Pennsylvania, and the other a fellow from Rhode Island who is picking flaws in everything and everybody; the government’s rotten, the Senate’s corrupt, the Supreme Court is senile—so on and so on ad infinitum! Meanwhile there’s some kind of a scandal attached to his own election—no one cares what! He reminds me of Voltaire’s enraged description of Jean Jacques with the rotten hoops off Diogenes’ tub.”
“That is not all; even your admirer feared the suicidal effects of your tongue,” continued Allestree teasingly, “which is said to be two-edged, while your sarcasm is ‘infernal.’”