The young man laughed in his good-humoured fashion.
“Not much courage required to root out that kind of a skunk,” said he cheerfully.
“I refer to the courage of your convictions. The young men of this generation seem to prefer to avoid public disturbances. That breed is quite capable of making a row, calling the police, raising the deuce, and all that.”
“What of it?” said Orde.
The elderly gentleman puffed out his cheeks.
“You are from the West, are you not?” he stated, rather than asked.
“We call it the East out there,” said Orde. “It's Michigan.”
“I should call that pretty far west,” said the old gentleman.
Nothing more was said. After a block or two Orde descended on his way to a small hotel just off Broadway. The old gentleman saluted. Orde nodded good-humouredly. In his private soul he was a little amused at the old boy. To his view a man and clothes carried to their last refinement were contradictory terms.
Orde ate, dressed, and set out afoot in search of Miss Bishop's address. He arrived in front of the house a little past eight o'clock, and, after a moment's hesitation, mounted the steps and rang the bell.