“Av’nin’, Mark, I’m glad to see you,” was Butler’s greeting.
“How are you, Edward?” came the quiet reply.
“Well, Senator, you’re not looking any the worse for wear. Can I pour you something?”
“Nothing to-night, Henry,” replied Simpson. “I haven’t long to stay. I just stopped by on my way home. My wife’s over here at the Cavanaghs’, and I have to stop by to fetch her.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you dropped in, Senator, just when you did,” began Mollenhauer, seating himself after his guest. “Butler here has been telling me of a little political problem that has arisen since I last saw you. I suppose you’ve heard that Chicago is burning?”
“Yes; Cavanagh was just telling me. It looks to be quite serious. I think the market will drop heavily in the morning.”
“I wouldn’t be surprised myself,” put in Mollenhauer, laconically.
“Here’s the paper now,” said Butler, as John, the servant, came in from the street bearing the paper in his hand. Mollenhauer took it and spread it out before them. It was among the earliest of the “extras” that were issued in this country, and contained a rather impressive spread of type announcing that the conflagration in the lake city was growing hourly worse since its inception the day before.
“Well, that is certainly dreadful,” said Simpson. “I’m very sorry for Chicago. I have many friends there. I shall hope to hear that it is not so bad as it seems.”
The man had a rather grandiloquent manner which he never abandoned under any circumstances.