“I don't believe you've ever met me, Mr. Vane. I'm Humphrey Crewe. We have a good friend in common in Mr. Flint.”
The Honourable Hilary's hand passed over Mr. Crewe's lightly.
“Glad to meet you, Mr. Crewe,” he said, and a faint twinkle appeared in his eye. “Job has told everybody you were coming down. Glad to welcome a man of your ahem—stamp into politics.”
“I'm a plain business man,” answered Mr. Crewe, modestly; “and although I have considerable occupation, I believe that one in my position has duties to perform. I've certain bills—”
“Yes, yes,” agreed the Honourable Hilary; “do you know Mr. Brush Bascom and Mr. Manning? Allow me to introduce you,—and General Doby.”
“How are you, General?” said Mr. Crewe to the Speaker-to-be, “I'm always glad to shake the hand of a veteran. Indeed, I have thought that a society—”
“I earned my title,” said General Doby, somewhat sheepishly, “fighting on Governor Brown's staff. There were twenty of us, and we were resistless, weren't we, Brush?”
“Twenty on a staff!” exclaimed Mr. Crewe.
“Oh, we furnished our own uniforms and paid our own way—except those of us who had passes,” declared the General, as though the memory of his military career did not give him unalloyed pleasure. “What's the use of State sovereignty if you can't have a glittering army to follow the governor round?”
Mr. Crewe had never considered this question, and he was not the man to waste time in speculation.