about the club and— What do you say to going around to Bombay House with me?"
"I'd like nothing better," said the thoroughly perplexed politician. "Excuse me while I wash me hands."
And peering earnestly into the mirror above the washstand in the corner of the office, Mr. McFaddan said to himself:
"I must look easier to him than I do to meself. If I'm any kind of a guesser at all he's after one of two things. He either wants his tax assessment rejuced or wants to run for mayor of the city. The poor boob!"
That evening Mr. Smith-Parvis announced, in a bland and casual manner, that things were shaping themselves beautifully.
"I had McFaddan to lunch with me," he explained. "He was tremendously impressed."
His wife was slightly perturbed. "And I suppose you were so stupid as to introduce him to a lot of men in the club who—"
"I didn't have to," interrupted Mr. Smith-Parvis, a trifle crossly. "It was amazing how many of the members knew him. I daresay four out of every five men in the club shook hands with him and called him Mr. McFaddan. Two bank presidents called him Con, and, by gad, Angela, he actually introduced me to several really big bugs I've been wanting to meet for ten years or more. Most extraordinary, 'pon my word."
"Did you—did you put out any feelers?"
"About Stuyvie—sant? Certainly not. That would have been fatal. I did advance a few tactful and pertinent criticisms of our present diplomatic service, however. I was relieved to discover that he thinks
