In view of the fact that Colonel Dodd owned the First National block the big clock seemed to point its finger at him with the bland pride of a flunky in a master.  It seemed to say, “Behold!  The great man is here!”

Colonel Dodd was never embarrassed when fingers were pointed at him wherever he went.  If a man is lord of finance and politics in his state he expects to be pointed out.

When he stepped from his car he carried in his arms, with great tenderness, a long parcel which was carefully wrapped in tissue-paper.  He always carried a similar parcel when he came to his office.  Each morning the gardener of the Dodd estate laid choice flowers on the seat of that vehicle which had been chosen to convey the master to the city.

Colonel Dodd coddled the long parcel with the care a nurse would have bestowed on an infant—­but he kicked his fat leg clumsily at an urchin who got in his way on the sidewalk.  A college professor of Marion happened to be passing at the moment and saw the act and knew what the colonel was carrying in his arms.  The professor made a mental note of fresh material for his lecture on “The Psychological Phenomena of the Bizarre in the Emotions.”  The professor had just met a woman wheeling a cat out in a baby-carriage.

The doctor had advised exercise for the colonel—­a small amount.  The colonel toilsomely climbed the one flight of stairs to his office.  That was his daily quota of exercise.

A little man with a beak of a nose was waiting in the corridor and hastened to unlock a door marked “Private,” and the colonel went in, and the little man locked the door and tiptoed down the corridor to the general offices.

Before he removed his hat Colonel Dodd carefully stripped the tissue-paper from the damp flowers.  There were two huge bouquets.  He set these into vases of ornate bronze, one on each end of his desk.  He patted and stroked the flowers until they appeared to best advantage.  He stood back and bestowed affectionate regard on them.  No human being had ever reported the receipt of such a look from Colonel Symonds Dodd.  It was rather astonishing to find softness in him in respect to flowers.  He seemed as hard as a block of wood.  He had a squat, square body and his legs seemed to be set on the corners of that body.  His square face was smooth except for a wisp of whisker, minute as a water-color brush, jutting from under his pendulous lower lip.

He hung up his hat and stood for a moment before a massive mirror.  The report in Marion was that he stood before that mirror and made up his expression to suit the character of a day’s business.

Then he sat down at his desk and stuck a pudgy finger on one button of a battery of buttons.

A girl entered with a promptitude which showed that she had been waiting for the summons.

He did not look up at her.  His gaze was on one of the bouquets.

She brought a portfolio and packets of letters all neatly docketed.