He passed them, marched up the steps of a large building, and disappeared through a door which a boy in club uniform held open for him.

“That man,” explained Citizen Drew, complacently displaying his boasted knowledge of public men in minute detail, “is the Honorable Archer Converse, whose father was General Aaron Converse, the war governor of this state.  Lawyer, old bach, rich, just as crisp in talk as he is in looks, just as straight in his manners and morals and honesty as he is in his back, arrives every night at the Mellicite Club for his dinner on the dot of eight”—­Citizen Drew waved his hand at the illuminated circle of the First National clock—­“leaves the club exactly at nine for a walk through the park, then marches home, plays three games of solitaire, and goes to bed.”

“I know him!” stated Farr.

Citizen Drew’s air betrayed a bit of a showman’s disappointment.

“I never saw him before—­never heard of him.  But I mean I know him now after your description—­know his nature, his thoughts.  You have a fine touch in your size-ups, Citizen Drew.”

“I’ve studied ’em all.”

“What has he done in politics?”

“Never a thing.  He is one of the kind I was complaining about.  Too high-minded.”

“But, ho, how a man like that would swim if he were once thrown in!” declared Farr.

“He never even tended out on a caucus.”

“I know the style when I see it,” pursued Farr.  He did not look at Citizen Drew.  He was talking as much to himself as to his companion.  “Spirit of a crusader harnessed by every-day habit!  Righteousness in a rut!  Achievement timed to the tick of the clock.  But, once in, how he would swim!”

“Think how our affairs would swing along with a man like that at the head of the state!”

“Why hasn’t he been put at the head?”

“I have been in delegations that have gone to him”—­he waved his hand—­“he said he couldn’t think of being mixed into political messes.”

“He looked on you wallowing in muddy water and you invited him in.  I don’t blame him for not jumping.”

“He’s a good man,” insisted Citizen Drew.  “He gives more money to the poor than any other man in town.  The only way I found that out is by having a natural nose for finding out things.  He doesn’t say anything about it.”

“How he would swim!” repeated Farr.  “Steady and strong and straight toward the shore, Citizen Drew, and he wouldn’t kick away the poor drowning devils, either.”

“He probably thinks he has paid his debt to the world when he hands out his money,” stated Drew.  “When he looks around and sees so many other men holding the poor chaps upside down and shaking the dollars out of their pockets he must think he is doing a mighty sight more than is required of him.  But sticking plasters of dollar bills onto sore places in this state ain’t curing anything.”  He stopped.  “I’ve walked with you farther than I intended to, Mr. Farr.  But somehow I wanted to talk with you.  There’s a meeting of the Square Deal Club this evening at Union Hall.  I didn’t know but in some way we might—­It was thought you might be going to run for office.”