Elks knew the standing of one another.  They had regard for the ability which could amass a small fortune, own a nice home, keep a barouche or carriage, perhaps, wear fine clothes, and maintain a good mercantile position.  Naturally, Hurstwood, who was a little above the order of mind which accepted this standard as perfect, who had shrewdness and much assumption of dignity, who held an imposing and authoritative position, and commanded friendship by intuitive tact in handling people, was quite a figure.  He was more generally known than most others in the same circle, and was looked upon as some one whose reserve covered a mine of influence and solid financial prosperity.

To-night he was in his element.  He came with several friends directly from Rector’s in a carriage.  In the lobby he met Drouet, who was just returning from a trip for more cigars.  All five now joined in an animated conversation concerning the company present and the general drift of lodge affairs.

“Who’s here?” said Hurstwood, passing into the theatre proper, where the lights were turned up and a company of gentlemen were laughing and talking in the open space back of the seats.

“Why, how do you do, Mr. Hurstwood?” came from the first individual recognized.

“Glad to see you,” said the latter, grasping his hand lightly.

“Looks quite an affair, doesn’t it?”

“Yes, indeed,” said the manager.

“Custer seems to have the backing of its members,” observed the friend.

“So it should,” said the knowing manager.  “I’m glad to see it.”

“Well, George,” said another rotund citizen, whose avoirdupois made necessary an almost alarming display of starched shirt bosom, “how goes it with you?”

“Excellent,” said the manager.

“What brings you over here?  You’re not a member of Custer.”

“Good-nature,” returned the manager.  “Like to see the boys, you know.”

“Wife here?”

“She couldn’t come to-night.  She’s not well.”

“Sorry to hear it—­nothing serious, I hope.”

“No, just feeling a little ill.”

“I remember Mrs. Hurstwood when she was traveling once with you over to St. Joe—­” and here the newcomer launched off in a trivial recollection, which was terminated by the arrival of more friends.

“Why, George, how are you?” said another genial West Side politician and lodge member.  “My, but I’m glad to see you again; how are things, anyhow?”

“Very well; I see you got that nomination for alderman.”

“Yes, we whipped them out over there without much trouble.”

“What do you suppose Hennessy will do now?”

“Oh, he’ll go back to his brick business.  He has a brick-yard, you know.”

“I didn’t know that,” said the manager.  “Felt pretty sore, I suppose, over his defeat.”  “Perhaps,” said the other, winking shrewdly.

Some of the more favored of his friends whom he had invited began to roll up in carriages now.  They came shuffling in with a great show of finery and much evident feeling of content and importance.