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 was none who looked more the gentleman. There was no man who could have displayed more perfect courtesy in his gravely polite salute.

"This," said my father, smiling, "is indeed a pleasure. I had hoped for this honor, and yet the years have so often disappointed me that I had only hoped."

Captain Tracy, short and squat, his hands held out in the way old sailors have, as though ready instinctively to grasp some rope or bulwark, thrust a bull neck forward, and peered at my father with little, reddened eyes, opened in wide incredulity.

"You what?" he demanded hoarsely.

"I said, Captain Tracy, that I hoped,"—and my father helped himself to snuff—"Will you be seated, gentlemen?"

"No," said Major Proctor.

"I have always noted," my father remarked, "that standing is better for the figure. The climate, Major, has agreed with you."

Major Proctor launched on a savage reoder, but Mr. Penfield leaned towards him with a whispered admonition.

"I take it," he said to my father, "that you did not read our letter. You made a