Sir or no sir, he's got no frills about him--just plain man like the rest of us." Neither would his title, had they known it, have made the slightest difference to any one of the habitues who gathered in Tim Kelsey's book-shop.
Who Felix was, or what he had done, or what he was about to do, were questions never considered, either by Kelsey or by his friends.

That he was part of the driftwood left stranded and unrecognized on the intellectual shore was enough.

All that any of them asked for was brains, and Felix, even before the first evening had ended, had uncovered a stock so varied, and of such unusual proportions, and of so brilliant a character that he was always accorded the right of way whenever he took charge of the talk.
And a queer lot they were who listened, and a queer lot they had to be, to enjoy Kelsey's confidence.

"Men are like books," he would often say to Felix.

"It is their insides I care for, no matter how badly they are bound.