The hat was firmly set on the wearer's head, and about his neck was a wreath of colour--a knotted handkerchief of flaming scarlet.
The three men stared at him in silent stupefaction.

He seemed about to pass them on his way to the waiting car, but then paused and confronted them, his head back.

He laughed his bitter laugh.
"Does it seem strange to see me in the dress of a common workingman ?" he demanded.
"Dress of a what ?" demanded Sharon Whipple.

The other ignored this.
"You have consigned me to the ranks," he continued, chiefly to Harvey D.
"I must work with my hands for the simple fare that my comrades are able to gain with their own toil.

I must dress as one of them.