His dark eyes met Harwood's gaze steadily--hardness might be there, though their gaze was friendly enough.

His voice was deep and its tone was pleasant.

He opened a drawer and produced a box of cigars.
"Won't you smoke?
I don't smoke myself, but you mustn't mind that." And Harwood accepted a cigar, which he found excellent.

A moment later a maid placed on the table beside the checkerboard a tray, with a decanter and glasses, and a pitcher of water.
"That's for us," remarked Bassett, nodding toward the glasses.

"Help yourself." "The cigar is all I need; thank you." The reporter was prepared to ask questions, following a routine he had employed with other subjects, but Bassett began to talk on his own initiative--of the town, the county, the district.