Bassett was not the vulgar, intimate good-fellow who slapped every man on the back--the teller of good stories over a glass of whiskey and a cigar.

He was, as Pettit had said, a new type, not of the familiar _cliche_.

The decanter was a "property" placed in the scene at the dictates of hospitality; the checkerboard canceled any suggestion of conviviality that might have been conveyed by the decanter of whiskey.
Bassett's right hand lay on the table and Dan found himself watching it.
It was broad but not heavy; the fingers that opened and shut quietly on a small paperweight were supple.

It was a hand that would deal few blows, but hard ones.

Harwood was aware, at a moment when he began to be bored by the bald facts of local history, that Bassett had abruptly switched the subject.
"Parties are necessary to democratic government.