"Not quite." They were at the front door, and all hope of escaping into the desirable obscurity from which he had sprung fled from his mind.
"He is a great old boy, the Judge," resumed Gideon Vetch blandly, "I had a talk with him one day before the elections, when you other fellows were sitting back like a lot of lunatics and waiting for the Democratic primaries to put things over.

He is the only one in the whole bunch of you who stopped shouting long enough to hear what I had to say.

I like him, sir, and if there is one thing you will never find me doing it is liking the wrong man.

I may not know Greek, but I can read men." The front door was open, and the blast of cold air dispersed all the foolish fancies that had gathered in Stephen's brain.

Beyond the fountain and the gate he could see the broad road through the Square and the dark majestic figure of Washington on horseback.