You 'aven't long to live accordin' to all accounts, so just close your mouth an' open your ears, an' mebbe you'll know w'y." De Sylva regained his self-possession with a rapidity that was significant.

He had not climbed to the presidential chair of the Republic from a clerkship in the London Embassy of the Empire without acquiring the habit of estimating his fellow men speedily and accurately.

Here was one who might be led, but would never permit himself to be driven.

Moreover, this dethroned ruler was by way of being a philosopher.
"I hate drunkards," he said, shrugging his shoulders.

"You cannot trust them.