This first introduction was the Master Aeronaut, a man whose sun-tanned
face contrasted oddly with the delicate complexions about him. Just at
present his critical defection from the Council made him a very important
person indeed.
His manner contrasted very favourably, according to Graham's ideas, with
the general bearing. He offered a few commonplace remarks, assurances of
loyalty and frank inquiries about the Master's health. His manner was
breezy, his accent lacked the easy staccato of latter-day English. He
made it admirably clear to Graham that he was a bluff "aerial dog"--he
used that phrase--that there was no nonsense about him, that he was a
thoroughly manly fellow and old-fashioned at that, that he didn't profess
to know much, and that what he did not know was not worth knowing. He
made a curt bow, ostentatiously free from obsequiousness, and passed.
"I am glad to see that type endures," said Graham.
"Phonographs and kinematographs," said Lincoln, a little spitefully. "He
has studied from the life." Graham glanced at the burly form again. It
was oddly reminiscent.
"As a matter of fact we bought him," said Lincoln. "Partly. And partly he
was afraid of Ostrog. Everything rested with him."
He turned sharply to introduce the Surveyor-General of the Public
Schools. This person was a willowy figure in a blue-grey academic gown,
he beamed down upon Graham through _pince-nez_ of a Victorian pattern,
and illustrated his remarks by gestures of a beautifully manicured hand.
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