At one time he had an Important Suit on hand, and he was Worried, for
he was opposed by a couple of living Gas Engines who could rare up and
down in front of a yap Jury for further Orders.
"I have the Law on my Side," said the Runt. "Now if I were only
Six-Feet-Two with a sole-leather Thorax, I could swing the Verdict."
While he was repining, in came a Friend of his Youth, named Jim.
This Jim was a Book-Agent. He was as big as the Side of a House. He
had a Voice that sounded as if it came up an Elevator Shaft. When he
folded his Arms and looked Solemn, he was a colossal Picture of Power
in Repose. He wore a Plug Hat and a large Black Coat. Nature intended
him for the U.S. Senate, but used up all the Material early in the Job
and failed to stock the Brain Cavity.
Jim had always been at the Foot of the Class in School. At the age
of 40 he spelled Sure with an Sh and sank in a Heap when he tried to
add 8 and 7. But he was a tall Success as a Book Pedler, because he
learned his Piece and the 218 pounds of Dignified Superiority did the
Rest.
Wherever he went, he commanded Respect. He could go into a strange
Hotel and sit down at the Breakfast Table and say: "Please pass the
Syrup" in a Tone that had all the majestic Significance of an Official
Utterance. He would sit there in silent Meditation. Those who sized up
that elephantine Form and noted the Gravity of his Countenance and the
fluted Wrinkles on his high Brow, imagined that he was pondering on
the Immortality of the Soul.
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