"At the bazaar, Dick?" exclaimed Montague, stroking his
artistically-waxed moustache with considerable dexterity.
The individual addressed as Dick was certainly a dude of the
fifteenth degree--his pale-blue pantaloons being sufficient proof
without venturing another glance. His movements, voice and manner
were constant reminders of the excruciating assertion, "I'm a dude."
But of the question.
"Oh! is that you, Arnold? I really did not expect to see you here
to-night. How is business at the governor's? Hear you are making a
bold dash there?"
"Yes, you can bet on that! I'm the white-headed boy there now."
As Arnold was in a short time highly exhilarated by the contents of
the table, he became very communicative, and as his conversation was
not such as would be under the head of pure language, we will leave
him to make merry with his set of jovial companions.
Hubert Tracy was calm and self-possessed. He was too much intent
upon some plans to allow himself to become incapable. He had
"another iron in the fire," to quote his expression as he thought
the matter over to himself, and called upon all the powers unknown
to come to his aid.
It was within a short time that Hubert Tracy had become vitiated in
his moral nature.
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