indefinable stamp.  Having eaten my breakfast in a large dining-room that
resounded with the clatter of dishes, I directed my steps to the
apartment occupied from year to year by Colonel Paul Barney,
generalissimo of the Railroad on the legislative battlefield,--a position
that demanded a certain uniqueness of genius. 

"How do you do, sir," he said, in a guarded but courteous tone as he
opened the door.  I entered to confront a group of three or four figures,
silent and rather hostile, seated in a haze of tobacco smoke around a
marble-topped table.  On it reposed a Bible, attached to a chain. 

"You probably don't remember me, Colonel," I said.  "My name is Pared,
and I'm associated with the firm of Watling, Fowndes, and Ripon." 

His air of marginality,--heightened by a grey moustache and goatee a la
Napoleon Third,--vanished instantly; he became hospitable, ingratiating. 

"Why--why certainly, you were down heah with Mr.  Fowndes two years ago."
The Colonel spoke with a slight Southern accent.  "To be sure, sir.  I've
had the honour of meeting your father.  Mr.  Norris, of North Haven, meet