formed a mental image of their writer. I had read, too,
those volumes of botanical research which have set him
high above all other American scientists in this field, gleaning
from their curious mingling of extremely technical observations
and minutely accurate but extraordinarily poetic
descriptions, hints to amplify my picture of him. It gratified
me to find I had drawn a pretty good one.

The man to whom the President of the Association introduced
me was sturdy, well-knit, a little under average height.
He had a broad but rather low forehead that reminded me
somewhat of the late electrical wizard Steinmetz. Under
level black brows shone eyes of clear hazel, kindly, shrewd,
a little wistful, lightly humorous; the eyes both of a doer
and a dreamer.

Not more than forty I judged him to be. A close-trimmed,
pointed beard did not hide the firm chin and the clean-cut
mouth. His hair was thick and black and oddly sprinkled
with white; small streaks and dots of gleaming silver that
shone with a curiously metallic luster.

His right arm was closely bound to his breast. His manner
as he greeted me was tinged with shyness. He extended
his left hand in greeting, and as I clasped the fingers I was
struck by their peculiar, pronounced, yet pleasant warmth;
a sensation, indeed, curiously electric.

The Association's President forced him gently back into
his chair.