That forenoon King shook hands with Archie, Teddy, Gratton, and the
rest, made his formal bows to Gloria's girl friends, and felt relief
when the inept banalities languished and he was free to draw apart.
Gratton, with slender finger to his shadowy moustache, bore down upon
him. King did not like this suave individual; he had the habit of
judging a man by first impressions and sticking stubbornly to his snap
judgment until circumstance showed him to be in error. He liked neither
the way Gratton walked nor talked; he had no love for the cut of his
eye; now he resented being approached when there was no call for it.
Never was there a more friendly man anywhere than Mark King when he
found a soul-brother; never a more aloof at times like this one.

"I have been tremendously interested," Gratton led off ingratiatingly,
"in the things I have heard of you, Mr. King. By George, men like you
live the real life."

The wild fancy came booming upon King to kick him over the verandah
railing.

"Think so?" he said coolly, wondering despite himself what "things"
Gratton had heard of him. And from whom? His spirit groaned within him
at the thought that old Ben Gaynor had been lured into paths along which
he should come to hobnob with men like Gratton. He was sorry that he had
promised to stay to lunch. His thoughts all of a sudden were restive,
flying off to Swen Brodie, to Loony Honeycutt, to what he must get done
without too much delay. Gratton startled him by speaking, bringing his
thoughts back from across the ridges to the sunny verandah overlooking
Lake Gloria.