rather dashing in effect, ruddy visage, dragoon moustache, and habited
in a light, smartly-cut sack suit of rather arresting checks,
conspicuous grey spats; a gentleman manifesting no interest whatever in
his surroundings.

Mr. Brownell, the critic, entered through the front door and moved to
the elevator.

There stepped from the elevator car a somewhat portly little man who
joined Mr. Wharton. He wore a rather queer looking, very big derby
hat, oddly flat on top. His shoulders were hooped up somewhat like the
figure of Joseph Choate. A rather funny, square, box-like body on
little legs. An English look to his clothes. Under his arm an
odd-looking club of a walking-stick. Mr. Brownell turned quickly to
this rather amusing though not undistinguished figure, and said, "Mr.
James--Brownell." The quaint gentleman took off his big hat,
discovering to our intent curiosity a polished bald dome, and began
instantly to talk, very earnestly, steadily, in a moderately pitched
voice, gesticulating with an even rhythmic beat with his right hand,
raised close to his face.

Joined presently by Mrs. Wharton, the party, bidding Mr. Brownell
adieu, took a somewhat humorous departure (we felt) from the shop; Mr.
James, with some suddenness, preceding out the door. Moving nimbly up
the Avenue, he was overhauled by Mrs. Wharton under full sail, who
attached herself to his arm. Her husband by an energetic forward play
around the end achieved her other wing. In this formation, sticks
flashing, skirt whipping, with a somewhat spirited mien, the august
spectacle receded from our rapt view, to be at length obliterated as a
unit by the general human scene.