nothing wrong about that, I reckon. Over in England they make lords and
dukes of brewers."

"A man of rectitude--enshrined in the hearts of his fellow-citizens,
popular and all that?" suggested Harwood.

Yes. Mort rather _retains_ his heat, I guess. Some say he's cold as ice.
His ice is the kind that freezes to what he likes. Mort's a gentleman if
we have one in Fraser County. If you think you're chasin' one of these
blue jeans politicians you read about in comic papers you're hitting the
wrong trail, son. Mort can eat with a fork without appearin'
self-conscious. Good Lord, boy, if you can say these other fellows in
Indiana politics have brains, you got to say that Mort Bassett has
_intellect_. Which is different, son; a dern sight different."

"I shall be glad to use the word in my sketch of Mr. Bassett," remarked
Dan dryly. "It will lend variety to the series."

Harwood thanked the editor for his courtesy and walked to the door.
Strange creakings from the editorial chair caused him to turn. The
Honorable Isaac Pettit was in the throes of another convulsion. The
attack seemed more severe than its predecessors. Dan waited for him to
invoke deity with the asthmatic wheeziness to which mirth reduced his
vocal apparatus.

"It's nothin', son; it's nothin'. It's my temperament: I can't help it.
Did you say you were from the 'Courier'? Well, you better give Mort a
good send-off. He appreciates a good job; he's a sort o' literary cuss
himself."