He held them out and they were not, so he must have spoken
metaphorically.

The banker translated, addressing himself to one of his companions,
rather markedly and with much deference.

"You're speakin' French," interrupted Captain Cable.

"Yes, my fren', I am. Do you know French?"

"Not me," returned Captain Cable, affably. "They're all one to me.
They're all damn nonsense."

He was, it seemed, that which is called in these days of blatant
patriotism a thorough Englishman, or a true Blue, according to the
social station of the speaker.

The gentleman to whom the translation had been addressed smiled. He was
a tall and rather distinguished-looking man, with bushy white hair and
mustache. His features were square-cut and strong. His eyes were dark,
and he had an easy smile. He led the way to some chairs which had been
placed near a table at the far end of the lawn beneath a cedar-tree, and
his manner had something faintly regal in it, as if in his daily life he
had always been looked up to and obeyed without question.

"Tell him that we also are plain men with clean hands," he said.

And the banker replied: