Craig surveyed the shiny surface ruefully. "What's the matter with
this?" he demanded.

"Oh, nothing," replied Arkwright, in disgust. "Only, it looks more
like something to roof a house with than like linen for a
civilized man."

Craig reared. "But, damn it, Grant, I'm not civilized. I'm a wild
man, and I'm going to stay wild. I belong to the common people,
and it's my game--and my preference, too--to stick to them. I'm
willing to make concessions; I'm not a fool. I know there was a
certain amount of truth in those letters you took the trouble to
write me from Europe. I know that to play the game here in
Washington I've got to do something in society. But"--here Josh's
eyes flashed, and he bent on his friend a look that was
impressive--"I'm still going to be myself. I'll make 'em accept me
as I am. Dealing with men as individuals, I make them do what _I_
want, make 'em like me as I am."

"Every game has its own rules," said Arkwright. "You'll get on
better--quicker--go further--here if you'll learn a few elementary
things. I don't see that wearing a whole shirt decently done up is
going to compromise any principles. Surely you can do that and
still be as common as you like. The people look up to the fellow
that's just a little better dressed than they."

Josh eyed Arkwright in the way that always made him wonder whether
he was in full possession of the secret of this strenuous young
Westerner. "But," said he, "they love and trust the man who will
have nothing which all may not have. The shirt will do for this