Not without a lot of misgivings, you can be sure. I had one little
experience with him right at the start that made me uneasy and got me
to thinking he was what you might call too literary, or theatrical, or
something, and that he was more interested in being things than doing
them. I'd been aware, ever since he got back from Harvard, that
_I_ was one of his literary interests, so to speak. He had a way
of talking to me in a _quizzical_, condescending style, in the
belief that he was drawing me out, the way you talk to some old
book-peddler in your office when you've got nothing to do for a while;
and it was easy to see he regarded me as a "character" and thought he
was studying me. Besides, he felt it his duty to study the wickedness
of politics in a Parkhurstian fashion, and I was one of the lost.

One day, just after we'd nominated him, he came to me and said he had
a friend who wanted to meet me. Asked me couldn't I go with him right
away. It was about five in the afternoon; I hadn't anything to do and
said, "Certainly," thinking he meant to introduce me to some friend of
his who thought I'd talk politics with him. I took that for granted so
much that I didn't ask a question, just followed along up street,
talking weather. He turned in at old General Buskirk's, and may I be
shot if the person he meant wasn't Buskirk's daughter, Bella! He'd
brought me to call on a girl young enough to be my daughter. Maybe you
won't believe I felt like a fool!

I knew Buskirk, of course (he didn't appear), but I hadn't seen Bella
since she was a child. She'd been "highly educated" and had been
living abroad a good deal, but I can't say that my visit made me
_for_ her--not very strong. She was good-looking enough, in her
thinnish, solemn way, but it seemed to me she was kind of overdressed
and too grand. You could see in a minute that she was intense and