“Pretty much. But Wood never sold out that way, did he?” He turned to Ranald Cam. “Marve Wood ain't never made the city a bad bargain yet,” growled Cam, “for all they gas about it.” Tait was silent. The others disputed at length on obscure historic points in Wood's policy. The shadowy influence of the “old man” was still so strong in the circle that no one ventured to put any doubt on the guiding wisdom of whatever he had done. They only disputed points of fact. “He kept things solid,” said Carroll, “that's the point.” “I should say Macclesfield would have to come up,” said Hennion at last. “I'll bring you in a counter-estimate next week.” When the circle broke up an hour later, Tait lingered behind the rest. Tuttle, Beckett, and Cam went up Hancock Street together. “I guess Dick's going to shut down on Tait,” said Beckett. “Suit me all right if he does. Depends on how he handles Macclesfield, don't it? He's rather prompt, eh? I wouldn't exactly say brusque, but it won't do to rough Macclesfield. Guess you'd better advise him, Major. Say, why not?” Hennion seemed to him not so companionable, so comfortable as Wood. “Possibly, possibly,” said the Major. Ranald Cam growled in his beard. Wood's death was a heavy blow to him. Both the elder men had felt the touch of Hennion's deference toward them. They did not like Tait. “Want to go over there with me, Hennion?” said Tait, puffing his black cigar rather fast. “See Macclesfield?” “Not that I know of.” “Suppose I bring him over here?” Hennion stared at the top of his desk for a full moment. “All right. Come in an hour.” Tait went out, and Hennion fell to figuring. William R. Macclesfield was a cultivated gentleman, whose personal courtesies to all men seemed to be returned by fortune in personal courtesies to him. Macclesfield's attractiveness would be evident at first knowledge. Persuasion of his astuteness would follow not long after. Precipitate judgments on his character, based on the interview which here dropped into Hennion's experience of men and things, were as well unmade. Hennion preferred to whistle and consider it. “Should I congratulate or commiserate?” said Macclesfield, smiling and shaking hands. “Commiserate, thank you.” Macclesfield sat down and talked on pleasantly.