"No, thank you. I seldom-- On second thoughts, I will take one." It occurred to him that it was the diplomatic thing to do, no matter what kind of a cigar it was. Besides, he wouldn't feel called upon to terminate his visit at once if he lighted the man's cigar. He could at least smoke an inch or even an inch and a half of it before announcing that he would have to be going. And a great deal can happen during the consumption of an inch or so of tobacco. "That's a good cigar," he commented, after a couple of puffs. He took it from his lips and inspected it critically. Mr. McFaddan was pleased. "It ought to be," he said. "Fifty cents straight." The visitor looked at it with sudden respect. "A little better than I'm in the habit of smoking," he said ingratiatingly. "What does it cost to join the Oxford Club?" inquired the contractor. "Twelve hundred dollars admission, and two hundred a year dues," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, pricking up his ears. "Really quite reasonable." "My wife don't like the golf club I belong to," said the other, squinting at his own cigar. "Rough-neck crowd, she says." Mr. Smith-Parvis looked politely concerned. "That's too bad," he said. The contractor appeared to be weighing something in his mind. "How long does it take to get into your club?" he asked. "Usually about five years," said Mr. Smith-Parvis, blandly. "Long waiting list, you know. Some of the best people in the city are on it, by the way. I daresay it wouldn't be more than two or three months in your case, however," he concluded. "I'll speak to the wife about it," said Mr. McFaddan. "She may put her foot down hard. Too swell for us, maybe. We're plain people." "Not a bit of it," said Mr. Smith-Parvis readily. "Extremely democratic club, my dear McFaddan. Exclusive and all that, but quite--ah--unconventional. Ha-ha!" Finding himself on the high-road to success, he adventured a little farther. Glancing up at the clock on the wall, he got to his feet with an exclamation of well-feigned dismay. "My dear fellow, I had no idea it was so near the luncheon hour. Stupid of me. Why didn't you kick me out? Ha-ha! Let me know what you decide to do, and I will be delighted to--But better still, can't you have lunch with me? I could tell you something about the club and--What do you say to going around to Bombay House with me?" "I'd like nothing better," said the thoroughly perplexed politician. "Excuse me while I wash me hands." And peering earnestly into the mirror above the washstand in the corner of the office, Mr. McFaddan said to himself: "I must look easier to him than I do to meself. If I'm any kind of a guesser at all he's after one of two things. He either wants his tax assessment rejuced or wants to run for mayor of the city. The poor boob!" That evening Mr. Smith-Parvis announced, in a bland and casual manner, that things were shaping themselves beautifully. "I had McFaddan to lunch with me," he explained. "He was tremendously impressed."