Another feature was the dress
and faces of the members--especially the authors, to whom Peter
had introduced him, whose books he had read, and whose
personalities he had heard discussed, and who, to his astonishment,
had turned out to be shabby-looking old fellows who smoked and
drank, or played chess, like other ordinary mortals, and without
pretence of any kind so far as he could detect.
"Just like one big family, isn't it, Mr. Grayson?" the boy said.
"Don't you two gentlemen love to come here?"
"Yes."
"They don't look like very rich men."
"They're not. Now and then a camel crawls through but it is a
tight squeeze," remarked Peter arching his gray, bushy eyebrows, a
smile hovering about his lips.
The boy laughed: "Well, then, how did they get here?"
"Principally because they lead decent lives, are not puffed up
with conceit, have creative brains and put them to some honest
use," answered Peter.
The boy looked away for a moment and remarked quietly that about
everybody he knew would fail in one or more of these
qualifications.
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