Here men were met standing in groups, their plates in their hands, or seated at the smaller tables, when a siphon and a beer bottle, or a mug of Bass would be added to their comfort.
It was there the Scribe met him for the second time, my first being the Morris dinner, when he sat within speaking distance.

I had heard of him, of course, as Peter's new protege--indeed, the old fellow had talked of nothing else, and so I was glad to renew the acquaintance.

I found him to be like all other young fellows of his class--I had lived among his people, and knew--rather shy, with a certain deferential air toward older people--but with the composure belonging to unconscious youth--no fidgeting or fussing--modest, unassertive--his big brown eyes under their heavy lashes studying everything about him, his face brightening when you addressed him.

I discovered, too, a certain indefinable charm which won me to him at once.

Perhaps it was his youth; perhaps it was a certain honest directness, together with a total lack of all affectation that appealed to me, but certain it is that not many minutes had passed before I saw why Peter liked him, and I saw, too, why he liked Peter.
When I asked him--we had found three empty seats at a table--what impressed him most in the club, it being his first visit, he answered in his simple, direct way, that he thought it was the note of good-fellowship everywhere apparent, the men greeting each other as if they really meant it.