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With a whoop of pure joy Jock McChesney turned and fled. They dined together at one o'clock, Emma McChesney and her son Jock. Suddenly Jock stopped eating. His eyes were on the door. "There's that fathead now," he said, excitedly. "The nerve of him! He's coming over here." Ed Meyers was waddling toward them with the quick light step of the fat man. His pink, full-jowled face was glowing.
"However, as I was saying, I saw the only Spargo. He was a big, beefy, red-faced personage, full-jowled and double-chinned, sweating at his desk in his shirt-sleeves. It was August, you know. He was talking into a telephone when I entered, or swearing rather, I should say, and the while studying me with his eyes. When he hung up, he turned to me expectantly. "'You are a very busy man, I said.
He was a red-faced, tightly buttoned, full-jowled, choleric Southerner of the ultra-punctilious brand, always well dressed in quaint and rather old-fashioned garments, with charming manners, and the reminiscence of good looks lost in a florid and apoplectic habit. This person entered Keith's office, greeted him formally, declined a chair.
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