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And he flung himself into the chair, drawing his fur-lined coat about him. "Let me hear from you!" he snapped. Minee, the unfrocked bishop, preserving still a certain episcopal portliness of figure, a certain episcopal oiliness of speech, respectfully implored the representative to be more precise. The invitation flung him into a passion. His irascibility, indeed, deserved to become a byword.
They sat expectantly Goullin, the attorney, president of the committee, a frail, elegant valetudinarian, fierily eloquent; Grandmaison, the fencing-master, who once had been a gentleman, fierce of eye and inflamed of countenance; Minee, the sometime bishop, now departmental president; Pierre Chaux, the bankrupt merchant; the sans-culotte Forget, of the People's Society, an unclean, ill-kempt ruffian; and some thirty others called like these from every walk of life.
Dark and narrow streets; fat, round paper lanterns here and there above dim doorways; silent forms, soft-shuffling, warily alert. "Wait one minee," said Po Lun. "I find 'em door." Following the Chinaman were Captain Lees, with his half a dozen "plain clothes men," Benito, Robert and the mail inspector. Presently Po spoke again. "Me go ahead. Plitty soon you come.
He stood up, expressed his gratification at being so completely understood, opened his arms, and invited the departmental president, Minee, to come down and receive the kiss of brotherhood. Thereafter they passed to the consideration of measures of improvement, of measures to combat famine and disease.
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