Mr. Galbraith, when alluding to the expert craftsman, had never
mentioned his age, and Bob had gleaned the impression that the man
before whose ability the entire Galbraith shipbuilding plant bowed down
was middle-aged, possibly even elderly. Therefore to be confronted by
some one in the early forties was a distinct shock.
Snelling's hair was, to be sure, sprinkled lightly with gray, but this
hint of maturity was given the lie by his ruddy, unlined countenance
and the youthfulness with which he wore his clothes. A good tailor had
evidently found a model worthy of his skill and had tried to live up to
the task set him, for everything in the stranger's attitude and
appearance proclaimed smartness and the _savoir faire_ of the man about
town. Yet Howard Snelling was something far better than either a
fashion plate or a society darling. He was energy personified. It
spoke in every motion of his strong, fine hands, in the quick turn of
his head, in the alert attention with which he listened. Nothing
escaped his well-trained eye.
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