Innumerable were the little groups which had broken away
from the larger ones to hold semi-private debate on matters which
demanded calm consideration and the finer intellect. From the
doctrine of the Trinity to the question of cabbage _versus_ beef;
from Neo-Malthusianism to the grievance of compulsory
vaccination; not a subject which modernism has thrown out to the
multitude but here received its sufficient mauling. Above the crowd
floated wreaths of rank tobacco smoke.
Straying from circle to circle might have been seen Mr. Joseph
Snowdon, the baldness of his crown hidden by a most respectable silk
hat, on one hand a glove, in the other his walking-stick, a yellow
waistcoat enhancing his appearance of dignity, a white necktie
spotted with blue and a geranium in his button-hole correcting the
suspicion of age suggested by his countenance. As a listener to
harangues of the most various tendency, Mr. Snowdon exhibited an
impartial spirit; he smiled occasionally, but was never moved to any
expression of stronger feeling. His placid front revealed the
philosopher.
Yet at length something stirred him to a more pronounced interest.
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