Ridley, the private secretary, is about the
same age. He is a ruddy-cheeked, round-paunched little fellow, scarcely
measuring up to the Senator's shoulder. The thin fringe of hair around
his shining pate gives him the appearance of a jolly friar. He peers at
you through gold-rimmed spectacles, and is quite helpless without them.
He has been with Senator Bull for years, serving him faithfully in
various capacities, and is now a partner in the enterprises which have
made the Senator many times a millionaire. The title of "private
secretary" is one of courtesy merely, and seems to highly amuse the two
friends.
[Illustration: Senator Bull and Sammy Ridley.]
At nightfall we had left the storm behind us, and were speeding over the
mountains. The sunlight, lingering on the higher peaks, cast great
shadows into the depths beyond. There had been much snow all winter, and
the summits sparkled and shone out dazzlingly, then went pink and
crimson and purple as the radiance slowly faded. The lamps had not been
lighted in the car, and most of us had gathered at the observation end,
impressed by the grandeur of it all, when the silence was broken by Mr.
Ridley.
"That's a pretty sight, sure! It gives me a kind of solemn feeling all
over. The glory up there makes me think of dying, and heaven, and
angels, and all that," he said gravely.
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