My dimmest view was justified.
Socker Melton was a big chum--sixty-two or -three and about two-hundred
and twenty-five. He had a face that would have been square if he'd
sacrificed his extra chin--large, blue, eager-beaver eyes--a babyish
snub nose--and a rather thick mouth, not very clearly defined; but
there was nothing repulsive in the ensemble--he looked like a star
Buick salesman. He wore--maybe I should say sported, since he probably
thought of it that way--a white flannel suit of a light weight and he
carried a panama hat, the sweatband of which was earning its keep. A
poor day for those big boys and I felt sorry for him. His clerical
collar was doing its best to stand up for Jesus--but there were folds
in it and his black dickey was mussed.