"That one," John said around a freshly-lit cigarette, jerking his chin in the direction of a dignified older gentleman in an expensive (and very conservative) pinstripe suit who walked with an authoritative stride, carrying a briefcase, his expression seemingly fixed in a permanent sniff of disdain. "Lessee. Republican, I'll wager. Business owner mebbe, or an attorney or some such rot." He studied the man critically, taking care not to be too obvious about it. "I'll lay odds he's a Mason."