Dick Humbird had, ever since freshman year, seemed to Amory a perfect
type of aristocrat. He was slender but well-built--black curly hair,
straight features, and rather a dark skin. Everything he said sounded
intangibly appropriate. He possessed infinite courage, an averagely good
mind, and a sense of honor with a clear charm and _noblesse oblige_ that
varied it from righteousness. He could dissipate without going to pieces,
and even his most bohemian adventures never seemed "running it out."
People dressed like him, tried to talk as he did. . . . Amory decided
that he probably held the world back, but he wouldn't have changed him.
. . .
He differed from the healthy type that was essentially middle class--
he never seemed to perspire. Some people couldn't be familiar with a
chauffeur without having it returned; Humbird could have lunched at
Sherry's with a colored man, yet people would have somehow known that it
was all right. He was not a snob, though he knew only half his class.
His friends ranged from the highest to the lowest, but it was impossible
to "cultivate" him. Servants worshipped him, and treated him like a god.
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