"Mr. Campbell, hello. I'm Henry Brown." Henry approached the groom's father and introduced himself.
"Hello. And you are?" The pot-bellied old farmer carefully held his wineglass in his callused hands as he asked politely.
"I'm a friend of the bride's niece, Lorna. I heard you run a farm, so I wanted to ask your advice about a few things."
Several people, relatives or friends of uncertain relation, stood around the groom's father. Though they were all dressed formally, their mannerisms and rough hands suggested that they were mostly farmers as well, or worked in related fields.
They also looked Henry over. The suit he wore was not custom-made luxury attire, but the bearing he had cultivated over the years was refined, gentle, and scholarly. He did not look like someone who did heavy labor at all.
Even bald as he was, making him particularly conspicuous, Henry stood out among the wedding guests. After all, Kryptonians were often around old ladies; if their manners were too outrageous, they would still get scolded.
The best comparison for Henry was Quicksilver, who was likewise dressed formally. Though that guy looked decent enough in his suit, he was fidgety and impetuous, like a young man fresh out in the working world, except with a more mature face. He and Henry were like two entirely different kinds of people.
After sizing him up, the old farmers openly looked down on this city dweller. "What do you want to know? You're not thinking of becoming a farmer, are you? You're not cut out for it. Give it up, kid. Stay in the city and work properly."
Henry laid his cards on the table. "I have money, and I'd like to know whether there's a market for customized contract farming, or farms willing to cooperate in that