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Updated: June 2, 2025
"What else would he be going there for, Mr. Foote?" "My idea exactly." "Unless, sir, he fancies he's in love with the girl.... I once knew a young man in a position similar to Mr. Bonbright's who fell in love with a girl who sold cigars in a hotel.... He fairly DOGGED her, sir. Wanted to marry her.
"Dulac," said Bonbright, leaning forward as though drawn by spasmodic contraction of tense muscles, "is this true?" For once Dulac did not become theatrical, did not pose, did not reply to this doubt, as became labor flouting capital. Perhaps it was because the matter lay as close to his stormy heart as it did to Bonbright's. "Yes," he said. "Then where..." "I don't know."
The mere fact that she was poor, not of his station, a wage-earner, made it plain to the senior Foote that Ruth Frazer would welcome a squalid affair with his son.... The Sultan throwing his handkerchief. Bonbright's calm gave place to turmoil, his chill to heat. "It's not true," he said, haltingly, using feeble words because stronger had not yet had time to surge up to the surface.
As he listened, he looked out across the patio to Paula's porches. Bonbright was explaining that it was a call from Chauncey Bishop who was at Eldorado in a machine. Chauncey Bishop, editor and owner of the San Francisco Dispatch, was sufficiently important a person, in Bonbright's mind, as well as old friend of Dick's, to be connected directly to him.
Somehow he was not surprised, not startled, not afraid yet he knew there was danger. A word, a movement, might unleash the passions that seethed within Dulac.... Dulac stepped one step toward Bonbright, and paused. The movement was catlike, graceful. It had not been willed by Dulac. He had been drawn that step as iron is drawn to magnet. His eyes did not leave Bonbright's.
I couldn't let it pass, even from him. I can't let it pass from you, mother." "Oh, undoubtedly she's worthy enough," said Mr. Foote, who had exchanged a glance with his wife during Bonbright's outburst, as much as to say, "There is a serious danger here." "Worthy enough!" said Bonbright, anger now burning with white heat.
Malcolm Lightener did not content himself with telephoning. He came in person to say his say to Bonbright, and he said it with point and emphasis. "I thought I taught you some sense in my shop," he said, as he burst into Bonbright's office. "What's this I hear now? What idiocy are you up to? Is this infernal newspaper story true?" "Substantially," said Bonbright. "You're crazy.
Bonbright's voice quivered a trifle, but he held himself well in hand. "That apology must come before anything else. After you have made it, we will discuss terms." "You you " Mr. Foote was perilously close to losing his dignity. "No," said Bonbright; "on second thought, we will not discuss terms.
The professor argued, pleaded; but Bonbright was stubborn, and the professor had previous acquaintance with Bonbright's stubbornness. Its quality was that of tool steel. Bonbright had made up his mind to go and to go alone. Nobody could argue him out of it. Bonbright did go alone.
If Bonbright's argosy did not wreck against the reef of his father, it never could weather the hidden rock of his mother's class consciousness. Bonbright went along, whistling boyishly. He was worried, but not so worried but that he could find room also to be very happy. Everything would come out all right.... Young folks are prone to trust implicitly to the goodness of the future.
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