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Updated: June 2, 2025
If Hilda Lightener, who came often and stayed long, had asked her if she missed Bonbright or were lonely without him, she would have denied it hotly. But Hilda did not ask.... Ruth did not ask that question of herself. She knew she was lonely, miserable, and she thought she knew why but Bonbright's absence had nothing to do with it.
You might have notices tacked up outside the gates stating that we wouldn't take back men who weren't back by the date you named. And, Rangar, be sure Mr. Bonbright's name is signed to it. I want to rid the men thoroughly of any absurd ideas about him." "You have, sir. If Dulac is a fair sample, you have. Why, he seems regularly to HATE Mr. Bonbright.
Of the two, Bonbright's reasons most nearly approached the normal, and therefore the safe; Ruth had been urged by a motive, lofty perhaps, visionary, but supremely abnormal. Therefore the adjustments to be made, the problems to be mastered, the difficulties in their road to a comfortable, reasonably happy future, were multiplied many times.
You've been playing in too high a key your fiddle strings are too tight." Getting into that cool, soft bed was one of the pleasantest experiences of Bonbright's life. He was almost instantly asleep and he still slept, even at the deliberate hour that saw his father enter the office at the mills. Mr. Foote was disturbed.
No man will need to ask his wife to keep a boarder to add to the family's earnings...." The men listened now. Bonbright's voice carried to every corner and cranny of the hall. Even the men on the platform listened breathlessly as he went on detailing the plan and its workings. Nothing like this had ever happened before in the world's history.
To Bonbright's eyes it seemed a tangle. A labyrinth of shafting, countershafting, hung from the high ceiling, from whose whirring pulleys belts descended to rows upon rows of machines below. It looked like some strange sort of lunar forest, or some species of monstrous, magic banyan tree. Here were machines of a hundred uses and shapes, singly, in batteries a scrambled mass it seemed.
The impulse to see Bonbright was conceived in hatred and born in bitterness. It was such an impulse as might, in its turn, breed children capable of causing a calloused world to pause an instant on its way and gasp with horror. He brushed aside the boy who asked his business with Mr. Foote, and flung open Bonbright's door.
Liaison!... Liaison!... The foreign term beat again and again against Bonbright's consciousness before it gained admission. Used in connection with Ruth Frazer, with his relations with Ruth Frazer, it was dead, devoid of meaning, conveyed no meaning to his brain. "Liaison, sir!... Liaison?" he said, fumblingly. "I can find a plainer term if you insist."
These were her thoughts; this is how she remembered him.... The house was unbearably lonely. As evening approached she found herself more than once listening for Bonbright's step on the stairs and his hand on the door.... At such times she cried. She puzzled herself.
There were actually suggestion boxes in every department where the humblest laborer might deposit a slip of paper telling the boss any notion he had which he deemed of service to the enterprise. More than that any suggestion accepted was paid for according to its value. In Bonbright's father's plant change and invention were frowned upon. New devices were regarded as impious.
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