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Updated: May 27, 2025
Gordon took his place by Overman's side, thrust his big thumbs into his vest at the armpits, and looked off into space. "It's no use, Mark, for us to mince words," he began, in even, clear tones. "I understand the situation perfectly." "Then the solution should be easy under your code," the banker dryly remarked.
She's calling by for me, and you're going to meet her, if I have to knock you down and sit on you." There was no help for it. He heard the rustle of the silk lining of her cloak and she was at the door. She shook Overman's hand heartily, her violet eyes smiling in such a friendly candid way he was at once put at ease. "I am so glad to see you," she said, earnestly.
As he reached an impassioned climax, Ruth was startled to hear a note of suppressed laughter from a woman sitting in the same row behind the next pillar. She looked quickly, and saw Overman's massive head cocked to one side, his face an immovable mask, and his single gleaming eye fixed on Gordon, with Kate beside him. Overman stayed to dinner and congratulated his friend on his effort.
For six months he had usually spent two or three evenings each week in his friend's library, rehearsing their boyhood days, discussing new books, art and politics, Socialism and religion. Overman's cynicism had piqued Kate's curiosity and opened new views of things she had accepted as moral finalities. At these battles of wit she was always a charmed listener.
He did this with his single eye fixed on Gordon without the quiver of a nerve or the movement of a muscle to indicate ought but profound rapture in the speaker and his message. Overman's business ability had been of great service in the Temple enterprise, which had involved difficulties with contractors, and Gordon had opened an account in Kate's name with his banking house.
His voice had not been drowned in the roar of the breakers of this ocean of flesh, but he had met bitter disillusioning. As he looked into the faces of his Board of Trustees, dominated by that little bald-headed man, he felt the cruel force of Overman's sneer at the modern church as the home of the mean and the crippled and the sick. The appeal to the ideal seemed to stick in his throat.
I will not ask more," he added, as if he had read the reply in the old overman's eyes. "And the second question?" asked the latter. "Do you know, Simon, who the person is who can have written this?" answered the engineer, handing him the anonymous letter. Ford took the letter and read it attentively. Then giving it to his son, "Do you know the writing?" he asked. "No, father," replied Harry.
They both stopped, apparently at the same moment, wheeled, and again made the round in a circle without meeting, now and then stumbling against a piece of furniture. Gordon suddenly stopped, held his breath, and waited for his enemy to overtake him. He could hear Overman's heavy breathing at each muffled step.
If you destroy or hand over to the Government that packet, you will do your country an evil turn." He shook his head. "I am relieved to hear all that you say," he told her, "and I am heartily glad to think that you do not look upon yourself as Overman's associate. On the other hand, you must know that any movement towards peace, except through the authorised channels, is treason to the country."
Simon Ford was standing at his door, and as soon as Harry's lamp announced the arrival of his former viewer he advanced to meet him. "Welcome, Mr. Starr!" he exclaimed, his voice echoing under the roof of schist. "Welcome to the old overman's cottage! Though it is buried fifteen hundred feet under the earth, our house is not the less hospitable."
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