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Updated: May 9, 2025
Hope you'll overlook it, and be friendly." Plank's face took on the dark-red hue of embarrassment; he looked questioningly at Mortimer, whose visage remained non-committal, then directly at O'Hara. "I should be very glad to be friends with you," he said with an ingenuous dignity that surprised Mortimer.
Sylvia, sitting dummy at the other tables mechanically alert to Plank's cards dropping in rapid sequence as he played alternately from his own hand and the dummy, permitted her thoughtful eyes to wander toward Agatha from moment to moment. How alluring her subtle beauty, in its own strange way! How perfect her accord with her partner!
"Rotten," said Mortimer thickly; "Ferrall, you're all calf and biceps, and it's well enough for you to go floundering into bogs " "Where do you expect to find native woodcock?" demanded Ferrall, laughing. "On the table hereafter," growled Mortimer. "Oh, go and pot Beverly Plank's tame pheasants," retorted Ferrall amiably; "Captain Voucher had a blank day, but he isn't kicking."
A swarm of newspaper men settled about the Governor's summer cottage at Saratoga, but they learned nothing, nor could they find a trace of Plank's tracks in the trodden trails of the great Spa.
Yet not for one instant did he dream of shifting the responsibility if responsibility entailed blame on Siward, who, against Plank's judgment and desire, had on the very eve of consummation drawn him away from that sleepless vigilance which must for ever be the price of a business man's safety.
Plank looked at him curiously: "What happened in March?" "Had I better tell you?" "You know better than I." Siward, cheek crushed against his fist, his elbow on the desk, gazed at him steadily: "In March," he said, "Miss Landis spoke to me. I've made a better fight since." Plank's serious face darkened. "Is she the only anchor you have?" "Plank, I am not even sure of her.
All he could do was to care the more for Siward without crossing the border line so suddenly made free; all he could do was to sit there rolling and unrolling his gloves into wads with his clumsy, highly coloured hands, and gaze consciously at everything in the room except Siward. On that day, at Plank's shy suggestion, they talked over Siward's business affairs for the first time.
After awhile they heard the door close. But there was no sound from the electric hansom, and Mortimer rose and walked to the window. "He's gone," he said. Lydia stood at the desk, examining the cheque. "We ought to afford a decent touring-car now," she suggested "like that yellow and black Serin-Chanteur car of Mr. Plank's."
Scare heads, involving everybody and everything, from the District-Attorney to Plank's office boy, succeeded one another. Plank's name headed column after column. Already becoming familiar in the society and financial sections, it began to appear in neighbouring paragraphs. Who was Plank? And the papers told people with more or less inaccuracy, humour, or sarcasm. What was he trying to do?
Come over here and sit down a moment." Still grasping Plank's elbow in his puffy fingers, he directed him toward a velvet seat in a corner of the lobby; and here they sat down, while Mortimer mopped his fat neck with his handkerchief, swearing at the heat under his breath. "Look here," he said; "I promised you something once, didn't I?"
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