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Updated: June 4, 2025
In contrast to the sordid misery and degradation of this last refuge of the desperate Hodder saw the lofty, panelled smoking room at Francis Ferguson's, and was listening again to Wallis Plimpton's cynical amusement as to how he and Everett Constable and Eldon Parr himself had "gat out" before the crash; "got out" with all the money of the wretch who now stood before him!
"On the condition that he wouldn't turn socialist." "You'd better have stipulated it in the bond," said the lawyer, who could not refrain, even at this solemn moment, from the temptation of playing upon Mr. Plimpton's apprehensions. "I'm afraid he'll make it his business, Wallis, to find out whether you own anything in Dalton Street.
What in the name of sense possessed you to get such a man?" This being a question the lawyer was unable to answer, the conversation came to another pause. And it was then that Mr. Plimpton's natural optimism reasserted itself. "It isn't done, the thing we're afraid of, that's all," he proclaimed, after a turn or two about the room.
Plimpton's many gifts was that of peace making. Such was his genius that he scented trouble before it became manifest to the world, and he stoutly declared that no difference of opinion ever existed between reasonable men that might not be patched up before the breach became too wide provided that a third reasonable man contributed his services. The qualifying word "reasonable" is to be noted.
Plimpton's career in the ennobling role of peacemaker had, on the whole, been crowned with such success as to warrant his belief in the principle. Mr. Parr, for instance, in whose service, as in that of any other friend, Mr. Plimpton was always ready to act had had misunderstandings with eminent financiers, and sometimes with United States Senators. Mr.
He regarded them with a detached curiosity as they entered, reading them with a new insight. The trace of off-handedness in Mr. Plimpton's former cordiality was not lost upon him an intimation that his star had set. Mr. Plimpton had seen many breaches healed had healed many himself. But he had never been known as a champion of lost causes. "Well, here we are, Mr.
"But can he hurt you, Phil either of you?" she asked, after a moment. "I'd like to see him try it," Phil Goodrich declared And his wife thought, as she looked at him, that she would like to see Mr. Parr try it, too. Phil Goodrich had once said that Mr. Plimpton's translation of the national motto E pluribus unum, was "get together," and it was true that not the least of Mr.
But he laid a slight emphasis on the word which sent a cold shiver down Mr. Plimpton's spine, and made him wonder whether there might not be something worse than socialism. "I knew you wouldn't," he declared, with all the heartiness he could throw into his voice. "I repeat, you're a practical, sensible man.
We can't take the Gospel literally, or we should all be ruined in a day, and swamp everybody else. You understand me? "I understand you," said the rector. Mr. Plimpton's cigar had gone out. In spite of himself, he had slipped from the easy-going, casual tone into one that was becoming persuasive, apologetic, strenuous.
"They might have told us what they were going to do." Everett Constable eyed him. "Would it have made any difference, Plimpton?" he demanded. After that they rode in silence, until they came to a certain West End corner, where they both descended. Little Mr. Constable's sensations were, if anything, less enviable, and he had not Mr. Plimpton's recuperative powers.
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