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Updated: May 27, 2025
"It isn't going to be just the one boat, Hal," urged his chum, seriously. "It's the whole big problem of submarine warfare. It's going to be the warfare of the future, old chum! And, starting this early, we may become Pollard's real experts his leading men when he's famous, successful and rich! We may even become his partners, through getting up improvements on his ideas.
In this fashion they came to the door of Pollard's study and saw through it, since it had been flung wide open and so left. In a far corner of the room was Winifred Waverly, her face dead white, her body pressed tight into the angle of the walls, her hands twisting before her, her eyes going swiftly to the two entering figures from that other figure which had held her fascinated.
Carefully controlling my voice so that no trace of malice should be detected in it, I replied: "I took these papers off Mr. Pollard's table a moment before I came to you, and the parts I have read are the parts he had marked, with the intention of reading them to you himself." I thought I had J. P. cornered. It was before I learned that there was no such thing as cornering J. P.
This imperious conceit seemed to swallow up every other idea in his mind." The generals "fretted under this pragmatism" of one whose "vanity" directed the war "from his cushioned seat in Richmond" by means of the one formula, "the defensive policy." One of Pollard's chief accusations against the Confederate Government was its failure to enforce the conscription law.
I said nothing, feeling secure with Pollard's prepared "breakfast food," as we called it, in front of me. I awaited only his signal to begin reading, confident that I could win laurels for myself without robbing Pollard, whose wreath was firmly fixed on his brow. Alas for my hopes!
The elder ones, owing to the large amount of preparation required under the new regime, could very rarely find time now to come and join this pleasant circle, which met in quite an informal manner in Miss Pollard's room.
This bar-room used to be famous for drinking and story-telling, and sometimes fighting, in old times. But the bar of Pollard's Tahvern no longer presented its old attractions, and the loggerheads had long disappeared from the fire.
He could see no reason in it all, no reason for her silence, no reason for a man's malicious cruelty to a horse. Nor were these the only things which he could not understand. Groping for the truth, he began carefully to run over the things which had seemed strange to him and which now struck him as being connected in some plan darkly hidden. The girl was Henry Pollard's niece.
"Ay, Tom, I'm fair glad to see thee," she sobbed. "And I am glad to see you, mother. Ay, father, it is good to see you, it is." "And I am fair proud on you, Tom," and Ezekiel Pollard's voice was hoarse as he shook his son's hand. "But, Tom," cried Mrs. Pollard, wiping her eyes, "thy clothes be dirty; I shall have a rare job to get th' muck out of 'em."
Caroline came in with her head so high that she had difficulty in seeing over her very slender and aristocratic nose, with a note from Lee Greenfield which had just come to her, asking her to go with him in his car over to Hillsboro to spend the day with Tom Pollard's wife, a visit he knows she has been dying to make for two months, for she was one of Pet's bridesmaids.
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