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Updated: June 8, 2025
"On the strength of Poultney Masters, Jr., shaking hands with me, I suppose." "Practically. It may not get into your newspapers, but the Street will know all about it to-morrow." "It's a queer city. And it's a queer way to get on in it, by being quick on the trigger. Well, I'm off for the theater."
Poultney; and wherever I went Strathay's eyes followed me wistfully. Meg danced with Strathay and amused me by her elation. She hadn't really recovered from it to-day. To-day! Blessed to-day! Lord Strathay's only an Earl; to-day there came to me Ned! Oh, this has been the gladdest, most provoking day of my life, for I had only a moment with him. It was Mrs.
If that ain't blackmail, it's a first cousin to it by marriage." "Didn't the Interstate Commerce Commission get wise?" "Certainly not. It looks wise, but it never GETS wise. Oh, believe me, Poultney Illis is hopping mad. I s'pose he's over here now to renew the arrangement for another three years on behalf of his stock-holders. Let's have a dram."
"Aren't they too good if they can think themselves into something better?" Poultney Masters delivered himself of a historical profundity. "The man who first had the notion of teaching the mass of people to read will have something to answer for." "Destructive, isn't it?" said Banneker, looking up quickly. "Now, you want to go farther. You want to teach 'em to think." "Exactly. Why not?" "Why not?
Close by, on Laurence Poultney Hill, lived Dr. William Harvey, who discovered the circulation of the blood. In Suffolk Lane the Earls of Suffolk had a great house, and here, before they moved to Charter House, stood the Merchant Taylors' School.
The high lust of the game took and shook Banneker for a dim moment. Then he recovered himself. "No. I couldn't do that." "Let's leave it this way, then. Whether you join now or not, come down once in a while as my guest, and fill in for the scratch matches. Later you may be able to pick up a few nags, cheap." "I'll think it over," said Banneker, as he had said to old Poultney Masters.
Poultney Bigelow, of Harper's Weekly, who dropped in by the way just to make a few calls at Manila, and has a commission to explore the rivers and lagoons of China with his canoe, left us, in that surprising craft, plying his paddle in the fashion of the Esquimaux, pulling right and left, hand over hand, balancing to a nicety on the waves and going ashore dry and unruffled, with his fieldglass and portfolio, his haversack and typewriter machine that he folds in a small box as if it was a pocket comb, and his kodak, with which he is an expert.
Poultney, too; though I don't like him much better than Cadge does, with his cold eyes and his thin smile, that seems to say: "Hope you find my schoolboy entertaining." An Earl is always entertaining! Yet I ran away from him. I left the tea early. I wanted to think. All the way home in the carriage I marshalled arguments in his favour.
"Watch out, just the same, won't you?" "I always take that post as though it were one of especial danger," Dick answered seriously. Which was well indeed, for Yearlings Davis, Graham and Poultney were even then plotting behind the walls of their tent. "Post number one! Eleven o'clock, and all's well." "Post number two! Eleven o'clock, and all's well!"
Poultney Masters plodded in, his broad paunch shaking with chuckles. "'Leave it to the horse," he mumbled appreciatively. "'Leave it to the horse. It's good. It's damned good. The right answer. Who but the horse should know whether a man rides like a gentleman! Where's young Banneker?" Forster introduced the two. "You've got the makings of a polo-man in you," decreed the great man.
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