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Updated: June 19, 2025
"Oh, the sinners are convinced of that already," Minver said, while Rulledge glanced quickly from one to the other. The stranger looked rather dazed, and Rulledge said: "Well, I don't suppose that was the conclusion of the whole matter?" "Oh no," the stranger answered, "that was only the beginning of the conclusion. I didn't go to sleep at once, though I felt so much at peace.
"You don't mean," Rulledge burst out in a note of deep wrong, "that that's all you know about it?" "Yes, that's all I know," Wanhope confessed, as if somewhat surprised himself at the fact. "Well!" Wanhope tried to offer the only reparation in his power. "I can conjecture we can all conjecture " He hesitated; then: "Well, go on with your conjecture," Rulledge said, forgivingly.
Here is Acton," and he now acknowledged my presence with a backward twist of his head, "on the alert for material already. You ought to be more careful where Acton is, Rulledge." "It would be great copy if it were true," I owned.
Wanhope looked at him with a smiling concern, such as a physician might feel in the symptoms of a peculiar case. "I wonder," he said absently, "how much of our impatience with a fact delayed is a survival of the childhood of the race, and how far it is the effect of conditions in which possession is the ideal!" Rulledge pushed back his chair, and walked away in dudgeon. "I'm a busy man myself.
Here is Acton," and he now acknowledged my presence with a backward twist of his head, "on the alert for material already. You ought to be more careful where Acton is, Rulledge." "It would be great copy if it were true," I owned.
On the first point, we were pretty well agreed, but on the second we divided again, especially Rulledge and Minver, who held, the one, that his hesitation did Alford honor, and quite relieved him from the imputation of being a chump; and the other that he was an ass to keep quiet for any such silly reason.
"Nothing directly," Wanhope confessed, "and I'm not sure that it has much to do indirectly. Still, it has a certain atmospheric relation. It is very remarkable how thoughts connect themselves with one another. It's a sort of wireless telegraphy. They do not touch at all; there is apparently no manner of tie between them, but they communicate " "Oh, Lord!" Rulledge fumed.
In the intensity of our interest, we had crowded close upon him, except Minver, who sat with his head thrown back, and that cynical cast in his eye which always exasperated Rulledge; and Halson, who stood smiling proudly, as if the stranger's story did him as his sponsor credit personally. "Yes," the stranger owned, "but I don't know that there wasn't something more extraordinary still.
Aren't we always striving from one concrete to another, and isn't what we call generalizing merely a process of finding our way?" "I see what you mean," said the artist, expressing in that familiar formula the state of the man who hopes to know what the other man means. "That's what I say," Rulledge put in. "You've got something up your sleeve. What is it?"
The stranger seemed to have reached the end of his story, or at least to have exhausted the interest it had for him, and he smoked on, holding his knee between his hands and looking thoughtfully into the fire. He had left us rather breathless, or, better said, blank, and each looked at the other for some initiative; then we united in looking at Wanhope; that is, Rulledge and I did.
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