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"This would be taken over with the rest?" "I suppose so. It's valuable part of the good-will." "And the model of Edinburgh Castle and the autograph testimonials, and the 'Clem Sypher. Friend of Humanity'?" "The model isn't much use. Of course, you could keep that as a curiosity " "In the middle of my drawing-room table," said Sypher, ironically.
She linked her arm in his and dragged him down to the line, where she spoke with mirthful disrespect of Sypher's Cure. Meanwhile Zora said nothing to Sypher. "Don't you like it?" he asked at last, disconcerted. "Do you want me to be the polite lady you've asked to lunch or your friend?" "My friend and my helper," said he.
I've come back and found it at the place I started from. It's a big mission, for it means being a mate to a big man. But if you will let me try, I'll do my best." Sypher thrust away the protecting hand. "You can talk afterwards," he said. Thus did Zora come to the knowledge of things real. When the gates were opened, she walked in with a tread not wanting in magnificence.
Before his look of mingled amazement and reproach they felt like Sunday-school children taken to task for having skipped the Kings of Israel. "Well," said Sypher, "this is the reward we get for spending millions of pounds and the shrewdest brains in the country for the benefit of the public!
It has been the way of man with woman since the world began, and Sypher knew it by his man's instinct. It was a temptation such as he had never dreamed was in the world. He passed through a flaming, blazing torment of battle. "Forget what I have said, Zora. We'll be friends, if you so wish it." He pressed her hands and turned away. Zora felt that she had gained an empty victory.
The inflammation, however, clearly required medical advice. In the midst of his ruefulness the doctor, a capable-looking man of five and thirty, entered the room. He examined the heel and ankle with professional scrutiny. Then he raised his head. "Have you been treating it in any way?" "Yes," said Sypher, "with the Cure." "What Cure?" "Why, Sypher's Cure."
He loved to catch a theory of life, hold it in his hand like a struggling bird while he discoursed about it, and let it go free into the sunshine again. Sypher admired his nimbleness of mind. "You juggle with ideas as the fellows on the stage do with gilt balls." "It's a game I learned," said Rattenden. "It's very useful.
"I've just left the Hôtel Godet and come back to Nunsmere. Perhaps I'll give up the house and take Wiggleswick to London when Emmy returns. She promised to look for a flat for me. I believe women are rather good at finding flats." Sypher handed him a box of cigars. He lit one and held it awkwardly with the tips of his long, nervous fingers.
Just as the fanatical evangelist has no compunction in putting to an entire stranger embarrassing questions as to his possession of the Peace of God, so had Sypher no scruple in approaching any foreigner of distinguished mien in an hotel lounge and converting him to the religion of Sypher's Cure. In most cosmopolitan resorts his burly figure and pink face were well known.
He had poured himself out a second cup and was emptying into it the remainder of the carafe of rum, so as to be ready for the toast as soon as Hégisippe had prepared his absinthe, when a familiar voice behind him caused him to start and drop the carafe itself into the teacup. "Well, I'm blessed!" said the voice. It was Clem Sypher, large, commanding, pink, and smiling.
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