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Updated: June 4, 2025
As I was turning away from the desk after asking for Haddon, a heavy-set young man, neatly dressed, stepped up and asked if my name was Whitley. I admitted it. Then he asked if I would give him a few minutes, and we went aside to sit facing each other in a couple of the lobby chairs.
He was a Wall Street banker, several times a millionaire, famed for his wit, his wide reading, his brutally cynical views of society, and his ridicule of modern philanthropy and Socialistic dreams. He was a man of average height with the heavy-set, bulldog body, face and neck, broad, powerful hands and big feet. He had an enormous nose, shaggy eyebrows and a bristling black moustache.
That was the main consideration of Harshaw when he hired him. He guessed the fellow's name was not Walker any more than it was Bandy. One cognomen had been given him because he was so bow-legged; the other he had no doubt taken for purposes of non-identification. Bandy was short, heavy-set, and muscular. At a glance one would have picked him out as dangerous. The expression on the face was sulky.
He crept fearfully to the hut, huddled behind the cactus, and looked into the window. A heavy-set man, with the muscle-bound shoulders of an ape, was lighting a fire in the stove. At the table, his thumbs hitched in a sagging revolver belt, sat Ned Rutherford. The third person in the room lay stretched at supple ease on a bed to one of the posts of which his right leg was bound.
As no motion had been made to bind them, the boys could make a sudden break or dash for liberty whenever the whim took possession of them, but nothing could be gained and a great deal might be lost by such an attempt. Stumpy and heavy-set as were the warriors, they could easily outrun their captives, and rather than permit them to get away, they would doubtless riddle them with bullets.
The two spacemen settled themselves uncomfortably on the edge of their chairs and waited expectantly as Strong continued to look at the paper. Loring finally broke the heavy silence. "Well, Captain Strong, have you made a decision?" he asked. Loring was a heavy-set man, in his middle forties. He needed a shave, and when he talked, his mouth twisted into an ugly grimace.
Then a lantern flickered and swung, and Tom knew the man was coming toward the house. He appeared a short, heavy-set man, barefooted, and with a pail of milk in one hand and the lantern in the other. "What's the matter, Sairy?" he demanded. "Who's this?" "Thet's what I wanter know," snapped the woman.
For no other reason than that they had met occasionally in the corridor he thought of Patrick Enright, a heavy-set man with a loud voice and given to wearing expensive clothes. Calling a page boy, he asked that Enright be located if possible. During the ensuing wait he outlined on a scrap of paper what he proposed doing.
He was a heavy-set, black-browed fellow with a sinister face and deeply caverned, brooding eyes looking out furtively under their bushy coverts, and his chief characteristic was a crabbed reticence which not even the exigencies of handling a crew of steel-layers seemed able to break.
A little flirt of the hose deluged Clay's newly shined boots and the lower six inches of his trousers. "Look out what you're doing!" protested the man from Arizona. "I tank you better look where you're going," retorted the one from Sweden. He was a heavy-set, muscular man with a sullen, obstinate face. "My shoes and trousers are sopping wet." "Yust you bate it oop street.
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