“You'll go to that there bad place, Bill.” Bill was some bored, but he allowed, “I guess that's right,” speaking feeble. “Well, Bill,” says Sweeney, “you ought to be thankful you've got a place to go to.”' “Aidee laughed,--he did really,--and after that he looked thoughtful. Fine man, Dick. I sized him up for the things he didn't say. 'Sweeney,' I says, 'he meant all right, and he'd got the general outline of it. But I was going to say, if I tried to run your job for you, thinking anybody could run it with his intentions, I'd make a gone fool of myself, sure.' “Now see this, Dick. I did make a gone fool of myself, sure. It wasn't any of my business what he didn't know. He's been acting too reasonable since. That's what I wanted to tell you.” “What for?” “Oh, well,” said Wood balmily, “you might run across him. You might be interested to find out what he's up to.” After a few moments of silence Hennion dropped his feet and stood up. “All right. I won't row with Frei-burger, but I don't see what Aidee's got to do with me,” he said, and went out, and up Bank Street, and then turned into Hancock, a street which led back from the river into the residence sections. CHAPTER II--RICHARD THE SECOND |WHEN Hennion reached his rooms the sunlight was slanting through the maples outside. He sat down after supper by his windows. The twilight was thickening in the foliage, the sparrows holding noisy caucuses there---- Hennion's father had been a contractor and engineer before him, and before the great war had made the face of the nation more thoughtful with the knowledge of what may happen in well-regulated families. Once the sun was a pillar of fire and cloud, the land of promise seemed every day attained, and the stars were jubilant. Were ever such broad green plains, strong brown rivers and blue lakes? There was oratory then, and sublime foreheads were smitten against the stars. Such oratory and such a forehead had Henry Champney, in those days. The subject of oratory was the devotion of the forefathers, the promises and attainments of the nation set forth in thrilling statistics. A thousand audiences shuffled and grinned, and went their way to accomplish the more immediate things which the orators had endeavoured to decorate. The admiration of the orator and the public was mutual. There was a difference in type,--and the submerged industrialist, who worked with odd expedients, who jested with his lips, and toiled terribly with brain and hand, admired the difference.