"That's all," said the older man, getting up.
It was Hartley who spoke next.
"What the devil are you driving at, anyway?"
CHAPTER XXII
THE BLOT ON THE 'SCUTCHEON
Then plant, by the right of the mind,
By the power of the tome and scroll,
Plant your heel on their neck, and grind,
Or their millions will grind your soul.
John Hartley, "The Siren City."
Oh, these towering aspirations—without a fire-escape of humor to all their sky-scrapers of endeavor!—"The Silver Poppy."