Fabius Waite struck his table a vehement blow. “It’s a barefaced threat,” he declared. “It’s intimidation.” He went on at length, and Potter chuckled inwardly. To him his father represented public opinion, and by his father he sounded it; his father was to him the pulse of the nation’s thought, and that pulse was beginning to beat hotly.
Potter was seeing much of Cantor, and, though there were moments when he was jealous of the man, for Potter’s nature was a jealous nature, he was glad of Cantor’s company. Hildegarde was never mentioned by either of them. By Potter she was never mentioned at any time, and his friends were quick to learn that mention of her in his presence was apt to cause immediate disagreeable consequences. The sound of her name had a curious effect upon him. As one hardy young man said to Hildegarde herself, “I happened to mention you to Potter Waite to-day, and he acted as if somebody had blown him out—like a lamp, you know.”
“Bother Potter Waite!” she said; then, after a frowning pause, she added, spitefully, “You might keep a lot better company.”
“Oh, Potter’s mild nowadays! Hasn’t been on a tear in a year. Don’t know what’s got into him.... Dotty about patriotism and war and aeroplanes.”
“Why doesn’t he go across and fight, then? I despise conversational courage.”
“He stands well with you, doesn’t he?” the overbold young man said, with a laugh.
The look she gave him somewhat dampened his rashness. She did not speak, but her eyes were enough to nonplus the young gentleman utterly. He made haste to change the subject.
In spite of the seeming obstacle imposed by this young girl, the intimacy between Cantor and Potter not only continued, but increased, but beyond a certain point it did not go—and that point was any disclosure of what Potter was doing or how he was doing it. There, though Cantor veered up to the subject obliquely, Potter became filled with reserves. Cantor was unable to say of his own knowledge whether Potter was working on an aeroplane or a toy piano.
One other point is to be noted. The men who worked with Potter in the hangar were not strangers, not picked-up mechanics, but men whom he had known for years and trusted. Not one of them but was American-born, and though numerous individuals, presenting impeccable recommendations, applied from time to time for work with him, none was placed. His was a small, compact enterprise, and he was able to keep it under his eye. Though he scarcely considered himself of enough importance to attract the attention of the German spy vermin, he took his precautions as though he were of first interest to them. He believed in insurance.
In the latter part of the year Potter was visited more than once by officers wearing the insignia of the Signal Corps, Major Craig among them. To these men, at any rate, he was of importance, not so much, perhaps, for what he was doing at the time as for the potentialities of the future. The heir to the Waite Motor Company’s resources was a man of value.... But as 1916 became venerable and neared its end, they were compelled to admit his present consequence.