"I understand you—in the main," replied Fosdick. "But you will have to excuse me from answering any more questions to-day. I did not come prepared. My connection with the O.A.D. has been philanthropic, rather than businesslike. Naturally, though perhaps wrongly, I have not kept myself informed of all details."
He frowned down the smiles, the beginnings of laughter. "But the record is sound!" he went on in a ringing voice. "The O.A.D. has cost me much time and thought. I have given more of both to it than I have to purely commercial enterprises. But moneymaking isn't everything—and I feel more than rewarded."
"We all know you, Mr. Fosdick," said Morris, with an air of satiric respect.
"I ask you to excuse me to-day," continued the old man, in his impressive manner. "I wish to prepare myself. To-morrow, or, at most, in two or three days, I shall demand that you let me resume the stand. I have nothing to conceal. Errors of judgment I may have committed. But my record is clear." He raised his head and his eyes flashed. "It is a record with which I shall soon fearlessly face my God!"
Josiah Fosdick felt that he was himself again. His eyes looked out with the expression of a good man standing his ground unafraid. And he smiled contemptuously at the faint sarcasm in Morris's cold voice, saying, "That is quite satisfactory—most satisfactory."
The committee rose; the reporters surrounded Fosdick. He was courteous but firm in his refusal to say a word either as to the testimony he had given or as to that he would give. A dozen eager hands helped him on with his coat, and he marched away, sure that he was completely reëstablished—in the public esteem; his self-esteem had not been shaken for an instant. The good man doubts himself; not the self-deceiving hypocrite. There was triumph in the long look he gave Morris—a look which Morris returned with the tranquil shine of a satisfied revenge, a revenge of payment with interest for slights, humiliations, insults which the old tyrant had put upon him. Long trafficking upon the cupidity and timidity of men gives the ruling class a false notion of the discernment of mankind and of their own mental superiority, as well as moral. It was natural that Fosdick should believe himself above censure, above criticism even. He returned to his office, like a king upon whom the vulgar have sought to put indignities. His teeth fairly ached for the moment when they could close upon the bones of these "insolent curs."
It was not until he set out for lunch that another view of the situation came in sight. As he was crossing Waller's office, he was halted by that faithful servant's expression, the more impressive because it was persisting in spite of hysterical efforts to conceal it and to look serenely worshipful as usual. "What is it, Waller?" he demanded.
"Nothing—nothing at all, sir," said Waller, as with a clumsy effort at pretended carelessness he tossed into the wastebasket a newspaper which Fosdick had surprised him at reading.
"Is that an afternoon paper?"
Waller stammered inarticulately.