Armstrong put out a hand to the stair-rail. For a moment he stood speechless, his face gray as death. The maid started forward to stay him from falling, then she shrank back from his burning gaze.
"Never mind luncheon," he said thickly.
BOOK III
"A MAN'S HEART DEVISETH HIS WAY"
CHAPTER I
Upon the Saturday after the triumphal return from Wilmington, Lawrence Macgowan sat in the office that had once belonged to Armstrong. A thin, malicious smile drew at his lips as he studied a typed document which lay on the desk before him. He leaned back and lighted a cigar, laughing silently and amusedly to himself.
The door opened, to admit Findlater.
"Good morning, Mr. President!" exclaimed Macgowan heartily. "I was just thinking about you! Come in and make yourself at home."
Findlater, looking well pleased with the world, lowered himself into a chair. Success had agreed with him. It had even given him a slightly superior air with Macgowan.
"Er—something I'd like to inquire about, Mac. How do you expect to meet these suits that have been brought by Armstrong's crowd?"