“Have you copied those papers relating to the Wynn estate?”
“Yes, I have just finished them,” the young man returned, as he took a package from his desk and passed it to his companion, who observed that his hand was trembling and that he had grown very white about the mouth, while there was a gleam of fire in his eyes which betrayed that he was not lacking in spirit, although he was able to hold it under perfect control.
As John Hubbard took the papers he managed to brush to the floor the rosebud which Gerald had laid upon the desk.
“Take care, please,” said the young man, and stooping eagerly to recover his treasure.
But he was not quick enough, for the other ruthlessly set his foot upon it, crushing it flat and destroying all its beauty.
For a minute the boy and the man stood looking straight into each other’s eyes, their faces as colorless as the collars about their necks.
“That is typical of what happens to everything that stands in my way; so beware! young beggar, that you do not covet what is beyond your reach,” said John Hubbard menacingly.
Gerald Winchester’s hands were clenched so fiercely that the nail of every finger turned purple; but his bearing was that of a hero who could face a cannon’s mouth and never flinch.
Presently he drew in a long, deep breath, his hands relaxed; then he said, as quietly as if he were making the most commonplace observation imaginable:
“Nothing is unattainable, Mr. Hubbard, to him who is determined to win.”