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The banker dropped the embarrassing subject of a war for profits. He said it had been reported that Mr. Baldwin had attended a social gathering in Sand Hill, at which there had been a great deal of Bolshevik talk by a notorious preacher named Smathers. Had Lanny been there? Lanny said he had been at Mrs. Riccardi's, if that was the place that was meant. He had heard no such talk; he had come away thinking that the Reverend Mr. Smathers was a saint, which was something different from a Bolshevik, as he understood it.
“But didn't he criticize Budd Gunmakers Corporation and its conduct of the strike?”
“He told what had happened — but only after I had asked him to.”
“Do you accept what he told you?”
“I have in mind to ask my father about it, but I haven't seen him since that time.”
“Did Mr. Baldwin take any part in that conversation?” “I don't recall that he did. I think he listened, like most of the others.”
“And did he say anything to you about it afterwards?” “No, sir. He was probably afraid of embarrassing me.” “Did he know that Mr. Smathers was to be there?” “I have no idea about that, sir. I was invited by Mrs. Riccardi, and I didn't know who else was coming.”
“There were other pupils of St. Thomas's present?” “Yes, sir.” “Who were they?”
Lanny hesitated. “I would rather not say anything about my fellow-pupils, sir. I have said that I would tell you about Mr. Baldwin.” The young go-getter, Mr. Pettyman, took up the questioning. He wanted to know about the master's ideas, and what was the basis of Lanny's intimacy with him. Lanny replied that Mr. Baldwin was a lover of poetry, and had written some fine verses, and had given them to Lanny to read. He had lent him books. What books? Lanny named a volume of Santayana. It was a foreign-sounding name, and evidently Mr. Pettyman hadn't heard of it, so Lanny mentioned that the writer had been a professor of philosophy at Harvard.