"
"He has been there a long time. He may, at the last, weaken."
But Rudolph only laughed, and drank more whisky of the German agent's
providing.
"He won't weaken," he said. "Give me a few days more to find the
girl, and all hell won't hold him."
On the Sunday morning after the President had been before Congress,
he found Herman dressed for church, but sitting by the fire. All
around him lay the Sunday paper, and he barely raised his head when
Rudolph entered.
"Well, it's here!" said Rudolph.
"It has come. Yes."
"Wall Street will be opening champagne to-day."
Herman said nothing. But later on he opened up the fountain of
rage in his heart. It was wrong, all wrong. We had no quarrel
with Germany. It was the capitalists and politicians who had done
it. And above all, England.
He went far. He blamed America and Americans for his loss of work,
for Anna's disappearance. He searched his mind for grievances and
found them in the ore dust on the hill, which killed his garden; in
the inefficiency of the police, who could not find Anna; in the very
attitude of Clayton Spencer toward his resignation.
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