yond the pine-belt out into the great world
from which he had come, and he thought of many things that might have
been instead of this that was--the seething yeast that was Russia, the
tearing down of the idols of centuries and the worship of new gods that
were no gods at all--not even those of brass or gold--only
visions--will-o'-the-wisps.... The madness had shown itself here too.
Would the fabric of which the American Ideal was made be strong enough
to hold together against the World's new madness? He believed in
American institutions. Imperfect though they were, fallible as the human
wills which controlled them, they were as near Liberty, Equality,
Fraternity as one might yet hope to attain in a form of government this
side of the millennium.

Peter started up suddenly, for he was sure that he had heard something
moving in the underbrush. But after listening intently and hearing
nothing more he thought that his ears had deceived him. He flashed his
lantern here and there as a guide to Hawk Kennedy but there was no
sound. Complete silence had fallen again over the woods. If McGuire's
mysterious enemy was approaching he was doing it with the skill of an
Indian scout. And it occurred to Peter at this moment that Hawk Kennedy
too might have his reasons for wishing to be sure that he was to be
fairly dealt with. The placard had indicated the possibility of
chicanery on the part of McGuire. "No tricks," Hawk had written. He
would make sure that Peter was alone before he showed himself. So Peter
flashed his lamp around again, glanced at his watch, which showed that
the hour of the appointment had passed, then lighted a third cigarette
and sank down on the roots of the tree to wait.

There was no other sound. The breeze which had been fitful at best had
died and complete silence had fallen. Peter wasn't in the least alarmed.
Why should he be? He had come to do this stranger a favor and no one
else except McGuire could know of the large sum of money in his
possession. The trees were his friends. Peter's thoughts turned back
again, as they always did when his mind was at the mercy of his
imagination. What was the use of it all? Honor, righteousness, pride,
straight living, the ambition to do, to achieve something real by his
own efforts--to what end? He knew that he could have been living snugly
in London now, married to the Princess Galitzin, drifting with the
current in luxury and ease down the years, enjoying those things