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Anderson, Sherwood, 1876-1941

"Marching Men"

The soft thump of the gloves upon the
table made a chorus to the things he had to say. David motioned for
him to be seated. "I will myself go to see this McGregor," he said,
walking across the room and putting an arm about the shoulder of the
banker. "Perhaps there is as you say a new and terrible danger here
but I do not think so. For thousands, no doubt for millions of years,
the world has gone on its way and I do not think it is to be stopped
now.
"It has been my fortune to see and to know this McGregor," added David
smiling at the others in the room. "He is a man and not a Joshua to
make the sun stand still."
In the office in Van Buren Street, David, the grey and confident,
stood before the desk at which sat McGregor. "We will get out of here
if you do not mind," he said. "I want to talk to you and I would not
like being interrupted. I have a fancy that we talk out of doors."
The two men went in a street car to Jackson Park and, forgetting to
dine, walked for an hour along the paths under the trees. The wind
from the lake had chilled the air and the park was deserted.
They went to stand on a pier that ran out into the lake. On the pier
David tried to begin the talk that was the object of their being
together but felt that the wind and the water that beat against the
piling of the pier made talk too difficult.


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