The Lonely Warrior
By CLAUDE C. WASHBURN
A. L. BURT COMPANY
Publishers New York
Published by arrangement with Harcourt, Brace & Company
Printed in U. S. A.
COPYRIGHT, 1922, BY
HARCOURT, BRACE AND COMPANY, INC.
PRINTED IN THE U. S. A.
The Lonely Warrior
PROLOGUE
1
On the afternoon of the fifth day of November, 1914,Edward Carroll was sitting as usual in his pleasant inneroffice, the windows of which looked down upon the middle-westerncity where Mr. Carroll had lived for forty of hisfifty-six years. But he was not behaving quite as usual. Atthis hour he should normally have been conferring with othermen upon matters of importance—matters concerning thecement works of which he was vice-president, or the bankof which he was a director, or the copper mines whosepolicy he principally determined. Or he should, at the veryleast, have been dictating replies to half a dozen importantletters that had been placed on his desk while he was outat luncheon. Instead, Mr. Carroll merely sat in his chairand stared oddly at a calendar on the wall opposite, asthough its large black announcement of the date had somedeep significance for him, as perhaps it had.
At last he shook his head impatiently and with a quickgesture pressed a button in his desk. Almost at once hisstenographer entered the room.
“Ruth,” said Mr. Carroll, “did you tell me a little whileago that some one was waiting to see me?”
A faint surprise showed in the young woman’s composedface, but she answered the question quietly. “Yes, sir.Mr. Barnett and Mr. King.”
“Well, they’ll have to wait a little or come some othertime. I must see Stacey first. He telephoned that he’d behere at three o’clock. It’s three-five now,” Mr. Carroll observed,drawing out his watch; which was quite unnecessary,since on the table before his eyes stood a small, perfectlyregulated clock encased in thick curved glass that magnifiedits hands and characters conveniently. “When hecomes send him in at once,” he concluded.
But the stenographer had scarcely left the room whenthe door was opened again and Stacey appeared.
He was a tall, handsome, well-built, young man, withblue eyes, short brown hair, and a clear healthy complexionfrom which the summer tan had even yet not quite faded.He looked, and was, well-bred and well educated, but therewas nothing unusual or distinguished in any of his features,except perhaps in his mouth, which was finely modelledand sensitive without being self-conscious. The only thing