body. Every inch of
him suggested strength and resourcefulness. His face, when in good
humour, frequently expanded in a pleasant smile, and he had even
been known to laugh boisterously, usually at his own stories,
which he rightly considered very droll, and of which he possessed
a goodly stock. But in repose his face grew stern and forbidding,
and when his prognathous jaw, indicative of will-power and
bull-dog tenacity, snapped to with a click-like sound, those who
heard it knew that squalls were coming.

But it was John Ryder's eyes that were regarded as the most
reliable barometer of his mental condition. Wonderful eyes they
were, strangely eloquent and expressive, and their most singular
feature was that they possessed the uncanny power of changing
colour like a cat's. When their owner was at peace with the world,
and had temporarily shaken off the cares of business, his eyes
were of the most restful, beautiful blue, like the sky after
sunrise on a Spring morning, and looking into their serene depths
it seemed absurd to think that this man could ever harm a fly. His
face, while under the spell of this kindly mood, was so benevolent
and gentle, so frank and honest that you felt there was nothing in
the world--purse, honour, wife, child--that, if needs be, you
would not entrust to his keeping.

When this period of truce was ended, when the plutocrat was once
more absorbed in controlling the political as well as the
commercial machinery of the nation, then his eyes took on a
snakish, greenish hue, and one could plainly read in them the
cunning, the avariciousness, the meanness, the insatiable thirst
for gain that had made this man the most unscrupulous money-getter
of his time. But his eyes had still another colour, and when this
last transformation took place those dependent on him, and even
his friends, quaked with fear. For they were his eyes of anger. On
these dreaded occasions his eyes grew black as darkest night and
flashed fire as lightning rends the thundercloud. Almost
ungovernable fury was, indeed, the weakest spot in John Ryder's
armour, for in these moments of appalling wrath he was reckless of
what he said or did, friendship, self-interest, prudence--all were
sacrificed.

Such was the Colossus on whom all eyes were turned as he entered.
Instantly the conversations stopped as by magic. The directors
nudged each other and whispered. Instinctively, Ryder singled out
his crony, Senator Roberts, who advan