head and the droop of the broad, spare
shoulders showed the impact of some heavy burden. His clothes were
gray--a trim, neatly cut business suit; his hair was gray; his gray-blue
eyes were sombre. In the gathering dusk he seemed only a darker shadow
in the padded chair. His right hand--the long, firm, nervous hand of a
scholar--rested on the blotting pad. A silver pen had slipped from his
fingers as he sat in thought. On the desk lay some typed sheets which he
was revising.

Sitting there, his mind had been traversing the memories of the past two
and a half years. Every line of his lean, strong figure showed some
trace of the responsibilities he had borne. In the greatest crisis of
modern times he had steadfastly pursued an ideal, regardless of the
bitterness of criticism and the sting of ridicule. The difficulties had
been tremendous. Every kind of influence had been brought upon him to do
certain things, none of which he had done. A scholar, a dreamer, a
lifelong student of history, he had surprised his associates by the
clearness of his vision, the tenacity of his will. Never, perhaps, in
the history of the nation had a man been more brutally reviled than
he--save one! And his eyes turned to the wall where, over the chimney
piece, hung the portrait of one of his predecessors who had stood for
his ideals in a time of fiery trial. It was too dark now to see the
picture but he knew well the rugged, homely face, the tender,
pain-wrenched mouth.

This man had dreamed a dream. Climbing from the humble youth of a poor
student, nourished in classroom and library with the burning visions of
great teachers, he had hoped in this highest of positions to guide his
country in the difficult path of a higher patriotism. Philosopher,
idealist, keen student of men, he had been able to keep his eyes
steadfast on his goal despite the intolerable cloud of unjust criticism
that had rolled round him. Venomous and shameful attacks had hurt him,
but had never abated his purpose. In a world reeling and smoking with
the insane fury of war, one nation should stand unshaken for the message
of the spirit, for the glory of humanity; for the settlement of disputes
by other means than gunpowder and women's tears. That was his dream. To
that he had clung.

He shifted grimly in his chair, and took up the pen.

What a long, heart-rending strain it had been! His mind went back to the
golden August day when the telegram was laid on his desk announcin