It was the achievement of the thing that gripped him; the passion to hew a trail through which his beloved land might come into its own, and the desire to see it achieve a final triumph by feeding a half of that America which had laughed at it and kicked it when it was down.
The tolling of the ship's bell roused him from the subconscious struggle into which he had allowed himself to be drawn.

Ordinarily he had no sympathy with himself when he fell into one of these mental spasms, as he called them.

Without knowing it, he was a little proud of a certain dispassionate tolerance which he possessed--a philosophical mastery of his emotions which at times was almost cold-blooded, and which made some people think he was a thing of stone instead of flesh and blood.

His thrills he kept to himself.

And a mildly disturbing sensation passed through him now, when he found that unconsciously his fingers had twined themselves about the little handkerchief in his pocket.