CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE TIME WAS DRAWING NEAR.
One morning, when DeGolyer called at the hospital, young Witherspoon said to him: "You are Hank, and I'm Henry." And this was the first indication that his mind was regaining its health.
Every day George Witherspoon would ask: "Well, how's your peculiar friend getting along ?" And one evening, when he made this inquiry, DeGolyer answered: "He is so much pleased that he doesn't think it will take him quite three months to decide." "Good enough, but why doesn't he decide now ?" "Because it would hardly be in keeping with his peculiar methods.

I haven't questioned him, but occasionally he drops a hint that leads me to believe that he's satisfied." DeGolyer was once tempted to tell Richmond and McGlenn that he was feeling his way through a part that had been put upon him, but with this impulse came a restraining thought--the play was not yet done.
They were at luncheon, and McGlenn had declared that DeGolyer was sometimes strangely inconsistent.
"I admit that I am, John, and with an explanation I could make you stare at me." "Then let us have the explanation.

Man was made to stare as well as to mourn." "No, not now; but it will come one of these days, though perhaps not directly from me." "Ah, you have killed a mysterious lion and made a riddle; but where is the honey you found in the carcass?
Give us the explanation." "Not now.

But one of these bleak Chicago days you and Richmond will sit in the club, watch the whirling snow and discuss me, and you both will say that you always thought there was something strange about me." "And we do," McGlenn replied.

"Here's a millionaire's son, and he has chosen toil instead of ease.