And Allan says we're in for a blizzard." Breasting the biting gale, the two men swung out through the snowy lane to the roadway.
Carl watched his companion in silence.

It was a test--this wind--to see how much of a man had been made from the flabby, drunken wreck he had dragged to the Glade Farm weeks ago with a masterful command.

It had been a bitter fight, with days of heavy sullenness on Wherry's part and swift apology when the mood was gone, days of hard riding and walking, of icy plunges after a racking grind of exercise for which Carl himself with his splendid strength inexorably set the pace, days of fierce rebellion when he had calmly thrashed his suffering young guest into submission and locked him in his room, days of horrible choking remorse and pleading when Carl had grimly turned away from the pitiful wreck Starrett had made of his clever young secretary.
Once Starrett had motored up officiously to bully Wherry into coming back to him.

Carl smiled.

Starrett had stumbled back to his waiting motor with a broken rib and a bruised and swollen face.