Doost think a straight line could come from the crooked
line you drew for him?"
"He is safe--he is well and strong again?" asked the old man painfully.
Suddenly he reached out a hand for the paper. "Let me read," he said, in
a voice scarce above a whisper.
He essayed to take the paper calmly, but it trembled in his hands. He
spread it out and fumbled for his glasses, but could not find them, and
he gazed helplessly at the page before him. Soolsby took the paper from
him and read slowly:
". . . Claridge Pasha has done good work in Egypt, but he is a generation
too soon, it may be two or three too soon. We can but regard this fresh
enterprise as a temptation to Fate to take from our race one of the most
promising spirits and vital personalities which this generation has
produced. It is a forlorn hope. Most Englishmen familiar with Claridge
Pasha's life and aims will ask--"
An exclamation broke from the old man. In the pause which followed he
said: "It was none of my doing. He went to Egypt against my will."
"Ay, so many a man's said that's not wanted to look his own acts straight
in the face.
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