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CHAPTER THIRTEEN.

THE GOING.


John Schuyler had come to be a big man and a broad one--big in the great
things of life that sometimes are so small, big in the small things of
life that sometimes are so great. Broad of mind, as well as broad of
shoulder he was. Forty years of age now, his hair, by the habit of
thought, was tinged with gray at the temples; yet skin and complexion
were as those of a boy. Quick in movement, agile, alert, thrilling with
vitality and virility, his pleasures were, as they had always been, the
pleasures of the great out-of-doors. A yachtsman, his big yawl, the
"Manana," was known in every club port from Gravesend to Bar Harbor. He
motored. He rode. He played tennis, and golf, and squash, and racquets.
He was an expert swimmer, a skilful fencer, a clever boxer. And, more
wonderful than the combination of these things was the fact that he found
time away from his work to do them all, and to enjoy them with the
youthful, contagious, effervescent enthusiasm of a man of half his age.

It showed in his well-set-up, well-poised body. It showed in the
expression of his clear-cut bronzed features. It showed in every little
shift of pose, every little turn of his well-shaped head, as he stood,
leaning gracefully against the ledge of the bay window, talking with
Blake; for Mrs. Schuyler and Muriel had gone to make ready for the trip
to the city, and to the dock.