him a power! His father saw happiness at last in Helen Foraker's pine! His father wanted to do that which John had wanted to make forever impossible! His father, greedy, stubborn, powerful even in his wornout body, wanted to possess and cut that timber, making of the forest lumber and blackened slashing!
He stopped on the walk and read the message again, and thrust his hands into his pockets and stared blankly across the street. He did not see the office of the Banner or the poolroom or any of the flimsy, familiar buildings. He saw his father's face, saw the ruthless light in his eyes, saw the thin lips stretch in a greedy smile, and heard his hard voice saying the things that had come to him by telegraph.
"Oh, God," he muttered. "I wanted to help—and I brought this on her!"
He went into the bank to make a deposit. He heard Ezam Grainger say to a farmer:
"No, she isn't so well today—yes, I've sold and am going to take her right out of here," and clear his throat and blink rapidly to keep the mist of worry from his eyes.
Taylor gave no heed, no more did he know what Jim Harris said when they met on the bank steps, or what Henry Wales said when he entered the Commercial House to call Detroit by telephone.
It seemed hours before the connection was made. He walked the office floor and read and re-read that telegram; the paper grew wet from the nervous moisture of his fingers and finally the letters themselves blurred before his eyes as the import of what he had done revealed its awful possibilities. Better anything than this: Luke Taylor the destroyer, with his will and fortune, set against Helen
