L. P. M. (The End of The Great War) | Page 4

or not, it will take it anyhow. I never play cards, but what you
say about having a few kings in your pants' pocket seems to be pretty
nearly true. You are made of the real stuff, and if you can do all the
things that you say you can do, and I believe you can, nothing will stop
you."
"In that case," said Edestone, resuming his seat, "I suppose I may as
well wait for my credentials."
And in due time he got them, the presentation being made by the
Secretary to the edification of the Baptist School children and the
Methodist Soldiers of Temperance and a score of adoring admirers.
Then with a hasty farewell to the officials of the State Department, this
emissary of peace started on his hurried rush to New York.
His taxi, which he had held since seven o'clock that morning, broke all
speed regulations in getting to the station, and the man was well paid
for his pains.
Edestone found his Special coupled up and waiting for him. He always
travelled in specials, and they always waited for him. In fact,
everything waited for him, and he waited for no one. When he engaged

a taxi he never discharged it until he went to bed or left the town. It was
related of him that on one occasion he had directed the taxi to wait for
him at Charing Cross Station, and returning from Paris three days later
had allowed his old friend, the cabby, who knew him well, a shilling an
hour as a pourboire. He claimed that his mind worked smoothly as long
as it could run ahead without waits, but that as soon as it had to halt for
anything--a cab, a train, or a slower mind to catch up--it got from under
his control and it took hours to get it back again.
To him money was only to be spent. He would say: "I spend money
because that calls for no mental effort, and saving is not worth the
trouble that it requires."
A big husky chap, thirty-four years old, with the constitution of an ox,
the mind of a superman, the simplicity of a child: that was John Fulton
Edestone. He insisted that his discovery was an accident that might
have befallen anyone, and counted as nothing the years of endless
experiments and the millions of dollars he had spent in bringing it to
perfection. He was a dreamer, and had used his colossal income and at
times his principal in putting his dreams into iron and steel.
Upon arriving in New York he was met by his automobile and was
rushed away to what he was pleased to call his Little Place in the
Country. It was one of his father's old plants which had contributed to
the millions which he was now spending.
It was nothing more nor less than a combination machine shop and
shipyard, situated on the east bank of the Hudson in the neighbourhood
of Spuyten Duyvil.
It was midnight when he arrived. The night force was just leaving as he
stepped from his automobile and the morning shift was taking its place.
At eight o'clock the next morning this latter would in turn be relieved
by a day shift; for night and day, Sundays and holidays, winter and
summer, without stopping, his work went on. It got on his nerves, he
said, to see anything stop. Speed and efficiency at any cost was his
motto, and the result was that he had gathered about him men who were
willing to keep running under forced draft, even if it did heat up the

bearings.
"Tell Mr. Page to come to me at once," he said, as he entered a little
two-story brick structure apart from the other buildings. This had
originally been used as an office, but he had changed it into a
comfortable home, his "Little Place in the Country."
CHAPTER II
THE ONE-MAN SECRET
With the giving of a few orders relative to his departure in the morning,
the brevity of which showed the character of service he demanded,
Edestone permitted himself to relax. He dropped into an arm-chair,
after lighting a long, black cigar, and pouring out for himself a
comfortable drink of Scotch whisky and soda.
For a few minutes he sat looking into the open fire, while blowing ring
after ring of smoke straight up into the air. The well-trained servant
moved so quietly about the room that his presence was only called to
his attention by the frantic efforts of the smoke rings to retain their
circular shape as they were caught in the current of air which he created
and were sent whirling and twisting to dissolution, although to the last
they clung to every object with