The Lion and the Mouse | Page 7

street were thrown open and there entered a tall, thin man, gray-headed,
and with a slight stoop, but keen eyed and alert. He was carefully
dressed in a well-fitting frock coat, white waistcoat, black tie and silk
hat.
It was John Burkett Ryder, the Colossus.

CHAPTER II
At fifty-six, John Burkett Ryder was surprisingly well preserved. With
the exception of the slight stoop, already noted, and the rapidly
thinning snow-white hair, his step was as light and elastic, and his brain
as vigorous and alert, as in a man of forty. Of old English stock, his
physical make-up presented all those strongly marked characteristics of
our race which, sprung from Anglo-Saxon ancestry, but modified by
nearly 300 years of different climate and customs, has gradually
produced the distinct and true American type, as easily recognizable
among the family of nations as any other of the earth's children. Tall
and distinguished-looking, Ryder would have attracted attention
anywhere. Men who have accomplished much in life usually bear
plainly upon their persons the indefinable stamp of achievement,
whether of good or evil, which renders them conspicuous among their
fellows. We turn after a man in the street and ask, Who is he? And nine
times out of ten the object of our curiosity is a man who has made his
mark--a successful soldier, a famous sailor, a celebrated author, a
distinguished lawyer, or even a notorious crook.
There was certainly nothing in John Ryder's outward appearance to
justify Lombroso's sensational description of him: "A social and
physiological freak, a degenerate and a prodigy of turpitude who, in the
pursuit of money, crushes with the insensibility of a steel machine
everyone who stands in his way." On the contrary, Ryder, outwardly at
least, was a prepossessing-looking man. His head was well-shaped, and
he had an intellectual brow, while power was expressed in every
gesture of his hands and body. Every inch of him suggested strength
and resourcefulness. His face, when in good humour, frequently
expanded in a pleasant smile, and he had even been known to laugh
boisterously, usually at his own stories, which he rightly considered
very droll, and of which he possessed a goodly stock. But in repose his
face grew stern and forbidding, and when his prognathous jaw,
indicative of will-power and bull- dog tenacity, snapped to with a
click-like sound, those who heard it knew that squalls were coming.
But it was John Ryder's eyes that were regarded as the most reliable

barometer of his mental condition. Wonderful eyes they were, strangely
eloquent and expressive, and their most singular feature was that they
possessed the uncanny power of changing colour like a cat's. When
their owner was at peace with the world, and had temporarily shaken
off the cares of business, his eyes were of the most restful, beautiful
blue, like the sky after sunrise on a Spring morning, and looking into
their serene depths it seemed absurd to think that this man could ever
harm a fly. His face, while under the spell of this kindly mood, was so
benevolent and gentle, so frank and honest that you felt there was
nothing in the world--purse, honour, wife, child--that, if needs be, you
would not entrust to his keeping.
When this period of truce was ended, when the plutocrat was once
more absorbed in controlling the political as well as the commercial
machinery of the nation, then his eyes took on a snakish, greenish hue,
and one could plainly read in them the cunning, the avariciousness, the
meanness, the insatiable thirst for gain that had made this man the most
unscrupulous money-getter of his time. But his eyes had still another
colour, and when this last transformation took place those dependent on
him, and even his friends, quaked with fear. For they were his eyes of
anger. On these dreaded occasions his eyes grew black as darkest night
and flashed fire as lightning rends the thundercloud. Almost
ungovernable fury was, indeed, the weakest spot in John Ryder's
armour, for in these moments of appalling wrath he was reckless of
what he said or did, friendship, self-interest, prudence--all were
sacrificed.
Such was the Colossus on whom all eyes were turned as he entered.
Instantly the conversations, stopped as by magic. The directors nudged
each other and whispered. Instinctively, Ryder singled out his crony,
Senator Roberts, who advanced with effusive gesture:
"Hello, Senator!"
"You're punctual as usual, Mr. Ryder. I never knew you to be late!"
The great man chuckled, and the little men standing around, listening
breathlessly, chuckled in respectful sympathy, and they elbowed and

pushed one another in their efforts to attract Ryder's notice, like so
many cowardly hyenas not daring to approach the lordly wolf. Senator
Roberts made a remark in a low tone to Ryder, whereupon the latter
laughed. The bystanders