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Nicholson, Meredith, 1866-1947

"The Port of Missing Men"

The valley breeze, the glory of the blue
Virginia sky, the far-stretching lines of hills that caught and led the
eye like sea billows; the dark green of shrubbery, the slope of upland
meadows, and that elusive, vanishing gleam of white,--before such things
as these the splendor of empire and the might of armies were unworthy of
man's desire.
The Baron's next words broke harshly upon his mood.
"The gratitude of kings is not a thing to be despised. You could go to
Vienna and begin where most men leave off! Strong hands are needed in
Austria,--you could make yourself the younger--the great Stroebel--"
The mention of his name brought back the Baron's still unanswered
question. He referred to it now, as he stood before them smiling.
"I have answered all your questions but one; I shall answer that a little
later,--if you will excuse me for just a few minutes I will go and get
the answer,--that is, gentlemen, I hope I shall be able to bring it back
with me."
He turned and ran down the steps and strode away through the long shadows
of the garden. They heard the gate click after him as he passed into the
Claiborne grounds and then they glanced at each other with such a glance
as may pass between two members of a peace commission sitting on the same
side of the table, who will not admit to each other that the latest
proposition of the enemy has been in the nature of a surprise.


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