a word of English, hung on every gesture, held by the magnetism of his powerful personality.
As he reached an impassioned climax, Ruth was startled to hear a note of suppressed laughter from a woman sitting in the same row behind the next pillar.
She looked quickly, and saw Overman's massive head cocked to one side, his face an immovable mask, and his single gleaming eye fixed on Gordon, with Kate beside him. ······· Overman stayed to dinner and congratulated his friend on his effort.
"Frank, you surpassed yourself," he said. "You made the grandest defense of an indefensible absurdity I ever heard."
"H'm, that's saying a good deal for you."
Overman pulled his moustache thoughtfully.
"But I couldn't help wishing I were an orator to jaw back at you. A preacher has such an easy thing, with no back talk except the sonorous echo of his own voice."
"Think you could have talked back to-day?"
There was a moment's silence. Overman leaned back and locked his hands behind his massive neck.
"If you hit a man with a brick, he may hurt you. Drop a millstone on him, he'll not even reply. If I could have gotten at you to-day, your wife would have lost her insurance policy, because there wouldn't have been anything to identify."
