Reinhart

“ These things with him, however, are not a private predilection, an artist’s dream. Mr. Reinhart is solidly an artist, but I doubt whether as yet he dreams, and the absence of private predilections makes him seem a little hard. He is sometimes rough with our average humanity, and especially rough with the feminine portion of it. He usually represents American life, in which that portion is often spoken of as showing to peculiar advantage. But Mr. Reinhart sees it generally, as very bourgeois. His good ladies are apt to be rather thick and short, rather huddled and plain. ”

“ Dixon leaped up and joined him. "Get back!" Reinhart shouted.
Margaret Duffe signalled and a phalanx of Government troops closed in around the two men. Grim-faced, efficient soldiers with magnetic grapples ready.
Reinhart's blaster wavered—toward the Council members sitting shocked in their seats, and toward Margaret Duffe, straight at her blue eyes. Reinhart's features were distorted with insane fear. "Get back! Don't anybody come near me or she'll be the first to get it!"
Peter Sherikov slid from the table and with one great stride swept his immense bulk in front of Reinhart. ”

“ Every day the feud increased, until the whole household seemed to be ranged one against the other. If the housekeeper said one thing, Miss Reinhart at once said the opposite. Then an appeal would be made to Sir Roland, who gradually became worn and worried of the very sound of it.
"You will do no good," said Miss Reinhart to my father, "until you have pensioned that old housekeeper off. Once done, you will have perfect peace."
Constant dripping wears away a stone. ”

“ Reinhart snapped, his temper rising. “What the hell’s the matter with you? We’ve waited years for this.”
The Council buzzed with excitement. Margaret Duffe hesitated uncertainly, her blue eyes clouded with worry. “I realize the opportunity is here. At least, statistically. But the new odds have just appeared. How do we know they’ll last? They stand on the basis of a single weapon.”
“You’re wrong. You don’t grasp the situation.” Reinhart held himself in check with great effort. “Sherikov’s weapon tipped the ratio in our favor. But the odds have been moving in our direction for months. ”

“ Gray-faced, Dixon mumbled an answer. "The variable man must have sabotaged the turret. The SRB machines knew.... They analyzed the data. They knew! But it was too late."
Reinhart's eyes were bleak with despair as he raised his head a little. "I knew he'd destroy us. We're finished. A century of work and planning." His body knotted in a spasm of furious agony. "All because of Sherikov!"
Margaret Duffe eyed Reinhart coldly. "Why because of Sherikov?"
"He kept Cole alive! I wanted him killed from the start." Suddenly Reinhart jumped from his chair. His hand clutched convulsively at his gun. ”

“ Reinhart nodded reluctantly. “They’re too timid, these parliamentarians. If they discover we have no SRB odds they’ll want to shut down the war planning and go back to waiting.”
“Too slow for you, Commissioner? Laws, debates, council meetings, discussions.... Saves a lot of time if one man has all the power. One man to tell people what to do, think for them, lead them around.”
Reinhart eyed the big Pole critically. “That reminds me. How is Icarus coming? Have you continued to make progress on the control turret?”
A scowl crossed Sherikov’s broad features. “The control turret?” ”

“ But I can’t believe the bomb is ready so soon.” Margaret Duffe moved numbly toward the door of her office. “This is a great day, Commissioner. An old era lies behind us. This time tomorrow Centaurus will be gone. And eventually the colonies will be ours.”
“It’s been a long climb,” Reinhart murmured.
“One thing. Your charge against Sherikov. It seems incredible that a person of his caliber could ever—”
“We’ll discuss that later,” Reinhart interrupted coldly. He pulled the manila envelope from his coat. “I haven’t had an opportunity to feed the additional data to the SRB machines. ”

“ He greeted Reinhart calmly, showing no emotion. "Sorry to cause you trouble, Commissioner. We were trying to get the station in order for the war. We wanted the bubble back as quickly as possible." He eyed Reinhart curiously. "No doubt the man and his cart will soon be picked up by your police." ”

“ Reinhart’s youthful history, and the profusion in which, though no doubt occasionally disguised, the boon was supplied to him in the offices of Harper’s Magazine. There is nothing so innate that it has not also to be learned, for the best part of any aptitude is the capacity to increase it. ”

“ Harper fell in beside him.
Reinhart halted by his ship. He beckoned some Government guards over. "Put the executive staff of this department under arrest. I'll have them tried on a treason count, later on." He smiled ironically as Harper's face blanched sickly pale. "There's a war going on. You'll be lucky if you get off alive."
Reinhart entered his ship and left the surface, rising rapidly into the sky. A second ship followed after him, a military escort. Reinhart flew high above the sea of gray slag, the unrecovered waste area. ”

“ How remarkably well this can be done is proved by such clever artists as Howard Pyle and W. Gibson, who display at once fertility of imagination and technical facility as draughtsmen. C. S. Reinhart has become widely known as one of the most versatile illustrators we have produced. Excelling as a draughtsman, he brings to his aid an active fancy that enables him vividly to realize the scenes he undertakes to represent ”

“ They lift the veil. Reinhart sees his own wife. Rage grips his soul. He bids the leaders of the conspiracy to meet with him at his house in the morning.
Act III. A study in Reinhart's dwelling. For the disgrace he has suffered he intends to kill Amelia. Upon her plea she is allowed to embrace her son once more. He reflects that, after all, Richard is much the more guilty of the two. He refrains from killing her, but when he and the conspirators draw lots to determine who shall kill Richard,-431- he calls her in, and, at his command, she draws a piece of paper from an urn. ”

“ I want to see if the machines can total them.”
“Certainly, Commissioner.” Kaplan took the message plates and placed them on an intake belt. The machines hummed into life.
“We’ll know soon,” Reinhart said, half aloud.
Sherikov shot him a keen glance. “We’ll know what? Let me in on it. What’s taking place?”
“We’re in trouble. For twenty-four hours the machines haven’t given any reading at all. Nothing but a blank. A total blank.”
Sherikov’s features registered disbelief. “But that isn’t possible. Some odds exist at all times.”
“The odds exist, but the machines aren’t able to calculate them.” ”

“ Cole nodded.
"More coffee?" Sherikov asked. He pushed the plastic container toward Cole. "Have some."
Cole accepted another cupful. "Thank you."
"You can see that our real problem is another thing entirely. The machines only do figuring for us in a few minutes that eventually we could do for our own selves. They're our servants, tools. Not some sort of gods in a temple which we go and pray to. Not oracles who can see into the future for us. They don't see into the future. They only make statistical predictions—not prophecies. There's a big difference there, but Reinhart doesn't understand it. ”

“ Even for Nina that sounded odd. He took his coat and went out again to the car; after a moment's hesitation he went back and got the orchids.
Dick Livingstone's machine was at the curb before the Wheeler house, and in the living-room he found Walter Wheeler, pacing the floor. Mr. Wheeler glanced at him and looked away.
“Anybody sick?” Leslie asked, his feeling of apprehension growing.
“Nina is having hysterics upstairs,” Mr. Wheeler said, and continued his pacing.
“Nina! Hysterics?”
“That's what I said,” replied Mr. Wheeler, suddenly savage. “You've made a nice mess of things, haven't you?” ”

“ You'd better come along, Nina.”
“What is it? Is somebody sick?” Elizabeth gasped.
“Jim's been in an automobile accident. Steady now, Elizabeth! He's hurt, but he's going to be all right.”
The Wheeler house, when they got there, was brightly lighted. Annie was crying in the hall, and in the living-room Mrs. Sayre stood alone, a strange figure in a gaudy dress, but with her face strong and calm.
“They've gone to the hospital in my car,” she said. “They'll be there now any minute, and Mr. Oglethorpe will telephone at once. You are to wait before starting in.” ”

“ I did not meet Reinhardt until he was in California, with ‘The Miracle.’ With Rudolph Kommer and Karl von Mueller he came out to our Santa Monica house, for luncheon. Before luncheon we went to the studio and ran, I think, ‘Broken Blossoms.’ Then, in the afternoon, ‘La Bohême’ and ‘The Scarlet Letter.’ They seemed to please him. He spoke no English, and I spoke no German, at the time. Kommer served as interpreter. It was then that Reinhardt suggested that we might work together. He had never made a picture, but was eager to try. ”

“ When she came back almost immediately, with the familiar tray and the familiar food, he was sitting where she had left him. He had spent the entire time, had she known it, in impressing on his mind the familiar details of the room, to carry away with him.
She stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, to see that he drank the milk slowly.
“I've got the fire going,” she said. “And I'll run up now and get your clothes. I—had put them away.” Her voice broke a little. “You see, we— You can change in your laboratory. Richard, can't you? If you go upstairs he'll hear you.” ”

“ Cardinge observed drily. “It was not even clear that they desired war.”
Reinhardt became discreet.
“These matters,” he pronounced, “do not lend themselves to profitable discussion.
“The Marquis looked at Reinhardt. The action appeared to require some self-control. 'You have seen my patients?' he inquired.”
After dinner Reinhardt planted himself stolidly before Madame. He held his coffee cup in one hand, his cigar and liqueur brandy were near by.
“Madame,” he said, “I received your summons. I am here.”
“Very much here,” Madame agreed. “You have grown very large, Otto Reinhardt.” ”

“ Walter Wheeler thought he knew what was coming, and he had well in mind what he was going to say. He had thought it over, pacing the floor alone, with the dog at his heels. He would say:
“I like and respect you, Livingstone. If you're worrying about what these damned gossips say, let's call it a day and forget it. I know a man when I see one, and if it's all right with Elizabeth it's all right with me.”
Things, however, did not turn out just that way. Dick came in, grave and clearly preoccupied, and the first thing he said was:
“I have a story to tell you, Mr. Wheeler. ”

“ And when he looks you through and through with his bright glances--no, it's more than you can endure. And yet there's something so strange and peculiar in his character, it quite makes me shiver at times, and makes me quite afraid of him. When Reinhold is working in the shop, I should think Herr Martin, when he tells him to do this or do that, must always feel as I should if anybody were to put a bright pan in my kitchen all glittering with gold and precious stones, and should bid me use it like any ordinary common pan--why, I should hardly dare to touch it at all. ”

“ Doctor Reynolds, running up the stairs, found her there dead, and closed the door into David's room.
But David knew before they told him. He waited until they had placed her on her bed, had closed her eyes and drawn a white coverlet over her, and then he went in alone, and sat down beside her, and put a hand over her chilling one.
“If you are still here, Lucy,” he said, “and have not yet gone on, I want you to carry this with you. We are all right, here. Everybody is all right. You are not to worry.” ”

“ She wiped her eyes shamelessly with her table napkin. "There isn't a soul in this house I can talk to," she wailed. "All kinds of awful things happening—and we had to send for coffee this morning, Jack. You must have used four pounds last night—and nobody will tell me a thing. There's no use asking Margery—she's sick at her stomach from the chloroform—and Ellen never talks except about herself, and she's horribly—uninteresting. And Fred and you make a ba—barricade out of newspapers, and fire 'yes' at me when you mean 'no.'"
"I put the coffee back where I got it, Edith," I protested stoutly. ”

“ Il les prenait, Messieurs, dans un sentiment vrai et profond qui gouvernait toutes ses actions, dans le sentiment du devoir. On ne sait pas assez tout ce qu’il y a de puissance dans ce sentiment. Une vie tout critère au devoir est bien aisément dégagée d’ambition. La vie de M. Reinhard était uniquement employée aux fonctions qu’il avait à remplir, sans que jamais chez lui il y eût trace de calcul personnel ni de prétention à quelque avancement précipité. ”

“ I do not believe in excitement on an entirely empty stomach. We covered the bruise with a loop of Clare's heavy hair; and then her father and mother went in and I closed the door.
Somebody had telephoned for Mr. Plummer; but she sent her father out to say she would not see him just yet. It was like a blow in the face. He almost reeled.
“That's the message, boy,” Mr. March said. “I don't understand it any more than you do. She's in frightful condition; we've sent for the doctor. Tomorrow I am sure——”
“But what does she say?” Mr. Plummer broke in. “Where has she been? ”

“ Nina hesitated.
“I don't know about Elizabeth. She's fond of Wallie, as who isn't? But lately—”
“Yes?”
“Well, for the last few days I have been wondering. She doesn't talk, you know. But she has been seeing something of Dick Livingstone.”
“Doctor Livingstone! She'd be throwing herself away!”
“Yes, but she's like that. I mean, she isn't ambitious. We've always expected her to throw herself away; at least I have.”
A half hour later Leslie, upstairs, leaned over the railing to see if there were any indications of departure. The door was open, and Mrs. Sayre evidently about to take her leave. ”