He had brought with him a small statue
of a riverman with flannel shirt, scarf about the waist, thick defiant
trousers and well-weaponed boots. It was a real figure of the river,
buoyant, daring, almost vicious. The head was bare; there were plain gold
rings in the ears; and the stark, half-malevolent eyes looked out, as
though searching for a jam of logs or some peril of the river. In the
horny right hand was a defiant pike-pole, its handle thrust forward, its
steel spike stabbing the ground.
At first glance, Carnac saw that John Grier was getting worn and old. The
eyes were not so flashing as they once were; the lips were curled in a
half-cynical mood. The old look of activity was fading; something vital
had struck soul and body. He had had a great year. He had fought Belloc
and his son Fabian successfully; he had laid new plans and strengthened
his position.
Tarboe coming into the business had made all the difference to him.
Tarboe had imagination, skill and decision, he seldom lost his temper; he
kept a strong hand upon himself. His control of men was marvellous; his
knowledge of finance was instinctive; his capacity for organization was
rare, and he had health unbounded and serene.
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