He was patient, not only because he was told to be, but also because he had nothing better to do.

Society stared at him as blankly as the Mountain confronted Mahomet.

But the stubborn patience of the man was itself a strain on the Mountain; he was aware of that, and he waited for it to come to him.

As yet, however, he could detect no symptoms of mobility in the Mountain.
"Things are moving all the same," said Mortimer, as he entered the reading room of the Saddle Club.

"Quarrier and Belwether have listened a damned sight more respectfully to me since they read that column about you and the bishops and that chapel business." Plank turned his heavy head with a disturbed glance around the room; for he always dreaded Mortimer's indiscretions of speech--was afraid of his cynical frankness in the presence of others; even shrank from the brutal bonhomie of the man when alone with him.
"Can't you be careful ?" he said; "there was a man here a moment ago." He picked up his unfinished letter, folded and pocketed it, touched an electric bell, and when a servant came, "Take Mr.Mortimer's order," he said, supporting his massive head on his huge hands and resting his elbow on the writing-desk.
"I've got to cut out this morning bracer," said Mortimer, eyeing the servant with indecision; but he gave his order nevertheless, and later accepted a cigar; and when the servant had returned and again retired, he half emptied his tall glass, refilled it with mineral water, and, settling back in the padded arm-chair, said: "If I manage this thing as it ought to be managed, you'll go through by April.