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And now, curiously, he heard Harlan's voice low, distinct, even. What an iceberg the man was! "Haydon's dead," he heard Harlan saying and he stared at Harlan, finding it difficult to comprehend. "Lafe Woodward killed him," Harlan went on "killed him at the Cache. Now get this straight all of you." It seemed strange to Deveny that Harlan seemed to be speaking to the men, while watching him, only.
The information did not surprise Deveny; but it sent his mind into a chaos of conjecture and speculation, out of which at last a conviction came that Harlan was seeking control of the outlaw band; that Haydon's days as a leader were almost over, so far as he was concerned. For if Haydon insisted on taking Harlan into the secret councils of the camp he Deveny was going to operate independently.
At the private view, the Princess of Wales and other eminent critics pronounced against the Solomon, but as soon as the public were admitted, the tune changed, and John Bull vowed it was the finest work of art ever produced in England. If posterity has not indorsed this judgment, the Solomon is at least regarded, by competent critics, as Haydon's most successful work.
Haydon's fellow-guests were Sir Astley Cooper, Mr. Arbuthnot, and Mr. Booth. The first evening the conversation turned, among other topics, upon the Peninsular War. 'The Duke talked of the want of fuel in Spain-of what the troops suffered, and how whole houses, so many to a division, were pulled down, and paid for, to serve as fuel. He said every Englishman who has a house goes to bed at night.
I admire her perfectly, and she seems to me perfect. How I wish I had been with you! And yet I cannot fancy you in the Opera House; it is a sort of atmosphere that I find it difficult to think of your breathing.... I wish you had not asked me to write verses for you upon that picture of Haydon's "Bonaparte at St. Helena."
Upon his right hand U Saw wore a thick leathern hunting glove, and his right arm was heavily swathed with a woollen girdle. About his arm the body of a snake was twisted, and he held the head firmly in his hand. A terrible groan of agony burst from Thomas Haydon's lips as he saw the venomous reptile coiling and uncoiling its short, thick body round the arm of the Ruby King.
"Where did you find it?" "Mr. Harlan found it." Barbara noted Haydon's quick start, the searching glance he gave Harlan who was now leaning on a rail of the corral fence, seemingly uninterested. Haydon laughed, a little hoarsely, it seemed to Barbara, and more loudly than the occasion seemed to demand.
A comfortable row of round-headed old apple-trees led all the way up a long lane from the main road. This lane and the spacious side yard were scarred by wheel ruts, and the fresh turf was cut up by the stamping feet of many horses. It was the evening of a sad day, the evening after Israel Haydon's wife's funeral.
I love to see the sitters look as if they thought, "Can this be Haydon's the great Haydon's painting?" I chuckle. I am rascal enough to take their money, and chuckle more. It must be owned that Haydon thoroughly deserved his ill-success in this branch of his art.
"He'll get his when he isn't expecting it." Deveny, however, had no faith in Haydon's ability to "handle" Harlan. He had seen in the man's eyes that day in Lamo something that had troubled him an indomitability that seemed to indicate that the man would do whatever he set out to do.
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