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Years back when I had a rush of blood to the head of that sort I used to take it out in swearing till the atmosphere was blue; but I can't do that any more." "Why not?" King asked, with a good deal of curiosity. "I did it once too often and the last time I sent a dying soul to the other world with my curses in its ears the soul of a child, Jord.
She studied him intently, and when he returned the scrutiny she raised her eyebrows in an interrogation. He nodded, smiling quizzically. "Jord," he said, "if you want to keep your secrets to yourself, beware of letting any woman come within range. My wife has just read me as if I were an open book in large black type." "Bound in scarlet and gold," added Ellen. "Tell us, Red.
Jord, on her arm is a black bruise where I gripped her when she lied to me; I gripped her a woman. You might as well know. Now keep on respecting me if you can." "But I do," said Jordan King. "Len, will you go for a day in the woods with me?" Ellen Burns looked up from the old mahogany secretary which had been hers in the southern-home days.
Ny Jord gives an unflattering picture of the academic, literary, and artistic youth of the capital, idlers for the most part, arrogant, unscrupulous, self-important, and full of disdain for the mere citizens and merchants whose simple honesty and kindliness are laughed at or exploited by the newly dominant representatives of culture.
To the tall, well-built, black-eyed young man who answered this summons in some surprise at being admitted before his turn, Burns spoke crisply: "Here's the prescription, Jord, and you'll have to take it to Wood's to get it filled. I hope it'll do your mother a lot of good, but I'm not promising till I've tried it out pretty well. Now will you do me a favour?" "Anything you like, Doctor."
"Not a sixteenth of a degree. You'll lie exactly as flat as you are now. If it's any consolation I'll tell you that you look like a prostrate man-angel seven feet long." "Thanks. I'd fire a pillow at you if I had one. I don't want to look like an object for sympathy, that's all." Burns nodded understandingly. "Well, Jord," he said a moment later, "will you go home on Saturday, too?"
Peach, isn't she?" "Laura! That's a sweet name," murmured Jordan to himself. His mind was now running riot, not only with plans to drive Dick Prescott out of the Army, but also to win the heart of Laura Bentley. "Hold on, Jord," begged Douglass, halting and leaning against a post in the veranda structure. "Don't take me to your sister just yet. Let me get my breath, my nerves, my wits back again."
Ladies are lovely things, but I respect women more. Only a mighty fine one could be the mother of my friend Jord, and I knew she would meet this issue like the Spartan she knows how to be." If, as he stole away downstairs leaving his patient in the hands of a somewhat long-suffering maid he was saying to himself things of a quite different sort, let him not be blamed for insincerity.
"Well, I don't mind," said Billy Morrison amiably. "May's well get you jaunting done 'fore harvest comes on. And here, Jord; take this quarter and get some oranges for Aunty Nan. Needn't mention it to headquarters." Billy Morrison's face was solemn, but Jordan winked as he pocketed the money.
Standing with arms on the sill outside of the lighted window, clad in summer vestments of white and looking as cool and fresh as the man inside looked hot and dirty, Chester attempted to lure the worker forth. "Win's serving a lot of cold, wet stuff on our porch," he announced. "Ellen's there, and the Macauleys, and Jord King has just driven up and stopped for a minute.
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