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The laconic fidelity of my note-book enables me to recall here that the last we saw of Seville was the Cathedral and the Giralda, which the guide-books had promised us we should see first; that we passed some fields of alfalfa which the Moors had brought from Africa and the Spanish have carried to America; that in places men were plowing and that the plowed land was red; that the towns on the uplands in the distance were white and not gray, or mud-colored, as in Castile; that the morning sky was blue, with thin, pale clouds; that the first station out was charmingly called Two Brothers, and that the loungers about it were plain, but kind-looking men-folk with good faces, some actually clean-shaven, and a woman with a white rose in her hair; that Two Brothers is a suburb of Seville, frequented in the winter, and has orange orchards about it; that farther on at one place the green of the fields spread up to the walls of a white farm with a fine sense of color; that there were hawks sailing in the blue air; that there were grotesque hedges of cactus and piles of crooked cactus logs; that there were many eucalyptus trees; that there were plantations of young olives, as if never to let that all-pervading industry perish; that there were irregular mountain ranges on the right, but never the same kind of scenery on both sides of the track; that there was once a white cottage on a yellow hill and a pink villa with two towers; that there was a solitary fig tree near the road, and that there were vast lonely fields when there were not olive orchards.
He gave them only a quick, keen glance, but in that glance he had detected the trio named by Bull-dog, and they cowered visibly beneath the scorn and contempt which flashed from his eye, while the entire group of loungers made way, impelled partly by an unconscious respect for the broad, powerful shoulders, and splendid, athletic frame.
Above the village, and beyond the summit of the crag, the mouth of a tunnel formed a black blot on the sunlit slopes of sheep-cropped grass stretching up to the heather, which gave place in turn to rock out-crop on the shoulders of the fell. The loungers glanced at the tunnel regretfully, for that mine had furnished most of them with their daily bread.
But that man was instantly recognized by every one of the outside loungers and stable-boys as well as the staring crowd within the saloon. It was James Stacy, the millionaire and banker. No one but himself knew that he had covered half the distance of a night-long ride from Boomville in two hours.
"He's mighty welcome," declared the host, heartily. "Dorothy'll look atter him like his own daughter an' see that he gits enjoyed." At Jake Crabbott's store the loungers were in full attendance on the morning after Parish Thornton's ride to Hump Doane's house, and the rumours that found currency there were varied and for the most part inaccurate.
Besides the passengers, there was one steward and a colored maid, both staring together through the lighted window. Jan's feet were wet. He went down to the bar, where he called for a drink of ginger ale and a pint flask of brandy. "Of your best," he added. Leaning against the bar he listened to the loungers there. Four of them were at a table under a window which looked out on the open deck.
The deep shade under the full-leafed trees how thinly green they were still against the sky that day when she vanished from him beside the arch and their love began! was full of loungers and of playing children; the carriages passed and repassed in the light. So it had been, the enchanting never-ending drama, before this spectator entered so it would be when he had departed.
Vyvyan had suddenly resolved to take her into Switzerland, with the view of passing the next winter in Italy. The room was filled with loungers of both sexes. Darrell had stayed but a short time. The leave-taking had been somewhat formal Flora unusually silent. He opened her note, and read the first lines listlessly; those that followed, with a changing cheek and an earnest eye.
It was a lovely summer morning. Lieutenant Loring had walked down to the office and raised his hat to the General as that genial officer was driven by behind his sturdy old team, and waving his hand cordially to the grave young gentleman who walked so erect with such measured stride, and with never a glance into the windows of the shops or bars. Loungers had no use for Loring.
'We don't want no foolin' with thet kid. Waal, I didn't like ther way he spoke, and so I got kind-er huffy, and he says, 'Here! take yer pay, and git aout! Beat it! And here I am!" "Fired again, eh, Bill?" said one of the loungers. There was a loud guffaw, and another man dealt Bill a resounding slap on the back. Whereupon the sidewalk meeting adjourned.
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