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She wished she had thought to tell him to take care of it but suppose the thieves were to fall on him as he slept? Red's friends would have spent their sympathy on the thieves. She rejoiced that the money was where it was. Then she tried to remember what she had said throughout the evening. "Well, I suppose I must have acted like a ninny," she concluded.
He was singing one now in a key entirely original with himself. "Red's" characteristic was that when happy he wore a face like a tomb-stone. When sad, the sentimental songs were always in evidence. "Hello, Red!" said Garrison gruffly. He had been Red's idol once. He was quite prepared now, however, to see the other side of the curtain. He was no longer an idol to any one.
Probe and strip where they would nothing but country-rock rewarded their efforts. Carter and Brevoort were inclined to a kindly expressed skepticism as to the existence of the lode, and even Red's optimistic faith in Douglass's good judgment was waning. The women alone, for some occult reason, gave him cheering encouragement, Grace in particular expressing her conviction of his ultimate success.
Maybe I'm a crook. But there'll come a time, it may be one year, it may be a hundred, when I'll come back clean. I'll make good, and if you're on the track, Red, I'll show you that Garrison can ride a harder, straighter race than you or any one. This isn't my finish. There's a new deal coming to me, and I'm going to see that I get it." Without heeding Red's pessimistic reply.
"Look?" repeated Fanny, feebly. "I've been hours preparing for this. Years! And now something tells me This tie, for instance." Fanny bit her lip in a vain effort to retain her solemnity. Then she gave it up and giggled, frankly. "Well, since you ask me, that tie! "What's the matter with it?" Fanny giggled again. "It's red, that's what." "Well, what of it! Red's all right.
"I didn't expect it," she said to James Macauley, her husband. "Oh, Red's game. He won't run away from this, much as he hates it.
"Well!" exclaimed Blair, with quick almost haughty uplift of head. He seemed to resent Lane's surprise and intimation. It was a rebuke that made Lane shrink. "I never thought of Red's being hurt you know or as having lost.... Oh, he just seemed like so many other boys ruined in health. "All right. Cut the sentiment," interrupted Blair.
I ain't so sure about the art, neither. It's to be lined with red pine. Ther' ain't no art to red pine. Now maple bird's-eye maple, an' we got forests of it. Ther's art in bird's-eye maple. It's mighty pleasing to the eye. It 'ud make the folks feel good. Red pine? Red?" He shook his head ominously. "Not in this city. You see, red's a shoutin' color. Sets folk gropin' fer trouble.
You give a nigger a plain gill of half-a-dollar brandy for five cents will he touch it? No. Ain't size enough to it. But you put up a pint of all kinds of worthless rubbish, and heave in some red stuff to make it beautiful red's the main thing and he wouldn't put down that glass to go to a circus. All the bars on this Anchor Line are rented and owned by one firm.
Thank you so much! Aren't they the jolliest flowers in the world for a winter night? Jimps's greenhouses certainly are doing well. Don't you want a bit of a blossom in your hair? Their grower would feel tremendously complimented." "Red's not my colour, but it is yours. Let me tuck this little sprig in these braids, and I'll risk the grower's being better pleased than if I wore them."
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