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"Have you a headache to-night, Miss Silence?" "No!" was the gruff answer. "Are you in a hurry about those bags?" said he, glancing at a pile of unmade ones which lay by her side. No reply. "Hang it all!" said our hero to himself, "I'll make her speak." Miss Silence's needle book and brown thread lay on a chair beside her.
Put curiosity out of your mind, and think gently, sympathetically, affectionately, if you can." He smiled, and Barker, who had recovered his composure in the doctor's presence, bowed silently and went out. There were two different reception-rooms in Dr. Silence's house. It was, however, rarely used.
Singular companions for guns, I thought to myself, as we struck out across the fields and the great creatures bounded and ran beside us, nose to ground. The conversation was scanty. John Silence's grave face did not encourage talk. He wore the expression I knew well that look of earnest solicitude which meant that his whole being was deeply absorbed and preoccupied.
Silence's expression. He had laid down his coat; his sleeves were rolled up and his arms were tanned, and he stood smoking a cigarette and gazing at her with approbation. She lowered her eyes. "Well, we've had a pretty good time, haven't we?" he remarked. Lightning sometimes fails in its effect, but the look she flashed back at him from under her blue lashes seldom misses.
Aunt Silence's engine was responsibility, her own responsibility, and the dreadful consequences which would follow to her, Silence, if Myrtle should in any way go wrong.
When the report came to Miss Silence's ears that Deacon Enos considered himself as aggrieved by her father's will, she held forth upon the subject with great strength of courage and of lungs.
"Wait a minute, I have a match. Here you are." He held the light for Gallup. "Purty good weed that," observed Ephraim, as he puffed at it. "'Spect that ain't no five-center. Must be ten straight or three for a quarter, anyhow." "These are Silence's special cigars. He buys them by the box. They cost him twenty dollars a hundred."
Fortunately, after we passed this first plantation, we came upon a camp of rubber collectors four young men; I got one of them to carry Silence's load and show us the way into the town, when on we went into more plantations.
When he had got out, he handed back Silence's load and got a dash of tobacco for his help; he left us to devote the rest of his evening by his forest fire to unthorning himself, while we proceeded to wade a swift, deepish river that crossed the path he told us led into Egaja, and then went across another bit of forest and downhill again.
Nor can a complete picture of life at Quicksands be undertaken. Multiply Mrs. Dallam's dinner-party by one hundred, Howard Silence's Sundays at the Club by twenty, and one has a very fair idea of it. It was not precisely intellectual. "Happy," says Montesquieu, "the people whose annals are blank in history's book." Let us leave it at that.
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