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"No need to settle things now. Wait and think it over." And Vic decided in a blind way to think it over. In the rotunda he met Trench, old Trench, slow of step but a lightning calculator. "Where are you going?" he exclaimed, as he saw Vic's face. "I'm going to the whirlpool before I'm through," Vic said, hoarsely.
Alder was Vic Gregg's Athens and Rome in one, its schoolhouse his Acropolis, and Captain Lorrimer's saloon his Forum. Other people talked of larger cities, but Alder satisfied the imagination of Vic; besides, Grey Molly was even now in the blacksmith's pasture, and Betty Neal was teaching in the school. Following the march of the mountains and the drift of the clouds, he turned towards Alder.
I was in an awful hole. Will will they give me plenty of time?" "As much as you like. And, I say, Bertie, this affair must be quite entre nous. There are plenty of chaps good fellows, too who would like to use my name occasionally. But one must draw the line " "I understand, Vic. I'll be mum as an oyster."
Many evenings, when I had finished my work, I would get Vic to teach me the Pampanga, dialect, and wrote down a large vocabulary of words, and when some years afterwards I compared them word for word with other dialects and languages throughout the Malay Archipelago, I found that, with a few exceptions, there was not the slightest affinity between them.
I had nearly finished it, for practice has made me almost as clever as a conjurer about manipulating my hands behind my back, but when Vic flew at me and began giving useless little touches, I guessed that she wanted to whisper something in my ear without Mother seeing, if she should happen to prance in at the wrong moment as she often does.
But Rupert, furious and disgusted, hung back in the shadow. "Here, Vic!" cried Patricia. "You take the wheel!" "Delighted, I am sure!" cried Vic, climbing into the seat. "Get in here, Patsy.
Her hands were clenched and her little body quivered with resolution; the snake-like head came to the very edge of the bed. "Now pat him!" she commanded. By very unpleasant degrees, Vic stretched his hand towards that growling menace. "He'll take my arm off," he complained. Shame kept him from utterly refusing the risk. "He won't bite you one bit," declared the child.
"A cattle rustler is bad," he pronounced, "a hoss thief is worse, but you're the lowest sneak of the lot, Blondy." Again that silence with the pulse in it, and Vic Gregg could feel the chill which numbed every one except himself. The lower jaw of Captain Lorrimer sagged, and his whisper came out in jerking syllables: "God Almighty!"
And Vic yes, Vic in overalls and a straw hat, growing up to be the strong man he never would be in the city. Like many another commonplace man of the towns, for all his colorless ways and his thinning hair and his struggle against poverty, Peter was something of a dreamer.
Grey Molly was blown, she stood now with hanging head and her flanks sunk in alarmingly at every breath, but even fresh from the pasture she was not a rag, not a straw compared to the black. "For God's sake," groaned Vic, "loan me your hoss!" "You couldn't stick the saddle. Come in here out of sight; I'm going to take 'em off your trail."
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