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Updated: May 13, 2025
"Such men as Schuyler Gurney get the fattest offices. God send us a monarchy soon!" he hissed under his breath, as the gate closed after the politician. By which you will perceive that Dr. Blecker, like most men fighting their way up, was too near-sighted for any abstract theories.
For Blecker had taken up the alien Socialist dogma that day sincerely, but driven to it by passion: now he swayed back to his old-fashioned faith in marriage, as one comes to solid land after a plunge in the upheaving surf. "Good bye, Paul." The sunlight fell on their faces with a white brilliance, as they stood, their hands clasped, for a moment.
"One o' them's t' other side, but" and so left them. One of them was a burly Western boatman, with mop-like red hair and beard. Blecker looked at him, shook his head, and went on. "No use?" gritting his heavy jaw. "Well!" swallowing, as if he accepted death in that terrible breath. "Eh, Doctor? Do you hear? Wait a bit," fumbling at his jacket. "I can't There's a V in my pocket.
The town, Blecker thought, had rooted itself in between the hills with as solid a persistence as the prejudices of its builders. Obstinately steep streets, shaded by gnarled locust-trees; houses drawn back from the sidewalks, in surly dread of all new-comers; the very smoke, vaporing through the sky, had defiance in it of the outer barbarous world and its vulgar newness.
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