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Engle came now and then to Virginia's room to wipe her eyes and force a hopeful smile; Florrie ran in like a young tempest to weep copiously and hyperbolically invest poor dear Roddy with all imaginable heroic attributes; Engle and Struve and Tom Cutter were grave-eyed and distressed. Every hour Ignacio came to the hotel to ask quietly for news.
It was not until May 15, 1914, when Miss Lavinia Engle, one of the organizers sent by the National American Woman Suffrage Association, called together a representative group of clubwomen, that the State Equal Suffrage League was organized in the Kennedy Library at Spartanburg. Mrs. M. T. Coleman of Abbeville, retiring president of the State Federation of Women's Clubs, was elected president; Mrs.
I did not like the Engle children. They were too numerous. I had no privacy there. But here! I could be to myself. I could make myself more comfortable than I was at the Engles'. I could have what food I wanted. I could kill game, for the country was full of it. I could bring my books. I could be a lord.
Engle, "what a nuisance it would be if I lived with you? May I come to see you to-morrow?" While she said good night Engle got his hat. "I'll go with you," he said. "But, like Patten, I don't believe there is much the matter with Chavez. Maybe he thinks he'll get a free drink of whiskey." "You see again," laughed Virginia from the doorway, "what it would be like, Mrs.
"I didn't know . . . ." she began haltingly, only to be cut short by Mrs. Wouldn't you have known her anywhere?" John Engle, courteous, urbane, a pleasant-featured man with grave, kindly eyes and a rather large, firm-lipped mouth nodded to Norton and gave Virginia his hand cordially.
Engle, again obviously anxious to dispel the more lugubrious and tragic atmospheres of the evening with any chance talk which might offer itself. "Let her wait until Ignacio can tell her," laughed Engle. "No one else can tell it so well, and certainly no one else has an equal pride or even an equal right in the matter."
"That's the way the form students will dope it out," said Al Engle, otherwise the Sharpshooter, the smiling, youthful, gold-toothed blond who directed the campaigns and dictated the policy of the turf pirates. "That much weight will stop most of 'em, but let her in there under ninety pounds and Fieldmouse is a cinch. That little sleight-of-hand stunt between Murphy and your nigger is working fine.
Here, with conditions what they always had been, there could stand but one barrier between Galloway and Florrie Engle, the barrier of character. And already the girl had cried: "His eyes are not bad eyes, are they?" A barrier is a silent command to pause; what is the spontaneous answer of a spoiled child to any command?
How long does he ring it?" "Once every hour until midnight," answered Engle, his face once more placid as he withdrew his look from the patio and transferred it to his cigar. And then, with a half smile: "There are many San Juans; there is, in all the wide world, but one San Juan of the Bells. You would not take our distinction from us?
Sure as a gun, Engle laid him up, and the books made him favourite and took in a ton of money! Look at him, will you? Ain't that pitiful?" "He runs like a cow," said the major's assistant. "Merritt is certainly riding him, though. He's whipping at every jump." It was a long way around the track, and probably only one man was really sorry for Eliphaz.
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