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Updated: June 3, 2025
Once he had failed, signally, to read behind his friend's moody silences; his surmise concerning the reason for Steve's changed bearing was not so wide of the mark this time. Often, within himself, Garry's wrath seethed hot, but he was no longer as ready as he had once been with verbal, cynical criticism.
"We dance in the club gallery," he told her, smiling at the look of wonder in her eyes. "And the paintings and sculpture?" "A members' exhibition. The sculptured lion staring from his pedestal at us is Jan's. Look at the superb muscle play of his flank! The midsummer woods see, how well the lad has painted air! is Garry's. And my pine picture's over there." "And Sid?"
Within a week after the funeral a committee was appointed to gather funds for the placing of a stained-glass window in the new church in memory of the young architect who had designed and erected it; with the result that Holker Morris headed the subscription list, an example which was followed by many of the townspeople, including McGowan and Murphy and several others of their class, as well as various members of the Village Council, together with many of Garry's friends in New York, all of which was duly set forth in the county and New York papers; a fact which so impressed the head of the great banking firm of Arthur Breen & Co. that he immediately sent his personal check for a considerable amount, desiring, as he stated at a club dinner that same night, to pay some slight tribute to that brilliant young fellow, Minott, who, you know, married Mrs.
Now that's real funny I'll leave it to you if it ain't." Fat Joe leaned over and drew a blanket a little higher across the sleeping man's shoulder, while Steve continued silently to study Garry's face. Even in unconsciousness a faintly crooked smile of skepticism still clung to the lips. "It was like him," Steve remarked at last, very soberly.
It was the bitterest January that the hill country had known in twenty years; but mile by mile that month the twin lines of steel crept steadily into the north under the urgings of Garry's smooth voice. The snowfall for February broke all records for half that period; but Steve, with his handful of men at Thirty-Mile, put his piling down.
The edges of the paper took fire slowly, then it exploded softly into flame upon the bed of coals in the fireplace where he had tossed it. And at that he laughed aloud, a harsh taunt for his own high hopes, without thinking how much his mirth of that moment was like what Garry's once had been.
Garry's tall figure already seated at a long table near the empty chair that the Mayor was to occupy. He was dressed in black, almost like an English clergyman, and the theological spirit of the Puritan shone from his face. Yet there was too much worldly acumen, too much cold determination in his impressive features for a clergyman.
"Low limit and wide open, eh?" Garry still toyed with the cards. "I don't suppose you've ever forgotten the first game in which we indulged, have you, Joe?" he asked at length. Joe was not comfortable. "Scarcely," he admitted. "Scarcely." "Nor the stakes?" pursued Garry. "I I seem to recall 'em, faintly." Garry's peal of amusement was as rollicking as a boy's. "So do I," he exclaimed.
Things were going badly when the expected arbitrator rapped upon the door, and losing ground, Kenny felt that he must needs dramatize his parental right to authority for the benefit of Garry's ears and his own pride. "Silence!" he thundered, striding toward the door. He flung it back with the air of a conqueror. His stage play fell rather flat.
They were both interested in tracking and made many little trips together, for Tom had much time to himself. One morning, as Tom, according to rule, was making his regular inspection of the pavilion, he lingered for a few minutes in Garry's corner to chat with him. "You're not getting ready to go?" he asked in surprise, noticing that some of the troop's paraphernalia had been packed.
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