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Updated: June 27, 2025
"They're getting him to sing," he said, and Sylvia, bringing her thoughts back from immeasurable distances, realized that the dancing space had been cleared, and that the musicians had stopped playing and were engaged in a low-spoken conference with Runyon. He nodded toward them approvingly and then stepped out into the open, a little distance from them.
She caressed his horse's mane and thrilled as she touched it, as if she were caressing the man as if he were some new and splendid type of centaur. And Runyon seemed to read her mind. His face became more ruddy with delight. His flashing eyes suggested sound rather than color they were laughing. Their conference ended and Runyon rode on up the hill.
There was the State Normal School, to whose faculty Miss Runyon belonged, and through her the support of the students was obtained and suffrage propaganda extended gradually to every section of the State. Mrs. Knefler, president of the St. Louis Women's Trades Union, organized a league among its members, which, under the leadership of Mrs.
"I have just received the roster of the 'Bronx Association," said Flint, as the captain joined him. "It is signed by every man on board, including the supernumeraries forward, except Spoors, Blocker, Veering, Packer, Pickford, and Runyon. I inquired why these men would not join, but could not learn that they had any reason except that they did not wish to be members. I have seen Mr.
"We'll have to have a little canter, or we'll get run over," he said gayly, and he and Sylvia gave rein to their horses. In a very few minutes they had put a distance of more than a hundred yards between them and the occupants of the carriage. "This is more like it!" exclaimed Runyon exultantly.
Sylvia carried herself circumspectly enough as she went back into the house, but she was almost giddy with joy over the final words of that conference. Runyon had lowered his voice almost to a whisper, and had spoken with intensity as one sometimes speaks to children. She did not ride that afternoon. It appeared that all her interests for the time being were indoors.
And again she sighed. She had seen Runyon often since the afternoon on which he had made his first appearance on the Quemado Road. Seemingly, his duties took him out that way often; and he never passed without glancing toward Sylvia's window and looking back again after he had passed. Nor had he often found that place by the window vacant.
I had begun to have a little pride, and to have foolish dreams. And then I went back to my father's house. It wasn't my father; it wasn't even Fectnor. It was Life itself whipping me back into my place again. "... And then Runyon came. He meant pleasure to me nothing more. He seemed such a gay, shining creature!" She looked at him in the agony of utter despair.
Quite impartially he bestowed a flashing smile upon both the man and the woman. And Harboro began vaguely to understand. Runyon was popular, not because he was a particularly good fellow, but because he was so supremely cheerful. And he seemed entirely harmless, despite the glamour of him. After all, he was not a mere male coquette. He was in love with the world, with life.
There was the old work to be done, the old life to resume.... Yes, but there was Sylvia. Sylvia, who had said with the intentness of a child, "I love you," and again, "I love you." She did not want Runyon. She wanted him, Harboro. And he wanted her good God, how he wanted her! Had he been mad to wander away from her? His problem lay with her, not elsewhere.
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