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"Well, go thy ways, Peter, for a shrewd man and a clever man; it is not every one who could so suddenly have elicited my father's compassion for Goody Truman's cream." "Pooh!" said the Squire, "a pheasant's a serious thing, child; but you women don't understand matters." They had now crossed through the village into the fields, and were slowly sauntering by "Hedge-row elms on hillocks green,"
Your wife's well, I hope? and Jacobina is not that the cat's name? in high health and favour." "Hem, hem! why, to be sure, the cat's a good cat; but she steals Goody Truman's cream as she sets for butter reg'larly every night." "Oh! you must cure her of that," said Lester, smiling, "I hope that's the worst fault."
Greedy, thoughtless money machines in the form of billionaire tycoon-producers exploit Truman's life shamelessly and remorselessly in the ugliest display of human vices possible. The Director indulges in his control-mania. The producers indulge in their monetary obsession. The actors vie and compete in the compulsive activity of furthering their petty careers.
Truman does decide whether to walk down a certain path or not. But when he does decide to walk only one path is available to him. His world is constrained and limited not his actions. Actually, Truman's only choice in the movie leads to an arguably immoral decision. He abandons ship. He walks out on the whole project.
I have already accepted the checks. Where did the fraud come in? You can bring suit, of course, to recover." "I'll tell you, Jimmy. He bet that my horse couldn't beat Dave Truman's Boise. A good many bet on the same thing. But my horse proved to have more speed, so a lot of them are sore." Bud chuckled as other Sunday losers came straggling in. "Well, it's too late.
He was still pallid and ill, but, having dressed and bandaged his wound and had a refreshing dip in the stream, he had made his way out among the men. He shook his head gravely in answer to Truman's suggestion that he ought to be lying down. "We are lying down all around here, sir," he said, "and I can get more rest out here than under the banks."
"Captain Truman's compliments, sir, and he'll rejoin you at the timber," was his message, delivered while his quivering horse stood flicking his long tail at a red seam in his silky coat where one bullet at least had scored its way, and Cranston bade him take his horse and no more such fool chances and get under cover straightway.
Only a portion of Truman's troop could be dimly seen through the settling dust, but, worst of all, the warriors recovering from their panic came rushing from their lodges, and in a moment all would be over with the struggling little group of blue-coats.
Down went the guidon, and then, when it seemed as though half the troop must fall before they could reach the open field, the half-frenzied, half-joyous cheer of Truman's men rose shrill above the clamor, and again the dancing, howling Indians dove for cover underneath the tepees as "F" Troop came thundering through.
Black in the face with rage, he mounted such men as had managed to restrain their horses and went charging after, leaving Chrome to the care of his fellows. Vain the rapid and telling fire opened upon herd and herders by Truman's men as they came within range.
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