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"Soon it will be simply dog eat dog," said Whyland. "No course will be left, even for the best-disposed of us, but to fight the devil with fire. From the assessor and all his works " "Good Lord deliver us," intoned Bond, who fully shared Whyland's ideas. Abner frowned. His religious sensibilities were affronted by this response. "And from all his followers," added Whyland.
The same newspapers that brought them further details of the adventures of the new Pence-Whyland Franchise in the Common Council informed them that Abner Joyce Abner, the one time foe of privilege lay ill in Leverett Whyland's own house. "He is no longer one of us," pronounced the Readjusters. "We disown him; we cast him off."
He might indeed go to their wretched "fandango" in the end they had all been urging him, Stephen, Medora, everybody but never as a cheap imitation of a swell so long as his own good, neat, well-made, every-day wardrobe existed as it was. He had turned down the wine-glass at Whyland's, and he would turn down the dress-coat here.
On one of the earliest days in April, Abner, gaunt and tottering, went home to Flatfield. Leverett Whyland's own carriage took him to the station and Medora Giles's own hands arranged his cushions and coverlets. "Spring is spring everywhere," said Whyland; "but it's just a little worse right here than anywhere else. If you're going to pick up now, home's the place to do it."
Whyland's butler. He knew he could be brusquely haughty toward this menial, but could he be easy and indifferent? Yet was it right to seem coolly callous toward another human creature? But, on the other hand, might not a cheery, informal friendliness, he wondered, as his hand sought the bell-push, be misconstrued, be ridiculed, be resented, be taken advantage of....
Those who had never liked him before began to like him now; those who had liked him before now liked him more than ever. Medora looked across at him; her eyes shone with pleasure and pride. Clytie sat between Pence and Whyland. Whyland's face had already begun to take on the peculiar hard-finish that follows upon success success reached in a certain way. "How about the Settlement?" he asked.
But alas for the credit of her mistress and of her mistress' household: here was a lordly person who had arrived with the open expectation of meeting a "man" who should "announce" him! Abner had come full of subject-matter; he knew just what he was going to say. And during the interval before Mrs. Whyland's appearance he should briefly run over his principal points. But he found Mrs.
"It's only three hours," said Abner. "I can stand that." He shook Whyland's hand gratefully at parting and held Medora's with a firm pressure as long as he dared and longer than he realized. It was a pressure that seemed to recognise her at last as an individual woman, and what his hand did not say his face said and said clearly.
"That's a fine, serious young fellow," he added, for Whyland's ear alone. "There's stuff in him." "Been getting on with him, eh?" said Whyland ruefully. "Well, you're in luck." Abner glowered gloomily across the thinning floor. Another dance had just ended and Whyland had skimmed away once again.
And, "Remember!" she said to Abner, as she drove away. Medora was delighted. She saw two steps into the future. Abner should call on Mrs. Whyland. And he should read from his own works at Mrs. Whyland's house. Why not? He read with much justness and expression; he was thoroughly accustomed to facing an audience.
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