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Updated: May 15, 2025
"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.
Whyland with a repression that indicated but a distant acquaintance; and just as Medora was whisked away by a new partner it was Bond, claiming the first of his four Whyland introduced him to Abner: "Mr. Joyce, Mr. M'm " Abner, occupied by Bond's appropriation of Medora, lost the name. "And where is Clytie?" asked Whyland, looking about.
But Abner could not quite bring himself to print in a sheet that was the open and avowed champion of privilege and corruption. "You think you won't, then?" asked Whyland, at the door of the Pullman. "I don't believe I can," replied Abner mournfully. "Oh, yes, you can too," returned Whyland. "In a week or two more you'll be as strong as ever."
Whyland kindly refrained from entering upon an analysis to determine just what percentage of egotism was to be detected in Abner's act, and felt emboldened by such unlooked-for graciousness and by the sustaining presence of Medora to ask a favour for herself that "evening" was still in her mind. "You will read, won't you?" pleaded Medora. "After my return from the East," acquiesced Abner.
The door was opened by a subdued young woman who wore a white cap and presented a small silver tray. Abner, who dispensed with calling cards on principle and who would have blushed to read his own name in script on a piece of white cardboard, asked in a stern voice if Mrs. Whyland was at home.
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."
Abner wore his double-breasted frock-coat and his white lawn tie; and Edith Whyland, who had come in a plain dark reception costume to stand in a row near the door with the wives of the professors at the Art Academy, now sat with him and brought him as far into drawing as might be with the abounding masculine figures in evening dress.
All she does is to write home for more clothes. I expect she has completely forgotten all about our little affair to-night. I thought of course she was going to march with me, but " And he darted away to resume his quest. "She will come," said Mrs. Whyland. "And her cap will be higher and her veil longer and the pattern of her brocade bigger and more startling than anybody else can show."
Abner stayed on, and finally the last of the ladies rose to go. Abner was just about to throw open the stable door, preparatory to giving his hobbies an airing, when a latch-key was heard operating in the front door of the house itself. Then came a man's quick step, a tussle with a heavy winter overcoat, and Whyland himself appeared on the threshold. He came in, tingling, exhilarated, cordial.
It was the only vacant line. What could I do? I looked about and saw you" to Abner "standing by the door " "I suppose I was tall enough to see," said Abner, feeling very huge and uncomfortable. "A tower of strength, a city of refuge," suggested Mrs. Whyland. "Precisely," said Medora. "So I snatched a pencil out of Adrian Bond's hand he had just put himself down four times "
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