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It is not likely that more time and care is devoted to the making up of the list for a court ball than Symes bestowed upon the selection of guests for the proposed function, which he intended should leave an indelible impression upon Crowheart. It was a difficult task, but when completed the result was gratifying.
Haddo, can you not do something?" "You know, Emma, that I never force confidences; I think it a great mistake. If a girl wishes to speak to me, she understands me well enough to be sure I shall respect every word she says; otherwise, I think it best to allow a girl of Betty Vivian's age to fight out her difficulties alone." "As her teacher, I have nothing to complain of," said Miss Symes.
It was not until the printed invitations worded with such elegance by Sylvanus Starr were issued, that Crowheart dimly suspected there were sheep and goats, and this was the initial step toward separating them. The making up of a social list in any frontier town is not without its puzzling features and Mr. Symes in this instance found it particularly difficult once he began to discriminate.
"I don't remember them," evaded Elfreda hastily. "Oh, there's Mr. Symes now! How are you, Mr. Symes? You didn't expect to see me here, did you?" "Well, well, if it ain't Miss Briggs," beamed the old man joyfully. His remembrance of J. Elfreda was decidedly pleasant. She had always paid him generously for the numerous errands he had run for her.
A tinge of acerbity was noticeable in the comments of those who were unaccustomed to the sensation of being excluded, among them Mrs. Abe Tutts, whose quick recognition of slights led one to believe she had received a great many of them. Mrs. Tutts, who was personally distasteful to Mr. Symes, went so far as to inquire belligerently of Mrs. Symes why she had not been invited.
Those poor girls they are orphans almost in a double sense. They are practically alone in the world. They are your cousins. You must have a very strong reason for saying what you have said that you are not glad." "I am not glad," repeated Fanny. Miss Symes was silent. She felt greatly disturbed.
The banker's hand stopped on its way to scratch a match on the window-sill. "French Canadian; signed himself 'Edouard Dubois. Name familiar?" The banker's face was a curious study as his mind went galloping back through the years. "You say he was murdered shot?" "Dead as a door nail." Symes was pleased to have found a topic interesting to the stranger.
SYMES THOMPSON: Another year's experience has confirmed and strengthened my conclusions as to the remarkable salubrity of the South African climate in cases of chest disease and of nerve wear, which I laid before the Royal Colonial Institute in November last.
"Murder case," explained Symes for conversational purposes as he and the banker stood at the front window in the office of the Terriberry House and watched a mad race between Lutz, the undertaker, and a plume which had blown off the hearse. "Yes?" "Pretty raw piece of work," continued Symes, while the banker searched in his case for a cigar.
"Think of it," he went on, "two hundred thousand acres that can be made to bloom like the rose. An earthly paradise of our own making." The flowery figures were borrowed from a railroad folder but Mr. Symes had grasped them with the avidity of true genius and made them his own. "And how?" The waiter starting away with a tray load of dishes stopped to learn.
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