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"Well?" came Manson's deep voice. Fine beads of sweat appeared on the dusky forehead. A sinewy hand crept toward the sack, but just as he touched it there arose within him something very old and vibrant and compelling. Slowly he yielded to it. He saw Clark's gray eyes and heard his magnetic voice.
The enemy were encamped but a few miles away, and that most dastardly part of warfare, the firing upon pickets from ambush, was of nightly occurrence. Manson's beat that night was over a low hill covered with scrub oak, and across part of a narrow valley, through which wound a small, marsh-bordered stream.
Sport of a low consuming passion, thought Richard, what matter whether she came of God or devil or nothing at all! Redemption, salvation from an evil self, had as yet no greater part in Richard's theories than in Mrs. Manson's thoughts. The sole good, the sole satisfaction in life the woman knew, was to eat and drink, if not what she pleased, at least what she liked.
Manson's great voice bellowed unspeakable things in the lust of combat, his dark visage distorted, his mighty body gathered into a great, human battering ram. Presently the constable too went down with a shattered arm, and the line of police shortened and curved.
Manson was in the rear, decapitating daisies with his heavy oak stick. A few minutes later Clark looked up and saw the chief constable's bulk filling the doorway. He waited placidly. "Did you mean just what you said about that land?" Manson's voice sounded a little sheepish, "because I've got a bit saved up, and " "Mr.
"Meaning that, " a new light flickered in Manson's black eyes for a fraction of a second and disappeared. "Meaning that during the transformation of a village into a city a number of interesting changes take place." "Maybe, but such things can't affect me very much." "Well, possibly not, but I've an idea they will. I'm afraid we can't let St. Marys alone, Mr.
"Find it pretty quiet?" went on Stoughton. "Yes, but that's what I like." "Then you don't entirely approve of our plans up at the rapids? At least, so Mr. Clark tells me." Manson's glance lifted and went straight into Clark's gray eyes. "No, I don't believe in them, if," he added, "I can say so without offense." Riggs stripped off his heavy fur coat, and turned his back to the stove.
He had been before in drawing-rooms hung with red damask, with pictures "of the Italian school"; what struck him was the way in which Medora Manson's shabby hired house, with its blighted background of pampas grass and Rogers statuettes, had, by a turn of the hand, and the skilful use of a few properties, been transformed into something intimate, "foreign," subtly suggestive of old romantic scenes and sentiments.
There were empty houses in the new streets, and the property which once passed through Manson's hands could have been re-bought at the original price. Filmer and the rest reduced their stock, while the whole overbuilt, overgrown town settled down to wait till, after a weary interval, Clark got off the train with two strangers and drove up to the big house on the hill.
When the exercises were over the principal made a brief but feeling address which raised him several degrees in Manson's estimation, and that was the end. Most of the pupils lingered, loth to utter the last farewells, but finally they were spoken, and with many moist eyes among that gathering of young friends they separated. Some of them never met in life again.
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