Mary took
the pencil and pad which he offered--and she took them meekly. Until
this moment she had always been astonished by the reports which
filtered through to Dunsterville of his success in the big city. Of
course, nobody had ever doubted his perseverance; but it takes
something more than perseverance to fight New York fairly and squarely,
and win. And Joe had that something. He had force. He was sure of
himself.
'Read it please,' he said, when he had finished dictating. 'Yes, that's
all right. You'll do.'
For a moment Mary was on the point of refusing. A mad desire gripped
her to assert herself, to make plain her resentment at this revolt of
the serf. Then she thought of those scuttling, clucking crowds, and her
heart failed her.
'Thank you,' she said, in a small voice.
As she spoke the door opened.
'Well, well, well!' said Joe. 'Here we all are! Come in, Eddy. Mary
has just been showing me what she can do.'
If time had done much for Joe, it had done more for his fellow-emigrant,
Eddy Moore. He had always been good-looking and--according to local
standards--presentable. Tall, slim, with dark eyes that made you catch
your breath when they looked into yours, and a ready flow of speech,
he had been Dunsterville's prize exhibit. And here he was with all his
excellence heightened and accentuated by the polish of the city.
Pages:
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299