They hardly saw the evening train when it came in. Like devotees before
a shrine they gazed with something like worship in their eyes at the old
pickle factory, and when by chance Hugh came among them, unconscious of
the sensation he was creating, they became embarrassed as he was always
embarrassed by their presence. Every one dreamed of becoming suddenly rich
by the power of the man's mind. They thought of him as thinking always
great thoughts. To be sure, Steve Hunter might be more than half bluff and
blow and pretense, but there was no bluff and blow about Hugh. He didn't
waste his time in words. He thought, and out of his thought sprang almost
unbelievable wonders.
In every part of the town of Bidwell, the new impulse toward progress was
felt. Old men, who had become settled in their ways and who had begun to
pass their days in a sort of sleepy submission to the idea of the gradual
passing away of their lives, awoke and went into Main Street in the
evening to argue with skeptical farmers. Beside Ed Hall, who had become a
Demosthenes on the subject of progress and the duty of the town to awake
and stick to Steve Hunter and the machine, a dozen other men held forth on
the street corners. Oratorical ability awoke in the most unexpected places.
Rumors flew from lip to lip. It was said that within a year Bidwell was to
have a brick factory covering acres of ground, that there would be paved
streets and electric lights.
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