"Are you planning to buy or build up our way, Mr. McVey?" she asked. He
shook his head. "I'm looking around," he said and hurried away.
Anger took the place of perplexity in him. The women he saw in the streets
and in the doors of the houses were such women as his own woman Clara. They
had married men--"no better than myself," he told himself, growing bold.
They had married men and something had happened to them. Something was
settled. They could live in streets and in houses. Their marriages had been
real marriages and he had a right to a real marriage. It was not too much
to expect out of life.
"Clara has a right to that also," he thought and his mind began to idealize
the marriages of men and women. "On every hand here I see them, the neat,
well-dressed, handsome women like Clara. How happy they are!
"Their feathers have been ruffled though," he thought angrily. "It was with
them as with that bird I saw being pursued through the trees. There has
been pursuit and a pretense of trying to escape. There has been an effort
made that was not an effort, but feathers have been ruffled here."
When his thoughts had driven him into a half desperate mood Hugh went
out of the streets of bright, ugly, freshly built, freshly painted and
furnished houses, and down into the town. Several men homeward bound at the
end of their day of work called to him. "I hope you are thinking of buying
or building up our way," they said heartily.
Pages:
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354