David laughed peculiarly.``He's infernally uncomfortably right in most of the things he charges and proposes.I don't like to think about it.'' He shut his teeth together.``I WON'T think about it,'' he muttered.
``No--you'd better stick to your own road, Davy,'' said Jane with irritating mockery.``You were born to be thoroughly conventional and respectable.As a reformer you're ideal.As a--an imitator of Victor Dorn, you'd be a joke.''
``There's one of his men now,'' exclaimed Hull, leaning forward excitedly.
Jane looked.A working man, a commonplace enough object, was standing under the corner street lamp, the water running off his hat, his shoulders, his coat tail.His package of dodgers was carefully shielded by an oilcloth from the wet which had full swing at the man.To every passer-by he presented a dodger, accompanying the polite gesture with some phrase which seemed to move the man or woman to take what was offered and to put it away instead of dropping it.
Jane sank back in the carriage, disappointed.``Is that all?''
said she disdainfully.
``ALL?'' cried Hull.``Use your imagination, Jen.But Iforgot--you're a woman.They see only surfaces.''
``And are snared into marrying by complexions and pretty features and dresses and silly flirting tricks,'' retorted the girl sarcastically.
Hull laughed.``I spoke too quick that time,'' said he.``Isuppose you expected to see something out of a fifteenth century Italian old master! Well--it was there, all right.''
Jane shrugged her shoulders.``And your Victor Dorn,'' said she, ``no doubt he's seated in some dry, comfortable place enjoying the thought of his men making fools of themselves for him.''
They were drawing up to the curb before the Opera House where were the assembly rooms.``There he is now,'' cried Hull.
Jane, startled, leaned eagerly forward.In the rain beyond the edge of the awning stood a dripping figure not unlike that other which had so disappointed her.Underneath the brim of the hat she could see a smooth- shaven youngish face--almost boyish.But the rain streaming from the brim made satisfactory scrutiny impossible.
Jane again sank back.``How many carriages before us?'' she said.
``You're disappointed in him, too, I suppose,'' said Hull.``Iknew you would be.''
``I thought he was tall,'' said Jane.
``Only middling,'' replied Hull, curiously delighted.
``I thought he was serious,'' said Jane.
``On the contrary, he's always laughing.He's the best natured man I know.''
As they descended and started along the carpet under the middle of the awning, Jane halted.She glanced toward the dripping figure whom the police would not permit under the shelter.Said she: ``I want one of those papers.''
Davy moved toward the drenched distributor of strike literature.
``Give me one, Dorn,'' he said in his most elegant manner.
``Sure, Davy,'' said Dorn in a tone that was a subtle commentary on Hull's aristocratic tone and manner.As he spoke he glanced at Jane; she was looking at him.Both smiled--at Davy's expense.
Davy and Jane passed on in, Jane folding the dodger to tuck it away for future reading.She said to him: ``But you didn't tell me about his eyes.''
``What's the matter with them?''
``Everything,'' replied she--and said no more.
