All the people in the train were awakening, and were gathering their
baggage sleepily about them. But the stranger, who drank from the
silver cup, seemed not to have been asleep at all. He still sat rigidly
erect, and his melancholy look had not abated. His valise lay on the
seat beside him. Harry noticed that it was large and strong, with metal
clasps at the corners.
The engine was whistling already for Nashville, and Harry threw his
saddle bags over his arm. He was fully awake now, alert and eager.
This town of Nashville was full of promise. It had been the home of
the great Andrew Jackson, and it was one of the important cities of the
South, where cities were measured by influence rather than population,
because all, except New Orleans, were small.
As the train slowed down, Harry arose and stood in the aisle. The
stranger also stood up, and Harry noticed that his bearing was military.
He looked around, his eyes met Harry's--perhaps he had been observing
him in the night--and he smiled. It was a rare, illuminating smile that
made him wonderfully attractive, and Harry smiled back. He did not know
it, but he was growing lonely, with the loneliness of youth, and he
wanted a friend.
Pages:
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66