"No," he said, "my last name is Durand." He gave it the French pronunciation.
"In the smokehouse," cried Miss Harper from her knees beside the prostrate Federal officer; "go bring them!--Richard, Charlotte is calling you!"
He knelt down and searched hastily among the clothes. There was a lump moving about very slightly, in the region of the waistcoat, a lump that was strangely soft to the touch. Then he felt the hard surface of the clock. Before he could remove the mass of clothing there broke upon the stillness a strange little cry, to the Doctor curiously familiar. It was the wail of an infant, long-drawn and pitiful.
"But it is no disguise. My wife's companion was a Spanish blonde."
The woman's eyes flashed again. All this was taking time. Balmayne would wonder what had happened to her. From the bottom of her heart she was praying that he might come up and see. Not that there was much real hope of that--physical courage was not one of Louis Balmayne's strong points.
Good fitting is often not so much a question of skill as of the standard which a workman has fixed in his mind, and to which all that he does will more or less conform. If this standard is one of exactness and precision, all that is performed, whether it be filing, turning, planing, or drawing, will come to this standard. This faculty of mind can be defined no further than to say that it is an aversion to whatever is imperfect, and a love for what [171] is exact and precise. There is no faculty which has so much to do with success in mechanical pursuits, nor is there any trait more susceptible of cultivation. Methodical exactness, reasoning, and persistence are the powers which lead to proficiency in engineering pursuits.
"But that will mean death for yourself."
A little way off, in the burning sandy plain, is a pagoda sacred to the pigeons. Lying as close as tiles, in the sun, they hide the roof under their snowy plumage. Round pots are hung all about the building, swaying in the wind, for the birds to nest in, a red decoration against the russet stone; each one contains an amorous and cooing pair.
Silhouetted against the northern blue of the sky, with a tiny white circle showing sharply in the sunlight, the leaping person fell clear of the diving seaplane, while Larry, shaking with excitement, tried to focus his glasses and train them on the falling object.
"The gods sell their gifts," he said.
"No, you can't, I tell you. Turn 'em loose this minute, and give 'em back their things, and go yourselves to your car. We're goin' to start now. Here," he continued to the two men, "is a dollar. Take your pies and dig out. Don't attempt to sell any o' them pies to these boys, or I'll hang you myself, and there won't be no foolishness about it. Git back to your car, boys."
Reuben Backfield scowled. His thick black brows scowled easily, but the expression of his face was open and cheerful, would have been kindly even, were it not for a certain ruthlessness of the lips. There was more character in his face than is usual with a boy of fifteen—otherwise he looked younger than his age, for though tall and well-knit, his limbs had all the graceful immaturity and supple clumsiness one sees in the limbs of calves and foals.
Tilly opened her mouth to say something, but was wise, and held her tongue.
