[Lewis Rand by Mary Johnston]@TWC D-Link bookLewis Rand CHAPTER XVIII 32/40
The facts that he was quite simply and sincerely sorry for the postmaster's ailing wife, and that he had the yeoman's love for fresh and springing green instead of withered leaf and stalk, in no wise militated against that other fact that it was his cue to conciliate, as far as might be, the minds of men.
He almost never neglected his cue; when he did so, it was because uncontrollable passion had intervened. Now the postmaster, too, shook his head over the ruined garden, entered with particularity into the doctor's last report, and by the time that Rand, with a nod of farewell, left the room, had voted him into the Governor's chair, or any other seat of honour to which he might aspire. "Brains, brains!" thought Mr.Smock.
"And a plain man despite his fine marriage! If there were more like him, the country would be safer than it is to-day.
There is the horn!" The stage with its four horses and flapping leather hanging, its heated, red-coated driver and guard, and its dusty passengers swung into town with great cracking of a whip and blowing of a horn, drew up at the post-office just long enough to deliver a plethoric mail-bag, and then rolled on in a pillar of dust to the Eagle.
The crowd about the post-office increased, men gathering on the steps as well as upon the porch above and on the parched turf beneath the mulberries.
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