Part 14 (1/2)

Mrs. Thornton had dropped back on the couch and her face was turned away from the others, but she stretched out her hand to her husband.

”I am not asking very much, Robert, dear--am I?” she said. ”Not very much. Won't you do this for me?”

Thornton bit his lips and scowled at the Flopper.

”Well, I'll be d.a.m.ned!” he muttered--and moving to the side of the car pushed a bell-b.u.t.ton viciously. ”Sam,” he snapped, as his colored man appeared, ”go and tell the conductor that I want my car put off on the siding at Needley.”

”Yes, sah,” said Sam.

Thornton sat down again heavily.

”Mabbe,” announced the Flopper tactfully, ”mabbe I'd better be gettin'

back to me valise--we're most dere, ain't we?”

Mrs. Thornton turned toward him.

”No; please don't go, Mr. Coogan--it's too hard for you to get through the train. Sam will get your things as soon as he comes back. Do stay right where you are until we get to Needley.”

”No; don't think of going, Mr. Coogan,” said Thornton savagely.

The Flopper looked at Mrs. Thornton gratefully, and at Mr. Thornton thoughtfully.

”T'anks!” said the Flopper pleasantly--and wriggled himself into a more comfortable position in his chair.

Half an hour later, the train, that stopped only on signal to discharge eastbound pa.s.sengers from Portland, drew up at Needley--and Hiram Higgins, on the platform, stared at a scene never before witnessed in the history of the town.

It was not one pa.s.senger, or two, or three, that alighted--they streamed in a bewildering fas.h.i.+on from every vestibule of every car. It is true that the majority got back into the train later, but that did not lessen the effect any on Mr. Higgins. Mr. Higgins' jaw dropped, and he grabbed at his chin whiskers for support.

”Merciful daylights!” he breathed heavily. ”Now what in the land's sakes be it all about?” His eyes, following the hurrying pa.s.sengers, fixed on the twisted shape of the Flopper, being helped to the platform from the private car.

”Three cheers for Coogan!” yelled some excitable pa.s.senger.

The cheers were given with a will.

”Good luck to you, Coogan!” shouted another--and the crowd took it up in chorus: ”Good luck to you, Coogan!”

”_Coogan!_”--Mr. Higgins' face paled, and he took a firmer grip on his whiskers. ”Now if you ain't gone an' put your fool foot in it, Hiram Higgins,” he said miserably. ”If that there's the fellow that you writ to, you've just laid out to make a plumb fool of the Patriarch, 'cause I reckon the Almighty knew His own mind when He made a critter like that, an' didn't calc'late to have His work upsot much this side of the grave--not even by the Patriarch.”

--IX--

THE PILGRIMAGE

Faith is an inheritance common to the human race; and the human race in its daily life, in its daily dealings, man to man, could not go on without it--but faith is a matter of degree. Faith, in the abstract, the element of it, is inborn in every soul; and while dormant, until put to a crucial test along any given line, is boundless and unlimited--a sort of tacitly accepted, existing state, unquestioned. Faith in many is a st.u.r.dy, virile thing--to a certain point. It is the fire that proves.

Needley had faith in the Patriarch--a faith that never before had been questioned. But Needley had more than that--Needley held the Patriarch in affection, as a cherished thing, almost sacredly, almost as an idol.

Faith the simple people of Needley had always had--to a certain point--but it faltered before this grotesque, inhuman, twisted shape that squatted in the road before the Congress Hotel like a hideous caricature of an abnormal toad. Their faith failed to bridge the span that gave the Patriarch power over such as this, and they saw their idol shattered in their own eyes, and held up to mockery before the eyes of these strangers who had so suddenly and tempestuously swarmed upon them.

Hiram Higgins, seeking out Doc Madison inside the hotel, was in a state bordering on distraction.