Part 70 (1/2)

”Brachet and Wills are decent enough men, but where else would they have the power and the freedom they have at Holy Cross? Why, they live there like feudal barons.”

”Father Richmond could have done anything he chose.”

”Ah, Father Richmond--” The Colonel shut his mouth suddenly, turned about, and proceeded to crawl under his blankets, feet to the fire.

”Well?”

No answer.

”Well?” insisted the Boy.

”Oh, Father Richmond must have seen a ghost.”

”_What!_”

”Take my word for it. _He_ got frightened somehow. A man like Father Richmond has to be scared into a ca.s.sock.”

The Boy's sudden laughter deepened the Colonel's own impression that the instance chosen had not been fortunate. One man of courage knows another man of courage when he sees him, and the Colonel knew he had d.a.m.ned his own argument.

”Wouldn't care for the job myself,” the Boy was saying.

”What job?”

”Scarin' Father Richmond.”

The Boy sat watching the slow wet snow-flakes fall and die in the fire.

His clothes were pretty damp, but he was warm after a chilly fas.h.i.+on, as warmth goes on the trail.

The Colonel suddenly put his head out from under the marmot-skin to say discontentedly, ”What you sittin' up for?”

”Oh ... for instance!” But aside from the pertness of the answer, already it was dimly recognised as an offence for one to stay up longer than the other.

”Can't think how it is,” the Colonel growled, ”that you don't see that their principle is wrong. Through and through mediaeval, through and through despotic. They make a virtue of weakness, a fetich of vested authority. And it isn't American authority, either.”

The Boy waited for him to quiet down. ”What's the first rule,” demanded the Colonel, half sitting up, ”of the most powerful Catholic Order?

Blind obedience to an old gentleman over in Italy.”

”I said last night, you know,” the Boy put in quite meekly, ”that it all seemed very un-American.”

”Huh! Glad you can see that much.” The Colonel drove his huge fist at the provision-bag, as though to beat the stiffnecked beans into a feathery yielding. ”Blind submission don't come easy to most Americans.

The Great Republic was built upon revolt;” and he pulled the covers over his head.

”I know, I know. We jaw an awful lot about freedom and about what's American. There's plenty o' free speech in America and plenty o'

machinery, but there's a great deal o' human nature, too, I guess.” The Boy looked out of the corner of his eye at the blanketed back of his big friend. ”And maybe there'll always be some people who--who think there's something in the New Testament notion o' sacrifice and service.”

The Colonel rolled like an angry leviathan, and came to the surface to blow. But the Boy dashed on, with a fearful joy in his own temerity.

”The difference between us, Colonel, is that I'm an unbeliever, and I know it, and you're a cantankerous old heathen, and you _don't_ know it.” The Colonel sat suddenly bolt upright. ”Needn't look at me like that. You're as bad as anybody--rather worse. Why are you _here?_ Dazzled and lured by the great gold craze. An' you're not even poor.