nose, however, became a livid, sickly white, and his thin lips were pressed somewhat more closely together, causing his mouth to resemble a straight, colorless scar. His face was that of a most dangerous man who would strike at an enemy's back in the dark.
There were other paragraphs that Hutchinson read without skipping a line:
Oh, by the way, old fellow, I have met the most charming
girl it has ever been my good luck to run across. I'm not
going to try to describe her, because I simply lack command
of language to do so, and by this confession alone you can
see that she has me going some.
Her name is Janet Harting, and she is the daughter of a hard-shell parson whose pet aversion is baseball—a man who, according to report, believes all baseball players must be either children, fools, or ruffians.
Janet, however, has attended boarding school, and she's a thoroughbred fan, though her father raises such a rumpus about it that she doesn't get out to many games.
Benton King, son of the man who has metamorphosed Kingsbridge from a four-corners settlement into a hustling, rip-roaring young city-to-be, is mightily interested in Miss Janet. Judging by appearances, she is not exactly averse to his attentions, which, considering his prospects and the fact that he seems to have anything around here in the eligible-young-man line left at the post, is no source for wonderment.
Sometimes I think I'd like to see if I couldn't give him a run for his money, but—well, you know how I'm situated, and—what's the use!
"Not a bit of use, young man—not a bit," muttered
Bob Hutchinson. "When I get through
