The downpour was followed by weeks of unseasonably dry and warm weather. The porous earth of the warren was dry within a few hours. The lair bed proved as comfortable for the new baby as it was to have been to his luckless predecessors.
“Well, there is Dr. Tosswill, a minor official connected with the British Museum; Mr. Schneider of the Metropolitan Museum in New York; a young American secretary; Dr. Ames, who accompanies the expedition in his professional capacity; and Hassan, my husband’s devoted native servant.”
The buying of horses is done by the Quartermaster’s Department of the army, the number of horses bought at any one time depending on the needs of the service at that time. This number may vary from one to two to hundreds and even thousands. Bids are advertised for, giving the number of horses required, and the date on which they are to be delivered to the government. Then contractors or dealers in horses put in their bids at the prices at which they will furnish the required number of horses. The bids are opened on a certain date, and the lowest bidder is given the contract. Soon after the contract is awarded, a Board of Officers is appointed to inspect and buy the horses that the contractor brings before the Board, providing, of course, that the horses fulfill the specifications of the contract.
“I adore them,” she said with a little catch in her voice.
One thing that impressed me in all that I saw was the secondary and almost menial part the women took in the work. They worked directly under an overseer who directed all their movements—directed them, apparently, with a sharp switch which he carried in his hand. There was no laughter or singing and apparently little freedom among the women, who moved slowly, silently, with the weary and monotonous precision in their work I have frequently noted in gang labour. They had little if any share in the kind of pleasurable excitement which helped to lighten the work of the men.
It has always been the chief hindrance to a more rapid advance in botany, that the majority of writers simply collected facts, or if they attempted to apply them to theoretical purposes, did so very imperfectly. I have therefore singled out those men as the true heroes of our story who not only established new facts, but gave birth to fruitful thoughts and made a speculative use of empirical material. From this point of view I have taken ideas only incidentally thrown out for nothing more than they were originally; for scientific merit belongs only to the man who clearly recognises the theoretical importance of an idea, and endeavours to make use of it for the promotion of his science. For this reason I ascribe little value, for instance, to certain utterances of earlier writers, whom it is the fashion at present to put forward as the first founders of the theory of descent; for it is an indubitable fact that the theory of descent had no scientific value before the appearance of Darwin’s book in 1859, and that it was Darwin who gave it that value. Here, as in other cases, it appears to me only true and just to abstain from assigning to earlier writers merits to which probably, if they were alive, they would themselves lay no claim.
No story of these years can ever be true that does not pass under a shadow. Of the little group of youths and men who have figured in this story thus far, there was scarcely one who was not either killed outright or crippled or in some way injured in the Great War??excepting only Huntley. Huntley developed a deepening conscience against warfare as the war went on, and suffered nothing worse than some unpleasant half-hours with Tribunals and the fatigues of agricultural labour. Death, which had first come to Joan as a tragic end to certain ??kittays,?? was now the familiar associate of her every friend. Her confidence in the safety of the world, in the wisdom of human laws and institutions, in the worth and dignity of empires and monarchs, and the collective sanity of mankind was withdrawn as a veil is withdrawn, from the harsh realities of life.
Marian started on her return drive in a pleasant frame of mind, but the glow of satisfaction had passed away long before she reached home, and had been succeeded by very different feelings. She no longer cared what the neighbouring people might say about her; she had quite got over that, and was pondering, with gradually increasing fury, over the manner in which Walter Joyce had received her proposition, and the light and airy scorn, never for one moment striven to be concealed, with which he had tossed it aside. She bit her lip in anger and vexation as she thought of her tremendous folly in so speedily unfolding her plan without previously making herself acquainted with Joyce's views, and seeing how he was likely to receive the suggestion; she was furious with herself as she recalled his light laugh and easy bearing, so different from anything she had previously seen in him, and--by the way, that was odd; she had not noticed it before, but undoubtedly he was very much improved in appearance and manner; he had lost the rustic awkwardness and bashfulness which had previously rendered him somewhat ungainly, and had acquired confidence and ease. She had heard this before; her husband had mentioned it to her as having been told him by Mr. Teesdale, who kept the keenest outlook on Joyce and his doings, and who regarded him as a very dangerous opponent; she had heard this before, but she had paid but little attention to it, not thinking that she should so soon have an opportunity of personally verifying the assertion. She acknowledged it now; saw that it was exactly the manner which would prove wonderfully winning among the electors, who were neither to be awed by distant demeanour nor to be cajoled by excessive familiarity. In Walter Joyce's pleasant bearing and cheery way there was a something which seemed to say, "I am of you, and understand you, although I may have had, perhaps, a few more brains and a little better education;" and there was nothing that more quickly got to the hearts of the Brocksoppians than the feeling that they were about to elect one of themselves. This was a chord which Mr. Creswell could never touch, although he had every claim to do so, and although Mr. Gould had had thousands of a little pamphlet struck off and circulated among the voters--a little pamphlet supposed to be Mr. Creswell's biography, adorned with woodcuts borrowed from some previous publication, the first of which represented Mr. Creswell as a cabin-boy, about to receive the punishment of the "colt" from the mate--he had scarcely been on board ship during his life--while the last showed him, and Mrs. Creswell, with short waist, long train, and high ostrich feathers in her head (supposed to have been originally the vera effigies of some lady mayoress in George the Third's, time), receiving the cream of the aristocracy in a gilded saloon. But the people declined to believe in the biography, which, indeed, did rather more harm than good, and cast doubt on the real history of Mr. Creswell's self-manufacture, than which, in its way, nothing could be more creditable.
"Dis heah way went on fer a while, an' mout er gone on twell now, but all de po' white trash dat Marse Page had intrusted wid de mortgage on de Shelter 'speck him ter pay de money back, an' co'se Marse Page didn't have it; ef he had had it, he wouldn' er borried de money nohow. An', ef you will b'lieve dis nigger, dem low-down white folks make Marse Page pay all he debts fur ez he could, an' de place wuz sol', an' de black folks went off, an' Marse Page an' Miss Letty had ter go an'
"Angus McDonald!" I cried, "if we weren't in the open street I'd thrash you within an inch of your life!"详情 ➢
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