But it was the gap where Hale was
that died last and hardest--and of the brave spirits there, his
was the last and hardest to die.
In the autumn, while June was in New York, the signs were sure but
every soul refused to see them. Slowly, however, the vexed
question of labour and capital was born again, for slowly each
local capitalist went slowly back to his own trade: the blacksmith
to his forge, but the carpenter not to his plane nor the mason to
his brick--there was no more building going on. The engineer took
up his transit, the preacher-politician was oftener in his pulpit,
and the singing teacher started on his round of raucous do-mi-sol-
dos through the mountains again. It was curious to see how each
man slowly, reluctantly and perforce sank back again to his old
occupation--and the town, with the luxuries of electricity, water-
works, bath-tubs and a street railway, was having a hard fight for
the plain necessities of life. The following spring, notes for the
second payment on the lots that had been bought at the great land
sale fell due, and but very few were paid. As no suits were
brought by the company, however, hope did not quite die.
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