He sat waiting for a windfall to restore his
past splendor of existence, which he sometimes indirectly admitted
meant cricket, a country home, horses and dogs, a whirl among the
right sort of people in London now and then. That sort of thing and
that sort of man was what Myra had fallen in love with. Hollister felt
a mild touch of contempt for them both.
His wife had also let her thoughts focus on the Blands.
"I wonder," she said, "if they are so very poor? Why don't you offer
Bland a job? Maybe he is too proud to ask."
Bland was not too proud to ask for certain things, it seemed. About a
week later he came to Hollister and in a most casual manner said, "I
say, old man, can you let me have a hundred dollars? My quarterly
funds are delayed a bit."
Hollister gave him the money without question. As he watched Bland
stride away through the light blanket of snow, and a little later
noticed him disappear among the thickets and stumps going towards the
Carr camp, where supplies were sold as a matter of accommodation
rather than for profit, Hollister reflected that there was a mild sort
of irony in the transaction.
Pages:
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260