rs,
his friends, men with whom he had been upon the closest terms of
association. In a way they represented what now had come to be his
world. His single swift glance took in the men, one after another.
Annixter, rugged, crude, sitting awkwardly and uncomfortably in his
chair, his unhandsome face, with its outthrust lower lip and deeply
cleft masculine chin, flushed and eager, his yellow hair disordered,
the one tuft on the crown standing stiffly forth like the feather in an
Indian's scalp lock; Broderson, vaguely combing at his long beard with a
persistent maniacal gesture, distressed, troubled and uneasy; Osterman,
with his comedy face, the face of a music-hall singer, his head bald
and set off by his great red ears, leaning back in his place, softly
cracking the knuckle of a forefinger, and, last of all and close to his
elbow, his son, his support, his confidant and companion, Harran, so
like himself, with his own erect, fine carriage, his thin, beak-like
nose and his blond hair, with its tendency to curl in a forward
direction in front of the ears, young, strong, courageous, full of the
promise of the future years. His blue eyes looked straight into his
father's with what Magnus could fancy a glance of appeal. Magnus could
see that expression in the faces of the others very plainly. They looked
to him as their natural leader, their chief who was to bring them out
from this abominable trouble which was closing in upon them, and in them
all he saw many types. They--these men around his table on that night
of the first rain of a coming season--seemed to stand in his imagination
for many others--all the farmers, ranchers, and wheat growers of the
great San Joaquin. Their words were the words of a whole community;
their distress, the distress of an entire State, harried beyond the
bounds of endurance, driven to the wall, coerced, exploited, harassed to
the limits of exasperation. "I will think of it," he said, then hastened
to add, "but I can tell you beforehand that you may expect only a
refusal."

After Magnus had spoken, there was a prolonged silence. The conference
seemed of itself to have come to an end for that evening. Presley
lighted another cigarette from the butt of the one he had been smoking,
and the cat, Princess Nathalie, disturbed by his movement and by a whiff
of drifting smoke, jumped from his knee to the floor and picking her way
across the room to Annixter, rubbed gently against his legs, her tail
in