very name of Landis was a charm of power in The Corner.

"You want to see him?" he queried in amazement. "You?"

He looked Donnegan over again, and then grinned broadly, as if in
anticipation. "Well, go ahead. There he sits--no, he's dancing."

The music was in full swing; it was chiefly brass; but now and then, in
softer moments, one could hear a violin squeaking uncertainly. At least
it went along with a marked, regular rhythm, and the dancers swirled
industriously around the floor. A very gay crowd; color was apparently
appreciated in The Corner. And Donnegan, standing modestly out of sight
behind a pillar until the dance ended, noted twenty phases of life in
twenty faces. And Donnegan saw the flushes of liquor, and heard the loud
voices of happy fellows who had made their "strikes"; but in all that
brilliant crew he had no trouble in picking out Jack Landis and Nelly
Lebrun.

They danced together, and where they passed, the others steered a little
off so as to give them room on the dance floor, as if the men feared
that they might cross the formidable Landis, and as if the women feared
to be brought into too close comparison with Nelly Lebrun. She was,
indeed, a brilliant figure. She had eyes of the Creole duskiness, a
delicate olive skin, with a pastel coloring. The hand on the shoulder of
Landis was a thing of fairy beauty. And her eyes had that peculiar
quality of seeming to see everything, and rest on every face
particularly. So that, as she whirled toward Donnegan, he winced,
feeling that she had found him out among the shadows.

She had a glorious partner to set her off. And Donnegan saw bitterly
why Lou Macon could love him. Height without clumsiness, bulk and a
light foot at once, a fine head, well poised, blond hair and a Grecian
profile--such was Jack Landis. He wore a vest of fawn skin; his boots
were black in the foot and finished with the softest red leather for the
leg. And he had yellow buckskin trousers, laced in a Mexican fashion
with silver at the sides; a narrow belt, a long, red silk handkerchief
flying from behind his neck in cowboy fashion. So much flashing
splendor, even in that gay assembly, would have been childishly
conspicuous on another man. But in big Jack Landis there was patently a
great deal of the unaffected child. He was having a glorious time on
this evening, and his eye roved the room challenging admiration in a
manner that was amusing rather than offensive. He was so overfl