, say! Through sickness and health, for better or for
worse, till death do us part--if that will satisfy you." He put his big
paw over and grabbed Grant's steel hook and jerked him to his feet.
"You've sure sold Kenyon into bondage. When I saw him last night--honest
to God, man--I thought I'd run into a picture roaming around out of
stock without a frame! Him and me together can do Ariel and Prospero
without a scratch of make-up." Grant beamed, but when Brotherton
exclaimed as an afterthought, "Say, man, what about that boy's eyes?"
Grant's features mantled and the old grim look overcast his face, as
Brotherton went on: "Why, them eyes would make a madonna's look like
fried eggs! Where did he get 'em--they're not Sands and they're not
Adams. He must take back to some Peri that blew into Massachusetts from
an enchanted isle." Brotherton saw that he was annoying Grant in some
way. Often he realized that his language was not producing the desired
effect; so he veered about and said gently, "You're not in any danger,
Grant; but so long as I'm wearing clothes that button up the
front--don't worry about Kenyon, I'll look after him."

Five minutes later, Grant was standing in the front door of Brotherton's
store, gazing into Market Street. He saw Daniel Sands and Kyle Perry and
Tom Van Dorn walking out of one store and into the next. He saw John
Kollander in a new blue soldier uniform stalking through the street. He
saw the merchants gathering in small, volatile groups that kept forming
and re-forming, and he knew that Mr. Brotherton's classic language was
approximately correct when he said there was a hen on. Grant eyed the
crowd that was hurrying past him to the meeting like a hungry hound
watching a drove of chickens. Finally, when Grant saw that the last
straggler was in the hall, he turned and stalked heavily to the
Commercial Club rooms, yet he moved with the self-consciousness of one
urged by a great purpose. His head was bent in reflection. His hand held
his claw behind him, and his shoulders stooped. He knew his goal, but
the way was hard and uncertain, and he realized the peril of a strategic
misstep at the outset. Heavily he mounted the steps to the hall,
entered, and took a seat in the rear. He sat with his head bowed and his
gaze on the floor. He was aware that Judge Van Dorn was speaking; but
what the Judge was saying did not interest Grant. His mind seemed aloof
from the proceedings. Suddenly what he had prepared