"
In a few moments he was back at the club again before any one knew he
had even left the building. As he again re-entered the smoking-room he
found the members still in eager discussion about the new railroad. One
was saying, "If they could get an extension, and carry the road through
Heavy Tree Hill to Boomville they'd be all right."
"I quite agree with you," said Stacy.
CHAPTER III.
The swaying, creaking, Boomville coach had at last reached the level
ridge, and sank forward upon its springs with a sigh of relief and the
slow precipitation of the red dust which had hung in clouds around
it. The whole coach, inside and out, was covered with this impalpable
powder; it had poured into the windows that gaped widely in the
insufferable heat; it lay thick upon the novel read by the passenger who
had for the third or fourth time during the ascent made a gutter of
the half-opened book and blown the dust away in a single puff, like the
smoke from a pistol. It lay in folds and creases over the yellow silk
duster of the handsome woman on the back seat, and when she endeavored
to shake it off enveloped her in a reddish nimbus. It grimed the
handkerchiefs of others, and left sanguinary streaks on their mopped
foreheads. But as the coach had slowly climbed the summit the sun
was also sinking behind the Black Spur Range, and with its ultimate
disappearance a delicious coolness spread itself like a wave across the
ridge.
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