But the words
wine, and sparkle, and sting, and glow, and snap do not seem to cover
it. Emma McChesney stood on the bottom step, looking up and down Main
Street and breathing in great draughts of that unadjectivable air. Her
complexion stood the test of the merciless, astringent morning and
came up triumphantly and healthily firm and pink and smooth. The town
was still asleep. She started to walk briskly down the bare and ugly
Main Street of the little town. In her big, generous heart, and her
keen, alert mind, there were many sensations and myriad thoughts, but
varied and diverse as they were they all led back to the boy up there
in the stuffy, over-crowded hotel room--the boy who was learning his
lesson.
Half an hour later she reentered the hotel, her cheeks glowing. Jock
was not yet down. So she ordered and ate her wise and cautious
breakfast of fruit and cereal and toast and coffee, skimming over her
morning paper as she ate. At 7:30 she was back in the lobby, newspaper
in hand. The Bisons were already astir.
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