Burned Bridges by Bertrand W. Sinclair (bearly read books txt) 📕

Not Quite Understand What Had Become Of

This Sum. There Was Nothing But A Rat-Ridden Shack On A Half-Cleared

Acre In The Edge Of The Forest. There Had Never Been Anything Else.

Nothing Had Been Accomplished. Thompson Shook His Head Again. His First

Report Would Be A Shock To The Board Of Home Missions.

 

He Bore Straight For Sam Carr's House. While Still Some Distance Away He

Made Out Two Men Seated On The Porch. As He Drew Nearer A Couple Of

Nondescript Dogs Rushed Noisily To Meet Him. Thompson's General

Unfamiliarity With The Outdoor World Extended To Dogs. But He Had Heard

Sometime,  Somewhere,  That It Was Well To Put On A Bold Front With

Barking Curs. He Acted Upon This Theory,  And The Dogs Kept Their Teeth

Out Of His Person,  Though Their Clamor Rose Unabated Until One Of The

Men Harshly Commanded Them To Be Quiet. Thompson Came Up To The Steps.

The Two Men Nodded. Their Eyes Rested Upon Him In Frank Curiosity.

 

"My Name Is Thompson." His Diffidence,  Verging Upon Forthright

Embarrassment,  Precipitated Him Into Abruptness. He Was Addressing The

Older Man,  A Spare-Built Man With A Trim Gray Beard And A Disconcerting

Direct Gaze. "I Am A Newcomer To This Place. The Factor Of Fort Pachugan

Spoke Of A Mr. Carr Here. Have I--Er--The--Ah--Pleasure Of Addressing

Chapter 3 (In Which Mr. Thompson Begins To Wonder Painfully) Pg 25

That Gentleman?"

 

Carr's Gray Eyes Twinkled,  The Myriad Of Fine Creases Radiating From

Their Outer Corners Deepened.

 

"Macleod Mentioned Me,  Eh? Did He Intimate That Meeting Me Might Prove A

Doubtful Pleasure For A Gentleman Of Your Calling?"

 

That Momentarily Served To Heighten Mr. Thompson's Embarrassment--Like A

Flank Attack While He Was In The Act Of Waving A Flag Of Truce. But He

Perceived That There Was No Malice In The Words,  Only A Flash Of Ironic

Humor. Carr Chuckled Dryly.

 

"Meet Mr. Tommy Ashe,  Mr. Thompson," He Said. "Mr. Ashe Is,  Like

Yourself,  A Newcomer To Lone Moose. You May Be Able To Exchange Mutual

Curses On The Country. People Usually Do At First."

 

"I've Been Hereabouts Six Months," Ashe Smiled As He Rose To Shake

Hands. (Carr's Friendliness Seemed A Trifle Negative,  Reserved; He Had

Not Offered His Hand.)

 

"That Means Newly Come,  As Time Is Reckoned Here," Carr Remarked. "It

Takes At Least A Generation To Make One Permanent. Have A Seat,  Mr.

Thompson. What Do You Think,  So Far,  Of The Country You Have Selected

For The Scene Of Your Operations?"

 

The Slightly Ironic Inflection Was Not Lost Upon Thompson. It Nettled

Him A Little,  But It Was Too Intangible To Be Resented,  And In Any Case

He Had No Ready Defence Against That Sort Of Thing. He Took A Third

Chair Between The Two Of Them And Occupied Himself A Moment

Exterminating A Few Mosquitoes Which Had Followed Him From The Grassy

Floor Of The Meadow And Now Slyly Sought To Find Painful Lodgment Upon

His Face And Neck.

 

"To Tell The Truth," He Said At Last,  "Everything Is So Different From

My Expectations That I Find Myself A Bit Uncertain. One

Finds--Well--Certain Drawbacks."

 

"Material Or Spiritual?" Carr Inquired Gravely.

 

The Reverend Thompson Considered.

 

"Both," He Answered Briefly.

 

This Was The Most Candid Admission He Had Ever Permitted Himself. Carr

Laughed Quietly.

 

"Well," Said He,  "We Are A Primitive Folk In A Primitive Region. But I

Daresay You Hope To Accomplish A Vast Change For The Better In Us,  If

Not In The Country?"

 

Again There Was That Suggestion Of Mockery,  Veiled,  Scarcely

Perceptible,  A Matter Of Inflection. Mr. Thompson Found Himself Uttering

An Entirely Unpremeditated Reply.

 

"Which I Daresay You Doubt,  Mr. Carr. You Seem To Be Fully Aware Of My

Mission Here,  And Rather Dubious As To Its Merit."

 

Chapter 3 (In Which Mr. Thompson Begins To Wonder Painfully) Pg 26

Carr Smiled.

 

"News Travels Fast In A Country Where Even A Passing Stranger Is A

Notable Event," He Remarked. "Naturally One Draws Certain Conclusions

When One Hears That A Minister Has Arrived In One's Vicinity. As To My

Doubts--First And Last I've Seen Three Different Men Sent Here By Your

Board Of Home Missions. They Have Made No More Of An Impression Than A

Pebble Chucked Into The Lake. Your Board Of Missions Must Be A Visionary

Lot. They Should Come Here In A Body. This Country Would Destroy Some Of

Their Cherished Illusions."

 

"A Desire To Serve Is Not An Illusion," Thompson Said Defensively.

 

"One Would Have To Define Service Before One Could Dispute That," Carr

Returned Casually. "What I Mean Is That The People Who Send You Here

Have Not The Slightest Conception Of What They Send You To. When You Get

Here You Find Yourself Rather At Sea. Isn't It So?"

 

"In A Sense,  Yes," Thompson Reluctantls The Harlem Railroad

Station. There,  From One Side Started The Cars For Boston,  And From The

Other,  The Cars For Albany. Cars,  Not Trains,  For Horses Were The Motive

Power As Far As Thirty-Second Street. There Engines Were Attached In The

Open Street. Later,  The Horses Ran Through The Tunnel As Far As

Forty-Second Street Where The Grand Central Station Now Stands. In The

Square The Worth Monument Had Been Erected In 1857,  And On The East Side

Of The Park,  Then Enclosed By A High Railing,  Was The Brown Church Which

Dated From 1854. That Decade From 1860 To 1870 Was One Of Constant

Changes And Shiftings. The New England Soldier Who Marched Through The

Town On His Way To The Front In 1861 Rubbed His Eyes A Little When He

Passed Through It Again Homeward Bound After The Surrender Of Lee's Army

At Appomattox Court House Had Brought The War Of Secession To A Close.

The Last Vestige Of Knickerbocker Life Had Disappeared Forever.

 

It Had Been,  And Still Was,  An Era Of Extravagant Speculation. Mushroom

Fortunes Were Springing Up,  And Their Possessors,  As Socially Ambitious

As They Were Socially Inept,  Invaded Fifth Avenue Strong In The Belief

In The All-Conquering Power Of The Almighty Dollar. In Most Cases They

Did Not Last Long. But They Served A Purpose. They Erected The Splendid

Houses On The Avenue That A Few Years Later The Clubs Were To Occupy And

Enjoy. Of The Clubs That Were On The Avenue In 1868,  A Contemporary

Chronicler Wrote That Nearly Every One Recorded The Brief Life Of A New

York Aristocrat. "A Lucky Speculation,  A Sudden Rise In Real Estate," So

Runs The Rhetorical Statement,  "A New Turn Of The Wheel-Of-Fortune,

Lifts The Man Who Yesterday Could Not Be Trusted For His Dinner,  And

Gives Him A Place Among Men Of Wealth. He Buys A Lot On Fifth Avenue,

Puts Up A Palatial Residence,  Outdoing All Who Have Gone Before Him;

Sports His Gay Team In Central Park,  Carpets His Sidewalk,  Gives Two Or

Three Parties,  And Disappears From Society. His Family Return To The

Sphere From Which They Were Taken,  And The Mansion,  With Its Gorgeous

Furniture,  Becomes A Club-House." Perhaps This Picture Should Be

Regarded With A Certain Restraint. The Observer Was An Up-State

Minister,  Looking For The Excesses,  Wickednesses,  And Extravagances Of

The Great City. His Judgment May Have Been As Faulty As His Style.

 

But,  If Merely For The Sake Of Learning A Certain Point Of View,  It Is

Amusing To Turn Over Those Old Volumes Dealing With The Sunshine And

Chapter 3 (In Which Mr. Thompson Begins To Wonder Painfully) Pg 27

Shadow Of The City Of The Sixties. High Life And Moneyocracy,  We Are

Told,  Were Synonymous. To Use The Tennysonian Line,  "Every Door Was

Barred With Gold,  And Opened But To Golden Keys." "If You Wish Parties,

Soirees,  Balls,  That Are Elegant,  Attractive,  And Genteel (How They

Loved Those Dreadful Adjectives 'Elegant' And 'Genteel'!) You Will Not

Find Them Among The Snobbish Clique,  Who,  With Nothing But Money,

Attempt To Rule New York." The Words Are Of The Clerical Visitor Before

Quoted. "Talent,  Taste,  And Refinement Do Not Dwell With These. But High

Life Has No Passport Except Money. If A Man Has This,  Though Destitute

Of Character And Brains,  He Is Made Welcome. One May Come From Botany

Bay Or St. James; With A Ticket-Of-Leave From A Penal Colony Or St.

Cloud; If He Has Diamond Rings And A Coach,  All Places Will Be Open To

Him. The Leaders Of Upper New York Were,  A Few Years Ago,  Porters,

Stable Boys,  Coal-Heavers,  Pickers Of Rags,  Scrubbers Of Floors,  And

Laundry Women. Coarse,  Rude,  Uncivil,  And Immoral Many Of Them Still

Are. Lovers Of Pleasure And Men Of Fashion Bow And Cringe To Such,  And

Approach Hat In Hand. One Of Our New-Fledged Millionaires Gave A Ball In

His Stable. The Invited Came With Tokens Of Delight. The Host,  A Few

Years Ago,  Was A Ticket-Taker At One Of Our Ferries,  And Would Have

Thankfully Blacked The Boots Or Done Any Menial Service For The People

Who Clamour For The Honour Of His Hand. At The Gate Of Central Park,

Every Day Splendid Coaches May Be Seen,  In Which Sit Large,  Fat,  Coarse

W Him. It Had Nothing To Do With His Mental Processes. It Was

Purely An Instinctive Revelation. A Blind Man Whose Sight Has Been

Restored,  Upon Whose Eager Vision Bursts Suddenly All The Bright Beauty

Of Sun And Sky And Colorful Landscape,  Could Have Been No More

Bewildered Than He. It Was As If Indeed He Had Been Blind.

 

All The Women He Had Ever Known Seemed Pale And Colorless Beside This

Girl Standing Near,  Her Head A Little Aside As She Looked At Him. There

Was Not A Detail Of Her That Escaped Him,  That Failed To Make Its

Appeal,  From The Perfect Oval Of Her Face Down To The Small Feet In

Bead-Ornamented Moccasins. A Woman's Eyes,  Her Hair,  Her Hands,  Her

Bearing--These Things Had Never Obtruded Upon His Notice Before. Yet He

Saw Now That A Shaft Of Sunlight On Her Hair Made It Shimmer Like Ripe

Wheat Straw,  That Her Breast Was Full And Rounded,  Her Lips Red And

Sweetly Curved. But It Was Not Alone That Swift Revelation Of Seductive

Beauty,  Or Warm Human Desirableness,  That Stirred Him So Deeply,  That

Afflicted Him With Those Queer Uncomfortable Sensations. He Found

Himself Struggling With A Sense Of Guilt,  Of Shame. The World,  The

Flesh,  And The Devil Seemed Leagued Against His Peace Of Mind.

 

He Was Filled With An Incredulous Wonder As To What Manner Of Thing This

Was Which Had Blown Through The Inner Recesses Of His Being Like A Gusty

Wind Through An Open Door. He Had Grown To Manhood With Nothing But A

Cold,  Passionless Tolerance