But it strikes me there's a nigger in the woodpile somewhere, as you Yankees say. Wild in my presence! He's the right-hand of the community! We could do nothing without him!" "We!" repeated Wood, significantly. " "Ay, but he will. "Thanks. "We never suffer him to mention Mr. Little by little the pool cleared, the whims vanished: so that both Ruth and the doctor, by the middle of the third week, began to accept Spurlock's actions as normal, whereas there was still a mote or two which declined to settle, still a kink in the gray matter that refused to straighten out. “Don’t befool me any more,” he answered, almost roughly. " "Rather behind me;" and he spoke no more that morning. Vanity was a vice not just to be deprecated, but effectively strangled at birth. The real tragedy—which he sensed and toward which he was always reaching—eluded all his verbal skill. There it is. He did his best not to grin.
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