He had even talked as far as the geraniums
in the window, through which he could not only see Jack's hotel,
but the big "earth fill" and mouth of The Beast beyond.
Then Bolton surprised everybody by appearing outdoors, his hand
alone in a sling. What was left of the poor shanty men, too, had
been buried, the dreadful newspaper articles had ceased, and work
was again in full blast.
Jack, to be sure, was still in his room, having swallowed more gas
and smoke than the others, badly scorching his insides, as he had
panted under the weight of MacFarlane's body. The crisis, however,
brought on by his imprudence in meeting Ruth at the station, had
passed, and even he was expected to be out in a few days.
As for Miss Felicia, although she had blown hot and blown cold on
Ruth's heart, until that delicate instrument stood at zero one day
and at fever heat the next, she had, on the whole, kept up an
equable temperature, and meant to do so until she shook the dust
of Corklesville from her dainty feet and went back to the clean,
moist bricks of her garden.
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