He lighted one of his long
cigars, put his feet on the rail, and began to smoke, squinting
thoughtfully, pondering deeply.
To all practical intents and purposes he was holding there on the porch
of "The Barracks" the next State convention of the Republican party. The
birds were busy about the old blockhouse opposite, coming and going. He
seemed to be studying their movements through his half-open eyes, as
though they were prospective delegates. And at last a grim smile of
satisfaction fixed itself upon his face.
His grandson found him in this amiable mood when he came with the losers
by the Jo Quacca fire. Each man submitted his list rather defiantly.
They sat down and scowled while Harlan told what he had discovered in
his investigation of the circumstances.
"I have not tried to beat them down," he concluded. "I even reminded
them of a few items they had overlooked. What happened yesterday was
enough to make almost any man forget things."
He was inclined to be a little defiant, toe fighting the battles of the
property owners, even though his own pocket must suffer by the
settlement.
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