Soon it was a club--then a big club; it kept men out of saloons,
which Johnny was glad of, but had not planned. A small kindliness
seems often to be watered and fertilized by magic. Johnny's
music-club grew to be a spell to quiet wild beasts. Yet Terence
O'Hara and his gang had a strong hold; there was storm in the air
and the distant thunder was heard almost continually.
Johnny, as he swung up the main street of the flat little town,
the brick school-house and the two churches at one end, many
saloons en route, and the gray rock dump and the chimneys and
shaft-towers of the mine at the other, carried a ribbon of
brightness through the sordid place. Women came to the doors to
smile at the handsome young gentleman who took his hat off as if
they were ladies; children ran by his side, and he knocked their
caps over their eyes and talked nonsense to them, and swung on
whistling. But at night, alone in his room, he was serious.
How to keep the men patient; how to use his influence with them;
how to advise the president--for young as he was he had to do
this because of the hold he had gained on the situation; what
concessions were wise--the young face fell into grave lines as
he sat, hands deep in his pockets as usual, and considered these
questions.
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