Yet here he was--supreme, and dazzling--surrounded by the pomp and
circumstance of war--into whose reserved presence he, Jim Hooker, had
been ushered with the formality of challenge, saluting, and presented
bayonets!
Luckily, Brant had taken advantage of his first gratified ejaculation to
shake him warmly by the hand, and then, with both hands laid familiarly
on his shoulder, force him down into a chair. Luckily, for by that time
Jim Hooker had, with characteristic gloominess, found time to taste the
pangs of envy--an envy the more keen since, in spite of his success as a
peaceful contractor, he had always secretly longed for military display
and distinction. He looked at the man who had achieved it, as he firmly
believed, by sheer luck and accident, and his eyes darkened. Then,
with characteristic weakness and vanity, he began to resist his first
impressions of Clarence's superiority, and to air his own importance.
He leaned heavily back in the chair in which he had been thus genially
forced, drew off his gauntlet and attempted to thrust it through his
belt, as he had seen Brant do, but failed on account of his pistols
already occupying that position, dropped it, got his sword between
his legs in attempting to pick it up, and then leaned back again, with
half-closed eyes serenely indifferent of his old companion's smiling
face.
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