The Angel placed McLean at the head of the table. She took the foot,
with Freckles on her right, while the lumber gang, washed, brushed, and
straightened until they felt unfamiliar with themselves and each other,
filled the sides. That imposed a slight constraint. Then, too, the men
were afraid of the flowers, the polished tableware, and above all, of
the dainty grace of the Angel. Nowhere do men so display lack of good
breeding and culture as in dining. To sprawl on the table, scoop
with their knives, chew loudly, gulp coffee, and duck their heads as
snapping-turtles for every bite, had not been noticed by them until the
Angel, sitting straightly, suddenly made them remember that they,
too, were possessed of spines. Instinctively every man at the table
straightened.
CHAPTER XVII
Wherein Freckles Offers His Life for His Love and Gets a Broken Body
To reach the tree was a more difficult task than McLean had supposed.
The gang could approach nearest on the outside toward the east, but
after they reached the end of the east entrance there was yet a mile
of most impenetrable thicket, trees big and little, and bushes of every
variety and stage of growth.
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