``You must remember him. It was his father that was killed by
the railway the day we all went on that excursion to
Indianapolis.''
``Dorn the carpenter,'' said Jane. ``Yes--I remember.'' Her
face grew dreamy with the effort of memory. ``I see it all
again. And there was a boy with a very white face who knelt and
held his head.''
``That was Victor,'' said Hull.
``Yes--I remember him. He was a bad boy--always fighting and
robbing orchards and getting kept after school.''
``And he's still a bad boy--but in a different way. He's out
against everything civilized and everybody that's got money.''
``What does he do? Keep a saloon?''
``No, but he spends a lot of time at them. I must say for him
that he doesn't drink--and professes not to believe in drink.
When I pointed out to him what a bad example he set, loafing
round saloons, he laughed at me and said he was spending his
spare time exactly as Jesus Christ did. `You'll find, Davy, old
man,' he said, `if you'll take the trouble to read your Bible,
that Jesus traveled with publicans and sinners--and a publican is
in plain English a saloonkeeper.' ''
``That was very original--wasn't it?'' said Jane. ``I'm
interested in this man. He's--different. I like people who are
different.''
``I don't think you'd like him, Victor Dorn,'' said David.
``Don't you?''
``Oh, yes--in a way. I admire him,'' graciously. ``He's really
a remarkable fellow, considering his opportunities.
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