``But
father didn't like the way I was rigged out. Maybe I'll have to
change again.''
``Take her along, Davy,'' said Hastings, his big head wagging
with delight. ``She's a caution--SHE is!''
Hull could not control himself to speak. As they sat in the
carriage, she finishing the pulling on of her gloves, he stared
out into the heavy rain that was deluging the earth and bending
low the boughs. Said she, half way down the hill:
``Well--can't you talk about anything but Victor Dorn?''
``I saw him this afternoon,'' said Hull, glad that the tension of
the silence was broken.
``Then you've got something to talk about.''
``The big street car strike is on.''
``So father said at dinner. I suppose Victor Dorn caused it.''
``No--he's opposed to it. He's queer. I don't exactly
understand his ideas. He says strikes are ridiculous-- that it's
like trying to cure smallpox by healing up one single sore.''
Jane gave a shiver of lady-like disgust. ``How-- nasty,'' said
she.
``I'm telling you what he said. But he says that the only way
human beings learn how to do things right is by doing them
wrong--so while he's opposed to strikes he's also in favor of
them.''
``Even _I_ understand that,'' said Jane. ``I don't think it's
difficult.''
``Doesn't it strike you as--as inconsistent?''
``Oh--bother consistency!'' scoffed the girl. ``That's another
middle class virtue that sensible people loathe as a vice.
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