But it
was not round Victor Dorn's brain that her imagination played.
``After all,'' thought she, ``Napoleon wasn't much over five
feet. Most of the big men have been little men. Of course,
there were Alexander--and Washington-- and Lincoln, but--how
silly to bother about a few inches of height, more or less! And
he wasn't really SHORT. Let me see--how high did he come on Davy
when Davy was standing near him? Above his shoulder --and Davy's
six feet two or three. He's at least as tall as I am--anyhow, in
my ordinary heels.''
She was attracted by both the personalities she discovered in the
little journal. She believed she could tell them apart. About
some of the articles, the shorter ones, she was doubtful. But in
those of any length she could feel that difference which enables
one to distinguish the piano touch of a player in another room--
whether it is male or female. Presently she was searching for an
excuse for scraping acquaintance with this pair of
pariahs--pariahs so far as her world was concerned. And soon she
found it. The New Day was taking subscriptions for a fund to
send sick children and their mothers to the country for a
vacation from the dirt and heat of the tenements--for Remsen
City, proud though it was and boastful of its prosperity, housed
most of its inhabitants in slums--though of course that low sort
of people oughtn't really to be counted--except for purposes of
swelling census figures-- and to do all the rough and dirty work
necessary to keep civilization going.
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