It left the two Californians on their feet, to move around to
whatever extent seemed commensurate with dignity. Chick drew Harry
aside.
"What do you suppose," said Chick, indicating the handsome,
confident figure in the chair at the base of the stairs--"what do
you suppose friend Senestro is thinking about?"
Harry frowned. "You know him better than I do. You don't think he
has reformed?"
"Not on your life; not the Bar. He's merely adjusted his plans to
the new situation. He sees that the Prophecy is likely to be
fulfilled; so, he counts on being the first to get through, after
the Nervina. Then, whether the rest of the Thomahlia follows or
not--he calls himself the divinely appointed leader now, I
understand--he will get through and marry the two Queens anyhow!"
Perhaps it was because the crowd was so terrifically large. Or,
there may have been something in the destiny of things that would
not permit the chief actors to feel nervous. Certain it is that
neither of the two men experienced the least stage fright. Had
they been on display before a crowd one-tenth the size, anywhere
else, both would have been ill at ease. This was different--
enormously so.
No longer was there any circulation in the crowd. People remained
in their places now, just as they expected the end to find them.
Chick and Harry marvelled at their composure, strangely in
contrast with the ceaseless activities of the temple pheasants
darting everywhere overhead.
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