As she passed and turned her back on him, the sense of a hopeless and irreparable loss crushed his spirit. The words of the preacher rang in his soul, “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and forfeit his life.”
“What are houses and lands after all, before the elemental forces which make life worth while,” he muttered. “I’ve an almost irresistible impulse to knock Steve Hoyle down, seize her in my arms, smother her with kisses and carry her off to some cave on a mountain! To the devil with goods and chattels, houses and lands.”
With a start he came down from the clouds of fancy. She had dismissed Steve, taken the Judge’s arm, and was actually going to walk down the aisle through that mob of Negroes and greasy politicians and accompany him to the platform.
When they reached the centre of the crowd, seated in semicircle about the covered speaker’s stand, pandemonium broke loose. The Judge received the most remarkable ovation of his life.
The throng leaped to their feet and screamed themselves horse.
“Keep your house Judge!” yelled a henchman.
“Houses were built for patriots, and jails for traitors!”
The Judge bowed and again the crowd yelled.
Larkin from the platform watched the demonstration with amazement.
“I’ve miscalculated. They’re all thieves and scoundrels. I’ve made him a hero.”