ctively, he changed it to, "the women
around here. You've got an awful lot of ginger to you."

"I know what I want, and I'm not afraid to pay for it. Almost everybody
wants the same thing--plenty and pleasure, but they're afraid of the
price; they are afraid of it alive and when they will be dead. Women set
such a store on what they call their virtue, and men tend so much to the
opinion of others, that they don't get anywhere."

"Don't you set anything on your--your virtue?"

"I'd make it serve me; I wouldn't be a silly slave to it all my life. If I
can get things with it that's what I'm going to do."

Gordon Makimmon found these potent words from such a pleasing woman as
Meta Beggs. Any philosophy underlying them, any ruthless strength, escaped
him entirely. They appealed solely to him as "gay," highly suggestive.
They stirred his blood into warm, heady tides of feeling. He moved over
the smooth covering of pine needles, closer to her. But with an expression
of petulance she rose.

"I suppose we must look for Buckley," she observed. Gordon had completely
forgotten Buckley Simmons' presence at the camp meeting. The
school-teacher, swaying slimly, led the way over the path to the plateau.

They saw Buckley Simmons at once: he was talking in an excited, angry
manner to a small group of men. A gesture was made toward Gordon and his
companion; Buckley turned, and his face flushed darkly, Gordon, stood
still, Meta Beggs fell behind, as the former made his way toward them.
Buckley spoke loudly when he was still an appreciable distance away:

"You were mighty considerate about my dusty throat," he began with heavy
sarcasm; "I ought to have seen at the time that you had it made up between
you. This is the second time that you have broken in on me, Makimmon. I'm
not a boy any longer. You can't tread on me. It's going to stop ... now."

"There's nothing for you to get excited about, Buck. Miss Beggs and I took
a little stroll while you were away."

"A 'little stroll.'" Buckley produced a heavy gold watch, the highly
chased cover of which he snapped back. "Over half an hour," he proclaimed;
"you stayed too long this time."

Gordon was aware of a form at his back. He turned, and saw Tol'able.

"What's the trouble, Gord?" the latter asked. Two or three others were
compactly grouped behind him.

"Why, Buckley's hot because I walked with Miss Beggs while he took a
drink."

The men about Buckley Simmons closed up. "Don't