the symbolic plays, all American, if Jeff liked, and
he might correct the grammar.

Just then Mary Nellen, passionately but silently grieved to have lost
such an intellectual feast, came in on the tail of these remarks. She
brought Jeff a letter. It was a publisher's letter, and the publisher
would print his book about prisoners. It said nothing whatever of trying
to advertise him as a prisoner. Jeff concluded the man was a decent
fellow. He swaggered a little over the letter and told the family he had
to, it was such luck.

They were immensely proud and excited at once. The colonel called him
"son" with emphasis, and Lydia got up and danced a little by herself.
She invited Anne to join her, but Anne sat, soft-eyed and still, and was
glad that way. Jeff thought it an excellent moment to tell them he was
going to teach in the evening school, upon which Lydia stopped dancing.

"But I want to," he said to her, with a smile for her alone. "Won't you
let me if I want to?"

"I want you to write," said Lydia obstinately.

"I shall. I shall write. And talk. It's a talking age. Everybody's
chattering, except the ones that are shrieking. I'm going to see if I
can't down some of the rest."

XXXVI

A carnival of motor cars kept on whirling to all parts of the town where
Madame Beattie was likely to speak. She spoke in strange places: at
street corners, in a freight station, at the passenger station when the
incoming train had brought a squad of workmen from the bridge repairing
up the track. It was always to workmen, and always they knew, by some
effective communication, where to assemble. The leisure class, too, old
Addingtonians, followed her, as if it were all the best of jokes, and
protested they sometimes understood what she said. But nobody did,
except the foreigners and not one of them would own to knowing. Weedon
Moore made little clipped bits of speeches, sliced off whenever her car
appeared and his audience turned to her in a perfect obedience and
glowing interest. Jeff, speaking for Alston, now got a lukewarm
attention, the courtesy born out of affectionate regard. None of the
roars and wild handclappings were for him. Madame Beattie was eating up
all the enthusiasm in town. Once Jeff, walking along the street, came on
her standing in her car, haranguing a group of workmen, all intent,
eager, warm to her with a perfect sympathy and even a species of
adoration.

He stepped up in the car beside her. He h