lame or credit--the nature of the verdict
depending entirely upon whether it was rendered by the older or the
newer generation--was laid the transformation of Morrison, the town
proper. Caleb Hunter had known Allison at college, where the latter
had been prominent both because of the brilliance of his wardrobe and
the reputed size of his father's steadily accumulating resources.
Since that time seven-figure fortunes such as the younger Allison had
inherited, had become too general to be any longer spectacular. But
Dexter Allison's garments had always retained their insistent note.
Hunter himself had sold Allison the ground upon which the stucco house
stood; he had heartily agreed that it was an ideal spot for a loafing
place--and the fishing was good, too! Now whenever Caleb thought of
those first conferences which had preceded the sale, and recalled
Allison's accentuation of the natural beauties of the spot, Caleb
allowed himself to smile.

The fishing was still far above reproach, a little further back
country--and Dexter Allison owned the sawmills that droned in the
valley. His men drove his timber down from the hills in the north; his
men piled the yellow planks upon his flat cars which ran in over his
spur line that had crept up from the south. His hundreds and hundreds
of rivermen already trod the sawdust-padded streets of the newer
Morrison that had sprung into being beyond the bend; they swarmed in on
the drives, a hard-faced, hard-shouldered horde, picturesque,
proficient and profane. They brought with them color and care-free
prodigality and a capacity for abandonment to pleasure that ran the
whole gamut of emotions, from raucous-roared chanties to sudden, swift
encounters which were as silent as they were deadly. And they spent
their money without stopping to count it.

The younger generation of the older Morrison was quick to point out the
virtues of this vice. And after a time, when the older generation
found that the rivermen preferred their own section of the town,
ignoring as though they had never existed the staid and sleepy
residential streets above, they heaved a sigh of partial relief and
tried to forget their proximity.

Little more than a year had been required for that transformation. The
boards of some of the newer shacks down river were still damp with
pitch. And twice during that period Dexter Allison had come into the
hills to take up a transitory abode in the stucco house which h