There went up a great
shout of spontaneous astonishment from both banks of the lake where the
on-lookers sat. But the shout did not disturb the rather pretty, dark
anarchist. Leisurely she stepped into her onepiece bathing suit.
* * * * *
Barton was a strange, strong-minded, ignorant man. Hardly able to
compose a sentence in correct English, he employed educated, but
unresourceful assistants who furnished the good grammar, while he
supplied the initiative and original ideas, and increased the influence
and circulation of his magazine. Also he lived strenuously up to the
doctrines he taught; fasting, for instance.
Soon after I reached "Perfection City" he launched on his two weeks'
annual fast. Up in the big house where he lived, in the next town of
Andersonville (he himself would have been gladder of a mere shack or
tent like the rest of us--but his wife negated any such idea) Mrs.
Barton used to taunt and insult him by putting out the best food under
his nose, during this time.
Mrs. Barton was a terror. She was ever inviting to her house that kind
of people who know somebody "worth while" or are related to somebody
who, in their turn, are, perhaps, related to--somebody else!...
In their presence she would patronise Barton by calling him "Stevie!" in
her drawling, patronising manner....
When the woman came in among the tents and shacks of our "city" she
would, in speaking with any of us, imply all sorts of mean, insinuating
things about her reformer-husband.
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