The midland journal. (Rising Sun, Md.) 1885-1947, 1931-05-08

phabet would forever be ali to them)
1t had made noticeable difference
in the younger generation. Up and
down the long table they ranged. sons
and daughters, sons-in-law and daugh-
ters-in-law; grandchildren; remoter
kin such as visiting nieces and nephews
and cousins, offshoots Of this far-fung
family. AS the more northern-bred
members Of the company exclaimed at
the tale they now were hearing you
noted that their vowels were shorter,
their diction more clipped, the turn
of the head, the lift Of the hand less
leisurely. In all those faces there was
a resemblance, one to the other. Per-
haps the listening look which all Of
them now wore served to accentuate
this.
Yancey Cravat was talking. He had
been talking for the better part of an
hour. This very morning he had re-
turned from the Oklahoma country
the newly opened Indian territory
where he had made the Run that
marked the settling Of this vast tract
of virgin land known colloquially as
the Nation. Now, as he talked, the
faces Of the others had the rapt look
Of those who listen to a saga.
The men leaned forward, their hands
clasped rather loosely between their
knees or on the cloth before them,
their plates pushed away, their chairs
showed back. Now and then the sud-
den white ridge of a hard-set muscle
showed along the line Of a masculine
jaw. Their eyes were those Of men
who follow a game In which they
would fam take part. Sometimes
woman's hand reached out possessive-
ly, remindingly, and was laid on the
arm, or the hand of the man seated
beside her. 81 am here" the hands
pressure said. "Your place is with
me. Don't listen to him like that.
Don't believe him. am your wife.
I am safety. am security. l am
comfort. am habit. am conven-
ton. Don't listen like that. Don't
look like that"
But the man would shake off the
hand, not roughly, but with absent
minded resentment.
OF all that circlet Of faces. linked
by the enchantment Of the tale now
being unfolded before them, there
stood out lambert as a fame the face
Of Sabra Cravat as she sat there at
table, her child CHM In her lap. Though
she, like her mother Felice venable,
was definitely Of the olive-skinned
type, her face seemed LUMINOSITY white
as she listened to the amazing. In
credible, and slightly ridiculous story
now being unfolded by her husband.
1t was plain. too. that in her. as in
her mother, the strain Of the pioneer
ing French Marcys, her ancestors, was
strong. Her abundant hair was as
black, and her eyes; and the strong
brows arched with swooping curve
like the twin scimitars that hung
above the fireplace in the company
room. There was something more
New England than southern in the
directness of her glance, the quick
turn of her head, the briskness of her
speech and manner. Twenty-one now,
married at sixteen, mother Of four
year-old boy, and still in love with
her picturesque giant Of a husband,
there was about Sabra Cravat a bloom,
a glow, sometimes seen at that ex-
duisite and transitory time In a wom-
ans life when her chemical. emotional,
and physical makeup attains its high
est point and fuses.
Lewis venable, in his armchair at
the head of the table, was spellbound.
Curiously enough, even the boy CHM
had listened, or seemed to listen, as
he sat in his mothers lap. Perhaps
it was the curiously musical quality Of
the story-teller's voice that lulled him.
Sabra venables disgruntled suitors
had said when she married Yancey
Cravat, a stranger. mysterious, out
of Texas and the Cimarron, that It
was his voice that had bewitched her.
They were In a measure right, for
though Yancey Cravat was verbose,
frequently even windy, and though
much that he said was dry enough in
actual content, he had those priceless
gifts of the born orator, a vibrant and
flexible voice, great sweetness and
charm of manner. hypnotic eye,
and the power of making each listener
feel that what was being said was in
tended for his ear alone. Something
of the charlatan was in him. much of
the actor. dash of the fanatic.
No room seemed big enough for his
gigantic frame: no chair but dwindled
beneath, the breadth Of his shoulders.
| He seemed actually to loom more than
his six feet two. His black locks he
wore overlong, so that they curled a
little about his neck in the manner
of Booth. His cheeks and forehead
were, in places, deeply pitted. as with
the pox. Women. perversely enough,
found that attractive.
His mouth. full and sensual, had
still an expression of great sweet
ness. His eyelashes were long and
L