Suppose you slept in rough blankets,
on the ground or in bunks, ate rough food, never saw a woman or a
book, undertook work to scare your city men up a tree and into a
hole too easy, risked your life a dozen times a week in a tangle of
logs, with the big river roaring behind just waiting to swallow you;
saw nothing but woods and river, were cold and hungry and wet, and
so tired you couldn't wiggle, until you got to feeling like the
thing was never going to end, and until you got sick of it way
through in spite of the excitement and danger. And then suppose you
hit town, where there were all the things you hadn't had--and the
first thing you struck was Hell's Half-Mile. Say! you've seen water
behind a jam, haven't you? Water-power's a good thing in a mill
course, where it has wheels to turn; but behind a jam it just RIPS
things--oh, what's the use talking! A girl doesn't know what it
means. She couldn't understand."
He broke off with an impatient gesture. She was looking at him
intently, her lips again half-parted.
"I think I begin to understand a little," said she softly. She
smiled to herself. "But they are a hard and heartless class in
spite of all their energy and courage, aren't they?" she drew him
out.
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