The thought of the storekeeper was lost in the realization of the collapse of all that he had laboriously planned. The destruction was absolute; not an inner desire nor need escaped; not a projection remained. The papers before him, so painfully comprehended, with such a determination of justice, were but the visible marks of the futility, the waste, of his dreaming. He sank heavily into the chair before his table. He recalled the younger Entriken's smooth lies, the debauchery of his money by the Nickles; William Vibard's accordions mocked him again ... all, all, had been in vain, worthless. General Jackson rose, and laid his long, shaggy, heavy head upon Gordon's knee. "We're done for," he told the dog; "we're finished this time. Everything has gone to hell." XVII He felt strangely lost in the sudden emptiness of his existence, an existence that, only a few hours before, had welcomed the prospect of release from its bewildering fullness. He had gathered the results of his slowly-formulating consciousness, his tragic memory, to a final resolve in the return of the options to a county enhanced by the coming of a railroad whose benefits he would distribute to all. And now the railroad was no more than a myth, it had vanished into thin, false air, carrying with it.... He swept his hand through the papers of his vain endeavor, bringing a sudden confusion upon their order. His arm struck the glass of shot, and, for a short space, there was a continuous sharp patter on the floor. He rose, and paced from wall to wall, a bent shape with open, hanging hands and a straggling grey wisp of hair across his dry, bony forehead. Footsteps crossed the porch, a knock fell upon the door, and Gordon responded without raising his head. It was Simeon Caley. He had not been in the house since, together with his wife, he had left it after Lettice's death. Sim's stained felt hat was pushed back from a wet brow, his gestures were urgent. "Get your horse in the buggy!" he exclaimed; "I'll help you. Light out." "'Light out'?" Gordon's gaze centered upon the other's excitement, "where?" "That doesn't make much difference, so's you light. The County's mad clear through, and it's pretty near all in the village." Sim turned to the door. "I'll help you, and then--drive." "I ain't agoing to drive anywhere," Gordon told him; "I'm where I belong." "You don't belong in Greenstream after that piece in the _Bugle_," his hand rested on the knob. "Tie up anything you need, I'll hitch the buggy." "Don't you touch a strap," Gordon commanded; "because I won't put a foot in her." "It'll all settle down in a little; then maybe you can come back." "What'll settle down?" "Why, the deal with the railroad." "Sim," Gordon demanded sharply, "you never believed that in the paper?" "I don't know what to b'lieve," the other replied evasively; "a good many say those are the facts, that you have the options."