The Cup of Trembling, and Other StoriesFoote, Mary Hallock
General
The Cup of Trembling, and Other Stories
Foote, Mary Hallock
United States -- Social life and customs -- 19th century -- Fiction
It was the second week in February, but winter had taken a fresh hold:
the stockmen were grumbling; freight was dull, and travel light on the
white Northwestern lines. In the Portland car from Omaha there were but
four passengers: father and daughter,--a gentle, unsophisticated
pair,--and two strong-faced men, fellow-travelers also, keeping each
other's company in a silent but close and conspicuous proximity. They
shared the same section, the younger man sleeping above, going to bed
before, and rising later than, his companion; and whenever he changed
his seat or made an unexpected movement, the eyes of the elder man
followed him, and they were never far from him at any time.
The elder was a plain farmer type of man, with a clean-shaven, straight
upper lip, a grizzled beard covering the lower half of his face, and
humorous wrinkles spreading from the corners of his keen gray eyes.
The younger showed in his striking person that union of good blood with
hard conditions so often seen in the old-young graduates of the life
schools of the West. His hands and face were dark with exposure to the
sun, not of parks and club-grounds and seaside piazzas, but the dry
untempered light of the desert and the plains. His dark eye was
distinctively masculine,--if there be such a thing as gender in
features,--bold, ardent, and possessive; but now it was clouded with
sadness that did not pass like a mood, though he looked capable of
moods.
He was dressed in the demi-toilet which answers for dinners in the West,
on occasions where a dress-coat is not required. In itself the costume
was correct, even fastidious, in its details, but on board an overland
train there was a foppish unsuitability in it that "gave the wearer
away," as another man would have said--put him at a disadvantage,
notwithstanding his splendid physique, and the sad, rather fine
preoccupation of his manner. He looked like a very real person dressed
for a trifling part, which he lays aside between the scenes while he
thinks about his sick child, or his debts, or his friend with whom he
has quarreled.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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