His voice on the last word suffered from one of its cracks. It was as
though it had broken under a load of pride and tenderness.

Sheila saw for a moment how it was with him. To every man his passion and
his dream: to Sylvester Hudson, his Aura. More than wife or child, he
loved his bar. It was a fetish, an idol. To Sheila's fancy Dickie
suddenly appeared the sacrifice.




CHAPTER VI

THE BAWLING-OUT


Dickie's room in The Aura Hotel was fitted in between the Men's Lavatory
and the Linen Room. It smelt of soiled linen and defective plumbing.
Also, into its single narrow window rose the dust of ashes, of old rags
and other refuse thrown light-heartedly into the back yard, which not
being visible from the street supplied the typical housewife of a
frontier town with that relaxation from any necessity to keep up an
appearance of economy and cleanliness so desirable to her liberty-loving
soul. The housekeeper at The Aura was not Mrs. Hudson, but an enormously
stout young woman with blonde hair, named Amelia Plecks. She was so
tightly laced and booted that her hard breathing and creaking were
audible all over the hotel. When Dickie woke in his narrow room after his
moonlight adventure, he heard this heavy breathing in the linen room and,
groaning, thrust his head under the pillow. With whatever bitterness his
kindly heart could entertain, he loathed Amelia. She took advantage of