"The subject is complex, it is varied, it is full of charm," Telfer
answered, laughing.

Taking a fresh supply of tobacco and paper from his pocket, he rolled and
lighted a cigarette. His fingers no longer trembled. Flourishing his cane
he threw back his head and blew smoke into the air. He thought that in
spite of the roar of laughter that had greeted Freedom Smith's comment, he
had vindicated the honour of art and the thought made him happy.

To the newsboy, who had been leaning against the storefront lost in
admiration, it seemed that he had caught in Telfer's talk an echo of the
kind of talk that must go on among men in the big outside world. Had not
this Telfer travelled far? Had he not lived in New York and Paris? Without
understanding the sense of what had been said, Sam felt that it must be
something big and conclusive. When from the distance there came the shriek
of a locomotive, he stood unmoved, trying to comprehend the meaning of
Telfer's outburst over the lounger's simple statement.

"There's the seven forty-five," cried Telfer, sharply. "Is the war between
you and Fatty at an end? Are we going to lose our evening's diversion? Has
Fatty bluffed you out or are you growing rich and lazy like Papa Geiger
here?"

Springing from his place beside the blacksmith and grasping the bundle of
newspapers, Sam ran down the street, Telfer, Valmore, Freedom Smith and
the loungers following more slowly.

When the evening train from Des Moines stopped at Caxton, a blue-coated
train news merchant leaped hurriedly to the platform and began looking
anxiously about.