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Wilson, Harry Leon, 1867-1939

"Bunker Bean"

Votes, indeed!
His own power over them was abundantly proved. Any of them passing
heedlessly there would, under the right conditions, confess it. Let him
be called to their notice and they'd be following him around, forgetting
plighted vows, getting him into places screened with vines and letting
themselves be led on; telephoning him to give them and Grandma tea and
things of a Sunday in some nice place--hanging on his words. Of course
it had always been that way, only he had never known it. Looking back
over his barren past he surveyed minor incidents with new eyes. There
was that girl with the pretty hair in the business college, who always
smiled in the quick, confidential way at him. Maybe she wouldn't have
been a talker!
And how far was this present affair going? Pretty far already:
clandestine meetings and that sort of thing. Still, he couldn't help
being a man, could he? And Tommy Hollins, poor dupe!
In the steam-heated apartment It had been locked in a closet, which in
an upright position It fitted nicely. He did not open the door that
night. He felt that he was venturing into ways that the wise and good
king would not approve. He could not face the thing while guilt was in
his heart. A woman had come between them.
* * * * *
At three o'clock the next afternoon he lounged carelessly against the
basement railing of the steam-heated apartment.


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