"And your eyes and skin are clear and you're lean and hard as a race
horse. But what a fight! What a fight!" Carl slipped his arm
suddenly about the other's broad shoulders. "Come on, Dick," he urged
gently. "It's discipline and endurance to-night. I want you to fight
this icy wind and grit your teeth against it. Every battle won makes a
force furrow in your will."
He met Wherry's eyes and smiled with a flash of the irresistible
magnetism which somehow awoke unconscious response in those who beheld
it. It flamed now in Wherry's clear young eyes, a look of dumb
fidelity such as one sees now and then in the eyes of a faithful
animal. Such a look had flashed at times in the bloated face of Hunch
Dorrigan, in the eyes of young Allan Carmody here at the farm, and--in
early manhood when Carl had lazily set a college by the ears--in the
eyes of Philip Poynter. It was the nameless force which the faculty
had dreaded, for it sent men flocking at the heels of one whose daring
whims were as incomprehensible as they were unexpected and original.
Young Allan brought the mail in and Carl smilingly tossed a letter to
Wherry, who colored and slipped it in his pocket with an air of studied
indifference.
Carl slit the two directed to himself and rapidly scanned their
contents.
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