CHAPTER VII
The quiet of a Sunday morning in early May was over the city. Stores
and business houses were closed, save here and there a meat market,
which opened for careless citizens who had neglected to lay in their
supply the night before. A group of negro loafers sat on the stone
steps of the National Bank, and lounged about the entrance of the Opera
House. A little farther up the street a company of idle whites sat in
front of a restaurant; and farther on, in the doorway of a saloon, a
drunkard was sleeping in the sun. Old Dr. Watkins, in his buggy, came
clattering down the street and stopped in front of the Boyd City Drug
Store, and a man with his arm in a sling followed him into the building.
Then the church bells rang out their cheery invitation, and the
children, neat and clean in their Sunday clothes, trooped along the
street to the Sunday Schools. An hour later the voices of the bells
again floated over the silent city, and men and women were seen making
their way to the various places of worship.
In the throng which passed through the door of the Jerusalem Church
was a gentleman dressed in gray. It was not difficult to guess from
his manner, as he stood in the vestibule as though waiting for someone,
that he was a stranger in the place. His figure was tall, nearly if
not quite six feet, well formed, but lithe rather than heavy, giving
one the impression not only of strength, but of grace as well; the
well-set head and clear-cut features; the dark hair and brows,
overshadowing, deep-set, keen gray eyes; the mouth and chin,
clean-shaven and finely turned; all combined to carry still farther
the impression of power.
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