At Bridge Three

The Killer

No Thoroughfare

Cataclysmic

The Heart of Qojogo

The Terror

Regeneration

As It Should Be

DAVID VALLORY

[1]

DAVID VALLORY

I In the Green Tree

DAVID VALLORY’S train, to make which he had precipitately thrown down pencil and mapping-pen in the drafting room of the Government harbor-deepening project on the Florida coast two days earlier, was an hour late arriving at Middleboro; and in this first home-coming from the distant assignment, the aspect of things once so familiar seemed jarred a trifle out of focus. It was not that the June fields were less green, or the factory suburb through which the long train was slowing more littered and unsightly. But there was a change, and it was in a manner depressive.

“Your home town?” inquired the traveler in the opposite half of the Pullman section, as Vallory began to assemble his various belongings.

“Yes,” said David, adding, as if in some sort of justification: “I was born here in Middleboro.”

The man who had occupied the upper berth[2] looked aside reflectively, taking in and appraising the country-town tritenesses as the open car windows passed them in review.

[2]

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