First he had labored with his hands. What infinite meaning lay unfolding to
her vision! Somewhere out of it all came the conception that man was
intended to earn his bread by the sweat of his brow. But there was more to
it than that. By that toil and sweat, by the friction of horny palms, by
the expansion and contraction of muscle, by the acceleration of blood,
something great and enduring, something physical and spiritual, came to a
man. She understood then why she would have wanted to surrender herself to
a man made manly by toil; she understood how a woman instinctively leaned
toward the protection of a man who had used his hands--who had strength and
red blood and virility who could fight like the progenitors of the race.
Any toil was splendid that served this end for any man. It all went back to
the survival of the fittest. And suddenly Carley thought of Morrison. He
could dance and dangle attendance upon her, and amuse her--but how would he
have acquitted himself in a moment of peril? She had her doubts. Most
assuredly he could not have beaten down for her a ruffian like Haze Ruff.
What then should be the significance of a man for a woman?
Carley's querying and answering mind reverted to Glenn.
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