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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/12686-0.txt b/12686-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..16ef7d8 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8150 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12686 *** + +[Illustration: "I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by +the hour"] + + + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE: ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK: A COMEDY FOR WIVES: +THE LIE: EVEN THREES: A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION: LARRY MOORE: +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS: THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + +BY OWEN JOHNSON Author of "Stover at Yale," "The Varmint," etc., etc. + + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F.R. GRUGER AND LEON GUIPON + + +NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1913 + +1907, 1912, 1913, THE CENTURY CO. + +1911, THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY + +1911, THE NATIONAL POST CO. + +1912, GOOD HOUSEKEEPING MAGAZINE + +1908, THE RIDGWAY COMPANY + +1906, ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, INCORPORATED + +1910, THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY + +_Published, August, 1913_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE + +ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK + +A COMEDY FOR WIVES + +THE LIE + +EVEN THREES + +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION + +LARRY MOORE + +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS + +THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by the hour" + +From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence + +Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and black + +Our Lady of the Sparrows + +"Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?" + +Wild-eyed and hilarious they descended on the clubhouse with the +miraculous news + +A committee carefully examined the books of the club + +"You gave him--the tickets! The Lottery Tickets!" + + + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE + + + + +I + + +One Sunday in March they had been marooned at the club, Steingall the +painter and Quinny the illustrator, and, having lunched late, had bored +themselves separately to their limits over the periodicals until, +preferring to bore each other, they had gravitated together in easy +arm-chairs before the big Renaissance fireplace. + +Steingall, sunk in his collar, from behind the black-rimmed spectacles, +which, with their trailing ribbon of black, gave a touch of Continental +elegance to his cropped beard and colonel's mustaches, watched without +enthusiasm the three mammoth logs, where occasional tiny flames gave +forth an illusion of heat. + +Quinny, as gaunt as a militant friar of the Middle Ages, aware of +Steingall's protective reverie, spoke in desultory periods, addressing +himself questions and supplying the answers, reserving his epigrams for +a larger audience. + +At three o'clock De Gollyer entered from a heavy social performance, +raising his eyebrows in salute as others raise their hats, and slightly +dragging one leg behind. He was an American critic who was busily +engaged in discovering the talents of unrecognized geniuses of the +European provinces. When reproached with his migratory enthusiasm, he +would reply, with that quick, stiffening military click with which he +always delivered his _bons mots_: + +"My boy, I never criticize American art. I can't afford to. I have too +many charming friends." + +At four o'clock, which is the hour for the entrée of those who escape +from their homes to fling themselves on the sanctuary of the club, +Rankin, the architect, arrived with Stibo, the fashionable painter of +fashionable women, who brought with him the atmosphere of pleasant soap +and an exclusive, smiling languor. A moment later a voice was heard from +the anteroom, saying: + +"If any one telephones, I'm not in the club--any one at all. Do you +hear?" + +Then Towsey, the decorator, appeared at the letterboxes in spats, +militant checks, high collar and a choker tie, which, yearning toward +his ears, gave him the appearance of one who had floundered up out of +his clothes for the third and last time. He came forward, frowned at the +group, scowled at the negative distractions of the reading-room, and +finally dragged over his chair just as Quinny was saying: + +"Queer thing--ever notice it?--two artists sit down together, each +begins talking of what he's doing--to avoid complimenting the other, +naturally. As soon as the third arrives they begin carving up another; +only thing they can agree on, see? Soon as you get four or more of the +species together, conversation always comes around to marriage. Ever +notice that, eh?" + +"My dear fellow," said De Gollyer, from the intolerant point of view of +a bachelor, "that is because marriage is your one common affliction. +Artists, musicians, all the lower order of the intellect, marry. They +must. They can't help it. It's the one thing you can't resist. You begin +it when you're poor to save the expense of a servant, and you keep it up +when you succeed to have some one over you to make you work. You belong +psychologically to the intellectually dependent classes, the +clinging-vine family, the masculine parasites; and as you can't help +being married, you are always damning it, holding it responsible for all +your failures." + +At this characteristic speech, the five artists shifted slightly, and +looked at De Gollyer over their mustaches with a lingering appetite, +much as a group of terriers respect the family cat. + +"My dear chaps, speaking as a critic," continued De Gollyer, pleasantly +aware of the antagonism he had exploded, "you remain children afraid of +the dark--afraid of being alone. Solitude frightens you. You lack the +quality of self-sufficiency that is the characteristic of the higher +critical faculties. You marry because you need a nurse." + +He ceased, thoroughly satisfied with the prospect of having brought on +a quarrel, raised thumb and first finger in a gingerly loop, ordered a +dash of sherry and winked across the group to Tommers, who was listening +around his paper from the reading-room. + +"De Gollyer, you are only a 'who's who' of art," said Quinny, with, +however, a hungry gratitude for a topic of such possibilities. "You +understand nothing of psychology. An artist is a multiple personality; +with each picture he paints he seeks a new inspiration. What is +inspiration?" + +"Ah, that's the point--inspiration," said Steingall, waking up. + +"Inspiration," said Quinny, eliminating Steingall from his preserves +with the gesture of brushing away a fly--"inspiration is only a form of +hypnosis, under the spell of which a man is capable of rising outside of +and beyond himself, as a horse, under extraordinary stress, exerts a +muscular force far beyond his accredited strength. The race of geniuses, +little and big, are constantly seeking this outward force to hypnotize +them into a supreme intellectual effort. Talent does not understand such +a process; it is mechanical, unvarying, chop-chop, day in and day out. +Now, what you call inspiration may be communicated in many ways--by the +spectacle of a mob, by a panorama of nature, by sudden and violent +contrasts of points of view; but, above all, as a continual stimulus, +it comes from that state of mental madness which is produced by love." + +"Huh?" said Stibo. + +"Anything that produces a mental obsession, _une idée fixe_, is a form +of madness," said Quinny, rapidly. "A person in love sees only one face, +hears only one voice; at the base of the brain only one thought is +constantly drumming. Physically such a condition is a narcotic; mentally +it is a form of madness that in the beneficent state is powerfully +hypnotic." + +At this deft disentanglement of a complicated idea, Rankin, who, like +the professional juryman, wagged his head in agreement with each speaker +and was convinced by the most violent, gazed upon Quinny with absolute +adoration. + +"We were speaking of woman," said Towsey, gruffly, who pronounced the +sex with a peculiar staccato sound. + +"This little ABC introduction," said Quinny, pleasantly, "is necessary +to understand the relation a woman plays to the artist. It is not the +woman he seeks, but the hypnotic influence which the woman can exert on +his faculties if she is able to inspire him with a passion." + +"Precisely why he marries," said De Gollyer. + +"Precisely," said Quinny, who, having seized the argument by chance, was +pleasantly surprised to find that he was going to convince himself. "But +here is the great distinction: to be an inspiration, a woman should +always represent to the artist a form of the unattainable. It is the +search for something beyond him that makes him challenge the stars, and +all that sort of rot, you know." + +"The tragedy of life," said Rankin, sententiously, "is that one woman +cannot mean all things to one man all the time." + +It was a phrase which he had heard the night before, and which he flung +off casually with an air of spontaneity, twisting the old Spanish ring +on his bony, white fingers, which he held invariably in front of his +long, sliding nose. + +"Thank you, I said that about the year 1907," said Quinny, while +Steingall gasped and nudged Towsey. "That is the tragedy of life, not +the tragedy of art, two very different things. An artist has need of +ten, fifteen, twenty women, according to the multiplicity of his ideas. +He should be always violently in love or violently reacting." + +"And the wife?" said De Gollyer. "Has she any influence?" + +"My dear fellow, the greatest. Without a wife, an artist falls a prey to +the inspiration of the moment--condemned to it; and as he is not an +analyst, he ends by imagining he really is in love. Take +portrait-painting. Charming lady sits for portrait, painter takes up his +brushes, arranges his palette, seeks inspiration,--what is below the +surface?--something intangible to divine, seize, and affix to his +canvas. He seeks to know the soul; he seeks how? As a man in love seeks, +naturally. The more he imagines himself in love, the more completely +does the idea obsess him from morning to night--plain as the nose on +your face. Only there are other portraits to paint. Enter the wife." + +"Charming," said Stibo, who had not ceased twining his mustaches in his +pink fingers. + +"Ah, that's the point. What of the wife?" said Steingall, violently. + +"The wife--the ideal wife, mind you--is then the weapon, the refuge. To +escape from the entanglement of his momentary inspiration, the artist +becomes a man: my wife and _bonjour_. He returns home, takes off the +duster of his illusion, cleans the palette of old memories, washes away +his vows, protestations, and all that rot, you know, lies down on the +sofa, and gives his head to his wife to be rubbed. Curtain. The comedy +is over." + +"But that's what they don't understand," said Steingall, with +enthusiasm. "That's what they will _never_ understand." + +"Such miracles exist?" said Towsey with a short, disagreeable laugh. + +"I know the wife of an artist," said Quinny, "whom I consider the most +remarkable woman I know--who sits and knits and smiles. She is one who +understands. Her husband adores her, and he is in love with a woman a +month. When he gets in too deep, ready for another inspiration, you +know, she calls up the old love on the telephone and asks her to stop +annoying her husband." + +"Marvelous!" said Steingall, dropping his glasses. + +"No, really?" said Rankin. + +"Has she a sister?" said Towsey. + +Stibo raised his eyes slowly to Quinny's but veiled as was the look, De +Gollyer perceived it, and smilingly registered the knowledge on the +ledger of his social secrets. + +"That's it, by George! that is it," said Steingall, who hurled the +enthusiasm of a reformer into his pessimism. "It's all so simple; but +they won't understand. And why--do you know why? Because a woman is +jealous. It isn't simply of other women. No, no, that's not it; it's +worse than that, ten thousand times worse. She's jealous of your _art_! +That's it! There you have it! She's jealous because she can't understand +it, because it takes you away from her, because she can't _share_ it. +That's what's terrible about marriage--no liberty, no individualism, no +seclusion, having to account every night for your actions, for your +thoughts, for the things you dream--ah, the dreams! The Chinese are +right, the Japanese are right. It's we Westerners who are all wrong. +It's the creative only that counts. The woman should be subordinated, +should be kept down, taught the voluptuousness of obedience. By Jove! +that's it. We don't assert ourselves. It's this confounded Anglo-Saxon +sentimentality that's choking art--that's what it is." + +At the familiar phrases of Steingall's outburst, Rankin wagged his head +in unequivocal assent, Stibo smiled so as to show his fine upper teeth, +and Towsey flung away his cigar, saying: + +"Words, words." + +At this moment when Quinny, who had digested Steingall's argument, was +preparing to devour the whole topic, Britt Herkimer, the sculptor, +joined them. He was a guest, just in from Paris, where he had been +established twenty years, one of the five men in art whom one counted on +the fingers when the word genius was pronounced. Mentally and physically +a German, he spoke English with a French accent. His hair was cropped +_en brosse_, and in his brown Japanese face only the eyes, staccato, +furtive, and drunk with curiosity, could be seen. He was direct, +opinionated, bristling with energy, one of those tireless workers who +disdain their youth and treat it as a disease. His entry into the group +of his more socially domesticated confrères was like the return of a +wolf-hound among the housedogs. + +"Still smashing idols?" he said, slapping the shoulder of Steingall, +with whom and Quinny he had passed his student days, "Well, what's the +row?" + +"My dear Britt, we are reforming matrimony. Steingall is for the +importation of Mongolian wives," said De Gollyer, who had written two +favorable articles on Herkimer, "while Quinny is for founding a school +for wives on most novel and interesting lines." + +"That's odd," said Herkimer, with a slight frown. + +"On the contrary, no," said De Gollyer; "we always abolish matrimony +from four to six." + +"You didn't understand me," said Herkimer, with the sharpness he used in +his classes. + +From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence. They waited with an involuntary silence, which +in itself was a rare tribute. + +"Remember Rantoul?" said Herkimer, rolling a cigarette and using a jerky +diction. + +"Clyde Rantoul?" said Stibo. + +"Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, who was in the Quarter with us?" said +Quinny. + +"Don Furioso, yes," said Rankin. "Ever see him?" + +"Never." + +"He's married," said Quinny; "dropped out." + +"Yes, he married," said Herkimer, lighting his cigarette. "Well, I've +just seen him." + +"He's a plutocrat or something," said Towsey, reflectively. + +"He's rich--ended," said Steingall as he slapped the table. "By Jove! I +remember now." + +"Wait," said Quinny, interposing. + +[Illustration: From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had +brought to him some abrupt coincidences] + +"I went up to see him yesterday--just back now," said Herkimer. +"Rantoul was the biggest man of us all. It's a funny tale. You're +discussing matrimony; here it is." + + + + +II + + +In the early nineties, when Quinny, Steingall, Herkimer, little Bennett, +who afterward roamed down into the Transvaal and fell in with the +Foreign Legion, Jacobus and Chatterton, the architects, were living +through that fine, rebellious state of overweening youth, Rantoul was +the undisputed leader, the arch-rebel, the master-demolisher of the +group. + +Every afternoon at five his Gargantuan figure came thrashing through the +crowds of the boulevard, as an omnibus on its way scatters the fragile +fiacres. He arrived, radiating electricity, tirades on his tongue, to +his chair among the table-pounders of the Café des Lilacs, and his first +words were like the fanfare of trumpets. He had been christened, in the +felicitous language of the Quarter, Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, and +for cause. He shared a garret with his chum, Britt Herkimer, in the Rue +de l'Ombre, a sort of manhole lit by the stars,--when there were any +stars, and he never failed to come springing up the six rickety flights +with a song on his lips. + +An old woman who kept a fruit store gave him implicit credit; a much +younger member of the sex at the corner creamery trusted him for eggs +and fresh milk, and leaned toward him over the counter, laughing into +his eyes as he exclaimed: + +"Ma belle, when I am famous, I will buy you a silk gown, and a pair of +earrings that will reach to your shoulders, and it won't be long. You'll +see." + +He adored being poor. When his canvas gave out, he painted his ankles to +caricature the violent creations that were the pride of Chatterton, who +was a nabob. When his credit at one restaurant expired, he strode +confidently up to another proprietor, and announced with the air of one +bestowing a favor: + +"I am Rantoul, the portrait-painter. In five years my portraits will +sell for five thousand francs, in ten for twenty thousand. I will eat +one meal a day at your distinguished establishment, and paint your +portrait to make your walls famous. At the end of the month I will +immortalize your wife; on the same terms, your sister, your father, your +mother, and all the little children. Besides, every Saturday night I +will bring here a band of my comrades who pay in good hard silver. +Remember that if you had bought a Corot for twenty francs in 1870, you +could have sold it for five thousand francs in 1880, fifty thousand in +1890. Does the idea appeal to you?" + +But as most keepers of restaurants are practical and unimaginative, and +withal close bargainers, at the end of a week Rantoul generally was +forced to seek a new sitter. + +"What a privilege it is to be poor!" he would then exclaim +enthusiastically to Herkimer. "It awakens all the perceptions; hunger +makes the eye keener. I can see colors to-day that I never saw before. +And to think that if Sherman had never gotten it in his head to march to +the sea I should never have experienced this inspiration! But, old +fellow, we have so short a time to be poor. We must exhibit nothing yet. +We are lucky. We are poor. We can feel." + +On the subject of traditions he was at his best. + +"Shakspere is the curse of the English drama," he would declare, with a +descending gesture which caused all the little glasses to rattle their +alarm. "Nothing will ever come out of England until his influence is +discounted. He was a primitive, a Preraphælite. He understood nothing of +form, of composition. He was a poet who wandered into the drama as a +sheep strays into the pasture of the bulls, a colorist who imagines he +can be a sculptor. The influence of Victoria sentimentalized the whole +artistic movement in England, made it bourgeois, and flavored it with +mint sauce. Modern portraiture has turned the galleries into an +exhibition of wax works. What is wrong with painting to-day--do you +know?" + +"_Allons_, tell us!" cried two or three, while others, availing +themselves of the breathing space, filled the air with their orders: + +"Paul, another bock." + +"Two hard-boiled eggs." + +"And pretzels; don't forget the pretzels." + +"The trouble with painting to-day is that it has no point of view," +cried Rantoul, swallowing an egg in the anaconda fashion. "We are +interpreting life in the manner of the Middle Ages. We forget art should +be historical. We forget that we are now in our century. Ugliness, not +beauty, is the note of our century; turbulence, strife, materialism, the +mob, machinery, masses, not units. Why paint a captain of industry +against a François I tapestry? Paint him at his desk. The desk is a +throne; interpret it. We are ruled by mobs. Who paints mobs? What is +wrong is this, that art is in the bondage of literature--sentimentality. +We must record what we experience. Ugliness has its utility, its +magnetism; the ugliness of abject misery moves you to think, to readjust +ideas. We must be rebels, we young men. Ah, if we could only burn the +galleries, we should be forced to return to life." + +"Bravo, Rantoul!" + +"Right, old chap." + +"Smash the statues!" + +"Burn the galleries!" + +"Down with tradition!" + +"Eggs and more bock!" + +But where Rantoul differed from the revolutionary regiment was that he +was not simply a painter who delivered orations; he could paint. His +tirades were not a furore of denunciation so much as they were the +impulsive chafing of the creative energy within him. In the school he +was already a marked man to set the prophets prophesying. He had a style +of his own, biting, incisive, overloaded and excessive, but with +something to say. He was after something. He was original. + +"Rebel! Let us rebel!" he would cry to Herkimer from his agitated +bedquilt in the last hour of discussion. "The artist must always +rebel--accept nothing, question everything, denounce conventions and +traditions." + +"Above all, work," said Herkimer in his laconic way. + +"What? Don't I work?" + +"Work more." + +Rantoul, however, was not vulnerable on that score. He was not, it is +true, the drag-horse that Herkimer was, who lived like a recluse, +shunning the cafes and the dance-halls, eating up the last gray hours of +the day over his statues and his clays. But Rantoul, while living life +to its fullest, haunting the wharves and the markets with avid eyes, +roaming the woods and trudging the banks of the Seine, mingling in the +crowds that flashed under the flare of arc-lights, with a thousand +mysteries of mass and movement, never relaxed a moment the savage attack +his leaping nature made upon the drudgeries and routine of technic. + +With the coveted admittance into the Salon, recognition came speedily +to the two chums. They made a triumphal entry into a real studio in the +Montparnasse Quarter, clients came, and the room became a station of +honor among the young and enthusiastic of the Quarter. + +Rantoul began to appear in society, besieged with the invitations that +his Southern aristocracy and the romance of his success procured him. + +"You go out too much," said Herkimer to him, with a fearful growl. "What +the deuce do you want with society, anyhow? Keep away from it. You've +nothing to do with it." + +"What do I do? I go out once a week," said Rantoul, whistling +pleasantly. + +"Once is too often. What do you want to become, a parlor celebrity? +Society _c'est l'ennemie_. You ought to hate it." + +"I do." + +"Humph!" said Herkimer, eying him across his sputtering clay pipe. "Get +this idea of people out of your head. Shut yourself up in a hole, work. +What's society, anyhow? A lot of bored people who want you to amuse +them. I don't approve. Better marry that pretty girl in the creamery. +She'll worship you as a god, make you comfortable. That's all you need +from the world." + +"Marry her yourself; she'll sew and cook for you," said Rantoul, with +perfect good humor. + +"I'm in no danger," said Herkimer, curtly; "you are." + +"What!" + +"You'll see." + +"Listen, you old grumbler," said Rantoul, seriously. "If I go into +society, it is to see the hollowness of it all--" + +"Yes, yes." + +"To know what I rebel against--" + +"Of course." + +"To appreciate the freedom of the life I have--" + +"Faker!" + +"To have the benefit of contrasts, light and shade. You think I am not a +rebel. My dear boy, I am ten times as big a rebel as I was. Do you know +what I'd do with society?" + +He began a tirade in the famous muscular Rantoul style, overturning +creeds and castes, reorganizing republics and empires, while Herkimer, +grumbling to himself, began to scold the model, who sleepily received +the brunt of his ill humor. + +In the second year of his success Rantoul, quite by accident, met a girl +in her teens named Tina Glover, only daughter of Cyrus Glover, a man of +millions, self-made. The first time their eyes met and lingered, by the +mysterious chemistry of the passions Rantoul fell desperately in love +with this little slip of a girl, who scarcely reached to his shoulder; +who, on her part, instantly made up her mind that she had found the +husband she intended to have. Two weeks later they were engaged. + +She was seventeen, scarcely more than a child, with clear, blue eyes +that seemed too large for her body, very timid and appealing. It is true +she seldom expressed an opinion, but she listened to every one with a +flattering smile, and the reputations of brilliant talkers have been +built on less. She had a way of passing her two arms about Rantoul's +great one and clinging to him in a weak, dependent way that was quite +charming. + +When Cyrus Glover was informed that his daughter intended to marry a +dauber in paints, he started for Paris on ten hours' notice. But Mrs. +Glover who was just as resolved on social conquests as Glover was in +controlling the plate-glass field, went down to meet him at the boat, +and by the time the train entered the St. Lazare Station, he had been +completely disciplined and brought to understand that a painter was one +thing and that a Rantoul, who happened to paint, was quite another. When +he had known Rantoul a week; and listened open-mouthed to his eloquent +schemes for reordering the universe, and the arts in particular, he was +willing to swear that he was one of the geniuses of the world. + +The wedding took place shortly, and Cyrus Glover gave the bridegroom a +check for $100,000, "so that he wouldn't have to be bothering his wife +for pocketmoney." Herkimer was the best man, and the Quarter attended +in force, with much outward enthusiasm. The bride and groom departed for +a two-year's trip around the world, that Rantoul might inspire himself +with the treasures of Italy, Greece, India, and Japan. + +Every one, even Herkimer, agreed that Rantoul was the luckiest man in +Paris; that he had found just the wife who was suited to him, whose +fortune would open every opportunity for his genius to develop. + +"In the first place," said Bennett, when the group had returned to +Herkimer's studio to continue the celebration, "let me remark that in +general I don't approve of marriage for an artist." + +"Nor I," cried Chatterton, and the chorus answered, "Nor I." + +"I shall never marry," continued Bennett. + +"Never," cried Chatterton, who beat a tattoo on the piano with his heel +to accompany the chorus of assent. + +"But--I add but--in this case my opinion is that Rantoul has found a +pure diamond." + +"True!" + +"In the first place, she knows nothing at all about art, which is an +enormous advantage." + +"Bravo!" + +"In the second place, she knows nothing about anything else, which is +better still." + +"Cynic! You hate clever women," cried Jacobus. + +"There's a reason." + +"All the same, Bennett's right. The wife of an artist should be a +creature of impulses and not ideas." + +"True." + +"In the third place," continued Bennett, "she believes Rantoul is a +demigod. Everything he will do will be the most wonderful thing in the +world, and to have a little person you are madly in love with think that +is enormous." + +"All of which is not very complimentary to the bride," said Herkimer. + +"Find me one like her," cried Bennett. + +"Ditto," said Chatterton and Jacobus with enthusiasm. + +"There is only one thing that worries me," said Bennett, seriously. +"Isn't there too much money?" + +"Not for Rantoul." + +"He's a rebel." + +"You'll see; he'll stir up the world with it." + +Herkimer himself had approved of the marriage in a whole-hearted way. +The childlike ways of Tina Glover had convinced him, and as he was +concerned only with the future of his friend, he agreed with the rest +that nothing luckier could have happened. + +Three years passed, during which he received occasional letters from +his old chum, not quite so spontaneous as he had expected, but filled +with the wonder of the ancient worlds. Then the intervals became longer, +and longer, and finally no letters came. + +He learned in a vague way that the Rantouls had settled in the East +somewhere near New York, but he waited in vain for the news of the stir +in the world of art that Rantoul's first exhibitions should produce. + +His friends who visited in America returned without news of Rantoul; +there was a rumor that he had gone with his father-in-law into the +organization of some new railroad or trust. But even this report was +vague, and as he could not understand what could have happened, it +remained for a long time to him a mystery. Then he forgot it. + +Ten years after Rantoul's marriage to little Tina Glover, Herkimer +returned to America. The last years had placed him in the foreground of +the sculptors of the world. He had that strangely excited consciousness +that he was a figure in the public eye. Reporters rushed to meet him on +his arrival, societies organized dinners to him, magazines sought the +details of his life's struggle. Withal, however, he felt a strange +loneliness, and an aloofness from the clamoring world about him. He +remembered the old friendship in the starlit garret of the Rue de +l'Ombre, and, learning Rantoul's address, wrote him. Three days later he +received the following answer: + + _Dear Old Boy:_ + + I'm delighted to find that you have remembered me in your fame. Run + up this Saturday for a week at least. I'll show you some fine + scenery, and we'll recall the days of the Café des Lilacs together. + My wife sends her greetings also. + + Clyde. + +This letter made Herkimer wonder. There was nothing on which he could +lay his finger, and yet there was something that was not there. With +some misgivings he packed his bag and took the train, calling up again +to his mind the picture of Rantoul, with his shabby trousers pulled up, +decorating his ankles with lavender and black, roaring all the while +with his rumbling laughter. + +At the station only the chauffeur was down to meet him. A correct +footman, moving on springs, took his bag, placed him in the back seat, +and spread a duster for him. They turned through a pillared gateway, +Renaissance style, passed a gardener's lodge, with hothouses flashing in +the reclining sun, and fled noiselessly along the macadam road that +twined through a formal grove. All at once they were before the house, +red brick and marble, with wide-flung porte-cochère and verandas, beyond +which could be seen immaculate lawns, and in the middle distances the +sluggish gray of a river that crawled down from the turbulent hills on +the horizon. Another creature in livery tripped down the steps and held +the door for him. He passed perplexed into the hall, which was fresh +with the breeze that swept through open French windows. + +[Illustration: Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and +black] + +"Mr. Herkimer, isn't it?" + +He turned to find a woman of mannered assurance holding out her hand +correctly to him, and under the panama that topped the pleasant effect +of her white polo-coat he looked into the eyes of that Tina Glover, who +once had caught his rough hand in her little ones and said timidly: + +"You'll always be my friend, my best, just as you are Clyde's, won't +you? And I may call you Britt or Old Boy or Old Top, just as Clyde +does?" + +He looked at her amazed. She was prettier, undeniably so. She had +learned the art of being a woman, and she gave him her hand as though +she had granted a favor. + +"Yes," he said shortly, freezing all at once. "Where's Clyde?" + +"He had to play in a polo-match. He's just home taking a tub," she said +easily. "Will you go to your room first? I didn't ask any one in for +dinner. I supposed you would rather chat together of old times. You have +become a tremendous celebrity, haven't you? Clyde is so proud of you." + +"I'll go to my room now," he said shortly. + +The valet had preceded him, opening his valise and smoothing out his +evening clothes on the lace bedspread. + +"I'll attend to that," he said curtly. "You may go." + +He stood at the window, in the long evening hour of the June day, +frowning to himself. "By George! I've a mind to clear out," he said, +thoroughly angry. + +At this moment there came a vigorous rap, and Rantoul in slippers and +lilac dressing-gown broke in, with hair still wet from his shower. + +"The same as ever, bless the Old Top!" he cried, catching him up in one +of the old-time bear-hugs. "I say, don't think me inhospitable. Had to +play a confounded match. We beat 'em, too; lost six pounds doing it, +though. Jove! but you look natural! I say, that was a stunning thing you +did for Philadelphia--the audacity of it. How do you like my place? I've +got four children, too. What do you think of that? Nothing finer. Well, +tell me what you're doing." + +Herkimer relented before the familiar rush of enthusiasm and questions, +and the conversation began on a natural footing. He looked at Rantoul, +aware of the social change that had taken place in him. The old +aggressiveness, the look of the wolf, had gone; about him was an +enthusiastic urbanity. He seemed clean cut, virile, overflowing with +vitality, only it was a different vitality, the snap and decision of a +man-of-affairs, not the untamed outrush of the artist. + +They had spoken scarcely a short five minutes when a knock came on the +door and a footman's voice said: + +"Mrs. Rantoul wishes you not to be late for dinner, sir." + +"Very well, very well," said Rantoul, with a little impatience. "I +always forget the time. Jove! it's good to see you again; you'll give us +a week at least. Meet you downstairs." + +When Herkimer had dressed and descended, his host and hostess were still +up-stairs. He moved through the rooms, curiously noting the contents of +the walls. There were several paintings of value, a series of drawings +by Boucher, a replica or two of his own work; but he sought without +success for something from the brush of Clyde Rantoul. At dinner he was +aware of a sudden uneasiness. Mrs. Rantoul, with the flattering smile +that recalled Tina Glover, pressed him with innumerable questions, which +he answered with constraint, always aware of the dull simulation of +interest in her eyes. + +Twice during the meal Rantoul was called to the telephone for a +conversation at long distance. + +"Clyde is becoming quite a power in Wall Street," said Mrs. Rantoul, +with an approving smile. "Father says he's the strength of the younger +men. He has really a genius for organization." + +"It's a wonderful time, Britt," said Rantoul, resuming his place. +"There's nothing like it anywhere on the face of the globe--the +possibilities of concentration and simplification here in business. It's +a great game, too, matching your wits against another's. We're building +empires of trade, order out of chaos. I'm making an awful lot of money." + +Herkimer remained obstinately silent during the rest of the dinner. +Everything seemed to fetter him--the constraint of dining before the +silent, flitting butler, servants who whisked his plate away before he +knew it, the succession of unrecognizable dishes, the constant jargon of +social eavesdroppings that Mrs. Rantoul pressed into action the moment +her husband's recollections exiled her from the conversation; but above +all, the indefinable enmity that seemed to well out from his hostess, +and which he seemed to divine occasionally when the ready smile left her +lips and she was forced to listen to things she did not understand. + +When they rose from the table, Rantoul passed his arm about his wife and +said something in her ear, at which she smiled and patted his hand. + +"I am very proud of my husband, Mr. Herkimer," she said with a little +bob of her head in which was a sense of proprietorship. "You'll see." + +"Suppose we stroll out for a little smoke in the garden," said Rantoul. + +"What, you're going to leave me?" she said instantly, with a shade of +vague uneasiness, that Herkimer perceived. + +"We sha'n't be long, dear," said Rantoul, pinching her ear. "Our chatter +won't interest you. Send the coffee out into the rose cupola." + +They passed out into the open porch, but Herkimer was aware of the +little woman standing irresolutely tapping with her thin finger on the +table, and he said to himself: "She's a little ogress of jealousy. What +the deuce is she afraid I'll say to him?" + +They rambled through sweet-scented paths, under the high-flung network +of stars, hearing only the crunching of little pebbles under foot. + +"You've given up painting?" said Herkimer all at once. + +"Yes, though that doesn't count," said Rantoul, abruptly; but there was +in his voice a different note, something of the restlessness of the old +Don Furioso. "Talk to me of the Quarter. Who's at the Café des Lilacs +now? They tell me that little Ragin we used to torment so has made some +great decorations. What became of that pretty girl in the creamery of +the Rue de l'Ombre who used to help us over the lean days?" + +"Whom you christened Our Lady of the Sparrows?" "Yes, yes. You know I +sent her the silk dress and the earrings I promised her." + +Herkimer began to speak of one thing and another, of Bennett, who had +gone dramatically to the Transvaal; of Le Gage, who was now in the +forefront of the younger group of landscapists; of the old types that +still came faithfully to the Café des Lilacs,--the old chess-players, +the fat proprietor, with his fat wife and three fat children who dined +there regularly every Sunday,--of the new revolutionary ideas among the +younger men that were beginning to assert themselves. + +"Let's sit down," said Rantoul, as though suffocating. + +They placed themselves in wicker easy-chairs, under the heavy-scented +rose cupola, disdaining the coffee that waited on a table. From where +they were a red-tiled walk, with flower beds nodding in enchanted sleep, +ran to the veranda. The porch windows were open, and in the golden +lamplight Herkimer saw the figure of Tina Glover bent intently over an +embroidery, drawing her needle with uneven stitches, her head seeming +inclined to catch the faintest sound. The waiting, nervous pose, the +slender figure on guard, brought to him a strange, almost uncanny +sensation of mystery, and feeling the sudden change in the mood of the +man at his side, he gazed at the figure of the wife and said to himself: + +[Illustration: Our Lady of the Sparrows] + +"I'd give a good deal to know what's passing through that little head. +What is she afraid of?" + +"You're surprised to find me as I am," said Rantoul, abruptly breaking +the silence. + +"Yes." + +"You can't understand it?" + +"When did you give up painting?" said Herkimer, shortly, with a sure +feeling that the hour of confidences had come. + +"Seven years ago." + +"Why in God's name did you do it?" said Herkimer, flinging away his +cigar angrily. "You weren't just any one--Tom, Dick, or Harry. You had +something to say, man. Listen. I know what I'm talking about,--I've seen +the whole procession in the last ten years,--you were one in a thousand. +You were a creator. You had ideas; you were meant to be a leader, to +head a movement. You had more downright savage power, undeveloped, but +tugging at the chain, than any man I've known. Why did you do it?" + +"I had almost forgotten," said Rantoul, slowly. "Are you sure?" + +"Am I sure?" said Herkimer, furiously. "I say what I mean; you know it." + +"Yes, that's true," said Rantoul. He stretched out his hand and drank +his coffee, but without knowing what he did. "Well, that's all of the +past--what might have been." + +"But why?" + +"Britt, old fellow," said Rantoul at last, speaking as though to +himself, "did you ever have a moment when you suddenly got out of +yourself, looked at yourself and at your life as a spectator?--saw the +strange strings that had pulled you this way and that, and realized what +might have been had you turned one corner at a certain day of your life +instead of another?" + +"No, I've gone where I wanted to go," said Herkimer, obstinately. + +"You think so. Well, to-night I can see myself for the first time," said +Rantoul. Then he added meditatively, "I have done not one single thing I +wanted to." + +"But why--why?" + +"You have brought it all back to me," said Rantoul, ignoring this +question. "It hurts. I suppose to-morrow I shall resent it, but to-night +I feel too deeply. There is nothing free about us in this world, Britt. +I profoundly believe that. Everything we do from morning to night is +dictated by the direction of those about us. An enemy, some one in the +open, we can combat and resist; but it is those that are nearest to us +who disarm us because they love us, that change us most, that thwart our +desires, and make over our lives. Nothing in this world is so +inexorable, so terribly, terribly irresistible as a woman without +strength, without logic, without vision, who only loves." + +"He is going to say things he will regret," thought Herkimer, and yet +he did not object. Instead, he glanced down the dimly flushed path to +the house where Mrs. Rantoul was sitting, her embroidery on her lap, her +head raised as though listening. Suddenly he said: + +"Look here, Clyde, do you want to tell me this?" + +"Yes, I do; it's life. Why not? We are at the age when we've got to face +things." + +"Still--" + +"Let me go on," said Rantoul, stopping him. He reached out +absent-mindedly, and drank the second cup. "Let me say now, Britt, for +fear you'll misunderstand, there has never been the slightest quarrel +between my wife and me. She loves me absolutely; nothing else in this +world exists for her. It has always been so; she cannot bear even to +have me out of her sight. I am very happy. Only there is in such a love +something of the tiger--a fierce animal jealousy of every one and +everything which could even for a moment take my thoughts away. At this +moment she is probably suffering untold pangs because she thinks I am +regretting the days in which she was not in my life." + +"And because she could not understand your art, she hated it," said +Herkimer, with a growing anger. + +"No, it wasn't that. It was something more subtle, more instinctive, +more impossible to combat," said Rantoul, shaking his head. "Do you know +what is the great essential to the artist--to whoever creates? The +sense of privacy, the power to isolate his own genius from everything in +the world, to be absolutely concentrated. To create we must be alone, +have strange, unuttered thoughts, just as in the realms of the soul +every human being must have moments of complete isolation--thoughts, +reveries, moods, that cannot be shared with even those we love best. You +don't understand that." + +"Yes, I do." + +"At the bottom we human beings come and depart absolutely alone. +Friendship, love, all that we instinctively seek to rid ourselves of, +this awful solitude of the soul, avail nothing. Well, what others shrink +from, the artist must seek." + +"But you could not make her understand that?" + +"I was dealing with a child," said Rantoul. "I loved that child, and I +could not bear even to see a frown of unhappiness cloud her face. Then +she adored me. What can be answered to that?" + +"That's true." + +"At first it was not so difficult. We passed around the world--Greece, +India, Japan. She came and sat by my side when I took my easel; every +stroke of my brush seemed like a miracle. A hundred times she would cry +out her delight. Naturally that amused me. From time to time I would +suspend the sittings and reward my patient little audience--" + +"And the sketches?" + +"They were not what I wanted," said Rantoul with a little laugh; "but +they were not bad. When I returned here and opened my studio, it began +to be difficult. She could not understand that I wanted to work eighteen +hours a day. She begged for my afternoons. I gave in. She embraced me +frantically and said; 'Oh, how good you are! Now I won't be jealous any +more, and every morning I will come with you and inspire you.'" + +"Every morning," said Herkimer, softly. + +"Yes," said Rantoul, with a little hesitation, "every morning. She +fluttered about the studio like a pink-and-white butterfly, sending me a +kiss from her dainty fingers whenever I looked her way. She watched over +my shoulder every stroke, and when I did something that pleased her, I +felt her lips on my neck, behind my ear, and heard her say, 'That is +your reward.'" + +"Every day?" said Herkimer. + +"Every day." + +"And when you had a model?" + +"Oh, then it was worse. She treated the models as though they were +convicts, watching them out of the corners of her eyes. Her +demonstration of affection redoubled, her caresses never stopped, as +though she wished to impress upon them her proprietorship. Those days +she was really jealous." + +"God--how could you stand it?" said Herkimer, violently. + +"To be frank, the more she outraged me as an artist, the more she +pleased me as a man. To be loved so absolutely, especially if you are +sensitive to such things, has an intoxication of its own, yes, she +fascinated me more and more." + +"Extraordinary." + +"One day I tried to make her understand that I had need to be alone. She +listened to me solemnly, with only a little quiver of her lips, and let +me go. When I returned, I found her eyes swollen with weeping and her +heart bursting." + +"And you took her in your arms and promised never to send her away +again." + +"Naturally. Then I began to go out into society to please her. Next +something very interesting came up, and I neglected my studio for a +morning. The same thing happened again and again. I had a period of wild +revolt, of bitter anger, in which I resolved to be firm, to insist on my +privacy, to make the fight." + +"And you never did?" + +"When her arms were about me, when I saw her eyes, full of adoration and +passion, raised to my own, I forgot all my irritation in my happiness as +a man. I said to myself, 'Life is short; it is better to be loved than +to wait for glory.' One afternoon, under the pretext of examining the +grove, I stole away to the studio, and pulled out some of the old +things that I had done in Paris--and sat and gazed at them. My throat +began to fill, and I felt the tears coming to my eyes, when I looked +around and saw her standing wide-eyed at the door. + +"'What are you doing?' she said. + +"'Looking at some of the old things.' + +"'You regret those days?' + +"'Of course not.' + +"'Then why do you steal away from me, make a pretext to come here? Isn't +my love great enough for you? Do you want to put me out of your life +altogether? You used to tell me that I inspired you. If you want, we'll +give up the afternoons. I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for +you by the hour--only don't shut the door on me!' + +"She began to cry. I took her in my arms, said everything that she +wished me to say, heedlessly, brutally, not caring what I said. + +"That night I ran off, resolved to end it all--to save what I longed +for. I remained five hours trudging in the night--pulled back and forth. +I remembered my children. I came back,--told a lie. The next day I shut +the door of the studio not on her, but on myself. + +"For months I did nothing. I was miserable. She saw it at last, and said +to me: + +"'You ought to work. You aren't happy doing nothing. I've arranged +something for you.' + +"I raised my head in amazement, as she continued, +clapping her hands with delight: + +"'I've talked it all over with papa. You'll go into his office. You'll +do big things. He's quite enthusiastic, and I promised for you.' + +"I went. I became interested. I stayed. Now I am like any other man, +domesticated, conservative, living my life, and she has not the +slightest idea of what she has killed." + +"Let us go in," said Herkimer, rising. + +"And you say I could have left a name?" said Rantoul, bitterly. + +"You were wrong to tell me all this," said Herkimer. + +"I owed you the explanation. What could I do?" + +"Lie." + +"Why?" + +"Because, after such a confidence, it is impossible for you ever to see +me again. You know it." + +"Nonsense. I--" + +"Let's go back." + +Full of dull anger and revolt, Herkimer led the way. Rantoul, after a +few steps, caught him by the sleeve. + +"Don't take it too seriously, Britt. I don't revolt any more. I'm no +longer the Rantoul you knew." + +"That's just the trouble," said Herkimer, cruelly. + +When their steps sounded near, Mrs. Rantoul rose hastily, spilling her +silk and needles on the floor. She gave her husband a swift, searching +look, and said with her flattering smile: + +"Mr. Herkimer, you must be a very interesting talker. I am quite +jealous." + +"I am rather tired," he answered, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go +off to bed." + +"Really?" she said, raising her eyes. She extended her hand, and he took +it with almost the physical repulsion with which one would touch the +hand of a criminal. The next morning he left. + + + + +III + + +When Herkimer had finished, he shrugged his shoulders, gave a short +laugh, and, glancing at the clock, went off in his curt, purposeful +manner. + +"Well, by Jove!" said Steingall, recovering first from the spell of the +story, "doesn't that prove exactly what I said? They're jealous, they're +all jealous, I tell you, jealous of everything you do. All they want us +to do is to adore them. By Jove! Herkimer's right. Rantoul was the +biggest of us all. She murdered him just as much as though she had put a +knife in him." + +"She did it on purpose," said De Gollyer. "There was nothing childlike +about her, either. On the contrary, I consider her a clever, a +devilishly clever woman." + +"Of course she did. They're all clever, damn them!" said Steingall, +explosively. "Now, what do you say, Quinny? I say that an artist who +marries might just as well tie a rope around his neck and present it to +his wife and have it over." + +"On the contrary," said Quinny, with a sudden inspiration reorganizing +his whole battle front, "every artist should marry. The only danger is +that he may marry happily." + +"What?" cried Steingall. "But you said--" + +"My dear boy, I have germinated some new ideas," said Quinny, +unconcerned. "The story has a moral,--I detest morals,--but this has +one. An artist should always marry unhappily, and do you know why? +Purely a question of chemistry. Towsey, when do you work the best?" + +"How do you mean?" said Towsey, rousing himself. + +"I've heard you say that you worked best when your nerves were all on +edge--night out, cucumbers, thunder-storm, or a touch of fever." + +"Yes, that's so." + +"Can any one work well when everything is calm?" continued Quinny, +triumphantly, to the amazement of Rankin and Steingall. "Can you work on +a clear spring day, when nothing bothers you and the first of the month +is two weeks off, eh? Of course you can't. Happiness is the enemy of the +artist. It puts to sleep the faculties. Contentment is a drug. My dear +men, an artist should always be unhappy. Perpetual state of +fermentation sets the nerves throbbing, sensitive to impressions. +Exaltation and remorse, anger and inspiration, all hodge-podge, chemical +action and reaction, all this we are blessed with when we are unhappily +married. Domestic infelicity drives us to our art; happiness makes us +neglect it. Shall I tell you what I do when everything is smooth, no +nerves, no inspiration, fat, puffy Sunday-dinner-feeling, too happy, +can't work? I go home and start a quarrel with my wife." + +"And then you _can_ work," cried Steingall, roaring with laughter. "By +Jove, you _are_ immense!" + +"Never better," said Quinny, who appeared like a prophet. + +The four artists, who had listened to Herkimer's story in that gradual +thickening depression which the subject of matrimony always let down +over them, suddenly brightened visibly. On their faces appeared the look +of inward speculation, and then a ray of light. + +Little Towsey, who from his arrival had sulked, fretted, and fumed, +jumped up energetically and flung away his third cigar. + +"Here, where are you going?" said Rankin in protest. + +"Over to the studio," said Towsey, quite unconsciously. "I feel like a +little work." + + + + +ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK + + +They were discussing languidly, as such groups do, seeking from each +topic a peg on which to hang a few epigrams that might be retold in the +lip currency of the club--Steingall, the painter, florid of gesture and +effete, foreign in type, with black-rimmed glasses and trailing ribbon +of black silk that cut across his cropped beard and cavalry mustaches; +De Gollyer, a critic, who preferred to be known as a man about town, +short, feverish, incisive, who slew platitudes with one adjective and +tagged a reputation with three; Rankin, the architect, always in a +defensive explanatory attitude, who held his elbows on the table, his +hands before his long sliding nose, and gestured with his fingers; +Quinny, the illustrator, long and gaunt, with a predatory eloquence that +charged irresistibly down on any subject, cut it off, surrounded it, and +raked it with enfilading wit and satire; and Peters, whose methods of +existence were a mystery, a young man of fifty, who had done nothing and +who knew every one by his first name, the club postman, who carried the +tittle-tattle, the _bon mots_ and the news of the day, who drew up a +petition a week and pursued the house committee with a daily grievance. + +About the latticed porch, which ran around the sanded yard with its +feeble fountain and futile evergreens, other groups were eying one +another, or engaging in desultory conversation, oppressed with the +heaviness of the night. + +At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he devoured the +conversation, having routed Steingall on the Germans and archæology and +Rankin on the origins of the Lord's Prayer, had seized a chance remark +of De Gollyer's to say: + +"There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like everything +that's true it isn't true." He waved his long, gouty fingers in the +direction of Steingall, who, having been silenced, was regarding him +with a look of sleepy indifference. "What is more to the point, is the +small number of human relations that are so simple and yet so +fundamental that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and +reinterpreted in every language, in every age, and yet remain +inexhaustible in the possibility of variations." + +"By George, that is so," said Steingall, waking up. "Every art does go +back to three or four notes. In composition it is the same thing. +Nothing new--nothing new since a thousand years. By George, that is +true! We invent nothing, nothing!" + +"Take the eternal triangle," said Quinny hurriedly, not to surrender his +advantage, while Rankin and De Gollyer in a bored way continued to gaze +dreamily at a vagrant star or two. "Two men and a woman, or two women +and a man. Obviously it should be classified as the first of the great +original parent themes. Its variations extend into the thousands. By the +way, Rankin, excellent opportunity, eh, for some of our modern, +painstaking, unemployed jackasses to analyze and classify." + +"Quite right," said Rankin without perceiving the satirical note. "Now +there's De Maupassant's Fort comma la Mort--quite the most interesting +variation--shows the turn a genius can give. There the triangle is the +man of middle age, the mother he has loved in his youth and the daughter +he comes to love. It forms, you might say, the head of a whole +subdivision of modern continental literature." + +"Quite wrong, Rankin, quite wrong," said Quinny, who would have stated +the other side quite as imperiously. "What you cite is a variation of +quite another theme, the Faust theme--old age longing for youth, the man +who has loved longing for the love of his youth, which is youth itself. +The triangle is the theme of jealousy, the most destructive and, +therefore, the most dramatic of human passions. The Faust theme is the +most fundamental and inevitable of all human experiences, the tragedy of +life itself. Quite a different thing." + +Rankin, who never agreed with Quinny unless Quinny maliciously took +advantage of his prior announcement to agree with him, continued to +combat this idea. + +"You believe then," said De Gollyer after a certain moment had been +consumed in hair splitting, "that the origin of all dramatic themes is +simply the expression of some human emotion. In other words, there can +exist no more parent themes than there are human emotions." + +"I thank you, sir, very well put," said Quinny with a generous wave of +his hand. "Why is the Three Musketeers a basic theme? Simply the +interpretation of comradeship, the emotion one man feels for another, +vital because it is the one peculiarly masculine emotion. Look at Du +Maurier and Trilby, Kipling in Soldiers Three--simply the Three +Musketeers." + +"The Vie de Bohème?" suggested Steingall. + +"In the real Vie de Bohème, yes," said Quinny viciously. "Not in the +concocted sentimentalities that we now have served up to us by athletic +tenors and consumptive elephants!" + +Rankin, who had been silently deliberating on what had been left behind, +now said cunningly and with evident purpose: + +"All the same, I don't agree with you men at all. I believe there are +situations, original situations, that are independent of your human +emotions, that exist just because they are situations, accidental and +nothing else." + +"As for instance?" said Quinny, preparing to attack. + +"Well, I'll just cite an ordinary one that happens to come to my mind," +said Rankin, who had carefully selected his test. "In a group of seven +or eight, such as we are here, a theft takes place; one man is the +thief--which one? I'd like to know what emotion that interprets, and yet +it certainly is an original theme, at the bottom of a whole literature." + +This challenge was like a bomb. + +"Not the same thing." + +"Detective stories, bah!" + +"Oh, I say, Rankin, that's literary melodrama." + +Rankin, satisfied, smiled and winked victoriously over to Tommers, who +was listening from an adjacent table. + +"Of course your suggestion is out of order, my dear man, to this +extent," said Quinny, who never surrendered, "in that I am talking of +fundamentals and you are citing details. Nevertheless, I could answer +that the situation you give, as well as the whole school it belongs to, +can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions, curiosity; and +that the story of Bluebeard and the Moonstone are to all purposes +identically the same." + +At this Steingall, who had waited hopefully, gasped and made as though +to leave the table. + +"I shall take up your contention," said Quinny without pause for breath, +"first, because you have opened up one of my pet topics, and, second, +because it gives me a chance to talk." He gave a sidelong glance at +Steingall and winked at De Gollyer. "What is the peculiar fascination +that the detective problem exercises over the human mind? You will say +curiosity. Yes and no. Admit at once that the whole art of a detective +story consists in the statement of the problem. Any one can do it. I can +do it. Steingall even can do it. The solution doesn't count. It is +usually banal; it should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we +guess it? Just as an able-minded man will sit down for hours and fiddle +over the puzzle column in a Sunday balderdash. Same idea. There you have +it, the problem--the detective story. Now why the fascination? I'll tell +you. It appeals to our curiosity, yes--but deeper to a sort of +intellectual vanity. Here are six matches, arrange them to make four +squares; five men present, a theft takes place--who's the thief? Who +will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior cleverness--see? +That's all--that's all there is to it." + +"Out of all of which," said De Gollyer, "the interesting thing is that +Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply of detective fiction is +inexhaustible. It does all come down to the simplest terms. Seven +possibilities, one answer. It is a formula, ludicrously simple, +mechanical, and yet we will always pursue it to the end. The marvel is +that writers should seek for any other formula when here is one so +safe, that can never fail. By George, I could start up a factory on it." + +"The reason is," said Rankin, "that the situation does constantly occur. +It's a situation that any of us might get into any time. As a matter of +fact, now, I personally know two such occasions when I was of the party; +and devilish uncomfortable it was too." + +"What happened?" said Steingall. + +"Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake had been made +and the other time the real thief was detected by accident a year later. +In both cases only one or two of us knew what had happened." + +De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, after +reflection, related another that had happened to a friend. + +"Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen," said Quinny impatiently, for +he had been silent too long, "you are glorifying commonplaces. Every +crime, I tell you, expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle +that you feed to your six-year-old. It's only the variation that is +interesting. Now quite the most remarkable turn of the complexities that +can be developed is, of course, the well-known instance of the visitor +at a club and the rare coin. Of course every one knows that? What?" + +Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others protested their +ignorance. + +"Why, it's very well known," said Quinny lightly. + +"A distinguished visitor is brought into a club--dozen men, say, +present, at dinner, long table. Conversation finally veers around to +curiosities and relics. One of the members present then takes from his +pocket what he announces as one of the rarest coins in existence--passes +it around the table. Coin travels back and forth, every one examining +it, and the conversation goes to another topic, say the influence of the +automobile on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely +intellectual club topic--you know? All at once the owner calls for his +coin. + +"The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at every one else. +First they suspect a joke. Then it becomes serious--the coin is +immensely valuable. Who has taken it? + +"The owner is a gentleman--does the gentlemanly idiotic thing of course, +laughs, says he knows some one is playing a practical joke on him and +that the coin will be returned to-morrow. The others refuse to leave the +situation so. One man proposes that they all submit to a search. Every +one gives his assent until it comes to the stranger. He refuses, curtly, +roughly, without giving any reason. Uncomfortable silence--the man is a +guest. No one knows him particularly well--but still he is a guest. One +member tries to make him understand that no offense is offered, that the +suggestion was simply to clear the atmosphere, and all that sort of +bally rot, you know. + +"'I refuse to allow my person to be searched,' says the stranger, very +firm, very proud, very English, you know, 'and I refuse to give my +reason for my action.' + +"Another silence. The men eye him and then glance at one another. What's +to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette--that magnificent inflated +balloon. The visitor evidently has the coin--but he is their guest and +etiquette protects him. Nice situation, eh? + +"The table is cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit and there under +the ledge of the plate where it had been pushed--is the coin. Banal +explanation, eh? Of course. Solutions always should be. At once every +one in profuse apologies! Whereupon the visitor rises and says: + +"'Now I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched. There are +only two known specimens of the coin in existence, and the second +happens to be here in my waistcoat pocket.'" + +"Of course," said Quinny with a shrug of his shoulders, "the story is +well invented, but the turn to it is very nice--very nice indeed." + +"I did know the story," said Steingall, to be disagreeable; "the ending, +though, is too obvious to be invented. The visitor should have had on +him not another coin, but something absolutely different, something +destructive, say, of a woman's reputation, and a great tragedy should +have been threatened by the casual misplacing of the coin." + +"I have heard the same story told in a dozen different ways," said +Rankin. + +"It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening," +said Steingall. + +"I know one extraordinary instance," said Peters, who up to the present, +secure in his climax, had waited with a professional smile until the big +guns had been silenced. "In fact, the most extraordinary instance of +this sort I have ever heard." + +"Peters, you little rascal," said Quinny with a sidelong glance, "I +perceive you have quietly been letting us dress the stage for you." + +"It is not a story that will please every one," said Peters, to whet +their appetite. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you will want to know what no one can ever know." + +"It has no conclusion then?" + +"Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, quite the most remarkable +woman I have ever met, the story is complete. As for the rest, it is +what it is, because it is one example where literature can do nothing +better than record." + +"Do I know the woman?" asked De Gollyer, who flattered himself on +passing through every class of society. + +"Possibly, but no more than any one else." + +"An actress?" + +"What she has been in the past I don't know--a promoter would better +describe her. Undoubtedly she has been behind the scenes in many an +untold intrigue of the business world. A very feminine woman, and yet, +as you shall see, with an unusual instantaneous masculine power of +decision." + +"Peters," said Quinny, waving a warning finger, "you are destroying your +story. Your preface will bring an anticlimax." + +"You shall judge," said Peters, who waited until his audience was in +strained attention before opening his story. "The names are, of course, +disguises." + +Mrs. Rita Kildair inhabited a charming bachelor-girl studio, very +elegant, of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings just off Central +Park West. She knew pretty nearly every one in that indescribable +society in New York that is drawn from all levels, and that imposes but +one condition for membership--to be amusing. She knew every one and no +one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest rumors her history or her +means. No one had ever heard of a Mr. Kildair. There was always about +her a certain defensive reserve the moment the limits of +acquaintanceship had been reached. She had a certain amount of money, +she knew a certain number of men in Wall Street affairs and her studio +was furnished with taste and even distinction. She was of any age. She +might have suffered everything or nothing at all. In this mingled +society her invitations were eagerly sought, her dinners were +spontaneous, and the discussions, though gay and usually daring, were +invariably under the control of wit and good taste. + +On the Sunday night of this adventure she had, according to her +invariable custom, sent away her Japanese butler and invited to an +informal chafing-dish supper seven of her more congenial friends, all of +whom, as much as could be said of any one, were habitués of the studio. + +At seven o'clock, having finished dressing, she put in order her +bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between the studio and a +small dining room to the kitchen beyond. Then, going into the studio, +she lit a wax taper and was in the act of touching off the brass +candlesticks that lighted the room when three knocks sounded on the door +and a Mr. Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed, +entered with the informality of assured acquaintance. + +"You are early," said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise. + +"On the contrary, you are late," said the broker, glancing at his watch. + +"Then be a good boy and help me with the candles," she said, giving him +a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers. + +He obeyed, asking nonchalantly: + +"I say, dear lady, who's to be here to-night?" + +"The Enos Jacksons." + +"I thought they were separated." + +"Not yet." + +"Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have thought of serving us +a couple on the verge." + +"It's interesting, isn't it?" + +"Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?" + +"Through the Warings. Jackson's a rather doubtful person, isn't he?" + +"Let's call him a very sharp lawyer," said Flanders defensively. "They +tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of the market--in deep." + +"And you?" + +"Oh, I? I'm a bachelor," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "and if +I come a cropper it makes no difference." + +"Is that possible?" she said, looking at him quickly. + +"Probable even. And who else is coming?" + +"Maude Lille--you know her?" + +"I think not." + +"You met her here--a journalist." + +"Quite so, a strange career." + +"Mr. Harris, a clubman, is coming, and the Stanley Cheevers." + +"The Stanley Cheevers!" said Flanders with some surprise. "Are we going +to gamble?" + +"You believe in that scandal about bridge?" + +"Certainly not," said Flanders, smiling. "You see I was present. The +Cheevers play a good game, a well united game, and have an unusual +system of makes. By-the-way, it's Jackson who is very attentive to Mrs. +Cheever, isn't it?" + +"Quite right." + +"What a charming party," said Flanders flippantly. "And where does Maude +Lille come in?" + +"Don't joke. She is in a desperate way," said Mrs. Kildair, with a +little sadness in her eyes. + +"And Harris?" + +"Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken." + +"Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of +respectability." + +"Of what?" + +She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping his glance. + +"Don't be an ass with me, my dear Flanders." + +"By George, if this were Europe I'd wager you were in the secret +service, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Thank you." + +She smiled appreciatively and moved about the studio, giving the +finishing touches. The Stanley Cheevers entered, a short fat man with a +vacant fat face and a slow-moving eye, and his wife, voluble, nervous, +overdressed and pretty. Mr. Harris came with Maude Lille, a woman, +straight, dark, Indian, with great masses of somber hair held in a +little too loosely for neatness, with thick, quick lips and eyes that +rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The Enos Jacksons +were late and still agitated as they entered. His forehead had not quite +banished the scowl, nor her eyes the scorn. He was of the type that +never lost his temper, but caused others to lose theirs, immovable in +his opinions, with a prowling walk, a studied antagonism in his manner, +and an impudent look that fastened itself unerringly on the weakness in +the person to whom he spoke. Mrs. Jackson, who seemed fastened to her +husband by an invisible leash, had a hunted, resisting quality back of a +certain desperate dash, which she assumed rather than felt in her +attitude toward life. One looked at her curiously and wondered what such +a nature would do in a crisis, with a lurking sense of a woman who +carried with her her own impending tragedy. + +As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity of the +selection had been perceived, a smile of malicious anticipation ran the +rounds, which the hostess cut short by saying: + +"Well, now that every one is here, this is the order of the night: You +can quarrel all you want, you can whisper all the gossip you can think +of about one another, but every one is to be amusing! Also every one is +to help with the dinner--nothing formal and nothing serious. We may all +be bankrupt to-morrow, divorced or dead, but to-night we will be +gay--that is the invariable rule of the house!" + +Immediately a nervous laughter broke out and the company chattering +began to scatter through the rooms. + +Mrs. Kildair, stopping in her bedroom, donned a Watteaulike cooking +apron, and slipping her rings from her fingers fixed the three on her +pincushion with a hatpin. + +"Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful," said the low voice of Maude +Lille, who with Harris and Mrs. Cheever were in the room. + +"There's only one that is very valuable," said Mrs. Kildair, touching +with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost, two large diamonds, +flanking a magnificent sapphire. + +"It is beautiful--very beautiful," said the journalist, her eyes +fastened to it with an uncontrollable fascination. She put out her +fingers and let them rest caressingly on the sapphire, withdrawing them +quickly as though the contact had burned them. + +"It must be very valuable," she said, her breath catching a little. Mrs. +Cheever, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring. + +"It cost five thousand six years ago," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing down +at it. "It has been my talisman ever since. For the moment, however, I +am cook; Maude Lille, you are scullery maid; Harris is the chef, and we +are under his orders. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?" + +"Good Heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling. + +"Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All +you'll have to do is to help set the table. On to the kitchen!" + +Under their hostess's gay guidance the seven guests began to circulate +busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping the chairs, opening +bottles, and preparing the material for the chafing dishes. Mrs. Kildair +in the kitchen ransacked the ice box, and with her own hands chopped the +_fines herbes_, shredded the chicken and measured the cream. + +"Flanders, carry this in carefully," she said, her hands in a towel. +"Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the salad bowl on the table. +Everything ready, Harris? All right. Every one sit down. I'll be right +in." + +She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her apron hung it in +the closet. Then going to her dressing table she drew the hatpin from +the pincushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at +once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were +there, the third ring, the one with the sapphire and the two diamonds, +was missing. + +"Stupid," she said to herself, and returned to her dressing table. All +at once she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the pin +through the three rings. + +She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving, her +fingers drumming slowly on the table, her head to one side, her lip +drawn in a little between her teeth, listening with a frown to the +babble from the outer room. Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests +had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been +busy in the kitchen. + +"Too much time before the mirror, dear lady," called out Flanders gaily, +who from where he was seated could see her. + +"It is not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. "Why not? He is +clever--who knows? Let me think." + +To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her head bowed, +her thumb between her teeth. + +"Who has taken it?" + +She ran over the character of her guests and their situations as she +knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped upon some reason +that might explain a sudden temptation. + +"I shall find out nothing this way," she said to herself after a +moment's deliberation; "that is not the important thing to me just now. +The important thing is to get the ring back." + +And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her +clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her journey. + +Five minutes later, as Harris, installed _en maître_ over the chafing +dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs. Kildair came into +the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with +scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it at the +same moment, with a little nervous start. + +"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Flanders, "you come in on us like a +Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a surprise?" + +As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing her forehead +together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line. + +"I have something to say to you," she said in a sharp, businesslike +manner, watching the company with penetrating eagerness. + +There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. Harris +extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish clumsily with a +discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Enos Jackson swung +about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while the men +imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the +feet. + +"Mr. Enos Jackson?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Kindly do as I ask you." + +"Certainly." + +She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost +an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his eyebrows a little in +surprise. + +"Go to the door," she continued, shifting her glance from him to the +others. "Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the key." + +He executed the order without bungling, and returning stood before her, +tendering the key. + +"You've locked it?" she said, making the words an excuse to bury her +glance in his. + +"As you wished me to." + +"Thanks." + +She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the +door into her bedroom through which she had come. + +Then transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of +Jackson, who still awaited her further commands, her eyes studied a +moment the possibilities of the apartment. + +"Mr. Cheever?" she said in a low voice. + +"Yes, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Blow out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table." + +"Put out the lights, Mrs. Kildair?" + +"At once." + +Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of +questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the hostess. + +"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," said Mrs. Jackson with a little nervous +catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up! My +nerves--" + +"Miss Lille?" said the voice of command. + +"Yes." + +The journalist, calmer than the rest, had watched the proceedings +without surprise, as though forewarned by professional instinct that +something of importance was about to take place. Now she rose quietly +with an almost stealthy motion. + +"Put the candelabrum on this table--here," said Mrs. Kildair, indicating +a large round table on which a few books were grouped. "No, wait. Mr. +Jackson, first clear off the table. I want nothing on it." + +"But, Mrs. Kildair--" began Mrs. Jackson's shrill voice again. + +"That's it. Now put down the candelabrum." + +In a moment, as Mr. Cheever proceeded methodically on his errand, the +brilliant crossfire of lights dropped in the studio, only a few +smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high room seemed to +grow more distant as it came under the sole dominion of the three +candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table. + +"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice had in it a cold note. +"My sapphire ring has just been stolen." + +She said it suddenly, hurling the news among them and waiting +ferret-like for some indications in the chorus that broke out. + +"Stolen!" + +"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair!" + +"Stolen--by Jove!" + +"You don't mean it!" + +"What! Stolen here--to-night?" + +"The ring has been taken within the last twenty minutes," continued Mrs. +Kildair in the same determined, chiseled tone. "I am not going to mince +words. The ring has been taken and the thief is among you." + +For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp and a sudden +turning and searching, then suddenly Cheever's deep bass broke out: + +"Stolen! But, Mrs. Kildair, is it possible?" + +"Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt," said Mrs. Kildair. "Three +of you were in my bedroom when I placed my rings on the pincushion. Each +of you has passed through there a dozen times since. My sapphire ring is +gone, and one of you has taken it." + +Mrs. Jackson gave a little scream, and reached heavily for a glass of +water. Mrs. Cheever said something inarticulate in the outburst of +masculine exclamation. Only Maude Lille's calm voice could be heard +saying: + +"Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The sapphire ring +was on top." + +"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, her eyes on Maude Lille's eyes. "I am +not going to mince words. I am not going to stand on ceremony. I'm going +to have that ring back. Listen to me carefully. I'm going to have that +ring back, and until I do, not a soul shall leave this room." She tapped +on the table with her nervous knuckles. "Who has taken it I do not care +to know. All I want is my ring. Now I'm going to make it possible for +whoever took it to restore it without possibility of detection. The +doors are locked and will stay locked. I am going to put out the lights, +and I am going to count one hundred slowly. You will be in absolute +darkness; no one will know or see what is done. But if at the end of +that time the ring is not here on this table I shall telephone the +police and have every one in this room searched. Am I quite clear?" + +Suddenly she cut short the nervous outbreak of suggestions and in the +same firm voice continued: + +"Every one take his place about the table. That's it. That will do." + +The women, with the exception of the inscrutable Maude Lille, gazed +hysterically from face to face while the men, compressing their fingers, +locking them or grasping their chins, looked straight ahead fixedly at +their hostess. + +Mrs. Kildair, having calmly assured herself that all were ranged as she +wished, blew out two of the three candles. + +"I shall count one hundred, no more, no less," she said. "Either I get +back that ring or every one in this room is to be searched, remember." + +Leaning over, she blew out the remaining candle and snuffed it. + +"One, two, three, four, five--" + +She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a clock's ticking. + +In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, the +grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man. + +"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three--" + +She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her +voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the company. +A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the verge of +hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his throat. + +"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven--" + +Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure the +slightest, only the sound became more metallic. + +"Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy--" + +Some one had sighed. + +"Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, +seventy-seven--" + +All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the table +was heard a slight metallic note. + +"The ring!" + +It was Maude Lille's quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. Kildair continued +to count. + +"Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one--" + +The tension became unbearable. Two or three voices protested against the +needless prolonging of the torture. + +"Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine and one hundred." + +A match sputtered in Mrs. Kildair's hand and on the instant the company +craned forward. In the center of the table was the sparkling sapphire +and diamond ring. Candles were lit, flaring up like searchlights on the +white accusing faces. + +"Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me," said Mrs. Kildair. She held out +her hand without trembling, a smile of triumph on her face, which had in +it for a moment an expression of positive cruelty. + +Immediately she changed, contemplating with amusement the horror of her +guests, staring blindly from one to another, seeing the indefinable +glance of interrogation that passed from Cheever to Mrs. Cheever, from +Mrs. Jackson to her husband, and then without emotion she said: + +"Now that that is over we can have a very gay little supper." + +When Peters had pushed back his chair, satisfied as only a trained +raconteur can be by the silence of a difficult audience, and had busied +himself with a cigar, there was an instant outcry. + +"I say, Peters, old boy, that is not all!" + +"Absolutely." + +"The story ends there?" + +"That ends the story." + +"But who took the ring?" + +Peters extended his hands in an empty gesture. + +"What! It was never found out?" + +"Never." + +"No clue?" + +"None." + +"I don't like the story," said De Gollyer. + +"It's no story at all," said Steingall. + +"Permit me," said Quinny in a didactic way; "it is a story, and it is +complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it has none of the +banalities of a solution and leaves the problem even more confused than +at the start." + +"I don't see--" began Rankin. + +"Of course you don't, my dear man," said Quinny crushingly. "You do not +see that any solution would be commonplace, whereas no solution leaves +an extraordinary intellectual problem." + +"How so?" + +"In the first place," said Quinny, preparing to annex the topic, +"whether the situation actually happened or not, which is in itself a +mere triviality, Peters has constructed it in a masterly way, the proof +of which is that he has made me listen. Observe, each person present +might have taken the ring--Flanders, a broker, just come a cropper; +Maude Lille, a woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means; +either Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, suspected of being card sharps--very good +touch that, Peters, when the husband and wife glanced involuntarily at +each other at the end--Mr. Enos Jackson, a sharp lawyer, or his wife +about to be divorced; even Harris, concerning whom, very cleverly, +Peters has said nothing at all to make him quite the most suspicious of +all. There are, therefore, seven solutions, all possible and all +logical. But beyond this is left a great intellectual problem." + +"How so?" + +"Was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when +threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildair's clever expedient +of throwing the room in the dark made detection impossible? Was it a +woman who lacked the necessary courage to continue, or was it a man who +repented his first impulse? Is a man or is a woman the greater natural +criminal?" + +"A woman took it, of course," said Rankin. + +"On the contrary, it was a man," said Steingall, "for the second action +was more difficult than the first." + +"A man, certainly," said De Gollyer. "The restoration of the ring was a +logical decision." + +"You see," said Quinny triumphantly, "personally I incline to a woman +for the reason that a weaker feminine nature is peculiarly susceptible +to the domination of her own sex. There you are. We could meet and +debate the subject year in and year out and never agree." + +"I recognize most of the characters," said De Gollyer with a little +confidential smile toward Peters. "Mrs. Kildair, of course, is all you +say of her--an extraordinary woman. The story is quite characteristic of +her. Flanders, I am not sure of, but I think I know him." + +"Did it really happen?" asked Rankin, who always took the commonplace +point of view. + +"Exactly as I have told it," said Peters. + +"The only one I don't recognize is Harris," said De Gollyer pensively. + +"Your humble servant," said Peters, smiling. + +The four looked up suddenly with a little start. + +"What!" said Quinny, abruptly confused. "You--you were there?" + +"I was there." + +The four continued to look at him without speaking, each absorbed in his +own thoughts, with a sudden ill ease. + +A club attendant with a telephone slip on a tray stopped by Peters' +side. He excused himself and went along the porch, nodding from table to +table. + +"Curious chap," said De Gollyer musingly. + +"Extraordinary." + +The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who continued watching +Peters' trim disappearing figure in silence, without looking at one +another--with a certain ill ease. + + + + +A COMEDY FOR WIVES + + +At half-past six o'clock from Wall Street, Jack Lightbody let himself +into his apartment, called his wife by name, and received no answer. + +"Hello, that's funny," he thought, and, ringing, asked of the maid, "Did +Mrs. Lightbody go out?" + +"About an hour ago, sir." + +"That's odd. Did she leave any message?" + +"No, sir." + +"That's not like her. I wonder what's happened." + +At this moment his eye fell on an open hat-box of mammoth proportions, +overshadowing a thin table in the living-room. + +"When did that come?" + +"About four o'clock, sir." + +He went in, peeping into the empty box with a smile of satisfaction and +understanding. + +"That's it, she's rushed off to show it to some one," he said, with a +half vindictive look toward the box. "Well, it cost $175, and I don't +get my winter suit; but I get a little peace." + +He went to his room, rebelliously preparing to dress for the dinner and +theater to which he had been commanded. + +"By George, if I came back late, wouldn't I catch it?" he said with some +irritation, slipping into his evening clothes and looking critically at +his rather subdued reflection in the glass. "Jim tells me I'm getting in +a rut, middle-aged, showing the wear. Perhaps." He rubbed his hand over +the wrinkled cheek and frowned. "I have gone off a bit--sedentary +life--six years. It does settle you. Hello! quarter of seven. Very +strange!" + +He slipped into a lilac dressing-gown which had been thrust upon him on +his last birthday and wandered uneasily back into the dining-room. + +"Why doesn't she telephone?" he thought; "it's her own party, one of +those infernal problem plays I abhor. I didn't want to go." + +The door opened and the maid entered. On the tray was a letter. + +"For me?" he said, surprised. "By messenger?" + +"Yes, sir." + +He signed the slip, glancing at the envelope. It was in his wife's +handwriting. + +"Margaret!" he said suddenly. + +"Yes, sir." + +"The boy's waiting for an answer, isn't he?" + +"No, sir." + +He stood a moment in blank uneasiness, until, suddenly aware that she +was waiting, he dismissed her with a curt: + +"Oh, very well." + +Then he remained by the table, looking at the envelope which he did not +open, hearing the sound of the closing outer door and the passing of the +maid down the hall. + +"Why didn't she telephone?" he said aloud slowly. + +He looked at the letter again. He had made no mistake. It was from his +wife. + +"If she's gone off again on some whim," he said angrily, "by George, I +won't stand for it." + +Then carelessly inserting a finger, he broke the cover and glanced +hastily down the letter: + + My dear Jackie: + + When you have read this I shall have left you forever. Forget me and + try to forgive. In the six years we have lived together, you have + always been kind to me. But, Jack, there is something we cannot give + or take away, and because some one has come who has won that, I am + leaving you. I'm sorry, Jackie, I'm sorry. + + Irene. + +When he had read this once in unbelief, he read it immediately again, +approaching the lamp, laying it on the table and pressing his fists +against his temple, to concentrate all his mind. + +"It's a joke," he said, speaking aloud. + +He rose, stumbling a little and aiding himself with his arm, leaning +against the wall, went into her room, and opened the drawer where her +jewel case should be. It was gone. + +"Then it's true," he said solemnly. "It's ended. What am I to do?" + +He went to her wardrobe, looking at the vacant hooks, repeating: + +"What am I to do?" + +He went slowly back to the living-room to the desk by the lamp, where +the hateful thing stared up at him. + +"What am I to do?" + +All at once he struck the desk with his fist and a cry burst from him: + +"Dishonored--I'm dishonored!" + +His head flushed hot, his breath came in short, panting rage. He struck +the letter again and again, and then suddenly, frantically, began to +rush back and forth, repeating: + +"Dishonored--dishonored!" + +All at once a moment of clarity came to him with a chill of ice. He +stopped, went to the telephone and called up the Racquet Club, saying: + +"Mr. De Gollyer to the 'phone." + +Then he looked at his hand and found he was still clutching a forgotten +hair brush. With a cry at the grotesqueness of the thing, he flung it +from him, watching it go skipping over the polished floor. The voice of +De Gollyer called him. + +"Is that you, Jim?" he said, steadying himself. "Come--come to me at +once--quick!" + +He could have said no more. He dropped the receiver, overturning the +stand, and began again his caged pacing of the floor. + +Ten minutes later De Gollyer nervously slipped into the room. He was a +quick, instinctive ferret of a man, one to whose eyes the hidden life of +the city held no mysteries; who understood equally the shadows that +glide on the street and the masks that pass in luxurious carriages. In +one glance he had caught the disorder in the room and the agitation in +his friend. He advanced a step, balanced his hat on the desk, perceived +the crumpled letter, and, clearing his throat, drew back, frowning and +alert, correctly prepared for any situation. + +Lightbody, without seeming to perceive his arrival, continued his blind +traveling, pressing his fists from time to time against his throat to +choke back the excess of emotions which, in the last minutes, had dazed +his perceptions and left him inertly struggling against a shapeless +pain. All at once he stopped, flung out his arms and cried: + +"She's gone!" + +De Gollyer did not on the word seize the situation. + +"Gone! Who's gone?" he said with a nervous, jerky fixing of his head, +while his glance immediately sought the vista through the door to assure +himself that no third person was present. + +But Lightbody, unconscious of everything but his own utter grief, was +threshing back and forth, repeating mechanically, with increasing +_staccato_: + +"Gone, gone!" + +"Who? Where?" + +With a sudden movement, De Gollyer caught his friend by the shoulder and +faced him about as a naughty child, exclaiming: "Here, I say, old chap, +brace up! Throw back your shoulders--take a long breath!" + +With a violent wrench, Lightbody twisted himself free, while one hand +flung appealingly back, begged for time to master the emotion which +burst forth in the cry: + +"Gone--forever!" + +"By Jove!" said De Gollyer, suddenly enlightened, and through his mind +flashed the thought--"There's been an accident--something fatal. +Tough--devilish tough." + +He cast a furtive glance toward the bedrooms and then an alarmed one +toward his friend, standing in the embrasure of the windows, pressing +his forehead against the panes. + +Suddenly Lightbody turned and, going abruptly to the desk, leaned +heavily on one arm, raising the letter in two vain efforts. A spasm of +pain crossed his lips, which alone could not be controlled. He turned +his head hastily, half offering, half dropping the letter, and +wheeling, went to an armchair, where he collapsed, repeating +inarticulately: + +"Forever!" + +"Who? What? Who's gone?" exclaimed De Gollyer, bewildered by the +appearance of a letter. "Good heavens, dear boy, what has happened? +Who's gone?" + +Then Lightbody, by an immense effort, answered: + +"Irene--my wife!" + +And with a rapid motion he covered his eyes, digging his fingers into +his flesh. + +De Gollyer, pouncing upon the letter, read: + +My dear Jackie: When you read this, I shall have left you forever-- + +Then he halted with an exclamation, and hastily turned the page for the +signature. + +"Read!" said Lightbody in a stifled voice. + +"I say, this is serious, devilishly serious," said De Gollyer, now +thoroughly amazed. Immediately he began to read, unconsciously +emphasizing the emphatic words--a little trick of his enunciation. + +When Lightbody had heard from the voice of another the message that +stood written before his eyes, all at once all impulses in his brain +converged into one. He sprang up, speaking now in quick, distinct +syllables, sweeping the room with the fury of his arms. + +"I'll find them; by God, I'll find them. I'll hunt them down. I'll +follow them. I'll track them--anywhere--to the ends of the earth--and +when I find them--" + +De Gollyer, sensitively distressed at such a scene, vainly tried to stop +him. + +"I'll find them, if I die for it! I'll shoot them down. I'll shoot them +down like dogs! I will, by all that's holy, I will! I'll butcher them! +I'll shoot them down, there at my feet, rolling at my feet!" + +All at once he felt a weight on his arm, and heard De Gollyer saying, +vainly: + +"Dear boy, be calm, be calm." + +"Calm!" he cried, with a scream, his anger suddenly focusing on his +friend, "Calm! I won't be calm! What! I come back--slaving all day, +slaving for her--come back to take her out to dinner where she wants to +go--to the play she wants to see, and I find--nothing--this letter--this +bomb--this thunderbolt! Everything gone--my home broken up--my name +dishonored--my whole life ruined! And you say be calm--be calm--be +calm!" + +Then, fearing the hysteria gaining possession of him, he dropped back +violently into an armchair and covered his face. + +During this outburst, De Gollyer had deliberately removed his gloves, +folded them and placed them in his breast pocket. His reputation for +social omniscience had been attained by the simple expedient of never +being convinced. As soon as the true situation had been unfolded, a +slight, skeptical smile hovered about his thin, flouting lips, and, +looking at his old friend, he was not unpleasantly aware of something +comic in the attitudes of grief. He made one or two false starts, +buttoning his trim cutaway, and then said in a purposely higher key: + +"My dear old chap, we must consider--we really must consider what is to +be done." + +"There is only one thing to be done," cried Lightbody in a voice of +thunder. + +"Permit me!" + +"Kill them!" + +"One moment!" + +De Gollyer, master of himself, never abandoning his critical enjoyment, +softened his voice to that controlled note that is the more effective +for being opposed to frenzy. + +"Sit down--come now, sit down!" + +Lightbody resisted. + +"Sit down, there--come--you have called me in. Do you want my advice? Do +you? Well, just quiet down. Will you listen?" + +"I am quiet," said Lightbody, suddenly submissive. The frenzy of his +rage passed, but to make his resolution doubly impressive, he extended +his arm and said slowly: + +"But remember, my mind is made up. I shall not budge. I shall shoot +them down like dogs! You see I say quietly--like dogs!" + +"My dear old pal," said De Gollyer with a well-bred shrug of his +shoulders, "you'll do nothing of the sort. We are men of the world, my +boy, men of the world. Shooting is archaic--for the rural districts. +We've progressed way beyond that--men of the world don't shoot any +more." + +"I said it quietly," said Lightbody, who perceived, not without +surprise, that he was no longer at the same temperature. However, he +concluded with normal conviction: "I shall kill them both, that's all. I +say it quietly." + +This gave De Gollyer a certain hortatory moment of which he availed +himself, seeking to reduce further the dramatic tension. + +"My dear old pal, as a matter of fact, all I say is, consider first and +shoot after. In the first place, suppose you kill one or both and you +are not yourself killed--for you know, dear boy, the deuce is that +sometimes does happen. What then? Justice is so languid nowadays. +Certainly you would have to inhabit for six, eight--perhaps ten +months--a drafty, moist jail, without exercise, most indigestible food +abominably cooked, limited society. You are brought to trial. A jury--an +emotional jury--may give you a couple of years. That's another risk. You +see you drink cocktails, you smoke cigarettes. You will be made to +appear a person totally unfit to live with." + +Lightbody with a movement of irritation, shifted the clutch of his +fingers. + +"As a matter of fact, suppose you are acquitted, what then? You emerge, +middle-aged, dyspeptic, possibly rheumatic--no nerves left. Your +photograph figures in every paper along with inventors of shoes and +corsets. You can't be asked to dinner or to house parties, can you? As a +matter of fact, you'll disappear somewhere or linger and get shot by the +brother, who in turn, as soon as he is acquitted, must be shot by your +brother, et cetera, et cetera! _Voila!_ What will you have gained?" + +He ceased, well pleased--he had convinced himself. + +Lightbody, who had had time to be ashamed of the emotion that he, as a +man, had shown to another of his sex, rose and said with dignity: + +"I shall have avenged my honor." + +De Gollyer, understanding at once that the battle had been won, took up +in an easy running attack his battery of words. + +"By publishing your dishonor to Europe, Africa, Asia? That's logic, +isn't it? No, no, my dear old Jack--you won't do it. You won't be an +ass. Steady head, old boy! Let's look at it in a reasonable way--as men +of the world. You can't bring her back, can you? She's gone." + +At this reminder, overcome by the vibrating sense of loss, Lightbody +turned abruptly, no longer master of himself, and going hastily toward +the windows, cried violently: + +"Gone!" + +Over the satisfied lips of De Gollyer the same ironical smile returned. + +"I say, as a matter of fact I didn't suspect, you--you cared so much." + +"I adored her!" + +With a quick movement, Lightbody turned. His eyes flashed. He no longer +cared what he revealed. He began to speak incoherently, stifling a sob +at every moment. + +"I adored her. It was wonderful. Nothing like it. I adored her from the +moment I met her. It was that--adoration--one woman in the world--one +woman--I adored her!" + +The imp of irony continued to play about De Gollyer's eyes and slightly +twitching lips. + +"Quite so--quite so," he said. "Of course you know, dear boy, you +weren't always so--so lonely--the old days--you surprise me." + +The memory of his romance all at once washed away the bitterness in +Lightbody. He returned, sat down, oppressed, crushed. + +"You know, Jim," he said solemnly, "she never did this, never in the +world, not of her own free will, never in her right mind. She's been +hypnotized, some one has gotten her under his power--some scoundrel. +No--I'll not harm her, I'll not hurt a hair of her head--but when I meet +_him_--" + +"By the way, whom do you suspect?" said De Gollyer, who had long +withheld the question. + +"Whom? Whom do I suspect?" exclaimed Lightbody, astounded. "I don't +know." + +"Impossible!" + +"How do I know? I never doubted her a minute." + +"Yes, yes--still?" + +"Whom do I suspect? I don't know." He stopped and considered. "It might +be--three men." + +"Three men!" exclaimed De Gollyer, who smiled as only a bachelor could +smile at such a moment. + +"I don't know which--how should I know? But when I do know--when I meet +him! I'll spare her--but--but when we meet--we two--when my hands are on +his throat--" + +He was on his feet again, the rage of dishonor ready to flame forth. De +Gollyer, putting his arm about him, recalled him with abrupt, military +sternness. + +"Steady, steady again, dear old boy. Buck up now--get hold of yourself." + +"Jim, it's awful!" + +"It's tough--very tough!" + +"Out of a clear sky--everything gone!" + +"Come, now, walk up and down a bit--do you good." + +Lightbody obeyed, locking his arms behind his back, his eyes on the +floor. + +"Everything smashed to bits!" + +"You adored her?" questioned De Gollyer in an indefinable tone. + +"I adored her!" replied Lightbody explosively. + +"Really now?" + +"I adored her. There's nothing left now--nothing--nothing." + +"Steady." + +Lightbody, at the window, made another effort, controlled himself and +said, as a man might renounce an inheritance: + +"You're right, Jim--but it's hard." + +"Good spirit--fine, fine, very fine!" commented De Gollyer in critical +enthusiasm, "nothing public, eh? No scandal--not our class. Men of the +world. No shooting! People don't shoot any more. It's reform, you know, +for the preservation of bachelors." + +The effort, the renunciation of his just vengeance, had exhausted +Lightbody, who turned and came back, putting out his hands to steady +himself. + +"It isn't that, it's, it's--" Suddenly his fingers encountered on the +table a pair of gloves--his wife's gloves, forgotten there. He raised +them, holding them in his open palm, glanced at De Gollyer and, letting +them fall, suddenly unable to continue, turned aside his head. + +"Take time--a good breath," said De Gollyer, in military fashion, "fill +your lungs. Splendid! That's it." + +Lightbody, sitting down at the desk, wearily drew the gloves to him, +gazing fixedly at the crushed perfumed fingers. + +"Why, Jim," he said finally, "I adore her so--if she can be +happier--happier with another--if that will make her happier than I can +make her--well, I'll step aside, I'll make no trouble--just for her, +just for what she's done for me." + +The last words were hardly heard. This time, despite himself, De Gollyer +was tremendously affected. + +"Superb! By George, that's grit!" + +Lightbody raised his head with the fatigue of the struggle and the pride +of the victory written on it. + +"Her happiness first," he said simply. + +The accent with which it was spoken almost convinced De Gollyer. + +"By Jove, you adore her!" + +"I adore her," said Lightbody, lifting himself to his feet. This time it +came not as an explosion, but as a breath, some deep echo from the soul. +He stood steadily gazing at his friend. "You're right, Jim. You're +right. It's not our class. I'll face it down. There'll be no scandal. +No one shall know." + +Their hands met with an instinctive motion. Then, touched by the fervor +of his friend's admiration, Lightbody moved wearily away, saying dully, +all in a breath: + +"Like a thunderclap, Jim." + +"I know, dear old boy," said De Gollyer, feeling sharply vulnerable in +the eyes and throat. + +"It's terrible--it's awful. All in a second! Everything turned upside +down, everything smashed!" + +"You must go away," said De Gollyer anxiously. + +"My whole life wrecked," continued Lightbody, without hearing him, +"nothing left--not the slightest, meanest thing left!" + +"Dear boy, you must go away." + +"Only last night she was sitting here, and I there, reading a book." He +stopped and put forth his hand. "This book!" + +"Jack, you must go away for a while." + +"What?" + +"Go away!" + +"Oh, yes, yes. I suppose so. I don't care." + +Leaning against the desk, he gazed down at the rug, mentally and +physically inert. + +De Gollyer, returning to his nature, said presently: "I say, dear old +fellow, it's awfully delicate, but I should like to be frank, from the +shoulder--out and out, do you mind?" + +"What? No." + +Seeing that Lightbody had only half listened, De Gollyer spoke with some +hesitation: + +"Of course it's devilish impudent. I'll offend you dreadfully. But, I +say, now as a matter of fact, were you really so--so seraphically +happy?" + +"What's that?" + +"As a matter of fact," said De Gollyer changing his note instantly, "you +were happy, _terrifically_ happy, _always_ happy, weren't you?" + +Lightbody was indignant. + +"Oh, how can you, at such a moment?" + +The new emotion gave him back his physical elasticity. He began to pace +up and down, declaiming at his friend, "I was happy, _ideally_ happy. I +never had a thought, not one, for anything else. I gave her everything. +I did everything she wanted. There never was a word between us. It was +_ideal_" + +De Gollyer, somewhat shamefaced, avoiding his angry glance, said +hastily: + +"So, so, I was quite wrong. I beg your pardon." + +"_Ideally_ happy," continued Lightbody, more insistently. "We had the +same thoughts, the same tastes, we read the same books. She had a mind, +a wonderful mind. It was an _ideal_ union." + +"The devil, I may be all wrong," thought De Gollyer to himself. He +crossed his arms, nodded his head, and this time it was with the +profoundest conviction that he repeated: + +"You adored her." + +"I _adored_ her," said Lightbody, with a ring to his voice. "Not a word +against her, not a word. It was not her fault. I know it's not her +fault." + +"You must go away," said De Gollyer, touching him on the shoulder. + +"Oh, I must! I couldn't stand it here in this room," said Lightbody +bitterly. His fingers wandered lightly over the familiar objects on the +desk, shrinking from each fiery contact. He sat down. "You're right, I +must get away." + +"You're dreadfully hard hit, aren't you?" + +"Oh, Jim!" + +Lightbody's hand closed over the book and he opened it mechanically in +the effort to master the memory. "This book--we were reading it last +night together." + +"Jack, look here," said De Gollyer, suddenly unselfish before such a +great grief, "you've got to be bucked up, boy, pulled together. I'll +tell you what I'll do. You're going to get right off. You're going to be +looked after. I'll knock off myself. I'll take you." + +Lightbody gave him his hand with a dumb, grateful look that brought a +quick lump to the throat of De Gollyer, who, in terror, purposely +increasing the lightness of his manner, sprang up with exaggerated +gaiety. + +"By Jove, fact is, I'm a bit dusty myself. Do me good. We'll run off +just as we did in the old days--good days, those. We knocked about a +bit, didn't we? Good days, eh, Jack?" + +Lightbody, continuing to gaze at the book, said: + +"Last night--only last night! Is it possible?" + +"Come, now, let's polish off Paris, or Vienna?" + +"No, no." Lightbody seemed to shrink at the thought. "Not that, nothing +gay. I couldn't bear to see others gay--happy." + +"Quite right. California?" + +"No, no, I want to get away, out of the country--far away." + +Suddenly an inspiration came to De Gollyer--a memory of earlier days. + +"By George, Morocco! Superb! The trip we planned out--Morocco--the very +thing!" + +Lightbody, at the desk still feebly fingering the leaves that he +indistinctly saw, muttered: + +"Something far away--away from people." + +"By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with +delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a +smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned +it seven years ago. IMMENSE!" + +"I don't care--anywhere." + +De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas. + +"My boy--the best thing in the world. Set you right up--terrific air, +smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing. +Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you +know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling, +"M-M-M--Morocco." + +Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily, +saying, "Anywhere, anywhere." + +"Back into harness again--the old camping days--immense." + +"I must get away." + +"There you are," said De Gollyer at length. With a deft movement he +slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, "Morocco, devilish +smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds." + +"Yes, yes." + +"You remember how we planned it," continued De Gollyer, artfully +blundering; "boat to Tangier, from Tangier bang across to Fez." + +At this Lightbody, watching the tracing finger, said with some +irritation, "No, no, down the coast first." + +"I beg your pardon," said De Gollyer; "to Fez, my dear fellow." + +"My dear boy, I know! Down the coast to Rabat." + +"Ah, now, you're sure? I think--" + +"And I _know_," said Lightbody, raising his voice and assuming +possession of the atlas, which he struck energetically with the back of +his hand. "I ought to know my own plan." + +"Yes, yes," said De Gollyer, to egg him on. "Still you're thoroughly +convinced about that, are you?" + +"Of course, I am! My dear Jim--come, isn't this my pet idea--the one +trip I've dreamed over, the one thing in the world I've longed to do, +all my life?" His eyes took energy, while his forefinger began viciously +to stab the atlas. "We go to Rabat. We go to Magazam, and we +cut--so--long sweep, into the interior, take a turn, so, and back to +Fez, so!" + +This speech, delivered with enthusiasm, made De Gollyer reflect. He +looked at the somewhat revived Lightbody with thoughtful curiosity. + +"Well, well--you may be right. You always are impressive, you know." + +"Right? Of course I'm right," continued Lightbody, unaware of his +friend's critical contemplation. "Haven't I worked out every foot of +it?" + +"A bit of a flyer in the game country, then? Topple over a rhino or so. +Stunning, smart sport, the rhino!" + +"By George, think of it--a chance at one of the brutes!" + +When De Gollyer had seen the eagerness in his friend's eyes, the imps +returned, ironically tumbling back. He slapped him on the shoulder as +Mephistopheles might gleefully claim his own, crying, "Immense!" + +"You know, Jim," said Lightbody, straightening up, nervously alert, +speaking in quick, eager accents, "it's what I've dreamed of--a chance +at one of the big beggars. By George, I have, all my life!" + +"We'll polish it off in ripping style, regiments of porters, red and +white tents, camels, caravans and all that sort of thing." + +"By George, just think of it." + +"In style, my boy--we'll own the whole continent, buy it up!" + +"The devil!" + +"What's the matter?" + +Lightbody's mood had suddenly dropped. He half pushed back his chair and +frowned. "It's going to be frightfully extravagant." + +"What of it?" + +"My dear fellow, you don't know what my expenses are--this apartment, an +automobile--Oh, as for you, it's all very well for you! You have ten +thousand a year and no one to care for but yourself." + +Suddenly he felt almost a hatred for his friend, and then a rebellion +at the renunciation he would have to make. + +"No--it can't be done. We'll have to give it up. Impossible, utterly +impossible, I can't afford it." + +De Gollyer, still a little uncertain of his ground, for several moments +waited, carefully considering the dubious expression on his friend's +face. Then he questioned abruptly: + +"What is your income--now?" + +"What do you mean by _now_?" + +"Fifteen thousand a year?" + +"It has always been that," replied Lightbody in bad humor. + +De Gollyer, approaching at last the great question, assumed an air of +concentrated firmness, tempered with well-mannered delicacy. + +"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. As a matter of fact it has always been +fifteen thousand--quite right, quite so; but--now, my dear boy, you are +too much of a man of the world to be offended, aren't you?" + +"No," said Lightbody, staring in front of him. "No, I'm not offended." + +"Of course it's delicate, ticklishly delicate ground, but then we must +look things in the face. Now if you'd rather I--" + +"No, go on." + +"Of course, dear boy, you've had a smashing knock and all that sort of +thing, but--" suddenly reaching out he took up the letter, and, letting +it hang from his fingers, thoughtfully considered it--"I say it might be +looked at in this way. Yesterday it was fifteen thousand a year to dress +up a dashing wife, modern New York style, the social pace, clothes that +must be smarter than Thingabob's wife, competitive dinners that you stir +up with your fork and your servants eat, and all that sort of thing, you +know. To-day it's fifteen thousand a year and a bachelor again." + +Releasing the letter, he disdainfully allowed it to settle down on the +desk, and finished: + +"Come now, as a matter of fact there is a little something consoling, +isn't there?" + +From the moment he had perceived De Gollyer's idea. Lightbody had become +very quiet, gazing steadily ahead, seeing neither the door nor the +retaining walls. + +"I never thought of that," he said, almost in a whisper. + +"Quite so, quite so. Of course one doesn't think of such things, right +at first. And you've had a knock-down--a regular smasher, old chap." He +stopped, cleared his voice and said sympathetically: "You adored her?" + +"I suppose I could give up the apartment and sell the auto," said +Lightbody slowly, speaking to himself. + +De Gollyer smiled--a bachelor smile. + +"Riches, my boy," he said, tapping him on the shoulder with the same +quick, awakening Mephistophelean touch. + +The contact raised Lightbody from revery. He drew back, shocked at the +ways through which his thoughts had wandered. + +"No, no, Jim," he said. "No, you mustn't, nothing like that--not at such +a time." + +"You're right," said De Gollyer, instantly masked in gravity. "You're +quite right. Still, we are looking things in the face--planning for the +future. Of course it's a delicate question, terrifically delicate. I'm +almost afraid to put it to you. Come, now, how shall I express +it--delicately? It's this way. Fifteen thousand a year divided by one is +fifteen thousand, isn't it; but fifteen thousand a year divided by two, +may mean--" He straightened up, heels clicking, throwing out his elbows +slightly and lifting his chin from the high, white stockade on which it +reposed. "Come, now, we're men of the world, aren't we? Now, as a matter +of fact how much of that fifteen thousand a year came back to you?" + +"My dear Jim," said Lightbody, feeling that generosity should be his +part, "a woman, a modern woman, a New York woman, you just said +it--takes--takes--" + +"Twelve thousand--thirteen thousand?" + +"Oh, come! Nonsense," said Lightbody, growing quite angry. "Besides, I +don't--" + +"Yes, yes, I know," said De Gollyer, interrupting him, now with fresh +confidence. "All the same your whiskies have gone off, dear boy--they've +gone off, and your cigars are bad, very bad. Little things, but they +show." + +A pencil lay before him. Lightbody, without knowing what he did, took it +up and mechanically on an unwritten sheet jotted down $15,000, drawing +the dollar sign with a careful, almost caressing stroke. The sheet was +the back of his wife's letter, but he did not notice it. + +De Gollyer, looking over his shoulder, exclaimed: + +"Quite right. Fifteen thousand, divided by one." + +"It will make a difference," said Lightbody slowly. Over his face passed +an expression such as comes but once in a lifetime; a look defying +analysis; a look that sweeps back over the past and challenges the +future and always retains the secret of its judgment. + +De Gollyer, drawing back slowly, allowed him a moment before saying: + +"And no alimony!" + +"What?" + +"Free and no alimony, my boy!" + +"No alimony?" said Lightbody, surprised at this new reasoning. + +"A woman who runs away gets no alimony," said De Gollyer loudly. "Not +here, not in the effete East!" + +"I hadn't thought of that, either," said Lightbody, who, despite +himself, could not repress a smile. + +De Gollyer, irritated perhaps that he should have been duped into +sympathy, ran on with a little vindictiveness. + +"Of course that means nothing to you, dear boy. You were happy, +_ideally_ happy! You adored her, didn't you?" + +He paused and then, receiving no reply, continued: + +"But you see, if you hadn't been so devilish lucky, so seraphically +happy all these years, you might find a certain humor in the situation, +mightn't you? Still, look it in the face, what have you lost, what have +you left? There is something in that. Fifteen thousand a year, liberty +and no alimony." + +The moment had come which could no longer be evaded. Lightbody rose, +turned, met the lurking malice in De Gollyer's eyes with the blank +indecision screen of his own, and, turning on his heel, went to a little +closet in the wall, and bore back a decanter and glasses. + +"This is not what we serve on the table," he said irrelevantly. "It's +whisky." + +De Gollyer poured out his drink and looked at Lightbody _en +connoisseur_. + +"You've gone off--old--six years. You were the smartest of the old +crowd, too. You certainly have gone off." + +Lightbody listened, with his eyes in his glass. + +"Jack, you're middle-aged--you've gone off--badly. It's hit you hard." + +There was a moment's silence and then Lightbody spoke quietly: + +"Jim!" + +"What is it, old boy?" + +"Do you want to know the truth?" + +"Come--out with it!" + +Lightbody struggled a moment, all the hesitation showing in his lips. +Then he said, slowly shaking his head, never lifting his eyes, speaking +as though to another: + +"Jim, I've had a hell of a time!" + +"Impossible!" + +"Yes." + +He lifted his glass until he felt its touch against his lips and +gradually set it down. "Why, Jim, in six years I've loved her so that +I've never done anything I wanted to do, gone anywhere I wanted to go, +drank anything I've wanted to drink, saw anything I wanted to see, wore +anything I wanted to wear, smoked anything I wanted to smoke, read +anything I wanted to read, or dined any one I wanted to dine! Jim, it +certainly has been a _domestic_ time!" + +"Good God! I can't believe it!" ejaculated De Gollyer, too astounded to +indulge his sense of humor. + +All at once a little fury seemed to seize Lightbody. His voice rose and +his gestures became indignant. + +"Married! I've been married to a policeman. Why, Jim, do you know what +I've spent on myself, really spent? Not two thousand, not one thousand, +not five hundred dollars a year. I've been poorer than my own clerk. I'd +hate to tell you what I paid for cigars and whisky. Everything went to +her, everything! And Jim--" he turned suddenly with a significant +glance--"such a temper!" + +"A temper? No, impossible, not that!" + +"Not violent--oh, no--but firm--smiling, you know, but irresistible." + +He drew a long breath charged with bitter memories and said between his +teeth, rebelling: "I always agreed." + +"Can it be? Is it possible?" commented De Gollyer, carefully mastering +his expression. + +Lightbody, on the new subject of his wrongs, now began to explode with +wrath. + +"And there's one thing more--one thing that hurts! You know what she +eloped in? She eloped in a hat, a big red hat, three white feathers--one +hundred and seventy-five dollars. I gave up a winter suit to get it." + +He strode over to the grotesquely large hat-box on the slender table, +and struck it with his fist. + +"Came this morning. Jim, she waited for that hat! Now, that isn't right! +That isn't delicate!" + +"No, by Jove, it certainly isn't delicate!" + +"Domesticity! Ha!" At the moment, with only the long vision of petty +tyranny before him, he could have caught her up in his hands and +strangled her. "Domesticity! I've had all I want of domesticity!" + +Suddenly the eternal fear awakening in him, he turned and commanded +authoritatively: + +"Never tell!" + +"Never!" + +De Gollyer, at forty-two, showed a responsive face, invincibly, gravely +sympathetic, patiently awaiting his climax, knowing that nothing is so +cumulatively dangerous as confession. + +Lightbody took up his glass and again approached it to his lips, +frowning at the thought of what he had revealed. All at once a fresh +impulse caught him, he put down his glass untasted, blurting out: + +"Do you want to know one thing more? Do you want to know the truth, the +real truth?" + +"Gracious heavens, there is something more?" + +"I never married her--never in God's world!" + +He ceased and suddenly, not to be denied, the past ranged itself before +him in its stark verity. + +"She married me!" + +"Is it possible?" + +"She did!" + +What had been an impulse suddenly became a certainty. + +"As I look back now, I can see it all--quite clear. Do you know how it +happened? I called three times--not one time more--three times! I liked +her--nothing more. She was an attractive-looking girl--a certain +fascination--she always has that--that's the worst of it--but gentle, +very gentle." + +"Extraordinary!" + +"On the third time I called--the third time, mind you," proceeded +Lightbody, attacking the table, "as I stood up to say good-by, all at +once--the lights went out." + +"The lights?" + +"When they went on again--I was engaged." + +"Great heavens!" + +"The old fainting trick." + +"Is it possible?" + +"I see it all now. A man sees things as they are at such a moment." + +He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. "Jim, she had those lights all +fixed!" + +"Frightful!" + +Lightbody, who had stripped his soul in confession, no longer was +conscious of shame. He struck the table, punctuating his wrath, and +cried: + +"And that's the truth! The solemn literal truth! That's my story!" + +To confess, it had been necessary to be swept away in a burst of anger. +The necessity having ceased, he crossed his arms, quite calm, laughing a +low, scornful laugh. + +"My dear boy," said De Gollyer, to relieve the tension, "as a matter of +fact, that's the way you're all caught." + +"I believe it," said Lightbody curtly. He had now an instinctive desire +to insult the whole female sex. + +"I know--a bachelor knows. The things I have seen and the things I have +heard. My dear fellow, as a matter of fact, marriage is all very well +for bankers and brokers, unconvicted millionaires, week domestic animals +in search of a capable housekeeper, you know, and all that sort of +thing, but for men of the world--like ourselves, it's a mistake. Don't +do it again, my boy--don't do it." + +Lightbody laughed a barking laugh that quite satisfied De Gollyer. + +"Husbands--modern social husbands--are excrescences--they don't count. +They're mere financial tabulators--nothing more than social +sounding-boards." + +"Right!" said Lightbody savagely. + +"Ah, you like that, do you?" said De Gollyer, pleased. "I do say a good +thing occasionally. Social sounding-boards! Why, Jack, in one-half of +the marriages in this country--no, by George, in two-thirds--if the +inconsequential, tabulating husband should come home to find a letter +like this--he'd be dancing a _can-can_!" + +Lightbody felt a flood of soul-easing laughter well up within him. He +bit his lip and answered: + +"No!" + +"Yes." + +"Pshaw!" + +"A _can-can_!" + +Lightbody, fearing to betray himself, did not dare to look at the +triumphant bachelor. He covered his eyes with his hands and sought to +fight down the joyful hysteria that began to shake his whole body. All +at once he caught sight of De Gollyer's impish eyes, and, unable longer +to contain himself, burst out laughing. The more he laughed at De +Gollyer, who laughed back at him, the more uncontrollable he became. +Tears came to his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, washing away all +illusions and self-deception, leaving only the joy of deliverance, +acknowledged at last. + +All at once holding his sides, he found a little breath and cried +combustibly: + +"A _can-can_!" + +Suddenly, with one impulse, they locked arms and pirouetted about the +room, flinging out destructive legs, hugging each other with bear-like +hugs as they had done in college days of triumph. Exhausted at last, +they reeled apart, and fell breathless into opposite chairs. There was a +short moment of weak, physical silence, and then Lightbody, shaking his +head, said solemnly: + +"Jim--Jim, that's the first real genuine laugh I've had in six vast +years!" + +"My boy, it won't be the last." + +"You bet it won't!" Lightbody sprang up, as out of the ashen cloak of +age the young Faust springs forth. "To-morrow--do you hear, to-morrow +we're off for Morocco!" + +"By way of Paris?" questioned De Gollyer, who likewise gained a dozen +years of youthfulness. + +"Certainly by way of Paris." + +"With a dash of Vienna?" + +"Run it off the map!" + +"Good old Jack! You're coming back, my boy, you're coming strong!" + +"Am I? Just watch!" Dancing over to the desk, he seized a dozen heavy +books: + +"'Evolution and Psychology,' 'Burning Questions!' 'Woman's Position in +Tasmania!' Aha!" + +One by one, he flung them viciously over his head, reckoning not the +crash with which they fell. Then with the same _pas de ballet_ he +descended on the hat-box and sent it from his boot crashing over the +piano. Before De Gollyer could exclaim, he was at the closet, working +havoc with the boxes of cigars. + +"Here, I say," said De Gollyer laughing, "look out, those are cigars!" + +"No, they're not," said Lightbody, pausing for a moment. Then, seizing +two boxes, he whirled about the room holding them at arms' length, +scattering them like the sparks of a pin-wheel, until with a final +motion he flung the emptied boxes against the ceiling, and, coming to an +abrupt stop, shot out a mandatory forefinger, and cried: + +"Jim, you dine with me!" + +"The fact is--" + +"No buts, no excuses! Break all engagements! To-night we celebrate!" + +"Immense!" + +"Round up the boys--all the boys--the old crowd. I'm middle-aged, am I?" + +"By George," said De Gollyer, in free admiration, "you're getting into +form, my boy, excellent form. Fine, fine, very fine!" + +"In half an hour at the Club." + +"Done." + +"Jim?" + +"Jack!" + +They precipitated themselves into each other's arms. Lightbody, as +delirious as a young girl at the thought of her first ball, cried: + +"Paris, Vienna, Morocco--two years around the world!" + +"On my honor!" + +Rapidly Lightbody, impatient for the celebration, put De Gollyer into +his coat and armed him with his cane. + +"In half an hour, Jim. Get Budd, get Reggie Longworth, and, I say, get +that little reprobate of a Smithy, will you?" + +"Yes, by George." + +At the door, De Gollyer, who, when he couldn't leave on an epigram, +liked to recall the best thing he had said, turned: + +"Never again, eh, old boy?" + +"Never," cried Lightbody, with the voice of a cannon. + +"No social sounding-board for us, eh?" + +"Never again!" + +"You do like that, don't you? I say a good thing now and then, don't I?" + +Lightbody, all eagerness, drove him down the hall, crying: + +"Round 'em up--round them all up! I'll show them if I've come back!" + +When he had returned, waltzing on his toes to the middle of the room, he +stopped and flung out his arms in a free gesture, inhaling a delicious +breath. Then, whistling busily, he went to a drawer in the book-shelves +and came lightly back, his arms crowded with time-tables, schedules of +steamers, maps of various countries. All at once, remembering, he seized +the telephone and, receiving no response, rang impatiently. + +"Central--hello--hello! Central, why don't you answer? Central, give +me--give me--hold up, wait a second!" He had forgotten the number of his +own club. In communication at last, he heard the well-modulated accents +of Rudolph--Rudolph who recognized his voice after six years. It gave +him a little thrill, this reminder of the life he was entering once +more. He ordered one of the dinners he used to order, and hung up the +receiver, with a smile and a little tightening about his heart at the +entry he, the prodigal, would make that night at the Club. + +Then, seizing a map of Morocco in one hand and a schedule of sailings in +the other, he sat down to plan, chanting over and over, "Paris, Vienna, +Morocco, India, Paris, Vienna--" + +At this moment, unnoticed by him, the doors moved noiselessly and Mrs. +Lightbody entered; a woman full of appealing movements in her lithe +body, and of quick, decisive perceptions in the straight, gray glance of +her eyes. She held with one hand a cloak fastened loosely about her +throat. On her head was the hat with the three white feathers. + +A minute passed while she stood, rapidly seizing every indication that +might later assist her. Then she moved slightly and said in a voice of +quiet sadness: + +"Jackie." + +"Great God!" + +Lightbody, overturning chair and table, sprang up--recoiling as one +recoils before an avenging specter. In his convulsive fingers were the +time-tables, clinging like damp lily pads. + +"Jackie, I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon you. I've come back." +Gently, seeming to move rather than to walk, advancing with none of the +uncertainty that was in her voice, she cried, with a little break: +"Forgive me!" + +"No, no, never!" + +He retreated behind a chair, fury in his voice, weak at the thought of +the floating, entangling scarf, and the perfume he knew so well. Then, +recovering himself, he cried brutally: + +"Never! You have given me my freedom. I'll keep it! Thanks!" + +With a gradual motion, she loosened her filmy cloak and let it slip from +the suddenly revealed shoulders and slender body. + +"No, no, I forbid you!" he cried. Anger--animal, instinctive +anger--began to possess him. He became brutal as he felt himself growing +weak. + +"Either you go out or I do!" + +"You will listen." + +"What? To lies?" + +"When you have heard me, you will understand, Jack." + +"There is nothing to be said. I have not the slightest intention of +taking back--" + +"Jack!" + +Her voice rang out with sudden impressiveness: "I swear to you I have +not met him, I swear to you I came back of my own free will, because I +could not meet him, because I found that it was you--you only--whom I +wanted!" + +"That is a lie!" + +She recoiled before the wound in his glance. She put her long white hand +over her heart, throwing all of herself into the glance that sought to +conquer him. + +"I swear it," she said simply. + +"Another lie!" + +"Jack!" + +It was a physical rage that held him now, a rage divided against +itself--that longed to strike down, to crush, to stifle the thing it +coveted. He had almost a fear of himself. He cried: + +"If you don't go, I'll--I'll--" + +Suddenly he found something more brutal than a blow, something that must +drive her away, while yet he had the strength of his passion. He +crossed his arms, looking at her with a cold look. + +"I'll tell you why you came back. You went to him for just one reason. +You thought he had more money than I had. You came back when you found +he hadn't." + +He saw her body quiver and it did him good. + +"That ends it," she said, hardly able to speak. She dropped her head +hastily, but not before he had seen the tears. + +"Absolutely." + +In a moment she would be gone. He felt all at once uneasy, ashamed--she +seemed so fragile. + +"My cloak--give me my cloak," she said, and her voice showed that she +accepted his verdict. + +He brought the cloak to where she stood wearily, and put it on her +shoulders, stepping back instantly. + +"Good-by." + +It was said more to the room than to him. + +"Good-by," he said dully. + +She took a step and then raised her eyes to his. + +"That was more than you had a right to say, even to me," she said +without reproach in her voice. + +He avoided her look. + +"You will be sorry. I know you," she said with pity for him. She went +toward the door. + +"I am sorry," he said impulsively. "I shouldn't have said it." + +"Thank you," she said, stopping and returning a little toward him. + +He drew back as though already he felt her arms about him. + +"Don't," she said, smiling a tired smile. "I'm not going to try that." + +Her instinct had given her possession of the scene. He felt it and was +irritated. + +"Only let us part quietly--with dignity," she said, "for we have been +happy together for six years." Then she said rapidly: + +"I want you to know that I shall do nothing to dishonor your name. I am +not going to him. That is ended." + +An immense curiosity came to him to learn the reason of this strange +avowal. But he realized it would never do for him to ask it. + +"Good-by, Jackie," she said, having waited a moment. "I shall not see +you again." + +He watched her leaving with the same moving grace with which she had +come. All at once he found a way of evasion. + +"Why don't you go to him?" he said harshly. + +She stopped but did not turn. + +"No," she said, shaking her head. And again she dared to continue toward +the door. + +"I shall not stand in your way," he said curtly, fearing only that she +would leave. "I will give you a divorce. I don't deny a woman's +liberty." + +She turned, saying: + +"Do you allow a woman liberty to know her own mind?" + +"What do you mean?" + +She came back until he almost could have touched her, standing looking +into his eyes with a wistful, searching glance, clasping and unclasping +her tense fingers. + +"Jack," she said, "you never really cared." + +"So it is all my fault!" he cried, snapping his arms together, sure now +that she would stay. + +"Yes, it is." + +"What!" he cried in a rage--already it was a different rage--"didn't I +give you anything you wanted, everything I had, all my time, all--" + +"All but yourself," she said quietly; "you were always cold." + +"I!" + +"You were! You were!" she said sharply, annoyed at the contradiction. +But quickly remembering herself, she continued with only a regretful +sadness in her voice: + +"Always cold, always matter-of-fact. Bob of the head in the morning, +jerk of the head at night. When I was happy over a new dress or a new +hat you never noticed it--until the bill came in. You were always +matter-of-fact, absolutely confident I was yours, body and soul." + +"By George, that's too much!" he cried furiously. "That's a fine one. +I'm to blame--of course I'm to blame!" + +She drew a step away from him, and said: + +"Listen! No, listen quietly, for when I've told you I shall go." + +Despite himself, his anger vanished at her quiet command. + +"If I listen," he thought, "it's all over." + +He still believed he was resisting, only he wanted to hear as he had +never wanted anything else--to learn why she was not going to the other +man. + +"Yes, what has happened is only natural," she said, drawing her eyebrows +a little together and seeming to reason more with herself. "It had to +happen before I could really be sure of my love for you. You men know +and choose from the knowledge of many women. A woman, such as I, coming +to you as a girl, must often and often ask herself if she would still +make the same choice. Then another man comes into her life and she makes +of him a test to know once and for all the answer to her question. Jack, +that was it. That was the instinct that drove me to try if I _could_ +leave you--the instinct I did not understand then, but that I do now, +when it's too late." + +"Yes, she is clever," he thought to himself, listening to her, desiring +her the more as he admired what he did not credit. He felt that he +wanted to be convinced and with a last angry resistance, said: + +"Very clever, indeed!" + +She looked at him with her clear, gray look, a smile in her eyes, +sadness on her lips. + +"You know it is true." + +He did not reply. Finally he said bruskly: + +"And when did--did the change come to you?" + +"In the carriage, when every turn of the wheel, every passing street, +was rushing me away from you. I thought of you--alone--lost--and +suddenly I knew. I beat with my fists on the window and called to the +coachman like a madman. I don't know what I said. I came back." + +She stopped, pressing back the tears that had started on her eyelids at +the memory. She controlled herself, gave a quick little nod, without +offering her hand, went toward the door. + +"What! I've got to call her back!" He said it to himself, adding +furiously: "Never!" + +He let her go to the door itself, vowing he would not make the advance. + +When the door was half open, something in him cried: "Wait!" + +She closed the door softly, but she did not immediately turn round. The +palms of her hands were wet with the cold, frightened sweat of that +awful moment. When she returned, she came to him with a wondering, +timid, girlish look in her eyes. + +"Oh, Jack, if you only could!" she said, and then only did she put out +her hands and let her fingers press over his heart. + +The next moment she was swept up in his arms, shrinking and very still. + +All at once he put her from him and said roughly: + +"What was his name?" + +"No, no!" + +"Give me his name," he said miserably. "I must know it." + +"No--neither now nor at any other time," she said firmly, and her look +as it met his had again all the old domination. "That is my condition." + +"Ah, how weak I have been," he said to himself, with a last bitter, +instinctive revolt. "How weak I am." + +She saw and understood. + +"We must be generous," she said, changing her voice quickly to +gentleness. "He has been pained enough already. He alone will suffer. +And if you knew his name it would only make you unhappy." + +He still rebelled, but suddenly to him came a thought which at first he +was ashamed to express. + +"He doesn't know?" + +She lied. + +"No." + +"He's still waiting--there?" + +"Yes." + +"Ah, he's waiting," he said to himself. + +A gleam of vanity, of triumph over the discarded, humiliated one, leaped +up fiercely within him and ended all the lingering, bitter memories. + +"Then you care?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder that he +might not see she had read such a thought. + +"Care?" he cried. He had surrendered. Now it was necessary to be +convinced. "Why, when I received your letter I--I was wild. I wanted to +do murder." + +"Jackie!" + +"I was like a madman--everything was gone--nothing was left." + +"Oh, Jack, how I have made you suffer!" + +"Suffer? Yes, I have suffered!" Overcome by the returning pain of the +memory, he dropped into a chair, trying to control his voice. "Yes, I +have suffered!" + +"Forgive me!" she said, slipping on her knees beside him, and burying +her head in his lap. + +"I was out of my head--I don't know what I did, what I said. It was as +though a bomb had exploded. My life was wrecked, shattered--nothing +left." + +He felt the grief again, even more acutely. He suffered for what he had +suffered. + +"Jack, I never really could have _abandoned_ you," she cried bitterly. +She raised her eyes toward him and suddenly took notice of the +time-tables that lay clutched in his hands. "Oh, you were going away!" + +He nodded, incapable of speech. + +"You were running away?" + +"I was running away--to forget--to bury myself!" + +"Oh, Jack!" + +"There was nothing here. It was all a blank! I was running away--to bury +myself!" + +At the memory of that miserable hopeless moment, in which he had +resolved on flight, the tears, no longer to be denied, came dripping +down his cheeks. + + + + +THE LIE + + + + +I + + +For some time they had ceased to speak, too oppressed with the needless +anguish of this their last night. At their feet the tiny shining windows +of Etretat were dropping back into the night, as though sinking under +the rise of that black, mysterious flood that came luminously from the +obscure regions of the faint sky. Overhead, the swollen August stars had +faded before the pale flush that, toward the lighthouse on the cliff, +heralded the red rise of the moon. + +He held himself a little apart, the better to seize every filmy detail +of the strange woman who had come inexplicably into his life, watching +the long, languorous arms stretched out into an impulsive clasp, the +dramatic harmony of the body, the brooding head, the soft, half-revealed +line of the neck. The troubling alchemy of the night, that before his +eyes slowly mingled the earth with the sea and the sea with the sky, +seemed less mysterious than this woman whose body was as immobile as the +stillness in her soul. + +All at once he felt in her, whom he had known as he had known no other, +something unknown, the coming of another woman, belonging to another +life, the life of the opera and the multitude, which would again flatter +and intoxicate her. The summer had passed without a doubt, and now, all +at once, something new came to him, indefinable, colored with the vague +terror of the night, the fear of other men who would come thronging +about her, in the other life, where he could not follow. + +Around the forked promontory to the east, the lights of the little +packet-boat for England appeared, like the red cinder in a pipe, +slipping toward the horizon. It was the signal for a lover's embrace, +conceived long ago in fancy and kept in tenderness. + +"Madeleine," he said, touching her arm. "There it is--our little boat." + +"Ah! _le p'tit bateau_--with its funny red and green eyes." + +She turned and raised her lips to his; and the kiss, which she did not +give but permitted, seemed only fraught with an ineffable sadness, the +end of all things, the tearing asunder and the numbness of separation. +She returned to her pose, her eyes fixed on the little packet, saying: + +"It's late." + +"Yes." + +"It goes fast." + +"Very." + +They spoke mechanically, and then not at all. The dread of the morning +was too poignant to approach the things that must be said. Suddenly, +with the savage directness of the male to plunge into the pain which +must be undergone, he began: + +"It was like poison--that kiss." + +She turned, forgetting her own anguish in the pain in his voice, +murmuring, "Ben, my poor Ben." + +"So you will go--to-morrow," he said bitterly, "back to the great public +that will possess you, and I shall remain--here, alone." + +"It must be so." + +He felt suddenly an impulse he had not felt before, an instinct to make +her suffer a little. He said brutally: + +"But you want to go!" + +She did not answer, but, in the obscurity, he knew her large eyes were +searching his face. He felt ashamed of what he had said, and yet because +she made no protestation, he persisted: + +"You have left off your jewels, those jewels you can't do without." + +"Not to-night." + +"You who are never happy without them--why not to-night?" + +As, carried away by the jealousy of what lay beyond, he was about to +continue, she laid her fingers on his lips, with a little brusk, nervous +movement of her shoulders. + +"Don't--you don't understand." + +But he understood and he resented the fact that she should have put +aside the long undulating rope of pearls, the rings of rubies and +emeralds that seemed as natural to her dark beauty as the roses to the +spring. He had tried to understand her woman's nature, to believe that +no memory yet lingered about them, to accept without question what had +never belonged longed to their life together, and remembering what he +had fought down he thought bitterly: + +"She has changed me more than I have changed her. It is always so." + +She moved a little, her pose, with instinctive dramatic sense, changing +with her changing mood. + +"Do not think I don't understand you," she said quietly. + +"What do you understand?" + +"It hurts you because I wish to return." + +"That is not so, Madeleine," he said abruptly. "You know what big things +I want you to do." + +"I know--only you would like me to say the contrary--to protest that I +would give it all up--be content to be with you alone." + +"No, not that," he said grudgingly, "and yet, this last night--here--I +should like to hear you say the contrary." + +She laughed a low laugh and caught his hand a little tighter. + +"That displeases you?" + +"No, no, of course not!" Presently she added with an effort: + +"There is so much that we must say to each other and we have not the +courage." + +"True, all summer we have never talked of what must come after." + +"I want you to understand why I go back to it all, why I wish every year +to be separated from you--yes, exactly, from you," she added, as his +fingers contracted with an involuntary movement. "Ben, what has come to +me I never expected would come. I love, but neither that word nor any +other word can express how absolutely I have become yours. When I told +you my life, you did not wonder how difficult it was for me to believe +that such a thing could be possible. But you convinced me, and what has +come to me has come as a miracle. I adore you. All my life has been +lived just for this great love; ah yes, that's what I believe, what I +feel." She leaned swiftly to him and allowed him to catch her to him in +his strong arms. Then slowly disengaging herself, she continued, "You +are a little hurt because I do not cry out what you would not accept, +because I do not say that I would give up everything if you asked it." + +"It is only to _hear_ it," he said impulsively. + +"But I have often wished it myself," she said slowly. "There's not a day +that I have not wished it--to give up everything and stay by you. Do you +know why? From the longing that's in me now, the first unselfish +longing I have ever had--to sacrifice myself for you in some way, +somehow. It is more than a hunger, it is a need of the soul--of my love +itself. It comes over me sometimes as tears come to my eyes when you are +away, and I say to myself, 'I love him,' and yet, Ben, I shall not, I +shall never give up my career, not now, not for years to come." + +"No," he said mechanically. + +"We are two great idealists, for that is what you have made me, Ben. +Before I was always laughing, and I believed in nothing. I despised even +what my sacrifice had won. Now, when I am with you, I remain in a +revery, and I am happy--happy with the happiness of things I cannot +understand. To-night, by your side, it seems to me I have never felt the +night before or known the mystery of the silent, faint hours. You have +made me feel the loneliness of the human soul, and that impulse it must +have before these things that are beyond us, that surround us, dominate +us, to cling almost in terror to another soul. You have so completely +made me over that it is as though you had created me yourself. I am +thirty-five. I have known everything else but what you have awakened in +me, and because I have this knowledge and this hunger I can see clearer +what we must do. You and I are a little romanesque, but remember that +even a great love may tire and grow stale, and that is what I won't +have, what must not be." Her voice had risen with the intensity of her +mood. She said more solemnly: "You are afraid of other men, of other +moods of mine--you have no reason. This love which comes to some as the +awakening of life is to me the end of all things. If anything should +wound it or belittle it, I should not survive it." + +She continued to speak, in a low unvarying voice. He felt his mind clear +and his doubts dissipate, and impatiently he waited for her to end, to +show her that his weakness of the moment was gone and that he was still +the man of big vision who had awakened her. + +"There are people who can put in order their love as they put in order +their house. We are not of that kind, Ben. I am a woman who has lived on +sensations. You, too, are a dreamer and a poet at the bottom. If I +should give up the opera and become to you simply a housewife, if there +was no longer any difficulty in our having each other, you would still +love me--yes, because you are loyal--but the romanticism, the mystery, +the longing we both need would vanish. Oh, I know. Well, you and I, we +are the same. We can only live on a great passion, and to have fierce, +unutterable joys we must suffer also--the suffering of separation. Do +you understand?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"That is why I shall never give up my career. That is why I can bear +the sadness of leaving you. I want you to be proud of me, Ben. I want +you to think of me as some one whom thousands desire and only you can +have. I want our love to be so intense that every day spent apart is +heavy with the longing for each other; every day together precious +because it will be a day nearer the awful coming of another separation. +Believe me, I am right. I have thought much about it. You have your +diplomatic career and your ambitions. You are proud. I have never asked +you to give that up to follow me. I would not insult you. In January you +will have a leave of absence, and we will be together for a few +wonderful weeks, and in May I shall return here. Nothing will be +changed." She extended her arm to where a faint red point still showed +on the unseen water. "And each night we will wait, as we have waited, +side by side, the coming of our little boat,--_notre p'tit bateau_" + +"You are right," he said, placing his lips to her forehead. "I was +jealous. I am sorry. It is over." + +"But I, too, am jealous," she said, smiling. + +"You?" + +"Of course--no one can love without being jealous. Oh, I shall be afraid +of every woman who comes near you. It will be an agony," she said, and +the fire in her eyes brought him more healing happiness than all her +words. + +"You are right," he repeated. + +He left her with a little pressure of the hand, and walked to the edge +of the veranda. A nervous, sighing breeze had come with the full coming +of the moon, and underneath him he heard the troubled rustle of leaves +in the obscurity, the sifting and drifting of tired, loose things, the +stir of the night which awakened a restless mood in his soul. He had +listened to her as she had proclaimed her love, and yet this love, +without illusions, sharply recalled to him other passions. He remembered +his first love, a boy-and-girl affair, and sharply contrasting it with a +sudden ache to this absence of impulse and illusions, of phrases, vows, +without logic, thrown out in the sweet madness of the moment. Why had +she not cried out something impulsive, promised things that could not +be. Then he realized, standing there in the harvest moonlight, in the +breaking up of summer, that he was no longer a youth, that certain +things could not be lived over, and that, as she had said, he too felt +that this was the great love, the last that he would share; that if it +ended, his youth ended and with his youth all that in him clung to life. + +He turned and saw her, chin in the flat of her palm, steadily following +his mood. He had taken but a dozen steps, and yet he had placed a +thousand miles between them. He had almost a feeling of treachery, and +to dispel these new unquiet thoughts he repeated to himself again: + +"She is right." + +But he did not immediately return. The memory of other loves, faint as +they had been in comparison with this all-absorbing impulse, had yet +given him a certain objective point of view. He saw himself clearly, and +he understood what of pain the future had in store for him. + +"How I shall suffer!" he said to himself. + +"You are going so far away from me," she said suddenly, warned by some +woman's instinct. + +He was startled at the conjunction of her words and his moods. He +returned hastily, and sat down beside her. She took his head in her +hands and looked anxiously into his eyes. + +"What is it?" she said. "You are afraid?" + +"A little," he said reluctantly. + +"Of what--of the months that will come?" + +"Of the past." + +"What do you mean?" she said, withdrawing a little as though disturbed +by the thought. + +"When I am with you I know there is not a corner of your heart that I do +not possess," he began evasively. + +"Well?" + +"Only it's the past--the habits of the past," he murmured. "I know you +so well, Madeleine, you have need of strength, you don't go on alone. +That is the genius of women like you--to reach out and attach to +themselves men who will strengthen them, compel them on." + +"Ah, I understand," she said slowly. + +"Yes, that is what I'm afraid of," he said rapidly. + +"You are thinking of the artist, not the woman." + +"Ah, there is no difference--not to a man who loves," he said +impulsively. "I know how great your love is for me, and I believe in it. +I know nothing will come to efface it. Only you will be lonely, you'll +have your trials and annoyances, days of depression, of doubt, when you +will need some one to restore your faith in yourself, your courage in +your work, and then, I don't say you will love any one else, but you +will need some one near you who loves you, always at your service--" + +"If you could only understand me," she said, interrupting him. "Men, +other men, are like actors to me. When I am on the stage, when I am +playing Manon, do you think I see who is playing Des Grieux? Not at all. +He is there, he gives me my _replique_, he excites my nerves, I say a +thousand things under my breath, when I am in his arms I adore him, but +when the curtain goes down, I go off the stage and don't even say good +night to him." + +"But he, he doesn't know that." + +"Of course not; tenors never do. Well, that is just the way I have +lived, that is just what men have meant to me. They give the _replique_ +to my moods, to my needs, and when I have no longer need of them, I go +off tranquilly. That is all there is to it. I take from them what I +want. Of course they will be around me, but they will be nothing to me. +They will be like managers, press-agents, actors. Don't you understand +that?" + +"Yes, yes, I understand," he said without sincerity. Then he blurted +out, "I wish you had not said it, all the same." + +"Why?" + +"I cannot see it as you see it, and besides, you put a doubt in my mind +that I never wish to feel." + +"What doubt?" + +"Do I really have you, or only a mood of yours?" + +"Ben!" + +"I know. I know. No, I am not going to think such things. That would be +unworthy of what we have felt." He paused a moment, and when he spoke +again his voice was under control. "Madeleine, remember well what I say +to you now. I shall probably never again speak to you with such absolute +truth, or even acknowledge it to myself. I accept the necessity of +separation. I know all the sufferings it will bring, all the doubts, the +unreasoning jealousies. I am big enough in experience to understand what +you have just suggested to me, but as a man who loves you, Madeleine, I +will never understand it. I know that a dozen men may come into your +life, interest you intensely, even absorb you for a while, and that they +would still mean nothing to you the moment I come. Well, I am +different. A man is different. While you are away, I shall not see a +woman without resentment; I shall not think of any one but you, and if I +did, I would cease to love you." + +"But why?" + +"Because I cannot share anything of what belongs to you. That is my +nature. There is no use in pretending the contrary. Yours is different, +and I understand why it is so. I have listened to many confidences, +understood many lives that others would not understand. I have always +maintained that it is the natural thing for a human being to love many +times--even that there might he in the same heart a great, overpowering +love and a little one. I still believe it--with my mind. I know it is +so. These are the things we like to analyze in human nature together. I +know it is true, but it is not true for me. No, I would never understand +it in you. I know myself too well, I am jealous of everything of the +past--oh, insanely jealous. I know that no sooner are you gone than I +will be tortured by the most ridiculous doubts. I will see you in the +moonlight all across that endless sea with other men near you. I will +dream of other men with millions, ready to give you everything your eyes +adore. I will imagine men of big minds that will fascinate you. I will +even say to myself that now that you have known what a great love can +mean you will all the more be likely to need it, to seek something to +counterfeit it--" + +"Ben, my poor Ben--frightful," she murmured. + +"That is how it is. Shall I tell you something else?" + +"What?" + +"I wish devoutly you had never told me a word of--of the past." + +"But how can you say such things? We have been honest with each other. +You yourself--" + +"I know, I know, I have no right myself, and yet there it is. It is +something fearful, this madness of possession that comes to me. No, I +have no fear that I will not always be first in your heart, only I +understand the needs, the habits, of your nature. I understand myself +now as I have not before, and that's why I say to you solemnly, +Madeleine, if ever for a moment another man should come into your +life--never, never, let me know." + +"But--" + +"No, don't say anything that I may remember to torture me. Lie to me." + +"I have never lied." + +"Madeleine, it is better to be merciful than to tell the truth, and, +after all, what does such a confession mean? It only means that you free +your conscience and that the wound--the ache--remains with the other. +Whatever happens, never tell me. Do you understand?" + +This time she made no answer. She even ceased to look at him, her head +dropped back, her arms motionless, one finger only revolving slowly on +the undulating arm of her chair. + +"I shall try by all the strength that is in me never to ask that +question," he rushed on. "I know I shall make a hundred vows not to do +so, and I know that the first time I look into your face I shall blurt +it out. Ah, if--if--if it must be so, never let me know, for there are +thoughts I cannot bear now that I've known you." He flung himself at her +side and took her roughly in his arms. "Madeleine, I know what I am +saying. I may tell you the contrary later. I may say it lightly, +pretending it is of no importance. I may beg the truth of you with tears +in my eyes--I may swear to you that nothing but honesty counts between +us, that I can understand, forgive, forget everything. Well, whatever I +say or do, never, never let me know--if you value my happiness, my peace +of mind, my life even!" + +She laid her hand on his lips and then on his forehead to calm him, +drawing his head to her shoulder. + +"Listen, Ben," she said, gently. "I, the Madeleine Conti who loves you, +am another being. I adore you so that I shall hate all other men, as you +will hate all other women. There will never be the slightest deceit or +infidelity between us. Ask any questions of me at any time. I know there +can be from now on but one answer. Have no fear. Do not tire yourself +in a senseless fever. There is so little time left. I love you." + +Never had he heard her voice so deep with sincerity and tenderness, and +yet, as he surrendered to the touch of her soft hands, yielding up all +his doubts, he was conscious of a new alarm creeping into his heart; +and, dissatisfied with what he himself had a moment before implored, in +the breath with which he whispered, "I believe you," he said to himself: + +"Does she say that because she believes it or has she begun to lie?" + + + + +II + + +For seven years they lived the same existence, separated sometimes for +three months, occasionally for six, and once because of a trip taken to +South America for nearly a year. + +The first time that he joined her, after five months of longing, he +remained a week without crying out the words that were heavy on his +heart. One day she said to him: + +"What is there--back of your eyes, hidden away, that you are stifling?" + +"You know," he blurted out. + +"What?" + +"Ah, I have tried not to say it, to live it down. I can't--it's beyond +me. I shall have no peace until it is said." + +"Then say it." + +He took her face in his two hands and looked into her eyes. + +"Since I have been away," he said brutally, "there has been no one else +in your heart? You have been true to me, to our love?" + +"I have been true," she answered with a little smile. + +He held his eyes on hers a long while, hesitating whether to be silent +or to continue, and then, all at once, convinced, burst into tears and +begged her pardon. + +"Oh, I shouldn't have asked it--forgive me." + +"Do whatever is easiest for you, my love," she answered. "There is +nothing to forgive. I understand all. I love you for it." + +Only she never asked him any questions, and that alarmed him. + +The second time report had coupled her name with a Gabriel Lombardi, a +great baritone with whom she was appearing. When he arrived, as soon as +they were alone, he swung her about in his arms and cried in a strangled +voice: + +"Swear to me that you have been faithful." + +"I swear." + +"Gabriel Lombardi"? + +"I can't abide him". + +"Ah, if I had never told you to lie to me--fool that I was." + +Then she said calmly, with that deep conviction which always moved him: +"Ben, when you asked me that, I told you I would never lie. I have told +you the truth. No man has ever had the pressure of my fingers, and no +man ever will." + +So intense had been his emotion that he had almost a paroxysm. When he +opened his eyes he found her face wet with tears. + +"Ah, Madeleine," he said, "I am brutal with you. I cannot help it." + +"I would not have you love me differently," she said gently, and through +her tears he seemed to see a faint, elusive smile, that was gone quickly +if it was ever there at all. + +Another time, he said to himself: "No, I will say nothing. She will come +to me herself, put her arms around me, and tell me with a smile that no +other thought has been in her heart all this while. That's it. If I wait +she will make the move, she will make the move each time--and that will +be much better." + +He waited three days, but she made no allusion. He waited another, and +then he said lightly: + +"You see, I am reforming." + +"How so?" + +"Why, I don't ask foolish questions any more." + +"That's so." + +"Still--" + +"Well?" she said, looking up. + +"Still, you might have guessed what I wanted," he answered, a little +hurt. + +She rose quickly and came lightly to him, putting her hand on his +shoulder. + +"Is that what you wish?" she said. + +"Yes." + +She repeated slowly her protestations and when she had ended, said, +"Take me in your arms--hurt me." + +"Now she will understand," he thought; "the next time she will not +wait." + +But each time, though he martyrized his soul in patience, he was forced +to bring up the question that would not let him rest. + +He could not understand why she did not save him this useless agony. +Sometimes when he wanted to find an excuse he said to himself it was +because she felt humiliated that he should still doubt. At other times, +he stumbled on explanations that terrified him. Then he remembered with +bitterness the promise that he had exacted from her, a promise that, +instead of bringing him peace, had left only an endless torment, and +forgetting all his protestations he would cry to himself, in a cold +perspiration: + +"Ah, if she is really lying, how can I ever be sure?" + + + + +III + + +In the eighth year, Madeleine Conti retired from the stage and announced +her marriage. After five years of complete happiness she was taken +suddenly ill, as the result of exposure to a drenching storm. One +afternoon, as he waited by her bedside, talking in broken tones of all +that they had been to each other, he said to her in a voice that he +tried nervously to school to quietness: + +"Madeleine, you know that our life together has been without the +slightest shadow from the first. You know we have proved to each other +how immense our love has been. In all these years I have grown in +maturity and understanding. I regret only one thing, and I have +regretted it bitterly, every day--that I once asked you, if--if ever for +a moment another man came into your life to hide it from me, to tell me +a lie. It was a great mistake. I have never ceased to regret it. Our +love has been so above all worldly things that there ought not to be the +slightest concealment between us. I release you from that promise. Tell +me now the truth. It will mean nothing to me. During the eight years +when we were separated there were--there must have been times, times of +loneliness, of weakness, when other men came into your life. Weren't +there?" + +She turned and looked at him steadily, her large eyes seeming larger and +more brilliant from the heightened fever of her cheeks. Then she made a +little negative sign of her head, still looking at him. + +"No, never." + +"You don't understand, Madeleine," he said, dissatisfied, "or you are +still thinking of what I said to you there in Etretat. That was thirteen +years ago. Then I had just begun to love you, I feared for the future, +for everything. Now I have tested you, and I have never had a doubt. I +know the difference between the flesh and the spirit. I know your two +selves; I know how impossible it would have been otherwise. Now you can +tell me." + +"There is nothing--to tell," she said slowly. + +"I expected that you would have other men who loved you about you," he +said, feverishly. "I knew it would be so. I swear to you I expected it. +I know why you continue to deny it. It's for my sake, isn't it? I love +you for it. But, believe me, in such a moment there ought nothing to +stand between us. Madeleine, Madeleine, I beg you, tell me the truth." + +She continued to gaze at him fixedly, without turning away her great +eyes, as forgetting himself, he rushed on: + +"Yes, let me know the truth--that will be nothing now. Besides, I have +guessed it. Only I must know one way or the other. All these years I +have lived in doubt. You see what it means to me. You must understand +what is due me after all our life together. Madeleine, did you lie to +me?" + +"No." + +"Listen," he said, desperately. "You never asked me the same +question--why, I never understood--but if you had questioned me I could +not have answered truthfully what you did. There, you see, there is no +longer the slightest reason why you should not speak the truth." + +She half closed her eyes--wearily. + +"I have told--the truth." + +"Ah, I can't believe it," he cried, carried away. "Oh, cursed day when I +told you what I did. It's that which tortures me. You adore me--you +don't wish to hurt me, to leave a wound behind, but I swear to you if +you told me the truth I should feel a great weight taken from my heart, +a weight that has been here all these years. I should know that every +corner of your soul had been shown to me, nothing withheld. I should +know absolutely, Madeleine, believe me, when I tell you this, when I +tell you I must know. Every day of my life I have paid the penalty, I +have suffered the doubts of the damned, I have never known an hour's +peace! I beg you, I implore you, only let me know the truth; the +truth--I must know the truth!" + +He stopped suddenly, trembling all over, and held out his hands to her, +his face lashed with suffering. + +"I have not lied," she said slowly, after a long study. She raised her +eyes, feebly made the sign of the cross, and whispered, "I swear it." + +Then he no longer held in his tears. He dropped his head, and his body +shook with sobs, while from time to time he repeated, "Thank God, thank +God." + + + + +IV + + +The next day Madeleine Conti had a sudden turn for the worse, which +surprised the attendants. Doctor Kimball, the American, doctor, and Père +François, who had administered the last rites, were walking together in +the little formal garden, where the sun flung short, brilliant shadows +of scattered foliage about them. + +"She was an extraordinary artist and her life was more extraordinary," +said Dr. Kimball. "I heard her début at the Opéra Comique. For ten years +her name was the gossip of all Europe. Then all at once she meets a man +whom no one knows, falls in love, and is transformed. These women are +really extraordinary examples of hysteria. Each time I know one it makes +me understand the scientific phenomenon of Mary Magdalene. It is really +a case of nerve reaction. The moral fever that is the fiercest burns +itself out the quickest and seems to leave no trace behind. In this case +love came also as a religious conversion. I should say the phenomena +were identical." + +"She was happy," said the curé, turning to go. + +"Yes, it was a great romance." + +"A rare one. She adored him. Love is a tide that cleanses all." + +"Yet she was of the stage up to the last. You know she would not have +her husband in the room at the end." + +"She had a great heart," said the curé quietly. "She wished to spare +him that suffering." + +"She had an extraordinary will," said the doctor, glancing at him +quickly. He added, tentatively: "She asked two questions that were +curious enough." + +"Indeed," said the curé, lingering a moment with his hand on the gate. + +"She wanted to know whether persons in a delirium talked of the past and +if after death the face returned to its calm." + +"What did you say to her about the effects of delirium?" said the curé +with his blank face. + +"That it was a point difficult to decide," said the doctor slowly. +"Undoubtedly, in a delirium, everything is mixed, the real and the +imagined, the memory and the fantasy, actual experience and the inner +dream-life of the mind which is so difficult to classify. It was after +that, that she made her husband promise to see her only when she was +conscious and to remain away at the last." + +"It is easily understood," said the curé quietly, without change of +expression on his face that held the secrets of a thousand +confessionals. "As you say, for ten years she had lived a different +life. She was afraid that in her delirium some reference to that time +might wound unnecessarily the man who had made over her life. She had a +great courage. Peace be with her soul." + +"Still,"--Doctor Kimball hesitated, as though considering the phrasing +of a delicate question; but Father François, making a little amical sign +of adieu, passed out of the garden, and for a moment his blank face was +illumined by one of those rare smiles, such as one sees on the faces of +holy men; smiles that seem in perfect faith to look upon the mysteries +of the world to come. + + + + +EVEN THREES + + + + +I + +Ever since the historic day when a visiting clergyman accomplished the +feat of pulling a ball from the tenth tee at an angle of two hundred and +twenty-five degrees into the river that is the rightful receptacle for +the eighth tee, the Stockbridge golf-course has had seventeen out of the +eighteen holes that are punctuated with possible water hazards. The +charming course itself lies in the flat of the sunken meadows which the +Housatonic, in the few thousand years which are necessary for the proper +preparation of a golf-course, has obligingly eaten out of the high, +accompanying bluffs. The river, which goes wriggling on its way as +though convulsed with merriment, is garnished with luxurious elms and +willows, which occasionally deflect to the difficult putting-greens the +random slices of certain notorious amateurs. + +From the spectacular bluffs of the educated village of Stockbridge +nothing can be imagined more charming than the panorama that the course +presents on a busy day. Across the soft, green stretches, diminutive +caddies may be seen scampering with long buckling-nets, while from the +river-banks numerous recklessly exposed legs wave in the air as the more +socially presentable portions hang frantically over the swirling +current. Occasionally an enthusiastic golfer, driving from the eighth or +ninth tees, may be seen to start immediately in headlong pursuit of a +diverted ball, the swing of the club and the intuitive leap of the legs +forward forming so continuous a movement that the main purpose of the +game often becomes obscured to the mere spectator. Nearer, in the +numerous languid swales that nature has generously provided to protect +the interests of the manufacturers, or in the rippling patches of unmown +grass, that in the later hours will be populated by enthusiastic +caddies, desperate groups linger in botanizing attitudes. + +Every morning lawyers who are neglecting their clients, doctors who have +forgotten their patients, business men who have sacrificed their +affairs, even ministers of the gospel who have forsaken their churches, +gather in the noisy dressing-room and listen with servile attention +while some unscrubbed boy who goes around under eighty imparts a little +of his miraculous knowledge. + +Two hours later, for every ten that have gone out so blithely, two +return crushed and despondent, denouncing and renouncing the game, once +and for all, absolutely and finally, until the afternoon, when they +return like thieves in the night and venture out in a desperate hope; +two more come stamping back in even more offensive enthusiasm; and the +remainder straggle home moody and disillusioned, reviving their sunken +spirits by impossible tales of past accomplishments. + +There is something about these twilight gatherings that suggests the +degeneracy of a rugged race; nor is the contamination of merely local +significance. There are those who lie consciously, with a certain frank, +commendable, whole-hearted plunge into iniquity. Such men return to +their worldly callings with intellectual vigor unimpaired and a natural +reaction toward the decalogue. Others of more casuistical temperament, +unable all at once to throw over the traditions of a New England +conscience to the exigencies of the game, do not burst at once into +falsehood, but by a confusing process weaken their memories and corrupt +their imaginations. They never lie of the events of the day. Rather they +return to some jumbled happening of the week before and delude +themselves with only a lingering qualm, until from habit they can create +what is really a form of paranoia, the delusion of greatness, or the +exaggerated ego. Such men, inoculated with self-deception, return to the +outer world, to deceive others, lower the standards of business +morality, contaminate politics, and threaten the vigor of the republic. +R.N. Booverman, the Treasurer, and Theobald Pickings, the unenvied +Secretary of an unenvied hoard, arrived at the first tee at precisely +ten o'clock on a certain favorable morning in early August to begin the +thirty-six holes which six times a week, six months of the year, they +played together as sympathetic and well-matched adversaries. Their +intimacy had arisen primarily from the fact that Pickings was the only +man willing to listen to Booverman's restless dissertations on the +malignant fates which seemed to pursue him even to the neglect of their +international duties, while Booverman, in fair exchange, suffered +Pickings to enlarge ad libitum on his theory of the rolling versus the +flat putting-greens. + +Pickings was one of those correctly fashioned and punctilious golfers +whose stance was modeled on classic lines, whose drive, though it +averaged only twenty-five yards over the hundred, was always a +well-oiled and graceful exhibition of the Royal St. Andrew's swing, the +left sole thrown up, the eyeballs bulging with the last muscular +tension, the club carried back until the whole body was contorted into +the first position of the traditional hoop-snake preparing to descend a +hill. He used the interlocking grip, carried a bag with a spoon driver, +an aluminium cleek, three abnormal putters, and wore one chamois glove +with air-holes on the back. He never accomplished the course in less +than eighty five and never exceeded ninety four, but, having aimed to +set a correct example rather than to strive vulgarly for professional +records, was always in a state of offensive optimism due to a complete +sartorial satisfaction. + +Booverman, on the contrary, had been hailed in his first years as a +coming champion. With three holes eliminated, he could turn in a card +distinguished for its fours and threes; but unfortunately these sad +lapses inevitably occurred. As Booverman himself admitted, his +appearance on the golf-links was the signal for the capricious imps of +chance who stir up politicians to indiscreet truths and keep the Balkan +pot of discord bubbling, to forsake immediately these prime duties, and +enjoy a little relaxation at his expense. + +Now, for the first three years Booverman responded in a manner to +delight imp and devil. When standing thirty-four for the first six +holes, he sliced into the jungle, and, after twenty minutes of frantic +beating of the bush, was forced to acknowledge a lost ball and no score, +he promptly sat down, tore large clutches of grass from the sod, and +expressed himself to the admiring delight of the caddies, who favorably +compared his flow of impulsive expletives to the choice moments of their +own home life. At other times he would take an offending club firmly in +his big hands and break it into four pieces, which he would drive into +the ground, hurling the head itself, with a last diabolical gesture, +into the Housatonic River, which, as may be repeated, wriggles its way +through the course as though convulsed with merriment. + +There were certain trees into which he inevitably drove, certain waggish +bends of the river where, no matter how he might face, he was sure to +arrive. There was a space of exactly ten inches under the clubhouse +where his balls alone could disappear. He never ran down a long put, but +always hung on the rim of the cup. It was his adversary who executed +phenomenal shots, approaches of eighty yards that dribbled home, sliced +drives that hit a fence and bounded back on the course. Nothing of this +agreeable sort had ever happened or could ever happen to him. Finally +the conviction of a certain predestined damnation settled upon him. He +no longer struggled; his once rollicking spirits settled into a moody +despair. Nothing encouraged him or could trick him into a display of +hope. If he achieved a four and two twos on the first holes, he would +say vindictively: + +"What's the use? I'll lose my ball on the fifth." + +And when this happened, he no longer swore, but said gloomily with even +a sense of satisfaction: "You can't get me excited. Didn't I know it +would happen?" + +Once in a while he had broken out, "If ever my luck changes, if it +comes all at once--" + +But he never ended the sentence, ashamed, as it were, to have indulged +in such a childish fancy. Yet, as Providence moves in a mysterious way +its wonders to perform, it was just this invincible pessimism that alone +could have permitted Booverman to accomplish the incredible experience +that befell him. + + + + +II + + +Topics of engrossing mental interests are bad form on the golf-links, +since they leave a disturbing memory in the mind to divert it from that +absolute intellectual concentration which the game demands. Therefore +Pickings and Booverman, as they started toward the crowded first tee, +remarked _de rigueur_: + +"Good weather." + +"A bit of a breeze." + +"Not strong enough to affect the drives." + +"The greens have baked out." + +"Fast as I've seen them." + +"Well, it won't help me." + +"How do you know?" said Pickings, politely, for the hundredth time. +"Perhaps this is the day you'll get your score." + +Booverman ignored this set remark, laying his ball on the rack, where +two predecessors were waiting, and settled beside Pickings at the foot +of the elm which later, he knew, would rob him of a four on the home +green. + +Wessels and Pollock, literary representatives, were preparing to drive. +They were converts of the summer, each sacrificing their season's output +in a frantic effort to surpass the other. Pickings, the purist, did not +approve of them in the least. They brought to the royal and ancient game +a spirit of Bohemian irreverence and banter that offended his serious +enthusiasm. + +When Wessels made a convulsive stab at his ball and luckily achieved +good distance, Pollock remarked behind his hand, "A good shot, damn it!" + +Wessels stationed himself in a hopefully deprecatory attitude and +watched Pollock build a monument of sand, balance his ball, and +whistling nervously through his teeth, lunge successfully down. +Whereupon, in defiance of etiquette, he swore with equal fervor, and +they started off. + +Pickings glanced at Booverman in a superior and critical way, but at +this moment a thin, dyspeptic man with undisciplined whiskers broke in +serenely without waiting for the answers to the questions he propounded: + +"Ideal weather, eh? Came over from Norfolk this morning; ran over at +fifty miles an hour. Some going, eh? They tell me you've quite a course +here; record around seventy-one, isn't it? Good deal of water to keep +out of? You gentlemen some of the cracks? Course pretty fast with all +this dry weather? What do you think of the one-piece driver? My friend, +Judge Weatherup. My name's Yancy--Cyrus P." + +A ponderous person who looked as though he had been pumped up for the +journey gravely saluted, while his feverish companion rolled on: + +"Your course's rather short, isn't it? Imagine it's rather easy for a +straight driver. What's your record? Seventy-one amateur? Rather high, +isn't it? Do you get many cracks around here? Caddies seem scarce. Did +either of you gentlemen ever reflect how surprising it is that better +scores aren't made at this game? Now, take seventy-one; that's only one +under fours, and I venture to say at least six of your holes are +possible twos, and all the rest, sometime or other, have been made in +three. Yet you never hear of phenomenal scores, do you, like a run of +luck at roulette or poker? You get my idea?" + +"I believe it is your turn, sir," said Pickings, both crushing and +parliamentary. "There are several waiting." + +Judge Weatherup drove a perfect ball into the long grass, where +successful searches averaged ten minutes, while his voluble companion, +with an immense expenditure of force, foozled into the swale to the +left, which was both damp and retentive. + +"Shall we play through?" said Pickings, with formal preciseness. He +teed his ball, took exactly eight full practice swings, and drove one +hundred and fifty yards as usual directly in the middle of the course. + +"Well, it's straight; that's all can be said for it," he said, as he +would say at the next seventeen tees. + +Booverman rarely employed that slogan. That straight and narrow path was +not in his religious practice. He drove a long ball, and he drove a +great many that did not return in his bag. He glanced resentfully to the +right, where Judge Weatherup was straddling the fence, and to the left, +where Yancy was annoying the bullfrogs. + +"Darn them!" he said to himself. "Of course now I'll follow suit." + +But whether or not the malignant force of suggestion was neutralized by +the attraction in opposite directions, his drive went straight and far, +a beautiful two hundred and forty yards. + +"Tine shot, Mr. Booverman," said Frank, the professional, nodding his +head, "free and easy, plenty of follow-through." + +"You're on your drive to-day," said Pickings, cheerfully. + +"Sure! When I get a good drive off the first tee," said Booverman +discouraged, "I mess up all the rest. You'll see." + +"Oh, come now," said Pickings, as a matter of form. He played his shot, +which came methodically to the edge of the green. + +Booverman took his mashy for the short running-up stroke to the pin, +which seemed so near. + +"I suppose I've tried this shot a thousand times," he said savagely. +"Any one else would get a three once in five times--any one but Jonah's +favorite brother." + +He swung carelessly, and watched with a tolerant interest the white ball +roll on to the green straight for the flag. All at once Wessels and +Pollock, who were ahead, sprang into the air and began agitating their +hats. + +"By George! it's in!" said Pickings. "You've run it down. First hole in +two! Well, what do you think of that?" + +Booverman, unconvinced, approached the hole with suspicion, gingerly +removing the pin. At the bottom, sure enough, lay his ball for a +phenomenal two. + +"That's the first bit of luck that has ever happened to me," he said +furiously; "absolutely the first time in my whole career." + +"I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry +about it, are you?" + +"Well, I don't know whether I am or not," said Booverman, obstinately. +In fact, he felt rather defrauded. The integrity of his record was +attacked. "See here, I play thirty-six holes a day, two hundred and +sixteen a week, a thousand a month, six thousand a year; ten years, +sixty thousand holes; and this is the first time a bit of luck has ever +happened to me--once in sixty thousand times." + +Pickings drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. + +"It may come all at once," he said faintly. + +This mild hope only infuriated Booverman. He had already teed his ball +for the second hole, which was poised on a rolling hill one hundred and +thirty-five yards away. It is considered rather easy as golf-holes go. +The only dangers are a matted wilderness of long grass in front of the +tee, the certainty of landing out of bounds on the slightest slice, or +of rolling down hill into a soggy substance on a pull. Also there is a +tree to be hit and a sand-pit to be sampled. + +"Now watch my little friend the apple-tree," said Booverman. "I'm going +to play for it, because, if I slice, I lose my ball, and that knocks my +whole game higher than a kite." He added between his teeth: "All I ask +is to get around to the eighth hole before I lose my ball. I know I'll +lose it there." + +Due to the fact that his two on the first brought him not the slightest +thrill of nervous joy, he made a perfect shot, the ball carrying the +green straight and true. + +"This is your day all right," said Pickings, stepping to the tee. + +"Oh, there's never been anything the matter with my irons," said +Booverman, darkly. "Just wait till we strike the fourth and fifth +holes." + +When they climbed the hill, Booverman's ball lay within three feet of +the cup, which he easily putted out. + +"Two down," said Pickings, inaudibly. "By George! what a glorious +start!" + +"Once in sixty thousand times," said Booverman to himself. The third +hole lay two hundred and five yards below, backed by the road and +trapped by ditches, where at that moment Pollock, true to his traditions +as a war correspondent, was laboring in the trenches, to the +unrestrained delight of Wessels, who had passed beyond. + +"Theobald," said Booverman, selecting his cleek and speaking with +inspired conviction, "I will tell you exactly what is going to happen. I +will smite this little homeopathic pill, and it will land just where I +want it. I will probably put out for another two. Three holes in twos +would probably excite any other human being on the face of this globe. +It doesn't excite me. I know too well what will follow on the fourth or +fifth. Watch." + +"Straight to the pin," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "You've got a +dead line on every shot to-day. Marvelous! When you get one of your +streaks, there's certainly no use in my playing." + +"Streak's the word," said Booverman, with a short, barking laugh. "Thank +heaven, though, Pickings, I know it! Five years ago I'd have been +shaking like a leaf. Now it only disgusts me. I've been fooled too +often; I don't bite again." + +In this same profoundly melancholic mood he approached his ball, which +lay on the green, hole high, and put down a difficult put, a good three +yards for his third two. + +Pickings, despite all his classic conservatism, was so overcome with +excitement that he twice putted over the hole for a shameful five. + +Booverman's face as he walked to the fourth tee was as joyless as a +London fog. He placed his ball carelessly, selected his driver, and +turned on the fidgety Pickings with the gloomy solemnity of a father +about to indulge in corporal punishment. + +"Once in sixty thousand times, Picky. Do you realize what a start like +this--three twos--would mean to a professional like Frank or even an +amateur that hadn't offended every busy little fate and fury in the +whole hoodooing business? Why, the blooming record would be knocked into +the middle of next week." + +"You'll do it," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "Play carefully." + +Booverman glanced down the four-hundred-yard straightaway and murmured +to himself: + + "I wonder, little ball, whither will you fly? + I wonder, little ball, have I bid you good-by? + Will it be 'mid the prairies in the regions to the west? + Will it be in the marshes where the pollywogs nest? + Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?" + +[Illustration: "Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"] + +He pronounced the last word with a settled conviction, and drove another +long, straight drive. Pickings, thrilled at the possibility of another +miracle, sliced badly. + +"This is one of the most truly delightful holes of a picturesque +course," said Booverman, taking out an approaching cleek for his second +shot. "Nothing is more artistic than the tiny little patch of +putting-green under the shaggy branches of the willows. The receptive +graveyard to the right gives a certain pathos to it, a splendid, quiet +note in contrast to the feeling of the swift, hungry river to the left, +which will now receive and carry from my outstretched hand this little +white floater that will float away from me. No matter; I say again the +fourth green is a thing of ravishing beauty." + +This second shot, low and long, rolled up in the same unvarying line. + +"On the green," said Pickings. + +"Short," said Booverman, who found, to his satisfaction, that he was +right by a yard. + +"Take your time," said Pickings, biting his nails. + +"Rats! I'll play it for a five," said Booverman. + +His approach ran up on the line, caught the rim of the cup, hesitated, +and passed on a couple of feet. + +"A four, anyway," said Pickings, with relief. + +"I should have had a three," said Booverman, doggedly. "Any one else +would have had a three, straight on the cup. You'd have had a three, +Picky; you know you would." + +Pickings did not answer. He was slowly going to pieces, forgetting the +invincible stoicism that is the pride of the true golfer. + +"I say, take your time, old chap," he said, his voice no longer under +control. "Go slow! go slow!" + +"Picky, for the first four years I played this course," said +Booverman, angrily, "I never got better than a six on this simple +three-hundred-and-fifty-yard hole. I lost my ball five times out of +seven. There is something irresistibly alluring to me in the mosquito +patches to my right. I think it is the fond hope that when I lose this +nice new ball I may step inadvertently on one of its hundred brothers, +which I may then bring home and give decent burial." + +Pickings, who felt a mad and ungolfish desire to entreat him to caution, +walked away to fight down his emotion. + +"Well?" he said, after the click of the club had sounded. + +"Well," said Booverman, without joy, "that ball is lying about two +hundred and forty yards straight up the course, and by this time it has +come quietly to a little cozy home in a nice, deep hoof track, just as I +found it yesterday afternoon. Then I will have the exquisite pleasure of +taking my niblick, and whanging it out for the loss of a stroke. That'll +infuriate me, and I'll slice or pull. The best thing to do, I suppose, +would be to play for a conservative six." + +When, after four butchered shots, Pickings had advanced to where +Booverman had driven, the ball lay in clear position just beyond the +bumps and rills that ordinarily welcome a long shot. Booverman played a +perfect mashy, which dropped clear on the green, and ran down a moderate +put for a three. + +They then crossed the road and arrived by a planked walk at a dirt mound +in the midst of a swamp. Before them the cozy marsh lay stagnant ahead +and then sloped to the right in the figure of a boomerang, making for +those who fancied a slice a delightful little carry of one hundred and +fifty yards. To the left was a procession of trees, while beyond, on the +course, for those who drove a long ball, a giant willow had fallen the +year before in order to add a new perplexity and foster the enthusiasm +for luxury that was beginning among the caddies. + +"I have a feeling," said Booverman, as though puzzled but not duped by +what had happened--"I have a strange feeling that I'm not going to get +into trouble here. That would be too obvious. It's at the seventh or +eighth holes that something is lurking around for me. Well, I won't +waste time." + +He slapped down his ball, took a full swing, and carried the far-off +bank with a low, shooting drive that continued bounding on. + +"That ought to roll forever," said Pickings, red with excitement. + +"The course is fast--dry as a rock," said Booverman, deprecatingly. + +Pickings put three balls precisely into the bubbling water, and drew +alongside on his eighth shot. Booverman's drive had skimmed over the +dried plain for a fair two hundred and seventy-five yards. His second +shot, a full brassy, rolled directly on the green. + +"If he makes a four here," said Pickings to himself, "he'll be playing +five under four--no, by thunder! seven under four!" Suddenly he stopped, +overwhelmed. "Why, he's actually around threes--two under three now. +Heavens! if he ever suspects it, he'll go into a thousand pieces." + +As a result, he missed his own ball completely, and then topped it for a +bare fifty yards. + +"I've never seen you play so badly," said Booverman in a grumbling tone. +"You'll end up by throwing me off." + +When they arrived at the green, Booverman's ball lay about thirty feet +from the flag. + +"It's a four, a sure four," said Pickings under his breath. + +Suddenly Booverman burst into an exclamation. + +"Picky, come here. Look--look at that!" + +The tone was furious. Pickings approached. + +"Do you see that?" said Booverman, pointing to a freshly laid circle of +sod ten inches from his ball. "That, my boy, was where the cup was +yesterday. If they hadn't moved the flag two hours ago, I'd have had a +three. Now, what do you think of that for rotten luck?" + +"Lay it dead," said Pickings, anxiously, shaking his head +sympathetically. "The green's a bit fast." + +The put ran slowly up to the hole, and stopped four inches short. + +"By heavens! why didn't I put over it!" said Booverman, brandishing his +putter. "A thirty-foot put that stops an inch short--did you ever see +anything like it? By everything that's just and fair I should have had a +three. You'd have had it, Picky. Lord! if I only could put!" + +"One under three," said Pickings to his fluttering inner self. "He can't +realize it. If I can only keep his mind off the score!" + +The seventh tee is reached by a carefully planned, fatiguing flight of +steps to the top of a bluff, where three churches at the back beckon so +many recording angels to swell the purgatory lists. As you advance to +the abrupt edge, everything is spread before you; nothing is concealed. +In the first plane, the entangling branches of a score of apple-trees +are ready to trap a topped ball and bury it under impossible piles of +dry leaves. Beyond, the wired tennis-courts give forth a musical, tinny +note when attacked. In the middle distance a glorious sycamore draws you +to the left, and a file of elms beckon the sliced way to a marsh, +wilderness of grass and an overgrown gully whence no balls return. In +front, one hundred and twenty yards away, is a formidable bunker, +running up to which is a tract of long grass, which two or three times a +year is barbered by a charitable enterprise. The seventh hole itself +lies two hundred and sixty yards away in a hollow guarded by a sunken +ditch, a sure three or--a sure six. + +Booverman was still too indignant at the trick fate had played him on +the last green to yield to any other emotion. He forgot that a dozen +good scores had ended abruptly in the swale to the right. He was only +irritated. He plumped down his ball, dug his toes in the ground, and +sent off another long, satisfactory drive, which added more fuel to his +anger. + +"Any one else would have had a three on the six," he muttered as he left +the tee. "It's too ridiculous." + +He had a short approach and an easy put, plucked his ball from the cup, +and said in an injured tone: + +"Picky, I feel bad about that sixth hole, and the fourth, too. I've +lost a stroke on each of them. I'm playing two strokes more than I ought +to be. Hang it all! that sixth wasn't right! You told me the green was +fast." + +"I'm sorry," said Pickings, feeling his fingers grow cold and clammy on +the grip. + +The eighth hole has many easy opportunities. It is five hundred and +twenty yards long, and things may happen at every stroke. You may begin +in front of the tee by burying your ball in the waving grass, which is +always permitted a sort of poetical license. There are the traps to the +seventh hole to be crossed, and to the right the paralleling river can +be reached by a short stab or a long, curling slice, which the +prevailing wind obligingly assists to a splashing descent. + +"And now we have come to the eighth hole," said Booverman, raising his +hat in profound salutation. "Whenever I arrive here with a good score I +take from eight to eighteen, I lose one to three balls. On the contrary, +when I have an average of six, I always get a five and often a four. How +this hole has changed my entire life!" He raised his ball and addressed +it tenderly: "And now, little ball, we must part, you and I. It seems a +shame; you're the nicest little ball I ever have known. You've stuck to +me an awful long while. It's a shame." + +He teed up, and drove his best drive, and followed it with a brassy that +laid him twenty yards off the green, where a good approach brought the +desired four. + +"Even threes," said Pickings to himself, as though he had seen a ghost. +Now he was only a golfer of one generation; there was nothing in his +inheritance to steady him in such a crisis. He began slowly to +disintegrate morally, to revert to type. He contained himself until +Booverman had driven free of the river, which flanks the entire green +passage to the ninth hole, and then barely controlling the impulse to +catch Booverman by the knees and implore him to discretion, he burst +out: + +"I say, dear boy, do you know what your score is?" + +"Something well under four," said Booverman, scratching his head. + +"Under four, nothing; even threes!" + +"What?" + +"Even threes." + +They stopped, and tabulated the holes. + +"So it is," said Booverman, amazed. "What an infernal pity!" + +"Pity?" + +"Yes, pity. If only some one else could play it out!" + +He studied the hundred and fifty yards that were needed to reach the +green that was set in the crescent of surrounding trees, changed his +brassy for his cleek, and his cleek for his midiron. + +"I wish you hadn't told me," he said nervously. + +Pickings on the instant comprehended his blunder. For the first time +Booverman's shot went wide of the mark, straight into the trees that +bordered the river to the left. + +"I'm sorry," said Pickings with a feeble groan. + +"My dear Picky, it had to come," said Booverman, with a shrug of his +shoulders. "The ball is now lost, and all the score goes into the air, +the most miraculous score any one ever heard of is nothing but a crushed +egg!" + +"It may have bounded back on the course," said Pickings, desperately. + +"No, no, Picky; not that. In all the sixty thousand times I have hit +trees, barns, car-tracks, caddies, fences,--" + +"There it is!" cried Pickings, with a shout of joy. + +Fair on the course, at the edge of the green itself, lay the ball, which +soon was sunk for a four. Pickings felt a strange, unaccountable desire +to leap upon Booverman like a fluffy, enthusiastic dog; but he fought it +back with the new sense of responsibility that came to him. So he said +artfully: "By George! old man, if you hadn't missed on the fourth or the +sixth, you'd have done even threes!" + +"You know what I ought to do now--I ought to stop," said Booverman, in +profound despair--"quit golf and never lift another club. It's a crime +to go on; it's a crime to spoil such a record. Twenty-eight for nine +holes, only forty-two needed for the next nine to break the record, and +I have done it in thirty-three--and in fifty-three! I ought not to try; +it's wrong." + +He teed his ball for the two-hundred-yard flight to the easy tenth, and +took his cleek. + +"I know just what'll happen now; I know it well." + +But this time there was no varying in the flight; the drive went true to +the green, straight on the flag, where a good but not difficult put +brought a two. + +"Even threes again," said Pickings, but to himself. "It can't go on. It +must turn." + +"Now, Pickings, this is going to stop," said Booverman angrily. "I'm not +going to make a fool of myself. I'm going right up to the tee, and I'm +going to drive my ball right smack into the woods and end it. And I +don't care." + +"What!" + +"No, I don't care. Here goes." + +Again his drive continued true, the mashy pitch for the second was +accurate, and his put, after circling the rim of the cup, went down for +a three. + +The twelfth hole is another dip into the long grass that might serve as +an elephant's bed, and then across the Housatonic River, a carry of one +hundred and twenty yards to the green at the foot of an intruding tree. + +"Oh, I suppose I'll make another three here, too," said Booverman, +moodily. "That'll only make it worse." + +He drove with his midiron high in the air and full on the flag. + +"I'll play my put carefully for three," he said, nodding his head. +Instead, it ran straight and down for two. + +He walked silently to the dreaded thirteenth tee, which, with the +returning fourteenth, forms the malignant Scylla and Charybdis of the +course. There is nothing to describe the thirteenth hole. It is not +really a golf-hole; it is a long, narrow breathing spot, squeezed by the +railroad tracks on one side and by the river on the other. Resolute and +fearless golfers often cut them out entirely, nor are ashamed to +acknowledge their terror. As you stand at the thirteenth tee, everything +is blurred to the eye. Near by are rushes and water, woods to the left +and right; the river and the railroad; and the dry land a hundred yards +away looks tiny and distant, like a rock amid floods. + +A long drive that varies a degree is doomed to go out of bounds or to +take the penalty of the river. + +"Don't risk it. Take an iron--play it carefully," said Pickings in a +voice that sounded to his own ears unrecognizable. + +Booverman followed his advice and landed by the fence to the left, +almost off the fair. A midiron for his second put him in position for +another four, and again brought his score to even threes. + +When the daring golfer has passed quaking up the narrow way and still +survives, he immediately falls a victim to the fourteenth, which is a +bend hole, with all the agonies of the preceding thirteenth, augmented +by a second shot over a long, mushy pond. If you play a careful iron to +keep from the railroad, now on the right, or to dodge the river on your +left, you are forced to approach the edge of the swamp with a cautious +fifty-yard-running-up stroke before facing the terrors of the carry. A +drive with a wooden club is almost sure to carry into the swamp, and +only a careful cleek shot is safe. + +"I wish I were playing this for the first time," said Booverman, +blackly. "I wish I could forget--rid myself of memories. I have seen +class A amateurs take twelve, and professionals eight. This is the end +of all things, Picky, the saddest spot on earth. I won't waste time. +Here goes." + +To Pickings's horror, the drive began slowly to slice out of bounds, +toward the railroad tracks. + +"I knew it," said Booverman, calmly, "and the next will go there, too; +then I'll put one in the river, two the swamp, slice into--" + +All at once he stopped, thunderstruck. The ball, hitting tire or rail, +bounded high in the air, forward, back upon the course, lying in perfect +position; Pickings said something in a purely reverent spirit. + +"Twice in sixty thousand times," said Booverman, unrelenting. "That only +evens up the sixth hole. Twice in sixty thousand times!" + +From where the ball lay an easy brassy brought it near enough to the +green to negotiate another four. Pickings, trembling like a toy dog in +zero weather, reached the green in ten strokes, and took three more +puts. + +The fifteenth, a short pitch over the river, eighty yards to a slanting +green entirely surrounded by more long grass, which gave it the +appearance of a chin spot on a full face of whiskers, was Booverman's +favorite hole. While Pickings held his eyes to the ground and tried to +breathe in regular breaths, Booverman placed his ball, drove with the +requisite back spin, and landed dead to the hole. Another two resulted. + +"Even threes--fifteen holes in even threes," said Pickings to himself, +his head beginning to throb. He wanted to sit down and take his temples +in his hands, but for the sake of history he struggled on. + +"Damn it!" said Booverman all at once. + +"What's the matter?" said Pickings, observing his face black with fury. + +"Do you realize, Pickings, what it means to me to have lost those two +strokes on the fourth and sixth greens, and through no fault of mine, +neither? Even threes for the whole course--that's what I could do if I +had those two strokes--the greatest thing that's ever been seen on a +golf-course. It may be a hundred years before any human being on the +face of this earth will get such a chance. And to think I might have +done it with a little luck!" + +Pickings felt his heart begin to pump, but he was able to say with some +degree of calm: + +"You may get a three here." + +"Never. Four, three and four is what I'll end." + +"Well, good heavens! what do you want?" + +"There's no joy in it, though," said Booverman, gloomily. "If I had +those two strokes back, I'd go down in history, I'd be immortal. And +you, too, Picky, you'd be immortal, because you went around with me. The +fourth hole was bad enough, but the sixth was heartbreaking." + +His drive cleared another swamp and rolled well down the farther +plateau. A long cleek laid his ball off the green, a good approach +stopped a little short of the hole, and the put went down. + +"Well, that ends it," said Booverman, gloomily. + +"I've got to make a two and a three to do it. The two is quite possible; +the three absurd." + +The seventeenth hole returns to the swamp that enlivens the sixth. It is +a full cleek, with about six mental hazards distributed in Indian +ambush, and in five of them a ball may lie until the day of judgment +before rising again. + +Pickings turned his back, unable to endure the agony of watching. The +click of the club was sharp and true. He turned to see the ball in full +flight arrive unerringly hole high on the green. + +"A chance for a two," he said under his breath. He sent two balls into +the lost land to the left and one into the rough to the right. + +"Never mind me," he said, slashing away in reckless fashion. + +Booverman with a little care studied the ten-foot route to the hole and +putted down. + +"Even threes!" said Pickings, leaning against a tree. + +"Blast that sixth hole!" said Booverman, exploding. "Think of what it +might be, Picky--what it ought to be!" + +Pickings retired hurriedly before the shaking approach of Booverman's +frantic club. Incapable of speech, he waved him feebly to drive. He +began incredulously to count up again, as though doubting his senses. + +"One under three, even threes, one over, even, one under--" + +"Here! What the deuce are you doing?" said Booverman, angrily. "Trying +to throw me off?" + +"I didn't say anything," said Pickings. + +"You didn't--muttering to yourself." + +"I must make him angry to keep his mind off the score," said Pickings, +feebly to himself. He added aloud, "Stop kicking about your old sixth +hole! You've had the darndest luck I ever saw, and yet you grumble." + +Booverman swore under his breath, hastily approached his ball, drove +perfectly, and turned in a rage. + +"Luck?" he cried furiously. "Pickings, I've a mind to wring your neck. +Every shot I've played has been dead on the pin, now, hasn't it?" + +"How about the ninth hole--hitting a tree?" + +"Whose fault was that? You had no right to tell me my score, and, +besides, I only got an ordinary four there, anyway." + +"How about the railroad track?" + +"One shot out of bounds. Yes, I'll admit that. That evens up for the +fourth." + +"How about your first hole in two?" + +"Perfectly played; no fluke about it at all--once in sixty thousand +times. Well, any more sneers? Anything else to criticize?" + +"Let it go at that." + +Booverman, in this heckled mood, turned irritably to his ball, played a +long midiron, just cleared the crescent bank of the last swale, and ran +up on the green. + +[Illustration: Wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the clubhouse +with the miraculous news] + +"Damn that sixth hole!" said Booverman, flinging down his club and +glaring at Pickings. "One stroke back, and I could have done it." + +Pickings tried to address, but the moment he swung his club, his legs +began to tremble. He shook his head, took a long breath, and picked up +his ball. + +They approached the green on a drunken run in the wild hope that a short +put was possible. Unfortunately the ball lay thirty feet away, and the +path to the hole was bumpy and riddled with worm-casts. Still, there was +a chance, desperate as it was. + +Pickings let his bag slip to the ground and sat down, covering his eyes +while Booverman with his putter tried to brush away the ridges. + +"Stand up!" + +Pickings rose convulsively. + +"For heaven's sake, Picky, stand up! Try to be a man!" said Booverman, +hoarsely. "Do you think I've any nerve when I see you with chills and +fever? Brace up!" + +"All right." + +Booverman sighted the hole, and then took his stance; but the cleek in +his hand shook like an aspen. He straightened up and walked away. + +"Picky," he said, mopping his face, "I can't do it. I can't put it." + +"You must." + +"I've got buck fever. I'll never be able to put it--never." + +At the last, no longer calmed by an invincible pessimism, Booverman had +gone to pieces. He stood shaking from head to foot. + +"Look at that," he said, extending a fluttering hand. "I can't do it; I +can never do it." + +"Old fellow, you must," said Pickings; "you've got to. Bring yourself +together. Here!" He slapped him on the back, pinched his arms, and +chafed his fingers. Then he led him back to the ball, braced him into +position, and put the putter in his hands. + +"Buck fever," said Booverman in a whisper. "Can't see a thing." + +Pickings, holding the flag in the cup, said savagely: + +"Shoot!" + +The ball advanced in a zigzag path, running from worm-cast to a +worm-cast, wobbling and rocking, and at the last, as though preordained, +fell plump into the cup! + +At the same moment, Pickings and Booverman, as though carried off by the +same cannon-ball, flattened on the green. + + + + +III + + +Five minutes later, wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the +clubhouse with the miraculous news. For an hour the assembled golfers +roared with laughter as the two stormed, expostulated, and swore to the +truth of the tale. + +[Illustration: A committee carefully examined the books of the club] + +They journeyed from house to house in a vain attempt to find some +convert to their claim. For a day they passed as consummate comedians, +and the more they yielded to their rage, the more consummate was their +art declared. Then a change took place. From laughing the educated town +of Stockbridge turned to resentment, then to irritation, and finally to +suspicion. Booverman and Pickings began to lose caste, to be regarded as +unbalanced, if not positively dangerous. Unknown to them, a committee +carefully examined the books of the club. At the next election another +treasurer and another secretary were elected. + +Since then, month in and month out, day after day, in patient hope, the +two discredited members of the educated community of Stockbridge may be +seen, _accompanied by caddies_, toiling around the links in a desperate +belief that the miracle that would restore them to standing may be +repeated. Each time as they arrive nervously at the first tee and +prepare to swing, something between a chuckle and a grin runs through +the assemblage, while the left eyes contract waggishly, and a murmuring +may be heard, + +"Even threes." + + * * * * * + +The Stockbridge golf-links is a course of ravishing beauty and the +Housatonic River, as has been said, goes wriggling around it as though +convulsed with merriment. + + + + +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION + + + + +I + + +Inspector Frawley, of the Canadian Secret Service, stood at attention, +waiting until the scratch of a pen should cease throughout the dim, +spacious office and the Honorable Secretary of Justice should acquaint +him with his desires. + +He held himself deferentially, body compact, eyes clear and steady, face +blank and controlled, without distinction, without significance, a man +mediocre as a crowd. His hands were joined loosely behind his back; his +glance, without deviating, remained persistently on the profile of the +Honorable Secretary, as though in that historic room the human note +alone could compel his curiosity. + +The thin squeak of the pen faded into the silences of the great room. +The Secretary of Justice ran his fingers over his forehead, looked up, +and met the Inspector's gaze--fixed, profound, and mathematical. With a +sudden unease he pushed back his chair, troubled by the analysis of his +banal man, who, in another turn of Fate, might pursue him as +dispassionately as he now stood before him for his commands. With a few +rapid strides he crossed the room, lit a cigar, blew into the swirl of +smoke this caprice of his imagination, and returned stolidly, as became +a man of facts and figures. + +Flinging himself loosely in an easy chair, he threw a rapid glance at +his watch, locked his fingers, and began with the nervous directness of +one who wishes to be rid of formalities: + +"Well, Inspector, you returned this morning?" + +"An hour ago, sir." + +"A creditable bit of work, Inspector Frawley--the department is +pleased." + +"Thank you indeed, sir." + +"Does the case need you any more?" + +"I should say not, sir--no, sir." + +"You are ready to report for duty?" + +"Oh, yes, sir." + +"How soon?" + +"I think I'm ready now, sir--yes, sir." + +"Glad to hear it, Inspector, very glad. You're the one man I wanted." As +though the civilities had been sufficiently observed, the Secretary +stiffened in his chair and continued rapidly: "It's that Toronto affair; +you've read the details. The government lost $350,000. We caught four of +the gang, but the ringleader got away with the money. Have you studied +it? What did you make of it? Sit down." + +Frawley took a chair stiffly, hanging his hat between his knees and +considering. + +"It did look like work from the States," he said thoughtfully. "I beg +pardon, did you say they'd caught some of the gang?" + +"Four--this morning. The telegram's just in." + +The Honorable Secretary, a little strange yet to the routine of the +office, looked at Frawley with a sudden desire to test his memory. + +"Do you know the work?" he asked; "could you recognize the ringleader?" + +"That might not be so hard, sir," said Frawley, with a nod; "we know +pretty well, of course, who's able to handle such jobs as that. Would +you have a description anywhere?" + +The Honorable Secretary rose, took from his desk a paper, and began to +read. In his seat Inspector Frawley crossed his legs carefully, drew his +fists up under his chin, and stared at the reader, but without focusing +his glance on him. Once during the recital he started at some item of +description, but immediately relaxed. The report finished, the Secretary +let it drop into his lap and waited, impressed, despite himself, at the +thought of the immense galleries of crime through which the Inspector +was seeking his victim. All at once into the unseeing stare there +flickered a light of understanding. Frawley returned to the room, saw +the Secretary, and nodded. + +"It's Bucky," he said tentatively. A moment his glance went +reflectively to a far corner, then he nodded slowly, looked at the +Secretary, and said with conviction: "It looks very much, sir, like +Bucky Greenfield." + +"It is Greenfield," replied the Secretary, without attempting to conceal +his astonishment. + +"I would like to observe," said Frawley thoughtfully, without noticing +his surprise, "that there is a bit of an error in that description, sir. +It's the left ear that's broken. Furthermore, he don't toe +out--excepting when he does it on a purpose. So it's Bucky Greenfield +I'm to bring back, sir?" + +The Secretary nodded, penciling Frawley's correction on the paper. + +"Bucky--well, now, that is odd!" said Frawley musingly. He rose and took +a step to the desk. "Very odd." Mechanically he saw the straggling +papers on the top and arranged them into orderly piles. "Well, he can't +say I didn't warn him!" + +"What!" broke in the Secretary in quick astonishment, "you know the +fellow?" + +"Indeed, yes, sir," said Frawley, with a nod. "We know most of the +crooks in the States. We're good friends, too--so long as they stay over +the line. It's useful, you know. So I'm to go after Bucky?" + +The Secretary, judging the moment had arrived to be impressive, said +solemnly: + +"Inspector Frawley, if you have to stick to it until he dies of old age, +you're never to let up until you get Bucky Greenfield! While the +British Empire holds together, no man shall rob Her Majesty of a +farthing and sleep in security. You understand the situation?" + +"I do, sir." + +The Honorable Secretary, only half satisfied, continued: + +"Your credit is unlimited--there'll be no question of that. If you need +to buy up a whole South American government--buy it! By the way, he will +make for South America, will he not?" + +"Probably--yes, sir. Chile or the Argentine--there's no extradition +treaty there." + +"But even then," broke in the Secretary with a nervous frown--"there are +ways--other ways?" + +"Oh, yes." Frawley, picking up a paper-cutter, stood by the mantel +tapping his palm. "Oh, yes--there are other ways! So it's Bucky--well, I +warned him!" + +"Now, Inspector, to settle the matter," interrupted the Secretary, +anxious to return to his routine, "when can you go on the case?" + +"If the papers are ready, sir--" + +"They are--everything. The Home Office has been cabled. To-morrow every +British official throughout the world will be notified to render you +assistance and honor your drafts." + +Inspector Frawley heard with approval and consulted his watch. + +"There's an express for New York leaves at noon," he said +reflectively--then, with a glance at the clock, "thirty-five minutes; I +can make that, sir." + +"Good, very good." + +"If I might suggest, sir--if the Inspector who has had the case in hand +could go a short distance with me?" + +"Inspector Keech shall join you at the station." + +"Thank you, sir. Is there anything further?" + +The Secretary shook his head, and springing up, held out his hand +enthusiastically. + +"Good luck to you, Inspector--you have a big thing ahead of you, a very +big thing." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"By the way--you're not married?" + +"No, sir." + +"This is pretty short notice. How long have you been on this other +case?" + +"A trifle over six months, sir." + +"Don't you want a couple of days to rest up? I can let you have that +very easily." + +"It really makes no difference--I think I'll leave to-day, sir." + +"Oh, a moment more, Inspector--" + +Frawley halted. + +"How long do you think this ought to take you?" + +Frawley considered, and answered carefully: + +"It'll be long, I think. You see, there are several circumstances that +are unusual about this case." + +"How so?" + +"Well, Buck is clever--there's no gainsaying that--quite at the top of +the profession. Then, he's expecting me." + +"You?" + +"They're a queer lot," Frawley explained with a touch of pride. "Crooks +are full of little vanities. You see, Bucky knows I've never dropped a +trail, and I think it's rather gotten on his nerves. I think he wasn't +satisfied until he dared me. He's very odd--very odd indeed. It's a +little personal. I doubt, sir, if I bring him back alive." + +"Inspector Frawley," said the new Secretary, "I hope I have sufficiently +impressed upon you the importance of your mission." + +Frawley stared at his chief in surprise. + +"I'm to stick to him until I get him," he said in wonder; "that's all, +isn't it, sir?" + +The Secretary, annoyed by his lack of imagination, essayed a final +phrase. + +"Inspector, this is my last word," he said with a frown; "remember that +you represent Her Majesty's government--you are Her Majesty's +government! I have confidence in you." + +"Thank you, sir." + +Frawley moved slowly to the door and with his hand on the knob +hesitated. The Secretary saw in the movement a reluctance to take the +decisive step that must open before him the wide stretches of the world. + +"After all, he must have a speck of imagination," he thought, reassured. + +"I beg pardon, sir." + +Frawley had turned in embarrassment. + +"Well, Inspector, what can I do for you?" + +"If you please, sir," said Frawley, "I was just thinking--after all, it +has been a bit of a while since I've been home--indeed, I should like it +very much if I could take a good English mutton-chop and a musty ale at +old Nell's, sir. I can still get the two o'clock express." + +"Granted!" + +"If you'd prefer not, sir," said Frawley, surprised at the vexation in +his answer. + +"Not at all--take the two o'clock--good day, good day!" + +Inspector Frawley, sorely puzzled, shifted his balance, opened his +mouth, then with a bob of his head answered hastily: + +"A--good day, sir!" + + + + +II + + +Sam Greenfield, known as "Bucky," age about 42, height about 5 feet 10 +inches, weight between 145 and 150. Hair mouse-colored, thinning out +over forehead, parted in middle, showing scalp beneath; mustache would +be lighter than hair--if not dyed; usually clipped to about an inch. +Waxy complexion, light blue eyes a little close together, thin nose, a +prominent dimple on left cheek--may wear whiskers. Laughs in low key. +Left ear lobe broken. Slightly bowlegged. While in conversation strokes +chin. When standing at a counter or bar goes through motions, as if +jerking himself together, crowding his elbows slowly to his side for a +moment, then, throwing back his head, jumps up from his heels. When +dreaming, attempts to bite mustache with lower lip. When he sits in a +chair places himself sidewise and hangs both arms over back. In walking +strikes back part of heel first, and is apt to waver from time to time. +Dresses neatly, carries hands in side-pockets only--plays piano +constantly, composing as he goes along. During day smokes twenty to +thirty cigarettes, cutting them in half for cigarette-holder and +throwing them away after three or four whiffs. After dinner invariably +smokes one cigar. Cut is good likeness. Cut of signature is facsimile of +his original writing. + +With this overwhelming indictment against the liberty of the fugitive, +to escape which Greenfield would have to change his temperament as well +as his physical aspect, Inspector Frawley took the first steamer from +New York to the Isthmus of Panama. + +He had slight doubt of Greenfield's final destination, for the flight of +the criminal is a blind instinct for the south as though a frantic +return to barbarism. At this time Chile and the Argentine had not yet +accepted the principle of extradition, and remained the Mecca of the +lawbreakers of the world. + +Yet though Frawley felt certain of Greenfield's objective, he did not +at once strike for the Argentine. The Honorable Secretary of Justice had +eliminated the necessity for considering time. Frawley had no need to +guess, nor to risk. He had simply to become a wheel in the machinery of +the law, to grind slowly, tirelessly, and inexorably. This idea suited +admirably his temperament and his desires. + +He arrived at Colon, took train for Panama across the laborious path +where a thousand little men were scratching endlessly, and on the brink +of the Pacific began his search. No one had heard of Greenfield. + +At the end of a week's waiting he boarded a steamer and crawled down the +western coast of South America, investigating every port, braving the +yellow fever at Guayaquil, Ecuador, and facing a riot at Callao, Peru, +before he found at Lima the trail of the fugitive. Greenfield had passed +the day there and left for Chile. Dragging each intermediate port with +the same caution, Frawley followed the trail to Valparaiso. Greenfield +had stayed a week and again departed. + +Frawley at once took steamer for the Argentine, passed down the tongue +of South America, through the Straits of Magellan, and arrived at length +in the harbor of Buenos Ayres. + +An hour later, as he took his place at the table in the Criterion +Gardens, a hand fell on his shoulder and some one at his back said: + +"Well, Bub!" + +He turned. A thin man of medium height, with blue eyes and yellow +complexion, was laughing in expectation of his discomfiture. Frawley +laid down the menu carefully, raised his head, and answered quietly: + +"Why, how d'ye do, Bucky?" + + + + +III + + +"We shake, of course," said Greenfield, holding out his hand. + +"Why not? Sit down." + +The fugitive slid into a chair and hung his arms over the back, asking +immediately: + +"What took you so long? You're after me, of course?" + +"Am I?" Frawley answered, looking at him steadily. Greenfield, with a +twitch of his shoulders, returned to his question: + +"What took you so long? Didn't you guess I'd come direct?" + +"I'm not guessing," said Frawley. + +"What do you say to dining on me?" said Greenfield with a malicious +smile. "I owe you that. I clipped your vacation pretty short. +Besides--guess you know it yourself--you can't touch me here. Why not +talk things over frankly? Say, Bub, shall it be on me?" + +"I'm willing." + +A waiter sidled up and took the order that Greenfield gave without +hesitation. + +"You see, even the dinner was ready for you," he said with a wink; "see +how you like it." With a gesture of impatience he pushed aside the menu, +squared his arms on the table, and looked suddenly at his pursuer with +the deviltry of a schoolboy glistening in his eyes. "Well, Bub, I went +into your all-fired Canady!" + +"So you did--why?" + +"Well," said Greenfield, drawing lines with his knife-point on the nap, +"one reason was I wanted to see if Her Majesty's shop has such an +all-fired long arm--" + +"And the other reason was I warned you to keep over the line." + +"Why, Bub, you _are_ a bright boy!" + +"It ain't me, Bucky," Frawley answered, with a shake of his head; "it's +the all-fired government that's after you." + +"Good--first rate--then we'll have a little excitement!" + +"You'll have plenty of that, Bucky!" + +"Maybe, Bub, maybe. Well, I made a neat job of it, didn't I?" + +"You did," admitted Frawley with an appreciative nod. "But you were +wrong--you were wrong--you should have kept off. The Canadian Government +ain't like your bloomin' democracy. It don't forgive--it don't forget. +Tack that up, Bucky. It's a principle we've got at stake with you!" + +"Don't I know it?" cried Greenfield, striking the table. "What else do +you think I did it for?" + +Frawley gazed at him, then said slowly: "I told them it was a personal +matter." + +"Sure it was! Do you think I could keep out after you served notice on +me? D---- your English pride and your English justice! I'm a good enough +Yank to see if your dinky police is such an all-fired cute little bunch +of wonder-workers as you say! Bub--you think you're going to get Mr. +Greenfield--don't you?" + +"I'm not thinking, Bucky--" + +"Eh?" + +"I'm simply sticking to you." + +"Sticking to me!" cried Greenfield with a roar of disgust. "Why, you +unimaginative, lumbering, beef-eating Canuck, you can't get me that way! +Why in tarnation didn't you strike plump for here--instead of rubbin' +yourself down the whole coast of South Ameriky?" + +"Bucky, you don't understand the situation properly," objected Frawley, +without varying the level tone of his voice. "Supposing it had been a +bloomin' corporation had sent me--? that's what I'd have done. But it's +the government this time--Her Majesty's government! Time ain't no +consideration. I'd have raked down the whole continent if I'd had +to--though I knew where you were." + +"Well, and now what? You can't touch me, Bub," he added earnestly. "I +like straight talk, man to man. Now, what's your game?" + +"Business." + +"All right then," said Greenfield, with a frown, "but you can't touch +me--now. There's an extradition treaty coming, but then there'd have to +be a retroactive clause to do you any good." He paused, studying the +expression on the Inspector's face. "There's enough of the likes of me +here to see that don't occur. Say, Bub?" + +"Well?" + +"You deal a square pack, don't you?" + +"That's my reputation, Bucky." + +"Give me your word you'll play me square." + +Inspector Frawley, leaning forward, helped himself busily. Greenfield, +with pursed lips, studied every movement. + +"No kidnapping tricks?" + +Without lifting his eyes Frawley sharpened his knife vigorously against +his fork and fell to eating. + +"Well, Bub?" + +"What?" + +"No fancy kidnapping?" + +"I'm promising nothing, Bucky." + +There was a blank moment while Greenfield considered. Suddenly he shot +out his hand, saying with a nod: "You're a white man, Bub, and I never +heard a word against that." He filled a glass and shoved it toward +Frawley. "We might as well clink on it. For I rather opinionate before +we get through this little business--there'll be something worth talking +about." + +"Here's to you then, Bucky," said Frawley, nodding. + +"Remember what I tell you," said Greenfield, looking over his glass, +"there's going to be something to live for." + +"I say, Bucky," said Frawley with a lazy interest, "would they serve you +five-o'clock tea here, I wonder?" + +Greenfield, drawing back, laughed a superior laugh. + +"Bub, I'm sorry for you--'pon my word I am." + +"How so, Bucky?" + +"Why, you plodding little English lamb, you don't have the slightest +suspicion what you're gettin' into!" + +"What am I getting into, Bucky?" + +Greenfield threw back his head with a chuckle. + +"If you get me, it'll be the last job you ever pull off." + +"Maybe, maybe." + +"Since things are aboveboard--listen here," said Greenfield with sudden +seriousness. "Bub, you'll not get me alive. Nothing personal, you +understand, but it'll have to be your life or mine. If it comes to the +pinch, look out for yourself--" + +"Oh, yes," said Frawley, with a matter-of-fact nod, "I understand." + +"I ain't tried to bribe you," said Greenfield, rising. "Thank me for +that--though another man might have been sent up for life." + +"Thanks," Frawley said with a drawl. "And you'll notice I haven't +advised you to come back and face the music. Seems to me we understand +each other." + +"Here's my address," said Greenfield, handing him a card; "may save you +some trouble. I'm here every night." He held out his hand. "Turn up and +meet the profesh. They're a clever lot here. They'd appreciate meeting +you, too." + +"Perhaps I will." + +"Ta-ta, then." + +Greenfield took a few steps, halted, and lounged back with a smile full +of mischief. + +"By the way, Bub--how long has Her Majesty's dinkies given you?" + +"It's a life appointment, Bucky." + +"Really--bless me--then your bloomin' government has some sense after +all." + +The two men saluted gravely, with a parting exchange. + +"Now, Bub--keep fit." + +"Same to you, Bucky." + + + + +IV + + +The view of Greenfield sauntering lightly away among the noisy tables, +bravado in his manner, deviltry in his heart, was the last glimpse +Inspector Frawley was destined to have of him in many months. True, +Greenfield had not lied: the address was genuine, but the man was gone. +For days Frawley had the city scoured without gaining a clue. No steamer +had left the harbor, not even a tramp. If Greenfield was not in hiding, +he must have buried himself in the interior. + +It was a week before Frawley found the track. Greenfield had walked +thirty miles into the country and taken the train for Rio Mendoza on the +route across the Andes to Valparaiso. + +Frawley followed the same day, somewhat mystified at this sudden change +of base. In the train the thermometer stood at 116°. The heat made of +everything a solitude. Frawley, lifeless, stifling, and numbed, glued +himself to the air-holes with eyes fastened on the horizon, while the +train sped across the naked, singeing back of the plains like the welt +that springs to meet the fall of the lash. For two nights he watched the +distended sun, exhausted by its own madness, drop back into the heated +void, and the tortured stars rise over the stricken desert. At the end +of thirty-six hours of agony he arrived at Rio Mendoza. Thence he +reached Punta de Vacas, procured mules and a guide, and prepared for +the ascent over the mountains. + +At two o'clock the next morning he began to climb out of hell. The +tortured plains settled below him. A divine freshness breathed upon him +with a new hope of life. He left the burning conflict of summer and +passed into the aroma of spring. + +Then the air grew intense, a new suffocation pressed about his +temples--the suffocation of too much life. In an hour he had run the +gamut of the seasons. The cold of everlasting winter descended and stung +his senses. Up and up and up they went--then suddenly down, with the +half-breed guide and the tireless mule always at the same distance +before him; and again began the insistent mechanical toiling upward. He +grew listless and indifferent, acquiescent in these steep efforts that +the next moment must throw away. The horror of immense distance rose +about him. From time to time a stone dislodged by their passage rushed +from under him, struck the brink, and spun into the void, to fall +endlessly. The face of the earth grew confused and dropped in a mist +from before his eyes. + +Then as they toiled still upward, a gale as though sent in anger rushed +down upon them, sweeping up whirlwinds of snow, raging and shrieking, +dragging them to the brink, and threatening to blot them out. + +Frawley clutched the saddle, then flung his arms about the neck of his +mule. His head was reeling, the indignant blood rushed to his nostrils +and his ears, his lungs no longer could master the divine air. Then +suddenly the mules stopped, exhausted. Through the maelstrom the guide +shrieked to him not to use the spur. Frawley felt himself in danger of +dying, and had no resentment. + +For a day they affronted the immense wilds until they had forced +themselves thousands of feet above the race of men. Then they began to +descend. + +Below them the clouds lapped and rolled like the elements before the +creation. Still they descended, and the moist oblivion closed about +them, like the curse of a world without color. The bleak mists separated +and began to roll up above them, a cloud split asunder, and through the +slit the earth jumped up, and the solid land spread before them as when +at the dawn it obeyed the will of the Creator. They saw the hills and +the mountains grow, and the rivers trickle toward the sea. The masses of +brown and green began to be splashed with red and yellow as the fields +became fertile and fructified; and the insect race of men began to crawl +to and fro. + +The half-breed, who saw the scene for the hundredth time, bent his head +in awe. Frawley straightened in his saddle, stretched the stiffness out +of his limbs, patted his mule solicitously, glanced at the guide, and +stopped in perplexity at the mute, reverential attitude. + +"What's he starin' at now?" he muttered in as then, with a glance at +his watch, he added anxiously, "I say, Sammy, when do we get a bit to +eat?" + + + + +V + + +In Valparaiso he readily found the track of Greenfield. Up to the time +of his departure, two boats had sailed: one for the north, and one by +the Straits of Magellan to Buenos Ayres. Greenfield had bought a ticket +for each, after effecting the withdrawal of his account at a local bank. +Frawley was in perplexity: for Greenfield to flee north was to run into +the jaws of the law. The withdrawal of the account decided him. He +returned to Buenos Ayres by the route he had come, arriving the day +before the steamer. To his discomfiture Greenfield was not on board. By +ridiculously casting away his protection he had thrown the detective off +the track and gained three weeks. Without more concern than he might +have shown in taking a trip from Toronto to New York, Frawley a third +time crossed the Andes and set himself to correcting his first error. + +He traced Greenfield laboriously up the coast back to Panama and there +lost the trail. At the end of two months he learned that Greenfield had +shipped as a common sailor on a freighter that touched at Hawaii. From +here he followed him to Yokohama, Singapore, Ceylon, and Bombay. + +Thence Greenfield, suddenly abandoning the water route, had proceeded +by land to Bagdad, and across the Turkish Empire to Constantinople. +Without a pause, Frawley traced him next into the Balkans, through +Bulgaria, Roumania, amid massacre and revolution to Budapest, back to +Odessa, and across the back of Russia by Moscow and Riga to Stockholm. A +year had elapsed. + +Several times he might have gained on the fugitive had he trusted to his +instinct; but he bided his time, renouncing a stroke of genius, in order +to be certain of committing no error, awaiting the moment when +Greenfield would pause and he might overtake him. But the fugitive, as +though stung by a gad-fly, continued to plunge madly over sea and +continent. Four months, five months behind, Frawley continued the +tireless pursuit. + +From Stockholm the chase led to Copenhagen, to Christiansand, down the +North Sea to Rotterdam. From thence Greenfield had rushed by rail to +Lisbon and taken steamer to Africa, touching at Gibraltar, Portuguese +and French Guinea, Sierra Leone, and proceeding thence into the Congo. +For a month all traces disappeared in the veldt, until by chance, rather +than by his own merits, Frawley found the trail anew in Madagascar, +whither Greenfield had come after a desperate attempt to bury his trail +on the immense plains of Southern Africa. + +From Madagascar, Frawley followed him to Aden in Arabia and by steamer +to Melbourne. Again for weeks he sought the confused track vainly +through Australia, up through Sydney, down again to Tasmania and New +Zealand on a false clue, back to Queensland, where at last in Cooktown +he learned anew of the passing of his man. + +The third year began without appreciable gain. Greenfield still was +three months in advance, never pausing, scurrying from continent to +continent, as though instinctively aware of the progress of his pursuer. + +In this year Frawley visited Sumatra, Java, and Borneo, stopped at +Manila, jumped immediately to Korea, and hurried on to Vladivostok, +where he found that Greenfield had procured passage on a sealer bound +for Auckland. There he had taken the steamer by the Straits of Magellan +back to Buenos Ayres. + +There, within the first hour, he heard a report that his man had gone on +to Rio Janeiro, caught the cholera, and died there. Undaunted by the +epidemic, Frawley took the next boat and entered the stricken city by +swimming ashore. For a week he searched the hospitals and the +cemeteries. Greenfield had indeed been stricken, but, escaping with his +life, had left for the northern part of Brazil. The delay resulted in a +gain of three months for Frawley, but without heat or excitement he +began anew the pursuit, passing up the coast to Para and the mouth of +the Amazon, by Bogota and Panama into Mexico, on up toward the border +of Texas. The months between him and Greenfield shortened to weeks, then +to days without troubling his equanimity. At El Paso he arrived a few +hours after Greenfield had left, going toward the Salt Basin and the +Guadalupe Mountains. Frawley took horses and a guide and followed to the +edge of the desert. At three o'clock in the afternoon a horseman grew +out of the horizon, a figure that remained stationary and attentive, +studying his approach through a spy-glass. Suddenly, as though +satisfied, the stranger took off his hat and waved it above his head in +challenge, and digging his heels into his horse, disappeared into the +desert. + + + + +VI + + +Frawley understood the challenge--the end was to be in the desert. +Failing to move his guide by threat or promise, he left him clamoring +frantically on the edge of the desert and rode on toward where the +figure of Greenfield had disappeared on the horizon in a puff of dust. + +For three days they went their way grimly into the parched sands, +husbanding every particle of strength, within plain sight of each other, +always at the same unvarying walk. At night they slept by fits and +starts, with an ear trained for the slightest hostile sound. Then they +cast aside their saddles, their rifles, and superfluous clothing, in a +vain effort to save their mounts. + +The horses, heaving and staggering, crawled over the yielding sands +like silhouettes drawn by a thread. In the sky not a cloud appeared; +below, the yellow monotony extended as flat as a dish. Above them a lazy +buzzard, wheeling in languid circles, followed with patient conviction. + +On the fourth morning Frawley's horse stopped, shuddered, and went down +in a heap. Greenfield halted and surveyed his discomfiture grimly, +without a sign of elation. + +"That's bad, very bad," Frawley said judicially. "I ought to have sent +word to the department. Still, it's not over yet--his horse won't last +long. Well, I mustn't carry much." + +He abandoned his revolver, a knife, $200 in gold, and continued on foot, +preserving only the water-bag with its precious mouthful. Greenfield, +who had waited immovably, allowed him to approach within a quarter of a +mile before putting his horse in motion. + +"He's going to make sure I stay here," said Frawley to himself, seeing +that Greenfield made no attempt to increase the lead. "Well, we'll see." + +Twelve hours later Greenfield's horse gave out. Frawley uttered a cry of +joy, but the handicap of half a day was a serious one; he was exhausted, +famished, and in the bag there remained only sufficient water to moisten +his lips. + +The fifth day broke with an angry sun and no sign on the horizon to +relieve the eternal monotony. Only the buzzard at the same distance +aloft bided his time. Hunter and hunted, united perforce by their common +suffering, plodded on with the weary, hopeless straining of human beings +harnessed to a plow, covering scarcely a mile an hour. From time to +time, by common consent, they sat down, gaunt, exhausted figures, eyeing +each other with the instinct of beasts, their elbows on their bony +knees. Whether from a fear of losing energy, whether under the spell of +the frightful stillness, neither had uttered a word. + +Frawley was afire with thirst. The desert entered his body with its dry +mortal heat, and ran its consuming dryness through his veins; his eyes +started from his face as the sun above him hung out of the parched sky. +He began to talk to himself, to sing. Under his feet the sand sifted +like the soft protest of autumn leaves. He imagined himself back in the +forest, marking the rustle of leafy branches and the intermittent +dropping of acorns and twigs. All at once his legs refused to move. He +stood still, his gaze concentrated on the figure of Greenfield a long +moment, then his body crumpled under him and he sank without volition to +the ground. + +Greenfield stopped, sat down, and waited. After half an hour he drew +himself to his feet, moved on, then stopped, returned, approached, and +listened to the crooning of the delirious man. Suddenly satisfied, he +flung both arms into the air in frenzied triumph, turned, staggered, +and reeled away, while back over the desert came the grotesque, hideous +refrain, in maddened victory: + + "Yankee Doodle Dandy oh! + Yankee Doodle Dandy!" + +Frawley watched him go, then with a sigh of relief turned his glance to +the black revolving form in the air--at least that remained to break the +horror of the solitude. Then he lost consciousness. + +The beat of wings across his face aroused him with a start and a cry of +agony. The great bird of carrion, startled in its inspection, flew +clumsily off and settled fearlessly on the ground, blinking at him. + +An immense revolt, a furious anger brought with it new strength. He rose +and rushed at the bird with clenched fist, cursing it as it lumbered +awkwardly away. Then he began desperately to struggle on, following the +tracks in the sand. + +At the end of an hour specks appeared on the horizon. He looked at them +in his delirium and began to laugh uneasily. + +"I must be out of my head," he said to himself seriously. "It's a +mirage. Well, I suppose it is the end. Who'll they put on the case now? +Keech, I suppose; yes, Keech; he's a good man. Of course it's a mirage." + +As he continued to stumble forward, the dots assumed the shape of trees +and hills. He laughed contemptuously and began to remonstrate with +himself, repeating: + +"It's a mirage, or I'm out of my head." He began to be worried, saying +over and over: "That's a bad sign, very bad. I mustn't lose control of +myself. I must stick to him--stick to him until he dies of old age. +Bucky Greenfield! Well, he won't get out of this either. If the +department could only know!" + +The nearer he drew to life, the more indignant he became. He arrived +thus at the edge of trees and green things. + +"Why don't they go?" he said angrily. "They ought to, now. Come, I think +I'm keeping my head remarkably well." + +All at once a magnificent idea came to him--he would walk through the +mirage and end it. He advanced furiously against an imaginary tree, +struck his forehead, and toppled over insensible. + + + + +VII + + +Frawley returned to consciousness to find himself in the hut of a +half-breed Indian, who was forcing a soup of herbs between his lips. + +Two days later he regained his strength sufficiently to reach a ranch +owned by Englishmen. Fitted out by them, he started at once to return to +El Paso; to take up the unending search anew. + +In the late afternoon, tired and thirsty, he arrived at a shanty where +a handful of Mexican children were lolling in the cool of the wall. At +the sound of his approach a woman came running to the door, shrieking +for assistance in a Mexican gibberish. He ran hastily to the house, his +hand on his pistol. The woman, without stopping her chatter, huddled in +the doorway, pointing to the dim corner opposite. Frawley, following her +glance, saw the figure of a man stretched on a hasty bed of leaves. He +took a few quick steps and recognized Greenfield. + +At the same moment the bundle shot to a sitting position, with a cry: + +"Who's that?" + +Frawley, with a quick motion, covered him with his revolver, crying: + +"Hands up. It's me, Bucky, and I've got you now!" + +"Frawley!" + +"That's it, Bucky--Hands up!" + +Greenfield, without obeying, stared at him wildly. + +"God, it is Frawley!" he cried, and fell back in a heap. + +Inspector Frawley, advancing a step, repeated his command with no +uncertain ring: + +"Hands up! Quick!" + +On the bed the distorted body contracted suddenly into a ball. + +"Easy, Bub," Greenfield said between his teeth. "Easy; don't get +excited. I'm dying." + +"You?" + +Frawley approached cautiously, suspiciously. + +"Fact. I'm cashin' in." + +"What's the matter?" + +"Bug. Plain bug--the desert did the rest." + +"A what?" + +"Tarantula bite--don't laugh, Bub." + +Frawley, at his side, needed but a glance to see that it was true. He +ran his hand over Greenfield's belt and removed his pistol. + +"Sorry," he said curtly, standing up. + +"Quite keerect, Bub!" + +"Can I do anything for you?" + +"Nope." + +Suddenly, without warning, Greenfield raised himself, glared at him, +stretched out his hands, and fell into a passionate fit of weeping. +Frawley's English reserve was outraged. + +"What's the matter?" he said angrily. "You're not going to show the +white feather now, are you?" + +With an oath Greenfield sat bolt upright, silent and flustered. + +"D---- you, Bub--show some imagination," he said after a pause. "Do +you think I mind dying--me? That's a good one. It ain't that--no--it's +ending, ending like this. After all I've been through, to be put out of +business by a bug--an ornery little bug." + +Then Frawley comprehended his mistake. + +"I say, Bucky, I'll take that back," he said awkwardly. + +"No imagination, no imagination," Greenfield muttered, sinking back. +"Why, man, if I'd chased you three times around the world and got you, +I'd fall on you and beat you to a pulp or--or I'd hug you like a +long-lost brother." + +"I asked your pardon," said Frawley again. + +"All right, Bub--all right," Greenfield answered with a short laugh. +Then after a pause he added seriously: "So you've come--well, I'm glad +it's over. Bub," he continued, raising himself excitedly on his elbow, +"here's something strange, only you won't understand it. Do you know, +the whole time I knew just where you were--I had a feeling somewhere in +the back of my neck. At first you were 'way off, over the horizon; then +you got to be a spot coming over the hill. Then I began to feel that +spot growin' bigger and bigger--after Rio Janeiro, crawling up, creeping +up. Gospel truth, I felt you sneaking up on my back. It got on my +nerves. I dreamed about it, and that morning on the trail when you was +just a speck on any old hoss--I knew! You--you don't understand such +things, Bub, do you?" + +Frawley made an effort, failed, and answered helplessly: + +"No, Bucky, no, I can't say I do understand." + +"Why do you think I ran you into Rio Janeiro?" said Greenfield, +twisting on the leaves. "Into the cholery? What do you think made me lay +for this desert? Bub, you were on my back, clinging like a catamount. I +was bound to shake you off. I was desperate. It had to end one way or +t'other. That's why I stuck to you until I thought it was over with +you." + +"Why didn't you make sure of it?" said Frawley with curiosity; "you +could have done for me there." + +Greenfield looked at him hard and nodded. + +"Keerect, Bub; quite so!" + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Why!" cried Greenfield angrily. "Ain't you ever had any imagination? +Did I want to shoot you down like a common ordinary pickpocket after +taking you three times around the world? That was no ending! God, what a +chase it was!" + +"It was long, Bucky," Frawley admitted. "It was a good one!" + +"Can't you understand anything?" Greenfield cried querulously. "Where's +anything bigger, more than what we've done? And to have it end like +this--to have a bug--a miserable, squashy bug beat you after all!" + +For a long moment there was no sound, while Greenfield lay, twisting, +his head averted, buried in the leaves. + +"It's not right, Bucky," said Frawley at last, +with an effort at sympathy. "It oughtn't to have ended this way." + +"It was worth it!" Greenfield cried. "Three years! There ain't much dirt +we haven't kicked up! Asia, Africa--a regular Cook's tour through +Europe, North and South Ameriky. And what seas, Bub!" His voice +faltered. The drops of sweat stood thickly on his forehead; but he +pulled himself together gamely. "Do you remember the Sea of Japan with +its funny little toy junks? Man, we've beaten out Columbus, Jools Verne, +and the rest of them--hollow, Bub!" + +"I say, what did you do it for?" + +"You are a rum un," said Greenfield with a broken laugh. The words began +to come shorter and with effort. "Excitement, Bub! Deviltry and +cussedness!" + +"How do you feel, Bucky?" asked Frawley. + +"Half in hell already--stewing for my sins--but it's not that--it's--" + +"What, Bucky?" + +"That bug! Me, Bucky Greenfield--to go down and out on account of a +bug--a little squirmy bug! But I swear even he couldn't have done it if +the desert hadn't put me out of business first! No, by God! I'm not +downed so easy as that!" + +Frawley, in a lame attempt to show his sympathy, went closer to the +dying man: + +"I say, Bucky." + +"Shout away." + +"Wouldn't you like to go out, standing, on your feet--with your boots +on?" + +Greenfield laughed, a contented laugh. + +"What's the matter, pal?" said Frawley, pausing in surprise. + +"You darned old Englishman," said Greenfield affectionately. "Say, Bub." + +"Yes, Bucky." + +"The dinkies are all right--but--but a Yank, a real Yank, would 'a' got +me in six months." + +"All right, Bucky. Shall I raise you up?" + +"H'ist away." + +"Would you like the feeling of a gun in your hand again?" said Frawley, +raising him up. + +This time Greenfield did not laugh, but his hand closed convulsively +over the butt, and he gave a savage sigh of delight. His limbs +contracted violently, his head bore heavily on the shoulder of Frawley, +who heard him whisper again: + +"A bug--a little--" + +Then he stopped and appeared to listen. Outside, the evening was soft +and stirring. Through the door the children appeared, tumbling over one +another, in grotesque attitudes. + +Suddenly, as though in the breeze he had caught the sound of a step, +Greenfield jerked almost free of Frawley's arms, shuddered, and fell +back rigid. The pistol, flung into the air, twirled, pitched on the +floor, and remained quiet. + +Frawley placed the body back on the bed of leaves, listened a moment, +and rose satisfied. He threw a blanket over the face, picked up the +revolver, searched a moment for his hat, and went out to arrange with +the Mexican for the night. In a moment he returned and took a seat in +the corner, and began carefully to jot down the details on a piece of +paper. Presently he paused and looked reflectively at the bed of leaves. + +"It's been a good three years," he said reflectively. He considered a +moment, rapping the pencil against his teeth, and repeated: "A good +three years. I think when I get home I'll ask for a week or so to +stretch myself." Then he remembered with anxiety how Greenfield had +railed at his lack of imagination and pondered a moment seriously. +Suddenly, as though satisfied, he said with a nod of conviction: + +"Well, now, we did jog about a bit!" + + + + +LARRY MOORE + + + + +I + + +The base-ball season had closed, and we were walking down Fifth avenue, +Larry Moore and I. We were discussing the final series for the +championship, and my friend was estimating his chances of again pitching +the Giants to the top, when a sudden jam on the avenue left us an +instant looking face to face at a woman and a child seated in a +luxurious victoria. + +Larry Moore, who had hold of my arm, dropped it quickly and wavered in +his walk. The woman caught her breath and put her muff hastily to her +face; but the child saw us without surprise. All had passed within a +second, yet I retained a vivid impression of a woman of strange +attraction, elegant and indolent, with something in her face which left +me desirous of seeing it again, and of a pretty child who seemed a +little too serious for that happy age. Larry Moore forgot what he had +begun to say. He spoke no further word, and I, in glancing at his face, +comprehended that, incredible as it seemed, there was some bond between +the woman I had seen and this raw-boned, big-framed, and big-hearted +idol of the bleachers. + +Without comment I followed Larry Moore, serving his mood as he +immediately left the avenue and went east. At first he went with excited +strides, then he slowed down to a profound and musing gait, then he +halted, laid his hand heavily on my shoulder, and said: + +"Get into the car, Bob. Come up to the rooms." + +I understood that he wished to speak to me of what had happened, and I +followed. We went thus, without another word exchanged, to his rooms, +and entered the little parlor hung with the trophies of his career, +which I looked at with some curiosity. On the mantel in the center I saw +at once a large photograph of the Hon. Joseph Gilday, a corporation +lawyer of whom we reporters told many hard things, a picture I did not +expect to find here among the photographs of the sporting celebrities +who had sent their regards to my friend of the diamond. In some +perplexity I approached and saw across the bottom written in large firm +letters: "I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore." + +I smiled, for the tribute of the great man of the law seemed incongruous +here to me, who knew of old my simple-minded, simple-hearted friend +whom, the truth be told, I patronized perforce. Then I looked about more +carefully, and saw a dozen photographs of a woman, sometimes alone, +sometimes holding a pretty child, and the faces were the faces I had +seen in the victoria. I feigned not to have seen them; but Larry, who +had watched me, said: + +"Look again, Bob; for that is the woman you saw in the carriage, and +that is the child." + +So I took up a photograph and looked at it long. The face had something +more dangerous than beauty in it--the face of a Cleopatra with a look in +the deep restless eyes I did not fancy; but I did not tell that to Larry +Moore. Then I put it back in its place and turned and said gravely: + +"Are you sure that you want to tell me, Larry Moore?" + +"I do," he said. "Sit down." + +He did not seek preliminaries, as I should have done, but began at once, +simply and directly--doubtless he was retelling the story more to +himself than to me. + +"She was called Fanny Montrose," he said, "a slip of a girl, with +wonderful golden hair, and big black eyes that made me tremble, the day +I went into the factory at Bridgeport, the day I fell in love. 'I'm +Larry Moore; you may have heard of me,' I said, going straight up to her +when the whistle blew that night, 'and I'd like to walk home with you, +Fanny Montrose.' + +"She drew back sort of quick, and I thought she'd been hearing tales of +me up in Fall River; so I said: 'I only meant to be polite. You may have +heard a lot of bad of me, and a lot of it's true, but you never heard +of Larry Moore's being disrespectful to a lady,' and I looked her in the +eye and said: 'Will you let me walk home with you, Fanny Montrose?' + +"She swung on her foot a moment, and then she said: 'I will.' + +"I heard a laugh go up at that, and turned round, with the bit in my +teeth; but it was only the women, and you can't touch them. Fanny +Montrose hurried on, and I saw she was upset by it, so I said humbly: +'You're not sorry now, are you?' + +"'Oh, no,' she said. + +"'Will you catch hold of my arm?' I asked her. + +"She looked first in my face, and then she slipped in her hand so +prettily that it sent all the words from my tongue. 'You've just come to +Bridgeport, ain't you?' she said timidly. + +"'I have,' I said, 'and I want you to know the truth. I came because I +had to get out of Fall River. I had a scrap--more than one of them.' + +"'Did you lick your man?' she said, glancing at me. + +"'I licked every one of them, and it was good and fair fighting--if I +was on a tear,' I said; 'but I'm ashamed of it now.' + +"'You're Larry Moore, who pitched on the Fall Rivers last season?' she +said. + +"'I am.' + +"'You can pitch some!' she said with a nod. + +"'When I'm straight I can.' + +"'And why don't you go at it like a man then? You could get in the +Nationals,' she said. + +"'I've never had anyone to work for--before,' I said. + +"'We go down here; I'm staying at Keene's boarding-house,' she said at +that. + +"I was afraid I'd been too forward; so I kept still until we came to the +door. Then I pulled off my hat and made her a bow and said: 'Will you +let me walk home with you steady, Fanny Montrose?' + +"And she stopped on the door-step and looked at me without saying a +word, and I asked it again, putting out my hand, for I wanted to get +hold of hers. But she drew back and reached for the knob. So I said: + +"'You needn't be frightened; for it's me that ought to be afraid.' + +"'And what have you to be afraid of, you great big man?' she said, +stopping in wonder. + +"'I'm afraid of your big black eyes, Fanny Montrose, 'I said, 'and I'm +afraid of your slip of a body that I could snap in my hands,' I said; +'for I'm going to fall in love with you, Fanny Montrose.' + +"Which was a lie, for I was already. With that I ran off like a fool. I +ran off, but from that night I walked home with Fanny Montrose. + +"For a month we kept company, and Bill Coogan and Dan Farrar and the +rest of them took my notice and kept off. The women laughed at me and +sneered at her; but I minded them not, for I knew the ways of the +factory, and besides there wasn't a man's voice in the lot--that I +heard. + +"But one night as we were wandering back to Keene's boarding-house, +Fanny Montrose on my arm, Bill Coogan planted himself before us, and +called her something to her face that there was no getting around. + +"I took her on a bit, weeping and shaking, and I said to her: 'Stand +here.' + +"And I went back, and caught Bill Coogan by the throat and the belt, and +swung him around my head, and flung him against the lamp-post. And the +post broke off with a crash, and Coogan lay quiet, with nothing more to +say. + +"I went back to Fanny Montrose, who had stopped her crying, and said, +shaking with anger at the dirty insult: 'Fanny Montrose, will you be my +wife? Will you marry me this night?' + +"She pushed me away from her, and looked up into my face in a frightened +way and said: 'Do you mean to be your wife?' + +"'I do,' I said, and then because I was afraid that she didn't trust in +me enough yet to marry me I said solemnly: 'Fanny Montrose, you need +have no fear. If I've been drunk and riotous, it's because I wanted to +be, and now that I've made up my mind to be straight, there isn't a +thing living that could turn me back again. Fanny Montrose, will you say +you'll be my wife?' + +"Then she put out her two hands to me and tumbled into my arms, all +limp." + + + + +II + + +Larry Moore rose and walked the length of the room. When he came back he +went to the wall and took down a photograph; but with what emotion I +could not say, for his back was to me. I glanced again at the odd +volatile beauty in the woman's face and wondered what was the word Bill +Coogan had said and what was his reason for saying it. + +"From that day it was all luck for me," Larry Moore said, settling again +in the chair, where his face returned to the shadow. "She had a head on +her, that little woman. She pulled me up to where I am. I pitched that +season for the Bridgeports. You know the record, Bob, seven games lost +out of forty-three, and not so much my fault either. When they were for +signing me again, at big money too, the little woman said: + +"'Don't you do it, Larry Moore; they're not your class. Just hold out a +bit.' + +"You know, Bob, how I signed then with the Giants, and how they boosted +my salary at the end of that first year; but it was Fanny Montrose who +made the contracts every time. We had the child then, and I was happy. +The money came quick, and lots of it, and I put it in her lap and said: + +"'Do what you want with it; only I want you to enjoy it like a lady.' + +"Maybe I was wrong there--maybe I was. It was pride, I'll admit; but +there wasn't a lady came to the stands that looked finer than Fanny +Montrose, as I always used to call her. I got to be something of a +figure, as you know, and the little woman was always riding back and +forth to the games in some automobile, and more often with Paul Bargee. + +"One afternoon Ed Nichols, who was catching me then, came up with a +serious face and said: 'Where's your lady to-day, Larry--and Paul +Bargee?' And by the way he said it I knew what he had in mind, and good +friend that he was of mine I liked to have throttled him. They told me +to pitch the game, and I did. I won it too. Then I ran home without +changing my clothes, the people staring at me, and ran up the stairs and +flung open the door and stopped and called: 'Fanny Montrose!' + +"And I called again, and I called a third time, and only the child came +to answer me. Then I knew in my heart that Fanny Montrose had left me +and run off with Paul Bargee. + + + + +III + + +"I waited all that night without tasting food or moving, listening for +her step on the stairs. And in the morning the postman came without a +line or a word for me. I couldn't understand; for I had been a good +husband to her, and though I thought over everything that had happened +since we'd been married, I couldn't think of a thing that I'd done to +hurt her--for I wasn't thinking then of the millions of Paul Bargee. + +"In the afternoon there came a dirty little lawyer shuffling in to see +me, with blinking little eyes behind his black-rimmed spectacles--a toad +of a man. + +"'Who are you?' I said, 'and what are you doing here?' + +"'I'm simply an attorney,' he said, cringing before my look--'Solomon +Scholl, on a very disagreeable duty,' he said. + +"'Do you come from her?' I said, and I caught my breath. + +"'I come from Mr. Paul Bargee,' he said, 'and I'd remind you, Mr. Moore, +that I come as an attorney on a disagreeable duty.' + +"With that I drew back and looked at him in amazement, and said: 'What +has he got to say to me?' + +"'My client,' he said, turning the words over with the tip of his +tongue, 'regrets exceedingly--' + +"'Don't waste words!' I said angrily. 'What are you here for?' + +"'My client,' he said, looking at me sidelong, 'empowers me to offer you +fifteen thousand dollars if you will promise to make no trouble in this +matter.' + +"I sat down all in a heap; for I didn't know the ways of a gentleman +then, Bob, and covered my face with the horror I had of the humiliation +he had done me. The lawyer, he misunderstood it, for he crept up softly +and whispered in my ear: + +"'That's what he offers--if you're fool enough to take it; but if you'll +stick to me, we can wring him to the tune of ten times that.' + +"I got up and took him and kicked him out of the room, and kicked him +down the stairs, for he was a little man, and I wouldn't strike him. + +"Then I came back and said to myself: 'If matters are so, I must get the +best advice I can.' + +"And I knew that Joseph Gilday was the top of the lot. So I went to him, +and when I came in I stopped short, for I saw he looked perplexed, and I +said: 'I'm in trouble, sir, and my life depends on it, and other lives, +and I need the best of advice; so I've come to you. I'm Larry Moore of +the Giants; so you may know I can pay.' Then I sat down and told him the +story, every word as I've told you; and when I was all through, he said +quietly: + +"'What are you thinking of doing, Mr. Moore?' + +"'I think it would be better if she came back, sir,' I said, 'for her +and for the child. So I thought the best thing would be to write her a +letter and tell her so; for I think if you could write the right sort of +a letter she'd come back. And that's what I want you to show me how to +write,' I said. + +"He took a sheet of paper and a pen, and looked at me steadily and said: +'What would you say to her?' + +"So I drew my hands up under my chin and thought awhile and said: 'I +think I'd say something like this, sir: + +"'"My dear wife--I've been trying to think all this while what has +driven you away, and I don't understand. I love you, Fanny Montrose, and +I want you to come back to me. And if you're afraid to come, I want to +tell you not a word will pass my lips on the subject; for I haven't +forgotten that it was you made a man of me; and much as I try, I cannot +hate you, Fanny Montrose."' + +"He looked down and wrote for a minute, and then he handed me the paper +and said: 'Send that.' + +"I looked, and saw it was what I had told him, and I said doubtfully: +'Do you think that is best?' + +"'I do.' + +"So I mailed the letter as he said, and three days after came one from a +lawyer, saying my wife could have no communication with me, and would I +send what I had to say to him. + +"So I went down to Gilday and told him, and I said: 'We must think of +other things, sir, since she likes luxury and those things better; for +I'm beginning to think that's it--and there I'm a bit to blame, for I +did encourage her. Well, she'll have to marry him--that's all I can see +to it," I said, and sat very quiet. + +"'He won't marry her,' he said in his quick way. + +"I thought he meant because she was bound to me, so I said: 'Of course, +after the divorce.' + +"'Are you going to get a divorce then from her?' + +"'I've been thinking it over,' I said carefully, and I had, 'and I think +the best way would be for her to get it. That can be done, can't it?' I +said, 'because I've been thinking of the child, and I don't want her to +grow up with any stain on the good name of her mother,' I said. + +"'Then you will give up the child?' he said. + +"And I said: 'Yes.' + +"'Will he marry her?' he said again. + +"'For what else did he take her away?' + +"'If I was you,' he said, looking at me hard, 'I'd make sure of +that--before.' + +"That worried me a good deal, and I went out and walked around, and then +I went to the station and bought a ticket for Chicago, and I said to +myself: 'I'll go and see him'; for by that time I'd made up my mind what +I'd do. + +"And when I got there the next morning, I went straight to his house, +and my heart sank, for it was a great place with a high iron railing all +around it and a footman at the door--and I began to understand why Fanny +Montrose had left me for him. + +"I'd thought a long time about giving another name; but I said to +myself: 'No, I'll him a chance first to come down and face me like a +man,' so I said to the footman: 'Go tell Paul Bargee that Larry Moore +has come to see him.' + +"Then I went down the hall and into the great parlor, all hung with +draperies, and I looked at myself in the mirrors and looked at the +chairs, and I didn't feel like sitting down, and presently the curtains +opened, and Paul Bargee stepped into the room. I looked at him once, and +then I looked at the floor, and my breath came hard. Then he stepped up +to me and stopped and said: + +"'Well?' + +"And though he had wronged me and wrecked my life, I couldn't help +admiring his grit; for the boy was no match for me, and he knew it too, +though he never flinched. + +"'I've come from New York here to talk with you, Paul Bargee,' I said. + +"'You've a right to.' + +"'I have,' I said, 'and I want to have an understanding with you now, if +you have the time, sir,' I said, and looked at the ground again. + +"He drew off, and hearing me speak so low he mistook me as others have +done before, and he looked at me hard and said: 'Well, how much?' + +"My head went up, and I strode at him; but he never winced--if he had, I +think I'd have caught him then and there and served him as I did Bill +Coogan. But I stopped and said: 'That's the second mistake you've made, +Paul Bargee; the first was when you sent a dirty little lawyer to pay me +for taking my wife. And your lawyer came to me and told me to screw you +to the last cent. I kicked him out of my sight; and what have you to say +why I shouldn't do the same to you, Paul Bargee?' + +"He looked white and hurt in his pride, and said: 'You're right; and I +beg your pardon, Mr. Moore.' + +"'I don't want your pardon,' I said, 'and I won't sit down in your +house, and we won't discuss what has happened but what is to be. For +there's a great wrong you've done, and I've a right to say what you +shall do now, Paul Bargee.' + +"He looked at me and said slowly: 'What is that?' + +"'You took my wife, and I gave her a chance to come back to me,' I said; +'but she loved you and what you can give better than me. But she's been +my wife, and I'm not going to see her go down into the gutter.' + +"He started to speak; but I put up my hand and I said: 'I'm not here to +discuss with you, Paul Bargee. I've come to say what's going to be done; +for I have a child,' I said, 'and I don't intend that the mother of my +little girl should go down to the gutter. You've chosen to take my wife, +and she's chosen to stay with you. Now, you've got to marry her and +make her a good woman,' I said. + +"Then Paul Bargee stood off, and I saw what was passing through his +mind. And I went up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder and said: +'You know what I mean, and you know what manner of man I am that talks +to you like this; for you're no coward,' I said; 'but you marry Fanny +Montrose within a week after she gets her freedom, or I am going to kill +you wherever you stand. And that's the choice you've got to make, Paul +Bargee,' I said. + +"Then I stepped back and watched him, and as I did so I saw the curtains +move and knew that Fanny Montrose had heard me. + +"'You're going to give her the divorce?' he said. + +"'I am. I don't intend there shall be a stain on her name,' I said; 'for +I loved Fanny Montrose, and she's always the mother of my little girl.' + +"Then he went to a chair and sat down and took his head in his hands, +and I went out. + + + + +IV + + +"I came back to New York, and went to Mr. Gilday. + +"'Will he marry her?' he said at once. + +"'He will marry her,' I said. 'As for her, I want you to say; for I'll +not write to her myself, since she wouldn't answer me. Say when she's +the wife of Paul Bargee I'll bring the child to her myself, and she's +to see me; for I have a word to say to her then,' I said, and I laid my +fist down on the table. 'Until then the child stays with me.' + +"They've said hard things of Mr. Joseph Gilday, and I know it; but I +know all that he did for me. For he didn't turn it over to a clerk; but +he took hold himself and saw it through as I had said. And when the +divorce was given he called me down and told me that Fanny Montrose was +a free woman and no blame to her in the sight of the law. + +"Then I said: 'It is well. Now write to Paul Bargee that his week has +begun. Until then I keep the child, law or no law.' Then I rose and +said: 'I thank you, Mr. Gilday. You've been very kind, and I'd like to +pay you what I owe you.' + +"He sat there a moment and chewed on his mustache, and he said: 'You +don't owe me a cent.' + +"'It wasn't charity I came to you for, and I can pay for what I get, Mr. +Gilday,' I said. 'Will you give me your regular bill?' I said. + +"And he said at last: 'I will.' + +"In the middle of the week Paul Bargee's mother came to me and went down +on her knees and begged for her son, and I said to her: 'Why should +there be one law for him and one law for the likes of me. He's taken my +wife; but he sha'n't put her to shame, ma'am, and he sha'n't cast a +cloud on the life of my child!' + +"Then she stopped arguing, and caught my hands and cried: 'But you +won't kill him, you won't kill my son, if he don't?' + +"'As sure as Saturday comes, ma'am, and he hasn't made Fanny Montrose a +good woman,' I said, 'I'm going to kill Paul Bargee wherever he stands.' + +"And Friday morning Mr. Gilday called me down to his office and told me +that Paul Bargee had done as I said he should do. And I pressed his hand +and said nothing, and he let me sit awhile in his office. + +"And after awhile I rose up and said: 'Then I must take the child to +her, as I promised, to-night.' + +"He walked with me from the office and said: 'Go home to your little +girl. I'll see to the tickets, and will come for you at nine o'clock.' + +"And at nine o'clock he came in his big carriage, and took me and the +child to the station and said: 'Telegraph me when you're leaving +to-morrow.' + +"And I said: 'I will.' + +"Then I went into the car with my little girl asleep in my arms and sat +down in the seat, and the porter came and said: + +"'Can I make up your berths?' + +"And I looked at the child and shook my head. So I held her all night +and she slept on my shoulder, while I looked from her out into the +darkness, and from the darkness back to her again. And the porter kept +passing and passing and staring at me and the child. + +"And in the morning we went up to the great house and into the big +parlor, and Fanny Montrose came in, as I had said she should, very white +and not looking at me. And the child ran to her, and I watched Fanny +Montrose catch her up to her breast, and I sobbed. And she looked at me, +and saw it. So I said: + +"'It's because now I know you love the child and that you'll be kind to +her.' + +"Then she fell down before me and tried to take my hand. But I stepped +back and said: + +"'I've made you an honest woman, Fanny Montrose, and now as long as I +live I'm going to see you do nothing to disgrace my child.' + +"And I went out and took the train back. And Mr. Gilday was at the +station there waiting for me, and he took my arm, without a word, and +led me to his carriage and drove up without speaking. And when we got to +the house, he got out, and took off his hat and made me a bow and said: +'I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore.'" + + + + +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS + + + + +I + + +I don't believe in wedding functions. I don't believe in honeymoons and +particularly I abominate the inhuman custom of giving wedding presents. +And this is why: + +Clara was the fifth poor daughter of a rich man. I was respectably poor +but artistic. We had looked forward to marriage as a time when two +persons chose a home and garnished it with furnishings of their own +choice, happy in the daily contact with beautiful things. We had often +discussed our future home. We knew just the pictures that must hang on +the walls, the tone of the rugs that should lie on the floors, the style +of the furniture that should stand in the rooms, the pattern of the +silver that should adorn our table. Our ideas were clear and positive. + +Unfortunately Clara had eight rich relatives who approved of me and I +had three maiden aunts, two of whom were in precarious health and must +not be financially offended. + +I am rather an imperious man, with theories that a woman is happiest +when she finds a master; but when the details of the wedding came up for +decision I was astounded to find myself not only flouted but actually +forced to humiliating surrender. Since then I have learned that my own +case was not glaringly exceptional. At the time, however, I was +nonplused and rather disturbed in my dreams of the future. I had decided +on a house wedding with but the family and a few intimate friends to be +present at my happiness. After Clara had done me the honor to consult +me, several thousand cards were sent out for the ceremony at the church +and an addition was begun on the front veranda. + +Clara herself led me to the library and analyzed the situation to me, in +the profoundest manner. + +"You dear, old, impracticable goose," she said with the wisdom of just +twenty, "what do you know about such things? How much do you suppose it +will cost us to furnish a house the way we want?" + +I said airily, "Oh, about five hundred dollars." + +"Take out your pencil," said Clara scornfully, "and write." + +When she finished her dictation, and I had added up the items with a +groan, I was dumbfounded. I said: + +"Clara, do you think it is wise--do you think we have any right to get +married?" + +"Of course we have." + +"Then we must make up our minds to boarding." + +"Nonsense! we shall have everything just as we planned it." + +"But how?" + +"Wedding presents," said Clara triumphantly, "now do you see why it must +be a church wedding?" + +I began to see. + +"But isn't it a bit mercenary?" I said feebly. "Does every one do it?" + +"Every one. It is a sort of tax on the unmarried," said Clara with a +determined shake of her head. "Quite right that it should be, too." + +"Then every one who receives an invitation is expected to contribute to +our future welfare?" + +"An invitation to the house." + +"Well, to the house--then?" + +"Certainly." + +"Ah, now, my dear, I begin to understand why the presents are always +shown." + +For all answer Clara extended the sheet of paper on which we had made +our calculations. + +I capitulated. + + + + +II + + +I pass over the wedding. In theory I have grown more and more opposed to +such exhibitions. A wedding is more pathetic than a funeral, and +nothing, perhaps, is more out of place than the jubilations of the +guests. When a man and a woman, as husband and wife, have lived together +five years, then the community should engage a band and serenade them, +but at the outset--however, I will not insist--I am doubtless cynically +inclined. I come to the moment when, having successfully weathered the +pitfalls of the honeymoon (there's another mistaken theory--but let that +pass) my wife and I found ourselves at last in our own home, in the +midst of our wedding presents. I say in the midst advisably. Clara sat +helplessly in the middle of the parlor rug and I glowered from the +fireplace. + +"My dear Clara," I said, with just a touch of asperity, "you've had your +way about the wedding. Now you've got your wedding presents. What are +you going to do with them?" + +"If people only wouldn't have things marked!" said Clara irrelevantly. + +"But they always do," I replied. "Also I may venture to suggest that +your answer doesn't solve the difficulty." + +"Don't be cross," said Clara. + +"My dear," I replied with excellent good-humor, "I'm not. I'm only +amused--who wouldn't be?" + +"Don't be horrid, George," said Clara. + +"It _is_ deliciously humorous," I continued. "Quite the most humorous +thing I have ever known. I am not cross and I am not horrid; I have made +a profound discovery. I know now why so many American marriages are not +happy." + +"Why, George?" + +"Wedding presents," I said savagely, "exactly that, my dear. This being +forced to live years of married life surrounded by things you don't +want, you never will want, and which you've got to live with or lose +your friends." + +"Oh, George!" said Clara, gazing around helplessly, "it is terrible, +isn't it?" + +"Look at that rug you are sitting on," I said, glaring at a six by ten +modern French importation. "Cauliflowers contending with unicorns, +surrounded by a border of green roses and orange violets--expensive! And +until the lamp explodes or the pipes burst we have got to go on and on +and on living over that, and why?--because dear Isabel will be here once +a week!" + +"I thought Isabel would have better taste," said Clara. + +"She has--Isabel has perfect taste, depend upon it," I said, "she did it +on purpose!" + +"George!" + +"Exactly that. Have you noticed that married people give the most +impossible presents? It is revenge, my dear. Society has preyed upon +them. They will prey upon society. Wait until we get a chance!" + +"It is awful!" said Clara. + +"Let us continue. We have five French rugs; no two could live together. +Five rooms desecrated. Our drawing-room is Art Nouveau, furnished by +your Uncle James, who is strong and healthy and may live twenty years. +I particularly abominate Art Nouveau furniture." + +"So do I." + +"Our dining-room is distinctly Grand Rapids." + +"Now, George!" + +"It is." + +"Well, it was your Aunt Susan." + +"It was, but who suggested it? I pass over the bedrooms. I will simply +say that they are nightmares. Expensive nightmares! I come to the +lamps--how many have we?" + +"Fourteen." + +"Fourteen atrocities, imitation Louis Seize, bogus Oriental, feathered, +laced and tasseled. So much for useful presents. Now for decoration. We +have three Sistine Madonnas (my particular abomination). Two, thank +heaven, we can inflict on the next victims, one we have got to live with +and why?--so that each of our three intimate friends will believe it his +own. We have water colors and etchings which we don't want, and a +photograph copy of every picture that every one sees in every one's +house. Some original friend has even sent us a life-size, marble +reproduction of the Venus de Milo. These things will be our artistic +home. Then there are vases--" + +"Now you are losing your temper." + +"On the contrary, I'm reserving it. I shan't characterize the +bric-à -brac, that was to be expected." + +"Don't!" + +"At least that is not marked. I come at last to the silver. Give me the +list." + +Clara sighed and extended it. + +"Four solid silver terrapin dishes." + +"Marked." + +"Marked--Terrapin--ha! ha! Two massive, expensive, solid silver +champagne coolers." + +"Marked." + +"Marked, my dear--for each end of the table when we give our beefsteak +dinners. Almond dishes." + +"Don't!" + +"Forty-two individual, solid or filigree almond dishes; forty-two, +Clara." + +"Marked." + +"Right again, dear. One dozen bonbon dishes, five nouveau riche sugar +shakers (we never use them), three muffineers--in heaven's name, what's +that? Solid silver bread dishes, solid silver candlesticks by the dozen, +solid silver vegetable dishes, and we expect one servant and an +intermittent laundress to do the cooking, washing, make the beds and +clean the house besides." + +"All marked," said Clara dolefully. + +"Every one, my dear. Then the china and the plates, we can't even eat +out of the plates we want or drink from the glasses we wish; everything +in this house, from top to bottom has been picked out and inflicted upon +us against our wants and in defiance of our own taste and we--we have +got to go on living with them and trying not to quarrel!" + +"You have forgotten the worst of all," said Clara. + +"No, my darling, I have not forgotten it. I have thought of nothing +else, but I wanted you to mention it." + +"The flat silver, George." + +"The flat silver, my darling. Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to +match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in +collusion. We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified, +something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?" + +"Oh, dear, they might have asked me!" + +"But they don't, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents, +my dear. We got Pond Lily pattern, repoussé until it scratches your +fingers. Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and +abominate!" + +"I too, George." + +"And that, my dear, we shall never get rid of; we not only must adopt +and assume the responsibility, but must pass it down to our children and +our children's children." + +"Oh, George, it is terrible--terrible! What are we going to do?" + +"My darling Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-à -brac a day on +the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a +butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and +try occasionally to set fire to the furniture." + +"But the flat silver, George, what of that?" + +"Oh, the flat silver," I said gloomily, "each one has his cross to bear, +that shall be ours." + + + + +III + + +We were, as has been suggested, a relatively rich couple. That's a pun! +At the end of five years a relative on either side left us a graceful +reminder. The problem of living became merely one of degree. At the end +of this period we had made considerable progress in the building up of a +home which should be in fact and desire entirely ours. That is, we had +been extensively fortunate in the preservation of our wedding presents. +Our twenty-second housemaid broke a bottle of ink over the parlor rug, +her twenty-one predecessors (whom I had particularly selected) had +already made the most gratifying progress among the bric-à -brac, two +intelligent Airdale puppies had chewed satisfactory holes in the Art +Nouveau furniture, even the Sistine Madonna had wrenched loose from its +supports and considerately annihilated the jewel-studded Oriental lamp +in the general smashup. + +Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the +artistic taste on which I pride myself. There remained at length only +the flat silver and a few thousand dollars' worth of solid silver +receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage. But +these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination. + +One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash. + +Clara gave an exclamation of alarm. + +"George dear, what is it?" + +For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and +gazed at it with a savage joy. + +"George, George, what has happened?" + +"My dear, I have an idea--a wonderful idea." + +"What idea?" + +"We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey." + +Clara screamed. + +"Are you in your senses, George?" + +"Never more so." + +"But it's broiling hot!" + +"Hotter than that." + +"It is simply deluged with mosquitoes." + +"There _are_ several mosquitoes there." + +"It's a hole in the ground!" + +"It certainly is." + +"And the only people we know there are the Jimmy Lakes, whom I detest." + +"I can't bear them." + +"And, George, there are _burglars_!" + +"Yes, my dear," I said triumphantly, "heaven be praised there _are_ +burglars!" + +Clara looked at me. She is very quick. + +"You are thinking of the silver." + +"Of all the silver." + +"But, George, can we afford it?" + +"Afford what?" + +"To have the silver stolen." + +"Supposing there was a burglar insurance, as a reward." + +The next moment Clara was laughing in my arms. + +"Oh, George, you are a wonderful, brilliant man: how did you ever think +of it?" + +"I just put my mind to it," I said loftily. + + + + +IV + + +We went to Lone Tree, New Jersey. We went there early to meet the +migratory spring burglar. We released from storage two chests and three +barrels of solid silver wedding presents, took out a burglar insurance +for three thousand dollars and proceeded to decorate the dining-room and +parlor. + +"It looks rather--rather nouveau riche," said Clara, surveying the +result. + +"My dear, say the word--it is vulgar. But what of that? We have come +here for a purpose and we will not be balked. Our object is to offer +every facility to the gentlemen who will relieve us of our silver. +Nothing concealed, nothing screwed to the floor." + +"I think," said Clara, "that the champagne coolers are unnecessary." + +The solid silver champagne coolers adorned either side of the fireplace. + +"As receptacles for potted ferns they are, it is true, not quite in the +best of taste," I admitted. "We might leave them in the hall for +umbrellas and canes. But then they might be overlooked, and we must take +no chances on a careless burglar." + +Clara sat down and began to laugh, which I confess was quite the natural +thing to do. Solid silver bread dishes holding sweet peas, individual +almond dishes filled with matches, silver baskets for cigars and +cigarettes crowded the room, with silver candlesticks sprouting from +every ledge and table. The dining-room was worse--but then solid silver +terrapin dishes and muffineers, not to mention the two dozen almond +dishes left over from the parlor, are not at all appropriate +decorations. + +"I'm sure the burglars will never come," said Clara, woman fashion. + +"If there's anything will keep them away," I said, a little provoked, +"it's just that attitude of mind." + +"Well, at any rate, I do hope they'll be quick about it, so we can +leave this dreadful place." + +"They'll never come if you're going to watch them," I said angrily. + +We had quite a little quarrel on that point. + +The month of June passed and still we remained in possession of our +wedding silver. Clara was openly discouraged and if I still clung to my +faith, at the bottom I was anxious and impatient. When July passed +unfruitfully even our sense of humor was seriously endangered. + +"They will never come," said Clara firmly. + +"My dear," I replied, "the last time they came in July. All the more +reason that they should change to August." + +"They will never come," said Clara a second time. + +"Let's bait the hook," I said, trying to turn the subject into a +facetious vein. "We might strew a dozen or so of those individual dishes +down the path to the road." + +"They'll never come," said Clara obstinately. + +And yet they came. + +On the second of August, about two o'clock in the morning I was awakened +out of a deep sleep by the voice of my wife crying: + +"George, here's a burglar!" + +I thought the joke obvious and ill-timed and sleepily said so. + +"But, George dear, he's here--in the room!" + +There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation, +that brought me bolt upright in bed. + +"Put up your hands--quick!" said a staccato voice. + +It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional +bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar. + +"Put 'em up!" + +My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude. + +"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice, +shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for +you's!" + +The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white +pajamas I wore--but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my +feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and +hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of +feet and an occasional metallic ring. + +"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful--wonderful for words!" said Clara, +hysterical with joy. + +"I can't believe it," I cried. + +"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern. + +"My dear friend," I said conciliatingly, "there's not the slightest need +of your keeping your finger on that wabbling, cold thing. My feelings +towards you are only the tenderest and the most grateful." + +"Huh!" + +"The feelings of a brother! My only fear is that you may overlook one or +two articles that I admit are not conveniently exposed." + +The bull's-eye turned upon me with a sudden jerk. + +"Well, I'll be damned!" + +"We have waited for you long and patiently. We thought you would never +come. In fact, we had sort of lost faith in you. I'm sorry. I apologize. +In a way I don't deserve this--I really don't." + +"Bughouse!" came from the foot of the bed, in a suppressed mutter. "Out +and out bughouse!" + +"Quite wrong," I said cheerily. "I never was in better health. You are +surprised, you don't understand. It's not necessary you should. It would +rob the situation of its humor if you should. All I ask of you is to +take everything, don't make a slip, get it all." + +"Oh, do, please, please do!" said Clara earnestly. + +The silence at the foot of the bed had the force of an exclamation. + +"Above all," I continued anxiously, "don't forget the pots. They stand +on either side of the fireplace, filled with ferns. They are not pewter. +They are solid silver champagne coolers. They are worth--they are +worth--" + +"Two hundred apiece," said Clara instantly. + +"And don't overlook the muffineers, the terrapin dishes and the +candlesticks. We should be very much obliged--very grateful if you +could find room for them." + +Often since I have thought of that burglar and what must have been his +sensations. At the time I was too engrossed with my own feelings. Never +have I enjoyed a situation more. It is true I noticed as I proceeded our +burglar began to edge away towards the door, keeping the lantern +steadily on my face. + +"And one favor more," I added, "there are several flocks of individual +silver almond dishes roosting downstairs--" + +"Forty-two," said Clara, "twenty-four in the dining-room and eighteen in +the parlor." + +"Forty-two is the number; as a last favor please find room for them; if +you don't want them drop them in a river or bury them somewhere. We +really would appreciate it. It's our last chance." + +"All right," said the burglar in an altered tone. "Don't you worry now, +we'll attend to that." + +"Remember there are forty-two--if you would count them." + +"That's all right--just you rest easy," said the burglar soothingly. +"I'll see they all get in." + +"Really, if I could be of any assistance downstairs," I said anxiously, +"I might really help." + +"Oh, don't you worry, Bub, my pals are real careful muts," said the +burglar nervously. "Now just keep calm. We'll get 'em all." + +It suddenly burst upon me that he took me for a lunatic. I buried my +head in the covers and rocked back and forth between tears and laughter. + +"Hi! what the ----'s going on up there?" cried a voice from downstairs. + +"It's all right--all right, Bill," said our burglar hoarsely, "very +affable party up here. Say, hurry it up a bit down there, will you?" + +All at once it struck me that if I really frightened him too much they +might decamp without making a clean sweep. I sobered at once. + +"I'm not crazy," I said. + +"Sure you're not," said the burglar conciliatingly. + +"But I assure you--" + +"That's all right." + +"I'm perfectly sane." + +"Sane as a house!" + +"There's nothing to be afraid of." + +"Course there isn't. Hi, Bill, won't you hurry up there!" + +"I'll explain--" + +"Don't you mind that." + +"This is the way it is--" + +"That's all right, we know all about it." + +"You do--" + +"Sure, we got your letter." + +"What letter?" + +"Your telegram then." + +"See here, I'm not crazy--" + +"You bet you're not," said the burglar, edging towards the door and +changing the key. + +"Hold up!" I cried in alarm, "don't be a fool. What I want is for you to +get everything--everything, do you hear?" + +"All right, I'll just go down and speak to him." + +"Hold up--" + +"I'll tell him." + +"Wait," I cried, jumping out of bed in my desire to retain him. + +At that moment a whistle came from below and with an exclamation of +relief our burglar slammed the door and locked it. We heard him go down +three steps at a time and rush out of the house. + +"Now you've scared them away," said Clara, "with your idiotic humor." + +I felt contrite and alarmed. + +"How could I help it?" I said angrily, preparing to climb out on the +roof of the porch. "I tried to tell him." + +With which I scrambled out on the roof, made my way to the next room and +entering, released Clara. At the top of the steps we stood clinging +together. + +"Suppose they left it all behind," said Clara. + +"Or even some!" + +"Oh, George, I know it--I know it!" + +"Don't be unreasonable--let's go down." Holding a candle aloft we +descended. The lower floor was stripped of silver--not even an +individual almond dish or a muffineer remained. We fell wildly, +hilariously into each other's arms and began to dance. I don't know +exactly what it was, but it wasn't a minute. + +Suddenly Clara stopped. + +"George!" + +"Oh, Lord, what is it?" + +"Supposin'." + +"Well--well?" + +"Supposin' they've dropped some of it in the path." + +We rushed out and searched the path, nothing there. We searched the +road--one individual almond dish had fallen. I took it and hammered it +beyond recognition and flung it into the pond. It was criminal, but I +did it. + +And then we went into the house and danced some more. We were happy. + +Of course we raised an alarm--after sufficient time to carefully dress, +and fill the lantern with oil. Other houses too had been robbed before +we had been visited, but as they were occupied by old inhabitants, the +occupants had nonchalantly gone to sleep again after surrendering their +small change. Our exploit was quite the sensation. With great difficulty +we assumed the proper public attitude of shock and despair. The +following day I wrote full particulars to the Insurance Company, with a +demand for the indemnity. + +"You'll never get the full amount," said Clara. + +"Why not?" + +"You never do. They'll send a man to ask disagreeable questions and to +beat us down." + +"Let him come." + +"You'll see." + +Just one week after the event, I opened an official envelope, extracted +a check, gazed at it with a superior smile and tendered it to Clara by +the tips of my fingers. + +"Three thousand dollars!" cried Clara, without contrition, "three +thousand dollars--oh, George!" + +There it was--three thousand dollars, without a shred of doubt. +Womanlike, all Clara had to say was: + +"Well, was I right about the wedding presents?" + +Which remark I had not foreseen. + +We shut up house and went to town next day and began the rounds of the +jewelers. In four days we had expended four-fifths of our money--but +with what results! Everything we had longed for, planned for, dreamed of +was ours and everything harmonized. + +Two weeks later as, ensconced in our city house, we moved enraptured +about our new-found home, gazing at the reincarnation of our silver, a +telegram was put in my hand. + +"What is it?" said Clara from the dining-room, where she was fondling +our chaste Queen Anne teaset. + +"It's a telegram," I said, puzzled. + +"Open it, then!" + +I tore the envelope, it was from the Insurance Company. + +"Our detectives have arrested the burglars. You will be overjoyed to +hear that we have recovered your silver in toto!" + + + + +THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + + + +I + + +The Comte de Bonzag, on the ruined esplanade of his Château de +Keragouil, frowned into the distant crepuscle of haystack and multiplied +hedge, crumpling in his nervous hands two annoying slips of paper. The +rugged body had not one more pound of flesh than was absolutely +necessary to hold together the long, pointed bones. The bronzed, +haphazard face was dominated by a stiff comb of orange-tawny hair, which +faithfully reproduced the gaunt unloveliness of generations of Bonzags. +But there lurked in the rapid advance of the nose and the abrupt, +obstinate eyes a certain staring defiance which effectively limited the +field of comment. + +At his back, the riddled silhouette of ragged towers and crumbling roof +reflected against the gentle skies something of the windy raiment of its +owner. It was a Gascon château, arrogant and threadbare, which had never +cried out at a wound, nor suffered the indignity of a patch. About it +and through it, hundreds of swallows, its natural inheritors, crossed +and recrossed in their vacillating flight. + +Out of the obscurity of the green pastures that melted away into the +near woods, the voice of a woman suddenly rose in a tender laugh. + +The Comte de Bonzag sat bolt upright, dislodging from his lap a black +spaniel, who tumbled on a matronly hound, whose startled yelp of +indignation caused the esplanade to vibrate with dogs, that, scurrying +from every cranny, assembled in an expectant circle, and waited with +hungry tongues the intentions of their master. + +The Comte, listening attentively, perceived near the stable his entire +domestic staff reclining happily on the arm of Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier, the hero of a dozen fires. + +"No, there are no longer any servants!" he exclaimed, with a bitterness +that caused a stir in the pack; then angrily he shouted with all his +forces: "Francine! Hey, there, Francine! Come here at once!" + +The indisputable fact was that Francine had asked for her wages. Such a +demand, indelicate in its simplest form, had been further aggravated by +a respectful but clear ultimatum. It was pay, or do the cooking, and if +the first was impossible, the second was both impossible and +distasteful. + +The enemy duly arrived, dimpled and plump, an honest thirty-five, a +solid widow, who stopped at the top of the stairs with the distant +respect which the Comte de Bonzag inspired even in his creditors. + +"Francine, I have thought much," said the Comte, with a conciliatory +look. "You were a little exaggerated, but you were in your rights." + +"Ah, Monsieur le Comte, six months is long when one has a child who must +be--" + +"We will not refer again to our disagreement," the Comte said, +interrupting her sternly. "I have simply called you to hear what action +I have decided on." + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur; thank you, M'sieur le Comte." + +"Unluckily," said Bonzag, frowning, "I am forced to make a great +sacrifice. In a month I could probably have paid all--I have a great +uncle at Valle-Temple who is exceedingly ill. But--however, we will hold +that for the future. I owe you, my good Francine, wages for six +months--sixty francs, representing your service with me. I am going to +give you on account, at once, twenty francs, or rather something +immeasurably more valuable than that sum." He drew out the two slips of +paper, and regarded them with affection and regret. "Here are two +tickets for the Grand Lottery of France, which will be drawn this month, +ten francs a ticket. I had to go to Chantreuil to get them; number +77,707 and number 200,013. Take them--they are yours." + +"But, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, looking stupidly at the tickets +she had passively received. "It's--it's good round pieces of silver I +need." + +"Francine," cried de Bonzag, in amazed indignation, "do you realize +that I probably have given you a fortune--and that I am absolving you of +all division of it with me!" + +"But, M'sieur--" + +"That there are one hundred and forty-five numbers that will draw +prizes." + +"Yes, M'sieur le Comte; but--" + +"That there is a prize of one quarter of a million, one third of a +million--" + +"All the same--" + +"That the second prize is for one-half a million, and the first prize +for one round million francs." + +"M'sieur says?" said Francine, whose eyes began to open. + +"One hundred and forty-five chances, and the lowest is for a hundred +francs. You think that isn't a sacrifice, eh?" + +"Well, Monsieur le Comte," Francine said at last with a sigh, "I'll take +them for twenty francs. It's not good round silver, and there's my +little girl--" + +"Enough!" exclaimed de Bonzag, dismissing her with an angry gesture. "I +am making you an heiress, and you have no gratitude! Leave me--and send +hither Andoche." + +He watched the bulky figure waddle off, sunk back in his chair, and +repeated with profound dejection; "No gratitude! There, it's done: this +time certainly I have thrown away a quarter of a million at the +lowest!" + +Presently Andoche, the Sapeur-Pompier, the brass helmet under his arm, +appeared at the top of the steps, smiling and thirsty, with covetous +eyes fastened on the broken table, at the carafe containing curaçoa that +was white and "Triple-Sec." + +"Ah, it's you, Andoche," said the Comte, finally, drawn from his +abstraction by a succession of rapid bows. He took two full-hearted +sighs, pushed the carafe slightly in the direction of the +Sapeur-Pompier, and added: "Sit down, my good Andoche. I have need to be +a little gay. Suppose we talk of Paris." + +It was the cue for Andoche to slip gratefully into a chair, possess the +carafe and prepare to listen. + + + + +II + + +At the proper age of thirty-one, the Comte de Bonzag fell heir to the +enormous sum of fifteen thousand francs from an uncle who had made the +fortune in trade. With no more delay than it took the great Emperor to +fling an army across the Alps, he descended on Paris, resolved to +repulse all advances which Louis Napoleon might make, and to lend the +splendor of his name and the weight of his fortune only to the Cercle +Royale. Two weeks devoted to this loyal end strengthened the Bourbon +lines perceptibly, but resulted in a shrinkage of four thousand francs +in his own. Next remembering that the aristocracy had always been the +patron of the arts, he determined to make a rapid examination of the +_coulisses_ of the opera and the regions of the ballet. A six-days' +reconnaissance discovered not the slightest signs of disaffection; but +the thoroughness of his inquiries was such that the completion of his +mission found him with just one thousand francs in pocket. Being not +only a Loyalist and a patron of the arts, but a statesman and a +philosopher, he turned his efforts toward the Quartier Latin, to the +great minds who would one day take up the guidance of a more enlightened +France. There he made the discovery that one amused himself more than at +the Cercle Royale, and spent considerably less than in the arts, and +that at one hundred francs a week he aroused an enthusiasm for the +Bourbons which almost attained the proportions of a riot. + +The three months over, he retired to his estate at Keragouil, having +profoundly stirred all classes of society, given new life to the cause +of His Majesty, and regretting only, as a true gentleman, the frightful +devastation he had left in the hearts of the ladies. + +Unfortunately, these brilliant services to Parisian society and his king +had left him without any society of his own, forced to the consideration +of the difficult problem of how to keep his pipe lighted, his cellar +full, and his maid-of-all-work in a state of hopeful expectation, on +nothing a year. + +Nothing daunted, he attacked this problem of the family bankruptcy with +the vigor and the daring of a D'Artagnan. Each year he collected +laboriously twenty francs, and invested them in two tickets for the +Great Lottery, valiantly resolved, like a Gascon, to carry off both +first and second prizes, but satisfied as a philosopher if he could +figure among the honorable mentions. Despite the fact that one hundred +and forty-five prizes were advertised each year, in nineteen attempts he +had not even had the pleasure of seeing his name in print. This result, +far from discouraging him, only inflamed his confidence. For he had +dipped into mathematics, and consoled himself by the reflection that, +according to the law of probabilities, each year he became the more +irresistible. + +Lately, however, one obstacle had arisen to the successful carrying out +of this system of finance. He employed one servant, a maid-of-all-work, +who was engaged for the day, with permission to take from the garden +what she needed, to adorn herself from the rose-bushes, to share the +output of La Belle Etoile, the cow, and to receive a salary of ten +francs a month. The difficulty invariably arose over the interpretation +of this last clause. For the Comte was not regular in his payments, +unless it could be said that he was regular in not paying at all. + +So it invariably occurred that the maid-of-all-work from a state of +unrest gradually passed into open rebellion, especially when the garden +was not productive and the roses ceased to bloom. When the ultimatum was +served, the Comte consulted his resources and found them invariably to +consist of two tickets of the Lottery of France, cash value twenty +francs, but, according to the laws of probability, increasingly capable +of returning one million, five hundred thousand francs. On one side was +the glory of the ancient name, and the possibility of another descent on +Paris; opposed was the brutal question of soup and ragout. The man +prevailed, and the maid-of-all-work grudgingly accepted the conditions +of truce. Then the news of the drawing arrived and the domestic staff +departed. + +This comedy, annually repeated, was annually played on the same lines. +Only each year the period intervening between the surrender of the +tickets and the announcement of the lottery brought an increasing agony. +Each time as the Comte saw the precious slips finally depart in the +hands of the maid-of-all-work, he was convinced that at last the laws of +probability must fructify. Each year he found a new meaning in the +cabalistic mysteries of numbers. The eighteenth attempt, multiplied by +three, gave fifty-four, his age. Success was inevitable: nineteen, a +number indivisible and chaste above all others, seemed specially +designated. In a word, the Comte suffered during these periods as only a +gambler of the fourth generation is able to suffer. + +At present the number twenty appeared to him to have properties no +other number had possessed, especially in the reappearance of the zero, +a figure which peculiarly attracted him by its symmetry. His despair was +consequently unlimited. + +Ordinarily the news of the lottery arrived by an inspector of roads, who +passed through Keragouil a week or so after the announcement in the +press; for the Comte, having surrendered his ticket, was only troubled +lest he had won. + +This time, to the upsetting of all history, an Englishman on a bicycle +trip brought him a newspaper, an article almost unknown to Keragouil, +where the shriek of the locomotive had yet to penetrate. + +The Comte de Bonzag, opening the paper with the accustomed sinking of +the heart, was startled by the staring headlines: + + +RESULTS OF THE LOTTERY + +A glance at the winners of the first and second prizes reassured him. He +drew a breath of satisfaction, saying gratefully; "Ah, what luck! God be +praised! I'll never do that again!" + +Then, remembering with only an idle curiosity the one hundred and +forty-three mediocre prizes on the list, he returned to the perusal. +Suddenly the print swam before his eyes, and the great esplanade seemed +to rise. Number 77,707 had won the fourth prize of one hundred thousand +francs; number 200,013, a prize of ten thousand francs. + + + + +III + + +The emotion which overwhelmed Napoleon at Waterloo as he beheld his +triumphant squadrons go down into the sunken road was not a whit more +complete than the despair of the Comte de Bonzag when he realized that +the one hundred and ten thousand francs which the laws of probability +had finally produced was now the property of Francine, the cook. + +One hundred and ten thousand francs! It was colossal! Five generations +of Bonzags had never touched as much as that. One hundred and ten +thousand francs meant the rehabilitation of the ancient name, the +restoration of the Château de Keragouil, half the year at Paris, in the +Cercle Royale, in the regions of art, and among the great minds that +were still young in the Quartier--and all that was in the possession of +a plump Gascony peasant, whose ideas of comfort and pleasure were +satisfied by one hundred and twenty francs a year. + +"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outburst of anger. Then +he sat down in despair. There was nothing to do. The fact was obvious +that Francine was an heiress, possessed of the greatest fortune in the +memory of Keragouil. There was nothing to do, or rather, there was +manifestly but one way open, and the Comte resolved on the spot to take +it. He must have back the lottery tickets, though it meant a Comtesse de +Bonzag. + +Fortunately for him, Francine knew nothing of the arrival of the paper. +Though it was necessary to make haste, there was still time for a +compatriot of D'Artagnan. There was, of course, Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier; but a Bonzag who had had three months' experience with +the feminine heart of Paris was not the man to trouble himself over a +Sapeur-Pompier. That evening, in the dim dining-room, when Francine +arrived with the steaming soup, the Comte, who had waited with a spoon +in his fist and a napkin knotted to his neck, plunged valiantly to the +issue. + +"Ah, what a good smell!" he said, elevating his nose. "Francine, you are +the queen of cooks." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," Francine stammered, stopping in amazement. "Oh, +M'sieur le Comte, thanks." + +"Don't thank me; it is I who am grateful." + +"Oh, M'sieur!" + +"Yes, yes, yes! Francine--" + +"What is it, M'sieur le Comte?" + +"To-night you may set another cover--opposite me." + +"Set another cover?" + +"Exactly." + +Francine, more and more astonished, proceeded to place on the table a +plate, a knife and a fork. + +"M'sieur le Curé is coming?" she said, drawing up a chair. + +"No, Francine." + +"Not M'sieur le Curé? Who, then?" + +"It is for you, Francine. Sit down." + +"I? I, M'sieur le Comte?" + +"Sit down. I wish it." + +Francine took three steps backward and so as to command the exit, +stopped and stared at her master, with mingled amazement and distrust. + +"My dear Francine," continued the Comte, "I am tired of eating alone. It +is bad for the digestion. And I am bored. I have need of society. So sit +down." + +"M'sieur orders it?" + +"I ask it as a favor, Francine." + +Francine, with open eyes, advanced doubtfully, seating herself nicely on +the chair, more astonished than complimented, and more alarmed than +pleased. + +"Ah, that is nicer!" said the Comte, with an approving nod. "How have I +endured it all these years! Francine, you may help yourself to the +wine." + +The astonished maid-of-all-work, who had swallowed a spoon of soup with +great discomfort, sprang up, all in a tremble, stammering with defiant +virtue: + +"M'sieur le Comte does not forget that I am an honest woman!" + +"No, my dear Francine; I am certain of it. So sit down in peace. I will +tell you the situation." + +Francine hesitated, then, reassured by the devotion he gave to his soup, +settled once more in her chair. + +"Francine, I have made up my mind to one thing," said the Comte, filling +his glass with such energy that a red circle appeared on the cloth. +"This life I lead is all wrong. A man is a sociable being. He needs +society. Isolation sends him back to the brute." + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who understood nothing. + +"So I am resolved to marry." + +"M'sieur will marry!" cried Francine, who spilled half her soup with the +shock. + +"Perfectly. It is for that I have asked you to keep me company." + +"M'sieur--you--M'sieur wants to marry me!" + +"Parbleu!" + +"M'sieur--M'sieur wants to marry me!" + +"I ask you formally to be my wife." + +"I?" + +"M'sieur wants--wants me to be Comtesse de Bonzag?" + +"Immediately." + +"Oh!" + +Springing up, Francine stood a moment gazing at him in frightened +alarm; then, with a cry, she vanished heavily through the door. + +"She has gone to Andoche," said the Comte, angrily to himself. "She +loves him!" + +In great perturbation he left the room promenading on the esplanade, in +the midst of his hounds, talking uneasily to himself. + +"_Peste_, I put it to her a little too suddenly! It was a blunder. If +she loves that Sapeur-Pompier, eh? A Sapeur-Pompier, to rival a Comte de +Bonzag--faugh!" + +Suddenly, below in the moonlight, he beheld Andoche tearing himself from +the embrace of Francine, and, not to be seen, he returned nervously to +the dining-room. + +Shortly after, the maid-of-all-work returned, calm, but with telltale +eyes. + +"Well, Francine, did I frighten you?" said the Comte, genially. + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte--" + +"Well, what do you want to say?" + +"M'sieur was in real earnest?" + +"Never more so." + +"M'sieur really wants to make me the Comtesse de Bonzag?" + +"_Dame!_ I tell you my intentions are honorable." + +"M'sieur will let me ask him one question?" + +"A dozen even." + +"M'sieur remembers that I am a widow--" + +"With one child, yes." + +"M'sieur, pardon me; I have been thinking much, and I have been thinking +of my little girl. What would M'sieur want me to do?" + +The Comte reflected, and said generously: "I do not adopt her; but, if +you like, she shall live here." + +"Then, M'sieur," said Francine, dropping on her knees, "I thank M'sieur +very much. M'sieur is too kind, too good--" + +"So, it is decided then," said the Comte, rising joyfully. + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur." + +"Then we shall go to-morrow," said the Comte. "It is my manner; I like +to do things instantly. Stand up, I beg you, Madame." + +"To-morrow, M'sieur?" + +"Yes, Madame. Have you any objections?" + +"Oh, no, M'sieur le Comte; on the contrary," said Francine, blushing +with pleasure at the twice-repeated "Madame." Then she added carefully: +"M'sieur is quite right; it would be better. People talk so." + + + + +IV + + +The return of the married couple was the sensation of Keragouil, for the +Comte de Bonzag, after the fashion of his ancestors, had placed his +bride behind him on the broad back of Quatre Diables, who proceeded +with unaltered equanimity. Along the journey the peasants, who held the +Comte in loyal terror, greeted the procession with a respectful silence, +congregating in the road to stare and chatter only when the amiable +Quatre Diables had disappeared in the distance. + +Disdaining to notice the commotion he produced, the Comte headed +straight for the courtyard, where Quatre Diables, recognizing the foot +block, dropped his head and began to crop the grass. The new Comtesse, +fatigued by the novel position, started gratefully to descend by the +most natural way, that is, by slipping easily over the rear anatomy of +the good-natured Quatre Diables. But the Comte, feeling the commotion +behind, stopped her with a word, and, flinging his left leg over the +neck of his charger, descended gracefully to the block, where, bowing +profoundly, he said in gallant style: + +"Madame, permit me to offer you my hand." + +The Comtesse, with the best intentions in the world, had considerable +difficulty in executing the movement by which her husband had extricated +himself. Luckily, the Comte received her without yielding ground, drew +her hand under his arm, and escorted her ceremoniously into the château, +while Quatre Diables, liberated from the unusual burden, rolled +gratefully to earth, and scratched his back against the cobblestones. + +"Madame, be so kind as to enter your home." + +With studied elegance, the Comte put his hat to his breast, or +thereabout, and bowed as he held open the door. + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte; after you," said Francine, in confusion. + +"Pass, Madame, and enter the dining-room. We have certain ceremonies to +observe." + +Francine dutifully advanced, but kept an eye on the movements of her +consort. When he entered the dining-room and went to the sideboard, she +took an equal number of steps in the same direction. When, having +brought out a bottle and glasses, he turned and came toward her, she +retreated. When he stopped, she stopped, and sat down with the same +exact movement. + +"Madame, I offer you a glass of the famous Keragouil Burgundy," began +the Comte, filling her glass. "It is a wine that we De Bonzags have +always kept to welcome our wives and to greet our children. Madame, I +have the honor to drink to the Comtesse de Bonzag." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who, watching his manner, emptied +the goblet in one swallow. + +"To the health of my ancestors!" continued the Comte, draining the +bottle into the two goblets. "And now throw your glass on the floor!" + +"Yes, M'sieur," said Francine, who obeyed regretfully, with the new +instinct of a housewife. + +"Now, Madame, as wife and mistress of Keragouil, I think it is well +that you understand your position and what I expect of you," said the +Comte, waving her to a seat and occupying a fauteuil in magisterial +fashion. "I expect that you will learn in a willing spirit what I shall +teach you, that you may become worthy of the noble position you occupy." + +"Oh, M'sieur may be sure I'll do my best," said Francine, quite +overcome. + +"I expect you to show me the deference and obedience that I demand as +head of the house of Bonzag." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, how could you think--" + +"To be economical and amiable." + +"Yes, indeed, M'sieur." + +"To listen when I speak, to forget you were a peasant, to give me three +desserts a week, and never, madame, to show me the slightest +infidelity." + +At these last words, Francine, already overcome by the rapid whirl of +fortune, as well as by the overcharged spirits of the potent Burgundy, +burst into tears. + +"And no tears!" said De Bonzag, withdrawing sternly. + +"No, M'sieur; no," Francine cried, hastily drying her eyes. Then +dropping on her knees, she managed to say: "Oh, M'sieur--pardon, +pardon." + +"What do you mean?" cried the Comte, furiously. + +"Oh, M'sieur forgive me--I will tell you all!" + +"Madame--Madame, I don't understand," said the Comte, mastering himself +with difficulty. "Proceed; I am listening." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, I'll tell you all. I swear it on the image of St. +Jacques d'Acquin." + +"You have not lied to me about your child?" cried Bonzag in horror. + +"No, no, M'sieur; not that," said Francine. Then, hiding her face, she +said: "M'sieur, I hid something from you: I loved Andoche." + +"Ah!" said the Comte, with a sigh of relief. He sat down, adding +sympathetically: "My poor Francine, I know it. Alas! That's what life +is." + +"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest. +"But I loved him well, and he loved me--oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le +Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a +comtesse, M'sieur le Comte. And when M'sieur spoke to me, I didn't know +what to do. My heart was all given to Andoche, but--well, M'sieur, the +truth is, I began to think of my little girl, and I said to myself, I +must think of her, because, M'sieur, I thought of the position it would +give her, if I were a Comtesse. What a step in the world, eh? And I +said, you must do it for her! So I went to Andoche, and I told him +all--yes, all, M'sieur--that my heart was his, but that my duty was to +her. And Andoche, ah, what a good heart, M'sieur--he understood--we wept +together." She choked a minute, put her handkerchief hastily to her +eyes, "Pardon, M'sieur; and he said it was right, and I kissed him--I +hide nothing, M'sieur will pardon me that,--and he went away!" She took +a step toward him, twisting her handkerchief, adding in a timid appeal: +"M'sieur understands why I tell him that? M'sieur will believe me. I +have killed all that. It is no more in my heart. I swear it by the image +of St. Jacques d'Acquin." + +"Madame, I knew it before," said the Comte, rising; "still, I thank +you." + +"Oh, M'sieur, I have put it all away--I swear it!" + +"I believe you," interrupted the Comte, "and now no more of it! I also +am going to be frank with you." He went with a smile to a corner where +stood the little box, done up in rope, which held the trousseau of the +Comtesse de Bonzag. "Open that, and give me the lottery-tickets I gave +you." + +"Hanh? You--M'sieur says?" + +"The lottery-tickets--" + +"Oh, M'sieur, but they're not there--" + +"Then where are they?" + +"Oh, M'sieur, wait; I'll tell you," said Francine, simply. "When Andoche +went off--" + +[Illustration: "You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"] + +"What!" cried the Comte, like a cannon. + +"He was so broken up, M'sieur, I was so afraid for him, so just to +console him, M'sieur--to give him something--I gave him the tickets." + +"You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!" + +"Just to console him--yes, M'sieur." + +The lank form of the Comte de Bonzag wavered, and then, as though the +body had suddenly deserted the clothes, collapsed in a heap on the +floor. + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Murder in Any Degree, by Owen Johnson + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12686 *** diff --git a/12686-h/12686-h.htm b/12686-h/12686-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..3733089 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/12686-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8206 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<html> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content= + "text/html; charset=UTF-8"> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Hour"], by AUTHOR. + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + P { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + } + HR { width: 33%; + margin-top: 1em; + margin-bottom: 1em; + } + BODY{margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%; + } + .linenum {position: absolute; top: auto; left: 4%;} /* poetry number */ + .note {margin-left: 2em; margin-right: 2em; margin-bottom: 1em;} /* footnote */ + .blkquot {margin-left: 4em; margin-right: 4em;} /* block indent */ + .pagenum {position: absolute; left: 92%; font-size: smaller; text-align: right;} /* page numbers */ + .sidenote {width: 20%; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-top: 1em; padding-left: 1em; font-size: smaller; float: right; clear: right;} + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span {display: block; margin: 0; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em;} + .poem .caesura {vertical-align: -200%;} + --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12686 ***</div> + +<center> +<a name='image-frontis'></a> +<img src='images/image-frontis.jpg' width='542' height='600' alt=""I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by +the hour"" title=''> +</center> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<h2>MURDER IN ANY DEGREE: ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK:<br> +A COMEDY FOR WIVES: THE LIE: EVEN THREES:<br> +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION: LARRY MOORE: +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS: THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY</h2> +<br /> + +<p>BY OWEN JOHNSON Author of "Stover at Yale," "The Varmint," etc., etc.</p> +<br /> + +<p>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F.R. GRUGER AND LEON GUIPON</p> +<br /> + +<p>NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1913</p> + +<p>1907, 1912, 1913, THE CENTURY CO.</p> + +<p>1911, THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + +<p>1911, THE NATIONAL POST CO.</p> + +<p>1912, GOOD HOUSEKEEPING MAGAZINE</p> + +<p>1908, THE RIDGWAY COMPANY</p> + +<p>1906, ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, INCORPORATED</p> + +<p>1910, THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + +<p><i>Published, August, 1913</i></p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CONTENTS'></a><h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + <a href='#ILLUSTRATIONS'><b>ILLUSTRATIONS</b></a><br /> + <a href='#MURDER_IN_ANY_DEGREE'><b>MURDER IN ANY DEGREE</b></a><br /> + <a href='#ONE_HUNDRED_IN_THE_DARK'><b>ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK</b></a><br /> + <a href='#A_COMEDY_FOR_WIVES'><b>A COMEDY FOR WIVES</b></a><br /> + <a href='#THE_LIE'><b>THE LIE</b></a><br /> + <a href='#EVEN_THREES'><b>EVEN THREES</b></a><br /> + <a href='#A_MAN_OF_NO_IMAGINATION'><b>A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LARRY_MOORE'><b>LARRY MOORE</b></a><br /> + <a href='#MY_WIFES_WEDDING_PRESENTS'><b>MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS</b></a><br /> + <a href='#THE_SURPRISES_OF_THE_LOTTERY'><b>THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY</b></a><br /> + + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='ILLUSTRATIONS'></a><h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<br /> + +<p><a href="#image-frontis">"I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by the hour"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page020">From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page034">Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and black</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page042">Our Lady of the Sparrows</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page182">"Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page200">Wild-eyed and hilarious they descended on the clubhouse with the +miraculous news</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page204">A committee carefully examined the books of the club</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page310">"You gave him—the tickets! The Lottery Tickets!"</a></p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='MURDER_IN_ANY_DEGREE'></a><h2>MURDER IN ANY DEGREE</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>One Sunday in March they had been marooned at the club, Steingall the +painter and Quinny the illustrator, and, having lunched late, had bored +themselves separately to their limits over the periodicals until, +preferring to bore each other, they had gravitated together in easy +arm-chairs before the big Renaissance fireplace.</p> + +<p>Steingall, sunk in his collar, from behind the black-rimmed spectacles, +which, with their trailing ribbon of black, gave a touch of Continental +elegance to his cropped beard and colonel's mustaches, watched without +enthusiasm the three mammoth logs, where occasional tiny flames gave +forth an illusion of heat.</p> + +<p>Quinny, as gaunt as a militant friar of the Middle Ages, aware of +Steingall's protective reverie, spoke in desultory periods, addressing +himself questions and supplying the answers, reserving his epigrams for +a larger audience.</p> + +<p>At three o'clock De Gollyer entered from a heavy social performance, +raising his eyebrows in salute as others raise their hats, and slightly +dragging one leg behind. He was an American critic who was busily +engaged in discovering the talents of unrecognized geniuses of the +European provinces. When reproached with his migratory enthusiasm, he +would reply, with that quick, stiffening military click with which he +always delivered his <i>bons mots</i>:</p> + +<p>"My boy, I never criticize American art. I can't afford to. I have too +many charming friends."</p> + +<p>At four o'clock, which is the hour for the entrée of those who escape +from their homes to fling themselves on the sanctuary of the club, +Rankin, the architect, arrived with Stibo, the fashionable painter of +fashionable women, who brought with him the atmosphere of pleasant soap +and an exclusive, smiling languor. A moment later a voice was heard from +the anteroom, saying:</p> + +<p>"If any one telephones, I'm not in the club—any one at all. Do you +hear?"</p> + +<p>Then Towsey, the decorator, appeared at the letterboxes in spats, +militant checks, high collar and a choker tie, which, yearning toward +his ears, gave him the appearance of one who had floundered up out of +his clothes for the third and last time. He came forward, frowned at the +group, scowled at the negative distractions of the reading-room, and +finally dragged over his chair just as Quinny was saying:</p> + +<p>"Queer thing—ever notice it?—two artists sit down together, each +begins talking of what he's doing—to avoid complimenting the other, +naturally. As soon as the third arrives they begin carving up another; +only thing they can agree on, see? Soon as you get four or more of the +species together, conversation always comes around to marriage. Ever +notice that, eh?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," said De Gollyer, from the intolerant point of view of +a bachelor, "that is because marriage is your one common affliction. +Artists, musicians, all the lower order of the intellect, marry. They +must. They can't help it. It's the one thing you can't resist. You begin +it when you're poor to save the expense of a servant, and you keep it up +when you succeed to have some one over you to make you work. You belong +psychologically to the intellectually dependent classes, the +clinging-vine family, the masculine parasites; and as you can't help +being married, you are always damning it, holding it responsible for all +your failures."</p> + +<p>At this characteristic speech, the five artists shifted slightly, and +looked at De Gollyer over their mustaches with a lingering appetite, +much as a group of terriers respect the family cat.</p> + +<p>"My dear chaps, speaking as a critic," continued De Gollyer, pleasantly +aware of the antagonism he had exploded, "you remain children afraid of +the dark—afraid of being alone. Solitude frightens you. You lack the +quality of self-sufficiency that is the characteristic of the higher +critical faculties. You marry because you need a nurse."</p> + +<p>He ceased, thoroughly satisfied with the prospect of having brought on +a quarrel, raised thumb and first finger in a gingerly loop, ordered a +dash of sherry and winked across the group to Tommers, who was listening +around his paper from the reading-room.</p> + +<p>"De Gollyer, you are only a 'who's who' of art," said Quinny, with, +however, a hungry gratitude for a topic of such possibilities. "You +understand nothing of psychology. An artist is a multiple personality; +with each picture he paints he seeks a new inspiration. What is +inspiration?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's the point—inspiration," said Steingall, waking up.</p> + +<p>"Inspiration," said Quinny, eliminating Steingall from his preserves +with the gesture of brushing away a fly—"inspiration is only a form of +hypnosis, under the spell of which a man is capable of rising outside of +and beyond himself, as a horse, under extraordinary stress, exerts a +muscular force far beyond his accredited strength. The race of geniuses, +little and big, are constantly seeking this outward force to hypnotize +them into a supreme intellectual effort. Talent does not understand such +a process; it is mechanical, unvarying, chop-chop, day in and day out. +Now, what you call inspiration may be communicated in many ways—by the +spectacle of a mob, by a panorama of nature, by sudden and violent +contrasts of points of view; but, above all, as a continual stimulus, +it comes from that state of mental madness which is produced by love."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" said Stibo.</p> + +<p>"Anything that produces a mental obsession, <i>une idée fixe</i>, is a form +of madness," said Quinny, rapidly. "A person in love sees only one face, +hears only one voice; at the base of the brain only one thought is +constantly drumming. Physically such a condition is a narcotic; mentally +it is a form of madness that in the beneficent state is powerfully +hypnotic."</p> + +<p>At this deft disentanglement of a complicated idea, Rankin, who, like +the professional juryman, wagged his head in agreement with each speaker +and was convinced by the most violent, gazed upon Quinny with absolute +adoration.</p> + +<p>"We were speaking of woman," said Towsey, gruffly, who pronounced the +sex with a peculiar staccato sound.</p> + +<p>"This little ABC introduction," said Quinny, pleasantly, "is necessary +to understand the relation a woman plays to the artist. It is not the +woman he seeks, but the hypnotic influence which the woman can exert on +his faculties if she is able to inspire him with a passion."</p> + +<p>"Precisely why he marries," said De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"Precisely," said Quinny, who, having seized the argument by chance, was +pleasantly surprised to find that he was going to convince himself. "But +here is the great distinction: to be an inspiration, a woman should +always represent to the artist a form of the unattainable. It is the +search for something beyond him that makes him challenge the stars, and +all that sort of rot, you know."</p> + +<p>"The tragedy of life," said Rankin, sententiously, "is that one woman +cannot mean all things to one man all the time."</p> + +<p>It was a phrase which he had heard the night before, and which he flung +off casually with an air of spontaneity, twisting the old Spanish ring +on his bony, white fingers, which he held invariably in front of his +long, sliding nose.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I said that about the year 1907," said Quinny, while +Steingall gasped and nudged Towsey. "That is the tragedy of life, not +the tragedy of art, two very different things. An artist has need of +ten, fifteen, twenty women, according to the multiplicity of his ideas. +He should be always violently in love or violently reacting."</p> + +<p>"And the wife?" said De Gollyer. "Has she any influence?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, the greatest. Without a wife, an artist falls a prey to +the inspiration of the moment—condemned to it; and as he is not an +analyst, he ends by imagining he really is in love. Take +portrait-painting. Charming lady sits for portrait, painter takes up his +brushes, arranges his palette, seeks inspiration,—what is below the +surface?—something intangible to divine, seize, and affix to his +canvas. He seeks to know the soul; he seeks how? As a man in love seeks, +naturally. The more he imagines himself in love, the more completely +does the idea obsess him from morning to night—plain as the nose on +your face. Only there are other portraits to paint. Enter the wife."</p> + +<p>"Charming," said Stibo, who had not ceased twining his mustaches in his +pink fingers.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's the point. What of the wife?" said Steingall, violently.</p> + +<p>"The wife—the ideal wife, mind you—is then the weapon, the refuge. To +escape from the entanglement of his momentary inspiration, the artist +becomes a man: my wife and <i>bonjour</i>. He returns home, takes off the +duster of his illusion, cleans the palette of old memories, washes away +his vows, protestations, and all that rot, you know, lies down on the +sofa, and gives his head to his wife to be rubbed. Curtain. The comedy +is over."</p> + +<p>"But that's what they don't understand," said Steingall, with +enthusiasm. "That's what they will <i>never</i> understand."</p> + +<p>"Such miracles exist?" said Towsey with a short, disagreeable laugh.</p> + +<p>"I know the wife of an artist," said Quinny, "whom I consider the most +remarkable woman I know—who sits and knits and smiles. She is one who +understands. Her husband adores her, and he is in love with a woman a +month. When he gets in too deep, ready for another inspiration, you +know, she calls up the old love on the telephone and asks her to stop +annoying her husband."</p> + +<p>"Marvelous!" said Steingall, dropping his glasses.</p> + +<p>"No, really?" said Rankin.</p> + +<p>"Has she a sister?" said Towsey.</p> + +<p>Stibo raised his eyes slowly to Quinny's but veiled as was the look, De +Gollyer perceived it, and smilingly registered the knowledge on the +ledger of his social secrets.</p> + +<p>"That's it, by George! that is it," said Steingall, who hurled the +enthusiasm of a reformer into his pessimism. "It's all so simple; but +they won't understand. And why—do you know why? Because a woman is +jealous. It isn't simply of other women. No, no, that's not it; it's +worse than that, ten thousand times worse. She's jealous of your <i>art</i>! +That's it! There you have it! She's jealous because she can't understand +it, because it takes you away from her, because she can't <i>share</i> it. +That's what's terrible about marriage—no liberty, no individualism, no +seclusion, having to account every night for your actions, for your +thoughts, for the things you dream—ah, the dreams! The Chinese are +right, the Japanese are right. It's we Westerners who are all wrong. +It's the creative only that counts. The woman should be subordinated, +should be kept down, taught the voluptuousness of obedience. By Jove! +that's it. We don't assert ourselves. It's this confounded Anglo-Saxon +sentimentality that's choking art—that's what it is."</p> + +<p>At the familiar phrases of Steingall's outburst, Rankin wagged his head +in unequivocal assent, Stibo smiled so as to show his fine upper teeth, +and Towsey flung away his cigar, saying:</p> + +<p>"Words, words."</p> + +<p>At this moment when Quinny, who had digested Steingall's argument, was +preparing to devour the whole topic, Britt Herkimer, the sculptor, +joined them. He was a guest, just in from Paris, where he had been +established twenty years, one of the five men in art whom one counted on +the fingers when the word genius was pronounced. Mentally and physically +a German, he spoke English with a French accent. His hair was cropped +<i>en brosse</i>, and in his brown Japanese face only the eyes, staccato, +furtive, and drunk with curiosity, could be seen. He was direct, +opinionated, bristling with energy, one of those tireless workers who +disdain their youth and treat it as a disease. His entry into the group +of his more socially domesticated confrères was like the return of a +wolf-hound among the housedogs.</p> + +<p>"Still smashing idols?" he said, slapping the shoulder of Steingall, +with whom and Quinny he had passed his student days, "Well, what's the +row?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Britt, we are reforming matrimony. Steingall is for the +importation of Mongolian wives," said De Gollyer, who had written two +favorable articles on Herkimer, "while Quinny is for founding a school +for wives on most novel and interesting lines."</p> + +<p>"That's odd," said Herkimer, with a slight frown.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, no," said De Gollyer; "we always abolish matrimony +from four to six."</p> + +<p>"You didn't understand me," said Herkimer, with the sharpness he used in +his classes.</p> + +<p>From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence. They waited with an involuntary silence, which +in itself was a rare tribute.</p> + +<p>"Remember Rantoul?" said Herkimer, rolling a cigarette and using a jerky +diction.</p> + +<p>"Clyde Rantoul?" said Stibo.</p> + +<p>"Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, who was in the Quarter with us?" said +Quinny.</p> + +<p>"Don Furioso, yes," said Rankin. "Ever see him?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"He's married," said Quinny; "dropped out."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he married," said Herkimer, lighting his cigarette. "Well, I've +just seen him."</p> + +<p>"He's a plutocrat or something," said Towsey, reflectively.</p> + +<p>"He's rich—ended," said Steingall as he slapped the table. "By Jove! I +remember now."</p> + +<p>"Wait," said Quinny, interposing.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page020'></a> +<img src='images/image-page020.jpg' width='800' height='488' alt='From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had +brought to him some abrupt coincidences' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"I went up to see him yesterday—just back now," said Herkimer. +"Rantoul was the biggest man of us all. It's a funny tale. You're +discussing matrimony; here it is."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In the early nineties, when Quinny, Steingall, Herkimer, little Bennett, +who afterward roamed down into the Transvaal and fell in with the +Foreign Legion, Jacobus and Chatterton, the architects, were living +through that fine, rebellious state of overweening youth, Rantoul was +the undisputed leader, the arch-rebel, the master-demolisher of the +group.</p> + +<p>Every afternoon at five his Gargantuan figure came thrashing through the +crowds of the boulevard, as an omnibus on its way scatters the fragile +fiacres. He arrived, radiating electricity, tirades on his tongue, to +his chair among the table-pounders of the Café des Lilacs, and his first +words were like the fanfare of trumpets. He had been christened, in the +felicitous language of the Quarter, Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, and +for cause. He shared a garret with his chum, Britt Herkimer, in the Rue +de l'Ombre, a sort of manhole lit by the stars,—when there were any +stars, and he never failed to come springing up the six rickety flights +with a song on his lips.</p> + +<p>An old woman who kept a fruit store gave him implicit credit; a much +younger member of the sex at the corner creamery trusted him for eggs +and fresh milk, and leaned toward him over the counter, laughing into +his eyes as he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Ma belle, when I am famous, I will buy you a silk gown, and a pair of +earrings that will reach to your shoulders, and it won't be long. You'll +see."</p> + +<p>He adored being poor. When his canvas gave out, he painted his ankles to +caricature the violent creations that were the pride of Chatterton, who +was a nabob. When his credit at one restaurant expired, he strode +confidently up to another proprietor, and announced with the air of one +bestowing a favor:</p> + +<p>"I am Rantoul, the portrait-painter. In five years my portraits will +sell for five thousand francs, in ten for twenty thousand. I will eat +one meal a day at your distinguished establishment, and paint your +portrait to make your walls famous. At the end of the month I will +immortalize your wife; on the same terms, your sister, your father, your +mother, and all the little children. Besides, every Saturday night I +will bring here a band of my comrades who pay in good hard silver. +Remember that if you had bought a Corot for twenty francs in 1870, you +could have sold it for five thousand francs in 1880, fifty thousand in +1890. Does the idea appeal to you?"</p> + +<p>But as most keepers of restaurants are practical and unimaginative, and +withal close bargainers, at the end of a week Rantoul generally was +forced to seek a new sitter.</p> + +<p>"What a privilege it is to be poor!" he would then exclaim +enthusiastically to Herkimer. "It awakens all the perceptions; hunger +makes the eye keener. I can see colors to-day that I never saw before. +And to think that if Sherman had never gotten it in his head to march to +the sea I should never have experienced this inspiration! But, old +fellow, we have so short a time to be poor. We must exhibit nothing yet. +We are lucky. We are poor. We can feel."</p> + +<p>On the subject of traditions he was at his best.</p> + +<p>"Shakspere is the curse of the English drama," he would declare, with a +descending gesture which caused all the little glasses to rattle their +alarm. "Nothing will ever come out of England until his influence is +discounted. He was a primitive, a Preraphælite. He understood nothing of +form, of composition. He was a poet who wandered into the drama as a +sheep strays into the pasture of the bulls, a colorist who imagines he +can be a sculptor. The influence of Victoria sentimentalized the whole +artistic movement in England, made it bourgeois, and flavored it with +mint sauce. Modern portraiture has turned the galleries into an +exhibition of wax works. What is wrong with painting to-day—do you +know?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Allons</i>, tell us!" cried two or three, while others, availing +themselves of the breathing space, filled the air with their orders:</p> + +<p>"Paul, another bock."</p> + +<p>"Two hard-boiled eggs."</p> + +<p>"And pretzels; don't forget the pretzels."</p> + +<p>"The trouble with painting to-day is that it has no point of view," +cried Rantoul, swallowing an egg in the anaconda fashion. "We are +interpreting life in the manner of the Middle Ages. We forget art should +be historical. We forget that we are now in our century. Ugliness, not +beauty, is the note of our century; turbulence, strife, materialism, the +mob, machinery, masses, not units. Why paint a captain of industry +against a François I tapestry? Paint him at his desk. The desk is a +throne; interpret it. We are ruled by mobs. Who paints mobs? What is +wrong is this, that art is in the bondage of literature—sentimentality. +We must record what we experience. Ugliness has its utility, its +magnetism; the ugliness of abject misery moves you to think, to readjust +ideas. We must be rebels, we young men. Ah, if we could only burn the +galleries, we should be forced to return to life."</p> + +<p>"Bravo, Rantoul!"</p> + +<p>"Right, old chap."</p> + +<p>"Smash the statues!"</p> + +<p>"Burn the galleries!"</p> + +<p>"Down with tradition!"</p> + +<p>"Eggs and more bock!"</p> + +<p>But where Rantoul differed from the revolutionary regiment was that he +was not simply a painter who delivered orations; he could paint. His +tirades were not a furore of denunciation so much as they were the +impulsive chafing of the creative energy within him. In the school he +was already a marked man to set the prophets prophesying. He had a style +of his own, biting, incisive, overloaded and excessive, but with +something to say. He was after something. He was original.</p> + +<p>"Rebel! Let us rebel!" he would cry to Herkimer from his agitated +bedquilt in the last hour of discussion. "The artist must always +rebel—accept nothing, question everything, denounce conventions and +traditions."</p> + +<p>"Above all, work," said Herkimer in his laconic way.</p> + +<p>"What? Don't I work?"</p> + +<p>"Work more."</p> + +<p>Rantoul, however, was not vulnerable on that score. He was not, it is +true, the drag-horse that Herkimer was, who lived like a recluse, +shunning the cafes and the dance-halls, eating up the last gray hours of +the day over his statues and his clays. But Rantoul, while living life +to its fullest, haunting the wharves and the markets with avid eyes, +roaming the woods and trudging the banks of the Seine, mingling in the +crowds that flashed under the flare of arc-lights, with a thousand +mysteries of mass and movement, never relaxed a moment the savage attack +his leaping nature made upon the drudgeries and routine of technic.</p> + +<p>With the coveted admittance into the Salon, recognition came speedily +to the two chums. They made a triumphal entry into a real studio in the +Montparnasse Quarter, clients came, and the room became a station of +honor among the young and enthusiastic of the Quarter.</p> + +<p>Rantoul began to appear in society, besieged with the invitations that +his Southern aristocracy and the romance of his success procured him.</p> + +<p>"You go out too much," said Herkimer to him, with a fearful growl. "What +the deuce do you want with society, anyhow? Keep away from it. You've +nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>"What do I do? I go out once a week," said Rantoul, whistling +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Once is too often. What do you want to become, a parlor celebrity? +Society <i>c'est l'ennemie</i>. You ought to hate it."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Herkimer, eying him across his sputtering clay pipe. "Get +this idea of people out of your head. Shut yourself up in a hole, work. +What's society, anyhow? A lot of bored people who want you to amuse +them. I don't approve. Better marry that pretty girl in the creamery. +She'll worship you as a god, make you comfortable. That's all you need +from the world."</p> + +<p>"Marry her yourself; she'll sew and cook for you," said Rantoul, with +perfect good humor.</p> + +<p>"I'm in no danger," said Herkimer, curtly; "you are."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"You'll see."</p> + +<p>"Listen, you old grumbler," said Rantoul, seriously. "If I go into +society, it is to see the hollowness of it all—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"To know what I rebel against—"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"To appreciate the freedom of the life I have—"</p> + +<p>"Faker!"</p> + +<p>"To have the benefit of contrasts, light and shade. You think I am not a +rebel. My dear boy, I am ten times as big a rebel as I was. Do you know +what I'd do with society?"</p> + +<p>He began a tirade in the famous muscular Rantoul style, overturning +creeds and castes, reorganizing republics and empires, while Herkimer, +grumbling to himself, began to scold the model, who sleepily received +the brunt of his ill humor.</p> + +<p>In the second year of his success Rantoul, quite by accident, met a girl +in her teens named Tina Glover, only daughter of Cyrus Glover, a man of +millions, self-made. The first time their eyes met and lingered, by the +mysterious chemistry of the passions Rantoul fell desperately in love +with this little slip of a girl, who scarcely reached to his shoulder; +who, on her part, instantly made up her mind that she had found the +husband she intended to have. Two weeks later they were engaged.</p> + +<p>She was seventeen, scarcely more than a child, with clear, blue eyes +that seemed too large for her body, very timid and appealing. It is true +she seldom expressed an opinion, but she listened to every one with a +flattering smile, and the reputations of brilliant talkers have been +built on less. She had a way of passing her two arms about Rantoul's +great one and clinging to him in a weak, dependent way that was quite +charming.</p> + +<p>When Cyrus Glover was informed that his daughter intended to marry a +dauber in paints, he started for Paris on ten hours' notice. But Mrs. +Glover who was just as resolved on social conquests as Glover was in +controlling the plate-glass field, went down to meet him at the boat, +and by the time the train entered the St. Lazare Station, he had been +completely disciplined and brought to understand that a painter was one +thing and that a Rantoul, who happened to paint, was quite another. When +he had known Rantoul a week; and listened open-mouthed to his eloquent +schemes for reordering the universe, and the arts in particular, he was +willing to swear that he was one of the geniuses of the world.</p> + +<p>The wedding took place shortly, and Cyrus Glover gave the bridegroom a +check for $100,000, "so that he wouldn't have to be bothering his wife +for pocketmoney." Herkimer was the best man, and the Quarter attended +in force, with much outward enthusiasm. The bride and groom departed for +a two-year's trip around the world, that Rantoul might inspire himself +with the treasures of Italy, Greece, India, and Japan.</p> + +<p>Every one, even Herkimer, agreed that Rantoul was the luckiest man in +Paris; that he had found just the wife who was suited to him, whose +fortune would open every opportunity for his genius to develop.</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said Bennett, when the group had returned to +Herkimer's studio to continue the celebration, "let me remark that in +general I don't approve of marriage for an artist."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," cried Chatterton, and the chorus answered, "Nor I."</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry," continued Bennett.</p> + +<p>"Never," cried Chatterton, who beat a tattoo on the piano with his heel +to accompany the chorus of assent.</p> + +<p>"But—I add but—in this case my opinion is that Rantoul has found a +pure diamond."</p> + +<p>"True!"</p> + +<p>"In the first place, she knows nothing at all about art, which is an +enormous advantage."</p> + +<p>"Bravo!"</p> + +<p>"In the second place, she knows nothing about anything else, which is +better still."</p> + +<p>"Cynic! You hate clever women," cried Jacobus.</p> + +<p>"There's a reason."</p> + +<p>"All the same, Bennett's right. The wife of an artist should be a +creature of impulses and not ideas."</p> + +<p>"True."</p> + +<p>"In the third place," continued Bennett, "she believes Rantoul is a +demigod. Everything he will do will be the most wonderful thing in the +world, and to have a little person you are madly in love with think that +is enormous."</p> + +<p>"All of which is not very complimentary to the bride," said Herkimer.</p> + +<p>"Find me one like her," cried Bennett.</p> + +<p>"Ditto," said Chatterton and Jacobus with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing that worries me," said Bennett, seriously. +"Isn't there too much money?"</p> + +<p>"Not for Rantoul."</p> + +<p>"He's a rebel."</p> + +<p>"You'll see; he'll stir up the world with it."</p> + +<p>Herkimer himself had approved of the marriage in a whole-hearted way. +The childlike ways of Tina Glover had convinced him, and as he was +concerned only with the future of his friend, he agreed with the rest +that nothing luckier could have happened.</p> + +<p>Three years passed, during which he received occasional letters from +his old chum, not quite so spontaneous as he had expected, but filled +with the wonder of the ancient worlds. Then the intervals became longer, +and longer, and finally no letters came.</p> + +<p>He learned in a vague way that the Rantouls had settled in the East +somewhere near New York, but he waited in vain for the news of the stir +in the world of art that Rantoul's first exhibitions should produce.</p> + +<p>His friends who visited in America returned without news of Rantoul; +there was a rumor that he had gone with his father-in-law into the +organization of some new railroad or trust. But even this report was +vague, and as he could not understand what could have happened, it +remained for a long time to him a mystery. Then he forgot it.</p> + +<p>Ten years after Rantoul's marriage to little Tina Glover, Herkimer +returned to America. The last years had placed him in the foreground of +the sculptors of the world. He had that strangely excited consciousness +that he was a figure in the public eye. Reporters rushed to meet him on +his arrival, societies organized dinners to him, magazines sought the +details of his life's struggle. Withal, however, he felt a strange +loneliness, and an aloofness from the clamoring world about him. He +remembered the old friendship in the starlit garret of the Rue de +l'Ombre, and, learning Rantoul's address, wrote him. Three days later he +received the following answer:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'><i>Dear Old Boy:</i></span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>I'm delighted to find that you have remembered me in your fame. Run</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>up this Saturday for a week at least. I'll show you some fine</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>scenery, and we'll recall the days of the Café des Lilacs together.</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>My wife sends her greetings also.</span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Clyde.</span><br /> + +<p>This letter made Herkimer wonder. There was nothing on which he could +lay his finger, and yet there was something that was not there. With +some misgivings he packed his bag and took the train, calling up again +to his mind the picture of Rantoul, with his shabby trousers pulled up, +decorating his ankles with lavender and black, roaring all the while +with his rumbling laughter.</p> + +<p>At the station only the chauffeur was down to meet him. A correct +footman, moving on springs, took his bag, placed him in the back seat, +and spread a duster for him. They turned through a pillared gateway, +Renaissance style, passed a gardener's lodge, with hothouses flashing in +the reclining sun, and fled noiselessly along the macadam road that +twined through a formal grove. All at once they were before the house, +red brick and marble, with wide-flung porte-cochère and verandas, beyond +which could be seen immaculate lawns, and in the middle distances the +sluggish gray of a river that crawled down from the turbulent hills on +the horizon. Another creature in livery tripped down the steps and held +the door for him. He passed perplexed into the hall, which was fresh +with the breeze that swept through open French windows.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page034'></a> +<img src='images/image-page034.jpg' width='375' height='600' alt='Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and +black' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Mr. Herkimer, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>He turned to find a woman of mannered assurance holding out her hand +correctly to him, and under the panama that topped the pleasant effect +of her white polo-coat he looked into the eyes of that Tina Glover, who +once had caught his rough hand in her little ones and said timidly:</p> + +<p>"You'll always be my friend, my best, just as you are Clyde's, won't +you? And I may call you Britt or Old Boy or Old Top, just as Clyde +does?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her amazed. She was prettier, undeniably so. She had +learned the art of being a woman, and she gave him her hand as though +she had granted a favor.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said shortly, freezing all at once. "Where's Clyde?"</p> + +<p>"He had to play in a polo-match. He's just home taking a tub," she said +easily. "Will you go to your room first? I didn't ask any one in for +dinner. I supposed you would rather chat together of old times. You have +become a tremendous celebrity, haven't you? Clyde is so proud of you."</p> + +<p>"I'll go to my room now," he said shortly.</p> + +<p>The valet had preceded him, opening his valise and smoothing out his +evening clothes on the lace bedspread.</p> + +<p>"I'll attend to that," he said curtly. "You may go."</p> + +<p>He stood at the window, in the long evening hour of the June day, +frowning to himself. "By George! I've a mind to clear out," he said, +thoroughly angry.</p> + +<p>At this moment there came a vigorous rap, and Rantoul in slippers and +lilac dressing-gown broke in, with hair still wet from his shower.</p> + +<p>"The same as ever, bless the Old Top!" he cried, catching him up in one +of the old-time bear-hugs. "I say, don't think me inhospitable. Had to +play a confounded match. We beat 'em, too; lost six pounds doing it, +though. Jove! but you look natural! I say, that was a stunning thing you +did for Philadelphia—the audacity of it. How do you like my place? I've +got four children, too. What do you think of that? Nothing finer. Well, +tell me what you're doing."</p> + +<p>Herkimer relented before the familiar rush of enthusiasm and questions, +and the conversation began on a natural footing. He looked at Rantoul, +aware of the social change that had taken place in him. The old +aggressiveness, the look of the wolf, had gone; about him was an +enthusiastic urbanity. He seemed clean cut, virile, overflowing with +vitality, only it was a different vitality, the snap and decision of a +man-of-affairs, not the untamed outrush of the artist.</p> + +<p>They had spoken scarcely a short five minutes when a knock came on the +door and a footman's voice said:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Rantoul wishes you not to be late for dinner, sir."</p> + +<p>"Very well, very well," said Rantoul, with a little impatience. "I +always forget the time. Jove! it's good to see you again; you'll give us +a week at least. Meet you downstairs."</p> + +<p>When Herkimer had dressed and descended, his host and hostess were still +up-stairs. He moved through the rooms, curiously noting the contents of +the walls. There were several paintings of value, a series of drawings +by Boucher, a replica or two of his own work; but he sought without +success for something from the brush of Clyde Rantoul. At dinner he was +aware of a sudden uneasiness. Mrs. Rantoul, with the flattering smile +that recalled Tina Glover, pressed him with innumerable questions, which +he answered with constraint, always aware of the dull simulation of +interest in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Twice during the meal Rantoul was called to the telephone for a +conversation at long distance.</p> + +<p>"Clyde is becoming quite a power in Wall Street," said Mrs. Rantoul, +with an approving smile. "Father says he's the strength of the younger +men. He has really a genius for organization."</p> + +<p>"It's a wonderful time, Britt," said Rantoul, resuming his place. +"There's nothing like it anywhere on the face of the globe—the +possibilities of concentration and simplification here in business. It's +a great game, too, matching your wits against another's. We're building +empires of trade, order out of chaos. I'm making an awful lot of money."</p> + +<p>Herkimer remained obstinately silent during the rest of the dinner. +Everything seemed to fetter him—the constraint of dining before the +silent, flitting butler, servants who whisked his plate away before he +knew it, the succession of unrecognizable dishes, the constant jargon of +social eavesdroppings that Mrs. Rantoul pressed into action the moment +her husband's recollections exiled her from the conversation; but above +all, the indefinable enmity that seemed to well out from his hostess, +and which he seemed to divine occasionally when the ready smile left her +lips and she was forced to listen to things she did not understand.</p> + +<p>When they rose from the table, Rantoul passed his arm about his wife and +said something in her ear, at which she smiled and patted his hand.</p> + +<p>"I am very proud of my husband, Mr. Herkimer," she said with a little +bob of her head in which was a sense of proprietorship. "You'll see."</p> + +<p>"Suppose we stroll out for a little smoke in the garden," said Rantoul.</p> + +<p>"What, you're going to leave me?" she said instantly, with a shade of +vague uneasiness, that Herkimer perceived.</p> + +<p>"We sha'n't be long, dear," said Rantoul, pinching her ear. "Our chatter +won't interest you. Send the coffee out into the rose cupola."</p> + +<p>They passed out into the open porch, but Herkimer was aware of the +little woman standing irresolutely tapping with her thin finger on the +table, and he said to himself: "She's a little ogress of jealousy. What +the deuce is she afraid I'll say to him?"</p> + +<p>They rambled through sweet-scented paths, under the high-flung network +of stars, hearing only the crunching of little pebbles under foot.</p> + +<p>"You've given up painting?" said Herkimer all at once.</p> + +<p>"Yes, though that doesn't count," said Rantoul, abruptly; but there was +in his voice a different note, something of the restlessness of the old +Don Furioso. "Talk to me of the Quarter. Who's at the Café des Lilacs +now? They tell me that little Ragin we used to torment so has made some +great decorations. What became of that pretty girl in the creamery of +the Rue de l'Ombre who used to help us over the lean days?"</p> + +<p>"Whom you christened Our Lady of the Sparrows?" "Yes, yes. You know I +sent her the silk dress and the earrings I promised her."</p> + +<p>Herkimer began to speak of one thing and another, of Bennett, who had +gone dramatically to the Transvaal; of Le Gage, who was now in the +forefront of the younger group of landscapists; of the old types that +still came faithfully to the Café des Lilacs,—the old chess-players, +the fat proprietor, with his fat wife and three fat children who dined +there regularly every Sunday,—of the new revolutionary ideas among the +younger men that were beginning to assert themselves.</p> + +<p>"Let's sit down," said Rantoul, as though suffocating.</p> + +<p>They placed themselves in wicker easy-chairs, under the heavy-scented +rose cupola, disdaining the coffee that waited on a table. From where +they were a red-tiled walk, with flower beds nodding in enchanted sleep, +ran to the veranda. The porch windows were open, and in the golden +lamplight Herkimer saw the figure of Tina Glover bent intently over an +embroidery, drawing her needle with uneven stitches, her head seeming +inclined to catch the faintest sound. The waiting, nervous pose, the +slender figure on guard, brought to him a strange, almost uncanny +sensation of mystery, and feeling the sudden change in the mood of the +man at his side, he gazed at the figure of the wife and said to himself:</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page042'></a> +<img src='images/image-page042.jpg' width='561' height='600' alt='Our Lady of the Sparrows' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"I'd give a good deal to know what's passing through that little head. +What is she afraid of?"</p> + +<p>"You're surprised to find me as I am," said Rantoul, abruptly breaking +the silence.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You can't understand it?"</p> + +<p>"When did you give up painting?" said Herkimer, shortly, with a sure +feeling that the hour of confidences had come.</p> + +<p>"Seven years ago."</p> + +<p>"Why in God's name did you do it?" said Herkimer, flinging away his +cigar angrily. "You weren't just any one—Tom, Dick, or Harry. You had +something to say, man. Listen. I know what I'm talking about,—I've seen +the whole procession in the last ten years,—you were one in a thousand. +You were a creator. You had ideas; you were meant to be a leader, to +head a movement. You had more downright savage power, undeveloped, but +tugging at the chain, than any man I've known. Why did you do it?"</p> + +<p>"I had almost forgotten," said Rantoul, slowly. "Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Am I sure?" said Herkimer, furiously. "I say what I mean; you know it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's true," said Rantoul. He stretched out his hand and drank +his coffee, but without knowing what he did. "Well, that's all of the +past—what might have been."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"Britt, old fellow," said Rantoul at last, speaking as though to +himself, "did you ever have a moment when you suddenly got out of +yourself, looked at yourself and at your life as a spectator?—saw the +strange strings that had pulled you this way and that, and realized what +might have been had you turned one corner at a certain day of your life +instead of another?"</p> + +<p>"No, I've gone where I wanted to go," said Herkimer, obstinately.</p> + +<p>"You think so. Well, to-night I can see myself for the first time," said +Rantoul. Then he added meditatively, "I have done not one single thing I +wanted to."</p> + +<p>"But why—why?"</p> + +<p>"You have brought it all back to me," said Rantoul, ignoring this +question. "It hurts. I suppose to-morrow I shall resent it, but to-night +I feel too deeply. There is nothing free about us in this world, Britt. +I profoundly believe that. Everything we do from morning to night is +dictated by the direction of those about us. An enemy, some one in the +open, we can combat and resist; but it is those that are nearest to us +who disarm us because they love us, that change us most, that thwart our +desires, and make over our lives. Nothing in this world is so +inexorable, so terribly, terribly irresistible as a woman without +strength, without logic, without vision, who only loves."</p> + +<p>"He is going to say things he will regret," thought Herkimer, and yet +he did not object. Instead, he glanced down the dimly flushed path to +the house where Mrs. Rantoul was sitting, her embroidery on her lap, her +head raised as though listening. Suddenly he said:</p> + +<p>"Look here, Clyde, do you want to tell me this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do; it's life. Why not? We are at the age when we've got to face +things."</p> + +<p>"Still—"</p> + +<p>"Let me go on," said Rantoul, stopping him. He reached out +absent-mindedly, and drank the second cup. "Let me say now, Britt, for +fear you'll misunderstand, there has never been the slightest quarrel +between my wife and me. She loves me absolutely; nothing else in this +world exists for her. It has always been so; she cannot bear even to +have me out of her sight. I am very happy. Only there is in such a love +something of the tiger—a fierce animal jealousy of every one and +everything which could even for a moment take my thoughts away. At this +moment she is probably suffering untold pangs because she thinks I am +regretting the days in which she was not in my life."</p> + +<p>"And because she could not understand your art, she hated it," said +Herkimer, with a growing anger.</p> + +<p>"No, it wasn't that. It was something more subtle, more instinctive, +more impossible to combat," said Rantoul, shaking his head. "Do you know +what is the great essential to the artist—to whoever creates? The +sense of privacy, the power to isolate his own genius from everything in +the world, to be absolutely concentrated. To create we must be alone, +have strange, unuttered thoughts, just as in the realms of the soul +every human being must have moments of complete isolation—thoughts, +reveries, moods, that cannot be shared with even those we love best. You +don't understand that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>"At the bottom we human beings come and depart absolutely alone. +Friendship, love, all that we instinctively seek to rid ourselves of, +this awful solitude of the soul, avail nothing. Well, what others shrink +from, the artist must seek."</p> + +<p>"But you could not make her understand that?"</p> + +<p>"I was dealing with a child," said Rantoul. "I loved that child, and I +could not bear even to see a frown of unhappiness cloud her face. Then +she adored me. What can be answered to that?"</p> + +<p>"That's true."</p> + +<p>"At first it was not so difficult. We passed around the world—Greece, +India, Japan. She came and sat by my side when I took my easel; every +stroke of my brush seemed like a miracle. A hundred times she would cry +out her delight. Naturally that amused me. From time to time I would +suspend the sittings and reward my patient little audience—"</p> + +<p>"And the sketches?"</p> + +<p>"They were not what I wanted," said Rantoul with a little laugh; "but +they were not bad. When I returned here and opened my studio, it began +to be difficult. She could not understand that I wanted to work eighteen +hours a day. She begged for my afternoons. I gave in. She embraced me +frantically and said; 'Oh, how good you are! Now I won't be jealous any +more, and every morning I will come with you and inspire you.'"</p> + +<p>"Every morning," said Herkimer, softly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Rantoul, with a little hesitation, "every morning. She +fluttered about the studio like a pink-and-white butterfly, sending me a +kiss from her dainty fingers whenever I looked her way. She watched over +my shoulder every stroke, and when I did something that pleased her, I +felt her lips on my neck, behind my ear, and heard her say, 'That is +your reward.'"</p> + +<p>"Every day?" said Herkimer.</p> + +<p>"Every day."</p> + +<p>"And when you had a model?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, then it was worse. She treated the models as though they were +convicts, watching them out of the corners of her eyes. Her +demonstration of affection redoubled, her caresses never stopped, as +though she wished to impress upon them her proprietorship. Those days +she was really jealous."</p> + +<p>"God—how could you stand it?" said Herkimer, violently.</p> + +<p>"To be frank, the more she outraged me as an artist, the more she +pleased me as a man. To be loved so absolutely, especially if you are +sensitive to such things, has an intoxication of its own, yes, she +fascinated me more and more."</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary."</p> + +<p>"One day I tried to make her understand that I had need to be alone. She +listened to me solemnly, with only a little quiver of her lips, and let +me go. When I returned, I found her eyes swollen with weeping and her +heart bursting."</p> + +<p>"And you took her in your arms and promised never to send her away +again."</p> + +<p>"Naturally. Then I began to go out into society to please her. Next +something very interesting came up, and I neglected my studio for a +morning. The same thing happened again and again. I had a period of wild +revolt, of bitter anger, in which I resolved to be firm, to insist on my +privacy, to make the fight."</p> + +<p>"And you never did?"</p> + +<p>"When her arms were about me, when I saw her eyes, full of adoration and +passion, raised to my own, I forgot all my irritation in my happiness as +a man. I said to myself, 'Life is short; it is better to be loved than +to wait for glory.' One afternoon, under the pretext of examining the +grove, I stole away to the studio, and pulled out some of the old +things that I had done in Paris—and sat and gazed at them. My throat +began to fill, and I felt the tears coming to my eyes, when I looked +around and saw her standing wide-eyed at the door.</p> + +<p>"'What are you doing?' she said.</p> + +<p>"'Looking at some of the old things.'</p> + +<p>"'You regret those days?'</p> + +<p>"'Of course not.'</p> + +<p>"'Then why do you steal away from me, make a pretext to come here? Isn't +my love great enough for you? Do you want to put me out of your life +altogether? You used to tell me that I inspired you. If you want, we'll +give up the afternoons. I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for +you by the hour—only don't shut the door on me!'</p> + +<p>"She began to cry. I took her in my arms, said everything that she +wished me to say, heedlessly, brutally, not caring what I said.</p> + +<p>"That night I ran off, resolved to end it all—to save what I longed +for. I remained five hours trudging in the night—pulled back and forth. +I remembered my children. I came back,—told a lie. The next day I shut +the door of the studio not on her, but on myself.</p> + +<p>"For months I did nothing. I was miserable. She saw it at last, and said +to me:</p> + +<p>"'You ought to work. You aren't happy doing nothing. I've arranged +something for you.'</p> + +<p>"I raised my head in amazement, as she continued, +clapping her hands with delight:</p> + +<p>"'I've talked it all over with papa. You'll go into his office. You'll +do big things. He's quite enthusiastic, and I promised for you.'</p> + +<p>"I went. I became interested. I stayed. Now I am like any other man, +domesticated, conservative, living my life, and she has not the +slightest idea of what she has killed."</p> + +<p>"Let us go in," said Herkimer, rising.</p> + +<p>"And you say I could have left a name?" said Rantoul, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"You were wrong to tell me all this," said Herkimer.</p> + +<p>"I owed you the explanation. What could I do?"</p> + +<p>"Lie."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because, after such a confidence, it is impossible for you ever to see +me again. You know it."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. I—"</p> + +<p>"Let's go back."</p> + +<p>Full of dull anger and revolt, Herkimer led the way. Rantoul, after a +few steps, caught him by the sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Don't take it too seriously, Britt. I don't revolt any more. I'm no +longer the Rantoul you knew."</p> + +<p>"That's just the trouble," said Herkimer, cruelly.</p> + +<p>When their steps sounded near, Mrs. Rantoul rose hastily, spilling her +silk and needles on the floor. She gave her husband a swift, searching +look, and said with her flattering smile:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Herkimer, you must be a very interesting talker. I am quite +jealous."</p> + +<p>"I am rather tired," he answered, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go +off to bed."</p> + +<p>"Really?" she said, raising her eyes. She extended her hand, and he took +it with almost the physical repulsion with which one would touch the +hand of a criminal. The next morning he left.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When Herkimer had finished, he shrugged his shoulders, gave a short +laugh, and, glancing at the clock, went off in his curt, purposeful +manner.</p> + +<p>"Well, by Jove!" said Steingall, recovering first from the spell of the +story, "doesn't that prove exactly what I said? They're jealous, they're +all jealous, I tell you, jealous of everything you do. All they want us +to do is to adore them. By Jove! Herkimer's right. Rantoul was the +biggest of us all. She murdered him just as much as though she had put a +knife in him."</p> + +<p>"She did it on purpose," said De Gollyer. "There was nothing childlike +about her, either. On the contrary, I consider her a clever, a +devilishly clever woman."</p> + +<p>"Of course she did. They're all clever, damn them!" said Steingall, +explosively. "Now, what do you say, Quinny? I say that an artist who +marries might just as well tie a rope around his neck and present it to +his wife and have it over."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Quinny, with a sudden inspiration reorganizing +his whole battle front, "every artist should marry. The only danger is +that he may marry happily."</p> + +<p>"What?" cried Steingall. "But you said—"</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I have germinated some new ideas," said Quinny, +unconcerned. "The story has a moral,—I detest morals,—but this has +one. An artist should always marry unhappily, and do you know why? +Purely a question of chemistry. Towsey, when do you work the best?"</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?" said Towsey, rousing himself.</p> + +<p>"I've heard you say that you worked best when your nerves were all on +edge—night out, cucumbers, thunder-storm, or a touch of fever."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's so."</p> + +<p>"Can any one work well when everything is calm?" continued Quinny, +triumphantly, to the amazement of Rankin and Steingall. "Can you work on +a clear spring day, when nothing bothers you and the first of the month +is two weeks off, eh? Of course you can't. Happiness is the enemy of the +artist. It puts to sleep the faculties. Contentment is a drug. My dear +men, an artist should always be unhappy. Perpetual state of +fermentation sets the nerves throbbing, sensitive to impressions. +Exaltation and remorse, anger and inspiration, all hodge-podge, chemical +action and reaction, all this we are blessed with when we are unhappily +married. Domestic infelicity drives us to our art; happiness makes us +neglect it. Shall I tell you what I do when everything is smooth, no +nerves, no inspiration, fat, puffy Sunday-dinner-feeling, too happy, +can't work? I go home and start a quarrel with my wife."</p> + +<p>"And then you <i>can</i> work," cried Steingall, roaring with laughter. "By +Jove, you <i>are</i> immense!"</p> + +<p>"Never better," said Quinny, who appeared like a prophet.</p> + +<p>The four artists, who had listened to Herkimer's story in that gradual +thickening depression which the subject of matrimony always let down +over them, suddenly brightened visibly. On their faces appeared the look +of inward speculation, and then a ray of light.</p> + +<p>Little Towsey, who from his arrival had sulked, fretted, and fumed, +jumped up energetically and flung away his third cigar.</p> + +<p>"Here, where are you going?" said Rankin in protest.</p> + +<p>"Over to the studio," said Towsey, quite unconsciously. "I feel like a +little work."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='ONE_HUNDRED_IN_THE_DARK'></a><h2>ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK</h2> +<br /> + +<p>They were discussing languidly, as such groups do, seeking from each +topic a peg on which to hang a few epigrams that might be retold in the +lip currency of the club—Steingall, the painter, florid of gesture and +effete, foreign in type, with black-rimmed glasses and trailing ribbon +of black silk that cut across his cropped beard and cavalry mustaches; +De Gollyer, a critic, who preferred to be known as a man about town, +short, feverish, incisive, who slew platitudes with one adjective and +tagged a reputation with three; Rankin, the architect, always in a +defensive explanatory attitude, who held his elbows on the table, his +hands before his long sliding nose, and gestured with his fingers; +Quinny, the illustrator, long and gaunt, with a predatory eloquence that +charged irresistibly down on any subject, cut it off, surrounded it, and +raked it with enfilading wit and satire; and Peters, whose methods of +existence were a mystery, a young man of fifty, who had done nothing and +who knew every one by his first name, the club postman, who carried the +tittle-tattle, the <i>bon mots</i> and the news of the day, who drew up a +petition a week and pursued the house committee with a daily grievance.</p> + +<p>About the latticed porch, which ran around the sanded yard with its +feeble fountain and futile evergreens, other groups were eying one +another, or engaging in desultory conversation, oppressed with the +heaviness of the night.</p> + +<p>At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he devoured the +conversation, having routed Steingall on the Germans and archæology and +Rankin on the origins of the Lord's Prayer, had seized a chance remark +of De Gollyer's to say:</p> + +<p>"There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like everything +that's true it isn't true." He waved his long, gouty fingers in the +direction of Steingall, who, having been silenced, was regarding him +with a look of sleepy indifference. "What is more to the point, is the +small number of human relations that are so simple and yet so +fundamental that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and +reinterpreted in every language, in every age, and yet remain +inexhaustible in the possibility of variations."</p> + +<p>"By George, that is so," said Steingall, waking up. "Every art does go +back to three or four notes. In composition it is the same thing. +Nothing new—nothing new since a thousand years. By George, that is +true! We invent nothing, nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Take the eternal triangle," said Quinny hurriedly, not to surrender his +advantage, while Rankin and De Gollyer in a bored way continued to gaze +dreamily at a vagrant star or two. "Two men and a woman, or two women +and a man. Obviously it should be classified as the first of the great +original parent themes. Its variations extend into the thousands. By the +way, Rankin, excellent opportunity, eh, for some of our modern, +painstaking, unemployed jackasses to analyze and classify."</p> + +<p>"Quite right," said Rankin without perceiving the satirical note. "Now +there's De Maupassant's Fort comma la Mort—quite the most interesting +variation—shows the turn a genius can give. There the triangle is the +man of middle age, the mother he has loved in his youth and the daughter +he comes to love. It forms, you might say, the head of a whole +subdivision of modern continental literature."</p> + +<p>"Quite wrong, Rankin, quite wrong," said Quinny, who would have stated +the other side quite as imperiously. "What you cite is a variation of +quite another theme, the Faust theme—old age longing for youth, the man +who has loved longing for the love of his youth, which is youth itself. +The triangle is the theme of jealousy, the most destructive and, +therefore, the most dramatic of human passions. The Faust theme is the +most fundamental and inevitable of all human experiences, the tragedy of +life itself. Quite a different thing."</p> + +<p>Rankin, who never agreed with Quinny unless Quinny maliciously took +advantage of his prior announcement to agree with him, continued to +combat this idea.</p> + +<p>"You believe then," said De Gollyer after a certain moment had been +consumed in hair splitting, "that the origin of all dramatic themes is +simply the expression of some human emotion. In other words, there can +exist no more parent themes than there are human emotions."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, sir, very well put," said Quinny with a generous wave of +his hand. "Why is the Three Musketeers a basic theme? Simply the +interpretation of comradeship, the emotion one man feels for another, +vital because it is the one peculiarly masculine emotion. Look at Du +Maurier and Trilby, Kipling in Soldiers Three—simply the Three +Musketeers."</p> + +<p>"The Vie de Bohème?" suggested Steingall.</p> + +<p>"In the real Vie de Bohème, yes," said Quinny viciously. "Not in the +concocted sentimentalities that we now have served up to us by athletic +tenors and consumptive elephants!"</p> + +<p>Rankin, who had been silently deliberating on what had been left behind, +now said cunningly and with evident purpose:</p> + +<p>"All the same, I don't agree with you men at all. I believe there are +situations, original situations, that are independent of your human +emotions, that exist just because they are situations, accidental and +nothing else."</p> + +<p>"As for instance?" said Quinny, preparing to attack.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll just cite an ordinary one that happens to come to my mind," +said Rankin, who had carefully selected his test. "In a group of seven +or eight, such as we are here, a theft takes place; one man is the +thief—which one? I'd like to know what emotion that interprets, and yet +it certainly is an original theme, at the bottom of a whole literature."</p> + +<p>This challenge was like a bomb.</p> + +<p>"Not the same thing."</p> + +<p>"Detective stories, bah!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Rankin, that's literary melodrama."</p> + +<p>Rankin, satisfied, smiled and winked victoriously over to Tommers, who +was listening from an adjacent table.</p> + +<p>"Of course your suggestion is out of order, my dear man, to this +extent," said Quinny, who never surrendered, "in that I am talking of +fundamentals and you are citing details. Nevertheless, I could answer +that the situation you give, as well as the whole school it belongs to, +can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions, curiosity; and +that the story of Bluebeard and the Moonstone are to all purposes +identically the same."</p> + +<p>At this Steingall, who had waited hopefully, gasped and made as though +to leave the table.</p> + +<p>"I shall take up your contention," said Quinny without pause for breath, +"first, because you have opened up one of my pet topics, and, second, +because it gives me a chance to talk." He gave a sidelong glance at +Steingall and winked at De Gollyer. "What is the peculiar fascination +that the detective problem exercises over the human mind? You will say +curiosity. Yes and no. Admit at once that the whole art of a detective +story consists in the statement of the problem. Any one can do it. I can +do it. Steingall even can do it. The solution doesn't count. It is +usually banal; it should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we +guess it? Just as an able-minded man will sit down for hours and fiddle +over the puzzle column in a Sunday balderdash. Same idea. There you have +it, the problem—the detective story. Now why the fascination? I'll tell +you. It appeals to our curiosity, yes—but deeper to a sort of +intellectual vanity. Here are six matches, arrange them to make four +squares; five men present, a theft takes place—who's the thief? Who +will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior cleverness—see? +That's all—that's all there is to it."</p> + +<p>"Out of all of which," said De Gollyer, "the interesting thing is that +Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply of detective fiction is +inexhaustible. It does all come down to the simplest terms. Seven +possibilities, one answer. It is a formula, ludicrously simple, +mechanical, and yet we will always pursue it to the end. The marvel is +that writers should seek for any other formula when here is one so +safe, that can never fail. By George, I could start up a factory on it."</p> + +<p>"The reason is," said Rankin, "that the situation does constantly occur. +It's a situation that any of us might get into any time. As a matter of +fact, now, I personally know two such occasions when I was of the party; +and devilish uncomfortable it was too."</p> + +<p>"What happened?" said Steingall.</p> + +<p>"Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake had been made +and the other time the real thief was detected by accident a year later. +In both cases only one or two of us knew what had happened."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, after +reflection, related another that had happened to a friend.</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen," said Quinny impatiently, for +he had been silent too long, "you are glorifying commonplaces. Every +crime, I tell you, expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle +that you feed to your six-year-old. It's only the variation that is +interesting. Now quite the most remarkable turn of the complexities that +can be developed is, of course, the well-known instance of the visitor +at a club and the rare coin. Of course every one knows that? What?"</p> + +<p>Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others protested their +ignorance.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's very well known," said Quinny lightly.</p> + +<p>"A distinguished visitor is brought into a club—dozen men, say, +present, at dinner, long table. Conversation finally veers around to +curiosities and relics. One of the members present then takes from his +pocket what he announces as one of the rarest coins in existence—passes +it around the table. Coin travels back and forth, every one examining +it, and the conversation goes to another topic, say the influence of the +automobile on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely +intellectual club topic—you know? All at once the owner calls for his +coin.</p> + +<p>"The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at every one else. +First they suspect a joke. Then it becomes serious—the coin is +immensely valuable. Who has taken it?</p> + +<p>"The owner is a gentleman—does the gentlemanly idiotic thing of course, +laughs, says he knows some one is playing a practical joke on him and +that the coin will be returned to-morrow. The others refuse to leave the +situation so. One man proposes that they all submit to a search. Every +one gives his assent until it comes to the stranger. He refuses, curtly, +roughly, without giving any reason. Uncomfortable silence—the man is a +guest. No one knows him particularly well—but still he is a guest. One +member tries to make him understand that no offense is offered, that the +suggestion was simply to clear the atmosphere, and all that sort of +bally rot, you know.</p> + +<p>"'I refuse to allow my person to be searched,' says the stranger, very +firm, very proud, very English, you know, 'and I refuse to give my +reason for my action.'</p> + +<p>"Another silence. The men eye him and then glance at one another. What's +to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette—that magnificent inflated +balloon. The visitor evidently has the coin—but he is their guest and +etiquette protects him. Nice situation, eh?</p> + +<p>"The table is cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit and there under +the ledge of the plate where it had been pushed—is the coin. Banal +explanation, eh? Of course. Solutions always should be. At once every +one in profuse apologies! Whereupon the visitor rises and says:</p> + +<p>"'Now I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched. There are +only two known specimens of the coin in existence, and the second +happens to be here in my waistcoat pocket.'"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Quinny with a shrug of his shoulders, "the story is +well invented, but the turn to it is very nice—very nice indeed."</p> + +<p>"I did know the story," said Steingall, to be disagreeable; "the ending, +though, is too obvious to be invented. The visitor should have had on +him not another coin, but something absolutely different, something +destructive, say, of a woman's reputation, and a great tragedy should +have been threatened by the casual misplacing of the coin."</p> + +<p>"I have heard the same story told in a dozen different ways," said +Rankin.</p> + +<p>"It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening," +said Steingall.</p> + +<p>"I know one extraordinary instance," said Peters, who up to the present, +secure in his climax, had waited with a professional smile until the big +guns had been silenced. "In fact, the most extraordinary instance of +this sort I have ever heard."</p> + +<p>"Peters, you little rascal," said Quinny with a sidelong glance, "I +perceive you have quietly been letting us dress the stage for you."</p> + +<p>"It is not a story that will please every one," said Peters, to whet +their appetite.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because you will want to know what no one can ever know."</p> + +<p>"It has no conclusion then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, quite the most remarkable +woman I have ever met, the story is complete. As for the rest, it is +what it is, because it is one example where literature can do nothing +better than record."</p> + +<p>"Do I know the woman?" asked De Gollyer, who flattered himself on +passing through every class of society.</p> + +<p>"Possibly, but no more than any one else."</p> + +<p>"An actress?"</p> + +<p>"What she has been in the past I don't know—a promoter would better +describe her. Undoubtedly she has been behind the scenes in many an +untold intrigue of the business world. A very feminine woman, and yet, +as you shall see, with an unusual instantaneous masculine power of +decision."</p> + +<p>"Peters," said Quinny, waving a warning finger, "you are destroying your +story. Your preface will bring an anticlimax."</p> + +<p>"You shall judge," said Peters, who waited until his audience was in +strained attention before opening his story. "The names are, of course, +disguises."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rita Kildair inhabited a charming bachelor-girl studio, very +elegant, of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings just off Central +Park West. She knew pretty nearly every one in that indescribable +society in New York that is drawn from all levels, and that imposes but +one condition for membership—to be amusing. She knew every one and no +one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest rumors her history or her +means. No one had ever heard of a Mr. Kildair. There was always about +her a certain defensive reserve the moment the limits of +acquaintanceship had been reached. She had a certain amount of money, +she knew a certain number of men in Wall Street affairs and her studio +was furnished with taste and even distinction. She was of any age. She +might have suffered everything or nothing at all. In this mingled +society her invitations were eagerly sought, her dinners were +spontaneous, and the discussions, though gay and usually daring, were +invariably under the control of wit and good taste.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday night of this adventure she had, according to her +invariable custom, sent away her Japanese butler and invited to an +informal chafing-dish supper seven of her more congenial friends, all of +whom, as much as could be said of any one, were habitués of the studio.</p> + +<p>At seven o'clock, having finished dressing, she put in order her +bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between the studio and a +small dining room to the kitchen beyond. Then, going into the studio, +she lit a wax taper and was in the act of touching off the brass +candlesticks that lighted the room when three knocks sounded on the door +and a Mr. Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed, +entered with the informality of assured acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"You are early," said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, you are late," said the broker, glancing at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Then be a good boy and help me with the candles," she said, giving him +a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers.</p> + +<p>He obeyed, asking nonchalantly:</p> + +<p>"I say, dear lady, who's to be here to-night?"</p> + +<p>"The Enos Jacksons."</p> + +<p>"I thought they were separated."</p> + +<p>"Not yet."</p> + +<p>"Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have thought of serving us +a couple on the verge."</p> + +<p>"It's interesting, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?"</p> + +<p>"Through the Warings. Jackson's a rather doubtful person, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Let's call him a very sharp lawyer," said Flanders defensively. "They +tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of the market—in deep."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I? I'm a bachelor," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "and if +I come a cropper it makes no difference."</p> + +<p>"Is that possible?" she said, looking at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"Probable even. And who else is coming?"</p> + +<p>"Maude Lille—you know her?"</p> + +<p>"I think not."</p> + +<p>"You met her here—a journalist."</p> + +<p>"Quite so, a strange career."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harris, a clubman, is coming, and the Stanley Cheevers."</p> + +<p>"The Stanley Cheevers!" said Flanders with some surprise. "Are we going +to gamble?"</p> + +<p>"You believe in that scandal about bridge?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Flanders, smiling. "You see I was present. The +Cheevers play a good game, a well united game, and have an unusual +system of makes. By-the-way, it's Jackson who is very attentive to Mrs. +Cheever, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Quite right."</p> + +<p>"What a charming party," said Flanders flippantly. "And where does Maude +Lille come in?"</p> + +<p>"Don't joke. She is in a desperate way," said Mrs. Kildair, with a +little sadness in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"And Harris?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of +respectability."</p> + +<p>"Of what?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping his glance.</p> + +<p>"Don't be an ass with me, my dear Flanders."</p> + +<p>"By George, if this were Europe I'd wager you were in the secret +service, Mrs. Kildair."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>She smiled appreciatively and moved about the studio, giving the +finishing touches. The Stanley Cheevers entered, a short fat man with a +vacant fat face and a slow-moving eye, and his wife, voluble, nervous, +overdressed and pretty. Mr. Harris came with Maude Lille, a woman, +straight, dark, Indian, with great masses of somber hair held in a +little too loosely for neatness, with thick, quick lips and eyes that +rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The Enos Jacksons +were late and still agitated as they entered. His forehead had not quite +banished the scowl, nor her eyes the scorn. He was of the type that +never lost his temper, but caused others to lose theirs, immovable in +his opinions, with a prowling walk, a studied antagonism in his manner, +and an impudent look that fastened itself unerringly on the weakness in +the person to whom he spoke. Mrs. Jackson, who seemed fastened to her +husband by an invisible leash, had a hunted, resisting quality back of a +certain desperate dash, which she assumed rather than felt in her +attitude toward life. One looked at her curiously and wondered what such +a nature would do in a crisis, with a lurking sense of a woman who +carried with her her own impending tragedy.</p> + +<p>As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity of the +selection had been perceived, a smile of malicious anticipation ran the +rounds, which the hostess cut short by saying:</p> + +<p>"Well, now that every one is here, this is the order of the night: You +can quarrel all you want, you can whisper all the gossip you can think +of about one another, but every one is to be amusing! Also every one is +to help with the dinner—nothing formal and nothing serious. We may all +be bankrupt to-morrow, divorced or dead, but to-night we will be +gay—that is the invariable rule of the house!"</p> + +<p>Immediately a nervous laughter broke out and the company chattering +began to scatter through the rooms.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildair, stopping in her bedroom, donned a Watteaulike cooking +apron, and slipping her rings from her fingers fixed the three on her +pincushion with a hatpin.</p> + +<p>"Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful," said the low voice of Maude +Lille, who with Harris and Mrs. Cheever were in the room.</p> + +<p>"There's only one that is very valuable," said Mrs. Kildair, touching +with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost, two large diamonds, +flanking a magnificent sapphire.</p> + +<p>"It is beautiful—very beautiful," said the journalist, her eyes +fastened to it with an uncontrollable fascination. She put out her +fingers and let them rest caressingly on the sapphire, withdrawing them +quickly as though the contact had burned them.</p> + +<p>"It must be very valuable," she said, her breath catching a little. Mrs. +Cheever, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring.</p> + +<p>"It cost five thousand six years ago," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing down +at it. "It has been my talisman ever since. For the moment, however, I +am cook; Maude Lille, you are scullery maid; Harris is the chef, and we +are under his orders. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling.</p> + +<p>"Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All +you'll have to do is to help set the table. On to the kitchen!"</p> + +<p>Under their hostess's gay guidance the seven guests began to circulate +busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping the chairs, opening +bottles, and preparing the material for the chafing dishes. Mrs. Kildair +in the kitchen ransacked the ice box, and with her own hands chopped the +<i>fines herbes</i>, shredded the chicken and measured the cream.</p> + +<p>"Flanders, carry this in carefully," she said, her hands in a towel. +"Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the salad bowl on the table. +Everything ready, Harris? All right. Every one sit down. I'll be right +in."</p> + +<p>She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her apron hung it in +the closet. Then going to her dressing table she drew the hatpin from +the pincushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at +once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were +there, the third ring, the one with the sapphire and the two diamonds, +was missing.</p> + +<p>"Stupid," she said to herself, and returned to her dressing table. All +at once she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the pin +through the three rings.</p> + +<p>She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving, her +fingers drumming slowly on the table, her head to one side, her lip +drawn in a little between her teeth, listening with a frown to the +babble from the outer room. Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests +had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been +busy in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Too much time before the mirror, dear lady," called out Flanders gaily, +who from where he was seated could see her.</p> + +<p>"It is not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. "Why not? He is +clever—who knows? Let me think."</p> + +<p>To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her head bowed, +her thumb between her teeth.</p> + +<p>"Who has taken it?"</p> + +<p>She ran over the character of her guests and their situations as she +knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped upon some reason +that might explain a sudden temptation.</p> + +<p>"I shall find out nothing this way," she said to herself after a +moment's deliberation; "that is not the important thing to me just now. +The important thing is to get the ring back."</p> + +<p>And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her +clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her journey.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, as Harris, installed <i>en maître</i> over the chafing +dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs. Kildair came into +the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with +scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it at the +same moment, with a little nervous start.</p> + +<p>"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Flanders, "you come in on us like a +Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a surprise?"</p> + +<p>As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing her forehead +together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line.</p> + +<p>"I have something to say to you," she said in a sharp, businesslike +manner, watching the company with penetrating eagerness.</p> + +<p>There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. Harris +extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish clumsily with a +discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Enos Jackson swung +about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while the men +imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the +feet.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Enos Jackson?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."</p> + +<p>"Kindly do as I ask you."</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost +an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his eyebrows a little in +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Go to the door," she continued, shifting her glance from him to the +others. "Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the key."</p> + +<p>He executed the order without bungling, and returning stood before her, +tendering the key.</p> + +<p>"You've locked it?" she said, making the words an excuse to bury her +glance in his.</p> + +<p>"As you wished me to."</p> + +<p>"Thanks."</p> + +<p>She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the +door into her bedroom through which she had come.</p> + +<p>Then transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of +Jackson, who still awaited her further commands, her eyes studied a +moment the possibilities of the apartment.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cheever?" she said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."</p> + +<p>"Blow out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table."</p> + +<p>"Put out the lights, Mrs. Kildair?"</p> + +<p>"At once."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of +questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the hostess.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," said Mrs. Jackson with a little nervous +catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up! My +nerves—"</p> + +<p>"Miss Lille?" said the voice of command.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The journalist, calmer than the rest, had watched the proceedings +without surprise, as though forewarned by professional instinct that +something of importance was about to take place. Now she rose quietly +with an almost stealthy motion.</p> + +<p>"Put the candelabrum on this table—here," said Mrs. Kildair, indicating +a large round table on which a few books were grouped. "No, wait. Mr. +Jackson, first clear off the table. I want nothing on it."</p> + +<p>"But, Mrs. Kildair—" began Mrs. Jackson's shrill voice again.</p> + +<p>"That's it. Now put down the candelabrum."</p> + +<p>In a moment, as Mr. Cheever proceeded methodically on his errand, the +brilliant crossfire of lights dropped in the studio, only a few +smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high room seemed to +grow more distant as it came under the sole dominion of the three +candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table.</p> + +<p>"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice had in it a cold note. +"My sapphire ring has just been stolen."</p> + +<p>She said it suddenly, hurling the news among them and waiting +ferret-like for some indications in the chorus that broke out.</p> + +<p>"Stolen!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair!"</p> + +<p>"Stolen—by Jove!"</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it!"</p> + +<p>"What! Stolen here—to-night?"</p> + +<p>"The ring has been taken within the last twenty minutes," continued Mrs. +Kildair in the same determined, chiseled tone. "I am not going to mince +words. The ring has been taken and the thief is among you."</p> + +<p>For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp and a sudden +turning and searching, then suddenly Cheever's deep bass broke out:</p> + +<p>"Stolen! But, Mrs. Kildair, is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt," said Mrs. Kildair. "Three +of you were in my bedroom when I placed my rings on the pincushion. Each +of you has passed through there a dozen times since. My sapphire ring is +gone, and one of you has taken it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jackson gave a little scream, and reached heavily for a glass of +water. Mrs. Cheever said something inarticulate in the outburst of +masculine exclamation. Only Maude Lille's calm voice could be heard +saying:</p> + +<p>"Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The sapphire ring +was on top."</p> + +<p>"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, her eyes on Maude Lille's eyes. "I am +not going to mince words. I am not going to stand on ceremony. I'm going +to have that ring back. Listen to me carefully. I'm going to have that +ring back, and until I do, not a soul shall leave this room." She tapped +on the table with her nervous knuckles. "Who has taken it I do not care +to know. All I want is my ring. Now I'm going to make it possible for +whoever took it to restore it without possibility of detection. The +doors are locked and will stay locked. I am going to put out the lights, +and I am going to count one hundred slowly. You will be in absolute +darkness; no one will know or see what is done. But if at the end of +that time the ring is not here on this table I shall telephone the +police and have every one in this room searched. Am I quite clear?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she cut short the nervous outbreak of suggestions and in the +same firm voice continued:</p> + +<p>"Every one take his place about the table. That's it. That will do."</p> + +<p>The women, with the exception of the inscrutable Maude Lille, gazed +hysterically from face to face while the men, compressing their fingers, +locking them or grasping their chins, looked straight ahead fixedly at +their hostess.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildair, having calmly assured herself that all were ranged as she +wished, blew out two of the three candles.</p> + +<p>"I shall count one hundred, no more, no less," she said. "Either I get +back that ring or every one in this room is to be searched, remember."</p> + +<p>Leaning over, she blew out the remaining candle and snuffed it.</p> + +<p>"One, two, three, four, five—"</p> + +<p>She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a clock's ticking.</p> + +<p>In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, the +grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man.</p> + +<p>"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—"</p> + +<p>She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her +voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the company. +A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the verge of +hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his throat.</p> + +<p>"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven—"</p> + +<p>Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure the +slightest, only the sound became more metallic.</p> + +<p>"Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy—"</p> + +<p>Some one had sighed.</p> + +<p>"Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, +seventy-seven—"</p> + +<p>All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the table +was heard a slight metallic note.</p> + +<p>"The ring!"</p> + +<p>It was Maude Lille's quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. Kildair continued +to count.</p> + +<p>"Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one—"</p> + +<p>The tension became unbearable. Two or three voices protested against the +needless prolonging of the torture.</p> + +<p>"Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine and one hundred."</p> + +<p>A match sputtered in Mrs. Kildair's hand and on the instant the company +craned forward. In the center of the table was the sparkling sapphire +and diamond ring. Candles were lit, flaring up like searchlights on the +white accusing faces.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me," said Mrs. Kildair. She held out +her hand without trembling, a smile of triumph on her face, which had in +it for a moment an expression of positive cruelty.</p> + +<p>Immediately she changed, contemplating with amusement the horror of her +guests, staring blindly from one to another, seeing the indefinable +glance of interrogation that passed from Cheever to Mrs. Cheever, from +Mrs. Jackson to her husband, and then without emotion she said:</p> + +<p>"Now that that is over we can have a very gay little supper."</p> + +<p>When Peters had pushed back his chair, satisfied as only a trained +raconteur can be by the silence of a difficult audience, and had busied +himself with a cigar, there was an instant outcry.</p> + +<p>"I say, Peters, old boy, that is not all!"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely."</p> + +<p>"The story ends there?"</p> + +<p>"That ends the story."</p> + +<p>"But who took the ring?"</p> + +<p>Peters extended his hands in an empty gesture.</p> + +<p>"What! It was never found out?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"No clue?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"I don't like the story," said De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"It's no story at all," said Steingall.</p> + +<p>"Permit me," said Quinny in a didactic way; "it is a story, and it is +complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it has none of the +banalities of a solution and leaves the problem even more confused than +at the start."</p> + +<p>"I don't see—" began Rankin.</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't, my dear man," said Quinny crushingly. "You do not +see that any solution would be commonplace, whereas no solution leaves +an extraordinary intellectual problem."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said Quinny, preparing to annex the topic, +"whether the situation actually happened or not, which is in itself a +mere triviality, Peters has constructed it in a masterly way, the proof +of which is that he has made me listen. Observe, each person present +might have taken the ring—Flanders, a broker, just come a cropper; +Maude Lille, a woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means; +either Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, suspected of being card sharps—very good +touch that, Peters, when the husband and wife glanced involuntarily at +each other at the end—Mr. Enos Jackson, a sharp lawyer, or his wife +about to be divorced; even Harris, concerning whom, very cleverly, +Peters has said nothing at all to make him quite the most suspicious of +all. There are, therefore, seven solutions, all possible and all +logical. But beyond this is left a great intellectual problem."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when +threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildair's clever expedient +of throwing the room in the dark made detection impossible? Was it a +woman who lacked the necessary courage to continue, or was it a man who +repented his first impulse? Is a man or is a woman the greater natural +criminal?"</p> + +<p>"A woman took it, of course," said Rankin.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, it was a man," said Steingall, "for the second action +was more difficult than the first."</p> + +<p>"A man, certainly," said De Gollyer. "The restoration of the ring was a +logical decision."</p> + +<p>"You see," said Quinny triumphantly, "personally I incline to a woman +for the reason that a weaker feminine nature is peculiarly susceptible +to the domination of her own sex. There you are. We could meet and +debate the subject year in and year out and never agree."</p> + +<p>"I recognize most of the characters," said De Gollyer with a little +confidential smile toward Peters. "Mrs. Kildair, of course, is all you +say of her—an extraordinary woman. The story is quite characteristic of +her. Flanders, I am not sure of, but I think I know him."</p> + +<p>"Did it really happen?" asked Rankin, who always took the commonplace +point of view.</p> + +<p>"Exactly as I have told it," said Peters.</p> + +<p>"The only one I don't recognize is Harris," said De Gollyer pensively.</p> + +<p>"Your humble servant," said Peters, smiling.</p> + +<p>The four looked up suddenly with a little start.</p> + +<p>"What!" said Quinny, abruptly confused. "You—you were there?"</p> + +<p>"I was there."</p> + +<p>The four continued to look at him without speaking, each absorbed in his +own thoughts, with a sudden ill ease.</p> + +<p>A club attendant with a telephone slip on a tray stopped by Peters' +side. He excused himself and went along the porch, nodding from table to +table.</p> + +<p>"Curious chap," said De Gollyer musingly.</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary."</p> + +<p>The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who continued watching +Peters' trim disappearing figure in silence, without looking at one +another—with a certain ill ease.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='A_COMEDY_FOR_WIVES'></a><h2>A COMEDY FOR WIVES</h2> +<br /> + +<p>At half-past six o'clock from Wall Street, Jack Lightbody let himself +into his apartment, called his wife by name, and received no answer.</p> + +<p>"Hello, that's funny," he thought, and, ringing, asked of the maid, "Did +Mrs. Lightbody go out?"</p> + +<p>"About an hour ago, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's odd. Did she leave any message?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's not like her. I wonder what's happened."</p> + +<p>At this moment his eye fell on an open hat-box of mammoth proportions, +overshadowing a thin table in the living-room.</p> + +<p>"When did that come?"</p> + +<p>"About four o'clock, sir."</p> + +<p>He went in, peeping into the empty box with a smile of satisfaction and +understanding.</p> + +<p>"That's it, she's rushed off to show it to some one," he said, with a +half vindictive look toward the box. "Well, it cost $175, and I don't +get my winter suit; but I get a little peace."</p> + +<p>He went to his room, rebelliously preparing to dress for the dinner and +theater to which he had been commanded.</p> + +<p>"By George, if I came back late, wouldn't I catch it?" he said with some +irritation, slipping into his evening clothes and looking critically at +his rather subdued reflection in the glass. "Jim tells me I'm getting in +a rut, middle-aged, showing the wear. Perhaps." He rubbed his hand over +the wrinkled cheek and frowned. "I have gone off a bit—sedentary +life—six years. It does settle you. Hello! quarter of seven. Very +strange!"</p> + +<p>He slipped into a lilac dressing-gown which had been thrust upon him on +his last birthday and wandered uneasily back into the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't she telephone?" he thought; "it's her own party, one of +those infernal problem plays I abhor. I didn't want to go."</p> + +<p>The door opened and the maid entered. On the tray was a letter.</p> + +<p>"For me?" he said, surprised. "By messenger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>He signed the slip, glancing at the envelope. It was in his wife's +handwriting.</p> + +<p>"Margaret!" he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"The boy's waiting for an answer, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>He stood a moment in blank uneasiness, until, suddenly aware that she +was waiting, he dismissed her with a curt:</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well."</p> + +<p>Then he remained by the table, looking at the envelope which he did not +open, hearing the sound of the closing outer door and the passing of the +maid down the hall.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't she telephone?" he said aloud slowly.</p> + +<p>He looked at the letter again. He had made no mistake. It was from his +wife.</p> + +<p>"If she's gone off again on some whim," he said angrily, "by George, I +won't stand for it."</p> + +<p>Then carelessly inserting a finger, he broke the cover and glanced +hastily down the letter:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>My dear Jackie:</span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>When you have read this I shall have left you forever. Forget me and</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>try to forgive. In the six years we have lived together, you have</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>always been kind to me. But, Jack, there is something we cannot give</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>or take away, and because some one has come who has won that, I am</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>leaving you. I'm sorry, Jackie, I'm sorry.</span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Irene.</span><br /> + +<p>When he had read this once in unbelief, he read it immediately again, +approaching the lamp, laying it on the table and pressing his fists +against his temple, to concentrate all his mind.</p> + +<p>"It's a joke," he said, speaking aloud.</p> + +<p>He rose, stumbling a little and aiding himself with his arm, leaning +against the wall, went into her room, and opened the drawer where her +jewel case should be. It was gone.</p> + +<p>"Then it's true," he said solemnly. "It's ended. What am I to do?"</p> + +<p>He went to her wardrobe, looking at the vacant hooks, repeating:</p> + +<p>"What am I to do?"</p> + +<p>He went slowly back to the living-room to the desk by the lamp, where +the hateful thing stared up at him.</p> + +<p>"What am I to do?"</p> + +<p>All at once he struck the desk with his fist and a cry burst from him:</p> + +<p>"Dishonored—I'm dishonored!"</p> + +<p>His head flushed hot, his breath came in short, panting rage. He struck +the letter again and again, and then suddenly, frantically, began to +rush back and forth, repeating:</p> + +<p>"Dishonored—dishonored!"</p> + +<p>All at once a moment of clarity came to him with a chill of ice. He +stopped, went to the telephone and called up the Racquet Club, saying:</p> + +<p>"Mr. De Gollyer to the 'phone."</p> + +<p>Then he looked at his hand and found he was still clutching a forgotten +hair brush. With a cry at the grotesqueness of the thing, he flung it +from him, watching it go skipping over the polished floor. The voice of +De Gollyer called him.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Jim?" he said, steadying himself. "Come—come to me at +once—quick!"</p> + +<p>He could have said no more. He dropped the receiver, overturning the +stand, and began again his caged pacing of the floor.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later De Gollyer nervously slipped into the room. He was a +quick, instinctive ferret of a man, one to whose eyes the hidden life of +the city held no mysteries; who understood equally the shadows that +glide on the street and the masks that pass in luxurious carriages. In +one glance he had caught the disorder in the room and the agitation in +his friend. He advanced a step, balanced his hat on the desk, perceived +the crumpled letter, and, clearing his throat, drew back, frowning and +alert, correctly prepared for any situation.</p> + +<p>Lightbody, without seeming to perceive his arrival, continued his blind +traveling, pressing his fists from time to time against his throat to +choke back the excess of emotions which, in the last minutes, had dazed +his perceptions and left him inertly struggling against a shapeless +pain. All at once he stopped, flung out his arms and cried:</p> + +<p>"She's gone!"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer did not on the word seize the situation.</p> + +<p>"Gone! Who's gone?" he said with a nervous, jerky fixing of his head, +while his glance immediately sought the vista through the door to assure +himself that no third person was present.</p> + +<p>But Lightbody, unconscious of everything but his own utter grief, was +threshing back and forth, repeating mechanically, with increasing +<i>staccato</i>:</p> + +<p>"Gone, gone!"</p> + +<p>"Who? Where?"</p> + +<p>With a sudden movement, De Gollyer caught his friend by the shoulder and +faced him about as a naughty child, exclaiming: "Here, I say, old chap, +brace up! Throw back your shoulders—take a long breath!"</p> + +<p>With a violent wrench, Lightbody twisted himself free, while one hand +flung appealingly back, begged for time to master the emotion which +burst forth in the cry:</p> + +<p>"Gone—forever!"</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" said De Gollyer, suddenly enlightened, and through his mind +flashed the thought—"There's been an accident—something fatal. +Tough—devilish tough."</p> + +<p>He cast a furtive glance toward the bedrooms and then an alarmed one +toward his friend, standing in the embrasure of the windows, pressing +his forehead against the panes.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Lightbody turned and, going abruptly to the desk, leaned +heavily on one arm, raising the letter in two vain efforts. A spasm of +pain crossed his lips, which alone could not be controlled. He turned +his head hastily, half offering, half dropping the letter, and +wheeling, went to an armchair, where he collapsed, repeating +inarticulately:</p> + +<p>"Forever!"</p> + +<p>"Who? What? Who's gone?" exclaimed De Gollyer, bewildered by the +appearance of a letter. "Good heavens, dear boy, what has happened? +Who's gone?"</p> + +<p>Then Lightbody, by an immense effort, answered:</p> + +<p>"Irene—my wife!"</p> + +<p>And with a rapid motion he covered his eyes, digging his fingers into +his flesh.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, pouncing upon the letter, read:</p> + +<p>My dear Jackie: When you read this, I shall have left you forever—</p> + +<p>Then he halted with an exclamation, and hastily turned the page for the +signature.</p> + +<p>"Read!" said Lightbody in a stifled voice.</p> + +<p>"I say, this is serious, devilishly serious," said De Gollyer, now +thoroughly amazed. Immediately he began to read, unconsciously +emphasizing the emphatic words—a little trick of his enunciation.</p> + +<p>When Lightbody had heard from the voice of another the message that +stood written before his eyes, all at once all impulses in his brain +converged into one. He sprang up, speaking now in quick, distinct +syllables, sweeping the room with the fury of his arms.</p> + +<p>"I'll find them; by God, I'll find them. I'll hunt them down. I'll +follow them. I'll track them—anywhere—to the ends of the earth—and +when I find them—"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, sensitively distressed at such a scene, vainly tried to stop +him.</p> + +<p>"I'll find them, if I die for it! I'll shoot them down. I'll shoot them +down like dogs! I will, by all that's holy, I will! I'll butcher them! +I'll shoot them down, there at my feet, rolling at my feet!"</p> + +<p>All at once he felt a weight on his arm, and heard De Gollyer saying, +vainly:</p> + +<p>"Dear boy, be calm, be calm."</p> + +<p>"Calm!" he cried, with a scream, his anger suddenly focusing on his +friend, "Calm! I won't be calm! What! I come back—slaving all day, +slaving for her—come back to take her out to dinner where she wants to +go—to the play she wants to see, and I find—nothing—this letter—this +bomb—this thunderbolt! Everything gone—my home broken up—my name +dishonored—my whole life ruined! And you say be calm—be calm—be +calm!"</p> + +<p>Then, fearing the hysteria gaining possession of him, he dropped back +violently into an armchair and covered his face.</p> + +<p>During this outburst, De Gollyer had deliberately removed his gloves, +folded them and placed them in his breast pocket. His reputation for +social omniscience had been attained by the simple expedient of never +being convinced. As soon as the true situation had been unfolded, a +slight, skeptical smile hovered about his thin, flouting lips, and, +looking at his old friend, he was not unpleasantly aware of something +comic in the attitudes of grief. He made one or two false starts, +buttoning his trim cutaway, and then said in a purposely higher key:</p> + +<p>"My dear old chap, we must consider—we really must consider what is to +be done."</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing to be done," cried Lightbody in a voice of +thunder.</p> + +<p>"Permit me!"</p> + +<p>"Kill them!"</p> + +<p>"One moment!"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, master of himself, never abandoning his critical enjoyment, +softened his voice to that controlled note that is the more effective +for being opposed to frenzy.</p> + +<p>"Sit down—come now, sit down!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody resisted.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, there—come—you have called me in. Do you want my advice? Do +you? Well, just quiet down. Will you listen?"</p> + +<p>"I am quiet," said Lightbody, suddenly submissive. The frenzy of his +rage passed, but to make his resolution doubly impressive, he extended +his arm and said slowly:</p> + +<p>"But remember, my mind is made up. I shall not budge. I shall shoot +them down like dogs! You see I say quietly—like dogs!"</p> + +<p>"My dear old pal," said De Gollyer with a well-bred shrug of his +shoulders, "you'll do nothing of the sort. We are men of the world, my +boy, men of the world. Shooting is archaic—for the rural districts. +We've progressed way beyond that—men of the world don't shoot any +more."</p> + +<p>"I said it quietly," said Lightbody, who perceived, not without +surprise, that he was no longer at the same temperature. However, he +concluded with normal conviction: "I shall kill them both, that's all. I +say it quietly."</p> + +<p>This gave De Gollyer a certain hortatory moment of which he availed +himself, seeking to reduce further the dramatic tension.</p> + +<p>"My dear old pal, as a matter of fact, all I say is, consider first and +shoot after. In the first place, suppose you kill one or both and you +are not yourself killed—for you know, dear boy, the deuce is that +sometimes does happen. What then? Justice is so languid nowadays. +Certainly you would have to inhabit for six, eight—perhaps ten +months—a drafty, moist jail, without exercise, most indigestible food +abominably cooked, limited society. You are brought to trial. A jury—an +emotional jury—may give you a couple of years. That's another risk. You +see you drink cocktails, you smoke cigarettes. You will be made to +appear a person totally unfit to live with."</p> + +<p>Lightbody with a movement of irritation, shifted the clutch of his +fingers.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, suppose you are acquitted, what then? You emerge, +middle-aged, dyspeptic, possibly rheumatic—no nerves left. Your +photograph figures in every paper along with inventors of shoes and +corsets. You can't be asked to dinner or to house parties, can you? As a +matter of fact, you'll disappear somewhere or linger and get shot by the +brother, who in turn, as soon as he is acquitted, must be shot by your +brother, et cetera, et cetera! <i>Voila!</i> What will you have gained?"</p> + +<p>He ceased, well pleased—he had convinced himself.</p> + +<p>Lightbody, who had had time to be ashamed of the emotion that he, as a +man, had shown to another of his sex, rose and said with dignity:</p> + +<p>"I shall have avenged my honor."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, understanding at once that the battle had been won, took up +in an easy running attack his battery of words.</p> + +<p>"By publishing your dishonor to Europe, Africa, Asia? That's logic, +isn't it? No, no, my dear old Jack—you won't do it. You won't be an +ass. Steady head, old boy! Let's look at it in a reasonable way—as men +of the world. You can't bring her back, can you? She's gone."</p> + +<p>At this reminder, overcome by the vibrating sense of loss, Lightbody +turned abruptly, no longer master of himself, and going hastily toward +the windows, cried violently:</p> + +<p>"Gone!"</p> + +<p>Over the satisfied lips of De Gollyer the same ironical smile returned.</p> + +<p>"I say, as a matter of fact I didn't suspect, you—you cared so much."</p> + +<p>"I adored her!"</p> + +<p>With a quick movement, Lightbody turned. His eyes flashed. He no longer +cared what he revealed. He began to speak incoherently, stifling a sob +at every moment.</p> + +<p>"I adored her. It was wonderful. Nothing like it. I adored her from the +moment I met her. It was that—adoration—one woman in the world—one +woman—I adored her!"</p> + +<p>The imp of irony continued to play about De Gollyer's eyes and slightly +twitching lips.</p> + +<p>"Quite so—quite so," he said. "Of course you know, dear boy, you +weren't always so—so lonely—the old days—you surprise me."</p> + +<p>The memory of his romance all at once washed away the bitterness in +Lightbody. He returned, sat down, oppressed, crushed.</p> + +<p>"You know, Jim," he said solemnly, "she never did this, never in the +world, not of her own free will, never in her right mind. She's been +hypnotized, some one has gotten her under his power—some scoundrel. +No—I'll not harm her, I'll not hurt a hair of her head—but when I meet +<i>him</i>—"</p> + +<p>"By the way, whom do you suspect?" said De Gollyer, who had long +withheld the question.</p> + +<p>"Whom? Whom do I suspect?" exclaimed Lightbody, astounded. "I don't +know."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"How do I know? I never doubted her a minute."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—still?"</p> + +<p>"Whom do I suspect? I don't know." He stopped and considered. "It might +be—three men."</p> + +<p>"Three men!" exclaimed De Gollyer, who smiled as only a bachelor could +smile at such a moment.</p> + +<p>"I don't know which—how should I know? But when I do know—when I meet +him! I'll spare her—but—but when we meet—we two—when my hands are on +his throat—"</p> + +<p>He was on his feet again, the rage of dishonor ready to flame forth. De +Gollyer, putting his arm about him, recalled him with abrupt, military +sternness.</p> + +<p>"Steady, steady again, dear old boy. Buck up now—get hold of yourself."</p> + +<p>"Jim, it's awful!"</p> + +<p>"It's tough—very tough!"</p> + +<p>"Out of a clear sky—everything gone!"</p> + +<p>"Come, now, walk up and down a bit—do you good."</p> + +<p>Lightbody obeyed, locking his arms behind his back, his eyes on the +floor.</p> + +<p>"Everything smashed to bits!"</p> + +<p>"You adored her?" questioned De Gollyer in an indefinable tone.</p> + +<p>"I adored her!" replied Lightbody explosively.</p> + +<p>"Really now?"</p> + +<p>"I adored her. There's nothing left now—nothing—nothing."</p> + +<p>"Steady."</p> + +<p>Lightbody, at the window, made another effort, controlled himself and +said, as a man might renounce an inheritance:</p> + +<p>"You're right, Jim—but it's hard."</p> + +<p>"Good spirit—fine, fine, very fine!" commented De Gollyer in critical +enthusiasm, "nothing public, eh? No scandal—not our class. Men of the +world. No shooting! People don't shoot any more. It's reform, you know, +for the preservation of bachelors."</p> + +<p>The effort, the renunciation of his just vengeance, had exhausted +Lightbody, who turned and came back, putting out his hands to steady +himself.</p> + +<p>"It isn't that, it's, it's—" Suddenly his fingers encountered on the +table a pair of gloves—his wife's gloves, forgotten there. He raised +them, holding them in his open palm, glanced at De Gollyer and, letting +them fall, suddenly unable to continue, turned aside his head.</p> + +<p>"Take time—a good breath," said De Gollyer, in military fashion, "fill +your lungs. Splendid! That's it."</p> + +<p>Lightbody, sitting down at the desk, wearily drew the gloves to him, +gazing fixedly at the crushed perfumed fingers.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jim," he said finally, "I adore her so—if she can be +happier—happier with another—if that will make her happier than I can +make her—well, I'll step aside, I'll make no trouble—just for her, +just for what she's done for me."</p> + +<p>The last words were hardly heard. This time, despite himself, De Gollyer +was tremendously affected.</p> + +<p>"Superb! By George, that's grit!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody raised his head with the fatigue of the struggle and the pride +of the victory written on it.</p> + +<p>"Her happiness first," he said simply.</p> + +<p>The accent with which it was spoken almost convinced De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, you adore her!"</p> + +<p>"I adore her," said Lightbody, lifting himself to his feet. This time it +came not as an explosion, but as a breath, some deep echo from the soul. +He stood steadily gazing at his friend. "You're right, Jim. You're +right. It's not our class. I'll face it down. There'll be no scandal. +No one shall know."</p> + +<p>Their hands met with an instinctive motion. Then, touched by the fervor +of his friend's admiration, Lightbody moved wearily away, saying dully, +all in a breath:</p> + +<p>"Like a thunderclap, Jim."</p> + +<p>"I know, dear old boy," said De Gollyer, feeling sharply vulnerable in +the eyes and throat.</p> + +<p>"It's terrible—it's awful. All in a second! Everything turned upside +down, everything smashed!"</p> + +<p>"You must go away," said De Gollyer anxiously.</p> + +<p>"My whole life wrecked," continued Lightbody, without hearing him, +"nothing left—not the slightest, meanest thing left!"</p> + +<p>"Dear boy, you must go away."</p> + +<p>"Only last night she was sitting here, and I there, reading a book." He +stopped and put forth his hand. "This book!"</p> + +<p>"Jack, you must go away for a while."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Go away!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes. I suppose so. I don't care."</p> + +<p>Leaning against the desk, he gazed down at the rug, mentally and +physically inert.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, returning to his nature, said presently: "I say, dear old +fellow, it's awfully delicate, but I should like to be frank, from the +shoulder—out and out, do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"What? No."</p> + +<p>Seeing that Lightbody had only half listened, De Gollyer spoke with some +hesitation:</p> + +<p>"Of course it's devilish impudent. I'll offend you dreadfully. But, I +say, now as a matter of fact, were you really so—so seraphically +happy?"</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact," said De Gollyer changing his note instantly, "you +were happy, <i>terrifically</i> happy, <i>always</i> happy, weren't you?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody was indignant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how can you, at such a moment?"</p> + +<p>The new emotion gave him back his physical elasticity. He began to pace +up and down, declaiming at his friend, "I was happy, <i>ideally</i> happy. I +never had a thought, not one, for anything else. I gave her everything. +I did everything she wanted. There never was a word between us. It was +<i>ideal</i>"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, somewhat shamefaced, avoiding his angry glance, said +hastily:</p> + +<p>"So, so, I was quite wrong. I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ideally</i> happy," continued Lightbody, more insistently. "We had the +same thoughts, the same tastes, we read the same books. She had a mind, +a wonderful mind. It was an <i>ideal</i> union."</p> + +<p>"The devil, I may be all wrong," thought De Gollyer to himself. He +crossed his arms, nodded his head, and this time it was with the +profoundest conviction that he repeated:</p> + +<p>"You adored her."</p> + +<p>"I <i>adored</i> her," said Lightbody, with a ring to his voice. "Not a word +against her, not a word. It was not her fault. I know it's not her +fault."</p> + +<p>"You must go away," said De Gollyer, touching him on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I must! I couldn't stand it here in this room," said Lightbody +bitterly. His fingers wandered lightly over the familiar objects on the +desk, shrinking from each fiery contact. He sat down. "You're right, I +must get away."</p> + +<p>"You're dreadfully hard hit, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jim!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody's hand closed over the book and he opened it mechanically in +the effort to master the memory. "This book—we were reading it last +night together."</p> + +<p>"Jack, look here," said De Gollyer, suddenly unselfish before such a +great grief, "you've got to be bucked up, boy, pulled together. I'll +tell you what I'll do. You're going to get right off. You're going to be +looked after. I'll knock off myself. I'll take you."</p> + +<p>Lightbody gave him his hand with a dumb, grateful look that brought a +quick lump to the throat of De Gollyer, who, in terror, purposely +increasing the lightness of his manner, sprang up with exaggerated +gaiety.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, fact is, I'm a bit dusty myself. Do me good. We'll run off +just as we did in the old days—good days, those. We knocked about a +bit, didn't we? Good days, eh, Jack?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, continuing to gaze at the book, said:</p> + +<p>"Last night—only last night! Is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"Come, now, let's polish off Paris, or Vienna?"</p> + +<p>"No, no." Lightbody seemed to shrink at the thought. "Not that, nothing +gay. I couldn't bear to see others gay—happy."</p> + +<p>"Quite right. California?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I want to get away, out of the country—far away."</p> + +<p>Suddenly an inspiration came to De Gollyer—a memory of earlier days.</p> + +<p>"By George, Morocco! Superb! The trip we planned out—Morocco—the very +thing!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, at the desk still feebly fingering the leaves that he +indistinctly saw, muttered:</p> + +<p>"Something far away—away from people."</p> + +<p>"By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with +delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a +smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned +it seven years ago. IMMENSE!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care—anywhere."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas.</p> + +<p>"My boy—the best thing in the world. Set you right up—terrific air, +smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing. +Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you +know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling, +"M-M-M—Morocco."</p> + +<p>Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily, +saying, "Anywhere, anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Back into harness again—the old camping days—immense."</p> + +<p>"I must get away."</p> + +<p>"There you are," said De Gollyer at length. With a deft movement he +slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, "Morocco, devilish +smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"You remember how we planned it," continued De Gollyer, artfully +blundering; "boat to Tangier, from Tangier bang across to Fez."</p> + +<p>At this Lightbody, watching the tracing finger, said with some +irritation, "No, no, down the coast first."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said De Gollyer; "to Fez, my dear fellow."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I know! Down the coast to Rabat."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now, you're sure? I think—"</p> + +<p>"And I <i>know</i>," said Lightbody, raising his voice and assuming +possession of the atlas, which he struck energetically with the back of +his hand. "I ought to know my own plan."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said De Gollyer, to egg him on. "Still you're thoroughly +convinced about that, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I am! My dear Jim—come, isn't this my pet idea—the one +trip I've dreamed over, the one thing in the world I've longed to do, +all my life?" His eyes took energy, while his forefinger began viciously +to stab the atlas. "We go to Rabat. We go to Magazam, and we +cut—so—long sweep, into the interior, take a turn, so, and back to +Fez, so!"</p> + +<p>This speech, delivered with enthusiasm, made De Gollyer reflect. He +looked at the somewhat revived Lightbody with thoughtful curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Well, well—you may be right. You always are impressive, you know."</p> + +<p>"Right? Of course I'm right," continued Lightbody, unaware of his +friend's critical contemplation. "Haven't I worked out every foot of +it?"</p> + +<p>"A bit of a flyer in the game country, then? Topple over a rhino or so. +Stunning, smart sport, the rhino!"</p> + +<p>"By George, think of it—a chance at one of the brutes!"</p> + +<p>When De Gollyer had seen the eagerness in his friend's eyes, the imps +returned, ironically tumbling back. He slapped him on the shoulder as +Mephistopheles might gleefully claim his own, crying, "Immense!"</p> + +<p>"You know, Jim," said Lightbody, straightening up, nervously alert, +speaking in quick, eager accents, "it's what I've dreamed of—a chance +at one of the big beggars. By George, I have, all my life!"</p> + +<p>"We'll polish it off in ripping style, regiments of porters, red and +white tents, camels, caravans and all that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"By George, just think of it."</p> + +<p>"In style, my boy—we'll own the whole continent, buy it up!"</p> + +<p>"The devil!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody's mood had suddenly dropped. He half pushed back his chair and +frowned. "It's going to be frightfully extravagant."</p> + +<p>"What of it?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, you don't know what my expenses are—this apartment, an +automobile—Oh, as for you, it's all very well for you! You have ten +thousand a year and no one to care for but yourself."</p> + +<p>Suddenly he felt almost a hatred for his friend, and then a rebellion +at the renunciation he would have to make.</p> + +<p>"No—it can't be done. We'll have to give it up. Impossible, utterly +impossible, I can't afford it."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, still a little uncertain of his ground, for several moments +waited, carefully considering the dubious expression on his friend's +face. Then he questioned abruptly:</p> + +<p>"What is your income—now?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by <i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen thousand a year?"</p> + +<p>"It has always been that," replied Lightbody in bad humor.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, approaching at last the great question, assumed an air of +concentrated firmness, tempered with well-mannered delicacy.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. As a matter of fact it has always been +fifteen thousand—quite right, quite so; but—now, my dear boy, you are +too much of a man of the world to be offended, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lightbody, staring in front of him. "No, I'm not offended."</p> + +<p>"Of course it's delicate, ticklishly delicate ground, but then we must +look things in the face. Now if you'd rather I—"</p> + +<p>"No, go on."</p> + +<p>"Of course, dear boy, you've had a smashing knock and all that sort of +thing, but—" suddenly reaching out he took up the letter, and, letting +it hang from his fingers, thoughtfully considered it—"I say it might be +looked at in this way. Yesterday it was fifteen thousand a year to dress +up a dashing wife, modern New York style, the social pace, clothes that +must be smarter than Thingabob's wife, competitive dinners that you stir +up with your fork and your servants eat, and all that sort of thing, you +know. To-day it's fifteen thousand a year and a bachelor again."</p> + +<p>Releasing the letter, he disdainfully allowed it to settle down on the +desk, and finished:</p> + +<p>"Come now, as a matter of fact there is a little something consoling, +isn't there?"</p> + +<p>From the moment he had perceived De Gollyer's idea. Lightbody had become +very quiet, gazing steadily ahead, seeing neither the door nor the +retaining walls.</p> + +<p>"I never thought of that," he said, almost in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Quite so, quite so. Of course one doesn't think of such things, right +at first. And you've had a knock-down—a regular smasher, old chap." He +stopped, cleared his voice and said sympathetically: "You adored her?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I could give up the apartment and sell the auto," said +Lightbody slowly, speaking to himself.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer smiled—a bachelor smile.</p> + +<p>"Riches, my boy," he said, tapping him on the shoulder with the same +quick, awakening Mephistophelean touch.</p> + +<p>The contact raised Lightbody from revery. He drew back, shocked at the +ways through which his thoughts had wandered.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Jim," he said. "No, you mustn't, nothing like that—not at such +a time."</p> + +<p>"You're right," said De Gollyer, instantly masked in gravity. "You're +quite right. Still, we are looking things in the face—planning for the +future. Of course it's a delicate question, terrifically delicate. I'm +almost afraid to put it to you. Come, now, how shall I express +it—delicately? It's this way. Fifteen thousand a year divided by one is +fifteen thousand, isn't it; but fifteen thousand a year divided by two, +may mean—" He straightened up, heels clicking, throwing out his elbows +slightly and lifting his chin from the high, white stockade on which it +reposed. "Come, now, we're men of the world, aren't we? Now, as a matter +of fact how much of that fifteen thousand a year came back to you?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Jim," said Lightbody, feeling that generosity should be his +part, "a woman, a modern woman, a New York woman, you just said +it—takes—takes—"</p> + +<p>"Twelve thousand—thirteen thousand?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come! Nonsense," said Lightbody, growing quite angry. "Besides, I +don't—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know," said De Gollyer, interrupting him, now with fresh +confidence. "All the same your whiskies have gone off, dear boy—they've +gone off, and your cigars are bad, very bad. Little things, but they +show."</p> + +<p>A pencil lay before him. Lightbody, without knowing what he did, took it +up and mechanically on an unwritten sheet jotted down $15,000, drawing +the dollar sign with a careful, almost caressing stroke. The sheet was +the back of his wife's letter, but he did not notice it.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, looking over his shoulder, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Quite right. Fifteen thousand, divided by one."</p> + +<p>"It will make a difference," said Lightbody slowly. Over his face passed +an expression such as comes but once in a lifetime; a look defying +analysis; a look that sweeps back over the past and challenges the +future and always retains the secret of its judgment.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, drawing back slowly, allowed him a moment before saying:</p> + +<p>"And no alimony!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Free and no alimony, my boy!"</p> + +<p>"No alimony?" said Lightbody, surprised at this new reasoning.</p> + +<p>"A woman who runs away gets no alimony," said De Gollyer loudly. "Not +here, not in the effete East!"</p> + +<p>"I hadn't thought of that, either," said Lightbody, who, despite +himself, could not repress a smile.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, irritated perhaps that he should have been duped into +sympathy, ran on with a little vindictiveness.</p> + +<p>"Of course that means nothing to you, dear boy. You were happy, +<i>ideally</i> happy! You adored her, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>He paused and then, receiving no reply, continued:</p> + +<p>"But you see, if you hadn't been so devilish lucky, so seraphically +happy all these years, you might find a certain humor in the situation, +mightn't you? Still, look it in the face, what have you lost, what have +you left? There is something in that. Fifteen thousand a year, liberty +and no alimony."</p> + +<p>The moment had come which could no longer be evaded. Lightbody rose, +turned, met the lurking malice in De Gollyer's eyes with the blank +indecision screen of his own, and, turning on his heel, went to a little +closet in the wall, and bore back a decanter and glasses.</p> + +<p>"This is not what we serve on the table," he said irrelevantly. "It's +whisky."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer poured out his drink and looked at Lightbody <i>en +connoisseur</i>.</p> + +<p>"You've gone off—old—six years. You were the smartest of the old +crowd, too. You certainly have gone off."</p> + +<p>Lightbody listened, with his eyes in his glass.</p> + +<p>"Jack, you're middle-aged—you've gone off—badly. It's hit you hard."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence and then Lightbody spoke quietly:</p> + +<p>"Jim!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, old boy?"</p> + +<p>"Do you want to know the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Come—out with it!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody struggled a moment, all the hesitation showing in his lips. +Then he said, slowly shaking his head, never lifting his eyes, speaking +as though to another:</p> + +<p>"Jim, I've had a hell of a time!"</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>He lifted his glass until he felt its touch against his lips and +gradually set it down. "Why, Jim, in six years I've loved her so that +I've never done anything I wanted to do, gone anywhere I wanted to go, +drank anything I've wanted to drink, saw anything I wanted to see, wore +anything I wanted to wear, smoked anything I wanted to smoke, read +anything I wanted to read, or dined any one I wanted to dine! Jim, it +certainly has been a <i>domestic</i> time!"</p> + +<p>"Good God! I can't believe it!" ejaculated De Gollyer, too astounded to +indulge his sense of humor.</p> + +<p>All at once a little fury seemed to seize Lightbody. His voice rose and +his gestures became indignant.</p> + +<p>"Married! I've been married to a policeman. Why, Jim, do you know what +I've spent on myself, really spent? Not two thousand, not one thousand, +not five hundred dollars a year. I've been poorer than my own clerk. I'd +hate to tell you what I paid for cigars and whisky. Everything went to +her, everything! And Jim—" he turned suddenly with a significant +glance—"such a temper!"</p> + +<p>"A temper? No, impossible, not that!"</p> + +<p>"Not violent—oh, no—but firm—smiling, you know, but irresistible."</p> + +<p>He drew a long breath charged with bitter memories and said between his +teeth, rebelling: "I always agreed."</p> + +<p>"Can it be? Is it possible?" commented De Gollyer, carefully mastering +his expression.</p> + +<p>Lightbody, on the new subject of his wrongs, now began to explode with +wrath.</p> + +<p>"And there's one thing more—one thing that hurts! You know what she +eloped in? She eloped in a hat, a big red hat, three white feathers—one +hundred and seventy-five dollars. I gave up a winter suit to get it."</p> + +<p>He strode over to the grotesquely large hat-box on the slender table, +and struck it with his fist.</p> + +<p>"Came this morning. Jim, she waited for that hat! Now, that isn't right! +That isn't delicate!"</p> + +<p>"No, by Jove, it certainly isn't delicate!"</p> + +<p>"Domesticity! Ha!" At the moment, with only the long vision of petty +tyranny before him, he could have caught her up in his hands and +strangled her. "Domesticity! I've had all I want of domesticity!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly the eternal fear awakening in him, he turned and commanded +authoritatively:</p> + +<p>"Never tell!"</p> + +<p>"Never!"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, at forty-two, showed a responsive face, invincibly, gravely +sympathetic, patiently awaiting his climax, knowing that nothing is so +cumulatively dangerous as confession.</p> + +<p>Lightbody took up his glass and again approached it to his lips, +frowning at the thought of what he had revealed. All at once a fresh +impulse caught him, he put down his glass untasted, blurting out:</p> + +<p>"Do you want to know one thing more? Do you want to know the truth, the +real truth?"</p> + +<p>"Gracious heavens, there is something more?"</p> + +<p>"I never married her—never in God's world!"</p> + +<p>He ceased and suddenly, not to be denied, the past ranged itself before +him in its stark verity.</p> + +<p>"She married me!"</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"She did!"</p> + +<p>What had been an impulse suddenly became a certainty.</p> + +<p>"As I look back now, I can see it all—quite clear. Do you know how it +happened? I called three times—not one time more—three times! I liked +her—nothing more. She was an attractive-looking girl—a certain +fascination—she always has that—that's the worst of it—but gentle, +very gentle."</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary!"</p> + +<p>"On the third time I called—the third time, mind you," proceeded +Lightbody, attacking the table, "as I stood up to say good-by, all at +once—the lights went out."</p> + +<p>"The lights?"</p> + +<p>"When they went on again—I was engaged."</p> + +<p>"Great heavens!"</p> + +<p>"The old fainting trick."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"I see it all now. A man sees things as they are at such a moment."</p> + +<p>He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. "Jim, she had those lights all +fixed!"</p> + +<p>"Frightful!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, who had stripped his soul in confession, no longer was +conscious of shame. He struck the table, punctuating his wrath, and +cried:</p> + +<p>"And that's the truth! The solemn literal truth! That's my story!"</p> + +<p>To confess, it had been necessary to be swept away in a burst of anger. +The necessity having ceased, he crossed his arms, quite calm, laughing a +low, scornful laugh.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy," said De Gollyer, to relieve the tension, "as a matter of +fact, that's the way you're all caught."</p> + +<p>"I believe it," said Lightbody curtly. He had now an instinctive desire +to insult the whole female sex.</p> + +<p>"I know—a bachelor knows. The things I have seen and the things I have +heard. My dear fellow, as a matter of fact, marriage is all very well +for bankers and brokers, unconvicted millionaires, week domestic animals +in search of a capable housekeeper, you know, and all that sort of +thing, but for men of the world—like ourselves, it's a mistake. Don't +do it again, my boy—don't do it."</p> + +<p>Lightbody laughed a barking laugh that quite satisfied De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"Husbands—modern social husbands—are excrescences—they don't count. +They're mere financial tabulators—nothing more than social +sounding-boards."</p> + +<p>"Right!" said Lightbody savagely.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you like that, do you?" said De Gollyer, pleased. "I do say a good +thing occasionally. Social sounding-boards! Why, Jack, in one-half of +the marriages in this country—no, by George, in two-thirds—if the +inconsequential, tabulating husband should come home to find a letter +like this—he'd be dancing a <i>can-can</i>!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody felt a flood of soul-easing laughter well up within him. He +bit his lip and answered:</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!"</p> + +<p>"A <i>can-can</i>!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, fearing to betray himself, did not dare to look at the +triumphant bachelor. He covered his eyes with his hands and sought to +fight down the joyful hysteria that began to shake his whole body. All +at once he caught sight of De Gollyer's impish eyes, and, unable longer +to contain himself, burst out laughing. The more he laughed at De +Gollyer, who laughed back at him, the more uncontrollable he became. +Tears came to his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, washing away all +illusions and self-deception, leaving only the joy of deliverance, +acknowledged at last.</p> + +<p>All at once holding his sides, he found a little breath and cried +combustibly:</p> + +<p>"A <i>can-can</i>!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with one impulse, they locked arms and pirouetted about the +room, flinging out destructive legs, hugging each other with bear-like +hugs as they had done in college days of triumph. Exhausted at last, +they reeled apart, and fell breathless into opposite chairs. There was a +short moment of weak, physical silence, and then Lightbody, shaking his +head, said solemnly:</p> + +<p>"Jim—Jim, that's the first real genuine laugh I've had in six vast +years!"</p> + +<p>"My boy, it won't be the last."</p> + +<p>"You bet it won't!" Lightbody sprang up, as out of the ashen cloak of +age the young Faust springs forth. "To-morrow—do you hear, to-morrow +we're off for Morocco!"</p> + +<p>"By way of Paris?" questioned De Gollyer, who likewise gained a dozen +years of youthfulness.</p> + +<p>"Certainly by way of Paris."</p> + +<p>"With a dash of Vienna?"</p> + +<p>"Run it off the map!"</p> + +<p>"Good old Jack! You're coming back, my boy, you're coming strong!"</p> + +<p>"Am I? Just watch!" Dancing over to the desk, he seized a dozen heavy +books:</p> + +<p>"'Evolution and Psychology,' 'Burning Questions!' 'Woman's Position in +Tasmania!' Aha!"</p> + +<p>One by one, he flung them viciously over his head, reckoning not the +crash with which they fell. Then with the same <i>pas de ballet</i> he +descended on the hat-box and sent it from his boot crashing over the +piano. Before De Gollyer could exclaim, he was at the closet, working +havoc with the boxes of cigars.</p> + +<p>"Here, I say," said De Gollyer laughing, "look out, those are cigars!"</p> + +<p>"No, they're not," said Lightbody, pausing for a moment. Then, seizing +two boxes, he whirled about the room holding them at arms' length, +scattering them like the sparks of a pin-wheel, until with a final +motion he flung the emptied boxes against the ceiling, and, coming to an +abrupt stop, shot out a mandatory forefinger, and cried:</p> + +<p>"Jim, you dine with me!"</p> + +<p>"The fact is—"</p> + +<p>"No buts, no excuses! Break all engagements! To-night we celebrate!"</p> + +<p>"Immense!"</p> + +<p>"Round up the boys—all the boys—the old crowd. I'm middle-aged, am I?"</p> + +<p>"By George," said De Gollyer, in free admiration, "you're getting into +form, my boy, excellent form. Fine, fine, very fine!"</p> + +<p>"In half an hour at the Club."</p> + +<p>"Done."</p> + +<p>"Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Jack!"</p> + +<p>They precipitated themselves into each other's arms. Lightbody, as +delirious as a young girl at the thought of her first ball, cried:</p> + +<p>"Paris, Vienna, Morocco—two years around the world!"</p> + +<p>"On my honor!"</p> + +<p>Rapidly Lightbody, impatient for the celebration, put De Gollyer into +his coat and armed him with his cane.</p> + +<p>"In half an hour, Jim. Get Budd, get Reggie Longworth, and, I say, get +that little reprobate of a Smithy, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, by George."</p> + +<p>At the door, De Gollyer, who, when he couldn't leave on an epigram, +liked to recall the best thing he had said, turned:</p> + +<p>"Never again, eh, old boy?"</p> + +<p>"Never," cried Lightbody, with the voice of a cannon.</p> + +<p>"No social sounding-board for us, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Never again!"</p> + +<p>"You do like that, don't you? I say a good thing now and then, don't I?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, all eagerness, drove him down the hall, crying:</p> + +<p>"Round 'em up—round them all up! I'll show them if I've come back!"</p> + +<p>When he had returned, waltzing on his toes to the middle of the room, he +stopped and flung out his arms in a free gesture, inhaling a delicious +breath. Then, whistling busily, he went to a drawer in the book-shelves +and came lightly back, his arms crowded with time-tables, schedules of +steamers, maps of various countries. All at once, remembering, he seized +the telephone and, receiving no response, rang impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Central—hello—hello! Central, why don't you answer? Central, give +me—give me—hold up, wait a second!" He had forgotten the number of his +own club. In communication at last, he heard the well-modulated accents +of Rudolph—Rudolph who recognized his voice after six years. It gave +him a little thrill, this reminder of the life he was entering once +more. He ordered one of the dinners he used to order, and hung up the +receiver, with a smile and a little tightening about his heart at the +entry he, the prodigal, would make that night at the Club.</p> + +<p>Then, seizing a map of Morocco in one hand and a schedule of sailings in +the other, he sat down to plan, chanting over and over, "Paris, Vienna, +Morocco, India, Paris, Vienna—"</p> + +<p>At this moment, unnoticed by him, the doors moved noiselessly and Mrs. +Lightbody entered; a woman full of appealing movements in her lithe +body, and of quick, decisive perceptions in the straight, gray glance of +her eyes. She held with one hand a cloak fastened loosely about her +throat. On her head was the hat with the three white feathers.</p> + +<p>A minute passed while she stood, rapidly seizing every indication that +might later assist her. Then she moved slightly and said in a voice of +quiet sadness:</p> + +<p>"Jackie."</p> + +<p>"Great God!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, overturning chair and table, sprang up—recoiling as one +recoils before an avenging specter. In his convulsive fingers were the +time-tables, clinging like damp lily pads.</p> + +<p>"Jackie, I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon you. I've come back." +Gently, seeming to move rather than to walk, advancing with none of the +uncertainty that was in her voice, she cried, with a little break: +"Forgive me!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, never!"</p> + +<p>He retreated behind a chair, fury in his voice, weak at the thought of +the floating, entangling scarf, and the perfume he knew so well. Then, +recovering himself, he cried brutally:</p> + +<p>"Never! You have given me my freedom. I'll keep it! Thanks!"</p> + +<p>With a gradual motion, she loosened her filmy cloak and let it slip from +the suddenly revealed shoulders and slender body.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I forbid you!" he cried. Anger—animal, instinctive +anger—began to possess him. He became brutal as he felt himself growing +weak.</p> + +<p>"Either you go out or I do!"</p> + +<p>"You will listen."</p> + +<p>"What? To lies?"</p> + +<p>"When you have heard me, you will understand, Jack."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to be said. I have not the slightest intention of +taking back—"</p> + +<p>"Jack!"</p> + +<p>Her voice rang out with sudden impressiveness: "I swear to you I have +not met him, I swear to you I came back of my own free will, because I +could not meet him, because I found that it was you—you only—whom I +wanted!"</p> + +<p>"That is a lie!"</p> + +<p>She recoiled before the wound in his glance. She put her long white hand +over her heart, throwing all of herself into the glance that sought to +conquer him.</p> + +<p>"I swear it," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"Another lie!"</p> + +<p>"Jack!"</p> + +<p>It was a physical rage that held him now, a rage divided against +itself—that longed to strike down, to crush, to stifle the thing it +coveted. He had almost a fear of himself. He cried:</p> + +<p>"If you don't go, I'll—I'll—"</p> + +<p>Suddenly he found something more brutal than a blow, something that must +drive her away, while yet he had the strength of his passion. He +crossed his arms, looking at her with a cold look.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you why you came back. You went to him for just one reason. +You thought he had more money than I had. You came back when you found +he hadn't."</p> + +<p>He saw her body quiver and it did him good.</p> + +<p>"That ends it," she said, hardly able to speak. She dropped her head +hastily, but not before he had seen the tears.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely."</p> + +<p>In a moment she would be gone. He felt all at once uneasy, ashamed—she +seemed so fragile.</p> + +<p>"My cloak—give me my cloak," she said, and her voice showed that she +accepted his verdict.</p> + +<p>He brought the cloak to where she stood wearily, and put it on her +shoulders, stepping back instantly.</p> + +<p>"Good-by."</p> + +<p>It was said more to the room than to him.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," he said dully.</p> + +<p>She took a step and then raised her eyes to his.</p> + +<p>"That was more than you had a right to say, even to me," she said +without reproach in her voice.</p> + +<p>He avoided her look.</p> + +<p>"You will be sorry. I know you," she said with pity for him. She went +toward the door.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," he said impulsively. "I shouldn't have said it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, stopping and returning a little toward him.</p> + +<p>He drew back as though already he felt her arms about him.</p> + +<p>"Don't," she said, smiling a tired smile. "I'm not going to try that."</p> + +<p>Her instinct had given her possession of the scene. He felt it and was +irritated.</p> + +<p>"Only let us part quietly—with dignity," she said, "for we have been +happy together for six years." Then she said rapidly:</p> + +<p>"I want you to know that I shall do nothing to dishonor your name. I am +not going to him. That is ended."</p> + +<p>An immense curiosity came to him to learn the reason of this strange +avowal. But he realized it would never do for him to ask it.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Jackie," she said, having waited a moment. "I shall not see +you again."</p> + +<p>He watched her leaving with the same moving grace with which she had +come. All at once he found a way of evasion.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go to him?" he said harshly.</p> + +<p>She stopped but did not turn.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, shaking her head. And again she dared to continue toward +the door.</p> + +<p>"I shall not stand in your way," he said curtly, fearing only that she +would leave. "I will give you a divorce. I don't deny a woman's +liberty."</p> + +<p>She turned, saying:</p> + +<p>"Do you allow a woman liberty to know her own mind?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>She came back until he almost could have touched her, standing looking +into his eyes with a wistful, searching glance, clasping and unclasping +her tense fingers.</p> + +<p>"Jack," she said, "you never really cared."</p> + +<p>"So it is all my fault!" he cried, snapping his arms together, sure now +that she would stay.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is."</p> + +<p>"What!" he cried in a rage—already it was a different rage—"didn't I +give you anything you wanted, everything I had, all my time, all—"</p> + +<p>"All but yourself," she said quietly; "you were always cold."</p> + +<p>"I!"</p> + +<p>"You were! You were!" she said sharply, annoyed at the contradiction. +But quickly remembering herself, she continued with only a regretful +sadness in her voice:</p> + +<p>"Always cold, always matter-of-fact. Bob of the head in the morning, +jerk of the head at night. When I was happy over a new dress or a new +hat you never noticed it—until the bill came in. You were always +matter-of-fact, absolutely confident I was yours, body and soul."</p> + +<p>"By George, that's too much!" he cried furiously. "That's a fine one. +I'm to blame—of course I'm to blame!"</p> + +<p>She drew a step away from him, and said:</p> + +<p>"Listen! No, listen quietly, for when I've told you I shall go."</p> + +<p>Despite himself, his anger vanished at her quiet command.</p> + +<p>"If I listen," he thought, "it's all over."</p> + +<p>He still believed he was resisting, only he wanted to hear as he had +never wanted anything else—to learn why she was not going to the other +man.</p> + +<p>"Yes, what has happened is only natural," she said, drawing her eyebrows +a little together and seeming to reason more with herself. "It had to +happen before I could really be sure of my love for you. You men know +and choose from the knowledge of many women. A woman, such as I, coming +to you as a girl, must often and often ask herself if she would still +make the same choice. Then another man comes into her life and she makes +of him a test to know once and for all the answer to her question. Jack, +that was it. That was the instinct that drove me to try if I <i>could</i> +leave you—the instinct I did not understand then, but that I do now, +when it's too late."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is clever," he thought to himself, listening to her, desiring +her the more as he admired what he did not credit. He felt that he +wanted to be convinced and with a last angry resistance, said:</p> + +<p>"Very clever, indeed!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with her clear, gray look, a smile in her eyes, +sadness on her lips.</p> + +<p>"You know it is true."</p> + +<p>He did not reply. Finally he said bruskly:</p> + +<p>"And when did—did the change come to you?"</p> + +<p>"In the carriage, when every turn of the wheel, every passing street, +was rushing me away from you. I thought of you—alone—lost—and +suddenly I knew. I beat with my fists on the window and called to the +coachman like a madman. I don't know what I said. I came back."</p> + +<p>She stopped, pressing back the tears that had started on her eyelids at +the memory. She controlled herself, gave a quick little nod, without +offering her hand, went toward the door.</p> + +<p>"What! I've got to call her back!" He said it to himself, adding +furiously: "Never!"</p> + +<p>He let her go to the door itself, vowing he would not make the advance.</p> + +<p>When the door was half open, something in him cried: "Wait!"</p> + +<p>She closed the door softly, but she did not immediately turn round. The +palms of her hands were wet with the cold, frightened sweat of that +awful moment. When she returned, she came to him with a wondering, +timid, girlish look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack, if you only could!" she said, and then only did she put out +her hands and let her fingers press over his heart.</p> + +<p>The next moment she was swept up in his arms, shrinking and very still.</p> + +<p>All at once he put her from him and said roughly:</p> + +<p>"What was his name?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!"</p> + +<p>"Give me his name," he said miserably. "I must know it."</p> + +<p>"No—neither now nor at any other time," she said firmly, and her look +as it met his had again all the old domination. "That is my condition."</p> + +<p>"Ah, how weak I have been," he said to himself, with a last bitter, +instinctive revolt. "How weak I am."</p> + +<p>She saw and understood.</p> + +<p>"We must be generous," she said, changing her voice quickly to +gentleness. "He has been pained enough already. He alone will suffer. +And if you knew his name it would only make you unhappy."</p> + +<p>He still rebelled, but suddenly to him came a thought which at first he +was ashamed to express.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't know?"</p> + +<p>She lied.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"He's still waiting—there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Ah, he's waiting," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>A gleam of vanity, of triumph over the discarded, humiliated one, leaped +up fiercely within him and ended all the lingering, bitter memories.</p> + +<p>"Then you care?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder that he +might not see she had read such a thought.</p> + +<p>"Care?" he cried. He had surrendered. Now it was necessary to be +convinced. "Why, when I received your letter I—I was wild. I wanted to +do murder."</p> + +<p>"Jackie!"</p> + +<p>"I was like a madman—everything was gone—nothing was left."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack, how I have made you suffer!"</p> + +<p>"Suffer? Yes, I have suffered!" Overcome by the returning pain of the +memory, he dropped into a chair, trying to control his voice. "Yes, I +have suffered!"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me!" she said, slipping on her knees beside him, and burying +her head in his lap.</p> + +<p>"I was out of my head—I don't know what I did, what I said. It was as +though a bomb had exploded. My life was wrecked, shattered—nothing +left."</p> + +<p>He felt the grief again, even more acutely. He suffered for what he had +suffered.</p> + +<p>"Jack, I never really could have <i>abandoned</i> you," she cried bitterly. +She raised her eyes toward him and suddenly took notice of the +time-tables that lay clutched in his hands. "Oh, you were going away!"</p> + +<p>He nodded, incapable of speech.</p> + +<p>"You were running away?"</p> + +<p>"I was running away—to forget—to bury myself!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack!"</p> + +<p>"There was nothing here. It was all a blank! I was running away—to bury +myself!"</p> + +<p>At the memory of that miserable hopeless moment, in which he had +resolved on flight, the tears, no longer to be denied, came dripping +down his cheeks.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='THE_LIE'></a><h2>THE LIE</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>For some time they had ceased to speak, too oppressed with the needless +anguish of this their last night. At their feet the tiny shining windows +of Etretat were dropping back into the night, as though sinking under +the rise of that black, mysterious flood that came luminously from the +obscure regions of the faint sky. Overhead, the swollen August stars had +faded before the pale flush that, toward the lighthouse on the cliff, +heralded the red rise of the moon.</p> + +<p>He held himself a little apart, the better to seize every filmy detail +of the strange woman who had come inexplicably into his life, watching +the long, languorous arms stretched out into an impulsive clasp, the +dramatic harmony of the body, the brooding head, the soft, half-revealed +line of the neck. The troubling alchemy of the night, that before his +eyes slowly mingled the earth with the sea and the sea with the sky, +seemed less mysterious than this woman whose body was as immobile as the +stillness in her soul.</p> + +<p>All at once he felt in her, whom he had known as he had known no other, +something unknown, the coming of another woman, belonging to another +life, the life of the opera and the multitude, which would again flatter +and intoxicate her. The summer had passed without a doubt, and now, all +at once, something new came to him, indefinable, colored with the vague +terror of the night, the fear of other men who would come thronging +about her, in the other life, where he could not follow.</p> + +<p>Around the forked promontory to the east, the lights of the little +packet-boat for England appeared, like the red cinder in a pipe, +slipping toward the horizon. It was the signal for a lover's embrace, +conceived long ago in fancy and kept in tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Madeleine," he said, touching her arm. "There it is—our little boat."</p> + +<p>"Ah! <i>le p'tit bateau</i>—with its funny red and green eyes."</p> + +<p>She turned and raised her lips to his; and the kiss, which she did not +give but permitted, seemed only fraught with an ineffable sadness, the +end of all things, the tearing asunder and the numbness of separation. +She returned to her pose, her eyes fixed on the little packet, saying:</p> + +<p>"It's late."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It goes fast."</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>They spoke mechanically, and then not at all. The dread of the morning +was too poignant to approach the things that must be said. Suddenly, +with the savage directness of the male to plunge into the pain which +must be undergone, he began:</p> + +<p>"It was like poison—that kiss."</p> + +<p>She turned, forgetting her own anguish in the pain in his voice, +murmuring, "Ben, my poor Ben."</p> + +<p>"So you will go—to-morrow," he said bitterly, "back to the great public +that will possess you, and I shall remain—here, alone."</p> + +<p>"It must be so."</p> + +<p>He felt suddenly an impulse he had not felt before, an instinct to make +her suffer a little. He said brutally:</p> + +<p>"But you want to go!"</p> + +<p>She did not answer, but, in the obscurity, he knew her large eyes were +searching his face. He felt ashamed of what he had said, and yet because +she made no protestation, he persisted:</p> + +<p>"You have left off your jewels, those jewels you can't do without."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night."</p> + +<p>"You who are never happy without them—why not to-night?"</p> + +<p>As, carried away by the jealousy of what lay beyond, he was about to +continue, she laid her fingers on his lips, with a little brusk, nervous +movement of her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Don't—you don't understand."</p> + +<p>But he understood and he resented the fact that she should have put +aside the long undulating rope of pearls, the rings of rubies and +emeralds that seemed as natural to her dark beauty as the roses to the +spring. He had tried to understand her woman's nature, to believe that +no memory yet lingered about them, to accept without question what had +never belonged longed to their life together, and remembering what he +had fought down he thought bitterly:</p> + +<p>"She has changed me more than I have changed her. It is always so."</p> + +<p>She moved a little, her pose, with instinctive dramatic sense, changing +with her changing mood.</p> + +<p>"Do not think I don't understand you," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>"What do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"It hurts you because I wish to return."</p> + +<p>"That is not so, Madeleine," he said abruptly. "You know what big things +I want you to do."</p> + +<p>"I know—only you would like me to say the contrary—to protest that I +would give it all up—be content to be with you alone."</p> + +<p>"No, not that," he said grudgingly, "and yet, this last night—here—I +should like to hear you say the contrary."</p> + +<p>She laughed a low laugh and caught his hand a little tighter.</p> + +<p>"That displeases you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, of course not!" Presently she added with an effort:</p> + +<p>"There is so much that we must say to each other and we have not the +courage."</p> + +<p>"True, all summer we have never talked of what must come after."</p> + +<p>"I want you to understand why I go back to it all, why I wish every year +to be separated from you—yes, exactly, from you," she added, as his +fingers contracted with an involuntary movement. "Ben, what has come to +me I never expected would come. I love, but neither that word nor any +other word can express how absolutely I have become yours. When I told +you my life, you did not wonder how difficult it was for me to believe +that such a thing could be possible. But you convinced me, and what has +come to me has come as a miracle. I adore you. All my life has been +lived just for this great love; ah yes, that's what I believe, what I +feel." She leaned swiftly to him and allowed him to catch her to him in +his strong arms. Then slowly disengaging herself, she continued, "You +are a little hurt because I do not cry out what you would not accept, +because I do not say that I would give up everything if you asked it."</p> + +<p>"It is only to <i>hear</i> it," he said impulsively.</p> + +<p>"But I have often wished it myself," she said slowly. "There's not a day +that I have not wished it—to give up everything and stay by you. Do you +know why? From the longing that's in me now, the first unselfish +longing I have ever had—to sacrifice myself for you in some way, +somehow. It is more than a hunger, it is a need of the soul—of my love +itself. It comes over me sometimes as tears come to my eyes when you are +away, and I say to myself, 'I love him,' and yet, Ben, I shall not, I +shall never give up my career, not now, not for years to come."</p> + +<p>"No," he said mechanically.</p> + +<p>"We are two great idealists, for that is what you have made me, Ben. +Before I was always laughing, and I believed in nothing. I despised even +what my sacrifice had won. Now, when I am with you, I remain in a +revery, and I am happy—happy with the happiness of things I cannot +understand. To-night, by your side, it seems to me I have never felt the +night before or known the mystery of the silent, faint hours. You have +made me feel the loneliness of the human soul, and that impulse it must +have before these things that are beyond us, that surround us, dominate +us, to cling almost in terror to another soul. You have so completely +made me over that it is as though you had created me yourself. I am +thirty-five. I have known everything else but what you have awakened in +me, and because I have this knowledge and this hunger I can see clearer +what we must do. You and I are a little romanesque, but remember that +even a great love may tire and grow stale, and that is what I won't +have, what must not be." Her voice had risen with the intensity of her +mood. She said more solemnly: "You are afraid of other men, of other +moods of mine—you have no reason. This love which comes to some as the +awakening of life is to me the end of all things. If anything should +wound it or belittle it, I should not survive it."</p> + +<p>She continued to speak, in a low unvarying voice. He felt his mind clear +and his doubts dissipate, and impatiently he waited for her to end, to +show her that his weakness of the moment was gone and that he was still +the man of big vision who had awakened her.</p> + +<p>"There are people who can put in order their love as they put in order +their house. We are not of that kind, Ben. I am a woman who has lived on +sensations. You, too, are a dreamer and a poet at the bottom. If I +should give up the opera and become to you simply a housewife, if there +was no longer any difficulty in our having each other, you would still +love me—yes, because you are loyal—but the romanticism, the mystery, +the longing we both need would vanish. Oh, I know. Well, you and I, we +are the same. We can only live on a great passion, and to have fierce, +unutterable joys we must suffer also—the suffering of separation. Do +you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>"That is why I shall never give up my career. That is why I can bear +the sadness of leaving you. I want you to be proud of me, Ben. I want +you to think of me as some one whom thousands desire and only you can +have. I want our love to be so intense that every day spent apart is +heavy with the longing for each other; every day together precious +because it will be a day nearer the awful coming of another separation. +Believe me, I am right. I have thought much about it. You have your +diplomatic career and your ambitions. You are proud. I have never asked +you to give that up to follow me. I would not insult you. In January you +will have a leave of absence, and we will be together for a few +wonderful weeks, and in May I shall return here. Nothing will be +changed." She extended her arm to where a faint red point still showed +on the unseen water. "And each night we will wait, as we have waited, +side by side, the coming of our little boat,—<i>notre p'tit bateau</i>"</p> + +<p>"You are right," he said, placing his lips to her forehead. "I was +jealous. I am sorry. It is over."</p> + +<p>"But I, too, am jealous," she said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—no one can love without being jealous. Oh, I shall be afraid +of every woman who comes near you. It will be an agony," she said, and +the fire in her eyes brought him more healing happiness than all her +words.</p> + +<p>"You are right," he repeated.</p> + +<p>He left her with a little pressure of the hand, and walked to the edge +of the veranda. A nervous, sighing breeze had come with the full coming +of the moon, and underneath him he heard the troubled rustle of leaves +in the obscurity, the sifting and drifting of tired, loose things, the +stir of the night which awakened a restless mood in his soul. He had +listened to her as she had proclaimed her love, and yet this love, +without illusions, sharply recalled to him other passions. He remembered +his first love, a boy-and-girl affair, and sharply contrasting it with a +sudden ache to this absence of impulse and illusions, of phrases, vows, +without logic, thrown out in the sweet madness of the moment. Why had +she not cried out something impulsive, promised things that could not +be. Then he realized, standing there in the harvest moonlight, in the +breaking up of summer, that he was no longer a youth, that certain +things could not be lived over, and that, as she had said, he too felt +that this was the great love, the last that he would share; that if it +ended, his youth ended and with his youth all that in him clung to life.</p> + +<p>He turned and saw her, chin in the flat of her palm, steadily following +his mood. He had taken but a dozen steps, and yet he had placed a +thousand miles between them. He had almost a feeling of treachery, and +to dispel these new unquiet thoughts he repeated to himself again:</p> + +<p>"She is right."</p> + +<p>But he did not immediately return. The memory of other loves, faint as +they had been in comparison with this all-absorbing impulse, had yet +given him a certain objective point of view. He saw himself clearly, and +he understood what of pain the future had in store for him.</p> + +<p>"How I shall suffer!" he said to himself.</p> + +<p>"You are going so far away from me," she said suddenly, warned by some +woman's instinct.</p> + +<p>He was startled at the conjunction of her words and his moods. He +returned hastily, and sat down beside her. She took his head in her +hands and looked anxiously into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she said. "You are afraid?"</p> + +<p>"A little," he said reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"Of what—of the months that will come?"</p> + +<p>"Of the past."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she said, withdrawing a little as though disturbed +by the thought.</p> + +<p>"When I am with you I know there is not a corner of your heart that I do +not possess," he began evasively.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Only it's the past—the habits of the past," he murmured. "I know you +so well, Madeleine, you have need of strength, you don't go on alone. +That is the genius of women like you—to reach out and attach to +themselves men who will strengthen them, compel them on."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I understand," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is what I'm afraid of," he said rapidly.</p> + +<p>"You are thinking of the artist, not the woman."</p> + +<p>"Ah, there is no difference—not to a man who loves," he said +impulsively. "I know how great your love is for me, and I believe in it. +I know nothing will come to efface it. Only you will be lonely, you'll +have your trials and annoyances, days of depression, of doubt, when you +will need some one to restore your faith in yourself, your courage in +your work, and then, I don't say you will love any one else, but you +will need some one near you who loves you, always at your service—"</p> + +<p>"If you could only understand me," she said, interrupting him. "Men, +other men, are like actors to me. When I am on the stage, when I am +playing Manon, do you think I see who is playing Des Grieux? Not at all. +He is there, he gives me my <i>replique</i>, he excites my nerves, I say a +thousand things under my breath, when I am in his arms I adore him, but +when the curtain goes down, I go off the stage and don't even say good +night to him."</p> + +<p>"But he, he doesn't know that."</p> + +<p>"Of course not; tenors never do. Well, that is just the way I have +lived, that is just what men have meant to me. They give the <i>replique</i> +to my moods, to my needs, and when I have no longer need of them, I go +off tranquilly. That is all there is to it. I take from them what I +want. Of course they will be around me, but they will be nothing to me. +They will be like managers, press-agents, actors. Don't you understand +that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I understand," he said without sincerity. Then he blurted +out, "I wish you had not said it, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot see it as you see it, and besides, you put a doubt in my mind +that I never wish to feel."</p> + +<p>"What doubt?"</p> + +<p>"Do I really have you, or only a mood of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Ben!"</p> + +<p>"I know. I know. No, I am not going to think such things. That would be +unworthy of what we have felt." He paused a moment, and when he spoke +again his voice was under control. "Madeleine, remember well what I say +to you now. I shall probably never again speak to you with such absolute +truth, or even acknowledge it to myself. I accept the necessity of +separation. I know all the sufferings it will bring, all the doubts, the +unreasoning jealousies. I am big enough in experience to understand what +you have just suggested to me, but as a man who loves you, Madeleine, I +will never understand it. I know that a dozen men may come into your +life, interest you intensely, even absorb you for a while, and that they +would still mean nothing to you the moment I come. Well, I am +different. A man is different. While you are away, I shall not see a +woman without resentment; I shall not think of any one but you, and if I +did, I would cease to love you."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I cannot share anything of what belongs to you. That is my +nature. There is no use in pretending the contrary. Yours is different, +and I understand why it is so. I have listened to many confidences, +understood many lives that others would not understand. I have always +maintained that it is the natural thing for a human being to love many +times—even that there might he in the same heart a great, overpowering +love and a little one. I still believe it—with my mind. I know it is +so. These are the things we like to analyze in human nature together. I +know it is true, but it is not true for me. No, I would never understand +it in you. I know myself too well, I am jealous of everything of the +past—oh, insanely jealous. I know that no sooner are you gone than I +will be tortured by the most ridiculous doubts. I will see you in the +moonlight all across that endless sea with other men near you. I will +dream of other men with millions, ready to give you everything your eyes +adore. I will imagine men of big minds that will fascinate you. I will +even say to myself that now that you have known what a great love can +mean you will all the more be likely to need it, to seek something to +counterfeit it—"</p> + +<p>"Ben, my poor Ben—frightful," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"That is how it is. Shall I tell you something else?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I wish devoutly you had never told me a word of—of the past."</p> + +<p>"But how can you say such things? We have been honest with each other. +You yourself—"</p> + +<p>"I know, I know, I have no right myself, and yet there it is. It is +something fearful, this madness of possession that comes to me. No, I +have no fear that I will not always be first in your heart, only I +understand the needs, the habits, of your nature. I understand myself +now as I have not before, and that's why I say to you solemnly, +Madeleine, if ever for a moment another man should come into your +life—never, never, let me know."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"No, don't say anything that I may remember to torture me. Lie to me."</p> + +<p>"I have never lied."</p> + +<p>"Madeleine, it is better to be merciful than to tell the truth, and, +after all, what does such a confession mean? It only means that you free +your conscience and that the wound—the ache—remains with the other. +Whatever happens, never tell me. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>This time she made no answer. She even ceased to look at him, her head +dropped back, her arms motionless, one finger only revolving slowly on +the undulating arm of her chair.</p> + +<p>"I shall try by all the strength that is in me never to ask that +question," he rushed on. "I know I shall make a hundred vows not to do +so, and I know that the first time I look into your face I shall blurt +it out. Ah, if—if—if it must be so, never let me know, for there are +thoughts I cannot bear now that I've known you." He flung himself at her +side and took her roughly in his arms. "Madeleine, I know what I am +saying. I may tell you the contrary later. I may say it lightly, +pretending it is of no importance. I may beg the truth of you with tears +in my eyes—I may swear to you that nothing but honesty counts between +us, that I can understand, forgive, forget everything. Well, whatever I +say or do, never, never let me know—if you value my happiness, my peace +of mind, my life even!"</p> + +<p>She laid her hand on his lips and then on his forehead to calm him, +drawing his head to her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Ben," she said, gently. "I, the Madeleine Conti who loves you, +am another being. I adore you so that I shall hate all other men, as you +will hate all other women. There will never be the slightest deceit or +infidelity between us. Ask any questions of me at any time. I know there +can be from now on but one answer. Have no fear. Do not tire yourself +in a senseless fever. There is so little time left. I love you."</p> + +<p>Never had he heard her voice so deep with sincerity and tenderness, and +yet, as he surrendered to the touch of her soft hands, yielding up all +his doubts, he was conscious of a new alarm creeping into his heart; +and, dissatisfied with what he himself had a moment before implored, in +the breath with which he whispered, "I believe you," he said to himself:</p> + +<p>"Does she say that because she believes it or has she begun to lie?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>For seven years they lived the same existence, separated sometimes for +three months, occasionally for six, and once because of a trip taken to +South America for nearly a year.</p> + +<p>The first time that he joined her, after five months of longing, he +remained a week without crying out the words that were heavy on his +heart. One day she said to him:</p> + +<p>"What is there—back of your eyes, hidden away, that you are stifling?"</p> + +<p>"You know," he blurted out.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I have tried not to say it, to live it down. I can't—it's beyond +me. I shall have no peace until it is said."</p> + +<p>"Then say it."</p> + +<p>He took her face in his two hands and looked into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Since I have been away," he said brutally, "there has been no one else +in your heart? You have been true to me, to our love?"</p> + +<p>"I have been true," she answered with a little smile.</p> + +<p>He held his eyes on hers a long while, hesitating whether to be silent +or to continue, and then, all at once, convinced, burst into tears and +begged her pardon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shouldn't have asked it—forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Do whatever is easiest for you, my love," she answered. "There is +nothing to forgive. I understand all. I love you for it."</p> + +<p>Only she never asked him any questions, and that alarmed him.</p> + +<p>The second time report had coupled her name with a Gabriel Lombardi, a +great baritone with whom she was appearing. When he arrived, as soon as +they were alone, he swung her about in his arms and cried in a strangled +voice:</p> + +<p>"Swear to me that you have been faithful."</p> + +<p>"I swear."</p> + +<p>"Gabriel Lombardi"?</p> + +<p>"I can't abide him".</p> + +<p>"Ah, if I had never told you to lie to me—fool that I was."</p> + +<p>Then she said calmly, with that deep conviction which always moved him: +"Ben, when you asked me that, I told you I would never lie. I have told +you the truth. No man has ever had the pressure of my fingers, and no +man ever will."</p> + +<p>So intense had been his emotion that he had almost a paroxysm. When he +opened his eyes he found her face wet with tears.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Madeleine," he said, "I am brutal with you. I cannot help it."</p> + +<p>"I would not have you love me differently," she said gently, and through +her tears he seemed to see a faint, elusive smile, that was gone quickly +if it was ever there at all.</p> + +<p>Another time, he said to himself: "No, I will say nothing. She will come +to me herself, put her arms around me, and tell me with a smile that no +other thought has been in her heart all this while. That's it. If I wait +she will make the move, she will make the move each time—and that will +be much better."</p> + +<p>He waited three days, but she made no allusion. He waited another, and +then he said lightly:</p> + +<p>"You see, I am reforming."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I don't ask foolish questions any more."</p> + +<p>"That's so."</p> + +<p>"Still—"</p> + +<p>"Well?" she said, looking up.</p> + +<p>"Still, you might have guessed what I wanted," he answered, a little +hurt.</p> + +<p>She rose quickly and came lightly to him, putting her hand on his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Is that what you wish?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>She repeated slowly her protestations and when she had ended, said, +"Take me in your arms—hurt me."</p> + +<p>"Now she will understand," he thought; "the next time she will not +wait."</p> + +<p>But each time, though he martyrized his soul in patience, he was forced +to bring up the question that would not let him rest.</p> + +<p>He could not understand why she did not save him this useless agony. +Sometimes when he wanted to find an excuse he said to himself it was +because she felt humiliated that he should still doubt. At other times, +he stumbled on explanations that terrified him. Then he remembered with +bitterness the promise that he had exacted from her, a promise that, +instead of bringing him peace, had left only an endless torment, and +forgetting all his protestations he would cry to himself, in a cold +perspiration:</p> + +<p>"Ah, if she is really lying, how can I ever be sure?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In the eighth year, Madeleine Conti retired from the stage and announced +her marriage. After five years of complete happiness she was taken +suddenly ill, as the result of exposure to a drenching storm. One +afternoon, as he waited by her bedside, talking in broken tones of all +that they had been to each other, he said to her in a voice that he +tried nervously to school to quietness:</p> + +<p>"Madeleine, you know that our life together has been without the +slightest shadow from the first. You know we have proved to each other +how immense our love has been. In all these years I have grown in +maturity and understanding. I regret only one thing, and I have +regretted it bitterly, every day—that I once asked you, if—if ever for +a moment another man came into your life to hide it from me, to tell me +a lie. It was a great mistake. I have never ceased to regret it. Our +love has been so above all worldly things that there ought not to be the +slightest concealment between us. I release you from that promise. Tell +me now the truth. It will mean nothing to me. During the eight years +when we were separated there were—there must have been times, times of +loneliness, of weakness, when other men came into your life. Weren't +there?"</p> + +<p>She turned and looked at him steadily, her large eyes seeming larger and +more brilliant from the heightened fever of her cheeks. Then she made a +little negative sign of her head, still looking at him.</p> + +<p>"No, never."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand, Madeleine," he said, dissatisfied, "or you are +still thinking of what I said to you there in Etretat. That was thirteen +years ago. Then I had just begun to love you, I feared for the future, +for everything. Now I have tested you, and I have never had a doubt. I +know the difference between the flesh and the spirit. I know your two +selves; I know how impossible it would have been otherwise. Now you can +tell me."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing—to tell," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"I expected that you would have other men who loved you about you," he +said, feverishly. "I knew it would be so. I swear to you I expected it. +I know why you continue to deny it. It's for my sake, isn't it? I love +you for it. But, believe me, in such a moment there ought nothing to +stand between us. Madeleine, Madeleine, I beg you, tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>She continued to gaze at him fixedly, without turning away her great +eyes, as forgetting himself, he rushed on:</p> + +<p>"Yes, let me know the truth—that will be nothing now. Besides, I have +guessed it. Only I must know one way or the other. All these years I +have lived in doubt. You see what it means to me. You must understand +what is due me after all our life together. Madeleine, did you lie to +me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Listen," he said, desperately. "You never asked me the same +question—why, I never understood—but if you had questioned me I could +not have answered truthfully what you did. There, you see, there is no +longer the slightest reason why you should not speak the truth."</p> + +<p>She half closed her eyes—wearily.</p> + +<p>"I have told—the truth."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I can't believe it," he cried, carried away. "Oh, cursed day when I +told you what I did. It's that which tortures me. You adore me—you +don't wish to hurt me, to leave a wound behind, but I swear to you if +you told me the truth I should feel a great weight taken from my heart, +a weight that has been here all these years. I should know that every +corner of your soul had been shown to me, nothing withheld. I should +know absolutely, Madeleine, believe me, when I tell you this, when I +tell you I must know. Every day of my life I have paid the penalty, I +have suffered the doubts of the damned, I have never known an hour's +peace! I beg you, I implore you, only let me know the truth; the +truth—I must know the truth!"</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly, trembling all over, and held out his hands to her, +his face lashed with suffering.</p> + +<p>"I have not lied," she said slowly, after a long study. She raised her +eyes, feebly made the sign of the cross, and whispered, "I swear it."</p> + +<p>Then he no longer held in his tears. He dropped his head, and his body +shook with sobs, while from time to time he repeated, "Thank God, thank +God."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The next day Madeleine Conti had a sudden turn for the worse, which +surprised the attendants. Doctor Kimball, the American, doctor, and Père +François, who had administered the last rites, were walking together in +the little formal garden, where the sun flung short, brilliant shadows +of scattered foliage about them.</p> + +<p>"She was an extraordinary artist and her life was more extraordinary," +said Dr. Kimball. "I heard her début at the Opéra Comique. For ten years +her name was the gossip of all Europe. Then all at once she meets a man +whom no one knows, falls in love, and is transformed. These women are +really extraordinary examples of hysteria. Each time I know one it makes +me understand the scientific phenomenon of Mary Magdalene. It is really +a case of nerve reaction. The moral fever that is the fiercest burns +itself out the quickest and seems to leave no trace behind. In this case +love came also as a religious conversion. I should say the phenomena +were identical."</p> + +<p>"She was happy," said the curé, turning to go.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was a great romance."</p> + +<p>"A rare one. She adored him. Love is a tide that cleanses all."</p> + +<p>"Yet she was of the stage up to the last. You know she would not have +her husband in the room at the end."</p> + +<p>"She had a great heart," said the curé quietly. "She wished to spare +him that suffering."</p> + +<p>"She had an extraordinary will," said the doctor, glancing at him +quickly. He added, tentatively: "She asked two questions that were +curious enough."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," said the curé, lingering a moment with his hand on the gate.</p> + +<p>"She wanted to know whether persons in a delirium talked of the past and +if after death the face returned to its calm."</p> + +<p>"What did you say to her about the effects of delirium?" said the curé +with his blank face.</p> + +<p>"That it was a point difficult to decide," said the doctor slowly. +"Undoubtedly, in a delirium, everything is mixed, the real and the +imagined, the memory and the fantasy, actual experience and the inner +dream-life of the mind which is so difficult to classify. It was after +that, that she made her husband promise to see her only when she was +conscious and to remain away at the last."</p> + +<p>"It is easily understood," said the curé quietly, without change of +expression on his face that held the secrets of a thousand +confessionals. "As you say, for ten years she had lived a different +life. She was afraid that in her delirium some reference to that time +might wound unnecessarily the man who had made over her life. She had a +great courage. Peace be with her soul."</p> + +<p>"Still,"—Doctor Kimball hesitated, as though considering the phrasing +of a delicate question; but Father François, making a little amical sign +of adieu, passed out of the garden, and for a moment his blank face was +illumined by one of those rare smiles, such as one sees on the faces of +holy men; smiles that seem in perfect faith to look upon the mysteries +of the world to come.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='EVEN_THREES'></a><h2>EVEN THREES</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> + +<p>Ever since the historic day when a visiting clergyman accomplished the +feat of pulling a ball from the tenth tee at an angle of two hundred and +twenty-five degrees into the river that is the rightful receptacle for +the eighth tee, the Stockbridge golf-course has had seventeen out of the +eighteen holes that are punctuated with possible water hazards. The +charming course itself lies in the flat of the sunken meadows which the +Housatonic, in the few thousand years which are necessary for the proper +preparation of a golf-course, has obligingly eaten out of the high, +accompanying bluffs. The river, which goes wriggling on its way as +though convulsed with merriment, is garnished with luxurious elms and +willows, which occasionally deflect to the difficult putting-greens the +random slices of certain notorious amateurs.</p> + +<p>From the spectacular bluffs of the educated village of Stockbridge +nothing can be imagined more charming than the panorama that the course +presents on a busy day. Across the soft, green stretches, diminutive +caddies may be seen scampering with long buckling-nets, while from the +river-banks numerous recklessly exposed legs wave in the air as the more +socially presentable portions hang frantically over the swirling +current. Occasionally an enthusiastic golfer, driving from the eighth or +ninth tees, may be seen to start immediately in headlong pursuit of a +diverted ball, the swing of the club and the intuitive leap of the legs +forward forming so continuous a movement that the main purpose of the +game often becomes obscured to the mere spectator. Nearer, in the +numerous languid swales that nature has generously provided to protect +the interests of the manufacturers, or in the rippling patches of unmown +grass, that in the later hours will be populated by enthusiastic +caddies, desperate groups linger in botanizing attitudes.</p> + +<p>Every morning lawyers who are neglecting their clients, doctors who have +forgotten their patients, business men who have sacrificed their +affairs, even ministers of the gospel who have forsaken their churches, +gather in the noisy dressing-room and listen with servile attention +while some unscrubbed boy who goes around under eighty imparts a little +of his miraculous knowledge.</p> + +<p>Two hours later, for every ten that have gone out so blithely, two +return crushed and despondent, denouncing and renouncing the game, once +and for all, absolutely and finally, until the afternoon, when they +return like thieves in the night and venture out in a desperate hope; +two more come stamping back in even more offensive enthusiasm; and the +remainder straggle home moody and disillusioned, reviving their sunken +spirits by impossible tales of past accomplishments.</p> + +<p>There is something about these twilight gatherings that suggests the +degeneracy of a rugged race; nor is the contamination of merely local +significance. There are those who lie consciously, with a certain frank, +commendable, whole-hearted plunge into iniquity. Such men return to +their worldly callings with intellectual vigor unimpaired and a natural +reaction toward the decalogue. Others of more casuistical temperament, +unable all at once to throw over the traditions of a New England +conscience to the exigencies of the game, do not burst at once into +falsehood, but by a confusing process weaken their memories and corrupt +their imaginations. They never lie of the events of the day. Rather they +return to some jumbled happening of the week before and delude +themselves with only a lingering qualm, until from habit they can create +what is really a form of paranoia, the delusion of greatness, or the +exaggerated ego. Such men, inoculated with self-deception, return to the +outer world, to deceive others, lower the standards of business +morality, contaminate politics, and threaten the vigor of the republic. +R.N. Booverman, the Treasurer, and Theobald Pickings, the unenvied +Secretary of an unenvied hoard, arrived at the first tee at precisely +ten o'clock on a certain favorable morning in early August to begin the +thirty-six holes which six times a week, six months of the year, they +played together as sympathetic and well-matched adversaries. Their +intimacy had arisen primarily from the fact that Pickings was the only +man willing to listen to Booverman's restless dissertations on the +malignant fates which seemed to pursue him even to the neglect of their +international duties, while Booverman, in fair exchange, suffered +Pickings to enlarge ad libitum on his theory of the rolling versus the +flat putting-greens.</p> + +<p>Pickings was one of those correctly fashioned and punctilious golfers +whose stance was modeled on classic lines, whose drive, though it +averaged only twenty-five yards over the hundred, was always a +well-oiled and graceful exhibition of the Royal St. Andrew's swing, the +left sole thrown up, the eyeballs bulging with the last muscular +tension, the club carried back until the whole body was contorted into +the first position of the traditional hoop-snake preparing to descend a +hill. He used the interlocking grip, carried a bag with a spoon driver, +an aluminium cleek, three abnormal putters, and wore one chamois glove +with air-holes on the back. He never accomplished the course in less +than eighty five and never exceeded ninety four, but, having aimed to +set a correct example rather than to strive vulgarly for professional +records, was always in a state of offensive optimism due to a complete +sartorial satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Booverman, on the contrary, had been hailed in his first years as a +coming champion. With three holes eliminated, he could turn in a card +distinguished for its fours and threes; but unfortunately these sad +lapses inevitably occurred. As Booverman himself admitted, his +appearance on the golf-links was the signal for the capricious imps of +chance who stir up politicians to indiscreet truths and keep the Balkan +pot of discord bubbling, to forsake immediately these prime duties, and +enjoy a little relaxation at his expense.</p> + +<p>Now, for the first three years Booverman responded in a manner to +delight imp and devil. When standing thirty-four for the first six +holes, he sliced into the jungle, and, after twenty minutes of frantic +beating of the bush, was forced to acknowledge a lost ball and no score, +he promptly sat down, tore large clutches of grass from the sod, and +expressed himself to the admiring delight of the caddies, who favorably +compared his flow of impulsive expletives to the choice moments of their +own home life. At other times he would take an offending club firmly in +his big hands and break it into four pieces, which he would drive into +the ground, hurling the head itself, with a last diabolical gesture, +into the Housatonic River, which, as may be repeated, wriggles its way +through the course as though convulsed with merriment.</p> + +<p>There were certain trees into which he inevitably drove, certain waggish +bends of the river where, no matter how he might face, he was sure to +arrive. There was a space of exactly ten inches under the clubhouse +where his balls alone could disappear. He never ran down a long put, but +always hung on the rim of the cup. It was his adversary who executed +phenomenal shots, approaches of eighty yards that dribbled home, sliced +drives that hit a fence and bounded back on the course. Nothing of this +agreeable sort had ever happened or could ever happen to him. Finally +the conviction of a certain predestined damnation settled upon him. He +no longer struggled; his once rollicking spirits settled into a moody +despair. Nothing encouraged him or could trick him into a display of +hope. If he achieved a four and two twos on the first holes, he would +say vindictively:</p> + +<p>"What's the use? I'll lose my ball on the fifth."</p> + +<p>And when this happened, he no longer swore, but said gloomily with even +a sense of satisfaction: "You can't get me excited. Didn't I know it +would happen?"</p> + +<p>Once in a while he had broken out, "If ever my luck changes, if it +comes all at once—"</p> + +<p>But he never ended the sentence, ashamed, as it were, to have indulged +in such a childish fancy. Yet, as Providence moves in a mysterious way +its wonders to perform, it was just this invincible pessimism that alone +could have permitted Booverman to accomplish the incredible experience +that befell him.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Topics of engrossing mental interests are bad form on the golf-links, +since they leave a disturbing memory in the mind to divert it from that +absolute intellectual concentration which the game demands. Therefore +Pickings and Booverman, as they started toward the crowded first tee, +remarked <i>de rigueur</i>:</p> + +<p>"Good weather."</p> + +<p>"A bit of a breeze."</p> + +<p>"Not strong enough to affect the drives."</p> + +<p>"The greens have baked out."</p> + +<p>"Fast as I've seen them."</p> + +<p>"Well, it won't help me."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" said Pickings, politely, for the hundredth time. +"Perhaps this is the day you'll get your score."</p> + +<p>Booverman ignored this set remark, laying his ball on the rack, where +two predecessors were waiting, and settled beside Pickings at the foot +of the elm which later, he knew, would rob him of a four on the home +green.</p> + +<p>Wessels and Pollock, literary representatives, were preparing to drive. +They were converts of the summer, each sacrificing their season's output +in a frantic effort to surpass the other. Pickings, the purist, did not +approve of them in the least. They brought to the royal and ancient game +a spirit of Bohemian irreverence and banter that offended his serious +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>When Wessels made a convulsive stab at his ball and luckily achieved +good distance, Pollock remarked behind his hand, "A good shot, damn it!"</p> + +<p>Wessels stationed himself in a hopefully deprecatory attitude and +watched Pollock build a monument of sand, balance his ball, and +whistling nervously through his teeth, lunge successfully down. +Whereupon, in defiance of etiquette, he swore with equal fervor, and +they started off.</p> + +<p>Pickings glanced at Booverman in a superior and critical way, but at +this moment a thin, dyspeptic man with undisciplined whiskers broke in +serenely without waiting for the answers to the questions he propounded:</p> + +<p>"Ideal weather, eh? Came over from Norfolk this morning; ran over at +fifty miles an hour. Some going, eh? They tell me you've quite a course +here; record around seventy-one, isn't it? Good deal of water to keep +out of? You gentlemen some of the cracks? Course pretty fast with all +this dry weather? What do you think of the one-piece driver? My friend, +Judge Weatherup. My name's Yancy—Cyrus P."</p> + +<p>A ponderous person who looked as though he had been pumped up for the +journey gravely saluted, while his feverish companion rolled on:</p> + +<p>"Your course's rather short, isn't it? Imagine it's rather easy for a +straight driver. What's your record? Seventy-one amateur? Rather high, +isn't it? Do you get many cracks around here? Caddies seem scarce. Did +either of you gentlemen ever reflect how surprising it is that better +scores aren't made at this game? Now, take seventy-one; that's only one +under fours, and I venture to say at least six of your holes are +possible twos, and all the rest, sometime or other, have been made in +three. Yet you never hear of phenomenal scores, do you, like a run of +luck at roulette or poker? You get my idea?"</p> + +<p>"I believe it is your turn, sir," said Pickings, both crushing and +parliamentary. "There are several waiting."</p> + +<p>Judge Weatherup drove a perfect ball into the long grass, where +successful searches averaged ten minutes, while his voluble companion, +with an immense expenditure of force, foozled into the swale to the +left, which was both damp and retentive.</p> + +<p>"Shall we play through?" said Pickings, with formal preciseness. He +teed his ball, took exactly eight full practice swings, and drove one +hundred and fifty yards as usual directly in the middle of the course.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's straight; that's all can be said for it," he said, as he +would say at the next seventeen tees.</p> + +<p>Booverman rarely employed that slogan. That straight and narrow path was +not in his religious practice. He drove a long ball, and he drove a +great many that did not return in his bag. He glanced resentfully to the +right, where Judge Weatherup was straddling the fence, and to the left, +where Yancy was annoying the bullfrogs.</p> + +<p>"Darn them!" he said to himself. "Of course now I'll follow suit."</p> + +<p>But whether or not the malignant force of suggestion was neutralized by +the attraction in opposite directions, his drive went straight and far, +a beautiful two hundred and forty yards.</p> + +<p>"Tine shot, Mr. Booverman," said Frank, the professional, nodding his +head, "free and easy, plenty of follow-through."</p> + +<p>"You're on your drive to-day," said Pickings, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Sure! When I get a good drive off the first tee," said Booverman +discouraged, "I mess up all the rest. You'll see."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now," said Pickings, as a matter of form. He played his shot, +which came methodically to the edge of the green.</p> + +<p>Booverman took his mashy for the short running-up stroke to the pin, +which seemed so near.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I've tried this shot a thousand times," he said savagely. +"Any one else would get a three once in five times—any one but Jonah's +favorite brother."</p> + +<p>He swung carelessly, and watched with a tolerant interest the white ball +roll on to the green straight for the flag. All at once Wessels and +Pollock, who were ahead, sprang into the air and began agitating their +hats.</p> + +<p>"By George! it's in!" said Pickings. "You've run it down. First hole in +two! Well, what do you think of that?"</p> + +<p>Booverman, unconvinced, approached the hole with suspicion, gingerly +removing the pin. At the bottom, sure enough, lay his ball for a +phenomenal two.</p> + +<p>"That's the first bit of luck that has ever happened to me," he said +furiously; "absolutely the first time in my whole career."</p> + +<p>"I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry +about it, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know whether I am or not," said Booverman, obstinately. +In fact, he felt rather defrauded. The integrity of his record was +attacked. "See here, I play thirty-six holes a day, two hundred and +sixteen a week, a thousand a month, six thousand a year; ten years, +sixty thousand holes; and this is the first time a bit of luck has ever +happened to me—once in sixty thousand times."</p> + +<p>Pickings drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.</p> + +<p>"It may come all at once," he said faintly.</p> + +<p>This mild hope only infuriated Booverman. He had already teed his ball +for the second hole, which was poised on a rolling hill one hundred and +thirty-five yards away. It is considered rather easy as golf-holes go. +The only dangers are a matted wilderness of long grass in front of the +tee, the certainty of landing out of bounds on the slightest slice, or +of rolling down hill into a soggy substance on a pull. Also there is a +tree to be hit and a sand-pit to be sampled.</p> + +<p>"Now watch my little friend the apple-tree," said Booverman. "I'm going +to play for it, because, if I slice, I lose my ball, and that knocks my +whole game higher than a kite." He added between his teeth: "All I ask +is to get around to the eighth hole before I lose my ball. I know I'll +lose it there."</p> + +<p>Due to the fact that his two on the first brought him not the slightest +thrill of nervous joy, he made a perfect shot, the ball carrying the +green straight and true.</p> + +<p>"This is your day all right," said Pickings, stepping to the tee.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's never been anything the matter with my irons," said +Booverman, darkly. "Just wait till we strike the fourth and fifth +holes."</p> + +<p>When they climbed the hill, Booverman's ball lay within three feet of +the cup, which he easily putted out.</p> + +<p>"Two down," said Pickings, inaudibly. "By George! what a glorious +start!"</p> + +<p>"Once in sixty thousand times," said Booverman to himself. The third +hole lay two hundred and five yards below, backed by the road and +trapped by ditches, where at that moment Pollock, true to his traditions +as a war correspondent, was laboring in the trenches, to the +unrestrained delight of Wessels, who had passed beyond.</p> + +<p>"Theobald," said Booverman, selecting his cleek and speaking with +inspired conviction, "I will tell you exactly what is going to happen. I +will smite this little homeopathic pill, and it will land just where I +want it. I will probably put out for another two. Three holes in twos +would probably excite any other human being on the face of this globe. +It doesn't excite me. I know too well what will follow on the fourth or +fifth. Watch."</p> + +<p>"Straight to the pin," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "You've got a +dead line on every shot to-day. Marvelous! When you get one of your +streaks, there's certainly no use in my playing."</p> + +<p>"Streak's the word," said Booverman, with a short, barking laugh. "Thank +heaven, though, Pickings, I know it! Five years ago I'd have been +shaking like a leaf. Now it only disgusts me. I've been fooled too +often; I don't bite again."</p> + +<p>In this same profoundly melancholic mood he approached his ball, which +lay on the green, hole high, and put down a difficult put, a good three +yards for his third two.</p> + +<p>Pickings, despite all his classic conservatism, was so overcome with +excitement that he twice putted over the hole for a shameful five.</p> + +<p>Booverman's face as he walked to the fourth tee was as joyless as a +London fog. He placed his ball carelessly, selected his driver, and +turned on the fidgety Pickings with the gloomy solemnity of a father +about to indulge in corporal punishment.</p> + +<p>"Once in sixty thousand times, Picky. Do you realize what a start like +this—three twos—would mean to a professional like Frank or even an +amateur that hadn't offended every busy little fate and fury in the +whole hoodooing business? Why, the blooming record would be knocked into +the middle of next week."</p> + +<p>"You'll do it," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "Play carefully."</p> + +<p>Booverman glanced down the four-hundred-yard straightaway and murmured +to himself:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>"I wonder, little ball, whither will you fly?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>I wonder, little ball, have I bid you good-by?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Will it be 'mid the prairies in the regions to the west?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Will it be in the marshes where the pollywogs nest?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"</span><br /> + +<center> +<a name='image-page182'></a> +<img src='images/image-page182.jpg' width='762' height='600' alt='"Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"' title=''> +</center> + +<p>He pronounced the last word with a settled conviction, and drove another +long, straight drive. Pickings, thrilled at the possibility of another +miracle, sliced badly.</p> + +<p>"This is one of the most truly delightful holes of a picturesque +course," said Booverman, taking out an approaching cleek for his second +shot. "Nothing is more artistic than the tiny little patch of +putting-green under the shaggy branches of the willows. The receptive +graveyard to the right gives a certain pathos to it, a splendid, quiet +note in contrast to the feeling of the swift, hungry river to the left, +which will now receive and carry from my outstretched hand this little +white floater that will float away from me. No matter; I say again the +fourth green is a thing of ravishing beauty."</p> + +<p>This second shot, low and long, rolled up in the same unvarying line.</p> + +<p>"On the green," said Pickings.</p> + +<p>"Short," said Booverman, who found, to his satisfaction, that he was +right by a yard.</p> + +<p>"Take your time," said Pickings, biting his nails.</p> + +<p>"Rats! I'll play it for a five," said Booverman.</p> + +<p>His approach ran up on the line, caught the rim of the cup, hesitated, +and passed on a couple of feet.</p> + +<p>"A four, anyway," said Pickings, with relief.</p> + +<p>"I should have had a three," said Booverman, doggedly. "Any one else +would have had a three, straight on the cup. You'd have had a three, +Picky; you know you would."</p> + +<p>Pickings did not answer. He was slowly going to pieces, forgetting the +invincible stoicism that is the pride of the true golfer.</p> + +<p>"I say, take your time, old chap," he said, his voice no longer under +control. "Go slow! go slow!"</p> + +<p>"Picky, for the first four years I played this course," said Booverman, +angrily, "I never got better than a six on this simple +three-hundred-and-fifty-yard hole. I lost my ball five times out of +seven. There is something irresistibly alluring to me in the mosquito +patches to my right. I think it is the fond hope that when I lose this +nice new ball I may step inadvertently on one of its hundred brothers, +which I may then bring home and give decent burial."</p> + +<p>Pickings, who felt a mad and ungolfish desire to entreat him to caution, +walked away to fight down his emotion.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said, after the click of the club had sounded.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Booverman, without joy, "that ball is lying about two +hundred and forty yards straight up the course, and by this time it has +come quietly to a little cozy home in a nice, deep hoof track, just as I +found it yesterday afternoon. Then I will have the exquisite pleasure of +taking my niblick, and whanging it out for the loss of a stroke. That'll +infuriate me, and I'll slice or pull. The best thing to do, I suppose, +would be to play for a conservative six."</p> + +<p>When, after four butchered shots, Pickings had advanced to where +Booverman had driven, the ball lay in clear position just beyond the +bumps and rills that ordinarily welcome a long shot. Booverman played a +perfect mashy, which dropped clear on the green, and ran down a moderate +put for a three.</p> + +<p>They then crossed the road and arrived by a planked walk at a dirt mound +in the midst of a swamp. Before them the cozy marsh lay stagnant ahead +and then sloped to the right in the figure of a boomerang, making for +those who fancied a slice a delightful little carry of one hundred and +fifty yards. To the left was a procession of trees, while beyond, on the +course, for those who drove a long ball, a giant willow had fallen the +year before in order to add a new perplexity and foster the enthusiasm +for luxury that was beginning among the caddies.</p> + +<p>"I have a feeling," said Booverman, as though puzzled but not duped by +what had happened—"I have a strange feeling that I'm not going to get +into trouble here. That would be too obvious. It's at the seventh or +eighth holes that something is lurking around for me. Well, I won't +waste time."</p> + +<p>He slapped down his ball, took a full swing, and carried the far-off +bank with a low, shooting drive that continued bounding on.</p> + +<p>"That ought to roll forever," said Pickings, red with excitement.</p> + +<p>"The course is fast—dry as a rock," said Booverman, deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>Pickings put three balls precisely into the bubbling water, and drew +alongside on his eighth shot. Booverman's drive had skimmed over the +dried plain for a fair two hundred and seventy-five yards. His second +shot, a full brassy, rolled directly on the green.</p> + +<p>"If he makes a four here," said Pickings to himself, "he'll be playing +five under four—no, by thunder! seven under four!" Suddenly he stopped, +overwhelmed. "Why, he's actually around threes—two under three now. +Heavens! if he ever suspects it, he'll go into a thousand pieces."</p> + +<p>As a result, he missed his own ball completely, and then topped it for a +bare fifty yards.</p> + +<p>"I've never seen you play so badly," said Booverman in a grumbling tone. +"You'll end up by throwing me off."</p> + +<p>When they arrived at the green, Booverman's ball lay about thirty feet +from the flag.</p> + +<p>"It's a four, a sure four," said Pickings under his breath.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Booverman burst into an exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Picky, come here. Look—look at that!"</p> + +<p>The tone was furious. Pickings approached.</p> + +<p>"Do you see that?" said Booverman, pointing to a freshly laid circle of +sod ten inches from his ball. "That, my boy, was where the cup was +yesterday. If they hadn't moved the flag two hours ago, I'd have had a +three. Now, what do you think of that for rotten luck?"</p> + +<p>"Lay it dead," said Pickings, anxiously, shaking his head +sympathetically. "The green's a bit fast."</p> + +<p>The put ran slowly up to the hole, and stopped four inches short.</p> + +<p>"By heavens! why didn't I put over it!" said Booverman, brandishing his +putter. "A thirty-foot put that stops an inch short—did you ever see +anything like it? By everything that's just and fair I should have had a +three. You'd have had it, Picky. Lord! if I only could put!"</p> + +<p>"One under three," said Pickings to his fluttering inner self. "He can't +realize it. If I can only keep his mind off the score!"</p> + +<p>The seventh tee is reached by a carefully planned, fatiguing flight of +steps to the top of a bluff, where three churches at the back beckon so +many recording angels to swell the purgatory lists. As you advance to +the abrupt edge, everything is spread before you; nothing is concealed. +In the first plane, the entangling branches of a score of apple-trees +are ready to trap a topped ball and bury it under impossible piles of +dry leaves. Beyond, the wired tennis-courts give forth a musical, tinny +note when attacked. In the middle distance a glorious sycamore draws you +to the left, and a file of elms beckon the sliced way to a marsh, +wilderness of grass and an overgrown gully whence no balls return. In +front, one hundred and twenty yards away, is a formidable bunker, +running up to which is a tract of long grass, which two or three times a +year is barbered by a charitable enterprise. The seventh hole itself +lies two hundred and sixty yards away in a hollow guarded by a sunken +ditch, a sure three or—a sure six.</p> + +<p>Booverman was still too indignant at the trick fate had played him on +the last green to yield to any other emotion. He forgot that a dozen +good scores had ended abruptly in the swale to the right. He was only +irritated. He plumped down his ball, dug his toes in the ground, and +sent off another long, satisfactory drive, which added more fuel to his +anger.</p> + +<p>"Any one else would have had a three on the six," he muttered as he left +the tee. "It's too ridiculous."</p> + +<p>He had a short approach and an easy put, plucked his ball from the cup, +and said in an injured tone:</p> + +<p>"Picky, I feel bad about that sixth hole, and the fourth, too. I've +lost a stroke on each of them. I'm playing two strokes more than I ought +to be. Hang it all! that sixth wasn't right! You told me the green was +fast."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Pickings, feeling his fingers grow cold and clammy on +the grip.</p> + +<p>The eighth hole has many easy opportunities. It is five hundred and +twenty yards long, and things may happen at every stroke. You may begin +in front of the tee by burying your ball in the waving grass, which is +always permitted a sort of poetical license. There are the traps to the +seventh hole to be crossed, and to the right the paralleling river can +be reached by a short stab or a long, curling slice, which the +prevailing wind obligingly assists to a splashing descent.</p> + +<p>"And now we have come to the eighth hole," said Booverman, raising his +hat in profound salutation. "Whenever I arrive here with a good score I +take from eight to eighteen, I lose one to three balls. On the contrary, +when I have an average of six, I always get a five and often a four. How +this hole has changed my entire life!" He raised his ball and addressed +it tenderly: "And now, little ball, we must part, you and I. It seems a +shame; you're the nicest little ball I ever have known. You've stuck to +me an awful long while. It's a shame."</p> + +<p>He teed up, and drove his best drive, and followed it with a brassy that +laid him twenty yards off the green, where a good approach brought the +desired four.</p> + +<p>"Even threes," said Pickings to himself, as though he had seen a ghost. +Now he was only a golfer of one generation; there was nothing in his +inheritance to steady him in such a crisis. He began slowly to +disintegrate morally, to revert to type. He contained himself until +Booverman had driven free of the river, which flanks the entire green +passage to the ninth hole, and then barely controlling the impulse to +catch Booverman by the knees and implore him to discretion, he burst +out:</p> + +<p>"I say, dear boy, do you know what your score is?"</p> + +<p>"Something well under four," said Booverman, scratching his head.</p> + +<p>"Under four, nothing; even threes!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Even threes."</p> + +<p>They stopped, and tabulated the holes.</p> + +<p>"So it is," said Booverman, amazed. "What an infernal pity!"</p> + +<p>"Pity?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, pity. If only some one else could play it out!"</p> + +<p>He studied the hundred and fifty yards that were needed to reach the +green that was set in the crescent of surrounding trees, changed his +brassy for his cleek, and his cleek for his midiron.</p> + +<p>"I wish you hadn't told me," he said nervously.</p> + +<p>Pickings on the instant comprehended his blunder. For the first time +Booverman's shot went wide of the mark, straight into the trees that +bordered the river to the left.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Pickings with a feeble groan.</p> + +<p>"My dear Picky, it had to come," said Booverman, with a shrug of his +shoulders. "The ball is now lost, and all the score goes into the air, +the most miraculous score any one ever heard of is nothing but a crushed +egg!"</p> + +<p>"It may have bounded back on the course," said Pickings, desperately.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Picky; not that. In all the sixty thousand times I have hit +trees, barns, car-tracks, caddies, fences,—"</p> + +<p>"There it is!" cried Pickings, with a shout of joy.</p> + +<p>Fair on the course, at the edge of the green itself, lay the ball, which +soon was sunk for a four. Pickings felt a strange, unaccountable desire +to leap upon Booverman like a fluffy, enthusiastic dog; but he fought it +back with the new sense of responsibility that came to him. So he said +artfully: "By George! old man, if you hadn't missed on the fourth or the +sixth, you'd have done even threes!"</p> + +<p>"You know what I ought to do now—I ought to stop," said Booverman, in +profound despair—"quit golf and never lift another club. It's a crime +to go on; it's a crime to spoil such a record. Twenty-eight for nine +holes, only forty-two needed for the next nine to break the record, and +I have done it in thirty-three—and in fifty-three! I ought not to try; +it's wrong."</p> + +<p>He teed his ball for the two-hundred-yard flight to the easy tenth, and +took his cleek.</p> + +<p>"I know just what'll happen now; I know it well."</p> + +<p>But this time there was no varying in the flight; the drive went true to +the green, straight on the flag, where a good but not difficult put +brought a two.</p> + +<p>"Even threes again," said Pickings, but to himself. "It can't go on. It +must turn."</p> + +<p>"Now, Pickings, this is going to stop," said Booverman angrily. "I'm not +going to make a fool of myself. I'm going right up to the tee, and I'm +going to drive my ball right smack into the woods and end it. And I +don't care."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't care. Here goes."</p> + +<p>Again his drive continued true, the mashy pitch for the second was +accurate, and his put, after circling the rim of the cup, went down for +a three.</p> + +<p>The twelfth hole is another dip into the long grass that might serve as +an elephant's bed, and then across the Housatonic River, a carry of one +hundred and twenty yards to the green at the foot of an intruding tree.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose I'll make another three here, too," said Booverman, +moodily. "That'll only make it worse."</p> + +<p>He drove with his midiron high in the air and full on the flag.</p> + +<p>"I'll play my put carefully for three," he said, nodding his head. +Instead, it ran straight and down for two.</p> + +<p>He walked silently to the dreaded thirteenth tee, which, with the +returning fourteenth, forms the malignant Scylla and Charybdis of the +course. There is nothing to describe the thirteenth hole. It is not +really a golf-hole; it is a long, narrow breathing spot, squeezed by the +railroad tracks on one side and by the river on the other. Resolute and +fearless golfers often cut them out entirely, nor are ashamed to +acknowledge their terror. As you stand at the thirteenth tee, everything +is blurred to the eye. Near by are rushes and water, woods to the left +and right; the river and the railroad; and the dry land a hundred yards +away looks tiny and distant, like a rock amid floods.</p> + +<p>A long drive that varies a degree is doomed to go out of bounds or to +take the penalty of the river.</p> + +<p>"Don't risk it. Take an iron—play it carefully," said Pickings in a +voice that sounded to his own ears unrecognizable.</p> + +<p>Booverman followed his advice and landed by the fence to the left, +almost off the fair. A midiron for his second put him in position for +another four, and again brought his score to even threes.</p> + +<p>When the daring golfer has passed quaking up the narrow way and still +survives, he immediately falls a victim to the fourteenth, which is a +bend hole, with all the agonies of the preceding thirteenth, augmented +by a second shot over a long, mushy pond. If you play a careful iron to +keep from the railroad, now on the right, or to dodge the river on your +left, you are forced to approach the edge of the swamp with a cautious +fifty-yard-running-up stroke before facing the terrors of the carry. A +drive with a wooden club is almost sure to carry into the swamp, and +only a careful cleek shot is safe.</p> + +<p>"I wish I were playing this for the first time," said Booverman, +blackly. "I wish I could forget—rid myself of memories. I have seen +class A amateurs take twelve, and professionals eight. This is the end +of all things, Picky, the saddest spot on earth. I won't waste time. +Here goes."</p> + +<p>To Pickings's horror, the drive began slowly to slice out of bounds, +toward the railroad tracks.</p> + +<p>"I knew it," said Booverman, calmly, "and the next will go there, too; +then I'll put one in the river, two the swamp, slice into—"</p> + +<p>All at once he stopped, thunderstruck. The ball, hitting tire or rail, +bounded high in the air, forward, back upon the course, lying in perfect +position; Pickings said something in a purely reverent spirit.</p> + +<p>"Twice in sixty thousand times," said Booverman, unrelenting. "That only +evens up the sixth hole. Twice in sixty thousand times!"</p> + +<p>From where the ball lay an easy brassy brought it near enough to the +green to negotiate another four. Pickings, trembling like a toy dog in +zero weather, reached the green in ten strokes, and took three more +puts.</p> + +<p>The fifteenth, a short pitch over the river, eighty yards to a slanting +green entirely surrounded by more long grass, which gave it the +appearance of a chin spot on a full face of whiskers, was Booverman's +favorite hole. While Pickings held his eyes to the ground and tried to +breathe in regular breaths, Booverman placed his ball, drove with the +requisite back spin, and landed dead to the hole. Another two resulted.</p> + +<p>"Even threes—fifteen holes in even threes," said Pickings to himself, +his head beginning to throb. He wanted to sit down and take his temples +in his hands, but for the sake of history he struggled on.</p> + +<p>"Damn it!" said Booverman all at once.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" said Pickings, observing his face black with fury.</p> + +<p>"Do you realize, Pickings, what it means to me to have lost those two +strokes on the fourth and sixth greens, and through no fault of mine, +neither? Even threes for the whole course—that's what I could do if I +had those two strokes—the greatest thing that's ever been seen on a +golf-course. It may be a hundred years before any human being on the +face of this earth will get such a chance. And to think I might have +done it with a little luck!"</p> + +<p>Pickings felt his heart begin to pump, but he was able to say with some +degree of calm:</p> + +<p>"You may get a three here."</p> + +<p>"Never. Four, three and four is what I'll end."</p> + +<p>"Well, good heavens! what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"There's no joy in it, though," said Booverman, gloomily. "If I had +those two strokes back, I'd go down in history, I'd be immortal. And +you, too, Picky, you'd be immortal, because you went around with me. The +fourth hole was bad enough, but the sixth was heartbreaking."</p> + +<p>His drive cleared another swamp and rolled well down the farther +plateau. A long cleek laid his ball off the green, a good approach +stopped a little short of the hole, and the put went down.</p> + +<p>"Well, that ends it," said Booverman, gloomily.</p> + +<p>"I've got to make a two and a three to do it. The two is quite possible; +the three absurd."</p> + +<p>The seventeenth hole returns to the swamp that enlivens the sixth. It is +a full cleek, with about six mental hazards distributed in Indian +ambush, and in five of them a ball may lie until the day of judgment +before rising again.</p> + +<p>Pickings turned his back, unable to endure the agony of watching. The +click of the club was sharp and true. He turned to see the ball in full +flight arrive unerringly hole high on the green.</p> + +<p>"A chance for a two," he said under his breath. He sent two balls into +the lost land to the left and one into the rough to the right.</p> + +<p>"Never mind me," he said, slashing away in reckless fashion.</p> + +<p>Booverman with a little care studied the ten-foot route to the hole and +putted down.</p> + +<p>"Even threes!" said Pickings, leaning against a tree.</p> + +<p>"Blast that sixth hole!" said Booverman, exploding. "Think of what it +might be, Picky—what it ought to be!"</p> + +<p>Pickings retired hurriedly before the shaking approach of Booverman's +frantic club. Incapable of speech, he waved him feebly to drive. He +began incredulously to count up again, as though doubting his senses.</p> + +<p>"One under three, even threes, one over, even, one under—"</p> + +<p>"Here! What the deuce are you doing?" said Booverman, angrily. "Trying +to throw me off?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say anything," said Pickings.</p> + +<p>"You didn't—muttering to yourself."</p> + +<p>"I must make him angry to keep his mind off the score," said Pickings, +feebly to himself. He added aloud, "Stop kicking about your old sixth +hole! You've had the darndest luck I ever saw, and yet you grumble."</p> + +<p>Booverman swore under his breath, hastily approached his ball, drove +perfectly, and turned in a rage.</p> + +<p>"Luck?" he cried furiously. "Pickings, I've a mind to wring your neck. +Every shot I've played has been dead on the pin, now, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"How about the ninth hole—hitting a tree?"</p> + +<p>"Whose fault was that? You had no right to tell me my score, and, +besides, I only got an ordinary four there, anyway."</p> + +<p>"How about the railroad track?"</p> + +<p>"One shot out of bounds. Yes, I'll admit that. That evens up for the +fourth."</p> + +<p>"How about your first hole in two?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly played; no fluke about it at all—once in sixty thousand +times. Well, any more sneers? Anything else to criticize?"</p> + +<p>"Let it go at that."</p> + +<p>Booverman, in this heckled mood, turned irritably to his ball, played a +long midiron, just cleared the crescent bank of the last swale, and ran +up on the green.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page200'></a> +<img src='images/image-page200.jpg' width='771' height='600' alt='Wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the clubhouse +with the miraculous news' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Damn that sixth hole!" said Booverman, flinging down his club and +glaring at Pickings. "One stroke back, and I could have done it."</p> + +<p>Pickings tried to address, but the moment he swung his club, his legs +began to tremble. He shook his head, took a long breath, and picked up +his ball.</p> + +<p>They approached the green on a drunken run in the wild hope that a short +put was possible. Unfortunately the ball lay thirty feet away, and the +path to the hole was bumpy and riddled with worm-casts. Still, there was +a chance, desperate as it was.</p> + +<p>Pickings let his bag slip to the ground and sat down, covering his eyes +while Booverman with his putter tried to brush away the ridges.</p> + +<p>"Stand up!"</p> + +<p>Pickings rose convulsively.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake, Picky, stand up! Try to be a man!" said Booverman, +hoarsely. "Do you think I've any nerve when I see you with chills and +fever? Brace up!"</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>Booverman sighted the hole, and then took his stance; but the cleek in +his hand shook like an aspen. He straightened up and walked away.</p> + +<p>"Picky," he said, mopping his face, "I can't do it. I can't put it."</p> + +<p>"You must."</p> + +<p>"I've got buck fever. I'll never be able to put it—never."</p> + +<p>At the last, no longer calmed by an invincible pessimism, Booverman had +gone to pieces. He stood shaking from head to foot.</p> + +<p>"Look at that," he said, extending a fluttering hand. "I can't do it; I +can never do it."</p> + +<p>"Old fellow, you must," said Pickings; "you've got to. Bring yourself +together. Here!" He slapped him on the back, pinched his arms, and +chafed his fingers. Then he led him back to the ball, braced him into +position, and put the putter in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Buck fever," said Booverman in a whisper. "Can't see a thing."</p> + +<p>Pickings, holding the flag in the cup, said savagely:</p> + +<p>"Shoot!"</p> + +<p>The ball advanced in a zigzag path, running from worm-cast to a +worm-cast, wobbling and rocking, and at the last, as though preordained, +fell plump into the cup!</p> + +<p>At the same moment, Pickings and Booverman, as though carried off by the +same cannon-ball, flattened on the green.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Five minutes later, wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the +clubhouse with the miraculous news. For an hour the assembled golfers +roared with laughter as the two stormed, expostulated, and swore to the +truth of the tale.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page204'></a> +<img src='images/image-page204.jpg' width='771' height='600' alt='A committee carefully examined the books of the club' title=''> +</center> + +<p>They journeyed from house to house in a vain attempt to find some +convert to their claim. For a day they passed as consummate comedians, +and the more they yielded to their rage, the more consummate was their +art declared. Then a change took place. From laughing the educated town +of Stockbridge turned to resentment, then to irritation, and finally to +suspicion. Booverman and Pickings began to lose caste, to be regarded as +unbalanced, if not positively dangerous. Unknown to them, a committee +carefully examined the books of the club. At the next election another +treasurer and another secretary were elected.</p> + +<p>Since then, month in and month out, day after day, in patient hope, the +two discredited members of the educated community of Stockbridge may be +seen, <i>accompanied by caddies</i>, toiling around the links in a desperate +belief that the miracle that would restore them to standing may be +repeated. Each time as they arrive nervously at the first tee and +prepare to swing, something between a chuckle and a grin runs through +the assemblage, while the left eyes contract waggishly, and a murmuring +may be heard,</p> + +<p>"Even threes."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Stockbridge golf-links is a course of ravishing beauty and the +Housatonic River, as has been said, goes wriggling around it as though +convulsed with merriment.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='A_MAN_OF_NO_IMAGINATION'></a><h2>A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, of the Canadian Secret Service, stood at attention, +waiting until the scratch of a pen should cease throughout the dim, +spacious office and the Honorable Secretary of Justice should acquaint +him with his desires.</p> + +<p>He held himself deferentially, body compact, eyes clear and steady, face +blank and controlled, without distinction, without significance, a man +mediocre as a crowd. His hands were joined loosely behind his back; his +glance, without deviating, remained persistently on the profile of the +Honorable Secretary, as though in that historic room the human note +alone could compel his curiosity.</p> + +<p>The thin squeak of the pen faded into the silences of the great room. +The Secretary of Justice ran his fingers over his forehead, looked up, +and met the Inspector's gaze—fixed, profound, and mathematical. With a +sudden unease he pushed back his chair, troubled by the analysis of his +banal man, who, in another turn of Fate, might pursue him as +dispassionately as he now stood before him for his commands. With a few +rapid strides he crossed the room, lit a cigar, blew into the swirl of +smoke this caprice of his imagination, and returned stolidly, as became +a man of facts and figures.</p> + +<p>Flinging himself loosely in an easy chair, he threw a rapid glance at +his watch, locked his fingers, and began with the nervous directness of +one who wishes to be rid of formalities:</p> + +<p>"Well, Inspector, you returned this morning?"</p> + +<p>"An hour ago, sir."</p> + +<p>"A creditable bit of work, Inspector Frawley—the department is +pleased."</p> + +<p>"Thank you indeed, sir."</p> + +<p>"Does the case need you any more?"</p> + +<p>"I should say not, sir—no, sir."</p> + +<p>"You are ready to report for duty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"How soon?"</p> + +<p>"I think I'm ready now, sir—yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Glad to hear it, Inspector, very glad. You're the one man I wanted." As +though the civilities had been sufficiently observed, the Secretary +stiffened in his chair and continued rapidly: "It's that Toronto affair; +you've read the details. The government lost $350,000. We caught four of +the gang, but the ringleader got away with the money. Have you studied +it? What did you make of it? Sit down."</p> + +<p>Frawley took a chair stiffly, hanging his hat between his knees and +considering.</p> + +<p>"It did look like work from the States," he said thoughtfully. "I beg +pardon, did you say they'd caught some of the gang?"</p> + +<p>"Four—this morning. The telegram's just in."</p> + +<p>The Honorable Secretary, a little strange yet to the routine of the +office, looked at Frawley with a sudden desire to test his memory.</p> + +<p>"Do you know the work?" he asked; "could you recognize the ringleader?"</p> + +<p>"That might not be so hard, sir," said Frawley, with a nod; "we know +pretty well, of course, who's able to handle such jobs as that. Would +you have a description anywhere?"</p> + +<p>The Honorable Secretary rose, took from his desk a paper, and began to +read. In his seat Inspector Frawley crossed his legs carefully, drew his +fists up under his chin, and stared at the reader, but without focusing +his glance on him. Once during the recital he started at some item of +description, but immediately relaxed. The report finished, the Secretary +let it drop into his lap and waited, impressed, despite himself, at the +thought of the immense galleries of crime through which the Inspector +was seeking his victim. All at once into the unseeing stare there +flickered a light of understanding. Frawley returned to the room, saw +the Secretary, and nodded.</p> + +<p>"It's Bucky," he said tentatively. A moment his glance went +reflectively to a far corner, then he nodded slowly, looked at the +Secretary, and said with conviction: "It looks very much, sir, like +Bucky Greenfield."</p> + +<p>"It is Greenfield," replied the Secretary, without attempting to conceal +his astonishment.</p> + +<p>"I would like to observe," said Frawley thoughtfully, without noticing +his surprise, "that there is a bit of an error in that description, sir. +It's the left ear that's broken. Furthermore, he don't toe +out—excepting when he does it on a purpose. So it's Bucky Greenfield +I'm to bring back, sir?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary nodded, penciling Frawley's correction on the paper.</p> + +<p>"Bucky—well, now, that is odd!" said Frawley musingly. He rose and took +a step to the desk. "Very odd." Mechanically he saw the straggling +papers on the top and arranged them into orderly piles. "Well, he can't +say I didn't warn him!"</p> + +<p>"What!" broke in the Secretary in quick astonishment, "you know the +fellow?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, yes, sir," said Frawley, with a nod. "We know most of the +crooks in the States. We're good friends, too—so long as they stay over +the line. It's useful, you know. So I'm to go after Bucky?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary, judging the moment had arrived to be impressive, said +solemnly:</p> + +<p>"Inspector Frawley, if you have to stick to it until he dies of old age, +you're never to let up until you get Bucky Greenfield! While the +British Empire holds together, no man shall rob Her Majesty of a +farthing and sleep in security. You understand the situation?"</p> + +<p>"I do, sir."</p> + +<p>The Honorable Secretary, only half satisfied, continued:</p> + +<p>"Your credit is unlimited—there'll be no question of that. If you need +to buy up a whole South American government—buy it! By the way, he will +make for South America, will he not?"</p> + +<p>"Probably—yes, sir. Chile or the Argentine—there's no extradition +treaty there."</p> + +<p>"But even then," broke in the Secretary with a nervous frown—"there are +ways—other ways?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes." Frawley, picking up a paper-cutter, stood by the mantel +tapping his palm. "Oh, yes—there are other ways! So it's Bucky—well, I +warned him!"</p> + +<p>"Now, Inspector, to settle the matter," interrupted the Secretary, +anxious to return to his routine, "when can you go on the case?"</p> + +<p>"If the papers are ready, sir—"</p> + +<p>"They are—everything. The Home Office has been cabled. To-morrow every +British official throughout the world will be notified to render you +assistance and honor your drafts."</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley heard with approval and consulted his watch.</p> + +<p>"There's an express for New York leaves at noon," he said +reflectively—then, with a glance at the clock, "thirty-five minutes; I +can make that, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good, very good."</p> + +<p>"If I might suggest, sir—if the Inspector who has had the case in hand +could go a short distance with me?"</p> + +<p>"Inspector Keech shall join you at the station."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. Is there anything further?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary shook his head, and springing up, held out his hand +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"Good luck to you, Inspector—you have a big thing ahead of you, a very +big thing."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"By the way—you're not married?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"This is pretty short notice. How long have you been on this other +case?"</p> + +<p>"A trifle over six months, sir."</p> + +<p>"Don't you want a couple of days to rest up? I can let you have that +very easily."</p> + +<p>"It really makes no difference—I think I'll leave to-day, sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh, a moment more, Inspector—"</p> + +<p>Frawley halted.</p> + +<p>"How long do you think this ought to take you?"</p> + +<p>Frawley considered, and answered carefully:</p> + +<p>"It'll be long, I think. You see, there are several circumstances that +are unusual about this case."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Buck is clever—there's no gainsaying that—quite at the top of +the profession. Then, he's expecting me."</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"They're a queer lot," Frawley explained with a touch of pride. "Crooks +are full of little vanities. You see, Bucky knows I've never dropped a +trail, and I think it's rather gotten on his nerves. I think he wasn't +satisfied until he dared me. He's very odd—very odd indeed. It's a +little personal. I doubt, sir, if I bring him back alive."</p> + +<p>"Inspector Frawley," said the new Secretary, "I hope I have sufficiently +impressed upon you the importance of your mission."</p> + +<p>Frawley stared at his chief in surprise.</p> + +<p>"I'm to stick to him until I get him," he said in wonder; "that's all, +isn't it, sir?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary, annoyed by his lack of imagination, essayed a final +phrase.</p> + +<p>"Inspector, this is my last word," he said with a frown; "remember that +you represent Her Majesty's government—you are Her Majesty's +government! I have confidence in you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>Frawley moved slowly to the door and with his hand on the knob +hesitated. The Secretary saw in the movement a reluctance to take the +decisive step that must open before him the wide stretches of the world.</p> + +<p>"After all, he must have a speck of imagination," he thought, reassured.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, sir."</p> + +<p>Frawley had turned in embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Well, Inspector, what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir," said Frawley, "I was just thinking—after all, it +has been a bit of a while since I've been home—indeed, I should like it +very much if I could take a good English mutton-chop and a musty ale at +old Nell's, sir. I can still get the two o'clock express."</p> + +<p>"Granted!"</p> + +<p>"If you'd prefer not, sir," said Frawley, surprised at the vexation in +his answer.</p> + +<p>"Not at all—take the two o'clock—good day, good day!"</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, sorely puzzled, shifted his balance, opened his +mouth, then with a bob of his head answered hastily:</p> + +<p>"A—good day, sir!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Sam Greenfield, known as "Bucky," age about 42, height about 5 feet 10 +inches, weight between 145 and 150. Hair mouse-colored, thinning out +over forehead, parted in middle, showing scalp beneath; mustache would +be lighter than hair—if not dyed; usually clipped to about an inch. +Waxy complexion, light blue eyes a little close together, thin nose, a +prominent dimple on left cheek—may wear whiskers. Laughs in low key. +Left ear lobe broken. Slightly bowlegged. While in conversation strokes +chin. When standing at a counter or bar goes through motions, as if +jerking himself together, crowding his elbows slowly to his side for a +moment, then, throwing back his head, jumps up from his heels. When +dreaming, attempts to bite mustache with lower lip. When he sits in a +chair places himself sidewise and hangs both arms over back. In walking +strikes back part of heel first, and is apt to waver from time to time. +Dresses neatly, carries hands in side-pockets only—plays piano +constantly, composing as he goes along. During day smokes twenty to +thirty cigarettes, cutting them in half for cigarette-holder and +throwing them away after three or four whiffs. After dinner invariably +smokes one cigar. Cut is good likeness. Cut of signature is facsimile of +his original writing.</p> + +<p>With this overwhelming indictment against the liberty of the fugitive, +to escape which Greenfield would have to change his temperament as well +as his physical aspect, Inspector Frawley took the first steamer from +New York to the Isthmus of Panama.</p> + +<p>He had slight doubt of Greenfield's final destination, for the flight of +the criminal is a blind instinct for the south as though a frantic +return to barbarism. At this time Chile and the Argentine had not yet +accepted the principle of extradition, and remained the Mecca of the +lawbreakers of the world.</p> + +<p>Yet though Frawley felt certain of Greenfield's objective, he did not +at once strike for the Argentine. The Honorable Secretary of Justice had +eliminated the necessity for considering time. Frawley had no need to +guess, nor to risk. He had simply to become a wheel in the machinery of +the law, to grind slowly, tirelessly, and inexorably. This idea suited +admirably his temperament and his desires.</p> + +<p>He arrived at Colon, took train for Panama across the laborious path +where a thousand little men were scratching endlessly, and on the brink +of the Pacific began his search. No one had heard of Greenfield.</p> + +<p>At the end of a week's waiting he boarded a steamer and crawled down the +western coast of South America, investigating every port, braving the +yellow fever at Guayaquil, Ecuador, and facing a riot at Callao, Peru, +before he found at Lima the trail of the fugitive. Greenfield had passed +the day there and left for Chile. Dragging each intermediate port with +the same caution, Frawley followed the trail to Valparaiso. Greenfield +had stayed a week and again departed.</p> + +<p>Frawley at once took steamer for the Argentine, passed down the tongue +of South America, through the Straits of Magellan, and arrived at length +in the harbor of Buenos Ayres.</p> + +<p>An hour later, as he took his place at the table in the Criterion +Gardens, a hand fell on his shoulder and some one at his back said:</p> + +<p>"Well, Bub!"</p> + +<p>He turned. A thin man of medium height, with blue eyes and yellow +complexion, was laughing in expectation of his discomfiture. Frawley +laid down the menu carefully, raised his head, and answered quietly:</p> + +<p>"Why, how d'ye do, Bucky?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"We shake, of course," said Greenfield, holding out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Why not? Sit down."</p> + +<p>The fugitive slid into a chair and hung his arms over the back, asking +immediately:</p> + +<p>"What took you so long? You're after me, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Am I?" Frawley answered, looking at him steadily. Greenfield, with a +twitch of his shoulders, returned to his question:</p> + +<p>"What took you so long? Didn't you guess I'd come direct?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not guessing," said Frawley.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to dining on me?" said Greenfield with a malicious +smile. "I owe you that. I clipped your vacation pretty short. +Besides—guess you know it yourself—you can't touch me here. Why not +talk things over frankly? Say, Bub, shall it be on me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm willing."</p> + +<p>A waiter sidled up and took the order that Greenfield gave without +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"You see, even the dinner was ready for you," he said with a wink; "see +how you like it." With a gesture of impatience he pushed aside the menu, +squared his arms on the table, and looked suddenly at his pursuer with +the deviltry of a schoolboy glistening in his eyes. "Well, Bub, I went +into your all-fired Canady!"</p> + +<p>"So you did—why?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Greenfield, drawing lines with his knife-point on the nap, +"one reason was I wanted to see if Her Majesty's shop has such an +all-fired long arm—"</p> + +<p>"And the other reason was I warned you to keep over the line."</p> + +<p>"Why, Bub, you <i>are</i> a bright boy!"</p> + +<p>"It ain't me, Bucky," Frawley answered, with a shake of his head; "it's +the all-fired government that's after you."</p> + +<p>"Good—first rate—then we'll have a little excitement!"</p> + +<p>"You'll have plenty of that, Bucky!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe, Bub, maybe. Well, I made a neat job of it, didn't I?"</p> + +<p>"You did," admitted Frawley with an appreciative nod. "But you were +wrong—you were wrong—you should have kept off. The Canadian Government +ain't like your bloomin' democracy. It don't forgive—it don't forget. +Tack that up, Bucky. It's a principle we've got at stake with you!"</p> + +<p>"Don't I know it?" cried Greenfield, striking the table. "What else do +you think I did it for?"</p> + +<p>Frawley gazed at him, then said slowly: "I told them it was a personal +matter."</p> + +<p>"Sure it was! Do you think I could keep out after you served notice on +me? D—— your English pride and your English justice! I'm a good enough +Yank to see if your dinky police is such an all-fired cute little bunch +of wonder-workers as you say! Bub—you think you're going to get Mr. +Greenfield—don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not thinking, Bucky—"</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"I'm simply sticking to you."</p> + +<p>"Sticking to me!" cried Greenfield with a roar of disgust. "Why, you +unimaginative, lumbering, beef-eating Canuck, you can't get me that way! +Why in tarnation didn't you strike plump for here—instead of rubbin' +yourself down the whole coast of South Ameriky?"</p> + +<p>"Bucky, you don't understand the situation properly," objected Frawley, +without varying the level tone of his voice. "Supposing it had been a +bloomin' corporation had sent me—? that's what I'd have done. But it's +the government this time—Her Majesty's government! Time ain't no +consideration. I'd have raked down the whole continent if I'd had +to—though I knew where you were."</p> + +<p>"Well, and now what? You can't touch me, Bub," he added earnestly. "I +like straight talk, man to man. Now, what's your game?"</p> + +<p>"Business."</p> + +<p>"All right then," said Greenfield, with a frown, "but you can't touch +me—now. There's an extradition treaty coming, but then there'd have to +be a retroactive clause to do you any good." He paused, studying the +expression on the Inspector's face. "There's enough of the likes of me +here to see that don't occur. Say, Bub?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"You deal a square pack, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"That's my reputation, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"Give me your word you'll play me square."</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, leaning forward, helped himself busily. Greenfield, +with pursed lips, studied every movement.</p> + +<p>"No kidnapping tricks?"</p> + +<p>Without lifting his eyes Frawley sharpened his knife vigorously against +his fork and fell to eating.</p> + +<p>"Well, Bub?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"No fancy kidnapping?"</p> + +<p>"I'm promising nothing, Bucky."</p> + +<p>There was a blank moment while Greenfield considered. Suddenly he shot +out his hand, saying with a nod: "You're a white man, Bub, and I never +heard a word against that." He filled a glass and shoved it toward +Frawley. "We might as well clink on it. For I rather opinionate before +we get through this little business—there'll be something worth talking +about."</p> + +<p>"Here's to you then, Bucky," said Frawley, nodding.</p> + +<p>"Remember what I tell you," said Greenfield, looking over his glass, +"there's going to be something to live for."</p> + +<p>"I say, Bucky," said Frawley with a lazy interest, "would they serve you +five-o'clock tea here, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>Greenfield, drawing back, laughed a superior laugh.</p> + +<p>"Bub, I'm sorry for you—'pon my word I am."</p> + +<p>"How so, Bucky?"</p> + +<p>"Why, you plodding little English lamb, you don't have the slightest +suspicion what you're gettin' into!"</p> + +<p>"What am I getting into, Bucky?"</p> + +<p>Greenfield threw back his head with a chuckle.</p> + +<p>"If you get me, it'll be the last job you ever pull off."</p> + +<p>"Maybe, maybe."</p> + +<p>"Since things are aboveboard—listen here," said Greenfield with sudden +seriousness. "Bub, you'll not get me alive. Nothing personal, you +understand, but it'll have to be your life or mine. If it comes to the +pinch, look out for yourself—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Frawley, with a matter-of-fact nod, "I understand."</p> + +<p>"I ain't tried to bribe you," said Greenfield, rising. "Thank me for +that—though another man might have been sent up for life."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," Frawley said with a drawl. "And you'll notice I haven't +advised you to come back and face the music. Seems to me we understand +each other."</p> + +<p>"Here's my address," said Greenfield, handing him a card; "may save you +some trouble. I'm here every night." He held out his hand. "Turn up and +meet the profesh. They're a clever lot here. They'd appreciate meeting +you, too."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I will."</p> + +<p>"Ta-ta, then."</p> + +<p>Greenfield took a few steps, halted, and lounged back with a smile full +of mischief.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Bub—how long has Her Majesty's dinkies given you?"</p> + +<p>"It's a life appointment, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"Really—bless me—then your bloomin' government has some sense after +all."</p> + +<p>The two men saluted gravely, with a parting exchange.</p> + +<p>"Now, Bub—keep fit."</p> + +<p>"Same to you, Bucky."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The view of Greenfield sauntering lightly away among the noisy tables, +bravado in his manner, deviltry in his heart, was the last glimpse +Inspector Frawley was destined to have of him in many months. True, +Greenfield had not lied: the address was genuine, but the man was gone. +For days Frawley had the city scoured without gaining a clue. No steamer +had left the harbor, not even a tramp. If Greenfield was not in hiding, +he must have buried himself in the interior.</p> + +<p>It was a week before Frawley found the track. Greenfield had walked +thirty miles into the country and taken the train for Rio Mendoza on the +route across the Andes to Valparaiso.</p> + +<p>Frawley followed the same day, somewhat mystified at this sudden change +of base. In the train the thermometer stood at 116°. The heat made of +everything a solitude. Frawley, lifeless, stifling, and numbed, glued +himself to the air-holes with eyes fastened on the horizon, while the +train sped across the naked, singeing back of the plains like the welt +that springs to meet the fall of the lash. For two nights he watched the +distended sun, exhausted by its own madness, drop back into the heated +void, and the tortured stars rise over the stricken desert. At the end +of thirty-six hours of agony he arrived at Rio Mendoza. Thence he +reached Punta de Vacas, procured mules and a guide, and prepared for +the ascent over the mountains.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock the next morning he began to climb out of hell. The +tortured plains settled below him. A divine freshness breathed upon him +with a new hope of life. He left the burning conflict of summer and +passed into the aroma of spring.</p> + +<p>Then the air grew intense, a new suffocation pressed about his +temples—the suffocation of too much life. In an hour he had run the +gamut of the seasons. The cold of everlasting winter descended and stung +his senses. Up and up and up they went—then suddenly down, with the +half-breed guide and the tireless mule always at the same distance +before him; and again began the insistent mechanical toiling upward. He +grew listless and indifferent, acquiescent in these steep efforts that +the next moment must throw away. The horror of immense distance rose +about him. From time to time a stone dislodged by their passage rushed +from under him, struck the brink, and spun into the void, to fall +endlessly. The face of the earth grew confused and dropped in a mist +from before his eyes.</p> + +<p>Then as they toiled still upward, a gale as though sent in anger rushed +down upon them, sweeping up whirlwinds of snow, raging and shrieking, +dragging them to the brink, and threatening to blot them out.</p> + +<p>Frawley clutched the saddle, then flung his arms about the neck of his +mule. His head was reeling, the indignant blood rushed to his nostrils +and his ears, his lungs no longer could master the divine air. Then +suddenly the mules stopped, exhausted. Through the maelstrom the guide +shrieked to him not to use the spur. Frawley felt himself in danger of +dying, and had no resentment.</p> + +<p>For a day they affronted the immense wilds until they had forced +themselves thousands of feet above the race of men. Then they began to +descend.</p> + +<p>Below them the clouds lapped and rolled like the elements before the +creation. Still they descended, and the moist oblivion closed about +them, like the curse of a world without color. The bleak mists separated +and began to roll up above them, a cloud split asunder, and through the +slit the earth jumped up, and the solid land spread before them as when +at the dawn it obeyed the will of the Creator. They saw the hills and +the mountains grow, and the rivers trickle toward the sea. The masses of +brown and green began to be splashed with red and yellow as the fields +became fertile and fructified; and the insect race of men began to crawl +to and fro.</p> + +<p>The half-breed, who saw the scene for the hundredth time, bent his head +in awe. Frawley straightened in his saddle, stretched the stiffness out +of his limbs, patted his mule solicitously, glanced at the guide, and +stopped in perplexity at the mute, reverential attitude.</p> + +<p>"What's he starin' at now?" he muttered in as then, with a glance at +his watch, he added anxiously, "I say, Sammy, when do we get a bit to +eat?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='V'></a><h2>V</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In Valparaiso he readily found the track of Greenfield. Up to the time +of his departure, two boats had sailed: one for the north, and one by +the Straits of Magellan to Buenos Ayres. Greenfield had bought a ticket +for each, after effecting the withdrawal of his account at a local bank. +Frawley was in perplexity: for Greenfield to flee north was to run into +the jaws of the law. The withdrawal of the account decided him. He +returned to Buenos Ayres by the route he had come, arriving the day +before the steamer. To his discomfiture Greenfield was not on board. By +ridiculously casting away his protection he had thrown the detective off +the track and gained three weeks. Without more concern than he might +have shown in taking a trip from Toronto to New York, Frawley a third +time crossed the Andes and set himself to correcting his first error.</p> + +<p>He traced Greenfield laboriously up the coast back to Panama and there +lost the trail. At the end of two months he learned that Greenfield had +shipped as a common sailor on a freighter that touched at Hawaii. From +here he followed him to Yokohama, Singapore, Ceylon, and Bombay.</p> + +<p>Thence Greenfield, suddenly abandoning the water route, had proceeded +by land to Bagdad, and across the Turkish Empire to Constantinople. +Without a pause, Frawley traced him next into the Balkans, through +Bulgaria, Roumania, amid massacre and revolution to Budapest, back to +Odessa, and across the back of Russia by Moscow and Riga to Stockholm. A +year had elapsed.</p> + +<p>Several times he might have gained on the fugitive had he trusted to his +instinct; but he bided his time, renouncing a stroke of genius, in order +to be certain of committing no error, awaiting the moment when +Greenfield would pause and he might overtake him. But the fugitive, as +though stung by a gad-fly, continued to plunge madly over sea and +continent. Four months, five months behind, Frawley continued the +tireless pursuit.</p> + +<p>From Stockholm the chase led to Copenhagen, to Christiansand, down the +North Sea to Rotterdam. From thence Greenfield had rushed by rail to +Lisbon and taken steamer to Africa, touching at Gibraltar, Portuguese +and French Guinea, Sierra Leone, and proceeding thence into the Congo. +For a month all traces disappeared in the veldt, until by chance, rather +than by his own merits, Frawley found the trail anew in Madagascar, +whither Greenfield had come after a desperate attempt to bury his trail +on the immense plains of Southern Africa.</p> + +<p>From Madagascar, Frawley followed him to Aden in Arabia and by steamer +to Melbourne. Again for weeks he sought the confused track vainly +through Australia, up through Sydney, down again to Tasmania and New +Zealand on a false clue, back to Queensland, where at last in Cooktown +he learned anew of the passing of his man.</p> + +<p>The third year began without appreciable gain. Greenfield still was +three months in advance, never pausing, scurrying from continent to +continent, as though instinctively aware of the progress of his pursuer.</p> + +<p>In this year Frawley visited Sumatra, Java, and Borneo, stopped at +Manila, jumped immediately to Korea, and hurried on to Vladivostok, +where he found that Greenfield had procured passage on a sealer bound +for Auckland. There he had taken the steamer by the Straits of Magellan +back to Buenos Ayres.</p> + +<p>There, within the first hour, he heard a report that his man had gone on +to Rio Janeiro, caught the cholera, and died there. Undaunted by the +epidemic, Frawley took the next boat and entered the stricken city by +swimming ashore. For a week he searched the hospitals and the +cemeteries. Greenfield had indeed been stricken, but, escaping with his +life, had left for the northern part of Brazil. The delay resulted in a +gain of three months for Frawley, but without heat or excitement he +began anew the pursuit, passing up the coast to Para and the mouth of +the Amazon, by Bogota and Panama into Mexico, on up toward the border +of Texas. The months between him and Greenfield shortened to weeks, then +to days without troubling his equanimity. At El Paso he arrived a few +hours after Greenfield had left, going toward the Salt Basin and the +Guadalupe Mountains. Frawley took horses and a guide and followed to the +edge of the desert. At three o'clock in the afternoon a horseman grew +out of the horizon, a figure that remained stationary and attentive, +studying his approach through a spy-glass. Suddenly, as though +satisfied, the stranger took off his hat and waved it above his head in +challenge, and digging his heels into his horse, disappeared into the +desert.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='VI'></a><h2>VI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Frawley understood the challenge—the end was to be in the desert. +Failing to move his guide by threat or promise, he left him clamoring +frantically on the edge of the desert and rode on toward where the +figure of Greenfield had disappeared on the horizon in a puff of dust.</p> + +<p>For three days they went their way grimly into the parched sands, +husbanding every particle of strength, within plain sight of each other, +always at the same unvarying walk. At night they slept by fits and +starts, with an ear trained for the slightest hostile sound. Then they +cast aside their saddles, their rifles, and superfluous clothing, in a +vain effort to save their mounts.</p> + +<p>The horses, heaving and staggering, crawled over the yielding sands +like silhouettes drawn by a thread. In the sky not a cloud appeared; +below, the yellow monotony extended as flat as a dish. Above them a lazy +buzzard, wheeling in languid circles, followed with patient conviction.</p> + +<p>On the fourth morning Frawley's horse stopped, shuddered, and went down +in a heap. Greenfield halted and surveyed his discomfiture grimly, +without a sign of elation.</p> + +<p>"That's bad, very bad," Frawley said judicially. "I ought to have sent +word to the department. Still, it's not over yet—his horse won't last +long. Well, I mustn't carry much."</p> + +<p>He abandoned his revolver, a knife, $200 in gold, and continued on foot, +preserving only the water-bag with its precious mouthful. Greenfield, +who had waited immovably, allowed him to approach within a quarter of a +mile before putting his horse in motion.</p> + +<p>"He's going to make sure I stay here," said Frawley to himself, seeing +that Greenfield made no attempt to increase the lead. "Well, we'll see."</p> + +<p>Twelve hours later Greenfield's horse gave out. Frawley uttered a cry of +joy, but the handicap of half a day was a serious one; he was exhausted, +famished, and in the bag there remained only sufficient water to moisten +his lips.</p> + +<p>The fifth day broke with an angry sun and no sign on the horizon to +relieve the eternal monotony. Only the buzzard at the same distance +aloft bided his time. Hunter and hunted, united perforce by their common +suffering, plodded on with the weary, hopeless straining of human beings +harnessed to a plow, covering scarcely a mile an hour. From time to +time, by common consent, they sat down, gaunt, exhausted figures, eyeing +each other with the instinct of beasts, their elbows on their bony +knees. Whether from a fear of losing energy, whether under the spell of +the frightful stillness, neither had uttered a word.</p> + +<p>Frawley was afire with thirst. The desert entered his body with its dry +mortal heat, and ran its consuming dryness through his veins; his eyes +started from his face as the sun above him hung out of the parched sky. +He began to talk to himself, to sing. Under his feet the sand sifted +like the soft protest of autumn leaves. He imagined himself back in the +forest, marking the rustle of leafy branches and the intermittent +dropping of acorns and twigs. All at once his legs refused to move. He +stood still, his gaze concentrated on the figure of Greenfield a long +moment, then his body crumpled under him and he sank without volition to +the ground.</p> + +<p>Greenfield stopped, sat down, and waited. After half an hour he drew +himself to his feet, moved on, then stopped, returned, approached, and +listened to the crooning of the delirious man. Suddenly satisfied, he +flung both arms into the air in frenzied triumph, turned, staggered, +and reeled away, while back over the desert came the grotesque, hideous +refrain, in maddened victory:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>"Yankee Doodle Dandy oh!</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Yankee Doodle Dandy!"</span><br /> + +<p>Frawley watched him go, then with a sigh of relief turned his glance to +the black revolving form in the air—at least that remained to break the +horror of the solitude. Then he lost consciousness.</p> + +<p>The beat of wings across his face aroused him with a start and a cry of +agony. The great bird of carrion, startled in its inspection, flew +clumsily off and settled fearlessly on the ground, blinking at him.</p> + +<p>An immense revolt, a furious anger brought with it new strength. He rose +and rushed at the bird with clenched fist, cursing it as it lumbered +awkwardly away. Then he began desperately to struggle on, following the +tracks in the sand.</p> + +<p>At the end of an hour specks appeared on the horizon. He looked at them +in his delirium and began to laugh uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I must be out of my head," he said to himself seriously. "It's a +mirage. Well, I suppose it is the end. Who'll they put on the case now? +Keech, I suppose; yes, Keech; he's a good man. Of course it's a mirage."</p> + +<p>As he continued to stumble forward, the dots assumed the shape of trees +and hills. He laughed contemptuously and began to remonstrate with +himself, repeating:</p> + +<p>"It's a mirage, or I'm out of my head." He began to be worried, saying +over and over: "That's a bad sign, very bad. I mustn't lose control of +myself. I must stick to him—stick to him until he dies of old age. +Bucky Greenfield! Well, he won't get out of this either. If the +department could only know!"</p> + +<p>The nearer he drew to life, the more indignant he became. He arrived +thus at the edge of trees and green things.</p> + +<p>"Why don't they go?" he said angrily. "They ought to, now. Come, I think +I'm keeping my head remarkably well."</p> + +<p>All at once a magnificent idea came to him—he would walk through the +mirage and end it. He advanced furiously against an imaginary tree, +struck his forehead, and toppled over insensible.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='VII'></a><h2>VII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Frawley returned to consciousness to find himself in the hut of a +half-breed Indian, who was forcing a soup of herbs between his lips.</p> + +<p>Two days later he regained his strength sufficiently to reach a ranch +owned by Englishmen. Fitted out by them, he started at once to return to +El Paso; to take up the unending search anew.</p> + +<p>In the late afternoon, tired and thirsty, he arrived at a shanty where +a handful of Mexican children were lolling in the cool of the wall. At +the sound of his approach a woman came running to the door, shrieking +for assistance in a Mexican gibberish. He ran hastily to the house, his +hand on his pistol. The woman, without stopping her chatter, huddled in +the doorway, pointing to the dim corner opposite. Frawley, following her +glance, saw the figure of a man stretched on a hasty bed of leaves. He +took a few quick steps and recognized Greenfield.</p> + +<p>At the same moment the bundle shot to a sitting position, with a cry:</p> + +<p>"Who's that?"</p> + +<p>Frawley, with a quick motion, covered him with his revolver, crying:</p> + +<p>"Hands up. It's me, Bucky, and I've got you now!"</p> + +<p>"Frawley!"</p> + +<p>"That's it, Bucky—Hands up!"</p> + +<p>Greenfield, without obeying, stared at him wildly.</p> + +<p>"God, it is Frawley!" he cried, and fell back in a heap.</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, advancing a step, repeated his command with no +uncertain ring:</p> + +<p>"Hands up! Quick!"</p> + +<p>On the bed the distorted body contracted suddenly into a ball.</p> + +<p>"Easy, Bub," Greenfield said between his teeth. "Easy; don't get +excited. I'm dying."</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>Frawley approached cautiously, suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Fact. I'm cashin' in."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Bug. Plain bug—the desert did the rest."</p> + +<p>"A what?"</p> + +<p>"Tarantula bite—don't laugh, Bub."</p> + +<p>Frawley, at his side, needed but a glance to see that it was true. He +ran his hand over Greenfield's belt and removed his pistol.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," he said curtly, standing up.</p> + +<p>"Quite keerect, Bub!"</p> + +<p>"Can I do anything for you?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>Suddenly, without warning, Greenfield raised himself, glared at him, +stretched out his hands, and fell into a passionate fit of weeping. +Frawley's English reserve was outraged.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he said angrily. "You're not going to show the +white feather now, are you?"</p> + +<p>With an oath Greenfield sat bolt upright, silent and flustered.</p> + +<p>"D—— you, Bub—show some imagination," he said after a pause. "Do +you think I mind dying—me? That's a good one. It ain't that—no—it's +ending, ending like this. After all I've been through, to be put out of +business by a bug—an ornery little bug."</p> + +<p>Then Frawley comprehended his mistake.</p> + +<p>"I say, Bucky, I'll take that back," he said awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"No imagination, no imagination," Greenfield muttered, sinking back. +"Why, man, if I'd chased you three times around the world and got you, +I'd fall on you and beat you to a pulp or—or I'd hug you like a +long-lost brother."</p> + +<p>"I asked your pardon," said Frawley again.</p> + +<p>"All right, Bub—all right," Greenfield answered with a short laugh. +Then after a pause he added seriously: "So you've come—well, I'm glad +it's over. Bub," he continued, raising himself excitedly on his elbow, +"here's something strange, only you won't understand it. Do you know, +the whole time I knew just where you were—I had a feeling somewhere in +the back of my neck. At first you were 'way off, over the horizon; then +you got to be a spot coming over the hill. Then I began to feel that +spot growin' bigger and bigger—after Rio Janeiro, crawling up, creeping +up. Gospel truth, I felt you sneaking up on my back. It got on my +nerves. I dreamed about it, and that morning on the trail when you was +just a speck on any old hoss—I knew! You—you don't understand such +things, Bub, do you?"</p> + +<p>Frawley made an effort, failed, and answered helplessly:</p> + +<p>"No, Bucky, no, I can't say I do understand."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think I ran you into Rio Janeiro?" said Greenfield, +twisting on the leaves. "Into the cholery? What do you think made me lay +for this desert? Bub, you were on my back, clinging like a catamount. I +was bound to shake you off. I was desperate. It had to end one way or +t'other. That's why I stuck to you until I thought it was over with +you."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you make sure of it?" said Frawley with curiosity; "you +could have done for me there."</p> + +<p>Greenfield looked at him hard and nodded.</p> + +<p>"Keerect, Bub; quite so!"</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why!" cried Greenfield angrily. "Ain't you ever had any imagination? +Did I want to shoot you down like a common ordinary pickpocket after +taking you three times around the world? That was no ending! God, what a +chase it was!"</p> + +<p>"It was long, Bucky," Frawley admitted. "It was a good one!"</p> + +<p>"Can't you understand anything?" Greenfield cried querulously. "Where's +anything bigger, more than what we've done? And to have it end like +this—to have a bug—a miserable, squashy bug beat you after all!"</p> + +<p>For a long moment there was no sound, while Greenfield lay, twisting, +his head averted, buried in the leaves.</p> + +<p>"It's not right, Bucky," said Frawley at last, +with an effort at sympathy. "It oughtn't to have ended this way."</p> + +<p>"It was worth it!" Greenfield cried. "Three years! There ain't much dirt +we haven't kicked up! Asia, Africa—a regular Cook's tour through +Europe, North and South Ameriky. And what seas, Bub!" His voice +faltered. The drops of sweat stood thickly on his forehead; but he +pulled himself together gamely. "Do you remember the Sea of Japan with +its funny little toy junks? Man, we've beaten out Columbus, Jools Verne, +and the rest of them—hollow, Bub!"</p> + +<p>"I say, what did you do it for?"</p> + +<p>"You are a rum un," said Greenfield with a broken laugh. The words began +to come shorter and with effort. "Excitement, Bub! Deviltry and +cussedness!"</p> + +<p>"How do you feel, Bucky?" asked Frawley.</p> + +<p>"Half in hell already—stewing for my sins—but it's not that—it's—"</p> + +<p>"What, Bucky?"</p> + +<p>"That bug! Me, Bucky Greenfield—to go down and out on account of a +bug—a little squirmy bug! But I swear even he couldn't have done it if +the desert hadn't put me out of business first! No, by God! I'm not +downed so easy as that!"</p> + +<p>Frawley, in a lame attempt to show his sympathy, went closer to the +dying man:</p> + +<p>"I say, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"Shout away."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like to go out, standing, on your feet—with your boots +on?"</p> + +<p>Greenfield laughed, a contented laugh.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, pal?" said Frawley, pausing in surprise.</p> + +<p>"You darned old Englishman," said Greenfield affectionately. "Say, Bub."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"The dinkies are all right—but—but a Yank, a real Yank, would 'a' got +me in six months."</p> + +<p>"All right, Bucky. Shall I raise you up?"</p> + +<p>"H'ist away."</p> + +<p>"Would you like the feeling of a gun in your hand again?" said Frawley, +raising him up.</p> + +<p>This time Greenfield did not laugh, but his hand closed convulsively +over the butt, and he gave a savage sigh of delight. His limbs +contracted violently, his head bore heavily on the shoulder of Frawley, +who heard him whisper again:</p> + +<p>"A bug—a little—"</p> + +<p>Then he stopped and appeared to listen. Outside, the evening was soft +and stirring. Through the door the children appeared, tumbling over one +another, in grotesque attitudes.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as though in the breeze he had caught the sound of a step, +Greenfield jerked almost free of Frawley's arms, shuddered, and fell +back rigid. The pistol, flung into the air, twirled, pitched on the +floor, and remained quiet.</p> + +<p>Frawley placed the body back on the bed of leaves, listened a moment, +and rose satisfied. He threw a blanket over the face, picked up the +revolver, searched a moment for his hat, and went out to arrange with +the Mexican for the night. In a moment he returned and took a seat in +the corner, and began carefully to jot down the details on a piece of +paper. Presently he paused and looked reflectively at the bed of leaves.</p> + +<p>"It's been a good three years," he said reflectively. He considered a +moment, rapping the pencil against his teeth, and repeated: "A good +three years. I think when I get home I'll ask for a week or so to +stretch myself." Then he remembered with anxiety how Greenfield had +railed at his lack of imagination and pondered a moment seriously. +Suddenly, as though satisfied, he said with a nod of conviction:</p> + +<p>"Well, now, we did jog about a bit!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='LARRY_MOORE'></a><h2>LARRY MOORE</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The base-ball season had closed, and we were walking down Fifth avenue, +Larry Moore and I. We were discussing the final series for the +championship, and my friend was estimating his chances of again pitching +the Giants to the top, when a sudden jam on the avenue left us an +instant looking face to face at a woman and a child seated in a +luxurious victoria.</p> + +<p>Larry Moore, who had hold of my arm, dropped it quickly and wavered in +his walk. The woman caught her breath and put her muff hastily to her +face; but the child saw us without surprise. All had passed within a +second, yet I retained a vivid impression of a woman of strange +attraction, elegant and indolent, with something in her face which left +me desirous of seeing it again, and of a pretty child who seemed a +little too serious for that happy age. Larry Moore forgot what he had +begun to say. He spoke no further word, and I, in glancing at his face, +comprehended that, incredible as it seemed, there was some bond between +the woman I had seen and this raw-boned, big-framed, and big-hearted +idol of the bleachers.</p> + +<p>Without comment I followed Larry Moore, serving his mood as he +immediately left the avenue and went east. At first he went with excited +strides, then he slowed down to a profound and musing gait, then he +halted, laid his hand heavily on my shoulder, and said:</p> + +<p>"Get into the car, Bob. Come up to the rooms."</p> + +<p>I understood that he wished to speak to me of what had happened, and I +followed. We went thus, without another word exchanged, to his rooms, +and entered the little parlor hung with the trophies of his career, +which I looked at with some curiosity. On the mantel in the center I saw +at once a large photograph of the Hon. Joseph Gilday, a corporation +lawyer of whom we reporters told many hard things, a picture I did not +expect to find here among the photographs of the sporting celebrities +who had sent their regards to my friend of the diamond. In some +perplexity I approached and saw across the bottom written in large firm +letters: "I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore."</p> + +<p>I smiled, for the tribute of the great man of the law seemed incongruous +here to me, who knew of old my simple-minded, simple-hearted friend +whom, the truth be told, I patronized perforce. Then I looked about more +carefully, and saw a dozen photographs of a woman, sometimes alone, +sometimes holding a pretty child, and the faces were the faces I had +seen in the victoria. I feigned not to have seen them; but Larry, who +had watched me, said:</p> + +<p>"Look again, Bob; for that is the woman you saw in the carriage, and +that is the child."</p> + +<p>So I took up a photograph and looked at it long. The face had something +more dangerous than beauty in it—the face of a Cleopatra with a look in +the deep restless eyes I did not fancy; but I did not tell that to Larry +Moore. Then I put it back in its place and turned and said gravely:</p> + +<p>"Are you sure that you want to tell me, Larry Moore?"</p> + +<p>"I do," he said. "Sit down."</p> + +<p>He did not seek preliminaries, as I should have done, but began at once, +simply and directly—doubtless he was retelling the story more to +himself than to me.</p> + +<p>"She was called Fanny Montrose," he said, "a slip of a girl, with +wonderful golden hair, and big black eyes that made me tremble, the day +I went into the factory at Bridgeport, the day I fell in love. 'I'm +Larry Moore; you may have heard of me,' I said, going straight up to her +when the whistle blew that night, 'and I'd like to walk home with you, +Fanny Montrose.'</p> + +<p>"She drew back sort of quick, and I thought she'd been hearing tales of +me up in Fall River; so I said: 'I only meant to be polite. You may have +heard a lot of bad of me, and a lot of it's true, but you never heard +of Larry Moore's being disrespectful to a lady,' and I looked her in the +eye and said: 'Will you let me walk home with you, Fanny Montrose?'</p> + +<p>"She swung on her foot a moment, and then she said: 'I will.'</p> + +<p>"I heard a laugh go up at that, and turned round, with the bit in my +teeth; but it was only the women, and you can't touch them. Fanny +Montrose hurried on, and I saw she was upset by it, so I said humbly: +'You're not sorry now, are you?'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, no,' she said.</p> + +<p>"'Will you catch hold of my arm?' I asked her.</p> + +<p>"She looked first in my face, and then she slipped in her hand so +prettily that it sent all the words from my tongue. 'You've just come to +Bridgeport, ain't you?' she said timidly.</p> + +<p>"'I have,' I said, 'and I want you to know the truth. I came because I +had to get out of Fall River. I had a scrap—more than one of them.'</p> + +<p>"'Did you lick your man?' she said, glancing at me.</p> + +<p>"'I licked every one of them, and it was good and fair fighting—if I +was on a tear,' I said; 'but I'm ashamed of it now.'</p> + +<p>"'You're Larry Moore, who pitched on the Fall Rivers last season?' she +said.</p> + +<p>"'I am.'</p> + +<p>"'You can pitch some!' she said with a nod.</p> + +<p>"'When I'm straight I can.'</p> + +<p>"'And why don't you go at it like a man then? You could get in the +Nationals,' she said.</p> + +<p>"'I've never had anyone to work for—before,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'We go down here; I'm staying at Keene's boarding-house,' she said at +that.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid I'd been too forward; so I kept still until we came to the +door. Then I pulled off my hat and made her a bow and said: 'Will you +let me walk home with you steady, Fanny Montrose?'</p> + +<p>"And she stopped on the door-step and looked at me without saying a +word, and I asked it again, putting out my hand, for I wanted to get +hold of hers. But she drew back and reached for the knob. So I said:</p> + +<p>"'You needn't be frightened; for it's me that ought to be afraid.'</p> + +<p>"'And what have you to be afraid of, you great big man?' she said, +stopping in wonder.</p> + +<p>"'I'm afraid of your big black eyes, Fanny Montrose, 'I said, 'and I'm +afraid of your slip of a body that I could snap in my hands,' I said; +'for I'm going to fall in love with you, Fanny Montrose.'</p> + +<p>"Which was a lie, for I was already. With that I ran off like a fool. I +ran off, but from that night I walked home with Fanny Montrose.</p> + +<p>"For a month we kept company, and Bill Coogan and Dan Farrar and the +rest of them took my notice and kept off. The women laughed at me and +sneered at her; but I minded them not, for I knew the ways of the +factory, and besides there wasn't a man's voice in the lot—that I +heard.</p> + +<p>"But one night as we were wandering back to Keene's boarding-house, +Fanny Montrose on my arm, Bill Coogan planted himself before us, and +called her something to her face that there was no getting around.</p> + +<p>"I took her on a bit, weeping and shaking, and I said to her: 'Stand +here.'</p> + +<p>"And I went back, and caught Bill Coogan by the throat and the belt, and +swung him around my head, and flung him against the lamp-post. And the +post broke off with a crash, and Coogan lay quiet, with nothing more to +say.</p> + +<p>"I went back to Fanny Montrose, who had stopped her crying, and said, +shaking with anger at the dirty insult: 'Fanny Montrose, will you be my +wife? Will you marry me this night?'</p> + +<p>"She pushed me away from her, and looked up into my face in a frightened +way and said: 'Do you mean to be your wife?'</p> + +<p>"'I do,' I said, and then because I was afraid that she didn't trust in +me enough yet to marry me I said solemnly: 'Fanny Montrose, you need +have no fear. If I've been drunk and riotous, it's because I wanted to +be, and now that I've made up my mind to be straight, there isn't a +thing living that could turn me back again. Fanny Montrose, will you say +you'll be my wife?'</p> + +<p>"Then she put out her two hands to me and tumbled into my arms, all +limp."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Larry Moore rose and walked the length of the room. When he came back he +went to the wall and took down a photograph; but with what emotion I +could not say, for his back was to me. I glanced again at the odd +volatile beauty in the woman's face and wondered what was the word Bill +Coogan had said and what was his reason for saying it.</p> + +<p>"From that day it was all luck for me," Larry Moore said, settling again +in the chair, where his face returned to the shadow. "She had a head on +her, that little woman. She pulled me up to where I am. I pitched that +season for the Bridgeports. You know the record, Bob, seven games lost +out of forty-three, and not so much my fault either. When they were for +signing me again, at big money too, the little woman said:</p> + +<p>"'Don't you do it, Larry Moore; they're not your class. Just hold out a +bit.'</p> + +<p>"You know, Bob, how I signed then with the Giants, and how they boosted +my salary at the end of that first year; but it was Fanny Montrose who +made the contracts every time. We had the child then, and I was happy. +The money came quick, and lots of it, and I put it in her lap and said:</p> + +<p>"'Do what you want with it; only I want you to enjoy it like a lady.'</p> + +<p>"Maybe I was wrong there—maybe I was. It was pride, I'll admit; but +there wasn't a lady came to the stands that looked finer than Fanny +Montrose, as I always used to call her. I got to be something of a +figure, as you know, and the little woman was always riding back and +forth to the games in some automobile, and more often with Paul Bargee.</p> + +<p>"One afternoon Ed Nichols, who was catching me then, came up with a +serious face and said: 'Where's your lady to-day, Larry—and Paul +Bargee?' And by the way he said it I knew what he had in mind, and good +friend that he was of mine I liked to have throttled him. They told me +to pitch the game, and I did. I won it too. Then I ran home without +changing my clothes, the people staring at me, and ran up the stairs and +flung open the door and stopped and called: 'Fanny Montrose!'</p> + +<p>"And I called again, and I called a third time, and only the child came +to answer me. Then I knew in my heart that Fanny Montrose had left me +and run off with Paul Bargee.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"I waited all that night without tasting food or moving, listening for +her step on the stairs. And in the morning the postman came without a +line or a word for me. I couldn't understand; for I had been a good +husband to her, and though I thought over everything that had happened +since we'd been married, I couldn't think of a thing that I'd done to +hurt her—for I wasn't thinking then of the millions of Paul Bargee.</p> + +<p>"In the afternoon there came a dirty little lawyer shuffling in to see +me, with blinking little eyes behind his black-rimmed spectacles—a toad +of a man.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you?' I said, 'and what are you doing here?'</p> + +<p>"'I'm simply an attorney,' he said, cringing before my look—'Solomon +Scholl, on a very disagreeable duty,' he said.</p> + +<p>"'Do you come from her?' I said, and I caught my breath.</p> + +<p>"'I come from Mr. Paul Bargee,' he said, 'and I'd remind you, Mr. Moore, +that I come as an attorney on a disagreeable duty.'</p> + +<p>"With that I drew back and looked at him in amazement, and said: 'What +has he got to say to me?'</p> + +<p>"'My client,' he said, turning the words over with the tip of his +tongue, 'regrets exceedingly—'</p> + +<p>"'Don't waste words!' I said angrily. 'What are you here for?'</p> + +<p>"'My client,' he said, looking at me sidelong, 'empowers me to offer you +fifteen thousand dollars if you will promise to make no trouble in this +matter.'</p> + +<p>"I sat down all in a heap; for I didn't know the ways of a gentleman +then, Bob, and covered my face with the horror I had of the humiliation +he had done me. The lawyer, he misunderstood it, for he crept up softly +and whispered in my ear:</p> + +<p>"'That's what he offers—if you're fool enough to take it; but if you'll +stick to me, we can wring him to the tune of ten times that.'</p> + +<p>"I got up and took him and kicked him out of the room, and kicked him +down the stairs, for he was a little man, and I wouldn't strike him.</p> + +<p>"Then I came back and said to myself: 'If matters are so, I must get the +best advice I can.'</p> + +<p>"And I knew that Joseph Gilday was the top of the lot. So I went to him, +and when I came in I stopped short, for I saw he looked perplexed, and I +said: 'I'm in trouble, sir, and my life depends on it, and other lives, +and I need the best of advice; so I've come to you. I'm Larry Moore of +the Giants; so you may know I can pay.' Then I sat down and told him the +story, every word as I've told you; and when I was all through, he said +quietly:</p> + +<p>"'What are you thinking of doing, Mr. Moore?'</p> + +<p>"'I think it would be better if she came back, sir,' I said, 'for her +and for the child. So I thought the best thing would be to write her a +letter and tell her so; for I think if you could write the right sort of +a letter she'd come back. And that's what I want you to show me how to +write,' I said.</p> + +<p>"He took a sheet of paper and a pen, and looked at me steadily and said: +'What would you say to her?'</p> + +<p>"So I drew my hands up under my chin and thought awhile and said: 'I +think I'd say something like this, sir:</p> + +<p>"'"My dear wife—I've been trying to think all this while what has +driven you away, and I don't understand. I love you, Fanny Montrose, and +I want you to come back to me. And if you're afraid to come, I want to +tell you not a word will pass my lips on the subject; for I haven't +forgotten that it was you made a man of me; and much as I try, I cannot +hate you, Fanny Montrose."'</p> + +<p>"He looked down and wrote for a minute, and then he handed me the paper +and said: 'Send that.'</p> + +<p>"I looked, and saw it was what I had told him, and I said doubtfully: +'Do you think that is best?'</p> + +<p>"'I do.'</p> + +<p>"So I mailed the letter as he said, and three days after came one from a +lawyer, saying my wife could have no communication with me, and would I +send what I had to say to him.</p> + +<p>"So I went down to Gilday and told him, and I said: 'We must think of +other things, sir, since she likes luxury and those things better; for +I'm beginning to think that's it—and there I'm a bit to blame, for I +did encourage her. Well, she'll have to marry him—that's all I can see +to it," I said, and sat very quiet.</p> + +<p>"'He won't marry her,' he said in his quick way.</p> + +<p>"I thought he meant because she was bound to me, so I said: 'Of course, +after the divorce.'</p> + +<p>"'Are you going to get a divorce then from her?'</p> + +<p>"'I've been thinking it over,' I said carefully, and I had, 'and I think +the best way would be for her to get it. That can be done, can't it?' I +said, 'because I've been thinking of the child, and I don't want her to +grow up with any stain on the good name of her mother,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'Then you will give up the child?' he said.</p> + +<p>"And I said: 'Yes.'</p> + +<p>"'Will he marry her?' he said again.</p> + +<p>"'For what else did he take her away?'</p> + +<p>"'If I was you,' he said, looking at me hard, 'I'd make sure of +that—before.'</p> + +<p>"That worried me a good deal, and I went out and walked around, and then +I went to the station and bought a ticket for Chicago, and I said to +myself: 'I'll go and see him'; for by that time I'd made up my mind what +I'd do.</p> + +<p>"And when I got there the next morning, I went straight to his house, +and my heart sank, for it was a great place with a high iron railing all +around it and a footman at the door—and I began to understand why Fanny +Montrose had left me for him.</p> + +<p>"I'd thought a long time about giving another name; but I said to +myself: 'No, I'll him a chance first to come down and face me like a +man,' so I said to the footman: 'Go tell Paul Bargee that Larry Moore +has come to see him.'</p> + +<p>"Then I went down the hall and into the great parlor, all hung with +draperies, and I looked at myself in the mirrors and looked at the +chairs, and I didn't feel like sitting down, and presently the curtains +opened, and Paul Bargee stepped into the room. I looked at him once, and +then I looked at the floor, and my breath came hard. Then he stepped up +to me and stopped and said:</p> + +<p>"'Well?'</p> + +<p>"And though he had wronged me and wrecked my life, I couldn't help +admiring his grit; for the boy was no match for me, and he knew it too, +though he never flinched.</p> + +<p>"'I've come from New York here to talk with you, Paul Bargee,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'You've a right to.'</p> + +<p>"'I have,' I said, 'and I want to have an understanding with you now, if +you have the time, sir,' I said, and looked at the ground again.</p> + +<p>"He drew off, and hearing me speak so low he mistook me as others have +done before, and he looked at me hard and said: 'Well, how much?'</p> + +<p>"My head went up, and I strode at him; but he never winced—if he had, I +think I'd have caught him then and there and served him as I did Bill +Coogan. But I stopped and said: 'That's the second mistake you've made, +Paul Bargee; the first was when you sent a dirty little lawyer to pay me +for taking my wife. And your lawyer came to me and told me to screw you +to the last cent. I kicked him out of my sight; and what have you to say +why I shouldn't do the same to you, Paul Bargee?'</p> + +<p>"He looked white and hurt in his pride, and said: 'You're right; and I +beg your pardon, Mr. Moore.'</p> + +<p>"'I don't want your pardon,' I said, 'and I won't sit down in your +house, and we won't discuss what has happened but what is to be. For +there's a great wrong you've done, and I've a right to say what you +shall do now, Paul Bargee.'</p> + +<p>"He looked at me and said slowly: 'What is that?'</p> + +<p>"'You took my wife, and I gave her a chance to come back to me,' I said; +'but she loved you and what you can give better than me. But she's been +my wife, and I'm not going to see her go down into the gutter.'</p> + +<p>"He started to speak; but I put up my hand and I said: 'I'm not here to +discuss with you, Paul Bargee. I've come to say what's going to be done; +for I have a child,' I said, 'and I don't intend that the mother of my +little girl should go down to the gutter. You've chosen to take my wife, +and she's chosen to stay with you. Now, you've got to marry her and +make her a good woman,' I said.</p> + +<p>"Then Paul Bargee stood off, and I saw what was passing through his +mind. And I went up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder and said: +'You know what I mean, and you know what manner of man I am that talks +to you like this; for you're no coward,' I said; 'but you marry Fanny +Montrose within a week after she gets her freedom, or I am going to kill +you wherever you stand. And that's the choice you've got to make, Paul +Bargee,' I said.</p> + +<p>"Then I stepped back and watched him, and as I did so I saw the curtains +move and knew that Fanny Montrose had heard me.</p> + +<p>"'You're going to give her the divorce?' he said.</p> + +<p>"'I am. I don't intend there shall be a stain on her name,' I said; 'for +I loved Fanny Montrose, and she's always the mother of my little girl.'</p> + +<p>"Then he went to a chair and sat down and took his head in his hands, +and I went out.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"I came back to New York, and went to Mr. Gilday.</p> + +<p>"'Will he marry her?' he said at once.</p> + +<p>"'He will marry her,' I said. 'As for her, I want you to say; for I'll +not write to her myself, since she wouldn't answer me. Say when she's +the wife of Paul Bargee I'll bring the child to her myself, and she's +to see me; for I have a word to say to her then,' I said, and I laid my +fist down on the table. 'Until then the child stays with me.'</p> + +<p>"They've said hard things of Mr. Joseph Gilday, and I know it; but I +know all that he did for me. For he didn't turn it over to a clerk; but +he took hold himself and saw it through as I had said. And when the +divorce was given he called me down and told me that Fanny Montrose was +a free woman and no blame to her in the sight of the law.</p> + +<p>"Then I said: 'It is well. Now write to Paul Bargee that his week has +begun. Until then I keep the child, law or no law.' Then I rose and +said: 'I thank you, Mr. Gilday. You've been very kind, and I'd like to +pay you what I owe you.'</p> + +<p>"He sat there a moment and chewed on his mustache, and he said: 'You +don't owe me a cent.'</p> + +<p>"'It wasn't charity I came to you for, and I can pay for what I get, Mr. +Gilday,' I said. 'Will you give me your regular bill?' I said.</p> + +<p>"And he said at last: 'I will.'</p> + +<p>"In the middle of the week Paul Bargee's mother came to me and went down +on her knees and begged for her son, and I said to her: 'Why should +there be one law for him and one law for the likes of me. He's taken my +wife; but he sha'n't put her to shame, ma'am, and he sha'n't cast a +cloud on the life of my child!'</p> + +<p>"Then she stopped arguing, and caught my hands and cried: 'But you +won't kill him, you won't kill my son, if he don't?'</p> + +<p>"'As sure as Saturday comes, ma'am, and he hasn't made Fanny Montrose a +good woman,' I said, 'I'm going to kill Paul Bargee wherever he stands.'</p> + +<p>"And Friday morning Mr. Gilday called me down to his office and told me +that Paul Bargee had done as I said he should do. And I pressed his hand +and said nothing, and he let me sit awhile in his office.</p> + +<p>"And after awhile I rose up and said: 'Then I must take the child to +her, as I promised, to-night.'</p> + +<p>"He walked with me from the office and said: 'Go home to your little +girl. I'll see to the tickets, and will come for you at nine o'clock.'</p> + +<p>"And at nine o'clock he came in his big carriage, and took me and the +child to the station and said: 'Telegraph me when you're leaving +to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>"And I said: 'I will.'</p> + +<p>"Then I went into the car with my little girl asleep in my arms and sat +down in the seat, and the porter came and said:</p> + +<p>"'Can I make up your berths?'</p> + +<p>"And I looked at the child and shook my head. So I held her all night +and she slept on my shoulder, while I looked from her out into the +darkness, and from the darkness back to her again. And the porter kept +passing and passing and staring at me and the child.</p> + +<p>"And in the morning we went up to the great house and into the big +parlor, and Fanny Montrose came in, as I had said she should, very white +and not looking at me. And the child ran to her, and I watched Fanny +Montrose catch her up to her breast, and I sobbed. And she looked at me, +and saw it. So I said:</p> + +<p>"'It's because now I know you love the child and that you'll be kind to +her.'</p> + +<p>"Then she fell down before me and tried to take my hand. But I stepped +back and said:</p> + +<p>"'I've made you an honest woman, Fanny Montrose, and now as long as I +live I'm going to see you do nothing to disgrace my child.'</p> + +<p>"And I went out and took the train back. And Mr. Gilday was at the +station there waiting for me, and he took my arm, without a word, and +led me to his carriage and drove up without speaking. And when we got to +the house, he got out, and took off his hat and made me a bow and said: +'I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore.'"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='MY_WIFES_WEDDING_PRESENTS'></a><h2>MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>I don't believe in wedding functions. I don't believe in honeymoons and +particularly I abominate the inhuman custom of giving wedding presents. +And this is why:</p> + +<p>Clara was the fifth poor daughter of a rich man. I was respectably poor +but artistic. We had looked forward to marriage as a time when two +persons chose a home and garnished it with furnishings of their own +choice, happy in the daily contact with beautiful things. We had often +discussed our future home. We knew just the pictures that must hang on +the walls, the tone of the rugs that should lie on the floors, the style +of the furniture that should stand in the rooms, the pattern of the +silver that should adorn our table. Our ideas were clear and positive.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately Clara had eight rich relatives who approved of me and I +had three maiden aunts, two of whom were in precarious health and must +not be financially offended.</p> + +<p>I am rather an imperious man, with theories that a woman is happiest +when she finds a master; but when the details of the wedding came up for +decision I was astounded to find myself not only flouted but actually +forced to humiliating surrender. Since then I have learned that my own +case was not glaringly exceptional. At the time, however, I was +nonplused and rather disturbed in my dreams of the future. I had decided +on a house wedding with but the family and a few intimate friends to be +present at my happiness. After Clara had done me the honor to consult +me, several thousand cards were sent out for the ceremony at the church +and an addition was begun on the front veranda.</p> + +<p>Clara herself led me to the library and analyzed the situation to me, in +the profoundest manner.</p> + +<p>"You dear, old, impracticable goose," she said with the wisdom of just +twenty, "what do you know about such things? How much do you suppose it +will cost us to furnish a house the way we want?"</p> + +<p>I said airily, "Oh, about five hundred dollars."</p> + +<p>"Take out your pencil," said Clara scornfully, "and write."</p> + +<p>When she finished her dictation, and I had added up the items with a +groan, I was dumbfounded. I said:</p> + +<p>"Clara, do you think it is wise—do you think we have any right to get +married?"</p> + +<p>"Of course we have."</p> + +<p>"Then we must make up our minds to boarding."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! we shall have everything just as we planned it."</p> + +<p>"But how?"</p> + +<p>"Wedding presents," said Clara triumphantly, "now do you see why it must +be a church wedding?"</p> + +<p>I began to see.</p> + +<p>"But isn't it a bit mercenary?" I said feebly. "Does every one do it?"</p> + +<p>"Every one. It is a sort of tax on the unmarried," said Clara with a +determined shake of her head. "Quite right that it should be, too."</p> + +<p>"Then every one who receives an invitation is expected to contribute to +our future welfare?"</p> + +<p>"An invitation to the house."</p> + +<p>"Well, to the house—then?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now, my dear, I begin to understand why the presents are always +shown."</p> + +<p>For all answer Clara extended the sheet of paper on which we had made +our calculations.</p> + +<p>I capitulated.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>I pass over the wedding. In theory I have grown more and more opposed to +such exhibitions. A wedding is more pathetic than a funeral, and +nothing, perhaps, is more out of place than the jubilations of the +guests. When a man and a woman, as husband and wife, have lived together +five years, then the community should engage a band and serenade them, +but at the outset—however, I will not insist—I am doubtless cynically +inclined. I come to the moment when, having successfully weathered the +pitfalls of the honeymoon (there's another mistaken theory—but let that +pass) my wife and I found ourselves at last in our own home, in the +midst of our wedding presents. I say in the midst advisably. Clara sat +helplessly in the middle of the parlor rug and I glowered from the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>"My dear Clara," I said, with just a touch of asperity, "you've had your +way about the wedding. Now you've got your wedding presents. What are +you going to do with them?"</p> + +<p>"If people only wouldn't have things marked!" said Clara irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>"But they always do," I replied. "Also I may venture to suggest that +your answer doesn't solve the difficulty."</p> + +<p>"Don't be cross," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"My dear," I replied with excellent good-humor, "I'm not. I'm only +amused—who wouldn't be?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be horrid, George," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> deliciously humorous," I continued. "Quite the most humorous +thing I have ever known. I am not cross and I am not horrid; I have made +a profound discovery. I know now why so many American marriages are not +happy."</p> + +<p>"Why, George?"</p> + +<p>"Wedding presents," I said savagely, "exactly that, my dear. This being +forced to live years of married life surrounded by things you don't +want, you never will want, and which you've got to live with or lose +your friends."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George!" said Clara, gazing around helplessly, "it is terrible, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Look at that rug you are sitting on," I said, glaring at a six by ten +modern French importation. "Cauliflowers contending with unicorns, +surrounded by a border of green roses and orange violets—expensive! And +until the lamp explodes or the pipes burst we have got to go on and on +and on living over that, and why?—because dear Isabel will be here once +a week!"</p> + +<p>"I thought Isabel would have better taste," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"She has—Isabel has perfect taste, depend upon it," I said, "she did it +on purpose!"</p> + +<p>"George!"</p> + +<p>"Exactly that. Have you noticed that married people give the most +impossible presents? It is revenge, my dear. Society has preyed upon +them. They will prey upon society. Wait until we get a chance!"</p> + +<p>"It is awful!" said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Let us continue. We have five French rugs; no two could live together. +Five rooms desecrated. Our drawing-room is Art Nouveau, furnished by +your Uncle James, who is strong and healthy and may live twenty years. +I particularly abominate Art Nouveau furniture."</p> + +<p>"So do I."</p> + +<p>"Our dining-room is distinctly Grand Rapids."</p> + +<p>"Now, George!"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"Well, it was your Aunt Susan."</p> + +<p>"It was, but who suggested it? I pass over the bedrooms. I will simply +say that they are nightmares. Expensive nightmares! I come to the +lamps—how many have we?"</p> + +<p>"Fourteen."</p> + +<p>"Fourteen atrocities, imitation Louis Seize, bogus Oriental, feathered, +laced and tasseled. So much for useful presents. Now for decoration. We +have three Sistine Madonnas (my particular abomination). Two, thank +heaven, we can inflict on the next victims, one we have got to live with +and why?—so that each of our three intimate friends will believe it his +own. We have water colors and etchings which we don't want, and a +photograph copy of every picture that every one sees in every one's +house. Some original friend has even sent us a life-size, marble +reproduction of the Venus de Milo. These things will be our artistic +home. Then there are vases—"</p> + +<p>"Now you are losing your temper."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, I'm reserving it. I shan't characterize the +bric-à-brac, that was to be expected."</p> + +<p>"Don't!"</p> + +<p>"At least that is not marked. I come at last to the silver. Give me the +list."</p> + +<p>Clara sighed and extended it.</p> + +<p>"Four solid silver terrapin dishes."</p> + +<p>"Marked."</p> + +<p>"Marked—Terrapin—ha! ha! Two massive, expensive, solid silver +champagne coolers."</p> + +<p>"Marked."</p> + +<p>"Marked, my dear—for each end of the table when we give our beefsteak +dinners. Almond dishes."</p> + +<p>"Don't!"</p> + +<p>"Forty-two individual, solid or filigree almond dishes; forty-two, +Clara."</p> + +<p>"Marked."</p> + +<p>"Right again, dear. One dozen bonbon dishes, five nouveau riche sugar +shakers (we never use them), three muffineers—in heaven's name, what's +that? Solid silver bread dishes, solid silver candlesticks by the dozen, +solid silver vegetable dishes, and we expect one servant and an +intermittent laundress to do the cooking, washing, make the beds and +clean the house besides."</p> + +<p>"All marked," said Clara dolefully.</p> + +<p>"Every one, my dear. Then the china and the plates, we can't even eat +out of the plates we want or drink from the glasses we wish; everything +in this house, from top to bottom has been picked out and inflicted upon +us against our wants and in defiance of our own taste and we—we have +got to go on living with them and trying not to quarrel!"</p> + +<p>"You have forgotten the worst of all," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"No, my darling, I have not forgotten it. I have thought of nothing +else, but I wanted you to mention it."</p> + +<p>"The flat silver, George."</p> + +<p>"The flat silver, my darling. Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to +match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in +collusion. We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified, +something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, they might have asked me!"</p> + +<p>"But they don't, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents, +my dear. We got Pond Lily pattern, repoussé until it scratches your +fingers. Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and +abominate!"</p> + +<p>"I too, George."</p> + +<p>"And that, my dear, we shall never get rid of; we not only must adopt +and assume the responsibility, but must pass it down to our children and +our children's children."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, it is terrible—terrible! What are we going to do?"</p> + +<p>"My darling Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-à-brac a day on +the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a +butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and +try occasionally to set fire to the furniture."</p> + +<p>"But the flat silver, George, what of that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the flat silver," I said gloomily, "each one has his cross to bear, +that shall be ours."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>We were, as has been suggested, a relatively rich couple. That's a pun! +At the end of five years a relative on either side left us a graceful +reminder. The problem of living became merely one of degree. At the end +of this period we had made considerable progress in the building up of a +home which should be in fact and desire entirely ours. That is, we had +been extensively fortunate in the preservation of our wedding presents. +Our twenty-second housemaid broke a bottle of ink over the parlor rug, +her twenty-one predecessors (whom I had particularly selected) had +already made the most gratifying progress among the bric-à-brac, two +intelligent Airdale puppies had chewed satisfactory holes in the Art +Nouveau furniture, even the Sistine Madonna had wrenched loose from its +supports and considerately annihilated the jewel-studded Oriental lamp +in the general smashup.</p> + +<p>Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the +artistic taste on which I pride myself. There remained at length only +the flat silver and a few thousand dollars' worth of solid silver +receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage. But +these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination.</p> + +<p>One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash.</p> + +<p>Clara gave an exclamation of alarm.</p> + +<p>"George dear, what is it?"</p> + +<p>For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and +gazed at it with a savage joy.</p> + +<p>"George, George, what has happened?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I have an idea—a wonderful idea."</p> + +<p>"What idea?"</p> + +<p>"We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey."</p> + +<p>Clara screamed.</p> + +<p>"Are you in your senses, George?"</p> + +<p>"Never more so."</p> + +<p>"But it's broiling hot!"</p> + +<p>"Hotter than that."</p> + +<p>"It is simply deluged with mosquitoes."</p> + +<p>"There <i>are</i> several mosquitoes there."</p> + +<p>"It's a hole in the ground!"</p> + +<p>"It certainly is."</p> + +<p>"And the only people we know there are the Jimmy Lakes, whom I detest."</p> + +<p>"I can't bear them."</p> + +<p>"And, George, there are <i>burglars</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear," I said triumphantly, "heaven be praised there <i>are</i> +burglars!"</p> + +<p>Clara looked at me. She is very quick.</p> + +<p>"You are thinking of the silver."</p> + +<p>"Of all the silver."</p> + +<p>"But, George, can we afford it?"</p> + +<p>"Afford what?"</p> + +<p>"To have the silver stolen."</p> + +<p>"Supposing there was a burglar insurance, as a reward."</p> + +<p>The next moment Clara was laughing in my arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, you are a wonderful, brilliant man: how did you ever think +of it?"</p> + +<p>"I just put my mind to it," I said loftily.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>We went to Lone Tree, New Jersey. We went there early to meet the +migratory spring burglar. We released from storage two chests and three +barrels of solid silver wedding presents, took out a burglar insurance +for three thousand dollars and proceeded to decorate the dining-room and +parlor.</p> + +<p>"It looks rather—rather nouveau riche," said Clara, surveying the +result.</p> + +<p>"My dear, say the word—it is vulgar. But what of that? We have come +here for a purpose and we will not be balked. Our object is to offer +every facility to the gentlemen who will relieve us of our silver. +Nothing concealed, nothing screwed to the floor."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Clara, "that the champagne coolers are unnecessary."</p> + +<p>The solid silver champagne coolers adorned either side of the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"As receptacles for potted ferns they are, it is true, not quite in the +best of taste," I admitted. "We might leave them in the hall for +umbrellas and canes. But then they might be overlooked, and we must take +no chances on a careless burglar."</p> + +<p>Clara sat down and began to laugh, which I confess was quite the natural +thing to do. Solid silver bread dishes holding sweet peas, individual +almond dishes filled with matches, silver baskets for cigars and +cigarettes crowded the room, with silver candlesticks sprouting from +every ledge and table. The dining-room was worse—but then solid silver +terrapin dishes and muffineers, not to mention the two dozen almond +dishes left over from the parlor, are not at all appropriate +decorations.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure the burglars will never come," said Clara, woman fashion.</p> + +<p>"If there's anything will keep them away," I said, a little provoked, +"it's just that attitude of mind."</p> + +<p>"Well, at any rate, I do hope they'll be quick about it, so we can +leave this dreadful place."</p> + +<p>"They'll never come if you're going to watch them," I said angrily.</p> + +<p>We had quite a little quarrel on that point.</p> + +<p>The month of June passed and still we remained in possession of our +wedding silver. Clara was openly discouraged and if I still clung to my +faith, at the bottom I was anxious and impatient. When July passed +unfruitfully even our sense of humor was seriously endangered.</p> + +<p>"They will never come," said Clara firmly.</p> + +<p>"My dear," I replied, "the last time they came in July. All the more +reason that they should change to August."</p> + +<p>"They will never come," said Clara a second time.</p> + +<p>"Let's bait the hook," I said, trying to turn the subject into a +facetious vein. "We might strew a dozen or so of those individual dishes +down the path to the road."</p> + +<p>"They'll never come," said Clara obstinately.</p> + +<p>And yet they came.</p> + +<p>On the second of August, about two o'clock in the morning I was awakened +out of a deep sleep by the voice of my wife crying:</p> + +<p>"George, here's a burglar!"</p> + +<p>I thought the joke obvious and ill-timed and sleepily said so.</p> + +<p>"But, George dear, he's here—in the room!"</p> + +<p>There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation, +that brought me bolt upright in bed.</p> + +<p>"Put up your hands—quick!" said a staccato voice.</p> + +<p>It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional +bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar.</p> + +<p>"Put 'em up!"</p> + +<p>My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice, +shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for +you's!"</p> + +<p>The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white +pajamas I wore—but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my +feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and +hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of +feet and an occasional metallic ring.</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful—wonderful for words!" said Clara, +hysterical with joy.</p> + +<p>"I can't believe it," I cried.</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern.</p> + +<p>"My dear friend," I said conciliatingly, "there's not the slightest need +of your keeping your finger on that wabbling, cold thing. My feelings +towards you are only the tenderest and the most grateful."</p> + +<p>"Huh!"</p> + +<p>"The feelings of a brother! My only fear is that you may overlook one or +two articles that I admit are not conveniently exposed."</p> + +<p>The bull's-eye turned upon me with a sudden jerk.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be damned!"</p> + +<p>"We have waited for you long and patiently. We thought you would never +come. In fact, we had sort of lost faith in you. I'm sorry. I apologize. +In a way I don't deserve this—I really don't."</p> + +<p>"Bughouse!" came from the foot of the bed, in a suppressed mutter. "Out +and out bughouse!"</p> + +<p>"Quite wrong," I said cheerily. "I never was in better health. You are +surprised, you don't understand. It's not necessary you should. It would +rob the situation of its humor if you should. All I ask of you is to +take everything, don't make a slip, get it all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do, please, please do!" said Clara earnestly.</p> + +<p>The silence at the foot of the bed had the force of an exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Above all," I continued anxiously, "don't forget the pots. They stand +on either side of the fireplace, filled with ferns. They are not pewter. +They are solid silver champagne coolers. They are worth—they are +worth—"</p> + +<p>"Two hundred apiece," said Clara instantly.</p> + +<p>"And don't overlook the muffineers, the terrapin dishes and the +candlesticks. We should be very much obliged—very grateful if you +could find room for them."</p> + +<p>Often since I have thought of that burglar and what must have been his +sensations. At the time I was too engrossed with my own feelings. Never +have I enjoyed a situation more. It is true I noticed as I proceeded our +burglar began to edge away towards the door, keeping the lantern +steadily on my face.</p> + +<p>"And one favor more," I added, "there are several flocks of individual +silver almond dishes roosting downstairs—"</p> + +<p>"Forty-two," said Clara, "twenty-four in the dining-room and eighteen in +the parlor."</p> + +<p>"Forty-two is the number; as a last favor please find room for them; if +you don't want them drop them in a river or bury them somewhere. We +really would appreciate it. It's our last chance."</p> + +<p>"All right," said the burglar in an altered tone. "Don't you worry now, +we'll attend to that."</p> + +<p>"Remember there are forty-two—if you would count them."</p> + +<p>"That's all right—just you rest easy," said the burglar soothingly. +"I'll see they all get in."</p> + +<p>"Really, if I could be of any assistance downstairs," I said anxiously, +"I might really help."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't you worry, Bub, my pals are real careful muts," said the +burglar nervously. "Now just keep calm. We'll get 'em all."</p> + +<p>It suddenly burst upon me that he took me for a lunatic. I buried my +head in the covers and rocked back and forth between tears and laughter.</p> + +<p>"Hi! what the ——'s going on up there?" cried a voice from downstairs.</p> + +<p>"It's all right—all right, Bill," said our burglar hoarsely, "very +affable party up here. Say, hurry it up a bit down there, will you?"</p> + +<p>All at once it struck me that if I really frightened him too much they +might decamp without making a clean sweep. I sobered at once.</p> + +<p>"I'm not crazy," I said.</p> + +<p>"Sure you're not," said the burglar conciliatingly.</p> + +<p>"But I assure you—"</p> + +<p>"That's all right."</p> + +<p>"I'm perfectly sane."</p> + +<p>"Sane as a house!"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to be afraid of."</p> + +<p>"Course there isn't. Hi, Bill, won't you hurry up there!"</p> + +<p>"I'll explain—"</p> + +<p>"Don't you mind that."</p> + +<p>"This is the way it is—"</p> + +<p>"That's all right, we know all about it."</p> + +<p>"You do—"</p> + +<p>"Sure, we got your letter."</p> + +<p>"What letter?"</p> + +<p>"Your telegram then."</p> + +<p>"See here, I'm not crazy—"</p> + +<p>"You bet you're not," said the burglar, edging towards the door and +changing the key.</p> + +<p>"Hold up!" I cried in alarm, "don't be a fool. What I want is for you to +get everything—everything, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll just go down and speak to him."</p> + +<p>"Hold up—"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell him."</p> + +<p>"Wait," I cried, jumping out of bed in my desire to retain him.</p> + +<p>At that moment a whistle came from below and with an exclamation of +relief our burglar slammed the door and locked it. We heard him go down +three steps at a time and rush out of the house.</p> + +<p>"Now you've scared them away," said Clara, "with your idiotic humor."</p> + +<p>I felt contrite and alarmed.</p> + +<p>"How could I help it?" I said angrily, preparing to climb out on the +roof of the porch. "I tried to tell him."</p> + +<p>With which I scrambled out on the roof, made my way to the next room and +entering, released Clara. At the top of the steps we stood clinging +together.</p> + +<p>"Suppose they left it all behind," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Or even some!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, I know it—I know it!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be unreasonable—let's go down." Holding a candle aloft we +descended. The lower floor was stripped of silver—not even an +individual almond dish or a muffineer remained. We fell wildly, +hilariously into each other's arms and began to dance. I don't know +exactly what it was, but it wasn't a minute.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Clara stopped.</p> + +<p>"George!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord, what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Supposin'."</p> + +<p>"Well—well?"</p> + +<p>"Supposin' they've dropped some of it in the path."</p> + +<p>We rushed out and searched the path, nothing there. We searched the +road—one individual almond dish had fallen. I took it and hammered it +beyond recognition and flung it into the pond. It was criminal, but I +did it.</p> + +<p>And then we went into the house and danced some more. We were happy.</p> + +<p>Of course we raised an alarm—after sufficient time to carefully dress, +and fill the lantern with oil. Other houses too had been robbed before +we had been visited, but as they were occupied by old inhabitants, the +occupants had nonchalantly gone to sleep again after surrendering their +small change. Our exploit was quite the sensation. With great difficulty +we assumed the proper public attitude of shock and despair. The +following day I wrote full particulars to the Insurance Company, with a +demand for the indemnity.</p> + +<p>"You'll never get the full amount," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"You never do. They'll send a man to ask disagreeable questions and to +beat us down."</p> + +<p>"Let him come."</p> + +<p>"You'll see."</p> + +<p>Just one week after the event, I opened an official envelope, extracted +a check, gazed at it with a superior smile and tendered it to Clara by +the tips of my fingers.</p> + +<p>"Three thousand dollars!" cried Clara, without contrition, "three +thousand dollars—oh, George!"</p> + +<p>There it was—three thousand dollars, without a shred of doubt. +Womanlike, all Clara had to say was:</p> + +<p>"Well, was I right about the wedding presents?"</p> + +<p>Which remark I had not foreseen.</p> + +<p>We shut up house and went to town next day and began the rounds of the +jewelers. In four days we had expended four-fifths of our money—but +with what results! Everything we had longed for, planned for, dreamed of +was ours and everything harmonized.</p> + +<p>Two weeks later as, ensconced in our city house, we moved enraptured +about our new-found home, gazing at the reincarnation of our silver, a +telegram was put in my hand.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" said Clara from the dining-room, where she was fondling +our chaste Queen Anne teaset.</p> + +<p>"It's a telegram," I said, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Open it, then!"</p> + +<p>I tore the envelope, it was from the Insurance Company.</p> + +<p>"Our detectives have arrested the burglars. You will be overjoyed to +hear that we have recovered your silver in toto!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='THE_SURPRISES_OF_THE_LOTTERY'></a><h2>THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The Comte de Bonzag, on the ruined esplanade of his Château de +Keragouil, frowned into the distant crepuscle of haystack and multiplied +hedge, crumpling in his nervous hands two annoying slips of paper. The +rugged body had not one more pound of flesh than was absolutely +necessary to hold together the long, pointed bones. The bronzed, +haphazard face was dominated by a stiff comb of orange-tawny hair, which +faithfully reproduced the gaunt unloveliness of generations of Bonzags. +But there lurked in the rapid advance of the nose and the abrupt, +obstinate eyes a certain staring defiance which effectively limited the +field of comment.</p> + +<p>At his back, the riddled silhouette of ragged towers and crumbling roof +reflected against the gentle skies something of the windy raiment of its +owner. It was a Gascon château, arrogant and threadbare, which had never +cried out at a wound, nor suffered the indignity of a patch. About it +and through it, hundreds of swallows, its natural inheritors, crossed +and recrossed in their vacillating flight.</p> + +<p>Out of the obscurity of the green pastures that melted away into the +near woods, the voice of a woman suddenly rose in a tender laugh.</p> + +<p>The Comte de Bonzag sat bolt upright, dislodging from his lap a black +spaniel, who tumbled on a matronly hound, whose startled yelp of +indignation caused the esplanade to vibrate with dogs, that, scurrying +from every cranny, assembled in an expectant circle, and waited with +hungry tongues the intentions of their master.</p> + +<p>The Comte, listening attentively, perceived near the stable his entire +domestic staff reclining happily on the arm of Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier, the hero of a dozen fires.</p> + +<p>"No, there are no longer any servants!" he exclaimed, with a bitterness +that caused a stir in the pack; then angrily he shouted with all his +forces: "Francine! Hey, there, Francine! Come here at once!"</p> + +<p>The indisputable fact was that Francine had asked for her wages. Such a +demand, indelicate in its simplest form, had been further aggravated by +a respectful but clear ultimatum. It was pay, or do the cooking, and if +the first was impossible, the second was both impossible and +distasteful.</p> + +<p>The enemy duly arrived, dimpled and plump, an honest thirty-five, a +solid widow, who stopped at the top of the stairs with the distant +respect which the Comte de Bonzag inspired even in his creditors.</p> + +<p>"Francine, I have thought much," said the Comte, with a conciliatory +look. "You were a little exaggerated, but you were in your rights."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Monsieur le Comte, six months is long when one has a child who must +be—"</p> + +<p>"We will not refer again to our disagreement," the Comte said, +interrupting her sternly. "I have simply called you to hear what action +I have decided on."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur; thank you, M'sieur le Comte."</p> + +<p>"Unluckily," said Bonzag, frowning, "I am forced to make a great +sacrifice. In a month I could probably have paid all—I have a great +uncle at Valle-Temple who is exceedingly ill. But—however, we will hold +that for the future. I owe you, my good Francine, wages for six +months—sixty francs, representing your service with me. I am going to +give you on account, at once, twenty francs, or rather something +immeasurably more valuable than that sum." He drew out the two slips of +paper, and regarded them with affection and regret. "Here are two +tickets for the Grand Lottery of France, which will be drawn this month, +ten francs a ticket. I had to go to Chantreuil to get them; number +77,707 and number 200,013. Take them—they are yours."</p> + +<p>"But, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, looking stupidly at the tickets +she had passively received. "It's—it's good round pieces of silver I +need."</p> + +<p>"Francine," cried de Bonzag, in amazed indignation, "do you realize +that I probably have given you a fortune—and that I am absolving you of +all division of it with me!"</p> + +<p>"But, M'sieur—"</p> + +<p>"That there are one hundred and forty-five numbers that will draw +prizes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, M'sieur le Comte; but—"</p> + +<p>"That there is a prize of one quarter of a million, one third of a +million—"</p> + +<p>"All the same—"</p> + +<p>"That the second prize is for one-half a million, and the first prize +for one round million francs."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur says?" said Francine, whose eyes began to open.</p> + +<p>"One hundred and forty-five chances, and the lowest is for a hundred +francs. You think that isn't a sacrifice, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Monsieur le Comte," Francine said at last with a sigh, "I'll take +them for twenty francs. It's not good round silver, and there's my +little girl—"</p> + +<p>"Enough!" exclaimed de Bonzag, dismissing her with an angry gesture. "I +am making you an heiress, and you have no gratitude! Leave me—and send +hither Andoche."</p> + +<p>He watched the bulky figure waddle off, sunk back in his chair, and +repeated with profound dejection; "No gratitude! There, it's done: this +time certainly I have thrown away a quarter of a million at the +lowest!"</p> + +<p>Presently Andoche, the Sapeur-Pompier, the brass helmet under his arm, +appeared at the top of the steps, smiling and thirsty, with covetous +eyes fastened on the broken table, at the carafe containing curaçoa that +was white and "Triple-Sec."</p> + +<p>"Ah, it's you, Andoche," said the Comte, finally, drawn from his +abstraction by a succession of rapid bows. He took two full-hearted +sighs, pushed the carafe slightly in the direction of the +Sapeur-Pompier, and added: "Sit down, my good Andoche. I have need to be +a little gay. Suppose we talk of Paris."</p> + +<p>It was the cue for Andoche to slip gratefully into a chair, possess the +carafe and prepare to listen.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>At the proper age of thirty-one, the Comte de Bonzag fell heir to the +enormous sum of fifteen thousand francs from an uncle who had made the +fortune in trade. With no more delay than it took the great Emperor to +fling an army across the Alps, he descended on Paris, resolved to +repulse all advances which Louis Napoleon might make, and to lend the +splendor of his name and the weight of his fortune only to the Cercle +Royale. Two weeks devoted to this loyal end strengthened the Bourbon +lines perceptibly, but resulted in a shrinkage of four thousand francs +in his own. Next remembering that the aristocracy had always been the +patron of the arts, he determined to make a rapid examination of the +<i>coulisses</i> of the opera and the regions of the ballet. A six-days' +reconnaissance discovered not the slightest signs of disaffection; but +the thoroughness of his inquiries was such that the completion of his +mission found him with just one thousand francs in pocket. Being not +only a Loyalist and a patron of the arts, but a statesman and a +philosopher, he turned his efforts toward the Quartier Latin, to the +great minds who would one day take up the guidance of a more enlightened +France. There he made the discovery that one amused himself more than at +the Cercle Royale, and spent considerably less than in the arts, and +that at one hundred francs a week he aroused an enthusiasm for the +Bourbons which almost attained the proportions of a riot.</p> + +<p>The three months over, he retired to his estate at Keragouil, having +profoundly stirred all classes of society, given new life to the cause +of His Majesty, and regretting only, as a true gentleman, the frightful +devastation he had left in the hearts of the ladies.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, these brilliant services to Parisian society and his king +had left him without any society of his own, forced to the consideration +of the difficult problem of how to keep his pipe lighted, his cellar +full, and his maid-of-all-work in a state of hopeful expectation, on +nothing a year.</p> + +<p>Nothing daunted, he attacked this problem of the family bankruptcy with +the vigor and the daring of a D'Artagnan. Each year he collected +laboriously twenty francs, and invested them in two tickets for the +Great Lottery, valiantly resolved, like a Gascon, to carry off both +first and second prizes, but satisfied as a philosopher if he could +figure among the honorable mentions. Despite the fact that one hundred +and forty-five prizes were advertised each year, in nineteen attempts he +had not even had the pleasure of seeing his name in print. This result, +far from discouraging him, only inflamed his confidence. For he had +dipped into mathematics, and consoled himself by the reflection that, +according to the law of probabilities, each year he became the more +irresistible.</p> + +<p>Lately, however, one obstacle had arisen to the successful carrying out +of this system of finance. He employed one servant, a maid-of-all-work, +who was engaged for the day, with permission to take from the garden +what she needed, to adorn herself from the rose-bushes, to share the +output of La Belle Etoile, the cow, and to receive a salary of ten +francs a month. The difficulty invariably arose over the interpretation +of this last clause. For the Comte was not regular in his payments, +unless it could be said that he was regular in not paying at all.</p> + +<p>So it invariably occurred that the maid-of-all-work from a state of +unrest gradually passed into open rebellion, especially when the garden +was not productive and the roses ceased to bloom. When the ultimatum was +served, the Comte consulted his resources and found them invariably to +consist of two tickets of the Lottery of France, cash value twenty +francs, but, according to the laws of probability, increasingly capable +of returning one million, five hundred thousand francs. On one side was +the glory of the ancient name, and the possibility of another descent on +Paris; opposed was the brutal question of soup and ragout. The man +prevailed, and the maid-of-all-work grudgingly accepted the conditions +of truce. Then the news of the drawing arrived and the domestic staff +departed.</p> + +<p>This comedy, annually repeated, was annually played on the same lines. +Only each year the period intervening between the surrender of the +tickets and the announcement of the lottery brought an increasing agony. +Each time as the Comte saw the precious slips finally depart in the +hands of the maid-of-all-work, he was convinced that at last the laws of +probability must fructify. Each year he found a new meaning in the +cabalistic mysteries of numbers. The eighteenth attempt, multiplied by +three, gave fifty-four, his age. Success was inevitable: nineteen, a +number indivisible and chaste above all others, seemed specially +designated. In a word, the Comte suffered during these periods as only a +gambler of the fourth generation is able to suffer.</p> + +<p>At present the number twenty appeared to him to have properties no +other number had possessed, especially in the reappearance of the zero, +a figure which peculiarly attracted him by its symmetry. His despair was +consequently unlimited.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily the news of the lottery arrived by an inspector of roads, who +passed through Keragouil a week or so after the announcement in the +press; for the Comte, having surrendered his ticket, was only troubled +lest he had won.</p> + +<p>This time, to the upsetting of all history, an Englishman on a bicycle +trip brought him a newspaper, an article almost unknown to Keragouil, +where the shriek of the locomotive had yet to penetrate.</p> + +<p>The Comte de Bonzag, opening the paper with the accustomed sinking of +the heart, was startled by the staring headlines:</p> +<br /> + +<p>RESULTS OF THE LOTTERY</p> + +<p>A glance at the winners of the first and second prizes reassured him. He +drew a breath of satisfaction, saying gratefully; "Ah, what luck! God be +praised! I'll never do that again!"</p> + +<p>Then, remembering with only an idle curiosity the one hundred and +forty-three mediocre prizes on the list, he returned to the perusal. +Suddenly the print swam before his eyes, and the great esplanade seemed +to rise. Number 77,707 had won the fourth prize of one hundred thousand +francs; number 200,013, a prize of ten thousand francs.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The emotion which overwhelmed Napoleon at Waterloo as he beheld his +triumphant squadrons go down into the sunken road was not a whit more +complete than the despair of the Comte de Bonzag when he realized that +the one hundred and ten thousand francs which the laws of probability +had finally produced was now the property of Francine, the cook.</p> + +<p>One hundred and ten thousand francs! It was colossal! Five generations +of Bonzags had never touched as much as that. One hundred and ten +thousand francs meant the rehabilitation of the ancient name, the +restoration of the Château de Keragouil, half the year at Paris, in the +Cercle Royale, in the regions of art, and among the great minds that +were still young in the Quartier—and all that was in the possession of +a plump Gascony peasant, whose ideas of comfort and pleasure were +satisfied by one hundred and twenty francs a year.</p> + +<p>"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outburst of anger. Then +he sat down in despair. There was nothing to do. The fact was obvious +that Francine was an heiress, possessed of the greatest fortune in the +memory of Keragouil. There was nothing to do, or rather, there was +manifestly but one way open, and the Comte resolved on the spot to take +it. He must have back the lottery tickets, though it meant a Comtesse de +Bonzag.</p> + +<p>Fortunately for him, Francine knew nothing of the arrival of the paper. +Though it was necessary to make haste, there was still time for a +compatriot of D'Artagnan. There was, of course, Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier; but a Bonzag who had had three months' experience with +the feminine heart of Paris was not the man to trouble himself over a +Sapeur-Pompier. That evening, in the dim dining-room, when Francine +arrived with the steaming soup, the Comte, who had waited with a spoon +in his fist and a napkin knotted to his neck, plunged valiantly to the +issue.</p> + +<p>"Ah, what a good smell!" he said, elevating his nose. "Francine, you are +the queen of cooks."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," Francine stammered, stopping in amazement. "Oh, +M'sieur le Comte, thanks."</p> + +<p>"Don't thank me; it is I who am grateful."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, yes! Francine—"</p> + +<p>"What is it, M'sieur le Comte?"</p> + +<p>"To-night you may set another cover—opposite me."</p> + +<p>"Set another cover?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>Francine, more and more astonished, proceeded to place on the table a +plate, a knife and a fork.</p> + +<p>"M'sieur le Curé is coming?" she said, drawing up a chair.</p> + +<p>"No, Francine."</p> + +<p>"Not M'sieur le Curé? Who, then?"</p> + +<p>"It is for you, Francine. Sit down."</p> + +<p>"I? I, M'sieur le Comte?"</p> + +<p>"Sit down. I wish it."</p> + +<p>Francine took three steps backward and so as to command the exit, +stopped and stared at her master, with mingled amazement and distrust.</p> + +<p>"My dear Francine," continued the Comte, "I am tired of eating alone. It +is bad for the digestion. And I am bored. I have need of society. So sit +down."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur orders it?"</p> + +<p>"I ask it as a favor, Francine."</p> + +<p>Francine, with open eyes, advanced doubtfully, seating herself nicely on +the chair, more astonished than complimented, and more alarmed than +pleased.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is nicer!" said the Comte, with an approving nod. "How have I +endured it all these years! Francine, you may help yourself to the +wine."</p> + +<p>The astonished maid-of-all-work, who had swallowed a spoon of soup with +great discomfort, sprang up, all in a tremble, stammering with defiant +virtue:</p> + +<p>"M'sieur le Comte does not forget that I am an honest woman!"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear Francine; I am certain of it. So sit down in peace. I will +tell you the situation."</p> + +<p>Francine hesitated, then, reassured by the devotion he gave to his soup, +settled once more in her chair.</p> + +<p>"Francine, I have made up my mind to one thing," said the Comte, filling +his glass with such energy that a red circle appeared on the cloth. +"This life I lead is all wrong. A man is a sociable being. He needs +society. Isolation sends him back to the brute."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who understood nothing.</p> + +<p>"So I am resolved to marry."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur will marry!" cried Francine, who spilled half her soup with the +shock.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly. It is for that I have asked you to keep me company."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur—you—M'sieur wants to marry me!"</p> + +<p>"Parbleu!"</p> + +<p>"M'sieur—M'sieur wants to marry me!"</p> + +<p>"I ask you formally to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"I?"</p> + +<p>"M'sieur wants—wants me to be Comtesse de Bonzag?"</p> + +<p>"Immediately."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Springing up, Francine stood a moment gazing at him in frightened +alarm; then, with a cry, she vanished heavily through the door.</p> + +<p>"She has gone to Andoche," said the Comte, angrily to himself. "She +loves him!"</p> + +<p>In great perturbation he left the room promenading on the esplanade, in +the midst of his hounds, talking uneasily to himself.</p> + +<p>"<i>Peste</i>, I put it to her a little too suddenly! It was a blunder. If +she loves that Sapeur-Pompier, eh? A Sapeur-Pompier, to rival a Comte de +Bonzag—faugh!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, below in the moonlight, he beheld Andoche tearing himself from +the embrace of Francine, and, not to be seen, he returned nervously to +the dining-room.</p> + +<p>Shortly after, the maid-of-all-work returned, calm, but with telltale +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, Francine, did I frighten you?" said the Comte, genially.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you want to say?"</p> + +<p>"M'sieur was in real earnest?"</p> + +<p>"Never more so."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur really wants to make me the Comtesse de Bonzag?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Dame!</i> I tell you my intentions are honorable."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur will let me ask him one question?"</p> + +<p>"A dozen even."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur remembers that I am a widow—"</p> + +<p>"With one child, yes."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur, pardon me; I have been thinking much, and I have been thinking +of my little girl. What would M'sieur want me to do?"</p> + +<p>The Comte reflected, and said generously: "I do not adopt her; but, if +you like, she shall live here."</p> + +<p>"Then, M'sieur," said Francine, dropping on her knees, "I thank M'sieur +very much. M'sieur is too kind, too good—"</p> + +<p>"So, it is decided then," said the Comte, rising joyfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur."</p> + +<p>"Then we shall go to-morrow," said the Comte. "It is my manner; I like +to do things instantly. Stand up, I beg you, Madame."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, M'sieur?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madame. Have you any objections?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, M'sieur le Comte; on the contrary," said Francine, blushing +with pleasure at the twice-repeated "Madame." Then she added carefully: +"M'sieur is quite right; it would be better. People talk so."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The return of the married couple was the sensation of Keragouil, for the +Comte de Bonzag, after the fashion of his ancestors, had placed his +bride behind him on the broad back of Quatre Diables, who proceeded +with unaltered equanimity. Along the journey the peasants, who held the +Comte in loyal terror, greeted the procession with a respectful silence, +congregating in the road to stare and chatter only when the amiable +Quatre Diables had disappeared in the distance.</p> + +<p>Disdaining to notice the commotion he produced, the Comte headed +straight for the courtyard, where Quatre Diables, recognizing the foot +block, dropped his head and began to crop the grass. The new Comtesse, +fatigued by the novel position, started gratefully to descend by the +most natural way, that is, by slipping easily over the rear anatomy of +the good-natured Quatre Diables. But the Comte, feeling the commotion +behind, stopped her with a word, and, flinging his left leg over the +neck of his charger, descended gracefully to the block, where, bowing +profoundly, he said in gallant style:</p> + +<p>"Madame, permit me to offer you my hand."</p> + +<p>The Comtesse, with the best intentions in the world, had considerable +difficulty in executing the movement by which her husband had extricated +himself. Luckily, the Comte received her without yielding ground, drew +her hand under his arm, and escorted her ceremoniously into the château, +while Quatre Diables, liberated from the unusual burden, rolled +gratefully to earth, and scratched his back against the cobblestones.</p> + +<p>"Madame, be so kind as to enter your home."</p> + +<p>With studied elegance, the Comte put his hat to his breast, or +thereabout, and bowed as he held open the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte; after you," said Francine, in confusion.</p> + +<p>"Pass, Madame, and enter the dining-room. We have certain ceremonies to +observe."</p> + +<p>Francine dutifully advanced, but kept an eye on the movements of her +consort. When he entered the dining-room and went to the sideboard, she +took an equal number of steps in the same direction. When, having +brought out a bottle and glasses, he turned and came toward her, she +retreated. When he stopped, she stopped, and sat down with the same +exact movement.</p> + +<p>"Madame, I offer you a glass of the famous Keragouil Burgundy," began +the Comte, filling her glass. "It is a wine that we De Bonzags have +always kept to welcome our wives and to greet our children. Madame, I +have the honor to drink to the Comtesse de Bonzag."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who, watching his manner, emptied +the goblet in one swallow.</p> + +<p>"To the health of my ancestors!" continued the Comte, draining the +bottle into the two goblets. "And now throw your glass on the floor!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, M'sieur," said Francine, who obeyed regretfully, with the new +instinct of a housewife.</p> + +<p>"Now, Madame, as wife and mistress of Keragouil, I think it is well +that you understand your position and what I expect of you," said the +Comte, waving her to a seat and occupying a fauteuil in magisterial +fashion. "I expect that you will learn in a willing spirit what I shall +teach you, that you may become worthy of the noble position you occupy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur may be sure I'll do my best," said Francine, quite +overcome.</p> + +<p>"I expect you to show me the deference and obedience that I demand as +head of the house of Bonzag."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, how could you think—"</p> + +<p>"To be economical and amiable."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, M'sieur."</p> + +<p>"To listen when I speak, to forget you were a peasant, to give me three +desserts a week, and never, madame, to show me the slightest +infidelity."</p> + +<p>At these last words, Francine, already overcome by the rapid whirl of +fortune, as well as by the overcharged spirits of the potent Burgundy, +burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"And no tears!" said De Bonzag, withdrawing sternly.</p> + +<p>"No, M'sieur; no," Francine cried, hastily drying her eyes. Then +dropping on her knees, she managed to say: "Oh, M'sieur—pardon, +pardon."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" cried the Comte, furiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur forgive me—I will tell you all!"</p> + +<p>"Madame—Madame, I don't understand," said the Comte, mastering himself +with difficulty. "Proceed; I am listening."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, I'll tell you all. I swear it on the image of St. +Jacques d'Acquin."</p> + +<p>"You have not lied to me about your child?" cried Bonzag in horror.</p> + +<p>"No, no, M'sieur; not that," said Francine. Then, hiding her face, she +said: "M'sieur, I hid something from you: I loved Andoche."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the Comte, with a sigh of relief. He sat down, adding +sympathetically: "My poor Francine, I know it. Alas! That's what life +is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest. +"But I loved him well, and he loved me—oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le +Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a +comtesse, M'sieur le Comte. And when M'sieur spoke to me, I didn't know +what to do. My heart was all given to Andoche, but—well, M'sieur, the +truth is, I began to think of my little girl, and I said to myself, I +must think of her, because, M'sieur, I thought of the position it would +give her, if I were a Comtesse. What a step in the world, eh? And I +said, you must do it for her! So I went to Andoche, and I told him +all—yes, all, M'sieur—that my heart was his, but that my duty was to +her. And Andoche, ah, what a good heart, M'sieur—he understood—we wept +together." She choked a minute, put her handkerchief hastily to her +eyes, "Pardon, M'sieur; and he said it was right, and I kissed him—I +hide nothing, M'sieur will pardon me that,—and he went away!" She took +a step toward him, twisting her handkerchief, adding in a timid appeal: +"M'sieur understands why I tell him that? M'sieur will believe me. I +have killed all that. It is no more in my heart. I swear it by the image +of St. Jacques d'Acquin."</p> + +<p>"Madame, I knew it before," said the Comte, rising; "still, I thank +you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, I have put it all away—I swear it!"</p> + +<p>"I believe you," interrupted the Comte, "and now no more of it! I also +am going to be frank with you." He went with a smile to a corner where +stood the little box, done up in rope, which held the trousseau of the +Comtesse de Bonzag. "Open that, and give me the lottery-tickets I gave +you."</p> + +<p>"Hanh? You—M'sieur says?"</p> + +<p>"The lottery-tickets—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, but they're not there—"</p> + +<p>"Then where are they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, wait; I'll tell you," said Francine, simply. "When Andoche +went off—"</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page310'></a> +<img src='images/image-page310.jpg' width='375' height='600' alt='"You gave him—the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"What!" cried the Comte, like a cannon.</p> + +<p>"He was so broken up, M'sieur, I was so afraid for him, so just to +console him, M'sieur—to give him something—I gave him the tickets."</p> + +<p>"You gave him—the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"</p> + +<p>"Just to console him—yes, M'sieur."</p> + +<p>The lank form of the Comte de Bonzag wavered, and then, as though the +body had suddenly deserted the clothes, collapsed in a heap on the +floor.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='THE_END'></a><h2>THE END</h2> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 12686 ***</div> +</body> +</html> diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-frontis.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-frontis.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..a0c9b20 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-frontis.jpg diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-page020.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-page020.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..34cb490 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-page020.jpg diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-page034.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-page034.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f1b1796 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-page034.jpg diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-page042.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-page042.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..e6d40cd --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-page042.jpg diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-page182.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-page182.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..20a39a4 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-page182.jpg diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-page200.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-page200.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..2508488 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-page200.jpg diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-page204.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-page204.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..8729fb7 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-page204.jpg diff --git a/12686-h/images/image-page310.jpg b/12686-h/images/image-page310.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..7935678 --- /dev/null +++ b/12686-h/images/image-page310.jpg diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cce046f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #12686 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/12686) diff --git a/old/12686-8.txt b/old/12686-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b254ab5 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/12686-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,8542 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Murder in Any Degree, by Owen Johnson + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Murder in Any Degree + +Author: Owen Johnson + +Release Date: June 22, 2004 [EBook #12686] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MURDER IN ANY DEGREE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Karen Dalrymple and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by +the hour"] + + + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE: ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK: A COMEDY FOR WIVES: +THE LIE: EVEN THREES: A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION: LARRY MOORE: +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS: THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + +BY OWEN JOHNSON Author of "Stover at Yale," "The Varmint," etc., etc. + + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F.R. GRUGER AND LEON GUIPON + + +NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1913 + +1907, 1912, 1913, THE CENTURY CO. + +1911, THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY + +1911, THE NATIONAL POST CO. + +1912, GOOD HOUSEKEEPING MAGAZINE + +1908, THE RIDGWAY COMPANY + +1906, ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, INCORPORATED + +1910, THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY + +_Published, August, 1913_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE + +ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK + +A COMEDY FOR WIVES + +THE LIE + +EVEN THREES + +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION + +LARRY MOORE + +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS + +THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by the hour" + +From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence + +Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and black + +Our Lady of the Sparrows + +"Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?" + +Wild-eyed and hilarious they descended on the clubhouse with the +miraculous news + +A committee carefully examined the books of the club + +"You gave him--the tickets! The Lottery Tickets!" + + + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE + + + + +I + + +One Sunday in March they had been marooned at the club, Steingall the +painter and Quinny the illustrator, and, having lunched late, had bored +themselves separately to their limits over the periodicals until, +preferring to bore each other, they had gravitated together in easy +arm-chairs before the big Renaissance fireplace. + +Steingall, sunk in his collar, from behind the black-rimmed spectacles, +which, with their trailing ribbon of black, gave a touch of Continental +elegance to his cropped beard and colonel's mustaches, watched without +enthusiasm the three mammoth logs, where occasional tiny flames gave +forth an illusion of heat. + +Quinny, as gaunt as a militant friar of the Middle Ages, aware of +Steingall's protective reverie, spoke in desultory periods, addressing +himself questions and supplying the answers, reserving his epigrams for +a larger audience. + +At three o'clock De Gollyer entered from a heavy social performance, +raising his eyebrows in salute as others raise their hats, and slightly +dragging one leg behind. He was an American critic who was busily +engaged in discovering the talents of unrecognized geniuses of the +European provinces. When reproached with his migratory enthusiasm, he +would reply, with that quick, stiffening military click with which he +always delivered his _bons mots_: + +"My boy, I never criticize American art. I can't afford to. I have too +many charming friends." + +At four o'clock, which is the hour for the entrée of those who escape +from their homes to fling themselves on the sanctuary of the club, +Rankin, the architect, arrived with Stibo, the fashionable painter of +fashionable women, who brought with him the atmosphere of pleasant soap +and an exclusive, smiling languor. A moment later a voice was heard from +the anteroom, saying: + +"If any one telephones, I'm not in the club--any one at all. Do you +hear?" + +Then Towsey, the decorator, appeared at the letterboxes in spats, +militant checks, high collar and a choker tie, which, yearning toward +his ears, gave him the appearance of one who had floundered up out of +his clothes for the third and last time. He came forward, frowned at the +group, scowled at the negative distractions of the reading-room, and +finally dragged over his chair just as Quinny was saying: + +"Queer thing--ever notice it?--two artists sit down together, each +begins talking of what he's doing--to avoid complimenting the other, +naturally. As soon as the third arrives they begin carving up another; +only thing they can agree on, see? Soon as you get four or more of the +species together, conversation always comes around to marriage. Ever +notice that, eh?" + +"My dear fellow," said De Gollyer, from the intolerant point of view of +a bachelor, "that is because marriage is your one common affliction. +Artists, musicians, all the lower order of the intellect, marry. They +must. They can't help it. It's the one thing you can't resist. You begin +it when you're poor to save the expense of a servant, and you keep it up +when you succeed to have some one over you to make you work. You belong +psychologically to the intellectually dependent classes, the +clinging-vine family, the masculine parasites; and as you can't help +being married, you are always damning it, holding it responsible for all +your failures." + +At this characteristic speech, the five artists shifted slightly, and +looked at De Gollyer over their mustaches with a lingering appetite, +much as a group of terriers respect the family cat. + +"My dear chaps, speaking as a critic," continued De Gollyer, pleasantly +aware of the antagonism he had exploded, "you remain children afraid of +the dark--afraid of being alone. Solitude frightens you. You lack the +quality of self-sufficiency that is the characteristic of the higher +critical faculties. You marry because you need a nurse." + +He ceased, thoroughly satisfied with the prospect of having brought on +a quarrel, raised thumb and first finger in a gingerly loop, ordered a +dash of sherry and winked across the group to Tommers, who was listening +around his paper from the reading-room. + +"De Gollyer, you are only a 'who's who' of art," said Quinny, with, +however, a hungry gratitude for a topic of such possibilities. "You +understand nothing of psychology. An artist is a multiple personality; +with each picture he paints he seeks a new inspiration. What is +inspiration?" + +"Ah, that's the point--inspiration," said Steingall, waking up. + +"Inspiration," said Quinny, eliminating Steingall from his preserves +with the gesture of brushing away a fly--"inspiration is only a form of +hypnosis, under the spell of which a man is capable of rising outside of +and beyond himself, as a horse, under extraordinary stress, exerts a +muscular force far beyond his accredited strength. The race of geniuses, +little and big, are constantly seeking this outward force to hypnotize +them into a supreme intellectual effort. Talent does not understand such +a process; it is mechanical, unvarying, chop-chop, day in and day out. +Now, what you call inspiration may be communicated in many ways--by the +spectacle of a mob, by a panorama of nature, by sudden and violent +contrasts of points of view; but, above all, as a continual stimulus, +it comes from that state of mental madness which is produced by love." + +"Huh?" said Stibo. + +"Anything that produces a mental obsession, _une idée fixe_, is a form +of madness," said Quinny, rapidly. "A person in love sees only one face, +hears only one voice; at the base of the brain only one thought is +constantly drumming. Physically such a condition is a narcotic; mentally +it is a form of madness that in the beneficent state is powerfully +hypnotic." + +At this deft disentanglement of a complicated idea, Rankin, who, like +the professional juryman, wagged his head in agreement with each speaker +and was convinced by the most violent, gazed upon Quinny with absolute +adoration. + +"We were speaking of woman," said Towsey, gruffly, who pronounced the +sex with a peculiar staccato sound. + +"This little ABC introduction," said Quinny, pleasantly, "is necessary +to understand the relation a woman plays to the artist. It is not the +woman he seeks, but the hypnotic influence which the woman can exert on +his faculties if she is able to inspire him with a passion." + +"Precisely why he marries," said De Gollyer. + +"Precisely," said Quinny, who, having seized the argument by chance, was +pleasantly surprised to find that he was going to convince himself. "But +here is the great distinction: to be an inspiration, a woman should +always represent to the artist a form of the unattainable. It is the +search for something beyond him that makes him challenge the stars, and +all that sort of rot, you know." + +"The tragedy of life," said Rankin, sententiously, "is that one woman +cannot mean all things to one man all the time." + +It was a phrase which he had heard the night before, and which he flung +off casually with an air of spontaneity, twisting the old Spanish ring +on his bony, white fingers, which he held invariably in front of his +long, sliding nose. + +"Thank you, I said that about the year 1907," said Quinny, while +Steingall gasped and nudged Towsey. "That is the tragedy of life, not +the tragedy of art, two very different things. An artist has need of +ten, fifteen, twenty women, according to the multiplicity of his ideas. +He should be always violently in love or violently reacting." + +"And the wife?" said De Gollyer. "Has she any influence?" + +"My dear fellow, the greatest. Without a wife, an artist falls a prey to +the inspiration of the moment--condemned to it; and as he is not an +analyst, he ends by imagining he really is in love. Take +portrait-painting. Charming lady sits for portrait, painter takes up his +brushes, arranges his palette, seeks inspiration,--what is below the +surface?--something intangible to divine, seize, and affix to his +canvas. He seeks to know the soul; he seeks how? As a man in love seeks, +naturally. The more he imagines himself in love, the more completely +does the idea obsess him from morning to night--plain as the nose on +your face. Only there are other portraits to paint. Enter the wife." + +"Charming," said Stibo, who had not ceased twining his mustaches in his +pink fingers. + +"Ah, that's the point. What of the wife?" said Steingall, violently. + +"The wife--the ideal wife, mind you--is then the weapon, the refuge. To +escape from the entanglement of his momentary inspiration, the artist +becomes a man: my wife and _bonjour_. He returns home, takes off the +duster of his illusion, cleans the palette of old memories, washes away +his vows, protestations, and all that rot, you know, lies down on the +sofa, and gives his head to his wife to be rubbed. Curtain. The comedy +is over." + +"But that's what they don't understand," said Steingall, with +enthusiasm. "That's what they will _never_ understand." + +"Such miracles exist?" said Towsey with a short, disagreeable laugh. + +"I know the wife of an artist," said Quinny, "whom I consider the most +remarkable woman I know--who sits and knits and smiles. She is one who +understands. Her husband adores her, and he is in love with a woman a +month. When he gets in too deep, ready for another inspiration, you +know, she calls up the old love on the telephone and asks her to stop +annoying her husband." + +"Marvelous!" said Steingall, dropping his glasses. + +"No, really?" said Rankin. + +"Has she a sister?" said Towsey. + +Stibo raised his eyes slowly to Quinny's but veiled as was the look, De +Gollyer perceived it, and smilingly registered the knowledge on the +ledger of his social secrets. + +"That's it, by George! that is it," said Steingall, who hurled the +enthusiasm of a reformer into his pessimism. "It's all so simple; but +they won't understand. And why--do you know why? Because a woman is +jealous. It isn't simply of other women. No, no, that's not it; it's +worse than that, ten thousand times worse. She's jealous of your _art_! +That's it! There you have it! She's jealous because she can't understand +it, because it takes you away from her, because she can't _share_ it. +That's what's terrible about marriage--no liberty, no individualism, no +seclusion, having to account every night for your actions, for your +thoughts, for the things you dream--ah, the dreams! The Chinese are +right, the Japanese are right. It's we Westerners who are all wrong. +It's the creative only that counts. The woman should be subordinated, +should be kept down, taught the voluptuousness of obedience. By Jove! +that's it. We don't assert ourselves. It's this confounded Anglo-Saxon +sentimentality that's choking art--that's what it is." + +At the familiar phrases of Steingall's outburst, Rankin wagged his head +in unequivocal assent, Stibo smiled so as to show his fine upper teeth, +and Towsey flung away his cigar, saying: + +"Words, words." + +At this moment when Quinny, who had digested Steingall's argument, was +preparing to devour the whole topic, Britt Herkimer, the sculptor, +joined them. He was a guest, just in from Paris, where he had been +established twenty years, one of the five men in art whom one counted on +the fingers when the word genius was pronounced. Mentally and physically +a German, he spoke English with a French accent. His hair was cropped +_en brosse_, and in his brown Japanese face only the eyes, staccato, +furtive, and drunk with curiosity, could be seen. He was direct, +opinionated, bristling with energy, one of those tireless workers who +disdain their youth and treat it as a disease. His entry into the group +of his more socially domesticated confrères was like the return of a +wolf-hound among the housedogs. + +"Still smashing idols?" he said, slapping the shoulder of Steingall, +with whom and Quinny he had passed his student days, "Well, what's the +row?" + +"My dear Britt, we are reforming matrimony. Steingall is for the +importation of Mongolian wives," said De Gollyer, who had written two +favorable articles on Herkimer, "while Quinny is for founding a school +for wives on most novel and interesting lines." + +"That's odd," said Herkimer, with a slight frown. + +"On the contrary, no," said De Gollyer; "we always abolish matrimony +from four to six." + +"You didn't understand me," said Herkimer, with the sharpness he used in +his classes. + +From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence. They waited with an involuntary silence, which +in itself was a rare tribute. + +"Remember Rantoul?" said Herkimer, rolling a cigarette and using a jerky +diction. + +"Clyde Rantoul?" said Stibo. + +"Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, who was in the Quarter with us?" said +Quinny. + +"Don Furioso, yes," said Rankin. "Ever see him?" + +"Never." + +"He's married," said Quinny; "dropped out." + +"Yes, he married," said Herkimer, lighting his cigarette. "Well, I've +just seen him." + +"He's a plutocrat or something," said Towsey, reflectively. + +"He's rich--ended," said Steingall as he slapped the table. "By Jove! I +remember now." + +"Wait," said Quinny, interposing. + +[Illustration: From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had +brought to him some abrupt coincidences] + +"I went up to see him yesterday--just back now," said Herkimer. +"Rantoul was the biggest man of us all. It's a funny tale. You're +discussing matrimony; here it is." + + + + +II + + +In the early nineties, when Quinny, Steingall, Herkimer, little Bennett, +who afterward roamed down into the Transvaal and fell in with the +Foreign Legion, Jacobus and Chatterton, the architects, were living +through that fine, rebellious state of overweening youth, Rantoul was +the undisputed leader, the arch-rebel, the master-demolisher of the +group. + +Every afternoon at five his Gargantuan figure came thrashing through the +crowds of the boulevard, as an omnibus on its way scatters the fragile +fiacres. He arrived, radiating electricity, tirades on his tongue, to +his chair among the table-pounders of the Café des Lilacs, and his first +words were like the fanfare of trumpets. He had been christened, in the +felicitous language of the Quarter, Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, and +for cause. He shared a garret with his chum, Britt Herkimer, in the Rue +de l'Ombre, a sort of manhole lit by the stars,--when there were any +stars, and he never failed to come springing up the six rickety flights +with a song on his lips. + +An old woman who kept a fruit store gave him implicit credit; a much +younger member of the sex at the corner creamery trusted him for eggs +and fresh milk, and leaned toward him over the counter, laughing into +his eyes as he exclaimed: + +"Ma belle, when I am famous, I will buy you a silk gown, and a pair of +earrings that will reach to your shoulders, and it won't be long. You'll +see." + +He adored being poor. When his canvas gave out, he painted his ankles to +caricature the violent creations that were the pride of Chatterton, who +was a nabob. When his credit at one restaurant expired, he strode +confidently up to another proprietor, and announced with the air of one +bestowing a favor: + +"I am Rantoul, the portrait-painter. In five years my portraits will +sell for five thousand francs, in ten for twenty thousand. I will eat +one meal a day at your distinguished establishment, and paint your +portrait to make your walls famous. At the end of the month I will +immortalize your wife; on the same terms, your sister, your father, your +mother, and all the little children. Besides, every Saturday night I +will bring here a band of my comrades who pay in good hard silver. +Remember that if you had bought a Corot for twenty francs in 1870, you +could have sold it for five thousand francs in 1880, fifty thousand in +1890. Does the idea appeal to you?" + +But as most keepers of restaurants are practical and unimaginative, and +withal close bargainers, at the end of a week Rantoul generally was +forced to seek a new sitter. + +"What a privilege it is to be poor!" he would then exclaim +enthusiastically to Herkimer. "It awakens all the perceptions; hunger +makes the eye keener. I can see colors to-day that I never saw before. +And to think that if Sherman had never gotten it in his head to march to +the sea I should never have experienced this inspiration! But, old +fellow, we have so short a time to be poor. We must exhibit nothing yet. +We are lucky. We are poor. We can feel." + +On the subject of traditions he was at his best. + +"Shakspere is the curse of the English drama," he would declare, with a +descending gesture which caused all the little glasses to rattle their +alarm. "Nothing will ever come out of England until his influence is +discounted. He was a primitive, a Preraphælite. He understood nothing of +form, of composition. He was a poet who wandered into the drama as a +sheep strays into the pasture of the bulls, a colorist who imagines he +can be a sculptor. The influence of Victoria sentimentalized the whole +artistic movement in England, made it bourgeois, and flavored it with +mint sauce. Modern portraiture has turned the galleries into an +exhibition of wax works. What is wrong with painting to-day--do you +know?" + +"_Allons_, tell us!" cried two or three, while others, availing +themselves of the breathing space, filled the air with their orders: + +"Paul, another bock." + +"Two hard-boiled eggs." + +"And pretzels; don't forget the pretzels." + +"The trouble with painting to-day is that it has no point of view," +cried Rantoul, swallowing an egg in the anaconda fashion. "We are +interpreting life in the manner of the Middle Ages. We forget art should +be historical. We forget that we are now in our century. Ugliness, not +beauty, is the note of our century; turbulence, strife, materialism, the +mob, machinery, masses, not units. Why paint a captain of industry +against a François I tapestry? Paint him at his desk. The desk is a +throne; interpret it. We are ruled by mobs. Who paints mobs? What is +wrong is this, that art is in the bondage of literature--sentimentality. +We must record what we experience. Ugliness has its utility, its +magnetism; the ugliness of abject misery moves you to think, to readjust +ideas. We must be rebels, we young men. Ah, if we could only burn the +galleries, we should be forced to return to life." + +"Bravo, Rantoul!" + +"Right, old chap." + +"Smash the statues!" + +"Burn the galleries!" + +"Down with tradition!" + +"Eggs and more bock!" + +But where Rantoul differed from the revolutionary regiment was that he +was not simply a painter who delivered orations; he could paint. His +tirades were not a furore of denunciation so much as they were the +impulsive chafing of the creative energy within him. In the school he +was already a marked man to set the prophets prophesying. He had a style +of his own, biting, incisive, overloaded and excessive, but with +something to say. He was after something. He was original. + +"Rebel! Let us rebel!" he would cry to Herkimer from his agitated +bedquilt in the last hour of discussion. "The artist must always +rebel--accept nothing, question everything, denounce conventions and +traditions." + +"Above all, work," said Herkimer in his laconic way. + +"What? Don't I work?" + +"Work more." + +Rantoul, however, was not vulnerable on that score. He was not, it is +true, the drag-horse that Herkimer was, who lived like a recluse, +shunning the cafes and the dance-halls, eating up the last gray hours of +the day over his statues and his clays. But Rantoul, while living life +to its fullest, haunting the wharves and the markets with avid eyes, +roaming the woods and trudging the banks of the Seine, mingling in the +crowds that flashed under the flare of arc-lights, with a thousand +mysteries of mass and movement, never relaxed a moment the savage attack +his leaping nature made upon the drudgeries and routine of technic. + +With the coveted admittance into the Salon, recognition came speedily +to the two chums. They made a triumphal entry into a real studio in the +Montparnasse Quarter, clients came, and the room became a station of +honor among the young and enthusiastic of the Quarter. + +Rantoul began to appear in society, besieged with the invitations that +his Southern aristocracy and the romance of his success procured him. + +"You go out too much," said Herkimer to him, with a fearful growl. "What +the deuce do you want with society, anyhow? Keep away from it. You've +nothing to do with it." + +"What do I do? I go out once a week," said Rantoul, whistling +pleasantly. + +"Once is too often. What do you want to become, a parlor celebrity? +Society _c'est l'ennemie_. You ought to hate it." + +"I do." + +"Humph!" said Herkimer, eying him across his sputtering clay pipe. "Get +this idea of people out of your head. Shut yourself up in a hole, work. +What's society, anyhow? A lot of bored people who want you to amuse +them. I don't approve. Better marry that pretty girl in the creamery. +She'll worship you as a god, make you comfortable. That's all you need +from the world." + +"Marry her yourself; she'll sew and cook for you," said Rantoul, with +perfect good humor. + +"I'm in no danger," said Herkimer, curtly; "you are." + +"What!" + +"You'll see." + +"Listen, you old grumbler," said Rantoul, seriously. "If I go into +society, it is to see the hollowness of it all--" + +"Yes, yes." + +"To know what I rebel against--" + +"Of course." + +"To appreciate the freedom of the life I have--" + +"Faker!" + +"To have the benefit of contrasts, light and shade. You think I am not a +rebel. My dear boy, I am ten times as big a rebel as I was. Do you know +what I'd do with society?" + +He began a tirade in the famous muscular Rantoul style, overturning +creeds and castes, reorganizing republics and empires, while Herkimer, +grumbling to himself, began to scold the model, who sleepily received +the brunt of his ill humor. + +In the second year of his success Rantoul, quite by accident, met a girl +in her teens named Tina Glover, only daughter of Cyrus Glover, a man of +millions, self-made. The first time their eyes met and lingered, by the +mysterious chemistry of the passions Rantoul fell desperately in love +with this little slip of a girl, who scarcely reached to his shoulder; +who, on her part, instantly made up her mind that she had found the +husband she intended to have. Two weeks later they were engaged. + +She was seventeen, scarcely more than a child, with clear, blue eyes +that seemed too large for her body, very timid and appealing. It is true +she seldom expressed an opinion, but she listened to every one with a +flattering smile, and the reputations of brilliant talkers have been +built on less. She had a way of passing her two arms about Rantoul's +great one and clinging to him in a weak, dependent way that was quite +charming. + +When Cyrus Glover was informed that his daughter intended to marry a +dauber in paints, he started for Paris on ten hours' notice. But Mrs. +Glover who was just as resolved on social conquests as Glover was in +controlling the plate-glass field, went down to meet him at the boat, +and by the time the train entered the St. Lazare Station, he had been +completely disciplined and brought to understand that a painter was one +thing and that a Rantoul, who happened to paint, was quite another. When +he had known Rantoul a week; and listened open-mouthed to his eloquent +schemes for reordering the universe, and the arts in particular, he was +willing to swear that he was one of the geniuses of the world. + +The wedding took place shortly, and Cyrus Glover gave the bridegroom a +check for $100,000, "so that he wouldn't have to be bothering his wife +for pocketmoney." Herkimer was the best man, and the Quarter attended +in force, with much outward enthusiasm. The bride and groom departed for +a two-year's trip around the world, that Rantoul might inspire himself +with the treasures of Italy, Greece, India, and Japan. + +Every one, even Herkimer, agreed that Rantoul was the luckiest man in +Paris; that he had found just the wife who was suited to him, whose +fortune would open every opportunity for his genius to develop. + +"In the first place," said Bennett, when the group had returned to +Herkimer's studio to continue the celebration, "let me remark that in +general I don't approve of marriage for an artist." + +"Nor I," cried Chatterton, and the chorus answered, "Nor I." + +"I shall never marry," continued Bennett. + +"Never," cried Chatterton, who beat a tattoo on the piano with his heel +to accompany the chorus of assent. + +"But--I add but--in this case my opinion is that Rantoul has found a +pure diamond." + +"True!" + +"In the first place, she knows nothing at all about art, which is an +enormous advantage." + +"Bravo!" + +"In the second place, she knows nothing about anything else, which is +better still." + +"Cynic! You hate clever women," cried Jacobus. + +"There's a reason." + +"All the same, Bennett's right. The wife of an artist should be a +creature of impulses and not ideas." + +"True." + +"In the third place," continued Bennett, "she believes Rantoul is a +demigod. Everything he will do will be the most wonderful thing in the +world, and to have a little person you are madly in love with think that +is enormous." + +"All of which is not very complimentary to the bride," said Herkimer. + +"Find me one like her," cried Bennett. + +"Ditto," said Chatterton and Jacobus with enthusiasm. + +"There is only one thing that worries me," said Bennett, seriously. +"Isn't there too much money?" + +"Not for Rantoul." + +"He's a rebel." + +"You'll see; he'll stir up the world with it." + +Herkimer himself had approved of the marriage in a whole-hearted way. +The childlike ways of Tina Glover had convinced him, and as he was +concerned only with the future of his friend, he agreed with the rest +that nothing luckier could have happened. + +Three years passed, during which he received occasional letters from +his old chum, not quite so spontaneous as he had expected, but filled +with the wonder of the ancient worlds. Then the intervals became longer, +and longer, and finally no letters came. + +He learned in a vague way that the Rantouls had settled in the East +somewhere near New York, but he waited in vain for the news of the stir +in the world of art that Rantoul's first exhibitions should produce. + +His friends who visited in America returned without news of Rantoul; +there was a rumor that he had gone with his father-in-law into the +organization of some new railroad or trust. But even this report was +vague, and as he could not understand what could have happened, it +remained for a long time to him a mystery. Then he forgot it. + +Ten years after Rantoul's marriage to little Tina Glover, Herkimer +returned to America. The last years had placed him in the foreground of +the sculptors of the world. He had that strangely excited consciousness +that he was a figure in the public eye. Reporters rushed to meet him on +his arrival, societies organized dinners to him, magazines sought the +details of his life's struggle. Withal, however, he felt a strange +loneliness, and an aloofness from the clamoring world about him. He +remembered the old friendship in the starlit garret of the Rue de +l'Ombre, and, learning Rantoul's address, wrote him. Three days later he +received the following answer: + + _Dear Old Boy:_ + + I'm delighted to find that you have remembered me in your fame. Run + up this Saturday for a week at least. I'll show you some fine + scenery, and we'll recall the days of the Café des Lilacs together. + My wife sends her greetings also. + + Clyde. + +This letter made Herkimer wonder. There was nothing on which he could +lay his finger, and yet there was something that was not there. With +some misgivings he packed his bag and took the train, calling up again +to his mind the picture of Rantoul, with his shabby trousers pulled up, +decorating his ankles with lavender and black, roaring all the while +with his rumbling laughter. + +At the station only the chauffeur was down to meet him. A correct +footman, moving on springs, took his bag, placed him in the back seat, +and spread a duster for him. They turned through a pillared gateway, +Renaissance style, passed a gardener's lodge, with hothouses flashing in +the reclining sun, and fled noiselessly along the macadam road that +twined through a formal grove. All at once they were before the house, +red brick and marble, with wide-flung porte-cochère and verandas, beyond +which could be seen immaculate lawns, and in the middle distances the +sluggish gray of a river that crawled down from the turbulent hills on +the horizon. Another creature in livery tripped down the steps and held +the door for him. He passed perplexed into the hall, which was fresh +with the breeze that swept through open French windows. + +[Illustration: Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and +black] + +"Mr. Herkimer, isn't it?" + +He turned to find a woman of mannered assurance holding out her hand +correctly to him, and under the panama that topped the pleasant effect +of her white polo-coat he looked into the eyes of that Tina Glover, who +once had caught his rough hand in her little ones and said timidly: + +"You'll always be my friend, my best, just as you are Clyde's, won't +you? And I may call you Britt or Old Boy or Old Top, just as Clyde +does?" + +He looked at her amazed. She was prettier, undeniably so. She had +learned the art of being a woman, and she gave him her hand as though +she had granted a favor. + +"Yes," he said shortly, freezing all at once. "Where's Clyde?" + +"He had to play in a polo-match. He's just home taking a tub," she said +easily. "Will you go to your room first? I didn't ask any one in for +dinner. I supposed you would rather chat together of old times. You have +become a tremendous celebrity, haven't you? Clyde is so proud of you." + +"I'll go to my room now," he said shortly. + +The valet had preceded him, opening his valise and smoothing out his +evening clothes on the lace bedspread. + +"I'll attend to that," he said curtly. "You may go." + +He stood at the window, in the long evening hour of the June day, +frowning to himself. "By George! I've a mind to clear out," he said, +thoroughly angry. + +At this moment there came a vigorous rap, and Rantoul in slippers and +lilac dressing-gown broke in, with hair still wet from his shower. + +"The same as ever, bless the Old Top!" he cried, catching him up in one +of the old-time bear-hugs. "I say, don't think me inhospitable. Had to +play a confounded match. We beat 'em, too; lost six pounds doing it, +though. Jove! but you look natural! I say, that was a stunning thing you +did for Philadelphia--the audacity of it. How do you like my place? I've +got four children, too. What do you think of that? Nothing finer. Well, +tell me what you're doing." + +Herkimer relented before the familiar rush of enthusiasm and questions, +and the conversation began on a natural footing. He looked at Rantoul, +aware of the social change that had taken place in him. The old +aggressiveness, the look of the wolf, had gone; about him was an +enthusiastic urbanity. He seemed clean cut, virile, overflowing with +vitality, only it was a different vitality, the snap and decision of a +man-of-affairs, not the untamed outrush of the artist. + +They had spoken scarcely a short five minutes when a knock came on the +door and a footman's voice said: + +"Mrs. Rantoul wishes you not to be late for dinner, sir." + +"Very well, very well," said Rantoul, with a little impatience. "I +always forget the time. Jove! it's good to see you again; you'll give us +a week at least. Meet you downstairs." + +When Herkimer had dressed and descended, his host and hostess were still +up-stairs. He moved through the rooms, curiously noting the contents of +the walls. There were several paintings of value, a series of drawings +by Boucher, a replica or two of his own work; but he sought without +success for something from the brush of Clyde Rantoul. At dinner he was +aware of a sudden uneasiness. Mrs. Rantoul, with the flattering smile +that recalled Tina Glover, pressed him with innumerable questions, which +he answered with constraint, always aware of the dull simulation of +interest in her eyes. + +Twice during the meal Rantoul was called to the telephone for a +conversation at long distance. + +"Clyde is becoming quite a power in Wall Street," said Mrs. Rantoul, +with an approving smile. "Father says he's the strength of the younger +men. He has really a genius for organization." + +"It's a wonderful time, Britt," said Rantoul, resuming his place. +"There's nothing like it anywhere on the face of the globe--the +possibilities of concentration and simplification here in business. It's +a great game, too, matching your wits against another's. We're building +empires of trade, order out of chaos. I'm making an awful lot of money." + +Herkimer remained obstinately silent during the rest of the dinner. +Everything seemed to fetter him--the constraint of dining before the +silent, flitting butler, servants who whisked his plate away before he +knew it, the succession of unrecognizable dishes, the constant jargon of +social eavesdroppings that Mrs. Rantoul pressed into action the moment +her husband's recollections exiled her from the conversation; but above +all, the indefinable enmity that seemed to well out from his hostess, +and which he seemed to divine occasionally when the ready smile left her +lips and she was forced to listen to things she did not understand. + +When they rose from the table, Rantoul passed his arm about his wife and +said something in her ear, at which she smiled and patted his hand. + +"I am very proud of my husband, Mr. Herkimer," she said with a little +bob of her head in which was a sense of proprietorship. "You'll see." + +"Suppose we stroll out for a little smoke in the garden," said Rantoul. + +"What, you're going to leave me?" she said instantly, with a shade of +vague uneasiness, that Herkimer perceived. + +"We sha'n't be long, dear," said Rantoul, pinching her ear. "Our chatter +won't interest you. Send the coffee out into the rose cupola." + +They passed out into the open porch, but Herkimer was aware of the +little woman standing irresolutely tapping with her thin finger on the +table, and he said to himself: "She's a little ogress of jealousy. What +the deuce is she afraid I'll say to him?" + +They rambled through sweet-scented paths, under the high-flung network +of stars, hearing only the crunching of little pebbles under foot. + +"You've given up painting?" said Herkimer all at once. + +"Yes, though that doesn't count," said Rantoul, abruptly; but there was +in his voice a different note, something of the restlessness of the old +Don Furioso. "Talk to me of the Quarter. Who's at the Café des Lilacs +now? They tell me that little Ragin we used to torment so has made some +great decorations. What became of that pretty girl in the creamery of +the Rue de l'Ombre who used to help us over the lean days?" + +"Whom you christened Our Lady of the Sparrows?" "Yes, yes. You know I +sent her the silk dress and the earrings I promised her." + +Herkimer began to speak of one thing and another, of Bennett, who had +gone dramatically to the Transvaal; of Le Gage, who was now in the +forefront of the younger group of landscapists; of the old types that +still came faithfully to the Café des Lilacs,--the old chess-players, +the fat proprietor, with his fat wife and three fat children who dined +there regularly every Sunday,--of the new revolutionary ideas among the +younger men that were beginning to assert themselves. + +"Let's sit down," said Rantoul, as though suffocating. + +They placed themselves in wicker easy-chairs, under the heavy-scented +rose cupola, disdaining the coffee that waited on a table. From where +they were a red-tiled walk, with flower beds nodding in enchanted sleep, +ran to the veranda. The porch windows were open, and in the golden +lamplight Herkimer saw the figure of Tina Glover bent intently over an +embroidery, drawing her needle with uneven stitches, her head seeming +inclined to catch the faintest sound. The waiting, nervous pose, the +slender figure on guard, brought to him a strange, almost uncanny +sensation of mystery, and feeling the sudden change in the mood of the +man at his side, he gazed at the figure of the wife and said to himself: + +[Illustration: Our Lady of the Sparrows] + +"I'd give a good deal to know what's passing through that little head. +What is she afraid of?" + +"You're surprised to find me as I am," said Rantoul, abruptly breaking +the silence. + +"Yes." + +"You can't understand it?" + +"When did you give up painting?" said Herkimer, shortly, with a sure +feeling that the hour of confidences had come. + +"Seven years ago." + +"Why in God's name did you do it?" said Herkimer, flinging away his +cigar angrily. "You weren't just any one--Tom, Dick, or Harry. You had +something to say, man. Listen. I know what I'm talking about,--I've seen +the whole procession in the last ten years,--you were one in a thousand. +You were a creator. You had ideas; you were meant to be a leader, to +head a movement. You had more downright savage power, undeveloped, but +tugging at the chain, than any man I've known. Why did you do it?" + +"I had almost forgotten," said Rantoul, slowly. "Are you sure?" + +"Am I sure?" said Herkimer, furiously. "I say what I mean; you know it." + +"Yes, that's true," said Rantoul. He stretched out his hand and drank +his coffee, but without knowing what he did. "Well, that's all of the +past--what might have been." + +"But why?" + +"Britt, old fellow," said Rantoul at last, speaking as though to +himself, "did you ever have a moment when you suddenly got out of +yourself, looked at yourself and at your life as a spectator?--saw the +strange strings that had pulled you this way and that, and realized what +might have been had you turned one corner at a certain day of your life +instead of another?" + +"No, I've gone where I wanted to go," said Herkimer, obstinately. + +"You think so. Well, to-night I can see myself for the first time," said +Rantoul. Then he added meditatively, "I have done not one single thing I +wanted to." + +"But why--why?" + +"You have brought it all back to me," said Rantoul, ignoring this +question. "It hurts. I suppose to-morrow I shall resent it, but to-night +I feel too deeply. There is nothing free about us in this world, Britt. +I profoundly believe that. Everything we do from morning to night is +dictated by the direction of those about us. An enemy, some one in the +open, we can combat and resist; but it is those that are nearest to us +who disarm us because they love us, that change us most, that thwart our +desires, and make over our lives. Nothing in this world is so +inexorable, so terribly, terribly irresistible as a woman without +strength, without logic, without vision, who only loves." + +"He is going to say things he will regret," thought Herkimer, and yet +he did not object. Instead, he glanced down the dimly flushed path to +the house where Mrs. Rantoul was sitting, her embroidery on her lap, her +head raised as though listening. Suddenly he said: + +"Look here, Clyde, do you want to tell me this?" + +"Yes, I do; it's life. Why not? We are at the age when we've got to face +things." + +"Still--" + +"Let me go on," said Rantoul, stopping him. He reached out +absent-mindedly, and drank the second cup. "Let me say now, Britt, for +fear you'll misunderstand, there has never been the slightest quarrel +between my wife and me. She loves me absolutely; nothing else in this +world exists for her. It has always been so; she cannot bear even to +have me out of her sight. I am very happy. Only there is in such a love +something of the tiger--a fierce animal jealousy of every one and +everything which could even for a moment take my thoughts away. At this +moment she is probably suffering untold pangs because she thinks I am +regretting the days in which she was not in my life." + +"And because she could not understand your art, she hated it," said +Herkimer, with a growing anger. + +"No, it wasn't that. It was something more subtle, more instinctive, +more impossible to combat," said Rantoul, shaking his head. "Do you know +what is the great essential to the artist--to whoever creates? The +sense of privacy, the power to isolate his own genius from everything in +the world, to be absolutely concentrated. To create we must be alone, +have strange, unuttered thoughts, just as in the realms of the soul +every human being must have moments of complete isolation--thoughts, +reveries, moods, that cannot be shared with even those we love best. You +don't understand that." + +"Yes, I do." + +"At the bottom we human beings come and depart absolutely alone. +Friendship, love, all that we instinctively seek to rid ourselves of, +this awful solitude of the soul, avail nothing. Well, what others shrink +from, the artist must seek." + +"But you could not make her understand that?" + +"I was dealing with a child," said Rantoul. "I loved that child, and I +could not bear even to see a frown of unhappiness cloud her face. Then +she adored me. What can be answered to that?" + +"That's true." + +"At first it was not so difficult. We passed around the world--Greece, +India, Japan. She came and sat by my side when I took my easel; every +stroke of my brush seemed like a miracle. A hundred times she would cry +out her delight. Naturally that amused me. From time to time I would +suspend the sittings and reward my patient little audience--" + +"And the sketches?" + +"They were not what I wanted," said Rantoul with a little laugh; "but +they were not bad. When I returned here and opened my studio, it began +to be difficult. She could not understand that I wanted to work eighteen +hours a day. She begged for my afternoons. I gave in. She embraced me +frantically and said; 'Oh, how good you are! Now I won't be jealous any +more, and every morning I will come with you and inspire you.'" + +"Every morning," said Herkimer, softly. + +"Yes," said Rantoul, with a little hesitation, "every morning. She +fluttered about the studio like a pink-and-white butterfly, sending me a +kiss from her dainty fingers whenever I looked her way. She watched over +my shoulder every stroke, and when I did something that pleased her, I +felt her lips on my neck, behind my ear, and heard her say, 'That is +your reward.'" + +"Every day?" said Herkimer. + +"Every day." + +"And when you had a model?" + +"Oh, then it was worse. She treated the models as though they were +convicts, watching them out of the corners of her eyes. Her +demonstration of affection redoubled, her caresses never stopped, as +though she wished to impress upon them her proprietorship. Those days +she was really jealous." + +"God--how could you stand it?" said Herkimer, violently. + +"To be frank, the more she outraged me as an artist, the more she +pleased me as a man. To be loved so absolutely, especially if you are +sensitive to such things, has an intoxication of its own, yes, she +fascinated me more and more." + +"Extraordinary." + +"One day I tried to make her understand that I had need to be alone. She +listened to me solemnly, with only a little quiver of her lips, and let +me go. When I returned, I found her eyes swollen with weeping and her +heart bursting." + +"And you took her in your arms and promised never to send her away +again." + +"Naturally. Then I began to go out into society to please her. Next +something very interesting came up, and I neglected my studio for a +morning. The same thing happened again and again. I had a period of wild +revolt, of bitter anger, in which I resolved to be firm, to insist on my +privacy, to make the fight." + +"And you never did?" + +"When her arms were about me, when I saw her eyes, full of adoration and +passion, raised to my own, I forgot all my irritation in my happiness as +a man. I said to myself, 'Life is short; it is better to be loved than +to wait for glory.' One afternoon, under the pretext of examining the +grove, I stole away to the studio, and pulled out some of the old +things that I had done in Paris--and sat and gazed at them. My throat +began to fill, and I felt the tears coming to my eyes, when I looked +around and saw her standing wide-eyed at the door. + +"'What are you doing?' she said. + +"'Looking at some of the old things.' + +"'You regret those days?' + +"'Of course not.' + +"'Then why do you steal away from me, make a pretext to come here? Isn't +my love great enough for you? Do you want to put me out of your life +altogether? You used to tell me that I inspired you. If you want, we'll +give up the afternoons. I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for +you by the hour--only don't shut the door on me!' + +"She began to cry. I took her in my arms, said everything that she +wished me to say, heedlessly, brutally, not caring what I said. + +"That night I ran off, resolved to end it all--to save what I longed +for. I remained five hours trudging in the night--pulled back and forth. +I remembered my children. I came back,--told a lie. The next day I shut +the door of the studio not on her, but on myself. + +"For months I did nothing. I was miserable. She saw it at last, and said +to me: + +"'You ought to work. You aren't happy doing nothing. I've arranged +something for you.' + +"I raised my head in amazement, as she continued, +clapping her hands with delight: + +"'I've talked it all over with papa. You'll go into his office. You'll +do big things. He's quite enthusiastic, and I promised for you.' + +"I went. I became interested. I stayed. Now I am like any other man, +domesticated, conservative, living my life, and she has not the +slightest idea of what she has killed." + +"Let us go in," said Herkimer, rising. + +"And you say I could have left a name?" said Rantoul, bitterly. + +"You were wrong to tell me all this," said Herkimer. + +"I owed you the explanation. What could I do?" + +"Lie." + +"Why?" + +"Because, after such a confidence, it is impossible for you ever to see +me again. You know it." + +"Nonsense. I--" + +"Let's go back." + +Full of dull anger and revolt, Herkimer led the way. Rantoul, after a +few steps, caught him by the sleeve. + +"Don't take it too seriously, Britt. I don't revolt any more. I'm no +longer the Rantoul you knew." + +"That's just the trouble," said Herkimer, cruelly. + +When their steps sounded near, Mrs. Rantoul rose hastily, spilling her +silk and needles on the floor. She gave her husband a swift, searching +look, and said with her flattering smile: + +"Mr. Herkimer, you must be a very interesting talker. I am quite +jealous." + +"I am rather tired," he answered, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go +off to bed." + +"Really?" she said, raising her eyes. She extended her hand, and he took +it with almost the physical repulsion with which one would touch the +hand of a criminal. The next morning he left. + + + + +III + + +When Herkimer had finished, he shrugged his shoulders, gave a short +laugh, and, glancing at the clock, went off in his curt, purposeful +manner. + +"Well, by Jove!" said Steingall, recovering first from the spell of the +story, "doesn't that prove exactly what I said? They're jealous, they're +all jealous, I tell you, jealous of everything you do. All they want us +to do is to adore them. By Jove! Herkimer's right. Rantoul was the +biggest of us all. She murdered him just as much as though she had put a +knife in him." + +"She did it on purpose," said De Gollyer. "There was nothing childlike +about her, either. On the contrary, I consider her a clever, a +devilishly clever woman." + +"Of course she did. They're all clever, damn them!" said Steingall, +explosively. "Now, what do you say, Quinny? I say that an artist who +marries might just as well tie a rope around his neck and present it to +his wife and have it over." + +"On the contrary," said Quinny, with a sudden inspiration reorganizing +his whole battle front, "every artist should marry. The only danger is +that he may marry happily." + +"What?" cried Steingall. "But you said--" + +"My dear boy, I have germinated some new ideas," said Quinny, +unconcerned. "The story has a moral,--I detest morals,--but this has +one. An artist should always marry unhappily, and do you know why? +Purely a question of chemistry. Towsey, when do you work the best?" + +"How do you mean?" said Towsey, rousing himself. + +"I've heard you say that you worked best when your nerves were all on +edge--night out, cucumbers, thunder-storm, or a touch of fever." + +"Yes, that's so." + +"Can any one work well when everything is calm?" continued Quinny, +triumphantly, to the amazement of Rankin and Steingall. "Can you work on +a clear spring day, when nothing bothers you and the first of the month +is two weeks off, eh? Of course you can't. Happiness is the enemy of the +artist. It puts to sleep the faculties. Contentment is a drug. My dear +men, an artist should always be unhappy. Perpetual state of +fermentation sets the nerves throbbing, sensitive to impressions. +Exaltation and remorse, anger and inspiration, all hodge-podge, chemical +action and reaction, all this we are blessed with when we are unhappily +married. Domestic infelicity drives us to our art; happiness makes us +neglect it. Shall I tell you what I do when everything is smooth, no +nerves, no inspiration, fat, puffy Sunday-dinner-feeling, too happy, +can't work? I go home and start a quarrel with my wife." + +"And then you _can_ work," cried Steingall, roaring with laughter. "By +Jove, you _are_ immense!" + +"Never better," said Quinny, who appeared like a prophet. + +The four artists, who had listened to Herkimer's story in that gradual +thickening depression which the subject of matrimony always let down +over them, suddenly brightened visibly. On their faces appeared the look +of inward speculation, and then a ray of light. + +Little Towsey, who from his arrival had sulked, fretted, and fumed, +jumped up energetically and flung away his third cigar. + +"Here, where are you going?" said Rankin in protest. + +"Over to the studio," said Towsey, quite unconsciously. "I feel like a +little work." + + + + +ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK + + +They were discussing languidly, as such groups do, seeking from each +topic a peg on which to hang a few epigrams that might be retold in the +lip currency of the club--Steingall, the painter, florid of gesture and +effete, foreign in type, with black-rimmed glasses and trailing ribbon +of black silk that cut across his cropped beard and cavalry mustaches; +De Gollyer, a critic, who preferred to be known as a man about town, +short, feverish, incisive, who slew platitudes with one adjective and +tagged a reputation with three; Rankin, the architect, always in a +defensive explanatory attitude, who held his elbows on the table, his +hands before his long sliding nose, and gestured with his fingers; +Quinny, the illustrator, long and gaunt, with a predatory eloquence that +charged irresistibly down on any subject, cut it off, surrounded it, and +raked it with enfilading wit and satire; and Peters, whose methods of +existence were a mystery, a young man of fifty, who had done nothing and +who knew every one by his first name, the club postman, who carried the +tittle-tattle, the _bon mots_ and the news of the day, who drew up a +petition a week and pursued the house committee with a daily grievance. + +About the latticed porch, which ran around the sanded yard with its +feeble fountain and futile evergreens, other groups were eying one +another, or engaging in desultory conversation, oppressed with the +heaviness of the night. + +At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he devoured the +conversation, having routed Steingall on the Germans and archæology and +Rankin on the origins of the Lord's Prayer, had seized a chance remark +of De Gollyer's to say: + +"There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like everything +that's true it isn't true." He waved his long, gouty fingers in the +direction of Steingall, who, having been silenced, was regarding him +with a look of sleepy indifference. "What is more to the point, is the +small number of human relations that are so simple and yet so +fundamental that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and +reinterpreted in every language, in every age, and yet remain +inexhaustible in the possibility of variations." + +"By George, that is so," said Steingall, waking up. "Every art does go +back to three or four notes. In composition it is the same thing. +Nothing new--nothing new since a thousand years. By George, that is +true! We invent nothing, nothing!" + +"Take the eternal triangle," said Quinny hurriedly, not to surrender his +advantage, while Rankin and De Gollyer in a bored way continued to gaze +dreamily at a vagrant star or two. "Two men and a woman, or two women +and a man. Obviously it should be classified as the first of the great +original parent themes. Its variations extend into the thousands. By the +way, Rankin, excellent opportunity, eh, for some of our modern, +painstaking, unemployed jackasses to analyze and classify." + +"Quite right," said Rankin without perceiving the satirical note. "Now +there's De Maupassant's Fort comma la Mort--quite the most interesting +variation--shows the turn a genius can give. There the triangle is the +man of middle age, the mother he has loved in his youth and the daughter +he comes to love. It forms, you might say, the head of a whole +subdivision of modern continental literature." + +"Quite wrong, Rankin, quite wrong," said Quinny, who would have stated +the other side quite as imperiously. "What you cite is a variation of +quite another theme, the Faust theme--old age longing for youth, the man +who has loved longing for the love of his youth, which is youth itself. +The triangle is the theme of jealousy, the most destructive and, +therefore, the most dramatic of human passions. The Faust theme is the +most fundamental and inevitable of all human experiences, the tragedy of +life itself. Quite a different thing." + +Rankin, who never agreed with Quinny unless Quinny maliciously took +advantage of his prior announcement to agree with him, continued to +combat this idea. + +"You believe then," said De Gollyer after a certain moment had been +consumed in hair splitting, "that the origin of all dramatic themes is +simply the expression of some human emotion. In other words, there can +exist no more parent themes than there are human emotions." + +"I thank you, sir, very well put," said Quinny with a generous wave of +his hand. "Why is the Three Musketeers a basic theme? Simply the +interpretation of comradeship, the emotion one man feels for another, +vital because it is the one peculiarly masculine emotion. Look at Du +Maurier and Trilby, Kipling in Soldiers Three--simply the Three +Musketeers." + +"The Vie de Bohème?" suggested Steingall. + +"In the real Vie de Bohème, yes," said Quinny viciously. "Not in the +concocted sentimentalities that we now have served up to us by athletic +tenors and consumptive elephants!" + +Rankin, who had been silently deliberating on what had been left behind, +now said cunningly and with evident purpose: + +"All the same, I don't agree with you men at all. I believe there are +situations, original situations, that are independent of your human +emotions, that exist just because they are situations, accidental and +nothing else." + +"As for instance?" said Quinny, preparing to attack. + +"Well, I'll just cite an ordinary one that happens to come to my mind," +said Rankin, who had carefully selected his test. "In a group of seven +or eight, such as we are here, a theft takes place; one man is the +thief--which one? I'd like to know what emotion that interprets, and yet +it certainly is an original theme, at the bottom of a whole literature." + +This challenge was like a bomb. + +"Not the same thing." + +"Detective stories, bah!" + +"Oh, I say, Rankin, that's literary melodrama." + +Rankin, satisfied, smiled and winked victoriously over to Tommers, who +was listening from an adjacent table. + +"Of course your suggestion is out of order, my dear man, to this +extent," said Quinny, who never surrendered, "in that I am talking of +fundamentals and you are citing details. Nevertheless, I could answer +that the situation you give, as well as the whole school it belongs to, +can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions, curiosity; and +that the story of Bluebeard and the Moonstone are to all purposes +identically the same." + +At this Steingall, who had waited hopefully, gasped and made as though +to leave the table. + +"I shall take up your contention," said Quinny without pause for breath, +"first, because you have opened up one of my pet topics, and, second, +because it gives me a chance to talk." He gave a sidelong glance at +Steingall and winked at De Gollyer. "What is the peculiar fascination +that the detective problem exercises over the human mind? You will say +curiosity. Yes and no. Admit at once that the whole art of a detective +story consists in the statement of the problem. Any one can do it. I can +do it. Steingall even can do it. The solution doesn't count. It is +usually banal; it should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we +guess it? Just as an able-minded man will sit down for hours and fiddle +over the puzzle column in a Sunday balderdash. Same idea. There you have +it, the problem--the detective story. Now why the fascination? I'll tell +you. It appeals to our curiosity, yes--but deeper to a sort of +intellectual vanity. Here are six matches, arrange them to make four +squares; five men present, a theft takes place--who's the thief? Who +will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior cleverness--see? +That's all--that's all there is to it." + +"Out of all of which," said De Gollyer, "the interesting thing is that +Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply of detective fiction is +inexhaustible. It does all come down to the simplest terms. Seven +possibilities, one answer. It is a formula, ludicrously simple, +mechanical, and yet we will always pursue it to the end. The marvel is +that writers should seek for any other formula when here is one so +safe, that can never fail. By George, I could start up a factory on it." + +"The reason is," said Rankin, "that the situation does constantly occur. +It's a situation that any of us might get into any time. As a matter of +fact, now, I personally know two such occasions when I was of the party; +and devilish uncomfortable it was too." + +"What happened?" said Steingall. + +"Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake had been made +and the other time the real thief was detected by accident a year later. +In both cases only one or two of us knew what had happened." + +De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, after +reflection, related another that had happened to a friend. + +"Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen," said Quinny impatiently, for +he had been silent too long, "you are glorifying commonplaces. Every +crime, I tell you, expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle +that you feed to your six-year-old. It's only the variation that is +interesting. Now quite the most remarkable turn of the complexities that +can be developed is, of course, the well-known instance of the visitor +at a club and the rare coin. Of course every one knows that? What?" + +Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others protested their +ignorance. + +"Why, it's very well known," said Quinny lightly. + +"A distinguished visitor is brought into a club--dozen men, say, +present, at dinner, long table. Conversation finally veers around to +curiosities and relics. One of the members present then takes from his +pocket what he announces as one of the rarest coins in existence--passes +it around the table. Coin travels back and forth, every one examining +it, and the conversation goes to another topic, say the influence of the +automobile on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely +intellectual club topic--you know? All at once the owner calls for his +coin. + +"The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at every one else. +First they suspect a joke. Then it becomes serious--the coin is +immensely valuable. Who has taken it? + +"The owner is a gentleman--does the gentlemanly idiotic thing of course, +laughs, says he knows some one is playing a practical joke on him and +that the coin will be returned to-morrow. The others refuse to leave the +situation so. One man proposes that they all submit to a search. Every +one gives his assent until it comes to the stranger. He refuses, curtly, +roughly, without giving any reason. Uncomfortable silence--the man is a +guest. No one knows him particularly well--but still he is a guest. One +member tries to make him understand that no offense is offered, that the +suggestion was simply to clear the atmosphere, and all that sort of +bally rot, you know. + +"'I refuse to allow my person to be searched,' says the stranger, very +firm, very proud, very English, you know, 'and I refuse to give my +reason for my action.' + +"Another silence. The men eye him and then glance at one another. What's +to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette--that magnificent inflated +balloon. The visitor evidently has the coin--but he is their guest and +etiquette protects him. Nice situation, eh? + +"The table is cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit and there under +the ledge of the plate where it had been pushed--is the coin. Banal +explanation, eh? Of course. Solutions always should be. At once every +one in profuse apologies! Whereupon the visitor rises and says: + +"'Now I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched. There are +only two known specimens of the coin in existence, and the second +happens to be here in my waistcoat pocket.'" + +"Of course," said Quinny with a shrug of his shoulders, "the story is +well invented, but the turn to it is very nice--very nice indeed." + +"I did know the story," said Steingall, to be disagreeable; "the ending, +though, is too obvious to be invented. The visitor should have had on +him not another coin, but something absolutely different, something +destructive, say, of a woman's reputation, and a great tragedy should +have been threatened by the casual misplacing of the coin." + +"I have heard the same story told in a dozen different ways," said +Rankin. + +"It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening," +said Steingall. + +"I know one extraordinary instance," said Peters, who up to the present, +secure in his climax, had waited with a professional smile until the big +guns had been silenced. "In fact, the most extraordinary instance of +this sort I have ever heard." + +"Peters, you little rascal," said Quinny with a sidelong glance, "I +perceive you have quietly been letting us dress the stage for you." + +"It is not a story that will please every one," said Peters, to whet +their appetite. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you will want to know what no one can ever know." + +"It has no conclusion then?" + +"Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, quite the most remarkable +woman I have ever met, the story is complete. As for the rest, it is +what it is, because it is one example where literature can do nothing +better than record." + +"Do I know the woman?" asked De Gollyer, who flattered himself on +passing through every class of society. + +"Possibly, but no more than any one else." + +"An actress?" + +"What she has been in the past I don't know--a promoter would better +describe her. Undoubtedly she has been behind the scenes in many an +untold intrigue of the business world. A very feminine woman, and yet, +as you shall see, with an unusual instantaneous masculine power of +decision." + +"Peters," said Quinny, waving a warning finger, "you are destroying your +story. Your preface will bring an anticlimax." + +"You shall judge," said Peters, who waited until his audience was in +strained attention before opening his story. "The names are, of course, +disguises." + +Mrs. Rita Kildair inhabited a charming bachelor-girl studio, very +elegant, of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings just off Central +Park West. She knew pretty nearly every one in that indescribable +society in New York that is drawn from all levels, and that imposes but +one condition for membership--to be amusing. She knew every one and no +one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest rumors her history or her +means. No one had ever heard of a Mr. Kildair. There was always about +her a certain defensive reserve the moment the limits of +acquaintanceship had been reached. She had a certain amount of money, +she knew a certain number of men in Wall Street affairs and her studio +was furnished with taste and even distinction. She was of any age. She +might have suffered everything or nothing at all. In this mingled +society her invitations were eagerly sought, her dinners were +spontaneous, and the discussions, though gay and usually daring, were +invariably under the control of wit and good taste. + +On the Sunday night of this adventure she had, according to her +invariable custom, sent away her Japanese butler and invited to an +informal chafing-dish supper seven of her more congenial friends, all of +whom, as much as could be said of any one, were habitués of the studio. + +At seven o'clock, having finished dressing, she put in order her +bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between the studio and a +small dining room to the kitchen beyond. Then, going into the studio, +she lit a wax taper and was in the act of touching off the brass +candlesticks that lighted the room when three knocks sounded on the door +and a Mr. Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed, +entered with the informality of assured acquaintance. + +"You are early," said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise. + +"On the contrary, you are late," said the broker, glancing at his watch. + +"Then be a good boy and help me with the candles," she said, giving him +a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers. + +He obeyed, asking nonchalantly: + +"I say, dear lady, who's to be here to-night?" + +"The Enos Jacksons." + +"I thought they were separated." + +"Not yet." + +"Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have thought of serving us +a couple on the verge." + +"It's interesting, isn't it?" + +"Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?" + +"Through the Warings. Jackson's a rather doubtful person, isn't he?" + +"Let's call him a very sharp lawyer," said Flanders defensively. "They +tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of the market--in deep." + +"And you?" + +"Oh, I? I'm a bachelor," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "and if +I come a cropper it makes no difference." + +"Is that possible?" she said, looking at him quickly. + +"Probable even. And who else is coming?" + +"Maude Lille--you know her?" + +"I think not." + +"You met her here--a journalist." + +"Quite so, a strange career." + +"Mr. Harris, a clubman, is coming, and the Stanley Cheevers." + +"The Stanley Cheevers!" said Flanders with some surprise. "Are we going +to gamble?" + +"You believe in that scandal about bridge?" + +"Certainly not," said Flanders, smiling. "You see I was present. The +Cheevers play a good game, a well united game, and have an unusual +system of makes. By-the-way, it's Jackson who is very attentive to Mrs. +Cheever, isn't it?" + +"Quite right." + +"What a charming party," said Flanders flippantly. "And where does Maude +Lille come in?" + +"Don't joke. She is in a desperate way," said Mrs. Kildair, with a +little sadness in her eyes. + +"And Harris?" + +"Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken." + +"Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of +respectability." + +"Of what?" + +She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping his glance. + +"Don't be an ass with me, my dear Flanders." + +"By George, if this were Europe I'd wager you were in the secret +service, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Thank you." + +She smiled appreciatively and moved about the studio, giving the +finishing touches. The Stanley Cheevers entered, a short fat man with a +vacant fat face and a slow-moving eye, and his wife, voluble, nervous, +overdressed and pretty. Mr. Harris came with Maude Lille, a woman, +straight, dark, Indian, with great masses of somber hair held in a +little too loosely for neatness, with thick, quick lips and eyes that +rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The Enos Jacksons +were late and still agitated as they entered. His forehead had not quite +banished the scowl, nor her eyes the scorn. He was of the type that +never lost his temper, but caused others to lose theirs, immovable in +his opinions, with a prowling walk, a studied antagonism in his manner, +and an impudent look that fastened itself unerringly on the weakness in +the person to whom he spoke. Mrs. Jackson, who seemed fastened to her +husband by an invisible leash, had a hunted, resisting quality back of a +certain desperate dash, which she assumed rather than felt in her +attitude toward life. One looked at her curiously and wondered what such +a nature would do in a crisis, with a lurking sense of a woman who +carried with her her own impending tragedy. + +As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity of the +selection had been perceived, a smile of malicious anticipation ran the +rounds, which the hostess cut short by saying: + +"Well, now that every one is here, this is the order of the night: You +can quarrel all you want, you can whisper all the gossip you can think +of about one another, but every one is to be amusing! Also every one is +to help with the dinner--nothing formal and nothing serious. We may all +be bankrupt to-morrow, divorced or dead, but to-night we will be +gay--that is the invariable rule of the house!" + +Immediately a nervous laughter broke out and the company chattering +began to scatter through the rooms. + +Mrs. Kildair, stopping in her bedroom, donned a Watteaulike cooking +apron, and slipping her rings from her fingers fixed the three on her +pincushion with a hatpin. + +"Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful," said the low voice of Maude +Lille, who with Harris and Mrs. Cheever were in the room. + +"There's only one that is very valuable," said Mrs. Kildair, touching +with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost, two large diamonds, +flanking a magnificent sapphire. + +"It is beautiful--very beautiful," said the journalist, her eyes +fastened to it with an uncontrollable fascination. She put out her +fingers and let them rest caressingly on the sapphire, withdrawing them +quickly as though the contact had burned them. + +"It must be very valuable," she said, her breath catching a little. Mrs. +Cheever, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring. + +"It cost five thousand six years ago," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing down +at it. "It has been my talisman ever since. For the moment, however, I +am cook; Maude Lille, you are scullery maid; Harris is the chef, and we +are under his orders. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?" + +"Good Heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling. + +"Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All +you'll have to do is to help set the table. On to the kitchen!" + +Under their hostess's gay guidance the seven guests began to circulate +busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping the chairs, opening +bottles, and preparing the material for the chafing dishes. Mrs. Kildair +in the kitchen ransacked the ice box, and with her own hands chopped the +_fines herbes_, shredded the chicken and measured the cream. + +"Flanders, carry this in carefully," she said, her hands in a towel. +"Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the salad bowl on the table. +Everything ready, Harris? All right. Every one sit down. I'll be right +in." + +She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her apron hung it in +the closet. Then going to her dressing table she drew the hatpin from +the pincushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at +once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were +there, the third ring, the one with the sapphire and the two diamonds, +was missing. + +"Stupid," she said to herself, and returned to her dressing table. All +at once she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the pin +through the three rings. + +She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving, her +fingers drumming slowly on the table, her head to one side, her lip +drawn in a little between her teeth, listening with a frown to the +babble from the outer room. Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests +had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been +busy in the kitchen. + +"Too much time before the mirror, dear lady," called out Flanders gaily, +who from where he was seated could see her. + +"It is not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. "Why not? He is +clever--who knows? Let me think." + +To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her head bowed, +her thumb between her teeth. + +"Who has taken it?" + +She ran over the character of her guests and their situations as she +knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped upon some reason +that might explain a sudden temptation. + +"I shall find out nothing this way," she said to herself after a +moment's deliberation; "that is not the important thing to me just now. +The important thing is to get the ring back." + +And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her +clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her journey. + +Five minutes later, as Harris, installed _en maître_ over the chafing +dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs. Kildair came into +the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with +scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it at the +same moment, with a little nervous start. + +"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Flanders, "you come in on us like a +Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a surprise?" + +As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing her forehead +together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line. + +"I have something to say to you," she said in a sharp, businesslike +manner, watching the company with penetrating eagerness. + +There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. Harris +extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish clumsily with a +discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Enos Jackson swung +about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while the men +imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the +feet. + +"Mr. Enos Jackson?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Kindly do as I ask you." + +"Certainly." + +She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost +an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his eyebrows a little in +surprise. + +"Go to the door," she continued, shifting her glance from him to the +others. "Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the key." + +He executed the order without bungling, and returning stood before her, +tendering the key. + +"You've locked it?" she said, making the words an excuse to bury her +glance in his. + +"As you wished me to." + +"Thanks." + +She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the +door into her bedroom through which she had come. + +Then transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of +Jackson, who still awaited her further commands, her eyes studied a +moment the possibilities of the apartment. + +"Mr. Cheever?" she said in a low voice. + +"Yes, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Blow out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table." + +"Put out the lights, Mrs. Kildair?" + +"At once." + +Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of +questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the hostess. + +"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," said Mrs. Jackson with a little nervous +catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up! My +nerves--" + +"Miss Lille?" said the voice of command. + +"Yes." + +The journalist, calmer than the rest, had watched the proceedings +without surprise, as though forewarned by professional instinct that +something of importance was about to take place. Now she rose quietly +with an almost stealthy motion. + +"Put the candelabrum on this table--here," said Mrs. Kildair, indicating +a large round table on which a few books were grouped. "No, wait. Mr. +Jackson, first clear off the table. I want nothing on it." + +"But, Mrs. Kildair--" began Mrs. Jackson's shrill voice again. + +"That's it. Now put down the candelabrum." + +In a moment, as Mr. Cheever proceeded methodically on his errand, the +brilliant crossfire of lights dropped in the studio, only a few +smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high room seemed to +grow more distant as it came under the sole dominion of the three +candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table. + +"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice had in it a cold note. +"My sapphire ring has just been stolen." + +She said it suddenly, hurling the news among them and waiting +ferret-like for some indications in the chorus that broke out. + +"Stolen!" + +"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair!" + +"Stolen--by Jove!" + +"You don't mean it!" + +"What! Stolen here--to-night?" + +"The ring has been taken within the last twenty minutes," continued Mrs. +Kildair in the same determined, chiseled tone. "I am not going to mince +words. The ring has been taken and the thief is among you." + +For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp and a sudden +turning and searching, then suddenly Cheever's deep bass broke out: + +"Stolen! But, Mrs. Kildair, is it possible?" + +"Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt," said Mrs. Kildair. "Three +of you were in my bedroom when I placed my rings on the pincushion. Each +of you has passed through there a dozen times since. My sapphire ring is +gone, and one of you has taken it." + +Mrs. Jackson gave a little scream, and reached heavily for a glass of +water. Mrs. Cheever said something inarticulate in the outburst of +masculine exclamation. Only Maude Lille's calm voice could be heard +saying: + +"Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The sapphire ring +was on top." + +"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, her eyes on Maude Lille's eyes. "I am +not going to mince words. I am not going to stand on ceremony. I'm going +to have that ring back. Listen to me carefully. I'm going to have that +ring back, and until I do, not a soul shall leave this room." She tapped +on the table with her nervous knuckles. "Who has taken it I do not care +to know. All I want is my ring. Now I'm going to make it possible for +whoever took it to restore it without possibility of detection. The +doors are locked and will stay locked. I am going to put out the lights, +and I am going to count one hundred slowly. You will be in absolute +darkness; no one will know or see what is done. But if at the end of +that time the ring is not here on this table I shall telephone the +police and have every one in this room searched. Am I quite clear?" + +Suddenly she cut short the nervous outbreak of suggestions and in the +same firm voice continued: + +"Every one take his place about the table. That's it. That will do." + +The women, with the exception of the inscrutable Maude Lille, gazed +hysterically from face to face while the men, compressing their fingers, +locking them or grasping their chins, looked straight ahead fixedly at +their hostess. + +Mrs. Kildair, having calmly assured herself that all were ranged as she +wished, blew out two of the three candles. + +"I shall count one hundred, no more, no less," she said. "Either I get +back that ring or every one in this room is to be searched, remember." + +Leaning over, she blew out the remaining candle and snuffed it. + +"One, two, three, four, five--" + +She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a clock's ticking. + +In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, the +grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man. + +"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three--" + +She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her +voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the company. +A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the verge of +hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his throat. + +"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven--" + +Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure the +slightest, only the sound became more metallic. + +"Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy--" + +Some one had sighed. + +"Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, +seventy-seven--" + +All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the table +was heard a slight metallic note. + +"The ring!" + +It was Maude Lille's quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. Kildair continued +to count. + +"Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one--" + +The tension became unbearable. Two or three voices protested against the +needless prolonging of the torture. + +"Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine and one hundred." + +A match sputtered in Mrs. Kildair's hand and on the instant the company +craned forward. In the center of the table was the sparkling sapphire +and diamond ring. Candles were lit, flaring up like searchlights on the +white accusing faces. + +"Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me," said Mrs. Kildair. She held out +her hand without trembling, a smile of triumph on her face, which had in +it for a moment an expression of positive cruelty. + +Immediately she changed, contemplating with amusement the horror of her +guests, staring blindly from one to another, seeing the indefinable +glance of interrogation that passed from Cheever to Mrs. Cheever, from +Mrs. Jackson to her husband, and then without emotion she said: + +"Now that that is over we can have a very gay little supper." + +When Peters had pushed back his chair, satisfied as only a trained +raconteur can be by the silence of a difficult audience, and had busied +himself with a cigar, there was an instant outcry. + +"I say, Peters, old boy, that is not all!" + +"Absolutely." + +"The story ends there?" + +"That ends the story." + +"But who took the ring?" + +Peters extended his hands in an empty gesture. + +"What! It was never found out?" + +"Never." + +"No clue?" + +"None." + +"I don't like the story," said De Gollyer. + +"It's no story at all," said Steingall. + +"Permit me," said Quinny in a didactic way; "it is a story, and it is +complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it has none of the +banalities of a solution and leaves the problem even more confused than +at the start." + +"I don't see--" began Rankin. + +"Of course you don't, my dear man," said Quinny crushingly. "You do not +see that any solution would be commonplace, whereas no solution leaves +an extraordinary intellectual problem." + +"How so?" + +"In the first place," said Quinny, preparing to annex the topic, +"whether the situation actually happened or not, which is in itself a +mere triviality, Peters has constructed it in a masterly way, the proof +of which is that he has made me listen. Observe, each person present +might have taken the ring--Flanders, a broker, just come a cropper; +Maude Lille, a woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means; +either Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, suspected of being card sharps--very good +touch that, Peters, when the husband and wife glanced involuntarily at +each other at the end--Mr. Enos Jackson, a sharp lawyer, or his wife +about to be divorced; even Harris, concerning whom, very cleverly, +Peters has said nothing at all to make him quite the most suspicious of +all. There are, therefore, seven solutions, all possible and all +logical. But beyond this is left a great intellectual problem." + +"How so?" + +"Was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when +threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildair's clever expedient +of throwing the room in the dark made detection impossible? Was it a +woman who lacked the necessary courage to continue, or was it a man who +repented his first impulse? Is a man or is a woman the greater natural +criminal?" + +"A woman took it, of course," said Rankin. + +"On the contrary, it was a man," said Steingall, "for the second action +was more difficult than the first." + +"A man, certainly," said De Gollyer. "The restoration of the ring was a +logical decision." + +"You see," said Quinny triumphantly, "personally I incline to a woman +for the reason that a weaker feminine nature is peculiarly susceptible +to the domination of her own sex. There you are. We could meet and +debate the subject year in and year out and never agree." + +"I recognize most of the characters," said De Gollyer with a little +confidential smile toward Peters. "Mrs. Kildair, of course, is all you +say of her--an extraordinary woman. The story is quite characteristic of +her. Flanders, I am not sure of, but I think I know him." + +"Did it really happen?" asked Rankin, who always took the commonplace +point of view. + +"Exactly as I have told it," said Peters. + +"The only one I don't recognize is Harris," said De Gollyer pensively. + +"Your humble servant," said Peters, smiling. + +The four looked up suddenly with a little start. + +"What!" said Quinny, abruptly confused. "You--you were there?" + +"I was there." + +The four continued to look at him without speaking, each absorbed in his +own thoughts, with a sudden ill ease. + +A club attendant with a telephone slip on a tray stopped by Peters' +side. He excused himself and went along the porch, nodding from table to +table. + +"Curious chap," said De Gollyer musingly. + +"Extraordinary." + +The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who continued watching +Peters' trim disappearing figure in silence, without looking at one +another--with a certain ill ease. + + + + +A COMEDY FOR WIVES + + +At half-past six o'clock from Wall Street, Jack Lightbody let himself +into his apartment, called his wife by name, and received no answer. + +"Hello, that's funny," he thought, and, ringing, asked of the maid, "Did +Mrs. Lightbody go out?" + +"About an hour ago, sir." + +"That's odd. Did she leave any message?" + +"No, sir." + +"That's not like her. I wonder what's happened." + +At this moment his eye fell on an open hat-box of mammoth proportions, +overshadowing a thin table in the living-room. + +"When did that come?" + +"About four o'clock, sir." + +He went in, peeping into the empty box with a smile of satisfaction and +understanding. + +"That's it, she's rushed off to show it to some one," he said, with a +half vindictive look toward the box. "Well, it cost $175, and I don't +get my winter suit; but I get a little peace." + +He went to his room, rebelliously preparing to dress for the dinner and +theater to which he had been commanded. + +"By George, if I came back late, wouldn't I catch it?" he said with some +irritation, slipping into his evening clothes and looking critically at +his rather subdued reflection in the glass. "Jim tells me I'm getting in +a rut, middle-aged, showing the wear. Perhaps." He rubbed his hand over +the wrinkled cheek and frowned. "I have gone off a bit--sedentary +life--six years. It does settle you. Hello! quarter of seven. Very +strange!" + +He slipped into a lilac dressing-gown which had been thrust upon him on +his last birthday and wandered uneasily back into the dining-room. + +"Why doesn't she telephone?" he thought; "it's her own party, one of +those infernal problem plays I abhor. I didn't want to go." + +The door opened and the maid entered. On the tray was a letter. + +"For me?" he said, surprised. "By messenger?" + +"Yes, sir." + +He signed the slip, glancing at the envelope. It was in his wife's +handwriting. + +"Margaret!" he said suddenly. + +"Yes, sir." + +"The boy's waiting for an answer, isn't he?" + +"No, sir." + +He stood a moment in blank uneasiness, until, suddenly aware that she +was waiting, he dismissed her with a curt: + +"Oh, very well." + +Then he remained by the table, looking at the envelope which he did not +open, hearing the sound of the closing outer door and the passing of the +maid down the hall. + +"Why didn't she telephone?" he said aloud slowly. + +He looked at the letter again. He had made no mistake. It was from his +wife. + +"If she's gone off again on some whim," he said angrily, "by George, I +won't stand for it." + +Then carelessly inserting a finger, he broke the cover and glanced +hastily down the letter: + + My dear Jackie: + + When you have read this I shall have left you forever. Forget me and + try to forgive. In the six years we have lived together, you have + always been kind to me. But, Jack, there is something we cannot give + or take away, and because some one has come who has won that, I am + leaving you. I'm sorry, Jackie, I'm sorry. + + Irene. + +When he had read this once in unbelief, he read it immediately again, +approaching the lamp, laying it on the table and pressing his fists +against his temple, to concentrate all his mind. + +"It's a joke," he said, speaking aloud. + +He rose, stumbling a little and aiding himself with his arm, leaning +against the wall, went into her room, and opened the drawer where her +jewel case should be. It was gone. + +"Then it's true," he said solemnly. "It's ended. What am I to do?" + +He went to her wardrobe, looking at the vacant hooks, repeating: + +"What am I to do?" + +He went slowly back to the living-room to the desk by the lamp, where +the hateful thing stared up at him. + +"What am I to do?" + +All at once he struck the desk with his fist and a cry burst from him: + +"Dishonored--I'm dishonored!" + +His head flushed hot, his breath came in short, panting rage. He struck +the letter again and again, and then suddenly, frantically, began to +rush back and forth, repeating: + +"Dishonored--dishonored!" + +All at once a moment of clarity came to him with a chill of ice. He +stopped, went to the telephone and called up the Racquet Club, saying: + +"Mr. De Gollyer to the 'phone." + +Then he looked at his hand and found he was still clutching a forgotten +hair brush. With a cry at the grotesqueness of the thing, he flung it +from him, watching it go skipping over the polished floor. The voice of +De Gollyer called him. + +"Is that you, Jim?" he said, steadying himself. "Come--come to me at +once--quick!" + +He could have said no more. He dropped the receiver, overturning the +stand, and began again his caged pacing of the floor. + +Ten minutes later De Gollyer nervously slipped into the room. He was a +quick, instinctive ferret of a man, one to whose eyes the hidden life of +the city held no mysteries; who understood equally the shadows that +glide on the street and the masks that pass in luxurious carriages. In +one glance he had caught the disorder in the room and the agitation in +his friend. He advanced a step, balanced his hat on the desk, perceived +the crumpled letter, and, clearing his throat, drew back, frowning and +alert, correctly prepared for any situation. + +Lightbody, without seeming to perceive his arrival, continued his blind +traveling, pressing his fists from time to time against his throat to +choke back the excess of emotions which, in the last minutes, had dazed +his perceptions and left him inertly struggling against a shapeless +pain. All at once he stopped, flung out his arms and cried: + +"She's gone!" + +De Gollyer did not on the word seize the situation. + +"Gone! Who's gone?" he said with a nervous, jerky fixing of his head, +while his glance immediately sought the vista through the door to assure +himself that no third person was present. + +But Lightbody, unconscious of everything but his own utter grief, was +threshing back and forth, repeating mechanically, with increasing +_staccato_: + +"Gone, gone!" + +"Who? Where?" + +With a sudden movement, De Gollyer caught his friend by the shoulder and +faced him about as a naughty child, exclaiming: "Here, I say, old chap, +brace up! Throw back your shoulders--take a long breath!" + +With a violent wrench, Lightbody twisted himself free, while one hand +flung appealingly back, begged for time to master the emotion which +burst forth in the cry: + +"Gone--forever!" + +"By Jove!" said De Gollyer, suddenly enlightened, and through his mind +flashed the thought--"There's been an accident--something fatal. +Tough--devilish tough." + +He cast a furtive glance toward the bedrooms and then an alarmed one +toward his friend, standing in the embrasure of the windows, pressing +his forehead against the panes. + +Suddenly Lightbody turned and, going abruptly to the desk, leaned +heavily on one arm, raising the letter in two vain efforts. A spasm of +pain crossed his lips, which alone could not be controlled. He turned +his head hastily, half offering, half dropping the letter, and +wheeling, went to an armchair, where he collapsed, repeating +inarticulately: + +"Forever!" + +"Who? What? Who's gone?" exclaimed De Gollyer, bewildered by the +appearance of a letter. "Good heavens, dear boy, what has happened? +Who's gone?" + +Then Lightbody, by an immense effort, answered: + +"Irene--my wife!" + +And with a rapid motion he covered his eyes, digging his fingers into +his flesh. + +De Gollyer, pouncing upon the letter, read: + +My dear Jackie: When you read this, I shall have left you forever-- + +Then he halted with an exclamation, and hastily turned the page for the +signature. + +"Read!" said Lightbody in a stifled voice. + +"I say, this is serious, devilishly serious," said De Gollyer, now +thoroughly amazed. Immediately he began to read, unconsciously +emphasizing the emphatic words--a little trick of his enunciation. + +When Lightbody had heard from the voice of another the message that +stood written before his eyes, all at once all impulses in his brain +converged into one. He sprang up, speaking now in quick, distinct +syllables, sweeping the room with the fury of his arms. + +"I'll find them; by God, I'll find them. I'll hunt them down. I'll +follow them. I'll track them--anywhere--to the ends of the earth--and +when I find them--" + +De Gollyer, sensitively distressed at such a scene, vainly tried to stop +him. + +"I'll find them, if I die for it! I'll shoot them down. I'll shoot them +down like dogs! I will, by all that's holy, I will! I'll butcher them! +I'll shoot them down, there at my feet, rolling at my feet!" + +All at once he felt a weight on his arm, and heard De Gollyer saying, +vainly: + +"Dear boy, be calm, be calm." + +"Calm!" he cried, with a scream, his anger suddenly focusing on his +friend, "Calm! I won't be calm! What! I come back--slaving all day, +slaving for her--come back to take her out to dinner where she wants to +go--to the play she wants to see, and I find--nothing--this letter--this +bomb--this thunderbolt! Everything gone--my home broken up--my name +dishonored--my whole life ruined! And you say be calm--be calm--be +calm!" + +Then, fearing the hysteria gaining possession of him, he dropped back +violently into an armchair and covered his face. + +During this outburst, De Gollyer had deliberately removed his gloves, +folded them and placed them in his breast pocket. His reputation for +social omniscience had been attained by the simple expedient of never +being convinced. As soon as the true situation had been unfolded, a +slight, skeptical smile hovered about his thin, flouting lips, and, +looking at his old friend, he was not unpleasantly aware of something +comic in the attitudes of grief. He made one or two false starts, +buttoning his trim cutaway, and then said in a purposely higher key: + +"My dear old chap, we must consider--we really must consider what is to +be done." + +"There is only one thing to be done," cried Lightbody in a voice of +thunder. + +"Permit me!" + +"Kill them!" + +"One moment!" + +De Gollyer, master of himself, never abandoning his critical enjoyment, +softened his voice to that controlled note that is the more effective +for being opposed to frenzy. + +"Sit down--come now, sit down!" + +Lightbody resisted. + +"Sit down, there--come--you have called me in. Do you want my advice? Do +you? Well, just quiet down. Will you listen?" + +"I am quiet," said Lightbody, suddenly submissive. The frenzy of his +rage passed, but to make his resolution doubly impressive, he extended +his arm and said slowly: + +"But remember, my mind is made up. I shall not budge. I shall shoot +them down like dogs! You see I say quietly--like dogs!" + +"My dear old pal," said De Gollyer with a well-bred shrug of his +shoulders, "you'll do nothing of the sort. We are men of the world, my +boy, men of the world. Shooting is archaic--for the rural districts. +We've progressed way beyond that--men of the world don't shoot any +more." + +"I said it quietly," said Lightbody, who perceived, not without +surprise, that he was no longer at the same temperature. However, he +concluded with normal conviction: "I shall kill them both, that's all. I +say it quietly." + +This gave De Gollyer a certain hortatory moment of which he availed +himself, seeking to reduce further the dramatic tension. + +"My dear old pal, as a matter of fact, all I say is, consider first and +shoot after. In the first place, suppose you kill one or both and you +are not yourself killed--for you know, dear boy, the deuce is that +sometimes does happen. What then? Justice is so languid nowadays. +Certainly you would have to inhabit for six, eight--perhaps ten +months--a drafty, moist jail, without exercise, most indigestible food +abominably cooked, limited society. You are brought to trial. A jury--an +emotional jury--may give you a couple of years. That's another risk. You +see you drink cocktails, you smoke cigarettes. You will be made to +appear a person totally unfit to live with." + +Lightbody with a movement of irritation, shifted the clutch of his +fingers. + +"As a matter of fact, suppose you are acquitted, what then? You emerge, +middle-aged, dyspeptic, possibly rheumatic--no nerves left. Your +photograph figures in every paper along with inventors of shoes and +corsets. You can't be asked to dinner or to house parties, can you? As a +matter of fact, you'll disappear somewhere or linger and get shot by the +brother, who in turn, as soon as he is acquitted, must be shot by your +brother, et cetera, et cetera! _Voila!_ What will you have gained?" + +He ceased, well pleased--he had convinced himself. + +Lightbody, who had had time to be ashamed of the emotion that he, as a +man, had shown to another of his sex, rose and said with dignity: + +"I shall have avenged my honor." + +De Gollyer, understanding at once that the battle had been won, took up +in an easy running attack his battery of words. + +"By publishing your dishonor to Europe, Africa, Asia? That's logic, +isn't it? No, no, my dear old Jack--you won't do it. You won't be an +ass. Steady head, old boy! Let's look at it in a reasonable way--as men +of the world. You can't bring her back, can you? She's gone." + +At this reminder, overcome by the vibrating sense of loss, Lightbody +turned abruptly, no longer master of himself, and going hastily toward +the windows, cried violently: + +"Gone!" + +Over the satisfied lips of De Gollyer the same ironical smile returned. + +"I say, as a matter of fact I didn't suspect, you--you cared so much." + +"I adored her!" + +With a quick movement, Lightbody turned. His eyes flashed. He no longer +cared what he revealed. He began to speak incoherently, stifling a sob +at every moment. + +"I adored her. It was wonderful. Nothing like it. I adored her from the +moment I met her. It was that--adoration--one woman in the world--one +woman--I adored her!" + +The imp of irony continued to play about De Gollyer's eyes and slightly +twitching lips. + +"Quite so--quite so," he said. "Of course you know, dear boy, you +weren't always so--so lonely--the old days--you surprise me." + +The memory of his romance all at once washed away the bitterness in +Lightbody. He returned, sat down, oppressed, crushed. + +"You know, Jim," he said solemnly, "she never did this, never in the +world, not of her own free will, never in her right mind. She's been +hypnotized, some one has gotten her under his power--some scoundrel. +No--I'll not harm her, I'll not hurt a hair of her head--but when I meet +_him_--" + +"By the way, whom do you suspect?" said De Gollyer, who had long +withheld the question. + +"Whom? Whom do I suspect?" exclaimed Lightbody, astounded. "I don't +know." + +"Impossible!" + +"How do I know? I never doubted her a minute." + +"Yes, yes--still?" + +"Whom do I suspect? I don't know." He stopped and considered. "It might +be--three men." + +"Three men!" exclaimed De Gollyer, who smiled as only a bachelor could +smile at such a moment. + +"I don't know which--how should I know? But when I do know--when I meet +him! I'll spare her--but--but when we meet--we two--when my hands are on +his throat--" + +He was on his feet again, the rage of dishonor ready to flame forth. De +Gollyer, putting his arm about him, recalled him with abrupt, military +sternness. + +"Steady, steady again, dear old boy. Buck up now--get hold of yourself." + +"Jim, it's awful!" + +"It's tough--very tough!" + +"Out of a clear sky--everything gone!" + +"Come, now, walk up and down a bit--do you good." + +Lightbody obeyed, locking his arms behind his back, his eyes on the +floor. + +"Everything smashed to bits!" + +"You adored her?" questioned De Gollyer in an indefinable tone. + +"I adored her!" replied Lightbody explosively. + +"Really now?" + +"I adored her. There's nothing left now--nothing--nothing." + +"Steady." + +Lightbody, at the window, made another effort, controlled himself and +said, as a man might renounce an inheritance: + +"You're right, Jim--but it's hard." + +"Good spirit--fine, fine, very fine!" commented De Gollyer in critical +enthusiasm, "nothing public, eh? No scandal--not our class. Men of the +world. No shooting! People don't shoot any more. It's reform, you know, +for the preservation of bachelors." + +The effort, the renunciation of his just vengeance, had exhausted +Lightbody, who turned and came back, putting out his hands to steady +himself. + +"It isn't that, it's, it's--" Suddenly his fingers encountered on the +table a pair of gloves--his wife's gloves, forgotten there. He raised +them, holding them in his open palm, glanced at De Gollyer and, letting +them fall, suddenly unable to continue, turned aside his head. + +"Take time--a good breath," said De Gollyer, in military fashion, "fill +your lungs. Splendid! That's it." + +Lightbody, sitting down at the desk, wearily drew the gloves to him, +gazing fixedly at the crushed perfumed fingers. + +"Why, Jim," he said finally, "I adore her so--if she can be +happier--happier with another--if that will make her happier than I can +make her--well, I'll step aside, I'll make no trouble--just for her, +just for what she's done for me." + +The last words were hardly heard. This time, despite himself, De Gollyer +was tremendously affected. + +"Superb! By George, that's grit!" + +Lightbody raised his head with the fatigue of the struggle and the pride +of the victory written on it. + +"Her happiness first," he said simply. + +The accent with which it was spoken almost convinced De Gollyer. + +"By Jove, you adore her!" + +"I adore her," said Lightbody, lifting himself to his feet. This time it +came not as an explosion, but as a breath, some deep echo from the soul. +He stood steadily gazing at his friend. "You're right, Jim. You're +right. It's not our class. I'll face it down. There'll be no scandal. +No one shall know." + +Their hands met with an instinctive motion. Then, touched by the fervor +of his friend's admiration, Lightbody moved wearily away, saying dully, +all in a breath: + +"Like a thunderclap, Jim." + +"I know, dear old boy," said De Gollyer, feeling sharply vulnerable in +the eyes and throat. + +"It's terrible--it's awful. All in a second! Everything turned upside +down, everything smashed!" + +"You must go away," said De Gollyer anxiously. + +"My whole life wrecked," continued Lightbody, without hearing him, +"nothing left--not the slightest, meanest thing left!" + +"Dear boy, you must go away." + +"Only last night she was sitting here, and I there, reading a book." He +stopped and put forth his hand. "This book!" + +"Jack, you must go away for a while." + +"What?" + +"Go away!" + +"Oh, yes, yes. I suppose so. I don't care." + +Leaning against the desk, he gazed down at the rug, mentally and +physically inert. + +De Gollyer, returning to his nature, said presently: "I say, dear old +fellow, it's awfully delicate, but I should like to be frank, from the +shoulder--out and out, do you mind?" + +"What? No." + +Seeing that Lightbody had only half listened, De Gollyer spoke with some +hesitation: + +"Of course it's devilish impudent. I'll offend you dreadfully. But, I +say, now as a matter of fact, were you really so--so seraphically +happy?" + +"What's that?" + +"As a matter of fact," said De Gollyer changing his note instantly, "you +were happy, _terrifically_ happy, _always_ happy, weren't you?" + +Lightbody was indignant. + +"Oh, how can you, at such a moment?" + +The new emotion gave him back his physical elasticity. He began to pace +up and down, declaiming at his friend, "I was happy, _ideally_ happy. I +never had a thought, not one, for anything else. I gave her everything. +I did everything she wanted. There never was a word between us. It was +_ideal_" + +De Gollyer, somewhat shamefaced, avoiding his angry glance, said +hastily: + +"So, so, I was quite wrong. I beg your pardon." + +"_Ideally_ happy," continued Lightbody, more insistently. "We had the +same thoughts, the same tastes, we read the same books. She had a mind, +a wonderful mind. It was an _ideal_ union." + +"The devil, I may be all wrong," thought De Gollyer to himself. He +crossed his arms, nodded his head, and this time it was with the +profoundest conviction that he repeated: + +"You adored her." + +"I _adored_ her," said Lightbody, with a ring to his voice. "Not a word +against her, not a word. It was not her fault. I know it's not her +fault." + +"You must go away," said De Gollyer, touching him on the shoulder. + +"Oh, I must! I couldn't stand it here in this room," said Lightbody +bitterly. His fingers wandered lightly over the familiar objects on the +desk, shrinking from each fiery contact. He sat down. "You're right, I +must get away." + +"You're dreadfully hard hit, aren't you?" + +"Oh, Jim!" + +Lightbody's hand closed over the book and he opened it mechanically in +the effort to master the memory. "This book--we were reading it last +night together." + +"Jack, look here," said De Gollyer, suddenly unselfish before such a +great grief, "you've got to be bucked up, boy, pulled together. I'll +tell you what I'll do. You're going to get right off. You're going to be +looked after. I'll knock off myself. I'll take you." + +Lightbody gave him his hand with a dumb, grateful look that brought a +quick lump to the throat of De Gollyer, who, in terror, purposely +increasing the lightness of his manner, sprang up with exaggerated +gaiety. + +"By Jove, fact is, I'm a bit dusty myself. Do me good. We'll run off +just as we did in the old days--good days, those. We knocked about a +bit, didn't we? Good days, eh, Jack?" + +Lightbody, continuing to gaze at the book, said: + +"Last night--only last night! Is it possible?" + +"Come, now, let's polish off Paris, or Vienna?" + +"No, no." Lightbody seemed to shrink at the thought. "Not that, nothing +gay. I couldn't bear to see others gay--happy." + +"Quite right. California?" + +"No, no, I want to get away, out of the country--far away." + +Suddenly an inspiration came to De Gollyer--a memory of earlier days. + +"By George, Morocco! Superb! The trip we planned out--Morocco--the very +thing!" + +Lightbody, at the desk still feebly fingering the leaves that he +indistinctly saw, muttered: + +"Something far away--away from people." + +"By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with +delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a +smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned +it seven years ago. IMMENSE!" + +"I don't care--anywhere." + +De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas. + +"My boy--the best thing in the world. Set you right up--terrific air, +smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing. +Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you +know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling, +"M-M-M--Morocco." + +Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily, +saying, "Anywhere, anywhere." + +"Back into harness again--the old camping days--immense." + +"I must get away." + +"There you are," said De Gollyer at length. With a deft movement he +slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, "Morocco, devilish +smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds." + +"Yes, yes." + +"You remember how we planned it," continued De Gollyer, artfully +blundering; "boat to Tangier, from Tangier bang across to Fez." + +At this Lightbody, watching the tracing finger, said with some +irritation, "No, no, down the coast first." + +"I beg your pardon," said De Gollyer; "to Fez, my dear fellow." + +"My dear boy, I know! Down the coast to Rabat." + +"Ah, now, you're sure? I think--" + +"And I _know_," said Lightbody, raising his voice and assuming +possession of the atlas, which he struck energetically with the back of +his hand. "I ought to know my own plan." + +"Yes, yes," said De Gollyer, to egg him on. "Still you're thoroughly +convinced about that, are you?" + +"Of course, I am! My dear Jim--come, isn't this my pet idea--the one +trip I've dreamed over, the one thing in the world I've longed to do, +all my life?" His eyes took energy, while his forefinger began viciously +to stab the atlas. "We go to Rabat. We go to Magazam, and we +cut--so--long sweep, into the interior, take a turn, so, and back to +Fez, so!" + +This speech, delivered with enthusiasm, made De Gollyer reflect. He +looked at the somewhat revived Lightbody with thoughtful curiosity. + +"Well, well--you may be right. You always are impressive, you know." + +"Right? Of course I'm right," continued Lightbody, unaware of his +friend's critical contemplation. "Haven't I worked out every foot of +it?" + +"A bit of a flyer in the game country, then? Topple over a rhino or so. +Stunning, smart sport, the rhino!" + +"By George, think of it--a chance at one of the brutes!" + +When De Gollyer had seen the eagerness in his friend's eyes, the imps +returned, ironically tumbling back. He slapped him on the shoulder as +Mephistopheles might gleefully claim his own, crying, "Immense!" + +"You know, Jim," said Lightbody, straightening up, nervously alert, +speaking in quick, eager accents, "it's what I've dreamed of--a chance +at one of the big beggars. By George, I have, all my life!" + +"We'll polish it off in ripping style, regiments of porters, red and +white tents, camels, caravans and all that sort of thing." + +"By George, just think of it." + +"In style, my boy--we'll own the whole continent, buy it up!" + +"The devil!" + +"What's the matter?" + +Lightbody's mood had suddenly dropped. He half pushed back his chair and +frowned. "It's going to be frightfully extravagant." + +"What of it?" + +"My dear fellow, you don't know what my expenses are--this apartment, an +automobile--Oh, as for you, it's all very well for you! You have ten +thousand a year and no one to care for but yourself." + +Suddenly he felt almost a hatred for his friend, and then a rebellion +at the renunciation he would have to make. + +"No--it can't be done. We'll have to give it up. Impossible, utterly +impossible, I can't afford it." + +De Gollyer, still a little uncertain of his ground, for several moments +waited, carefully considering the dubious expression on his friend's +face. Then he questioned abruptly: + +"What is your income--now?" + +"What do you mean by _now_?" + +"Fifteen thousand a year?" + +"It has always been that," replied Lightbody in bad humor. + +De Gollyer, approaching at last the great question, assumed an air of +concentrated firmness, tempered with well-mannered delicacy. + +"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. As a matter of fact it has always been +fifteen thousand--quite right, quite so; but--now, my dear boy, you are +too much of a man of the world to be offended, aren't you?" + +"No," said Lightbody, staring in front of him. "No, I'm not offended." + +"Of course it's delicate, ticklishly delicate ground, but then we must +look things in the face. Now if you'd rather I--" + +"No, go on." + +"Of course, dear boy, you've had a smashing knock and all that sort of +thing, but--" suddenly reaching out he took up the letter, and, letting +it hang from his fingers, thoughtfully considered it--"I say it might be +looked at in this way. Yesterday it was fifteen thousand a year to dress +up a dashing wife, modern New York style, the social pace, clothes that +must be smarter than Thingabob's wife, competitive dinners that you stir +up with your fork and your servants eat, and all that sort of thing, you +know. To-day it's fifteen thousand a year and a bachelor again." + +Releasing the letter, he disdainfully allowed it to settle down on the +desk, and finished: + +"Come now, as a matter of fact there is a little something consoling, +isn't there?" + +From the moment he had perceived De Gollyer's idea. Lightbody had become +very quiet, gazing steadily ahead, seeing neither the door nor the +retaining walls. + +"I never thought of that," he said, almost in a whisper. + +"Quite so, quite so. Of course one doesn't think of such things, right +at first. And you've had a knock-down--a regular smasher, old chap." He +stopped, cleared his voice and said sympathetically: "You adored her?" + +"I suppose I could give up the apartment and sell the auto," said +Lightbody slowly, speaking to himself. + +De Gollyer smiled--a bachelor smile. + +"Riches, my boy," he said, tapping him on the shoulder with the same +quick, awakening Mephistophelean touch. + +The contact raised Lightbody from revery. He drew back, shocked at the +ways through which his thoughts had wandered. + +"No, no, Jim," he said. "No, you mustn't, nothing like that--not at such +a time." + +"You're right," said De Gollyer, instantly masked in gravity. "You're +quite right. Still, we are looking things in the face--planning for the +future. Of course it's a delicate question, terrifically delicate. I'm +almost afraid to put it to you. Come, now, how shall I express +it--delicately? It's this way. Fifteen thousand a year divided by one is +fifteen thousand, isn't it; but fifteen thousand a year divided by two, +may mean--" He straightened up, heels clicking, throwing out his elbows +slightly and lifting his chin from the high, white stockade on which it +reposed. "Come, now, we're men of the world, aren't we? Now, as a matter +of fact how much of that fifteen thousand a year came back to you?" + +"My dear Jim," said Lightbody, feeling that generosity should be his +part, "a woman, a modern woman, a New York woman, you just said +it--takes--takes--" + +"Twelve thousand--thirteen thousand?" + +"Oh, come! Nonsense," said Lightbody, growing quite angry. "Besides, I +don't--" + +"Yes, yes, I know," said De Gollyer, interrupting him, now with fresh +confidence. "All the same your whiskies have gone off, dear boy--they've +gone off, and your cigars are bad, very bad. Little things, but they +show." + +A pencil lay before him. Lightbody, without knowing what he did, took it +up and mechanically on an unwritten sheet jotted down $15,000, drawing +the dollar sign with a careful, almost caressing stroke. The sheet was +the back of his wife's letter, but he did not notice it. + +De Gollyer, looking over his shoulder, exclaimed: + +"Quite right. Fifteen thousand, divided by one." + +"It will make a difference," said Lightbody slowly. Over his face passed +an expression such as comes but once in a lifetime; a look defying +analysis; a look that sweeps back over the past and challenges the +future and always retains the secret of its judgment. + +De Gollyer, drawing back slowly, allowed him a moment before saying: + +"And no alimony!" + +"What?" + +"Free and no alimony, my boy!" + +"No alimony?" said Lightbody, surprised at this new reasoning. + +"A woman who runs away gets no alimony," said De Gollyer loudly. "Not +here, not in the effete East!" + +"I hadn't thought of that, either," said Lightbody, who, despite +himself, could not repress a smile. + +De Gollyer, irritated perhaps that he should have been duped into +sympathy, ran on with a little vindictiveness. + +"Of course that means nothing to you, dear boy. You were happy, +_ideally_ happy! You adored her, didn't you?" + +He paused and then, receiving no reply, continued: + +"But you see, if you hadn't been so devilish lucky, so seraphically +happy all these years, you might find a certain humor in the situation, +mightn't you? Still, look it in the face, what have you lost, what have +you left? There is something in that. Fifteen thousand a year, liberty +and no alimony." + +The moment had come which could no longer be evaded. Lightbody rose, +turned, met the lurking malice in De Gollyer's eyes with the blank +indecision screen of his own, and, turning on his heel, went to a little +closet in the wall, and bore back a decanter and glasses. + +"This is not what we serve on the table," he said irrelevantly. "It's +whisky." + +De Gollyer poured out his drink and looked at Lightbody _en +connoisseur_. + +"You've gone off--old--six years. You were the smartest of the old +crowd, too. You certainly have gone off." + +Lightbody listened, with his eyes in his glass. + +"Jack, you're middle-aged--you've gone off--badly. It's hit you hard." + +There was a moment's silence and then Lightbody spoke quietly: + +"Jim!" + +"What is it, old boy?" + +"Do you want to know the truth?" + +"Come--out with it!" + +Lightbody struggled a moment, all the hesitation showing in his lips. +Then he said, slowly shaking his head, never lifting his eyes, speaking +as though to another: + +"Jim, I've had a hell of a time!" + +"Impossible!" + +"Yes." + +He lifted his glass until he felt its touch against his lips and +gradually set it down. "Why, Jim, in six years I've loved her so that +I've never done anything I wanted to do, gone anywhere I wanted to go, +drank anything I've wanted to drink, saw anything I wanted to see, wore +anything I wanted to wear, smoked anything I wanted to smoke, read +anything I wanted to read, or dined any one I wanted to dine! Jim, it +certainly has been a _domestic_ time!" + +"Good God! I can't believe it!" ejaculated De Gollyer, too astounded to +indulge his sense of humor. + +All at once a little fury seemed to seize Lightbody. His voice rose and +his gestures became indignant. + +"Married! I've been married to a policeman. Why, Jim, do you know what +I've spent on myself, really spent? Not two thousand, not one thousand, +not five hundred dollars a year. I've been poorer than my own clerk. I'd +hate to tell you what I paid for cigars and whisky. Everything went to +her, everything! And Jim--" he turned suddenly with a significant +glance--"such a temper!" + +"A temper? No, impossible, not that!" + +"Not violent--oh, no--but firm--smiling, you know, but irresistible." + +He drew a long breath charged with bitter memories and said between his +teeth, rebelling: "I always agreed." + +"Can it be? Is it possible?" commented De Gollyer, carefully mastering +his expression. + +Lightbody, on the new subject of his wrongs, now began to explode with +wrath. + +"And there's one thing more--one thing that hurts! You know what she +eloped in? She eloped in a hat, a big red hat, three white feathers--one +hundred and seventy-five dollars. I gave up a winter suit to get it." + +He strode over to the grotesquely large hat-box on the slender table, +and struck it with his fist. + +"Came this morning. Jim, she waited for that hat! Now, that isn't right! +That isn't delicate!" + +"No, by Jove, it certainly isn't delicate!" + +"Domesticity! Ha!" At the moment, with only the long vision of petty +tyranny before him, he could have caught her up in his hands and +strangled her. "Domesticity! I've had all I want of domesticity!" + +Suddenly the eternal fear awakening in him, he turned and commanded +authoritatively: + +"Never tell!" + +"Never!" + +De Gollyer, at forty-two, showed a responsive face, invincibly, gravely +sympathetic, patiently awaiting his climax, knowing that nothing is so +cumulatively dangerous as confession. + +Lightbody took up his glass and again approached it to his lips, +frowning at the thought of what he had revealed. All at once a fresh +impulse caught him, he put down his glass untasted, blurting out: + +"Do you want to know one thing more? Do you want to know the truth, the +real truth?" + +"Gracious heavens, there is something more?" + +"I never married her--never in God's world!" + +He ceased and suddenly, not to be denied, the past ranged itself before +him in its stark verity. + +"She married me!" + +"Is it possible?" + +"She did!" + +What had been an impulse suddenly became a certainty. + +"As I look back now, I can see it all--quite clear. Do you know how it +happened? I called three times--not one time more--three times! I liked +her--nothing more. She was an attractive-looking girl--a certain +fascination--she always has that--that's the worst of it--but gentle, +very gentle." + +"Extraordinary!" + +"On the third time I called--the third time, mind you," proceeded +Lightbody, attacking the table, "as I stood up to say good-by, all at +once--the lights went out." + +"The lights?" + +"When they went on again--I was engaged." + +"Great heavens!" + +"The old fainting trick." + +"Is it possible?" + +"I see it all now. A man sees things as they are at such a moment." + +He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. "Jim, she had those lights all +fixed!" + +"Frightful!" + +Lightbody, who had stripped his soul in confession, no longer was +conscious of shame. He struck the table, punctuating his wrath, and +cried: + +"And that's the truth! The solemn literal truth! That's my story!" + +To confess, it had been necessary to be swept away in a burst of anger. +The necessity having ceased, he crossed his arms, quite calm, laughing a +low, scornful laugh. + +"My dear boy," said De Gollyer, to relieve the tension, "as a matter of +fact, that's the way you're all caught." + +"I believe it," said Lightbody curtly. He had now an instinctive desire +to insult the whole female sex. + +"I know--a bachelor knows. The things I have seen and the things I have +heard. My dear fellow, as a matter of fact, marriage is all very well +for bankers and brokers, unconvicted millionaires, week domestic animals +in search of a capable housekeeper, you know, and all that sort of +thing, but for men of the world--like ourselves, it's a mistake. Don't +do it again, my boy--don't do it." + +Lightbody laughed a barking laugh that quite satisfied De Gollyer. + +"Husbands--modern social husbands--are excrescences--they don't count. +They're mere financial tabulators--nothing more than social +sounding-boards." + +"Right!" said Lightbody savagely. + +"Ah, you like that, do you?" said De Gollyer, pleased. "I do say a good +thing occasionally. Social sounding-boards! Why, Jack, in one-half of +the marriages in this country--no, by George, in two-thirds--if the +inconsequential, tabulating husband should come home to find a letter +like this--he'd be dancing a _can-can_!" + +Lightbody felt a flood of soul-easing laughter well up within him. He +bit his lip and answered: + +"No!" + +"Yes." + +"Pshaw!" + +"A _can-can_!" + +Lightbody, fearing to betray himself, did not dare to look at the +triumphant bachelor. He covered his eyes with his hands and sought to +fight down the joyful hysteria that began to shake his whole body. All +at once he caught sight of De Gollyer's impish eyes, and, unable longer +to contain himself, burst out laughing. The more he laughed at De +Gollyer, who laughed back at him, the more uncontrollable he became. +Tears came to his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, washing away all +illusions and self-deception, leaving only the joy of deliverance, +acknowledged at last. + +All at once holding his sides, he found a little breath and cried +combustibly: + +"A _can-can_!" + +Suddenly, with one impulse, they locked arms and pirouetted about the +room, flinging out destructive legs, hugging each other with bear-like +hugs as they had done in college days of triumph. Exhausted at last, +they reeled apart, and fell breathless into opposite chairs. There was a +short moment of weak, physical silence, and then Lightbody, shaking his +head, said solemnly: + +"Jim--Jim, that's the first real genuine laugh I've had in six vast +years!" + +"My boy, it won't be the last." + +"You bet it won't!" Lightbody sprang up, as out of the ashen cloak of +age the young Faust springs forth. "To-morrow--do you hear, to-morrow +we're off for Morocco!" + +"By way of Paris?" questioned De Gollyer, who likewise gained a dozen +years of youthfulness. + +"Certainly by way of Paris." + +"With a dash of Vienna?" + +"Run it off the map!" + +"Good old Jack! You're coming back, my boy, you're coming strong!" + +"Am I? Just watch!" Dancing over to the desk, he seized a dozen heavy +books: + +"'Evolution and Psychology,' 'Burning Questions!' 'Woman's Position in +Tasmania!' Aha!" + +One by one, he flung them viciously over his head, reckoning not the +crash with which they fell. Then with the same _pas de ballet_ he +descended on the hat-box and sent it from his boot crashing over the +piano. Before De Gollyer could exclaim, he was at the closet, working +havoc with the boxes of cigars. + +"Here, I say," said De Gollyer laughing, "look out, those are cigars!" + +"No, they're not," said Lightbody, pausing for a moment. Then, seizing +two boxes, he whirled about the room holding them at arms' length, +scattering them like the sparks of a pin-wheel, until with a final +motion he flung the emptied boxes against the ceiling, and, coming to an +abrupt stop, shot out a mandatory forefinger, and cried: + +"Jim, you dine with me!" + +"The fact is--" + +"No buts, no excuses! Break all engagements! To-night we celebrate!" + +"Immense!" + +"Round up the boys--all the boys--the old crowd. I'm middle-aged, am I?" + +"By George," said De Gollyer, in free admiration, "you're getting into +form, my boy, excellent form. Fine, fine, very fine!" + +"In half an hour at the Club." + +"Done." + +"Jim?" + +"Jack!" + +They precipitated themselves into each other's arms. Lightbody, as +delirious as a young girl at the thought of her first ball, cried: + +"Paris, Vienna, Morocco--two years around the world!" + +"On my honor!" + +Rapidly Lightbody, impatient for the celebration, put De Gollyer into +his coat and armed him with his cane. + +"In half an hour, Jim. Get Budd, get Reggie Longworth, and, I say, get +that little reprobate of a Smithy, will you?" + +"Yes, by George." + +At the door, De Gollyer, who, when he couldn't leave on an epigram, +liked to recall the best thing he had said, turned: + +"Never again, eh, old boy?" + +"Never," cried Lightbody, with the voice of a cannon. + +"No social sounding-board for us, eh?" + +"Never again!" + +"You do like that, don't you? I say a good thing now and then, don't I?" + +Lightbody, all eagerness, drove him down the hall, crying: + +"Round 'em up--round them all up! I'll show them if I've come back!" + +When he had returned, waltzing on his toes to the middle of the room, he +stopped and flung out his arms in a free gesture, inhaling a delicious +breath. Then, whistling busily, he went to a drawer in the book-shelves +and came lightly back, his arms crowded with time-tables, schedules of +steamers, maps of various countries. All at once, remembering, he seized +the telephone and, receiving no response, rang impatiently. + +"Central--hello--hello! Central, why don't you answer? Central, give +me--give me--hold up, wait a second!" He had forgotten the number of his +own club. In communication at last, he heard the well-modulated accents +of Rudolph--Rudolph who recognized his voice after six years. It gave +him a little thrill, this reminder of the life he was entering once +more. He ordered one of the dinners he used to order, and hung up the +receiver, with a smile and a little tightening about his heart at the +entry he, the prodigal, would make that night at the Club. + +Then, seizing a map of Morocco in one hand and a schedule of sailings in +the other, he sat down to plan, chanting over and over, "Paris, Vienna, +Morocco, India, Paris, Vienna--" + +At this moment, unnoticed by him, the doors moved noiselessly and Mrs. +Lightbody entered; a woman full of appealing movements in her lithe +body, and of quick, decisive perceptions in the straight, gray glance of +her eyes. She held with one hand a cloak fastened loosely about her +throat. On her head was the hat with the three white feathers. + +A minute passed while she stood, rapidly seizing every indication that +might later assist her. Then she moved slightly and said in a voice of +quiet sadness: + +"Jackie." + +"Great God!" + +Lightbody, overturning chair and table, sprang up--recoiling as one +recoils before an avenging specter. In his convulsive fingers were the +time-tables, clinging like damp lily pads. + +"Jackie, I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon you. I've come back." +Gently, seeming to move rather than to walk, advancing with none of the +uncertainty that was in her voice, she cried, with a little break: +"Forgive me!" + +"No, no, never!" + +He retreated behind a chair, fury in his voice, weak at the thought of +the floating, entangling scarf, and the perfume he knew so well. Then, +recovering himself, he cried brutally: + +"Never! You have given me my freedom. I'll keep it! Thanks!" + +With a gradual motion, she loosened her filmy cloak and let it slip from +the suddenly revealed shoulders and slender body. + +"No, no, I forbid you!" he cried. Anger--animal, instinctive +anger--began to possess him. He became brutal as he felt himself growing +weak. + +"Either you go out or I do!" + +"You will listen." + +"What? To lies?" + +"When you have heard me, you will understand, Jack." + +"There is nothing to be said. I have not the slightest intention of +taking back--" + +"Jack!" + +Her voice rang out with sudden impressiveness: "I swear to you I have +not met him, I swear to you I came back of my own free will, because I +could not meet him, because I found that it was you--you only--whom I +wanted!" + +"That is a lie!" + +She recoiled before the wound in his glance. She put her long white hand +over her heart, throwing all of herself into the glance that sought to +conquer him. + +"I swear it," she said simply. + +"Another lie!" + +"Jack!" + +It was a physical rage that held him now, a rage divided against +itself--that longed to strike down, to crush, to stifle the thing it +coveted. He had almost a fear of himself. He cried: + +"If you don't go, I'll--I'll--" + +Suddenly he found something more brutal than a blow, something that must +drive her away, while yet he had the strength of his passion. He +crossed his arms, looking at her with a cold look. + +"I'll tell you why you came back. You went to him for just one reason. +You thought he had more money than I had. You came back when you found +he hadn't." + +He saw her body quiver and it did him good. + +"That ends it," she said, hardly able to speak. She dropped her head +hastily, but not before he had seen the tears. + +"Absolutely." + +In a moment she would be gone. He felt all at once uneasy, ashamed--she +seemed so fragile. + +"My cloak--give me my cloak," she said, and her voice showed that she +accepted his verdict. + +He brought the cloak to where she stood wearily, and put it on her +shoulders, stepping back instantly. + +"Good-by." + +It was said more to the room than to him. + +"Good-by," he said dully. + +She took a step and then raised her eyes to his. + +"That was more than you had a right to say, even to me," she said +without reproach in her voice. + +He avoided her look. + +"You will be sorry. I know you," she said with pity for him. She went +toward the door. + +"I am sorry," he said impulsively. "I shouldn't have said it." + +"Thank you," she said, stopping and returning a little toward him. + +He drew back as though already he felt her arms about him. + +"Don't," she said, smiling a tired smile. "I'm not going to try that." + +Her instinct had given her possession of the scene. He felt it and was +irritated. + +"Only let us part quietly--with dignity," she said, "for we have been +happy together for six years." Then she said rapidly: + +"I want you to know that I shall do nothing to dishonor your name. I am +not going to him. That is ended." + +An immense curiosity came to him to learn the reason of this strange +avowal. But he realized it would never do for him to ask it. + +"Good-by, Jackie," she said, having waited a moment. "I shall not see +you again." + +He watched her leaving with the same moving grace with which she had +come. All at once he found a way of evasion. + +"Why don't you go to him?" he said harshly. + +She stopped but did not turn. + +"No," she said, shaking her head. And again she dared to continue toward +the door. + +"I shall not stand in your way," he said curtly, fearing only that she +would leave. "I will give you a divorce. I don't deny a woman's +liberty." + +She turned, saying: + +"Do you allow a woman liberty to know her own mind?" + +"What do you mean?" + +She came back until he almost could have touched her, standing looking +into his eyes with a wistful, searching glance, clasping and unclasping +her tense fingers. + +"Jack," she said, "you never really cared." + +"So it is all my fault!" he cried, snapping his arms together, sure now +that she would stay. + +"Yes, it is." + +"What!" he cried in a rage--already it was a different rage--"didn't I +give you anything you wanted, everything I had, all my time, all--" + +"All but yourself," she said quietly; "you were always cold." + +"I!" + +"You were! You were!" she said sharply, annoyed at the contradiction. +But quickly remembering herself, she continued with only a regretful +sadness in her voice: + +"Always cold, always matter-of-fact. Bob of the head in the morning, +jerk of the head at night. When I was happy over a new dress or a new +hat you never noticed it--until the bill came in. You were always +matter-of-fact, absolutely confident I was yours, body and soul." + +"By George, that's too much!" he cried furiously. "That's a fine one. +I'm to blame--of course I'm to blame!" + +She drew a step away from him, and said: + +"Listen! No, listen quietly, for when I've told you I shall go." + +Despite himself, his anger vanished at her quiet command. + +"If I listen," he thought, "it's all over." + +He still believed he was resisting, only he wanted to hear as he had +never wanted anything else--to learn why she was not going to the other +man. + +"Yes, what has happened is only natural," she said, drawing her eyebrows +a little together and seeming to reason more with herself. "It had to +happen before I could really be sure of my love for you. You men know +and choose from the knowledge of many women. A woman, such as I, coming +to you as a girl, must often and often ask herself if she would still +make the same choice. Then another man comes into her life and she makes +of him a test to know once and for all the answer to her question. Jack, +that was it. That was the instinct that drove me to try if I _could_ +leave you--the instinct I did not understand then, but that I do now, +when it's too late." + +"Yes, she is clever," he thought to himself, listening to her, desiring +her the more as he admired what he did not credit. He felt that he +wanted to be convinced and with a last angry resistance, said: + +"Very clever, indeed!" + +She looked at him with her clear, gray look, a smile in her eyes, +sadness on her lips. + +"You know it is true." + +He did not reply. Finally he said bruskly: + +"And when did--did the change come to you?" + +"In the carriage, when every turn of the wheel, every passing street, +was rushing me away from you. I thought of you--alone--lost--and +suddenly I knew. I beat with my fists on the window and called to the +coachman like a madman. I don't know what I said. I came back." + +She stopped, pressing back the tears that had started on her eyelids at +the memory. She controlled herself, gave a quick little nod, without +offering her hand, went toward the door. + +"What! I've got to call her back!" He said it to himself, adding +furiously: "Never!" + +He let her go to the door itself, vowing he would not make the advance. + +When the door was half open, something in him cried: "Wait!" + +She closed the door softly, but she did not immediately turn round. The +palms of her hands were wet with the cold, frightened sweat of that +awful moment. When she returned, she came to him with a wondering, +timid, girlish look in her eyes. + +"Oh, Jack, if you only could!" she said, and then only did she put out +her hands and let her fingers press over his heart. + +The next moment she was swept up in his arms, shrinking and very still. + +All at once he put her from him and said roughly: + +"What was his name?" + +"No, no!" + +"Give me his name," he said miserably. "I must know it." + +"No--neither now nor at any other time," she said firmly, and her look +as it met his had again all the old domination. "That is my condition." + +"Ah, how weak I have been," he said to himself, with a last bitter, +instinctive revolt. "How weak I am." + +She saw and understood. + +"We must be generous," she said, changing her voice quickly to +gentleness. "He has been pained enough already. He alone will suffer. +And if you knew his name it would only make you unhappy." + +He still rebelled, but suddenly to him came a thought which at first he +was ashamed to express. + +"He doesn't know?" + +She lied. + +"No." + +"He's still waiting--there?" + +"Yes." + +"Ah, he's waiting," he said to himself. + +A gleam of vanity, of triumph over the discarded, humiliated one, leaped +up fiercely within him and ended all the lingering, bitter memories. + +"Then you care?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder that he +might not see she had read such a thought. + +"Care?" he cried. He had surrendered. Now it was necessary to be +convinced. "Why, when I received your letter I--I was wild. I wanted to +do murder." + +"Jackie!" + +"I was like a madman--everything was gone--nothing was left." + +"Oh, Jack, how I have made you suffer!" + +"Suffer? Yes, I have suffered!" Overcome by the returning pain of the +memory, he dropped into a chair, trying to control his voice. "Yes, I +have suffered!" + +"Forgive me!" she said, slipping on her knees beside him, and burying +her head in his lap. + +"I was out of my head--I don't know what I did, what I said. It was as +though a bomb had exploded. My life was wrecked, shattered--nothing +left." + +He felt the grief again, even more acutely. He suffered for what he had +suffered. + +"Jack, I never really could have _abandoned_ you," she cried bitterly. +She raised her eyes toward him and suddenly took notice of the +time-tables that lay clutched in his hands. "Oh, you were going away!" + +He nodded, incapable of speech. + +"You were running away?" + +"I was running away--to forget--to bury myself!" + +"Oh, Jack!" + +"There was nothing here. It was all a blank! I was running away--to bury +myself!" + +At the memory of that miserable hopeless moment, in which he had +resolved on flight, the tears, no longer to be denied, came dripping +down his cheeks. + + + + +THE LIE + + + + +I + + +For some time they had ceased to speak, too oppressed with the needless +anguish of this their last night. At their feet the tiny shining windows +of Etretat were dropping back into the night, as though sinking under +the rise of that black, mysterious flood that came luminously from the +obscure regions of the faint sky. Overhead, the swollen August stars had +faded before the pale flush that, toward the lighthouse on the cliff, +heralded the red rise of the moon. + +He held himself a little apart, the better to seize every filmy detail +of the strange woman who had come inexplicably into his life, watching +the long, languorous arms stretched out into an impulsive clasp, the +dramatic harmony of the body, the brooding head, the soft, half-revealed +line of the neck. The troubling alchemy of the night, that before his +eyes slowly mingled the earth with the sea and the sea with the sky, +seemed less mysterious than this woman whose body was as immobile as the +stillness in her soul. + +All at once he felt in her, whom he had known as he had known no other, +something unknown, the coming of another woman, belonging to another +life, the life of the opera and the multitude, which would again flatter +and intoxicate her. The summer had passed without a doubt, and now, all +at once, something new came to him, indefinable, colored with the vague +terror of the night, the fear of other men who would come thronging +about her, in the other life, where he could not follow. + +Around the forked promontory to the east, the lights of the little +packet-boat for England appeared, like the red cinder in a pipe, +slipping toward the horizon. It was the signal for a lover's embrace, +conceived long ago in fancy and kept in tenderness. + +"Madeleine," he said, touching her arm. "There it is--our little boat." + +"Ah! _le p'tit bateau_--with its funny red and green eyes." + +She turned and raised her lips to his; and the kiss, which she did not +give but permitted, seemed only fraught with an ineffable sadness, the +end of all things, the tearing asunder and the numbness of separation. +She returned to her pose, her eyes fixed on the little packet, saying: + +"It's late." + +"Yes." + +"It goes fast." + +"Very." + +They spoke mechanically, and then not at all. The dread of the morning +was too poignant to approach the things that must be said. Suddenly, +with the savage directness of the male to plunge into the pain which +must be undergone, he began: + +"It was like poison--that kiss." + +She turned, forgetting her own anguish in the pain in his voice, +murmuring, "Ben, my poor Ben." + +"So you will go--to-morrow," he said bitterly, "back to the great public +that will possess you, and I shall remain--here, alone." + +"It must be so." + +He felt suddenly an impulse he had not felt before, an instinct to make +her suffer a little. He said brutally: + +"But you want to go!" + +She did not answer, but, in the obscurity, he knew her large eyes were +searching his face. He felt ashamed of what he had said, and yet because +she made no protestation, he persisted: + +"You have left off your jewels, those jewels you can't do without." + +"Not to-night." + +"You who are never happy without them--why not to-night?" + +As, carried away by the jealousy of what lay beyond, he was about to +continue, she laid her fingers on his lips, with a little brusk, nervous +movement of her shoulders. + +"Don't--you don't understand." + +But he understood and he resented the fact that she should have put +aside the long undulating rope of pearls, the rings of rubies and +emeralds that seemed as natural to her dark beauty as the roses to the +spring. He had tried to understand her woman's nature, to believe that +no memory yet lingered about them, to accept without question what had +never belonged longed to their life together, and remembering what he +had fought down he thought bitterly: + +"She has changed me more than I have changed her. It is always so." + +She moved a little, her pose, with instinctive dramatic sense, changing +with her changing mood. + +"Do not think I don't understand you," she said quietly. + +"What do you understand?" + +"It hurts you because I wish to return." + +"That is not so, Madeleine," he said abruptly. "You know what big things +I want you to do." + +"I know--only you would like me to say the contrary--to protest that I +would give it all up--be content to be with you alone." + +"No, not that," he said grudgingly, "and yet, this last night--here--I +should like to hear you say the contrary." + +She laughed a low laugh and caught his hand a little tighter. + +"That displeases you?" + +"No, no, of course not!" Presently she added with an effort: + +"There is so much that we must say to each other and we have not the +courage." + +"True, all summer we have never talked of what must come after." + +"I want you to understand why I go back to it all, why I wish every year +to be separated from you--yes, exactly, from you," she added, as his +fingers contracted with an involuntary movement. "Ben, what has come to +me I never expected would come. I love, but neither that word nor any +other word can express how absolutely I have become yours. When I told +you my life, you did not wonder how difficult it was for me to believe +that such a thing could be possible. But you convinced me, and what has +come to me has come as a miracle. I adore you. All my life has been +lived just for this great love; ah yes, that's what I believe, what I +feel." She leaned swiftly to him and allowed him to catch her to him in +his strong arms. Then slowly disengaging herself, she continued, "You +are a little hurt because I do not cry out what you would not accept, +because I do not say that I would give up everything if you asked it." + +"It is only to _hear_ it," he said impulsively. + +"But I have often wished it myself," she said slowly. "There's not a day +that I have not wished it--to give up everything and stay by you. Do you +know why? From the longing that's in me now, the first unselfish +longing I have ever had--to sacrifice myself for you in some way, +somehow. It is more than a hunger, it is a need of the soul--of my love +itself. It comes over me sometimes as tears come to my eyes when you are +away, and I say to myself, 'I love him,' and yet, Ben, I shall not, I +shall never give up my career, not now, not for years to come." + +"No," he said mechanically. + +"We are two great idealists, for that is what you have made me, Ben. +Before I was always laughing, and I believed in nothing. I despised even +what my sacrifice had won. Now, when I am with you, I remain in a +revery, and I am happy--happy with the happiness of things I cannot +understand. To-night, by your side, it seems to me I have never felt the +night before or known the mystery of the silent, faint hours. You have +made me feel the loneliness of the human soul, and that impulse it must +have before these things that are beyond us, that surround us, dominate +us, to cling almost in terror to another soul. You have so completely +made me over that it is as though you had created me yourself. I am +thirty-five. I have known everything else but what you have awakened in +me, and because I have this knowledge and this hunger I can see clearer +what we must do. You and I are a little romanesque, but remember that +even a great love may tire and grow stale, and that is what I won't +have, what must not be." Her voice had risen with the intensity of her +mood. She said more solemnly: "You are afraid of other men, of other +moods of mine--you have no reason. This love which comes to some as the +awakening of life is to me the end of all things. If anything should +wound it or belittle it, I should not survive it." + +She continued to speak, in a low unvarying voice. He felt his mind clear +and his doubts dissipate, and impatiently he waited for her to end, to +show her that his weakness of the moment was gone and that he was still +the man of big vision who had awakened her. + +"There are people who can put in order their love as they put in order +their house. We are not of that kind, Ben. I am a woman who has lived on +sensations. You, too, are a dreamer and a poet at the bottom. If I +should give up the opera and become to you simply a housewife, if there +was no longer any difficulty in our having each other, you would still +love me--yes, because you are loyal--but the romanticism, the mystery, +the longing we both need would vanish. Oh, I know. Well, you and I, we +are the same. We can only live on a great passion, and to have fierce, +unutterable joys we must suffer also--the suffering of separation. Do +you understand?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"That is why I shall never give up my career. That is why I can bear +the sadness of leaving you. I want you to be proud of me, Ben. I want +you to think of me as some one whom thousands desire and only you can +have. I want our love to be so intense that every day spent apart is +heavy with the longing for each other; every day together precious +because it will be a day nearer the awful coming of another separation. +Believe me, I am right. I have thought much about it. You have your +diplomatic career and your ambitions. You are proud. I have never asked +you to give that up to follow me. I would not insult you. In January you +will have a leave of absence, and we will be together for a few +wonderful weeks, and in May I shall return here. Nothing will be +changed." She extended her arm to where a faint red point still showed +on the unseen water. "And each night we will wait, as we have waited, +side by side, the coming of our little boat,--_notre p'tit bateau_" + +"You are right," he said, placing his lips to her forehead. "I was +jealous. I am sorry. It is over." + +"But I, too, am jealous," she said, smiling. + +"You?" + +"Of course--no one can love without being jealous. Oh, I shall be afraid +of every woman who comes near you. It will be an agony," she said, and +the fire in her eyes brought him more healing happiness than all her +words. + +"You are right," he repeated. + +He left her with a little pressure of the hand, and walked to the edge +of the veranda. A nervous, sighing breeze had come with the full coming +of the moon, and underneath him he heard the troubled rustle of leaves +in the obscurity, the sifting and drifting of tired, loose things, the +stir of the night which awakened a restless mood in his soul. He had +listened to her as she had proclaimed her love, and yet this love, +without illusions, sharply recalled to him other passions. He remembered +his first love, a boy-and-girl affair, and sharply contrasting it with a +sudden ache to this absence of impulse and illusions, of phrases, vows, +without logic, thrown out in the sweet madness of the moment. Why had +she not cried out something impulsive, promised things that could not +be. Then he realized, standing there in the harvest moonlight, in the +breaking up of summer, that he was no longer a youth, that certain +things could not be lived over, and that, as she had said, he too felt +that this was the great love, the last that he would share; that if it +ended, his youth ended and with his youth all that in him clung to life. + +He turned and saw her, chin in the flat of her palm, steadily following +his mood. He had taken but a dozen steps, and yet he had placed a +thousand miles between them. He had almost a feeling of treachery, and +to dispel these new unquiet thoughts he repeated to himself again: + +"She is right." + +But he did not immediately return. The memory of other loves, faint as +they had been in comparison with this all-absorbing impulse, had yet +given him a certain objective point of view. He saw himself clearly, and +he understood what of pain the future had in store for him. + +"How I shall suffer!" he said to himself. + +"You are going so far away from me," she said suddenly, warned by some +woman's instinct. + +He was startled at the conjunction of her words and his moods. He +returned hastily, and sat down beside her. She took his head in her +hands and looked anxiously into his eyes. + +"What is it?" she said. "You are afraid?" + +"A little," he said reluctantly. + +"Of what--of the months that will come?" + +"Of the past." + +"What do you mean?" she said, withdrawing a little as though disturbed +by the thought. + +"When I am with you I know there is not a corner of your heart that I do +not possess," he began evasively. + +"Well?" + +"Only it's the past--the habits of the past," he murmured. "I know you +so well, Madeleine, you have need of strength, you don't go on alone. +That is the genius of women like you--to reach out and attach to +themselves men who will strengthen them, compel them on." + +"Ah, I understand," she said slowly. + +"Yes, that is what I'm afraid of," he said rapidly. + +"You are thinking of the artist, not the woman." + +"Ah, there is no difference--not to a man who loves," he said +impulsively. "I know how great your love is for me, and I believe in it. +I know nothing will come to efface it. Only you will be lonely, you'll +have your trials and annoyances, days of depression, of doubt, when you +will need some one to restore your faith in yourself, your courage in +your work, and then, I don't say you will love any one else, but you +will need some one near you who loves you, always at your service--" + +"If you could only understand me," she said, interrupting him. "Men, +other men, are like actors to me. When I am on the stage, when I am +playing Manon, do you think I see who is playing Des Grieux? Not at all. +He is there, he gives me my _replique_, he excites my nerves, I say a +thousand things under my breath, when I am in his arms I adore him, but +when the curtain goes down, I go off the stage and don't even say good +night to him." + +"But he, he doesn't know that." + +"Of course not; tenors never do. Well, that is just the way I have +lived, that is just what men have meant to me. They give the _replique_ +to my moods, to my needs, and when I have no longer need of them, I go +off tranquilly. That is all there is to it. I take from them what I +want. Of course they will be around me, but they will be nothing to me. +They will be like managers, press-agents, actors. Don't you understand +that?" + +"Yes, yes, I understand," he said without sincerity. Then he blurted +out, "I wish you had not said it, all the same." + +"Why?" + +"I cannot see it as you see it, and besides, you put a doubt in my mind +that I never wish to feel." + +"What doubt?" + +"Do I really have you, or only a mood of yours?" + +"Ben!" + +"I know. I know. No, I am not going to think such things. That would be +unworthy of what we have felt." He paused a moment, and when he spoke +again his voice was under control. "Madeleine, remember well what I say +to you now. I shall probably never again speak to you with such absolute +truth, or even acknowledge it to myself. I accept the necessity of +separation. I know all the sufferings it will bring, all the doubts, the +unreasoning jealousies. I am big enough in experience to understand what +you have just suggested to me, but as a man who loves you, Madeleine, I +will never understand it. I know that a dozen men may come into your +life, interest you intensely, even absorb you for a while, and that they +would still mean nothing to you the moment I come. Well, I am +different. A man is different. While you are away, I shall not see a +woman without resentment; I shall not think of any one but you, and if I +did, I would cease to love you." + +"But why?" + +"Because I cannot share anything of what belongs to you. That is my +nature. There is no use in pretending the contrary. Yours is different, +and I understand why it is so. I have listened to many confidences, +understood many lives that others would not understand. I have always +maintained that it is the natural thing for a human being to love many +times--even that there might he in the same heart a great, overpowering +love and a little one. I still believe it--with my mind. I know it is +so. These are the things we like to analyze in human nature together. I +know it is true, but it is not true for me. No, I would never understand +it in you. I know myself too well, I am jealous of everything of the +past--oh, insanely jealous. I know that no sooner are you gone than I +will be tortured by the most ridiculous doubts. I will see you in the +moonlight all across that endless sea with other men near you. I will +dream of other men with millions, ready to give you everything your eyes +adore. I will imagine men of big minds that will fascinate you. I will +even say to myself that now that you have known what a great love can +mean you will all the more be likely to need it, to seek something to +counterfeit it--" + +"Ben, my poor Ben--frightful," she murmured. + +"That is how it is. Shall I tell you something else?" + +"What?" + +"I wish devoutly you had never told me a word of--of the past." + +"But how can you say such things? We have been honest with each other. +You yourself--" + +"I know, I know, I have no right myself, and yet there it is. It is +something fearful, this madness of possession that comes to me. No, I +have no fear that I will not always be first in your heart, only I +understand the needs, the habits, of your nature. I understand myself +now as I have not before, and that's why I say to you solemnly, +Madeleine, if ever for a moment another man should come into your +life--never, never, let me know." + +"But--" + +"No, don't say anything that I may remember to torture me. Lie to me." + +"I have never lied." + +"Madeleine, it is better to be merciful than to tell the truth, and, +after all, what does such a confession mean? It only means that you free +your conscience and that the wound--the ache--remains with the other. +Whatever happens, never tell me. Do you understand?" + +This time she made no answer. She even ceased to look at him, her head +dropped back, her arms motionless, one finger only revolving slowly on +the undulating arm of her chair. + +"I shall try by all the strength that is in me never to ask that +question," he rushed on. "I know I shall make a hundred vows not to do +so, and I know that the first time I look into your face I shall blurt +it out. Ah, if--if--if it must be so, never let me know, for there are +thoughts I cannot bear now that I've known you." He flung himself at her +side and took her roughly in his arms. "Madeleine, I know what I am +saying. I may tell you the contrary later. I may say it lightly, +pretending it is of no importance. I may beg the truth of you with tears +in my eyes--I may swear to you that nothing but honesty counts between +us, that I can understand, forgive, forget everything. Well, whatever I +say or do, never, never let me know--if you value my happiness, my peace +of mind, my life even!" + +She laid her hand on his lips and then on his forehead to calm him, +drawing his head to her shoulder. + +"Listen, Ben," she said, gently. "I, the Madeleine Conti who loves you, +am another being. I adore you so that I shall hate all other men, as you +will hate all other women. There will never be the slightest deceit or +infidelity between us. Ask any questions of me at any time. I know there +can be from now on but one answer. Have no fear. Do not tire yourself +in a senseless fever. There is so little time left. I love you." + +Never had he heard her voice so deep with sincerity and tenderness, and +yet, as he surrendered to the touch of her soft hands, yielding up all +his doubts, he was conscious of a new alarm creeping into his heart; +and, dissatisfied with what he himself had a moment before implored, in +the breath with which he whispered, "I believe you," he said to himself: + +"Does she say that because she believes it or has she begun to lie?" + + + + +II + + +For seven years they lived the same existence, separated sometimes for +three months, occasionally for six, and once because of a trip taken to +South America for nearly a year. + +The first time that he joined her, after five months of longing, he +remained a week without crying out the words that were heavy on his +heart. One day she said to him: + +"What is there--back of your eyes, hidden away, that you are stifling?" + +"You know," he blurted out. + +"What?" + +"Ah, I have tried not to say it, to live it down. I can't--it's beyond +me. I shall have no peace until it is said." + +"Then say it." + +He took her face in his two hands and looked into her eyes. + +"Since I have been away," he said brutally, "there has been no one else +in your heart? You have been true to me, to our love?" + +"I have been true," she answered with a little smile. + +He held his eyes on hers a long while, hesitating whether to be silent +or to continue, and then, all at once, convinced, burst into tears and +begged her pardon. + +"Oh, I shouldn't have asked it--forgive me." + +"Do whatever is easiest for you, my love," she answered. "There is +nothing to forgive. I understand all. I love you for it." + +Only she never asked him any questions, and that alarmed him. + +The second time report had coupled her name with a Gabriel Lombardi, a +great baritone with whom she was appearing. When he arrived, as soon as +they were alone, he swung her about in his arms and cried in a strangled +voice: + +"Swear to me that you have been faithful." + +"I swear." + +"Gabriel Lombardi"? + +"I can't abide him". + +"Ah, if I had never told you to lie to me--fool that I was." + +Then she said calmly, with that deep conviction which always moved him: +"Ben, when you asked me that, I told you I would never lie. I have told +you the truth. No man has ever had the pressure of my fingers, and no +man ever will." + +So intense had been his emotion that he had almost a paroxysm. When he +opened his eyes he found her face wet with tears. + +"Ah, Madeleine," he said, "I am brutal with you. I cannot help it." + +"I would not have you love me differently," she said gently, and through +her tears he seemed to see a faint, elusive smile, that was gone quickly +if it was ever there at all. + +Another time, he said to himself: "No, I will say nothing. She will come +to me herself, put her arms around me, and tell me with a smile that no +other thought has been in her heart all this while. That's it. If I wait +she will make the move, she will make the move each time--and that will +be much better." + +He waited three days, but she made no allusion. He waited another, and +then he said lightly: + +"You see, I am reforming." + +"How so?" + +"Why, I don't ask foolish questions any more." + +"That's so." + +"Still--" + +"Well?" she said, looking up. + +"Still, you might have guessed what I wanted," he answered, a little +hurt. + +She rose quickly and came lightly to him, putting her hand on his +shoulder. + +"Is that what you wish?" she said. + +"Yes." + +She repeated slowly her protestations and when she had ended, said, +"Take me in your arms--hurt me." + +"Now she will understand," he thought; "the next time she will not +wait." + +But each time, though he martyrized his soul in patience, he was forced +to bring up the question that would not let him rest. + +He could not understand why she did not save him this useless agony. +Sometimes when he wanted to find an excuse he said to himself it was +because she felt humiliated that he should still doubt. At other times, +he stumbled on explanations that terrified him. Then he remembered with +bitterness the promise that he had exacted from her, a promise that, +instead of bringing him peace, had left only an endless torment, and +forgetting all his protestations he would cry to himself, in a cold +perspiration: + +"Ah, if she is really lying, how can I ever be sure?" + + + + +III + + +In the eighth year, Madeleine Conti retired from the stage and announced +her marriage. After five years of complete happiness she was taken +suddenly ill, as the result of exposure to a drenching storm. One +afternoon, as he waited by her bedside, talking in broken tones of all +that they had been to each other, he said to her in a voice that he +tried nervously to school to quietness: + +"Madeleine, you know that our life together has been without the +slightest shadow from the first. You know we have proved to each other +how immense our love has been. In all these years I have grown in +maturity and understanding. I regret only one thing, and I have +regretted it bitterly, every day--that I once asked you, if--if ever for +a moment another man came into your life to hide it from me, to tell me +a lie. It was a great mistake. I have never ceased to regret it. Our +love has been so above all worldly things that there ought not to be the +slightest concealment between us. I release you from that promise. Tell +me now the truth. It will mean nothing to me. During the eight years +when we were separated there were--there must have been times, times of +loneliness, of weakness, when other men came into your life. Weren't +there?" + +She turned and looked at him steadily, her large eyes seeming larger and +more brilliant from the heightened fever of her cheeks. Then she made a +little negative sign of her head, still looking at him. + +"No, never." + +"You don't understand, Madeleine," he said, dissatisfied, "or you are +still thinking of what I said to you there in Etretat. That was thirteen +years ago. Then I had just begun to love you, I feared for the future, +for everything. Now I have tested you, and I have never had a doubt. I +know the difference between the flesh and the spirit. I know your two +selves; I know how impossible it would have been otherwise. Now you can +tell me." + +"There is nothing--to tell," she said slowly. + +"I expected that you would have other men who loved you about you," he +said, feverishly. "I knew it would be so. I swear to you I expected it. +I know why you continue to deny it. It's for my sake, isn't it? I love +you for it. But, believe me, in such a moment there ought nothing to +stand between us. Madeleine, Madeleine, I beg you, tell me the truth." + +She continued to gaze at him fixedly, without turning away her great +eyes, as forgetting himself, he rushed on: + +"Yes, let me know the truth--that will be nothing now. Besides, I have +guessed it. Only I must know one way or the other. All these years I +have lived in doubt. You see what it means to me. You must understand +what is due me after all our life together. Madeleine, did you lie to +me?" + +"No." + +"Listen," he said, desperately. "You never asked me the same +question--why, I never understood--but if you had questioned me I could +not have answered truthfully what you did. There, you see, there is no +longer the slightest reason why you should not speak the truth." + +She half closed her eyes--wearily. + +"I have told--the truth." + +"Ah, I can't believe it," he cried, carried away. "Oh, cursed day when I +told you what I did. It's that which tortures me. You adore me--you +don't wish to hurt me, to leave a wound behind, but I swear to you if +you told me the truth I should feel a great weight taken from my heart, +a weight that has been here all these years. I should know that every +corner of your soul had been shown to me, nothing withheld. I should +know absolutely, Madeleine, believe me, when I tell you this, when I +tell you I must know. Every day of my life I have paid the penalty, I +have suffered the doubts of the damned, I have never known an hour's +peace! I beg you, I implore you, only let me know the truth; the +truth--I must know the truth!" + +He stopped suddenly, trembling all over, and held out his hands to her, +his face lashed with suffering. + +"I have not lied," she said slowly, after a long study. She raised her +eyes, feebly made the sign of the cross, and whispered, "I swear it." + +Then he no longer held in his tears. He dropped his head, and his body +shook with sobs, while from time to time he repeated, "Thank God, thank +God." + + + + +IV + + +The next day Madeleine Conti had a sudden turn for the worse, which +surprised the attendants. Doctor Kimball, the American, doctor, and Père +François, who had administered the last rites, were walking together in +the little formal garden, where the sun flung short, brilliant shadows +of scattered foliage about them. + +"She was an extraordinary artist and her life was more extraordinary," +said Dr. Kimball. "I heard her début at the Opéra Comique. For ten years +her name was the gossip of all Europe. Then all at once she meets a man +whom no one knows, falls in love, and is transformed. These women are +really extraordinary examples of hysteria. Each time I know one it makes +me understand the scientific phenomenon of Mary Magdalene. It is really +a case of nerve reaction. The moral fever that is the fiercest burns +itself out the quickest and seems to leave no trace behind. In this case +love came also as a religious conversion. I should say the phenomena +were identical." + +"She was happy," said the curé, turning to go. + +"Yes, it was a great romance." + +"A rare one. She adored him. Love is a tide that cleanses all." + +"Yet she was of the stage up to the last. You know she would not have +her husband in the room at the end." + +"She had a great heart," said the curé quietly. "She wished to spare +him that suffering." + +"She had an extraordinary will," said the doctor, glancing at him +quickly. He added, tentatively: "She asked two questions that were +curious enough." + +"Indeed," said the curé, lingering a moment with his hand on the gate. + +"She wanted to know whether persons in a delirium talked of the past and +if after death the face returned to its calm." + +"What did you say to her about the effects of delirium?" said the curé +with his blank face. + +"That it was a point difficult to decide," said the doctor slowly. +"Undoubtedly, in a delirium, everything is mixed, the real and the +imagined, the memory and the fantasy, actual experience and the inner +dream-life of the mind which is so difficult to classify. It was after +that, that she made her husband promise to see her only when she was +conscious and to remain away at the last." + +"It is easily understood," said the curé quietly, without change of +expression on his face that held the secrets of a thousand +confessionals. "As you say, for ten years she had lived a different +life. She was afraid that in her delirium some reference to that time +might wound unnecessarily the man who had made over her life. She had a +great courage. Peace be with her soul." + +"Still,"--Doctor Kimball hesitated, as though considering the phrasing +of a delicate question; but Father François, making a little amical sign +of adieu, passed out of the garden, and for a moment his blank face was +illumined by one of those rare smiles, such as one sees on the faces of +holy men; smiles that seem in perfect faith to look upon the mysteries +of the world to come. + + + + +EVEN THREES + + + + +I + +Ever since the historic day when a visiting clergyman accomplished the +feat of pulling a ball from the tenth tee at an angle of two hundred and +twenty-five degrees into the river that is the rightful receptacle for +the eighth tee, the Stockbridge golf-course has had seventeen out of the +eighteen holes that are punctuated with possible water hazards. The +charming course itself lies in the flat of the sunken meadows which the +Housatonic, in the few thousand years which are necessary for the proper +preparation of a golf-course, has obligingly eaten out of the high, +accompanying bluffs. The river, which goes wriggling on its way as +though convulsed with merriment, is garnished with luxurious elms and +willows, which occasionally deflect to the difficult putting-greens the +random slices of certain notorious amateurs. + +From the spectacular bluffs of the educated village of Stockbridge +nothing can be imagined more charming than the panorama that the course +presents on a busy day. Across the soft, green stretches, diminutive +caddies may be seen scampering with long buckling-nets, while from the +river-banks numerous recklessly exposed legs wave in the air as the more +socially presentable portions hang frantically over the swirling +current. Occasionally an enthusiastic golfer, driving from the eighth or +ninth tees, may be seen to start immediately in headlong pursuit of a +diverted ball, the swing of the club and the intuitive leap of the legs +forward forming so continuous a movement that the main purpose of the +game often becomes obscured to the mere spectator. Nearer, in the +numerous languid swales that nature has generously provided to protect +the interests of the manufacturers, or in the rippling patches of unmown +grass, that in the later hours will be populated by enthusiastic +caddies, desperate groups linger in botanizing attitudes. + +Every morning lawyers who are neglecting their clients, doctors who have +forgotten their patients, business men who have sacrificed their +affairs, even ministers of the gospel who have forsaken their churches, +gather in the noisy dressing-room and listen with servile attention +while some unscrubbed boy who goes around under eighty imparts a little +of his miraculous knowledge. + +Two hours later, for every ten that have gone out so blithely, two +return crushed and despondent, denouncing and renouncing the game, once +and for all, absolutely and finally, until the afternoon, when they +return like thieves in the night and venture out in a desperate hope; +two more come stamping back in even more offensive enthusiasm; and the +remainder straggle home moody and disillusioned, reviving their sunken +spirits by impossible tales of past accomplishments. + +There is something about these twilight gatherings that suggests the +degeneracy of a rugged race; nor is the contamination of merely local +significance. There are those who lie consciously, with a certain frank, +commendable, whole-hearted plunge into iniquity. Such men return to +their worldly callings with intellectual vigor unimpaired and a natural +reaction toward the decalogue. Others of more casuistical temperament, +unable all at once to throw over the traditions of a New England +conscience to the exigencies of the game, do not burst at once into +falsehood, but by a confusing process weaken their memories and corrupt +their imaginations. They never lie of the events of the day. Rather they +return to some jumbled happening of the week before and delude +themselves with only a lingering qualm, until from habit they can create +what is really a form of paranoia, the delusion of greatness, or the +exaggerated ego. Such men, inoculated with self-deception, return to the +outer world, to deceive others, lower the standards of business +morality, contaminate politics, and threaten the vigor of the republic. +R.N. Booverman, the Treasurer, and Theobald Pickings, the unenvied +Secretary of an unenvied hoard, arrived at the first tee at precisely +ten o'clock on a certain favorable morning in early August to begin the +thirty-six holes which six times a week, six months of the year, they +played together as sympathetic and well-matched adversaries. Their +intimacy had arisen primarily from the fact that Pickings was the only +man willing to listen to Booverman's restless dissertations on the +malignant fates which seemed to pursue him even to the neglect of their +international duties, while Booverman, in fair exchange, suffered +Pickings to enlarge ad libitum on his theory of the rolling versus the +flat putting-greens. + +Pickings was one of those correctly fashioned and punctilious golfers +whose stance was modeled on classic lines, whose drive, though it +averaged only twenty-five yards over the hundred, was always a +well-oiled and graceful exhibition of the Royal St. Andrew's swing, the +left sole thrown up, the eyeballs bulging with the last muscular +tension, the club carried back until the whole body was contorted into +the first position of the traditional hoop-snake preparing to descend a +hill. He used the interlocking grip, carried a bag with a spoon driver, +an aluminium cleek, three abnormal putters, and wore one chamois glove +with air-holes on the back. He never accomplished the course in less +than eighty five and never exceeded ninety four, but, having aimed to +set a correct example rather than to strive vulgarly for professional +records, was always in a state of offensive optimism due to a complete +sartorial satisfaction. + +Booverman, on the contrary, had been hailed in his first years as a +coming champion. With three holes eliminated, he could turn in a card +distinguished for its fours and threes; but unfortunately these sad +lapses inevitably occurred. As Booverman himself admitted, his +appearance on the golf-links was the signal for the capricious imps of +chance who stir up politicians to indiscreet truths and keep the Balkan +pot of discord bubbling, to forsake immediately these prime duties, and +enjoy a little relaxation at his expense. + +Now, for the first three years Booverman responded in a manner to +delight imp and devil. When standing thirty-four for the first six +holes, he sliced into the jungle, and, after twenty minutes of frantic +beating of the bush, was forced to acknowledge a lost ball and no score, +he promptly sat down, tore large clutches of grass from the sod, and +expressed himself to the admiring delight of the caddies, who favorably +compared his flow of impulsive expletives to the choice moments of their +own home life. At other times he would take an offending club firmly in +his big hands and break it into four pieces, which he would drive into +the ground, hurling the head itself, with a last diabolical gesture, +into the Housatonic River, which, as may be repeated, wriggles its way +through the course as though convulsed with merriment. + +There were certain trees into which he inevitably drove, certain waggish +bends of the river where, no matter how he might face, he was sure to +arrive. There was a space of exactly ten inches under the clubhouse +where his balls alone could disappear. He never ran down a long put, but +always hung on the rim of the cup. It was his adversary who executed +phenomenal shots, approaches of eighty yards that dribbled home, sliced +drives that hit a fence and bounded back on the course. Nothing of this +agreeable sort had ever happened or could ever happen to him. Finally +the conviction of a certain predestined damnation settled upon him. He +no longer struggled; his once rollicking spirits settled into a moody +despair. Nothing encouraged him or could trick him into a display of +hope. If he achieved a four and two twos on the first holes, he would +say vindictively: + +"What's the use? I'll lose my ball on the fifth." + +And when this happened, he no longer swore, but said gloomily with even +a sense of satisfaction: "You can't get me excited. Didn't I know it +would happen?" + +Once in a while he had broken out, "If ever my luck changes, if it +comes all at once--" + +But he never ended the sentence, ashamed, as it were, to have indulged +in such a childish fancy. Yet, as Providence moves in a mysterious way +its wonders to perform, it was just this invincible pessimism that alone +could have permitted Booverman to accomplish the incredible experience +that befell him. + + + + +II + + +Topics of engrossing mental interests are bad form on the golf-links, +since they leave a disturbing memory in the mind to divert it from that +absolute intellectual concentration which the game demands. Therefore +Pickings and Booverman, as they started toward the crowded first tee, +remarked _de rigueur_: + +"Good weather." + +"A bit of a breeze." + +"Not strong enough to affect the drives." + +"The greens have baked out." + +"Fast as I've seen them." + +"Well, it won't help me." + +"How do you know?" said Pickings, politely, for the hundredth time. +"Perhaps this is the day you'll get your score." + +Booverman ignored this set remark, laying his ball on the rack, where +two predecessors were waiting, and settled beside Pickings at the foot +of the elm which later, he knew, would rob him of a four on the home +green. + +Wessels and Pollock, literary representatives, were preparing to drive. +They were converts of the summer, each sacrificing their season's output +in a frantic effort to surpass the other. Pickings, the purist, did not +approve of them in the least. They brought to the royal and ancient game +a spirit of Bohemian irreverence and banter that offended his serious +enthusiasm. + +When Wessels made a convulsive stab at his ball and luckily achieved +good distance, Pollock remarked behind his hand, "A good shot, damn it!" + +Wessels stationed himself in a hopefully deprecatory attitude and +watched Pollock build a monument of sand, balance his ball, and +whistling nervously through his teeth, lunge successfully down. +Whereupon, in defiance of etiquette, he swore with equal fervor, and +they started off. + +Pickings glanced at Booverman in a superior and critical way, but at +this moment a thin, dyspeptic man with undisciplined whiskers broke in +serenely without waiting for the answers to the questions he propounded: + +"Ideal weather, eh? Came over from Norfolk this morning; ran over at +fifty miles an hour. Some going, eh? They tell me you've quite a course +here; record around seventy-one, isn't it? Good deal of water to keep +out of? You gentlemen some of the cracks? Course pretty fast with all +this dry weather? What do you think of the one-piece driver? My friend, +Judge Weatherup. My name's Yancy--Cyrus P." + +A ponderous person who looked as though he had been pumped up for the +journey gravely saluted, while his feverish companion rolled on: + +"Your course's rather short, isn't it? Imagine it's rather easy for a +straight driver. What's your record? Seventy-one amateur? Rather high, +isn't it? Do you get many cracks around here? Caddies seem scarce. Did +either of you gentlemen ever reflect how surprising it is that better +scores aren't made at this game? Now, take seventy-one; that's only one +under fours, and I venture to say at least six of your holes are +possible twos, and all the rest, sometime or other, have been made in +three. Yet you never hear of phenomenal scores, do you, like a run of +luck at roulette or poker? You get my idea?" + +"I believe it is your turn, sir," said Pickings, both crushing and +parliamentary. "There are several waiting." + +Judge Weatherup drove a perfect ball into the long grass, where +successful searches averaged ten minutes, while his voluble companion, +with an immense expenditure of force, foozled into the swale to the +left, which was both damp and retentive. + +"Shall we play through?" said Pickings, with formal preciseness. He +teed his ball, took exactly eight full practice swings, and drove one +hundred and fifty yards as usual directly in the middle of the course. + +"Well, it's straight; that's all can be said for it," he said, as he +would say at the next seventeen tees. + +Booverman rarely employed that slogan. That straight and narrow path was +not in his religious practice. He drove a long ball, and he drove a +great many that did not return in his bag. He glanced resentfully to the +right, where Judge Weatherup was straddling the fence, and to the left, +where Yancy was annoying the bullfrogs. + +"Darn them!" he said to himself. "Of course now I'll follow suit." + +But whether or not the malignant force of suggestion was neutralized by +the attraction in opposite directions, his drive went straight and far, +a beautiful two hundred and forty yards. + +"Tine shot, Mr. Booverman," said Frank, the professional, nodding his +head, "free and easy, plenty of follow-through." + +"You're on your drive to-day," said Pickings, cheerfully. + +"Sure! When I get a good drive off the first tee," said Booverman +discouraged, "I mess up all the rest. You'll see." + +"Oh, come now," said Pickings, as a matter of form. He played his shot, +which came methodically to the edge of the green. + +Booverman took his mashy for the short running-up stroke to the pin, +which seemed so near. + +"I suppose I've tried this shot a thousand times," he said savagely. +"Any one else would get a three once in five times--any one but Jonah's +favorite brother." + +He swung carelessly, and watched with a tolerant interest the white ball +roll on to the green straight for the flag. All at once Wessels and +Pollock, who were ahead, sprang into the air and began agitating their +hats. + +"By George! it's in!" said Pickings. "You've run it down. First hole in +two! Well, what do you think of that?" + +Booverman, unconvinced, approached the hole with suspicion, gingerly +removing the pin. At the bottom, sure enough, lay his ball for a +phenomenal two. + +"That's the first bit of luck that has ever happened to me," he said +furiously; "absolutely the first time in my whole career." + +"I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry +about it, are you?" + +"Well, I don't know whether I am or not," said Booverman, obstinately. +In fact, he felt rather defrauded. The integrity of his record was +attacked. "See here, I play thirty-six holes a day, two hundred and +sixteen a week, a thousand a month, six thousand a year; ten years, +sixty thousand holes; and this is the first time a bit of luck has ever +happened to me--once in sixty thousand times." + +Pickings drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. + +"It may come all at once," he said faintly. + +This mild hope only infuriated Booverman. He had already teed his ball +for the second hole, which was poised on a rolling hill one hundred and +thirty-five yards away. It is considered rather easy as golf-holes go. +The only dangers are a matted wilderness of long grass in front of the +tee, the certainty of landing out of bounds on the slightest slice, or +of rolling down hill into a soggy substance on a pull. Also there is a +tree to be hit and a sand-pit to be sampled. + +"Now watch my little friend the apple-tree," said Booverman. "I'm going +to play for it, because, if I slice, I lose my ball, and that knocks my +whole game higher than a kite." He added between his teeth: "All I ask +is to get around to the eighth hole before I lose my ball. I know I'll +lose it there." + +Due to the fact that his two on the first brought him not the slightest +thrill of nervous joy, he made a perfect shot, the ball carrying the +green straight and true. + +"This is your day all right," said Pickings, stepping to the tee. + +"Oh, there's never been anything the matter with my irons," said +Booverman, darkly. "Just wait till we strike the fourth and fifth +holes." + +When they climbed the hill, Booverman's ball lay within three feet of +the cup, which he easily putted out. + +"Two down," said Pickings, inaudibly. "By George! what a glorious +start!" + +"Once in sixty thousand times," said Booverman to himself. The third +hole lay two hundred and five yards below, backed by the road and +trapped by ditches, where at that moment Pollock, true to his traditions +as a war correspondent, was laboring in the trenches, to the +unrestrained delight of Wessels, who had passed beyond. + +"Theobald," said Booverman, selecting his cleek and speaking with +inspired conviction, "I will tell you exactly what is going to happen. I +will smite this little homeopathic pill, and it will land just where I +want it. I will probably put out for another two. Three holes in twos +would probably excite any other human being on the face of this globe. +It doesn't excite me. I know too well what will follow on the fourth or +fifth. Watch." + +"Straight to the pin," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "You've got a +dead line on every shot to-day. Marvelous! When you get one of your +streaks, there's certainly no use in my playing." + +"Streak's the word," said Booverman, with a short, barking laugh. "Thank +heaven, though, Pickings, I know it! Five years ago I'd have been +shaking like a leaf. Now it only disgusts me. I've been fooled too +often; I don't bite again." + +In this same profoundly melancholic mood he approached his ball, which +lay on the green, hole high, and put down a difficult put, a good three +yards for his third two. + +Pickings, despite all his classic conservatism, was so overcome with +excitement that he twice putted over the hole for a shameful five. + +Booverman's face as he walked to the fourth tee was as joyless as a +London fog. He placed his ball carelessly, selected his driver, and +turned on the fidgety Pickings with the gloomy solemnity of a father +about to indulge in corporal punishment. + +"Once in sixty thousand times, Picky. Do you realize what a start like +this--three twos--would mean to a professional like Frank or even an +amateur that hadn't offended every busy little fate and fury in the +whole hoodooing business? Why, the blooming record would be knocked into +the middle of next week." + +"You'll do it," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "Play carefully." + +Booverman glanced down the four-hundred-yard straightaway and murmured +to himself: + + "I wonder, little ball, whither will you fly? + I wonder, little ball, have I bid you good-by? + Will it be 'mid the prairies in the regions to the west? + Will it be in the marshes where the pollywogs nest? + Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?" + +[Illustration: "Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"] + +He pronounced the last word with a settled conviction, and drove another +long, straight drive. Pickings, thrilled at the possibility of another +miracle, sliced badly. + +"This is one of the most truly delightful holes of a picturesque +course," said Booverman, taking out an approaching cleek for his second +shot. "Nothing is more artistic than the tiny little patch of +putting-green under the shaggy branches of the willows. The receptive +graveyard to the right gives a certain pathos to it, a splendid, quiet +note in contrast to the feeling of the swift, hungry river to the left, +which will now receive and carry from my outstretched hand this little +white floater that will float away from me. No matter; I say again the +fourth green is a thing of ravishing beauty." + +This second shot, low and long, rolled up in the same unvarying line. + +"On the green," said Pickings. + +"Short," said Booverman, who found, to his satisfaction, that he was +right by a yard. + +"Take your time," said Pickings, biting his nails. + +"Rats! I'll play it for a five," said Booverman. + +His approach ran up on the line, caught the rim of the cup, hesitated, +and passed on a couple of feet. + +"A four, anyway," said Pickings, with relief. + +"I should have had a three," said Booverman, doggedly. "Any one else +would have had a three, straight on the cup. You'd have had a three, +Picky; you know you would." + +Pickings did not answer. He was slowly going to pieces, forgetting the +invincible stoicism that is the pride of the true golfer. + +"I say, take your time, old chap," he said, his voice no longer under +control. "Go slow! go slow!" + +"Picky, for the first four years I played this course," said +Booverman, angrily, "I never got better than a six on this simple +three-hundred-and-fifty-yard hole. I lost my ball five times out of +seven. There is something irresistibly alluring to me in the mosquito +patches to my right. I think it is the fond hope that when I lose this +nice new ball I may step inadvertently on one of its hundred brothers, +which I may then bring home and give decent burial." + +Pickings, who felt a mad and ungolfish desire to entreat him to caution, +walked away to fight down his emotion. + +"Well?" he said, after the click of the club had sounded. + +"Well," said Booverman, without joy, "that ball is lying about two +hundred and forty yards straight up the course, and by this time it has +come quietly to a little cozy home in a nice, deep hoof track, just as I +found it yesterday afternoon. Then I will have the exquisite pleasure of +taking my niblick, and whanging it out for the loss of a stroke. That'll +infuriate me, and I'll slice or pull. The best thing to do, I suppose, +would be to play for a conservative six." + +When, after four butchered shots, Pickings had advanced to where +Booverman had driven, the ball lay in clear position just beyond the +bumps and rills that ordinarily welcome a long shot. Booverman played a +perfect mashy, which dropped clear on the green, and ran down a moderate +put for a three. + +They then crossed the road and arrived by a planked walk at a dirt mound +in the midst of a swamp. Before them the cozy marsh lay stagnant ahead +and then sloped to the right in the figure of a boomerang, making for +those who fancied a slice a delightful little carry of one hundred and +fifty yards. To the left was a procession of trees, while beyond, on the +course, for those who drove a long ball, a giant willow had fallen the +year before in order to add a new perplexity and foster the enthusiasm +for luxury that was beginning among the caddies. + +"I have a feeling," said Booverman, as though puzzled but not duped by +what had happened--"I have a strange feeling that I'm not going to get +into trouble here. That would be too obvious. It's at the seventh or +eighth holes that something is lurking around for me. Well, I won't +waste time." + +He slapped down his ball, took a full swing, and carried the far-off +bank with a low, shooting drive that continued bounding on. + +"That ought to roll forever," said Pickings, red with excitement. + +"The course is fast--dry as a rock," said Booverman, deprecatingly. + +Pickings put three balls precisely into the bubbling water, and drew +alongside on his eighth shot. Booverman's drive had skimmed over the +dried plain for a fair two hundred and seventy-five yards. His second +shot, a full brassy, rolled directly on the green. + +"If he makes a four here," said Pickings to himself, "he'll be playing +five under four--no, by thunder! seven under four!" Suddenly he stopped, +overwhelmed. "Why, he's actually around threes--two under three now. +Heavens! if he ever suspects it, he'll go into a thousand pieces." + +As a result, he missed his own ball completely, and then topped it for a +bare fifty yards. + +"I've never seen you play so badly," said Booverman in a grumbling tone. +"You'll end up by throwing me off." + +When they arrived at the green, Booverman's ball lay about thirty feet +from the flag. + +"It's a four, a sure four," said Pickings under his breath. + +Suddenly Booverman burst into an exclamation. + +"Picky, come here. Look--look at that!" + +The tone was furious. Pickings approached. + +"Do you see that?" said Booverman, pointing to a freshly laid circle of +sod ten inches from his ball. "That, my boy, was where the cup was +yesterday. If they hadn't moved the flag two hours ago, I'd have had a +three. Now, what do you think of that for rotten luck?" + +"Lay it dead," said Pickings, anxiously, shaking his head +sympathetically. "The green's a bit fast." + +The put ran slowly up to the hole, and stopped four inches short. + +"By heavens! why didn't I put over it!" said Booverman, brandishing his +putter. "A thirty-foot put that stops an inch short--did you ever see +anything like it? By everything that's just and fair I should have had a +three. You'd have had it, Picky. Lord! if I only could put!" + +"One under three," said Pickings to his fluttering inner self. "He can't +realize it. If I can only keep his mind off the score!" + +The seventh tee is reached by a carefully planned, fatiguing flight of +steps to the top of a bluff, where three churches at the back beckon so +many recording angels to swell the purgatory lists. As you advance to +the abrupt edge, everything is spread before you; nothing is concealed. +In the first plane, the entangling branches of a score of apple-trees +are ready to trap a topped ball and bury it under impossible piles of +dry leaves. Beyond, the wired tennis-courts give forth a musical, tinny +note when attacked. In the middle distance a glorious sycamore draws you +to the left, and a file of elms beckon the sliced way to a marsh, +wilderness of grass and an overgrown gully whence no balls return. In +front, one hundred and twenty yards away, is a formidable bunker, +running up to which is a tract of long grass, which two or three times a +year is barbered by a charitable enterprise. The seventh hole itself +lies two hundred and sixty yards away in a hollow guarded by a sunken +ditch, a sure three or--a sure six. + +Booverman was still too indignant at the trick fate had played him on +the last green to yield to any other emotion. He forgot that a dozen +good scores had ended abruptly in the swale to the right. He was only +irritated. He plumped down his ball, dug his toes in the ground, and +sent off another long, satisfactory drive, which added more fuel to his +anger. + +"Any one else would have had a three on the six," he muttered as he left +the tee. "It's too ridiculous." + +He had a short approach and an easy put, plucked his ball from the cup, +and said in an injured tone: + +"Picky, I feel bad about that sixth hole, and the fourth, too. I've +lost a stroke on each of them. I'm playing two strokes more than I ought +to be. Hang it all! that sixth wasn't right! You told me the green was +fast." + +"I'm sorry," said Pickings, feeling his fingers grow cold and clammy on +the grip. + +The eighth hole has many easy opportunities. It is five hundred and +twenty yards long, and things may happen at every stroke. You may begin +in front of the tee by burying your ball in the waving grass, which is +always permitted a sort of poetical license. There are the traps to the +seventh hole to be crossed, and to the right the paralleling river can +be reached by a short stab or a long, curling slice, which the +prevailing wind obligingly assists to a splashing descent. + +"And now we have come to the eighth hole," said Booverman, raising his +hat in profound salutation. "Whenever I arrive here with a good score I +take from eight to eighteen, I lose one to three balls. On the contrary, +when I have an average of six, I always get a five and often a four. How +this hole has changed my entire life!" He raised his ball and addressed +it tenderly: "And now, little ball, we must part, you and I. It seems a +shame; you're the nicest little ball I ever have known. You've stuck to +me an awful long while. It's a shame." + +He teed up, and drove his best drive, and followed it with a brassy that +laid him twenty yards off the green, where a good approach brought the +desired four. + +"Even threes," said Pickings to himself, as though he had seen a ghost. +Now he was only a golfer of one generation; there was nothing in his +inheritance to steady him in such a crisis. He began slowly to +disintegrate morally, to revert to type. He contained himself until +Booverman had driven free of the river, which flanks the entire green +passage to the ninth hole, and then barely controlling the impulse to +catch Booverman by the knees and implore him to discretion, he burst +out: + +"I say, dear boy, do you know what your score is?" + +"Something well under four," said Booverman, scratching his head. + +"Under four, nothing; even threes!" + +"What?" + +"Even threes." + +They stopped, and tabulated the holes. + +"So it is," said Booverman, amazed. "What an infernal pity!" + +"Pity?" + +"Yes, pity. If only some one else could play it out!" + +He studied the hundred and fifty yards that were needed to reach the +green that was set in the crescent of surrounding trees, changed his +brassy for his cleek, and his cleek for his midiron. + +"I wish you hadn't told me," he said nervously. + +Pickings on the instant comprehended his blunder. For the first time +Booverman's shot went wide of the mark, straight into the trees that +bordered the river to the left. + +"I'm sorry," said Pickings with a feeble groan. + +"My dear Picky, it had to come," said Booverman, with a shrug of his +shoulders. "The ball is now lost, and all the score goes into the air, +the most miraculous score any one ever heard of is nothing but a crushed +egg!" + +"It may have bounded back on the course," said Pickings, desperately. + +"No, no, Picky; not that. In all the sixty thousand times I have hit +trees, barns, car-tracks, caddies, fences,--" + +"There it is!" cried Pickings, with a shout of joy. + +Fair on the course, at the edge of the green itself, lay the ball, which +soon was sunk for a four. Pickings felt a strange, unaccountable desire +to leap upon Booverman like a fluffy, enthusiastic dog; but he fought it +back with the new sense of responsibility that came to him. So he said +artfully: "By George! old man, if you hadn't missed on the fourth or the +sixth, you'd have done even threes!" + +"You know what I ought to do now--I ought to stop," said Booverman, in +profound despair--"quit golf and never lift another club. It's a crime +to go on; it's a crime to spoil such a record. Twenty-eight for nine +holes, only forty-two needed for the next nine to break the record, and +I have done it in thirty-three--and in fifty-three! I ought not to try; +it's wrong." + +He teed his ball for the two-hundred-yard flight to the easy tenth, and +took his cleek. + +"I know just what'll happen now; I know it well." + +But this time there was no varying in the flight; the drive went true to +the green, straight on the flag, where a good but not difficult put +brought a two. + +"Even threes again," said Pickings, but to himself. "It can't go on. It +must turn." + +"Now, Pickings, this is going to stop," said Booverman angrily. "I'm not +going to make a fool of myself. I'm going right up to the tee, and I'm +going to drive my ball right smack into the woods and end it. And I +don't care." + +"What!" + +"No, I don't care. Here goes." + +Again his drive continued true, the mashy pitch for the second was +accurate, and his put, after circling the rim of the cup, went down for +a three. + +The twelfth hole is another dip into the long grass that might serve as +an elephant's bed, and then across the Housatonic River, a carry of one +hundred and twenty yards to the green at the foot of an intruding tree. + +"Oh, I suppose I'll make another three here, too," said Booverman, +moodily. "That'll only make it worse." + +He drove with his midiron high in the air and full on the flag. + +"I'll play my put carefully for three," he said, nodding his head. +Instead, it ran straight and down for two. + +He walked silently to the dreaded thirteenth tee, which, with the +returning fourteenth, forms the malignant Scylla and Charybdis of the +course. There is nothing to describe the thirteenth hole. It is not +really a golf-hole; it is a long, narrow breathing spot, squeezed by the +railroad tracks on one side and by the river on the other. Resolute and +fearless golfers often cut them out entirely, nor are ashamed to +acknowledge their terror. As you stand at the thirteenth tee, everything +is blurred to the eye. Near by are rushes and water, woods to the left +and right; the river and the railroad; and the dry land a hundred yards +away looks tiny and distant, like a rock amid floods. + +A long drive that varies a degree is doomed to go out of bounds or to +take the penalty of the river. + +"Don't risk it. Take an iron--play it carefully," said Pickings in a +voice that sounded to his own ears unrecognizable. + +Booverman followed his advice and landed by the fence to the left, +almost off the fair. A midiron for his second put him in position for +another four, and again brought his score to even threes. + +When the daring golfer has passed quaking up the narrow way and still +survives, he immediately falls a victim to the fourteenth, which is a +bend hole, with all the agonies of the preceding thirteenth, augmented +by a second shot over a long, mushy pond. If you play a careful iron to +keep from the railroad, now on the right, or to dodge the river on your +left, you are forced to approach the edge of the swamp with a cautious +fifty-yard-running-up stroke before facing the terrors of the carry. A +drive with a wooden club is almost sure to carry into the swamp, and +only a careful cleek shot is safe. + +"I wish I were playing this for the first time," said Booverman, +blackly. "I wish I could forget--rid myself of memories. I have seen +class A amateurs take twelve, and professionals eight. This is the end +of all things, Picky, the saddest spot on earth. I won't waste time. +Here goes." + +To Pickings's horror, the drive began slowly to slice out of bounds, +toward the railroad tracks. + +"I knew it," said Booverman, calmly, "and the next will go there, too; +then I'll put one in the river, two the swamp, slice into--" + +All at once he stopped, thunderstruck. The ball, hitting tire or rail, +bounded high in the air, forward, back upon the course, lying in perfect +position; Pickings said something in a purely reverent spirit. + +"Twice in sixty thousand times," said Booverman, unrelenting. "That only +evens up the sixth hole. Twice in sixty thousand times!" + +From where the ball lay an easy brassy brought it near enough to the +green to negotiate another four. Pickings, trembling like a toy dog in +zero weather, reached the green in ten strokes, and took three more +puts. + +The fifteenth, a short pitch over the river, eighty yards to a slanting +green entirely surrounded by more long grass, which gave it the +appearance of a chin spot on a full face of whiskers, was Booverman's +favorite hole. While Pickings held his eyes to the ground and tried to +breathe in regular breaths, Booverman placed his ball, drove with the +requisite back spin, and landed dead to the hole. Another two resulted. + +"Even threes--fifteen holes in even threes," said Pickings to himself, +his head beginning to throb. He wanted to sit down and take his temples +in his hands, but for the sake of history he struggled on. + +"Damn it!" said Booverman all at once. + +"What's the matter?" said Pickings, observing his face black with fury. + +"Do you realize, Pickings, what it means to me to have lost those two +strokes on the fourth and sixth greens, and through no fault of mine, +neither? Even threes for the whole course--that's what I could do if I +had those two strokes--the greatest thing that's ever been seen on a +golf-course. It may be a hundred years before any human being on the +face of this earth will get such a chance. And to think I might have +done it with a little luck!" + +Pickings felt his heart begin to pump, but he was able to say with some +degree of calm: + +"You may get a three here." + +"Never. Four, three and four is what I'll end." + +"Well, good heavens! what do you want?" + +"There's no joy in it, though," said Booverman, gloomily. "If I had +those two strokes back, I'd go down in history, I'd be immortal. And +you, too, Picky, you'd be immortal, because you went around with me. The +fourth hole was bad enough, but the sixth was heartbreaking." + +His drive cleared another swamp and rolled well down the farther +plateau. A long cleek laid his ball off the green, a good approach +stopped a little short of the hole, and the put went down. + +"Well, that ends it," said Booverman, gloomily. + +"I've got to make a two and a three to do it. The two is quite possible; +the three absurd." + +The seventeenth hole returns to the swamp that enlivens the sixth. It is +a full cleek, with about six mental hazards distributed in Indian +ambush, and in five of them a ball may lie until the day of judgment +before rising again. + +Pickings turned his back, unable to endure the agony of watching. The +click of the club was sharp and true. He turned to see the ball in full +flight arrive unerringly hole high on the green. + +"A chance for a two," he said under his breath. He sent two balls into +the lost land to the left and one into the rough to the right. + +"Never mind me," he said, slashing away in reckless fashion. + +Booverman with a little care studied the ten-foot route to the hole and +putted down. + +"Even threes!" said Pickings, leaning against a tree. + +"Blast that sixth hole!" said Booverman, exploding. "Think of what it +might be, Picky--what it ought to be!" + +Pickings retired hurriedly before the shaking approach of Booverman's +frantic club. Incapable of speech, he waved him feebly to drive. He +began incredulously to count up again, as though doubting his senses. + +"One under three, even threes, one over, even, one under--" + +"Here! What the deuce are you doing?" said Booverman, angrily. "Trying +to throw me off?" + +"I didn't say anything," said Pickings. + +"You didn't--muttering to yourself." + +"I must make him angry to keep his mind off the score," said Pickings, +feebly to himself. He added aloud, "Stop kicking about your old sixth +hole! You've had the darndest luck I ever saw, and yet you grumble." + +Booverman swore under his breath, hastily approached his ball, drove +perfectly, and turned in a rage. + +"Luck?" he cried furiously. "Pickings, I've a mind to wring your neck. +Every shot I've played has been dead on the pin, now, hasn't it?" + +"How about the ninth hole--hitting a tree?" + +"Whose fault was that? You had no right to tell me my score, and, +besides, I only got an ordinary four there, anyway." + +"How about the railroad track?" + +"One shot out of bounds. Yes, I'll admit that. That evens up for the +fourth." + +"How about your first hole in two?" + +"Perfectly played; no fluke about it at all--once in sixty thousand +times. Well, any more sneers? Anything else to criticize?" + +"Let it go at that." + +Booverman, in this heckled mood, turned irritably to his ball, played a +long midiron, just cleared the crescent bank of the last swale, and ran +up on the green. + +[Illustration: Wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the clubhouse +with the miraculous news] + +"Damn that sixth hole!" said Booverman, flinging down his club and +glaring at Pickings. "One stroke back, and I could have done it." + +Pickings tried to address, but the moment he swung his club, his legs +began to tremble. He shook his head, took a long breath, and picked up +his ball. + +They approached the green on a drunken run in the wild hope that a short +put was possible. Unfortunately the ball lay thirty feet away, and the +path to the hole was bumpy and riddled with worm-casts. Still, there was +a chance, desperate as it was. + +Pickings let his bag slip to the ground and sat down, covering his eyes +while Booverman with his putter tried to brush away the ridges. + +"Stand up!" + +Pickings rose convulsively. + +"For heaven's sake, Picky, stand up! Try to be a man!" said Booverman, +hoarsely. "Do you think I've any nerve when I see you with chills and +fever? Brace up!" + +"All right." + +Booverman sighted the hole, and then took his stance; but the cleek in +his hand shook like an aspen. He straightened up and walked away. + +"Picky," he said, mopping his face, "I can't do it. I can't put it." + +"You must." + +"I've got buck fever. I'll never be able to put it--never." + +At the last, no longer calmed by an invincible pessimism, Booverman had +gone to pieces. He stood shaking from head to foot. + +"Look at that," he said, extending a fluttering hand. "I can't do it; I +can never do it." + +"Old fellow, you must," said Pickings; "you've got to. Bring yourself +together. Here!" He slapped him on the back, pinched his arms, and +chafed his fingers. Then he led him back to the ball, braced him into +position, and put the putter in his hands. + +"Buck fever," said Booverman in a whisper. "Can't see a thing." + +Pickings, holding the flag in the cup, said savagely: + +"Shoot!" + +The ball advanced in a zigzag path, running from worm-cast to a +worm-cast, wobbling and rocking, and at the last, as though preordained, +fell plump into the cup! + +At the same moment, Pickings and Booverman, as though carried off by the +same cannon-ball, flattened on the green. + + + + +III + + +Five minutes later, wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the +clubhouse with the miraculous news. For an hour the assembled golfers +roared with laughter as the two stormed, expostulated, and swore to the +truth of the tale. + +[Illustration: A committee carefully examined the books of the club] + +They journeyed from house to house in a vain attempt to find some +convert to their claim. For a day they passed as consummate comedians, +and the more they yielded to their rage, the more consummate was their +art declared. Then a change took place. From laughing the educated town +of Stockbridge turned to resentment, then to irritation, and finally to +suspicion. Booverman and Pickings began to lose caste, to be regarded as +unbalanced, if not positively dangerous. Unknown to them, a committee +carefully examined the books of the club. At the next election another +treasurer and another secretary were elected. + +Since then, month in and month out, day after day, in patient hope, the +two discredited members of the educated community of Stockbridge may be +seen, _accompanied by caddies_, toiling around the links in a desperate +belief that the miracle that would restore them to standing may be +repeated. Each time as they arrive nervously at the first tee and +prepare to swing, something between a chuckle and a grin runs through +the assemblage, while the left eyes contract waggishly, and a murmuring +may be heard, + +"Even threes." + + * * * * * + +The Stockbridge golf-links is a course of ravishing beauty and the +Housatonic River, as has been said, goes wriggling around it as though +convulsed with merriment. + + + + +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION + + + + +I + + +Inspector Frawley, of the Canadian Secret Service, stood at attention, +waiting until the scratch of a pen should cease throughout the dim, +spacious office and the Honorable Secretary of Justice should acquaint +him with his desires. + +He held himself deferentially, body compact, eyes clear and steady, face +blank and controlled, without distinction, without significance, a man +mediocre as a crowd. His hands were joined loosely behind his back; his +glance, without deviating, remained persistently on the profile of the +Honorable Secretary, as though in that historic room the human note +alone could compel his curiosity. + +The thin squeak of the pen faded into the silences of the great room. +The Secretary of Justice ran his fingers over his forehead, looked up, +and met the Inspector's gaze--fixed, profound, and mathematical. With a +sudden unease he pushed back his chair, troubled by the analysis of his +banal man, who, in another turn of Fate, might pursue him as +dispassionately as he now stood before him for his commands. With a few +rapid strides he crossed the room, lit a cigar, blew into the swirl of +smoke this caprice of his imagination, and returned stolidly, as became +a man of facts and figures. + +Flinging himself loosely in an easy chair, he threw a rapid glance at +his watch, locked his fingers, and began with the nervous directness of +one who wishes to be rid of formalities: + +"Well, Inspector, you returned this morning?" + +"An hour ago, sir." + +"A creditable bit of work, Inspector Frawley--the department is +pleased." + +"Thank you indeed, sir." + +"Does the case need you any more?" + +"I should say not, sir--no, sir." + +"You are ready to report for duty?" + +"Oh, yes, sir." + +"How soon?" + +"I think I'm ready now, sir--yes, sir." + +"Glad to hear it, Inspector, very glad. You're the one man I wanted." As +though the civilities had been sufficiently observed, the Secretary +stiffened in his chair and continued rapidly: "It's that Toronto affair; +you've read the details. The government lost $350,000. We caught four of +the gang, but the ringleader got away with the money. Have you studied +it? What did you make of it? Sit down." + +Frawley took a chair stiffly, hanging his hat between his knees and +considering. + +"It did look like work from the States," he said thoughtfully. "I beg +pardon, did you say they'd caught some of the gang?" + +"Four--this morning. The telegram's just in." + +The Honorable Secretary, a little strange yet to the routine of the +office, looked at Frawley with a sudden desire to test his memory. + +"Do you know the work?" he asked; "could you recognize the ringleader?" + +"That might not be so hard, sir," said Frawley, with a nod; "we know +pretty well, of course, who's able to handle such jobs as that. Would +you have a description anywhere?" + +The Honorable Secretary rose, took from his desk a paper, and began to +read. In his seat Inspector Frawley crossed his legs carefully, drew his +fists up under his chin, and stared at the reader, but without focusing +his glance on him. Once during the recital he started at some item of +description, but immediately relaxed. The report finished, the Secretary +let it drop into his lap and waited, impressed, despite himself, at the +thought of the immense galleries of crime through which the Inspector +was seeking his victim. All at once into the unseeing stare there +flickered a light of understanding. Frawley returned to the room, saw +the Secretary, and nodded. + +"It's Bucky," he said tentatively. A moment his glance went +reflectively to a far corner, then he nodded slowly, looked at the +Secretary, and said with conviction: "It looks very much, sir, like +Bucky Greenfield." + +"It is Greenfield," replied the Secretary, without attempting to conceal +his astonishment. + +"I would like to observe," said Frawley thoughtfully, without noticing +his surprise, "that there is a bit of an error in that description, sir. +It's the left ear that's broken. Furthermore, he don't toe +out--excepting when he does it on a purpose. So it's Bucky Greenfield +I'm to bring back, sir?" + +The Secretary nodded, penciling Frawley's correction on the paper. + +"Bucky--well, now, that is odd!" said Frawley musingly. He rose and took +a step to the desk. "Very odd." Mechanically he saw the straggling +papers on the top and arranged them into orderly piles. "Well, he can't +say I didn't warn him!" + +"What!" broke in the Secretary in quick astonishment, "you know the +fellow?" + +"Indeed, yes, sir," said Frawley, with a nod. "We know most of the +crooks in the States. We're good friends, too--so long as they stay over +the line. It's useful, you know. So I'm to go after Bucky?" + +The Secretary, judging the moment had arrived to be impressive, said +solemnly: + +"Inspector Frawley, if you have to stick to it until he dies of old age, +you're never to let up until you get Bucky Greenfield! While the +British Empire holds together, no man shall rob Her Majesty of a +farthing and sleep in security. You understand the situation?" + +"I do, sir." + +The Honorable Secretary, only half satisfied, continued: + +"Your credit is unlimited--there'll be no question of that. If you need +to buy up a whole South American government--buy it! By the way, he will +make for South America, will he not?" + +"Probably--yes, sir. Chile or the Argentine--there's no extradition +treaty there." + +"But even then," broke in the Secretary with a nervous frown--"there are +ways--other ways?" + +"Oh, yes." Frawley, picking up a paper-cutter, stood by the mantel +tapping his palm. "Oh, yes--there are other ways! So it's Bucky--well, I +warned him!" + +"Now, Inspector, to settle the matter," interrupted the Secretary, +anxious to return to his routine, "when can you go on the case?" + +"If the papers are ready, sir--" + +"They are--everything. The Home Office has been cabled. To-morrow every +British official throughout the world will be notified to render you +assistance and honor your drafts." + +Inspector Frawley heard with approval and consulted his watch. + +"There's an express for New York leaves at noon," he said +reflectively--then, with a glance at the clock, "thirty-five minutes; I +can make that, sir." + +"Good, very good." + +"If I might suggest, sir--if the Inspector who has had the case in hand +could go a short distance with me?" + +"Inspector Keech shall join you at the station." + +"Thank you, sir. Is there anything further?" + +The Secretary shook his head, and springing up, held out his hand +enthusiastically. + +"Good luck to you, Inspector--you have a big thing ahead of you, a very +big thing." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"By the way--you're not married?" + +"No, sir." + +"This is pretty short notice. How long have you been on this other +case?" + +"A trifle over six months, sir." + +"Don't you want a couple of days to rest up? I can let you have that +very easily." + +"It really makes no difference--I think I'll leave to-day, sir." + +"Oh, a moment more, Inspector--" + +Frawley halted. + +"How long do you think this ought to take you?" + +Frawley considered, and answered carefully: + +"It'll be long, I think. You see, there are several circumstances that +are unusual about this case." + +"How so?" + +"Well, Buck is clever--there's no gainsaying that--quite at the top of +the profession. Then, he's expecting me." + +"You?" + +"They're a queer lot," Frawley explained with a touch of pride. "Crooks +are full of little vanities. You see, Bucky knows I've never dropped a +trail, and I think it's rather gotten on his nerves. I think he wasn't +satisfied until he dared me. He's very odd--very odd indeed. It's a +little personal. I doubt, sir, if I bring him back alive." + +"Inspector Frawley," said the new Secretary, "I hope I have sufficiently +impressed upon you the importance of your mission." + +Frawley stared at his chief in surprise. + +"I'm to stick to him until I get him," he said in wonder; "that's all, +isn't it, sir?" + +The Secretary, annoyed by his lack of imagination, essayed a final +phrase. + +"Inspector, this is my last word," he said with a frown; "remember that +you represent Her Majesty's government--you are Her Majesty's +government! I have confidence in you." + +"Thank you, sir." + +Frawley moved slowly to the door and with his hand on the knob +hesitated. The Secretary saw in the movement a reluctance to take the +decisive step that must open before him the wide stretches of the world. + +"After all, he must have a speck of imagination," he thought, reassured. + +"I beg pardon, sir." + +Frawley had turned in embarrassment. + +"Well, Inspector, what can I do for you?" + +"If you please, sir," said Frawley, "I was just thinking--after all, it +has been a bit of a while since I've been home--indeed, I should like it +very much if I could take a good English mutton-chop and a musty ale at +old Nell's, sir. I can still get the two o'clock express." + +"Granted!" + +"If you'd prefer not, sir," said Frawley, surprised at the vexation in +his answer. + +"Not at all--take the two o'clock--good day, good day!" + +Inspector Frawley, sorely puzzled, shifted his balance, opened his +mouth, then with a bob of his head answered hastily: + +"A--good day, sir!" + + + + +II + + +Sam Greenfield, known as "Bucky," age about 42, height about 5 feet 10 +inches, weight between 145 and 150. Hair mouse-colored, thinning out +over forehead, parted in middle, showing scalp beneath; mustache would +be lighter than hair--if not dyed; usually clipped to about an inch. +Waxy complexion, light blue eyes a little close together, thin nose, a +prominent dimple on left cheek--may wear whiskers. Laughs in low key. +Left ear lobe broken. Slightly bowlegged. While in conversation strokes +chin. When standing at a counter or bar goes through motions, as if +jerking himself together, crowding his elbows slowly to his side for a +moment, then, throwing back his head, jumps up from his heels. When +dreaming, attempts to bite mustache with lower lip. When he sits in a +chair places himself sidewise and hangs both arms over back. In walking +strikes back part of heel first, and is apt to waver from time to time. +Dresses neatly, carries hands in side-pockets only--plays piano +constantly, composing as he goes along. During day smokes twenty to +thirty cigarettes, cutting them in half for cigarette-holder and +throwing them away after three or four whiffs. After dinner invariably +smokes one cigar. Cut is good likeness. Cut of signature is facsimile of +his original writing. + +With this overwhelming indictment against the liberty of the fugitive, +to escape which Greenfield would have to change his temperament as well +as his physical aspect, Inspector Frawley took the first steamer from +New York to the Isthmus of Panama. + +He had slight doubt of Greenfield's final destination, for the flight of +the criminal is a blind instinct for the south as though a frantic +return to barbarism. At this time Chile and the Argentine had not yet +accepted the principle of extradition, and remained the Mecca of the +lawbreakers of the world. + +Yet though Frawley felt certain of Greenfield's objective, he did not +at once strike for the Argentine. The Honorable Secretary of Justice had +eliminated the necessity for considering time. Frawley had no need to +guess, nor to risk. He had simply to become a wheel in the machinery of +the law, to grind slowly, tirelessly, and inexorably. This idea suited +admirably his temperament and his desires. + +He arrived at Colon, took train for Panama across the laborious path +where a thousand little men were scratching endlessly, and on the brink +of the Pacific began his search. No one had heard of Greenfield. + +At the end of a week's waiting he boarded a steamer and crawled down the +western coast of South America, investigating every port, braving the +yellow fever at Guayaquil, Ecuador, and facing a riot at Callao, Peru, +before he found at Lima the trail of the fugitive. Greenfield had passed +the day there and left for Chile. Dragging each intermediate port with +the same caution, Frawley followed the trail to Valparaiso. Greenfield +had stayed a week and again departed. + +Frawley at once took steamer for the Argentine, passed down the tongue +of South America, through the Straits of Magellan, and arrived at length +in the harbor of Buenos Ayres. + +An hour later, as he took his place at the table in the Criterion +Gardens, a hand fell on his shoulder and some one at his back said: + +"Well, Bub!" + +He turned. A thin man of medium height, with blue eyes and yellow +complexion, was laughing in expectation of his discomfiture. Frawley +laid down the menu carefully, raised his head, and answered quietly: + +"Why, how d'ye do, Bucky?" + + + + +III + + +"We shake, of course," said Greenfield, holding out his hand. + +"Why not? Sit down." + +The fugitive slid into a chair and hung his arms over the back, asking +immediately: + +"What took you so long? You're after me, of course?" + +"Am I?" Frawley answered, looking at him steadily. Greenfield, with a +twitch of his shoulders, returned to his question: + +"What took you so long? Didn't you guess I'd come direct?" + +"I'm not guessing," said Frawley. + +"What do you say to dining on me?" said Greenfield with a malicious +smile. "I owe you that. I clipped your vacation pretty short. +Besides--guess you know it yourself--you can't touch me here. Why not +talk things over frankly? Say, Bub, shall it be on me?" + +"I'm willing." + +A waiter sidled up and took the order that Greenfield gave without +hesitation. + +"You see, even the dinner was ready for you," he said with a wink; "see +how you like it." With a gesture of impatience he pushed aside the menu, +squared his arms on the table, and looked suddenly at his pursuer with +the deviltry of a schoolboy glistening in his eyes. "Well, Bub, I went +into your all-fired Canady!" + +"So you did--why?" + +"Well," said Greenfield, drawing lines with his knife-point on the nap, +"one reason was I wanted to see if Her Majesty's shop has such an +all-fired long arm--" + +"And the other reason was I warned you to keep over the line." + +"Why, Bub, you _are_ a bright boy!" + +"It ain't me, Bucky," Frawley answered, with a shake of his head; "it's +the all-fired government that's after you." + +"Good--first rate--then we'll have a little excitement!" + +"You'll have plenty of that, Bucky!" + +"Maybe, Bub, maybe. Well, I made a neat job of it, didn't I?" + +"You did," admitted Frawley with an appreciative nod. "But you were +wrong--you were wrong--you should have kept off. The Canadian Government +ain't like your bloomin' democracy. It don't forgive--it don't forget. +Tack that up, Bucky. It's a principle we've got at stake with you!" + +"Don't I know it?" cried Greenfield, striking the table. "What else do +you think I did it for?" + +Frawley gazed at him, then said slowly: "I told them it was a personal +matter." + +"Sure it was! Do you think I could keep out after you served notice on +me? D---- your English pride and your English justice! I'm a good enough +Yank to see if your dinky police is such an all-fired cute little bunch +of wonder-workers as you say! Bub--you think you're going to get Mr. +Greenfield--don't you?" + +"I'm not thinking, Bucky--" + +"Eh?" + +"I'm simply sticking to you." + +"Sticking to me!" cried Greenfield with a roar of disgust. "Why, you +unimaginative, lumbering, beef-eating Canuck, you can't get me that way! +Why in tarnation didn't you strike plump for here--instead of rubbin' +yourself down the whole coast of South Ameriky?" + +"Bucky, you don't understand the situation properly," objected Frawley, +without varying the level tone of his voice. "Supposing it had been a +bloomin' corporation had sent me--? that's what I'd have done. But it's +the government this time--Her Majesty's government! Time ain't no +consideration. I'd have raked down the whole continent if I'd had +to--though I knew where you were." + +"Well, and now what? You can't touch me, Bub," he added earnestly. "I +like straight talk, man to man. Now, what's your game?" + +"Business." + +"All right then," said Greenfield, with a frown, "but you can't touch +me--now. There's an extradition treaty coming, but then there'd have to +be a retroactive clause to do you any good." He paused, studying the +expression on the Inspector's face. "There's enough of the likes of me +here to see that don't occur. Say, Bub?" + +"Well?" + +"You deal a square pack, don't you?" + +"That's my reputation, Bucky." + +"Give me your word you'll play me square." + +Inspector Frawley, leaning forward, helped himself busily. Greenfield, +with pursed lips, studied every movement. + +"No kidnapping tricks?" + +Without lifting his eyes Frawley sharpened his knife vigorously against +his fork and fell to eating. + +"Well, Bub?" + +"What?" + +"No fancy kidnapping?" + +"I'm promising nothing, Bucky." + +There was a blank moment while Greenfield considered. Suddenly he shot +out his hand, saying with a nod: "You're a white man, Bub, and I never +heard a word against that." He filled a glass and shoved it toward +Frawley. "We might as well clink on it. For I rather opinionate before +we get through this little business--there'll be something worth talking +about." + +"Here's to you then, Bucky," said Frawley, nodding. + +"Remember what I tell you," said Greenfield, looking over his glass, +"there's going to be something to live for." + +"I say, Bucky," said Frawley with a lazy interest, "would they serve you +five-o'clock tea here, I wonder?" + +Greenfield, drawing back, laughed a superior laugh. + +"Bub, I'm sorry for you--'pon my word I am." + +"How so, Bucky?" + +"Why, you plodding little English lamb, you don't have the slightest +suspicion what you're gettin' into!" + +"What am I getting into, Bucky?" + +Greenfield threw back his head with a chuckle. + +"If you get me, it'll be the last job you ever pull off." + +"Maybe, maybe." + +"Since things are aboveboard--listen here," said Greenfield with sudden +seriousness. "Bub, you'll not get me alive. Nothing personal, you +understand, but it'll have to be your life or mine. If it comes to the +pinch, look out for yourself--" + +"Oh, yes," said Frawley, with a matter-of-fact nod, "I understand." + +"I ain't tried to bribe you," said Greenfield, rising. "Thank me for +that--though another man might have been sent up for life." + +"Thanks," Frawley said with a drawl. "And you'll notice I haven't +advised you to come back and face the music. Seems to me we understand +each other." + +"Here's my address," said Greenfield, handing him a card; "may save you +some trouble. I'm here every night." He held out his hand. "Turn up and +meet the profesh. They're a clever lot here. They'd appreciate meeting +you, too." + +"Perhaps I will." + +"Ta-ta, then." + +Greenfield took a few steps, halted, and lounged back with a smile full +of mischief. + +"By the way, Bub--how long has Her Majesty's dinkies given you?" + +"It's a life appointment, Bucky." + +"Really--bless me--then your bloomin' government has some sense after +all." + +The two men saluted gravely, with a parting exchange. + +"Now, Bub--keep fit." + +"Same to you, Bucky." + + + + +IV + + +The view of Greenfield sauntering lightly away among the noisy tables, +bravado in his manner, deviltry in his heart, was the last glimpse +Inspector Frawley was destined to have of him in many months. True, +Greenfield had not lied: the address was genuine, but the man was gone. +For days Frawley had the city scoured without gaining a clue. No steamer +had left the harbor, not even a tramp. If Greenfield was not in hiding, +he must have buried himself in the interior. + +It was a week before Frawley found the track. Greenfield had walked +thirty miles into the country and taken the train for Rio Mendoza on the +route across the Andes to Valparaiso. + +Frawley followed the same day, somewhat mystified at this sudden change +of base. In the train the thermometer stood at 116°. The heat made of +everything a solitude. Frawley, lifeless, stifling, and numbed, glued +himself to the air-holes with eyes fastened on the horizon, while the +train sped across the naked, singeing back of the plains like the welt +that springs to meet the fall of the lash. For two nights he watched the +distended sun, exhausted by its own madness, drop back into the heated +void, and the tortured stars rise over the stricken desert. At the end +of thirty-six hours of agony he arrived at Rio Mendoza. Thence he +reached Punta de Vacas, procured mules and a guide, and prepared for +the ascent over the mountains. + +At two o'clock the next morning he began to climb out of hell. The +tortured plains settled below him. A divine freshness breathed upon him +with a new hope of life. He left the burning conflict of summer and +passed into the aroma of spring. + +Then the air grew intense, a new suffocation pressed about his +temples--the suffocation of too much life. In an hour he had run the +gamut of the seasons. The cold of everlasting winter descended and stung +his senses. Up and up and up they went--then suddenly down, with the +half-breed guide and the tireless mule always at the same distance +before him; and again began the insistent mechanical toiling upward. He +grew listless and indifferent, acquiescent in these steep efforts that +the next moment must throw away. The horror of immense distance rose +about him. From time to time a stone dislodged by their passage rushed +from under him, struck the brink, and spun into the void, to fall +endlessly. The face of the earth grew confused and dropped in a mist +from before his eyes. + +Then as they toiled still upward, a gale as though sent in anger rushed +down upon them, sweeping up whirlwinds of snow, raging and shrieking, +dragging them to the brink, and threatening to blot them out. + +Frawley clutched the saddle, then flung his arms about the neck of his +mule. His head was reeling, the indignant blood rushed to his nostrils +and his ears, his lungs no longer could master the divine air. Then +suddenly the mules stopped, exhausted. Through the maelstrom the guide +shrieked to him not to use the spur. Frawley felt himself in danger of +dying, and had no resentment. + +For a day they affronted the immense wilds until they had forced +themselves thousands of feet above the race of men. Then they began to +descend. + +Below them the clouds lapped and rolled like the elements before the +creation. Still they descended, and the moist oblivion closed about +them, like the curse of a world without color. The bleak mists separated +and began to roll up above them, a cloud split asunder, and through the +slit the earth jumped up, and the solid land spread before them as when +at the dawn it obeyed the will of the Creator. They saw the hills and +the mountains grow, and the rivers trickle toward the sea. The masses of +brown and green began to be splashed with red and yellow as the fields +became fertile and fructified; and the insect race of men began to crawl +to and fro. + +The half-breed, who saw the scene for the hundredth time, bent his head +in awe. Frawley straightened in his saddle, stretched the stiffness out +of his limbs, patted his mule solicitously, glanced at the guide, and +stopped in perplexity at the mute, reverential attitude. + +"What's he starin' at now?" he muttered in as then, with a glance at +his watch, he added anxiously, "I say, Sammy, when do we get a bit to +eat?" + + + + +V + + +In Valparaiso he readily found the track of Greenfield. Up to the time +of his departure, two boats had sailed: one for the north, and one by +the Straits of Magellan to Buenos Ayres. Greenfield had bought a ticket +for each, after effecting the withdrawal of his account at a local bank. +Frawley was in perplexity: for Greenfield to flee north was to run into +the jaws of the law. The withdrawal of the account decided him. He +returned to Buenos Ayres by the route he had come, arriving the day +before the steamer. To his discomfiture Greenfield was not on board. By +ridiculously casting away his protection he had thrown the detective off +the track and gained three weeks. Without more concern than he might +have shown in taking a trip from Toronto to New York, Frawley a third +time crossed the Andes and set himself to correcting his first error. + +He traced Greenfield laboriously up the coast back to Panama and there +lost the trail. At the end of two months he learned that Greenfield had +shipped as a common sailor on a freighter that touched at Hawaii. From +here he followed him to Yokohama, Singapore, Ceylon, and Bombay. + +Thence Greenfield, suddenly abandoning the water route, had proceeded +by land to Bagdad, and across the Turkish Empire to Constantinople. +Without a pause, Frawley traced him next into the Balkans, through +Bulgaria, Roumania, amid massacre and revolution to Budapest, back to +Odessa, and across the back of Russia by Moscow and Riga to Stockholm. A +year had elapsed. + +Several times he might have gained on the fugitive had he trusted to his +instinct; but he bided his time, renouncing a stroke of genius, in order +to be certain of committing no error, awaiting the moment when +Greenfield would pause and he might overtake him. But the fugitive, as +though stung by a gad-fly, continued to plunge madly over sea and +continent. Four months, five months behind, Frawley continued the +tireless pursuit. + +From Stockholm the chase led to Copenhagen, to Christiansand, down the +North Sea to Rotterdam. From thence Greenfield had rushed by rail to +Lisbon and taken steamer to Africa, touching at Gibraltar, Portuguese +and French Guinea, Sierra Leone, and proceeding thence into the Congo. +For a month all traces disappeared in the veldt, until by chance, rather +than by his own merits, Frawley found the trail anew in Madagascar, +whither Greenfield had come after a desperate attempt to bury his trail +on the immense plains of Southern Africa. + +From Madagascar, Frawley followed him to Aden in Arabia and by steamer +to Melbourne. Again for weeks he sought the confused track vainly +through Australia, up through Sydney, down again to Tasmania and New +Zealand on a false clue, back to Queensland, where at last in Cooktown +he learned anew of the passing of his man. + +The third year began without appreciable gain. Greenfield still was +three months in advance, never pausing, scurrying from continent to +continent, as though instinctively aware of the progress of his pursuer. + +In this year Frawley visited Sumatra, Java, and Borneo, stopped at +Manila, jumped immediately to Korea, and hurried on to Vladivostok, +where he found that Greenfield had procured passage on a sealer bound +for Auckland. There he had taken the steamer by the Straits of Magellan +back to Buenos Ayres. + +There, within the first hour, he heard a report that his man had gone on +to Rio Janeiro, caught the cholera, and died there. Undaunted by the +epidemic, Frawley took the next boat and entered the stricken city by +swimming ashore. For a week he searched the hospitals and the +cemeteries. Greenfield had indeed been stricken, but, escaping with his +life, had left for the northern part of Brazil. The delay resulted in a +gain of three months for Frawley, but without heat or excitement he +began anew the pursuit, passing up the coast to Para and the mouth of +the Amazon, by Bogota and Panama into Mexico, on up toward the border +of Texas. The months between him and Greenfield shortened to weeks, then +to days without troubling his equanimity. At El Paso he arrived a few +hours after Greenfield had left, going toward the Salt Basin and the +Guadalupe Mountains. Frawley took horses and a guide and followed to the +edge of the desert. At three o'clock in the afternoon a horseman grew +out of the horizon, a figure that remained stationary and attentive, +studying his approach through a spy-glass. Suddenly, as though +satisfied, the stranger took off his hat and waved it above his head in +challenge, and digging his heels into his horse, disappeared into the +desert. + + + + +VI + + +Frawley understood the challenge--the end was to be in the desert. +Failing to move his guide by threat or promise, he left him clamoring +frantically on the edge of the desert and rode on toward where the +figure of Greenfield had disappeared on the horizon in a puff of dust. + +For three days they went their way grimly into the parched sands, +husbanding every particle of strength, within plain sight of each other, +always at the same unvarying walk. At night they slept by fits and +starts, with an ear trained for the slightest hostile sound. Then they +cast aside their saddles, their rifles, and superfluous clothing, in a +vain effort to save their mounts. + +The horses, heaving and staggering, crawled over the yielding sands +like silhouettes drawn by a thread. In the sky not a cloud appeared; +below, the yellow monotony extended as flat as a dish. Above them a lazy +buzzard, wheeling in languid circles, followed with patient conviction. + +On the fourth morning Frawley's horse stopped, shuddered, and went down +in a heap. Greenfield halted and surveyed his discomfiture grimly, +without a sign of elation. + +"That's bad, very bad," Frawley said judicially. "I ought to have sent +word to the department. Still, it's not over yet--his horse won't last +long. Well, I mustn't carry much." + +He abandoned his revolver, a knife, $200 in gold, and continued on foot, +preserving only the water-bag with its precious mouthful. Greenfield, +who had waited immovably, allowed him to approach within a quarter of a +mile before putting his horse in motion. + +"He's going to make sure I stay here," said Frawley to himself, seeing +that Greenfield made no attempt to increase the lead. "Well, we'll see." + +Twelve hours later Greenfield's horse gave out. Frawley uttered a cry of +joy, but the handicap of half a day was a serious one; he was exhausted, +famished, and in the bag there remained only sufficient water to moisten +his lips. + +The fifth day broke with an angry sun and no sign on the horizon to +relieve the eternal monotony. Only the buzzard at the same distance +aloft bided his time. Hunter and hunted, united perforce by their common +suffering, plodded on with the weary, hopeless straining of human beings +harnessed to a plow, covering scarcely a mile an hour. From time to +time, by common consent, they sat down, gaunt, exhausted figures, eyeing +each other with the instinct of beasts, their elbows on their bony +knees. Whether from a fear of losing energy, whether under the spell of +the frightful stillness, neither had uttered a word. + +Frawley was afire with thirst. The desert entered his body with its dry +mortal heat, and ran its consuming dryness through his veins; his eyes +started from his face as the sun above him hung out of the parched sky. +He began to talk to himself, to sing. Under his feet the sand sifted +like the soft protest of autumn leaves. He imagined himself back in the +forest, marking the rustle of leafy branches and the intermittent +dropping of acorns and twigs. All at once his legs refused to move. He +stood still, his gaze concentrated on the figure of Greenfield a long +moment, then his body crumpled under him and he sank without volition to +the ground. + +Greenfield stopped, sat down, and waited. After half an hour he drew +himself to his feet, moved on, then stopped, returned, approached, and +listened to the crooning of the delirious man. Suddenly satisfied, he +flung both arms into the air in frenzied triumph, turned, staggered, +and reeled away, while back over the desert came the grotesque, hideous +refrain, in maddened victory: + + "Yankee Doodle Dandy oh! + Yankee Doodle Dandy!" + +Frawley watched him go, then with a sigh of relief turned his glance to +the black revolving form in the air--at least that remained to break the +horror of the solitude. Then he lost consciousness. + +The beat of wings across his face aroused him with a start and a cry of +agony. The great bird of carrion, startled in its inspection, flew +clumsily off and settled fearlessly on the ground, blinking at him. + +An immense revolt, a furious anger brought with it new strength. He rose +and rushed at the bird with clenched fist, cursing it as it lumbered +awkwardly away. Then he began desperately to struggle on, following the +tracks in the sand. + +At the end of an hour specks appeared on the horizon. He looked at them +in his delirium and began to laugh uneasily. + +"I must be out of my head," he said to himself seriously. "It's a +mirage. Well, I suppose it is the end. Who'll they put on the case now? +Keech, I suppose; yes, Keech; he's a good man. Of course it's a mirage." + +As he continued to stumble forward, the dots assumed the shape of trees +and hills. He laughed contemptuously and began to remonstrate with +himself, repeating: + +"It's a mirage, or I'm out of my head." He began to be worried, saying +over and over: "That's a bad sign, very bad. I mustn't lose control of +myself. I must stick to him--stick to him until he dies of old age. +Bucky Greenfield! Well, he won't get out of this either. If the +department could only know!" + +The nearer he drew to life, the more indignant he became. He arrived +thus at the edge of trees and green things. + +"Why don't they go?" he said angrily. "They ought to, now. Come, I think +I'm keeping my head remarkably well." + +All at once a magnificent idea came to him--he would walk through the +mirage and end it. He advanced furiously against an imaginary tree, +struck his forehead, and toppled over insensible. + + + + +VII + + +Frawley returned to consciousness to find himself in the hut of a +half-breed Indian, who was forcing a soup of herbs between his lips. + +Two days later he regained his strength sufficiently to reach a ranch +owned by Englishmen. Fitted out by them, he started at once to return to +El Paso; to take up the unending search anew. + +In the late afternoon, tired and thirsty, he arrived at a shanty where +a handful of Mexican children were lolling in the cool of the wall. At +the sound of his approach a woman came running to the door, shrieking +for assistance in a Mexican gibberish. He ran hastily to the house, his +hand on his pistol. The woman, without stopping her chatter, huddled in +the doorway, pointing to the dim corner opposite. Frawley, following her +glance, saw the figure of a man stretched on a hasty bed of leaves. He +took a few quick steps and recognized Greenfield. + +At the same moment the bundle shot to a sitting position, with a cry: + +"Who's that?" + +Frawley, with a quick motion, covered him with his revolver, crying: + +"Hands up. It's me, Bucky, and I've got you now!" + +"Frawley!" + +"That's it, Bucky--Hands up!" + +Greenfield, without obeying, stared at him wildly. + +"God, it is Frawley!" he cried, and fell back in a heap. + +Inspector Frawley, advancing a step, repeated his command with no +uncertain ring: + +"Hands up! Quick!" + +On the bed the distorted body contracted suddenly into a ball. + +"Easy, Bub," Greenfield said between his teeth. "Easy; don't get +excited. I'm dying." + +"You?" + +Frawley approached cautiously, suspiciously. + +"Fact. I'm cashin' in." + +"What's the matter?" + +"Bug. Plain bug--the desert did the rest." + +"A what?" + +"Tarantula bite--don't laugh, Bub." + +Frawley, at his side, needed but a glance to see that it was true. He +ran his hand over Greenfield's belt and removed his pistol. + +"Sorry," he said curtly, standing up. + +"Quite keerect, Bub!" + +"Can I do anything for you?" + +"Nope." + +Suddenly, without warning, Greenfield raised himself, glared at him, +stretched out his hands, and fell into a passionate fit of weeping. +Frawley's English reserve was outraged. + +"What's the matter?" he said angrily. "You're not going to show the +white feather now, are you?" + +With an oath Greenfield sat bolt upright, silent and flustered. + +"D---- you, Bub--show some imagination," he said after a pause. "Do +you think I mind dying--me? That's a good one. It ain't that--no--it's +ending, ending like this. After all I've been through, to be put out of +business by a bug--an ornery little bug." + +Then Frawley comprehended his mistake. + +"I say, Bucky, I'll take that back," he said awkwardly. + +"No imagination, no imagination," Greenfield muttered, sinking back. +"Why, man, if I'd chased you three times around the world and got you, +I'd fall on you and beat you to a pulp or--or I'd hug you like a +long-lost brother." + +"I asked your pardon," said Frawley again. + +"All right, Bub--all right," Greenfield answered with a short laugh. +Then after a pause he added seriously: "So you've come--well, I'm glad +it's over. Bub," he continued, raising himself excitedly on his elbow, +"here's something strange, only you won't understand it. Do you know, +the whole time I knew just where you were--I had a feeling somewhere in +the back of my neck. At first you were 'way off, over the horizon; then +you got to be a spot coming over the hill. Then I began to feel that +spot growin' bigger and bigger--after Rio Janeiro, crawling up, creeping +up. Gospel truth, I felt you sneaking up on my back. It got on my +nerves. I dreamed about it, and that morning on the trail when you was +just a speck on any old hoss--I knew! You--you don't understand such +things, Bub, do you?" + +Frawley made an effort, failed, and answered helplessly: + +"No, Bucky, no, I can't say I do understand." + +"Why do you think I ran you into Rio Janeiro?" said Greenfield, +twisting on the leaves. "Into the cholery? What do you think made me lay +for this desert? Bub, you were on my back, clinging like a catamount. I +was bound to shake you off. I was desperate. It had to end one way or +t'other. That's why I stuck to you until I thought it was over with +you." + +"Why didn't you make sure of it?" said Frawley with curiosity; "you +could have done for me there." + +Greenfield looked at him hard and nodded. + +"Keerect, Bub; quite so!" + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Why!" cried Greenfield angrily. "Ain't you ever had any imagination? +Did I want to shoot you down like a common ordinary pickpocket after +taking you three times around the world? That was no ending! God, what a +chase it was!" + +"It was long, Bucky," Frawley admitted. "It was a good one!" + +"Can't you understand anything?" Greenfield cried querulously. "Where's +anything bigger, more than what we've done? And to have it end like +this--to have a bug--a miserable, squashy bug beat you after all!" + +For a long moment there was no sound, while Greenfield lay, twisting, +his head averted, buried in the leaves. + +"It's not right, Bucky," said Frawley at last, +with an effort at sympathy. "It oughtn't to have ended this way." + +"It was worth it!" Greenfield cried. "Three years! There ain't much dirt +we haven't kicked up! Asia, Africa--a regular Cook's tour through +Europe, North and South Ameriky. And what seas, Bub!" His voice +faltered. The drops of sweat stood thickly on his forehead; but he +pulled himself together gamely. "Do you remember the Sea of Japan with +its funny little toy junks? Man, we've beaten out Columbus, Jools Verne, +and the rest of them--hollow, Bub!" + +"I say, what did you do it for?" + +"You are a rum un," said Greenfield with a broken laugh. The words began +to come shorter and with effort. "Excitement, Bub! Deviltry and +cussedness!" + +"How do you feel, Bucky?" asked Frawley. + +"Half in hell already--stewing for my sins--but it's not that--it's--" + +"What, Bucky?" + +"That bug! Me, Bucky Greenfield--to go down and out on account of a +bug--a little squirmy bug! But I swear even he couldn't have done it if +the desert hadn't put me out of business first! No, by God! I'm not +downed so easy as that!" + +Frawley, in a lame attempt to show his sympathy, went closer to the +dying man: + +"I say, Bucky." + +"Shout away." + +"Wouldn't you like to go out, standing, on your feet--with your boots +on?" + +Greenfield laughed, a contented laugh. + +"What's the matter, pal?" said Frawley, pausing in surprise. + +"You darned old Englishman," said Greenfield affectionately. "Say, Bub." + +"Yes, Bucky." + +"The dinkies are all right--but--but a Yank, a real Yank, would 'a' got +me in six months." + +"All right, Bucky. Shall I raise you up?" + +"H'ist away." + +"Would you like the feeling of a gun in your hand again?" said Frawley, +raising him up. + +This time Greenfield did not laugh, but his hand closed convulsively +over the butt, and he gave a savage sigh of delight. His limbs +contracted violently, his head bore heavily on the shoulder of Frawley, +who heard him whisper again: + +"A bug--a little--" + +Then he stopped and appeared to listen. Outside, the evening was soft +and stirring. Through the door the children appeared, tumbling over one +another, in grotesque attitudes. + +Suddenly, as though in the breeze he had caught the sound of a step, +Greenfield jerked almost free of Frawley's arms, shuddered, and fell +back rigid. The pistol, flung into the air, twirled, pitched on the +floor, and remained quiet. + +Frawley placed the body back on the bed of leaves, listened a moment, +and rose satisfied. He threw a blanket over the face, picked up the +revolver, searched a moment for his hat, and went out to arrange with +the Mexican for the night. In a moment he returned and took a seat in +the corner, and began carefully to jot down the details on a piece of +paper. Presently he paused and looked reflectively at the bed of leaves. + +"It's been a good three years," he said reflectively. He considered a +moment, rapping the pencil against his teeth, and repeated: "A good +three years. I think when I get home I'll ask for a week or so to +stretch myself." Then he remembered with anxiety how Greenfield had +railed at his lack of imagination and pondered a moment seriously. +Suddenly, as though satisfied, he said with a nod of conviction: + +"Well, now, we did jog about a bit!" + + + + +LARRY MOORE + + + + +I + + +The base-ball season had closed, and we were walking down Fifth avenue, +Larry Moore and I. We were discussing the final series for the +championship, and my friend was estimating his chances of again pitching +the Giants to the top, when a sudden jam on the avenue left us an +instant looking face to face at a woman and a child seated in a +luxurious victoria. + +Larry Moore, who had hold of my arm, dropped it quickly and wavered in +his walk. The woman caught her breath and put her muff hastily to her +face; but the child saw us without surprise. All had passed within a +second, yet I retained a vivid impression of a woman of strange +attraction, elegant and indolent, with something in her face which left +me desirous of seeing it again, and of a pretty child who seemed a +little too serious for that happy age. Larry Moore forgot what he had +begun to say. He spoke no further word, and I, in glancing at his face, +comprehended that, incredible as it seemed, there was some bond between +the woman I had seen and this raw-boned, big-framed, and big-hearted +idol of the bleachers. + +Without comment I followed Larry Moore, serving his mood as he +immediately left the avenue and went east. At first he went with excited +strides, then he slowed down to a profound and musing gait, then he +halted, laid his hand heavily on my shoulder, and said: + +"Get into the car, Bob. Come up to the rooms." + +I understood that he wished to speak to me of what had happened, and I +followed. We went thus, without another word exchanged, to his rooms, +and entered the little parlor hung with the trophies of his career, +which I looked at with some curiosity. On the mantel in the center I saw +at once a large photograph of the Hon. Joseph Gilday, a corporation +lawyer of whom we reporters told many hard things, a picture I did not +expect to find here among the photographs of the sporting celebrities +who had sent their regards to my friend of the diamond. In some +perplexity I approached and saw across the bottom written in large firm +letters: "I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore." + +I smiled, for the tribute of the great man of the law seemed incongruous +here to me, who knew of old my simple-minded, simple-hearted friend +whom, the truth be told, I patronized perforce. Then I looked about more +carefully, and saw a dozen photographs of a woman, sometimes alone, +sometimes holding a pretty child, and the faces were the faces I had +seen in the victoria. I feigned not to have seen them; but Larry, who +had watched me, said: + +"Look again, Bob; for that is the woman you saw in the carriage, and +that is the child." + +So I took up a photograph and looked at it long. The face had something +more dangerous than beauty in it--the face of a Cleopatra with a look in +the deep restless eyes I did not fancy; but I did not tell that to Larry +Moore. Then I put it back in its place and turned and said gravely: + +"Are you sure that you want to tell me, Larry Moore?" + +"I do," he said. "Sit down." + +He did not seek preliminaries, as I should have done, but began at once, +simply and directly--doubtless he was retelling the story more to +himself than to me. + +"She was called Fanny Montrose," he said, "a slip of a girl, with +wonderful golden hair, and big black eyes that made me tremble, the day +I went into the factory at Bridgeport, the day I fell in love. 'I'm +Larry Moore; you may have heard of me,' I said, going straight up to her +when the whistle blew that night, 'and I'd like to walk home with you, +Fanny Montrose.' + +"She drew back sort of quick, and I thought she'd been hearing tales of +me up in Fall River; so I said: 'I only meant to be polite. You may have +heard a lot of bad of me, and a lot of it's true, but you never heard +of Larry Moore's being disrespectful to a lady,' and I looked her in the +eye and said: 'Will you let me walk home with you, Fanny Montrose?' + +"She swung on her foot a moment, and then she said: 'I will.' + +"I heard a laugh go up at that, and turned round, with the bit in my +teeth; but it was only the women, and you can't touch them. Fanny +Montrose hurried on, and I saw she was upset by it, so I said humbly: +'You're not sorry now, are you?' + +"'Oh, no,' she said. + +"'Will you catch hold of my arm?' I asked her. + +"She looked first in my face, and then she slipped in her hand so +prettily that it sent all the words from my tongue. 'You've just come to +Bridgeport, ain't you?' she said timidly. + +"'I have,' I said, 'and I want you to know the truth. I came because I +had to get out of Fall River. I had a scrap--more than one of them.' + +"'Did you lick your man?' she said, glancing at me. + +"'I licked every one of them, and it was good and fair fighting--if I +was on a tear,' I said; 'but I'm ashamed of it now.' + +"'You're Larry Moore, who pitched on the Fall Rivers last season?' she +said. + +"'I am.' + +"'You can pitch some!' she said with a nod. + +"'When I'm straight I can.' + +"'And why don't you go at it like a man then? You could get in the +Nationals,' she said. + +"'I've never had anyone to work for--before,' I said. + +"'We go down here; I'm staying at Keene's boarding-house,' she said at +that. + +"I was afraid I'd been too forward; so I kept still until we came to the +door. Then I pulled off my hat and made her a bow and said: 'Will you +let me walk home with you steady, Fanny Montrose?' + +"And she stopped on the door-step and looked at me without saying a +word, and I asked it again, putting out my hand, for I wanted to get +hold of hers. But she drew back and reached for the knob. So I said: + +"'You needn't be frightened; for it's me that ought to be afraid.' + +"'And what have you to be afraid of, you great big man?' she said, +stopping in wonder. + +"'I'm afraid of your big black eyes, Fanny Montrose, 'I said, 'and I'm +afraid of your slip of a body that I could snap in my hands,' I said; +'for I'm going to fall in love with you, Fanny Montrose.' + +"Which was a lie, for I was already. With that I ran off like a fool. I +ran off, but from that night I walked home with Fanny Montrose. + +"For a month we kept company, and Bill Coogan and Dan Farrar and the +rest of them took my notice and kept off. The women laughed at me and +sneered at her; but I minded them not, for I knew the ways of the +factory, and besides there wasn't a man's voice in the lot--that I +heard. + +"But one night as we were wandering back to Keene's boarding-house, +Fanny Montrose on my arm, Bill Coogan planted himself before us, and +called her something to her face that there was no getting around. + +"I took her on a bit, weeping and shaking, and I said to her: 'Stand +here.' + +"And I went back, and caught Bill Coogan by the throat and the belt, and +swung him around my head, and flung him against the lamp-post. And the +post broke off with a crash, and Coogan lay quiet, with nothing more to +say. + +"I went back to Fanny Montrose, who had stopped her crying, and said, +shaking with anger at the dirty insult: 'Fanny Montrose, will you be my +wife? Will you marry me this night?' + +"She pushed me away from her, and looked up into my face in a frightened +way and said: 'Do you mean to be your wife?' + +"'I do,' I said, and then because I was afraid that she didn't trust in +me enough yet to marry me I said solemnly: 'Fanny Montrose, you need +have no fear. If I've been drunk and riotous, it's because I wanted to +be, and now that I've made up my mind to be straight, there isn't a +thing living that could turn me back again. Fanny Montrose, will you say +you'll be my wife?' + +"Then she put out her two hands to me and tumbled into my arms, all +limp." + + + + +II + + +Larry Moore rose and walked the length of the room. When he came back he +went to the wall and took down a photograph; but with what emotion I +could not say, for his back was to me. I glanced again at the odd +volatile beauty in the woman's face and wondered what was the word Bill +Coogan had said and what was his reason for saying it. + +"From that day it was all luck for me," Larry Moore said, settling again +in the chair, where his face returned to the shadow. "She had a head on +her, that little woman. She pulled me up to where I am. I pitched that +season for the Bridgeports. You know the record, Bob, seven games lost +out of forty-three, and not so much my fault either. When they were for +signing me again, at big money too, the little woman said: + +"'Don't you do it, Larry Moore; they're not your class. Just hold out a +bit.' + +"You know, Bob, how I signed then with the Giants, and how they boosted +my salary at the end of that first year; but it was Fanny Montrose who +made the contracts every time. We had the child then, and I was happy. +The money came quick, and lots of it, and I put it in her lap and said: + +"'Do what you want with it; only I want you to enjoy it like a lady.' + +"Maybe I was wrong there--maybe I was. It was pride, I'll admit; but +there wasn't a lady came to the stands that looked finer than Fanny +Montrose, as I always used to call her. I got to be something of a +figure, as you know, and the little woman was always riding back and +forth to the games in some automobile, and more often with Paul Bargee. + +"One afternoon Ed Nichols, who was catching me then, came up with a +serious face and said: 'Where's your lady to-day, Larry--and Paul +Bargee?' And by the way he said it I knew what he had in mind, and good +friend that he was of mine I liked to have throttled him. They told me +to pitch the game, and I did. I won it too. Then I ran home without +changing my clothes, the people staring at me, and ran up the stairs and +flung open the door and stopped and called: 'Fanny Montrose!' + +"And I called again, and I called a third time, and only the child came +to answer me. Then I knew in my heart that Fanny Montrose had left me +and run off with Paul Bargee. + + + + +III + + +"I waited all that night without tasting food or moving, listening for +her step on the stairs. And in the morning the postman came without a +line or a word for me. I couldn't understand; for I had been a good +husband to her, and though I thought over everything that had happened +since we'd been married, I couldn't think of a thing that I'd done to +hurt her--for I wasn't thinking then of the millions of Paul Bargee. + +"In the afternoon there came a dirty little lawyer shuffling in to see +me, with blinking little eyes behind his black-rimmed spectacles--a toad +of a man. + +"'Who are you?' I said, 'and what are you doing here?' + +"'I'm simply an attorney,' he said, cringing before my look--'Solomon +Scholl, on a very disagreeable duty,' he said. + +"'Do you come from her?' I said, and I caught my breath. + +"'I come from Mr. Paul Bargee,' he said, 'and I'd remind you, Mr. Moore, +that I come as an attorney on a disagreeable duty.' + +"With that I drew back and looked at him in amazement, and said: 'What +has he got to say to me?' + +"'My client,' he said, turning the words over with the tip of his +tongue, 'regrets exceedingly--' + +"'Don't waste words!' I said angrily. 'What are you here for?' + +"'My client,' he said, looking at me sidelong, 'empowers me to offer you +fifteen thousand dollars if you will promise to make no trouble in this +matter.' + +"I sat down all in a heap; for I didn't know the ways of a gentleman +then, Bob, and covered my face with the horror I had of the humiliation +he had done me. The lawyer, he misunderstood it, for he crept up softly +and whispered in my ear: + +"'That's what he offers--if you're fool enough to take it; but if you'll +stick to me, we can wring him to the tune of ten times that.' + +"I got up and took him and kicked him out of the room, and kicked him +down the stairs, for he was a little man, and I wouldn't strike him. + +"Then I came back and said to myself: 'If matters are so, I must get the +best advice I can.' + +"And I knew that Joseph Gilday was the top of the lot. So I went to him, +and when I came in I stopped short, for I saw he looked perplexed, and I +said: 'I'm in trouble, sir, and my life depends on it, and other lives, +and I need the best of advice; so I've come to you. I'm Larry Moore of +the Giants; so you may know I can pay.' Then I sat down and told him the +story, every word as I've told you; and when I was all through, he said +quietly: + +"'What are you thinking of doing, Mr. Moore?' + +"'I think it would be better if she came back, sir,' I said, 'for her +and for the child. So I thought the best thing would be to write her a +letter and tell her so; for I think if you could write the right sort of +a letter she'd come back. And that's what I want you to show me how to +write,' I said. + +"He took a sheet of paper and a pen, and looked at me steadily and said: +'What would you say to her?' + +"So I drew my hands up under my chin and thought awhile and said: 'I +think I'd say something like this, sir: + +"'"My dear wife--I've been trying to think all this while what has +driven you away, and I don't understand. I love you, Fanny Montrose, and +I want you to come back to me. And if you're afraid to come, I want to +tell you not a word will pass my lips on the subject; for I haven't +forgotten that it was you made a man of me; and much as I try, I cannot +hate you, Fanny Montrose."' + +"He looked down and wrote for a minute, and then he handed me the paper +and said: 'Send that.' + +"I looked, and saw it was what I had told him, and I said doubtfully: +'Do you think that is best?' + +"'I do.' + +"So I mailed the letter as he said, and three days after came one from a +lawyer, saying my wife could have no communication with me, and would I +send what I had to say to him. + +"So I went down to Gilday and told him, and I said: 'We must think of +other things, sir, since she likes luxury and those things better; for +I'm beginning to think that's it--and there I'm a bit to blame, for I +did encourage her. Well, she'll have to marry him--that's all I can see +to it," I said, and sat very quiet. + +"'He won't marry her,' he said in his quick way. + +"I thought he meant because she was bound to me, so I said: 'Of course, +after the divorce.' + +"'Are you going to get a divorce then from her?' + +"'I've been thinking it over,' I said carefully, and I had, 'and I think +the best way would be for her to get it. That can be done, can't it?' I +said, 'because I've been thinking of the child, and I don't want her to +grow up with any stain on the good name of her mother,' I said. + +"'Then you will give up the child?' he said. + +"And I said: 'Yes.' + +"'Will he marry her?' he said again. + +"'For what else did he take her away?' + +"'If I was you,' he said, looking at me hard, 'I'd make sure of +that--before.' + +"That worried me a good deal, and I went out and walked around, and then +I went to the station and bought a ticket for Chicago, and I said to +myself: 'I'll go and see him'; for by that time I'd made up my mind what +I'd do. + +"And when I got there the next morning, I went straight to his house, +and my heart sank, for it was a great place with a high iron railing all +around it and a footman at the door--and I began to understand why Fanny +Montrose had left me for him. + +"I'd thought a long time about giving another name; but I said to +myself: 'No, I'll him a chance first to come down and face me like a +man,' so I said to the footman: 'Go tell Paul Bargee that Larry Moore +has come to see him.' + +"Then I went down the hall and into the great parlor, all hung with +draperies, and I looked at myself in the mirrors and looked at the +chairs, and I didn't feel like sitting down, and presently the curtains +opened, and Paul Bargee stepped into the room. I looked at him once, and +then I looked at the floor, and my breath came hard. Then he stepped up +to me and stopped and said: + +"'Well?' + +"And though he had wronged me and wrecked my life, I couldn't help +admiring his grit; for the boy was no match for me, and he knew it too, +though he never flinched. + +"'I've come from New York here to talk with you, Paul Bargee,' I said. + +"'You've a right to.' + +"'I have,' I said, 'and I want to have an understanding with you now, if +you have the time, sir,' I said, and looked at the ground again. + +"He drew off, and hearing me speak so low he mistook me as others have +done before, and he looked at me hard and said: 'Well, how much?' + +"My head went up, and I strode at him; but he never winced--if he had, I +think I'd have caught him then and there and served him as I did Bill +Coogan. But I stopped and said: 'That's the second mistake you've made, +Paul Bargee; the first was when you sent a dirty little lawyer to pay me +for taking my wife. And your lawyer came to me and told me to screw you +to the last cent. I kicked him out of my sight; and what have you to say +why I shouldn't do the same to you, Paul Bargee?' + +"He looked white and hurt in his pride, and said: 'You're right; and I +beg your pardon, Mr. Moore.' + +"'I don't want your pardon,' I said, 'and I won't sit down in your +house, and we won't discuss what has happened but what is to be. For +there's a great wrong you've done, and I've a right to say what you +shall do now, Paul Bargee.' + +"He looked at me and said slowly: 'What is that?' + +"'You took my wife, and I gave her a chance to come back to me,' I said; +'but she loved you and what you can give better than me. But she's been +my wife, and I'm not going to see her go down into the gutter.' + +"He started to speak; but I put up my hand and I said: 'I'm not here to +discuss with you, Paul Bargee. I've come to say what's going to be done; +for I have a child,' I said, 'and I don't intend that the mother of my +little girl should go down to the gutter. You've chosen to take my wife, +and she's chosen to stay with you. Now, you've got to marry her and +make her a good woman,' I said. + +"Then Paul Bargee stood off, and I saw what was passing through his +mind. And I went up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder and said: +'You know what I mean, and you know what manner of man I am that talks +to you like this; for you're no coward,' I said; 'but you marry Fanny +Montrose within a week after she gets her freedom, or I am going to kill +you wherever you stand. And that's the choice you've got to make, Paul +Bargee,' I said. + +"Then I stepped back and watched him, and as I did so I saw the curtains +move and knew that Fanny Montrose had heard me. + +"'You're going to give her the divorce?' he said. + +"'I am. I don't intend there shall be a stain on her name,' I said; 'for +I loved Fanny Montrose, and she's always the mother of my little girl.' + +"Then he went to a chair and sat down and took his head in his hands, +and I went out. + + + + +IV + + +"I came back to New York, and went to Mr. Gilday. + +"'Will he marry her?' he said at once. + +"'He will marry her,' I said. 'As for her, I want you to say; for I'll +not write to her myself, since she wouldn't answer me. Say when she's +the wife of Paul Bargee I'll bring the child to her myself, and she's +to see me; for I have a word to say to her then,' I said, and I laid my +fist down on the table. 'Until then the child stays with me.' + +"They've said hard things of Mr. Joseph Gilday, and I know it; but I +know all that he did for me. For he didn't turn it over to a clerk; but +he took hold himself and saw it through as I had said. And when the +divorce was given he called me down and told me that Fanny Montrose was +a free woman and no blame to her in the sight of the law. + +"Then I said: 'It is well. Now write to Paul Bargee that his week has +begun. Until then I keep the child, law or no law.' Then I rose and +said: 'I thank you, Mr. Gilday. You've been very kind, and I'd like to +pay you what I owe you.' + +"He sat there a moment and chewed on his mustache, and he said: 'You +don't owe me a cent.' + +"'It wasn't charity I came to you for, and I can pay for what I get, Mr. +Gilday,' I said. 'Will you give me your regular bill?' I said. + +"And he said at last: 'I will.' + +"In the middle of the week Paul Bargee's mother came to me and went down +on her knees and begged for her son, and I said to her: 'Why should +there be one law for him and one law for the likes of me. He's taken my +wife; but he sha'n't put her to shame, ma'am, and he sha'n't cast a +cloud on the life of my child!' + +"Then she stopped arguing, and caught my hands and cried: 'But you +won't kill him, you won't kill my son, if he don't?' + +"'As sure as Saturday comes, ma'am, and he hasn't made Fanny Montrose a +good woman,' I said, 'I'm going to kill Paul Bargee wherever he stands.' + +"And Friday morning Mr. Gilday called me down to his office and told me +that Paul Bargee had done as I said he should do. And I pressed his hand +and said nothing, and he let me sit awhile in his office. + +"And after awhile I rose up and said: 'Then I must take the child to +her, as I promised, to-night.' + +"He walked with me from the office and said: 'Go home to your little +girl. I'll see to the tickets, and will come for you at nine o'clock.' + +"And at nine o'clock he came in his big carriage, and took me and the +child to the station and said: 'Telegraph me when you're leaving +to-morrow.' + +"And I said: 'I will.' + +"Then I went into the car with my little girl asleep in my arms and sat +down in the seat, and the porter came and said: + +"'Can I make up your berths?' + +"And I looked at the child and shook my head. So I held her all night +and she slept on my shoulder, while I looked from her out into the +darkness, and from the darkness back to her again. And the porter kept +passing and passing and staring at me and the child. + +"And in the morning we went up to the great house and into the big +parlor, and Fanny Montrose came in, as I had said she should, very white +and not looking at me. And the child ran to her, and I watched Fanny +Montrose catch her up to her breast, and I sobbed. And she looked at me, +and saw it. So I said: + +"'It's because now I know you love the child and that you'll be kind to +her.' + +"Then she fell down before me and tried to take my hand. But I stepped +back and said: + +"'I've made you an honest woman, Fanny Montrose, and now as long as I +live I'm going to see you do nothing to disgrace my child.' + +"And I went out and took the train back. And Mr. Gilday was at the +station there waiting for me, and he took my arm, without a word, and +led me to his carriage and drove up without speaking. And when we got to +the house, he got out, and took off his hat and made me a bow and said: +'I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore.'" + + + + +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS + + + + +I + + +I don't believe in wedding functions. I don't believe in honeymoons and +particularly I abominate the inhuman custom of giving wedding presents. +And this is why: + +Clara was the fifth poor daughter of a rich man. I was respectably poor +but artistic. We had looked forward to marriage as a time when two +persons chose a home and garnished it with furnishings of their own +choice, happy in the daily contact with beautiful things. We had often +discussed our future home. We knew just the pictures that must hang on +the walls, the tone of the rugs that should lie on the floors, the style +of the furniture that should stand in the rooms, the pattern of the +silver that should adorn our table. Our ideas were clear and positive. + +Unfortunately Clara had eight rich relatives who approved of me and I +had three maiden aunts, two of whom were in precarious health and must +not be financially offended. + +I am rather an imperious man, with theories that a woman is happiest +when she finds a master; but when the details of the wedding came up for +decision I was astounded to find myself not only flouted but actually +forced to humiliating surrender. Since then I have learned that my own +case was not glaringly exceptional. At the time, however, I was +nonplused and rather disturbed in my dreams of the future. I had decided +on a house wedding with but the family and a few intimate friends to be +present at my happiness. After Clara had done me the honor to consult +me, several thousand cards were sent out for the ceremony at the church +and an addition was begun on the front veranda. + +Clara herself led me to the library and analyzed the situation to me, in +the profoundest manner. + +"You dear, old, impracticable goose," she said with the wisdom of just +twenty, "what do you know about such things? How much do you suppose it +will cost us to furnish a house the way we want?" + +I said airily, "Oh, about five hundred dollars." + +"Take out your pencil," said Clara scornfully, "and write." + +When she finished her dictation, and I had added up the items with a +groan, I was dumbfounded. I said: + +"Clara, do you think it is wise--do you think we have any right to get +married?" + +"Of course we have." + +"Then we must make up our minds to boarding." + +"Nonsense! we shall have everything just as we planned it." + +"But how?" + +"Wedding presents," said Clara triumphantly, "now do you see why it must +be a church wedding?" + +I began to see. + +"But isn't it a bit mercenary?" I said feebly. "Does every one do it?" + +"Every one. It is a sort of tax on the unmarried," said Clara with a +determined shake of her head. "Quite right that it should be, too." + +"Then every one who receives an invitation is expected to contribute to +our future welfare?" + +"An invitation to the house." + +"Well, to the house--then?" + +"Certainly." + +"Ah, now, my dear, I begin to understand why the presents are always +shown." + +For all answer Clara extended the sheet of paper on which we had made +our calculations. + +I capitulated. + + + + +II + + +I pass over the wedding. In theory I have grown more and more opposed to +such exhibitions. A wedding is more pathetic than a funeral, and +nothing, perhaps, is more out of place than the jubilations of the +guests. When a man and a woman, as husband and wife, have lived together +five years, then the community should engage a band and serenade them, +but at the outset--however, I will not insist--I am doubtless cynically +inclined. I come to the moment when, having successfully weathered the +pitfalls of the honeymoon (there's another mistaken theory--but let that +pass) my wife and I found ourselves at last in our own home, in the +midst of our wedding presents. I say in the midst advisably. Clara sat +helplessly in the middle of the parlor rug and I glowered from the +fireplace. + +"My dear Clara," I said, with just a touch of asperity, "you've had your +way about the wedding. Now you've got your wedding presents. What are +you going to do with them?" + +"If people only wouldn't have things marked!" said Clara irrelevantly. + +"But they always do," I replied. "Also I may venture to suggest that +your answer doesn't solve the difficulty." + +"Don't be cross," said Clara. + +"My dear," I replied with excellent good-humor, "I'm not. I'm only +amused--who wouldn't be?" + +"Don't be horrid, George," said Clara. + +"It _is_ deliciously humorous," I continued. "Quite the most humorous +thing I have ever known. I am not cross and I am not horrid; I have made +a profound discovery. I know now why so many American marriages are not +happy." + +"Why, George?" + +"Wedding presents," I said savagely, "exactly that, my dear. This being +forced to live years of married life surrounded by things you don't +want, you never will want, and which you've got to live with or lose +your friends." + +"Oh, George!" said Clara, gazing around helplessly, "it is terrible, +isn't it?" + +"Look at that rug you are sitting on," I said, glaring at a six by ten +modern French importation. "Cauliflowers contending with unicorns, +surrounded by a border of green roses and orange violets--expensive! And +until the lamp explodes or the pipes burst we have got to go on and on +and on living over that, and why?--because dear Isabel will be here once +a week!" + +"I thought Isabel would have better taste," said Clara. + +"She has--Isabel has perfect taste, depend upon it," I said, "she did it +on purpose!" + +"George!" + +"Exactly that. Have you noticed that married people give the most +impossible presents? It is revenge, my dear. Society has preyed upon +them. They will prey upon society. Wait until we get a chance!" + +"It is awful!" said Clara. + +"Let us continue. We have five French rugs; no two could live together. +Five rooms desecrated. Our drawing-room is Art Nouveau, furnished by +your Uncle James, who is strong and healthy and may live twenty years. +I particularly abominate Art Nouveau furniture." + +"So do I." + +"Our dining-room is distinctly Grand Rapids." + +"Now, George!" + +"It is." + +"Well, it was your Aunt Susan." + +"It was, but who suggested it? I pass over the bedrooms. I will simply +say that they are nightmares. Expensive nightmares! I come to the +lamps--how many have we?" + +"Fourteen." + +"Fourteen atrocities, imitation Louis Seize, bogus Oriental, feathered, +laced and tasseled. So much for useful presents. Now for decoration. We +have three Sistine Madonnas (my particular abomination). Two, thank +heaven, we can inflict on the next victims, one we have got to live with +and why?--so that each of our three intimate friends will believe it his +own. We have water colors and etchings which we don't want, and a +photograph copy of every picture that every one sees in every one's +house. Some original friend has even sent us a life-size, marble +reproduction of the Venus de Milo. These things will be our artistic +home. Then there are vases--" + +"Now you are losing your temper." + +"On the contrary, I'm reserving it. I shan't characterize the +bric-à-brac, that was to be expected." + +"Don't!" + +"At least that is not marked. I come at last to the silver. Give me the +list." + +Clara sighed and extended it. + +"Four solid silver terrapin dishes." + +"Marked." + +"Marked--Terrapin--ha! ha! Two massive, expensive, solid silver +champagne coolers." + +"Marked." + +"Marked, my dear--for each end of the table when we give our beefsteak +dinners. Almond dishes." + +"Don't!" + +"Forty-two individual, solid or filigree almond dishes; forty-two, +Clara." + +"Marked." + +"Right again, dear. One dozen bonbon dishes, five nouveau riche sugar +shakers (we never use them), three muffineers--in heaven's name, what's +that? Solid silver bread dishes, solid silver candlesticks by the dozen, +solid silver vegetable dishes, and we expect one servant and an +intermittent laundress to do the cooking, washing, make the beds and +clean the house besides." + +"All marked," said Clara dolefully. + +"Every one, my dear. Then the china and the plates, we can't even eat +out of the plates we want or drink from the glasses we wish; everything +in this house, from top to bottom has been picked out and inflicted upon +us against our wants and in defiance of our own taste and we--we have +got to go on living with them and trying not to quarrel!" + +"You have forgotten the worst of all," said Clara. + +"No, my darling, I have not forgotten it. I have thought of nothing +else, but I wanted you to mention it." + +"The flat silver, George." + +"The flat silver, my darling. Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to +match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in +collusion. We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified, +something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?" + +"Oh, dear, they might have asked me!" + +"But they don't, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents, +my dear. We got Pond Lily pattern, repoussé until it scratches your +fingers. Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and +abominate!" + +"I too, George." + +"And that, my dear, we shall never get rid of; we not only must adopt +and assume the responsibility, but must pass it down to our children and +our children's children." + +"Oh, George, it is terrible--terrible! What are we going to do?" + +"My darling Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-à-brac a day on +the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a +butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and +try occasionally to set fire to the furniture." + +"But the flat silver, George, what of that?" + +"Oh, the flat silver," I said gloomily, "each one has his cross to bear, +that shall be ours." + + + + +III + + +We were, as has been suggested, a relatively rich couple. That's a pun! +At the end of five years a relative on either side left us a graceful +reminder. The problem of living became merely one of degree. At the end +of this period we had made considerable progress in the building up of a +home which should be in fact and desire entirely ours. That is, we had +been extensively fortunate in the preservation of our wedding presents. +Our twenty-second housemaid broke a bottle of ink over the parlor rug, +her twenty-one predecessors (whom I had particularly selected) had +already made the most gratifying progress among the bric-à-brac, two +intelligent Airdale puppies had chewed satisfactory holes in the Art +Nouveau furniture, even the Sistine Madonna had wrenched loose from its +supports and considerately annihilated the jewel-studded Oriental lamp +in the general smashup. + +Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the +artistic taste on which I pride myself. There remained at length only +the flat silver and a few thousand dollars' worth of solid silver +receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage. But +these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination. + +One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash. + +Clara gave an exclamation of alarm. + +"George dear, what is it?" + +For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and +gazed at it with a savage joy. + +"George, George, what has happened?" + +"My dear, I have an idea--a wonderful idea." + +"What idea?" + +"We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey." + +Clara screamed. + +"Are you in your senses, George?" + +"Never more so." + +"But it's broiling hot!" + +"Hotter than that." + +"It is simply deluged with mosquitoes." + +"There _are_ several mosquitoes there." + +"It's a hole in the ground!" + +"It certainly is." + +"And the only people we know there are the Jimmy Lakes, whom I detest." + +"I can't bear them." + +"And, George, there are _burglars_!" + +"Yes, my dear," I said triumphantly, "heaven be praised there _are_ +burglars!" + +Clara looked at me. She is very quick. + +"You are thinking of the silver." + +"Of all the silver." + +"But, George, can we afford it?" + +"Afford what?" + +"To have the silver stolen." + +"Supposing there was a burglar insurance, as a reward." + +The next moment Clara was laughing in my arms. + +"Oh, George, you are a wonderful, brilliant man: how did you ever think +of it?" + +"I just put my mind to it," I said loftily. + + + + +IV + + +We went to Lone Tree, New Jersey. We went there early to meet the +migratory spring burglar. We released from storage two chests and three +barrels of solid silver wedding presents, took out a burglar insurance +for three thousand dollars and proceeded to decorate the dining-room and +parlor. + +"It looks rather--rather nouveau riche," said Clara, surveying the +result. + +"My dear, say the word--it is vulgar. But what of that? We have come +here for a purpose and we will not be balked. Our object is to offer +every facility to the gentlemen who will relieve us of our silver. +Nothing concealed, nothing screwed to the floor." + +"I think," said Clara, "that the champagne coolers are unnecessary." + +The solid silver champagne coolers adorned either side of the fireplace. + +"As receptacles for potted ferns they are, it is true, not quite in the +best of taste," I admitted. "We might leave them in the hall for +umbrellas and canes. But then they might be overlooked, and we must take +no chances on a careless burglar." + +Clara sat down and began to laugh, which I confess was quite the natural +thing to do. Solid silver bread dishes holding sweet peas, individual +almond dishes filled with matches, silver baskets for cigars and +cigarettes crowded the room, with silver candlesticks sprouting from +every ledge and table. The dining-room was worse--but then solid silver +terrapin dishes and muffineers, not to mention the two dozen almond +dishes left over from the parlor, are not at all appropriate +decorations. + +"I'm sure the burglars will never come," said Clara, woman fashion. + +"If there's anything will keep them away," I said, a little provoked, +"it's just that attitude of mind." + +"Well, at any rate, I do hope they'll be quick about it, so we can +leave this dreadful place." + +"They'll never come if you're going to watch them," I said angrily. + +We had quite a little quarrel on that point. + +The month of June passed and still we remained in possession of our +wedding silver. Clara was openly discouraged and if I still clung to my +faith, at the bottom I was anxious and impatient. When July passed +unfruitfully even our sense of humor was seriously endangered. + +"They will never come," said Clara firmly. + +"My dear," I replied, "the last time they came in July. All the more +reason that they should change to August." + +"They will never come," said Clara a second time. + +"Let's bait the hook," I said, trying to turn the subject into a +facetious vein. "We might strew a dozen or so of those individual dishes +down the path to the road." + +"They'll never come," said Clara obstinately. + +And yet they came. + +On the second of August, about two o'clock in the morning I was awakened +out of a deep sleep by the voice of my wife crying: + +"George, here's a burglar!" + +I thought the joke obvious and ill-timed and sleepily said so. + +"But, George dear, he's here--in the room!" + +There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation, +that brought me bolt upright in bed. + +"Put up your hands--quick!" said a staccato voice. + +It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional +bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar. + +"Put 'em up!" + +My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude. + +"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice, +shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for +you's!" + +The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white +pajamas I wore--but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my +feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and +hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of +feet and an occasional metallic ring. + +"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful--wonderful for words!" said Clara, +hysterical with joy. + +"I can't believe it," I cried. + +"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern. + +"My dear friend," I said conciliatingly, "there's not the slightest need +of your keeping your finger on that wabbling, cold thing. My feelings +towards you are only the tenderest and the most grateful." + +"Huh!" + +"The feelings of a brother! My only fear is that you may overlook one or +two articles that I admit are not conveniently exposed." + +The bull's-eye turned upon me with a sudden jerk. + +"Well, I'll be damned!" + +"We have waited for you long and patiently. We thought you would never +come. In fact, we had sort of lost faith in you. I'm sorry. I apologize. +In a way I don't deserve this--I really don't." + +"Bughouse!" came from the foot of the bed, in a suppressed mutter. "Out +and out bughouse!" + +"Quite wrong," I said cheerily. "I never was in better health. You are +surprised, you don't understand. It's not necessary you should. It would +rob the situation of its humor if you should. All I ask of you is to +take everything, don't make a slip, get it all." + +"Oh, do, please, please do!" said Clara earnestly. + +The silence at the foot of the bed had the force of an exclamation. + +"Above all," I continued anxiously, "don't forget the pots. They stand +on either side of the fireplace, filled with ferns. They are not pewter. +They are solid silver champagne coolers. They are worth--they are +worth--" + +"Two hundred apiece," said Clara instantly. + +"And don't overlook the muffineers, the terrapin dishes and the +candlesticks. We should be very much obliged--very grateful if you +could find room for them." + +Often since I have thought of that burglar and what must have been his +sensations. At the time I was too engrossed with my own feelings. Never +have I enjoyed a situation more. It is true I noticed as I proceeded our +burglar began to edge away towards the door, keeping the lantern +steadily on my face. + +"And one favor more," I added, "there are several flocks of individual +silver almond dishes roosting downstairs--" + +"Forty-two," said Clara, "twenty-four in the dining-room and eighteen in +the parlor." + +"Forty-two is the number; as a last favor please find room for them; if +you don't want them drop them in a river or bury them somewhere. We +really would appreciate it. It's our last chance." + +"All right," said the burglar in an altered tone. "Don't you worry now, +we'll attend to that." + +"Remember there are forty-two--if you would count them." + +"That's all right--just you rest easy," said the burglar soothingly. +"I'll see they all get in." + +"Really, if I could be of any assistance downstairs," I said anxiously, +"I might really help." + +"Oh, don't you worry, Bub, my pals are real careful muts," said the +burglar nervously. "Now just keep calm. We'll get 'em all." + +It suddenly burst upon me that he took me for a lunatic. I buried my +head in the covers and rocked back and forth between tears and laughter. + +"Hi! what the ----'s going on up there?" cried a voice from downstairs. + +"It's all right--all right, Bill," said our burglar hoarsely, "very +affable party up here. Say, hurry it up a bit down there, will you?" + +All at once it struck me that if I really frightened him too much they +might decamp without making a clean sweep. I sobered at once. + +"I'm not crazy," I said. + +"Sure you're not," said the burglar conciliatingly. + +"But I assure you--" + +"That's all right." + +"I'm perfectly sane." + +"Sane as a house!" + +"There's nothing to be afraid of." + +"Course there isn't. Hi, Bill, won't you hurry up there!" + +"I'll explain--" + +"Don't you mind that." + +"This is the way it is--" + +"That's all right, we know all about it." + +"You do--" + +"Sure, we got your letter." + +"What letter?" + +"Your telegram then." + +"See here, I'm not crazy--" + +"You bet you're not," said the burglar, edging towards the door and +changing the key. + +"Hold up!" I cried in alarm, "don't be a fool. What I want is for you to +get everything--everything, do you hear?" + +"All right, I'll just go down and speak to him." + +"Hold up--" + +"I'll tell him." + +"Wait," I cried, jumping out of bed in my desire to retain him. + +At that moment a whistle came from below and with an exclamation of +relief our burglar slammed the door and locked it. We heard him go down +three steps at a time and rush out of the house. + +"Now you've scared them away," said Clara, "with your idiotic humor." + +I felt contrite and alarmed. + +"How could I help it?" I said angrily, preparing to climb out on the +roof of the porch. "I tried to tell him." + +With which I scrambled out on the roof, made my way to the next room and +entering, released Clara. At the top of the steps we stood clinging +together. + +"Suppose they left it all behind," said Clara. + +"Or even some!" + +"Oh, George, I know it--I know it!" + +"Don't be unreasonable--let's go down." Holding a candle aloft we +descended. The lower floor was stripped of silver--not even an +individual almond dish or a muffineer remained. We fell wildly, +hilariously into each other's arms and began to dance. I don't know +exactly what it was, but it wasn't a minute. + +Suddenly Clara stopped. + +"George!" + +"Oh, Lord, what is it?" + +"Supposin'." + +"Well--well?" + +"Supposin' they've dropped some of it in the path." + +We rushed out and searched the path, nothing there. We searched the +road--one individual almond dish had fallen. I took it and hammered it +beyond recognition and flung it into the pond. It was criminal, but I +did it. + +And then we went into the house and danced some more. We were happy. + +Of course we raised an alarm--after sufficient time to carefully dress, +and fill the lantern with oil. Other houses too had been robbed before +we had been visited, but as they were occupied by old inhabitants, the +occupants had nonchalantly gone to sleep again after surrendering their +small change. Our exploit was quite the sensation. With great difficulty +we assumed the proper public attitude of shock and despair. The +following day I wrote full particulars to the Insurance Company, with a +demand for the indemnity. + +"You'll never get the full amount," said Clara. + +"Why not?" + +"You never do. They'll send a man to ask disagreeable questions and to +beat us down." + +"Let him come." + +"You'll see." + +Just one week after the event, I opened an official envelope, extracted +a check, gazed at it with a superior smile and tendered it to Clara by +the tips of my fingers. + +"Three thousand dollars!" cried Clara, without contrition, "three +thousand dollars--oh, George!" + +There it was--three thousand dollars, without a shred of doubt. +Womanlike, all Clara had to say was: + +"Well, was I right about the wedding presents?" + +Which remark I had not foreseen. + +We shut up house and went to town next day and began the rounds of the +jewelers. In four days we had expended four-fifths of our money--but +with what results! Everything we had longed for, planned for, dreamed of +was ours and everything harmonized. + +Two weeks later as, ensconced in our city house, we moved enraptured +about our new-found home, gazing at the reincarnation of our silver, a +telegram was put in my hand. + +"What is it?" said Clara from the dining-room, where she was fondling +our chaste Queen Anne teaset. + +"It's a telegram," I said, puzzled. + +"Open it, then!" + +I tore the envelope, it was from the Insurance Company. + +"Our detectives have arrested the burglars. You will be overjoyed to +hear that we have recovered your silver in toto!" + + + + +THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + + + +I + + +The Comte de Bonzag, on the ruined esplanade of his Château de +Keragouil, frowned into the distant crepuscle of haystack and multiplied +hedge, crumpling in his nervous hands two annoying slips of paper. The +rugged body had not one more pound of flesh than was absolutely +necessary to hold together the long, pointed bones. The bronzed, +haphazard face was dominated by a stiff comb of orange-tawny hair, which +faithfully reproduced the gaunt unloveliness of generations of Bonzags. +But there lurked in the rapid advance of the nose and the abrupt, +obstinate eyes a certain staring defiance which effectively limited the +field of comment. + +At his back, the riddled silhouette of ragged towers and crumbling roof +reflected against the gentle skies something of the windy raiment of its +owner. It was a Gascon château, arrogant and threadbare, which had never +cried out at a wound, nor suffered the indignity of a patch. About it +and through it, hundreds of swallows, its natural inheritors, crossed +and recrossed in their vacillating flight. + +Out of the obscurity of the green pastures that melted away into the +near woods, the voice of a woman suddenly rose in a tender laugh. + +The Comte de Bonzag sat bolt upright, dislodging from his lap a black +spaniel, who tumbled on a matronly hound, whose startled yelp of +indignation caused the esplanade to vibrate with dogs, that, scurrying +from every cranny, assembled in an expectant circle, and waited with +hungry tongues the intentions of their master. + +The Comte, listening attentively, perceived near the stable his entire +domestic staff reclining happily on the arm of Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier, the hero of a dozen fires. + +"No, there are no longer any servants!" he exclaimed, with a bitterness +that caused a stir in the pack; then angrily he shouted with all his +forces: "Francine! Hey, there, Francine! Come here at once!" + +The indisputable fact was that Francine had asked for her wages. Such a +demand, indelicate in its simplest form, had been further aggravated by +a respectful but clear ultimatum. It was pay, or do the cooking, and if +the first was impossible, the second was both impossible and +distasteful. + +The enemy duly arrived, dimpled and plump, an honest thirty-five, a +solid widow, who stopped at the top of the stairs with the distant +respect which the Comte de Bonzag inspired even in his creditors. + +"Francine, I have thought much," said the Comte, with a conciliatory +look. "You were a little exaggerated, but you were in your rights." + +"Ah, Monsieur le Comte, six months is long when one has a child who must +be--" + +"We will not refer again to our disagreement," the Comte said, +interrupting her sternly. "I have simply called you to hear what action +I have decided on." + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur; thank you, M'sieur le Comte." + +"Unluckily," said Bonzag, frowning, "I am forced to make a great +sacrifice. In a month I could probably have paid all--I have a great +uncle at Valle-Temple who is exceedingly ill. But--however, we will hold +that for the future. I owe you, my good Francine, wages for six +months--sixty francs, representing your service with me. I am going to +give you on account, at once, twenty francs, or rather something +immeasurably more valuable than that sum." He drew out the two slips of +paper, and regarded them with affection and regret. "Here are two +tickets for the Grand Lottery of France, which will be drawn this month, +ten francs a ticket. I had to go to Chantreuil to get them; number +77,707 and number 200,013. Take them--they are yours." + +"But, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, looking stupidly at the tickets +she had passively received. "It's--it's good round pieces of silver I +need." + +"Francine," cried de Bonzag, in amazed indignation, "do you realize +that I probably have given you a fortune--and that I am absolving you of +all division of it with me!" + +"But, M'sieur--" + +"That there are one hundred and forty-five numbers that will draw +prizes." + +"Yes, M'sieur le Comte; but--" + +"That there is a prize of one quarter of a million, one third of a +million--" + +"All the same--" + +"That the second prize is for one-half a million, and the first prize +for one round million francs." + +"M'sieur says?" said Francine, whose eyes began to open. + +"One hundred and forty-five chances, and the lowest is for a hundred +francs. You think that isn't a sacrifice, eh?" + +"Well, Monsieur le Comte," Francine said at last with a sigh, "I'll take +them for twenty francs. It's not good round silver, and there's my +little girl--" + +"Enough!" exclaimed de Bonzag, dismissing her with an angry gesture. "I +am making you an heiress, and you have no gratitude! Leave me--and send +hither Andoche." + +He watched the bulky figure waddle off, sunk back in his chair, and +repeated with profound dejection; "No gratitude! There, it's done: this +time certainly I have thrown away a quarter of a million at the +lowest!" + +Presently Andoche, the Sapeur-Pompier, the brass helmet under his arm, +appeared at the top of the steps, smiling and thirsty, with covetous +eyes fastened on the broken table, at the carafe containing curaçoa that +was white and "Triple-Sec." + +"Ah, it's you, Andoche," said the Comte, finally, drawn from his +abstraction by a succession of rapid bows. He took two full-hearted +sighs, pushed the carafe slightly in the direction of the +Sapeur-Pompier, and added: "Sit down, my good Andoche. I have need to be +a little gay. Suppose we talk of Paris." + +It was the cue for Andoche to slip gratefully into a chair, possess the +carafe and prepare to listen. + + + + +II + + +At the proper age of thirty-one, the Comte de Bonzag fell heir to the +enormous sum of fifteen thousand francs from an uncle who had made the +fortune in trade. With no more delay than it took the great Emperor to +fling an army across the Alps, he descended on Paris, resolved to +repulse all advances which Louis Napoleon might make, and to lend the +splendor of his name and the weight of his fortune only to the Cercle +Royale. Two weeks devoted to this loyal end strengthened the Bourbon +lines perceptibly, but resulted in a shrinkage of four thousand francs +in his own. Next remembering that the aristocracy had always been the +patron of the arts, he determined to make a rapid examination of the +_coulisses_ of the opera and the regions of the ballet. A six-days' +reconnaissance discovered not the slightest signs of disaffection; but +the thoroughness of his inquiries was such that the completion of his +mission found him with just one thousand francs in pocket. Being not +only a Loyalist and a patron of the arts, but a statesman and a +philosopher, he turned his efforts toward the Quartier Latin, to the +great minds who would one day take up the guidance of a more enlightened +France. There he made the discovery that one amused himself more than at +the Cercle Royale, and spent considerably less than in the arts, and +that at one hundred francs a week he aroused an enthusiasm for the +Bourbons which almost attained the proportions of a riot. + +The three months over, he retired to his estate at Keragouil, having +profoundly stirred all classes of society, given new life to the cause +of His Majesty, and regretting only, as a true gentleman, the frightful +devastation he had left in the hearts of the ladies. + +Unfortunately, these brilliant services to Parisian society and his king +had left him without any society of his own, forced to the consideration +of the difficult problem of how to keep his pipe lighted, his cellar +full, and his maid-of-all-work in a state of hopeful expectation, on +nothing a year. + +Nothing daunted, he attacked this problem of the family bankruptcy with +the vigor and the daring of a D'Artagnan. Each year he collected +laboriously twenty francs, and invested them in two tickets for the +Great Lottery, valiantly resolved, like a Gascon, to carry off both +first and second prizes, but satisfied as a philosopher if he could +figure among the honorable mentions. Despite the fact that one hundred +and forty-five prizes were advertised each year, in nineteen attempts he +had not even had the pleasure of seeing his name in print. This result, +far from discouraging him, only inflamed his confidence. For he had +dipped into mathematics, and consoled himself by the reflection that, +according to the law of probabilities, each year he became the more +irresistible. + +Lately, however, one obstacle had arisen to the successful carrying out +of this system of finance. He employed one servant, a maid-of-all-work, +who was engaged for the day, with permission to take from the garden +what she needed, to adorn herself from the rose-bushes, to share the +output of La Belle Etoile, the cow, and to receive a salary of ten +francs a month. The difficulty invariably arose over the interpretation +of this last clause. For the Comte was not regular in his payments, +unless it could be said that he was regular in not paying at all. + +So it invariably occurred that the maid-of-all-work from a state of +unrest gradually passed into open rebellion, especially when the garden +was not productive and the roses ceased to bloom. When the ultimatum was +served, the Comte consulted his resources and found them invariably to +consist of two tickets of the Lottery of France, cash value twenty +francs, but, according to the laws of probability, increasingly capable +of returning one million, five hundred thousand francs. On one side was +the glory of the ancient name, and the possibility of another descent on +Paris; opposed was the brutal question of soup and ragout. The man +prevailed, and the maid-of-all-work grudgingly accepted the conditions +of truce. Then the news of the drawing arrived and the domestic staff +departed. + +This comedy, annually repeated, was annually played on the same lines. +Only each year the period intervening between the surrender of the +tickets and the announcement of the lottery brought an increasing agony. +Each time as the Comte saw the precious slips finally depart in the +hands of the maid-of-all-work, he was convinced that at last the laws of +probability must fructify. Each year he found a new meaning in the +cabalistic mysteries of numbers. The eighteenth attempt, multiplied by +three, gave fifty-four, his age. Success was inevitable: nineteen, a +number indivisible and chaste above all others, seemed specially +designated. In a word, the Comte suffered during these periods as only a +gambler of the fourth generation is able to suffer. + +At present the number twenty appeared to him to have properties no +other number had possessed, especially in the reappearance of the zero, +a figure which peculiarly attracted him by its symmetry. His despair was +consequently unlimited. + +Ordinarily the news of the lottery arrived by an inspector of roads, who +passed through Keragouil a week or so after the announcement in the +press; for the Comte, having surrendered his ticket, was only troubled +lest he had won. + +This time, to the upsetting of all history, an Englishman on a bicycle +trip brought him a newspaper, an article almost unknown to Keragouil, +where the shriek of the locomotive had yet to penetrate. + +The Comte de Bonzag, opening the paper with the accustomed sinking of +the heart, was startled by the staring headlines: + + +RESULTS OF THE LOTTERY + +A glance at the winners of the first and second prizes reassured him. He +drew a breath of satisfaction, saying gratefully; "Ah, what luck! God be +praised! I'll never do that again!" + +Then, remembering with only an idle curiosity the one hundred and +forty-three mediocre prizes on the list, he returned to the perusal. +Suddenly the print swam before his eyes, and the great esplanade seemed +to rise. Number 77,707 had won the fourth prize of one hundred thousand +francs; number 200,013, a prize of ten thousand francs. + + + + +III + + +The emotion which overwhelmed Napoleon at Waterloo as he beheld his +triumphant squadrons go down into the sunken road was not a whit more +complete than the despair of the Comte de Bonzag when he realized that +the one hundred and ten thousand francs which the laws of probability +had finally produced was now the property of Francine, the cook. + +One hundred and ten thousand francs! It was colossal! Five generations +of Bonzags had never touched as much as that. One hundred and ten +thousand francs meant the rehabilitation of the ancient name, the +restoration of the Château de Keragouil, half the year at Paris, in the +Cercle Royale, in the regions of art, and among the great minds that +were still young in the Quartier--and all that was in the possession of +a plump Gascony peasant, whose ideas of comfort and pleasure were +satisfied by one hundred and twenty francs a year. + +"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outburst of anger. Then +he sat down in despair. There was nothing to do. The fact was obvious +that Francine was an heiress, possessed of the greatest fortune in the +memory of Keragouil. There was nothing to do, or rather, there was +manifestly but one way open, and the Comte resolved on the spot to take +it. He must have back the lottery tickets, though it meant a Comtesse de +Bonzag. + +Fortunately for him, Francine knew nothing of the arrival of the paper. +Though it was necessary to make haste, there was still time for a +compatriot of D'Artagnan. There was, of course, Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier; but a Bonzag who had had three months' experience with +the feminine heart of Paris was not the man to trouble himself over a +Sapeur-Pompier. That evening, in the dim dining-room, when Francine +arrived with the steaming soup, the Comte, who had waited with a spoon +in his fist and a napkin knotted to his neck, plunged valiantly to the +issue. + +"Ah, what a good smell!" he said, elevating his nose. "Francine, you are +the queen of cooks." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," Francine stammered, stopping in amazement. "Oh, +M'sieur le Comte, thanks." + +"Don't thank me; it is I who am grateful." + +"Oh, M'sieur!" + +"Yes, yes, yes! Francine--" + +"What is it, M'sieur le Comte?" + +"To-night you may set another cover--opposite me." + +"Set another cover?" + +"Exactly." + +Francine, more and more astonished, proceeded to place on the table a +plate, a knife and a fork. + +"M'sieur le Curé is coming?" she said, drawing up a chair. + +"No, Francine." + +"Not M'sieur le Curé? Who, then?" + +"It is for you, Francine. Sit down." + +"I? I, M'sieur le Comte?" + +"Sit down. I wish it." + +Francine took three steps backward and so as to command the exit, +stopped and stared at her master, with mingled amazement and distrust. + +"My dear Francine," continued the Comte, "I am tired of eating alone. It +is bad for the digestion. And I am bored. I have need of society. So sit +down." + +"M'sieur orders it?" + +"I ask it as a favor, Francine." + +Francine, with open eyes, advanced doubtfully, seating herself nicely on +the chair, more astonished than complimented, and more alarmed than +pleased. + +"Ah, that is nicer!" said the Comte, with an approving nod. "How have I +endured it all these years! Francine, you may help yourself to the +wine." + +The astonished maid-of-all-work, who had swallowed a spoon of soup with +great discomfort, sprang up, all in a tremble, stammering with defiant +virtue: + +"M'sieur le Comte does not forget that I am an honest woman!" + +"No, my dear Francine; I am certain of it. So sit down in peace. I will +tell you the situation." + +Francine hesitated, then, reassured by the devotion he gave to his soup, +settled once more in her chair. + +"Francine, I have made up my mind to one thing," said the Comte, filling +his glass with such energy that a red circle appeared on the cloth. +"This life I lead is all wrong. A man is a sociable being. He needs +society. Isolation sends him back to the brute." + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who understood nothing. + +"So I am resolved to marry." + +"M'sieur will marry!" cried Francine, who spilled half her soup with the +shock. + +"Perfectly. It is for that I have asked you to keep me company." + +"M'sieur--you--M'sieur wants to marry me!" + +"Parbleu!" + +"M'sieur--M'sieur wants to marry me!" + +"I ask you formally to be my wife." + +"I?" + +"M'sieur wants--wants me to be Comtesse de Bonzag?" + +"Immediately." + +"Oh!" + +Springing up, Francine stood a moment gazing at him in frightened +alarm; then, with a cry, she vanished heavily through the door. + +"She has gone to Andoche," said the Comte, angrily to himself. "She +loves him!" + +In great perturbation he left the room promenading on the esplanade, in +the midst of his hounds, talking uneasily to himself. + +"_Peste_, I put it to her a little too suddenly! It was a blunder. If +she loves that Sapeur-Pompier, eh? A Sapeur-Pompier, to rival a Comte de +Bonzag--faugh!" + +Suddenly, below in the moonlight, he beheld Andoche tearing himself from +the embrace of Francine, and, not to be seen, he returned nervously to +the dining-room. + +Shortly after, the maid-of-all-work returned, calm, but with telltale +eyes. + +"Well, Francine, did I frighten you?" said the Comte, genially. + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte--" + +"Well, what do you want to say?" + +"M'sieur was in real earnest?" + +"Never more so." + +"M'sieur really wants to make me the Comtesse de Bonzag?" + +"_Dame!_ I tell you my intentions are honorable." + +"M'sieur will let me ask him one question?" + +"A dozen even." + +"M'sieur remembers that I am a widow--" + +"With one child, yes." + +"M'sieur, pardon me; I have been thinking much, and I have been thinking +of my little girl. What would M'sieur want me to do?" + +The Comte reflected, and said generously: "I do not adopt her; but, if +you like, she shall live here." + +"Then, M'sieur," said Francine, dropping on her knees, "I thank M'sieur +very much. M'sieur is too kind, too good--" + +"So, it is decided then," said the Comte, rising joyfully. + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur." + +"Then we shall go to-morrow," said the Comte. "It is my manner; I like +to do things instantly. Stand up, I beg you, Madame." + +"To-morrow, M'sieur?" + +"Yes, Madame. Have you any objections?" + +"Oh, no, M'sieur le Comte; on the contrary," said Francine, blushing +with pleasure at the twice-repeated "Madame." Then she added carefully: +"M'sieur is quite right; it would be better. People talk so." + + + + +IV + + +The return of the married couple was the sensation of Keragouil, for the +Comte de Bonzag, after the fashion of his ancestors, had placed his +bride behind him on the broad back of Quatre Diables, who proceeded +with unaltered equanimity. Along the journey the peasants, who held the +Comte in loyal terror, greeted the procession with a respectful silence, +congregating in the road to stare and chatter only when the amiable +Quatre Diables had disappeared in the distance. + +Disdaining to notice the commotion he produced, the Comte headed +straight for the courtyard, where Quatre Diables, recognizing the foot +block, dropped his head and began to crop the grass. The new Comtesse, +fatigued by the novel position, started gratefully to descend by the +most natural way, that is, by slipping easily over the rear anatomy of +the good-natured Quatre Diables. But the Comte, feeling the commotion +behind, stopped her with a word, and, flinging his left leg over the +neck of his charger, descended gracefully to the block, where, bowing +profoundly, he said in gallant style: + +"Madame, permit me to offer you my hand." + +The Comtesse, with the best intentions in the world, had considerable +difficulty in executing the movement by which her husband had extricated +himself. Luckily, the Comte received her without yielding ground, drew +her hand under his arm, and escorted her ceremoniously into the château, +while Quatre Diables, liberated from the unusual burden, rolled +gratefully to earth, and scratched his back against the cobblestones. + +"Madame, be so kind as to enter your home." + +With studied elegance, the Comte put his hat to his breast, or +thereabout, and bowed as he held open the door. + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte; after you," said Francine, in confusion. + +"Pass, Madame, and enter the dining-room. We have certain ceremonies to +observe." + +Francine dutifully advanced, but kept an eye on the movements of her +consort. When he entered the dining-room and went to the sideboard, she +took an equal number of steps in the same direction. When, having +brought out a bottle and glasses, he turned and came toward her, she +retreated. When he stopped, she stopped, and sat down with the same +exact movement. + +"Madame, I offer you a glass of the famous Keragouil Burgundy," began +the Comte, filling her glass. "It is a wine that we De Bonzags have +always kept to welcome our wives and to greet our children. Madame, I +have the honor to drink to the Comtesse de Bonzag." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who, watching his manner, emptied +the goblet in one swallow. + +"To the health of my ancestors!" continued the Comte, draining the +bottle into the two goblets. "And now throw your glass on the floor!" + +"Yes, M'sieur," said Francine, who obeyed regretfully, with the new +instinct of a housewife. + +"Now, Madame, as wife and mistress of Keragouil, I think it is well +that you understand your position and what I expect of you," said the +Comte, waving her to a seat and occupying a fauteuil in magisterial +fashion. "I expect that you will learn in a willing spirit what I shall +teach you, that you may become worthy of the noble position you occupy." + +"Oh, M'sieur may be sure I'll do my best," said Francine, quite +overcome. + +"I expect you to show me the deference and obedience that I demand as +head of the house of Bonzag." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, how could you think--" + +"To be economical and amiable." + +"Yes, indeed, M'sieur." + +"To listen when I speak, to forget you were a peasant, to give me three +desserts a week, and never, madame, to show me the slightest +infidelity." + +At these last words, Francine, already overcome by the rapid whirl of +fortune, as well as by the overcharged spirits of the potent Burgundy, +burst into tears. + +"And no tears!" said De Bonzag, withdrawing sternly. + +"No, M'sieur; no," Francine cried, hastily drying her eyes. Then +dropping on her knees, she managed to say: "Oh, M'sieur--pardon, +pardon." + +"What do you mean?" cried the Comte, furiously. + +"Oh, M'sieur forgive me--I will tell you all!" + +"Madame--Madame, I don't understand," said the Comte, mastering himself +with difficulty. "Proceed; I am listening." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, I'll tell you all. I swear it on the image of St. +Jacques d'Acquin." + +"You have not lied to me about your child?" cried Bonzag in horror. + +"No, no, M'sieur; not that," said Francine. Then, hiding her face, she +said: "M'sieur, I hid something from you: I loved Andoche." + +"Ah!" said the Comte, with a sigh of relief. He sat down, adding +sympathetically: "My poor Francine, I know it. Alas! That's what life +is." + +"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest. +"But I loved him well, and he loved me--oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le +Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a +comtesse, M'sieur le Comte. And when M'sieur spoke to me, I didn't know +what to do. My heart was all given to Andoche, but--well, M'sieur, the +truth is, I began to think of my little girl, and I said to myself, I +must think of her, because, M'sieur, I thought of the position it would +give her, if I were a Comtesse. What a step in the world, eh? And I +said, you must do it for her! So I went to Andoche, and I told him +all--yes, all, M'sieur--that my heart was his, but that my duty was to +her. And Andoche, ah, what a good heart, M'sieur--he understood--we wept +together." She choked a minute, put her handkerchief hastily to her +eyes, "Pardon, M'sieur; and he said it was right, and I kissed him--I +hide nothing, M'sieur will pardon me that,--and he went away!" She took +a step toward him, twisting her handkerchief, adding in a timid appeal: +"M'sieur understands why I tell him that? M'sieur will believe me. I +have killed all that. It is no more in my heart. I swear it by the image +of St. Jacques d'Acquin." + +"Madame, I knew it before," said the Comte, rising; "still, I thank +you." + +"Oh, M'sieur, I have put it all away--I swear it!" + +"I believe you," interrupted the Comte, "and now no more of it! I also +am going to be frank with you." He went with a smile to a corner where +stood the little box, done up in rope, which held the trousseau of the +Comtesse de Bonzag. "Open that, and give me the lottery-tickets I gave +you." + +"Hanh? You--M'sieur says?" + +"The lottery-tickets--" + +"Oh, M'sieur, but they're not there--" + +"Then where are they?" + +"Oh, M'sieur, wait; I'll tell you," said Francine, simply. "When Andoche +went off--" + +[Illustration: "You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"] + +"What!" cried the Comte, like a cannon. + +"He was so broken up, M'sieur, I was so afraid for him, so just to +console him, M'sieur--to give him something--I gave him the tickets." + +"You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!" + +"Just to console him--yes, M'sieur." + +The lank form of the Comte de Bonzag wavered, and then, as though the +body had suddenly deserted the clothes, collapsed in a heap on the +floor. + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Murder in Any Degree, by Owen Johnson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MURDER IN ANY DEGREE *** + +***** This file should be named 12686-8.txt or 12686-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/8/12686/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Karen Dalrymple and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Murder in Any Degree + +Author: Owen Johnson + +Release Date: June 22, 2004 [EBook #12686] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MURDER IN ANY DEGREE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Karen Dalrymple and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<center> +<a name='image-frontis'></a> +<img src='images/image-frontis.jpg' width='542' height='600' alt=""I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by +the hour"" title=''> +</center> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<h2>MURDER IN ANY DEGREE: ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK:<br> +A COMEDY FOR WIVES: THE LIE: EVEN THREES:<br> +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION: LARRY MOORE: +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS: THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY</h2> +<br /> + +<p>BY OWEN JOHNSON Author of "Stover at Yale," "The Varmint," etc., etc.</p> +<br /> + +<p>WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F.R. GRUGER AND LEON GUIPON</p> +<br /> + +<p>NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1913</p> + +<p>1907, 1912, 1913, THE CENTURY CO.</p> + +<p>1911, THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + +<p>1911, THE NATIONAL POST CO.</p> + +<p>1912, GOOD HOUSEKEEPING MAGAZINE</p> + +<p>1908, THE RIDGWAY COMPANY</p> + +<p>1906, ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, INCORPORATED</p> + +<p>1910, THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY</p> + +<p><i>Published, August, 1913</i></p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='CONTENTS'></a><h2>CONTENTS</h2> + + <a href='#ILLUSTRATIONS'><b>ILLUSTRATIONS</b></a><br /> + <a href='#MURDER_IN_ANY_DEGREE'><b>MURDER IN ANY DEGREE</b></a><br /> + <a href='#ONE_HUNDRED_IN_THE_DARK'><b>ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK</b></a><br /> + <a href='#A_COMEDY_FOR_WIVES'><b>A COMEDY FOR WIVES</b></a><br /> + <a href='#THE_LIE'><b>THE LIE</b></a><br /> + <a href='#EVEN_THREES'><b>EVEN THREES</b></a><br /> + <a href='#A_MAN_OF_NO_IMAGINATION'><b>A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION</b></a><br /> + <a href='#LARRY_MOORE'><b>LARRY MOORE</b></a><br /> + <a href='#MY_WIFES_WEDDING_PRESENTS'><b>MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS</b></a><br /> + <a href='#THE_SURPRISES_OF_THE_LOTTERY'><b>THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY</b></a><br /> + + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='ILLUSTRATIONS'></a><h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<br /> + +<p><a href="#image-frontis">"I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by the hour"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page020">From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page034">Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and black</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page042">Our Lady of the Sparrows</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page182">"Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page200">Wild-eyed and hilarious they descended on the clubhouse with the +miraculous news</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page204">A committee carefully examined the books of the club</a></p> + +<p><a href="#image-page310">"You gave him—the tickets! The Lottery Tickets!"</a></p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='MURDER_IN_ANY_DEGREE'></a><h2>MURDER IN ANY DEGREE</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>One Sunday in March they had been marooned at the club, Steingall the +painter and Quinny the illustrator, and, having lunched late, had bored +themselves separately to their limits over the periodicals until, +preferring to bore each other, they had gravitated together in easy +arm-chairs before the big Renaissance fireplace.</p> + +<p>Steingall, sunk in his collar, from behind the black-rimmed spectacles, +which, with their trailing ribbon of black, gave a touch of Continental +elegance to his cropped beard and colonel's mustaches, watched without +enthusiasm the three mammoth logs, where occasional tiny flames gave +forth an illusion of heat.</p> + +<p>Quinny, as gaunt as a militant friar of the Middle Ages, aware of +Steingall's protective reverie, spoke in desultory periods, addressing +himself questions and supplying the answers, reserving his epigrams for +a larger audience.</p> + +<p>At three o'clock De Gollyer entered from a heavy social performance, +raising his eyebrows in salute as others raise their hats, and slightly +dragging one leg behind. He was an American critic who was busily +engaged in discovering the talents of unrecognized geniuses of the +European provinces. When reproached with his migratory enthusiasm, he +would reply, with that quick, stiffening military click with which he +always delivered his <i>bons mots</i>:</p> + +<p>"My boy, I never criticize American art. I can't afford to. I have too +many charming friends."</p> + +<p>At four o'clock, which is the hour for the entrée of those who escape +from their homes to fling themselves on the sanctuary of the club, +Rankin, the architect, arrived with Stibo, the fashionable painter of +fashionable women, who brought with him the atmosphere of pleasant soap +and an exclusive, smiling languor. A moment later a voice was heard from +the anteroom, saying:</p> + +<p>"If any one telephones, I'm not in the club—any one at all. Do you +hear?"</p> + +<p>Then Towsey, the decorator, appeared at the letterboxes in spats, +militant checks, high collar and a choker tie, which, yearning toward +his ears, gave him the appearance of one who had floundered up out of +his clothes for the third and last time. He came forward, frowned at the +group, scowled at the negative distractions of the reading-room, and +finally dragged over his chair just as Quinny was saying:</p> + +<p>"Queer thing—ever notice it?—two artists sit down together, each +begins talking of what he's doing—to avoid complimenting the other, +naturally. As soon as the third arrives they begin carving up another; +only thing they can agree on, see? Soon as you get four or more of the +species together, conversation always comes around to marriage. Ever +notice that, eh?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow," said De Gollyer, from the intolerant point of view of +a bachelor, "that is because marriage is your one common affliction. +Artists, musicians, all the lower order of the intellect, marry. They +must. They can't help it. It's the one thing you can't resist. You begin +it when you're poor to save the expense of a servant, and you keep it up +when you succeed to have some one over you to make you work. You belong +psychologically to the intellectually dependent classes, the +clinging-vine family, the masculine parasites; and as you can't help +being married, you are always damning it, holding it responsible for all +your failures."</p> + +<p>At this characteristic speech, the five artists shifted slightly, and +looked at De Gollyer over their mustaches with a lingering appetite, +much as a group of terriers respect the family cat.</p> + +<p>"My dear chaps, speaking as a critic," continued De Gollyer, pleasantly +aware of the antagonism he had exploded, "you remain children afraid of +the dark—afraid of being alone. Solitude frightens you. You lack the +quality of self-sufficiency that is the characteristic of the higher +critical faculties. You marry because you need a nurse."</p> + +<p>He ceased, thoroughly satisfied with the prospect of having brought on +a quarrel, raised thumb and first finger in a gingerly loop, ordered a +dash of sherry and winked across the group to Tommers, who was listening +around his paper from the reading-room.</p> + +<p>"De Gollyer, you are only a 'who's who' of art," said Quinny, with, +however, a hungry gratitude for a topic of such possibilities. "You +understand nothing of psychology. An artist is a multiple personality; +with each picture he paints he seeks a new inspiration. What is +inspiration?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's the point—inspiration," said Steingall, waking up.</p> + +<p>"Inspiration," said Quinny, eliminating Steingall from his preserves +with the gesture of brushing away a fly—"inspiration is only a form of +hypnosis, under the spell of which a man is capable of rising outside of +and beyond himself, as a horse, under extraordinary stress, exerts a +muscular force far beyond his accredited strength. The race of geniuses, +little and big, are constantly seeking this outward force to hypnotize +them into a supreme intellectual effort. Talent does not understand such +a process; it is mechanical, unvarying, chop-chop, day in and day out. +Now, what you call inspiration may be communicated in many ways—by the +spectacle of a mob, by a panorama of nature, by sudden and violent +contrasts of points of view; but, above all, as a continual stimulus, +it comes from that state of mental madness which is produced by love."</p> + +<p>"Huh?" said Stibo.</p> + +<p>"Anything that produces a mental obsession, <i>une idée fixe</i>, is a form +of madness," said Quinny, rapidly. "A person in love sees only one face, +hears only one voice; at the base of the brain only one thought is +constantly drumming. Physically such a condition is a narcotic; mentally +it is a form of madness that in the beneficent state is powerfully +hypnotic."</p> + +<p>At this deft disentanglement of a complicated idea, Rankin, who, like +the professional juryman, wagged his head in agreement with each speaker +and was convinced by the most violent, gazed upon Quinny with absolute +adoration.</p> + +<p>"We were speaking of woman," said Towsey, gruffly, who pronounced the +sex with a peculiar staccato sound.</p> + +<p>"This little ABC introduction," said Quinny, pleasantly, "is necessary +to understand the relation a woman plays to the artist. It is not the +woman he seeks, but the hypnotic influence which the woman can exert on +his faculties if she is able to inspire him with a passion."</p> + +<p>"Precisely why he marries," said De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"Precisely," said Quinny, who, having seized the argument by chance, was +pleasantly surprised to find that he was going to convince himself. "But +here is the great distinction: to be an inspiration, a woman should +always represent to the artist a form of the unattainable. It is the +search for something beyond him that makes him challenge the stars, and +all that sort of rot, you know."</p> + +<p>"The tragedy of life," said Rankin, sententiously, "is that one woman +cannot mean all things to one man all the time."</p> + +<p>It was a phrase which he had heard the night before, and which he flung +off casually with an air of spontaneity, twisting the old Spanish ring +on his bony, white fingers, which he held invariably in front of his +long, sliding nose.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I said that about the year 1907," said Quinny, while +Steingall gasped and nudged Towsey. "That is the tragedy of life, not +the tragedy of art, two very different things. An artist has need of +ten, fifteen, twenty women, according to the multiplicity of his ideas. +He should be always violently in love or violently reacting."</p> + +<p>"And the wife?" said De Gollyer. "Has she any influence?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, the greatest. Without a wife, an artist falls a prey to +the inspiration of the moment—condemned to it; and as he is not an +analyst, he ends by imagining he really is in love. Take +portrait-painting. Charming lady sits for portrait, painter takes up his +brushes, arranges his palette, seeks inspiration,—what is below the +surface?—something intangible to divine, seize, and affix to his +canvas. He seeks to know the soul; he seeks how? As a man in love seeks, +naturally. The more he imagines himself in love, the more completely +does the idea obsess him from morning to night—plain as the nose on +your face. Only there are other portraits to paint. Enter the wife."</p> + +<p>"Charming," said Stibo, who had not ceased twining his mustaches in his +pink fingers.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that's the point. What of the wife?" said Steingall, violently.</p> + +<p>"The wife—the ideal wife, mind you—is then the weapon, the refuge. To +escape from the entanglement of his momentary inspiration, the artist +becomes a man: my wife and <i>bonjour</i>. He returns home, takes off the +duster of his illusion, cleans the palette of old memories, washes away +his vows, protestations, and all that rot, you know, lies down on the +sofa, and gives his head to his wife to be rubbed. Curtain. The comedy +is over."</p> + +<p>"But that's what they don't understand," said Steingall, with +enthusiasm. "That's what they will <i>never</i> understand."</p> + +<p>"Such miracles exist?" said Towsey with a short, disagreeable laugh.</p> + +<p>"I know the wife of an artist," said Quinny, "whom I consider the most +remarkable woman I know—who sits and knits and smiles. She is one who +understands. Her husband adores her, and he is in love with a woman a +month. When he gets in too deep, ready for another inspiration, you +know, she calls up the old love on the telephone and asks her to stop +annoying her husband."</p> + +<p>"Marvelous!" said Steingall, dropping his glasses.</p> + +<p>"No, really?" said Rankin.</p> + +<p>"Has she a sister?" said Towsey.</p> + +<p>Stibo raised his eyes slowly to Quinny's but veiled as was the look, De +Gollyer perceived it, and smilingly registered the knowledge on the +ledger of his social secrets.</p> + +<p>"That's it, by George! that is it," said Steingall, who hurled the +enthusiasm of a reformer into his pessimism. "It's all so simple; but +they won't understand. And why—do you know why? Because a woman is +jealous. It isn't simply of other women. No, no, that's not it; it's +worse than that, ten thousand times worse. She's jealous of your <i>art</i>! +That's it! There you have it! She's jealous because she can't understand +it, because it takes you away from her, because she can't <i>share</i> it. +That's what's terrible about marriage—no liberty, no individualism, no +seclusion, having to account every night for your actions, for your +thoughts, for the things you dream—ah, the dreams! The Chinese are +right, the Japanese are right. It's we Westerners who are all wrong. +It's the creative only that counts. The woman should be subordinated, +should be kept down, taught the voluptuousness of obedience. By Jove! +that's it. We don't assert ourselves. It's this confounded Anglo-Saxon +sentimentality that's choking art—that's what it is."</p> + +<p>At the familiar phrases of Steingall's outburst, Rankin wagged his head +in unequivocal assent, Stibo smiled so as to show his fine upper teeth, +and Towsey flung away his cigar, saying:</p> + +<p>"Words, words."</p> + +<p>At this moment when Quinny, who had digested Steingall's argument, was +preparing to devour the whole topic, Britt Herkimer, the sculptor, +joined them. He was a guest, just in from Paris, where he had been +established twenty years, one of the five men in art whom one counted on +the fingers when the word genius was pronounced. Mentally and physically +a German, he spoke English with a French accent. His hair was cropped +<i>en brosse</i>, and in his brown Japanese face only the eyes, staccato, +furtive, and drunk with curiosity, could be seen. He was direct, +opinionated, bristling with energy, one of those tireless workers who +disdain their youth and treat it as a disease. His entry into the group +of his more socially domesticated confrères was like the return of a +wolf-hound among the housedogs.</p> + +<p>"Still smashing idols?" he said, slapping the shoulder of Steingall, +with whom and Quinny he had passed his student days, "Well, what's the +row?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Britt, we are reforming matrimony. Steingall is for the +importation of Mongolian wives," said De Gollyer, who had written two +favorable articles on Herkimer, "while Quinny is for founding a school +for wives on most novel and interesting lines."</p> + +<p>"That's odd," said Herkimer, with a slight frown.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, no," said De Gollyer; "we always abolish matrimony +from four to six."</p> + +<p>"You didn't understand me," said Herkimer, with the sharpness he used in +his classes.</p> + +<p>From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence. They waited with an involuntary silence, which +in itself was a rare tribute.</p> + +<p>"Remember Rantoul?" said Herkimer, rolling a cigarette and using a jerky +diction.</p> + +<p>"Clyde Rantoul?" said Stibo.</p> + +<p>"Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, who was in the Quarter with us?" said +Quinny.</p> + +<p>"Don Furioso, yes," said Rankin. "Ever see him?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"He's married," said Quinny; "dropped out."</p> + +<p>"Yes, he married," said Herkimer, lighting his cigarette. "Well, I've +just seen him."</p> + +<p>"He's a plutocrat or something," said Towsey, reflectively.</p> + +<p>"He's rich—ended," said Steingall as he slapped the table. "By Jove! I +remember now."</p> + +<p>"Wait," said Quinny, interposing.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page020'></a> +<img src='images/image-page020.jpg' width='800' height='488' alt='From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had +brought to him some abrupt coincidences' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"I went up to see him yesterday—just back now," said Herkimer. +"Rantoul was the biggest man of us all. It's a funny tale. You're +discussing matrimony; here it is."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In the early nineties, when Quinny, Steingall, Herkimer, little Bennett, +who afterward roamed down into the Transvaal and fell in with the +Foreign Legion, Jacobus and Chatterton, the architects, were living +through that fine, rebellious state of overweening youth, Rantoul was +the undisputed leader, the arch-rebel, the master-demolisher of the +group.</p> + +<p>Every afternoon at five his Gargantuan figure came thrashing through the +crowds of the boulevard, as an omnibus on its way scatters the fragile +fiacres. He arrived, radiating electricity, tirades on his tongue, to +his chair among the table-pounders of the Café des Lilacs, and his first +words were like the fanfare of trumpets. He had been christened, in the +felicitous language of the Quarter, Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, and +for cause. He shared a garret with his chum, Britt Herkimer, in the Rue +de l'Ombre, a sort of manhole lit by the stars,—when there were any +stars, and he never failed to come springing up the six rickety flights +with a song on his lips.</p> + +<p>An old woman who kept a fruit store gave him implicit credit; a much +younger member of the sex at the corner creamery trusted him for eggs +and fresh milk, and leaned toward him over the counter, laughing into +his eyes as he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Ma belle, when I am famous, I will buy you a silk gown, and a pair of +earrings that will reach to your shoulders, and it won't be long. You'll +see."</p> + +<p>He adored being poor. When his canvas gave out, he painted his ankles to +caricature the violent creations that were the pride of Chatterton, who +was a nabob. When his credit at one restaurant expired, he strode +confidently up to another proprietor, and announced with the air of one +bestowing a favor:</p> + +<p>"I am Rantoul, the portrait-painter. In five years my portraits will +sell for five thousand francs, in ten for twenty thousand. I will eat +one meal a day at your distinguished establishment, and paint your +portrait to make your walls famous. At the end of the month I will +immortalize your wife; on the same terms, your sister, your father, your +mother, and all the little children. Besides, every Saturday night I +will bring here a band of my comrades who pay in good hard silver. +Remember that if you had bought a Corot for twenty francs in 1870, you +could have sold it for five thousand francs in 1880, fifty thousand in +1890. Does the idea appeal to you?"</p> + +<p>But as most keepers of restaurants are practical and unimaginative, and +withal close bargainers, at the end of a week Rantoul generally was +forced to seek a new sitter.</p> + +<p>"What a privilege it is to be poor!" he would then exclaim +enthusiastically to Herkimer. "It awakens all the perceptions; hunger +makes the eye keener. I can see colors to-day that I never saw before. +And to think that if Sherman had never gotten it in his head to march to +the sea I should never have experienced this inspiration! But, old +fellow, we have so short a time to be poor. We must exhibit nothing yet. +We are lucky. We are poor. We can feel."</p> + +<p>On the subject of traditions he was at his best.</p> + +<p>"Shakspere is the curse of the English drama," he would declare, with a +descending gesture which caused all the little glasses to rattle their +alarm. "Nothing will ever come out of England until his influence is +discounted. He was a primitive, a Preraphælite. He understood nothing of +form, of composition. He was a poet who wandered into the drama as a +sheep strays into the pasture of the bulls, a colorist who imagines he +can be a sculptor. The influence of Victoria sentimentalized the whole +artistic movement in England, made it bourgeois, and flavored it with +mint sauce. Modern portraiture has turned the galleries into an +exhibition of wax works. What is wrong with painting to-day—do you +know?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Allons</i>, tell us!" cried two or three, while others, availing +themselves of the breathing space, filled the air with their orders:</p> + +<p>"Paul, another bock."</p> + +<p>"Two hard-boiled eggs."</p> + +<p>"And pretzels; don't forget the pretzels."</p> + +<p>"The trouble with painting to-day is that it has no point of view," +cried Rantoul, swallowing an egg in the anaconda fashion. "We are +interpreting life in the manner of the Middle Ages. We forget art should +be historical. We forget that we are now in our century. Ugliness, not +beauty, is the note of our century; turbulence, strife, materialism, the +mob, machinery, masses, not units. Why paint a captain of industry +against a François I tapestry? Paint him at his desk. The desk is a +throne; interpret it. We are ruled by mobs. Who paints mobs? What is +wrong is this, that art is in the bondage of literature—sentimentality. +We must record what we experience. Ugliness has its utility, its +magnetism; the ugliness of abject misery moves you to think, to readjust +ideas. We must be rebels, we young men. Ah, if we could only burn the +galleries, we should be forced to return to life."</p> + +<p>"Bravo, Rantoul!"</p> + +<p>"Right, old chap."</p> + +<p>"Smash the statues!"</p> + +<p>"Burn the galleries!"</p> + +<p>"Down with tradition!"</p> + +<p>"Eggs and more bock!"</p> + +<p>But where Rantoul differed from the revolutionary regiment was that he +was not simply a painter who delivered orations; he could paint. His +tirades were not a furore of denunciation so much as they were the +impulsive chafing of the creative energy within him. In the school he +was already a marked man to set the prophets prophesying. He had a style +of his own, biting, incisive, overloaded and excessive, but with +something to say. He was after something. He was original.</p> + +<p>"Rebel! Let us rebel!" he would cry to Herkimer from his agitated +bedquilt in the last hour of discussion. "The artist must always +rebel—accept nothing, question everything, denounce conventions and +traditions."</p> + +<p>"Above all, work," said Herkimer in his laconic way.</p> + +<p>"What? Don't I work?"</p> + +<p>"Work more."</p> + +<p>Rantoul, however, was not vulnerable on that score. He was not, it is +true, the drag-horse that Herkimer was, who lived like a recluse, +shunning the cafes and the dance-halls, eating up the last gray hours of +the day over his statues and his clays. But Rantoul, while living life +to its fullest, haunting the wharves and the markets with avid eyes, +roaming the woods and trudging the banks of the Seine, mingling in the +crowds that flashed under the flare of arc-lights, with a thousand +mysteries of mass and movement, never relaxed a moment the savage attack +his leaping nature made upon the drudgeries and routine of technic.</p> + +<p>With the coveted admittance into the Salon, recognition came speedily +to the two chums. They made a triumphal entry into a real studio in the +Montparnasse Quarter, clients came, and the room became a station of +honor among the young and enthusiastic of the Quarter.</p> + +<p>Rantoul began to appear in society, besieged with the invitations that +his Southern aristocracy and the romance of his success procured him.</p> + +<p>"You go out too much," said Herkimer to him, with a fearful growl. "What +the deuce do you want with society, anyhow? Keep away from it. You've +nothing to do with it."</p> + +<p>"What do I do? I go out once a week," said Rantoul, whistling +pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Once is too often. What do you want to become, a parlor celebrity? +Society <i>c'est l'ennemie</i>. You ought to hate it."</p> + +<p>"I do."</p> + +<p>"Humph!" said Herkimer, eying him across his sputtering clay pipe. "Get +this idea of people out of your head. Shut yourself up in a hole, work. +What's society, anyhow? A lot of bored people who want you to amuse +them. I don't approve. Better marry that pretty girl in the creamery. +She'll worship you as a god, make you comfortable. That's all you need +from the world."</p> + +<p>"Marry her yourself; she'll sew and cook for you," said Rantoul, with +perfect good humor.</p> + +<p>"I'm in no danger," said Herkimer, curtly; "you are."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"You'll see."</p> + +<p>"Listen, you old grumbler," said Rantoul, seriously. "If I go into +society, it is to see the hollowness of it all—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"To know what I rebel against—"</p> + +<p>"Of course."</p> + +<p>"To appreciate the freedom of the life I have—"</p> + +<p>"Faker!"</p> + +<p>"To have the benefit of contrasts, light and shade. You think I am not a +rebel. My dear boy, I am ten times as big a rebel as I was. Do you know +what I'd do with society?"</p> + +<p>He began a tirade in the famous muscular Rantoul style, overturning +creeds and castes, reorganizing republics and empires, while Herkimer, +grumbling to himself, began to scold the model, who sleepily received +the brunt of his ill humor.</p> + +<p>In the second year of his success Rantoul, quite by accident, met a girl +in her teens named Tina Glover, only daughter of Cyrus Glover, a man of +millions, self-made. The first time their eyes met and lingered, by the +mysterious chemistry of the passions Rantoul fell desperately in love +with this little slip of a girl, who scarcely reached to his shoulder; +who, on her part, instantly made up her mind that she had found the +husband she intended to have. Two weeks later they were engaged.</p> + +<p>She was seventeen, scarcely more than a child, with clear, blue eyes +that seemed too large for her body, very timid and appealing. It is true +she seldom expressed an opinion, but she listened to every one with a +flattering smile, and the reputations of brilliant talkers have been +built on less. She had a way of passing her two arms about Rantoul's +great one and clinging to him in a weak, dependent way that was quite +charming.</p> + +<p>When Cyrus Glover was informed that his daughter intended to marry a +dauber in paints, he started for Paris on ten hours' notice. But Mrs. +Glover who was just as resolved on social conquests as Glover was in +controlling the plate-glass field, went down to meet him at the boat, +and by the time the train entered the St. Lazare Station, he had been +completely disciplined and brought to understand that a painter was one +thing and that a Rantoul, who happened to paint, was quite another. When +he had known Rantoul a week; and listened open-mouthed to his eloquent +schemes for reordering the universe, and the arts in particular, he was +willing to swear that he was one of the geniuses of the world.</p> + +<p>The wedding took place shortly, and Cyrus Glover gave the bridegroom a +check for $100,000, "so that he wouldn't have to be bothering his wife +for pocketmoney." Herkimer was the best man, and the Quarter attended +in force, with much outward enthusiasm. The bride and groom departed for +a two-year's trip around the world, that Rantoul might inspire himself +with the treasures of Italy, Greece, India, and Japan.</p> + +<p>Every one, even Herkimer, agreed that Rantoul was the luckiest man in +Paris; that he had found just the wife who was suited to him, whose +fortune would open every opportunity for his genius to develop.</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said Bennett, when the group had returned to +Herkimer's studio to continue the celebration, "let me remark that in +general I don't approve of marriage for an artist."</p> + +<p>"Nor I," cried Chatterton, and the chorus answered, "Nor I."</p> + +<p>"I shall never marry," continued Bennett.</p> + +<p>"Never," cried Chatterton, who beat a tattoo on the piano with his heel +to accompany the chorus of assent.</p> + +<p>"But—I add but—in this case my opinion is that Rantoul has found a +pure diamond."</p> + +<p>"True!"</p> + +<p>"In the first place, she knows nothing at all about art, which is an +enormous advantage."</p> + +<p>"Bravo!"</p> + +<p>"In the second place, she knows nothing about anything else, which is +better still."</p> + +<p>"Cynic! You hate clever women," cried Jacobus.</p> + +<p>"There's a reason."</p> + +<p>"All the same, Bennett's right. The wife of an artist should be a +creature of impulses and not ideas."</p> + +<p>"True."</p> + +<p>"In the third place," continued Bennett, "she believes Rantoul is a +demigod. Everything he will do will be the most wonderful thing in the +world, and to have a little person you are madly in love with think that +is enormous."</p> + +<p>"All of which is not very complimentary to the bride," said Herkimer.</p> + +<p>"Find me one like her," cried Bennett.</p> + +<p>"Ditto," said Chatterton and Jacobus with enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing that worries me," said Bennett, seriously. +"Isn't there too much money?"</p> + +<p>"Not for Rantoul."</p> + +<p>"He's a rebel."</p> + +<p>"You'll see; he'll stir up the world with it."</p> + +<p>Herkimer himself had approved of the marriage in a whole-hearted way. +The childlike ways of Tina Glover had convinced him, and as he was +concerned only with the future of his friend, he agreed with the rest +that nothing luckier could have happened.</p> + +<p>Three years passed, during which he received occasional letters from +his old chum, not quite so spontaneous as he had expected, but filled +with the wonder of the ancient worlds. Then the intervals became longer, +and longer, and finally no letters came.</p> + +<p>He learned in a vague way that the Rantouls had settled in the East +somewhere near New York, but he waited in vain for the news of the stir +in the world of art that Rantoul's first exhibitions should produce.</p> + +<p>His friends who visited in America returned without news of Rantoul; +there was a rumor that he had gone with his father-in-law into the +organization of some new railroad or trust. But even this report was +vague, and as he could not understand what could have happened, it +remained for a long time to him a mystery. Then he forgot it.</p> + +<p>Ten years after Rantoul's marriage to little Tina Glover, Herkimer +returned to America. The last years had placed him in the foreground of +the sculptors of the world. He had that strangely excited consciousness +that he was a figure in the public eye. Reporters rushed to meet him on +his arrival, societies organized dinners to him, magazines sought the +details of his life's struggle. Withal, however, he felt a strange +loneliness, and an aloofness from the clamoring world about him. He +remembered the old friendship in the starlit garret of the Rue de +l'Ombre, and, learning Rantoul's address, wrote him. Three days later he +received the following answer:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'><i>Dear Old Boy:</i></span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>I'm delighted to find that you have remembered me in your fame. Run</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>up this Saturday for a week at least. I'll show you some fine</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>scenery, and we'll recall the days of the Café des Lilacs together.</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>My wife sends her greetings also.</span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Clyde.</span><br /> + +<p>This letter made Herkimer wonder. There was nothing on which he could +lay his finger, and yet there was something that was not there. With +some misgivings he packed his bag and took the train, calling up again +to his mind the picture of Rantoul, with his shabby trousers pulled up, +decorating his ankles with lavender and black, roaring all the while +with his rumbling laughter.</p> + +<p>At the station only the chauffeur was down to meet him. A correct +footman, moving on springs, took his bag, placed him in the back seat, +and spread a duster for him. They turned through a pillared gateway, +Renaissance style, passed a gardener's lodge, with hothouses flashing in +the reclining sun, and fled noiselessly along the macadam road that +twined through a formal grove. All at once they were before the house, +red brick and marble, with wide-flung porte-cochère and verandas, beyond +which could be seen immaculate lawns, and in the middle distances the +sluggish gray of a river that crawled down from the turbulent hills on +the horizon. Another creature in livery tripped down the steps and held +the door for him. He passed perplexed into the hall, which was fresh +with the breeze that swept through open French windows.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page034'></a> +<img src='images/image-page034.jpg' width='375' height='600' alt='Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and +black' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Mr. Herkimer, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>He turned to find a woman of mannered assurance holding out her hand +correctly to him, and under the panama that topped the pleasant effect +of her white polo-coat he looked into the eyes of that Tina Glover, who +once had caught his rough hand in her little ones and said timidly:</p> + +<p>"You'll always be my friend, my best, just as you are Clyde's, won't +you? And I may call you Britt or Old Boy or Old Top, just as Clyde +does?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her amazed. She was prettier, undeniably so. She had +learned the art of being a woman, and she gave him her hand as though +she had granted a favor.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he said shortly, freezing all at once. "Where's Clyde?"</p> + +<p>"He had to play in a polo-match. He's just home taking a tub," she said +easily. "Will you go to your room first? I didn't ask any one in for +dinner. I supposed you would rather chat together of old times. You have +become a tremendous celebrity, haven't you? Clyde is so proud of you."</p> + +<p>"I'll go to my room now," he said shortly.</p> + +<p>The valet had preceded him, opening his valise and smoothing out his +evening clothes on the lace bedspread.</p> + +<p>"I'll attend to that," he said curtly. "You may go."</p> + +<p>He stood at the window, in the long evening hour of the June day, +frowning to himself. "By George! I've a mind to clear out," he said, +thoroughly angry.</p> + +<p>At this moment there came a vigorous rap, and Rantoul in slippers and +lilac dressing-gown broke in, with hair still wet from his shower.</p> + +<p>"The same as ever, bless the Old Top!" he cried, catching him up in one +of the old-time bear-hugs. "I say, don't think me inhospitable. Had to +play a confounded match. We beat 'em, too; lost six pounds doing it, +though. Jove! but you look natural! I say, that was a stunning thing you +did for Philadelphia—the audacity of it. How do you like my place? I've +got four children, too. What do you think of that? Nothing finer. Well, +tell me what you're doing."</p> + +<p>Herkimer relented before the familiar rush of enthusiasm and questions, +and the conversation began on a natural footing. He looked at Rantoul, +aware of the social change that had taken place in him. The old +aggressiveness, the look of the wolf, had gone; about him was an +enthusiastic urbanity. He seemed clean cut, virile, overflowing with +vitality, only it was a different vitality, the snap and decision of a +man-of-affairs, not the untamed outrush of the artist.</p> + +<p>They had spoken scarcely a short five minutes when a knock came on the +door and a footman's voice said:</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Rantoul wishes you not to be late for dinner, sir."</p> + +<p>"Very well, very well," said Rantoul, with a little impatience. "I +always forget the time. Jove! it's good to see you again; you'll give us +a week at least. Meet you downstairs."</p> + +<p>When Herkimer had dressed and descended, his host and hostess were still +up-stairs. He moved through the rooms, curiously noting the contents of +the walls. There were several paintings of value, a series of drawings +by Boucher, a replica or two of his own work; but he sought without +success for something from the brush of Clyde Rantoul. At dinner he was +aware of a sudden uneasiness. Mrs. Rantoul, with the flattering smile +that recalled Tina Glover, pressed him with innumerable questions, which +he answered with constraint, always aware of the dull simulation of +interest in her eyes.</p> + +<p>Twice during the meal Rantoul was called to the telephone for a +conversation at long distance.</p> + +<p>"Clyde is becoming quite a power in Wall Street," said Mrs. Rantoul, +with an approving smile. "Father says he's the strength of the younger +men. He has really a genius for organization."</p> + +<p>"It's a wonderful time, Britt," said Rantoul, resuming his place. +"There's nothing like it anywhere on the face of the globe—the +possibilities of concentration and simplification here in business. It's +a great game, too, matching your wits against another's. We're building +empires of trade, order out of chaos. I'm making an awful lot of money."</p> + +<p>Herkimer remained obstinately silent during the rest of the dinner. +Everything seemed to fetter him—the constraint of dining before the +silent, flitting butler, servants who whisked his plate away before he +knew it, the succession of unrecognizable dishes, the constant jargon of +social eavesdroppings that Mrs. Rantoul pressed into action the moment +her husband's recollections exiled her from the conversation; but above +all, the indefinable enmity that seemed to well out from his hostess, +and which he seemed to divine occasionally when the ready smile left her +lips and she was forced to listen to things she did not understand.</p> + +<p>When they rose from the table, Rantoul passed his arm about his wife and +said something in her ear, at which she smiled and patted his hand.</p> + +<p>"I am very proud of my husband, Mr. Herkimer," she said with a little +bob of her head in which was a sense of proprietorship. "You'll see."</p> + +<p>"Suppose we stroll out for a little smoke in the garden," said Rantoul.</p> + +<p>"What, you're going to leave me?" she said instantly, with a shade of +vague uneasiness, that Herkimer perceived.</p> + +<p>"We sha'n't be long, dear," said Rantoul, pinching her ear. "Our chatter +won't interest you. Send the coffee out into the rose cupola."</p> + +<p>They passed out into the open porch, but Herkimer was aware of the +little woman standing irresolutely tapping with her thin finger on the +table, and he said to himself: "She's a little ogress of jealousy. What +the deuce is she afraid I'll say to him?"</p> + +<p>They rambled through sweet-scented paths, under the high-flung network +of stars, hearing only the crunching of little pebbles under foot.</p> + +<p>"You've given up painting?" said Herkimer all at once.</p> + +<p>"Yes, though that doesn't count," said Rantoul, abruptly; but there was +in his voice a different note, something of the restlessness of the old +Don Furioso. "Talk to me of the Quarter. Who's at the Café des Lilacs +now? They tell me that little Ragin we used to torment so has made some +great decorations. What became of that pretty girl in the creamery of +the Rue de l'Ombre who used to help us over the lean days?"</p> + +<p>"Whom you christened Our Lady of the Sparrows?" "Yes, yes. You know I +sent her the silk dress and the earrings I promised her."</p> + +<p>Herkimer began to speak of one thing and another, of Bennett, who had +gone dramatically to the Transvaal; of Le Gage, who was now in the +forefront of the younger group of landscapists; of the old types that +still came faithfully to the Café des Lilacs,—the old chess-players, +the fat proprietor, with his fat wife and three fat children who dined +there regularly every Sunday,—of the new revolutionary ideas among the +younger men that were beginning to assert themselves.</p> + +<p>"Let's sit down," said Rantoul, as though suffocating.</p> + +<p>They placed themselves in wicker easy-chairs, under the heavy-scented +rose cupola, disdaining the coffee that waited on a table. From where +they were a red-tiled walk, with flower beds nodding in enchanted sleep, +ran to the veranda. The porch windows were open, and in the golden +lamplight Herkimer saw the figure of Tina Glover bent intently over an +embroidery, drawing her needle with uneven stitches, her head seeming +inclined to catch the faintest sound. The waiting, nervous pose, the +slender figure on guard, brought to him a strange, almost uncanny +sensation of mystery, and feeling the sudden change in the mood of the +man at his side, he gazed at the figure of the wife and said to himself:</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page042'></a> +<img src='images/image-page042.jpg' width='561' height='600' alt='Our Lady of the Sparrows' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"I'd give a good deal to know what's passing through that little head. +What is she afraid of?"</p> + +<p>"You're surprised to find me as I am," said Rantoul, abruptly breaking +the silence.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"You can't understand it?"</p> + +<p>"When did you give up painting?" said Herkimer, shortly, with a sure +feeling that the hour of confidences had come.</p> + +<p>"Seven years ago."</p> + +<p>"Why in God's name did you do it?" said Herkimer, flinging away his +cigar angrily. "You weren't just any one—Tom, Dick, or Harry. You had +something to say, man. Listen. I know what I'm talking about,—I've seen +the whole procession in the last ten years,—you were one in a thousand. +You were a creator. You had ideas; you were meant to be a leader, to +head a movement. You had more downright savage power, undeveloped, but +tugging at the chain, than any man I've known. Why did you do it?"</p> + +<p>"I had almost forgotten," said Rantoul, slowly. "Are you sure?"</p> + +<p>"Am I sure?" said Herkimer, furiously. "I say what I mean; you know it."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's true," said Rantoul. He stretched out his hand and drank +his coffee, but without knowing what he did. "Well, that's all of the +past—what might have been."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"Britt, old fellow," said Rantoul at last, speaking as though to +himself, "did you ever have a moment when you suddenly got out of +yourself, looked at yourself and at your life as a spectator?—saw the +strange strings that had pulled you this way and that, and realized what +might have been had you turned one corner at a certain day of your life +instead of another?"</p> + +<p>"No, I've gone where I wanted to go," said Herkimer, obstinately.</p> + +<p>"You think so. Well, to-night I can see myself for the first time," said +Rantoul. Then he added meditatively, "I have done not one single thing I +wanted to."</p> + +<p>"But why—why?"</p> + +<p>"You have brought it all back to me," said Rantoul, ignoring this +question. "It hurts. I suppose to-morrow I shall resent it, but to-night +I feel too deeply. There is nothing free about us in this world, Britt. +I profoundly believe that. Everything we do from morning to night is +dictated by the direction of those about us. An enemy, some one in the +open, we can combat and resist; but it is those that are nearest to us +who disarm us because they love us, that change us most, that thwart our +desires, and make over our lives. Nothing in this world is so +inexorable, so terribly, terribly irresistible as a woman without +strength, without logic, without vision, who only loves."</p> + +<p>"He is going to say things he will regret," thought Herkimer, and yet +he did not object. Instead, he glanced down the dimly flushed path to +the house where Mrs. Rantoul was sitting, her embroidery on her lap, her +head raised as though listening. Suddenly he said:</p> + +<p>"Look here, Clyde, do you want to tell me this?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do; it's life. Why not? We are at the age when we've got to face +things."</p> + +<p>"Still—"</p> + +<p>"Let me go on," said Rantoul, stopping him. He reached out +absent-mindedly, and drank the second cup. "Let me say now, Britt, for +fear you'll misunderstand, there has never been the slightest quarrel +between my wife and me. She loves me absolutely; nothing else in this +world exists for her. It has always been so; she cannot bear even to +have me out of her sight. I am very happy. Only there is in such a love +something of the tiger—a fierce animal jealousy of every one and +everything which could even for a moment take my thoughts away. At this +moment she is probably suffering untold pangs because she thinks I am +regretting the days in which she was not in my life."</p> + +<p>"And because she could not understand your art, she hated it," said +Herkimer, with a growing anger.</p> + +<p>"No, it wasn't that. It was something more subtle, more instinctive, +more impossible to combat," said Rantoul, shaking his head. "Do you know +what is the great essential to the artist—to whoever creates? The +sense of privacy, the power to isolate his own genius from everything in +the world, to be absolutely concentrated. To create we must be alone, +have strange, unuttered thoughts, just as in the realms of the soul +every human being must have moments of complete isolation—thoughts, +reveries, moods, that cannot be shared with even those we love best. You +don't understand that."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>"At the bottom we human beings come and depart absolutely alone. +Friendship, love, all that we instinctively seek to rid ourselves of, +this awful solitude of the soul, avail nothing. Well, what others shrink +from, the artist must seek."</p> + +<p>"But you could not make her understand that?"</p> + +<p>"I was dealing with a child," said Rantoul. "I loved that child, and I +could not bear even to see a frown of unhappiness cloud her face. Then +she adored me. What can be answered to that?"</p> + +<p>"That's true."</p> + +<p>"At first it was not so difficult. We passed around the world—Greece, +India, Japan. She came and sat by my side when I took my easel; every +stroke of my brush seemed like a miracle. A hundred times she would cry +out her delight. Naturally that amused me. From time to time I would +suspend the sittings and reward my patient little audience—"</p> + +<p>"And the sketches?"</p> + +<p>"They were not what I wanted," said Rantoul with a little laugh; "but +they were not bad. When I returned here and opened my studio, it began +to be difficult. She could not understand that I wanted to work eighteen +hours a day. She begged for my afternoons. I gave in. She embraced me +frantically and said; 'Oh, how good you are! Now I won't be jealous any +more, and every morning I will come with you and inspire you.'"</p> + +<p>"Every morning," said Herkimer, softly.</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Rantoul, with a little hesitation, "every morning. She +fluttered about the studio like a pink-and-white butterfly, sending me a +kiss from her dainty fingers whenever I looked her way. She watched over +my shoulder every stroke, and when I did something that pleased her, I +felt her lips on my neck, behind my ear, and heard her say, 'That is +your reward.'"</p> + +<p>"Every day?" said Herkimer.</p> + +<p>"Every day."</p> + +<p>"And when you had a model?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, then it was worse. She treated the models as though they were +convicts, watching them out of the corners of her eyes. Her +demonstration of affection redoubled, her caresses never stopped, as +though she wished to impress upon them her proprietorship. Those days +she was really jealous."</p> + +<p>"God—how could you stand it?" said Herkimer, violently.</p> + +<p>"To be frank, the more she outraged me as an artist, the more she +pleased me as a man. To be loved so absolutely, especially if you are +sensitive to such things, has an intoxication of its own, yes, she +fascinated me more and more."</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary."</p> + +<p>"One day I tried to make her understand that I had need to be alone. She +listened to me solemnly, with only a little quiver of her lips, and let +me go. When I returned, I found her eyes swollen with weeping and her +heart bursting."</p> + +<p>"And you took her in your arms and promised never to send her away +again."</p> + +<p>"Naturally. Then I began to go out into society to please her. Next +something very interesting came up, and I neglected my studio for a +morning. The same thing happened again and again. I had a period of wild +revolt, of bitter anger, in which I resolved to be firm, to insist on my +privacy, to make the fight."</p> + +<p>"And you never did?"</p> + +<p>"When her arms were about me, when I saw her eyes, full of adoration and +passion, raised to my own, I forgot all my irritation in my happiness as +a man. I said to myself, 'Life is short; it is better to be loved than +to wait for glory.' One afternoon, under the pretext of examining the +grove, I stole away to the studio, and pulled out some of the old +things that I had done in Paris—and sat and gazed at them. My throat +began to fill, and I felt the tears coming to my eyes, when I looked +around and saw her standing wide-eyed at the door.</p> + +<p>"'What are you doing?' she said.</p> + +<p>"'Looking at some of the old things.'</p> + +<p>"'You regret those days?'</p> + +<p>"'Of course not.'</p> + +<p>"'Then why do you steal away from me, make a pretext to come here? Isn't +my love great enough for you? Do you want to put me out of your life +altogether? You used to tell me that I inspired you. If you want, we'll +give up the afternoons. I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for +you by the hour—only don't shut the door on me!'</p> + +<p>"She began to cry. I took her in my arms, said everything that she +wished me to say, heedlessly, brutally, not caring what I said.</p> + +<p>"That night I ran off, resolved to end it all—to save what I longed +for. I remained five hours trudging in the night—pulled back and forth. +I remembered my children. I came back,—told a lie. The next day I shut +the door of the studio not on her, but on myself.</p> + +<p>"For months I did nothing. I was miserable. She saw it at last, and said +to me:</p> + +<p>"'You ought to work. You aren't happy doing nothing. I've arranged +something for you.'</p> + +<p>"I raised my head in amazement, as she continued, +clapping her hands with delight:</p> + +<p>"'I've talked it all over with papa. You'll go into his office. You'll +do big things. He's quite enthusiastic, and I promised for you.'</p> + +<p>"I went. I became interested. I stayed. Now I am like any other man, +domesticated, conservative, living my life, and she has not the +slightest idea of what she has killed."</p> + +<p>"Let us go in," said Herkimer, rising.</p> + +<p>"And you say I could have left a name?" said Rantoul, bitterly.</p> + +<p>"You were wrong to tell me all this," said Herkimer.</p> + +<p>"I owed you the explanation. What could I do?"</p> + +<p>"Lie."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"Because, after such a confidence, it is impossible for you ever to see +me again. You know it."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense. I—"</p> + +<p>"Let's go back."</p> + +<p>Full of dull anger and revolt, Herkimer led the way. Rantoul, after a +few steps, caught him by the sleeve.</p> + +<p>"Don't take it too seriously, Britt. I don't revolt any more. I'm no +longer the Rantoul you knew."</p> + +<p>"That's just the trouble," said Herkimer, cruelly.</p> + +<p>When their steps sounded near, Mrs. Rantoul rose hastily, spilling her +silk and needles on the floor. She gave her husband a swift, searching +look, and said with her flattering smile:</p> + +<p>"Mr. Herkimer, you must be a very interesting talker. I am quite +jealous."</p> + +<p>"I am rather tired," he answered, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go +off to bed."</p> + +<p>"Really?" she said, raising her eyes. She extended her hand, and he took +it with almost the physical repulsion with which one would touch the +hand of a criminal. The next morning he left.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>When Herkimer had finished, he shrugged his shoulders, gave a short +laugh, and, glancing at the clock, went off in his curt, purposeful +manner.</p> + +<p>"Well, by Jove!" said Steingall, recovering first from the spell of the +story, "doesn't that prove exactly what I said? They're jealous, they're +all jealous, I tell you, jealous of everything you do. All they want us +to do is to adore them. By Jove! Herkimer's right. Rantoul was the +biggest of us all. She murdered him just as much as though she had put a +knife in him."</p> + +<p>"She did it on purpose," said De Gollyer. "There was nothing childlike +about her, either. On the contrary, I consider her a clever, a +devilishly clever woman."</p> + +<p>"Of course she did. They're all clever, damn them!" said Steingall, +explosively. "Now, what do you say, Quinny? I say that an artist who +marries might just as well tie a rope around his neck and present it to +his wife and have it over."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary," said Quinny, with a sudden inspiration reorganizing +his whole battle front, "every artist should marry. The only danger is +that he may marry happily."</p> + +<p>"What?" cried Steingall. "But you said—"</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I have germinated some new ideas," said Quinny, +unconcerned. "The story has a moral,—I detest morals,—but this has +one. An artist should always marry unhappily, and do you know why? +Purely a question of chemistry. Towsey, when do you work the best?"</p> + +<p>"How do you mean?" said Towsey, rousing himself.</p> + +<p>"I've heard you say that you worked best when your nerves were all on +edge—night out, cucumbers, thunder-storm, or a touch of fever."</p> + +<p>"Yes, that's so."</p> + +<p>"Can any one work well when everything is calm?" continued Quinny, +triumphantly, to the amazement of Rankin and Steingall. "Can you work on +a clear spring day, when nothing bothers you and the first of the month +is two weeks off, eh? Of course you can't. Happiness is the enemy of the +artist. It puts to sleep the faculties. Contentment is a drug. My dear +men, an artist should always be unhappy. Perpetual state of +fermentation sets the nerves throbbing, sensitive to impressions. +Exaltation and remorse, anger and inspiration, all hodge-podge, chemical +action and reaction, all this we are blessed with when we are unhappily +married. Domestic infelicity drives us to our art; happiness makes us +neglect it. Shall I tell you what I do when everything is smooth, no +nerves, no inspiration, fat, puffy Sunday-dinner-feeling, too happy, +can't work? I go home and start a quarrel with my wife."</p> + +<p>"And then you <i>can</i> work," cried Steingall, roaring with laughter. "By +Jove, you <i>are</i> immense!"</p> + +<p>"Never better," said Quinny, who appeared like a prophet.</p> + +<p>The four artists, who had listened to Herkimer's story in that gradual +thickening depression which the subject of matrimony always let down +over them, suddenly brightened visibly. On their faces appeared the look +of inward speculation, and then a ray of light.</p> + +<p>Little Towsey, who from his arrival had sulked, fretted, and fumed, +jumped up energetically and flung away his third cigar.</p> + +<p>"Here, where are you going?" said Rankin in protest.</p> + +<p>"Over to the studio," said Towsey, quite unconsciously. "I feel like a +little work."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='ONE_HUNDRED_IN_THE_DARK'></a><h2>ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK</h2> +<br /> + +<p>They were discussing languidly, as such groups do, seeking from each +topic a peg on which to hang a few epigrams that might be retold in the +lip currency of the club—Steingall, the painter, florid of gesture and +effete, foreign in type, with black-rimmed glasses and trailing ribbon +of black silk that cut across his cropped beard and cavalry mustaches; +De Gollyer, a critic, who preferred to be known as a man about town, +short, feverish, incisive, who slew platitudes with one adjective and +tagged a reputation with three; Rankin, the architect, always in a +defensive explanatory attitude, who held his elbows on the table, his +hands before his long sliding nose, and gestured with his fingers; +Quinny, the illustrator, long and gaunt, with a predatory eloquence that +charged irresistibly down on any subject, cut it off, surrounded it, and +raked it with enfilading wit and satire; and Peters, whose methods of +existence were a mystery, a young man of fifty, who had done nothing and +who knew every one by his first name, the club postman, who carried the +tittle-tattle, the <i>bon mots</i> and the news of the day, who drew up a +petition a week and pursued the house committee with a daily grievance.</p> + +<p>About the latticed porch, which ran around the sanded yard with its +feeble fountain and futile evergreens, other groups were eying one +another, or engaging in desultory conversation, oppressed with the +heaviness of the night.</p> + +<p>At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he devoured the +conversation, having routed Steingall on the Germans and archæology and +Rankin on the origins of the Lord's Prayer, had seized a chance remark +of De Gollyer's to say:</p> + +<p>"There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like everything +that's true it isn't true." He waved his long, gouty fingers in the +direction of Steingall, who, having been silenced, was regarding him +with a look of sleepy indifference. "What is more to the point, is the +small number of human relations that are so simple and yet so +fundamental that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and +reinterpreted in every language, in every age, and yet remain +inexhaustible in the possibility of variations."</p> + +<p>"By George, that is so," said Steingall, waking up. "Every art does go +back to three or four notes. In composition it is the same thing. +Nothing new—nothing new since a thousand years. By George, that is +true! We invent nothing, nothing!"</p> + +<p>"Take the eternal triangle," said Quinny hurriedly, not to surrender his +advantage, while Rankin and De Gollyer in a bored way continued to gaze +dreamily at a vagrant star or two. "Two men and a woman, or two women +and a man. Obviously it should be classified as the first of the great +original parent themes. Its variations extend into the thousands. By the +way, Rankin, excellent opportunity, eh, for some of our modern, +painstaking, unemployed jackasses to analyze and classify."</p> + +<p>"Quite right," said Rankin without perceiving the satirical note. "Now +there's De Maupassant's Fort comma la Mort—quite the most interesting +variation—shows the turn a genius can give. There the triangle is the +man of middle age, the mother he has loved in his youth and the daughter +he comes to love. It forms, you might say, the head of a whole +subdivision of modern continental literature."</p> + +<p>"Quite wrong, Rankin, quite wrong," said Quinny, who would have stated +the other side quite as imperiously. "What you cite is a variation of +quite another theme, the Faust theme—old age longing for youth, the man +who has loved longing for the love of his youth, which is youth itself. +The triangle is the theme of jealousy, the most destructive and, +therefore, the most dramatic of human passions. The Faust theme is the +most fundamental and inevitable of all human experiences, the tragedy of +life itself. Quite a different thing."</p> + +<p>Rankin, who never agreed with Quinny unless Quinny maliciously took +advantage of his prior announcement to agree with him, continued to +combat this idea.</p> + +<p>"You believe then," said De Gollyer after a certain moment had been +consumed in hair splitting, "that the origin of all dramatic themes is +simply the expression of some human emotion. In other words, there can +exist no more parent themes than there are human emotions."</p> + +<p>"I thank you, sir, very well put," said Quinny with a generous wave of +his hand. "Why is the Three Musketeers a basic theme? Simply the +interpretation of comradeship, the emotion one man feels for another, +vital because it is the one peculiarly masculine emotion. Look at Du +Maurier and Trilby, Kipling in Soldiers Three—simply the Three +Musketeers."</p> + +<p>"The Vie de Bohème?" suggested Steingall.</p> + +<p>"In the real Vie de Bohème, yes," said Quinny viciously. "Not in the +concocted sentimentalities that we now have served up to us by athletic +tenors and consumptive elephants!"</p> + +<p>Rankin, who had been silently deliberating on what had been left behind, +now said cunningly and with evident purpose:</p> + +<p>"All the same, I don't agree with you men at all. I believe there are +situations, original situations, that are independent of your human +emotions, that exist just because they are situations, accidental and +nothing else."</p> + +<p>"As for instance?" said Quinny, preparing to attack.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll just cite an ordinary one that happens to come to my mind," +said Rankin, who had carefully selected his test. "In a group of seven +or eight, such as we are here, a theft takes place; one man is the +thief—which one? I'd like to know what emotion that interprets, and yet +it certainly is an original theme, at the bottom of a whole literature."</p> + +<p>This challenge was like a bomb.</p> + +<p>"Not the same thing."</p> + +<p>"Detective stories, bah!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I say, Rankin, that's literary melodrama."</p> + +<p>Rankin, satisfied, smiled and winked victoriously over to Tommers, who +was listening from an adjacent table.</p> + +<p>"Of course your suggestion is out of order, my dear man, to this +extent," said Quinny, who never surrendered, "in that I am talking of +fundamentals and you are citing details. Nevertheless, I could answer +that the situation you give, as well as the whole school it belongs to, +can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions, curiosity; and +that the story of Bluebeard and the Moonstone are to all purposes +identically the same."</p> + +<p>At this Steingall, who had waited hopefully, gasped and made as though +to leave the table.</p> + +<p>"I shall take up your contention," said Quinny without pause for breath, +"first, because you have opened up one of my pet topics, and, second, +because it gives me a chance to talk." He gave a sidelong glance at +Steingall and winked at De Gollyer. "What is the peculiar fascination +that the detective problem exercises over the human mind? You will say +curiosity. Yes and no. Admit at once that the whole art of a detective +story consists in the statement of the problem. Any one can do it. I can +do it. Steingall even can do it. The solution doesn't count. It is +usually banal; it should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we +guess it? Just as an able-minded man will sit down for hours and fiddle +over the puzzle column in a Sunday balderdash. Same idea. There you have +it, the problem—the detective story. Now why the fascination? I'll tell +you. It appeals to our curiosity, yes—but deeper to a sort of +intellectual vanity. Here are six matches, arrange them to make four +squares; five men present, a theft takes place—who's the thief? Who +will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior cleverness—see? +That's all—that's all there is to it."</p> + +<p>"Out of all of which," said De Gollyer, "the interesting thing is that +Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply of detective fiction is +inexhaustible. It does all come down to the simplest terms. Seven +possibilities, one answer. It is a formula, ludicrously simple, +mechanical, and yet we will always pursue it to the end. The marvel is +that writers should seek for any other formula when here is one so +safe, that can never fail. By George, I could start up a factory on it."</p> + +<p>"The reason is," said Rankin, "that the situation does constantly occur. +It's a situation that any of us might get into any time. As a matter of +fact, now, I personally know two such occasions when I was of the party; +and devilish uncomfortable it was too."</p> + +<p>"What happened?" said Steingall.</p> + +<p>"Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake had been made +and the other time the real thief was detected by accident a year later. +In both cases only one or two of us knew what had happened."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, after +reflection, related another that had happened to a friend.</p> + +<p>"Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen," said Quinny impatiently, for +he had been silent too long, "you are glorifying commonplaces. Every +crime, I tell you, expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle +that you feed to your six-year-old. It's only the variation that is +interesting. Now quite the most remarkable turn of the complexities that +can be developed is, of course, the well-known instance of the visitor +at a club and the rare coin. Of course every one knows that? What?"</p> + +<p>Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others protested their +ignorance.</p> + +<p>"Why, it's very well known," said Quinny lightly.</p> + +<p>"A distinguished visitor is brought into a club—dozen men, say, +present, at dinner, long table. Conversation finally veers around to +curiosities and relics. One of the members present then takes from his +pocket what he announces as one of the rarest coins in existence—passes +it around the table. Coin travels back and forth, every one examining +it, and the conversation goes to another topic, say the influence of the +automobile on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely +intellectual club topic—you know? All at once the owner calls for his +coin.</p> + +<p>"The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at every one else. +First they suspect a joke. Then it becomes serious—the coin is +immensely valuable. Who has taken it?</p> + +<p>"The owner is a gentleman—does the gentlemanly idiotic thing of course, +laughs, says he knows some one is playing a practical joke on him and +that the coin will be returned to-morrow. The others refuse to leave the +situation so. One man proposes that they all submit to a search. Every +one gives his assent until it comes to the stranger. He refuses, curtly, +roughly, without giving any reason. Uncomfortable silence—the man is a +guest. No one knows him particularly well—but still he is a guest. One +member tries to make him understand that no offense is offered, that the +suggestion was simply to clear the atmosphere, and all that sort of +bally rot, you know.</p> + +<p>"'I refuse to allow my person to be searched,' says the stranger, very +firm, very proud, very English, you know, 'and I refuse to give my +reason for my action.'</p> + +<p>"Another silence. The men eye him and then glance at one another. What's +to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette—that magnificent inflated +balloon. The visitor evidently has the coin—but he is their guest and +etiquette protects him. Nice situation, eh?</p> + +<p>"The table is cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit and there under +the ledge of the plate where it had been pushed—is the coin. Banal +explanation, eh? Of course. Solutions always should be. At once every +one in profuse apologies! Whereupon the visitor rises and says:</p> + +<p>"'Now I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched. There are +only two known specimens of the coin in existence, and the second +happens to be here in my waistcoat pocket.'"</p> + +<p>"Of course," said Quinny with a shrug of his shoulders, "the story is +well invented, but the turn to it is very nice—very nice indeed."</p> + +<p>"I did know the story," said Steingall, to be disagreeable; "the ending, +though, is too obvious to be invented. The visitor should have had on +him not another coin, but something absolutely different, something +destructive, say, of a woman's reputation, and a great tragedy should +have been threatened by the casual misplacing of the coin."</p> + +<p>"I have heard the same story told in a dozen different ways," said +Rankin.</p> + +<p>"It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening," +said Steingall.</p> + +<p>"I know one extraordinary instance," said Peters, who up to the present, +secure in his climax, had waited with a professional smile until the big +guns had been silenced. "In fact, the most extraordinary instance of +this sort I have ever heard."</p> + +<p>"Peters, you little rascal," said Quinny with a sidelong glance, "I +perceive you have quietly been letting us dress the stage for you."</p> + +<p>"It is not a story that will please every one," said Peters, to whet +their appetite.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"Because you will want to know what no one can ever know."</p> + +<p>"It has no conclusion then?"</p> + +<p>"Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, quite the most remarkable +woman I have ever met, the story is complete. As for the rest, it is +what it is, because it is one example where literature can do nothing +better than record."</p> + +<p>"Do I know the woman?" asked De Gollyer, who flattered himself on +passing through every class of society.</p> + +<p>"Possibly, but no more than any one else."</p> + +<p>"An actress?"</p> + +<p>"What she has been in the past I don't know—a promoter would better +describe her. Undoubtedly she has been behind the scenes in many an +untold intrigue of the business world. A very feminine woman, and yet, +as you shall see, with an unusual instantaneous masculine power of +decision."</p> + +<p>"Peters," said Quinny, waving a warning finger, "you are destroying your +story. Your preface will bring an anticlimax."</p> + +<p>"You shall judge," said Peters, who waited until his audience was in +strained attention before opening his story. "The names are, of course, +disguises."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Rita Kildair inhabited a charming bachelor-girl studio, very +elegant, of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings just off Central +Park West. She knew pretty nearly every one in that indescribable +society in New York that is drawn from all levels, and that imposes but +one condition for membership—to be amusing. She knew every one and no +one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest rumors her history or her +means. No one had ever heard of a Mr. Kildair. There was always about +her a certain defensive reserve the moment the limits of +acquaintanceship had been reached. She had a certain amount of money, +she knew a certain number of men in Wall Street affairs and her studio +was furnished with taste and even distinction. She was of any age. She +might have suffered everything or nothing at all. In this mingled +society her invitations were eagerly sought, her dinners were +spontaneous, and the discussions, though gay and usually daring, were +invariably under the control of wit and good taste.</p> + +<p>On the Sunday night of this adventure she had, according to her +invariable custom, sent away her Japanese butler and invited to an +informal chafing-dish supper seven of her more congenial friends, all of +whom, as much as could be said of any one, were habitués of the studio.</p> + +<p>At seven o'clock, having finished dressing, she put in order her +bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between the studio and a +small dining room to the kitchen beyond. Then, going into the studio, +she lit a wax taper and was in the act of touching off the brass +candlesticks that lighted the room when three knocks sounded on the door +and a Mr. Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed, +entered with the informality of assured acquaintance.</p> + +<p>"You are early," said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, you are late," said the broker, glancing at his watch.</p> + +<p>"Then be a good boy and help me with the candles," she said, giving him +a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers.</p> + +<p>He obeyed, asking nonchalantly:</p> + +<p>"I say, dear lady, who's to be here to-night?"</p> + +<p>"The Enos Jacksons."</p> + +<p>"I thought they were separated."</p> + +<p>"Not yet."</p> + +<p>"Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have thought of serving us +a couple on the verge."</p> + +<p>"It's interesting, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?"</p> + +<p>"Through the Warings. Jackson's a rather doubtful person, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"Let's call him a very sharp lawyer," said Flanders defensively. "They +tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of the market—in deep."</p> + +<p>"And you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, I? I'm a bachelor," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "and if +I come a cropper it makes no difference."</p> + +<p>"Is that possible?" she said, looking at him quickly.</p> + +<p>"Probable even. And who else is coming?"</p> + +<p>"Maude Lille—you know her?"</p> + +<p>"I think not."</p> + +<p>"You met her here—a journalist."</p> + +<p>"Quite so, a strange career."</p> + +<p>"Mr. Harris, a clubman, is coming, and the Stanley Cheevers."</p> + +<p>"The Stanley Cheevers!" said Flanders with some surprise. "Are we going +to gamble?"</p> + +<p>"You believe in that scandal about bridge?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Flanders, smiling. "You see I was present. The +Cheevers play a good game, a well united game, and have an unusual +system of makes. By-the-way, it's Jackson who is very attentive to Mrs. +Cheever, isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Quite right."</p> + +<p>"What a charming party," said Flanders flippantly. "And where does Maude +Lille come in?"</p> + +<p>"Don't joke. She is in a desperate way," said Mrs. Kildair, with a +little sadness in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"And Harris?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of +respectability."</p> + +<p>"Of what?"</p> + +<p>She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping his glance.</p> + +<p>"Don't be an ass with me, my dear Flanders."</p> + +<p>"By George, if this were Europe I'd wager you were in the secret +service, Mrs. Kildair."</p> + +<p>"Thank you."</p> + +<p>She smiled appreciatively and moved about the studio, giving the +finishing touches. The Stanley Cheevers entered, a short fat man with a +vacant fat face and a slow-moving eye, and his wife, voluble, nervous, +overdressed and pretty. Mr. Harris came with Maude Lille, a woman, +straight, dark, Indian, with great masses of somber hair held in a +little too loosely for neatness, with thick, quick lips and eyes that +rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The Enos Jacksons +were late and still agitated as they entered. His forehead had not quite +banished the scowl, nor her eyes the scorn. He was of the type that +never lost his temper, but caused others to lose theirs, immovable in +his opinions, with a prowling walk, a studied antagonism in his manner, +and an impudent look that fastened itself unerringly on the weakness in +the person to whom he spoke. Mrs. Jackson, who seemed fastened to her +husband by an invisible leash, had a hunted, resisting quality back of a +certain desperate dash, which she assumed rather than felt in her +attitude toward life. One looked at her curiously and wondered what such +a nature would do in a crisis, with a lurking sense of a woman who +carried with her her own impending tragedy.</p> + +<p>As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity of the +selection had been perceived, a smile of malicious anticipation ran the +rounds, which the hostess cut short by saying:</p> + +<p>"Well, now that every one is here, this is the order of the night: You +can quarrel all you want, you can whisper all the gossip you can think +of about one another, but every one is to be amusing! Also every one is +to help with the dinner—nothing formal and nothing serious. We may all +be bankrupt to-morrow, divorced or dead, but to-night we will be +gay—that is the invariable rule of the house!"</p> + +<p>Immediately a nervous laughter broke out and the company chattering +began to scatter through the rooms.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildair, stopping in her bedroom, donned a Watteaulike cooking +apron, and slipping her rings from her fingers fixed the three on her +pincushion with a hatpin.</p> + +<p>"Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful," said the low voice of Maude +Lille, who with Harris and Mrs. Cheever were in the room.</p> + +<p>"There's only one that is very valuable," said Mrs. Kildair, touching +with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost, two large diamonds, +flanking a magnificent sapphire.</p> + +<p>"It is beautiful—very beautiful," said the journalist, her eyes +fastened to it with an uncontrollable fascination. She put out her +fingers and let them rest caressingly on the sapphire, withdrawing them +quickly as though the contact had burned them.</p> + +<p>"It must be very valuable," she said, her breath catching a little. Mrs. +Cheever, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring.</p> + +<p>"It cost five thousand six years ago," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing down +at it. "It has been my talisman ever since. For the moment, however, I +am cook; Maude Lille, you are scullery maid; Harris is the chef, and we +are under his orders. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?"</p> + +<p>"Good Heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling.</p> + +<p>"Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All +you'll have to do is to help set the table. On to the kitchen!"</p> + +<p>Under their hostess's gay guidance the seven guests began to circulate +busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping the chairs, opening +bottles, and preparing the material for the chafing dishes. Mrs. Kildair +in the kitchen ransacked the ice box, and with her own hands chopped the +<i>fines herbes</i>, shredded the chicken and measured the cream.</p> + +<p>"Flanders, carry this in carefully," she said, her hands in a towel. +"Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the salad bowl on the table. +Everything ready, Harris? All right. Every one sit down. I'll be right +in."</p> + +<p>She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her apron hung it in +the closet. Then going to her dressing table she drew the hatpin from +the pincushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at +once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were +there, the third ring, the one with the sapphire and the two diamonds, +was missing.</p> + +<p>"Stupid," she said to herself, and returned to her dressing table. All +at once she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the pin +through the three rings.</p> + +<p>She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving, her +fingers drumming slowly on the table, her head to one side, her lip +drawn in a little between her teeth, listening with a frown to the +babble from the outer room. Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests +had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been +busy in the kitchen.</p> + +<p>"Too much time before the mirror, dear lady," called out Flanders gaily, +who from where he was seated could see her.</p> + +<p>"It is not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. "Why not? He is +clever—who knows? Let me think."</p> + +<p>To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her head bowed, +her thumb between her teeth.</p> + +<p>"Who has taken it?"</p> + +<p>She ran over the character of her guests and their situations as she +knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped upon some reason +that might explain a sudden temptation.</p> + +<p>"I shall find out nothing this way," she said to herself after a +moment's deliberation; "that is not the important thing to me just now. +The important thing is to get the ring back."</p> + +<p>And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her +clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her journey.</p> + +<p>Five minutes later, as Harris, installed <i>en maître</i> over the chafing +dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs. Kildair came into +the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with +scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it at the +same moment, with a little nervous start.</p> + +<p>"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Flanders, "you come in on us like a +Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a surprise?"</p> + +<p>As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing her forehead +together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line.</p> + +<p>"I have something to say to you," she said in a sharp, businesslike +manner, watching the company with penetrating eagerness.</p> + +<p>There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. Harris +extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish clumsily with a +discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Enos Jackson swung +about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while the men +imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the +feet.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Enos Jackson?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."</p> + +<p>"Kindly do as I ask you."</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost +an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his eyebrows a little in +surprise.</p> + +<p>"Go to the door," she continued, shifting her glance from him to the +others. "Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the key."</p> + +<p>He executed the order without bungling, and returning stood before her, +tendering the key.</p> + +<p>"You've locked it?" she said, making the words an excuse to bury her +glance in his.</p> + +<p>"As you wished me to."</p> + +<p>"Thanks."</p> + +<p>She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the +door into her bedroom through which she had come.</p> + +<p>Then transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of +Jackson, who still awaited her further commands, her eyes studied a +moment the possibilities of the apartment.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cheever?" she said in a low voice.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Mrs. Kildair."</p> + +<p>"Blow out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table."</p> + +<p>"Put out the lights, Mrs. Kildair?"</p> + +<p>"At once."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of +questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the hostess.</p> + +<p>"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," said Mrs. Jackson with a little nervous +catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up! My +nerves—"</p> + +<p>"Miss Lille?" said the voice of command.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>The journalist, calmer than the rest, had watched the proceedings +without surprise, as though forewarned by professional instinct that +something of importance was about to take place. Now she rose quietly +with an almost stealthy motion.</p> + +<p>"Put the candelabrum on this table—here," said Mrs. Kildair, indicating +a large round table on which a few books were grouped. "No, wait. Mr. +Jackson, first clear off the table. I want nothing on it."</p> + +<p>"But, Mrs. Kildair—" began Mrs. Jackson's shrill voice again.</p> + +<p>"That's it. Now put down the candelabrum."</p> + +<p>In a moment, as Mr. Cheever proceeded methodically on his errand, the +brilliant crossfire of lights dropped in the studio, only a few +smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high room seemed to +grow more distant as it came under the sole dominion of the three +candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table.</p> + +<p>"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice had in it a cold note. +"My sapphire ring has just been stolen."</p> + +<p>She said it suddenly, hurling the news among them and waiting +ferret-like for some indications in the chorus that broke out.</p> + +<p>"Stolen!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair!"</p> + +<p>"Stolen—by Jove!"</p> + +<p>"You don't mean it!"</p> + +<p>"What! Stolen here—to-night?"</p> + +<p>"The ring has been taken within the last twenty minutes," continued Mrs. +Kildair in the same determined, chiseled tone. "I am not going to mince +words. The ring has been taken and the thief is among you."</p> + +<p>For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp and a sudden +turning and searching, then suddenly Cheever's deep bass broke out:</p> + +<p>"Stolen! But, Mrs. Kildair, is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt," said Mrs. Kildair. "Three +of you were in my bedroom when I placed my rings on the pincushion. Each +of you has passed through there a dozen times since. My sapphire ring is +gone, and one of you has taken it."</p> + +<p>Mrs. Jackson gave a little scream, and reached heavily for a glass of +water. Mrs. Cheever said something inarticulate in the outburst of +masculine exclamation. Only Maude Lille's calm voice could be heard +saying:</p> + +<p>"Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The sapphire ring +was on top."</p> + +<p>"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, her eyes on Maude Lille's eyes. "I am +not going to mince words. I am not going to stand on ceremony. I'm going +to have that ring back. Listen to me carefully. I'm going to have that +ring back, and until I do, not a soul shall leave this room." She tapped +on the table with her nervous knuckles. "Who has taken it I do not care +to know. All I want is my ring. Now I'm going to make it possible for +whoever took it to restore it without possibility of detection. The +doors are locked and will stay locked. I am going to put out the lights, +and I am going to count one hundred slowly. You will be in absolute +darkness; no one will know or see what is done. But if at the end of +that time the ring is not here on this table I shall telephone the +police and have every one in this room searched. Am I quite clear?"</p> + +<p>Suddenly she cut short the nervous outbreak of suggestions and in the +same firm voice continued:</p> + +<p>"Every one take his place about the table. That's it. That will do."</p> + +<p>The women, with the exception of the inscrutable Maude Lille, gazed +hysterically from face to face while the men, compressing their fingers, +locking them or grasping their chins, looked straight ahead fixedly at +their hostess.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Kildair, having calmly assured herself that all were ranged as she +wished, blew out two of the three candles.</p> + +<p>"I shall count one hundred, no more, no less," she said. "Either I get +back that ring or every one in this room is to be searched, remember."</p> + +<p>Leaning over, she blew out the remaining candle and snuffed it.</p> + +<p>"One, two, three, four, five—"</p> + +<p>She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a clock's ticking.</p> + +<p>In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, the +grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man.</p> + +<p>"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three—"</p> + +<p>She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her +voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the company. +A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the verge of +hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his throat.</p> + +<p>"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven—"</p> + +<p>Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure the +slightest, only the sound became more metallic.</p> + +<p>"Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy—"</p> + +<p>Some one had sighed.</p> + +<p>"Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, +seventy-seven—"</p> + +<p>All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the table +was heard a slight metallic note.</p> + +<p>"The ring!"</p> + +<p>It was Maude Lille's quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. Kildair continued +to count.</p> + +<p>"Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one—"</p> + +<p>The tension became unbearable. Two or three voices protested against the +needless prolonging of the torture.</p> + +<p>"Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine and one hundred."</p> + +<p>A match sputtered in Mrs. Kildair's hand and on the instant the company +craned forward. In the center of the table was the sparkling sapphire +and diamond ring. Candles were lit, flaring up like searchlights on the +white accusing faces.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me," said Mrs. Kildair. She held out +her hand without trembling, a smile of triumph on her face, which had in +it for a moment an expression of positive cruelty.</p> + +<p>Immediately she changed, contemplating with amusement the horror of her +guests, staring blindly from one to another, seeing the indefinable +glance of interrogation that passed from Cheever to Mrs. Cheever, from +Mrs. Jackson to her husband, and then without emotion she said:</p> + +<p>"Now that that is over we can have a very gay little supper."</p> + +<p>When Peters had pushed back his chair, satisfied as only a trained +raconteur can be by the silence of a difficult audience, and had busied +himself with a cigar, there was an instant outcry.</p> + +<p>"I say, Peters, old boy, that is not all!"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely."</p> + +<p>"The story ends there?"</p> + +<p>"That ends the story."</p> + +<p>"But who took the ring?"</p> + +<p>Peters extended his hands in an empty gesture.</p> + +<p>"What! It was never found out?"</p> + +<p>"Never."</p> + +<p>"No clue?"</p> + +<p>"None."</p> + +<p>"I don't like the story," said De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"It's no story at all," said Steingall.</p> + +<p>"Permit me," said Quinny in a didactic way; "it is a story, and it is +complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it has none of the +banalities of a solution and leaves the problem even more confused than +at the start."</p> + +<p>"I don't see—" began Rankin.</p> + +<p>"Of course you don't, my dear man," said Quinny crushingly. "You do not +see that any solution would be commonplace, whereas no solution leaves +an extraordinary intellectual problem."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"In the first place," said Quinny, preparing to annex the topic, +"whether the situation actually happened or not, which is in itself a +mere triviality, Peters has constructed it in a masterly way, the proof +of which is that he has made me listen. Observe, each person present +might have taken the ring—Flanders, a broker, just come a cropper; +Maude Lille, a woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means; +either Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, suspected of being card sharps—very good +touch that, Peters, when the husband and wife glanced involuntarily at +each other at the end—Mr. Enos Jackson, a sharp lawyer, or his wife +about to be divorced; even Harris, concerning whom, very cleverly, +Peters has said nothing at all to make him quite the most suspicious of +all. There are, therefore, seven solutions, all possible and all +logical. But beyond this is left a great intellectual problem."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when +threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildair's clever expedient +of throwing the room in the dark made detection impossible? Was it a +woman who lacked the necessary courage to continue, or was it a man who +repented his first impulse? Is a man or is a woman the greater natural +criminal?"</p> + +<p>"A woman took it, of course," said Rankin.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, it was a man," said Steingall, "for the second action +was more difficult than the first."</p> + +<p>"A man, certainly," said De Gollyer. "The restoration of the ring was a +logical decision."</p> + +<p>"You see," said Quinny triumphantly, "personally I incline to a woman +for the reason that a weaker feminine nature is peculiarly susceptible +to the domination of her own sex. There you are. We could meet and +debate the subject year in and year out and never agree."</p> + +<p>"I recognize most of the characters," said De Gollyer with a little +confidential smile toward Peters. "Mrs. Kildair, of course, is all you +say of her—an extraordinary woman. The story is quite characteristic of +her. Flanders, I am not sure of, but I think I know him."</p> + +<p>"Did it really happen?" asked Rankin, who always took the commonplace +point of view.</p> + +<p>"Exactly as I have told it," said Peters.</p> + +<p>"The only one I don't recognize is Harris," said De Gollyer pensively.</p> + +<p>"Your humble servant," said Peters, smiling.</p> + +<p>The four looked up suddenly with a little start.</p> + +<p>"What!" said Quinny, abruptly confused. "You—you were there?"</p> + +<p>"I was there."</p> + +<p>The four continued to look at him without speaking, each absorbed in his +own thoughts, with a sudden ill ease.</p> + +<p>A club attendant with a telephone slip on a tray stopped by Peters' +side. He excused himself and went along the porch, nodding from table to +table.</p> + +<p>"Curious chap," said De Gollyer musingly.</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary."</p> + +<p>The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who continued watching +Peters' trim disappearing figure in silence, without looking at one +another—with a certain ill ease.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='A_COMEDY_FOR_WIVES'></a><h2>A COMEDY FOR WIVES</h2> +<br /> + +<p>At half-past six o'clock from Wall Street, Jack Lightbody let himself +into his apartment, called his wife by name, and received no answer.</p> + +<p>"Hello, that's funny," he thought, and, ringing, asked of the maid, "Did +Mrs. Lightbody go out?"</p> + +<p>"About an hour ago, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's odd. Did she leave any message?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"That's not like her. I wonder what's happened."</p> + +<p>At this moment his eye fell on an open hat-box of mammoth proportions, +overshadowing a thin table in the living-room.</p> + +<p>"When did that come?"</p> + +<p>"About four o'clock, sir."</p> + +<p>He went in, peeping into the empty box with a smile of satisfaction and +understanding.</p> + +<p>"That's it, she's rushed off to show it to some one," he said, with a +half vindictive look toward the box. "Well, it cost $175, and I don't +get my winter suit; but I get a little peace."</p> + +<p>He went to his room, rebelliously preparing to dress for the dinner and +theater to which he had been commanded.</p> + +<p>"By George, if I came back late, wouldn't I catch it?" he said with some +irritation, slipping into his evening clothes and looking critically at +his rather subdued reflection in the glass. "Jim tells me I'm getting in +a rut, middle-aged, showing the wear. Perhaps." He rubbed his hand over +the wrinkled cheek and frowned. "I have gone off a bit—sedentary +life—six years. It does settle you. Hello! quarter of seven. Very +strange!"</p> + +<p>He slipped into a lilac dressing-gown which had been thrust upon him on +his last birthday and wandered uneasily back into the dining-room.</p> + +<p>"Why doesn't she telephone?" he thought; "it's her own party, one of +those infernal problem plays I abhor. I didn't want to go."</p> + +<p>The door opened and the maid entered. On the tray was a letter.</p> + +<p>"For me?" he said, surprised. "By messenger?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>He signed the slip, glancing at the envelope. It was in his wife's +handwriting.</p> + +<p>"Margaret!" he said suddenly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"The boy's waiting for an answer, isn't he?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>He stood a moment in blank uneasiness, until, suddenly aware that she +was waiting, he dismissed her with a curt:</p> + +<p>"Oh, very well."</p> + +<p>Then he remained by the table, looking at the envelope which he did not +open, hearing the sound of the closing outer door and the passing of the +maid down the hall.</p> + +<p>"Why didn't she telephone?" he said aloud slowly.</p> + +<p>He looked at the letter again. He had made no mistake. It was from his +wife.</p> + +<p>"If she's gone off again on some whim," he said angrily, "by George, I +won't stand for it."</p> + +<p>Then carelessly inserting a finger, he broke the cover and glanced +hastily down the letter:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>My dear Jackie:</span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>When you have read this I shall have left you forever. Forget me and</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>try to forgive. In the six years we have lived together, you have</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>always been kind to me. But, Jack, there is something we cannot give</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>or take away, and because some one has come who has won that, I am</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>leaving you. I'm sorry, Jackie, I'm sorry.</span><br /> + +<span style='margin-left: 2em;'>Irene.</span><br /> + +<p>When he had read this once in unbelief, he read it immediately again, +approaching the lamp, laying it on the table and pressing his fists +against his temple, to concentrate all his mind.</p> + +<p>"It's a joke," he said, speaking aloud.</p> + +<p>He rose, stumbling a little and aiding himself with his arm, leaning +against the wall, went into her room, and opened the drawer where her +jewel case should be. It was gone.</p> + +<p>"Then it's true," he said solemnly. "It's ended. What am I to do?"</p> + +<p>He went to her wardrobe, looking at the vacant hooks, repeating:</p> + +<p>"What am I to do?"</p> + +<p>He went slowly back to the living-room to the desk by the lamp, where +the hateful thing stared up at him.</p> + +<p>"What am I to do?"</p> + +<p>All at once he struck the desk with his fist and a cry burst from him:</p> + +<p>"Dishonored—I'm dishonored!"</p> + +<p>His head flushed hot, his breath came in short, panting rage. He struck +the letter again and again, and then suddenly, frantically, began to +rush back and forth, repeating:</p> + +<p>"Dishonored—dishonored!"</p> + +<p>All at once a moment of clarity came to him with a chill of ice. He +stopped, went to the telephone and called up the Racquet Club, saying:</p> + +<p>"Mr. De Gollyer to the 'phone."</p> + +<p>Then he looked at his hand and found he was still clutching a forgotten +hair brush. With a cry at the grotesqueness of the thing, he flung it +from him, watching it go skipping over the polished floor. The voice of +De Gollyer called him.</p> + +<p>"Is that you, Jim?" he said, steadying himself. "Come—come to me at +once—quick!"</p> + +<p>He could have said no more. He dropped the receiver, overturning the +stand, and began again his caged pacing of the floor.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later De Gollyer nervously slipped into the room. He was a +quick, instinctive ferret of a man, one to whose eyes the hidden life of +the city held no mysteries; who understood equally the shadows that +glide on the street and the masks that pass in luxurious carriages. In +one glance he had caught the disorder in the room and the agitation in +his friend. He advanced a step, balanced his hat on the desk, perceived +the crumpled letter, and, clearing his throat, drew back, frowning and +alert, correctly prepared for any situation.</p> + +<p>Lightbody, without seeming to perceive his arrival, continued his blind +traveling, pressing his fists from time to time against his throat to +choke back the excess of emotions which, in the last minutes, had dazed +his perceptions and left him inertly struggling against a shapeless +pain. All at once he stopped, flung out his arms and cried:</p> + +<p>"She's gone!"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer did not on the word seize the situation.</p> + +<p>"Gone! Who's gone?" he said with a nervous, jerky fixing of his head, +while his glance immediately sought the vista through the door to assure +himself that no third person was present.</p> + +<p>But Lightbody, unconscious of everything but his own utter grief, was +threshing back and forth, repeating mechanically, with increasing +<i>staccato</i>:</p> + +<p>"Gone, gone!"</p> + +<p>"Who? Where?"</p> + +<p>With a sudden movement, De Gollyer caught his friend by the shoulder and +faced him about as a naughty child, exclaiming: "Here, I say, old chap, +brace up! Throw back your shoulders—take a long breath!"</p> + +<p>With a violent wrench, Lightbody twisted himself free, while one hand +flung appealingly back, begged for time to master the emotion which +burst forth in the cry:</p> + +<p>"Gone—forever!"</p> + +<p>"By Jove!" said De Gollyer, suddenly enlightened, and through his mind +flashed the thought—"There's been an accident—something fatal. +Tough—devilish tough."</p> + +<p>He cast a furtive glance toward the bedrooms and then an alarmed one +toward his friend, standing in the embrasure of the windows, pressing +his forehead against the panes.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Lightbody turned and, going abruptly to the desk, leaned +heavily on one arm, raising the letter in two vain efforts. A spasm of +pain crossed his lips, which alone could not be controlled. He turned +his head hastily, half offering, half dropping the letter, and +wheeling, went to an armchair, where he collapsed, repeating +inarticulately:</p> + +<p>"Forever!"</p> + +<p>"Who? What? Who's gone?" exclaimed De Gollyer, bewildered by the +appearance of a letter. "Good heavens, dear boy, what has happened? +Who's gone?"</p> + +<p>Then Lightbody, by an immense effort, answered:</p> + +<p>"Irene—my wife!"</p> + +<p>And with a rapid motion he covered his eyes, digging his fingers into +his flesh.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, pouncing upon the letter, read:</p> + +<p>My dear Jackie: When you read this, I shall have left you forever—</p> + +<p>Then he halted with an exclamation, and hastily turned the page for the +signature.</p> + +<p>"Read!" said Lightbody in a stifled voice.</p> + +<p>"I say, this is serious, devilishly serious," said De Gollyer, now +thoroughly amazed. Immediately he began to read, unconsciously +emphasizing the emphatic words—a little trick of his enunciation.</p> + +<p>When Lightbody had heard from the voice of another the message that +stood written before his eyes, all at once all impulses in his brain +converged into one. He sprang up, speaking now in quick, distinct +syllables, sweeping the room with the fury of his arms.</p> + +<p>"I'll find them; by God, I'll find them. I'll hunt them down. I'll +follow them. I'll track them—anywhere—to the ends of the earth—and +when I find them—"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, sensitively distressed at such a scene, vainly tried to stop +him.</p> + +<p>"I'll find them, if I die for it! I'll shoot them down. I'll shoot them +down like dogs! I will, by all that's holy, I will! I'll butcher them! +I'll shoot them down, there at my feet, rolling at my feet!"</p> + +<p>All at once he felt a weight on his arm, and heard De Gollyer saying, +vainly:</p> + +<p>"Dear boy, be calm, be calm."</p> + +<p>"Calm!" he cried, with a scream, his anger suddenly focusing on his +friend, "Calm! I won't be calm! What! I come back—slaving all day, +slaving for her—come back to take her out to dinner where she wants to +go—to the play she wants to see, and I find—nothing—this letter—this +bomb—this thunderbolt! Everything gone—my home broken up—my name +dishonored—my whole life ruined! And you say be calm—be calm—be +calm!"</p> + +<p>Then, fearing the hysteria gaining possession of him, he dropped back +violently into an armchair and covered his face.</p> + +<p>During this outburst, De Gollyer had deliberately removed his gloves, +folded them and placed them in his breast pocket. His reputation for +social omniscience had been attained by the simple expedient of never +being convinced. As soon as the true situation had been unfolded, a +slight, skeptical smile hovered about his thin, flouting lips, and, +looking at his old friend, he was not unpleasantly aware of something +comic in the attitudes of grief. He made one or two false starts, +buttoning his trim cutaway, and then said in a purposely higher key:</p> + +<p>"My dear old chap, we must consider—we really must consider what is to +be done."</p> + +<p>"There is only one thing to be done," cried Lightbody in a voice of +thunder.</p> + +<p>"Permit me!"</p> + +<p>"Kill them!"</p> + +<p>"One moment!"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, master of himself, never abandoning his critical enjoyment, +softened his voice to that controlled note that is the more effective +for being opposed to frenzy.</p> + +<p>"Sit down—come now, sit down!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody resisted.</p> + +<p>"Sit down, there—come—you have called me in. Do you want my advice? Do +you? Well, just quiet down. Will you listen?"</p> + +<p>"I am quiet," said Lightbody, suddenly submissive. The frenzy of his +rage passed, but to make his resolution doubly impressive, he extended +his arm and said slowly:</p> + +<p>"But remember, my mind is made up. I shall not budge. I shall shoot +them down like dogs! You see I say quietly—like dogs!"</p> + +<p>"My dear old pal," said De Gollyer with a well-bred shrug of his +shoulders, "you'll do nothing of the sort. We are men of the world, my +boy, men of the world. Shooting is archaic—for the rural districts. +We've progressed way beyond that—men of the world don't shoot any +more."</p> + +<p>"I said it quietly," said Lightbody, who perceived, not without +surprise, that he was no longer at the same temperature. However, he +concluded with normal conviction: "I shall kill them both, that's all. I +say it quietly."</p> + +<p>This gave De Gollyer a certain hortatory moment of which he availed +himself, seeking to reduce further the dramatic tension.</p> + +<p>"My dear old pal, as a matter of fact, all I say is, consider first and +shoot after. In the first place, suppose you kill one or both and you +are not yourself killed—for you know, dear boy, the deuce is that +sometimes does happen. What then? Justice is so languid nowadays. +Certainly you would have to inhabit for six, eight—perhaps ten +months—a drafty, moist jail, without exercise, most indigestible food +abominably cooked, limited society. You are brought to trial. A jury—an +emotional jury—may give you a couple of years. That's another risk. You +see you drink cocktails, you smoke cigarettes. You will be made to +appear a person totally unfit to live with."</p> + +<p>Lightbody with a movement of irritation, shifted the clutch of his +fingers.</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact, suppose you are acquitted, what then? You emerge, +middle-aged, dyspeptic, possibly rheumatic—no nerves left. Your +photograph figures in every paper along with inventors of shoes and +corsets. You can't be asked to dinner or to house parties, can you? As a +matter of fact, you'll disappear somewhere or linger and get shot by the +brother, who in turn, as soon as he is acquitted, must be shot by your +brother, et cetera, et cetera! <i>Voila!</i> What will you have gained?"</p> + +<p>He ceased, well pleased—he had convinced himself.</p> + +<p>Lightbody, who had had time to be ashamed of the emotion that he, as a +man, had shown to another of his sex, rose and said with dignity:</p> + +<p>"I shall have avenged my honor."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, understanding at once that the battle had been won, took up +in an easy running attack his battery of words.</p> + +<p>"By publishing your dishonor to Europe, Africa, Asia? That's logic, +isn't it? No, no, my dear old Jack—you won't do it. You won't be an +ass. Steady head, old boy! Let's look at it in a reasonable way—as men +of the world. You can't bring her back, can you? She's gone."</p> + +<p>At this reminder, overcome by the vibrating sense of loss, Lightbody +turned abruptly, no longer master of himself, and going hastily toward +the windows, cried violently:</p> + +<p>"Gone!"</p> + +<p>Over the satisfied lips of De Gollyer the same ironical smile returned.</p> + +<p>"I say, as a matter of fact I didn't suspect, you—you cared so much."</p> + +<p>"I adored her!"</p> + +<p>With a quick movement, Lightbody turned. His eyes flashed. He no longer +cared what he revealed. He began to speak incoherently, stifling a sob +at every moment.</p> + +<p>"I adored her. It was wonderful. Nothing like it. I adored her from the +moment I met her. It was that—adoration—one woman in the world—one +woman—I adored her!"</p> + +<p>The imp of irony continued to play about De Gollyer's eyes and slightly +twitching lips.</p> + +<p>"Quite so—quite so," he said. "Of course you know, dear boy, you +weren't always so—so lonely—the old days—you surprise me."</p> + +<p>The memory of his romance all at once washed away the bitterness in +Lightbody. He returned, sat down, oppressed, crushed.</p> + +<p>"You know, Jim," he said solemnly, "she never did this, never in the +world, not of her own free will, never in her right mind. She's been +hypnotized, some one has gotten her under his power—some scoundrel. +No—I'll not harm her, I'll not hurt a hair of her head—but when I meet +<i>him</i>—"</p> + +<p>"By the way, whom do you suspect?" said De Gollyer, who had long +withheld the question.</p> + +<p>"Whom? Whom do I suspect?" exclaimed Lightbody, astounded. "I don't +know."</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"How do I know? I never doubted her a minute."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes—still?"</p> + +<p>"Whom do I suspect? I don't know." He stopped and considered. "It might +be—three men."</p> + +<p>"Three men!" exclaimed De Gollyer, who smiled as only a bachelor could +smile at such a moment.</p> + +<p>"I don't know which—how should I know? But when I do know—when I meet +him! I'll spare her—but—but when we meet—we two—when my hands are on +his throat—"</p> + +<p>He was on his feet again, the rage of dishonor ready to flame forth. De +Gollyer, putting his arm about him, recalled him with abrupt, military +sternness.</p> + +<p>"Steady, steady again, dear old boy. Buck up now—get hold of yourself."</p> + +<p>"Jim, it's awful!"</p> + +<p>"It's tough—very tough!"</p> + +<p>"Out of a clear sky—everything gone!"</p> + +<p>"Come, now, walk up and down a bit—do you good."</p> + +<p>Lightbody obeyed, locking his arms behind his back, his eyes on the +floor.</p> + +<p>"Everything smashed to bits!"</p> + +<p>"You adored her?" questioned De Gollyer in an indefinable tone.</p> + +<p>"I adored her!" replied Lightbody explosively.</p> + +<p>"Really now?"</p> + +<p>"I adored her. There's nothing left now—nothing—nothing."</p> + +<p>"Steady."</p> + +<p>Lightbody, at the window, made another effort, controlled himself and +said, as a man might renounce an inheritance:</p> + +<p>"You're right, Jim—but it's hard."</p> + +<p>"Good spirit—fine, fine, very fine!" commented De Gollyer in critical +enthusiasm, "nothing public, eh? No scandal—not our class. Men of the +world. No shooting! People don't shoot any more. It's reform, you know, +for the preservation of bachelors."</p> + +<p>The effort, the renunciation of his just vengeance, had exhausted +Lightbody, who turned and came back, putting out his hands to steady +himself.</p> + +<p>"It isn't that, it's, it's—" Suddenly his fingers encountered on the +table a pair of gloves—his wife's gloves, forgotten there. He raised +them, holding them in his open palm, glanced at De Gollyer and, letting +them fall, suddenly unable to continue, turned aside his head.</p> + +<p>"Take time—a good breath," said De Gollyer, in military fashion, "fill +your lungs. Splendid! That's it."</p> + +<p>Lightbody, sitting down at the desk, wearily drew the gloves to him, +gazing fixedly at the crushed perfumed fingers.</p> + +<p>"Why, Jim," he said finally, "I adore her so—if she can be +happier—happier with another—if that will make her happier than I can +make her—well, I'll step aside, I'll make no trouble—just for her, +just for what she's done for me."</p> + +<p>The last words were hardly heard. This time, despite himself, De Gollyer +was tremendously affected.</p> + +<p>"Superb! By George, that's grit!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody raised his head with the fatigue of the struggle and the pride +of the victory written on it.</p> + +<p>"Her happiness first," he said simply.</p> + +<p>The accent with which it was spoken almost convinced De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, you adore her!"</p> + +<p>"I adore her," said Lightbody, lifting himself to his feet. This time it +came not as an explosion, but as a breath, some deep echo from the soul. +He stood steadily gazing at his friend. "You're right, Jim. You're +right. It's not our class. I'll face it down. There'll be no scandal. +No one shall know."</p> + +<p>Their hands met with an instinctive motion. Then, touched by the fervor +of his friend's admiration, Lightbody moved wearily away, saying dully, +all in a breath:</p> + +<p>"Like a thunderclap, Jim."</p> + +<p>"I know, dear old boy," said De Gollyer, feeling sharply vulnerable in +the eyes and throat.</p> + +<p>"It's terrible—it's awful. All in a second! Everything turned upside +down, everything smashed!"</p> + +<p>"You must go away," said De Gollyer anxiously.</p> + +<p>"My whole life wrecked," continued Lightbody, without hearing him, +"nothing left—not the slightest, meanest thing left!"</p> + +<p>"Dear boy, you must go away."</p> + +<p>"Only last night she was sitting here, and I there, reading a book." He +stopped and put forth his hand. "This book!"</p> + +<p>"Jack, you must go away for a while."</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Go away!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, yes. I suppose so. I don't care."</p> + +<p>Leaning against the desk, he gazed down at the rug, mentally and +physically inert.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, returning to his nature, said presently: "I say, dear old +fellow, it's awfully delicate, but I should like to be frank, from the +shoulder—out and out, do you mind?"</p> + +<p>"What? No."</p> + +<p>Seeing that Lightbody had only half listened, De Gollyer spoke with some +hesitation:</p> + +<p>"Of course it's devilish impudent. I'll offend you dreadfully. But, I +say, now as a matter of fact, were you really so—so seraphically +happy?"</p> + +<p>"What's that?"</p> + +<p>"As a matter of fact," said De Gollyer changing his note instantly, "you +were happy, <i>terrifically</i> happy, <i>always</i> happy, weren't you?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody was indignant.</p> + +<p>"Oh, how can you, at such a moment?"</p> + +<p>The new emotion gave him back his physical elasticity. He began to pace +up and down, declaiming at his friend, "I was happy, <i>ideally</i> happy. I +never had a thought, not one, for anything else. I gave her everything. +I did everything she wanted. There never was a word between us. It was +<i>ideal</i>"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, somewhat shamefaced, avoiding his angry glance, said +hastily:</p> + +<p>"So, so, I was quite wrong. I beg your pardon."</p> + +<p>"<i>Ideally</i> happy," continued Lightbody, more insistently. "We had the +same thoughts, the same tastes, we read the same books. She had a mind, +a wonderful mind. It was an <i>ideal</i> union."</p> + +<p>"The devil, I may be all wrong," thought De Gollyer to himself. He +crossed his arms, nodded his head, and this time it was with the +profoundest conviction that he repeated:</p> + +<p>"You adored her."</p> + +<p>"I <i>adored</i> her," said Lightbody, with a ring to his voice. "Not a word +against her, not a word. It was not her fault. I know it's not her +fault."</p> + +<p>"You must go away," said De Gollyer, touching him on the shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I must! I couldn't stand it here in this room," said Lightbody +bitterly. His fingers wandered lightly over the familiar objects on the +desk, shrinking from each fiery contact. He sat down. "You're right, I +must get away."</p> + +<p>"You're dreadfully hard hit, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jim!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody's hand closed over the book and he opened it mechanically in +the effort to master the memory. "This book—we were reading it last +night together."</p> + +<p>"Jack, look here," said De Gollyer, suddenly unselfish before such a +great grief, "you've got to be bucked up, boy, pulled together. I'll +tell you what I'll do. You're going to get right off. You're going to be +looked after. I'll knock off myself. I'll take you."</p> + +<p>Lightbody gave him his hand with a dumb, grateful look that brought a +quick lump to the throat of De Gollyer, who, in terror, purposely +increasing the lightness of his manner, sprang up with exaggerated +gaiety.</p> + +<p>"By Jove, fact is, I'm a bit dusty myself. Do me good. We'll run off +just as we did in the old days—good days, those. We knocked about a +bit, didn't we? Good days, eh, Jack?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, continuing to gaze at the book, said:</p> + +<p>"Last night—only last night! Is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"Come, now, let's polish off Paris, or Vienna?"</p> + +<p>"No, no." Lightbody seemed to shrink at the thought. "Not that, nothing +gay. I couldn't bear to see others gay—happy."</p> + +<p>"Quite right. California?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, I want to get away, out of the country—far away."</p> + +<p>Suddenly an inspiration came to De Gollyer—a memory of earlier days.</p> + +<p>"By George, Morocco! Superb! The trip we planned out—Morocco—the very +thing!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, at the desk still feebly fingering the leaves that he +indistinctly saw, muttered:</p> + +<p>"Something far away—away from people."</p> + +<p>"By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with +delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a +smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned +it seven years ago. IMMENSE!"</p> + +<p>"I don't care—anywhere."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas.</p> + +<p>"My boy—the best thing in the world. Set you right up—terrific air, +smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing. +Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you +know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling, +"M-M-M—Morocco."</p> + +<p>Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily, +saying, "Anywhere, anywhere."</p> + +<p>"Back into harness again—the old camping days—immense."</p> + +<p>"I must get away."</p> + +<p>"There you are," said De Gollyer at length. With a deft movement he +slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, "Morocco, devilish +smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes."</p> + +<p>"You remember how we planned it," continued De Gollyer, artfully +blundering; "boat to Tangier, from Tangier bang across to Fez."</p> + +<p>At this Lightbody, watching the tracing finger, said with some +irritation, "No, no, down the coast first."</p> + +<p>"I beg your pardon," said De Gollyer; "to Fez, my dear fellow."</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I know! Down the coast to Rabat."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now, you're sure? I think—"</p> + +<p>"And I <i>know</i>," said Lightbody, raising his voice and assuming +possession of the atlas, which he struck energetically with the back of +his hand. "I ought to know my own plan."</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes," said De Gollyer, to egg him on. "Still you're thoroughly +convinced about that, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Of course, I am! My dear Jim—come, isn't this my pet idea—the one +trip I've dreamed over, the one thing in the world I've longed to do, +all my life?" His eyes took energy, while his forefinger began viciously +to stab the atlas. "We go to Rabat. We go to Magazam, and we +cut—so—long sweep, into the interior, take a turn, so, and back to +Fez, so!"</p> + +<p>This speech, delivered with enthusiasm, made De Gollyer reflect. He +looked at the somewhat revived Lightbody with thoughtful curiosity.</p> + +<p>"Well, well—you may be right. You always are impressive, you know."</p> + +<p>"Right? Of course I'm right," continued Lightbody, unaware of his +friend's critical contemplation. "Haven't I worked out every foot of +it?"</p> + +<p>"A bit of a flyer in the game country, then? Topple over a rhino or so. +Stunning, smart sport, the rhino!"</p> + +<p>"By George, think of it—a chance at one of the brutes!"</p> + +<p>When De Gollyer had seen the eagerness in his friend's eyes, the imps +returned, ironically tumbling back. He slapped him on the shoulder as +Mephistopheles might gleefully claim his own, crying, "Immense!"</p> + +<p>"You know, Jim," said Lightbody, straightening up, nervously alert, +speaking in quick, eager accents, "it's what I've dreamed of—a chance +at one of the big beggars. By George, I have, all my life!"</p> + +<p>"We'll polish it off in ripping style, regiments of porters, red and +white tents, camels, caravans and all that sort of thing."</p> + +<p>"By George, just think of it."</p> + +<p>"In style, my boy—we'll own the whole continent, buy it up!"</p> + +<p>"The devil!"</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody's mood had suddenly dropped. He half pushed back his chair and +frowned. "It's going to be frightfully extravagant."</p> + +<p>"What of it?"</p> + +<p>"My dear fellow, you don't know what my expenses are—this apartment, an +automobile—Oh, as for you, it's all very well for you! You have ten +thousand a year and no one to care for but yourself."</p> + +<p>Suddenly he felt almost a hatred for his friend, and then a rebellion +at the renunciation he would have to make.</p> + +<p>"No—it can't be done. We'll have to give it up. Impossible, utterly +impossible, I can't afford it."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, still a little uncertain of his ground, for several moments +waited, carefully considering the dubious expression on his friend's +face. Then he questioned abruptly:</p> + +<p>"What is your income—now?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean by <i>now</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Fifteen thousand a year?"</p> + +<p>"It has always been that," replied Lightbody in bad humor.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, approaching at last the great question, assumed an air of +concentrated firmness, tempered with well-mannered delicacy.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. As a matter of fact it has always been +fifteen thousand—quite right, quite so; but—now, my dear boy, you are +too much of a man of the world to be offended, aren't you?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Lightbody, staring in front of him. "No, I'm not offended."</p> + +<p>"Of course it's delicate, ticklishly delicate ground, but then we must +look things in the face. Now if you'd rather I—"</p> + +<p>"No, go on."</p> + +<p>"Of course, dear boy, you've had a smashing knock and all that sort of +thing, but—" suddenly reaching out he took up the letter, and, letting +it hang from his fingers, thoughtfully considered it—"I say it might be +looked at in this way. Yesterday it was fifteen thousand a year to dress +up a dashing wife, modern New York style, the social pace, clothes that +must be smarter than Thingabob's wife, competitive dinners that you stir +up with your fork and your servants eat, and all that sort of thing, you +know. To-day it's fifteen thousand a year and a bachelor again."</p> + +<p>Releasing the letter, he disdainfully allowed it to settle down on the +desk, and finished:</p> + +<p>"Come now, as a matter of fact there is a little something consoling, +isn't there?"</p> + +<p>From the moment he had perceived De Gollyer's idea. Lightbody had become +very quiet, gazing steadily ahead, seeing neither the door nor the +retaining walls.</p> + +<p>"I never thought of that," he said, almost in a whisper.</p> + +<p>"Quite so, quite so. Of course one doesn't think of such things, right +at first. And you've had a knock-down—a regular smasher, old chap." He +stopped, cleared his voice and said sympathetically: "You adored her?"</p> + +<p>"I suppose I could give up the apartment and sell the auto," said +Lightbody slowly, speaking to himself.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer smiled—a bachelor smile.</p> + +<p>"Riches, my boy," he said, tapping him on the shoulder with the same +quick, awakening Mephistophelean touch.</p> + +<p>The contact raised Lightbody from revery. He drew back, shocked at the +ways through which his thoughts had wandered.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Jim," he said. "No, you mustn't, nothing like that—not at such +a time."</p> + +<p>"You're right," said De Gollyer, instantly masked in gravity. "You're +quite right. Still, we are looking things in the face—planning for the +future. Of course it's a delicate question, terrifically delicate. I'm +almost afraid to put it to you. Come, now, how shall I express +it—delicately? It's this way. Fifteen thousand a year divided by one is +fifteen thousand, isn't it; but fifteen thousand a year divided by two, +may mean—" He straightened up, heels clicking, throwing out his elbows +slightly and lifting his chin from the high, white stockade on which it +reposed. "Come, now, we're men of the world, aren't we? Now, as a matter +of fact how much of that fifteen thousand a year came back to you?"</p> + +<p>"My dear Jim," said Lightbody, feeling that generosity should be his +part, "a woman, a modern woman, a New York woman, you just said +it—takes—takes—"</p> + +<p>"Twelve thousand—thirteen thousand?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, come! Nonsense," said Lightbody, growing quite angry. "Besides, I +don't—"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I know," said De Gollyer, interrupting him, now with fresh +confidence. "All the same your whiskies have gone off, dear boy—they've +gone off, and your cigars are bad, very bad. Little things, but they +show."</p> + +<p>A pencil lay before him. Lightbody, without knowing what he did, took it +up and mechanically on an unwritten sheet jotted down $15,000, drawing +the dollar sign with a careful, almost caressing stroke. The sheet was +the back of his wife's letter, but he did not notice it.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, looking over his shoulder, exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"Quite right. Fifteen thousand, divided by one."</p> + +<p>"It will make a difference," said Lightbody slowly. Over his face passed +an expression such as comes but once in a lifetime; a look defying +analysis; a look that sweeps back over the past and challenges the +future and always retains the secret of its judgment.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, drawing back slowly, allowed him a moment before saying:</p> + +<p>"And no alimony!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Free and no alimony, my boy!"</p> + +<p>"No alimony?" said Lightbody, surprised at this new reasoning.</p> + +<p>"A woman who runs away gets no alimony," said De Gollyer loudly. "Not +here, not in the effete East!"</p> + +<p>"I hadn't thought of that, either," said Lightbody, who, despite +himself, could not repress a smile.</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, irritated perhaps that he should have been duped into +sympathy, ran on with a little vindictiveness.</p> + +<p>"Of course that means nothing to you, dear boy. You were happy, +<i>ideally</i> happy! You adored her, didn't you?"</p> + +<p>He paused and then, receiving no reply, continued:</p> + +<p>"But you see, if you hadn't been so devilish lucky, so seraphically +happy all these years, you might find a certain humor in the situation, +mightn't you? Still, look it in the face, what have you lost, what have +you left? There is something in that. Fifteen thousand a year, liberty +and no alimony."</p> + +<p>The moment had come which could no longer be evaded. Lightbody rose, +turned, met the lurking malice in De Gollyer's eyes with the blank +indecision screen of his own, and, turning on his heel, went to a little +closet in the wall, and bore back a decanter and glasses.</p> + +<p>"This is not what we serve on the table," he said irrelevantly. "It's +whisky."</p> + +<p>De Gollyer poured out his drink and looked at Lightbody <i>en +connoisseur</i>.</p> + +<p>"You've gone off—old—six years. You were the smartest of the old +crowd, too. You certainly have gone off."</p> + +<p>Lightbody listened, with his eyes in his glass.</p> + +<p>"Jack, you're middle-aged—you've gone off—badly. It's hit you hard."</p> + +<p>There was a moment's silence and then Lightbody spoke quietly:</p> + +<p>"Jim!"</p> + +<p>"What is it, old boy?"</p> + +<p>"Do you want to know the truth?"</p> + +<p>"Come—out with it!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody struggled a moment, all the hesitation showing in his lips. +Then he said, slowly shaking his head, never lifting his eyes, speaking +as though to another:</p> + +<p>"Jim, I've had a hell of a time!"</p> + +<p>"Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>He lifted his glass until he felt its touch against his lips and +gradually set it down. "Why, Jim, in six years I've loved her so that +I've never done anything I wanted to do, gone anywhere I wanted to go, +drank anything I've wanted to drink, saw anything I wanted to see, wore +anything I wanted to wear, smoked anything I wanted to smoke, read +anything I wanted to read, or dined any one I wanted to dine! Jim, it +certainly has been a <i>domestic</i> time!"</p> + +<p>"Good God! I can't believe it!" ejaculated De Gollyer, too astounded to +indulge his sense of humor.</p> + +<p>All at once a little fury seemed to seize Lightbody. His voice rose and +his gestures became indignant.</p> + +<p>"Married! I've been married to a policeman. Why, Jim, do you know what +I've spent on myself, really spent? Not two thousand, not one thousand, +not five hundred dollars a year. I've been poorer than my own clerk. I'd +hate to tell you what I paid for cigars and whisky. Everything went to +her, everything! And Jim—" he turned suddenly with a significant +glance—"such a temper!"</p> + +<p>"A temper? No, impossible, not that!"</p> + +<p>"Not violent—oh, no—but firm—smiling, you know, but irresistible."</p> + +<p>He drew a long breath charged with bitter memories and said between his +teeth, rebelling: "I always agreed."</p> + +<p>"Can it be? Is it possible?" commented De Gollyer, carefully mastering +his expression.</p> + +<p>Lightbody, on the new subject of his wrongs, now began to explode with +wrath.</p> + +<p>"And there's one thing more—one thing that hurts! You know what she +eloped in? She eloped in a hat, a big red hat, three white feathers—one +hundred and seventy-five dollars. I gave up a winter suit to get it."</p> + +<p>He strode over to the grotesquely large hat-box on the slender table, +and struck it with his fist.</p> + +<p>"Came this morning. Jim, she waited for that hat! Now, that isn't right! +That isn't delicate!"</p> + +<p>"No, by Jove, it certainly isn't delicate!"</p> + +<p>"Domesticity! Ha!" At the moment, with only the long vision of petty +tyranny before him, he could have caught her up in his hands and +strangled her. "Domesticity! I've had all I want of domesticity!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly the eternal fear awakening in him, he turned and commanded +authoritatively:</p> + +<p>"Never tell!"</p> + +<p>"Never!"</p> + +<p>De Gollyer, at forty-two, showed a responsive face, invincibly, gravely +sympathetic, patiently awaiting his climax, knowing that nothing is so +cumulatively dangerous as confession.</p> + +<p>Lightbody took up his glass and again approached it to his lips, +frowning at the thought of what he had revealed. All at once a fresh +impulse caught him, he put down his glass untasted, blurting out:</p> + +<p>"Do you want to know one thing more? Do you want to know the truth, the +real truth?"</p> + +<p>"Gracious heavens, there is something more?"</p> + +<p>"I never married her—never in God's world!"</p> + +<p>He ceased and suddenly, not to be denied, the past ranged itself before +him in its stark verity.</p> + +<p>"She married me!"</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"She did!"</p> + +<p>What had been an impulse suddenly became a certainty.</p> + +<p>"As I look back now, I can see it all—quite clear. Do you know how it +happened? I called three times—not one time more—three times! I liked +her—nothing more. She was an attractive-looking girl—a certain +fascination—she always has that—that's the worst of it—but gentle, +very gentle."</p> + +<p>"Extraordinary!"</p> + +<p>"On the third time I called—the third time, mind you," proceeded +Lightbody, attacking the table, "as I stood up to say good-by, all at +once—the lights went out."</p> + +<p>"The lights?"</p> + +<p>"When they went on again—I was engaged."</p> + +<p>"Great heavens!"</p> + +<p>"The old fainting trick."</p> + +<p>"Is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"I see it all now. A man sees things as they are at such a moment."</p> + +<p>He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. "Jim, she had those lights all +fixed!"</p> + +<p>"Frightful!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, who had stripped his soul in confession, no longer was +conscious of shame. He struck the table, punctuating his wrath, and +cried:</p> + +<p>"And that's the truth! The solemn literal truth! That's my story!"</p> + +<p>To confess, it had been necessary to be swept away in a burst of anger. +The necessity having ceased, he crossed his arms, quite calm, laughing a +low, scornful laugh.</p> + +<p>"My dear boy," said De Gollyer, to relieve the tension, "as a matter of +fact, that's the way you're all caught."</p> + +<p>"I believe it," said Lightbody curtly. He had now an instinctive desire +to insult the whole female sex.</p> + +<p>"I know—a bachelor knows. The things I have seen and the things I have +heard. My dear fellow, as a matter of fact, marriage is all very well +for bankers and brokers, unconvicted millionaires, week domestic animals +in search of a capable housekeeper, you know, and all that sort of +thing, but for men of the world—like ourselves, it's a mistake. Don't +do it again, my boy—don't do it."</p> + +<p>Lightbody laughed a barking laugh that quite satisfied De Gollyer.</p> + +<p>"Husbands—modern social husbands—are excrescences—they don't count. +They're mere financial tabulators—nothing more than social +sounding-boards."</p> + +<p>"Right!" said Lightbody savagely.</p> + +<p>"Ah, you like that, do you?" said De Gollyer, pleased. "I do say a good +thing occasionally. Social sounding-boards! Why, Jack, in one-half of +the marriages in this country—no, by George, in two-thirds—if the +inconsequential, tabulating husband should come home to find a letter +like this—he'd be dancing a <i>can-can</i>!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody felt a flood of soul-easing laughter well up within him. He +bit his lip and answered:</p> + +<p>"No!"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Pshaw!"</p> + +<p>"A <i>can-can</i>!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, fearing to betray himself, did not dare to look at the +triumphant bachelor. He covered his eyes with his hands and sought to +fight down the joyful hysteria that began to shake his whole body. All +at once he caught sight of De Gollyer's impish eyes, and, unable longer +to contain himself, burst out laughing. The more he laughed at De +Gollyer, who laughed back at him, the more uncontrollable he became. +Tears came to his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, washing away all +illusions and self-deception, leaving only the joy of deliverance, +acknowledged at last.</p> + +<p>All at once holding his sides, he found a little breath and cried +combustibly:</p> + +<p>"A <i>can-can</i>!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, with one impulse, they locked arms and pirouetted about the +room, flinging out destructive legs, hugging each other with bear-like +hugs as they had done in college days of triumph. Exhausted at last, +they reeled apart, and fell breathless into opposite chairs. There was a +short moment of weak, physical silence, and then Lightbody, shaking his +head, said solemnly:</p> + +<p>"Jim—Jim, that's the first real genuine laugh I've had in six vast +years!"</p> + +<p>"My boy, it won't be the last."</p> + +<p>"You bet it won't!" Lightbody sprang up, as out of the ashen cloak of +age the young Faust springs forth. "To-morrow—do you hear, to-morrow +we're off for Morocco!"</p> + +<p>"By way of Paris?" questioned De Gollyer, who likewise gained a dozen +years of youthfulness.</p> + +<p>"Certainly by way of Paris."</p> + +<p>"With a dash of Vienna?"</p> + +<p>"Run it off the map!"</p> + +<p>"Good old Jack! You're coming back, my boy, you're coming strong!"</p> + +<p>"Am I? Just watch!" Dancing over to the desk, he seized a dozen heavy +books:</p> + +<p>"'Evolution and Psychology,' 'Burning Questions!' 'Woman's Position in +Tasmania!' Aha!"</p> + +<p>One by one, he flung them viciously over his head, reckoning not the +crash with which they fell. Then with the same <i>pas de ballet</i> he +descended on the hat-box and sent it from his boot crashing over the +piano. Before De Gollyer could exclaim, he was at the closet, working +havoc with the boxes of cigars.</p> + +<p>"Here, I say," said De Gollyer laughing, "look out, those are cigars!"</p> + +<p>"No, they're not," said Lightbody, pausing for a moment. Then, seizing +two boxes, he whirled about the room holding them at arms' length, +scattering them like the sparks of a pin-wheel, until with a final +motion he flung the emptied boxes against the ceiling, and, coming to an +abrupt stop, shot out a mandatory forefinger, and cried:</p> + +<p>"Jim, you dine with me!"</p> + +<p>"The fact is—"</p> + +<p>"No buts, no excuses! Break all engagements! To-night we celebrate!"</p> + +<p>"Immense!"</p> + +<p>"Round up the boys—all the boys—the old crowd. I'm middle-aged, am I?"</p> + +<p>"By George," said De Gollyer, in free admiration, "you're getting into +form, my boy, excellent form. Fine, fine, very fine!"</p> + +<p>"In half an hour at the Club."</p> + +<p>"Done."</p> + +<p>"Jim?"</p> + +<p>"Jack!"</p> + +<p>They precipitated themselves into each other's arms. Lightbody, as +delirious as a young girl at the thought of her first ball, cried:</p> + +<p>"Paris, Vienna, Morocco—two years around the world!"</p> + +<p>"On my honor!"</p> + +<p>Rapidly Lightbody, impatient for the celebration, put De Gollyer into +his coat and armed him with his cane.</p> + +<p>"In half an hour, Jim. Get Budd, get Reggie Longworth, and, I say, get +that little reprobate of a Smithy, will you?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, by George."</p> + +<p>At the door, De Gollyer, who, when he couldn't leave on an epigram, +liked to recall the best thing he had said, turned:</p> + +<p>"Never again, eh, old boy?"</p> + +<p>"Never," cried Lightbody, with the voice of a cannon.</p> + +<p>"No social sounding-board for us, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Never again!"</p> + +<p>"You do like that, don't you? I say a good thing now and then, don't I?"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, all eagerness, drove him down the hall, crying:</p> + +<p>"Round 'em up—round them all up! I'll show them if I've come back!"</p> + +<p>When he had returned, waltzing on his toes to the middle of the room, he +stopped and flung out his arms in a free gesture, inhaling a delicious +breath. Then, whistling busily, he went to a drawer in the book-shelves +and came lightly back, his arms crowded with time-tables, schedules of +steamers, maps of various countries. All at once, remembering, he seized +the telephone and, receiving no response, rang impatiently.</p> + +<p>"Central—hello—hello! Central, why don't you answer? Central, give +me—give me—hold up, wait a second!" He had forgotten the number of his +own club. In communication at last, he heard the well-modulated accents +of Rudolph—Rudolph who recognized his voice after six years. It gave +him a little thrill, this reminder of the life he was entering once +more. He ordered one of the dinners he used to order, and hung up the +receiver, with a smile and a little tightening about his heart at the +entry he, the prodigal, would make that night at the Club.</p> + +<p>Then, seizing a map of Morocco in one hand and a schedule of sailings in +the other, he sat down to plan, chanting over and over, "Paris, Vienna, +Morocco, India, Paris, Vienna—"</p> + +<p>At this moment, unnoticed by him, the doors moved noiselessly and Mrs. +Lightbody entered; a woman full of appealing movements in her lithe +body, and of quick, decisive perceptions in the straight, gray glance of +her eyes. She held with one hand a cloak fastened loosely about her +throat. On her head was the hat with the three white feathers.</p> + +<p>A minute passed while she stood, rapidly seizing every indication that +might later assist her. Then she moved slightly and said in a voice of +quiet sadness:</p> + +<p>"Jackie."</p> + +<p>"Great God!"</p> + +<p>Lightbody, overturning chair and table, sprang up—recoiling as one +recoils before an avenging specter. In his convulsive fingers were the +time-tables, clinging like damp lily pads.</p> + +<p>"Jackie, I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon you. I've come back." +Gently, seeming to move rather than to walk, advancing with none of the +uncertainty that was in her voice, she cried, with a little break: +"Forgive me!"</p> + +<p>"No, no, never!"</p> + +<p>He retreated behind a chair, fury in his voice, weak at the thought of +the floating, entangling scarf, and the perfume he knew so well. Then, +recovering himself, he cried brutally:</p> + +<p>"Never! You have given me my freedom. I'll keep it! Thanks!"</p> + +<p>With a gradual motion, she loosened her filmy cloak and let it slip from +the suddenly revealed shoulders and slender body.</p> + +<p>"No, no, I forbid you!" he cried. Anger—animal, instinctive +anger—began to possess him. He became brutal as he felt himself growing +weak.</p> + +<p>"Either you go out or I do!"</p> + +<p>"You will listen."</p> + +<p>"What? To lies?"</p> + +<p>"When you have heard me, you will understand, Jack."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing to be said. I have not the slightest intention of +taking back—"</p> + +<p>"Jack!"</p> + +<p>Her voice rang out with sudden impressiveness: "I swear to you I have +not met him, I swear to you I came back of my own free will, because I +could not meet him, because I found that it was you—you only—whom I +wanted!"</p> + +<p>"That is a lie!"</p> + +<p>She recoiled before the wound in his glance. She put her long white hand +over her heart, throwing all of herself into the glance that sought to +conquer him.</p> + +<p>"I swear it," she said simply.</p> + +<p>"Another lie!"</p> + +<p>"Jack!"</p> + +<p>It was a physical rage that held him now, a rage divided against +itself—that longed to strike down, to crush, to stifle the thing it +coveted. He had almost a fear of himself. He cried:</p> + +<p>"If you don't go, I'll—I'll—"</p> + +<p>Suddenly he found something more brutal than a blow, something that must +drive her away, while yet he had the strength of his passion. He +crossed his arms, looking at her with a cold look.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you why you came back. You went to him for just one reason. +You thought he had more money than I had. You came back when you found +he hadn't."</p> + +<p>He saw her body quiver and it did him good.</p> + +<p>"That ends it," she said, hardly able to speak. She dropped her head +hastily, but not before he had seen the tears.</p> + +<p>"Absolutely."</p> + +<p>In a moment she would be gone. He felt all at once uneasy, ashamed—she +seemed so fragile.</p> + +<p>"My cloak—give me my cloak," she said, and her voice showed that she +accepted his verdict.</p> + +<p>He brought the cloak to where she stood wearily, and put it on her +shoulders, stepping back instantly.</p> + +<p>"Good-by."</p> + +<p>It was said more to the room than to him.</p> + +<p>"Good-by," he said dully.</p> + +<p>She took a step and then raised her eyes to his.</p> + +<p>"That was more than you had a right to say, even to me," she said +without reproach in her voice.</p> + +<p>He avoided her look.</p> + +<p>"You will be sorry. I know you," she said with pity for him. She went +toward the door.</p> + +<p>"I am sorry," he said impulsively. "I shouldn't have said it."</p> + +<p>"Thank you," she said, stopping and returning a little toward him.</p> + +<p>He drew back as though already he felt her arms about him.</p> + +<p>"Don't," she said, smiling a tired smile. "I'm not going to try that."</p> + +<p>Her instinct had given her possession of the scene. He felt it and was +irritated.</p> + +<p>"Only let us part quietly—with dignity," she said, "for we have been +happy together for six years." Then she said rapidly:</p> + +<p>"I want you to know that I shall do nothing to dishonor your name. I am +not going to him. That is ended."</p> + +<p>An immense curiosity came to him to learn the reason of this strange +avowal. But he realized it would never do for him to ask it.</p> + +<p>"Good-by, Jackie," she said, having waited a moment. "I shall not see +you again."</p> + +<p>He watched her leaving with the same moving grace with which she had +come. All at once he found a way of evasion.</p> + +<p>"Why don't you go to him?" he said harshly.</p> + +<p>She stopped but did not turn.</p> + +<p>"No," she said, shaking her head. And again she dared to continue toward +the door.</p> + +<p>"I shall not stand in your way," he said curtly, fearing only that she +would leave. "I will give you a divorce. I don't deny a woman's +liberty."</p> + +<p>She turned, saying:</p> + +<p>"Do you allow a woman liberty to know her own mind?"</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?"</p> + +<p>She came back until he almost could have touched her, standing looking +into his eyes with a wistful, searching glance, clasping and unclasping +her tense fingers.</p> + +<p>"Jack," she said, "you never really cared."</p> + +<p>"So it is all my fault!" he cried, snapping his arms together, sure now +that she would stay.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it is."</p> + +<p>"What!" he cried in a rage—already it was a different rage—"didn't I +give you anything you wanted, everything I had, all my time, all—"</p> + +<p>"All but yourself," she said quietly; "you were always cold."</p> + +<p>"I!"</p> + +<p>"You were! You were!" she said sharply, annoyed at the contradiction. +But quickly remembering herself, she continued with only a regretful +sadness in her voice:</p> + +<p>"Always cold, always matter-of-fact. Bob of the head in the morning, +jerk of the head at night. When I was happy over a new dress or a new +hat you never noticed it—until the bill came in. You were always +matter-of-fact, absolutely confident I was yours, body and soul."</p> + +<p>"By George, that's too much!" he cried furiously. "That's a fine one. +I'm to blame—of course I'm to blame!"</p> + +<p>She drew a step away from him, and said:</p> + +<p>"Listen! No, listen quietly, for when I've told you I shall go."</p> + +<p>Despite himself, his anger vanished at her quiet command.</p> + +<p>"If I listen," he thought, "it's all over."</p> + +<p>He still believed he was resisting, only he wanted to hear as he had +never wanted anything else—to learn why she was not going to the other +man.</p> + +<p>"Yes, what has happened is only natural," she said, drawing her eyebrows +a little together and seeming to reason more with herself. "It had to +happen before I could really be sure of my love for you. You men know +and choose from the knowledge of many women. A woman, such as I, coming +to you as a girl, must often and often ask herself if she would still +make the same choice. Then another man comes into her life and she makes +of him a test to know once and for all the answer to her question. Jack, +that was it. That was the instinct that drove me to try if I <i>could</i> +leave you—the instinct I did not understand then, but that I do now, +when it's too late."</p> + +<p>"Yes, she is clever," he thought to himself, listening to her, desiring +her the more as he admired what he did not credit. He felt that he +wanted to be convinced and with a last angry resistance, said:</p> + +<p>"Very clever, indeed!"</p> + +<p>She looked at him with her clear, gray look, a smile in her eyes, +sadness on her lips.</p> + +<p>"You know it is true."</p> + +<p>He did not reply. Finally he said bruskly:</p> + +<p>"And when did—did the change come to you?"</p> + +<p>"In the carriage, when every turn of the wheel, every passing street, +was rushing me away from you. I thought of you—alone—lost—and +suddenly I knew. I beat with my fists on the window and called to the +coachman like a madman. I don't know what I said. I came back."</p> + +<p>She stopped, pressing back the tears that had started on her eyelids at +the memory. She controlled herself, gave a quick little nod, without +offering her hand, went toward the door.</p> + +<p>"What! I've got to call her back!" He said it to himself, adding +furiously: "Never!"</p> + +<p>He let her go to the door itself, vowing he would not make the advance.</p> + +<p>When the door was half open, something in him cried: "Wait!"</p> + +<p>She closed the door softly, but she did not immediately turn round. The +palms of her hands were wet with the cold, frightened sweat of that +awful moment. When she returned, she came to him with a wondering, +timid, girlish look in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack, if you only could!" she said, and then only did she put out +her hands and let her fingers press over his heart.</p> + +<p>The next moment she was swept up in his arms, shrinking and very still.</p> + +<p>All at once he put her from him and said roughly:</p> + +<p>"What was his name?"</p> + +<p>"No, no!"</p> + +<p>"Give me his name," he said miserably. "I must know it."</p> + +<p>"No—neither now nor at any other time," she said firmly, and her look +as it met his had again all the old domination. "That is my condition."</p> + +<p>"Ah, how weak I have been," he said to himself, with a last bitter, +instinctive revolt. "How weak I am."</p> + +<p>She saw and understood.</p> + +<p>"We must be generous," she said, changing her voice quickly to +gentleness. "He has been pained enough already. He alone will suffer. +And if you knew his name it would only make you unhappy."</p> + +<p>He still rebelled, but suddenly to him came a thought which at first he +was ashamed to express.</p> + +<p>"He doesn't know?"</p> + +<p>She lied.</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"He's still waiting—there?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"Ah, he's waiting," he said to himself.</p> + +<p>A gleam of vanity, of triumph over the discarded, humiliated one, leaped +up fiercely within him and ended all the lingering, bitter memories.</p> + +<p>"Then you care?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder that he +might not see she had read such a thought.</p> + +<p>"Care?" he cried. He had surrendered. Now it was necessary to be +convinced. "Why, when I received your letter I—I was wild. I wanted to +do murder."</p> + +<p>"Jackie!"</p> + +<p>"I was like a madman—everything was gone—nothing was left."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack, how I have made you suffer!"</p> + +<p>"Suffer? Yes, I have suffered!" Overcome by the returning pain of the +memory, he dropped into a chair, trying to control his voice. "Yes, I +have suffered!"</p> + +<p>"Forgive me!" she said, slipping on her knees beside him, and burying +her head in his lap.</p> + +<p>"I was out of my head—I don't know what I did, what I said. It was as +though a bomb had exploded. My life was wrecked, shattered—nothing +left."</p> + +<p>He felt the grief again, even more acutely. He suffered for what he had +suffered.</p> + +<p>"Jack, I never really could have <i>abandoned</i> you," she cried bitterly. +She raised her eyes toward him and suddenly took notice of the +time-tables that lay clutched in his hands. "Oh, you were going away!"</p> + +<p>He nodded, incapable of speech.</p> + +<p>"You were running away?"</p> + +<p>"I was running away—to forget—to bury myself!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Jack!"</p> + +<p>"There was nothing here. It was all a blank! I was running away—to bury +myself!"</p> + +<p>At the memory of that miserable hopeless moment, in which he had +resolved on flight, the tears, no longer to be denied, came dripping +down his cheeks.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='THE_LIE'></a><h2>THE LIE</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>For some time they had ceased to speak, too oppressed with the needless +anguish of this their last night. At their feet the tiny shining windows +of Etretat were dropping back into the night, as though sinking under +the rise of that black, mysterious flood that came luminously from the +obscure regions of the faint sky. Overhead, the swollen August stars had +faded before the pale flush that, toward the lighthouse on the cliff, +heralded the red rise of the moon.</p> + +<p>He held himself a little apart, the better to seize every filmy detail +of the strange woman who had come inexplicably into his life, watching +the long, languorous arms stretched out into an impulsive clasp, the +dramatic harmony of the body, the brooding head, the soft, half-revealed +line of the neck. The troubling alchemy of the night, that before his +eyes slowly mingled the earth with the sea and the sea with the sky, +seemed less mysterious than this woman whose body was as immobile as the +stillness in her soul.</p> + +<p>All at once he felt in her, whom he had known as he had known no other, +something unknown, the coming of another woman, belonging to another +life, the life of the opera and the multitude, which would again flatter +and intoxicate her. The summer had passed without a doubt, and now, all +at once, something new came to him, indefinable, colored with the vague +terror of the night, the fear of other men who would come thronging +about her, in the other life, where he could not follow.</p> + +<p>Around the forked promontory to the east, the lights of the little +packet-boat for England appeared, like the red cinder in a pipe, +slipping toward the horizon. It was the signal for a lover's embrace, +conceived long ago in fancy and kept in tenderness.</p> + +<p>"Madeleine," he said, touching her arm. "There it is—our little boat."</p> + +<p>"Ah! <i>le p'tit bateau</i>—with its funny red and green eyes."</p> + +<p>She turned and raised her lips to his; and the kiss, which she did not +give but permitted, seemed only fraught with an ineffable sadness, the +end of all things, the tearing asunder and the numbness of separation. +She returned to her pose, her eyes fixed on the little packet, saying:</p> + +<p>"It's late."</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"It goes fast."</p> + +<p>"Very."</p> + +<p>They spoke mechanically, and then not at all. The dread of the morning +was too poignant to approach the things that must be said. Suddenly, +with the savage directness of the male to plunge into the pain which +must be undergone, he began:</p> + +<p>"It was like poison—that kiss."</p> + +<p>She turned, forgetting her own anguish in the pain in his voice, +murmuring, "Ben, my poor Ben."</p> + +<p>"So you will go—to-morrow," he said bitterly, "back to the great public +that will possess you, and I shall remain—here, alone."</p> + +<p>"It must be so."</p> + +<p>He felt suddenly an impulse he had not felt before, an instinct to make +her suffer a little. He said brutally:</p> + +<p>"But you want to go!"</p> + +<p>She did not answer, but, in the obscurity, he knew her large eyes were +searching his face. He felt ashamed of what he had said, and yet because +she made no protestation, he persisted:</p> + +<p>"You have left off your jewels, those jewels you can't do without."</p> + +<p>"Not to-night."</p> + +<p>"You who are never happy without them—why not to-night?"</p> + +<p>As, carried away by the jealousy of what lay beyond, he was about to +continue, she laid her fingers on his lips, with a little brusk, nervous +movement of her shoulders.</p> + +<p>"Don't—you don't understand."</p> + +<p>But he understood and he resented the fact that she should have put +aside the long undulating rope of pearls, the rings of rubies and +emeralds that seemed as natural to her dark beauty as the roses to the +spring. He had tried to understand her woman's nature, to believe that +no memory yet lingered about them, to accept without question what had +never belonged longed to their life together, and remembering what he +had fought down he thought bitterly:</p> + +<p>"She has changed me more than I have changed her. It is always so."</p> + +<p>She moved a little, her pose, with instinctive dramatic sense, changing +with her changing mood.</p> + +<p>"Do not think I don't understand you," she said quietly.</p> + +<p>"What do you understand?"</p> + +<p>"It hurts you because I wish to return."</p> + +<p>"That is not so, Madeleine," he said abruptly. "You know what big things +I want you to do."</p> + +<p>"I know—only you would like me to say the contrary—to protest that I +would give it all up—be content to be with you alone."</p> + +<p>"No, not that," he said grudgingly, "and yet, this last night—here—I +should like to hear you say the contrary."</p> + +<p>She laughed a low laugh and caught his hand a little tighter.</p> + +<p>"That displeases you?"</p> + +<p>"No, no, of course not!" Presently she added with an effort:</p> + +<p>"There is so much that we must say to each other and we have not the +courage."</p> + +<p>"True, all summer we have never talked of what must come after."</p> + +<p>"I want you to understand why I go back to it all, why I wish every year +to be separated from you—yes, exactly, from you," she added, as his +fingers contracted with an involuntary movement. "Ben, what has come to +me I never expected would come. I love, but neither that word nor any +other word can express how absolutely I have become yours. When I told +you my life, you did not wonder how difficult it was for me to believe +that such a thing could be possible. But you convinced me, and what has +come to me has come as a miracle. I adore you. All my life has been +lived just for this great love; ah yes, that's what I believe, what I +feel." She leaned swiftly to him and allowed him to catch her to him in +his strong arms. Then slowly disengaging herself, she continued, "You +are a little hurt because I do not cry out what you would not accept, +because I do not say that I would give up everything if you asked it."</p> + +<p>"It is only to <i>hear</i> it," he said impulsively.</p> + +<p>"But I have often wished it myself," she said slowly. "There's not a day +that I have not wished it—to give up everything and stay by you. Do you +know why? From the longing that's in me now, the first unselfish +longing I have ever had—to sacrifice myself for you in some way, +somehow. It is more than a hunger, it is a need of the soul—of my love +itself. It comes over me sometimes as tears come to my eyes when you are +away, and I say to myself, 'I love him,' and yet, Ben, I shall not, I +shall never give up my career, not now, not for years to come."</p> + +<p>"No," he said mechanically.</p> + +<p>"We are two great idealists, for that is what you have made me, Ben. +Before I was always laughing, and I believed in nothing. I despised even +what my sacrifice had won. Now, when I am with you, I remain in a +revery, and I am happy—happy with the happiness of things I cannot +understand. To-night, by your side, it seems to me I have never felt the +night before or known the mystery of the silent, faint hours. You have +made me feel the loneliness of the human soul, and that impulse it must +have before these things that are beyond us, that surround us, dominate +us, to cling almost in terror to another soul. You have so completely +made me over that it is as though you had created me yourself. I am +thirty-five. I have known everything else but what you have awakened in +me, and because I have this knowledge and this hunger I can see clearer +what we must do. You and I are a little romanesque, but remember that +even a great love may tire and grow stale, and that is what I won't +have, what must not be." Her voice had risen with the intensity of her +mood. She said more solemnly: "You are afraid of other men, of other +moods of mine—you have no reason. This love which comes to some as the +awakening of life is to me the end of all things. If anything should +wound it or belittle it, I should not survive it."</p> + +<p>She continued to speak, in a low unvarying voice. He felt his mind clear +and his doubts dissipate, and impatiently he waited for her to end, to +show her that his weakness of the moment was gone and that he was still +the man of big vision who had awakened her.</p> + +<p>"There are people who can put in order their love as they put in order +their house. We are not of that kind, Ben. I am a woman who has lived on +sensations. You, too, are a dreamer and a poet at the bottom. If I +should give up the opera and become to you simply a housewife, if there +was no longer any difficulty in our having each other, you would still +love me—yes, because you are loyal—but the romanticism, the mystery, +the longing we both need would vanish. Oh, I know. Well, you and I, we +are the same. We can only live on a great passion, and to have fierce, +unutterable joys we must suffer also—the suffering of separation. Do +you understand?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, I do."</p> + +<p>"That is why I shall never give up my career. That is why I can bear +the sadness of leaving you. I want you to be proud of me, Ben. I want +you to think of me as some one whom thousands desire and only you can +have. I want our love to be so intense that every day spent apart is +heavy with the longing for each other; every day together precious +because it will be a day nearer the awful coming of another separation. +Believe me, I am right. I have thought much about it. You have your +diplomatic career and your ambitions. You are proud. I have never asked +you to give that up to follow me. I would not insult you. In January you +will have a leave of absence, and we will be together for a few +wonderful weeks, and in May I shall return here. Nothing will be +changed." She extended her arm to where a faint red point still showed +on the unseen water. "And each night we will wait, as we have waited, +side by side, the coming of our little boat,—<i>notre p'tit bateau</i>"</p> + +<p>"You are right," he said, placing his lips to her forehead. "I was +jealous. I am sorry. It is over."</p> + +<p>"But I, too, am jealous," she said, smiling.</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"Of course—no one can love without being jealous. Oh, I shall be afraid +of every woman who comes near you. It will be an agony," she said, and +the fire in her eyes brought him more healing happiness than all her +words.</p> + +<p>"You are right," he repeated.</p> + +<p>He left her with a little pressure of the hand, and walked to the edge +of the veranda. A nervous, sighing breeze had come with the full coming +of the moon, and underneath him he heard the troubled rustle of leaves +in the obscurity, the sifting and drifting of tired, loose things, the +stir of the night which awakened a restless mood in his soul. He had +listened to her as she had proclaimed her love, and yet this love, +without illusions, sharply recalled to him other passions. He remembered +his first love, a boy-and-girl affair, and sharply contrasting it with a +sudden ache to this absence of impulse and illusions, of phrases, vows, +without logic, thrown out in the sweet madness of the moment. Why had +she not cried out something impulsive, promised things that could not +be. Then he realized, standing there in the harvest moonlight, in the +breaking up of summer, that he was no longer a youth, that certain +things could not be lived over, and that, as she had said, he too felt +that this was the great love, the last that he would share; that if it +ended, his youth ended and with his youth all that in him clung to life.</p> + +<p>He turned and saw her, chin in the flat of her palm, steadily following +his mood. He had taken but a dozen steps, and yet he had placed a +thousand miles between them. He had almost a feeling of treachery, and +to dispel these new unquiet thoughts he repeated to himself again:</p> + +<p>"She is right."</p> + +<p>But he did not immediately return. The memory of other loves, faint as +they had been in comparison with this all-absorbing impulse, had yet +given him a certain objective point of view. He saw himself clearly, and +he understood what of pain the future had in store for him.</p> + +<p>"How I shall suffer!" he said to himself.</p> + +<p>"You are going so far away from me," she said suddenly, warned by some +woman's instinct.</p> + +<p>He was startled at the conjunction of her words and his moods. He +returned hastily, and sat down beside her. She took his head in her +hands and looked anxiously into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" she said. "You are afraid?"</p> + +<p>"A little," he said reluctantly.</p> + +<p>"Of what—of the months that will come?"</p> + +<p>"Of the past."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she said, withdrawing a little as though disturbed +by the thought.</p> + +<p>"When I am with you I know there is not a corner of your heart that I do +not possess," he began evasively.</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"Only it's the past—the habits of the past," he murmured. "I know you +so well, Madeleine, you have need of strength, you don't go on alone. +That is the genius of women like you—to reach out and attach to +themselves men who will strengthen them, compel them on."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I understand," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"Yes, that is what I'm afraid of," he said rapidly.</p> + +<p>"You are thinking of the artist, not the woman."</p> + +<p>"Ah, there is no difference—not to a man who loves," he said +impulsively. "I know how great your love is for me, and I believe in it. +I know nothing will come to efface it. Only you will be lonely, you'll +have your trials and annoyances, days of depression, of doubt, when you +will need some one to restore your faith in yourself, your courage in +your work, and then, I don't say you will love any one else, but you +will need some one near you who loves you, always at your service—"</p> + +<p>"If you could only understand me," she said, interrupting him. "Men, +other men, are like actors to me. When I am on the stage, when I am +playing Manon, do you think I see who is playing Des Grieux? Not at all. +He is there, he gives me my <i>replique</i>, he excites my nerves, I say a +thousand things under my breath, when I am in his arms I adore him, but +when the curtain goes down, I go off the stage and don't even say good +night to him."</p> + +<p>"But he, he doesn't know that."</p> + +<p>"Of course not; tenors never do. Well, that is just the way I have +lived, that is just what men have meant to me. They give the <i>replique</i> +to my moods, to my needs, and when I have no longer need of them, I go +off tranquilly. That is all there is to it. I take from them what I +want. Of course they will be around me, but they will be nothing to me. +They will be like managers, press-agents, actors. Don't you understand +that?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, I understand," he said without sincerity. Then he blurted +out, "I wish you had not said it, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Why?"</p> + +<p>"I cannot see it as you see it, and besides, you put a doubt in my mind +that I never wish to feel."</p> + +<p>"What doubt?"</p> + +<p>"Do I really have you, or only a mood of yours?"</p> + +<p>"Ben!"</p> + +<p>"I know. I know. No, I am not going to think such things. That would be +unworthy of what we have felt." He paused a moment, and when he spoke +again his voice was under control. "Madeleine, remember well what I say +to you now. I shall probably never again speak to you with such absolute +truth, or even acknowledge it to myself. I accept the necessity of +separation. I know all the sufferings it will bring, all the doubts, the +unreasoning jealousies. I am big enough in experience to understand what +you have just suggested to me, but as a man who loves you, Madeleine, I +will never understand it. I know that a dozen men may come into your +life, interest you intensely, even absorb you for a while, and that they +would still mean nothing to you the moment I come. Well, I am +different. A man is different. While you are away, I shall not see a +woman without resentment; I shall not think of any one but you, and if I +did, I would cease to love you."</p> + +<p>"But why?"</p> + +<p>"Because I cannot share anything of what belongs to you. That is my +nature. There is no use in pretending the contrary. Yours is different, +and I understand why it is so. I have listened to many confidences, +understood many lives that others would not understand. I have always +maintained that it is the natural thing for a human being to love many +times—even that there might he in the same heart a great, overpowering +love and a little one. I still believe it—with my mind. I know it is +so. These are the things we like to analyze in human nature together. I +know it is true, but it is not true for me. No, I would never understand +it in you. I know myself too well, I am jealous of everything of the +past—oh, insanely jealous. I know that no sooner are you gone than I +will be tortured by the most ridiculous doubts. I will see you in the +moonlight all across that endless sea with other men near you. I will +dream of other men with millions, ready to give you everything your eyes +adore. I will imagine men of big minds that will fascinate you. I will +even say to myself that now that you have known what a great love can +mean you will all the more be likely to need it, to seek something to +counterfeit it—"</p> + +<p>"Ben, my poor Ben—frightful," she murmured.</p> + +<p>"That is how it is. Shall I tell you something else?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"I wish devoutly you had never told me a word of—of the past."</p> + +<p>"But how can you say such things? We have been honest with each other. +You yourself—"</p> + +<p>"I know, I know, I have no right myself, and yet there it is. It is +something fearful, this madness of possession that comes to me. No, I +have no fear that I will not always be first in your heart, only I +understand the needs, the habits, of your nature. I understand myself +now as I have not before, and that's why I say to you solemnly, +Madeleine, if ever for a moment another man should come into your +life—never, never, let me know."</p> + +<p>"But—"</p> + +<p>"No, don't say anything that I may remember to torture me. Lie to me."</p> + +<p>"I have never lied."</p> + +<p>"Madeleine, it is better to be merciful than to tell the truth, and, +after all, what does such a confession mean? It only means that you free +your conscience and that the wound—the ache—remains with the other. +Whatever happens, never tell me. Do you understand?"</p> + +<p>This time she made no answer. She even ceased to look at him, her head +dropped back, her arms motionless, one finger only revolving slowly on +the undulating arm of her chair.</p> + +<p>"I shall try by all the strength that is in me never to ask that +question," he rushed on. "I know I shall make a hundred vows not to do +so, and I know that the first time I look into your face I shall blurt +it out. Ah, if—if—if it must be so, never let me know, for there are +thoughts I cannot bear now that I've known you." He flung himself at her +side and took her roughly in his arms. "Madeleine, I know what I am +saying. I may tell you the contrary later. I may say it lightly, +pretending it is of no importance. I may beg the truth of you with tears +in my eyes—I may swear to you that nothing but honesty counts between +us, that I can understand, forgive, forget everything. Well, whatever I +say or do, never, never let me know—if you value my happiness, my peace +of mind, my life even!"</p> + +<p>She laid her hand on his lips and then on his forehead to calm him, +drawing his head to her shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Listen, Ben," she said, gently. "I, the Madeleine Conti who loves you, +am another being. I adore you so that I shall hate all other men, as you +will hate all other women. There will never be the slightest deceit or +infidelity between us. Ask any questions of me at any time. I know there +can be from now on but one answer. Have no fear. Do not tire yourself +in a senseless fever. There is so little time left. I love you."</p> + +<p>Never had he heard her voice so deep with sincerity and tenderness, and +yet, as he surrendered to the touch of her soft hands, yielding up all +his doubts, he was conscious of a new alarm creeping into his heart; +and, dissatisfied with what he himself had a moment before implored, in +the breath with which he whispered, "I believe you," he said to himself:</p> + +<p>"Does she say that because she believes it or has she begun to lie?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>For seven years they lived the same existence, separated sometimes for +three months, occasionally for six, and once because of a trip taken to +South America for nearly a year.</p> + +<p>The first time that he joined her, after five months of longing, he +remained a week without crying out the words that were heavy on his +heart. One day she said to him:</p> + +<p>"What is there—back of your eyes, hidden away, that you are stifling?"</p> + +<p>"You know," he blurted out.</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, I have tried not to say it, to live it down. I can't—it's beyond +me. I shall have no peace until it is said."</p> + +<p>"Then say it."</p> + +<p>He took her face in his two hands and looked into her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Since I have been away," he said brutally, "there has been no one else +in your heart? You have been true to me, to our love?"</p> + +<p>"I have been true," she answered with a little smile.</p> + +<p>He held his eyes on hers a long while, hesitating whether to be silent +or to continue, and then, all at once, convinced, burst into tears and +begged her pardon.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I shouldn't have asked it—forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Do whatever is easiest for you, my love," she answered. "There is +nothing to forgive. I understand all. I love you for it."</p> + +<p>Only she never asked him any questions, and that alarmed him.</p> + +<p>The second time report had coupled her name with a Gabriel Lombardi, a +great baritone with whom she was appearing. When he arrived, as soon as +they were alone, he swung her about in his arms and cried in a strangled +voice:</p> + +<p>"Swear to me that you have been faithful."</p> + +<p>"I swear."</p> + +<p>"Gabriel Lombardi"?</p> + +<p>"I can't abide him".</p> + +<p>"Ah, if I had never told you to lie to me—fool that I was."</p> + +<p>Then she said calmly, with that deep conviction which always moved him: +"Ben, when you asked me that, I told you I would never lie. I have told +you the truth. No man has ever had the pressure of my fingers, and no +man ever will."</p> + +<p>So intense had been his emotion that he had almost a paroxysm. When he +opened his eyes he found her face wet with tears.</p> + +<p>"Ah, Madeleine," he said, "I am brutal with you. I cannot help it."</p> + +<p>"I would not have you love me differently," she said gently, and through +her tears he seemed to see a faint, elusive smile, that was gone quickly +if it was ever there at all.</p> + +<p>Another time, he said to himself: "No, I will say nothing. She will come +to me herself, put her arms around me, and tell me with a smile that no +other thought has been in her heart all this while. That's it. If I wait +she will make the move, she will make the move each time—and that will +be much better."</p> + +<p>He waited three days, but she made no allusion. He waited another, and +then he said lightly:</p> + +<p>"You see, I am reforming."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Why, I don't ask foolish questions any more."</p> + +<p>"That's so."</p> + +<p>"Still—"</p> + +<p>"Well?" she said, looking up.</p> + +<p>"Still, you might have guessed what I wanted," he answered, a little +hurt.</p> + +<p>She rose quickly and came lightly to him, putting her hand on his +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Is that what you wish?" she said.</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>She repeated slowly her protestations and when she had ended, said, +"Take me in your arms—hurt me."</p> + +<p>"Now she will understand," he thought; "the next time she will not +wait."</p> + +<p>But each time, though he martyrized his soul in patience, he was forced +to bring up the question that would not let him rest.</p> + +<p>He could not understand why she did not save him this useless agony. +Sometimes when he wanted to find an excuse he said to himself it was +because she felt humiliated that he should still doubt. At other times, +he stumbled on explanations that terrified him. Then he remembered with +bitterness the promise that he had exacted from her, a promise that, +instead of bringing him peace, had left only an endless torment, and +forgetting all his protestations he would cry to himself, in a cold +perspiration:</p> + +<p>"Ah, if she is really lying, how can I ever be sure?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In the eighth year, Madeleine Conti retired from the stage and announced +her marriage. After five years of complete happiness she was taken +suddenly ill, as the result of exposure to a drenching storm. One +afternoon, as he waited by her bedside, talking in broken tones of all +that they had been to each other, he said to her in a voice that he +tried nervously to school to quietness:</p> + +<p>"Madeleine, you know that our life together has been without the +slightest shadow from the first. You know we have proved to each other +how immense our love has been. In all these years I have grown in +maturity and understanding. I regret only one thing, and I have +regretted it bitterly, every day—that I once asked you, if—if ever for +a moment another man came into your life to hide it from me, to tell me +a lie. It was a great mistake. I have never ceased to regret it. Our +love has been so above all worldly things that there ought not to be the +slightest concealment between us. I release you from that promise. Tell +me now the truth. It will mean nothing to me. During the eight years +when we were separated there were—there must have been times, times of +loneliness, of weakness, when other men came into your life. Weren't +there?"</p> + +<p>She turned and looked at him steadily, her large eyes seeming larger and +more brilliant from the heightened fever of her cheeks. Then she made a +little negative sign of her head, still looking at him.</p> + +<p>"No, never."</p> + +<p>"You don't understand, Madeleine," he said, dissatisfied, "or you are +still thinking of what I said to you there in Etretat. That was thirteen +years ago. Then I had just begun to love you, I feared for the future, +for everything. Now I have tested you, and I have never had a doubt. I +know the difference between the flesh and the spirit. I know your two +selves; I know how impossible it would have been otherwise. Now you can +tell me."</p> + +<p>"There is nothing—to tell," she said slowly.</p> + +<p>"I expected that you would have other men who loved you about you," he +said, feverishly. "I knew it would be so. I swear to you I expected it. +I know why you continue to deny it. It's for my sake, isn't it? I love +you for it. But, believe me, in such a moment there ought nothing to +stand between us. Madeleine, Madeleine, I beg you, tell me the truth."</p> + +<p>She continued to gaze at him fixedly, without turning away her great +eyes, as forgetting himself, he rushed on:</p> + +<p>"Yes, let me know the truth—that will be nothing now. Besides, I have +guessed it. Only I must know one way or the other. All these years I +have lived in doubt. You see what it means to me. You must understand +what is due me after all our life together. Madeleine, did you lie to +me?"</p> + +<p>"No."</p> + +<p>"Listen," he said, desperately. "You never asked me the same +question—why, I never understood—but if you had questioned me I could +not have answered truthfully what you did. There, you see, there is no +longer the slightest reason why you should not speak the truth."</p> + +<p>She half closed her eyes—wearily.</p> + +<p>"I have told—the truth."</p> + +<p>"Ah, I can't believe it," he cried, carried away. "Oh, cursed day when I +told you what I did. It's that which tortures me. You adore me—you +don't wish to hurt me, to leave a wound behind, but I swear to you if +you told me the truth I should feel a great weight taken from my heart, +a weight that has been here all these years. I should know that every +corner of your soul had been shown to me, nothing withheld. I should +know absolutely, Madeleine, believe me, when I tell you this, when I +tell you I must know. Every day of my life I have paid the penalty, I +have suffered the doubts of the damned, I have never known an hour's +peace! I beg you, I implore you, only let me know the truth; the +truth—I must know the truth!"</p> + +<p>He stopped suddenly, trembling all over, and held out his hands to her, +his face lashed with suffering.</p> + +<p>"I have not lied," she said slowly, after a long study. She raised her +eyes, feebly made the sign of the cross, and whispered, "I swear it."</p> + +<p>Then he no longer held in his tears. He dropped his head, and his body +shook with sobs, while from time to time he repeated, "Thank God, thank +God."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The next day Madeleine Conti had a sudden turn for the worse, which +surprised the attendants. Doctor Kimball, the American, doctor, and Père +François, who had administered the last rites, were walking together in +the little formal garden, where the sun flung short, brilliant shadows +of scattered foliage about them.</p> + +<p>"She was an extraordinary artist and her life was more extraordinary," +said Dr. Kimball. "I heard her début at the Opéra Comique. For ten years +her name was the gossip of all Europe. Then all at once she meets a man +whom no one knows, falls in love, and is transformed. These women are +really extraordinary examples of hysteria. Each time I know one it makes +me understand the scientific phenomenon of Mary Magdalene. It is really +a case of nerve reaction. The moral fever that is the fiercest burns +itself out the quickest and seems to leave no trace behind. In this case +love came also as a religious conversion. I should say the phenomena +were identical."</p> + +<p>"She was happy," said the curé, turning to go.</p> + +<p>"Yes, it was a great romance."</p> + +<p>"A rare one. She adored him. Love is a tide that cleanses all."</p> + +<p>"Yet she was of the stage up to the last. You know she would not have +her husband in the room at the end."</p> + +<p>"She had a great heart," said the curé quietly. "She wished to spare +him that suffering."</p> + +<p>"She had an extraordinary will," said the doctor, glancing at him +quickly. He added, tentatively: "She asked two questions that were +curious enough."</p> + +<p>"Indeed," said the curé, lingering a moment with his hand on the gate.</p> + +<p>"She wanted to know whether persons in a delirium talked of the past and +if after death the face returned to its calm."</p> + +<p>"What did you say to her about the effects of delirium?" said the curé +with his blank face.</p> + +<p>"That it was a point difficult to decide," said the doctor slowly. +"Undoubtedly, in a delirium, everything is mixed, the real and the +imagined, the memory and the fantasy, actual experience and the inner +dream-life of the mind which is so difficult to classify. It was after +that, that she made her husband promise to see her only when she was +conscious and to remain away at the last."</p> + +<p>"It is easily understood," said the curé quietly, without change of +expression on his face that held the secrets of a thousand +confessionals. "As you say, for ten years she had lived a different +life. She was afraid that in her delirium some reference to that time +might wound unnecessarily the man who had made over her life. She had a +great courage. Peace be with her soul."</p> + +<p>"Still,"—Doctor Kimball hesitated, as though considering the phrasing +of a delicate question; but Father François, making a little amical sign +of adieu, passed out of the garden, and for a moment his blank face was +illumined by one of those rare smiles, such as one sees on the faces of +holy men; smiles that seem in perfect faith to look upon the mysteries +of the world to come.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='EVEN_THREES'></a><h2>EVEN THREES</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> + +<p>Ever since the historic day when a visiting clergyman accomplished the +feat of pulling a ball from the tenth tee at an angle of two hundred and +twenty-five degrees into the river that is the rightful receptacle for +the eighth tee, the Stockbridge golf-course has had seventeen out of the +eighteen holes that are punctuated with possible water hazards. The +charming course itself lies in the flat of the sunken meadows which the +Housatonic, in the few thousand years which are necessary for the proper +preparation of a golf-course, has obligingly eaten out of the high, +accompanying bluffs. The river, which goes wriggling on its way as +though convulsed with merriment, is garnished with luxurious elms and +willows, which occasionally deflect to the difficult putting-greens the +random slices of certain notorious amateurs.</p> + +<p>From the spectacular bluffs of the educated village of Stockbridge +nothing can be imagined more charming than the panorama that the course +presents on a busy day. Across the soft, green stretches, diminutive +caddies may be seen scampering with long buckling-nets, while from the +river-banks numerous recklessly exposed legs wave in the air as the more +socially presentable portions hang frantically over the swirling +current. Occasionally an enthusiastic golfer, driving from the eighth or +ninth tees, may be seen to start immediately in headlong pursuit of a +diverted ball, the swing of the club and the intuitive leap of the legs +forward forming so continuous a movement that the main purpose of the +game often becomes obscured to the mere spectator. Nearer, in the +numerous languid swales that nature has generously provided to protect +the interests of the manufacturers, or in the rippling patches of unmown +grass, that in the later hours will be populated by enthusiastic +caddies, desperate groups linger in botanizing attitudes.</p> + +<p>Every morning lawyers who are neglecting their clients, doctors who have +forgotten their patients, business men who have sacrificed their +affairs, even ministers of the gospel who have forsaken their churches, +gather in the noisy dressing-room and listen with servile attention +while some unscrubbed boy who goes around under eighty imparts a little +of his miraculous knowledge.</p> + +<p>Two hours later, for every ten that have gone out so blithely, two +return crushed and despondent, denouncing and renouncing the game, once +and for all, absolutely and finally, until the afternoon, when they +return like thieves in the night and venture out in a desperate hope; +two more come stamping back in even more offensive enthusiasm; and the +remainder straggle home moody and disillusioned, reviving their sunken +spirits by impossible tales of past accomplishments.</p> + +<p>There is something about these twilight gatherings that suggests the +degeneracy of a rugged race; nor is the contamination of merely local +significance. There are those who lie consciously, with a certain frank, +commendable, whole-hearted plunge into iniquity. Such men return to +their worldly callings with intellectual vigor unimpaired and a natural +reaction toward the decalogue. Others of more casuistical temperament, +unable all at once to throw over the traditions of a New England +conscience to the exigencies of the game, do not burst at once into +falsehood, but by a confusing process weaken their memories and corrupt +their imaginations. They never lie of the events of the day. Rather they +return to some jumbled happening of the week before and delude +themselves with only a lingering qualm, until from habit they can create +what is really a form of paranoia, the delusion of greatness, or the +exaggerated ego. Such men, inoculated with self-deception, return to the +outer world, to deceive others, lower the standards of business +morality, contaminate politics, and threaten the vigor of the republic. +R.N. Booverman, the Treasurer, and Theobald Pickings, the unenvied +Secretary of an unenvied hoard, arrived at the first tee at precisely +ten o'clock on a certain favorable morning in early August to begin the +thirty-six holes which six times a week, six months of the year, they +played together as sympathetic and well-matched adversaries. Their +intimacy had arisen primarily from the fact that Pickings was the only +man willing to listen to Booverman's restless dissertations on the +malignant fates which seemed to pursue him even to the neglect of their +international duties, while Booverman, in fair exchange, suffered +Pickings to enlarge ad libitum on his theory of the rolling versus the +flat putting-greens.</p> + +<p>Pickings was one of those correctly fashioned and punctilious golfers +whose stance was modeled on classic lines, whose drive, though it +averaged only twenty-five yards over the hundred, was always a +well-oiled and graceful exhibition of the Royal St. Andrew's swing, the +left sole thrown up, the eyeballs bulging with the last muscular +tension, the club carried back until the whole body was contorted into +the first position of the traditional hoop-snake preparing to descend a +hill. He used the interlocking grip, carried a bag with a spoon driver, +an aluminium cleek, three abnormal putters, and wore one chamois glove +with air-holes on the back. He never accomplished the course in less +than eighty five and never exceeded ninety four, but, having aimed to +set a correct example rather than to strive vulgarly for professional +records, was always in a state of offensive optimism due to a complete +sartorial satisfaction.</p> + +<p>Booverman, on the contrary, had been hailed in his first years as a +coming champion. With three holes eliminated, he could turn in a card +distinguished for its fours and threes; but unfortunately these sad +lapses inevitably occurred. As Booverman himself admitted, his +appearance on the golf-links was the signal for the capricious imps of +chance who stir up politicians to indiscreet truths and keep the Balkan +pot of discord bubbling, to forsake immediately these prime duties, and +enjoy a little relaxation at his expense.</p> + +<p>Now, for the first three years Booverman responded in a manner to +delight imp and devil. When standing thirty-four for the first six +holes, he sliced into the jungle, and, after twenty minutes of frantic +beating of the bush, was forced to acknowledge a lost ball and no score, +he promptly sat down, tore large clutches of grass from the sod, and +expressed himself to the admiring delight of the caddies, who favorably +compared his flow of impulsive expletives to the choice moments of their +own home life. At other times he would take an offending club firmly in +his big hands and break it into four pieces, which he would drive into +the ground, hurling the head itself, with a last diabolical gesture, +into the Housatonic River, which, as may be repeated, wriggles its way +through the course as though convulsed with merriment.</p> + +<p>There were certain trees into which he inevitably drove, certain waggish +bends of the river where, no matter how he might face, he was sure to +arrive. There was a space of exactly ten inches under the clubhouse +where his balls alone could disappear. He never ran down a long put, but +always hung on the rim of the cup. It was his adversary who executed +phenomenal shots, approaches of eighty yards that dribbled home, sliced +drives that hit a fence and bounded back on the course. Nothing of this +agreeable sort had ever happened or could ever happen to him. Finally +the conviction of a certain predestined damnation settled upon him. He +no longer struggled; his once rollicking spirits settled into a moody +despair. Nothing encouraged him or could trick him into a display of +hope. If he achieved a four and two twos on the first holes, he would +say vindictively:</p> + +<p>"What's the use? I'll lose my ball on the fifth."</p> + +<p>And when this happened, he no longer swore, but said gloomily with even +a sense of satisfaction: "You can't get me excited. Didn't I know it +would happen?"</p> + +<p>Once in a while he had broken out, "If ever my luck changes, if it +comes all at once—"</p> + +<p>But he never ended the sentence, ashamed, as it were, to have indulged +in such a childish fancy. Yet, as Providence moves in a mysterious way +its wonders to perform, it was just this invincible pessimism that alone +could have permitted Booverman to accomplish the incredible experience +that befell him.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Topics of engrossing mental interests are bad form on the golf-links, +since they leave a disturbing memory in the mind to divert it from that +absolute intellectual concentration which the game demands. Therefore +Pickings and Booverman, as they started toward the crowded first tee, +remarked <i>de rigueur</i>:</p> + +<p>"Good weather."</p> + +<p>"A bit of a breeze."</p> + +<p>"Not strong enough to affect the drives."</p> + +<p>"The greens have baked out."</p> + +<p>"Fast as I've seen them."</p> + +<p>"Well, it won't help me."</p> + +<p>"How do you know?" said Pickings, politely, for the hundredth time. +"Perhaps this is the day you'll get your score."</p> + +<p>Booverman ignored this set remark, laying his ball on the rack, where +two predecessors were waiting, and settled beside Pickings at the foot +of the elm which later, he knew, would rob him of a four on the home +green.</p> + +<p>Wessels and Pollock, literary representatives, were preparing to drive. +They were converts of the summer, each sacrificing their season's output +in a frantic effort to surpass the other. Pickings, the purist, did not +approve of them in the least. They brought to the royal and ancient game +a spirit of Bohemian irreverence and banter that offended his serious +enthusiasm.</p> + +<p>When Wessels made a convulsive stab at his ball and luckily achieved +good distance, Pollock remarked behind his hand, "A good shot, damn it!"</p> + +<p>Wessels stationed himself in a hopefully deprecatory attitude and +watched Pollock build a monument of sand, balance his ball, and +whistling nervously through his teeth, lunge successfully down. +Whereupon, in defiance of etiquette, he swore with equal fervor, and +they started off.</p> + +<p>Pickings glanced at Booverman in a superior and critical way, but at +this moment a thin, dyspeptic man with undisciplined whiskers broke in +serenely without waiting for the answers to the questions he propounded:</p> + +<p>"Ideal weather, eh? Came over from Norfolk this morning; ran over at +fifty miles an hour. Some going, eh? They tell me you've quite a course +here; record around seventy-one, isn't it? Good deal of water to keep +out of? You gentlemen some of the cracks? Course pretty fast with all +this dry weather? What do you think of the one-piece driver? My friend, +Judge Weatherup. My name's Yancy—Cyrus P."</p> + +<p>A ponderous person who looked as though he had been pumped up for the +journey gravely saluted, while his feverish companion rolled on:</p> + +<p>"Your course's rather short, isn't it? Imagine it's rather easy for a +straight driver. What's your record? Seventy-one amateur? Rather high, +isn't it? Do you get many cracks around here? Caddies seem scarce. Did +either of you gentlemen ever reflect how surprising it is that better +scores aren't made at this game? Now, take seventy-one; that's only one +under fours, and I venture to say at least six of your holes are +possible twos, and all the rest, sometime or other, have been made in +three. Yet you never hear of phenomenal scores, do you, like a run of +luck at roulette or poker? You get my idea?"</p> + +<p>"I believe it is your turn, sir," said Pickings, both crushing and +parliamentary. "There are several waiting."</p> + +<p>Judge Weatherup drove a perfect ball into the long grass, where +successful searches averaged ten minutes, while his voluble companion, +with an immense expenditure of force, foozled into the swale to the +left, which was both damp and retentive.</p> + +<p>"Shall we play through?" said Pickings, with formal preciseness. He +teed his ball, took exactly eight full practice swings, and drove one +hundred and fifty yards as usual directly in the middle of the course.</p> + +<p>"Well, it's straight; that's all can be said for it," he said, as he +would say at the next seventeen tees.</p> + +<p>Booverman rarely employed that slogan. That straight and narrow path was +not in his religious practice. He drove a long ball, and he drove a +great many that did not return in his bag. He glanced resentfully to the +right, where Judge Weatherup was straddling the fence, and to the left, +where Yancy was annoying the bullfrogs.</p> + +<p>"Darn them!" he said to himself. "Of course now I'll follow suit."</p> + +<p>But whether or not the malignant force of suggestion was neutralized by +the attraction in opposite directions, his drive went straight and far, +a beautiful two hundred and forty yards.</p> + +<p>"Tine shot, Mr. Booverman," said Frank, the professional, nodding his +head, "free and easy, plenty of follow-through."</p> + +<p>"You're on your drive to-day," said Pickings, cheerfully.</p> + +<p>"Sure! When I get a good drive off the first tee," said Booverman +discouraged, "I mess up all the rest. You'll see."</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now," said Pickings, as a matter of form. He played his shot, +which came methodically to the edge of the green.</p> + +<p>Booverman took his mashy for the short running-up stroke to the pin, +which seemed so near.</p> + +<p>"I suppose I've tried this shot a thousand times," he said savagely. +"Any one else would get a three once in five times—any one but Jonah's +favorite brother."</p> + +<p>He swung carelessly, and watched with a tolerant interest the white ball +roll on to the green straight for the flag. All at once Wessels and +Pollock, who were ahead, sprang into the air and began agitating their +hats.</p> + +<p>"By George! it's in!" said Pickings. "You've run it down. First hole in +two! Well, what do you think of that?"</p> + +<p>Booverman, unconvinced, approached the hole with suspicion, gingerly +removing the pin. At the bottom, sure enough, lay his ball for a +phenomenal two.</p> + +<p>"That's the first bit of luck that has ever happened to me," he said +furiously; "absolutely the first time in my whole career."</p> + +<p>"I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry +about it, are you?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't know whether I am or not," said Booverman, obstinately. +In fact, he felt rather defrauded. The integrity of his record was +attacked. "See here, I play thirty-six holes a day, two hundred and +sixteen a week, a thousand a month, six thousand a year; ten years, +sixty thousand holes; and this is the first time a bit of luck has ever +happened to me—once in sixty thousand times."</p> + +<p>Pickings drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead.</p> + +<p>"It may come all at once," he said faintly.</p> + +<p>This mild hope only infuriated Booverman. He had already teed his ball +for the second hole, which was poised on a rolling hill one hundred and +thirty-five yards away. It is considered rather easy as golf-holes go. +The only dangers are a matted wilderness of long grass in front of the +tee, the certainty of landing out of bounds on the slightest slice, or +of rolling down hill into a soggy substance on a pull. Also there is a +tree to be hit and a sand-pit to be sampled.</p> + +<p>"Now watch my little friend the apple-tree," said Booverman. "I'm going +to play for it, because, if I slice, I lose my ball, and that knocks my +whole game higher than a kite." He added between his teeth: "All I ask +is to get around to the eighth hole before I lose my ball. I know I'll +lose it there."</p> + +<p>Due to the fact that his two on the first brought him not the slightest +thrill of nervous joy, he made a perfect shot, the ball carrying the +green straight and true.</p> + +<p>"This is your day all right," said Pickings, stepping to the tee.</p> + +<p>"Oh, there's never been anything the matter with my irons," said +Booverman, darkly. "Just wait till we strike the fourth and fifth +holes."</p> + +<p>When they climbed the hill, Booverman's ball lay within three feet of +the cup, which he easily putted out.</p> + +<p>"Two down," said Pickings, inaudibly. "By George! what a glorious +start!"</p> + +<p>"Once in sixty thousand times," said Booverman to himself. The third +hole lay two hundred and five yards below, backed by the road and +trapped by ditches, where at that moment Pollock, true to his traditions +as a war correspondent, was laboring in the trenches, to the +unrestrained delight of Wessels, who had passed beyond.</p> + +<p>"Theobald," said Booverman, selecting his cleek and speaking with +inspired conviction, "I will tell you exactly what is going to happen. I +will smite this little homeopathic pill, and it will land just where I +want it. I will probably put out for another two. Three holes in twos +would probably excite any other human being on the face of this globe. +It doesn't excite me. I know too well what will follow on the fourth or +fifth. Watch."</p> + +<p>"Straight to the pin," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "You've got a +dead line on every shot to-day. Marvelous! When you get one of your +streaks, there's certainly no use in my playing."</p> + +<p>"Streak's the word," said Booverman, with a short, barking laugh. "Thank +heaven, though, Pickings, I know it! Five years ago I'd have been +shaking like a leaf. Now it only disgusts me. I've been fooled too +often; I don't bite again."</p> + +<p>In this same profoundly melancholic mood he approached his ball, which +lay on the green, hole high, and put down a difficult put, a good three +yards for his third two.</p> + +<p>Pickings, despite all his classic conservatism, was so overcome with +excitement that he twice putted over the hole for a shameful five.</p> + +<p>Booverman's face as he walked to the fourth tee was as joyless as a +London fog. He placed his ball carelessly, selected his driver, and +turned on the fidgety Pickings with the gloomy solemnity of a father +about to indulge in corporal punishment.</p> + +<p>"Once in sixty thousand times, Picky. Do you realize what a start like +this—three twos—would mean to a professional like Frank or even an +amateur that hadn't offended every busy little fate and fury in the +whole hoodooing business? Why, the blooming record would be knocked into +the middle of next week."</p> + +<p>"You'll do it," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "Play carefully."</p> + +<p>Booverman glanced down the four-hundred-yard straightaway and murmured +to himself:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>"I wonder, little ball, whither will you fly?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>I wonder, little ball, have I bid you good-by?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Will it be 'mid the prairies in the regions to the west?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Will it be in the marshes where the pollywogs nest?</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"</span><br /> + +<center> +<a name='image-page182'></a> +<img src='images/image-page182.jpg' width='762' height='600' alt='"Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"' title=''> +</center> + +<p>He pronounced the last word with a settled conviction, and drove another +long, straight drive. Pickings, thrilled at the possibility of another +miracle, sliced badly.</p> + +<p>"This is one of the most truly delightful holes of a picturesque +course," said Booverman, taking out an approaching cleek for his second +shot. "Nothing is more artistic than the tiny little patch of +putting-green under the shaggy branches of the willows. The receptive +graveyard to the right gives a certain pathos to it, a splendid, quiet +note in contrast to the feeling of the swift, hungry river to the left, +which will now receive and carry from my outstretched hand this little +white floater that will float away from me. No matter; I say again the +fourth green is a thing of ravishing beauty."</p> + +<p>This second shot, low and long, rolled up in the same unvarying line.</p> + +<p>"On the green," said Pickings.</p> + +<p>"Short," said Booverman, who found, to his satisfaction, that he was +right by a yard.</p> + +<p>"Take your time," said Pickings, biting his nails.</p> + +<p>"Rats! I'll play it for a five," said Booverman.</p> + +<p>His approach ran up on the line, caught the rim of the cup, hesitated, +and passed on a couple of feet.</p> + +<p>"A four, anyway," said Pickings, with relief.</p> + +<p>"I should have had a three," said Booverman, doggedly. "Any one else +would have had a three, straight on the cup. You'd have had a three, +Picky; you know you would."</p> + +<p>Pickings did not answer. He was slowly going to pieces, forgetting the +invincible stoicism that is the pride of the true golfer.</p> + +<p>"I say, take your time, old chap," he said, his voice no longer under +control. "Go slow! go slow!"</p> + +<p>"Picky, for the first four years I played this course," said Booverman, +angrily, "I never got better than a six on this simple +three-hundred-and-fifty-yard hole. I lost my ball five times out of +seven. There is something irresistibly alluring to me in the mosquito +patches to my right. I think it is the fond hope that when I lose this +nice new ball I may step inadvertently on one of its hundred brothers, +which I may then bring home and give decent burial."</p> + +<p>Pickings, who felt a mad and ungolfish desire to entreat him to caution, +walked away to fight down his emotion.</p> + +<p>"Well?" he said, after the click of the club had sounded.</p> + +<p>"Well," said Booverman, without joy, "that ball is lying about two +hundred and forty yards straight up the course, and by this time it has +come quietly to a little cozy home in a nice, deep hoof track, just as I +found it yesterday afternoon. Then I will have the exquisite pleasure of +taking my niblick, and whanging it out for the loss of a stroke. That'll +infuriate me, and I'll slice or pull. The best thing to do, I suppose, +would be to play for a conservative six."</p> + +<p>When, after four butchered shots, Pickings had advanced to where +Booverman had driven, the ball lay in clear position just beyond the +bumps and rills that ordinarily welcome a long shot. Booverman played a +perfect mashy, which dropped clear on the green, and ran down a moderate +put for a three.</p> + +<p>They then crossed the road and arrived by a planked walk at a dirt mound +in the midst of a swamp. Before them the cozy marsh lay stagnant ahead +and then sloped to the right in the figure of a boomerang, making for +those who fancied a slice a delightful little carry of one hundred and +fifty yards. To the left was a procession of trees, while beyond, on the +course, for those who drove a long ball, a giant willow had fallen the +year before in order to add a new perplexity and foster the enthusiasm +for luxury that was beginning among the caddies.</p> + +<p>"I have a feeling," said Booverman, as though puzzled but not duped by +what had happened—"I have a strange feeling that I'm not going to get +into trouble here. That would be too obvious. It's at the seventh or +eighth holes that something is lurking around for me. Well, I won't +waste time."</p> + +<p>He slapped down his ball, took a full swing, and carried the far-off +bank with a low, shooting drive that continued bounding on.</p> + +<p>"That ought to roll forever," said Pickings, red with excitement.</p> + +<p>"The course is fast—dry as a rock," said Booverman, deprecatingly.</p> + +<p>Pickings put three balls precisely into the bubbling water, and drew +alongside on his eighth shot. Booverman's drive had skimmed over the +dried plain for a fair two hundred and seventy-five yards. His second +shot, a full brassy, rolled directly on the green.</p> + +<p>"If he makes a four here," said Pickings to himself, "he'll be playing +five under four—no, by thunder! seven under four!" Suddenly he stopped, +overwhelmed. "Why, he's actually around threes—two under three now. +Heavens! if he ever suspects it, he'll go into a thousand pieces."</p> + +<p>As a result, he missed his own ball completely, and then topped it for a +bare fifty yards.</p> + +<p>"I've never seen you play so badly," said Booverman in a grumbling tone. +"You'll end up by throwing me off."</p> + +<p>When they arrived at the green, Booverman's ball lay about thirty feet +from the flag.</p> + +<p>"It's a four, a sure four," said Pickings under his breath.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Booverman burst into an exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Picky, come here. Look—look at that!"</p> + +<p>The tone was furious. Pickings approached.</p> + +<p>"Do you see that?" said Booverman, pointing to a freshly laid circle of +sod ten inches from his ball. "That, my boy, was where the cup was +yesterday. If they hadn't moved the flag two hours ago, I'd have had a +three. Now, what do you think of that for rotten luck?"</p> + +<p>"Lay it dead," said Pickings, anxiously, shaking his head +sympathetically. "The green's a bit fast."</p> + +<p>The put ran slowly up to the hole, and stopped four inches short.</p> + +<p>"By heavens! why didn't I put over it!" said Booverman, brandishing his +putter. "A thirty-foot put that stops an inch short—did you ever see +anything like it? By everything that's just and fair I should have had a +three. You'd have had it, Picky. Lord! if I only could put!"</p> + +<p>"One under three," said Pickings to his fluttering inner self. "He can't +realize it. If I can only keep his mind off the score!"</p> + +<p>The seventh tee is reached by a carefully planned, fatiguing flight of +steps to the top of a bluff, where three churches at the back beckon so +many recording angels to swell the purgatory lists. As you advance to +the abrupt edge, everything is spread before you; nothing is concealed. +In the first plane, the entangling branches of a score of apple-trees +are ready to trap a topped ball and bury it under impossible piles of +dry leaves. Beyond, the wired tennis-courts give forth a musical, tinny +note when attacked. In the middle distance a glorious sycamore draws you +to the left, and a file of elms beckon the sliced way to a marsh, +wilderness of grass and an overgrown gully whence no balls return. In +front, one hundred and twenty yards away, is a formidable bunker, +running up to which is a tract of long grass, which two or three times a +year is barbered by a charitable enterprise. The seventh hole itself +lies two hundred and sixty yards away in a hollow guarded by a sunken +ditch, a sure three or—a sure six.</p> + +<p>Booverman was still too indignant at the trick fate had played him on +the last green to yield to any other emotion. He forgot that a dozen +good scores had ended abruptly in the swale to the right. He was only +irritated. He plumped down his ball, dug his toes in the ground, and +sent off another long, satisfactory drive, which added more fuel to his +anger.</p> + +<p>"Any one else would have had a three on the six," he muttered as he left +the tee. "It's too ridiculous."</p> + +<p>He had a short approach and an easy put, plucked his ball from the cup, +and said in an injured tone:</p> + +<p>"Picky, I feel bad about that sixth hole, and the fourth, too. I've +lost a stroke on each of them. I'm playing two strokes more than I ought +to be. Hang it all! that sixth wasn't right! You told me the green was +fast."</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Pickings, feeling his fingers grow cold and clammy on +the grip.</p> + +<p>The eighth hole has many easy opportunities. It is five hundred and +twenty yards long, and things may happen at every stroke. You may begin +in front of the tee by burying your ball in the waving grass, which is +always permitted a sort of poetical license. There are the traps to the +seventh hole to be crossed, and to the right the paralleling river can +be reached by a short stab or a long, curling slice, which the +prevailing wind obligingly assists to a splashing descent.</p> + +<p>"And now we have come to the eighth hole," said Booverman, raising his +hat in profound salutation. "Whenever I arrive here with a good score I +take from eight to eighteen, I lose one to three balls. On the contrary, +when I have an average of six, I always get a five and often a four. How +this hole has changed my entire life!" He raised his ball and addressed +it tenderly: "And now, little ball, we must part, you and I. It seems a +shame; you're the nicest little ball I ever have known. You've stuck to +me an awful long while. It's a shame."</p> + +<p>He teed up, and drove his best drive, and followed it with a brassy that +laid him twenty yards off the green, where a good approach brought the +desired four.</p> + +<p>"Even threes," said Pickings to himself, as though he had seen a ghost. +Now he was only a golfer of one generation; there was nothing in his +inheritance to steady him in such a crisis. He began slowly to +disintegrate morally, to revert to type. He contained himself until +Booverman had driven free of the river, which flanks the entire green +passage to the ninth hole, and then barely controlling the impulse to +catch Booverman by the knees and implore him to discretion, he burst +out:</p> + +<p>"I say, dear boy, do you know what your score is?"</p> + +<p>"Something well under four," said Booverman, scratching his head.</p> + +<p>"Under four, nothing; even threes!"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"Even threes."</p> + +<p>They stopped, and tabulated the holes.</p> + +<p>"So it is," said Booverman, amazed. "What an infernal pity!"</p> + +<p>"Pity?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, pity. If only some one else could play it out!"</p> + +<p>He studied the hundred and fifty yards that were needed to reach the +green that was set in the crescent of surrounding trees, changed his +brassy for his cleek, and his cleek for his midiron.</p> + +<p>"I wish you hadn't told me," he said nervously.</p> + +<p>Pickings on the instant comprehended his blunder. For the first time +Booverman's shot went wide of the mark, straight into the trees that +bordered the river to the left.</p> + +<p>"I'm sorry," said Pickings with a feeble groan.</p> + +<p>"My dear Picky, it had to come," said Booverman, with a shrug of his +shoulders. "The ball is now lost, and all the score goes into the air, +the most miraculous score any one ever heard of is nothing but a crushed +egg!"</p> + +<p>"It may have bounded back on the course," said Pickings, desperately.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Picky; not that. In all the sixty thousand times I have hit +trees, barns, car-tracks, caddies, fences,—"</p> + +<p>"There it is!" cried Pickings, with a shout of joy.</p> + +<p>Fair on the course, at the edge of the green itself, lay the ball, which +soon was sunk for a four. Pickings felt a strange, unaccountable desire +to leap upon Booverman like a fluffy, enthusiastic dog; but he fought it +back with the new sense of responsibility that came to him. So he said +artfully: "By George! old man, if you hadn't missed on the fourth or the +sixth, you'd have done even threes!"</p> + +<p>"You know what I ought to do now—I ought to stop," said Booverman, in +profound despair—"quit golf and never lift another club. It's a crime +to go on; it's a crime to spoil such a record. Twenty-eight for nine +holes, only forty-two needed for the next nine to break the record, and +I have done it in thirty-three—and in fifty-three! I ought not to try; +it's wrong."</p> + +<p>He teed his ball for the two-hundred-yard flight to the easy tenth, and +took his cleek.</p> + +<p>"I know just what'll happen now; I know it well."</p> + +<p>But this time there was no varying in the flight; the drive went true to +the green, straight on the flag, where a good but not difficult put +brought a two.</p> + +<p>"Even threes again," said Pickings, but to himself. "It can't go on. It +must turn."</p> + +<p>"Now, Pickings, this is going to stop," said Booverman angrily. "I'm not +going to make a fool of myself. I'm going right up to the tee, and I'm +going to drive my ball right smack into the woods and end it. And I +don't care."</p> + +<p>"What!"</p> + +<p>"No, I don't care. Here goes."</p> + +<p>Again his drive continued true, the mashy pitch for the second was +accurate, and his put, after circling the rim of the cup, went down for +a three.</p> + +<p>The twelfth hole is another dip into the long grass that might serve as +an elephant's bed, and then across the Housatonic River, a carry of one +hundred and twenty yards to the green at the foot of an intruding tree.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I suppose I'll make another three here, too," said Booverman, +moodily. "That'll only make it worse."</p> + +<p>He drove with his midiron high in the air and full on the flag.</p> + +<p>"I'll play my put carefully for three," he said, nodding his head. +Instead, it ran straight and down for two.</p> + +<p>He walked silently to the dreaded thirteenth tee, which, with the +returning fourteenth, forms the malignant Scylla and Charybdis of the +course. There is nothing to describe the thirteenth hole. It is not +really a golf-hole; it is a long, narrow breathing spot, squeezed by the +railroad tracks on one side and by the river on the other. Resolute and +fearless golfers often cut them out entirely, nor are ashamed to +acknowledge their terror. As you stand at the thirteenth tee, everything +is blurred to the eye. Near by are rushes and water, woods to the left +and right; the river and the railroad; and the dry land a hundred yards +away looks tiny and distant, like a rock amid floods.</p> + +<p>A long drive that varies a degree is doomed to go out of bounds or to +take the penalty of the river.</p> + +<p>"Don't risk it. Take an iron—play it carefully," said Pickings in a +voice that sounded to his own ears unrecognizable.</p> + +<p>Booverman followed his advice and landed by the fence to the left, +almost off the fair. A midiron for his second put him in position for +another four, and again brought his score to even threes.</p> + +<p>When the daring golfer has passed quaking up the narrow way and still +survives, he immediately falls a victim to the fourteenth, which is a +bend hole, with all the agonies of the preceding thirteenth, augmented +by a second shot over a long, mushy pond. If you play a careful iron to +keep from the railroad, now on the right, or to dodge the river on your +left, you are forced to approach the edge of the swamp with a cautious +fifty-yard-running-up stroke before facing the terrors of the carry. A +drive with a wooden club is almost sure to carry into the swamp, and +only a careful cleek shot is safe.</p> + +<p>"I wish I were playing this for the first time," said Booverman, +blackly. "I wish I could forget—rid myself of memories. I have seen +class A amateurs take twelve, and professionals eight. This is the end +of all things, Picky, the saddest spot on earth. I won't waste time. +Here goes."</p> + +<p>To Pickings's horror, the drive began slowly to slice out of bounds, +toward the railroad tracks.</p> + +<p>"I knew it," said Booverman, calmly, "and the next will go there, too; +then I'll put one in the river, two the swamp, slice into—"</p> + +<p>All at once he stopped, thunderstruck. The ball, hitting tire or rail, +bounded high in the air, forward, back upon the course, lying in perfect +position; Pickings said something in a purely reverent spirit.</p> + +<p>"Twice in sixty thousand times," said Booverman, unrelenting. "That only +evens up the sixth hole. Twice in sixty thousand times!"</p> + +<p>From where the ball lay an easy brassy brought it near enough to the +green to negotiate another four. Pickings, trembling like a toy dog in +zero weather, reached the green in ten strokes, and took three more +puts.</p> + +<p>The fifteenth, a short pitch over the river, eighty yards to a slanting +green entirely surrounded by more long grass, which gave it the +appearance of a chin spot on a full face of whiskers, was Booverman's +favorite hole. While Pickings held his eyes to the ground and tried to +breathe in regular breaths, Booverman placed his ball, drove with the +requisite back spin, and landed dead to the hole. Another two resulted.</p> + +<p>"Even threes—fifteen holes in even threes," said Pickings to himself, +his head beginning to throb. He wanted to sit down and take his temples +in his hands, but for the sake of history he struggled on.</p> + +<p>"Damn it!" said Booverman all at once.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" said Pickings, observing his face black with fury.</p> + +<p>"Do you realize, Pickings, what it means to me to have lost those two +strokes on the fourth and sixth greens, and through no fault of mine, +neither? Even threes for the whole course—that's what I could do if I +had those two strokes—the greatest thing that's ever been seen on a +golf-course. It may be a hundred years before any human being on the +face of this earth will get such a chance. And to think I might have +done it with a little luck!"</p> + +<p>Pickings felt his heart begin to pump, but he was able to say with some +degree of calm:</p> + +<p>"You may get a three here."</p> + +<p>"Never. Four, three and four is what I'll end."</p> + +<p>"Well, good heavens! what do you want?"</p> + +<p>"There's no joy in it, though," said Booverman, gloomily. "If I had +those two strokes back, I'd go down in history, I'd be immortal. And +you, too, Picky, you'd be immortal, because you went around with me. The +fourth hole was bad enough, but the sixth was heartbreaking."</p> + +<p>His drive cleared another swamp and rolled well down the farther +plateau. A long cleek laid his ball off the green, a good approach +stopped a little short of the hole, and the put went down.</p> + +<p>"Well, that ends it," said Booverman, gloomily.</p> + +<p>"I've got to make a two and a three to do it. The two is quite possible; +the three absurd."</p> + +<p>The seventeenth hole returns to the swamp that enlivens the sixth. It is +a full cleek, with about six mental hazards distributed in Indian +ambush, and in five of them a ball may lie until the day of judgment +before rising again.</p> + +<p>Pickings turned his back, unable to endure the agony of watching. The +click of the club was sharp and true. He turned to see the ball in full +flight arrive unerringly hole high on the green.</p> + +<p>"A chance for a two," he said under his breath. He sent two balls into +the lost land to the left and one into the rough to the right.</p> + +<p>"Never mind me," he said, slashing away in reckless fashion.</p> + +<p>Booverman with a little care studied the ten-foot route to the hole and +putted down.</p> + +<p>"Even threes!" said Pickings, leaning against a tree.</p> + +<p>"Blast that sixth hole!" said Booverman, exploding. "Think of what it +might be, Picky—what it ought to be!"</p> + +<p>Pickings retired hurriedly before the shaking approach of Booverman's +frantic club. Incapable of speech, he waved him feebly to drive. He +began incredulously to count up again, as though doubting his senses.</p> + +<p>"One under three, even threes, one over, even, one under—"</p> + +<p>"Here! What the deuce are you doing?" said Booverman, angrily. "Trying +to throw me off?"</p> + +<p>"I didn't say anything," said Pickings.</p> + +<p>"You didn't—muttering to yourself."</p> + +<p>"I must make him angry to keep his mind off the score," said Pickings, +feebly to himself. He added aloud, "Stop kicking about your old sixth +hole! You've had the darndest luck I ever saw, and yet you grumble."</p> + +<p>Booverman swore under his breath, hastily approached his ball, drove +perfectly, and turned in a rage.</p> + +<p>"Luck?" he cried furiously. "Pickings, I've a mind to wring your neck. +Every shot I've played has been dead on the pin, now, hasn't it?"</p> + +<p>"How about the ninth hole—hitting a tree?"</p> + +<p>"Whose fault was that? You had no right to tell me my score, and, +besides, I only got an ordinary four there, anyway."</p> + +<p>"How about the railroad track?"</p> + +<p>"One shot out of bounds. Yes, I'll admit that. That evens up for the +fourth."</p> + +<p>"How about your first hole in two?"</p> + +<p>"Perfectly played; no fluke about it at all—once in sixty thousand +times. Well, any more sneers? Anything else to criticize?"</p> + +<p>"Let it go at that."</p> + +<p>Booverman, in this heckled mood, turned irritably to his ball, played a +long midiron, just cleared the crescent bank of the last swale, and ran +up on the green.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page200'></a> +<img src='images/image-page200.jpg' width='771' height='600' alt='Wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the clubhouse +with the miraculous news' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"Damn that sixth hole!" said Booverman, flinging down his club and +glaring at Pickings. "One stroke back, and I could have done it."</p> + +<p>Pickings tried to address, but the moment he swung his club, his legs +began to tremble. He shook his head, took a long breath, and picked up +his ball.</p> + +<p>They approached the green on a drunken run in the wild hope that a short +put was possible. Unfortunately the ball lay thirty feet away, and the +path to the hole was bumpy and riddled with worm-casts. Still, there was +a chance, desperate as it was.</p> + +<p>Pickings let his bag slip to the ground and sat down, covering his eyes +while Booverman with his putter tried to brush away the ridges.</p> + +<p>"Stand up!"</p> + +<p>Pickings rose convulsively.</p> + +<p>"For heaven's sake, Picky, stand up! Try to be a man!" said Booverman, +hoarsely. "Do you think I've any nerve when I see you with chills and +fever? Brace up!"</p> + +<p>"All right."</p> + +<p>Booverman sighted the hole, and then took his stance; but the cleek in +his hand shook like an aspen. He straightened up and walked away.</p> + +<p>"Picky," he said, mopping his face, "I can't do it. I can't put it."</p> + +<p>"You must."</p> + +<p>"I've got buck fever. I'll never be able to put it—never."</p> + +<p>At the last, no longer calmed by an invincible pessimism, Booverman had +gone to pieces. He stood shaking from head to foot.</p> + +<p>"Look at that," he said, extending a fluttering hand. "I can't do it; I +can never do it."</p> + +<p>"Old fellow, you must," said Pickings; "you've got to. Bring yourself +together. Here!" He slapped him on the back, pinched his arms, and +chafed his fingers. Then he led him back to the ball, braced him into +position, and put the putter in his hands.</p> + +<p>"Buck fever," said Booverman in a whisper. "Can't see a thing."</p> + +<p>Pickings, holding the flag in the cup, said savagely:</p> + +<p>"Shoot!"</p> + +<p>The ball advanced in a zigzag path, running from worm-cast to a +worm-cast, wobbling and rocking, and at the last, as though preordained, +fell plump into the cup!</p> + +<p>At the same moment, Pickings and Booverman, as though carried off by the +same cannon-ball, flattened on the green.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Five minutes later, wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the +clubhouse with the miraculous news. For an hour the assembled golfers +roared with laughter as the two stormed, expostulated, and swore to the +truth of the tale.</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page204'></a> +<img src='images/image-page204.jpg' width='771' height='600' alt='A committee carefully examined the books of the club' title=''> +</center> + +<p>They journeyed from house to house in a vain attempt to find some +convert to their claim. For a day they passed as consummate comedians, +and the more they yielded to their rage, the more consummate was their +art declared. Then a change took place. From laughing the educated town +of Stockbridge turned to resentment, then to irritation, and finally to +suspicion. Booverman and Pickings began to lose caste, to be regarded as +unbalanced, if not positively dangerous. Unknown to them, a committee +carefully examined the books of the club. At the next election another +treasurer and another secretary were elected.</p> + +<p>Since then, month in and month out, day after day, in patient hope, the +two discredited members of the educated community of Stockbridge may be +seen, <i>accompanied by caddies</i>, toiling around the links in a desperate +belief that the miracle that would restore them to standing may be +repeated. Each time as they arrive nervously at the first tee and +prepare to swing, something between a chuckle and a grin runs through +the assemblage, while the left eyes contract waggishly, and a murmuring +may be heard,</p> + +<p>"Even threes."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The Stockbridge golf-links is a course of ravishing beauty and the +Housatonic River, as has been said, goes wriggling around it as though +convulsed with merriment.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='A_MAN_OF_NO_IMAGINATION'></a><h2>A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, of the Canadian Secret Service, stood at attention, +waiting until the scratch of a pen should cease throughout the dim, +spacious office and the Honorable Secretary of Justice should acquaint +him with his desires.</p> + +<p>He held himself deferentially, body compact, eyes clear and steady, face +blank and controlled, without distinction, without significance, a man +mediocre as a crowd. His hands were joined loosely behind his back; his +glance, without deviating, remained persistently on the profile of the +Honorable Secretary, as though in that historic room the human note +alone could compel his curiosity.</p> + +<p>The thin squeak of the pen faded into the silences of the great room. +The Secretary of Justice ran his fingers over his forehead, looked up, +and met the Inspector's gaze—fixed, profound, and mathematical. With a +sudden unease he pushed back his chair, troubled by the analysis of his +banal man, who, in another turn of Fate, might pursue him as +dispassionately as he now stood before him for his commands. With a few +rapid strides he crossed the room, lit a cigar, blew into the swirl of +smoke this caprice of his imagination, and returned stolidly, as became +a man of facts and figures.</p> + +<p>Flinging himself loosely in an easy chair, he threw a rapid glance at +his watch, locked his fingers, and began with the nervous directness of +one who wishes to be rid of formalities:</p> + +<p>"Well, Inspector, you returned this morning?"</p> + +<p>"An hour ago, sir."</p> + +<p>"A creditable bit of work, Inspector Frawley—the department is +pleased."</p> + +<p>"Thank you indeed, sir."</p> + +<p>"Does the case need you any more?"</p> + +<p>"I should say not, sir—no, sir."</p> + +<p>"You are ready to report for duty?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"How soon?"</p> + +<p>"I think I'm ready now, sir—yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"Glad to hear it, Inspector, very glad. You're the one man I wanted." As +though the civilities had been sufficiently observed, the Secretary +stiffened in his chair and continued rapidly: "It's that Toronto affair; +you've read the details. The government lost $350,000. We caught four of +the gang, but the ringleader got away with the money. Have you studied +it? What did you make of it? Sit down."</p> + +<p>Frawley took a chair stiffly, hanging his hat between his knees and +considering.</p> + +<p>"It did look like work from the States," he said thoughtfully. "I beg +pardon, did you say they'd caught some of the gang?"</p> + +<p>"Four—this morning. The telegram's just in."</p> + +<p>The Honorable Secretary, a little strange yet to the routine of the +office, looked at Frawley with a sudden desire to test his memory.</p> + +<p>"Do you know the work?" he asked; "could you recognize the ringleader?"</p> + +<p>"That might not be so hard, sir," said Frawley, with a nod; "we know +pretty well, of course, who's able to handle such jobs as that. Would +you have a description anywhere?"</p> + +<p>The Honorable Secretary rose, took from his desk a paper, and began to +read. In his seat Inspector Frawley crossed his legs carefully, drew his +fists up under his chin, and stared at the reader, but without focusing +his glance on him. Once during the recital he started at some item of +description, but immediately relaxed. The report finished, the Secretary +let it drop into his lap and waited, impressed, despite himself, at the +thought of the immense galleries of crime through which the Inspector +was seeking his victim. All at once into the unseeing stare there +flickered a light of understanding. Frawley returned to the room, saw +the Secretary, and nodded.</p> + +<p>"It's Bucky," he said tentatively. A moment his glance went +reflectively to a far corner, then he nodded slowly, looked at the +Secretary, and said with conviction: "It looks very much, sir, like +Bucky Greenfield."</p> + +<p>"It is Greenfield," replied the Secretary, without attempting to conceal +his astonishment.</p> + +<p>"I would like to observe," said Frawley thoughtfully, without noticing +his surprise, "that there is a bit of an error in that description, sir. +It's the left ear that's broken. Furthermore, he don't toe +out—excepting when he does it on a purpose. So it's Bucky Greenfield +I'm to bring back, sir?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary nodded, penciling Frawley's correction on the paper.</p> + +<p>"Bucky—well, now, that is odd!" said Frawley musingly. He rose and took +a step to the desk. "Very odd." Mechanically he saw the straggling +papers on the top and arranged them into orderly piles. "Well, he can't +say I didn't warn him!"</p> + +<p>"What!" broke in the Secretary in quick astonishment, "you know the +fellow?"</p> + +<p>"Indeed, yes, sir," said Frawley, with a nod. "We know most of the +crooks in the States. We're good friends, too—so long as they stay over +the line. It's useful, you know. So I'm to go after Bucky?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary, judging the moment had arrived to be impressive, said +solemnly:</p> + +<p>"Inspector Frawley, if you have to stick to it until he dies of old age, +you're never to let up until you get Bucky Greenfield! While the +British Empire holds together, no man shall rob Her Majesty of a +farthing and sleep in security. You understand the situation?"</p> + +<p>"I do, sir."</p> + +<p>The Honorable Secretary, only half satisfied, continued:</p> + +<p>"Your credit is unlimited—there'll be no question of that. If you need +to buy up a whole South American government—buy it! By the way, he will +make for South America, will he not?"</p> + +<p>"Probably—yes, sir. Chile or the Argentine—there's no extradition +treaty there."</p> + +<p>"But even then," broke in the Secretary with a nervous frown—"there are +ways—other ways?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes." Frawley, picking up a paper-cutter, stood by the mantel +tapping his palm. "Oh, yes—there are other ways! So it's Bucky—well, I +warned him!"</p> + +<p>"Now, Inspector, to settle the matter," interrupted the Secretary, +anxious to return to his routine, "when can you go on the case?"</p> + +<p>"If the papers are ready, sir—"</p> + +<p>"They are—everything. The Home Office has been cabled. To-morrow every +British official throughout the world will be notified to render you +assistance and honor your drafts."</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley heard with approval and consulted his watch.</p> + +<p>"There's an express for New York leaves at noon," he said +reflectively—then, with a glance at the clock, "thirty-five minutes; I +can make that, sir."</p> + +<p>"Good, very good."</p> + +<p>"If I might suggest, sir—if the Inspector who has had the case in hand +could go a short distance with me?"</p> + +<p>"Inspector Keech shall join you at the station."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. Is there anything further?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary shook his head, and springing up, held out his hand +enthusiastically.</p> + +<p>"Good luck to you, Inspector—you have a big thing ahead of you, a very +big thing."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>"By the way—you're not married?"</p> + +<p>"No, sir."</p> + +<p>"This is pretty short notice. How long have you been on this other +case?"</p> + +<p>"A trifle over six months, sir."</p> + +<p>"Don't you want a couple of days to rest up? I can let you have that +very easily."</p> + +<p>"It really makes no difference—I think I'll leave to-day, sir."</p> + +<p>"Oh, a moment more, Inspector—"</p> + +<p>Frawley halted.</p> + +<p>"How long do you think this ought to take you?"</p> + +<p>Frawley considered, and answered carefully:</p> + +<p>"It'll be long, I think. You see, there are several circumstances that +are unusual about this case."</p> + +<p>"How so?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Buck is clever—there's no gainsaying that—quite at the top of +the profession. Then, he's expecting me."</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>"They're a queer lot," Frawley explained with a touch of pride. "Crooks +are full of little vanities. You see, Bucky knows I've never dropped a +trail, and I think it's rather gotten on his nerves. I think he wasn't +satisfied until he dared me. He's very odd—very odd indeed. It's a +little personal. I doubt, sir, if I bring him back alive."</p> + +<p>"Inspector Frawley," said the new Secretary, "I hope I have sufficiently +impressed upon you the importance of your mission."</p> + +<p>Frawley stared at his chief in surprise.</p> + +<p>"I'm to stick to him until I get him," he said in wonder; "that's all, +isn't it, sir?"</p> + +<p>The Secretary, annoyed by his lack of imagination, essayed a final +phrase.</p> + +<p>"Inspector, this is my last word," he said with a frown; "remember that +you represent Her Majesty's government—you are Her Majesty's +government! I have confidence in you."</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir."</p> + +<p>Frawley moved slowly to the door and with his hand on the knob +hesitated. The Secretary saw in the movement a reluctance to take the +decisive step that must open before him the wide stretches of the world.</p> + +<p>"After all, he must have a speck of imagination," he thought, reassured.</p> + +<p>"I beg pardon, sir."</p> + +<p>Frawley had turned in embarrassment.</p> + +<p>"Well, Inspector, what can I do for you?"</p> + +<p>"If you please, sir," said Frawley, "I was just thinking—after all, it +has been a bit of a while since I've been home—indeed, I should like it +very much if I could take a good English mutton-chop and a musty ale at +old Nell's, sir. I can still get the two o'clock express."</p> + +<p>"Granted!"</p> + +<p>"If you'd prefer not, sir," said Frawley, surprised at the vexation in +his answer.</p> + +<p>"Not at all—take the two o'clock—good day, good day!"</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, sorely puzzled, shifted his balance, opened his +mouth, then with a bob of his head answered hastily:</p> + +<p>"A—good day, sir!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Sam Greenfield, known as "Bucky," age about 42, height about 5 feet 10 +inches, weight between 145 and 150. Hair mouse-colored, thinning out +over forehead, parted in middle, showing scalp beneath; mustache would +be lighter than hair—if not dyed; usually clipped to about an inch. +Waxy complexion, light blue eyes a little close together, thin nose, a +prominent dimple on left cheek—may wear whiskers. Laughs in low key. +Left ear lobe broken. Slightly bowlegged. While in conversation strokes +chin. When standing at a counter or bar goes through motions, as if +jerking himself together, crowding his elbows slowly to his side for a +moment, then, throwing back his head, jumps up from his heels. When +dreaming, attempts to bite mustache with lower lip. When he sits in a +chair places himself sidewise and hangs both arms over back. In walking +strikes back part of heel first, and is apt to waver from time to time. +Dresses neatly, carries hands in side-pockets only—plays piano +constantly, composing as he goes along. During day smokes twenty to +thirty cigarettes, cutting them in half for cigarette-holder and +throwing them away after three or four whiffs. After dinner invariably +smokes one cigar. Cut is good likeness. Cut of signature is facsimile of +his original writing.</p> + +<p>With this overwhelming indictment against the liberty of the fugitive, +to escape which Greenfield would have to change his temperament as well +as his physical aspect, Inspector Frawley took the first steamer from +New York to the Isthmus of Panama.</p> + +<p>He had slight doubt of Greenfield's final destination, for the flight of +the criminal is a blind instinct for the south as though a frantic +return to barbarism. At this time Chile and the Argentine had not yet +accepted the principle of extradition, and remained the Mecca of the +lawbreakers of the world.</p> + +<p>Yet though Frawley felt certain of Greenfield's objective, he did not +at once strike for the Argentine. The Honorable Secretary of Justice had +eliminated the necessity for considering time. Frawley had no need to +guess, nor to risk. He had simply to become a wheel in the machinery of +the law, to grind slowly, tirelessly, and inexorably. This idea suited +admirably his temperament and his desires.</p> + +<p>He arrived at Colon, took train for Panama across the laborious path +where a thousand little men were scratching endlessly, and on the brink +of the Pacific began his search. No one had heard of Greenfield.</p> + +<p>At the end of a week's waiting he boarded a steamer and crawled down the +western coast of South America, investigating every port, braving the +yellow fever at Guayaquil, Ecuador, and facing a riot at Callao, Peru, +before he found at Lima the trail of the fugitive. Greenfield had passed +the day there and left for Chile. Dragging each intermediate port with +the same caution, Frawley followed the trail to Valparaiso. Greenfield +had stayed a week and again departed.</p> + +<p>Frawley at once took steamer for the Argentine, passed down the tongue +of South America, through the Straits of Magellan, and arrived at length +in the harbor of Buenos Ayres.</p> + +<p>An hour later, as he took his place at the table in the Criterion +Gardens, a hand fell on his shoulder and some one at his back said:</p> + +<p>"Well, Bub!"</p> + +<p>He turned. A thin man of medium height, with blue eyes and yellow +complexion, was laughing in expectation of his discomfiture. Frawley +laid down the menu carefully, raised his head, and answered quietly:</p> + +<p>"Why, how d'ye do, Bucky?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"We shake, of course," said Greenfield, holding out his hand.</p> + +<p>"Why not? Sit down."</p> + +<p>The fugitive slid into a chair and hung his arms over the back, asking +immediately:</p> + +<p>"What took you so long? You're after me, of course?"</p> + +<p>"Am I?" Frawley answered, looking at him steadily. Greenfield, with a +twitch of his shoulders, returned to his question:</p> + +<p>"What took you so long? Didn't you guess I'd come direct?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not guessing," said Frawley.</p> + +<p>"What do you say to dining on me?" said Greenfield with a malicious +smile. "I owe you that. I clipped your vacation pretty short. +Besides—guess you know it yourself—you can't touch me here. Why not +talk things over frankly? Say, Bub, shall it be on me?"</p> + +<p>"I'm willing."</p> + +<p>A waiter sidled up and took the order that Greenfield gave without +hesitation.</p> + +<p>"You see, even the dinner was ready for you," he said with a wink; "see +how you like it." With a gesture of impatience he pushed aside the menu, +squared his arms on the table, and looked suddenly at his pursuer with +the deviltry of a schoolboy glistening in his eyes. "Well, Bub, I went +into your all-fired Canady!"</p> + +<p>"So you did—why?"</p> + +<p>"Well," said Greenfield, drawing lines with his knife-point on the nap, +"one reason was I wanted to see if Her Majesty's shop has such an +all-fired long arm—"</p> + +<p>"And the other reason was I warned you to keep over the line."</p> + +<p>"Why, Bub, you <i>are</i> a bright boy!"</p> + +<p>"It ain't me, Bucky," Frawley answered, with a shake of his head; "it's +the all-fired government that's after you."</p> + +<p>"Good—first rate—then we'll have a little excitement!"</p> + +<p>"You'll have plenty of that, Bucky!"</p> + +<p>"Maybe, Bub, maybe. Well, I made a neat job of it, didn't I?"</p> + +<p>"You did," admitted Frawley with an appreciative nod. "But you were +wrong—you were wrong—you should have kept off. The Canadian Government +ain't like your bloomin' democracy. It don't forgive—it don't forget. +Tack that up, Bucky. It's a principle we've got at stake with you!"</p> + +<p>"Don't I know it?" cried Greenfield, striking the table. "What else do +you think I did it for?"</p> + +<p>Frawley gazed at him, then said slowly: "I told them it was a personal +matter."</p> + +<p>"Sure it was! Do you think I could keep out after you served notice on +me? D—— your English pride and your English justice! I'm a good enough +Yank to see if your dinky police is such an all-fired cute little bunch +of wonder-workers as you say! Bub—you think you're going to get Mr. +Greenfield—don't you?"</p> + +<p>"I'm not thinking, Bucky—"</p> + +<p>"Eh?"</p> + +<p>"I'm simply sticking to you."</p> + +<p>"Sticking to me!" cried Greenfield with a roar of disgust. "Why, you +unimaginative, lumbering, beef-eating Canuck, you can't get me that way! +Why in tarnation didn't you strike plump for here—instead of rubbin' +yourself down the whole coast of South Ameriky?"</p> + +<p>"Bucky, you don't understand the situation properly," objected Frawley, +without varying the level tone of his voice. "Supposing it had been a +bloomin' corporation had sent me—? that's what I'd have done. But it's +the government this time—Her Majesty's government! Time ain't no +consideration. I'd have raked down the whole continent if I'd had +to—though I knew where you were."</p> + +<p>"Well, and now what? You can't touch me, Bub," he added earnestly. "I +like straight talk, man to man. Now, what's your game?"</p> + +<p>"Business."</p> + +<p>"All right then," said Greenfield, with a frown, "but you can't touch +me—now. There's an extradition treaty coming, but then there'd have to +be a retroactive clause to do you any good." He paused, studying the +expression on the Inspector's face. "There's enough of the likes of me +here to see that don't occur. Say, Bub?"</p> + +<p>"Well?"</p> + +<p>"You deal a square pack, don't you?"</p> + +<p>"That's my reputation, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"Give me your word you'll play me square."</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, leaning forward, helped himself busily. Greenfield, +with pursed lips, studied every movement.</p> + +<p>"No kidnapping tricks?"</p> + +<p>Without lifting his eyes Frawley sharpened his knife vigorously against +his fork and fell to eating.</p> + +<p>"Well, Bub?"</p> + +<p>"What?"</p> + +<p>"No fancy kidnapping?"</p> + +<p>"I'm promising nothing, Bucky."</p> + +<p>There was a blank moment while Greenfield considered. Suddenly he shot +out his hand, saying with a nod: "You're a white man, Bub, and I never +heard a word against that." He filled a glass and shoved it toward +Frawley. "We might as well clink on it. For I rather opinionate before +we get through this little business—there'll be something worth talking +about."</p> + +<p>"Here's to you then, Bucky," said Frawley, nodding.</p> + +<p>"Remember what I tell you," said Greenfield, looking over his glass, +"there's going to be something to live for."</p> + +<p>"I say, Bucky," said Frawley with a lazy interest, "would they serve you +five-o'clock tea here, I wonder?"</p> + +<p>Greenfield, drawing back, laughed a superior laugh.</p> + +<p>"Bub, I'm sorry for you—'pon my word I am."</p> + +<p>"How so, Bucky?"</p> + +<p>"Why, you plodding little English lamb, you don't have the slightest +suspicion what you're gettin' into!"</p> + +<p>"What am I getting into, Bucky?"</p> + +<p>Greenfield threw back his head with a chuckle.</p> + +<p>"If you get me, it'll be the last job you ever pull off."</p> + +<p>"Maybe, maybe."</p> + +<p>"Since things are aboveboard—listen here," said Greenfield with sudden +seriousness. "Bub, you'll not get me alive. Nothing personal, you +understand, but it'll have to be your life or mine. If it comes to the +pinch, look out for yourself—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," said Frawley, with a matter-of-fact nod, "I understand."</p> + +<p>"I ain't tried to bribe you," said Greenfield, rising. "Thank me for +that—though another man might have been sent up for life."</p> + +<p>"Thanks," Frawley said with a drawl. "And you'll notice I haven't +advised you to come back and face the music. Seems to me we understand +each other."</p> + +<p>"Here's my address," said Greenfield, handing him a card; "may save you +some trouble. I'm here every night." He held out his hand. "Turn up and +meet the profesh. They're a clever lot here. They'd appreciate meeting +you, too."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps I will."</p> + +<p>"Ta-ta, then."</p> + +<p>Greenfield took a few steps, halted, and lounged back with a smile full +of mischief.</p> + +<p>"By the way, Bub—how long has Her Majesty's dinkies given you?"</p> + +<p>"It's a life appointment, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"Really—bless me—then your bloomin' government has some sense after +all."</p> + +<p>The two men saluted gravely, with a parting exchange.</p> + +<p>"Now, Bub—keep fit."</p> + +<p>"Same to you, Bucky."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The view of Greenfield sauntering lightly away among the noisy tables, +bravado in his manner, deviltry in his heart, was the last glimpse +Inspector Frawley was destined to have of him in many months. True, +Greenfield had not lied: the address was genuine, but the man was gone. +For days Frawley had the city scoured without gaining a clue. No steamer +had left the harbor, not even a tramp. If Greenfield was not in hiding, +he must have buried himself in the interior.</p> + +<p>It was a week before Frawley found the track. Greenfield had walked +thirty miles into the country and taken the train for Rio Mendoza on the +route across the Andes to Valparaiso.</p> + +<p>Frawley followed the same day, somewhat mystified at this sudden change +of base. In the train the thermometer stood at 116°. The heat made of +everything a solitude. Frawley, lifeless, stifling, and numbed, glued +himself to the air-holes with eyes fastened on the horizon, while the +train sped across the naked, singeing back of the plains like the welt +that springs to meet the fall of the lash. For two nights he watched the +distended sun, exhausted by its own madness, drop back into the heated +void, and the tortured stars rise over the stricken desert. At the end +of thirty-six hours of agony he arrived at Rio Mendoza. Thence he +reached Punta de Vacas, procured mules and a guide, and prepared for +the ascent over the mountains.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock the next morning he began to climb out of hell. The +tortured plains settled below him. A divine freshness breathed upon him +with a new hope of life. He left the burning conflict of summer and +passed into the aroma of spring.</p> + +<p>Then the air grew intense, a new suffocation pressed about his +temples—the suffocation of too much life. In an hour he had run the +gamut of the seasons. The cold of everlasting winter descended and stung +his senses. Up and up and up they went—then suddenly down, with the +half-breed guide and the tireless mule always at the same distance +before him; and again began the insistent mechanical toiling upward. He +grew listless and indifferent, acquiescent in these steep efforts that +the next moment must throw away. The horror of immense distance rose +about him. From time to time a stone dislodged by their passage rushed +from under him, struck the brink, and spun into the void, to fall +endlessly. The face of the earth grew confused and dropped in a mist +from before his eyes.</p> + +<p>Then as they toiled still upward, a gale as though sent in anger rushed +down upon them, sweeping up whirlwinds of snow, raging and shrieking, +dragging them to the brink, and threatening to blot them out.</p> + +<p>Frawley clutched the saddle, then flung his arms about the neck of his +mule. His head was reeling, the indignant blood rushed to his nostrils +and his ears, his lungs no longer could master the divine air. Then +suddenly the mules stopped, exhausted. Through the maelstrom the guide +shrieked to him not to use the spur. Frawley felt himself in danger of +dying, and had no resentment.</p> + +<p>For a day they affronted the immense wilds until they had forced +themselves thousands of feet above the race of men. Then they began to +descend.</p> + +<p>Below them the clouds lapped and rolled like the elements before the +creation. Still they descended, and the moist oblivion closed about +them, like the curse of a world without color. The bleak mists separated +and began to roll up above them, a cloud split asunder, and through the +slit the earth jumped up, and the solid land spread before them as when +at the dawn it obeyed the will of the Creator. They saw the hills and +the mountains grow, and the rivers trickle toward the sea. The masses of +brown and green began to be splashed with red and yellow as the fields +became fertile and fructified; and the insect race of men began to crawl +to and fro.</p> + +<p>The half-breed, who saw the scene for the hundredth time, bent his head +in awe. Frawley straightened in his saddle, stretched the stiffness out +of his limbs, patted his mule solicitously, glanced at the guide, and +stopped in perplexity at the mute, reverential attitude.</p> + +<p>"What's he starin' at now?" he muttered in as then, with a glance at +his watch, he added anxiously, "I say, Sammy, when do we get a bit to +eat?"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='V'></a><h2>V</h2> +<br /> + +<p>In Valparaiso he readily found the track of Greenfield. Up to the time +of his departure, two boats had sailed: one for the north, and one by +the Straits of Magellan to Buenos Ayres. Greenfield had bought a ticket +for each, after effecting the withdrawal of his account at a local bank. +Frawley was in perplexity: for Greenfield to flee north was to run into +the jaws of the law. The withdrawal of the account decided him. He +returned to Buenos Ayres by the route he had come, arriving the day +before the steamer. To his discomfiture Greenfield was not on board. By +ridiculously casting away his protection he had thrown the detective off +the track and gained three weeks. Without more concern than he might +have shown in taking a trip from Toronto to New York, Frawley a third +time crossed the Andes and set himself to correcting his first error.</p> + +<p>He traced Greenfield laboriously up the coast back to Panama and there +lost the trail. At the end of two months he learned that Greenfield had +shipped as a common sailor on a freighter that touched at Hawaii. From +here he followed him to Yokohama, Singapore, Ceylon, and Bombay.</p> + +<p>Thence Greenfield, suddenly abandoning the water route, had proceeded +by land to Bagdad, and across the Turkish Empire to Constantinople. +Without a pause, Frawley traced him next into the Balkans, through +Bulgaria, Roumania, amid massacre and revolution to Budapest, back to +Odessa, and across the back of Russia by Moscow and Riga to Stockholm. A +year had elapsed.</p> + +<p>Several times he might have gained on the fugitive had he trusted to his +instinct; but he bided his time, renouncing a stroke of genius, in order +to be certain of committing no error, awaiting the moment when +Greenfield would pause and he might overtake him. But the fugitive, as +though stung by a gad-fly, continued to plunge madly over sea and +continent. Four months, five months behind, Frawley continued the +tireless pursuit.</p> + +<p>From Stockholm the chase led to Copenhagen, to Christiansand, down the +North Sea to Rotterdam. From thence Greenfield had rushed by rail to +Lisbon and taken steamer to Africa, touching at Gibraltar, Portuguese +and French Guinea, Sierra Leone, and proceeding thence into the Congo. +For a month all traces disappeared in the veldt, until by chance, rather +than by his own merits, Frawley found the trail anew in Madagascar, +whither Greenfield had come after a desperate attempt to bury his trail +on the immense plains of Southern Africa.</p> + +<p>From Madagascar, Frawley followed him to Aden in Arabia and by steamer +to Melbourne. Again for weeks he sought the confused track vainly +through Australia, up through Sydney, down again to Tasmania and New +Zealand on a false clue, back to Queensland, where at last in Cooktown +he learned anew of the passing of his man.</p> + +<p>The third year began without appreciable gain. Greenfield still was +three months in advance, never pausing, scurrying from continent to +continent, as though instinctively aware of the progress of his pursuer.</p> + +<p>In this year Frawley visited Sumatra, Java, and Borneo, stopped at +Manila, jumped immediately to Korea, and hurried on to Vladivostok, +where he found that Greenfield had procured passage on a sealer bound +for Auckland. There he had taken the steamer by the Straits of Magellan +back to Buenos Ayres.</p> + +<p>There, within the first hour, he heard a report that his man had gone on +to Rio Janeiro, caught the cholera, and died there. Undaunted by the +epidemic, Frawley took the next boat and entered the stricken city by +swimming ashore. For a week he searched the hospitals and the +cemeteries. Greenfield had indeed been stricken, but, escaping with his +life, had left for the northern part of Brazil. The delay resulted in a +gain of three months for Frawley, but without heat or excitement he +began anew the pursuit, passing up the coast to Para and the mouth of +the Amazon, by Bogota and Panama into Mexico, on up toward the border +of Texas. The months between him and Greenfield shortened to weeks, then +to days without troubling his equanimity. At El Paso he arrived a few +hours after Greenfield had left, going toward the Salt Basin and the +Guadalupe Mountains. Frawley took horses and a guide and followed to the +edge of the desert. At three o'clock in the afternoon a horseman grew +out of the horizon, a figure that remained stationary and attentive, +studying his approach through a spy-glass. Suddenly, as though +satisfied, the stranger took off his hat and waved it above his head in +challenge, and digging his heels into his horse, disappeared into the +desert.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='VI'></a><h2>VI</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Frawley understood the challenge—the end was to be in the desert. +Failing to move his guide by threat or promise, he left him clamoring +frantically on the edge of the desert and rode on toward where the +figure of Greenfield had disappeared on the horizon in a puff of dust.</p> + +<p>For three days they went their way grimly into the parched sands, +husbanding every particle of strength, within plain sight of each other, +always at the same unvarying walk. At night they slept by fits and +starts, with an ear trained for the slightest hostile sound. Then they +cast aside their saddles, their rifles, and superfluous clothing, in a +vain effort to save their mounts.</p> + +<p>The horses, heaving and staggering, crawled over the yielding sands +like silhouettes drawn by a thread. In the sky not a cloud appeared; +below, the yellow monotony extended as flat as a dish. Above them a lazy +buzzard, wheeling in languid circles, followed with patient conviction.</p> + +<p>On the fourth morning Frawley's horse stopped, shuddered, and went down +in a heap. Greenfield halted and surveyed his discomfiture grimly, +without a sign of elation.</p> + +<p>"That's bad, very bad," Frawley said judicially. "I ought to have sent +word to the department. Still, it's not over yet—his horse won't last +long. Well, I mustn't carry much."</p> + +<p>He abandoned his revolver, a knife, $200 in gold, and continued on foot, +preserving only the water-bag with its precious mouthful. Greenfield, +who had waited immovably, allowed him to approach within a quarter of a +mile before putting his horse in motion.</p> + +<p>"He's going to make sure I stay here," said Frawley to himself, seeing +that Greenfield made no attempt to increase the lead. "Well, we'll see."</p> + +<p>Twelve hours later Greenfield's horse gave out. Frawley uttered a cry of +joy, but the handicap of half a day was a serious one; he was exhausted, +famished, and in the bag there remained only sufficient water to moisten +his lips.</p> + +<p>The fifth day broke with an angry sun and no sign on the horizon to +relieve the eternal monotony. Only the buzzard at the same distance +aloft bided his time. Hunter and hunted, united perforce by their common +suffering, plodded on with the weary, hopeless straining of human beings +harnessed to a plow, covering scarcely a mile an hour. From time to +time, by common consent, they sat down, gaunt, exhausted figures, eyeing +each other with the instinct of beasts, their elbows on their bony +knees. Whether from a fear of losing energy, whether under the spell of +the frightful stillness, neither had uttered a word.</p> + +<p>Frawley was afire with thirst. The desert entered his body with its dry +mortal heat, and ran its consuming dryness through his veins; his eyes +started from his face as the sun above him hung out of the parched sky. +He began to talk to himself, to sing. Under his feet the sand sifted +like the soft protest of autumn leaves. He imagined himself back in the +forest, marking the rustle of leafy branches and the intermittent +dropping of acorns and twigs. All at once his legs refused to move. He +stood still, his gaze concentrated on the figure of Greenfield a long +moment, then his body crumpled under him and he sank without volition to +the ground.</p> + +<p>Greenfield stopped, sat down, and waited. After half an hour he drew +himself to his feet, moved on, then stopped, returned, approached, and +listened to the crooning of the delirious man. Suddenly satisfied, he +flung both arms into the air in frenzied triumph, turned, staggered, +and reeled away, while back over the desert came the grotesque, hideous +refrain, in maddened victory:</p> + +<span style='margin-left: 2.5em;'>"Yankee Doodle Dandy oh!</span><br /> +<span style='margin-left: 3em;'>Yankee Doodle Dandy!"</span><br /> + +<p>Frawley watched him go, then with a sigh of relief turned his glance to +the black revolving form in the air—at least that remained to break the +horror of the solitude. Then he lost consciousness.</p> + +<p>The beat of wings across his face aroused him with a start and a cry of +agony. The great bird of carrion, startled in its inspection, flew +clumsily off and settled fearlessly on the ground, blinking at him.</p> + +<p>An immense revolt, a furious anger brought with it new strength. He rose +and rushed at the bird with clenched fist, cursing it as it lumbered +awkwardly away. Then he began desperately to struggle on, following the +tracks in the sand.</p> + +<p>At the end of an hour specks appeared on the horizon. He looked at them +in his delirium and began to laugh uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I must be out of my head," he said to himself seriously. "It's a +mirage. Well, I suppose it is the end. Who'll they put on the case now? +Keech, I suppose; yes, Keech; he's a good man. Of course it's a mirage."</p> + +<p>As he continued to stumble forward, the dots assumed the shape of trees +and hills. He laughed contemptuously and began to remonstrate with +himself, repeating:</p> + +<p>"It's a mirage, or I'm out of my head." He began to be worried, saying +over and over: "That's a bad sign, very bad. I mustn't lose control of +myself. I must stick to him—stick to him until he dies of old age. +Bucky Greenfield! Well, he won't get out of this either. If the +department could only know!"</p> + +<p>The nearer he drew to life, the more indignant he became. He arrived +thus at the edge of trees and green things.</p> + +<p>"Why don't they go?" he said angrily. "They ought to, now. Come, I think +I'm keeping my head remarkably well."</p> + +<p>All at once a magnificent idea came to him—he would walk through the +mirage and end it. He advanced furiously against an imaginary tree, +struck his forehead, and toppled over insensible.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='VII'></a><h2>VII</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Frawley returned to consciousness to find himself in the hut of a +half-breed Indian, who was forcing a soup of herbs between his lips.</p> + +<p>Two days later he regained his strength sufficiently to reach a ranch +owned by Englishmen. Fitted out by them, he started at once to return to +El Paso; to take up the unending search anew.</p> + +<p>In the late afternoon, tired and thirsty, he arrived at a shanty where +a handful of Mexican children were lolling in the cool of the wall. At +the sound of his approach a woman came running to the door, shrieking +for assistance in a Mexican gibberish. He ran hastily to the house, his +hand on his pistol. The woman, without stopping her chatter, huddled in +the doorway, pointing to the dim corner opposite. Frawley, following her +glance, saw the figure of a man stretched on a hasty bed of leaves. He +took a few quick steps and recognized Greenfield.</p> + +<p>At the same moment the bundle shot to a sitting position, with a cry:</p> + +<p>"Who's that?"</p> + +<p>Frawley, with a quick motion, covered him with his revolver, crying:</p> + +<p>"Hands up. It's me, Bucky, and I've got you now!"</p> + +<p>"Frawley!"</p> + +<p>"That's it, Bucky—Hands up!"</p> + +<p>Greenfield, without obeying, stared at him wildly.</p> + +<p>"God, it is Frawley!" he cried, and fell back in a heap.</p> + +<p>Inspector Frawley, advancing a step, repeated his command with no +uncertain ring:</p> + +<p>"Hands up! Quick!"</p> + +<p>On the bed the distorted body contracted suddenly into a ball.</p> + +<p>"Easy, Bub," Greenfield said between his teeth. "Easy; don't get +excited. I'm dying."</p> + +<p>"You?"</p> + +<p>Frawley approached cautiously, suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"Fact. I'm cashin' in."</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?"</p> + +<p>"Bug. Plain bug—the desert did the rest."</p> + +<p>"A what?"</p> + +<p>"Tarantula bite—don't laugh, Bub."</p> + +<p>Frawley, at his side, needed but a glance to see that it was true. He +ran his hand over Greenfield's belt and removed his pistol.</p> + +<p>"Sorry," he said curtly, standing up.</p> + +<p>"Quite keerect, Bub!"</p> + +<p>"Can I do anything for you?"</p> + +<p>"Nope."</p> + +<p>Suddenly, without warning, Greenfield raised himself, glared at him, +stretched out his hands, and fell into a passionate fit of weeping. +Frawley's English reserve was outraged.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter?" he said angrily. "You're not going to show the +white feather now, are you?"</p> + +<p>With an oath Greenfield sat bolt upright, silent and flustered.</p> + +<p>"D—— you, Bub—show some imagination," he said after a pause. "Do +you think I mind dying—me? That's a good one. It ain't that—no—it's +ending, ending like this. After all I've been through, to be put out of +business by a bug—an ornery little bug."</p> + +<p>Then Frawley comprehended his mistake.</p> + +<p>"I say, Bucky, I'll take that back," he said awkwardly.</p> + +<p>"No imagination, no imagination," Greenfield muttered, sinking back. +"Why, man, if I'd chased you three times around the world and got you, +I'd fall on you and beat you to a pulp or—or I'd hug you like a +long-lost brother."</p> + +<p>"I asked your pardon," said Frawley again.</p> + +<p>"All right, Bub—all right," Greenfield answered with a short laugh. +Then after a pause he added seriously: "So you've come—well, I'm glad +it's over. Bub," he continued, raising himself excitedly on his elbow, +"here's something strange, only you won't understand it. Do you know, +the whole time I knew just where you were—I had a feeling somewhere in +the back of my neck. At first you were 'way off, over the horizon; then +you got to be a spot coming over the hill. Then I began to feel that +spot growin' bigger and bigger—after Rio Janeiro, crawling up, creeping +up. Gospel truth, I felt you sneaking up on my back. It got on my +nerves. I dreamed about it, and that morning on the trail when you was +just a speck on any old hoss—I knew! You—you don't understand such +things, Bub, do you?"</p> + +<p>Frawley made an effort, failed, and answered helplessly:</p> + +<p>"No, Bucky, no, I can't say I do understand."</p> + +<p>"Why do you think I ran you into Rio Janeiro?" said Greenfield, +twisting on the leaves. "Into the cholery? What do you think made me lay +for this desert? Bub, you were on my back, clinging like a catamount. I +was bound to shake you off. I was desperate. It had to end one way or +t'other. That's why I stuck to you until I thought it was over with +you."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you make sure of it?" said Frawley with curiosity; "you +could have done for me there."</p> + +<p>Greenfield looked at him hard and nodded.</p> + +<p>"Keerect, Bub; quite so!"</p> + +<p>"Why didn't you?"</p> + +<p>"Why!" cried Greenfield angrily. "Ain't you ever had any imagination? +Did I want to shoot you down like a common ordinary pickpocket after +taking you three times around the world? That was no ending! God, what a +chase it was!"</p> + +<p>"It was long, Bucky," Frawley admitted. "It was a good one!"</p> + +<p>"Can't you understand anything?" Greenfield cried querulously. "Where's +anything bigger, more than what we've done? And to have it end like +this—to have a bug—a miserable, squashy bug beat you after all!"</p> + +<p>For a long moment there was no sound, while Greenfield lay, twisting, +his head averted, buried in the leaves.</p> + +<p>"It's not right, Bucky," said Frawley at last, +with an effort at sympathy. "It oughtn't to have ended this way."</p> + +<p>"It was worth it!" Greenfield cried. "Three years! There ain't much dirt +we haven't kicked up! Asia, Africa—a regular Cook's tour through +Europe, North and South Ameriky. And what seas, Bub!" His voice +faltered. The drops of sweat stood thickly on his forehead; but he +pulled himself together gamely. "Do you remember the Sea of Japan with +its funny little toy junks? Man, we've beaten out Columbus, Jools Verne, +and the rest of them—hollow, Bub!"</p> + +<p>"I say, what did you do it for?"</p> + +<p>"You are a rum un," said Greenfield with a broken laugh. The words began +to come shorter and with effort. "Excitement, Bub! Deviltry and +cussedness!"</p> + +<p>"How do you feel, Bucky?" asked Frawley.</p> + +<p>"Half in hell already—stewing for my sins—but it's not that—it's—"</p> + +<p>"What, Bucky?"</p> + +<p>"That bug! Me, Bucky Greenfield—to go down and out on account of a +bug—a little squirmy bug! But I swear even he couldn't have done it if +the desert hadn't put me out of business first! No, by God! I'm not +downed so easy as that!"</p> + +<p>Frawley, in a lame attempt to show his sympathy, went closer to the +dying man:</p> + +<p>"I say, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"Shout away."</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't you like to go out, standing, on your feet—with your boots +on?"</p> + +<p>Greenfield laughed, a contented laugh.</p> + +<p>"What's the matter, pal?" said Frawley, pausing in surprise.</p> + +<p>"You darned old Englishman," said Greenfield affectionately. "Say, Bub."</p> + +<p>"Yes, Bucky."</p> + +<p>"The dinkies are all right—but—but a Yank, a real Yank, would 'a' got +me in six months."</p> + +<p>"All right, Bucky. Shall I raise you up?"</p> + +<p>"H'ist away."</p> + +<p>"Would you like the feeling of a gun in your hand again?" said Frawley, +raising him up.</p> + +<p>This time Greenfield did not laugh, but his hand closed convulsively +over the butt, and he gave a savage sigh of delight. His limbs +contracted violently, his head bore heavily on the shoulder of Frawley, +who heard him whisper again:</p> + +<p>"A bug—a little—"</p> + +<p>Then he stopped and appeared to listen. Outside, the evening was soft +and stirring. Through the door the children appeared, tumbling over one +another, in grotesque attitudes.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, as though in the breeze he had caught the sound of a step, +Greenfield jerked almost free of Frawley's arms, shuddered, and fell +back rigid. The pistol, flung into the air, twirled, pitched on the +floor, and remained quiet.</p> + +<p>Frawley placed the body back on the bed of leaves, listened a moment, +and rose satisfied. He threw a blanket over the face, picked up the +revolver, searched a moment for his hat, and went out to arrange with +the Mexican for the night. In a moment he returned and took a seat in +the corner, and began carefully to jot down the details on a piece of +paper. Presently he paused and looked reflectively at the bed of leaves.</p> + +<p>"It's been a good three years," he said reflectively. He considered a +moment, rapping the pencil against his teeth, and repeated: "A good +three years. I think when I get home I'll ask for a week or so to +stretch myself." Then he remembered with anxiety how Greenfield had +railed at his lack of imagination and pondered a moment seriously. +Suddenly, as though satisfied, he said with a nod of conviction:</p> + +<p>"Well, now, we did jog about a bit!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='LARRY_MOORE'></a><h2>LARRY MOORE</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The base-ball season had closed, and we were walking down Fifth avenue, +Larry Moore and I. We were discussing the final series for the +championship, and my friend was estimating his chances of again pitching +the Giants to the top, when a sudden jam on the avenue left us an +instant looking face to face at a woman and a child seated in a +luxurious victoria.</p> + +<p>Larry Moore, who had hold of my arm, dropped it quickly and wavered in +his walk. The woman caught her breath and put her muff hastily to her +face; but the child saw us without surprise. All had passed within a +second, yet I retained a vivid impression of a woman of strange +attraction, elegant and indolent, with something in her face which left +me desirous of seeing it again, and of a pretty child who seemed a +little too serious for that happy age. Larry Moore forgot what he had +begun to say. He spoke no further word, and I, in glancing at his face, +comprehended that, incredible as it seemed, there was some bond between +the woman I had seen and this raw-boned, big-framed, and big-hearted +idol of the bleachers.</p> + +<p>Without comment I followed Larry Moore, serving his mood as he +immediately left the avenue and went east. At first he went with excited +strides, then he slowed down to a profound and musing gait, then he +halted, laid his hand heavily on my shoulder, and said:</p> + +<p>"Get into the car, Bob. Come up to the rooms."</p> + +<p>I understood that he wished to speak to me of what had happened, and I +followed. We went thus, without another word exchanged, to his rooms, +and entered the little parlor hung with the trophies of his career, +which I looked at with some curiosity. On the mantel in the center I saw +at once a large photograph of the Hon. Joseph Gilday, a corporation +lawyer of whom we reporters told many hard things, a picture I did not +expect to find here among the photographs of the sporting celebrities +who had sent their regards to my friend of the diamond. In some +perplexity I approached and saw across the bottom written in large firm +letters: "I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore."</p> + +<p>I smiled, for the tribute of the great man of the law seemed incongruous +here to me, who knew of old my simple-minded, simple-hearted friend +whom, the truth be told, I patronized perforce. Then I looked about more +carefully, and saw a dozen photographs of a woman, sometimes alone, +sometimes holding a pretty child, and the faces were the faces I had +seen in the victoria. I feigned not to have seen them; but Larry, who +had watched me, said:</p> + +<p>"Look again, Bob; for that is the woman you saw in the carriage, and +that is the child."</p> + +<p>So I took up a photograph and looked at it long. The face had something +more dangerous than beauty in it—the face of a Cleopatra with a look in +the deep restless eyes I did not fancy; but I did not tell that to Larry +Moore. Then I put it back in its place and turned and said gravely:</p> + +<p>"Are you sure that you want to tell me, Larry Moore?"</p> + +<p>"I do," he said. "Sit down."</p> + +<p>He did not seek preliminaries, as I should have done, but began at once, +simply and directly—doubtless he was retelling the story more to +himself than to me.</p> + +<p>"She was called Fanny Montrose," he said, "a slip of a girl, with +wonderful golden hair, and big black eyes that made me tremble, the day +I went into the factory at Bridgeport, the day I fell in love. 'I'm +Larry Moore; you may have heard of me,' I said, going straight up to her +when the whistle blew that night, 'and I'd like to walk home with you, +Fanny Montrose.'</p> + +<p>"She drew back sort of quick, and I thought she'd been hearing tales of +me up in Fall River; so I said: 'I only meant to be polite. You may have +heard a lot of bad of me, and a lot of it's true, but you never heard +of Larry Moore's being disrespectful to a lady,' and I looked her in the +eye and said: 'Will you let me walk home with you, Fanny Montrose?'</p> + +<p>"She swung on her foot a moment, and then she said: 'I will.'</p> + +<p>"I heard a laugh go up at that, and turned round, with the bit in my +teeth; but it was only the women, and you can't touch them. Fanny +Montrose hurried on, and I saw she was upset by it, so I said humbly: +'You're not sorry now, are you?'</p> + +<p>"'Oh, no,' she said.</p> + +<p>"'Will you catch hold of my arm?' I asked her.</p> + +<p>"She looked first in my face, and then she slipped in her hand so +prettily that it sent all the words from my tongue. 'You've just come to +Bridgeport, ain't you?' she said timidly.</p> + +<p>"'I have,' I said, 'and I want you to know the truth. I came because I +had to get out of Fall River. I had a scrap—more than one of them.'</p> + +<p>"'Did you lick your man?' she said, glancing at me.</p> + +<p>"'I licked every one of them, and it was good and fair fighting—if I +was on a tear,' I said; 'but I'm ashamed of it now.'</p> + +<p>"'You're Larry Moore, who pitched on the Fall Rivers last season?' she +said.</p> + +<p>"'I am.'</p> + +<p>"'You can pitch some!' she said with a nod.</p> + +<p>"'When I'm straight I can.'</p> + +<p>"'And why don't you go at it like a man then? You could get in the +Nationals,' she said.</p> + +<p>"'I've never had anyone to work for—before,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'We go down here; I'm staying at Keene's boarding-house,' she said at +that.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid I'd been too forward; so I kept still until we came to the +door. Then I pulled off my hat and made her a bow and said: 'Will you +let me walk home with you steady, Fanny Montrose?'</p> + +<p>"And she stopped on the door-step and looked at me without saying a +word, and I asked it again, putting out my hand, for I wanted to get +hold of hers. But she drew back and reached for the knob. So I said:</p> + +<p>"'You needn't be frightened; for it's me that ought to be afraid.'</p> + +<p>"'And what have you to be afraid of, you great big man?' she said, +stopping in wonder.</p> + +<p>"'I'm afraid of your big black eyes, Fanny Montrose, 'I said, 'and I'm +afraid of your slip of a body that I could snap in my hands,' I said; +'for I'm going to fall in love with you, Fanny Montrose.'</p> + +<p>"Which was a lie, for I was already. With that I ran off like a fool. I +ran off, but from that night I walked home with Fanny Montrose.</p> + +<p>"For a month we kept company, and Bill Coogan and Dan Farrar and the +rest of them took my notice and kept off. The women laughed at me and +sneered at her; but I minded them not, for I knew the ways of the +factory, and besides there wasn't a man's voice in the lot—that I +heard.</p> + +<p>"But one night as we were wandering back to Keene's boarding-house, +Fanny Montrose on my arm, Bill Coogan planted himself before us, and +called her something to her face that there was no getting around.</p> + +<p>"I took her on a bit, weeping and shaking, and I said to her: 'Stand +here.'</p> + +<p>"And I went back, and caught Bill Coogan by the throat and the belt, and +swung him around my head, and flung him against the lamp-post. And the +post broke off with a crash, and Coogan lay quiet, with nothing more to +say.</p> + +<p>"I went back to Fanny Montrose, who had stopped her crying, and said, +shaking with anger at the dirty insult: 'Fanny Montrose, will you be my +wife? Will you marry me this night?'</p> + +<p>"She pushed me away from her, and looked up into my face in a frightened +way and said: 'Do you mean to be your wife?'</p> + +<p>"'I do,' I said, and then because I was afraid that she didn't trust in +me enough yet to marry me I said solemnly: 'Fanny Montrose, you need +have no fear. If I've been drunk and riotous, it's because I wanted to +be, and now that I've made up my mind to be straight, there isn't a +thing living that could turn me back again. Fanny Montrose, will you say +you'll be my wife?'</p> + +<p>"Then she put out her two hands to me and tumbled into my arms, all +limp."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>Larry Moore rose and walked the length of the room. When he came back he +went to the wall and took down a photograph; but with what emotion I +could not say, for his back was to me. I glanced again at the odd +volatile beauty in the woman's face and wondered what was the word Bill +Coogan had said and what was his reason for saying it.</p> + +<p>"From that day it was all luck for me," Larry Moore said, settling again +in the chair, where his face returned to the shadow. "She had a head on +her, that little woman. She pulled me up to where I am. I pitched that +season for the Bridgeports. You know the record, Bob, seven games lost +out of forty-three, and not so much my fault either. When they were for +signing me again, at big money too, the little woman said:</p> + +<p>"'Don't you do it, Larry Moore; they're not your class. Just hold out a +bit.'</p> + +<p>"You know, Bob, how I signed then with the Giants, and how they boosted +my salary at the end of that first year; but it was Fanny Montrose who +made the contracts every time. We had the child then, and I was happy. +The money came quick, and lots of it, and I put it in her lap and said:</p> + +<p>"'Do what you want with it; only I want you to enjoy it like a lady.'</p> + +<p>"Maybe I was wrong there—maybe I was. It was pride, I'll admit; but +there wasn't a lady came to the stands that looked finer than Fanny +Montrose, as I always used to call her. I got to be something of a +figure, as you know, and the little woman was always riding back and +forth to the games in some automobile, and more often with Paul Bargee.</p> + +<p>"One afternoon Ed Nichols, who was catching me then, came up with a +serious face and said: 'Where's your lady to-day, Larry—and Paul +Bargee?' And by the way he said it I knew what he had in mind, and good +friend that he was of mine I liked to have throttled him. They told me +to pitch the game, and I did. I won it too. Then I ran home without +changing my clothes, the people staring at me, and ran up the stairs and +flung open the door and stopped and called: 'Fanny Montrose!'</p> + +<p>"And I called again, and I called a third time, and only the child came +to answer me. Then I knew in my heart that Fanny Montrose had left me +and run off with Paul Bargee.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"I waited all that night without tasting food or moving, listening for +her step on the stairs. And in the morning the postman came without a +line or a word for me. I couldn't understand; for I had been a good +husband to her, and though I thought over everything that had happened +since we'd been married, I couldn't think of a thing that I'd done to +hurt her—for I wasn't thinking then of the millions of Paul Bargee.</p> + +<p>"In the afternoon there came a dirty little lawyer shuffling in to see +me, with blinking little eyes behind his black-rimmed spectacles—a toad +of a man.</p> + +<p>"'Who are you?' I said, 'and what are you doing here?'</p> + +<p>"'I'm simply an attorney,' he said, cringing before my look—'Solomon +Scholl, on a very disagreeable duty,' he said.</p> + +<p>"'Do you come from her?' I said, and I caught my breath.</p> + +<p>"'I come from Mr. Paul Bargee,' he said, 'and I'd remind you, Mr. Moore, +that I come as an attorney on a disagreeable duty.'</p> + +<p>"With that I drew back and looked at him in amazement, and said: 'What +has he got to say to me?'</p> + +<p>"'My client,' he said, turning the words over with the tip of his +tongue, 'regrets exceedingly—'</p> + +<p>"'Don't waste words!' I said angrily. 'What are you here for?'</p> + +<p>"'My client,' he said, looking at me sidelong, 'empowers me to offer you +fifteen thousand dollars if you will promise to make no trouble in this +matter.'</p> + +<p>"I sat down all in a heap; for I didn't know the ways of a gentleman +then, Bob, and covered my face with the horror I had of the humiliation +he had done me. The lawyer, he misunderstood it, for he crept up softly +and whispered in my ear:</p> + +<p>"'That's what he offers—if you're fool enough to take it; but if you'll +stick to me, we can wring him to the tune of ten times that.'</p> + +<p>"I got up and took him and kicked him out of the room, and kicked him +down the stairs, for he was a little man, and I wouldn't strike him.</p> + +<p>"Then I came back and said to myself: 'If matters are so, I must get the +best advice I can.'</p> + +<p>"And I knew that Joseph Gilday was the top of the lot. So I went to him, +and when I came in I stopped short, for I saw he looked perplexed, and I +said: 'I'm in trouble, sir, and my life depends on it, and other lives, +and I need the best of advice; so I've come to you. I'm Larry Moore of +the Giants; so you may know I can pay.' Then I sat down and told him the +story, every word as I've told you; and when I was all through, he said +quietly:</p> + +<p>"'What are you thinking of doing, Mr. Moore?'</p> + +<p>"'I think it would be better if she came back, sir,' I said, 'for her +and for the child. So I thought the best thing would be to write her a +letter and tell her so; for I think if you could write the right sort of +a letter she'd come back. And that's what I want you to show me how to +write,' I said.</p> + +<p>"He took a sheet of paper and a pen, and looked at me steadily and said: +'What would you say to her?'</p> + +<p>"So I drew my hands up under my chin and thought awhile and said: 'I +think I'd say something like this, sir:</p> + +<p>"'"My dear wife—I've been trying to think all this while what has +driven you away, and I don't understand. I love you, Fanny Montrose, and +I want you to come back to me. And if you're afraid to come, I want to +tell you not a word will pass my lips on the subject; for I haven't +forgotten that it was you made a man of me; and much as I try, I cannot +hate you, Fanny Montrose."'</p> + +<p>"He looked down and wrote for a minute, and then he handed me the paper +and said: 'Send that.'</p> + +<p>"I looked, and saw it was what I had told him, and I said doubtfully: +'Do you think that is best?'</p> + +<p>"'I do.'</p> + +<p>"So I mailed the letter as he said, and three days after came one from a +lawyer, saying my wife could have no communication with me, and would I +send what I had to say to him.</p> + +<p>"So I went down to Gilday and told him, and I said: 'We must think of +other things, sir, since she likes luxury and those things better; for +I'm beginning to think that's it—and there I'm a bit to blame, for I +did encourage her. Well, she'll have to marry him—that's all I can see +to it," I said, and sat very quiet.</p> + +<p>"'He won't marry her,' he said in his quick way.</p> + +<p>"I thought he meant because she was bound to me, so I said: 'Of course, +after the divorce.'</p> + +<p>"'Are you going to get a divorce then from her?'</p> + +<p>"'I've been thinking it over,' I said carefully, and I had, 'and I think +the best way would be for her to get it. That can be done, can't it?' I +said, 'because I've been thinking of the child, and I don't want her to +grow up with any stain on the good name of her mother,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'Then you will give up the child?' he said.</p> + +<p>"And I said: 'Yes.'</p> + +<p>"'Will he marry her?' he said again.</p> + +<p>"'For what else did he take her away?'</p> + +<p>"'If I was you,' he said, looking at me hard, 'I'd make sure of +that—before.'</p> + +<p>"That worried me a good deal, and I went out and walked around, and then +I went to the station and bought a ticket for Chicago, and I said to +myself: 'I'll go and see him'; for by that time I'd made up my mind what +I'd do.</p> + +<p>"And when I got there the next morning, I went straight to his house, +and my heart sank, for it was a great place with a high iron railing all +around it and a footman at the door—and I began to understand why Fanny +Montrose had left me for him.</p> + +<p>"I'd thought a long time about giving another name; but I said to +myself: 'No, I'll him a chance first to come down and face me like a +man,' so I said to the footman: 'Go tell Paul Bargee that Larry Moore +has come to see him.'</p> + +<p>"Then I went down the hall and into the great parlor, all hung with +draperies, and I looked at myself in the mirrors and looked at the +chairs, and I didn't feel like sitting down, and presently the curtains +opened, and Paul Bargee stepped into the room. I looked at him once, and +then I looked at the floor, and my breath came hard. Then he stepped up +to me and stopped and said:</p> + +<p>"'Well?'</p> + +<p>"And though he had wronged me and wrecked my life, I couldn't help +admiring his grit; for the boy was no match for me, and he knew it too, +though he never flinched.</p> + +<p>"'I've come from New York here to talk with you, Paul Bargee,' I said.</p> + +<p>"'You've a right to.'</p> + +<p>"'I have,' I said, 'and I want to have an understanding with you now, if +you have the time, sir,' I said, and looked at the ground again.</p> + +<p>"He drew off, and hearing me speak so low he mistook me as others have +done before, and he looked at me hard and said: 'Well, how much?'</p> + +<p>"My head went up, and I strode at him; but he never winced—if he had, I +think I'd have caught him then and there and served him as I did Bill +Coogan. But I stopped and said: 'That's the second mistake you've made, +Paul Bargee; the first was when you sent a dirty little lawyer to pay me +for taking my wife. And your lawyer came to me and told me to screw you +to the last cent. I kicked him out of my sight; and what have you to say +why I shouldn't do the same to you, Paul Bargee?'</p> + +<p>"He looked white and hurt in his pride, and said: 'You're right; and I +beg your pardon, Mr. Moore.'</p> + +<p>"'I don't want your pardon,' I said, 'and I won't sit down in your +house, and we won't discuss what has happened but what is to be. For +there's a great wrong you've done, and I've a right to say what you +shall do now, Paul Bargee.'</p> + +<p>"He looked at me and said slowly: 'What is that?'</p> + +<p>"'You took my wife, and I gave her a chance to come back to me,' I said; +'but she loved you and what you can give better than me. But she's been +my wife, and I'm not going to see her go down into the gutter.'</p> + +<p>"He started to speak; but I put up my hand and I said: 'I'm not here to +discuss with you, Paul Bargee. I've come to say what's going to be done; +for I have a child,' I said, 'and I don't intend that the mother of my +little girl should go down to the gutter. You've chosen to take my wife, +and she's chosen to stay with you. Now, you've got to marry her and +make her a good woman,' I said.</p> + +<p>"Then Paul Bargee stood off, and I saw what was passing through his +mind. And I went up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder and said: +'You know what I mean, and you know what manner of man I am that talks +to you like this; for you're no coward,' I said; 'but you marry Fanny +Montrose within a week after she gets her freedom, or I am going to kill +you wherever you stand. And that's the choice you've got to make, Paul +Bargee,' I said.</p> + +<p>"Then I stepped back and watched him, and as I did so I saw the curtains +move and knew that Fanny Montrose had heard me.</p> + +<p>"'You're going to give her the divorce?' he said.</p> + +<p>"'I am. I don't intend there shall be a stain on her name,' I said; 'for +I loved Fanny Montrose, and she's always the mother of my little girl.'</p> + +<p>"Then he went to a chair and sat down and took his head in his hands, +and I went out.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>"I came back to New York, and went to Mr. Gilday.</p> + +<p>"'Will he marry her?' he said at once.</p> + +<p>"'He will marry her,' I said. 'As for her, I want you to say; for I'll +not write to her myself, since she wouldn't answer me. Say when she's +the wife of Paul Bargee I'll bring the child to her myself, and she's +to see me; for I have a word to say to her then,' I said, and I laid my +fist down on the table. 'Until then the child stays with me.'</p> + +<p>"They've said hard things of Mr. Joseph Gilday, and I know it; but I +know all that he did for me. For he didn't turn it over to a clerk; but +he took hold himself and saw it through as I had said. And when the +divorce was given he called me down and told me that Fanny Montrose was +a free woman and no blame to her in the sight of the law.</p> + +<p>"Then I said: 'It is well. Now write to Paul Bargee that his week has +begun. Until then I keep the child, law or no law.' Then I rose and +said: 'I thank you, Mr. Gilday. You've been very kind, and I'd like to +pay you what I owe you.'</p> + +<p>"He sat there a moment and chewed on his mustache, and he said: 'You +don't owe me a cent.'</p> + +<p>"'It wasn't charity I came to you for, and I can pay for what I get, Mr. +Gilday,' I said. 'Will you give me your regular bill?' I said.</p> + +<p>"And he said at last: 'I will.'</p> + +<p>"In the middle of the week Paul Bargee's mother came to me and went down +on her knees and begged for her son, and I said to her: 'Why should +there be one law for him and one law for the likes of me. He's taken my +wife; but he sha'n't put her to shame, ma'am, and he sha'n't cast a +cloud on the life of my child!'</p> + +<p>"Then she stopped arguing, and caught my hands and cried: 'But you +won't kill him, you won't kill my son, if he don't?'</p> + +<p>"'As sure as Saturday comes, ma'am, and he hasn't made Fanny Montrose a +good woman,' I said, 'I'm going to kill Paul Bargee wherever he stands.'</p> + +<p>"And Friday morning Mr. Gilday called me down to his office and told me +that Paul Bargee had done as I said he should do. And I pressed his hand +and said nothing, and he let me sit awhile in his office.</p> + +<p>"And after awhile I rose up and said: 'Then I must take the child to +her, as I promised, to-night.'</p> + +<p>"He walked with me from the office and said: 'Go home to your little +girl. I'll see to the tickets, and will come for you at nine o'clock.'</p> + +<p>"And at nine o'clock he came in his big carriage, and took me and the +child to the station and said: 'Telegraph me when you're leaving +to-morrow.'</p> + +<p>"And I said: 'I will.'</p> + +<p>"Then I went into the car with my little girl asleep in my arms and sat +down in the seat, and the porter came and said:</p> + +<p>"'Can I make up your berths?'</p> + +<p>"And I looked at the child and shook my head. So I held her all night +and she slept on my shoulder, while I looked from her out into the +darkness, and from the darkness back to her again. And the porter kept +passing and passing and staring at me and the child.</p> + +<p>"And in the morning we went up to the great house and into the big +parlor, and Fanny Montrose came in, as I had said she should, very white +and not looking at me. And the child ran to her, and I watched Fanny +Montrose catch her up to her breast, and I sobbed. And she looked at me, +and saw it. So I said:</p> + +<p>"'It's because now I know you love the child and that you'll be kind to +her.'</p> + +<p>"Then she fell down before me and tried to take my hand. But I stepped +back and said:</p> + +<p>"'I've made you an honest woman, Fanny Montrose, and now as long as I +live I'm going to see you do nothing to disgrace my child.'</p> + +<p>"And I went out and took the train back. And Mr. Gilday was at the +station there waiting for me, and he took my arm, without a word, and +led me to his carriage and drove up without speaking. And when we got to +the house, he got out, and took off his hat and made me a bow and said: +'I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore.'"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='MY_WIFES_WEDDING_PRESENTS'></a><h2>MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>I don't believe in wedding functions. I don't believe in honeymoons and +particularly I abominate the inhuman custom of giving wedding presents. +And this is why:</p> + +<p>Clara was the fifth poor daughter of a rich man. I was respectably poor +but artistic. We had looked forward to marriage as a time when two +persons chose a home and garnished it with furnishings of their own +choice, happy in the daily contact with beautiful things. We had often +discussed our future home. We knew just the pictures that must hang on +the walls, the tone of the rugs that should lie on the floors, the style +of the furniture that should stand in the rooms, the pattern of the +silver that should adorn our table. Our ideas were clear and positive.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately Clara had eight rich relatives who approved of me and I +had three maiden aunts, two of whom were in precarious health and must +not be financially offended.</p> + +<p>I am rather an imperious man, with theories that a woman is happiest +when she finds a master; but when the details of the wedding came up for +decision I was astounded to find myself not only flouted but actually +forced to humiliating surrender. Since then I have learned that my own +case was not glaringly exceptional. At the time, however, I was +nonplused and rather disturbed in my dreams of the future. I had decided +on a house wedding with but the family and a few intimate friends to be +present at my happiness. After Clara had done me the honor to consult +me, several thousand cards were sent out for the ceremony at the church +and an addition was begun on the front veranda.</p> + +<p>Clara herself led me to the library and analyzed the situation to me, in +the profoundest manner.</p> + +<p>"You dear, old, impracticable goose," she said with the wisdom of just +twenty, "what do you know about such things? How much do you suppose it +will cost us to furnish a house the way we want?"</p> + +<p>I said airily, "Oh, about five hundred dollars."</p> + +<p>"Take out your pencil," said Clara scornfully, "and write."</p> + +<p>When she finished her dictation, and I had added up the items with a +groan, I was dumbfounded. I said:</p> + +<p>"Clara, do you think it is wise—do you think we have any right to get +married?"</p> + +<p>"Of course we have."</p> + +<p>"Then we must make up our minds to boarding."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! we shall have everything just as we planned it."</p> + +<p>"But how?"</p> + +<p>"Wedding presents," said Clara triumphantly, "now do you see why it must +be a church wedding?"</p> + +<p>I began to see.</p> + +<p>"But isn't it a bit mercenary?" I said feebly. "Does every one do it?"</p> + +<p>"Every one. It is a sort of tax on the unmarried," said Clara with a +determined shake of her head. "Quite right that it should be, too."</p> + +<p>"Then every one who receives an invitation is expected to contribute to +our future welfare?"</p> + +<p>"An invitation to the house."</p> + +<p>"Well, to the house—then?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly."</p> + +<p>"Ah, now, my dear, I begin to understand why the presents are always +shown."</p> + +<p>For all answer Clara extended the sheet of paper on which we had made +our calculations.</p> + +<p>I capitulated.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>I pass over the wedding. In theory I have grown more and more opposed to +such exhibitions. A wedding is more pathetic than a funeral, and +nothing, perhaps, is more out of place than the jubilations of the +guests. When a man and a woman, as husband and wife, have lived together +five years, then the community should engage a band and serenade them, +but at the outset—however, I will not insist—I am doubtless cynically +inclined. I come to the moment when, having successfully weathered the +pitfalls of the honeymoon (there's another mistaken theory—but let that +pass) my wife and I found ourselves at last in our own home, in the +midst of our wedding presents. I say in the midst advisably. Clara sat +helplessly in the middle of the parlor rug and I glowered from the +fireplace.</p> + +<p>"My dear Clara," I said, with just a touch of asperity, "you've had your +way about the wedding. Now you've got your wedding presents. What are +you going to do with them?"</p> + +<p>"If people only wouldn't have things marked!" said Clara irrelevantly.</p> + +<p>"But they always do," I replied. "Also I may venture to suggest that +your answer doesn't solve the difficulty."</p> + +<p>"Don't be cross," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"My dear," I replied with excellent good-humor, "I'm not. I'm only +amused—who wouldn't be?"</p> + +<p>"Don't be horrid, George," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"It <i>is</i> deliciously humorous," I continued. "Quite the most humorous +thing I have ever known. I am not cross and I am not horrid; I have made +a profound discovery. I know now why so many American marriages are not +happy."</p> + +<p>"Why, George?"</p> + +<p>"Wedding presents," I said savagely, "exactly that, my dear. This being +forced to live years of married life surrounded by things you don't +want, you never will want, and which you've got to live with or lose +your friends."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George!" said Clara, gazing around helplessly, "it is terrible, +isn't it?"</p> + +<p>"Look at that rug you are sitting on," I said, glaring at a six by ten +modern French importation. "Cauliflowers contending with unicorns, +surrounded by a border of green roses and orange violets—expensive! And +until the lamp explodes or the pipes burst we have got to go on and on +and on living over that, and why?—because dear Isabel will be here once +a week!"</p> + +<p>"I thought Isabel would have better taste," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"She has—Isabel has perfect taste, depend upon it," I said, "she did it +on purpose!"</p> + +<p>"George!"</p> + +<p>"Exactly that. Have you noticed that married people give the most +impossible presents? It is revenge, my dear. Society has preyed upon +them. They will prey upon society. Wait until we get a chance!"</p> + +<p>"It is awful!" said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Let us continue. We have five French rugs; no two could live together. +Five rooms desecrated. Our drawing-room is Art Nouveau, furnished by +your Uncle James, who is strong and healthy and may live twenty years. +I particularly abominate Art Nouveau furniture."</p> + +<p>"So do I."</p> + +<p>"Our dining-room is distinctly Grand Rapids."</p> + +<p>"Now, George!"</p> + +<p>"It is."</p> + +<p>"Well, it was your Aunt Susan."</p> + +<p>"It was, but who suggested it? I pass over the bedrooms. I will simply +say that they are nightmares. Expensive nightmares! I come to the +lamps—how many have we?"</p> + +<p>"Fourteen."</p> + +<p>"Fourteen atrocities, imitation Louis Seize, bogus Oriental, feathered, +laced and tasseled. So much for useful presents. Now for decoration. We +have three Sistine Madonnas (my particular abomination). Two, thank +heaven, we can inflict on the next victims, one we have got to live with +and why?—so that each of our three intimate friends will believe it his +own. We have water colors and etchings which we don't want, and a +photograph copy of every picture that every one sees in every one's +house. Some original friend has even sent us a life-size, marble +reproduction of the Venus de Milo. These things will be our artistic +home. Then there are vases—"</p> + +<p>"Now you are losing your temper."</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, I'm reserving it. I shan't characterize the +bric-à-brac, that was to be expected."</p> + +<p>"Don't!"</p> + +<p>"At least that is not marked. I come at last to the silver. Give me the +list."</p> + +<p>Clara sighed and extended it.</p> + +<p>"Four solid silver terrapin dishes."</p> + +<p>"Marked."</p> + +<p>"Marked—Terrapin—ha! ha! Two massive, expensive, solid silver +champagne coolers."</p> + +<p>"Marked."</p> + +<p>"Marked, my dear—for each end of the table when we give our beefsteak +dinners. Almond dishes."</p> + +<p>"Don't!"</p> + +<p>"Forty-two individual, solid or filigree almond dishes; forty-two, +Clara."</p> + +<p>"Marked."</p> + +<p>"Right again, dear. One dozen bonbon dishes, five nouveau riche sugar +shakers (we never use them), three muffineers—in heaven's name, what's +that? Solid silver bread dishes, solid silver candlesticks by the dozen, +solid silver vegetable dishes, and we expect one servant and an +intermittent laundress to do the cooking, washing, make the beds and +clean the house besides."</p> + +<p>"All marked," said Clara dolefully.</p> + +<p>"Every one, my dear. Then the china and the plates, we can't even eat +out of the plates we want or drink from the glasses we wish; everything +in this house, from top to bottom has been picked out and inflicted upon +us against our wants and in defiance of our own taste and we—we have +got to go on living with them and trying not to quarrel!"</p> + +<p>"You have forgotten the worst of all," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"No, my darling, I have not forgotten it. I have thought of nothing +else, but I wanted you to mention it."</p> + +<p>"The flat silver, George."</p> + +<p>"The flat silver, my darling. Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to +match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in +collusion. We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified, +something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear, they might have asked me!"</p> + +<p>"But they don't, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents, +my dear. We got Pond Lily pattern, repoussé until it scratches your +fingers. Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and +abominate!"</p> + +<p>"I too, George."</p> + +<p>"And that, my dear, we shall never get rid of; we not only must adopt +and assume the responsibility, but must pass it down to our children and +our children's children."</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, it is terrible—terrible! What are we going to do?"</p> + +<p>"My darling Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-à-brac a day on +the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a +butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and +try occasionally to set fire to the furniture."</p> + +<p>"But the flat silver, George, what of that?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, the flat silver," I said gloomily, "each one has his cross to bear, +that shall be ours."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>We were, as has been suggested, a relatively rich couple. That's a pun! +At the end of five years a relative on either side left us a graceful +reminder. The problem of living became merely one of degree. At the end +of this period we had made considerable progress in the building up of a +home which should be in fact and desire entirely ours. That is, we had +been extensively fortunate in the preservation of our wedding presents. +Our twenty-second housemaid broke a bottle of ink over the parlor rug, +her twenty-one predecessors (whom I had particularly selected) had +already made the most gratifying progress among the bric-à-brac, two +intelligent Airdale puppies had chewed satisfactory holes in the Art +Nouveau furniture, even the Sistine Madonna had wrenched loose from its +supports and considerately annihilated the jewel-studded Oriental lamp +in the general smashup.</p> + +<p>Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the +artistic taste on which I pride myself. There remained at length only +the flat silver and a few thousand dollars' worth of solid silver +receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage. But +these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination.</p> + +<p>One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash.</p> + +<p>Clara gave an exclamation of alarm.</p> + +<p>"George dear, what is it?"</p> + +<p>For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and +gazed at it with a savage joy.</p> + +<p>"George, George, what has happened?"</p> + +<p>"My dear, I have an idea—a wonderful idea."</p> + +<p>"What idea?"</p> + +<p>"We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey."</p> + +<p>Clara screamed.</p> + +<p>"Are you in your senses, George?"</p> + +<p>"Never more so."</p> + +<p>"But it's broiling hot!"</p> + +<p>"Hotter than that."</p> + +<p>"It is simply deluged with mosquitoes."</p> + +<p>"There <i>are</i> several mosquitoes there."</p> + +<p>"It's a hole in the ground!"</p> + +<p>"It certainly is."</p> + +<p>"And the only people we know there are the Jimmy Lakes, whom I detest."</p> + +<p>"I can't bear them."</p> + +<p>"And, George, there are <i>burglars</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, my dear," I said triumphantly, "heaven be praised there <i>are</i> +burglars!"</p> + +<p>Clara looked at me. She is very quick.</p> + +<p>"You are thinking of the silver."</p> + +<p>"Of all the silver."</p> + +<p>"But, George, can we afford it?"</p> + +<p>"Afford what?"</p> + +<p>"To have the silver stolen."</p> + +<p>"Supposing there was a burglar insurance, as a reward."</p> + +<p>The next moment Clara was laughing in my arms.</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, you are a wonderful, brilliant man: how did you ever think +of it?"</p> + +<p>"I just put my mind to it," I said loftily.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>We went to Lone Tree, New Jersey. We went there early to meet the +migratory spring burglar. We released from storage two chests and three +barrels of solid silver wedding presents, took out a burglar insurance +for three thousand dollars and proceeded to decorate the dining-room and +parlor.</p> + +<p>"It looks rather—rather nouveau riche," said Clara, surveying the +result.</p> + +<p>"My dear, say the word—it is vulgar. But what of that? We have come +here for a purpose and we will not be balked. Our object is to offer +every facility to the gentlemen who will relieve us of our silver. +Nothing concealed, nothing screwed to the floor."</p> + +<p>"I think," said Clara, "that the champagne coolers are unnecessary."</p> + +<p>The solid silver champagne coolers adorned either side of the fireplace.</p> + +<p>"As receptacles for potted ferns they are, it is true, not quite in the +best of taste," I admitted. "We might leave them in the hall for +umbrellas and canes. But then they might be overlooked, and we must take +no chances on a careless burglar."</p> + +<p>Clara sat down and began to laugh, which I confess was quite the natural +thing to do. Solid silver bread dishes holding sweet peas, individual +almond dishes filled with matches, silver baskets for cigars and +cigarettes crowded the room, with silver candlesticks sprouting from +every ledge and table. The dining-room was worse—but then solid silver +terrapin dishes and muffineers, not to mention the two dozen almond +dishes left over from the parlor, are not at all appropriate +decorations.</p> + +<p>"I'm sure the burglars will never come," said Clara, woman fashion.</p> + +<p>"If there's anything will keep them away," I said, a little provoked, +"it's just that attitude of mind."</p> + +<p>"Well, at any rate, I do hope they'll be quick about it, so we can +leave this dreadful place."</p> + +<p>"They'll never come if you're going to watch them," I said angrily.</p> + +<p>We had quite a little quarrel on that point.</p> + +<p>The month of June passed and still we remained in possession of our +wedding silver. Clara was openly discouraged and if I still clung to my +faith, at the bottom I was anxious and impatient. When July passed +unfruitfully even our sense of humor was seriously endangered.</p> + +<p>"They will never come," said Clara firmly.</p> + +<p>"My dear," I replied, "the last time they came in July. All the more +reason that they should change to August."</p> + +<p>"They will never come," said Clara a second time.</p> + +<p>"Let's bait the hook," I said, trying to turn the subject into a +facetious vein. "We might strew a dozen or so of those individual dishes +down the path to the road."</p> + +<p>"They'll never come," said Clara obstinately.</p> + +<p>And yet they came.</p> + +<p>On the second of August, about two o'clock in the morning I was awakened +out of a deep sleep by the voice of my wife crying:</p> + +<p>"George, here's a burglar!"</p> + +<p>I thought the joke obvious and ill-timed and sleepily said so.</p> + +<p>"But, George dear, he's here—in the room!"</p> + +<p>There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation, +that brought me bolt upright in bed.</p> + +<p>"Put up your hands—quick!" said a staccato voice.</p> + +<p>It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional +bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar.</p> + +<p>"Put 'em up!"</p> + +<p>My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude.</p> + +<p>"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice, +shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for +you's!"</p> + +<p>The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white +pajamas I wore—but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my +feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and +hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of +feet and an occasional metallic ring.</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful—wonderful for words!" said Clara, +hysterical with joy.</p> + +<p>"I can't believe it," I cried.</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern.</p> + +<p>"My dear friend," I said conciliatingly, "there's not the slightest need +of your keeping your finger on that wabbling, cold thing. My feelings +towards you are only the tenderest and the most grateful."</p> + +<p>"Huh!"</p> + +<p>"The feelings of a brother! My only fear is that you may overlook one or +two articles that I admit are not conveniently exposed."</p> + +<p>The bull's-eye turned upon me with a sudden jerk.</p> + +<p>"Well, I'll be damned!"</p> + +<p>"We have waited for you long and patiently. We thought you would never +come. In fact, we had sort of lost faith in you. I'm sorry. I apologize. +In a way I don't deserve this—I really don't."</p> + +<p>"Bughouse!" came from the foot of the bed, in a suppressed mutter. "Out +and out bughouse!"</p> + +<p>"Quite wrong," I said cheerily. "I never was in better health. You are +surprised, you don't understand. It's not necessary you should. It would +rob the situation of its humor if you should. All I ask of you is to +take everything, don't make a slip, get it all."</p> + +<p>"Oh, do, please, please do!" said Clara earnestly.</p> + +<p>The silence at the foot of the bed had the force of an exclamation.</p> + +<p>"Above all," I continued anxiously, "don't forget the pots. They stand +on either side of the fireplace, filled with ferns. They are not pewter. +They are solid silver champagne coolers. They are worth—they are +worth—"</p> + +<p>"Two hundred apiece," said Clara instantly.</p> + +<p>"And don't overlook the muffineers, the terrapin dishes and the +candlesticks. We should be very much obliged—very grateful if you +could find room for them."</p> + +<p>Often since I have thought of that burglar and what must have been his +sensations. At the time I was too engrossed with my own feelings. Never +have I enjoyed a situation more. It is true I noticed as I proceeded our +burglar began to edge away towards the door, keeping the lantern +steadily on my face.</p> + +<p>"And one favor more," I added, "there are several flocks of individual +silver almond dishes roosting downstairs—"</p> + +<p>"Forty-two," said Clara, "twenty-four in the dining-room and eighteen in +the parlor."</p> + +<p>"Forty-two is the number; as a last favor please find room for them; if +you don't want them drop them in a river or bury them somewhere. We +really would appreciate it. It's our last chance."</p> + +<p>"All right," said the burglar in an altered tone. "Don't you worry now, +we'll attend to that."</p> + +<p>"Remember there are forty-two—if you would count them."</p> + +<p>"That's all right—just you rest easy," said the burglar soothingly. +"I'll see they all get in."</p> + +<p>"Really, if I could be of any assistance downstairs," I said anxiously, +"I might really help."</p> + +<p>"Oh, don't you worry, Bub, my pals are real careful muts," said the +burglar nervously. "Now just keep calm. We'll get 'em all."</p> + +<p>It suddenly burst upon me that he took me for a lunatic. I buried my +head in the covers and rocked back and forth between tears and laughter.</p> + +<p>"Hi! what the ——'s going on up there?" cried a voice from downstairs.</p> + +<p>"It's all right—all right, Bill," said our burglar hoarsely, "very +affable party up here. Say, hurry it up a bit down there, will you?"</p> + +<p>All at once it struck me that if I really frightened him too much they +might decamp without making a clean sweep. I sobered at once.</p> + +<p>"I'm not crazy," I said.</p> + +<p>"Sure you're not," said the burglar conciliatingly.</p> + +<p>"But I assure you—"</p> + +<p>"That's all right."</p> + +<p>"I'm perfectly sane."</p> + +<p>"Sane as a house!"</p> + +<p>"There's nothing to be afraid of."</p> + +<p>"Course there isn't. Hi, Bill, won't you hurry up there!"</p> + +<p>"I'll explain—"</p> + +<p>"Don't you mind that."</p> + +<p>"This is the way it is—"</p> + +<p>"That's all right, we know all about it."</p> + +<p>"You do—"</p> + +<p>"Sure, we got your letter."</p> + +<p>"What letter?"</p> + +<p>"Your telegram then."</p> + +<p>"See here, I'm not crazy—"</p> + +<p>"You bet you're not," said the burglar, edging towards the door and +changing the key.</p> + +<p>"Hold up!" I cried in alarm, "don't be a fool. What I want is for you to +get everything—everything, do you hear?"</p> + +<p>"All right, I'll just go down and speak to him."</p> + +<p>"Hold up—"</p> + +<p>"I'll tell him."</p> + +<p>"Wait," I cried, jumping out of bed in my desire to retain him.</p> + +<p>At that moment a whistle came from below and with an exclamation of +relief our burglar slammed the door and locked it. We heard him go down +three steps at a time and rush out of the house.</p> + +<p>"Now you've scared them away," said Clara, "with your idiotic humor."</p> + +<p>I felt contrite and alarmed.</p> + +<p>"How could I help it?" I said angrily, preparing to climb out on the +roof of the porch. "I tried to tell him."</p> + +<p>With which I scrambled out on the roof, made my way to the next room and +entering, released Clara. At the top of the steps we stood clinging +together.</p> + +<p>"Suppose they left it all behind," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Or even some!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, George, I know it—I know it!"</p> + +<p>"Don't be unreasonable—let's go down." Holding a candle aloft we +descended. The lower floor was stripped of silver—not even an +individual almond dish or a muffineer remained. We fell wildly, +hilariously into each other's arms and began to dance. I don't know +exactly what it was, but it wasn't a minute.</p> + +<p>Suddenly Clara stopped.</p> + +<p>"George!"</p> + +<p>"Oh, Lord, what is it?"</p> + +<p>"Supposin'."</p> + +<p>"Well—well?"</p> + +<p>"Supposin' they've dropped some of it in the path."</p> + +<p>We rushed out and searched the path, nothing there. We searched the +road—one individual almond dish had fallen. I took it and hammered it +beyond recognition and flung it into the pond. It was criminal, but I +did it.</p> + +<p>And then we went into the house and danced some more. We were happy.</p> + +<p>Of course we raised an alarm—after sufficient time to carefully dress, +and fill the lantern with oil. Other houses too had been robbed before +we had been visited, but as they were occupied by old inhabitants, the +occupants had nonchalantly gone to sleep again after surrendering their +small change. Our exploit was quite the sensation. With great difficulty +we assumed the proper public attitude of shock and despair. The +following day I wrote full particulars to the Insurance Company, with a +demand for the indemnity.</p> + +<p>"You'll never get the full amount," said Clara.</p> + +<p>"Why not?"</p> + +<p>"You never do. They'll send a man to ask disagreeable questions and to +beat us down."</p> + +<p>"Let him come."</p> + +<p>"You'll see."</p> + +<p>Just one week after the event, I opened an official envelope, extracted +a check, gazed at it with a superior smile and tendered it to Clara by +the tips of my fingers.</p> + +<p>"Three thousand dollars!" cried Clara, without contrition, "three +thousand dollars—oh, George!"</p> + +<p>There it was—three thousand dollars, without a shred of doubt. +Womanlike, all Clara had to say was:</p> + +<p>"Well, was I right about the wedding presents?"</p> + +<p>Which remark I had not foreseen.</p> + +<p>We shut up house and went to town next day and began the rounds of the +jewelers. In four days we had expended four-fifths of our money—but +with what results! Everything we had longed for, planned for, dreamed of +was ours and everything harmonized.</p> + +<p>Two weeks later as, ensconced in our city house, we moved enraptured +about our new-found home, gazing at the reincarnation of our silver, a +telegram was put in my hand.</p> + +<p>"What is it?" said Clara from the dining-room, where she was fondling +our chaste Queen Anne teaset.</p> + +<p>"It's a telegram," I said, puzzled.</p> + +<p>"Open it, then!"</p> + +<p>I tore the envelope, it was from the Insurance Company.</p> + +<p>"Our detectives have arrested the burglars. You will be overjoyed to +hear that we have recovered your silver in toto!"</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='THE_SURPRISES_OF_THE_LOTTERY'></a><h2>THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY</h2> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='I'></a><h2>I</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The Comte de Bonzag, on the ruined esplanade of his Château de +Keragouil, frowned into the distant crepuscle of haystack and multiplied +hedge, crumpling in his nervous hands two annoying slips of paper. The +rugged body had not one more pound of flesh than was absolutely +necessary to hold together the long, pointed bones. The bronzed, +haphazard face was dominated by a stiff comb of orange-tawny hair, which +faithfully reproduced the gaunt unloveliness of generations of Bonzags. +But there lurked in the rapid advance of the nose and the abrupt, +obstinate eyes a certain staring defiance which effectively limited the +field of comment.</p> + +<p>At his back, the riddled silhouette of ragged towers and crumbling roof +reflected against the gentle skies something of the windy raiment of its +owner. It was a Gascon château, arrogant and threadbare, which had never +cried out at a wound, nor suffered the indignity of a patch. About it +and through it, hundreds of swallows, its natural inheritors, crossed +and recrossed in their vacillating flight.</p> + +<p>Out of the obscurity of the green pastures that melted away into the +near woods, the voice of a woman suddenly rose in a tender laugh.</p> + +<p>The Comte de Bonzag sat bolt upright, dislodging from his lap a black +spaniel, who tumbled on a matronly hound, whose startled yelp of +indignation caused the esplanade to vibrate with dogs, that, scurrying +from every cranny, assembled in an expectant circle, and waited with +hungry tongues the intentions of their master.</p> + +<p>The Comte, listening attentively, perceived near the stable his entire +domestic staff reclining happily on the arm of Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier, the hero of a dozen fires.</p> + +<p>"No, there are no longer any servants!" he exclaimed, with a bitterness +that caused a stir in the pack; then angrily he shouted with all his +forces: "Francine! Hey, there, Francine! Come here at once!"</p> + +<p>The indisputable fact was that Francine had asked for her wages. Such a +demand, indelicate in its simplest form, had been further aggravated by +a respectful but clear ultimatum. It was pay, or do the cooking, and if +the first was impossible, the second was both impossible and +distasteful.</p> + +<p>The enemy duly arrived, dimpled and plump, an honest thirty-five, a +solid widow, who stopped at the top of the stairs with the distant +respect which the Comte de Bonzag inspired even in his creditors.</p> + +<p>"Francine, I have thought much," said the Comte, with a conciliatory +look. "You were a little exaggerated, but you were in your rights."</p> + +<p>"Ah, Monsieur le Comte, six months is long when one has a child who must +be—"</p> + +<p>"We will not refer again to our disagreement," the Comte said, +interrupting her sternly. "I have simply called you to hear what action +I have decided on."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur; thank you, M'sieur le Comte."</p> + +<p>"Unluckily," said Bonzag, frowning, "I am forced to make a great +sacrifice. In a month I could probably have paid all—I have a great +uncle at Valle-Temple who is exceedingly ill. But—however, we will hold +that for the future. I owe you, my good Francine, wages for six +months—sixty francs, representing your service with me. I am going to +give you on account, at once, twenty francs, or rather something +immeasurably more valuable than that sum." He drew out the two slips of +paper, and regarded them with affection and regret. "Here are two +tickets for the Grand Lottery of France, which will be drawn this month, +ten francs a ticket. I had to go to Chantreuil to get them; number +77,707 and number 200,013. Take them—they are yours."</p> + +<p>"But, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, looking stupidly at the tickets +she had passively received. "It's—it's good round pieces of silver I +need."</p> + +<p>"Francine," cried de Bonzag, in amazed indignation, "do you realize +that I probably have given you a fortune—and that I am absolving you of +all division of it with me!"</p> + +<p>"But, M'sieur—"</p> + +<p>"That there are one hundred and forty-five numbers that will draw +prizes."</p> + +<p>"Yes, M'sieur le Comte; but—"</p> + +<p>"That there is a prize of one quarter of a million, one third of a +million—"</p> + +<p>"All the same—"</p> + +<p>"That the second prize is for one-half a million, and the first prize +for one round million francs."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur says?" said Francine, whose eyes began to open.</p> + +<p>"One hundred and forty-five chances, and the lowest is for a hundred +francs. You think that isn't a sacrifice, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Well, Monsieur le Comte," Francine said at last with a sigh, "I'll take +them for twenty francs. It's not good round silver, and there's my +little girl—"</p> + +<p>"Enough!" exclaimed de Bonzag, dismissing her with an angry gesture. "I +am making you an heiress, and you have no gratitude! Leave me—and send +hither Andoche."</p> + +<p>He watched the bulky figure waddle off, sunk back in his chair, and +repeated with profound dejection; "No gratitude! There, it's done: this +time certainly I have thrown away a quarter of a million at the +lowest!"</p> + +<p>Presently Andoche, the Sapeur-Pompier, the brass helmet under his arm, +appeared at the top of the steps, smiling and thirsty, with covetous +eyes fastened on the broken table, at the carafe containing curaçoa that +was white and "Triple-Sec."</p> + +<p>"Ah, it's you, Andoche," said the Comte, finally, drawn from his +abstraction by a succession of rapid bows. He took two full-hearted +sighs, pushed the carafe slightly in the direction of the +Sapeur-Pompier, and added: "Sit down, my good Andoche. I have need to be +a little gay. Suppose we talk of Paris."</p> + +<p>It was the cue for Andoche to slip gratefully into a chair, possess the +carafe and prepare to listen.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='II'></a><h2>II</h2> +<br /> + +<p>At the proper age of thirty-one, the Comte de Bonzag fell heir to the +enormous sum of fifteen thousand francs from an uncle who had made the +fortune in trade. With no more delay than it took the great Emperor to +fling an army across the Alps, he descended on Paris, resolved to +repulse all advances which Louis Napoleon might make, and to lend the +splendor of his name and the weight of his fortune only to the Cercle +Royale. Two weeks devoted to this loyal end strengthened the Bourbon +lines perceptibly, but resulted in a shrinkage of four thousand francs +in his own. Next remembering that the aristocracy had always been the +patron of the arts, he determined to make a rapid examination of the +<i>coulisses</i> of the opera and the regions of the ballet. A six-days' +reconnaissance discovered not the slightest signs of disaffection; but +the thoroughness of his inquiries was such that the completion of his +mission found him with just one thousand francs in pocket. Being not +only a Loyalist and a patron of the arts, but a statesman and a +philosopher, he turned his efforts toward the Quartier Latin, to the +great minds who would one day take up the guidance of a more enlightened +France. There he made the discovery that one amused himself more than at +the Cercle Royale, and spent considerably less than in the arts, and +that at one hundred francs a week he aroused an enthusiasm for the +Bourbons which almost attained the proportions of a riot.</p> + +<p>The three months over, he retired to his estate at Keragouil, having +profoundly stirred all classes of society, given new life to the cause +of His Majesty, and regretting only, as a true gentleman, the frightful +devastation he had left in the hearts of the ladies.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, these brilliant services to Parisian society and his king +had left him without any society of his own, forced to the consideration +of the difficult problem of how to keep his pipe lighted, his cellar +full, and his maid-of-all-work in a state of hopeful expectation, on +nothing a year.</p> + +<p>Nothing daunted, he attacked this problem of the family bankruptcy with +the vigor and the daring of a D'Artagnan. Each year he collected +laboriously twenty francs, and invested them in two tickets for the +Great Lottery, valiantly resolved, like a Gascon, to carry off both +first and second prizes, but satisfied as a philosopher if he could +figure among the honorable mentions. Despite the fact that one hundred +and forty-five prizes were advertised each year, in nineteen attempts he +had not even had the pleasure of seeing his name in print. This result, +far from discouraging him, only inflamed his confidence. For he had +dipped into mathematics, and consoled himself by the reflection that, +according to the law of probabilities, each year he became the more +irresistible.</p> + +<p>Lately, however, one obstacle had arisen to the successful carrying out +of this system of finance. He employed one servant, a maid-of-all-work, +who was engaged for the day, with permission to take from the garden +what she needed, to adorn herself from the rose-bushes, to share the +output of La Belle Etoile, the cow, and to receive a salary of ten +francs a month. The difficulty invariably arose over the interpretation +of this last clause. For the Comte was not regular in his payments, +unless it could be said that he was regular in not paying at all.</p> + +<p>So it invariably occurred that the maid-of-all-work from a state of +unrest gradually passed into open rebellion, especially when the garden +was not productive and the roses ceased to bloom. When the ultimatum was +served, the Comte consulted his resources and found them invariably to +consist of two tickets of the Lottery of France, cash value twenty +francs, but, according to the laws of probability, increasingly capable +of returning one million, five hundred thousand francs. On one side was +the glory of the ancient name, and the possibility of another descent on +Paris; opposed was the brutal question of soup and ragout. The man +prevailed, and the maid-of-all-work grudgingly accepted the conditions +of truce. Then the news of the drawing arrived and the domestic staff +departed.</p> + +<p>This comedy, annually repeated, was annually played on the same lines. +Only each year the period intervening between the surrender of the +tickets and the announcement of the lottery brought an increasing agony. +Each time as the Comte saw the precious slips finally depart in the +hands of the maid-of-all-work, he was convinced that at last the laws of +probability must fructify. Each year he found a new meaning in the +cabalistic mysteries of numbers. The eighteenth attempt, multiplied by +three, gave fifty-four, his age. Success was inevitable: nineteen, a +number indivisible and chaste above all others, seemed specially +designated. In a word, the Comte suffered during these periods as only a +gambler of the fourth generation is able to suffer.</p> + +<p>At present the number twenty appeared to him to have properties no +other number had possessed, especially in the reappearance of the zero, +a figure which peculiarly attracted him by its symmetry. His despair was +consequently unlimited.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily the news of the lottery arrived by an inspector of roads, who +passed through Keragouil a week or so after the announcement in the +press; for the Comte, having surrendered his ticket, was only troubled +lest he had won.</p> + +<p>This time, to the upsetting of all history, an Englishman on a bicycle +trip brought him a newspaper, an article almost unknown to Keragouil, +where the shriek of the locomotive had yet to penetrate.</p> + +<p>The Comte de Bonzag, opening the paper with the accustomed sinking of +the heart, was startled by the staring headlines:</p> +<br /> + +<p>RESULTS OF THE LOTTERY</p> + +<p>A glance at the winners of the first and second prizes reassured him. He +drew a breath of satisfaction, saying gratefully; "Ah, what luck! God be +praised! I'll never do that again!"</p> + +<p>Then, remembering with only an idle curiosity the one hundred and +forty-three mediocre prizes on the list, he returned to the perusal. +Suddenly the print swam before his eyes, and the great esplanade seemed +to rise. Number 77,707 had won the fourth prize of one hundred thousand +francs; number 200,013, a prize of ten thousand francs.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='III'></a><h2>III</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The emotion which overwhelmed Napoleon at Waterloo as he beheld his +triumphant squadrons go down into the sunken road was not a whit more +complete than the despair of the Comte de Bonzag when he realized that +the one hundred and ten thousand francs which the laws of probability +had finally produced was now the property of Francine, the cook.</p> + +<p>One hundred and ten thousand francs! It was colossal! Five generations +of Bonzags had never touched as much as that. One hundred and ten +thousand francs meant the rehabilitation of the ancient name, the +restoration of the Château de Keragouil, half the year at Paris, in the +Cercle Royale, in the regions of art, and among the great minds that +were still young in the Quartier—and all that was in the possession of +a plump Gascony peasant, whose ideas of comfort and pleasure were +satisfied by one hundred and twenty francs a year.</p> + +<p>"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outburst of anger. Then +he sat down in despair. There was nothing to do. The fact was obvious +that Francine was an heiress, possessed of the greatest fortune in the +memory of Keragouil. There was nothing to do, or rather, there was +manifestly but one way open, and the Comte resolved on the spot to take +it. He must have back the lottery tickets, though it meant a Comtesse de +Bonzag.</p> + +<p>Fortunately for him, Francine knew nothing of the arrival of the paper. +Though it was necessary to make haste, there was still time for a +compatriot of D'Artagnan. There was, of course, Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier; but a Bonzag who had had three months' experience with +the feminine heart of Paris was not the man to trouble himself over a +Sapeur-Pompier. That evening, in the dim dining-room, when Francine +arrived with the steaming soup, the Comte, who had waited with a spoon +in his fist and a napkin knotted to his neck, plunged valiantly to the +issue.</p> + +<p>"Ah, what a good smell!" he said, elevating his nose. "Francine, you are +the queen of cooks."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," Francine stammered, stopping in amazement. "Oh, +M'sieur le Comte, thanks."</p> + +<p>"Don't thank me; it is I who am grateful."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, yes, yes! Francine—"</p> + +<p>"What is it, M'sieur le Comte?"</p> + +<p>"To-night you may set another cover—opposite me."</p> + +<p>"Set another cover?"</p> + +<p>"Exactly."</p> + +<p>Francine, more and more astonished, proceeded to place on the table a +plate, a knife and a fork.</p> + +<p>"M'sieur le Curé is coming?" she said, drawing up a chair.</p> + +<p>"No, Francine."</p> + +<p>"Not M'sieur le Curé? Who, then?"</p> + +<p>"It is for you, Francine. Sit down."</p> + +<p>"I? I, M'sieur le Comte?"</p> + +<p>"Sit down. I wish it."</p> + +<p>Francine took three steps backward and so as to command the exit, +stopped and stared at her master, with mingled amazement and distrust.</p> + +<p>"My dear Francine," continued the Comte, "I am tired of eating alone. It +is bad for the digestion. And I am bored. I have need of society. So sit +down."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur orders it?"</p> + +<p>"I ask it as a favor, Francine."</p> + +<p>Francine, with open eyes, advanced doubtfully, seating herself nicely on +the chair, more astonished than complimented, and more alarmed than +pleased.</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is nicer!" said the Comte, with an approving nod. "How have I +endured it all these years! Francine, you may help yourself to the +wine."</p> + +<p>The astonished maid-of-all-work, who had swallowed a spoon of soup with +great discomfort, sprang up, all in a tremble, stammering with defiant +virtue:</p> + +<p>"M'sieur le Comte does not forget that I am an honest woman!"</p> + +<p>"No, my dear Francine; I am certain of it. So sit down in peace. I will +tell you the situation."</p> + +<p>Francine hesitated, then, reassured by the devotion he gave to his soup, +settled once more in her chair.</p> + +<p>"Francine, I have made up my mind to one thing," said the Comte, filling +his glass with such energy that a red circle appeared on the cloth. +"This life I lead is all wrong. A man is a sociable being. He needs +society. Isolation sends him back to the brute."</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who understood nothing.</p> + +<p>"So I am resolved to marry."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur will marry!" cried Francine, who spilled half her soup with the +shock.</p> + +<p>"Perfectly. It is for that I have asked you to keep me company."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur—you—M'sieur wants to marry me!"</p> + +<p>"Parbleu!"</p> + +<p>"M'sieur—M'sieur wants to marry me!"</p> + +<p>"I ask you formally to be my wife."</p> + +<p>"I?"</p> + +<p>"M'sieur wants—wants me to be Comtesse de Bonzag?"</p> + +<p>"Immediately."</p> + +<p>"Oh!"</p> + +<p>Springing up, Francine stood a moment gazing at him in frightened +alarm; then, with a cry, she vanished heavily through the door.</p> + +<p>"She has gone to Andoche," said the Comte, angrily to himself. "She +loves him!"</p> + +<p>In great perturbation he left the room promenading on the esplanade, in +the midst of his hounds, talking uneasily to himself.</p> + +<p>"<i>Peste</i>, I put it to her a little too suddenly! It was a blunder. If +she loves that Sapeur-Pompier, eh? A Sapeur-Pompier, to rival a Comte de +Bonzag—faugh!"</p> + +<p>Suddenly, below in the moonlight, he beheld Andoche tearing himself from +the embrace of Francine, and, not to be seen, he returned nervously to +the dining-room.</p> + +<p>Shortly after, the maid-of-all-work returned, calm, but with telltale +eyes.</p> + +<p>"Well, Francine, did I frighten you?" said the Comte, genially.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte—"</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you want to say?"</p> + +<p>"M'sieur was in real earnest?"</p> + +<p>"Never more so."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur really wants to make me the Comtesse de Bonzag?"</p> + +<p>"<i>Dame!</i> I tell you my intentions are honorable."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur will let me ask him one question?"</p> + +<p>"A dozen even."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur remembers that I am a widow—"</p> + +<p>"With one child, yes."</p> + +<p>"M'sieur, pardon me; I have been thinking much, and I have been thinking +of my little girl. What would M'sieur want me to do?"</p> + +<p>The Comte reflected, and said generously: "I do not adopt her; but, if +you like, she shall live here."</p> + +<p>"Then, M'sieur," said Francine, dropping on her knees, "I thank M'sieur +very much. M'sieur is too kind, too good—"</p> + +<p>"So, it is decided then," said the Comte, rising joyfully.</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, M'sieur."</p> + +<p>"Then we shall go to-morrow," said the Comte. "It is my manner; I like +to do things instantly. Stand up, I beg you, Madame."</p> + +<p>"To-morrow, M'sieur?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, Madame. Have you any objections?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no, M'sieur le Comte; on the contrary," said Francine, blushing +with pleasure at the twice-repeated "Madame." Then she added carefully: +"M'sieur is quite right; it would be better. People talk so."</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='IV'></a><h2>IV</h2> +<br /> + +<p>The return of the married couple was the sensation of Keragouil, for the +Comte de Bonzag, after the fashion of his ancestors, had placed his +bride behind him on the broad back of Quatre Diables, who proceeded +with unaltered equanimity. Along the journey the peasants, who held the +Comte in loyal terror, greeted the procession with a respectful silence, +congregating in the road to stare and chatter only when the amiable +Quatre Diables had disappeared in the distance.</p> + +<p>Disdaining to notice the commotion he produced, the Comte headed +straight for the courtyard, where Quatre Diables, recognizing the foot +block, dropped his head and began to crop the grass. The new Comtesse, +fatigued by the novel position, started gratefully to descend by the +most natural way, that is, by slipping easily over the rear anatomy of +the good-natured Quatre Diables. But the Comte, feeling the commotion +behind, stopped her with a word, and, flinging his left leg over the +neck of his charger, descended gracefully to the block, where, bowing +profoundly, he said in gallant style:</p> + +<p>"Madame, permit me to offer you my hand."</p> + +<p>The Comtesse, with the best intentions in the world, had considerable +difficulty in executing the movement by which her husband had extricated +himself. Luckily, the Comte received her without yielding ground, drew +her hand under his arm, and escorted her ceremoniously into the château, +while Quatre Diables, liberated from the unusual burden, rolled +gratefully to earth, and scratched his back against the cobblestones.</p> + +<p>"Madame, be so kind as to enter your home."</p> + +<p>With studied elegance, the Comte put his hat to his breast, or +thereabout, and bowed as he held open the door.</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte; after you," said Francine, in confusion.</p> + +<p>"Pass, Madame, and enter the dining-room. We have certain ceremonies to +observe."</p> + +<p>Francine dutifully advanced, but kept an eye on the movements of her +consort. When he entered the dining-room and went to the sideboard, she +took an equal number of steps in the same direction. When, having +brought out a bottle and glasses, he turned and came toward her, she +retreated. When he stopped, she stopped, and sat down with the same +exact movement.</p> + +<p>"Madame, I offer you a glass of the famous Keragouil Burgundy," began +the Comte, filling her glass. "It is a wine that we De Bonzags have +always kept to welcome our wives and to greet our children. Madame, I +have the honor to drink to the Comtesse de Bonzag."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who, watching his manner, emptied +the goblet in one swallow.</p> + +<p>"To the health of my ancestors!" continued the Comte, draining the +bottle into the two goblets. "And now throw your glass on the floor!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, M'sieur," said Francine, who obeyed regretfully, with the new +instinct of a housewife.</p> + +<p>"Now, Madame, as wife and mistress of Keragouil, I think it is well +that you understand your position and what I expect of you," said the +Comte, waving her to a seat and occupying a fauteuil in magisterial +fashion. "I expect that you will learn in a willing spirit what I shall +teach you, that you may become worthy of the noble position you occupy."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur may be sure I'll do my best," said Francine, quite +overcome.</p> + +<p>"I expect you to show me the deference and obedience that I demand as +head of the house of Bonzag."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, how could you think—"</p> + +<p>"To be economical and amiable."</p> + +<p>"Yes, indeed, M'sieur."</p> + +<p>"To listen when I speak, to forget you were a peasant, to give me three +desserts a week, and never, madame, to show me the slightest +infidelity."</p> + +<p>At these last words, Francine, already overcome by the rapid whirl of +fortune, as well as by the overcharged spirits of the potent Burgundy, +burst into tears.</p> + +<p>"And no tears!" said De Bonzag, withdrawing sternly.</p> + +<p>"No, M'sieur; no," Francine cried, hastily drying her eyes. Then +dropping on her knees, she managed to say: "Oh, M'sieur—pardon, +pardon."</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" cried the Comte, furiously.</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur forgive me—I will tell you all!"</p> + +<p>"Madame—Madame, I don't understand," said the Comte, mastering himself +with difficulty. "Proceed; I am listening."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, I'll tell you all. I swear it on the image of St. +Jacques d'Acquin."</p> + +<p>"You have not lied to me about your child?" cried Bonzag in horror.</p> + +<p>"No, no, M'sieur; not that," said Francine. Then, hiding her face, she +said: "M'sieur, I hid something from you: I loved Andoche."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" said the Comte, with a sigh of relief. He sat down, adding +sympathetically: "My poor Francine, I know it. Alas! That's what life +is."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest. +"But I loved him well, and he loved me—oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le +Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a +comtesse, M'sieur le Comte. And when M'sieur spoke to me, I didn't know +what to do. My heart was all given to Andoche, but—well, M'sieur, the +truth is, I began to think of my little girl, and I said to myself, I +must think of her, because, M'sieur, I thought of the position it would +give her, if I were a Comtesse. What a step in the world, eh? And I +said, you must do it for her! So I went to Andoche, and I told him +all—yes, all, M'sieur—that my heart was his, but that my duty was to +her. And Andoche, ah, what a good heart, M'sieur—he understood—we wept +together." She choked a minute, put her handkerchief hastily to her +eyes, "Pardon, M'sieur; and he said it was right, and I kissed him—I +hide nothing, M'sieur will pardon me that,—and he went away!" She took +a step toward him, twisting her handkerchief, adding in a timid appeal: +"M'sieur understands why I tell him that? M'sieur will believe me. I +have killed all that. It is no more in my heart. I swear it by the image +of St. Jacques d'Acquin."</p> + +<p>"Madame, I knew it before," said the Comte, rising; "still, I thank +you."</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, I have put it all away—I swear it!"</p> + +<p>"I believe you," interrupted the Comte, "and now no more of it! I also +am going to be frank with you." He went with a smile to a corner where +stood the little box, done up in rope, which held the trousseau of the +Comtesse de Bonzag. "Open that, and give me the lottery-tickets I gave +you."</p> + +<p>"Hanh? You—M'sieur says?"</p> + +<p>"The lottery-tickets—"</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, but they're not there—"</p> + +<p>"Then where are they?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, M'sieur, wait; I'll tell you," said Francine, simply. "When Andoche +went off—"</p> + +<center> +<a name='image-page310'></a> +<img src='images/image-page310.jpg' width='375' height='600' alt='"You gave him—the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"' title=''> +</center> + +<p>"What!" cried the Comte, like a cannon.</p> + +<p>"He was so broken up, M'sieur, I was so afraid for him, so just to +console him, M'sieur—to give him something—I gave him the tickets."</p> + +<p>"You gave him—the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"</p> + +<p>"Just to console him—yes, M'sieur."</p> + +<p>The lank form of the Comte de Bonzag wavered, and then, as though the +body had suddenly deserted the clothes, collapsed in a heap on the +floor.</p> + + + +<hr style='width: 65%;' /> +<a name='THE_END'></a><h2>THE END</h2> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Murder in Any Degree, by Owen Johnson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MURDER IN ANY DEGREE *** + +***** This file should be named 12686-h.htm or 12686-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/8/12686/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Karen Dalrymple and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Murder in Any Degree + +Author: Owen Johnson + +Release Date: June 22, 2004 [EBook #12686] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MURDER IN ANY DEGREE *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Karen Dalrymple and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + + + + + + + + +[Illustration: "I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by +the hour"] + + + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE: ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK: A COMEDY FOR WIVES: +THE LIE: EVEN THREES: A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION: LARRY MOORE: +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS: THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + +BY OWEN JOHNSON Author of "Stover at Yale," "The Varmint," etc., etc. + + +WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY F.R. GRUGER AND LEON GUIPON + + +NEW YORK THE CENTURY CO. 1913 + +1907, 1912, 1913, THE CENTURY CO. + +1911, THE CURTIS PUBLISHING COMPANY + +1911, THE NATIONAL POST CO. + +1912, GOOD HOUSEKEEPING MAGAZINE + +1908, THE RIDGWAY COMPANY + +1906, ASSOCIATED SUNDAY MAGAZINES, INCORPORATED + +1910, THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY + +_Published, August, 1913_ + + + + +CONTENTS + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE + +ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK + +A COMEDY FOR WIVES + +THE LIE + +EVEN THREES + +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION + +LARRY MOORE + +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS + +THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + +"I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for you by the hour" + +From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence + +Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and black + +Our Lady of the Sparrows + +"Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?" + +Wild-eyed and hilarious they descended on the clubhouse with the +miraculous news + +A committee carefully examined the books of the club + +"You gave him--the tickets! The Lottery Tickets!" + + + + +MURDER IN ANY DEGREE + + + + +I + + +One Sunday in March they had been marooned at the club, Steingall the +painter and Quinny the illustrator, and, having lunched late, had bored +themselves separately to their limits over the periodicals until, +preferring to bore each other, they had gravitated together in easy +arm-chairs before the big Renaissance fireplace. + +Steingall, sunk in his collar, from behind the black-rimmed spectacles, +which, with their trailing ribbon of black, gave a touch of Continental +elegance to his cropped beard and colonel's mustaches, watched without +enthusiasm the three mammoth logs, where occasional tiny flames gave +forth an illusion of heat. + +Quinny, as gaunt as a militant friar of the Middle Ages, aware of +Steingall's protective reverie, spoke in desultory periods, addressing +himself questions and supplying the answers, reserving his epigrams for +a larger audience. + +At three o'clock De Gollyer entered from a heavy social performance, +raising his eyebrows in salute as others raise their hats, and slightly +dragging one leg behind. He was an American critic who was busily +engaged in discovering the talents of unrecognized geniuses of the +European provinces. When reproached with his migratory enthusiasm, he +would reply, with that quick, stiffening military click with which he +always delivered his _bons mots_: + +"My boy, I never criticize American art. I can't afford to. I have too +many charming friends." + +At four o'clock, which is the hour for the entree of those who escape +from their homes to fling themselves on the sanctuary of the club, +Rankin, the architect, arrived with Stibo, the fashionable painter of +fashionable women, who brought with him the atmosphere of pleasant soap +and an exclusive, smiling languor. A moment later a voice was heard from +the anteroom, saying: + +"If any one telephones, I'm not in the club--any one at all. Do you +hear?" + +Then Towsey, the decorator, appeared at the letterboxes in spats, +militant checks, high collar and a choker tie, which, yearning toward +his ears, gave him the appearance of one who had floundered up out of +his clothes for the third and last time. He came forward, frowned at the +group, scowled at the negative distractions of the reading-room, and +finally dragged over his chair just as Quinny was saying: + +"Queer thing--ever notice it?--two artists sit down together, each +begins talking of what he's doing--to avoid complimenting the other, +naturally. As soon as the third arrives they begin carving up another; +only thing they can agree on, see? Soon as you get four or more of the +species together, conversation always comes around to marriage. Ever +notice that, eh?" + +"My dear fellow," said De Gollyer, from the intolerant point of view of +a bachelor, "that is because marriage is your one common affliction. +Artists, musicians, all the lower order of the intellect, marry. They +must. They can't help it. It's the one thing you can't resist. You begin +it when you're poor to save the expense of a servant, and you keep it up +when you succeed to have some one over you to make you work. You belong +psychologically to the intellectually dependent classes, the +clinging-vine family, the masculine parasites; and as you can't help +being married, you are always damning it, holding it responsible for all +your failures." + +At this characteristic speech, the five artists shifted slightly, and +looked at De Gollyer over their mustaches with a lingering appetite, +much as a group of terriers respect the family cat. + +"My dear chaps, speaking as a critic," continued De Gollyer, pleasantly +aware of the antagonism he had exploded, "you remain children afraid of +the dark--afraid of being alone. Solitude frightens you. You lack the +quality of self-sufficiency that is the characteristic of the higher +critical faculties. You marry because you need a nurse." + +He ceased, thoroughly satisfied with the prospect of having brought on +a quarrel, raised thumb and first finger in a gingerly loop, ordered a +dash of sherry and winked across the group to Tommers, who was listening +around his paper from the reading-room. + +"De Gollyer, you are only a 'who's who' of art," said Quinny, with, +however, a hungry gratitude for a topic of such possibilities. "You +understand nothing of psychology. An artist is a multiple personality; +with each picture he paints he seeks a new inspiration. What is +inspiration?" + +"Ah, that's the point--inspiration," said Steingall, waking up. + +"Inspiration," said Quinny, eliminating Steingall from his preserves +with the gesture of brushing away a fly--"inspiration is only a form of +hypnosis, under the spell of which a man is capable of rising outside of +and beyond himself, as a horse, under extraordinary stress, exerts a +muscular force far beyond his accredited strength. The race of geniuses, +little and big, are constantly seeking this outward force to hypnotize +them into a supreme intellectual effort. Talent does not understand such +a process; it is mechanical, unvarying, chop-chop, day in and day out. +Now, what you call inspiration may be communicated in many ways--by the +spectacle of a mob, by a panorama of nature, by sudden and violent +contrasts of points of view; but, above all, as a continual stimulus, +it comes from that state of mental madness which is produced by love." + +"Huh?" said Stibo. + +"Anything that produces a mental obsession, _une idee fixe_, is a form +of madness," said Quinny, rapidly. "A person in love sees only one face, +hears only one voice; at the base of the brain only one thought is +constantly drumming. Physically such a condition is a narcotic; mentally +it is a form of madness that in the beneficent state is powerfully +hypnotic." + +At this deft disentanglement of a complicated idea, Rankin, who, like +the professional juryman, wagged his head in agreement with each speaker +and was convinced by the most violent, gazed upon Quinny with absolute +adoration. + +"We were speaking of woman," said Towsey, gruffly, who pronounced the +sex with a peculiar staccato sound. + +"This little ABC introduction," said Quinny, pleasantly, "is necessary +to understand the relation a woman plays to the artist. It is not the +woman he seeks, but the hypnotic influence which the woman can exert on +his faculties if she is able to inspire him with a passion." + +"Precisely why he marries," said De Gollyer. + +"Precisely," said Quinny, who, having seized the argument by chance, was +pleasantly surprised to find that he was going to convince himself. "But +here is the great distinction: to be an inspiration, a woman should +always represent to the artist a form of the unattainable. It is the +search for something beyond him that makes him challenge the stars, and +all that sort of rot, you know." + +"The tragedy of life," said Rankin, sententiously, "is that one woman +cannot mean all things to one man all the time." + +It was a phrase which he had heard the night before, and which he flung +off casually with an air of spontaneity, twisting the old Spanish ring +on his bony, white fingers, which he held invariably in front of his +long, sliding nose. + +"Thank you, I said that about the year 1907," said Quinny, while +Steingall gasped and nudged Towsey. "That is the tragedy of life, not +the tragedy of art, two very different things. An artist has need of +ten, fifteen, twenty women, according to the multiplicity of his ideas. +He should be always violently in love or violently reacting." + +"And the wife?" said De Gollyer. "Has she any influence?" + +"My dear fellow, the greatest. Without a wife, an artist falls a prey to +the inspiration of the moment--condemned to it; and as he is not an +analyst, he ends by imagining he really is in love. Take +portrait-painting. Charming lady sits for portrait, painter takes up his +brushes, arranges his palette, seeks inspiration,--what is below the +surface?--something intangible to divine, seize, and affix to his +canvas. He seeks to know the soul; he seeks how? As a man in love seeks, +naturally. The more he imagines himself in love, the more completely +does the idea obsess him from morning to night--plain as the nose on +your face. Only there are other portraits to paint. Enter the wife." + +"Charming," said Stibo, who had not ceased twining his mustaches in his +pink fingers. + +"Ah, that's the point. What of the wife?" said Steingall, violently. + +"The wife--the ideal wife, mind you--is then the weapon, the refuge. To +escape from the entanglement of his momentary inspiration, the artist +becomes a man: my wife and _bonjour_. He returns home, takes off the +duster of his illusion, cleans the palette of old memories, washes away +his vows, protestations, and all that rot, you know, lies down on the +sofa, and gives his head to his wife to be rubbed. Curtain. The comedy +is over." + +"But that's what they don't understand," said Steingall, with +enthusiasm. "That's what they will _never_ understand." + +"Such miracles exist?" said Towsey with a short, disagreeable laugh. + +"I know the wife of an artist," said Quinny, "whom I consider the most +remarkable woman I know--who sits and knits and smiles. She is one who +understands. Her husband adores her, and he is in love with a woman a +month. When he gets in too deep, ready for another inspiration, you +know, she calls up the old love on the telephone and asks her to stop +annoying her husband." + +"Marvelous!" said Steingall, dropping his glasses. + +"No, really?" said Rankin. + +"Has she a sister?" said Towsey. + +Stibo raised his eyes slowly to Quinny's but veiled as was the look, De +Gollyer perceived it, and smilingly registered the knowledge on the +ledger of his social secrets. + +"That's it, by George! that is it," said Steingall, who hurled the +enthusiasm of a reformer into his pessimism. "It's all so simple; but +they won't understand. And why--do you know why? Because a woman is +jealous. It isn't simply of other women. No, no, that's not it; it's +worse than that, ten thousand times worse. She's jealous of your _art_! +That's it! There you have it! She's jealous because she can't understand +it, because it takes you away from her, because she can't _share_ it. +That's what's terrible about marriage--no liberty, no individualism, no +seclusion, having to account every night for your actions, for your +thoughts, for the things you dream--ah, the dreams! The Chinese are +right, the Japanese are right. It's we Westerners who are all wrong. +It's the creative only that counts. The woman should be subordinated, +should be kept down, taught the voluptuousness of obedience. By Jove! +that's it. We don't assert ourselves. It's this confounded Anglo-Saxon +sentimentality that's choking art--that's what it is." + +At the familiar phrases of Steingall's outburst, Rankin wagged his head +in unequivocal assent, Stibo smiled so as to show his fine upper teeth, +and Towsey flung away his cigar, saying: + +"Words, words." + +At this moment when Quinny, who had digested Steingall's argument, was +preparing to devour the whole topic, Britt Herkimer, the sculptor, +joined them. He was a guest, just in from Paris, where he had been +established twenty years, one of the five men in art whom one counted on +the fingers when the word genius was pronounced. Mentally and physically +a German, he spoke English with a French accent. His hair was cropped +_en brosse_, and in his brown Japanese face only the eyes, staccato, +furtive, and drunk with curiosity, could be seen. He was direct, +opinionated, bristling with energy, one of those tireless workers who +disdain their youth and treat it as a disease. His entry into the group +of his more socially domesticated confreres was like the return of a +wolf-hound among the housedogs. + +"Still smashing idols?" he said, slapping the shoulder of Steingall, +with whom and Quinny he had passed his student days, "Well, what's the +row?" + +"My dear Britt, we are reforming matrimony. Steingall is for the +importation of Mongolian wives," said De Gollyer, who had written two +favorable articles on Herkimer, "while Quinny is for founding a school +for wives on most novel and interesting lines." + +"That's odd," said Herkimer, with a slight frown. + +"On the contrary, no," said De Gollyer; "we always abolish matrimony +from four to six." + +"You didn't understand me," said Herkimer, with the sharpness he used in +his classes. + +From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had brought to him +some abrupt coincidence. They waited with an involuntary silence, which +in itself was a rare tribute. + +"Remember Rantoul?" said Herkimer, rolling a cigarette and using a jerky +diction. + +"Clyde Rantoul?" said Stibo. + +"Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, who was in the Quarter with us?" said +Quinny. + +"Don Furioso, yes," said Rankin. "Ever see him?" + +"Never." + +"He's married," said Quinny; "dropped out." + +"Yes, he married," said Herkimer, lighting his cigarette. "Well, I've +just seen him." + +"He's a plutocrat or something," said Towsey, reflectively. + +"He's rich--ended," said Steingall as he slapped the table. "By Jove! I +remember now." + +"Wait," said Quinny, interposing. + +[Illustration: From his tone the group perceived that the hazards had +brought to him some abrupt coincidences] + +"I went up to see him yesterday--just back now," said Herkimer. +"Rantoul was the biggest man of us all. It's a funny tale. You're +discussing matrimony; here it is." + + + + +II + + +In the early nineties, when Quinny, Steingall, Herkimer, little Bennett, +who afterward roamed down into the Transvaal and fell in with the +Foreign Legion, Jacobus and Chatterton, the architects, were living +through that fine, rebellious state of overweening youth, Rantoul was +the undisputed leader, the arch-rebel, the master-demolisher of the +group. + +Every afternoon at five his Gargantuan figure came thrashing through the +crowds of the boulevard, as an omnibus on its way scatters the fragile +fiacres. He arrived, radiating electricity, tirades on his tongue, to +his chair among the table-pounders of the Cafe des Lilacs, and his first +words were like the fanfare of trumpets. He had been christened, in the +felicitous language of the Quarter, Don Furioso Barebones Rantoul, and +for cause. He shared a garret with his chum, Britt Herkimer, in the Rue +de l'Ombre, a sort of manhole lit by the stars,--when there were any +stars, and he never failed to come springing up the six rickety flights +with a song on his lips. + +An old woman who kept a fruit store gave him implicit credit; a much +younger member of the sex at the corner creamery trusted him for eggs +and fresh milk, and leaned toward him over the counter, laughing into +his eyes as he exclaimed: + +"Ma belle, when I am famous, I will buy you a silk gown, and a pair of +earrings that will reach to your shoulders, and it won't be long. You'll +see." + +He adored being poor. When his canvas gave out, he painted his ankles to +caricature the violent creations that were the pride of Chatterton, who +was a nabob. When his credit at one restaurant expired, he strode +confidently up to another proprietor, and announced with the air of one +bestowing a favor: + +"I am Rantoul, the portrait-painter. In five years my portraits will +sell for five thousand francs, in ten for twenty thousand. I will eat +one meal a day at your distinguished establishment, and paint your +portrait to make your walls famous. At the end of the month I will +immortalize your wife; on the same terms, your sister, your father, your +mother, and all the little children. Besides, every Saturday night I +will bring here a band of my comrades who pay in good hard silver. +Remember that if you had bought a Corot for twenty francs in 1870, you +could have sold it for five thousand francs in 1880, fifty thousand in +1890. Does the idea appeal to you?" + +But as most keepers of restaurants are practical and unimaginative, and +withal close bargainers, at the end of a week Rantoul generally was +forced to seek a new sitter. + +"What a privilege it is to be poor!" he would then exclaim +enthusiastically to Herkimer. "It awakens all the perceptions; hunger +makes the eye keener. I can see colors to-day that I never saw before. +And to think that if Sherman had never gotten it in his head to march to +the sea I should never have experienced this inspiration! But, old +fellow, we have so short a time to be poor. We must exhibit nothing yet. +We are lucky. We are poor. We can feel." + +On the subject of traditions he was at his best. + +"Shakspere is the curse of the English drama," he would declare, with a +descending gesture which caused all the little glasses to rattle their +alarm. "Nothing will ever come out of England until his influence is +discounted. He was a primitive, a Preraphaelite. He understood nothing of +form, of composition. He was a poet who wandered into the drama as a +sheep strays into the pasture of the bulls, a colorist who imagines he +can be a sculptor. The influence of Victoria sentimentalized the whole +artistic movement in England, made it bourgeois, and flavored it with +mint sauce. Modern portraiture has turned the galleries into an +exhibition of wax works. What is wrong with painting to-day--do you +know?" + +"_Allons_, tell us!" cried two or three, while others, availing +themselves of the breathing space, filled the air with their orders: + +"Paul, another bock." + +"Two hard-boiled eggs." + +"And pretzels; don't forget the pretzels." + +"The trouble with painting to-day is that it has no point of view," +cried Rantoul, swallowing an egg in the anaconda fashion. "We are +interpreting life in the manner of the Middle Ages. We forget art should +be historical. We forget that we are now in our century. Ugliness, not +beauty, is the note of our century; turbulence, strife, materialism, the +mob, machinery, masses, not units. Why paint a captain of industry +against a Francois I tapestry? Paint him at his desk. The desk is a +throne; interpret it. We are ruled by mobs. Who paints mobs? What is +wrong is this, that art is in the bondage of literature--sentimentality. +We must record what we experience. Ugliness has its utility, its +magnetism; the ugliness of abject misery moves you to think, to readjust +ideas. We must be rebels, we young men. Ah, if we could only burn the +galleries, we should be forced to return to life." + +"Bravo, Rantoul!" + +"Right, old chap." + +"Smash the statues!" + +"Burn the galleries!" + +"Down with tradition!" + +"Eggs and more bock!" + +But where Rantoul differed from the revolutionary regiment was that he +was not simply a painter who delivered orations; he could paint. His +tirades were not a furore of denunciation so much as they were the +impulsive chafing of the creative energy within him. In the school he +was already a marked man to set the prophets prophesying. He had a style +of his own, biting, incisive, overloaded and excessive, but with +something to say. He was after something. He was original. + +"Rebel! Let us rebel!" he would cry to Herkimer from his agitated +bedquilt in the last hour of discussion. "The artist must always +rebel--accept nothing, question everything, denounce conventions and +traditions." + +"Above all, work," said Herkimer in his laconic way. + +"What? Don't I work?" + +"Work more." + +Rantoul, however, was not vulnerable on that score. He was not, it is +true, the drag-horse that Herkimer was, who lived like a recluse, +shunning the cafes and the dance-halls, eating up the last gray hours of +the day over his statues and his clays. But Rantoul, while living life +to its fullest, haunting the wharves and the markets with avid eyes, +roaming the woods and trudging the banks of the Seine, mingling in the +crowds that flashed under the flare of arc-lights, with a thousand +mysteries of mass and movement, never relaxed a moment the savage attack +his leaping nature made upon the drudgeries and routine of technic. + +With the coveted admittance into the Salon, recognition came speedily +to the two chums. They made a triumphal entry into a real studio in the +Montparnasse Quarter, clients came, and the room became a station of +honor among the young and enthusiastic of the Quarter. + +Rantoul began to appear in society, besieged with the invitations that +his Southern aristocracy and the romance of his success procured him. + +"You go out too much," said Herkimer to him, with a fearful growl. "What +the deuce do you want with society, anyhow? Keep away from it. You've +nothing to do with it." + +"What do I do? I go out once a week," said Rantoul, whistling +pleasantly. + +"Once is too often. What do you want to become, a parlor celebrity? +Society _c'est l'ennemie_. You ought to hate it." + +"I do." + +"Humph!" said Herkimer, eying him across his sputtering clay pipe. "Get +this idea of people out of your head. Shut yourself up in a hole, work. +What's society, anyhow? A lot of bored people who want you to amuse +them. I don't approve. Better marry that pretty girl in the creamery. +She'll worship you as a god, make you comfortable. That's all you need +from the world." + +"Marry her yourself; she'll sew and cook for you," said Rantoul, with +perfect good humor. + +"I'm in no danger," said Herkimer, curtly; "you are." + +"What!" + +"You'll see." + +"Listen, you old grumbler," said Rantoul, seriously. "If I go into +society, it is to see the hollowness of it all--" + +"Yes, yes." + +"To know what I rebel against--" + +"Of course." + +"To appreciate the freedom of the life I have--" + +"Faker!" + +"To have the benefit of contrasts, light and shade. You think I am not a +rebel. My dear boy, I am ten times as big a rebel as I was. Do you know +what I'd do with society?" + +He began a tirade in the famous muscular Rantoul style, overturning +creeds and castes, reorganizing republics and empires, while Herkimer, +grumbling to himself, began to scold the model, who sleepily received +the brunt of his ill humor. + +In the second year of his success Rantoul, quite by accident, met a girl +in her teens named Tina Glover, only daughter of Cyrus Glover, a man of +millions, self-made. The first time their eyes met and lingered, by the +mysterious chemistry of the passions Rantoul fell desperately in love +with this little slip of a girl, who scarcely reached to his shoulder; +who, on her part, instantly made up her mind that she had found the +husband she intended to have. Two weeks later they were engaged. + +She was seventeen, scarcely more than a child, with clear, blue eyes +that seemed too large for her body, very timid and appealing. It is true +she seldom expressed an opinion, but she listened to every one with a +flattering smile, and the reputations of brilliant talkers have been +built on less. She had a way of passing her two arms about Rantoul's +great one and clinging to him in a weak, dependent way that was quite +charming. + +When Cyrus Glover was informed that his daughter intended to marry a +dauber in paints, he started for Paris on ten hours' notice. But Mrs. +Glover who was just as resolved on social conquests as Glover was in +controlling the plate-glass field, went down to meet him at the boat, +and by the time the train entered the St. Lazare Station, he had been +completely disciplined and brought to understand that a painter was one +thing and that a Rantoul, who happened to paint, was quite another. When +he had known Rantoul a week; and listened open-mouthed to his eloquent +schemes for reordering the universe, and the arts in particular, he was +willing to swear that he was one of the geniuses of the world. + +The wedding took place shortly, and Cyrus Glover gave the bridegroom a +check for $100,000, "so that he wouldn't have to be bothering his wife +for pocketmoney." Herkimer was the best man, and the Quarter attended +in force, with much outward enthusiasm. The bride and groom departed for +a two-year's trip around the world, that Rantoul might inspire himself +with the treasures of Italy, Greece, India, and Japan. + +Every one, even Herkimer, agreed that Rantoul was the luckiest man in +Paris; that he had found just the wife who was suited to him, whose +fortune would open every opportunity for his genius to develop. + +"In the first place," said Bennett, when the group had returned to +Herkimer's studio to continue the celebration, "let me remark that in +general I don't approve of marriage for an artist." + +"Nor I," cried Chatterton, and the chorus answered, "Nor I." + +"I shall never marry," continued Bennett. + +"Never," cried Chatterton, who beat a tattoo on the piano with his heel +to accompany the chorus of assent. + +"But--I add but--in this case my opinion is that Rantoul has found a +pure diamond." + +"True!" + +"In the first place, she knows nothing at all about art, which is an +enormous advantage." + +"Bravo!" + +"In the second place, she knows nothing about anything else, which is +better still." + +"Cynic! You hate clever women," cried Jacobus. + +"There's a reason." + +"All the same, Bennett's right. The wife of an artist should be a +creature of impulses and not ideas." + +"True." + +"In the third place," continued Bennett, "she believes Rantoul is a +demigod. Everything he will do will be the most wonderful thing in the +world, and to have a little person you are madly in love with think that +is enormous." + +"All of which is not very complimentary to the bride," said Herkimer. + +"Find me one like her," cried Bennett. + +"Ditto," said Chatterton and Jacobus with enthusiasm. + +"There is only one thing that worries me," said Bennett, seriously. +"Isn't there too much money?" + +"Not for Rantoul." + +"He's a rebel." + +"You'll see; he'll stir up the world with it." + +Herkimer himself had approved of the marriage in a whole-hearted way. +The childlike ways of Tina Glover had convinced him, and as he was +concerned only with the future of his friend, he agreed with the rest +that nothing luckier could have happened. + +Three years passed, during which he received occasional letters from +his old chum, not quite so spontaneous as he had expected, but filled +with the wonder of the ancient worlds. Then the intervals became longer, +and longer, and finally no letters came. + +He learned in a vague way that the Rantouls had settled in the East +somewhere near New York, but he waited in vain for the news of the stir +in the world of art that Rantoul's first exhibitions should produce. + +His friends who visited in America returned without news of Rantoul; +there was a rumor that he had gone with his father-in-law into the +organization of some new railroad or trust. But even this report was +vague, and as he could not understand what could have happened, it +remained for a long time to him a mystery. Then he forgot it. + +Ten years after Rantoul's marriage to little Tina Glover, Herkimer +returned to America. The last years had placed him in the foreground of +the sculptors of the world. He had that strangely excited consciousness +that he was a figure in the public eye. Reporters rushed to meet him on +his arrival, societies organized dinners to him, magazines sought the +details of his life's struggle. Withal, however, he felt a strange +loneliness, and an aloofness from the clamoring world about him. He +remembered the old friendship in the starlit garret of the Rue de +l'Ombre, and, learning Rantoul's address, wrote him. Three days later he +received the following answer: + + _Dear Old Boy:_ + + I'm delighted to find that you have remembered me in your fame. Run + up this Saturday for a week at least. I'll show you some fine + scenery, and we'll recall the days of the Cafe des Lilacs together. + My wife sends her greetings also. + + Clyde. + +This letter made Herkimer wonder. There was nothing on which he could +lay his finger, and yet there was something that was not there. With +some misgivings he packed his bag and took the train, calling up again +to his mind the picture of Rantoul, with his shabby trousers pulled up, +decorating his ankles with lavender and black, roaring all the while +with his rumbling laughter. + +At the station only the chauffeur was down to meet him. A correct +footman, moving on springs, took his bag, placed him in the back seat, +and spread a duster for him. They turned through a pillared gateway, +Renaissance style, passed a gardener's lodge, with hothouses flashing in +the reclining sun, and fled noiselessly along the macadam road that +twined through a formal grove. All at once they were before the house, +red brick and marble, with wide-flung porte-cochere and verandas, beyond +which could be seen immaculate lawns, and in the middle distances the +sluggish gray of a river that crawled down from the turbulent hills on +the horizon. Another creature in livery tripped down the steps and held +the door for him. He passed perplexed into the hall, which was fresh +with the breeze that swept through open French windows. + +[Illustration: Rantoul, ... decorating his ankles with lavender and +black] + +"Mr. Herkimer, isn't it?" + +He turned to find a woman of mannered assurance holding out her hand +correctly to him, and under the panama that topped the pleasant effect +of her white polo-coat he looked into the eyes of that Tina Glover, who +once had caught his rough hand in her little ones and said timidly: + +"You'll always be my friend, my best, just as you are Clyde's, won't +you? And I may call you Britt or Old Boy or Old Top, just as Clyde +does?" + +He looked at her amazed. She was prettier, undeniably so. She had +learned the art of being a woman, and she gave him her hand as though +she had granted a favor. + +"Yes," he said shortly, freezing all at once. "Where's Clyde?" + +"He had to play in a polo-match. He's just home taking a tub," she said +easily. "Will you go to your room first? I didn't ask any one in for +dinner. I supposed you would rather chat together of old times. You have +become a tremendous celebrity, haven't you? Clyde is so proud of you." + +"I'll go to my room now," he said shortly. + +The valet had preceded him, opening his valise and smoothing out his +evening clothes on the lace bedspread. + +"I'll attend to that," he said curtly. "You may go." + +He stood at the window, in the long evening hour of the June day, +frowning to himself. "By George! I've a mind to clear out," he said, +thoroughly angry. + +At this moment there came a vigorous rap, and Rantoul in slippers and +lilac dressing-gown broke in, with hair still wet from his shower. + +"The same as ever, bless the Old Top!" he cried, catching him up in one +of the old-time bear-hugs. "I say, don't think me inhospitable. Had to +play a confounded match. We beat 'em, too; lost six pounds doing it, +though. Jove! but you look natural! I say, that was a stunning thing you +did for Philadelphia--the audacity of it. How do you like my place? I've +got four children, too. What do you think of that? Nothing finer. Well, +tell me what you're doing." + +Herkimer relented before the familiar rush of enthusiasm and questions, +and the conversation began on a natural footing. He looked at Rantoul, +aware of the social change that had taken place in him. The old +aggressiveness, the look of the wolf, had gone; about him was an +enthusiastic urbanity. He seemed clean cut, virile, overflowing with +vitality, only it was a different vitality, the snap and decision of a +man-of-affairs, not the untamed outrush of the artist. + +They had spoken scarcely a short five minutes when a knock came on the +door and a footman's voice said: + +"Mrs. Rantoul wishes you not to be late for dinner, sir." + +"Very well, very well," said Rantoul, with a little impatience. "I +always forget the time. Jove! it's good to see you again; you'll give us +a week at least. Meet you downstairs." + +When Herkimer had dressed and descended, his host and hostess were still +up-stairs. He moved through the rooms, curiously noting the contents of +the walls. There were several paintings of value, a series of drawings +by Boucher, a replica or two of his own work; but he sought without +success for something from the brush of Clyde Rantoul. At dinner he was +aware of a sudden uneasiness. Mrs. Rantoul, with the flattering smile +that recalled Tina Glover, pressed him with innumerable questions, which +he answered with constraint, always aware of the dull simulation of +interest in her eyes. + +Twice during the meal Rantoul was called to the telephone for a +conversation at long distance. + +"Clyde is becoming quite a power in Wall Street," said Mrs. Rantoul, +with an approving smile. "Father says he's the strength of the younger +men. He has really a genius for organization." + +"It's a wonderful time, Britt," said Rantoul, resuming his place. +"There's nothing like it anywhere on the face of the globe--the +possibilities of concentration and simplification here in business. It's +a great game, too, matching your wits against another's. We're building +empires of trade, order out of chaos. I'm making an awful lot of money." + +Herkimer remained obstinately silent during the rest of the dinner. +Everything seemed to fetter him--the constraint of dining before the +silent, flitting butler, servants who whisked his plate away before he +knew it, the succession of unrecognizable dishes, the constant jargon of +social eavesdroppings that Mrs. Rantoul pressed into action the moment +her husband's recollections exiled her from the conversation; but above +all, the indefinable enmity that seemed to well out from his hostess, +and which he seemed to divine occasionally when the ready smile left her +lips and she was forced to listen to things she did not understand. + +When they rose from the table, Rantoul passed his arm about his wife and +said something in her ear, at which she smiled and patted his hand. + +"I am very proud of my husband, Mr. Herkimer," she said with a little +bob of her head in which was a sense of proprietorship. "You'll see." + +"Suppose we stroll out for a little smoke in the garden," said Rantoul. + +"What, you're going to leave me?" she said instantly, with a shade of +vague uneasiness, that Herkimer perceived. + +"We sha'n't be long, dear," said Rantoul, pinching her ear. "Our chatter +won't interest you. Send the coffee out into the rose cupola." + +They passed out into the open porch, but Herkimer was aware of the +little woman standing irresolutely tapping with her thin finger on the +table, and he said to himself: "She's a little ogress of jealousy. What +the deuce is she afraid I'll say to him?" + +They rambled through sweet-scented paths, under the high-flung network +of stars, hearing only the crunching of little pebbles under foot. + +"You've given up painting?" said Herkimer all at once. + +"Yes, though that doesn't count," said Rantoul, abruptly; but there was +in his voice a different note, something of the restlessness of the old +Don Furioso. "Talk to me of the Quarter. Who's at the Cafe des Lilacs +now? They tell me that little Ragin we used to torment so has made some +great decorations. What became of that pretty girl in the creamery of +the Rue de l'Ombre who used to help us over the lean days?" + +"Whom you christened Our Lady of the Sparrows?" "Yes, yes. You know I +sent her the silk dress and the earrings I promised her." + +Herkimer began to speak of one thing and another, of Bennett, who had +gone dramatically to the Transvaal; of Le Gage, who was now in the +forefront of the younger group of landscapists; of the old types that +still came faithfully to the Cafe des Lilacs,--the old chess-players, +the fat proprietor, with his fat wife and three fat children who dined +there regularly every Sunday,--of the new revolutionary ideas among the +younger men that were beginning to assert themselves. + +"Let's sit down," said Rantoul, as though suffocating. + +They placed themselves in wicker easy-chairs, under the heavy-scented +rose cupola, disdaining the coffee that waited on a table. From where +they were a red-tiled walk, with flower beds nodding in enchanted sleep, +ran to the veranda. The porch windows were open, and in the golden +lamplight Herkimer saw the figure of Tina Glover bent intently over an +embroidery, drawing her needle with uneven stitches, her head seeming +inclined to catch the faintest sound. The waiting, nervous pose, the +slender figure on guard, brought to him a strange, almost uncanny +sensation of mystery, and feeling the sudden change in the mood of the +man at his side, he gazed at the figure of the wife and said to himself: + +[Illustration: Our Lady of the Sparrows] + +"I'd give a good deal to know what's passing through that little head. +What is she afraid of?" + +"You're surprised to find me as I am," said Rantoul, abruptly breaking +the silence. + +"Yes." + +"You can't understand it?" + +"When did you give up painting?" said Herkimer, shortly, with a sure +feeling that the hour of confidences had come. + +"Seven years ago." + +"Why in God's name did you do it?" said Herkimer, flinging away his +cigar angrily. "You weren't just any one--Tom, Dick, or Harry. You had +something to say, man. Listen. I know what I'm talking about,--I've seen +the whole procession in the last ten years,--you were one in a thousand. +You were a creator. You had ideas; you were meant to be a leader, to +head a movement. You had more downright savage power, undeveloped, but +tugging at the chain, than any man I've known. Why did you do it?" + +"I had almost forgotten," said Rantoul, slowly. "Are you sure?" + +"Am I sure?" said Herkimer, furiously. "I say what I mean; you know it." + +"Yes, that's true," said Rantoul. He stretched out his hand and drank +his coffee, but without knowing what he did. "Well, that's all of the +past--what might have been." + +"But why?" + +"Britt, old fellow," said Rantoul at last, speaking as though to +himself, "did you ever have a moment when you suddenly got out of +yourself, looked at yourself and at your life as a spectator?--saw the +strange strings that had pulled you this way and that, and realized what +might have been had you turned one corner at a certain day of your life +instead of another?" + +"No, I've gone where I wanted to go," said Herkimer, obstinately. + +"You think so. Well, to-night I can see myself for the first time," said +Rantoul. Then he added meditatively, "I have done not one single thing I +wanted to." + +"But why--why?" + +"You have brought it all back to me," said Rantoul, ignoring this +question. "It hurts. I suppose to-morrow I shall resent it, but to-night +I feel too deeply. There is nothing free about us in this world, Britt. +I profoundly believe that. Everything we do from morning to night is +dictated by the direction of those about us. An enemy, some one in the +open, we can combat and resist; but it is those that are nearest to us +who disarm us because they love us, that change us most, that thwart our +desires, and make over our lives. Nothing in this world is so +inexorable, so terribly, terribly irresistible as a woman without +strength, without logic, without vision, who only loves." + +"He is going to say things he will regret," thought Herkimer, and yet +he did not object. Instead, he glanced down the dimly flushed path to +the house where Mrs. Rantoul was sitting, her embroidery on her lap, her +head raised as though listening. Suddenly he said: + +"Look here, Clyde, do you want to tell me this?" + +"Yes, I do; it's life. Why not? We are at the age when we've got to face +things." + +"Still--" + +"Let me go on," said Rantoul, stopping him. He reached out +absent-mindedly, and drank the second cup. "Let me say now, Britt, for +fear you'll misunderstand, there has never been the slightest quarrel +between my wife and me. She loves me absolutely; nothing else in this +world exists for her. It has always been so; she cannot bear even to +have me out of her sight. I am very happy. Only there is in such a love +something of the tiger--a fierce animal jealousy of every one and +everything which could even for a moment take my thoughts away. At this +moment she is probably suffering untold pangs because she thinks I am +regretting the days in which she was not in my life." + +"And because she could not understand your art, she hated it," said +Herkimer, with a growing anger. + +"No, it wasn't that. It was something more subtle, more instinctive, +more impossible to combat," said Rantoul, shaking his head. "Do you know +what is the great essential to the artist--to whoever creates? The +sense of privacy, the power to isolate his own genius from everything in +the world, to be absolutely concentrated. To create we must be alone, +have strange, unuttered thoughts, just as in the realms of the soul +every human being must have moments of complete isolation--thoughts, +reveries, moods, that cannot be shared with even those we love best. You +don't understand that." + +"Yes, I do." + +"At the bottom we human beings come and depart absolutely alone. +Friendship, love, all that we instinctively seek to rid ourselves of, +this awful solitude of the soul, avail nothing. Well, what others shrink +from, the artist must seek." + +"But you could not make her understand that?" + +"I was dealing with a child," said Rantoul. "I loved that child, and I +could not bear even to see a frown of unhappiness cloud her face. Then +she adored me. What can be answered to that?" + +"That's true." + +"At first it was not so difficult. We passed around the world--Greece, +India, Japan. She came and sat by my side when I took my easel; every +stroke of my brush seemed like a miracle. A hundred times she would cry +out her delight. Naturally that amused me. From time to time I would +suspend the sittings and reward my patient little audience--" + +"And the sketches?" + +"They were not what I wanted," said Rantoul with a little laugh; "but +they were not bad. When I returned here and opened my studio, it began +to be difficult. She could not understand that I wanted to work eighteen +hours a day. She begged for my afternoons. I gave in. She embraced me +frantically and said; 'Oh, how good you are! Now I won't be jealous any +more, and every morning I will come with you and inspire you.'" + +"Every morning," said Herkimer, softly. + +"Yes," said Rantoul, with a little hesitation, "every morning. She +fluttered about the studio like a pink-and-white butterfly, sending me a +kiss from her dainty fingers whenever I looked her way. She watched over +my shoulder every stroke, and when I did something that pleased her, I +felt her lips on my neck, behind my ear, and heard her say, 'That is +your reward.'" + +"Every day?" said Herkimer. + +"Every day." + +"And when you had a model?" + +"Oh, then it was worse. She treated the models as though they were +convicts, watching them out of the corners of her eyes. Her +demonstration of affection redoubled, her caresses never stopped, as +though she wished to impress upon them her proprietorship. Those days +she was really jealous." + +"God--how could you stand it?" said Herkimer, violently. + +"To be frank, the more she outraged me as an artist, the more she +pleased me as a man. To be loved so absolutely, especially if you are +sensitive to such things, has an intoxication of its own, yes, she +fascinated me more and more." + +"Extraordinary." + +"One day I tried to make her understand that I had need to be alone. She +listened to me solemnly, with only a little quiver of her lips, and let +me go. When I returned, I found her eyes swollen with weeping and her +heart bursting." + +"And you took her in your arms and promised never to send her away +again." + +"Naturally. Then I began to go out into society to please her. Next +something very interesting came up, and I neglected my studio for a +morning. The same thing happened again and again. I had a period of wild +revolt, of bitter anger, in which I resolved to be firm, to insist on my +privacy, to make the fight." + +"And you never did?" + +"When her arms were about me, when I saw her eyes, full of adoration and +passion, raised to my own, I forgot all my irritation in my happiness as +a man. I said to myself, 'Life is short; it is better to be loved than +to wait for glory.' One afternoon, under the pretext of examining the +grove, I stole away to the studio, and pulled out some of the old +things that I had done in Paris--and sat and gazed at them. My throat +began to fill, and I felt the tears coming to my eyes, when I looked +around and saw her standing wide-eyed at the door. + +"'What are you doing?' she said. + +"'Looking at some of the old things.' + +"'You regret those days?' + +"'Of course not.' + +"'Then why do you steal away from me, make a pretext to come here? Isn't +my love great enough for you? Do you want to put me out of your life +altogether? You used to tell me that I inspired you. If you want, we'll +give up the afternoons. I'll come here, I'll be your model, I'll sit for +you by the hour--only don't shut the door on me!' + +"She began to cry. I took her in my arms, said everything that she +wished me to say, heedlessly, brutally, not caring what I said. + +"That night I ran off, resolved to end it all--to save what I longed +for. I remained five hours trudging in the night--pulled back and forth. +I remembered my children. I came back,--told a lie. The next day I shut +the door of the studio not on her, but on myself. + +"For months I did nothing. I was miserable. She saw it at last, and said +to me: + +"'You ought to work. You aren't happy doing nothing. I've arranged +something for you.' + +"I raised my head in amazement, as she continued, +clapping her hands with delight: + +"'I've talked it all over with papa. You'll go into his office. You'll +do big things. He's quite enthusiastic, and I promised for you.' + +"I went. I became interested. I stayed. Now I am like any other man, +domesticated, conservative, living my life, and she has not the +slightest idea of what she has killed." + +"Let us go in," said Herkimer, rising. + +"And you say I could have left a name?" said Rantoul, bitterly. + +"You were wrong to tell me all this," said Herkimer. + +"I owed you the explanation. What could I do?" + +"Lie." + +"Why?" + +"Because, after such a confidence, it is impossible for you ever to see +me again. You know it." + +"Nonsense. I--" + +"Let's go back." + +Full of dull anger and revolt, Herkimer led the way. Rantoul, after a +few steps, caught him by the sleeve. + +"Don't take it too seriously, Britt. I don't revolt any more. I'm no +longer the Rantoul you knew." + +"That's just the trouble," said Herkimer, cruelly. + +When their steps sounded near, Mrs. Rantoul rose hastily, spilling her +silk and needles on the floor. She gave her husband a swift, searching +look, and said with her flattering smile: + +"Mr. Herkimer, you must be a very interesting talker. I am quite +jealous." + +"I am rather tired," he answered, bowing. "If you'll excuse me, I'll go +off to bed." + +"Really?" she said, raising her eyes. She extended her hand, and he took +it with almost the physical repulsion with which one would touch the +hand of a criminal. The next morning he left. + + + + +III + + +When Herkimer had finished, he shrugged his shoulders, gave a short +laugh, and, glancing at the clock, went off in his curt, purposeful +manner. + +"Well, by Jove!" said Steingall, recovering first from the spell of the +story, "doesn't that prove exactly what I said? They're jealous, they're +all jealous, I tell you, jealous of everything you do. All they want us +to do is to adore them. By Jove! Herkimer's right. Rantoul was the +biggest of us all. She murdered him just as much as though she had put a +knife in him." + +"She did it on purpose," said De Gollyer. "There was nothing childlike +about her, either. On the contrary, I consider her a clever, a +devilishly clever woman." + +"Of course she did. They're all clever, damn them!" said Steingall, +explosively. "Now, what do you say, Quinny? I say that an artist who +marries might just as well tie a rope around his neck and present it to +his wife and have it over." + +"On the contrary," said Quinny, with a sudden inspiration reorganizing +his whole battle front, "every artist should marry. The only danger is +that he may marry happily." + +"What?" cried Steingall. "But you said--" + +"My dear boy, I have germinated some new ideas," said Quinny, +unconcerned. "The story has a moral,--I detest morals,--but this has +one. An artist should always marry unhappily, and do you know why? +Purely a question of chemistry. Towsey, when do you work the best?" + +"How do you mean?" said Towsey, rousing himself. + +"I've heard you say that you worked best when your nerves were all on +edge--night out, cucumbers, thunder-storm, or a touch of fever." + +"Yes, that's so." + +"Can any one work well when everything is calm?" continued Quinny, +triumphantly, to the amazement of Rankin and Steingall. "Can you work on +a clear spring day, when nothing bothers you and the first of the month +is two weeks off, eh? Of course you can't. Happiness is the enemy of the +artist. It puts to sleep the faculties. Contentment is a drug. My dear +men, an artist should always be unhappy. Perpetual state of +fermentation sets the nerves throbbing, sensitive to impressions. +Exaltation and remorse, anger and inspiration, all hodge-podge, chemical +action and reaction, all this we are blessed with when we are unhappily +married. Domestic infelicity drives us to our art; happiness makes us +neglect it. Shall I tell you what I do when everything is smooth, no +nerves, no inspiration, fat, puffy Sunday-dinner-feeling, too happy, +can't work? I go home and start a quarrel with my wife." + +"And then you _can_ work," cried Steingall, roaring with laughter. "By +Jove, you _are_ immense!" + +"Never better," said Quinny, who appeared like a prophet. + +The four artists, who had listened to Herkimer's story in that gradual +thickening depression which the subject of matrimony always let down +over them, suddenly brightened visibly. On their faces appeared the look +of inward speculation, and then a ray of light. + +Little Towsey, who from his arrival had sulked, fretted, and fumed, +jumped up energetically and flung away his third cigar. + +"Here, where are you going?" said Rankin in protest. + +"Over to the studio," said Towsey, quite unconsciously. "I feel like a +little work." + + + + +ONE HUNDRED IN THE DARK + + +They were discussing languidly, as such groups do, seeking from each +topic a peg on which to hang a few epigrams that might be retold in the +lip currency of the club--Steingall, the painter, florid of gesture and +effete, foreign in type, with black-rimmed glasses and trailing ribbon +of black silk that cut across his cropped beard and cavalry mustaches; +De Gollyer, a critic, who preferred to be known as a man about town, +short, feverish, incisive, who slew platitudes with one adjective and +tagged a reputation with three; Rankin, the architect, always in a +defensive explanatory attitude, who held his elbows on the table, his +hands before his long sliding nose, and gestured with his fingers; +Quinny, the illustrator, long and gaunt, with a predatory eloquence that +charged irresistibly down on any subject, cut it off, surrounded it, and +raked it with enfilading wit and satire; and Peters, whose methods of +existence were a mystery, a young man of fifty, who had done nothing and +who knew every one by his first name, the club postman, who carried the +tittle-tattle, the _bon mots_ and the news of the day, who drew up a +petition a week and pursued the house committee with a daily grievance. + +About the latticed porch, which ran around the sanded yard with its +feeble fountain and futile evergreens, other groups were eying one +another, or engaging in desultory conversation, oppressed with the +heaviness of the night. + +At the round table, Quinny alone, absorbing energy as he devoured the +conversation, having routed Steingall on the Germans and archaeology and +Rankin on the origins of the Lord's Prayer, had seized a chance remark +of De Gollyer's to say: + +"There are only half a dozen stories in the world. Like everything +that's true it isn't true." He waved his long, gouty fingers in the +direction of Steingall, who, having been silenced, was regarding him +with a look of sleepy indifference. "What is more to the point, is the +small number of human relations that are so simple and yet so +fundamental that they can be eternally played upon, redressed, and +reinterpreted in every language, in every age, and yet remain +inexhaustible in the possibility of variations." + +"By George, that is so," said Steingall, waking up. "Every art does go +back to three or four notes. In composition it is the same thing. +Nothing new--nothing new since a thousand years. By George, that is +true! We invent nothing, nothing!" + +"Take the eternal triangle," said Quinny hurriedly, not to surrender his +advantage, while Rankin and De Gollyer in a bored way continued to gaze +dreamily at a vagrant star or two. "Two men and a woman, or two women +and a man. Obviously it should be classified as the first of the great +original parent themes. Its variations extend into the thousands. By the +way, Rankin, excellent opportunity, eh, for some of our modern, +painstaking, unemployed jackasses to analyze and classify." + +"Quite right," said Rankin without perceiving the satirical note. "Now +there's De Maupassant's Fort comma la Mort--quite the most interesting +variation--shows the turn a genius can give. There the triangle is the +man of middle age, the mother he has loved in his youth and the daughter +he comes to love. It forms, you might say, the head of a whole +subdivision of modern continental literature." + +"Quite wrong, Rankin, quite wrong," said Quinny, who would have stated +the other side quite as imperiously. "What you cite is a variation of +quite another theme, the Faust theme--old age longing for youth, the man +who has loved longing for the love of his youth, which is youth itself. +The triangle is the theme of jealousy, the most destructive and, +therefore, the most dramatic of human passions. The Faust theme is the +most fundamental and inevitable of all human experiences, the tragedy of +life itself. Quite a different thing." + +Rankin, who never agreed with Quinny unless Quinny maliciously took +advantage of his prior announcement to agree with him, continued to +combat this idea. + +"You believe then," said De Gollyer after a certain moment had been +consumed in hair splitting, "that the origin of all dramatic themes is +simply the expression of some human emotion. In other words, there can +exist no more parent themes than there are human emotions." + +"I thank you, sir, very well put," said Quinny with a generous wave of +his hand. "Why is the Three Musketeers a basic theme? Simply the +interpretation of comradeship, the emotion one man feels for another, +vital because it is the one peculiarly masculine emotion. Look at Du +Maurier and Trilby, Kipling in Soldiers Three--simply the Three +Musketeers." + +"The Vie de Boheme?" suggested Steingall. + +"In the real Vie de Boheme, yes," said Quinny viciously. "Not in the +concocted sentimentalities that we now have served up to us by athletic +tenors and consumptive elephants!" + +Rankin, who had been silently deliberating on what had been left behind, +now said cunningly and with evident purpose: + +"All the same, I don't agree with you men at all. I believe there are +situations, original situations, that are independent of your human +emotions, that exist just because they are situations, accidental and +nothing else." + +"As for instance?" said Quinny, preparing to attack. + +"Well, I'll just cite an ordinary one that happens to come to my mind," +said Rankin, who had carefully selected his test. "In a group of seven +or eight, such as we are here, a theft takes place; one man is the +thief--which one? I'd like to know what emotion that interprets, and yet +it certainly is an original theme, at the bottom of a whole literature." + +This challenge was like a bomb. + +"Not the same thing." + +"Detective stories, bah!" + +"Oh, I say, Rankin, that's literary melodrama." + +Rankin, satisfied, smiled and winked victoriously over to Tommers, who +was listening from an adjacent table. + +"Of course your suggestion is out of order, my dear man, to this +extent," said Quinny, who never surrendered, "in that I am talking of +fundamentals and you are citing details. Nevertheless, I could answer +that the situation you give, as well as the whole school it belongs to, +can be traced back to the commonest of human emotions, curiosity; and +that the story of Bluebeard and the Moonstone are to all purposes +identically the same." + +At this Steingall, who had waited hopefully, gasped and made as though +to leave the table. + +"I shall take up your contention," said Quinny without pause for breath, +"first, because you have opened up one of my pet topics, and, second, +because it gives me a chance to talk." He gave a sidelong glance at +Steingall and winked at De Gollyer. "What is the peculiar fascination +that the detective problem exercises over the human mind? You will say +curiosity. Yes and no. Admit at once that the whole art of a detective +story consists in the statement of the problem. Any one can do it. I can +do it. Steingall even can do it. The solution doesn't count. It is +usually banal; it should be prohibited. What interests us is, can we +guess it? Just as an able-minded man will sit down for hours and fiddle +over the puzzle column in a Sunday balderdash. Same idea. There you have +it, the problem--the detective story. Now why the fascination? I'll tell +you. It appeals to our curiosity, yes--but deeper to a sort of +intellectual vanity. Here are six matches, arrange them to make four +squares; five men present, a theft takes place--who's the thief? Who +will guess it first? Whose brain will show its superior cleverness--see? +That's all--that's all there is to it." + +"Out of all of which," said De Gollyer, "the interesting thing is that +Rankin has supplied the reason why the supply of detective fiction is +inexhaustible. It does all come down to the simplest terms. Seven +possibilities, one answer. It is a formula, ludicrously simple, +mechanical, and yet we will always pursue it to the end. The marvel is +that writers should seek for any other formula when here is one so +safe, that can never fail. By George, I could start up a factory on it." + +"The reason is," said Rankin, "that the situation does constantly occur. +It's a situation that any of us might get into any time. As a matter of +fact, now, I personally know two such occasions when I was of the party; +and devilish uncomfortable it was too." + +"What happened?" said Steingall. + +"Why, there is no story to it particularly. Once a mistake had been made +and the other time the real thief was detected by accident a year later. +In both cases only one or two of us knew what had happened." + +De Gollyer had a similar incident to recall. Steingall, after +reflection, related another that had happened to a friend. + +"Of course, of course, my dear gentlemen," said Quinny impatiently, for +he had been silent too long, "you are glorifying commonplaces. Every +crime, I tell you, expresses itself in the terms of the picture puzzle +that you feed to your six-year-old. It's only the variation that is +interesting. Now quite the most remarkable turn of the complexities that +can be developed is, of course, the well-known instance of the visitor +at a club and the rare coin. Of course every one knows that? What?" + +Rankin smiled in a bored, superior way, but the others protested their +ignorance. + +"Why, it's very well known," said Quinny lightly. + +"A distinguished visitor is brought into a club--dozen men, say, +present, at dinner, long table. Conversation finally veers around to +curiosities and relics. One of the members present then takes from his +pocket what he announces as one of the rarest coins in existence--passes +it around the table. Coin travels back and forth, every one examining +it, and the conversation goes to another topic, say the influence of the +automobile on domestic infelicity, or some other such asininely +intellectual club topic--you know? All at once the owner calls for his +coin. + +"The coin is nowhere to be found. Every one looks at every one else. +First they suspect a joke. Then it becomes serious--the coin is +immensely valuable. Who has taken it? + +"The owner is a gentleman--does the gentlemanly idiotic thing of course, +laughs, says he knows some one is playing a practical joke on him and +that the coin will be returned to-morrow. The others refuse to leave the +situation so. One man proposes that they all submit to a search. Every +one gives his assent until it comes to the stranger. He refuses, curtly, +roughly, without giving any reason. Uncomfortable silence--the man is a +guest. No one knows him particularly well--but still he is a guest. One +member tries to make him understand that no offense is offered, that the +suggestion was simply to clear the atmosphere, and all that sort of +bally rot, you know. + +"'I refuse to allow my person to be searched,' says the stranger, very +firm, very proud, very English, you know, 'and I refuse to give my +reason for my action.' + +"Another silence. The men eye him and then glance at one another. What's +to be done? Nothing. There is etiquette--that magnificent inflated +balloon. The visitor evidently has the coin--but he is their guest and +etiquette protects him. Nice situation, eh? + +"The table is cleared. A waiter removes a dish of fruit and there under +the ledge of the plate where it had been pushed--is the coin. Banal +explanation, eh? Of course. Solutions always should be. At once every +one in profuse apologies! Whereupon the visitor rises and says: + +"'Now I can give you the reason for my refusal to be searched. There are +only two known specimens of the coin in existence, and the second +happens to be here in my waistcoat pocket.'" + +"Of course," said Quinny with a shrug of his shoulders, "the story is +well invented, but the turn to it is very nice--very nice indeed." + +"I did know the story," said Steingall, to be disagreeable; "the ending, +though, is too obvious to be invented. The visitor should have had on +him not another coin, but something absolutely different, something +destructive, say, of a woman's reputation, and a great tragedy should +have been threatened by the casual misplacing of the coin." + +"I have heard the same story told in a dozen different ways," said +Rankin. + +"It has happened a hundred times. It must be continually happening," +said Steingall. + +"I know one extraordinary instance," said Peters, who up to the present, +secure in his climax, had waited with a professional smile until the big +guns had been silenced. "In fact, the most extraordinary instance of +this sort I have ever heard." + +"Peters, you little rascal," said Quinny with a sidelong glance, "I +perceive you have quietly been letting us dress the stage for you." + +"It is not a story that will please every one," said Peters, to whet +their appetite. + +"Why not?" + +"Because you will want to know what no one can ever know." + +"It has no conclusion then?" + +"Yes and no. As far as it concerns a woman, quite the most remarkable +woman I have ever met, the story is complete. As for the rest, it is +what it is, because it is one example where literature can do nothing +better than record." + +"Do I know the woman?" asked De Gollyer, who flattered himself on +passing through every class of society. + +"Possibly, but no more than any one else." + +"An actress?" + +"What she has been in the past I don't know--a promoter would better +describe her. Undoubtedly she has been behind the scenes in many an +untold intrigue of the business world. A very feminine woman, and yet, +as you shall see, with an unusual instantaneous masculine power of +decision." + +"Peters," said Quinny, waving a warning finger, "you are destroying your +story. Your preface will bring an anticlimax." + +"You shall judge," said Peters, who waited until his audience was in +strained attention before opening his story. "The names are, of course, +disguises." + +Mrs. Rita Kildair inhabited a charming bachelor-girl studio, very +elegant, of the duplex pattern, in one of the buildings just off Central +Park West. She knew pretty nearly every one in that indescribable +society in New York that is drawn from all levels, and that imposes but +one condition for membership--to be amusing. She knew every one and no +one knew her. No one knew beyond the vaguest rumors her history or her +means. No one had ever heard of a Mr. Kildair. There was always about +her a certain defensive reserve the moment the limits of +acquaintanceship had been reached. She had a certain amount of money, +she knew a certain number of men in Wall Street affairs and her studio +was furnished with taste and even distinction. She was of any age. She +might have suffered everything or nothing at all. In this mingled +society her invitations were eagerly sought, her dinners were +spontaneous, and the discussions, though gay and usually daring, were +invariably under the control of wit and good taste. + +On the Sunday night of this adventure she had, according to her +invariable custom, sent away her Japanese butler and invited to an +informal chafing-dish supper seven of her more congenial friends, all of +whom, as much as could be said of any one, were habitues of the studio. + +At seven o'clock, having finished dressing, she put in order her +bedroom, which formed a sort of free passage between the studio and a +small dining room to the kitchen beyond. Then, going into the studio, +she lit a wax taper and was in the act of touching off the brass +candlesticks that lighted the room when three knocks sounded on the door +and a Mr. Flanders, a broker, compact, nervously alive, well groomed, +entered with the informality of assured acquaintance. + +"You are early," said Mrs. Kildair, in surprise. + +"On the contrary, you are late," said the broker, glancing at his watch. + +"Then be a good boy and help me with the candles," she said, giving him +a smile and a quick pressure of her fingers. + +He obeyed, asking nonchalantly: + +"I say, dear lady, who's to be here to-night?" + +"The Enos Jacksons." + +"I thought they were separated." + +"Not yet." + +"Very interesting! Only you, dear lady, would have thought of serving us +a couple on the verge." + +"It's interesting, isn't it?" + +"Assuredly. Where did you know Jackson?" + +"Through the Warings. Jackson's a rather doubtful person, isn't he?" + +"Let's call him a very sharp lawyer," said Flanders defensively. "They +tell me, though, he is on the wrong side of the market--in deep." + +"And you?" + +"Oh, I? I'm a bachelor," he said with a shrug of his shoulders, "and if +I come a cropper it makes no difference." + +"Is that possible?" she said, looking at him quickly. + +"Probable even. And who else is coming?" + +"Maude Lille--you know her?" + +"I think not." + +"You met her here--a journalist." + +"Quite so, a strange career." + +"Mr. Harris, a clubman, is coming, and the Stanley Cheevers." + +"The Stanley Cheevers!" said Flanders with some surprise. "Are we going +to gamble?" + +"You believe in that scandal about bridge?" + +"Certainly not," said Flanders, smiling. "You see I was present. The +Cheevers play a good game, a well united game, and have an unusual +system of makes. By-the-way, it's Jackson who is very attentive to Mrs. +Cheever, isn't it?" + +"Quite right." + +"What a charming party," said Flanders flippantly. "And where does Maude +Lille come in?" + +"Don't joke. She is in a desperate way," said Mrs. Kildair, with a +little sadness in her eyes. + +"And Harris?" + +"Oh, he is to make the salad and cream the chicken." + +"Ah, I see the whole party. I, of course, am to add the element of +respectability." + +"Of what?" + +She looked at him steadily until he turned away, dropping his glance. + +"Don't be an ass with me, my dear Flanders." + +"By George, if this were Europe I'd wager you were in the secret +service, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Thank you." + +She smiled appreciatively and moved about the studio, giving the +finishing touches. The Stanley Cheevers entered, a short fat man with a +vacant fat face and a slow-moving eye, and his wife, voluble, nervous, +overdressed and pretty. Mr. Harris came with Maude Lille, a woman, +straight, dark, Indian, with great masses of somber hair held in a +little too loosely for neatness, with thick, quick lips and eyes that +rolled away from the person who was talking to her. The Enos Jacksons +were late and still agitated as they entered. His forehead had not quite +banished the scowl, nor her eyes the scorn. He was of the type that +never lost his temper, but caused others to lose theirs, immovable in +his opinions, with a prowling walk, a studied antagonism in his manner, +and an impudent look that fastened itself unerringly on the weakness in +the person to whom he spoke. Mrs. Jackson, who seemed fastened to her +husband by an invisible leash, had a hunted, resisting quality back of a +certain desperate dash, which she assumed rather than felt in her +attitude toward life. One looked at her curiously and wondered what such +a nature would do in a crisis, with a lurking sense of a woman who +carried with her her own impending tragedy. + +As soon as the company had been completed and the incongruity of the +selection had been perceived, a smile of malicious anticipation ran the +rounds, which the hostess cut short by saying: + +"Well, now that every one is here, this is the order of the night: You +can quarrel all you want, you can whisper all the gossip you can think +of about one another, but every one is to be amusing! Also every one is +to help with the dinner--nothing formal and nothing serious. We may all +be bankrupt to-morrow, divorced or dead, but to-night we will be +gay--that is the invariable rule of the house!" + +Immediately a nervous laughter broke out and the company chattering +began to scatter through the rooms. + +Mrs. Kildair, stopping in her bedroom, donned a Watteaulike cooking +apron, and slipping her rings from her fingers fixed the three on her +pincushion with a hatpin. + +"Your rings are beautiful, dear, beautiful," said the low voice of Maude +Lille, who with Harris and Mrs. Cheever were in the room. + +"There's only one that is very valuable," said Mrs. Kildair, touching +with her thin fingers the ring that lay uppermost, two large diamonds, +flanking a magnificent sapphire. + +"It is beautiful--very beautiful," said the journalist, her eyes +fastened to it with an uncontrollable fascination. She put out her +fingers and let them rest caressingly on the sapphire, withdrawing them +quickly as though the contact had burned them. + +"It must be very valuable," she said, her breath catching a little. Mrs. +Cheever, moving forward, suddenly looked at the ring. + +"It cost five thousand six years ago," said Mrs. Kildair, glancing down +at it. "It has been my talisman ever since. For the moment, however, I +am cook; Maude Lille, you are scullery maid; Harris is the chef, and we +are under his orders. Mrs. Cheever, did you ever peel onions?" + +"Good Heavens, no!" said Mrs. Cheever, recoiling. + +"Well, there are no onions to peel," said Mrs. Kildair, laughing. "All +you'll have to do is to help set the table. On to the kitchen!" + +Under their hostess's gay guidance the seven guests began to circulate +busily through the rooms, laying the table, grouping the chairs, opening +bottles, and preparing the material for the chafing dishes. Mrs. Kildair +in the kitchen ransacked the ice box, and with her own hands chopped the +_fines herbes_, shredded the chicken and measured the cream. + +"Flanders, carry this in carefully," she said, her hands in a towel. +"Cheever, stop watching your wife and put the salad bowl on the table. +Everything ready, Harris? All right. Every one sit down. I'll be right +in." + +She went into her bedroom, and divesting herself of her apron hung it in +the closet. Then going to her dressing table she drew the hatpin from +the pincushion and carelessly slipped the rings on her fingers. All at +once she frowned and looked quickly at her hand. Only two rings were +there, the third ring, the one with the sapphire and the two diamonds, +was missing. + +"Stupid," she said to herself, and returned to her dressing table. All +at once she stopped. She remembered quite clearly putting the pin +through the three rings. + +She made no attempt to search further, but remained without moving, her +fingers drumming slowly on the table, her head to one side, her lip +drawn in a little between her teeth, listening with a frown to the +babble from the outer room. Who had taken the ring? Each of her guests +had had a dozen opportunities in the course of the time she had been +busy in the kitchen. + +"Too much time before the mirror, dear lady," called out Flanders gaily, +who from where he was seated could see her. + +"It is not he," she said quickly. Then she reconsidered. "Why not? He is +clever--who knows? Let me think." + +To gain time she walked back slowly into the kitchen, her head bowed, +her thumb between her teeth. + +"Who has taken it?" + +She ran over the character of her guests and their situations as she +knew them. Strangely enough, at each her mind stopped upon some reason +that might explain a sudden temptation. + +"I shall find out nothing this way," she said to herself after a +moment's deliberation; "that is not the important thing to me just now. +The important thing is to get the ring back." + +And slowly, deliberately, she began to walk back and forth, her +clenched hand beating the deliberate rhythmic measure of her journey. + +Five minutes later, as Harris, installed _en maitre_ over the chafing +dish, was giving directions, spoon in the air, Mrs. Kildair came into +the room like a lengthening shadow. Her entrance had been made with +scarcely a perceptible sound, and yet each guest was aware of it at the +same moment, with a little nervous start. + +"Heavens, dear lady," exclaimed Flanders, "you come in on us like a +Greek tragedy! What is it you have for us, a surprise?" + +As he spoke she turned her swift glance on him, drawing her forehead +together until the eyebrows ran in a straight line. + +"I have something to say to you," she said in a sharp, businesslike +manner, watching the company with penetrating eagerness. + +There was no mistaking the seriousness of her voice. Mr. Harris +extinguished the oil lamp, covering the chafing dish clumsily with a +discordant, disagreeable sound. Mrs. Cheever and Mrs. Enos Jackson swung +about abruptly, Maude Lille rose a little from her seat, while the men +imitated these movements of expectancy with a clumsy shuffling of the +feet. + +"Mr. Enos Jackson?" + +"Yes, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Kindly do as I ask you." + +"Certainly." + +She had spoken his name with a peremptory positiveness that was almost +an accusation. He rose calmly, raising his eyebrows a little in +surprise. + +"Go to the door," she continued, shifting her glance from him to the +others. "Are you there? Lock it. Bring me the key." + +He executed the order without bungling, and returning stood before her, +tendering the key. + +"You've locked it?" she said, making the words an excuse to bury her +glance in his. + +"As you wished me to." + +"Thanks." + +She took from him the key and, shifting slightly, likewise locked the +door into her bedroom through which she had come. + +Then transferring the keys to her left hand, seemingly unaware of +Jackson, who still awaited her further commands, her eyes studied a +moment the possibilities of the apartment. + +"Mr. Cheever?" she said in a low voice. + +"Yes, Mrs. Kildair." + +"Blow out all the candles except the candelabrum on the table." + +"Put out the lights, Mrs. Kildair?" + +"At once." + +Mr. Cheever, in rising, met the glance of his wife, and the look of +questioning and wonder that passed did not escape the hostess. + +"But, my dear Mrs. Kildair," said Mrs. Jackson with a little nervous +catch of her breath, "what is it? I'm getting terribly worked up! My +nerves--" + +"Miss Lille?" said the voice of command. + +"Yes." + +The journalist, calmer than the rest, had watched the proceedings +without surprise, as though forewarned by professional instinct that +something of importance was about to take place. Now she rose quietly +with an almost stealthy motion. + +"Put the candelabrum on this table--here," said Mrs. Kildair, indicating +a large round table on which a few books were grouped. "No, wait. Mr. +Jackson, first clear off the table. I want nothing on it." + +"But, Mrs. Kildair--" began Mrs. Jackson's shrill voice again. + +"That's it. Now put down the candelabrum." + +In a moment, as Mr. Cheever proceeded methodically on his errand, the +brilliant crossfire of lights dropped in the studio, only a few +smoldering wicks winking on the walls, while the high room seemed to +grow more distant as it came under the sole dominion of the three +candles bracketed in silver at the head of the bare mahogany table. + +"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, and her voice had in it a cold note. +"My sapphire ring has just been stolen." + +She said it suddenly, hurling the news among them and waiting +ferret-like for some indications in the chorus that broke out. + +"Stolen!" + +"Oh, my dear Mrs. Kildair!" + +"Stolen--by Jove!" + +"You don't mean it!" + +"What! Stolen here--to-night?" + +"The ring has been taken within the last twenty minutes," continued Mrs. +Kildair in the same determined, chiseled tone. "I am not going to mince +words. The ring has been taken and the thief is among you." + +For a moment nothing was heard but an indescribable gasp and a sudden +turning and searching, then suddenly Cheever's deep bass broke out: + +"Stolen! But, Mrs. Kildair, is it possible?" + +"Exactly. There is not the slightest doubt," said Mrs. Kildair. "Three +of you were in my bedroom when I placed my rings on the pincushion. Each +of you has passed through there a dozen times since. My sapphire ring is +gone, and one of you has taken it." + +Mrs. Jackson gave a little scream, and reached heavily for a glass of +water. Mrs. Cheever said something inarticulate in the outburst of +masculine exclamation. Only Maude Lille's calm voice could be heard +saying: + +"Quite true. I was in the room when you took them off. The sapphire ring +was on top." + +"Now listen!" said Mrs. Kildair, her eyes on Maude Lille's eyes. "I am +not going to mince words. I am not going to stand on ceremony. I'm going +to have that ring back. Listen to me carefully. I'm going to have that +ring back, and until I do, not a soul shall leave this room." She tapped +on the table with her nervous knuckles. "Who has taken it I do not care +to know. All I want is my ring. Now I'm going to make it possible for +whoever took it to restore it without possibility of detection. The +doors are locked and will stay locked. I am going to put out the lights, +and I am going to count one hundred slowly. You will be in absolute +darkness; no one will know or see what is done. But if at the end of +that time the ring is not here on this table I shall telephone the +police and have every one in this room searched. Am I quite clear?" + +Suddenly she cut short the nervous outbreak of suggestions and in the +same firm voice continued: + +"Every one take his place about the table. That's it. That will do." + +The women, with the exception of the inscrutable Maude Lille, gazed +hysterically from face to face while the men, compressing their fingers, +locking them or grasping their chins, looked straight ahead fixedly at +their hostess. + +Mrs. Kildair, having calmly assured herself that all were ranged as she +wished, blew out two of the three candles. + +"I shall count one hundred, no more, no less," she said. "Either I get +back that ring or every one in this room is to be searched, remember." + +Leaning over, she blew out the remaining candle and snuffed it. + +"One, two, three, four, five--" + +She began to count with the inexorable regularity of a clock's ticking. + +In the room every sound was distinct, the rustle of a dress, the +grinding of a shoe, the deep, slightly asthmatic breathing of a man. + +"Twenty, twenty-one, twenty-two, twenty-three--" + +She continued to count, while in the methodic unvarying note of her +voice there was a rasping reiteration that began to affect the company. +A slight gasping breath, uncontrollable, almost on the verge of +hysterics, was heard, and a man nervously clearing his throat. + +"Forty-five, forty-six, forty-seven--" + +Still nothing had happened. Mrs. Kildair did not vary her measure the +slightest, only the sound became more metallic. + +"Sixty-six, sixty-seven, sixty-eight, sixty-nine and seventy--" + +Some one had sighed. + +"Seventy-three, seventy-four, seventy-five, seventy-six, +seventy-seven--" + +All at once, clear, unmistakable, on the resounding plane of the table +was heard a slight metallic note. + +"The ring!" + +It was Maude Lille's quick voice that had spoken. Mrs. Kildair continued +to count. + +"Eighty-nine, ninety, ninety-one--" + +The tension became unbearable. Two or three voices protested against the +needless prolonging of the torture. + +"Ninety-six, ninety-seven, ninety-eight, ninety-nine and one hundred." + +A match sputtered in Mrs. Kildair's hand and on the instant the company +craned forward. In the center of the table was the sparkling sapphire +and diamond ring. Candles were lit, flaring up like searchlights on the +white accusing faces. + +"Mr. Cheever, you may give it to me," said Mrs. Kildair. She held out +her hand without trembling, a smile of triumph on her face, which had in +it for a moment an expression of positive cruelty. + +Immediately she changed, contemplating with amusement the horror of her +guests, staring blindly from one to another, seeing the indefinable +glance of interrogation that passed from Cheever to Mrs. Cheever, from +Mrs. Jackson to her husband, and then without emotion she said: + +"Now that that is over we can have a very gay little supper." + +When Peters had pushed back his chair, satisfied as only a trained +raconteur can be by the silence of a difficult audience, and had busied +himself with a cigar, there was an instant outcry. + +"I say, Peters, old boy, that is not all!" + +"Absolutely." + +"The story ends there?" + +"That ends the story." + +"But who took the ring?" + +Peters extended his hands in an empty gesture. + +"What! It was never found out?" + +"Never." + +"No clue?" + +"None." + +"I don't like the story," said De Gollyer. + +"It's no story at all," said Steingall. + +"Permit me," said Quinny in a didactic way; "it is a story, and it is +complete. In fact, I consider it unique because it has none of the +banalities of a solution and leaves the problem even more confused than +at the start." + +"I don't see--" began Rankin. + +"Of course you don't, my dear man," said Quinny crushingly. "You do not +see that any solution would be commonplace, whereas no solution leaves +an extraordinary intellectual problem." + +"How so?" + +"In the first place," said Quinny, preparing to annex the topic, +"whether the situation actually happened or not, which is in itself a +mere triviality, Peters has constructed it in a masterly way, the proof +of which is that he has made me listen. Observe, each person present +might have taken the ring--Flanders, a broker, just come a cropper; +Maude Lille, a woman on the ragged side of life in desperate means; +either Mr. and Mrs. Cheever, suspected of being card sharps--very good +touch that, Peters, when the husband and wife glanced involuntarily at +each other at the end--Mr. Enos Jackson, a sharp lawyer, or his wife +about to be divorced; even Harris, concerning whom, very cleverly, +Peters has said nothing at all to make him quite the most suspicious of +all. There are, therefore, seven solutions, all possible and all +logical. But beyond this is left a great intellectual problem." + +"How so?" + +"Was it a feminine or a masculine action to restore the ring when +threatened with a search, knowing that Mrs. Kildair's clever expedient +of throwing the room in the dark made detection impossible? Was it a +woman who lacked the necessary courage to continue, or was it a man who +repented his first impulse? Is a man or is a woman the greater natural +criminal?" + +"A woman took it, of course," said Rankin. + +"On the contrary, it was a man," said Steingall, "for the second action +was more difficult than the first." + +"A man, certainly," said De Gollyer. "The restoration of the ring was a +logical decision." + +"You see," said Quinny triumphantly, "personally I incline to a woman +for the reason that a weaker feminine nature is peculiarly susceptible +to the domination of her own sex. There you are. We could meet and +debate the subject year in and year out and never agree." + +"I recognize most of the characters," said De Gollyer with a little +confidential smile toward Peters. "Mrs. Kildair, of course, is all you +say of her--an extraordinary woman. The story is quite characteristic of +her. Flanders, I am not sure of, but I think I know him." + +"Did it really happen?" asked Rankin, who always took the commonplace +point of view. + +"Exactly as I have told it," said Peters. + +"The only one I don't recognize is Harris," said De Gollyer pensively. + +"Your humble servant," said Peters, smiling. + +The four looked up suddenly with a little start. + +"What!" said Quinny, abruptly confused. "You--you were there?" + +"I was there." + +The four continued to look at him without speaking, each absorbed in his +own thoughts, with a sudden ill ease. + +A club attendant with a telephone slip on a tray stopped by Peters' +side. He excused himself and went along the porch, nodding from table to +table. + +"Curious chap," said De Gollyer musingly. + +"Extraordinary." + +The word was like a murmur in the group of four, who continued watching +Peters' trim disappearing figure in silence, without looking at one +another--with a certain ill ease. + + + + +A COMEDY FOR WIVES + + +At half-past six o'clock from Wall Street, Jack Lightbody let himself +into his apartment, called his wife by name, and received no answer. + +"Hello, that's funny," he thought, and, ringing, asked of the maid, "Did +Mrs. Lightbody go out?" + +"About an hour ago, sir." + +"That's odd. Did she leave any message?" + +"No, sir." + +"That's not like her. I wonder what's happened." + +At this moment his eye fell on an open hat-box of mammoth proportions, +overshadowing a thin table in the living-room. + +"When did that come?" + +"About four o'clock, sir." + +He went in, peeping into the empty box with a smile of satisfaction and +understanding. + +"That's it, she's rushed off to show it to some one," he said, with a +half vindictive look toward the box. "Well, it cost $175, and I don't +get my winter suit; but I get a little peace." + +He went to his room, rebelliously preparing to dress for the dinner and +theater to which he had been commanded. + +"By George, if I came back late, wouldn't I catch it?" he said with some +irritation, slipping into his evening clothes and looking critically at +his rather subdued reflection in the glass. "Jim tells me I'm getting in +a rut, middle-aged, showing the wear. Perhaps." He rubbed his hand over +the wrinkled cheek and frowned. "I have gone off a bit--sedentary +life--six years. It does settle you. Hello! quarter of seven. Very +strange!" + +He slipped into a lilac dressing-gown which had been thrust upon him on +his last birthday and wandered uneasily back into the dining-room. + +"Why doesn't she telephone?" he thought; "it's her own party, one of +those infernal problem plays I abhor. I didn't want to go." + +The door opened and the maid entered. On the tray was a letter. + +"For me?" he said, surprised. "By messenger?" + +"Yes, sir." + +He signed the slip, glancing at the envelope. It was in his wife's +handwriting. + +"Margaret!" he said suddenly. + +"Yes, sir." + +"The boy's waiting for an answer, isn't he?" + +"No, sir." + +He stood a moment in blank uneasiness, until, suddenly aware that she +was waiting, he dismissed her with a curt: + +"Oh, very well." + +Then he remained by the table, looking at the envelope which he did not +open, hearing the sound of the closing outer door and the passing of the +maid down the hall. + +"Why didn't she telephone?" he said aloud slowly. + +He looked at the letter again. He had made no mistake. It was from his +wife. + +"If she's gone off again on some whim," he said angrily, "by George, I +won't stand for it." + +Then carelessly inserting a finger, he broke the cover and glanced +hastily down the letter: + + My dear Jackie: + + When you have read this I shall have left you forever. Forget me and + try to forgive. In the six years we have lived together, you have + always been kind to me. But, Jack, there is something we cannot give + or take away, and because some one has come who has won that, I am + leaving you. I'm sorry, Jackie, I'm sorry. + + Irene. + +When he had read this once in unbelief, he read it immediately again, +approaching the lamp, laying it on the table and pressing his fists +against his temple, to concentrate all his mind. + +"It's a joke," he said, speaking aloud. + +He rose, stumbling a little and aiding himself with his arm, leaning +against the wall, went into her room, and opened the drawer where her +jewel case should be. It was gone. + +"Then it's true," he said solemnly. "It's ended. What am I to do?" + +He went to her wardrobe, looking at the vacant hooks, repeating: + +"What am I to do?" + +He went slowly back to the living-room to the desk by the lamp, where +the hateful thing stared up at him. + +"What am I to do?" + +All at once he struck the desk with his fist and a cry burst from him: + +"Dishonored--I'm dishonored!" + +His head flushed hot, his breath came in short, panting rage. He struck +the letter again and again, and then suddenly, frantically, began to +rush back and forth, repeating: + +"Dishonored--dishonored!" + +All at once a moment of clarity came to him with a chill of ice. He +stopped, went to the telephone and called up the Racquet Club, saying: + +"Mr. De Gollyer to the 'phone." + +Then he looked at his hand and found he was still clutching a forgotten +hair brush. With a cry at the grotesqueness of the thing, he flung it +from him, watching it go skipping over the polished floor. The voice of +De Gollyer called him. + +"Is that you, Jim?" he said, steadying himself. "Come--come to me at +once--quick!" + +He could have said no more. He dropped the receiver, overturning the +stand, and began again his caged pacing of the floor. + +Ten minutes later De Gollyer nervously slipped into the room. He was a +quick, instinctive ferret of a man, one to whose eyes the hidden life of +the city held no mysteries; who understood equally the shadows that +glide on the street and the masks that pass in luxurious carriages. In +one glance he had caught the disorder in the room and the agitation in +his friend. He advanced a step, balanced his hat on the desk, perceived +the crumpled letter, and, clearing his throat, drew back, frowning and +alert, correctly prepared for any situation. + +Lightbody, without seeming to perceive his arrival, continued his blind +traveling, pressing his fists from time to time against his throat to +choke back the excess of emotions which, in the last minutes, had dazed +his perceptions and left him inertly struggling against a shapeless +pain. All at once he stopped, flung out his arms and cried: + +"She's gone!" + +De Gollyer did not on the word seize the situation. + +"Gone! Who's gone?" he said with a nervous, jerky fixing of his head, +while his glance immediately sought the vista through the door to assure +himself that no third person was present. + +But Lightbody, unconscious of everything but his own utter grief, was +threshing back and forth, repeating mechanically, with increasing +_staccato_: + +"Gone, gone!" + +"Who? Where?" + +With a sudden movement, De Gollyer caught his friend by the shoulder and +faced him about as a naughty child, exclaiming: "Here, I say, old chap, +brace up! Throw back your shoulders--take a long breath!" + +With a violent wrench, Lightbody twisted himself free, while one hand +flung appealingly back, begged for time to master the emotion which +burst forth in the cry: + +"Gone--forever!" + +"By Jove!" said De Gollyer, suddenly enlightened, and through his mind +flashed the thought--"There's been an accident--something fatal. +Tough--devilish tough." + +He cast a furtive glance toward the bedrooms and then an alarmed one +toward his friend, standing in the embrasure of the windows, pressing +his forehead against the panes. + +Suddenly Lightbody turned and, going abruptly to the desk, leaned +heavily on one arm, raising the letter in two vain efforts. A spasm of +pain crossed his lips, which alone could not be controlled. He turned +his head hastily, half offering, half dropping the letter, and +wheeling, went to an armchair, where he collapsed, repeating +inarticulately: + +"Forever!" + +"Who? What? Who's gone?" exclaimed De Gollyer, bewildered by the +appearance of a letter. "Good heavens, dear boy, what has happened? +Who's gone?" + +Then Lightbody, by an immense effort, answered: + +"Irene--my wife!" + +And with a rapid motion he covered his eyes, digging his fingers into +his flesh. + +De Gollyer, pouncing upon the letter, read: + +My dear Jackie: When you read this, I shall have left you forever-- + +Then he halted with an exclamation, and hastily turned the page for the +signature. + +"Read!" said Lightbody in a stifled voice. + +"I say, this is serious, devilishly serious," said De Gollyer, now +thoroughly amazed. Immediately he began to read, unconsciously +emphasizing the emphatic words--a little trick of his enunciation. + +When Lightbody had heard from the voice of another the message that +stood written before his eyes, all at once all impulses in his brain +converged into one. He sprang up, speaking now in quick, distinct +syllables, sweeping the room with the fury of his arms. + +"I'll find them; by God, I'll find them. I'll hunt them down. I'll +follow them. I'll track them--anywhere--to the ends of the earth--and +when I find them--" + +De Gollyer, sensitively distressed at such a scene, vainly tried to stop +him. + +"I'll find them, if I die for it! I'll shoot them down. I'll shoot them +down like dogs! I will, by all that's holy, I will! I'll butcher them! +I'll shoot them down, there at my feet, rolling at my feet!" + +All at once he felt a weight on his arm, and heard De Gollyer saying, +vainly: + +"Dear boy, be calm, be calm." + +"Calm!" he cried, with a scream, his anger suddenly focusing on his +friend, "Calm! I won't be calm! What! I come back--slaving all day, +slaving for her--come back to take her out to dinner where she wants to +go--to the play she wants to see, and I find--nothing--this letter--this +bomb--this thunderbolt! Everything gone--my home broken up--my name +dishonored--my whole life ruined! And you say be calm--be calm--be +calm!" + +Then, fearing the hysteria gaining possession of him, he dropped back +violently into an armchair and covered his face. + +During this outburst, De Gollyer had deliberately removed his gloves, +folded them and placed them in his breast pocket. His reputation for +social omniscience had been attained by the simple expedient of never +being convinced. As soon as the true situation had been unfolded, a +slight, skeptical smile hovered about his thin, flouting lips, and, +looking at his old friend, he was not unpleasantly aware of something +comic in the attitudes of grief. He made one or two false starts, +buttoning his trim cutaway, and then said in a purposely higher key: + +"My dear old chap, we must consider--we really must consider what is to +be done." + +"There is only one thing to be done," cried Lightbody in a voice of +thunder. + +"Permit me!" + +"Kill them!" + +"One moment!" + +De Gollyer, master of himself, never abandoning his critical enjoyment, +softened his voice to that controlled note that is the more effective +for being opposed to frenzy. + +"Sit down--come now, sit down!" + +Lightbody resisted. + +"Sit down, there--come--you have called me in. Do you want my advice? Do +you? Well, just quiet down. Will you listen?" + +"I am quiet," said Lightbody, suddenly submissive. The frenzy of his +rage passed, but to make his resolution doubly impressive, he extended +his arm and said slowly: + +"But remember, my mind is made up. I shall not budge. I shall shoot +them down like dogs! You see I say quietly--like dogs!" + +"My dear old pal," said De Gollyer with a well-bred shrug of his +shoulders, "you'll do nothing of the sort. We are men of the world, my +boy, men of the world. Shooting is archaic--for the rural districts. +We've progressed way beyond that--men of the world don't shoot any +more." + +"I said it quietly," said Lightbody, who perceived, not without +surprise, that he was no longer at the same temperature. However, he +concluded with normal conviction: "I shall kill them both, that's all. I +say it quietly." + +This gave De Gollyer a certain hortatory moment of which he availed +himself, seeking to reduce further the dramatic tension. + +"My dear old pal, as a matter of fact, all I say is, consider first and +shoot after. In the first place, suppose you kill one or both and you +are not yourself killed--for you know, dear boy, the deuce is that +sometimes does happen. What then? Justice is so languid nowadays. +Certainly you would have to inhabit for six, eight--perhaps ten +months--a drafty, moist jail, without exercise, most indigestible food +abominably cooked, limited society. You are brought to trial. A jury--an +emotional jury--may give you a couple of years. That's another risk. You +see you drink cocktails, you smoke cigarettes. You will be made to +appear a person totally unfit to live with." + +Lightbody with a movement of irritation, shifted the clutch of his +fingers. + +"As a matter of fact, suppose you are acquitted, what then? You emerge, +middle-aged, dyspeptic, possibly rheumatic--no nerves left. Your +photograph figures in every paper along with inventors of shoes and +corsets. You can't be asked to dinner or to house parties, can you? As a +matter of fact, you'll disappear somewhere or linger and get shot by the +brother, who in turn, as soon as he is acquitted, must be shot by your +brother, et cetera, et cetera! _Voila!_ What will you have gained?" + +He ceased, well pleased--he had convinced himself. + +Lightbody, who had had time to be ashamed of the emotion that he, as a +man, had shown to another of his sex, rose and said with dignity: + +"I shall have avenged my honor." + +De Gollyer, understanding at once that the battle had been won, took up +in an easy running attack his battery of words. + +"By publishing your dishonor to Europe, Africa, Asia? That's logic, +isn't it? No, no, my dear old Jack--you won't do it. You won't be an +ass. Steady head, old boy! Let's look at it in a reasonable way--as men +of the world. You can't bring her back, can you? She's gone." + +At this reminder, overcome by the vibrating sense of loss, Lightbody +turned abruptly, no longer master of himself, and going hastily toward +the windows, cried violently: + +"Gone!" + +Over the satisfied lips of De Gollyer the same ironical smile returned. + +"I say, as a matter of fact I didn't suspect, you--you cared so much." + +"I adored her!" + +With a quick movement, Lightbody turned. His eyes flashed. He no longer +cared what he revealed. He began to speak incoherently, stifling a sob +at every moment. + +"I adored her. It was wonderful. Nothing like it. I adored her from the +moment I met her. It was that--adoration--one woman in the world--one +woman--I adored her!" + +The imp of irony continued to play about De Gollyer's eyes and slightly +twitching lips. + +"Quite so--quite so," he said. "Of course you know, dear boy, you +weren't always so--so lonely--the old days--you surprise me." + +The memory of his romance all at once washed away the bitterness in +Lightbody. He returned, sat down, oppressed, crushed. + +"You know, Jim," he said solemnly, "she never did this, never in the +world, not of her own free will, never in her right mind. She's been +hypnotized, some one has gotten her under his power--some scoundrel. +No--I'll not harm her, I'll not hurt a hair of her head--but when I meet +_him_--" + +"By the way, whom do you suspect?" said De Gollyer, who had long +withheld the question. + +"Whom? Whom do I suspect?" exclaimed Lightbody, astounded. "I don't +know." + +"Impossible!" + +"How do I know? I never doubted her a minute." + +"Yes, yes--still?" + +"Whom do I suspect? I don't know." He stopped and considered. "It might +be--three men." + +"Three men!" exclaimed De Gollyer, who smiled as only a bachelor could +smile at such a moment. + +"I don't know which--how should I know? But when I do know--when I meet +him! I'll spare her--but--but when we meet--we two--when my hands are on +his throat--" + +He was on his feet again, the rage of dishonor ready to flame forth. De +Gollyer, putting his arm about him, recalled him with abrupt, military +sternness. + +"Steady, steady again, dear old boy. Buck up now--get hold of yourself." + +"Jim, it's awful!" + +"It's tough--very tough!" + +"Out of a clear sky--everything gone!" + +"Come, now, walk up and down a bit--do you good." + +Lightbody obeyed, locking his arms behind his back, his eyes on the +floor. + +"Everything smashed to bits!" + +"You adored her?" questioned De Gollyer in an indefinable tone. + +"I adored her!" replied Lightbody explosively. + +"Really now?" + +"I adored her. There's nothing left now--nothing--nothing." + +"Steady." + +Lightbody, at the window, made another effort, controlled himself and +said, as a man might renounce an inheritance: + +"You're right, Jim--but it's hard." + +"Good spirit--fine, fine, very fine!" commented De Gollyer in critical +enthusiasm, "nothing public, eh? No scandal--not our class. Men of the +world. No shooting! People don't shoot any more. It's reform, you know, +for the preservation of bachelors." + +The effort, the renunciation of his just vengeance, had exhausted +Lightbody, who turned and came back, putting out his hands to steady +himself. + +"It isn't that, it's, it's--" Suddenly his fingers encountered on the +table a pair of gloves--his wife's gloves, forgotten there. He raised +them, holding them in his open palm, glanced at De Gollyer and, letting +them fall, suddenly unable to continue, turned aside his head. + +"Take time--a good breath," said De Gollyer, in military fashion, "fill +your lungs. Splendid! That's it." + +Lightbody, sitting down at the desk, wearily drew the gloves to him, +gazing fixedly at the crushed perfumed fingers. + +"Why, Jim," he said finally, "I adore her so--if she can be +happier--happier with another--if that will make her happier than I can +make her--well, I'll step aside, I'll make no trouble--just for her, +just for what she's done for me." + +The last words were hardly heard. This time, despite himself, De Gollyer +was tremendously affected. + +"Superb! By George, that's grit!" + +Lightbody raised his head with the fatigue of the struggle and the pride +of the victory written on it. + +"Her happiness first," he said simply. + +The accent with which it was spoken almost convinced De Gollyer. + +"By Jove, you adore her!" + +"I adore her," said Lightbody, lifting himself to his feet. This time it +came not as an explosion, but as a breath, some deep echo from the soul. +He stood steadily gazing at his friend. "You're right, Jim. You're +right. It's not our class. I'll face it down. There'll be no scandal. +No one shall know." + +Their hands met with an instinctive motion. Then, touched by the fervor +of his friend's admiration, Lightbody moved wearily away, saying dully, +all in a breath: + +"Like a thunderclap, Jim." + +"I know, dear old boy," said De Gollyer, feeling sharply vulnerable in +the eyes and throat. + +"It's terrible--it's awful. All in a second! Everything turned upside +down, everything smashed!" + +"You must go away," said De Gollyer anxiously. + +"My whole life wrecked," continued Lightbody, without hearing him, +"nothing left--not the slightest, meanest thing left!" + +"Dear boy, you must go away." + +"Only last night she was sitting here, and I there, reading a book." He +stopped and put forth his hand. "This book!" + +"Jack, you must go away for a while." + +"What?" + +"Go away!" + +"Oh, yes, yes. I suppose so. I don't care." + +Leaning against the desk, he gazed down at the rug, mentally and +physically inert. + +De Gollyer, returning to his nature, said presently: "I say, dear old +fellow, it's awfully delicate, but I should like to be frank, from the +shoulder--out and out, do you mind?" + +"What? No." + +Seeing that Lightbody had only half listened, De Gollyer spoke with some +hesitation: + +"Of course it's devilish impudent. I'll offend you dreadfully. But, I +say, now as a matter of fact, were you really so--so seraphically +happy?" + +"What's that?" + +"As a matter of fact," said De Gollyer changing his note instantly, "you +were happy, _terrifically_ happy, _always_ happy, weren't you?" + +Lightbody was indignant. + +"Oh, how can you, at such a moment?" + +The new emotion gave him back his physical elasticity. He began to pace +up and down, declaiming at his friend, "I was happy, _ideally_ happy. I +never had a thought, not one, for anything else. I gave her everything. +I did everything she wanted. There never was a word between us. It was +_ideal_" + +De Gollyer, somewhat shamefaced, avoiding his angry glance, said +hastily: + +"So, so, I was quite wrong. I beg your pardon." + +"_Ideally_ happy," continued Lightbody, more insistently. "We had the +same thoughts, the same tastes, we read the same books. She had a mind, +a wonderful mind. It was an _ideal_ union." + +"The devil, I may be all wrong," thought De Gollyer to himself. He +crossed his arms, nodded his head, and this time it was with the +profoundest conviction that he repeated: + +"You adored her." + +"I _adored_ her," said Lightbody, with a ring to his voice. "Not a word +against her, not a word. It was not her fault. I know it's not her +fault." + +"You must go away," said De Gollyer, touching him on the shoulder. + +"Oh, I must! I couldn't stand it here in this room," said Lightbody +bitterly. His fingers wandered lightly over the familiar objects on the +desk, shrinking from each fiery contact. He sat down. "You're right, I +must get away." + +"You're dreadfully hard hit, aren't you?" + +"Oh, Jim!" + +Lightbody's hand closed over the book and he opened it mechanically in +the effort to master the memory. "This book--we were reading it last +night together." + +"Jack, look here," said De Gollyer, suddenly unselfish before such a +great grief, "you've got to be bucked up, boy, pulled together. I'll +tell you what I'll do. You're going to get right off. You're going to be +looked after. I'll knock off myself. I'll take you." + +Lightbody gave him his hand with a dumb, grateful look that brought a +quick lump to the throat of De Gollyer, who, in terror, purposely +increasing the lightness of his manner, sprang up with exaggerated +gaiety. + +"By Jove, fact is, I'm a bit dusty myself. Do me good. We'll run off +just as we did in the old days--good days, those. We knocked about a +bit, didn't we? Good days, eh, Jack?" + +Lightbody, continuing to gaze at the book, said: + +"Last night--only last night! Is it possible?" + +"Come, now, let's polish off Paris, or Vienna?" + +"No, no." Lightbody seemed to shrink at the thought. "Not that, nothing +gay. I couldn't bear to see others gay--happy." + +"Quite right. California?" + +"No, no, I want to get away, out of the country--far away." + +Suddenly an inspiration came to De Gollyer--a memory of earlier days. + +"By George, Morocco! Superb! The trip we planned out--Morocco--the very +thing!" + +Lightbody, at the desk still feebly fingering the leaves that he +indistinctly saw, muttered: + +"Something far away--away from people." + +"By George, that's immense," continued De Gollyer exploding with +delight, and, on a higher octave, he repeated: "Immense! Morocco and a +smashing dash into Africa for big game. The old trip just as we planned +it seven years ago. IMMENSE!" + +"I don't care--anywhere." + +De Gollyer went nimbly to the bookcase and bore back an atlas. + +"My boy--the best thing in the world. Set you right up--terrific air, +smashing scenery, ripping sport, caravans and all that sort of thing. +Fine idea, very fine. Never could forgive you breaking up that trip, you +know. There." Rapidly he skimmed through the atlas, mumbling, +"M-M-M--Morocco." + +Lightbody, irritated at the idea of facing a decision, moved uneasily, +saying, "Anywhere, anywhere." + +"Back into harness again--the old camping days--immense." + +"I must get away." + +"There you are," said De Gollyer at length. With a deft movement he +slipped the atlas in front of his friend, saying, "Morocco, devilish +smart air, smashing colors, blues and reds." + +"Yes, yes." + +"You remember how we planned it," continued De Gollyer, artfully +blundering; "boat to Tangier, from Tangier bang across to Fez." + +At this Lightbody, watching the tracing finger, said with some +irritation, "No, no, down the coast first." + +"I beg your pardon," said De Gollyer; "to Fez, my dear fellow." + +"My dear boy, I know! Down the coast to Rabat." + +"Ah, now, you're sure? I think--" + +"And I _know_," said Lightbody, raising his voice and assuming +possession of the atlas, which he struck energetically with the back of +his hand. "I ought to know my own plan." + +"Yes, yes," said De Gollyer, to egg him on. "Still you're thoroughly +convinced about that, are you?" + +"Of course, I am! My dear Jim--come, isn't this my pet idea--the one +trip I've dreamed over, the one thing in the world I've longed to do, +all my life?" His eyes took energy, while his forefinger began viciously +to stab the atlas. "We go to Rabat. We go to Magazam, and we +cut--so--long sweep, into the interior, take a turn, so, and back to +Fez, so!" + +This speech, delivered with enthusiasm, made De Gollyer reflect. He +looked at the somewhat revived Lightbody with thoughtful curiosity. + +"Well, well--you may be right. You always are impressive, you know." + +"Right? Of course I'm right," continued Lightbody, unaware of his +friend's critical contemplation. "Haven't I worked out every foot of +it?" + +"A bit of a flyer in the game country, then? Topple over a rhino or so. +Stunning, smart sport, the rhino!" + +"By George, think of it--a chance at one of the brutes!" + +When De Gollyer had seen the eagerness in his friend's eyes, the imps +returned, ironically tumbling back. He slapped him on the shoulder as +Mephistopheles might gleefully claim his own, crying, "Immense!" + +"You know, Jim," said Lightbody, straightening up, nervously alert, +speaking in quick, eager accents, "it's what I've dreamed of--a chance +at one of the big beggars. By George, I have, all my life!" + +"We'll polish it off in ripping style, regiments of porters, red and +white tents, camels, caravans and all that sort of thing." + +"By George, just think of it." + +"In style, my boy--we'll own the whole continent, buy it up!" + +"The devil!" + +"What's the matter?" + +Lightbody's mood had suddenly dropped. He half pushed back his chair and +frowned. "It's going to be frightfully extravagant." + +"What of it?" + +"My dear fellow, you don't know what my expenses are--this apartment, an +automobile--Oh, as for you, it's all very well for you! You have ten +thousand a year and no one to care for but yourself." + +Suddenly he felt almost a hatred for his friend, and then a rebellion +at the renunciation he would have to make. + +"No--it can't be done. We'll have to give it up. Impossible, utterly +impossible, I can't afford it." + +De Gollyer, still a little uncertain of his ground, for several moments +waited, carefully considering the dubious expression on his friend's +face. Then he questioned abruptly: + +"What is your income--now?" + +"What do you mean by _now_?" + +"Fifteen thousand a year?" + +"It has always been that," replied Lightbody in bad humor. + +De Gollyer, approaching at last the great question, assumed an air of +concentrated firmness, tempered with well-mannered delicacy. + +"My dear boy, I beg your pardon. As a matter of fact it has always been +fifteen thousand--quite right, quite so; but--now, my dear boy, you are +too much of a man of the world to be offended, aren't you?" + +"No," said Lightbody, staring in front of him. "No, I'm not offended." + +"Of course it's delicate, ticklishly delicate ground, but then we must +look things in the face. Now if you'd rather I--" + +"No, go on." + +"Of course, dear boy, you've had a smashing knock and all that sort of +thing, but--" suddenly reaching out he took up the letter, and, letting +it hang from his fingers, thoughtfully considered it--"I say it might be +looked at in this way. Yesterday it was fifteen thousand a year to dress +up a dashing wife, modern New York style, the social pace, clothes that +must be smarter than Thingabob's wife, competitive dinners that you stir +up with your fork and your servants eat, and all that sort of thing, you +know. To-day it's fifteen thousand a year and a bachelor again." + +Releasing the letter, he disdainfully allowed it to settle down on the +desk, and finished: + +"Come now, as a matter of fact there is a little something consoling, +isn't there?" + +From the moment he had perceived De Gollyer's idea. Lightbody had become +very quiet, gazing steadily ahead, seeing neither the door nor the +retaining walls. + +"I never thought of that," he said, almost in a whisper. + +"Quite so, quite so. Of course one doesn't think of such things, right +at first. And you've had a knock-down--a regular smasher, old chap." He +stopped, cleared his voice and said sympathetically: "You adored her?" + +"I suppose I could give up the apartment and sell the auto," said +Lightbody slowly, speaking to himself. + +De Gollyer smiled--a bachelor smile. + +"Riches, my boy," he said, tapping him on the shoulder with the same +quick, awakening Mephistophelean touch. + +The contact raised Lightbody from revery. He drew back, shocked at the +ways through which his thoughts had wandered. + +"No, no, Jim," he said. "No, you mustn't, nothing like that--not at such +a time." + +"You're right," said De Gollyer, instantly masked in gravity. "You're +quite right. Still, we are looking things in the face--planning for the +future. Of course it's a delicate question, terrifically delicate. I'm +almost afraid to put it to you. Come, now, how shall I express +it--delicately? It's this way. Fifteen thousand a year divided by one is +fifteen thousand, isn't it; but fifteen thousand a year divided by two, +may mean--" He straightened up, heels clicking, throwing out his elbows +slightly and lifting his chin from the high, white stockade on which it +reposed. "Come, now, we're men of the world, aren't we? Now, as a matter +of fact how much of that fifteen thousand a year came back to you?" + +"My dear Jim," said Lightbody, feeling that generosity should be his +part, "a woman, a modern woman, a New York woman, you just said +it--takes--takes--" + +"Twelve thousand--thirteen thousand?" + +"Oh, come! Nonsense," said Lightbody, growing quite angry. "Besides, I +don't--" + +"Yes, yes, I know," said De Gollyer, interrupting him, now with fresh +confidence. "All the same your whiskies have gone off, dear boy--they've +gone off, and your cigars are bad, very bad. Little things, but they +show." + +A pencil lay before him. Lightbody, without knowing what he did, took it +up and mechanically on an unwritten sheet jotted down $15,000, drawing +the dollar sign with a careful, almost caressing stroke. The sheet was +the back of his wife's letter, but he did not notice it. + +De Gollyer, looking over his shoulder, exclaimed: + +"Quite right. Fifteen thousand, divided by one." + +"It will make a difference," said Lightbody slowly. Over his face passed +an expression such as comes but once in a lifetime; a look defying +analysis; a look that sweeps back over the past and challenges the +future and always retains the secret of its judgment. + +De Gollyer, drawing back slowly, allowed him a moment before saying: + +"And no alimony!" + +"What?" + +"Free and no alimony, my boy!" + +"No alimony?" said Lightbody, surprised at this new reasoning. + +"A woman who runs away gets no alimony," said De Gollyer loudly. "Not +here, not in the effete East!" + +"I hadn't thought of that, either," said Lightbody, who, despite +himself, could not repress a smile. + +De Gollyer, irritated perhaps that he should have been duped into +sympathy, ran on with a little vindictiveness. + +"Of course that means nothing to you, dear boy. You were happy, +_ideally_ happy! You adored her, didn't you?" + +He paused and then, receiving no reply, continued: + +"But you see, if you hadn't been so devilish lucky, so seraphically +happy all these years, you might find a certain humor in the situation, +mightn't you? Still, look it in the face, what have you lost, what have +you left? There is something in that. Fifteen thousand a year, liberty +and no alimony." + +The moment had come which could no longer be evaded. Lightbody rose, +turned, met the lurking malice in De Gollyer's eyes with the blank +indecision screen of his own, and, turning on his heel, went to a little +closet in the wall, and bore back a decanter and glasses. + +"This is not what we serve on the table," he said irrelevantly. "It's +whisky." + +De Gollyer poured out his drink and looked at Lightbody _en +connoisseur_. + +"You've gone off--old--six years. You were the smartest of the old +crowd, too. You certainly have gone off." + +Lightbody listened, with his eyes in his glass. + +"Jack, you're middle-aged--you've gone off--badly. It's hit you hard." + +There was a moment's silence and then Lightbody spoke quietly: + +"Jim!" + +"What is it, old boy?" + +"Do you want to know the truth?" + +"Come--out with it!" + +Lightbody struggled a moment, all the hesitation showing in his lips. +Then he said, slowly shaking his head, never lifting his eyes, speaking +as though to another: + +"Jim, I've had a hell of a time!" + +"Impossible!" + +"Yes." + +He lifted his glass until he felt its touch against his lips and +gradually set it down. "Why, Jim, in six years I've loved her so that +I've never done anything I wanted to do, gone anywhere I wanted to go, +drank anything I've wanted to drink, saw anything I wanted to see, wore +anything I wanted to wear, smoked anything I wanted to smoke, read +anything I wanted to read, or dined any one I wanted to dine! Jim, it +certainly has been a _domestic_ time!" + +"Good God! I can't believe it!" ejaculated De Gollyer, too astounded to +indulge his sense of humor. + +All at once a little fury seemed to seize Lightbody. His voice rose and +his gestures became indignant. + +"Married! I've been married to a policeman. Why, Jim, do you know what +I've spent on myself, really spent? Not two thousand, not one thousand, +not five hundred dollars a year. I've been poorer than my own clerk. I'd +hate to tell you what I paid for cigars and whisky. Everything went to +her, everything! And Jim--" he turned suddenly with a significant +glance--"such a temper!" + +"A temper? No, impossible, not that!" + +"Not violent--oh, no--but firm--smiling, you know, but irresistible." + +He drew a long breath charged with bitter memories and said between his +teeth, rebelling: "I always agreed." + +"Can it be? Is it possible?" commented De Gollyer, carefully mastering +his expression. + +Lightbody, on the new subject of his wrongs, now began to explode with +wrath. + +"And there's one thing more--one thing that hurts! You know what she +eloped in? She eloped in a hat, a big red hat, three white feathers--one +hundred and seventy-five dollars. I gave up a winter suit to get it." + +He strode over to the grotesquely large hat-box on the slender table, +and struck it with his fist. + +"Came this morning. Jim, she waited for that hat! Now, that isn't right! +That isn't delicate!" + +"No, by Jove, it certainly isn't delicate!" + +"Domesticity! Ha!" At the moment, with only the long vision of petty +tyranny before him, he could have caught her up in his hands and +strangled her. "Domesticity! I've had all I want of domesticity!" + +Suddenly the eternal fear awakening in him, he turned and commanded +authoritatively: + +"Never tell!" + +"Never!" + +De Gollyer, at forty-two, showed a responsive face, invincibly, gravely +sympathetic, patiently awaiting his climax, knowing that nothing is so +cumulatively dangerous as confession. + +Lightbody took up his glass and again approached it to his lips, +frowning at the thought of what he had revealed. All at once a fresh +impulse caught him, he put down his glass untasted, blurting out: + +"Do you want to know one thing more? Do you want to know the truth, the +real truth?" + +"Gracious heavens, there is something more?" + +"I never married her--never in God's world!" + +He ceased and suddenly, not to be denied, the past ranged itself before +him in its stark verity. + +"She married me!" + +"Is it possible?" + +"She did!" + +What had been an impulse suddenly became a certainty. + +"As I look back now, I can see it all--quite clear. Do you know how it +happened? I called three times--not one time more--three times! I liked +her--nothing more. She was an attractive-looking girl--a certain +fascination--she always has that--that's the worst of it--but gentle, +very gentle." + +"Extraordinary!" + +"On the third time I called--the third time, mind you," proceeded +Lightbody, attacking the table, "as I stood up to say good-by, all at +once--the lights went out." + +"The lights?" + +"When they went on again--I was engaged." + +"Great heavens!" + +"The old fainting trick." + +"Is it possible?" + +"I see it all now. A man sees things as they are at such a moment." + +He gave a short, disagreeable laugh. "Jim, she had those lights all +fixed!" + +"Frightful!" + +Lightbody, who had stripped his soul in confession, no longer was +conscious of shame. He struck the table, punctuating his wrath, and +cried: + +"And that's the truth! The solemn literal truth! That's my story!" + +To confess, it had been necessary to be swept away in a burst of anger. +The necessity having ceased, he crossed his arms, quite calm, laughing a +low, scornful laugh. + +"My dear boy," said De Gollyer, to relieve the tension, "as a matter of +fact, that's the way you're all caught." + +"I believe it," said Lightbody curtly. He had now an instinctive desire +to insult the whole female sex. + +"I know--a bachelor knows. The things I have seen and the things I have +heard. My dear fellow, as a matter of fact, marriage is all very well +for bankers and brokers, unconvicted millionaires, week domestic animals +in search of a capable housekeeper, you know, and all that sort of +thing, but for men of the world--like ourselves, it's a mistake. Don't +do it again, my boy--don't do it." + +Lightbody laughed a barking laugh that quite satisfied De Gollyer. + +"Husbands--modern social husbands--are excrescences--they don't count. +They're mere financial tabulators--nothing more than social +sounding-boards." + +"Right!" said Lightbody savagely. + +"Ah, you like that, do you?" said De Gollyer, pleased. "I do say a good +thing occasionally. Social sounding-boards! Why, Jack, in one-half of +the marriages in this country--no, by George, in two-thirds--if the +inconsequential, tabulating husband should come home to find a letter +like this--he'd be dancing a _can-can_!" + +Lightbody felt a flood of soul-easing laughter well up within him. He +bit his lip and answered: + +"No!" + +"Yes." + +"Pshaw!" + +"A _can-can_!" + +Lightbody, fearing to betray himself, did not dare to look at the +triumphant bachelor. He covered his eyes with his hands and sought to +fight down the joyful hysteria that began to shake his whole body. All +at once he caught sight of De Gollyer's impish eyes, and, unable longer +to contain himself, burst out laughing. The more he laughed at De +Gollyer, who laughed back at him, the more uncontrollable he became. +Tears came to his eyes and trickled down his cheeks, washing away all +illusions and self-deception, leaving only the joy of deliverance, +acknowledged at last. + +All at once holding his sides, he found a little breath and cried +combustibly: + +"A _can-can_!" + +Suddenly, with one impulse, they locked arms and pirouetted about the +room, flinging out destructive legs, hugging each other with bear-like +hugs as they had done in college days of triumph. Exhausted at last, +they reeled apart, and fell breathless into opposite chairs. There was a +short moment of weak, physical silence, and then Lightbody, shaking his +head, said solemnly: + +"Jim--Jim, that's the first real genuine laugh I've had in six vast +years!" + +"My boy, it won't be the last." + +"You bet it won't!" Lightbody sprang up, as out of the ashen cloak of +age the young Faust springs forth. "To-morrow--do you hear, to-morrow +we're off for Morocco!" + +"By way of Paris?" questioned De Gollyer, who likewise gained a dozen +years of youthfulness. + +"Certainly by way of Paris." + +"With a dash of Vienna?" + +"Run it off the map!" + +"Good old Jack! You're coming back, my boy, you're coming strong!" + +"Am I? Just watch!" Dancing over to the desk, he seized a dozen heavy +books: + +"'Evolution and Psychology,' 'Burning Questions!' 'Woman's Position in +Tasmania!' Aha!" + +One by one, he flung them viciously over his head, reckoning not the +crash with which they fell. Then with the same _pas de ballet_ he +descended on the hat-box and sent it from his boot crashing over the +piano. Before De Gollyer could exclaim, he was at the closet, working +havoc with the boxes of cigars. + +"Here, I say," said De Gollyer laughing, "look out, those are cigars!" + +"No, they're not," said Lightbody, pausing for a moment. Then, seizing +two boxes, he whirled about the room holding them at arms' length, +scattering them like the sparks of a pin-wheel, until with a final +motion he flung the emptied boxes against the ceiling, and, coming to an +abrupt stop, shot out a mandatory forefinger, and cried: + +"Jim, you dine with me!" + +"The fact is--" + +"No buts, no excuses! Break all engagements! To-night we celebrate!" + +"Immense!" + +"Round up the boys--all the boys--the old crowd. I'm middle-aged, am I?" + +"By George," said De Gollyer, in free admiration, "you're getting into +form, my boy, excellent form. Fine, fine, very fine!" + +"In half an hour at the Club." + +"Done." + +"Jim?" + +"Jack!" + +They precipitated themselves into each other's arms. Lightbody, as +delirious as a young girl at the thought of her first ball, cried: + +"Paris, Vienna, Morocco--two years around the world!" + +"On my honor!" + +Rapidly Lightbody, impatient for the celebration, put De Gollyer into +his coat and armed him with his cane. + +"In half an hour, Jim. Get Budd, get Reggie Longworth, and, I say, get +that little reprobate of a Smithy, will you?" + +"Yes, by George." + +At the door, De Gollyer, who, when he couldn't leave on an epigram, +liked to recall the best thing he had said, turned: + +"Never again, eh, old boy?" + +"Never," cried Lightbody, with the voice of a cannon. + +"No social sounding-board for us, eh?" + +"Never again!" + +"You do like that, don't you? I say a good thing now and then, don't I?" + +Lightbody, all eagerness, drove him down the hall, crying: + +"Round 'em up--round them all up! I'll show them if I've come back!" + +When he had returned, waltzing on his toes to the middle of the room, he +stopped and flung out his arms in a free gesture, inhaling a delicious +breath. Then, whistling busily, he went to a drawer in the book-shelves +and came lightly back, his arms crowded with time-tables, schedules of +steamers, maps of various countries. All at once, remembering, he seized +the telephone and, receiving no response, rang impatiently. + +"Central--hello--hello! Central, why don't you answer? Central, give +me--give me--hold up, wait a second!" He had forgotten the number of his +own club. In communication at last, he heard the well-modulated accents +of Rudolph--Rudolph who recognized his voice after six years. It gave +him a little thrill, this reminder of the life he was entering once +more. He ordered one of the dinners he used to order, and hung up the +receiver, with a smile and a little tightening about his heart at the +entry he, the prodigal, would make that night at the Club. + +Then, seizing a map of Morocco in one hand and a schedule of sailings in +the other, he sat down to plan, chanting over and over, "Paris, Vienna, +Morocco, India, Paris, Vienna--" + +At this moment, unnoticed by him, the doors moved noiselessly and Mrs. +Lightbody entered; a woman full of appealing movements in her lithe +body, and of quick, decisive perceptions in the straight, gray glance of +her eyes. She held with one hand a cloak fastened loosely about her +throat. On her head was the hat with the three white feathers. + +A minute passed while she stood, rapidly seizing every indication that +might later assist her. Then she moved slightly and said in a voice of +quiet sadness: + +"Jackie." + +"Great God!" + +Lightbody, overturning chair and table, sprang up--recoiling as one +recoils before an avenging specter. In his convulsive fingers were the +time-tables, clinging like damp lily pads. + +"Jackie, I couldn't do it. I couldn't abandon you. I've come back." +Gently, seeming to move rather than to walk, advancing with none of the +uncertainty that was in her voice, she cried, with a little break: +"Forgive me!" + +"No, no, never!" + +He retreated behind a chair, fury in his voice, weak at the thought of +the floating, entangling scarf, and the perfume he knew so well. Then, +recovering himself, he cried brutally: + +"Never! You have given me my freedom. I'll keep it! Thanks!" + +With a gradual motion, she loosened her filmy cloak and let it slip from +the suddenly revealed shoulders and slender body. + +"No, no, I forbid you!" he cried. Anger--animal, instinctive +anger--began to possess him. He became brutal as he felt himself growing +weak. + +"Either you go out or I do!" + +"You will listen." + +"What? To lies?" + +"When you have heard me, you will understand, Jack." + +"There is nothing to be said. I have not the slightest intention of +taking back--" + +"Jack!" + +Her voice rang out with sudden impressiveness: "I swear to you I have +not met him, I swear to you I came back of my own free will, because I +could not meet him, because I found that it was you--you only--whom I +wanted!" + +"That is a lie!" + +She recoiled before the wound in his glance. She put her long white hand +over her heart, throwing all of herself into the glance that sought to +conquer him. + +"I swear it," she said simply. + +"Another lie!" + +"Jack!" + +It was a physical rage that held him now, a rage divided against +itself--that longed to strike down, to crush, to stifle the thing it +coveted. He had almost a fear of himself. He cried: + +"If you don't go, I'll--I'll--" + +Suddenly he found something more brutal than a blow, something that must +drive her away, while yet he had the strength of his passion. He +crossed his arms, looking at her with a cold look. + +"I'll tell you why you came back. You went to him for just one reason. +You thought he had more money than I had. You came back when you found +he hadn't." + +He saw her body quiver and it did him good. + +"That ends it," she said, hardly able to speak. She dropped her head +hastily, but not before he had seen the tears. + +"Absolutely." + +In a moment she would be gone. He felt all at once uneasy, ashamed--she +seemed so fragile. + +"My cloak--give me my cloak," she said, and her voice showed that she +accepted his verdict. + +He brought the cloak to where she stood wearily, and put it on her +shoulders, stepping back instantly. + +"Good-by." + +It was said more to the room than to him. + +"Good-by," he said dully. + +She took a step and then raised her eyes to his. + +"That was more than you had a right to say, even to me," she said +without reproach in her voice. + +He avoided her look. + +"You will be sorry. I know you," she said with pity for him. She went +toward the door. + +"I am sorry," he said impulsively. "I shouldn't have said it." + +"Thank you," she said, stopping and returning a little toward him. + +He drew back as though already he felt her arms about him. + +"Don't," she said, smiling a tired smile. "I'm not going to try that." + +Her instinct had given her possession of the scene. He felt it and was +irritated. + +"Only let us part quietly--with dignity," she said, "for we have been +happy together for six years." Then she said rapidly: + +"I want you to know that I shall do nothing to dishonor your name. I am +not going to him. That is ended." + +An immense curiosity came to him to learn the reason of this strange +avowal. But he realized it would never do for him to ask it. + +"Good-by, Jackie," she said, having waited a moment. "I shall not see +you again." + +He watched her leaving with the same moving grace with which she had +come. All at once he found a way of evasion. + +"Why don't you go to him?" he said harshly. + +She stopped but did not turn. + +"No," she said, shaking her head. And again she dared to continue toward +the door. + +"I shall not stand in your way," he said curtly, fearing only that she +would leave. "I will give you a divorce. I don't deny a woman's +liberty." + +She turned, saying: + +"Do you allow a woman liberty to know her own mind?" + +"What do you mean?" + +She came back until he almost could have touched her, standing looking +into his eyes with a wistful, searching glance, clasping and unclasping +her tense fingers. + +"Jack," she said, "you never really cared." + +"So it is all my fault!" he cried, snapping his arms together, sure now +that she would stay. + +"Yes, it is." + +"What!" he cried in a rage--already it was a different rage--"didn't I +give you anything you wanted, everything I had, all my time, all--" + +"All but yourself," she said quietly; "you were always cold." + +"I!" + +"You were! You were!" she said sharply, annoyed at the contradiction. +But quickly remembering herself, she continued with only a regretful +sadness in her voice: + +"Always cold, always matter-of-fact. Bob of the head in the morning, +jerk of the head at night. When I was happy over a new dress or a new +hat you never noticed it--until the bill came in. You were always +matter-of-fact, absolutely confident I was yours, body and soul." + +"By George, that's too much!" he cried furiously. "That's a fine one. +I'm to blame--of course I'm to blame!" + +She drew a step away from him, and said: + +"Listen! No, listen quietly, for when I've told you I shall go." + +Despite himself, his anger vanished at her quiet command. + +"If I listen," he thought, "it's all over." + +He still believed he was resisting, only he wanted to hear as he had +never wanted anything else--to learn why she was not going to the other +man. + +"Yes, what has happened is only natural," she said, drawing her eyebrows +a little together and seeming to reason more with herself. "It had to +happen before I could really be sure of my love for you. You men know +and choose from the knowledge of many women. A woman, such as I, coming +to you as a girl, must often and often ask herself if she would still +make the same choice. Then another man comes into her life and she makes +of him a test to know once and for all the answer to her question. Jack, +that was it. That was the instinct that drove me to try if I _could_ +leave you--the instinct I did not understand then, but that I do now, +when it's too late." + +"Yes, she is clever," he thought to himself, listening to her, desiring +her the more as he admired what he did not credit. He felt that he +wanted to be convinced and with a last angry resistance, said: + +"Very clever, indeed!" + +She looked at him with her clear, gray look, a smile in her eyes, +sadness on her lips. + +"You know it is true." + +He did not reply. Finally he said bruskly: + +"And when did--did the change come to you?" + +"In the carriage, when every turn of the wheel, every passing street, +was rushing me away from you. I thought of you--alone--lost--and +suddenly I knew. I beat with my fists on the window and called to the +coachman like a madman. I don't know what I said. I came back." + +She stopped, pressing back the tears that had started on her eyelids at +the memory. She controlled herself, gave a quick little nod, without +offering her hand, went toward the door. + +"What! I've got to call her back!" He said it to himself, adding +furiously: "Never!" + +He let her go to the door itself, vowing he would not make the advance. + +When the door was half open, something in him cried: "Wait!" + +She closed the door softly, but she did not immediately turn round. The +palms of her hands were wet with the cold, frightened sweat of that +awful moment. When she returned, she came to him with a wondering, +timid, girlish look in her eyes. + +"Oh, Jack, if you only could!" she said, and then only did she put out +her hands and let her fingers press over his heart. + +The next moment she was swept up in his arms, shrinking and very still. + +All at once he put her from him and said roughly: + +"What was his name?" + +"No, no!" + +"Give me his name," he said miserably. "I must know it." + +"No--neither now nor at any other time," she said firmly, and her look +as it met his had again all the old domination. "That is my condition." + +"Ah, how weak I have been," he said to himself, with a last bitter, +instinctive revolt. "How weak I am." + +She saw and understood. + +"We must be generous," she said, changing her voice quickly to +gentleness. "He has been pained enough already. He alone will suffer. +And if you knew his name it would only make you unhappy." + +He still rebelled, but suddenly to him came a thought which at first he +was ashamed to express. + +"He doesn't know?" + +She lied. + +"No." + +"He's still waiting--there?" + +"Yes." + +"Ah, he's waiting," he said to himself. + +A gleam of vanity, of triumph over the discarded, humiliated one, leaped +up fiercely within him and ended all the lingering, bitter memories. + +"Then you care?" she said, resting her head on his shoulder that he +might not see she had read such a thought. + +"Care?" he cried. He had surrendered. Now it was necessary to be +convinced. "Why, when I received your letter I--I was wild. I wanted to +do murder." + +"Jackie!" + +"I was like a madman--everything was gone--nothing was left." + +"Oh, Jack, how I have made you suffer!" + +"Suffer? Yes, I have suffered!" Overcome by the returning pain of the +memory, he dropped into a chair, trying to control his voice. "Yes, I +have suffered!" + +"Forgive me!" she said, slipping on her knees beside him, and burying +her head in his lap. + +"I was out of my head--I don't know what I did, what I said. It was as +though a bomb had exploded. My life was wrecked, shattered--nothing +left." + +He felt the grief again, even more acutely. He suffered for what he had +suffered. + +"Jack, I never really could have _abandoned_ you," she cried bitterly. +She raised her eyes toward him and suddenly took notice of the +time-tables that lay clutched in his hands. "Oh, you were going away!" + +He nodded, incapable of speech. + +"You were running away?" + +"I was running away--to forget--to bury myself!" + +"Oh, Jack!" + +"There was nothing here. It was all a blank! I was running away--to bury +myself!" + +At the memory of that miserable hopeless moment, in which he had +resolved on flight, the tears, no longer to be denied, came dripping +down his cheeks. + + + + +THE LIE + + + + +I + + +For some time they had ceased to speak, too oppressed with the needless +anguish of this their last night. At their feet the tiny shining windows +of Etretat were dropping back into the night, as though sinking under +the rise of that black, mysterious flood that came luminously from the +obscure regions of the faint sky. Overhead, the swollen August stars had +faded before the pale flush that, toward the lighthouse on the cliff, +heralded the red rise of the moon. + +He held himself a little apart, the better to seize every filmy detail +of the strange woman who had come inexplicably into his life, watching +the long, languorous arms stretched out into an impulsive clasp, the +dramatic harmony of the body, the brooding head, the soft, half-revealed +line of the neck. The troubling alchemy of the night, that before his +eyes slowly mingled the earth with the sea and the sea with the sky, +seemed less mysterious than this woman whose body was as immobile as the +stillness in her soul. + +All at once he felt in her, whom he had known as he had known no other, +something unknown, the coming of another woman, belonging to another +life, the life of the opera and the multitude, which would again flatter +and intoxicate her. The summer had passed without a doubt, and now, all +at once, something new came to him, indefinable, colored with the vague +terror of the night, the fear of other men who would come thronging +about her, in the other life, where he could not follow. + +Around the forked promontory to the east, the lights of the little +packet-boat for England appeared, like the red cinder in a pipe, +slipping toward the horizon. It was the signal for a lover's embrace, +conceived long ago in fancy and kept in tenderness. + +"Madeleine," he said, touching her arm. "There it is--our little boat." + +"Ah! _le p'tit bateau_--with its funny red and green eyes." + +She turned and raised her lips to his; and the kiss, which she did not +give but permitted, seemed only fraught with an ineffable sadness, the +end of all things, the tearing asunder and the numbness of separation. +She returned to her pose, her eyes fixed on the little packet, saying: + +"It's late." + +"Yes." + +"It goes fast." + +"Very." + +They spoke mechanically, and then not at all. The dread of the morning +was too poignant to approach the things that must be said. Suddenly, +with the savage directness of the male to plunge into the pain which +must be undergone, he began: + +"It was like poison--that kiss." + +She turned, forgetting her own anguish in the pain in his voice, +murmuring, "Ben, my poor Ben." + +"So you will go--to-morrow," he said bitterly, "back to the great public +that will possess you, and I shall remain--here, alone." + +"It must be so." + +He felt suddenly an impulse he had not felt before, an instinct to make +her suffer a little. He said brutally: + +"But you want to go!" + +She did not answer, but, in the obscurity, he knew her large eyes were +searching his face. He felt ashamed of what he had said, and yet because +she made no protestation, he persisted: + +"You have left off your jewels, those jewels you can't do without." + +"Not to-night." + +"You who are never happy without them--why not to-night?" + +As, carried away by the jealousy of what lay beyond, he was about to +continue, she laid her fingers on his lips, with a little brusk, nervous +movement of her shoulders. + +"Don't--you don't understand." + +But he understood and he resented the fact that she should have put +aside the long undulating rope of pearls, the rings of rubies and +emeralds that seemed as natural to her dark beauty as the roses to the +spring. He had tried to understand her woman's nature, to believe that +no memory yet lingered about them, to accept without question what had +never belonged longed to their life together, and remembering what he +had fought down he thought bitterly: + +"She has changed me more than I have changed her. It is always so." + +She moved a little, her pose, with instinctive dramatic sense, changing +with her changing mood. + +"Do not think I don't understand you," she said quietly. + +"What do you understand?" + +"It hurts you because I wish to return." + +"That is not so, Madeleine," he said abruptly. "You know what big things +I want you to do." + +"I know--only you would like me to say the contrary--to protest that I +would give it all up--be content to be with you alone." + +"No, not that," he said grudgingly, "and yet, this last night--here--I +should like to hear you say the contrary." + +She laughed a low laugh and caught his hand a little tighter. + +"That displeases you?" + +"No, no, of course not!" Presently she added with an effort: + +"There is so much that we must say to each other and we have not the +courage." + +"True, all summer we have never talked of what must come after." + +"I want you to understand why I go back to it all, why I wish every year +to be separated from you--yes, exactly, from you," she added, as his +fingers contracted with an involuntary movement. "Ben, what has come to +me I never expected would come. I love, but neither that word nor any +other word can express how absolutely I have become yours. When I told +you my life, you did not wonder how difficult it was for me to believe +that such a thing could be possible. But you convinced me, and what has +come to me has come as a miracle. I adore you. All my life has been +lived just for this great love; ah yes, that's what I believe, what I +feel." She leaned swiftly to him and allowed him to catch her to him in +his strong arms. Then slowly disengaging herself, she continued, "You +are a little hurt because I do not cry out what you would not accept, +because I do not say that I would give up everything if you asked it." + +"It is only to _hear_ it," he said impulsively. + +"But I have often wished it myself," she said slowly. "There's not a day +that I have not wished it--to give up everything and stay by you. Do you +know why? From the longing that's in me now, the first unselfish +longing I have ever had--to sacrifice myself for you in some way, +somehow. It is more than a hunger, it is a need of the soul--of my love +itself. It comes over me sometimes as tears come to my eyes when you are +away, and I say to myself, 'I love him,' and yet, Ben, I shall not, I +shall never give up my career, not now, not for years to come." + +"No," he said mechanically. + +"We are two great idealists, for that is what you have made me, Ben. +Before I was always laughing, and I believed in nothing. I despised even +what my sacrifice had won. Now, when I am with you, I remain in a +revery, and I am happy--happy with the happiness of things I cannot +understand. To-night, by your side, it seems to me I have never felt the +night before or known the mystery of the silent, faint hours. You have +made me feel the loneliness of the human soul, and that impulse it must +have before these things that are beyond us, that surround us, dominate +us, to cling almost in terror to another soul. You have so completely +made me over that it is as though you had created me yourself. I am +thirty-five. I have known everything else but what you have awakened in +me, and because I have this knowledge and this hunger I can see clearer +what we must do. You and I are a little romanesque, but remember that +even a great love may tire and grow stale, and that is what I won't +have, what must not be." Her voice had risen with the intensity of her +mood. She said more solemnly: "You are afraid of other men, of other +moods of mine--you have no reason. This love which comes to some as the +awakening of life is to me the end of all things. If anything should +wound it or belittle it, I should not survive it." + +She continued to speak, in a low unvarying voice. He felt his mind clear +and his doubts dissipate, and impatiently he waited for her to end, to +show her that his weakness of the moment was gone and that he was still +the man of big vision who had awakened her. + +"There are people who can put in order their love as they put in order +their house. We are not of that kind, Ben. I am a woman who has lived on +sensations. You, too, are a dreamer and a poet at the bottom. If I +should give up the opera and become to you simply a housewife, if there +was no longer any difficulty in our having each other, you would still +love me--yes, because you are loyal--but the romanticism, the mystery, +the longing we both need would vanish. Oh, I know. Well, you and I, we +are the same. We can only live on a great passion, and to have fierce, +unutterable joys we must suffer also--the suffering of separation. Do +you understand?" + +"Yes, I do." + +"That is why I shall never give up my career. That is why I can bear +the sadness of leaving you. I want you to be proud of me, Ben. I want +you to think of me as some one whom thousands desire and only you can +have. I want our love to be so intense that every day spent apart is +heavy with the longing for each other; every day together precious +because it will be a day nearer the awful coming of another separation. +Believe me, I am right. I have thought much about it. You have your +diplomatic career and your ambitions. You are proud. I have never asked +you to give that up to follow me. I would not insult you. In January you +will have a leave of absence, and we will be together for a few +wonderful weeks, and in May I shall return here. Nothing will be +changed." She extended her arm to where a faint red point still showed +on the unseen water. "And each night we will wait, as we have waited, +side by side, the coming of our little boat,--_notre p'tit bateau_" + +"You are right," he said, placing his lips to her forehead. "I was +jealous. I am sorry. It is over." + +"But I, too, am jealous," she said, smiling. + +"You?" + +"Of course--no one can love without being jealous. Oh, I shall be afraid +of every woman who comes near you. It will be an agony," she said, and +the fire in her eyes brought him more healing happiness than all her +words. + +"You are right," he repeated. + +He left her with a little pressure of the hand, and walked to the edge +of the veranda. A nervous, sighing breeze had come with the full coming +of the moon, and underneath him he heard the troubled rustle of leaves +in the obscurity, the sifting and drifting of tired, loose things, the +stir of the night which awakened a restless mood in his soul. He had +listened to her as she had proclaimed her love, and yet this love, +without illusions, sharply recalled to him other passions. He remembered +his first love, a boy-and-girl affair, and sharply contrasting it with a +sudden ache to this absence of impulse and illusions, of phrases, vows, +without logic, thrown out in the sweet madness of the moment. Why had +she not cried out something impulsive, promised things that could not +be. Then he realized, standing there in the harvest moonlight, in the +breaking up of summer, that he was no longer a youth, that certain +things could not be lived over, and that, as she had said, he too felt +that this was the great love, the last that he would share; that if it +ended, his youth ended and with his youth all that in him clung to life. + +He turned and saw her, chin in the flat of her palm, steadily following +his mood. He had taken but a dozen steps, and yet he had placed a +thousand miles between them. He had almost a feeling of treachery, and +to dispel these new unquiet thoughts he repeated to himself again: + +"She is right." + +But he did not immediately return. The memory of other loves, faint as +they had been in comparison with this all-absorbing impulse, had yet +given him a certain objective point of view. He saw himself clearly, and +he understood what of pain the future had in store for him. + +"How I shall suffer!" he said to himself. + +"You are going so far away from me," she said suddenly, warned by some +woman's instinct. + +He was startled at the conjunction of her words and his moods. He +returned hastily, and sat down beside her. She took his head in her +hands and looked anxiously into his eyes. + +"What is it?" she said. "You are afraid?" + +"A little," he said reluctantly. + +"Of what--of the months that will come?" + +"Of the past." + +"What do you mean?" she said, withdrawing a little as though disturbed +by the thought. + +"When I am with you I know there is not a corner of your heart that I do +not possess," he began evasively. + +"Well?" + +"Only it's the past--the habits of the past," he murmured. "I know you +so well, Madeleine, you have need of strength, you don't go on alone. +That is the genius of women like you--to reach out and attach to +themselves men who will strengthen them, compel them on." + +"Ah, I understand," she said slowly. + +"Yes, that is what I'm afraid of," he said rapidly. + +"You are thinking of the artist, not the woman." + +"Ah, there is no difference--not to a man who loves," he said +impulsively. "I know how great your love is for me, and I believe in it. +I know nothing will come to efface it. Only you will be lonely, you'll +have your trials and annoyances, days of depression, of doubt, when you +will need some one to restore your faith in yourself, your courage in +your work, and then, I don't say you will love any one else, but you +will need some one near you who loves you, always at your service--" + +"If you could only understand me," she said, interrupting him. "Men, +other men, are like actors to me. When I am on the stage, when I am +playing Manon, do you think I see who is playing Des Grieux? Not at all. +He is there, he gives me my _replique_, he excites my nerves, I say a +thousand things under my breath, when I am in his arms I adore him, but +when the curtain goes down, I go off the stage and don't even say good +night to him." + +"But he, he doesn't know that." + +"Of course not; tenors never do. Well, that is just the way I have +lived, that is just what men have meant to me. They give the _replique_ +to my moods, to my needs, and when I have no longer need of them, I go +off tranquilly. That is all there is to it. I take from them what I +want. Of course they will be around me, but they will be nothing to me. +They will be like managers, press-agents, actors. Don't you understand +that?" + +"Yes, yes, I understand," he said without sincerity. Then he blurted +out, "I wish you had not said it, all the same." + +"Why?" + +"I cannot see it as you see it, and besides, you put a doubt in my mind +that I never wish to feel." + +"What doubt?" + +"Do I really have you, or only a mood of yours?" + +"Ben!" + +"I know. I know. No, I am not going to think such things. That would be +unworthy of what we have felt." He paused a moment, and when he spoke +again his voice was under control. "Madeleine, remember well what I say +to you now. I shall probably never again speak to you with such absolute +truth, or even acknowledge it to myself. I accept the necessity of +separation. I know all the sufferings it will bring, all the doubts, the +unreasoning jealousies. I am big enough in experience to understand what +you have just suggested to me, but as a man who loves you, Madeleine, I +will never understand it. I know that a dozen men may come into your +life, interest you intensely, even absorb you for a while, and that they +would still mean nothing to you the moment I come. Well, I am +different. A man is different. While you are away, I shall not see a +woman without resentment; I shall not think of any one but you, and if I +did, I would cease to love you." + +"But why?" + +"Because I cannot share anything of what belongs to you. That is my +nature. There is no use in pretending the contrary. Yours is different, +and I understand why it is so. I have listened to many confidences, +understood many lives that others would not understand. I have always +maintained that it is the natural thing for a human being to love many +times--even that there might he in the same heart a great, overpowering +love and a little one. I still believe it--with my mind. I know it is +so. These are the things we like to analyze in human nature together. I +know it is true, but it is not true for me. No, I would never understand +it in you. I know myself too well, I am jealous of everything of the +past--oh, insanely jealous. I know that no sooner are you gone than I +will be tortured by the most ridiculous doubts. I will see you in the +moonlight all across that endless sea with other men near you. I will +dream of other men with millions, ready to give you everything your eyes +adore. I will imagine men of big minds that will fascinate you. I will +even say to myself that now that you have known what a great love can +mean you will all the more be likely to need it, to seek something to +counterfeit it--" + +"Ben, my poor Ben--frightful," she murmured. + +"That is how it is. Shall I tell you something else?" + +"What?" + +"I wish devoutly you had never told me a word of--of the past." + +"But how can you say such things? We have been honest with each other. +You yourself--" + +"I know, I know, I have no right myself, and yet there it is. It is +something fearful, this madness of possession that comes to me. No, I +have no fear that I will not always be first in your heart, only I +understand the needs, the habits, of your nature. I understand myself +now as I have not before, and that's why I say to you solemnly, +Madeleine, if ever for a moment another man should come into your +life--never, never, let me know." + +"But--" + +"No, don't say anything that I may remember to torture me. Lie to me." + +"I have never lied." + +"Madeleine, it is better to be merciful than to tell the truth, and, +after all, what does such a confession mean? It only means that you free +your conscience and that the wound--the ache--remains with the other. +Whatever happens, never tell me. Do you understand?" + +This time she made no answer. She even ceased to look at him, her head +dropped back, her arms motionless, one finger only revolving slowly on +the undulating arm of her chair. + +"I shall try by all the strength that is in me never to ask that +question," he rushed on. "I know I shall make a hundred vows not to do +so, and I know that the first time I look into your face I shall blurt +it out. Ah, if--if--if it must be so, never let me know, for there are +thoughts I cannot bear now that I've known you." He flung himself at her +side and took her roughly in his arms. "Madeleine, I know what I am +saying. I may tell you the contrary later. I may say it lightly, +pretending it is of no importance. I may beg the truth of you with tears +in my eyes--I may swear to you that nothing but honesty counts between +us, that I can understand, forgive, forget everything. Well, whatever I +say or do, never, never let me know--if you value my happiness, my peace +of mind, my life even!" + +She laid her hand on his lips and then on his forehead to calm him, +drawing his head to her shoulder. + +"Listen, Ben," she said, gently. "I, the Madeleine Conti who loves you, +am another being. I adore you so that I shall hate all other men, as you +will hate all other women. There will never be the slightest deceit or +infidelity between us. Ask any questions of me at any time. I know there +can be from now on but one answer. Have no fear. Do not tire yourself +in a senseless fever. There is so little time left. I love you." + +Never had he heard her voice so deep with sincerity and tenderness, and +yet, as he surrendered to the touch of her soft hands, yielding up all +his doubts, he was conscious of a new alarm creeping into his heart; +and, dissatisfied with what he himself had a moment before implored, in +the breath with which he whispered, "I believe you," he said to himself: + +"Does she say that because she believes it or has she begun to lie?" + + + + +II + + +For seven years they lived the same existence, separated sometimes for +three months, occasionally for six, and once because of a trip taken to +South America for nearly a year. + +The first time that he joined her, after five months of longing, he +remained a week without crying out the words that were heavy on his +heart. One day she said to him: + +"What is there--back of your eyes, hidden away, that you are stifling?" + +"You know," he blurted out. + +"What?" + +"Ah, I have tried not to say it, to live it down. I can't--it's beyond +me. I shall have no peace until it is said." + +"Then say it." + +He took her face in his two hands and looked into her eyes. + +"Since I have been away," he said brutally, "there has been no one else +in your heart? You have been true to me, to our love?" + +"I have been true," she answered with a little smile. + +He held his eyes on hers a long while, hesitating whether to be silent +or to continue, and then, all at once, convinced, burst into tears and +begged her pardon. + +"Oh, I shouldn't have asked it--forgive me." + +"Do whatever is easiest for you, my love," she answered. "There is +nothing to forgive. I understand all. I love you for it." + +Only she never asked him any questions, and that alarmed him. + +The second time report had coupled her name with a Gabriel Lombardi, a +great baritone with whom she was appearing. When he arrived, as soon as +they were alone, he swung her about in his arms and cried in a strangled +voice: + +"Swear to me that you have been faithful." + +"I swear." + +"Gabriel Lombardi"? + +"I can't abide him". + +"Ah, if I had never told you to lie to me--fool that I was." + +Then she said calmly, with that deep conviction which always moved him: +"Ben, when you asked me that, I told you I would never lie. I have told +you the truth. No man has ever had the pressure of my fingers, and no +man ever will." + +So intense had been his emotion that he had almost a paroxysm. When he +opened his eyes he found her face wet with tears. + +"Ah, Madeleine," he said, "I am brutal with you. I cannot help it." + +"I would not have you love me differently," she said gently, and through +her tears he seemed to see a faint, elusive smile, that was gone quickly +if it was ever there at all. + +Another time, he said to himself: "No, I will say nothing. She will come +to me herself, put her arms around me, and tell me with a smile that no +other thought has been in her heart all this while. That's it. If I wait +she will make the move, she will make the move each time--and that will +be much better." + +He waited three days, but she made no allusion. He waited another, and +then he said lightly: + +"You see, I am reforming." + +"How so?" + +"Why, I don't ask foolish questions any more." + +"That's so." + +"Still--" + +"Well?" she said, looking up. + +"Still, you might have guessed what I wanted," he answered, a little +hurt. + +She rose quickly and came lightly to him, putting her hand on his +shoulder. + +"Is that what you wish?" she said. + +"Yes." + +She repeated slowly her protestations and when she had ended, said, +"Take me in your arms--hurt me." + +"Now she will understand," he thought; "the next time she will not +wait." + +But each time, though he martyrized his soul in patience, he was forced +to bring up the question that would not let him rest. + +He could not understand why she did not save him this useless agony. +Sometimes when he wanted to find an excuse he said to himself it was +because she felt humiliated that he should still doubt. At other times, +he stumbled on explanations that terrified him. Then he remembered with +bitterness the promise that he had exacted from her, a promise that, +instead of bringing him peace, had left only an endless torment, and +forgetting all his protestations he would cry to himself, in a cold +perspiration: + +"Ah, if she is really lying, how can I ever be sure?" + + + + +III + + +In the eighth year, Madeleine Conti retired from the stage and announced +her marriage. After five years of complete happiness she was taken +suddenly ill, as the result of exposure to a drenching storm. One +afternoon, as he waited by her bedside, talking in broken tones of all +that they had been to each other, he said to her in a voice that he +tried nervously to school to quietness: + +"Madeleine, you know that our life together has been without the +slightest shadow from the first. You know we have proved to each other +how immense our love has been. In all these years I have grown in +maturity and understanding. I regret only one thing, and I have +regretted it bitterly, every day--that I once asked you, if--if ever for +a moment another man came into your life to hide it from me, to tell me +a lie. It was a great mistake. I have never ceased to regret it. Our +love has been so above all worldly things that there ought not to be the +slightest concealment between us. I release you from that promise. Tell +me now the truth. It will mean nothing to me. During the eight years +when we were separated there were--there must have been times, times of +loneliness, of weakness, when other men came into your life. Weren't +there?" + +She turned and looked at him steadily, her large eyes seeming larger and +more brilliant from the heightened fever of her cheeks. Then she made a +little negative sign of her head, still looking at him. + +"No, never." + +"You don't understand, Madeleine," he said, dissatisfied, "or you are +still thinking of what I said to you there in Etretat. That was thirteen +years ago. Then I had just begun to love you, I feared for the future, +for everything. Now I have tested you, and I have never had a doubt. I +know the difference between the flesh and the spirit. I know your two +selves; I know how impossible it would have been otherwise. Now you can +tell me." + +"There is nothing--to tell," she said slowly. + +"I expected that you would have other men who loved you about you," he +said, feverishly. "I knew it would be so. I swear to you I expected it. +I know why you continue to deny it. It's for my sake, isn't it? I love +you for it. But, believe me, in such a moment there ought nothing to +stand between us. Madeleine, Madeleine, I beg you, tell me the truth." + +She continued to gaze at him fixedly, without turning away her great +eyes, as forgetting himself, he rushed on: + +"Yes, let me know the truth--that will be nothing now. Besides, I have +guessed it. Only I must know one way or the other. All these years I +have lived in doubt. You see what it means to me. You must understand +what is due me after all our life together. Madeleine, did you lie to +me?" + +"No." + +"Listen," he said, desperately. "You never asked me the same +question--why, I never understood--but if you had questioned me I could +not have answered truthfully what you did. There, you see, there is no +longer the slightest reason why you should not speak the truth." + +She half closed her eyes--wearily. + +"I have told--the truth." + +"Ah, I can't believe it," he cried, carried away. "Oh, cursed day when I +told you what I did. It's that which tortures me. You adore me--you +don't wish to hurt me, to leave a wound behind, but I swear to you if +you told me the truth I should feel a great weight taken from my heart, +a weight that has been here all these years. I should know that every +corner of your soul had been shown to me, nothing withheld. I should +know absolutely, Madeleine, believe me, when I tell you this, when I +tell you I must know. Every day of my life I have paid the penalty, I +have suffered the doubts of the damned, I have never known an hour's +peace! I beg you, I implore you, only let me know the truth; the +truth--I must know the truth!" + +He stopped suddenly, trembling all over, and held out his hands to her, +his face lashed with suffering. + +"I have not lied," she said slowly, after a long study. She raised her +eyes, feebly made the sign of the cross, and whispered, "I swear it." + +Then he no longer held in his tears. He dropped his head, and his body +shook with sobs, while from time to time he repeated, "Thank God, thank +God." + + + + +IV + + +The next day Madeleine Conti had a sudden turn for the worse, which +surprised the attendants. Doctor Kimball, the American, doctor, and Pere +Francois, who had administered the last rites, were walking together in +the little formal garden, where the sun flung short, brilliant shadows +of scattered foliage about them. + +"She was an extraordinary artist and her life was more extraordinary," +said Dr. Kimball. "I heard her debut at the Opera Comique. For ten years +her name was the gossip of all Europe. Then all at once she meets a man +whom no one knows, falls in love, and is transformed. These women are +really extraordinary examples of hysteria. Each time I know one it makes +me understand the scientific phenomenon of Mary Magdalene. It is really +a case of nerve reaction. The moral fever that is the fiercest burns +itself out the quickest and seems to leave no trace behind. In this case +love came also as a religious conversion. I should say the phenomena +were identical." + +"She was happy," said the cure, turning to go. + +"Yes, it was a great romance." + +"A rare one. She adored him. Love is a tide that cleanses all." + +"Yet she was of the stage up to the last. You know she would not have +her husband in the room at the end." + +"She had a great heart," said the cure quietly. "She wished to spare +him that suffering." + +"She had an extraordinary will," said the doctor, glancing at him +quickly. He added, tentatively: "She asked two questions that were +curious enough." + +"Indeed," said the cure, lingering a moment with his hand on the gate. + +"She wanted to know whether persons in a delirium talked of the past and +if after death the face returned to its calm." + +"What did you say to her about the effects of delirium?" said the cure +with his blank face. + +"That it was a point difficult to decide," said the doctor slowly. +"Undoubtedly, in a delirium, everything is mixed, the real and the +imagined, the memory and the fantasy, actual experience and the inner +dream-life of the mind which is so difficult to classify. It was after +that, that she made her husband promise to see her only when she was +conscious and to remain away at the last." + +"It is easily understood," said the cure quietly, without change of +expression on his face that held the secrets of a thousand +confessionals. "As you say, for ten years she had lived a different +life. She was afraid that in her delirium some reference to that time +might wound unnecessarily the man who had made over her life. She had a +great courage. Peace be with her soul." + +"Still,"--Doctor Kimball hesitated, as though considering the phrasing +of a delicate question; but Father Francois, making a little amical sign +of adieu, passed out of the garden, and for a moment his blank face was +illumined by one of those rare smiles, such as one sees on the faces of +holy men; smiles that seem in perfect faith to look upon the mysteries +of the world to come. + + + + +EVEN THREES + + + + +I + +Ever since the historic day when a visiting clergyman accomplished the +feat of pulling a ball from the tenth tee at an angle of two hundred and +twenty-five degrees into the river that is the rightful receptacle for +the eighth tee, the Stockbridge golf-course has had seventeen out of the +eighteen holes that are punctuated with possible water hazards. The +charming course itself lies in the flat of the sunken meadows which the +Housatonic, in the few thousand years which are necessary for the proper +preparation of a golf-course, has obligingly eaten out of the high, +accompanying bluffs. The river, which goes wriggling on its way as +though convulsed with merriment, is garnished with luxurious elms and +willows, which occasionally deflect to the difficult putting-greens the +random slices of certain notorious amateurs. + +From the spectacular bluffs of the educated village of Stockbridge +nothing can be imagined more charming than the panorama that the course +presents on a busy day. Across the soft, green stretches, diminutive +caddies may be seen scampering with long buckling-nets, while from the +river-banks numerous recklessly exposed legs wave in the air as the more +socially presentable portions hang frantically over the swirling +current. Occasionally an enthusiastic golfer, driving from the eighth or +ninth tees, may be seen to start immediately in headlong pursuit of a +diverted ball, the swing of the club and the intuitive leap of the legs +forward forming so continuous a movement that the main purpose of the +game often becomes obscured to the mere spectator. Nearer, in the +numerous languid swales that nature has generously provided to protect +the interests of the manufacturers, or in the rippling patches of unmown +grass, that in the later hours will be populated by enthusiastic +caddies, desperate groups linger in botanizing attitudes. + +Every morning lawyers who are neglecting their clients, doctors who have +forgotten their patients, business men who have sacrificed their +affairs, even ministers of the gospel who have forsaken their churches, +gather in the noisy dressing-room and listen with servile attention +while some unscrubbed boy who goes around under eighty imparts a little +of his miraculous knowledge. + +Two hours later, for every ten that have gone out so blithely, two +return crushed and despondent, denouncing and renouncing the game, once +and for all, absolutely and finally, until the afternoon, when they +return like thieves in the night and venture out in a desperate hope; +two more come stamping back in even more offensive enthusiasm; and the +remainder straggle home moody and disillusioned, reviving their sunken +spirits by impossible tales of past accomplishments. + +There is something about these twilight gatherings that suggests the +degeneracy of a rugged race; nor is the contamination of merely local +significance. There are those who lie consciously, with a certain frank, +commendable, whole-hearted plunge into iniquity. Such men return to +their worldly callings with intellectual vigor unimpaired and a natural +reaction toward the decalogue. Others of more casuistical temperament, +unable all at once to throw over the traditions of a New England +conscience to the exigencies of the game, do not burst at once into +falsehood, but by a confusing process weaken their memories and corrupt +their imaginations. They never lie of the events of the day. Rather they +return to some jumbled happening of the week before and delude +themselves with only a lingering qualm, until from habit they can create +what is really a form of paranoia, the delusion of greatness, or the +exaggerated ego. Such men, inoculated with self-deception, return to the +outer world, to deceive others, lower the standards of business +morality, contaminate politics, and threaten the vigor of the republic. +R.N. Booverman, the Treasurer, and Theobald Pickings, the unenvied +Secretary of an unenvied hoard, arrived at the first tee at precisely +ten o'clock on a certain favorable morning in early August to begin the +thirty-six holes which six times a week, six months of the year, they +played together as sympathetic and well-matched adversaries. Their +intimacy had arisen primarily from the fact that Pickings was the only +man willing to listen to Booverman's restless dissertations on the +malignant fates which seemed to pursue him even to the neglect of their +international duties, while Booverman, in fair exchange, suffered +Pickings to enlarge ad libitum on his theory of the rolling versus the +flat putting-greens. + +Pickings was one of those correctly fashioned and punctilious golfers +whose stance was modeled on classic lines, whose drive, though it +averaged only twenty-five yards over the hundred, was always a +well-oiled and graceful exhibition of the Royal St. Andrew's swing, the +left sole thrown up, the eyeballs bulging with the last muscular +tension, the club carried back until the whole body was contorted into +the first position of the traditional hoop-snake preparing to descend a +hill. He used the interlocking grip, carried a bag with a spoon driver, +an aluminium cleek, three abnormal putters, and wore one chamois glove +with air-holes on the back. He never accomplished the course in less +than eighty five and never exceeded ninety four, but, having aimed to +set a correct example rather than to strive vulgarly for professional +records, was always in a state of offensive optimism due to a complete +sartorial satisfaction. + +Booverman, on the contrary, had been hailed in his first years as a +coming champion. With three holes eliminated, he could turn in a card +distinguished for its fours and threes; but unfortunately these sad +lapses inevitably occurred. As Booverman himself admitted, his +appearance on the golf-links was the signal for the capricious imps of +chance who stir up politicians to indiscreet truths and keep the Balkan +pot of discord bubbling, to forsake immediately these prime duties, and +enjoy a little relaxation at his expense. + +Now, for the first three years Booverman responded in a manner to +delight imp and devil. When standing thirty-four for the first six +holes, he sliced into the jungle, and, after twenty minutes of frantic +beating of the bush, was forced to acknowledge a lost ball and no score, +he promptly sat down, tore large clutches of grass from the sod, and +expressed himself to the admiring delight of the caddies, who favorably +compared his flow of impulsive expletives to the choice moments of their +own home life. At other times he would take an offending club firmly in +his big hands and break it into four pieces, which he would drive into +the ground, hurling the head itself, with a last diabolical gesture, +into the Housatonic River, which, as may be repeated, wriggles its way +through the course as though convulsed with merriment. + +There were certain trees into which he inevitably drove, certain waggish +bends of the river where, no matter how he might face, he was sure to +arrive. There was a space of exactly ten inches under the clubhouse +where his balls alone could disappear. He never ran down a long put, but +always hung on the rim of the cup. It was his adversary who executed +phenomenal shots, approaches of eighty yards that dribbled home, sliced +drives that hit a fence and bounded back on the course. Nothing of this +agreeable sort had ever happened or could ever happen to him. Finally +the conviction of a certain predestined damnation settled upon him. He +no longer struggled; his once rollicking spirits settled into a moody +despair. Nothing encouraged him or could trick him into a display of +hope. If he achieved a four and two twos on the first holes, he would +say vindictively: + +"What's the use? I'll lose my ball on the fifth." + +And when this happened, he no longer swore, but said gloomily with even +a sense of satisfaction: "You can't get me excited. Didn't I know it +would happen?" + +Once in a while he had broken out, "If ever my luck changes, if it +comes all at once--" + +But he never ended the sentence, ashamed, as it were, to have indulged +in such a childish fancy. Yet, as Providence moves in a mysterious way +its wonders to perform, it was just this invincible pessimism that alone +could have permitted Booverman to accomplish the incredible experience +that befell him. + + + + +II + + +Topics of engrossing mental interests are bad form on the golf-links, +since they leave a disturbing memory in the mind to divert it from that +absolute intellectual concentration which the game demands. Therefore +Pickings and Booverman, as they started toward the crowded first tee, +remarked _de rigueur_: + +"Good weather." + +"A bit of a breeze." + +"Not strong enough to affect the drives." + +"The greens have baked out." + +"Fast as I've seen them." + +"Well, it won't help me." + +"How do you know?" said Pickings, politely, for the hundredth time. +"Perhaps this is the day you'll get your score." + +Booverman ignored this set remark, laying his ball on the rack, where +two predecessors were waiting, and settled beside Pickings at the foot +of the elm which later, he knew, would rob him of a four on the home +green. + +Wessels and Pollock, literary representatives, were preparing to drive. +They were converts of the summer, each sacrificing their season's output +in a frantic effort to surpass the other. Pickings, the purist, did not +approve of them in the least. They brought to the royal and ancient game +a spirit of Bohemian irreverence and banter that offended his serious +enthusiasm. + +When Wessels made a convulsive stab at his ball and luckily achieved +good distance, Pollock remarked behind his hand, "A good shot, damn it!" + +Wessels stationed himself in a hopefully deprecatory attitude and +watched Pollock build a monument of sand, balance his ball, and +whistling nervously through his teeth, lunge successfully down. +Whereupon, in defiance of etiquette, he swore with equal fervor, and +they started off. + +Pickings glanced at Booverman in a superior and critical way, but at +this moment a thin, dyspeptic man with undisciplined whiskers broke in +serenely without waiting for the answers to the questions he propounded: + +"Ideal weather, eh? Came over from Norfolk this morning; ran over at +fifty miles an hour. Some going, eh? They tell me you've quite a course +here; record around seventy-one, isn't it? Good deal of water to keep +out of? You gentlemen some of the cracks? Course pretty fast with all +this dry weather? What do you think of the one-piece driver? My friend, +Judge Weatherup. My name's Yancy--Cyrus P." + +A ponderous person who looked as though he had been pumped up for the +journey gravely saluted, while his feverish companion rolled on: + +"Your course's rather short, isn't it? Imagine it's rather easy for a +straight driver. What's your record? Seventy-one amateur? Rather high, +isn't it? Do you get many cracks around here? Caddies seem scarce. Did +either of you gentlemen ever reflect how surprising it is that better +scores aren't made at this game? Now, take seventy-one; that's only one +under fours, and I venture to say at least six of your holes are +possible twos, and all the rest, sometime or other, have been made in +three. Yet you never hear of phenomenal scores, do you, like a run of +luck at roulette or poker? You get my idea?" + +"I believe it is your turn, sir," said Pickings, both crushing and +parliamentary. "There are several waiting." + +Judge Weatherup drove a perfect ball into the long grass, where +successful searches averaged ten minutes, while his voluble companion, +with an immense expenditure of force, foozled into the swale to the +left, which was both damp and retentive. + +"Shall we play through?" said Pickings, with formal preciseness. He +teed his ball, took exactly eight full practice swings, and drove one +hundred and fifty yards as usual directly in the middle of the course. + +"Well, it's straight; that's all can be said for it," he said, as he +would say at the next seventeen tees. + +Booverman rarely employed that slogan. That straight and narrow path was +not in his religious practice. He drove a long ball, and he drove a +great many that did not return in his bag. He glanced resentfully to the +right, where Judge Weatherup was straddling the fence, and to the left, +where Yancy was annoying the bullfrogs. + +"Darn them!" he said to himself. "Of course now I'll follow suit." + +But whether or not the malignant force of suggestion was neutralized by +the attraction in opposite directions, his drive went straight and far, +a beautiful two hundred and forty yards. + +"Tine shot, Mr. Booverman," said Frank, the professional, nodding his +head, "free and easy, plenty of follow-through." + +"You're on your drive to-day," said Pickings, cheerfully. + +"Sure! When I get a good drive off the first tee," said Booverman +discouraged, "I mess up all the rest. You'll see." + +"Oh, come now," said Pickings, as a matter of form. He played his shot, +which came methodically to the edge of the green. + +Booverman took his mashy for the short running-up stroke to the pin, +which seemed so near. + +"I suppose I've tried this shot a thousand times," he said savagely. +"Any one else would get a three once in five times--any one but Jonah's +favorite brother." + +He swung carelessly, and watched with a tolerant interest the white ball +roll on to the green straight for the flag. All at once Wessels and +Pollock, who were ahead, sprang into the air and began agitating their +hats. + +"By George! it's in!" said Pickings. "You've run it down. First hole in +two! Well, what do you think of that?" + +Booverman, unconvinced, approached the hole with suspicion, gingerly +removing the pin. At the bottom, sure enough, lay his ball for a +phenomenal two. + +"That's the first bit of luck that has ever happened to me," he said +furiously; "absolutely the first time in my whole career." + +"I say, old man," said Pickings, in remonstrance, "you're not angry +about it, are you?" + +"Well, I don't know whether I am or not," said Booverman, obstinately. +In fact, he felt rather defrauded. The integrity of his record was +attacked. "See here, I play thirty-six holes a day, two hundred and +sixteen a week, a thousand a month, six thousand a year; ten years, +sixty thousand holes; and this is the first time a bit of luck has ever +happened to me--once in sixty thousand times." + +Pickings drew out a handkerchief and wiped his forehead. + +"It may come all at once," he said faintly. + +This mild hope only infuriated Booverman. He had already teed his ball +for the second hole, which was poised on a rolling hill one hundred and +thirty-five yards away. It is considered rather easy as golf-holes go. +The only dangers are a matted wilderness of long grass in front of the +tee, the certainty of landing out of bounds on the slightest slice, or +of rolling down hill into a soggy substance on a pull. Also there is a +tree to be hit and a sand-pit to be sampled. + +"Now watch my little friend the apple-tree," said Booverman. "I'm going +to play for it, because, if I slice, I lose my ball, and that knocks my +whole game higher than a kite." He added between his teeth: "All I ask +is to get around to the eighth hole before I lose my ball. I know I'll +lose it there." + +Due to the fact that his two on the first brought him not the slightest +thrill of nervous joy, he made a perfect shot, the ball carrying the +green straight and true. + +"This is your day all right," said Pickings, stepping to the tee. + +"Oh, there's never been anything the matter with my irons," said +Booverman, darkly. "Just wait till we strike the fourth and fifth +holes." + +When they climbed the hill, Booverman's ball lay within three feet of +the cup, which he easily putted out. + +"Two down," said Pickings, inaudibly. "By George! what a glorious +start!" + +"Once in sixty thousand times," said Booverman to himself. The third +hole lay two hundred and five yards below, backed by the road and +trapped by ditches, where at that moment Pollock, true to his traditions +as a war correspondent, was laboring in the trenches, to the +unrestrained delight of Wessels, who had passed beyond. + +"Theobald," said Booverman, selecting his cleek and speaking with +inspired conviction, "I will tell you exactly what is going to happen. I +will smite this little homeopathic pill, and it will land just where I +want it. I will probably put out for another two. Three holes in twos +would probably excite any other human being on the face of this globe. +It doesn't excite me. I know too well what will follow on the fourth or +fifth. Watch." + +"Straight to the pin," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "You've got a +dead line on every shot to-day. Marvelous! When you get one of your +streaks, there's certainly no use in my playing." + +"Streak's the word," said Booverman, with a short, barking laugh. "Thank +heaven, though, Pickings, I know it! Five years ago I'd have been +shaking like a leaf. Now it only disgusts me. I've been fooled too +often; I don't bite again." + +In this same profoundly melancholic mood he approached his ball, which +lay on the green, hole high, and put down a difficult put, a good three +yards for his third two. + +Pickings, despite all his classic conservatism, was so overcome with +excitement that he twice putted over the hole for a shameful five. + +Booverman's face as he walked to the fourth tee was as joyless as a +London fog. He placed his ball carelessly, selected his driver, and +turned on the fidgety Pickings with the gloomy solemnity of a father +about to indulge in corporal punishment. + +"Once in sixty thousand times, Picky. Do you realize what a start like +this--three twos--would mean to a professional like Frank or even an +amateur that hadn't offended every busy little fate and fury in the +whole hoodooing business? Why, the blooming record would be knocked into +the middle of next week." + +"You'll do it," said Pickings in a loud whisper. "Play carefully." + +Booverman glanced down the four-hundred-yard straightaway and murmured +to himself: + + "I wonder, little ball, whither will you fly? + I wonder, little ball, have I bid you good-by? + Will it be 'mid the prairies in the regions to the west? + Will it be in the marshes where the pollywogs nest? + Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?" + +[Illustration: "Oh, tell me, little ball, is it ta-ta or good-by?"] + +He pronounced the last word with a settled conviction, and drove another +long, straight drive. Pickings, thrilled at the possibility of another +miracle, sliced badly. + +"This is one of the most truly delightful holes of a picturesque +course," said Booverman, taking out an approaching cleek for his second +shot. "Nothing is more artistic than the tiny little patch of +putting-green under the shaggy branches of the willows. The receptive +graveyard to the right gives a certain pathos to it, a splendid, quiet +note in contrast to the feeling of the swift, hungry river to the left, +which will now receive and carry from my outstretched hand this little +white floater that will float away from me. No matter; I say again the +fourth green is a thing of ravishing beauty." + +This second shot, low and long, rolled up in the same unvarying line. + +"On the green," said Pickings. + +"Short," said Booverman, who found, to his satisfaction, that he was +right by a yard. + +"Take your time," said Pickings, biting his nails. + +"Rats! I'll play it for a five," said Booverman. + +His approach ran up on the line, caught the rim of the cup, hesitated, +and passed on a couple of feet. + +"A four, anyway," said Pickings, with relief. + +"I should have had a three," said Booverman, doggedly. "Any one else +would have had a three, straight on the cup. You'd have had a three, +Picky; you know you would." + +Pickings did not answer. He was slowly going to pieces, forgetting the +invincible stoicism that is the pride of the true golfer. + +"I say, take your time, old chap," he said, his voice no longer under +control. "Go slow! go slow!" + +"Picky, for the first four years I played this course," said +Booverman, angrily, "I never got better than a six on this simple +three-hundred-and-fifty-yard hole. I lost my ball five times out of +seven. There is something irresistibly alluring to me in the mosquito +patches to my right. I think it is the fond hope that when I lose this +nice new ball I may step inadvertently on one of its hundred brothers, +which I may then bring home and give decent burial." + +Pickings, who felt a mad and ungolfish desire to entreat him to caution, +walked away to fight down his emotion. + +"Well?" he said, after the click of the club had sounded. + +"Well," said Booverman, without joy, "that ball is lying about two +hundred and forty yards straight up the course, and by this time it has +come quietly to a little cozy home in a nice, deep hoof track, just as I +found it yesterday afternoon. Then I will have the exquisite pleasure of +taking my niblick, and whanging it out for the loss of a stroke. That'll +infuriate me, and I'll slice or pull. The best thing to do, I suppose, +would be to play for a conservative six." + +When, after four butchered shots, Pickings had advanced to where +Booverman had driven, the ball lay in clear position just beyond the +bumps and rills that ordinarily welcome a long shot. Booverman played a +perfect mashy, which dropped clear on the green, and ran down a moderate +put for a three. + +They then crossed the road and arrived by a planked walk at a dirt mound +in the midst of a swamp. Before them the cozy marsh lay stagnant ahead +and then sloped to the right in the figure of a boomerang, making for +those who fancied a slice a delightful little carry of one hundred and +fifty yards. To the left was a procession of trees, while beyond, on the +course, for those who drove a long ball, a giant willow had fallen the +year before in order to add a new perplexity and foster the enthusiasm +for luxury that was beginning among the caddies. + +"I have a feeling," said Booverman, as though puzzled but not duped by +what had happened--"I have a strange feeling that I'm not going to get +into trouble here. That would be too obvious. It's at the seventh or +eighth holes that something is lurking around for me. Well, I won't +waste time." + +He slapped down his ball, took a full swing, and carried the far-off +bank with a low, shooting drive that continued bounding on. + +"That ought to roll forever," said Pickings, red with excitement. + +"The course is fast--dry as a rock," said Booverman, deprecatingly. + +Pickings put three balls precisely into the bubbling water, and drew +alongside on his eighth shot. Booverman's drive had skimmed over the +dried plain for a fair two hundred and seventy-five yards. His second +shot, a full brassy, rolled directly on the green. + +"If he makes a four here," said Pickings to himself, "he'll be playing +five under four--no, by thunder! seven under four!" Suddenly he stopped, +overwhelmed. "Why, he's actually around threes--two under three now. +Heavens! if he ever suspects it, he'll go into a thousand pieces." + +As a result, he missed his own ball completely, and then topped it for a +bare fifty yards. + +"I've never seen you play so badly," said Booverman in a grumbling tone. +"You'll end up by throwing me off." + +When they arrived at the green, Booverman's ball lay about thirty feet +from the flag. + +"It's a four, a sure four," said Pickings under his breath. + +Suddenly Booverman burst into an exclamation. + +"Picky, come here. Look--look at that!" + +The tone was furious. Pickings approached. + +"Do you see that?" said Booverman, pointing to a freshly laid circle of +sod ten inches from his ball. "That, my boy, was where the cup was +yesterday. If they hadn't moved the flag two hours ago, I'd have had a +three. Now, what do you think of that for rotten luck?" + +"Lay it dead," said Pickings, anxiously, shaking his head +sympathetically. "The green's a bit fast." + +The put ran slowly up to the hole, and stopped four inches short. + +"By heavens! why didn't I put over it!" said Booverman, brandishing his +putter. "A thirty-foot put that stops an inch short--did you ever see +anything like it? By everything that's just and fair I should have had a +three. You'd have had it, Picky. Lord! if I only could put!" + +"One under three," said Pickings to his fluttering inner self. "He can't +realize it. If I can only keep his mind off the score!" + +The seventh tee is reached by a carefully planned, fatiguing flight of +steps to the top of a bluff, where three churches at the back beckon so +many recording angels to swell the purgatory lists. As you advance to +the abrupt edge, everything is spread before you; nothing is concealed. +In the first plane, the entangling branches of a score of apple-trees +are ready to trap a topped ball and bury it under impossible piles of +dry leaves. Beyond, the wired tennis-courts give forth a musical, tinny +note when attacked. In the middle distance a glorious sycamore draws you +to the left, and a file of elms beckon the sliced way to a marsh, +wilderness of grass and an overgrown gully whence no balls return. In +front, one hundred and twenty yards away, is a formidable bunker, +running up to which is a tract of long grass, which two or three times a +year is barbered by a charitable enterprise. The seventh hole itself +lies two hundred and sixty yards away in a hollow guarded by a sunken +ditch, a sure three or--a sure six. + +Booverman was still too indignant at the trick fate had played him on +the last green to yield to any other emotion. He forgot that a dozen +good scores had ended abruptly in the swale to the right. He was only +irritated. He plumped down his ball, dug his toes in the ground, and +sent off another long, satisfactory drive, which added more fuel to his +anger. + +"Any one else would have had a three on the six," he muttered as he left +the tee. "It's too ridiculous." + +He had a short approach and an easy put, plucked his ball from the cup, +and said in an injured tone: + +"Picky, I feel bad about that sixth hole, and the fourth, too. I've +lost a stroke on each of them. I'm playing two strokes more than I ought +to be. Hang it all! that sixth wasn't right! You told me the green was +fast." + +"I'm sorry," said Pickings, feeling his fingers grow cold and clammy on +the grip. + +The eighth hole has many easy opportunities. It is five hundred and +twenty yards long, and things may happen at every stroke. You may begin +in front of the tee by burying your ball in the waving grass, which is +always permitted a sort of poetical license. There are the traps to the +seventh hole to be crossed, and to the right the paralleling river can +be reached by a short stab or a long, curling slice, which the +prevailing wind obligingly assists to a splashing descent. + +"And now we have come to the eighth hole," said Booverman, raising his +hat in profound salutation. "Whenever I arrive here with a good score I +take from eight to eighteen, I lose one to three balls. On the contrary, +when I have an average of six, I always get a five and often a four. How +this hole has changed my entire life!" He raised his ball and addressed +it tenderly: "And now, little ball, we must part, you and I. It seems a +shame; you're the nicest little ball I ever have known. You've stuck to +me an awful long while. It's a shame." + +He teed up, and drove his best drive, and followed it with a brassy that +laid him twenty yards off the green, where a good approach brought the +desired four. + +"Even threes," said Pickings to himself, as though he had seen a ghost. +Now he was only a golfer of one generation; there was nothing in his +inheritance to steady him in such a crisis. He began slowly to +disintegrate morally, to revert to type. He contained himself until +Booverman had driven free of the river, which flanks the entire green +passage to the ninth hole, and then barely controlling the impulse to +catch Booverman by the knees and implore him to discretion, he burst +out: + +"I say, dear boy, do you know what your score is?" + +"Something well under four," said Booverman, scratching his head. + +"Under four, nothing; even threes!" + +"What?" + +"Even threes." + +They stopped, and tabulated the holes. + +"So it is," said Booverman, amazed. "What an infernal pity!" + +"Pity?" + +"Yes, pity. If only some one else could play it out!" + +He studied the hundred and fifty yards that were needed to reach the +green that was set in the crescent of surrounding trees, changed his +brassy for his cleek, and his cleek for his midiron. + +"I wish you hadn't told me," he said nervously. + +Pickings on the instant comprehended his blunder. For the first time +Booverman's shot went wide of the mark, straight into the trees that +bordered the river to the left. + +"I'm sorry," said Pickings with a feeble groan. + +"My dear Picky, it had to come," said Booverman, with a shrug of his +shoulders. "The ball is now lost, and all the score goes into the air, +the most miraculous score any one ever heard of is nothing but a crushed +egg!" + +"It may have bounded back on the course," said Pickings, desperately. + +"No, no, Picky; not that. In all the sixty thousand times I have hit +trees, barns, car-tracks, caddies, fences,--" + +"There it is!" cried Pickings, with a shout of joy. + +Fair on the course, at the edge of the green itself, lay the ball, which +soon was sunk for a four. Pickings felt a strange, unaccountable desire +to leap upon Booverman like a fluffy, enthusiastic dog; but he fought it +back with the new sense of responsibility that came to him. So he said +artfully: "By George! old man, if you hadn't missed on the fourth or the +sixth, you'd have done even threes!" + +"You know what I ought to do now--I ought to stop," said Booverman, in +profound despair--"quit golf and never lift another club. It's a crime +to go on; it's a crime to spoil such a record. Twenty-eight for nine +holes, only forty-two needed for the next nine to break the record, and +I have done it in thirty-three--and in fifty-three! I ought not to try; +it's wrong." + +He teed his ball for the two-hundred-yard flight to the easy tenth, and +took his cleek. + +"I know just what'll happen now; I know it well." + +But this time there was no varying in the flight; the drive went true to +the green, straight on the flag, where a good but not difficult put +brought a two. + +"Even threes again," said Pickings, but to himself. "It can't go on. It +must turn." + +"Now, Pickings, this is going to stop," said Booverman angrily. "I'm not +going to make a fool of myself. I'm going right up to the tee, and I'm +going to drive my ball right smack into the woods and end it. And I +don't care." + +"What!" + +"No, I don't care. Here goes." + +Again his drive continued true, the mashy pitch for the second was +accurate, and his put, after circling the rim of the cup, went down for +a three. + +The twelfth hole is another dip into the long grass that might serve as +an elephant's bed, and then across the Housatonic River, a carry of one +hundred and twenty yards to the green at the foot of an intruding tree. + +"Oh, I suppose I'll make another three here, too," said Booverman, +moodily. "That'll only make it worse." + +He drove with his midiron high in the air and full on the flag. + +"I'll play my put carefully for three," he said, nodding his head. +Instead, it ran straight and down for two. + +He walked silently to the dreaded thirteenth tee, which, with the +returning fourteenth, forms the malignant Scylla and Charybdis of the +course. There is nothing to describe the thirteenth hole. It is not +really a golf-hole; it is a long, narrow breathing spot, squeezed by the +railroad tracks on one side and by the river on the other. Resolute and +fearless golfers often cut them out entirely, nor are ashamed to +acknowledge their terror. As you stand at the thirteenth tee, everything +is blurred to the eye. Near by are rushes and water, woods to the left +and right; the river and the railroad; and the dry land a hundred yards +away looks tiny and distant, like a rock amid floods. + +A long drive that varies a degree is doomed to go out of bounds or to +take the penalty of the river. + +"Don't risk it. Take an iron--play it carefully," said Pickings in a +voice that sounded to his own ears unrecognizable. + +Booverman followed his advice and landed by the fence to the left, +almost off the fair. A midiron for his second put him in position for +another four, and again brought his score to even threes. + +When the daring golfer has passed quaking up the narrow way and still +survives, he immediately falls a victim to the fourteenth, which is a +bend hole, with all the agonies of the preceding thirteenth, augmented +by a second shot over a long, mushy pond. If you play a careful iron to +keep from the railroad, now on the right, or to dodge the river on your +left, you are forced to approach the edge of the swamp with a cautious +fifty-yard-running-up stroke before facing the terrors of the carry. A +drive with a wooden club is almost sure to carry into the swamp, and +only a careful cleek shot is safe. + +"I wish I were playing this for the first time," said Booverman, +blackly. "I wish I could forget--rid myself of memories. I have seen +class A amateurs take twelve, and professionals eight. This is the end +of all things, Picky, the saddest spot on earth. I won't waste time. +Here goes." + +To Pickings's horror, the drive began slowly to slice out of bounds, +toward the railroad tracks. + +"I knew it," said Booverman, calmly, "and the next will go there, too; +then I'll put one in the river, two the swamp, slice into--" + +All at once he stopped, thunderstruck. The ball, hitting tire or rail, +bounded high in the air, forward, back upon the course, lying in perfect +position; Pickings said something in a purely reverent spirit. + +"Twice in sixty thousand times," said Booverman, unrelenting. "That only +evens up the sixth hole. Twice in sixty thousand times!" + +From where the ball lay an easy brassy brought it near enough to the +green to negotiate another four. Pickings, trembling like a toy dog in +zero weather, reached the green in ten strokes, and took three more +puts. + +The fifteenth, a short pitch over the river, eighty yards to a slanting +green entirely surrounded by more long grass, which gave it the +appearance of a chin spot on a full face of whiskers, was Booverman's +favorite hole. While Pickings held his eyes to the ground and tried to +breathe in regular breaths, Booverman placed his ball, drove with the +requisite back spin, and landed dead to the hole. Another two resulted. + +"Even threes--fifteen holes in even threes," said Pickings to himself, +his head beginning to throb. He wanted to sit down and take his temples +in his hands, but for the sake of history he struggled on. + +"Damn it!" said Booverman all at once. + +"What's the matter?" said Pickings, observing his face black with fury. + +"Do you realize, Pickings, what it means to me to have lost those two +strokes on the fourth and sixth greens, and through no fault of mine, +neither? Even threes for the whole course--that's what I could do if I +had those two strokes--the greatest thing that's ever been seen on a +golf-course. It may be a hundred years before any human being on the +face of this earth will get such a chance. And to think I might have +done it with a little luck!" + +Pickings felt his heart begin to pump, but he was able to say with some +degree of calm: + +"You may get a three here." + +"Never. Four, three and four is what I'll end." + +"Well, good heavens! what do you want?" + +"There's no joy in it, though," said Booverman, gloomily. "If I had +those two strokes back, I'd go down in history, I'd be immortal. And +you, too, Picky, you'd be immortal, because you went around with me. The +fourth hole was bad enough, but the sixth was heartbreaking." + +His drive cleared another swamp and rolled well down the farther +plateau. A long cleek laid his ball off the green, a good approach +stopped a little short of the hole, and the put went down. + +"Well, that ends it," said Booverman, gloomily. + +"I've got to make a two and a three to do it. The two is quite possible; +the three absurd." + +The seventeenth hole returns to the swamp that enlivens the sixth. It is +a full cleek, with about six mental hazards distributed in Indian +ambush, and in five of them a ball may lie until the day of judgment +before rising again. + +Pickings turned his back, unable to endure the agony of watching. The +click of the club was sharp and true. He turned to see the ball in full +flight arrive unerringly hole high on the green. + +"A chance for a two," he said under his breath. He sent two balls into +the lost land to the left and one into the rough to the right. + +"Never mind me," he said, slashing away in reckless fashion. + +Booverman with a little care studied the ten-foot route to the hole and +putted down. + +"Even threes!" said Pickings, leaning against a tree. + +"Blast that sixth hole!" said Booverman, exploding. "Think of what it +might be, Picky--what it ought to be!" + +Pickings retired hurriedly before the shaking approach of Booverman's +frantic club. Incapable of speech, he waved him feebly to drive. He +began incredulously to count up again, as though doubting his senses. + +"One under three, even threes, one over, even, one under--" + +"Here! What the deuce are you doing?" said Booverman, angrily. "Trying +to throw me off?" + +"I didn't say anything," said Pickings. + +"You didn't--muttering to yourself." + +"I must make him angry to keep his mind off the score," said Pickings, +feebly to himself. He added aloud, "Stop kicking about your old sixth +hole! You've had the darndest luck I ever saw, and yet you grumble." + +Booverman swore under his breath, hastily approached his ball, drove +perfectly, and turned in a rage. + +"Luck?" he cried furiously. "Pickings, I've a mind to wring your neck. +Every shot I've played has been dead on the pin, now, hasn't it?" + +"How about the ninth hole--hitting a tree?" + +"Whose fault was that? You had no right to tell me my score, and, +besides, I only got an ordinary four there, anyway." + +"How about the railroad track?" + +"One shot out of bounds. Yes, I'll admit that. That evens up for the +fourth." + +"How about your first hole in two?" + +"Perfectly played; no fluke about it at all--once in sixty thousand +times. Well, any more sneers? Anything else to criticize?" + +"Let it go at that." + +Booverman, in this heckled mood, turned irritably to his ball, played a +long midiron, just cleared the crescent bank of the last swale, and ran +up on the green. + +[Illustration: Wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the clubhouse +with the miraculous news] + +"Damn that sixth hole!" said Booverman, flinging down his club and +glaring at Pickings. "One stroke back, and I could have done it." + +Pickings tried to address, but the moment he swung his club, his legs +began to tremble. He shook his head, took a long breath, and picked up +his ball. + +They approached the green on a drunken run in the wild hope that a short +put was possible. Unfortunately the ball lay thirty feet away, and the +path to the hole was bumpy and riddled with worm-casts. Still, there was +a chance, desperate as it was. + +Pickings let his bag slip to the ground and sat down, covering his eyes +while Booverman with his putter tried to brush away the ridges. + +"Stand up!" + +Pickings rose convulsively. + +"For heaven's sake, Picky, stand up! Try to be a man!" said Booverman, +hoarsely. "Do you think I've any nerve when I see you with chills and +fever? Brace up!" + +"All right." + +Booverman sighted the hole, and then took his stance; but the cleek in +his hand shook like an aspen. He straightened up and walked away. + +"Picky," he said, mopping his face, "I can't do it. I can't put it." + +"You must." + +"I've got buck fever. I'll never be able to put it--never." + +At the last, no longer calmed by an invincible pessimism, Booverman had +gone to pieces. He stood shaking from head to foot. + +"Look at that," he said, extending a fluttering hand. "I can't do it; I +can never do it." + +"Old fellow, you must," said Pickings; "you've got to. Bring yourself +together. Here!" He slapped him on the back, pinched his arms, and +chafed his fingers. Then he led him back to the ball, braced him into +position, and put the putter in his hands. + +"Buck fever," said Booverman in a whisper. "Can't see a thing." + +Pickings, holding the flag in the cup, said savagely: + +"Shoot!" + +The ball advanced in a zigzag path, running from worm-cast to a +worm-cast, wobbling and rocking, and at the last, as though preordained, +fell plump into the cup! + +At the same moment, Pickings and Booverman, as though carried off by the +same cannon-ball, flattened on the green. + + + + +III + + +Five minutes later, wild-eyed and hilarious, they descended on the +clubhouse with the miraculous news. For an hour the assembled golfers +roared with laughter as the two stormed, expostulated, and swore to the +truth of the tale. + +[Illustration: A committee carefully examined the books of the club] + +They journeyed from house to house in a vain attempt to find some +convert to their claim. For a day they passed as consummate comedians, +and the more they yielded to their rage, the more consummate was their +art declared. Then a change took place. From laughing the educated town +of Stockbridge turned to resentment, then to irritation, and finally to +suspicion. Booverman and Pickings began to lose caste, to be regarded as +unbalanced, if not positively dangerous. Unknown to them, a committee +carefully examined the books of the club. At the next election another +treasurer and another secretary were elected. + +Since then, month in and month out, day after day, in patient hope, the +two discredited members of the educated community of Stockbridge may be +seen, _accompanied by caddies_, toiling around the links in a desperate +belief that the miracle that would restore them to standing may be +repeated. Each time as they arrive nervously at the first tee and +prepare to swing, something between a chuckle and a grin runs through +the assemblage, while the left eyes contract waggishly, and a murmuring +may be heard, + +"Even threes." + + * * * * * + +The Stockbridge golf-links is a course of ravishing beauty and the +Housatonic River, as has been said, goes wriggling around it as though +convulsed with merriment. + + + + +A MAN OF NO IMAGINATION + + + + +I + + +Inspector Frawley, of the Canadian Secret Service, stood at attention, +waiting until the scratch of a pen should cease throughout the dim, +spacious office and the Honorable Secretary of Justice should acquaint +him with his desires. + +He held himself deferentially, body compact, eyes clear and steady, face +blank and controlled, without distinction, without significance, a man +mediocre as a crowd. His hands were joined loosely behind his back; his +glance, without deviating, remained persistently on the profile of the +Honorable Secretary, as though in that historic room the human note +alone could compel his curiosity. + +The thin squeak of the pen faded into the silences of the great room. +The Secretary of Justice ran his fingers over his forehead, looked up, +and met the Inspector's gaze--fixed, profound, and mathematical. With a +sudden unease he pushed back his chair, troubled by the analysis of his +banal man, who, in another turn of Fate, might pursue him as +dispassionately as he now stood before him for his commands. With a few +rapid strides he crossed the room, lit a cigar, blew into the swirl of +smoke this caprice of his imagination, and returned stolidly, as became +a man of facts and figures. + +Flinging himself loosely in an easy chair, he threw a rapid glance at +his watch, locked his fingers, and began with the nervous directness of +one who wishes to be rid of formalities: + +"Well, Inspector, you returned this morning?" + +"An hour ago, sir." + +"A creditable bit of work, Inspector Frawley--the department is +pleased." + +"Thank you indeed, sir." + +"Does the case need you any more?" + +"I should say not, sir--no, sir." + +"You are ready to report for duty?" + +"Oh, yes, sir." + +"How soon?" + +"I think I'm ready now, sir--yes, sir." + +"Glad to hear it, Inspector, very glad. You're the one man I wanted." As +though the civilities had been sufficiently observed, the Secretary +stiffened in his chair and continued rapidly: "It's that Toronto affair; +you've read the details. The government lost $350,000. We caught four of +the gang, but the ringleader got away with the money. Have you studied +it? What did you make of it? Sit down." + +Frawley took a chair stiffly, hanging his hat between his knees and +considering. + +"It did look like work from the States," he said thoughtfully. "I beg +pardon, did you say they'd caught some of the gang?" + +"Four--this morning. The telegram's just in." + +The Honorable Secretary, a little strange yet to the routine of the +office, looked at Frawley with a sudden desire to test his memory. + +"Do you know the work?" he asked; "could you recognize the ringleader?" + +"That might not be so hard, sir," said Frawley, with a nod; "we know +pretty well, of course, who's able to handle such jobs as that. Would +you have a description anywhere?" + +The Honorable Secretary rose, took from his desk a paper, and began to +read. In his seat Inspector Frawley crossed his legs carefully, drew his +fists up under his chin, and stared at the reader, but without focusing +his glance on him. Once during the recital he started at some item of +description, but immediately relaxed. The report finished, the Secretary +let it drop into his lap and waited, impressed, despite himself, at the +thought of the immense galleries of crime through which the Inspector +was seeking his victim. All at once into the unseeing stare there +flickered a light of understanding. Frawley returned to the room, saw +the Secretary, and nodded. + +"It's Bucky," he said tentatively. A moment his glance went +reflectively to a far corner, then he nodded slowly, looked at the +Secretary, and said with conviction: "It looks very much, sir, like +Bucky Greenfield." + +"It is Greenfield," replied the Secretary, without attempting to conceal +his astonishment. + +"I would like to observe," said Frawley thoughtfully, without noticing +his surprise, "that there is a bit of an error in that description, sir. +It's the left ear that's broken. Furthermore, he don't toe +out--excepting when he does it on a purpose. So it's Bucky Greenfield +I'm to bring back, sir?" + +The Secretary nodded, penciling Frawley's correction on the paper. + +"Bucky--well, now, that is odd!" said Frawley musingly. He rose and took +a step to the desk. "Very odd." Mechanically he saw the straggling +papers on the top and arranged them into orderly piles. "Well, he can't +say I didn't warn him!" + +"What!" broke in the Secretary in quick astonishment, "you know the +fellow?" + +"Indeed, yes, sir," said Frawley, with a nod. "We know most of the +crooks in the States. We're good friends, too--so long as they stay over +the line. It's useful, you know. So I'm to go after Bucky?" + +The Secretary, judging the moment had arrived to be impressive, said +solemnly: + +"Inspector Frawley, if you have to stick to it until he dies of old age, +you're never to let up until you get Bucky Greenfield! While the +British Empire holds together, no man shall rob Her Majesty of a +farthing and sleep in security. You understand the situation?" + +"I do, sir." + +The Honorable Secretary, only half satisfied, continued: + +"Your credit is unlimited--there'll be no question of that. If you need +to buy up a whole South American government--buy it! By the way, he will +make for South America, will he not?" + +"Probably--yes, sir. Chile or the Argentine--there's no extradition +treaty there." + +"But even then," broke in the Secretary with a nervous frown--"there are +ways--other ways?" + +"Oh, yes." Frawley, picking up a paper-cutter, stood by the mantel +tapping his palm. "Oh, yes--there are other ways! So it's Bucky--well, I +warned him!" + +"Now, Inspector, to settle the matter," interrupted the Secretary, +anxious to return to his routine, "when can you go on the case?" + +"If the papers are ready, sir--" + +"They are--everything. The Home Office has been cabled. To-morrow every +British official throughout the world will be notified to render you +assistance and honor your drafts." + +Inspector Frawley heard with approval and consulted his watch. + +"There's an express for New York leaves at noon," he said +reflectively--then, with a glance at the clock, "thirty-five minutes; I +can make that, sir." + +"Good, very good." + +"If I might suggest, sir--if the Inspector who has had the case in hand +could go a short distance with me?" + +"Inspector Keech shall join you at the station." + +"Thank you, sir. Is there anything further?" + +The Secretary shook his head, and springing up, held out his hand +enthusiastically. + +"Good luck to you, Inspector--you have a big thing ahead of you, a very +big thing." + +"Thank you, sir." + +"By the way--you're not married?" + +"No, sir." + +"This is pretty short notice. How long have you been on this other +case?" + +"A trifle over six months, sir." + +"Don't you want a couple of days to rest up? I can let you have that +very easily." + +"It really makes no difference--I think I'll leave to-day, sir." + +"Oh, a moment more, Inspector--" + +Frawley halted. + +"How long do you think this ought to take you?" + +Frawley considered, and answered carefully: + +"It'll be long, I think. You see, there are several circumstances that +are unusual about this case." + +"How so?" + +"Well, Buck is clever--there's no gainsaying that--quite at the top of +the profession. Then, he's expecting me." + +"You?" + +"They're a queer lot," Frawley explained with a touch of pride. "Crooks +are full of little vanities. You see, Bucky knows I've never dropped a +trail, and I think it's rather gotten on his nerves. I think he wasn't +satisfied until he dared me. He's very odd--very odd indeed. It's a +little personal. I doubt, sir, if I bring him back alive." + +"Inspector Frawley," said the new Secretary, "I hope I have sufficiently +impressed upon you the importance of your mission." + +Frawley stared at his chief in surprise. + +"I'm to stick to him until I get him," he said in wonder; "that's all, +isn't it, sir?" + +The Secretary, annoyed by his lack of imagination, essayed a final +phrase. + +"Inspector, this is my last word," he said with a frown; "remember that +you represent Her Majesty's government--you are Her Majesty's +government! I have confidence in you." + +"Thank you, sir." + +Frawley moved slowly to the door and with his hand on the knob +hesitated. The Secretary saw in the movement a reluctance to take the +decisive step that must open before him the wide stretches of the world. + +"After all, he must have a speck of imagination," he thought, reassured. + +"I beg pardon, sir." + +Frawley had turned in embarrassment. + +"Well, Inspector, what can I do for you?" + +"If you please, sir," said Frawley, "I was just thinking--after all, it +has been a bit of a while since I've been home--indeed, I should like it +very much if I could take a good English mutton-chop and a musty ale at +old Nell's, sir. I can still get the two o'clock express." + +"Granted!" + +"If you'd prefer not, sir," said Frawley, surprised at the vexation in +his answer. + +"Not at all--take the two o'clock--good day, good day!" + +Inspector Frawley, sorely puzzled, shifted his balance, opened his +mouth, then with a bob of his head answered hastily: + +"A--good day, sir!" + + + + +II + + +Sam Greenfield, known as "Bucky," age about 42, height about 5 feet 10 +inches, weight between 145 and 150. Hair mouse-colored, thinning out +over forehead, parted in middle, showing scalp beneath; mustache would +be lighter than hair--if not dyed; usually clipped to about an inch. +Waxy complexion, light blue eyes a little close together, thin nose, a +prominent dimple on left cheek--may wear whiskers. Laughs in low key. +Left ear lobe broken. Slightly bowlegged. While in conversation strokes +chin. When standing at a counter or bar goes through motions, as if +jerking himself together, crowding his elbows slowly to his side for a +moment, then, throwing back his head, jumps up from his heels. When +dreaming, attempts to bite mustache with lower lip. When he sits in a +chair places himself sidewise and hangs both arms over back. In walking +strikes back part of heel first, and is apt to waver from time to time. +Dresses neatly, carries hands in side-pockets only--plays piano +constantly, composing as he goes along. During day smokes twenty to +thirty cigarettes, cutting them in half for cigarette-holder and +throwing them away after three or four whiffs. After dinner invariably +smokes one cigar. Cut is good likeness. Cut of signature is facsimile of +his original writing. + +With this overwhelming indictment against the liberty of the fugitive, +to escape which Greenfield would have to change his temperament as well +as his physical aspect, Inspector Frawley took the first steamer from +New York to the Isthmus of Panama. + +He had slight doubt of Greenfield's final destination, for the flight of +the criminal is a blind instinct for the south as though a frantic +return to barbarism. At this time Chile and the Argentine had not yet +accepted the principle of extradition, and remained the Mecca of the +lawbreakers of the world. + +Yet though Frawley felt certain of Greenfield's objective, he did not +at once strike for the Argentine. The Honorable Secretary of Justice had +eliminated the necessity for considering time. Frawley had no need to +guess, nor to risk. He had simply to become a wheel in the machinery of +the law, to grind slowly, tirelessly, and inexorably. This idea suited +admirably his temperament and his desires. + +He arrived at Colon, took train for Panama across the laborious path +where a thousand little men were scratching endlessly, and on the brink +of the Pacific began his search. No one had heard of Greenfield. + +At the end of a week's waiting he boarded a steamer and crawled down the +western coast of South America, investigating every port, braving the +yellow fever at Guayaquil, Ecuador, and facing a riot at Callao, Peru, +before he found at Lima the trail of the fugitive. Greenfield had passed +the day there and left for Chile. Dragging each intermediate port with +the same caution, Frawley followed the trail to Valparaiso. Greenfield +had stayed a week and again departed. + +Frawley at once took steamer for the Argentine, passed down the tongue +of South America, through the Straits of Magellan, and arrived at length +in the harbor of Buenos Ayres. + +An hour later, as he took his place at the table in the Criterion +Gardens, a hand fell on his shoulder and some one at his back said: + +"Well, Bub!" + +He turned. A thin man of medium height, with blue eyes and yellow +complexion, was laughing in expectation of his discomfiture. Frawley +laid down the menu carefully, raised his head, and answered quietly: + +"Why, how d'ye do, Bucky?" + + + + +III + + +"We shake, of course," said Greenfield, holding out his hand. + +"Why not? Sit down." + +The fugitive slid into a chair and hung his arms over the back, asking +immediately: + +"What took you so long? You're after me, of course?" + +"Am I?" Frawley answered, looking at him steadily. Greenfield, with a +twitch of his shoulders, returned to his question: + +"What took you so long? Didn't you guess I'd come direct?" + +"I'm not guessing," said Frawley. + +"What do you say to dining on me?" said Greenfield with a malicious +smile. "I owe you that. I clipped your vacation pretty short. +Besides--guess you know it yourself--you can't touch me here. Why not +talk things over frankly? Say, Bub, shall it be on me?" + +"I'm willing." + +A waiter sidled up and took the order that Greenfield gave without +hesitation. + +"You see, even the dinner was ready for you," he said with a wink; "see +how you like it." With a gesture of impatience he pushed aside the menu, +squared his arms on the table, and looked suddenly at his pursuer with +the deviltry of a schoolboy glistening in his eyes. "Well, Bub, I went +into your all-fired Canady!" + +"So you did--why?" + +"Well," said Greenfield, drawing lines with his knife-point on the nap, +"one reason was I wanted to see if Her Majesty's shop has such an +all-fired long arm--" + +"And the other reason was I warned you to keep over the line." + +"Why, Bub, you _are_ a bright boy!" + +"It ain't me, Bucky," Frawley answered, with a shake of his head; "it's +the all-fired government that's after you." + +"Good--first rate--then we'll have a little excitement!" + +"You'll have plenty of that, Bucky!" + +"Maybe, Bub, maybe. Well, I made a neat job of it, didn't I?" + +"You did," admitted Frawley with an appreciative nod. "But you were +wrong--you were wrong--you should have kept off. The Canadian Government +ain't like your bloomin' democracy. It don't forgive--it don't forget. +Tack that up, Bucky. It's a principle we've got at stake with you!" + +"Don't I know it?" cried Greenfield, striking the table. "What else do +you think I did it for?" + +Frawley gazed at him, then said slowly: "I told them it was a personal +matter." + +"Sure it was! Do you think I could keep out after you served notice on +me? D---- your English pride and your English justice! I'm a good enough +Yank to see if your dinky police is such an all-fired cute little bunch +of wonder-workers as you say! Bub--you think you're going to get Mr. +Greenfield--don't you?" + +"I'm not thinking, Bucky--" + +"Eh?" + +"I'm simply sticking to you." + +"Sticking to me!" cried Greenfield with a roar of disgust. "Why, you +unimaginative, lumbering, beef-eating Canuck, you can't get me that way! +Why in tarnation didn't you strike plump for here--instead of rubbin' +yourself down the whole coast of South Ameriky?" + +"Bucky, you don't understand the situation properly," objected Frawley, +without varying the level tone of his voice. "Supposing it had been a +bloomin' corporation had sent me--? that's what I'd have done. But it's +the government this time--Her Majesty's government! Time ain't no +consideration. I'd have raked down the whole continent if I'd had +to--though I knew where you were." + +"Well, and now what? You can't touch me, Bub," he added earnestly. "I +like straight talk, man to man. Now, what's your game?" + +"Business." + +"All right then," said Greenfield, with a frown, "but you can't touch +me--now. There's an extradition treaty coming, but then there'd have to +be a retroactive clause to do you any good." He paused, studying the +expression on the Inspector's face. "There's enough of the likes of me +here to see that don't occur. Say, Bub?" + +"Well?" + +"You deal a square pack, don't you?" + +"That's my reputation, Bucky." + +"Give me your word you'll play me square." + +Inspector Frawley, leaning forward, helped himself busily. Greenfield, +with pursed lips, studied every movement. + +"No kidnapping tricks?" + +Without lifting his eyes Frawley sharpened his knife vigorously against +his fork and fell to eating. + +"Well, Bub?" + +"What?" + +"No fancy kidnapping?" + +"I'm promising nothing, Bucky." + +There was a blank moment while Greenfield considered. Suddenly he shot +out his hand, saying with a nod: "You're a white man, Bub, and I never +heard a word against that." He filled a glass and shoved it toward +Frawley. "We might as well clink on it. For I rather opinionate before +we get through this little business--there'll be something worth talking +about." + +"Here's to you then, Bucky," said Frawley, nodding. + +"Remember what I tell you," said Greenfield, looking over his glass, +"there's going to be something to live for." + +"I say, Bucky," said Frawley with a lazy interest, "would they serve you +five-o'clock tea here, I wonder?" + +Greenfield, drawing back, laughed a superior laugh. + +"Bub, I'm sorry for you--'pon my word I am." + +"How so, Bucky?" + +"Why, you plodding little English lamb, you don't have the slightest +suspicion what you're gettin' into!" + +"What am I getting into, Bucky?" + +Greenfield threw back his head with a chuckle. + +"If you get me, it'll be the last job you ever pull off." + +"Maybe, maybe." + +"Since things are aboveboard--listen here," said Greenfield with sudden +seriousness. "Bub, you'll not get me alive. Nothing personal, you +understand, but it'll have to be your life or mine. If it comes to the +pinch, look out for yourself--" + +"Oh, yes," said Frawley, with a matter-of-fact nod, "I understand." + +"I ain't tried to bribe you," said Greenfield, rising. "Thank me for +that--though another man might have been sent up for life." + +"Thanks," Frawley said with a drawl. "And you'll notice I haven't +advised you to come back and face the music. Seems to me we understand +each other." + +"Here's my address," said Greenfield, handing him a card; "may save you +some trouble. I'm here every night." He held out his hand. "Turn up and +meet the profesh. They're a clever lot here. They'd appreciate meeting +you, too." + +"Perhaps I will." + +"Ta-ta, then." + +Greenfield took a few steps, halted, and lounged back with a smile full +of mischief. + +"By the way, Bub--how long has Her Majesty's dinkies given you?" + +"It's a life appointment, Bucky." + +"Really--bless me--then your bloomin' government has some sense after +all." + +The two men saluted gravely, with a parting exchange. + +"Now, Bub--keep fit." + +"Same to you, Bucky." + + + + +IV + + +The view of Greenfield sauntering lightly away among the noisy tables, +bravado in his manner, deviltry in his heart, was the last glimpse +Inspector Frawley was destined to have of him in many months. True, +Greenfield had not lied: the address was genuine, but the man was gone. +For days Frawley had the city scoured without gaining a clue. No steamer +had left the harbor, not even a tramp. If Greenfield was not in hiding, +he must have buried himself in the interior. + +It was a week before Frawley found the track. Greenfield had walked +thirty miles into the country and taken the train for Rio Mendoza on the +route across the Andes to Valparaiso. + +Frawley followed the same day, somewhat mystified at this sudden change +of base. In the train the thermometer stood at 116 deg.. The heat made of +everything a solitude. Frawley, lifeless, stifling, and numbed, glued +himself to the air-holes with eyes fastened on the horizon, while the +train sped across the naked, singeing back of the plains like the welt +that springs to meet the fall of the lash. For two nights he watched the +distended sun, exhausted by its own madness, drop back into the heated +void, and the tortured stars rise over the stricken desert. At the end +of thirty-six hours of agony he arrived at Rio Mendoza. Thence he +reached Punta de Vacas, procured mules and a guide, and prepared for +the ascent over the mountains. + +At two o'clock the next morning he began to climb out of hell. The +tortured plains settled below him. A divine freshness breathed upon him +with a new hope of life. He left the burning conflict of summer and +passed into the aroma of spring. + +Then the air grew intense, a new suffocation pressed about his +temples--the suffocation of too much life. In an hour he had run the +gamut of the seasons. The cold of everlasting winter descended and stung +his senses. Up and up and up they went--then suddenly down, with the +half-breed guide and the tireless mule always at the same distance +before him; and again began the insistent mechanical toiling upward. He +grew listless and indifferent, acquiescent in these steep efforts that +the next moment must throw away. The horror of immense distance rose +about him. From time to time a stone dislodged by their passage rushed +from under him, struck the brink, and spun into the void, to fall +endlessly. The face of the earth grew confused and dropped in a mist +from before his eyes. + +Then as they toiled still upward, a gale as though sent in anger rushed +down upon them, sweeping up whirlwinds of snow, raging and shrieking, +dragging them to the brink, and threatening to blot them out. + +Frawley clutched the saddle, then flung his arms about the neck of his +mule. His head was reeling, the indignant blood rushed to his nostrils +and his ears, his lungs no longer could master the divine air. Then +suddenly the mules stopped, exhausted. Through the maelstrom the guide +shrieked to him not to use the spur. Frawley felt himself in danger of +dying, and had no resentment. + +For a day they affronted the immense wilds until they had forced +themselves thousands of feet above the race of men. Then they began to +descend. + +Below them the clouds lapped and rolled like the elements before the +creation. Still they descended, and the moist oblivion closed about +them, like the curse of a world without color. The bleak mists separated +and began to roll up above them, a cloud split asunder, and through the +slit the earth jumped up, and the solid land spread before them as when +at the dawn it obeyed the will of the Creator. They saw the hills and +the mountains grow, and the rivers trickle toward the sea. The masses of +brown and green began to be splashed with red and yellow as the fields +became fertile and fructified; and the insect race of men began to crawl +to and fro. + +The half-breed, who saw the scene for the hundredth time, bent his head +in awe. Frawley straightened in his saddle, stretched the stiffness out +of his limbs, patted his mule solicitously, glanced at the guide, and +stopped in perplexity at the mute, reverential attitude. + +"What's he starin' at now?" he muttered in as then, with a glance at +his watch, he added anxiously, "I say, Sammy, when do we get a bit to +eat?" + + + + +V + + +In Valparaiso he readily found the track of Greenfield. Up to the time +of his departure, two boats had sailed: one for the north, and one by +the Straits of Magellan to Buenos Ayres. Greenfield had bought a ticket +for each, after effecting the withdrawal of his account at a local bank. +Frawley was in perplexity: for Greenfield to flee north was to run into +the jaws of the law. The withdrawal of the account decided him. He +returned to Buenos Ayres by the route he had come, arriving the day +before the steamer. To his discomfiture Greenfield was not on board. By +ridiculously casting away his protection he had thrown the detective off +the track and gained three weeks. Without more concern than he might +have shown in taking a trip from Toronto to New York, Frawley a third +time crossed the Andes and set himself to correcting his first error. + +He traced Greenfield laboriously up the coast back to Panama and there +lost the trail. At the end of two months he learned that Greenfield had +shipped as a common sailor on a freighter that touched at Hawaii. From +here he followed him to Yokohama, Singapore, Ceylon, and Bombay. + +Thence Greenfield, suddenly abandoning the water route, had proceeded +by land to Bagdad, and across the Turkish Empire to Constantinople. +Without a pause, Frawley traced him next into the Balkans, through +Bulgaria, Roumania, amid massacre and revolution to Budapest, back to +Odessa, and across the back of Russia by Moscow and Riga to Stockholm. A +year had elapsed. + +Several times he might have gained on the fugitive had he trusted to his +instinct; but he bided his time, renouncing a stroke of genius, in order +to be certain of committing no error, awaiting the moment when +Greenfield would pause and he might overtake him. But the fugitive, as +though stung by a gad-fly, continued to plunge madly over sea and +continent. Four months, five months behind, Frawley continued the +tireless pursuit. + +From Stockholm the chase led to Copenhagen, to Christiansand, down the +North Sea to Rotterdam. From thence Greenfield had rushed by rail to +Lisbon and taken steamer to Africa, touching at Gibraltar, Portuguese +and French Guinea, Sierra Leone, and proceeding thence into the Congo. +For a month all traces disappeared in the veldt, until by chance, rather +than by his own merits, Frawley found the trail anew in Madagascar, +whither Greenfield had come after a desperate attempt to bury his trail +on the immense plains of Southern Africa. + +From Madagascar, Frawley followed him to Aden in Arabia and by steamer +to Melbourne. Again for weeks he sought the confused track vainly +through Australia, up through Sydney, down again to Tasmania and New +Zealand on a false clue, back to Queensland, where at last in Cooktown +he learned anew of the passing of his man. + +The third year began without appreciable gain. Greenfield still was +three months in advance, never pausing, scurrying from continent to +continent, as though instinctively aware of the progress of his pursuer. + +In this year Frawley visited Sumatra, Java, and Borneo, stopped at +Manila, jumped immediately to Korea, and hurried on to Vladivostok, +where he found that Greenfield had procured passage on a sealer bound +for Auckland. There he had taken the steamer by the Straits of Magellan +back to Buenos Ayres. + +There, within the first hour, he heard a report that his man had gone on +to Rio Janeiro, caught the cholera, and died there. Undaunted by the +epidemic, Frawley took the next boat and entered the stricken city by +swimming ashore. For a week he searched the hospitals and the +cemeteries. Greenfield had indeed been stricken, but, escaping with his +life, had left for the northern part of Brazil. The delay resulted in a +gain of three months for Frawley, but without heat or excitement he +began anew the pursuit, passing up the coast to Para and the mouth of +the Amazon, by Bogota and Panama into Mexico, on up toward the border +of Texas. The months between him and Greenfield shortened to weeks, then +to days without troubling his equanimity. At El Paso he arrived a few +hours after Greenfield had left, going toward the Salt Basin and the +Guadalupe Mountains. Frawley took horses and a guide and followed to the +edge of the desert. At three o'clock in the afternoon a horseman grew +out of the horizon, a figure that remained stationary and attentive, +studying his approach through a spy-glass. Suddenly, as though +satisfied, the stranger took off his hat and waved it above his head in +challenge, and digging his heels into his horse, disappeared into the +desert. + + + + +VI + + +Frawley understood the challenge--the end was to be in the desert. +Failing to move his guide by threat or promise, he left him clamoring +frantically on the edge of the desert and rode on toward where the +figure of Greenfield had disappeared on the horizon in a puff of dust. + +For three days they went their way grimly into the parched sands, +husbanding every particle of strength, within plain sight of each other, +always at the same unvarying walk. At night they slept by fits and +starts, with an ear trained for the slightest hostile sound. Then they +cast aside their saddles, their rifles, and superfluous clothing, in a +vain effort to save their mounts. + +The horses, heaving and staggering, crawled over the yielding sands +like silhouettes drawn by a thread. In the sky not a cloud appeared; +below, the yellow monotony extended as flat as a dish. Above them a lazy +buzzard, wheeling in languid circles, followed with patient conviction. + +On the fourth morning Frawley's horse stopped, shuddered, and went down +in a heap. Greenfield halted and surveyed his discomfiture grimly, +without a sign of elation. + +"That's bad, very bad," Frawley said judicially. "I ought to have sent +word to the department. Still, it's not over yet--his horse won't last +long. Well, I mustn't carry much." + +He abandoned his revolver, a knife, $200 in gold, and continued on foot, +preserving only the water-bag with its precious mouthful. Greenfield, +who had waited immovably, allowed him to approach within a quarter of a +mile before putting his horse in motion. + +"He's going to make sure I stay here," said Frawley to himself, seeing +that Greenfield made no attempt to increase the lead. "Well, we'll see." + +Twelve hours later Greenfield's horse gave out. Frawley uttered a cry of +joy, but the handicap of half a day was a serious one; he was exhausted, +famished, and in the bag there remained only sufficient water to moisten +his lips. + +The fifth day broke with an angry sun and no sign on the horizon to +relieve the eternal monotony. Only the buzzard at the same distance +aloft bided his time. Hunter and hunted, united perforce by their common +suffering, plodded on with the weary, hopeless straining of human beings +harnessed to a plow, covering scarcely a mile an hour. From time to +time, by common consent, they sat down, gaunt, exhausted figures, eyeing +each other with the instinct of beasts, their elbows on their bony +knees. Whether from a fear of losing energy, whether under the spell of +the frightful stillness, neither had uttered a word. + +Frawley was afire with thirst. The desert entered his body with its dry +mortal heat, and ran its consuming dryness through his veins; his eyes +started from his face as the sun above him hung out of the parched sky. +He began to talk to himself, to sing. Under his feet the sand sifted +like the soft protest of autumn leaves. He imagined himself back in the +forest, marking the rustle of leafy branches and the intermittent +dropping of acorns and twigs. All at once his legs refused to move. He +stood still, his gaze concentrated on the figure of Greenfield a long +moment, then his body crumpled under him and he sank without volition to +the ground. + +Greenfield stopped, sat down, and waited. After half an hour he drew +himself to his feet, moved on, then stopped, returned, approached, and +listened to the crooning of the delirious man. Suddenly satisfied, he +flung both arms into the air in frenzied triumph, turned, staggered, +and reeled away, while back over the desert came the grotesque, hideous +refrain, in maddened victory: + + "Yankee Doodle Dandy oh! + Yankee Doodle Dandy!" + +Frawley watched him go, then with a sigh of relief turned his glance to +the black revolving form in the air--at least that remained to break the +horror of the solitude. Then he lost consciousness. + +The beat of wings across his face aroused him with a start and a cry of +agony. The great bird of carrion, startled in its inspection, flew +clumsily off and settled fearlessly on the ground, blinking at him. + +An immense revolt, a furious anger brought with it new strength. He rose +and rushed at the bird with clenched fist, cursing it as it lumbered +awkwardly away. Then he began desperately to struggle on, following the +tracks in the sand. + +At the end of an hour specks appeared on the horizon. He looked at them +in his delirium and began to laugh uneasily. + +"I must be out of my head," he said to himself seriously. "It's a +mirage. Well, I suppose it is the end. Who'll they put on the case now? +Keech, I suppose; yes, Keech; he's a good man. Of course it's a mirage." + +As he continued to stumble forward, the dots assumed the shape of trees +and hills. He laughed contemptuously and began to remonstrate with +himself, repeating: + +"It's a mirage, or I'm out of my head." He began to be worried, saying +over and over: "That's a bad sign, very bad. I mustn't lose control of +myself. I must stick to him--stick to him until he dies of old age. +Bucky Greenfield! Well, he won't get out of this either. If the +department could only know!" + +The nearer he drew to life, the more indignant he became. He arrived +thus at the edge of trees and green things. + +"Why don't they go?" he said angrily. "They ought to, now. Come, I think +I'm keeping my head remarkably well." + +All at once a magnificent idea came to him--he would walk through the +mirage and end it. He advanced furiously against an imaginary tree, +struck his forehead, and toppled over insensible. + + + + +VII + + +Frawley returned to consciousness to find himself in the hut of a +half-breed Indian, who was forcing a soup of herbs between his lips. + +Two days later he regained his strength sufficiently to reach a ranch +owned by Englishmen. Fitted out by them, he started at once to return to +El Paso; to take up the unending search anew. + +In the late afternoon, tired and thirsty, he arrived at a shanty where +a handful of Mexican children were lolling in the cool of the wall. At +the sound of his approach a woman came running to the door, shrieking +for assistance in a Mexican gibberish. He ran hastily to the house, his +hand on his pistol. The woman, without stopping her chatter, huddled in +the doorway, pointing to the dim corner opposite. Frawley, following her +glance, saw the figure of a man stretched on a hasty bed of leaves. He +took a few quick steps and recognized Greenfield. + +At the same moment the bundle shot to a sitting position, with a cry: + +"Who's that?" + +Frawley, with a quick motion, covered him with his revolver, crying: + +"Hands up. It's me, Bucky, and I've got you now!" + +"Frawley!" + +"That's it, Bucky--Hands up!" + +Greenfield, without obeying, stared at him wildly. + +"God, it is Frawley!" he cried, and fell back in a heap. + +Inspector Frawley, advancing a step, repeated his command with no +uncertain ring: + +"Hands up! Quick!" + +On the bed the distorted body contracted suddenly into a ball. + +"Easy, Bub," Greenfield said between his teeth. "Easy; don't get +excited. I'm dying." + +"You?" + +Frawley approached cautiously, suspiciously. + +"Fact. I'm cashin' in." + +"What's the matter?" + +"Bug. Plain bug--the desert did the rest." + +"A what?" + +"Tarantula bite--don't laugh, Bub." + +Frawley, at his side, needed but a glance to see that it was true. He +ran his hand over Greenfield's belt and removed his pistol. + +"Sorry," he said curtly, standing up. + +"Quite keerect, Bub!" + +"Can I do anything for you?" + +"Nope." + +Suddenly, without warning, Greenfield raised himself, glared at him, +stretched out his hands, and fell into a passionate fit of weeping. +Frawley's English reserve was outraged. + +"What's the matter?" he said angrily. "You're not going to show the +white feather now, are you?" + +With an oath Greenfield sat bolt upright, silent and flustered. + +"D---- you, Bub--show some imagination," he said after a pause. "Do +you think I mind dying--me? That's a good one. It ain't that--no--it's +ending, ending like this. After all I've been through, to be put out of +business by a bug--an ornery little bug." + +Then Frawley comprehended his mistake. + +"I say, Bucky, I'll take that back," he said awkwardly. + +"No imagination, no imagination," Greenfield muttered, sinking back. +"Why, man, if I'd chased you three times around the world and got you, +I'd fall on you and beat you to a pulp or--or I'd hug you like a +long-lost brother." + +"I asked your pardon," said Frawley again. + +"All right, Bub--all right," Greenfield answered with a short laugh. +Then after a pause he added seriously: "So you've come--well, I'm glad +it's over. Bub," he continued, raising himself excitedly on his elbow, +"here's something strange, only you won't understand it. Do you know, +the whole time I knew just where you were--I had a feeling somewhere in +the back of my neck. At first you were 'way off, over the horizon; then +you got to be a spot coming over the hill. Then I began to feel that +spot growin' bigger and bigger--after Rio Janeiro, crawling up, creeping +up. Gospel truth, I felt you sneaking up on my back. It got on my +nerves. I dreamed about it, and that morning on the trail when you was +just a speck on any old hoss--I knew! You--you don't understand such +things, Bub, do you?" + +Frawley made an effort, failed, and answered helplessly: + +"No, Bucky, no, I can't say I do understand." + +"Why do you think I ran you into Rio Janeiro?" said Greenfield, +twisting on the leaves. "Into the cholery? What do you think made me lay +for this desert? Bub, you were on my back, clinging like a catamount. I +was bound to shake you off. I was desperate. It had to end one way or +t'other. That's why I stuck to you until I thought it was over with +you." + +"Why didn't you make sure of it?" said Frawley with curiosity; "you +could have done for me there." + +Greenfield looked at him hard and nodded. + +"Keerect, Bub; quite so!" + +"Why didn't you?" + +"Why!" cried Greenfield angrily. "Ain't you ever had any imagination? +Did I want to shoot you down like a common ordinary pickpocket after +taking you three times around the world? That was no ending! God, what a +chase it was!" + +"It was long, Bucky," Frawley admitted. "It was a good one!" + +"Can't you understand anything?" Greenfield cried querulously. "Where's +anything bigger, more than what we've done? And to have it end like +this--to have a bug--a miserable, squashy bug beat you after all!" + +For a long moment there was no sound, while Greenfield lay, twisting, +his head averted, buried in the leaves. + +"It's not right, Bucky," said Frawley at last, +with an effort at sympathy. "It oughtn't to have ended this way." + +"It was worth it!" Greenfield cried. "Three years! There ain't much dirt +we haven't kicked up! Asia, Africa--a regular Cook's tour through +Europe, North and South Ameriky. And what seas, Bub!" His voice +faltered. The drops of sweat stood thickly on his forehead; but he +pulled himself together gamely. "Do you remember the Sea of Japan with +its funny little toy junks? Man, we've beaten out Columbus, Jools Verne, +and the rest of them--hollow, Bub!" + +"I say, what did you do it for?" + +"You are a rum un," said Greenfield with a broken laugh. The words began +to come shorter and with effort. "Excitement, Bub! Deviltry and +cussedness!" + +"How do you feel, Bucky?" asked Frawley. + +"Half in hell already--stewing for my sins--but it's not that--it's--" + +"What, Bucky?" + +"That bug! Me, Bucky Greenfield--to go down and out on account of a +bug--a little squirmy bug! But I swear even he couldn't have done it if +the desert hadn't put me out of business first! No, by God! I'm not +downed so easy as that!" + +Frawley, in a lame attempt to show his sympathy, went closer to the +dying man: + +"I say, Bucky." + +"Shout away." + +"Wouldn't you like to go out, standing, on your feet--with your boots +on?" + +Greenfield laughed, a contented laugh. + +"What's the matter, pal?" said Frawley, pausing in surprise. + +"You darned old Englishman," said Greenfield affectionately. "Say, Bub." + +"Yes, Bucky." + +"The dinkies are all right--but--but a Yank, a real Yank, would 'a' got +me in six months." + +"All right, Bucky. Shall I raise you up?" + +"H'ist away." + +"Would you like the feeling of a gun in your hand again?" said Frawley, +raising him up. + +This time Greenfield did not laugh, but his hand closed convulsively +over the butt, and he gave a savage sigh of delight. His limbs +contracted violently, his head bore heavily on the shoulder of Frawley, +who heard him whisper again: + +"A bug--a little--" + +Then he stopped and appeared to listen. Outside, the evening was soft +and stirring. Through the door the children appeared, tumbling over one +another, in grotesque attitudes. + +Suddenly, as though in the breeze he had caught the sound of a step, +Greenfield jerked almost free of Frawley's arms, shuddered, and fell +back rigid. The pistol, flung into the air, twirled, pitched on the +floor, and remained quiet. + +Frawley placed the body back on the bed of leaves, listened a moment, +and rose satisfied. He threw a blanket over the face, picked up the +revolver, searched a moment for his hat, and went out to arrange with +the Mexican for the night. In a moment he returned and took a seat in +the corner, and began carefully to jot down the details on a piece of +paper. Presently he paused and looked reflectively at the bed of leaves. + +"It's been a good three years," he said reflectively. He considered a +moment, rapping the pencil against his teeth, and repeated: "A good +three years. I think when I get home I'll ask for a week or so to +stretch myself." Then he remembered with anxiety how Greenfield had +railed at his lack of imagination and pondered a moment seriously. +Suddenly, as though satisfied, he said with a nod of conviction: + +"Well, now, we did jog about a bit!" + + + + +LARRY MOORE + + + + +I + + +The base-ball season had closed, and we were walking down Fifth avenue, +Larry Moore and I. We were discussing the final series for the +championship, and my friend was estimating his chances of again pitching +the Giants to the top, when a sudden jam on the avenue left us an +instant looking face to face at a woman and a child seated in a +luxurious victoria. + +Larry Moore, who had hold of my arm, dropped it quickly and wavered in +his walk. The woman caught her breath and put her muff hastily to her +face; but the child saw us without surprise. All had passed within a +second, yet I retained a vivid impression of a woman of strange +attraction, elegant and indolent, with something in her face which left +me desirous of seeing it again, and of a pretty child who seemed a +little too serious for that happy age. Larry Moore forgot what he had +begun to say. He spoke no further word, and I, in glancing at his face, +comprehended that, incredible as it seemed, there was some bond between +the woman I had seen and this raw-boned, big-framed, and big-hearted +idol of the bleachers. + +Without comment I followed Larry Moore, serving his mood as he +immediately left the avenue and went east. At first he went with excited +strides, then he slowed down to a profound and musing gait, then he +halted, laid his hand heavily on my shoulder, and said: + +"Get into the car, Bob. Come up to the rooms." + +I understood that he wished to speak to me of what had happened, and I +followed. We went thus, without another word exchanged, to his rooms, +and entered the little parlor hung with the trophies of his career, +which I looked at with some curiosity. On the mantel in the center I saw +at once a large photograph of the Hon. Joseph Gilday, a corporation +lawyer of whom we reporters told many hard things, a picture I did not +expect to find here among the photographs of the sporting celebrities +who had sent their regards to my friend of the diamond. In some +perplexity I approached and saw across the bottom written in large firm +letters: "I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore." + +I smiled, for the tribute of the great man of the law seemed incongruous +here to me, who knew of old my simple-minded, simple-hearted friend +whom, the truth be told, I patronized perforce. Then I looked about more +carefully, and saw a dozen photographs of a woman, sometimes alone, +sometimes holding a pretty child, and the faces were the faces I had +seen in the victoria. I feigned not to have seen them; but Larry, who +had watched me, said: + +"Look again, Bob; for that is the woman you saw in the carriage, and +that is the child." + +So I took up a photograph and looked at it long. The face had something +more dangerous than beauty in it--the face of a Cleopatra with a look in +the deep restless eyes I did not fancy; but I did not tell that to Larry +Moore. Then I put it back in its place and turned and said gravely: + +"Are you sure that you want to tell me, Larry Moore?" + +"I do," he said. "Sit down." + +He did not seek preliminaries, as I should have done, but began at once, +simply and directly--doubtless he was retelling the story more to +himself than to me. + +"She was called Fanny Montrose," he said, "a slip of a girl, with +wonderful golden hair, and big black eyes that made me tremble, the day +I went into the factory at Bridgeport, the day I fell in love. 'I'm +Larry Moore; you may have heard of me,' I said, going straight up to her +when the whistle blew that night, 'and I'd like to walk home with you, +Fanny Montrose.' + +"She drew back sort of quick, and I thought she'd been hearing tales of +me up in Fall River; so I said: 'I only meant to be polite. You may have +heard a lot of bad of me, and a lot of it's true, but you never heard +of Larry Moore's being disrespectful to a lady,' and I looked her in the +eye and said: 'Will you let me walk home with you, Fanny Montrose?' + +"She swung on her foot a moment, and then she said: 'I will.' + +"I heard a laugh go up at that, and turned round, with the bit in my +teeth; but it was only the women, and you can't touch them. Fanny +Montrose hurried on, and I saw she was upset by it, so I said humbly: +'You're not sorry now, are you?' + +"'Oh, no,' she said. + +"'Will you catch hold of my arm?' I asked her. + +"She looked first in my face, and then she slipped in her hand so +prettily that it sent all the words from my tongue. 'You've just come to +Bridgeport, ain't you?' she said timidly. + +"'I have,' I said, 'and I want you to know the truth. I came because I +had to get out of Fall River. I had a scrap--more than one of them.' + +"'Did you lick your man?' she said, glancing at me. + +"'I licked every one of them, and it was good and fair fighting--if I +was on a tear,' I said; 'but I'm ashamed of it now.' + +"'You're Larry Moore, who pitched on the Fall Rivers last season?' she +said. + +"'I am.' + +"'You can pitch some!' she said with a nod. + +"'When I'm straight I can.' + +"'And why don't you go at it like a man then? You could get in the +Nationals,' she said. + +"'I've never had anyone to work for--before,' I said. + +"'We go down here; I'm staying at Keene's boarding-house,' she said at +that. + +"I was afraid I'd been too forward; so I kept still until we came to the +door. Then I pulled off my hat and made her a bow and said: 'Will you +let me walk home with you steady, Fanny Montrose?' + +"And she stopped on the door-step and looked at me without saying a +word, and I asked it again, putting out my hand, for I wanted to get +hold of hers. But she drew back and reached for the knob. So I said: + +"'You needn't be frightened; for it's me that ought to be afraid.' + +"'And what have you to be afraid of, you great big man?' she said, +stopping in wonder. + +"'I'm afraid of your big black eyes, Fanny Montrose, 'I said, 'and I'm +afraid of your slip of a body that I could snap in my hands,' I said; +'for I'm going to fall in love with you, Fanny Montrose.' + +"Which was a lie, for I was already. With that I ran off like a fool. I +ran off, but from that night I walked home with Fanny Montrose. + +"For a month we kept company, and Bill Coogan and Dan Farrar and the +rest of them took my notice and kept off. The women laughed at me and +sneered at her; but I minded them not, for I knew the ways of the +factory, and besides there wasn't a man's voice in the lot--that I +heard. + +"But one night as we were wandering back to Keene's boarding-house, +Fanny Montrose on my arm, Bill Coogan planted himself before us, and +called her something to her face that there was no getting around. + +"I took her on a bit, weeping and shaking, and I said to her: 'Stand +here.' + +"And I went back, and caught Bill Coogan by the throat and the belt, and +swung him around my head, and flung him against the lamp-post. And the +post broke off with a crash, and Coogan lay quiet, with nothing more to +say. + +"I went back to Fanny Montrose, who had stopped her crying, and said, +shaking with anger at the dirty insult: 'Fanny Montrose, will you be my +wife? Will you marry me this night?' + +"She pushed me away from her, and looked up into my face in a frightened +way and said: 'Do you mean to be your wife?' + +"'I do,' I said, and then because I was afraid that she didn't trust in +me enough yet to marry me I said solemnly: 'Fanny Montrose, you need +have no fear. If I've been drunk and riotous, it's because I wanted to +be, and now that I've made up my mind to be straight, there isn't a +thing living that could turn me back again. Fanny Montrose, will you say +you'll be my wife?' + +"Then she put out her two hands to me and tumbled into my arms, all +limp." + + + + +II + + +Larry Moore rose and walked the length of the room. When he came back he +went to the wall and took down a photograph; but with what emotion I +could not say, for his back was to me. I glanced again at the odd +volatile beauty in the woman's face and wondered what was the word Bill +Coogan had said and what was his reason for saying it. + +"From that day it was all luck for me," Larry Moore said, settling again +in the chair, where his face returned to the shadow. "She had a head on +her, that little woman. She pulled me up to where I am. I pitched that +season for the Bridgeports. You know the record, Bob, seven games lost +out of forty-three, and not so much my fault either. When they were for +signing me again, at big money too, the little woman said: + +"'Don't you do it, Larry Moore; they're not your class. Just hold out a +bit.' + +"You know, Bob, how I signed then with the Giants, and how they boosted +my salary at the end of that first year; but it was Fanny Montrose who +made the contracts every time. We had the child then, and I was happy. +The money came quick, and lots of it, and I put it in her lap and said: + +"'Do what you want with it; only I want you to enjoy it like a lady.' + +"Maybe I was wrong there--maybe I was. It was pride, I'll admit; but +there wasn't a lady came to the stands that looked finer than Fanny +Montrose, as I always used to call her. I got to be something of a +figure, as you know, and the little woman was always riding back and +forth to the games in some automobile, and more often with Paul Bargee. + +"One afternoon Ed Nichols, who was catching me then, came up with a +serious face and said: 'Where's your lady to-day, Larry--and Paul +Bargee?' And by the way he said it I knew what he had in mind, and good +friend that he was of mine I liked to have throttled him. They told me +to pitch the game, and I did. I won it too. Then I ran home without +changing my clothes, the people staring at me, and ran up the stairs and +flung open the door and stopped and called: 'Fanny Montrose!' + +"And I called again, and I called a third time, and only the child came +to answer me. Then I knew in my heart that Fanny Montrose had left me +and run off with Paul Bargee. + + + + +III + + +"I waited all that night without tasting food or moving, listening for +her step on the stairs. And in the morning the postman came without a +line or a word for me. I couldn't understand; for I had been a good +husband to her, and though I thought over everything that had happened +since we'd been married, I couldn't think of a thing that I'd done to +hurt her--for I wasn't thinking then of the millions of Paul Bargee. + +"In the afternoon there came a dirty little lawyer shuffling in to see +me, with blinking little eyes behind his black-rimmed spectacles--a toad +of a man. + +"'Who are you?' I said, 'and what are you doing here?' + +"'I'm simply an attorney,' he said, cringing before my look--'Solomon +Scholl, on a very disagreeable duty,' he said. + +"'Do you come from her?' I said, and I caught my breath. + +"'I come from Mr. Paul Bargee,' he said, 'and I'd remind you, Mr. Moore, +that I come as an attorney on a disagreeable duty.' + +"With that I drew back and looked at him in amazement, and said: 'What +has he got to say to me?' + +"'My client,' he said, turning the words over with the tip of his +tongue, 'regrets exceedingly--' + +"'Don't waste words!' I said angrily. 'What are you here for?' + +"'My client,' he said, looking at me sidelong, 'empowers me to offer you +fifteen thousand dollars if you will promise to make no trouble in this +matter.' + +"I sat down all in a heap; for I didn't know the ways of a gentleman +then, Bob, and covered my face with the horror I had of the humiliation +he had done me. The lawyer, he misunderstood it, for he crept up softly +and whispered in my ear: + +"'That's what he offers--if you're fool enough to take it; but if you'll +stick to me, we can wring him to the tune of ten times that.' + +"I got up and took him and kicked him out of the room, and kicked him +down the stairs, for he was a little man, and I wouldn't strike him. + +"Then I came back and said to myself: 'If matters are so, I must get the +best advice I can.' + +"And I knew that Joseph Gilday was the top of the lot. So I went to him, +and when I came in I stopped short, for I saw he looked perplexed, and I +said: 'I'm in trouble, sir, and my life depends on it, and other lives, +and I need the best of advice; so I've come to you. I'm Larry Moore of +the Giants; so you may know I can pay.' Then I sat down and told him the +story, every word as I've told you; and when I was all through, he said +quietly: + +"'What are you thinking of doing, Mr. Moore?' + +"'I think it would be better if she came back, sir,' I said, 'for her +and for the child. So I thought the best thing would be to write her a +letter and tell her so; for I think if you could write the right sort of +a letter she'd come back. And that's what I want you to show me how to +write,' I said. + +"He took a sheet of paper and a pen, and looked at me steadily and said: +'What would you say to her?' + +"So I drew my hands up under my chin and thought awhile and said: 'I +think I'd say something like this, sir: + +"'"My dear wife--I've been trying to think all this while what has +driven you away, and I don't understand. I love you, Fanny Montrose, and +I want you to come back to me. And if you're afraid to come, I want to +tell you not a word will pass my lips on the subject; for I haven't +forgotten that it was you made a man of me; and much as I try, I cannot +hate you, Fanny Montrose."' + +"He looked down and wrote for a minute, and then he handed me the paper +and said: 'Send that.' + +"I looked, and saw it was what I had told him, and I said doubtfully: +'Do you think that is best?' + +"'I do.' + +"So I mailed the letter as he said, and three days after came one from a +lawyer, saying my wife could have no communication with me, and would I +send what I had to say to him. + +"So I went down to Gilday and told him, and I said: 'We must think of +other things, sir, since she likes luxury and those things better; for +I'm beginning to think that's it--and there I'm a bit to blame, for I +did encourage her. Well, she'll have to marry him--that's all I can see +to it," I said, and sat very quiet. + +"'He won't marry her,' he said in his quick way. + +"I thought he meant because she was bound to me, so I said: 'Of course, +after the divorce.' + +"'Are you going to get a divorce then from her?' + +"'I've been thinking it over,' I said carefully, and I had, 'and I think +the best way would be for her to get it. That can be done, can't it?' I +said, 'because I've been thinking of the child, and I don't want her to +grow up with any stain on the good name of her mother,' I said. + +"'Then you will give up the child?' he said. + +"And I said: 'Yes.' + +"'Will he marry her?' he said again. + +"'For what else did he take her away?' + +"'If I was you,' he said, looking at me hard, 'I'd make sure of +that--before.' + +"That worried me a good deal, and I went out and walked around, and then +I went to the station and bought a ticket for Chicago, and I said to +myself: 'I'll go and see him'; for by that time I'd made up my mind what +I'd do. + +"And when I got there the next morning, I went straight to his house, +and my heart sank, for it was a great place with a high iron railing all +around it and a footman at the door--and I began to understand why Fanny +Montrose had left me for him. + +"I'd thought a long time about giving another name; but I said to +myself: 'No, I'll him a chance first to come down and face me like a +man,' so I said to the footman: 'Go tell Paul Bargee that Larry Moore +has come to see him.' + +"Then I went down the hall and into the great parlor, all hung with +draperies, and I looked at myself in the mirrors and looked at the +chairs, and I didn't feel like sitting down, and presently the curtains +opened, and Paul Bargee stepped into the room. I looked at him once, and +then I looked at the floor, and my breath came hard. Then he stepped up +to me and stopped and said: + +"'Well?' + +"And though he had wronged me and wrecked my life, I couldn't help +admiring his grit; for the boy was no match for me, and he knew it too, +though he never flinched. + +"'I've come from New York here to talk with you, Paul Bargee,' I said. + +"'You've a right to.' + +"'I have,' I said, 'and I want to have an understanding with you now, if +you have the time, sir,' I said, and looked at the ground again. + +"He drew off, and hearing me speak so low he mistook me as others have +done before, and he looked at me hard and said: 'Well, how much?' + +"My head went up, and I strode at him; but he never winced--if he had, I +think I'd have caught him then and there and served him as I did Bill +Coogan. But I stopped and said: 'That's the second mistake you've made, +Paul Bargee; the first was when you sent a dirty little lawyer to pay me +for taking my wife. And your lawyer came to me and told me to screw you +to the last cent. I kicked him out of my sight; and what have you to say +why I shouldn't do the same to you, Paul Bargee?' + +"He looked white and hurt in his pride, and said: 'You're right; and I +beg your pardon, Mr. Moore.' + +"'I don't want your pardon,' I said, 'and I won't sit down in your +house, and we won't discuss what has happened but what is to be. For +there's a great wrong you've done, and I've a right to say what you +shall do now, Paul Bargee.' + +"He looked at me and said slowly: 'What is that?' + +"'You took my wife, and I gave her a chance to come back to me,' I said; +'but she loved you and what you can give better than me. But she's been +my wife, and I'm not going to see her go down into the gutter.' + +"He started to speak; but I put up my hand and I said: 'I'm not here to +discuss with you, Paul Bargee. I've come to say what's going to be done; +for I have a child,' I said, 'and I don't intend that the mother of my +little girl should go down to the gutter. You've chosen to take my wife, +and she's chosen to stay with you. Now, you've got to marry her and +make her a good woman,' I said. + +"Then Paul Bargee stood off, and I saw what was passing through his +mind. And I went up to him and laid my hand on his shoulder and said: +'You know what I mean, and you know what manner of man I am that talks +to you like this; for you're no coward,' I said; 'but you marry Fanny +Montrose within a week after she gets her freedom, or I am going to kill +you wherever you stand. And that's the choice you've got to make, Paul +Bargee,' I said. + +"Then I stepped back and watched him, and as I did so I saw the curtains +move and knew that Fanny Montrose had heard me. + +"'You're going to give her the divorce?' he said. + +"'I am. I don't intend there shall be a stain on her name,' I said; 'for +I loved Fanny Montrose, and she's always the mother of my little girl.' + +"Then he went to a chair and sat down and took his head in his hands, +and I went out. + + + + +IV + + +"I came back to New York, and went to Mr. Gilday. + +"'Will he marry her?' he said at once. + +"'He will marry her,' I said. 'As for her, I want you to say; for I'll +not write to her myself, since she wouldn't answer me. Say when she's +the wife of Paul Bargee I'll bring the child to her myself, and she's +to see me; for I have a word to say to her then,' I said, and I laid my +fist down on the table. 'Until then the child stays with me.' + +"They've said hard things of Mr. Joseph Gilday, and I know it; but I +know all that he did for me. For he didn't turn it over to a clerk; but +he took hold himself and saw it through as I had said. And when the +divorce was given he called me down and told me that Fanny Montrose was +a free woman and no blame to her in the sight of the law. + +"Then I said: 'It is well. Now write to Paul Bargee that his week has +begun. Until then I keep the child, law or no law.' Then I rose and +said: 'I thank you, Mr. Gilday. You've been very kind, and I'd like to +pay you what I owe you.' + +"He sat there a moment and chewed on his mustache, and he said: 'You +don't owe me a cent.' + +"'It wasn't charity I came to you for, and I can pay for what I get, Mr. +Gilday,' I said. 'Will you give me your regular bill?' I said. + +"And he said at last: 'I will.' + +"In the middle of the week Paul Bargee's mother came to me and went down +on her knees and begged for her son, and I said to her: 'Why should +there be one law for him and one law for the likes of me. He's taken my +wife; but he sha'n't put her to shame, ma'am, and he sha'n't cast a +cloud on the life of my child!' + +"Then she stopped arguing, and caught my hands and cried: 'But you +won't kill him, you won't kill my son, if he don't?' + +"'As sure as Saturday comes, ma'am, and he hasn't made Fanny Montrose a +good woman,' I said, 'I'm going to kill Paul Bargee wherever he stands.' + +"And Friday morning Mr. Gilday called me down to his office and told me +that Paul Bargee had done as I said he should do. And I pressed his hand +and said nothing, and he let me sit awhile in his office. + +"And after awhile I rose up and said: 'Then I must take the child to +her, as I promised, to-night.' + +"He walked with me from the office and said: 'Go home to your little +girl. I'll see to the tickets, and will come for you at nine o'clock.' + +"And at nine o'clock he came in his big carriage, and took me and the +child to the station and said: 'Telegraph me when you're leaving +to-morrow.' + +"And I said: 'I will.' + +"Then I went into the car with my little girl asleep in my arms and sat +down in the seat, and the porter came and said: + +"'Can I make up your berths?' + +"And I looked at the child and shook my head. So I held her all night +and she slept on my shoulder, while I looked from her out into the +darkness, and from the darkness back to her again. And the porter kept +passing and passing and staring at me and the child. + +"And in the morning we went up to the great house and into the big +parlor, and Fanny Montrose came in, as I had said she should, very white +and not looking at me. And the child ran to her, and I watched Fanny +Montrose catch her up to her breast, and I sobbed. And she looked at me, +and saw it. So I said: + +"'It's because now I know you love the child and that you'll be kind to +her.' + +"Then she fell down before me and tried to take my hand. But I stepped +back and said: + +"'I've made you an honest woman, Fanny Montrose, and now as long as I +live I'm going to see you do nothing to disgrace my child.' + +"And I went out and took the train back. And Mr. Gilday was at the +station there waiting for me, and he took my arm, without a word, and +led me to his carriage and drove up without speaking. And when we got to +the house, he got out, and took off his hat and made me a bow and said: +'I'm proud to know you, Larry Moore.'" + + + + +MY WIFE'S WEDDING PRESENTS + + + + +I + + +I don't believe in wedding functions. I don't believe in honeymoons and +particularly I abominate the inhuman custom of giving wedding presents. +And this is why: + +Clara was the fifth poor daughter of a rich man. I was respectably poor +but artistic. We had looked forward to marriage as a time when two +persons chose a home and garnished it with furnishings of their own +choice, happy in the daily contact with beautiful things. We had often +discussed our future home. We knew just the pictures that must hang on +the walls, the tone of the rugs that should lie on the floors, the style +of the furniture that should stand in the rooms, the pattern of the +silver that should adorn our table. Our ideas were clear and positive. + +Unfortunately Clara had eight rich relatives who approved of me and I +had three maiden aunts, two of whom were in precarious health and must +not be financially offended. + +I am rather an imperious man, with theories that a woman is happiest +when she finds a master; but when the details of the wedding came up for +decision I was astounded to find myself not only flouted but actually +forced to humiliating surrender. Since then I have learned that my own +case was not glaringly exceptional. At the time, however, I was +nonplused and rather disturbed in my dreams of the future. I had decided +on a house wedding with but the family and a few intimate friends to be +present at my happiness. After Clara had done me the honor to consult +me, several thousand cards were sent out for the ceremony at the church +and an addition was begun on the front veranda. + +Clara herself led me to the library and analyzed the situation to me, in +the profoundest manner. + +"You dear, old, impracticable goose," she said with the wisdom of just +twenty, "what do you know about such things? How much do you suppose it +will cost us to furnish a house the way we want?" + +I said airily, "Oh, about five hundred dollars." + +"Take out your pencil," said Clara scornfully, "and write." + +When she finished her dictation, and I had added up the items with a +groan, I was dumbfounded. I said: + +"Clara, do you think it is wise--do you think we have any right to get +married?" + +"Of course we have." + +"Then we must make up our minds to boarding." + +"Nonsense! we shall have everything just as we planned it." + +"But how?" + +"Wedding presents," said Clara triumphantly, "now do you see why it must +be a church wedding?" + +I began to see. + +"But isn't it a bit mercenary?" I said feebly. "Does every one do it?" + +"Every one. It is a sort of tax on the unmarried," said Clara with a +determined shake of her head. "Quite right that it should be, too." + +"Then every one who receives an invitation is expected to contribute to +our future welfare?" + +"An invitation to the house." + +"Well, to the house--then?" + +"Certainly." + +"Ah, now, my dear, I begin to understand why the presents are always +shown." + +For all answer Clara extended the sheet of paper on which we had made +our calculations. + +I capitulated. + + + + +II + + +I pass over the wedding. In theory I have grown more and more opposed to +such exhibitions. A wedding is more pathetic than a funeral, and +nothing, perhaps, is more out of place than the jubilations of the +guests. When a man and a woman, as husband and wife, have lived together +five years, then the community should engage a band and serenade them, +but at the outset--however, I will not insist--I am doubtless cynically +inclined. I come to the moment when, having successfully weathered the +pitfalls of the honeymoon (there's another mistaken theory--but let that +pass) my wife and I found ourselves at last in our own home, in the +midst of our wedding presents. I say in the midst advisably. Clara sat +helplessly in the middle of the parlor rug and I glowered from the +fireplace. + +"My dear Clara," I said, with just a touch of asperity, "you've had your +way about the wedding. Now you've got your wedding presents. What are +you going to do with them?" + +"If people only wouldn't have things marked!" said Clara irrelevantly. + +"But they always do," I replied. "Also I may venture to suggest that +your answer doesn't solve the difficulty." + +"Don't be cross," said Clara. + +"My dear," I replied with excellent good-humor, "I'm not. I'm only +amused--who wouldn't be?" + +"Don't be horrid, George," said Clara. + +"It _is_ deliciously humorous," I continued. "Quite the most humorous +thing I have ever known. I am not cross and I am not horrid; I have made +a profound discovery. I know now why so many American marriages are not +happy." + +"Why, George?" + +"Wedding presents," I said savagely, "exactly that, my dear. This being +forced to live years of married life surrounded by things you don't +want, you never will want, and which you've got to live with or lose +your friends." + +"Oh, George!" said Clara, gazing around helplessly, "it is terrible, +isn't it?" + +"Look at that rug you are sitting on," I said, glaring at a six by ten +modern French importation. "Cauliflowers contending with unicorns, +surrounded by a border of green roses and orange violets--expensive! And +until the lamp explodes or the pipes burst we have got to go on and on +and on living over that, and why?--because dear Isabel will be here once +a week!" + +"I thought Isabel would have better taste," said Clara. + +"She has--Isabel has perfect taste, depend upon it," I said, "she did it +on purpose!" + +"George!" + +"Exactly that. Have you noticed that married people give the most +impossible presents? It is revenge, my dear. Society has preyed upon +them. They will prey upon society. Wait until we get a chance!" + +"It is awful!" said Clara. + +"Let us continue. We have five French rugs; no two could live together. +Five rooms desecrated. Our drawing-room is Art Nouveau, furnished by +your Uncle James, who is strong and healthy and may live twenty years. +I particularly abominate Art Nouveau furniture." + +"So do I." + +"Our dining-room is distinctly Grand Rapids." + +"Now, George!" + +"It is." + +"Well, it was your Aunt Susan." + +"It was, but who suggested it? I pass over the bedrooms. I will simply +say that they are nightmares. Expensive nightmares! I come to the +lamps--how many have we?" + +"Fourteen." + +"Fourteen atrocities, imitation Louis Seize, bogus Oriental, feathered, +laced and tasseled. So much for useful presents. Now for decoration. We +have three Sistine Madonnas (my particular abomination). Two, thank +heaven, we can inflict on the next victims, one we have got to live with +and why?--so that each of our three intimate friends will believe it his +own. We have water colors and etchings which we don't want, and a +photograph copy of every picture that every one sees in every one's +house. Some original friend has even sent us a life-size, marble +reproduction of the Venus de Milo. These things will be our artistic +home. Then there are vases--" + +"Now you are losing your temper." + +"On the contrary, I'm reserving it. I shan't characterize the +bric-a-brac, that was to be expected." + +"Don't!" + +"At least that is not marked. I come at last to the silver. Give me the +list." + +Clara sighed and extended it. + +"Four solid silver terrapin dishes." + +"Marked." + +"Marked--Terrapin--ha! ha! Two massive, expensive, solid silver +champagne coolers." + +"Marked." + +"Marked, my dear--for each end of the table when we give our beefsteak +dinners. Almond dishes." + +"Don't!" + +"Forty-two individual, solid or filigree almond dishes; forty-two, +Clara." + +"Marked." + +"Right again, dear. One dozen bonbon dishes, five nouveau riche sugar +shakers (we never use them), three muffineers--in heaven's name, what's +that? Solid silver bread dishes, solid silver candlesticks by the dozen, +solid silver vegetable dishes, and we expect one servant and an +intermittent laundress to do the cooking, washing, make the beds and +clean the house besides." + +"All marked," said Clara dolefully. + +"Every one, my dear. Then the china and the plates, we can't even eat +out of the plates we want or drink from the glasses we wish; everything +in this house, from top to bottom has been picked out and inflicted upon +us against our wants and in defiance of our own taste and we--we have +got to go on living with them and trying not to quarrel!" + +"You have forgotten the worst of all," said Clara. + +"No, my darling, I have not forgotten it. I have thought of nothing +else, but I wanted you to mention it." + +"The flat silver, George." + +"The flat silver, my darling. Twelve dozen, solid silver and teaset to +match, bought without consulting us, by your two rich bachelor uncles in +collusion. We wanted Queen Anne or Louis Seize, simple, dignified, +something to live with and grow fond of, and what did we get?" + +"Oh, dear, they might have asked me!" + +"But they don't, they never do, that is the theory of wedding presents, +my dear. We got Pond Lily pattern, repousse until it scratches your +fingers. Pond Lily pattern, my dear, which I loathe, detest, and +abominate!" + +"I too, George." + +"And that, my dear, we shall never get rid of; we not only must adopt +and assume the responsibility, but must pass it down to our children and +our children's children." + +"Oh, George, it is terrible--terrible! What are we going to do?" + +"My darling Clara, we are going to put a piece of bric-a-brac a day on +the newel post, buy a litter of puppies to chew up the rugs, select a +butter-fingered, china-breaking waitress, pay storage on the silver and +try occasionally to set fire to the furniture." + +"But the flat silver, George, what of that?" + +"Oh, the flat silver," I said gloomily, "each one has his cross to bear, +that shall be ours." + + + + +III + + +We were, as has been suggested, a relatively rich couple. That's a pun! +At the end of five years a relative on either side left us a graceful +reminder. The problem of living became merely one of degree. At the end +of this period we had made considerable progress in the building up of a +home which should be in fact and desire entirely ours. That is, we had +been extensively fortunate in the preservation of our wedding presents. +Our twenty-second housemaid broke a bottle of ink over the parlor rug, +her twenty-one predecessors (whom I had particularly selected) had +already made the most gratifying progress among the bric-a-brac, two +intelligent Airdale puppies had chewed satisfactory holes in the Art +Nouveau furniture, even the Sistine Madonna had wrenched loose from its +supports and considerately annihilated the jewel-studded Oriental lamp +in the general smashup. + +Our little home began at last to really reflect something of the +artistic taste on which I pride myself. There remained at length only +the flat silver and a few thousand dollars' worth of solid silver +receptacles for which we had now paid four hundred dollars storage. But +these remained, secure, fixed beyond the assaults of the imagination. + +One morning at the breakfast table I laid down my cup with a crash. + +Clara gave an exclamation of alarm. + +"George dear, what is it?" + +For all reply I seized a handful of the Pond Lily pattern silver and +gazed at it with a savage joy. + +"George, George, what has happened?" + +"My dear, I have an idea--a wonderful idea." + +"What idea?" + +"We will spend the summer in Lone Tree, New Jersey." + +Clara screamed. + +"Are you in your senses, George?" + +"Never more so." + +"But it's broiling hot!" + +"Hotter than that." + +"It is simply deluged with mosquitoes." + +"There _are_ several mosquitoes there." + +"It's a hole in the ground!" + +"It certainly is." + +"And the only people we know there are the Jimmy Lakes, whom I detest." + +"I can't bear them." + +"And, George, there are _burglars_!" + +"Yes, my dear," I said triumphantly, "heaven be praised there _are_ +burglars!" + +Clara looked at me. She is very quick. + +"You are thinking of the silver." + +"Of all the silver." + +"But, George, can we afford it?" + +"Afford what?" + +"To have the silver stolen." + +"Supposing there was a burglar insurance, as a reward." + +The next moment Clara was laughing in my arms. + +"Oh, George, you are a wonderful, brilliant man: how did you ever think +of it?" + +"I just put my mind to it," I said loftily. + + + + +IV + + +We went to Lone Tree, New Jersey. We went there early to meet the +migratory spring burglar. We released from storage two chests and three +barrels of solid silver wedding presents, took out a burglar insurance +for three thousand dollars and proceeded to decorate the dining-room and +parlor. + +"It looks rather--rather nouveau riche," said Clara, surveying the +result. + +"My dear, say the word--it is vulgar. But what of that? We have come +here for a purpose and we will not be balked. Our object is to offer +every facility to the gentlemen who will relieve us of our silver. +Nothing concealed, nothing screwed to the floor." + +"I think," said Clara, "that the champagne coolers are unnecessary." + +The solid silver champagne coolers adorned either side of the fireplace. + +"As receptacles for potted ferns they are, it is true, not quite in the +best of taste," I admitted. "We might leave them in the hall for +umbrellas and canes. But then they might be overlooked, and we must take +no chances on a careless burglar." + +Clara sat down and began to laugh, which I confess was quite the natural +thing to do. Solid silver bread dishes holding sweet peas, individual +almond dishes filled with matches, silver baskets for cigars and +cigarettes crowded the room, with silver candlesticks sprouting from +every ledge and table. The dining-room was worse--but then solid silver +terrapin dishes and muffineers, not to mention the two dozen almond +dishes left over from the parlor, are not at all appropriate +decorations. + +"I'm sure the burglars will never come," said Clara, woman fashion. + +"If there's anything will keep them away," I said, a little provoked, +"it's just that attitude of mind." + +"Well, at any rate, I do hope they'll be quick about it, so we can +leave this dreadful place." + +"They'll never come if you're going to watch them," I said angrily. + +We had quite a little quarrel on that point. + +The month of June passed and still we remained in possession of our +wedding silver. Clara was openly discouraged and if I still clung to my +faith, at the bottom I was anxious and impatient. When July passed +unfruitfully even our sense of humor was seriously endangered. + +"They will never come," said Clara firmly. + +"My dear," I replied, "the last time they came in July. All the more +reason that they should change to August." + +"They will never come," said Clara a second time. + +"Let's bait the hook," I said, trying to turn the subject into a +facetious vein. "We might strew a dozen or so of those individual dishes +down the path to the road." + +"They'll never come," said Clara obstinately. + +And yet they came. + +On the second of August, about two o'clock in the morning I was awakened +out of a deep sleep by the voice of my wife crying: + +"George, here's a burglar!" + +I thought the joke obvious and ill-timed and sleepily said so. + +"But, George dear, he's here--in the room!" + +There was something in my wife's voice, a note of ringing exultation, +that brought me bolt upright in bed. + +"Put up your hands--quick!" said a staccato voice. + +It was true, there at the end of the bed, flashing the conventional +bull's-eye lantern, stood at last a real burglar. + +"Put 'em up!" + +My hands went heavenward in thanksgiving and gratitude. + +"Make a move, you candy dude, or shout for help," continued the voice, +shoving into the light the muzzle of a Colt's revolver, "and this for +you's!" + +The slighting allusion I took to the credit of the pink and white +pajamas I wore--but nothing at that moment could have ruffled my +feelings. I was bubbling over with happiness. I wanted to jump up and +hug him in my arms. I listened. Downstairs could be heard the sound of +feet and an occasional metallic ring. + +"Oh, George, isn't it too wonderful--wonderful for words!" said Clara, +hysterical with joy. + +"I can't believe it," I cried. + +"Shut up!" said the voice behind the lantern. + +"My dear friend," I said conciliatingly, "there's not the slightest need +of your keeping your finger on that wabbling, cold thing. My feelings +towards you are only the tenderest and the most grateful." + +"Huh!" + +"The feelings of a brother! My only fear is that you may overlook one or +two articles that I admit are not conveniently exposed." + +The bull's-eye turned upon me with a sudden jerk. + +"Well, I'll be damned!" + +"We have waited for you long and patiently. We thought you would never +come. In fact, we had sort of lost faith in you. I'm sorry. I apologize. +In a way I don't deserve this--I really don't." + +"Bughouse!" came from the foot of the bed, in a suppressed mutter. "Out +and out bughouse!" + +"Quite wrong," I said cheerily. "I never was in better health. You are +surprised, you don't understand. It's not necessary you should. It would +rob the situation of its humor if you should. All I ask of you is to +take everything, don't make a slip, get it all." + +"Oh, do, please, please do!" said Clara earnestly. + +The silence at the foot of the bed had the force of an exclamation. + +"Above all," I continued anxiously, "don't forget the pots. They stand +on either side of the fireplace, filled with ferns. They are not pewter. +They are solid silver champagne coolers. They are worth--they are +worth--" + +"Two hundred apiece," said Clara instantly. + +"And don't overlook the muffineers, the terrapin dishes and the +candlesticks. We should be very much obliged--very grateful if you +could find room for them." + +Often since I have thought of that burglar and what must have been his +sensations. At the time I was too engrossed with my own feelings. Never +have I enjoyed a situation more. It is true I noticed as I proceeded our +burglar began to edge away towards the door, keeping the lantern +steadily on my face. + +"And one favor more," I added, "there are several flocks of individual +silver almond dishes roosting downstairs--" + +"Forty-two," said Clara, "twenty-four in the dining-room and eighteen in +the parlor." + +"Forty-two is the number; as a last favor please find room for them; if +you don't want them drop them in a river or bury them somewhere. We +really would appreciate it. It's our last chance." + +"All right," said the burglar in an altered tone. "Don't you worry now, +we'll attend to that." + +"Remember there are forty-two--if you would count them." + +"That's all right--just you rest easy," said the burglar soothingly. +"I'll see they all get in." + +"Really, if I could be of any assistance downstairs," I said anxiously, +"I might really help." + +"Oh, don't you worry, Bub, my pals are real careful muts," said the +burglar nervously. "Now just keep calm. We'll get 'em all." + +It suddenly burst upon me that he took me for a lunatic. I buried my +head in the covers and rocked back and forth between tears and laughter. + +"Hi! what the ----'s going on up there?" cried a voice from downstairs. + +"It's all right--all right, Bill," said our burglar hoarsely, "very +affable party up here. Say, hurry it up a bit down there, will you?" + +All at once it struck me that if I really frightened him too much they +might decamp without making a clean sweep. I sobered at once. + +"I'm not crazy," I said. + +"Sure you're not," said the burglar conciliatingly. + +"But I assure you--" + +"That's all right." + +"I'm perfectly sane." + +"Sane as a house!" + +"There's nothing to be afraid of." + +"Course there isn't. Hi, Bill, won't you hurry up there!" + +"I'll explain--" + +"Don't you mind that." + +"This is the way it is--" + +"That's all right, we know all about it." + +"You do--" + +"Sure, we got your letter." + +"What letter?" + +"Your telegram then." + +"See here, I'm not crazy--" + +"You bet you're not," said the burglar, edging towards the door and +changing the key. + +"Hold up!" I cried in alarm, "don't be a fool. What I want is for you to +get everything--everything, do you hear?" + +"All right, I'll just go down and speak to him." + +"Hold up--" + +"I'll tell him." + +"Wait," I cried, jumping out of bed in my desire to retain him. + +At that moment a whistle came from below and with an exclamation of +relief our burglar slammed the door and locked it. We heard him go down +three steps at a time and rush out of the house. + +"Now you've scared them away," said Clara, "with your idiotic humor." + +I felt contrite and alarmed. + +"How could I help it?" I said angrily, preparing to climb out on the +roof of the porch. "I tried to tell him." + +With which I scrambled out on the roof, made my way to the next room and +entering, released Clara. At the top of the steps we stood clinging +together. + +"Suppose they left it all behind," said Clara. + +"Or even some!" + +"Oh, George, I know it--I know it!" + +"Don't be unreasonable--let's go down." Holding a candle aloft we +descended. The lower floor was stripped of silver--not even an +individual almond dish or a muffineer remained. We fell wildly, +hilariously into each other's arms and began to dance. I don't know +exactly what it was, but it wasn't a minute. + +Suddenly Clara stopped. + +"George!" + +"Oh, Lord, what is it?" + +"Supposin'." + +"Well--well?" + +"Supposin' they've dropped some of it in the path." + +We rushed out and searched the path, nothing there. We searched the +road--one individual almond dish had fallen. I took it and hammered it +beyond recognition and flung it into the pond. It was criminal, but I +did it. + +And then we went into the house and danced some more. We were happy. + +Of course we raised an alarm--after sufficient time to carefully dress, +and fill the lantern with oil. Other houses too had been robbed before +we had been visited, but as they were occupied by old inhabitants, the +occupants had nonchalantly gone to sleep again after surrendering their +small change. Our exploit was quite the sensation. With great difficulty +we assumed the proper public attitude of shock and despair. The +following day I wrote full particulars to the Insurance Company, with a +demand for the indemnity. + +"You'll never get the full amount," said Clara. + +"Why not?" + +"You never do. They'll send a man to ask disagreeable questions and to +beat us down." + +"Let him come." + +"You'll see." + +Just one week after the event, I opened an official envelope, extracted +a check, gazed at it with a superior smile and tendered it to Clara by +the tips of my fingers. + +"Three thousand dollars!" cried Clara, without contrition, "three +thousand dollars--oh, George!" + +There it was--three thousand dollars, without a shred of doubt. +Womanlike, all Clara had to say was: + +"Well, was I right about the wedding presents?" + +Which remark I had not foreseen. + +We shut up house and went to town next day and began the rounds of the +jewelers. In four days we had expended four-fifths of our money--but +with what results! Everything we had longed for, planned for, dreamed of +was ours and everything harmonized. + +Two weeks later as, ensconced in our city house, we moved enraptured +about our new-found home, gazing at the reincarnation of our silver, a +telegram was put in my hand. + +"What is it?" said Clara from the dining-room, where she was fondling +our chaste Queen Anne teaset. + +"It's a telegram," I said, puzzled. + +"Open it, then!" + +I tore the envelope, it was from the Insurance Company. + +"Our detectives have arrested the burglars. You will be overjoyed to +hear that we have recovered your silver in toto!" + + + + +THE SURPRISES OF THE LOTTERY + + + + +I + + +The Comte de Bonzag, on the ruined esplanade of his Chateau de +Keragouil, frowned into the distant crepuscle of haystack and multiplied +hedge, crumpling in his nervous hands two annoying slips of paper. The +rugged body had not one more pound of flesh than was absolutely +necessary to hold together the long, pointed bones. The bronzed, +haphazard face was dominated by a stiff comb of orange-tawny hair, which +faithfully reproduced the gaunt unloveliness of generations of Bonzags. +But there lurked in the rapid advance of the nose and the abrupt, +obstinate eyes a certain staring defiance which effectively limited the +field of comment. + +At his back, the riddled silhouette of ragged towers and crumbling roof +reflected against the gentle skies something of the windy raiment of its +owner. It was a Gascon chateau, arrogant and threadbare, which had never +cried out at a wound, nor suffered the indignity of a patch. About it +and through it, hundreds of swallows, its natural inheritors, crossed +and recrossed in their vacillating flight. + +Out of the obscurity of the green pastures that melted away into the +near woods, the voice of a woman suddenly rose in a tender laugh. + +The Comte de Bonzag sat bolt upright, dislodging from his lap a black +spaniel, who tumbled on a matronly hound, whose startled yelp of +indignation caused the esplanade to vibrate with dogs, that, scurrying +from every cranny, assembled in an expectant circle, and waited with +hungry tongues the intentions of their master. + +The Comte, listening attentively, perceived near the stable his entire +domestic staff reclining happily on the arm of Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier, the hero of a dozen fires. + +"No, there are no longer any servants!" he exclaimed, with a bitterness +that caused a stir in the pack; then angrily he shouted with all his +forces: "Francine! Hey, there, Francine! Come here at once!" + +The indisputable fact was that Francine had asked for her wages. Such a +demand, indelicate in its simplest form, had been further aggravated by +a respectful but clear ultimatum. It was pay, or do the cooking, and if +the first was impossible, the second was both impossible and +distasteful. + +The enemy duly arrived, dimpled and plump, an honest thirty-five, a +solid widow, who stopped at the top of the stairs with the distant +respect which the Comte de Bonzag inspired even in his creditors. + +"Francine, I have thought much," said the Comte, with a conciliatory +look. "You were a little exaggerated, but you were in your rights." + +"Ah, Monsieur le Comte, six months is long when one has a child who must +be--" + +"We will not refer again to our disagreement," the Comte said, +interrupting her sternly. "I have simply called you to hear what action +I have decided on." + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur; thank you, M'sieur le Comte." + +"Unluckily," said Bonzag, frowning, "I am forced to make a great +sacrifice. In a month I could probably have paid all--I have a great +uncle at Valle-Temple who is exceedingly ill. But--however, we will hold +that for the future. I owe you, my good Francine, wages for six +months--sixty francs, representing your service with me. I am going to +give you on account, at once, twenty francs, or rather something +immeasurably more valuable than that sum." He drew out the two slips of +paper, and regarded them with affection and regret. "Here are two +tickets for the Grand Lottery of France, which will be drawn this month, +ten francs a ticket. I had to go to Chantreuil to get them; number +77,707 and number 200,013. Take them--they are yours." + +"But, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, looking stupidly at the tickets +she had passively received. "It's--it's good round pieces of silver I +need." + +"Francine," cried de Bonzag, in amazed indignation, "do you realize +that I probably have given you a fortune--and that I am absolving you of +all division of it with me!" + +"But, M'sieur--" + +"That there are one hundred and forty-five numbers that will draw +prizes." + +"Yes, M'sieur le Comte; but--" + +"That there is a prize of one quarter of a million, one third of a +million--" + +"All the same--" + +"That the second prize is for one-half a million, and the first prize +for one round million francs." + +"M'sieur says?" said Francine, whose eyes began to open. + +"One hundred and forty-five chances, and the lowest is for a hundred +francs. You think that isn't a sacrifice, eh?" + +"Well, Monsieur le Comte," Francine said at last with a sigh, "I'll take +them for twenty francs. It's not good round silver, and there's my +little girl--" + +"Enough!" exclaimed de Bonzag, dismissing her with an angry gesture. "I +am making you an heiress, and you have no gratitude! Leave me--and send +hither Andoche." + +He watched the bulky figure waddle off, sunk back in his chair, and +repeated with profound dejection; "No gratitude! There, it's done: this +time certainly I have thrown away a quarter of a million at the +lowest!" + +Presently Andoche, the Sapeur-Pompier, the brass helmet under his arm, +appeared at the top of the steps, smiling and thirsty, with covetous +eyes fastened on the broken table, at the carafe containing curacoa that +was white and "Triple-Sec." + +"Ah, it's you, Andoche," said the Comte, finally, drawn from his +abstraction by a succession of rapid bows. He took two full-hearted +sighs, pushed the carafe slightly in the direction of the +Sapeur-Pompier, and added: "Sit down, my good Andoche. I have need to be +a little gay. Suppose we talk of Paris." + +It was the cue for Andoche to slip gratefully into a chair, possess the +carafe and prepare to listen. + + + + +II + + +At the proper age of thirty-one, the Comte de Bonzag fell heir to the +enormous sum of fifteen thousand francs from an uncle who had made the +fortune in trade. With no more delay than it took the great Emperor to +fling an army across the Alps, he descended on Paris, resolved to +repulse all advances which Louis Napoleon might make, and to lend the +splendor of his name and the weight of his fortune only to the Cercle +Royale. Two weeks devoted to this loyal end strengthened the Bourbon +lines perceptibly, but resulted in a shrinkage of four thousand francs +in his own. Next remembering that the aristocracy had always been the +patron of the arts, he determined to make a rapid examination of the +_coulisses_ of the opera and the regions of the ballet. A six-days' +reconnaissance discovered not the slightest signs of disaffection; but +the thoroughness of his inquiries was such that the completion of his +mission found him with just one thousand francs in pocket. Being not +only a Loyalist and a patron of the arts, but a statesman and a +philosopher, he turned his efforts toward the Quartier Latin, to the +great minds who would one day take up the guidance of a more enlightened +France. There he made the discovery that one amused himself more than at +the Cercle Royale, and spent considerably less than in the arts, and +that at one hundred francs a week he aroused an enthusiasm for the +Bourbons which almost attained the proportions of a riot. + +The three months over, he retired to his estate at Keragouil, having +profoundly stirred all classes of society, given new life to the cause +of His Majesty, and regretting only, as a true gentleman, the frightful +devastation he had left in the hearts of the ladies. + +Unfortunately, these brilliant services to Parisian society and his king +had left him without any society of his own, forced to the consideration +of the difficult problem of how to keep his pipe lighted, his cellar +full, and his maid-of-all-work in a state of hopeful expectation, on +nothing a year. + +Nothing daunted, he attacked this problem of the family bankruptcy with +the vigor and the daring of a D'Artagnan. Each year he collected +laboriously twenty francs, and invested them in two tickets for the +Great Lottery, valiantly resolved, like a Gascon, to carry off both +first and second prizes, but satisfied as a philosopher if he could +figure among the honorable mentions. Despite the fact that one hundred +and forty-five prizes were advertised each year, in nineteen attempts he +had not even had the pleasure of seeing his name in print. This result, +far from discouraging him, only inflamed his confidence. For he had +dipped into mathematics, and consoled himself by the reflection that, +according to the law of probabilities, each year he became the more +irresistible. + +Lately, however, one obstacle had arisen to the successful carrying out +of this system of finance. He employed one servant, a maid-of-all-work, +who was engaged for the day, with permission to take from the garden +what she needed, to adorn herself from the rose-bushes, to share the +output of La Belle Etoile, the cow, and to receive a salary of ten +francs a month. The difficulty invariably arose over the interpretation +of this last clause. For the Comte was not regular in his payments, +unless it could be said that he was regular in not paying at all. + +So it invariably occurred that the maid-of-all-work from a state of +unrest gradually passed into open rebellion, especially when the garden +was not productive and the roses ceased to bloom. When the ultimatum was +served, the Comte consulted his resources and found them invariably to +consist of two tickets of the Lottery of France, cash value twenty +francs, but, according to the laws of probability, increasingly capable +of returning one million, five hundred thousand francs. On one side was +the glory of the ancient name, and the possibility of another descent on +Paris; opposed was the brutal question of soup and ragout. The man +prevailed, and the maid-of-all-work grudgingly accepted the conditions +of truce. Then the news of the drawing arrived and the domestic staff +departed. + +This comedy, annually repeated, was annually played on the same lines. +Only each year the period intervening between the surrender of the +tickets and the announcement of the lottery brought an increasing agony. +Each time as the Comte saw the precious slips finally depart in the +hands of the maid-of-all-work, he was convinced that at last the laws of +probability must fructify. Each year he found a new meaning in the +cabalistic mysteries of numbers. The eighteenth attempt, multiplied by +three, gave fifty-four, his age. Success was inevitable: nineteen, a +number indivisible and chaste above all others, seemed specially +designated. In a word, the Comte suffered during these periods as only a +gambler of the fourth generation is able to suffer. + +At present the number twenty appeared to him to have properties no +other number had possessed, especially in the reappearance of the zero, +a figure which peculiarly attracted him by its symmetry. His despair was +consequently unlimited. + +Ordinarily the news of the lottery arrived by an inspector of roads, who +passed through Keragouil a week or so after the announcement in the +press; for the Comte, having surrendered his ticket, was only troubled +lest he had won. + +This time, to the upsetting of all history, an Englishman on a bicycle +trip brought him a newspaper, an article almost unknown to Keragouil, +where the shriek of the locomotive had yet to penetrate. + +The Comte de Bonzag, opening the paper with the accustomed sinking of +the heart, was startled by the staring headlines: + + +RESULTS OF THE LOTTERY + +A glance at the winners of the first and second prizes reassured him. He +drew a breath of satisfaction, saying gratefully; "Ah, what luck! God be +praised! I'll never do that again!" + +Then, remembering with only an idle curiosity the one hundred and +forty-three mediocre prizes on the list, he returned to the perusal. +Suddenly the print swam before his eyes, and the great esplanade seemed +to rise. Number 77,707 had won the fourth prize of one hundred thousand +francs; number 200,013, a prize of ten thousand francs. + + + + +III + + +The emotion which overwhelmed Napoleon at Waterloo as he beheld his +triumphant squadrons go down into the sunken road was not a whit more +complete than the despair of the Comte de Bonzag when he realized that +the one hundred and ten thousand francs which the laws of probability +had finally produced was now the property of Francine, the cook. + +One hundred and ten thousand francs! It was colossal! Five generations +of Bonzags had never touched as much as that. One hundred and ten +thousand francs meant the rehabilitation of the ancient name, the +restoration of the Chateau de Keragouil, half the year at Paris, in the +Cercle Royale, in the regions of art, and among the great minds that +were still young in the Quartier--and all that was in the possession of +a plump Gascony peasant, whose ideas of comfort and pleasure were +satisfied by one hundred and twenty francs a year. + +"What am I going to do?" he cried, rising in an outburst of anger. Then +he sat down in despair. There was nothing to do. The fact was obvious +that Francine was an heiress, possessed of the greatest fortune in the +memory of Keragouil. There was nothing to do, or rather, there was +manifestly but one way open, and the Comte resolved on the spot to take +it. He must have back the lottery tickets, though it meant a Comtesse de +Bonzag. + +Fortunately for him, Francine knew nothing of the arrival of the paper. +Though it was necessary to make haste, there was still time for a +compatriot of D'Artagnan. There was, of course, Andoche, the +Sapeur-Pompier; but a Bonzag who had had three months' experience with +the feminine heart of Paris was not the man to trouble himself over a +Sapeur-Pompier. That evening, in the dim dining-room, when Francine +arrived with the steaming soup, the Comte, who had waited with a spoon +in his fist and a napkin knotted to his neck, plunged valiantly to the +issue. + +"Ah, what a good smell!" he said, elevating his nose. "Francine, you are +the queen of cooks." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," Francine stammered, stopping in amazement. "Oh, +M'sieur le Comte, thanks." + +"Don't thank me; it is I who am grateful." + +"Oh, M'sieur!" + +"Yes, yes, yes! Francine--" + +"What is it, M'sieur le Comte?" + +"To-night you may set another cover--opposite me." + +"Set another cover?" + +"Exactly." + +Francine, more and more astonished, proceeded to place on the table a +plate, a knife and a fork. + +"M'sieur le Cure is coming?" she said, drawing up a chair. + +"No, Francine." + +"Not M'sieur le Cure? Who, then?" + +"It is for you, Francine. Sit down." + +"I? I, M'sieur le Comte?" + +"Sit down. I wish it." + +Francine took three steps backward and so as to command the exit, +stopped and stared at her master, with mingled amazement and distrust. + +"My dear Francine," continued the Comte, "I am tired of eating alone. It +is bad for the digestion. And I am bored. I have need of society. So sit +down." + +"M'sieur orders it?" + +"I ask it as a favor, Francine." + +Francine, with open eyes, advanced doubtfully, seating herself nicely on +the chair, more astonished than complimented, and more alarmed than +pleased. + +"Ah, that is nicer!" said the Comte, with an approving nod. "How have I +endured it all these years! Francine, you may help yourself to the +wine." + +The astonished maid-of-all-work, who had swallowed a spoon of soup with +great discomfort, sprang up, all in a tremble, stammering with defiant +virtue: + +"M'sieur le Comte does not forget that I am an honest woman!" + +"No, my dear Francine; I am certain of it. So sit down in peace. I will +tell you the situation." + +Francine hesitated, then, reassured by the devotion he gave to his soup, +settled once more in her chair. + +"Francine, I have made up my mind to one thing," said the Comte, filling +his glass with such energy that a red circle appeared on the cloth. +"This life I lead is all wrong. A man is a sociable being. He needs +society. Isolation sends him back to the brute." + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who understood nothing. + +"So I am resolved to marry." + +"M'sieur will marry!" cried Francine, who spilled half her soup with the +shock. + +"Perfectly. It is for that I have asked you to keep me company." + +"M'sieur--you--M'sieur wants to marry me!" + +"Parbleu!" + +"M'sieur--M'sieur wants to marry me!" + +"I ask you formally to be my wife." + +"I?" + +"M'sieur wants--wants me to be Comtesse de Bonzag?" + +"Immediately." + +"Oh!" + +Springing up, Francine stood a moment gazing at him in frightened +alarm; then, with a cry, she vanished heavily through the door. + +"She has gone to Andoche," said the Comte, angrily to himself. "She +loves him!" + +In great perturbation he left the room promenading on the esplanade, in +the midst of his hounds, talking uneasily to himself. + +"_Peste_, I put it to her a little too suddenly! It was a blunder. If +she loves that Sapeur-Pompier, eh? A Sapeur-Pompier, to rival a Comte de +Bonzag--faugh!" + +Suddenly, below in the moonlight, he beheld Andoche tearing himself from +the embrace of Francine, and, not to be seen, he returned nervously to +the dining-room. + +Shortly after, the maid-of-all-work returned, calm, but with telltale +eyes. + +"Well, Francine, did I frighten you?" said the Comte, genially. + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur le Comte--" + +"Well, what do you want to say?" + +"M'sieur was in real earnest?" + +"Never more so." + +"M'sieur really wants to make me the Comtesse de Bonzag?" + +"_Dame!_ I tell you my intentions are honorable." + +"M'sieur will let me ask him one question?" + +"A dozen even." + +"M'sieur remembers that I am a widow--" + +"With one child, yes." + +"M'sieur, pardon me; I have been thinking much, and I have been thinking +of my little girl. What would M'sieur want me to do?" + +The Comte reflected, and said generously: "I do not adopt her; but, if +you like, she shall live here." + +"Then, M'sieur," said Francine, dropping on her knees, "I thank M'sieur +very much. M'sieur is too kind, too good--" + +"So, it is decided then," said the Comte, rising joyfully. + +"Oh, yes, M'sieur." + +"Then we shall go to-morrow," said the Comte. "It is my manner; I like +to do things instantly. Stand up, I beg you, Madame." + +"To-morrow, M'sieur?" + +"Yes, Madame. Have you any objections?" + +"Oh, no, M'sieur le Comte; on the contrary," said Francine, blushing +with pleasure at the twice-repeated "Madame." Then she added carefully: +"M'sieur is quite right; it would be better. People talk so." + + + + +IV + + +The return of the married couple was the sensation of Keragouil, for the +Comte de Bonzag, after the fashion of his ancestors, had placed his +bride behind him on the broad back of Quatre Diables, who proceeded +with unaltered equanimity. Along the journey the peasants, who held the +Comte in loyal terror, greeted the procession with a respectful silence, +congregating in the road to stare and chatter only when the amiable +Quatre Diables had disappeared in the distance. + +Disdaining to notice the commotion he produced, the Comte headed +straight for the courtyard, where Quatre Diables, recognizing the foot +block, dropped his head and began to crop the grass. The new Comtesse, +fatigued by the novel position, started gratefully to descend by the +most natural way, that is, by slipping easily over the rear anatomy of +the good-natured Quatre Diables. But the Comte, feeling the commotion +behind, stopped her with a word, and, flinging his left leg over the +neck of his charger, descended gracefully to the block, where, bowing +profoundly, he said in gallant style: + +"Madame, permit me to offer you my hand." + +The Comtesse, with the best intentions in the world, had considerable +difficulty in executing the movement by which her husband had extricated +himself. Luckily, the Comte received her without yielding ground, drew +her hand under his arm, and escorted her ceremoniously into the chateau, +while Quatre Diables, liberated from the unusual burden, rolled +gratefully to earth, and scratched his back against the cobblestones. + +"Madame, be so kind as to enter your home." + +With studied elegance, the Comte put his hat to his breast, or +thereabout, and bowed as he held open the door. + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte; after you," said Francine, in confusion. + +"Pass, Madame, and enter the dining-room. We have certain ceremonies to +observe." + +Francine dutifully advanced, but kept an eye on the movements of her +consort. When he entered the dining-room and went to the sideboard, she +took an equal number of steps in the same direction. When, having +brought out a bottle and glasses, he turned and came toward her, she +retreated. When he stopped, she stopped, and sat down with the same +exact movement. + +"Madame, I offer you a glass of the famous Keragouil Burgundy," began +the Comte, filling her glass. "It is a wine that we De Bonzags have +always kept to welcome our wives and to greet our children. Madame, I +have the honor to drink to the Comtesse de Bonzag." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte," said Francine, who, watching his manner, emptied +the goblet in one swallow. + +"To the health of my ancestors!" continued the Comte, draining the +bottle into the two goblets. "And now throw your glass on the floor!" + +"Yes, M'sieur," said Francine, who obeyed regretfully, with the new +instinct of a housewife. + +"Now, Madame, as wife and mistress of Keragouil, I think it is well +that you understand your position and what I expect of you," said the +Comte, waving her to a seat and occupying a fauteuil in magisterial +fashion. "I expect that you will learn in a willing spirit what I shall +teach you, that you may become worthy of the noble position you occupy." + +"Oh, M'sieur may be sure I'll do my best," said Francine, quite +overcome. + +"I expect you to show me the deference and obedience that I demand as +head of the house of Bonzag." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, how could you think--" + +"To be economical and amiable." + +"Yes, indeed, M'sieur." + +"To listen when I speak, to forget you were a peasant, to give me three +desserts a week, and never, madame, to show me the slightest +infidelity." + +At these last words, Francine, already overcome by the rapid whirl of +fortune, as well as by the overcharged spirits of the potent Burgundy, +burst into tears. + +"And no tears!" said De Bonzag, withdrawing sternly. + +"No, M'sieur; no," Francine cried, hastily drying her eyes. Then +dropping on her knees, she managed to say: "Oh, M'sieur--pardon, +pardon." + +"What do you mean?" cried the Comte, furiously. + +"Oh, M'sieur forgive me--I will tell you all!" + +"Madame--Madame, I don't understand," said the Comte, mastering himself +with difficulty. "Proceed; I am listening." + +"Oh, M'sieur le Comte, I'll tell you all. I swear it on the image of St. +Jacques d'Acquin." + +"You have not lied to me about your child?" cried Bonzag in horror. + +"No, no, M'sieur; not that," said Francine. Then, hiding her face, she +said: "M'sieur, I hid something from you: I loved Andoche." + +"Ah!" said the Comte, with a sigh of relief. He sat down, adding +sympathetically: "My poor Francine, I know it. Alas! That's what life +is." + +"Oh, M'sieur, it's all over; I swear it!" Francine cried in protest. +"But I loved him well, and he loved me--oh, how he loved me, M'sieur le +Comte! Pardon, M'sieur, but at that time I didn't think of being a +comtesse, M'sieur le Comte. And when M'sieur spoke to me, I didn't know +what to do. My heart was all given to Andoche, but--well, M'sieur, the +truth is, I began to think of my little girl, and I said to myself, I +must think of her, because, M'sieur, I thought of the position it would +give her, if I were a Comtesse. What a step in the world, eh? And I +said, you must do it for her! So I went to Andoche, and I told him +all--yes, all, M'sieur--that my heart was his, but that my duty was to +her. And Andoche, ah, what a good heart, M'sieur--he understood--we wept +together." She choked a minute, put her handkerchief hastily to her +eyes, "Pardon, M'sieur; and he said it was right, and I kissed him--I +hide nothing, M'sieur will pardon me that,--and he went away!" She took +a step toward him, twisting her handkerchief, adding in a timid appeal: +"M'sieur understands why I tell him that? M'sieur will believe me. I +have killed all that. It is no more in my heart. I swear it by the image +of St. Jacques d'Acquin." + +"Madame, I knew it before," said the Comte, rising; "still, I thank +you." + +"Oh, M'sieur, I have put it all away--I swear it!" + +"I believe you," interrupted the Comte, "and now no more of it! I also +am going to be frank with you." He went with a smile to a corner where +stood the little box, done up in rope, which held the trousseau of the +Comtesse de Bonzag. "Open that, and give me the lottery-tickets I gave +you." + +"Hanh? You--M'sieur says?" + +"The lottery-tickets--" + +"Oh, M'sieur, but they're not there--" + +"Then where are they?" + +"Oh, M'sieur, wait; I'll tell you," said Francine, simply. "When Andoche +went off--" + +[Illustration: "You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!"] + +"What!" cried the Comte, like a cannon. + +"He was so broken up, M'sieur, I was so afraid for him, so just to +console him, M'sieur--to give him something--I gave him the tickets." + +"You gave him--the tickets! The lottery-tickets!" + +"Just to console him--yes, M'sieur." + +The lank form of the Comte de Bonzag wavered, and then, as though the +body had suddenly deserted the clothes, collapsed in a heap on the +floor. + + + + +THE END + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Murder in Any Degree, by Owen Johnson + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MURDER IN ANY DEGREE *** + +***** This file should be named 12686.txt or 12686.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/2/6/8/12686/ + +Produced by Suzanne Shell, Karen Dalrymple and PG Distributed +Proofreaders + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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