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diff --git a/old/14396.txt b/old/14396.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..821d56d --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14396.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11379 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of His Family, by Ernest Poole + +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: His Family + +Author: Ernest Poole + +Release Date: December 20, 2004 [EBook #14396] +[Date last updated: April 8, 2005] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS FAMILY *** + + + + +Produced by Rick Niles, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + + + + + + + +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY +NEW YORK BOSTON CHICAGO DALLAS +ATLANTA SAN FRANCISCO + +MACMILLAN & CO., LIMITED +LONDON BOMBAY CALCUTTA +MELBOURNE + +THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, LTD. +TORONTO + + + + +HIS FAMILY + +BY +ERNEST POOLE +AUTHOR OF "THE HARBOR" + +New York +THE MACMILLAN COMPANY. +1917 + +_All rights reserved_ + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1916 AND 1917 +BY THE RIDGWAY COMPANY + +COPYRIGHT, 1917 +BY THE MACMILLAN COMPANY + +Set up and electrotyped. Published May, 1917. + + + + +TO M.A. + + + + +HIS FAMILY + + + + +HIS FAMILY + +CHAPTER I + + +He was thinking of the town he had known. Not of _old_ New York--he had +heard of that from old, old men when he himself had still been young and +had smiled at their garrulity. He was thinking of a _young_ New York, the +mighty throbbing city to which he had come long ago as a lad from the New +Hampshire mountains. A place of turbulent thoroughfares, of shouting +drivers, hurrying crowds, the crack of whips and the clatter of wheels; an +uproarious, thrilling town of enterprise, adventure, youth; a city of +pulsing energies, the center of a boundless land; a port of commerce with +all the world, of stately ships with snowy sails; a fascinating pleasure +town, with throngs of eager travellers hurrying from the ferry boats and +rolling off in hansom cabs to the huge hotels on Madison Square. A city +where American faces were still to be seen upon all its streets, a cleaner +and a kindlier town, with more courtesy in its life, less of the vulgar +scramble. A city of houses, separate homes, of quiet streets with rustling +trees, with people on the doorsteps upon warm summer evenings and groups of +youngsters singing as they came trooping by in the dark. A place of music +and romance. At the old opera house downtown, on those dazzling evenings +when as a boy he had ushered there for the sake of hearing the music, how +the rich joy of being alive, of being young, of being loved, had shone out +of women's eyes. Shimmering satins, dainty gloves and little jewelled +slippers, shapely arms and shoulders, vivacious movements, nods and smiles, +swift glances, ripples, bursts of laughter, an exciting hum of voices. +Then silence, sudden darkness--and music, and the curtain. The great wide +curtain slowly rising.... + +But all that had passed away. + +Roger Gale was a rugged heavy man not quite sixty years of age. His broad, +massive features were already deeply furrowed, and there were two big +flecks of white in his close-curling, grayish hair. He lived in a narrow +red brick house down on the lower west side of the town, in a neighborhood +swiftly changing. His wife was dead. He had no sons, but three grown +daughters, of whom the oldest, Edith, had been married many years. Laura +and Deborah lived at home, but they were both out this evening. It was +Friday, Edith's evening, and as was her habit she had come from her +apartment uptown to dine with her father and play chess. In the living +room, a cheerful place, with its lamp light and its shadows, its +old-fashioned high-back chairs, its sofa, its book cases, its low marble +mantel with the gilt mirror overhead, they sat at a small oval table in +front of a quiet fire of coals. And through the smoke of his cigar Roger +watched his daughter. + +Edith had four children, and was soon to have another. A small demure woman +of thirty-five, with light soft hair and clear blue eyes and limbs softly +rounded, the contour of her features was full with approaching maternity, +but there was a decided firmness in the lines about her little mouth. As he +watched her now, her father's eyes, deep set and gray and with signs of +long years of suffering in them, displayed a grave whimsical wistfulness. +For by the way she was playing the game he saw how old she thought him. Her +play was slow and absent-minded, and there came long periods when she did +not make a move. Then she would recall herself and look up with a little +affectionate smile that showed she looked upon him as too heavy with his +age to have noticed her small lapses. + +He was grimly amused at her attitude, for he did not feel old at all. With +that whimsical hint of a smile which had grown to be a part of him, he +tried various moves on the board to see how far he could go without +interrupting her reveries. He checkmated her, re-lit his cigar and waited +until she should notice it. And when she did not notice, gravely he moved +back his queen and let the game continue. How many hundreds of games, he +thought, Edith must have played with him in the long years when his spirit +was dead, for her now to take such chances. Nearly every Friday evening for +nearly sixteen years. + +Before that, Judith his wife had been here. It was then that the city had +been young, for to Roger it had always seemed as though he were just +beginning life. Into its joys and sorrows too he had groped his way as most +of us do, and had never penetrated deep. But he had meant to, later on. +When in his busy city days distractions had arisen, always he had promised +himself that sooner or later he would return to this interest or passion, +for the world still lay before him with its enthralling interests, its +beauties and its pleasures, its tasks and all its puzzles, intricate and +baffling, all some day to be explored. + +This deep zest in Roger Gale had been bred in his boyhood on a farm up in +the New Hampshire mountains. There his family had lived for many +generations. And from the old house, the huge shadowy barn and the crude +little sawmill down the road; from animals, grown people and still more +from other boys, from the meadows and the mountain above with its cliffs +and caves and forests of pine, young Roger had discovered, even in those +early years, that life was fresh, abundant, new, with countless glad +beginnings. + +At seventeen he had come to New York. There had followed hard struggles in +lean years, but his rugged health had buoyed him up. And there had been +genial friendships and dreams and explorations, a search for romance, the +strange glory of love, a few furtive ventures that left him dismayed. But +though love had seemed sordid at such times it had brought him crude +exultations. And if his existence had grown more obscure, it had been +somber only in patches, the main picture dazzling still. And still he had +been just making starts. + +He had ventured into the business world, clerking now at this, now at that, +and always looking about him for some big opportunity. It had come and he +had seized it, despite the warnings of his friends. What a wild adventure +it had been a bureau of news clippings, a business new and unheard of but +he had been sure that here was growth, he had worked at it day and night, +and the business widening fast had revealed long ramifications which went +winding and stretching away into every phase of American life. And this +life was like a forest, boundless and impenetrable, up-springing, +intertwining. How much could _he_ ever know of it all? + +Then had come his marriage. Judith's family had lived long in New York, but +some had died and others had scattered until only she was left. This house +had been hers, but she had been poor, so she had leased it to some friends. +It was through them he had met her here, and within a few weeks he had +fallen in love. He had felt profound disgust for the few wild oats he had +sown, and in his swift reaction he had overworshipped the girl, her beauty +and her purity, until in a delicate way of her own she had hinted that he +was going too far, that she, too, was human and a passionate lover of +living, in spite of her low quiet voice and her demure and sober eyes. + +And what beginnings for Roger now, what a piling up of intimate joys, +surprises, shocks of happiness. There had come disappointments, too, sudden +severe little checks from his wife which had brought him occasional +questionings. This love had not been quite _all_ he had dreamed, this woman +not so ardent. He had glimpsed couples here and there that set him to +imagining more consuming passions. Here again he had not explored very +deep. But he had dismissed regrets like these with only a slight +reluctance. For if they had settled down a bit with the coming of their +children, their love had grown rich in sympathies and silent +understandings, in humorous enjoyment of their funny little daughters' +chattering like magpies in the genial old house. And they had looked +happily far ahead. What a woman she had been for plans. It had not been all +smooth sailing. There had come reverses in business, and at home one baby, +a boy, had died. But on they had gone and the years had swept by until he +had reached his forties. Absorbed in his growing business and in his +thriving family, it had seemed to Roger still as though he were just +starting out. + +But one day, quite suddenly, the house had become a strange place to him +with a strange remote figure in it, his wife. For he had learned that she +must die. There had followed terrible weeks. Then Judith had faced their +disaster. Little by little she had won back the old intimacy with her +husband; and through the slow but inexorable progress of her ailment, again +they had come together in long talks and plans for their children. At this +same chessboard, in this room, repeatedly she would stop the game and +smiling she would look into the future. At one such time she had said to +him, + +"I wonder if it won't be the same with the children as it has been with us. +No matter how long each one of them lives, won't their lives feel to them +unfinished like ours, only just beginning? I wonder how far they will go. +And then their children will grow up and it will be the same with them. +Unfinished lives. Oh, dearie, what children all of us are." + +He had put his arm around her then and had held her very tight. And feeling +the violent trembling of her husband's fierce revolt, slowly bending back +her head and looking up into his eyes she had continued steadily: + +"And when you come after me, my dear, oh, how hungry I shall be for all you +will tell me. For you will live on in our children's lives." + +And she had asked him to promise her that. + +But he had not kept his promise. For after Judith's dying he had felt +himself terribly alone, with eternity around him, his wife slipping far +away. And the universe had grown stark and hard, impersonal, relentless, +cold. A storm of doubts had attacked his faith. And though he had resisted +long, for his faith in God had been rooted deep in the mountains of New +England, in the end it had been wrenched away, and with it he had lost all +hope that either for Judith or himself was there any existence beyond the +grave. So death had come to Roger's soul. He had been deaf and blind to his +children. Nights by the thousand spent alone. Like a gray level road in his +memory now was the story of his family. + +When had his spirit begun to awaken? He could not tell, it had been so +slow. His second daughter, Deborah, who had stayed at home with her father +when Laura had gone away to school, had done little things continually to +rouse his interest in life. Edith's winsome babies had attracted him when +they came to the house. Laura had returned from school, a joyous creature, +tall and slender, with snapping black eyes, and had soon made her presence +felt. One day in the early afternoon, as he entered the house there had +burst on his ears a perfect gale of laughter; and peering through the +portieres he had seen the dining-room full of young girls, a crew as wild +as Laura herself. Hastily he had retreated upstairs. But he had enjoyed +such glimpses. He had liked to see her fresh pretty gowns and to have her +come in and kiss him good-night. + +Then had come a sharp heavy jolt. His business had suffered from long +neglect, and suddenly for two anxious weeks he had found himself facing +bankruptcy. Edith's husband, a lawyer, had come to his aid and together +they had pulled out of the hole. But he had been forced to mortgage the +house. And this had brought to a climax all the feelings of guiltiness +which had so long been stirring within him over his failure to live up to +the promise he had made his wife. + +And so Roger had looked at his children. + +And at first to his profound surprise he had had it forced upon him that +these were three grown women, each equipped with her own peculiar feminine +traits and desires, the swift accumulations of lives which had expanded in +a city that had reared to the skies in the many years of his long sleep. +But very slowly, month by month, he had gained a second impression which +seemed to him deeper and more real. To the eye they were grown women all, +but inwardly they were children still, each groping for her happiness and +each held back as he had been, either by checks within herself or by the +gay distractions of the absorbing city. He saw each of his daughters, parts +of himself. And he remembered what Judith had said: "You will live on in +our children's lives." And he began to get glimmerings of a new +immortality, made up of generations, an endless succession of other lives +extending into the future. + +Some of all this he remembered now, in scattered fragments here and there. +Then from somewhere far away a great bell began booming the hour, and it +roused him from his revery. He had often heard the bell of late. A calm +deep-toned intruder, it had first struck in upon his attention something +over two years ago. Vaguely he had wondered about it. Soon he had found it +was on the top of a tower a little to the north, one of the highest +pinnacles of this tumultuous modern town. But the bell was not tumultuous. +And as he listened it seemed to say, "There is still time, but you have not +long." + +Edith, sitting opposite him, looked up at the sound with a stir of relief. +Ten o'clock. It was time to go home. + +"I wonder what's keeping Bruce," she said. Bruce was still in his office +downtown. As a rule on Friday evenings he came with his wife to supper +here, but this week he had some new business on hand. Edith was vague about +it. As she tried to explain she knitted her brows and said that Bruce was +working too hard. And her father grunted assent. + +"Bruce ought to knock off every summer," he said, "for a good solid month, +or better two. Can't you bring him up to the mountains this year?" He +referred to the old New Hampshire home which he had kept as a summer place. +But Edith smiled at the idea. + +"Yes, I could bring him," she replied, "and in a week he'd be perfectly +crazy to get back to his office again." She compressed her lips. "I know +what he needs--and we'll do it some day, in spite of him." + +"A suburb, eh," her father said, and his face took on a look of dislike. +They had often talked of suburbs. + +"Yes," his daughter answered, "I've picked out the very house." He threw at +her a glance of impatience. He knew what had started her on this line. +Edith's friend, Madge Deering, was living out in Morristown. All very well, +he reflected, but her case was not at all the same. He had known Madge +pretty well. Although the death of her husband had left her a widow at +twenty-nine, with four small daughters to bring up, she had gone on +determinedly. Naturally smart and able, Madge was always running to town, +keeping up with all her friends and with every new fad and movement there, +although she made fun of most of them. Twice she had taken her girls +abroad. But Edith was quite different. In a suburb she would draw into her +house and never grow another inch. And Bruce, poor devil, would commute and +take work home from the office. But Roger couldn't tell her that. + +"I'd be sorry to see you do it," he said. "I'd miss you up in the +mountains." + +"Oh, we'd come up in the summer," she answered. "I wouldn't miss the +mountains for worlds!" + +Then they talked of summer plans. And soon again Edith's smooth pretty +brows were wrinkling absorbedly. It was hard in her planning not to be sure +whether her new baby would come in May or early June. It was only the first +of April now. While she talked her father watched her. He liked her quiet +fearlessness in facing the ordeal ahead. Into the bewildering city he felt +her searching anxiously to find good things for her small brood, to make +every dollar count, to keep their little bodies strong, to guard their +hungry little souls from many things she thought were bad. Of all his +daughters, he told himself, she was the one most like his wife. + +While she was talking Bruce came in. Of medium height and a wiry build, his +quick kindly smile of greeting did not conceal the fine tight lines about +his mouth and between his eyes. His small trim moustache was black, but his +hair already showed streaks of gray although he was not quite thirty-eight, +and as he lit a cigarette his right hand twitched perceptibly. + +Bruce Cunningham had married just after he left law school. He had worked +in a law office which took receiverships by the score, and through managing +bankrupt concerns by slow degrees he had made himself a financial surgeon. +He had set up an office of his own and was doing splendidly. But he worked +under fearful tension. Bruce had to deal with bankrupts who had barely +closed their eyes for weeks, men half out of their minds from the strain, +the struggle to keep up their heads in those angry waters of finance which +Roger vaguely pictured as a giant whirlpool. Though honest enough in his +own affairs, Bruce showed a genial relish for all the tricks of the savage +world which was as the breath to his nostrils. And at times he appeared so +wise and keen he made Roger feel like a child. But again it was Bruce who +seemed the child. He seemed to be so naive at times, and Edith had him so +under her thumb. Roger liked to hear Bruce's stories of business, when +Edith would let her husband talk. But this she would not often do, for she +said Bruce needed rest at night. She reproved him now for staying so late, +she wrung from him the fact that he'd had no supper. + +"Well, Bruce," she exclaimed impatiently, "now isn't that just like you? +You're going straight home--that's where you're going--" + +"To be fed up and put to bed," her husband grumbled good-naturedly. And +while she made ready to bundle him off he turned to his father-in-law. + +"What do you think's my latest?" he asked, and he gave a low chuckle which +Roger liked. "Last week I was a brewer, to-day I'm an engineer," he said. +"Can you beat it? A building contractor. Me." And as he smoked his +cigarette, in laconic phrases he explained how a huge steel construction +concern had gone to the wall, through building skyscrapers "on spec" and +outstripping even the growth of New York. "They got into court last week," +he said, "and the judge handed me the receivership. The judge and I have +been chums for years. He has hay fever--so do I." + +"Come, Bruce, I'm ready," said his wife. + +"I've been in their office all day," he went on. "Their general manager was +stark mad. He hadn't been out of the office since last Sunday night, he +said. You had to ask him a question and wait--while he looked at you and +held onto his chair. He broke down and blubbered--the poor damn fool--he'll +be in Matteawan in a week--" + +"You'll be there yourself if you don't come home," broke in Edith's voice +impatiently. + +"And out of that poor devil, and out of the mess his books are in, I've +been learning engineering!" + +He had followed his wife out on the steps. He turned back with a quick +appealing smile: + +"Well, good-night--see you soon--" + +"Good-night, my boy," said Roger. "Good luck to the engineering." + +"Oh, father dear," cried Edith, from the taxi down below. "Remember supper +Sunday night--" + +"I won't forget," said Roger. + + * * * * * + +He watched them start off up the street. The night was soft, refreshing, +and the place was quiet and personal. The house was one of a dozen others, +some of red brick and some of brown stone, that stood in an uneven row on a +street but a few rods in length, one side of a little triangular park +enclosed by a low iron fence, inside of which were a few gnarled trees and +three or four park benches. On one of these benches his eye was caught by +the figure of an old woman there, and he stood a moment watching her, some +memory stirring in his mind. + +Occasionally somebody passed. Otherwise it was silent here. But even in the +silence could be felt the throes of change; the very atmosphere seemed +charged with drastic things impending. Already the opposite house line had +been broken near the center by a high apartment building, and another still +higher rose like a cliff just back of the house in which Roger lived. Still +others, and many factory lofts, reared shadowy bulks on every hand. From +the top of one an enormous sign, a corset pictured forth in lights, flashed +out at regular intervals; and from farther off, high up in the misty haze +of the night, could be seen the gleaming pinnacle where hour by hour that +great bell slowly boomed the time away. Yes, here the old was passing. +Already the tiny parklet was like the dark bottom of a pit, with the hard +sparkling modern town towering on every side, slowly pressing, pressing in +and glaring down with yellow eyes. + +But Roger noticed none of these things. He watched the old woman on the +bench and groped for the memory she had stirred. Ah, now at last he had it. +An April night long, long ago, when he had sat where she was now, while +here in the house his wife's first baby, Edith, had begun her life.... + +Slowly he turned and went inside. + + + + +CHAPTER II + + +Roger's hearing was extremely acute. Though the room where he was sitting, +his study, was at the back of the house, he heard Deborah's key at the +street door and he heard the door softly open and close. + +"Are you there, dearie?" Her voice from the hallway was low; and his +answer, "Yes, child," was in the same tone, as though she were with him in +the room. This keen sense of hearing had long been a peculiar bond between +them. To her father, Deborah's voice was the most distinctive part of her, +for often as he listened the memory came of her voice as a girl, +unpleasant, hurried and stammering. But she had overcome all that. "No +grown woman," she had declared, when she was eighteen, "has any excuse for +a voice like mine." That was eleven years ago; and the voice she had +acquired since, with its sweet magnetic quality, its clear and easy +articulation, was to him an expression of Deborah's growth. As she took off +her coat and hat in the hall she said, in the same low tone as before, + +"Edith has been here, I suppose--" + +"Yes--" + +"I'm so sorry I missed her. I tried to get home early, but it has been a +busy night." + +Her voice sounded tired, comfortably so, and she looked that way as she +came in. Though only a little taller than Edith, she was of a sturdier +build and more decided features. Her mouth was large with a humorous droop +and her face rather broad with high cheekbones. As she put her soft black +hair up over her high forehead, her father noticed her birthmark, a faint +curving line of red running up from between her eyes. Imperceptible as a +rule, it showed when she was tired. In the big school in the tenements +where she had taught for many years, she gave herself hard without stint to +her work, but she had such a good time through it all. She had a way, too, +he reflected, of always putting things in their place. As now she came in +and kissed him and sank back on his leather lounge with a tranquil breath +of relief, she seemed to be dropping school out of her life. + +Roger picked up his paper and continued his reading. Presently they would +have a talk, but first he knew that she wanted to lie quite still for a +little while. Vaguely he pictured her work that night, her class-room +packed to bursting with small Jews and Italians, and Deborah at the +blackboard with a long pointer in her hand. The fact that for the last two +years she had been the principal of her school had made little impression +upon him. + +And meanwhile, as she lay back with eyes closed, her mind still taut from +the evening called up no simple class-room but far different places--a mass +meeting in Carnegie Hall where she had just been speaking, some schools +which she had visited out in Indiana, a block of tenements far downtown and +the private office of the mayor. For her school had long curious arms these +days. + +"Was Bruce here too this evening?" she asked her father presently. Roger +finished what he was reading, then looked over to the lounge, which was in +a shadowy corner. + +"Yes, he came in late." And he went on to tell her of Bruce's +"engineering." At once she was interested. Rising on one elbow she +questioned him good-humoredly, for Deborah was fond of Bruce. + +"Has he bought that automobile he wanted?" + +"No," replied her father. "Edith said they couldn't afford it." + +"Why not?" + +"This time it's the dentist's bills. Young Betsy's teeth aren't +straightened yet--and as soon as she's been beautified they're going to put +the clamps on George." + +"Poor Georgie," Deborah murmured. At the look of pain and disapproval on +her father's heavy face, she smiled quietly to herself. George, who was +Edith's oldest and the worry of her days, was Roger's favorite grandson. +"Has he been bringing home any more sick dogs?" + +"No, this time it was a rat--a white one," Roger answered. A glint of dry +relish appeared in his eyes. "George brought it home the other night. He +had on a pair of ragged old pants." + +"What on earth--" + +"He had traded his own breeches for the rat," said Roger placidly. + +"No! Oh, father! Really!" And she sank back laughing on the lounge. + +"His school report," said Roger, "was quite as bad as ever." + +"Of course it was," said Deborah. And she spoke so sharply that her father +glanced at her in surprise. She was up again on one elbow, and there was an +eager expression on her bright attractive face. "Do you know what we're +going to do some day? We're going to put the rat in the school," Deborah +said impatiently. "We're going to take a boy like George and study him till +we think we know just what interests him most. And if in his case it's +animals, we'll have a regular zoo in school. And for other boys we'll have +other things they really want to know about. And we'll keep them until five +o'clock--when their mothers will have to drag them away." Her father looked +bewildered. + +"But arithmetic, my dear." + +"You'll find they'll have learned their arithmetic without knowing it," +Deborah answered. + +"Sounds a bit wild," murmured Roger. Again to his mind came the picture of +hordes of little Italians and Jews. "My dear, if I had _your children_ to +teach, I don't think I'd add a zoo," he said. And with a breath of +discomfort he turned back to his reading. He knew that he ought to question +her, to show an interest in her work. But he had a deep aversion for those +millions of foreign tenement people, always shoving, shoving upward through +the filth of their surroundings. They had already spoiled his neighborhood, +they had flowed up like an ocean tide. And so he read his paper, frowning +guiltily down at the page. He glanced up in a little while and saw Deborah +smiling across at him, reading his dislike of such talk. The smile which he +sent back at her was half apologetic, half an appeal for mercy. And Deborah +seemed to understand. She went into the living room, and there at the piano +she was soon playing softly. Listening from his study, again the feeling +came to him of her fresh and abundant vitality. He mused a little enviously +on how it must feel to be strong like that, never really tired. + +And while her father thought in this wise, Deborah at the piano, leaning +back with eyes half closed, could feel her tortured nerves relax, could +feel her pulse stop throbbing so and the dull aching at her temples little +by little pass away. She played like this so many nights. Soon she would be +ready for sleep. + + * * * * * + +After she had gone to bed, Roger rose heavily from his chair. By long habit +he went about the house trying the windows and turning out lights. Last he +came to the front door. There were double outer doors with a ponderous +system of locks and bolts and a heavy chain. Mechanically he fastened them +all; and putting out the light in the hall, in the darkness he went up the +stairs. He could so easily feel his way. He put his hand lightly, first on +the foot of the banister, then on a curve in it halfway up, again on the +sharper curve at the top and last on the knob of his bedroom door. And it +was as though these guiding objects came out to meet him like old friends. + +In his bedroom, while he slowly undressed, his glance was caught by the +picture upon the wall opposite his bed, a little landscape poster done in +restful tones of blue, of two herdsmen and their cattle far up on a +mountainside in the hour just before the dawn, tiny clear-cut silhouettes +against the awakening eastern sky. So immense and still, this birth of the +day--the picture always gave him the feeling of life everlasting. Judith +his wife had placed it there. + +From his bed through the window close beside him he looked up at the +cliff-like wall of the new apartment building, with tier upon tier of +windows from which murmurous voices dropped out of the dark: now soft, now +suddenly angry, loud; now droning, sullen, bitter, hard; now gay with +little screams of mirth; now low and amorous, drowsy sounds. Tier upon tier +of modern homes, all overhanging Roger's house as though presently to crush +it down. + +But Roger was not thinking of that. He was thinking of his children--of +Edith's approaching confinement and all her anxious hunting about to find +what was best for her family, of Bruce and the way he was driving himself +in the unnatural world downtown where men were at each other's throats, of +Deborah and that school of hers in the heart of a vast foul region of +tenement buildings swarming with strange, dirty little urchins. And last he +thought of Laura, his youngest daughter, wild as a hawk, gadding about the +Lord knew where. She even danced in restaurants! Through his children he +felt flowing into his house the seething life of this new town. And +drowsily he told himself he must make a real effort, and make it soon, to +know his family better. For in spite of the storm of long ago which had +swept away his faith in God, the feeling had come to him of late that +somewhere, in some manner, he was to meet his wife again. He rarely tried +to think this out, for as soon as he did it became a mere wish, a hungry +longing, nothing more. So he had learned to let it lie, deep down inside of +him. Sometimes he vividly saw her face. After all, who could tell? And she +would want to hear of her children. Yes, he must know them better. Some day +soon he must begin. + +Suddenly he remembered that Laura had not yet come home. With a sigh of +discomfort he got out of bed and went downstairs, re-lit the gas in the +hallway, unfastened the locks and the chain at the door. He came back and +was soon asleep. He must have dozed for an hour or two. He was roused by +hearing the front door close and a big motor thundering. And then like a +flash of light in the dark came Laura's rippling laughter. + + + + +CHAPTER III + + +On the next evening, Saturday, while Roger ate his dinner, Laura came to +sit with him. She herself was dining out. That she should have dressed so +early in order to keep him company had caused her father some surprise, and +a faint suspicion entered his mind that she had overdrawn at the bank, as +she had the last time she sat with him like this. Her manner certainly was +a bit strange. + +But Roger put the thought aside. Whatever she wanted, Laura was worth it. +In a tingling fashion he felt what a glorious time she was having, what a +gorgeous town she knew. It was difficult to realize she was his own +daughter, this dashing stranger sitting here, playing idly with a knife and +caressing him with her voice and her eyes. The blue evening gown she was +wearing to-night (doubtless not yet paid for) made her figure even more +supple and lithe, set off her splendid bosom, her slender neck, her creamy +skin. Her hair, worn low over her temples, was brown with just a tinge of +red. Her eyes were black, with gleaming lights; her lips were warm and +rich, alive. He did not approve of her lips. Once when she had kissed him +Roger had started slightly back. For his daughter's lips were rouged, and +they had reminded him of his youth. He had asked her sister to speak to +her. But Deborah had told him she did not care to speak to people in that +way--"especially women--especially sisters," she had said, with a quiet +smile. All very well, he reflected, but somebody ought to take Laura in +hand. + +She had been his favorite as a child, his pet, his tiny daughter. He +remembered her on his lap like a kitten. How she had liked to cuddle there. +And she had liked to bite his hand, a curious habit in a child. "I hurt +daddy!" He could still recollect the gay little laugh with which she said +that, looking up brightly into his face. + +And here she was already grown, and like a light in the sober old house, +fascinating while she disturbed him. He liked to hear her high pitched +voice, gossiping in Deborah's room or in her own dainty chamber chatting +with the adoring maid who was dressing her to go out. He loved her joyous +thrilling laugh. And he would have missed her from the house as he would +have missed Fifth Avenue if it had been dropped from the city. For the +picture Roger had formed of this daughter was more of a symbol than of a +girl, a symbol of the ardent town, spending, wasting, dancing mad. It was +Laura who had kept him living right up to his income. + +"Where are you dining to-night?" he asked. + +"With the Raymonds." He wondered who they were. "Oh, Sarah," she added to +the maid. "Call up Mrs. Raymond's apartment and ask what time is dinner +to-night." + +"Are you going to dance later on?" he inquired. + +"Oh, I guess so," she replied. "On the Astor Roof, I think they said--" + +Her father went on with his dinner. These hotel dances, he had heard, ran +well into Sunday morning. How Judith would have disapproved. He hesitated +uneasily. + +"I don't especially care for this dancing into Sunday," he said. For a +moment he did not look up from his plate. When he did he saw Laura +regarding him. + +"Oh, do you mind? I'm sorry. I won't, after this," she answered. And Roger +colored angrily, for the glint of amusement in Laura's mischievous black +eyes revealed quite unmistakably that she regarded both her father and his +feeling for the Sabbath as very dear and quaint and old. Old? Of course he +seemed old to _her_, Roger thought indignantly. For what was Laura but a +child? Did she ever think of anything except having a good time? Had she +ever stopped to think out her own morals, let alone anyone else's? Was she +any judge of what was old--or of _who_ was old? And he determined then and +there to show her he was in his prime. Impatiently he strove to remember +the names of her friends and ask her about them, to show a keen lively +interest in this giddy gaddy life she led. And when that was rather a +failure he tried his daughter next on books, books of the most modern kind. +Stoutly he lied and said he was reading a certain Russian novel of which he +had heard Deborah speak. But this valiant falsehood made no impression +whatever, for Laura had never heard of the book. + +"I get so little time for reading," she murmured. And meanwhile she was +thinking, "As soon as he finishes talking, poor dear, I'll break the news." + +Then Roger had an audacious thought. He would take her to a play, by +George! Mustering his courage he led up to it by speaking of a play Deborah +had seen, a full-fledged modern drama all centered upon the right of a +woman "to lead her own life." And as he outlined the story, he saw he had +caught his daughter's attention. With her pretty chin resting on one hand, +watching him and listening, she appeared much older, and she seemed +suddenly close to him. + +"How would you like to go with me and see it some evening?" he inquired. + +"See what, my love?" she asked him, her thoughts plainly far away; and he +looked at her in astonishment: + +"That play I've just been speaking of!" + +"Why, daddy, I'd love to!" she exclaimed. + +"When?" he asked. And he fixed a night. He was proud of himself. Eagerly he +began to talk of opening nights at Wallack's. Roger and Judith, when they +were young, had been great first nighters there. And now it was Laura who +drew him out, and as he talked on she seemed to him to be smilingly trying +to picture it all.... "Now I'd better tell him," she thought. + +"Do you remember Harold Sloane?" she asked a little strangely. + +"No," replied her father, a bit annoyed at the interruption. + +"Why--you've met him two or three times--" + +"Have I?" The queer note in her voice made him look up. Laura had risen +from her chair. + +"I want you to know him--very soon." There was a moment's silence. "I'm +going to marry him, dad," she said. And Roger looked at her blankly. He +felt his limbs beginning to tremble. "I've been waiting to tell you when we +were alone," she added in an awkward tone. And still staring up at her he +felt a rush of tenderness and a pang of deep remorse. Laura in love and +settled for life! And what did he know of the affair? What had he ever done +for her? Too late! He had begun too late! And this rush of emotion was so +overpowering that while he still looked at her blindly she was the first to +recover her poise. She came around the table and kissed him softly on the +cheek. And now more than ever Roger felt how old his daughter thought him. + +"Who is he?" he asked hoarsely. And she answered smiling, + +"A perfectly nice young man named Sloane." + +"Don't, Laura--tell me! What does he do?" + +"He's in a broker's office--junior member of the firm, Oh, you needn't +worry, dear, he can even afford to marry _me_." + +They heard a ring at the front door. + +"There he is now, I think," she said. "Will you see him? Would you mind?" + +"See him? No!" her father cried. + +"But just to shake hands," she insisted. "You needn't talk or say a word. +We've only a moment, anyway." And she went swiftly out of the room. + +Roger rose in a panic and strode up and down. Before he could recover +himself she was back with her man, or rather her boy--for the fellow, to +her father's eyes, looked ridiculously young. Straight as an arrow, +slender, his dress suit irreproachable, the chap nevertheless was more than +a dandy. He looked hard, as though he trained, and his smooth and ruddy +face had a look of shrewd self-reliance. So much of him Roger fathomed in +the indignant cornered glance with which he welcomed him into the room. + +"Why, good evening, Mr. Gale--glad to see you again, sir!" Young Sloane +nervously held out his hand. Roger took it and muttered something. For +several moments, his mind in a whirl, he heard their talk and laughter and +his own voice joining in. Laura seemed enjoying herself, her eyes brimming +with amusement over both her victims. But at last she had compassion, +kissed her father gaily and took her suitor out of the room. + +Soon Roger heard them leave the house. He went into his study, savagely bit +off a cigar and gripped his evening paper as though he meant to choke it. +The maid came in with coffee. "Coffee? No!" he snapped at her. A few +moments later he came to his senses and found himself smoking fast and +hard. He heartily damned this fellow Sloane for breaking into the family +and asking poor Laura to risk her whole life--just for his own selfish +pleasure, his whim! Yes, "whim" was the very word for it! Laura's attitude, +too! Did she look at it seriously? Not at all! Quite plainly she saw her +career as one long Highland fling and dance, with this Harry boy as her +partner! Who had he danced with in his past? The fellow's past must be gone +into, and at once, without delay! + +Here indeed was a jolt for Roger Gale, a pretty shabby trick of fate. This +was not what he had planned, this was a little way life had of jabbing a +man with surprises. For months he had been slowly and comfortably feeling +his way into the lives of his children, patiently, conscientiously. But +now without a word of warning in popped this young whipper-snapper, turning +the whole house upside down! Another young person to be known, another life +to be dug into, and with pick and shovel too! The job was far from +pleasant. Would Deborah help him? Not at all. She believed in letting +people alone--a devilish easy philosophy! Still, he wanted to tell her at +once, if only to stir her up a bit. He did not propose to bear this alone! +But Deborah was out to-night. Why must she always be out, he asked, in that +infernal zoo school? But no, it was not school to-night. She was dining out +in some cafe with a tall lank doctor friend of hers. Probably she was to +marry him! + +"I'll have that news for breakfast!" Roger smote his paper savagely. Why +couldn't Laura have waited a little? Restlessly he walked the room. Then he +went into the hall, took his hat and a heavy stick which he used for his +night rambles, and walked off through the neighborhood. It was the first +Saturday evening of Spring, and on those quiet downtown streets he met +couples strolling by. A tall thin lad and a buxom girl went into a cheap +apartment building laughing gaily to themselves, and Roger thought of +Laura. A group of young Italians passed, humming "Trovatore," and it put +him in mind of the time when he had ushered at the opera. Would Laura's +young man be willing to usher? More like him to _tango_ down the aisle! + +He reached Washington Square feeling tired but even more restless than +before. He climbed to the top of a motor 'bus, and on the lurching ride +uptown he darkly reflected that times had changed. He thought of the Avenue +he had known, with its long lines of hansom cabs, its dashing broughams and +coupes with jingling harness, livened footmen, everything sprucely +up-to-date. How the horses had added to the town. But they were gone, and +in their place were these great cats, these purring motors, sliding softly +by the 'bus. Roger had swift glimpses down into lighted limousines. In one +a big rich looking chap with a beard had a dressy young woman in his arms. +Lord, how he was hugging her! Laura would have a motor like that, kisses +like that, a life like that! She was the kind to go it hard! Ahead as far +as he could see was a dark rolling torrent of cars, lights gleaming by the +thousand. A hubbub of gay voices, cries and little shrieks of laughter +mingled with the blare of horns. He looked at huge shop windows softly +lighted with displays of bedrooms richly furnished, of gorgeous women's +apparel, silks and lacy filmy stuffs. And to Roger, in his mood of anxious +premonition, these bedroom scenes said plainly, + +"O come, all ye faithful wives! Come let us adore him, and deck ourselves +to please his eye, to catch his eye, to hold his eye! For marriage is a +game these days!" + +Yes, Laura would be a spender, a spender and a speeder too! How much money +had he, that chap? And damn him, what had he in his past? How Roger hated +the very thought of poking into another man's life! Poking where nobody +wanted him! He felt desperately alone. To-night they were dancing, he +recalled, not at a party in somebody's home, but in some flashy public +place where girls of her kind and fancy women gaily mixed together! How +mixed the whole city was getting, he thought, how mad and strange, gone out +of its mind, this city of his children's lives crowding in upon him! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + + +He breakfasted with Deborah late on Sunday morning. He had come down at the +usual hour despite his long tramp of the previous night, for he wanted to +tell her the news and talk it all out before Laura came down--because +Deborah, he hadn't a doubt, with her woman's curiosity had probed deep into +Laura's affairs in the many long talks they had had in her room. He had +often heard them there. And so, as he waited and waited and still his +daughter did not come, Roger grew distinctly annoyed; and when at last she +did appear, his greeting was perfunctory: + +"What kept you out so late last night?" + +"Oh, I was having a very good time," said Deborah contentedly. She poured +herself some coffee. "I've always wanted," she went on, "to see Laura +really puzzled--downright flabbergasted. And I saw her just like that last +night." + +Roger looked up with a jerk of his head: + +"You and Laura--together last night?" + +"Exactly--on the Astor Roof." At her father's glare of astonishment a look +of quiet relish came over her mobile features. Her wide lips twitched a +little. "Well, why not?" she asked him. "I'm quite a dancer down at school. +And last night with Allan Baird--we were dining together, you know--he +proposed we go somewhere and dance. He's a perfectly awful dancer, and so I +held out as long as I could. But he insisted and I gave in, though I much +prefer the theater." + +"Well!" breathed Roger softly. "So you hoof it with the rest!" His +expression was startled and intent. Would he ever get to know these girls? +"Well," he added with a sigh, "I suppose you know what you're about." + +"Oh no, I don't," she answered. "I never know what I'm about. If you always +do, you miss so much--you get into a solemn habit of trying nothing till +you're sure. But to return to Laura. As we came gaily down the room we ran +right into her, you see. That's how Allan dances. And when we collided, I +smiled at her sweetly and said, 'Why, hello, dearie--you here too?" And +Deborah sipped her coffee. "I have never believed that the lower jaw of a +well-bred girl could actually drop open. But Laura's did. With a good +strong light, Allan told me, he could have examined her tonsils for her. +Rather a disgusting thought. You see until she saw me there, poor Laura had +me so thoroughly placed--my school-marm job, my tastes and habits, +everything, all cut and dried. She has never once come to my school, and in +every talk we've ever had there has always been some perfectly good and +absorbing reason why we should talk about Laura alone." + +"There is now," said her father. He was in no mood for tomfoolery. His +daughter saw it and smiled a little. + +"What is it?" she inquired. And then he let her have it! + +"Laura wants to get married," he snapped. + +Deborah caught her breath at that, and an eager excited expression swept +over her attractive face. She had leaned forward suddenly. + +"Father! No! Which one?" she asked. "Tell me! Is it Harold Sloane?" + +"It is." + +"Oh, dad." She sank back in her chair. "Oh, dad," she repeated. + +"What's the matter with Sloane?" he demanded. + +"Oh, nothing, nothing--it's all right--" + +"It is, eh? How do you know it is?" His anxious eyes were still upon hers, +and he saw she was thinking fast and hard and shutting him completely out. +And it irritated him. "What do you know of this fellow Sloane?" + +"Oh, nothing--nothing--" + +"Nothing! Humph! Then why do you sit here and say it's all right? Don't +talk like a fool!" he exclaimed. He waited, but she said no more, and +Roger's exasperation increased. "He has money enough apparently--and +they'll spend it like March hares!" + +Deborah looked up at him: + +"What did Laura tell you, dear?" + +"Not very much. I'm only her father. She had a dinner and dance on her +mind." + +But Deborah pressed her questions and he gave her brief replies. + +"Well, what shall we do about it?" he asked. + +"Nothing--until we know something more." Roger regarded her fiercely. + +"Why don't you go up and talk to her, then?" + +"She's asleep yet--" + +"Never mind if she is! If she's going to marry a chap like that and ruin +her life it's high time she was up for her breakfast!" + +While he scanned his Sunday paper he heard Deborah in the pantry. She +emerged with a breakfast tray and he saw her start up to Laura's room. She +was there for over an hour. And when she returned to his study, he saw her +eyes were shining. How women's eyes will shine at such times, he told +himself in annoyance. + +"Well?" he demanded. + +"Better leave her alone to-day," she advised. "Harold is coming some night +soon." + +"What for?" + +"To have a talk with you." + +Her father smote his paper. "What did she tell you about him?" he asked. + +"Not much more than she told you. His parents are dead--but he has a rich +widowed aunt in Bridgeport who adores him. They mean to be married the end +of May. She wants a church wedding, bridesmaids, ushers--the wedding +reception here, of course--" + +"Oh, Lord," breathed Roger dismally. + +"We won't bother you much, father dear--" + +"You _will_ bother me much," he retorted. "I propose to be +bothered--bothered a lot! I'm going to look up this fellow Sloane--" + +"But let's leave him alone for to-day." She bent over her father +compassionately. "What a night you must have had, poor dear." Roger looked +up in grim reproach. + +"You like all this," he grunted. "You, a grown woman, a teacher too." + +"I wonder if I do," she said. "I guess I'm a queer person, dad, a curious +family mixture--of Laura and Edith and mother and you, with a good deal of +myself thrown in. But it feels rather good to be mixed, don't you think? +Let's stay mixed as long as we can--and keep together the family." + + * * * * * + +That afternoon, to distract him, Deborah took her father to a concert in +Carnegie Hall. She had often urged him to go of late, but despite his +liking for music Roger had refused before, simply because it was a change. +But why balk at going anywhere now, when Laura was up to such antics at +home? + +"Do you mind climbing up to the gallery?" Deborah asked as they entered the +hall. + +"Not at all," he curtly answered. He did mind it very much! + +"Then we'll go to the very top," she said. "It's a long climb but I want +you to see it. It's so different up there." + +"I don't doubt it," he replied. And as they made the slow ascent, pettishly +he wondered why Deborah must always be so eager for queer places. +Galleries, zoo schools, tenement slums--why not take a two dollar seat in +life? + +Deborah seated him far down in the front of the great gallery, over at the +extreme right, and from here they could look back and up at a huge dim +arena of faces. + +"Now watch them close," she whispered. "See what the music does to them." + +As the symphony began below the faces all grew motionless. And as the music +cast its spell, the anxious ruffled feelings which had been with Roger all +that day little by little were dispelled, and soon his imagination began to +work upon this scene. He saw many familiar American types. He felt he knew +what they had been doing on Sundays only a few years before. After church +they had eaten large Sunday dinners. Then some had napped and some had +walked and some had gone to Sunday school. At night they had had cold +suppers, and afterwards some had gone back to church; while others, as in +Roger's house in the days when Judith was alive, had gathered around the +piano for hymns. Young men callers, friends of their daughters, had joined +in the family singing. Yes, some of these people had been like that. To +them, a few short years ago, a concert on the Sabbath would have seemed a +sacrilege. He could almost hear from somewhere the echo of "Abide With Me." + +But over this memory of a song rose now the surging music of Tschaikovsky's +"Pathetique." And the yearnings and fierce hungers in this tumultuous music +swept all the hymns from Roger's mind. Once more he watched the gallery, +and this time he became aware that more than half were foreigners. Out of +the mass from every side individual faces emerged, swarthy, weird, and +staring hungrily into space. And to Roger the whole shadowy place, the very +air, grew pregnant, charged with all these inner lives bound together in +this mood, this mystery that had swept over them all, immense and +formless, baffling, this furious demanding and this blind wistful groping +which he himself had known so well, ever since his wife had died and he had +lost his faith in God. What was the meaning of it all if life were nothing +but a start, and there were nothing but the grave? + +"You will live on in our children's lives." + +He glanced around at Deborah. Was _she_ so certain, so serene? "What do I +know of her?" he asked. "Little or nothing," he sadly replied. And he tried +to piece together from things she had told him her life as it had passed +him by. Had there been no questionings, no sharp disillusionments? There +must have been. He recalled irritabilities, small acts and exclamations of +impatience, boredom, "blues." And as he watched her he grew sure that his +daughter's existence had been like his own. Despite its different setting, +its other aims and visions, it had been a mere beginning, a feeling for a +foothold, a search for light and happiness. And Deborah seemed to him still +a child. "How far will _you_ go?" he wondered. + +Although he was still watching her even after the music had ceased, she did +not notice him for a time. Then she turned to him slowly with a smile. + +"Well? What did you see?" she asked. + +"I wasn't looking," he replied. + +"Why, dearie," she retorted. "Where's that imagination of yours?" + +"It was with you," he answered. "Tell me what you were thinking." + +And still under the spell of the music, Deborah said to her father, + +"I was thinking of hungry people--millions of them, now, this minute--not +only here but in so many places--concerts, movies, libraries. Hungry, oh, +for everything--life, its beauty, all it means. And I was thinking this is +youth--no matter how old they happen to be--and that to feed it we have +schools. I was thinking how little we've done as yet, and of all that +we're so sure to do in the many, many years ahead. Do you see what I mean?" +she squeezed his hand. + +"Welcome back to school," she said, "back into the hungry army of youth!... +Sh-h-h!" + +Again the music had begun. And sitting by her side he wondered whether it +was because she knew that Laura's affair had made him feel old that Deborah +had brought him here. + + * * * * * + +They went to Edith's for supper. + +The Cunninghams' apartment was on the west side, well uptown. It was not +the neighborhood which Edith would have chosen, for nearly all the nice +people she knew lived east of the park. But rents were somewhat lower here +and there was at least an abundance of fresh air for her family. Edith had +found that her days were full of these perplexing decisions. It was all +very simple to resolve that her children be old-fashioned, normal, +wholesome, nice. But then she looked into the city--into schools and +kindergartens, clothes and friends and children's parties, books and plays. +And through them all to her dismay she felt conflicting currents, clashes +between old and new. She felt New York. And anxiously she asked herself, +"What is old-fashioned? What is normal? What is wholesome? What is nice?" +Cautiously she made her way, testing and comparing, trying small +experiments. Often sharply she would draw in her horns. She had struck +something "common!" And she knew all this was nothing compared to the +puzzles that lay ahead. For from her friend, Madge Deering, whose girls +were well along in their 'teens, she heard of deeper problems. The girls +were so inquisitive. Dauntlessly Madge was facing each month the most +disturbing questions. Thank Heaven, Edith had only one daughter. Sons were +not quite so baffling. + +So she had groped her way along. + +When her father and Deborah arrived, placidly she asked them what they had +been doing. And when she heard that they had been at a concert on the +Sabbath, though this was far from old-fashioned and something she would not +have done herself, it did not bother her half so much as the fact that +Hannah, the Irish nurse, had slapped little Tad that afternoon. She had +never known Hannah to do it before. Could it be that the girl was tired or +sick? Perhaps she needed a few days off. "I must have a talk with her," +Edith thought, "as soon as father and Deborah go." + +Roger always liked to come here. Say what you would about Edith's habit of +keeping too closely to her home, the children to whom she had devoted +herself were a fine, clean, happy lot. Here were new lives in his family, +glorious fresh beginnings. He sat on the floor with her three boys, +watching the patient efforts of George to harness his perturbed white rat +to Tad's small fire engine. George was a lank sprawling lad of fourteen, +all legs and arms and elbows, with rumpled hair and freckled face, a quick +bright smile and nice brown eyes--frank, simple, understandable eyes. All +but one of Edith's children were boys, and boys were a blessed relief to a +man who had three grown-up daughters. + +And while Roger watched them, with a gentle glow of anticipation he waited +for what should follow, when as had been already arranged Deborah should +break to her sister the news of Laura's engagement. And he was not +disappointed. The change in Edith was something tremendous. Until now so +quietly self-absorbed, at the news that Laura was to be married instantly +she was all alert. Sitting there in the midst of her children and facing a +time of agony only a few weeks ahead which would add one more to her +family, Edith's pretty florid face grew flushed and radiant as she +exclaimed, + +"What a perfectly wonderful thing for Laura! Now if only she can have a +child!" + +Her questions followed thick and fast, and with them her thoughts of what +should be done. Bruce must look up this suitor at once. Bruce demurred +stoutly but without avail. She eagerly questioned her sister as to Laura's +plans for the wedding, but plainly she considered that Deborah was no woman +to give her the full information she wanted. She must see Laura herself at +once. For though she had thoroughly disapproved of the gay helter-skelter +existence of her youngest sister, still Laura was now to be married, and +this made all the difference. + +Just before Roger and Deborah left, Edith drew her father aside, and with a +curious concern and pity in her voice, she said, + +"I'm so sorry I shan't be able to help you with the wedding, dear, and make +it the sweet old-fashioned kind that mother would have wanted. Of course +there's Deborah, she'll be there. But her head is so full of new ideas. I'm +afraid she may find the house rather a burden after Laura has gone away." +Edith gave a worried little sigh. "I'll be so glad," she added, "when we +get that place in Morristown. We'll want you out there often, and for good +long visits too. You may even find you'll care to try staying there with us +for a while." + +Roger scowled and thanked her. She had given him a shock of alarm. + +"So she thinks that Deborah will find the housekeeping too hard," he +reflected anxiously. And as he walked home with his daughter, he kept +glancing at her face, which for all its look of quiet had so much tensity +beneath. She had packed her life so full of school. What if she wanted to +give up their home? "She'll try, of course, she'll try her best--but she'll +find it too much of an added strain." And again he felt that sickening +dread. Deborah said nothing. He felt as though they had drifted apart. + +And at night in his bed, as Roger stared up at the beetling cliff of +apartment windows just outside, drearily he asked himself how it would feel +to live like that. + + + + +CHAPTER V + + +One afternoon a few days later Roger was riding in the park. He rode +"William," a large lazy cob who as he advanced in age had so subtly and +insidiously slackened his pace from a trot to a jog that Roger barely +noticed how slowly he was riding. As he rode along he liked to watch the +broad winding bridle path with its bobbing procession of riders that kept +appearing before him under the tall spreading trees. Though he knew +scarcely anyone by name, he was a familiar figure here and he recognized +scores of faces. To many men he nodded at passing, and to not a few +alluring young dames, ardent creatures with bright eyes who gave him smiles +of greeting, Roger gravely raised his hat. One was "The Silver Lady" in a +Broadway musical show, but he thought she was "one of the Newport crowd." +He liked to make shrewd guesses like that. There were so many kinds of +people here. There were stout anxious ladies riding for figures and lean +morose gentlemen riding for health. There were joyous care-free girls, +chatting and laughing merrily. There were some gallant foreigners, and +there were riding masters, and Roger could not tell them apart. There were +mad boys from the Squadron who rode at a furious canter, and there were +groups of children, eager and flushed, excited and gay, with stolid grooms +behind them. The path in several places ran close beside the main road of +the park, and with the coming of the dusk this road took on deep purple +hues and glistened with reflections from countless yellow motor eyes. And +from the polished limousines, sumptuous young women smiled out upon the +riders. + +At least so Roger saw this life. And after those bleak lonely years +confronted by eternity, it was good to come here and forget, to feel +himself for the moment a part of the thoughtless gaiety, the ease and +luxury of the town. Here he was just on the edge of it all. Often as a +couple passed he would wonder what they were doing that night. In the +riding school where he kept his horse, it was a lazy pleasure to have the +English "valet" there pull off his boots and breeches--though if anyone had +told him so, Roger would have denied it with indignation and surprise. For +was he not an American? + +It had been a wonderful tonic, a great idea of Laura's, this forcing him up +here to ride. In one of her affectionate moods, just after a sick spell he +had been through, his gay capricious daughter had insisted that he have his +horse brought down from the mountains. She had promised to ride with him +herself, and she had done so--for a week. Since then he had often met her +here with one of her many smart young men. What a smile of greeting would +flash on her face--when Laura happened to notice him. + +He was thinking of Laura now, and there was an anxious gleam in his eyes. +For young Sloane was coming to dinner to-night. What was he going to say to +the fellow? Bruce had learned that Sloane played polo, owned and drove a +racing car and was well liked in his several clubs. But what about women +and his past? Edith had urged her father to go through the lad's life with +a fine tooth comb, and if he should find anything there to kick up no end +of a row for the honor of the family. All of which was nothing but words, +reflected Roger pettishly. It all came to this, that he had a most ticklish +evening ahead! On the path as a rider greeted him, his reply was a dismal +frown. + + * * * * * + +Laura's suitor arrived at six o'clock. In his study Roger heard the bell, +listened a moment with beating heart, then raised himself heavily from his +chair and went into the hallway. + +"Ah, yes! It's you!" he exclaimed, with a nervous cordiality. "Come in, my +boy, come right in! Here, let me help you with your coat. I don't know just +where Laura is. Ahem!" He violently cleared his throat. "Suppose while +we're waiting we have a smoke." He kept it up back into his den. There the +suitor refused a cigar and carefully lit a cigarette. Roger noticed again +how young the chap was, and marriage seemed so ridiculous! All this +feverish trouble was for something so unreal! + +"Well, sir," the candidate blurted forth, "I guess I'd better come right to +the point. Mr. Gale, I want to marry your daughter." + +"Laura?" + +"Yes." Roger cursed himself. Why had he asked, "Laura?" Of course it was +Laura! Would this cub be wanting Deborah? + +"Well, my boy," he said thickly. "I--I wish I knew you better." + +"So do I, sir. Suppose we begin." The youth took a quick pull at his +cigarette. He waited, stirred nervously in his seat. "You'll have some +questions to ask, I suppose--" + +"Yes, there are questions." Roger had risen mechanically and was slowly +walking the room. He threw out short gruff phrases. "I'm not interested in +your past--I don't care about digging into a man--I never have and I never +will--except as it might affect my daughter. That's the main question, I +suppose. Can you make her happy?" + +"I think so," said Sloane, decidedly. Roger gave him a glance of +displeasure. + +"That's a large order, young man," he rejoined. + +"Then let's take it in sections," the youngster replied. Confound his +boyish assurance! "To begin with," he was saying, "I rather think I have +money enough. We'd better go into that, hadn't we?" + +"Yes," said Roger indifferently. "We might as well go into it." Of course +the chap had money enough. He was a money maker. You could hear it in his +voice; you could see it in his jaw, in his small aggressive blonde +moustache. Now he was telling briefly of his rich aunt in Bridgeport, of +the generous start she had given him, his work downtown, his income. + +"Twenty-two thousand this year," he said. "We can live on that all right, I +guess." + +"You won't starve," was the dry response. Roger walked for a moment in +silence, then turned abruptly on young Sloane. + +"Look here, young man, I don't want to dig," he continued very huskily. +"But I know little or nothing of what may be behind you. I don't care to +ask you about it now--unless it can make trouble." + +"It can't make trouble." At this answer, low but sharp, Roger wheeled and +shot a glance into those clear and twinkling eyes. And his own eyes gleamed +with pain. Laura had been such a little thing in the days when she had been +his pet, the days when he had known her well. What could he do about it? +This was only the usual thing. But he felt suddenly sick of life. + +"How soon do you want to get married?" he demanded harshly. + +"Next month, if we can." + +"Where are you going?" + +"Abroad," said Sloane. Roger caught at this topic as at a straw. Soon they +were talking of the trip, and the tension slackened rapidly. He had never +been abroad himself but had always dreamed of going there. With maps and +books of travel Judith and he had planned it out. In imagination they had +lived in London and Paris, Munich and Rome, always in queer old lodgings +looking on quaint crooked streets. He had dreamed of long delicious +rambles, glimpses into queer old shops, vast, silent, dark cathedrals. For +Laura how different it would be. This boy of hers knew Europe as a group +of gorgeous new hotels. + +The moment Laura joined them, her father's eye was caught and held by the +ring upon her finger. Roger knew rings, they were his hobby, and this huge +yellow solitaire in its new and brilliant setting at once awakened his +dislike. It just fitted the life they were to lead! What life? As he +listened to his daughter he kept wondering if she were so sure. Had she +felt no uneasiness? She must have, he decided, for all her gay excitement. +One Laura in that smiling face; another Laura deep inside, doubting and +uncertain, reaching for her happiness, now elated, now dismayed, +exclaiming, "Now at last I'm starting!" Oh, what an ignorant child she was. +He wanted to cry out to her, "You'll _always_ be just starting! You'll +never be sure, you'll never be happy, you'll always be just beginning to +be! And the happier you are, the more you will feel it is only a start!... +And then-" + +More and more his spirit withdrew from these two heedless children. Later +on, when Deborah came, he barely noticed her meeting with Sloane. And +through dinner, while they talked of plans for the wedding, the trip +abroad, still Roger took no part at all. He felt dull and heavy. Deborah +too, he noticed, after her first efforts to be welcoming and friendly, had +gradually grown silent. He saw her watching Laura with a mingled look of +affection and of whimsical dismay. Soon after dinner she left them, and +Roger smoked with the boy for a while and learned that he was twenty-nine. +Both had grown uneasy and rather dull with each other. It was a relief when +again Laura joined them, dressed to go out. She and her lover left the +house. + +Roger sat motionless for some time. His cigar grew cold unheeded. One of +the sorrows of his life had been that his only son had died. Bruce had been +almost like a son. But this young man of Laura's? No. + +Later he went for his evening walk. And as though drawn by invisible +chains he strayed far down into the ghetto. Soon he was elbowing his way +through a maze of uproarious tenement streets as one who had been there +many times. But he noticed little around him. He went on, as he had always +gone, seeing and hearing this seething life only as a background to his own +adventure. He reached his destination. Pushing his way through a swarm of +urchins playing in front of a pawnshop, he entered and was a long time +inside, and when he came out again at last the whole expression of his face +had undergone a striking change. As one who had found the solace he needed +for the moment, his pace unconsciously quickened and he looked about him +with brighter eyes. + +Around the corner from his home, he went into a small jewelry shop, a +remnant of the town of the past. There were no customers in the place, and +the old Galician jeweler sat at the back playing solitaire. At sight of +Roger he arose; and presently in a small back room, beneath the glare of a +powerful lamp, the two were studying the ring which Roger had found in the +ghetto that night. It was plain, just a thin worn band of gold with an +emerald by no means large; but the setting was old and curious, and +personal, distinctive. Somebody over in Europe had worked on it long and +lovingly. Now as the Galician gently rubbed and polished and turned the +ring this way and that, the light revealed crude tiny figures, a man and a +woman under a tree. And was that a vine or a serpent? They studied it long +and absorbedly. + +At home, up in his bedroom, Roger opened a safe which stood in one corner, +took out a large shallow tray and sat down with it by his lamp. A strange +array of rings was there, small and delicate, huge, bizarre; great signet +rings and poison rings, love tokens, charms and amulets, rings which had +been worn by wives, by mistresses, by favorite slaves and by young girls in +convents; rings with the Madonna and rings with many other saints graven +on large heavy stones; rings French and Russian, Polish, Italian, Spanish, +Syrian. Some were many centuries old. In nine shallow metal trays they +filled the safe in Roger's room. Although its money value was small, the +Gale collection was well known to a scattered public of connoisseurs, and +Roger took pride in showing it. But what had always appealed to him most +was the romance, the mystery, stored up in these old talismans that had +lived so many ages, travelled through so many lands, decked so many +fingers. Roger had found every one of them in the pawnshops of New York. +What new recruits to America had brought them here and pawned them? From +what old cities had they come? What passions of love and jealousy, of +hatred, faith, devotion were in this glittering array? Roger's own love +affair had been deep, but quiet and even and happy. All the wild +adventures, the might-have-beens in his sex life, were gathered in these +dusky trays with their richly colored glints of light. + +Of his daughters, Laura had been the one most interested in his rings, and +so he thought of Laura now as he placed in the tray the new ring he had +bought, the one he would have liked for her. But a vague uneasiness filled +his mind, for he knew she had the same craving as he for what gleamed out +of these somber trays. The old Galician jeweler had long been quite a +friend of hers, she had often dropped in at his shop to ask him curious +questions about his women patrons. And it was just this side of him that +Roger did not care for. So many of those women were from a dubious +glittering world, and the old Galician took a weird vicarious joy in many +of the gay careers into which he sent his beloved rings, his brooches, +earrings, necklaces, his clasps and diamond garters. And Laura loved to +make him talk.... Yes, she was her father's child, a part of himself. He, +too, had had his yearnings, his burning curiosities, his youthful ventures +into the town. "You will live on in our children's lives." With her +inheritance what would she do? Would she stop halfway as he had done, or +would she throw all caution aside and let the flames within her rise? + +He heard a step in the doorway, and Deborah stood there smiling. + +"A new one?" she inquired. He nodded, and she bent over the tray. "Poor +father," Deborah murmured. "I saw you eyeing Laura's engagement ring at +dinner to-night. It wasn't like this one, was it?" He scowled: + +"I don't like what I see ahead of her. Nor do you," he said. "Be honest." +She looked at him perplexedly. + +"We can't stop it, can we? And even if we could," she said, "I'm not quite +sure I'd want to. It's her love affair, not yours or mine--grown out of a +life she made for herself--curious, eager, thrilled by it all--and in the +center of her soul the deep glad growing certainty, 'I'm going to be a +beautiful woman--I myself, I, Laura Gale!' Oh, you don't know--nor do I. +And so she felt her way along--eagerly, hungrily, making mistakes--and you +and I left her to do it alone. I'm afraid we both rather neglected her, +dad," Deborah ended sadly. "And all we can do now, I think, is to give her +the kind of wedding she wants." + +Roger started to speak but hesitated. + +"What is it?" she inquired. + +"Queer," he answered gruffly, "how a man can neglect his children--as I +have done, as I do still--when the one thing he wants most in life is to +see each one of 'em happy." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + + +Roger soon grew accustomed to seeing young Sloane about the house. They +could talk together more easily, and he began to call him Harold. Harold +asked him with Laura to lunch at the Ritz to meet the aunt from Bridgeport, +a lady excessively stout and profound. But that ended the formalities. It +had all been so much easier than Roger had expected. So, in its calm sober +fashion, the old house took into its life this new member, these new plans, +and the old seemed stronger for the new--for Laura and Edith and Deborah +drew together closer than they had been in many years. But only because +they felt themselves on the eve of a still deeper and more lasting +separation, as the family of Roger Gale divided and went different ways. At +times he noticed it sadly. Laura, who had scarcely ever been home for +dinner, now spent many evenings here. She needed her home for her wedding, +he thought. Each daughter needed it now and then. But as the years wore +slowly on, the seasons when they needed it grew steadily wider and wider +apart.... + +Early in May, when Roger came home from his office one night he found +Edith's children in the house. From the hallway he could hear their gay +excited voices, and going into the dining room he found them at their +supper. Deborah was with them, and at once her father noticed how much +younger she appeared--as she always did with these children who all +idolized her so. She rose and followed him into the hall, and her quiet +voice had a note of compassion. + +"Edith's baby is coming," she said. + +"Good Lord. Is anything wrong?" he asked. + +"No, no, it's all right--" + +"But I thought the child wasn't due for three weeks." + +"I know, and poor Edith is fearfully worried. It has upset all her plans. +I'd go up and see her if I were you. Your supper is ready; and if you like +you can have it with the children." + +There followed a happy boisterous meal, with much expectant chatter about +the long summer so soon to begin at the farm up in the mountains. George, +whose hair was down over his eyes, rumpled it back absorbedly as he told of +a letter he had received from his friend Dave Royce, Roger's farmer, with +whom George corresponded. One of the cows was to have a calf, and George +was anxious to get there in time. + +"I've never seen a real new calf, new absolutely," he explained. "And I +want a look at this one the very minute that he's born. Gee, I hope we can +get there in time--" + +"Gee! So do I!" cried Bobby aged nine. And then Tad, the chubby +three-year-old who had been intently watching his brothers, slowly took the +spoon from his mouth and in his grave sweet baby voice said very softly, +"Gee." At her end of the table, Elizabeth, blonde and short and rather +plump, frowned and colored slightly. For she was eleven and she knew there +was something dark and shameful about the way calves appear in barns. And +so, with a quick conscious cough, she sweetly interrupted: + +"Oh, Aunt Deborah! Won't you please tell us about--about--" + +"About--about," jeered the ironical George. "About what, you little ninny?" +Poor Elizabeth blushed desperately. She was neither quick nor resourceful. + +"Now, George," said his aunt warningly. + +"Wasn't I talking?" the boy rejoined. "And didn't Betsy butt right +in--without even a thing to butt in about? About--about," he jeered again. + +"About Paris!" cried his sister, successful at last in her frantic search +for a proper topic of conversation. "Aunt Deborah's trip to Paris!" + +"How many times has she told it already?" her brother replied with +withering scorn. "And anyhow, I was talking of cows!" + +"Very well," said his aunt, "we'll talk about cows, some cows I saw on a +lovely old farm in a little village over in France." + +"There!" cried his young sister. "Did she ever tell of _that_ part of her +trip?" And she made a little face at her brother. + +"I don't care," he answered doggedly. "She has told about Paris lots of +times--and that was what _you_ wanted. Yes, you did. You said, 'About +Paris.' Didn't she, Bob?" + +"You bet she did," young Bob agreed. + +"Now, children, children, what does it matter?" + +"All right, go ahead with your barn in France," said George with patient +tolerance. "Did they have any Holsteins?" + +Soon the questions were popping from every side, while little Tad beamed +from one to the other. To Tad it was all so wonderful, to be having supper +away from home, to be here, to go to bed upstairs, to take part perhaps in +a pillow fight.... And glancing at the glowing face and the parted lips of +his small grandson Roger felt a current of warm new life pour into his +soul. + +Early in the evening he went up to Edith's apartment. He found his daughter +in her room, looking flushed and very tense. He took her arm and they +walked for a time. A trained nurse was soaping the windows. Roger asked the +reason for this and was told that in case the baby did not come till +morning the doctor wanted to pull up the shades in order to work by +daylight. "And neighbors in New York are such cats! You've no idea!" said +Edith. She looked out at the numberless windows crowding close about her +home, and she fairly bristled with scorn. "Oh, how I loathe apartments!" + +"They seem to have come to stay, my dear. In a few years more New York will +be a city without a house," he said. "Only a palace here and there." The +thought flashed in his mind, "But I shall be gone." + +"Then we'll move out to the country!" she cried. Still walking the floor +with her father, she talked of the perplexities which in her feverish state +of mind had loomed suddenly enormous. She had planned everything so nicely +for the baby to come the first of June, but now her plans were all upset. +She did not want the children here, it would make too much confusion. They +had much better go up to the mountains, even though George and Elizabeth +lost their last few weeks at school. But who could she find to take them? +Bruce was simply rushed to death with his new receivership. Laura was +getting her trousseau. Deborah, said Edith, had time for nothing on earth +but school. + +"Suppose I take them," Roger ventured. But she only smiled at this. "My +dear," he urged, "your nurse will be with me, and when we arrive there's +the farmer's wife." But Edith impatiently shook her head. Her warm bright +eyes seemed to picture it all, hour by hour, day and night, her children +there without her. + +"You poor dear," she told him, "you haven't the slightest idea what it +means. The summer train is not on yet, and you have to change three times +on the way--with all the children--luggage, too. And there are their naps, +and all their meals. You don't arrive till late at night. No," she decided +firmly, "Bruce will simply have to go." She drew a breath of discomfort. +"You go and talk to him," she said. + +"I will, my dear." Roger looked at his daughter in deep concern. Awkwardly +his heavy hand touched her small plump shoulder, and he felt the constant +quivering there. "Now, now," he muttered, uneasily, "it's going to be all +right, you know--" And at that she gave him a rapid glance out of those +warm hunted eyes, as though to ask, "What do you know of this?" And Roger +flinched and turned to the door. + +Bruce was working at his desk, with an old briar pipe in his teeth. He +looked up with a quick nervous smile which showed his dread of the coming +ordeal, but his voice had a carefully casual tone. + +"Does she want me now?" he asked. + +"No," said Roger. And he told of her plan for the children. "I volunteered +myself," he added, "but she wouldn't hear to it." + +"Oh, my God, man, you wouldn't do," said Bruce, in droll disparagement. +"You with forty-nine bottles of pasteurized milk? Suppose you smashed one? +Where'd you be? Moving our family isn't a job; it's a science, and I've got +my degree." He rose and his face softened. "Poor girl, she mustn't worry +like that. I'll run in and tell her I'll do it myself--just to get it off +her mind." + +He went to his wife. And when he came back his dark features appeared a +little more drawn. + +"Poor devil," thought Roger, "he's scared to death--just as I used to be +myself." + +"Pretty tough on a woman, isn't it?" Bruce muttered, smiling constrainedly. + +"Did Baird say everything's going well?" Baird was Edith's physician. + +"Yes. He was here this afternoon, and he said he'd be back this evening." +Bruce stopped with a queer little scowl of suspense. "I told her I'd see to +the trip with the kiddies, and it seemed to relieve her a lot." His eye +went to a pile of documents that lay on the desk before him. "It'll play +the very devil with business, taking three days off just now. But I guess I +can manage it somehow--" + +A muscle began to twitch on his face. He re-lit his pipe with elaborate +care and looked over at Roger confidingly: + +"Do you know what's the matter with kids these days? It's the twentieth +century," he said. "It's a disease. It starts in their teeth. No modern +girl can get married unless she has had her teeth straightened for years. +Our dentist's bill, this year alone, was over eight hundred dollars. But +that isn't all. It gets into their young intestines, God bless 'em, and +makes you pasteurize all they eat. It gets into their nerves and tears 'em +up, and your only chance to save 'em is school--not a common school but a +'simple' school, tuition four hundred dollars a year. And you hire a +dancing teacher besides--I mean a rhythm teacher--and let 'em shake it out +of their feet. And after that you buy 'em clothes--not fluffy clothes, but +'simple' clothes, the kind which always cost the most. And then you build a +simple home, in a simple place like Morristown. The whole idea is +simplicity. If you can't make enough to buy it, you're lost. If you can +make enough, just barely enough, you get so excited you lose your head--and +do what I did Monday." + +The two men smiled at each other. Roger was very fond of Bruce. + +"What did you do Monday?" he asked. + +"I bought that car I told you about." + +"Splendid! Best thing in the world for you! Tell me all about it!" + +And while Bruce rapidly grew engrossed in telling of the car's fine points, +Roger pictured his son-in-law upon hot summer evenings (for Bruce spent his +summers in town) forgetting his business for a time and speeding out into +the country. Then he thought of Edith and the tyranny of her motherhood, +always draining her husband's purse and keeping Edith so wrapt up in her +children and their daily needs that she had lost all interest in anything +outside her home. What was there wrong about it? He knew that Edith prided +herself on being like her mother. But Judith had always found time for her +friends. He himself had been more as Edith was now. How quickly after +Judith died he had dropped all friends, all interests. "That's it," he +ruefully told himself, "Edith takes after her father." And the same curious +feeling which he had had with Laura, came back to him with her sister. This +daughter, too, was a part of himself. His deep instinctive craving to keep +to himself and his family was living on in Edith, was already dominating +her home. What a queer mysterious business it was, this tie between a man +and his child. + +He was thinking of this when Baird arrived. Allan Baird was not only the +doctor who had brought Edith's children into the world, he was besides an +intimate friend, he had been Bruce's room-mate at college. As he came +strolling into the room with his easy greeting of "Well, folks--" his low +gruff voice, his muscular frame, over six feet two, and the kindly calm +assurance in his lean strong visage, gave to Bruce and Roger the feeling of +safety they needed. For this kind of work was his life. He had specialized +on women, and after over fifteen years of toilsome uphill labor he had +become at thirty-seven one of the big gynecologists. He was taking his +success with the quiet relish of a man who had had to work for it hard. And +yet he had not been spoiled by success. He worked even harder than +before--so hard, in fact, that Deborah, with whom through Bruce and Edith +he had long ago struck up an easy bantering friendship, had sturdily set +herself the task of prying open his eyes a bit. She had taken him to her +school at night and to queer little foreign cafes. And Baird, with a humor +of his own, had retaliated by dragging her to the Astor Roof and to musical +plays. + +"If my eyes are to be opened," he had doggedly declared, "I propose to have +some diamonds in the scenery, and a little cheery ragtime, too. You've got +a good heart, Deborah Gale, but your head is full of tenements." + +To-night to divert Bruce's thoughts from his wife, Baird started him +talking of his work. In six weeks Bruce had crammed his mind with the +details of skyscraper building, and his talk was bewildering now, bristling +with technical terms, permeated through and through with the feeling of +strain and fierce competition. As Roger listened he had again that sharp +and oppressive sensation of a savage modern town unrelentingly pressing, +pressing in. Restlessly he glanced at Baird who sat listening quietly. And +Roger thought of the likeness between their two professions. For Bruce, +too, was a surgeon. His patients were the husbands in their distracting +offices. Baird's were the wives and mothers in their equally distracting +homes. Which were more tense, the husbands or wives? And, good Lord, what +was it all about, this feverish strain of getting and spending? What were +they spending? Their very life's blood. And what were they getting? +Happiness? What did most of them know of real happiness? How little they +knew, how blind they were, and yet how they laughed and chattered along, +how engrossed in their little games. What children, oh, what children! + +"And am I any better than the rest? Do I know what I'm after--what I'm +about?" + +He left them soon, for he felt very tired. He went to his daughter to say +good-night. And in her room the talk he had heard became to him suddenly +remote, that restless world of small account. For in Edith, in the one +brief hour since her father had seen her last, there had come a great +transformation, into her face an eager light. She was slipping down into a +weird small world which for a brief but fearful season was to be utterly +her own, with agony and bloody sweat, and joy and a deep mystery. Clumsily +he took her hand. It was moist and he felt it clutch his own. He heard her +breathing rapidly. + +"Good-night," he said in a husky tone. "I'll be so glad, my dear, so +glad." + +For answer she gave him a hurried smile, a glance from her bright restless +eyes. Then he went heavily from the room. + + * * * * * + +At home he found Deborah sitting alone, with a pile of school papers in her +lap. As he entered she slowly turned her head. + +"How is Edith?" she asked him. Roger told of his visit uptown, and spoke of +Edith's anxiety over getting the children up to the farm. + +"I'll take them myself," said Deborah. + +"But how can you get away from school?" + +"Oh, I think I can manage it. We'll leave on Friday morning and I can be +back by Sunday night. I'll love it," Deborah answered. + +"It'll be a great relief to her," said Roger, lighting a cigar. Deborah +resumed her work, and there was silence for a time. + +"I let George sit up with me till an hour after his bedtime," she told her +father presently. "We started talking about white rats--you see it's still +white rats with George--and that started us wondering about God. George +wonders if God really knows about rats. 'Has he ever stuck his face right +down and had a good close look at one? Has God ever watched a rat stand up +and brush his whiskers with both paws? Has he ever really laughed at rats? +And that's another thing, Aunt Deborah--does God ever laugh at all? Does he +know how to take a joke? If he don't, we might as well quit right now!'" + +Roger laughed with relish, and his daughter smiled at him: + +"Then the talk turned from rats and God to a big dam out in the Rockies. +George has been reading about it, he's thinking of being an engineer. And +there was so much he wanted to know that he was soon upon the verge of +discovering my ignorance--when all of a sudden a dreamy look, oh, a very +dreamy look, came into his eyes--and he asked me this." And over her bright +expressive face came a scowl of boyish intensity: "Suppose I _was_ an +engineer--and I was working on a dam, or may be a bridge, in the Rockies. +And say it was pretty far down south--say around the Grand Canyon. I should +think they'd need a dam down there, or anyhow a bridge,' said George. And +he eyed me in a cautious way which said as plain as the nose on your face, +'Good Lord, she's only a woman, and she won't understand.' But I showed him +I was serious, and he asked me huskily, 'Suppose it was winter, Aunt +Deborah, and the Giants were in Texas. Do you think I could get a few days +off?' And then before he could tell me the Giants were a baseball nine, I +said I was sure he could manage it. You should have seen his face light up. +And he added very fervently, 'Gee, it must be wonderful to be an engineer +out there!'" + +Roger chuckled delightedly and Deborah went on with her work. "How good she +is with young uns," he thought. "What a knack she has of drawing 'em out. +What a pity she hasn't some of her own." + +He slept until late the next morning, and awoke to find Deborah by his bed. + +"It's another boy," she told him. Roger sat up excitedly. "Bruce has just +telephoned the news. The children and I have breakfasted, and they're going +out with their nurse. Suppose you and I go up and see Bruce and settle this +trip to the mountains." + +About an hour later, arriving at Edith's apartment, they found Bruce +downstairs with Allan Baird who was just taking his departure. Bruce's dark +eyes shone with relief, but his hand was hot and nervous. Allan, on the +contrary, held out to Edith's father a hand as steady and relaxed as was +the bantering tone of his voice. + +"Bruce," he said, "has for once in his life decided to do something +sensible. He's going to drop his wretched job and take a week off with his +children." + +"And worry every minute he's gone," Deborah retorted, "and come back and +work day and night to catch up. But he isn't going to do it. I've decided +to take the children myself." + +"You have?" cried Bruce delightedly. + +"You'll do no such thing," said Allan, indignant. + +"Oh, you go to thunder," Bruce put in. "Haven't you any delicacy? Can't you +see this is no business of yours?" + +"It isn't, eh," Allan sternly rejoined. And of Deborah he demanded, "Didn't +you say you'd go with me to 'Pinafore' this Saturday night?" + +"Ah," sneered Bruce. "So that's your game. And for one little night of your +pleasure you'd do me out of a week of my life!" + +"Like that," said Baird, with a snap of his fingers. + +"I'm going, though," said Deborah. + +"Quite right, little woman," Bruce admonished her earnestly. "Don't let him +rob you of your happiness." + +"Come here," growled Baird to Deborah. She followed him into the living +room, and Roger went upstairs with Bruce. + +"If he ever hopes to marry that girl," said Bruce, with an anxious backward +glance, "he's got to learn to treat her with a little consideration." + +"Quit your quarreling," Roger said. "What's a week in the mountains to you? +Hasn't your wife just risked her life?" + +"Sure she has," said Bruce feelingly. "And I propose to stick by her, too." + +"Can I see her?" + +"No, you can't--another of Baird's fool notions." + +"Then where's the baby?" + +"Right in here." + +Silently in front of the cradle Bruce and Roger stood looking down with the +content which comes to men on such occasions when there is no woman by +their side expecting them to say things. + +"I made it a rule in my family," Roger spoke up presently, "to have my +first look at each child alone." + +"Same here," said Bruce. And they continued their silent communion. A few +moments later, as they were leaving, Deborah came into the room and went +softly to the cradle. Downstairs they found that Allan had gone, and when +Deborah rejoined them she said she was going to stick to her plan. It was +soon arranged that she and the youngsters should start on their journey the +following day. + +Back at home she threw herself into the packing and was busy till late that +night. At daybreak she was up again, for they were to make an early start. +Bruce came with his new automobile, the children were all bundled in, +together with Deborah and their nurse, and a half hour later at the train +Bruce and Roger left them--Deborah flushed and happy, surrounded by +luggage, wraps, small boys, an ice box, toys and picture books. The small +red hat upon her head had already been jerked in a scrimmage, far down over +one of her ears. + +"Don't worry about us, Bruce," she said. "We're going to have the time of +our lives!" Bruce fairly beamed his gratitude. + +"If she don't marry," he declared, as he watched the train move slowly out, +"there'll be a great mother wasted." + + + + +CHAPTER VII + + +In the weeks which followed, Roger found the peace of his home so +interrupted and disturbed by wedding preparations that often retreating +into his den he earnestly told himself he was through, that a man with +three grown daughters was a fool to show any sympathy with the utter folly +of their lives. Yield an inch and they took a mile! It began one night when +Deborah said, + +"Now, dearie, I think you had better make up your mind to give Laura just +the kind of wedding she likes." + +And Roger weakly agreed to this, but as time wore on he discovered that the +kind of wedding Laura liked was a thing that made his blood run cold. There +seemed to be no end whatever to the young bride's blithe demands. The +trousseau part of it he didn't mind. To the gowns and hats and gloves and +shoes and trunks and jaunty travelling bags which came pouring into the +house, he made no objection. All that, he considered, was fair play. But +what got on Roger's nerves was this frantic fuss and change! The faded hall +carpet had to come up, his favorite lounge was whisked away, the piano was +re-tuned while he was trying to take a nap, rugs were beaten, crates and +barrels filled the halls, and one whole bedroom stripped and bare was +transformed into a shop where the wedding presents were displayed. In the +shuffle his box of cigars disappeared. In short, there was the devil to +pay! + +And Deborah, was as bad as the bride. At times it appeared to Roger as +though her fingers fairly itched to jab and tug at his poor old house, +which wore an air of mute reproach. She revealed a part of her nature that +he viewed with dark amazement. Every hour she could spare from school, she +was changing something or other at home--with an eager glitter in her eyes. +Doing it all for Laura, she said. Fiddlesticks and rubbish! She did it +because she liked it! + +In gloomy wrath one afternoon he went up to see Edith and quiet down. She +was well on the way to recovery, but instead of receiving solace here he +only found fresh troubles. For sitting up in her old-fashioned bed, with an +old-fashioned cap of lace upon her shapely little head, Edith made her +father feel she had washed her hands of the whole affair. + +"I'm sorry," she said in an injured tone, "that Laura doesn't care enough +about her oldest sister to put off the wedding two or three weeks so I +could be there. It seems rather undignified, I think, for a girl to hurry +her wedding so. I should have loved to make it the dear simple kind of +wedding which mother would have wanted. But so long as she doesn't care for +that--and in fact has only found ten minutes--once--to run in and see the +baby--" + +In dismay her father found himself defending the very daughter of whom he +had come to complain. It was not such a short engagement, he said, he had +learned they had been engaged some time before they told him. + +"Do you approve of that?" she rejoined. "When I was engaged, I made Bruce +go to you before I even let him--" here Edith broke off primly. "Of course +that was some time ago. An engagement, Laura tells me, is 'a mere +experiment' nowadays. They 'experiment' till they feel quite sure--then +notify their parents and get married in a week." + +"She is rushing it, I admit," Roger soothingly replied. "But she has her +mind set on Paris in June." + +"Paris in June," said Edith, "sums up in three words Laura's whole +conception of marriage. You really ought to talk to her, father. It's your +duty, it seems to me." + +"What do you mean?" + +"I'd rather not tell you." Edith's glance went sternly to the cradle by her +bed. "Laura pities me," she said, "for having had five children." + +"Oh, now, my dear girl!" + +"She does, though--she said as much. When she dropped in the other day and +I tried to be sympathetic and give her a little sound advice, she said I +had had the wedding I liked and the kind of married life I liked, and she +was going to have hers. And she made it quite plain that her kind is to +include no children. It's to be simply an effort to find by 'experiment' +whether or not she loves Hal Sloane. If she doesn't--" Edith gave a slight +but emphatic wave of dismissal. + +"Do you mean to say Laura told you that?" her father asked with an angry +frown. + +"I mean she made me feel it--as plainly as I'm telling it! What I can't +understand," his daughter went on, "is Deborah's attitude in the affair." + +"What's the matter with Deborah?" inquired Roger dismally. + +"Oh, nothing's the matter with Deborah. She's quite self-sufficient. She at +least can play with modern ideas and keep her head while she's doing it. +But when poor Laura--a mere child with the mind of a chicken--catches +vaguely at such ideas, applies them to her own little self and risks her +whole future happiness, it seems to me perfectly criminal for Deborah not +to interfere! Not even a word of warning!" + +"Deborah believes," said her father, "in everyone's leading his own life." + +"That's rot," was Edith's curt reply. "Do I lead my own life? Does Bruce? +Do you?" + +"No," growled Roger feelingly. + +"Do my children?" Edith demanded. "I know Deborah would like them to. +That's her latest and most modern fad, to run a school where every child +shall sit with a rat in its lap or a goat, and do just what he +pleases--follow his natural bent, she says. I hope she won't come up to the +mountains and practice on my children. I should hate to break with +Deborah," Edith ended thoughtfully. + +Roger rose and walked the room. The comforting idea entered his mind that +when the wedding was over he would take out his collection of rings and +carefully polish every one. But even this hope did not stay with him long. + +"With Laura at home," he heard Edith continue, "you at least had a daughter +to run your house. If Deborah tries to move you out--" + +"She won't!" cried Roger in alarm. + +"If she does," persisted Edith, "or if she begins any talk of the kind--you +come to me and _I'll_ talk to her!" + +Her father walked in silence, his head down, frowning at the floor. + +"It seems funny," Edith continued, "that women like me who give children +their lives, and men like Bruce who are building New York--actually doing +it all the time--have so little to say in these modern ideas. I suppose +it's because we're a little too real." + +"To come back to the wedding," Roger suggested. + +"To come back to the wedding, father dear," his daughter said +compassionately. "I'm afraid it's going to be a 'mere form' which will make +you rather wretched. When you get so you can't endure it, come in and see +me and the baby." + +As he started for home, her words of warning recurred to his mind. Yes, +here was the thing that disturbed him most, the ghost lurking under all +this confusion, the part which had to do with himself. It was bad enough to +know that his daughter, his own flesh and blood, was about to settle her +fate at one throw. But to be moved out of his house bag and baggage! Roger +strode wrathfully up the street. + +"It's your duty to talk to her," Edith had said. And he meditated darkly on +this: "Maybe I will and maybe I won't. I know my duties without being told. +How does Edith know what her mother liked? We had our own likings, her +mother and I, and our own ideas, long after she was tucked into bed. And +yet she's always harping on 'what mother would have wanted.' What I should +like to know--right now--is what Judith would want if she were here!" + +With a pang of utter loneliness amid these vexing problems, Roger felt it +crowding in, this city of his children's lives. As he strode on down +Broadway, an old hag selling papers thrust one in his face and he caught a +glimpse of a headline. Some bigwig woman re-divorced. How about Laura's +"experiment"? A mob of street urchins nearly upset him. How about Deborah? +How about children? How about schools, education, the country? How about +God? Was anyone thinking? Had anyone time? What a racket it made, +slam-banging along. The taxis and motor trucks thundered and brayed, dark +masses of people swept endlessly by, as though their very souls depended on +their dinners or their jobs, their movies, roaring farces, thrills, their +harum scarum dances, clothes. A plump little fool of a woman, her skirt so +tight she could barely walk, tripped by on high-heeled slippers. That was +it, he told himself, the whole city was high-heeled! No solid footing +anywhere! And, good Lord, how they chattered! + +He turned into a less noisy street. What would Judith want if she were +here? It became disturbingly clear to him that she would undoubtedly wish +him to have a talk with Laura now, find out if she'd really made up her +mind not to have any children, and if so to tell her plainly that she was +not only going against her God but risking her own happiness. For though +Judith had been liberal about any number of smaller things, she had been +decidedly clear on this. Yes, he must talk to Laura. + +"And she'll tell me," he reflected, "that Edith put me up to it!" + +If only his oldest daughter would leave the other girls alone! Here she was +planning a row with Deborah over whether poor young George should be +allowed to play with rats! It was all so silly!... Yes, his three children +were drifting apart, each one of them going her separate way. And he rather +took comfort in the thought, for at least it would stop their wrangling. +But again he pulled himself up with a jerk. No, certainly Judith would not +have liked this. If she'd ever stood for anything, it was for keeping the +family together. It had been the heart and center of their last talks +before she died. + +His face relaxed as he walked on, but in his eyes was a deeper pain. If +only Judith could be here. Before he reached home he had made up his mind +to talk with Laura that very night. He drew out his latchkey, opened his +door, shut it firmly and strode into his house. In the hall they were +putting down the new carpet. Cautiously picking his way upstairs, he +inquired for Laura and was told she was dressing for dinner. He knocked at +her door. + +"Yes?" came her voice. + +"It's I," he said, "your father." + +"Oh, hello, dad," came the answer gaily, in that high sweet voice of hers. +"I'm frightfully rushed. It's a dinner dance to-night for the bridesmaids +and the ushers." Roger felt a glow of relief. "Come in a moment, won't +you?" + +What a resplendent young creature she was, seated at her dresser. Behind +her the maid with needle and thread was swiftly mending a little tear in +the fluffy blue tulle she was wearing. The shaded light just over her head +brought a shimmer of red in her sleek brown hair. What lips she had, what a +bosom. She drew a deep breath and smiled at him. + +"What are you doing to-morrow night?" her father asked her. + +"Oh, dad, my love, we have every evening filled and crammed right up to the +wedding," she replied. "No--the last evening I'll be here. Hal's giving his +ushers a dinner that night." + +"Good. I want to talk to you, my dear." He felt his voice solemn, a great +mistake. He saw the quick glance from her luminous eyes. + +"All right, father--whenever you like." + +Much embarrassed Roger left the room. + +The few days which remained were a crowding confusion of dressmakers, gowns +and chattering friends and gifts arriving at all hours. As a part of his +resolve to do what he could for his daughter, Roger stayed home from his +office that week. But all he could do was to unpack boxes, take out +presents and keep the cards, and say, "Yes, my dear, it's very nice. Where +shall I put this one?" As the array of presents grew, from time to time +unconsciously he glanced at the engagement ring upon Laura's finger. And +all the presents seemed like that. They would suit her apartment +beautifully. He'd be glad when they were out of the house. + +The only gift that appealed to his fancy was a brooch, neither rich nor +new, a genuine bit of old jewelry. But rather to his annoyance he learned +that it had been sent to Laura by the old Galician Jew in the shop around +the corner. It recalled to his mind the curious friendship which had +existed for so long between the old man and his daughter. And as she turned +the brooch to the light Roger thought he saw in her eyes anticipations +which made him uneasy. Yes, she was a child of his. "June in Paris--" +other Junes--"experiments"--no children. Again he felt he must have that +talk. But, good Lord, how he dreaded it. + +The house was almost ready now, dismantled and made new and strange. It was +the night before the wedding. Laura was taking her supper in bed. What was +he going to say to her? He ate his dinner silently. At last he rose with +grim resolution. + +"I think I'll go up and see her," he said. Deborah quickly glanced at him. + +"What for?" she asked. + +"Oh, I just want to talk to her--" + +"Don't stay long," she admonished him. "I've a masseuse coming at nine +o'clock to get the child in condition to rest. Her nerves are rather tense, +you know." + +"How about mine?" he said to himself as he started upstairs. "Never mind, +I've got to tackle it." + +Laura saw what he meant to say the moment that he entered the room, and the +tightening of her features made it all the harder for Roger to think +clearly, to remember the grave, kind, fatherly things which he had intended +to tell her. + +"I don't want to talk of the wedding, child, but of what's coming after +that--between you and this man--all your life." He stopped short, with his +heart in his mouth, for although he did not look at her he had a quick +sensation as though he had struck her in the face. + +"Isn't this rather late to speak about that? Just now? When I'm nervous +enough as it is?" + +"I know, I know." He spoke hurriedly, humbly. "I should have talked to you +long ago, I should have known you better, child. I've been slack and +selfish. But it's better late than never." + +"But you needn't!" the girl exclaimed. "You needn't tell me anything! I +know more than you think--I know enough!" Roger looked at her, then at the +wall. She went on in a voice rather breathless: "I know what I'm +doing--exactly--just what I'm getting into. It's not as it was when you +were young--it's different--we talk of these things. Harold and I have +talked it all out." In the brief and dangerous pause which followed Roger +kept looking at the wall. + +"Have you talked--about having children?" + +"Yes," came the answer sharply, and then he felt the hot clutch of her +hand. "Hadn't you better go now, dad?" He hesitated. + +"No," he said. His voice was low. "Do you mean to have children, Laura?" + +"I don't know." + +"I think you do know. Do you mean to have children?" Her big black eyes, +dilating, were fixed defiantly on his own. + +"Well then, no, I don't!" she replied. He made a desperate effort to think +what he could say to her. Good God, how he was bungling! Where were all his +arguments? + +"How about your religion?" he blurted out. + +"I haven't any--which makes me do that--I've a right to be happy!" + +"You haven't!" His voice had suddenly changed. In accent and in quality it +was like a voice from the heart of New England where he had been born and +bred. "I mean you won't be happy--not unless you have a child! It's what +you need--it'll fill your life! It'll settle you--deepen you--tone you +down!" + +"Suppose I don't want to be toned down!" The girl was almost hysterical. +"I'm no Puritan--I want to live! I tell you we are different now! We're not +all like Edith--and we're not like our mothers! We want to live! And we +have a right to! Why don't you go? Can't you see I'm nearly crazy? It's my +last night, my very last! I don't want to talk to you--I don't even know +what I'm saying! And you come and try to frighten me!" Her voice caught +and broke into sobs. "You know nothing about me! You never did! Leave me +alone, can't you--leave me alone!" + +"Father?" He heard Deborah's voice, abrupt and stern, outside the door. + +"I'm sorry," he said hoarsely. He went in blind fashion out of the room and +down to his study. He lit a cigar and smoked wretchedly there. When +presently Deborah appeared he saw that her face was set and hard; but as +she caught the baffled look, the angry tortured light in his eyes, her own +expression softened. + +"Poor father," she said, in a pitying way. "If Edith had only let you +alone." + +"I certainly didn't do much good." + +"Of course you didn't--you did harm--oh, so much more harm than you know." +Into the quiet voice of his daughter crept a note of keen regret. "I wanted +to make her last days in this house a time she could look back on, so that +she'd want to come home for help if ever she's in trouble. She has so +little--don't you see?--of what a woman needs these days. She has grown up +so badly. Oh, if you'd only let her alone. It was such a bad, bad time to +choose." She went to her father and kissed him. "Well, it's over now," she +said, "and we'll make the best we can of it. I'll tell her you're sorry and +quiet her down. And to-morrow we'll try to forget it has happened." + + * * * * * + +For Roger the morrow went by in a whirl. The wedding, a large church +affair, was to take place at twelve o'clock. He arose early, put on his +Prince Albert, went down and ate his breakfast alone. The waitress was +flustered, the coffee was burnt. He finished and anxiously wandered about. +The maids were bustling in and out, with Deborah giving orders pellmell. +The caterers came trooping in. The bridesmaids were arriving and hurrying +up to Roger's room. That place was soon a chaos of voices, giggles, peals +of laughter. Laura's trunks were brought downstairs, and Roger tagged them +for the ship, one for the cabin and three for the hold, and saw them into +the wagon. Then he strode distractedly everywhere, till at last he was +hustled by Deborah into a taxi waiting outside. + +"It's all going so smoothly," Deborah said, and a faint sardonic glimmer +came into her father's hunted eyes. Deborah was funny! + +Soon he found himself in the church. He heard whispers, eager voices, heard +one usher say to another, "God, what a terrible head I've got!" And Roger +glared at him for that. Plainly these youngsters, all mere boys, had been +up with the groom a good part of the night.... But here was Laura, pale and +tense. She smiled at him and squeezed his hand. There was silence, then the +organ, and now he was taking her up the aisle. Strange faces stared. His +jaw set hard. At last they reached the altar. An usher quickly touched his +arm and he stepped back where he belonged. He listened but understood +nothing. Just words, words and motions. + +"If any man can show just cause why they may not be lawfully joined +together, let him now speak or else hereafter forever hold his peace." + +"No," thought Roger, "I won't speak." + +Just then he caught sight of Deborah's face, and at the look in her steady +gray eyes all at once he could feel the hot tears in his own. + +At the wedding breakfast he was gay to a boisterous degree. He talked to +strange women and brought them food, took punch with men he had never laid +eyes on, went off on a feverish hunt for cigars, came back distractedly, +joked with young girls and even started some of them dancing. The whole +affair was over in no time. The bride and the groom came rushing +downstairs; and as they escaped from the shower of rice, Roger ran after +them down the steps. He gripped Sloane's hand. + +"Remember, boy, it's her whole life!" entreated Roger hoarsely. + +"Yes, sir! I'll look out! No fear!" + +"Good-bye, daddy!" + +"God bless you, dear!" + +They were speeding away. And with the best man, who looked weary and spent, +Roger went slowly back up the steps. It was an effort now to talk. Thank +Heaven these people soon were gone. Last of all went the ponderous aunt of +the groom. How the taxi groaned as he helped her inside and started her off +to Bridgeport. Back in his study he found his cigars and smoked one +dismally with Bruce. Bruce was a decent sort of chap. He knew when to be +silent. + +"Well," he spoke finally, rising, "I guess I'll have to get back to the +office." He smiled a little and put his hand on Roger's weary shoulder. +"We're glad it's over--eh?" he asked. + +"Bruce," said Roger heavily, "you've got a girl of your own growing up. +Don't let her grow to feel you're old. Live on with her. She'll need you." +His massive blunt face darkened. "The world's so damnably new," he +muttered, "so choked up with fool ideas." Bruce still smiled +affectionately. + +"Go up and see Edith," he said, "and forget 'em. She never lets one into +the flat. She said you were to be sure to come and tell her about the +wedding." + +"All right, I'll go," said Roger. He hunted about for his hat and coat. +What a devilish mess they had made of the house. A half hour later he was +with Edith; but there, despite his efforts to answer all her questions, he +grew heavier and heavier, till at last he barely spoke. He sat watching +Edith's baby. + +"Did you talk to Laura?" he heard her ask. + +"Yes," he replied. "It did no good." He knew that Edith was waiting for +more, but he kept doggedly silent. + +"Well, dear," she said presently, "at least you did what you could for +her." + +"I've never done what I could," he rejoined. "Not with any one of you." He +glanced at her with a twinge of pain. "I don't know as it would have helped +much if I had. This town is running away with itself. I want a rest now, +Edith, I want things quiet for a while." He felt her anxious, pitying look. + +"Where's Deborah?" she asked him. "Gone back to school already?" + +"I don't know where she is," he replied. And then he rose forlornly. "I +guess I'll be going back home," he said. + +On his way, as his thoughts slowly cleared, the old uneasiness rose in his +mind. Would Deborah want to keep the house? Suppose she suggested moving to +some titty-tatty little flat. No, he would not stand in her way. But, Lord, +what an end to make of his life. + +His home was almost dark inside, but he noticed rather to his surprise that +the rooms had already been put in order. He sank down on the living room +sofa and lay motionless for a while. How tired he was. From time to time he +drearily sighed. Yes, Deborah would find him old and life here dull and +lonely. Where was she to-night, he wondered. Couldn't she quit her zoo +school for one single afternoon? At last, when the room had grown pitch +dark, he heard the maid lighting the gas in the hall. Roger loudly cleared +his throat, and at the sound the startled girl ejaculated, "Oh, my Gawd!" + +"It's I," said Roger sternly. "Did Miss Deborah say when she'd be back?" + +"She didn't go out, sir. She's up in her room." + +Roger went up and found her there. All afternoon with both the maids she +had been setting the house to rights, and now she ached in every limb. She +was lying on her bed, and she looked as though she had been crying. + +"Where have you been?" she inquired. + +"At Edith's," her father answered. She reached up and took his hand, and +held it slowly tighter. + +"You aren't going to find it too lonely here, with Laura gone?" she asked +him. And the wistfulness in her deep sweet voice made something thrill in +Roger. + +"Why should I?" he retorted. Deborah gave a queer little laugh. + +"Oh, I'm just silly, that's all," she said. "I've been having a fit of +blues. I've been feeling so old this afternoon--a regular old woman. I +wanted you, dearie, and I was afraid that you--" she broke off. + +"Look here," said Roger sharply. "Do you really want to keep this house?" + +"Keep this house? Why, father!" + +"You think you can stand it here alone, just the two of us?" he demanded. + +"I can," cried Deborah happily. Her father walked to the window. There as +he looked blindly out, his eyes were assaulted by the lights of all those +titty-tatty flats. And a look of vicious triumph appeared for a moment on +his face. + +"Very well," he said quietly, turning back. "Then we're both suited." He +went to the door. "I'll go and wash up for supper," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + + +It was a relief to him to find how smoothly he and Deborah dropped back +into their old relations. It was good to get home those evenings; for in +this new stage of its existence, with its family of two, the house appeared +to have filled itself with a deep reposeful feeling. Laura had gone out of +its life. He glanced into her room one night, and it looked like a guest +room now. The sight of it brought him a pang of regret. But the big ship +which was bearing her swiftly away to "Paris in June" seemed bearing off +Roger's uneasiness too. He could smile at his former fears, for Laura was +safely married and wildly in love with her husband. Time, he thought, would +take care of the rest. Occasionally he missed her here--her voice, +high-pitched but musical, chatting and laughing at the 'phone, her bustle +of dressing to go out, glimpses of her extravagances, of her smart suits +and evening gowns, of all the joyous color and dash that she had given to +his home. But these regrets soon died away. The old house shed them easily, +as though glad to enter this long rest. + +For the story of his family, from Roger's point of view at least, was a +long uneven narrative, with prolonged periods of peace and again with +events piling one on the other. And now there came one of those peaceful +times, and Roger liked the quiet. The old routine was re-established--his +dinner, his paper, his cigar and then his book for the evening, some good +old-fashioned novel or some pleasant book of travel which he and Judith had +read aloud when they were planning out their lives. They had meant to go +abroad so often when the children had grown up. And he liked to read about +it still. Life was so quiet over the sea, things were so old and mellow +there. He resumed, too, his horseback rides, and on the way home he would +stop in for a visit with Edith and her baby. The wee boy grew funnier every +day, with his sudden kicks and sneezes, his waving fists and mighty yawns. +And Roger felt drawn to his daughter here, for in these grateful seasons of +rest that followed the birth of each of her children, Edith loved to lie +very still and make new plans for her small brood. + +Only once she spoke of Laura, and then it was to suggest to him that he +gather together all the bills his daughter had doubtless left behind. + +"If you don't settle them," Edith said, "they'll go to her husband. And you +wouldn't like that, would you?" + +Roger said he would see to it, and one evening after dinner he started in +on Laura's bills. It was rather an appalling time. He looked into his bank +account and found that Laura's wedding would take about all his surplus. +But this did not dismay him much, for money matters never did. It simply +meant more work in the office. + +The next day he rose early and was in his office by nine o'clock. He had +not been so prompt in months, and many of his employees came in late that +morning. But nobody seemed very much perturbed, for Roger was an easy +employer. Still, he sternly told himself, he had been letting things get +altogether too slack. He had been neglecting his business again. The work +had become so cut and dried, there was nothing creative left to do. It had +not been so in years gone by. Those years had fairly bristled with ideas +and hopes and schemes. But even those old memories were no longer here to +hearten him. They had all been swept away when Bruce had made him move out +of his office in a dark creaky edifice down close under Brooklyn Bridge, +and come up to this new building, this steel-ribbed caravansary for all +kinds of business ventures, this place of varnished woodwork, floods of +daylight, concrete floors, this building fireproof throughout. That +expressed it exactly, Roger thought. Nothing could take fire here, not even +a man's imagination, even though he did not feel old. Now and then in the +elevator, as some youngster with eager eyes pushed nervously against him, +Roger would frown and wonder, "What are you so excited about?" + +But again the business was running down, and this time he must jerk it back +before it got beyond him. He set himself doggedly to the task, calling in +his assistants one by one, going through the work in those outer rooms, +where at tables long rows of busy young girls, with colored pencils, +scissors and paste, were demolishing enormous piles of newspapers and +magazines. And vaguely, little by little, he came to a realization of how +while he had slumbered the life of the country had swept on. For as he +studied the lists and the letters of his patrons, Roger felt confusedly +that a new America was here. + +Clippings, clippings, clippings. Business men and business firms, gigantic +corporations, kept sending here for clippings, news of themselves or their +rivals, keeping keen watch on each other's affairs for signs of strength or +weakness. How savage was the fight these days. Here was news of mines and +mills and factories all over the land, clippings sent each morning by +special messengers downtown to reach the brokers' offices before the market +opened. One broker wrote, "Please quote your terms for the following. From +nine to two o'clock each day our messenger will call at your office every +hour for clippings giving information of the companies named below." + +The long list appended carried Roger's fancy out all over the continent. +And then came this injunction: "Remember that our messenger must leave your +office every hour. In information of this kind every minute counts." + +Clippings, clippings, clippings. As Roger turned over his morning mail, in +spite of himself he grew absorbed. What a change in the world of +literature. What a host of names of scribblers, not authors but just +writers, not only men but women too, novelists and dramatists, poets and +muckrakers all jumbled in together, each one of them straining for a place. +And the actors and the actresses, the musicians and the lecturers, each +with his press agent and avid for publicity, "fame!" And here were society +women, from New York and other cities, all eager for press notices of +social affairs they had given or managed, charity work they had conducted, +suffrage speeches they had made. Half the women in the land were fairly +talking their heads off, it seemed. Some had been on his lists for years. +They married and wanted to hear what was said in the papers about their +weddings, they quarreled and got divorces and still sent here for +clippings, they died and still their relatives wrote in for the funeral +notices. And even death was commercialized. A maker of monuments wanted +news "of all people of large means, dead or dangerously ill, in the State +of Pennsylvania." Here were demands from charity bodies, hospitals and +colleges, from clergymen with an anxious eye on the Monday morning papers. +And here was an anarchist millionaire! And here was an insane asylum +wanting to see itself in print! + +With a grim smile on his heavy visage, Roger stared out of his window. +Slowly the smile faded, a wistful look came on his face. + +"Who'll take my business when I'm gone?" + +If his small son had only lived, with what new zest and vigor it might have +been made to grow and expand. If only his son had been here by his side.... + + + + +CHAPTER IX + + +DEBORAH needed rest, he thought, for the bright attractive face of his +daughter was looking rather pale of late, and the birthmark on her forehead +showed a faint thin line of red. One night at dinner, watching her, he +wondered what was on her mind. She had come in late, and though several +times she had made an effort to keep up the conversation, her cheeks were +almost colorless and more than once in her deepset eyes came a flash of +pain that startled him. + +"Look here. What's the matter with you?" he asked. Deborah looked up +quickly. + +"I'd rather not talk about it, dad--" + +"Very well," he answered. And with a slight hesitation, "But I think I know +the trouble," he said. "And perhaps some other time--when you do feel like +talking--" He stopped, for on her wide sensitive lips he saw a twitch of +amusement. + +"What do you think is the trouble?" she asked. And Roger looked at her +squarely. + +"Loneliness," he answered. + +"Why?" she asked him. + +"Well, there's Edith's baby--and Laura getting married--" + +"I see--and so I'm lonely for a family of my own. But you're forgetting my +school," she said. + +"Yes, yes, I know," he retorted. "But that's not at all the same. +Interesting work, no doubt, but--well, it isn't personal." + +"Oh, isn't it?" she answered, and she drew a quivering breath. Rising from +the table she went into the living room, and there a few moments later he +found her walking up and down. "I think I will tell you now," she said. +"I'm afraid of being alone to-night, of keeping this matter to myself." He +looked at her apprehensively. + +"Very well, my dear," he said. + +"This is the trouble," she began. "Down in my school we've a family of +about three thousand children. A few I get to know so well I try to follow +them when they leave. And one of these, an Italian boy--his name is Joe +Bolini--was one of the best I ever had, and one of the most appealing. But +Joe took to drinking and got in with a gang of boys who blackmailed small +shopkeepers. He used to come to me at times in occasional moods of +repentance. He was a splendid physical type and he'd been a leader in our +athletics, so I took him back into the school to manage our teams in +basket-ball. He left the gang and stopped drinking, and we had long talks +together about his great ambition. He wanted to enter the Fire Department +as soon as he was twenty-one. And I promised to use my influence." She +stopped, still frowning slightly. + +"What happened?" Roger asked her. + +"His girl took up with another man, and Joe has hot Italian blood. He got +drunk one night and--shot them both." There was another silence. "I did +what I could," she said harshly, "but he had a bad record behind him, and +the young assistant district attorney had his own record to think of, too. +So Joe got a death sentence. We appealed the case but it did no good. He +was sent up the river and is in the death house now--and he sent for me to +come to-day. His letter hinted he was scared, he wrote that his priest was +no good to him. So I went up this afternoon. Joe goes to the chair +to-morrow at six." + +Deborah went to the sofa and sat down inertly. Roger remained motionless, +and a dull chill crept over him. + +"So you see my work is personal," he heard her mutter presently. All at +once she seemed so far away, such a stranger to him in this life of hers. + +"By George, it's horrible!" he said. "I'm sorry you went to see the boy!" + +"I'm glad," was his daughter's quick retort. "I've been getting much too +sure of myself--of my school, I mean, and what it can do. I needed this to +bring me back to the kind of world we live in!" + +"What do you mean?" he roughly asked. + +"I mean there are schools and prisons! And gallows and electric chairs! And +I'm for schools! They've tried their jails and gallows for whole black +hideous centuries! What good have they done? If they'd given Joe back to +the school and me, I'd have had him a fireman in a year! I know, because I +studied him hard! He'd have _grown_ fighting fires, he would have _saved_ +lives!" + +Again she stopped, with a catch of her breath. In suspense he watched her +angry struggle to regain control of herself. She sat bolt upright, rigid; +her birthmark showed a fiery red. In a few moments he saw her relax. + +"But of course," she added wearily, "it's much more complex than that. A +school is nothing nowadays--just by itself alone, I mean--it's only a part +of a city's life--which for most tenement children is either very dull and +hard, or cheap and false and overexciting. And behind all that lie the +reasons for that. And there are so many reasons." She stared straight past +her father as though at something far away. Then she seemed to recall +herself: "But I'm talking too much of my family." + +Roger carefully lit a cigar: + +"I don't think you are, my dear. I'd like to hear more about it." She +smiled: + +"To keep my mind off Joe, you mean." + +"And mine, too," he answered. + +They had a long talk that evening about her hope of making her school what +Roger visaged confusedly as a kind of mammoth home, the center of a +neighborhood, of one prodigious family. At times when the clock on the +mantle struck the hour loud and clear, there would fall a sudden silence, +as both thought of what was to happen at dawn. But quickly Roger would +question again and Deborah would talk steadily on. It was after midnight +when she stopped. + +"You've been good to me to-night, dearie," she said. "Let's go to bed now, +shall we?" + +"Very well," he answered. He looked at his daughter anxiously. She no +longer seemed to him mature. He could feel what heavy discouragements, what +problems she was facing in the dark mysterious tenement world which she had +chosen to make her own. And compared to these she seemed a mere girl, a +child groping its way, just making a start. And so he added wistfully, "I +wish I could be of more help to you." She looked up at him for a moment. + +"Do you know why you are such a help?" she said. "It's because you have +never grown old--because you've never allowed yourself to grow absolutely +certain about anything in life." A smile half sad and half perplexed came +on her father's heavy face. + +"You consider that a strong point?" he asked. + +"I do," she replied, "compared to being a bundle of creeds and prejudices." + +"Oh, I've got prejudices enough." + +"Yes," she said. "And so have I. But we're not even sure of _them_, these +days." + +"The world has a habit of crowding in," her father muttered vaguely. + + * * * * * + +Roger did not sleep that night. He could not keep his thoughts away from +what was going to happen at dawn. Yes, the city was crowding in upon this +quiet house of his. Dimly he could recollect, in the genial years of long +ago, just glancing casually now and then at some small and unobtrusive +notice in his evening paper: "Execution at Sing Sing." It had been so +remote to him. But here it was smashing into his house, through the life +his own daughter was leading day and night among the poor! Each time he +thought of that lad in a cell, again a chill crept over him! But savagely +he shook it off, and by a strong effort of his will he turned his thoughts +to the things she had told him about her school. Yes, in her main idea she +was right. He had no use for wild reforms, but here was something solid, a +good education for every child. More than once, while she had talked, +something very deep in Roger had leaped up in swift response. + +For Deborah, too, was a part of himself. He, too, had had his feeling for +humanity in the large. For years he had run a boys' club at a little +mission school in which his wife had been interested, and on Christmas Eve +he had formed the habit of gathering up a dozen small urchins right off the +street and taking them 'round and fitting them out with good warm winter +clothing, after which he had gone home to help Judith trim the Christmas +tree and fill their children's stockings. And later, when she had gone to +bed, invariably he had taken "The Christmas Carol" from its shelf and had +settled down with a glow of almost luxurious brotherhood. There was +sentiment in Roger Gale, and as he read of "Tiny Tim" his deepset eyes +would glisten with tears. + +And now here was Deborah fulfilling a part of him in herself. "You will +live on in our children's lives." But this was going much too far! She was +letting herself be swallowed up completely by this work of hers! It was all +very well for the past ten years, but she was getting on in age! High time +to marry and settle down! + +Again angrily he shook off the thought of that boy Joe alone in a cell, +eyes fixed in animal terror upon the steel door which would open so soon. + +The day was slowly breaking. It was the early part of June. How fresh and +lovely it must be up there in the big mountains with Edith's happy little +lads. Here it was raw and garish, weird. Some sparrows began quarreling +just outside his window. Roger rose and walked the room. Restlessly he went +into the hall. The old house appeared so strange in this light--as though +stripped bare--there was something gone. Softly he came to Deborah's door. +It was open wide, for the night had been warm, and she lay awake upon her +bed with her gaze fixed on the ceiling. She turned her head and saw him +there. He came in and sat down by her window. For a long time neither made +a sound. Then the great clock on the distant tower, which had been silent +through the night, resumed its deep and measured boom. It struck six times. +There was silence again. More and more taut grew his muscles, and suddenly +it felt to him as though Deborah's fierce agony were pounding into his very +soul. The slow, slow minutes throbbed away. At last he rose and left her. +There was a cold sweat on his brow. + +"I'll go down and make her some coffee," he thought. + +Down in the kitchen it was a relief to bang about hunting for the utensils. +On picnics up in the mountains his coffee had been famous. He made some now +and boiled some eggs, and they breakfasted in Deborah's room. She seemed +almost herself again. Later, while he was dressing, he saw her in the +doorway. She was looking at her father with bright and grateful, +affectionate eyes. + +"Will you come to school with me to-day? I'd like you to see it," Deborah +said. + +"Very well," he answered gruffly. + + + + +CHAPTER X + + +Out of the subway they emerged into a noisy tenement street. Roger had +known such streets as this, but only in the night-time, as picturesque and +adventurous ways in an underground world he had explored in search of +strange old glittering rings. It was different now. Gone were the Rembrandt +shadows, the leaping flare of torches, the dark surging masses of weird +uncouth humanity. Here in garish daylight were poverty and ugliness, here +were heaps of refuse and heavy smells and clamor. It disgusted and repelled +him, and he was tempted to turn back. But glancing at Deborah by his side +he thought of the night she had been through. No, he decided, he would go +on and see what she was up to here. + +They turned into a narrower street between tall dirty tenements, and in a +twinkling all was changed. For the street, as far as he could see, was gay +with flaunting colors, torrents of bobbing hats and ribbons, frocks and +blouses, shirts and breeches, vivid reds and yellows and blues. It was +deafening with joyous cries, a shrill incessant chatter, chatter, piercing +yells and shrieks of laughter. Children, swarms of children, children of +all sizes passed him, clean and dirty, smiling, scowling, hurrying, +running, pummeling, grabbing, whirling each other 'round and 'round--till +the very air seemed quivering with wild spirits and new life! + +He heard Deborah laughing. Five hilarious small boys had hold of her hands +and were marching in triumph waving their caps. "Heigh there--heigh there! +Heigh--heigh--heigh!" + +The school was close in front of them. An enormous building of brick and +tile wedged into a disordered mass of tenements, shops and factories, it +had been built around a court shut out from the street by a high steel +fence. They squeezed into the gateway, through which a shouting punching +mob of urchins were now pushing in; and soon from a balcony above Roger +looked down into the court, where out of a wild chaos order was appearing. +Boys to the right and girls to the left were forming in long sinuous lines, +and three thousand faces were turned toward the building. In front appeared +the Stars and Stripes. Then suddenly he heard a crash from underneath the +balcony, and looking down he saw a band made up of some thirty or forty +boys. Their leader, a dark Italian lad, made a flourish, a pass with his +baton, and the band broke into a blaring storm, an uproarious, booming +march. The mob below fell into step, and line after line in single file the +children marched into their school. + +"Look up! Look all around you!" He heard Deborah's eager voice in his ear. +And as he looked up from the court below he gave a low cry of amazement. In +hundreds of windows all around, of sweatshops, tenements, factories, on +tier upon tier of fire escapes and even upon the roofs above, silent +watchers had appeared. For this one moment in the day the whole congested +neighborhood had stopped its feverish labor and become an amphitheater with +all eyes upon the school. And the thought flashed into Roger's mind: +"Deborah's big family!" + +He had a strange confusing time. In her office, in a daze, he sat and heard +his daughter with her two assistant principals, her clerk and her +stenographer, plunge into the routine work of the day. What kind of school +teacher was this? She seemed more like the manager of some buzzing factory. +Messages kept coming constantly from class-rooms, children came for +punishment, and on each small human problem she was passing judgment +quickly. Meanwhile a score of mothers, most of them Italians with colored +shawls upon their heads, had straggled in and taken seats, and one by one +they came to her desk. For these women who had been children in peasant +huts in Italy now had children of their own in the great city of New York, +and they found it very baffling. How to keep them in at night? How to make +them go to the priest? How to feed and clothe them? How to live in these +tenement homes, in this wild din and chaos? They wanted help and they +wanted advice. Deborah spoke in Italian, but turning to her father she +would translate from time to time. + +A tired scowling woman said, "My boy won't obey me. His father is dead. +When I slap him he only jumps away. I lock him in and he steals the key, he +keeps it in his pocket. He steals the money that I earn. He says I'm from +the country." And a flabby anxious woman said, "My girl runs out to dance +halls. Sometimes she comes back at two in the morning. She is fifteen and +she ought to get married. But what can I do? A nice steady man who never +dances comes sometimes to see her--but she makes faces and calls him a +fatty, she dances before him and pushes him out and slams the door. What +can I do?" + +"Please come and see our janitor and make him fix our kitchen sink!" an +angry little woman cried. "When I try to wash the dishes the water spouts +all over me!" And then a plump rosy mother said in a soft coaxing voice, "I +have eight little children, all nice and clean. When you tell them to do +anything they always do it quickly. They smile at you, they are like +saints. So could the kind beautiful teacher fix it up with a newspaper to +send them to the country--this summer when it is so hot? The newspaper +could send a man and he could take our pictures." + +"Most of us girls used to be in this school," said a bright looking Jewess +of eighteen. "And you taught us how we should live nice. But how can we +live nice when our shop is so rotten? Our boss is trying to kiss the +girls, he is trying to hug them on the stairs. And what he pays us is a +joke, and we must work till nine o'clock. So will you help us, teacher, and +give us a room for our meetings here? We want to have a union." + +A truant officer brought in two ragged, frightened little chaps. Found on +the street during school hours, they had to give an account of themselves. +Sullenly one of them gave an address far up in the Bronx, ten miles away. +They had not been home for a week, he said. Was he lying? What was to be +done? Somewhere in the city their homes must be discovered. And the talk of +the truant officer made Roger feel ramifications here which wound out +through the police and the courts to reformatories, distant cells. He +thought of that electric chair, and suddenly he felt oppressed by the heavy +complexity of it all. + +And this was part and parcel of his daughter's daily work in school! Still +dazed, disturbed but curious, he sat and watched and listened, while the +bewildering demands of Deborah's big family kept crowding in upon her. He +went to a few of the class-rooms and found that reading and writing, +arithmetic and spelling were being taught in ways which he had never +dreamed of. He found a kindergarten class, a carpenter shop and a printing +shop, a sewing class and a cooking class in a large model kitchen. He +watched the nurse in her hospital room, he went into the dental clinic +where a squad of fifty urchins were having their teeth examined, and out +upon a small side roof he found a score of small invalids in steamer +chairs, all fast asleep. It was a strange astounding school! He heard +Deborah speak of a mothers' club and a neighborhood association; and he +learned of other ventures here, the school doctor, the nurse and the +visitor endlessly making experiments, delving into the neighborhood for +ways to meet its problems. And by the way Deborah talked to them he felt +she had gone before, that years ago by day and night she had been over the +ground alone. And she'd done all this while she lived in his house! + +Scattered memories out of the past, mere fragments she had told him, here +flashed back into his mind: humorous little incidents of daily battles she +had waged in rotten old tenement buildings with rags and filth and garbage, +with vermin, darkness and disease. Mingled with these had been accounts of +dances, weddings and christenings and of curious funeral rites. And +struggling with such dim memories of Deborah in her twenties, called forth +in his mind by the picture of the woman of thirty here, Roger grew still +more confused. What was to be the end of it? She was still but a pioneer in +a jungle, endlessly groping and trying new things. + +"How many children are there in the public schools?" he asked. + +"About eight hundred thousand," Deborah said. + +"Good Lord!" he groaned, and he felt within him a glow of indignation rise +against these immigrant women for breeding so inconsiderately. With the mad +city growing so fast, and the people of the tenements breeding, breeding, +breeding, and packing the schools to bursting, what could any teacher be +but a mere cog in a machine, ponderous, impersonal, blind, grinding out +future New Yorkers? + +He reached home limp and battered from the storm of new impressions coming +on top of his sleepless night. He had thought of a school as a simple +place, filled with little children, mischievous at times perhaps and some +with dirty faces, but still with minds and spirits clean, unsoiled as yet +by contact with the grim spirit of the town. He had thought of childhood as +something intimate and pure, inside his home, his family. Instead of that, +in Deborah's school he had been disturbed and thrilled by the presence all +around him of something wild, barbaric, dark, compounded of the city +streets, of surging crowds, of rushing feet, of turmoil, filth, disease and +death, of poverty and vice and crime. But Roger could still hear that band. +And behind its blaring crash and din he had felt the vital throbbing of a +tremendous joyousness, of gaiety, fresh hopes and dreams, of leaping young +emotions like deep buried bubbling springs bursting up resistlessly to +renew the fevered life of the town! Deborah's big family! Everybody's +children! + +"You will live on in our children's lives." The vision hidden in those +words now opened wide before his eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + + +She told him the next morning her night school closed for the summer that +week. + +"I think I should like to see it," her father said determinedly. She gave +him an affectionate smile: + +"Oh, dearie. Haven't you had enough?" + +"I guess I can stand it if you can," was his gruff rejoinder, "though if I +ran a school like yours I think by night I'd have schooled enough. Do most +principals run night schools too?" + +"A good many of them do." + +"Isn't it taxing your strength?" he asked. + +"Don't you have to tax your strength," his daughter replied good humoredly, +"to really accomplish anything? Don't you have to risk yourself in order to +really live these days? Suppose you come down to-morrow night. We won't go +to the school, for I doubt if the clubs and classes would interest you very +much. I'll take you through the neighborhood." + + * * * * * + +They went down the following evening. The night was warm and humid, and +through the narrow tenement streets there poured a teeming mass of life. +People by the thousands passed, bareheaded, men in shirt sleeves, their +faces glistening with sweat. Animal odors filled the air. The torches on +the pushcarts threw flaring lights and shadows, the peddlers shouted +hoarsely, the tradesmen in the booths and stalls joined in with cries, +shrill peals of mirth. The mass swept onward, talking, talking, and its +voice was a guttural roar. Small boys and girls with piercing yells kept +darting under elbows, old women dozed on doorsteps, babies screamed on +every side. Mothers leaned out of windows, and by their faces you could see +that they were screaming angrily for children to come up to bed. But you +could not hear their cries. Here around a hurdy gurdy gravely danced some +little girls. A tense young Jew, dark faced and thin, was shouting from a +wagon that all men and women must be free and own the factories and mills. +A mob of small boys, clustered 'round a "camp fire" they had made on the +street, were leaping wildly through the flames. It was a mammoth cauldron +here, seething, bubbling over with a million foreign lives. Deborah's big +family. + +She turned into a doorway, went down a long dark passage and came into a +court-yard enclosed by greasy tenement walls that reared to a spot of dark +blue sky where a few quiet stars were twinkling down. With a feeling of +repugnance Roger followed his daughter into a tall rear building and up a +rickety flight of stairs. On the fourth landing she knocked at a door, and +presently it was opened by a stout young Irish woman with flushed haggard +features and disheveled hair. + +"Oh. Good evening, Mrs. Berry." + +"Good evening. Come in," was the curt reply. They entered a small stifling +room where were a stove, two kitchen chairs and three frowzled beds in +corners. On one of the beds lay a baby asleep, on another two small +restless boys sat up and watched the visitors. A sick man lay upon the +third. And a cripple boy, a boarder here, stood on his crutches watching +them. Roger was struck at once by his face. Over the broad cheek bones the +sallow skin was tightly drawn, but there was a determined set to the jaws +that matched the boy's shrewd grayish eyes, and his face lit up in a +wonderful smile. + +"Hello, Miss Deborah," he said. His voice had a cheery quality. + +"Hello, Johnny. How are you?" + +"Fine, thank you." + +"That's good. I've brought my father with me." + +"Howdado, sir, glad to meet you." + +"It's some time since you've been to see me, John," Deborah continued. + +"I know it is," he answered. And then with a quick jerk of his head, "He's +been pretty bad," he said. Roger looked at the man on the bed. With his +thin waxen features drawn, the man was gasping for each breath. + +"What's the matter?" Roger whispered. + +"Lungs," said the young woman harshly. "You needn't bother to speak so low. +He can't hear you anyhow. He's dying. He's been dying weeks." + +"Why didn't you let me know of this?" Deborah asked gently. + +"Because I knew what you'd want to do--take him off to a hospital! And I +ain't going to have it! I promised him he could die at home!" + +"I'm sorry," Deborah answered. There was a moment's silence, and the baby +whimpered in its sleep. One child had gone to his father's bed and was +frowning at his agony as though it were a tiresome sight. + +"Are any of them coughing?" Deborah inquired. + +"No," said the woman sharply. + +"Yes, they are, two of 'em," John cheerfully corrected her. + +"You shut up!" she said to him, and she turned back to Deborah. "It's my +home, I guess, and my family, too. So what do you think that _you_ can do?" +Deborah looked at her steadily. + +"Yes, it's your family," she agreed. "And it's none of my business, I +know--except that John is one of my boys--and if things are to go on like +this I can't let him board here any more. If he had let me know before I'd +have taken him from you sooner. You'll miss the four dollars a week he +pays." + +The woman swallowed fiercely. The flush on her face had deepened. She +scowled to keep back the tears. + +"We can all die for all I care! I've about got to the end of my rope!" + +"I see you have." Deborah's voice was low. "You've made a hard plucky +fight, Mrs. Berry. Are there any empty rooms left in this building?" + +"Yes, two upstairs. What do you want to know for?" + +"I'm going to rent them for you. I'll arrange it to-night with the janitor, +on condition that you promise to move your children to-morrow upstairs and +keep them there until this is over. Will you?" + +"Yes." + +"That's sensible. And I'll have one of the visiting nurses here within an +hour." + +"Thanks." + +"And later on we'll have a talk." + +"All right--" + +"Good-night, Mrs. Berry." + +"Good-night, Miss Gale, I'm much obliged.... Say, wait a minute! Will you?" +The wife had followed them out on the landing and she was clutching +Deborah's arm. "Why can't the nurse give him something," she whispered, "to +put him to sleep for good and all? It ain't right to let a man suffer like +that! I can't stand it! I'm--I'm--" she broke off with a sob. Deborah put +one arm around her and held her steadily for a moment. + +"The nurse will see that he sleeps," she said. "Now, John," she added, +presently, when the woman had gone into the room, "I want you to get your +things together. I'll have the janitor move them upstairs. You sleep there +to-night, and to-morrow morning come to see me at the school." + +"All right, Miss Deborah, much obliged. I'll be all right. Good-night, +sir--" + +"Good-night, my boy," said Roger, and suddenly he cleared his throat. He +followed his daughter down the stairs. A few minutes she talked with the +janitor, then joined her father in the court. + +"I'm sorry I took you up there," she said. "I didn't know the man was +sick." + +"Who are they?" he asked. + +"Poor people," she said. And Roger flinched. + +"Who is this boy?" + +"A neighbor of theirs. His mother, who was a widow, died about two years +ago. He was left alone and scared to death lest he should be 'put away' in +some big institution. He got Mrs. Berry to take him in, and to earn his +board he began selling papers instead of coming to our school. So our +school visitor looked him up. Since then I have been paying his board from +a fund I have from friends uptown, and so he has finished his schooling. +He's to graduate next week. He means to be a stenographer." + +"How old is he?" + +"Seventeen," she replied. + +"How was he crippled? Born that way?" + +"No. When he was a baby his mother dropped him one Saturday night when she +was drunk. He has never been able to sit down. He can lie down or he can +stand. He's always in pain, it never stops. I learned that from the doctor +I took him to see. But whenever you ask him how he feels you get the same +answer always: 'Fine, thank you.' He's a fighter, is John." + +"He looks it. I'd like to help that boy--" + +"All right--you can help him," Deborah said. "You'll find him quite a +tonic." + +"A what?" + +"A tonic," she repeated. And with a sudden tightening of her wide and +sensitive mouth, Deborah added slowly, "Because, though I've known many +hungry boys, Johnny Geer is the hungriest of them all--hungry to get on in +life, to grow and learn and get good things, get friends, love, happiness, +everything!" As she spoke of this child in her family, over her strong +quiet face there swept a fierce, intent expression which struck Roger +rather cold. What a fight she was making, this daughter of his, against +what overwhelming odds. But all he said to her was this: + +"Now let's look at something more cheerful, my dear." + +"Very well," she answered with a smile. "We'll go and see Isadore Freedom." + +"Who's he?" + +"Isadore Freedom," said Deborah, "is the beginning of something tremendous. +He came from Russian Poland--and the first American word he learned over +there was 'freedom.' So in New York he changed his name to that--very +solemnly, by due process of law. It cost him seven dollars. He had nine +dollars at the time. Isadore is a flame, a kind of a torch in the +wilderness." + +"How does the flame earn his living?" + +"At first in a sweatshop," she replied. "But he came to my school five +nights a week, and at ten o'clock when school was out he went to a little +basement cafe, where he sat at a corner table, drank one glass of Russian +tea and studied till they closed at one. Then he went to his room, he told +me, and used to read himself to sleep. He slept as a rule four hours. He +said he felt he needed it. Now he's a librarian earning fifteen dollars a +week, and having all the money he needs he has put the thought of it out of +his life and is living for education--education in freedom. For Isadore has +studied his name until he thinks he knows what it means." + +They found him in a small public library on an ill-smelling ghetto street. +The place had been packed with people, but the clock had just struck ten +and the readers were leaving reluctantly, many with books under their arms. +At sight of Deborah and her father, Isadore leaped up from his desk and +came quickly to meet them with outstretched hands. + +"Oh, this is splendid! Good evening!" he cried. Hardly more than a boy, +perhaps twenty-one, he was short of frame but large of limb. He had wide +stooping shoulders and reddish hollows in his dark cheeks. Yet there was a +springiness in his step, vigor and warmth in the grip of his hand, in the +very curl of his thick black hair, in his voice, in his enormous smile. + +"Come," he said to Roger, when the greetings were over. "You shall see my +library, sir. But I want that you shall not see it alone. While you look +you must close for me your eyes and see other libraries, many, many, all +over the world. You must see them in big cities and in very little towns +to-night. You must see people, millions there, hungry, hungry people. Now I +shall show you their food and their drink." As he spoke he was leading them +proudly around. In the stacks along the walls he pointed out fiction, +poetry, history, books of all the sciences. + +"They read all, all!" cried Isadore. "Look at this Darwin on my desk. In a +year so many have read this book it is a case for the board of health. And +look at this shelf of economics. I place it next to astronomy. And I say to +these people, 'Yes, read about jobs and your hours and wages. Yes, you must +strike, you must have better lives. But you must read also about the +stars--and about the big spaces--silent--not one single little sound for +many, many million years. To be free you must grow as big as that--inside +of your head, inside of your soul. It is not enough to be free of a czar, a +kaiser or a sweatshop boss. What will you do when they are gone? My fine +people, how will you run the world? You are deaf and blind, you must be +free to open your own ears and eyes, to look into the books and see what is +there--great thoughts and feelings, great ideas! And when you have seen, +then you must think--you must think it all out every time! That is +freedom!'" He stopped abruptly. Again on his dark features came a huge and +winning smile, and with an apologetic shrug, "But I talk too much of my +books," he said. "Come. Shall we go to my cafe?" + +On a neighboring street, a few minutes later, down a flight of steep wooden +stairs they descended into a little cafe, shaped like a tunnel, the ceiling +low, the bare walls soiled by rubbing elbows, dirty hands, the air blue and +hot with smoke. Young men and girls packed in at small tables bent over +tall glasses of Russian tea, and gesturing with their cigarettes declaimed +and argued excitedly. Quick joyous cries of greeting met Isadore from every +side. + +"You see?" he said gaily. "This is my club. Here we are like a family." He +ordered tea of a waiter who seemed more like a bosom friend. And leaning +eagerly forward, he began to speak in glowing terms of the men and girls +from sweatshops who spent their nights in these feasts of the soul, +talking, listening, grappling, "for the power to think with minds as clear +as the sun when it rises," he ardently cried. "There is not a night in this +city, not one, when hundreds do not talk like this until the breaking of +the day! And then they sleep! A little joke! For at six o'clock they must +rise to their work! And that is a force," he added, "not only for those +people but a force for you and me. Do you see? When you feel tired, when +all your hopes are sinking low, you think of those people and you say, 'I +will go to their places.' And you go. You listen and you watch their faces, +and such fire makes you burn! You go home, you are happy, you have a new +life! + +"And perhaps at last you will have a religion," he continued, in fervent +tones. "You see, with us Jews--and with Christians, too--the old religion, +it is gone. And in its place there is nothing strong. And so the young +people go all to pieces. They dance and they drink. If you go to those +dance halls you say, 'They are crazy!' For dancing alone is not enough. And +you say, 'These people must have a religion.' You ask, 'Where can I find a +new God?' And you reply, 'There is no God.' And then you must be very sad. +You know how it is? You feel too free. And you feel scared and lonely. You +look up at the stars. There are millions. You are only a speck of dust--on +one. + +"But then you come to my library. And you see those hungry people--more +hungry than men have ever been. And you see those books upon the shelves. +And you know when they come together at last, when that power to think as +clear as the sun comes into the souls of those people so hungry, then we +shall have a new god for the world. For there is no end to what they shall +do," Isadore ended huskily. + +Roger felt a lump in his throat. He glanced into his daughter's eyes and +saw a suspicious brightness there. Isadore looked at her happily. + +"You see?" he said to Roger. "When she came here to-night she was tired, +half sick. But now she is all filled with life!" + + * * * * * + +Later, on the street outside when Isadore had left them, Deborah turned to +her father: + +"Before we go home, there's one place more." + +And they went to a building not far away, a new structure twelve floors +high which rose out of the neighboring tenements. It had been built, she +told him, by a socialist daily paper. A dull night watchman half asleep +took them in the elevator up to the top floor of the building, where in a +bustling, clanking loft the paper was just going to press. Deborah seemed +to know one of the foremen. He smiled and nodded and led the way through +the noise and bustle to a large glass door at one end. This she opened and +stepped out upon a fire escape so broad it was more like a balcony. And +with the noise of the presses subdued, from their high perch they looked +silently down. + +All around them for miles, it seemed, stretched dark uneven fields of +roofs, with the narrow East River winding its way through the midst of them +to the harbor below, silvery, dim and cool and serene, opening to the +distant sea. From the bridges rearing high over the river, lights by +thousands sparkled down. But directly below the spot where they stood was +only a dull hazy glow, rising out of dark tenement streets where dimly they +could just make out numberless moving shadowy forms, restless crowds too +hot to sleep. The roofs were covered everywhere with men and women and +children--families, families, families, all merged together in the dark. +And from them rose into the night a ceaseless murmur of voices, laughing +and joking, quarreling, loving and hating, demanding, complaining, and +fighting and slaving and scheming for bread and the means of stark +existence. But among these struggling multitudes confusedly did Roger feel +the brighter presence here and there of more aspiring figures, small groups +in glaring, stilling rooms down there beneath the murky dark, young people +fiercely arguing, groping blindly for new gods. And all these voices, to +his ears, merged into one deep thrilling hum, these lights into one +quivering glow, that went up toward the silent stars. + +And there came to him a feeling which he had often had before in many +different places--that he himself was a part of all this, the great, blind, +wistful soul of mankind, which had been here before he was born and would +be here when he was dead--still groping, yearning, struggling upward, on +and on--to something distant as the sun. And still would he be a part of it +all, through the eager lives of his children. He turned and looked at +Deborah and caught the light that was in her eyes. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + + +Roger awoke the next morning feeling sore and weary, and later in his +office it was hard to keep his mind on his work. He thought of young +Isadore Freedom. He was glad he had met that boy, and so he felt toward +Deborah's whole terrific family. Confused and deafening as it was, there +was something inspiring in it all. But God save him from many such +evenings! For half his life Roger had been a collector, not only of rings +but of people, too, of curious personalities. These human bits, these +memories, he had picked up as he lived along and had taken them with him +and made them his own, had trimmed and polished every one until its rough +unpleasant edges were all nicely smoothed away and it glittered and shone +like the gem that it was. For Roger was an idealist. And so he would have +liked to do here. What a gem could be made of Isadore with a little careful +polishing. + +But Deborah's way was different. She stayed in life, lived in it close, +with its sharp edges bristling. In this there was something splendid, but +there was something tragic, too. It was all very well for that young Jew to +burn himself up with his talk about freedom, his feverish searching for new +gods. "In five years," Roger told himself, "Mr. Isadore Freedom will either +tone down or go stark mad." + +But quite probably he would tone down, for he was only a youngster, these +were Isadore's wild oats. But this was no longer Deborah's youth, she had +been at this job ten years. And she hadn't gone mad, she had kept herself +sane, she had many sides her father knew. He knew her in the mountains, or +bustling about at home getting ready for Laura's wedding, or packing +Edith's children off for their summer up at the farm. But did that make it +any easier? No. To let yourself go was easy, but to keep hold of yourself +was hard. It meant wear and tear on a woman, this constant straining effort +to keep her balance and see life whole. + +"Well, it will break her down, that's all, and I don't propose to allow +it," he thought. "She's got to rest this summer and go easier next fall." + +But how could he accomplish it? As he thought about her school, with its +long and generous arms reaching upon every side out into the tenements, the +prospect was bewildering. He searched for something definite. What could he +do to prove to his daughter his real interest in her work? Presently he +remembered Johnny Geer, the cripple boy whom he had liked, and at once he +began to feel himself back again upon known ground. Instead of millions +here was one, one plucky lad who needed help. All right, by George, he +should have it! And Roger told his daughter he would be glad to pay the +expense of sending John away for the summer, and that in the autumn perhaps +he would take the lad into his office. + +"That's good of you, dearie," Deborah said. It was her only comment, but +from the look she gave him Roger felt he was getting on. + + * * * * * + +One evening not long afterwards, as they sat together at dinner, she rose +unsteadily to her feet and said in a breathless voice, + +"It's rather close in here, isn't it? I think I'll go outside for a while." +Roger jumped up. + +"Look here, my child, you're faint!" he cried. + +"No, no, it's nothing! Just the heat!" She swayed and reeled, pitched +suddenly forward. "Father! Quick!" And Roger caught her in his arms. He +called to the maid, and with her help he carried Deborah up to her bed. +There she shuddered violently and beads of sweat broke out on her brow. +Her breath came hard through chattering teeth. + +"It's so silly!" she said fiercely. + +But as moments passed the chill grew worse. Her whole body seemed to be +shaking, and as Roger was rubbing one of her arms she said something to him +sharply, in a voice so thick he could not understand. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"I can't feel anything." + +"What do you mean?" + +"In my arm where you're rubbing--I can't feel your hand." + +"You'd better have a doctor!" + +"Telephone Allan--Allan Baird. He knows about this," she muttered. And +Roger ran down to the telephone. He was thoroughly frightened. + +"All right, Mr. Gale," came Baird's gruff bass, steady and slow, "I think I +know what the trouble is--and I wouldn't worry if I were you. I'll be there +in about ten minutes." And it was hardly more than that when he came into +Deborah's room. A moment he looked down at her. + +"Again?" he said. She glanced up at him and nodded, and smiled quickly +through set teeth. Baird carefully examined her and then turned to Roger: +"Now I guess you'd better go out. You stay," he added to Sarah, the maid. +"I may need you here awhile." + +About an hour later he came down to Roger's study. + +"She's safe enough now, I guess," he said. "I've telephoned for a nurse for +her, and she'll have to stay in bed a few days." + +"What's the trouble?" + +"Acute indigestion." + +"You don't say!" exclaimed Roger brightly, with a rush of deep relief. +Baird gave him a dry quizzical smile. + +"People have died of that," he remarked, "in less than an hour. We caught +your daughter just in time. May I stay a few moments?" + +"Glad to have you! Smoke a cigar!" + +"Thanks--I will." As Baird reached out for the proffered cigar, Roger +suddenly noticed his hand. Long and muscular, finely shaped, it seemed to +speak of strength and skill and an immense vitality. Baird settled himself +in his chair. "I want to talk about her," he said. "This little attack is +only a symptom--it comes from nerves. She's just about ready for a smash. +She's had slighter attacks of this kind before." + +"I never knew it," Roger said. + +"No--I don't suppose you did. Your daughter has a habit of keeping things +like this to herself. She came to me and I warned her, but she wanted to +finish out her year. Do you know anything about her school work?" + +"Yes, I was with her there this week." + +"What did she show you?" Baird inquired. Roger tried to tell him. "No, +that's not what I'm after," he said. "That's just one of her usual +evenings." For a moment he smoked in silence. "I'm hunting now for +something else, for some unusual nervous shock which she appears to me to +have had." + +"She has!" And Roger told him of her visit up to Sing Sing. Baird's lean +muscular right hand slowly tightened on his chair. + +"That's a tough family of hers," he remarked. + +"Yes," said Roger determinedly, "and she's got to give it up." + +"You mean she ought to. But she won't." + +"She's got to be made to," Roger growled. "This summer at least." Baird +shook his head. + +"You forget her fresh air work," he replied. "She has three thousand +children on her mind. The city will be like a furnace, of course, and the +children must be sent to camps. If you don't see the necessity, go and talk +to her, and then you will." + +"But you can forbid it, can't you?" + +"No. Can you?" + +"I can try," snapped Roger. + +"Let's try what's possible," said Baird. "Let's try to keep her in bed +three days." + +"Sounds modest," Roger grunted. And a glimmer of amusement came into +Baird's impassive eyes. + +"Try it," he drawled. "By to-morrow night she'll ask for her stenographer. +She'll make you think she is out of the woods. But she won't be, please +remember that. A few years more," he added, "and she'll have used up her +vitality. She'll be an old woman at thirty-five." + +"It's got to be stopped!" cried Roger. + +"But how?" came the low sharp retort. "You've got to know her trouble +first. And her trouble is deep, it's motherhood--on a scale which has never +been tried before--for thousands of children, all of whom are living in a +kind of hell. I know your daughter pretty well. Don't make the mistake of +mixing her up with the old-fashioned teacher. It isn't what those children +learn, it's how they live that interests her, and how they are all growing +up. I say she's a mother--in spirit--but her body has never borne a child. +And that makes it worse--because it makes her more intense. It isn't +natural, you see." + +A little later he rose to go. + +"By the way," he said, at the door, "there's something I meant to tell her +upstairs--about a poor devil she has on her mind. A chap named +Berry--dying--lungs. She asked me to go and see him." + +"Yes?" + +"I found it was only a matter of days." The tragic pity in Baird's quiet +voice was so deep as barely to be heard. + +"So I shot him full of morphine. He won't wake up. Please tell her that." + +Tall, ungainly, motionless, he loomed there in the doorway. With a little +shrug and a smile he turned and went slowly out of the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + + +Deborah's recovery was rapid and determined. The next night she was sitting +up and making light of her illness. On the third day she dismissed her +nurse, and when her father came home from his office he found gathered +about her bed not only her stenographer but both her assistant principals. +He frowned severely and went to his room, and a few minutes later he heard +them leave. Presently she called to him, and he came to her bedside. She +was lying back on the pillow with rather a guilty expression. + +"Up to your old antics, eh?" he remarked. + +"Exactly. It couldn't be helped, you see. It's the last week of our school +year, and there are so many little things that have to be attended to. It's +simply now or never." + +"Humph!" was Roger's comment. "It's now or never with you," he thought. He +went down to his dinner, and when he came back he found her exhausted. In +the dim soft light of her room her face looked flushed and feverish, and +vaguely he felt she was in a mood where she might listen to reason. He felt +her hot dry hand on his. Her eyes were closed, she was smiling. + +"Tell me the news from the mountains," she said. And he gave her the gossip +of the farm in a letter he had had from George. It told of a picnic supper, +the first one of the season. They had had it in the usual place, down by +the dam on the river, "with a bonfire--a perfect peach--down by the big +yellow rock--the one you call the Elephant." As Roger read the letter he +could feel his daughter listening, vividly picturing to herself the great +dark boulders by the creek, the shadowy firs, the stars above and the cool +fresh tang of the mountain night. + +"After this little sickness of yours--and that harum scarum wedding," he +said, "I feel we're both entitled to a good long rest in mountain air." + +"We'll have it, too," she murmured. + +"With Edith's little youngsters. They're all the medicine you need." He +paused for a moment, hesitating. But it was now or never. "The only trouble +with you," he said, "is that you've let yourself be caught by the same +disease which has its grip upon this whole infernal town. You're like +everyone else, you're tackling about forty times what you can do. You're +actually trying not only to teach but to bring 'em all up as your own, +three thousand tenement children. And this is where it gets you." + +Again he halted, frowning. What next? + +"Go on, dear, please," said Deborah, in demure and even tones. "This is +very interesting." + +"Now then," he continued, "in this matter of your school. I wouldn't ask +you to give it up, I've already seen too much of it. But so long as you've +got it nicely started, why not give somebody else a chance? One of those +assistants of yours, for example--capable young women, both. You could +stand right behind 'em with help and advice--" + +"Not yet," was Deborah's soft reply. She had turned her head on her pillow +and was looking at him affectionately. "Why not?" he demanded. + +"Because it's not nicely started at all. There's nothing brilliant about +me, dear--I'm a plodder, feeling my way along. And what I have done in the +last ten years is just coming to a stage at last where I can really see a +chance to make it count for something. When I feel I've done that, say in +five years more--" + +"Those five years," said her father, "may cost you a very heavy price." As +Deborah faced his troubled regard, her own grew quickly serious. + +"I'd be willing to pay the price," she replied. + +"But why?" he asked with impatience. "Why pay when you don't have to? Why +not by taking one year off get strength for twenty years' work later on? +You'd be a different woman!" + +"Yes, I think I should be. I'd never be the same again. You don't quite +understand, you see. This work of mine with children--well, it's like +Edith's having a baby. You have to do it while you're young." + +"That works both ways," her father growled. + +"What do you mean?" He hesitated: + +"Don't you want any children of your own?" + +Again she turned her eyes toward his, then closed them and lay perfectly +still. "Now I've done it," he thought anxiously. She reached over and took +his hand. + +"Let's talk of our summer's vacation," she said. + +A little while later she fell asleep. + +Downstairs he soon grew restless and after a time he went out for a walk. +But he felt tired and oppressed, and as he had often done of late he +entered a little "movie" nearby, where gradually the pictures, continually +flashing out of the dark, drove the worries from his mind. For a half an +hour they held his gaze. Then he fell into a doze. He was roused by a roar +of laughter, and straightening up in his seat with a jerk he looked angrily +around. Something broadly comic had been flashed upon the screen; and men +and women and children, Italians, Jews and Irish, jammed in close about +him, a dirty and perspiring mass, had burst into a terrific guffaw. Now +they were suddenly tense again and watching the screen in absorbed +suspense, while the crude passions within themselves were played upon in +the glamorous dark. And Roger scanned their faces--one moment smiling, all +together, as though some god had pulled a string; then mawkish, +sentimental, soft; then suddenly scowling, twitching, with long rows of +animal eyes. But eager--eager all the time! Hungry people--yes, indeed! +Hungry for all the good things in the town, and for as many bad things, +too! On one who tried to feed this mob there was no end to their demands! +What was one woman's life to them? Deborah's big family! + + * * * * * + +Edith came to the house one afternoon, and she was in Deborah's room when +her father returned from his office. Her convalescence over at last, she +was leaving for the mountains. + +"Do learn your lesson, Deborah dear," she urged upon her sister. "Let Sarah +pack your trunk at once and come up with me on Saturday night." + +"I can't get off for two weeks yet." + +"Why can't you?" Edith demanded. And when Deborah spoke of fresh air camps +and baby farms and other work, Edith's impatience only grew. "You'll have +to leave it to somebody else! You're simply in no condition!" she cried. + +"Impossible," said Deborah. Edith gave a quick sigh of exasperation. + +"Isn't it enough," she asked, "to have worked your nerves to a frazzle +already? Why can't you be sensible? You've got to think of yourself a +little!" + +"You'd like me to marry, wouldn't you, dear?" her sister put in wearily. + +"Yes, I should, while there is still time! Just now you look far from it! +It's exactly as Allan was saying! If you keep on as you're going you'll be +an old woman at thirty-five!" + +"Thank you!" said Deborah sharply. Two spots of color leaped in her checks. +"You'd better leave me, Edith! I'll come up to the mountains as soon as I +can! And I'll try not to look any more like a hag than I have to! +Good-night!" + +Roger followed Edith out of the room. + +"That last shot of mine struck home," she declared to him in triumph. + +"I wouldn't have done it," her father said. "I gave you that remark of +Baird's in strict confidence, Edith--" + +"Now father," was her good-humored retort, "suppose you leave this matter +to me. I know just what I'm doing." + +"Well," he reflected uneasily, after she had left him, "here's more trouble +in the family. If Edith isn't careful she'll make a fine mess of this whole +affair." + +After dinner he went up to Deborah's room, but through the open doorway he +caught a glimpse of his daughter which made him instinctively draw back. +Sitting bolt upright in her bed, sternly she was eyeing herself in a small +mirror in her hand. Her father chuckled noiselessly. A moment later, when +he went in, the glass had disappeared from view. Soon afterwards Baird +himself arrived, and as they heard him coming upstairs Roger saw his +daughter frown, but she continued talking. + +"Hello, Allan," she said with indifference. "I'm feeling much better this +evening." + +"Are you? Good," he answered, and he started to pull up an easy chair. "I +was hoping I could stay awhile--I've been having one of those long mean +days--" + +"I'd a little rather you wouldn't," Deborah put in softly. Allan turned to +her in surprise. "I didn't sleep last night," she murmured, "and I feel so +drowsy." There was a little silence. "And I really don't think there's any +need of your dropping in to-morrow," she added. "I'm so much +better--honestly." + +Baird looked at her a moment. + +"Right--O," he answered slowly. "I'll call up to-morrow night." + +Roger followed him downstairs. + +"Come into my den and smoke a cigar!" he proposed in hearty ringing tones. +Allan thanked him and came in, but the puzzled expression was still on his +face, and through the first moments of their talk he was very +absent-minded. Roger's feeling of guilt increased, and he cursed himself +for a meddlesome fool. + +"Look here, Baird," he blurted out, "there's something I think you ought to +know." Allan slightly turned his head, and Roger reddened a little. "The +worst thing about living in a house chock full of meddling women is that +you get to be one yourself," he growled. "And the fact is--" he cleared his +throat--"I've put my foot in it, Baird," he said. "I was fool enough the +other day to quote you to Edith." + +"To what effect?" + +"That if Deborah keeps on like this she'll be an old woman at thirty-five." + +Allan sat up in his chair: + +"Was Edith here this afternoon?" + +"She was," said Roger. + +"Say no more." + +Baird had a wide, likable, generous mouth which wrinkled easily into a +smile. He leaned back now and enjoyed himself. He puffed a little cloud of +smoke, looked over at Roger and chuckled aloud. And Roger chuckled with +relief. "What a decent chap he is," he thought. + +"I'm sorry, of course," he said to Baird. "I thought of trying to +explain--" + +"Don't," said Allan. "Leave it alone. It won't do Deborah any harm--may +even do her a little good. After all, I'm her physician--" + +"Are you?" Roger asked with a twinkle. "I thought upstairs you were +dismissed." + +"Oh no, I'm not," was the calm reply. And the two men went on smoking. +Roger's liking for Baird was growing fast. They had had several little +talks during Deborah's illness, and Roger was learning more of the man. +Raised on a big cattle ranch that his father had owned in New Mexico, +riding broncos on the plains had given him his abounding health of body, +nerve and spirit, his steadiness and sanity in all this feverish city life. + +"Are you riding these days?" he inquired. + +"No," said Roger, "the park is too hot--and they don't sprinkle the path as +they should. I've had my cob sent up to the mountains. By the way," he +added cordially, "you must come up there and ride with me." + +"Thanks, I'd like to," Allan said, and with a little inner smile he added +dryly to himself, "He's getting ready to meddle again." But whatever +amusement Baird had in this thought was concealed behind his sober gray +eyes. Soon after that he took his leave. + +"Now then," Roger reflected, with a little glow of expectancy, "if Edith +will only leave me alone, she may find I'm smarter then she thinks!" + + * * * * * + +One evening in the following week, after Edith had left town, Roger had +Bruce to dine at his club, a pleasant old building on Madison Square, where +comfortably all by themselves they could discuss Baird's chances. + +"A. Baird and I have been chums," said Bruce, "ever since we were in +college. Take it from me I know his brand. And he isn't the kind to be +pushed." + +"Who wants to push him?" Roger demanded, with a sudden guilty twinge. + +"Edith does," Bruce answered. "And I tell you that won't do with A. Baird. +He has his mind set on Deborah sure. He's been setting it harder and harder +for months--and he knows it--and so does she. But they're both the kind of +people who don't like interference, they've got to get to it by themselves. +Edith must keep out of the way. She mustn't take it on herself to ask him +up to the mountains." Roger gave a little start. "If she does, there'll be +trouble with Deborah." + +Roger smoked for a moment in silence and then sagely nodded his head. + +"That's so," he murmured thoughtfully. "Yes, my boy, I guess you're right." + +Bruce lifted his mint julep: + +"God, but it's hot in here to-night. How about taking a spin up the river?" + +"Delighted," replied his father-in-law. + +And a half hour later in Bruce's new car, which was the pride and joy of +his life, they were far up the river. On a long level stretch of road Bruce +"let her out to show what she could do." And Roger with his heart in his +mouth and his eye upon the speedometer, saw it creep to sixty-three. + +"Almost as good as a horse," remarked Bruce, when the car had slowed a +little. + +"Almost," said Roger, "but not quite. It's--well, it's dissipation." + +"And a horse?" + +"Is life," was the grave reply. "You'll have a crash some day, my boy, if +you go on at your present speed. It gets me worried sometimes. You see +you're a family man." + +"I am and I'm glad of it. Edith and the kiddies suit me right down to the +ground. I'm crazy about 'em--you know that. But a chap with a job like +mine," Bruce continued pleadingly, as he drove his car rushing around a +curve, "needs a little dissipation, too. I can't tell you what it means to +me, when I'm kept late at the office, to have this car for the run up home. +Lower Broadway's empty then, and I know the cops. I swing around through +Washington Square, and the Avenue looks clear for miles, nothing but two +long rows of lights to the big hump at Murray Hill. It's the time between +crowds--say about ten. And I know the cops." + +"That's all right," said Roger. "No one was more delighted than I when you +got this car. You deserve it. It's the _work_ that I was speaking of. +You've got it going at such a speed--" + +"Only way on earth to get on--to get what I want for my family--" + +"Yes, yes, I know," muttered Roger vaguely. Bruce began talking of his work +for the steel construction concern downtown. + +"Take it from me," he declared at the end, "this town has only just begun!" + +"Has, eh," Roger grunted. "Aren't the buildings high enough?" + +"My God, I wish they were twenty times higher," Bruce rejoined +good-humoredly. "But they won't be--we've stopped going up. We've done +pretty well in the air, and now we're going underground. And when we get +through, this old rock of Manhattan will be such a network of tunnels +there'll be a hole waiting at every corner to take you wherever you want to +go. Speed? We don't even know what it means!" + +And again Bruce "let her out" a bit. It was _quite_ a bit. Roger grabbed +his hat with one hand and the side of the car with the other. + +"They'll look back on a mile a minute," said Bruce, "as we look back on +stage coach days! And in the rush hour there'll be a rush that'll make you +think of pneumatic tubes! Not a sound nor a quiver--_just pure speed!_ +Shooting people home at night at a couple of hundred miles an hour! The +city will be as big as that! And there won't be any accidents and there +won't be any smoke. Instead of coal they'll use the sun! And, my God, man, +the boulevards--and parks and places for the kids! The way they'll use the +River--and the ocean and the Sound! The Catskills will be Central Park! +Sounds funny, don't it--but it's true. I've studied it out from A to Z. +This town is choking itself to death simply because we're so damn slow! We +don't know how to spread ourselves! All this city needs is speed!" + +"Bruce," said Roger anxiously, "just go a bit easy on that gas. The fact +is, it was a great mistake for me to eat those crabs to-night." + +Bruce slowed down compassionately, and soon they turned and started home. +And as they drew near the glow of the town, other streets and boulevards +poured more motors into the line, until at last they were rushing along +amid a perfect bedlam made up of honks and shrieks of horns. The air grew +hot and acrid, and looking back through the bluish haze of smoke and dust +behind him Roger could see hundreds of huge angry motor eyes. Crowding and +jamming closer, pell mell, at a pace which barely slackened, they sped on, +a wild uproarious crew, and swept into the city. + +Roger barely slept that night. He felt the city clamoring down into his +very soul. "Speed!" he muttered viciously. "Speed--speed! We need more +speed!" The words beat in like a savage refrain. At last with a sigh of +impatience he got up in his nightshirt and walked about. It was good to +feel his way in the dark in this cool silent house which he knew so well. +Soon his nerves felt quieter. He went back to his bed and lay there inert. +How good it would be to get up to the farm. + + * * * * * + +The next Saturday evening, with Deborah, he started for the mountains. And +Bruce came down to see them off. + +"Remember, son," said Roger, as the two walked on the platform. "Come up +this year for a month, my boy. You need it." The train was about to start. + +"Oh, I'll be all right," was the answer. "My friend the Judge, who has hay +fever, tells me he has found a cure." + +"Damn his cure! You come to us!" + +"Hold on a minute, live and learn. The Judge is quite excited about it. +You drink little bugs, he says, a billion after every meal. They come in +tall blue bottles. We're going to dine together next week and drink 'em +till we're all lit up. Oh, we're going to have a hell of a time. _His_ wife +left town on Tuesday." + +"Bruce," said Roger sternly, as the train began to move, "leave bugs alone +and come up and breathe! And quit smoking so many cigarettes!" He stepped +on the car. + +"Remember, son, a solid month!" Bruce nodded as the train moved out. + +"Good luck--good-bye--fine summer--my love to the wife and the kiddies--" +and Bruce's dark, tense, smiling face was left behind. Roger went back into +the smoker. + +"Now for the mountains," he thought. "Thank God!" + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + + +A few hours later Roger awakened. His lower berth was still pitch dark. The +train had stopped, and he had been roused by a voice outside his window. +Rough and slow and nasal, the leisurely drawl of a mountaineer, it came +like balm to Roger's ears. He raised the curtain and looked out. A train +hand with a lantern was listening to a dairy man, a tall young giant in top +boots. High overhead loomed a shadowy mountain and over its rim came the +glow of the dawn. With a violent lurch the train moved on. And Roger, lying +back on his pillow, looked up at the misty mountain sides all mottled in +the strange blue light with patches of firs and birches and pines. In the +narrow valley up which the train was thundering, were small herds of +grazing cattle, a lonely farmhouse here and there. From one a light was +twinkling. And the city with its heat and noise, its nervous throb, its +bedlam nights, all dropped like a fever from his soul. + +Now, close by the railroad track, through a shallow rocky gorge a small +river roared and foamed. Its cool breath came up to his nostrils and +gratefully he breathed it in. For this was the Gale River, named after one +of his forefathers, and in his mind's eye he followed the stream back up +its course to the little station where he and Deborah were to get off. +There the narrowing river bed turned and wound up through a cleft in the +hills to the homestead several miles away. On the dark forest road beside +it he pictured George, his grandson, at this moment driving down to meet +them in a mountain wagon with one of the two hired men, a lantern swinging +under the wheels. What an adventure for young George. + +Presently he heard Deborah stirring in the berth next to his own. + +At the station George was there, and from a thermos bottle which Edith had +filled the night before he poured coffee piping hot, which steamed in the +keen, frosty air. + +"Oh, how good!" cried Deborah. "How thoughtful of your mother, George. How +is she, dear?" + +"Oh, she's all right, Aunt Deborah." His blunt freckled features flushed +from his drive, George stood beaming on them both. He appeared, if +anything, tougher and scrawnier than before. "Everything's all right," he +said. "There ain't a sick animal on the whole farm." + +As Roger sipped his coffee he was having a look at the horses. One of them +was William, his cob. + +"Do you see it?" inquired his grandson. + +"What?" + +"The boil," George answered proudly, "on William's rump. There it is--on +the nigh side. Gee, but you ought to have seen it last week. It was a whale +of a boil," said George, "but we poulticed him, me and Dave did--and now +the swelling's nearly gone. You can ride him to-morrow if you like." + +Luxuriously Roger lit a cigar and climbed to the front seat with George. Up +the steep and crooked road the stout horses tugged their way, and the wagon +creaked, and the Gale River, here only a brook, came gurgling, dashing to +meet them--down from the mountains, from the farm, from Roger's youth to +welcome him home. And the sun was flashing through the pines. As they drew +near the farmhouse through a grove of sugar maples, he heard shrill cries +of, "There they come!" And he glimpsed the flying figures of George's +brothers, Bob and Tad. George whipped up the horses, the wagon gained upon +the boys and reached the house but a few rods behind the little runners. +Edith was waiting by the door, fresh and smiling, blooming with health. +How well this suited her, Roger thought. Amid a gay chorus of greetings he +climbed down heavily out of the wagon, looked about him and drew a deep +breath. The long lazy days on the farm had begun. + +From the mountain side the farm looked down on a wide sweeping valley of +woods and fields. The old house straggled along the road, with addition +after addition built on through generations by many men and women. Here lay +the history, unread, of the family of Roger Gale. Inside there were steps +up and down from one part to another, queer crooks in narrow passageways. +The lower end was attached to the woodshed, and the woodshed to the barn. +Above the house a pasture dotted with gray boulders extended up to a wood +of firs, and out of this wood the small river which bore the name of the +family came rushing down the field in a gully, went under the road, swept +around to the right and along the edge of a birch copse just below the +house. The little stream grew quieter there and widened into a mill pond. +At the lower end was a broken dam and beside it a dismantled mill. Here was +peace for Roger's soul. The next day at dawn he awakened, and through the +window close by his bed he saw no tall confining walls; his eye was carried +as on wings out over a billowy blanket of mist, soft and white and cool and +still, reaching over the valley. From underneath to his sensitive ears came +the numberless voices of the awakening sleepers there, cheeps and tremulous +warbles from the birch copse just below, cocks crowing in the valley, and +ducks and geese, dogs, sheep and cattle faintly heard from distant farms. +Just so it had been when he was a boy. How unchanged and yet how new were +these fresh hungry cries of life. From the other end of the house he heard +Edith's tiny son lustily demanding his breakfast, as other wee boys before +him had done for over a hundred years, as other babies still unborn would +do in the many years to come. Soon the cry of the child was hushed. Quiet +fell upon the house. And Roger sank again into deep happy slumber. + +Here was nothing new and disturbing. Edith's children? Yes, they were new, +but they were not disturbing. Their growth each summer was a joy, a renewal +of life in the battered old house. Here was no huge tenement family +crowding in with dirty faces, clamorous demands for aid, but only five +delightful youngsters, clean and fresh, of his own blood. He loved the +small excitements, the plans and plots and discoveries, the many adventures +that filled their days. He spent hours with their mother, listening while +she talked of them. Edith did so love this place and she ran the house so +beautifully. It was so cool and fragrant, so clean and so old-fashioned. + +Deborah, too, came under the spell. She grew as lazy as a cat and day by +day renewed her strength from the hills and from Edith's little brood. +Roger had feared trouble there, for he knew how Edith disapproved of her +sister's new ideas. But although much with the children, Deborah apparently +had no new ideas at all. She seemed to be only listening. One balmy day at +sunset, Roger saw her lying on the grass with George sprawled by her side. +Her head upon one arm, she appeared to be watching the cattle in the +sloping pasture above. Slowly, as though each one of them was drawn by +mysterious unseen chains, they were drifting down toward the barn where it +was almost milking time. George was talking earnestly. She threw a glance +at him from time to time, and Roger could see how intent were her eyes. +Yes, Deborah knew how to study a boy. + +Only once during the summer did she talk about her work. On a walk with her +father one day she took him into a small forlorn building, a mere cabin of +one room. The white paint had long been worn away, the windows were all +broken, half the old shingles had dropped from the roof and on the +flagpole was no flag. It was the district schoolhouse where for nearly half +his life Deborah's grandfather had taught a score of pupils. Inside were a +blackboard, a rusty stove, a teacher's desk and a dozen forms, grown mouldy +and worm-eaten now. A torn and faded picture of Lincoln was upon one wall, +half hidden by a spider's web and by a few old dangling rags which once had +been red, white and blue. Below, still clinging to the wall, was an old +scrap of paper, on which in a large rugged hand there had been written long +ago a speech, but it had been worn away until but three words were +legible--"conceived and dedicated--" + +"Tell me about your school," she said. "All you can remember." Seated at +her grandfather's desk she asked Roger many questions. And his +recollections, at first dim and hazy, began to clear a little. + +"By George!" he exclaimed. "Here are my initials!" + +He stooped over one of the benches. + +"Oh, dearie! Where?" He pointed them out, and then while he sat on the rude +old bench for some time more she questioned him. + +"But your school was not all here," she said musingly at last, "it was up +on the farm, besides, where you learned to plough and sow and reap and take +care of the animals in the barn, and mend things that were broken, and--oh, +turn your hand to anything. But millions of children nowadays are growing +up in cities, you see." + +Half frowning and half smiling she began to talk of her work in town. "What +is there about her," Roger asked, "that reminds me so of my mother?" His +mind strayed back into the past while the low quiet voice of his daughter +went on, and a wistful expression crept over his face. What would she do +with the family name? What life would she lead in those many years?... +"What a mother she would make." The words rose from within him, but in a +voice which was not his own. It was Deborah's grandmother speaking, so +clearly and distinctly that he gave a start almost of alarm. + +"And if you don't believe they'll do it," Deborah was saying, "you don't +know what's in children. Only we've got to help bring it out." What had she +been talking about? He remembered the words "a new nation"--no more. "We've +got to grope around in the dark and hunt for new ways and learn as we go. +And when you've once got into the work and really felt the thrill of it +all--well, then it seems rather foolish and small to bother about your own +little life." + + * * * * * + +Roger spent much of his time alone. He took long rides on William along +crooked, hilly roads. As the afternoon drew to its end, the shadows would +creep up the mountain sides to their summits where glowed the last rays of +the sun, painting the slate and granite crags in lovely pink and purple +hues. And sometimes mighty banks of clouds would rear themselves high +overhead, gigantic mountains of the air with billowy, misty caverns, cliffs +and jagged peaks, all shifting there before his eyes. And he would think of +Judith his wife. And the old haunting certainty, that her soul had died +with her body, was gone. There came to him the feeling that he and his wife +would meet again. Why did this hope come back to him? Was it all from the +glory of the sun? Or was it from the presence, silent and invisible, of +those many other mortals, folk of his own flesh and blood, who at their +deaths had gone to their graves to put on immortality? Or was this +deepening faith in Roger simply a sign of his growing old age? + +He frowned at the thought and shook it off, and again stared up at the +light on the hills. "You will live on in our children's lives." Was there +no other immortality? + +He often thought of his boyhood here. On a ride one day he stopped for a +drink at a spring in a grove of maples surrounding a desolate farmhouse not +more than a mile away from his own. And through the trees as he turned to +go he saw the stark figure of a woman, poorly clad and gaunt and gray. She +stood motionless watching him with a look of sullen bitterness. She was the +last of "the Elkinses," a mountain family run to seed. As he rode away he +saw in the field a boy with a pitchfork in his hands, a meager ragged +little chap. He was staring into the valley at a wriggling, blue smoke +serpent made by the night express to New York. And something leaped in +Roger, for he had once felt just like that! But the woman's harsh voice cut +in on his dream, as she shouted to her son below, "Hey! Why the hell you +standin' thar?" And the boy with a jump of alarm turned back quickly to his +work. At home a few days later, George with a mysterious air took his +grandfather into the barn, and after a pledge of secrecy he said in swift +and thrilling tones, "You know young Bill Elkins? Yes, you do--the boy up +on the Elkins place who lives alone with his mother. Well, look here!" +George swallowed hard. "Bill has cleared out--he's run away! I was up at +five this morning and he came hiking down the road! He had a bundle on his +back and he told me he was off for good! And was he scared? You bet he was +scared! And I told him so and it made him mad! 'Aw, you're scared!' I said. +'I ain't neither!' he said. He could barely talk, but the kid had his +nerve! 'Where you going?' I asked. 'To New York,' he said. 'Aw, what do you +know of New York?' I said. And then, by golly, he busted right down. 'Gee!' +he said, 'Gee! Can't you lemme alone?' And then he beat it down the road! +You could hear the kid breathe, he was hustling so! He's way off now, he's +caught the train! He wants to be a cabin boy on a big ocean liner!" For a +moment there was silence. "Well?" the boy demanded, "What do you think of +his chances?" + +"I don't know," said Roger huskily. He felt a tightening at his throat. +Abruptly he turned to his grandson. + +"George," he asked, "what do _you_ want to be?" The boy flushed under his +freckles. + +"I don't know as I know. I'm thinking," he answered very slowly. + +"Talk it over with your mother, son." + +"Yes, sir," came the prompt reply. "But he won't," reflected Roger. + +"Or if you ever feel you want to, have a good long talk with me." + +"Yes, sir," was the answer. Roger stood there waiting, then turned and +walked slowly out of the barn. How these children grew up inside of +themselves. Had boys always grown like that? Well, perhaps, but how strange +it was. Always new lives, lives of their own, the old families scattering +over the land. So the great life of the nation swept on. He kept noticing +here deserted farms, and one afternoon in the deepening dusk he rode by a +graveyard high up on a bare hillside. A horse and buggy were outside, and +within he spied a lean young woman neatly dressed in a plain dark suit. +With a lawn mower brought from home she was cutting the grass on her family +lot. And she seemed to fit into the landscape. New England had grown very +old. + + * * * * * + +Late one night toward the end of July, there came a loud honk from down the +hill, then another and another. And as George in his pajamas came rushing +from his bedroom shouting radiantly, "Gee! It's dad!"--they heard the car +thundering outside. Bruce had left New York at dawn and had made the run in +a single day, three hundred and eleven miles. He was gray with dust all +over and he was worn and hollow eyed, but his dark visage wore a look of +solid satisfaction. + +"I needed the trip to shake me down," he pleaded, when Edith scolded him +well for this terrific manner of starting his vacation. "I had to have it +to cut me off from the job I left behind me. Now watch me settle down on +this farm." + +But it appeared he could not settle down. For the first few days, in his +motor, he was busy exploring the mountains. "We'll make 'em look foolish. +Eh, son?" he said. And with George, who mutely adored him, he ran all about +them in a day. Genially he gave everyone rides. When he'd finished with the +family, he took Dave Royce the farmer and his wife and children, and even +both the hired men, for Bruce was an hospitable soul. But more than anyone +else he took George. They spent hours working on the car, and at times when +they came into the house begreased and blackened from their work, Edith +reproved them like bad boys--but Deborah smiled contentedly. + +But at the end of another week Bruce grew plainly restless, and despite his +wife's remonstrances made ready to return to town. When she spoke of his +hay fever he bragged to her complacently of his newly discovered cure. + +"Oh, bother your little blue bugs!" she cried. + +"The bugs aren't blue," he explained to her, in a mild and patient voice +that drove Edith nearly wild. "They're so little they have no color at all. +Poor friendly little devils--" + +"Bruce!" his wife exploded. + +"They've been almighty good to me. You ought to have heard my friend the +Judge, the last night I was with him. He patted his bottle and said to me, +'Bruce, my boy, with all these simple animals right here as our companions +why be a damn fool and run off to the cows?' And there's a good deal in +what he says. You ought to be mighty thankful, too, that my summer +pleasures are so mild. If you could see what some chaps do--" + +And Bruce started back for the city. George rode with him the first few +miles, then left him and came trudging home. His spirits were exceedingly +low. + +As August drew toward a close, Deborah, too, showed signs of unrest. With +ever growing frequency Roger felt her eagerness to return to her work in +New York. + +"You're as bad as Bruce," he growled at her. "You don't have to be back," +he argued. "School doesn't begin for nearly three weeks." + +"There's the suffrage campaign," she answered. He gave her a look of +exasperation. + +"Now what the devil has suffrage to do with your schools?" he demanded. + +"When the women get the vote, we'll spend more money on the children." + +"Suppose the money isn't there," was Roger's grim rejoinder. + +"Then we'll act like old-fashioned wives, I suppose," his daughter answered +cheerfully, "and keep nagging till it is there. We'll keep up such a +nagging," she added, in sweet even tones, "that you'll get the money by +hook or crook, to save yourselves from going insane." + +After this he caught her reading in the New York papers the list of +campaign meetings each night, meetings in hot stifling halls or out upon +deafening corners. And as she read there came over her face a look like +that of a man who has given up tobacco and suddenly sniffs it among his +friends. She went down the last night of August. + + * * * * * + +Roger stayed on for another two weeks, on into the best time of the year. +For now came the nights of the first snapping frosts when the dome of the +heavens was steely blue, and clear sparkling mornings, the woods aflame +with scarlet and gold. And across the small field below the house, at +sunset Roger would go down to the copse of birches there and find it filled +with glints of light that took his glance far in among the slender, creamy +stems of the trees, all slowly swaying to and fro, the leafage rich with +autumn hues, warm orange, yellow and pale green. Lovely and silent and +serene. So it had been when he was a boy and so it would be when he was +dead. Countless trees had been cut down but others had risen in their +stead. Now and then he could hear a bird warbling. + +Long ago this spot had been his mother's favorite refuge from her busy day +in the house. She had almost always come alone, but sometimes Roger +stealing down would watch her sitting motionless and staring in among the +trees. Years later in his reading he had come upon the phrase, "sacred +grove," and at once he had thought of the birches. And sitting here where +she had been, he felt again that boundless faith in life resplendent, +conquering death, and serenely sweeping him on--into what he did not fear. +For this had been his mother's faith. Sometimes in the deepening dusk he +could almost see her sitting here. + +"This faith in you has come from me. This is my memory living on in you, my +son, though you do not know. How many times have I held you back, how many +times have I urged you on, roused you up or soothed you, made you hope or +fear or dream, through memories of long ago. For you were once a part of +me. I moulded you, my little son. And as I have been to you, so you will be +to your children. In their lives, too, we shall be there--silent and +invisible, the dim strong figures of the past. For this is the power of +families, this is the mystery of birth." + +Suddenly he started. What was it that had thrilled him so? Only a tall dark +fir in the birches. But looming in there like a shadowy phantom it had +recalled a memory of a dusk far back in his boyhood, when seeing a shadow +just like this he had thought it a ghost in very truth and had run for the +house like a rabbit! How terribly real that fright had been! The +recollection suddenly became so vivid in his mind, that as though a veil +had been lifted he felt the living presence here, close by his side, of a +small barefoot mountain lad, clothed in sober homespun gray, but filled +with warm desires, dreams and curiosities, exploring upon every hand, now +marching boldly forward, now stealing up so cautiously, now galloping away +like mad! "I was once a child." To most of us these are mere words. To few +is it ever given to attain so much as even a glimpse into the warm and +quivering soul of that little stranger of long ago. We do not know how we +were made. + +"I moulded you, my little son. And as I have been to you, so you will be to +your children. In their lives, too, we shall be there." + +Darker, darker grew the copse and the chill of the night descended. But to +Roger's eyes there was no gloom. For he had seen a vision. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + + +On his return to the city, Roger found that Deborah's school had apparently +swept all other interests out of her mind. Baird hardly ever came to the +house, and she herself was seldom there except for a hasty dinner at night. +The house had to run itself more or less; and though Annie the cook was +doing her best, things did not run so smoothly. Roger missed little +comforts, attentions, and he missed Deborah most of all. When he came down +to his breakfast she had already left the house, and often she did not +return until long after he was in bed. She felt the difference herself, and +though she did not put it in words her manner at times seemed to beg his +forbearance. But there were many evenings when her father found it +difficult to hold to the resolve he had made, to go slowly with his +daughter until he could be more sure of his ground. She was growing so +intense again. From the school authorities she had secured a still wider +range and freedom for her new experiment, and she was working day and night +to put her ideas into effect. + +"It's only too easy," she remarked, "to launch an idea in this town. The +town will put it in headlines at once, and with it a picture of yourself in +your best bib and tucker, looking as though you loved the whole world. And +you can make a wonderful splurge, until they go on to the next new thing. +The real trouble comes in working it out." + +And this she had set out to do. Many nights in the autumn Roger went down +to the school, to try to get some clear idea of this vision of hers for +children, which in a vague way he could feel was so much larger than his +own, for he had seen its driving force in the grip it had upon her life. At +first he could make nothing of it at all; everywhere chaos met his eyes. +But he found something formless, huge, that made to him a strong appeal. + +The big building fairly hummed at night with numberless activities. +Fathers, mothers and children came pouring in together and went skurrying +off to their places. They learned to speak English, to read and write; +grown men and women scowled and toiled over their arithmetic. They worked +at trades in the various shops; they hammered and sawed and set up type; +they cooked and sewed and gossiped. "The Young Galician Socialist Girls" +debated on the question: "Resolved that woman suffrage has worked in +Colorado." "The Caruso Pleasure Club" gave a dance to "The Garibaldi +Whirlwinds." An orchestra rehearsed like mad. They searched their memories +for the songs and all the folk tales they had heard in peasant huts in +Italy, in hamlets along rocky coasts, in the dark old ghettos of crowded +towns in Poland and in Russia. And some of these songs were sung in school, +and some of these tales were dramatized here. Children and parents all took +part. And speakers emerged from the neighborhood. It was at times +appalling, the number of young Italians and Jews who had ideas to give +forth to their friends on socialism, poverty, marriage and religion, and +all the other questions that rose among these immigrants jammed into this +tenement hive. But when there were too many of these self-appointed guides, +the neighborhood shut down on them. + +"We don't want," declared one indignant old woman, "that every young loafer +should shout in our face!" + +Roger was slowly attracted into this enormous family life, and yielding to +an impulse he took charge of a boys' club which met on Thursday evenings +there. He knew well this job of fathering a small jovial group of lads; he +had done it before, many years ago, in the mission school, to please his +wife; he felt himself back on familiar ground. And from this point of +vantage, with something definite he could do, he watched with an interest +more clear the school form steadily closer ties with the tenements that +hedged it 'round, gathering its big family. And this family by slow degrees +began to make itself a part of the daily life of Roger's house. Committees +held their meetings here, teachers dropped in frequently, and Roger invited +the boys in his club to come up and see him whenever they liked. + +His most frequent visitor was Johnny Geer, the cripple. He was working in +Roger's office now and the two had soon become close friends. John kept +himself so neat and clean, he displayed such a keen interest in all the +details of office work, and he showed such a beaming appreciation of +anything that was done for him. + +"That boy is getting a hold on me lately almost like a boy of my own," +Roger said one evening when Allan Baird was at the house. "He's the +pluckiest young un I ever met. I've put him to work in my private office, +where he can use the sofa to rest, and I've made him my own +stenographer--partly because he's so quick at dictation and partly to try +to make him slow down. He has the mind of a race horse. He runs at night to +libraries until I should think he'd go insane. And his body can't stand it, +he's breaking down--though whenever I ask him how he feels, he always says, +'Fine, thank you.'" Here Roger turned to Allan. "I wish you'd take the +boy," he said, "to the finest specialist in town, and see what can be done +for his spine. I'll pay any price." + +"There won't be any price," said Allan, "but I'll see to it at once." + +He had John examined the same week. + +"Well?" asked Roger when next they met. + +"Well," said Baird, "it isn't good news." + +"You mean he's hopeless?" Allan nodded: + +"It's Pott's disease, and it's gone too far. John is eighteen. He may live +to be thirty." + +"But I tell you, Baird, I'll do anything!" + +"There's almost nothing you can do. If he had been taken when he was a +baby, he might have been cured and given a chance. But the same mother who +dropped him then, when she was full of liquor, just went to the druggist on +her block, and after listening to his advice she bought some patent +medicine, a steel jacket and some crutches, and thought she'd done her +duty." + +"But there must be something we can do!" retorted Roger angrily. + +"Yes," said Baird, "we can make him a little more comfortable. And +meanwhile we can help Deborah here to get hold of other boys like John and +give 'em a chance before it's too late--keep them from being crippled for +life because their mothers were too blind and ignorant to act in time." +Baird's voice had a ring of bitterness. + +"Most of 'em love their children," Roger said uneasily. Baird turned on him +a steady look. + +"Love isn't enough," he retorted. "The time is coming very soon when we'll +have the right to guard the child not only when it's a baby but even before +it has been born." + +Roger drew closer to John after this. Often behind the beaming smile he +would feel the pain and loneliness, and the angry grit which was fighting +it down. And so he would ask John home to supper on nights when nobody else +was there. One day late in the afternoon they were walking home together +along the west side of Madison Square. The big open space was studded with +lights sparkling up at the frosty stars, in a city, a world, a universe +that seemed filled with the zest and the vigor of life. Out of these lights +a mighty tower loomed high up into the sky. And stopping on his crutches, a +grim small crooked figure in all this rushing turmoil, John set his jaws, +and with his shrewd and twinkling eyes fixed on the top of the tower, he +said, + +"I meant to tell you, Mr. Gale. You was asking me once what I wanted to be. +And I want to be an architect." + +"Do, eh," grunted Roger. He, too, looked up at that thing in the stars, and +there was a tightening at his throat. "All right," he added, presently, +"why not start in and be one?" + +"How?" asked John alertly. + +"Well, my boy," said Roger, "I'd hate to lose you in the office--" + +"Yes, sir, and I'd hate to go." Just then the big clock in the tower began +to boom the hour, and a chill struck into Roger. + +"You'd have to," he said gruffly. "You haven't any time to lose! I mean," +he hastily added, "that for a job as big as that you'd need a lot of +training. But if it's what you want to be, go right ahead. I'll back you. +My son-in-law is a builder at present. I'll talk to him and get his advice. +We may be able to arrange to have you go right into his office, begin at +the bottom and work straight up." In silence for a moment John hobbled on +by Roger's side. + +"I'd hate to leave your place," he said. + +"I know," was Roger's brusque reply, "and I'd hate to lose you. We'll have +to think it over." + +A few days later he talked with Bruce, who said he'd be glad to take the +boy. And at dinner that night with Deborah, Roger asked abruptly, + +"Why not let Johnny come here for a while and use one of our empty +bedrooms?" + +With a quick flush of pleased surprise, Deborah gave her father a look that +embarrassed him tremendously. + +"Well, why not?" he snapped at her. "Sensible, isn't it?" + +"Perfectly." + +And sensible it turned out to be. When John first heard about it, he was +apparently quite overcome, and there followed a brief awkward pause while +he rapidly blinked the joy from his eyes. But then he said, "Fine, thank +you. That's mighty good of you, Mr. Gale," in as matter of fact a tone as +you please. And he entered the household in much the same way, for John had +a sense of the fitness of things. He had always kept himself neat and +clean, but he became immaculate now. He dined with Roger the first night, +but early the next morning he went down to the kitchen and breakfasted +there; and from this time on, unless he were especially urged to come up to +the dining room, John took all his meals downstairs. The maids were +Irish--so was John. They were good Catholics--so was John. They loved the +movies--so did John. In short, it worked out wonderfully. In less than a +month John had made himself an unobtrusive and natural part of the life of +Roger's sober old house. It had had to stretch just a little, no more. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + + +But that winter there was more in the house than Deborah's big family. +Though at times Roger felt it surging in with its crude, immense vitality, +there were other times when it was not so, and the lives of his other two +daughters attracted his attention, for both were back again in town. + +Laura and her husband had returned from abroad in October, and in a small +but expensive apartment in a huge new building facing on Park Avenue they +had gaily started the career of their own little family, or "menage," as +Laura called it. This word had stuck in Roger's mind, for he had a +suspicion that a "menage" was no place for babies. Grimly, when he went +there first to be shown the new home by its mistress, he looked about him +for a room which might be made a nursery. But no such room was in evidence. +"We decided to have no guest room," he heard Laura say to Deborah. And +glancing at his daughter then, sleek and smiling and demure, in her +tea-gown fresh from Paris, Roger darkly told himself that a child would be +an unwelcome guest. The whole place was as compact and sparkling as a jewel +box. The bed chamber was luxurious, with a gorgeous bath adjoining and a +dressing-room for Harold. + +"And look at this love of a closet!" said Laura to Deborah eagerly. "Isn't +it simply enormous?" As Deborah looked, her father did, too, and his eye +was met by an array of shimmering apparel which made him draw back almost +with a start. + +They found Harold in the pantry. Their Jap, it appeared, was a marvellous +cook and did the catering as well, so that Laura rarely troubled herself +to order so much as a single meal. But her husband had for many years been +famous for his cocktails, and although the Jap did everything else Hal had +kept this in his own hands. + +"I thought this much of the house-keeping ought to remain in the family," +he said. + +Roger did not like this joke. But later, when he had imbibed the delicious +concoction Harold had made, and had eaten the dinner created by that +Japanese artist of theirs, his irritation subsided. + +"They barely know we're here," he thought. "They're both in love up to +their ears." + +Despite their genial attempts to be hospitable and friendly, time and again +he saw their glances meet in an intimate gleaming manner which made him +rather uncomfortable. But where was the harm, he asked himself. They were +married all right, weren't they? Still somehow--somehow--no, by George, he +didn't like it, he didn't approve! The whole affair was decidedly mixing. +Roger went away vaguely uneasy, and he felt that Deborah was even more +disturbed than himself. + +"Those two," she remarked to her father, "are so fearfully wrapt up in each +other it makes me afraid. Oh, it's all right, I suppose, and I wouldn't for +worlds try to interfere. But I can't help feeling somehow that no two +people with such an abundance of youth and money and happiness have the +right to be so amazingly--selfish!" + +"They ought to have children," Roger said. + +"But look at Edith," his daughter rejoined. "She hasn't a single interest +that I can find outside her home. It seems to have swallowed her, body and +soul." A frowning look of perplexity swept over Deborah's mobile face, and +with a whimsical sigh she exclaimed, "Oh, this queer business of families!" + +In December there came a little crash. Late one evening Laura came bursting +in upon them in a perfect tantrum, every nerve in her lithe body tense, +her full lips visibly quivering, her voice unsteady, and her big black eyes +aflame with rage. She was jealous of her husband and "that nasty little +cat!" Roger learned no more about it, for Deborah motioned him out of the +room. He heard their two voices talk on and on, until Laura's slowly +quieted down. Soon afterwards she left the house, and Deborah came in to +him. + +"She's gone home, eh?" asked Roger. + +"Yes, she has, poor silly child--she said at first she had come here to +stay." + +"By George," he said. "As bad as that?" + +"Of course it isn't as bad as that!" Deborah cried impatiently. "She just +built and built on silly suspicions and let herself get all worked up! I +don't see what they're coming to!" For a few moments nothing was said. +"It's so unnatural!" she exclaimed. "Men and women weren't _made_ to live +like that!" Roger scowled into his paper. + +"Better leave 'em alone," he admonished her. "You can't help--they're not +your kind. Don't you mix into this affair." + +But Deborah did. She remembered that her sister had once shown quite a +talent for amateur theatricals; and to give Laura something to do, Deborah +persuaded her to take a dramatic club in her school. And Laura, rather to +Roger's surprise, became an enthusiast down there. She worked like a slave +at rehearsals, and upon the costumes she spent money with a lavish hand. +Moreover, instead of being annoyed, as Edith was, at Deborah's prominence +in the press, Laura gloried in it, as though this "radical" sister of hers +were a distinct social asset among her giddy friends uptown. For even +Laura's friends, her father learned with astonishment, had acquired quite +an appetite for men and women with ideas--the more "radical," the better. +But the way Laura used this word at times made Roger's blood run cold. She +was vivid in her approval of her sister's whole idea, as a scheme of +wholesale motherhood which would give "a perfectly glorious jolt" to the +old-fashioned home with its overworked mothers who let their children +absorb their days. + +"As though having children and bringing them up," she disdainfully +declared, "were something every woman must do, whether she happens to like +it or not, at the cost of any real growth of her own!" + +And smilingly she hinted at impending radical changes in the whole relation +of marriage, of which she was hearing in detail at a series of lectures to +young wives, delivered on Thursday mornings in a hotel ball-room. + +What the devil was getting into the town? Roger frowned his deep dislike. +Here was Laura with her chicken's mind blithely taking her sister's +thoughts and turning them topsy-turvy, to make for herself a view of life +which fitted like a white kid glove her small and elegant "menage." And +although her father had only inklings of it all, he had quite enough to +make him irate at this uncanny interplay of influences in his family. Why +couldn't the girls leave each other alone? + + * * * * * + +Early in the winter, Edith, too, had entered in. It had taken Edith just +one glance into the bride's apartment to grasp Laura's whole scheme of +existence. + +"Selfish, indulgent and abnormal," was the way she described it. She and +Bruce were dining with Roger that night. "I wash my hands of the whole +affair," continued Edith curtly. "So long as she doesn't want my help, as +she has plainly made me feel, I certainly shan't stand in her way." + +"You're absolutely right," said her father. + +"Stick to it," said Bruce approvingly. + +But Edith did not stick to it. In her case too, as the weeks wore on, those +subtle family ties took hold and made her feel the least she could do was +"to keep up appearances." So she and Bruce dined with the bride and groom, +and in turn had them to dinner. And these dinners, as Bruce confided to +Roger, were occasions no man could forget. + +"They come only about once a month," he said in a tone of pathos, "but it +seems as though barely a week had gone by when Edith says to me again, +'We're dining with Laura and Hal to-night.' Well, and we dine. Young Sloane +is not a bad sort of a chap--works hard downtown and worships his wife. The +way he lives--well, it isn't mine--and mine isn't his--and we both let it +go at that. But the women can't, they haven't it in 'em. Each sits with her +way of life in her lap. You can't see it over the tablecloth, but, my God, +how you feel it! The worst of it is," he ended, "that after one of these +terrible meals each woman is more set than before in her own way of living. +Not that I don't like Edith's way," her husband added hastily. + +Edith also disapproved of the fast increasing publicity which Deborah was +getting. + +"I may be very old-fashioned," she remarked to her father, "but I can't get +used to this idea that a woman's place is in headlines. And I think it's +rather hard on you--the use she's making of your house." + +One Friday night when she came to play chess, she found her father in the +midst of a boisterous special meeting of his club of Italian boys. It had +been postponed from the evening before. And though Roger, overcome with +dismay at having forgotten Edith's night, apologized profusely, the +time-honored weekly game took place no more from that day on. + +"Edith's pretty sore," said Bruce, who dropped in soon afterwards. "She +says Deborah has made your house into an annex to her school." + +Roger smoked in silence. His whole family was about his ears. + +"My boy," he muttered earnestly, "you and I must stick together." + +"We sure must," agreed his son-in-law. "And what's more, if we're to keep +the peace, we've got to try to put some punch into Deborah's so-called love +affair. She ought to get married and settle down." + +"Yes," said Roger, dubiously. "Only let's keep it to ourselves." + +"No chance of that," was the cheerful reply. "You can't keep Edith out of +it. It would only make trouble in _my_ family." Roger gave him a pitying +look and said, + +"Then, for the Lord's sake, let her in!" + +So they took Edith into their councils, and she gave them an indulgent +smile. + +"Suppose you leave this to me," she commanded. "Don't you think I've been +using my eyes? There's no earthly use in stepping in now, for Deborah has +lost her head. She sees herself a great new woman with a career. But wait +till the present flare-up subsides, till the newspapers all drop her and +she is thoroughly tired out. Until then, remember, we keep our hands off." + +"Do you think you can?" asked Roger, with a little glimmer of hope. + +"I?" she retorted. "Most certainly! I mean to leave her alone +absolutely--until she comes to me herself. When she does, we'll know it's +time to begin." + + * * * * * + +"I'm afraid Edith is hurt about something," said Deborah to her father, +about a month after this little talk. "She hasn't been near us for over +three weeks." + +"Let her be!" said Roger, in alarm. "I mean," he hastily added, "why can't +you let Edith come when she likes? There's nothing the matter. It's simply +her children--they take up her time." + +"No," said Deborah calmly, "it's I. She as good as told me so last month. +She thinks I've become a perfect fanatic--without a spare moment or +thought for my family." + +"Oh, my family!" Roger groaned. "I tell you, Deborah, you're wrong! Edith's +children are probably sick in bed!" + +"Then I'll go and see," she answered. + + * * * * * + +"Something has happened to Deborah," Edith informed him blithely, over the +telephone the next night. + +"Has, eh," grunted Roger. + +"Yes, she was here to see me to-day. And something has happened--she's +changing fast. I felt it in all kinds of ways. She was just as dear as she +could be--and lonely, as though she were feeling her age. I really think we +can do something now." + +"All right, let's do something," Roger growled. + +And Edith began to do something. Her hostility to her sister had completely +disappeared. In its place was a friendly affection, an evident desire to +please. She even drew Laura into the secret, and there was a gathering of +the clan. There were consultations in Roger's den. "Deborah is to get +married." The feeling of it crept through the house. Nothing was said to +her, of course, but Deborah was made to feel that her two sisters had drawn +close. And their influence upon her choice was more deep and subtle than +she knew. For although Roger's family had split so wide apart, between his +three daughters there were still mysterious bonds reaching far back into +nursery days. And Deborah in deciding whether to marry Allan Baird was +affected more than she was aware by the married lives of her sisters. All +she had seen in Laura's menage, all that she had ever observed in Edith's +growing family, kept rising from time to time in her thoughts, as she +vaguely tried to picture herself a wife and the mother of children. + +So the family, with those subtle bonds from the past, began to press +steadily closer and closer around this one unmarried daughter, and help her +to make up her mind. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + + +But she did not appear to care to be helped. Nor did Allan--he rarely came +to the house, and he went to Edith's not at all. He was even absent from +her Christmas tree for the children, a jolly little festivity which neither +he nor Deborah had missed in years. + +"What has got into him?" Roger asked. And shortly after Christmas he called +the fellow up on the 'phone. "Drop in for dinner to-night," he urged. And +he added distinctly, "I'm alone." + +"Are you? I'll be glad to." + +"Thank you, Baird, I want your advice." And as he hung up the receiver he +said, "Now then!" to himself, in a tone of firm decision. But later, as the +day wore on, he cursed himself for what he had done. "Don't it beat the +devil," he thought, "how I'm always putting my foot in it?" And when Baird +came into the room that night he loomed, to Roger's anxious eye, if +anything taller than before. But his manner was so easy, his gruff voice so +natural, and he seemed to take this little party of two so quietly as a +matter of course, that Roger was soon reassured, and at table he and Allan +got on even better than before. Baird talked of his life as a student, in +Vienna, Bonn and Edinburgh, and of his first struggles in New York. His +talk was full of human bits, some tragic, more amusing. And Roger's liking +for the man increased with every story told. + +"I asked you here," he bluntly began, when they had gone to the study to +smoke, "to talk to you about Deborah." Baird gave him a friendly look. + +"All right. Let's talk about her." + +"It strikes me you were right last year," said Roger, speaking slowly. +"She's already showing the strain of her work. She don't look to me as +strong as she was." + +"She looks to me stronger," Allan replied. "You know, people fool doctors +now and then--and she seems to have taken a fresh start. I feel she may go +on for years." Roger was silent a moment, chagrined and disappointed. + +"Have you had a good chance to watch her?" he asked. + +"Yes, and I'm watching her still," said Baird. "I see her down there at the +school. She tells me you've been there yourself." + +"Yes," said Roger, determinedly, "and I mean to keep on going. I'm trying +not to lose hold of her," he added with harsh emphasis. Baird turned and +frankly smiled at him. + +"Then you have probably seen," he replied, "that to keep any hold at all on +her, you must make up your mind as I have done that, strength or no +strength, this job of hers is going to be a life career. When a woman who +has held a job without a break for eleven years can feel such a flame of +enthusiasm, you can be pretty sure, I think, it is the deepest part of her. +At least I feel that way," he said. "And I believe the only way to keep +near her--for the present, anyhow--is to help her in her work." + +When Baird had gone, Roger found himself angry. + +"I'm not in the habit, young man," he thought, "of throwing my daughter at +gentlemen's heads. If you feel as calm and contented as that you can go to +the devil! Far be it from me to lift a hand! In fact, as I come to think of +it, you would probably make her a mighty poor husband!" He worked himself +into quite a rage. But an hour later, when he had subsided, "Hold on," he +thought. "Am I right about this? Is the man as contented as he talks? No, +sir, not for a minute he isn't! But what can he do? If he tried making love +to Deborah he'd simply be killing his chances. Not the slightest doubt in +the world. She can't think of anything but her career. Yes, sir, when all's +said and done, to marry a modern woman is no child's play, it means thought +and care. And A. Baird has made up his mind to it. He has made up his mind +to marry her by playing a long waiting game. He's just slowly and quietly +nosing his way into her school, because it's her life. And a mighty shrewd +way of going about it. You don't need any help from me, my friend; all you +need is to be let alone." + +In talks at home with Deborah, and in what he himself observed at school, +Roger began to get inklings of "A. Baird's long waiting game." He found +that several months before Allan had offered to start a free clinic for +mothers and children in connection with the school, and that he alone had +put it through, with only the most reluctant aid and gratitude from +Deborah--as though she dreaded something. Baird took countless hours from +his busy uptown practice; he hurt himself more than once, in fact, by +neglecting rich patients to do this work. Where a sick or pregnant mother +was too poor to carry out his advice, he followed her into her tenement +home, sent one of his nurses to visit her, and even gave money when it was +needed to ease the strain of her poverty until she should be well and +strong. Soon scores of the mothers of Deborah's children were singing the +praises of Doctor Baird. + +Then he began coming to the house. + +"I was right," thought Roger complacently. + +He laid in a stock of fine cigars and some good port and claret, too; and +on evenings when Baird came to dine, Roger by a genial glow and occasional +jocular ironies would endeavor to drag the talk away from clinics, +adenoids, children's teeth, epidemics and the new education. But no joke +was so good that Deborah could not promptly match it with some amusing +little thing which one of her children had said or done. For she had a +mother's instinct for bragging fondly of her brood. It was deep, it was +uncanny, this queer community motherhood. + +"This poor devil," Roger thought, with a pitying glance at Baird, "might +just as well be marrying a widow with three thousand brats." + +But Baird did not seem in the least dismayed. On the contrary, his +assurance appeared to be deepening every week, and with it Deborah's air of +alarm. For his clinic, as it swiftly grew, he secured financial backing +from his rich women patients uptown, many of them childless and only too +ready to respond to the appeals he made to them. And one Saturday evening +at the house, while dining with Roger and Deborah, he told of an offer he +had had from a wealthy banker's widow to build a maternity hospital. He +talked hungrily of all it could do in co-operation with the school. He said +nothing of the obvious fact that it would require his whole time, but Roger +thought of that at once, and by the expression on Deborah's face he saw she +was thinking, too. + +He felt they wanted to be alone, so presently he left them. From his study +he could hear their voices growing steadily more intense. Was it all about +work? He could not tell. "They've got working and living so mixed up, a man +can't possibly tell 'em apart." + +Then his daughter was called to the telephone, and Allan came in to bid +Roger good-night. And his eyes showed an impatience he did not seem to care +to hide. + +"Well?" inquired Roger. "Did you get Deborah's consent?" + +"To what?" asked Allan sharply. + +"To your acceptance," Roger answered, "of the widow's mite." Baird grinned. + +"She couldn't help herself," he said. + +"But she didn't seem to like it, eh--" + +"No," said Baird, "she didn't." Roger had a dark suspicion. + +"By the way," he asked in a casual tone, "what's this philanthropic widow +like?" + +"She's sixty-nine," Baird answered. + +"Oh," said Roger. He smoked for a time, and sagely added, "My daughter's a +queer woman, Baird--she's modern, very modern. But she's still a woman, you +understand--and so she's jealous--of her job." But A. Baird was in no +joking mood. + +"She's narrow," he said sternly. "That's what's the matter with Deborah. +She's so centered on her job she can't see anyone else's. She thinks I'm +doing all this work solely in order to help her school--when if she'd use +some imagination and try to put herself in my shoes, she'd see the chance +it's giving _me_!" + +"How do you mean?" asked Roger, looking a bit bewildered. + +"Why," said Baird with an impatient fling of his hand, "there are men in my +line all over the country who'd leave home, wives and children for the +chance I've blundered onto here! A hospital fully equipped for research, a +free hand, an opportunity which comes to one man in a million! But can she +see it? Not at all! It's only an annex to her school!" + +"Yes," said Roger gravely, "she's in a pretty unnatural state. I think she +ought to get married, Baird--" To his friendly and disarming twinkle Baird +replied with a rueful smile. + +"You do, eh," he growled. "Then tell her to plan her wedding to come before +her funeral." As he rose to go, Roger took his hand. + +"I'll tell her," he said. "It's sound advice. Good-night, my boy, I wish +you luck." + +A few moments later he heard in the hall their brief good-nights to each +other, and presently Deborah came in. She was not looking quite herself. + +"Why are you eyeing me like that?" his daughter asked abruptly. + +"Aren't you letting him do a good deal for you?" + +Deborah flushed a little: + +"Yes, I am. I can't make him stop." + +Her father hesitated. + +"You could," he said, "if you wanted to. If you were sure," he added +slowly, "that you didn't love him--and told him so." He felt a little +panic, for he thought he had gone too far. But his daughter only turned +away and restlessly moved about the room. At last she came to her father's +chair: + +"Hadn't you better leave this to me?" + +"I had, my dear, I most certainly had. I was all wrong to mention it," he +answered very humbly. + + * * * * * + +From this night on, Baird changed his tack. Although soon busy with the +plans for the hospital, to be built at once, he said little about it to +Deborah. Instead, he insisted on taking her off on little evening sprees +uptown. + +"Do you know what's the matter with both of us?" he said to her one +evening. "We've been getting too durned devoted to our jobs and our ideals. +You're becoming a regular school marm and I'm getting to be a regular slave +to every wretched little babe who takes it into his head to be born. We +haven't one redeeming vice." + +And again he took up dancing. The first effort which he made, down at +Deborah's school one evening, was a failure quite as dismal as his attempts +of the previous year. But he did not appear in the least discouraged. He +came to the house one Friday night. + +"I knew I could learn to dance," he said, "in spite of all your taunts and +jibes. That little fiasco last Saturday night--" + +"Was perfectly awful," Deborah said. + +"Did not discourage me in the least," he continued severely. "I decided the +only trouble with me was that I'm tall and I've got to bend--to learn to +bend." + +"Tremendously!" + +"So I went to a lady professor, and she saw the point at once. Since then +I've had five lessons, and I can fox-trot in my sleep. To-morrow is +Saturday. Where shall we go?" + +"To the theater." + +"Good. We'll start with that. But the minute the play is over we'll gallop +off to the Plaza Grill--just as the music is in full swing--" + +"And we'll dance," she groaned, "for hours. And when I get home, I'll creep +into bed so tired and sore in every limb--" + +"That you'll sleep late Sunday morning. And a mighty good thing for you, +too--if you ask my advice--" + +"I don't ask your advice!" + +"You're getting it, though," he said doggedly. "If you're still to be a +friend of mine we'll dance at the Plaza to-morrow night--and well into the +Sabbath." + +"The principal of a public school--dancing on the Sabbath. Suppose one of +my friends should see us there." + +"Your friends," he replied with a fine contempt, "do not dance in the Plaza +Grill. I'm the only roisterer you know." + +"All right," she conceded grudgingly, "I'll roister. Come and get me. But +I'd much prefer when the play is done to come home and have milk and +crackers here." + +"Deborah," he said cheerfully, "for a radical school reformer you're the +most conservative woman I know." + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + + +In Deborah's school, in the meantime, affairs had drawn to a climax. The +moment had come for the city to say whether her new experiment should be +dropped the following year or allowed to go on and develop. There came a +day of sharp suspense when Deborah's friends and enemies on the Board of +Education sat down to discuss and settle her fate. They were at it for +several hours, but late in the afternoon they decided not only to let her +go on the next year but to try her idea in four other schools and place her +in charge with ample funds. The long strain came to an end at last in a +triumph beyond her wildest hopes; when the news arrived she relaxed, grew +limp, and laughed and cried a little. And her father felt her tremble as he +held her a moment in his arms. + +"Now, Baird," he thought, "your chance has come. For God's sake, take it +while it's here!" + +But in place of Baird that afternoon came men and women from the press, and +friends and fellow workers. The door-bell and the telephone kept ringing +almost incessantly. Why couldn't they leave her a moment's peace? Roger +buried himself in his study. Later, when he was called to dinner, he found +that Allan was there, too, but at first the conversation was all upon +Deborah's victory. Flushed with success, for the moment engrossed in the +wider field she saw ahead, she had not a thought for anything else. But +after dinner the atmosphere changed. + +"To hear me talk," she told them, "you'd think the whole world depended on +me, and on my school and my ideas. Me, me, me! And it has been me all +winter long! What a time I've given both of you!" + +She grew repentant and grateful, first to her father and then to Allan, and +then more and more to Allan, with her happy eyes on his. And with a keen +worried look at them both, Roger rose and left the room. + + * * * * * + +Baird was leaning forward. He had both her hands in his own. + +"Well?" he asked. "Will you marry me now?" + +Her eyes were looking straight into his. They kept moving slightly, +searching his. Her wide, sensitive lips were tightly compressed, but did +not quite hide their quivering. When she spoke her voice was low and a +little queer and breathless: + +"Do you want any children, Allan?" + +"Yes." + +"So do I. And with children, what of my work?" + +"I don't want to stop your work. If you marry me we'll go right on. You see +I know you, Deborah, I know you've always grown like that--by risking what +you've got to-day for something more to-morrow." + +"I've never taken a risk like this!" + +"I tell you this time it's no risk! Because you're a grown woman--formed! +I'm not making a saint of you. You're no angel down among the poor because +you feel it's your duty in life--it's your happiness, your passion! You +couldn't neglect them if you tried!" + +"But the time," she asked him quickly. "Where shall I find the time for it +all?" + +"A man finds time enough," he answered, "even when he's married." + +"But I'm not a man, I'm a woman," she said. And in a low voice which +thrilled him, "A woman who wants a child of her own!" His lean muscular +right hand contracted sharply upon hers. She winced, drew back a little. + +"Oh--I'm sorry!" he whispered. Then he asked her again, + +"Will you marry me now?" She looked suddenly up: + +"Let's wait awhile, please! It won't be long--I'm in love with you, Allan, +I'm sure of that now! And I'm not drawing back, I'm not afraid! Oh, I want +you to feel I'm not running away! What I want to do is to face this square! +It may be silly and foolish but--you see, I'm made like that. I want a +little longer--I want to think it out by myself." + + * * * * * + +When Allan had gone she came in to her father. And her radiant expression +made him bounce up from his chair. + +"By George," he cried, "he asked you!" + +"Yes!" + +"And you've taken him!" + +"No!" + +Roger gasped. + +"Look here!" he demanded, angrily. "What's the matter? Are you mad?" She +threw back her head and laughed at him. + +"No, I'm not--I'm happy!" + +"What the devil about?" he snapped. + +"We're going to wait a bit, that's all, till we're sure of everything!" she +cried. + +"Then," said Roger disgustedly, "you're smarter than your father is. I'm +sure of nothing--nothing! I have never been sure in all my days! If I'd +waited, you'd never have been born!" + +"Oh, dearie," she begged him smilingly. "Please don't be so unhappy just +now--" + +"I've a right to be!" said Roger. "I see my house agog with this--in a +turmoil--in a turmoil!" + + * * * * * + +But again he was mistaken. It was in fact astonishing how the old house +quieted down. There came again one of those peaceful times, when his home +to Roger's senses seemed to settle deep, grow still, and gather itself +together. Day by day he felt more sure that Deborah was succeeding in +making her work fit into her swiftly deepening passion for a full happy +woman's life. And why shouldn't they live here, Allan and she? The thought +of this dispelled the cloud which hung over the years he saw ahead. How +smoothly things were working out. The monstrous new buildings around his +house seemed to him to draw back as though balked of their prey. + +On the mantle in Roger's study, for many years a bronze figure there, "The +Thinker," huge and naked, forbidding in its crouching pose, the heavy chin +on one clenched fist, had brooded down upon him. And in the years that had +been so dark, it had been a figure of despair. Often he had looked up from +his chair and grimly met its frowning gaze. But Roger seldom looked at it +now, and even when it caught his eye it had little effect upon him. It +appeared to brood less darkly. For though he did not think it out, there +was this feeling in his mind: + +"There is to be nothing startling in this quiet home of mine, no crashing +deep calamity here." + +Only the steadily deepening love between a grown man and a woman mature, +both sensible, strong people with a firm control of their destinies. He +felt so sure of this affair. For now, her tension once relaxed with the +success which had come to her after so many long hard years, a new Deborah +was revealed, more human in her yieldings. She let Allan take her off on +the wildest little sprees uptown and out into the country. To Roger she +seemed younger, more warm and joyous and more free. He loved to hear her +laugh these nights, to catch the glad new tones in her voice. + +"There is to be no tragedy here." + +So, certain of this union and wistful for all he felt it would bring, Roger +watched its swift approach. And when the news came, he was sure he'd been +right. Because it came so quietly. + +"It's settled, dear, at last it's sure. Allan and I are to be married." She +was standing by his chair. Roger reached up and took her hand: + +"I'm glad. You'll be very happy, my child." + +She bent over and kissed him, and putting his arm around her he drew her +down on the side of his chair. + +"Now tell me all your plans," he said. And her answer brought him a deep +peace. + +"We're going abroad for the summer--and then if you'll have us we want to +come here." Roger abruptly shut his eyes. + +"By George, Deborah," he said, "you do have a way of getting right into the +heart of things!" His arm closed about her with new strength and he felt +all his troubles flying away. + +"What a time we'll have, what a rich new life." Her deep sweet voice was a +little unsteady. "Listen, dearie, how quiet it is." And for some moments +nothing was heard but the sober tick-tick of the clock on the mantle. "I +wonder what we're going to hear." + +And they thought of new voices in the house. + + + + +CHAPTER XIX + + +Edith was radiant at the news. + +"I do hope they're not going to grudge themselves a good long wedding +trip!" she exclaimed. + +"They're going abroad," said Roger. + +"Oh, splendid! And the wedding! Church or home?" + +"Home," said Roger blissfully, "and short and simple, not a frill. Just the +family." + +"Oh, that's so nice," sighed Edith. "I was afraid she'd want to drag in her +school." + +"School will be out by then," he said. + +"Well, I hope it stays out--for the remainder of her days. She can't do +both, and she'll soon see. Wait till she has a child of her own." + +"Well, she wants one bad enough." + +"Yes, but can she?" Edith asked, with the engrossed expression which came +on her pretty florid face whenever she neared such a topic. She spoke with +evident awkwardness. "That's the trouble. Is it too late? Deborah's +thirty-one, you know, and she has lived her life so hard. The sooner she +gives up her school the better for her chances." + +The face of her father clouded. + +"Look here," he said uneasily, "I wouldn't go talking to her--quite along +those lines, my dear." + +"I'm not such an idiot," she replied. "She thinks me homely enough as it +is. And she's not altogether wrong. Bruce and I were talking it over last +night. We want to be closer, after this, to Deborah and Allan. Bruce says +it will do us _all_ good, and for once I think he's right. I _have_ given +too much time to my children, and Bruce to his office--I see it now. Not +that I regret it, but--well, we're going to blossom out." + + * * * * * + +She struck the same note with Deborah. And so did Bruce. + +"Oh, Deborah dear," he said smiling, when he found a chance to see her +alone, "if you knew how long I've waited for this big fine thing to happen. +A. Baird is my best chum in the world. Don't yank him gently away from us +now. We'll keep close--eh?--all four of us." + +"Very," said Deborah softly. + +"And you mustn't get too solemn, you know. You won't pull too much of the +highbrow stuff." + +"Heaven forbid!" + +"That's the right idea. We'll have some fine little parties together. You +and A. Baird will give us a hand and get us out in the evenings. We need +it, God knows, we've been getting old." Deborah threw him a glance of +affection. + +"Why, Brucie," she said, in admiring tones, "I knew you had it in you." + +"So has Edith," he sturdily declared. "She only needs a little shove. We'll +show you two that we're regular fellows. Don't you be all school and we +won't be all home. We'll jump out of our skins and be young again." + + * * * * * + +In pursuance of this gay resolve, Bruce planned frequent parties to +theaters and musical shows, and to Edith's consternation he even began to +look about for a teacher from whom he could learn to dance. "A. Baird," he +told her firmly, "isn't going to be the only soubrette in this family." + +One of the most hilarious of these small celebrations came early in June, +when they dined all four together and went to the summer's opening of "The +Follies of 1914." The show rather dragged a bit at first, but when Bert +Williams took the stage Bruce's laugh became so contagious that people in +seats on every hand turned to look at him and join in his glee. Only one +thing happened to mar the evening's pleasure. When they came outside the +theater Bruce found in his car something wrong with the engine. He tinkered +but it would not go. Allan hailed a taxi. + +"Why not come with us?" asked Deborah. + +"No, thanks," said Bruce. "I've got this car to look after." + +"Oh, let it wait," urged Allan. + +"It does look a little like rain," put in Edith. Bruce glanced up at the +cloudy sky and hesitated a moment. + +"Rain, piffle," he said good-humoredly. "Come on, wifey, stick by me. I +won't be long." And he and Edith went back to his car. + +"What a dear he is," said Deborah. Allan put his arm around her, and they +looked at each other and smiled. It was only nine days to the wedding. + +Out of the street's commotion came a sharp cry of warning. It was followed +by a shriek and a crash. Allan looked out of the window, and then with a +low exclamation he jumped from the taxi and slammed the door. + + + + +CHAPTER XX + + +Roger had been spending a long quiet evening at home. He had asked John to +dine with him and they had chatted for a time. Then John had started up to +his room. And listening to the slow shuffling step of the cripple going +upstairs, Roger had thought of the quick eager feet and the sudden scampers +that would be heard as the silent old house renewed its life. Later he had +gone to bed. + +He awakened with a start. The telephone bell was ringing. + +"Nice time to be calling folks out of bed," he grumbled, as he went into +the hall. The next moment he heard Deborah's voice. It was clear and sharp +with a note of alarm. + +"Father--it's I! You must come to Edith's apartment at once! Bruce is hurt +badly! Come at once!" + +When Roger reached the apartment, it was Deborah who opened the door. Her +face had changed, it was drawn and gray. She took him into the living room. + +"Tell me," he said harshly. + +"It was just outside the theater. Bruce and Edith were out in the street +and got caught by some idiot of a chauffeur. Bruce threw Edith out of the +way, but just as he did it he himself got struck in the back and went under +a wheel. Allan brought him here at once, while I telephoned for a friend of +his--a surgeon. They're with Bruce now." + +"Where's Edith?" + +"She's trying to quiet the children. They all woke up--" Deborah +frowned--"when he was brought in," she added. + +"Well!" breathed Roger. "I declare!" Dazed and stunned, he sank into a +chair. Soon the door opened and Allan came in. + +"He's gone," he said. And Deborah jumped. "No, no, I meant the doctor." + +"What does he say?" + +"Bruce can't live," said Allan gently. In the tense silence there came a +chill. "And he knows it," Allan added. "He made me tell him--he said he +must know--for business reasons. He wants to see you both at once, before +Edith gets that child asleep." + +As they entered the room they saw Bruce on his bed. He was breathing +quickly through his narrow tight-set jaws and staring up at the ceiling +with a straining fixed intensity. As they entered he turned his head. His +eyes met theirs and lighted up in a hard and terrible manner. + +"I'm not leaving them a dollar!" he cried. + +"We'll see to them, boy," said Roger, hoarsely, but Bruce had already +turned to Baird. + +"I make you my executor, Allan--don't need it in writing--there isn't +time." He drew a sudden quivering breath. "I have no will," he muttered on. +"Never made one--never thought of this. Business life just +starting--booming!--and I put in every cent!" There broke from him a low, +bitter groan. "Made my money settling other men's muddles! Never thought of +making this mess of my own! But even in mine--I could save something +still--if I could be there--if I could be there--" + +The sweat broke out on his temples, and Deborah laid her hand on his head. +"Sh-h-h," she breathed. He shut his eyes. + +"Hard to think of anything any more. I can't keep clear." He shuddered with +pain. "Fix me for _them_," he muttered to Baird. "George and his mother. +Fix me up--give me a couple of minutes clear. And Deborah--when you bring +'em in--don't let 'em know. You understand? No infernal last good-byes!" +Deborah sharply set her teeth. + +"No, dear, no," she whispered. She followed her father out of the room, +leaving Allan bending over the bed with a hypodermic in his hand. And when, +a few moments later, George came in with his mother, they found Bruce +soothed and quieted. He even smiled as he reached up his hand. + +"They say I've got to sleep, old girl--just sleep and sleep--it'll do me +good. So you mustn't stay in the room to-night. Stay with the kiddies and +get 'em to sleep." He was still smiling up at her. "They say it'll be a +long time, little wife--and I'm so sorry--I was to blame. If I'd done as +you wanted and gone in their taxi. Remember? You said it might rain." He +turned to George: "Look here, my boy, I'm counting on you. I'll be sick, +you know--no good at all. You must stand by your mother." + +George gulped awkwardly: + +"Sure I will, dad." His father sharply pressed his hand: + +"That's right, old fellow, I know what you are. Now good-night, son. +Good-night, Edith dear." He looked at her steadily just for a moment, then +closed his eyes. "Oh, but I'm sleepy," he murmured. "Good-night." + +And they left him. Alone with Allan, Bruce looked up with a savage glare. + +"Look here!" he snarled, between his teeth. "If you think I'm going to lie +here and die you're mistaken! I won't! I won't let go! I'll show you chaps +you can be wrong! Been wrong before, haven't you, thousands of times! Why +be so damnably sure about _me_?" He fell back suddenly, limp and weak. "So +damnably sure," he panted. + +"We're never sure, my dear old boy," said Allan very tenderly. Again he +was bending close over the bed. "We're not sure yet--by any means. You're +so strong, old chap, so amazingly strong. You've given me hope--" + +"What are you sticking into my arm?" But Allan kept talking steadily on: + +"You've given me hope you'll pull through still. But not like this. You've +got to rest. Let go, and try to go to sleep." + +"I'm afraid to," came the whisper. But soon, as again the drug took hold, +he mumbled in a drowsy tone, "Afraid to go to sleep in the dark.... Say, +Allan--get Deborah in here, will you--just for a minute. One thing more." + +When she came, he did not open his eyes. + +"That you, Deborah? Where's your hand?... Oh--there it is. Just one more +point. You--you--" Again his mind wandered, but with an effort he brought +it back. "You and Edith," he said in a whisper. "So--so--so different. +Not--not like each other at all. But you'll stick together--eh? +Always--always. Don't let go--I mean of my hand." + +"No, dear, no." + +And with her hand holding his, she sat for a long time perfectly still. +Then the baby was heard crying, and Deborah went to the nursery. + +"Now, Edith, I'll see to the children," she said. "Allan says you can go to +Bruce if you like." + +Edith looked up at Deborah quickly, and as quickly turned away. She went in +to her husband. And there, hour by hour through the night, while he lay +inert with his hand in hers, little by little she understood. But she asked +no question of anyone. + +At last Bruce stirred a little and began breathing deep and fast. + +And so death came into the family. + + + + +CHAPTER XXI + + +Roger went through the next two days in a kind of a stupor. He remembered +holding Edith and feeling her shudder as though from a chill. He remembered +being stopped in the hall by George who had dressed himself with care in +his first suit with long trousers. "I just wanted you to remember," the boy +whispered solemnly, "that I'm nearly sixteen and I'll be here. He said to +stand by her and I will." The rest of that ghastly time was a blank, +punctuated by small quiet orders which Roger obeyed. Thank God, Deborah was +there, and she was attending to everything. + +But when at last it was over, and Roger had spent the next day in his +office, had found it impossible to work and so had gone home early, Deborah +came to him in his room. + +"Now we must have a talk," she said. "Allan has gone through Bruce's +affairs, and there are still debts to be settled, it seems." + +"How much do they come to, Deborah?" + +"About five thousand dollars," she said. And for a moment neither spoke. "I +wish I could help you out," she went on, "but I have nothing saved and +neither has Allan. We've both kept using our money downtown--except just +enough for the trip abroad--and we'll need almost all of that to settle for +the funeral." + +"I can manage," Roger said, and again there was a silence. + +"Edith will have to come here to live," Deborah said presently. Her +father's heavy face grew stern. + +"I'd thought of that," he answered. "But it will be hard on her, +Deborah--" + +"I know it will--but I don't see anything else to be done." The deep quiet +voice of his daughter grew sweet with pity as she spoke. "At least we can +try to make it a little easier for her. You can take her up to the +mountains and I can close her apartment. But of course she won't agree to +it unless she knows how matters stand." Deborah waited a little. "Don't you +think you're the best one to tell her?" + +"Yes," said Roger, after a pause. + +"Then suppose we go to her. I'm sleeping up there for the next few nights." + + * * * * * + +They found Edith in her living room. She had sent the nurse out, put the +children to bed, and left alone with nothing to do she had sat facing her +first night. Her light soft hair was disheveled, her pretty features pale +and set. But the moment Roger entered he saw that she had herself in hand. + +"Well, father," she said steadily. "You'd better tell me about our affairs. +_My_ affairs," she corrected herself. When he had explained, she was silent +a moment, and then in a voice harsh, bitter, abrupt, "That will be hard on +the children," she said. On an impulse he started to take her hand, but she +drew a little away from him. + +"The children, my dear," he said huskily, "will be taken care of always." + +"Yes." And again she was silent. "I've been thinking I'd like to go up to +the mountains--right away," she continued. + +"Just our idea," he told her. "Deborah will arrange it at once." + +"That's good of Deborah," she replied. And after another pause: "But take +her home with you--will you? I'd rather not have her here to-night." + +"I think she'd better stay, my dear." + +"All right." In a tone of weariness. "Madge Deering called me up to-night. +She's coming in town to-morrow, and she means to stay till I go." + +"I'm glad," he said approvingly. Madge had been a widow for years. Living +out in Morristown with four daughters to bring up, she had determinedly +fought her way and had not only regained her hold but had even grown in +strength and breadth since the death of her husband long ago. "I'm glad," +he said. "You and Madge--" he paused. + +"Yes, we'll have a good deal in common," Edith finished out his thought. +"You look tired, dad. Hadn't you better go home now?" she suggested after a +moment. + +"Yes," said Roger, rising. "Good-night, my child. Remember." + +In the outer hallway he found Deborah with Laura. Laura had been here +several times. She was getting Edith's mourning. + +"There's a love of a hat at Thurn's," she was saying softly, "if only we +can get her to wear it. It's just her type." And Laura drew an anxious +breath. "Anything," she added, "to escape that hideous heavy crepe." + +Roger slightly raised his brows. He noticed a faint delicious perfume that +irritated him suddenly. But glancing again at his daughter, trim, fresh and +so immaculate, the joy of life barely concealed in her eyes, he stopped and +talked and smiled at her, as Deborah was doing, enjoying her beauty and her +youth, her love and all her happiness. And though they spoke of her sister, +she knew they were thinking of herself, and that it was quite right they +should, for it gave them a little relief from their gloom. She was honestly +sorry for Edith, but she was sorrier still for Bruce, who she knew had +always liked her more than he would have cared to say. She was sorrier for +Bruce because, while Edith had lost only her husband, Bruce had lost his +very life. And life meant so much to Laura, these days, the glowing, +coursing, vibrant life of her warm beautiful body. She was thinking of that +as she stood in the hall. + + * * * * * + +In the evening, at home in his study, Roger heard a slight knock at the +door. He looked up and saw John. + +"May I come in, Mr. Gale, for a minute?" + +"Yes, my boy." John hobbled in. + +"Only a minute." His voice was embarrassed. "Just two or three things I +thought of," he said. "The first was about your son-in-law. You see, I was +his stenographer--and while I was in his office--this morning helping +Doctor Baird--I found a good deal I can do there still--about things no one +remembers but me. So I'll stay there awhile, if it's all right. Only--" he +paused--"without any pay. See what I mean?" + +"Yes, I see," said Roger. "And you'd better stay--in that way if you like." + +"Thanks," said John. "Then about his wife and family. You're to take them +up to the mountains, I hear--and--well, before this happened you asked _me_ +up this summer. But I guess I'd better not." + +"I don't think you'd be in the way, my boy." + +"I'd rather stay here, if you don't mind. When I'm through in your +son-in-law's office I thought I might go back to yours. I could send you +your mail every two or three days." + +"I'd like that, John--it will be a great help." + +"All right, Mr. Gale." John stopped at the door. "And Miss Deborah," he +ventured. "Is she to get married just the same?" + +"Oh, yes, I think so--later on." + +"Good-night, sir." + +And John went out of the room. + +When _would_ Deborah be married? It came over Roger, when he was alone, how +his family had shifted its center. Deborah would have come here to live, +to love and be happy, a mother perhaps, but now she must find a home of her +own. In her place would come Edith with her children. All would center on +her in her grief. + +And for no cause! Just a trick of chance, a street accident! And Roger grew +bitter and rebelled. Bruce was not the one of the family to die. Bruce, so +shrewd and vigorous, so vital, the practical man of affairs. Bruce had been +going the pace that kills--yes, Roger had often thought of it. But that had +nothing to do with this! If Bruce had died at fifty, say, as a result of +the life he had chosen, the fierce exhausting city which he had loved as a +man will love drink, then at least there would have been some sense of +fairness in it all! If the town had let him alone till his time! But to be +knocked down by an automobile! The devilish irony of it! No +reason--nothing! Just hideous luck! + +Well, life was like that. As for Edith and her children, he would be glad +to have them here. Only, it would be different, the house would have to +change again. He was sorry, too, for Deborah. No wedding trip as she had +planned, no home awaiting her return. + +So his mind went over his family. + +But suddenly such thoughts fell away as trivial and of small account. For +these people would still be alive. And Bruce was dead, and Roger was old. +So he thought about Bruce and about himself, and all his children grew +remote. "You will live on in our children's lives." Was there no other +immortality? The clock ticked on the mantle and beside it "The Thinker" +brooded down. And Roger looked up unafraid, but grim and gravely wondering. + + + + +CHAPTER XXII + + +But there was a rugged practical side to the character of Roger Gale, and +the next morning he was ashamed of the brooding thoughts which had come in +the night. He shook them off as morbid, and resolutely set himself to what +lay close before him. There was work to be done on Bruce's affairs, and the +work was a decided relief. Madge Deering, in the meantime, had offered to +go with Edith and the children to the mountains and see them all well +settled there. And a little talk he had with Madge relieved his mind still +further. What a recovery _she_ had made from the tragedy of years ago. How +alert and wide-awake she seemed. If Edith could only grow like that. + +Soon after their departure, one night when he was dining alone, he had a +curious consciousness of the mingled presence of Edith and of Judith his +wife. And this feeling grew so strong that several times he looked about in +a startled, questioning manner. All at once his eye was caught by an old +mahogany sideboard. It was Edith's. It had been her mother's. Edith, when +she married, had wanted something from her old home. Well, now it was back +in the family. + +The rest of Edith's furniture, he learned from Deborah that night, had been +stored in the top of the house. + +"Most of it," she told him, "Edith will probably want to use in fitting up +the children's rooms." With a twinge of foreboding, Roger felt the +approaching change in his home. + +"When do you plan to be married?" he asked. + +"About the end of August. We couldn't very well till then, without hurting +poor Edith a little, you see. You know how she feels about such things--" + +"Yes, I guess you're right," he agreed. + +How everything centered 'round Edith, he thought. To pay the debts which +Bruce had left would take all Roger had on hand; and from this time on his +expenses, with five growing children here, would be a fast increasing +drain. He would have to be careful and husband his strength, a thing he had +always hated to do. + +In the next few weeks, he worked hard in his office. He cut down his +smoking, stayed home every evening and went to bed at ten o'clock. He tried +to shut Deborah out of his mind. As for Laura, he barely gave her a +thought. She dropped in one evening to bid him good-bye, for this summer +again she was going abroad. She and her husband, she told him, were to +motor through the Balkans and down into Italy. Her father gruffly answered +that he hoped she would enjoy herself. It seemed infernally unfair that it +should not be Deborah who was sailing the next morning. But when he felt +himself growing annoyed, abruptly he put a check on himself. It was Edith +he must think of now. + +But curiously it happened, in this narrowing of his attention, that while +he shut out two of his daughters, a mere outsider edged closer in. + +Johnny Geer was a great help. He was back in Roger's office, and with the +sharp wits he had gained in his eighteen years of fighting for a chance to +stay alive, now at Roger's elbow John was watching like a hawk for all the +little ways and means of pushing up the business. What a will the lad had +to down bodily ills, what vim in the way he tackled each job. His shrewd +and cheery companionship was a distraction and relief. John was so funny +sometimes. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Gale," he said, as Roger came into the office one day. + +"Hello, Johnny. How are you?" Roger replied. + +"Fine, thank you." And John went on with his work of opening the morning's +mail. But a few minutes later he gave a cackling little laugh. + +"What's so funny?" Roger asked. + +"Fellers," was the answer. "Fellers. Human nature. Here's a letter from +Shifty Sam." + +"Who the devil is he? A friend of yours?" + +"No," said John, "he's a 'con man.' He works about as mean a graft as any +you ever heard of. He reads the 'ads' in the papers--see?--of servant girls +who're looking for work. He makes a specialty of cooks. Then he goes to +where they live and talks of some nice family that wants a servant right +away. He claims to be the butler, and he's dressed to look the part. 'There +ain't a minute to lose,' he says. 'If you want a chawnce, my girl, come +quick.' He says 'chawnce' like a butler--see? 'Pack your things,' he tells +her, 'and come right along with me.' So she packs and hustles off with +him--Sam carrying her suit case. He puts her on a trolley and says, 'I +guess I'll stay on the platform. I've got a bit of a headache and the air +will do me good.' So he stays out there with her suit case--and as soon as +the car gets into a crowd, Sam jumps and beats it with her clothes." + +"I see," said Roger dryly. "But what's he writing _you_ about?" + +"Oh, it ain't me he's writing to--it's you," was John's serene reply. Roger +started. + +"What?" he asked. + +"Well," said the boy in a cautious tone, vigilantly eyeing his chief, "you +see, a lot of these fellers like Sam have been in the papers lately. +They're being called a crime wave." + +"Well?" + +"Sam is up for trial this week--and half the Irish cooks in town are +waiting 'round to testify. And Shifty seems to enjoy himself. His +picture's in the papers--see? And he wants all the clippings. So he +encloses a five dollar bill." + +"He does, eh--well, you write to Sam and send his money back to him!" There +was a little silence. + +"But look here," said John with keen regret. "We've had quite a lot of +these letters this week." + +Roger wheeled and looked at him. + +"John," he demanded severely, "what game have you been up to here?" + +"No game at all," was the prompt retort. "Just getting a little business." + +"How?" + +"Well, there's a club downtown," said John, "where a lot of these petty +crooks hang out. I used to deliver papers there. And I went around one +night this month--" + +"_To drum up business?_" + +"Yes, sir." Roger looked at him aghast. + +"John," he asked, in deep reproach, "do you expect this office to feed the +vanity of thieves?" + +"Where's the vanity," John rejoined, "in being called a crime wave?" And +seeing the sudden tremor of mirth which had appeared on Roger's face, "Look +here, Mr. Gale," he went eagerly on. "When every paper in the town is +telling these fellers where they belong--calling 'em crooks, degenerates, +and preaching regular sermons right into their faces--why shouldn't we help +'em to read the stuff? How do we know it won't do 'em good? It's church to +'em, that's what it is--and business for this office. Nine of these guys +have sent in their money just in the last week or so--" + +"Look out, my boy," said Roger, with slow and solemn emphasis. "If you +aren't extremely careful you'll find yourself a millionaire." + +"But wait a minute, Mr. Gale--" + +"Not in this office," Roger said. "Send 'em back, every one of 'em! +Understand?" + +"Yes, sir," was the meek reply. And with a little sigh of regret John +turned his wits to other kinds and conditions of New Yorkers who might care +to see themselves in print. + +As they worked together day by day, Roger had occasional qualms over +leaving John here in the hot town while he himself went up to the +mountains. He even thought of writing to Edith that he was planning to +bring John, too. But no, she wouldn't like it. So he did something else +instead. + +"John," he said, one morning, "I'm going to raise your salary to a hundred +dollars a month." Instantly from the lad's bright eyes there shot a look of +triumph. + +"Thanks, Mr. Gale," was his hearty response. + +"And in the meantime, Johnny, I want you to take a good solid month off." + +"All right, sir, thank you," John replied. "But I guess it won't be quite a +month. I don't feel as if I needed it." + +The next day at the office he appeared resplendent in a brand-new suit of +clothes, a summer homespun of light gray set off by a tie of flaming red. +There was nothing soft about that boy. No, Johnny knew how to look out for +himself. + +And Roger went up to the farm. + + + + +CHAPTER XXIII + + +George met him at the station, as he had done a year before. But at once +Roger noticed a difference. In the short time since his father's death +certain lines had come in the boy's freckled face, and they gave him a +thoughtful, resolute look. George's voice was changing. One moment it was +high and boyish, again a deep and manly bass. As he kept his eyes on the +horses and talked about his mother, his grandfather from time to time threw +curious side glances. + +"Oh, yes," George was saying, "mother's all right, she's doing fine. It was +pretty bad at first, though. She wouldn't let me sit up with her any--she +treated me like a regular kid. But any fellow with any sense could see how +she was feeling. She'd get thinking of the accident." George stopped short +and clamped his jaws. "You know, my dad did a wonderful thing," he +continued presently. "Even when he was dying, and mother and I were there +by his bed, he remembered how she'd get thinking alone--all about the +accident. You see he knew mother pretty darned well. So he told her to +remember that he was the one to blame for it. If it hadn't been for him, he +said, they would have gone home in the taxi. That's a pretty good point to +keep in her mind. Don't you think so?" he inquired. And Roger glanced +affectionately into the anxious face by his side. + +"Yes," he said, "it's a mighty good point. Did you think of it?" + +"Yes, sir," George replied. "I've told it to her a good many times--that +and two other points I thought of." + +"What are they, son?" asked Roger. + +"First," the boy said awkwardly, "about how good she was to him. And +second, that she let him buy the new car before he died. He had such a lot +of fun out of that car--" + +On the last words the lad's changing voice went from an impressive bass to +a most undignified treble. He savagely scowled. + +"Those three points," he continued, in more careful measured tones, "were +about all I could think of. I had to use 'em over and over--on mother when +things got bad, I mean." A flush of embarrassment came on his face. "And +hold her and kiss her," he muttered. Then he whipped his horses. "We've had +some pretty bad times this month," he continued, loud and manfully. "You +see, mother isn't so young as she was. She's well on in her thirties." A +glimmer of amusement appeared in Roger's heavy eyes. "But she don't cry +often any more, and with you here we'll pull her through." He shot a quick +look at his grandfather. "Gee, but I'm glad you're here!" he said. + +"So am I," said Roger. And with a little pressure of his hand on George's +shoulder, "I guess you've had about your share. Now tell me the news. How +are things on the farm?" + +With a breath of evident relief, the lad launched into the animal world. +And soon he was talking eagerly. + + * * * * * + +In the next few days with his daughter Roger found that George was right. +She had been through the worst of it. But she still had her reactions, her +spells of emptiness, bleak despair, her moods of fierce rebellion or of +sudden self-reproach for not having given Bruce more while he lived. And in +such hours her father tried to comfort her with poor success. + +"Remember, child, I'm with you, and I know how it feels," he said. "I went +through it all myself: When your mother died--" + +"But mother was so much older!" He looked at his daughter compassionately. + +"How old are you?" he inquired. + +"Thirty-six." + +"Your mother was thirty-nine," he replied. And at that Edith turned and +stared at him, bewildered, shocked, brought face to face with a new and +momentous fact in her life. + +"Mother only my age when she died?" + +"Yes," said Roger gently, "only three years older." With a twinge of pain +he noticed two quite visible streaks of gray in his daughter's soft blonde +hair. "And she felt as you do now--as though she were just starting out. +And I felt the same way, my dear. If I'm not mistaken, everyone does. You +still feel young--but the new generation is already growing up--and you can +feel yourself being pushed on. And it is hard--it is very hard." Clumsily +he took her hand. "Don't let yourself drop out," he said. "Be as your +mother would have been if she had been left instead of me. Go straight on +with your children." + +To this note he could feel her respond. And at first, as he felt what a +fight she was making, Roger glorified her pluck. As he watched her with her +children at table, smiling at their talk with an evident effort to enter +in, and again with her baby snug in her lap while she read bedtime stories +to Bob and little Tad at her side, he kept noticing the resemblance between +his daughter and his wife. How close were these two members of his family +drawing together now, one of them living, the other dead. + +But later, as the weeks wore on, she began to plan for her children. She +planned precisely how to fit them all into the house in town, she planned +the hours for their meals, for their going alone or with the nurse or a +maid to their different private schools, to music lessons, to dancing +school and uptown to the park to play. She planned their fall clothes and +she planned their friends. And there came to her father occasional moods of +anxiety. He remembered Bruce's grim remarks about those "simple" schools +and clothes, the kind that always cost the most. And he began to realize +what Bruce's existence must have been. For scarcely ever in their talks did +Edith speak of anything outside of her family. Night after night, with a +tensity born of her struggle with her grief, she talked about her children. +And Roger was in Bruce's place, he was the one she planned with. At moments +with a vague dismay he glimpsed the life ahead in his home. + +George was hard at work each day down by the broken dam at the mill. He had +an idea he could patch it up, put the old water-wheel back into place and +make it run a dynamo, by which he could light the house and barn and run +the machines in the dairy. In his new role as the man of his family, George +was planning out his career. He was wrestling with a book entitled "Our New +Mother Earth" and a journal called "The Modern Farm." And to Roger he +confided that he meant to be a farmer. He wanted to go in the autumn to the +State Agricultural College. But when one day, very cautiously, Roger spoke +to Edith of this, with a hard and jealous smile which quite transformed her +features, she said, + +"Oh, I know all about that, father dear. It's just a stage he's going +through. And it's the same way with Elizabeth, too, and her crazy idea of +becoming a doctor. She took that from Allan Baird, and George took his from +Deborah! They'll get over it soon enough--" + +"They won't get over it!" Roger cried. "Their dreams are parts of something +new! Something I'm quite vague about--but some of it has come to stay! +You're losing all your chances--just as I did years ago! You'll never know +your children!" + +But he uttered this cry to himself alone. Outwardly he only frowned. And +Edith had gone on to say, + +"I do hope that Deborah won't come up this summer. She's been very good and +kind, of course, and if she comes she'll be doing it entirely on my +account. But I don't want her here--I want her to marry, the sooner the +better, and come to her senses--be happy, I mean. And I wish you would tell +her so." + +Within a few days after this Deborah wrote to her father that she was +coming the next week. He said nothing to Edith about it at first, he had +William saddled and went for a ride to try to determine what he should do. +But it was a ticklish business. For women were queer and touchy, and once +more he felt the working of those uncanny family ties. + +"Deborah," he reflected, "is coming up here because she feels it's selfish +of her to stay away. If she marries at once, as she told me herself, she +thinks Edith will be hurt. Edith won't be hurt--and if Deborah comes, +there'll be trouble every minute she stays. But can I tell her so? Not at +all. I can't say, 'You're not wanted here.' If I do, _she'll_ be hurt. Oh +Lord, these girls! And Deborah knows very well that if she does get married +this month, with Laura abroad and Edith up here and only me at the wedding, +Edith will smile to herself and say, 'Now isn't that just like Deborah?'" + +As Roger slowly rode along a steep and winding mountain road, gloomily he +reflected to what petty little troubles a family of women could descend, so +soon after death itself. And he lifted his eyes up to the hills and decided +to leave this matter alone. If women would be women, let them settle their +own affairs. Deborah was due to arrive on the following Friday evening. All +right, let her come, he thought. She would soon see she was in the way, and +then in a little affectionate talk he would suggest that she marry right +off and have a decent honeymoon before the school year opened. + +So he dismissed it from his mind. And as he listened in the dusk to the +numberless murmuring voices of living creatures large and small which rose +out of the valley, and as from high above him the serenity of the mountains +there towering over thousands of years stole into his spirit, Roger had a +large quieting sense of something high and powerful looking down upon the +earth, a sense of all humanity honeycombed with millions upon millions of +small sorrows, absorbing joys and hopes and fears, and in spite of them all +the Great Life sweeping on, with no Great Death to check its course, no +immense catastrophe, all these little troubles like mere tiny specks of +foam upon the surface of the tide. + +Deborah's visit, the following week, was as he had expected. Within an hour +after her coming he could feel the tension grow. Deborah herself was tense, +both from the work she had left in New York where she was soon to have five +schools, and from the thought of her marriage, only a few weeks ahead. She +said nothing about it, however, until as a sisterly duty Edith tried to +draw her out by showing an interest in her plans. But the cloud of Bruce's +death was there, and Deborah shunned the topic. She tried to talk of the +children instead. But Edith at once was on the defensive, vigilant for +trouble, and as she unfolded her winter plans she grew distinctly brief and +curt. + +"If Deborah doesn't see it now, she's a fool," her father told himself. +"I'll just wait a few days more, and then we'll have that little talk." + + + + +CHAPTER XXIV + + +It had rained so hard for the past two days that no one had gone to the +village, which was nearly three miles from the farm. But when the storm was +over at last, George and Elizabeth tramped down and came back at dusk with +a bag full of mail. Their clothes were mud-bespattered and they hurried +upstairs to change before supper, while Roger settled back in his chair and +spread open his New York paper. It was July 30, 1914. + +From a habit grown out of thirty odd years of business life, Roger read his +paper in a fashion of his own. By instinct his eye swept the page for news +dealing with individual men, for it was upon people's names in print that +he had made his living. And so when he looked at this strange front page it +gave him a swift twinge of alarm. For the news was not of men but of +nations. Austria was massing her troops along the Serbian frontier, and +Germany, Italy, Russia, France and even England, all were in a turmoil, +with panics in their capitals, money markets going wild. + +Edith came down, in her neat black dress with its narrow white collar, +ready for supper. She glanced at her father. + +"Why, what's the matter?" + +"Look at this." And he tossed her a paper. + +"Oh-h-h," she murmured softly. "Oh, how frightful that would be." And she +read on with lips compressed. But soon there came from a room upstairs the +sudden cry of one of her children, followed by a shrill wail of distress. +And dropping the paper, she hurried away. + +Roger continued his reading. + +Deborah came. She saw the paper Edith had dropped, picked it up and sat +down to read, and there were a few moments of absolute silence. Then Roger +heard a quivering breath, and glancing up he saw Deborah's eyes, intent and +startled, moving down the columns of print in a swift, uncomprehending way. + +"Pretty serious business," he growled. + +"It can't happen!" she exclaimed. + +And they resumed their reading. + +In the next three days, as they read the news, they felt war like a +whirlpool sucking in all their powers to think or feel, felt their own +small personal plans whirled about like leaves in a storm. And while their +minds--at first dazed and stunned by the thought of such appalling armies, +battles, death and desolation--slowly cleared and they strove to think, and +Roger thought of business shivered to atoms in every land, and Deborah +thought of schools by thousands all over Europe closing down, in cities and +in villages, in valleys and on mountain sides, of homes in panic +everywhere, of all ideals of brotherhood shaken, bending, tottering--war +broke out in Europe. + +"What is this going to mean to me?" + +Millions of people were asking that. And so did Roger and Deborah. The same +night they left for New York, while Edith with a sigh of relief settled +back into her family. + + * * * * * + +The next morning at his office Roger found John waiting with misery stamped +on his face. John had paid small heed to war. Barely stopping for sleep in +the last two days he had gone through scores and hundreds of papers, +angrily skipping all those names of kings and emperors and czars, and +searching instead for American names, names of patrons--business! Gone! +Each hour he had been opening mail and piling up letters cancelling +contracts, ordering service discontinued. + +Roger sat down at his desk. As he worked and figured and dictated letters, +glancing into the outer rooms he saw the long rows of girls at tables +obviously trying to pretend that there was work for them to do. He felt +them anxiously watching him--as in other offices everywhere millions of +other employees kept furtively glancing at their chiefs. + +"War," he thought. "Shall I close _down?_" He shrank from what it would +mean to those girls. "Business will pick up again soon. A few +days--weeks--that's all I need." + +And he went to his bank. No credit there. He tried other sources, all he +could think of, racking his brains as he went about town, but still he +could not raise a loan. Finally he went to the firm which had once held a +mortgage on his house. The chief partner had been close to Bruce, an old +college friend. And when even this friend refused him aid, "It's a question +of Bruce's children," Roger muttered, reddening. He felt like a beggar, but +he was getting desperate. The younger man had looked away and was nervously +tapping his desk with his pen. + +"Bad as that, eh," he answered. "Then I guess it's got to be done." He +looked anxiously up at Roger, who just at that moment appeared very old. +"Don't worry, Mr. Gale," he said. "Somehow or other we'll carry you +through." + +"Thank you, sir." Roger rose heavily, feeling weak, and took his departure. +"This is war," he told himself, "and I've got to look after my own." + +But he had a sensation almost of guilt, as upon his return to his office he +saw those suddenly watchful faces. He walked past them and went into his +room, and again he searched for ways and means. He tried to see his +business as it would be that autumn, to see the city, the nation, the world +as it would be in the months ahead. Repeatedly he fought off his fears. +But slowly and inexorably the sense of his helplessness grew clear. + +"No, I must shut down," he thought. + + * * * * * + +On his way home that evening, in a crush at a turbulent corner he saw a big +truck jam into a taxi, and with a throb of rebellion he thought of his +son-in-law who was dead. Just the turn of a hair and Bruce might have lived +and been here to look after the children! At the prospect of the crisis, +the strain he saw before him, Roger again felt weak and old. He shook off +his dread and strode angrily on. + +In his house, the rooms downstairs were still dismantled for the summer. +There was emptiness and silence but no serenity in them now, only the quiet +before the storm which he could feel from far and near was gathering about +his home. He heard Deborah on the floor above, and went up and found her +making his bed, for the chambermaid had not yet come. Her voice was a +little unnatural. + +"It has been a hard day, hasn't it. I've got your bath-room ready," she +said. "Don't you want a nice cool bath? Supper will be ready soon." + +When, a half hour later, somewhat refreshed, Roger came down to the table, +he noticed it was set for two. + +"Isn't Allan coming?" he asked. Her mobile features tightened. + +"Not till later," she replied. + +They talked little and the meal was short. But afterwards, on the wooden +porch, Deborah turned to her father, + +"Now tell me about your office," she said. + +"There's not enough business to pay the rent." + +"That won't last--" + +"I'm not so sure." + +"I am," she said determinedly. Her father slowly turned his head. + +"Are you, with this war?" he asked. Her eyes met his and moved away in a +baffled, searching manner. "She has troubles of her own," he thought. + +"How much can we run the house on, Deborah?" he asked her. At first she did +not answer. "What was it--about six thousand last year?" + +"I think so," she said restlessly. "We can cut down on that, of course--" + +"With Edith and the children here?" + +"Edith will have to manage it! There are others to be thought of!" + +"The children in your schools, you mean." + +"Yes," she answered with a frown. "It will be a bad year for the tenements. +But please go on and tell me. What have you thought of doing?" + +"Mortgage the house again," he replied. "It hasn't been easy, for money is +tight, but I think I'll be able to get enough to just about carry us +through the year. At home, I mean," he added. + +"And the office?" + +"Shut down," he said. She turned on him fiercely. + +"You won't do that!" + +"What else can I do?" + +"Turn all those girls away?" she cried. At her tone his look grew troubled. + +"How can I help myself, Deborah? If I kept open it would cost me over five +hundred a week to run. Have I five hundred dollars a week to lose?" + +"But I tell you it won't last!" she cried, and again the baffled, driven +expression swept over her expressive face. "Can't you see this is only a +panic--and keep going somehow? Can't you see what it means to the +tenements? Hundreds of thousands are out of work! They're being turned off +every day, every hour--employers all over are losing their heads! And City +Hall is as mad as the rest! They've decided already down there to +retrench!" + +He turned with a quick jerk of his head: + +"Are they cutting you down?" She set her teeth: + +"Yes, they are. But the work in my schools is going on--every bit of it +is--for every child! I'm going to find a way," she said. And he felt a +thrill of compassion. + +"I'm sorry to hear it," he muttered. + +"You needn't be." She paused a moment, smiled and went on in a quieter +voice: "Don't think I'm blind--I'm sensible--I see you can't lose five +hundred a week. But why not try what other employers, quite a few, have +decided to do? Call your people together, explain how it is, and ask them +to choose a committee to help you find which ones need jobs the most. Keep +all you can--on part time, of course--but at least pay them something, +carry them through. You'll lose money by it, I haven't a doubt. But you've +already found you can mortgage the house, and remember besides that I shall +be here. I'm not going to marry now"--her father looked at her +quickly--"and of course I'll expect to do my share toward meeting the +expenses. Moreover, I know we can cut down." + +"Retrench," said Roger grimly. "Turn off the servants instead of the +clerks." + +"No, only one of them, Martha upstairs--and she is to be married. We'll +keep the cook and the waitress. Edith will have to give up her nurse--and +it will be hard on her, of course--but she'll have to realize this is war," +Deborah said sharply. "Besides," she urged, "it's not going to last. +Business everywhere will pick up--in a few weeks or months at most. The war +_can't_ go on--it's too horribly big!" She broke off and anxiously looked +at him. Her father was still frowning. + +"I'm asking you to risk a good deal," she continued, her voice intense and +low. "But somehow, dearie, I always feel that this old house of ours is +strong. It can _stand_ a good deal. We can all of us stand so much, as soon +as we know we have to." The lines of her wide sensitive mouth tightened +firmly once again. "It's all so vague and uncertain, I know. But one thing +at least is sure. This is no time for people with money--no matter how +little--to shut themselves up in their own little houses and let the rest +starve or beg or steal. This is the time to do our share." + +And she waited. But he made no reply. + +"Every nation at war is doing it, dad--become like one big family--with +everyone helping, doing his share. Must a nation be at war to do that? +Can't we be brothers without the guns? Can't you see that we're all of us +stunned, and trying to see what war will mean to all the children in the +world? And while we're groping, groping, can't we give each other a hand?" + +Still he sat motionless there in the dark. At last he stirred heavily in +his chair. + +"I guess you're right," he told her. "At least I'll think it over--and try +to work out something along the lines you spoke of." + +Again there was a silence. Then his daughter turned to him with a little +deprecating smile. + +"You'll forgive my--preaching to you, dad?" + +"No preaching," he said gruffly. "Just ordinary common sense." + + * * * * * + +A little later Allan came in, and Roger soon left them and went to bed. +Alone with Baird she was silent a moment. + +"Well? Have you thought it over?" she asked. "Wasn't I right in what I +said?" At the anxious ring in her low clear voice, leaning over he took her +hand; and he felt it hot and trembling as it quickly closed on his. He +stroked it slowly, soothingly. In the semi-darkness he seemed doubly tall +and powerful. + +"Yes, I'm sure you were right," he said. + +"Spring at the latest--I'll marry you then--" + +Her eyes were intently fixed on his. + +"Come here!" she whispered sharply, and Baird bent over and held her +tight. "Tighter!" she whispered. "Tighter!... There!... I said, spring at +the latest! I can't lose you, Allan--now--" + +She suddenly quivered as though from fatigue. + +"I'm going to watch you close down there," he said in a moment, huskily. + + + + +CHAPTER XXV + + +Roger saw little of Deborah in the weeks that followed. She was gathering +her forces for the long struggle she saw ahead. And his own worries filled +his mind. On his house he succeeded in borrowing five thousand dollars at +ten per cent, and in his office he worked out a scheme along the lines of +Deborah's plan. At first it was only a struggle to save the remnants of +what was left. Later the tide began to turn, new business came into the +office again. But only a little, and then it stopped. Hard times were here +for the winter. + +Soon Edith would come with the children. He wondered how sensible she would +be. It was going to mean a daily fight to make ends meet, he told himself, +and guiltily he decided not to let his daughter know how matters stood in +his office. Take care of your own flesh and blood, and then be generous as +you please--that had always been his way. And now Deborah had upset it by +her emotional appeal. "How dramatic she is at times!" he reflected in +annoyance. "Just lets herself out and enjoys herself!" He grew angry at her +interference, and more than once he resolved to shut down. But back in the +office, before those watchful faces, still again he would put it off. + +"Wait a little. We'll see," he thought. + + * * * * * + +In the meantime, in this interplay, these shifting lights and shadows which +played upon the history of the life of Roger's home, there came to him a +diversion from an unexpected source. Laura and Harold returned from abroad. +Soon after landing they came to the house, and talking fast and eagerly +they told how they had eluded the war. + +For them it had been a glorious game. In Venice in early August, Harold +had seen a chance for a big stroke of business. He had a friend who lived +in Rome, an Italian close to his government. At once they had joined +forces, worked day and night, pulled wires, used money judiciously here and +there, and so had secured large orders for munitions from the U.S.A. Then +to get back to God's country! There came the hitch, they were too late. +Naples, Genoa, and Milan, all were filled with tourist mobs. They took a +train for Paris, and reaching the city just a week before the end of the +German drive they found it worse than Italy. But there Hal had a special +pull--and by the use of those wits of his, not to be downed by refusals, he +got passage at last for Laura, himself and his new Italian partner. At +midnight, making their way across the panic-stricken city, and at the +station struggling through a wild and half crazed multitude of men and +women and children, they boarded a train and went rushing westward right +along the edge of the storm. To the north the Germans were so close that +Laura was sure she could hear the big guns. The train kept stopping to take +on troops. At dawn some twenty wounded men came crowding into their very +car, bloody and dirty, pale and worn, but gaily smiling at the pain, and +saying, "Ca n'fait rien, madame." Later Harold opened his flask for some +splendid Breton soldier boys just going into action. And they stood up with +flashing eyes and shouted out the Marseillaise, while Laura shivered and +thrilled with delight. + +"I nearly kissed them all!" she cried. + +Roger greatly enjoyed the evening. He had heard so much of the horrors of +war. Here was something different, something bright and vibrant with youth +and adventure! Here at last was the thrill of war, the part he had always +read about! + +He glanced now and then at Deborah and was annoyed by what he saw. For +although she said nothing and forced a smile, he could easily tell by the +set of her lips that Deborah thoroughly disapproved. All right, that was +her way, he thought. But this was Laura's way, shedding the gloom and the +tragic side as a duck will shed water off its back, a duck with bright new +plumage fresh from the shops of the Rue de la Paix and taking some pleasure +out of life! What an ardent gleaming beauty she was, he thought as he +watched this daughter of his. And underneath his enjoyment, too, though +Roger would not have admitted it, was a sense of relief in the news that at +least one man in the family was growing rich instead of poor. Already Hal +and his partner--a fascinating creature according to Laura's +description--were fast equipping shrapnel mills. Plainly they expected a +tremendous rush of business. And no matter how you felt about war, the word +"profits" at least had a pleasant sound. + +"How has the war hit you, sir?" Harold asked his father-in-law. + +"Oh, so-so, I'll get on, my boy," was Roger's quiet answer. For Harold was +not quite the kind he would ever like to ask for aid. Still, if the worst +came to the worst, he would have someone to turn to. + + * * * * * + +Long after they had left the house, he kept thinking over all they had +said. What an amazing time they had had, the two young scalawags. + +Deborah was still in the room. As she sat working at her desk, her back was +turned and she did not speak. But little by little her father's mood +changed. Of course she was right, he admitted. For now they were gone, the +spell they had cast was losing a part of its glamor. Yes, their talk had +been pretty raw. Sheer unthinking selfishness, a bold rush for plunder and +a dash to get away, trampling over people half crazed, women and children +in panicky crowds, and leaving behind them, so to speak, Laura's joyous +rippling laugh over their own success in the game. Yes, there was no +denying the fact that Hal was rushing headlong into a savage dangerous +game, a scramble and a gamble, with adventurers from all over Europe +gathering here and making a little world of their own. He would work and +live at a feverish pitch, and Laura would go it as hard as he. Roger +thought he could see their winter ahead. How they would pile up money and +spend! + +All at once, as though some figure silent and invisible were standing close +beside him, from far back in his childhood a memory flashed into his mind +of a keen and clear October night, when Roger, a little shaver of nine, had +stood with his mother in front of the farmhouse and listened to the faint +sharp roll of a single drum far down in the valley. And his mother's grip +had hurt his hand, and a lump had risen in his throat--as Dan, his oldest +brother, had marched away with his company of New Hampshire mountain boys. +"We are coming, Father Abraham, three hundred thousand more." Dan had been +killed at Shiloh. + +And it must be like that now in France. No, he did not like the look which +he had seen on Laura's face as she had talked about the war and the fat +profits to be made. Was this all we Yankees had to say to the people over +in Europe? + +Frowning and glancing at Deborah's back, he saw that she was tired. It was +nearly midnight, but still she kept working doggedly on, moving her +shoulder muscles at times as though to shake off aches and pains, then +bending again to her labor, her fight against such heavy odds in the winter +just beginning for those children in the tenements. He recalled a fragment +of the appeal she had made to him only the month before: + +"Can't you see that we're all of us stunned, and trying to see what war +will mean to all the children in the world? And while we're groping, +groping, can't we give each other a hand?" + +And as he looked at his daughter, she made him think of her grandmother, +as she had so often done before. For Deborah, too, was a pioneer. She, too, +had lived in the wilderness. Clearing roads through jungles? Yes. And +freeing slaves of ignorance and building a nation of new men. And now she +was doggedly fighting to save what she had builded--not from the raids of +the Indians but from the ravages of this war which was sweeping +civilization aside. With her school behind her, so to speak, she stood +facing this great enemy with stern and angry, steady eyes. Her pioneer +grandmother come to life. + +So, with the deep craving which was a part of his inmost self, Roger tried +to bind together what was old and what was new. But his thoughts grew vague +and drifting. He realized how weary he was, and said good-night and went to +bed. There, just before he fell asleep, again he had a feeling of relief at +the knowledge that one at least in the family was to be rich this year. +With a guilty sensation he shook off the thought, and within a few moments +after that his harsh regular breathing was heard in the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVI + + +It was only a few days later that Edith arrived with her children. + +Roger met her at the train at eight o'clock in the evening. The fast +mountain express of the summer had been taken off some time before, so +Edith had had to be up at dawn and to change cars several times on the +trip. "She'll be worn out," he thought as he waited. The train was late. As +he walked about the new station, that monstrous sparkling hive of travel +with its huge halls and passageways, its little village of shops +underground and its bewildering levels for trains, he remembered the +interest Bruce had shown in watching this immense puzzle worked out, the +day and night labor year after year without the stopping of a train, this +mighty symbol of the times, of all the glorious power and speed in an age +that had been as the breath to his nostrils. How Bruce had loved the city! +As Roger paced slowly back and forth with his hands clasped behind his +back, there came over his heavy visage a look of affection and regret which +made even New Yorkers glance at him as they went nervously bustling by. +From time to time he smiled to himself. "The Catskills will be Central +Park! All this city needs is speed!" + +But suddenly he remembered that Bruce had always been here before to meet +his wife and children, and that Edith on her approaching train must be +dreading her arrival. And when at last the train rolled in, and he spied +her shapely little head in the on-coming throng of travellers, Roger saw by +her set steady smile and the strained expression on her face that he had +guessed right. With a quick surge of compassion he pressed forward, kissed +her awkwardly, squeezed her arm, then hastily greeted the children and +hurried away to see to the trunks. That much of it was over. And to his +relief, when they reached the house, Edith busied herself at once in +helping the nurse put the children to bed. Later he came up and told her +that he had had a light supper prepared. + +"Thank you, dear," she answered, "it was so thoughtful in you. But I'm too +tired to eat anything." And then with a little assuring smile, "I'll be all +right--I'm going to bed." + +"Good-night, child, get a fine long sleep." + +And Roger went down to his study, feeling they had made a good start. + + * * * * * + +"What has become of Martha?" Edith asked her father at breakfast the next +morning. + +"She left last month to be married," he said. + +"And Deborah hasn't replaced her yet?" In her voice was such a readiness +for hostility toward her sister, that Roger shot an uneasy glance from +under his thick grayish brows. + +"Has Deborah left the house?" he asked, to gain time for his answer. +Edith's small lip slightly curled. + +"Oh, yes, long ago," she replied. "She had just a moment to see the +children and then she had to be off to school--to her office, I mean. With +so many schools on her hands these days, I don't wonder she hasn't had time +for the servants." + +"No, no, you're mistaken," he said. "That isn't the trouble, it's not her +fault. In fact it was all my idea." + +"_Your_ idea," she retorted, in an amused affectionate tone. And Roger +grimly gathered himself. It would he extremely difficult breaking his +unpleasant news. + +"Yes," he answered. "You see this damnable war abroad has hit me in my +business." + +"Oh, father! How?" she asked him. In an instant she was all alert. "You +don't mean seriously?" she said. + +"Yes, I do," he answered, and he began to tell her why. But she soon grew +impatient. Business details meant nothing to Edith. "I see," she kept +saying, "yes, yes, I see." She wanted him to come to the point. + +"So I've had to mortgage the house," he concluded. "And for very little +money, my dear. And a good deal of that--" he cleared his throat--"had to +go back into the business." + +"I see," said Edith mechanically. Her mind was already far away, roving +over her plans for the children. For in Roger's look of suspense she +plainly read that other plans had been made for them in her absence. +"Deborah's in this!" flashed through her mind. "Tell me what it will mean," +she said. + +"I'm afraid you'll have to try to do without your nurse for a while." + +"Let Hannah go? Oh, father!" And Edith flushed with quick dismay. "How can +I, dad? Five children--five! And two of them so little they can't even +dress themselves alone! And there are all their meals--their baths--and the +older ones going uptown to school! I can't let them go way uptown on the +'bus or the trolley without a maid--" + +"But, Edith!" he interrupted, his face contracting with distress. "Don't +you see that they can't go to school?" She turned on him. "Uptown, I mean, +to those expensive private schools." + +"Father!" she demanded. "Do you mean you want my children to go to common +public schools?" There was rage and amazement upon her pretty countenance, +and with it an instant certainty too. Yes, this was Deborah's planning! But +Roger thought that Edith's look was all directed at himself. And for the +first time in his life he felt the shame and humility of the male provider +no longer able to provide. He reddened and looked down at his plate. + +"You don't understand," he said. "I'm strapped, my child--I can't help +it--I'm poor." + +"Oh. Oh, dad. I'm sorry." He glanced up at his daughter and saw tears +welling in her eyes. How utterly miserable both of them were. + +"It's the war," he said harshly and proudly. This made a difference to his +pride, but not to his daughter's anxiety. She was not interested in the +war, or in any other cause of the abyss she was facing. She strove to think +clearly what to do. But no, she must do her thinking alone. With a sudden +quiet she rose from the table, went around to her father's chair and kissed +him very gently. + +"All right, dear--I see it all now--and I promise I'll try my best," she +said. + +"You're a brave little woman," he replied. + +But after she had gone, he reflected. Why had he called her a brave little +woman? Why had it all been so intense, the talk upon so heroic a plane? It +would be hard on Edith, of course; but others were doing it, weren't they? +Think of the women in Europe these days! After all, she'd be very +comfortable here, and perhaps by Christmas times would change. + +He shook off these petty troubles and went to his office for the day. + + * * * * * + +As she busied herself unpacking the trunks, Edith strove to readjust her +plans. By noon her head was throbbing, but she took little notice of that. +She had a talk with Hannah, the devoted Irish girl who had been with her +ever since George was born. It was difficult, it was brutal. It was almost +as though in Edith's family there had been two mothers, and one was sending +the other away. + +"There, there, poor child," Edith comforted her, "I'll find you another +nice family soon where you can stay till I take you back. Don't you see it +will not be for long?" And Hannah brightened a little. + +"But how in the wide wurrld," she asked, "will you ever do for the +children, me gone?" + +"Oh, I'll manage," said Edith cheerfully. And that afternoon she began at +once to rearrange her whole intricate schedule, with Hannah and school both +omitted, to fit her children into the house. But instead of this, as the +days wore on, nerve-racking days of worry and toil, sternly and quite +unconsciously she fitted the house to her children. And nobody made her +aware of the fact. All summer long in the mountains, everyone by tacit +consent had made way for her, had deferred to her grief in the little +things that make up the everyday life in a home. And to this precedent once +established Edith now clung unawares. + +Her new day gave her small time to think. It began at five in the morning, +when Roger was awakened by the gleeful cries of the two wee boys who slept +with their mother in the next room, the room which had been Deborah's. And +Edith was busy from that time on. First came the washing and dressing and +breakfast, which was a merry, boisterous meal. Then the baby was taken out +to his carriage on the porch at the back of the house. And after that, in +her father's study from which he had fled with his morning cigar, for two +hours Edith held school for her children, trying her best to be patient and +clear, with text-books she had purchased from their former schools uptown. +For two severe hours, shutting the world all out of her head, she tried to +teach them about it. At eleven, their nerves on edge like her own, she sent +them outdoors "to play," intrusting the small ones to Betsy and George, who +took them to Washington Square nearby with strict injunctions to keep them +away from all other children. No doubt there were "nice" children there, +but she herself could not be along to distinguish the "nice" from the +"common"--for until one o'clock she was busy at home, bathing the baby and +making the beds, and then hurrying to the kitchen to pasteurize the baby's +milk and keep a vigilant oversight on the cooking of the midday meal. And +the old cook's growing resentment made it far from easy. + +After luncheon, thank heaven, came their naps. And all afternoon, while +again they went out, Edith would look over their wardrobes, mend and alter +and patch and contrive how to make last winter's clothes look new. At times +she would drop her work in her lap and stare wretchedly before her. This +was what she had never known; this was what made life around her grim and +hard, relentless, frightening; this was what it was to be poor. How it +changed the whole city of New York. Behind it, the sinister cause of it +all, she thought confusedly now and then of the Great Death across the sea, +of the armies, smoking battle-fields, the shrieks of the dying, the +villages blazing, the women and children flying away. But never for more +than a moment. The war was so remote and dim. And soon she would turn back +again to her own beloved children, whose lives, so full of happiness, so +rich in promise hitherto, were now so cramped and thwarted. Each day was +harder than the last. It was becoming unbearable! + +No, they must go back to school. But how to manage it? How? How? It would +cost eight hundred dollars, and this would take nearly all the money she +would be able to secure by the sale of her few possessions. And then what? +What of sickness, and the other contingencies which still lay ahead of her? +How old her father seemed, these days! In his heavy shock of hair the +flecks of white had doubled in size, were merging one into the other, and +his tall, stooping, massive frame had lost its look of ruggedness. Suppose, +suppose.... Her breath came fast. Was his life insured, she wondered. + +On such afternoons, in the upstairs room as the dusk crept in and +deepened, she would bend close to her sewing--planning, planning, planning. +At last she would hear the children trooping merrily into the house. And +making a very real effort, which at times was in truth heroic, to smile, +she would rise and light the gas, would welcome them gaily and join in +their chatter and bustle about on the countless tasks of washing them, +getting their suppers, undressing the small ones and hearing their prayers. +With smiling good-night kisses she would tuck her two babies into their +cribs. Afterward, just for a moment or two, she would linger under the gas +jet, her face still smiling, for a last look. A last good-night. Then +darkness. + +Darkness settling over her spirit, together with loneliness and fatigue. +She would go into Betsy's room and throw herself dressed on her daughter's +bed, and a dull complete indifference to everything under the moon and the +stars would creep from her body up into her mind. At times she would try to +fight it off. To-night at dinner she must not be what she knew she had been +the night before, a wet blanket upon all the talk. But if they only knew +how hard it was--what a perfect--hell it was! Her breath coming faster, she +would dig her nails into the palms of her hands. One night she noticed and +looked at her hand, and saw the skin was actually cut and a little blood +was appearing. She had read of women doing this, but she had never done it +before--not even when her babies were born. She had gripped Bruce's hand +instead. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVII + + +Roger found her like that one evening. He heard what he thought was a sob +from the room, for she had forgotten to close the door. He came into the +doorway but drew back, and closed the door with barely a sound. Frowning +and irresolute, he stood for a moment in the hall, then turned and went +into his room. Soon he heard Deborah enter the house and come slowly up the +stairs. She too had had a hard day, he recalled, a day all filled with +turbulence, with problems and with vexing toil, in her enormous family. And +he felt he could not blame her for not being of more help at home. Still, +he had been disappointed of late in her manner toward her sister. He had +hoped she would draw closer to Edith, now that again they were living +together in their old home where they had been born. But no, it had worked +just the opposite way. They were getting upon each other's nerves. Why +couldn't she make overtures, small kindly proffers of help and advice and +sympathy, the womanly things? + +From his room he heard her knock softly at the same door he had closed. And +he heard her low clear voice: + +"Are you there, Edith dear?" He listened a moment intently, but he could +not hear the reply. Then Deborah said, "Oh, you poor thing. I'm awfully +sorry. Edith--don't bother to come downstairs--let me bring you up your +supper." A pause. "I wish you would. I'd love to." + +He heard Deborah come by his door and go up the second flight of stairs to +the room she had taken on the third floor. + +"I was wrong," he reflected, "she has been trying--but it doesn't do any +good. Women simply haven't it in 'em to see each other's point of view. +Deborah doesn't admire Edith--she can't, she only pities her and puts her +down as out of date. And Edith feels that, and it gets her riled, and she +sets herself like an angry old hen against all Deborah's new ideas. Why the +devil can't they live and let live?" + +And he hesitated savagely between a pearl gray _and_ a black cravat. Then +he heard another step on the stairs. It was much slower than Deborah's, and +cautious and dogged, one foot lifted carefully after the other. It was +John, who had finished his kitchen supper and was silently making his way +up through the house to his room at the top, there to keep out of sight for +the evening. And it came into Roger's mind that John had been acting in +just this fashion ever since Edith had been in the house. + +"We'll have trouble there, too!" he told himself, as he jerked the black +satin cravat into place, a tie he thoroughly disliked. Yes, black, by +George, he felt like it to-night! These women! These evenings! This worry! +This war! This world gone raving, driveling mad! + +And frowning with annoyance, Roger went down to his dinner. + +As he waited he grew impatient. He had eaten no lunch, he was hungry; and +he was very tired, too, for he had had his own hard day. Pshaw! He got up +angrily. _Somebody_ must be genial here. He went into the dining room and +poured himself a good stiff drink. Roger had never been much of a drinker. +Ever since his marriage, cigars had been his only vice. But of late he had +been having curious little sinking spells. They worried him, and he told +himself he could not afford to get either too tired or too faint. + +Nevertheless, he reflected, it was setting a bad example for George. But +glancing into his study he saw that the lad was completely absorbed. With +knees drawn up, his long lank form all hunched and huddled on the lounge, +hair rumpled, George was reading a book which had a cover of tough gray +cloth. At the sight of it his grandfather smiled, for he had seen it once +before. Where George had obtained it, the Lord only knew. Its title was +"Bulls and Breeding." A thoroughly practical little book, but nothing for +George's mother to see. As his grandfather entered behind him, the boy +looked up with a guilty start, and resumed with a short breath of relief. + +Young Elizabeth, too, had a furtive air, for instead of preparing her +history lesson she was deep in the evening paper reading about the war +abroad. Stout and florid, rather plain, but with a frank, attractive face +and honest, clear, appealing eyes, this curious creature of thirteen was +sitting firmly in her chair with her feet planted wide apart, eagerly +scanning an account of the work of American surgeons in France. And again +Roger smiled to himself. (He was feeling so much better now.) So Betsy was +still thinking of becoming a surgeon. He wondered what she would take up +next. In the past two years in swift succession she had made up her mind to +be a novelist, an actress and a women's college president. And Roger liked +this tremendously. + +He loved to watch these two in the house. Here again his family was +widening out before him, with new figures arising to draw his attention +this way and that. But these were bright distractions. He took a deep, +amused delight in watching these two youngsters caught between two fires, +on the one side their mother and upon the other their aunt; both obviously +drawn toward Deborah, a figure who stood in their regard for all that +thrilling outside world, that heaving sparkling ocean on which they too +would soon embark; both sternly repressing their eagerness as an insult to +their mother, whom they loved and pitied so, regarding her as a brave and +dear but rapidly ageing creature "well on in her thirties," whom they must +cherish and preserve. They both had such solemn thoughts as they looked at +Edith in her chair. But as Roger watched them, with their love and their +solemnity, their guilt and their perplexity, with quiet enjoyment he would +wait to see the change he knew would come. And it always did. The sudden +picking up of a book, the vanishing of an anxious frown, and in an instant +their young minds had turned happily back into themselves, into their own +engrossing lives, their plans, their intimate dreams and ambitions, all so +curiously bound up with memories of small happenings which had struck them +as funny that day and at which they would suddenly chuckle aloud. + +And this was only one stage in their growth. What would be the next, he +asked, and all the others after that? What kind of world would they live +in? Please heaven, there would be no wars. Many old things, no doubt, would +be changed, by the work of Deborah and her kind--but not too many, Roger +hoped. And these young people, meanwhile, would be bringing up children in +their turn. So the family would go on, and multiply and scatter wide, never +to unite again. And he thought he could catch glimpses, very small and far +away but bright as patches of sunlight upon distant mountain tops, into the +widening vista of those many lives ahead. A wistful look crept over his +face. + +"In their lives too we shall be there, the dim strong figures of the past." + + * * * * * + +Deborah came into the room, and at once the whole atmosphere changed. Her +niece sprang up delightedly. + +"Why, Auntie, how lovely you look!" she exclaimed. And Roger eyed Deborah +in surprise. Though she did not believe in mourning, she had been wearing +dark gowns of late to avoid hurting Edith's feelings. But to-night she had +donned bright colors instead; her dress was as near decollete as anything +that Deborah wore, and there was a band of dull blue velvet bound about +her hair. + +"Thanks, dearie," she said, smiling. "Shall we go in to dinner now?" she +added to her father. "Edith said not to wait for her--and I'll have to be +off rather early this evening." + +"What is it to-night?" he inquired. + +"A big meeting at Cooper Union." + +And at dinner she went on to say that in her five schools the neighborhood +clubs had combined to hold this meeting, and she herself was to preside. At +once her young niece was all animation. + +"Oh, I wish I could go and hear you!" she sighed. + +"Afraid you can't, Betsy," her aunt replied. And at this, with an +instinctive glance toward the door where her mother would soon come in to +stop by her mere presence all such conversation, Elizabeth eagerly threw +out one inquiry after the other, pell mell. + +"How on earth do you do it?" she wanted to know. "How do you get a speech +ready, Aunt Deborah--how much of it do you write out ahead? Aren't you just +the least bit nervous--now, I mean--this minute? And how will you feel on +the platform? _What on earth do you do with your feet?_" + +As the girl bent forward there with her gaze fixed ardently on her aunt, +her grandfather thought in half comic dismay, "Lord, now she'll want to be +a great speaker--like her aunt. And she will tell her mother so!" + +"What's the meeting all about?" he inquired. And Deborah began to explain. + +In her five schools the poverty was rapidly becoming worse. Each week more +children stayed away or came to school ragged and unkempt, some without any +overcoats, small pitiful mites wearing shoes so old as barely to stick on +their feet. And when the teachers and visitors followed these children into +their homes they found bare, dirty, chilly rooms where the little folk +shivered and wailed for food and the mothers looked distracted, gaunt and +sullen and half crazed. Over three hundred thousand workers were idle in +the city. Meanwhile, to make matters worse, half the money from uptown +which had gone in former years into work for the tenements was going over +to Belgium instead. And the same relentless drain of war was felt by the +tenement people themselves; for all of them were foreigners, and from their +relatives abroad, in those wide zones of Europe already blackened and laid +waste, in endless torrents through the mails came wild appeals for money. + +In such homes her children lived. And Deborah had set her mind on vigorous +measures of relief. Landlords must be made to wait and the city be +persuaded to give work to the most needy, food and fuel must be secured. As +she spoke of the task before her, with a flush of animation upon her bright +expressive face at the thought that in less than an hour she would be +facing thousands of people, the gloom of the picture she painted was +dispelled in the spirit she showed. + +"These things always work out," she declared, with an impatient shrug of +her shoulders. And watching her admiringly, young Betsy thought, "How +strong she is! What a wonderful grown-up woman!" And Roger watching +thought, "How young." + + * * * * * + +"What things?" It was Edith's voice at the door, and among those at the +table there was a little stir of alarm. She had entered unnoticed and now +took her seat. She was looking pale and tired. "What things work out so +finely?" she asked, and with a glance at Deborah's gown, + +"Where are you going?" she added. + +"To a meeting," Deborah answered. + +"Oh." And Edith began her soup. In the awkward pause that followed, twice +Deborah started to speak to her sister, but checked herself, for at other +dinners just like this she had made such dismal failures. + +"By the way, Edith," she said, at last, "I've been thinking of all that +furniture of yours which is lying in storage." Her sister looked up at her, +startled. + +"What about it?" she asked. + +"There's so much of it you don't care for," Deborah answered quietly. "Why +don't you let a part of it go? I mean the few pieces you've always +disliked." + +"For what purpose?" + +"Why, it seems such a pity not to have Hannah back in the house. She would +make things so much easier." Roger felt a glow of relief. + +"A capital plan!" he declared at once. + +"It would be," Edith corrected him, "if I hadn't already made _other_ +plans." And then in a brisk, breathless tone, "You see I've made up my +mind," she said, "to sell not only part but _all_ my furniture--very +soon--and a few other belongings as well--and use the money to put George +and Elizabeth and little Bob back in the schools where they belong." + +"Mother!" gasped Elizabeth, and with a prolonged "Oh-h" of delight she ran +around to her mother's chair. + +"But look here," George blurted worriedly, "I don't like it, mother, darned +if I do! You're selling everything--just for school!" + +"School is rather important, George," was Edith's tart rejoinder. "If you +don't think so, ask your aunt." "What do you think of it, Auntie?" he +asked. The cloud which had come on Deborah's face was lifted in an instant. + +"I think, George," she answered gently, "that you'd better let your mother +do what she thinks best for you. It _will_ make things easier here in the +house," she added, to her sister, "but I wish you could have Hannah, too." + +"Oh, I'll manage nicely now," said Edith. And with a slight smile of +triumph she resumed her dinner. + +"The war won't last forever," muttered Roger uneasily. And to himself: "But +suppose it _should_ last--a year or more." He did not approve of Edith's +scheme. "It's burning her bridges all at once, for something that isn't +essential," he thought. But he would not tell her so. + +Meanwhile Deborah glanced at the clock. + +"Oh! It's nearly eight o'clock! I must hurry or I'll be late," she said. +"Good-night, all--" + +And she left them. + +Roger followed her into the hall. + +"What do you think of this?" he demanded. Her reply was a tolerant shrug. + +"It's her own money, father--" + +"All her money!" he rejoined. "Every dollar she has in the world!" + +"But I don't just see how it can be helped." + +"Can't you talk to her, show her what folly it is?" + +"Hardly," said Deborah, smiling. Already she had on her coat and hat and +was turning to go. And her father scowled with annoyance. She was always +going, he told himself, leaving him to handle her sister alone. He would +like to go out himself in the evenings--yes, by George, this very night--it +would act like a tonic on his mind. Just for a moment, standing there, he +saw Cooper Union packed to the doors, he heard the ringing speeches, the +cheers. But no, it was not to be thought of. With this silent war going on +in his house he knew he must stay neutral. Watchful waiting was his course. +If he went out with Deborah, Edith would be distinctly hurt, and sitting +all evening here alone she would draw still deeper into herself. And so it +would be night after night, as it had been for many weeks. He would be +cooped up at home while Deborah did the running about.... In half the time +it takes to tell it, Roger had worked himself into a state where he felt +like a mighty badly used man. + +"I wish you _would_ speak to her," he said. "I wish you could manage to +find time to be here more in the evenings. Edith worries so much and she's +trying so hard. A little sympathy now and then--" + +"But she doesn't seem to want any from me," said his daughter, a bit +impatiently. "I know it's hard--of course it is. But what can I do? She +won't let me help. And besides--there are other families, you +know--thousands--really suffering--for the lack of all that we have here." +She smiled and kissed him quickly. "Good-night, dad dear, I've got to run." + +And the door closed behind her. + + + + +CHAPTER XXVIII + + +After dinner that night, in the living room the two older children studied +their lessons and Edith sat mending a pair of rompers for little Tad. +Presently Roger came out from his den with the evening paper in his hand +and sat down close beside her. He did this conscientiously almost every +evening. With a sigh he opened his paper to read, again there was silence +in the room, and in this silence Roger's mind roamed far away across the +sea. + +For the front page of his paper was filled with the usual headlines, +tidings which a year before would have made a man's heart jump into his +throat, but which were getting commonplace now. Dead and wounded by the +thousands, famine, bombs and shrapnel, hideous atrocities, submarines and +floating mines, words once remote but now familiar, always there on the +front page and penetrating into his soul, becoming a part of Roger Gale, so +that never again when the war was done would he be the same man he was +before. For he had forever lost his faith in the sanity and steadiness of +the great mind of humanity. Roger had thought of mankind as mature, but +there had come to him of late the same feeling he had had before in the +bosom of his family. Mankind had suddenly unmasked and shown itself for +what it was--still only a precocious child, with a terrible precocity. For +its growth had been one sided. Its strength was growing at a speed +breathless and astounding. But its vision and its poise, its sense of human +justice, of kindliness and tolerance and of generous brotherly love, these +had been neglected and were being left behind. Vaguely he thought of its +ships of steel, its railroads and its flaming mills, its miracles, its +prodigies. And the picture rose in his mind of a child, standing there of +giant's size with dangerous playthings in its hands, and boastfully +declaring, + +"I can thunder over the earth, dive in the ocean, soar on the clouds! I can +shiver to atoms a mountain, I can drench whole lands with blood! I can look +up and laugh at God!" + +And Roger frowned as he read the news. What strange new century lay ahead? +What convulsing throes of change? What was in store for his children? +Tighter set his heavy jaw. + +"It shall be good," he told himself with a grim determination. "For them +there shall be better things. Something great and splendid shall come out +of it at last. They will look back upon this time as I look on the French +Revolution." + +He tried to peer into that world ahead, dazzling, distant as the sun. But +then with a sigh he returned to the news, and little by little his mind +again was gripped and held by the most compelling of all appeals so far +revealed in humanity's growth, the appeal of war to the mind of a man. He +frowned as he read, but he read on. Why didn't England send over more men? + +The clock struck nine. + +"Now, George. Now, Elizabeth," Edith said. With the usual delay and +reluctance the children brought their work to an end, kissed their mother +and went up to bed. And Edith continued sewing. Presently she smiled to +herself. Little Tad had been so droll that day. + +On the third page of his paper, Roger's glance was arrested by a full +column story concerning Deborah's meeting that night. And as in a long +interview he read here in the public print the same things she had told him +at supper, he felt a little glow of pride. Yes, this daughter of his was a +wonderful woman, living a big useful life, taking a leading part in work +which would certainly brighten the lives of millions of children still +unborn. Again he felt the tonic of it. Here was a glimmer of hope in the +world, here was an antidote to war. He finished the column and glanced up. + +Edith was still sewing. He thought of her plan to sell all she possessed in +order to put her children back in their expensive schools uptown. + +"Why can't she save her money?" he thought. "God knows there's little +enough of it left. But I can't tell her that. If I do she'll sell +everything, hand me the cash and tell me she's sorry to be such a burden. +She'll sit like a thundercloud in my house." + +No, he could say nothing to stop her. And over the top of his paper her +father shot a look at her of keen exasperation. Why risk everything she had +to get these needless frills and fads? Why must she cram her life so full +of petty plans and worries and titty-tatty little jobs? For the Lord's +sake, leave their clothes alone! And why these careful little rules for +every minute of their day, for their washing, their dressing, their eating, +their napping, their play and the very air they breathed! He crumpled his +paper impatiently. She was always talking of being old-fashioned. Well +then, why not be that way? Let her live as her grandmother had, up there in +the mountain farmhouse. _She_ had not been so particular. With one hired +girl she had thought herself lucky. And not only had she cooked and sewed, +but she had spun and woven too, had churned and made cheese and pickles and +jam and quilts and even mattresses. Once in two months she had cut Roger's +hair, and the rest of the time she had let him alone, except for something +really worth while--a broken arm, for example, or church. She had stuck to +the essentials!... But Edith was not old-fashioned, nor was she alive to +this modern age. In short, she was neither here nor there! + +Then from the nursery above, her smallest boy was heard to cry. With a +little sigh of weariness, quickly she rose and went upstairs, and a few +moments later to Roger's ears came a low, sweet, soothing lullaby. Years +ago Edith had asked him to teach her some of his mother's cradle songs. And +the one which she was singing to-night was a song he had heard when he was +small, when the mountain storms had shrieked and beat upon the rattling old +house and he had been frightened and had cried out and his mother had come +to his bed in the dark. He felt as though she were near him now. And as he +listened to the song, from the deep well of sentiment which was a part of +Roger Gale rose memories that changed his mood, and with it his sense of +proportions. + +Here was motherhood of the genuine kind, not orating in Cooper Union in the +name of every child in New York, but crooning low and tenderly, soothing +one little child to sleep, one of the five she herself had borne, in agony, +without complaint. How Edith had slaved and sacrificed, how bravely she had +rallied after the death of her husband. He remembered her a few hours ago +on the bed upstairs, spent and in anguish, sobbing, alone. And remorse came +over him. Deborah's talk at dinner had twisted his thinking, he told +himself. Well, that was Deborah's way of life. She had her enormous family +and Edith had her small one, and in this hell of misery which war was +spreading over the earth each mother was up in arms for her brood. And, by +George, of the two he didn't know but that he preferred his own flesh and +blood. All very noble, Miss Deborah, and very dramatic, to open your arms +to all the children under the moon and get your name in the papers. But +there was something pretty fine in just sitting at home and singing to one. + +"All right, little mother, you go straight ahead. This is war and panic and +hard times. You're perfectly right to look after your own." + +He would show Edith he did not begrudge her this use of her small +property. And more than that, he would do what he could to take her out of +her loneliness. How about reading aloud to her? He had been a capital +reader, during Judith's lifetime, for he had always enjoyed it so. Roger +rose and went to his shelves and began to look over the volumes there. +Perhaps a book of travel.... Stoddard's "Lectures on Japan." + +Meanwhile Edith came into the room, sat down and took up her sewing. As she +did so he turned and glanced at her, and she smiled brightly back at him. +Yes, he thought with a genial glow, from this night on he would do his +part. He came back to his chair with a book in his hand, prepared to start +on his new course. + +"Father," she said quietly. Her eyes were on the work in her lap. + +"Yes, my child, what is it?" + +"It's about John," she answered. And with a movement of alarm he looked at +his daughter intently. + +"What's the matter with John?" he inquired. + +"He has tuberculosis," she said. + +"He has no such thing!" her father retorted. "John has Pott's Disease of +the spine!" + +"Yes, I know he has," she replied. "And I'm sorry for him, poor lad. But in +the last year," she added, "certain complications have come. And now he's +tubercular as well." + +"How do you know? He doesn't cough--his lungs are sound as yours or mine!" + +"No, it's--" Edith pursed her lips. "It's different," she said softly. + +"Who told you?" he demanded. + +"Not Deborah," was the quick response. "She knew it, I'm certain, for I +find that she's been having Mrs. Neale, the woman who comes in to wash, do +John's things in a separate tub. I found her doing it yesterday, and she +told me what Deborah had said." + +"It's the first I'd heard of it," Roger put in. + +"I know it is," she answered. "For if you'd heard of it before, I don't +believe you'd have been as ready as Deborah was, apparently, to risk +infecting the children here." Edith's voice was gentle, slow and +relentless. There was still a reflection in her eyes of the tenderness +which had been there as she had soothed her child to sleep. "As time goes +on, John is bound to get worse. The risk will be greater every week." + +"Oh, pshaw!" cried her father. "No such thing! You're just scaring yourself +over nothing at all!" + +"Doctor Lake didn't think I was." Lake was the big child specialist in +whose care Edith's children had been for years. "I talked to him to-day on +the telephone, and he said we should get John out of the house." + +Roger heartily damned Doctor Lake! + +"It's easy to find a good home for the boy," Edith went on quietly, "close +by, if you like--in some respectable family that will be only too thankful +to take in a boarder." + +"How about the danger to that family's children?" Roger asked malignantly. + +"Very well, father, do as you please. Take any risk you want to." + +"I'm taking no risk," he retorted. "If there were any risk they would have +told me--Allan and Deborah would, I mean." + +"They wouldn't!" burst from Edith with a vehemence which startled him. +"They'd take the same risk for my children they would for any street urchin +in town! All children are the same in their eyes--and if you feel as they +do--" + +"I don't feel as they do!" + +"Don't you? Then I'm telling you that Doctor Lake said there was very +serious risk--every day this boy remains in the house!" Roger rose angrily +from his chair: + +"So you want me to turn him out! To-night!" + +"No, I want you to wait a few days--until we can find him a decent home." + +"All right, I won't do it!" + +"Very well, father--it's your house, not mine." + +For a few moments longer she sat at her sewing, while her father walked the +floor. Then abruptly she rose, her eyes brimming with tears, and left the +room. And he heard a sob as she went upstairs. + +"Now she'll shut herself up with her children," he reflected savagely, "and +hold the fort till I come to terms!" Rather than risk a hair on their +heads, Edith would turn the whole world out of doors! He thought of Deborah +and he groaned. She would have to be told of this; and when she was, what a +row there would be! For Johnny was one of _her_ family. He glanced at the +clock. She'd be coming home soon. Should he tell her? Not to-night! Just +for one evening he'd had enough! + +He picked up the book he had meant to read--Stoddard's "Lectures on Japan." +And Roger snorted wrathfully. By George, how _he'd_ like to go to Japan--or +to darkest Africa! Anywhere! + + + + +CHAPTER XXIX + + +But later in the evening, when Allan and Deborah came in, Roger, who in the +meantime had had a good hour in Japan and was somewhat relaxed and soothed, +decided at once this was the time to tell her and have done with it. For +Deborah was flushed with triumph, the meeting had been a huge success. +Cooper Union had been packed to the walls, with an overflow meeting out on +the street; thousands of dollars had been pledged and some big politicians +had promised support; and men and women, rich and poor, had volunteered +their services. She started to tell him about it, but noticed his troubled +expression and asked him what was on his mind. + +"Oh, nothing tremendous," Roger said. "I hate to be any damper to-night. I +hadn't meant to tell you to-night--but I think I will now, for you look as +though you could find a solution for anything." + +"Then I must look like an idiot," his daughter said good-humoredly. "What +is it?" she demanded. + +"It's about John." Her countenance changed. + +"Oh. Is he worse?" + +"Edith thinks he is--and she says it's not safe." + +"I see--she wants him out of the house. Tell me what she said to you." As +he did so she listened intently, and turning to Allan at the end, "What do +you say to this, Allan?" she asked. "Is there any real risk to the +children?" + +"A little," he responded. "As much as they take every day in the trolley +going to school." + +"They never go in the trolley," Deborah answered dryly. "They always go on +the top of the 'bus." She was silent for a moment. "Well, there's no use +discussing it. If Edith feels that way, John must go. The house won't be +livable till he does." + +Roger looked at her in surprise. He felt both relieved and disappointed. +"John's only one of thousands to her," he told himself aggrievedly. "He +isn't close to her, she hasn't room, she has a whole mass meeting in her +head. But I haven't, by George, I like the boy--and I'm the one who will +have to tell him to pack up and leave the house! Isn't it the very devil, +how things all come back on me?" + +"Look here, father," Deborah said, "suppose you let me manage this." And +Roger's heavy visage cleared. + +"You mean you'll tell him?" + +"Yes," she replied, "and he'll understand it perfectly. I think he has been +expecting it. I have, for a good many weeks," she added, with some +bitterness. "And I know some people who will be glad enough to take him in. +I'll see that he's made comfortable. Only--" her face clouded. + +"It has meant a lot to him, being here," her father put in gruffly. + +"Oh, John's used to getting knocks in this world." Her quiet voice grew +hard and stern. "I wasn't thinking of John just now. What frightens me at +times like this is Edith," she said slowly. "No, not just +Edith--motherhood. I see it in so many mothers these days--in the women +downtown, in their fight for their children against all other children on +earth. It's the hardest thing we have to do--to try to make them see and +feel outside of their own small tenement homes--and help each other--pull +together. They can't see it's their only chance! And all because of this +mother love! It's so blind sometimes, like an animal!" She broke off, and +for a moment she seemed to be looking deep into herself. "And I suppose +we're all like that, we women are," she muttered, "when we marry and have +children. If the pinch is ever hard enough--" + +"_You_ wouldn't be," said Allan. And a sudden sharp uneasiness came into +Roger's mind. + +"When are you two to be married?" he asked, without stopping to think. And +at once he regretted his question. With a quick impatient look at him, +Allan bent over a book on the table. + +"I don't know," Deborah answered. "Next spring, I hope." The frown was +still on her face. + +"Don't make it too long," said her father brusquely. He left them and went +up to bed. + + * * * * * + +Deborah sat motionless. She wished Allan would go, for she guessed what was +coming and did not feel equal to it to-night. All at once she felt tired +and unnerved from her long exciting evening. If only she could let go of +herself and have a good cry. She locked her hands together and looked up at +him with impatience. He was still at the table, his back was turned. + +"Don't you _know_ I love you?" she was thinking fiercely. "Can't you see +it--haven't you seen it--growing, growing--day after day? But I don't want +you here to-night! Why can't you see you must leave me alone? Now! This +minute!" + +He turned and came over in front of her, and stood looking steadily down. + +"I wonder," he said slowly, "how well you understand yourself." + +"I think I do," she muttered. With a sudden twitching of her lip she looked +quickly up at him. "Go on, Allan--let's talk it all over now if you must!" + +"Not if you feel like that," he said. At his tone of displeasure she caught +his hand. + +"Yes, yes, I want to! Please!" she cried. "It's better--really! Believe me, +it is--" + +He hesitated a moment, his wide generous mouth set hard, and then in a tone +as sharp as hers he demanded, "Are you sure you'll marry me next spring? +Are you sure you _hope_ you will next spring? Are you sure this sister of +yours in the house, on your nerves day and night, with this blind narrow +motherhood, this motherhood which frightens you--isn't frightening you too +much?" + +"No--a little--but not too much." Her deep sweet voice was trembling. +"You're the one who frightens me. If you only knew! When you come like +this--with all you've done for me back of you--" + +"Deborah! Don't be a fool!" + +"Oh, I know you say you've done nothing, except what you've been glad to +do! You love me like that! But it's just that love! Giving up all your +practice little by little, and your reputation uptown--all for the sake of +me, Allan, me!" + +"You're wrong," he replied. "Compared to what I'm getting, I've given up +nothing! Can't you see? You're just as narrow in your school as Edith is +right here in her home! You look upon my hospital as a mere annex to your +schools, when the truth of it is that the work down there is a chance I've +wanted all my life! Can't you understand," he cried, "that instead of your +being in debt to me it's I who am in debt to you? You're a suffragist, eh, +a feminist--whatever you want to call it! All right! So you want to be +equal with man! Then, for God's sake, why not begin? _Feel_ equal! I'm no +annex to you, nor you to me! It has happened, thank God, that our work fits +in--each with the other!" + +He stopped and stared, seemed to shake himself; he walked the floor. And +when he turned back his expression had changed. + +"Look here, Deborah," he asked, with an appealing humorous smile, "will you +tell me what I'm driving at?" + +Deborah threw back her head and laughed, and her laughter thrilled with +relief. "How sure I feel now that I love him," she thought. + +"You've proved I owe you nothing!" she cried. "And that men and women of +our kind can work on splendidly side by side, and never bother our poor +little heads about anything else--even marriage!" + +"We will, though!" he retorted. The next moment she was in his arms. "Now, +Deborah, listen to reason, child. Why can't you marry me right away?" + +"Because," she said, "when I marry you I'm going to have you all to +myself--for weeks and weeks as we planned before! And afterwards, with a +wonderful start--and with the war over, work less hard and the world less +dark and gloomy--we're going to find that at last we can live! But this +winter it couldn't be like that. This winter we've got to go on with our +work--and without any more silly worries or talk about whether or not we're +in love. _For we are_!" Her upturned face was close to his, and for some +moments nothing was said, "Well?" she asked. "Are you satisfied?" + +"No--I want to get married. But it is now a quarter past one. And I'm your +physician. Go straight to bed." + +She stopped him a minute at the front door: + +"Are you sure, absolutely, you understand?" + +He told her he did. But as he walked home he reflected. How tense she had +been in the way she had talked. Yes, the long strain was telling. "Why was +she so anxious to get me out of the house," he asked, "when we were alone +for the first time in days? And why, if she's really sure of her love, does +she hate the idea that she's in my debt?" + +He walked faster, for the night was cold. And there was a chill, too, in +this long waiting game. + + + * * * * * + +Roger heard Deborah come up to bed, and he wondered what they had been +talking about. Of the topic he himself had broached--each other, love and +marriage? + +"Possibly--for a minute or two--but no more," he grumbled. "For don't +forget there's work to discuss, there's that mass meeting still on her +mind. And God knows a woman's mind is never any child's play. But when you +load a mass meeting on top--" + +Here he yawned long and noisily. His head ached, he felt sore and +weak--"from the evening's entertainment my other daughter gave me." No, he +was through, he had had enough. They could settle things to suit +themselves. Let Edith squander her money on frills, the more expensive the +better. Let her turn poor Johnny out of the house, let her give full play +to her motherhood. And if that scared Deborah out of marrying, let her stay +single and die an old maid. He had worried enough for his family. He wanted +a little peace in his house. + +Drowsily he closed his eyes, and a picture came into his mind of the city +as he had seen it only a few nights before. It had been so cool, so calm +and still. At dusk he had been in the building of the great tower on +Madison Square; and when he had finished his business there, on an impulse +he had gone up to the top, and through a wide low window had stood a few +moments looking down. A soft light snow was falling; and from high up in +the storm, through the silent whirling flakes, he had looked far down upon +lights below, in groups and clusters, dancing lines, between tall phantom +buildings, blurred and ghostly, faint, unreal. From all that bustle and +fever of life there had risen to him barely a sound. And the town had +seemed small and lonely, a little glow in the infinite dark, fulfilling its +allotted place for its moment in eternity. Suddenly from close over his +head like a brazen voice out of the sky, hard and deafening and clear, the +great bell had boomed the hour. Then again had come the silence, and the +cool, soft, whirling snow. + +Like a dream it faded all away, and with a curious smile on his face +presently Roger fell asleep. + + + + +CHAPTER XXX + + +And now he felt the approach at last of another season of quiet, one of +those uneventful times which come in family histories. As he washed and +dressed for dinner, one night a little later, he thought with satisfaction, +"How nicely things are smoothing out." His dressing for dinner, as a rule, +consisted in changing his low wing collar and his large round detachable +cuffs; but to-night he changed his cravat as well, from a black to a pearl +gray one. He hoped the whole winter would be pearl gray. + +The little storm which Edith had raised over John's presence in the house +had been allayed. Deborah had talked to John, and had moved him with his +belongings to a comfortable sunny room in the small but neat apartment of a +Scotch family nearby. And John had been so sensible. "Oh, I'm fine, thank +you," he had answered simply, when in the office Roger had asked him about +his new home. So that incident was closed. Already Edith was disinfecting +John's old room to her heart's content, for George was to occupy it now. +She was having the woodwork repainted and a new paper put on the walls. She +had already purchased a small new rug, and a bed and a bureau and one easy +chair, and was making a pair of fresh pretty curtains. All right, let her +do it--if only there could be peace in the house. + +With his cravat adjusted and his thick-curling silver hair trim from having +just been cut by "Louis" over at the Brevoort, Roger went comfortably down +to his dinner. Edith greeted him with a smile. + +"Deborah's dining out," she said. + +"Very well," he replied, "so much the better. We'll go right in--I'm +hungry. And we'll have the evening to ourselves. No big ideas nor problems. +Eh, daughter?" He slipped his hand in hers, and she gave it a little +affectionate squeeze. With John safely out of the way, and not only the +health of her children but their proper schooling assured, Edith was +herself again, placid, sweet and kindly. And dinner that night was a +cheerful meal. Later, in the living room, as Roger contentedly lit his +cigar, Edith gave an appreciative sniff. + +"You do smoke such good cigars, father," she said, smiling over her needle. +And glancing up at her daughter, "Betsy, dear," she added, "go and get your +grandfather's evening paper." + +In quiet perusal of the news he spent the first part of his evening. The +war did not bother him to-night, for there had come a lull in the fighting, +as though even war could know its place. And times were better over here. +As, skipping all news from abroad his eye roved over the pages for what his +business depended upon, Roger began to find it now. The old familiar +headliness were reappearing side by side--high finance exposures, graft, +the antics and didos cut up by the sons and daughters of big millionaires; +and after them in cheery succession the Yale-Harvard game, a new man for +the Giants, a new college building for Cornell, a new city plan for +Seattle, a woman senator in Arizona and in Chicago a "sporting mayor." In +brief, all over the U.S.A., men and women old and new had risen up, to +power, fame, notoriety, whatever you chose to call it. Men and women? +Hardly. "Children" was the better word. But the thought did not trouble +Roger to-night. He had instead a heartening sense of the youth, the wild +exuberance, the boundless vigor in his native land. He could feel it rising +once again. Life was soon to go on as before; people were growing hungry to +see the names of their countrymen back in the headlines where they +belonged. And Roger's business was picking up. He was not sure of the +figure of his deficit last week--he had always been vague on the +book-keeping side--but he knew it was down considerably. + +When Betsy and George had gone to bed, Roger put down his paper. + +"Look here, Edith," he proposed, "how'd you like me to read aloud while you +sew?" She looked up with a smile of pleased surprise. + +"Why, father dear, I'd love it." At once, she bent over her needle again, +so that if there were any awkwardness attending this small change in their +lives it did not reveal itself in her pretty countenance. "What shall we +read?" she affably asked. + +"I've got a capital book," he replied. "It's about travel in Japan." + +"I'd like nothing better," Edith replied. And with a slight glow of pride +in himself Roger took his book in hand. The experiment was a decided +success. He read again the next night and the next, while Edith sat at her +sewing. And so this hour's companionship, from nine to ten in the evening, +became a regular custom--just one hour and no more, which Roger spent with +his daughter, intimately and pleasantly. Yes, life was certainly smoothing +out. + +Edith's three older children had been reinstated in school. And although at +first, when deprived of their aid, she had found it nearly impossible to +keep her two small boys amused and give them besides the four hours a day +of fresh air they required, she had soon met this trouble by the same +simple process as before. Of her few possessions still unsold, she had +disposed of nearly all, and with a small fund thus secured she had sent for +Hannah to return. The house was running beautifully. + +Christmas, too, was drawing near. And though Roger knew that in Edith's +heart was a cold dread of this season, she bravely kept it to herself; and +she set about so determinedly to make a merry holiday, that her father +admiring her pluck drew closer still to his daughter. He entered into her +Christmas plans and into all the conspiracies which were whispered about +the house. Great secrets, anxious consultations, found in him a ready +listener. + +So passed three blessed quiet weeks, and he had high hopes for the winter. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXI + + +If there were any cloud upon his horizon, it was the thought of Laura. She +had barely been to the house since Edith had come back to town; and at +times, especially in the days when things had looked dark for Roger, he had +caught himself reproaching this giddy-gaddy youngest child, so engrossed in +her small "menage" that apparently she could not spare a thought for her +widowed sister. Laura on her return from abroad had brought as a gift for +Edith a mourning gown from Paris, a most alluring creation--so much so, in +fact, that Edith had felt it simply indecent, insulting, and had returned +it to her sister with a stilted note of thanks. But Roger did not know of +this. There were so many ways, he thought, in which Laura might have been +nice to Edith. She had a gorgeous limousine in which she might so easily +have come and taken her sister off on little trips uptown. But no, she kept +her car to herself. And from her small apartment, where a maid whom she had +brought from Rome dressed her several times each day, that limousine rushed +her noiselessly forth, gay and wild as ever, immaculate and elegant, +radiant and very rich. To what places did she go? What new friends was she +making? What was Laura up to? + +He did not like her manner, one evening when she came to the house. As he +helped her off with her cloak, a sleek supple leopard skin which fitted her +figure like a glove, he asked, + +"Where's Hal this evening?" And she answered lightly, + +"Oh, don't ask _me_ what he does with himself." + +"You mean, I suppose," said Edith, with quiet disapproval, "that he is +rushed to death this year with all this business from the war." + +"Yes, it's business," Laura replied, as she deftly smoothed and patted her +soft, abundant, reddish hair. "And it's war, too," she added. + +"What do you mean?" her father asked. He knew what she meant, war with her +husband. But before Laura could answer him, Edith cut in hastily, for two +of her children were present. At dinner she turned the talk to the war. But +even on this topic, Laura's remarks were disturbing. She did not consider +the war wholly bad--by no means, it had many good points. It was clearing +away a lot of old rubbish, customs, superstitions and institutions out of +date. "Musty old relics," she called them. She spoke as though repeating +what someone else had told her. Laura with her chicken's mind could never +have thought it all out by herself. When asked what she meant, she was +smilingly vague, with a glance at Edith's youngsters. But she threw out +hints about the church and even Christianity, as though it were falling to +pieces. She spoke of a second Renaissance, "a glorious pagan era" coming. +And then she exploded a little bomb by inquiring of Edith. + +"What do you think the girls over there are going to do for husbands, with +half the marriageable men either killed or hopelessly damaged? They're not +going to be nuns all their lives!" + +Again her sister cut her off, and the rest of the brief evening was +decidedly awkward. Yes, she was changing, growing fast. And Roger did not +like it. Here she was spending money like water, absorbed in her pleasures, +having no baby, apparently at loose ends with her husband, and through it +all so cocksure of herself and her outrageous views about war, and smiling +about them with such an air, and in her whole manner, such a tone of amused +superiority. She talked about a world for the strong, bits of gabble from +Nietzsche and that sort of rot; she spoke blithely of a Rome reborn, the +"Wings of the Eagles" heard again. This part of it she had taken, no doubt, +from her new Italian friend, her husband's shrapnel partner. + +Pshaw! What was Laura up to? + +But that was only one evening. It was not repeated, another month went +quickly by, and Roger had soon shaken it from him, for he had troubles +enough at home. One daughter at a time, he had thought. And as the dark +clouds close above him had cleared, the other cloud too had drifted away, +until it was small, just on the horizon, far away from Roger's house. What +was Laura up to? He barely ever thought of that now. + + * * * * * + +But one night when he came home, Edith, who sat in the living room reading +aloud to her smaller boys, gave him a significant look which warned him +something had happened. And turning to take off his overcoat, in the hall +he almost stumbled upon a pile of hand luggage, two smart patent leather +bags, a hat trunk and a sable cloak. + +"Hello," he exclaimed. "What's this? Who's here?" + +"Laura," Edith answered. "She's up in Deborah's room, I think--they've been +up there for over an hour." Roger looked indignantly in at his daughter. + +"What has happened?" he asked. + +"I'm afraid I can't tell you," Edith replied. "They didn't seem to need me. +They made it rather plain, in fact. Another quarrel, I presume. She came +into the house like a whirlwind, asked at once for Deborah and flew up to +Deborah's room." + +"Pshaw!" Roger heavily mounted the stairs. He at least did not feel like +flying. A whirlwind, eh--a nice evening ahead! + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, in her room upstairs Deborah sat motionless, sternly holding her +feelings down, while in a tone now kindly but more often full of a sharp +dismay, she threw out question after question to Laura who was walking the +floor in a quick, feverish sort of way, with gestures half hysterical, her +voice bursting with emotions of mingled fright and rage. + +"No, this time it's divorce!" she declared, at the end of her first +outburst, in which she had told in fragments of her husband's double life. +"I've stood it long enough! I'm through!" + +"You mean you don't care for him," Deborah said. She was fighting for time +to think it out. "You want a divorce. Very well, Laura dear--but how do you +think you are going to get it? The laws are rather strict in this state. +They allow but one cause. Have you any proofs?" + +"No, I haven't--but I don't need any proofs! He wants it as badly as I do! +Wait--I'll give you his very words!" Laura's face grew white with fury. +"'It's entirely up to you, Sweetie'--the beast!--'You can have any kind of +divorce you like. You can let me bring suit on the quiet or you can try to +fight me in court, climb up into the witness chair in front of the +reporters and tell them all about yourself!'" + +"_Your husband is to bring suit against you_?" Deborah's voice was loud and +harsh. "For God's sake, Laura, what do you mean?" + +"Mean? I mean that _he has proofs_! He has used a detective, the mean +little cur, and he's treating me like the dirt under his feet! Just as +though it were one thing for a man, and another--quite--for a woman! He +even had the nerve to be mad, to get on a high horse, call me names! Turn +me!--turn me out on the street!" Deborah winced as though from a blow. "Oh, +it was funny, funny!" Laura was almost sobbing now. + +"Stop, this minute!" Deborah said. "You say that you've been doing--what he +has?" she demanded. + +"Why shouldn't I? What do you know about it? Are you going to turn against +me, too?" + +"I am--pretty nearly--" + +"Oh, good God!" Laura tossed up her hands and went on with her walking. + +"Quiet! Please try to be clear and explain." + +"Explain--to you? How can I? _You_ don't understand--you know nothing about +it--all you know about is schools! You're simply a nun when it comes to +this. I see it now--I didn't before--I thought you a modern woman--with +your mind open to new ideas. But it isn't, it seems, when it comes to a +pinch--it's shut as tight as Edith's is--" + +"Yes, tight!" + +"Thank you very much! Then for the love of Heaven will you kindly leave me +alone! I'll have a talk with father!" + +"You will _not_ have a talk with father--" + +"I most certainly will--and he'll understand! He's a man, at least--and he +led a man's life before he was married!" + +"Laura!" + +"_You_ can't see it in him--_but I can_!" + +"You'll say not a word to him, not one word! He has had enough this year as +it is!" + +"Has he? Then I'm sorry! If _you_ were any help to me--instead of acting +like a nun--" + +"Will you please stop talking like a fool?" + +"I'm not! I'm speaking the truth and you know it! You know no more about +love like mine than a nun of the middle ages! You needn't tell me about +Allan Baird. You think you're in love with him, don't you? Well then, I'll +tell you that you're not--your love is the kind that can wait for +years--because it's cold, it's cold, it's cold--it's all in your mind and +your reason! And so I say you're no help to me now! Here--look at yourself +in the glass over there! You're just plain angry--frightened!" + +"Yes--I am--I'm frightened." While she strove to think clearly, to form +some plan, she let her young sister talk rapidly on: + +"I know you are! And you can't be fair! You're like nearly all American +women--married or single, young or old--you're all of you scared to death +about sex--just as your Puritan mothers were! And you leave it alone--you +keep it down--you never give it a chance--you're afraid! But I'm not +afraid--and I'm living my life! And let me tell you I'm not alone! There +are hundreds and thousands doing the same--right here in New York City +to-night! It's been so abroad for years and years--in Rome and Berlin, in +Paris and London--and now, thank God, it has come over here! If our +husbands can do it, why can't we? And we are--we're starting--it's come +with the war! You think war is hell and nothing else, don't you--but you're +wrong! It's not only killing men--it's killing a lot of hypocrisies +too--it's giving a jolt to marriage! You'll see what the women will do soon +enough--when there aren't enough men any longer--" + +"Suppose you stop this tirade and tell me exactly what you've done," +Deborah interrupted. A simple course of action had just flashed into her +mind. + +"All right, I will. I'm not ashamed. I've given you this 'tirade' to show +you exactly how I feel--that it's not any question of sin or guilt or any +musty old rubbish like that! I know I'm right! I know just what I'm doing!" + +"Who's the man? That Italian?" + +"Yes." + +"Where is he?" + +"Right here in New York." + +"Does he mean to stand by you?" + +"Of course he does." + +"Will he marry you, Laura?" + +"Yes, he will--the minute I'm free from my beast of a husband!" + +"And your husband will keep his suit quiet, you said, if you agree not to +fight him." + +"Yes." + +Deborah rose abruptly. + +"Then will you stay right here to-night, and leave this matter to me?" she +asked. + +"What do _you_ mean to do?" + +"See your husband." + +"What for? When?" + +"To-night, if I can. I want to be sure." + +Laura looked for the moment nonplussed. + +"And what of my wishes?" she inquired. + +"_Your_ wishes," said Deborah steadily. "You want a divorce, don't you--so +do I. And you want it quiet--and so do I. I want it so hard that I want to +make sure." Deborah's tone was kinder now, and she came over close to her +sister. "Look here, Laura, if I've been hard, forgive me--please--and let +me help. I'm not so narrow as you think. I've been through a good deal of +this before--downtown, I mean, with girls in my school. They come to me, we +have long talks. Maybe I _am_ a nun--as you say--but I'm one with a +confessional. Not for sins," she added, as Laura looked up angrily. "Sins +don't interest me very much. But troubles do. And heaven knows that +marriage is one," she said with a curious bitterness. "And when it has +failed and there's no love left--as in your case--I'm for divorce. Only--" +her wide sensitive lips quivered just a little, "I'm sorry it had to come +like this. But I love you, dear, and I want to help, I want to see you +safely through. And while I'm doing it, if we can, I want to keep dad out +of it--at least until it's settled." She paused a moment. "So if you agree, +I'll go to your husband. I want to be sure, absolutely, just what we can +count on. And until I come back, stay here in my room. You don't want to +talk to father and Edith--" + +"Most certainly not!" Laura muttered. + +"Good. Then stay here until I return. I'll send you up some supper." + +"I don't want any, thank you." + +Laura went and threw herself on the bed, while her sister finished +dressing. + +"It's decent of you, Deborah." Her voice was muffled and relaxed. "I wasn't +fair," she added. "I'm sorry for some of the things I said." + +"About me and marriage?" Deborah looked at herself in the glass in a +peculiar searching way. A slight spasm crossed her features. "I'm not sure +but that you were right. At times I feel far from certain," she said. Laura +lifted her head from the pillow, watched her sister a moment, dropped back. + +"Don't let this affect _you_, Deborah." + +"Oh, don't worry, dearie." And Deborah moved toward the door. "My affair is +just mine, you see, and this won't make any difference." + +But in her heart she knew it would. What an utter loathing she had to-night +for all that people meant by sex! Suddenly she was quivering, her limbs and +her whole body hot. + +"You say I'm cold," she was thinking. "Cold toward Allan, calm and cool, +nothing but mind and reason! You say it means little to me, all that! But +if I had had trouble with Allan, would I have come running home to talk? +Wouldn't I have hugged it tight? And isn't that love? What do _you_ know of +me and the life I've led? Do you know how it feels to want to work, to be +something yourself, without any man? And can't _that_ be a passion? Have +you had to live with Edith here and see what motherhood can be, what it can +do to a woman? And now you come with _another_ side, just as narrow as +hers, devouring everything else in sight! And because I'm a little afraid +of that, for myself and all I want to do, you say I don't know what love +is! But I do! And my love's worth more than yours! It's deeper, richer, it +will last!... Then why do I loathe it _all_ to-night?... But I don't, I +only loathe _your_ side!... But yours is the very heart of it!... All +right, then what am I going to do?" + +She was going slowly down the stairs. She stopped for a moment, frowning. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXII + + +On the floor below she met her father, who was coming out of his room. He +looked at her keenly: + +"What's the trouble?" + +"Laura's here," she answered. "Trouble again with her husband. Better leave +her alone for the present--she's going to stay in my room for a while." + +"Very well," her father grunted, and they went down to dinner. There +Deborah was silent, and Edith did most of the talking. Edith, quite aware +of the fact that Laura and all Laura's ways were in disgrace for the +moment, and that she and her ways with her children shone by the +comparison, was bright and sweet and tactful. Roger glanced at her more +than once, with approval and with gratitude for the effort she was making +to smooth over the situation. Deborah rose before they had finished. + +"Where are you off to?" Roger asked. + +"Oh, there's something I have to attend to--" + +"School again this evening, dear?" inquired Edith cheerfully, but her +sister was already out of the room. She looked at her father with quiet +concern. "I'm sorry she has to be out to-night--to-night of all nights," +she murmured. + +"Humph!" ejaculated her father. This _eternal_ school business of Deborah's +was beginning to get on his nerves. Yes, just a little on his nerves! Why +couldn't she give up one evening, just one, and get Laura out of this snarl +she was in? He heard her at the telephone, and presently she came back to +them. + +"Oh, Edith," she said casually, "don't send any supper up to Laura. She +says she doesn't want any to-night. And ask Hannah to put a cot in my room. +Will you?" + +"Yes, dear, I'll attend to it." + +"Thanks." And again she left them. In silence, when the front door closed, +Edith looked at her father. This must be rather serious, Roger thought +excitedly. So Laura was to stay all night, while Deborah gallivanted off to +those infernal schools of hers! He had little joy in his paper that night. +The news of the world had such a trick of suddenly receding a million miles +away from a man the minute he was in trouble. And Roger was in trouble. +With each slow tick of the clock in the hall he grew more certain and more +disturbed. An hour passed. The clock struck nine. With a snort he tossed +his paper aside. + +"Well, Edith," he said glumly, "how about some chess this evening?" In +answer she gave him a quick smile of understanding and sympathy. + +"All right, father dear." And she fetched the board. But they had played +only a short time when Deborah's latchkey was heard in the door. Roger gave +an angry hitch to his chair. Soon she appeared in the doorway. + +"May I talk to you, father?" she asked. + +"I suppose so." Roger scowled. + +"You'll excuse us, Edith?" she added. + +"Oh, assuredly, dear." And Edith rose, looking very much hurt. "Of course, +if I'm not needed--" + +At this her father scowled again. Why couldn't Deborah show her sister a +little consideration? + +"What is it?" he demanded. + +"Suppose we go into the study," she said. + +He followed her there and shut the door. + + * * * * * + +"Well?" he asked, from his big leather chair. Deborah had remained +standing. + +"I've got some bad news," she began. + +"What is it?" he snapped. "School burnt down?" Savagely he bit off a +cigar. + +"I've just had a talk with Harold," she told him. He shot a glance of +surprise and dismay. + +"Have, eh--what's it all about?" + +"It's about a divorce," she answered. + +The lighted match dropped from Roger's hand. He snatched it up before it +was out and lit his cigar, and puffing smoke in a vigilant way again he +eyed his daughter. + +"I've done what I could," she said painfully, "but they seem to have made +up their minds." + +"Then they'll unmake 'em," he replied, and he leaned forward heavily. +"They'll unmake 'em," he repeated, in a thick unnatural tone. "I'm not +a'goin' to hear to it!" In a curious manner his voice had changed. It +sounded like that of a man in the mountains, where he had been born and +raised. This thought flashed into Deborah's mind and her wide resolute +mouth set hard. It would be very difficult. + +"I'm afraid this won't do, father dear. Whether you give your consent or +not--" + +"Wun't, wun't it! You wait and see if it wun't!" Deborah came close to him. + +"Suppose you wait till you understand," she admonished sternly. + +"All right, I'm waiting," he replied. She felt herself trembling deep +inside. She did not want him to understand, any more than she must to +induce him to keep out of this affair. + +"To begin with," she said steadily, "you will soon see yourself, I think, +that they fairly loathe the sight of each other--that there is no real +marriage left." + +"That's fiddlesticks!" snapped Roger. "Just modern talk and new +ideas--ideas you're to blame for! Yes, you are--you put 'em in her +head--you and your gabble about woman's rights!" He was angry now. He was +glad he was angry. He'd just begun! + +"If you want me to leave her alone," his daughter cut in sharply, "just say +so! I'll leave it all to you!" And she saw him flinch a little. "What would +be _your_ idea?" she asked. + +"My idea? She's to go straight home and make up with him!" + +She hesitated. Then she said: + +"Suppose there's another woman." + +"Then he's a beast," growled Roger. + +"And yet you want her to live with him?" + +He scowled, he felt baffled, his mind in a whirl. And a wave of +exasperation suddenly swept over him. + +"Well, why shouldn't she?" he cried. "Other wives have done it--millions! +Made a devilish good success of it, too--made new men of their husbands! +Let her show him she's ready to forgive! That's only Christian, ain't it? +Hard? Of course it's hard on her! But can you tell me one hard thing she +has ever had to do in her life? Hasn't it been pleasure, pleasure from the +word go? Can't she stand something hard? Don't we all of us have to? I +do--God knows--with all of you!" And he puffed his cigar in a fury. His +daughter smiled. She saw her chance. + +"Father," she said, in a low clear voice, "You've had so _many_ troubles. +Why not leave this one to me? You can't help--no matter how hard you +try--you'll only make it worse and worse. And you've been through so much +this year--you've earned the right to be quiet. And that's what _they_ +want, both of them--they both want it quiet, without any scandal." Her +father glared, for he knew about scandal, he handled it in his office each +day. "Let me manage this--please," she said. And her offer tempted him. He +struggled for a moment. + +"No, I won't!" he burst out in reply. "I want quiet right enough, but not +at the price of her peace with her God!" This sounded foolish, he felt +that it did, and he flushed and grew the angrier. "No, I won't," he said +stubbornly. "She'll go back to him if I take her myself. And what's more," +he added, rising, "she's to go straight back to-night!" + +"She is not going back to-night, my dear." And Deborah caught her father's +arm. "Sit down, please--" + +"I've heard enough!" + +"I'm afraid you haven't," she replied. + +"Very well." His smile was caustic. "Give me some more of it," he said. + +"Her husband won't have her," said Deborah bluntly. "He told me so +himself--to-night." + +"Did, eh--then _I'll_ talk to him!" + +"He thinks," she went on in a desperate tone, "that Laura has been +leading--'her own little life'--as he put it to me." + +"_Eh_?" + +"He is bringing suit himself." + +"_Oh! He is_!" cried Roger hoarsely. "Then I _will_ talk to this young +man!" But she put out a restraining hand: + +"Father! Don't try to fight this suit!" + +"You watch me!" he snarled. Tears showed in her eyes: + +"Think! Oh, please! Think what you're doing! Have you ever seen a +divorce-court--here, in New York? Do you know what it's like? What it _can_ +be like?" + +"Yes," Roger panted. He did know, and the picture came vividly into his +mind--a mass of eager devouring eyes fixed on a girl in a witness chair. +"To-morrow I see a lawyer!" he said. + +"No--you won't do that, my dear," Deborah told him sadly. "Laura's husband +has got proofs." + +Her father looked up slowly and glared into his daughter's face. + +"I've seen them myself," she added. "And Laura has admitted it, too." + +Still for a moment he stared at her. Then slowly he settled back in his +chair, his eyes dropped in their sockets, and very carefully, with a hand +which was trembling visibly, he lifted his cigar to his lips. It had gone +nearly out, but he drew on it hard until it began to glow again. + +"Well," he asked simply, "what shall we do?" + +Sharply Deborah turned away. To be quiet, to be matter of fact, to act as +though nothing had happened at all--she knew this was what he wanted now, +what he was silently begging her to be for his sake, for the family's sake. +For he had been raised in New England. And so, when she turned back to him, +her voice was flat and commonplace. + +"Keep her here," she said. "Let him do what he likes. There'll be nothing +noisy, he promised me that. But keep her here till it's over." + +Roger smoked for a moment, and said, + +"There's Edith and her children." + +"The children needn't know anything--and Edith only part of it." + +"The less, the better," he grunted. + +"Of course." She looked at him anxiously. This tractable mood of his might +not last. "Why not go up and see her now--and get it all over--so you can +sleep." + +Over Roger's set heavy visage flitted a smile of grim relish at that. +Sleep! Deborah was funny. Resolutely he rose from his chair. + +"You'll be careful, of course," she admonished him, and he nodded in reply. +At the door he turned back: + +"Where's the other chap?" + +"I don't know," she answered. "Surely you don't want to see _him_--." Her +father snorted his contempt: + +"See him? No. Nor she neither. _She's_ not to see him. Understand?" + +"I wouldn't tell her that to-night." + +"Look here." Roger eyed his daughter a moment. + +"You've done well. I've no complaint. But don't try to manage everything." + +He went out and slowly climbed the stairs. Outside the bedroom door he +paused. When had he stood like this before? In a moment he remembered. One +evening some two years ago, the night before Laura's wedding, when they had +had that other talk. And so it had come to this, had it. Well, there was no +use making a scene. Again, with a sigh of weariness, Laura's father knocked +at her door. + +"Come in, Deborah," she said. + +"It isn't Deborah, it's I." There was a little silence. + +"Very well, father, come in, please." Her voice sounded tired and lifeless. +He opened the door and found the room dark. "I'm over on the bed," she +said. "I've had a headache this evening." + +He came over to the bedside and he could just see her there, a long shadow +upon the white. She had not taken off her clothes. He stood a moment +helplessly. + +"Please don't _you_ talk to me!" His daughter fiercely whispered. "I can't +stand any more to-night!" + +"I won't," he answered. "It's too late." Again there was a pause. + +"What time is it?" she asked him. But he did not answer. + +"Well, Laura," he said presently, "your sister has told me everything. She +has seen your husband--it's all arranged--and you're to stay here till it's +over ... You want to stay here, don't you?" + +"Yes." + +"Then it's settled," he went on. "There's only one thing--the other man. I +don't know who he is and I don't want to know. And I don't want you to know +him again. You're not to see him. Understand?" For a moment Laura was +silent. + +"I'm going to marry him, father," she said. And standing in the darkened +room Roger stiffened sharply. + +"Well," he answered, after a pause, "that's your affair. You're no longer a +child. I wish you were," he added. + +Suddenly in the darkness Laura's hand came out clutching for his. But he +had already turned to the door. + +"Good-night," he said, and left her. + +In the hallway below he met Deborah, and to her questioning look he +replied, "All right, I guess. Now I'm going to bed." He went into his room +and closed the door. + +As soon as Roger was alone, he knew this was the hardest part--to be here +by himself in this intimate room, with this worn blue rug, these pictures +and this old mahogany bed. For he had promised Judith his wife to keep +close to the children. What would she think of him if she knew? + +Judith had been a broad-minded woman, sensible, big-hearted. But she never +would have stood for this. Once, he recollected, she had helped a girl +friend to divorce her husband, a drunkard who ran after chorus girls. But +that had been quite different. There the wife had been innocent and had +done it for her children. Laura was guilty, she hadn't a child, she was +already planning to marry again. And then what, he asked himself. "From bad +to worse, very likely. A woman can't stop when she's started downhill." His +eye was caught by the picture directly before him on the wall--the one his +wife had given him--two herdsmen with their cattle high up on a shoulder of +a sweeping mountain side, tiny blue figures against the dawn. It had been +like a symbol of their lives, always beginning clean glorious days. What +was Laura beginning? + +"Well," he demanded angrily, as he began to jerk off his clothes, "what can +I do about it? Try to keep her from re-marrying, eh? And suppose I +succeeded, how long would it last? She wouldn't stay here and I couldn't +keep her. She'll be independent now--her looks will be her bank account. +There'd be some other chap in no time, and he might not even marry her!" He +tugged ferociously at his boots. "No, let well enough alone!" + +He finished undressing, opened the window, turned out the gas and got into +bed. Wearily he closed his eyes. But after a time he opened them and stared +long through the window up at the beetling cliff of a building close by, +with its tier upon tier of lighted apartments, a huge garish hive of homes. +Yes, the town was crowding down on him to-night, on his house and on his +family. He realized it had never stopped, and that his three grown +children, each one of them a part of himself, had been struggling with it +all the time. Laura--wasn't she part of himself? Hadn't he, too, had his +little fling, back in his early twenties? "You will live on in our +children's lives." She was a part of him gone wild. She gave it free rein, +took chances. God, what a chance she had taken this time! The picture of +that court he had seen, with the girl in the witness chair and those many +rows of eyes avidly fixed upon her, came back to his mind so vividly they +seemed for a moment right here in the room, these eyes of the town boring +into his house. Angrily he shut out the scene. And alone in the darkness, +Roger said to his daughter all the ugly furious things he had not said to +her upstairs--until at last he was weary of it. + +"Why am I working myself all up? I've got to take this. It's my medicine." + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIII + + +But as he watched Laura in the house, Roger's first emotions were +complicated more and more by a feeling of bewilderment. At dinner the next +evening he noticed with astonishment that she appeared like her natural +self. "She's acting," he decided. But this explanation he soon dismissed. +No, it was something deeper. She was actually unashamed, unafraid. That +first display of feelings, the night of her arrival, had been only the +scare of an hour. Within a few days she was back on her feet; and her cure +for her trouble, if trouble she felt, was not less but more pleasure, as +always. She went out nearly every evening now; and when she had spent what +money she had, she sold a part of her jewelry to the little old Galician +Jew in the shop around the corner. Yes, she was her natural self. And she +was as before to her father. Her attitude said plainly, + +"It isn't fair to you, poor dear, to expect you to fully understand how +right I am in this affair. And considering your point of view, you're +acting very nicely." + +Often as she talked to him a note of good-humored forgiveness crept into +his daughter's voice. And looking at her grimly out of the corner of his +eye, he saw that she looked down on him, far, far down from heights above. + +"Yes," he thought, "this is modern." Then he grew angry all at once. "No," +he added, "this is wrong! You can't fool me, young woman, you know it as +well as I do myself! You're not going to carry this off with an air--not +with your father! No, by George!" + +And he would grow abrupt and stern. But days would pass and in spite of +himself into their talks would creep a natural friendly tone. Again he +found himself friends with her--friends as though nothing whatever had +happened! Could it be that a woman who had so sinned could go right on? +Here was Laura, serenely unconscious of guilt, and smiling into her future, +dreaming still of happiness, quite plainly sure of it, in fact! With a +curious dismayed relief Roger would scowl at this daughter of his--a +radiant enigma in his quiet sober house. + +But Edith was not at all perplexed. When she learned from Deborah that +there was soon to be a divorce, she came at once to her father. Her face +was like a thundercloud. + +"A nice example for my children!" she indignantly exclaimed. + +"I'm sorry, my dear. But what can I do?" + +"You can make her go back to her husband, can't you?" + +"No, I can't," he flatly replied. + +"Then I'd better try it myself!" + +"You'll do no such thing!" he retorted. "I've gone clear to the bottom of +this--and I say you're to leave her alone!" + +"Very well," she answered. And she did leave her sister alone, so severely +that Laura soon avoided being home for lunch or dinner. She had taken the +room which George had occupied ever since John had been turned out, and +there she breakfasted late in bed, until Edith put a stop to it. They +barely spoke to each other now. Laura still smiled defiance. + +Days passed. Christmas came at last, and despite Edith's glum resolution to +make it a happy time for the children, the happiness soon petered out. +After the tree in the morning, the day hung heavy on the house. Roger +buried himself in his study. Laura had motored off into the country with a +gay party of her friends. Or was this just a ruse, he wondered, and was +she spending the day with her lover? Well, what if she was? Could he lock +her in? + +About twilight he thought he heard her return, and later from his bedroom +he heard her voice and Edith's. Both voices sounded angry, but he would not +interfere. + +At the Christmas dinner that evening Laura did not put in an appearance, +but Edith sat stiff and silent there; and despite the obvious efforts which +Deborah and Allan made to be genial with the children, the very air in the +room was charged with the feeling of trouble close ahead. Again Roger +retreated into his den, and presently Laura came to him. + +"Good-night--I'm going out," she said, and she pressed her cheek lightly to +his own. "What a dear you've been to me, dad," she murmured. And then she +was gone. + +A few minutes later Edith came in. She held a small note in her hand, which +Roger saw was addressed to himself. + +"Well, father, I learned this afternoon what you've been keeping from me," +she said. Roger gave her a steady look. + +"You did, eh--Laura told you?" + +"Yes, she did!" his daughter exclaimed. "And I can't help wondering, +father--" + +"Why did she tell you? Have you been at her again to-day?" + +"Again? Not at all," she answered. "I've done as you asked me to, let her +alone. But to-day--mother's day--I got thinking of _her_." + +"Leave your mother out of it, please. What did you say to Laura?" + +"I tried to make her go back, of course--" + +"And she told you--" + +"He wouldn't have her! And then in a perfect tantrum she went on to tell me +why!" Edith's eyes were cold with disgust. "And I'm wondering why you let +her stay here--in the same house with my children!" + +Roger reached out his hand. + +"Give me that note," he commanded. He read it quickly and handed it back. +The note was from Laura, a hasty good-bye. + +"Edith will explain," she wrote, "and you will see I cannot stay any +longer. It is simply too impossible. I am going to the man I love--and in a +few days we shall sail for Naples. I know you will not interfere. It will +make the divorce even simpler and everything easier all round. Please don't +worry about me. We shall soon be married over there. You have been so dear +and sensible and I do so love you for it." Then came her name scrawled +hastily. And at the bottom of the page: "I have paid every bill I can think +of." + +Edith read it in silence, her color slowly mounting. + +"All right," said her father, "your children are safe." She gave him a +quick angry look, burst into tears and ran out of the room. + +Roger sat without moving, his heavy face impassive. And so he remained for +a long time. Well, _Laura_ was gone--no mistake about that--and this time +she was gone for good. She was going to live in Rome. Try to stop her? No. +What good would it do? Wings of the Eagles, Rome reborn. That was it, she +had hit it, struck the keynote of this new age. Rome reborn, all clean, +old-fashioned Christian living swept away by millions of men at each +others' throats like so many wolves. And at last quite openly to himself +Roger admitted that he felt old. Old and beaten, out of date. Moments +passed, and hours--he took little note of time. Nor did he see on the +mantle the dark visage of "The Thinker" there, resting on the huge clinched +fist and brooding down upon him. Lower, imperceptibly, he sank into his +leather chair. + +Quiet had returned to his house. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIV + + +But the quiet was dark to Roger now. Each night he spent in his study +alone, for instinctively he felt the need of being by himself for a while, +of keeping away from his children--out of whose lives he divined that other +events would soon come forth to use up the last of the strength that was in +him. + +And Roger grew angry with the world. Why couldn't it let a man alone, an +old man in a silent house alive for him with memories? Repeatedly in such +hours his mind would go groping backward into the years behind him. What a +long and winding road, half buried in the jungle, dim, almost impenetrable, +made up of millions of small events, small worries, plans and dazzling +dreams, with which his days had all been filled. But the more he recalled +the more certain he grew that he was right. Life had never been like this: +the world had never come smashing into his house, his very family, with its +dirty teeming tenements, its schools, its prisons, electric chairs, its +feverish rush for money, its luxuries, its scandals. These things had +existed in the world, but remote and never real, mere things which he had +read about. War? Did he not remember wars that had come and gone in Europe? +But they hadn't come into his home like this, first making him poor when he +needed money for Edith and her children, then plunging Deborah into a +struggle which might very probably ruin her life, and now taking Laura and +filling her mind with thoughts of pagan living. Why was every man, woman +and child, these days, bound up in the whole life of the world? What would +come of it all? A new day out of this deafening night? Maybe so. But for +him it would come too late. + +"What have I left to live for?" + +One night with a sigh he went to his desk, lit a cigar and laid his hand +upon a pile of letters which had been mounting steadily. It was made up of +Laura's bills, the ones she had not remembered. Send them after her to Rome +for that Italian fellow to pay? No, it could not be thought of. Roger +turned to his dwindling bank account. He was not yet making money, he was +still losing a little each week. But he would not cut expenses. To the few +who were left in his employ, to be turned away would mean dire need. And +angrily he determined that they should not starve to pay Laura's bills. +"The world for the strong, eh? Not in my office!" In Rome or Berlin or +Vienna, all right! But not over here! + +Grimly, when he had made out the checks, Roger eyed his balance. By spring +he would be penniless. And he had no one to turn to now, no rich young +son-in-law who could aid. + +He set himself doggedly to the task of forcing up his business, and +meanwhile in the evenings he tried with Edith to get back upon their former +footing. To do this was not easy at first, for his bitterness still rankled +deep: "When you were in trouble I took you in, but when she was in trouble +you turned her out, as you turned out John before her." In the room again +vacated, young George had been reinstalled. One night Edith found her +father there looking in through the open doorway, and the look on his +massive face was hard. + +"Better have the room disinfected again," he muttered when he saw her. He +turned and went slowly down the stairs. And she was late for dinner that +night. + +But Edith had her children. And as he watched her night by night hearing +their lessons patiently, reading them fairy stories and holding them +smilingly in her arms, the old appeal of her motherhood regained its hold +upon him. One evening when the clock struck nine, putting down his paper he +suggested gruffly, + +"Well, daughter, how about some chess?" + +Edith flushed a little: + +"Why, yes, dear, I'd be glad to." + +She rose and went to get the board. So the games were resumed, and part at +least of their old affection came to life. But only a part. It could never +be quite the same again. + +And though he saw little of Deborah, slowly, almost unawares to them both, +she assumed the old place she had had in his home--as the one who had been +right here in the house through all the years since her mother had died, +the one who had helped and never asked help, keeping her own troubles to +herself. He fell back into his habit of going before dinner to his +daughter's bedroom door to ask whether she would be home that night. At one +such time, getting no response and thinking Deborah was not there, he +opened the door part way to make sure. And he saw her at her dresser, +staring at herself in the glass, rigid as though in a trance. Later in the +dining room he heard her step upon the stairs. She came in quietly and sat +down; and as soon as dinner was over, she said her good-nights and left the +house. But when she came home at midnight, he was waiting up for her. He +had foraged in the kitchen, and on his study table he had set out some +supper. While she sat there eating, her father watched her from his chair. + +"Things going badly in school?" he inquired. + +"Yes," she replied. There was silence. + +"What's wrong?" + +"To-night we had a line of mothers reaching out into the street. They had +come for food and coal--but we had to send most of them home empty-handed. +Some of them cried--and one of them fainted. She's to have a baby soon." + +"Can't you get any money uptown?" he asked. + +"I have," she answered grimly. "I've been a beggar--heaven knows--on every +friend I can think of. And I've kept a press agent hard at work trying to +make the public see that Belgium is right here in New York." She stopped +and went on with her supper. "But it's a bad time for work like mine," she +continued presently. "If we're to keep it going we must above all keep it +cheap. That's the keynote these days, keep everything cheap--at any +cost--so that men can expensively kill one another." Her voice had a bitter +ring to it. "You try to talk peace and they bowl you over, with facts on +the need of preparedness--for the defence of your country. And that doesn't +appeal to me very much. I want a bigger preparedness--for the defence of +the whole world--for democracy, and human rights, no matter who the people +are! I'd like to train every child to that!" + +"What do you mean?" her father asked. + +"To teach him what his life can be!" she replied in a hard quivering tone. +"A fight? Oh yes! So long as he lives--and even with guns if it must be so! +But a fight for all the people on earth!--and a world so full of happy +lives that men will think hard--before ever again letting themselves be led +by the nose--into war and death--for a place in the sun!" She rose from her +chair, with a weary smile: "Here I am making a speech again. I've made so +many lately it's become a habit. I'm tired out, dad, I'm going to bed." Her +father looked at her anxiously. + +"You're seeing things out of proportion," he said. "You've worked so hard +you're getting stale. You ought to get out of it for a while." + +"I can't!" she answered sharply. "You don't know--you don't even guess--how +it takes every hour--all the demands!" + +"Where's Allan these days?" + +"Working," was her harsh reply. "Trying to keep his hospital going with +half its staff. The woman who was backing him is giving her money to +Belgium instead." + +"Do you see much of him?" + +"Every day. Let's drop it. Shall we?" + +"All right, my dear--" + +And they said good-night ... + + * * * * * + +In the meantime, in the house, Edith had tried to scrimp and save, but it +was very difficult. Her children had so many needs, they were all growing +up so fast. Each month brought fresh demands on her purse, and the fund +from the sale of her belongings had been used up long ago. Her sole +resource was the modest allowance her father gave her for running the +house, and she had not asked him for more. She had put off trouble from +month to month. But one evening early in March, when he gave her the +regular monthly check, she said hesitatingly: + +"I'm very sorry, father dear, but I'm afraid we'll need more money this +month." He glanced up from his paper: + +"What's the matter?" She gave him a forced little smile, and her father +noticed the gray in her hair. + +"Oh, nothing in particular. Goodness knows I've tried to keep down +expenses, but--well, we're a pretty large household, you know--" + +"Yes," said Roger kindly, "I know. Are the month's bills in?" + +"Yes." + +"Let me see them." She brought him the bills and he looked relieved. "Not +so many," he ventured. + +"No, but they're large." + +"Why, look here, Edith," he said abruptly, "these are bills for two +months--some for three, even four!" + +"I know--that's just the trouble. I couldn't meet them at the time." + +"Why didn't you tell me?" + +"Laura was here--and I didn't want to bother you--you had enough on your +mind as it was. I've done the best I could, father dear--I've sold +everything, you know--but I've about come to the end of my rope." And her +manner said clearly, "I've done my part. I'm only a woman. I'll have to +leave the rest to you." + +"I see--I see." And Roger knitted his heavy brows. "I presume I can get it +somehow." This would play the very devil with things! + +"Father." Edith's voice was low. "Why don't you let Deborah help you? She +does very little, it seems to me--compared to the size of her salary." + +"She can't do any more than she's doing now," was his decisive answer. +Edith looked at him, her color high. She hesitated, then burst out: + +"I saw her check book the other day, she had left it on the table! She's +spending thousands--every month!" + +"That's not her own money," Roger said. + +"No--it's money she gets for her fads--her work for those tenement +children! She can get money enough for _them!_" He flung out his hand: + +"Leave her out of this, please!" + +"Very well, father, just as you say." And she sat there hurt and silent +while again he looked slowly through the bills. He jotted down figures and +added them up. They came to a bit over nine hundred dollars. Soon Deborah's +key was heard in the door, and Roger scowled the deeper. She came into the +room, but he did not look up. He heard her voice: + +"What's the matter, Edith?" + +"Bills for the house." + +"Oh." And Deborah came to her father. "May I see what's the trouble, dear?" + +"I'd rather you wouldn't. It's nothing," he growled. He wanted her to keep +out of this. + +"Why shouldn't she see?" Edith tartly inquired. "Deborah is living +here--and before I came she ran the house. In her place I should certainly +want to know." + +Deborah was already glancing rapidly over the bills. + +"Why, Edith," she exclaimed, "most of these bills go back for months. Why +didn't you pay them when they were due?" + +"Simply because I hadn't the money!" + +"You've had the regular monthly amount." + +"That didn't last long--" + +"Why didn't you tell us?" + +"Laura was here." + +Deborah gave a shrug of impatience, and Roger saw how tired she was, her +nerves on edge from her long day. + +"Never mind about it now," he put in. + +"What a pity," Deborah muttered. "If we had been told, we could have cut +down." + +"I don't agree with you!" Edith rejoined. "I have already done that myself! +I've done nothing else!" + +"Have the servants been paid?" her sister asked. + +"No, they haven't-" + +"Since when?" + +"Three months!" + +Roger got up and walked the room. Deborah tried to speak quietly: + +"I can't quite see where the money has gone." + +"Can't you? Then look at my check book." And Edith produced it with a +glare. Her sister turned over a few of the stubs. + +"What's this item?" + +"Where?" + +"Here. A hundred and twenty-two dollars." + +"The dentist," Edith answered. "Not extravagant, is it--for five children?" + +"I see," said Deborah. "And this?" + +"Bedding," was Edith's sharp response. "A mattress and more blankets. I +found there weren't half enough in the house." + +"You burned John's, didn't you?" + +"Naturally!" + +All at once both grew ashamed. + +"Let's be sensible," Deborah said. "We must do something, Edith--and we +can't till we're certain where we stand." + +"Very well--" + +They went on more calmly and took up the items one by one. Deborah finished +and was silent. + +"Well, father, what's to be done?" she asked. + +"I don't know," he answered shortly. + +"Somehow or other," Deborah said, "we've got to cut our expenses down." + +"I'm afraid that's impossible," Edith rejoined. "I've already cut as much +as I can." + +"So did I, in my school," said her sister. "And when I thought I had +reached the end, I called in an expert. And he showed me ways of saving I +had never dreamed of." + +"What kind of expert would you advise here?" Edith's small lip curled in +scorn. + +"Domestic science, naturally--I have a woman who does nothing else. She +shows women in their homes just how to make money count the most." + +"What women? And what homes? Tenements?" + +"Yes. She's one of my teachers." + +"Thank you!" said Edith indignantly. "But I don't care to have my children +brought down to tenement standards!" + +"I didn't mean to _have_ them! But I know she could show you a great many +things you can buy for less!" + +"I'm afraid I shouldn't agree with her!" + +"Why not, Edith?" + +"Because she knows only tenement children--nothing of children bred like +mine!" + +Deborah drew a quick short breath, her brows drew tight and she looked +away. She bit her lip, controlled herself: + +"Very well, I'll try again. This house is plenty large enough so that by a +little crowding we could make room for somebody else. And I know a teacher +in one of my schools who'd be only too glad--" + +"Take a boarder, you mean?" + +"Yes, I do! We've got to do something!" + +"No!" + +Deborah threw up her hands: + +"All right, Edith, I'm through," she said. "Now what do you propose?" + +"I can try to do without Hannah again--" + +"That will be hard--on all of us. But I guess you'll have to." + +"So it seems." + +"But unfortunately that won't he enough." + +Edith's face grew tenser: + +"I'm afraid it will have to be--just now--I've had about all I can stand +for one night!" + +"I'm sorry," Deborah answered. For a moment they confronted each other. And +Edith's look said to Deborah plainly, "You're spending thousands, +thousands, on those tenement children! You can get money enough for them, +but you won't raise a hand to help with mine!" And as plainly Deborah +answered, "My children are starving, shivering, freezing! What do yours +know about being poor?" Two mothers, each with a family, and each one +baffled, brought to bay. There was something so insatiable in each angry +mother's eyes. + +"I think you'd better leave this to me," said Roger very huskily. And both +his daughters turned with a start, as though in their bitter absorption +they had forgotten his presence there. Both flushed, and now the glances of +all three in that room avoided each other. For they felt how sordid it had +been. Deborah turned to her sister. + +"I'm sorry, Edith," she said again, and this time there were tears in her +eyes. + +"So am I," said Edith unsteadily, and in a moment she left the room. +Deborah stood watching her father. + +"I'm ashamed of myself," she said. "Well? Shall we talk it over?" + +"No," he replied. "I can manage it somehow, Deborah, and I prefer that you +leave it to me." + +Roger went into his study and sank grimly into his chair. Yes, it had been +pretty bad; it had been ugly, ominous. He took paper and pencil and set to +work. How he had come to hate this job of wrestling with figures. Of the +five thousand dollars borrowed in August he had barely a thousand left. The +first semi-annual interest was due next week and must be paid. The balance +would carry them through March and on well into April. By that time he +hoped to be making money, for business was better every week. But what of +this nine hundred dollars in debts? Half at least must be paid at once. +Lower and lower he sank in his chair. But a few moments later, his blunt +heavy visage cleared, and with a little sigh of relief he put away his +papers, turned out the lights and went upstairs. The dark house felt +friendly and comforting now. + +In his room he opened the safe in the corner where his collection of +curious rings had lain unnoticed for many months. He drew out a tray, sat +down by the light and began to look them over. At first only small +inanimate objects, gradually as from tray after tray they glittered duskily +up at him, they began to yield their riches as they had so often done +before. Spanish, French, Italian, Bohemian, Hungarian, Russian and Arabian, +rings small and rings enormous, religious rings and magic rings, poison +rings, some black with age for all his careful polishing--again they +stole deep into Roger's imagination with suggestions of the many hands that +had worn them through the centuries, of women kneeling in old churches, +couples in dark crooked streets, adventures, love, hate, jealousy. Youth +and fire, dreams and passion.... + +At last he remembered why he was here. He thought of possible purchasers. +He knew so many dealers, but he knew, too, that the war had played the +devil with them as with everyone else. Still, he thought of several who +would find it hard to resist the temptation. He would see them to-morrow, +one by one, and get them bidding, haggling. Roger frowned disgustedly. + +No help for it, though, and it was a relief. It would bring a truce in his +house for a time. + + * * * * * + +But the truce was brief. + +On the afternoon when he sold his collection Roger came home all out of +sorts. He had been forced to haggle long; it had been a mean inglorious +day; one of the brightest paths in his life had ended in a pigstie. But at +least he had bought some peace in his home! Women, women, women! He shut +the front door with a slam and went up to his room for a little rest, a +little of what he had paid for! On the stairs he passed young Betsy, and he +startled the girl by the sudden glare of reproach he bestowed upon her. +Savagely he told himself he was no "feminist" that night! + +The brief talk he had with Edith was far from reassuring. With no Deborah +there to wound her pride, Edith quickly showed herself friendly to her +father; but when he advised her to keep her nurse, she at once refused to +consider it. + +"I want you to," he persisted, with an anxious note in his voice. He had +tried life without Hannah here and he did not care to try it again. + +"It is already settled, father, I sent her away this morning." + +"Then you get her right back!" he exclaimed. But Edith's face grew +obstinate. + +"I don't care to give Deborah," she replied, "another chance to talk as she +did." + +Roger looked at her gloomily. "You will, though," he was thinking. "You two +have only just begun. Let any little point arise, which a couple of men +would settle offhand, and you two will get together and go it! There'll be +no living in the house!" + +With deepening displeasure he watched the struggle between them go on. +Sometimes it seemed to Roger there was not a topic he could bring up which +would not in some way bring on a clash. One night in desperation he +proposed the theatre. + +"I'm afraid we can't afford it," said Edith, glancing at Deborah. And she +had the same answer, again and again, for the requests her children made, +if they involved but the smallest expense. "No, dear, I'm afraid we can't +afford that," she would say gently, with a sigh. And under this constant +pressure, these nightly little thrusts and jabs, Deborah would grow rigid +with annoyance and impatience. + +"For Heaven's sake, Edith," she burst out, one night when the children had +gone to their lessons, "can you think of nothing on earth, except your own +little family?" + +"Here it comes again," thought Roger, scowling into his paper. He heard +Edith's curt reply: + +"No, I can't, not nowadays. Nobody _else_ seems to think of them." + +"You mean that I don't!" + +"Do you?" + +"Yes! I'm thinking of George! Do you want him killed in the trenches--in a +war with Germany or Japan?" + +"Are you utterly mad?" demanded Edith. + +"No, I'm awake--my eyes are open! But yours are shut so tight, my dear, you +can't see what has happened! You know this war has made us poor and your +own life harder, but that's all. The big thing it has done you know nothing +about!" + +"Suppose you teach me," Edith said, with a prim provoking little smile. +Deborah turned on her angrily: + +"It has shown that all such mothers as you are out of date and have got to +change! That we're bound together--all over the world--whether we like it +or whether we don't! And that if we want to keep out of war, we've got to +do it by coming right out of our own little homes--_and thinking, Edith, +thinking!_" + +"Votes for women," Edith said. Deborah looked at her, rose with a shrug. + +"All right, Edith, I give up." + +"Thank you. I'm not worth it. You'd better go back to your office now and +go on with your work of saving the world. And use every hour of your time +and every dollar you possess. I'll stay here and look after my children." + +Deborah had gone into the hall. Roger, buried deep in his paper, heard the +heavy street door close. He looked up with a feverish sigh--and saw at the +open door of his study George and Betsy standing, curious, solemn and wide +eyed. How long had they been listening? + + + + +CHAPTER XXXV + + +There came a season of sleet and rain when the smaller children were shut +indoors and it was hard to keep them amused. They did not look well, and +Edith was worried. She had always dreaded the spring, and to carry her +family safely through she had taken them, in former years, to Atlantic City +for two weeks. That of course was impossible now. Trouble was bound to +come, she thought. And it was not long in coming. Bobby, who was ten years +old and went to school with his brother George, caught a wretched cold one +day. Edith popped him into bed, but despite her many precautions he gave +his cold to Bruce and Tad. + +"Suppose I ask Allan Baird to come," Deborah suggested. "He's wonderful +with children, you know." + +Edith curtly accepted his services. She felt he had been sent for to +prevent her getting Doctor Lake. But she said nothing. She would wait. +Through long hard days and longer nights she slaved upstairs. All Deborah's +proffers of aid she declined. She kept Elizabeth home from school to help +her with the many meals, the medicines and the endless task of keeping her +lively patients in bed. She herself played with them by the hour, while the +ache in her head was a torment. At night she was up at the slightest sound. +Heavy circles came under her eyes. Within a few days her baby, Bruce, had +developed pneumonia. + +That evening after dinner, while Deborah was sitting with Roger in the +living room, she heard her sister coming downstairs. She listened acutely, +and glancing around she saw that Roger was listening, too. Edith passed the +doorway and went on down the hall, where they heard her voice at the +telephone. She came back and looked in at the door. + +"I've called Doctor Lake," she said. "I've just taken Bruce's temperature. +It's a hundred and five and two fifths." Deborah glanced up with a start. + +"Oh, Edith!" she said softly. Her sister turned and looked at her. + +"I ought to have had him before," she said. "When he comes, please bring +him right up to the room." And she hurried upstairs. + +"Pshaw!" breathed Roger anxiously. He had seen Bruce an hour ago; and the +sight of the tiny boy, so exhausted and so still, had given him a sudden +scare. Could it be that _this_ would happen? Roger rose and walked the +floor. Edith was right, he told himself, they should have had Lake long +before. And they would have, by George, if it had not been for Deborah's +interference! He glanced at her indignantly. Bringing in Baird to save +money, eh? Well, it was just about time they stopped saving money on their +own flesh and blood! What had Bruce to do with tenement babies? But he had +had tenement treatment, just that! Deborah had had her way at last with +Edith's children, and one of them might have to pay with its life! Again +Roger glared at his silent daughter. And now, even in his excited state, he +noticed how still and rigid she was, how unnatural the look she bent on the +book held tightly in her hands. + +Still Deborah said nothing. She could feel her father's anger. Both he and +Edith held her to blame. She felt herself in a position where she could not +move a hand. She was stunned, and could not think clearly. A vivid picture +was in her mind, vivid as a burning flame which left everything else in +darkness. It was of Bruce, one adorable baby, fighting for breath. "What +would I do if he were mine?" + +When the doctor arrived she took him upstairs and then came down to her +father. + +"Well?" he demanded. + +"I don't know. We'll have to wait." And they both sat silent. At last they +heard a door open and close, and presently steps coming down the stairs. +Roger went out into the hall: + +"Come right in here, doctor, won't you? I want to hear about this myself." + +"Very well, sir." And Lake entered the room, with Edith close behind him. +He took no notice of anyone else. "Write this down," he said to her. "And +give it to the nurse when she comes." A heavy man of middle age, with +curious dark impassive eyes that at times showed an ironic light, Lake was +a despot in a world of mothers to whom his word was law. He was busy +to-night, with no time to waste, and his low harsh voice now rattled out +orders which Edith wrote down in feverish haste--an hourly schedule, night +and day. He named a long list of things needed at once. "Night nurse will +be here in an hour," he ended. "Day nurse, to-morrow, eight a.m. Get sleep +yourself and plenty of it. As it is you're not fit to take care of a cat." +Abruptly he turned and left the room. Edith followed. The street door +closed, and in a moment after that his motor was off with a muffled roar. +Edith came back, picked up her directions and turned to her sister: + +"Will you go up and sit with Bruce? I'll telephone the druggist," she said. + +Deborah went to the sick room. Bruce's small face, peaked and gray in the +soft dim light, turned as she entered and came to the bed. + +"Well, dear?" she whispered. The small boy's eyes, large and heavy with +fever, looked straight into hers. + +"Sick," said the baby hoarsely. The next instant he tossed up his hands and +went through a spasm, trying to breathe. It passed, he relaxed a little, +and again stared solemnly at his aunt. "Sick," he repeated. "Wery sick." + +Deborah sat silent. The child had another fight for his breath; and this +time as he did so, Deborah's body contracted, too. A few moments later +Edith came in. Deborah returned downstairs, and for over an hour she sat by +herself. Roger was in his study, Betsy and George had gone to bed. The +night nurse arrived and was taken upstairs. Still Deborah's mind felt numb +and cold. Instinctively again and again it kept groping toward one point: +"If I had a baby as sick as that, what would I do? What would I do?" + +When the doorbell rang again, she frowned, rose quickly and went to the +door. It was Allan. + +"Allan--come in here, will you?" she said, and he followed her into the +living room. + +"What is it?" he inquired. + +"Bruce is worse." + +"Oh--I'm sorry. Why didn't Edith let me know?" + +"She had Lake to-night," said Deborah. He knitted his brows in annoyance, +then smiled. + +"Well, I don't mind that," he replied. "I'm rather glad. She'll feel easier +now. What did he tell her?" + +"He seemed to consider it serious--by the number of things he ordered." + +"Two nurses, of course--" + +"Yes, day and night." Deborah was silent a moment. + +"I may be wrong," she continued, "but I still feel sure the child will +live. But I know it means a long hard fight. The expense of it all will be +heavy." + +"Well?" + +"Whatever it is, I'll meet it," she said. "Father can't, he has reached the +end. But even if he could help still, it wouldn't make much difference in +what I've been deciding. Because when I was with Bruce to-night, I saw as +clear as I see you now that if I had a child like that--as sick as +that--I'd sacrifice anything--everything--schools, tenement children, +thousands! I'd use the money which should have been theirs, and the time +and the attention! I'd shut them all out, they could starve if they liked! +I'd be like Edith--exactly! I'd center on this one child of mine!" + +Deborah turned her eyes to his, stern and gleaming with her pain. And she +continued sharply: + +"But I don't mean to shut those children out! And so it's clear as day to +me that I can't ever marry you! That baby to-night was the finishing +stroke!" + +She made a quick restless movement. Baird leaned slowly forward. Her hands +in her lap were clenched together. He took them both and held them hard. + +"No, this isn't clear," he said. "I can feel it in your hands. This is +nerves. This is the child upstairs. This is Edith in the house. This is +school, the end of the long winter's strain." + +"No, it's what I've decided!" + +"But this is the wrong decision," Allan answered steadily. + +"It's made!" + +"Not yet, it isn't, not to-night. We won't talk of it now, you're in no +condition." Deborah's wide sensitive lips began to quiver suddenly: + +"We _will_ talk of it now, or never at all! I want it settled--done with! +I've had enough--it's killing me!" + +"No," was Allan's firm reply, "in a few days things will change. Edith's +child will be out of danger, your other troubles will clear away!" + +"But what of next winter, and the next? What of Edith's children? Can't you +see what a load they are on my father? Can't you see he's ageing fast?" + +"Suppose he dies," Baird answered. "It will leave them on your hands. +You'll have _these_ children, won't you, whether you marry or whether you +don't! And so will I! I'm their guardian!" + +"That won't be the same," she cried, "as having children of our own--" + +"Look into my eyes." + +"I'm looking--" Her own eyes were bright with tears. + +"Why are you always so afraid of becoming a mother?" Allan asked. In his +gruff low voice was a fierce appeal. "It's this obsession in your mind that +you'll be a mother like Edith. And that's absurd! You never will! You say +you're afraid of not keeping school the first thing in your life! But you +always do and you always will! You're putting it ahead of me now!" + +"Yes, I can put it ahead of _you_! But I couldn't put it ahead of _my +child_!" He winced at this and she noticed it. "Because you are strong, and +the child would be weak! The child would be like Bruce to-night!" + +"Are you sure if you marry you must have a child?" + +"Yes," she answered huskily, "if I married you I'd want a child. And that +want in me would grow and grow until it made both of us wretched. I'm that +kind of a woman. That's why my work has succeeded so far--because I've a +passion for children! They're not my work, they're my very life!" She bowed +her head, her mouth set hard. "But so are you," she whispered. "And since +this is settled, Allan, what do you think? Shall we try to go on--working +together side by side--seeing each other every day as we have been doing +all these months? Rather hard on both of us, don't you think? I do, I feel +that way," she said. Again her features quivered. "The kind of feeling I +have--for you--would make that rather--difficult!" + +His grip tightened on her hands. + +"I won't give you up," he said. "Later you will change your mind." + +He left the room and went out of the house. Deborah sat rigid. She +trembled and the tears came. She brushed them angrily away. Struggling to +control herself, presently she grew quieter. Frowning, with her clear gray +eyes intently staring before her, she did not see her father come into the +doorway. He stopped with a jerk at sight of her face. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. She started. + +"Nothing's the matter! How is Bruce?" + +"I don't know. Who went out a few minutes ago?" + +"Allan Baird," she answered. + +"Oh. You explained to him, of course, about Lake--" + +"Yes, he understands," she said. "He won't come here after this--" + +Roger looked at her sharply, wondering just what she meant. He hesitated. +No, he would wait. + +"Good-night," he said, and went upstairs. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVI + + +On the morrow Bruce did not grow better. If anything, the child grew worse. +But by the next morning the crisis had passed. In the house the tension +relaxed, and Roger suddenly felt so weak that he went to see his own +physician. They had a long and serious talk. Later he went to his office, +but he gave little heed to his work. Sitting there at his desk, he stared +through the window far out over the city. A plan was forming in his mind. + +At home that night, at dinner, he kept watching Deborah, who looked tired +and pale and rather relaxed. And as soon as she was out of the house he +telephoned Allan to come at once. + +"It's something which can't wait," he urged. + +"Very well, I'll come right up." + +When Baird arrived a little later, Roger opened the door himself, and they +went back into his study. + +"Sit down," he said. "Smoke, Allan?" + +"No, thanks." Baird looked doubly tall and lean, his face had a gaunt +appearance; and as he sat down, his lithe supple right hand slowly closed +on the arm of his chair. + +"Now then," began Roger, "there are two things we want to get clear on. The +first is about yourself and Deborah. There has been trouble, hasn't there?" + +"Yes." + +"She has made up her mind not to marry you." + +"Yes." + +"I guessed as much." And Roger paused. "Do you mind my asking questions? + +"No--" + +"Are you still in love with her, Allan?" + +"I am." + +"And she with you?" + +"I think so." + +"Then it's the same old trouble." + +"Yes." And he told a part of what she had said. As he talked in clear, +terse, even tones, Baird's steady eyes had a tortured light, the look of a +man who has almost reached the end of his endurance. Roger smoked in +silence. + +"What do you propose to do?" + +"Wait," said Allan, "a few days more. Then try again. If I fail I'm +through." Roger shot a quick look at him. + +"I don't think you'll fail, my boy--and what's more I think I can help you. +This is a large house, Allan--there's more in it than you know. My second +point concerns myself. I'm going to die within a year." + +As Baird turned on him suddenly, Roger grimly smiled and said, "We won't go +into the details, but I've been examined lately and I have quite positive +knowledge of what I've suspected for some time. So far, I have told no one +but you. And I'm telling you only because of the bearing it has on +Deborah." Roger leaned forward heavily. "She's the one of my daughters who +means the most, now that I'm so near the end. When I die next year that may +be all--I may simply end--a blank, a grave--I am not sure. But I've made up +my mind above everything else to see Deborah happy before I go. And I mean +to do it by setting her free--so free I think it will frighten her." + +Roger went on to explain his plan, and they talked together for some time. + + * * * * * + +Another week had soon gone by. Bruce still recovered rapidly, and the other +sick children were up and about. Deborah, in the meantime, had barely been +in the house at all. But late on Saturday evening Roger found her in her +room. She was working. He came behind her. + +"What is it, dad?" + +"Busy, eh?" He hesitated, and laid his hand on her shoulder with a little +affectionate pressure. "You've kept so busy lately," he said, "I haven't +had time to see anything of you. How's your work going?" + +"Much better, thanks--now that the winter is over." + +He questioned her about her schools. And then after a brief pause, + +"Well, daughter," he said, "it has been a great fight, and I'm proud of you +for it. And if I've got anything to say--" his hand was still on her +shoulder, and he felt her tighten suddenly--"it isn't by way of +criticism--please be sure of that ahead. In this damnable war my faith in +men has been badly shaken up. Humanity seems to me still a child--a child +who needs to go to school. God knows we need men and women like you--and +I'm proud of all you've accomplished, I'd be the last man to hold you back. +I only want to help you go on--by seeing to it that you are free--from +anything which can hinder you." He stopped again for a moment. + +"To begin with," he said, "I understand you're not going to marry Allan +Baird." She stirred slightly: + +"Did he tell you so?" + +"Yes--I asked him," Roger replied. "I had Allan here a few nights ago, and +he told me you had decided to give up your happiness for the sake of all +those children in that big family of yours. You felt you must keep yourself +free for them. Very well, if that is your decision I propose to clear the +way." She looked intently up at his face. "You're not free now," he +continued. "We have Edith and her children here. And I'm growing old--that +has got to be thought of--I don't want to leave them on your hands. So as +soon as the baby is well enough, I'm going to move them up to the +mountains--not only for the summer--they are to stay the whole year +'round. From this time on they're to make it their home." + +"Father! But they can't do that! Think of the winters!" Deborah cried. + +"It's already settled," he answered. "I've talked to Edith and she has +agreed. She has always loved the farm, and it will be good for her +children. In the meantime I've been talking to George. 'George,' I told +him, 'I'm going to talk to you, man to man, about a man's job I want you to +tackle.'" + +"The farm? But, dearie! He's only a boy!" + +"He's nearly seventeen," said Roger, "and a young moose for his age. And +old Dave Royce will still be there. It's the work George has been dreaming +about ever since he was a child. You should have seen how he was thrilled +by the scheme. I told him we'd spend the summer together up there laying +all our plans, investing our money carefully to make every dollar count." + +"What money?" Deborah sharply asked. But her father was talking steadily +on: + +"We already have a fine lot of cattle. We'll add to it and enlarge the barn +and put in some new equipment. In short, we'll put it in fine shape, make +it a first class dairy farm. 'And then, George,' I said to him, 'I'm going +to turn it over to you. I shall give the farm to your mother, and the rest +of the money I have I mean to invest in her name down here, so that she'll +have a small income until you can make your dairy pay.'" + +"What money are you speaking of?" Deborah's voice was thick and hard, her +sensitive lips were parted and she was breathing quickly. + +"I've sold the house," he told her. Convulsively she gripped his arms: + +"Then tell me where _you_ mean to live!" + +"I'm not going to live--I'm going to die--very soon--I have definite +knowledge." + +Without speaking Deborah rose; her face went white. Her father kept tight +hold of her hands, and he felt them trembling, growing cold. + +"You're soon to be free of everyone," he continued painfully. "I know this +is hurting you, but I see so plain, so plain, my child, just what it is +I've got to do. I'm trying to clear the way for you to make a simple +definite choice--a choice which is going to settle your life one way or the +other. I want to make sure you see what you're doing. Because you mean so +much to me. We're flesh and blood--eh, my daughter?--and in this family of +ours we've been the closest ones of all!" She seemed to sway a little. + +"_You're not going to die_!" she whispered. + +"So it hurts you to lose me," he replied. "It will be hard to be so free. +Would you rather not have had me at all? I've been quite a load on your +back, you know. A fearful job you had of it, dragging me up when I was +down. And since then Edith and Bruce and the rest, what burdens they have +been at times. What sharp worries, heavy sorrows, days and nights you and I +have gone through, when we should have been quietly resting--free--to keep +up our strength for our next day's work. Suppose you had missed them, lived +alone, would you have worked better? You don't know. But you will know +soon, you're to give it a trial. For I've cleared the way--so that if you +throw over Baird to be free you shall get the freedom you feel you need!" + +"Father! Please! Is this fair? Is this kind?" She asked in a harsh +frightened tone. Her eyes were wet with angry tears. + +"This isn't a time to be kind, my dear." His voice was quivering like her +own. "I'm bungling it--I'm bungling it--but you must let me stumble along +and try to show you what I mean. You will have your work, your crowded +schools, to which you'll be able to give your life. But I look ahead, I +who know you--and I don't see you happy, I don't even see you whole. For +you there will be no family. None of the intimate sorrows and joys that +have been in this house will come to you. I look back and I see them +all--for a man who has come so near the end gets a larger vision." He shut +his eyes, his jaw set tight. "I look into my family back and back, and I +see how it has been made of many generations. Certain figures stand out in +my mind--they cover over a hundred years. And I see how much they've meant +to me. I see that I've been one of them--a link in a long chain of +lives--all inter-bound and reaching on. In my life they have all been +here--as I shall be in lives to come. + +"And this is what I want for you." He held her close a moment. The tears +were rolling down her cheeks. "Until now you have been one of us, too. You +have never once been free. You have been the one in this house to step in +and take hold and try to decide what's best to be done. I'm not putting you +up on a pedestal, I don't say you've made no mistakes--but I say you're the +kind of a woman who craves what's in a family. You're the one of my +daughters who has loved this house the most!" + +"Yes," she said, "I've loved this house--" + +"But now for you all this will stop--quite suddenly," he told her. "This +house of ours will soon be sold. And within a few months I shall be dead, +and your family will have dropped out of your life." + +"Stop! Can't you? Stop! It's brutal! It isn't true about you!" she cried. +"I won't believe it!" Her voice broke. + +"Go and see my physician," he said. + +"How long have you known it? Why didn't you tell me?" + +"Because we had troubles enough as it was, other things to think of. But +there's only one thing now, this freedom you are facing." + +"Please! Please!" she cried imploringly. "I don't want to talk of myself +but of you! This physician--" + +"No," he answered with stern pain, "you'll have to hear me out, my child. +We're talking of you--of you alone when I am gone. How will it be? Are you +quite sure? You will have your work, that vision of yours, and I know how +close it has been to you, vivid and warm, almost like a friend. But so was +my business once like that, when I was as young as you. And the business +grew and it got cold--impersonal, a mere machine. Thank God I had a family. +Isn't your work growing too? Are you sure it won't become a machine? And +won't you lose touch with the children then, unless you have a child of +your own? Friends won't be enough, you'll find, they're not bound up into +yourself. The world may reach a stage at last where we shall live on in the +lives of all--we may all be one big family. But that time is still far +off--we hold to our own flesh and blood. And so I'm sure it will be with +you. You see you have been young, my dear, and your spirit has been fresh +and new. But how are you going to keep it so, without the ties you've +always had?" He felt the violent clutch of her hand. + +"_You won't die_!" she whispered. But he went on relentlessly: + +"And what will you do without Allan Baird? For you see you have not even +worked alone. You have had this man who has loved you there. I've seen how +much he has helped you--how you have grown and he has grown since you two +got together. And if you throw him over now, it seems to me you are not +only losing what has done the most for your work, but you're running away +from life as well. You've never won by doing that, you've always won by +meeting life, never evading it, taking it all, living it full, taking +chances! If you marry Baird, I see you both go on together in your work, +while in your home you struggle through the troubles, tangles, joys and +griefs which most of us mortals know so well! I see you in a world of +children, but with children, too, of your own--to keep your spirit always +young! Living on in your children's lives!" + +Roger stopped abruptly. He groped for something more to say. + +"On the one side, all that," he muttered, "and on the other, a lonely life +which will soon grow old." + +There fell a dangerous silence. And sharply without warning, the influence, +deep and invisible, of many generations of stolid folk in New England made +itself felt in each of them. Father and daughter grew awkward, both. The +talk had been too emotional. Each made, as by an instinct, a quick strong +effort at self-control, and felt about for some way to get back upon their +old easy footing. Roger turned to his daughter. Her head was still bent, +her hands clasped tight, but she was frowning down at them now, although +her face was still wet with tears. She drew a deep unsteady breath. + +"Well, Deborah," he said simply, "here I've gone stumbling on like a fool. +I don't know what I've said or how you have listened." + +"I've listened," she said thickly. + +"I have tried," he went on in a steadier tone, "to give you some feeling of +what is ahead--and to speak for your mother as well as myself. And more +than that--much more than that--for the world has changed since she was +here. God knows I've tried to be modern." A humorous glint came into his +eyes, "Downright modern," he declared. "Have I asked you to give up your +career? Not at all, I've asked you to marry Baird, and go right on with him +in your work. And if you can't marry Allan Baird, after what he has done +for you, how in God's name can you modern women ever marry anyone? Now what +do you say? Will you marry him? Don't laugh at me! I'm serious! Talk!" + +But Deborah was laughing--although her father felt her hands still cold +and trembling in his. Her gray eyes, bright and luminous, were shining up +into his own. + +"What a time you've been having, haven't you, dear!" his daughter cried +unsteadily. "Fairly lying awake at night and racking your brains for +everything modern I've ever said--to turn it and twist it and use it +against me!" + +"Well?" he demanded. "How does it twist?" + +"It twists hard, thank you," she declared. "You've turned and twisted me +about till I barely see how I can live at all!" + +"You can, though! Marry Allan Baird!" + +"I'll think it over--later on." + +"What is there left to think about? Can you point to one hole in all I've +said?" + +"Yes, a good many--and one right off." + +"Out with it!" + +"You're not dying," Deborah told him calmly, "I feel quite certain you'll +live for years." + +"Oh, you do, eh--then see my physician!" + +"I will, I'll see him to-morrow. How long did you give yourself? Just a few +months?" + +"No, he said it might be more," admitted Roger grudgingly. "If I had no +worries to wear me out--" + +"Me, you mean." + +"Exactly." + +"Well, you've worried quite enough. You're going to leave it to me to +decide." + +"Very well," he agreed. He looked at her. "You have listened--hard?" he +gruffly asked. + +"Yes, dear." Her hands slowly tightened on his. "But don't speak of this +again. You're to leave it to me. You promise?" + +"Yes." + +And Roger left her. + +He went to bed but he could not sleep. With a sudden sag in his spirits he +felt what a bungler he had been. He was not used to these solemn talks, he +told himself irately. What a fool to try it! And how had Deborah taken it +all? He did not mind her laughter, nor that lighter tone of hers. It was +only her way of ending the talk, an easy way out for both of them. But what +had she thought underneath? Had his points gone home? He tried to remember +them. Pshaw! He had been too excited, and he could recall scarcely +anything. He had not meant to speak of Baird--he had meant to leave him +out! Yes, how he must have bungled it! Doubtless she was smiling still. +Even the news about himself she had not taken seriously. + +But as he thought about that news, Roger's mood completely changed. The +talk of the evening grew remote, his family no longer real, mere little +figures, shadowy, receding swiftly far away.... Much quieter now, he lay a +long time listening to the life of the house, the occasional sounds from +the various rooms. From the nursery adjoining came little Bruce's piping +laugh, and Roger could hear the nurse moving about. Afterwards for a long +time he could hear only creaks and breathings. Never had the old house +seemed so like a living creature. For nearly forty years it had held all +that he had loved and known, all he had been sure of. Outside of it was the +strange, the new, the uncertain, the vast unknown, stretching away to +infinity.... + +Again he heard Bruce's gay little laugh. What did it remind him of? He +puzzled. Then he had it. Edith had been a baby here. Her cradle had been in +this very room, close by the bed. And how she had laughed! What gurgles and +ripples of bursting glee! The first child in his family.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVII + + +On the next day, which was Sunday, Deborah made an appointment with her +father's physician, and had a long talk with him at his house. Upon her +return she went to her room and stayed there until evening, but when she +came down to supper her manner was as usual. At the table she joined in the +talk of Edith and the children, already deep in their preparations for the +move up to the farm. George could hardly wait to start. That life would be +a change indeed in Edith's plans for her family, and as they talked about +it now the tension of hostility which had so long existed between the two +sisters passed away. Each knew the clash had come to an end, that they +would live together no more; and as though in remorse they drew close, +Deborah with her suggestions, Edith in her friendly way of taking and +discussing each one. Then Deborah went again to her room. Her room was just +over Roger's, and waking several times in the night he heard his daughter +walking the floor. + +The next day she was up early and off to her school before he came down. It +was a fine spring morning, Roger had had a good night's sleep, and as he +walked to his office he was buoyed up by a feeling both of hope for his +daughter and of solid satisfaction in himself as he remembered all that he +had said to her. Curiously enough he could recall every word of it now. +Every point which he had made rose up before him vividly. How clear he had +been, how simple and true, and yet with what a tremendous effect he had +piled the points one on the other. "By George," he thought with a little +glow, "for a fellow who's never been in a pulpit I put up a devilish strong +appeal." And he added sagely, "Let it work on the girl, give it a chance. +She'll come out of this all right. This idea some fellows have, that every +woman is born a fool, isn't fair, it isn't true. Just let a line of +argument be presented to her strong and clear--straight from the +shoulder--by some man--" + +And again with a tingle of pleasure his mind recurred to his sermon. His +pleasures had been few of late, so he dwelt on this little glow of pride +and made the most of it while it was here. + +At the office, as he entered his room, he stopped with a slight shock of +surprise. John, standing on his crutches in front of a large table, had +been going through the morning's mail, sorting out the routine letters +Roger did not need to see. To-day he had just finished and was staring at +the window. The light fell full on his sallow face and showed an amazing +happiness. At Roger's step he started. + +"Well, Johnny, how goes it this morning?" + +"Fine, thank you," was the prompt reply. And John hobbled briskly over to +his typewriter in the corner. Roger sat down at his desk. As he did so he +glanced again at the cripple and felt a little pang of regret. "What will +become of him," he asked, "when I close out my business?" He still thought +of him as a mere boy, for looking at the small crooked form it was +difficult to remember that John was twenty years of age. The lad had worked +like a Trojan of late. Even Roger, engrossed as he had been in family +anxieties, had noticed it in the last few weeks. He would have to make some +provision for John. Deborah would see to it.... Roger went slowly through +his mail. One letter was from the real estate firm through whom he was to +sell the house. The deal had not been closed as yet, there were certain +points still to be settled. So Roger called John to his desk and dictated a +reply. When he finished there was a brief pause. + +"That's all," said Roger gruffly. + +"So you're sellin' the house," John ventured. + +"Yes." + +The lad limped back to his corner and went to work at his machine. But +presently he came over again and stood waiting awkwardly. + +"What is it, Johnny?" Roger inquired, without looking up. + +"Say, Mr. Gale," the boy began, in a carefully casual tone, "would you mind +talking business a minute or two?" + +"No. Fire ahead." + +"Well, sir, you've had your own troubles lately, you haven't had much time +for things here. The last time you went over the books was nearly a couple +of weeks ago." + +John paused and his look was portentous. + +"Well," asked Roger, "what about it? Business been picking up any since +then?" + +"Yes, sir!" was the answer. "We didn't lose a cent last week! We made +money! Fifteen dollars!" + +"Good Lord, Johnny, we're getting rich." + +"But that's nothing," John continued. "The fact of the matter is, Mr. Gale, +I have been working lately on a new line I thought of. And now it's got +agoing so fast it's getting clean away from me!" Again he stopped, and +swallowed hard. + +"Out with it, then," said Roger. + +"I got it from the war," said John. "The papers are still half full of war +news, and that's what's keeping our business down--because we ain't +adopting ourselves to the new war conditions. So I figured it like this. +Say there are a million people over here in America who've got either +friends or relations in the armies over there. Say that all of 'em want to +get news--not just this stuff about battles, but real live news of what's +happened to Bill. Has Bill still got his legs and arms? Can he hold down a +job when he gets home? News which counts for something! See? A big new +market! Business for us! So I tried to see what I could do!" John +excitedly shifted his crutches. Roger was watching intently. + +"Go on, Johnny." + +"Sure, I'll go on! One night I went to a library where they have English +papers. I went over their files for about a month. I took one Canadian +regiment--see?--and traced it through, and I got quite a story. Then I used +some of the money I've saved and bought a whole bunch of papers. I piled +'em up in the room where I sleep and went through 'em nights. I hired two +kids to help me. Well, Mr. Gale, the thing worked fine! In less than a week +I had any amount of little bunches of clippings. See how I mean? Each bunch +was the story of one regiment for a month. So I knew we could deliver the +goods! + +"Well, this was about ten days ago. And then I went after the market. I +went to a man I met last year in an advertising office, and for fifty +dollars we put an 'ad' in the Sunday Times. After that there was nothing to +do but wait. The next day--nothing doing! I was here at seven-thirty and I +went through every mail. Not a single answer to my 'ad'--and I thought I +was busted! But Tuesday morning there were three, with five dollar checks +inside of 'em! In the afternoon there were two more and the next day +eleven! By the end of last week we'd had forty-six! Friday I put in another +'ad' and there've been over seventy more since then! That makes a hundred +and twenty in all--six hundred dollars! And I'm swamped! I ain't done +nothing yet--I've just kept 'em all for you to see!" + +He went quickly to the table, gathered a pile of letters there and brought +them over to Roger's desk. Roger glanced over a few of them, dazed. He +looked around into John's shrewd face, where mingled devotion and triumph +and business zeal were shining. + +"Johnny," he said huskily, "you've adopted my business and no mistake." +John swallowed again and scowled with joy. + +"Let's figure it out!" he proposed. + +"We will!" + +They were at it all day, laying their plans, "adopting" the work of the +office to the new conditions. They found they would need a larger force, +including a French and a German translator. They placed other "ads" in the +papers. They forgot to have lunch and worked steadily on, till the outer +rooms were empty and still. At last they were through. Roger wearily put on +his cuffs, and went and got his coat and hat. + +"Say, Mr. Gale," John asked him, "how about this letter--the one you +dictated this morning to that firm about your house?" Roger turned and +looked at him. + +"Throw it into the basket," he said. "We'll write 'em another to-morrow and +tell 'em we have changed our minds." He paused for just a moment, and then +he added brusquely, "If this goes through as I hope it will, I guess you'd +better come into the firm." + +And he left the room abruptly. Behind him there was not a sound. + + * * * * * + +At home in his study, that evening, he made some more calculations. In a +few weeks he would have money enough to start Edith and her family in their +new life on the farm. For the present at least, the house was safe. + +"Why, father." Edith came into the room. "I didn't know you had come home. +What kept you so long at the office?" + +"Oh, business, my dear--" + +"Have you had any supper?" + +"No, and I'd like some," he replied. + +"I'll see to it myself," she said. Edith was good at this sort of thing, +and the supper she brought was delicious. He ate it with keen relish. Then +he went back to his study and picked up a book, an old favorite. He +started to read, but presently dozed. The book dropped from his hands and +he fell asleep. + +He awakened with a start, and saw Deborah looking down at him. For a moment +he stared up, as he came to his senses, and in his daughter's clear gray +eyes he thought he saw a happiness which set his heart to beating fast. + +"Well?" he questioned huskily. + +"We're to be married right away." + +He stared a moment longer; "Oh, I'm so glad, so glad, my dear. I was afraid +you--" he stopped short. Deborah bent close to him, and he felt her squeeze +his arm: + +"I've been over and over all you said," she told him, in a low sweet voice. +"I had a good many ups and downs. But I'm all through now--I'm sure you +were right." And she pressed her cheek to his. "Oh, dad, dad--it's such a +relief! And I'm so happy!... Thank you, dear." + +"Where is Allan?" he asked presently. + +"I'll get him," she said. She left the room, and in a moment Allan's tall +ungainly form appeared in the doorway. + +"Well, Allan, my boy," Roger cried. + +"Oh, Roger Gale," said Allan softly. He was wringing Roger's hand. + +"So she decided to risk you, eh," Roger said unsteadily. "Well, Baird, you +look like a devilish risk for a woman like her--who has the whole world on +her back as it is--" + +"I know--I know--and how rash she has been! Only two years and her mind was +made up!" + +"But that's like her--that's our Deborah--always acting like a flash--" + +"Stop acting like children!" Deborah cried. "And be sensible and listen to +me! We're to be married to-morrow morning--" + +"Why to-morrow?" Roger asked. + +"Because," she said decidedly, "there has been enough fuss over this +affair. So we'll just be married and have it done. And when Edith and the +children go up next week to the mountains, we want to move right into this +house." + +"This house?" exclaimed her father. + +"I know--it's sold," she answered. "But we're going to get a lease. We'll +see the new owner and talk him around." + +"Then you'll have to talk _your father_ around--" + +"_You_ around?" And Deborah stared. "You mean to say you're not going to +sell?" + +"I do," said Roger blithely. He told them the story of John's new scheme. +"And if things turn out in the office as I hope they will," he ended, +"we'll clear the mortgage on the house and then make it your wedding +gift--from the new firm to the new family." + +Deborah choked a little: + +"Allan! What do you think of us now?" + +"I think," he answered, in a drawl, "that we'd better try to persuade the +new firm to live with the new family." + +"We will, and the sooner the better!" she said. + +"I'm going up to the mountains," said Roger. + +"Yes, but you're coming back in the fall, and when you do you're coming +here! And you're going to live here years and years!" + +"You're forgetting my doctor." + +"Not at all. I had a long talk with him Sunday and I know just what I'm +saying." + +"You don't look it, my dear," said Roger, "but of course you may be right. +If you take the proper care of me here--and John keeps booming things for +the firm--" + +"And George makes a huge success of the farm," Deborah added quickly. + +"And Deborah of teaching the world--" + +"Oh, Allan, hush up!" + +"Look here," he said. "You go upstairs and tell Edith all this. Your father +and I want to be alone." + +And when the two men were left alone, they smoked and said nothing. They +smiled at each other. + +"It's hard to decide," grunted Roger at last. "Which did it--my wonderful +sermon or your own long waiting game? I'm inclined to think it was the +game. For any other man but you--with all you've done, without any +talk--no, sir, there wouldn't have been a chance. For she's modern, Baird, +she's modern. And I'm going to live just as long as I can. I want to see +what happens here." + + * * * * * + +The next night in his study, how quiet it was. Edith was busy packing +upstairs, Deborah and Allan were gone. Thoughts drifted slowly across his +mind. Well, she was married, the last of his daughters, the one whom he +cared most for, the one who had taken the heaviest risks. And this was the +greatest risk of all. For although she had put it happily out of her +thoughts for the moment, Roger knew the old troublesome question was still +there in Deborah's mind. The tenement children or her own, the big family +or the small? He felt there would still be struggles ahead. And with a kind +of a wistfulness he tried to see into the future here. + +He gave a sudden start in his chair. + +"By George!" he thought. "They forgot the ring!" Scowling, he tried to +remember. Yes, in the brief simple service that day, in which so much had +been omitted--music, flowers, wedding gown--even the ring had been left +out. Why? Not from any principle, he knew that they were not such fools. +No, they had simply forgotten it, in the haste of getting married at once. +Well, by thunder, for a girl whose father had been a collector of rings for +the best part of his natural life, it was pretty shabby to say the least! +Then he recollected that he, too, had forgotten it. And this quieted him +immediately. + +"I'll get one, though," he promised himself. "And no plain wedding ring +either. I'll make A. Baird attend to that. No, I'll get her a ring worth +while." + +He sank deep in his chair and took peace to his soul by thinking of the +ring he would choose. And this carried his thoughts back over the years. +For there had been so many rings.... + + + + +CHAPTER XXXVIII + + +It was a clear beautiful afternoon toward the end of May. And as the train +puffing up the grade wound along the Connecticut River, Roger sat looking +out of the window. The orchards were pink and white on the hills. Slowly +the day wore away. The river narrowed, the hills reared high, and in the +sloping meadows gray ribs and shoulders of granite appeared. The air had a +tang of the mountains. Everywhere were signs of spring, of new vigor and +fresh life. But the voices at each station sounded drowsier than at the +last, the eyes appeared more stolid, and to Roger it felt like a journey +far back into old ways of living, old beliefs and old ideals. He had always +had this feeling, and always he had relished it, this dive into his +boyhood. But it was different to-day, for this was more than a journey, it +was a migration, too. Close about him in the car were Edith and her +children, bound for a new home up there in the very heart and stronghold of +all old things in America. + +Old things dear to Edith's heart. As she sat by the window staring out, he +watched her shapely little head; he noted the hardening lines on her +forehead and the gray which had come in her hair. It had been no easy move +for her, this, she'd shown pluck to take it so quietly. He saw her smile a +little, then frown and go on with her thinking. What was she thinking +about, he wondered--all she had left behind in New York, or the rest of her +life which lay ahead? She had always longed for things simple and old. +Well, she would have them now with a vengeance, summer and winter, the year +'round, in the battered frame house on the mountain side, the birthplace of +her family. A recollection came to him of a summer's dusk two years ago +and a woman with a lawn mower cutting the grass on the family graves. Would +Edith ever be like that, a mere custodian of the past? If she did, he +thought, she would be false to the very traditions she tried to preserve. +For her forefathers had never been mere guardians of things gone by. Always +they had been pioneers. That house had not been old to them, but a +thrilling new adventure. Their old homes they had left behind, far down in +the valleys to the east. And even those valley homes had been new to the +rugged men come over the sea. Would Edith ever understand? Would she see +that for herself the new must emerge from her children, from the ideas, +desires and plans already teeming in their minds? Would she show keen +interest, sympathy? Would she be able to keep her hold? + +In the seat behind her mother, Betsy was sitting with Bruce in her lap, +looking over a picture book. Quietly Roger watched the girl. + +"What are you going to be?" he asked. "A woman's college president, a +surgeon or a senator? And what will your mother think of you then?" + +They changed cars, and on a train made up of antiquated coaches they wound +through a side valley, down which rushing and tumbling came the river that +bore Roger's name. He went into the smoking car, and presently George +joined him there. George did not yet smoke, (with his elders), but he had +bought a package of gum and he was chewing absorbedly. Plainly the lad was +excited over the great existence which he saw opening close ahead. Roger +glanced at the boy's broad shoulders, noticed the eager lines of his jaw, +looked down at his enormous hands, unformed as yet, ungainly; but in them +was a hungriness that caused a glow in Roger's breast. One more of the +family starting out. + +"It's all going to depend on you," Roger gravely counseled. "Your whole +life will depend on the start you make. Either you're going to settle down, +like so many of your neighbors up there, or you're going to hustle, plan +out your day, keep on with your studies and go to college--the State +Agricultural College, I mean. In short, keep up to date, my boy, and become +in time a big figure in farming." + +"I'm going to do it," George replied. His grandfather glanced again at his +face, so scowling, so determined. And a gleam of compassion and yearning +came for a moment in Roger's eyes. His heavy hand lay on George's knee. + +"That's right, son," he grunted. "Make the family proud of you. I'll do all +I can to help you start. My business is picking up, thank God, and I'll be +able to back you now. I'll stay up here a good part of the summer. We've +both of us got a lot to learn--and not only from books--we want to remember +we've plenty to learn from the neighbors, too. Take old Dave Royce, for +instance, who when all is said and done has worked our farm for twenty odd +years and never once run me into debt." + +"But, Gee!" demurred George. "He's so 'way out of date!" + +"I know he is, son, but we've got to go slow." And Roger's look passed +furtively along the faces in the car. "We don't want to forget," he warned, +"that this is still New England. Every new idea we have we want to go easy +with, snake it in." + +"I've got an awful lot of 'em," the boy muttered hungrily. + + * * * * * + +At the farm, the next morning at daybreak, Roger was awakened by the sound +of George's voice. It was just beneath his window: + +"But cattle are only part of it, Dave," the boy declared, in earnest tones, +"just part of what we can have up here. Think what we've got--over three +hundred acres! And we want to make every acre count! We want to get in a +whole lot more of hogs--Belted Hampshires, if we can afford 'em--and a +couple of hundred hens. White Leghorns ought to fill the bill. Of course +that's just a starter. I've got a scheme for some incubators--electric--run +by the dynamo which we'll put in down by the dam. And we can do wonders +with bees, too, Dave--I've got a book on 'em I'd like you to read. And +besides, there's big money in squab these days. Rich women in New York +hotels eat thousands of 'em every night. And ducks, of course, and turkeys. +I'd like a white gobbler right at the start, if we knew where we could get +one cheap." The voice broke off and there was a pause. "We can do an awful +lot with this place." + +Then Dave's deep drawl: + +"That's so, George--yes, I guess that's so. Only we don't want to fool +ourselves. That ain't Noah's Ark over thar--it's a barn. And just for a +starter, if I was you--" Here Dave deliberated. "Of course it's none of my +business," he said, "it's for you and your grandfather to decide--and I +don't propose to interfere in what ain't any of my affair--" + +"Yes, yes, Dave, sure! That's all right! But go on! _What_, just for a +starter?" + +"Cows," came the tranquil answer. "I've been hunting around since you wrut +me last month. And I know of three good milkers--" + +"Three? Why, Dave, I wrote we want thirty or forty!" + +"Yes--you wrut," Dave answered. "But I've druv all around these parts--and +there ain't but three that I can find. And I ain't so sure of that third +one. She looks like she might--" George cut in. + +"But you only had a buggy, Dave! Gee! I'm going to have a Ford!" + +"That so, George?" + +"You bet it's so! And we'll go on a cow hunt all over the State!" + +"Well--I dunno but what you're right," Dave responded cautiously. "You +might get more cows if you had a Ford--an' got so you could run it. Yes, I +guess it's a pretty good scheme. I believe in being conservative, +George--but I dunno now but what a Ford--" + +Their voices passed from under the window, and Roger relaxed and smiled to +himself. It was a good beginning, he thought. + +They bought a Ford soon afterwards and in the next few weeks of June they +searched the farms for miles around, slowly adding to their herd. To +Roger's surprise he found many signs of a new life stirring there--the +farmers buying "autos" and improved machinery, thinking of new processes; +and down in the lower valleys they found several big stock farms which were +decidedly modern affairs. At one such place, the man in charge took a fancy +to George and asked him to drop over often. + +"You bet I'll drop over often!" George replied, as he climbed excitedly +into his Ford. "I want to see more of those milking machines! We're going +to have 'em some day ourselves! A dynamo too!" + +And at home, down by the ruined mill he again set about rebuilding the dam. + +Roger felt himself growing stronger. His sleeps were sound, and his +appetite had come back to a surprising degree. The mountain air had got +into his blood and George's warm vigor into his soul. One afternoon, +watching the herd come home, some thirty huge animals swinging along with a +slow heavy power in their limbs, he breathed the strong sweet scent of them +on the mountain breeze. George came running by them and stopped a moment by +Roger's side, watching closely and eagerly every animal as it passed. And +Roger glanced at George's face. The herd passed on and George followed +behind, his collie dog leaping and barking beside him. And Roger looked up +at a billowy cloud resting on a mountain top and wondered whether after all +that New York doctor had been right. + +He followed the herd into the barn. In two long rows, the great heads of +the cattle turned hungrily, lowing and sniffing deep, breathing harshly, +stamping, as the fodder cart came down the lines. What a splendidly +wholesome work for a lad, growing up with his roots in the soil, in these +massive simple forces of life. What of Edith's other children? Would they +be willing to stay here long? Each morning Roger breakfasted with Bruce the +baby by his side. "What a thing for you, little lad," he thought, "if you +could live here all your days. But will you? Will you want to stay? Won't +you, too, get the fever, as I did, for the city?" In the joyous, shining, +mysterious eyes of the baby he found no reply. He had many long talks with +Betsy, who was eager to go away to school, and with Bob and little Tad who +were going to school in the village that fall. And the feeling came to +Roger that surely he would see these lives, at least for many years ahead. +They were so familiar and so real, so fresh and filled with hopes and +dreams. And he felt himself so a part of them all. + +But one morning, climbing the steep upper field to a spring George wanted +to show him, Roger suddenly swayed, turned faint. He caught hold of a +boulder on the wall and held himself rigid, breathing hard. It passed, and +he looked at his grandson. But George had noticed nothing. The boy had +turned and his brown eyes were fixed on a fallow field below. Wistfully +Roger watched his face. They both stood motionless for a long time. + +As the summer drew slowly to a close, Roger spent many quiet hours alone by +the copse of birches, where the glory of autumn was already stealing in and +out among the tall slender stems of the trees. And he thought of the silent +winter there, and of the spring which would come again, and the long +fragrant summer. And he watched the glow on the mountains above and the +rolling splendors of the clouds. At dusk he heard the voices of animals, +birds and insects, murmuring up from all the broad valley, then gradually +sinking to deep repose, many never to wake again. And the span of his life, +from the boyhood which he could recall so vividly here among these +children, seemed brief to him as a summer's day, only a part of a mighty +whole made up of the innumerable lives, the many generations, of his +family, his own flesh and blood, come out of a past he could never know, +and going on without him now, branching, dividing, widening out to what his +eyes would never see. + +Vaguely he pictured them groping their way, just as he himself had done. It +seemed to Roger that all his days he had been only entering life, as some +rich bewildering thicket like this copse of birches here, never getting +very deep, never seeing very clearly, never understanding all. And so it +had been with his children, and so it was with these children of Edith's, +and so it would be with those many others--always groping, blundering, +starting--children, only children all. And yet what lives they were to +lead, what joys and revelations and disasters would be theirs, in the +strange remote world they would live in--"my flesh and blood that I never +shall know." + +But the stars were quiet and serene. The meadows and the forests on the +broad sweep of the mountain side took on still brighter, warmer hues. And +there was no gloom in these long good-byes. + + * * * * * + +On a frosty night in September, he left the farm to go to the city. From +his seat in the small automobile Roger looked back at the pleasant old +house with its brightly lighted windows, and then he turned to George by +his side: + +"We're in good shape for the winter, son." + +But George did not get his full meaning. + +At the little station, there were no other passengers. They walked the +platform for some time. Then the train with a scream came around the curve. +A quick grip on George's hand, and Roger climbed into the car. Inside, a +moment later, he looked out through the window. By a trainman with a +lantern, George stood watching, smiling up, and he waved his hand as the +train pulled out. + + + + +CHAPTER XXXIX + + +The next morning on his arrival in town, Roger went to his office. He had +little cause for uneasiness there, for twice in the summer he had come down +to keep an eye on the business, while John had taken brief vacations at a +seaside place nearby. The boy had no color now in his cheeks; as always, +they were a sallow gray with the skin drawn tight over high cheek bones; +his vigor was all in his eyes. But here was a new John, nevertheless, a +successful man of affairs. He had on a spruce new suit of brown, no cheap +ready-made affair but one carefully fitted to conceal and soften his +deformity. He was wearing a bright blue tie and a cornflower in his +buttonhole, and his sandy hair was sleekly brushed. He showed Roger into +his private room, a small place he had partitioned off, where over his desk +was a motto in gold: "This is no place for your troubles or mine." + +"Lord, but you've got yourself fixed up fine in here," said Roger. John +smiled broadly. "And you're looking like a new man, Johnny." + +"I had a great time at the seashore. Learned to sail a boat alone. What do +you think of this chair of mine?" And John complacently displayed the +ingenious contrivance in front of his desk, somewhat like a bicycle seat. +It was made of steel and leather pads. + +"Wonderful," said Roger. "Where'd you ever pick it up?" + +"I had it made," was the grave reply. "When a fellow has got up in life +enough to have a stenographer, it's high time he was sitting down." + +"Let's see you do it." John sat down. "Now how is business?" Roger asked. + +"Great. Since the little slump we had in August it has taken a new +start--and not only war business, at that--the old people are sending in +orders again. I tell you what it is, Mr. Gale, this country is right on the +edge of a boom!" + +And the junior member of the firm tilted triumphantly back in his chair. + +With the solid comfort which comes to a man when he returns to find his +affairs all going well, Roger worked on until five o'clock, and then he +started for his home. + +Deborah had not yet come in, and a deep silence reigned in the house. He +looked through the rooms downstairs, and with content he noticed how little +had been altered. His beloved study had not been touched. On the third +floor, in the large back room, he found John comfortably installed. There +were gay prints upon the walls, fresh curtains at the windows, a mandolin +lying on a chair. And Roger, glancing down at the keen glad face of his +partner, told himself that the doctor who had said this lad would die was a +fool. + +"These doctors fool themselves often," he thought. + +Deborah and Allan had the front room on the floor below. Roger went in, and +for a moment he stood looking about him. How restful and how radiant was +this large old-fashioned chamber, so softly lighted, waiting. Through a +passageway lined with cupboards he went into his room at the back. Deborah +had repapered it, but with a pattern so similar that Roger did not notice +the change. He only felt a vague freshness here, as though even this old +chamber, too, were making a new start in life. And he felt as though he +were to live here for years. Slowly he unpacked his trunk and took a bath +and dressed at his leisure. Then he heard Deborah's voice at the door. + +"Come in, come in!" he answered. + +"Why, father! Dearie!" Deborah cried "Oh, how well you're looking, dad!" +And she kissed him happily. "Oh, but I'm glad to have you back--" + +"That's good," he said, and he squeezed her hand "Here, come to the light, +let me look at you." He saw her cheeks a little flushed, the gladness in +her steady eyes. "Happy? Everything just right?" His daughter nodded, +smiling, and he gave a whimsical frown. "No ups and down at all? That's +bad." + +"Oh, yes, plenty--but all so small." + +"Good fellow to live with." + +"Very." + +"And your work? + +"It's going splendidly. I'll tell you about it this evening, after you give +me the news from the farm." + +They chatted on for a short while, but he saw she was barely listening. + +"Can't you guess what it means," she asked him softly, "to a woman of my +age--after she has been so afraid she was too old, that she'd married too +late--to know at last--to be sure at last--that she's to have a baby, dad?" +He drew back a little, and a lump rose in his throat. + +"By George!" he huskily exclaimed. "Oh, my dear, my dear!" And he held her +close in his arms for some time, till both of them grew sensible. + +Soon after she had gone to her room, he heard Allan coming upstairs. He +heard her low sweet cry of welcome, a silence, then their voices. He heard +them laughing together and later Deborah humming a song. And still thinking +of what she had told him, he felt himself so close to it all. And again the +feeling came to him that surely he would live here for years. + +Allan came in and they had a talk. + +"Deborah says she has told you the news." + +"Yes. Everything's all right, I suppose--her condition, I mean," said +Roger. + +"Couldn't be better." + +"Just as I thought." + +"Those six weeks we had up in Maine--" + +"Yes, you both show it. Working hard?" + +"Yes--" + +"And Deborah?" Roger asked. + +"You'll have to help me hold her in." + +They talked a few moments longer and went down to the living room. John was +there with Deborah. All four went in to dinner. And through the +conversation, from time to time Roger noticed the looks that went back and +forth between husband and wife; and again he caught Deborah smiling as +though oblivious of them all. After dinner she went with him into his den. + +"Well! Do you like the house?" she inquired. + +"Better than ever," he replied. + +"I wonder if you'll mind it. There'll be people coming to dinner, you +know--" + +"That won't bother me any," he said. + +"And committee meetings now and then. But you're safe in here, it's a good +thick door." + +"Let 'em talk," he retorted, "as hard as they please. You're married +now--they can't scare me a bit. Only at ten o'clock, by George, you've got +to knock off and go to bed." + +"Oh, I'll take care of myself," she said. + +"If you don't, Allan will. We've had a talk." + +"Scheming already." + +"Yes. When will it be?" + +"In April, I think." + +"You'll quit work in your schools?" + +"A month before." + +"And in the meantime, not too hard." + +"No, and not too easy. I'm so sure now that I can do both." And Deborah +kissed him gently. "I'm so happy, dearie--and oh, so very glad you're +here!" + +There followed for Roger, after that, many quiet evenings at home, +untroubled days in his office. Seldom did he notice the progress of his +ailment. His attention was upon his house, as this woman who mothered +thousands of children worked on for her great family, putting all in order, +making ready for the crisis ahead when she would become the mother of one. + +Now even more than ever before, her work came crowding into his home. The +house was old, but the house was new. For from schools and libraries, cafes +and tenements and streets, the mighty formless hunger which had once so +thrilled her father poured into the house itself and soon became a part of +it. He felt the presence of the school. He heard the daily gossip of that +bewildering system of which his daughter was a part: a world in itself, +with its politics, its many jarring factions, its jealousies, dissensions, +its varied personalities, ambitions and conspiracies; but in spite of these +confusions its more progressive elements downing all distrusts and fears +and drawing steadily closer to life, fearlessly rousing everywhere the +hunger in people to live and learn and to take from this amazing world all +the riches that it holds: the school with its great challenge steadily +increasing its demands in the name of its children, demands which went deep +down into conditions in the tenements and ramified through politics to the +City Hall, to Albany, and even away to Washington--while day by day and +week by week, from cities, towns and villages came the vast prophetic story +of the free public schools of the land. + +And meanwhile, in the tenements, still groping and testing, feeling her +way, keeping close watch on her great brood, their wakening desires, their +widening curiosities, Deborah was bringing them, children, mothers and +fathers too, together through the one big hope of brighter and more ample +lives for everybody's children. Step by step this hope was spread out into +the surrounding swamps and jungles of blind driven lives, to find +surprising treasures there deep buried under dirt and din, locked in the +common heart of mankind--old songs and fables, hopes and dreams and visions +of immortal light, handed down from father to son, nurtured, guarded, +breathed upon and clothed anew by countless generations, innumerable +millions of simple men and women blindly struggling toward the sun. Over +the door of one of the schools, were these words carved in the stone: + +"Humanity is still a child. Our parents are all people who have lived upon +the earth--our children, all who are to come. And the dawn at last is +breaking. The great day has just begun." + +This spirit of triumphal life poured deep into Roger's house. It was as +though his daughter, in these last months which she had left for undivided +service, were strengthening her faith in it all and pledging her +devotion--as communing with herself she felt the crisis drawing near. + + + + +CHAPTER XL + + +There came an interruption. One night when Deborah was out and Roger sat in +his study alone, the maid came in highly flustered and said, + +"Mr. Gale! It's Miss Laura to see you!" + +He turned with a startled jerk of his head and his face slowly reddened. +But when he saw the maid's eager expression and saw that she was expecting +a scene, with a frown of displeasure he rose from his chair. + +"Very well," he said, and he went to his daughter. He found her in the +living room. No repentant Magdalene, but quite unabashed and at her ease, +she came to her father quickly. + +"Oh, dad, I'm so glad to see you, dear!" And she gave him a swift impetuous +kiss, her rich lips for an instant pressing warmly to his cheek. + +"Laura!" he said thickly. "Come into my study, will you? I'm alone this +evening." + +"I'm so glad you are!" she replied. She followed him in and he closed the +door. He glanced at her confusedly. In her warmth, her elegance, an +indefinable change in the tone and accent of her high magnetic voice, and +in her ardent smiling eyes, she seemed to him more the foreigner now. And +Roger's thoughts were in a whirl. What had happened? Had she married again? + +"Is Edith here still?" she was asking. + +"No, she's up in the mountains. She's living there," he answered. + +"Edith? In the mountains?" demanded Laura, in surprise. And she asked +innumerable questions. He replied to each one of them carefully, slowly, +meanwhile getting control of himself. + +"And Deborah married--married at last! How has it worked? Is she happy, +dad?" + +"Very," he said. + +"And is she still keeping up her schools?" + +"Yes, for the present. She'll have to stop soon." Laura leaned forward, +curious: + +"Tell me, dad--a baby?" + +"Yes." She stared a moment. + +"Deborah!" she softly exclaimed; and in a moment, "I wonder." + +"What do you mean?" her father asked, but Laura evaded his question. She +plied him with her inquiries for a few minutes longer, then turned to him +with a challenging smile: + +"Well, father, don't you think you had better ask me now about myself?" He +looked away a moment, but turned resolutely back: + +"I suppose so. When did you land?" + +"This morning, dear, from Italy--with my husband," she replied. And Roger +started slightly. "I want you to meet him soon," she said. + +"Very well," he answered. At his disturbed, almost guilty expression Laura +laughed a little and rose and came over and hugged him tight. + +"Oh, but, father dearest--it's working out so splendidly! I want you to +know him and see for yourself! We've come to live in New York for a +while--he has more to do here about war supplies." + +"More shrapnel, eh, machine guns. More wholesale death," her father +growled. But Laura smiled good-naturedly. + +"Yes, love, from America. Aren't you all ashamed of yourselves--scrambling +so, to get rich quick--out of this war you disapprove of." + +"_You_ look a bit rich," her father retorted. + +"Rather--for the moment," was her cheerful answer. + +"And you still like living in Italy?" + +"Tremendously! Rome is wonderful now!" + +"Reborn, eh. Wings of the Eagles." + +"Yes, and we're doing rather well." + +"I haven't noticed it," Roger said. "Why don't you send a few of your +troops to help those plucky Frenchmen?" + +"Because," she replied, "we have a feeling that this is a war where we had +much better help ourselves." + +"High ideals," he snorted. + +"Rome reborn," she remarked, unabashed. And her father scowled at her +whimsically. + +"You're a heathen. I give you up," he declared. Laura had risen, smiling. + +"Oh, no, don't give me up," she said. "For you see," she added softly, "I'm +a heathen with a great deal of love in her heart for thee, my dearest dad. +May I bring him down, my husband?" + +"Yes--" + +"I'll telephone to Deborah to-morrow and arrange it." + +When she had gone he returned to his chair and sat for a long time in a +daze. He was still disturbed and bewildered. What a daughter of his! And +what did it mean? Could she really go on being happy like this? Sinning? +Yes, she was sinning! Laura had broken her marriage vows, she had "run off +with another fellah." Those were the plain ugly facts. And now, divorced +and re-married, she was careering gayly on! And her views of the war were +plain heathenish! And yet there was something about her--yes, he thought, +he loved her still! What for? For being so happy! And yet she was wrong to +be happy, all wrong! His thoughts went 'round in circles. + +And his confusion and dismay grew even deeper the next night when Laura +brought her new husband to dine. For in place of the dark polished +scoundrel whom Roger had expected, here was a spruce and affable youth with +thick light hair and ruddy cheeks, a brisk pleasant manner of talking and a +decidedly forcible way of putting the case of his country at war. They kept +the conversation to that. For despite Deborah's friendly air, she showed +plainly that she wanted to keep the talk impersonal. And Laura, rather +amused at this, replied by treating Deborah and Allan and her father, too, +with a bantering forbearance for their old-fashioned, narrow views and +Deborah's religion of brotherhood, democracy. All that to Laura was passe. + +From time to time Roger glanced at her face, into her clear and luminous +eyes so warm with the joy of living with this new man, her second. How his +family had split apart. He wrote Edith the news of her sister, and he +received but a brief reply. Nor did Deborah speak of it often. She seemed +to want to forget Laura's life as the crisis in her own drew near. + + + + +CHAPTER XLI + + +Deborah had not yet stopped work. Again and again she put it off. For in +her busy office so many demands both old and new kept pressing in upon her, +such unexpected questions and vexing little problems kept cropping up as +Deborah tried to arrange her work for the colleague who was to take her +place in the spring, that day after day she lingered there--until one +afternoon in March her husband went to her office, gave her an hour to +finish up, and then brought her home with him. She had a fit of the blues +that night. Allan was called out on a case, and a little while later Roger +found his daughter alone in the living room, a book unopened in her lap, +her gray eyes glistening with tears. She smiled when she caught sight of +him. + +"It's so silly!" she muttered unsteadily. "Just my condition, I suppose. I +feel as though I had done with school for the remainder of my days!... +Better leave me now, dearie," she added. "I'm not very proud of myself +to-night--but I'll be all right in the morning." + +The next day she was herself again, and went quietly on with her +preparations for the coming of her child. But still the ceaseless interests +of those hordes of other children followed her into the house. Not only her +successor but principals and teachers came for counsel or assistance. And +later, when reluctantly she refused to see such visitors, still the +telephone kept ringing and letters poured in by every mail. For in her +larger family there were weddings, births and deaths, and the endless +savage struggle for life; and there were many climaxes of dreams and +aspirations, of loves and bitter jealousies. And out of all this straining +and this fever of humanity, came messages to Deborah: last appeals for aid +and advice, and gifts for the child who was to be born; tiny garments +quaintly made by women and girls from Italy, from Russia and from Poland; +baby blankets, wraps and toys and curious charms and amulets. There were so +many of these gifts. + +"There's enough for forty babies," Deborah told her father. "What on earth +am I to do, to avoid hurting anyone's feelings? And isn't it rather awful, +the way these inequalities will crop up in spite of you? I know of eight +tenement babies born down there in this one week. How much fuss and +feathers is made over them, and their coming into the world, poor mites?" +Roger smiled at his daughter. + +"You remind me of Jekyll and Hyde," he said. + +"Father! What a horrible thought! What have Jekyll and Hyde to do with me?" + +"Nothing, my dear," he answered. "Only it's queer and a little uncanny, +something I've never seen before, this double mother life of yours." + + * * * * * + +It was only a few days later when coming home one evening he found that +Deborah's doctor had put her to bed and installed a nurse. There followed a +week of keen suspense when Roger stayed home from the office. She liked to +have him with her, and sitting at her bedside he saw how changed his +daughter was, how far in these few hours she had drawn into herself. He had +suspected for some time that all was not well with Deborah, and Allan +confirmed his suspicions. There was to be grave danger both for the mother +and the child. It would come out all right, of course, he strove to +reassure himself. Nothing else could happen now, with her life so +splendidly settled at last. That Fate could be so pitiless--no, it was +unthinkable! + +"This is what comes of your modern woman!" Roger exclaimed to Allan one +night. "This is the price she's paying for those nerve-racking years of +work!" + +The crisis came toward the end of the week. And while for one entire night +and through the day that followed and far into the next night the doctors +and nurses fought for life in the room upstairs, Roger waited, left to +himself, sitting in his study or restlessly moving through the house. And +still that thought was with him--the price! It was kept in his mind by the +anxious demands which her big family made for news. The telephone kept +ringing. Women in motors from uptown and humbler visitors young and old +kept coming to make inquiries. More gifts were brought and flowers. And +Roger saw these people, and as he answered their questions he fairly +scowled in their faces--unconsciously, for his mind was not clear. +Reporters came. Barely an hour passed without bringing a man or a woman +from some one of the papers. He gave them only brief replies. Why couldn't +they leave his house alone? He saw her name in headlines: "Deborah Gale at +Point of Death." And he turned angrily away. Vividly, on the second night, +there came to him a picture of Deborah's birth so long ago in this same +house. How safe it had been, how different, how secluded and shut in. No +world had clamored _then_ for news. And so vivid did this picture grow, +that when at last there came to his ears the shrill clear cry of a new +life, it was some time before he could be sure whether this were not still +his dream of that other night so long ago. + +But now a nurse had led him upstairs, and he stood by a cradle looking down +at a small wrinkled face almost wholly concealed by a soft woolly blanket. +And presently Allan behind him said, + +"It's a boy, and he's to be named after you." Roger looked up. + +"How's the mother?" he asked. + +"Almost out of danger," was the reply. Then Roger glanced at Allan's face +and saw how drawn and gray it was. He drew a long breath and turned back to +the child. Allan had gone and so had the nurse, and he was alone by the +cradle. Relief and peace and happiness stole into his spirit. He felt the +deep remoteness of this strange new little creature from all the clamoring +world without--which he himself was soon to leave. The thought grew +clearer, clearer, as with a curious steady smile Roger stood there looking +down. + +"Well, little brother, you're here, thank God. And nobody knows how close +we'll be--for a little while," he thought. "For we're almost out of the +world, you and I." + + * * * * * + +Days passed, Deborah's strength increased, and soon they let Roger come +into the room. She, too, was remote from the world for a time. That great +family outside was anxious no longer, it left her alone. But soon it would +demand her. Never again, he told himself, would she be so close, so +intimate, as here in her bed with this child of hers to whom she had given +her father's name. "These hours are my real good-byes." + +Two long quiet weeks of this happiness, and then in a twinkling it was +gone. The child fell sick, within a few hours its small existence hung by a +thread--and to Roger's startled eyes a new Deborah was revealed! Tense and +silent on her bed, her sensitive lips compressed with pain, her birthmark +showing a jagged line of fiery red upon her brow as her ears kept straining +to catch every sound from the nursery adjoining, through hours of stern +anguish she became the kind of mother that she had once so +dreaded--shutting out everything else in the world: people, schools, all +other children, rich or poor, well, sick or dying! Here was the crisis of +Deborah's life! + +One night as she lay listening, with her hand gripping Roger's tight, +frowning abruptly she said to him, in a harsh, unnatural voice: + +"They don't care any longer, none of them care! _I'm_ safe and they've +stopped worrying, for they know they'll soon have me back at work! The +work," she added fiercely, "that made my body what it is, not fit to bear a +baby!" She threw a quick and tortured look toward the door of the other +room. "My work for those others, all those years, will be to blame if this +one dies! And if it doesn't live I'm through! I won't go on! I couldn't! +I'd be too bitter after this--toward all of them--_those children_!" + +These last two words were whispers so bitter they made Roger cold. + +"But this child is going to live," he responded hoarsely. Its mother stared +up with a quivering frown. The next moment her limbs contracted as from an +electric shock. There had come a faint wail from the other room. + +And this went on for three days and nights. Again Roger lived as in a +dream. He saw haggard faces from time to time of doctors, nurses, servants. +He saw Allan now and then, his tall ungainly figure stooped, his features +gaunt, his strong wide jaw set like a vise, but his eyes kind and steady +still, his low voice reassuring. And Roger noticed John at times hobbling +quickly down a hall and stopping on his crutches before a closed door, +listening. Then these figures would recede, and it was as though he were +alone in the dark. + +At last the nightmare ended. One afternoon as he sat in his study, Allan +came in slowly and dropped exhausted into a chair. He turned to Roger with +a smile. + +"Safe now, I think," he said quietly. + +Roger went to Deborah and found her asleep, her face at peace. He went to +his room and fell himself into a long dreamless slumber. + +In the days which followed, again he sat at her bedside and together they +watched the child in her arms. So feeble still the small creature appeared +that they both spoke in whispers. But as little by little its strength +returned, Deborah too became herself. And though still jealously watchful +of its every movement, she had time for other thinking. She had talks with +her husband, not only about their baby but about his work and hers. Slowly +her old interest in all they had had in common returned, and to the +messages from outside she gave again a kindlier ear. + +"Allan tells me," she said one day, when she was alone with her father, +"that I can have no more children. And I'm glad of that. But at least I +have one," she added, "and he has already made me feel like a different +woman than before. I feel sometimes as though I'd come a million miles +along in life. And yet again it feels so close, all that I left back there +in school. Because I'm so much closer now--to every mother and every child. +At last I'm one of the family." + + + + +CHAPTER XLII + + +Of that greater family, one member had been in the house all through the +month which had just gone by. But he had been so quiet, so carefully +unobtrusive, that he had been scarcely noticed. Very early each morning, +day after day, John had gone outside for his breakfast and thence to the +office where he himself had handled the business as well as he could, only +coming to Roger at night now and then with some matter he could not settle +alone, but always stoutly declaring that he needed no other assistance. + +"Don't come, Mr. Gale," he had urged. "You look worn out. You'll be sick +yourself if you ain't careful. And anyhow, if you hang around you'll be +here whenever she wants you." + +Early in Deborah's illness, John had offered to give up his room for the +use of one of the nurses. + +"That's mighty thoughtful of you, Johnny," Allan had responded. "But we've +got plenty of room as it is. Just you stick around. We want you here." + +"All right, Doc. If there's any little thing, you know--answering the +'phone at night or anything else that I can do--" + +"Thank you, so; I'll let you know. But in the meantime go to bed." + +From that day on, John had taken not only his breakfast but his supper, +too, outside, and no one had noticed his absence. Coming in late, he had +hobbled silently up to his room, stopping to listen at Deborah's door. He +had kept so completely out of the way, it was not till the baby was three +weeks old, and past its second crisis, that Deborah thought to ask for +John. When he came to her bed, she smiled up at him with the baby in her +arms. + +"I thought we'd see him together," she said. John stood on his crutches +staring down. And as Deborah watched him, all at once her look grew intent. +"Johnny," she said softly, "go over there, will you, and turn up the light, +so we can see him better." + +And when this was done, though she still talked smilingly of the child, +again and again she glanced up at John's face, at the strange self-absorbed +expression, stern and sad and wistful, there. When he had gone the tears +came in her eyes. And Deborah sent for her husband. + + * * * * * + +The next day, at the office, John came into Roger's room. Roger had been at +work several days and they had already cleared up their affairs. + +"Here's something," said John gruffly, "that I wish you'd put away +somewhere." + +And he handed to his partner a small blue leather album, filled with the +newspaper clippings dealing with Deborah's illness. On the front page was +one with her picture and a long record of her service to the children of +New York. + +"She wouldn't want to see it now," John continued awkwardly. "But I thought +maybe later on the boy would like to have it. What do you think?" he +inquired. Roger gave him a kindly glance. + +"I think he will. It's a fine thing to keep." And he handed it back. "But I +guess you'd better put it away, and give it to her later yourself." + +John shifted his weight on his crutches, so quickly that Roger looked up in +alarm: + +"Look here! You're not well!" He saw now that the face of the cripple was +white and the sweat was glistening on his brow. John gave a harsh little +nervous laugh. + +"Oh, it's nothing much, partner," he replied. "That's another thing I +wanted to tell you. I've had some queer pains lately--new ones!" He caught +his breath. + +"Why didn't you tell me, you young fool?" + +"You had your own troubles, didn't you?" John spoke with difficulty. "But +I'll be all right, I guess! All I need is a few days off!" + +Roger had pressed a button, and his stenographer came in. + +"Call a taxi," he said sharply. "And, John, you go right over there and lie +down. I'm going to take you home at once!" + +"I've got a better scheme," said John, setting his determined jaws. The +sweat was pouring down his cheeks. "It may be a week--but there's just a +chance it--may be a little worse than that! So I've got a room in a +hospital! See? Be better all round!" He swayed forward. + +"Johnny!" Roger caught him just in time, and the boy lay senseless in his +arms. + + * * * * * + +At home, a few hours later, Allan came with another physician down from +John's small bedroom. He saw his colleague to the door and then came in to +Roger. + +"I'm afraid Johnny has come to the end." + +For a moment Roger stared at him. + +"Has, eh," he answered huskily. "You're absolutely sure he has? There's +nothing--nothing on earth we can do?" + +"Nothing more than we're doing now." + +"He has fooled you fellows before, you know--" + +"Not this time." + +"How long will it be?" + +"Days or hours--I don't know." + +"He mustn't suffer!" + +"I'll see to that." Roger rose and walked the floor. + +"It was the last month did it, of course--" + +"Yes--" + +"I blame myself for that." + +"I wouldn't," said Allan gently. "You've done a good deal for Johnny Geer." + +"He has done a good deal for this family! Can Deborah see him?" + +"I wish she could." + +"Better stretch a point for her, hadn't you? She's been a kind of a mother +to John." + +"I know. But she can't leave her bed." + +"Then you won't tell her?" + +"I think she knows. She talked to me about him last night." + +"That's it, a mother!" Roger cried. "She was watching! We were blind!" He +came back to his chair and dropped into it. + +"Does John know this himself?" he asked. + +"He suspects it, I think," said Allan. + +"Then go and tell him, will you, that he's going to get well. And after +you've done it I'll see him myself. I've got something in mind I want to +think out." + +After Allan had left the room, Roger sat thinking about John. He thought of +John's birth and his drunken mother, the accident and his struggle for +life, through babyhood and childhood, through ignorance and filth and pain, +through din and clamor and hunger, fear; of the long fierce fight which +John had made not to be "put away" in some big institution, of his battle +to keep up his head, to be somebody, make a career for himself. He thought +of John's becoming one of Deborah's big family, only one of thousands, but +it seemed now to Roger that John had stood out from them all, as the figure +best embodying that great fierce hunger for a full life, and as the link +connecting, the one who slowly year by year had emerged from her greater +family and come into her small one. And last of all he thought of John as +his own companion, his only one, in the immense adventure on which he was +so soon to embark. + +A few moments later he stood by John's bed. + +"Pretty hard, Johnny?" he gently asked. + +"Oh, not so bad as it might be, I guess--" + +"You'll soon feel better, they tell me, boy." John shut his eyes. + +"Yes," he muttered. + +"Can you stand my talking, just a minute?" + +"Sure I can," John whispered. "I'm not suffering any now. He's given me +something to put me to sleep. What is it you want to talk about? Business?" + +"Not exactly, partner. It's about the family. You've got so you're almost +one of us. I guess you know us pretty well." + +"I guess I do. It's meant a lot to me, Mr. Gale--" + +"But I'll tell you what you don't know, John," Roger went on slowly. "I had +a son in the family once, and he died when he was three months old. That +was a long time ago--and I never had another, you see--to take his +place--till you came along." There fell a breathless silence. "And I've +been thinking lately," Roger added steadily. "I haven't long to live, you +know. And I've been wondering whether--you'd like to come into the +family--take my name. Do you understand?" + +John said nothing. His eyes were still closed. But presently, groping over +the bed, he found Roger's hand and clutched it tight. After this, from time +to time his throat contracted sharply. Tears welled from under his eyelids. +Then gradually, as the merciful drug which Allan had given did its work, +his clutch relaxed and he began breathing deep and hard. But still for some +time longer Roger sat quietly by his side. + +The next night he was there again. Death had come to the huddled form on +the bed, but there had been no relaxing. With the head thrown rigidly far +back and all the features tense and hard, it was a fighting figure still, +a figure of stern protest against the world's injustice. But Roger was not +thinking of this, but of the discovery he had made, that in their talk of +the night before John had understood him--completely. For upon a piece of +paper which Allan had given the lad that day, these words had been +painfully inscribed: + +"This is my last will and testament. I am in my right mind--I know what I +am doing--though nobody else does--nobody is here. To my partner Roger Gale +I leave my share in our business. And to my teacher Deborah Baird I leave +my crutches for her school." + + + + +CHAPTER XLIII + + +After John had gone away the house was very quiet. Only from the room +upstairs there could be heard occasionally the faint clear cry of Deborah's +child. And once again to Roger came a season of repose. He was far from +unhappy. His disease, although progressing fast, gave him barely any pain; +it rather made its presence felt by the manner in which it affected his +mind. His inner life grew uneven. At times his thoughts were as in a fog, +again they were amazingly clear and vistas opened far ahead. He could not +control his thinking. + +This bothered him at the office, in the work he still had to do. For some +months he had been considering an offer from one of his rivals, a modern +concern which wished to buy out his business together with that of three +other firms and consolidate them all into one corporation. And Roger was +selling, and it was hard; for the whole idea of bargaining was more +distasteful than ever now. He had to keep reminding himself of Edith and +her children. + +At last it was over, his books were closed, and there was nothing left to +be done. Nor did he care to linger. These rooms had meant but little to +him; they had been but a place of transition from the old office far +downtown, so full of memories of his youth, to the big corporation looming +ahead, the huge impersonal clipping mill into which his business was to +merge. And it came to his mind that New York was like that--no settled calm +abiding place cherishing its memories, but only a town of transition, a +great turbulent city of change, restlessly shaking off its past, tearing +down and building anew, building higher, higher, higher, rearing to the +very stars, and shouting, "Can you see me now?" What was the goal of this +mad career? What dazzling city would be here? For a time he stared out of +his window as into a promised land. Slowly at last he rose from his desk. +Clippings, clippings, clippings. He looked at those long rows of girls +gleaning in items large and small the public reputations of all kinds of +men and women, new kinds in a new nation seething with activities, sweeping +on like some wide river swollen at flood season to a new America, a world +which Roger would not know. And yet it would be his world still, for in it +he would play a part. + +"In their lives, too, we shall be there--the dim strong figures of the +past." + +From his desk he gathered a few belongings. Then he looked into John's +small room, with the big gold motto over the desk: "This is no place for +your troubles or mine." On the desk lay that small album, John's parting +gift to Deborah's boy. Roger picked it up and walked out of the office. He +had never liked good-byes. + +In the elevator he noticed that his shoes needed shining, and when he +reached the street below he stopped at the stand on the corner. The stocky +Greek with bushy black hair, who had run the stand for many years, gave him +a cheery greeting; for Roger had stopped there frequently--not that he +cared about his shoes, but he had always liked to watch the crowds of +people passing. + +"No hurry, boss?" + +"None," said Roger. + +"Then I give a fine shine! Polish, too?" + +"Yes, polish, too." And Roger settled back to watch. + +"And put in new shoe strings," he added, with a whimsical smile. + +Men and women, girls and boys by thousands passed him, pushing, hurrying, +shuffling by. Girls tittering and nudging and darting quick side glances. +Bobbing heads and figures, vigorous steps and dancing eyes. Life bubbling +over everywhere, in laughter, in sharp angry tones, in glad expectant +chatter. Deborah's big family. Across the street was a movie between two +lurid posters, and there was a dance hall overhead. The windows were all +open, and faintly above the roar of the street he could hear the piano, +drum, fiddle and horn. The thoroughfare each moment grew more tumultuous to +his ears, with trolley cars and taxis, motor busses, trucks and drays. A +small red motor dashed uptown with piles of evening papers; a great black +motor hearse rushed by. In a taxi which had stopped in a jam, a man was +kissing a girl in his arms, and both of them were laughing. The smart +little toque of blue satin she wore was crushed to one side. How red were +her lips as she threw back her head.... + +"Silk or cotton, boss? Which you like?" Roger glanced at the shoe strings +and pondered. + +"Silk," he grunted in reply. Idly for a moment he watched this busy little +man. From whence had he come in far away Greece? What existence had he +here, and what kind of life would he still have through those many years to +come? A feeling half of sadness crept into Roger's heavy eyes as he looked +at the man, at his smiling face and then at other faces in the multitudes +sweeping past. The moment he tried to single them out, how doubly chaotic +it became. What an ocean of warm desires, passions, vivid hopes and +worries. Vaguely he could feel them pass. Often in the midst of his life, +his active and self-centered life, Roger had looked at these crowds on the +street and had thought these faces commonplace. But now at the end it was +not so. + +A woman with a baby carriage stopped directly in front of him and stood +there anxiously watching for a chance to cross the street. And Roger +thought of Deborah. Heavily he climbed down from his seat, paid the man and +bade him good-night, and went home to see Deborah's baby. + +For a long time he sat by the cradle. Presently Deborah joined him, and +soon they were laughing heartily at the astonishing jerks and kicks and +grimaces of the tiny boy. He was having his bath and he hated it. But safe +at last on his mother's lap, wrapped to his ears in a big soft towel, he +grew very gay and contented and looked waggishly about. + +There followed long lazy days of spring, as April drifted into May. Early +in the morning Roger could hear through his window the cries of the vendors +of flowers and fruits. And he listened drowsily. He rose late and spent +most of the day in the house; but occasionally he went out for a stroll. +And one balmy evening when groups of youths came trooping by, singing in +close harmony, Roger called a taxi and went far down through the tenement +streets to a favorite haunt of his, a little Syrian pawnshop, where after +long delving he purchased a ring to put in the new collection that he had +been making lately. He had nearly a dozen now. + +Days passed. The house was still so quiet, Deborah was still upstairs. At +last, one night upon leaving his study, he stopped uncertainly in the hall. +He took more time than was his wont in closing up the house for the night, +in trying all the windows, in turning out the various lights. Room after +room he left in the dark. Then he went slowly up the stairs, his hand +gratefully feeling those guiding points grown so familiar to his touch +through many thousand evenings. His hand lingered on the banister and he +stopped again to listen there. + +He did not come downstairs again. + +He was able to sleep but little at night. Turning restlessly on his bed, he +would glance out of the window up at the beetling wall close by, tier on +tier of apartments from which faint voices dropped out of the dark. +Gradually as the night wore on, these voices would all die away into long +mysterious silences--for to him at least such silences had grown to be +very mysterious. Alone in the hours that followed, even these modern +neighbors and this strange new eager town pressing down upon his house +seemed no longer strange to him nor so appallingly immense, seemed even +familiar and small to him, as the eyes of his mind looked out ahead. + +From his bed he could see on the opposite wall the picture Judith had given +him, always so fresh and cool and dim with its deep restful tones of blue, +of the herdsmen and the cattle on the dark mountain rim at dawn. And +vaguely he wondered whether it was because he saw more clearly, or whether +his mind in this curious haze could no longer see so well, that as he +looked before him he felt no fear nor any more uncertainty. All his doubts +had lifted, he was so sure of Judith now. As though she were coming to meet +him, her image grew more vivid, with memories emerging out of all the years +gone by. What memories, what vivid scenes! What intimate conversations they +had, her voice so natural, close in his ear, as together they planned for +their children.... Wistfully he would search the years for what he should +soon tell his wife--until the drowsiness returned, and then again came +visions. + +But by day it was not so, for the life of the house would rouse him and at +intervals hold his attention. + +One evening a slight rustle, a faint fragrance in the room, made Roger +suddenly open his eyes. And he saw Laura by his bed, her slender figure +clad in blue silk, something white at her full bosom. He noticed her +shapely shoulders, her glossy hair and moist red lips. She was smiling down +at him. + +"See what I've brought you, dear," she said. And she turned to a chair +where, one on the other, tray after tray, was piled his whole collection of +rings. At sight of them his eyes grew fixed; he could feel his pulse beat +faster. + +"How did you ever find them?" he asked his daughter huskily. + +"Oh, I had a long hunt all by myself. But I found them at last and I've +brought them home. Shall we look them over a little while?" + +"Yes," he said. She turned up the light, and came and sat down at the +bedside with a tray of rings in her lap. One by one she held them up to his +gaze, still smiling and talking softly on in that rich melodious voice of +hers, of which he heard but snatches. How good it felt to be so gay. No +solemn thoughts nor questionings, just these dusky glittering beauties +here, deep soft gleams of color, each with its suggestion of memories for +Roger, a procession of adventures reaching back into his life. He smiled +and lay in silence watching, until at last she bent over him, kissed him +softly, breathed a good-night and went out of the room. Roger followed her +with his glance. He knew he would never see her again. How graceful of her +to go like that. + +He lay there thinking about her. In her large blue limousine he saw his gay +young daughter speeding up the Avenue, the purple gleaming pavement +reflecting studded lines of lights. And he thought he could see her smiling +still. He recalled scattered fragments of her life--the first luxurious +little menage, and the second. How many more would there be? She was only +in her twenties still. Uneasily he tried to see into the years ahead for +her, and he thought he saw a lonely old age, childless, loveless, cynical, +hard. But this fear soon fell from his mind. No, whatever happened, she +would do it gracefully, an artist always, to the end. He sighed and gave up +the effort. For he could not think of Laura as old, nor could he think of +her any more as being a part of his family. + +Edith came to him several times, and there was something in her face which +gave him sharp forebodings. Making a great effort he tried to talk to her +clearly. + +"It's hard to keep up with your children," he said. "It means keeping up +with everything new. And you stay in your rut and then it's too late. +Before you know it you are old." + +But his words subsided in mutterings, and Roger wearily closed his eyes. +For a glance up into Edith's face had shown him only pity there and no heed +to his warning. He saw that she looked upon him as old and still upon +herself as young, though he noticed the threads of gray in her hair.... +Then he realized she had gone and that his chamber had grown dark. He must +have been dreaming. Of what, he asked. He tried to remember. And suddenly +out of the darkness, so harsh and clear it startled him, a picture rose in +Roger's mind of a stark lonely figure, a woman in a graveyard cutting the +grass on family graves. Where had he seen it? He could not recall. What had +it to do with Edith? Was she not living in New York?... What had so +startled him just now? Some thought, some vivid picture, some nightmare he +could not recall. + +His last talks were with Deborah. All through those days and the long +nights, too, he kept fancying she was in the room, and it brought deep balm +to his restless soul. He asked her to tell him about the schools, and +Deborah talked to him quietly. She was going back to her work in the fall. +She felt very humble about it--she told him she felt older now and she saw +that her work was barely begun. But she was even happier than before. Her +hand lay in his, and it tightened there. He opened his eyes and looked up +into hers. + +"All so strange," he muttered, "life." There was a sharp contracting of her +wide and sensitive mouth. + +"Yes, dear, strange!" she whispered. + +"But I'm so glad you're going on." He frowned as he tried to be simple and +clear, and make her feel he understood what she had set herself to do. "All +people," he said slowly, "never counted so much as now. And never so +hungry--all--as now--for all of life--like children--children who should go +to school. Your work will grow--I can see ahead. Never a time when every +man and woman and child could grow so much--and hand it on--and hand it +on--as you will do to your small son." + +He felt her hand on his forehead, and for some moments nothing was said. +Vaguely in glimpses Roger saw his small grandson growing up; and he +pictured other children here, not her own but of her greater family, as the +two merged into one. He felt that she would not grow old. Children, lives +of children; work, dreams and aspirations. How bright it seemed as he +stared ahead. Then he heard the cry of her baby. + +"Shall I nurse him here?" he heard her ask. He pressed her hand in answer. +And when again he opened his eyes she was by his side with the child at her +breast. Its large round eyes, so pure and clear, gazed into his own for a +long, long time. + +"Now he's so sleepy," she whispered. "Would you like him beside you a +moment?" + +"Please." + +He felt the faint scent of the tiny boy, and still those eyes looked into +his. He forgot his daughter standing there; and as he watched, a sweet +fresh sense of the mystery of this life so new stole deep into his spirit. +All at once the baby fell asleep. + +"Good-night, little brother," he whispered. "God grant the world be very +kind." He could feel the mother lift it up, and he heard the door close +softly. + +Smiling he, too, fell asleep. And after that there were only dreams. + + + + +CHAPTER XLIV + + +And his dreams were of children. Their faces passed before him. Now they +were young again in the house. They were eating their suppers, three small +girls, chattering like magpies. From her end of the table their mother +smiled quietly across at him. "Come children," she was saying, "that will +do for a little while." But Roger said, "Oh, let them talk."... Then he saw +new-comers. Bruce came in with Edith, and George and young Elizabeth, and +Allan came with Deborah who had a baby in her arms, and Laura stood beside +them. Here were his three daughters, grown, but still in some uncanny way +they looked to him like children still; and behind them he detected figures +long forgotten, of boys and girls whom he had known far back in his own +childhood. John, too, had come into the house. Strangely now the walls were +gone, had lifted, and a clamorous throng, laughing, shouting, pummeling, +hedged him in on every hand--Deborah's big family! + +Soon the uproar wearied him, and Roger tried to shut them out, to bring +back again the walls to his house. And sometimes he succeeded, and he was +left for a while in peace with Judith and his three small girls. But +despite his efforts to keep them there, new faces kept intruding. Swiftly +his small family grew, split into other families, and these were merged +with other figures pressing in from every side. Again he felt the presence +of countless families all around, dividing, reuniting, with ceaseless +changes and fresh life--a never ending multitude. Here they were singing +and dancing, and Laura gaily waved to him. At another place were only men, +and they were struggling savagely to clutch things from each other's +hands. A sea of scowling visages, angry shouts, fists clinched in air. And +he thought he saw Bruce for an instant. Behind them lay wide valleys +obscured by heavy clouds of smoke, and he could hear the roar of guns. But +they vanished suddenly, and he saw women mourning now, and Edith with her +children turned to him her anxious eyes. He tried to reach and help her, +but already she had gone. And behind her came huge bending forms, men +heaving at great burdens, jaws set in scowls of fierce revolt. And John was +there on his crutches, and near him was a figure bound into a chair of +steel, with terror in the straining limbs, while in desperation Deborah +tried to wrench him free. Abruptly Roger turned away. + +And in a twinkling all was gone, the tumult and the clamor, and he was in a +silent place high up on a mountain side. It was dusk. A herd of cattle +passed, and George came close behind them. And around him Roger saw, +emerging from the semi-dark, faces turning like his own to the summits of +the mountains and the billowy splendors there. It grew so dark he could see +no more. There fell a deep silence, not a sound but the occasional chirp of +a bird or the faint whirr of an insect. Even the glow on the peaks was +gone. Darkness, only darkness. + +"Surely this is death," he thought. After that he was alone. And presently +from far away he heard the booming of a bell, deep and slow, sepulchral, as +it measured off his life. Another silence followed, and this time it was +more profound; and with a breathless awe he knew that all the people who +had ever lived on earth were before him in the void to which he himself was +drifting: people of all nations, of countless generations reaching back and +back and back to the beginnings of mankind: the mightiest family of all, +that had stumbled up through the ages, had slaved and starved and dreamed +and died, had blindly hated, blindly killed, had raised up gods and idols +and yearned for everlasting life, had laughed and played and danced along, +had loved and mated, given birth, had endlessly renewed itself and handed +on its heritage, had striven hungrily to learn, had groped its way in +darkness, and after all its struggles had come now barely to the dawn. And +then a voice within him cried, + +"What is humanity but a child? In the name of the dead I salute the +unborn!" + +Slowly a glow appeared in his dream, and once again the scene had changed. +The light was coming from long rows of houses rising tall and steep out of +a teeming city street. And from these lighted houses children now came +pouring forth. They filled the street from wall to wall with a torrent of +warm vivid hues, they joined in mad tempestuous games, they shouted and +they danced with glee, they whirled each other 'round and 'round. The very +air seemed quivering. Then was heard the crash of a band, and he saw them +marching into school. In and in and in they pressed, till the school seemed +fairly bursting. Out they came by another way, and went off marching down +the street with the big flag waving at their head. He followed and saw the +street divide into narrower streets and bye-ways, into roads and country +lanes. And all were filled with children. In endless multitudes they +came--marching, marching, spreading, spreading, like wide bobbing fields of +flowers rolling out across the land, toward a great round flashing sun +above a distant rim of hills. + +The sun rose strangely dazzling. It filled the heavens with blinding light. +He felt himself drawn up and up--while from somewhere far behind he heard +the cry of Deborah's child. A clear sweet thrill of happiness came. And +after that--we do not know. + +For he had left his family. + + + + + + +Printed in the United States of America + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of His Family, by Ernest Poole + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HIS FAMILY *** + +***** This file should be named 14396.txt or 14396.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/4/3/9/14396/ + +Produced by Rick Niles, Melissa Er-Raqabi and the PG Online +Distributed Proofreading Team + + +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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