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diff --git a/14532-h/14532-h.htm b/14532-h/14532-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..45bfdf8 --- /dev/null +++ b/14532-h/14532-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,29177 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" +"http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> +<head> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" /> +<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Honorable Peter Stirling and What People Thought of Him, by Paul Leicester Ford</title> +<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" /> +<style type="text/css"> + +body { margin-left: 20%; + margin-right: 20%; + text-align: justify; } + +h1, h2, h3, h4, h5 {text-align: center; font-style: normal; font-weight: +normal; line-height: 1.5; margin-top: .5em; margin-bottom: .5em;} + +h1 {font-size: 300%; + margin-top: 0.6em; + margin-bottom: 0.6em; + letter-spacing: 0.12em; + 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{color:blue; text-decoration:none} +a:hover {color:red} + +</style> +</head> +<body> +<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14532 ***</div> + +<div class="fig" style="width:55%;"> +<img src="images/cover.jpg" style="width:100%;" alt="[Illustration]" /> +</div> + +<h1>THE HONORABLE PETER STIRLING</h1> + +<h3><i>and<br/> +WHAT PEOPLE THOUGHT OF HIM</i></h3> + +<h2 class="no-break">by<br/> +PAUL LEICESTER FORD</h2> + +<h4>Stitt Publishing Company New York<br/> +Henry Holt & Co.</h4> + +<h4>1894</h4> + +<hr /> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + +<table summary="" style=""> + +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_I">CHAPTER I.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_II">CHAPTER II.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_III">CHAPTER III.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IV">CHAPTER IV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_V">CHAPTER V.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VI">CHAPTER VI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VII">CHAPTER VII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_VIII">CHAPTER VIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_IX">CHAPTER IX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_X">CHAPTER X</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XI">CHAPTER XI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XII">CHAPTER XII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIII">CHAPTER XIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIV">CHAPTER XIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XV">CHAPTER XV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVI">CHAPTER XVI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVII">CHAPTER XVII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XVIII">CHAPTER XVIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XIX">CHAPTER XIX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XX">CHAPTER XX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXI">CHAPTER XXI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXII">CHAPTER XXII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIII">CHAPTER XXIII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIV">CHAPTER XXIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXV">CHAPTER XXV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVI">CHAPTER XXVI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVII">CHAPTER XXVII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXVIII">CHAPTER XXVIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXIX">CHAPTER XXIX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXX">CHAPTER XXX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXI">CHAPTER XXXI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXII">CHAPTER XXXII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIII">CHAPTER XXXIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIV">CHAPTER XXXIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXV">CHAPTER XXXV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVI">CHAPTER XXXVI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVII">CHAPTER XXXVII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXVIII">CHAPTER XXXVIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XXXIX">CHAPTER XXXIX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XL">CHAPTER XL.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLII">CHAPTER XLII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIII">CHAPTER XLIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIV">CHAPTER XLIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLV">CHAPTER XLV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVI">CHAPTER XLVI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVII">CHAPTER XLVII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLVIII">CHAPTER XLVIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_XLIX">CHAPTER XLIX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_L">CHAPTER L.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LI">CHAPTER LI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LII">CHAPTER LII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LIII">CHAPTER LIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LIV">CHAPTER LIV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LV">CHAPTER LV.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LVI">CHAPTER LVI.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LVII">CHAPTER LVII</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LVIII">CHAPTER LVIII.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LIX">CHAPTER LIX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LX">CHAPTER LX.</a></td></tr> +<tr><td><a href="#CHAPTER_LXI">CHAPTER LXI.</a></td></tr> +</table> + +<p class="center"> +To<br /> +<br /> +THOSE DEAR TO ME<br /> +AT<br /> +STONEY WOLDE,<br /> +TURNERS, NEW YORK;<br /> +PINEHURST;<br /> +NORWICH, CONNECTICUT;<br /> +BROOK FARM,<br /> +PROCTORSVILLE, VERMONT;<br /> +AND<br /> +DUNESIDE,<br /> +EASTHAMPTON, NEW YORK,<br /> +<br /> +THIS BOOK,<br /> +WRITTEN WHILE AMONG THEM,<br /> +IS DEDICATED.<br /> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I.<br/> +ROMANCE AND REALITY.</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Pierce was talking. Mr. Pierce was generally talking. From the day that his +proud mamma had given him a sweetmeat for a very inarticulate “goo” +which she translated into “papa,” Mr. Pierce had found speech +profitable. He had been able to talk his nurse into granting him every +indulgence. He had talked his way through school and college. He had talked his +wife into marrying him. He had talked himself to the head of a large financial +institution. He had talked his admission into society. Conversationally, Mr. +Pierce was a success. He could discuss Schopenhauer or cotillion favors; St. +Paul, the apostle, or St. Paul, the railroad. He had cultivated the art as +painstakingly as a professional musician. He had countless anecdotes, which he +introduced to his auditors by a “that reminds me of.” He had +endless quotations, with the quotation marks omitted. Finally he had an idea on +every subject, and generally a theory as well. Carlyle speaks somewhere of an +“inarticulate genius.” He was not alluding to Mr. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +Like most good talkers, Mr. Pierce was a tongue despot. Conversation must take +his course, or he would none of it. Generally he controlled. If an upstart +endeavored to turn the subject, Mr. Pierce waited till the intruder had done +speaking, and then quietly, but firmly would remark: “Relative to the +subject we were discussing a moment ago—” If any one ventured to +speak, even <i>sotto voce</i>, before Mr. Pierce had finished all he had to +say, he would at once cease his monologue, wait till the interloper had +finished, and then resume his lecture just where he had been interrupted. Only +once had Mr. Pierce found this method to fail in quelling even the sturdiest of +rivals. The recollection of that day is still a mortification to him. It had +happened on the deck of an ocean steamer. For thirty minutes he had fought his +antagonist bravely. Then, humbled and vanquished, he had sought the +smoking-room, to moisten his parched throat, and solace his wounded spirit, +with a star cocktail. He had at last met his superior. He yielded the deck to +the fog-horn. +</p> + +<p> +At the present moment Mr. Pierce was having things very much his own way. +Seated in the standing-room of a small yacht, were some eight people. With a +leaden sky overhead, and a leaden sea about it, the boat gently rose and fell +with the ground swell. Three miles away could be seen the flash-light marking +the entrance to the harbor. But though slowly gathering clouds told that wind +was coming, the yacht now lay becalmed, drifting with the ebb tide. The +pleasure-seekers had been together all day, and were decidedly talked out. For +the last hour they had been singing songs—always omitting Mr. Pierce, who +never so trifled with his vocal organs. During this time he had been restless. +At one point he had attempted to deliver his opinion on the relation of verse +to music, but an unfeeling member of the party had struck up “John +Brown’s Body,” and his lecture had ended, in the usual serial +style, at the most interesting point, without even the promise of a +“continuation in our next.” Finally, however, the singers had sung +themselves hoarse in the damp night air, the last “Spanish +Cavalier” had been safely restored to his inevitable true-love, and the +sound of voices and banjo floated away over the water. Mr. Pierce’s +moment had come. +</p> + +<p> +Some one, and it is unnecessary to mention the sex, had given a sigh, and +regretted that nineteenth century life was so prosaic and unromantic. Clearing +his throat, quite as much to pre-empt the pause as to articulate the better, +Mr. Pierce spoke: +</p> + +<p> +“That modern times are less romantic and interesting than bygone +centuries is a fallacy. From time immemorial, love and the battle between evil +and good are the two things which have given the world romance and interest. +Every story, whether we find it in the myths of the East, the folklore of +Europe, the poems of the Troubadours, or in our newspaper of this morning, is +based on one or the other of these factors, or on both combined. Now it is a +truism that love never played so important a part as now in shaping the +destinies of men and women, for this is the only century in which it has +obtained even a partial divorce from worldly and parental influences. Moreover +the great battle of society, to crush wrong and elevate right, was never before +so bravely fought, on so many fields, by so many people as to-day. But because +our lovers and heroes no longer brag to the world of their doings; no longer +stand in the moonlight, and sing of their ‘dering does,’ the world +assumes that the days of tourneys and guitars were the only days of true love +and noble deeds. Even our professed writers of romance join in the cry. +‘Draw life as it is,’ they say. ‘We find nothing in it but +mediocrity, selfishness, and money-loving.’ By all means let us have +truth in our novels, but there is truth and truth. Most of New York’s +firemen presumably sat down at noon to-day to a dinner of corned-beef and +cabbage. But perhaps one of them at the same moment was fighting his way +through smoke and flame, to save life at the risk of his own. Boiled dinner and +burned firemen are equally true. Are they equally worthy of description? What +would the age of chivalry be, if the chronicles had recorded only the +brutality, filthiness and coarseness of their contemporaries? The wearing of +underclothing unwashed till it fell to pieces; the utter lack of soap; the +eating with fingers; the drunkenness and foul-mouthedness that drove women from +the table at a certain point, and so inaugurated the custom, now continued +merely as an excuse for a cigar? Some one said once that a man finds in a great +city just the qualities he takes to it. That’s true of romance as well. +Modern novelists don’t find beauty and nobility in life, because they +don’t look for them. They predicate from their inner souls that the world +is ‘cheap and nasty’ and that is what they find it to be. There is +more true romance in a New York tenement than there ever was in a baron’s +tower—braver battles, truer love, nobler sacrifices. Romance is all about +us, but we must have eyes for it. You are young people, with your lives before +you. Let me give you a little advice. As you go through life look for the fine +things—not for the despicable. It won’t make you any richer. It +won’t make you famous. It won’t better you in a worldly way. But it +will make your lives happier, for by the time you are my age, you’ll love +humanity, and look upon the world and call it good. And you will have found +romance enough to satisfy all longings for mediæval times.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, dear, one cannot imagine some people ever finding anything romantic +in life,” said a voice, which, had it been translated into words would +have said, “I know you are right, of course, and you will convince me at +once, but in my present state of unenlightenment it seems to me +that—” the voice, already low, became lower. +“Now”—a moment’s hesitation—“there +is—Peter Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Mr. Pierce. “That is a very case in point, +and proves just what I’ve been saying. Peter is like the novelists of +whom I’ve been talking. I don’t suppose we ought to blame him for +it. What can you expect of a son of a mill-foreman, who lives the first sixteen +years of his life in a mill-village? If his hereditary tendencies gave him a +chance, such an experience would end it. If one lives in the country, one may +get fine thoughts by contact with Nature. In great cities one is developed and +stimulated by art, music, literature, and contact with clever people. But a +mill-village is one vast expanse of mediocrity and prosaicness, and it would +take a bigger nature than Peter’s to recognize the beautiful in such a +life. In truth, he is as limited, as exact, and as unimaginative as the +machines of his own village. Peter has no romance in him; hence he will never +find it, nor increase it in this world. This very case only proves my point; +that to meet romance one must have it. Boccaccio said he did not write novels, +but lived them. Try to imagine Peter living a romance! He could be concerned in +a dozen and never dream it. They would not interest him even if he did notice +them. And I’ll prove it to you.” Mr. Pierce raised his voice. +“We are discussing romance, Peter. Won’t you stop that unsocial +tramp of yours long enough to give us your opinion on the subject?” +</p> + +<p> +A moment’s silence followed, and then a singularly clear voice, coming +from the forward part of the yacht, replied: “I never read them, Mr. +Pierce.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pierce laughed quietly. “See,” he said, “that fellow +never dreams of there being romance outside of novels. He is so prosaic that he +is unconscious of anything bigger than his own little sphere of life. Peter may +obtain what he wants in this world, for his desires will be of the kind to be +won by work and money. But he will never be controlled by a great idea, nor be +the hero of a true romance.” +</p> + +<p> +Steele once wrote that the only difference between the Catholic Church and the +Church of England was, that the former was infallible and the latter never +wrong. Mr. Pierce would hardly have claimed for himself either of these +qualities. He was too accustomed in his business to writing, “E. and +O.E.” above his initials, to put much faith in human dicta. But in the +present instance he felt sure of what he said, and the little group clearly +agreed. If they were right, this story is like that recounted in Mother Goose, +which was ended before it was begun. But Mr. Pierce had said that romance is +everywhere to those who have the spirit of it in them. Perhaps in this case the +spirit was lacking in his judges—not in Peter Stirling. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II.<br/> +APPEARANCES.</h2> + +<p> +The unconscious illustration of Mr. Pierce’s theory was pacing backwards +and forwards on the narrow space between the cuddy-roof and the gunwale, which +custom dignifies with the name of deck. Six strides forward and turn. Six +strides aft and turn. That was the extent of the beat. Yet had Peter been on +sentry duty, he could not have continued it more regularly or persistently. If +he were walking off his supper, as most of those seated aft would have +suggested, the performance was not particularly interesting. The limit and +rapidity of the walk resembled the tramp of a confined animal, exercising its +last meal. But when one stands in front of the lion’s cage, and sees that +restless and tireless stride, one cannot but wonder how much of it is due to +the last shin-bone, and how much to the wild and powerful nature under the +tawny skin. The question occurs because the nature and antecedents of the lion +are known. For this same reason the yachters were a unit in agreeing that +Stirling’s unceasing walk was merely a digestive promenade. The problem +was whether they were right? Or whether, to apply Mr. Pierce’s formula, +they merely imposed their own frame of mind in place of Stirling’s, and +decided, since their sole reason for walking at the moment would be entirely +hygienic, that he too must be striding from the same cause? +</p> + +<p> +Dr. Holmes tells us that when James and Thomas converse there are really six +talkers. First, James as James thinks he is, and Thomas as Thomas thinks he is. +Second James as Thomas thinks him, and Thomas as James thinks him. Finally, +there are James and Thomas as they really are. Since this is neither an +autobiography nor an inspired story, the world’s view of Peter Stirling +must be adopted without regard to its accuracy. And because this view was the +sum of his past and personal, these elements must be computed before we can +know on what the world based its conclusions concerning him. +</p> + +<p> +His story was as ordinary and prosaic as Mr. and Mrs. Pierce seemed to think +his character. Neither riches nor poverty had put a shaping hand to it. The +only child of his widowed mother, he had lived in one of the smaller +manufacturing cities of New England a life such as falls to most lads. +Unquestionably he had been rather more shielded from several forms of +temptation than had most of his playmates, for his mother’s isolation had +made him not merely her son, but very largely her companion. In certain ways +this had tended to make him more manly than the average fellow of his age, but +in others it had retarded his development; and this backwardness had been +further accentuated by a deliberate mind, which hardly kept pace with his +physical growth. His school record was fair: “Painstaking, but +slow,” was the report in studies. “Exemplary,” in conduct. He +was not a leader among the boys, but he was very generally liked. A +characteristic fact, for good or bad, was that he had no enemies. From the +clergyman to the “hired help,” everybody had a kind word for him, +but tinctured by no enthusiasm. All spoke of him as “a good boy,” +and when this was said, they had nothing more to say. +</p> + +<p> +One important exception to this statement is worthy of note. The girls of the +High School never liked him. If they had been called upon for reasons, few +could have given a tangible one. At their age, everything this world contains, +be it the Falls of Niagara, or a stick of chewing gum, is positively or +negatively “nice.” For some crime of commission or omission, Peter +had been weighed and found wanting. “He isn’t nice,” was the +universal verdict of the scholars who daily filed through the door, which the +town selectmen, with the fine contempt of the narrow man for his unpaid +“help,” had labelled, “For Females.” If they had said +that he was “perfectly horrid,” there might have been a chance for +him. But the subject was begun and ended with these three words. Such terseness +in the sex was remarkable and would have deserved a psychological investigation +had it been based on any apparent data. But women’s opinions are so +largely a matter of instinct and feeling, and so little of judgment and +induction, that an analysis of the mental processes of the hundred girls who +had reached this one conclusion, would probably have revealed in each a +different method of obtaining this product. The important point is to recognize +this consensus of opinion, and to note its bearing on the development of the +lad. +</p> + +<p> +That Peter could remain ignorant of this feeling was not conceivable. It +puzzled him not a little when he first began to realize the prejudice, and he +did his best to reverse it. Unfortunately he took the very worst way. Had he +avoided the girls persistently and obviously, he might have interested them +intensely, for nothing is more difficult for a woman to understand than a +woman-hater; and from the days of mother Eve the unknown is rumored to have had +for her sex a powerful fascination. But he tried to win their friendship by +humbleness and kindness, and so only made himself the more cheap in their eyes. +“Fatty Peter,” as they jokingly called him, epitomized in two words +their contempt of him. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did things mend when he went to Harvard. Neither his mother’s +abilities nor his choice were able to secure for him an <i>entrée</i> to +the society which Cambridge and Boston dole out stintedly to certain privileged +collegians. Every Friday afternoon he went home, to return by an early train +Monday morning. In his first year it is to be questioned if he exchanged ten +words with women whose names were known to him, except during these +home-visits. That this could long continue, was impossible. In his second year +he was several times taken by his chum, Watts D’Alloi, to call. But +always with one result. Invariably Peter would be found talking to Mamma, or, +better still, from his point of view, with Pater-familias, while Watts chatted +with the presumptive attractions. Watts laughed at him always. Laughed still +more when one of these calls resulted in a note, “requesting the +pleasure” of Mr. Peter Stirling’s company to dinner. It was Watts +who dictated the acceptance, helped Peter put the finishing touches to his +toilet, and eventually landed him safely in Mrs. Purdie’s parlor. His +description to the boys that night of what followed is worthy of quotation: +</p> + +<p> +“The old fellow shook hands with Mrs. P., O.K. Something was said about +the weather, and then Mrs. P. said, ‘I’ll introduce you to the lady +you are to take down, Mr. Stirling, but I shan’t let you talk to her +before dinner. Look about you and take your choice of whom you would like to +meet?’ Chum gave one agonized look round the room. There wasn’t a +woman over twenty-five in sight! And what do you think the wily old fox said? +Call him simple! Not by a circumstance! A society beau couldn’t have done +it better. Can’t guess? Well, he said, ‘I’d like to talk to +you, Mrs. Purdie.’ Fact! Of course she took it as a compliment, and was +as pleased as could be. Well, I don’t know how on earth he ever got +through his introduction or how he ever reached the dining-room, for my +inamorata was so pretty that I thought of nothing till we were seated, and the +host took her attention for a moment. Then I looked across at chum, who was +directly opposite, to see how he was getting on. Oh, you fellows would have +died to see it! There he sat, looking straight out into vacancy, so plainly +laboring for something to say that I nearly exploded. Twice he opened his lips +to speak, and each time closed them again. The girl of course looked surprised, +but she caught my eye, and entered into the joke, and we both waited for +developments. Then she suddenly said to him, ‘Now let’s talk about +something else.’ It was too much for me. I nearly choked. I don’t +know what followed. Miss Jevons turned and asked me something. But when I +looked again, I could see the perspiration standing on Peter’s forehead, +while the conversation went by jerks and starts as if it was riding over a +ploughed field. Miss Callender, whom he took in, told me afterwards that she +had never had a harder evening’s work in her life. Nothing but +‘yeses’ and ‘noes’ to be got from him. She +wouldn’t believe what I said of the old fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +Three or four such experiences ended Peter’s dining out. He was +recognized as unavailable material. He received an occasional card to a +reception or a dance, for anything in trousers passes muster for such +functions. He always went when invited, and was most dutiful in the +counter-calls. In fact, society was to him a duty which he discharged with the +same plodding determination with which he did his day’s studies. He never +dreamed of taking his social moments frivolously. He did not recognize that +society is very much like a bee colony—stinging those who approached it +shyly and quietly, but to be mastered by a bold beating of tin pans. He neither +danced nor talked, and so he was shunted by the really pleasant girls and +clever women, and passed his time with wall-flowers and unbearables, who, in +their normal sourness, regarded and, perhaps, unconsciously made him feel, +hardly to his encouragement, that his companionship was a sort of penance. If +he had been asked, at the end of his senior year, what he thought of young +women and society, he would probably have stigmatized them, as he himself had +been formerly: “not nice.” All of which, again to apply Mr. +Pierce’s theory, merely meant that the phases which his own +characteristics had shown him, had re-acted on his own mind, and had led him to +conclude that girls and society were equally unendurable. +</p> + +<p> +The condition was a dangerous one, and if psychology had its doctors they would +have predicted a serious heart illness in store for him. How serious, would +depend largely on whether the fever ran its natural course, or whether it was +driven inwards by disappointment. If these doctors had ceased studying his +mental condition and glanced at his physical appearance, they would have had +double cause to shake their heads doubtingly. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was not good-looking. He was not even, in a sense, attractive. In spite +of his taking work so hardly and life so seriously, he was entirely too stout. +This gave a heaviness to his face that neutralized his really pleasant brown +eyes and thick brown hair, which were his best features. Manly the face was, +but, except when speaking in unconscious moments, dull and unstriking. A fellow +three inches shorter, and two-thirds his weight would have been called tall. +“Big” was the favorite adjective used in describing Peter, and big +he was. Had he gone through college ten years later, he might have won +unstinted fame and admiration as the full-back on the team, or stroke on the +crew. In his time, athletics were but just obtaining, and were not yet approved +of either by faculties or families. Shakespeare speaks of a tide in the affairs +of men. Had Peter been born ten years later the probabilities are that his name +would have been in all the papers, that he would have weighed fifty pounds +less, have been cheered by thousands, have been the idol of his class, have +been a hero, have married the first girl he loved (for heroes, curiously, +either marry or die, but never remain bachelors) and would have—but as +this is a tale of fact, we must not give rein to imagination. To come back to +realism, Peter was a hero to nobody but his mother. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the man, who, two weeks after graduation from Harvard, was pacing up +and down the deck of Mr. Pierce’s yacht, the “Sunrise,” as +she drifted with the tide in Long Island Sound. Yet if his expression, as he +walked, could for a moment have been revealed to those seated aft, the face +that all thought dull and uninteresting would have riveted their attention, and +set each one questioning whether there might not be something both heroic and +romantic underneath. The set determination of his look can best be explained by +telling what had given his face such rigid lines. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III.<br/> +A CRAB CHAPTER.</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Pierce and those about him had clearly indicated by the conversation, or +rather monologue, already recorded, that Peter was in a sense an odd number in +the “Sunrise’s” complement of pleasure-seekers. Whether or no +Mr. Pierce’s monologue also indicated that he was not a map who dealt in +odd numbers, or showered hospitality on sons of mill-overseers, the fact was +nevertheless true. “For value received,” or “I hereby promise +to pay,” were favorite formulas of Mr. Pierce, and if not actually +written in such invitations as he permitted his wife to write at his dictation +to people whom he decided should be bidden to the Shrubberies, a longer or +shorter time would develop the words, as if written in sympathetic ink. Yet +Peter had had as pressing an invitation and as warm a welcome at Mr. +Pierce’s country place as had any of the house-party ingathered during +the first week of July. Clearly something made him of value to the owner of the +Shrubberies. That something was his chum, Watts D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +Peter and Watts were such absolute contrasts that it seemed impossible that +they could have an interest or sympathy, in common. Therefore they had become +chums. A chance in their freshman year had brought them together. Watts, with +the refined and delicate sense of humor abounding in collegians, had been +concerned with sundry freshmen in an attempt to steal (or, in collegiate terms, +“rag”) the chapel Bible, with a view to presenting it to some +equally subtle humorists at Yale, expecting a similar courtesy in return from +that college. Unfortunately for the joke, the college authorities had had the +bad taste to guard against the annually attempted substitution. Two of the +marauders were caught, while Watts only escaped by leaving his coat in the +hands of the watchers. Even then he would have been captured had he not met +Peter in his flight, and borrowed the latter’s coat, in which he reached +his room without detection. Peter was caught by the pursuers, and summoned +before the faculty, but he easily proved that the captured coat was not his, +and that he had but just parted from one of the tutors, making it certain that +he could not have been an offender. There was some talk of expelling him for +aiding and abetting in the true culprit’s escape, and for refusing to +tell who it was. Respect for his motives, however, and his unimpeachable record +saved him from everything but an admonition from the president, which changed +into a discussion of cotton printing before that august official had delivered +half of his intended rebuke. People might not enthuse over Peter, but no one +ever quarrelled with him. So the interview, after travelling from cotton prints +to spring radishes, ended with a warm handshake, and a courteous suggestion +that he come again when there should be no charges nor admonitions to go +through with. Watts told him that he was a “devilish lucky” fellow +to have been on hand to help, for Peter had proved his pluck to his class, had +made a friend of the president and, as Watts considerately put it: “but +for your being on the corner at 11:10 that evening, old chap, you’d never +have known me.” Truly on such small chances do the greatest events of our +life turn. Perhaps, could Peter have looked into the future, he would have +avoided that corner. Perhaps, could he have looked even further, he would have +found that in that chance lay the greatest happiness of his life. Who can tell, +when the bitter comes, and we later see how we could have avoided it, what we +should have encountered in its place? Who can tell, when sweet comes, how far +it is sweetened by the bitterness that went before? Dodging the future in this +world is a success equal to that of the old woman who triumphantly announced +that she had borrowed money enough to pay all her debts. +</p> + +<p> +As a matter of course Watts was grateful for the timely assistance, and was not +slow either to say or show it. He told his own set of fellows that he was +“going to take that Stirling up and make him one of us,” and Watts +had a remarkable way of doing what he chose. At first Peter did not respond to +the overtures and insistance of the handsome, well-dressed, free-spending, New +York swell. He was too conscious of the difference between himself and +Watts’s set, to wish or seek identification with them. But no one who +ever came under Watts’s influence could long stand out against his sunny +face and frank manner, and so Peter eventually allowed himself to be +“taken up.” Perhaps the resistance encountered only whetted +Watts’s intention. He was certainly aided by Peter’s isolation. +Whether the cause was single or multiple, Peter was soon in a set from which +many a seemingly far more eligible fellow was debarred. +</p> + +<p> +Strangely enough, it did not change him perceptibly. He still plodded on +conscientiously at his studies, despite laughter and attempts to drag him away +from them. He still lived absolutely within the comfortable allowance that his +mother gave him. He still remained the quiet, serious looking fellow of yore. +The “gang,” as they styled themselves, called him +“kill-joy,” “graveyard,” or “death’s +head,” in their evening festivities, but Peter only puffed at his pipe +good-naturedly, making no retort, and if the truth had really been spoken, not +a man would have changed him a particle. His silence and seriousness added the +dash of contrast needed to make the evening perfect. All joked him. The most +popular verse in a class-song Watts wrote, was devoted to burlesquing his +soberness, the gang never tiring of singing at all hours and places: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“Goodness gracious! Who’s that in the ‘yard’ a yelling in the rain?</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2.5em;">That’s the boy who never gave his mother any pain,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">But now his moral character is sadly on the wane,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">’Tis little Peter Stirling, bilin’ drunk again.</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">Oh, the Sunday-school boy,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 12em;">His mamma’s only joy,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 6em;">Is shouting drunk as usual, and raising Cain!”</span><br/> +</p> + +<p> +Yet joke Peter as they would, in every lark, be it drive, sail, feed, drink, or +smoke, whoever’s else absence was commented upon, his never passed +unnoticed. +</p> + +<p> +In Sophomore year, Watts, without quite knowing why, proposed that they should +share rooms. Nor would he take Peter’s refusal, and eventually succeeded +in reversing it. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t afford your style of living,” Peter had said +quietly, as his principal objection. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll foot the bills for the fixings, so it shan’t cost +you a cent more,” said Watts, and when Peter had finally been won over to +give his assent, Watts had supposed it was on this uneven basis. But in the +end, the joint chambers were more simply furnished than those of the rest of +the gang, who promptly christened them “the hermitage,” and Peter +had paid his half of the expense. And though he rarely had visitors of his own +asking at the chambers, all cost of wine and tobacco was equally borne by him. +</p> + +<p> +The three succeeding years welded very strong bands round these two. It was +natural that they should modify each other strongly, but in truth, as in most +cases, when markedly different characteristics are brought in contact, the only +effect was to accentuate each in his peculiarities. Peter dug at his books all +the harder, by reason of Watts’s neglect of them. Watts became the more +free-handed with his money because of Peter’s prudence. Watts talked more +because of Peter’s silence, and Peter listened more because of +Watts’s talk. Watts, it is true, tried to drag Peter into society, yet in +truth, Peter was really left more alone than if he had been rooming with a less +social fellow. Each had in truth become the complement of the other, and seemed +as mutually necessary as the positive and negative wires in electricity. Peter, +who had been taking the law lectures in addition to the regular academic +course, and had spent his last two summers reading law in an attorney’s +office, in his native town, taking the New York examination in the previous +January, had striven to get Watts to do the same, with the ultimate intention +of their hanging out a joint legal shingle in New York. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see the clients, and work up the cases, Watts, and +you’ll make the speeches and do the social end,” said Peter, making +a rather long speech in the ardor of his wishes. +</p> + +<p> +Watts laughed. “I don’t know, old man. I rather fancy I +shan’t do anything. To do something requires that one shall make up +one’s mind what to do, and that’s such devilish hard work. +I’ll wait till I’ve graduated, and had a chin with my governor +about it Perhaps he’ll make up my mind for me, and so save my brain +tissue. But anyway, you’ll come to New York, and start in, for you must +be within reach of me. Besides, New York’s the only place in this country +worth living in.” +</p> + +<p> +Such were the relations between the two at graduation time. Watts, who had +always prepared his lessons in a tenth part of the time it had taken Peter, +buckled down in the last few weeks, and easily won an honorable mention. Peter +had tried hard to win honors, but failed. +</p> + +<p> +“You did too much outside work, old man,” said Watts, who would +cheerfully have given his own triumph to his friend. “If you want success +in anything, you’ve got to sacrifice other things and concentrate on the +object. The Mention’s really not worth the ink it’s written with, +in my case, but I knew it would please mammy and pappy, so I put on steam, and +got it. If I’d hitched on a lot of freight cars loaded with stuff that +wouldn’t have told in Exams, I never could have been in on time.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter shook his head rather sadly. “You outclass me in brains, Watts, as +much as you do in other things” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” said Watts. “I haven’t one quarter of your +head. But my ancestors—here’s to the old coves—have been +brain-culturing for three hundred years, while yours have been land-culturing; +and of course my brain moves quicker and easier than yours. I take to a book, +by hereditary instinct, as a duck to water, while you are like a yacht, which +needs a heap of building and fitting before she can do the same. But +you’ll beat me in the long run, as easily as the boat does the duck. And +the Honor’s nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Except, as you said, to one’s”—Peter hesitated for a +moment, divided in mind by his wish to quote accurately, and his dislike of +anything disrespectful, and then finished “to one’s mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the last person it’s needed for, chum,” replied +Watts. “If there’s one person that doesn’t need the +world’s or faculty’s opinion to prove one’s merit, it’s +one’s dear, darling, doating, self-deluded and undisillusioned mamma. +Heigh-ho. I’ll be with mine two weeks from now, after we’ve had our +visit at the Pierces’. I’m jolly glad you are going, old man. It +will be a sort of tapering-off time for the summer’s separation. I +don’t see why you insist on starting in at once in New York? No one does +any law business in the summertime. Why, I even think the courts are closed. +Come, you’d better go on to Grey-Court with me, and try it, at least. My +mammy will kill the fatted calf for you in great style.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve settled that once,” said Peter, who was evidently +speaking journalistically, for he had done the settling. +</p> + +<p> +Watts said something in a half-articulate way, which certainly would have fired +the blood of every dime museum-keeper in the country, had they been there to +hear the conversation, for, as well as could be gathered from the mumbling, it +related to a “pig-headed donkey” known of to the speaker. “I +suppose you’ll be backing out of the Pierce affair yet,” he added, +discontentedly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“An invitation to Grey-Court is worth two of the Shrubberies. My mother +knows only the right kind of people, while Mr. Pierce—” +</p> + +<p> +“Is to be our host,” interrupted Peter, but with no shade of +correction in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” laughed Watts, “and he is a host. He’ll not let +any one else get a word in edgewise. You are just the kind of talker +he’ll like. Mark my word, he’ll be telling every one, before +you’ve been two hours in the house, that you are a remarkably brilliant +conversationalist.” +</p> + +<p> +“What will he say of you?” said Peter, in a sentence which he broke +up into reasonable lengths by a couple of pulls at his pipe in the middle of +it. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pierce, chum,” replied Watts, with a look in his eyes which +Peter had learned to associate with mischief on Watts’s part, “has +too great an affection for yours truly to object to anything I do. Do you +suppose, if I hadn’t been sure of my footing at the Shrubberies, that I +should have dared to ask an invitation for”—then Watts hesitated +for a moment, seeing a half-surprised, half-anxious look come into +Peter’s face, “for myself?” he continued. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell truth and shame the devil,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Watts laughed. “Confound you! That’s what comes of letting even +such a stupid old beggar as you learn to read one’s thoughts. It’s +mighty ungrateful of you to use them against me. Yes. I did ask to have you +included in the party. But you needn’t put your back up, Mr. Unbendable, +and think you were forced on them. Mr. Pierce gave me <i>carte blanche</i>, and +if it hadn’t been you, it would have been some other donkey.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Mrs. Pierce?” queried Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” explained Watts, “of course Mrs. Pierce wrote the +letter. I couldn’t do it in my name, and so Mr. Pierce told her to do it. +They’re very land of me, old man, because my governor is the largest +stockholder, and a director in Mr. P.’s bank, and I was told I could +bring down some fellows next week for a few days’ jollity. I didn’t +care to do that, but of course I wouldn’t have omitted you for any amount +of ducats.” +</p> + +<p> +Which explanation solves the mystery of Peter’s presence at the +Shrubberies. To understand his face we must trace the period between his +arrival and the moment this story begins. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV.<br/> +BEGINNINGS.</h2> + +<p> +How far Watts was confining himself to facts in the foregoing dialogue is of no +concern, for the only point of value was that Peter was invited, without regard +to whether Watts first asked Mr. Pierce, or Mr. Pierce first asked Watts. A +letter which the latter wrote to Miss Pierce, as soon as it was settled that +Peter should go, is of more importance, and deserves quotation in full: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +JUNE 7TH. +</p> + +<p> +MY DEAR HELEN— +</p> + +<p> +Between your Pater and my Peter, it has taken an amount of diplomacy to achieve +the scheme we planned last summer, which would be creditable to Palmerston at +his palmiest and have made Bismarck even more marked than he is. But the deed, +the mighty deed is done, and June twenty-ninth will see chum and me at the +Shrubberies “if it kills every cow in the barn,” which is merely +another way of saying that in the bright lexicon of youth, there’s no +such word as fail. +</p> + +<p> +Now a word as to the fellow you are so anxious to meet. I have talked to you so +much about him, that you will probably laugh at my attempting to tell you +anything new. I’m not going to try, and you are to consider all I say as +merely a sort of underlining to what you already know. Please remember that he +will never take a prize for his beauty—nor even for his grace. He has a +pleasing way with girls, not only of not talking himself, but of making it +nearly impossible for them to talk. For instance, if a girl asks me if I play +croquet, which by the way, is becoming very <i>passé</i> (three last +lines verge on poetry) being replaced by a new game called tennis, I probably +say, “No. Do you?” In this way I make croquet good for a ten +minutes’ chat, which in the end leads up to some other subject. Peter, +however, doesn’t. He says “No,” and so the girl can’t +go on with croquet, but must begin a new subject. It is safest to take the +subject-headings from an encyclopædia, and introduce them in alphabetical +order. Allow about ninety to the hour, unless you are brave enough to bear an +occasional silence. If you are, you can reduce this number considerably, and +chum doesn’t mind a pause in the least, if the girl will only look +contented. If she looks worried, however, Peter gets worried, too. Just put the +old chap between you and your mamma at meals, and pull him over any rough spots +that come along. You, I know, will be able to make it easy for him. Neglect me +to any extent. I shan’t be jealous, and shall use that apparent neglect +as an excuse for staying on for a week after he goes, so as to have my innings. +I want the dear old blunderbuss to see how nice a really nice girl can be, so +do your prettiest to him, for the sake of +</p> + +<p> +WATTS CLARKSON D’ALLOI. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +When Watts and Peter saved the “cows in the barn” by stepping off +the train on June 29th, the effect of this letter was manifest. Watts was +promptly bestowed on the front seat of the trap with Mr. Pierce, while Peter +was quickly sitting beside a girl on the back seat. Of course an introduction +had been made, but Peter had acquired a habit of not looking at girls, and as a +consequence had yet to discover how far Miss Pierce came up to the pleasant +word-sketch Watts had drawn of her. Indeed, Peter had looked longingly at the +seat beside Mr. Pierce, and had attempted, in a very obvious manner, though one +which seemed to him the essence of tact and most un-apparent, to have it +assigned to him. But two people, far his superior in natural finesse and +experience, had decided beforehand that he was to sit with Helen, and he could +not resist their skilful manoeuvres. So he climbed into place, hoping that she +wouldn’t talk, or if that was too much to expect, that at least Watts +would half turn and help him through. +</p> + +<p> +Neither of these fitted, however, with Miss Pierce’s plans. She gave +Peter a moment to fit comfortably into his seat, knowing that if she forced the +running before he had done that, he would probably sit awry for the whole +drive. Then: “I can’t tell you how pleased we all are over +Watts’s success. We knew, of course, he could do it if he cared to, but +he seemed to think the attempt hardly worth the making, and so we did not know +if he would try.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter breathed more easily. She had not asked a question, and the intonation of +the last sentence was such as left him to infer that it was not his turn to say +something; which, Peter had noticed, was the way in which girls generally ended +their remarks. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, look at that absurd looking cow,” was her next remark, made +before Peter had begun to worry over the pause. +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at the cow and laughed. He would like to have laughed longer, for +that would have used up time, but the moment he thought the laugh could be +employed in place of conversation, the laugh failed. However, to be told to +look at a cow required no rejoinder, so there was as yet no cause for anxiety. +</p> + +<p> +“We are very proud of our roads about here,” said Miss Pierce. +“When we first bought they were very bad, but papa took the matter in +hand and got them to build with a rock foundation, as they do in Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +Three subjects had been touched upon, and no answer or remark yet forced upon +him. Peter thought of <i>rouge et noir</i>, and wondered what the odds were +that he would be forced to say something by Miss Pierce’s next speech. +</p> + +<p> +“I like the New England roadside,” continued Miss Pierce, with an +apparent relativeness to the last subject that delighted Peter, who was used by +this time to much disconnection of conversation, and found not a little +difficulty in shifting quickly from one topic to another. “There is a +tangled finish about it that is very pleasant. And in August, when the +golden-rod comes, I think it is glorious. It seems to me as if all the hot +sunbeams of the summer had been gathered up in—excuse the +expression—it’s a word of Watts’s—into +‘gobs’ of sunshine, and scattered along the roads and +fields.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter wondered if the request to be excused called for a response, but +concluded that it didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa told me the other day,” continued Miss Pierce, “that +there were nineteen distinct varieties of golden-rod. I had never noticed that +there were any differences.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter began to feel easy and comfortable. He made a mental note that Miss +Pierce had a very sweet voice. It had never occurred to Peter before to notice +if a girl had a pleasant voice. Now he distinctly remembered that several to +whom he had talked—or rather who had talked to him—had not +possessed that attraction. +</p> + +<p> +“Last year,” said Miss Pierce, “when Watts was here, we had a +golden-rod party. We had the whole house decked with it, and yellow lamps on +the lawn.” +</p> + +<p> +“He told me about it,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He really was the soul of it,” said Miss Pierce, “He wove +himself a belt and chaplet of it and wore it all through the evening. He was so +good-looking!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter, quite unconscious that he had said anything, actually continued: +“He was voted the handsomest man of the class.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was he really? How nice!” said Miss Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter. “And it was true.” Peter failed to +notice that a question had been asked, or that he had answered it. He began to +think that he would like to look at Miss Pierce for a moment. Miss Pierce, +during this interval, remarked to herself: “Yes. That was the right way, +Helen, my dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“We had quite a houseful for our party,” Miss Pierce remarked, +after this self-approval. “And that reminds me that I must tell you about +whom you meet to-day.” Then the next ten minutes were consumed in naming +and describing the two fashionable New York girls and their brother, who made +the party then assembled. +</p> + +<p> +During this time Peter’s eyes strayed from Watts’s shapely back, +and took a furtive glance at Miss Pierce. He found that she was looking at him +as she talked, but for some reason it did not alarm him, as such observation +usually did. Before the guests were properly catalogued, Peter was looking into +her eyes as she rambled on, and forgot that he was doing so. +</p> + +<p> +The face that he saw was not one of any great beauty, but it was sweet, and had +a most attractive way of showing every change of mood or thought. It responded +quickly too, to outside influence. Many a girl of more real beauty was less +popular. People liked to talk to Miss Pierce, and many could not escape from +saying more than they wished, impelled thereto by her ready sympathy. Then her +eyes were really beautiful, and she had the trimmest, dearest little figure in +the world; “squeezable” was the word Watts used to describe it, and +most men thought the same. Finally, she had a pleasant way of looking into +people’s eyes as she talked to them, and for some reason people felt very +well satisfied when she did. +</p> + +<p> +It had this effect upon Peter. As he looked down into the large gray eyes, +really slate-color in their natural darkness, made the darker by the shadows of +the long lashes, he entirely forgot place and circumstances; ceased to think +whose turn it was to speak; even forgot to think whether he was enjoying the +moment. In short he forgot himself and, what was equally important, forgot that +he was talking to a girl. He felt and behaved as he did with men. “Moly +hoses!” said Watts to himself on the front seat, “the old +fellow’s getting loquacious. Garrulity must be contagious, and he’s +caught it from Mr. Pierce.” Which, being reduced to actual facts, means +that Peter had spoken eight times, and laughed twice, in the half hour that was +passed between the station and the Shrubberies’ gate. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V.<br/> +MINES AND COUNTER-MINES.</h2> + +<p> +The sight of the party on the veranda of the Shrubberies brought a return of +self-consciousness to Peter, and he braced himself, as the trap slowed up, for +the agony of formal greetings. If Miss Pierce had been a less sweet, +sympathetic girl, she could hardly have kept from smiling at the way +Peter’s face and figure stiffened, as the group came in sight. But Miss +Pierce had decided, before she met Peter, that she should like him, and, +moreover, that he was a man who needed help. Let any woman reach these +conclusions about a man, and for some reason quite beyond logic or philosophy, +he ceases to be ridiculous. So instead of smiling, she bridged over the awful +greetings with feminine engineering skill quite equal to some great strategic +movement in war. Peter was made to shake hands with Mrs. Pierce, but was called +off to help Miss Pierce out of the carriage, before speech was necessary. Then +a bundle was missing in the bottom of the carriage, and Mr. Pawling, the New +York swell, was summoned to help Peter find it, the incident being seized upon +to name the two to each other. Finally, he was introduced to the two girls, +but, almost instantly, Watts and Peter were sent to their rooms; and Miss +Pierce, nodding her head in a way which denoted satisfaction, remarked as she +went to her own room, “Really, Helen, I don’t think it will be so +very hard, after all. He’s very tractable.” +</p> + +<p> +As Peter came downstairs, before dinner, he speculated on whether he should be +able to talk to Miss Pierce. He rather doubted from past experience, if such a +result was attainable, seeing that there were two other men, who would of +course endeavor to do the same. But strangely enough the two men were already +seated by the New York girls, and a vacant chair was next that holding Miss +Pierce. What was more, he was at once summoned to fill it, and in five minutes +was again entirely unconscious of everything but the slate-colored eyes, +looking so pleasantly into his. Then he took Miss Pierce in to dinner, and sat +between her and her mother again becoming absorbed in the slate-colored eyes, +which seemed quite willing to be absorbed. After dinner, too, when the women +had succeeded the weed, Peter in someway found it very easy to settle himself +near Miss Pierce. Later that night Peter sat in his room, or rather, with half +his body out of the window, puffing his pipe, and thinking how well he had gone +through the day. He had not made a single slip. Nothing to groan over. +“I’m getting more experienced,” he thought, with the vanity +noticeable in even the most diffident of collegians, never dreaming that +everything that he had said or done in the last few hours, had been made easy +for him by a woman’s tact. +</p> + +<p> +The following week was practically a continuation of this first day. In truth +Peter was out of his element with the fashionables; Mr. Pierce did not choose +to waste his power on him; and Mrs. Pierce, like the yielding, devoted wife she +was, took her coloring from her husband. Watts had intended to look after him, +but Watts played well on the piano, and on the billiard table; he rowed well +and rode well; he sang, he danced, he swam, he talked, he played all games, he +read aloud capitally, and, what was more, was ready at any or all times for any +or all things. No man who can do half these had better intend seriously to do +some duty in a house-party in July. For, however good his intentions, he will +merely add to the pavement of a warmer place than even a July temperature makes +Long Island Sound. Instinctively, Peter turned to Miss Pierce at every +opportunity. He should have asked himself if the girl was really enjoying his +company more than she did that of the other young people. Had he been to the +manner born he would have known better than to force himself on a hostess, or +to make his monopoly of a young girl so marked. But he was entirely oblivious +of whether he was doing as he ought, conscious only that, for causes which he +made no attempt to analyze, he was very happy when with her. For reasons best +known to Miss Pierce, she allowed herself to be monopolized. She was even +almost as devoted to Peter as he was to her, and no comparison could be +stronger. It is to be questioned if she enjoyed it very much, for Peter was not +talkative, and the little he did say was neither brilliant nor witty. With the +jollity and “high jinks” (to use a word of Watts’s) going on +about her, it is hardly possible that Peter’s society shone by contrast. +Yet in drawing-room or carriage, on the veranda, lawn, or yacht’s deck, +she was ever ready to give him as much of her attention and help as he seemed +to need, and he needed a good deal. Watts jokingly said that “the moment +Peter comes in sight, Helen puts out a sign ‘vacant, to +let,’” and this was only one of many jokes the house-party made +over the dual devotion. +</p> + +<p> +It was an experience full of danger to Peter. For the first time in his life he +was seeing the really charming phases which a girl has at command. Attractive +as these are to all men, they were trebly so to Peter, who had nothing to +compare with them but the indifferent attitudes hitherto shown him by the +maidens of his native town, and by the few Boston women who had been compelled +to “endure” his society. If he had had more experience he would +have merely thought Miss Pierce a girl with nice eyes, figure and manner. But +as a single glass of wine is dangerous to the teetotaller, so this episode had +an over-balancing influence on Peter, entirely out of proportion to its true +value. Before the week was over he was seriously in love, and though his +natural impassiveness and his entire lack of knowledge how to convey his +feelings to Miss Pierce, prevented her from a suspicion of the fact, the more +experienced father and mother were not so blind. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Charles,” said Mrs. Pierce, in the privacy of their own +room, “I think it ought to be stopped.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly, my dear,” replied her other half, with an apparent +yielding to her views that amazed and rather frightened Mrs. Pierce, till he +continued: “Beyond question <i>it</i> should be stopped, since you say +so. <i>It</i> is neuter, and as neutral things are highly objectionable, stop +<i>it</i> by all means.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean Mr. Stirling—” began Mrs. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” interrupted Mr. Pierce, in an encouraging, inquiring tone. +“Peter is certainly neuter. I think one might say negative, without gross +exaggeration. Still, I should hardly stop him. He finds enough difficulty in +getting out an occasional remark without putting a stopper in him. Perhaps, +though, I mistake your meaning, and you want Peter merely to stop here a little +longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean, dear,” replied Mrs. Pierce, with something like a tear in +her voice, for she was sadly wanting in a sense of humor, and her +husband’s jokes always half frightened her, and invariably made her feel +inferior to him, “I mean his spending so much time with Helen. I’m +afraid he’ll fall in love with her.” +</p> + +<p> +“My dear,” said Mr. Pierce, “you really should be a +professional mind-reader. Your suggestion comes as an awful revelation to me. +Just supposing he should—aye—just supposing he has, fallen in love +with Helen!” +</p> + +<p> +“I really think he has,” said Mrs. Pierce, “though he is so +different from most men, that I am not sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then by all means we must stop him. By the way, how does one stop a +man’s falling in love?” asked Mr. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“Charles!” said Mrs. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +This remark of Mrs. Pierce’s generally meant a resort to a handkerchief, +and Mr. Pierce did not care for any increase of atmospheric humidity just then. +He therefore concluded that since his wit was taken seriously, he would try a +bit of seriousness, as an antidote. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think there is any occasion to interfere. Whatever Peter +does can make no difference, for it is perfectly evident that Helen is nice to +him as a sort of duty, and, I rather suspect, to please Watts. So anything she +may do will be a favor to him, while the fact that she is attractive to Peter +will not lessen her value to—others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you don’t think—?” asked Mrs. Pierce, and paused +there. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t insult my intelligence,” laughed Mr. Pierce. “I +do think. I think things can’t be going better. I was a little afraid of +Mr. Pawling, and should have preferred to have him and his sisters later, but +since it is policy to invite them and they could not come at any other time, it +was a godsend to have sensible, dull old Peter to keep her busy. If he had been +in the least dangerous, I should not have interfered, but I should have made +him very ridiculous. That’s the way for parents to treat an ineligible +man. Next week, when all are gone but Watts, he will have his time, and shine +the more by contrast with what she has had this week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you think Helen and Watts care for each other?” asked Mrs. +Pierce, flushing with pleasure, to find her own opinion of such a delightful +possibility supported by her husband’s. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Mr. Pierce, “that the less we parents concern +ourselves with love the better. If I have made opportunities for Helen and +Watts to see something of each other, I have only done what was to their mutual +interests. Any courtesy I have shown him is well enough accounted for on the +ground of his father’s interest in my institution, without the assumption +of any matrimonial intentions. However, I am not opposed to a marriage. Watts +is the son of a very rich man of the best social position in New York, besides +being a nice fellow in himself. Helen will make any man a good wife, and +whoever wins her will not be the poorer. If the two can fix it between +themselves, I shall cry <i>nunc dimittis</i>, but further than this, the +deponent saith and doeth not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure they love each other,” said Mrs. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Mr. Pierce, “I think if most parents would +decide whom it was best for their child to marry, and see that the young people +saw just enough of each other, before they saw too much of the world, they +could accomplish their purpose, provided they otherwise kept their finger out +of the pot of love. There is a certain period in a man’s life when he +must love something feminine, even if she’s as old as his grandmother. +There is a certain period in a girl’s life when it is well-nigh +impossible for her to say ‘no’ to a lover. He really only loves the +sex, and she really loves the love and not the lover; but it is just as well, +for the delusion lasts quite as long as the more personal love that comes +later. And, being young, they need less breaking for double harness.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. Pierce winced. Most women do wince when a man really verges on his true +conclusions concerning love in the abstract, however satisfactory his love in +the concrete may be to them. “I am sure they love each other,” she +affirmed. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I think they do,” replied Mr. Pierce. “But five years +in the world before meeting would have possibly brought quite a different +conclusion. And now, my dear, if we are not going to have the young people +eloping in the yacht by themselves, we had better leave both the subject and +the room, for we have kept them fifteen minutes as it is.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI.<br/> +A MONOLOGUE AND A DIALOGUE.</h2> + +<p> +It was at the end of this day’s yachting that Peter was having his +“unsocial walk.” Early on the morrow he would be taking the train +for his native town, and the thought of this, in connection with other +thoughts, drew stern lines on his face. His conclusions were something to this +effect: +</p> + +<p> +“I suspected before coming that Watts and Miss Pierce loved each other. I +was evidently wrong, for if they did they could not endure seeing so little of +each other. How could he know her and not love her? But it’s very +fortunate for me, for I should stand no chance against him, even supposing I +should try to win the girl he loved. She can’t care for me! As Watts +says, ‘I’m an old stupid naturally, and doubly so with +girls.’ Still, I can’t go to-morrow without telling her. I +shan’t see her again till next winter. I can’t wait till then. Some +one else—I can’t wait.” +</p> + +<p> +Then he strode up and down half a dozen times repeating the last three words +over and over again. His thoughts took a new turn. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s simply folly, and you have no right to give in to it. You +have your own way to make. You have no right to ask mother for more than the +fifteen hundred she says you are to have as an allowance, for you know that if +she gave you more, it would be only by scrimping herself. What is fifteen +hundred a year to such a girl? Why, her father would think I was joking!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Peter looked out on the leaden waters and wished it was not cowardly to +end the conflict by letting them close over him. The dark color made him think, +however, of a pair of slate-colored eyes, so instead of jumping in, he repeated +“I can’t wait” a few times, and walked with redoubled energy. +Having stimulated himself thereby, he went on thinking. +</p> + +<p> +“She has been so kind to me that—no—she can’t care for +me. But if she—if by chance—if—supposing she does! Why, the +money is nothing. We can wait.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter repeated this last remark several times, clearly showing that he made a +great distinction between “I can wait” and “We can +wait.” Probably the same nice distinction has been made before, and +lovers have good authority for the distinction, for many an editor’s +public “We think” is the exact opposite of his private “I +think.” Then Peter continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I shall have difficulty with Mr. Pierce. He’s a worldly +man. That’s nothing, though, if she cares for me. If she cares for +me?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter repeated this last sentence a number of times and seemed to enjoy the +prospect it conjured up. He saw Peter Stirling taking a fond farewell of a +certain lady. He saw him entering the arena and struggling with the wild +beasts, and of course conquering them. He saw the day when his successes would +enable him to set up his own fireside. He saw that fireside made perfect by a +pair of slate-colored eyes, which breakfast opposite him, follow him as he +starts for his work, and greet him on his return. A pair of eyes to love when +present, and think of when absent. Heigho! How many firesides and homes have +been built out of just such materials! +</p> + +<p> +From all this the fact can be gathered that Peter was really, despite his calm, +sober nature, no more sensible in love matters than are other boys verging on +twenty-one. He could not see that success in this love would be his greatest +misfortune. That he could not but be distracted from his work. That he would +almost certainly marry before he could well afford it, and thus overweight +himself in his battle for success. He forgot prudence and common-sense, and +that being what a lover usually does, he can hardly be blamed for it. +</p> + +<p> +Bump! +</p> + +<p> +Down came the air-castle. Home, fireside, and the slate-colored eyes dissolved +into a wooden wharf. The dream was over. +</p> + +<p> +“Bear a hand here with these lunch-baskets, chum,” called Watts. +“Make yourself useful as well as ornamental.” +</p> + +<p> +And so Peter’s solitary tramp ceased, and he was helping lunch-baskets +and ladies to the wharf. +</p> + +<p> +But the tramp had brought results which were quickly to manifest themselves. As +the party paired off for the walk to the Shrubberies, both Watts and Peter +joined Miss Pierce, which was not at all to Peter’s liking. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on with the rest, Watts,” said Peter quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Miss Pierce and Watts both stopped short in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” said the latter. +</p> + +<p> +“You join the rest of the party on ahead,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand,” said Watts, who could hardly have been +more surprised if Peter had told him to drown himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to say something to Miss Pierce,” explained Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Watts caught his breath. If Peter had not requested his absence and given his +reason for wishing it, in Miss Pierce’s hearing, Watts would have formed +an instant conclusion as to what it meant, not far from the truth. But that a +man should deliberately order another away, in the girl’s hearing, so +that he might propose to her, was too great an absurdity for Watts to entertain +for more than a second. He laughed, and said, “Go on yourself, if you +don’t like the company.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “I want you to go on.” Peter spoke +quietly, but there was an inflexion in his singularly clear voice, which had +more command in it than a much louder tone in others. Watts had learned to +recognize it, and from past experience knew that Peter was not to be moved when +he used it. But here the case was different. Hitherto he had been trying to +make Peter do something. Now the boot was on the other leg, and Watts saw +therein a chance for some fun. He therefore continued to stand still, as they +had all done since Peter had exploded his first speech, and began to whistle. +Both men, with that selfishness common to the sex, failed entirely to consider +whether Miss Pierce was enjoying the incident. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” remarked Miss Pierce, “that I will leave you two +to settle it, and run on with the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t,” spoke Peter quickly. “I have something to say +to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts stopped his whistling. “What the deuce is the old boy up to?” +he thought to himself. Miss Pierce hesitated. She wanted to go, but something +in Peter’s voice made it very difficult. “I had no idea he could +speak so decidedly. He’s not so tractable as I thought. I think Watts +ought to do what he asks. Though I don’t see why Mr. Stirling wants to +send him away,” she said to herself. +</p> + +<p> +“Watts,” said Peter, “this is the last chance I shall really +have to thank Miss Pierce, for I leave before breakfast to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +There was nothing appealing in the way it was said. It seemed a mere statement +of a fact. Yet something in the voice gave it the character of a command. +</p> + +<p> +“’Nough said, chum,” said Watts, feeling a little cheap at +his smallness in having tried to rob Peter of his farewell. The next moment he +was rapidly overtaking the advance-party. +</p> + +<p> +By all conventions there should have been an embarrassing pause after this +extraordinary colloquy, but there was not. When Peter decided to do a thing, he +never faltered in the doing. If making love or declaring it had been a matter +of directness and plain-speaking, Peter would have been a successful lover. But +few girls are won by lovers who carry business methods and habits of speech +into their courtship. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Pierce,” said Peter, “I could not go without thanking +you for your kindness to me. I shall never forget this week.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am so glad you have enjoyed it,” almost sang Miss Pierce, in her +pleasure at this reward for her week of self-sacrifice. +</p> + +<p> +“And I couldn’t go,” said Peter, his clear voice suddenly +husking, “without telling you how I love you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Love me!” exclaimed Miss Pierce, and she brought the walk again to +a halt, in her surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied Peter simply, but the monosyllable meant more than +the strongest protestations, as he said it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” almost cried his companion, “I am so sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say that,” said Peter; “I don’t want it to +be a sorrow to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s so sudden,” gasped Miss Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it is,” said Peter, “but I love you and +can’t help telling it. Why shouldn’t one tell one’s love as +soon as one feels it? It’s the finest thing a man can tell a +woman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please don’t,” begged Miss Pierce, her eyes full of +tears in sympathy for him. “You make it so hard for me to say +that—that you mustn’t” +</p> + +<p> +“I really didn’t think you could care for me—as I cared for +you,” replied Peter, rather more to the voice than to the words of the +last speech. “Girls have never liked me.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Pierce began to sob. “It’s all a mistake. A dreadful +mistake,” she cried, “and it is my fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say that,” said Peter, “It’s nothing but +my blundering.” +</p> + +<p> +They walked on in silence to the Shrubberies, but as they came near to the +glare of the lighted doorway, Peter halted a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think,” he asked, “that it could ever be +different?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Miss Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“Because, unless there is—is some one else,” continued Peter, +“I shall not——” +</p> + +<p> +“There is,” interrupted Miss Pierce, the determination in +Peter’s voice frightening her info disclosing her secret. +</p> + +<p> +Peter said to himself, “It is Watts after all.” He was tempted to +say it aloud, and most men in the sting of the moment would have done so. But +he thought it would not be the speech of a gentleman. Instead he said, +“Thank you.” Then he braced himself, and added: “Please +don’t let my love cause you any sorrow. It has been nothing but a joy to +me. Good-night and good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +He did not even offer to shake hands in parting. They went into the hallway +together, and leaving the rest of the party, who were already raiding the +larder for an impromptu supper, to their own devices, they passed upstairs, +Miss Pierce to bathe her eyes and Peter to pack his belongings. +</p> + +<p> +“Where are Helen and Stirling?” inquired Mr. Pierce when the time +came to serve out the Welsh rarebit he was tending. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll be along presently,” said Watts. “Helen forgot +something, and they went back after it.” +</p> + +<p> +“They will be properly punished by the leathery condition of the rarebit, +if they don’t hurry. And as we are all agreed that Stirling is somewhat +lacking in romance, he will not get a corresponding pleasure from the longer +stroll to reward him for that. There, ladies and gentlemen, that is a rarebit +that will melt in your mouth, and make the absent ones regret their +foolishness. As the gourmand says in ‘Richelieu,’ +‘What’s diplomacy compared to a delicious +pâté?’” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII.<br/> +FACING THE WORLD.</h2> + +<p> +Army surgeons recognize three types of wounded. One type so nervous, that it +drops the moment it is struck, whether the wound is disabling or not. Another +so nerveless, that it fights on, unconscious that it has been hit. A third, +who, feeling the wound, goes on fighting, sustained by its nerve. It is over +the latter sort that the surgeons shake their heads and look anxious. +</p> + +<p> +Peter did his packing quietly and quickly, not pausing for a moment in the +task. Then he went downstairs, and joined the party, just finishing the supper. +He refused, it is true, to eat anything, and was quiet, but this phase was so +normal in him, that it occasioned no remark. Asked where Miss Pierce was, he +explained briefly that he had left her in the hall, in order to do his packing +and had not seen her since. +</p> + +<p> +In a few moments the party broke up. Peter said a good-bye to each, quite +conscious of what he was doing, yet really saying more and better things than +he had said in his whole visit, and quite surprising them all in the apparent +ease with which he went through the duty. +</p> + +<p> +“You must come and see us when you have put your shingle out in New +York,” said Mr. Pierce, not quite knowing why, having previously decided +that they had had enough of Peter. “We shall be in the city early in +September, and ready to see our friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” replied Peter. He turned and went upstairs to his +room. He ought to have spent the night pacing his floor, but he did not. He +went to bed instead Whether Peter slept, we cannot say. He certainly lay very +still, till the first ray of daylight brightened the sky. Then he rose and +dressed. He went to the stables and explained to the groom that he would walk +to the station, and merely asked that his trunk should be there in time to be +checked. Then he returned to the house and told the cook that he would +breakfast on the way. Finally he started for the station, diverging on the way, +so as to take a roundabout road, that gave him a twelve-mile tramp in the time +he had before the train left. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps the hardest thing Peter encountered was answering his mother’s +questions about the visit. Yet he never flinched nor dodged from a true reply, +and if his mother had chosen, she could have had the whole story. But something +in the way Peter spoke of Miss Pierce made Mrs. Stirling careful, and whatever +she surmised she kept to herself, merely kissing him good-night with a +tenderness that was unusual not merely in a New-Englander, but even in her. +During the rest of his stay, the Pierces were quite as much kept out of sight, +as if they had never been known. Mrs. Stirling was not what we should call a +“lady,” yet few of those who rank as such, would have been as +considerate or tender of Peter’s trouble, if the power had been given +them to lay it bare. Love, sympathy, unselfishness and forbearance are not bad +equivalents for breeding and etiquette, and have the additional advantage of +meeting new and unusual conditions which sometimes occur to even the most +conventional. +</p> + +<p> +One hope did come to her, “Perhaps, now that”—and Mrs. +Stirling left “that” blank even in her thoughts; “now my boy, +my Peter, will not be so set on going to New York.” In this, however, she +was disappointed. On the second day of his stay, Peter spoke of his intention +to start for New York the following week. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think you could do as well here?” said Mrs. +Stirling. +</p> + +<p> +“Up to a certain point, better. But New York has a big beyond,” +said Peter. “I’ll try it there first, and if I don’t make my +way, I’ll come back here” +</p> + +<p> +Few mothers hope for a son’s failure, yet Mrs. Stirling allowed herself a +moment’s happiness over this possibility. Then remembering that her Peter +could not possibly fail, she became despondent. “They say New +York’s full of temptations,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it is, mother,” replied Peter, “to those who want +to be tempted.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know I can trust you, Peter,” said his mother, proudly, +“but I want you to promise me one thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“That if you do yield, if you do what you oughtn’t to, you’ll +write and tell me about it?” Mrs. Stirling put her arms about +Peter’s neck, and looked wistfully into his face. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was not blind to what this world is. Perhaps, had his mother known it as +he did, she might have seen how unfair her petition was. He did not like to say +yes, and could not say no. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try to go straight, mother,” he replied, “but +that’s a good deal to promise.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all I’m going to ask of you, Peter,” urged Mrs. +Stirling. +</p> + +<p> +“I have gone through four years of my life with nothing in it I +couldn’t tell her,” thought Peter. “If that’s possible, +I guess another four is.” Then he said aloud, “Well, mother, since +you want it, I’ll do it.” +</p> + +<p> +The reason of Peter’s eagerness to get to New York, was chiefly to have +something definite to do. He tried to obtain this distraction of occupation, at +present, in a characteristic way, by taking excessively long walks, and by +struggling with his mother’s winter supply of wood. He thought that every +long stride and every swing of the axe was working him free from the crushing +lack of purpose that had settled upon him. He imagined it would be even easier +when he reached New York. “There’ll be plenty to keep me busy +there,” was his mental hope. +</p> + +<p> +All his ambitions and plans seemed in a sense to have become meaningless, made +so by the something which but ten days before had been unknown to him. Like +Moses he had seen the promised land. But Moses died. He had seen it, and must +live on without it. He saw nothing in the future worth striving for, except a +struggle to forget, if possible, the sweetest and dearest memory he had ever +known. He thought of the epigram: “Most men can die well, but few can +live well.” Three weeks before he had smiled over it and set it down as a +bit of French cynicism. Now—on the verge of giving his mental assent to +the theory, a pair of slate-colored eyes in some way came into his mind, and +even French wit was discarded therefrom. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was taking his disappointment very seriously, if quietly. Had he only +known other girls, he might have made a safe recovery, for love’s remedy +is truly the homeopathic “similia similibus curantur,” woman plural +being the natural cure for woman singular. As the Russian in the “Last +Word” says, “A woman can do anything with a man—provided +there is no other woman.” In Peter’s case there was no other woman. +What was worse, there seemed little prospect of there being one in the future. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII.<br/> +SETTLING.</h2> + +<p> +The middle of July found Peter in New York, eager to begin his grapple with the +future. How many such stormers have dashed themselves against its high +ramparts, from which float the flags of “worldly success;” how many +have fallen at the first attack; how many have been borne away, stricken in the +assault; how many have fought on bravely, till driven back by pressure, +sickness or hunger; how few have reached the top, and won their colors! +</p> + +<p> +As already hinted, Peter had chosen the law as his ladder to climb these +ramparts. Like many another fellow he had but a dim comprehension of the +struggle before him. His college mates had talked over professions, and agreed +that law was a good one in New York. The attorney in his native town, +“had known of cases where men without knowing a soul in a place, had +started in and by hard work and merit had built up a good practice, and I +don’t see why it can’t be done as well in New York as in Lawrence +or Lowell. If New York is bigger, then there is more to be done.” So +Peter, whose New York acquaintances were limited to Watts and four other +collegians, the Pierces and their fashionables, and a civil engineer originally +from his native town, had decided that the way to go about it was to get an +office, hang up a sign, and wait for clients. +</p> + +<p> +On the morning after his arrival, his first object was a lodging. Selecting +from the papers the advertisements of several boarding-houses, he started in +search of one. Watts had told him about where to locate, “so as to live +in a decent part of the city,” but after seeing and pricing a few rooms +near the “Avenue,” about Thirtieth Street, Peter saw that Watts had +been thinking of his own purse, rather than of his friend’s. +</p> + +<p> +“Can you tell me where the cheaper boarding-houses are?” he asked +the woman who had done the honors of the last house. +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s cheapness you want, you’d better go to Bleecker +Street,” said the woman with a certain contemptuousness. +</p> + +<p> +Peter thanked her, and, walking away, accosted the first policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Blaker Strate, is it? Take the Sixth Avenue cars, there +beyant,” he was informed. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a respectable street?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be afther takin’ away a strate’s +character,” said the policeman, grinning good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I mean,” explained Peter, “do respectable people live +there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure, it’s mostly boarding-houses for young men,” replied +the unit of “the finest.” “Ye know best what they’re +loike.” +</p> + +<p> +Reassured, Peter, sought and found board in Bleecker Street, not comprehending +that he had gone to the opposite extreme. It was a dull season, and he had no +difficulty in getting such a room as suited both his expectations and purse. By +dinner-time he had settled his simple household goods to his satisfaction, and +slightly moderated the dreariness of the third floor front, so far as the few +pictures and other furnishings from his college rooms could modify the effect +of well-worn carpet, cheap, painted furniture, and ugly wall-paper. +</p> + +<p> +Descending to his dinner, in answer to a bell more suitable for a fire-alarm +than for announcing such an ordinary occurrence as meals, he was introduced to +the four young men who were all the boarders the summer season had left in the +house. Two were retail dry-goods clerks, another filled some function in a +butter and cheese store, and the fourth was the ticket-seller at one of the +middle-grade theatres. They all looked at Peter’s clothes before looking +at his face, and though the greetings were civil enough, Peter’s +ready-made travelling suit, bought in his native town, and his quiet cravat, as +well as his lack of jewelry, were proof positive to them that he did not merit +any great consideration. It was very evident that the ticket-seller, not merely +from his natural self-assertion but even more because of his enviable +acquaintance with certain actresses and his occasional privileges in the way of +free passes, was the acknowledged autocrat of the table. Under his guidance the +conversation quickly turned to theatrical and “show” talk. Much of +it was vulgar, and all of it was dull. It was made the worse by the fact that +they all tried to show, off a little before the newcomer, to prove their +superiority and extreme knowingness to him. To make Peter the more conscious of +this, they asked him various questions. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you like—?” a popular soubrette of the day. +</p> + +<p> +“What, never seen her? Where on earth have you been living?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh? Well, she’s got too good legs to waste herself on such a +little place.” +</p> + +<p> +They would like to have asked him questions about himself, but feared to seem +to lower themselves from their fancied superiority, by showing interest in +Peter. One indeed did ask him what business he was in. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t got to work yet,” answered Peter +</p> + +<p> +“Looking for a place” was the mental comment of all, for they could +not conceive of any one entitled to practise law not airing his advantage. So +they went on patronizing Peter, and glorifying themselves. When time had +developed the facts that he was a lawyer, a college graduate, and a man who +seemed to have plenty of money (from the standpoint of dry-goods clerks) their +respect for him considerably increased. He could not, however, overcome his +instinctive dislike to them. After the manly high-minded, cultivated Harvard +classmates, every moment of their society was only endurable, and he neither +went to their rooms nor asked them to his. Peter had nothing of the snob in +him, but he found reading or writing, or a tramp about the city, much the +pleasanter way of passing his evenings. +</p> + +<p> +The morning after this first day in New York, Peter called on his friend, the +civil engineer, to consult him about an office; for Watts had been rather hazy +in regard to where he might best locate that. Mr. Converse shook his head when +Peter outlined his plan. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know any New York people,” he asked, “who will be +likely to give you cases?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s absolutely foolish of you to begin that way,” said +Mr. Converse. “Get into a lawyer’s office, and make friends first +before you think of starting by yourself. You’ll otherwise never get a +client.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter shook his head. “I’ve thought it out,” he added, as if +that settled it. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Converse looked at him, and, really liking the fellow, was about to explain +the real facts to him, when a client came in. So he only said, “If +that’s so, go ahead. Locate on Broadway, anywhere between the Battery and +Canal Street.” Later in the day, when he had time, he shook his head, and +said, “Poor devil! Like all the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +Anywhere between the Battery and Canal Street represented a fairly large range +of territory, but Peter went at the matter directly, and for the next three +days passed his time climbing stairs, and inspecting rooms and dark cells. At +the end of that time he took a moderate-sized office, far back in a building +near Worth Street. Another day saw it fitted with a desk, two chairs (for Peter +as yet dreamed only of single clients) and a shelf containing the few law books +that were the monuments of his Harvard law course, and his summer reading. On +the following Monday, when Peter faced his office door he felt a glow of +satisfaction at seeing in very black letters on the very newly scrubbed glass +the sign of: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +PETER STIRLING +</p> + +<p> +ATTORNEY AND COUNSELLOR-AT-LAW. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +He had come to his office early, not merely because at his boarding place they +breakfasted betimes, but because he believed that early hours were one way of +winning success. He was a little puzzled what to do with himself. He sat down +at his desk and thrummed it for a minute. Then he rose, and spread his books +more along the shelf, so as to leave little spaces between them, thinking that +he could make them look more imposing thereby. After that he took down a +book—somebody “On Torts,”—and dug into it. In the +Harvard course, he had had two hours a week of this book, but Peter worked over +it for nearly three hours. Then he took paper, and in a very clear, beautifully +neat hand, made an abstract of what he had read. Then he compared his abstract +with the book. Returning the book to the shelf, very much pleased with the +accuracy of his memory, he looked at his watch. It was but half-past eleven. +Peter sat down at his desk. “Would all the days go like this?” he +asked himself. He had got through the first week by his room and office-seeking +and furnishing. But now? He could not read law for more than four hours a day, +and get anything from it. What was to be done with the rest of the time? What +could he do to keep himself from thinking of—from thinking? He looked out +of his one window, over the dreary stretch of roofs and the drearier light +shafts spoken of flatteringly as yards. He compressed his lips, and resorted +once more to his book. But he found his mind wandering, and realized that he +had done all he was equal to on a hot July morning. Again he looked out over +the roofs. Then he rose and stood in the middle at his room, thinking. He +looked at his watch again, to make sure that he was right. Then he opened his +door and glanced about the hall. It was one blank, except for the doors. He +went down the two flights of stairs to the street. Even that had the deserted +look of summer. He turned and went back to his room. Sitting down once more at +his desk, and opening somebody “On Torts” again, he took up his pen +and began to copy the pages literally. He wrote steadily for a time, then with +pauses. Finally, the hand ceased to follow the lines, and became straggly. Then +he ceased to write. The words blurred, the paper faded from view, and all Peter +saw was a pair of slate-colored eyes. He laid his head down on the blotter, and +the erect, firm figure relaxed. +</p> + +<p> +There is no more terrible ordeal of courage than passive waiting. Most of us +can be brave with something to do, but to be brave for months, for years, with +nothing to be done and without hope of the future! So it was in Peter’s +case. It was waiting—waiting—for what? If clients came, if fame +came, if every form of success came,—for what? +</p> + +<p> +There is nothing in loneliness to equal the loneliness of a big city. About +him, so crowded and compressed together as to risk life and health, were a +million people. Yet not a soul of that million knew that Peter sat at his desk, +with his head on his blotter, immovable, from noon one day till daylight of the +next. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX.<br/> +HAPPINESS BY PROXY.</h2> + +<p> +The window of Peter’s office faced east, and the rays of the morning sun +shining dazzlingly in his eyes forced him back to a consciousness of things +mundane. He rose, and went downstairs, to find the night watch-man just opening +the building. Fortunately he had already met the man, so that he was not +suspected as an intruder; and giving him a pleasant “good-morning,” +Peter passed into the street. It was a good morning indeed, with all that +freshness and coolness which even a great city cannot take from a summer dawn. +For some reason Peter felt more encouraged. Perhaps it was the consciousness of +having beaten his loneliness and misery by mere physical endurance. Perhaps it +was only the natural spring of twenty years. At all events, he felt dimly, that +miserable and unhopeful as the future looked, he was not conquered yet; that he +was going to fight on, come what might. +</p> + +<p> +He turned to the river front, and after bargaining with a passing cart for a +pint of what the poorer people of the city buy as milk, he turned north, and +quickening his pace, walked till he had left the city proper and had reached +the new avenue or “drive,” which, by the liberality of Mr. Tweed +with other people’s money, was then just approaching completion. After +walking the length of it, he turned back to his boarding-place, and after a +plunge, felt as if he could face and fight the future to any extent. +</p> + +<p> +As a result of this he was for the first time late at breakfast The presider +over the box-office had ascertained that Peter had spent the night out, and had +concluded he would have a gird or two at him. He failed, however, to carry out +his intention. It was not the first time that both he and his companions had +decided to “roast” Peter, absent, but had done other wise with +Peter, present. He had also decided to say to Peter, “Who’s your +dandy letter-writer?” But he also failed to do that. This last intention +referred to a letter that lay at Peters place, and which was examined by each +of the four in turn. That letter had an air about it. It was written on linen +paper of a grade which, if now common enough, was not so common at that time. +Then it was postmarked from one of the most, fashionable summer resorts of the +country. Finally, it was sealed with wax, then very unusual, and the wax bore +the impression of a crest. They were all rather disappointed when Peter put +that letter in his pocket, without opening it. +</p> + +<p> +Peter read the letter at his office that morning. It was as follows: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +GREY-COURT, July 21st. +</p> + +<p> +DEAR. OLD MAN— +</p> + +<p> +Like a fool I overslept myself on the morning you left, so did not get my talk +with you. You know I never get up early, and never can, so you have only your +refusal to let me in that night to blame for our not having a last chat. If I +had had the news to tell you that I now have, I should not have let you keep me +out, even if you had forced me to break my way in. +</p> + +<p> +Chum, the nicest girl in the world has told me that she loves me, and we are +both as happy as happy can be, I know you will not be in a moment’s doubt +as to who she is, I have only run down here to break it to my family, and shall +go back to the Shrubberies early next week—to talk to Mr. Pierce, you +understand! +</p> + +<p> +My governor has decided that a couple of years’ travel will keep me out +of mischief as well as anything else he can devise, and as the prospect is not +unpleasant, I am not going to let my new plans interfere with it, merely making +my journeyings a <i>solitude à deux</i>, instead of solus. So we shall +be married in September, at the Shrubberies, and sail for Europe almost +immediately. +</p> + +<p> +Now, I want you to stand by me in this, as you have in other things, and help +me through. I want you, in short, to be my “best man” as you have +been my Best friend. “Best man,” I should inform you, is an English +wedding institution, which our swell people have suddenly discovered is a +necessity to make a marriage ceremony legal. He doesn’t do much. Holding +his principal’s hat, I believe, is the most serious duty that falls to +him, though perhaps not stepping on the bridal dresses is more difficult. +</p> + +<p> +My Mamma wants me to drive with her, so this must be continued in our next. +</p> + +<p> +Aff., +</p> + +<p> +W. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Peter did not read law that morning. But after sitting in his chair for a +couple of hours, looking at the opposite wall, and seeing something quite +different, he took his pen, and without pause, or change of face, wrote two +letters, as follows: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +DEAR WATTS: +</p> + +<p> +You hardly surprised me by your letter. I had suspected, both from your +frequent visits to the Shrubberies, and from a way in which you occasionally +spoke of Miss Pierce, that you loved her. After seeing her, I felt that it was +not possible you did not. So I was quite prepared for your news. You have +indeed been fortunate in winning such a girl. That I wish you every joy and +happiness I need not say. +</p> + +<p> +I think you could have found some other of the fellows better suited to stand +with you, but if you think otherwise, I shall not fail you. +</p> + +<p> +You will have to tell me about details, clothes, etc. Perhaps you can suggest a +gift that will do? I remember Miss Pierce saying she was very fond of pearls. +Would it be right to give something of that kind? +</p> + +<p> +Faithfully yours, +</p> + +<p> +PETER. +</p> +</div> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +DEAR MISS PIERCE: +</p> + +<p> +A letter from Watts this morning tells me of his good fortune. Fearing lest my +blindness may perhaps still give you pain, I write to say that your happiness +is the most earnest wish of my life, and nothing which increases it can be +other than good news to me. If I can ever serve you in any way, you will be +doing me a great favor by telling me how. +</p> + +<p> +Please give my regards to Mr. and Mrs. Pierce, and believe me, +</p> + +<p> +Yours ever sincerely, +</p> + +<p> +PETER STIRLING. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +After these letters were written, Peter studied the wall again for a time. +Studied it till long after the hour when he should have lunched. The wall had +three cracks in it which approximated to an outline of Italy, but though Peter +gazed at this particular wall a good many hours in the next few weeks, he did +not discover this interesting fact till long after this time of wall-gazing. +</p> + +<p> +In the early morning and after dinner, in spite of the summer heat, he took +long walks. During the day he sat in his office doing nothing, with the +exception of an occasional letter to his mother, and one or two to Watts in +respect to the coming wedding. Two visits to the tailor’s, and another to +Tiffany’s, which resulted in a pearl pin rather out of proportion to his +purse, were almost the sole variations of this routine. It was really a relief +to this terrible inactivity, when he found himself actually at the Shrubberies, +the afternoon before the wedding. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was rather surprised at the ease with which he went through the next +twenty-four hours. It is true that the house was too full, and each person too +busy, to trouble the silent groomsman with attention, so he might have done +pretty much what he wished, without being noticed. He arrived late, thus having +no chance for greetings till after a hurried dressing for dinner, when they +were made in the presence of the whole party, who had waited his coming to go +to the meal. He went through the ordeal well, even that with Miss Pierce, +actually showing less embarrassment than she did. What was more astonishing, he +calmly offered his arm to the bridesmaid who fell to his lot, and, after +seating her, chatted without thinking that he was talking. Indeed, he hardly +heeded what he did say, but spoke mechanically, as a kind of refuge from +thought and feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t find him a bit so,” the girl said to Miss Pierce, +later in the evening, with an indefiniteness which, if not merely feminine, +must presuppose a previous conversation. “He isn’t exactly +talkative, but he is perfectly easy to get on with. I tried him on New York, +and found he had gone into a good many odd places and can tell about them. He +describes things very well, so that one sees them.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must be your tact, then, Miss Leroy,” said Mrs. Pierce, +“for we could get nothing out of him before.” +</p> + +<p> +“No? I had nothing to do with it, and, between ourselves, I think he +disapproved of me. If Helen hadn’t told me about him, I should have been +very cool to him, his manner was so objectionable. He clearly talked to me +because he felt it a duty, and not a pleasure.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s only that unfortunate manner of his,” said Helen. +“I really think at heart he’s dreadfully afraid of us. At least +that’s what Watts says. But he only behaves as if—as if—well, +you know what I mean, Alice!” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” said Alice. “You can’t describe it. +He’s so cool, and stolid, and silent, that you feel shoddy and cheap, and +any simple little remark doesn’t seem enough to say. You try to talk up +to him, and yet feel small all the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Helen. “You talk down to him, as if he +were—were—your old grandfather, or some one else you admired, but +thought very dull and old-fashioned.” +</p> + +<p> +“But the worst is the way he looks at you. So gravely, even when you try +to joke. Now I really think I’m passably pretty, but Mr. Stirling said as +plainly as could be: ‘I look at you occasionally because that’s the +proper thing to do, when one talks, but I much prefer looking at that picture +over your head.’ I don’t believe he noticed how my hair was +dressed, or the color of my eyes. Such men are absolutely maddening. When +they’ve finished their smoke, I’m going to make him notice +me.” +</p> + +<p> +But Miss Leroy failed in her plan, try as she would. Peter did not notice girls +any more. After worrying in his school and college days, over what women +thought of him and how they treated him, he had suddenly ceased to trouble +himself about them. It was as if a man, after long striving for something, had +suddenly discovered that he did not wish it—that to him women’s +opinions had become worthless. Perhaps in this case it was only the Fox and the +Grapes over again. At all events, from this time on Peter cared little what +women did. Courteous he tried to be, for he understood this to be a duty. But +that was all. They might laugh at him, snub him, avoid him. He cared not. He +had struck women out of his plan of life. And this disregard, as we have +already suggested, was sure to produce a strange change, not merely in Peter, +but in women’s view and treatment of him. Peter trying to please them, by +dull, ordinary platitudes, was one thing. Peter avoiding them and talking to +them when needs must, with that distant, uninterested look and voice, was quite +another. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, Peter, after finding what a fifth wheel in a coach all men +are at weddings, finally stood up with his friend. He had not been asked to +stay on for another night, as had most of the bridal party, so he slipped away +as soon as his duty was done, and took a train that put him into New York that +evening. A week later he said good-bye to the young couple, on the deck of a +steamship. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t forget us, Peter,” shouted Watts, after the fasts were +cast off and the steamer was slowly moving into mid-stream. +</p> + +<p> +Peter waved his hat, and turning, walked off the pier. +</p> + +<p> +“Could he forget them?” was the question he asked himself. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X<br/> +WAITING.</h2> + +<p> +“My friend,” said an old and experienced philosopher to a young +man, who with all the fire and impatience of his years wished to conquer the +world quickly, “youth has many things to learn, but one of the most +important is never to let another man beat you at waiting.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went back to his desk, and waited. He gave up looking at the wall of his +office, and took to somebody “On Torts” again. When that was +finished he went through the other law books of his collection. Those done, he +began to buy others, and studied them with great thoroughness and persistence. +In one of his many walks, he stumbled upon the Apprentices’ Library. +Going in, he inquired about its privileges, and became a regular borrower of +books. Peter had always been a reader, but now he gave from three or four hours +a day to books, aside from his law study. Although he was slow, the number of +volumes, he not merely read, but really mastered was marvellous. Books which he +liked, without much regard to their popular reputation, he at once bought; for +his simple life left him the ability to indulge himself in most respects within +moderation. He was particularly careful to read a classic occasionally to keep +up his Greek and Latin, and for the same reason he read French and German books +aloud to himself. Before the year was out, he was a recognized quantity in +certain book-stores, and was privileged to browse at will both among old and +new books without interference or suggestion from the “stock” +clerks. “There isn’t any good trying to sell him anything,” +remarked one. “He makes up his mind for himself.” +</p> + +<p> +His reading was broadened out from the classic and belles-lettres grooves that +were still almost a cult with the college graduate, by another recreation now +become habitual with him. In his long tramps about the city, to vary the +monotony, he would sometimes stop and chat with people—with a policeman, +a fruit-vender, a longshoreman or a truckster. It mattered little who it was. +Then he often entered manufactories and “yards” and asked if he +could go through them, studying the methods, and talking to the overseer or +workers about the trade. When he occasionally encountered some one who told him +“your kind ain’t got no business here” he usually found the +statement “my father was a mill-overseer” a way to break down the +barrier. He had to use it seldom, for he dressed plainly and met the men in a +way which seldom failed to make them feel that he was one of them. After such +inspection and chat, he would get books from the library, and read up about the +business or trade, finding that in this way he could enjoy works otherwise too +technical, and really obtain a very good knowledge of many subjects. Just how +interesting he found such books as “Our Fire-Laddies,” which he +read from cover to cover, after an inspection of, and chat with, the men of the +nearest fire-engine station; or Latham’s “The Sewage +Difficulty,” which the piping of uptown New York induced him to read; and +others of diverse types is questionable. Probably it was really due to his +isolation, but it was much healthier than gazing at blank walls. +</p> + +<p> +When the courts opened, Peter kept track of the calendars, and whenever a case +or argument promised to be interesting, or to call out the great lights of the +profession, he attended and listened to them. He tried to write out the +arguments used, from notes, and finally this practice induced him to give two +evenings a week during the winter mastering shorthand. It was really only a +mental discipline, for any case of importance was obtainable in print almost as +soon as argued, but Peter was trying to put a pair of slate-colored eyes out of +his thoughts, and employed this as one of the means. +</p> + +<p> +When winter came, and his long walks became less possible, he turned to other +things. More from necessity than choice, he visited the art and other +exhibitions as they occurred, he went to concerts, and to plays, all with due +regard to his means, and for this reason the latter were the most seldom +indulged in. Art and music did not come easy to him, but he read up on both, +not merely in standard books, but in the reviews of the daily press, and just +because there was so much in both that he failed to grasp, he studied the more +carefully and patiently. +</p> + +<p> +One trait of his New England training remained to him. He had brought a letter +from his own Congregational church in his native town, to one of the large +churches of the same sect in New York, and when admitted, hired a sitting and +became a regular attendant at both morning and evening service. In time this +produced a call from his new pastor. It was the first new friend he had gained +in New York. “He seems a quiet, well-informed fellow,” was the +clergyman’s comment; “I shall make a point of seeing something of +him.” But he was pastor of a very large and rich congregation, and was a +hard-worked and hard-entertained man, so his intention was not realized. +</p> + +<p> +Peter spent Christmastide with his mother, who worried not a little over his +loss of flesh. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been overworking,” she said anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Why mother, I haven’t had a client yet,” laughed Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you’ve worried over not getting on,” said his mother, +knowing perfectly well that it was nothing of the sort. She had hoped that +Peter would be satisfied with his six months’ trial, but did not mention +her wish. She marvelled to herself that New York had not yet discovered his +greatness. +</p> + +<p> +When Peter returned to the city, he made a change in his living arrangements. +His boarding-place had filled up with the approach of winter, but with the +class of men he already knew too well. Even though he met them only at meals, +their atmosphere was intolerable to him. When a room next his office fell +vacant, and went begging at a very cheap price, he decided to use it as a +bedroom. So he moved his few belongings on his return from his visit to his +mother’s. +</p> + +<p> +Although he had not been particularly friendly to the other boarders, nor made +himself obtrusive in the least, not one of them failed to speak of his leaving. +Two or three affected to be pleased, but “Butter-and-cheese” said +he “was a first-rate chap,” and this seemed to gain the assent of +the table generally. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m dreadfully sorry to lose him,” his landlady informed her +other boarders, availing herself, perhaps, of the chance to deliver a side hit +at some of them. “He never has complained once, since he came here, and +he kept his room as neat as if he had to take care of it himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the box-office oracle, “I guess he’s O.K., +if he is a bit stiff; and a fellow who’s best man to a big New York +swell, and gets his name in all the papers, doesn’t belong in a +seven-dollar, hash-seven-days-a-week, Bleecker Street boarding-house.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter fitted his room up simply, the sole indulgence (if properly so called) +being a bath, which is not a usual fitting of a New York business office, +consciences not yet being tubbable. He had made his mother show him how to make +coffee, and he adopted the Continental system of meals, having rolls and butter +sent in, and making a French breakfast in his own rooms. Then he lunched +regularly not far from his office, and dined wherever his afternoon walk, or +evening plans carried him. He found that he saved no money by the change, but +he saved his feelings, and was far freer to come and go as he chose. +</p> + +<p> +He did not hear from the honeymoon party. Watts had promised to write to him +and send his address “as soon as we decide whether we pass the winter in +Italy or on the Nile.” But no letter came. Peter called on the Pierces, +only to find them out, and as no notice was taken of his pasteboard, he drew +his own inference, and did not repeat the visit. +</p> + +<p> +Such was the first year of Peter’s New York life. He studied, he read, he +walked, and most of all, he waited. But no client came, and he seemed no nearer +one than the day he had first seen his own name on his office door. “How +much longer will I have to wait? How long will my patience hold out?” +These were the questions he asked himself, when for a moment he allowed himself +to lose courage. Then he would take to a bit of wall-gazing, while dreaming of +a pair of slate-colored eyes. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI.<br/> +NEW FRIENDS.</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Converse had evidently thought that the only way for Peter to get on was to +make friends. But in this first year Peter did not made a single one that could +be really called such. His second summer broadened his acquaintance materially, +though in a direction which promised him little law practice. +</p> + +<p> +When the warm weather again closed the courts and galleries, and brought an end +to the concerts and theatres, Peter found time harder to kill, the more, +because he had pretty well explored the city. Still he walked much to help pass +the time, and to get outside of his rooms into the air. For the same reason he +often carried his book, after the heat of the day was over, to one of the +parks, and did his reading there. Not far from his office, eastwardly, where +two streets met at an angle, was a small open space too limited to be called a +square, even if its shape had not been a triangle. Here, under the shade of two +very sickly trees, surrounded by tall warehouses, were a couple of benches. +Peter sat here many evenings smoking his pipe. Though these few square feet +made perhaps the largest “open” within half a mile of his office, +the angle was confined and dreary. Hence it is obvious there must have been +some attraction to Peter, since he was such a walker, to make him prefer +spending his time there rather than in the parks not far distant The attraction +was the children. +</p> + +<p> +Only a few hundred feet away was one of the most densely crowded tenement +districts of New York. It had no right to be there, for the land was wanted for +business purposes, but the hollow on which it was built had been a swamp in the +old days, and the soft land, and perhaps the unhealthiness, had prevented the +erection of great warehouses and stores, which almost surrounded it. So it had +been left to the storage of human souls instead of merchandise, for valuable +goods need careful housing, while any place serves to pack humanity. It was not +a nice district to go through, for there was a sense of heat and dirt, and +smell, and crowd, and toil and sorrow throughout. It was probably no nicer to +live in, and nothing proved it better than the overflow of the children +therefrom into the little, hot, paved, airless angle. Here they could be found +from five in the morning till twelve at night. Here, with guards set, to give +notice of the approach of the children’s joy-destroying +Siva—otherwise the policeman—they played ball. Here +“cat” and “one old cat” render bearable many a wilting +hour for the little urchins. Here “Sally in our Alley” and +“Skip-rope” made the little girls forget that the temperature was +far above blood-heat. Here of an evening, Peter smoked and watched them. +</p> + +<p> +At first he was an object of suspicion, and the sport visibly ceased when he +put in an appearance. But he simply sat on one of the benches and puffed his +pipe, and after a few evenings they lost all fear of him, and went on as if he +were not there. In time, an intercourse sprang up between them. One evening +Peter appeared with a stick of wood, and as he smoked, he whittled at it with a +<i>real</i> jack-knife! He was scrutinized by the keen-eyed youngsters with +interest at once, and before he had whittled long, he had fifty children +sitting in the shape of a semicircle on the stone pavement, watching his doings +with almost breathless Interest. When the result of his work actually developed +into a “cat” of marvellous form and finish, a sigh of intense joy +passed through the boy part of his audience. When the “cat” was +passed over to their mercies, words could not be found to express their +emotions. Another evening, the old clothes-line that served for a jump-rope, +after having bravely rubbed against the pavement many thousand times in its +endeavor to lighten the joyless life of the little pack, finally succumbed, +worn through the centre and quite beyond hope of further knotting. Then Peter +rose, and going to one of the little shops that supplied the district, soon +returned with a <i>real</i> jump-rope, with <i>wooden handles!</i> So from time +to time, <i>real</i> tops, <i>real</i> dolls, <i>real</i> marbles and various +other <i>real</i>, if cheap, things, hitherto only enjoyed in dreams, or at +most through home-made attempts, found their way into the angle, and were +distributed among the little imps. They could not resist such subtle bribery, +and soon Peter was on as familiar and friendly a footing as he could wish. He +came to know each by name, and was made the umpire in all their disputes and +the confidant in all their troubles. They were a dirty, noisy, lawless, and +godless little community, but they were interesting to watch, and the lonely +fellow grew to like them much, for with all their premature sharpness, they +were really natural, and responded warmly to his friendly overtures. +</p> + +<p> +After a time, Peter tried to help them a little more than by mere small gifts. +A cheap box of carpenter’s tools was bought, and under his +superintendence, evenings were spent in the angle, in making various articles. +A small wheel barrow, a knife-and-fork basket, a clock-bracket and other easy +things were made, one at a time. All boys, and indeed some girls, were allowed +to help. One would saw off the end of a plank; another would rule a pencil +line; the next would plane the plank down to that line; the next would bore the +holes in it; the next would screw it into position; the next would sandpaper it +The work went very slowly, but every one who would, had his share in it, while +the rest sat and watched. When the article was completed, lots were drawn for +it, and happy was the fortunate one who drew the magnificent prize in +life’s lottery! +</p> + +<p> +Occasionally too, Peter brought a book with him, and read it aloud to them. He +was rather surprised to find that they did not take to Sunday-school stories or +fairy tales. Wild adventures in foreign lands were the most effective; and +together they explored the heart of Africa, climbed the Swiss mountains, fought +the Western Indians, and attempted to discover the North Pole. They had a +curious liking for torture, blood-letting, and death. Nor were they without +discrimination. +</p> + +<p> +“I guess that fellow is only working his jaw,” was one little +chap’s criticism at a certain point of the narrative of a well-known +African explorer, rather famous for his success in advertising himself. Again, +“that’s bully,” was the comment uttered by another, when +Peter, rather than refuse their request to read aloud, had been compelled to +choose something in Macaulay’s Essays, and had read the description of +the Black Hole of Calcutta, “Say, mister,” said another, “I +don’t believe that fellow wasn’t there, for he never could a told +it like that, if he wasn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +As soon as his influence was secure, Peter began to affect them in other ways. +Every fight, every squabble, was investigated, and the blame put where it +belonged. Then a mandate went forth that profanity was to cease: and, though +contrary to every instinct and habit, cease it did after a time, except for an +occasional unconscious slip. “Sporadic swearing,” Peter called it, +and explained what it meant to the children, and why he forgave that, while +punishing the intentional swearer with exclusion from his favor. So, too, the +girls were told that to “poke” tongues at each other, and make +faces, was but another way of swearing; “for they all mean that there is +hate in your hearts, and it is that which is wrong, and not the mere words or +faces.” He ran the risk of being laughed at, but they didn’t laugh, +for something in his way of talking to them, even when verging on what they +called “goody-goody,” inspired them with respect. +</p> + +<p> +Before many weeks of this intercourse, Peter could not stroll east from his +office without being greeted with yells of recognition. The elders, too, gave +him “good-evening” pleasantly and smiled genially. The children had +naturally told their parents about him of his wonderful presents, and great +skill with knife and string. +</p> + +<p> +“He can whittle anything you ask!” +</p> + +<p> +“He knows how to make things you want!” +</p> + +<p> +“He can tie a knot sixteen different kinds!” +</p> + +<p> +“He can fold a newspaper into soldiers’ and firemen’s +caps!” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s friends with the policeman!” +</p> + +<p> +Such laudations, and a hundred more, the children sang of him to their elders. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” cried one little four-year-old girl, voicing the unanimous +feeling of the children, “Mister Peter is just shplendid.” +</p> + +<p> +So the elders nodded and smiled when they met him, and he was pretty well known +to several hundred people whom he knew not. +</p> + +<p> +But another year passed, and still no client came. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII.<br/> +HIS FIRST CLIENT.</h2> + +<p> +Peter sat in his office, one hot July day, two years after his arrival, writing +to his mother. He had but just returned to New York, after a visit to her, +which had left him rather discouraged, because, for the first time, she had +pleaded with him to abandon his attempt and return to his native town. He had +only replied that he was not yet prepared to acknowledge himself beaten; but +the request and his mother’s disappointment had worried him. While he +wrote came a knock at the door, and, in response to his “come in,” +a plain-looking laborer entered and stood awkwardly before him. +</p> + +<p> +“What can I do for you?” asked Peter, seeing that he must assist +the man to state his business. +</p> + +<p> +“If you please, sir,” said the man, humbly, “it’s +Missy. And I hope you’ll pardon me for troubling you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Peter. “What about Missy?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s—the doctor says she’s dying,” said the +man, adding, with a slight suggestion of importance, blended with the evident +grief he felt: “Sally, and Bridget Milligan are dead already.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what can I do?” said Peter, sympathetically, if very much at +sea. +</p> + +<p> +“Missy wants to see you before she goes. It’s only a child’s +wish, sir, and you needn’t trouble about it. But I had to promise her +I’d come and ask you. I hope it’s no offence?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” Peter rose, and, passing to the next room, took his hat, and +the two went into the street together. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the trouble?” asked Peter, as they walked. +</p> + +<p> +“We don’t know, sir. They were all took yesterday, and two are dead +already.” The man wiped the tears from his eyes with his shirtsleeve, +smearing the red brick dust with which it was powdered, over his face. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve had a doctor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till this morning. We didn’t think it was bad at first.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Blackett, sir—Jim Blackett.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter began to see daylight. He remembered both a Sally and Matilda +Blackett.—That was probably “Missy.” +</p> + +<p> +A walk of six blocks transferred them to the centre of the tenement district. +Two flights of stairs brought them to the Blackett’s rooms. On the table +of the first, which was evidently used both as a kitchen and sitting-room, +already lay a coffin containing a seven-year-old girl. Candles burned at the +four corners, adding to the bad air and heat. In the room beyond, in bed, with +a tired-looking woman tending her, lay a child of five. Wan and pale as well +could be, with perspiration standing in great drops on the poor little hot +forehead, the hand of death, as it so often does, had put something into the +face never there before. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mister Peter,” the child said, on catching sight of him, +“I said you’d come.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter took his handkerchief and wiped the little head. Then he took a +newspaper, lying on a chair, twisted it into a rude fan, and began fanning the +child as he sat on the bed. +</p> + +<p> +“What did you want me for?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you tell me the story you read from the book? The one about +the little girl who went to the country, and was given a live dove and real +flowers.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter began telling the story as well as he could remember it, but it was never +finished. For while he talked another little girl went to the country, a far +country, from which there is no return—and a very ordinary little story +ended abruptly. +</p> + +<p> +The father and mother took the death very calmly. Peter asked them a few +questions, and found that there were three other children, the eldest of whom +was an errand boy, and therefore away. The others, twin babies, had been cared +for by a woman on the next floor. He asked about money, and found that they had +not enough to pay the whole expenses of the double funeral. +</p> + +<p> +“But the undertaker says he’ll do it handsome, and will let the +part I haven’t money for, run, me paying it off in weekly +payments,” the man explained, when Peter expressed some surprise at the +evident needless expense they were entailing on themselves. +</p> + +<p> +While he talked, the doctor came in. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew there was no chance,” he said, when told of the death. +“And you remember I said so,” he added, appealing to the parents. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, that’s what he said,” responded the father. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the doctor, speaking in a brisk, lively way peculiar +to him, “I’ve found what the matter was.” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” said the mother, becoming interested at once. +</p> + +<p> +“It was the milk,” the doctor continued. “I thought there was +something wrong with it, the moment I smelt it, but I took some home to make +sure.” He pulled a paper out of his pocket. “That’s the test, +and Dr. Plumb, who has two cases next door, found it was just the same +there.” +</p> + +<p> +The Blacketts gazed at the written analysis, with wonder, not understanding a +word of it. Peter looked too, when they had satisfied their curiosity. As he +read it, a curious expression came into his face. A look not unlike that which +his face had worn on the deck of the “Sunrise.” It could hardly be +called a change of expression, but rather a strengthening and deepening of his +ordinary look. +</p> + +<p> +“That was in the milk drunk by the children?” he asked, placing his +finger on a particular line. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” replied the doctor. “The milk was bad to start with, +and was drugged to conceal the fact. These carbonates sometimes work very +unevenly, and I presume this particular can of milk got more than its share of +the doctoring. +</p> + +<p> +“There are almost no glycerides,” remarked Peter, wishing to hold +the doctor till he should have had time to think. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the doctor. “It was skim milk.” +</p> + +<p> +“You will report it to the Health Board?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“When I’m up there,” said the doctor. “Not that it will +do any good. But the law requires it” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t they investigate?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll investigate too much. The trouble with them is, they +investigate, but don’t prosecute.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. He shook hands with the parents, and went +upstairs to the fourth floor. The crape on a door guided him to where Bridget +Milligan lay. Here preparations had gone farther. Not merely were the candles +burning, but four bottles, with the corks partly drawn, were on the cold +cooking stove, while a wooden pail filled with beer, reposed in the embrace of +a wash-tub, filled otherwise with ice. Peter asked a few questions. There was +only an elder brother and sister. Patrick worked as a porter. Ellen rolled +cigars. They had a little money laid up. Enough to pay for the funeral. +“Mr. Moriarty gave us the whisky and beer at half price,” the girl +explained incidentally. “Thank you, sir. We don’t need +anything.” Peter rose to go. “Bridget was often speaking of you to +us. And I thank you for what you did for her.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went down, and called next door, to see Dr. Plumb’s patients. These +were in a fair way for recovery. +</p> + +<p> +“They didn’t get any of the milk till last night,” the +gray-haired, rather sad-looking doctor told him, “and I got at them early +this morning. Then I suspected the milk at once, and treated them accordingly. +I’ve been forty years doing this sort of thing, and it’s generally +the milk. Dr. Sawyer, next door, is a new man, and doesn’t get hold quite +as quick. But he knows more of the science of the thing, and can make a good +analysis.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think they have a chance?” +</p> + +<p> +“If this heat will let up a bit” said the doctor, mopping his +forehead. “It’s ninety-eight in here; that’s enough to kill a +sound child.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could they be moved?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow, perhaps.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Dooley, could you take your children away to the country to-morrow, +if I find a place for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s very little money I have, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t cost you anything. Can you leave your family?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s only Moike. And he’ll do very well by +himself,” he was told. +</p> + +<p> +“Then if the children can go, be ready at 10:15 to-morrow, and you shall +all go up for a couple of weeks to my mother’s in Massachusetts. +They’ll have plenty of good food there,” he explained to the +doctor, “grass and flowers close to the house and woods not far +away.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will fix them,” said the doctor. +</p> + +<p> +“About this milk. Won’t the Health Board punish the sellers?” +Peter asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Probably not,” he was told “It’s difficult to get them +to do anything, and at this season so many of them are on vacations, it is +doubly hard to make them stir.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went to the nearest telegraph, and sent a dispatch to his mother. Then he +went back to his office, and sitting down, began to study his wall. But he was +not thinking of a pair of slate-colored eyes. He was thinking of his first +case. He had found a client. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII.<br/> +THE CASE.</h2> + +<p> +Peter went to work the next morning at an hour which most of us, if we are +indiscreet enough to wake, prefer to use as the preface to a further two to +four hours’ nap. He had spent his evening in a freshening of his +knowledge in certain municipal laws, and other details which he thought he +might need, and as early as five o clock he was at work in the tenement +district, asking questions and taking notes. The inquiry took little skill The +milk had come from the cart of a certain company, which passed daily through +the locality, not to supply orders, but to peddle milk to whoever cared to buy. +Peter had the cart pointed out that morning, but, beyond making a note of the +exact name of the company, he paid no attention to it. He was aiming at bigger +game than a milk cart or its driver. +</p> + +<p> +His work was interrupted only by his taking Mrs. Dooley and the two children to +the train. That done, Peter walked northwardly and westwardly, till he had +nearly reached the river front. It took some little inquiry, but after a while +he stumbled on a small shanty which had a sign: +</p> + +<p> +NATIONAL MILK COMPANY. +</p> + +<p> +OFFICE. +</p> + +<p> +The place, however, was closed and no one around seemed connected with it, +though a number of milk carts were standing about. Close to these was a long +line of sheds, which in turn backed up against a great brewery. A couple of men +lounged at the door of the sheds. Peter walked up to them, and asked if they +could tell him where he could find any one connected with the milk company. +</p> + +<p> +“The boss is off for lunch,” said one. “I can take an order, +if that’s what you want.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said it was not an order, and began chatting with the men. Before he had +started to question them, a third man, from inside the sheds, joined the group +at the door. +</p> + +<p> +“That cow’s dead,” he remarked as he came up. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” said the one called Bill. Both rose, and went into the +shed. Peter started to go with them. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t come in,” said the new-comer. +</p> + +<p> +But Peter passed in, without paying the least attention to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Come back,” called the man, following Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned to him: “You are one of the employees of the National Milk +Company?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the man, “and we have orders—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter usually let a little pause occur after a remark to him, but in this case +he spoke before the man completed his speech. He spoke, too, with an air of +decision and command that quieted the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Go back to your work,” he said, “and don’t order me +round. I know what I’m about.” Then he walked after the other two +men as rapidly as the dimness permitted. The employee scratched his head, and +then followed. +</p> + +<p> +Dim as the light was, Peter could discern that he was passing between two rows +of cows, with not more than space enough for men to pass each other between the +rows. It was filthy, and very warm, and there was a peculiar smell in the air +which Peter did not associate with a cow stable. It was a kind of vapor which +brought some suggestion to his mind, yet one he could not identify. Presently +he came upon the two men. One had lighted a lantern and was examining a cow +that lay on the ground. That it was dead was plain. But what most interested +Peter, although he felt a shudder of horror at the sight, were the rotted tail +and two great sores on the flank that lay uppermost. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a bad-looking cow,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Ain’t it?” replied the one with the lantern. “But you +can’t help their havin’ them, if you feed them on mash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hold your tongue, Bill,” said the man who had followed Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Take some of your own advice,” said Peter, turning quickly, and +speaking in a voice that made the man step back. A terrible feeling was welling +up in Peter’s heart. He thought of the poor little fever-stricken +children. He saw the poor fever-stricken cow. He would like to—to—. +</p> + +<p> +He dropped the arm he had unconsciously raised. “Give me that +lantern,” he demanded. +</p> + +<p> +The man hesitated and looked at the others. +</p> + +<p> +“Give me that lantern,” said Peter, speaking low, but his voice +ringing very clear. +</p> + +<p> +The lantern was passed to him, and taking it, he walked along the line of cows. +He saw several with sores more or less developed. One or two he saw in the +advanced stages of the disease, where the tail had begun to rot away. The other +men followed him on his tour of inspection, and whispered together nervously. +It did not take Peter long to examine all he wanted to see. Handing back the +lantern at the door, he said: “Give me your names.” +</p> + +<p> +The men looked nonplussed, and shifted their weights uneasily from leg to leg. +</p> + +<p> +“You,” said Peter, looking at the man who had interfered with him. +</p> + +<p> +“Wot do yer want with it?” he was asked. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s my business. What’s your name?” +</p> + +<p> +“John Tingley.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you live?” +</p> + +<p> +“310 West 61st Street.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter obtained and wrote down the names and addresses of the trio. He then went +to the “office” of the company, which was now opened. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this an incorporated company?” he asked of the man tilted back +in a chair. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the man, adding two chair legs to terra firma, and +looking at Peter suspiciously. +</p> + +<p> +“Who owns it?” Peter queried. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m the boss.” +</p> + +<p> +“That isn’t what I asked.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I answered.” +</p> + +<p> +“And your name is?” +</p> + +<p> +“James Coldman.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you intend to answer my question?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till I know your business.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m here to find out against whom to get warrants for a criminal +prosecution.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“The warrant will say.” +</p> + +<p> +The man squirmed in his chair. “Will you give me till to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. The warrant is to be issued to-day. Decide at once, whether you or +your principal, shall be the man to whom it shall be served.” +</p> + +<p> +“I guess you’d better make it against me,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Peter. “Of course you know your employer +will be run down, and as I’m not after the rest of you, you will only get +him a few days safety at the price of a term in prison.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ve got to risk it,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned and walked away. He went down town to the Blacketts. +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to carry the matter to the courts,” he told the father. +“These men deserve punishment, and if you’ll let me go on with it, +it shan’t cost you anything; and by bringing a civil suit as well, +you’ll probably get some money out of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Blackett gave his assent. So too did Patrick Milligan, and “Moike” +Dooley. They had won fame already by the deaths and wakes, but a “coort +case” promised to give them prestige far beyond what even these +distinctions conferred. So the three walked away proudly with Peter, and +warrants were sworn to and issued against the “boss” as principal, +and the driver and the three others as witnesses, made returnable on the +following morning. On many a doorstep of the district, that night, nothing else +was talked of, and the trio were the most envied men in the neighborhood. Even +Mrs. Blackett and Ellen Milligan forgot their grief, and held a joint +<i>soirée</i> on their front stoop. +</p> + +<p> +“Shure, it’s mighty hard for Mrs. Dooley, that she’s +away!” said one. “She’ll be feeling bad when she knows what +she’s missed.” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning, Peter, the two doctors, the Blacketts, the Milligans, Dooley, +the milk quintet, and as many inhabitants of the “district” as +could crush their way in, were in court by nine o’clock. The plaintiffs +and their friends were rather disappointed at the quietness of the proceedings. +The examinations were purely formal except in one instance, when Peter asked +for the “name or names of the owner or owners” of the National Milk +Company. Here the defendant’s attorney, a shrewd criminal lawyer, +interfered, and there was a sharp passage at arms, in which an attempt was made +to anger Peter. But he kept his head, and in the end carried his point. The +owner turned out to be the proprietor of the brewery, as Peter had surmised, +who thus utilized the mash from his vats in feeding cattle. But on +Peter’s asking for an additional warrant against him, the +defendant’s lawyer succeeded in proving, if the statement of the overseer +proved it, that the brewer was quite ignorant that the milk sold in the +“district” was what had been unsalable the day before to better +customers, and that the skimming and doctoring of it was unknown to him. So an +attempt to punish the rich man as a criminal was futile. He could afford to pay +for straw men. +</p> + +<p> +“Arrah!” said Dooley to Peter as they passed out of the court, +“Oi think ye moight have given them a bit av yer moind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till the trial,” said Peter. “We mustn’t use up +our powder on the skirmish line.” +</p> + +<p> +So the word was passed through the district that “theer’d be fun at +the rale trial,” and it was awaited with intense interest by five +thousand people. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV.<br/> +NEW YORK JUSTICE.</h2> + +<p> +Peter saw the District Attorney the next morning for a few moments, and handed +over to him certain memoranda of details that had not appeared in the +committing court’s record. +</p> + +<p> +“It shall go before the grand jury day after to-morrow,” that +official told him, without much apparent interest in the matter. +</p> + +<p> +“How soon can it be tried, if they find a true bill? asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t say,” replied the official. +</p> + +<p> +“I merely wished to know,” said Peter, “because three of the +witnesses are away, and I want to have them back in time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably a couple of weeks,” yawned the man, and Peter, taking the +hint, departed. +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the morning was spent in drawing up the papers in three civil suits +against the rich brewer. Peter filed them as soon as completed, and took the +necessary steps for their prompt service. +</p> + +<p> +These produced an almost immediate result, in the shape of a call the next +morning from the same lawyer who had defended the milkmen in the preliminary +examination. Peter, as he returned from his midday meal, met the lawyer on the +stairs. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Stirling. Good-morning,” said the man, whose name was +Dummer. “I’ve just left your office, finding it closed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +The lawyer glanced around the plain room, and a quiet look of satisfaction came +over his face. The two sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“About those cases, Mr. Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“For reasons you can easily understand, we don’t wish them to come +to trial.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“And we take it for granted that your clients will be quite willing to +settle them.” +</p> + +<p> +“We will talk about that, after the criminal trial is over” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because we hope to make Coldman speak the truth in the trial, and thus +be able to reach Bohlmann.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’re wasting your time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if there’s the smallest chance of sending the brewer to +prison.” +</p> + +<p> +“There isn’t. Coldman will stick to what he said if the thing is +ever tried, which it won’t be.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter eyed Dummer without changing a muscle. “The District Attorney told +me that it ought to be in the courts in a couple of weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +Dummer smiled blandly, and slowly closed one eye. “The District Attorney +tries to tell the truth,” he said, “and I have no doubt he thought +that was what he was telling you. Now, name your figure?” +</p> + +<p> +“The civil suits will not be compromised till the criminal one is +finished.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I tell you the criminal one is dead. Squashed. Bohlmann and I have +seen the right people, and they’ve seen the District Attorney. That case +won’t even go to the grand jury. So now, drop it, and say what +you’ll settle the civil suits for?” +</p> + +<p> +“James Coldman shall go to prison for killing those children,” said +Peter, “and till he does, it is waste time to talk of dropping or +settling anything.” +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” half laughed the lawyer, though with obvious disgust at +the mulishness in Peter’s face and voice. “You think you know it +all. But you don’t. You can work for ten years, and that case will be no +nearer trial than it is to-day. I tell you, young man, you don’t know New +York.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know New York,” said Peter, “but—” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” interrupted Dummer. “And I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Probably,” replied Peter quietly, “You may know New York, +Mr. Dummer, but you don’t know me. That case shall be tried.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” laughed Dummer, “if you’ll agree not to press +the civil suits, till that’s out of the way, we shall have no need to +compromise. Good-day.” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning Peter went to the District Attorney’s office, and +inquired for him. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s gone to Bar Harbor for a couple of weeks’ +vacation,” he was told. +</p> + +<p> +“Whom must I see in his stead?” And after some time Peter was +brought face to face with the acting official. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Nelson told me he should present the Coldman case to the grand jury +to-day, and finding he has left the city, I wish to know who has it in +charge?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He left all the presentments with me,” the deputy replied, +“but there was no such case as that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Could he have left it with some one else to attend to?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went back to his office, took down the Code and went over certain +sections. His eyes had rather a sad look as they gazed at his wall, after his +study, as if what he had read had not pleased him. But if the eyes were sad, +the heavy jaw had a rigidness and setness which gave no indication of weakness +or yielding. +</p> + +<p> +For two weeks Peter waited, and then once more invaded officialdom. +</p> + +<p> +“The District Attorney’s engaged, and can’t see you,” +he was told. Peter came again in the afternoon, with the same result. The next +morning, brought only a like answer, and this was duplicated in the afternoon. +The third day he said he would wait, and sat for hours in the ante-room, hoping +to be called, or to intercept the officer. But it was only to see man after man +ushered into the private office, and finally to be told that the District +Attorney had gone to lunch, and would not return that day. The man who told him +this grinned, and evidently considered it a good joke, nor had Peter been +unconscious that all the morning the clerks and underlings had been laughing, +and guying him as he waited. Yet his jaw was only set the more rigidly, as he +left the office. +</p> + +<p> +He looked up the private address of the officer in the directory, and went to +see him that evening. He was wise enough not to send in his name, and Mr. +Nelson actually came into the hall to see him. +</p> + +<p> +The moment he saw Peter, however, he said: “Oh, it’s you. Well, I +never talk business except in business hours.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have tried to see you—” began Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Try some more,” interrupted the man, smiling, and going toward the +parlor. +</p> + +<p> +Peter followed him, calmly. “Mr. Nelson,” he said, “do you +intend to push that case?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” smiled Nelson. “After I’ve finished four +hundred indictments that precede it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not till then?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Nelson, can’t you overlook politics for a moment, and think +of—” +</p> + +<p> +“Who said anything of politics?” interrupted Nelson, “I +merely tell you there are indictments which have been in my office for five +years and are yet to be tried, and that your case is going to take its +turn.” Nelson passed into the back room, leaving his caller alone. +</p> + +<p> +Peter left the room, and passed out of the front door, just as a man was about +to ring the bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mr. Nelson in?” asked the man. +</p> + +<p> +“I have just left him, Mr. Dummer,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Good-evening, Mr. Stirling. I think I can guess your business. Well. +How do you come on?” Dummer was obviously laughing internally. +</p> + +<p> +Peter started down the steps without answering. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps I can help you?” said Dummer. “I know Mr. Nelson +very well in politics, and so does Mr. Bohlmann. If you’ll tell me what +you are after, I’ll try to say a good word for you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t need your help, thank you,” said Peter calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Dummer. “You think a briefless lawyer of thirty +can go it alone, do you, even against the whole city government?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know I have not influence enough to get that case pushed, Mr. Dummer, +but the law is on my side, and I’m not going to give up yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what are you going to do about it?” said Dummer, sneeringly. +</p> + +<p> +“Fight,” said Peter, walking away. +</p> + +<p> +He went back to his office, and sitting at his desk, wrote a formal letter to +the District Attorney, calling his attention to the case, and asking +information as to when it would be brought to trial. Then he copied this, and +mailed the original. Then he read the Code again. After that he went over the +New York reports, making notes. For a second time the morning sun found Peter +still at his desk. But this time his head was not bowed upon his blotter, as if +he were beaten or dead. His whole figure was stiff with purpose, and his jaw +was as rigid as a mastiff’s. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV.<br/> +THE FIGHT.</h2> + +<p> +The only reply which Peter received to his letter to the District-Attorney, was +a mere formal reiteration of that officer’s verbal statement, that the +case would be taken up in its due order, after those which preceded it had been +dealt with. Peter knew enough of the numberless cases which never reach trial +to understand that this meant in truth, the laying aside of the case, till it +was killed by the statute of limitations. +</p> + +<p> +On receiving this reply, Peter made another move, by going to three newspapers, +and trying to see their managing editors. One declined to see him. A second +merely told Peter, after his statement, which the editor only allowed him +partly to explain, that he was very busy and could not take time to look into +it, but that Peter might come again in about a month. The third let Peter tell +his story, and then shook his head: +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt you are right, but it isn’t in shape for us to +use. Such a case rarely goes to trial for six months or a year, and so, if we +begin an attack now, it will simply fall flat. If you can get us a written +statement from the District Attorney that he doesn’t intend to push the +case, we can do something, but I suppose he’s far too shrewd to commit +himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then there’s no use in beginning an attack, for you really have no +powder. Come in again a year from now, and then we may be able to say +something, if he hasn’t acted in the meantime.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter left the office, knowing that that chance of pressure was gone. If the +papers of the Republican party would not use it, it was idle spending time in +seeing or trying to see the editors of the Democratic papers. He wasted +therefore no more efforts on newspapers. +</p> + +<p> +The next three days Peter passed in the New York Law Institute Library, deep in +many books. Then he packed his bag, and took an afternoon train for Albany. He +was going to play his last card, with the odds of a thousand to one against his +winning. But that very fact only nerved him the more. +</p> + +<p> +Promptly at ten o’clock, the morning after his arrival at the state +capital, he sent in his card to the Governor. Fortunately for him, the middle +of August is not a busy time with that official, and after a slight delay, he +was ushered into the executive chamber. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had been planning this interview for hours, and without explanation or +preamble, he commenced his statement. He knew that he must interest the +Governor promptly, or there would be a good chance of his being bowed out. So +he began with a description of the cow-stables. Then he passed to the death of +the little child. He sketched both rapidly, not taking three minutes to do it, +but had he been pleading for his own life, he could not have spoken more +earnestly nor feelingly. +</p> + +<p> +The Governor first looked surprised at Peter’s abruptness; then weary; +then interested; and finally turned his revolving chair so as to put his back +to Peter. And after Peter had ended his account, he remained so for a moment. +That back was very expressive to Peter. For the first time he felt vanquished. +</p> + +<p> +But suddenly the Governor turned, and Peter saw tears on his cheek. And he +said, after a big swallow, “What do you want of me?” in a voice +that meant everything to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you listen to me for five minutes?” asked Peter, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Than Peter read aloud a statement of the legal proceedings, and of his +interviews with the District Attorney and with Dummer, in the clearest and most +compact sentences he had been able to frame. +</p> + +<p> +“You want me to interfere?” asked the Governor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid it’s not possible. I can of course remove the +District Attorney, but it must be for cause, and I do not see that you can +absolutely prove his non intention to prosecute those scoundrels.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is true. After study, I did not see that you could remove him. But +there’s another remedy.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Through the State Attorney you can appoint a special counsel for this +case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter laid one of the papers in his hands before the Governor. After reading +it, the Governor rang a bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Send for Mr. Miller,” he said to the boy. Then he turned, and with +Peter went over the court papers, till Mr. Miller put in an appearance. +</p> + +<p> +“State the matter to Mr. Miller,” said the Governor, and Peter read +his paper again and told what he wished. +</p> + +<p> +“The power unquestionably exists,” said the Attorney-General. +“But it has not been used in many years. Perhaps I had better look into +it a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go with Mr. Miller, Mr. Stirling, and work over your papers with +him,” said the Governor. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter simply, but his hand and face and voice +said far more, as he shook hands. He went out with the first look of hope his +face had worn for two years. +</p> + +<p> +The ground which the Attorney-General and his subordinates had to traverse was +that over which Peter had so well travelled already, that he felt very much at +home, while his notes indeed aided the study, and were doubly welcomed, because +the summer season had drained the office of its underlings. Half as assistant, +and half as principal, he worked till three o’clock, with pleasure that +grew, as he saw that the opinion of the Attorney-General seemed to agree more +and more with his own. Then they returned to the Governor, to whom the +Attorney-General gave his opinion that his present conclusion was that the +Governor could empower him, or some appointee, to prosecute the case. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said the Governor, “I’m glad you think so. But +if we find that it isn’t possible, Mr. Stirling, I’ll have a letter +written to the District Attorney that may scare him into proceeding with the +case.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter thanked him, and rose to go. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to New York at once?” asked the Governor. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Unless I can be of use here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose you dine with me, and take a late train?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be a great pleasure,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Six sharp.” Then after Peter had left the room, the +Governor asked, “How is he on law?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very good. Clear-headed and balanced.” +</p> + +<p> +“He knows how to talk,” said the Governor. “He brought my +heart up in my mouth as no one has done in years. Now, I must get word to some +of the people in New York to find out who he is, and if this case has any +concealed boomerang in it.” +</p> + +<p> +The dinner was a very quiet one with only the Governor and his wife. The former +must have told his better-half something about Peter, for she studied him with +a very kind look in her face, and prosaic and silent as Peter was, she did not +seem bored. After the dinner was eaten, and some one called to talk politics +with the Governor, she took Peter off to another room, and made him tell her +about the whole case, and how he came to take it up, and why he had come to the +Governor for help. She cried over it, and after Peter had gone, she went +upstairs and looked at her own two sleeping boys, quite large enough to fight +the world on their own account, but still little children to the mother’s +heart, and had another cry over them. She went downstairs later to the +Governor’s study, and interrupting him in the work to which he had +settled down, put her arms about his neck, and kissed him. “You must help +him, William,” she said. “Do everything you can to have those +scoundrels punished, and let him do it.” +</p> + +<p> +The Governor only laughed; but he pushed back his work, and his wife sat down, +and told of her admiration and sympathy for Peter’s fight. There was a +bad time ahead for the criminal and his backers. They might have political +influence of the strongest character, fighting their battle, but there was a +bigger and more secret one at work. Say what we please, the strongest and most +subtle “pull” this world as yet contains is the under-current of a +woman’s influence. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went back to New York that night, feeling hopeful, yet doubtful. It +almost seemed impossible that he had succeeded, yet at twenty-three, failure is +hard to believe in. So he waited, hoping to see some move on the part of the +State, and dreaming of nothing better. But better came, for only five days +after his return his mail brought him a large envelope, and inside that +envelope was a special commission, which made Peter a deputy of the +Attorney-General, to prosecute in the Court of Sessions, the case of “The +People of the State of New York <i>versus</i> James Goldman.” If any one +could have seen Peter’s face, as he read the purely formal instrument, he +would not have called it dull or heavy. For Peter knew that he had won; that in +place of justice blocking and hindering him, every barrier was crushed down; +that this prosecution rested with no officials, but was for him to push; that +that little piece of parchment bound every court to support him; that if +necessary fifty thousand troops would enforce the power which granted it. +Within three hours, the first formal steps to place the case in the courts had +been taken, and Peter was working at the evidence and law in the matter. +</p> + +<p> +These steps produced a prompt call from Dummer, who showed considerably less +assurance than hitherto, even though he tried to take Peter’s success +jauntily. He wanted Peter to drop the whole thing, and hinted at large sums of +money, but Peter at first did not notice his hints, and finally told him that +the case should be tried. Then Dummer pleaded for delay. Peter was equally +obdurate. Later they had a contest in the court over this. But Peter argued in +a quiet way, which nevertheless caught the attention of the judge, who ended +the dispute by refusing to postpone. The judge hadn’t intended to act in +this way, and was rather surprised at his own conduct. The defendant’s +lawyer was furious. +</p> + +<p> +No stone was left unturned, however, to prevent the case going to trial. +Pressure of the sharpest and closest kind was brought to bear on the Governor +himself—pressure which required backbone to resist. But he stood by his +act: perhaps because he belonged to a different party than that in control of +the city government; perhaps because of Peter’s account, and the +truthfulness in his face as he told it; perhaps because the Attorney-General +had found it legal; perhaps because of his wife; perhaps it was a blending of +all these. Certain it is, that all attempts to block failed, and in the last +week in August it came before the court. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had kept his clients informed as to his struggles, and they were +tremendously proud of the big battle and ultimate success, as indeed were the +residents of the whole district, who felt that it was really their own case. +Then the politicians were furious and excited over it, while the almost +unexampled act of the Governor had created a good deal of public interest in +the case. So the court was packed and the press had reporters in attendance. +Since the trial was fully reported, it is needless to go over the testimony +here. What Peter could bring out, is already known. The defence, by +“experts,” endeavored to prove that the cowsheds were not in a +really unhygienic condition; that feeding cows on “mash” did not +affect their milk, nor did mere “skin sores;” that the milk had +been sold by mistake, in ignorance that it was thirty-six hours old, and +skimmed; and that the proof of this particular milk being the cause of the +deaths was extremely inadequate and doubtful. The only dramatic incident in the +testimony was the putting the two little Dooleys (who had returned in fat and +rosy condition, the day before) on the stand. +</p> + +<p> +“Did you find country milk different from what you have here?” +Peter asked the youngest. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” she said. “Here it comes from a cart, but in the +country it squirts from a cow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Order,” said the judge to the gallery. +</p> + +<p> +“Does it taste differently?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It’s sweet, as if they put sugar in it. It’s lovely I +like cow milk better than cart milk.” +</p> + +<p> +“Damn those children!” said Dummer, to the man next him. +</p> + +<p> +The event of the trial came, however, when Peter summed up. He spoke quietly, +in the simplest language, using few adjectives and no invective. But as the +girl at the Pierces’ dinner had said, “he describes things so that +one sees them.” He told of the fever-stricken cows, and he told of the +little fever-stricken children in such a way that the audience sobbed; his +clients almost had to be ordered out of court; the man next Dummer mopped his +eyes with his handkerchief; the judge and jury thoughtfully covered their eyes +(so as to think the better); the reporters found difficulty (owing to the glary +light), in writing the words despite their determination not to miss one; and +even the prisoner wiped his eyes on his sleeve. Peter was unconscious that he +was making a great speech; great in its simplicity, and great in its pathos. He +afterwards said he had not given it a moment’s thought and had merely +said what he felt. Perhaps his conclusion indicated why he was able to speak +with the feeling he did. For he said: +</p> + +<p> +“This is not merely the case of the State <i>versus</i> James Goldman. It +is the case of the tenement-house children, against the inhumanity of +man’s greed.” +</p> + +<p> +Dummer whispered to the man next him, “There’s no good. He’s +done for us.” Then he rose, and made a clever defence. He knew it was +wasting his time. The judge charged against him, and the jury gave the full +verdict: “Man-slaughter in the first degree.” Except for the desire +for it, the sentence created little stir. Every one was still feeling and +thinking of Peter’s speech. +</p> + +<p> +And to this day that speech is talked of in “the district.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI.<br/> +THE CONSEQUENCES.</h2> + +<p> +Nor was it the district alone which talked of the speech. Perhaps the residents +of it made their feelings most manifest, for they organized a torchlight +procession that night, and went round and made Peter an address of thanks. Mr. +Dennis Moriarty being the spokesman. The judge shook hands with him after the +trial, and said that he had handled his case well. The defendant’s lawyer +told him he “knew his business.” A number of the reporters sought a +few words with him, and blended praise with questions. +</p> + +<p> +The reporters did far more than this, however. It was the dull newspaper +season, and the case had turned out to be a thoroughly +“journalistic” one. So they questioned and interviewed every one +concerned, and after cleverly winnowing the chaff, which in this case meant the +dull, from the gleanings, most of them gave several columns the next morning to +the story. Peter’s speech was printed in full, and proved to read almost +as well as it had sounded. The reporters were told, and repeated the tales +without much attempt at verification, that Peter had taken the matter up +without hope of profit; had paid the costs out of his own pocket; had refused +to settle “though offered nine thousand dollars:” had “saved +the Dooley children’s lives by sending them into the country;” and +“had paid for the burials of the little victims.” So all gave him a +puff, and two of the better sort wrote really fine editorials about him. At +election time, or any other than a dull season, the case would have had small +attention, but August is the month, to reverse an old adage, when “any +news is good news.” +</p> + +<p> +The press began, too, a crusade against the swill-milk dealers, and the men who +had allowed all this to be possible. “What is the Health Board about, +that poison for children can be sold in the public streets?” “Where +is the District Attorney, that prosecutions for the public good have to be +brought by public-spirited citizens?” they demanded. Lynx-eyed reporters +tracked the milk-supplies of the city, and though the alarm had been given, and +many cows had been hastily sent to the country, they were able to show up +certain companies, and print details which were quite lurid enough, when +sufficiently “colored” by their skilful pens. Most residents of New +York can remember the “swill-milk” or “stump-tail milk” +exposures and prosecutions of that summer, and of the reformation brought about +thereby in the Board of Health. As the details are not pleasant reading, any +one who does not remember is referred to the daily press, and, if they want +horrible pictures, to Frank Leslie’s Illustrated Weekly. Except for the +papers, it is to be questioned if Peter’s case would have resulted in +much more than the punishment of the man actually convicted; but by the press +taking the matter up, the moment’s indignation was deepened and +intensified to a degree which well-nigh swept every cow-stable off the island, +and drove the proper officials into an activity leading to great reforms. +</p> + +<p> +No one was more surprised than Peter, at the sudden notoriety, or at the +far-reaching results. He collected the articles, and sent them to his mother. +He wrote: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“Don’t think that this means any great start. In truth, I am a +hundred dollars the poorer for the case, and shall have to cut off a few +expenses for the rest of the year. I tell you this, because I know you will not +think for a moment that I grudge the money, and you are not to spoil my +trifling self-denial by any offer of assistance You did quite enough in taking +in those two little imps. Were they very bad? Did they tramp on your flowers, +and frighten poor old Russet [Russet was the cat] out of his fast waning lives? +It was a great pleasure to me to see them so plump and brown, and I thank you +for it. Their testimony in court was really amusing, though at the same time +pathetic. People tell me that my speech was a good one. What is more +surprising, they tell me that I made the prisoner, and Mr. Bohlmann, the +brewer, who sat next to Dummer, both cry. I confess I grieve over the fact that +I was not prosecuting Bohlmann. He is the real criminal, yet goes scot free. +But the moral effect is, I suppose, the important thing, and any one to whom +responsibility could be traced (and convicted) gives us that. I find that Mr. +Bohlmann goes to the same church I attend!” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +His mother was not surprised. She had always known her Peter was a hero, and +needed no “York papers” to teach her the fact. Still she read every +line of the case, and of the subsequent crusade. She read Peter’s speech +again and again, stopping to sob at intervals, and hugging the clipping to her +bosom from time to time, as the best equivalent for Peter, while sobbing: +“My boy, my darling boy.” Every one in the mill-town knew of it, +and the clippings were passed round among Peter’s friends, beginning with +the clergyman and ending with his school-boy companions. They all wondered why +Peter had spoken so briefly. “If I could talk like that,” said a +lawyer to the proud mother, “I’d have spoken for a couple of +hours.” Mrs. Stirling herself wished it had been longer. Four columns of +evidence, and only a little over a half column of speech! It couldn’t +have taken him twenty minutes at the most. “Even the other lawyer, who +had nothing to say but lies, took over a column to his speech. And his was +printed close together, while that of Peter’s was spread out (<i>e.g.</i> +solid and leaded) making the difference in length all the greater.” Mrs. +Stirling wondered if there could be a conspiracy against her Peter, on the part +of the Metropolitan press. She had promptly subscribed for a year to the New +York paper which glorified Peter the most, supposing that from this time on his +name would appear on the front page. When she found it did not and that it was +not mentioned in the press and Health Board crusade against the other +“swill-milk” dealers, she became convinced that there was some +definite attempt to rob Peter of his due fame. “Why, Peter began it +all,” she explained, “and now the papers and Health Board pretend +it’s all their doings.” She wrote a letter to the editor of the +paper—a letter which was passed round the office, and laughed over not a +little by the staff. She never received an answer, nor did the paper give Peter +the more attention because of it. +</p> + +<p> +Two days after the trial, Peter had another call from Dummer. +</p> + +<p> +“You handled that case in great style, Mr. Stirling,” he told +Peter. “You know the ropes as well as far older men. You got just the +right evidence out of your witnesses, and not a bit of superfluous rubbish. +That’s the mistake most young men make. They bury their testimony in +unessential details, I tell you, those two children were worth all the rest put +together. Did you send them to the country on purpose to get that kind of +evidence?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, every man in that jury was probably a father, and that +child’s talk took right hold of them. Not but that your speech would have +done the business. You were mighty clever in just telling what you saw, and not +going into the testimony. You could safely trust the judge to do that. It was a +great speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not to be taffied,” thought the lawyer. “Plain +talking’s the way to deal with him.” He ended his allusions to the +trial, and said: “Now, Mr. Stirling, Mr. Bohlmann doesn’t want to +have these civil suits go any further. Mr. Bohlmann’s a man of +respectability, with a nice wife and some daughters. The newspapers are giving +him quite enough music without your dragging him into court.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the only way I can reach him,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“But you mustn’t want to reach him. He’s really a +well-meaning man, and if you ask your clergyman—for I believe you go to +Dr. Purple’s church?—you’ll find he’s very charitable +and generous with his money.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled curiously. “Distributing money made that way is not much of +a charity.” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t know,” said the lawyer. Then catching a look which +came into Peter’s face, he instantly added, “at least, he had no +idea it was that bad. He tells me that he hadn’t been inside those +cow-sheds for four years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and see me to-morrow,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +After Dummer had gone, Peter walked uptown, and saw his clergyman. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he was told, “Mr. Bohlmann has always stood high in +the church, and has been liberal and sensible with his money. I can’t +tell you how this whole thing has surprised and grieved me, Mr. Stirling. It +must be terrible for his wife. His daughters, too, are such nice sweet girls. +You’ve probably noticed them in church?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Peter had not noticed them. He did not add that he did not +notice young girls—that for some reason they had not interested him +since—since— +</p> + +<p> +“Where does he live?” inquired Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Not ten blocks from here,” replied Dr. Purple, and named the +street and number. +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at his watch and, thanking the clergyman, took his leave. He did +not go back to his office, but to the address, and asked for Mr. Bohlmann. A +respectable butler showed him into a handsome parlor and carried his name to +the brewer. +</p> + +<p> +There were already two girls in the room. One was evidently a caller. The +other, a girl with a sweet, kindly, German face, was obviously one of the +“nice” daughters. His arrival checked the flow of conversation +somewhat, but they went on comparing their summer experiences. When the butler +came back and said aloud, “Mr. Bohlmann will see you in the library, Mr. +Stirling,” Peter noticed that both girls turned impulsively to look at +him, and that the daughter flushed red. +</p> + +<p> +He found Mr. Bohlmann standing uneasily on the rug by the fireplace, and a +stout woman gazing out of the window, with her back to the room. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a call from your lawyer this morning, Mr. Bohlmann,” said +Peter, “and I have taken the liberty of coming to see you about the +cases.” +</p> + +<p> +“Sid down, sid down,” said his host, nervously, though not sitting +himself. +</p> + +<p> +Peter sat down. “I want to do what is best about the matter,” he +said. +</p> + +<p> +The woman turned quickly to look at him, and Peter saw that there were tears in +her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Vell,” said the brewer, “what is dat?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Peter, “and that’s why +I’ve come to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bohlmann’s face worked for a moment. Then suddenly he burst into +tears. “I give you my word, Mr. Stirling,” he said, “that I +didn’t know it was so. I haven’t had a happy moment since you spoke +that day in court.” He had heretofore spoken in English with a slight +German accent. But this he said in German. He sat down at the table and buried +his face in his arms. His wife, who was also weeping, crossed to him, and tried +to comfort him by patting him on the back. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Peter, “we had best drop the suits.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bohlmann looked up. “It is not the money, Mr. Stirling,” he +said, still speaking in German. “See.” He drew from a drawer in his +desk a check-book, and filling up a check, handed it to Peter. It was dated and +signed, but the amount was left blank. “There,” he said, “I +leave it to you what is right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think Mr. Dummer will feel we have not treated him fairly,” said +Peter, “if we settle it in this way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do not think of him. I will see that he has no cause for +complaint,” the brewer said. “Only let me know it is ended, so that +my wife and my daughters—” he choked, and ended the sentence thus. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Peter. “We’ll drop the suits.” +</p> + +<p> +The husband and wife embraced each other in true German fashion. +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose and came to the table. “Three of the cases were for five +thousand each, and the other two were for two thousand each,” he said, +and then hesitated. He wished to be fair to both sides. “I will ask you +to fill in the check for eight thousand dollars. That will be two each for +three, and one each for two.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Bohlmann disengaged himself from his wife, and took his pen. “You do +not add your fee,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I forgot it,” laughed Peter, and the couple laughed with him in +their happiness. “Make it for eight thousand, two hundred and +fifty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Och,” said the brewer once more resuming his English. “Dat +is too leedle for vive cases.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “It was what I had decided to charge in +case I got any damages.” +</p> + +<p> +So the check was filled in, and Peter, after a warm handshake from both, went +back to his office. +</p> + +<p> +“Dat iss a fine yoong mahn,” said the brewer. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII.<br/> +A NEW FRIEND.</h2> + +<p> +The day after this episode, Peter had the very unusual experience of a note by +his morning’s mail. Except for his mother’s weekly letter, it was +the first he had received since Watts had sailed, two years before. For the +moment he thought that it must be from him, and the color came into his face at +the mere thought that he would have news of—of—Watts. But a +moment’s glance at the writing showed him he was wrong, and he tore the +envelope with little interest in his face. Indeed after he had opened it, he +looked at his wall for a moment before he fixed his mind on it. +</p> + +<p> +It contained a brief note, to this effect: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“A recent trial indicates that Mr. Stirling needs neither praise not +reward as incentives for the doing of noble deeds. +</p> + +<p> +“But one who prefers to remain unknown cannot restrain her grateful +thanks to Mr. Stirling for what he did; and being debarred from such acts +herself, asks that at least she may be permitted to aid him in them by +enclosing a counsel fee for ‘the case of the tenement children of New +York against the inhumanity of men’s greed.’ +</p> + +<p> +“September third.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Peter looked at the enclosure, and found it was a check for five hundred +dollars. He laid it on his desk, and read the note over again. It was beyond +question written by a lady. Every earmark showed that, from the delicate scent +of the paper, to the fine, even handwriting. Peter wanted to know who she was. +He looked at the check to see by whom it was signed; to find that it was drawn +by the cashier of the bank at which it was payable. +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later, a rapid walk had brought him to the bank the name of which +was on the check. It was an uptown one, which made a specialty of family and +women’s accounts. Peter asked for the cashier. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve called about this check,” he said, when that official +materialized, handing the slip of paper to him. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the cashier kindly, though with a touch of the resigned +sorrow in his voice which cashiers of “family’s” and +women’s banks acquire. “You must sign your name on the back, on the +left-hand end, and present it to the paying-teller, over at that window. +You’ll have to be identified if the paying-teller doesn’t know +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want the money,” said Peter, “I want to know +who sent the check to me?” +</p> + +<p> +The cashier looked at it more carefully. “Oh!” he said. Then he +looked up quickly at Peter? with considerable interest, “Are you Mr. +Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I filled this up by order of the president, and you’ll have +to see him about it, if you want more than the money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can I see him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come this way.” +</p> + +<p> +They went into a small office at the end of the bank. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Dyer,” said the cashier, “this is Mr. Stirling, and +he’s come to see about that check.” +</p> + +<p> +“Glad to see you, Mr. Stirling. Sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish to learn who sent the check.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very sorry we can’t oblige you. We had positive instructions from +the person for whom we drew it, that no name was to be given.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you receive a letter?” +</p> + +<p> +“That was forbidden too.” +</p> + +<p> +“A message?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing was said about that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then will you do me the favor to say to the lady that the check will not +be cashed till Mr. Stirling has been able to explain something to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly. She can’t object to that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all.” The president rose and escorted him to the door. +“That was a splendid speech of yours, Mr. Stirling,” he added. +“I’m not a bit ashamed to say that it put salt water in my old +eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Peter, “it was the deaths of the poor little +children, more than anything I said, that made people feel it.” +</p> + +<p> +The next morning’s mail brought Peter a second note, in the same +handwriting as that of the day before. It read: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“Miss De Voe has received Mr. Stirling’s message and will be +pleased to see him in regard to the check, at half after eleven to-day +(Wednesday) if he will call upon her. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss De Voe regrets the necessity of giving Mr. Stirling such brief +notice, but she leaves New York on Thursday.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +As Peter walked up town that morning, he was a little surprised that he was so +cool over his intended call. In a few minutes he would be in the presence of a +lady, the firmness of whose handwriting indicated that she was not yet +decrepit. Three years ago such a prospect would have been replete with terror +to him. Down to that—that week at the Pierce’s, he had never gone +to a place where he expected to “encounter” (for that was the word +he formerly used) women without dread. Since that week—except for the +twenty-four hours of the wedding, he had not “encountered” a lady. +Yet here he was, going to meet an entire stranger without any conscious +embarrassment or suffering. He was even in a sense curious. Peter was not given +to self-analysis, but the change was too marked a one for him to be unconscious +of it. Was it merely the poise of added years? Was it that he had ceased to +care what women thought of him? Or was it that his discovery that a girl was +lovable had made the sex less terrible to him? Such were the questions he asked +himself as he walked, and he had not answered them when he rang the bell of the +old-fashioned, double house on Second Avenue. +</p> + +<p> +He was shown into a large drawing-room, the fittings of which were still +shrouded in summer coverings, preventing Peter from inferring much, even if he +had had time to do so. But the butler had scarcely left him when, with a +well-bred promptness from which Peter might have drawn an inference, the rustle +of a woman’s draperies was heard. Rising, Peter found himself facing a +tall, rather slender woman of between thirty-five and forty. It did not need a +second glance from even Peter’s untrained eye, to realize the suggestion +of breeding in the whole atmosphere about her. The gown was of the simplest +summer material, but its very simplicity, and a certain lack of “latest +fashion” rather than “old-fashionedness” gave it a quality of +respectability. Every line of the face, the set of the head, and even more the +carriage of the figure, conveyed the “look of race.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must thank you, Mr. Stirling,” she said, speaking deliberately, +in a low, mellow voice, by no means so common then as our women’s +imitation of the English tone and inflexion has since made it, “for +suiting your time to mine on such short notice.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were very kind,” said Peter, “to comply with my request. +Any time was convenient to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad it suited you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had expected to be asked to sit down, but, nothing being said, began his +explanation. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very grateful, Miss De Voe, for your note, and for the check. I +thank you for both. But I think you probably sent me the latter through a +mistake, and so I did not feel justified in accepting it.” +</p> + +<p> +“A mistake?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The papers made many errors in their statements. I’m not a +‘poor young lawyer’ as they said. My mother is comfortably off, and +gives me an ample allowance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +“And what is more,” continued Peter, “while they were right +in saying that I paid some of the expenses of the case, yet I was more than +repaid by my fees in some civil suits I brought for the relatives of the +children, which we settled very advantageously.” +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you sit down, Mr. Stirling?” said Miss De Voe. +“I should like to hear about the cases.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter began a very simple narrative of the matter. But Miss De Voe interjected +questions or suppositions here and there, which led to other explanations, and +before Peter had finished, he had told not merely the history of the cases, but +much else. His mention of the two Dooley children had brought out the fact of +their visit to his mother, and this had explained incidentally her position in +the world. The settlement of the cases involved the story of the visit to the +brewer’s home, and Peter, to justify his action, added his interview with +his pastor, Peter’s connection with the case compelled him to speak of +his evenings in the “angle,” and the solitary life that had sent +him there. Afterwards, Peter was rather surprised at how much he had told. He +did not realize that a woman with tact and experience can, without making it +evident, lead a man to tell nearly anything and everything he knows, if she is +so minded. If women ever really take to the bar seriously, may Providence +protect the average being in trousers, when on the witness stand. +</p> + +<p> +As Peter talked, a clock struck. Stopping short, he rose. “I must ask +your pardon,” he said. “I had no idea I had taken so much of your +time.” Then putting his hand in his pocket, he produced the check. +“You see that I have made a very good thing out of the whole matter and +do not need this.” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment, Mr. Stirling,” said the lady, still sitting. +“Can you spare the time to lunch with me? We will sit down at once, and +you shall be free to go whenever you wish.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter hesitated. He knew that he had the time, and it did not seem easy to +refuse without giving an excuse, which he did not have. Yet he did not feel +that he had the right to accept an invitation which he had perhaps necessitated +by his long call. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said his hostess, before he had been able to frame an +answer. “May I trouble you to pull that bell?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter pulled the bell, and coming back, tendered the check rather awkwardly to +Miss De Voe. She, however, was looking towards a doorway, which the next moment +was darkened by the butler. +</p> + +<p> +“Morden,” she said, “you may serve luncheon at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Luncheon is served, madam,” said Morden. +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe rose. “Mr. Stirling, I do not think your explanation has +really affected the circumstances which led me to send that check. You +acknowledge yourself that you are the poorer for that prosecution, and received +no fees for trying it. As I wrote you, I merely was giving a retaining fee in +that case, and as none other has been given, I still wish to do it. I cannot do +such things myself, but I am weal—I—I can well afford to aid others +to do them, and I hope you will let me have the happiness of feeling that I +have done my little in this matter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. “I was quite willing to take the +money, but I was afraid you might have sent it under a misconception.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe smiled at Peter with a very nice look in her face. “I am the +one to say ‘thank you,’ and I am most grateful. But we will +consider that as ended, and discuss luncheon in its place.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter, despite his usual unconsciousness could not but notice the beauty of the +table service. The meal itself was the simplest of summer luncheons, but the +silver and china and glass were such as he had never seen before. +</p> + +<p> +“What wine will you have with your luncheon, Mr. Stirling?” he was +asked by his hostess. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t—none for me,” replied Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t approve of wine?” asked his hostess. +</p> + +<p> +“Personally I have no feeling about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But?” And there was a very big question mark in Miss De +Voe’s voice. +</p> + +<p> +“My mother is strongly prejudiced against it, so I do not take it. It is +really no deprivation to me, while it would mean great anxiety to her if I +drank.” +</p> + +<p> +This started the conversation on Peter’s mother and his early years, and +before it had ended, his hostess had succeeded in learning much more about his +origin and his New York life. The clock finally cut him short again, for they +lingered at the table long after the meal was finished, though Miss De Voe made +the pretence of eating a grape occasionally. When three o’clock struck, +Peter, without the least simulating any other cause for going, rose hastily. +</p> + +<p> +“I have used up your whole afternoon,” he said, apologetically. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” smiled Miss De Voe, “that we are equal culprits in +that. I leave town to-morrow, Mr. Stirling, but return to the city late in +October, and if your work and inclination favor it, I hope you will come to see +me again?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at the silver and the china. Then he looked at Miss De Voe, so +obviously an aristocrat. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be happy to,” he said, “if, when you return, you +will send me word that you wish to see me.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe had slightly caught her breath while Peter hesitated. “I +believe he is going to refuse!” she thought to herself, a sort of stunned +amazement seizing her. She was scarcely less surprised at his reply. +</p> + +<p> +“I never ask a man twice to call on me, Mr. Stirling,” she said, +with a slight hauteur in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry for that,” said Peter quietly. +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe caught her breath again. “Good-afternoon,” she said, +holding out her hand. “I shall hope to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-bye,” said Peter, and the next moment was walking towards his +office. +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe stood for a moment thinking. “That was curious,” she +thought, “I wonder if he intends to come?” +</p> + +<p> +The next evening she was dining with relatives in one of the fashionable +summering places, and was telling them about her call “from Mr. Stirling, +the lawyer who made that splendid speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought,” she said, “when I received the message, that I +was going to be buried under a bathos of thanks, or else have my gift declined +with the expectation that I would gush over the disinterestedness of the +refusal. Since I couldn’t well avoid seeing him, I was quite prepared to +snub him, or to take back the money without a word. But he wasn’t a bit +that kind of creature. He isn’t self-assured nor tonguey—rather the +reverse. I liked him so, that I forced him to stay to luncheon, and made him +tell me a good deal about himself, without his knowing I was doing so. He leads +a very unusual life, without seeming conscious that he does, and he tells about +it very well. Uses just the right word every time, so that you know exactly +what he means, without taxing your own brain to fill up blanks. He has such a +nice voice too. One that makes you certain of the absolute truth underneath. +No. He isn’t good looking, though he has fine eyes, and hair. His face +and figure are both too heavy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is he a gentleman, cousin Anneke?” asked one of the party. +</p> + +<p> +“He is a little awkward, and over-blunt at moments, but nothing to which +one would give a second thought. I was so pleased with him that I asked him to +call on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me,” said another, “that you are over-paying +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the most curious part,” replied Miss De Voe. +“I’m not at all sure that he means to come. It was really +refreshing not to be truckled to, but it is rather startling to meet the first +man who does not want to win his way to my visiting list. I don’t think +he even knows who Miss De Voe is.” +</p> + +<p> +“He will find out quick enough,” laughed a girl, “and then he +will do what they all do.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Miss De Voe. “I suspect it will make no +difference. He isn’t that kind, I think. I really am curious to see if I +have to ask him a second time. It will be the only case I can remember. +I’m afraid, my dears, your cousin is getting to be an old woman.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter, had in truth, met, and spent over four hours in the company of a woman +whom every one wished to know. A woman equally famous for her lineage, her +social position, her wealth and her philanthropy. It would not have made any +difference, probably, had he known it, though it might have increased his +awkwardness a little. That he was not quite as unconscious as Miss De Voe +seemed to think, is shown by a passage in a letter he wrote to his mother: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“She was very much interested in the case, and asked a good many +questions about it, and about myself. Some which I would rather not have +answered, but since she asked them I could not bring myself to dodge them. She +asked me to come and see her again. It is probably nothing but a passing +interest, such as this class feel for the moment.”—[Then Peter +carefully inked out “such as this class feel for the moment,” and +reproved himself that his bitterness at—at—at one experience, +should make him condemn a whole class]—“but if she asks me again I +shall go, for there is something very sweet and noble about her. I think she is +probably some great personage.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Later on in the letter he wrote: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“If you do not disapprove, I will put this money in the savings bank, in +a special or trustee account, and use it for any good that I can do for the +people about here. I gave the case my service, and do not think I am entitled +to take pay when the money can be so much better employed for the benefit of +the people I tried to help.” +</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII.<br/> +ANOTHER CLIENT.</h2> + +<p> +Peter had seen his clients on the morning following the settlement of the +cases, and told them of their good fortune. They each had a look at +Bohlmann’s check, and then were asked how they would like their shares. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure,” said Dooley, “Oi shan’t know what to do wid +that much money.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Peter, “that your two thousand really belongs +to the children.” +</p> + +<p> +“That it does,” said Mrs. Dooley, quite willing to deprive her +husband of it, for the benefit of her children. +</p> + +<p> +“But what shall Oi do wid it?” asked Mr. Dooley. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d like Mr. Stirling to take charge of mine,” said +Blackett. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the idea,” said Dooley. +</p> + +<p> +And so it was settled by all. Peter said the best thing would be to put it in +the savings bank. “Perhaps later we’ll find something +better.” They all went around to a well-known institution on the Bowery, +and Peter interviewed the cashier. It proved feasible to endorse over the check +to the bank, and credit the proper share to each. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have to ask you to give me the odd two hundred and fifty,” +Peter said, “as that is my legal fee.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better let me put that in your name, Mr. Stirling?” said +the president, who had been called into the consultation. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Peter. “I shall want some of it before +long, but the rest will be very well off here.” So a book was handed him, +and the president shook him by the hand with all the warmth that eight thousand +two hundred and fifty dollars of increased assets and four new depositors +implied. +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not need to draw any of the two hundred and fifty dollars, however. +In November he had another knock at his door. +</p> + +<p> +It proved to be Mr. Dennis Moriarty, of whom we have incidentally spoken in +connection with the half-price drinks for the Milligan wake, and as spokesman +of the torchlight procession. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-mornin’ to yez, sir,” said the visitor. +</p> + +<p> +It was a peculiarity of Peter’s that he never forgot faces. He did not +know Mr. Moriarty’s name, never having had it given him, but he placed +him instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter, holding out his hand. Peter did not +usually shake hands in meeting people, but he liked the man’s face. It +would never take a prize for beauty. The hair verged on a fiery red, the nose +was a real sky-scraper and the upper lip was almost proboscidian in its length. +But every one liked the face. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s proud Oi’m bein’ shakin’ the hand av +Misther Stirling,” said the Irishman. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“My name’s Moriarty, sir, Dinnis Moriarty, an’ Oi keeps a +saloon near Centre Street, beyant.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were round here in the procession.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oi was, sir. Shure, Oi’m not much at a speech, compared to the +likes av yez, but the b’ys would have me do it.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said something appropriate, and then there was a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Stirling,” finally said Moriarty, “Oi was up before +Justice Gallagher yesterday, an’ he fined me bad. Oi want yez to go to +him, an’ get him to be easier wid me. It’s yezself can do +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What were you fined for?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“For bein’ open on Sunday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you ought to be fined.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say that till Oi tell yez. Oi don’t want to keep my +place open, but it’s in my lease, an’ so Oi have to.” +</p> + +<p> +“In your lease?” enquired Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” And the paper was handed over to him. +</p> + +<p> +Peter ran over the three documents. “I see,” he said, “you +are only the caretaker really, the brewer having an assignment of the lease and +a chattel mortgage on your fixtures and stock.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” said Dennis. “It’s mighty quick yez +got at it. It’s caretaker Oi am, an’ a divil of a care it is. +Shure, who wants to work seven days a week, if he can do wid six?” +</p> + +<p> +“You should have declined to agree to that condition?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Oi’d have been turned out. Begobs, it’s such poor beer +that it’s little enough Oi sell even in seven days.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you get your beer elsewhere then?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s Edelhein put me in there to sell his stuff, an’ +he’d never let me sell anythin’ else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then Edelhein is really the principal, and you are only put in to keep +him out of sight?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it” +</p> + +<p> +“And you have put no money in yourself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Divil a cent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why doesn’t he pay the fine?” +</p> + +<p> +“He says Oi have no business to be afther bein’ fined. As if any +one sellin’ his beer could help bein’ fined!” +</p> + +<p> +“How is that?” said Peter, inferring that selling poor beer was a +finable offence, yet ignorant of the statute. +</p> + +<p> +“Why yez see, sir, the b’ys don’t like that +beer—an’ sensible they are—so they go to other places, +an’ don’t come to my place.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that doesn’t explain your fines.” +</p> + +<p> +“Av course it does. Shure, if the boys don’t come to my place, +it’s little Oi can do at the primary, an’ so it’s no pull Oi +have in politics, to get the perlice an’ the joodges to be easy wid me, +like they are to the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter studied his blank wall a bit. +</p> + +<p> +“Shure, if it’s good beer Oi had,” continued Moriarty, +“Oi’d be afther beatin’ them all, for Oi was always popular +wid the b’ys, on account of my usin’ my fists so fine.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled. “Why don’t you go into something else?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, there’s mother and the three childers to be supported, +an’ then Oi’d lose my influence at the primary.” +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of beer does Mr. Bohlmann make?” asked Peter, somewhat +irrelevantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said Moriarty, “that’s the fine honest beer! +There’s never anythin’ wrong wid his. An’ he treats his +keepers fair. Lets them do as they want about keepin’ open Sundays, +an’ never squeezes a man when he’s down on his luck.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at his wall again. Peter was learning something. +</p> + +<p> +“Supposing,” he asked, “I was able to get your fine remitted, +and that clause struck out of the lease. Would you open on Sunday?” +</p> + +<p> +“Divil a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“When must you pay the fine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oi’m out on bail till to-morrow, sir.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then leave these papers with me, and come in about this time.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter studied his wall for a bit after his new client was gone. He did not like +either saloon-keepers or law-breakers, but this case seemed to him to +have—to have—extenuating circumstances. His cogitations finally +resulted in his going to Justice Gallagher’s court. He found the judge +rather curt. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s been up here three times in as many months, and I intend to +make an example of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why is only he arrested, when every saloon keeper in the +neighborhood does the same thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sir,” said the judge, “don’t waste any more of my +time. What’s the next case?” +</p> + +<p> +A look we have mentioned once or twice came into Peter’s face. He started +to leave the court, but encountered at the door one of the policemen whom he +was “friends with,” according to the children, which meant that +they had chatted sometimes in the “angle.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of a man is Dennis Moriarty?” he asked of him. +</p> + +<p> +“A fine young fellow, supporting his mother and his younger +brothers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why is Justice Gallagher so down on him?” +</p> + +<p> +The policeman looked about a moment. “It’s politics, sir, and +he’s had orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“From whom?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s more than we know. There was a row last spring in the +primary, and we’ve had orders since then to lay for him.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stood and thought for a moment. “What saloon-keeper round here has +the biggest pull?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all of them, mostly, but Blunkers is a big man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. He stood in the street thinking a little. +Then he walked a couple of blocks and went into Blunkers’s great gin +palace. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see the proprietor,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Dat’s me,” said a man who was reading a paper behind the +bar. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Justice Gallagher?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do I? Well, I guess,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you do me the favor to go with me to his court, and get him to +remit Dennis Moriarty’s fine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will I? No. I will not. Der’s too many saloons, and one less will +be bully.” +</p> + +<p> +“In that case,” said Peter quietly, “I suppose you +won’t mind my closing yours up?” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot der yer mean?” angrily inquired the man. +</p> + +<p> +“If it comes to closing saloons, two can play at that game.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is yer, anyway?” The man came out from behind the bar, +squaring his shoulders in an ugly manner. +</p> + +<p> +“My name’s Stirling. Peter Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +The man looked at him with interest. “How’ll yer close my +place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Get evidence against you, and prosecute you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dat ain’t de way.” +</p> + +<p> +“It will be my way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wot yer got against me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. But I intend to see Moriarty have fair play. You want to fight +on the square too. You’re not a man to hit a fellow in the dark.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was not flattering the man. He had measured him and was telling him the +result of that measure. He told it, too, in a way that made the other man +realize the opinion behind the words. +</p> + +<p> +“Come on,” said Blunkers, good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +They went over to the court, and a whispered colloquy took place between the +justice and the bartender. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s all right, Mr. Stirling,” presently said the judge. +“Clerk, strike Dennis Moriarty’s fine off the list.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter to the saloon-keeper. “If I can ever +do a turn for you, let me know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dat’s hunky,” said the man, and they parted. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went out and walked into the region of the National Milk Company, but +this time he went to the brewery. He found Mr. Bohlmann, and told him the +story, asking his advice at the end. +</p> + +<p> +“Dondt you vool von minute mit dod Edelheim. I dells you vot I do. I harf +choost a blace vacant down in Zender Streed, and your frient he shall it +haf.” +</p> + +<p> +So they chatted till all the details had been arranged. Dennis was to go in as +caretaker, bound to use only Bohlmann’s beer, with a percentage on that, +and the profits on all else. He was to pay the rent, receiving a sub-lease from +Bohlmann, who was only a lesee himself, and to give a chattel mortgage on the +stock supplied him. Finally he was to have the right of redemption of stock, +lease, and good-will at any time within five years, on making certain payments. +</p> + +<p> +“You draw up der babers, Misder Stirling, and send der bill to me. Ve +vill give der yoonger a chance,” the brewer said. +</p> + +<p> +When Dennis called the next day, he was “spacheless” at the new +developments. He wrung Peter’s hand. +</p> + +<p> +“Arrah, what can Oi say to yez?” he exclaimed finally. Then having +found something, he quickly continued: “Now, Patsy Blunkers, lookout for +yezself. It’s the divil Oi’ll give yez in the primary this +year.” +</p> + +<p> +He begged Peter to come down the opening night, and help to “celebrate +the event.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter, “but I don’t think I +will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure,” said Dennis, “yez needn’t be afraid it +won’t be orderly. It’s myself can do the hittin’, an’ +the b’ys know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“My mother brought me up,” Peter explained, “not to go into +saloons, and when I came to New York I promised her, if I ever did anything she +had taught me not to, that I would write her about it. She would hardly +understand this visit, and it might make her very unhappy.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter earned fifty dollars by drawing the papers, and at the end of the first +month Dennis brought him fifty more. +</p> + +<p> +“Trade’s been fine, sir, an’ Oi want to pay something for +what yez did.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter left his two hundred and fifty dollars in the bank, having recouped +the expenses of the first case out of his new client. +</p> + +<p> +He wrote all about it to his mother: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“I am afraid you won’t approve of what I did entirely, for I know +your strong feeling against men who make and sell liquor. But I somehow have +been made to feel in the last few days that more can be done in the world by +kindness and help than by frowns and prosecutions. I had no thought of getting +money out of the case, so I am sure I was not influenced by that. It seemed to +me that a man was being unfairly treated, and that too, by laws which are meant +for other purposes. I really tried to think it out, and do what seemed right to +me. My last client has a look and a way of speaking that makes me certain +he’s a fine fellow, and I shall try to see something of him, provided it +will not worry you to think of me as friendly with a saloon-keeper. I know I +can be of use to him.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Little did Peter know how useful his last client would be to him. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIX"></a>CHAPTER XIX.<br/> +THE PRIMARY.</h2> + +<p> +After this rush of work, Peter’s life became as routine as of yore. The +winter passed without an event worth noting, if we except a steadily growing +acquaintance with the dwellers of the district. But in July a new phase was +injected into it by a call from Dennis Moriarty. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-mornin’ to yez, sir, an’ a fine day it is,” said +the latter, with his usually breezy way. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Stirling. An’ is it engaged yez are for this night?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” Peter had nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Dennis, “maybe ye’ll be afther goin’ +wid me to the primary?” +</p> + +<p> +“What primary?” +</p> + +<p> +“For the election of delegates to the convention, shure.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. What party?” +</p> + +<p> +“What party is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Stirling, do yez know my name?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dennis Moriarty, isn’t it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. An’ what’s my business?” +</p> + +<p> +“You keep a saloon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. An’ what ward do Oi live in?” +</p> + +<p> +“The sixth, don’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Dennis, his upper lip twisting into a smile of +enormous proportions, “Oi suppose yez afther thinkin’ Oi’m a +dirty black Republican.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter laughed, as few could help doing, when Dennis led the way. “Look +here, Dennis,” he said, “don’t you run down that party. My +father was a Democrat, but he voted for Lincoln, and fought for the blacks when +the time came, and though I’m a Democrat like him, the Republicans are +only black in their sympathies, and not in their acts.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ what do yez say to the whisky frauds, an’ black Friday, +an’ credit mobilier?” asked Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I don’t like them,” said Peter; “but +that’s the politicians, not the party.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure,” said Dennis, “what’s the party but the men +that run it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve seen something of Mr. Bohlmann lately, Dennis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, he was the man who put Goldman in charge of that cow stable. Yet +he’s an honest man.” +</p> + +<p> +Dennis scratched his head. “It’s a convincin’ way yez have +wid yez,” he said; “but it’s scoundrels the Republicans are, +all the same. Look at them in the district; there’s not one a decent man +would invite to drink wid him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, Dennis,” said Peter, “that when all the decent men +get into one party, there’ll be only one worth talking about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Av course,” replied Dennis. “That’s the reason +there’s only the Democratic party in New York City.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me about this primary,” said Peter, concluding that abstract +political philosophy was not the way to liberalize Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s most important, it is,” he was told, “it’s +on top Patsy Blunkers an’ his gang av dirty spalpeens (Dennis seemed to +forget that he had just expressed the opinion that all the “decent” +men were Democrats) have been this two years, but we’ve got orders for a +new enrollment at last, an’ if we don’t knock them this time, my +name isn’t Dinnis Moriarty.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the question before the meeting?” +</p> + +<p> +“Afther the enrollment, it’s to vote for delegates.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Then it’s just a struggle over who shall be elected?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it. But a fine, big fight it will be. The whole +district’s so excited, sir, that it’s twice Oi’ve had to +pound the b’ys a bit in my saloon to keep the peace.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want of me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure, every vote counts on a night like this. An’ ye’d be +afther helpin’ us big, for the district likes yez.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Dennis, I can’t vote without knowing something about the way +things are. I shouldn’t know whether I was voting rightly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, a man votes right when he votes for his friends!” +</p> + +<p> +“No; a man votes right when he votes for his convictions.” +</p> + +<p> +“Convictions, is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. That is, he votes as he thinks is best for the country.” +</p> + +<p> +“That, maybe, is the way yez do it where yez come from,” said +Dennis, “but it’s no good it would be here. Convictions, whatever +they be, are never nominated here. It’s real things we’re afther +votin’ for in New York.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter laughed. “I’ve got to take you in hand, Dennis, and +you’ve got to take me in hand. I think we both need each other’s +help. Yes, I’ll come to the primary. Will they let me vote?” +</p> + +<p> +“The dirty spalpeens will never dare to stop yez! Thank yez, sir. +Oi’ll be along for yez about eight.” +</p> + +<p> +“Remember, though, Dennis—I don’t say how I’ll +vote.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yez just listen, an I’m not afraid av what ye’ll do.” +</p> + +<p> +That evening, Peter was ushered into a large hot room, pretty well packed with +men, and the interstices already filled in with dense tobacco smoke. He looked +about him curiously, and was surprised to find how many of the faces he knew. +Blackett, Dooley, and Milligan were there, and shook hands with him warmly. +Judge Gallagher and Blunkers were in evidence. In plain clothes were two +policemen, and three of the “fire-laddies,” who formed part of the +“crew” of the nearest engine, with all of whom he had often +chatted. Mr. Dummer, his rival lawyer in the case, and one of the jurymen in +it, likewise were visible. Also many faces which were familiar to Peter by a +former occasional friendly word or nod exchanged in passing. Intense excitement +evidently reigned, and every one was whispering in a sort of breathless way, +which showed how deeply interested they were. +</p> + +<p> +At Dennis’s suggestion, made in walking to the room, Peter presented +himself without guidance, at the desk. Some one behind him asked if he lived in +the ward, and for how long, but this was the only apparent opposition made to +the prompt entering of his name. Then Peter strolled round and talked to those +whom he knew, and tried to find out, without much success, just what was the +division. Every one knew that a fight was on, but in just what it consisted +they seemed neither to know nor care. +</p> + +<p> +He noticed that hot words were constantly exchanged at the enrolling desk, over +would-be members, but not understanding the exact nature of the qualifications +needed, he could not follow the disputes. Finally these ceased, for want of +applicants. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Stirling,” said Dennis, coming up to him hurriedly. +“Will yez be afther bein’ chairman for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I don’t know anything about the proceedings.” +</p> + +<p> +“It don’t take any,” said Dennis. “It’s only fair +play we’re afther.” +</p> + +<p> +He was gone again before Peter could say anything. The next instant, the +enrolling officer rose and spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Are there any more to be enrolled?” he called. No one came +forward, so after a moment he said: “Will the meeting choose a presiding +officer?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Chairman,” rang two voices so quickly that they in truth cut +the presiding officer off in his suggestion. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Muldoon,” said that officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Oi spoke first,” shouted Dennis, and Peter felt that he had, and +that he was not having fair play. +</p> + +<p> +Instantly a wave of protest, denials, charges, and counter-charges swept +through the room, Peter thought there was going to be a fight, but the position +was too critical to waste a moment on what Dennis styled “a +diversion.” It was business, not pleasure, just then. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Muldoon,” said the officer again, not heeding the tempest in +the least. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Chairman,” shouted Muldoon, “I am proud to nominate +Justice Gallagher, the pride of the bar, for chairman of this distinguished +meeting, and I move to make his election unanimous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Chairman,” shouted Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Moriarty,” said the officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Chairman, Oi have the honor to nominate for chairman av this +meetin’ the people’s an’ the children’s friend, Misther +Peter Stirling, an’ Oi don’t have to move to make it unanimous, for +such is the intelligince an’ manhood av this meetin’ that it will +be that way for shure.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter saw a hurried consultation going on between Gallagher, Muldoon, and two +others, during the latter part of this speech, and barely had Dennis finished +his remarks, when Justice Gallagher spoke up. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Chairman.” +</p> + +<p> +“The Honorable Justice Gallagher,” said that gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +“I take pride in withdrawing in favor of Mr. Stirling, who so justly +merits the honor of presiding on this important occasion. From recent events +too well known to need mention, I am sure we can all look to him for justice +and fairness.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bad cess to him!” groaned Dennis. “Oi hoped they’d be +just fools enough to oppose yez, an’ then we’d have won the first +blood.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was chosen without dissent, and was escorted to the seat behind the desk. +</p> + +<p> +“What is the first business before the meeting?” he asked of +Gallagher, aside, as he was taking his seat. +</p> + +<p> +“Election of delegates to the State convention. That’s all +to-night,” he was told. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had presided at college in debates, and was not flurried. “Will you +stay here so as to give me the names of those I don’t know?” he +said to the enrolling officer. “The meeting will please come to +order,” he continued aloud. “The nomination of delegates to the +State convention is the business to be acted upon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Chairman,” yelled Dennis, evidently expecting to find +another rival as before. But no one spoke. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Moriarty,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Chairman. It’s my delight to nominate as delegates to the +State convention, the Honorable Misther Schlurger, our distinguished +representative in the Assembly, the Honorable Misther Kennedy, our noble +Police-commissioner, an’ Misther Caggs, whom it would be insult for me to +praise in this company.” +</p> + +<p> +“Second the motion,” said some one. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Chairman,” shouted a man. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s Caggs,” said the enrolling officer. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Caggs,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Chairman,” said Caggs. “I must decline the honor offered +me from such a source.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” shrieked Dennis, amazement and rage contesting for first +place in voice and expression. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Chairman,” said Dummer. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Dummer,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I have the honor to nominate the Honorable Justice Gallagher, Mr. Peter +Sweeney, and Mr. Caggs, to whom Mr. Moriarty has just paid so glowing a +tribute, as delegates to the State convention.” +</p> + +<p> +“Second the—” shouted some one, but the rest was drowned by +another storm which swept through the room. Even above the tumult, Peter could +hear Dennis challenging and beseeching Mr. Caggs to come “outside +an’ settle it like gentlemen.” Caggs, from a secure retreat behind +Blunkers’s right arm, declined to let the siren’s song tempt him +forth. Finally Peter’s pounding brought a degree of quiet again. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Chairman,” said Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Moriarty,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Chairman. Oi’ll not take the valuable time av this +meetin’ to speak av dirty, cowardly, black-hearted, treacherous snakes, +wid souls blacker than the divil’s own—” +</p> + +<p> +“Order!” said Peter to the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” continued Dennis, in answer to the audible remarks of the +opposition. “It’s no names Oi’m callin’. If yez know +such a beast, such a snake, fit it to him. Oi’m mentionin’ no +names. As Oi was sayin’, Misther Chairman, Oi’ll not waste the time +av this meetin’ wid discribin’ the conduct av a beast so vile that +he must be the contempt av every honest man. Who would have been driven out by +St. Patrick, wid the rest av the reptiles, if he’d lived at that time. Oi +only rise to widdraw the name av Caggs from the list Oi nominated for delegates +to the state convention, an’ to put in place av it that av a man who is +as noble an’ true, as some are false an’ divilish. That of Misther +Peter Stirling, God bless him!” +</p> + +<p> +Once more chaos came. Peter pounded in vain. Both sides were at fever heat. +Finally Peter rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” he shouted, in a voice that rang through the hall +above even the tumult, “if this meeting does not come to order, I shall +declare it adjourned.” +</p> + +<p> +Instant quiet fell, for all had paused a moment to hear his words, and they +concluded that he was in earnest. +</p> + +<p> +“Was the last motion seconded?” asked the chairman calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“I seconded it,” shouted Blackett and Milligan together. +</p> + +<p> +“You have heard the nominations, gentlemen. Has any one any remarks to +make?” +</p> + +<p> +A man next Justice Gallagher said, “Mr. Chairman,” and being duly +recognized, proceeded to talk for ten minutes in a very useless way. But during +this time, Peter noticed first a good deal of whispering among Blunkers’s +friends, and then an interview between Gallagher and Dennis. The latter was +apparently not reconcilable, and shook his head in a way that meant war. Then +there was more consultation between the opposition, and another confab with +Dennis, with more headshakes on his part. Finally a compromise having been +evidently made impossible, the orator was “called down” and it was +voted to proceed to an election. Peter named one of the firemen, Dooley, and +Blunkers, tellers, who, after a ballot, announced that Dennis had carried his +nominations, Peter heading the list with two hundred and twelve votes, and the +others getting one hundred and seventy-two, and one hundred and fifty-eight +respectively. The “snake” got but fifty-seven votes. +</p> + +<p> +“Shure,” said Dennis, later, “maybe we don’t vote for +convictions here, but we don’t vote for the likes av him!” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are voting for convictions,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s yezself is the convictions then,” said Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps he was right. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XX"></a>CHAPTER XX.<br/> +A POLITICAL DEBUT.</h2> + +<p> +Peter declared the meeting adjourned as soon as the results of the election had +been read, and slipped away in the turmoil that immediately followed, without a +word to any one. He was in truth not bewildered—because he had too much +natural poise and phlegm—but he was surprised by the suddenness of it +all, and wanted to think before talking with others. So he took advantage of +the mutual bickerings and recriminations which seemed the order of the day, to +get back to his office, and there he sat, studying his wall for a time. Then he +went to bed, and slept as quickly and as calmly as if he had spent his evening +in reading the “Modern Cottage Architecture” or “Questions de +Sociologie,” which were on his table instead of presiding at a red-hot +primary, and being elected a delegate. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning Dennis came to see him as early as well could be. +</p> + +<p> +“Misther Stirling,” he said, his face expanding into the broadest +of grins, “let me salute the delegate to the State convention.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Dennis,” said Peter, “you know you had no +business to spring that on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, sir! Shure, when that dirty little spalpeen av a Caggs went back on +us so, what could Oi do? Oi know it’s speak to yez Oi ought, but wid de +room yellin’ like that it’s divilish tryin’ to do the right +thing quick, barrin’ it’s not hittin’ some one’s head, +which always comes natural.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “of course I’m very much pleased to +have been chosen, but I wish it could have been done with less hard +feeling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hard feelin,’ is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure, the b’ys are as pleased and kindly this mornin’ as +can be. It’s a fight like that makes them yieldin’ an’ +friendly. Nothin’ but a little head-punchin’ could make them in a +sweeter mood, an’ we’d a given them that if little Caggs had had +any sense in him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean Gallagher and Blunkers and the rest of them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Av course. That little time last night didn’t mean much. No one +feels bad over that. Shure, it’s Gallagher was in my place later last +night, an’ we had a most friendly time, he treatin’ the whole crowd +twice. We’ve got to fight in the primary to keep the b’ys +interested, but it’s seldom that they’re not just as friendly the +next day.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at his wall. He had not liked Gallagher at either time he had met +him. “Still,” he thought to himself, “I have no right to +prevent him and Dennis being friends, from the little I’ve seen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, sir, about the convention?” said Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose Porter is the best man talked of for the nomination,” +remarked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Begobs, sir, that he’s not,” said Dennis. “It’s +Justice Gallagher was tellin’ me himself that he was a poor kind av +creature, wid a strong objection to saloons.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter’s eye lost its last suggestion of doubt. “Oh, Justice +Gallagher told you that?” he asked. “When?” +</p> + +<p> +“Last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“After the primary?” +</p> + +<p> +“Av course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whom does he favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Catlin.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Dennis, you’ve made me a delegate, but I’ve got to +vote my own way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure, sir, Oi’d not have yez do any thin’ else. It’s +yezself knows better than me. Oi was only tellin’ yez what the +Justice—” +</p> + +<p> +A knock at the door interrupted him. It proved to be Gallagher, who greeted +them both in a hearty, friendly way. Peter brought another chair from his +bedroom. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Mr. Stirling, that was a fine contest we had last night,” +said his honor. +</p> + +<p> +“It seemed to be earnest,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just as well our friend here sprang your nomination on us as +a surprise, for if we had known, we should not have put up an opposition +candidate. You are just the sort of a man we want to represent us in the +convention.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have never met my colleagues,” said Peter. “What kind of +men are they?” +</p> + +<p> +So he got Gallagher’s opinion, and Dennis’s opinion. Then he wanted +to know about the candidates, asking questions about them at considerable +length. The intentions of the other city delegates were next introduced. +Finally the probable planks of the platform were brought up. While they were +still under discussion Gallagher said the sitting of his court compelled him to +leave. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll come in some time when I have more to spare.” +</p> + +<p> +Gallagher went to his court, and found a man waiting for him there. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s either very simple or very deep,” said Gallagher. +“He did nothing but ask questions; and try my best I could not get him to +show his hand, nor commit himself. It will be bad if there’s a split in a +solid delegation!” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope it will be a lesson to you to have things better arranged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Blunkers would have it that way, and he’s not the kind of man to +offend. We all thought he would win.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, let them have their fights,” said the man crossly; “but +it’s your business to see that the right men are put up, so that it +doesn’t make any difference which side wins.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Gallagher, “I’ve done all I could to put +things straight. I’ve made peace, and got Moriarty on our side, and +I’ve talked to this Stirling, and made out a strong case for Catlin, +without seeming to care which man gets the nomination.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is there any way of putting pressure on him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that I can find out. He’s a young lawyer, who has no +business.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then he’s a man we don’t need to conciliate, if he +won’t behave?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I can’t say that. He’s made himself very popular round +here by that case and by being friendly to people. I don’t think, if +he’s going into politics, that it will do to fight him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s such a green hand that we ought to be able to down +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s new, but he’s a pretty cool, knowing chap, I think. I +had one experience with him, which showed me that any man who picked him up for +a fool would drop him quick.” Then he told how Dennis’s fine had +been remitted. +</p> + +<p> +In the next few weeks Peter met a good many men who wanted to talk politics +with him. Gallagher brought some; Dennis others; his fellow-ward delegates, +more. But Peter could not be induced to commit himself. He would talk +candidates and principles endlessly, but without expressing his own mind. Twice +he was asked point blank, “Who’s your man?” but he promptly +answered that he had not yet decided. He had always read a Democratic paper, +but now he read two, and a Republican organ as well. His other reading lessened +markedly, and the time gained was spent in talking with men in the +“district.” He even went into the saloons and listened to the +discussions. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t drink,” he had to explain several times, +“because my mother doesn’t like it.” For some reason this +explanation seemed to be perfectly satisfactory. One man alone sneered at him. +“Does she feed yer still on milk, sonny?” he asked. +“No,” said Peter, “but everything I have comes from her, and +that’s the kind of a mother a fellow wants to please; don’t you +think so?” The sneerer hesitated, and finally said he “guessed it +was.” So Peter was made one of them, and smoked and listened. He said +very little, but that little was sound, good sense, and, if he did not talk, he +made others do so; and, after the men had argued over something, they often +looked at Peter, rather than at their opponents, to see if he seemed to approve +of their opinions. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a fine way he has wid the b’ys,” Dennis told his +mother. “He makes them feel that he’s just the likes av them, +an’ that he wants their minds an’ opinions to help him. Shure, +they’d rather smoke one pipe av his tobaccy than drink ten times at +Gallagher’s expense.” +</p> + +<p> +After Peter had listened carefully and lengthily, he wrote to “The +Honorable Lemuel Porter, Hudson, N.Y.,” asking him if he could give him +an hour’s talk some day. The reply was prompt, and told Peter that Porter +would be glad to see him any time that should suit his convenience. So Peter +took a day off and ran up to Hudson. +</p> + +<p> +“I am trying to find out for whom I should vote,” he explained to +Porter. “I’m a new man at this sort of thing, and, not having met +any of the men talked of, I preferred to see them before going to the +convention.” +</p> + +<p> +Porter found that Peter had taken the trouble to go over a back file of papers, +and read some of his speeches. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” Peter explained, “I want, as far as possible, to +know what you think of questions likely to be matters for legislation.” +</p> + +<p> +“The difficulty in doing that, Mr. Stirling,” he was told, +“is that every nominee is bound to surrender his opinions in a certain +degree to the party platform, while other opinions have to be modified to new +conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can see that,” said Peter. “I do not for a moment expect +that what you say to-day is in any sense a pledge. If a man’s honest, the +poorest thing we can do to him is to tie him fast to one course of action, when +the conditions are constantly changing. But, of course, you have opinions for +the present state of things?” +</p> + +<p> +Something in Peter’s explanation or face pleased Mr. Porter. He demurred +no more, and, for an hour before lunch, and during that meal, he talked with +the utmost freedom. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not easily fooled on men,” he told his secretary +afterwards, “and you can say what you wish to that Stirling without +danger of its being used unfairly or to injure one. And he’s the kind of +man to be won by square dealing.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had spoken of his own district “I think,” he said, +“that some good can be done in the way of non-partisan legislation. +I’ve been studying the food supplies of the city, and, if I can, I shall +try to get a bill introduced this winter to have official inspections +systematized.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will receive my approval if it is properly drawn. But you’ll +probably find the Health Board fighting you. It’s a nest of +politicians.” +</p> + +<p> +“If they won’t yield, I shall have to antagonize them, but I have +had some talks with the men there, in connection with the +‘swill-milk’ investigations, and I think I can frame a bill that +will do what I want, yet which they will not oppose. I shall try to make them +help me in the drafting, for they can make it much better through their +practical experience.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you do that, the opposition ought not to be troublesome. What else do +you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been thinking of a general Tenement-house bill, but I +don’t think I shall try for that this winter. It’s a big subject, +which needs very careful study, in which a lot of harm may be done by +ignorance. There’s no doubt that anything which hurts the landlord, hurts +the tenant, and if you make the former spend money, the tenant pays for it in +the long run. Yet health must be protected. I shall try to find out what can be +done.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would get into the legislature yourself, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not try for office. I want to go on with my profession. But I +shall hope to work in politics in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter took another day off, and spent a few minutes of it with the other most +promising candidate. He did not see very much of him, for they were interrupted +by another caller, and Peter had to leave before he could have a chance to +continue the interview. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a call to-day from that fellow Stirling, who’s a delegate +from the sixth ward,” the candidate told a “visiting +statesman” later. “I’m afraid he’ll give us trouble. He +asks too many questions. Fortunately Dewilliger came to see me, and though I +shouldn’t have seen him ordinarily, I found his call very opportune as a +means of putting an end to Stirling’s cross-examination.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s the one doubtful man on the city’s delegation,” +said the statesman. “It happened through a mistake. It will be very +unfortunate if we can’t cast a solid city vote.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter talked more in the next few days. He gave the “b’ys” +his impressions of the two candidates, in a way which made them trust his +conclusions. He saw his two fellow delegates, and argued long and earnestly +with them. He went to every saloon-keeper in the district, and discussed the +change in the liquor law which was likely to be a prominent issue in the +campaign, telling them what he had been able to draw from both candidates about +the subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Catlin seems to promise you the most,” he told them, “and I +don’t want to say he isn’t trying to help you. But if you get the +law passed which he promises to sign, you won’t be much better off. In +the first place, it will cost you a lot of money, as you know, to pass it; and +then it will tempt people to go into the business, so that it will cut your +profits that way. Then, you may stir up a big public sentiment against you in +the next election, and so lay yourselves open to unfriendly legislation. It is +success, or trying to get too much, which has beaten every party, sooner or +later, in this country. Look at slavery. If the Southerners had left things as +they were under the Missouri Compromise, they never would have stirred up the +popular outbreak that destroyed slavery. Now, Porter is said to be unfriendly +to you, because he wants a bill to limit the number of licenses, and to +increase the fee to new saloons. Don’t you see that is all in your favor, +though apparently against you? In the first place, you are established, and the +law will be drawn so as to give the old dealer precedence over a new one in +granting fresh licenses. This limit will really give the established saloon +more trade in the future, by reducing competition. While the increase in fee to +new saloons will do the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“By ——, yer right,” said Blunkers. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s too good a name to use that way,” said Peter, but +more as if he were stating a fact than reproving. +</p> + +<p> +Blunkers laughed good-naturedly. “Yer’ll be gittin’ usen to +close up yet, Mister Stirling. Yer too good for us.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at him. “Blunkers,” he said warmly, “no man is +too good not to tell the truth to any one whom he thinks it will help.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shake,” said Blunkers. Then he turned to the men at the tables. +“Step up, boys,” he called. “I sets it up dis time to drink +der health of der feller dat don’t drink.” +</p> + +<p> +The boys drank +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXI"></a>CHAPTER XXI.<br/> +A POLITICAL DINNER.</h2> + +<p> +Peter had only a month for work after reaching his own conclusions, before the +meeting of the convention, but in that month he worked hard. As the result, a +rumor, carrying dismay to the party leaders, became current. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s this I hear?” said Gallagher’s former +interviewer to that gentleman. “They say Schlurger says he intends to +vote for Porter, and Kennedy’s getting cold?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll go through the sixth you’ll hear more than +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“There was a torchlight last night, of nearly every voter in the ward, +and nothing but Stirling prevented them from making the three delegates pledge +themselves to vote for Porter. He said they must go unbound.” +</p> + +<p> +The interviewer’s next remark is best represented by several “blank +its,” no allusion however being intended to bed-coverings. Then he cited +the lower regions to know what it all meant. +</p> + +<p> +“It means that that chap Stirling has got to be fixed, and fixed big. I +thought I knew how to wire pull, and manage men, but he’s taken hold and +just runs it as he wants. It’s he makes all the trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +The interviewer left the court, and five minutes later was in Stirling’s +office. +</p> + +<p> +“My name’s Green,” he said. “I’m a delegate to +the convention, and one of the committee who has the arranging of the special +train and accommodations at Saratoga.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you came in,” said Peter. “I bought my ticket +yesterday, and the man at headquarters said he’d see that I was assigned +a room at the United States.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’ll be no trouble about the arrangements. What I want to see +you for, is to ask if you won’t dine with me this evening? There’s +to be several of the delegates and some big men there, to talk over the +situation.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +The man pulled out a card, and handed it to Peter. “Six o’clock +sharp,” he said. Then he went to headquarters, and told the result of his +two interviews. “Now who had better be there?” he asked. After +consultation, a dinner of six was arranged. +</p> + +<p> +The meal proved to be an interesting one to Peter. First, he found that all the +guests were well-known party men, whose names and opinions were matters of +daily notice in the papers. What was more, they talked convention affairs, and +Peter learned in the two hours’ general conversation more of true +“interests” and “influences” and “pulls” +and “advantages” than all his reading and talking had hitherto +gained him. He learned that in New York the great division of interest was +between the city and country members, and that this divided interest played a +part in nearly every measure. “Now,” said one of the best known men +at the table, “the men who represent the city, must look out for the +city. Porter’s a fine man, but he has no great backing, and no matter how +well he intends by us, he can’t do more than agree to such bills as we +can get passed. But Catlin has the Monroe members of the legislature under his +thumb, and his brother-in-law runs Onandaga. He promises they shall vote for +all we want. With that aid, we can carry what New York City needs, in spite of +the country members.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would the country members refuse to vote for really good and needed city +legislation?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Every time, unless we agree to dicker with them on some country job. The +country members hold the interest of the biggest city in this country in their +hands, and threaten or throttle those interests every time anything is +wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when it comes to taxation,” added another, “the country +members are always giving the cities the big end to carry.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had a talk with Catlin,” said Peter. “It seemed to me that +he wasn’t the right kind of man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Catlin’s a timid man, who never likes to commit himself. +That’s because he always wants to do what his backers tell him. Of course +when a man does that, he hasn’t decided views of his own, and naturally +doesn’t wish to express what he may want to take back an hour +later.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like straw men,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“A man who takes other people’s opinions is not a bad governor, Mr. +Stirling. It all depends on whose opinion he takes. If we could find a man who +was able to do what the majority wants every time, we could re-elect him for +the next fifty years. You must remember that in this country we elect a man to +do what we want—not to do what he wants himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter. “But who is to say what the majority +wants?” +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t we—the party leaders—who are meeting daily the +ward leaders, and the big men in the different districts, better able to know +what the people want than the man who sits in the governor’s room, with a +doorkeeper to prevent the people from seeing him?” +</p> + +<p> +“You may not choose to do what the people want.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course. I’ve helped push things that I knew were unpopular. But +this is very unusual, because it’s risky. Remember, we can only do things +when our party is in power, so it is our interest to do what will please the +people, if we are to command majorities and remain in office. Individually we +have got to do what the majority of our party wants done, or we are thrown out, +and new men take our places. And it’s just the same way with the +parties.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I understand the condition better, and +can see what I could not fathom before, why the city delegates want Catlin. But +my own ward has come out strong for Porter. We’ve come to the conclusion +that his views on the license question are those which are best for us, and +besides, he’s said that he will stand by us in some food and tenement +legislation we want.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know about that change, and want to say, Mr. Stirling, that few men of +your years and experience, were ever able to do as much so quickly. But there +are other sides, even to these questions, which you may not have yet +considered. Any proposed restriction on the license will not merely scare a lot +of saloon-keepers, who will only understand that it sounds unfriendly, but it +will alienate every brewer and distiller, for their interest is to see saloons +multiplied. Then food and tenement legislation always stirs up bad feeling in +the dealers and owners. If the opposite party would play fair, we could afford +to laugh at it, but you see the party out of power can oppose about anything, +knowing that a minority is never held responsible, and so by winning over the +malcontents which every piece of legislation is sure to make, before long it +goes to the polls with a majority, though it has really been opposing the best +interests of the whole state. We can’t sit still, and do nothing, yet +everything we do will alienate some interest.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s as bad as the doctrine of fore-ordination,” laughed +another of the party: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“You can’t if you will,<br/> +You can if you won’t,<br/> +You’ll be damned if you do,<br/> +You’ll be damned if you don’t.”<br/> +</p> + +<p> +“You just said,” stated Peter, “that the man who could do +what the majority wants done every time, would be re-elected. Doesn’t it +hold true as to a party?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. A party is seldom retained in power for such reasons. If it has a +long tenure of office it is generally due to popular distrust of the other +party. The natural tendency otherwise is to make office-holding a sort of +see-saw. Let alone change of opinion in older men, there are enough new voters +every four years to reverse majorities in almost every state. Of course these +young men care little for what either party has done in the past, and being +young and ardent, they want to change things. The minority’s ready to +please them, naturally. Reform they call it, but it’s quite as often +‘Deform’ when they’ve done it.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled and said, “Then you think my views on license, and +food-inspection, and tenement-house regulation are +‘Deformities’?” +</p> + +<p> +“We won’t say that, but a good many older and shrewder heads have +worked over those questions, and while I don’t know what you hope to do, +you’ll not be the first to want to try a change, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope to do good. I may fail, but it’s not right as it is, and I +must try to better it.” Peter spoke seriously, and his voice was very +clear. “I’m glad to have had this talk, before the convention +meets. You are all experienced men, and I value your opinions.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t intend to act on them,” said his host +good-naturedly. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’m not ready to say that. I’ve got to think them +over.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you do that, Mr. Stirling, you’ll find we are right. We have +not been twenty and thirty years in this business for nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you know how to run a party—but poisoned milk was peddled +in my ward. I went to law to punish the men who sold it. Now I’m going +into politics to try and get laws and administration which will prevent such +evils. I’ve told my district what I want. I think it will support me. I +know you can help me, and I hope you will. We may disagree on methods, but if +we both wish the good of New York, we can’t disagree on results.” +Peter stopped, rather amazed himself at the length of his speech. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want us to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You say that you want to remain in control. You say you can only do so +by majorities. I want you to give this city such a government that you’ll +poll every honest vote on our side,” said Peter warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s only the generalization of a very young man,” said +the leader. +</p> + +<p> +Peter liked him all the better for the snub. “I generalized, because it +would make clear the object of my particular endeavors. I want to have the +Health Board help me to draft a food-inspection bill, and I want the +legislature to pass it, without letting it be torn to pieces for the benefit of +special interests. I don’t mind fair amendments, but they must be honest +ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if the Health Board helps you, and the bill is made a law?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked Mr. Costell in the face, and spoke quietly: “I shall tell my +ward that you have done them a great service.” +</p> + +<p> +Two of the men moved uneasily in their seats, as if not comfortable, and a +third scowled. +</p> + +<p> +“And if we can give you some tenement-house legislation?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall tell my ward that you have done them a great service.” +Peter spoke in the same tone of voice, and still looked Mr. Costell in the +face. +</p> + +<p> +“And if we don’t do either?” +</p> + +<p> +“What I shall do then will depend on whether you refuse for a good reason +or for none. In either case I shall tell them the facts.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is damned——” began one of the dinner-party, but +the lifting of Mr. Costell’s hand stopped the speech there. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling,” said Mr. Costell, rising as he spoke, “I hope +when you come to think it over, that you will vote with us for Catlin. But +whether you do or not, we want you to work with us. We can help you, and you +can help us. When you are ready to begin on your bills, come and see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. “That is just what I want.” He +said good-night to the company, and left the house. +</p> + +<p> +“That fellow is going to be troublesome,” said Green. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no good trying to get anything out of him. Better split +with him at once,” said the guest who had used the expletive. +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t have any very big hold,” said a third. +“It’s only that trial which has given him a temporary +popularity.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait and see if he goes back on Catlin, and if he does, lay for +him,” remarked Green. +</p> + +<p> +A pause came, and they all looked at Costell, who was smiling a certain deep +smile that was almost habitual with him, and which no one had ever yet been +able to read. “No,” he said slowly. “You might beat him, but +he isn’t the kind that stays beat. I’ll agree to outwit any man in +politics, except the man who knows how to fight and to tell the people the +truth. I’ve never yet seen a man beaten in the long run who can do both +those, unless he chose to think himself beaten. Gentlemen, that Stirling is a +fighter and a truth-teller, and you can’t beat him in his ward. +There’s no use having him against us, so it’s our business to see +that we have him with us. We may not be able to get him into line this time, +but we must do it in the long run. For he’s not the kind that lets go. +He’s beaten Nelson, and he’s beaten Gallagher, both of whom are old +hands. Mark my words, in five years he’ll run the sixth ward. Drop all +talk of fighting him. He is in politics to stay, and we must make it worth his +while to stay with us.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXII"></a>CHAPTER XXII.<br/> +POLITICS.</h2> + +<p> +Peter sat up later than was prudent that night, studying his blank wall. Yet +when he rose to go to bed, he gave his head a puzzled shake. When he had gone +through his papers, and drunk his coffee the next morning, he went back to +wall-gazing again. He was working over two conundrums not very easy to answer, +which were somewhat to this effect: +</p> + +<p> +Does the best man always make the best official? +</p> + +<p> +Is the honest judgment of a fellow verging on twenty-four better than the +experienced opinion of many far older men? +</p> + +<p> +Peter began to think life had not such clear and direct “right” and +“wrong” roads as he had thought. He had said to himself long ago +that it was easy to take the right one, but he had not then discovered that it +is often difficult to know which is the right, in order to follow it. He had +started in to punish Bohlmann, and had compromised. He had disapproved of +Dennis breaking the law, and had compromised his disapproval. He had said he +should not go into saloons, and had ended by going. Now he was confronted with +the problem whether the interests of his ward would be better served by the +nomination of a man of good record, whom Peter personally liked, or by that of +a colorless man, who would be ruled by the city’s leaders. In the one +case Peter feared no support for his measures from his own party. In the other +case he saw aid that was tantamount to success. Finally he shook himself. +</p> + +<p> +“I believe Dennis is right,” he said aloud. “There are more +‘real’ things than ‘convictions’ in New York politics, +and a ‘real’ thing is much harder to decide about in voting than a +‘conviction.’” +</p> + +<p> +He went to his bedroom, packed his bag, and took his way to the station. There +he found a dense crowd of delegates and “well-wishers,” both +surrounding and filling the special train which was to carry New York’s +contribution to the collected party wisdom, about to concentrate at Saratoga. +</p> + +<p> +Peter felt like a stranger in the crowd, but on mingling in it he quickly found +himself a marked man. He was seized upon by one of the diners of the evening +before, and soon found himself forming part of a group, which constantly +changed its components, but continued to talk convention affairs steadily. Nor +did the starting of the train, with cheers, brass bands, flags, and other +enthusing elements, make more than a temporary break. From the time the special +started, till it rolled into Saratoga, six hours later, there was one long +series of political debates and confabs. Peter listened much, and learned much, +for the talk was very straight and plain. He had chats with Costell and Green. +His two fellow-delegates from “de sixt” sought him and discussed +intentions. He liked Schlurger, a simple, guileless German, who wanted only to +do what his constituents wished him to do, both in convention and Assembly. Of +Kennedy he was not so sure. Kennedy had sneered a little at Peter’s talk +about the “best man,” and about “helping the ward,” and +had only found that Peter’s ideas had value after he had been visited by +various of the saloon-keepers, seen the vast torchlight meeting, and heard the +cheers at Peter’s arguments. Still, Peter was by no means sure that +Kennedy was not a square man, and concluded he was right in not condemning him, +when, passing through one of the cars, he overheard the following: +</p> + +<p> +“What kind of man is that Stirling, who’s raised such +—— in the sixth?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know him, but Kennedy told me, before he’d swung +round, that he was a darned good sort of a cuss.” +</p> + +<p> +This was flattery, Peter understood, however questionable the form might seem, +and he was pleased. Very few of us do not enjoy a real compliment. What makes a +compliment uncomfortable is either a suspicion that the maker doesn’t +mean it, or a knowledge that it is not merited. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went at once to his room on reaching the hotel in Saratoga, intending to +make up the sleep of which his long “think” the night before had +robbed him. But scarcely had the colored gentleman bowed himself out, after the +usual “can I git de gentleman a pitcher of ice water” (which +translated means: “has de gentleman any superfluous change?”) when +a knock came at the door. Peter opened it, to find a man outside. +</p> + +<p> +“Is this Mr. Stirling’s room?” inquired the individual. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can I see him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come in.” Peter moved his bag off one of his chairs, and his hat +and overcoat off the other. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling,” said the stranger as he sat down, “I am +Senator Maguire, and am, as perhaps you know, one of Porter’s +managers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“We understand that you are friendly to us. Now, I needn’t say that +New York is otherwise a unit in opposing us.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “My fellow-delegates from the sixth, +Schlurger and Kennedy, stand as I do!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“The change must have been very sudden. They were elected as Catlin men, +we were told.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But there’s quite a different feeling in the ward now, and +they have yielded to it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s good news.” +</p> + +<p> +“We all three come here prepared to do what seems best.” +</p> + +<p> +The Senator’s expression lost some of the satisfaction Peter’s news +had put into it. He gave a quick look at Peter’s face, as if to try and +find from it what lay behind the words. He hesitated, as if divided in mind +over two courses of action. Finally he said: +</p> + +<p> +“I needn’t tell you that this opposition of practically the whole +of the New York City delegation, is the most serious set-back to Porter’s +chance. Now, we have talked it over, and it seemed to us that it would be a +great card for him if he could be nominated by a city delegate. Will you do +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know him well enough, do I? Doesn’t the nominating +delegate have to make a speech in his favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I can give you the material to-night. Or if you prefer, +we’ll give it to you all written for delivery?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t make other men’s speeches, Mr. Maguire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suit yourself about that. It shall be just as you please.” +</p> + +<p> +“The difficulty is that I have not decided myself, yet, how I shall vote, +and of course such an act is binding.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Maguire’s countenance changed again. “I’m sorry to hear +that. I hoped you were for Porter. He’s far away the best man.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I think.” +</p> + +<p> +The Senator leaned back in his chair, and tucked his thumbs into the armholes +of his waistcoat. He thought he had fathomed Peter, and felt that the rest was +plain sailing. “This is not a chap to be tolled. I’ll give him the +gaff at once,” was his mental conclusion. Then he asked aloud: +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want?” +</p> + +<p> +It was a question susceptible of many different constructions, but as Mr. +Maguire asked it, it seemed to him to have but one, and that not very honest. +Peter hesitated. The temptation was strong to lead the Senator on, but he did +not like to do it. It seemed to savor of traps, and Peter had never liked +traps. Still—he did want to know if the managers on Porter’s side +would stoop to buy his support by some bargain. As Peter hesitated, weighing +the pros and cons, Maguire spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“What does the other side offer you?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter spoke quickly. “They haven’t offered me anything, but advice. +That is, Costell said he’d try and help me on some legislation I +want—” +</p> + +<p> +“Special?” interrupted Maguire. +</p> + +<p> +“No, General. I’ve talked about it with Porter as well” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Indeed?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m really anxious to get that. Otherwise I want nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whew,” said the Senator to himself. “That was a narrow +squeak. If he hadn’t spoken so quickly, I should have shown my hand +before the call. I wonder if he got any inkling?” He never dreamed that +Peter had spoken quickly to save that very disclosure. +</p> + +<p> +“I needn’t say, Mr. Stirling, that if you can see your way to +nominate Porter, we shall not forget it. Nor will he. He isn’t the kind +of man who forgets his friends. Many a man in to-morrow’s convention +would give anything for the privilege we offer you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I realize the honor offered me, but I +don’t see my way to take it. It will please me better to see him +nominated by some one who has really stood close to him, than to gain his favor +by doing it myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Think twice, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you would rather, I will not give you my answer till to-morrow +morning?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would,” said Maguire rising, “Try and make it favorable. +It’s a great chance to do good for yourself and for your side. +Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter closed his door, and looked about for a bit of blank wall. But on second +thought he sat down on his window-sill, and, filling his pipe, tried to draw +conclusions as well as smoke from it. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” he pondered to himself, “how much of that was +Maguire, and how much Porter? Ought I, for the sake of doing my best for my +ward, to have let him go on? Has an agent any right to refuse what will help is +client, even if it comes by setting pitfalls?” +</p> + +<p> +Rap, rap, rap. +</p> + +<p> +“Come in,” called Peter, forgetting he had turned down his light. +</p> + +<p> +The door opened and Mr. Costell came in. “Having a quiet smoke?” he +asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I haven’t a cigar to offer you. Can you join me in a +pipe?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t come to that yet. Suppose you try one of my +cigars.” Costell sat down on the window-ledge by Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. “I like a cigar, but it must be a +good one, and that kind I can’t afford.” He lit the cigar, and +leaned back to luxuriate in it. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll like that, I’m sure. Pretty sight, isn’t +it?” Costell pointed to the broad veranda, three stories below them, gay +with brilliant dresses. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It’s my first visit here, so it’s new to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It won’t be your last. You’ll be attending other conventions +than this.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so.” +</p> + +<p> +“One of my scouts tells me you’ve had a call from Maguire?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Peter hesitated a moment. “He wants me to nominate +Porter,” he continued, as soon as he had decided that plain speaking was +fair to Maguire. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall be very sorry to see you do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I shall. They only want me because it would give the +impression that Porter has a city backing, and to try to give that amounts to a +deception.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can they get Schlurger or Kennedy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Schlurger is safe. I don’t know about Kennedy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you find out for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. When would you like to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Can you see him now? I’ll wait here.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose, looking at his cigar with a suggestion of regret. But he rubbed out +the light, and left the room. At the office, he learned the number of +Kennedy’s room, and went to it. On knocking, the door was opened only a +narrow crack. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! it’s you,” said Kennedy. “Come in.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter entered, and found Maguire seated in an easy attitude on a lounge. He +noticed that his thumbs were once more tucked into his waistcoat. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Kennedy,” said Peter without seating himself, “there is +an attempt being made to get a city delegate to nominate Porter. It seems to me +that is his particular friends’ business.” +</p> + +<p> +Maguire spoke so quickly that Kennedy had no chance to reply: +“Kennedy’s promised to nominate him, Mr. Stirling, if you +won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you feel that you are bound to do it?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Kennedy moved uneasily in his chair. “Yes, I suppose I have +promised.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you release Mr. Kennedy from his promise if he asks it?” +Peter queried to Maguire. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Mr. Stirling, I don’t think either he or you ought to ask +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was not my question.” +</p> + +<p> +It was the Senator’s turn to squirm. He did not want to say no, for fear +of angering Peter, yet he did not like to surrender the advantage. Finally he +said: “Yes, I’ll release him, but Mr. Kennedy isn’t the kind +of a man that cries off from a promise. That’s women’s work.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Kennedy stiffening suddenly in backbone, as he saw the +outlet opened by Maguire, between antagonizing Peter, and retracting his +consent. “I don’t play baby. Not me.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stood thinking for a longer time than the others found comfortable. +Maguire whistled to prove that he was quite at ease, but he would not have +whistled if he had been. +</p> + +<p> +“I think, Mr. Kennedy, that I’ll save you from the difficulty by +nominating Mr. Porter myself,” said Peter finally. +</p> + +<p> +“Good!” said Maguire; and Kennedy, reaching down into his hip +pocket, produced a version of the holy text not yet included in any +bibliography. Evidently the atmosphere was easier. “About your speech, +Mr. Stirling?” continued the Senator. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall say what I think right.” +</p> + +<p> +Something in Peter’s voice made Maguire say: “It will be of the +usual kind, of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” said Peter, “I shall tell the +facts.” +</p> + +<p> +“What sort of facts?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall tell how it is that a delegate of the sixth ward nominates +Porter.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that is?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see,” said Peter, “why I need say it. You know +it as well as I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know of many reasons why you should do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “There’s only one, and that has been +created in the last ten minutes. Mr. Maguire, if you insist on the sixth ward +nominating Mr. Porter, the sixth ward is going to tell why it does so. +I’m sorry, for I like Porter, but the sixth ward shan’t lend itself +to a fraud, if I can help it.” +</p> + +<p> +Kennedy had been combining things spiritual and aqueous at his wash-stand. But +his interest in the blending seemed suddenly to cease. Maguire, too, took his +thumbs from their havens of rest, and looked dissatisfied. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Mr. Stirling,” he said, “it’s much simpler +to leave it to Kennedy. You think you’re doing what’s right, but +you’ll only do harm to us, and to yourself. If you nominate Porter, the +city gang won’t forgive you, and unless you can say what we want said, we +shall be down on you. So you’ll break with both sides.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that is so. That is why I want some real friend of +Porter’s to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +Maguire laughed rather a forced laugh. “I suppose we’ve got to +satisfy you. We’ll have Porter nominated by one of our own crowd.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think that’s best. Good-evening.” Peter went to the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling,” called Kennedy. “Won’t you stay and +take some whisky and water with us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. “Mr. Costell’s in my room and +he must be tired of waiting.” He closed the door, and walked away. +</p> + +<p> +The couple looked at each other blankly for a moment. +</p> + +<p> +“The —— cuss is playing a double game,” Maguire gasped. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what it means!” said Kennedy. +</p> + +<p> +“Mean?” cried Maguire. “It can mean only one thing. +He’s acting under Costell’s orders.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why should he give it away to us?” +</p> + +<p> +“How the —— should I know? Look here, Kennedy, you must do +it, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tut, tut, man, you must.” +</p> + +<p> +“But my ward?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come. We’ll make it quarantine, as you want. That’s six +years, and you can —— your ward.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the talk.” +</p> + +<p> +They sat and discussed plans and whisky for nearly an hour. Then Maguire said +good-night. +</p> + +<p> +“You shall have the speech the first thing in the morning,” he said +at parting. Then as he walked down the long corridor, he muttered, “Now +then, Stirling, look out for the hind heel of the mule.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter found Costell still waiting for him. +</p> + +<p> +“It took me longer than I thought, for Maguire was there.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said Costell, making room for Peter on the window-ledge. +</p> + +<p> +Peter re-lit his cigar, “Maguire promises me that Porter shall be +nominated by one of his friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“He had been trying Kennedy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t ask.” +</p> + +<p> +Costell smiled. “I had no business to ask you that?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” Peter said frankly. +</p> + +<p> +Both puffed their cigars for a time in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Then Costell began talking about Saratoga. He told Peter where the +“Congress” spring was, and what was worth seeing. Finally he rose +to go. He held out his hand, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling, you’ve been as true as steel with us, and with the +other men. I don’t want you to suppose we are not conscious of it. I +think you’ve done us a great service to-night, although it might have +been very profitable to you if you had done otherwise. I don’t think that +you’ll lose by it in the long run, but I’m going to thank you now, +for myself. Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had a good night. Perhaps it was only because he was sleepy, but a +pleasant speech is not a bad night-cap. At least it is better than a mental +question-mark as to whether one has done wrong. Peter did not know how it was +coming out, but he thought he had done right, and need not spend time on a +blank wall that evening. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXIII<br/> +THE CONVENTION.</h2> + +<p> +Though Peter had not gone to bed so early as he hoped, he was up the next +morning, and had tramped his eight miles through and around Saratoga, before +the place gave many evidences of life. He ended his tramp at the Congress +spring, and tasted the famous water, with exceeding disgust at the result. As +he set down his half-finished tumbler, and turned to leave, he found Miss De +Voe at his elbow, about to take her morning glass. +</p> + +<p> +“This is a very pleasant surprise,” she said, holding out her hand. +“When did you arrive?” +</p> + +<p> +“I only came last night.” +</p> + +<p> +“And how long shall you be here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot say. I am attending the convention, and my stay will depend on +that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Surely you are not a Democrat?” said Miss De Voe, a shade of +horror showing itself in her face, in spite of her good breeding. In those days +it was not, to put it mildly, a guarantee of respectability to belong to that +party, and Miss De Voe had the strong prejudices of her social station, all the +more because she was absolutely ignorant of political events. +</p> + +<p> +Peter said he was. +</p> + +<p> +“How can you be? When a man can ally himself with the best, why should he +choose the worst?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Peter quietly, “that a Pharisee said the same +thing, in different words, many hundred years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe caught her breath and flushed. She also became suddenly conscious +of the two girls who had come to the spring with her. They had been forgotten +in the surprise over Peter, but now Miss De Voe wondered if they had heard his +reply, and if they had enough Bible lore to enable them to understand the +reproof. +</p> + +<p> +“I am sure you don’t mean that,” she said, in the sting of +the moment. +</p> + +<p> +“I am very sorry,” said Peter, “if I made an unkind speech. +What I meant was that no one has a right to pick out the best for himself. I am +sure, from your letter to me, that you think a man should help those not as +well off as himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but that is very different. Of course we should be charitable to +those who need our help, but we need not mix in their low politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“If good laws, and good administration can give the poor good food, and +good lodgings, don’t you think the best charity is to ‘mix’ +in politics, and try to obtain such results?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you to know my two cousins,” Miss De Voe replied. +“Dorothy, I wish to present Mr. Stirling. My cousin, Miss Ogden, and Miss +Minna Ogden.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter saw two very pretty girls, and made a bow to them. +</p> + +<p> +“Which way are you walking?” asked Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“I have been tramping merely for exercise,” said Peter, “and +stopped here to try the spring, on my way to the United States.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is hardly worth while, but if you will get into our carriage, we will +drop you there. Or if you can spare the time, we will drive to our cottage, and +then send you back to the hotel.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter, “but I shall only crowd you, I +fear.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. There is plenty of room.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will the convention be interesting to watch, Mr. Stirling?” asked +one of the girls, as soon as they were seated. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Peter told her. “It is my first +experience at it. There is pretty strong feeling, and that of course makes it +interesting to the delegates, but I am not sure that it would be so to +others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will there be speeches, and cheers, and all that sort of thing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cousin Anneke, won’t you take us? It will be such fun!” +</p> + +<p> +“Are spectators admitted, Mr. Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe so. I heard something about tickets last night. If you care to +go, I’ll see if I can get you some?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please,” cried both girls. +</p> + +<p> +“If you can do so, Mr. Stirling, we should like to see the interesting +part,” said Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Send word back by Oliver.” The carriage had drawn up at the +cottage, and farewells were made. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as Peter reached the hotel, he went to the New York City delegation +room, and saw Costell. He easily secured admissions, and pencilling on a card, +“At headquarters they tell me that the nominations will begin at the +afternoon session, about two o’clock,” he sent them back by the +carriage. Then bearding the terrors of the colored “monarch of all he +surveys,” who guards the dining-room of every well-ordered Saratoga +hotel, he satisfied as large an appetite as he remembered in a long time. +</p> + +<p> +The morning proceedings in the convention were purely formal. The election of +the chairman, the roll-call, the naming of the committees, and other routine +matter was gotten through with, but the real interest centred in the undertone +of political talk, going on with little regard to the business in hand. After +the committees were named, an unknown man came up to Peter, and introduced +himself by a name which Peter at once recognized as that of one of the +committee on the platform. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Costell thinks you might like to see this, and can perhaps suggest a +change,” explained Mr. Talcott, laying several sheets of manuscript on +Peter’s desk and indicating with his finger a certain paragraph. +</p> + +<p> +Peter read it twice before saying anything. “I think I can better +it,” he said. “If you can give me time I’m very slow about +such things.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Get it in shape as quickly as possible, and send it to the +committee-room.” +</p> + +<p> +Left alone Peter looked round for a blank wall. Failing in his search, he put +his head into his hands, and tried to shut out the seething, excited mass of +men about him. After a time he took a sheet of paper and wrote a paragraph for +the platform. It pledged the party to investigate the food and tenement +questions, and to pass such remedial legislation as should seem best. It +pledged the party to do this, with as little disturbance and interference with +present conditions as possible, “but fully recognizing the danger of +State interference, we place human life above money profits, and human health +above annual incomes, and shall use the law to its utmost to protect +both.” When it appeared in the platform, there was an addition that +charged the failure to obtain legislation “which should have rendered +impossible the recent terrible lesson in New York City” to “the +obstruction in the last legislature in the interest of the moneyed classes and +landlords, by the Republican party.” That had not been in Peter’s +draft and he was sorry to see it. Still, the paragraph had a real ring of +honesty and feeling in it. That was what others thought too. “Gad, that +Stirling knows how to sling English,” said one of the committee, when the +paragraph was read aloud. “He makes it take right hold.” Many an +orator in that fall’s campaign read the nineteenth section of the +Democratic platform aloud, feeling that it was ammunition of the right kind. It +is in all the New York papers of September 24th, of that year. +</p> + +<p> +Immediately after the morning adjournment, Green came up to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve had a count, and can’t carry Catlin. So we +shan’t even put him up. What do you think of Milton?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know him personally, but he has a very good record, I +believe.” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t what we want, but that’s not the question. We must +take what we can get.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you think Porter has a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if we take Milton.” +</p> + +<p> +“Between the two I have no choice.” +</p> + +<p> +An hour later, the convention was called to order by the chairman. A few +moments sufficed to complete the unfinished business, and then the +chairman’s gavel fell, and every one knew without his announcement that +the crucial moment had been reached. +</p> + +<p> +Much to Peter’s surprise, Kennedy was one of the members who was +instantly on his feet, and was the one selected for recognition by the +chairman. He was still more surprised when Kennedy launched at once into a +glowing eulogium of Porter. Peter was sitting next Kennedy, and though he sat +quietly, a sad look came into the face usually so expressionless. He felt +wronged. He felt that he had been an instrument in the deceiving of others. +Most of all he grieved to think that a delegate of his ward, largely through +his own interference, was acting discreditably. Peter wanted others to do +right, and he felt that that was not what Kennedy was doing. +</p> + +<p> +The moment Kennedy finished, Peter rose, as did Maguire. The convention was +cheering for Porter, and it took some time to quiet it to a condition when it +was worth while recognizing any one. During this time the chairman leaned +forward and talked with Green, who sat right below him, for a moment. Green in +turn spoke to Costell, and a little slip of paper was presently handed up to +the chairman, who from that moment became absolutely oblivious of the fact that +Maguire was on his feet. When silence finally came, in spite of +Maguire’s, “Mr. Chairman,” that individual said, “Mr. +Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter began in a low voice, “In rising, Mr. Chairman, to second the +nomination of Mr. Porter, I feel that it would be idle in me to praise one so +well known to all of us, even if he had not just been the subject of so +appreciative a speech from my colleague—” +</p> + +<p> +Here cries of “louder” interrupted Peter, during which interruption +Green said to Costell, “We’ve been tricked.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so sure,” replied Costell, “Maguire’s on +his feet yet, and doesn’t look happy. Something’s happening which +has not been slated.” +</p> + +<p> +When Peter resumed, there were no more cries of “louder.” His +introduction had been a matter of trouble and doubt to him, for he liked +Porter, and feared he might not show it. But now he merely had something to +tell his audience, and that was easy work. So, his voice ringing very clear and +distinct, he told them of the original election of the delegates; of the +feeling of his ward; of the attempts to obtain a city nomination of Porter; of +Maguire’s promise. “Gad, he hits from the shoulder,” said +Green. As soon as the trend of his remarks was realized, Porter’s +supporters began to hiss and hoot. Peter at once stopped, but the moment +silence came he began again, and after a repetition of this a few times, they +saw they could neither embarrass nor anger him, so they let him have his say. +He brought his speech to an end by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“I have already expressed my admiration of Mr. Porter, and as soon as I +had made up my mind to vote for him, I made no secret of that intention. But he +should not have been nominated by a city delegate, for he is not the choice of +New York City, and any attempt to show that he is, or that he has any true +backing there, is only an attempt to deceive. In seconding his nomination +therefore, I wish it to be distinctly understood that both his nomination and +seconding are personal acts, and in no sense the act of the delegates of the +city of New York.” +</p> + +<p> +There was a mingling of hoots and cheers as Peter sat down, though neither was +very strong. In truth, the larger part of the delegates were very much in the +dark as to the tendency of Peter’s speech. “Was it friendly or +unfriendly to Porter?” they wondered. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Maguire,” said the chairman. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Chairman, the gentleman who has just sat down is to be complimented +on his speech. In my whole life I have never heard so deceptive and blinding a +narration. We know of Brutus stabbing his friend. But what shall we say of a +pretended Brutus who caresses while he stabs?” +</p> + +<p> +Here the Porter adherents became absolutely sure of the character of +Peter’s speech, and hissed. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor is it Imperial Caesar alone,” continued Maguire, +“against whom he turns his poniard. Not content with one foul murder, he +turns against Caesar’s friends. By devilish innuendo, he charges the +honorable Mr. Kennedy and myself with bargaining to deceive the American +people. I call on him for proof or retraction.” +</p> + +<p> +The convention laughed. Peter rose and said: “Mr. Chairman, I gave a +truthful account of what actually took place last evening in the United States +hotel. I made no charges.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you left the impression that Mr. Kennedy and I had made a +deal,” shrieked Maguire. +</p> + +<p> +“If the gentleman draws that conclusion from what passed, it is not my +fault.” +</p> + +<p> +The convention laughed. “Do you mean to charge such a bargain?” +angrily shouted Maguire. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you deny it?” asked Peter calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you do charge it?” +</p> + +<p> +Here the convention laughed for the third time. Green shouted “deny +it,” and the cry was taken up by many of the delegates. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” screamed Maguire. “I do deny it” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned to Kennedy. “Do you too, deny it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” shouted Kennedy, loudly. +</p> + +<p> +Again the convention laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Peter, “if I had charged you with a bargain, I +should now find it necessary to apologize.” +</p> + +<p> +The convention roared. Maguire screamed something, but it could not be heard. +The tenor of his remarks was indicated by his red face and clinched fist. +</p> + +<p> +Costell smiled his deep smile. “I’m very glad,” he said to +the man next him, “that we didn’t pick Stirling up.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Milton was nominated and seconded, as were also Catlin, and four minor +stars. That done, a ballot was taken and the vote stood: +</p> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: 3em;"> + +<tr> <td>Porter</td><td>206</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Milton</td><td>197</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Catlin</td><td>52</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Scattering</td><td>29</td> </tr> + +</table> + +<p> +A second ballot showed: +</p> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: 3em;"> + +<tr> <td>Porter</td><td>206</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Milton</td><td>202</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Catlin</td><td>54</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Scattering</td><td>22</td> </tr> + +</table> + +<p> +A third ballot gave: +</p> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: 3em;"> + +<tr> <td>Porter</td><td>206</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Milton</td><td>210</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Catlin</td><td>52</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Scattering</td><td>16</td> </tr> + +</table> + +<p> +“Porter’s done for on the next,” was whispered round the +hall, though where it started, no one knew. Evidently his adherents thought so, +for one made a motion to adjourn. It was voted down, and once more the roll +call started. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall vote for Milton,” Peter told Schlurger, and the changes in +the delegations as the call proceeded, proved that many changes were being made +the same way. Yet the fourth ballot showed: +</p> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: 3em;"> + +<tr> <td>Porter</td><td>125</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Milton</td><td>128</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Catlin</td><td>208</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Scattering</td><td>14</td> </tr> + +</table> + +<p> +The wildest excitement broke out in the Porter delegates. “They’ve +beaten us,” screamed Kennedy, as much to himself as to those about. +“They’ve used Milton to break our ranks, meaning Catlin all the +time.” So in truth, it was. Milton had been put up to draw off +Porter’s delegates, but the moment they had begun to turn to Milton, +enough New York City delegates had been transferred to Catlin to prevent Milton +being chosen. Amid protests and angry words on all sides another ballot was +taken: +</p> + +<table summary="" style="margin-left: 3em;"> + +<tr> <td>Catlin</td><td>256</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Porter</td><td>118</td> </tr> + +<tr> <td>Milton</td><td>110</td> </tr> + +</table> + +<p> +Before the result was announced. Green was at Peter’s elbow. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you move to make it unanimous?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” And Peter made the formal motion, which was carried by +acclamation. Half an hour served to choose the Lieutenant-Governor and the rest +of the ticket, for the bulk of it had already been slated. The platform was +adopted, and the convention dissolved. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Kennedy angrily to Peter, “I guess you’ve +messed it this time. A man can’t please both sides, but he needn’t +get cussed by both.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went out and walked to his hotel. “I’m afraid I did mess +it,” he thought, “yet I don’t see what else I could have +done.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXIV.<br/> +MISUNDERSTANDINGS AND UNDERSTANDINGS.</h2> + +<p> +“Did you understand what it all meant, Cousin Anneke?” asked +Dorothy, as they were coming downstairs. +</p> + +<p> +“No. The man who got so angry seemed to think Mr. Stirling +had—” +</p> + +<p> +She stopped short. A group of men on the sidewalk were talking, and she paused +to hear one say: +</p> + +<p> +“To see that young chap Stirling handling Maguire was an +eye-opener.” +</p> + +<p> +Another man laughed, rather a deep, quiet laugh. “Maguire understands +everything but honesty,” he said. “You can always beat him with +that.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe would have like to stay and listen, but there were too many men. So +the ladies entered the carriage. +</p> + +<p> +“At least we know that he said he was trying to tell the truth,” +she went on, “and you just heard what that man said. I don’t know +why they all laughed.” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t seem to mind a bit.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Hasn’t he a funny half-embarrassed, half-cool manner?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wasn’t embarrassed after he was fairly speaking. You know he +was really fine-looking, when he spoke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dorothy. “You said he had a dull, heavy +face.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was the first time I saw him, Dorothy. It’s a face which +varies very much. Oliver, drive to the United States. We will take him home to +dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, good,” cried the youngest. “Then he will tell us why +they laughed.” +</p> + +<p> +As they drove up to the hotel, Peter had just reached the steps. He turned to +the carriage, the moment he saw that they wanted him. +</p> + +<p> +“We wish to carry you off to a simple country dinner,” Miss De Voe +told him. +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to take the special to New York, and that leaves in half an +hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take a later train.” +</p> + +<p> +“My ticket wouldn’t be good on it.” +</p> + +<p> +Most men Miss De Voe would have snubbed on the spot, but to Peter she said: +“Then get another ticket.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care to do that,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please, Mr. Stirling,” said Minna. “I want to ask you a +lot of questions about the convention.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hush, Minna,” said Miss De Voe. She was nettled that Peter should +refuse, and that her niece could stoop to beg of “a criminal lawyer and +ward politician,” as she put it mentally. But she was determined not to +show it “We are sorry. Good-evening. Home, Oliver.” +</p> + +<p> +So they did not learn from Peter why the convention laughed. The subject was +brought up at dinner, and Dorothy asked the opinion of the voters of the +family. +</p> + +<p> +“Probably he had made a fluke of some kind,” one said. +</p> + +<p> +“More probably he had out-sharped the other side,” suggested a +second. +</p> + +<p> +“It will be in the papers to-morrow,” said the first suggestor. +</p> + +<p> +The three women looked in the next day’s papers, but the reporters were +as much at sea in regard to the Stirling-sixth-ward incident, as had been the +rank-and-file in the convention. Three took their views from Maguire, and +called it “shameful treason,” and the like. Two called it +“unprincipled and contradictory conduct.” One alone said that +“Mr. Stirling seemed to be acting conscientiously, if erratically.” +Just what effect it had had on the candidates none of the papers agreed in. One +said it had killed Porter. Another, that “it was a purely personal matter +without influence on the main question.” The other papers shaded between +these, though two called it “a laughable incident.” The opposition +press naturally saw in it an entire discrediting of both factions of the +Democratic party, and absolute proof that the nominee finally selected was +unfit for office. +</p> + +<p> +Unable to sift out the truth, the ladies again appealed to the voters of the +family. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said one, “Stirling did something tricky and was caught +in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe that,” said Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor I,” said Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you want to make your political heeler an angel, I have no +objection,” laughed the enfranchised being. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think a man who made that speech about the children can be +a scoundrel,” said Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t either,” said Minna. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the way you women reason,” responded he of the +masculine intellect. “Because a man looks out for some sick kittens, +ergo, he is a political saint. If you must take up with politicians, do take +Republicans, for then, at least, you have a small percentage of chance in your +favor that they are gentlemen.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t be a Pharisee, Lispenard,” said Miss De Voe, utilizing +Peter’s rebuke. +</p> + +<p> +“Then don’t trouble me with political questions. Politics are so +vulgar in this country that no gentleman keeps up with them.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe and the two girls dropped the “vulgar” subject, but +Miss De Voe said later: +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to know what they laughed at?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do ask him—if he comes to call on you, this winter, Cousin +Anneke.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I asked him once and he did not come.” Miss De Voe paused a +moment. “I shall not ask him again,” she added. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think he intends to be rude,” said Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” responded Miss De Voe. “I don’t think he knows +what he is doing. He is absolutely without our standards, and it is just as +well for both that he shouldn’t call.” Woman-like, Miss De Voe +forgot that she had said Peter was a gentleman. +</p> + +<p> +If Peter had found himself a marked man in the trip up, he was doubly so on the +return train. He sat most of the time by himself, pondering on what had +happened, but he could not be unconscious of the number of people to whom he +was pointed out. He was conscious too, that his course had not been understood, +and that many of those who looked at him with interest, did so without +approbation. He was not buoyed up either, by a sense that he had succeeded in +doing the best. He had certainly hurt Porter, and had made enemies of Maguire +and Kennedy. Except for the fact that he had tried to do right, he could see no +compensating balance. +</p> + +<p> +Naturally the newspapers the next morning did not cheer him, though perhaps he +cared less for what they said than he ought. He sent them, good, bad, and +indifferent, to his mother, writing her at the same time a long letter, telling +her how and why he had taken this course. He wrote also a long letter to +Porter, explaining his conduct. Porter had already been told that Peter was +largely responsible for his defeat, but after reading Peter’s letter, he +wrote him a very kind reply, thanking him for his support and for his letter. +“It is not always easy to do what one wants in politics,” he wrote, +“but if one tries with high motives, for high things, even defeat loses +its bitterness. I shall not be able to help you, in your wished-for reforms as +greatly as I hoped, but I am not quite a nonentity in politics even now, and if +at any time you think my aid worth the asking, do not hesitate to call on me +for it. I shall always be glad to see you at my house for a meal or a night, +whether you come on political matters or merely for a chat.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter found his constituents torn with dissensions over his and Kennedy’s +course in the convention. He did not answer in kind the blame and criticism +industriously sowed by Kennedy; but he dropped into a half-a-dozen saloons in +the next few days, and told “the b’ys” a pretty full history +of the “behind-the-scenes” part. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I made mistakes,” he frankly acknowledged, +“yet even now I don’t see how I could have done differently. I +certainly thought I was doing right.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ so yez were,” shouted Dennis. “An’ if that +dirty beast Kennedy shows his dirty face inside these doors, it’s a +washin’ it will get wid the drainin’ av the beer-glasses. We wants +none av his dirty bargains here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know that he had made any bargain,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“But we do,” shouted one of the men. “It’s a bargain +he’s always makin’.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Dennis. “It’s Kennedy looks out for +himself, an’ we’ll let him do it next time all by himself.” +It could not be traced to its origin, but in less than a week the consensus of +opinion in the ward was that: “Kennedy voted for himself, but Stirling +for us.” +</p> + +<p> +The ward, too, was rather proud of the celebrity it had achieved. The papers +had not merely paragraphed Peter, and the peculiar position of the +“district” in the convention, but they had begun now asking +questions as to how the ward would behave. “Would it support +Catlin?” “Was it true that the ward machine had split, and intended +to nominate rival tickets?” “Had one faction made a deal with the +Republicans?” +</p> + +<p> +“Begobs,” said Dennis, “it’s the leaders an’ the +papers are just afther discoverin’ there is a sixth ward, an’ +it’s Misther Stirling’s made them do it.” +</p> + +<p> +The chief party leaders had stayed over at Saratoga, but Peter had a call from +Costell before the week was out. +</p> + +<p> +“The papers gave it to you rather rough,” Costell said kindly, +“but they didn’t understand it. We thought you behaved very +square.” +</p> + +<p> +“They tell me I did Porter harm.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. It was Maguire did the harm. You simply told about it. Of course you +get the blame.” +</p> + +<p> +“My constituents stand by me.” +</p> + +<p> +“How do they like Catlin?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think they are entirely satisfied. I’m afraid they never cared +much who got it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m told Kennedy is growling, and running amuck?” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s down on Catlin and me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you think best, we’ll placate him? But Gallagher seemed +to think he couldn’t do much?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think he has much of a following. Even Moriarty, who was +his strong card, has gone back on him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you make a couple of speeches for us in this ward?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you’ll let me say what I want?” +</p> + +<p> +“You can support us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ll leave it to you. Only beware of making too many +statements. You’ll get dates and places from the committee as soon as +they are settled. We pay twenty-five dollars a night. If you hit the right key, +we may want you in some of the other wards, too.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be glad to talk. It’s what I’ve been doing to small +crowds in the saloons.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I’m told. You’ll never get a better place. Men listen +there, as they never will at a mass-meeting.” Costell rose. “If you +are free next Sunday, come up into Westchester and take a two o’clock +dinner with me. We won’t talk politics, but you shall see a nice little +woman, who’s good enough to make my life happier, and after we’ve +looked over my stables, I’ll bring you back to the city behind a gray +mare that will pass about anything there is on the road.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter had a half day in the country and enjoyed it very much. He looked over +Mrs. Costell’s flower-garden, in which she spent almost her whole time, +and chatted with her about it. He saw the beautiful stables, and their still +more beautiful occupants. He liked the couple very much. Both were simple and +silent people, of little culture, but it seemed to Peter that the atmosphere +had a gentle, homely tone that was very pleasing. As he got into the light +buggy, he said to Mrs. Costell: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll get the seed of that mottled gillyflower from my mother as +soon as possible. Perhaps you’ll let me bring it up myself?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do,” she said. “Come again, whether you get the seed or +not.” +</p> + +<p> +After they had started, Mr. Costell said: “I’m glad you asked that. +Mrs. Costell doesn’t take kindly to many of the men who are in politics +with me, but she liked you, I could see.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter spoke twice in the next week in small halls in his ward. He had good +audiences, and he spoke well, if simply. +</p> + +<p> +“There ain’t no fireworks in his stuff,” said the ward +satirist. “He don’t unfurl the American flag, nor talk about +liberty and the constitution. He don’t even speak of us as noble freemen. +He talks just as if he thought we was in a saloon. A feller that made that +speech about the babies ought to treat us to something moving.” +</p> + +<p> +That was what many of the ward thought. Still they went because they wanted to +see if he wouldn’t burst out suddenly. They felt that Peter had unlimited +potentialities in the way of eloquence (for eloquence to them meant the ability +to move the emotions) and merely saved his powers. Without quite knowing it +they found what he had to say interesting. He brought the questions at issue +straight back to elementary forms. He showed just how each paragraph in the +platform would directly affect, not the state, but the “district.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s thoroughly good,” the party leaders were told. +“If he would abuse the other side a little more, and stick in a little +tinsel and calcium light he would be great.” +</p> + +<p> +So he was called upon to speak elsewhere in the city. He worked at one of the +polls on election day, and was pleased to find that he was able to prevent a +little of the “trading” for which Kennedy had arranged. His ward +went Democratic, as was a foregone conclusion, but by an unusually large +majority, and Peter found that he and Dennis were given the credit for it, both +in the ward, and at headquarters. Catlin was elected, and the Assembly had been +won. So Peter felt that his three months’ work had not been an entire +failure. The proceeds of his speeches had added also two hundred and fifty +dollars to his savings bank account, and one hundred more to the account of +“Peter Stirling, Trustee.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXV"></a>CHAPTER XXV.<br/> +VARIOUS KINDS OF SOCIETY.</h2> + +<p> +Peter spent Christmas with his mother, and found her very much worried over his +“salooning.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s first steps, Peter, that do the mischief,” she told +him. +</p> + +<p> +“But, mother, I only go to talk with the men. Not to drink.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll come to that later. The devil’s paths always start +straight, my boy, but they end in wickedness. Promise me you won’t go any +more.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t do that, mother. I am trying to help the men, and you +ought not ask me to stop doing what may aid others.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my boy, my boy!” sobbed the mother. +</p> + +<p> +“If you could only understand it, mother, as I have come to, you +wouldn’t mind. Here, the saloon is chiefly a loafing place for the lazy +and shiftless, but in New York, it’s very different. It’s the poor +man’s club. If you could see the dark, cold, foul-aired tenements where +they live, and then the bright, warm, cheerful saloons, that are open to all, +you would see that it isn’t the drink that draws the men. I even wish the +women could come. The bulk of the men are temperate, and only take a glass or +two of beer or whisky, to pay for their welcome. They really go for the social +part, and sit and talk, or read the papers. Of course a man gets drunk, +sometimes, but usually it is not a regular customer, and even such cases would +be fewer, it we didn’t tax whisky so outrageously that the dishonest +barkeepers are tempted to doctor their whisky with drugs which drive men +frantic if they drink. But most of the men are too sensible, and too poor, to +drink so as really to harm themselves.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, Peter! To think that three years in New York should bring you to +talk so! I knew New York was a sink-hole of iniquity, but I thought you were +too good a boy to be misled.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mother, New York has less evil in it than most places. Here, after the +mills shut down, there’s no recreation for the men, and so they amuse +themselves with viciousness. But in a great place like New York, there are a +thousand amusements specially planned for the evening hours. Exhibitions, +theatres, concerts, libraries, lectures—everything to tempt one away from +wrong-doing to fine things. And there wickedness is kept out of sight as it +never is here. In New York you must go to it, but in these small places it +hunts one out and tempts one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter! Here, where there’s room in church of a Sabbath for all +the folks, while they say that in New York there isn’t enough seats in +churches for mor’n a quarter of the people. A missionary was saying only +last week that we ought to help raise money to build churches in New York. Just +think of there being mor’n ten saloons for every church! And that my son +should speak for them and spend nights in them!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry it troubles you so. If I felt I had any right to stop, +I’d do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You haven’t drunk in them yet, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ll promise to write me if you do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll promise you I won’t drink in them, mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Peter.” Still his mother was terrified at the mere +thought, and at her request, her clergyman spoke also to Peter. He was easier +to deal with, and after a chat with Peter, he told Mrs. Stirling: +</p> + +<p> +“I think he is doing no harm, and may do much good. Let him do what he +thinks best.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s dreadful though, to have your son’s first refusal be +about going to saloons,” sighed the mother. +</p> + +<p> +“From the way he spoke I think his refusal was as hard to him as to you. +He’s a good boy, and you had better let him judge of what’s +right.” +</p> + +<p> +On Peter’s return to the city, he found an invitation from Mrs. Bohlmann +to come to a holiday festivity of which the Germans are so fond. He was too +late to go, but he called promptly, to explain why he had not responded. He was +very much surprised, on getting out his dress-suit, now donned for the first +time in three years, to find how badly it fitted him. +</p> + +<p> +“Mother is right,” he had to acknowledge. “I have grown much +thinner.” +</p> + +<p> +However, the ill-fit did not spoil his evening. He was taken into the family +room, and passed a very pleasant hour with the jolly brewer, his friendly wife, +and the two “nice girls.” They were all delighted with +Catlin’s election, and Peter had to tell them about his part in it. They +did not let him go when he rose, but took him into the dining-room, where a +supper was served at ten. In leaving a box of candy, saved for him from the +Christmas tree, was given him. +</p> + +<p> +“You will come again, Mr. Stirling?” said Mrs. Bohlmann, warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. “I shall be very glad to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yah,” said Mr. Bohlmann. “You coom choost as ofden as you +blease.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter took his dress-suit to a tailor the next day, and ordered it to be taken +in. That individual protested loudly on the ground that the coat was so +old-fashioned that it would be better to make a new suit. Peter told him that +he wore evening dress too rarely to make a new suit worth the having, and the +tailor yielded rather than lose the job. Scarcely had it been put in order, +when Peter was asked to dine at his clergyman’s, and the next day came +another invitation, to dine with Justice Gallagher. Peter began to wonder if he +had decided wisely in vamping the old suit. +</p> + +<p> +He had one of the pleasantest evenings of his life at Dr. Purple’s. It +was a dinner of ten, and Peter was conscious that a real compliment had been +paid him in being included, for the rest of the men were not merely older than +himself, but they were the “strong” men of the church. Two were +trustees. All were prominent in the business world. And it pleased Peter to +find that he was not treated as the youngster of the party, but had his +opinions asked. At one point of the meal the talk drifted to a Bethel church +then under consideration, and this in turn brought up the tenement-house +question. Peter had been studying this, both practically and in books, for the +last three months. Before long, the whole table was listening to what he had to +say. When the ladies had withdrawn, there was political talk, in which Peter +was much more a listener, but it was from preference rather than ignorance. One +of the men, a wholesale dealer in provisions, spoke of the new governor’s +recommendation for food legislation. +</p> + +<p> +“The leaders tell me that the legislature will do something about +it,” Peter said. +</p> + +<p> +“They’ll probably make it worse,” said Mr. Avery. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it can be bettered?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Not by politicians.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m studying the subject,” Peter said. “Will you let +me come down some day, and talk with you about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, by all means. You’d better call about lunch hour, when +I’m free, and we can talk without interruption.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter would much have preferred to go on discussing with the men, when they all +joined the ladies, but Mrs. Purple took him off, and placed him between two +women. They wanted to hear about “the case,” so Peter patiently +went over that well-worn subject. Perhaps he had his pay by being asked to call +upon both. More probably the requests were due to what Mrs. Purple had said of +him during the smoking time: +</p> + +<p> +“He seems such a nice, solid, sensible fellow. I wish some of you would +ask him to call on you. He has no friends, apparently.” +</p> + +<p> +The dinner at Justice Gallagher’s was a horse of a very different color. +The men did not impress him very highly, and the women not at all. There was +more to eat and drink, and the talk was fast and lively. Peter was very silent. +So quiet, that Mrs. Gallagher told her “take in” that she +“guessed that young Stirling wasn’t used to real fashionable +dinners,” and Peter’s partner quite disregarded him for the +rattling, breezy talker on her other side. After the dinner Peter had a +pleasant chat with the Justice’s seventeen-year-old daughter, who was +just from a Catholic convent, and the two tried to talk in French. It is +wonderful what rubbish is tolerable if only talked in a foreign tongue. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see what you wanted to have that Stirling for?” said +Honorable Mrs. Justice Gallagher, to him who conferred that proud title upon +her, after the guests had departed. +</p> + +<p> +“You are clever, arn’t you?” said Gallagher, bitingly. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s living with you,” retorted the H.M.J., who was not +easily put down. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you see that you treat Stirling as if he was somebody. He’s +getting to be a power in the ward, and if you want to remain Mrs. Justice +Gallagher and spend eight thousand—and pickings—a year, you see +that you keep him friendly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I’ll be friendly, but he’s awful dull.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, mamma,” said Monica. “He really isn’t. +He’s read a great many more French books than I have.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter lunched with the wholesale provision-dealer as planned. The lunch hour +proving insufficient for the discussion, a family dinner, a few days later, +served to continue it. The dealer’s family were not very enthusiastic +about Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He knows nothing but grub talk,” grumbled the heir apparent, who +from the proud altitude of a broker’s office, had come to scorn the +family trade. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t know any fashionable people,” said one of the +girls, who having unfulfilled ambitions concerning that class, was doubly +interested and influenced by its standards and idols. +</p> + +<p> +“He certainly is not brilliant,” remarked the mother. +</p> + +<p> +“Humph,” growled the pater-familias, “that’s the way +all you women go on. Brilliant! Fashionable! I don’t wonder marriage is a +failure when I see what you like in men. That Stirling is worth all your +dancing men, but just because he holds his tongue when he hasn’t a +sensible thing to say, you think he’s no good.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still he is ‘a nobody.’” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s the fellow who made that big speech in the stump-tail milk +case.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not that man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. But of course he isn’t ‘brilliant.’” +</p> + +<p> +“I never should have dreamed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” said the heir, “he keeps his eloquence for cows, and +not for dinners.” +</p> + +<p> +“He talked very well at Dr. Purple’s,” said the mamma, whose +opinion of Peter had undergone a change. +</p> + +<p> +“And he was invited to call by Mrs. Dupont and Mrs. Sizer, which is more +than you’ve ever been,” said Avery senior to Avery junior. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s because of the prog,” growled the son, seeing his +opportunity to square accounts quickly. +</p> + +<p> +Coming out of church the next Sunday, Peter was laid hold of by the Bohlmanns +and carried off to a mid-day dinner, at which were a lot of pleasant Germans, +who made it very jolly with their kindly humor. He did not contribute much to +the laughter, but every one seemed to think him an addition to the big table. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it came to pass that late in January Peter dedicated a week of evenings to +“Society,” and nightly donning his dress suit, called dutifully on +Mrs. Dupont, Mrs. Sizer, Mrs. Purple, Mrs. Avery, Mrs. Costell, Mrs. Gallagher +and Mrs. Bohlmann. Peter was becoming very frivolous. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXVI.<br/> +AN EVENING CALL.</h2> + +<p> +But Peter’s social gadding did not end with these bread-and-butter calls. +One afternoon in March, he went into the shop of a famous picture-dealer, to +look over an exhibition then advertised, and had nearly finished his patient +examination of each picture, which always involved quite as much mental +gymnastics as aesthetic pleasure to Peter, when he heard a pleasant: +</p> + +<p> +“How do you do, Mr. Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +Turning, he found Miss De Voe and a well-dressed man at his elbow. +Peter’s face lighted up in a way which made the lady say to herself: +“I wonder why he wouldn’t buy another ticket?” Aloud she +said, “I want you to know another of my cousins. Mr. Ogden, Mr. +Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Charmed,” said Mr. Ogden genially. Any expression which Peter had +thought of using seemed so absolutely lame, beside this passive participle, +that he merely bowed. +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know you cared for pictures,” said Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“I see most of the public exhibitions,” Peter told her. “I +try to like them.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe looked puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t,” said Mr. Ogden. “I tried once, when I first +began. But it’s much easier to notice what women say, and answer +‘yes’ and ‘no’ at the right points.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, Lispenard,” said Miss De Voe. “He’s really +one of the best connoisseurs I know, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Lispenard. “You see. Only agree with people, +and they think you know everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you have seen the pictures, and so won’t care to go +round with us?” inquired Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve looked at them, but I should like to go over again with +you,” said Peter. Then he added, “if I shan’t be in the +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit,” said Lispenard heartily. “My cousin always wants +a listener. It will be a charity to her tongue and my ears.” Miss De Voe +merely gave him a very pleasant smile. “I wonder why he wouldn’t +buy a ticket?” she thought. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was rather astonished at the way they looked at the pictures. They would +pass by a dozen without giving them a second glance, and then stop at one, and +chat about it for ten minutes. He found that Miss De Voe had not exaggerated +her cousin’s art knowledge. He talked familiarly and brilliantly, though +making constant fun of his own opinions, and often jeering at the faults of the +picture. Miss De Voe also talked well, so Peter really did supply the ears for +the party. He was very much pleased when they both praised a certain picture. +</p> + +<p> +“I liked that,” he told them, making the first remark (not a +question) which he had yet made. “It seemed to me the best here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unquestionably,” said Lispenard. “There is poetry and +feeling in it.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe said: “That is not the one I should have thought of your +liking.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s womanly,” said Lispenard, “they are always +deciding what a man should like.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” denied Miss De Voe. “But I should think with your +liking for children, that you would have preferred that piece of Brown’s, +rather than this sad, desolate sand-dune.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot say why I like it, except, that I feel as if it had something +to do with my own mood at times.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you very lonely?” asked Miss De Voe, in a voice too low for +Lispenard to hear. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes,” said Peter, simply. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish,” said Miss De Voe, still speaking low, “that the +next time you feel so you would come and see me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +When they parted at the door, Peter thanked Lispenard: “I’ve really +learned a good deal, thanks to Miss De Voe and you. I’ve seen the +pictures with eyes that know much more about them than mine do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, we’ll have to have another turn some day. We’re always +in search of listeners.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you come and see me, Mr. Stirling,” said Miss De Voe, +“you shall see my pictures. Good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“So that is your Democratic heeler?” said Lispenard, eyeing +Peter’s retreating figure through the carriage window. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t call him that, Lispenard,” said Miss De Voe, wincing. +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard laughed, and leaned back into a comfortable attitude. “Then +that’s your protector of sick kittens?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe made no reply. She was thinking of that dreary wintry stretch of +sand and dune. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it came to pass that a week later, when a north-easter had met a +south-wester overhead and both in combination had turned New York streets into +a series of funnels, in and through which wind, sleet and snow fought for +possession, to the almost absolute dispossession of humanity and horses, that +Peter ended a long stare at his blank wall by putting on his dress-suit, and +plunging into the streets. He had, very foolishly, decided to omit dinner, a +couple of hours before, rather than face the storm, and a north-east wind and +an empty stomach are enough to set any man staring at nothing, if that +dangerous inclination is at all habitual. Peter realized this, for the opium +eater is always keenly alive to the dangers of the drug. Usually he fought the +tendency bravely, but this night he felt too tired to fight himself, and +preferred to battle with a little thing like a New York storm. So he struggled +through the deserted streets until he had reached his objective point in the +broad Second Avenue house. Miss De Voe was at home, but was “still at +dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter vacillated, wondering what the correct thing was under the circumstances. +The footman, remembering him of old, and servants in those simple days being +still open to impressions, suggested that he wait. Peter gladly accepted the +idea. But he did not wait, for hardly had the footman left him than that +functionary returned, to tell Peter that Miss De Voe would see him in the +dining-room. +</p> + +<p> +“I asked you to come in here, because I’m sure, after venturing out +such a night, you would like an extra cup of coffee,” Miss De Voe +explained. “You need not sit at the table. Morden, put a chair by the +fire.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter found himself sitting in front of a big wood-fire, drinking a cup of +coffee decidedly better in quality than his home-brew. Blank walls ceased to +have any particular value for the time. +</p> + +<p> +In a moment Miss De Voe joined him at the fire. A small table was moved up, and +a plate of fruit, and a cup of coffee placed upon it. +</p> + +<p> +“That is all, Morden,” she said. “It is so nice of you to +have come this evening. I was promising myself a very solitary time, and was +dawdling over my dinner to kill some of it. Isn’t it a dreadful +night?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s blowing hard. Two or three times I thought I should have to +give it up.” +</p> + +<p> +“You didn’t walk?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I could have taken a solitary-car that passed, but the horses were +so done up that I thought I was better able to walk.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe touched the bell. “Another cup of coffee, Morden, and bring +the cognac,” she said. “I am not going to let you please your +mother to-night,” she told Peter. “I am going to make you do what I +wish.” So she poured a liberal portion of the eau-de-vie into +Peter’s second cup, and he most dutifully drank it. “How funny that +he should be so obstinate sometimes, and so obedient at others,” thought +Miss De Voe. “I don’t generally let men smoke, but I’m going +to make an exception to-night in your case,” she continued. +</p> + +<p> +It was a sore temptation to Peter, but he answered quickly, “Thank you +for the thought, but I won’t this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have smoked after dinner already?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I tried to keep my pipe lighted in the street, but it blew and +sleeted too hard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you had better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, no.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe thought her former thought again. +</p> + +<p> +“Where do you generally dine?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“I have no regular place. Just where I happen to be.” +</p> + +<p> +“And to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was not good at dodging. He was silent for a moment. Then he said, +“I saw rather a curious thing, as I was walking up. Would you like to +hear about it?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe looked at him curiously, but she did not seem particularly +interested in what Peter had to tell her, in response to her “yes.” +It concerned an arrest on the streets for drunkenness. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think the fellow was half as drunk as frozen,” +Peter concluded, “and I told the policeman it was a case for an ambulance +rather than a station-house. He didn’t agree, so I had to go with them +both to the precinct and speak to the superintendent.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was before your dinner?” asked Miss De Voe, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +It was a very easily answered question, apparently, but Peter was silent again. +</p> + +<p> +“It was coming up here,” he said finally. +</p> + +<p> +“What is he trying to keep back?” asked Miss De Voe mentally. +“I suppose some of the down-town places are not quite—but he +wouldn’t—” then she said out loud: “I wonder if you men +do as women do, when they dine alone? Just live on slops. Now, what did you +order to-night? Were you an ascetic or a sybarite?” +</p> + +<p> +“Usually,” said Peter, “I eat a very simple dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“And to-night?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you want to know about to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I wish to learn where you dined, and thought I could form some +conclusion from your menu.” Miss De Voe laughed, so as to make it appear +a joke, but she knew very well that she was misbehaving. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t reply to your question,” said Peter, “because +I would have preferred not. But if you really wish to know, I’ll answer +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I should like to know.” Miss De Voe still smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t dined.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling! You are joking?” Miss De Voe’s smile had +ended, and she was sitting up very straight in her chair. Women will do without +eating for an indefinite period, and think nothing of it, but the thought of a +hungry man fills them with horror—unless they have the wherewithal to +mitigate the consequent appetite. Hunger with woman, as regards herself, is +“a theory.” As regards a man it is “a condition.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe touched the bell again, but quickly as Morden answered it, Peter +was already speaking. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not to trouble yourself on my account, Miss De Voe. I wish for +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must have—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was rude enough to interrupt with the word “Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I shall not have a moment’s pleasure in your call if I think +of you as—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter interrupted again. “If that is so,” he said, rising, “I +had better go.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” cried Miss De Voe. “Oh, won’t you please? +It’s no trouble. I’ll not order much.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, thank you,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Just a chop or—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter held out his hand. +</p> + +<p> +“No, no. Sit down. Of course you are to do as you please. But I should be +so happy if—?” and Miss De Voe looked at Peter appealingly. +</p> + +<p> +“No. Thank you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing, Morden.” They sat down again. “Why didn’t you +dine?” asked Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t care to face the storm.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you came out?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I got blue, and thought it foolish to stay indoors by +myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very glad you came here. It’s a great compliment to find +an evening with me put above dinner. You know I had the feeling that you +didn’t like me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry for that. It’s not so.” +</p> + +<p> +“If not, why did you insist on my twice asking you to call on me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not want to call on you without being sure that you really wished +to have me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why wouldn’t you stay and dine at Saratoga?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because my ticket wouldn’t have been good.” +</p> + +<p> +“But a new ticket would only cost seven dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“In my neighborhood, we don’t say ‘only seven +dollars.’” +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t need to think of seven dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do. I never have spent seven dollars on a dinner in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you should have, this time, after making seven hundred and fifty +dollars in one month. I know men who would give that amount to dine with +me.” It was a foolish brag, but Miss De Voe felt that her usual means of +inspiring respect were not working,—not even realized. +</p> + +<p> +“Very likely. But I can’t afford such luxuries. I had spent more +than usual and had to be careful.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it was economy?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had no idea my dinner invitations would ever be held in so little +respect that a man would decline one to save seven dollars.” Miss De Voe +was hurt. “I had given him five hundred dollars,” she told herself, +“and he ought to have been willing to spend such a small amount of it to +please me.” Then she said; “A great many people economize in +foolish ways.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Peter. “I’m sorry if I +disappointed you. I really didn’t think I ought to spend the +money.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Miss De Voe. “Were you pleased with the +nomination and election of Catlin?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was pleased at the election, but I should have preferred +Porter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you tried to prevent Porter’s nomination?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what the papers said, but they didn’t +understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t thinking of the papers. You know I heard your speech in +the convention.” +</p> + +<p> +“A great many people seem to have misunderstood me. I tried to make it +clear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you intend that the convention should laugh?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. That surprised and grieved me very much!” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe gathered from this and from what the papers had said that it must +be a mortifying subject to Peter, and knew that she ought to discontinue it. +But she could not help saying, “Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s difficult to explain, I’m afraid. I had a feeling that +a man was trying to do wrong, but I hoped that I was mistaken. It seemed to me +that circumstances compelled me to tell the convention all about it, but I was +very careful not to hint at my suspicion. Yet the moment I told them they +laughed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because they felt sure that the man had done wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” It was a small exclamation, but the expression Miss De Voe +put into it gave it a big meaning. “Then they were laughing at +Maguire?” +</p> + +<p> +“At the time they were. Really, though, they were laughing at human +weakness. Most people seem to find that amusing.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that is why you were grieved?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why did the papers treat you so badly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Costell tells me that I told too much truth for people to +understand. I ought to have said nothing, or charged a bargain right out, for +then they would have understood. A friend of—a fellow I used to know, +said I was the best chap for bungling he ever knew, and I’m afraid +it’s true.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Costell? I thought he was such a dishonest +politician?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know Mr. Costell. I haven’t met the dishonest politician +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“He hasn’t shown me the side the papers talk about.” +</p> + +<p> +“And when he does?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be very sorry, for I like him, and I like his wife.” Then +Peter told about the little woman who hated politics and loved flowers, and +about the cool, able manager of men, who could not restrain himself from +putting his arms about the necks of his favorite horses, and who had told about +the death of one of his mares with tears in his eyes. “He had his cheek +cut open by a kick from one of his horses once, and he speaks of it just as we +would speak of some unintentional fault of a child.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has he a great scar on his cheek?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Have you seen him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Once. Just as we were coming out of the convention. He said something +about you to a group of men which called my attention to him.” Miss De +Voe thought Peter would ask her what it was. “Would you like to know what +he said?” she asked, when Peter failed to do so. +</p> + +<p> +“I think he would have said it to me, if he wished me to hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe’s mind reverted to her criticism of Peter. “He is so +absolutely without our standards.” Her chair suddenly ceased to be +comfortable. She rose, saying, “Let us go to the library. I shall not +show you my pictures now. The gallery is too big to be pleasant such a night. +You must come again for that. Won’t you tell me about some of the other +men you are meeting in politics?” she asked when they had sat down before +another open fire. “It seems as if all the people I know are just +alike—I suppose it’s because we are all so conventional—and I +am very much interested in hearing about other kinds.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter told about Dennis and Blunkers, and the “b’ys” in +the saloons; about Green and his fellow delegates; about the Honorable Mr., +Mrs., and Miss Gallagher, and their dinner companions. He did not satirize in +the least. He merely told various incidents and conversations, in a sober, +serious way; but Miss De Voe was quietly amused by much of the narrative and +said to herself, “I think he has humor, but is too serious-minded to +yield to it.” She must have enjoyed his talk for she would not let Peter +go early, and he was still too ignorant of social usages to know how to get +away, whether a woman wished or no. Finally he insisted that he must leave when +the clock pointed dangerously near eleven. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling,” said Miss De Voe, in a doubtful, +“won’t-you-please” voice, such as few men had ever heard from +her, “I want you to let me send you home? It will only take a moment to +have the carriage here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t take a horse out in such weather,” said Peter, in +a very settling kind of voice. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s obstinate,” thought Miss De Voe. “And he makes +his obstinacy so dreadfully—dreadfully pronounced!” Aloud she said: +“You will come again?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you will let me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do. I am very much alone too, as perhaps you know?” Miss De Voe +did not choose to say that her rooms could be filled nightly and that +everywhere she was welcome. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I really know nothing about you, except what you have told me, and +what I have seen.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe laughed merrily at Peter’s frankness. “I feel as if I +knew all about you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“But you have asked questions,” replied Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe caught her breath again. Try as she would, she could not get +accustomed to Peter. All her social experience failed to bridge the chasm +opened by his speech. “What did he mean by that plain statement, spoken +in such a matter-of-fact voice?” she asked herself. Of course the pause +could not continue indefinitely, and she finally said: “I have lived +alone ever since my father’s death. I have relatives, but prefer to stay +here. I am so much more independent. I suppose I shall have to move some day. +This part of the city is beginning to change so.” Miss De Voe was merely +talking against time, and was not sorry when Peter shook hands, and left her +alone. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s very different from most men,” she said to the blazing +logs. “He is so uncomplimentary and outspoken! How can he succeed in +politics? Still, after the conventional society man he is—he +is—very refreshing. I think I must help him a little socially.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXVII.<br/> +A DINNER.</h2> + +<p> +The last remark made by Miss De Voe to her fire resulted, after a few days, in +Peter’s receiving a formal dinner invitation, which he accepted with a +promptness not to be surpassed by the best-bred diner-out. He regretted now his +vamping of the old suit. Peter understood that he was in for quite another +affair than the Avery, the Gallagher, or even the Purple dinner. He did not +worry, however, and if in the dressing-room he looked furtively at the coats of +the other men, he entirely forgot the subject the moment he started downstairs, +and thought no further of it till he came to take off the suit in his own room. +</p> + +<p> +When Peter entered the drawing-room, he found it well filled with young people, +and for a moment a little of the bewildered feeling of four years before came +over him. But he found himself chatting with Miss De Voe, and the feeling left +him as quickly as it had come. In a moment he was introduced to a “Miss +Lenox,” who began talking in an easy way which gave Peter just as much or +as little to say as he chose. Peter wondered if many girls were as easy to talk +to as—as—Miss Lenox. +</p> + +<p> +He took Miss De Voe in, and found Dorothy Ogden sitting on his other side. He +had barely exchanged greetings with her, when he heard his name spoken from +across the table, and looking up, he found Miss Leroy sitting opposite. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you haven’t entirely forgotten me,” that girl said, +the moment his attention was caught. +</p> + +<p> +“Not at all,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Nor my dress,” laughed Miss Leroy. +</p> + +<p> +“I remember the style, material, and train.” +</p> + +<p> +“Especially the train I am sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do explain these mysterious remarks,” said Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling and I officiated at a wedding, and I was in such mortal +terror lest some usher should step on my gown, that it became a joke.” +</p> + +<p> +“Whose wedding was that?” asked Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Pierce’s and Watts D’Alloi’s,” said the +bridesmaid. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know Watts D’Alloi?” exclaimed Miss De Voe to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed! When?” +</p> + +<p> +“At college.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you a Harvard man?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You were Mr. D’Alloi’s chum, weren’t you?” said +Miss Leroy. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts D’Alloi?” again exclaimed Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But he’s a mere boy.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s two years my senior.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t mean it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you were over thirty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Most people do.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe said to herself, “I don’t know as much about him as I +thought I did. He may be very frank, but he doesn’t tell all one thinks. +Now I know where he gets his nice manner. I ought to have recognized the +Harvard finish.” +</p> + +<p> +“When did you last hear from the D’Allois?” asked Miss Leroy. +</p> + +<p> +“Not since they sailed,” said Peter, wincing internally. +</p> + +<p> +“Not really?” said the bridesmaid. “Surely you’ve heard +of the baby?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” Lines were coming into Peter’s face which Miss De Voe +had never before seen. +</p> + +<p> +“How strange. The letters must have gone astray. But you have written +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not know his address.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you really haven’t heard of the little baby—why, it was +born two—no, three years ago—and of Helen’s long ill-health, +and of their taking a villa on the Riviera, and of how they hope to come home +this spring?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. They will sail in June if Helen is well enough. I’m to be +god-mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you were Mr. D’Alloi’s chum, you must have known Ray +Rivington,” said Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I’ve not seen him since we graduated. He went out +West.” +</p> + +<p> +“He has just returned. Ranching is not to his taste.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you, if you see him, say that I’m in New York and should like +to run across him?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will. He and Laurence—my second brother—are old cronies, +and he often drops in on us. I want you to know my brothers. They are both here +this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have met the elder one, I suppose.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. That was a cousin, Lispenard Ogden. He spoke of meeting you. You +would be amused to hear his comment about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling doesn’t like to have speeches repeated to him, +Dorothy,” said Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Dorothy, looking from one to the other. +</p> + +<p> +“He snubbed me the other evening when I tried to tell him what we heard, +coming out of the convention last autumn,” explained Miss De Voe, smiling +slightly at the thought of treating Peter with a dose of his own medicine. +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at Miss De Voe. “I hope you don’t mean that?” +</p> + +<p> +“How else could I take it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You asked me if I wished something, and I merely declined, I +think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no. You reproved me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very sorry if I did. I’m always blundering.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell us what Lispenard said, Dorothy. I’m curious myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“May I, Mr. Stirling? +</p> + +<p> +“I would rather not,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +And Dorothy did not tell him, but in the drawing-room she told Miss De Voe: +</p> + +<p> +“He said that except his professor of archaeology at Heidelberg, Mr. +Stirling was the nicest old dullard he’d ever met, and that he must be a +very good chap to smoke with.” +</p> + +<p> +“He said that, Dorothy?” exclaimed Miss De Voe, contemptuously. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“How ridiculous,” said Miss De Voe. “Lispenard’s always +trying to hit things off in epigrams, and sometimes he’s very +foolish.” Then she turned to Miss Leroy. “It was very nice, your +knowing Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I only met him that once. But he’s the kind of man somehow that +you remember. It’s curious I’ve never heard of him since +then.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know he’s the man who made that splendid speech when the poor +children were poisoned summer before last.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t believe it!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s so. That is the way I came to know him.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss Leroy laughed. “And Helen said he was a man who needed help in +talking!” +</p> + +<p> +“Was Mrs. D’Alloi a great friend of his?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. She told me that Watts had brought him to see them only once. I +don’t think Mr. Pierce liked him.” +</p> + +<p> +“He evidently was very much hurt at Watts’s not writing him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I was really sorry I spoke, when I saw how he took it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts is a nice boy, but he always was thoughtless.” +</p> + +<p> +In passing out of the dining-room, Dorothy had spoken to a man for a moment, +and he at once joined Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You know my sister, Miss Ogden, who’s the best representative of +us,” he said. “Now I’ll show you the worst. I don’t +know whether she exploited her brother Ogden to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She talked about you and your brother this evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Trust her to stand by her family. There’s more loyalty in her than +there was in the army of the Potomac. My cousin Lispenard says it’s +wrecking his nervous system to live up to the reputation she makes for +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never had a sister, but it must be rather a good thing to live up +to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And to live with. Especially other fellows’ sisters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ready to part with yours for that purpose?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. That’s asking too much. By the way, I think we are in the same +work. I’m in the office of Jarvis, Redburn and Saltus.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m trying it by myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been very lucky.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’ve succeeded much better than I hoped for. But I’ve +had very few clients.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fortunately it doesn’t take many. Two or three rich steady clients +will keep a fellow running. I know a man who’s only got one, but he runs +him for all he’s worth, and gets a pretty good living out of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“My clients haven’t been of that sort.” Peter smiled a little +at the thought of making a steady living out of the Blacketts, Dooleys or +Milligans. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all a matter of friends.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had a different theory, but he did not say so. Just at that point they +were joined by Laurence Ogden, who was duly introduced, and in a moment the +conversation at their end of the table became general. Peter listened, enjoying +his Havana. +</p> + +<p> +When they joined the ladies, they found Lispenard Ogden there, and he +intercepted Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said. “A friend of mine has just come back +from Europe, with a lot of prints. He’s a fellow who thinks he has +discrimination, and he wants me to come up and look them over to-morrow +evening. He hopes to have his own taste approved and flattered. I’m not a +bit good at that, with men. Won’t you go with me, and help me lie?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I should like to.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right. Dine with me at six at the Union Club.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to let you talk to each other,” said Miss De +Voe. “Lispenard, go and talk with Miss McDougal.” +</p> + +<p> +“See how quickly lying brings its own punishment,” laughed +Lispenard, walking away. +</p> + +<p> +“What does he mean?” asked Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“The opposite of what he says, I think,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a very good description of Lispenard. Almost good enough to have +been said by himself. If you don’t mind, I’ll tell him.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do tell me, Mr. Stirling, how you and Watts D’Alloi came to room +together?” +</p> + +<p> +“He asked me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But what ever made him do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve often wondered myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can easily understand his asking you, but what first threw you +together?” +</p> + +<p> +“A college scrape.” +</p> + +<p> +“Were you in a college scrape?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I was up before the faculty twice.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do tell me what you had done?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was charged with stealing the chapel Bible, and with painting a front +door of one of the professors.” +</p> + +<p> +“And had you done these things?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +The guests began to say good-night, so the dialogue was interrupted. When it +came Peter’s turn to go, Miss De Voe said: +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you will not again refuse my dinner invitations.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have had a very pleasant evening,” said Peter. “But I had +a pleasanter one, the other night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-evening,” said Miss De Voe mechanically. She was really +thinking “What a very nice speech. He couldn’t have meant anything +by his remark about the questions.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter dined the next evening with Lispenard, who in the course of the meal +turned the conversation to Miss De Voe. Lispenard was curious to learn just +what Peter knew of her. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a great swell, of course,” he said incidentally. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so. I really know nothing about her, but the moment I saw her +I felt that she was different from any other woman I had ever met.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ve found out about her since?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I was tempted to question Dr. Purple, but I didn’t like to ask +about a friend.” +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard laughed. “You’ve got a pretty bad case of conscience, +I’m afraid. It’s a poor thing to have in New York, too. Well, my +cousin is one of the richest, best born women in this country, though I say it. +You can’t do better than cultivate her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that what you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. You have me there. She doesn’t approve of me at all. You see, +women in this country expect a man to be serious and work. I can’t do +either. I suppose its my foreign education. She likes my company, and finds my +escortage very convenient. But while she thinks I’m a pretty good +companion, she is sure I’m a poor sort of a man. If she takes a shine to +you, make the most of it. She can give you anything she pleases +socially.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you have anything you please socially?” +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty much.” +</p> + +<p> +“And would you advise me to spend time to get it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Um. I wouldn’t give the toss of a copper for it—but I can +have it. It’s not being able to have it that’s the bad +thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“So I have found,” said Peter gravely. +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard laughed heartily, as he sipped his “Court France.” +“I wish,” he said, “that a lot of people, whose lives are +given to nothing else, could have heard you say that, in that tone of voice. +You don’t spell Society with a capital, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Possibly,” said Peter, “if I had more capital, I should use +some on society.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good,” said Lispenard. “Heavens,” he said to himself, +“he’s made a joke! Cousin Anneke will never believe it.” +</p> + +<p> +He told her the next day, and his statement proved correct. +</p> + +<p> +“I know you made the joke,” she said. “He +didn’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“And why shouldn’t he joke as well as I?” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t suit him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Parlor tricks are all right in a lap-dog, but they only belittle a +mastiff.” +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard laughed good-naturedly. He was used to his cousin’s hits at his +do-nothingness, and rather enjoyed them. “He is a big beast, isn’t +he? But he’s a nice fellow. We had such a good time over Le Grand’s +etchings last night. Didn’t get away till after one. It’s really a +pleasure to find a man who can smoke and keep quiet, and yet enjoy things +strongly. Le Grand was taken with him too. We just fitted each other.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m glad you took him. I’m going to give him some +society.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you ever hear the story of Dr. Brown?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“A certain widow announced to her son that she was to marry Dr. Brown. +‘Bully for you, Ma,’ said the son, ‘Does Dr. Brown know +it?’” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard laughed. “Does Stirling know it? Because I advise you to tell +him before you decide to do anything with him. He’s not easy to +drive.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course he’ll be glad to meet nice people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean that Peter Stirling won’t give a raparee for all the +society you can give him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You don’t know what you are talking about.” +</p> + +<p> +But Lispenard was right. Peter had enjoyed the dinner at Miss De Voe’s +and the evening at Mr. Le Grand’s. Yet each night on reaching his rooms, +he had sat long hours in his straight office chair, in the dark. He was +thinking of what Miss Leroy had told him of—of—He was not thinking +of “Society.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXVIII.<br/> +COMMISSIONS.</h2> + +<p> +Peter made his dinner call at Miss De Voe’s, but did not find her at +home. He received a very pleasant letter expressing her regret at missing him, +and a request to lunch with her two days later, and to go with some friends to +an afternoon piano recital, “if you care for music. If not, merely lunch +with us.” Peter replied that he was very sorry, but business called him +to Albany on that day. +</p> + +<p> +“I really regret it,” said Miss De Voe to Dorothy. “It is +getting so late in the season, that unless he makes his call quickly, I shall +hardly be able to give him more than one other chance.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter’s business in Albany had been sprung on him suddenly. It was +neither more nor less than a request sent verbally through Costell from +Governor Catlin, to come up and see him. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s about the food and tenement commission bills,” Costell +told him. “They’ll be passed by the Senate to-day or to-morrow, and +be in Catlin’s hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope he’ll make good appointments,” said Peter, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“I think he will,” said Costell, smiling quietly. “But I +don’t believe they will be able to do much. Commissions are commonly a +way of staving off legislation.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went up to Albany and saw Catlin. Much to his surprise he found the +Governor asking his advice about the bills and the personnel of the +commissions. But after a few minutes he found that this seeking for aid and +support in all matters was chronic, and meant nothing special in his own case. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Schlurger tells me, though he introduced the bills, that you drafted +both. Do you think I had better sign them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Costell told me to take your advice. You really think I had +better?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The Governor evidently found something solacing in the firm voice in which +Peter spoke his “yes.” He drew two papers towards him. +</p> + +<p> +“You really think I had better?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +The Governor dipped his pen in the ink, but hesitated. +</p> + +<p> +“The amendments haven’t hurt them?” he queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Not much.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they have been hurt?” +</p> + +<p> +“They have been made better in some ways.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Still the Governor hesitated, but finally began a big G. Having committed +himself, he wrote the rest rapidly. He paused for a moment over the second +bill, and fingered it nervously. Then he signed it quickly. “That’s +done.” He shoved them both away much as if they were dangerous. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder,” thought Peter, “if he enjoys politics?” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s been a great deal of trouble about the +commissioners,” said the Governor. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose so,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Even now, I can’t decide. The leaders all want different +men.” +</p> + +<p> +“The decision rests with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the trouble,” sighed the Governor. “If only +they’d agree.” +</p> + +<p> +“You should make your own choice. You will be held responsible if the +appointments are bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know I shall. Just look over those lists, and see if you think +they’ll do?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter took the slips of paper and read them. +</p> + +<p> +“I needn’t say I’m pleased to see my name,” he said. +“I had no idea you would think of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was done by Costell,” said the Governor, hastening to shift +the responsibility. +</p> + +<p> +“I really don’t know any of the rest well enough to express an +opinion. Personally, I should like to see some scientific men on each +commission.” +</p> + +<p> +“Scientific! But we have none in politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“No? But this isn’t politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hoped you’d think these lists right.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think they are good. And the bills give us the power to take evidence; +perhaps we can get the scientific part that way.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter did his best to brace Catlin up; and his talk or other pressure seemed to +have partially galvanized the backbone of that limp individual, for a week +later the papers announced the naming of the two commissions. The lists had +been changed, however. That on food consisted of Green, a wholesale grocer, and +a member of the Health Board. Peter’s name had been dropped. That on +tenements, of five members, was made up of Peter; a very large property-owner +in New York, who was a member as well of the Assembly; a professional labor +agitator; a well-known politician of the better type, and a public contractor. +Peter, who had been studying some reports of a British Royal Commission on the +same subject, looked grave, thinking that what the trained men in England had +failed in doing, he could hardly hope to accomplish with such ill-assorted +instruments. The papers were rather down on the lists. “The appointments +have destroyed any chance of possible benefit,” was their general +conclusion, and Peter feared they were right. +</p> + +<p> +Costell laughed when Peter spoke of the commissions. “If you want Catlin +to do anything well, you’ve got to stand over him till it’s done. I +wanted you on both commissions, so that you could see how useless they all are, +and not blame us politicians for failing in our duty. Green promises to get you +appointed Secretary of the Food Commission, which is the next best thing, and +will give you a good salary for a time.” +</p> + +<p> +The Tenement Commission met with little delay, and Peter had a chance to +examine its motley members. The big landlord was a great swell, who had +political ambitions, but was too exclusive, and too much of a dilettante to be +a real force. Peter took a prejudice against him before meeting him, for he +knew just how his election to the Assembly had been obtained—even the +size of the check—and Peter thought buying an election was not a very +creditable business. He did not like what he knew of the labor agitator, for +such of the latter’s utterances and opinions as he had read seemed to be +the cheapest kind of demagogism. The politician he had met and liked. Of the +contractor he knew nothing. +</p> + +<p> +The Commission organized by electing the politician as chairman. Then the +naming of a secretary was discussed, each member but Peter having a candidate. +Much to Peter’s surprise, the landlord, Mr. Pell, named Ray Rivington. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought he was studying law?” Peter said. +</p> + +<p> +“He is,” said Pell. “But he can easily arrange to get off for +the few hours we shall meet a week, and the five dollars a day will be a very +nice addition to his income. Do you know him?” +</p> + +<p> +“We were in college together. I thought he was rich.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. He’s of good family, but the Rivingtons are growing poorer +every year. They try to live on their traditions, and traditions don’t +pay grocers. I hope you’ll help him. He’s a very decent +fellow.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall vote for him,” replied Peter, marvelling that he should be +able to give a lift to the man who, in the Harvard days, had seemed so +thoroughly the mate of Watts and the other rich fellows of the +“gang.” Rivington being the only candidate who had two votes, he +was promptly selected. +</p> + +<p> +Thirty arduous minutes were spent in waiting for the arrival of the fifth +member of the Commission, and in the election of chairman and secretary. A +motion was then made to adjourn, on the ground that the Commission could not +proceed without the secretary. +</p> + +<p> +Peter promptly objected. He had been named secretary for this particular +meeting, and offered to act until Rivington could be notified. “I +think,” he said, “that we ought to lay out our programme.” +</p> + +<p> +The labor agitator agreed with him, and, rising, delivered an extempore speech, +declaring that “we must not delay. The leeches (here he looked at Mr. +Pell) are sucking the life-blood of the people,” etc. +</p> + +<p> +The chairman started to call him to order, but Peter put his hand on the +chairman’s arm. “If you stop him,” he said in a low voice, +“he’ll think we are against him, and he’ll say so +outside.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it’s such foolishness.” +</p> + +<p> +“And so harmless! While he’s talking, look over this.” Peter +produced an outline of action which he had drawn up, and having written it in +duplicate, he passed one draft over to Mr. Pell. +</p> + +<p> +They all let the speech go on, Peter, Mr. Pell and the chairman chatting over +the plan, while the contractor went to sleep. The agitator tried to continue, +but as the inattention became more and more evident, his speech became tamer +and tamer. Finally he said, “That is my opinion,” and sat down. +</p> + +<p> +The cessation of the oration waked up the contractor, and Peter’s outline +was read aloud. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t move its adoption,” said Peter. “I merely +submit it as a basis.” +</p> + +<p> +Not one of the members had come prepared with knowledge of how to go to work, +except the chairman, who had served on other commissions. He said: +</p> + +<p> +“I think Mr. Stirling’s scheme shows very careful thought and is +admirable. We cannot do better than adopt it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is chiefly copied from the German committee of three years +ago,” Peter told them. “But I have tried to modify it to suit the +different conditions.” +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pell objected to the proposed frequent sittings. Thereupon the agitator +praised that feature. The hour of meeting caused discussion. But finally the +scheme was adopted, and the date of the first session fixed. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went downstairs with Mr. Pell, and the latter offered to drop him at his +office. So they drove off together, and talked about the Commission. +</p> + +<p> +“That Kurfeldt is going to be a nuisance,” said Pell +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say yet. He evidently has no idea of what our aim is. +Perhaps, though, when we really get to work, he’ll prove useful.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had a call the next day from Rivington. It was made up of thanks, of +college chat, and of inquiry as to duties. Peter outlined the preliminary work, +drafted the “Inquiries” and other printed papers necessary to be +sent out before the first meeting, and told him about the procedure at the +meetings. +</p> + +<p> +“I know I shall get into all kinds of pickles,” said Ray. “I +write such a bad hand that often I can’t read it myself. How the deuce am +I to take down evidence?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall make notes for my own use, and you will be welcome to them, if +they will help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks, Peter. That’s like you.” +</p> + +<p> +The Commission began its inquiry, on the date fixed, and met three times a week +from that time on. Peter did not try to push himself forward, but he was by far +the best prepared on the subject, and was able to suggest the best sources of +information. He asked good questions, too, of the various witnesses summoned. +Finally he was the one regular attendant, and therefore was the one appealed to +for information elicited at previous meetings. He found the politician his best +helper. Pell was useful when he attended, which was not very often, and even +this intermittent attendance ceased in June. “I’m going to +Newport,” he explained, and did not appear again till late in the fall. +The contractor really took no part in the proceedings beyond a fairly frequent +attendance, and an occasional fit of attention whenever the inquiry related to +building. The labor-agitator proved quite a good man. He had, it is true, no +memory, and caused them to waste much time in reading over the minutes of +previous meetings. But he was in earnest, and proved to be perfectly reasonable +as soon as he found that the commissioners’ duties were to inquire and +not to make speeches. Peter walked home with him several times, and they spent +evenings together in Peter’s rooms, talking over the evidence, and the +possibilities. +</p> + +<p> +Peter met a great many different men in the course of the inquiry; landlords, +real-estate agents, architects, engineers, builders, plumbers, health +officials, doctors and tenants. In many cases he went to see these persons +after they had been before the Commission, and talked with them, finding that +they were quite willing to give facts in private which they did not care to +have put on record. +</p> + +<p> +He had been appointed the Secretary of the Food Commission, and spent much time +on that work. He was glad to find that he had considerable influence, and that +Green not merely acted on his suggestions, but encouraged him to make them. The +two inquiries were so germane that they helped him reciprocally. No reports +were needed till the next meeting of the Legislature, in the following January, +and so the two commissions took enough evidence to swamp them. Poor Ray was +reduced almost to despair over the mass of “rubbish” as he called +it, which he would subsequently have to put in order. +</p> + +<p> +Between the two tasks, Peter’s time was well-nigh used up. It was +especially drawn upon when the taking of evidence ceased and the drafting of +the reports began. Ray’s notes proved hopeless, so Peter copied out his +neatly, and let Ray have them, rather glad that irrelevant and useless evidence +was thus omitted. It was left to Peter to draw the report, and when his draft +was submitted, it was accompanied by a proposed General Tenement-house Bill. +Both report and bill were slightly amended, but not in a way that Peter minded. +</p> + +<p> +Peter drew the Food-Commission report as well, although it went before the +Commission as Green’s. To this, too, a proposed bill was attached, which +had undergone the scrutiny of the Health Board, and had been conformed to their +suggestions. +</p> + +<p> +In November Peter carried both reports to Albany, and had a long talk with +Catlin over them. That official would have preferred no reports, but since they +were made, there was nothing to do but to submit them to the Legislature. Peter +did not get much encouragement from him about the chances for the bills. But +Costell told him that they could be “whipped through. The only danger is +of their being amended, so as to spoil them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I hope they will be passed. I’ve +done my best, whatever happens.” +</p> + +<p> +A very satisfactory thing to be able to say of yourself, if you believe in your +own truthfulness. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXIX.<br/> +IN THE MEANTIME.</h2> + +<p> +In spite of nine months’ hard work on the two Commissions, it is not to +be supposed that Peter’s time was thus entirely monopolized. If one +spends but seven hours of the twenty-four in sleep, and but two more on meals, +there is considerable remaining time, and even so slow a worker as Peter found +spare hours not merely for society and saloons, but for what else he chose to +undertake. +</p> + +<p> +Socially he had an evening with Miss De Voe, just before she left the city for +the summer; a dinner with Mr. Pell, who seemed to have taken a liking to Peter; +a call on Lispenard; another on Le Grand; and a family meal at the Rivingtons, +where he was made much of in return for his aid to Ray. +</p> + +<p> +In the saloons he worked hard over the coming primary, and spent evenings as +well on doorsteps in the district, talking over objects and candidates. In the +same cause, he saw much of Costell, Green, Gallagher, Schlurger and many other +party men of greater or less note in the city’s politics. He had become a +recognized quantity in the control of the district, and the various ward +factions tried hard to gain his support. When the primary met, the proceedings, +if exciting, were never for a moment doubtful, for Gallagher, Peter, Moriarty +and Blunkers had been able to agree on both programme and candidates. An +attempt had been made to “turn down” Schlurger, but Peter had +opposed it, and had carried his point, to the great gratitude of the silent, +honest German. What was more important to him, this had all been done without +exciting hard feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“Stirling’s a reasonable fellow,” Gallagher told Costell, not +knowing how much Peter was seeing of the big leader, “and he isn’t +dead set on carrying his own schemes. We’ve never had so little talk of +mutiny and sulking as we have had this paring. Moriarty and Blunkers swear by +him. It’s queer. They’ve always been on opposite sides till +now.” +</p> + +<p> +When the weather became pleasant, Peter took up his “angle” +visitings again, though not with quite the former regularity. Yet he rarely let +a week pass without having spent a couple of evenings there. The spontaneous +welcome accorded him was payment enough for the time, let alone the pleasure +and enjoyment he derived from the imps. There was little that could raise Peter +in their estimation, but they understood very well that he had become a man of +vast importance, as it seemed to them. They had sharp little minds and ears, +and had caught what the “district” said and thought of Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Cheese it, the cop, Tim,” cried an urchin one evening to another, +who was about to “play ball.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cheese it yerself. He won’t dare tech me,” shouted Tim, +“so long as Mister Peter’s here.” +</p> + +<p> +That speech alone showed the magnitude of his position in their eyes. He was +now not merely, “friends wid de perlice;” he was held in fear by +that awesome body! +</p> + +<p> +“If I was as big as him,” said one, “I’d fire all the +peelers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wouldn’t that be dandy!” cried another. +</p> + +<p> +He won their hearts still further by something he did in midsummer. Blunkers +had asked him to attend what brilliant posters throughout that part of the city +announced as: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +HO FOR THE SEA-SHORE! +</p> + +<p> +SIXTH ANNUAL +</p> + +<p> +CLAM BAKE +</p> + +<p> +OF THE +</p> + +<p> +PATRICK N. BLUNKERS’S ASSOCIATION. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +When Peter asked, he found that it was to consist of a barge party (tickets +fifty cents) to a bit of sand not far away from the city, with music, clams, +bathing and dancing included in the price of the ticket, and unlimited beer for +those who could afford that beverage. +</p> + +<p> +“The beer just pays for it,” Blunkers explained. “I +don’t give um whisky cause some —— cusses don’t drink +like as dey orter.” Then catching a look in Peter’s face, he +laughed rather shamefacedly. “I forgits,” he explained. “Yer +see I’m so da—” he checked himself—“I swears +widout knowin’ it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be very glad to go,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Dat’s bully,” said Blunkers. Then he added anxiously: +“Dere’s somethin’ else, too, since yer goin’. Ginerally +some feller makes a speech. Yer wouldn’t want to do it dis time, would +yer?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do they talk about?” +</p> + +<p> +“Just what dey—” Blunkers swallowed a word, nearly choking in +so doing, and ended “please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I shall be glad to talk, if you don’t mind my taking a dull +subject?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yer just talk what yer want. We’ll listen.” +</p> + +<p> +After Peter had thought it over for a day, he went to Blunkers’s gin +palace. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here,” he said. “Would it be possible to hire one more +barge, and take the children free? I’ll pay for the boat, and for the +extra food, if they won’t be in the way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m damned if yer do,” shouted Blunkers. “Yer +don’t pay for nothinks, but der childers shall go, or my name ain’t +Blunkers.” +</p> + +<p> +And go they did, Blunkers making no secret of the fact that it was +Peter’s idea. So every child who went, nearly wild with delight, felt +that the sail, the sand, the sea, and the big feed, was all owed to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +It was rather an amusing experience to Peter. He found many of his party +friends in the district, not excluding such men as Gallagher, Kennedy and +others of the more prominent rank. He made himself very pleasant to those whom +he knew, chatting with them on the trip down. He went into the water with the +men and boys, and though there were many good swimmers, Peter’s country +and river training made it possible for him to give even the “wharf +rats,” a point or two in the way of water feats. Then came the regulation +clam-bake, after which Peter talked about the tenement-house question for +twenty minutes. The speech was very different from what they expected, and +rather disappointed them all. However, he won back their good opinions in +closing, for he ended with a very pleasant “thank you,” to +Blunkers, so neatly worded, and containing such a thoroughly apt local joke, +that it put all in a good humor, and gave them something to tell their +neighbors, on their return home. The advantage of seldom joking is that people +remember the joke, and it gets repeated. Peter almost got the reputation of a +wit on that one joke, merely because it came after a serious harangue, and +happened to be quotable. Blunkers was so pleased with the end of the speech +that he got Peter to write it out, and to this day the “thank you” +part of the address, in Peter’s neat handwriting, handsomely framed, is +to be seen in Blunkers’s saloon. +</p> + +<p> +Peter also did a little writing this summer. He had gone to see three or four +of the reporters, whom he had met in “the case,” to get them to +write up the Food and Tenement subjects, wishing thereby to stir up public +feeling. He was successful to a certain degree, and they not merely wrote +articles themselves, but printed three or four which Peter wrote. In two cases, +he was introduced to “staff” writers, and even wrote an editorial, +for which he was paid fifteen dollars. This money was all he received for the +time spent, but he was not working for shekels. All the men told him to let +them know when he had more “stories” for them, and promised him +assistance when the reports should go in to the legislature. +</p> + +<p> +Peter visited his mother as usual during August. Before going, he called on Dr. +Plumb, and after an evening with him, went to two tenements in the district. As +the result of these calls, he carried three children with him when he went +home. Rather pale, thin little waifs. It is a serious matter to charge any one +with so grave a crime as changling, but Peter laid himself open to it, for when +he came back, after two weeks, he returned very different children to the +parents. The fact that they did not prosecute for the substitution only proves +how little the really poor care for their offspring. +</p> + +<p> +But this was not his only summering. He spent four days with the Costells, as +well as two afternoons later, thoroughly enjoying, not merely the long, silent +drives over the country behind the fast horses, but the pottering round the +flower-garden with Mrs. Costell. He had been reading up a little on flowers and +gardening, and he was glad to swap his theoretical for her practical knowledge. +Candor compels the statement that he enjoyed the long hours stretched on the +turf, or sitting idly on the veranda, puffing Mr. Costell’s good Havanas. +</p> + +<p> +Twice Mr. Bohlmann stopped at Peter’s office of a Saturday and took him +out to stay over Sunday at his villa in one of the Oranges. The family all +liked Peter and did not hesitate to show it. Mr. Bohlmann told him: +</p> + +<p> +“I sbend about dree dousand a year on law und law-babers. Misder Dummer +id does for me, but ven he does nod any longer it do, I gifts id you.” +</p> + +<p> +On the second visit Mrs. Bohlmann said: +</p> + +<p> +“I tell my good man that with all the law-business he has, he must get a +lawyer for a son-in-law.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had not heard Mrs. Bohlmann say to her husband the evening before, as +they were prinking for dinner: +</p> + +<p> +“Have you told Mr. Stirling about your law business?” +</p> + +<p> +Nor Mr. Bohlmann’s prompt: +</p> + +<p> +“Yah. I dells him der last dime.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet Peter wondered if there were any connection between the two statements. He +liked the two girls. They were nice-looking, sweet, sincere women. He knew that +Mr. Bohlmann was ranked as a millionaire already, and was growing richer fast. +Yet—Peter needed no blank walls. +</p> + +<p> +During this summer, Peter had a little more law practice. A small grocer in one +of the tenements came to him about a row with his landlord. Peter heard him +through, and then said: “I don’t see that you have any case; but if +you will leave it to me to do as I think best, I’ll try if I can do +something,” and the man agreeing, Peter went to see the landlord, a +retail tobacconist up-town. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think my client has any legal grounds,” he told the +landlord, “but he thinks that he has, and the case does seem a little +hard. Such material repairs could not have been foreseen when the lease was +made.” +</p> + +<p> +The tobacconist was rather obstinate at first. Finally he said, +“I’ll tell you what I’ll do. I’ll contribute one +hundred dollars towards the repairs, if you’ll make a tenant named Podds +in the same building pay his rent; or dispossess him if he doesn’t, so +that it shan’t cost me anything.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter agreed, and went to see the tenant in arrears. He found that the man had +a bad rheumatism and consequently was unable to work. The wife was doing what +she could, and even the children had been sent on the streets to sell papers, +or by other means, to earn what they could. They also owed a doctor and the +above-mentioned grocer. Peter went back to the landlord and told him the story. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” he said, “it’s a hard case, I know, but, Mr. +Stirling, I owe a mortgage on the place, and the interest falls due in +September. I’m out four months’ rent, and really can’t afford +any more.” So Peter took thirty-two dollars from his +“Trustee” fund, and sent it to the tobacconist. “I have +deducted eight dollars for collection,” he wrote. Then he saw his first +client, and told him of his landlord’s concession. +</p> + +<p> +“How much do I owe you?” inquired the grocer. +</p> + +<p> +“The Podds tell me they owe you sixteen dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I shan’t get it.” +</p> + +<p> +“My fee is twenty-five. Mark off their bill and give me the +balance.” +</p> + +<p> +The grocer smiled cheerfully. He had charged the Podds roundly for their +credit, taking his chance of pay, and now got it paid in an equivalent of cash. +He gave the nine dollars with alacrity. +</p> + +<p> +Peter took it upstairs and gave it to Mrs. Podds. “If things look up with +you later,” he said, “you can pay it back. If not, don’t +trouble about it. Ill look in in a couple of weeks to see how things are +going.” +</p> + +<p> +When this somewhat complicated matter was ended, he wrote about it to his +mother: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“Many such cases would bankrupt me. As it is, my fund is dwindling faster +than I like to see, though every lessening of it means a lessening of real +trouble to some one. I should like to tell Miss De Voe what good her money has +done already, but fear she would not understand why I told her. It has enabled +me to do so much that otherwise I could not have afforded. There is only one +hundred and seventy-six dollars left. Most of it though, is merely loaned and +perhaps will be repaid. Anyway, I shall have nearly six hundred dollars for my +work as secretary of the Food Commission, and I shall give half of it to this +fund.” +</p> +</div> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXX"></a>CHAPTER XXX.<br/> +A “COMEDY.”</h2> + +<p> +When the season began again, Miss De Voe seriously undertook her self-imposed +work of introducing Peter. He was twice invited to dinner and was twice taken +with opera parties to sit in her box, besides receiving a number of less +important attentions. Peter accepted dutifully all that she offered him. Even +ordered a new dress-suit of a tailor recommended by Lispenard. He was asked by +some of the people he met to call, probably on Miss De Voe’s suggestion, +and he dutifully called. Yet at the end of three months Miss De Voe shook her +head. +</p> + +<p> +“He is absolutely a gentleman, and people seem to like him. Yet +somehow—I don’t understand it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly,” laughed Lispenard. “You can’t make a silk +purse out of a sow’s ear.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lispenard,” angrily said Miss De Voe, “Mr. Stirling is as +much better than—” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s it,” said Lispenard. “Don’t think +I’m depreciating Peter. The trouble is that he is much too good a chap to +make into a society or a lady’s man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you are right. I don’t think he cares for it at +all.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Lispenard. “Barkis is not willin’. I think +he likes you, and simply goes to please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really think that’s it?” +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard laughed at the earnestness with which the question was asked. +“No,” he replied. “I was joking. Peter cultivates you, +because he wants to know your swell friends.” +</p> + +<p> +Either this conversation or Miss De Voe’s own thoughts, led to a change +in her course. Invitations to formal dinners and to the opera suddenly ceased, +and instead, little family dinners, afternoons in galleries, and evenings at +concerts took their place. Sometimes Lispenard went with them, sometimes one of +the Ogden girls, sometimes they went alone. It was an unusual week when +Peter’s mail did not now bring at least one little note giving him a +chance to see Miss De Voe if he chose. +</p> + +<p> +In February came a request for him to call. “I want to talk with you +about something,” it said. That same evening he was shown into her +drawing-rooms. She thanked him with warmth for coming so quickly, and Peter saw +that only the other visitors prevented her from showing some strong feeling. He +had stumbled in on her evening—for at that time people still had +evenings—but knowing her wishes, he stayed till they were left alone +together. +</p> + +<p> +“Come into the library,” she said. As they passed across the hall +she told Morden, “I shall not receive any more to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +The moment they were in the smaller and cosier room, without waiting to sit +even, she began: “Mr. Stirling, I dined at the Manfreys yesterday.” +She spoke in a voice evidently endeavoring not to break. Peter looked puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Lapham, the bank president, was there.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter still looked puzzled. +</p> + +<p> +“And he told the table about a young lawyer who had very little money, +yet who put five hundred dollars—his first fee—into his bank, and +had used it to help—” Miss De Voe broke down, and, leaning against +the mantel, buried her face in her handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s curious you should have heard of it,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He—he didn’t mention names, b-bu-but I knew, of +course.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t like to speak of it because—well—I’ve +wanted to tell you the good it’s done. Suppose you sit down.” Peter +brought a chair, and Miss De Voe took it. +</p> + +<p> +“You must think I’m very foolish,” she said, wiping her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s nothing to cry about.” And Peter began telling her of +some of the things which he had been able to do:—of the surgical brace it +had bought; of the lessons in wood-engraving it had given; of the +sewing-machine it had helped to pay for; of the arrears in rent it had settled. +“You see,” he explained, “these people are too +self-respecting to go to the big charities, or to rich people. But their +troubles are talked over in the saloons and on the doorsteps, so I hear of +them, and can learn whether they really deserve help. They’ll take it +from me, because they feel that I’m one of them.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe was too much shaken by her tears to talk that evening. Miss De +Voe’s life and surroundings were not exactly weepy ones, and when tears +came they meant much. She said little, till Peter rose to go, and then only: +</p> + +<p> +“I shall want to talk with you, to see what I can do to help you in your +work. Please come again soon. I ought not to have brought you here this +evening, only to see me cry like a baby. But—I had done you such +injustice in my mind about that seven dollars, and then to find +that—Oh!” Miss De Voe showed signs of a recurring break-down, but +mastered herself. “Good-evening.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter gone, Miss De Voe had another “good” cry—which is a +feminine phrase, quite incomprehensible to men—and, going to her room, +bathed her eyes. Then she sat before her boudoir fire, thinking. Finally she +rose. In leaving the fire, she remarked aloud to it: +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He shall have Dorothy, if I can do it.” +</p> + +<p> +So Dorothy became a pretty regular addition to the informal meals, exhibitions +and concerts. Peter was once more taken to the opera, but Dorothy and Miss De +Voe formed with him the party in the box on such nights. Miss De Voe took him +to call on Mrs. Odgen, and sang his praises to both parents. She even went so +far as to say frankly to them what was in her mind. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Ogden said, “Those who know him speak very well of him. I heard +‘Van’ Pell praise him highly at Newport last summer. Said all the +politicians thought of him as a rising man.” +</p> + +<p> +“He seems a nice steady fellow,” said the mamma. “I +don’t suppose he has much practice?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, don’t think of the money,” said Miss De Voe. “What +is that compared to getting a really fine man whom one can truly love?” +</p> + +<p> +“Still, money is an essential,” said the papa. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But you both know what I intend to do for Dorothy and Minna. They +need not think of money. If he and Dorothy only will care for each +other!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter and Dorothy did like each other. Dorothy was very pretty, and had all the +qualities which make a girl a strong magnet to men. Peter could not help liking +her. As for Dorothy, she was like other women. She enjoyed the talking, joking, +“good-time” men in society, and chatted and danced with them with +relish. But like other women, when she thought of marriage, she did not find +these gingerbread ornamentations so attractive. The average woman loves a man, +aside from his love for her, for his physical strength, and his stiff +truth-telling. The first is attractive to her because she has it not. Far be it +from man to say why the second attracts. So Dorothy liked Peter. She admired +many qualities in him which she would not have tolerated in other men. It is +true that she laughed at him, too, for many things, but it was the laughter of +that peculiar nature which implies admiration and approval, rather than the +lower feelings. When the spring separation came, Miss De Voe was really quite +hopeful. +</p> + +<p> +“I think things have gone very well. Now, Mr. Stirling has promised to +spend a week with me at Newport. I shall have Dorothy there at the same +time,” she told Mrs. Ogden. +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard, who was present, laughed as usual. “So you are tired of your +new plaything already?” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Arn’t you marrying him so as to get rid of his calls and his +escortage?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not. We shall go on just the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bully for you, Ma. Does Dr. Brown know it?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe flushed angrily, and put an end to her call. +</p> + +<p> +“What a foolish fellow Lispenard is!” she remarked unconsciously to +Wellington at the carriage door. +</p> + +<p> +“Beg pardon, mum?” said Wellington, blank wonderment filling his +face. +</p> + +<p> +“Home, Wellington,” said Miss De Voe crossly. +</p> + +<p> +Peter took his week at Newport on his way back from his regular August visit to +his mother. Miss De Voe had told him casually that Dorothy would be there, and +Dorothy was there. Yet he saw wonderfully little of her. It is true that he +could have seen more if he had tried, but Peter was not used to practice +finesse to win minutes and hours with a girl, and did not feel called upon, +bluntly, to take such opportunities. His stay was not so pleasant as he had +expected. He had thought a week in the same house with Miss De Voe, Dorothy and +Lispenard, without much regard to other possible guests, could not but be a +continual pleasure. But he was conscious that something was amiss with his +three friends. Nor was Peter the only one who felt it. Dorothy said to her +family when she went home: +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t imagine what is the matter with Cousin Anneke. All last +spring she was nicer to me than she has ever been before, but from the moment I +arrived at Newport, and before I could possibly have said or done anything to +offend her, she treated me in the snippiest way. After two days I asked her +what the matter was, but she insisted there was nothing, and really lost her +temper at my suggesting the idea. There was something, I know, for when I said +I was coming home sooner than I had at first intended, she didn’t try to +make me stay.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Mrs. Ogden, “she was disappointed in +something, and so vented her feeling on you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But she wasn’t cross—except when I asked her what the matter +was. She was just—just snippy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was Mr. Stirling there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And a lot of other people. I don’t think anybody had a good +time, unless it was Cousin Lispenard. And he wasn’t a bit nice. He had +some joke to himself, and kept making remarks that nobody could understand, and +chuckling over them. I told him once that he was rude, but he said that +‘when people went to a play they should laugh at the right points.’ +That’s the nice thing about Mr. Stirling. You know that what he says is +the real truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lispenard’s always trying to be clever.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. What do you suppose he said to me as I came away!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“He shook my hand, laughing, and said, ‘Exit villain. It is to be a +comedy, not a tragedy.’ What could he mean?” +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard stayed on to see the “comedy,” and seemed to enjoy it, if +the amused expression on his face when he occasionally gave himself up to +meditation was any criterion. Peter had been pressed to stay beyond the +original week, and had so far yielded as to add three days to his visit. These +last three days were much pleasanter than those which had gone before, although +Dorothy had departed and Peter liked Dorothy. But he saw much more of Miss De +Voe, and Miss De Voe was in a much pleasanter mood. They took long drives and +walks together, and had long hours of talk in and about the pleasant house and +grounds. Miss De Voe had cut down her social duties for the ten days Peter was +there, giving far more time for them to kill than usually fell to Newporters +even in those comparitively simple days. +</p> + +<p> +In one of these talks, Miss De Voe spoke of Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“She is such a nice, sweet girl,” she said. “We all hope +she’ll marry Lispenard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think cousins ought to marry?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe had looked at Peter when she made her remark. Peter had replied +quietly, but his question, as Miss De Voe understood it, was purely scientific, +not personal. Miss De Voe replied: +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose it is not right, but it is so much better than what may +happen, that it really seems best. It is so hard for a girl in Dorothy’s +position to marry as we should altogether wish.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Peter, who did not see that a girl with prospective +wealth, fine social position, and personal charm, was not necessarily well +situated to get the right kind of a husband. +</p> + +<p> +“It is hard to make it clear—but—I’ll tell you my own +story, so that you can understand. Since you don’t ask questions, I will +take the initiative. That is, unless your not asking them means you are not +interested?” Miss De Voe laughed in the last part of this speech. +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +People, no matter what Peter stated, never said “Really?” +“You are in earnest?” or “You really mean it?” So Miss +De Voe took him at his word. +</p> + +<p> +“Both my father and mother were rich before they married, and the rise in +New York real estate made them in time, much richer. They both belonged to old +families. I was the only child—Lispenard says old families are so proud +of themselves that they don’t dare to have large families for fear of +making the name common. Of course they lavished all their thought, devotion and +anxiety on me. I was not spoiled; but I was watched and tended as if I were the +most precious thing the world contained. When I grew up, and went into society, +I question if I ever was a half-hour out of the sight of one or the other of my +parents. I had plenty of society, of course, but it was restricted entirely to +our set. None other was good enough for me! My father never had any business, +so brought no new element into our household. It was old families, year in and +year out! From the moment I entered society I was sought for. I had many +suitors. I had been brought up to fear fortune-hunting, and suspected the +motives of many men. Others did not seem my equals—for I had been taught +pride in my birth. Those who were fit as regarded family were, many of them, +unfit in brains or morals—qualities not conspicuous in old families. +Perhaps I might have found one to love—if it had not been for the others. +I was surrounded wherever I went and if by chance I found a pleasant man to +talk to, <i>téte-à-téte,</i> we were interrupted by other +men coming up. Only a few even of the men whom I met could gain an +<i>entrée</i> to our house.—They weren’t thought good +enough. If a working, serious man had ever been able to see enough of me to +love me, he probably would have had very little opportunity to press his suit. +But the few men I might have cared for were frightened off by my money, or +discouraged by my popularity and exclusiveness. They did not even try. Of +course I did not understand it then. I gloried in my success and did not see +the wrong it was doing me. I was absolutely happy at home, and really had not +the slightest inducement to marry—especially among the men I saw the +most. I led this life for six years. Then my mother’s death put me in +mourning. When I went back into society, an almost entirely new set of men had +appeared. Those whom I had known were many of them married—others were +gone. Society had lost its first charm to me. So my father and I travelled +three years. We had barely returned when he died. I did not take up my social +duties again till I was thirty-two. Then it was as the spinster aunt, as you +have known me. Now do you understand how hard it is for such a girl as Dorothy +to marry rightly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Unless the man is in love. Let a man care enough for a woman, and +money or position will not frighten him off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Such men are rare. Or perhaps it is because I did not attract them. I +did not understand men as well then as I do now. Of some whom I thought +unlovable or dull at that time, I have learned to think better. A woman does +not marry to be entertained—or should not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Peter, “that one marries for love and +sympathy.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And if they are given, it does not matter about the rest. Even now, +thirty-seven though I am, if I could find a true man who could love me as I +wish to be loved, I could love him with my whole heart. It would be my +happiness not merely to give him social position and wealth, but to make his +every hope and wish mine also.” +</p> + +<p> +All this had been said in the same natural manner in which they both usually +spoke. Miss De Voe had talked without apparent emotion. But when she began the +last remark, she had stopped looking at Peter, and had gazed off through the +window at the green lawn, merely showing him her profile. As a consequence she +did not see how pale he suddenly became, nor the look of great suffering that +came into his face. She did not see this look pass and his face, and especially +his mouth, settle into a rigid determination, even while the eyes remained sad. +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe ended the pause by beginning, “Don’t +you”—but Peter interrupted her there, by saying: +</p> + +<p> +“It is a very sad story to me—because I—I once craved love +and sympathy.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe turned and looked at him quickly. She saw the look of suffering on +his face, but read it amiss. “You mean?” she questioned. +</p> + +<p> +“There was a girl I loved,” said Peter softly, “who did not +love me.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you love her still?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no right to.” +</p> + +<p> +“She is married?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell me about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I would rather not.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss De Voe sat quietly for a moment, and then rose. “Dear friend,” +she said, laying her hand on Peter’s shoulder, “we have both missed +the great prize in life. Your lot is harder than the one I have told you about. +It is very,”—Miss De Voe paused a moment,—“it is very +sad to love—without being loved.” +</p> + +<p> +And so ended Lispenard’s comedy. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXI"></a>CHAPTER XXXI.<br/> +CONFLICTS.</h2> + +<p> +Lispenard went back with Peter to the city. He gave his reason on the train: +</p> + +<p> +“You see I go back to the city occasionally in the summer, so as to make +the country bearable, and then I go back to the country, so as to make the city +endurable. I shall be in Newport again in a week. When will you come +back?” +</p> + +<p> +“My summering’s over.” +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed. I thought my cousin would want you again!” +</p> + +<p> +“She did not say so.” +</p> + +<p> +“The deuce she didn’t. It must be the only thing she didn’t +say, then, in your long confabs?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter made no reply, though Lispenard looked as well as asked a question. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” continued Lispenard, “she talked too much, and so +did not remember to ask you?” +</p> + +<p> +Still Peter said nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure she didn’t give you a chance to have more of her +society?” Lispenard was smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Ogden,” said Peter gently, “you are behaving contemptibly +and you know it.” +</p> + +<p> +The color blazed up into Lispenard’s face and he rose, saying: +</p> + +<p> +“Did I understand you aright?” The manner and attitude were both +threatening though repressed. +</p> + +<p> +“If you tell me that I misunderstood you, I will apologize. If you think +the statement insulting, I will withdraw it. I did not speak to insult you; but +because I wished you to know how your questions impressed me.” +</p> + +<p> +“When a man tells another he is contemptible, he cannot expect to escape +results. This is no place to have a scene. You may send me your apology when we +reach New York—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter interrupted. “I shall, if you will tell me I wronged you in +supposing your questions to be malicious.” +</p> + +<p> +Lispenard paid no attention to the interjection. “Otherwise,” he +finished, “we will consider our relations ended.” He walked away. +</p> + +<p> +Peter wrote Lispenard that evening a long letter. He did not apologize in it, +but it ended: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“There should be no quarrel between us, for we ought to be friends. If +alienation has come, it is due to what has occurred to-day, and that shall not +cause unkind feelings, if I can help it. An apology is due somewhere. You +either asked questions you had no right to ask, or else I misjudged you. I have +written you my point of view. You have your own. I leave the matter to your +fairness. Think it over, and if you still find me in the wrong, and will tell +me so, I will apologize.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +He did not receive a reply. Meeting Ogden Ogden a few days later, he was told +that Lispenard had gone west for a hunting trip, quite unexpectedly. “He +said not to expect him back till he came. He seemed out of sorts at +something.” In September Peter had a letter from Miss De Voe. Merely a +few lines saying that she had decided to spend the winter abroad, and was on +the point of sailing. “I am too hurried to see my friends, but did not +like to go without some good-byes, so I write them.” On the whole, as in +the case of most comedies, there was little amusement for the actual +performers. A great essayist has defined laughter as a “feeling of +superiority in the laugher over the object laughed at.” If this is +correct, it makes all humor despicable. Certainly much coarseness, meanness and +cruelty are every day tolerated, because of the comic covering with which it is +draped. +</p> + +<p> +It is not to be supposed that this comedy nor its winter prologue had diverted +Peter from other things. In spite of Miss De Voe’s demands on his time he +had enough left to spend many days in Albany when the legislature took up the +reports of the Commissions. He found strong lobbies against both bills, and had +a long struggle with them. He had the help of the newspapers, and he had the +help of Costell, yet even with this powerful backing, the bills were first +badly mangled, and finally were side-tracked. In the actual fight, Pell helped +him most, and Peter began to think that a man might buy an election and yet not +be entirely bad. Second only to Pell, was his whilom enemy, the former +District-Attorney, now a state senator, who battled himself into Peter’s +reluctant admiration and friendship by his devotion and loyalty to the bills. +Peter concluded that he had not entirely done the man justice in the past. +Curiously enough, his chief antagonist was Maguire. +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not give up the fight with this defeat. His work for the bills had +revealed to him the real under-currents in the legislative body, and when it +adjourned, making further work in Albany only a waste of time, he availed +himself of the secret knowledge that had come to him, to single out the real +forces which stood behind and paid the lobby, and to interview them. He saw the +actual principals in the opposition, and spoke with utmost frankness. He told +them that the fight would be renewed, on his part, at every session of the +legislature till the bills were passed; that he was willing to consider +proposed amendments, and would accept any that were honest. He made the fact +very clear to them that they would have to pay yearly to keep the bills off the +statute book. Some laughed at him, others quarrelled. But a few, after +listening to him, stated their true objections to the bills, and Peter tried to +meet them. +</p> + +<p> +When the fall elections came, Peter endeavored to further his cause in another +way. Three of the city’s assemblymen and one of her senators had voted +against the bills. Peter now invaded their districts, and talked against them +in saloons and elsewhere. It very quickly stirred up hard feeling, which +resulted in attempts to down him. But Peter’s blood warmed up as the +fight thickened, and hisses, eggs, or actual attempts to injure him physically +did not deter him. The big leaders were appealed to to call him off, but +Costell declined to interfere. +</p> + +<p> +“He wouldn’t stop anyway,” he told Green, “so we should +do no good. Let them fight it out by themselves.” Both of which sentences +showed that Mr. Costell understood his business. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had challenged his opponents to a joint debate, and when that was +declined by them, he hired halls for evenings and spoke on the subject. He +argued well, with much more feeling than he had shown since his speech in +“the case.” After the first attempt of this kind, he had no +difficulty in filling his halls. The rumor came back to his own district that +he was “talkin’ foin,” and many of his friends there turned +out to hear him. The same news went through other wards of the city and drew +men from them. People were actually excluded, for want of room, and therefore +every one became anxious to hear his speeches. Finally, by subscription of a +number of people who had become interested, headed by Mr. Pell, the Cooper +Union was hired, and Peter made a really great speech to nearly three thousand +people. +</p> + +<p> +The papers came to his help too, and stood by him manfully. By their aid, it +was made very clear that this was a fight against a selfish lobby. By their +aid, it became one of the real questions of the local campaign, and was carried +beyond the borders of the city, so as to play a part in the county elections. +Peter met many of the editors, and between his expert knowledge, acquired on +the Commissions, and his practical knowledge, learned at Albany, proved a +valuable man to them. They repaid his help by kind words and praise in their +columns, and brought him forward as the chief man in the movement. Mrs. +Stirling concluded that the conspiracy to keep Peter in the background had been +abandoned. +</p> + +<p> +“Those York papers couldn’t help my Peter’s getting +on,” was the way she put it. +</p> + +<p> +The results of this fight were even better than he had hoped. One Assemblyman +gave in and agreed no longer to oppose the bills. Another was defeated. The +Senator had his majority so cut down that he retired from the opposition. The +questions too had become so much more discussed and watched, and the blame so +fastened upon the lobby that many members from the country no longer dared to +oppose legislation on the subject. Hence it was that the bills, newly drawn by +Peter, to reduce opposition as far as possible, when introduced by Schlurger +soon after the opening of the legislature, went through with a rush, not even +ayes and nays being taken. Aided by Mr. Costell, Peter secured their prompt +signing by Catlin, his long fight had ended in victory. +</p> + +<p> +The “sixt” was wild with joy over the triumph. Whether it was +because it was a tenement ward, or because Peter had talked there so much about +it, or because his success was felt to redound to their credit, the voters got +up a display of fireworks on the night when the news of the signing of the +bills reached New York. When Peter returned to the city, he was called down to +a hall one evening, to witness a torchlight procession and receive resolutions +“engrossed and framed” from his admiring friends. Blunkers was +chairman and made a plain speech which set the boys cheering by its combination +of strong feeling and lack of grammar. Then Justice Gallagher made a +fine-sounding, big-worded presentation. In the enthusiasm of the moment, Dennis +broke the programme by rising and giving vent to a wild burst of feeling, +telling his audience all that they owed to Peter, and though they knew already +what he told them, they cheered and cheered the strong, natural eloquence. +</p> + +<p> +“Yer was out a order,” said Blunkers, at the end of the speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Yez loi!” said Dennis, jumping on his feet again. +“It’s never out av order to praise Misther Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd applauded his sentiment. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXII"></a>CHAPTER XXXII.<br/> +THE END OF THE CONFLICT.</h2> + +<p> +Peter had had some rough experiences two or three times in his fall campaign, +and Dennis, who had insisted on escorting him, took him to task about his +“physical culture.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s thirty pounds yez are too heavy, sir,” he told Peter. +“An’ it’s too little intirely yez afther knowin’ av +hittin’.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter asked his advice, bought Indian clubs, dumb-bells, and boxing-gloves, and +under Dennis’s tutelage began to learn the art of self-defence. He was +rather surprised, at the end of two months, to find how much flesh he had taken +off, how much more easily he moved, how much more he was eating, and how much +more he was able to do, both mentally and physically. +</p> + +<p> +“It seems as if somebody had oiled my body and brain,” he told +Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +Dennis let him into another thing, by persuading him to join the militia +regiment most patronized by the “sixth,” and in which Dennis was +already a sergeant. Peter received a warm welcome from the regiment, for +Dennis, who was extremely popular, had heralded his fame, and Peter’s +physical strength and friendly way did the rest. Ogden Ogden laughed at him for +joining a “Mick” regiment, and wanted to put Peter into the +Seventh. Peter only said that he thought his place was where he was. +</p> + +<p> +Society did not see much of Peter this winter. He called on his friends +dutifully, but his long visits to Albany, his evenings with Dennis, and his +drill nights, interfered badly with his acceptance of the invitations sent him. +He had, too, made many friends in his commission work and politics, so that he +had relatively less time to give to his older ones. The absence of Miss De Voe +and Lispenard somewhat reduced his social obligations it is true, but the +demands on his time were multiplying fast. +</p> + +<p> +One of these demands was actual law work. The first real case to come to him +was from the contractor who had served on the tenement-commission. He was also +employed by the Health Board as special counsel in a number of prosecutions, to +enforce clauses of his Food Bill. The papers said it was because of his +familiarity with the subject, but Peter knew it was the influence of Green, who +had become a member of that Board. Then he began to get cases from the +“district,” and though there was not much money in each case, +before long the number of them made a very respectable total. +</p> + +<p> +The growth of his practice was well proven by a suggestion from Dummer that +they should join forces. “Mr. Bohlmann wants to give you some of his +work, and it’s easier to go into partnership than to divide his +practice.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter knew that Dummer had a very lucrative business of a certain kind, but he +declined the offer. +</p> + +<p> +“I have decided never to take a case which has not right on its +side.” +</p> + +<p> +“A lawyer is just as much bound to try a case as a physician is bound to +take a patient.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what lawyers say outside, but they know better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, have your scruples. We’ll make the firm cases only such as +you choose. I’ll manage the others.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to,” said Peter. “I’m very grateful for +the offer—but we could hardly do that successfully. If the firm was good +for anything, we should be known as belonging to it, and the public could not +well discriminate.” +</p> + +<p> +So that chance of success was passed. But every now and then Bohlmann sent him +something to do, and Dummer helped him to a joint case occasionally. +</p> + +<p> +So, though friends grew steadily in numbers, society saw less and less of +Peter. Those who cared to study his tastes came to recognize that to force +formal entertaining on him was no kindness, and left it to Peter to drop in +when he chose, making him welcome when he came. +</p> + +<p> +He was pleased to get a letter from Lispenard during the winter, from Japan. It +was long, but only the first paragraph need be quoted, for the rest related +merely to his travels: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“The breezes of the Pacific have blown away all my bad temper,” he +wrote, “and I want to say that I was wrong, and regret my original fault, +as well as what it later led me into. You are quite right. We must continue +friends.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Peter wrote a reply, which led to a regular correspondence. He sent Miss De +Voe, also, a line of Christmas greetings, and received a long letter from her +at Nice, which told him something of Watts and Helen: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“She is now well again, but having been six years in Europe, she and her +husband have become wedded to the life. I question if they ever return. I spoke +of you, and they both inquired with great warmth about you.” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Peter replied, sending his “remembrance to Mr. and Mrs. D’Alloi in +case you again meet them.” From that time on Miss De Voe and he +corresponded, she telling him of her Italian, Greek and Egyptian wanderings, +and he writing of his doings, especially in regard to a certain savings bank +fund standing in the name of “Peter Stirling, trustee” to which +Miss De Voe had, the winter before, arranged to contribute a thousand dollars +yearly. +</p> + +<p> +As his practice increased he began to indulge himself a little. Through the +instrumentality of Mr. Pell, he was put first into one and later into a second +of the New York clubs, and his dinners became far less simple in consequence. +He used these comforters of men, indeed, almost wholly for dining, and, though +by no means a club-man in other senses, it was still a tendency to the +luxurious. To counteract this danger he asked Mr. Costell to pick him up a +saddle-horse, whereupon that friend promptly presented him with one. He went +regularly now to a good tailor, which conduct ought to have ruined him with the +“b’ys,” but it didn’t. He still smoked a pipe +occasionally in the saloons or on the doorsteps of the district, yet candor +compels us to add that he now had in his room a box of cigars labelled +“Habana.” These were creature pleasures, however, which he only +allowed himself on rare occasions. And most of these luxuries did not appear +till his practice had broadened beyond the point already noted. +</p> + +<p> +Broaden it did. In time many city cases were thrown in his way. As he became +more and more a factor in politics, the judges began to send him very +profitable referee cases. Presently a great local corporation, with many damage +suits, asked him to accept its work on a yearly salary. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course we shall want you to look out for us at Albany,” it was +added. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll do what I can to prevent unfair legislation. That must be +all, though. As for the practice, you must let me settle every case where I +think the right is with the plaintiff.” This caused demur at first, but +eventually he was employed, and it was found that money was saved in the long +run, for Peter was very successful in getting people to settle out of court. +</p> + +<p> +Then the savings bank, for which Peter had done his best (not merely as +recorded, but at other times), turned over its law business to him, giving him +many real estate transactions to look into, besides papers to draw. “He +brings us a good many depositors,” Mr. Lapham told his trustees, +“and is getting to be a large depositor himself.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter began to find help necessary, and took a partner. He did this at the +suggestion of Ogden Ogden, who had concluded his clerkship, and who said to +Peter: +</p> + +<p> +“I have a lot of friends who promise me their work. I don’t know +how much it will be, but I should like to try it with you. Of course, yours is +the bigger practice, but we can arrange that.” +</p> + +<p> +So after considerable discussion, the sign on Peter’s door became +“Stirling and Ogden,” and the firm blossomed out with an office +boy—one of Peter’s original “angle” friends, now six +years older than when Peter and he had first met. +</p> + +<p> +Ogden’s friends did materialize, and brought good paying cases. As the +city, referee, corporation and bank work increased, their joint practice needed +more help, and Ray Rivington was, on Ogden’s request, taken in. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t get on with his law studies, though he pretends to work +over them hard. In fact he’ll never be a good lawyer. He hasn’t a +legal mind. But he’ll bring cases, for he’s very popular in +society, and he’ll do all the palavering and running round very well. +He’s just the fellow to please people.” This was what Ogden urged, +adding, “I might as well tell you that I’m interested for another +reason, too. He and Dorothy will marry, if he can ever get to the marrying +point. This, of course, is to be between us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be very glad to have him, both for his own sake, and for what +you’ve just told me,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Thus it was that the firm again changed its name, becoming “Stirling, +Ogden and Rivington,” and actually spread into two other rooms, +Peter’s original little “ten by twelve” being left to the +possession of the office boy. That functionary gazed long hours at the map of +Italy on the blank wall, but it did not trouble him. He only whistled and sang +street songs at it. As for Peter, he was too busy to need blank walls. He had +fought two great opponents. The world and himself. He had conquered them both. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXIII.<br/> +A RENEWAL.</h2> + +<p> +If the American people had anglicized themselves as thoroughly into liking +three-volume stories, as they have in other things, it would be a pleasure to +trace the next ten years of Peter’s life; for his growing reputation +makes this period a far easier matter to chronicle than the more obscure +beginnings already recorded. If his own life did not supply enough material we +could multiply our characters, as did Dickens, or journey sideways, into little +essays, as did Thackeray. His life and his biographer’s pen might fail to +give interest to such devices, but the plea is now for “realism,” +which most writers take to mean microscopical examination of minutia. If the +physical and psychical emotions of a heroine as she drinks a glass of water can +properly be elaborated so as to fill two printed pages, Peter’s life +could be extended endlessly. There were big cases, political fights, globe +trottings, and new friends, all of which have unlimited potentialities for +numerous chapters. But Americans are peculiar people, and do not buy a pound of +sugar any the quicker because its bulk has been raised by a skilful admixture +of moisture and sand. So it seems best partly to take the advice of the +Bellman, in the “Hunting of the Snark,” to skip sundry years. In +resuming, it is to find Peter at his desk, reading a letter. He has a very +curious look on his face, due to the letter, the contents of which are as +follows: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +MARCH 22. +</p> + +<p> +DEAR OLD CHUM— +</p> + +<p> +Here is the wretched old sixpence, just as bad as ever—if not +worse—come back after all these years. +</p> + +<p> +And as of yore, the sixpence is in a dreadful pickle, and appeals to the old +chum, who always used to pull him out of his scrapes, to do it once more. +Please come and see me as quickly as possible, for every moment is important. +You see I feel sure that I do not appeal in vain. “Changeless as the +pyramids” ought to be your motto. +</p> + +<p> +Helen and our dear little girl will be delighted to see you, as will +</p> + +<p> +Yours affectionately, +</p> + +<p> +WATTS. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Peter opened a drawer and put the letter into it. Then he examined his diary +calendar. After this he went to a door, and, opening it, said: +</p> + +<p> +“I am going uptown for the afternoon. If Mr. Murtha comes, Mr. Ogden will +see him.”. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went down and took a cab, giving the driver a number in Grammercy Park. +</p> + +<p> +The footman hesitated on Peter’s inquiry. “Mr. D’Alloi is in, +sir, but is having his afternoon nap, and we have orders he’s not to be +disturbed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Take him my card. He will see me.” +</p> + +<p> +The footman showed Peter into the drawing-room, and disappeared. Peter heard +low voices for a moment, then the curtains of the back room were quickly +parted, and with hands extended to meet him, Helen appeared. +</p> + +<p> +“This is nice of you—and so unexpected!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter took the hand, but said nothing. They sat down, and Mrs. D’Alloi +continued: +</p> + +<p> +“Watts is asleep, and I have given word that he is not to be disturbed. I +want to see you for a moment myself. You have plenty of time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very nice. I don’t want you to be formal with us. Do +say that you can stay to dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“I would, if I were not already engaged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ll merely postpone it. It’s very good of you to come +to see us. I’ve tried to get Watts to look you up, but he is so lazy! +It’s just as well since you’ve found us out. Only you should have +asked for both of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I came on business,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi laughed. “Watts is the poorest man in the world for +that, but he’ll do anything he can to help you, I know. He has the +warmest feeling for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter gathered from this that Mrs. D’Alloi did not know of the +“scrape,” whatever it was, and with a lawyer’s caution, he +did not attempt to disabuse her of the impression that he had called about his +own affairs. +</p> + +<p> +“How you have changed!” Mrs. D’Alloi continued. “If I +had not known who it was from the card, I am not sure that I should have +recognized you.” +</p> + +<p> +It was just what Peter had been saying to himself of Mrs. D’Alloi. Was it +her long ill-health, or was it the mere lapse of years, which had wrought such +changes in her? Except for the eyes, everything had altered. The cheeks had +lost their roundness and color; the hair had thinned noticeably; lines of years +and pain had taken away the sweet expression that formerly had counted for so +much; the pretty roundness of the figure was gone, and what charm it now had +was due to the modiste’s skill. Peter felt puzzled. Was this the woman +for whom he had so suffered? Was it this memory that had kept him, at +thirty-eight, still a bachelor? Like many another man, he found that he had +been loving an ideal—a creation of his own mind. He had, on a boyish +fancy, built a dream of a woman with every beauty and attraction, and had been +loving it for many years, to the exclusion of all other womankind. Now he saw +the original of his dream, with the freshness and glamour gone, not merely from +the dream, but from his own eyes. Peter had met many pretty girls, and many +sweet ones since that week at the Pierces. He had gained a very different point +of view of women from that callow time. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was not blunderer enough to tell Mrs. D’Alloi that he too, saw a +change. His years had brought tact, if they had not made him less +straightforward. So he merely said, “You think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ever so much. You’ve really grown slender, in spite of your broad +shoulders—and your face is so—so different.” +</p> + +<p> +There was no doubt about it. For his height and breadth of shoulder, Peter was +now by no means heavy. His face, too, had undergone a great change. As the +roundness had left it, the eyes and the forehead had both become more prominent +features, and both were good. The square, firm jaw still remained, but the +heaviness of the cheek and nose had melted into lines which gave only strength +and character, and destroyed the dulness which people used to comment upon. The +face would never be called handsome, in the sense that regular features are +supposed to give beauty, but it was strong and speaking, with lines of thought +and feeling. +</p> + +<p> +“You know,” laughed Mrs. D’Alloi, “you have actually +become good-looking, and I never dreamed that was possible!” +</p> + +<p> +“How long have you been here?” +</p> + +<p> +“A month. We are staying with papa, till the house in Fifty-seventh +Street can be put in order. It has been closed since Mrs. D’Alloi’s +death. But don’t let’s talk houses. Tell me about yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is little to tell. I have worked at my profession, with +success.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I see your name in politics. And I’ve met many people in +Europe who have said you were getting very famous.” +</p> + +<p> +“I spend a good deal of time in politics. I cannot say whether I have +made myself famous, or infamous. It seems to depend on which paper I +read.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I saw a paper on the steamer, that—” Mrs. D’Alloi +hesitated, remembering that it had charged Peter with about every known sin of +which man is capable. Then she continued, “But I knew it was +wrong.” Yet there was quite as much of question as of assertion in her +remark. In truth, Mrs. D’Alloi was by no means sure that Peter was all +that was desirable, for any charge made against a politician in this country +has a peculiar vitality and persistence. She had been told that Peter was an +open supporter of saloons, and that New York politics battened on all forms of +vice. So a favorite son could hardly have retained the purity that women take +as a standard of measurement. “Don’t you find ward politics very +hard?” she asked, dropping an experimental plummet, to see what depths of +iniquity there might be. +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that kind of politics must be very disagreeable to gentlemen. The +men must have such dirty hands!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s not the dirty hands which make American politics +disagreeable. It’s the dirty consciences.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are—are politics so corrupt and immoral?” +</p> + +<p> +“Politics are what the people make them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose your life has not been of a kind to make you very familiar +with it all. Tell me what these long years have brought you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Perfect happiness! Oh, Mr. Stirling—may I call you +Peter?—thank you. Peter, I have the finest, noblest husband that ever +lived! He is everything that is good and kind!” Mrs. +D’Alloi’s face lighted up with happiness and tenderness. +</p> + +<p> +“And your children?” +</p> + +<p> +“We have only one. The sweetest, loveliest child you can imagine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fie, fie, Rosebud,” cried a voice from the doorway. “You +shouldn’t speak of yourself so, even if it is the truth. Leave that to +me. How are you, Peter, old fellow? I’d apologize for keeping you +waiting, but if you’ve had Helen, there’s no occasion. Isn’t +it Boileau who said that: ‘The best thing about many a man is his +wife’?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi beamed, but said, “It isn’t so, Peter. +He’s much better than I.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts laughed. “You’ll have to excuse this, old man. Will happen +sometimes, even in the properest of families, if one marries an angel.” +</p> + +<p> +“There, you see,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. “He just spoils +me, Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she thrives on it, doesn’t she, Peter?” said Watts. +“Isn’t she prettier even than she was in the old days?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi colored with pleasure, even while saying: “Now, Watts +dear, I won’t swallow such palpable flattery. There’s one kiss for +it—Peter won’t mind—and now I know you two want to talk old +times, so I’ll leave you together. Good-bye, Peter—or rather <i>au +revoir</i>—for you must be a regular visitor now. Watts, arrange with +Peter to dine with us some day this week.” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi disappeared through the doorway. Peter’s pulse did not +change a beat. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIV"></a>CHAPTER XXXIV.<br/> +HELP.</h2> + +<p> +The moment she was gone, Watts held out his hand, saying: “Here, old man, +let us shake hands again. It’s almost like going back to college days to +see my old chum. Come to the snuggery, where we shan’t be +interrupted.” They went through two rooms, to one fitted up as a +smoking-room and office. “It’s papa-in-law’s workshop. He +can’t drop his work at the bank, so he brings it home and goes on here. +Sit down. Here, take a cigar. Now, are you comfortable?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Maintenant</i>, I suppose you want to know why I wrote you to come so +quickly?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, the truth of it is, I’m in an awful mess. Yesterday I was so +desperate I thought I should blow my brains out. I went round to the club to +see if I couldn’t forget or drown my trouble, just as sick as a man could +be. Fellows talking. First thing I heard was your name. ‘Just won a great +case.’ ‘One of the best lawyers in New York.’ Thinks I to +myself, ‘That’s a special providence.’ Peter always was the +fellow to pull me through my college scrapes. I’ll write him.’ Did +it, and played billiards for the rest of the evening, secure in the belief that +you would come to my help, just as you used to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what it is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Even that isn’t easy, chum. It’s a devilish hard thing to +tell even to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it money trou—?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no!” Watts interrupted. “It isn’t that. The truth +is I’ve a great deal more money than is good for me, and apparently +always shall have. I wish it were only that!” +</p> + +<p> +“How can I help you?” began Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you would,” cried Watts, joyfully. “Just the same old +reliable you always were. Here. Draw up nearer. That’s it. Now then, here +goes. I shan’t mind if you are shocked at first. Be as hard on me as you +like.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, to make a long story short, I’m entangled with a woman, and +there’s the devil to pay. Now you’ll pull me through, old man, +won’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say that, Peter! You must help me. You’re my only +hope. +</p> + +<p> +“I do not care to mix myself in such a business,” said Peter, very +quietly. “I would rather know nothing about it.” Peter rose. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t desert me,” cried Watts, springing to his feet, and +putting his hand on Peter’s shoulder, so as to prevent his progress to +the door. “Don’t. She’s going to expose me. Think of the +disgrace! My God, Peter, think—” +</p> + +<p> +“Take your hand off my shoulder.” +</p> + +<p> +“But Peter, think—” +</p> + +<p> +“The time to think was before—not now, Watts. I will not concern +myself in this.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, old man. I can’t face it. It will kill Helen!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had already thrown aside the arm, and had taken a step towards the +doorway. He stopped and turned. “She does not know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a suspicion. And nothing but absolute proof will make her believe +it. She worships me. Oh, Peter, save her! Save Leonore—if you won’t +save me!” +</p> + +<p> +“Can they be saved?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I want to know. Here—sit down, please! +I’ll tell you all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter hesitated a moment, and then sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“It began in Paris twelve years ago. Such affairs have a way of beginning +in Paris, old man. It’s in the atmosphere. She—” +</p> + +<p> +“Stop. I will ask questions. There’s no good going over the whole +story.” Peter tried to speak calmly, and to keep his voice and face from +showing what he felt. He paused a moment, and then said: “She threatens +to expose you. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, after three years I tired of it and tried to end it. Then she used +it to blackmail me for ten years, till, in desperation, I came to America, to +see if I couldn’t escape her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And she followed you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She was always tracking me in Europe, and making my life a hell on +earth, and now she’s followed me here.” +</p> + +<p> +“If it’s merely a question of money, I don’t see what you +want of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“She says she doesn’t want money now—but revenge. She’s +perfectly furious over my coming off without telling her—always had an +awful temper—and—well, you know an infuriated woman is capable of +anything. The Spaniard was right who said it was easier to take care of a peck +of fleas than one woman, eh, chum?” +</p> + +<p> +“So she threatens to tell your wife?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. She says she’s going to summon me into court.” +</p> + +<p> +“On what grounds?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the worst part of it. You see, chum, there’s a child, +and she says she’s going to apply for a proper support for it. Proper +support! Heavens! The money I’ve paid her would support ten children. +It’s only temper.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said, “Watts, Watts,” in a sad voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Pretty bad, isn’t it? If it wasn’t for the child I +could—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter interrupted. “Has she any proofs of paternity +besides—?” +</p> + +<p> +Watts interrupted in turn. “Yes. Confound it! I was fool enough to write +letters during my infatuation. Talleyrand was right when he said only fools and +women wrote letters.” +</p> + +<p> +“How could you?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I’ve asked myself a hundred times. Oh, I’m +sorry enough. I’ve sworn never to put pen to paper again. +<i>Jamais!</i>” +</p> + +<p> +“I did not mean the letters. But your vow.” +</p> + +<p> +“My vow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your marriage vow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. I know. But you know, chum, before you promise to love one +woman for all time you should have seen them all.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that display ten minutes ago was all mockery?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, no! Really, Peter, I’m awfully fond of the little woman. +Really I am. And you know Daudet says a man can love two women at the same +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“And if so, how about his honor?” Peter was trying to repress his +emotion, but it would jerk out questions. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, I know. I’ve said that to myself over and over again. Why, +look here.” Watts pulled a small revolver from his hip pocket. +“This will show you how close to the desperation point I have come. +I’ve carried that for two days, so that if worse comes to +worse—well. Phut!—<i>Voila tout</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose, speaking in a voice ringing with scorn. “You would escape +your sin, to leave it with added disgrace for your wife and daughter to bear! +Put up your pistol, Watts D’Alloi. If I am to help you, I want to help a +man—not a skulker. What do you want me to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I wish to know. What can I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have offered her money?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I told her that—” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind details,” interrupted Peter, “Was it enough to +put further offers out of the question?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. She won’t hear of money. She wants revenge.” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me her name and address.” +</p> + +<p> +“Celestine—” The rest was interrupted by a knock at the door. +“Well?” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +The door was opened, and a footman entered. “If you please, Mr. +D’Alloi, there’s a Frenchwoman at the door who wants to see you. +She won’t give me her name, but says you’ll know who it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Say I won’t see her. That I’m busy.” +</p> + +<p> +“She told me to say that if you were engaged, she’d see Mrs. +D’Alloi.” +</p> + +<p> +“My God!” said Watts, under his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask the woman to come in here,” said Peter, quietly, but in a way +which made the man leave the room without waiting to see if Watts demurred. +</p> + +<p> +A complete silence followed. Then came the rustle of skirts, and a woman +entered the room. Peter, who stood aside, motioned to the footman to go, and +closed the door himself, turning the key. +</p> + +<p> +The woman came to the middle of the room. “So, Monsieur +D’Alloi,” she said in French, speaking very low and distinctly, +“you thought it best not to order your groom to turn me out, as you did +that last day in Paris, when you supposed your flight to America left you free +to do as you pleased? But you did not escape me. Here I am.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts sat down in an easy-chair, and striking a match, lighted a cigarette. +“That, Celestine,” he said in French, “is what in English we +call a self-evident proposition.” +</p> + +<p> +Celestine’s foot began to tap the floor, “You needn’t pretend +you expected I would follow you. You thought you could drop me, like an old +slipper.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts blew a whiff of tobacco from his mouth. “It was a remark of +Ricard’s, I believe, ‘that in woman, one should always expect the +unexpected.’” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>Mon Dieu</i>!” shrieked Celestine. “If I—if I could +kill you—you—” +</p> + +<p> +She was interrupted by Peter’s bringing a chair to her and saying in +French, “Will you not sit down, please?” +</p> + +<p> +She turned in surprise, for she had been too wrought up to notice that Peter +was in the room. She stared at him and then sat down. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right,” said Watts. “Take it easy. No occasion +to get excited.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” screamed Celestine, springing to her feet, “your name +shall be in all the papers. You shall—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter again interrupted. “Madame, will you allow me to say +something?” He spoke gently and deferentially. +</p> + +<p> +Celestine looked at him again, saying rapidly: “Why should I listen to +you? What are you to me? I don’t even know you. My mind’s made up. +I tell you—” The woman was lashing herself into a fury, and Peter +interrupted her again: +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon me. We are strangers. If I ask anything of you for myself, I +should expect a refusal. But I ask it for humanity, to which we all owe help. +Only hear what I have to say. I do not claim it as a right, but as a +favor.” +</p> + +<p> +Celestine sat down. “I listen,” she said. She turned her chair from +Watts and faced Peter, as he stood at the study table. +</p> + +<p> +Peter paused a moment, and then said: “After what I have seen, I feel +sure you wish only to revenge yourself on Mr. D’Alloi?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now let me show you what you will do. For the last two days Mr. +D’Alloi has carried a pistol in his pocket, and if you disgrace him he +will probably shoot himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bon!” +</p> + +<p> +“But where is your revenge? He will be beyond your reach, and you will +only have a human life upon your conscience ever after.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall not grieve!” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor is that all. In revenging yourself on him, you do one of the +cruelest acts possible. A wife, who trusts and believes in him, will have her +faith and love shattered. His daughter—a young girl, with all her life +before her—must ever after despise her father and blush at her name. Do +not punish the weak and innocent for the sin of the guilty!” Peter spoke +with an earnestness almost terrible. Tears came into his eyes as he made his +appeal, and his two auditors both rose to their feet, under the impulse of his +voice even more than of his words. So earnest was he, and so spell-bound were +the others, that they failed to hear the door from the dining-room move, or +notice the entrance of Mrs. D’Alloi as Peter ended his plea. +</p> + +<p> +A moment’s silence followed Peter’s outburst of feeling. Then the +Frenchwoman cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Truly, truly. But what will you do for me and my child? Haven’t we +been ill-treated? Don’t you owe us help, too? Justice? Don’t we +deserve tenderness and protection?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter. “But you wish revenge. Ask for justice, +ask for help, and I will do what is within my power to aid you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts,” cried Mrs. D’Alloi, coming forward, “of what +child are you talking? Whose child? Who is this woman?” +</p> + +<p> +Watts jumped as if he had been shot. Celestine even retreated before the +terrible voice and face with which Mrs. D’Alloi asked her questions. A +sad, weary look came into Peter’s eyes. No one answered Mrs. +D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“Answer me,” she cried +</p> + +<p> +“My dear little woman. Don’t get excited. It’s all +right.” Watts managed to say this much. But he did not look his last +remark. +</p> + +<p> +“Answer me, I say. Who is this woman? Speak!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s all right, really, it’s all right. Here. Peter will +tell you it’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter,” cried Mrs. D’Alloi. “Of whose child were you +speaking?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was still standing by the desk. He looked sad and broken, as he said: +</p> + +<p> +“This is the mother, Mrs. D’Alloi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes? Yes?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter raised his eyes to Helen’s and looked at her. Then he said quietly: +</p> + +<p> +“And Watts—will tell you that—I am its father.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXV"></a>CHAPTER XXXV.<br/> +RUNNING AWAY.</h2> + +<p> +The dramatic pause which followed Peter’s statement was first broken by +Mrs. D’Alloi, who threw her arms about Watt’s neck, and cried: +“Oh! my husband. Forgive me, forgive me for the suspicion!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned to Celestine. “Madame,” he said. “We are not +wanted here.” He unlocked the door into the hall, and stood aside while +she passed out, which she did quietly. Another moment found the two on the +sidewalk. “I will walk with you to your hotel, if you will permit +me?” Peter said to her. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” Celestine replied. Nothing more was said in the walk +of ten blocks. When they reached the hotel entrance, Peter asked: “Can +you see me for a few moments?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Come to my private parlor.” They took the elevator, and were +but a moment in reaching that apartment. +</p> + +<p> +Peter spoke the moment the door was closed. “Madame,” he said, +“you saw that scene. Spare his wife and child? He is not worth your +anger.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Ciel!” cried Celestine, emotionally. “Do you think so +lowly of me, that you can imagine I would destroy your sacrifice? Your +romantic, your dramatic, <i>mon Dieu!</i> your noble sacrifice? Non, non. +Celestine Lacour could never do so. She will suffer cruelty, penury, insults, +before she behaves so shamefully, so perfidiously.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not entirely sympathize with the Frenchwoman’s admiration for +the dramatic element, but he was too good a lawyer not to accept an admission, +no matter upon what grounds. He held out his hand promptly. +“Madame,” he said, “accept my thanks and admiration for your +generous conduct.” +</p> + +<p> +Celestine took it and shook it warmly. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Peter. “Mr. D’Alloi owes you an ample +income.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah!” cried Celestine, shrugging her shoulders. “Do not talk +of him—I leave it to you to make him do what is right.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you will return to France?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, yes. If you say so?” Celestine looked at Peter in a manner +known only to the Latin races. Just then a side door was thrown open, and a boy +of about twelve years of age dashed into the room, followed by a French poodle. +</p> + +<p> +“Little villain!” cried Celestine. “How dare you approach +without knocking? Go. Go. Quickly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pardon, Madame,” said the child. “I thought you still +absent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that the child?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Celestine. +</p> + +<p> +“Does he know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing. I do not tell him even that I am his mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you are not prepared to give him a mother’s care and +tenderness?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never. I love him not. He is too like his father. And I cannot have it +known that I am the mother of a child of twelve. It would not be believed, +even.” Celestine took a look at herself in the tall mirror. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I suppose you would like some arrangement about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stayed for nearly an hour with the woman. He stayed so long, that for one +of the few times in his life he was late at a dinner engagement. But when he +had left Celestine, every detail had been settled. Peter did not have an +expression of pleasure on his face as he rode down-town, nor was he very good +company at the dinner which he attended that evening. +</p> + +<p> +The next day did not find him in any better mood. He went down-town, and called +on an insurance company and talked for a while with the president. Then he +called at a steamship office. After that he spent twenty minutes with the head +of one of the large schools for boys in the city. Then he returned to his +office. +</p> + +<p> +“A Mr. D’Alloi is waiting for you in your private office, +sir,” he was told. “He said that he was an old friend and insisted +on going in there.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter passed into his office. +</p> + +<p> +Watts cried: “My dear boy, how can I ever—” +</p> + +<p> +He was holding out his hand, but Peter failed to take it, and interrupted him. +</p> + +<p> +“I have arranged it all with Madame Lacour,” Peter said coldly. +“She sails on La Bretagne on Thursday. You are to buy an annuity for +three thousand dollars a year. In addition, you are to buy an annuity for the +boy till he is twenty-five, of one thousand dollars a year, payable to me as +his guardian. This will cost you between forty and fifty thousand dollars. I +will notify you of the amount when the insurance company sends it to me. In +return for your check, I shall send you the letters and other things you sent +Madame Lacour, or burn them, as you direct. Except for this the affair is +ended. I need not detain you further.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say, chum. Don’t take it this way,” cried Watts. +“Do you think—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I end it as suits me,” said Peter. “Good-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, at least you must let me pay you a fee for your work?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned on Watts quickly, but checked the movement and the words on his +tongue. He only reiterated. “Good-day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, if you will have it so.” Watts went to the door, but +hesitated. “Just as you please. If, later, you change your mind, send me +word. I shan’t cherish any feeling for this. I want to be friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-day,” said Peter. Watts passed out, closing the door. +</p> + +<p> +Peter sat down at his desk, doing nothing, for nearly an hour. How long he +would have sat will never be known, if his brown study had not been ended by +Rivington’s entrance. “The Appeals have just handed down their +decision in the Henley case. We win.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought we should,” said Peter mechanically. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Peter! What’s the matter with you? You look as seedy +as—” +</p> + +<p> +“As I feel,” said Peter. “I’m going to stop work and +take a ride, to see if I can’t knock some of my dulness out of me.” +Within an hour he was at the Riding Club. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello,” said the stable man. “Twice in one day! You’re +not often here at this hour, sir. Which horse will you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“Give me whichever has the most life in him.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Mutineer has the devil in him always, sir. Though it’s +not yourself need fear any horse. Only look out for the ice.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter rode into the Park in ten minutes. He met Lispenard at the first turn. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! It’s not often you are here at this hour.” Lispenard +reined his horse up alongside. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “I’ve been through a very +revolt—a very disagreeable experience, and I’ve come up here to get +some fresh air. I don’t want to be sociable.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right. Truthful as ever. But one word before we separate. +Keppel has just received two proofs of Haden’s last job. He asks awful +prices for them, but you ought to see them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks.” And the two friends separated as only true friends can +separate. +</p> + +<p> +Peter rode on, buried in his own thoughts. The park was rather empty, for dark +comes on early in March, and dusk was already in the air. He shook himself +presently, and set Mutineer at a sharp canter round the larger circle of the +bridle path. But before they had half swung the circle, he was deep in thought +again, and Mutineer was taking his own pace. Peter deserved to get a stumble +and a broken neck or leg, but he didn’t. He was saved from it by an +incident which never won any credit for its good results to Peter, however much +credit it gained him. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was so deeply engrossed in his own thoughts that he did not hear the +clutter of a horse’s feet behind him, just as he struck the long stretch +of the comparatively straight path along the Reservoir. But Mutineer did, and +pricked up his ears. Mutineer could not talk articulately, but all true lovers +of horses understand their language. Mutineer’s cogitations, transmuted +into human speech, were something to this effect: +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! What’s that horse trying to do? He can’t for a moment +expect to pass me!” +</p> + +<p> +But the next moment a roan mare actually did pass him, going at a swift gallop. +</p> + +<p> +Mutineer laid his ears back, “The impudence!” he said. “Does +that little whiffet of a roan mare think she’s going to show me her +heels? I’ll teach her!” It is a curious fact that both the men and +horses who are most seldom passed by their kind, object to it most when it +happens. +</p> + +<p> +Peter suddenly came back to affairs earthly to find Mutineer just settling into +a gait not permitted by Park regulations. He drew rein, and Mutineer, knowing +that the fun was up, danced round the path in his bad temper. +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” he said to himself, “if I wasn’t so fond of +you, I’d give you and that mare, an awful lesson. Hello! not another? +This is too much!” +</p> + +<p> +The last remarks had relation to more clattering of hoofs. In a moment a groom +was in view, going also at a gallop. +</p> + +<p> +“Hout of the way,” cried the groom, to Peter, for Mutineer was +waltzing round the path in a way that suggested “no thoroughfare.” +“Hi’m after that runaway.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked after the first horse, already a hundred feet away. He said +nothing to groom nor horse, but Mutineer understood the sudden change in the +reins, even before he felt that maddening prick of the spurs. There was a +moment’s wild grinding of horse’s feet on the slippery road and +then Mutineer had settled to his long, tremendous stride. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I’ll show you,” he remarked, “but if only he +wouldn’t hold me so damned tight.” We must forgive Mutineer for +swearing. He lived so much with the stablemen, that, gentleman though he was, +evil communications could not be entirely resisted. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was riding “cool.” He knew he could run the mare down, but he +noticed that the woman, who formed the mount, was sitting straight, and he +could tell from the position of her elbows that she was still pulling on her +reins, if ineffectually. He thought it best therefore to let the mare wind +herself before he forced himself up, lest he should only make the runaway horse +the wilder. So after a hundred yards’ run, he drew Mutineer down to the +mare’s pace, about thirty feet behind her. +</p> + +<p> +They ran thus for another hundred yards. Then suddenly Peter saw the woman drop +her reins, and catch at the saddle. His quick eye told him in a moment what had +happened. The saddle-girth had broken, or the saddle was turning. He dug his +spurs into Mutineer, so that the horse, who had never had such treatment, +thought that he had been touched by two branding irons. He gave a furious shake +of his ears, and really showed the blood of his racing Kentucky forebears. In +fifteen seconds the horse was running even with the mare. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had intended merely to catch the reins of the runaway, trusting to his +strength to do what a woman’s could not. But when he came up alongside, +he saw that the saddle had turned so far that the rider could not keep her seat +ten seconds longer. So he dropped his reins, bent over, and putting his arms +about the woman lifted her off the precarious seat, and put her in front of +him. He held her there with one arm, and reached for his reins. But Mutineer +had tossed them over his head. +</p> + +<p> +“Mutineer!” said Peter, with an inflection of voice decidedly +commanding. +</p> + +<p> +“I covered a hundred yards to your seventy,” Mutineer told the roan +mare. “On a mile track I could go round you twice, without getting out of +breath. I could beat you now, even with double mount easily. But my Peter has +dropped the reins and that puts me on my honor. Good-bye.” Mutineer +checked his great racing stride, broke to a canter; dropped to a trot; altered +that to a walk, and stopped. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had been rather astonished at the weight he had lifted. Peter had never +lifted a woman before. His chief experience in the weight of human-kind had +been in wrestling matches at the armory, and only the largest and most muscular +men in the regiment cared to try a bout with him. Of course Peter knew as a +fact that women were lighter than men, but after bracing himself, much as he +would have done to try the cross-buttock with two hundred pounds of bone and +brawn, he marvelled much at the ease with which he transferred the rider. +“She can’t weigh over eighty pounds,” he thought. Which was +foolish, for the woman actually weighed one hundred and eighteen, as Peter +afterwards learned. +</p> + +<p> +The woman also surprised Peter in another way. Scarcely had she been placed in +front of him, than she put her arms about his neck and buried her face in his +shoulder. She was not crying, but she was drawing her breath in great gasps in +a manner which scared Peter terribly. Peter had never had a woman cling to him +in that way, and frightened as he was, he made three very interesting +discoveries: +</p> + +<p> +1. That a man’s shoulder seems planned by nature as a resting place for a +woman’s head. +</p> + +<p> +2. That a man’s arm about a woman’s waist is a very pleasant +position for the arm. +</p> + +<p> +3. That a pair of woman’s arms round a man’s neck, with the clasped +hands, even if gloved, just resting on the back of his neck, is very +satisfying. +</p> + +<p> +Peter could not see much of the woman. His arm told him that she was decidedly +slender, and he could just catch sight of a small ear and a cheek, whose +roundness proved the youth of the person. Otherwise he could only see a head of +very pretty brown hair, the smooth dressing of which could not entirely conceal +its longing to curl. +</p> + +<p> +When Mutineer stopped, Peter did not quite know what to do. Of course it was +his duty to hold the woman till she recovered herself. That was a plain +duty—and pleasant. Peter said to himself that he really was sorry for +her, and thought his sensations were merely the satisfaction of a father in +aiding his daughter. We must forgive his foolishness, for Peter had never been +a father, and so did not know the parental feeling. +</p> + +<p> +It had taken Mutineer twenty seconds to come to a stand, and for ten seconds +after, no change in the condition occurred. Then suddenly the woman stopped her +gasps. Peter, who was looking down at her, saw the pale cheek redden. The next +moment, the arms were taken from his neck and the woman was sitting up straight +in front of him. He got a downward look at the face, and he thought it was the +most charming he had ever seen. +</p> + +<p> +The girl kept her eyes lowered, while she said firmly, though with traces of +breathlessness and tremulo in her voice, “Please help me down.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was out of his saddle in a moment, and lifted the girl down. She +staggered slightly on reaching the ground, so that Peter said: “You had +better lean on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the girl, still looking down, “I will lean against +the horse.” She rested against Mutineer, who looked around to see who was +taking this insulting liberty with a Kentucky gentleman. Having looked at her +he said: “You’re quite welcome, you pretty dear!” Peter +thought he would like to be a horse, but then it occurred to him that equines +could not have had what he had just had, so he became reconciled to his lot. +</p> + +<p> +The girl went on flushing, even after she was safely leaning against Mutineer. +There was another ten seconds’ pause, and then she said, still with +downcast eyes, “I was so frightened, that I did not know what I was +doing.” +</p> + +<p> +“You behaved very well,” said Peter, in the most comforting voice +he could command. “You held your horse splendidly.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t a bit frightened, till the saddle began to turn.” +The girl still kept her eyes on the ground, and still blushed. She was +undergoing almost the keenest mortification possible for a woman. She had for a +moment been horrified by the thought that she had behaved in this way to a +groom. But a stranger—a gentleman—was worse! She had not looked at +Peter’s face, but his irreproachable riding-rig had been noticed. +“If it had only been a policeman,” she thought. “What can I +say to him?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter saw the mortification without quite understanding it. He knew, however, +it was his duty to ease it, and took the best way by giving her something else +to think about. +</p> + +<p> +“As soon as you feel able to walk, you had better take my arm. We can get +a cab at the 72d Street entrance, probably. If you don’t feel able to +walk, sit down on that stone, and I’ll bring a cab. It oughtn’t to +take me ten minutes.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are very good,” said the girl, raising her eyes, and taking a +look at Peter’s face for the first time. +</p> + +<p> +A thrill went through Peter. +</p> + +<p> +The girl had slate-colored eyes!! +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVI"></a>CHAPTER XXXVI.<br/> +A DREAM.</h2> + +<p> +Something in Peter’s face seemed to reassure the girl, for though she +looked down after the glance, she ceased leaning against the horse, and said, +“I behaved very foolishly, of course. Now I will do whatever you think +best.” +</p> + +<p> +Before Peter had recovered enough from his thrill to put what he thought into +speech, a policeman came riding towards them, leading the roan mare. “Any +harm done?” he called. +</p> + +<p> +“None, fortunately. Where can we get a cab? Or can you bring one +here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid there’ll be none nearer than Fifty-ninth Street. +They leave the other entrances before it’s as dark as this.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind the cab,” said the girl. “If you’ll help me +to mount, I’ll ride home.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the pluck!” said the policeman. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think you had better?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’m not a bit afraid. If you’ll just tighten the +girth.” +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Peter he had never encountered such a marvellously fascinating +combination as was indicated by the clinging position of a minute ago and the +erect one of the present moment. He tightened the girth with a pull that made +the roan mare wonder if a steam-winch had hold of the end, and then had the +pleasure of the little foot being placed in his hand for a moment, as he lifted +the girl into the saddle. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall ride with you,” he said, mounting instantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Beg pardon,” said the policeman. “I must take your names. We +are required to report all such things to headquarters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Williams, don’t you know me?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Williams looked at Peter, now for the first time on a level with him. “I +beg your pardon, Mr. Stirling. It was so dark, and you are so seldom here +afternoons that I didn’t know you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell the chief that this needn’t go on record, nor be given to the +reporters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” said the girl in a frank yet shy way, +“but will you tell me your first name?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was rather astonished, but he said “Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried the girl, looking Peter in the face. “I +understand it now. I didn’t think I could behave so to a stranger! I must +have felt it was you.” She was smiling joyfully, and she did not drop her +eyes from his. On the contrary she held out her hand to him. +</p> + +<p> +Of course Peter took it. He did not stop to ask if it was right or wrong to +hold a young girl’s hand. If it was wrong, it was certainly a very small +one, judging from the size of the hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I was so mortified! But if it’s you it’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter thought this mood of the girl was both delightful and complimentary, but +he failed to understand anything of it, except its general friendliness. His +manner may have suggested this, for suddenly the girl said: +</p> + +<p> +“But of course, you do not know who I am? How foolish of me! I am Leonore +D’Alloi.” +</p> + +<p> +It was Peter’s turn to gasp. “Not—?” he began and then +stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said the girl joyfully, as if Peter’s +“not” had had something delightful in it. +</p> + +<p> +“But—she’s a child.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll be eighteen next week,” said Leonore, with all the +readiness of that number of years to proclaim its age. +</p> + +<p> +Peter concluded that he must accept the fact. Watts could have a child that +old. Having reached this conclusion, he said, “I ought to have known you +by your likeness to your mother.” Which was an unintentional lie. Her +mother’s eyes she had, as well as the long lashes; and she had her +mother’s pretty figure, though she was taller. But otherwise she was far +more like Watts. Her curly hair, her curvy mouth, the dimple, and the contour +of the face were his. Leonore D’Alloi was a far greater beauty than her +mother had ever been. But to Peter, it was merely a renewal of his dream. +</p> + +<p> +Just at this point the groom rode up. “Beg pardon, Miss +D’Alloi,” he said, touching his cap. “My ’orse went +down on a bit of hice.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are not hurt, Belden?” said Miss D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +Peter thought the anxious tone heavenly. He rather wished he had broken +something himself. +</p> + +<p> +“No. Nor the ’orse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s all right. Mr. Stirling, we need not interrupt your +ride. Belden will see me home.” +</p> + +<p> +Belden see her home! Peter would see him do it! That was what Peter thought. He +said, “I shall ride with you, of course.” So they started their +horses, the groom dropping behind. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to try it again?” asked Mutineer of the roan. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the mare. “You are too big and strong.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was just saying: “I could hear the pound of a horse’s feet +behind me, but I thought it was the groom, and knew he could never overtake +Fly-away. So when I felt the saddle begin to slip, I thought I was—was +going to be dragged—as I once saw a woman in England—Oh!—and +then suddenly I saw a horse’s head, and then I felt some one take hold of +me so firmly that I didn’t have to hold myself at all, and I knew I was +safe. Oh, how nice it is to be big and strong!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter thought so too. +</p> + +<p> +So it is the world over. Peter and Mutineer felt happy and proud in their +strength, and Leonore and Fly-away glorified them for it. Yet in spite of this, +as Peter looked down at the curly head, from his own and Mutineers altitude, he +felt no superiority, and knew that the slightest wish expressed by that small +mouth, would be as strong with him as if a European army obeyed its commands. +</p> + +<p> +“What a tremendous horse you have?” said Leonore. +“Isn’t he?” assented Peter. “He’s got a bad +temper, I’m sorry to say, but I’m very fond of him. He was given me +by my regiment, and was the choice of a very dear friend now dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who was that?” +</p> + +<p> +“No one you know. A Mr. Costell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes I do. I’ve heard all about him.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you know of Mr. Costell?” +</p> + +<p> +“What Miss De Voe told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss De Voe?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We saw her both times in Europe. Once at Nice, and once in—in +1882—at Maggiore. The first time, I was only six, but she used to tell me +stories about you and the little children in the angle. The last time she told +me all she could remember about you. We used to drift about the lake moonlight +nights, and talk about you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What made that worth doing to you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh from the very beginning, that I can remember, papa was always talking +about ‘dear old Peter’”—the talker said the last three +words in such a tone, shot such a look up at Peter, half laughing and half +timid, that in combination they nearly made Peter reel in his +saddle—“and you seemed almost the only one of his friends he did +speak of, so I became very curious about you as a little girl, and then Miss De +Voe made me more interested, so that I began questioning Americans, because I +was really anxious to learn things concerning you. Nearly every one did know +something, so I found out a great deal about you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was realizing for the first time in his life, how champagne made one +feel. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me whom you found who knew anything about me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nearly everybody knew something. That is, every one we’ve met +in the last five years. Before that, there was Miss De Voe, and grandpapa, of +course, when he came over in 1879—” +</p> + +<p> +“But,” interrupted Peter, “I don’t think I had met him +once before that time, except at the Shrubberies.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, he hadn’t seen you. But he knew a lot about you, from Mr. +Lapharn and Mr. Avery, and some other men who had met you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who else?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Leroy, mamma’s bridesmaid, who spent two weeks at our villa +near Florence, and Dr. Purple, your clergyman, who was in the same house with +us at Ober-Ammergau, and—and—oh the best were Mr. and Mrs. +Rivington. They were in Jersey, having their honeymoon. They told me more than +all the rest put together.” +</p> + +<p> +“I feel quite safe in their hands. Dorothy and I formed a mutual +admiration society a good many years ago.” +</p> + +<p> +“She and Mr. Rivington couldn’t say enough good of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must make allowance for the fact that they were on their wedding +journey, and probably saw everything rose-colored.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was it. Dorothy told me about your giving Mr. Rivington a full +partnership, in order that Mr. Ogden should give his consent.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Ray swore that he wouldn’t tell. And Dorothy has always appeared +ignorant. And yet she knew it on her wedding trip.” +</p> + +<p> +“She couldn’t help it. She said she must tell some one, she was so +happy. So she told mamma and me. She showed us your photograph. Papa and mamma +said it was like you, but I don’t think it is.” +</p> + +<p> +Again Leonore looked up at him. Leonore, when she glanced at a man, had the +same frank, fearless gaze that her mother had of yore. But she did not look as +often nor as long, and did not seem so wrapped up in the man’s remarks +when she looked. We are afraid even at seventeen that Leonore had discovered +that she had very fetching eyes, and did not intend to cheapen them, by showing +them too much. During the whole of this dialogue, Peter had had only +“come-and-go” glimpses of those eyes. He wanted to see more of +them. He longed to lean over and turn the face up and really look down into +them. Still, he could see the curly hair, and the little ear, and the round of +the cheek, and the long lashes. For the moment Peter did not agree with Mr. +Weller that “life isn’t all beer and skittles.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve been so anxious to meet you. I’ve begged papa ever +since we landed to take me to see you. And he’s promised me, over and +over again, to do it, but something always interfered. You see, I felt very +strange and—and queer, not knowing people of my own country, and I felt +that I really knew you, and wouldn’t have to begin new as I do with other +people. I do so dread next winter when I’m to go into society. I +don’t know what I shall do, I’ll not know any one.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll know me.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t go into society.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes, I do. Sometimes, that is. I shall probably go more next winter. +I’ve shut myself up too much.” This was a discovery of +Peter’s made in the last ten seconds. +</p> + +<p> +“How nice that will be! And will you promise to give me a great deal of +attention?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll probably want very little. I don’t dance.” +Peter suddenly became conscious that Mr. Weller was right. +</p> + +<p> +“But you can learn. Please. I do so love valsing.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter almost reeled again at the thought of waltzing with Leonore. Was it +possible life had such richness in it? Then he said with a bitter note in his +voice very unusual to him: +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I’m too old to learn.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not a bit,” said Leonore. “You don’t look any older +than lots of men I’ve seen valsing. Young men I mean. And I’ve seen +men seventy years old dancing in Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +Whether Peter could have kept his seat much longer is to be questioned. But +fortunately for him, the horses here came to a stop in front of a stable. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” said Leonore, “here we are already! What a short ride +it has been.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter thought so too, and groaned over the end of it. But then he suddenly +remembered that Leonore was to be lifted from her horse. He became cold with +the thought that she might jump before he could get to her, and he was off his +horse and by her side with the quickness of a military training. He put his +hands up, and for a moment had—well, Peter could usually express himself +but he could not put that moment into words. And it was not merely that Leonore +had been in his arms for a moment, but that he had got a good look up into her +eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would take my horse round to the Riding Club,” he told +the groom. “I wish to see Miss D’Alloi home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you very much, but my maid is here in the brougham, so I need not +trouble you. Good-bye, and thank you. Oh, thank you so much!” She stood +very close to Peter, and looked up into his eyes with her own. +“There’s no one I would rather have had save me.” +</p> + +<p> +She stepped into the brougham, and Peter closed the door. He mounted his horse +again, and straightening himself up, rode away. +</p> + +<p> +“Hi thought,” remarked the groom to the stableman, “that +’e didn’t know ’ow to sit ’is ’orse, but +’e’s all right, arter all. ’E rides like ha ’orse +guards capting, w’en ’e don’t ’ave a girl to bother +’im.” +</p> + +<p> +Would that girl bother him? +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVII.<br/> +“FRIENDS.”</h2> + +<p> +At first blush, judging from Peter’s behavior, the girl was not going to +bother him. Peter left his horse at the stable, and taking a hansom, went to +his club. There he spent a calm half hour over the evening papers. His dinner +was eaten with equal coolness. Not till he had reached his study did he vary +his ordinary daily routine. Then, instead of working or reading, he rolled a +comfortable chair up to the fire, put on a fresh log or two, opened a new box +of Bock’s, and lighting one, settled back in the chair. How many hours he +sat and how many cigars he smoked are not recorded, lest the statement should +make people skeptical of the narrative. +</p> + +<p> +Of course Peter knew that life had not lost its troubles. He was not fooling +himself as to what lay before him. He was not callous to the sufferings already +endured. But he put them, past, and to come, from him for one evening, and sat +smoking lazily with a dreamy look on his face. He had lately been studying the +subject of Asiatic cholera, but he did not seem to be thinking of that. He had +just been through what he called a “revolting experience,” but it +is doubtful if he was thinking of that. Whatever his thoughts were, they put a +very different look on his face than that which it used to wear while he +studied blank walls. +</p> + +<p> +When Peter sat down, rather later than usual at his office desk the next +morning, he took a sheet of paper, and wrote, “Dear sir,” upon it. +Then he tore it up. He took another and wrote, “My dear Mr. +D’Alloi.” He tore that up. Another he began, “Dear +Watts.” A moment later it was in the paper basket. “My dear +friend,” served to bring a similar fate to the fourth. Then Peter rose +and strolled about his office aimlessly. Finally he went out into a gallery +running along the various rooms, and, opening a door, put his head in. +</p> + +<p> +“You hypocritical scoundrel,” he said. “You swore to me that +you would never tell a living soul.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” came a very guilty voice back. +</p> + +<p> +“And Dorothy’s known all this time.” +</p> + +<p> +Dead silence. +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ve both been as innocent as—as you were +guilty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Peter, I can’t make you understand, because +you’ve—you’ve never been on a honeymoon. Really, old fellow, +I was so happy over your generosity in giving me a full share, when I +didn’t bring a tenth of the business, and so happy over Dorothy, that If +I hadn’t told her, I should have simply—bust. She swore she’d +never tell. And now she’s told you!” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but she told some one else.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then she’s broken her word. She—” +</p> + +<p> +“The Pot called the Kettle black.” +</p> + +<p> +“But to tell one’s own wife is different. I thought she could keep +a secret.” +</p> + +<p> +“How can you expect a person to keep a secret when you can’t keep +it yourself?” Peter and Ray were both laughing. +</p> + +<p> +Ray said to himself, “Peter has some awfully knotty point on hand, and is +resting the brain tissue for a moment.” Ray had noticed, when Peter +interrupted him during office hours, on matters not relating to business, that +he had a big or complex question in hand. +</p> + +<p> +Peter closed the door and went back to his room. Then he took a fifth sheet of +paper, and wrote: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“WATTS: A day’s thought has brought a change of feeling on my part. +Neither can be the better for alienation or unkind thoughts. I regret already +my attitude of yesterday. Let us cancel all that has happened since our college +days, and put aside as if it had never occurred. +</p> + +<p> +“PETER” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Just as he had finished this, his door opened softly. ‘Peter did not hear +it, but took the letter up and read it slowly. +</p> + +<p> +“Boo!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not jump at the Boo. He looked up very calmly, but the moment he +looked up, jump he did. He jumped so that he was shaking hands before the +impetus was lost. +</p> + +<p> +“This is the nicest kind of a surprise,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Bother you, you phlegmatic old cow,” cried a merry voice. +“Here we have spent ten minutes palavering your boy, in order to make him +let us surprise you, and then when we spring it on you, you don’t budge. +Wasn’t it shabby treatment, Dot?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve disappointed us awfully, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was shaking hands more deliberately with Leonore than he had with Watts. +He had been rather clever in shaking hands with him first, so that he need not +hurry himself over the second. So he had a very nice moment—all too +short—while Leonore’s hand lay in his. He said, in order to prolong +the moment, without making it too marked, “It will take something more +frightful than you, Miss D’Alloi, to make me jump.” Then Peter was +sorry he had said it, for Leonore dropped her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, old man, give an account of yourself.” Watts was speaking +jauntily, but not quite as easily as he usually did. “Here Leonore and I +waited all last evening, and you never came. So she insisted that we come this +morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t understand?” Peter was looking at Leonore as if she +had made the remark. Leonore was calmly examining Peter’s room. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, even a stranger would have called last night to inquire about +Dot’s health, after such an accident. But for you not to do it, was +criminal. If you have aught to say why sentence should not now be passed on +you, speak now or forever—no—that’s the wedding ceremony, +isn’t it? Not criminal sentence—though, on second thought, +there’s not much difference.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you expect me, Miss D’Alloi?” +</p> + +<p> +Miss D’Alloi was looking at a shelf of law books with her back to Peter, +and was pretending great interest in them. She did not turn, but said +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish I had known that,” said Peter, with the sincerest regret in +his voice. +</p> + +<p> +Miss D’Alloi’s interest in legal literature suddenly ceased. She +turned and Peter had a momentary glimpse of those wonderful eyes. Either his +words or tone had evidently pleased Miss D’Alloi. The corners of her +mouth were curving upwards. She made a deep courtesy to him and said: +“You will be glad to know, Mr. Stirling, that Miss D’Alloi has +suffered no serious shock from her runaway, and passed a good night. It seemed +to Miss D’Alloi that the least return she could make for Mr. +Stirling’s kindness, was to save him the trouble of coming to inquire +about Miss D’Alloi’s health, and so leave Mr. Stirling more time to +his grimy old law books.” +</p> + +<p> +“There, sir, I hope you are properly crushed for your wrong-doing,” +cried Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to apologize for not coming,” said Peter, +“for that is my loss; but I can say that I’m sorry.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s quite enough,” said Leonore. “I thought perhaps +you didn’t want to be friends. And as I like to have such things right +out, I made papa bring me down this morning so that I could see for +myself.” She spoke with a frankness that seemed to Peter heavenly, even +while he grew cold at the thought that she should for a moment question his +desire to be friends. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you and Peter will be friends,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“But mamma told me last night—after we went upstairs, that she was +sure Mr. Stirling would never call.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never, Dot?” cried Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. And when I asked her why, she wouldn’t tell me at first, but +at last she said it was because he was so unsociable. I shan’t be friends +with any one who won’t come to see me.” Leonore was apparently +looking at the floor, but from under her lashes she was looking at something +else. +</p> + +<p> +Whatever Peter may have felt, he looked perfectly cool. Too cool, Leonore +thought. “I’m not going to make any vows or protestations of +friendship,” he said, “I won’t even pledge myself to come and +see you, Miss D’Alloi. Remember, friendship comes from the word free. If +we are to be friends, we must each leave the other to act freely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Leonore, “that is, I suppose, a polite way of +saying that you don’t intend to come. Now I want to know why you +won’t?” +</p> + +<p> +“The reasons will take too long to explain to you now, so I’ll +defer the telling till the first time I call on you.” Peter was smiling +down at her. +</p> + +<p> +Miss D’Alloi looked up at Peter, to see what meaning his face gave his +last remark. Then she held out her two hands. “Of course we are to be the +best of friends,” she said. Peter got a really good look down into those +eyes as they shook hands. +</p> + +<p> +The moment this matter had been settled, Leonore’s manner changed. +“So this is the office of the great Peter Stirling?” she said, with +the nicest tone of interest in her voice, as it seemed to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t look it,” said Watts. “By George, with the +business people say your firm does, you ought to do better than this. +It’s worse even than our old Harvard quarters, and those were puritanical +enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is a method in its plainness. If you want style, go into +Ogden’s and Rivington’s rooms.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you have the plain office, Mr. Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have a lot of plain people to deal with, and so I try to keep my room +simple, to put them at their ease. I’ve never heard of my losing a client +yet, because my room is as it is, while I should have frightened away some if I +had gone in for the same magnificence as my partners.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I say, chum, I should think that is the sort you would want to +frighten away. There can’t be any money in their business?” +</p> + +<p> +“We weren’t talking of money. We were talking of people. I am very +glad to say, that with my success, there has been no change in my relations +with my ward. They all come to me here, and feel perfectly at home, whether +they come as clients, as co-workers, or merely as friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ho, ho,” laughed Watts. “You wily old fox! See the four bare +walls. The one shelf of law books. The one cheap cabinet of drawers. The four +simple chairs, and the plain desk. Behold the great politician! The man of the +people.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter made no reply. But Leonore said to him, “I’m glad you help +the poor people still, Mr. Stirling,” and gave Peter another glimpse of +those eyes. Peter didn’t mind after that. +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Dot,” said Watts. “You mustn’t call chum +Mr. Stirling. That won’t do. Call him—um—call him Uncle +Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t,” said Leonore, delighting Peter thereby. “Let +me see. What shall I call you?” she asked of Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Honey,” laughed Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I call you?” Miss D’Alloi put her head on one +side, and looked at Peter out of the corners of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“You must decide that, Miss D’Alloi.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose I must. +I—think—I—shall—call—you—Peter.” She +spoke hesitatingly till she said his name, but that went very smoothly. Peter +on the spot fell in love with the five letters as she pronounced them. +</p> + +<p> +“Plain Peter?” inquired Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Now what will you call me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss D’Alloi,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“No. +You—are—to—call—me—call—me—” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss D’Alloi,” re-affirmed Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will call you Mr. Stirling, Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, you won’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because you said you’d call me Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“But not if you won’t—” +</p> + +<p> +“You made no condition at the time of promise. Shall I show you the +law?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. And I shall not call you Peter, any more, Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall prosecute you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I should win the case, for I should hire a friend of mine to defend +me. A man named Peter.” Leonore sat down in Peter’s chair. +“I’m going to write him at once about it.” She took one of +his printed letter sheets and his pen, and, putting the tip of the holder to +her lips (Peter has that pen still), thought for a moment. Then she wrote: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +DEAR PETER: +</p> + +<p> +I am threatened with a prosecution. Will you defend me? Address your reply to +“Dear Leonore.” +</p> + +<p> +LEONORE D’ALLOI. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Now” she said to Peter, “you must write me a letter in +reply. Then you can have this note.” Leonore rose with the missive in her +hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I never answer letters till I’ve received them.” Peter took +hold of the slender wrist, and possessed himself of the paper. Then he sat down +at his desk and wrote on another sheet: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +DEAR MISS D’ALLOI: +</p> + +<p> +I will defend you faithfully and always. +</p> + +<p> +PETER STIRLING +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“That isn’t what I said,” remarked Miss D’Alloi. +“But I suppose it will have to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget one important thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“My retaining fee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear,” sighed Leonore. “My allowance is nearly gone. +Don’t you ever do work for very, very poor people, for nothing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if their poverty is pretence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but mine isn’t. Really. See. Here is my purse. Look for +yourself. That’s all I shall have till the first of the month.” +</p> + +<p> +She gave Peter her purse. He was still sitting at his desk, and he very +deliberately proceeded to empty the contents out on his blotter. He handled +each article. There was a crisp ten-dollar bill, evidently the last of those +given by the bank at the beginning of the month. There were two one-dollar +bills. There was a fifty-cent piece, two quarters and a dime. A gold German +twenty-mark piece, about eight inches of narrow crimson ribbon, and a glove +button, completed the contents. Peter returned the American money and the glove +button to the purse and handed it back to Miss D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve forgotten the ribbon and the gold piece,” said +Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“You were never more mistaken in your life,” replied Peter, with +anything but legal guardedness concerning unprovable statements. He folded up +the ribbon neatly and put it, with the coin, in his waistcoat pocket. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Leonore, “I can’t let you have that +That’s my luck-piece.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it?” Peter expressed much surprise blended with satisfaction in +his tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. You don’t want to take my good luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“I will think it over, and write you a legal opinion later. +</p> + +<p> +“Please!” Miss D’Alloi pleaded. +</p> + +<p> +“That is just what I have succeeded in doing—for myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I want my luck-piece. I found it in a crack of the rocks crossing +the Ghemi. And I must have the ribbon. I need it to match for a gown it goes +with.” Miss D’Alloi put true anxiety into her voice, whatever she +really felt. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be glad to help you match it,” said Peter, “and any +time you send me word, I will go shopping with you. As for your luck, I shall +keep that for the present.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now I know,” said Leonore crossly, “why lawyers have such a +bad reputation. They are perfect thieves!” She looked at Peter with the +corners of her mouth drawn down. He gazed at her with a very grave look on his +face. They eyed each other steadily for a moment, and then the corners of +Leonore’s mouth suddenly curled upwards. She tried hard for a moment to +keep serious. Then she gave up and laughed. Then they both laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Many people will only see an amusing side to the dialogue here so carefully +recorded. If so, look back to the time when everything that he or she said was +worth listening to. Or if there has never been a he or a she, imitate Peter, +and wait. It is worth waiting for. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXVIII"></a>CHAPTER XXXVIII.<br/> +THE HERMITAGE.</h2> + +<p> +It is not to be supposed from this last reflection of ours, that Leonore was +not heart-whole. Leonore had merely had a few true friends, owing to her roving +life, and at seventeen a girl craves friends. When, therefore, the return to +America was determined upon, she had at once decided that Peter and she would +be the closest of friends. That she would tell him all her confidences, and +take all her troubles to him. Miss De Voe and Dorothy had told her about Peter, +and from their descriptions, as well as from her father’s reminiscences, +Leonore had concluded that Peter was just the friend she had wanted for so +long. That Leonore held her eyes down, and tried to charm yet tantalize her +intended friend, was because Leonore could not help it, being only seventeen +and a girl. If Leonore had felt anything but a friendly interest and liking, +blended with much curiosity, in Peter, she never would have gone to see him in +his office, and would never have talked and laughed so frankly with him. +</p> + +<p> +As for Peter, he did not put his feelings into good docketed shape. He did not +attempt to label them at all. He had had a delicious half-hour yesterday. He +had decided, the evening before, that he must see those slate-colored eyes +again, if he had to go round the world in pursuit of them. How he should do it, +he had not even thought out, till the next morning. He had understood very +clearly that the owner of those slate-colored eyes was really an unknown +quantity to him. He had understood, too, that the chances were very much +against his caring to pursue those eyes after he knew them better. But he was +adamant that he must see those eyes again, and prove for himself whether they +were but an <i>ignis fatuus</i>, or the radiant stars that Providence had cast +for the horoscope of Peter Stirling. He was studying those eyes, with their +concomitants, at the present time. He was studying them very coolly, to judge +from his appearance and conduct. Yet he was enjoying the study in a way that he +had never enjoyed the study of somebody “On Torts.” Somebody +“On Torts,” never looked like that. Somebody “On +Torts,” never had luck-pieces, and silk ribbons. Somebody “On +Torts,” never wrote letters and touched the end of pens to its lips. +Somebody “On Torts,” never courtesied, nor looked out from under +its eyelashes, nor called him Peter. +</p> + +<p> +While this investigation had been progressing, Watts had looked at the shelf of +law books, had looked out of the window, had whistled, and had yawned. Finally, +in sheer <i>ennui</i> he had thrown open a door, and looked to see what lay +beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha!” he cried. “All is discovered. See! Here sits Peter +Stirling, the ward politician, enthroned in Jeffersonian simplicity. But here, +behind the arras, sits Peter Stirling, the counsellor of banks and railroads, +in the midst of all the gorgeousness of the golden East.” Watts passed +into the room beyond. +</p> + +<p> +“What does he mean, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“He has gone into my study. Would you like—” +</p> + +<p> +He was interrupted by Watts calling, “Come in here, Dot, and see how the +unsociable old hermit bestows himself.” +</p> + +<p> +So Leonore and Peter followed Watts’s lead. The room into which they went +was rather a curious one. It was at least twenty-five feet square, having four +windows, two looking out on Broadway, and two on the side street. It had one +other door besides that by which they had entered. Here the ordinary quality +ended. Except for the six openings already noted and a large fireplace, the +walls were shelved from floor to ceiling (which was not a low one), with dusky +oak shelving. The ceiling was panelled in dark oak, and the floor was covered +with a smooth surface of the same wood. Yet though the shelves were filled with +books, few could be seen, for on every upright of the shelving, were several +frames of oak, hinged as one sees them in public galleries occasionally, and +these frames contained etchings, engravings, and paintings. Some were folded +back against the shelves. Others stood out at right angles to them and showed +that the frames were double ones, both sides containing something. Four +easy-chairs, three less easy chairs, and a large table desk, likewise of dusky +oak were the sole other fittings of the room, if we except two large polar bear +skins. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” cried Leonore looking about, “I’m so glad to see +this. People have told me so much about your rooms. And no two of them ever +agreed.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “It seems a continual bone of contention +with my friends. They scold me because I shelved it to the ceiling, because I +put in one-colored wood, because I framed my pictures and engravings this way, +and because I haven’t gone in for rugs, and bric-à-brac, and the +usual furnishings. At times I have really wondered, from their determination to +change things, whether it was for them to live in, or for my use?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is unusual,” said Leonore, reluctantly, and evidently selecting +a word that should not offend Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You ought to be hung for treating fine pictures so,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“I had to give them those broad flat mats, because the books gave no +background.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s—it’s—” Leonore hesitated. +“It’s not so startling, after a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see they had to hang this way, or go unhung. I hadn’t wall +space for both pictures and books. And by giving a few frames a turn, +occasionally, I can always have fresh pictures to look at.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Dot, here’s a genuine Rembrandt’s ‘Three +Crosses,’” called Watts. “I didn’t know, old man, that +you were such a connoisseur.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not,” said Peter. “I’m fond of such things, +but I never should have had taste or time to gather these.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then how did you get them?” +</p> + +<p> +“A friend of mine—a man of exquisite taste—gathered them. He +lost his money, and I bought them of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was Mr. Le Grand?” asked Leonore, ceasing her study of the +“Three Crosses.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mrs. Rivington told me about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It must have been devilish hard for him to part with such a +collection,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“He hasn’t really parted with them. He comes down here constantly, +and has a good time over them. It was partly his scheme to arrange them this +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“And are the paintings his, too, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter could have hugged her for the way she said Peter. “No,” he +managed to remark. “I bought some of them, and Miss De Voe and Lispenard +Ogden the others. People tell me I spoil them by the flat framing, and the +plain, broad gold mats. But it doesn’t spoil them to me. I think the +mixture of gold mats and white mats breaks the monotony. And the variation just +neutralizes the monotone which the rest of the room has. But of course that is +my personal equation.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then this room is the real taste of the ‘plain man,’ +eh?” inquired Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Really, papa, it is plain. Just as simple as can be.” +</p> + +<p> +“Simple! Yes, sweet simplicity! Three-thousand-dollar-etching simplicity! +Millet simplicity! Oh, yes. Peter’s a simple old dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, but the woodwork and the furniture. Isn’t this an enticing +chair? I must try it.” And Leonore almost dissolved from view in its +depths. Peter has that chair still. He would probably knock the man down who +offered to buy it. +</p> + +<p> +It occurred to Peter that since Leonore was so extremely near the ground, and +was leaning back so far, that she could hardly help but be looking up. So he +went and stood in front of the fireplace, and looked down at her. He pretended +that his hands were cold. Watts perhaps was right. Peter was not as simple as +people thought. +</p> + +<p> +It seemed to Peter that he had never had so much to see, all at once, in his +life. There were the occasional glimpses of the eyes (for Leonore, in spite of +her position, did manage to cover the larger part of them) not one of which +must be missed. Then there was her mouth. That would have been very restful to +the eye; if it hadn’t been for the distracting chin below it. Then there +were the little feet, just sticking out from underneath the tailor-made gown, +making Peter think of Herrick’s famous lines. Finally there were those +two hands! Leonore was very deliberately taking off her gloves. Peter had not +seen those hands ungloved yet, and waited almost breathlessly for the +unveiling. He decided that he must watch and shake hands at parting before +Leonore put those gloves on again. +</p> + +<p> +“I say,” said Watts, “how did you ever manage to get such a +place here?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was a tenant for a good many years of the insurance company that owns +the building, and when it came to rebuild, it had the architect fit this floor +for me just as I wished it. So I put our law-offices in front and arranged my +other rooms along the side street. Would you like to see them?” Peter +asked this last question very obviously of Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Very much.” +</p> + +<p> +So they passed through the other door, to a little square hall, lighted by a +skylight, with a stairway going up to the roof. +</p> + +<p> +“I took the upper floor, so as to get good air and the view of the city +and the bay, which is very fine,” Peter said. “And I have a +staircase to the roof, so that in good weather I can go up there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wondered what the great firm was doing up ten stories,” said +Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Ogden and Rivington have been very good in yielding to my +idiosyncracies. This is my mealing closet.” +</p> + +<p> +It was a room nine feet square, panelled, ceiled and floored in mahogany, and +the table and six chairs were made of the same material. +</p> + +<p> +“So this is what the papers call the ‘Stirling political +incubator?’ It doesn’t look like a place for hatching dark +plots,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Sometimes I have a little dinner here. Never more than six, however, for +it’s too small.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Dot, doesn’t this have a jolly cosy feeling? Couldn’t +one sit here blowy nights, with the candles lit, eating nuts and telling +stories? It makes me think of the expression, ‘snug as a +bug.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Leroy told me, Peter, what a reputation your dinners had, and how +every one was anxious to be invited just once,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“But not a second time, old man. You caught Dot’s inference, I +hope? Once is quite enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, will you invite me some day?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would he?” Peter longed to tell her that the place and everything +it contained, including its owner—Then Peter said to himself, “You +really don’t know anything about her. Stop your foolishness.” Still +Peter knew that—that foolishness was nice. He said, “People only +care for my dinners because they are few and far between, and their being way +down here in the city, after business hours, makes them something to talk +about. Society wants badly something to talk about most of the time. Of course, +my friends are invited.” Peter looked down at Leonore, and she +understood, without, his saying so, that she was to be a future guest. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you manage about the prog, chum?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Le Grand had a man—a Maryland darky—whom he turned over +to me. He looks after me generally, but his true forte is cooking. For oysters +and fish and game I can’t find his equal. And, as I never attempt very +elaborate dinners, he cooks and serves for a party of six in very good shape. +We are not much in haste down here after six, because it’s so still and +quiet. The hurry’s gone up-town to the social slaves. Suppose you stay +and try his skill at lunch to-day? My partners generally are with me, and +Jenifer always has something good for them.” +</p> + +<p> +“By all means,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +But Leonore said: “No. We mustn’t make a nuisance of ourselves the +first time we come.” Peter and Watts tried to persuade her, but she was +not persuadable. Leonore had no intention, no matter how good a time it meant, +of lunching sola with four men. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we must be going,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t go without seeing the rest of my quarters,” said +Peter, hoping to prolong the visit. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was complaisant to that extent. So they went into the pantry, and +Leonore proceeded, apparently, to show her absolute ignorance of food matters +under the pretext that she was displaying great housekeeping knowledge. She +told Peter that he ought to keep his champagne on ice. “That champagne +will spoil if it isn’t kept on ice.” She complained because some +bottles of Burgundy had dust on them. “That’s not merely +untidy,” she said, “but it’s bad for the wine. It ought to be +stood on end, so that the sediment can settle.” She criticised the fact +that a brace of canvas-backs were on ice. “All your game should be +hung,” she said. She put her finger or her eyes into every drawer and +cupboard, and found nothing to praise. She was absolutely grave over it, but +before long Peter saw the joke and entered into it. It was wonderful how good +some of the things that she touched tasted later. +</p> + +<p> +Then they went into Peter’s sleeping-room, Leonore said it was very +ordinary, but promptly found two things to interest her. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you take care of your window flowers?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, Mrs. Costell comes down to lunch with me once a week, and potters +with them. She keeps all the windows full of flowers—perhaps you have +noticed them in the other rooms, as well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I liked them, but I didn’t think they could be yours. They +grow too well for a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems as if Mrs. Costell had only to look at a plant, and it breaks +out blossoming,” Peter replied. +</p> + +<p> +“What a nice speech,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s on a nice subject,” Peter told her. “When you +have that, it’s very easy to make a nice speech.” +</p> + +<p> +“I want to meet Mrs. Costell. I’ve heard all about her.” +</p> + +<p> +The second point of interest concerned the contents of what had evidently been +planned as an umbrella-stand. +</p> + +<p> +“Why do you have three swords?” she asked, taking the handsomest +from its resting place. +</p> + +<p> +“So that I can kill more people.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Dot, you ought to know that an officer wants a service sword and a +dress-sword.” +</p> + +<p> +“But these are all dress-swords. I’m afraid you are very proud of +your majorship.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter only smiled a reply down at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore, “I have found out your weakness at last. +You like gold lace and fixings.” +</p> + +<p> +Still Peter only smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“This sword is presented to Captain Peter Stirling in recognition of his +gallant conduct at Hornellsville, July 25, 1877,” Leonore read on the +scabbard. “What did you do at Hornellsville?” +</p> + +<p> +“Various things.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what did you do to get the sword?” +</p> + +<p> +“My duty!” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought you knew all about me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know this.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter only smiled at her. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me. If you don’t, somebody else will. Please.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Dot, these are all presentation swords.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter; “and so gorgeous that I don’t dare +use them. I keep the swords I wear at the armory.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to tell me what you did to get them?” +</p> + +<p> +“That one was given me by my company when I was made captain. That was +subscribed for by some friends. The one you have was given me by a +railroad.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“For doing my duty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, papa. We’ll go home.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter surrendered. “There were some substitutes for strikers in freight +cars that were fitted up with bunks. The strikers fastened the doors on them, +and pushed them into a car-shed.” +</p> + +<p> +“And what did you do?” +</p> + +<p> +“We rolled the cars back.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think that was much. Nothing to give a sword for. Now, +have you anything more to show us?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have a spare room, and Jenifer has a kitchen and sleeping place +beyond, but they are not worth showing.” +</p> + +<p> +They went out into the little square hall, and so into the study. Leonore began +unfolding her gloves. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve had a very nice time,” she said. “I think I shall +come again very often, I like down-town New York.” Leonore was making her +first trip to it, so that she spoke from vast knowledge. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you how pleasant it has been to me. It isn’t +often that such sunshine gets in here,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Then you do prefer sunshine to grimy old law books?” inquired +Leonore, smiling demurely. +</p> + +<p> +“Some sunshine,” said Peter, meaningly. +</p> + +<p> +“Wherever there has been sunshine there ought to be lots of flowers. I +have a good mind—yes, I will—leave you these violets,” +Leonore took a little bunch that she had worn near her throat and put them and +her hand in Peter’s. And she hadn’t put her glove on yet! Then she +put her gloves on, and Peter shook hands. Then he remembered that he ought to +see them to the elevator, so he took them out—and shook hands again. +After that he concluded it was his duty to see them to the carriage—and +he shook hands again. +</p> + +<p> +Peter was not an experienced hand, but he was doing very well. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XXXIX"></a>CHAPTER XXXIX.<br/> +THE DUDE.</h2> + +<p> +Just as Peter came back to his office, his lunch was announced. +</p> + +<p> +“What makes you look so happy?” asked Ray. +</p> + +<p> +“Being so,” said Peter, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“What a funny old chap he is?” Ray remarked to Ogden, as they went +back to work. “He brought me his opinion, just after lunch, in the +Hall-Seelye case. I suppose he had been grubbing all the morning over those +awful figures, and a tougher or dryer job, you couldn’t make. Yet he came +in to lunch looking as if he was walking on air.” +</p> + +<p> +When Peter returned to his office, he would have preferred to stop work and +think for a bit. He wanted to hold those violets, and smell them now and then. +He wished to read that letter over again. He longed to have a look at that bit +of ribbon and gold. But he resisted temptation. He said: “Peter Stirling, +go to work.” So all the treasures were put in a drawer of his study +table, and Peter sat down at his office desk. First, after tearing up his note +to Watts, he wrote another, as follows: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +WATTS: +</p> + +<p> +You can understand why I did not call last night, or bind myself as to the +future. I shall hope to receive an invitation to call from Mrs. D’Alloi. +How, I must leave to you; but you owe me this much, and it is the only payment +I ask of you. Otherwise let us bury all that has occurred since our college +days, forever. +</p> + +<p> +PETER. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Then he ground at the law till six, when he swung his clubs and dumb-bells for +ten minutes; took a shower; dressed himself, and dined. Then he went into his +study, and opened a drawer. Did he find therein a box of cigars, or a bunch of +violets, gold-piece, ribbon and sheet of paper? One thing is certain. Peter +passed another evening without reading or working. And two such idle evenings +could not be shown in another week of his life for the last twenty years. +</p> + +<p> +The next day Peter was considerably nearer earth. Not that he didn’t +think those eyes just as lovely, and had he been thrown within their radius, he +would probably have been as strongly influenced as ever. But he was not thrown +within their influence, and so his strong nature and common sense reasserted +themselves. He took his coffee, his early morning ride, and then his work, in +their due order. After dinner, that evening, he only smoked one cigar. When he +had done that, he remarked to himself—apropos of the cigars, +presumably—“Peter, keep to your work. Don’t burn yourself +again.” Then his face grew very firm, and he read a frivolous book +entitled: “Neun atiologische und prophylactische Satze ... uber die +Choleræpidemien in Ostindien,” till nearly one o’clock. +</p> + +<p> +The following day was Sunday. Peter went to church, and in the afternoon rode +out to Westchester to pass the evening there with Mrs. Costell. Peter thought +his balance was quite recovered. Other men have said the same thing. The fact +that they said so, proved that they were by no means sure of themselves. +</p> + +<p> +This was shown very markedly on Monday in Peter’s case, for after lunch +he did not work as steadily as he had done in the morning hours. He was +restless. Twice he pressed his lips, and started in to work very, very +hard—and did it for a time. Then the restlessness would come on again. +Presently he took to looking at his watch. Then he would snap it to, and go to +work again, with a great determination in his face, only to look at the watch +again before long. Finally he touched his bell. +</p> + +<p> +“Jenifer,” he said, “I wish you would rub off my spurs, and +clean up my riding trousers.” +</p> + +<p> +“For lohd, sar, I done dat dis day yesserday.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind, then,” said Peter. “Tell Curzon to ring me up a +hansom.” +</p> + +<p> +When Peter rode into the park he did not vacillate. He put his horse at a sharp +canter, and started round the path. But he had not ridden far when he suddenly +checked his horse, and reined him up with a couple of riders. “I’ve +been looking for you,” he said frankly. Peter had not ceased to be +straightforward. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! This is nice,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think it’s about time?” said Leonore. +Leonore had her own opinion of what friendship consisted. She was not angry +with Peter—not at all. But she did not look at him. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had drawn his horse up to the side on which Leonore was riding. +“That is just what I thought,” he said deliberately, “and +that’s why I’m here now.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long ago did that occur to you, please?” said Leonore, with +dignity. +</p> + +<p> +“About the time it occurred to me that you might ride here regularly +afternoons.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you?” Leonore was mollifying. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I like the early morning, when there are fewer people.” +</p> + +<p> +“You unsociable old hermit,” exclaimed Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“But now?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +When Leonore said those two words Peter had not yet had a sight of those eyes. +And he was getting desperately anxious to see them. So he replied: “Now I +shall ride in the afternoons.” +</p> + +<p> +He was rewarded by a look. The sweetest kind of a look. “Now, that is +very nice, Peter,” said Leonore. “If we see each other every day in +the Park, we can tell each other everything that we are doing or thinking +about. So we will be very good friends for sure.” Leonore spoke and +looked as if this was the pleasantest of possibilities, and Peter was certain +it was. +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Peter,” said Watts. “What a tremendous dude we have +come out. I wanted to joke you on it the first time I saw you, but this +afternoon it’s positively appalling. I would have taken my Bible oath +that it was the last thing old Peter would become. Just look at him, Dot. +Doesn’t he fill you with ‘wonder, awe and praise?’” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked at Peter a little shyly, but she said frankly: +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve wondered about that, Peter. People told me you were a man +absolutely without style.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled. “Do you remember what Friar Bacon’s brass head +said?” +</p> + +<p> +“Time is: Time was: Time will never be again?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“That fits my lack of style, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pell and Ogden, and the rest of them, have made you what I never could, +dig at you as I would. So you’ve yielded to the demands of your toney +friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I tried to dress correctly for my up-town friends, when I was +with them. But it was not they who made me careful, though they helped me to +find a good tailor, when I decided that I must dress better.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it was the big law practice, eh? Must keep up appearances?” +</p> + +<p> +“I fancy my dressing would no more affect my practice, than does the +furnishing of my office.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then who is she? Out with it, you sly dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I shan’t tell you that” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, will you tell me?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled into the frank eyes. “Who she is?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Why you dress so nicely. Please?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll laugh when I tell you it is my ward.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, nonsense,” laughed Watts. “That’s too thin. Come +off that roof. Unless you’re guardian of some bewitching girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your ward, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I don’t know whether I can make you understand it. I +didn’t at first. You see I became associated with the ward, in +people’s minds, after I had been in politics for a few years. So I was +sometimes put in positions to a certain extent representative of it. I never +thought much how I dressed, and it seems that sometimes at public meetings, and +parades, and that sort of thing, I wasn’t dressed quite as well as the +other men. So when the people of my ward, who were present, were asked to point +me out to strangers, they were mortified about the way I looked. It seemed to +reflect on the ward. The first inkling I had of it was after one of these +parades, in which, without thinking, I had worn a soft hat. I was the only man +who did not wear a silk one, and my ward felt very badly about it. So they made +up a purse, and came to me to ask me to buy a new suit and silk hat and gloves. +Of course that set me asking questions, and though they didn’t want to +hurt my feelings, I wormed enough out of them to learn how they felt. Since +then I’ve spent a good deal of money on tailors, and dress very +carefully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good for ‘de sixt’! Hurrah for the unwashed democracy, where +one man’s as good as another! So a ‘Mick’ ward wants its +great man to put on all the frills? I tell you, chum, we may talk about +equality, but the lower classes can’t but admire and worship the tinsel +and flummery of aristocracy.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are mistaken. They may like to see brilliant sights. Soldiers, +ball-rooms or the like, and who does not? Beauty is aesthetic, not +aristocratic. But they judge people less by their dress or money than is +usually supposed. Far less than the people up-town do. They wanted me to dress +better, because it was appropriate. But let a man in the ward try to dress +beyond his station, and he’d be jeered out of it, or the ward, if nothing +worse happened.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, of course they’d hoot at their own kind,” said Watts. +“The hardest thing to forgive in this world is your equal’s +success. But they wouldn’t say anything to one of us.” +</p> + +<p> +“If you, or Pell, or Ogden should go into Blunkers’s place in my +ward, this evening, dressed as you are, or better, you probably would be told +to get out. I don’t believe you could get a drink. And you would stand a +chance of pretty rough usage. Last week I went right from a dinner to +Blunkers’s to say a word to him. I was in evening dress, newcastle, and +crush hat—even a bunch of lilies of the valley—yet every man there +was willing to shake hands and have me sit down and stay. Blunkers +couldn’t have been dressed so, because it didn’t belong to him. For +the same reason, you would have no business in Blunkers’s place, because +you don’t belong there. But the men know I dressed for a reason, and came +to the saloon for a reason. I wasn’t putting on airs. I wasn’t +intruding my wealth on them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, chum, will you take me into Blunkers’s place some +night, and let me hear you powwow the ‘b’ys?’ I should like +to see how you do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” Peter said deliberately, “if some night you’ll +let me bring Blunkers up to watch one of your formal dinners. He would enjoy +the sight, I’m sure.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore cocked her little nose up in the air, and laughed merrily. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but that’s very different,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s just as different as the two men with the toothache,” +said Peter. “They both met at the dentist’s, who it seems had only +time to pull one tooth. The question arose as to which it should be. +‘I’m so brave,’ said one, ‘that I can wait till +to-morrow.’ ‘I’m such a coward,’ said the other, +‘that I don’t dare have it done to-day.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you ever taken people to those places, Peter?” asked +Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’ve always refused. It’s a society fad now to have what +are called ‘slumming parties,’ and of course I’ve been asked +to help. It makes my blood tingle when I hear them talk over the +‘fun’ as they call it. They get detectives to protect them, and +then go through the tenements—the homes of the poor—and pry into +their privacy and poverty, just out of curiosity. Then they go home and over a +chafing dish of lobster or terrapin, and champagne, they laugh at the funny +things they saw. If the poor could get detectives, and look in on the luxury +and comfort of the rich, they wouldn’t see much fun in it, and +there’s less fun in a down-town tenement than there is in a Fifth Avenue +palace. I heard a girl tell the other night about breaking in on a wake by +chance. ‘Weren’t we lucky?’ she said. ‘It was so funny +to see the poor people weeping and drinking whisky at the same time. +Isn’t it heartless?’ Yet the dead—perhaps the bread-winner of +the family, fallen in the struggle—perhaps the last little comer, not +strong enough to fight this earth’s battle—must have lain there in +plain view of that girl. Who was the most heartless? The family and friends who +had gathered over that body, according to their customs, or the party who +looked in on them and laughed?” Peter had forgotten where he was, or to +whom he was talking. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore had listened breathlessly. But the moment he ceased speaking, she bowed +her head and began to sob. Peter came down from his indignant tirade like a +flash. “Miss D’Alloi,” he cried, “forgive me. I forgot. +Don’t cry so.” Peter was pleading in an anxious voice. He felt as +if he had committed murder. +</p> + +<p> +“There, there, Dot. Don’t cry. It’s nothing to cry +about.” +</p> + +<p> +Miss D’Alloi was crying and endeavoring at the same time to solve the +most intricate puzzle ever yet propounded by man or woman—that is, to +find a woman’s pocket. She complicated things even more by trying to +talk. “I—I—know I’m ver—ver—very +fooooooolish,” she managed to get out, however much she failed in a +similar result with her pocket-handkerchief. +</p> + +<p> +“Since I caused the tears, you must let me stop them,” said Peter. +He had produced his own handkerchief, and was made happy by seeing Leonore bury +her face in it, and re-appear not quite so woe-begone. +</p> + +<p> +“I—only—didn’t—know—you—could— +talk—like—like that,” explained Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Let this be a lesson for you,” said Watts. “Don’t come +any more of your jury-pathos on my little girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Papa! You—I—Peter, I’m so glad you told +me—I’ll never go to one.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts laughed. “Now I know why you charm all the women whom I hear +talking about you. I tell you, when you rear your head up like that, and your +eyes blaze so, and you put that husk in your voice, I don’t wonder you +fetch them. By George, you were really splendid to look at.” +</p> + +<p> +That was the reason why Leonore had not cried till Peter had finished his +speech. We don’t charge women with crying whenever they wish, but we are +sure that they never cry when they have anything better to do. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XL"></a>CHAPTER XL.<br/> +OPINIONS.</h2> + +<p> +When the ride was ended, Leonore was sent home in the carriage, Watts saying he +would go with Peter to his club. As soon as they were in the cab, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to see you about your letter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Everything’s going as well as can be expected. Of course the +little woman’s scandalized over your supposed iniquity, but I’m +working the heavy sentimental ‘saved-our-little-girl’s life’ +business for all it’s worth. I had her crying last night on my shoulder +over it, and no woman can do that and be obstinate long. She’ll come +round before a great while.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter winced. He almost felt like calling Watts off from the endeavor. But he +thought of Leonore. He must see her—just to prove to himself that she was +not for him, be it understood—and how could he see enough of her to do +that—for Peter recognized that it would take a good deal of that charming +face and figure and manner to pall on him—if he was excluded from her +home? So he justified the continuance of the attempt by saying to himself: +“She only excludes me because of something of which I am guiltless, and +I’ve saved her from far greater suffering than my presence can ever give +her. I have earned the privilege if ever man earned it” Most people can +prove to themselves what they wish to prove. The successful orator is always +the man who imposes his frame of mind on his audience. We call it “saying +what the people want said.” But many of the greatest speakers first +suggest an idea to their listeners, and when they say it in plain English, a +moment later, the audience say, mentally, “That’s just what we +thought a moment ago,” and are convinced that the speaker is right. +</p> + +<p> +Peter remained silent, and Watts continued: “We get into our own house +to-morrow, and give Leonore a birthday dinner Tuesday week as a combined +house-warming and celebration. Save that day, for I’m determined you +shall be asked. Only the invitation may come a little late. You won’t +mind that?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But don’t send me too many of these formal things. I keep out +of them as much as I can. I’m not a society man and probably won’t +fit in with your friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should know you were not <i>de societé</i> by that single +speech. If there’s one thing easy to talk to, or fit in with, it’s +a society man or woman. It’s their business to be chatty and pleasant, +and they would be polite and entertaining to a kangaroo, if they found one next +them at dinner. That’s what society is for. We are the yolk of the egg, +which holds and blends all the discordant, untrained elements. The oil, +vinegar, salt, and mustard We don’t add much flavor to life, but people +wouldn’t mix without us.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know,” said Peter, “if you want to talk petty +personalities and trivialities, that it’s easy enough to get through +endless hours of time. But I have other things to do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Exactly. But we have a purpose, too. You mustn’t think society is +all frivolity. It’s one of the hardest working professions.” +</p> + +<p> +“And the most brainless.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Don’t you see, that society is like any other kind of work, +and that the people who will centre their whole life on it must be the leaders +of it? To you, the spending hours over a new <i>entrée</i>, or over a +cotillion figure, seems rubbish, but it’s the exact equivalent of your +spending hours over who shall be nominated for a certain office. Because you +are willing to do that, you are one of the ‘big four.’ Because we +are willing to do our task, we differentiate into the ‘four +hundred.’ You mustn’t think society doesn’t grind up +brain-tissue. But we use so much in running it, that we don’t have enough +for other subjects, and so you think we are stupid. I remember a woman once +saying she didn’t like conversazioni, ‘because they are really +brain-parties, and there is never enough to go round, and give a second +help,’ Any way, how can you expect society to talk anything but society, +when men like yourself stay away from it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t ask you to talk anything else. But let me keep out of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“‘He’s not the man for Galway’,” hummed Watts. +“He prefers talking to ‘heelers,’ and +‘b’ys,’ and ‘toughs,’ and other clever, +intellectual men.” +</p> + +<p> +“I like to talk to any one who is working with a purpose in life.” +</p> + +<p> +“I say, Peter, what do those fellows really say of us?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can best describe it by something Miss De Voe once said. We were at a +dinner together, where there was a Chicago man who became irritated at one or +two bits of ignorance displayed by some of the other guests over the size and +prominence of his abiding place. Finally he said: ‘Why, look here, you +people are so ignorant of my city, that you don’t even know how to +pronounce its name.’ He turned to Miss De Voe and said, ‘We say +Chicawgo. Now, how do you pronounce it in New York?’ Miss De Voe put on +that quiet, crushing manner she has when a man displeases her, and said, +‘We never pronounce it in New York.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Good for our Dutch-Huguenot stock! I tell you, Peter, blood does +tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“It wasn’t a speech I should care to make, because it did no good, +and could only mortify. But it does describe the position of the lower wards of +New York towards society. I’ve been working in them for nearly sixteen +years, and I’ve never even heard the subject mentioned.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought the anarchists and socialists were always taking a whack +at us?” +</p> + +<p> +“They cry out against over-rich men—not against society. +Don’t confuse the constituents with the compound. Citric acid is a deadly +poison, but weakened down with water and sugar, it is only lemonade. They growl +at the poison, not at the water and sugar. Before there can be hate, there must +be strength.” +</p> + +<p> +The next day Peter turned up in the park about four, and had a ride—with +Watts. The day after that, he was there a little earlier, and had a +ride—with the groom. The day following he had another ride—with the +groom. Peter thought they were very wonderful rides. Some one told him a great +many interesting things. About some one’s European life, some one’s +thoughts, some one’s hopes, and some one’s feelings. Some one +really wanted a friend to pour it all out to, and Peter listened well, and +encouraged well. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t laugh at me, as papa does,” some one told +herself, “and so it’s much easier to tell him. And he shows that he +really is interested. Oh, I always said he and I should be good friends, and we +are going to be.” +</p> + +<p> +This put some one in a very nice frame of mind, and Peter thought he had never +met such a wonderful combination of frankness, of confluence, and yet of a +certain girlish shyness and timidity. Some one would tell him something, and +then appeal to him, if he didn’t think that was so? Peter generally +thought it was. Some one did not drop her little touch of coquetry, for that +was ingrain, as it is in most pretty girls. But it was the most harmless kind +of coquetry imaginable. Someone was not thinking at all of winning men’s +hearts. That might come later. At present all she wanted was that they should +think her pretty, and delightful, so that—that they should want to be +friend. +</p> + +<p> +When Peter joined Watts and Leonore, however, on the fourth day, there was a +noticeable change in Leonore’s manner to him. He did not get any welcome +except a formal “Good-afternoon,” and for ten minutes Watts and he +had to sustain the conversation by firing remarks at each other past a very +silent intermediary. Peter had no idea what was wrong, but when he found that +she did not mollify at the end of that time, he said to her; +</p> + +<p> +“What is the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“Matter with what?” asked Leonore, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“With you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t take that for an answer. Remember, we have sworn to be +friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Friends come to see each other.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter felt relieved; and smiled, “They do,” he said, “when +they can.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, they don’t, sometimes,” said Leonore severely. Then she +unbent a little. “Why haven’t you been to see us? You’ve had +a full week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter, “I have had a very full week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to call on us, Mr. Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +“To whom are you talking?” +</p> + +<p> +“To you.” +</p> + +<p> +“My name’s Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“That depends. Are you going to call on us?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is my hope and wish.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore unbent a little more. “If you are,” she said, “I wish +you would do it soon, because mamma said to-day she thought of asking you to my +birthday dinner next Tuesday, but I said you oughtn’t to be asked till +you had called.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you know that bribery is unlawful?” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to call?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s better. When?” +</p> + +<p> +“What evening are you to be at home?” +</p> + +<p> +“To-morrow,” said Leonore, beginning to curl up the corners of her +mouth. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I wish you had said this evening, +because that’s nearer, but to-morrow isn’t so far away.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s right. Now we’ll be friends again.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you willing to be good friends—not make believe, or half +friends, but—real friends?” +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think friends should tell each other everything?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Peter was quite willing, even anxious, that Leonore should +tell him everything. +</p> + +<p> +“You are quite sure?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then,” said Leonore, “tell me about the way you got that +sword.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts laughed. “She’s been asking every one she’s met about +that. Do tell her, just for my sake.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve told you already.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not the way I want it. I know you didn’t try to make it +interesting. Some of the people remembered there was something very fine, but I +haven’t found anybody yet who could really tell it to me. Please tell +about it nicely, Peter.” Leonore was looking at Peter with the most +pleading of looks. +</p> + +<p> +“It was during the great railroad strike. The Erie had brought some men +up from New York to fill the strikers’ places. The new hands were lodged +in freight cars, when off work, for it wasn’t safe for them to pass +outside the guard lines of soldiers. Some of the strikers applied for work, and +were reinstated. They only did it to get inside our lines. At night, when the +substitutes in the cars were fast asleep, tired out with the double work they +had done, the strikers locked the car-doors. They pulled the two cars into a +shed full of freight, broke open a petroleum tank, and with it wet the cars and +some others loaded with jute. They set fire to the cars and barricaded the shed +doors. Of course we didn’t know till the flames burst through the roof of +the shed, when by the light, one of the superintendents found the bunk cars +gone. The fire-department was useless, for the strikers two days before, had +cut all the hose. So we were ordered up to get the cars out. Some strikers had +concealed themselves in buildings where they could overlook the shed, and while +we were working at the door, they kept firing on us. We were in the light of +the blazing shed, and they were in the dark, which gave them a big advantage +over us, and we couldn’t spare the time to attend to them. We tore up +some rails and with them smashed in the door. The men in the cars were +screaming, so we knew which to take, and fortunately they were the nearest to +the door. We took our muskets—for the frames of the cars were blazing, +and the metal part too hot to touch—and fixing bayonets, drove them into +the woodwork and so pushed the cars out. When we were outside, we used the +rails again, to smash an opening in the ends of the cars which were burning the +least. We got the men out unharmed, but pretty badly frightened.” +</p> + +<p> +“And were you not hurt?” +</p> + +<p> +“We had eight wounded and a good many badly burned.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had my share of the burn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish you would tell me what you did—not what the others +did.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter would have told her anything while she looked like that at him. +</p> + +<p> +“I was in command at that point. I merely directed things, except taking +up the rails. I happened to know how to get a rail up quickly, without waiting +to unscrew the bolts. I had read it, years before, in a book on railroad +construction. I didn’t think that paragraph would ever help me to save +forty lives—for five minutes’ delay would have been fatal. The +inside of the shed was one sheet of flame. After we broke the door down, I only +stood and superintended the moving of the cars. The men did the real +work.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you said the inside of the shed was a sheet of flame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The railroad had to give us all fresh uniforms. So we made new +toggery out of that night’s work. I’ve heard people say militia are +no good. If they could have stood by me that night, and seen my company working +over those blazing cars, in that mass of burning freight, with the roof liable +to fall any minute, and the strikers firing every time a man showed himself, I +think they would have altered their opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Leonore, her eyes flashing with enthusiasm. “How +splendid it is to be a man, and be able to do real things! I wish I had known +about it in Europe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because the officers were always laughing about our army. I used to get +perfectly wild at them, but I couldn’t say anything in reply. If I could +only have told them about that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear the little Frenchwoman talk,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not French.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes you are, Dot.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m all American. I haven’t a feeling that isn’t all +American. Doesn’t that make me an American, Peter, no matter where I was +born?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are an American under the law.” +</p> + +<p> +“Am I really?” said Leonore, incredulously. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. You were born of American parents, and you will be living in this +country when you become of age. That constitutes nationality.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, how lovely! I knew I was an American, really, but papa was always +teasing me and saying I was a foreigner. I hate foreigners.” +</p> + +<p> +“Confound you, chum, you’ve spoiled one of my best jokes! +It’s been such fun to see Dot bristle when I teased her. She’s the +hottest little patriot that ever lived.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think Miss D’Alloi’s nationality is akin to that of a case +of which I once heard,” said Peter, smiling. “A man was bragging +about the number of famous men who were born in his native town. He mentioned a +well-known personage, among others, and one of his auditors said: ‘I +didn’t know he was born there,’ ‘Oh, yes, he was,’ +replied the man. ‘He was born there, but during the temporary absence of +his parents!’” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, how much does a written opinion cost?” asked Leonore, +eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“It has a range about equal to the woman’s statement that a certain +object was as long as a piece of string.” +</p> + +<p> +“But your opinions?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have given an opinion for nothing. The other day I gave one to a +syndicate, and charged eight thousand dollars.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” said Leonore. “I wonder if I can afford to get +your opinion on my being an American? I should like to frame it and hang it in +my room. Would it be expensive?” +</p> + +<p> +“It is usual with lawyers,” said Peter gravely, “to find out +how much a client has, and then make the bill for a little less. How much do +you have?” +</p> + +<p> +“I really haven’t any now. I shall have two hundred dollars on the +first. But then I owe some bills.” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget your grandmamma’s money, Dot.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Of course. I shall be rich, Peter, I come into the income of my +property on Tuesday. I forget how much it is, but I’m sure I can afford +to have an opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Dot, we must get those papers out, and you must find some one to +put the trust in legal shape, and take care of it for you,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” said Leonore to Peter, “if you have one lawyer +to do all your work, that he does each thing cheaper, doesn’t he?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Because he divides what his client has, on several jobs, instead of +on one,” Peter told her. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I think I’ll have you do it all. We’ll come down and +see you about it. But write out that opinion at once, so that I can prove that +I’m an American.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. But there’s a safer way, even, of making sure that +you’re an American.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” said Leonore, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“Marry one,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes,” said Leonore, “I’ve always intended to do +that, but not for a great many years.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLI"></a>CHAPTER XLI.<br/> +CALLS.</h2> + +<p> +Peter dressed himself the next evening with particular care, even for him. As +Peter dressed, he was rather down on life. He had been kept from his ride that +afternoon by taking evidence in a referee case. “I really needed the +exercise badly,” he said. He had tried to work his dissatisfaction off on +his clubs and dumb-bells, but whatever they had done for his blood and tissue, +they had not eased his frame of mind. Dinner made him a little pleasanter, for +few men can remain cross over a proper meal. Still, he did not look happy, +when, on rising from his coffee, he glanced at his watch and found that it was +but ten minutes past eight. +</p> + +<p> +He vacillated for a moment, and then getting into his outside trappings, he +went out and turned eastward, down the first side street. He walked four +blocks, and then threw open the swing door of a brilliantly lighted place, +stepping at once into a blaze of light and warmth which was most attractive +after the keen March wind blowing outside. +</p> + +<p> +He nodded to the three barkeepers. “Is Dennis inside?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Misther Stirling. The regulars are all there.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter passed through the room, and went into another without knocking. In it +were some twenty men, sitting for the most part in attitudes denoting ease. +Two, at a small table in the corner, were playing dominoes. Three others, in +another corner, were amusing themselves with “High, Low, Jack.” Two +were reading papers. The rest were collected round the centre table, most of +them smoking. Some beer mugs and tumblers were standing about, but not more +than a third of the twenty were drinking anything. The moment Peter entered, +one of the men jumped to his feet. +</p> + +<p> +“B’ys,” he cried, “here’s Misther Stirling. +Begobs, sir, it’s fine to see yez. It’s very scarce yez been +lately.” He had shaken hands, and then put a chair in place for Peter. +</p> + +<p> +The cards, papers, and dominoes had been abandoned the moment Dennis announced +Peter’s advent, and when Peter had finished shaking the hands held out to +him, and had seated himself, the men were all gathered round the big table. +</p> + +<p> +Peter laid his hat on the table, threw back his Newcastle and lit a cigar. +“I’ve been very short of time, Dennis. But I had my choice this +evening before going uptown, of smoking a cigar in my own quarters, or here. So +I came over to talk with you all about Denton.” +</p> + +<p> +“An’ what’s he been doin’?” inquired Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“I saw him to-day about the Hummel franchise that comes up in the Board +next Tuesday. He won’t vote for it, he says. I told him I thought it was +in the interest of the city to multiply means of transit, and asked him why he +refused. He replied that he thought the Hummel gang had been offering money, +and that he would vote against bribers.” +</p> + +<p> +“He didn’t have the face to say that?” shouted one of the +listeners. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oi never!” said Dennis. “An’ he workin’ night +an’ day to get the Board to vote the rival road.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think there’s much doubt that money is being spent +by both sides,” said Peter. “I fear no bill could ever pass without +it. But the Hummel crowd are really responsible people, who offer the city a +good percentage. The other men are merely trying to get the franchise, to sell +it out at a profit to Hummel. I don’t like the methods of either, but +there’s a road needed, and there’ll be a road voted, so it’s +simply a choice between the two. I shouldn’t mind if Denton voted against +both schemes, but to say he’ll vote against Hummel for that reason, and +yet vote for the other franchise shows that he’s not square. I +didn’t say so to him, because I wanted to talk it over with the ward a +little first to see if they stood with me.” +</p> + +<p> +“That we do, sir,” said Dennis, with a sureness which was cool, if +nothing more. Fortunately for the boldness of the speaker, no one dissented, +and two or three couples nodded heads or pipes at each other. +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked at his watch. “Then I can put the screws on him safely, you +think?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” cried several. +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose. “Dennis, will you see Blunkers and Driscoll this evening, or +some time to-morrow, and ask if they think so too? And if they don’t, +tell them to drop in on me, when they have leisure.” +</p> + +<p> +“Begobs, sir, Oi’ll see them inside av ten minutes. An’ if +they don’t agree widus, shure, Oi’ll make them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you. Good-night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night, Mr. Stirling,” came a chorus, and Peter passed into +the street by the much maligned side-door. +</p> + +<p> +Dennis turned to the group with his face shining with enthusiasm. “Did +yez see him, b’ys? There was style for yez. Isn’t he +somethin’ for the ward to be proud av?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned to Broadway, and fell into a long rapid stride. In spite of the +cold he threw open his coat, and carried his outer covering on his arm. Peter +had no intention of going into an up-town drawing-room with any suggestion of +“sixt” ward tobacco. So he walked till he reached Madison Square, +when, after a glance at his watch, he jumped into a cab. +</p> + +<p> +It was a quarter-past nine when the footman opened the door of the +Fifty-seventh Street house, in reply to Peter’s ring. Yet he was told +that, “The ladies are still at dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned and went down the stoop. He walked to the Avenue, and stopped at a +house not far off. +</p> + +<p> +“Is Mrs. Pell at home?” he asked, and procured entrance for both +his pasteboard and himself. +</p> + +<p> +“Welcome, little stranger,” was his greeting. “And it is so +nice that you came this evening. Here is Van, on from Washington for two +days.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was going to look you up, and see what ‘we, the people’ +were talking about, so that I could enlighten our legislators when I go +back,” said a man of forty. +</p> + +<p> +“I wrote Pope a long letter to-day, which I asked him to show you,” +said Peter. “Things are in a bad shape, and getting worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Peter,” queried the woman, “if you are the leader, why +do you let them get so?” +</p> + +<p> +“So as to remain the leader,” said Peter, smiling quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Now that’s what comes of ward politics,” cried Mrs. Pell, +“You are beginning to make Irish bulls.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Peter, “I am serious, and because people +don’t understand what I mean, they don’t understand American +politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you say in effect that the way you retain your leadership, is by not +leading. That’s absurd!” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Contradiction though it may seem the way to lose authority, is to +exercise it too much. Christ enunciated the great truth of democratic +government, when he said, ‘He that would be the greatest among you, shall +be the servant of all’” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you won’t carry your theory so far as to let them nominate +Maguire?” said Mr. Pell, anxiously. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, please don’t begin on politics,” said the woman. +“Here is Van, whom I haven’t seen for nine weeks, and here is Peter +whom I haven’t seen for time out of mind, and just as I think I have a +red-letter evening before me, you begin your everlasting politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“I merely stopped in to shake hands,” said Peter. “I have a +call to make elsewhere, and can stay but twenty minutes. For that time we +choose you speaker, and you can make us do as it pleases you.” +</p> + +<p> +Twenty minutes later Peter passed into the D’Alloi drawing-room. He shook +Mrs. D’Alloi’s hand steadily, which was more than she did with his. +Then he was made happy for a moment, with that of Leonore. Then he was +introduced to a Madame Mellerie, whom he placed at once as the half-governess, +half-companion, who had charge of Leonore’s education; a Mr. Maxwell, and +a Marquis de somebody. They were both good-looking young fellows; and greeted +Peter in a friendly way. But Peter did not like them. +</p> + +<p> +He liked them less when Mrs. D’Alloi told him to sit in a given place, +and then put Madame Mellerie down by him. Peter had not called to see Madame +Mellerie. But he made a virtue of necessity, and he was too instinctively +courteous not to treat the Frenchwoman with the same touch of deference his +manner towards women always had. After they had been chatting for a little on +French literature, it occurred to Peter that her opinion of him might have some +influence with Leonore, so he decided that he would try and please her. But +this thought turned his mind to Leonore, and speaking of her to her governess, +he at once became so interested in the facts she began to pour out to him, that +he forgot entirely about his diplomatic scheme. +</p> + +<p> +This arrangement continued half an hour, when a dislocation of the <i>statu +quo</i> was made by the departure of Mr. Maxwell. When the exit was completed, +Mrs. D’Alloi turned to place her puppets properly again. But she found a +decided bar to her intentions. Peter had formed his own conclusions as to why +he had been set to entertain Madame Mellerie, not merely from the fact itself, +but from the manner in which it had been done, and most of all, from the way +Mrs. D’Alloi had managed to stand between Leonore and himself, as if +protecting the former, till she had been able to force her arrangements. So +with the first stir Peter had risen, and when the little bustle had ceased he +was already standing by Leonore, talking to her. Mrs. D’Alloi did not +look happy, but for the moment she was helpless. +</p> + +<p> +Peter had had to skirt the group to get to Leonore, and so had stood behind her +during the farewells. She apparently had not noticed his advent, but the moment +she had done the daughter-of-the-house duty, she turned to him, and said: +“I wondered if you would go away without seeing me. I was so afraid you +were one of the men who just say, ‘How d’ye do’ and +‘Good-bye,’ and think they’ve paid a call.” +</p> + +<p> +“I called to see you to-night, and I should not have gone till I had seen +you. I’m rather a persistent man in some things.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore, bobbing her head in a very knowing manner, +“Miss De Voe told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “can’t you +tell us the meaning of the Latin motto on this seal?” Mrs. D’Alloi +held a letter towards him, but did not stir from her position across the room. +</p> + +<p> +Peter understood the device. He was to be drawn off, and made to sit by Mrs. +D’Alloi, not because she wanted to see him, but because she did not want +him to talk to Leonore. Peter had no intention of being dragooned. So he said: +“Madame Mellerie has been telling me what a good Latin scholar Miss +D’Alloi is. I certainly shan’t display my ignorance, till she has +looked at it.” Then he carried the envelope over to Leonore, and in +handing it to her, moved a chair for her, not neglecting one for himself. Mrs. +D’Alloi looked discouraged, the more when Peter and Leonore put their +heads close together, to examine the envelope. +</p> + +<p> +“‘<i>In bonam partem</i>,’” read Leonore. +“That’s easy, mamma. It’s—why, she isn’t +listening!” +</p> + +<p> +“You can tell her later. I have something to talk to you about.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Your dinner in my quarters. Whom would you like to have there?” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you really give me a dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“And let me have just whom I want?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, lovely! Let me see. Mamma and papa, of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s four. Now you can have two more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter. Would you mind—I mean——” Leonore +hesitated a moment and then said in an apologetic tone—“Would you +like to invite madame? I’ve been telling her about your rooms—and +you—and I think it would please her so.” +</p> + +<p> +“That makes five,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, goody!” said Leonore, “I mean,” she said, +correcting herself, “that that is very kind of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now the sixth?” +</p> + +<p> +“That must be a man of course,” said Leonore, wrinkling up her +forehead in the intensity of puzzlement. “And I know so few men.” +She looked out into space, and Peter had a moment’s fear lest she should +see the marquis, and name him. “There’s one friend of yours +I’m very anxious to meet. I wonder if you would be willing to ask +him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Moriarty.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I can’t ask him, I don’t want to cheapen him by making a +show of him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! I haven’t that feeling about him. I——” +</p> + +<p> +“I think you would understand him and see the fine qualities. But do you +think others would?” Peter mentioned no names, but Leonore understood. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” she said. “You are quite right.” +</p> + +<p> +“You shall meet him some day,” said Peter, “if you wish, but +when we can have only people who won’t embarrass or laugh at him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, I don’t know whom to select.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps you would like to meet Le Grand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very much. He is just the man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we’ll consider that settled. Are you free for the +ninth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’m not going out this spring, and mamma and papa +haven’t really begun yet, and it’s so late in the season that +I’m sure we are free.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I will ice the canvas-backs and champagne and dust off the Burgundy +for that day, if your mamma accedes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, I wanted to ask you the other day about that. I thought you +didn’t drink wine.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t. But I give my friends a glass, when they are good enough +to come to me. I live my own life, to please myself, but for that very reason, +I want others to live their lives to please themselves. Trying to live other +people’s lives for them, is a pretty dog-in-the-manger business.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then Mrs. D’Alloi joined them. “Were you able to translate +it?” she asked, sitting down by them. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, indeed,” said Leonore. “It means ‘Towards the +right side,’ or as a motto it might be translated, ‘For the right +side.’” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi had clearly, to use a western expression, come determined to +“settle down and grow up with the country.” So Peter broached the +subject of the dinner, and when she hesitated, Leonore called Watts into the +group. He threw the casting ballot in favor of the dinner, and so it was agreed +upon. Peter was asked to come to Leonore’s birthday festival, “If +you don’t mind such short notice,” and he didn’t mind, +apparently. Then the conversation wandered at will till Peter rose. In doing +so, he turned to Leonore, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I looked the question of nationality up to-day, and found I was right. +I’ve written out a legal opinion in my best hand, and will deliver it to +you, on receiving my fee.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much is that?” said Leonore, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“That you come and get it.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLII"></a>CHAPTER XLII.<br/> +DOWN-TOWN NEW YORK.</h2> + +<p> +Peter had not been working long the next morning when he was told that +“The Honorable Terence Denton wishes to see you,” “Very +well,” he said, and that worthy was ushered in. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Denton. I’m glad to see you. I was going down to the +Hall to-day to say something, but you’ve saved me the trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know you was. So I thought I’d get ahead of you,” said +Denton, with a surly tone and manner. +</p> + +<p> +“Sit down,” said Peter. Peter had learned that, with a certain +class of individuals, a distance and a seat have a very dampening effect on +anger. It is curious, man’s instinctive desire to stand up to and be near +the object for which anger is felt. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve been talking against me in the ward, and makin’ them +down on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I didn’t talk against you. I’ve spoken with some of the +people about the way you think of voting on the franchises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I wasn’t round, but a friend heard Dennis and Blunkers +a-going over it last night. And it’s you did it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But you know me well enough to be sure, after my talk with you +yesterday, that I wouldn’t stop there.” +</p> + +<p> +“So you try to set the pack on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I try to see how the ward wants its alderman to vote on the +franchises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Look a-here. What are you so set on the Hummel crowd for?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it because Hummel’s a big contractor and gives you lots of law +business?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter, smiling. “And you don’t think it is, +either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Has they offered you some stock cheap?” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, come, Denton. You know the <i>tu quoque</i> do here.” +</p> + +<p> +Denton shifted in his seat uneasily, not knowing what reply to make. Those two +little Latin words had such unlimited powers of concealment in them. He did not +know whether <i>tu quoque</i> meant something about votes, an insulting charge, +or merely a reply, and feared to make himself ridiculous by his response to +them. He was not the first man who has been hampered and floored by his own +ignorance. He concluded he must make an entire change of subject to be safe. So +he said, “I ain’t goin’ to be no boss’s puppy +dog.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter, finding it difficult not to smile, “you are +not that kind of a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“I takes my orders from no one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Denton, no one wants you to vote by order. We elected you alderman to do +what was best for the ward and city, as it seems to you. You are responsible +for your votes to us, and no other man can be. I don’t care who orders +you or advises you; in the end, you must vote yourself, and you yourself will +be held to account by us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But if I don’t vote as you wants, you’ll sour the boys +on me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall tell them what I think. You can do the same. It’s a fair +game between us.” +</p> + +<p> +“No, it ain’t. You’re rich and you can talk more.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know my money has nothing to do with it. You know I don’t try +to deceive the men in talking to them. If they trust what I tell them, +it’s because it’s reasonable, and because I haven’t tricked +them before.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, are you goin’ to drive me out?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not. I think you’ve made a good alderman, Denton, and +you’ll find I’ve said so.” +</p> + +<p> +“But now?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you vote for that franchise, I shall certainly tell the ward that I +think you’ve done wrong. Then the ward will do as they please.” +</p> + +<p> +“As you please, you mean.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. You’ve been long enough in politics to know that unless I can +make the ward think as I do, I couldn’t do anything. What would you care +for my opinion, if you didn’t know that the votes are back of it?” +</p> + +<p> +Just then the door swung open, and Dennis came in. “Tim said yez was +alone wid Denton, sir, so Oi came right in. It’s a good-mornin’, +sir. How are yez, Terence?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are just the man I want, Dennis. Tell Denton how the ward feels +about the franchises.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure. It’s one man they is. An’ if Denton will step down to +my place this night, he’ll find out how they think.” +</p> + +<p> +“They never would have felt so, if Mister Stirling hadn’t talked to +them. Not one in twenty knew the question was up.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s because they are most of them too hard working to keep +track of all the things. Come, Denton; I don’t attempt to say how you +shall vote. I only tell you how it seems to me. Go round the ward, and talk +with others. Then you can tell whether I can give you trouble in the future or +not. I don’t want to fight you. We’ve been good friends in the +past, and we can do more by pulling in double harness than by kicking, I +don’t know a man I would rather see at the Hall.” Peter held out +his hand, and Denton took it. +</p> + +<p> +“All right, Mister Stirling. I’ll do my best to stay +friends,” he said, and went out. +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned and smiled at Dennis. “They can’t find out that +it’s not I, but the ward. So every time there’s trouble they lay it +against me, and it’s hard to keep them friendly. And I hate quarrels and +surliness.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s yezself can do it, though. Shure, Denton was in a great state +av mind this mornin’, they was tellin’ me, but he’s all right +now, an’ will vote right, or my name isn’t Dennis Moriarty.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He doesn’t know it yet, but he’ll vote square on +Tuesday.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then Tim brought in the cards of Watts and Leonore, and strangely enough, +Peter said they were to be shown in at once. In they came, and after the +greetings, Peter said: +</p> + +<p> +“Miss D’Alloi, this is my dear friend, Dennis Moriarty. Dennis, +Miss D’Alloi has wanted to know you because she’s heard of your +being such a friend to me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure,” said Dennis, taking the little hand so eagerly offered +him, “Oim thinkin’ we’re both lucky to be in the thoughts at +all, at all, av such a sweet young lady.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Mr. Moriarty, you’ve kissed the blarney stone.” +</p> + +<p> +“Begobs,” responded Dennis, “it needs no blarney stone to say +that. It’s afther sayin’ itself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, have you that opinion?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Peter handed her out a beautifully written sheet of script, +all in due form, and given an appearance of vast learning, by red ink marginal +references to such solid works as “Wheaton,” “Story,” +and “Cranch’s” and “Wallace’s” reports. +Peter had taken it practically from a “Digest,” but many apparently +learned opinions come from the same source. And the whole was given value by +the last two lines, which read, “Respectfully submitted, Peter +Stirling.” Peter’s name had value at the bottom of a legal opinion, +or a check, if nowhere else. +</p> + +<p> +“Look, Mr. Moriarty,” cried Leonore, too full of happiness over +this decision of her nationality not to wish for some one with whom to share +it, “I’ve always thought I was French—though I didn’t +feel so a bit—and now Mr. Stirling has made me an American, and I’m +so happy. I hate foreigners.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts laughed. “Why, Dot. You mustn’t say that to Mr. Moriarty. +He’s a foreigner himself.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I forgot. I didn’t think that——” Poor +Leonore stopped there, horrified at what she had said. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter, “Dennis is not a foreigner. He’s one +of the most ardent Americans I know. As far as my experience goes, to make one +of Dennis’s bulls, the hottest American we have to-day, is the +Irish-American.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, come,” said Watts. “You know every Irishman pins his +loyalty to the ‘owld counthry.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure,” said Dennis, “an’ if they do, what then? +Sometimes a man finds a full-grown woman, fine, an’ sweet, an’ +strong, an’ helpful to him, an’ he comes to love her big like. But +does that make him forget his old weak mother, who’s had a hard life av +it, yet has done her best by him? Begobs! If he forgot her, he wouldn’t +be the man to make a good husband. Oi don’t say Oi’m a good +American, for its small Oi feel besides Misther Stirling. But Oi love her, +an’ if she ever wants the arm, or the blood, or the life, av Dennis +Moriarty, she’s only got to say so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Watts, “this is very interesting, both as a +point of view and as oratory; but it isn’t business. Peter, we came down +this morning to take whatever legal steps are necessary to put Dot in +possession of her grandmother’s money, of which I have been trustee. Here +is a lot of papers about it. I suppose everything is there relating to +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Papa seemed to think it would be very wise to ask you to take care of +it, and pay me the income, I can’t have the principal till I’m +twenty-five.” +</p> + +<p> +“You must tie it up some way, Peter, or Dot will make ducks and drakes of +it. She has about as much idea of the value of money as she has of the value of +foreigners. When we had our villa at Florence, she supported the entire pauper +population of the city.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had declined heretofore the care of trust funds. But it struck him that +this was really a chance—from a business standpoint, entirely! It is +true, the amount was only ninety two thousand, and, as a trust company would +handle that sum of money for four hundred and odd dollars, he was bound to do +the same; and this would certainly not pay him for his time. “Sometimes, +however,” said Peter to himself, “these, trusteeships have very +handsome picking’s, aside from the half per cent.” Peter did not +say that the “pickings,” as they framed themselves in his mind, +were sundry calls on him at his office, and a justifiable reason at all times +for calling on Leonore; to say nothing of letters and other unearned increment. +So Peter was not obstinate this time. “It’s such a simple matter +that I can have the papers drawn while you wait, if you’ve half an hour +to spare.” Peter did this, thinking it would keep them longer, but later +it occurred to him it would have been better to find some other reason, and +leave the papers, because then Leonore would have had to come again soon. Peter +was not quite as cool and far-seeing as he was normally. +</p> + +<p> +He regretted his error the more when they all took his suggestion that they go +into his study. Peter rang for his head clerk, and explained what was needed +with great rapidity, and then left the latter and went into the study. +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder what he’s in such a hurry for?” said the clerk, +retiring with the papers. +</p> + +<p> +When Peter entered the library he found Leonore and Watts reposing in chairs, +and Dennis standing in front of them, speaking. This was what Dennis was +saying: +</p> + +<p> +“‘Schatter, boys, an’ find me a sledge.’ Shure, we +thought it was demented he was, but he was the only cool man, an’ orders +were orders. Dooley, he found one, an’ then the captain went to the rails +an’ gave it a swing, an’ struck the bolts crosswise like, so that +the heads flew off, like they was shootin’ stars. Then he struck the +rails sideways, so as to loosen them from the ties. Then says he: ‘Half a +dozen av yez take off yez belts an’ strap these rails together!’ +Even then we didn’t understand, but we did it All this time the dirty +spal—Oi ask yez pardon, miss—all this time the strikers were +pluggin’ at us, an’ bullets flyin’ like fun. ‘Drop your +muskets,’ says the captain, when we had done; ‘fall in along those +rails. Pick them up, and double-quick for the shed door,’ says he, just +as if he was on parade. Then we saw what he was afther, and double-quick we +went. Begobs, that door went down as if it was paper. He was the first in. +‘Stand back,’ says he, ‘till Oi see what’s +needed.’ Yez should have seen him walk into that sheet av flame, +an’ stand theer, quiet-like, thinkin’, an’ it so hot that we +at the door were coverin’ our faces to save them from scorchin’. +Then he says: ‘Get your muskets!’ We went, an’ Moike says to +me: ‘It’s no good. No man can touch them cars. He’s +goin’ to attind to the strikers,’ But not he. He came out, +an’ he says: ‘B’ys, it’s hot in there, but, if you +don’t mind a bit av a burn, we can get the poor fellows out. Will yez +try?’ ‘Yes!’ we shouted. So he explained how we could push +cars widout touchin’ them. ‘Fall in,’ says he. ‘Fix +bayonets. First file to the right av the cars, second rank to the left. +Forward, march!’ An’ we went into that hell, an’ rolled them +cars out just as if we was marchin’ down Broadway, wid flags, an’ +music, an’ women clappin’ hands.” +</p> + +<p> +“But weren’t you dreadfully burnt?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, miss, yez should have seen us! We was blacker thin the divil +himsilf. Hardly one av us but didn’t have the hair burnt off the part his +cap didn’t cover; an’, as for eyelashes, an’ mustaches, +an’ blisters, no one thought av them the next day. Shure, the whole +company was in bed, except them as couldn’t lie easy.” +</p> + +<p> +“And Mr. Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure, don’t yez know about him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, he was dreadful burnt, an’ the doctors thought it would be +blind he’d be; but he went to Paris, an’ they did somethin’ +to him there that saved him. Oh, miss, the boys were nearly crazy wid fear av +losin’ him. They’d rather be afther losin’ the regimental +cat.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had been tempted to interrupt two or three times, but it was so absorbing +to watch Leonore’s face, and its changing expression, as, unconscious of +his presence, she listened to Dennis, that Peter had not the heart to do it. +But now Watts spoke up. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hear that, Peter? There’s value for you! You’re +better than the cat.” +</p> + +<p> +So the scenes were shifted, and they all sat and chatted till Dennis left. Then +the necessary papers were brought in and looked over at Peter’s +study-table, and Miss D’Alloi took another of his pens. Peter hoped +she’d stop and think a little, again, but she didn’t. Just as she +had begun an L she hesitated, however. +</p> + +<p> +“Why,” she said, “this paper calls me ‘Leonore +D’Alloi, spinster!’ I’m not going to sign that.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is merely the legal term,” Peter explained. Leonore pouted +for some time over it, but finally signed. “I shan’t be a spinster, +anyway, even if the paper does say so,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +Peter agreed with her. +</p> + +<p> +“See what a great blot I’ve made on your clean blotter,” said +Leonore, who had rested the pen-point there. “I’m very +sorry.” Then she wrote on the blotter, “Leonore D’Alloi. Her +very untidy mark.” “That was what Madame Mellerie always made me +write on my exercises.” +</p> + +<p> +Then they said “Good-bye.” “I like down-town New York better +and better,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +So did Peter. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIII"></a>CHAPTER XLIII.<br/> +A BIRTHDAY EVENING.</h2> + +<p> +Peter went into Ray’s office on Monday. “I want your advice,” +he said. “I’m going to a birthday dinner to-morrow. A girl for whom +I’m trustee. Now, how handsome a present may I send her?” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m. How well do you know her?” +</p> + +<p> +“We are good friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Just about what you please, I should say, if you know her well, and make +money out of her?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is, jewelry?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ye—es.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thanks.” Peter turned. +</p> + +<p> +“Who is she, Peter? I thought you never did anything so small as that. +Nothing, or four figures, has always seemed your rule?” +</p> + +<p> +“This had extenuating circumstances,” smiled Peter. +</p> + +<p> +So when Peter shook hands, the next evening, with the very swagger young lady +who stood beside her mother, receiving, he was told: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s perfectly lovely! Look.” And the little wrist was held +up to him. “And so were the flowers. I couldn’t carry a tenth of +them, so I decided to only take papa’s. But I put yours up in my room, +and shall keep them there.” Then Peter had to give place to another, just +as he had decided that he would have one of the flowers from the bunch she was +carrying, or—he left the awful consequences of failure blank. +</p> + +<p> +Peter stood for a moment unconscious of the other people, looking at the pretty +rounded figure in the dainty evening dress of French open-work embroidery. +“I didn’t think she could be lovelier than she was in her street +and riding dresses but she is made for evening dress,” was his thought. +He knew this observation wasn’t right, however, so he glanced round the +room, and then walked up to a couple. +</p> + +<p> +“There, I told Mr. Beekman that I was trying to magnetize you, and though +your back was turned, you came to me at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“Er—really, quite wonderful, you know,” said Mr. Beekman. +“I positively sharn’t dare to be left alone with you, Miss De +Voe.” +</p> + +<p> +“You needn’t fear me. I shall never try to magnetize you, Mr. +Beekman,” said Miss De Voe. “I was so pleased,” she +continued, turning to Peter, “to see you take that deliberate survey of +the room, and then come over here.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled. “I go out so little now, that I have turned selfish. I +don’t go to entertain people. I go to be entertained. Tell me what you +have been doing?” +</p> + +<p> +But as Peter spoke, there was a little stir, and Peter had to say “excuse +me.” He crossed the room, and said, “I am to have the pleasure, +Mrs. Grinnell,” and a moment later the two were walking towards the +dining-room. Miss De Voe gave her arm to Beekman calmly, but her eyes followed +Peter. They both could have made a better arrangement. Most dinner guests can. +</p> + +<p> +It was a large dinner, and so was served in the ball-room. The sixty people +gathered were divided into little groups, and seated at small tables holding +six or eight. Peter knew all but one at his table, to the extent of having had +previous meetings. They were all fashionables, and the talk took the usual +literary-artistic-musical turn customary with that set. “Men, not +principles” is the way society words the old cry, or perhaps +“personalities, not generalities” is a better form. So Peter ate +his dinner quietly, the conversation being general enough not to force him to +do more than respond, when appealed to. He was, it is true, appealed to +frequently. Peter had the reputation, as many quiet men have, of being brainy. +Furthermore he knew the right kind of people, was known to enjoy a large +income, was an eligible bachelor, and was “interesting and +unusual.” So society no longer rolled its Juggernaut over him +regardlessly, as of yore. A man who was close friends with half a dozen +exclusives of the exclusives, was a man not to be disregarded, simply because +he didn’t talk. Society people applied much the same test as did the +little “angle” children, only in place of “he’s frinds +wid der perlice,” they substituted “he’s very intimate with +Miss De Voe, and the Ogdens and the Pells.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had dimly hoped that he would find himself seated at Leonore’s +table—He had too much self depreciation to think for a moment that he +would take her in—but hers was a young table, he saw, and he would not +have minded so much if it hadn’t been for that Marquis. Peter began to +have a very low opinion of foreigners. Then he remembered that Leonore had the +same prejudice, so he became more reconciled to the fact that the Marquis was +sitting next her. And when Leonore sent him a look and a smile, and held up the +wrist, so as to show the pearl bracelet, Peter suddenly thought what a +delicious <i>rissole</i> he was eating. +</p> + +<p> +As the dinner waned, one of the footmen brought him a card, on which Watts had +written: “They want me to say a few words of welcome and of Dot. Will you +respond?” Peter read the note and then wrote below it: “Dear Miss +D’Alloi: You see the above. May I pay you a compliment? Only one? Or will +it embarrass you?” When the card came back a new line said: “Dear +Peter: I am not afraid of your compliment, and am very curious to hear +it.” Peter said, “Tell Mr. D’Alloi that I will with +pleasure.” Then he tucked the card in his pocket. That card was not going +to be wasted. +</p> + +<p> +So presently the glasses were filled up, even Peter saying, “You may give +me a glass,” and Watts was on his feet. He gave “our friends” +a pleasant welcome, and after apologizing for their absence, said that at +least, “like the little wife in the children’s play, ‘We too +have not been idle,’ for we bring you a new friend and introduce her to +you to-night.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Peter rose, and told the host: “Your friends have been grieved at +your long withdrawal from them, as the happy faces and welcome we tender you +this evening, show. We feared that the fascination of European art, with its +beauty and ease and finish, had come to over-weigh the love of American nature, +despite its life and strength and freshness; that we had lost you for all time. +But to-night we can hardly regret even this long interlude, if to that +circumstance we owe the happiest and most charming combination of American +nature and European art—Miss D’Alloi.” +</p> + +<p> +Then there was applause, and a drinking of Miss D’Alloi’s health, +and the ladies passed out of the room—to enjoy themselves, be it +understood, leaving the men in the gloomy, quarrelsome frame of mind it always +does. +</p> + +<p> +Peter apparently became much abstracted over his cigar, but the abstraction was +not perhaps very deep, for he was on his feet the moment Watts rose, and was +the first to cross the hall into the drawing-room. He took a quick glance round +the room, and then crossed to a sofa. Dorothy and—and some one else were +sitting on it. +</p> + +<p> +“Speaking of angels,” said Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“I wasn’t speaking of you,” said Peter. “Only +thinking.” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Leonore. “Now if Mrs. Grinnell had only heard +that.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked a question, so Leonore continued: +</p> + +<p> +“We were talking about you. I don’t understand you. You are so +different from what I had been told to think you. Every one said you were very +silent and very uncomplimentary, and never joked, but you are not a bit as they +said, and I thought you had probably changed, just as you had about the +clothes. But Mrs. Grinnell says she never heard you make a joke or a compliment +in her life, and that at the Knickerbocker they call you ‘Peter, the +silent.’ You are a great puzzle.” +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy laughed. “Here we four women—Mrs. Grinnell, and Mrs. +Winthrop and Leonore and myself—have been quarrelling over you, and each +insisting you are something different. I believe you are not a bit firm and +stable, as people say you are, but a perfect chameleon, changing your tint +according to the color of the tree you are on. Leonore was the worst, though! +She says that you talk and joke a great deal. We could have stood anything but +that!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am sorry my conversation and humor are held in such low +estimation.” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Leonore, “See. Didn’t I tell you he +joked? And, Peter, do you dislike women?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unquestionably,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Please tell me. I told them of your speech about the sunshine, and Mrs. +Winthrop says that she knows you didn’t mean it. That you are a +woman-hater and despise all women, and like to get off by yourself.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s the reason I joined you and Dorothy,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you hate women?” persisted Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“A man is not bound to incriminate himself,” replied Peter, +smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Then that’s the reason why you don’t like society, and why +you are so untalkative to women. I don’t like men who think badly of +women. Now, I want to know why you don’t like them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Supposing,” said Peter, “you were asked to sit down to a +game of whist, without knowing anything of the game. Do you think you could +like it?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Of course not!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that is my situation toward women. They have never liked me, nor +treated me as they do other men. And so, when I am put with a small-talk woman, +I feel all at sea, and, try as I may, I can’t please her. They are never +friendly with me as they are with other men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Rubbish!” said Dorothy. “It’s what you do, not what +she does, that makes the trouble. You look at a woman with those grave eyes and +that stern jaw of yours, and we all feel that we are fools on the spot, and +really become so. I never stopped being afraid of you till I found out that in +reality you were afraid of me. You know you are. You are afraid of all +women.” +</p> + +<p> +“He isn’t a bit afraid of women,” affirmed Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +Just then Mr. Beekman came up. “Er—Mrs. Rivington. You know this +is—er—a sort of house-warming, and they tell me we are to go over +the house, don’t you know, if we wish. May I harve the pleasure?” +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy conferred the boon. Peter looked down at Leonore with a laugh in his +eyes. “Er—Miss D’Alloi,” he said, with the broadest of +accents, “you know this,—er—is a sort of a house-warming +and—” He only imitated so far and then they both laughed. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore rose. “With pleasure. I only wish Mrs. Grinnell had heard you. I +didn’t know you could mimic?” +</p> + +<p> +“I oughtn’t. It’s a small business. But I am so happy that I +couldn’t resist the temptation.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore asked, “What makes you so happy?” +</p> + +<p> +“My new friend,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore went on up the stairs without saying anything. At the top, however, she +said, enthusiastically: “You do say the nicest things! What room would +you like to see first?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yours,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +So they went into the little bedroom, and boudoir, and looked over them. Of +course Peter found a tremendous number of things of interest. There were her +pictures, most of them her own purchases in Europe; and her books and what she +thought of them; and her thousand little knick-knacks of one kind and another. +Peter wasn’t at all in a hurry to see the rest of the house. +</p> + +<p> +“These are the photographs of my real friends,” said Leonore, +“except yours. I want you to give me one to complete my rack.” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t had a photograph taken in eight years, and am afraid I +have none left.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you must sit.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. But it must be an exchange.” Peter almost trembled at +his boldness, and at the thought of a possible granting. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want mine?” +</p> + +<p> +“Very much.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have dozens,” said Leonore, going over to her desk, and pulling +open a drawer. “I’m very fond of being taken. You may have your +choice.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very difficult,” said Peter, looking at the different +varieties. “Each has something the rest haven’t. You don’t +want to be generous, and let me have these four?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you greedy!” said Leonore, laughing. “Yes, if +you’ll do something I’m going to ask you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter pocketed the four. “That is a bargain,” he said, with a +brashness simply disgraceful in a good business man. “Now, what is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss De Voe told me long ago about your savings-bank fund for helping +the poor people. Now that I have come into my money, I want to do what she +does. Give a thousand dollars a year to it—and then you are to tell me +just what you do with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course I’m bound to take it, if you insist. But it won’t +do any good. Even Miss De Voe has stopped giving now, and I haven’t added +anything to it for over five years.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You see, I began by loaning the fund to people who were in trouble, or +who could be boosted a little by help, and for three or four years, I found the +money went pretty fast. But by that time people began to pay it back, with +interest often, and there has hardly been a case when it hasn’t been +repaid. So what with Miss De Voe’s contributions, and the return of the +money, I really have more than I can properly use already. There’s only +about eight thousand loaned at present, and nearly five thousand in +bank.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so sorry!” said Leonore. “But couldn’t you +give some of the money, so that it wouldn’t come back?” +</p> + +<p> +“That does more harm than good. It’s like giving opium to kill +temporary pain. It stops the pain for the moment, but only to weaken the system +so as to make the person less able to bear pain in the future. That’s the +trouble with most of our charity. It weakens quite as much as it helps.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have thought about this for five years as something I should do. +I’m so grieved.” And Leonore looked her words. +</p> + +<p> +Peter could not stand that look. “I’ve been thinking of sending a +thousand dollars of the fund, that I didn’t think there was much chance +of using, to a Fresh Air fund and the Day Nursery. If you wish I’ll send +two thousand instead and then take your thousand? Then I can use that for +whatever I have a chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“That will do nicely. But I thought you didn’t think regular +charities did much good?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some don’t. But it’s different with children. They +don’t feel the stigma and are not humiliated or made indolent by help. We +can’t do too much to help them. The future of this country depends on its +poor children. If they are to do right, they must be saved from ill-health, and +ignorance, and vice; and the first step is to give them good food and air, so +that they shall have strong little bodies. A sound man, physically, may not be +a strong man in other ways, but he stands a much better chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, it’s very interesting,” said Leonore. “Tell me +some more about the poor people.” +</p> + +<p> +“What shall I tell you?” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“How to help them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll speak about something I have had in mind for a long time, +trying to find some way to do it. I think the finest opportunity for +benevolence, not already attempted, would be a company to lend money to the +poor, just as I have attempted, on a small scale, in my ward. You see there are +thousands of perfectly honest people who are living on day wages, and many of +them can lay up little or no money. Then comes sickness, or loss of employment, +or a fire which burns up all their furniture and clothes, or some other +mischance, and they can turn only to pawnbrokers and usurers, with their +fearful charges; or charity, with its shame. Then there are hundreds of people +whom a loan of a little money would help wonderfully. This boy can get a place +if he had a respectable suit of clothes. Another can obtain work by learning a +trade, but can’t live while he learns it. A woman can support herself if +she can buy a sewing-machine, but hasn’t the money to buy it. Another can +get a job at something, but is required to make a deposit to the value of the +goods intrusted to her. Now, if all these people could go to some company, and +tell their story, and get their notes discounted, according to their +reputation, just as the merchant does at his bank, don’t you see what a +help it would be?” +</p> + +<p> +“How much would it take, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“One cannot say, because, till it is tested, there would be no way of +knowing how much would be asked for. But a hundred thousand dollars would do to +start with.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, that’s only a hundred people giving a thousand each,” +cried Leonore eagerly. “Peter, I’ll give a thousand, and I’ll +make mamma and papa give a thousand, and I’ll speak to my friends +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Money isn’t the difficult part,” said Peter, longing to a +fearful degree to take Leonore in his arms. “If it were only money, I +could do it myself—or if I did not choose to do it alone, Miss De Voe and +Pell would help me.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, then?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s finding the right man to run such a company. I can’t +give the time, for I can do more good in other directions. It needs a good +business man, yet one who must have many other qualities which rarely go with a +business training. He must understand the poor, because he must look into every +case, to see if it is a safe risk—or rather if the past life of the +applicant indicates that he is entitled to help. Now if your grandfather, who +is such an able banker, were to go into my ward, and ask about the standing of +a man in it, he wouldn’t get any real information. But if I ask, every +one will tell me what he thinks. The man in control of such a bank must be able +to draw out the truth. Unless the management was just what it ought to be, it +would be bankrupt in a few months, or else would not lend to one quarter of the +people who deserve help. Yet from my own experience, I know, that money can be +loaned to these people, so that the legal interest more than pays for the +occasional loss, and that most of these losses are due to inability, more than +to dishonesty.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wish we could go on talking,” sighed Leonore. “But the +people are beginning to go downstairs. I suppose I must go, so as to say +good-bye. I only wish I could help you in charity.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have given <i>me</i> a great charity this evening,” said +Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the photographs,” smiled Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“What else?” +</p> + +<p> +“You have shown me the warmest and most loving of hearts,” said +Peter, “and that is the best charity in the world.” +</p> + +<p> +On the way down they met Lispenard coming up. “I’ve just said +good-night to your mother. I would have spoken to you while we were in your +room, but you were so engrossed that Miss Winthrop and I thought we had better +not interrupt.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t see you,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Indeed!” said Lispenard, with immense wonderment. “I +can’t believe that. You know you were cutting us.” Then he turned +to Peter. “You old scamp, you,” he whispered, “you are worse +than the Standard Oil.” +</p> + +<p> +“I sent for you some time ago, Leonore,” said her mother, +disapprovingly. “The guests have been going and you were not here.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry, mamma. I was showing Peter the house.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-night,” said that individual. “I dread formal dinners +usually, but this one has been the pleasantest of my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very nice. And thank you, Peter, for the bracelet, and the +flowers, and the compliment. They were all lovely. Would you like a +rose?” +</p> + +<p> +Would he? He said nothing, but he looked enough to get it. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t we put you down?” said a man at the door. +“It’s not so far from Washington Square to your place, that your +company won’t repay us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter, “but I have a hansom here.” +</p> + +<p> +Yet Peter did not ride. He dismissed cabby, and walked down the Avenue. Peter +was not going to compress his happiness inside a carriage that evening. He +needed the whole atmosphere to contain it. +</p> + +<p> +As he strode along he said: +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t her beauty and grace alone”—(It never is with +a man, oh, no!)—“but her truth and frankness and friendliness. And +then she doesn’t care for money, and she isn’t eaten up with +ambition. She is absolutely untouched by the world yet. Then she is natural, +yet reserved, with other men. She’s not husband-hunting, like so many of +them. And she’s loving, not merely of those about her, but of +everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Musicians will take a simple theme and on it build unlimited variations. This +was what Peter proceeded to do. From Fifty-seventh Street to Peter’s +rooms was a matter of four miles. Peter had not half finished his thematic +treatment of Leonore when he reached his quarters. He sat down before his fire, +however, and went on, not with hope of exhausting all possible variations, but +merely for his own pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +Finally, however, he rose and put photographs, rose, and card away. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve not allowed myself to yield to it,” he said (which was +a whopper) “till I was sure she was what I could always love. Now I shall +do my best to make her love me.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIV"></a>CHAPTER XLIV.<br/> +A GOOD DAY.</h2> + +<p> +The next day it was raining torrents, but despite this, and to the utter +neglect of his law business, Peter drove up-town immediately after lunch, to +the house in Fifty-seventh Street. He asked for Watts, but while he was waiting +for the return of the servant, he heard a light foot-step, and turning, he +found Leonore fussing over some flowers. At the same moment she became +conscious of his presence. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-day,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a good day at all,” said Leonore, in a disconsolate +voice, holding out her hand nevertheless. +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a horrid day, and I’m in disgrace.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“For misbehaving last night. Both mamma and madame say I did very wrong. +I never thought I couldn’t be real friends with you.” The little +lips were trembling slightly. +</p> + +<p> +Peter felt a great temptation to say something strong. “Why can’t +the women let such an innocent child alone?” he thought to himself. Aloud +he said, “If any wrong was done, which I don’t think, it was my +fault. Can I do anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe so,” said Leonore, with a slight +unsteadiness in her voice. “They say that men will always monopolize a +girl if she will allow it, and that a really well-mannered one won’t +permit it for a moment.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter longed to take her in his arms and lay the little downcast head against +his shoulder, but he had to be content with saying: “I am so sorry they +blame you. If I could only save you from it.” He evidently said it in a +comforting voice, for the head was raised a trifle. +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said Leonore, “I’ve always been very +particular with men, but with you it seemed different. Yet they both say I +stayed too long upstairs, and were dreadfully shocked about the photographs. +They said I ought to treat you like other men. Don’t you think you are +different?” +</p> + +<p> +Yes. Peter thought he was very different. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. D’Alloi will see you in the library,” announced the +footman at this point. +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned to go, but in leaving he said: “Is there any pleasure or +service I can do, to make up for the trouble I’ve caused you?” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore put her head on one side, and looked a little less grief-stricken. +“May I save that up?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +A moment later Peter was shaking hands with Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“This is nice of you. Quite like old times. Will you smoke?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. But please yourself. I’ve something to talk about.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fire away.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts, I want to try and win the love of your little girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old man,” cried Watts, “there isn’t any one in +God’s earth whom I would rather see her choose, or to whom I would sooner +trust her.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, Watts,” said Peter, gratefully. “Watts is weak, +but he is a good fellow,” was his mental remark. Peter entirely forgot +his opinion of two weeks ago. It is marvellous what a change a different point +of view makes in most people. +</p> + +<p> +“But if I give you my little Dot, you must promise me one thing.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“That you will never tell her? Ah! Peter, if you knew how I love the +little woman, and how she loves me. From no other man can she learn what will +alter that love. Don’t make my consent bring us both suffering?” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts, I give my word she shall never know the truth from me.” +</p> + +<p> +“God bless you, Peter. True as ever. Then that is settled. You shall have +a clear field and every chance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I fear not. There’s something more. Mrs. D’Alloi won’t +pardon that incident—nor do I blame her. I can’t force my presence +here if she does not give her consent. It would be too cruel, even if I could +hope to succeed in spite of her. I want to see her this morning. You can tell +better than I whether you had best speak to her first, or whether I shall tell +her.” +</p> + +<p> +“H’m. That is a corker, isn’t it? Don’t you think you +had better let things drift?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I’m not going to try and win a girl’s love behind the +mother’s back. Remember, Watts, the mother is the only one to whom a girl +can go at such a time. We mustn’t try to take advantage of either.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I’ll speak to her, and do my best. Then I’ll send her +to you. Help yourself to the tobacco if you get tired of waiting <i>tout +seul</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts went upstairs and knocked at a door. “Yes,” said a voice. +Watts put his head in. “Is my Rosebud so busy that she can’t spare +her lover a few moments?” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts, you know I live for you.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts dropped down on the lounge. “Come here, then, like a loving little +wife, and let me say my little say.” +</p> + +<p> +No woman nearing forty can resist a little tenderness in her husband, and Mrs. +D’Alloi snuggled up to Watts in the pleasantest frame of mind. Watts +leaned over and kissed her cheek. Then Mrs. D’Alloi snuggled some more. +</p> + +<p> +“Now, I want to talk with you seriously, dear,” he said. “Who +do you think is downstairs?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear old Peter. And what do you think he’s come for!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dot.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” +</p> + +<p> +“He wants our consent, dear, to pay his addresses to Leonore.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Watts!” Mrs. D’Alloi ceased to snuggle, and turned a +horrified face to her husband. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve thought she attracted him, but he’s such an impassive, +cool old chap, that I wasn’t sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I’ve been so afraid of. I’ve worried so +over it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You dear, foolish little woman. What was there to worry over?” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts! You won’t give your consent?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course we will. Why, what more do you want? Money, reputation, +brains, health.” (That was the order in which Peter’s advantages +ranged themselves in Watts’s mind). “I don’t see what more +you can ask, short of a title, and titles not only never have all those +qualities combined, but they are really getting decidedly <i>nouveau richey</i> +and not respectable enough for a Huguenot family, who’ve lived two +hundred and fifty years in New York. What a greedy mamma she is for her little +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Watts! But think!” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s hard work, dear, with your eyes to look at. But I will, if +you’ll tell me what to think about.” +</p> + +<p> +“My husband! You cannot have forgotten? Oh, no! It is too horrible for +you to have forgotten that day.” +</p> + +<p> +“You heavenly little Puritan! So you are going to refuse Peter as a +son-in-law, because he—ah—he’s not a Catholic monk. Why, +Rosebud, if you are going to apply that rule to all Dot’s lovers, you had +better post a sign: ‘Wanted, a husband. P.S. No man need +apply.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts! Don’t talk so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear little woman. I’m only trying to show you that we can’t +do better than trust our little girl to Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“With that stain! Oh, Watts, give him our pure, innocent, spotless +child!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, well. If you want a spotless wedding, let her marry the Church. +She’ll never find one elsewhere, my darling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts! How can you talk so? And with yourself as an example. Oh, +husband! I want our child—our only child—to marry a man as noble +and true as her father. Surely there must be others like you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I think there are a great many men as good as I, Rosebud! But +I’m no better than I should be, and it’s nothing but your love that +makes you think I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t hear you say such things of yourself. You know you are the +best and purest man that ever lived. You know you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“If there’s any good in me, it’s because I married +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Watts, you couldn’t be bad if you tried.” And Mrs. +D’Alloi put her arms round Watts’s neck and kissed him. +</p> + +<p> +Watts fondled her for a moment in true lover’s fashion. Then he said, +“Dear little wife, a pure woman can never quite know what this world is. +I love Dot next to you, and would not give her to a man whom I believe would +not be true to her, or make her happy. I know every circumstance of +Peter’s connection with that woman, and he is as blameless as man ever +was. Such as it was, it was ended years ago, and can never give him more +trouble. He is a strong man, and will be true to Dot. She might get a man who +would make her life one long torture. She may be won by a man who only cares +for her money, and will not even give her the husks of love. But Peter loves +her, and has outgrown his mistakes. And don’t forget that but for him we +might now have nothing but some horribly mangled remains to remember of our +little darling. Dear, I love Dot twenty times more than I love Peter. For her +sake, and yours, I am trying to do my best for her.” +</p> + +<p> +So presently Mrs. D’Alloi came into the library, where Peter sat. She +held out her hand to him, but Peter said: +</p> + +<p> +“Let me say something first. Mrs. D’Alloi, I would not have had +that occurrence happen in your home or presence if I had been able to prevent +it. It grieves me more than I can tell you. I am not a roué. In spite of +appearances I have lived a clean life. I shall never live any other in the +future. I—I love Leonore. Love her very dearly. And if you will give her +to me, should I win her, I pledge you my word that I will give her the love, +and tenderness, and truth which she deserves. Now, will you give me your +hand?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is speaking the truth,” thought Mrs. D’Alloi, as Peter +spoke. She held out her hand. “I will trust her to you if she chooses +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Half an hour later, Peter went back to the drawing-room, to find Leonore +reposing in an exceedingly undignified position before the fire on a big +tiger-skin, and stroking a Persian cat, who, in delight at this enviable +treatment, purred and dug its claws into the rug. Peter stood for a time +watching the pretty tableau, wishing he was a cat. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Tawney-eye,” said Leonore, in heartrending tones, “it +isn’t a good day at all.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to quarrel with you on that,” said Peter. +“It’s a glorious day.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore rose from the skin. “Tawney-eye and I don’t think +so.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you will. In the first place I’ve explained about the monopoly +and the photographs to your mamma, and she says she did not understand it, and +that no one is to blame. Secondly, she says I’m to stay to dinner and am +to monopolize you till then. Thirdly, she says we may be just as good friends +as we please. Fourthly, she has asked me to come and stay for a week at +Grey-Court this summer. Now, what kind of a day is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Simply glorious! Isn’t it, Tawney-eye?” And the young lady +again forgot her “papas, proprieties, potatoes, prunes and prisms,” +and dropping down on the rug, buried her face in the cat’s long silky +hair. Then she reappeared long enough to say: +</p> + +<p> +“You are such a comforting person! I’m so glad you were +born.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLV"></a>CHAPTER XLV.<br/> +THE BOSS.</h2> + +<p> +After this statement, so satisfying to both, Leonore recovered her dignity +enough to rise, and say, “Now, I want to pay you for your niceness. What +do you wish to do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we do what pleases you.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I want to please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That <i>is</i> the way to please me,” said Peter emphatically. +</p> + +<p> +Just then a clock struck four. “I know,” said Leonore. “Come +to the tea-table, and we’ll have afternoon tea together. It’s the +day of all others for afternoon tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“I just said it was a glorious day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh? yes. It’s a nice day. But it’s dark and cold and rainy +all the same.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that makes it all the better. We shan’t be interrupted.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Leonore, “that Miss De Voe told me once +that you were a man who found good in everything, and I see what she +meant.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t hold a candle to Dennis. He says its ‘a foine +day’ so that you feel that it really is. I never saw him in my life, when +it wasn’t ‘a foine day.’ I tell him he carries his sunshine +round in his heart.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are so different,” said Leonore, “from what every one +said. I never knew a man pay such nice compliments. That’s the seventh +I’ve heard you make.” +</p> + +<p> +“You know I’m a politician, and want to become popular.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter! Will you let me ask you something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Anything,” said Peter, rashly, though speaking the absolute truth. +Peter just then was willing to promise anything. Perhaps it was the warm cup of +tea; perhaps it was the blazing logs; perhaps it was the shade of the lamp, +which cast such a pleasant rosy tint over everything; perhaps it was the +comfortable chair; perhaps it was that charming face; perhaps it was what Mr. +Mantalini called the “demd total.” +</p> + +<p> +“You see,” said Leonore, shaking her head in a puzzled way, +“I’ve begun to read the papers—the political part, I +mean—and there are so many things I don’t understand which I want +to ask you to explain.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is very nice,” said Peter, “because there are a great +many things of which I want to tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goody!” said Leonore, forgetting again she was now bound to +conduct herself as befit a society girl. “And you’ll not laugh at +me if I ask foolish questions?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what do the papers mean by calling you a boss?” +</p> + +<p> +“That I am supposed to have sufficient political power to dictate to a +certain extent.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t they speak of a boss as something not nice?” asked +Leonore, a little timidly, as if afraid of hurting Peter’s feelings. +</p> + +<p> +“Usually it is used as a stigma,” said Peter, smiling. “At +least by the kind of papers you probably read.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you are not a bad boss, are you?” said Leonore, very +earnestly. +</p> + +<p> +“Some of the papers say so.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what surprised me. Of course I knew they were wrong, but +are bosses bad, and are you a boss?” +</p> + +<p> +“You are asking me one of the biggest questions in American politics. I +probably can’t answer it, but I’ll try to show you why I +can’t. Are there not friends whose advice or wish would influence +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Like you,” said Leonore, giving Peter a glimpse of her eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Really,” thought Peter, “if she does that often, I +can’t talk abstract politics.” Then he rallied and said: +“Well, that is the condition of men as well, and it is that condition, +which creates the so-called boss. In every community there are men who +influence more or less the rest. It may be that one can only influence half a +dozen other intimates. Another may exert power over fifty. A third may sway a +thousand. One may do it by mere physical superiority. Another by a friendly +manner. A third by being better informed. A fourth by a deception or bribery. A +fifth by honesty. Each has something that dominates the weaker men about him. +Take my ward. Burton is a prize-fighter, and physically a splendid man. So he +has his little court. Driscoll is a humorist, and can talk, and he has his +admirers. Sloftky is popular with the Jews, because he is of their race. +Burrows is a policeman, who is liked by the whole ward, because of his kindness +and good-nature. So I could go on telling you of men who are a little more +marked than the rest, who have power to influence the opinions of men about +them, and therefore have power to influence votes. That is the first step in +the ladder.” +</p> + +<p> +“But isn’t Mr. Moriarty one?” +</p> + +<p> +“He comes in the next grade. Each of the men I have mentioned can usually +affect an average of twenty-five votes. But now we get to another rung of the +ladder. Here we have Dennis, and such men as Blunkers, Denton, Kennedy, +Schlurger and others. They not merely have their own set of followers, but they +have more or less power to dominate the little bosses of whom I have already +spoken. Take Dennis for instance. He has fifty adherents who stick to him +absolutely, two hundred and fifty who listen to him with interest, and a dozen +of the smaller bosses, who pass his opinions to their followers. So he can thus +have some effect on about five hundred votes. Of course it takes more force and +popularity to do this and in this way we have a better grade of men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I like Mr. Moriarty, and can understand why others do. He is so +ugly, and so honest, and so jolly. He’s lovely.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then we get another grade. Usually men of a good deal of brain force, +though not of necessity well educated. They influence all below them by being +better informed, and by being more far-seeing. Such men as Gallagher and +Dummer. They, too, are usually in politics for a living, and so can take the +trouble to work for ends for which the men with other work have no time. They +don’t need the great personal popularity of those I have just mentioned, +but they need far more skill and brain. Now you can see, that these last, in +order to carry out their intentions, must meet and try to arrange to pull +together, for otherwise they can do nothing. Naturally, in a dozen or twenty +men, there will be grades, and very often a single man will be able to dominate +them all, just as the smaller bosses dominate the smaller men. And this man the +papers call a boss of a ward. Then when these various ward bosses endeavor to +unite for general purposes, the strongest man will sway them, and he is boss of +the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that is what you are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. By that I mean that nothing is attempted in the ward or city +without consultation with me. But of course I am more dependent on the voters +than they are on me, for if they choose to do differently from what I advise, +they have the power, while I am helpless.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean the smaller bosses?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not so much them as the actual voters. A few times I have shot right +over the heads of the bosses and appealed directly to the voters.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you can make them do what you want?” +</p> + +<p> +“Within limits, yes. As I told you, I am absolutely dependent on the +voters. If they should defeat what I want three times running, every one would +laugh at me, and my power would be gone. So you see that a boss is only a boss +so long as he can influence votes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But they haven’t defeated you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, not yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if the voters took their opinions from the other bosses how did you +do anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“There comes in the problem of practical politics. The question of who +can affect the voters most. Take my own ward. Suppose that I want something +done so much that I insist. And suppose that some of the other leaders are +equally determined that it shan’t be done. The ward splits on the +question and each faction tries to gain control in the primary. When I have had +to interfere, I go right down among the voters and tell them why and what I +want to do. Then the men I have had to antagonize do the same, and the voters +decide between us. It then is a question as to which side can win the majority +of the voters. Because I have been very successful in this, I am the so-called +boss. That is, I can make the voters feel that I am right.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“For many reasons. First, I have always tried to tell the voters the +truth, and never have been afraid to acknowledge I was wrong, when I found I +had made a mistake, so people trust what I say. Then, unlike most of the +leaders in politics, I am not trying to get myself office or profit, and so the +men feel that I am disinterested. Then I try to be friendly with the whole +ward, so that if I have to do what they don’t like, their personal +feeling for me will do what my arguments never could. With these simple, +strong-feeling, and unreasoning folk, one can get ten times the influence by a +warm handshake and word that one can by a logical argument. We are so used to +believing what we read, if it seems reasonable, that it is hard for us to +understand that men who spell out editorials with difficulty, and who have not +been trained to reason from facts, are not swayed by what to us seems an +obvious argument. But, on the contrary, if a man they trust, puts it in plain +language to them, they see it at once. I might write a careful editorial, and +ask my ward to read it, and unless they knew I wrote it, they probably +wouldn’t be convinced in the least. But let me go into the saloons, and +tell the men just the same thing, and there isn’t a man who +wouldn’t be influenced by it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are so popular in the ward?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“I think so, I find kind words and welcome everywhere. But then I have +tried very hard to be popular. I have endeavored to make a friend of every man +in it with whom one could be friendly, because I wished to be as powerful as +possible, so that the men would side with me whenever I put my foot down on +something wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you ever tell the ward how they are to vote?” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell them my views. But never how to vote. Once I came very near it, +though.” +</p> + +<p> +“How was that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I was laid up for eight months by my eyes, part of the time in Paris. +The primary in the meantime had put up a pretty poor man for an office. A +fellow who had been sentenced for murder, but had been pardoned by political +influence. When I was able to take a hand, I felt that I could do better by +interfering, so I came out for the Republican candidate, who was a really fine +fellow. I tried to see and talk to every man in the ward, and on election day I +asked a good many men, as a personal favor, to vote for the Republican, and my +friends asked others. Even Dennis Moriarty worked and voted for what he calls a +‘dirty Republican,’ though he said ‘he never thought +he’d soil his hands wid one av their ballots.’ That is the nearest +I ever came to telling them how to vote.” +</p> + +<p> +“And did they do as you asked?” +</p> + +<p> +“The only Republican the ward has chosen since 1862 was elected in that +year. It was a great surprise to every one—even to myself—for the +ward is Democratic by about four thousand majority. But I couldn’t do +that sort of thing often, for the men wouldn’t stand it. In other words, +I can only do what I want myself, by doing enough else that the men wish. That +is, the more I can do to please the men, the more they yield their opinions to +mine.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then the bosses really can’t do what they want?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Or at least not for long. That is a newspaper fallacy. A relic of +the old idea that great things are done by one-man power. If you will go over +the men who are said to control—the bosses, as they are called—in +this city, you will find that they all have worked their way into influence +slowly, and have been many years kept in power, though they could be turned out +in a single fight. Yet this power is obtained only by the wish of a majority, +for the day they lose the consent of a majority of the voters that day their +power ends. We are really more dependent than the representatives, for they are +elected for a certain time, while our tenure can be ended at any moment. Why am +I a power in my ward? Because I am supposed to represent a given number of +votes, which are influenced by my opinions. It would be perfectly immaterial to +my importance how I influenced those votes, so long as I could control them. +But because I can influence them, the other leaders don’t dare to +antagonize me, and so I can have my way up to a certain point. And because I +can control the ward I have made it a great power in city politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you do that?” +</p> + +<p> +“By keeping down the factional feeling. You see there are always more men +struggling for power or office, than can have it, and so there cannot but be +bad blood between the contestants. For instance, when I first became interested +in politics, Moriarty and Blunkers were quite as anxious to down each other as +to down the Republicans. Now they are sworn friends, made so in this case, by +mere personal liking for me. Some have been quieted in this way. Others by +being held in check. Still others by different means. Each man has to be +studied and understood, and the particular course taken which seems best in his +particular case. But I succeeded even with some who were pretty bitter +antagonists at first, and from being one of the most uncertain wards in the +city, the sixth has been known at headquarters for the last five years as +‘old reliability’ from the big majority it always polls. So at +headquarters I am looked up to and consulted. Now do you understand why and +what a boss is?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Peter. Except why bosses are bad.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you see that it depends on what kind of men they are, and +what kind of voters are back of them. A good man, with honest votes back of +him, is a good boss, and <i>vice versa</i>.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I know you are a good boss. It’s a great pity that all the +bosses can’t be good?” +</p> + +<p> +“I have not found them so bad. They are quite as honest, unselfish, and +reasonable as the average of mankind. Now and then there is a bad man, as there +is likely to be anywhere. But in my whole political career, I have never known +a man who could control a thousand votes for five years, who was not a better +man, all in all, than the voters whom he influenced. More one cannot expect. +The people are not quick, but they find out a knave or a demagogue if you give +them time.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the old saying; ‘you can fool all of the people, some +of the time, and some of the people all of the time, but you can’t fool +all of the people all of the time,’” laughed a voice. +</p> + +<p> +Peter took his eyes off Leonore’s face, where they had been resting +restfully, and glanced up. Watts had entered the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Go on,” said Watts. “Don’t let me interrupt your +political disquisitions; I have only come in for a cup of tea.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss D’Alloi and I were merely discussing bosses,” said +Peter. “Miss D’Alloi, when women get the ballot, as I hope they +will, I trust you will be a good boss, for I am sure you will influence a great +many votes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Leonore, laughing, “I shan’t be a boss at +all. You’ll be my boss, I think, and I’ll always vote for +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter thought the day even more glorious than he had before. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVI"></a>CHAPTER XLVI.<br/> +THE BETTER ELEMENT.</h2> + +<p> +The evening after this glorious day, Peter came in from his ride, but instead +of going at once to his room, he passed down a little passage, and stood in a +doorway. +</p> + +<p> +“Is everything going right, Jenifer?” he queried. +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah!” +</p> + +<p> +“The flowers came from Thorley’s?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah!” +</p> + +<p> +“And the candies and ices from Maillard?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you’ve <i>frappé</i> the champagne?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah?” +</p> + +<p> +“Jenifer, don’t put quite so much onion juice as usual in the Queen +Isabella dressing. Ladies don’t like it as much as men.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you stood the Burgundy in the sun?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah! Wha foh yo’ think I doan do as I ginl’y do?” +</p> + +<p> +Jenifer was combining into a stuffing bread crumbs, chopped broiled oysters, +onions, and many other mysterious ingredients, and was becoming irritated at +such evident doubt of his abilities. +</p> + +<p> +Peter ought to have been satisfied, but he only looked worried. He glanced +round the little closet that served as a kitchen, in search of possible sources +for slips, but did not see them. All he was able to say was, “That broth +smells very nice, Jenifer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah. Dar ain’t nuffin in dat sup buh a quart a thick cream, and +de squeezin’s of a hunerd clams, sah. Dat sup will make de angels sorry +dey died. Dey’ll just tink you’se dreful unkine not to offer dem a +secon’ help. Buh doan yo’ do it, sah, foh when dey gits to dem +prayhens, dey’ll be pow’ful glad yo’ didn’t.” To +himself, Jenifer remarked: “Who he gwine hab dis day? He neber so anxious +befoh, not even when de Presidint an Guv’nor Pohter dey dun dine +hyah.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went to his room and, after a due course of clubbing and tubbing, dressed +himself with the utmost care. Truth compels the confession that he looked in +his glass for some minutes. Not, however, apparently with much pleasure, for an +anxious look came into his face, and he remarked aloud, as he turned away, +“I don’t look so old, but I once heard Watts say that I should +never take a prize for my looks, and he was right. I wonder if she cares for +handsome men?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter forgot his worry in the opening of a box in the dining-room and the +taking out of the flowers. He placed the bunches at the different places, +raising one of the bouquets of violets to his lips, before he laid it down. +Then he took the cut flowers, and smilax, and spread them loosely in the centre +of the little table, which otherwise had nothing on it, except the furnishings +placed at each seat. After that he again kissed a bunch of violets. History +doesn’t state whether it was the same bunch. Peter must have been very +fond of flowers! +</p> + +<p> +“Peter,” called a voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that you, Le Grand? Go right into my room.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve done that already. You see I feel at home. How are +you?” he continued, as Peter joined him in the study. +</p> + +<p> +“As always.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought I would run in early, so as to have a bit of you before the +rest. Peter, here’s a letter from Muller. He’s got that +‘Descent’ in its first state, in the most brilliant condition. You +had better get it, and trash your present impression. It has always looked +cheap beside the rest.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well. Will you attend to it?” +</p> + +<p> +Just then came the sound of voices and the rustle of draperies in the little +hall. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello! Ladies?” said Le Grand. “This is to be one of what +Lispenard calls your ‘often, frequently, only once’ affairs, is +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid we are early,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. “We +did not know how much time to allow.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Such old friends cannot come too soon.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as it is, I’m really starved,” said another personage, +shaking hands with Peter as if she had not seen him for a twelve-month instead +of parting with him but two hours before. “What an appetite riding in the +Park does give one! Especially when afterwards you drive, and drive, and drive, +over New York stones.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” cried Madame. “<i>C’est tres bien</i>!” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it jolly?” responded Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“But it is not American. It is Parisian.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no, it isn’t! It’s all American. Isn’t it, +Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +But Peter was telling Jenifer to hasten the serving of dinner. So Leonore had +to fight her country’s battles by herself. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s all this to-day’s papers are saying, Peter?” +asked Watts, as soon as they were seated. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s rather a large subject even for a slow dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“I mean about the row in the Democratic organization over the nomination +for governor?” +</p> + +<p> +“The papers seem to know more about it than I do,” said Peter +calmly. +</p> + +<p> +Le Grand laughed. “Miss De Voe, Ogden, Rivington—all of us, have +tried to get Peter, first and last, to talk politics, but not a fact do we get. +They say it’s his ability to hold his tongue which made Costell trust him +and push him, and that that was the reason he was chosen to fill Costells +place.” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> don’t fill his place,” said Peter. “No one +can do that. I merely succeeded him. And Miss D’Alloi will tell you that +the papers calling me ‘Taciturnity Junior’ is a libel. Am I not a +talker, Miss D’Alloi?” +</p> + +<p> +“<i>I</i> really can’t find out,” responded Leonore, with a +puzzled look. “People say you are not.” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t think you would fail me after the other night.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ah,” said madame. “The quiet men are the great men. Look at +the French.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, madame!” exclaimed Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“You are joking” cried Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s delicious,” laughed Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Whew,” said Le Grand, under his breath. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah! Why do you cry out? Mr. Stirling, am I not right?” Madame +appealed to the one face on which no amusement or skepticism was shown. +</p> + +<p> +“I think it is rather dangerous to ascribe any particular trait to any +nationality. It is usually misleading. But most men who think much, talk +little, and the French have many thinkers” +</p> + +<p> +“I always liked Von Moltke, just for it being said of him that he could +be silent in seven languages,” said Le Grand. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore. “It’s so restful. We crossed on +the steamer with a French Marquis who can speak six languages, and can’t +say one thing worth listening to in any.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter thought the soup all Jenifer had cracked it up to be. +</p> + +<p> +“Peter,” said Leonore, turning to him, “Mr. Le Grand said +that you never will talk politics with anybody. That doesn’t include me, +of course?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter promptly. +</p> + +<p> +“I thought it didn’t,” said Leonore, her eyes dancing with +pleasure, however, at the reply. “We had Mr. Pell to lunch to-day and I +spoke to him as to what you said about the bosses, and he told me that bosses +could never be really good, unless the better element were allowed to vote, and +not the saloon-keepers and roughs. I could see he was right, at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“From his point of view. Or rather the view of his class.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Broadly speaking, all persons of sound mind are entitled to vote on the +men and the laws which are to govern them. Aside from this, every ounce of +brain or experience you can add to the ballot, makes it more certain. Suppose +you say that half the people are too ignorant to vote sensibly. Don’t you +see that there is an even chance, at least, that they’ll vote rightly, +and if the wrong half carries the election, it is because more intelligent +people have voted wrongly, have not voted, or have not taken the trouble to try +and show the people the right way, but have left them to the mercies of the +demagogue. If we grant that every man who takes care of himself has some brain, +and some experience, his vote is of some value, even if not a high one. Suppose +we have an eagle, and a thousand pennies. Are we any better off by tossing away +the coppers, because each is worth so little. That is why I have always +advocated giving the franchise to women. If we can add ten million voters to an +election, we have added just so much knowledge to it, and made it just so much +the harder to mislead or buy enough votes to change results.” +</p> + +<p> +“You evidently believe,” said Watts, “in the saying, +‘Everybody knows more than anybody?’” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had forgotten all about his company in his interest over—over the +franchise. So he started slightly at this question, and looked up +from—from his subject. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Le Grand. “We’ve been listening and longing +to ask questions. When we see such a fit of loquacity, we want to seize the +opportunity.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore, “I haven’t finished. Tell me. +Can’t you make the men do what you want, so as to have them choose only +the best men?” +</p> + +<p> +“If I had the actual power I would not,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I would not dare to become responsible for so much, and because +a government of the ‘best’ men is not an American +government.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the aristocratic idea. That the better element, so called, shall +compel the masses to be good, whether they wish it or no. Just as one makes a +child behave without regard to its own desires. With grown men, such a system +only results in widening the distance between the classes and masses, making +the latter more dependent and unthinking. Whereas, if we make every man vote he +must think a little for himself, because different people advise him +contrarily, and thus we bring him nearer to the more educated. He even educates +himself by his own mistakes; for every bad man elected, and every bad law +passed, make him suffer the results, and he can only blame himself. Of course +we don’t get as good a government or laws, but then we have other +offsetting advantages.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are those?” +</p> + +<p> +“We get men and laws which are the wish of the majority. Such are almost +self-supporting and self-administering. It is not a mere combination of words, +printing-ink, and white paper which makes a law. It is the popular sentiment +back of it which enforces it, and unless a law is the wish of a majority of the +people who are to be governed by it, it is either a dead letter, or must be +enforced by elaborate police systems, supported oftentimes with great armies. +Even then it does not succeed, if the people choose to resist. Look at the +attempt to govern Ireland by force, in the face of popular sentiment. Then, +too, we get a stability almost unknown in governments which do not conform to +the people. This country has altered its system of government less than any +other great country in the last hundred years. And there is less socialistic +legislation and propaganda here than anywhere else. That is, less +discontent.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Peter, if the American people are as sensible as you think, how do +you account for the kind of men who exercise control?” said Le Grand. +</p> + +<p> +“By better men not trying.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we have reform movements all the time, led by good men. Why +aren’t these men elected?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who are as absolutely inexperienced and blind as to the way to influence +votes, as well can be. Look at it, as a contest, without regard to the merit of +the cause. On one side we have bosses, who know and understand the men in their +wards, have usually made themselves popular, are in politics for a living, have +made it a life-study, and by dear experience have learned that they must +surrender their own opinions in order to produce harmony and a solid vote. The +reformer, on the contrary, is usually a man who has other occupations, and, if +I may say so, has usually met with only partial success in them. By that I mean +that the really successful merchant, or banker, or professional man cannot take +time to work in politics, and so only the less successful try. Each reformer, +too, is sure that he himself is right, and as his bread and butter is not in +the issue, he quarrels to his heart’s content with his associates, so +that they rarely can unite all their force. Most of the reform movements in +this city have been attempted in a way that is simply laughable. What should we +say if a hundred busy men were to get together to-morrow, and decide that they +would open a great bank, to fight the clearing-house banks of New York? Yet +this, in effect, is what the reformers have done over and over again in +politics. They say to the men who have been kept in power for years by the +people, ‘You are scoundrels. The people who elected you are ignorant We +know how to do it better. Now we’ll turn you out.’ In short, they +tell the majority they are fools, but ask their votes. The average reformer +endorses thoroughly the theory ‘that every man is as good as another, and +a little better.’ And he himself always is the better man. The people +won’t stand that. The ‘holier than thou’ will defeat a man +quicker in this country than will any rascality he may have done.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you think the reformer is right in principle?” +</p> + +<p> +“In nine cases out of ten. But politics does not consist in being right. +It’s in making other people think you are. Men don’t like to be +told that they are ignorant and wrong, and this assumption is the basis of most +of the so-called educational campaigns. To give impetus to a new movement takes +immense experience, shrewdness, tact, and many other qualities. The people are +obstructive—that is conservative—in most things, and need plenty of +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless <i>you</i> tell them what they are to do,” laughed Watts. +“Then they know quick enough.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that has taken them fifteen years to learn. Don’t you see +how absurd it is to suppose that the people are going to take the opinions of +the better element off-hand? At the end of a three months’ campaign? Men +have come into my ward and spoken to empty halls; they’ve flooded it with +campaign literature, which has served to light fires; their papers have argued, +and nobody read them. But the ward knows me. There’s hardly a voter who +doesn’t. They’ve tested me. Most of them like me. I’ve lived +among them for years. I’ve gone on their summer excursions. I’ve +talked with them all over the district. I have helped them in their troubles. I +have said a kind word over their dead. I’m godfather to many. With others +I’ve stood shoulder to shoulder when the bullets were flying. Why, the +voters who were children when I first came here, with whom I use to sit in the +angle, are almost numerous enough now to carry an election as I advise. Do you +suppose, because speakers, unknown to them, say I’m wrong, and because +the three-cent papers, which they never see, abuse me, that they are going to +turn from me unless I make them? That is the true secret of the failure of +reformers. A logical argument is all right in a court of appeals, but when it +comes to swaying five thousand votes, give me five thousand loving hearts +rather than five thousand logical reasons.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you have carried reforms.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have tried, but always in a practical way. That is, by not +antagonizing the popular men in politics, but by becoming one of them and +making them help me. I have gained political power by recognizing that I could +only have my own way by making it suit the voters. You see there are a great +many methods of doing about the same thing. And the boss who does the most +things that the people want, can do the most things that the people don’t +want. Every time I have surrendered my own wishes, and done about what the +people desire, I have added to my power, and so have been able to do something +that the people or politicians do not care about or did not like.” +</p> + +<p> +“And as a result you are called all sorts of names.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The papers call me a boss. If the voters didn’t agree with +me, they would call me a reformer.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Peter,” said Le Grand, “would you not like to see such +a type of man as George William Curtis in office?” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Curtis probably stood for the noblest political ideas this country +has ever produced. But he held a beacon only to a small class. A man who writes +from an easy-chair, will only sway easy-chair people. And easy-chair people +never carried an election in this country, and never will. This country cannot +have a government of the best. It will always be a government of the average. +Mr. Curtis was only a leader to his own grade, just as Tim Sullivan is the +leader of his. Mr. Curtis, in his editorials, spoke the feelings of one element +in America. Sullivan, in Germania Hall, voices another. Each is representative, +the one of five per cent. of New York; the other of ninety-five per cent. If +the American people have decided one thing, it is that they will not be taken +care of, nor coercively ruled, by their better element, or minorities.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet you will acknowledge that Curtis ought to rule, rather than +Sullivan?” +</p> + +<p> +“Not if our government is to be representative. I need not say that I +wish such a type as Mr. Curtis was representative.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose if he had tried to be a boss he would have failed?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think so. For it requires as unusual a combination of qualities to be +a successful boss, as to be a successful merchant or banker. Yet one cannot +tell. I myself have never been able to say what elements make a boss, except +that he must be in sympathy with the men whom he tries to guide, and that he +must be meeting them. Mr. Curtis had a broad, loving nature and sympathies, and +if the people had discovered them, they would have liked him. But the reserve +which comes with culture makes one largely conceal one’s true feelings. +Super-refinement puts a man out of sympathy with much that is basic in +humanity, and it needs a great love, or a great sacrifice of feeling, to +condone it. It is hard work for what Watts calls a tough, and such a man, to +understand and admire one another.” +</p> + +<p> +“But don’t you think,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “that +the people of our class are better and finer?” +</p> + +<p> +“The expression ‘noblesse oblige’ shows that,” said +madame. +</p> + +<p> +“My experience has led me to think otherwise,” said Peter. +“Of course there is a difference of standards, of ideals, and of +education, in people, and therefore there are differences in conduct. But for +their knowledge of what is right and wrong, I do not think the so-called better +classes, which should, in truth, be called the prosperous classes, live up to +their own standards of right any more than do the poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, I say, draw it mild. At least exclude the criminal classes,” +cried Watts. “They know better.” +</p> + +<p> +“We all know better. But we don’t live up to our knowledge. I +crossed on one of the big Atlantic liners lately, with five hundred other +saloon passengers. They were naturally people of intelligence, and presumably +of easy circumstances. Yet at least half of those people were plotting to rob +our government of money by contriving plans to avoid paying duties truly owed. +To do this all of them had to break our laws, and in most cases had, in +addition, to lie deliberately. Many of them were planning to accomplish this +theft by the bribery of the custom-house inspectors, thus not merely making +thieves of themselves, but bribing other men to do wrong. In this city I can +show you blocks so densely inhabited that they are election districts in +themselves. Blocks in which twenty people live and sleep in a single room, year +after year; where the birth of a little life into the world means that all must +eat less and be less warm; where man and woman, old and young, must shiver in +winter, and stifle in summer; where there is not room to bury the people who +live in the block within the ground on which they dwell. But I cannot find you, +in the poorest and vilest parts of this city, any block where the percentage of +liars and thieves and bribe-givers is as large as was that among the +first-class passengers of that floating palace. Each condition of society has +its own mis-doings, and I believe varies little in the percentage of +wrong-doers to the whole.” +</p> + +<p> +“To hear Peter talk you would think the whole of us ought to be sentenced +to life terms,” laughed Watts. “I believe it’s only an +attempt on his part to increase the practice of lawyers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you really think people are so bad, Peter?” asked Leonore, +sadly. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have not, ten times in my life, met a man whom I should now call +bad. I have met men whom I thought so, but when I knew them better I found the +good in them more than balancing the evil. Our mistake is in supposing that +some men are ‘good’ and others ‘bad,’ and that a sharp +line can be drawn between them. The truth is, that every man has both qualities +in him and in very few does the evil overbalance the good. I marvel at the +goodness I find in humanity, when I see the temptation and opportunity there is +to do wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Some men are really depraved, though,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said madame. “Think of those strikers!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter felt a thrill of pleasure pass through him, but he did not show it. +“Let me tell you something in connection with that. A high light in place +of a dark shadow. There was an attempt to convict some of the strikers, but it +failed, for want of positive evidence. The moral proof, however, against a +fellow named Connelly was so strong that there could be no doubt that he was +guilty. Two years later that man started out in charge of a long express, up a +seven-mile grade, where one of our railroads crosses the Alleghanies. By the +lay of the land every inch of that seven miles of track can be seen throughout +its entire length, and when he had pulled half way up, he saw a section of a +freight train coming down the grade at a tremendous speed. A coupling had +broken, and this part of the train was without a man to put on the brakes. To +go on was death. To stand still was the same. No speed which he could give his +train by backing would enable it to escape those uncontrolled cars. He sent his +fireman back to the first car, with orders to uncouple the engine. He whistled +‘on brakes’ to his train, so that it should be held on the grade +safely. And he, and the engine alone, went on up that grade, and met that +flying mass of freight. He saved two hundred people’s lives. Yet that +man, two years before, had tried to burn alive forty of his fellow-men. Was +that man good or bad?” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, chum, if you ask it as a conundrum, I give it up. But there are +thoroughly and wholly good things in this world, and one of them is this +stuffing. Would it be possible for a fellow to have a second help?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled. “Jenifer always makes the portions according to what is to +follow, and I don’t believe he’ll think you had better. Jenifer, +can Mr. D’Alloi have some more stuffing?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yissah,” said Jenifer, grinning the true darkey grin, “if de +gentmun want’t sell his ap’tite foh a mess ob potash.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never mind,” said Watts. “I’m not a dyspeptic, and so +don’t need potash. But you might wrap the rest up in a piece of +newspaper, and I’ll take it home.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, you must have met a great many men in politics whom you knew to +be dishonest?” said Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have known few men whom I could call dishonest. But then I make a +great distinction between the doer of a dishonest act and a dishonest +man.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what the English call ‘a fine-spun’ distinction, I +think,” said madame. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not. A dishonest man I hold to be one who works steadily and +persistently with bad means and motives. But there are many men whose lives +tell far more for good than for evil in the whole, yet who are not above doing +wrong at moments or under certain circumstances. This man will lie under given +conditions of temptations. Another will bribe, if the inducement is strong +enough. A third will merely trick. Almost every man has a weak spot somewhere. +Yet why let this one weakness—a partial moral obliquity or +imperfection—make us cast him aside as useless and evil. As soon say that +man physically is spoiled, because he is near-sighted, lame or stupid. If we +had our choice between a new, bright, keen tool, or a worn, dull one, of poor +material, we should not hesitate which to use. But if we only have the latter, +how foolish to refuse to employ it as we may, because we know there are in the +world a few better ones.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is not condoning a man’s sins, by failing to blame him, direct +encouragement to them?” said Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“One need not condone the sin. My rule has been, in politics, or +elsewhere, to fight dishonesty wherever I found it. But I try to fight the act, +not the man. And if I find the evil doer beyond hope of correction, I do not +antagonize the doer of it. More can be done by amity and forbearance than by +embittering and alienating. Man is not bettered by being told that he is bad. I +had an alderman in here three or four days ago who was up to mischief. I could +have called him a scoundrel, without telling him untruth. But I didn’t. I +told him what I thought was right, in a friendly way, and succeeded in +straightening him out, so that he dropped his intention, yet went away my +friend. If I had quarrelled with him, we should have parted company, he would +have done the wrong, I should have fought him when election time came—and +defeated him. But he, and probably fifty of his adherents in the ward would +have become my bitter enemies, and opposed everything I tried in the future. If +I quarrelled with enough such men, I should in time entirely lose my influence +in the ward, or have it generally lessened. But by dealing as a friend with +him, I actually prevented his doing what he intended, and we shall continue to +work together. Of course a man can be so bad that this course is impossible, +but they are as few in politics as they are elsewhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“Taciturnity Stirling in his great circus feat of riding a whole ward at +once,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t claim that I’m right,” said Peter. “I +once thought very differently. I started out very hotly as a reformer when I +began life. But I have learned that humanity is not reformed with a club, and +that if most people gave the energy they spend in reforming the world, or their +friends, to reforming themselves, there would be no need of reformers.” +</p> + +<p> +“The old English saying that ‘people who can’t mind their own +business invariably mind some one’s else,’ seems applicable,” +said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“But is it not very humiliating to you to have to be friends with such +men?” said Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“You know Mr. Drewitt?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said all but madame. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you take pleasure in knowing him?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course,” said Watts. “He’s very amusing and a +regular parlor pet.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is the reason I took him. For ten years that man was notoriously +one of the worst influences in New York State politics. At Albany, in the +interest of a great corporation, he was responsible for every job and bit of +lobbying done in its behalf. I don’t mean to say that he really bribed +men himself, for he had lieutenants for the actual dirty work, but every dollar +spent passed through his hands, and he knew for what purpose it was used. At +the end of that time, so well had he done his work, that he was made president +of the corporation. Because of that position, and because he is clever, New +York society swallowed him and has ever since delighted to fête him. I +find it no harder to shake hands and associate with the men he bribed, than you +do to shake hands and associate with the man who gave the bribe.” +</p> + +<p> +“Even supposing the great breweries, and railroads, and other interests +to be chiefly responsible for bribery, that makes it all the more necessary to +elect men above the possibility of being bribed,” said Le Grand. +“Why not do as they do in Parliament? Elect only men of such high +character and wealth, that money has no temptation for them.” +</p> + +<p> +“The rich man is no better than the poor man, except that in place of +being bribed by other men’s money, he allows his own money to bribe him. +Look at the course of the House of Lords on the corn-laws. The +slave-holders’ course on secession. The millionaire silver +senators’ course on silver. The one was willing to make every poor man in +England pay a half more for his bread than need be, in order that land might +rent for higher prices. The slave-owner was willing to destroy his own country, +rather than see justice done. The last are willing to force a great commercial +panic, ruining hundreds and throwing thousands out of employment, if they can +only get a few cents more per ounce for their silver. Were they voting honestly +in the interest of their fellow-men? Or were their votes bribed?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi rose, saying, “Peter. We came early and we must go +early. I’m afraid we’ve disgraced ourselves both ways.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went down with them to their carriage. He said to Leonore in the descent, +“I’m afraid the politics were rather dull to you. I lectured +because I wanted to make some things clear to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” questioned Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Because, in the next few months you’ll see a great deal about +bosses in the papers, and I don’t want you to think so badly of us as +many do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t think badly of you, Peter,” said Leonore, in the +nicest tone. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Peter. “And if you see things said of me +that trouble you, will you ask me about them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I thought you wouldn’t talk politics?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will talk with you, because, you know, friends must tell each other +everything.” +</p> + +<p> +When Leonore had settled back in the carriage for the long drive, she +cogitated: “Mr. Le Grand said that he and Miss De Voe, and Mr. Ogden had +all tried to get Peter to talk about politics, but that he never would. Yet, +he’s known them for years, and is great friends with them. It’s +very puzzling!” +</p> + +<p> +Probably Leonore was thinking of American politics. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVII"></a>CHAPTER XLVII.<br/> +THE BLUE-PETER.</h2> + +<p> +Leonore’s puzzle went on increasing in complexity, but there is a limit +to all intricacy, and after a time Leonore began to get an inkling of the +secret. She first noticed that Peter seemed to spend an undue amount of time +with her. He not merely turned up in the Park daily, but they were constantly +meeting elsewhere. Leonore went to a gallery. There was Peter! She went to a +concert. Ditto, Peter! She visited the flower-show. So did Peter! She came out +of church. Behold Peter! In each case with nothing better to do than to see her +home. At first Leonore merely thought these meetings were coincidences, but +their frequency soon ended this theory, and then Leonore noticed that Peter had +a habit of questioning her about her plans beforehand, and of evidently shaping +his accordingly. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this all. Peter seemed to be constantly trying to get her to spend time +with him. Though the real summer was fast coming, he had another dinner. He had +a box at the theatre. He borrowed a drag from Mr. Pell, and took them all up +for a lunch at Mrs. Costell’s in Westchester. Then nothing would do but +to have another drive, ending in a dinner at the Country Club. +</p> + +<p> +Flowers, too, seemed as frequent as their meetings. Peter had always smiled +inwardly at bribing a girl’s love with flowers and bon-bons, but he had +now discovered that flowers are just the thing to send a girl, if you love her, +and that there is no bribing about it. So none could be too beautiful and +costly for his purse. Then Leonore wanted a dog—a mastiff. The legal +practice of the great firm and the politics of the city nearly stopped till the +finest of its kind had been obtained for her. +</p> + +<p> +Another incriminating fact came to her through Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“I had a great surprise to-day,” she told Leonore. “One that +fills me with delight, and that will please you.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter asked me at dinner, if we weren’t to have Anneke’s +house at Newport for the summer, and when I said ‘yes,’ he told me +that if I would save a room for him, he would come down Friday nights and stay +over Sunday, right through the summer. He has been a simply impossible man +hitherto to entice into a visit. Ray and I felt like giving three +cheers.” +</p> + +<p> +“He seemed glad enough to be invited to visit Grey-Court,” thought +Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +But even without all this, Peter carried the answer to the puzzle about with +him in his own person. Leonore could not but feel the difference in the way he +treated, and talked, and looked at her, as compared to all about her. It is +true he was no more demonstrative, than with others; his face held its quiet, +passive look, and he spoke in much the usual, quiet, even tone of voice. Yet +Leonore was at first dimly conscious, and later certain, that there was a shade +of eagerness in his manner, a tenderness in his voice, and a look in his eye, +when he was with her, that was there in the presence of no one else. +</p> + +<p> +So Leonore ceased to puzzle over the problem at a given point, having found the +answer. But the solving did not bring her much apparent pleasure. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” she remarked to herself. “I thought we were going +to be such good friends! That we could tell each other everything. And now +he’s gone and spoiled it. Probably, too, he’ll be bothering me +later, and then he’ll be disappointed, and cross, and we shan’t be +good friends any more. Oh, dear! Why do men have to behave so? Why can’t +they just be friends?” +</p> + +<p> +It is a question which many women have asked. The query indicates a degree of +modesty which should make the average masculine blush at his own self-love. The +best answer to the problem we can recommend to the average woman is a careful +and long study of a mirror. +</p> + +<p> +As a result of this cogitation Leonore decided that she would nip Peter’s +troublesomeness in the bud, that she would put up a sign, “Trespassing +forbidden;” by which he might take warning. Many women have done the same +thing to would-be lovers, and have saved the lovers much trouble and needless +expense. But Leonore, after planning out a dialogue in her room, rather messed +it when she came to put it into actual public performance. Few girls of +eighteen are cool over a love-affair. And so it occurred thusly: +</p> + +<p> +Leonore said to Peter one day, when he had dropped in for a cup of afternoon +tea after his ride with her: +</p> + +<p> +“If I ask you a question, I wonder if you will tell me what you think, +without misunderstanding why I tell you something?” +</p> + +<p> +“I will try.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Leonore, “there is a very nice Englishman whom I +knew in London, who has followed me over here, and is troubling me. He’s +dreadfully poor, and papa says he thinks he is after my money. Do you think +that can be so?” +</p> + +<p> +So far the public performance could not have gone better if it had been +rehearsed. But at this point, the whole programme went to pieces. Peter’s +cup of tea fell to the floor with a crash, and he was leaning back in his +chair, with a look of suffering on his face. +</p> + +<p> +“Peter,” cried Leonore, “what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me,” said Peter, rallying a little. “Ever since an +operation on my eyes they sometimes misbehave themselves. It’s neuralgia +of the optic nerve. Sometimes it pains me badly. Don’t mind me. It will +be all right in a minute if I’m quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t I do anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have an eye-wash which I used to carry with me, but it is so long +since I have had a return of my trouble that I have stopped carrying it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What causes it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Usually a shock. It’s purely nervous.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there was no shock now, was there?” said Leonore, feeling so +guilty that she felt it necessary to pretend innocence. +</p> + +<p> +Peter pulled himself together instantly and, leaning over, began deliberately +to gather up the fragments of the cup. Then he laid the pieces on the tea-table +and said: “I was dreadfully frightened when I felt the cup slipping. It +was very stupid in me. Will you try to forgive me for breaking one of your +pretty set?” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s nothing,” said Leonore. To herself that young lady +remarked, “Oh, dear! It’s much worse than I thought. I shan’t +dare say it to him, after all” +</p> + +<p> +But she did, for Peter helped her, by going back to her original question, +saying bravely: “I don’t know enough about Mr. Max —— +the Englishman, to speak of him, but I think I would not suspect men of that, +even if they are poor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it would be much easier, to most men, to love you than to love +your money.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad. I felt so worried over it. Not about this case, for I +don’t care for him, a bit. But I wondered if I had to suspect every man +who came near me.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter’s eyes ceased to burn, and his second cup of tea, which a moment +before was well-nigh choking him, suddenly became nectar for the gods. +</p> + +<p> +Then at last Leonore made the remark towards which she had been working. At +twenty-five Leonore would have been able to say it without so dangerous a +preamble. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want to be bothered by men, and wish they would let me +alone,” she said. “I haven’t the slightest intention of +marrying for at least five years, and shall say no to whomever asks me before +then,” +</p> + +<p> +Five years! Peter sipped his tea quietly, but with a hopeless feeling. He would +like to claim that bit of womanhood as his own that moment, and she could talk +of five years! It was the clearest possible indication to Peter that Leonore +was heart-whole. “No one, who is in love,” he thought, “could +possibly talk of five years, or five months even.” When Peter got back to +his chambers that afternoon, he was as near being despairing as he had been +since—since—a long time ago. Even the obvious fact, that, if +Leonore was not in love with him, she was also not in love with any one else, +did not cheer him. There is a flag in the navy known as the Blue-Peter. That +evening, Peter could have supplied our whole marine, with considerable bunting +to spare. +</p> + +<p> +But even worse was in store for him on the morrow. When he joined Leonore in +the Park that day, she proved to him that woman has as much absolute brutality +as the lowest of prize-fighters. Women get the reputation of being less brutal, +because of their dread of blood-letting. Yet when it comes to torturing the +opposite sex in its feelings, they are brutes compared with their sufferers. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Leonore, “that this is almost our last +ride together?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t jerk the reins needlessly, Peter,” said Mutineer, +crossly. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope not,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“We have changed our plans. Instead of going to Newport next week, I have +at last persuaded papa to travel a little, so that I can see something of my +own country, and not be so shamefully ignorant. We are going to Washington on +Saturday, and from there to California, and then through the Yellowstone, and +back by Niagara. We shan’t be in Newport till the middle of August” +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not die at once. He caught at a life-preserver of a most delightful +description. “That will be a very enjoyable trip,” he said. +“I should like to go myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no one I would rather have than you,” said Leonore, +laying her little hand softly on the wound she had herself just made, in a way +which women have. Then she stabbed again. “But we think it pleasanter to +have it just a party of four.” +</p> + +<p> +“How long shall you be in Washington?” asked Peter, catching wildly +at a straw this time. +</p> + +<p> +“For a week. Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“The President has been wanting to see me, and I thought I might run down +next week,” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me,” thought Leonore. “How very persistent he +is!” +</p> + +<p> +“Where will you put up?” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“We haven’t decided. Where shall you stay?” she had the +brutality to ask. +</p> + +<p> +“The President wants me with him, but I may go to a hotel. It leaves one +so much freer.” Peter was a lawyer, and saw no need of committing +himself. “If I am there when you are, I can perhaps help you enjoy +yourself. I think I can get you a lunch at the White House, and, as I know most +of the officials, I have an open sesame to some other nice things.” Poor +Peter! He was trying to tempt Leonore to tolerate his company by offering +attractions in connection therewith. A chromo with the pound of tea. And this +from the man who had thought flowers and bon-bons bribery! +</p> + +<p> +“Why does the President want to see you?” +</p> + +<p> +“To talk politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“About the governorship?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Though we don’t say so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true, Peter, that you can decide who it is to be as the papers +say?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I would give twenty-five thousand dollars to-day if I could name the +Democratic nominee.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Would you mind my not telling you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I want to know. And you are to tell me,” said her majesty, +calmly. +</p> + +<p> +“I will tell you, though it is a secret, if you will tell me a secret of +yours which I want to know.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore. “I don’t think that’s +necessary. You are to tell me without making me promise anything.” +Leonore might deprecate a man’s falling in love with her, but she had no +objection to the power and perquisites it involved. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shan’t tell you,” said Peter, making a tremendous +rally. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked out from under her lashes to see just how much of Peter’s +sudden firmness was real and how much pretence. Then she became unconscious of +his presence. +</p> + +<p> +Peter said something. +</p> + +<p> +Silence. +</p> + +<p> +Peter said something else. +</p> + +<p> +Silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you really so anxious to know?” he asked, surrendering without +terms. +</p> + +<p> +He had a glorious look at those glorious eyes. “Yes,” said the +dearest of all mouths. +</p> + +<p> +“The great panic,” said Peter, “has led to the formation of a +so-called Labor party, and, from present indications, they are going to +nominate a bad man. Now, there is a great attempt on foot to get the Democratic +convention to endorse whomever the Labor party nominates.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who will that be?’” +</p> + +<p> +“A Stephen Maguire.” +</p> + +<p> +“And you don’t want him?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have never crossed his path without finding him engaged in +something discreditable. But he’s truckled himself into a kind of +popularity and power, and, having always been ‘a Democrat,’ he +hopes to get the party to endorse him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you order the convention not to do it?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled down into the eyes. “We don’t order men in this +country with any success.” +</p> + +<p> +“But can’t you prevent them?” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so. But it looks now as if I should have to do it in a way very +disagreeable to myself.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“This is a great secret, you understand?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore, all interest and eagerness. “I can keep +a secret splendidly.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are sure?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Sure.” +</p> + +<p> +“So can I,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore perfectly bristled with indignation. “I won’t be treated +so,” she said. “Are you going to tell me?” She put on her +severest manner. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He is obstinate,” thought Leonore to herself. Then aloud she said: +“Then I shan’t be friends any more?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is very nice,” said Peter, soberly. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” said Leonore, looking at him in surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“I have come to the conclusion,” said Peter, “that there is +no use in our trying to be friends. So we had better give up at once. +Don’t you think so?” +</p> + +<p> +“What a pretty horse Miss Winthrop has?” said Leonore. And she +never obtained an answer to her question, nor answered Peter’s. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLVIII"></a>CHAPTER XLVIII.<br/> +A MUTINEER.</h2> + +<p> +After Peter’s return from Washington, there was a settled gloom about him +positively appalling. He could not be wooed, on any plea, by his closest +friends, to journey up-town into the social world. He failed entirely to avail +himself of the room in the Rivington’s Newport villa, though Dorothy +wrote appealingly, and cited his own words to him. Even to his partners he +became almost silent, except on law matters. Jenifer found that no delicacy, +however rare or however well cooked and served, seemed to be noticed any more +than if it was mess-pork. The only moments that this atmosphere seemed to yield +at all was when Peter took a very miscellaneous collection of rubbish out of a +little sachet, meant for handkerchiefs, which he now carried in his +breast-pocket, and touched the various articles to his lips. Then for a time he +would look a little less suicidal. +</p> + +<p> +But it was astonishing the amount of work he did, the amount of reading he got +through, the amount of politics he bossed, and the cigars he smoked, between +the first of June, and the middle of August The party-leaders had come to the +conclusion that Peter did not intend to take a hand in this campaign, but, +after his return from Washington, they decided otherwise. “The President +must have asked him to interfere,” was their whispered conclusion, +“but it’s too late now. It’s all cut and dried.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter found, as this remark suggested, that his two months’ devotion to +the dearest of eyes and sweetest of lips, had had serious results. As with +Mutineer once, he had dropped his bridle, but there was no use in uttering, as +he had, then, the trisyllable which had reduced the horse to order. He had a +very different kind of a creature with which to deal, than a Kentucky gentleman +of lengthy lineage, a creature called sometimes a “tiger.” Yet +curiously enough, the same firm voice, and the same firm manner, and a +“mutineer,” though this time a man instead of a horse, was +effective here. All New York knew that something had been done, and wanted to +know what. There was not a newspaper in the city that would have refused to +give five thousand dollars for an authentic stenographic report of what +actually was said in a space of time not longer than three hours in all. +Indeed, so intensely were people interested, that several papers felt called +upon to fabricate and print most absurd versions of what did occur, all the +accounts reaching conclusions as absolutely different as the press portraits of +celebrities. From three of them it is a temptation to quote the display +headlines or “scare-heads,” which ushered these reports to the +world. The first read: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>“THE BOSSES AT WAR!”</b></span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“HOT WORDS AND LOOKS.”</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“BUT THEY’LL CRAWL LATER.”</span><br/> +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“There’s beauty in the bellow of the blast,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">There’s grandeur in the growling of the gale;</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">But there’s eloquence-appalling, when Stirling is aroaring,</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">And the Tiger’s getting modest with his tail”</span><br/> +</p> + +<p> +That was a Republican account. The second was: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<b>“MAGUIRE ON TOP!”</b> +</p> + +<p class="letter"> +<b>“The Old Man is Friendly. A Peace-making Dinner at the Manhattan Club. +Friends in Council. Labor and Democracy Shoulder to Shoulder. A United Front to +the Enemy.”</b> +</p> + +<p> +The third, printed in an insignificant little penny paper, never read and +almost unknown by reading people, yet which had more city advertising than all +the other papers put together, and a circulation to match the largest, +announced: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>“TACITURNITY JUNIOR’S”</b></span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>“ONCE MORE AT THE BAT!”</b></span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“NO MORE NONSENSE.”</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">“HE PUTS MAGUIRE OUT ON THIRD BASE.”</span><br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>“NOW PLAY BALL!”</b></span><br/> +</p> + +<p> +And unintelligible as this latter sounds, it was near enough the truth to +suggest inspiration. But there is no need to reprint the article that followed, +for now it is possible, for the first time, to tell what actually occurred; and +this contribution should alone permit this work to rank, as no doubt it is +otherwise fully qualified to, in the dullest class of all books, that of the +historical novel. +</p> + +<p> +The facts are, that Peter alighted from a hansom one evening, in the middle of +July, and went into the Manhattan Club. He exchanged greetings with a number of +men in the halls, and with more who came in while he was reading the evening +papers. A man came up to him while he still read, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Stirling. Reading about your own iniquity?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter, rising and shaking hands. “I gave up +reading about that ten years ago. Life is too short.” +</p> + +<p> +“Pelton and Webber were checking their respectability in the coat-room, +as I came up. I suppose they are in the café.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said nothing, but turned, and the two entered that room. Peter shook +hands with three men who were there, and they all drew up round one of the +little tables. A good many men who saw that group, nudged each other, and +whispered remarks. +</p> + +<p> +“A reporter from the <i>Sun</i> is in the strangers’ room. Mr. +Stirling, and asks to see you,” said a servant. +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot see him,” said Peter, quietly. “But say to him that +I may possibly have something to tell him about eleven o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +The four men at the table exchanged glances. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t imagine a newspaper getting an interview out of you, +Stirling,” laughed one of them a little nervously. +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled. “Very few of us are absolutely consistent. I can’t +imagine any of you, for instance, making a political mistake but perhaps you +may some day.” +</p> + +<p> +A pause of a curious kind came after this, which was only interrupted by the +arrival of three more men. They all shook hands, and Peter rang a bell. +</p> + +<p> +“What shall it be?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +There was a moment’s hesitation, and then one said. “Order for us. +You’re host. Just what you like.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled. “Thomas,” he said, “bring us eight Apollinaris +cocktails.” +</p> + +<p> +The men all laughed, and Thomas said, “Beg pardon, Mr. Stirling?” +in a bewildered way. Thomas had served the club many years, but he had never +heard of that cocktail. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, Thomas,” said Peter, “if you don’t have that in +stock, make it seven Blackthorns.” +</p> + +<p> +Then presently eight men packed themselves into the elevator, and a moment +later were sitting in one of the private dining-rooms. For an hour and a half +they chatted over the meal, very much as if it were nothing more than a social +dinner. But the moment the servant had passed the cigars and light, and had +withdrawn, the chat suddenly ceased, and a silence came for a moment Then a man +said: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pity it can’t please all, but the majority’s +got to rule.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” promptly said another, “this is really a Maguire +ratification meeting.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s nothing else to do,” affirmed a third. +</p> + +<p> +But a fourth said: “Then what are we here for?” +</p> + +<p> +No one seemed to find an answer. After a moment’s silence, the original +speaker said: +</p> + +<p> +“It’s the only way we can be sure of winning.” +</p> + +<p> +“He gives us every pledge,” echoed the second. +</p> + +<p> +“And we’ve agreed, anyways, so we are bound,” continued the +first speaker. +</p> + +<p> +Peter took his cigar out of his mouth. “Who are bound?” he asked, +quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, the organization is—the party,” said Number Two, with a +“deny-it-if-you-dare” in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t see how we can back out now, Stirling,” said Number +One. +</p> + +<p> +“Who wants to?” said another. “The Labor party promises to +support us on our local nominations, and Maguire is not merely a Democrat, but +he gives us every pledge.” +</p> + +<p> +“There’s no good of talking of anything else anyhow,” said +Number One, “for there will be a clean majority for Maguire in the +convention.” +</p> + +<p> +“And no other candidate can poll fifty votes on the first ballot,” +said Number Two. +</p> + +<p> +Then they all looked at Peter, and became silent. Peter puffed his cigar +thoughtfully. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you say?” said Number One. +</p> + +<p> +Peter merely shook his head. +</p> + +<p> +“But I tell you it’s done,” cried one of the men, a little +excitedly. “It’s too late to backslide! We want to please you, +Stirling, but we can’t this time. We must do what’s right for the +party.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not letting my own feeling decide it,” said Peter. +“I’m thinking of the party. For every vote the Labor people give +Maguire, the support of that party will lose us a Democratic vote.” +</p> + +<p> +“But we can’t win with a triangular fight. The Republicans will +simply walk over the course.” +</p> + +<p> +If Peter had been a hot-headed reformer, he would have said: “Better that +than that such a scoundrel shall win.” But Peter was a politician, and so +saw no need of saying the unpleasantest thing that occurred to him, even if he +felt it. Instead, he said: “The Labor party will get as many votes from +the Republicans as from us, and, for every vote the Labor party takes from us, +we shall get a Republican vote, if we put up the right kind of a man.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” cried Number One. +</p> + +<p> +“How do you figure that?” asked another. +</p> + +<p> +“In these panic times, the nomination of such a man as Maguire, with his +truckling to the lowest passions and his socialistic speeches, will frighten +conservative men enough to make them break party lines, and unite on the most +certain candidate. That will be ours.” +</p> + +<p> +“But why risk it, when, with Maguire, it’s certain?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter wanted to say: “Maguire shall not be endorsed, and that ends +it.” Instead, he said: “We can win with our own man, and +don’t need to trade with or endorse the Labor party. We can elect Maguire +by the aid of the worst votes in this city, or we can elect our own man by the +aid of the best. The one weakens our party in the future; the other strengthens +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You think that possible?” asked the man who had sought information +as to what they “were here for.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. The Labor party makes a stir, but it wouldn’t give us the +oyster and be content with the shells if it really felt strong. See what it +offers us. All the local and State ticket except six assemblymen, two senators, +and a governor, tied hand and foot to us, whose proudest claim for years has +been that he’s a Democrat.” +</p> + +<p> +“But all this leaves out of sight the fact that the thing’s +done,” said Number One. +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. It’s too late. The polls are closed,” said another. +</p> + +<p> +Peter stopped puffing. “The convention hasn’t met,” he +remarked, quietly. +</p> + +<p> +That remark, however, seemed to have a sting in it, for Number Two cried: +</p> + +<p> +“Come. We’ve decided. Now, put up or shut up. No more beating about +the bush.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Tell us what you intend, Stirling,” said Number One. “We are +committed beyond retreat. Come in with us, or stay outside the +breastworks.” +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Peter, “since you’ve taken your own +position, without consulting me, you will allow me the same privilege.” +</p> + +<p> +“Go to—where you please,” said Number Six, crossly. +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, what do you intend to do?” asked Number One. +</p> + +<p> +Peter knocked the ash off his cigar. “You consider yourselves pledged to +support Maguire?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We are pledged,” said four voices in unison. +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“To oppose him,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“But I tell you the majority of the convention is for him,” said +Number One. “Don’t you believe me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what good will your opposition do?” +</p> + +<p> +“It will defeat Maguire.” +</p> + +<p> +“No power on earth can do that.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t beat him in the convention, Stirling. The delegates +pledged to him, and those we can give him elect him on the first ballot.” +</p> + +<p> +“How about November fourth?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Number One sprang to his feet. “You don’t mean?” he cried. +</p> + +<p> +“Never!” said Number Three. +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Stirling, say what you intend!” +</p> + +<p> +“I intend,” said Peter, “if the Democratic convention +endorses Stephen Maguire, to speak against him in every ward of this city, and +ask every man in it, whom I can influence, to vote for the Republican +candidate.” +</p> + +<p> +Dead silence reigned. +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll go back on the party?” finally said one, in +awe-struck tones. +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll be a traitor?” cried another. +</p> + +<p> +“I’d have believed anything but that you would be a dashed +Mugwump!” groaned the third. +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“Say you are fooling?” begged Number Seven. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter, “Nor am I more a traitor to my party than +you. You insist on supporting the Labor candidate and I shall support the +Republican candidate. We are both breaking our party.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll win,” said Number One. +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not so sure,” said the gentleman of the previous +questions. “How many votes can you hurt us, Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” Peter looked very contented. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t expect to beat us single?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled quietly. “I haven’t had time to see many men. +But—I’m not single. Bohlmann says the brewers will back me, Hummel +says he’ll be guided by me, and the President won’t +interfere.” +</p> + +<p> +“You might as well give up,” continued the previous questioner. +“The Sixth is a sure thirty-five hundred to the bad, and between +Stirling’s friends, and the Hummel crowd, and Bohlmann’s people, +you’ll lose twenty-five thousand in the rest of the city, besides the +Democrats you’ll frighten off by the Labor party. You can’t put it +less than thirty-five thousand, to say nothing of the hole in the campaign +fund.” +</p> + +<p> +The beauty about a practical politician is that votes count for more than his +own wishes. Number One said: +</p> + +<p> +“Well, that’s ended. You’ve smashed our slate. What have you +got in its place?” +</p> + +<p> +“Porter?” suggested Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said three voices. +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t stand any more of him,” said Number One. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s an honest, square man,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t help that. One dose of a man who’s got as little +gumption as he, is all we can stand. He may have education, but I’ll be +hanged if he has intellect. Why don’t you ask us to choose a college +professor, and have done with it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Stirling,” said the previous questioner, “the +thing’s been messed so that we’ve got to go into convention with +just the right man to rally the delegates. There’s only one man we can do +it with, and you know it.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose, and dropped his cigar-stump into the ash-receiver. “I +don’t see anything else,” he said, gloomily. “Do any of +you?” +</p> + +<p> +A moment’s silence, and then Number One said: “No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I’ll take the nomination if +necessary, but keep it back for a time, till we see if something better +can’t be hit upon.” +</p> + +<p> +“No danger,” said Number One, holding out his hand, gleefully. +</p> + +<p> +“There’s more ways of killing a pig than choking it with +butter,” said Number Three, laughing and doing the same. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a pity Costell isn’t here,” added the previous +questioner. “After you’re not yielding to him, he’d never +believe we had forced you to take it.” +</p> + +<p> +And that was what actually took place at that very-much-talked-about dinner. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went downstairs with a very serious look on his face. At the door, the +keeper of it said: “There are six reporters in the strangers’ room, +Mr. Stirling, who wish to see you.” +</p> + +<p> +A man who had just come in said: “I’m sorry for you, Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled quietly. “Tell them our wishes are not mutual.” Then +he turned to the newcomer. “It’s all right,” he said, +“so far as the party is concerned, Hummel. But I’m to foot the bill +to do it.” +</p> + +<p> +“The devil! You don’t mean—?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter nodded his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give twenty-five thousand to the fund,” said Hummel, +gleefully. “See if I don’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“Excuse me, Mr. Stirling,” said a man who had just come in. +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Peter promptly, “But I must ask the same +favor of you, as I am going down town at once.” Peter had the brutality +to pass out of the front door instantly, leaving the reporter with a +disappointed look on his face. +</p> + +<p> +“If he only would have said something?” groaned the reporter to +himself. “Anything that could be spun into a column. He needn’t +have told me what he didn’t care to tell, yet he could have helped me to +pay my month’s rent as easily as could be.” +</p> + +<p> +As for Peter, he fell into a long stride, and his face nearly equalled his +stride in length. After he reached his quarters he sat and smoked, with the +same serious look. He did not look cross. He did not have the gloom in his face +which had been so fixed an expression for the last month. But he looked as a +man might look who knew he had but a few hours to live, yet to whom death had +no terror. +</p> + +<p> +“I am giving up,” Peter thought, “everything that has been my +true life till now. My profession, my friends, my chance to help others, my +books, and my quiet. I shall be misunderstood, reviled and hated. Everything I +do will be distorted for partisan purposes. Friends will misjudge. Enemies will +become the more bitter. I give up fifty thousand dollars a year in order to +become a slave, with toadies, trappers, lobbyists and favor-seekers as my daily +quota of humanity. I even sacrifice the larger part of my power.” +</p> + +<p> +So ran Peter’s thoughts, and they were the thoughts of a man who had not +worked seventeen years in politics for nothing. He saw alienation of friends, +income, peace, and independence, and the only return a mere title, which to him +meant a loss, rather than a gain of power. Yet this was one of the dozen prizes +thought the best worth striving for in our politics. Is it a wonder that our +government and office-holding is left to the foreign element? That the native +American should prefer any other work, rather than run the gauntlet of public +opinion and press, with loss of income and peace, that he may hold some +difficult office for a brief term? +</p> + +<p> +But finally Peter rose. “Perhaps she’ll like it,” he said +aloud, and presumably, since no woman is allowed a voice in American politics, +he was thinking of Miss Columbia. Then he looked at some photographs, a scrap +of ribbon, a gold coin (Peter clearly was becoming a money worshipper), three +letters, a card, a small piece of blotting-paper, a handkerchief (which Leonore +and Peter had spent nearly ten minutes in trying to find one day), a glove, and +some dried rose-leaves and violets. Yet this was the man who had grappled an +angry tiger but two hours before and had brought it to lick his hand. +</p> + +<p> +He went to bed very happy. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XLIX"></a>CHAPTER XLIX.<br/> +CLOUDS.</h2> + +<p> +But a month later he was far happier, for one morning towards the end of +August, his mail brought him a letter from Watts, announcing that they had been +four days installed in their Newport home, and that Peter would now be welcome +any time. “I have purposely not filled Grey-Court this summer, so that +you should have every chance. Between you and me and the post, I think there +have been moments when mademoiselle missed ‘her friend’ far more +than she confessed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dat’s stronory,” thought Jenifer. “He dun eat +mo’ dis yar hot mo’nin’ dan he dun in two mumfs.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Jenifer was sent out with a telegram, which merely said: “May I come +to-day by Shore line limited? P.S.” +</p> + +<p> +“When you get back, Jenifer,” said Peter, “you may pack my +trunk and your own. We may start for Newport at two.” Evidently Peter did +not intend to run any risks of missing the train, in case the answer should be +favorable. +</p> + +<p> +Peter passed into his office, and set to work to put the loose ends in such +shape that nothing should go wrong during his absence. He had not worked long, +when one of the boys told him that: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Cassius Curlew wants to see you, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stopped his writing, looking up quickly: “Did he say on what +business?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ask him, please.” And Peter went on writing till the boy returned. +</p> + +<p> +“He says it’s about the convention.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell him he must be more specific.” +</p> + +<p> +The boy returned in a moment with a folded scrap of paper. +</p> + +<p> +“He said that would tell you, Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter unfolded the scrap, and read upon it: “A message from +Maguire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Show him in.” Peter touched a little knob on his desk on which was +stamped “Chief Clerk.” A moment later a man opened a door. +“Samuels,” said Peter, “I wish you would stay here for a +moment. I want you to listen to what’s said.” +</p> + +<p> +The next moment a man crossed the threshold of another door. +“Good-morning, Mr. Stirling,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Curlew,” said Peter, without rising and with a cold +inclination of his head. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a message for you, Mr. Stirling,” said the man, pulling a +chair into a position that suited him, and sitting, “but it’s +private.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said nothing, but began to write. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you understand? I want a word with you private,” said the man +after a pause. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Samuels is my confidential clerk. You can speak with perfect freedom +before him.” Peter spoke without raising his eyes from his writing. +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t want any one round. It’s just between you and +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“When I got your message,” said Peter, still writing, “I sent +for Mr. Samuels. If you have anything to say, say it now. Otherwise leave it +unsaid.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, then,” said the man, “your party’s been tricking +us, and we won’t stand it.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter wrote diligently. +</p> + +<p> +“And we know who’s back of it. It was all pie down to that dinner +of yours.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that Maguire’s message?” asked Peter, though with no +cessation of his labors. +</p> + +<p> +“Nop,” said the man. “That’s the introduction. Now, we +know what it means. You needn’t deny it. You’re squinting at the +governorship yourself. And you’ve made the rest go back on Maguire, and +work for you on the quiet. Oh, we know what’s going on.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me when you begin on the message,” said Peter, still writing. +</p> + +<p> +“Maguire’s sent me to you, to tell you to back water. To stop +bucking.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell Mr. Maguire I have received his message.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, that isn’t all, and don’t you forget it! Maguire’s +in this for fur and feathers, and if you go before the convention as a +candidate, we’ll fill the air with them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that part of the message?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“By that we mean that half an hour after you accept the nomination, +we’ll have a force of detectives at work on your past life, and +we’ll hunt down and expose every discreditable thing you’ve ever +done.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose, and the man did the same instantly, putting one of his hands on his +hip-pocket. But even before he did it, Peter had begun speaking, in a quiet, +self-contained voice: “That sounds so like Mr. Maguire, that I think we +have the message at last. Go to him, and say that I have received his message. +That I know him, and I know his methods. That I understand his hopes of driving +me, as he has some, from his path, by threats of private scandal. That, judging +others by himself, he believes no man’s life can bear probing. Tell him +that he has misjudged for once. Tell him that he has himself decided me in my +determination to accept the nomination. That rather than see him the nominee of +the Democratic party, I will take it myself. Tell him to set on his +blood-hounds. They are welcome to all they can unearth in my life.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned towards his door, intending to leave the room, for he was not +quite sure that he could sustain this altitude, if he saw more of the man. But +as his hand was on the knob, Curlew spoke again. +</p> + +<p> +“One moment,” he called. “We’ve got something more to +say to you. We have proof already.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned, with an amused look on his face. “I was wondering,” +he said, “if Maguire really expected to drive me with such vague +threats.” +</p> + +<p> +“No siree,” said Curlew with a self-assured manner, but at the same +time putting Peter’s desk between the clerk and himself, so that his +flank could not be turned. “We’ve got some evidence that +won’t be sweet reading for you, and we’re going to print it, if you +take the nomination.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell Mr. Maguire he had better put his evidence in print at once. That I +shall take the nomination.” +</p> + +<p> +“And disgrace one of your best friends?” asked Curlew. +</p> + +<p> +Peter started slightly, and looked sharply at the man. +</p> + +<p> +“Ho, ho,” said Curlew. “That bites, eh? Well, it will bite +worse before it’s through with.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stood silent for a moment, but his hands trembled slightly, and any one +who understood anatomy could have recognized that every muscle in his body was +at full tension. But all he said was: “Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s about that trip of yours on the +‘Majestic.’” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked bewildered. +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve got sworn affidavits of two stewards,” Curlew +continued, “about yours and some one else’s goings on. I guess Mr. +and Mrs. Rivington won’t thank you for having them printed.” +</p> + +<p> +Instantly came a cry of fright, and the crack of a revolver, which brought +Peter’s partners and the clerks crowding into the room. It was to find +Curlew lying back on the desk, held there by Peter with one hand, while his +other, clasping the heavy glass inkstand, was swung aloft. There was a look on +Peter’s face that did not become it. An insurance company would not have +considered Curlew’s life at that moment a fair risk. +</p> + +<p> +But when Peter’s arm descended it did so gently, put the inkstand back on +the desk, and taking a pocket-handkerchief wiped a splash of ink from the hand +that had a moment before been throttling Curlew. That worthy struggled up from +his back-breaking attitude and the few parts of his face not drenched with ink, +were very white, while his hands trembled more than had Peter’s a moment +before. +</p> + +<p> +“Peter!” cried Ogden. “What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I lost my temper for a moment,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“But who fired that shot?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned to the clerks. “Leave the room,” he said, “all +of you. And keep this to yourselves. I don’t think the other floors could +have heard anything through the fire-proof brick, but if any one comes, refer +them to me.” As the office cleared, Peter turned to his partners and +said: “Mr. Curlew came here with a message which he thought needed the +protection of a revolver. He judged rightly, it seems.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you hit?” +</p> + +<p> +“I felt something strike.” Peter put his hand to his side. He +unbuttoned his coat and felt again. Then he pulled out a little sachet from his +breast-pocket, and as e did so, a flattened bullet dropped to the floor. Peter +looked into the sachet anxiously. The bullet had only gone through the lower +corner of the four photographs and the glove! Peter laughed happily. “I +had a gold coin in my pocket, and the bullet struck that. Who says that a +luck-piece is nothing but a superstition?” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Peter, shan’t we call the police?” demanded Ogden, +still looking stunned. +</p> + +<p> +Curlew moved towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“One moment,” said Peter, and Curlew stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Ray,” Peter continued, “I am faced with a terrible question. +I want your advice?” +</p> + +<p> +“What, Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“A man is trying to force me to stand aside and permit a political wrong. +To do this, he threatens to publish lying affidavits of worthless scoundrels, +to prove a shameful intimacy between a married woman and me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Bosh,” laughed Ray. “He can publish a thousand and no one +would believe them of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“He knows that. But he knows, too, that no matter how untrue, it would +connect her name with a subject shameful to the purest woman that ever lived. +He knows that the scavengers of gossip will repeat it, and gloat over it. That +the filthy society papers will harp on it for years. That in the heat of a +political contest, the partisans will be only too glad to believe it and repeat +it. That no criminal prosecution, no court vindication, will ever quite kill +the story as regards her. And so he hopes that, rather than entail this on a +woman whom I love, and on her husband and family, I will refuse a nomination. I +know of such a case in Massachusetts, where, rather than expose a woman to such +a danger, the man withdrew. What should I do?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do? Fight him. Tell him to do his worst.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter put his hand on Ray’s shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Even if—if—it is one dear to us both?” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Do you remember your being called home in our Spanish trip, +unexpectedly? You left me to bring Miss De Voe, and—Well. They’ve +bribed, or forged affidavits of two of the stewards of the +‘Majestic.’” +</p> + +<p> +Ray tried to spring forward towards Curlew. But Peter’s hand still rested +on his shoulder, and held him back, “I started to kill him,” Peter +said quietly, “but I remembered he was nothing but the miserable +go-between.” +</p> + +<p> +“My God, Peter! What can I say?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ray! The stepping aside is nothing to me. It was an office which I was +ready to take, but only as a sacrifice and a duty. It is to prevent wrong that +I interfered. So do not think it means a loss to me to retire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, do what you intended to do. We must not compromise with wrong +even for her sake.” +</p> + +<p> +The two shook hands, “I do not think they will ever use it, Ray,” +said Peter. “But I may be mistaken, and cannot involve you in the +possibility, without your consent.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course they’ll use it,” cried Ogden. “Scoundrels +who could think of such a thing, will use it without hesitation.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “A man who uses a coward’s weapons, +is a coward at heart. We can prevent it, I think.” Then he turned to +Curlew. “Tell Mr. Maguire about this interview. Tell him that I spared +you, because you are not the principal. But tell him from me, that if a word is +breathed against Mrs. Rivington, I swear that I’ll search for him till I +find him, and when I find him I’ll kill him with as little compunction as +I would a rattlesnake.” Peter turned and going to his dressing-room, +washed away the ink from his hands. +</p> + +<p> +Curlew shuffled out of the room, and, black as he was, went straight to the +Labor headquarters and told his story. +</p> + +<p> +“And he’ll do it too, Mr. Maguire,” he said. “You +should have seen his look as he said it, and as he stood over me. I feel it +yet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think he means it?” said Ray to Ogden, when they were back +in Ray’s room. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t think so if I hadn’t seen his face as he stood +over that skunk. But if ever a man looked murder he did at that moment. And +quiet old Peter of all men!” +</p> + +<p> +“We must talk to him. Do tell him that—” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you dare do it?” +</p> + +<p> +“But you—?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t. Unless he speaks I shall—” +</p> + +<p> +“Ray and Ogden,” said a quiet voice, “I wish you would write +out what you have just seen and heard. It may be needed in the future.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, let me speak,” cried Ray. “You mustn’t do what +you said. Think of such an end to your life. No matter what that scoundrel +does, don’t end your life on a gallows. It—” +</p> + +<p> +Peter held up his hand. “You don’t know the American people, Ray. +If Maguire uses that lying story, I can kill him, and there isn’t a jury +in the country which, when the truth was told, wouldn’t acquit me. +Maguire knows it, too. We have heard the last of that threat, I’m +sure.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went back to his office. “I don’t wonder,” he thought, +as he stood looking at the ink-stains on his desk and floor, “that people +think politics nothing but trickery and scoundrelism. Yet such vile weapons and +slanders would not be used if there were not people vile and mean enough at +heart to let such things influence them. The fault is not in politics. It is in +humanity.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_L"></a>CHAPTER L.<br/> +SUNSHINE.</h2> + +<p> +But just as Peter was about to continue this rather unsatisfactory train of +thought, his eye caught sight of a flattened bullet lying on the floor. He +picked it up, with a smile. “I knew she was my good luck,” he said. +Then he took out the sachet again, and kissed the dented and bent coin. Then he +examined the photographs. “Not even the dress is cut through,” he +said gleefully, looking at the full length. “It couldn’t have hit +in a better place.” When he came to the glove, however, he grieved a +little over it. Even this ceased to trouble him the next moment, for a telegram +was laid on his desk. It merely said, “Come by all means. +W.C.D’A.” Yet that was enough to make Peter drop thoughts, work, +and everything for a time. He sat at his desk, gazing at a blank wall, and +thinking of a pair of slate-colored eyes. But his expression bore no +resemblance to the one formerly assumed when that particular practice had been +habitual. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was this expression the only difference in this day, to mark the change +from Peter past to Peter present. For instead of manoeuvring to make Watts sit +on the back seat, when he was met by the trap late that afternoon, at Newport, +he took possession of that seat in the coolest possible manner, leaving the one +by the driver to Watts. Nor did Peter look away from the girl on that back +seat. Quite the contrary. It did not seem to him that a thousand eyes would +have been any too much. Peter’s three months of gloom vanished, and +became merely a contrast to heighten his present joy. A sort of +“shadow-box.” +</p> + +<p> +He had had the nicest kind of welcome from his “friend.” If the +manner had not been quite so absolutely frank as of yore, yet there was no +doubt as to her pleasure in seeing Peter. “It’s very nice to see +you again,” she had said while shaking hands. “I hoped you would +come quickly.” Peter was too happy to say anything in reply. He merely +took possession of that vacant seat, and rested his eyes in silence till Watts, +after climbing into place, asked him how the journey to Newport had been. +</p> + +<p> +“Lovelier than ever,” said Peter, abstractedly. “I +didn’t think it was possible.” +</p> + +<p> +“Eh?” said Watts, turning with surprise on his face. +</p> + +<p> +But Leonore did not look surprised. She only looked the other way, and the +corners of her mouth were curving upwards. +</p> + +<p> +“The journey?” queried Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“You mean Newport, don’t you?” said Leonore helpfully, when +Peter said nothing. Leonore was looking out from under her lashes—at +things in general, of course. +</p> + +<p> +Peter said nothing. Peter was not going to lie about what he had meant, and +Leonore liked him all the better for not using the deceiving loophole she had +opened. +</p> + +<p> +Watts said, “Oh, of course. It improves every year. But wasn’t the +journey hot, old man?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t notice,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t notice! And this one of the hottest days of the +year.” +</p> + +<p> +“I had something else to think about,” explained Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Politics?” asked Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter,” said Leonore, “we’ve been so interested in +all the talk. It was just as maddening as could be, how hard it was to get New +York papers way out west. I’m awfully in the dark about some things. +I’ve asked a lot of people here about it, but nobody seems to know +anything. Or if they do, they laugh at me. I met Congressman Pell yesterday at +the Tennis Tournament, and thought he would tell me all about it. But he was +horrid! His whole manner said: ‘I can’t waste real talk on a +girl.’ I told him I was a great friend of yours, and that you would tell +me when you came, but he only laughed and said, he had no doubt you would, for +you were famous for your indiscretion. I hate men who laugh at women the moment +they try to talk as men do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Peter, “we’ll have to turn Pell down. A +Congressman who laughs at one of my friends won’t do.” +</p> + +<p> +“I really wish you would. That would teach him,” said Leonore, +vindictively. “A man who laughs at women can’t be a good +Congressman.” +</p> + +<p> +“I tell you what we’ll do,” said Peter. “I don’t +want to retire him, because—because I like his mother. But I will tell +you something for you to tell him, that will astonish him very much, and make +him want to know who told you, and so you can tease him endlessly.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter!” said Leonore. “You are the nicest man.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that?” asked Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s a great secret,” said Peter. “I shall only tell +it to Miss D’Alloi, so that if it leaks beyond Pell, I shall know whom to +blame for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Goody!” cried Leonore, giving a little bounce for joy. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it about that famous dinner?” inquired Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, I’m so curious about that. Will you tell me what you +did?” +</p> + +<p> +“I ate a dinner,” said Peter smiling. +</p> + +<p> +“Now don’t be like Mr. Pell,” said Leonore, reprovingly, +“or I’ll take back what I just said.” +</p> + +<p> +“Did you roar, and did the tiger put its tail between its legs?” +asked Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“That is the last thing our friends, the enemies, have found,” said +Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You will tell me about it, won’t you, Peter?” said Leonore, +ingratiatingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Have you a mount for me, Watts, for to-morrow? Mutineer comes by boat +to-night, but won’t be here till noon.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’ve one chap up to your weight, I think.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like dodgers,” said Leonore, the corners of her +mouth drawn down. +</p> + +<p> +“I was not dodging,” said Peter. “I only was asking a +preliminary question. If you will get up, before breakfast, and ride with me, I +will tell you everything that actually occurred at that dinner. You will be the +only person, I think, who wasn’t there, who knows.” It was shameful +and open bribery, but bosses are shameful and open in their doings, so Peter +was only living up to his rôle. +</p> + +<p> +The temptation was too strong to be resisted, Leonore said, “Of coarse I +will,” and the corners of her mouth reversed their position. But she said +to herself: “I shall have to snub you in something else to make up for +it.” Peter was in for a bad quarter of an hour somewhere. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore had decided just how she was going to treat Peter. To begin with, she +intended to accentuate that “five years” in various ways. Then she +would be very frank and friendly, just as long as he, too, would keep within +those limits, but if Peter even verged on anything more, she intended to leave +him to himself, just long enough to show him that such remarks as his +“not caring to be friends,” brought instant and dire punishment. +“And I shan’t let him speak,” Leonore decided, “no +matter if he wants to. For if he does, I’ll have to say ‘no,’ +and then he’ll go back to New York and sulk, and perhaps never come near +me again, since he’s so obstinate, while I want to stay friends.” +Many such campaigns have been planned by the party of the first part. But the +trouble is that, usually, the party of the second part also has a plan, which +entirely disconcerts the first. As the darkey remarked: “Yissah. My dog +he wud a beat, if it hadn’t bin foh de udder dog.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter found as much contrast in his evening, as compared with his morning, as +there was in his own years. After dinner. Leonore said: +</p> + +<p> +“I always play billiards with papa. Will you play too?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know how,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Then it’s time you learned. I’ll take you on my side, +because papa always beats me. I’ll teach you.” +</p> + +<p> +So there was the jolliest of hours spent in this way, all of them laughing at +Peter’s shots, and at Leonore’s attempts to show him how. +“Every woman ought to play billiards,” Peter thought, when it was +ended. “It’s the most graceful sight I’ve seen in +years.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore said, “You get the ideas very nicely, but you hit much too hard. +You can’t hit a ball too softly. You pound it as if you were trying to +smash it.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s something I really must learn,” said Peter, who had +refused over and over again in the past. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll teach you, while you are here,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not refuse this time. +</p> + +<p> +Nor did he refuse another lesson. When they had drifted into the drawing-room, +Leonore asked: “Have you been learning how to valse?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled at so good an American using so European a word, but said +seriously, “No. I’ve been too busy.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a shame,” said Leonore, “because there are to +be two dances this week, and mamma has written to get you cards.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is it very hard?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore. “It’s as easy as breathing, and +much nicer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Couldn’t you teach me that, also?” +</p> + +<p> +“Easily. Mamma, will you play a valse? Now see.” Leonore drew her +skirts back with one hand, so as to show the little feet, and said: “one, +two, three, so. One, two, three, so. Now do that.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter had hoped that the way to learn dancing was to take the girl in +one’s arms. But he recognized that this would follow. So he set to work +manfully to imitate that dainty little glide. It seemed easy as she did it. But +it was not so easy when he tried it. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you clumsy,” said Leonore laughing. “See. One, two, +three, so. One, two, three, so.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter forgot to notice the step, in his admiration of the little feet and the +pretty figure. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Leonore after a pause, “are you going to do +that?” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter tried again, and again, and again. Peter would have done it all night, +with absolute contentment, so long as Leonore, after every failure, would show +him the right way in her own person. +</p> + +<p> +Finally she said, “Now take my hands. No. Way apart, so that I can see +your feet. Now. We’ll try it together. One, two, change. One, two, +change.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter thought this much better, and was ready to go on till strength failed. +But after a time, Leonore said, “Now. We’ll try it the true way. +Take my hand so and put your arm so. That’s the way. Only never hold a +girl too close. We hate it. Yes. That’s it. Now, mamma. Again. One, two, +three. One, two, three.” +</p> + +<p> +This was heavenly, Peter thought, and could have wept over the shortness, as it +seemed to him, of this part of the lesson. +</p> + +<p> +But it ended, and Leonore said: “If you’ll practice that in your +room, with a bolster, you’ll get on very fast.” +</p> + +<p> +“I always make haste slowly,” said Peter, not taking to the bolster +idea at all kindly. “Probably you can find time to-morrow for another +lesson, and I’ll learn much quicker with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll see.” +</p> + +<p> +“And will you give me some waltzes at the dances?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll tell you what I’ll do,” said Leonore. “You +shall have the dances the other men don’t ask of me. But you don’t +dance well enough, in case I can get a better partner. I love valsing too much +to waste one with a poor dancer.” +</p> + +<p> +A moment before Peter thought waltzing the most exquisite pleasure the world +contained. But he suddenly changed his mind, and concluded it was odious. +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless,” he decided, “I will learn how.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LI"></a>CHAPTER LI.<br/> +THE COURSE OF TRUE LOVE.</h2> + +<p> +Peter had his ride the next morning, and had a very interested listener to his +account of that dinner. The listener, speaking from vast political knowledge, +told him at the end. “You did just right. I thoroughly approve of +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That takes a great worry off my mind,” said Peter soberly. +“I was afraid, since we were to be such friends, and you wanted my help +in the whirligig this winter, that you might not like my possibly having to +live in Albany.” +</p> + +<p> +“Can’t you live in New York?” said Leonore, looking +horrified. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I don’t like it at all,” said Leonore. +“It’s no good having friends if they don’t live near +one.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I think,” said Peter. “I suppose I +couldn’t tempt you to come and keep house for me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now I must snub him,” thought Leonore. “No,” she said, +“It will be bad enough to do that five years from now, for the man I +love.” She looked out from under her eyelashes to see if her blow had +been fatal, and concluded from the glumness in Peter’s face, that she +really had been too cruel. So she added: “But you may give me a ball, and +we’ll all come up and stay a week with you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter relaxed a little, but he said dolefully, “I don’t know what I +shall do. I shall be in such need of your advice in politics and +housekeeping.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Leonore, “if you really find that you +can’t get on without help, we’ll make it two weeks. But you must +get up toboggan parties, and other nice things.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wonder what the papers will say,” thought Peter, “if a +governor gives toboggan parties?” +</p> + +<p> +After the late breakfast, Peter was taken down to see the tournament. He +thought he would not mind it, since he was allowed to sit next Leonore. But he +did. First he wished that she wouldn’t pay so much attention to the +score. Then that the men who fluttered round her would have had the good taste +to keep away. It enraged Peter to see how perfectly willing she was to talk and +chat about things of which he knew nothing, and how more than willing the men +were. And then she laughed at what they said! +</p> + +<p> +“That’s fifteen-love, isn’t it?” Leonore asked him +presently. +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t look over fifteen,” actually growled Peter. +“I don’t know whether he’s in love or not. I suppose he +thinks he is. Boys fifteen years old always do.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore forgot the score, even, in her surprise. “Why,” she said, +“you growl just like Bêtise (the mastiff). Now I know what the +papers mean when they say you roar.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “it makes me cross to see a lot of boys +doing nothing but hit a small ball, and a lot more looking at them and thinking +that it’s worth doing.” Which was a misstatement. It was not that +which made Peter mad. +</p> + +<p> +“Haven’t you ever played tennis?” +</p> + +<p> +“Never. I don’t even know how to score.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me,” said Leonore, “You’re dreadfully +illiterate.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know it,” growled Peter, “I don’t belong here, and +have no business to come. I’m a ward boss, and my place is in saloons. +Don’t hesitate to say it.” +</p> + +<p> +All this was very foolish, but it was real to Peter for the moment, and he +looked straight ahead with lines on his face which Leonore had never seen +before. He ought to have been ordered to go off by himself till he should be in +better mood. +</p> + +<p> +Instead Leonore turned from the tennis, and said: “Please don’t +talk that way, Peter. You know I don’t think that.” Leonore had +understood the misery which lay back of the growl. “Poor fellow,” +she thought, “I must cheer him up.” So she stopped looking at the +tennis. “See,” she said, “there are Miss Winthrop and Mr. +Pell. Do take me over to them and let me spring my surprise. You talk to Miss +Winthrop.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, Peter!” said Pell. “When did you come?” +</p> + +<p> +“Last night. How do you do, Miss Winthrop?” Then for two minutes +Peter talked, or rather listened, to that young lady, though sighing +internally. Then, <i>Laus Deo!</i> up came the poor little chap, whom Peter had +libelled in age and affections, only ten minutes before, and set Peter free. He +turned to see how Leonore’s petard was progressing, to find her and Pell +deep in tennis. But just as he was going to expose his ignorance on that game, +Leonore said: +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Pell, what do you think of the political outlook?” +</p> + +<p> +Pell sighed internally, “You can read it in the papers,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I want your opinion. Especially about the great departure the +Democratic Convention is going to make.” +</p> + +<p> +“You mean in endorsing Maguire?” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore began to visibly swell in importance. “Of course not,” she +said, contemptuously. “Every one knows that that was decided against at +the Manhattan dinner. I mean the unusual resolution about the next +senator.” +</p> + +<p> +Pell ceased to sigh. “I don’t know what you mean?” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Not really?” said Leonore incredulously, her nose cocking a little +more airily. “I thought of course you would know about it. I’m so +surprised!” +</p> + +<p> +Pell looked at her half quizzingly, and half questioningly. “What is the +resolution?” +</p> + +<p> +“Naming a candidate for the vacancy for the Senate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” said Pell, laughing. “The convention has nothing +to do with the senators. The Legislature elects them.” He thought, +“Why can’t women, if they will talk politics, at least learn the +ABC.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore, “but this is a new idea. The Senate has +behaved so badly, that the party leaders think it will be better to make it a +more popular body by having the New York convention nominate a man, and then +they intend to make the legislature elect him. If the other states will only +follow New York’s lead, it may make the Senate respectable and open to +public opinion.” +</p> + +<p> +Pell sniffed obviously. “In what fool paper did you read that?” +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t read it,” said Leonore, her eyes dancing with +delight. “The papers are always behind the times. But I didn’t +think that you would be, since you are to be named in the resolution.” +</p> + +<p> +Pell looked at her blankly. “What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“Didn’t you know that the Convention will pass a resolution, naming +you for next senator?” said Leonore, with both wonder and pity in her +face and voice. +</p> + +<p> +“Who told you that?” said Pell, with an amount of interest blended +with doubt that was a decided contrast to a moment ago. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s telling,” said Leonore. “You know, Mr. Pell, +that one mustn’t tell people who are outside the party councils +everything.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe you are trying to stuff me,” said Pell, “If it is +so, or anything like it, you wouldn’t know.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Leonore, tantalizingly, “I could tell you a great +deal more than that. But of course you don’t care to talk politics with a +girl.” +</p> + +<p> +Pell weakened. “Tell me who told you about it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think we must go home to lunch,” said Leonore, turning to Peter, +who had enjoyed Leonore’s triumph almost as much as she had. +</p> + +<p> +“Peter,” said Pell, “have you heard what Miss D’Alloi +has been saying?” +</p> + +<p> +“Part of it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Where can she have picked it up? +</p> + +<p> +“I met Miss D’Alloi at a lunch at the White House, last +June,” said Peter seriously, “and she, and the President, and I, +talked politics. Politically, Miss D’Alloi is rather a knowing person. I +hope you haven’t been saying anything indiscreet, Miss +D’Alloi?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid I have,” laughed Leonore, triumphantly, adding, +“but I won’t tell anything more.” +</p> + +<p> +Pell looked after them as they went towards the carriage. “How +extraordinary!” he said. “She couldn’t have it from Peter. He +tells nothing. Where the deuce did she get it, and is it so?” Then he +said: “Senator Van Brunt Pell,” with a roll on all the r’s. +“That sounds well. I wonder if there’s anything in it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Leonore to Peter, triumphantly “that he would +like to have talked politics. But he’ll get nothing but torture from me +if he tries.” +</p> + +<p> +It began to dawn on Peter that Leonore did not, despite her frank manner, mean +all she said. He turned to her, and asked: +</p> + +<p> +“Are you really in earnest in saying that you’ll refuse every man +who asks you to marry him within five years?” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore’s triumph scattered to the four winds. “What an awfully +impudent question,” she thought, “after my saying it so often. What +shall I answer?” She looked Peter in the eye with severity. “I +shan’t refuse,” she said, “because I shan’t even let +him speak. If any man dares to attempt it, I’ll tell him frankly I +don’t care to listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“She really means it,” sighed Peter internally. “Why is it, +that the best girls don’t care to marry?” Peter became very cross, +and, what is worse, looked it. +</p> + +<p> +Nor was Leonore much better, “There,” she said, “I knew just +how it would be. He’s getting sulky already. He isn’t nice any +more. The best thing will be to let him speak, for then he’ll go back to +New York, and won’t bother me.” The corners of her mouth drew away +down, and life became very gray. +</p> + +<p> +So “the best of friends” rode home from the Casino, without so much +as looking at each other, much less speaking. Clearly Peter was right. There +was no good in trying to be friends any longer. +</p> + +<p> +Precedent or habit, however, was too strong to sustain this condition long. +First Leonore had to be helped out of the carriage. This was rather pleasant, +for she had to give Peter her hand, and so life became less unworth living to +Peter. Then the footman at the door gave Peter two telegraphic envelopes of the +bulkiest kind, and Leonore too began to take an interest in life again. +</p> + +<p> +“What are they about?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“The Convention. I came off so suddenly that some details were left +unarranged.” +</p> + +<p> +“Read them out loud,” she said calmly, as Peter broke the first +open. +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled at her, and said: “If I do, will you give me another +waltzing lesson after lunch?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t bargain,” said Leonore, disapprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Peter, putting the telegrams in his pocket, and +turning towards the stairs. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore let him go up to the first landing. But as soon as she became convinced +that he was really going to his room, she said, “Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned and looked down at the pretty figure at the foot of the stairs. He +came down again. When he had reached the bottom he said, “Well?” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was half angry, and half laughing. “You ought to want to read +them to me,” she said, “since we are such friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” said Peter, “And you ought to want to teach me to +waltz, since we are such friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I don’t like the spirit,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +Peter laughed. “Nor I,” he said. “Still, I’ll prove +I’m the better, by reading them to you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now I will teach him,” said Leonore to herself. +</p> + +<p> +Peter unfolded the many sheets. “This is very secret, of course,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Leonore looked round the hall as if she was a conspirator. +“Come to the window-seat upstairs,” she whispered, and led the way. +When they had ensconced themselves there, and drawn the curtains, she said, +“Now.” +</p> + +<p> +“You had better sit nearer me,” said Peter, “so that I can +whisper it.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore. “No one can hear us.” She thought, +“I’d snub you for that, if I wasn’t afraid you wouldn’t +read it.” +</p> + +<p> +“You understand that you are not to repeat this to anyone.” Peter +was smiling over something. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore said, “Yes,” half crossly and half eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +So Peter read: +</p> + +<p> +“Use Hudson knowledge counties past not belief local twenty imbecility +certified of yet till yesterday noon whose Malta could accurately it at +seventeen. Potomac give throw Haymarket estimated Moselle thirty-three to into +fortify through jurist arrived down right—” +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t be treated so!” interrupted Leonore, indignantly. +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean,” said Peter, still smiling. “I’m +reading it to you, as you asked.” +</p> + +<p> +“No you are not. You are just making up.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “It’s all here.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see it.” Leonore shifted her seat so as to overlook Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“That’s only two pages,” said Peter, holding them so that +Leonore had to sit very close to him to see. “There are eighteen +more.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked at them. “Was it written by a lunatic?” she asked. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” Peter looked at the end. “It’s from Green. +Remember. You are not to repeat it to any one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Luncheon is served, Miss D’Alloi,” said a footman. +</p> + +<p> +“Bother luncheon,” thought Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Please tell me what it means?” said Leonore, rising. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t do that, till I get the key and decipher it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Leonore, clapping her hands in delight. +“It’s a cipher. How tremendously interesting! We’ll go at it +right after lunch and decipher it together, won’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“After the dancing lesson, you mean, don’t you?” suggested +Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know I was going to do it?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“You told me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Never! I didn’t say a word.” +</p> + +<p> +“You looked several,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore regarded him very seriously. “You are not ‘Peter +Simple’ a bit,” she said. “I don’t like deep +men.” She turned and went to her room. “I really must be +careful,” she told the enviable sponge as it passed over her face, +“he’s a man who needs very special treatment. I ought to send him +right back to New York. But I do so want to know about the politics. No. +I’ll keep friends till the campaign’s finished. Then he’ll +have to live in Albany, and that will make it all right. Let me see. He said +the governor served three years. That isn’t five, but perhaps he’ll +have become sensible before then.” +</p> + +<p> +As for Peter, he actually whistled during his ablutions, which was something he +had not done for many years. He could not quite say why, but it represented his +mood better than did his earlier growl. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LII"></a>CHAPTER LII.<br/> +A GUARDIAN ANGEL.</h2> + +<p> +Peter had as glorious an afternoon as he had had a bad morning. First he danced +a little. Then the two sat at the big desk in the deserted library and worked +together over those very complex dispatches till they had them translated. Then +they had to discuss their import. Finally they had to draft answers and +translate them into cipher. All this with their heads very close together, and +an utter forgetfulness on the part of a certain personage that snubbing rather +than politics was her “plan of campaign.” But Leonore began to feel +that she was a political power herself, and so forgot her other schemes. When +they had the answering dispatches fairly transcribed, she looked up at Peter +and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I think we’ve done that very well,” in the most approving +voice. “Do you think they’ll do as we tell them?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked down into that dearest of faces, gazing at him so frankly and with +such interest, so very near his, and wondered what deed was noble or great +enough to win a kiss from those lips. Several times that afternoon, it had +seemed to him that he could not keep himself from leaning over and taking one. +He even went so far now as to speculate on exactly what Leonore would do if he +did. Fortunately his face was not given to expressing his thoughts. Leonore +never dreamed how narrow an escape she had. “If only she wouldn’t +be so friendly and confiding,” groaned Peter, even while absolutely happy +in her mood. “I can’t do it, when she trusts me so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Leonore, “perhaps when you’ve done staring +at me, you’ll answer my question.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think they’ll do as we tell them,” smiled Peter. +“But we’ll get word to-morrow about Dutchess and Steuben. Then we +shall know better how the land lies, and can talk plainer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will there be more ciphers, to-morrow?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” To himself Peter said, “I must write Green and the +rest to telegraph me every day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now we’ll have a cup of tea,” said Leonore. “I like +politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you would like Albany,” said Peter, putting a chair for her +by the little tea-table. +</p> + +<p> +“I wouldn’t live in Albany for the whole world,” said +Leonore, resuming her old self with horrible rapidity. But just then she burnt +her finger with the match with which she was lighting the lamp, and her cruelty +vanished in a wail. “Oh!” she cried. “How it hurts.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” said Peter sympathetically. +</p> + +<p> +The little hand was held up. “It does hurt,” said Leonore, who saw +that there was a painful absence of all signs of injury, and feared Peter would +laugh at such a burn after those he had suffered. +</p> + +<p> +But Peter treated it very seriously. “I’m sure it does,” he +said, taking possession of the hand. “And I know how it hurts.” He +leaned over and kissed the little thumb. Then he didn’t care a scrap +whether Leonore liked Albany or not. +</p> + +<p> +“I won’t snub you this time,” said Leonore to herself, +“because you didn’t laugh at me for it.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter’s evening was not so happy. Leonore told him as they rose from +dinner that she was going to a dance. “We have permission to take you. Do +you care to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. If you’ll give me some dances.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve told you once that I’ll only give you the ones not +taken by better dancers. If you choose to stay round I’ll take you for +those.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you ever have a dance over?” asked Peter, marvelling at such a +possibility. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve only been to one dance. I didn’t have at that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, growling a little, “I’ll go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Leonore, calmly, “don’t put yourself out on +my account.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not,” growled Peter. “I’m doing it to please +myself.” Then he laughed, so Leonore laughed too. +</p> + +<p> +After a game of billiards they all went to the dance. As they entered the hall, +Peter heard his name called in a peculiar voice behind. He turned and saw +Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy merely said, “Peter!” again. But Peter understood that +explanations were in order. He made no attempt to dodge. +</p> + +<p> +“Dorothy,” he said softly, giving a glance at Leonore, to see that +she was out of hearing, “when you spent that summer with Miss De Voe, did +Ray come down every week?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Would he have come if you had been travelling out west?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter,” cried Dorothy, below her breath, “I’m so +glad it’s come at last!” +</p> + +<p> +We hope our readers can grasp the continuity of Dorothy’s mental +processes, for her verbal ones were rather inconsequent. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s lovely,” continued the verbal process. “And +I’m sure I can help you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I need it,” groaned Peter. “She doesn’t care in the +least for me, and I can’t get her to. And she says she isn’t going +to marry for—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense!” interrupted Dorothy, contemptuously, and sailed into +the ladies’ dressing-room. +</p> + +<p> +Peter gazed after her. “I wonder what’s nonsense?” he +thought. +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy set about her self-imposed task with all the ardor for matchmaking, +possessed by a perfectly happy married woman. But Dorothy evidently intended +that Leonore should not marry Peter, if one can judge from the tenor of her +remarks to Leonore in the dressing-room. Peter liked Dorothy, and would +probably not have believed her capable of treachery, but it is left to +masculine mind to draw any other inference from the dialogue which took place +between the two, as they prinked before a cheval glass. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m so glad to have Peter here for this particular evening,” +said Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Leonore, calmly, in the most uninterested of tones. +</p> + +<p> +“Because Miss Biddle is to be here. For two years I’ve been trying +to bring those two together, so that they might make a match of it. They are +made for each other.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore tucked a rebellious curl in behind the drawn-back lock. Then she said, +“What a pretty pin you have.” +</p> + +<p> +“Isn’t it? Ray gave it to me,” said Dorothy, giving Leonore +all the line she wanted. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve never met Miss Biddle,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“She’s a great beauty, and rich. And then she has that nice +Philadelphia manner. Peter can’t abide the young-girl manner. He hates +giggling and talking girls. It’s funny too, because, though he +doesn’t dance or talk, they like him. But Miss Biddle is an older girl, +and can talk on subjects which please him. She is very much interested in +politics and philanthropy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I thought,” said Leonore, fluffing the lace on her gown, +“that Peter never talked politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“He doesn’t,” said Dorothy. “But she has studied +political economy. He’s willing to talk abstract subjects. She’s +just the girl for a statesman’s wife. Beauty, tact, very clever, and yet +very discreet. I’m doubly glad they’ll meet here, for she has given +up dancing, so she can entertain Peter, who would otherwise have a dull time of +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“If she wants to,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Dorothy, “I’m not a bit afraid about that. +Peter’s the kind of man with whom every woman’s ready to fall in +love. Why, my dear, he’s had chance after chance, if he had only cared to +try. But, of course, he doesn’t care for such women as you and me, who +can’t enter into his thoughts or sympathize with his ambitions. To him we +are nothing but dancing, dressing, prattling flutter-birds.” Then Dorothy +put her head on one side, and seemed far more interested in the effect of her +own frock than in Peter’s fate. +</p> + +<p> +“He talks politics to me,” Leonore could not help saying. Leonore +did not like Dorothy’s last speech. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter’s such a gentleman that he always talks seriously even +to us; but it’s only his politeness. I’ve seen him talk to girls +like you, and he is delightfully courteous, and one would think he liked it. +But, from little things Ray has told me, I know he looks down on society +girls.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you ready, Leonore?” inquired Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was very ready. Watts and Peter were ready also; had been ready during +the whole of this dialogue. Watts was cross; Peter wasn’t. Peter would +willingly have waited an hour longer, impatient only for the moment of meeting, +not to get downstairs. That is the difference between a husband and a lover. +</p> + +<p> +“Peter,” said Leonore, the moment they were on the stairs, +“do you ever tell other girls political secrets?” +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy was coming just behind, and she poked Peter in the back with her fan. +Then, when Peter turned, she said with her lips as plainly as one can without +speaking: “Say yes.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked surprised. Then he turned to Leonore and said, “No. You are +the only person, man or woman, with whom I like to talk politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” shrieked Dorothy to herself. “You great, big, foolish +old stupid! Just as I had fixed it so nicely!” What Dorothy meant is +quite inscrutable. Peter had told the truth. +</p> + +<p> +But, after the greetings were over, Dorothy helped Peter greatly. She said to +him, “Give me your arm, Peter. There is a girl here whom I want you to +meet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter’s going to dance this valse with me,” said Leonore. +And Peter had two minutes of bliss, amateur though he was. Then Leonore said +cruelly, “That’s enough; you do it very badly!” +</p> + +<p> +When Peter had seated her by her mother, he said: “Excuse me for a +moment. I want to speak to Dorothy.” +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you would be philandering after the young married women. Men of +your age always do,” said Leonore, with an absolutely incomprehensible +cruelty. +</p> + +<p> +So Peter did not speak to Dorothy. He sat down by Leonore and talked, till a +scoundrelly, wretched, villainous, dastardly, low-born, but very good-looking +fellow carried off his treasure. Then he wended his way to Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Why did you tell me to say ‘yes’?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy sighed. “I thought you couldn’t have understood me,” +she said; “but you are even worse than I supposed. Never mind, it’s +done now. Peter, will you do me a great favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“I should like to,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia, is here. She doesn’t know many of +the men, and she doesn’t dance. Now, if I introduce you, won’t you +try to make her have a good time?” +</p> + +<p> +“Certainly,” said Peter, gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“And don’t go and desert her, just because another man comes up. It +makes a girl think you are in a hurry to get away, and Miss Biddle is very +sensitive. I know you don’t want to hurt her feelings.” All this +had been said as they crossed the room. Then: “Miss Biddle, let me +introduce Mr. Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter sat down to his duty. “I mustn’t look at Leonore,” he +thought, “or I shan’t be attentive.” So he turned his face +away from the room heroically. As for Dorothy, she walked away with a smile of +contentment. “There, miss,” she remarked, “we’ll see if +you can trample on dear old Peter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s that girl to whom Mr. Stirling is talking?” asked +Leonore of her partner. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, that’s the rich Miss Biddle, of Philadelphia,” replied +the scoundrel, in very gentleman-like accents for one of his class. “They +say she’s never been able to find a man good enough for her, and so +she’s keeping herself on ice till she dies, in hopes that she’ll +find one in heaven. She’s a great catch.” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s decidedly good-looking,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Think so? Some people do. I don’t. I don’t like +blondes.” +</p> + +<p> +When Leonore had progressed as far as her fourth partner, she asked: +“What sort of a girl is that Miss Biddle?” +</p> + +<p> +“She’s really stunning,” she was told. “Fellows are all +wild about her. But she has an awfully snubbing way.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she clever?” +</p> + +<p> +“Is she? That’s the trouble. She won’t have anything to do +with a man unless he’s clever. Look at her to-night! She got her big fish +right off, and she’s driven away every man who’s come near her ever +since. She’s the kind of a girl that, if she decides on anything, she +does it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who’s her big fish?” said Leonore, as if she had not +noticed. +</p> + +<p> +“That big fellow, who is so awfully exclusive—Stirling. He +doesn’t think any people good enough for him but the Pells, and Miss De +Voe, and the Ogdens. What they can see in him I can’t imagine. I sat +opposite him once at dinner, this spring, at the William Pells, and he only +said three things in the whole meal. And he was sitting next that clever Miss +Winthrop.” +</p> + +<p> +After the fifth dance, Dorothy came up to Leonore. “It’s going +beautifully,” she said; “do you see how Peter has turned his back +to the room? And I heard a man say that Miss Biddle was freezing to every man +who tried to interrupt them. I must arrange some affairs this week so that they +shall have chances to see each other. You will help me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m very much engaged for this week,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“What a pity! Never mind; I’ll get Peter. Let me see. She rides +beautifully. Did Peter bring his horses?” +</p> + +<p> +“One,” said Leonore, with a suggestion of reluctance in stating the +fact. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll go and arrange it at once,” said Dorothy, thinking that +Peter might be getting desperate. +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma,” said Leonore, “how old Mrs. Rivington has +grown!” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t noticed it, dear,” said her mother. +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy went up to the pair and said: “Peter, won’t you show Miss +Biddle the conservatories! You know,” she explained, “they are very +beautiful.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose dutifully, but with a very passive look on his face. +</p> + +<p> +“And, Peter,” said Dorothy, dolefully, “will you take me in +to supper? I haven’t found a man who’s had the grace to ask +me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ll sit at the same table,” said Dorothy to Miss Biddle. +</p> + +<p> +When Peter got into the carriage that evening he was very blue. “I had +only one waltz,” he told himself, “and did not really see anything +else of her the whole evening.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that Miss Biddle as clever as people say she is?” asked Mrs. +D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“She is a very unusual woman,” said Peter, “I rarely have +known a better informed one.” Peter’s tone of voice carried the +inference that he hated unusual and informed women, and as this is the case +with most men, his voice presumably reflected his true thoughts. +</p> + +<p> +“I should say so,” said Watts. “At our little table she said +the brightest things, and told the best stories. That’s a girl as is a +girl. I tried to see her afterwards, but found that Peter was taking an Italian +lesson of her.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“I have a chap who breakfasts with me three times a week, to talk +Italian, which I am trying to learn,” said Peter, “and Dorothy told +Mrs. Biddle, so she offered to talk in it. She has a beautiful accent and it +was very good of her to offer, for I knew very little as yet, and don’t +think she could have enjoyed it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you want with Italian?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“To catch the Italian vote,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, you sly-boots,” said Watts. Then he turned. “What makes +my Dot so silent?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” said Leonore in weary tones, “I’ve danced too +much and I’m very, very tired.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Watts, “see that you sleep late.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be all right to-morrow,” said Leonore, “and +I’m going to have an early horseback ride.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter and I will go too,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry,” said Peter. “I’m to ride with +Dorothy and Miss Biddle.” +</p> + +<p> +“Ha, ha,” said Watts. “More Italian lessons, eh?” +</p> + +<p> +Two people looked very cross that evening when they got to their rooms. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore sighed to her maid: “Oh, Marie, I am so tired! Don’t let me +be disturbed till it’s nearly lunch.” +</p> + +<p> +And Peter groaned to nobody in particular, “An evening and a ride gone! I +tried to make Dorothy understand. It’s too bad of her to be so +dense.” +</p> + +<p> +So clearly Dorothy was to blame. Yet the cause of all this trouble fell asleep +peacefully, remarking to herself, just before she drifted into dreamland, +“Every man in love ought to have a guardian, and I’ll be +Peter’s.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIII"></a>CHAPTER LIII.<br/> +INTERFERENCE.</h2> + +<p> +When Peter returned from his ride the next day, he found Leonore reading the +papers in the big hall. She gave him a very frigid “good-morning,” +yet instantly relaxed a little in telling him there was another long telegram +for him on the mantel. She said nothing of his reading the despatch to her, but +opened a new sheet of paper, and began to read its columns with much apparent +interest. That particular page was devoted to the current prices of +“Cotton;” “Coffee;” “Flour;” +“Molasses;” “Beans;” “Butter;” +“Hogs;” “Naval Stores;” “Ocean Freights,” +and a large number of equally kindred and interesting subjects. +</p> + +<p> +Peter took the telegram, but did not read it. Instead he looked down at all of +his pretty “friend” not sedulously hidden by the paper; He +recognized that his friend had a distinctly “not-at-home” look, but +after a moment’s hesitation he remarked, “You don’t expect me +to read this alone?” +</p> + +<p> +Silence. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” continued Peter, “it’s an answer to those we +wrote and sent yesterday, and I shan’t dare reply it without your +advice.” +</p> + +<p> +Silence. +</p> + +<p> +Peter coolly put his hand on the paper and pushed it down till he could see +Leonore’s face. When he had done that he found her fairly beaming. She +tried to put on a serious look quickly, and looked up at him with it on. +</p> + +<p> +But Peter said, “I caught you,” and laughed. Then Leonore laughed. +Then they filled in the space before lunch by translating and answering the +telegram. +</p> + +<p> +As soon as that meal was over, Peter said, “Now will you teach me +waltzing again?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not going to spend time teaching a man to dance, who +doesn’t dance.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was nearly wild to dance last night,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Then why didn’t you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dorothy asked me to do something.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think much of men who let women control them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to please Dorothy” said Peter, “I was as well off +talking to one girl as to another. Since you don’t like my dancing, I +supposed you would hardly choose to dance again with me, or ropes +wouldn’t have held me.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can talk Italian too,” said Leonore, with no apparent +connection. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you talk it with me?” said Peter eagerly. “You see, +there are a good many Italians in the district, now, who by their ignorance and +their not speaking English, are getting into trouble all the time. I want to +learn, so as to help them, without calling in an interpreter.” Peter was +learning to put his requests on grounds other than his own wishes. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore very sweetly, “and I’ll give you +another lesson in dancing. How did you enjoy your ride?” +</p> + +<p> +“I like Dorothy,” said Peter, “and I like Miss Biddle. But I +didn’t get the ride I wanted.” +</p> + +<p> +He got a very nice look from those slate-colored eyes. +</p> + +<p> +They set a music-box going, and Peter’s instruction began. When it was +over, Leonore said: +</p> + +<p> +“You’ve improved wonderfully.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well enough to dance with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore. “I’ll take pity on you unless +you’d rather talk to some other girl.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter only smiled quietly. +</p> + +<p> +“Peter,” said Leonore, later, as he was sipping his tea, “do +you think I’m nothing but a foolish society flutterbird?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you want to know what I think of you?” asked Peter, eagerly. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore hastily. “But do you think of me as +nothing but a society girl?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter, truth speaking in voice and face. +</p> + +<p> +The corners of Leonore’s mouth descended to a woeful degree. +</p> + +<p> +“I think you are a society girl,” continued Peter, “because +you are the nicest kind of society.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore fairly filled the room with her smile. Then she said, “Peter, +will you do me a favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you tell Dorothy that I have helped you translate cipher telegrams +and write the replies?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was rather astonished, but said, “Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +But he did it very badly, Leonore thought, for meeting Dorothy the next day at +a lawn party, after the mere greetings, he said: +</p> + +<p> +“Dorothy, Miss D’Alloi has been helping me translate and write +cipher telegrams.” +</p> + +<p> +Dorothy looked startled at the announcement for a moment. Then she gave a +glance at Leonore, who was standing by Peter, visibly holding herself in a very +triumphant attitude. Then she burst out into the merriest of laughs, and kept +laughing. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Such a joke,” gasped Dorothy, “but I can’t tell +you.” +</p> + +<p> +As for Leonore, her triumphant manner had fled, and her cheeks were very red. +And when some one spoke to Dorothy, and took her attention, Leonore said to +Peter very crossly: +</p> + +<p> +“You are so clumsy! Of course I didn’t mean that way.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter sighed internally. “I am stupid, I suppose,” he said to +himself. “I tried to do just what she asked, but she’s displeased, +and I suppose she won’t be nice for the rest of the day. If it was only +law or politics! But women!” +</p> + +<p> +But Leonore didn’t abuse him. She was very kind to him, despite her +displeasure. “If Dorothy would only let me alone,” thought Peter, +“I should have a glorious time. Why can’t she let me stay with her +when she’s in such a nice mood. And why does she insist on my being +attentive to her. I don’t care for her. It seems as if she was determined +to break up my enjoyment, just as I get her to myself.” Peter mixed his +“hers” and “shes” too thoroughly in this sentence to +make its import clear. His thoughts are merely reported verbatim, as the +easiest way. It certainly indicates that, as with most troubles, there was a +woman in it. +</p> + +<p> +Peter said much this same thing to himself quite often during the following +week, and always with a groan. Dorothy was continually putting her finger in. +Yet it was in the main a happy time to Peter. His friend treated him very +nicely for the most part, if very variably. Peter never knew in what mood he +should find her. Sometimes he felt that Leonore considered him as the dirt +under her little feet. Then again, she could not be too sweet to him. There was +an evening—a dinner—at which he sat between Miss Biddle and Leonore +when, it seemed to Peter, Leonore said and looked such nice things, that the +millennium had come. Yet the next morning, she told him that: “It was a +very dull dinner. I talked to nobody but you.” +</p> + +<p> +Fortunately for Peter, the D’Allois were almost as new an advent in +Newport, so Leonore was not yet in the running. But by the time Peter’s +first week had sped, he found that men were putting their fingers in, as well +as Dorothy. Morning, noon, and night they gathered. Then lunches, teas, drives, +yachts and innumerable other affairs also plunged their fingers in. Peter did +not yield to the superior numbers, he went wherever Leonore went. But the other +men went also, and understood the ropes far better. He fought on, but a +sickening feeling began to creep over him of impending failure. It was soon not +merely how Leonore treated him; it was the impossibility of getting her to +treat him at all. Even though he was in the same house, it seemed as if there +was always some one else calling or mealing, or taking tea, or playing tennis +or playing billiards, or merely dropping in. And then Leonore took fewer and +fewer meals at home, and spent fewer and fewer hours there. One day Peter had +to translate those despatches all by himself! When he had a cup of tea now, +even with three or four men about, he considered himself lucky. He understood +at last what Miss De Voe had meant when she had spoken of the difficulty of +seeing enough of a popular girl either to love her or to tell her of it. They +prayed for rain in church on Sunday, on account of the drought, and Peter said +“Amen” with fervor. Anything to end such fluttering. +</p> + +<p> +At the end of two weeks, Peter said sadly that he must be going. +</p> + +<p> +“Rubbish,” said Watts. “You are to stay for a month.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you’ll stay,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +Peter waited a moment for some one else to speak. Some one else didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“I think I must,” he said. “It isn’t a matter of my own +wishes, but I’m needed in Syracuse.” Peter spoke as if Syracuse was +the ultimate of human misery. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it necessary for you to be there?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Not absolutely, but I had better go.” +</p> + +<p> +Later in the day Leonore said, “I’ve decided you are not to go to +Syracuse. I shall want you here to explain what they do to me.” +</p> + +<p> +And that cool, insulting speech filled Peter with happiness. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve decided to stay another week,” he told Mrs. +D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +Nor could all the appeals over the telegraph move him, though that day and the +next the wires to Newport from New York and Syracuse were kept hot, the +despatches came so continuously. +</p> + +<p> +Two days after this decision, Peter and Leonore went to a cotillion. Leonore +informed him that: “Mamma makes me leave after supper, because she +doesn’t like me to stay late, so I miss the nice part.” +</p> + +<p> +“How many waltzes are you going to give me?” asked Peter, with an +eye to his one ball-room accomplishment. +</p> + +<p> +“I’ll give you the first,” said Leonore, “and then if +you’ll sit near me, I’ll give you a look every time I see a man +coming whom I don’t like, and if you are quick and ask me first, +I’ll give it to you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter became absolutely happy. “How glad I am,” he thought, +“that I didn’t go to Syracuse! What a shame it is there are other +dances than waltzes.” +</p> + +<p> +But after Peter had had two waltzes, he overheard his aged friend of fifteen +years say something to a girl that raised him many degrees in his mind. +“That’s a very brainy fellow,” said Peter admiringly. +“That never occurred to me!” +</p> + +<p> +So he waited till he saw Leonore seated, and then joined her. +“Won’t you sit out this dance with me?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked surprised. “He’s getting very clever,” she +thought, never dreaming that Peter’s cleverness, like so many other +people’s nowadays, consisted in a pertinent use of quotations. Parrot +cleverness, we might term it. Leonore listened to the air which the musicians +were beginning, and finding it the Lancers, or dreariest of dances, she made +Peter happy by assenting. +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose we go out on the veranda,” said Peter, still quoting. +</p> + +<p> +“Now of what are you going to talk?” said Leonore, when they were +ensconced on a big wicker divan, in the soft half light of the Chinese +lanterns. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to tell you of something that seems to me about a hundred years +ago,” said Peter. “But it concerns myself, and I don’t want +to bore you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Try, and if I don’t like it I’ll stop you,” said +Leonore, opening up a line of retreat worthy of a German army. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you’ll think about it,” said Peter, +faltering a little. “I suppose I can hardly make you understand it, as it +is to me. But I want you to know, because—well—it’s only +fair.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked at Peter with a very tender look in her eyes. He could not see +it, because Leonore sat so that her face was in shadow. But she could see his +expression, and when he hesitated, with that drawn look on his face, Leonore +said softly: +</p> + +<p> +“You mean—about—mamma?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter started. “Yes! You know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore gently. “And that was why I trusted you, +without ever having met you, and why I wanted to be friends.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter sighed a sigh of relief. “I’ve been so afraid of it,” +he said. “She told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. That is, Miss De Voe told me first of your having been +disappointed, so I asked mamma if she knew the girl, and then mamma told me. +I’m glad you spoke of it, for I’ve wanted to ask you +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“If that was why you wouldn’t call at first on us?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why did mamma say you wouldn’t call?” When Peter made +no reply, Leonore continued, “I knew—that is I felt, there was +something wrong. What was it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore, very positively. +</p> + +<p> +Peter hesitated. “She thought badly of me about something, till I +apologized to her.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now?” +</p> + +<p> +“Now she invites me to Grey-Court.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then it wasn’t anything?” +</p> + +<p> +“She had misjudged me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now, tell me what it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Miss D’Alloi, I know you do not mean it,” said Peter, +“but you are paining me greatly. There is nothing in my whole life so +bitter to me as what you ask me to tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter,” said Leonore, “I beg your pardon. I was very +thoughtless!” +</p> + +<p> +“And you don’t think the worse of me, because I loved your mother, +and because I can’t tell you?” said Peter, in a dangerous tone. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore, but she rose. “Now we’ll go back to +the dancing.” +</p> + +<p> +“One moment,” begged Peter. +</p> + +<p> +But Leonore was already in the full light blazing from the room. “Are you +coming?” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“May I have this waltz?” said Peter, trying to get half a loaf. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore, “it’s promised to Mr. +Rutgers.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then mine host came up and said. “I congratulate you, Mr. +Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter wanted to kick him, but he didn’t. +</p> + +<p> +“I congratulate you,” said another man. +</p> + +<p> +“On what?” Peter saw no cause for congratulation, only for sorrow. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter,” said Dorothy, sailing up at this junction, “how +nice! And such a surprise!” +</p> + +<p> +“Why, haven’t you heard?” said mine host. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” cried Leonore, “is it about the Convention?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said a man. “Manners is in from the club and tells us +that a despatch says your name was sprung on the Convention at nine, and that +you were chosen by acclamation without a single ballot being taken. Every +one’s thunderstruck.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no,” said a small voice, fairly bristling with importance, +“I knew all about it.” +</p> + +<p> +Every one laughed at this, except Dorothy. Dorothy had a suspicion that it was +true. But she didn’t say so. She sniffed visibly, and said, +“Nonsense. As if Peter would tell you secrets. Come, Peter, I want to +take you over and let Miss Biddle congratulate you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter has just asked me for this waltz,” said Leonore. “Oh, +Mr. Rutgers, I’m so sorry, I’m going to dance this with Mr. +Stirling.” +</p> + +<p> +And then Peter felt he was to be congratulated. +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t marry him myself,” thought Leonore, “but I +won’t have my friends married off right under my nose, and you can try +all you want, Mrs. Rivington.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter’s guardianship was apparently bearing fruit. Yet man to this day +holds woman to be the weaker vessel! +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIV"></a>CHAPTER LIV.<br/> +OBSTINACY.</h2> + +<p> +The next morning Peter found that his prayer for a rainy day had been answered, +and came down to breakfast in the pleasantest of humors. +</p> + +<p> +“See how joyful his future Excellency looks already,” said Watts, +promptly recalling Peter to the serious part of life. And fortunately too, for +from that moment, the time which he had hoped to have alone (if <i>two</i> ever +can be alone), began to be pilfered from him. Hardly were they seated at +breakfast when Pell dropped in to congratulate him, and from that moment, +despite the rain, every friend in Newport seemed to feel it a bounden duty to +do the same, and to stay the longer because of the rain. Peter wished he had +set the time for the Convention two days earlier or two days later. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope you won’t ask any of these people to luncheon,” Peter +said in an aside to Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” he was asked. +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked puzzled, and finally said weakly, “I—I have a good +deal to do.” +</p> + +<p> +And then as proper punishment for his misdemeanor, the footman announced +Dorothy and Miss Biddle, Ray and Ogden. Dorothy sailed into the room with the +announcement: +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve all come to luncheon if we are asked.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter,” said Ray, when they were seated at the table. +“Have you seen this morning’s ‘Voice of Labor?’ No? +Good gracious, they’ve raked up that old verse in Watts’s +class-song and print it as proof that you were a drunkard in your college days. +Here it is. Set to music and headed ‘Saloon Pete.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Look here, Ray, we must write to the ‘Voice’ and tell them +the truth,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Never write to the paper that tells the lie,” said Peter, +laughing. “Always write to the one that doesn’t. Then it will go +for the other paper. But I wouldn’t take the trouble in this case. The +opposition would merely say that: ‘Of course Mr. Stirling’s +intimate friends are bound to give such a construction to the song, and the +attempt does them credit.’” +</p> + +<p> +“But why don’t you deny it, Peter?” asked Leonore anxiously. +“It’s awful to think of people saying you are a drunkard!” +</p> + +<p> +“If I denied the untruths told of me I should have my hands full. Nobody +believes such things, except the people who are ready to believe them. They +wouldn’t believe otherwise, no matter what I said. If you think a man is +a scoundrel, you are not going to believe his word.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, Peter,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “you ought to deny +them for the future. After you and your friends are dead, people will go back +to the newspapers, and see what they said about you, and then will misjudge +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I am not afraid of that. I shall hardly be of enough account to figure +in history, or if I become so, such attacks will not hurt me. Why, Washington +was charged by the papers of his day, with being a murderer, a traitor, and a +tyrant. And Lincoln was vilified to an extent which seems impossible now. The +greater the man, the greater the abuse.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why do the papers call you ‘Pete’?” asked Leonore, +anxiously. “I rather like Peter, but Pete is dreadful!” +</p> + +<p> +“To prove that I am unfit to be governor.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you serious?” asked Miss Biddle. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. From their point of view, the dropping of the ‘r’ ought +to convince voters that I am nothing but a tough and heeler.” +</p> + +<p> +“But it won’t!” declared Leonore, speaking from vast +experience. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think it will. Though if they keep at it, and really +convince the voters who can be convinced by such arguments, that I am what they +call me, they’ll elect me.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” asked Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +“Because intelligent people are not led astray but outraged by such +arguments, and ignorant people, who can be made to believe all that is said of +me, by such means, will think I am just the man for whom they want to +vote.” +</p> + +<p> +“How is it possible that the papers can treat you so?” said Watts. +“The editors know you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, yes. I have met nearly every man connected with the New York +press.” +</p> + +<p> +“They must know better?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But for partisan purposes they must say what they do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then they are deliberately lying to deceive the people?” asked +Miss Biddle. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rather a puzzling matter in ethics,” said Peter. +“I don’t think that the newspaper fraternity have any lower +standard of morals, than men in other professions. In the main they stand for +everything that is admirable, so long as it’s non-partisan, and some of +the men who to-day are now writing me down, have aided me in the past more than +I can say, and are at this moment my personal friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“How dishonest!” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot quite call it that. When the greatest and most honorable +statesmen of Europe and America will lie and cheat each other to their utmost +extent, under cover of the term ‘diplomacy,’ and get rewarded and +praised by their respective countries for their knavery, provided it is +successful, I think ‘dishonest’ is a strong word for a merely +partisan press. Certain it is, that the partisan press would end to-morrow, but +for the narrowness and meanness of readers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Which they cause,” said Ogden. +</p> + +<p> +“Just as much,” said Peter, “as the saloon makes a drunkard, +food causes hunger, and books make readers.” +</p> + +<p> +“But, at least, you must acknowledge they’ve got you, when they say +you are the saloon-keepers’ friend,” laughed Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I am that—but only for votes, you understand.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling, why do you like saloons?” asked Miss Biddle. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t like saloons. My wish is to see the day come, when such a +gross form of physical enjoyment as tippling shall cease entirely. But till +that day comes, till humanity has taught itself and raised itself, I want to +see fair play.” +</p> + +<p> +“What do you mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“The rich man can lay in a stock of wine, or go to a hotel or club, and +get what he wants at any time and all times. It is not fair, because a +man’s pockets are filled with nickels instead of eagles, that he shall +not have the same right. For that reason, I have always spoken for the saloon, +and even for Sunday openings. You know what I think myself of that day. You +know what I think of wine. But if I claim the right to spend Sunday in my way +and not to drink, I must concede an equal right to others to do as they please. +If a man wants to drink at any time, what right have I to say he shall +not?” +</p> + +<p> +“But the poor man goes and makes a beast of himself,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“There is as much champagne drunkenness as whisky drunkenness, in +proportion to the number of drinkers of each. But a man who drinks champagne, +is sent home in a cab, and is put to bed, while the man who can’t afford +that kind of drink, and is made mad by poisoned and doctored whisky, doctored +and poisoned because of our heavy tax on it, must take his chance of arrest. +That is the shameful thing about all our so-called temperance legislation. +It’s based on an unfair interference with personal liberty, and always +discriminates in favor of the man with money. If the rich man has his club, let +the poor man have his saloon.” +</p> + +<p> +“How much better, though,” said Mrs. D’Alloi, “to stop +the sale of wine everywhere.” +</p> + +<p> +“That is neither possible nor right. You can’t strengthen humanity +by tying its hands. It must be left free to become strong. I have thought much +about the problem, and I see only one fair and practical means of bettering our +present condition. But boss as the papers say I am, I am not strong enough to +force it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is that, Peter?” asked Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“So long as a man drinks in such a way as not to interfere with another +person’s liberty we have no right to check him. But the moment he does, +the public has a right to protect itself and his family, by restraining him, as +it does thieves, or murderers, or wife-beaters. My idea is, that a license, +something perhaps like our dog-license, shall be given to every one who applies +for it. That before a man can have a drink, this license must be shown. Then if +a man is before the police court a second time, for drunkenness, or if his +family petition for it, his license shall be cancelled, and a heavy fine +incurred by any one who gives or sells that man a drink thereafter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” laughed Watts, “you are heavenly! Just imagine a host +saying to his dinner-party, ‘Friends, before this wine is passed, will +you please show me your drink licenses.’” +</p> + +<p> +“You may laugh, Watts,” said Peter, “but such a request would +have saved many a young fellow from ruin, and society from an occasional +terrible occurrence which even my little social experience has shown me. And it +would soon be so much a matter of course, that it would be no more than showing +your ticket, to prove yourself entitled to a ride. It solves the problem of +drunkenness. And that is all we can hope to do, till humanity is—” +Then Peter, who had been looking at Leonore, smiled. +</p> + +<p> +“Is what?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“The rest is in cipher,” said Peter, but if he had finished his +sentence, it would have been, “half as perfect as you are.” +</p> + +<p> +After this last relay of callers had departed, it began to pour so nobly that +Peter became hopeful once more. He wandered about, making a room-to-room +canvass, in search of happiness, and to his surprise saw happiness descending +the broad stair incased in an English shooting-cap, and a mackintosh. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not going out in such weather?” demanded Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’ve had no exercise to-day, and I’m going for a +walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s pouring torrents,” expostulated Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I know it.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you’ll get wet through.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hope so. I like to walk in the rain.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter put his hand on the front door-handle, to which this conversation had +carried them, “You mustn’t go out,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going,” said Leonore, made all the more eager now that +it was forbidden. +</p> + +<p> +“Please don’t,” said Peter weakening. +</p> + +<p> +“Let me pass,” said Leonore decisively. +</p> + +<p> +“Does your father know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you should ask him. It’s no weather for you to walk +in.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t ask him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall,” and Peter went hurriedly to the library. +</p> + +<p> +“Watts,” he said, “it’s raining torrents and Leonore +insists on going to walk. Please say she is not to go.” +</p> + +<p> +“All right,” said Watts, not looking up from his book. +</p> + +<p> +That was enough. Peter sped back to the hall. It was empty. He put his head +into the two rooms. Empty. He looked out of the front door. There in the +distance, was that prettiest of figures, distinguishable even when buried in a +mackintosh. Peter caught up a cap from the hall rack, and set out in pursuit. +Leonore was walking rapidly, but it did not take Peter many seconds to come up +with her. +</p> + +<p> +“Your father says you are not to go out.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t help it, since I am out,” said Leonore, sensibly. +</p> + +<p> +“But you should come back at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t care to,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you going to obey him?” +</p> + +<p> +“He never would have cared if you hadn’t interfered. It’s +your orders, not his. So I intend to have my walk.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are to come back,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore stopped and faced him. “This is getting interesting,” she +thought. “We’ll see who can be the most obstinate.” Aloud she +said, “Who says so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I say I shan’t.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter felt his helplessness. “Please come back.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore laughed internally. “I don’t choose to.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall have to make you.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +That was a conundrum, indeed. If it had been a knotty law point, Peter would +have been less nonplussed by it. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore felt her advantage, and used it shamefully. She knew that Peter was +helpless, and she said, “How?” again, laughing at him. +</p> + +<p> +Peter groped blindly. “I shall make you,” he said again, for lack +of anything better. +</p> + +<p> +“Perhaps,” said Leonore, helping him out, though with a most +insulting laugh in her voice and face, “you will get a string and lead +me?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked the picture of helplessness. +</p> + +<p> +“Or you might run over to the Goelets’, and borrow their +baby’s perambulator,” continued that segment of the Spanish +Inquisition. If ever an irritating, aggravating, crazing, exasperating, +provoking fretting enraging, “I dare you,” was uttered, it was in +Leonore’s manner as she said this. +</p> + +<p> +Peter looked about hopelessly. +</p> + +<p> +“Please hurry up and say how,” Leonore continued, “for I want +to get down to the cliff walk. It’s very wet here on the grass. Perhaps +you will carry me back? You evidently think me a baby in arms.” +“He’s such fun to tease,” was her thought, “and you can +say just what you please without being afraid of his doing anything +ungentlemanly.” Many a woman dares to torture a man for just the same +reason. +</p> + +<p> +She was quite right as to Peter. He had recognized that he was powerless; that +he could not use force. He looked the picture of utter indecision. But as +Leonore spoke, a sudden change came over his face and figure. “Leonore +had said it was wet on the grass! Leonore would wet her feet! Leonore would +take cold! Leonore would have pneumonia! Leonore would die!” It was a +shameful chain of argument for a light of the bar, logic unworthy of a +school-boy. But it was fearfully real to Peter for the moment, and he said to +himself: “I must do it, even if she never forgives me.” Then the +indecision left his face, and he took a step forward. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore caught her breath with a gasp. The “dare-you” look, +suddenly changed to a very frightened one, and turning, she sped across the +lawn, at her utmost speed. She had read something in Peter’s face, and +felt that she must fly, however ignominious such retreat might be. +</p> + +<p> +Peter followed, but though he could have caught her in ten seconds, he did not. +As on a former occasion, he thought: “I’ll let her get out of +breath. Then she will not be so angry. At least she won’t be able to +talk. How gracefully she runs!” +</p> + +<p> +Presently, as soon as Leonore became convinced that Peter did not intend to +catch her, she slowed down to a walk. Peter at once joined her. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said, “will you come back?” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was trying to conceal her panting. She was not going to acknowledge +that she was out of breath since Peter wasn’t. So she made no reply. +</p> + +<p> +“You are walking in the wrong direction,” said Peter, laying his +hand on her arm. Then, since she made no reply, his hand encircled the arm, and +he stopped. Leonore took two more steps. Then she too, curiously enough, +halted. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop holding me,” she said, not entirely without betraying her +breathlessness. +</p> + +<p> +“You are to come back,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +He got an awful look from those eyes. They were perfectly blazing with +indignation. +</p> + +<p> +“Stop holding me,” she repeated. +</p> + +<p> +It was a fearful moment to Peter. But he said, with an appeal in his voice, +“You know I suffer in offending you. I did not believe that I could touch +you without your consent. But your health is dearer to me than your anger is +terrible. You must come home.” +</p> + +<p> +So Leonore, realizing that helplessness in a man exists only by his own +volition, turned, and began walking towards the now distant house. Peter at +once released her arm, and walked beside her. Not a glimpse did he get of those +dear eyes. Leonore was looking directly before her, and a grenadier could not +have held himself straighter. If insulted dignity was to be acted in pantomime, +the actor could have obtained some valuable points from that walk. +</p> + +<p> +Peter walked along, feeling semi-criminal, yet semi-happy. He had saved Leonore +from an early grave, and that was worth while doing. Then, too, he could look +at her, and that was worth while doing. The run had made Leonore’s cheeks +blaze, as Peter’s touch had made her eyes. The rain had condensed in +little diamonds on her stray curls, and on those long lashes. It seemed to +Peter that he had never seen her lovelier. The longing to take her in his arms +was so strong, that he almost wished she had refused to return. But then Peter +knew that she was deeply offended, and that unless he could make his peace, he +was out of favor for a day at least. That meant a very terrible thing to him. A +whole day of neglect; a whole day with no glimpse of these eyes; a whole day +without a smile from those lips! +</p> + +<p> +Peter had too much sense to say anything at once. He did not speak till they +were back in the hall. Leonore had planned to go straight to her room, but +Peter was rather clever, since she preceded him, in getting to the foot of the +staircase so rapidly that he was there first. +</p> + +<p> +This secured him his moment for speech. He said simply: “Miss +D’Alloi, I ask your forgiveness for offending you.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore had her choice of standing silent, of pushing passed Peter, or of +speaking. If she had done the first, or the second, her position was absolutely +impregnable. But a woman’s instinct is to seek defence or attack in words +rather than actions. So she said: “You had no right, and you were very +rude.” She did not look at Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“It pained me far more than it could pain you.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore liked Peter’s tone of voice, but she saw that her position was +weakening. She said, “Let me by, please.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter with reluctance gave her just room to pass. He felt that he had not said +half of what he wished, but he did not dare to offend again. +</p> + +<p> +As it turned out, it was the best thing he could do, for the moment Leonore had +passed him, she exclaimed, “Why! Your coat’s wringing wet.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s nothing,” said Peter, turning to the voice. +</p> + +<p> +He found those big dark eyes at last looking at him, and looking at him without +anger. Leonore had stopped on the step above him. +</p> + +<p> +“That shows how foolish you were to go out in the rain,” said +Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter, venturing on the smallest smiles. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore promptly explained the charge in Peter’s “yes.” +“It’s very different,” he was told. “I put on tips and +a mackintosh. You didn’t put on anything. And it was pouring +torrents.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I’m tough,” said Peter, “A wetting won’t +hurt me.” +</p> + +<p> +“So am I,” said Leonore. “I’ve tramped for hours in the +Orkneys, and Sweden and Norway, when it was raining. But then I was dressed for +it. Go and put on dry clothes at once.” +</p> + +<p> +That was what Peter had intended to do, but he saw his advantage. “It +isn’t worth while,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“I never heard of such obstinacy,” said Leonore. “I pity your +wife, if you ever get one. She’ll have an awful time of it.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not like that view at all. But he did not forego at once his hope of +getting some compensation out of Leonore’s wish. So he said: +“It’s too much trouble to change my clothes, but a cup of your tea +may keep me from taking cold.” It was nearly five, o’clock, and +Peter was longing for that customary half-hour at the tea-table. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore said in the kindness of her heart, “When you’ve changed +your clothes, I’ll make you a cup.” Then she went upstairs. When +she had reached the second floor, she turned, and leaning over the balustrade +of the gallery, said, “Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter, surveying her from below, and thinking how +lovely she was. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was smiling saucily. She said in triumph: “I had my way. I did +get my walk.” Then she went to her room, her head having a very +victorious carriage. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went to his room, smiling. “It’s a good lawyer,” he +told his mirror, “who compromises just enough to make both sides think +they’ve won.” Peter changed his clothes with the utmost despatch, +and hurried downstairs to the tea-table. She was not there! Peter waited nearly +five minutes quietly, with a patience almost colossal. Then he began to get +restless. He wandered about the room for another two minutes. Then he became +woe-begone. “I thought she had forgiven me,” he remarked. +</p> + +<p> +“What?” said the loveliest of visions from the doorway. Most women +would have told one that the beauty lay in the Parisian tea-gown. Peter knew +better. Still, he was almost willing to forgive Leonore the delay caused by the +donning of it, the result was so eminently satisfactory. “And it will +take her as long to make tea as usual, anyway,” he thought. +</p> + +<p> +“Hadn’t I better put some rum into it to-day?” he was asked, +presently. +</p> + +<p> +“You may put anything in it, except the sugar tongs,” said Peter, +taking possession of that article. +</p> + +<p> +“But then I can’t put any sugar in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Fingers were made before forks,” suggested Peter. “You +don’t want to give me anything bitter, do you?” +</p> + +<p> +“You deserve it,” said Leonore, but she took the lumps in her +fingers, and dropped them in the cup. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t wait five years!” thought Peter, “I +can’t wait five +months—weeks—days—hours—minutes—sec—— +” +</p> + +<p> +Watts saved Peter from himself by coming in here. “Hello! Here you are. +How cosy you look. I tried to find you both a few minutes ago, but thought you +must have gone to walk after all. Here, Peter. Here’s a special delivery +letter, for which I receipted a while ago. Give me a cup, Dot.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said, “Excuse me,” and, after a glance at the envelope, +opened the letter with a sinking sensation. He read it quickly, and then +reached over and rang the bell. When the footman came, Peter rose and said +something in a low voice to him. Then he came back to his tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing wrong, I hope,” asked Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. At least I am called back to New York,” said Peter gloomily. +</p> + +<p> +“Bother,” said Watts. “When?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall leave by the night express.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense. If it was so important as that, they’d have wired +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t a matter which could be telegraphed.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, Peter?” said Leonore, putting her finger in. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s confidential.” +</p> + +<p> +So Leonore did not ask again. But when the tea was finished, and all had +started upstairs, Leonore said, “Peter,” on the landing. When Peter +stopped, she whispered, “Why are you going to New York?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t tell you,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you can, now that papa isn’t here.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I know it’s politics, and you are to tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“It isn’t politics.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“You really want to know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s something really confidential.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore gave Peter one look of insulted dignity, and went upstairs to her room. +“He’s different,” she said. “He isn’t a bit +afraid of displeasing me any more. I don’t know what to do with +him.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter found Jenifer waiting. “Only pack the grip,” he said. +“I hope to come back in a few days.” But he looked very glum, and +the glumness stuck to him even after he had dressed and had descended to +dinner. +</p> + +<p> +“I am leaving my traps,” he told Mrs. D’Alloi. “For I +hope to be back next week.” +</p> + +<p> +“Next week!” cried Watts. “What has been sprung on you that +will take you that long?” +</p> + +<p> +“It doesn’t depend on me, unfortunately,” said Peter, +“or I wouldn’t go.” +</p> + +<p> +When the carriage was announced later, Peter shook hands with Watts and Mrs. +D’Alloi, and then held out his hand to Leonore. “Good-bye,” +he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to tell me why you are going?” said that young lady, +with her hands behind her, in the prettiest of poses. +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shan’t say good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“I cannot tell you,” said Peter, quietly; “please say +good-bye.” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +That refusal caused Peter gloom all the way to the station. But if Leonore +could have looked into the future she would have seen in her refusal the +bitterest sorrow she had ever known. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LV"></a>CHAPTER LV.<br/> +OATHS.</h2> + +<p> +As soon as Peter was on the express he went into the smoking cabin of the +sleeping-car, and lighting a cigar, took out a letter and read it over again. +While he was still reading it, a voice exclaimed: +</p> + +<p> +“Good! Here’s Peter. So you are in it too?” Ogden continued, +as Ray and he took seats by Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I always did despise Anarchists and Nihilists,” sighed Ray, +“since I was trapped into reading some of those maudlin Russian novels, +with their eighth-century ideas grafted on nineteenth-century conditions. Baby +brains stimulated with whisky.” +</p> + +<p> +Ogden turned to Peter. “How serious is it likely to be, Colonel?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t any idea,” replied Peter, “The staff is of +the opposite party now, and I only have a formal notification to hold my +regiment in readiness. If it’s nothing but this Socialist and Anarchist +talk, there is no real danger in it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“This country can never be in danger from discontent with our government, +for it’s what the majority want it to be, or if not, it is made so at the +next election. That is the beauty of a Democracy. The majority always supports +the government. We fight our revolutions with ballots, not with bullets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet Most says that blood must be shed.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose,” said Peter, “that he has just reached the stage +of intelligence which doctors had attained when they bled people to make them +strong.” +</p> + +<p> +“What can you do with such a fellow’s talk? You can’t argue +with him,” said Ogden. +</p> + +<p> +“Talk!” muttered Ray, “Don’t dignify it with that word. +Gibberish!” +</p> + +<p> +“No?” said Peter, “It’s too earnest to deserve that +name. The man can’t express himself, but way down underneath all the +absurd talk of ‘natural monopolies,’ and of ‘the oppression +of the money-power,’ there lies a germ of truth, without which none of +their theories would have a corporal’s guard of honest believers. We have +been working towards that truth in an unsystematic way for centuries, but we +are a long way from it, and till we solve how to realize it, we shall have +ineffectual discontent.” +</p> + +<p> +“But that makes the whole thing only the more arrant nonsense,” +grumbled Ray. “It’s foolish enough in all conscience sake, if they +had a chance of success, but when they haven’t any, why the deuce do they +want to drag us poor beggars back from Newport?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why did Rome insist on burning while Nero fiddled?” queried Peter +smiling. “We should hear nothing of socialism and anarchy if Newport and +the like had no existence.” +</p> + +<p> +“I believe at heart you’re a Socialist yourself,” cried Ray. +</p> + +<p> +“No danger,” laughed Ogden; “his bank account is too large. +No man with Peter’s money is ever a Socialist” +</p> + +<p> +“You forget,” said Ray, “that Peter is always an exception to +the rule.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “I disagree with Socialists entirely both +in aims and methods, but I sympathize with them, for I see the fearful problems +which they think their theories will solve, and though I know how mistaken they +are, I cannot blame them, when I see how seriously and honestly they believe +in, and how unselfishly they work for, their ideas. Don’t blame the +Socialists, for they are quite as conscientious as were the Abolitionists. +Blame it to the lack of scientific education, which leaves these people to +believe that theories containing a half truth are so wholly true that they mean +the regeneration and salvation of society.” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose you are right,” sighed Ray, “for you’ve +thought of it, and I haven’t. I don’t want to, either. I thank the +Lord I’m not as serious as you, Graveyard. But if you want to air your +theory, I’ll lend you my ears, for friendship’s sake. I don’t +promise to remember.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter puffed his cigar for a moment “I sometimes conclude,” he +said, “that the people who are most in need of education, are the +college-bred men. They seem to think they’ve done all the work and study +of their life in their four years, and so can dissipate mentally ever +after.” But Peter smiled as he said this and continued, more seriously: +“Society and personal freedom are only possible in conjunction, when law +or public opinion interferes to the degree of repressing all individual acts +that interfere with the freedom of others; thus securing the greatest +individual freedom to all. So far as physical force is concerned, we have +pretty well realized this condition. Because a man is strong he can no longer +take advantage of the weak. But strength is not limited to muscle. To protect +the weak mind from the strong mind is an equal duty, and a far more difficult +task. So far we have only partially succeeded. In this difficulty lies the +whole problem. Socialism, so far as it attempts to repress individualism, and +reduce mankind to an evenness opposed to all natural laws, is suicidal of the +best in favor of mediocrity. But so far as it attempts to protect that +mediocrity and weakness from the superior minds of the best, it is only in line +with the laws which protect us from murder and robbery. You can’t expect +men of the Most variety, however, to draw such distinctions.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do wish they would settle it, without troubling me,” groaned +Ray. “Lispenard’s right. A man’s a fool who votes, or serves +on a jury, or joins a regiment. What’s the good of being a good citizen, +when the other fellow won’t be? I’m sick of being good for +nothing.” +</p> + +<p> +“Have you just discovered that?” laughed Ogden. “You’re +progressing.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Ray, “I am good for one thing. Like a good many +other men I furnish the raw material on which the dearest of women may lavish +her affection. Heigh-ho! I wish I was before the fire with her now. It’s +rather rough to have visits to one’s wife cut short in this way.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter rose. “I am going to get some sleep, for we don’t know +what’s before us, and may not have much after to-night. But, Ray, +there’s a harder thing than leaving one’s wife at such a +time.” +</p> + +<p> +“What’s that, Peter?” asked Ray, looking at Peter with +surprise. +</p> + +<p> +“To know that there is no one to whom your going or return really +matters.” Peter passed out of the cabin. +</p> + +<p> +“By George!” said Ray, “if it wasn’t Peter, I’d +have sworn there was salt water in his eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Anneke has always insisted that he was lonely. I wonder if she’s +right?” Ogden queried. +</p> + +<p> +“If he is, why the deuce does he get off in those solitary quarters of +his?” +</p> + +<p> +“Ray,” said Ogden, “I have a sovereign contempt for a man who +answers one question with another.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter reached the city at six the next morning, and, despite the hour, began +his work at once. He made a number of calls in the district, holding whispered +dialogues with men; who, as soon as Peter was gone, hurried about and held +similar conversations with other men; who promptly went and did the same to +still others. While they were doing this, Peter drove uptown, and went into +Dickel’s riding academy. As he passed through the office, a man came out. +</p> + +<p> +“Ah, Mr. Stirling. Good-morning.” +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Mr. Byrnes,” said Peter. “How serious is it +likely to be?” +</p> + +<p> +“We can’t say yet. But the force has all it can do now to handle +the Anarchists and unemployed, and if this strike takes place we shall need +you.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter passed into another room where were eight men. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning, Colonel,” said one. “You are prompt.” +</p> + +<p> +“What is the trouble?” +</p> + +<p> +“The Central has decided to make a general reduction. They put it in +force at noon to-day, and are so certain that the men will go out, that +they’ve six hundred new hands ready somewhere to put right in.” +</p> + +<p> +“Byrnes tells me he has all he can do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. We’ve obtained the governor’s consent to embody eight +regiments. It isn’t only the strike that’s serious, but this parade +of the unemployed to-morrow, and the meeting which the Anarchists have called +in the City Hall. Byrnes reports a very ugly feeling, and buying of +arms.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s rather rough on you, Stirling,” spoke up a man, +“to have it come while you are a nominee.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled, and passed into the room beyond. “Good-morning, General +Canfield,” he said. “I have taken the necessary steps to embody my +regiment. Are there any further orders?” +</p> + +<p> +“If we need you, we shall put you at the Central Station,” the +officer replied; “so, if you do not know the lay of the land, you had +better familiarize yourself at once.” +</p> + +<p> +“General Canfield,” said Peter, “my regiment has probably +more sympathizers with the strikers than has any other in the city. It could +not be put in a worse place.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you objecting to orders?” said the man, in a sharp decisive +voice. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” replied Peter. “I am stating a fact, in hopes that it +may prevent trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +The man and Peter looked each other in the eye. +</p> + +<p> +“You have your orders,” said the man, but he didn’t look +pleased or proud. +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned and left the room, looking very grave. He look his cab and went to +his quarters. He ate a hurried breakfast, and then went down into the streets. +They seemed peaceably active as he walked through them. A small boy was calling +an extra, but it was in reference to the arrival of a much-expected +racing-yacht. There was nothing to show that a great business depression rested +with crushing weight on the city, and especially on the poor; that anarchy was +lifting its head, and from hungering for bread was coming to hunger for blood +and blaze; that capital and labor were preparing to lock arms in a struggle +which perhaps meant death and destruction. +</p> + +<p> +The armory door was opened only wide enough to let a man squeeze through, and +was guarded by a keeper. Peter passed in, however, without question, and heard +a hum of voices which showed that if anarchy was gathering, so too was order. +Peter called his officers together, and gave a few orders. Then he turned and +whispered for a moment with Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t put us there, sir!” exclaimed Dennis. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are they mad?” +</p> + +<p> +“They’ve given us the worst job, not merely as a job, but +especially for the regiment. Perhaps they won’t mind if things do go +wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yez mean?” +</p> + +<p> +“What will people say of me on November fourth, if my regiment flunks on +September thirtieth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Arrah musha dillah!” cried Dennis. “An’ is that +it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m afraid so. Will the men stand by me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oi’ll make them. Yez see,” shouted Dennis, +“Oi’ll tell the b’ys they are tryin’ to put yez in a +hole, an’ they’ll stan’ by yez, no matter what yez are told +to do.” +</p> + +<p> +As quickly as possible Peter put on his fatigue uniform. When he came out, it +was to find that the rank and file had done the same, and were now standing in +groups about the floor. A moment later they were lined up. +</p> + +<p> +Peter stepped forward and said in a clear, ringing voice: “Before the +roll is called I wish to say a word. We may receive orders any moment to take +possession of the buildings and switches at the Central Station, to protect the +property and operators of that road. This will be hard to some of you, who +believe the strikers are right. But we have nothing to do with that. We have +taken our oath to preserve order and law, and we are interested in having it +done, far more than is the capitalist, for he can buy protection, whether laws +are enforced or not, while the laboring man cannot. But if any man here is not +prepared to support the State in its duty to protect the life and property of +all, by an enforcement of the laws, I wish to know it now.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter stood a moment waiting, and then said, “Thank you, men.” +</p> + +<p> +The roll-call was made, and Peter sent off a line to headquarters, stating that +his regiment, with only eighteen reported “missing” was mustered +and ready for further orders. Then the regiment broke ranks, and waited. +</p> + +<p> +Just as two o’clock struck a despatch was handed Peter. A moment later +came the rap of the drum, and the men rose from the floor and fell in. A few +sharp, quick words were passed from mouth to mouth. Guns rose to the shoulders +with a click and a movement almost mechanical. The regiment swung from a long +straight line into companies, the door rolled open, and without a sound, except +the monotonous pound of the regular tread, the regiment passed into the street. +At the corner they turned sharply, and marched up a side street, so narrow that +the ranks had to break their lines to get within the curbs. So without sound of +drum or music they passed through street after street. A regiment is thrilling +when it parades to music: it is more so when it marches in silence. +</p> + +<p> +Presently it passed into a long tunnel, where the footfall echoed in a +startling way. But as it neared the other end, a more startling sound could be +heard. It was a low murmur, as of many voices, and of voices that were not +pleasant. Peter’s wisdom in availing himself of the protection and +secrecy of the tunnel as an approach became obvious. +</p> + +<p> +A moment later, as the regiment debouched from the tunnel’s mouth, the +scene broke upon them. A vast crowd filled Fourth Avenue and Forty-second +Street. Filled even the cut of the entrance to the tunnel. An angry crowd, +judging from the sounds. +</p> + +<p> +A sharp order passed down the ranks, and the many broad lines melted into a +long-thin one again, even as the regiment went forward. It was greeted with +yells, and bottles and bricks were hurled from above it, but the appearance of +the regiment had taken the men too much by surprise for them to do more. The +head entered the mob, and seemed to disappear. More and more of the regiment +was swallowed up. Finally, except to those who could trace the bright glint of +the rifle-barrels, it seemed to have been submerged. Then even the rifles +disappeared. The regiment had passed through the crowd, and was within the +station. Peter breathed a sigh of relief. To march up Fifth Avenue, with empty +guns, in a parade, between ten thousand admiring spectators is one thing. To +march between ten thousand angry strikers and their sympathizers, with ball +cartridges in the rifles, is quite another. It is all the difference between +smoking a cigar after dinner, and smoking one in a powder magazine. +</p> + +<p> +The regiment’s task had only just begun, however. Peter had orders to +clear the streets about the station. After a consultation with the police +captain, the companies were told off, and filing out of the various doors, they +began work. Peter had planned his debouchments so as to split the mob into +sections, knowing that each fragment pushed back rendered the remainder less +formidable. First a sally was made from the terminal station, and after two +lines of troops had been thrown across Forty-second Street, the second was +ordered to advance. Thus a great tongue of the mob, which stretched towards +Third Avenue, was pressed back, almost to that street, and held there, without +a quarter of the mob knowing that anything was being done. Then a similar +operation was repeated on Forty-third Street and Forty-fourth Street, and +possession was taken of Madison Avenue. Another wedge was driven into the mob +and a section pushed along Forty-second, nearly to Fifth Avenue. Then what was +left of the mob was pushed back from the front of the building down Park +Avenue. Again Peter breathed more freely. +</p> + +<p> +“I think the worst is done,” he told his officers. +“Fortunately the crowd did not expect us, and was not prepared to resist. +If you can once split a mob, so that it has no centre, and can’t get +together again, except by going round the block, you’ve taken the heart +out of it” +</p> + +<p> +As he said this a soldier came up, and saluting, said: “Captain Moriarty +orders me to inform you that a committee of the strikers ask to see you, +Colonel.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter followed the messenger. He found a couple of sentries marking a line. On +one side of this line sat or reclined Company D. and eight policemen. On the +other stood a group of a dozen men, and back of them, the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +Peter passed the sentry line, and went up to the group. Three were the +committee. The rest were the ubiquitous reporters. From the newspaper report of +one of the latter We quote the rest: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“You wish to see me?” asked Colonel Stirling. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Colonel,” said Chief Potter. “We are here to +remonstrate with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve done nothing yet,” said Doggett, “and till we +had, the troops oughtn’t to have been called in.” +</p> + +<p> +“And now people say that the scabs are to be given a regimental escort to +the depot, and will go to work at eight.” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been quiet till now,” growled a man in the crowd +surlily, “but we won’t stand the militia protecting the scabs and +rats.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you going to fight for the capitalist?” ask Kurfeldt, when +Colonel Stirling stood silent. +</p> + +<p> +“I am fighting no man’s battle, Kurfeldt,” replied Colonel +Stirling. “I am obeying orders.” +</p> + +<p> +The committee began to look anxious. +</p> + +<p> +“You’re no friend of the poor man, and you needn’t pose any +more,” shouted one of the crowd. +</p> + +<p> +“Shut your mouth,” said Kurfeldt to the crowd. “Colonel +Stirling,” he continued, “we know you’re our friend. But you +can’t stay so if you fight labor. Take your choice. Be the rich +man’s servant, or our friend.” +</p> + +<p> +“I know neither rich man nor poor man in this,” Colonel Stirling +said. “I know only the law.” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll let the scabs go on?” +</p> + +<p> +“I know no such class. If I find any man doing what the law allows him to +do, I shall not interfere. But I shall preserve order.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you order your men to fire on us?” +</p> + +<p> +“If you break the laws.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do it at your peril,” cried Potter angrily. “For every shot +your regiment fires, you’ll lose a thousand votes on election day.” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Stirling turned on him, his face blazing with scorn. +“Votes,” he cried. “Do you think I would weigh votes at such +a time? There is no sacrifice I would not make, rather than give the order that +ends a human life; and you think that paper ballots can influence my action? +Votes compared to men’s lives!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” cried Doggett, “don’t come the heavy nobility +racket on us. We are here for business. Votes is votes, and you needn’t +pretend you don’t think so.” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Stirling was silent for a moment. Then he said calmly: “I am here +to do my duty, not to win votes. There are not votes enough in this country to +make me do more or less.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear him talk,” jeered one of the crowd, “and he touting +round the saloons to get votes.” +</p> + +<p> +The crowd jeered and hissed unpleasantly. +</p> + +<p> +“Come, Colonel,” said Kurfeldt, “we know you’re after +votes this year, and know too much to drive them away. You ain’t +goin’ to lose fifty thousand votes, helpin’ scabs to take the bread +away from us, only to see you and your party licked.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” shouted a man in the crowd. “You don’t dare +monkey with votes!” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Stirling turned and faced the crowd. “Do you want to know how +much I care for votes,” he called, his head reared in the air. +</p> + +<p> +“Speak up loud, sonny,” shouted a man far back in the mass, +“we all want to hear.” +</p> + +<p> +Colonel Stirling’s voice rang quite clear enough, “Votes be +damned!” he said, and turning on his heel, strode back past the sentries. +And the strikers knew the fate of their attempt to keep out the scabs. Colonel +Stirling’s “damn” had damned the strike as well as the votes. +</p> +</div> + +<p> +Dead silence fell on the committee and crowd. Even Company D. looked astounded. +Finally, however, one of the committee said, “There’s no good +wasting time here.” Then a reporter said to a confrère, +“What a stunning headline that will make?” Then the Captain of +Company D. got his mouth closed enough to exclaim, “Oi always thought he +could swear if he tried hard. Begobs, b’ys, it’s proud av him we +should be this day. Didn’t he swear strong an’ fine like? Howly +hivens! it’s a delight to hear damn said like that.” +</p> + +<p> +For some reason that “swear-word” pleased New York and the country +generally, showing that even an oath has its purpose in this world, so long as +it is properly used. Dean Swift said a lie “was too good to be lavished +about.” So it is of profanity. The crowd understood Peter’s remark +as they would have understood nothing else. They understood that besides those +rifles and bayonets there was something else not to be trifled with. So in this +case, it was not wasted. +</p> + +<p> +And Mr. Bohlmann, Christian though he was, as he read his paper that evening +cried, “Och! Dod Beder Stirling he always does say chust der righd +ding!” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVI"></a>CHAPTER LVI.<br/> +CUI BONO?</h2> + +<p> +Of the further doings of that day it seems hardly necessary to write, for the +papers recorded it with a fulness impossible here. The gathering crowds. The +reinforcement of the militia. The clearing and holding of Forty-second Street +to the river. The arrival of the three barge-loads of “scabs.” +Their march through that street to the station safely, though at every cross +street greeted with a storm of stones and other missiles. The struggle of the +mob at the station to force back the troops so as to get at the +“rats.” The impact of the “thin line” and that dense +seething mass of enraged, crazed men. The yielding of the troops from mere +pressure. The order to the second rank to fix bayonets. The pushing back of the +crowd once more. The crack of a revolver. Then the dozen shots fired almost +simultaneously. The great surge of the mob forward. The quick order, and the +rattle of guns, as they rose to the shoulder. Another order, and the sheet of +flame. The great surge of the mob backwards. Then silence. Silence in the +ranks. Silence in the mob. Silence in those who lay on the ground between the +two. +</p> + +<p> +Capital and Labor were disagreed as to a ten per cent reduction of wages, and +were trying to settle it. At first blush capital had the best of it. +“Only a few strikers and militia-men killed,” was the apparent +result of that struggle. The scabs were in safety inside the station, and +trains were already making up, preparatory to a resumption of traffic. But +capital did not go scot-free. “Firing in the streets of New York,” +was the word sent out all over the world, and on every exchange in the country, +stocks fell. Capital paid twenty-five million dollars that day, for those few +ounces of lead. Such a method of settlement seems rather crude and costly, for +the last decade of the nineteenth century. +</p> + +<p> +Boys all over the city were quickly crying extras of the +“Labor-party” organ, the first column of which was headed: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>BUTCHER STIRLING</b></span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">THE NOMINEE OF THE DEMOCRATIC PARTY</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;"><b>SHOOTS DOWN UNARMED MEN</b></span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">IN</span><br/> +<br/> +<span style="margin-left: 2em;">COLD BLOOD.</span><br/> +</p> + +<p> +This was supplemented by inflammatory broadsides. Men stood up on fences, +lamp-posts, or barrels, wherever they could get an audience, and shrieked out +invectives against police, troops, government, and property; and waved red +flags. Orders went out to embody more regiments. Timid people retired indoors, +and bolted their shutters. The streets became deserted, except where they were +filled by groups of angry men listening to angrier speakers. It was not a calm +night in New York. +</p> + +<p> +Yet in reality, the condition was less serious, for representatives of Capital, +Labor, and Government were in consultation. Inside the station, in the +Directors’ room of the railroad, its officials, a committee of the +strikers, and an officer in fatigue uniform, with a face to match, were seated +in great leather-covered chairs, around a large table. When they had first +gathered, there had been dark brows, and every sentence had been like the blow +of flint on steel. At one moment all but the officer had risen from their +seats, and the meeting had seemed ended. But the officer had said something +quietly, and once more they had seated themselves. Far into the night they sat, +while mobs yelled, and sentries marched their beats. When the gathering ended, +the scowls were gone. Civil partings were exchanged, and the committee and the +officer passed out together. +</p> + +<p> +“That Stirling is a gritty bull-dog for holding on, isn’t +he?” said one of the railroad officials. “It’s a regular +surrender for us.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, but we couldn’t afford to be too obstinate with him, for he +may be the next governor.” +</p> + +<p> +One of the committee said to the officer as they passed into the street, +“Well, we’ve given up everything to the road, to please you. I hope +you’ll remember it when you’re governor and we want things +done.” +</p> + +<p> +“Gentlemen,” said Peter, “for every surrender of opinion you +and the railroad officials have made to-night, I thank you. But you should have +compromised twelve hours sooner.” +</p> + +<p> +“So as you should not have had to make yourself unpopular?” asked +Kurfeldt. “You needn’t be afraid. You’ve done your best for +us. Now we’ll do our best for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was not thinking of myself. I was thinking of the dead,” said +Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Peter sent a despatch to headquarters and went the rounds to see if all was as +it should be. Then spreading his blanket in the passenger waiting-room, he fell +asleep, not with a very happy look on the grave face. +</p> + +<p> +But the morning-papers announced that the strike was ended by a compromise, and +New York and the country breathed easier. +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not get much sleep, for he was barely dreaming of—of a striker, +who had destroyed his peace, by striking him in the heart with a pair of +slate-colored eyes—when a hand was placed on his shoulder. He was on his +feet before the disturber of his dreams could speak. +</p> + +<p> +“A despatch from headquarters,” said the man. +</p> + +<p> +Peter broke it open. It said: +</p> + +<p> +“Take possession of Printing-house Square, and await further +orders.” In ten minutes the regiment was tramping through the dark, +silent streets, on its way to the new position. +</p> + +<p> +“I think we deserve a rest,” growled the Lieutenant-Colonel to +Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“We shan’t get it,” said Peter, “If there’s +anything hard to be done, we shall have it.” Then he smiled. +“You’ll have to have an understanding hereafter, before you make a +man colonel, that he shan’t run for office.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are we in for now?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t say. To-day’s the time of the parade and meeting in +City Hall Park.” +</p> + +<p> +It was sunrise when the regiment drew up in the square facing the Park. It was +a lovely morning, with no sign of trouble in sight, unless the bulletin boards +of the newspapers, which were chiefly devoted to the doings about the Central +Station, could be taken as such. Except for this, the regiment was the only +indication that the universal peace had not come, and even this looked +peaceful, as soon as it had settled down to hot coffee, bread and raw ham. +</p> + +<p> +In the park, however, was a suggestive sight. For not merely were all the +benches filled with sleeping men, but the steps of the City Hall, the grass, +and even the hard asphalt pavement were besprinkled with a dirty, ragged, +hungry-looking lot of men, unlike those usually seen in the streets of New +York. When the regiment marched into the square, a few of the stragglers rose +from their recumbent attitudes, and looked at it, without much love in their +faces. As the regiment breakfasted, more and more rose from their hard beds to +their harder lives. They moved about restlessly, as if waiting for something. +Some gathered in little groups and listened to men who talked and shrieked far +louder than was necessary in order that their listeners should hear. Some came +to the edge of the street and cursed and vituperated the breakfasting regiment. +Some sat on the ground and ate food which they produced from their pockets or +from paper bundles. It was not very tempting-looking food. Yet there were men +in the crowd who looked longingly at it, and a few scuffles occurred in +attempts to get some. That crowd represented the slag and scum of the boiling +pot of nineteenth-century conditions. And as the flotsam on a river always +centres at its eddies, so these had drifted, from the country, and from the +slums, to the centre of the whirlpool of American life. Here they were waiting. +Waiting for what? The future only would show. But each moment is a future, till +it becomes the present. +</p> + +<p> +While the regiment still breakfasted it became conscious of a monotonous sound, +growing steadily in volume. Then came the tap of the drum, and the regiment +rose from a half-eaten meal, and lined up as if on parade. Several of the +members remarked crossly: “Why couldn’t they wait ten +minutes?” +</p> + +<p> +The next moment the head of another regiment swung from Chambers Street into +the square. It was greeted by hisses and groans from the denizens of the park, +but this lack of politeness was more than atoned for, by the order: +“Present arms,” passed down the immovable line awaiting it. After a +return salute the commanding officers advanced and once more saluted. +</p> + +<p> +“In obedience to orders from headquarters, I have the honor to report my +regiment to you, Colonel Stirling, and await your orders,” said the +officer of the “visiting” regiment, evidently trying not to laugh. +</p> + +<p> +“Let your men break ranks, and breakfast, Major Rivington,” said +Peter. In two minutes dandy and mick were mingled, exchanging experiences, as +they sliced meat off the same ham-bones and emptied the same cracker boxes. +What was more, each was respecting and liking the other. One touch of danger is +almost as efficacious as one touch of nature. It is not the differences in men +which make ill-feeling or want of sympathy, it is differences in conditions. +</p> + +<p> +In the mean time, Peter, Ray and Ogden had come together over their grub, much +as if it was a legal rather than an illegal trouble to be dealt with. +</p> + +<p> +“Where were you?” asked Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“At the Sixty-third Street terminals,” said Ray. “We +didn’t have any fun at all. As quiet as a cow. You always were lucky! +Excuse me, Peter, I oughtn’t to have said it,” Ray continued, +seeing Peter’s face. “It’s this wretched American trick of +joking at everything.” +</p> + +<p> +Ogden, to change the subject, asked: “Did you really say +‘damn’?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“But I thought you disapproved of cuss words.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do. But the crowd wouldn’t believe that I was honest in my +intention to protect the substitutes. They thought I was too much of a +politician to dare to do it. So I swore, thinking they would understand that as +they would not anything else. I hoped it might save actual firing. But they +became so enraged that they didn’t care if we did shoot.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then one of the crowd shrieked, “Down with the blood-suckers. On to +freedom. Freedom of life, of property, of food, of water, of air, of land. +Destroy the money power!” +</p> + +<p> +“If we ever get to the freedom he wants,” said Ray, +“we’ll utilize that chap for supplying free gas.” +</p> + +<p> +“Splendid raw material for free soap,” said Ogden. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s not the only one,” said Ray. “I haven’t had +a wash in nine hours, and salt meats are beginning to pall.” +</p> + +<p> +“There are plenty of fellows out there will eat it for you, Ray,” +said Peter, “and plenty more who have not washed in weeks.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s their own fault.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But if you burn or cut yourself, through ignorance, that +doesn’t make the pain any the less.” +</p> + +<p> +“They don’t look like a crowd which could give us trouble.” +</p> + +<p> +“They are just the kind who can. They are men lifted off their common +sense, and therefore capable of thinking they can do anything, just as John +Brown expected to conquer Virginia with forty men.” +</p> + +<p> +“But there’s no danger of their getting the upper hand.” +</p> + +<p> +“No. Yet I wish we had orders to clear the Park now, while there are +comparatively few here, or else to go back to our armories, and let them have +their meeting in peace. Our being here will only excite them.” +</p> + +<p> +“Hear that,” said Ray, as the crowd gave a great roar as another +regiment came up Park Place, across the Park and spread out so as to cover +Broadway. +</p> + +<p> +As they sat, New Yorkers began to rise and begin business. But many seemed to +have none, and drifted into the Park. Some idlers came from curiosity, but most +seemed to have some purpose other than the mere spectacle. From six till ten +they silted in imperceptibly from twenty streets. As fast as the crowd grew, +regiments appeared, and taking up positions, lay at ease. There was something +terrible about the quiet way in which both crowd and troops increased. The +mercury was not high, but it promised to be a hot morning in New York. All the +car lines took off their cars. Trucks disappeared from the streets. The +exchanges and the banks closed their doors, and many hundred shops followed +their example. New York almost came to a standstill as order and anarchy faced +each other. +</p> + +<p> +While these antagonistic forces still gathered, a man who had been yelling to +his own coterie of listeners in that dense crowd, extracted himself, and limped +towards Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling,” he shouted, “come out from those murderers. I +want to tell you something.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter went forward. “What is it, Podds?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +Podds dropped his voice. “We’re out for blood to-day. But I +don’t want yours, if you do murder my fellow-men. Get away from here, +quick. Hide yourself before the people rise in their might.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled sadly. “How are Mrs. Podds and the children?” he asked +kindly. +</p> + +<p> +“What is a family at such a moment?” shrieked Podds. +</p> + +<p> +“The world is my family. I love the whole world, and I’m going to +revolutionize it. I’m going to give every man his rights. The gutters +shall reek with blood, and every plutocrat’s castle shall be levelled to +the soil. But I’ll spare you, for though you are one of the classes, +it’s your ignorance, not your disposition, that makes you one. Get away +from here. Get away before it’s too late.” +</p> + +<p> +Just then the sound of a horse’s feet was heard, and a staff officer came +cantering from a side street into the square. He saluted Peter and said, +“Colonel Stirling, the governor has issued a proclamation forbidding the +meeting and parade. General Canfield orders you to clear the Park, by pushing +the mob towards Broadway. The regiments have been drawn in so as to leave a +free passage down the side streets.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t try to move us a foot,” screamed Podds, “or +there’ll be blood. We claim the right of free meeting and free +speech.” +</p> + +<p> +Even as he spoke, the two regiments formed, stiffened, fixed bayonets, and +moved forward, as if they were machines rather than two thousand men. +</p> + +<p> +“Brethren,” yelled Podds, “the foot of the tyrant is on us. +Rise. Rise in your might.” Then Podds turned to find the rigid line of +bayonets close upon him. He gave a spring, and grappled with Peter, throwing +his arms about Peter’s neck. Peter caught him by the throat with his free +arm. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t push me off,” shrieked Podds in his ear, +“it’s coming,” and he clung with desperate energy to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +Peter gave a twist with his arm. He felt the tight clasp relax, and the whole +figure shudder. He braced his arm for a push, intending to send Podds flying +across the street. +</p> + +<p> +But suddenly there was a flash, as of lightning. Then a crash. Then the earth +shook, cobble-stones, railroad tracks, anarchists, and soldiers, rose in the +air, leaving a great chasm in crowd and street. Into that chasm a moment later, +stones, rails, anarchists, and soldiers fell, leaving nothing but a thick cloud +of overhanging dust. Underneath that great dun pall lay soldier and anarchist, +side by side, at last at peace. The one died for his duty, the other died for +his idea. The world was none the better, but went on unchanged. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVII"></a>CHAPTER LVII<br/> +HAPPINESS</h2> + +<p> +The evening on which Peter had left Grey-Court, Leonore had been moved +“for sundry reasons” to go to her piano and sing an English ballad +entitled “Happiness.” She had sung it several times, and with +gusto. +</p> + +<p> +The next morning she read the political part of the papers. “I +don’t see anything to have taken him back,” she said “but I +am really glad, for he was getting hard to manage. I couldn’t send him +away, but now I hope he’ll stay there.” Then Leonore fluttered all +day, in the true Newport style, with no apparent thought of her +“friend.” +</p> + +<p> +But something at a dinner that evening interested her. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m ashamed,” said the hostess, “of my shortage of +men. Marlow was summoned back to New York last night, by business, quite +unexpectedly, and Mr. Dupont telegraphed me this afternoon that he was detained +there.” +</p> + +<p> +“It’s curious,” said Dorothy. “Mr. Rivington and my +brother came on Tuesday expecting to stay for a week, but they had special +delivery letters yesterday, and both started for New York. They would not tell +me what it was.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Stirling received a special delivery, too,” said Leonore, +“and started at once. And he wouldn’t tell.” +</p> + +<p> +“How extraordinary!” said the hostess. “There must be +something very good at the roof-gardens.” +</p> + +<p> +“It has something to do with headwears,” said Leonore, not hiding +her light under a bushel. +</p> + +<p> +“Headwear?” said a man. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore. “I only had a glimpse of the heading, +but I saw ‘Headwears N.G.S.N.Y.’” +</p> + +<p> +A sudden silence fell, no one laughing at the mistake. +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“We are wondering what will happen,” said the host, “if men +go in for headwear too.” +</p> + +<p> +“They do that already,” said a man, “but unlike women, they +do it on the inside, not the outside of the head.” +</p> + +<p> +But nobody laughed, and the dinner seemed to drag from that moment. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore and Dorothy had come together, and as soon as they were in their +carriage, Leonore said, “What a dull dinner it was?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Leonore,” cried Dorothy, “don’t talk about +dinners. I’ve kept up till now, bu—” and Dorothy’s +sentence melted into a sob. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it home, Mrs. Rivington?” asked the tiger, sublimely +unconscious, as a good servant should be, of this dialogue, and of his +mistress’s tears. +</p> + +<p> +“No, Portman, the Club,” sobbed Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Dorothy,” begged Leonore, “what is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you understand?” sobbed Dorothy. “All this +fearful anarchist talk and discontent? And my poor, poor darling! Oh, +don’t talk to me.” Dorothy became inarticulate once more. +</p> + +<p> +“How foolish married women are!” thought Leonore, even while +putting her arm around Dorothy, and trying blindly to comfort her. +</p> + +<p> +“Is it a message, Mrs. Rivington?” asked the man, opening the +carriage-door. +</p> + +<p> +“Ask for Mr. Melton, or Mr. Duer, and say Mrs. Rivington wishes to see +one of them.” Dorothy dried her eyes, and braced up. Before Leonore had +time to demand an explanation, Peter’s gentlemanly scoundrel was at the +door. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, Mrs. Rivington?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. Duer, is there any bad news from New York?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. A great strike on the Central is on, and the troops have been +called in to keep order.” +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all the news?” asked Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you,” said Dorothy. “Home, Portman.” +</p> + +<p> +The two women were absolutely silent during the drive. But they kissed each +other in parting, not with the peck which women so often give each other, but +with a true kiss. And when Leonore, in crossing the porch, encountered the +mastiff which Peter had given her, she stopped and kissed him too, very +tenderly. What is more, she brought him inside, which was against the rules, +and put him down before the fire. Then she told the footman to bring her the +evening-papers, and sitting down on the rug by Bêtise, proceeded to +search them, not now for the political outlook, but for the labor troubles. +Leonore suddenly awoke to the fact that there were such things as commercial +depressions and unemployed. She read it all with the utmost care. She read the +outpourings of the Anarchists, in a combination of indignation, amazement and +fear, “I never dreamed there could be such fearful wretches!” she +said. There was one man—a fellow named Podds—whom the paper +reported as shrieking in Union Square to a select audience: +</p> + +<div class="blkquot"> +<p> +“Rise! Wipe from the face of the earth the money power! Kill! Kill! Only +by blood atonement can we lead the way to better things. To a universal +brotherhood of love. Down with rich men! Down with their paid hirelings, the +troops! Blow them in pieces!” +</p> +</div> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried Leonore shuddering. “It’s fearful. I wish +some one would blow you in pieces!” Thereby was she proving herself not +unlike Podds. All humanity have something of the Anarchist in them. Then +Leonore turned to the mastiff and told him some things. Of how bad the strikers +were, and how terrible were the Anarchists. “Yes, dear,” she said, +“I wish we had them here, and then you could treat them as they deserve, +wouldn’t you, Bêtise? I’m so glad he has my +luck-piece!” +</p> + +<p> +A moment later her father and another man came into the hall from the street, +compelling Leonore to assume a more proper attitude. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello, Dot!” said Watts. “Still up? Vaughan and I are going +to have a game of billiards. Won’t you score for us?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Bad news from New York, isn’t it?” said Vaughan, +nonchalantly, as he stood back after his first play. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore saw her father make a grimace at Vaughan, which Vaughan did not see. +She said, “What?” +</p> + +<p> +“I missed,” said Watts. “Your turn, Will.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me the news before you shoot?” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“The collision of the strikers and the troops.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was any one hurt?” asked Leonore, calmly scoring two to her +father’s credit. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Eleven soldiers and twenty-two strikers.” +</p> + +<p> +“What regiment was it?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Colonel Stirling’s,” said Vaughan, making a brilliant +<i>massé</i>. “Fortunately it’s a Mick regiment, so we +needn’t worry over who was killed.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore thought to herself: “You are as bad every bit as Podds!” +Aloud she said, “Did it say who were killed?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. The dispatch only said fourteen dead.” +</p> + +<p> +“That was a beautiful shot,” said Leonore. “You ought to run +the game out with that position. I think, papa, that I’ll go to bed. I +find I’m a little tired. Good-night, Mr. Vaughan.” Leonore went +upstairs, slowly, deep in thought. She did not ring for her maid. On the +contrary she lay down on her bed in her dinner-gown, to its everlasting +detriment. “I know he isn’t hurt,” she said, “because I +should feel it. But I wish the telegram had said.” She hardly believed +herself, apparently, for she buried her head in the pillow, and began to sob +quietly. “If I only had said good-bye,” she moaned. +</p> + +<p> +Early the next morning Watts found Leonore in the hall. +</p> + +<p> +“How pale my Dot is!” he exclaimed. +</p> + +<p> +“I didn’t sleep well,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Aren’t you going to ride with me?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. I don’t feel like it this morning,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +As Watts left the hall, a servant entered it. +</p> + +<p> +“I had to wait, Miss D’Alloi,” he said. “No papers are +for sale till eight o’clock.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore took the newspaper silently and went to the library. Then she opened it +and looked at the first column. She read it hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew he wasn’t hurt,” she said, “because I would +have felt it, and because he had my luck piece.” Then she stepped out of +one of the windows, called Bêtise to her, and putting her arms about his +neck, kissed him. +</p> + +<p> +When the New York papers came things were even better, for they recorded the +end of the strike. Leonore even laughed over that big, big D. “I +can’t imagine him getting so angry,” she said “He must have a +temper, after all.” She sang a little, as she fixed the flowers in the +vases, and one of the songs was “Happiness.” Nor did she snub a man +who hinted at afternoon tea, as she had a poor unfortunate who suggested tennis +earlier in the day. +</p> + +<p> +While they were sipping their tea, however, Watts came in from the club. +</p> + +<p> +“Helen,” he said, going to the bay window farthest from the +tea-table, “come here I want to say something.” +</p> + +<p> +They whispered for a moment, and then Mrs. D’Alloi came back to her tea. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you have a cup, papa?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“‘Not to-day, dear,” said Watts, with an unusual tenderness +in his voice. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was raising a spoon to her mouth, but suddenly her hand trembled a +little. After a glance at her father and mother, she pushed her tea-cup into +the centre of the table as if she had finished it, though it had just been +poured. Then she turned and began to talk and laugh with the caller. +</p> + +<p> +But the moment the visitor was out of the room, Leonore said: +</p> + +<p> +“What is it, papa?” +</p> + +<p> +Watts was standing by the fire. He hesitated. Then he groaned. Then he went to +the door. “Ask your mother,” he said, and went out of the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma?” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t excite yourself, dear,” said her mother. +“I’ll tell you to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore was on her feet. “No,” she said huskily, “tell me +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“Wait till we’ve had dinner.” +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma,” cried Leonore, appealingly, “don’t you see +that—that—that I suffer more by not knowing it? Tell me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Leonore,” cried her mother, “don’t look that way. +I’ll tell you; but don’t look that way!” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi put her arms about Leonore. “The Anarchists have +exploded a bomb.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes?” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“And it killed a great many of the soldiers.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Thank you, mamma,” said Leonore. She unclasped her mother’s +arms, and went towards the door. +</p> + +<p> +“Leonore,” cried her mother, “stay here with me, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’d rather be alone,” said Leonore, quietly. She went +upstairs to her room and sank down by an ottoman which stood in the middle of +the floor. She sat silent and motionless, for over an hour, looking straight +before her at nothing, as Peter had so often done. Is it harder to lose out of +life the man or woman whom one loves, or to see him or her happy in the love of +another. Is the hopelessness of the impossible less or greater than the +hopelessness of the unattainable? +</p> + +<p> +Finally Leonore rose, and touched her bell. When her maid came she said, +“Get me my travelling dress.” Ten minutes later she came into the +library, saying to Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa, I want you to take me to New York, by the first train.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you crazy, my darling?” cried Watts. “With riots and +Anarchists all over the city.” +</p> + +<p> +“I must go to New York,” said Leonore. “If you won’t +take me, I’ll go with madame.” +</p> + +<p> +“Not for a moment—” began Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“Papa,” cried Leonore, “don’t you see it’s +killing me? I can’t bear it—” and Leonore stopped. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Watts, we must,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. +</p> + +<p> +Two hours later they were all three rolling towards New York. It was a five +hours’ ride, but Leonore sat the whole distance without speaking, or +showing any consciousness of her surroundings. For every turn of those wheels +seemed to fall into a rhythmic repetition of: “If I had only said +‘good-bye.’” +</p> + +<p> +The train was late in arriving, and Watts tried to induce Leonore to go to a +hotel for the night. She only said “No. Take me to him,” but it was +in a voice which Watts could not disregard. So after a few questions at the +terminal, which produced no satisfactory information, Watts told the cabman to +drive to the City Hall Park. +</p> + +<p> +They did not reach it, however, for at the corner of Centre Street and +Chambers, there came a cry of “halt,” and the cab had to stop. +</p> + +<p> +“You can’t pass this line,” said the sentry. “You must +go round by Broadway.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“The street is impassable.” +</p> + +<p> +Watts got out, and held a whispered dialogue with the sentry. This resulted in +the summoning of the officer of the watch. In the mean time Leonore descended +and joined them. Watts turned and said to her: “The sentry says +he’s here.” +</p> + +<p> +Presently an officer came up. +</p> + +<p> +“An’ what do the likes av yez want at this time av night?” he +inquired crossly. “Go away wid yez.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Captain Moriarty,” said Leonore, “won’t you let me +see him? I’m Miss D’Alloi.” +</p> + +<p> +“Shure,” said Dennis, “yez oughtn’t to be afther +disturbin’ him. It’s two nights he’s had no sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore suddenly put her hand on Dennis’s arm. “He’s not +killed?” she whispered, as if she could not breathe, and the figure +swayed a little. +</p> + +<p> +“Divil a bit! They got it wrong entirely. It was that dirty spalpeen av a +Podds.” +</p> + +<p> +“Are you sure?” said Leonore, pleadingly. “You are not +deceiving me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Begobs,” said Dennis, “do yez think Oi could stand here wid +a dry eye if he was dead?” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore put her head on Dennis’s shoulder, and began to sob softly. For a +moment Dennis looked aghast at the results of his speech, but suddenly his face +changed. “Shure,” he whispered, “we all love him just like +that, an that’s why the Blessed Virgin saved him for us.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Leonore, with tears in her eyes, said, “I felt it,” in the +most joyful of voices. A voice that had a whole <i>Te Deum</i> in it. +</p> + +<p> +“Won’t you let me see him?” she begged. “I won’t +wake him, I promise you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That yez shall,” said Dennis. “Will yez take my arm?” +The four passed within the lines. “Step careful,” he continued. +“There’s pavin’ stones, and rails, and plate-glass +everywheres. It looks like there’d been a primary itself.” +</p> + +<p> +All thought that was the best of jokes and laughed. They passed round a great +chasm in the street and sidewalk. Then they came to long rows of bodies +stretched on the grass, or rather what was left of the grass, in the Park. +Leonore shuddered. “Are they all dead?” she whispered. “Dead! +Shurely not. It’s the regiment sleepin’,” she was told. They +passed between these rows for a little distance. “This is him,” +said Dennis, “sleepin’ like a babby.” Dennis turned his back +and began to describe the explosion to Mrs. D’Alloi and Watts. +</p> + +<p> +There, half covered with a blanket, wrapped in a regulation great coat, his +head pillowed on a roll of newspapers, lay Peter. Leonore knelt down on the +ground beside him, regardless of the proprieties or the damp. She listened to +hear if he was breathing, and when she found that he actually was, her face had +on it a little thanksgiving proclamation of its own. Then with the prettiest of +motherly manners, she softly pulled the blanket up and tucked it in about his +arms. Then she looked to see if there was not something else to do. But there +was nothing. So she made more. “The poor dear oughtn’t to sleep +without something on his head. He’ll take cold.” She took her +handkerchief and tried to fix it so that it should protect Peter’s head. +She tried four different ways, any one of which would have served; but each +time she thought of a better way, and had to try once more. She probably would +have thought of a fifth, if Peter had not suddenly opened his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Leonore, “what a shame? I’ve waked you up. +And just as I had fixed it right.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter studied the situation calmly, without moving a muscle. He looked at the +kneeling figure for some time. Then he looked up at the arc light a little +distance away. Then he looked at the City Hall clock. Then his eyes came back +to Leonore. “Peter,” he said finally, “this is getting to be +a monomania. You must stop it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” said Leonore, laughing at his manner as if it was intended +as a joke. +</p> + +<p> +Peter put out his hand and touched Leonore’s dress. Then he rose quickly +to his feet. “What is the matter?” he asked. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello,” cried Watts. “Have you come to? Well. Here we are, +you see. All the way from Newport to see you in fragments, only to be +disappointed. Shake!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said nothing for a moment. But after he had shaken hands, he said, +“It’s very good of you to have thought of me.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” explained Leonore promptly, “I’m always anxious +about my friends. Mamma will tell you I am.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter turned to Leonore, who had retired behind her mother. “Such friends +are worth having,” he said, with a strong emphasis on +“friends.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Leonore came out from behind her mother. “‘How nice he’s +stupid,” she thought. “He is Peter Simple, after all.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Watts, “your friends are nearly dying with +hunger and want of sleep, so the best thing we can do, since we needn’t +hunt for you in scraps, is to go to the nearest hotel. Where is that?” +</p> + +<p> +“You’ll have to go uptown,” said Peter. “Nothing down +here is open at this time.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m not sleepy,” said Leonore, “but I am so +hungry!” +</p> + +<p> +“Serves you right for eating no din—” Watts started to say, +but Leonore interjected, in an unusually loud voice. “Can’t you get +us something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Nothing; that will do for you, I’m afraid,” said Peter. +“I had Dennett send up one of his coffee-boilers so that the men should +have hot coffee through the night, and there’s a sausage-roll man close +to him who’s doing a big business. But they’ll hardly serve your +purpose.” +</p> + +<p> +“The very thing,” cried Watts. “What a lark!” +</p> + +<p> +“I can eat anything,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +So they went over to the stands. Peter’s blanket was spread on the +sidewalk, and three Newport swells, and the Democratic nominee for governor sat +upon it, with their feet in the gutter, and drank half-bean coffee and ate hot +sausage rolls, made all the hotter by the undue amount of mustard which the +cook would put in. What is worse, they enjoyed it as much as if it was the +finest of dinners. Would not society have been scandalized had it known of +their doings? +</p> + +<p> +How true it is that happiness is in a mood rather than in a moment. How eagerly +we prepare for and pursue the fickle sprite, only to find our preparations and +chase giving nothing but dullness, fatigue, and ennui. But then how often +without exertion or warning, the sprite is upon us, and tinges the whole +atmosphere. So it was at this moment, with two of the four. The coffee might +have been all beans, and yet it would have been better than the best served in +Viennese cafés. The rolls might have had even a more weepy amount of +mustard, and yet the burning and the tears would only have been the more of a +joke. The sun came up, as they ate, talked and laughed, touching everything +about them with gold, but it might have poured torrents, and the two would have +been as happy. +</p> + +<p> +For Leonore was singing to herself: “He isn’t dead. He isn’t +dead.” +</p> + +<p> +And Peter was thinking: “She loves me. She must love me.” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LVIII"></a>CHAPTER LVIII.<br/> +GIFTS.</h2> + +<p> +After the rolls and coffee had been finished, Peter walked with his friends to +their cab. It had all been arranged that they were to go to Peter’s +quarters, and get some sleep. These were less than eight blocks away, but the +parting was very terrific! However, it had to be done, and so it was gone +through with. Hard as it was, Peter had presence of mind enough to say, through +the carriage window. +</p> + +<p> +“You had better take my room, Miss D’Alloi, for the spare room is +the largest. I give you the absolute freedom of it, minus the gold-box. Use +anything you find.” +</p> + +<p> +Then Peter went back to the chaotic street and the now breakfasting regiment, +feeling that strikes, anarchists, and dynamite were only minor circumstances in +life. +</p> + +<p> +About noon Leonore came back to life, and succeeded in making a very bewitching +toilet despite the absence of her maid. Whether she peeped into any drawers or +other places, is left to feminine readers to decide. If she did, she certainly +had ample authority from Peter. +</p> + +<p> +This done she went into the study, and, after sticking her nose into some of +the window flowers, she started to go to the bookshelves. As she walked her +foot struck something which rang with a metallic sound, as it moved on the wood +floor. The next moment, a man started out of a deep chair. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” was all Leonore said. +</p> + +<p> +“I hope I didn’t startle you. You must have kicked my sword.” +</p> + +<p> +“I—I didn’t know you were here!” Leonore eyed the door +leading to the hall, as if she were planning for a sudden flight. +</p> + +<p> +“The regiment was relieved by another from Albany this morning. So I came +up here for a little sleep.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a shame that I should have kept you out of your room,” said +Leonore, still eyeing the door. From Leonore’s appearance, one would have +supposed that she had purloined something of value from his quarters, and was +meditating a sudden dash of escape with it. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t look at it in that light,” said Peter. “But +since you’ve finished with the room for the moment, I’ll borrow the +use temporarily. Strikers and anarchists care so little for soap and water +themselves, that they show no consideration to other people for those +articles.” Peter passed through the doorway towards which Leonore had +glanced. Then Leonore’s anxious look left her, and she no longer looked +at the door. One would almost have inferred that Leonore was afraid of Peter, +but that is absurd, since they were such good friends, since Leonore had come +all the way from Newport to see him, and since Leonore had decided that Peter +must do as she pleased. +</p> + +<p> +Yet, curiously enough, when Peter returned in about twenty minutes, the same +look came into Leonore’s face. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall have something to eat in ten minutes,” Peter said, +“for I hear your father and mother moving.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked towards the door. She did not intend that Peter should see her +do it, but he did. +</p> + +<p> +“Now what shall we do or talk about?” he said. “You know I am +host and mustn’t do anything my guests don’t wish.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter said this in the most matter-of-fact way, but Leonore, after a look from +under her eyelashes at him, stopped thinking about the door. She went over to +one of the window-seats. +</p> + +<p> +“Come and sit here by me,” she said, “and tell me everything +about it.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter described “the war, and what they fought each other for,” +as well as he was able, for, despite his intentions, his mind would wander as +those eyes looked into his. +</p> + +<p> +“I am glad that Podds was blown to pieces!” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t say that.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because it’s one of those cases of a man of really good +intentions, merely gone wrong. He was a horse-car driver, who got inflammatory +rheumatism by the exposure, and was discharged. He suffered fearful pain, and +saw his family suffer for bread. He grew bitter, and took up with these wild +theories, not having enough original brain force, or education, to see their +folly. He believed firmly in them. So firmly, that when I tried to reason him +out of them many years ago he came to despise me and ordered me out of his +rooms. I had once done him a service, and felt angered at what I thought +ungrateful conduct, so I made no attempt to keep up the friendliness. He knew +yesterday that dynamite was in the hands of some of those men, and tried to +warn me away. When I refused to go, he threw himself upon me, to protect me +from the explosion. Nothing else saved my life.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter, will your regiment have to do anything more?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think so. The dynamite has caused a reaction, and has +driven off the soberer part of the mob. The pendulum, when it swings too far, +always swings correspondingly far the other way. I must stay here for a couple +of days, but then if I’m asked, I’ll go back to Newport.” +</p> + +<p> +“Papa and mamma want you, I’m sure,” said Leonore, glancing +at the door again, after an entire forgetfulness. +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall go,” said Peter, though longing to say something +else. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked at him and said in the frankest way; “And I want you +too.” That was the way she paid Peter for his forbearance. +</p> + +<p> +Then they all went up on the roof, where in one corner there were pots of +flowers about a little table, over which was spread an awning. Over that table, +too, Jenifer had spread himself. How good that breakfast was! What a glorious +September day it was! How beautiful the view of the city and the bay was! It +was all so thoroughly satisfactory, that the three nearly missed the +“limited.” Of course Peter went to the station with them, and, +short as was the time, he succeeded in obtaining for one of the party, +“all the comic papers,” “the latest novel,” a small +basket of fruit, and a bunch of flowers, not one of which, with the exception +of the latter, the real object of these attentions wanted in the least. +</p> + +<p> +Just here it is of value to record an interesting scientific discovery of +Leonore’s, because women so rarely have made them. It was, that the +distance from New York to Newport is very much less than the distance from +Newport to New York. +</p> + +<p> +Curiously enough, two days later, his journey seemed to Peter the longest +railroad ride he had ever taken. “His friend” did not meet him this +time. His friend felt that her trip to New York must be offset before she could +resume her proper self-respect. “He was very nice,” she had said, +in monologue, “about putting the trip down to friendship. And he was very +nice that morning in his study. But I think his very niceness is suspicious, +and so I must be hard on him!” A woman’s reasoning is apt to seem +defective, yet sometimes it solves problems not otherwise answerable. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore found her “hard” policy harder than she thought for. She +told Peter the first evening that she was going to a card-party. “I +can’t take you,” she said. +</p> + +<p> +“I shall be all the better for a long night’s sleep,” said +Peter, calmly. +</p> + +<p> +This was bad enough, but the next morning, as she was arranging the flowers, +she remarked to some one who stood and watched her, “Miss Winthrop is +engaged. How foolish of a girl in her first season! Before she’s had any +fun, to settle down to dull married life.” +</p> + +<p> +She had a rose in her hand, prepared to revive Peter with it, in case her +speech was too much for one dose, but when she glanced at him, he was smiling +happily. +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” asked Leonore, disapprovingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” said Peter. “I wasn’t listening. +Did you say Miss Winthrop was married?” +</p> + +<p> +“What were you smiling over?” said Leonore, in the same voice. +</p> + +<p> +“I was thinking of—of—.” Then Peter hesitated and +laughed. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“You really mustn’t ask me,” laughed Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Of what were you thinking?” +</p> + +<p> +“Of eyelashes,” confessed Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s terrible!” cogitated Leonore, “I can’t snub +him any more, try as I may.” +</p> + +<p> +In truth, Peter was not worrying any longer over what Leonore said or did to +him. He was merely enjoying her companionship. He was at once absolutely happy, +and absolutely miserable. Happy in his hope. Miserable in its non-certainty. To +make a paradox, he was confident that she loved him, yet he was not sure. A man +will be absolutely confident that a certain horse will win a race, or he will +be certain that a profit will accrue from a given business transaction. Yet, +until the horse has won, or the profit is actually made, he is not assured. So +it was with Peter. He thought that he had but to speak, yet dared not do it. +The present was so certain, and the future might have such agonies. So for two +days he merely followed Leonore about, enjoying her pretty ways and hardly +heeding her snubs and petulance. He was very silent, and often abstracted, but +his silence and abstraction brought no relief to Leonore, and only frightened +her the more, for he hardly let her out of his sight, and the silent devotion +and tenderness were so obvious that Leonore felt how absolutely absurd was her +pretence of unconsciousness. In his very “Miss D’Alloi” now, +there was a tone in his voice and a look in his face which really said the +words: “My darling.” Leonore thought this was a mean trick, of +apparently sustaining the conventions of society, while in reality outraging +them horribly, but she was helpless to better his conduct. Twice unwittingly he +even called her “Leonore” (as he had to himself for two months), +thereby terribly disconcerting the owner of that name. She wanted to catch him +up and snub him each time, but she was losing her courage. She knew that she +was walking on a mine, and could not tell what chance word or deed of hers +would bring an explosion. “And then what can I say to him?” she +asked. +</p> + +<p> +What she said was this: +</p> + +<p> +Peter came downstairs the third evening of his stay “armed and equipped +as the law directs” for a cotillion. In the large hallway, he found +Leonore, likewise in gala dress, resting her hand on the tall mantel of the +hall, and looking down at the fire. Peter stopped on the landing to enjoy that +pose. He went over every detail with deliberation. But girl, gown, and things +in general, were much too tempting to make this distant glimpse over lengthy. +So he descended to get a closer view. The pose said nothing, and Peter strolled +to the fire, and did likewise. But if he did not speak he more than made up for +his silence with his eyes. +</p> + +<p> +Finally the pose said, “I suppose it’s time we started?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some one’s got to speak,” the pose had decided. Evidently +the pose felt uneasy under that silent gaze. +</p> + +<p> +“It’s only a little past ten,” said Peter, who was quite +satisfied with the <i>status quo</i>. +</p> + +<p> +Then silence came again. After this had held for a few moments, the pose said: +“Do say something!” +</p> + +<p> +“Something,” said Peter. “Anything else I can do for +you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Unless you can be more entertaining, we might as well be sitting in the +Purdies’ dressing-rooms, as standing here. Suppose we go to the library +and sit with mamma and papa?” Clearly the pose felt nervous. +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not like this idea. So he said: “I’ll try to amuse you. +Let me tell you something very interesting to me. It’s my birthday +to-morrow.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” said Leonore. “Why didn’t you tell me sooner? +Then I would have had a gift for you.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s what I was afraid of.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you want me to give you something?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” Then Peter’s hands trembled, and he seemed to have +hard work in adding, “I want you to give me—a kiss.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter!” said Leonore, drawing back grieved and indignant. “I +didn’t think you would speak to me so. Of all men!” +</p> + +<p> +“You mustn’t think,” said Peter, “that I meant to pain +you.” +</p> + +<p> +“You have,” said Leonore, almost ready to cry. +</p> + +<p> +“Because,” said Peter, “that isn’t what I meant.” +Peter obviously struggled to find words to say what he did mean as he had never +struggled over the knottiest of legal points, or the hardest of wrestling +matches. “If I thought you were a girl who would kiss a man for the +asking, I should not care for a kiss from you.” Peter strayed away from +the fire uneasily. “But I know you are not.” Peter gazed wildly +round, as if the furnishings, of the hall might suggest the words for which he +was blindly groping. But they didn’t, and after one or two half-begun +sentences, he continued: “I haven’t watched you, and dreamed about +you, and loved you, for all this time, without learning what you are.” +Peter roamed about the great hall restlessly. “I know that your lips will +never give what your heart doesn’t.” Then his face took a +despairing look, and he continued quite rapidly: “I ask without much +hope. You are so lovely, while I—well I’m not a man women care for. +I’ve tried to please you. Tried to please you so hard, that I may have +deceived you. I probably am what women say of me. But if I’ve been +otherwise with you it is because you are different from any other woman in the +world.” Here the sudden flow of words ended, and Peter paced up and down, +trying to find what to say. If any one had seen Peter as he paced, without his +present environment, he would have thought him a man meditating suicide. +Suddenly his voice and face became less wild, and he said tenderly: +“There is no use in my telling you how I love you. You know it now, or +will never learn it from anything I can say.” Peter strode back to the +fire. “It is my love which asks for a kiss. And I want it for the love +you will give with it, if you can give it.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore had apparently kept her eyes on the blazing logs during the whole of +this monologue. But she must have seen something of Peter’s uneasy +wanderings about the room, for she had said to herself: “Poor dear! He +must be fearfully in earnest, I never knew him so restless. He prowls just like +a wild animal.” +</p> + +<p> +A moment’s silence came after Peter’s return to the fire. Then he +said: “Will you give it to me, Miss D’Alloi?” But his voice +in truth, made the words, “Give me what I ask, my darling.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Leonore softly. “On your birthday.” Then +Leonore shrank back a little, as if afraid that her gift would be sought +sooner. No young girl, however much she loves a man, is quite ready for that +first kiss. A man’s lips upon her own are too contrary to her instinct +and previous training to make them an unalloyed pleasure. The girl who is +over-ready for her lover’s first kiss, has tasted the forbidden fruit +already, or has waited over-long for it. +</p> + +<p> +Peter saw the little shrinking and understood it. What was more, he heeded it +as many men would not have done. Perhaps there was something selfish in his +self-denial, for the purity and girlishness which it indicated were very dear +to him, and he hated to lessen them by anything he did. He stood quietly by +her, and merely said, “I needn’t tell you how happy I am!” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked up into Peter’s face. If Leonore had seen there any lack +of desire to take her in his arms and kiss her, she would never have forgiven +him. But since his face showed beyond doubt that he was longing to do it, +Leonore loved him all the better for his repression of self, out of regard for +her. She slipped her little hand into Peter’s confidingly, and said, +“So am I.” It means a good deal when a girl does not wish to run +away from her lover the moment after she has confessed her love. +</p> + +<p> +So they stood for some time, Leonore looking down into the fire, and Peter +looking down at Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +Finally Peter said, “Will you do me a great favor?” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore, “I’ve done enough for one night. +But you can tell me what it is.” +</p> + +<p> +“Will you look up at me?” +</p> + +<p> +“What for?” said Leonore, promptly looking up. +</p> + +<p> +“I want to see your eyes,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Why?” asked Leonore, promptly looking down again. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Peter, “I’ve been dreaming all my life +about some eyes, and I want to see what my dream is like in reality.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s a very funny request,” said Leonore perversely. +“You ought to have found out about them long ago. The idea of any one +falling in love, without knowing about the eyes!” +</p> + +<p> +“But you show your eyes so little,” said Peter. “I’ve +never had a thoroughly satisfying look at them.” +</p> + +<p> +“You look at them every time I look at you,” said Leonore. +“Sometimes it was very embarrassing. Just supposing that I showed them to +you now, and that you find they aren’t what you like?” +</p> + +<p> +“I never waste time discussing impossibilities,” said Peter. +“Are you going to let me see them?” +</p> + +<p> +“How long will it take?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can tell better after I’ve seen them,” said Peter, +astutely. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think I have time this evening,” said Leonore, still +perversely, though smiling a look of contentment down into the fire. +</p> + +<p> +Peter said nothing for a moment, wishing to give Leonore’s conscience a +chance to begin to prick. Then be ended the silence by saying: “If I had +anything that would give you pleasure, I wouldn’t make you ask for it +twice.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s—different,” said Leonore. “Still, +I’ll—well, look at them,” and Leonore lifted her eyes to +Peter’s half laughingly and half timidly. +</p> + +<p> +Peter studied those eyes in silence—studied them till Leonore, who did +not find that steady look altogether easy to bear, and yet was not willing to +confess herself stared out of countenance, asked: “Do you like +them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Is that all you can say? Other people have said very complimentary +things!” said Leonore, pretending to be grieved over the monosyllable, +yet in reality delighting in its expressiveness as Peter said it. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Peter, “that before I can tell you what I +think of your eyes, we shall have to invent some new words.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked down again into the fire, smiling a satisfied smile. Peter +looked down at that down-turned head, also with a satisfied smile. Then there +was another long silence. Incidentally it is to be noted that Peter still held +the hand given him some time before. To use a poker term, Peter was standing +“pat,” and wished no change. Once or twice the little hand had +hinted that it had been held long enough, but Peter did not think so, and the +hand had concluded that it was safest to let well alone. If it was too cruel It +might rouse the sleeping lion which the owner of that hand knew to exist behind +that firm, quiet face. +</p> + +<p> +Presently Peter put his unoccupied hand in his breast-pocket, and produced a +small sachet. “I did something twice,” he said, “that I have +felt very meanly about at times. Perhaps you’ll forgive me now?” He +took from the sachet, a glove, and a small pocket-handkerchief, and without a +word showed them to Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore looked at them. “That’s the glove I lost at Mrs. +Costell’s, isn’t it?” she asked gravely. +</p> + +<p> +Peter nodded his head. +</p> + +<p> +“And is that the handkerchief which disappeared in your rooms, at your +second dinner?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter nodded his head. +</p> + +<p> +“And both times you helped me hunt for them?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter nodded his head. He at last knew how prisoners felt when he was +cross-examining them. +</p> + +<p> +“I knew you had them all the time,” said Leonore laughing. +“It was dreadfully funny to see you pretend to hunt, when the guilty look +on your own face was enough to show you had them. That’s why I was so +determined to find them.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter knew how prisoners felt when the jury says, “Not guilty.” +</p> + +<p> +“But how did the holes come in them?” said Leonore. “Do you +have mice in your room?” Leonore suddenly looked as worried as had Peter +the moment before. +</p> + +<p> +Peter put his hand in the sachet, and produced a bent coin. “Look at +that,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Why, it’s my luck-piece!” exclaimed Leonore. “And +you’ve spoiled that too. What a careless boy!” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Peter. “They are not spoiled to me. Do you know +what cut these holes and bent this coin?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“A bullet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter!” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. Your luck-piece stopped it, or I shouldn’t be here.” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Leonore triumphantly, “I said you weren’t +hurt, when the news of the shooting came, because I knew you had it. I was so +glad you had taken it!” +</p> + +<p> +“I am going to give it back to you by and by,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“I had rather that you should have it,” said Leonore. “I want +you to have my luck.” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall have it just the same even after I’ve given it to +you,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to have it made into a plain gold ring,” replied +Peter, “and when I give it to you, I shall have all your luck.” +</p> + +<p> +Then came a silence. +</p> + +<p> +Finally Peter said, “Will you please tell me what you meant by talking +about five years!” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh! Really, Peter,” Leonore hastened to explain, in an anxious +way, as if Peter had charged her with murder or some other heinous crime. +“I did think so. I didn’t find it out till—till that night. +Really! Won’t you believe me?” +</p> + +<p> +Peter smiled. He could have believed anything. +</p> + +<p> +“Now,” he said, “I know at last what Anarchists are +for.” +</p> + +<p> +His ready acceptance of her statement made Leonore feel a slight prick of +conscience. She said: “Well—Peter—I mean—that +is—at least, I did sometimes think before then—that when I married, +I’d marry you—but I didn’t think it would come so soon. Did +you? I thought we’d wait. It would have been so much more +sensible!” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve waited a long time,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Poor dear!” said Leonore, putting her other hand over +Peter’s, which held hers. +</p> + +<p> +Peter enjoyed this exquisite pleasure in silence for a time, but the enjoyment +was too great not to be expressed So he said; +</p> + +<p> +“I like your hands almost as much as your eyes.” +</p> + +<p> +“That’s very nice,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“And I like the way you say ‘dear,’” said Peter. +“Don’t you want to say it again?” +</p> + +<p> +“No, I hate people who say the same thing twice.” +</p> + +<p> +Then there was a long pause. +</p> + +<p> +“What poor things words are?” said Peter, at the end of it. +</p> + +<p> +“I know just what you mean,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +Clearly they both meant what they said, for there came another absence of +words. How long the absence would have continued is a debatable point. Much too +soon a door opened. +</p> + +<p> +“Hello!” said a voice. “Back already? What kind of an evening +had you?” +</p> + +<p> +“A very pleasant one,” said Peter, calmly, yet expressively. +</p> + +<p> +“Let go my hand, Peter, please,” a voice whispered imploringly. +“Oh, please! I can’t to-night. Oh, please!” +</p> + +<p> +“Say ‘dear,’” whispered Peter, meanly. +</p> + +<p> +“Please, dear,” said Leonore. Then Leonore went towards the stairs +hurriedly. +</p> + +<p> +“Not off already, Dot, surely?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. I’m going to bed.” +</p> + +<p> +“Come and have a cigar, Peter,” said Watts, walking towards the +library. +</p> + +<p> +“In a moment,” said Peter. He went to the foot of the stairs and +said, “Please, dear,” to the figure going up. +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said the figure. +</p> + +<p> +Peter went up five steps. “Please,” he begged. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said the figure, “but there is my hand.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter turned the little soft palm uppermost and kissed it Then he forgot the +cigar and Watts. He went to his room, and thought of—of his birthday +gift. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LIX"></a>CHAPTER LIX.<br/> +“GATHER YE ROSEBUDS WHILE YE MAY.”</h2> + +<p> +If Peter had roamed about the hall that evening, he was still more restless the +next morning. He was down early, though for no apparent reason, and did nothing +but pass from hall to room, and room to hall, spending most of his time in the +latter, however. +</p> + +<p> +How Leonore could have got from her room into the garden without Peter’s +seeing her was a question which puzzled him not a little, when, by a chance +glance out of a window, he saw that personage clipping roses off the bushes. He +did not have time to spare, however, to reason out an explanation. He merely +stopped roaming, and went out to—to the roses. +</p> + +<p> +“Good-morning,” said Leonore pleasantly, though not looking at +Peter, as she continued her clipping. +</p> + +<p> +Peter did not say anything for a moment. Then he asked, “Is that +all?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know what you mean,” said Leonore, innocently. +“Besides, someone might be looking out of a window.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter calmly took hold of the basket to help Leonore sustain its enormous +weight. “Let me help you carry it,” he said. +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Leonore. “But there’s no occasion to +carry my hand too. I’m not decrepit.” +</p> + +<p> +“I hoped I was helping you,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You are not. But you may carry the basket, since you want to hold +something.” +</p> + +<p> +“Very well,” said Peter meekly. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Leonore, as she snipped, and dropped roses into +the basket, “you are not as obstinate as people say you are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t deceive yourself on that score,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Well! I mean you are not absolutely determined to have your own +way.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never give up my own views,” said Peter, “unless I can see +more to be gained by so doing. To that extent I am not at all obstinate.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose,” said Leonore, “that you go and cut the roses on +those furthest bushes while I go in and arrange these?” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose,” said Peter calmly, and with an evident lack of +enthusiasm. +</p> + +<p> +“Well. Will you?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Why not?” +</p> + +<p> +“The motion to adjourn,” said Peter, “is never +debatable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Leonore, “that you are beginning very +badly?” +</p> + +<p> +“That is what I have thought ever since I joined you.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then why don’t you go away?” +</p> + +<p> +“Why make bad, worse?” +</p> + +<p> +“There,” said Leonore, “Your talking has made me cut my +finger, almost.” +</p> + +<p> +“Let me see,” said Peter, reaching out for her hand. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m too busy,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know,” said Peter, “that if you cut many more buds, +you won’t have any more roses for a week. You’ve cut twice as many +roses as you usually do.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll go in and arrange them. I wish you would give +Bêtise a run across the lawn.” +</p> + +<p> +“I never run before breakfast,” said Peter. “Doctors say +it’s very bad.” +</p> + +<p> +So he followed her in. Leonore became tremendously occupied in arranging the +flowers, Peter became tremendously occupied in watching her. +</p> + +<p> +“You want to save one of those for me,” he said, presently. +</p> + +<p> +“Take one,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“My legal rule has been that I never take what I can get given me. You +can’t do less than pin it in my button-hole, considering that it is my +birthday.” +</p> + +<p> +“If I have a duty to do, I always get through with it at once,” +said Leonore. She picked out a rose, arranged the leaves as only womankind can, +and, turning to Peter, pinned it in his button-hole. But when she went to take +her hands away, she found them held against the spot so firmly that she could +feel the heart-beats underneath. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please,” was all she said, appealingly, while Peter’s +rose seemed to reflect some of its color on her cheeks. +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t want you to give it to me if you don’t wish,” +said Peter, simply. “But last night I sat up late thinking about it. All +night I dreamed about it. When I waked up this morning, I was thinking about +it. And I’ve thought about it ever since. I can wait, but I’ve +waited so long!” +</p> + +<p> +Then Leonore, with very red cheeks, and a very timid manner, held her lips up +to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” Leonore said presently, when again arranging of the roses, +“since you’ve waited so long, you needn’t have been so slow +about it when you did get it.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m sorry I did it so badly,” said Peter, contritely. +“I always was slow! Let me try again?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then show me how?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now who’s obstinate?” inquired Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You,” said Leonore, promptly. “And I don’t like +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Leonore,” said Peter. “If you only knew how happy I +am!” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore forgot all about her charge of obstinacy. “So am I,” she +said. “And I won’t be obstinate any more.” +</p> + +<p> +“Was that better?” Peter asked, presently. +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Leonore. “That wouldn’t have been possible. +But you do take so long! I shan’t be able to give you more than one a +day. It takes so much time.” +</p> + +<p> +“But then I shall have to be much slower about it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I’ll only give you one every other day.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then I shall be so much the longer.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sighed Leonore. “You are obstinate, after all!” +</p> + +<p> +So they went on till breakfast was announced. Perhaps it was foolish. But they +were happy in their foolishness, if such it was. It is not profitable to write +what they said. It is idle to write of the week that followed. To all others +what they said and did could only be the sayings and doings of two very +intolerable people. But to them it was what can never be told in +words—and to them we will leave it. +</p> + +<p> +It was Leonore who put an end to this week. Each day that Peter lingered +brought letter and telegraphic appeals to him from the party-leaders, over +which Peter only laughed, and which he not infrequently failed even to answer. +But Mr. Pell told Leonore something one day which made her say to Peter later: +</p> + +<p> +“Is it true that you promised to speak in New York on the +fifteenth?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I wrote Green last night saying I shan’t.” +</p> + +<p> +“And were you to have made a week of speeches through the State?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I can’t spare the time.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, you can. You must leave to-morrow and make them.” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t,” groaned Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“You must.” +</p> + +<p> +“Who says so?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do. Please, Peter? I so want to see you win. I shall never forgive +myself if I defeat you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But a whole week,” groaned Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“We shall break up here on the eighteenth, and of course you would have +to leave a day sooner. So you’ll not be any better off.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sighed Peter, “If I do as you want, will you give me +the seven I shall lose before I go.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear me, Peter,” sighed Leonore, “you oughtn’t to ask +them, since it’s for your own sake. I can’t keep you contented. You +do nothing but encroach.” +</p> + +<p> +“I should get them if I was here,” said Peter, “And one a day +is little enough! I think, if I oblige you by going away, I shouldn’t be +made to suffer more than is necessary.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m going to call you Growley,” said Leonore, patting him on +the cheek. Then she put her own against it. “Thank you, dear,” she +said. “It’s just as hard for me.” +</p> + +<p> +So Peter buckled on his armor and descended into the arena. Whether he spoke +well or ill, we leave it to those to say who care to turn back to the files of +the papers of that campaign. Perhaps, however, it may be well to add that an +entirely unbiassed person, after reading his opening speeches, delivered in the +Cooper Union and the Metropolitan Opera House, in New York City, wrote him: +“It is libel to call you Taciturnity. They are splendid! How I wish I +could hear you—and see you, dear. I’m very lonely, and so are +Bêtise and Tawney-eye. We do nothing but wander round the house all day, +waiting for your letter, and the papers.” Three thousand people in the +Brooklyn Rink were kept waiting for nearly ten minutes by Peter’s perusal +of that letter. But when he had finished it, and had reached the Rink, he +out-Stirlinged Stirling. A speaker nowadays speaks far more to the people +absent than to the people present. Peter did this that evening. He spoke, it is +true, to only one person that night, but it was the best speech of the +campaign. +</p> + +<p> +A week later, Peter rang the bell of the Fifty-seventh Street house. He was in +riding costume, although he had not been riding. +</p> + +<p> +“Mr. and Mrs. D’Alloi are at breakfast,” he was informed. +</p> + +<p> +Peter rather hurriedly laid his hat and crop on the hall-table, and went +through the hall, but his hurry suddenly came to an end, when a young lady, +carrying her napkin, added herself to the vista. “I knew it must be +you,” she said, offering her hand very properly—(on what grounds +Leonore surmised that a ring at the door-bell at nine o’clock meant +Peter, history does not state)—“I wondered if you knew enough to +come to breakfast. Mamma sent me out to say that you are to come right +in.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter was rather longer over the handshake than convention demands, but he +asked very politely, “How are your father and—?” But just +then the footman closed a door behind him, and Peter’s interest in +parents suddenly ceased. +</p> + +<p> +“How could you be so late?” said some one presently. “I +watched out of the window for nearly an hour.” +</p> + +<p> +“My train was late. The time-table on that road is simply a +satire!” said Peter. Yet it is the best managed road in the country, and +this particular train was only seven minutes overdue. +</p> + +<p> +“You have been to ride, though,” said Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“No. I have an engagement to ride with a disagreeable girl after +breakfast, so I dressed for it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Suppose the disagreeable girl should break her engagement—or +declare there never was one?” +</p> + +<p> +“She won’t,” said Peter. “It may not have been put in +the contract, but the common law settles it beyond question.” +</p> + +<p> +Leonore laughed a happy laugh. Then she asked: “For whom are those +violets?” +</p> + +<p> +“I had to go to four places before I could get any at this season,” +said Peter. “Ugly girls are just troublesome enough to have preferences. +What will you give me for them?” +</p> + +<p> +“Some of them,” said Leonore, and obtained the bunch. Who dares to +say after that that women have no business ability nor shrewdness? It is true +that she kissed the fraction returned before putting it in Peter’s +button-hole, which raises the question which had the best of the bargain. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m behind the curtain, so I can’t see anything,” said +a voice from a doorway, “and therefore you needn’t jump; but I wish +to inquire if you two want any breakfast?” +</p> + +<p> +A few days later Peter again went up the steps of the Fifty-seventh Street +house. This practice was becoming habitual with Peter; in fact, so habitual +that his cabby had said to him this very day, “The old place, sir?” +Where Peter got the time it is difficult to understand, considering that his +law practice was said to be large, and his political occupations just at +present not small. But that is immaterial. The simple fact that Peter went up +the steps is the essential truth. +</p> + +<p> +From the steps, he passed into a door; from the door he passed into a hall; +from a hall he passed into a room; from a room he passed into a pair of arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Thank the Lord, you’ve come,” Watts remarked. “Leonore +has up and down refused to make the tea till you arrived.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was at headquarters, and they would talk, talk, talk,” said +Peter. “I get out of patience with them. One would think the destinies of +the human race depended on this campaign!” +</p> + +<p> +“So the Growley should have his tea,” said a vision, now seated on +the lounge at the tea-table. “Then Growley will feel better.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’m doing that already,” said Growley, sitting down on the +delightfully short lounge—now such a fashionable and deservedly popular +drawing-room article. “May I tell you how you can make me absolutely +contented?” +</p> + +<p> +“I suppose that will mean some favor from me,” said Leonore. +“I don’t like children who want to be bribed out of their bad +temper. Nice little boys are never bad-tempered.” +</p> + +<p> +“I was only bad-tempered,” whispered Peter, “because I was +kept from being with you. That’s cause enough to make the best-tempered +man in the universe murderous.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” said Leonore, mollifying, “what is it this +time?” +</p> + +<p> +“I want you all to come down to my quarters this evening after dinner. +I’ve received warning that I’m to be serenaded about nine +o’clock, and I thought you would like to hear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“What fun,” cried Leonore. “Of course we’ll go. Shall +you speak?” +</p> + +<p> +“No. We’ll sit in my window-seats merely, and listen.” +</p> + +<p> +“How many will there be?” +</p> + +<p> +“It depends on the paper you read. The ‘World’ will probably +say ten thousand, the ‘Tribune’ three thousand, and the +‘Voice of Labor’ ‘a handful.’ Oh! by the way, I brought +you a ‘Voice’.” He handed Leonore a paper, which he took from +his pocket. +</p> + +<p> +Now this was simply shameful of him! Peter had found, whenever the papers +really abused him, that Leonore was doubly tender to him, the more, if he +pretended that the attacks and abuse pained him. So he brought her regularly +now that organ of the Labor party which was most vituperative of him, and +looked sad over it just as long as was possible, considering that Leonore was +trying to comfort him. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, dear!” said Leonore. “That dreadful paper. I can’t +bear to read it. Is it very bad to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“I haven’t read it,” said Peter, smiling. “I never +read—” then Peter coughed, suddenly looked sad, and +continued—“the parts that do not speak of me.” “That +isn’t a lie,” he told himself, “I don’t read +them.” But he felt guilty. Clearly Peter was losing his old-time +straightforwardness. +</p> + +<p> +“After its saying that you had deceived your clients into settling those +suits against Mr. Bohlmann, upon his promise to help you in politics, I +don’t believe they can say anything worse,” said Leonore, putting +two lumps of sugar (with her fingers) into a cup of tea. Then she stirred the +tea, and tasted it. Then she touched the edge of the cup with her lips. +“Is that right?” she asked, as she passed it to Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely,” said Peter, looking the picture of bliss. But then he +remembered that this wasn’t his rôle, so he looked sad and said: +“That hurt me, I confess. It is so unkind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Poor dear,” whispered a voice. “You shall have an extra one +to-day, and you shall take just as long as you want!” +</p> + +<p> +Now, how could mortal man look grieved, even over an American newspaper, with +that prospect in view? It is true that “one” is a very indefinite +thing. Perhaps Leonore merely meant another cup of tea. Whatever she meant, +Peter never learned, for, barely had he tasted his tea when the girl on the +lounge beside him gave a cry. She rose, and as she did so, some of the +tea-things fell to the floor with a crash. +</p> + +<p> +“Leonore!” cried Peter. “What—” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter!” cried Leonore. “Say it isn’t so?” It was +terrible to see the suffering in her face and to hear the appeal in her voice. +</p> + +<p> +“My darling,” cried the mother, “what is the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be,” cried Leonore. “Mamma! Papa! Say it +isn’t so?” +</p> + +<p> +“What, my darling?” said Peter, supporting the swaying figure. +</p> + +<p> +“This,” said Leonore, huskily, holding out the newspaper. +</p> + +<p> +Mrs. D’Alloi snatched it. One glance she gave it. “Oh, my poor +darling!” she cried. “I ought not to have allowed it. Peter! Peter! +Was not the stain great enough, but you must make my poor child suffer for +it?” She shoved Peter away, and clasped Leonore wildly in her arms. +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma!” cried Leonore. “Don’t talk so! Don’t! I +know he didn’t! He couldn’t!” +</p> + +<p> +Peter caught up the paper. There in big head-lines was: +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<b>SPEAK UP, STIRLING!</b> +</p> + +<hr style="width: 45%;" /> + +<p class="center"> +<b>WHO IS THIS BOY?</b> +</p> + +<p class="center"> +DETECTIVE PELTER FINDS A WARD UNKNOWN TO THE COURTS, AND +EXPLANATIONS ARE IN ORDER FROM +</p> + +<p class="center"> +<b>PURITY STIRLING.</b> +</p> + +<p> +The rest of the article it is needless to quote. What it said was so worded as +to convey everything vile by innuendo and inference, yet in truth saying +nothing. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, my darling!” continued Mrs. D’Alloi. “You have a +right to kill me for letting him come here after he had confessed it to me. But +I—Oh, don’t tremble so. Oh, Watts! We have killed her.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter held the paper for a moment. Then he handed it to Watts. He only said +“Watts?” but it was a cry for help and mercy as terrible as +Leonore’s had been the moment before. +</p> + +<p> +“Of course, chum,” cried Watts. “Leonore, dear, it’s +all right. You mustn’t mind. Peter’s a good man. Better than most +of us. You mustn’t mind.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t,” cried Leonore. “Let me speak. Mamma, did Peter +tell you it was so?” +</p> + +<p> +All were silent. +</p> + +<p> +“Mamma! Say something? Papa! Peter! Will nobody speak?” +</p> + +<p> +“Leonore,” said Peter, “do not doubt me. Trust me and I +will—” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me,” cried Leonore interrupting, “was this why you +didn’t come to see us? Oh! I see it all! This is what mamma knew. This is +what pained you. And I thought it was your love for—!” Leonore +screamed. +</p> + +<p> +“My darling,” cried Peter wildly, “don’t look so. +Don’t speak—” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t touch me,” cried Leonore. “Don’t. Only go +away.” Leonore threw herself upon the rug weeping. It was fearful the way +those sobs shook her. +</p> + +<p> +“It can’t be,” said Peter. “Watts! She is killing +herself.” +</p> + +<p> +But Watts had disappeared from the room. +</p> + +<p> +“Only go away,” cried Leonore. “That’s all you can do +now. There’s nothing to be done.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter leaned over and picked up the prostrate figure, and laid it tenderly on +the sofa. Then he kissed the edge of her skirt. “Yes. That’s all I +can do,” he said quietly. “Good-bye, sweetheart. I’ll go +away.” He looked about as if bewildered, then passed from the room to the +hall, from the hall to the door, from the door to the steps. He went down them, +staggering a little as if dizzy, and tried to walk towards the Avenue. +Presently he ran into something. “Clumsy,” said a lady’s +voice. “I beg your pardon,” said Peter mechanically. A moment later +he ran into something again. “I beg your pardon,” said Peter, and +two well-dressed girls laughed to see a bareheaded man apologize to a +lamp-post. He walked on once more, but had not gone ten paces when a hand was +rested on his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Now then, my beauty,” said a voice. “You want to get a cab, +or I shall have to run you in. Where do you want to go?” +</p> + +<p> +“I beg your pardon,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“Come,” said the policeman shaking him, “where do you belong? +My God! It’s Mr. Stirling. Why, sir. What’s the matter?” +</p> + +<p> +“I think I’ve killed her,” said Peter. +</p> + +<p> +“He’s awfully screwed,” ejaculated the policeman. “And +him of all men! Nobody shall know.” He hailed a passing cab, and put +Peter into it. Then he gave Peter’s office address, and also got in. He +was fined the next day for being off his beat “without adequate +reasons,” but he never told where he had been. When they reached the +building, he helped Peter into the elevator. From there he helped him to his +door. He rang the bell, but no answer came. It was past office-hours, and +Jenifer having been told that Peter would dine up-town, had departed on his own +leave of absence. The policeman had already gone through Peter’s pockets +to get money for cabby, and now he repeated the operation, taking possession of +Peter’s keys. He opened the door and, putting him into a deep chair in +the study, laid the purse and keys on Peter’s desk, writing on a scrap of +paper with much difficulty: “mr. stirling $2.50 I took to pay the +carriage. John Motty policeman 22 precinct,” he laid it beside the keys +and purse. Then he went back to his beat. +</p> + +<p> +And what was Peter doing all this time? Just what he now did. He tried to +think, though each eye felt as if a red hot needle was burning in it. Presently +he rose, and began to pace the floor, but he kept stumbling over the desk and +chairs. As he stumbled he thought, sometimes to himself, sometimes aloud: +“If I could only think! I can’t see. What was it Dr. Pilcere said +about her eyes? Or was it my eyes? Did he give me some medicine? I can’t +remember. And it wouldn’t help her. Why can’t I think? What is this +pain in her head and eyes? Why does everything look so dark, except when those +pains go through her head? They feel like flashes of lightning, and then I can +see. Why can’t I think? Her eyes get in the way. He gave me something to +put on them. But I can’t give it to her. She told me to go away. To stop +this agony! How she suffers. It’s getting worse every moment. I +can’t remember about the medicine. There it comes again. Now I know. +It’s not lightning. It’s the petroleum! Be quick, boys. Can’t +you hear my darling scream? It’s terrible. If I could only think. What +was it the French doctor said to do, if it came back? No. We want to get some +rails.” Peter dashed himself against a window. “Once more, men, +together. Can’t you hear her scream? Break down the door!” Peter +caught up and hurled a pot of flowers at the window, and the glass shattered +and fell to the floor and street “If I could see. But it’s all +dark. Are those lights? No. It’s too late. I can’t save her from +it.” +</p> + +<p> +So he wandered physically and mentally. Wandered till sounds of martial music +came up through the broken window. “Fall in,” cried Peter. +“The Anarchists are after her. It’s dynamite, not lightning. Podds, +Don’t let them hurt her. Save her. Oh! save her I Why can’t I get +to her? Don’t try to hold me,” he cried, as he came in contact with +a chair. He caught it up and hurled it across the room, so that it crashed into +the picture-frames, smashing chair and frames into fragments. “I +can’t be the one to throw it,” he cried, in an agonized voice. +“She’s all I have. For years I’ve been so lonely. Don’t +I can’t throw it. It kills me to see her suffer. It wouldn’t be so +horrible if I hadn’t done it myself. If I didn’t love her so. But +to blow her up myself. I can’t. Men, will you stand by me, and help me to +save her?” +</p> + +<p> +The band of music stopped. A moment’s silence fell and then up from the +street, came the air of: “Marching through Georgia,” five thousand +voices singing: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Rally round our party, boys;<br/> +Rally to the blue,<br/> +And battle for our candidate,<br/> +So sterling and so true,<br/> +Fight for honest government, boys,<br/> +And down the vicious crew;<br/> +Voting for freedom and Stirling.<br/> +<br/> +“Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, brave and strong.<br/> +Hurrah, hurrah, for Stirling, never wrong.<br/> +And roll the voters up in line,<br/> +Two hundred thousand strong;<br/> +Voting for freedom and Stirling.”<br/> +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t fight so many. Two hundred thousand! I have no sword. I +didn’t shoot them. No! I only gave the order. It hurt me, but I +didn’t mean to hurt her. She’s all I have. Do you think I intended +to kill her? No! No sacrifice would be too great. And you can talk to me of +votes! Two hundred thousand votes! I did my best for her. I didn’t mean +to hurt her. And I went to see the families. I went to see them all. If I only +could think. But she is suffering too much. I can’t think as long as she +lies on the rug, and trembles so. See the flashes of lightning pass through her +head. Don’t bury your face in the rug. No wonder it’s all dark. Try +to think, and then it will be all right.” +</p> + +<p> +Up from the street came the air of: “There were three crows,” and +the words: +</p> + +<p class="poem"> +“Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth,<br/> +Steven Maguire has schemed to be elected November fourth.<br/> +Steven Maguire has schemed and schemed,<br/> +Â Â Â Â But all his schemes will end in froth!<br/> +And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah.<br/> +And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah.<br/> +<br/> +“For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth,<br/> +For Peter Stirling elected will be upon November fourth,<br/> +For Peter Stirling elected will be<br/> +Â Â Â Â And Steven Maguire will be in broth,<br/> +And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah,<br/> +And the people will all shout, Hurrah, rah, rah, rah.”<br/> +</p> + +<p> +“It’s Steven Maguire. He never could be honest. If I had him +here!” Peter came in contact with a chair. “Who’s that? Ah! +It’s you. You’ve killed her. Now!” And another chair went +flying across the room with such force, that the door to the hall flew off its +hinges, and fell with a crash. “I’ve killed him” screamed +Peter. “I’ve—No, I’ve killed my darling. All I have in +the world!” +</p> + +<p> +And so he raved, and roamed, and stumbled, and fell; and rose, and roamed, and +raved, and stumbled, and fell, while the great torchlight procession sang and +cheered him from below. +</p> + +<p> +He was wildly fighting his pain still when two persons, who, after ringing and +ringing, had finally been let in by Jenifer’s key, stood where the door +had been. +</p> + +<p> +“My God,” cried one, in terror. “He’s crazy! Come +away!” +</p> + +<p> +But the other, without a word or sign of fear, went up to that wild-looking +figure, and put her hand in his. +</p> + +<p> +Peter stopped his crazed stride. +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t think, I tell you. I can’t think as long as you lie +there on the rug. And your eyes blaze so. They feel just like balls of +fire.” +</p> + +<p> +“Please sit down, Peter. Please? For my sake. Here. Here is the chair. +Please sit down.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter sank back in the chair. “I tell you I can’t think. They do +nothing but burn. It’s the petroleum!” He started forward, but a +slender arm arrested his attempt to rise, and he sank back again as if it had +some power over him. +</p> + +<p> +“Hyah, miss. Foh de lub ub heaben, put some ub dis yar on he eyes,” +said Jenifer, who had appeared with a bottle, and was blubbering enough to +supply a whole whaling fleet. “De doctor he done give dis yar foh de +Aspic nerve.” Which is a dish that Jenifer must have invented himself, +for it is not discoverable even on the fullest of menus. +</p> + +<p> +Leonore knelt in front of Peter, and, drenching her fingers with the wash, +began rubbing it softly over his eyes. It has always been a problem whether it +was the remedy or the ends of those fingers which took those lines of suffering +out of Peter’s face and made him sit quietly in that chain Those having +little faith in medicines, and much faith in a woman’s hands, will opine +the latter. Doctors will not. +</p> + +<p> +Sufficeth it to say, after ten minutes of this treatment, during which +Peter’s face had slowly changed, first to a look of rest, and then to one +which denoted eagerness, doubt and anxiety, but not pain, that he finally put +out his hands and took Leonore’s. +</p> + +<p> +“You have come to me,” he said, “Has he told you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Who? What?” asked Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“You still think I could?” cried Peter. “Then why are you +here?” He opened his eyes wildly and would have risen, only Leonore was +kneeling in front of the chair still. +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t excite yourself, Peter,” begged Leonore. +“We’ll not talk of that now. Not till you are better.” +</p> + +<p> +“What are you here for?” cried Peter. “Why did you +come—?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, please, Peter, be quiet.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me, I will have it.” Peter was exciting himself, more from +Leonore’s look than by what she said. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, Peter. I made papa bring me—because—Oh! I wanted to ask +you to do something. For my sake!” +</p> + +<p> +“What is it?” +</p> + +<p> +“I wanted to ask you,” sobbed Leonore, “to marry her. Then I +shall always think you were what I—I—have been loving, and +not—” Leonore laid her head down on his knee, and sobbed bitterly. +</p> + +<p> +Peter raised Leonore in his arms, and laid the little head on his shoulder. +</p> + +<p> +“Dear one,” he said, “do you love me?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes,” sobbed Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“And do you think I love you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes.” +</p> + +<p> +“Now look into your heart. Could you tell me a lie?” +</p> + +<p> +“No.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nor can I you. I am not the father of that boy, and I never wronged his +mother.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you told—” sobbed Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“I lied to your mother, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“For what?” Leonore had lifted her head, and there was a look of +hope in her eyes, as well as of doubt. +</p> + +<p> +“Because it was better at that time than the truth. But Watts will tell +you that I lied.” +</p> + +<p> +“Papa?” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, Dot. Dear old Peter speaks the truth.” +</p> + +<p> +“But if you lied to her, why not to me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t lie to you, Leonore. I am telling you the truth. +Won’t you believe me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I do,” cried Leonore. “I know you speak the truth. +It’s in your face and voice.” And the next moment her arms were +about Peter’s neck, and her lips were on his. +</p> + +<p> +Just then some one in the “torchlight” shouted: +</p> + +<p> +“What’s the matter wid Stirling?” +</p> + +<p> +And a thousand voices joyfully yelled; +</p> + +<p> +“He’s all right.” +</p> + +<p> +And so was the crowd. +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LX"></a>CHAPTER LX.<br/> +A CONUNDRUM.</h2> + +<p> +Mr. Pierce was preparing to talk. Usually Mr. Pierce was talking. Mr. Pierce +had been talking already, but it had been to single listeners only, and for +quite a time in the last three hours Mr. Pierce had been compelled to be +silent. But at last Mr. Pierce believed his moment had come. Mr. Pierce thought +he had an audience, and a plastic audience at that. And these three +circumstances in combination made Mr. Pierce fairly bubbling with words. No +longer would he have to waste his precious wit and wisdom, +<i>tête-à-tête,</i> or on himself. +</p> + +<p> +At first blush Mr. Pierce seemed right in his conjecture. Seated—in +truth, collapsed, on chairs and lounges, in a disarranged and untidy-looking +drawing-room, were nearly twenty very tired-looking people. The room looked as +if there had just been a free fight there, and the people looked as if they had +been the participants. But the multitude of flowers and the gay dresses proved +beyond question that something else had made the disorder of the room and had +put that exhausted look upon the faces. +</p> + +<p> +Experienced observers would have understood it at a glimpse. From the work and +fatigues of this world, people had gathered for a little enjoyment of what we +call society. It is true that both the room and its occupants did not indicate +that there had been much recreation. But, then, one can lay it down as an axiom +that the people who work for pleasure are the hardest-working people in the +world; and, as it is that for which society labors, this scene is but another +proof that they get very much fatigued over their pursuit of happiness and +enjoyment, considering that they hunt for it in packs, and entirely exclude the +most delicious intoxicant known—usually called oxygen—from their +list of supplies from the caterer. Certainly this particular group did look +exhausted far beyond the speech-making point. But this, too, was a deception. +These limp-looking individuals had only remained in this drawing-room for the +sole purpose of “talking it over,” and Mr. Pierce had no walk-over +before him. +</p> + +<p> +Mr. Pierce cleared his throat and remarked: “The development of marriage +customs and ceremonies from primeval days is one of the most curious +and—” +</p> + +<p> +“What a lovely wedding it has been!” said Dorothy, heaving a sigh +of fatigue and pleasure combined. +</p> + +<p> +“Wasn’t it!” went up a chorus from the whole party, except +Mr. Pierce, who looked eminently disgusted. +</p> + +<p> +“As I was remarking—” began Mr. Pierce again. +</p> + +<p> +“But the best part,” said Watts, who was lolling on one of the +lounges, “was those ‘sixt’ ward presents. As Mr. Moriarty +said; ‘Begobs, it’s hard it would be to find the equal av that +tureen!’ He was right! Its equal for ugliness is inconceivable.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet the poor beggars spent eight hundred dollars on it” sighed +Lispenard, wearily. +</p> + +<p> +“Relative to the subject—” said Mr. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“And Leonore told me,” said a charmingly-dressed girl, “that +she liked it better than any other present she had received.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, she was more enthusiastic,” laughed Watts, “over all the +‘sixt’ ward and political presents than she was over what we gave +her. We weren’t in it at all with the Micks. She has come out as much a +worshipper of hoi-polloi as Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t believe she cares a particle for them,” said our old +friend, the gentlemanly scoundrel; “but she worships them because they +worship him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” sighed Lispenard, “that’s the way things go in +life. There’s that fellow gets worshipped by every one, from the Irish +saloon-keeper up to Leonore. While look at me! I’m a clever, +sweet-tempered, friendly sort of a chap, but nobody worships me. There +isn’t any one who gives a second thought for yours truly. I seem good for +nothing, except being best man to much luckier chaps. While look at Peter! +He’s won the love of a lovely girl, who worships him to a degree simply +inconceivable. I never saw such idealization.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then you haven’t been watching Peter,” said Mrs. +D’Alloi, who, as a mother, had no intention of having it supposed that +Leonore was not more loved than loving. +</p> + +<p> +“Taking modern marriage as a basis—” said Mr. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“Oh,” laughed Dorothy, “there’s no doubt they are a +pair, and I’m very proud of it, because I did it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Cock-a-doodle-doo!” crowed Ray. +</p> + +<p> +“I did,” said Dorothy, “and my own husband is not the one to +cast reflection on my statement.” +</p> + +<p> +“He’s the only one who dares,” said Ogden. +</p> + +<p> +“Well, I did. Leonore would never have cared for such a silent, serious +man if I hadn’t shown her that other women did, and—” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense,” laughed Ogden. “It was Podds did it. Dynamite is +famous for the uncertainty of the direction in which it will expend its force, +and in this case it blew in a circle, and carried Leonore’s heart clear +from Newport to Peter.” +</p> + +<p> +“Or, to put it scientifically,” said Lispenard, “along the +line of least resistance.” +</p> + +<p> +“It seems to me that Peter was the one who did it,” said Le Grand. +“But of course, as a bachelor, I can’t expect my opinion to be +accepted.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Dorothy. “He nearly spoiled it by cheapening +himself. No girl will think a man is worth much who lets her tramp on +him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Still,” said Lispenard, “few girls can resist the flattery +of being treated by a man as if she is the only woman worth considering in the +world, and Peter did that to an extent which was simply disgraceful. It was +laughable to see the old hermit become social the moment she appeared, and to +see how his eyes and attention followed her. And his learning to dance! That +showed how things were.” +</p> + +<p> +“He began long before any of you dreamed,” said Mrs. D’Alloi. +“Didn’t he, Watts?” +</p> + +<p> +“Undoubtedly,” laughed Watts. “And so did she. I really think +Leonore did quite as much in her way, as Peter did. I never saw her treat any +one quite as she behaved to Peter from the very first. I remember her coming in +after her runaway, wild with enthusiasm over him, and saying to me ‘Oh, +I’m so happy. I’ve got a new friend, and we are going to be such +friends always!’” +</p> + +<p> +“That raises the same question,” laughed Ogden, “that the +Irishman did about the street-fight, when he asked ‘Who throwed that last +brick first?’” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, if it didn’t seem too absurd,” said Watts, “I +should say they began it the moment they met.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think that at all absurd,” said a gray-haired, +refined looking woman who was the least collapsed of the group, or was perhaps +so well bred as to conceal her feelings. “I myself think it began before +they even met. Leonore was half in love with Peter when she was in Europe, and +Peter, though he knew nothing of her, was the kind of a man who imagines an +ideal and loves that. She happened to be his ideal.” +</p> + +<p> +“Really, Miss De Voe,” said Mr. Pierce, “you must have +misjudged him. Though Peter is now my grandson, I am still able to know what he +is. He is not at all the kind of man who allows himself to be controlled by an +ideal.” +</p> + +<p> +“I do not feel that I have ever known Peter. He does not let people +perceive what is underneath,” said Miss De Voe. “But of one thing I +am sure. Nearly everything he does is done from sentiment. At heart he is an +idealist.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh!” cried several. +</p> + +<p> +“That is a most singular statement,” said Mr. Pierce. “There +is not a man I know who has less of the sentimental and ideal in him. An +idealist is a man of dreams and romance. Peter is far too sensible a fellow to +be that. There is nothing heroic or romantic in him.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nonsense, <i>Paternus</i>,” said Watts. “You don’t +know anything about the old chap. You’ve only seen him as a cool clever +lawyer. If your old definition of romance is right: that it is ‘Love, and +the battle between good and evil,’ Peter has had more true romance than +all the rest of us put together.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Mr. Pierce. “You have merely seen Peter in love, +and so you all think he is romantic. He isn’t. He is a cool man, who +never acts without weighing his actions, and therein has lain the secret of his +success. He calmly marks out his line of life, and, regardless of everything +else, pursues it. He disregards everything not to his purpose, and utilizes +everything that serves. I predicted great success for him many years ago when +he was fresh from college, simply from a study of his mental characteristics +and I have proved myself a prophet. He has never made a slip, legally, +politically, or socially. To use a yachting expression, he has ‘made +everything draw.’ An idealist, or a man of romance and fire and impulse +could never succeed as he has done. It is his entire lack of feeling which has +led to his success. Indeed—” +</p> + +<p> +“I can’t agree with you,” interrupted Dorothy, sitting up +from her collapse as if galvanized into life and speech by Mr. Pierce’s +monologue. “You don’t understand Peter. He is a man of great +feeling. Think of that speech of his about those children! Think of his conduct +to his mother as long as she lived! Think of the goodness and kindness he +showed to the poor! Why, Ray says he has refused case after case for want of +time in recent years, while doing work for people in his ward which was worth +nothing. If—” +</p> + +<p> +“They were worth votes,” interjected Mr. Pierce. +</p> + +<p> +“Look at his buying the Costell place in Westchester when Mr. Costell +died so poor, and giving it to Mrs. Costell,” continued Dorothy, warming +with her subject. “Look at his going to those strikers’ families, +and arranging to help them. Were those things done for votes? If I could only +tell you of something he once did for me, you would not say that he was a man +without feeling.” +</p> + +<p> +“I have no doubt,” said Mr. Pierce blandly, “that he did many +things which, on their face, seemed admirable and to indicate feeling. But if +carefully examined, they would be found to have been advantageous to him. Any +service he could have done to Mrs. Rivington surely did not harm him. His +purchase of Costell’s place pleased the political friends of the dead +leader. His aiding the strikers’ families placated the men, and gained +him praise from the press. I dislike greatly to oppose this rose-colored view +of Peter, but, from my own knowledge of the man, I must. He is without feeling, +and necessarily makes no mistakes, nor is he led off from his own ambitions by +sentiment of any kind. When we had that meeting with the strikers, he sat +there, while all New York was seething, with mobs and dead just outside the +walls, as cool and impassive as a machine. He was simply determined that we +should compromise, because his own interests demanded it, and he carried his +point merely because he was the one cool man at that meeting. If he had had +feeling he could not have been cool. That one incident shows the key-note of +his success.” +</p> + +<p> +“And I say his strong sympathies and feeling were the key-note,” +reiterated Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“I think,” said Pell, “that Peter’s great success lay +in his ability to make friends. It was simply marvellous. I’ve seen it, +over and over again, both in politics and society. He never seemed to excite +envy or bitterness. He had a way of doing things which made people like him. +Every one he meets trusts him. Yet nobody understands him. So he interests +people, without exciting hostility. I’ve heard person after person say +that he was an uninteresting, ordinary man, and yet nobody ever seemed to +forget him. Every one of us feels, I am sure, that, as Miss De Voe says, he had +within something he never showed people. I have never been able to see why he +did or did not do hundreds of things. Yet it always turned out that what he did +was right. He makes me think of the Frenchwoman who said to her sister, +‘I don’t know why it is, sister, but I never meet any one +who’s always right but myself.’” +</p> + +<p> +“You have hit it,” said Ogden Ogden, “and I can prove that +you have by Peter’s own explanation of his success. I spoke to him once +of a rather curious line of argument, as it seemed to me, which he was taking +in a case, and he said: ‘Ogden, I take that course because it is the way +Judge Potter’s mind acts. If you want to convince yourself, take the +arguments which do that best, but when you have to deal with judges or juries, +take the lines which fit their capacities. People talk about my unusual success +in winning cases. It’s simply because I am not certain that my way and my +argument are the only way and the only argument. I’ve studied the judges +closely, so that I know what lines to take, and I always notice what seems to +interest the jury most, in each case. But, more important than this study, is +the fact that I can comprehend about how the average man will look at a certain +thing. You see I am the son of plain people. Then I am meeting all grades of +mankind, and hearing what they say, and getting their points of view. I have +never sat in a closet out of touch with the world and decided what is right for +others, and then spent time trying to prove it to them. In other words, I have +succeeded, because I am merely the normal or average man, and therefore am +understood by normal or average people, or by majorities, to put it in another +way.’” +</p> + +<p> +“But Mr. Stirling isn’t a commonplace man,” said another of +the charmingly dressed girls. “He is very silent, and what he says +isn’t at all clever, but he’s very unusual and interesting.” +</p> + +<p> +“Nevertheless,” said Ogden, “I believe he was right. He has a +way of knowing what the majority of people think or feel about things. And that +is the secret of his success, and not his possession or lack of feeling.” +</p> + +<p> +“You none of you have got at the true secret of Peter’s +success,” said Ray. “It was his wonderful capacity for work. To a +lazy beggar like myself it is marvellous. I’ve known that man to work +from nine in the morning till one at night, merely stopping for meals.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yet he did not seem an ambitious man,” said Le Grand. “He +cared nothing for social success, he never has accepted office till now, and he +has refused over and over again law work which meant big money.” +</p> + +<p> +“No,” said Ray. “Peter worked hard in law and politics. Yet +he didn’t want office or money. He could more than once have been a +judge, and Costell wanted him governor six years ago. He took the nomination +this year against his own wishes. He cared as little for money or reputation in +law, as he cared for society, and would compromise cases which would have added +greatly to his reputation if he had let them go to trial. He might have been +worth double what he is to-day, if he had merely invested his money, instead of +letting it lie in savings banks or trust companies. I’ve spoken about it +repeatedly to him, but he only said that he wasn’t going to spend time +taking care of money, for money ceased to be valuable when it had to be taken +care of; its sole use to him being to have it take care of him. I think he +worked for the sake of working.” +</p> + +<p> +“That explains Peter, certainly. His one wish was to help others,” +said Miss De Voe. “He had no desire for reputation or money, and so did +not care to increase either.” +</p> + +<p> +“And mark my words,” said Lispenard. “From this day, +he’ll set no limit to his endeavors to obtain both.” +</p> + +<p> +“He can’t work harder than he has to get political power,” +said an usher. “Think of how anxious he must have been to get it, when he +would spend so much time in the slums and saloons! He couldn’t have liked +the men he met there.” +</p> + +<p> +“I’ve taken him to task about that, and told him he had no business +to waste his time so,” said Ogden; “but he said that he was not +taking care of other people’s money or trying to build up a great +business, and that if he chose to curtail his practice, so as to have some time +to work in politics, it was a matter of personal judgment.” +</p> + +<p> +“I once asked Peter,” said Miss De Voe, “how he could bear, +with his tastes and feelings, to go into saloons, and spend so much time with +politicians, and with the low, uneducated people of his district. He said, +‘That is my way of trying to do good, and it is made enjoyable to me by +helping men over rough spots, or by preventing political wrong. I have taken +the world and humanity as it is, and have done what I could, without stopping +to criticise or weep over shortcomings and sins. I admire men who stand for +noble impossibilities. But I have given my own life to the doing of small +possibilities. I don’t say the way is the best. But it is my way, for I +am a worker, not a preacher. And just because I have been willing to do things +as the world is willing to have them done, power and success have come to me to +do more.’ I believe it was because Peter had no wish for worldly success, +that it came to him.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are all wrong,” groaned Lispenard. “I love Peter as much +as I love my own kin, with due apology to those of it who are present, but I +must say that his whole career has been the worst case of sheer, downright luck +of which I ever saw or heard.” +</p> + +<p> +“Luck!” exclaimed Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes, luck!” said Lispenard. “Look at it. He starts in like +all the rest of us. And Miss Luck calls him in to look at a sick kitten die. +Very ordinary occurrence that! Health-board report several hundred every week. +But Miss Luck knew what she was about and called him in to just the right kind +of a kitten to make a big speech about. Thereupon he makes it, blackguarding +and wiping the floor up with a millionaire brewer. Does the brewer wait for his +turn to get even with him? Not a bit. Miss Luck takes a hand in and the brewer +falls on Peter’s breast-bone, and loves him ever afterwards. My cousin +writes him, and he snubs her. Does she annihilate him as she would have other +men? No. Miss Luck has arranged all that, and they become the best of +friends.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lispenard—” Miss De Voe started to interrupt indignantly, +but Lispenard continued, “Hold on till I finish. One at a time. Well. +Miss Luck gets him chosen to a convention by a fluke and Peter votes against +Costell’s wishes. What happens? Costell promptly takes him up and pushes +him for all he’s worth. He snubs society, and society concludes that a +man who is more snubby and exclusive than itself must be a man to cultivate. He +refuses to talk, and every one promptly says: ‘How interesting he +is!’ He gets in the way of a dynamite bomb. Does it kill him? Certainly +not. Miss Luck has put an old fool there, to protect him. He swears a bad word. +Does it shock respectable people? No! Every one breathes easier, and likes him +the better. He enrages and shoots the strikers. Does he lose votes? Not one. +Miss Luck arranges that the directors shall yield things which they had sworn +not to yield; and the strikers are reconciled and print a card in praise of +him. He runs for office. Do the other parties make a good fight of it? No. They +promptly nominate a scoundrelly demagogue and a nonentity who thinks votes are +won by going about in shirtsleeves. So he is elected by the biggest plurality +the State has ever given. Has Miss Luck done enough? No. She at once sets every +one predicting that he’ll get the presidential nomination two years from +now, if he cares for it. Be it friend or enemy, intentional or unintentional, +every one with whom he comes in contact gives him a boost. While look at me! +There isn’t a soul who ever gave me help. It’s been pure, +fire-with-your-eyes-shut luck. +</p> + +<p> +“Was this morning luck too?” asked a bridesmaid. +</p> + +<p> +“Absolutely,” sighed Lispenard. “And what luck! I always said +that Peter would never marry, because he would insist on taking women +seriously, and because at heart he was afraid of them to a woeful degree, and +showed it in such a way, as simply to make women think he didn’t like +them individually. But Miss Luck wouldn’t allow that. Oh, no! Miss Luck +isn’t content even that Peter shall take his chance of getting a wife, +with the rest of us. She’s not going to have any accidents for him. So +she takes the loveliest of girls and trots her all over Europe, so that she +shan’t have friends, or even know men well. She arranges too, that the +young girl shall have her head filled with Peter by a lot of admiring women, +who are determined to make him into a sad, unfortunate hero, instead of the +successful man he is. A regular conspiracy to delude a young girl. Then before +the girl has seen anything of the world, she trots her over here. Does she +introduce them at a dance, so that Peter shall be awkward and silent? Not she! +She puts him where he looks his best—on a horse. She starts the thing off +romantically, so that he begins on the most intimate footing, before another +man has left his pasteboard. So he’s way ahead of the pack when they open +cry. Is that enough? No! At the critical moment he is called to the aid of his +country. Gets lauded for his pluck. Gets blown up. Gets everything to make a +young girl worship him. Pure luck! It doesn’t matter what Peter says or +does. Miss Luck always arranges that it turn up the winning card.” +</p> + +<p> +“There is no luck in it,” cried Mr. Pierce. “It was all due +to his foresight and shrewdness. He plans things beforehand, and merely presses +the button. Why, look at his marriage alone? Does he fall in love early in +life, and hamper himself with a Miss Nobody? Not he! He waits till he has +achieved a position where he can pick from the best, and then he does exactly +that, if you’ll pardon a doating grandfather’s saying it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Watts, “we have all known Peter long enough to +have found out what he is, yet there seems to be a slight divergence of +opinion. Are we fools, or is Peter a gay deceiver?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is the most outspoken man I ever knew,” said Miss De Voe. +</p> + +<p> +“But he tells nothing,” said an usher. +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. He is absolutely silent,” said a bridesmaid. +</p> + +<p> +“Except when he’s speechifying,” said Ray. +</p> + +<p> +“And Leonore says he talks and jokes a great deal,” said Watts. +</p> + +<p> +“I never knew any one who is deceiving herself so about a man,” +said Dorothy. “It’s terrible. What do you think she had the face to +say to me to-day?” +</p> + +<p> +“What?” +</p> + +<p> +“She was speaking of their plans after returning from the wedding +journey, and she said: ‘I am going to have Peter keep up his bachelor +quarters.’ ‘Does he say he’ll do it?’ I asked. ‘I +haven’t spoken to him,’ she replied, ‘but of course he +will.’ I said: ‘Leonore, all women think they rule their husbands, +but they don’t in reality, and Peter will be less ruled than any man I +know.’ Then what do you think she said?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t keep us in suspense.” +</p> + +<p> +“She said: ‘None of you ever understood Peter. But I do.’ +Think of it! From that little chit, who’s known Peter half the number of +months that I’ve known him years!” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know,” sighed Lispenard. “I’m not +prepared to say it isn’t so. Indeed, after seeing Peter, who never seemed +able to understand women till this one appeared on the scene, develop into a +regulation lover, I am quite prepared to believe that every one knows more than +I do. At the same time, I can’t afford to risk my reputation for +discrimination and insight over such a simple thing as Peter’s character. +You’ve all tried to say what Peter is. Now I’ll tell you in two +words and you’ll all find you are right, and you’ll all find you +are wrong.” +</p> + +<p> +“You are as bad as Leonore,” cried Dorothy. +</p> + +<p> +“Well,” said Watts, “we are all listening. What is +Peter?” +</p> + +<p> +“He is an extreme type of a man far from uncommon in this country, yet +who has never been understood by foreigners, and by few Americans.” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“Peter is a practical idealist” +</p> + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div class="chapter"> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_LXI"></a>CHAPTER LXI.<br/> +LEONORE’S THEORY.</h2> + +<p> +And how well had that “talk-it-over” group at the end of Peters +wedding-day grasped his character? How clearly do we ever gain an insight into +the feelings and motives which induce conduct even in those whom we best know +and love? Each had found something in Peter that no other had discovered. We +speak of rose-colored glasses, and Shakespeare wrote, “All things are +yellow to a jaundiced eye.” When we take a bit of blue glass, and place +it with yellow, it becomes green. When we put it with red, it becomes purple. +Yet blue it is all the time. Is not each person responsible for the tint he +seems to produce in others? Can we ever learn that the thing is blue, and that +the green or purple aspect is only the tinge which we ourselves help to give? +Can we ever learn that we love and are loved entirely as we give ourselves +colors which may harmonize with those about us? That love, wins love; kindness, +kindness; hate, hate. That just such elements as we give to the individual, the +individual gives back to us? That the sides we show are the sides seen by the +world. There were people who could truly believe that Peter was a ward boss; a +frequenter of saloons; a drunkard; a liar; a swearer; a murderer, in intention, +if not in act; a profligate; and a compromiser of many of his own strongest +principles. Yet there were people who could, say other things of him. +</p> + +<p> +But more important than the opinion of Peter’s friends, and of the world, +was the opinion of Peter’s wife. Was she right in her theory that she was +the only one who understood him? Or had she, as he had once done, reared an +ideal, and given that ideal the love which she supposed she was giving Peter? +It is always a problem in love to say whether we love people most for the +qualities they actually possess, or for those with which our own love endows +them. Here was a young girl, inexperienced in world and men, joyfully sinking +her own life in that of a man whom, but a few months before, had been only a +matter of hearsay to her. Yet she had apparently taken him, as women will, for +better, for worse, till death, as trustfully as if he and men generally were as +knowable as A B C, instead of as unknown as the algebraic X. Only once had she +faltered in her trust of him, and then but for a moment. How far had her love, +and the sight of Peter’s misery, led her blindly to renew that trust? And +would it hold? She had seen how little people thought of that scurrilous +article, and how the decent papers had passed it over without a word. But she +had also seen, the scandal harped upon by partisans and noted that Peter failed +to vindicate himself publicly, or vouchsafe an explanation to her. Had she +taken Peter with trust or doubt, knowledge or blindness? +</p> + +<p> +Perhaps a conversation between the two, a week later, will answer these +questions. It occurred on the deck of a vessel. Yet this parting glimpse of +Peter is very different from that which introduced him. The vessel is not +drifting helplessly, but its great screw is whirling it towards the island of +Martinique, as if itself anxious to reach that fairy land of fairy lands. +Though the middle of November, the soft warmth of the tropics is in the air. +Nor are the sea and sky now leaden. The first is turned into liquid gold by the +phosphorescence, and the full moon silvers everything else. Neither is Peter +pacing the deck with lines of pain and endurance on his face. He is up in the +bow, where the vessel’s forefoot throws up the white foam in silver drops +in the moonlight. And he does not look miserable. Anything but that. He is +sitting on an anchor stock, with his back comfortably braced against the rail. +Another person is not far distant. What that person sits upon and leans against +is immaterial to the narrative. +</p> + +<p> +“Why don’t you smoke?” asked that person. +</p> + +<p> +“I’m too happy,” said Peter, in a voice evidencing the truth +of his words. +</p> + +<p> +“Will you if I bite off the end?” asked Eve, Jr., placing +temptation most temptingly. +</p> + +<p> +“I like the idea exceedingly,” said Peter. “But my right arm +is so very pleasantly placed that it objects to moving.” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t move it. I know where they are. I even know about the +matches.” And Peter sat calmly while his pockets were picked. He even +seemed to enjoy the sensation of that small hand rummaging in his waistcoat +pockets. “You see, dear, that I am learning your ways,” Leonore +continued, in a tone of voice which suggested that that was the chief end of +woman. Perhaps it is. The Westminster catechism only tells us the chief end of +man. +</p> + +<p> +“There. Now are you really happy?” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t know anybody more so.” +</p> + +<p> +“Then, dear, I want to talk with you.” +</p> + +<p> +“The wish is reciprocal. But what have we been doing for six days?” +</p> + +<p> +“We’ve been telling each other everything, just as we ought. But +now I want to ask two favors, dear.” +</p> + +<p> +“I don’t think that’s necessary. Just tell me what they +are.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. These favors are. Though I know you’ll say +‘yes.’” +</p> + +<p> +“Well?” +</p> + +<p> +“First. I want you always to keep your rooms just as they are?” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear-heart, after our six weeks’ trip, we must be in Albany for +three years, and when we come back to New York, we’ll have a house of +course.” +</p> + +<p> +“Yes. But I want you to keep the rooms just as they are, because I love +them. I don’t think I shall ever feel the same for any other place. It +will be very convenient to have them whenever, we want to run down from Albany. +And of course you must keep up with the ward.” +</p> + +<p> +“But you don’t suppose, after we are back in New-York, that +I’ll stay down there, with you uptown?” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, no! Of course not. Peter! How absurd you are! But I shall go down +very often. Sometimes we’ll give little dinners to real friends. And +sometimes, when we want to get away from people, we’ll dine by ourselves +and spend the night there. Then whenever you want to be at the saloons or +primaries we’ll dine together there and I’ll wait for you. And then +I think I’ll go down sometimes, when I’m shopping, and lunch with +you. I’ll promise not to bother you. You shall go back to your work, and +I’ll amuse myself with your flowers, and books, till you are ready to go +uptown. Then we’ll ride together.” +</p> + +<p> +“Lispenard frightened me the other day, but you frighten me worse.” +</p> + +<p> +“How?” +</p> + +<p> +“He said you would be a much lovelier woman at thirty than you are +now.” +</p> + +<p> +“And that frightened you?” laughed Leonore. +</p> + +<p> +“Terribly. If you are that I shall have to give up law and politics +entirely, so as to see enough of you.” +</p> + +<p> +“But what has that to do with my lunching with you?” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you think I could work at law with you in the next room?” +</p> + +<p> +“Don’t you want me? I thought it was such a nice plan.” +</p> + +<p> +“It is. If your other favor is like that I shan’t know what to say. +I shall merely long for you to ask favors.” +</p> + +<p> +“This is very different. Will you try to understand me?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shan’t misunderstand you, at all events.” Which was a +crazy speech for any man to make any woman. +</p> + +<p> +“Then, dear, I want to speak of that terrible time—only for a +moment, dear. You mustn’t think I don’t believe what you said. I +do! I do! Every word of it, and to prove it to you I shall never speak of it +again. But when I’ve shown you that I trust you entirely, some stormy +evening, when we’ve had the nicest little dinner together at your rooms, +and I’ve given you some coffee, and bitten your cigar for you, I shall +put you down before the fire, and sit down in your lap, as I am doing now, and +put my arms about your neck so, and put my cheek so. And then I want you, +without my asking to tell me why you told mamma that lie, and all about +it.” +</p> + +<p> +“Dear-heart,” said Peter, “I cannot tell. I promised.” +</p> + +<p> +“Oh, but that didn’t include your wife, dear, of course. Besides, +Peter, friends should tell each other everything. And we are the best of +friends, aren’t we?” +</p> + +<p> +“And if I don’t tell my dearest friend?” +</p> + +<p> +“I shall never speak of it, Peter, but I know sometimes when I am by +myself I shall cry over it. Not because I doubt you, dear, but because you +won’t give me your confidence.” +</p> + +<p> +“Do you know, Dear-heart, that I can’t bear the thought of your +doing that!” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course not, dear. That’s the reason I tell you. I knew you +couldn’t bear it.” +</p> + +<p> +“How did you know?” +</p> + +<p> +“Because I understand you, dear. I know just what you are. I’m the +only person who does.” +</p> + +<p> +“Tell me what I am.” +</p> + +<p> +“I think, dear, that something once came into your life that made you +very miserable, and took away all your hope and ambition. So, instead of trying +to make a great position or fortune, you tried to do good to others. You found +that you could do the most good among the poor people, so you worked among +them. Then you found that you needed money, so you worked hard to get that. +Then you found that you could help most by working in politics, so you did +that. And you have tried to gain power so as to increase your power for good. I +know you haven’t liked a great deal you have had to do. I know that you +much prefer to sit before your study fire and read than sit in saloons. I know +that you would rather keep away from tricky people than to ask or take their +help. But you have sacrificed your own feelings and principles because you felt +that they were not to be considered if you could help others. And, because +people have laughed at you or misunderstood, you have become silent and +unsocial, except as you have believed your mixing with the world to be +necessary to accomplish good.” +</p> + +<p> +“What a little idealist we are!” +</p> + +<p> +“Well, dear, that isn’t all the little idealist has found out. She +knows something else. She knows that all his life her ideal has been waiting +and longing for some one who did understand him, so that he can tell her all +his hopes and feelings, and that at last he has found her, and she will try to +make up for all the misery and sacrifice he has endured She knows, too, that he +wants to tell her everything. You mustn’t think, dear, that it was only +prying which made me ask you so many questions. I—I really wasn’t +curious except to see if you would answer, for I felt that you didn’t +tell other people your real thoughts and feelings, and so, whenever you told +me, it was really getting you to say that you loved me. You wanted me to know +what you really are. And that was why I knew that you told me the truth that +night. And that is the reason why I know that some day you will tell me about +that lie.” +</p> + +<p> +Peter, whatever he might think, did not deny the correctness of Leonore’s +theories concerning his motives in the past or his conduct in the future. He +kissed the soft cheek so near him, tenderly, and said: +</p> + +<p> +“I like your thoughts about me, dear one.” +</p> + +<p> +“Of course you do,” said Leonore. “You said once that when +you had a fine subject it was always easy to make a fine speech. It’s +true, too, of thoughts, dear.” +</p> + +</div><!--end chapter--> + +<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14532 ***</div> +</body> + +</html> diff --git a/14532-h/images/cover.jpg b/14532-h/images/cover.jpg Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..17dd810 --- /dev/null +++ b/14532-h/images/cover.jpg |
