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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/15123-h.zip b/15123-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..ed94ffa --- /dev/null +++ b/15123-h.zip diff --git a/15123-h/15123-h.htm b/15123-h/15123-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1bf6a4f --- /dev/null +++ b/15123-h/15123-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12365 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +David Lockwin - The People's Idol +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; background: White; margin-right: 10%; margin-left: 10%; font-size: small; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; text-align: justify } + +TD { font-size: small; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; } + +H3 { font-size: small; font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +Project Gutenberg's David Lockwin--The People's Idol, by John McGovern + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: David Lockwin--The People's Idol + +Author: John McGovern + +Release Date: February 21, 2005 [EBook #15123] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAVID LOCKWIN--THE PEOPLE'S IDOL *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT="Frontispiece" BORDER="2" WIDTH="374" HEIGHT="505"> +<H5> +[Frontispiece: He appears on the balcony. There is a cheer that may +be heard all over the South Side.] +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +DAVID LOCKWIN +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +The People's Idol +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +JOHN McGOVERN, +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF +</H3> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +"Daniel Trentworthy," "Burritt Durand," "Geoffrey," "Jason Hortner," +<BR> +"King Darwin," etc. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +CHICAGO: +</H4> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY JOHN M'GOVERN. +</H4> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. +</H4> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY JOHN M'GOVERN. +</H4> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +TABLE OF CONTENTS +</H3> + +<H3> +Book I - Davy +</H3> + +<H5> +Chapter +</H5> + +<TABLE> +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">I.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0101">Harpwood and Lockwin</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">II.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0102">The People's Idol</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">III.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0103">Of Sneezes</A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">IV.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0104">Bad News All Around </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">V.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0105">Dr. Floddin's Patient </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">VI.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0106">A Reign of Terror </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">VII.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0107">The Primaries </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">VIII. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0108">Fifty Kegs of Beer </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">IX.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0109">The Night Before Election </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">X.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0110">Elected </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">XI.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0111">Lynch-Law for Corkey </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">XII.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0112">In Georgian Bay </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">XIII.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0113">Off Cape Croker </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">XIV.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0114">In the Conventional Days</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3> +Book II - Esther Lockwin +</H3> + +<TABLE> +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">I.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0201">Extra! Extra! </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">II.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0202">Corkey's Fear of a Widow's Grief </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">III.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0203">The Cenotaph </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">IV.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0204">A Knolling Bell </A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3> +Book III - Robert Chalmers +</H3> + +<TABLE> +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">I.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0301">A Difficult Problem </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">II.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0302">A Complete Disguise </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">III.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0303">Before the Telegraph Office </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">IV.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0304">"A Sound of Revelry by Night" </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">V.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0305"> Letters of Consolation </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">VI.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0306">The Yawl </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">VII.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0307">A Rash Act </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">VIII.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0308">A Good Scheme </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">IX.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0309">A Heroic Act </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">X.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0310">Esther as a Liberal Patron </A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3> +Book IV - George Harpwood +</H3> + +<TABLE> +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">I. </TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0401">Corkey's Good Scheme </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">II.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0402">Happiness and Peace </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">III.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0403">At 3 in the Morning </A></TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">IV.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0404">The Bridegroom </A> </TD> +</TR> + +<TR ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<TD ALIGN="right" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%">V.</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="90%"><a href="#chap0405">At Six O'clock</A></TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS +</H3> + +<H3> +<a href="#img-front"> +Frontispiece: He appears on the balcony. There is a cheer that may be +heard all over the South Side. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<a href="#img-098"> +Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<a href="#img-130"> +The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<a href="#img-178"> +Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black granite letters +over the portal. +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<a href="#img-250"> +"It's a good scheme, Corkey." +</A> +</H3> + +<H3> +<a href="#img-291"> +But the bride still stands under the lamp on the portico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea. +</A> +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0101"></A> +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +DAVID LOCKWIN +</H1> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +THE PEOPLE'S IDOL +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +BOOK I +<BR><BR> +DAVY +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +<BR><BR> +HARPWOOD AND LOCKWIN +</H3> + +<BR> + +<P> +Esther Wandrell, of Chicago, will be worth millions of dollars. +</P> + +<P> +It is a thought that inspires the young men of all the city with +momentous ambitions. Why does she wait so long? Whom does she favor? +</P> + +<P> +To-night the carriages are trolling and rumbling to the great mansion +of the Wandrells on Prairie Avenue. The women are positive in their +exclamations of reunion, and this undoubted feminine joy exhilarates, +and entertains the men. The lights are brilliant, the music is far +away and clever, the flowers and decorations are novel. +</P> + +<P> +If you look in the faces of the guests you shall see that the affair +cannot fail. Everybody has personally assured the success of the +evening. +</P> + +<P> +Many times has this hospitable home opened to its companies of selected +men, and women. Often has the beautiful Esther Wandrell smiled upon +the young men--upon rich and poor alike. Why is she, at twenty-seven +years of age, rich, magnificent and unmarried? +</P> + +<P> +Ask her mother, who married at fifteen. Ask the father, who for ten +years worried to think his only child might go away from him at any day. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you," says Dr. Tarpion, "Harpwood will get her, and get her +to-night. That is what this party is for. I've seen them together, +and I know what's in the air." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that so?" says David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is so, and you know you don't like Harpwood any too well since +he got your primary in the Eleventh." +</P> + +<P> +"I should say I didn't!" says Lockwin, half to himself. +</P> + +<P> +At a distance, Esther Wandrell passes on Harpwood's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Who is Harpwood?" asks Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm blessed if I know," answers Dr. Tarpion. +</P> + +<P> +"How long has he been in town?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not over two years." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know anybody who knows him?" +</P> + +<P> +"He owes me a bill." +</P> + +<P> +"What was he sick of?" +</P> + +<P> +"Worry." +</P> + +<P> +The man and woman repass. The woman looks toward Lockwin and his dear +friend the renowned Dr. Irenaeus Tarpion. Guests speak of Harpwood. +His suit is bold. The lady is apparently interested. +</P> + +<P> +"I should not think you would like that?" says the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +"Why should I care, after all?" asks Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if ever I have seen two men whose destinies are hostile, it +seems to me that you and Harpwood fill the condition. If he gets into +Wandrell's family you might as well give up politics." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I might do that anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you are an odd man. I'll not dispute that. What you will do at +any given time I'll not try to prophesy." +</P> + +<P> +The twain separate. However, of any two men in Chicago, perhaps David +Lockwin and Dr. Tarpion are most agreeable to each other. From boyhood +they have been familiar. If one has said to the other, "Do that!" it +has been done. +</P> + +<P> +"I fear you cannot be spared from your other guests, Esther," says +Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"I fear you are trying to escape to that dear doctor of yours. Now, +are you not?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I have been with him for half an hour already. Esther, you are a +fine-looking woman. Upon my honor, now--" +</P> + +<P> +She will not tolerate it, yet she never looked so pleased before. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me," she says, "of your little boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Of my foundling?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I love to hear you speak of him." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Esther, the truest thing I have heard of my boy was said by old +Richard Tarbelle. He stopped me the other day. You know our houses +adjoin. 'Mr. Lockwin,' said he, as he came home with his basket--he +goes to his son's hotel each day for family stores--'I often say to +Mary that the happiest moment in my day is when I give an apple or an +orange to your boy, for the look on that child's face is the nearest we +ever get to heaven on this earth." +</P> + +<P> +"O, beautiful! beautiful! Mr. Lockwin." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, indeed, Esther. I took that little fellow three years ago. I +had no idea he would grow so pretty. Folks said it was the oddest of +pranks, but if I had bought fifteen more horses than I could use, or +dogs enough to craze the neighborhood, or even a parrot, like my good +neigbor Tarbelle, everybody would have been satisfied. Of course, I +had to take a house and keep a number of people for whom a bachelor has +no great need. But, Esther, when I go home there is framed in my +window the most welcome picture human eye has ever seen--that little +face, Esther!" +</P> + +<P> +The man is enwrapped. The woman joins in the man's exaltation. +</P> + +<P> +"He is the most beautiful child I have ever seen anywhere. It is the +talk of everybody. You are so proud of him when you ride together!" +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, I have seen him in the morning when he came to rouse me--his +face as white as his gown; his golden hair long, and so fleecy that it +would stand all about his head; his mouth arched like the Indian's bow; +his great blue eyes bordered with dark brows and lashed with jet-black +hairs a half-inch long. That picture, Esther, I fear no painter can +get. I marvel why I do not make the attempt." +</P> + +<P> +"He is as bright as he is beautiful," she says. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Esther, I have looked over this world. Childhood is always +beautiful--always sweet to me--but my boy is without equal, and nearly +everybody admits it." +</P> + +<P> +"He is not yours, David." +</P> + +<P> +The man looks inquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"I have as good a right to love him as you have. I do love him." +</P> + +<P> +The man has been eloquent and self-forgetful. The woman has lost her +command. Tears are coming in her eyes. Shame is mantling her cheeks. +David Lockwin is startled. +</P> + +<P> +George Harpwood passes in the distance with Esther's mother on his arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, you know me, with all my faults. I think we could be happy +together--we three--you and I and the boy. Will you marry me? Will +you be a mother to my little boy? He is lonesome while I am gone!" +</P> + +<P> +The matter is settled. It has come by surprise. If David Lockwin had +foreseen it, he would have left the field open to Harpwood. +</P> + +<P> +If Esther Wandrell had foreseen it, she would have shunned David +Lockwin. It is her dearest hope, and yet-- +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0102"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +<BR><BR> +THE PEOPLE'S IDOL +</H3> + +<P> +If David Lockwin had planned to increase all his prospects, and if all +his plans had worked with precision, he could in nowise have pushed his +interests more powerfully than by marrying Esther Wandrell. +</P> + +<P> +It might have been said of Lockwin that he was impractical; that he was +a dreamer. He had done singular things. He had not studied the ways +of public opinion. +</P> + +<P> +But now, to solidify all his future--to take a secure place in society, +especially as his leanings toward politics are pronounced--to do these +things--this palliates and excuses the adoption of the golden-haired +boy. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin hears this from his friend, the doctor. Lockwin hears it from +the world. The more he hears it the less he likes it. +</P> + +<P> +But people, particularly the doctor, are happy in Lockwin. His +popularity in the district is amazing. He will soon be deep in +politics. He has put Harpwood out of the combat--so the doctor says. +</P> + +<P> +And David Lockwin, when he comes home at night, still sees his boy at +the window. What a noble affection is that love for this waif! Why +should such a thought seize the man as he sits in his library with wife +and son? Why should not David be tender and good to the woman who +loves him so well, and is so proud of her husband? +</P> + +<P> +Tender and good he is--as if he pitied her. Tender and good is she. +So that if an orphan in the great city should be in the especial care +of the Lord, why should not that orphan drop into this house, exactly +as has happened, and no matter at all what society may have said? +</P> + +<P> +"You must run for Congress!" the doctor commands. +</P> + +<P> +It spurs Lockwin. He thinks of the great white dome at Washington. He +thinks of his marked ability as an orator, everywhere conceded. He +says he does not care to enter upon a life so active, but he is not +truly in earnest. +</P> + +<P> +"You must run for Congress!" the committee says the next week. +</P> + +<P> +Feelings of friendliness for the incumbent of the office to give +Lockwin a sufficient excuse for inaction. +</P> + +<P> +The incumbent dies suddenly a week later. +</P> + +<P> +"You must run to save the party," the committeemen announce. +</P> + +<P> +A day later the matter is settled. The great editors are seen; the +boss of the machine is satisfied; the ward-workers and the +saloon-keepers are infused with party allegiance. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin begins at one end of State street and drinks, or pretends +to drink, at every bar between Lake and Fortieth streets. This +libation poured on the altar of liberty, he is popularly declared to be +in the race. The newspapers announce that he is the people's idol, and +the boss of the machine sends word to the newspapers that it is all +well enough, but it must be kept up. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin rents head-quarters in the district, and shakes hands +with all the touching committees. Twelve members of the Sons of Labor +can carry their union over to him. It will require $100, as the union +is mostly democratic. +</P> + +<P> +They are told they must see Mr. Lockwin's central committee. But Mr. +Lockwin must be prepared to deliver an address on the need of reform in +the government, looking to the civil service, to retrenchment and to +the complete allegiance of the officeholder to his employers, the +voters. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Lockwin must listen with attention to a plan by which the central +committee of the Sodalified Assembly can be packed with republicans at +the annual election, to take place the next Sunday. This will enable +Lockwin to carry the district in case he should get the nomination. To +show a deep interest in the party and none in himself must arouse +popular idolatry. +</P> + +<P> +This popular idolatry must be kept awake, because Harpwood has opened +head-quarters and is visited by the same touching committees. He has +been up and down State street, and has drunk more red liquor than was +seen to go down Lockwin's throat. In more ways than one, Harpwood +shows the timber out of which popular idols are made. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor is alarmed. He makes a personal canvass of all his +patients. They do not know when the primaries will be held. They do +not know who ought to go to Washington. All they know is that the +congressman is dead and there must be a special election, which is +going to cost them some extra money. If the boss of the machine will +see to it, that will do! +</P> + +<P> +But Lockwin is the man. This the boss has been at pains to determine. +The marriage has made things clear. +</P> + +<P> +One should study the boss. Why is he king? If we have a democracy how +is it that everybody in office or in hope of office obeys the pontiff? +It is the genius of the people for government. The boss is at a summer +resort near the city. +</P> + +<P> +To him comes Harpwood, and finds the great contractor, the promoter of +the outer docks, the park commissioners, and a half-dozen other great +men already on the ground. +</P> + +<P> +"Harpwood," says the boss, "I am out of politics, particularly in your +district. Yet, if you can carry the primaries, I could help you +considerably. Carry the primaries, me boy, and I'll talk with you +further. See you again. Good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +The next day comes Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +There are no "me-boys" now. Here is the candidate. He must be put in +irons. +</P> + +<P> +"Lockwin, what makes you want to go to Congress?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe I do want to go, but I was told you wished to see me +up here, privately." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you ought to know whether or not you want to go. Nobody wants +you there if it isn't yourself. Harpwood will go if you don't." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I suppose so." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if you want our support, we must have a pledge from you. I +guess you want to go, and we are willing to put you there for the +unexpired term and the next one. Then are you ready to climb down? +Say the word. The mayor and the senator are out there waiting for me." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. It is a bargain." +</P> + +<P> +"And you won't feel bad when we knock you out, in three years?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. I will probably be glad to come home." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well; we will carry the primaries. But that district needs +watching. Spend lots of money." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0103"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +<BR><BR> +OF SNEEZES +</H3> + +<P> +There is no chapter on sneezes in "Tristam Shandy." The faithful +Boswell has recorded no sneeze of Dr. Johnson. Spinoza does not reckon +it among the things the citizen may do without offense to a free state. +Montesquieu does not give the Spirit of Sneezing, nor tell how the +ancients sneezed. Pascal, in all his vanities of man, has no thought +on sneezing. Bacon has missed it. Of all the glorious company of +Shakespeare's brain, a few snored, but not one sneezed or spoke of +sneezing. Darwin avoids it. Hegel and Schlegel haven't a word of it. +The encyclopedias leave it for the dictionaries. +</P> + +<P> +We might suppose the gentle latitudes and halcyon seas of Asia and the +Mediterranean had failed to develop the sneeze, save that the immortal +Montaigue, a friend in need to every reader, will point you that +Aristotle told why the people bless a man who sneezes. "The gods bless +you!" said the Athenian. "God bless you!" says the Irishman or +Scotchman of to-day. +</P> + +<P> +A sneeze is to enter the politics of the First District. Could any +political boss, however prudent or scholarly, foresee it? A sneeze is +to influence the life of David Lockwin. Does not providence move in a +mysterious way? +</P> + +<P> +A great newspaper has employed as its marine reporter a singular +character. He once was rich--that is, he had $10,000 in currency. How +had he made it? Running a faro bank. How did he lose it? By taking a +partner, who "played it in"--that is, the partner conspired with an +outside player, or "patron" of the house. Why did not our man begin +over again? He was disheartened--tired of the business. Besides, it +gives a gambler a bad name to be robbed--it is like a dishonored +husband. +</P> + +<P> +The marine reporter's ancestors were knights. The ancestral name was +Coeur de Cheval. The attrition of centuries, and the hurry of the +industrial period, have diminished this name in sound and dignity to +Carkey, and finally to Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +Naturally of a knightly fiber, this queer man has no sooner established +himself in command of the port of Chicago than he has found his dearest +dreams realized. To become the ornament of the sailor's fraternity is +but to go up and down the docks, drinking the whisky which comes in +free from Canada and sneezing. +</P> + +<P> +"We steer toward Corkey's sneeze," the sailors declare. +</P> + +<P> +To produce the greatest sneeze that was ever heard in the valley of the +Mississippi, give us, then, a man who is called a "sawed-off" by those +who love him--a very thick, very short, very tobaccofied, strong man in +cavalry pants, with a jacket of the heaviest chinchilla--a restless, +oathful, laconic, thirsty, never-drunk "editor." It is a man after the +sailor's own heart. It is a man, too, well known to the gamblers, and +they all vote in Lockwin's district. +</P> + +<P> +Parlor entertainers make a famous sneeze by delegating to each of a +group some vowel in the word "h--sh!" It shall be "hash" for this one, +"hish" for that one, "hush" for still another, and so on. Then the +professor counts three, at which all yell together, and the +consolidated sound is a sneeze. +</P> + +<P> +In a chorus the leader may tell you one singer is worth all the rest. +So, if Corkey were in this parlor, and should render one unforeseen, +unpremeditated sneeze, you would not know the parlorful had sneezed +along with him. Corkey's sneeze is unapproachable, unrivaled, hated, +feared, admired, reverenced. The devout say "God bless you!" with deep +unction. The adventurous declare that such a sneeze would buckle the +cabin-floor of a steamer like a wave in the trough of the sea. +</P> + +<P> +When Corkey sneezes, sailors are moved to treat to the drinks. They +mark it as an event. A sailor will treat you because it is Christmas, +or because Corkey has sneezed. +</P> + +<P> +Greatness consists in doing one thing better or worse than any one else +can do it. Thus it is rare a man is so really great as Corkey. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0104"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +<BR><BR> +BAD NEWS ALL AROUND +</H3> + +<P> +With thousands of gamblers in good luck, and thousands of sailors in +port, why should not the saloons of the dock regions resound also with +politics--a politics of ultra-marine color--Corkey recooking and +warming the cold statesmanship of his newspaper, breaking the counter +with his fist, paying gorgeously for both drinks and glasses, smiling +when the sailors expel outside politicians and at last rocking the +building with his sneeze. +</P> + +<P> +It is thus settled that Corkey shall go to Congress from Lockwin's +district. Because this is a sailor's matter it is difficult to handle +it from the adversary's side. The political boss first hears of it +through the information of a rival marine reporter on a democratic +sheet. +</P> + +<P> +This is on Wednesday. The primaries are to be held on Friday. The +boss has never dealt with a similar mishap. He learns that ten wagons +have been engaged by the president of the sailors' society. He +observes that the season is favorable to Corkey's plans. +</P> + +<P> +What, then, does Corkey want? +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing!" +</P> + +<P> +What is he after? He surely doesn't expect to go to Washington! +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I expect. You just screw your nut straight that time, +sure." +</P> + +<P> +What does he want to go to Congress for? +</P> + +<P> +"Well, my father got there. I guess my grandfather was in, too. My +great-grandfather wasn't no bad player. But I don't care nothing for +dead men. I'm going to Congress to start the labor party. I'm going +to have Eight Hours and more fog-horns on the Manitous and the Foxes. +I'm going to have a Syrena on the break-water." +</P> + +<P> +The siren-horn is just now the wonder of the lake region. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you she'll be a bird." +</P> + +<P> +The eyes grow brighter, the face grows dark, the mouth squares, the +head vibrates, the little tongue plays about a mass of jet-black +tobacco--the sneeze comes. +</P> + +<P> +"That's a bird, too," says the political boss. +</P> + +<P> +If Corkey is to start a labor party, why should he set out to carry a +republican primary election? +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well, you're asking too many questions. Will you take a drink? +Come down and see the boys. See how solid I've got 'em." +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin's brow clouds as the boss tells of this new development. +</P> + +<P> +"Those sailors will fight," he says. +</P> + +<P> +"But Corkey reckons on the gamblers," explains the boss, "and we can +fix the gamblers." +</P> + +<P> +"What will you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do? I'll do as I did in 1868, when I was running the Third. The +eight-hour men had the ward." +</P> + +<P> +"What did you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I carted over the West Side car company's laborers--a thousand on 'em." +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin starts for home. His heart is heavy. To-day has been +hard. The delegations of nominating committees have been eager and +greedy. The disbursements have been large. An anonymous circular has +appeared, which calls attention to the fact that David Lockwin is a +mere reader of books, an heir of some money who has married for more +money. Good citizens are invited to cast aside social reasons and oust +the machine candidate, for the nomination of Lockwin will be a +surrender of the district into the clutches of the ring at the city +hall. +</P> + +<P> +There is more than political rancor in this handbill. +</P> + +<P> +There is more than a well defined, easily perceived personal malice in +this argument. +</P> + +<P> +There is the poisoning sting of the truth--the truth said in a general +way, but striking in a special and a tender place. +</P> + +<P> +The house is reached. Lockwin has not enlarged his establishment. +Politics, at least, has spared him the humiliation of moving on Prairie +Avenue. Politics has kept him "among the people." +</P> + +<P> +It is the house which holds his boy. Lockwin did not adopt the boy for +money! The boy was not a step on the way to Congress! Lockwin did not +become a popular idol because he became a father to the foundling! +</P> + +<P> +It is a cooling and a comforting thought. Yesterday, while Lockwin sat +in his study hurriedly preparing his statement to the party, on the +needs of the nation and a reformed civil service, the golden head was +as deep at a little desk beside. Pencil in hand, the child had +addressed the voters of the First District, explaining to them the +reasons why his papa should be elected. "Josephus," wrote curly-head; +"Groceries," he added; "Ice," he concluded; A, B, C, D and so on, with +a tail the wrong way on J. +</P> + +<P> +It is a memory that robs politics of its bitterness. Lockwin opens the +door and kisses his wife affectionately. After all, he is a most +fortunate man. If there were a decent way he would let Harpwood go to +Congress and be rid of him. +</P> + +<P> +"Davy is very sick," she says, with a white face. +</P> + +<P> +"What! My boy!! When was he taken? Is it diphtheria? What has the +doctor said? Why wasn't I called? Where is he? Here, Davy, here's +papa. Here's papa! Old boy! Old fel'! Oh, God, I'm so scared!" +</P> + +<P> +All this as Lockwin goes up the stairs. +</P> + +<P> +It is a wheezing little voice that replies; "S-u-h-p-e-s-o-J! What's +that, papa?" +</P> + +<P> +"Does that hurt, Davy? There? or there?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's 'Josephus,' papa, on your big book, that I'll have some day--it +I live. If I live I'll have all your books!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0105"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +<BR><BR> +DR. FLODDIN'S PATIENT +</H3> + +<P> +If there be one thing of which great Chicago stands in fear, it is that +King Herod of the latter day, diphtheria. +</P> + +<P> +This terror of the people is absolute, ignorant, and therefore supine. +The cattle have a scourge, but the loss of money makes men active. +When the rinderpest appears, governors issue proclamations. When +horses show the glanders, quarantine is established. But when a +father's flock is cut off, it is done before he can move, and other +fathers will not or cannot interpose for their own protection. +</P> + +<P> +All the other fathers do is to discount the worst--to dread the unseen +sword which is suspended over all heads. +</P> + +<P> +When David Lockwin heard that one of his tenants had a child dead with +the contagion, the popular idol strove to recall his movements. Had he +been in the sick-room? Had Davy been in that region? The thought +which had finally alarmed Lockwin was the recollection that he had +stopped with Davy in the grocery beneath the apartments of the dying +child. +</P> + +<P> +That was nine days before. Why is Dr. Tarpion absent? What a good +fortune, however, that Dr. Floddin can be given charge. And if the +disease be diphtheria, whisky will alleviate and possibly cure the +patient. It is a hobby with Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Floddin has come rather oddly by this practice. Who he is, no +other regular doctor knows. But Dr. Floddin has an honest face, and +keeps a little drug store on State street below Eighteenth. He usually +charges fifty cents a visit, which is all he believes his services to +be worth. This piece of quackery would ruin his name with Lockwin, +were it known to him, or had Dr. Tarpion been consulted. +</P> + +<P> +The regular fee is two dollars. +</P> + +<P> +The poor come daily to Dr. Floddin's, and his fame is often in their +mouths. +</P> + +<P> +Why is Davy white and beautiful? Why is he gentle and so marvelously +intelligent? +</P> + +<P> +A year back, when his tonsils swelled, Dr. Tarpion said they must be +cut out. The house-keeper said it was the worst possible thing to do. +The cook said it should never be done. The peddling huckster's son +said Dr. Floddin didn't believe in it. +</P> + +<P> +Then Davy would wake in the night. "I tan't breathe," he would +complain. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you can, Davy. Papa's here. Lie down, Davy. Here's a drink." +</P> + +<P> +And in the morning all would be well. Davy would be in the library +preparing for a great article. +</P> + +<P> +The tribe on the other street, back, played ball from morning until +night. The toddler of the lot was no bigger than Davy. Every face was +as round and red as a Spitzbergen apple. +</P> + +<P> +Last summer Lockwin and Davy went for a ball and bat, the people along +the cross-street as usual admiring the boy. A blacksmith shop was on +the way. A white bulldog was at the forge. He leaped away from his +master, and was on the walk in an instant. With a dash he was on Davy, +his heavy paw in the neat little pocket, bursting it and strewing the +marbles and the written articles. Snap! went the mouth on the child's +face, but it was merely a caprice. +</P> + +<P> +"Bulldog never bite a child," observed the blacksmith. +</P> + +<P> +But Lockwin had time only to take his baby between his legs. "Please +call in your dog," he said to the blacksmith. "Please call him in. +Please call him in." +</P> + +<P> +The dog was recalled. The child smiled, and yet he felt he had been +ill served. The little hanging pocket testified that Lockwin must +tarry in that hateful locality and pick up the treasure and documents. +</P> + +<P> +Trembling in every joint, he called at the house of an acquaintance. +"I dislike to keep you here," said the friend, "if you are afraid of +the whooping-cough. We have it here in the house." +</P> + +<P> +It seemed to David Lockwin that the city was an inhospitable place for +childhood. The man and child traveled on and on. They reached the toy +store. They stood before the soda fountain. They bought bat and ball. +</P> + +<P> +It was too far. They rode by street car three miles in order to return +the half mile. The child was asleep when they reached home. +</P> + +<P> +"I drank sewer water," he observed to the housekeeper, speaking of the +soda fountain, for sewer gas is a thing for Chicagoans to discuss with +much learning. +</P> + +<P> +So Davy and David went on the rear lot to play ball. The neighboring +tribe offered their services for two-old-cat. The little white boy +with the golden curls made a great hit. +</P> + +<P> +"Bully for the codger!" quoth all the red-cheeked. +</P> + +<P> +"We will cut off his curls and make him as healthy as those young +ones," said Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll never do it!" said the housekeeper. +</P> + +<P> +"Such as him do be too pretty for this life," said the cook, almost +with tears in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +And just at this epoch of new hygiene Davy's eyes grew sore. "Take him +to a specialist," said Dr. Tarpion. +</P> + +<P> +The specialist made the eyes a little worse. +</P> + +<P> +"Them's just such eyes as Dr. Floddin cured on my sister," said the +peddling huckster's son at the kitchen door. +</P> + +<P> +The housekeeper could say as much for a relative whom the cheap +druggist had served. +</P> + +<P> +"Can you cure my boy?" was Lockwin's question to Dr. Floddin. +</P> + +<P> +"I think so," said the good man. He was gratified to be called to the +relief of a person of so much consequence. Thereupon began a patient +treatment of Davy's tonsils, his nose, and his eyes. As if Dr. Floddin +knew all things, he foretold the day when the boy would reappear in his +own countenance. +</P> + +<P> +"Bless your little soul," the housekeeper would say, "I can't for the +life of me laugh at you. But you do look so strange!" +</P> + +<P> +"I thought," Lockwin would say, "I loved you for your beauty, Davy, but +I guess it was for yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I guess you will love me better when I can play ball with the swear +boys, won't you, papa?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you must get strong. We will cut off your curls then." +</P> + +<P> +"And may I sit in your library and write articles if I will be very +still and not get mud on me? They throwed mud on me once, papa." +</P> + +<P> +Poor little swollen-eyed Davy! Yet richer than almost any other living +thing in Chicago. None knew him but to love him. "I didn't think it +would hit him," said even the barbarian who shied the clod at Davy. +</P> + +<P> +When Esther Lockwin took charge of that home she found Davy all issued +from the chrysalis of sores and swellings. If he had once been +beautiful, he was now more lovely. The union of intelligence, +affection, and seemliness was startling to Esther's mind. +</P> + +<P> +It was a dream. It knit her close to her husband. The child talked of +his papa all day. Because his new mother listened so intently, he +found less time to write his articles, and no time at all out-doors. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let him study if you can help it," said Dr. Floddin. +</P> + +<P> +The child stood at his favorite place in the window, waiting for old +Richard Tarbelle to come home. +</P> + +<P> +"'Bon-Ton Grocery,' mamma; what is 'Bon-Ton?'" +</P> + +<P> +"That is the name of the grocery." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I see that. It's on the wagon, of course, but does Mr. Bon-Ton +keep your grocery?" +</P> + +<P> +How, therefore, shall the book of this world be shut from Davy? But, +is it not a bad thing to see the child burst out crying in the midst of +an article? +</P> + +<P> +"Don't write any more to-day, baby," the housekeeper would say. +</P> + +<P> +"Come down and get the elephant I baked for yez, pet," the cook would +beg. +</P> + +<P> +And then Richard Tarbelle would come around the corner with his basket, +his eye fastened on that window where the smiling child was pictured. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Davy. There was a banquet at the hotel last night. See that +bunch of grapes, now!" +</P> + +<P> +"You are very kind, Mr. Tarbelle." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lockwin, I have been a hard man all my life. When I had my +argument with the bishop on baptism--" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Mr. Tarbelle, you are very kind." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lockwin, as I said, I have been a hard man all my life, but your +little boy has enslaved me. Sixty-three years! I don't believe I +looked twice at my own three boys. But they are great men. Big times +at the <I>ho</I>-tel, Mrs. Lockwin. Four hundred people on cots. Here, +Davy, you can carry an orange, too. Well, Mary will be waiting for me. +Your servant, madam. Good day. I hear your husband is up for +Congress. Tell him he has my vote. Good day, madam. Yes, Mary, yes, +yes. Good-bye, Davy. Good-bye, madam." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0106"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +<BR><BR> +A REIGN OF TERROR +</H3> + +<P> +When a man is in politics--when the party is intrusting its sacred +interests to his leadership--it is expected that he will stay at +head-quarters. It is as good as understood that he will be where the +touching committees can touch him. His clarion voice must be heard +denouncing the evil plans of the political enemy. +</P> + +<P> +The absence of David Lockwin from his head-quarters is therefore +declared to be a "bomb-shell." In the afternoon papers it is said that +he has undoubtedly withdrawn in favor of Harpwood. +</P> + +<P> +The morning papers announce serious illness in Lockwin's family. +</P> + +<P> +What they announce matters nothing to Lockwin. He cannot be seen. +</P> + +<P> +If it be diphtheria Lockwin will use whisky plentifully. It is his +hobby that whisky is the only antidote. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Floddin has taken charge. He believes that whisky would increase +Davy's fever. "It is not diphtheria," he says. "Be assured on that +point. It is probably asthma." +</P> + +<P> +Whatever it may be, it is terrible to David Lockwin, and to Esther, and +to all. +</P> + +<P> +The child draws his breath with a force that sometimes makes itself +heard all over the house. He must be treated with emetics. He is in +the chamber this Wednesday night, on a couch beside the great bed. The +room has been hot, but by what chance does the furnace fail at such a +moment? It is David Lockwin up and down, all night--now going to bed +in hope the child will sleep--now rising in terror to hear that shrill +breathing--now rousing all hands to heat the house and start a fire at +the mantel. Where is Dr. Cannoncart's book? Read that. Ah, here it +is. "For asthma, I have found that stramonium leaves give relief. +Make a decoction and spray the patient." +</P> + +<P> +Off the man goes to the drug store for the packet of stramonium. It +must be had quickly. It must be boiled, and that means an hour. It is +incredible that the fire should go out! The man sweats a cold liquor. +He feels like a murderer. He feels bereft. He is exhausted with a +week of political orgy. +</P> + +<P> +And yet along toward morning, as the gray morn grows red in response to +the stained glasses and rich carpetings, the room is warm once more. +The whistling in the child's throat is less shrill. The man and the +woman sit by the little couch and the man presses the rubber bulb and +sprays the air about the sick boy. +</P> + +<P> +He will take no medicine. Never before did he refuse to obey. But now +he is in deeper matters. It requires all his strength and all his +thoughts to get his breath. As for medicine, he will not take it. For +the spray he is grateful. His beautiful eyes open gloriously when a +breath has come without that hard tugging for it. +</P> + +<P> +At eight in the morning the man and the woman eat--a cup of coffee and +a nubbin of bread. The mother of Esther arrives. She too is terrified +by the ordeal through which the child is passing. +</P> + +<P> +"Go to the head-quarters, David," she says. "You are needed. Pa says +so. I will stay all day," +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Mother Wandrell, what do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"Here is your Dr. Floddin, ask him." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor speaks sadly. "He is much worse. What has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"The fires went out," answers Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Get some flaxseed at once. Get a stove in here. These fine houses +kill many people. Keep the body enswathed in the double poultice, but +don't let the emulsion touch his skin directly. What is the effect of +the medicine? I see he has taken a little. The bottleful is not going +fast enough." +</P> + +<P> +"He has taken no medicine at all," says Esther. "It was spilled." +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin, starting for head-quarters, must now attend the fixing +of a stove where there is little accommodation for a stove. +</P> + +<P> +"Give me the child," says the cook, "and the fire will not go out." +</P> + +<P> +"It would be murder for me to go to head-quarters, and I believe it +would be double murder," he whispers to himself. He is in a lamentable +state. At two o'clock, with the stove up, the flaxseed cooking, the +boy warmly bandaged, the asthmatic sounds diminished, and the women +certain they have administered some of the medicine to the stubborn +patient, Lockwin finds that he can lie down. He sleeps till dark, +while Corkey organizes for the most tumultuous primaries that were ever +held in Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +With the twilight settling in upon his bed Lockwin starts into +wakefulness. He has dreamed of two-old-cat. "Bully for the codger!" +the tribe of red-faces yell. In the other room he now hears the dismal +gasps of his curly-head. +</P> + +<P> +He rinses his mouth with water, not daring to ask if the worst is +coming. He knows it is not coming, else he had been called. Yet he is +not quick to enter the sick chamber. +</P> + +<P> +"David, it is your duty to make him take it," the mother says, as she +goes. "Esther, you look worse than David." +</P> + +<P> +Thus the night begins. The child has learned to dislike the +imprisonment of poultices. The air is heavy with flaxseed. The basin +of stramonium water adds its melancholy odor to the room. +</P> + +<P> +It is the first trouble Lockwin has ever seen. He is as unready and +unwilling as poor little Davy. It is murder--that furnace going out. +This thought comes to Lockwin over and over; perhaps the feeling of +murder is because Davy is not an own son. +</P> + +<P> +It is all wretched and hideous! The slime of politics and the smell of +flaxseed unite to demoralize the man. O if Dr. Tarpion were only here! +But Davy will take no medicine; how could Tarpion help Davy? +</P> + +<P> +Yes, that medicine--ipecac! The name has been hateful to Lockwin from +childhood. +</P> + +<P> +Let Corkey win the primaries! What odds? Will not that release +Lockwin from the touching committees? Does he wish to owe his election +to a street car-company in another quarter of the city? +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps Harpwood will win! How would that aid Davy? Ah, Davy! Davy! +all comes back to him! It is a strange influence this little boy has +thrown upon David Lockwin, child of fortune and people's idol. +</P> + +<P> +It is a decent and wholesome thing---the only good and noble deed which +David Lockwin can just now credit to himself. He bathes his hot +forehead again. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, Davy! Davy! Davy--the very thought of Davy restores the fallen +spirit. That water, too, seems to purify. Water and Davy! But it is +the well Davy--the little face framed at the window, waiting for papa, +waiting to know about Josephus--it is that Davy which stimulates the +soul. +</P> + +<P> +Is it not a trial, then, to hear this boy--this rock of Lockwin's +better nature--in the grapple with Death himself? +</P> + +<P> +If Davy were the flesh and blood of Lockwin, perhaps Lockwin might +determine that the child should follow its own wishes as to the taking +of ipecac. But this question of murder--this general feeling of +Chicago that its babes are slaughtered willfully--takes hold of the man +powerfully as he gathers his own scattered forces of life. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, will you not go to the rear chamber and sleep?" +</P> + +<P> +The child appeals to her that her presence aids him. +</P> + +<P> +"May I sit down here, Davy?" +</P> + +<P> +There is a nod. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you take some medicine now, Davy?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, ma'am!" comes the gasping voice. +</P> + +<P> +The man sprays with the stramonium. The doctor returns. +</P> + +<P> +"Your boy is very ill with the asthma, Mr. Lockwin. He ought to be +relieved. But I think he will pull through. Do not allow your nerves +to be over-strained by the asthmatic respiration. It gives you more +pain than it gives to Davy." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suffer, Davy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, well, he does not know what we mean. Get him to take the +medicine, Mr. Lockwin. It is your duty." +</P> + +<P> +Duty! Alas! Is not David Lockwin responding to both love and duty +already? Is it not a response such as he did not believe he could make? +</P> + +<P> +The doctor goes. The man works the rubber bulb until his fingers grow +paralytic. Esther sleeps from exhaustion. The child gets oversprayed. +The man stirs the flaxseed--how soon the stuff dries out! He adds +water. He rinses his mouth. He arranges the mash on the cloths. It +is cold already, and he puts it on the sheet-iron of the stove. +</P> + +<P> +But Davy is still. How to get the poultices changed? The man feels +about the blessed little body. A tide of tenderness sweeps through his +frame. Alas! the poultices are cold again, and hard. +</P> + +<P> +They are doing no good. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, I beg pardon, but will you assist me with the flaxseed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, David. Have I slept? Why did you not call me sooner? +Here, lamby! Here, lamby! Let mamma help you." +</P> + +<P> +The poultices are to be heated again. The woman concludes the affair. +The man sits stretched in a chair, hands deep in pockets, one ankle +over the other, chin deep on his breast. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther," he says at last, "it must be done! It must be done! Give +him to me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David, don't hurt him!" +</P> + +<P> +The man has turned to brute. He seizes the child as the spoiler of a +city might begin his rapine. +</P> + +<P> +"Pour the medicine--quick!" +</P> + +<P> +It is ready. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Davy, you must take this, or I don't know but papa will--I don't +know but papa will kill you." +</P> + +<P> +Up and down the little form is hurled. Stubbornly the little will +contends for its own liberty. Rougher and rougher become the motions, +darker and darker becomes the man's face--Satanic now--a murderer, bent +on having his own will. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David, David!" +</P> + +<P> +"Keep still, Esther! I'll tolerate nothing from you!" +</P> + +<P> +Has there been a surrender of the gasping child? The man is too +murderous to hear it. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take it, papa! I'll take it, papa!" +</P> + +<P> +It is a poor, wheezing little cry, barely distinguishable. How long it +has been coming to the understanding of those terrible captors cannot +be known. + +How eagerly does the shapely little hand clutch the spoon. "Another," +he nods. It is swallowed. The golden head is hidden in the couch. +</P> + +<P> +And David Lockwin sits trembling on the bed, gazing in hatred on the +medicine that has entered between him and his foundling. +</P> + +<P> +"Papa had to do it! Papa had to do it! You will forgive him, pet?" +So the woman whispers. +</P> + +<P> +There is no answer. +</P> + +<P> +The man sprays the air. "You won't blame papa, will you, Davy?" +</P> + +<P> +The answer is eager. "No, please! Please, papa!" +</P> + +<P> +It is a reign of terror erected on the government of love. It is chaos +and asthma together. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a horrible deed!" David Lockwin comments inwardly. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother will be so glad," says Esther. She pities the man. She would +not have been so cruel. She would have used gentler means, as she had +been doing for twenty-eight hours! And Davy would have taken no +medicine. +</P> + +<P> +The room is at eighty degrees. The spray goes incessantly. The +medicine is taken every half hour. +</P> + +<P> +At three o'clock the emetic acts, giving immediate relief. +</P> + +<P> +"I have heard my mother say," says Esther, "that a child is eased by a +change of flannels. He is better now. I think I will put on a clean +undershirt." +</P> + +<P> +The woman takes the sick child in her lap and sits near the stove. The +difficulties of the night return. +</P> + +<P> +Why should the man's eyes be riveted on that captive's form! Ah! What +a pitiful look is that on golden-head's face! The respiration is once +more impeded. The little ribs start into sight. The little bellows of +the body sucks with all its force. The breath comes at last. There is +no complaint. There is the mute grandeur of Socrates. +</P> + +<P> +"It is in us all!" the man cries. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it in us all, David?" asks the woman. +</P> + +<P> +"Cover him quickly, Esther, my dear," the man gasps, and buries his +face in the pillow. "God of mercy, wipe that picture out of my +memory!" he prays. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0107"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +<BR><BR> +THE PRIMARIES +</H3> + +<P> +The sun of Friday morning shines brightly. The sparrows chirp, the +wagons rattle, the boys cry the papers, and the household smiles. +</P> + +<P> +The peddling huckster's son is not surprised. He knew Dr. Floddin +would cure Davy. +</P> + +<P> +The cook buys heavily. They'll eat now. "Mind what I'll fix for that +darlint to-day!" she threatens. +</P> + +<P> +The housekeeper has taken Esther's place at Davy's couch. +</P> + +<P> +"You have undoubtedly saved the life of your boy by making him take the +emetic. He will love you just as much. I know--Mrs. Lockwin was +telling me how much it disturbed you. Don't lose your empire over him, +and he will be all right in a week. He must not have a relapse--that +might kill him." +</P> + +<P> +"Doctor, I am risen out of hell, the third day. I cannot tell you what +I have felt, especially since midnight. But I can tell you now what I +want. I desire that you shall take my place on this case. My personal +affairs are extremely pressing. What yesterday was impossible is now +easy. In fact, it seems to me that only impossibilities are probable. +Remember that money is of no account. Throw aside your other practice. +See that the women keep my boy from catching that cold again and I will +pay you any sum you may name." +</P> + +<P> +In Lockwin's school money will purchase all things. Money will now +keep Davy from a relapse. Money will carry the primaries. Money will +win the election. +</P> + +<P> +After all, Lockwin is inclined to smile at the terrors of the evening +before. "I was in need of sleep," he says. +</P> + +<P> +He has not slept since. Why is he so brave now? But brave he is. He +carries an air of happiness all about him. He has left his Davy +talking in his own voice, breathing with perfect freedom and ready to +go to sleep. +</P> + +<P> +The people's idol appears at head-quarters. He tells all the boys of +his good fortune. They open his barrel and become more in hope of the +country than ever before. +</P> + +<P> +The great Corkey appears also at Lockwin's head-quarters. "Hear you've +had sickness." he says. "Sorry, because I guess I've knocked you out +while you was at home. I never like to take an unfair advantage of +nobody." +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to see you, Mr. Corkey. Go ahead! Nobody happier than me +to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"He beats me," said Corkey; "but he isn't goin' to be so sweet +to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I'm elected, sure!" Corkey announces on the docks. "Harpwood he +offer me the collectorship of the port if I git down. But I go round +to Lockwin's, and he seem to hope I'd win. He beats <I>me</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he's the machine man, Corkey. You don't expect to beat the +machine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Cert. All machines is knocked out, some time, ain't they?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not by the marines, Corkey." +</P> + +<P> +"I can lick the man who comes down on these docks to say I'm going to +get the worst of it." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is accordingly elected, and all hands take a drink at the other +fellow's invitation, for which the great Corkey demands the privilege +of paying. With this prologue the crowds start for the primaries. +</P> + +<P> +"Lockwin, I expect you to stand straight up to the work to-day. You +went back on us a little through the week. I know how sickness is, but +my wife died while I was in charge of one campaign. Politics is +politics. Stand to the work to-day. Nothing's the matter. You've +created a good feeling among the boys. I've got to give the car +company some more streets anyhow. The residents are hot for +facilities. So don't bother about their coming over. They will be +over about three o'clock. Let Corkey have the precincts of the Second +and Third. If he comes further, a-repeating, you folks must fight. He +will vote the gamblers but they will put in vest-pocket tickets for +you. Understand? Got all I said? Give Corkey two wards---if he can +get the sailors up." +</P> + +<P> +Such are the day's injunctions of the political boss. It is only a +special election in one district. It is practically settled already. +The boss has a thousand other matters of equal moment. +</P> + +<P> +This is a day on which the prominent citizen stays out of politics. +The polling booths are built of stout timber in front of some saloon. +The line which is in possession votes all day. Every vote counts one. + +The sailors arrive and form in line before the various polls of the +Second and Third wards. +</P> + +<P> +A stranger--a tenderfoot--that is, a resident party man, entitled to +vote--takes his place in the line. +</P> + +<P> +"What did you tell me I lied for?" asks a very tough politician. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't tell you you lied." +</P> + +<P> +"I lie, do I?" +</P> + +<P> +Several toughs seize the infuriated politician and hold him while the +resident escapes. +</P> + +<P> +These wards will be carried for Corkey. In twice as many other +precincts the situation is precisely the same, except that Harpwood and +Lockwin, the recognized rivals, have the polls. +</P> + +<P> +At three o'clock the wagons begin to unload, vote and reload. A place +is made at the head of the line for these "passengers." +</P> + +<P> +The "passenger" sailors vote at all of Corkey's precincts. They start +for the other wards. +</P> + +<P> +Now we may see the man Lockwin as commandant. He has the police and +the touching committees. He is voting his own "passengers" by the +thousands. +</P> + +<P> +The sailors arrive in wagons. +</P> + +<P> +"You can't unload here!" says Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +The sailors unload. +</P> + +<P> +Eight men seize a sailor and land him back in the wagon. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey sits on the wagon in front. He draws his revolver. +</P> + +<P> +"Put up that gun!" cries Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Put up your pop, Corkey," cry a half-dozen friendly toughs. +</P> + +<P> +"I hate to do it," says Corkey, "but I guess them fellers has got the +drop on me." +</P> + +<P> +The battle is over. The sailors are all in the wagon. They drive off +toward another precinct. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is pronounced a white-flag man. It is recalled that he let a +partner play in his faro bank and did not kill the traitor. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Corkey ain't no good at all," say the bad men from Bitter Creek. +</P> + +<P> +It heats their blood. They shake hands with Lockwin and deploy on the +threatened precincts. +</P> + +<P> +When the sailors unload at the next precinct of the Fourth ward the +emissaries who have arrived with notice of Corkey's surrender--these +great hearts lead the fight. A saloon-keeper rushes out with a +bung-starter and hits a sailor on the head. An alderman bites off a +sailor's ear. An athletic sailor fells the first six foes who advance +upon him. A shot is fired. The long line at the polls dissolves as if +by magic. The judges of election disappear out the back door. +</P> + +<P> +There is nothing for the unoccupied alderman to do but to place 400 +Lockwin ballots in the box. +</P> + +<P> +The Lockwin ballot contains the name of delegates who are sworn for all +time to the alderman. +</P> + +<P> +The police finally arrest all the fighting sailors and hurry them to +the station. +</P> + +<P> +The attempt of Corkey to carry any wards or precincts outside of the +First and Second is futile. It passes the practicable. In theory it +was good. +</P> + +<P> +Twelve wagon-loads of fighting sailors ought to be able to vote +anywhere. +</P> + +<P> +A Napoleon would have massed his forces and conquered precincts. +</P> + +<P> +But Napoleon himself sometimes displayed the white feather. +</P> + +<P> +And that is the only way in which Corkey resembles Napoleon. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0108"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +<BR><BR> +FIFTY KEGS OF BEER +</H3> + +<P> +"It is estimated," says the opposition press, "that Lockwin, the rich +man's candidate, backed by the machine, the organized toughs of the +'Levee,' and the gamblers, has spent over $25,000 of corruption money. +The primaries, which were held yesterday, were the most disgraceful +political exhibitions which have ever been offered in our civic +history. Harpwood was counted out in every ward but one. Corkey, the +sailors' candidate, carried two wards by the same tactics which the +police made use of elsewhere. In the First and Second, the officers +arrested all 'disturbers' on complaint of Corkeyites. Everywhere else +Corkeyites were either forced off the field or are now in the bull-pens +at the stations. +</P> + +<P> +"As our interview with the mayor shows, he is unacquainted with facts +which everybody else possesses. It is well enough to repeat that we +shall never have a real mayor until the present rule-or-ruin machine +shall be destroyed. +</P> + +<P> +"It is to be hoped that the split which threatens the convention of +to-day will herald the dawn of law-and-order rule, when bossism, clamor +for office, and saloon primaries will happily be things of the past." +</P> + +<P> +The primaries which were held on Friday elected delegates to the +convention of Saturday. If we scan the large body which is now +gathering, it may be seen that the business of to-day is to be done by +men who either hold or control office. The sidewalk inspectors, the +health inspectors, the city and county building men, the men of the +"institutions;" and the men of the postoffice are delegates. It may be +safely guessed that they have no desire other than to hold their places +until better places can be commanded. The party can trust its +delegates. In this hall is gathered the effective governing force of +the whole city. To these men a majority of the citizens have +relinquished the business of public service. All those citizens who +object are in the minority, and a majority of the minority object, only +because it is desired that a different set of men should perform the +same labors in the same way. +</P> + +<P> +The political boss is not in sight. Eight delegations of Harpwood men +are admitted because they cannot be kept out. The convention is called +to order by a motion that a Lockwin man shall be chairman. +</P> + +<P> +Four saloon-keepers stand upon chairs and shout. +</P> + +<P> +Four bouncers of four rival saloons pull the orators down to the floor. +The saloon-keepers are unarmed--their bung-starters are at home. The +Lockwin man is in the chair. He has not been elected. Election in +such a hubbub is impossible, and is not expected. +</P> + +<P> +But the assumption of the chair by anybody is a good thing. The +convention is thus enabled to learn that Corkey is making a speech. A +chair is held on top of another chair. On this conspicuous perch the +hero of the docks holds forth. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is an oddity. He is a new factor in politics. The rounders are +curious to hear what he is saying. +</P> + +<P> +"Your honor!" cries Corkey in a loud voice. +</P> + +<P> +There is a sensation of merriment, which angers the orator. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know you're all no-gooders," he says. "I know that as well as +any of ye." +</P> + +<P> +There is a hurricane of cat-calls from the galleries. +</P> + +<P> +There are cries of "Come down!" "Pull down his vest!" "See the +sawed-off!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, 'come down'!" yells the speaker in a white heat. "That's what +you bloodsuckers make Lockwin do. He come down! I should say he did! +But I'm no soft mark--you hear me? You bet your sweet life!" +</P> + +<P> +The merriment is over. This is outrageous. The dignity of this +convention has been compromised. There is a furious movement in the +rear. The tumult is again unrestrained. Corkey has blundered. +</P> + +<P> +The chairman pounds for order. The police begin to "suppress the +excitement." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Corkey, I understand, has an important announcement to make," +cries the chair. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I <I>have</I>!" corroborates the navigator. +</P> + +<P> +"Spit it out!" +</P> + +<P> +"Make the turn, Corkey!" +</P> + +<P> +"Everything goes as it lays!" +</P> + +<P> +Such are the preparatory comments of the audience. +</P> + +<P> +"Your honor--" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey has been "pulled" for gambling. His public addresses heretofore +have been made before the police justice. +</P> + +<P> +"YOUR HONOR, MR. CHAIRMAN, AND MR. DELEGATES:--We're goin' to quit you. +We're goin' to walk, to sherry, to bolt. We didn't have no fair chance +to vote our men yesterday. We carried our wards just as you carried +your'n. We've just as good a right to the candidate as you have. We +therefore with-with-with-go out--and you can bet your sweet life we +stay out! and you hear me--" +</P> + +<P> +"Goon!" "Goon!" "Ki-yi!" "Yip-yip!" +</P> + +<P> +Such are the flattering outbursts. Why does the orator pause? +</P> + +<P> +His head quakes and vibrates, his face grows black, the mouth opens +into a parallelogram, the sharp little tongue plays about the mass of +black tobacco. +</P> + +<P> +The convention leaps to its feet. The Sneeze has come. +</P> + +<P> +"That settles it!" cry the delegates. "Bounce any man that'll do such +a thing as that! Fire him out!" +</P> + +<P> +The irresistible movement has reached Corkey's eyrie. Four faithful +Corkeyites are holding Corkey's platform. The assault on these +supports, these Atlases, brings the collapse of Corkey. He goes down +fighting, and he fights like a hero. One of the toughs who saw Corkey +put away his revolver at the primary is badly battered before he can +retreat. +</P> + +<P> +The melee is a good-sized one. "It is to be observed," writes the +keen-eyed reporters, "that the consumption of peanuts rises to its +maximum during the purgation of a convention." +</P> + +<P> +The convention is purged. The fumes of whisky and tobacco increase. +The crash of peanuts ceases. The committee on credentials reports. +Harmony is to be the watchword. In this interest it has been agreed to +seat four Harpwood delegates and eight Lockwin delegates in each of the +contests. +</P> + +<P> +Although the Harpwood delegates howl with indignation, it is only a +howl. None of them go out. They will all vote. But their votes will +not affect the nomination. If otherwise, the convention can be again +purged and the correct result established. That would be bloody and +difficult. Wait until it shall be necessary. +</P> + +<P> +"It is one of the workings of the status quo," writes the reporter of +the single-tax weekly, "that friction is everywhere reduced to the +minimum of the system. There is little waste of bloody noses in +politics." +</P> + +<P> +"It is getting past dinner time. Why not be through with this? What +is the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +These are the questions of the sidewalk inspectors, who perhaps ache to +return to their other public duties. +</P> + +<P> +"It is Corkey's fault--Corkey's fault! But here's the platform, now!" +</P> + +<P> +"We point with the finger of scorn--" reads the clerk in a great voice. +</P> + +<P> +"That's the stuff!" respond the faithful, shaking hands one with +another. +</P> + +<P> +"Order!" scream the bouncers and police. They desire to hear the +platform. It is the hinge on which liberty hangs. It is the brass +idol of politics. +</P> + +<P> +"And the peace, prosperity and general happiness of the American people +will ever remain dear to the party which saved the union and now +reaches a fraternal hand across the bloody chasm!" So reads the clerk. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what! We win on that! They can't answer to that!" +</P> + +<P> +"We demand a free ballot and a fair count!" +</P> + +<P> +"No more bulldozing!" exclaims the bouncer who has heard the plank. +</P> + +<P> +"We guarantee to the sovereign electors of the First district, and to +the whole population of the nation a reform of the civil service and an +entire abolition of the spoils system." +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose," says the bouncer, "that things is going on too open in +Washington." +</P> + +<P> +The reading ceases. +</P> + +<P> +"Ki-yi!" "Hooray!" "He-e-e-e-e-e!" "Zip-zip-zippee!" +</P> + +<P> +There is a crash of peanuts, a tornado of bad air, a tempest of wild +and joyous noise. +</P> + +<P> +"The platform was received with genuine enthusiasm. It was adopted +without a dissenting voice." Thus the reporters write hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +There has been an uproar ever since the question was put. Now, if the +delegate quicken his ear, he may hear the chairman commanding: +</P> + +<P> +"All those in favor will vote 'aye!'" +</P> + +<P> +Again there is the tempest. The Harpwood delegates have voted aye! +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" ask most of the delegates. +</P> + +<P> +"Lockwin is nominated by acclamation," comes the answer from the front. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, is he?" say the delegates, Harpwood men and all. +</P> + +<P> +There is a numerous outgo for liquor. A man is escorted to the stage. +He is cheered by those who see him. Most of the leading delegates are +bargaining for places on the central committee. The Harpwood men are +to be taken care of. +</P> + +<P> +The speech goes on. "It is," says the orator, "the proudest day of my +life, I assure you." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suppose he's gone broke?" inquire the committee men. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the matchless character of our institutions--" continues the +candidate. +</P> + +<P> +"We'd be done up if the other fellows should indorse Corkey," says a +hungry saloon-keeper. +</P> + +<P> +"--The matchless character of our institutions that the people hold the +reins of government." +</P> + +<P> +The orator is gathering an audience. "The people" are hungry, but love +of oratory is a still weaker place in their armor. The voice rises. +The eye flashes. The cheeks turn crimson. The form straightens. +</P> + +<P> +The orator weeps and he thunders. +</P> + +<P> +"Hi--<I>hi</I>!" says the hungry saloon-keeper, in sudden admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"America! My fellow-countrymen, it is the palm of the desert--the rock +of liberty. +</P> + +<P> + "We have a weapon firmer set,<BR> + And better than the bayonet;<BR> + A weapon that comes down as still<BR> + As snowflakes fall upon the sod;<BR> + But executes a freeman's will<BR> + As lightning does the will of God." +</P> + +<P> +The effect is electric. +</P> + +<P> +"Jiminy!" whistles the hungry saloonkeeper, "ain't we lucky we put him +up? I could sell fifty kag if he spoke anywhere in the same block." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0109"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +<BR><BR> +THE NIGHT BEFORE ELECTION +</H3> + +<P> +"The art of declamation," says Colton, "has been sinking in value from +the moment that speakers were foolish enough to publish and readers +wise enough to read." +</P> + +<P> +All speakers are not foolish enough to publish; all readers are not +wise enough to read. Besides, there is still a distinct art of oratory +which has not lost its hold on the ears of men. +</P> + +<P> +The orator weeps and he thunders. His audience by turns laments and +clamors. But the orator, on the inner side of his spirit, is more +calm. The practice of his wiles has dulled the edge of his feelings. +</P> + +<P> +It may be, therefore, that the orator's art is not honest. Yet who +knows that the painter himself really admires the landscape which, in +his picture, gathers so much fame for him? The interests of the +nation are now to be husbanded in this First Congressional district. +The silvery voice of the gifted orator is to reclaim the wandering or +lagging voter. +</P> + +<P> +The man who has lost faith in the power of the ballot is to be revived +with the stimulus of human speech. It can be done. It is done in +every campaign. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin is doing it each afternoon and night. Bravely he meets the cry +of "Money and machine." One would think he needed no better text. +</P> + +<P> +But his secret text is Davy. Davy, whose life has been intrusted to +Dr. Floddin, the friend of the poor, the healer who healed the eyes of +the peddling huckster's son's sister, the eyes of the housekeeper's +relatives, and the eyes of Davy himself. +</P> + +<P> +The orator's speech may be impassioned, but he is thinking of Davy. +</P> + +<P> +The orator may be infusing the noblest of patriotism in his hearers' +hearts, but often he hardly knows what he is saying. +</P> + +<P> +At a telling point he stops to think of Davy. +</P> + +<P> +The hearer confesses that the question is unanswered. +</P> + +<P> +Is Davy safe? Of course. "Then, my fellow-citizens, behold the superb +rank of America among nations!" [Cheers.] +</P> + +<P> +Is Dr. Tarpion to be gone another week, and is the cook right when she +says Davy must eat? "Can we not, my friends and neighbors, lend our +humble aid in restoring these magnificent institutions of liberty to +their former splendor?" [Cries of "Hear!" "Hear!" "Down in front!"] +</P> + +<P> +"The winning candidate," says the majority press, "is making a +prodigious effort. It is confidentially explained that he was wounded +by the charges of desertion or lukewarmness, which were circulated +during the week of the primaries." +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Floddin is therefore to take care of Davy. Dr. Floddin's horse is +sick. It is a poor nag at best--a fifty-cents-a-call steed. The +doctor meantime has a horse from the livery. +</P> + +<P> +Davy is to continue the emetic treatment. He sits on the floor in the +parlor and turns his orguinette. "Back to Our Mountains" is his +favorite air. He has twenty-eight tunes, and he plays Verdi's piece +twenty-eight times as often as any of the others. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Davy, you'll kill us!" laments the housekeeper, for the little +orguinette is stridulent and loud. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll kill himself," says the cook. "He's not strong enough to grind +that hand-organ. He eats nothing at all, at all." +</P> + +<P> +"Papa isn't here any more, but I take my medicine," the child says. +The drug is weakening his stomach. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the only way," says Dr. Floddin, "to relieve his lungs." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you sure he is safe?" asks Esther. "Are you sure it was asthma?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes. Did you not see the white foam? That is asthma." +</P> + +<P> +"You do not come often enough, doctor. I know Mr. Lockwin would be +angry if he knew." +</P> + +<P> +"My horse will be well to-morrow and I can call twice. But the child +has passed the crisis. You must soon give him air. Let him play a +while in the back yard. His lungs must be accustomed to the cold of +winter." +</P> + +<P> +"I presume Mr. Lockwin will take us south in December." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I guess he'd better." +</P> + +<P> +But Esther does not let Davy go out. The rattle is still in the little +chest. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin is home at one o'clock in the morning. He visits Davy's bed. +How beautiful is the sleeping child! "My God! if he had died!" +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin is up and away at seven o'clock in the morning. "Be careful of +the boy, Esther," he says. "What does the doctor seem to think?" +</P> + +<P> +"He gives the same medicine," says Esther, "but Davy played his +orguinette for over an hour yesterday." +</P> + +<P> +"He did! Good! Esther, that lifts me up. I wish I could have heard +him!" +</P> + +<P> +"David, I fear that you are overtasking yourself. Do be careful! +please be careful!" +</P> + +<P> +Tears come in the fine eyes of the wife. Lockwin's back is turned. +</P> + +<P> +"Good! Good!" he is saying. "So Davy played! I'll warrant it was +'Back to Our Mountains!'" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," says the wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Good! Good! That's right. By-bye, Esther." +</P> + +<P> +And the man goes out to victory whistling the lament of the crooning +witch, "Back to Our Mountains! Back to Our Mountains!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why should Davy be so fond of that?" thinks the whistler. +</P> + +<P> +But this week of campaign cannot stretch out forever. It must end, +just as Lockwin feels that another speech had killed him. It must end +with Lockwin's nerves agog, so that when a book falls over on the +shelves he starts like a deer at a shot. +</P> + +<P> +It is Monday night, and there will be no speeches by the candidates. +Esther has prepared to celebrate the evening by a gathering of a +half-dozen intimate friends to hear an eminent violinist, whose +performances are the delight of Chicago. The violinist is doubly +eminent because he has a wife who is devoted to her husband's renown. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin sits on a sofa with his pet nestled at the side. What a sense +of rest is this! How near heaven is this! He looks down on his little +boy and has but one wish--that he might be across the room to behold +the picture. Perhaps the man is extravagantly fond of that view of +curly head, white face, dark brow and large, clear eyes! +</P> + +<P> +Would the violinist make such an effect if his wife were not there to +strike those heavy opening chords of that "Faust" fantasie? +</P> + +<P> +"Will they play 'Back to Our Mountains?'" whispers the child. +</P> + +<P> +"Keep still, Davy," the man says, himself silenced by a great rendition. +</P> + +<P> +"The doctor's horse is sick," whispers Davy, hoarsely. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know," says the man. "Bravo, professor, bravo! You are a +great artist." +</P> + +<P> +"But the doctor's both horses is sick," insists Davy. +</P> + +<P> +"Bravo! professor, bravo!" +</P> + +<P> +Now comes the sweetest of cradle-songs, the professor with damper on +his strings, the professor's wife scarcely touching the piano. +</P> + +<P> +The strain ends. The man is in tears--not the tears of an orator. He +glances at the child and the great eyes are likewise dim. "Kiss me, +Davy!" +</P> + +<P> +But it is as if Davy were too hard at work with an article. He must +break from the room, the man suddenly wishing that the child could find +its chief relief in him. +</P> + +<P> +"Yet I made him take the medicine," thinks the man, in terror of that +night. +</P> + +<P> +The professor will take some little thing to eat--a glass of beer, +perhaps--but he must not stay. +</P> + +<P> +They go below, where Davy has told the cook of the extraordinary +professor who can scarcely speak English. Davy has asked him if he +could spell Josephus. "After all," says Davy, "I'd be ashamed to play +so loud if I couldn't spell Josephus. It hurt my head." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you darlint," says the cook; "here's some ice cream. I don't +want you to wait. Eat it now." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't eat anything but medicine," says Davy, "and I have to eat that +or papa wouldn't love me. Do you think he loves me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, yes, darlint. Don't ye's be afraid of that. Thim as don't love +the likes of ye's is scarcer than hen's teeth." +</P> + +<P> +"T-double-e-t-h," observes the scholarly Davy. +</P> + +<P> +"My! my!" cries the cook. +</P> + +<P> +At the table, the professor will not care for any beer. Well, let it +be a little. Well, another glass. Yes, the glasses are not large. +Another? Yes. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! Meester Lockwin," he says at last, "I like to play for you. You +look very tired, I hear you will go to the--to the--" +</P> + +<P> +The professor must be aided by his good wife. +</P> + +<P> +"To the Congress--ah, yes, to the Congress." +</P> + +<P> +"If I shall be elected to-morrow," smiles the candidate. +</P> + +<P> +The friends go to their homes. It is not late. Esther has explained +the need her husband has of both diversion and rest. "He is naturally +an unhappy man," she says, "but Davy and I are making him happier." +</P> + +<P> +"Of all the men I have ever known," says one of the guests to his wife, +as they walk the few steps they must take, "I think David Lockwin is +the most blessed. All that money could do was dedicated to his +education. He is a brilliant man naturally. He has married Esther +Wandrell. He is sure to be elected to-morrow, and I heard a very +prominent man say the other day that he wouldn't be surprised if +Lockwin should some day be President of the United States. They call +him the people's idol. I don't know but he is." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe he appreciates his good fortune," says the wife. +"Perhaps he has had too much." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0110"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +<BR><BR> +ELECTED +</H3> + +<P> +Yes, this is distinctly happy--this night at home, in the chamber after +the music, with Davy to sleep over here, too. +</P> + +<P> +"There, Davy," urges Esther, "you have romped and romped. You have not +slept a wink to-day. It is far too late for children to be up, David. +I only took down the stove to-day, for fear we might need it." +</P> + +<P> +But it is difficult to moderate the spirits of the boy. He is playing +all sorts of pranks with his father. The little lungs come near the +man's ear. There is a whistling sound. +</P> + +<P> +The north wind has blown for two weeks. It is howling now outside the +windows. +</P> + +<P> +"Pshaw!" the man laughs, "it is that cut-throat wind!" +</P> + +<P> +For orators dislike the north wind. +</P> + +<P> +"Pshaw! Esther!" he repeats, "I mistook the moaning of the wind in the +chimney." But he is pale at the thought. +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly think you did, David. I can hear him wheeze over here." +</P> + +<P> +"You can! Come here, Davy." But the child must be caught. His eyes +flash. He is all spirit. His laugh grows hoarse. +</P> + +<P> +"How stupid I am," thinks the man. He seizes the arch boy and clasps +him in his arms. +</P> + +<P> +Then Lockwin takes that white and tiny wrist. He pulls his watch. In +five seconds he has fifteen beats. Impossible! Wait a few minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit still for papa. Please, Davy." +</P> + +<P> +The indefinable message is transmitted from the man's heart to the +child's. The child is still. The animation is gone. +</P> + +<P> +Now, again. The watch goes so slowly. Is it going at all? Let us see +about that. +</P> + +<P> +The watch is put to ear. Yes, it is going fast enough now. Of course +it is going. Is it not a Jurgensen of the costliest brand? Well, +then, we will count a full minute. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold still, Davy, pet." +</P> + +<P> +What is Congress and President now, as the wheeze settles on this +child, and the north wind batters at the windows? +</P> + +<P> +The man looks for help to Esther. "Esther," he says, "I have counted +140 pulsations." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that bad for a child, David? I guess not." +</P> + +<P> +"I am probably mistaken. I will try again." +</P> + +<P> +The child lays the curly head against Lockwin's breast. The full +vibration of the struggling lungs resounds through the man's frame. +</P> + +<P> +"The pulse is even above 140. Oh! Esther, will he have to go through +that again?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, David, no. See, he's asleep. Put him here. You look like a +ghost. Go right to bed. To-morrow will be a trying day. Davy is +tired out. To be sure, he must be worse when he is tired." +</P> + +<P> +"Does the doctor come at all in the night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, no, of course not. It is a chronic case now, he says. It +requires the same treatment." +</P> + +<P> +The voice is soft consoling and sympathetic. The man is as tired as +Davy. +</P> + +<P> +"We ought not to have had the folks here," he says. +</P> + +<P> +"No," says Esther. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish the stove were up," he thinks. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish David were not in politics," the woman thinks. +</P> + +<P> +There is in and about that chamber, then, the sleep of a tired man, the +whistling of a cold and hostile wind, such as few cities know, the +half-sleeping vigil of a troubled woman, and the increasing shrillness +of Davy's breathing. +</P> + +<P> +"It sounds like croup to me," she whispers to herself. "It has always +sounded like croup to me. I wonder if it could be diphtheria? I +wonder what I ought to do? But David needs sleep so badly! I'm sorry +I had the company. I told David I was afraid of the child's health. +But David needed the music. Music rested him, he said." +</P> + +<P> +The milk-wagons are rattling along the street once more. Will they +never cease? The man awakes with a start. +</P> + +<P> +"What is that?" he demands. He has just dreamed how he treated 150 +people to cigars and drinks on the day Dr. Floddin brought Davy +through. He has been walking with Davy among the animals in Lincoln +Park. "There's Santa Claus' horses," said Davy, of the elks. +</P> + +<P> +There is a loud noise in the room. +</P> + +<P> +"What on earth is it?" he asks. He is only partly awake. +</P> + +<P> +"It is poor little Davy," Esther answers. "Oh, David!" The woman is +sobbing. She herself has awakened her husband. +</P> + +<P> +The man is out of bed in an instant. The room is cold. There is no +stove. There is no stramonium. There is no flaxseed. There is no hot +water. +</P> + +<P> +It is not the lack of these appliances that drives Lockwin into his +panic. He may keep his courage by storming about these misadventures. +</P> + +<P> +But in his heart--in his logic--there is NO HOPE. +</P> + +<P> +He hastens to the drug store. He has alarmed the household. +</P> + +<P> +"Davy is dying!" he has said, brutally. +</P> + +<P> +The drug clerk is a sound sleeper. "Let them rattle a little while," +he soliloquizes with professional tranquillity. +</P> + +<P> +"Child down again?" he inquires later on, in a conciliatory voice. +"Wouldn't give him any more of that emetic if it was my child. I've +re-filled that bottle three times now." +</P> + +<P> +The stove must be gotten up. The pipe enters the mantel. There, that +will insure a hot poultice. But why does the thing throw out gas? Why +didn't it do that before? +</P> + +<P> +"It is astonishing how much time can be lost in a crisis," the man +observes. He must carry his Davy into another room, couch and all, for +he will not suffer the little body to be chilled any further. "If this +cup may be kept from my lips," he prays, "I will be a better man." +</P> + +<P> +The sun is high before the child is swathed with hot flaxseed. The man +sprays the stramonium. The child has periods of extreme difficulty. +He is nauseated in every fiber. +</P> + +<P> +"God forgive me!" prays Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma, will I have to play with the swear boys?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, my darling." +</P> + +<P> +"And will my curls be cut off before you get a picture?" +</P> + +<P> +The man remembers that Davy has been sick much of late. They have no +likeness of him since he grew beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +"And may I go to Sunday-school if I don't play with the swear boys? +For the teacher said--" +</P> + +<P> +The canal tightens in the throat. The old battle begins. +</P> + +<P> +The man sprays furiously. The child lisps: "Please don't, papa." +</P> + +<P> +The man is hurt to think he has mistaken the child's needs. +</P> + +<P> +The air gets dry again. The child signals with its hand. +</P> + +<P> +"More spray, Davy? Ah! that helps you!" +</P> + +<P> +The man is eased. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, where is that doctor?" +</P> + +<P> +They had forgotten him. The case is chronic. All the household are +doctors. So now by his coming there is only to be one more to the lot +of vomiters and poulticers. +</P> + +<P> +Yet it dismays all hands to think they have forgotten the famous savior +of Davy. They telephoned for him hours ago. "Ah me!" each says. +</P> + +<P> +The child's feet grow cold. "Hot bottles! Hot bottles!" is the cry. +The first lot without corks. And at last Lockwin goes to the closet +and gets the rubber bags made for such uses. +</P> + +<P> +At one o'clock the doctor arrives. Lockwin has gone to the drug store +to get more flaxseed If he get it himself it will be done. If he +order it some fatal hour might pass. The cold air revives him. He +sees a crowd of men down the street. It is a polling-booth. +</P> + +<P> +He strives to gather the fact that it is election day. Corkey is +running as an independent democrat, because the democratic convention +did not indorse him after he bolted from the Lockwin convention. +</P> + +<P> +But for that strange fillip of politics Lockwin must have been beaten +before he began the campaign. Well, what is the election now? Davy +dying all the week, and not a soul suspecting it! +</P> + +<P> +"Girls wanted!" The sign is on the basement windows. Yes, that +accounts for the strange disorganization of the household. That, in +some way, explains the cold furnaces and lack of the most needful +things. +</P> + +<P> +Never mind the girls. Plenty of them to be had. That doctor--what can +he say for himself? +</P> + +<P> +The man starts as he enters the house. What was it Davy said last +night? That "the doctor's both horses were sick!" It is a +disagreeable recollection, therefore banish it, David Lockwin. Go up +and see the doctor. +</P> + +<P> +The door is reached. Perhaps the child is already easier. The door is +opened. The smell of flaxseed reproduces every horror of Davy's first +attack. After the man has grown used to the flaxseed he begins to +detect the odor of stramonium. The pan is dry. Carry it back to the +stove and put some hot water in it. But look at Davy first. +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, how is he?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think he is growing better, David." +</P> + +<P> +"The room here is not warm enough. Let us carry him back where the +stove is." +</P> + +<P> +The cook is on the stairs and beholds the little cortege. "Lord! +Lord!" she wails, and the housekeeper silences the cry. "They carry +them like that at the hospital," the frightened woman explains. "But +they are always dead!" +</P> + +<P> +In the kitchen sits a woman, visiting the cook. Her face is the very +picture of trouble. She rocks her body as she talks. +</P> + +<P> +"I buried seven," she says. +</P> + +<P> +"Seven children?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and every one with membrainyous croup. They may call it what +they please. Ah! I know; I know!" +</P> + +<P> +She rocks her body, and laughs almost a silly laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Every one of them had a terrible attack, and then was well for a week. +Two of 'em dropped dead at play. They seems so full of life just +before they go. When my husband broke his leg I lost one. When I +caught the small-pox they let one die. Oh, my! Oh, my!" +</P> + +<P> +The woman rocks her body and laughs. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin wants more boiling water. It gives him something to do to get +it. He enters the kitchen. +</P> + +<P> +"Davy has the asthma," he says to the desolate mother as he passes. +</P> + +<P> +"Davy has the membrainyous croup," she replies: "I saw that a week ago. +Makes no difference what the doctors say; they can't help no child." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is that doctor, Esther?" the man says. +</P> + +<P> +"He was here while you were gone. He said he would return soon. He +said it was a relapse, but he thought there was no danger." +</P> + +<P> +"It is lucky," the man inwardly comments, "that we are all doctors." +</P> + +<P> +"He should have stayed here and attended to his business," the man +observes audibly, as he makes a new poultice. +</P> + +<P> +"Mamma!" It is Davy. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, mamma is here." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't the doctor come?" +</P> + +<P> +"Are you suffering, precious?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know." +</P> + +<P> +"There, let us warm your feet. Don't take them away, pet. See, you +breathe easily now." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God!" says the man "that we are all doctors." +</P> + +<P> +The afternoon wanes. +</P> + +<P> +"Georgie Day, mamma." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, lamby." +</P> + +<P> +"I want him to have my sleeve-buttons. He can play base-ball, not +two-old-cat. He can play real base-ball." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Georgie shall come to see you to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin goes to the speaking tube. +</P> + +<P> +"Go and get Dr. Floddin at once. Tell him to come and stay with us. +Tell him we have difficulty in keeping the child warm." +</P> + +<P> +The sun has poured into the window and gone on to other sick chambers. +The flaxseed and stramonium seem like reminders of the past stage of +the trouble. Richard Tarbelle, never before in a room where the tide +of life was low, looks down on Davy. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Lockwin, I'm not rich, but I'd give a thousand dollars--a thousand +dollars!" +</P> + +<P> +"My God, doctor! why have you been so slow getting here?" +</P> + +<P> +"My horses have been taken sick as fast as I got them." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor advances to the child. The child is smiling on Richard +Tarbelle. +</P> + +<P> +"What ails you?" +</P> + +<P> +It is Lockwin, looking in scorn on his doctor, who now, pale as a +ghost, throws his hands up and down silly as the crone downstairs by +the kitchen-range. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing can be done! Nothing can be done!" +</P> + +<P> +"They say it hasn't been asthma at all," sobs Esther. "I suppose it's +diphtheria." +</P> + +<P> +"The man who can't tell when a child is sick, can't tell when he's +dying," sneers Lockwin. "Doctor, when were you here yesterday?" +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't been here since to-morrow week. My horses have been sick +and the child was well." +</P> + +<P> +Davy is white as marble. His breath comes hard. But why he should be +dying, and why this fifty-cent doctor should know that much, puzzles +and dumfounds the father. Davy may die next week, perhaps. Not dying +now! +</P> + +<P> +"It's a lie. It's not so," the father says. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Lockwin, I don't want to say it, but it is so." It is the kind +voice of Richard Tarbelle. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, then. It is diphtheria." It is the one goblin that for +years has appalled Lockwin. Well it might, when it steals on a man +like this. "To think I never gave him a drop of whisky. Oh! God! Get +us a surgeon." +</P> + +<P> +A medical college is not far away. The surgeon comes quickly, although +Lockwin has gone half-way to meet him. The two men arrive. Dr. +Floddin continues to throw his hands up and down. He loved Davy. +Perhaps Dr. Floddin is a brave man to stay now. Perhaps he would be +brave to go. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mr. Surgeon, look at that child." +</P> + +<P> +"Your boy is dying," says the surgeon, as the men retire to a back room. +</P> + +<P> +"What is to be done?" asks the father, resolutely. +</P> + +<P> +"We can insert a tube in his throat." +</P> + +<P> +"Will that save his life?" +</P> + +<P> +"It will prolong his life if the shock do not result fatally." +</P> + +<P> +"If it were your own child would you do this operation?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think so." +</P> + +<P> +"Would you do it, certainly?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go in." +</P> + +<P> +"Esther, we shall have to give him air through his throat." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" shrieks the woman. "No, no!" +</P> + +<P> +The child's eyes, almost filmy before, are lifted in beautiful appeal +to the mother. "No, Davy. It shall not be!" +</P> + +<P> +"It must be," says Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"I have not brought my instruments," says the surgeon. "It is now very +late in the case, anyway." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank God!" is the thought of the father. +</P> + +<P> +The child smiles upon his mother. He smiles upon Richard Tarbelle. +</P> + +<P> +"How can he smile on papa, when papa was to cut that white and narrow +throat?" It is David Lockwin putting his unhappy cheek beside the +little face. +</P> + +<P> +Now, if all these flaxseed rags and this stramonium sprayer and pan +could be cleared out! If it were only daylight, so we could see Davy +plainer! +</P> + +<P> +Then comes a low cry from the kitchen. It is the forlorn mother, +detailing the treacherous siege of membraneous croup. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin can only think of the hours last night, while Davy was in +Gethsemane. The cradle song was the death song. The doctors sit in +the back room. Esther holds the little hands and talks to the ears +that have gone past hearing. "There is a sublime patience in women," +thinks Lockwin, for he cannot wait. +</P> + +<P> +"Inconceivable! Inconceivable! Davy never at the window again! Take +away my miserable life, oh, just nature! Just God!" +</P> + +<P> +The white lips are moving: +</P> + +<P> +"Books, papa! J-o-s-e-p--" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Davy. Josephus. Papa knows. Thank you, Davy. I can't say +good-bye, Davy, for I hope I can go with you!" +</P> + +<P> +The man's head is in the pillow. "Oh, to take a little child like +this, and send him out ahead of us--ahead of the strong man. Is it not +hard, Richard Tarbelle?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Lockwin, as I said, I am not a rich man, but I would give a +thousand dollars--a thousand dollars--I guess you had better look at +him, Mr. Lockwin." +</P> + +<P> +Davy is dead. +</P> + +<P> +Never yet has that father showered on the child such a wealth of love +as lies in that father's heart. It would spoil the boy, and Lockwin, +himself almost a spoiled son, has had an especial horror of parental +over-indulgence. +</P> + +<P> +So, therefore, he is now free to take that little form in his arms. +The women will rid it of the nightgown and put on a cleaner garment. +And while they do this act, the man will kiss that form, beginning at +the soles of the feet. +</P> + +<P> + --Those holy fields<BR> + Over whose acres walked those blessed feet<BR> + Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed<BR> + For our advantage on the bitter cross.-- +</P> + +<P> +Why do these lines course through the man's brain? Curses on that +flaxseed and that vile drug which made these fields so hard for these +little feet. Any way, the man may gather this clay in his arms. No +one else shall touch it! It is a long way down these stairs! Never at +the window again, Davy. "I would give a thousand dollars." Well, God +bless Richard Tarbelle. If it were a longer distance to carry this +load, it would be far better! Light up the back parlor! Let us have +that ironing-board! Fix the chairs thus! He must have a good book. +It shall be Josephus. Oh, God! "Josephus, papa." Yes, yes, Davy. +Put curly-head on Josephus. +</P> + +<P> +The man is crooning. He is happy with his dead. +</P> + +<P> +He talks to the nearest person and to Davy. +</P> + +<P> +There is a great noise at the head of the street. There is an inflow +of the people. The shrill flageolet, the brass horns, the bass drums, +the crash of the general brass and the triangle--these sounds fill the +air. +</P> + +<P> +Where is the people's idol, elected to Congress by to-night's count, +already conceded at Opposition head-quarters? +</P> + +<P> +The orator stands over his dead. What is that? Elected to Congress? +A speech? +</P> + +<P> +"It will be better," says Richard Tarbelle. "Come up on the balcony, +Mr. Lockwin. It will be better." +</P> + +<P> +This noise relieves the father's brain. How fortunate it has come. +The orator goes up by a rear stairway. He appears on the balcony. +There is a cheer that may be heard all over the South Side. +</P> + +<P> +"He looks haggard," says the first citizen. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd look tired if you opened your barrel the way he did," vouchsafes +the second citizen. +</P> + +<P> +The orator lifts his voice. It is the proudest moment of his life, he +assures them. In this eventful day's work the nation has been offered +a guarantee of its welfare. The sanctity of our institutions has been +vindicated. +</P> + +<P> +Here the tin-horns, the cat-calls, the drunken congratulations--the +whole Babel--rises above the charm of oratory. But the people's idol +does not stop. The words roll from his mouth. The form sways, the +finger points. +</P> + +<P> +"He's the boy!" "Notice his giblets!" "He will be President--if his +barrel lasts." Thus the first, second and third saloon-keepers +determine. +</P> + +<P> +There is a revulsion in the crowd. What is the matter at the basement +gate? +</P> + +<P> +It is the cook and the housekeeper in contention. +</P> + +<P> +"I tell ye's I'm goin' to fasten it on the door! Such doings as this I +never heard of. Oh, Davy, my darlint! Oh! Davy, my darlint!" +</P> + +<P> +The crowd is withdrawing to the opposite curb, But the crush is +tremendous. There are ten thousand people in the street. Only those +near by know what is happening. +</P> + +<P> +The cook escapes from the housekeeper. She climbs the steps of the +portico. She flaunts the white crape. "Begone, ye blasphemous +wretches!" she cries. +</P> + +<P> +"What the devil is that?" asks the first citizen. +</P> + +<P> +The cook is fastening the white gauze and the white satin ribbon on the +bell knob. +</P> + +<P> +"Do ye see that, ye graveyard robbers? Will ye blow yer brass bands +and yer tin pipes now, ye murtherin' wretches?" +</P> + +<P> +The host has seen the signal of death, as it flaunts under the +flickering light of the gas lamp. There is an insensible yet rapid +departure. There were ten thousand hearers. There are, perhaps, ten +hundred whose eyes are as yet fixed upward on the orator. +</P> + +<P> +"Our republic will forever remain splendid among nations," comes the +rich voice from the balcony. One may see a form swaying, an arm +reaching forth in the dim light. +</P> + +<P> +The ten hundred are diminishing. It is like the banners of the auroral +light. The ten hundred were there a moment ago. Now it is but a +memory. No one is there. The street is so empty that a belated +delivery wagon may rattle along, stopping at wrong houses to fix the +number. +</P> + +<P> +The orator speaks on. He weeps and he thunders. +</P> + +<P> +Hasten out on that balcony, Richard Tarbelle, and stop this scandal! +Lead that demented orator in! Pluck him by the sleeve! Pluck harder! +</P> + +<P> +"The voice of the people, my fellow-citizens," cries the people's idol, +"is the voice--is the voice of God." +</P> + +<P> +"God, and Holy Mary, and the sweet angels!" comes a low, keening cry +from the kitchen. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0111"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI +<BR><BR> +LYNCH-LAW FOR CORKEY +</H3> + +<P> +It is a month after the election. Lockwin has been out of bed for a +week. +</P> + +<P> +"You astound me!" cries Dr. Tarpion. +</P> + +<P> +The doctor is just back from his mine in Mexico. The doctor has +climbed the volcano of Popocatapetl. His six-story hotel in Chicago is +leased on a bond for five years. He has a nugget of gold from his +mine. His health is capital. He is at the mental and physical +antipodes of his friend. Talk of Mexican summer resorts and Chicago +real estate is to the doctor's taste. He is not prepared for Lockwin's +recital. +</P> + +<P> +"Your Davy, my poor fellow, had no constitution. Mind you, I do not +say he would have died had I remained at my office. I do not say that. +Of course, it was highly important that his stomach should be +preserved. You fell in the hands of a Dr. Flod--let me see our list. +Why, by heavens! his name is not down at all!" +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Floddin's name is not in the medical peerage. Dr. Floddin, +therefore, does not exist. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, David, let us speak of it no more. You were entrapped. How +about this Congress? I tell you that you must go. You must do exactly +as our leader directs." +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin is elected, and he is not. He received the most votes, but +great frauds were openly perpetrated. Without the false votes Corkey +would have been elected. There is to be a contest in the lower House. +The majority of the party in the House is only three, with two +republicans on sick beds in close districts. +</P> + +<P> +Interest in the Chicago affair is overshadowing. The President's +private secretary has commissioned the Chicago political boss to fix it +up. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is an unknown factor. The boss assures the administration that +the district would be lost if Corkey should win. +</P> + +<P> +What does Corkey want? +</P> + +<P> +"I was elected," says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"You don't carry the papers," answers the boss. +</P> + +<P> +"I just made you fellers screw your nut for 2,000 crooked votes," says +Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"None of your sailors had the right to vote," says the boss. "Now, +here, Corkey, you are going to lose that certificate. It doesn't +belong to you, and we've got the House. Here's a telegram from a high +source: 'Lockwin must get the election at all hazards. See Corkey.' +I'll tell you what you do. You and Lockwin go on and see the +President." +</P> + +<P> +"That will never do," says Corkey. "But I'll tell you what I will do." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know I've a notion that Lockwin ain't goin' to serve. If he +resigns, I want it. If he catches on, all right. I want him or you to +get me collector of the port. You hear me? Collector of the port. +His nobs, this collector we have now--he must get out, I don't care +how. But he must sherry. I can't fool with these sailors. If they +see me trading with Lockwin they will swear I sell out. See? Well, I +want to see Lockwin, just the same. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do: +You Send Lockwin to Washington to explain the situation. Get in +writing what is to be done. Don't let there be any foolin' on that +point. Tell Lockwin to return by the way of Canada, and get to Owen +Sound. I know a way home that will leave us alone for two days or +more. In that time I can tell what I'll do." +</P> + +<P> +"All right; Lockwin shall go." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll give it out that I've gone to Duluth for the newspaper. But I've +no use for newspapers no more. It's collector or Congress, sure. +Don't attempt no smart plays. Tell that to the jam-jorum at +Washington. If they want me to take down my contest and cover up the +hole you ballot-box-stuffers is in here at home, let 'em fix <I>me</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"All right." +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right if Lockwin meets me at Owen Sound. I've got the +<I>papes</I> to send a lot of you duffers to the pen if you don't come to +time." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey therefore sails for Duluth. It increases his standing with the +sailors to make these trips late in the year. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin is to go to Washington. It is evident, say his friends, that +he is greatly exhausted with the efforts of the campaign. Dr. Tarpion +has hinted that Lockwin is not the ambitious man that he has seemed to +be. Dr. Tarpion has hinted that it was only through strong personal +influence that Lockwin has been held faithful to the heavy party duty +that now lies upon him. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Tarpion has hinted that Lockwin did not want the office if it did +not belong to him. +</P> + +<P> +But Lockwin has had brain fever for nearly a month. What could you +expect of a man who made so many speeches at so many wigwams? +</P> + +<P> +"Besides," says the political boss, "he had sickness in his family." +</P> + +<P> +"Some one died, didn't they?" asks a rounder where these reports are +bandied. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, a little boy. Good-looking little fellow, too. I saw him with +Lockwin." +</P> + +<P> +"When I was a young man," said the boss, "old Sol Wynkoop got in the +heat of the canvass, just like Lockwin. Old Sol was just about as good +a speaker. He would talk right on, making 'em howl every so often. +Well, his wife and his daughter they both died and was buried, and Old +Sol he didn't miss his three dates a day. He didn't come home at all. +I had a notion to tell Lockwin that. Oh, he ain't no timber for +President, or even for senator. I did tell Lockwin how my wife died. +I got to the funeral, of course, for this is a city, and Old Sol was +forty miles away, with muddy roads. But, boys, when I get tired I just +have to go up to the lake and catch bass. I tell you, politics is +hard. I must find Lockwin right away. Good-bye, boys. Charge those +drinks to me." +</P> + +<P> +It is Sunday. David Lockwin is walking toward the little church where +Davy went to Sunday-school. He passes a group at a gate near the +church. "Every week, just at this time, there goes by the most +beautiful child. Stay and see him. See how he smiles up at our +window." +</P> + +<P> +"He is dead and buried," says Lockwin in their ear. They are young +women. They are startled, and run in the cottage. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin walks as in a dream. To-morrow he goes to Washington. +"Politics is hard," he says, but he does not feel it. He feels +nothing. He feels at rest. Nothing is hard. He is weak from an +illness, of which he knows little. He has never been in this +infant-room. Many a time he has left Davy at the door. +</P> + +<P> +The pastor's wife is the shepherdess. She has a long, white crook. +Before her sit seven rows of wee faces and bodies. It is sweeter than +a garden of flowers. They are too small to read books, but they learn +at the fastest pace. The shepherdess gets Lockwin a chair. There are +tears in her eyes. The audience is quick to feel. Tears come in the +eyes of little faces nearly as beautiful as Davy's. Roses are sweetest +when the dew sparkles on them. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, my dear sir, no. None of them are as pretty as he was." Such is +the opinion of the shepherdess. "We see only one like him in a +lifetime," she testifies. A wee, blue chair is vacant in the first row +at the end--clearly the place of honor. A withered wreath lies on the +chair. The man's eyes are fastened on that spot. Here is a world of +which he knew nothing. Here he follows in the very footsteps. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, listen," says the motherly teacher. "This is Davy's father." +</P> + +<P> +Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. Strange power +of human pity! +</P> + +<A NAME="img-098"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-098.jpg" ALT="Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed." BORDER="2" WIDTH="381" HEIGHT="411"> +<H5> +[Illustration: Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed.] +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Little Davy is with Jesus," says the shepherdess. "Now all you who +want to be with Jesus, raise your hands." +</P> + +<P> +Every right hand is up. Their faith is implicit, but many a left hand +is pulling a neighboring curl. Busy is that long shepherd crook, to +defeat those wicked left hands. +</P> + +<P> +A head obtrudes in the door. "Excuse me," says the political boss. +"Mr. Lockwin, can you spare a moment? Hello, Jessie! no, papa will not +be home to-night. Tell mamma, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +A curly head is saddened. Lockwin thanks the shepherdess, and follows +his boss. +</P> + +<P> +"The train goes East at 4:45. Don't lose a moment. Lucky I found you." +</P> + +<P> +The newspaper press is in possession of a sensation. On Monday morning +we quote: "A plot has been revealed which might have resulted in the +loss of the First district, and possibly of Congress, just at the +moment the re-apportionment bill was to be passed. Notice of contest +has been served on Congressman Lockwin as a blind for subsequent +operations, and yesterday the newly elected member left hurriedly for +Washington to consult with the attorney general. It is evident that +the federal authorities will inquire into the high-handed outrages +which swelled the votes of Corkey and the other unsuccessful candidates +on election day. +</P> + +<P> +"The time is coming," concludes the article, "when lynch law will be +dealt out to the repeaters who haunt the tough precincts at each +election day." +</P> + +<P> +The prominent citizens say among themselves: "We ought to do something +pretty soon, or these ward politicians will be governing the nation!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0112"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII +<BR><BR> +IN GEORGIAN BAY +</H3> + +<P> +Corkey is at Owen Sound. The political bee is buzzing in his bonnet. +Collector of the port--this office seems small to a man who really +polled more votes than Lockwin. The notion has taken hold of Corkey +that, by some hook or crook, Lockwin will get out and Corkey will get +in. +</P> + +<P> +When he thinks of this, Corkey rises and walks about his chair, sitting +down again. +</P> + +<P> +This is a gambler's habit. +</P> + +<P> +There follows this incantation an incident which flatters his ambition. +Having changed his tobacco from the right to the left side of his +mouth, he strangles badly. It takes him just five minutes to get a +free breath. This is always a good sign. Thereupon the darkest of +negro lads, with six fingers, a lick, left-handed and cross-eyed, +enters the barroom of the hotel. +</P> + +<P> +"Here!" cries Corkey. "What's your name?" The boy stammers in his +speech. +</P> + +<P> +"N-n-n-noah!" he replies. +</P> + +<P> +"Why not?" inquires Corkey. "You bet your sweet life you tell me what +your name is!" +</P> + +<P> +"N-n-n-noah!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not? Tell me that!" +</P> + +<P> +"M-m-my name is N-n-noah!" exclaims the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Ho! ho!" laughs Corkey. "Let's see them fingers! Got any more in +your pockets?" +</P> + +<P> +"N-n-n-noah," answers the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Got six toes, too?" +</P> + +<P> +"Y-y-yes, sah!" +</P> + +<P> +"A dead mascot!" says Corkey. It is an auspice of the most eminent +fortune. Corkey from this moment rejects the collectorship, and stakes +all on going to Congress. Thoughts of murdering Lockwin out here in +this wilderness come into the man's mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't do that, nohow. Oh, I'll never be worked off--none of that +for me!" +</P> + +<P> +In Corkey's tongue, to be worked off is to be hanged. +</P> + +<P> +"Nixy. I'll never be worked off. But it would be easy to throw him +from the deck to-night. Some of the boys would do it, too, if they +knew him." +</P> + +<P> +The man grows murderous. +</P> + +<P> +"Easy enough. Somebody slap his jaw and get him in a fight. Oh, he'll +fight quick enough. Then three or four of 'em tip him into the lake. +Why, it ain't even the lake out here. It's Georgian Bay. It's out of +the world, too. My father was in Congress. My grandfather was in. +Wonder how they got there? Wonder if they did any dirt?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey's face is hard and black. He rises. He feels ill. He swears +at the mascot. "I <I>thought</I> he had too many points when I see him." +</P> + +<P> +The train is late. The propeller, Africa, lies at the dock ready to +start. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if I come to such a place as this I must expect a jackleg +railroad. They say they've got an old tub there at the dock. Good +stiff fall breeze, too." +</P> + +<P> +The thought of danger resuscitates Corkey. He finds some sailors, +tells them how he was elected to Congress, slaps them on the back, +tries to split the bar with his fist, a feat which has often won votes, +and tightens his heart with raw Canadian whisky. +</P> + +<P> +"Going to be rough, Corkey." +</P> + +<P> +"'Spose so," nods Corkey. "Is she pretty good?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Africa?" +</P> + +<P> +"Um-huh!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, well, she's toted me often enough. She's like the little nig they +carry." +</P> + +<P> +"Does that mascot sail with her?" +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure." +</P> + +<P> +"That settles it. Landlord, give us that sour mash." +</P> + +<P> +"Train's coming!" +</P> + +<P> +The drinks are hurriedly swallowed and paid for, and the men are off +for the depot near by. +</P> + +<P> +"How are ye, Lockwin?" "How-dy-do, Corkey. Where have you got me? +Going to murder me and get to Congress in my place?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, but I expect you're going to resign and let me in." +</P> + +<P> +"Where's your boat? I hear they're waiting. I suppose we can get +supper on board. Why did you choose such a place as this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, cap, I had a long slate to fix up when I came here. If I was to +be collector, of course I want to make my pile out of it, and I must +take care of the boys. But I didn't start out to be collector, and +I've about failed to make any slate at all. Yet, if I'm to sell out to +you folks, I reckon I couldn't do it on any boat in the open lakes. +I'm not sure but Georgian Bay is purty prominent. Captain Grant, this +is Mr. Lockwin, of Chicago. This is the captain of the Africa. Mr. +Bodine, Mr. Lockwin, of Chicago. Mr. Bodine is station-keeper here. +Mr. Troy, Mr. Lockwin. Mr. Troy keeps the hotel. Mr. Flood, Mr. +Lockwin. Mr. Flood runs the bank and keeps the postoffice and general +store." +</P> + +<P> +The group nears the hotel. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is seized with a paroxysm of tobacco strangling, ending with a +sneeze that is a public event. He is again black in the face, but he +has been polite. +</P> + +<P> +The uninitiated express their astonishment at a sneeze so mighty, and +enter the inn. The women of the dining-room come peeping into the +bar-room, But the captain explains: +</P> + +<P> +"That sneeze carried Corkey to Congress. I've heern tell how he'd be +in the middle of a speech and some smart Aleck would do something to +raise the laugh on the gentleman. Corkey would get to strangling and +then would end with a sneeze that would carry the house. It's great!" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what it is!" says Mr. Bodine. +</P> + +<P> +"Gentlemen, my father had it. It's no laughing matter. God sakes, how +that does shake a man!" +</P> + +<P> +But Corkey has not only done the polite act. He has relieved his mind. +He is no longer in danger of being worked off. +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't be likely to do up my man if I introduced him to everybody." +</P> + +<P> +Yet the opportunity to murder Lockwin, as a theoretical proposition, +dwells with Corkey, now that he is clearly innocent. +</P> + +<P> +"I might have given him a false name. He'd a had to stand it, because +he don't like this business nohow. Everything was favorable. Have we +time for a drink, cap'n?" The last sentence aloud. +</P> + +<P> +The captain looks at the hotel-keeper. The captain also sells the +stuff aboard. But will the captain throw a stone into Mr. Troy's bar? +</P> + +<P> +"I guess we have time," nods the captain. +</P> + +<P> +The party drinks. The gale rises. One hundred wood-choppers, bound +for Thunder Bay, go aboard. The craft rubs her fenders and strains the +wavering pier. It is a dark night and cold. +</P> + +<P> +"No sailor likes a north wind," says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"I have no reason to like it," says Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll bet he couldn't be done up so very easy after all," thinks Corkey +with a quick, loud guttural bark, due to his tobacco. "I wonder why he +looks so blue? It can't be they won't trade at Washington." +</P> + +<P> +The thought of no office at all frightens the marine reporter. He asks +himself why he did not put the main question at the depot before the +other folks met Lockwin. The paroxysm has made a coward of Corkey. He +gets mental satisfaction by thoughts of the weather. The mate of the +Africa is muttering that they ought to tie up for the night. +</P> + +<P> +"What ye going to do?" asks Corkey of Captain Grant. +</P> + +<P> +"The captain is well sprung with sour mash," says Corkey to himself. +</P> + +<P> +"We're going to take these choppers to Thunder Bay to-night," says the +captain with an oath. +</P> + +<P> +Supper is set in the after-cabin. It is nine o'clock before the engine +moves. There are few at table. After supper Corkey and Lockwin enter +the forward cabin and take a sofa that sits across the little room. +The sea is rough, but the motion of the boat is least felt at this +place. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin has the appearance of a man who is utterly unwilling to be +happy. Corkey has regarded this demeanor as a political wile. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll fetch this feller!" Corkey has observed to himself. +</P> + +<P> +But on broaching the question of politics, the commodore has found that +Lockwin is scarcely able to speak. He sinks in profound meditation, +and is slowly recalled to the most obvious matters. +</P> + +<P> +The genial Corkey is puzzled. "He's going to resign, sure. He beats +me--this feller does." +</P> + +<P> +The boat lunges and groans. It lurches sidewise three or four times, +and there are sudden moans of the sick on all sides beyond thin wooden +partitions. +</P> + +<P> +"I bet he gits sick," says Corkey. "Pard, are ye sick now? Excuse me, +Mr. Lockwin, but are ye sick any?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," says Lockwin, and he is not sick. He wishes he were. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, let's git to business, then. You must excuse me, but--" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is seized with a paroxysm. He gives a screeching sneeze, and +the cries of the sick grow furious. +</P> + +<P> +"Who <I>is</I> that?" asks the mate, peering out of his room and then going +on deck. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is at the end of his forces. This is life. This is +politics. This is expediency. This is the way men become illustrious. +He straightens his legs, sinks his chin and pushes his hands far in his +pockets. +</P> + +<P> +"Before I begin," says Corkey, "let me tell ye, that if you're sick I'd +keep off the decks. You have a gold watch. Some one might nail ye." +</P> + +<P> +"Is that so?" asks Lockwin, his thoughts far away. +</P> + +<P> +"He beats <I>me</I>!" comments the contestant. "Well, pard, if you're not +sick, I'd like to say a good many things. I suppose them ducks at +Washington weakened. If they give me collector, here's my slate." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey produces a long list of names, written on copy-paper. +</P> + +<P> +"I bet she don't budge an inch," he remarks, as he hears the north wind +and waves pounding at one end, and the engine pounding at the other. +</P> + +<P> +"Needn't be afraid, pard. Sometimes they go out in Georgian Bay and +burn some coal. Then if they can't git anywhere, they come back." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is pleased with his own remark. "Sometimes," he adds, "they +don't come back. They are bluffed back by the wind." +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin sits in the same uncommunicative attitude. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardner, you didn't come out into Georgian Bay for nothing. I know +that. So I will tell you what I am going to do with the collectorship. +By the great jumping Jewhillikins, that's a wave in the stateroom +windows! I never see anything like that." +</P> + +<P> +The captain passes. +</P> + +<P> +"High sea, cap'n!" It is not in good form for Corkey to rise. He is a +passenger, with a navigator's reputation to sustain. +</P> + +<P> +"High hell!" says the captain. +</P> + +<P> +"What a hullabaloo them choppers is a-making," says Corkey to Lockwin. +"I reckon they're about scared to death. Well, as I was a-saying, I +want to know what the jam-jorum said." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is terrified. He does not fear that he will go down in Georgian +Bay. He dreads to hear the bursting of the bladders that are +supporting him in his sea of glory. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin starts as from a waking dream: +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Corkey, but I could have told you at the start +that the administration, when it was confronted by the question whether +or not it would give you anything, said; 'No!' It will give you +nothing. The administration said it would not appoint you lightkeeper +at Ozaukee." +</P> + +<P> +"There hain't no light at Ozaukee," says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what the administration said, too," replies Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you tell 'em I got you fine?" asks Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"I told them I thought you had as good a case as I had." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you tell 'em I'd knock seventeen kinds of stuffin' out of their +whole party? That I'd--" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is at his wits ends. His challenge has been accepted. At the +outset he had saved fifty twenty-dollar gold pieces out of his wages. +He has spent fifteen already. The thought of a contest against the +machine candidate carries with it the loss of the rest of the little +hoard. He has boasted that he will retain Emery Storrs, the eminent +advocate. Corkey grows black in the face. He hiccoughs. He strangles. +</P> + +<P> +He unburdens himself with a supreme sneeze. The mate enters the cabin. +</P> + +<P> +"I <I>knew</I> that sneeze would wreck us!" he cries savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"Is your old tub sinking?" asks Corkey, in retort. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what she is!" replies the mate. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey looks like a man relieved. Politics is off his mind. He will +not be laughed at on the docks now. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardner, I'm sorry we're in this hole," he says, as the twain rush +through the door to the deck. It was dim under that swinging lamp. It +is dark out here. The wind is bitter. The second mate stands hard by. +</P> + +<P> +"How much water is in?" asks Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Plenty," says the second mate. +</P> + +<P> +"What have ye done?" asks Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Captain's blind, stavin' drunk, and won't do nothin'." +</P> + +<P> +"Nice picnic!" says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Nice picnic!" says the second mate, warming up. +</P> + +<P> +It is midnight in the middle of Georgian Bay. There is a fall gale +such as comes only once in four or five years. In the morning there +will be three hundred wrecks on the great lakes--the most inhospitable +bodies of water in the world. +</P> + +<P> +And of all stormy places let the sailor keep out of Georgian Bay. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<a NAME="chap0113"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII +<BR><BR> +OFF CAPE CROKER +</H3> + +<P> +Corkey has climbed to the upper deck and stands there alone in the +darkness and the gale. The engine stops. The steamer falls into the +trough of the sea. +</P> + +<P> +The Africa carries two yawls attached to her davits. Corkey is feeling +about one of these yawls. He suspects that the lines are old. He +steps to the other side. He strains at a rope. He strives to unloose +it from its cleat. The line is stiff and almost frozen. +</P> + +<P> +"I'd be afraid to lower myself, anyhow," he observes, for he has the +notion that everything about the Africa is insecure. +</P> + +<P> +The ship gives another lurch. Something must be done. Almost before +he knows it, Corkey has cut loose the stern. The rope seems strong. +</P> + +<P> +Now he must unwind the bow line from its cleat, or he will lose his +boat. He kicks at the cleat. He loosens a loop. He raises the boat +and then lowers it. The tackle works. +</P> + +<P> +The other yawl and its tackle roll and creak in the gale. Nobody else +comes up the ladders. +</P> + +<P> +The man aloft pulls his line out and fastens it to the cleat which he +tried to kick off. He seizes the stern of the yawl and hoists it far +over the upper deck. The yawl falls outside the gunwale below, with a +great crash and splintering of oars. +</P> + +<P> +"She's there!" says Corkey, feeling the taut line. "She's there, and +the rope is good. The davit is good." +</P> + +<P> +The people below seem to know that a boat is being put out. But Corkey +is the only man on the ship who thinks the idea practicable. "Of what +use to lower a small boat," say the sailors, "in Georgian Bay?" +</P> + +<P> +The man above must descend on that little line. He doesn't want to do +that. He goes to the other boat, and makes a feeble experiment of +hoisting and lowering, by means of both davits, the man to sit in the +yawl. "I couldn't do it!" he vows, and recrosses. +</P> + +<P> +"What'll I do when I get down there?" he mutters. "How'll I get loose?" +</P> + +<P> +He must make his descent knife in hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do it!" he says, and gets out his knife. It is a large +fur-handled hunting knife--like Corkey in its style. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey peers down on deck. The wood-choppers are fastening +life-preservers about their bodies. Whether they be crying or +shouting, cannot be told. +</P> + +<P> +He sees human forms hurrying past the cabin window, and there is +reflected the yellow, wooden, ribby thing which he knows to be a +life-preserver. +</P> + +<P> +It is a cheering thing in such a moment. "I wish I had one," he says, +but he holds to the rope of his boat. +</P> + +<P> +There is no crew, in the proper sense of the word. Not an officer or +man on board feels a responsibility for the lives of the passengers. +As at a country summer resort, each person must wait on himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody is better'n we are," says the captain. +</P> + +<P> +The Africa is rapidly foundering. +</P> + +<P> +"She must be as rotten as punk," sneers Corkey. He thinks of his +cheerful desk at the newspaper office. He thinks of his marine +register. He tries to recall the rating of this hulk of an Africa. +</P> + +<P> +"Anyhow, it is tough!" he laments. +</P> + +<P> +The wind is perhaps less boisterous since the engine slacked. The rays +of light from the cabin lamps pierce and split the waves. Corkey never +saw so much foam before. +</P> + +<P> +"It's an easy good-bye for all of us," he says, and falls ill. +</P> + +<P> +But shall he wait for the Africa to settle? +</P> + +<P> +"She'll pull me down, sure!" he comments. +</P> + +<P> +Shall he wait much longer, then? +</P> + +<P> +"All them roosters will be up here, and then we can't do nothing. Yet +I wish I had somebody with me. Oh, Lockwin! I say, hello! Old man! +Lockwin! Come up this way!" +</P> + +<P> +For a moment there is nothing to be heard but the furious whistling of +the gale about the mast in front. There is nobody in the wheel-house +to the best of Corkey's eyesight. +</P> + +<P> +There are three or four booming sounds. Corkey is startled. They are +repeated. +</P> + +<P> +It is the yawl making its hollow sound. +</P> + +<P> +But there are no noises of human beings. "Oddest thing I ever see!" +says Corkey. "I didn't know a shipwreck was like this. Everything is +different from what is printed--Lord save me!" +</P> + +<P> +The Africa is rolling. +</P> + +<P> +"Here goes!" It is now or never. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey has short, tough fingers. He grasps that rope like a vise. He +wraps his left leg well in the coils. He kicks the steamer with his +right. The small boat does not touch the water when the steamer is +sitting straight in the sea. +</P> + +<P> +It is a horrible turmoil in which to enter. Perhaps he came down too +soon! +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I had some one with me now. Mebbe the two of us would get an +advantage." +</P> + +<P> +The second mate looks over the gunwale from the prow of the steamer. +He knows a land-lubber is handling a yawl. +</P> + +<P> +"D---- fool!" he mutters. +</P> + +<P> +In the Georgian Bay, if the ship go down, all hands are to drown. Only +sham sailors like Corkey are to make any effort, beyond fastening +pieces of wood about their waists. +</P> + +<P> +"I wonder if I'd come out here for this if I'd got onto it?" Then the +grim features relax. "I wonder if his nobs would?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey's feet rest on the prow of the small boat. He asks if he +fastened that rope securely at the cleat. He has asked that all the +way down. Perhaps the steamer is not going to sink. +</P> + +<P> +"Whoopy!" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is under the steamer's side, deep in the waves. He goes down +suddenly, cold, frightened, benumbed. He feels that some one is trying +to pull the rope out of his hands. It must be Lockwin. The drowning +man clutches with a hundred forces. The tug increases. The struggling +man will lose the rope. Lockwin is striking Corkey with a bludgeon. +That is unfair! There is a last pull, and Corkey comes up out of the +waves. +</P> + +<P> +What has happened? The Africa has rolled nearly over, but is righting. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey's wits return. "I've lost my knife!" he cries, in bitter +disappointment. But, lo! his knife is in his hands. He can with +difficulty unloose his fingers from the rope. +</P> + +<P> +The Africa is listing upon him again. He dreads that abyss of waters. +He cuts the rope far above him and he falls in the sea, the entire +scope of his life passing in a red fire before his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Beside, there is a drowning thought that he has gone out to die before +the rest. At the last, when he swung out as the Africa rolled toward +him he wanted to climb back. +</P> + +<P> +Now the red fire is gone and Corkey can think. He believes he is +drowning. "It's because I wasn't a real sailor," he argues. "The +sailors knew better." +</P> + +<P> +Something pulls him. It is the rope which he holds. He knows now that +he has a yawl on the end of that line. He pulls and pulls--and comes +up to the air, a choking, sneezing, exceedingly active human being. +The yawl is riding the water. He rolls into the boat at the prow. He +feels quickly for the oars and finds two that are in their locks. +Water is deep in the bottom. There is nothing to bail with. +</P> + +<P> +But the joy of the little man is keen. "I'm saved! That's what I am! +I'm saved!" +</P> + +<P> +He thinks he hears a new noise--a great sough--the pouring of waters. +He is moved sidewise in his boat. He wipes the mist from his eyes and +peers in all directions for the ship. +</P> + +<P> +"Where in God's name is she?" It is the most frightful thought Corkey +has ever entertained. +</P> + +<P> +The Africa has gone down. It is as sure as that Corkey sits in the +yawl, safe for the moment. The spirit of the man sinks with the ship, +and then rides high again. +</P> + +<P> +"They're nothing to me!" he says. "I'm the only contestant, too!" +</P> + +<P> +He is too brave. The thought seems sacrilegious. He grows faint with +fear! All alone on Georgian Bay! +</P> + +<P> +The boat leaps and settles, leaps and settles. The oars fly in his +face, and are jerked away. The boat falls on something solid. What is +that? It hits the boat again. An oar flies out of Corkey's hand. His +hand seizes the gunwale for security. A warmer hand is felt. Corkey +pulls on the hand--a head--a kinky head--comes next. The thing is +alive, and is welcome. Corkey pulls with both hands. A small form +comes over the gunwale just as a wave strikes the side of the yawl with +the only noise that can be heard. The yawl does not capsize. The boy +begins bailing with his hands. +</P> + +<P> +It is the mascot. "Hooray!" cries the man. His confidence returns. +He hears the boy paddling the water. The rebellious oars are seized +with hope, but Corkey feels as if he were high on a fractious horse, +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you moke!" he commands in tones that are heard for a hundred +yards. +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you cross-eyed, left-handed, two-thumbed, six-toed, stuttering +moke!" +</P> + +<P> +The boy paddles with his hands. The man, by spasmodic efforts, holds +the boat against the wind for a minute, and then loses his control. +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you moke!" he screams, as the tide goes against him. +</P> + +<P> +The hands fly faster. +</P> + +<P> +The boat comes back against the wind and the great seas split on each +side of the prow. +</P> + +<P> +The swimmers hear Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Lordy!" he says. "I know I hit a man then with that right oar. I +felt it smash him. There! we're on him now! Bail, you moke! No +stopping, or I throw you in! Stop that bailing and catch that duck +there! Got him? Hang on!" +</P> + +<P> +It is a wood-chopper. +</P> + +<P> +This yawl is like a wild animal. It springs upward, it rolls, it +flounders. It is like a wild bronco newly haltered. How can these +many heads hope to get upon so spirited a steed? See it leap backward +and on end! Now up, now sidewise, now vertically! +</P> + +<P> +But the swimmers are also the sport of the waves. They, too, are +thrown far aloft. They, too, sink deeply. +</P> + +<P> +"There, I hit that man again, I know I did! Don't you feel him? They +must be thick. Come this way, all you fellers! I can take ye!" +</P> + +<P> +The boat is leaping high. These survivors are brave and good. +</P> + +<P> +The wood-chopper, with his wooden life-preserver, is clumsy getting in. +He angers Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you moke! Let the other fellows fish for the floaters!" +</P> + +<P> +It inspires Corkey, this frequent admonition of the boy. But the boat +cavorts dizzily. +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you moke! You black devil! Don't you forget it!" The oars go +fast and furious, often in the air, and each time with a volley of +oaths. +</P> + +<P> +The wood-chopper has seized a man. It is another wood-chopper. There +are now four souls in the boat. +</P> + +<P> +It leaps less like an athlete. +</P> + +<P> +It has been half an hour since the Africa went down. There still are +cries. To all these, Corkey replies: "Come on! all you fellers that +has life-preservers!" But it is incredible that any more should get in +the yawl. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, one, two, three, four, five, six wood-choppers arrive in +the next half-hour, and all are saved. Tugging for dear life, Corkey +holds his boat against the wind. +</P> + +<P> +"There!" cries the commander. "I strike him again!" +</P> + +<P> +A wood-chopper this time grasps a floating man who can make little +effort for himself. A half-dozen pair of hands bring him aboard. He +sinks on a seat. The boat is now full. It leaps less lightly. The +commander is jubilant. He thinks himself safe. He returns to his +favorite topic, the mascot. +</P> + +<P> +"You're from the Africa, ain't you? Bail, you moke! He-oh-he! Golly, +that was a big one!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" +</P> + +<P> +"You're Noah. Good name! Fine name! Where's Ararat? He-oh-he!" +</P> + +<P> +"Never seed a-a-airy-rat." +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you moke! Don't you give me more o' your lip! Bail, you little +devil! Don't you see--he-oh--Godsakes! Lookout! Bail, all you +fellers! Other side! Quick! It's no good! Hang on! All you +fellers." +</P> + +<P> +The boat is turning. Hands grasp the gunwale. The gunwale sinks. +Hands rise. The back of the boat rolls toward them. The hands +scramble and pat the back of the boat. The gunwale comes over. The +boat is right side up. She still leaps. She still struggles to be +free. Hand after hand lets go. Six hands remain. The boat rises and +ends about. Then the bow rises; next the stern. The yawl strives +persistently to shake free from the daring creatures who have so far +escaped the Africa and the storm. The boy turns on the gunwale, as it +were a trapeze. He opens the locker. He finds a tin pie-plate. He +bails. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey gets in. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord of heavens!" he ejaculates, "that was a close call. Them +wood-choppers! They was no earthly use." +</P> + +<P> +Two hands are yet on the gunwale. +</P> + +<P> +"Suppose we can git him in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" stammers the boy. +</P> + +<P> +The unknown man is evidently wounded, but is more active than when he +was first picked up. +</P> + +<P> +Every wood-chopper is gone. There are no sounds in Georgian Bay other +than the noises of the boat, the wind and the great waves. There were +117 souls on the Africa. Now 114 are drowned. They perished like rats +in a trap. +</P> + +<P> +What moment will the boat overturn again? +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, my son!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" stammers the boy. +</P> + +<P> +The boat is riding southward and backward at a fast rate. Three hours +have passed--three hours of increasing effort and nerve-straining +suspense. +</P> + +<P> +The wounded survivor lies in the stern of the boat. The boy bails +incessantly. The water is thrown in at the stern in passing over the +boat from the prow. +</P> + +<P> +"It's bad on that rooster!" says Corkey, as he hears the water dashing +on the prostrate form. "Wonder if his head is out of the drink?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" stammers the boy, feeling slowly in the stern. +</P> + +<P> +The work and the fear settle into a sodden, unbroken period of three +hours more. Growing familiarity with the seas aids Corkey in holding +the craft to the wind. But how long can he last? How long can he defy +the wind? +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, my son!" he begs. +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah," stammers the boy. +</P> + +<P> +The gray light begins to touch the east. Corkey has lived an age since +he saw that light. He is afraid of it now. +</P> + +<P> +A cloud moves by and the morning bursts on the group. +</P> + +<P> +Busy as he is, Corkey is eager to see the man in the stern. +</P> + +<P> +"Holy smoke!" says the oarsman. +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" stammers the obedient lad. +</P> + +<P> +The face on the stern seat startles Corkey. The nose is broken, the +lips are cut, some of the front teeth are gone and the face has been +bloody. It is like a wound poulticed white. It has been wet and cold +all night. +</P> + +<P> +"Lockwin, isn't it you?" asks Corkey, greatly moved at a sight so +affecting. +</P> + +<P> +"It is," signals Lockwin. The voice is inaudible to Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +The head rises and Corkey strains his ear. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm dying, Corkey. God bless you. I wanted to thank you." +</P> + +<P> +"God bless you, Lockwin. We're all in the same boat. I'm glad we +caught you!" +</P> + +<P> +The mascot moves toward the sinking man. +</P> + +<P> +The head falls again on the stern seat. The body is in ten inches of +water. +</P> + +<P> +The boat is moving rapidly. +</P> + +<P> +"Want to send any word home, Lockwin?" +</P> + +<P> +There is a pause. There is an effort to speak of money. There is +another effort. +</P> + +<P> +"He s-a-ays put a st-st-stone at Davy's-s-s-s-s grave," interprets the +stammerer. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's Davy?" asks the oarsman. "What else did he say?" +</P> + +<P> +"H-h-h-he's dead!" says the lad. +</P> + +<P> +"Bail! bail!" answers the man. "Let's g-g-get 'im out!" suggests the +boy in a half-hour. Corkey has been sobbing. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought a heap of Lockwin," he answers. +</P> + +<P> +"I d-d-don't like a d-d-dead man in the boat!" +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you moke! I'll throw you in!" +</P> + +<P> +But Corkey's voice is far from menacing. Corkey is weak. Now he sees +the boy's face in dreadful contortions. The lad is trying to speak +quickly, and can make no noise at all. +</P> + +<P> +He rises and points. He is frantic. +</P> + +<P> +"He's crazy!" thinks Corkey, in alarm. +</P> + +<P> +"L-l-land!" screams the lad. +</P> + +<P> +"That is what it is, unless it's sucking us in." Corkey has heard of +mirages in shipwreck. +</P> + +<P> +"It's land!" he says, a moment later, as he sees a tamarack scrub. +</P> + +<P> +It is, in reality, a long, narrow spit of sand that pushes out above +Colpoy's Bay. Beyond that point is the black and open Georgian Bay for +thirty miles. +</P> + +<P> +The boat will ride by, and at least three hundred yards outside. +Unless Corkey can get inside, what will become of him? +</P> + +<P> +If he turn away from the wind he will capsize. +</P> + +<P> +On comes the point. It is the abyss of death beyond. +</P> + +<P> +"We never will get it!" cries the man. +</P> + +<P> +The boy's face is all contortions. He is trying to say something. +</P> + +<P> +"Bail, you moke!" commands the man. But his eyes look imploringly on +the peninsula of sand. +</P> + +<P> +The black face grows hideous. The eyes are white and protrude. The +point is off the stern of the yawl. +</P> + +<P> +"Not d-d-deep!" yells the mascot with an explosion. +</P> + +<P> +"Sure enough!" +</P> + +<P> +"S-s-s-s-see the sand in the wa-wa-ter!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure enough!" +</P> + +<P> +The idea saves Corkey and the boy. Over the side Corkey goes. He +touches bottom and is swept off. +</P> + +<P> +The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand. +</P> + +<A NAME="img-130"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-130.jpg" ALT="The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand." BORDER="2" WIDTH="377" HEIGHT="415"> +<H5> +[Illustration: The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand.] +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"Let her go," is the command, and, boy in arms, Corkey stands on the +bottom. The sea rages as if it were a thousand feet deep. +</P> + +<P> +If Corkey wore a life-preserver he would be lost. +</P> + +<P> +Now is he on a sand-bar? This is his last and most prostrating fear. +Step by step he moves toward the point. The waves dash over his head, +as they dash over the yawl. Step by step he learns that he is safe. +</P> + +<P> +The boat is gone forever. +</P> + +<P> +The water grows shallower. The great sea goes by. The bay beyond may +look black now Corkey has escaped its jaws. +</P> + +<P> +He puts down the lad. +</P> + +<P> +"Walk, you moke!" he commands. +</P> + +<P> +The twain labor hand in hand to the point. +</P> + +<P> +The man sinks like a drunkard upon the sands wet with the tempest. +</P> + +<P> +When Corkey regains his senses four men are lifting him in a wagon. +The mascot sits on the front seat. +</P> + +<P> +Four newspaper reporters want his complete account. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0114"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV +<BR><BR> +IN THE CONVENTIONAL DAYS +</H3> + +<P> +One congressman, a hundred wood-choppers and fourteen miscellaneous +lives have been lost in Georgian Bay. +</P> + +<P> +It is the epoch of sensational news. A life is a life. The valiant +night editor places before his readers the loss of 115 congressmen, for +a wood-chopper is as good as a congressman. +</P> + +<P> +And while the theory that 115 congressmen have gone down astounds and +horrifies the subscriber, it might be different if that many +congressmen of the opposite party should really be sent to the bottom. +</P> + +<P> +The conditions for conventional news are, therefore, perfect. Upon the +length of the report depends the reputation of the newspaper. The +newspaper with the widest circulation must have the longest string of +type and the blackest letters in its headings. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey works for that paper. +</P> + +<P> +"Give us your full story," demand his four saviors. +</P> + +<P> +The mascot stammers so that communication with him is restricted to his +answers of yes and no. +</P> + +<P> +It is therefore Corkey's duty to the nation to tell all he has +witnessed. He conceals nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"It ain't much I know about it," he says; "she was rotten and she go +down." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but begin with the thrilling scenes." +</P> + +<P> +"There wa'n't no scenes. I never see anything like it." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course you didn't." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, dry up. The cap'n he came in and went out. The first mate--he +wa'n't no good on earth--well--he--" +</P> + +<P> +The remembrance of the first mate's indignities throws Corkey into a +long fit of strangling, ending with a monstrous sneeze. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what wrecked her," observes the witty reporter. +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly. I was trying to give you what this Aleck of a first mate was +a-saying. After that we start out on deck, and I go up on the +hurricane, and stand there in the dark." +</P> + +<P> +"What did you see up there?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey gazes scornfully at his inquisitors. +</P> + +<P> +"As I was a-saying, I let down the yawl, and it was no good--it was +good enough--it saved us. When I get in the wet, I screw my nut and +the blooming old tub was gone down, I reckon!" +</P> + +<P> +When Corkey screws his nut he turns his head. He can use no other +phrase. +</P> + +<P> +The interviewers are busy catching his exact words. +</P> + +<P> +"Then I pick up the mascot, and he bail. Then we catch them +wood-choppers, and they are no earthly good. But I'm mighty sorry for +'em. Then I reckon we take up Lockwin, and he ain't no congressman, +neither. I'm the congressman. Don't you forget that. He die off the +point in the boat. We see the point, and we sherry out of that yawl. +Hey, there, you moke--ain't that about so?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" stammers the mascot. +</P> + +<P> +"He come from the Africa, and his name is Noah--good name for so much +drink, I reckon." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," say the eager interviewers, "go on." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on! Go on yourselves. That's all." +</P> + +<P> +There is no profit in catechising Corkey. He has spoken. There is +Indian blood in him. He saw nothing. It was dark. +</P> + +<P> +"It wasn't no shipwreck, I tell you: not like a real shipwreck. She +just drap. She's where she belongs now. But that first mate, he was a +bird, and I guess the second mate wasn't no better. The cap'n--I don't +like to mention it of him, for I stood up to the bar with his crowd--he +was too full of budge to sail any ship at all. But don't say that, +boys. It'd only make his old woman feel bad." +</P> + +<P> +The Africa is lost. Ask Corkey over and over. He will bring up out of +the sea of his memory that same short, matter-of-fact recital. +</P> + +<P> +The rural interviewers, unused to the needs of the city +service--faithful to the sources of their news--finish the concise +tale. It covers a quarter of a column. +</P> + +<P> +That will never do for Corkey's paper. He knows it well. +</P> + +<P> +He reaches Wiarton. He hurries to the telegraph office. He buys a +half-dozen tales of the sea. He finds a shipwreck to suit his needs. +He describes in a column the happy scenes in the cabin before the +calamity is feared. He depicts the stern face of the commander as he +stands, pistols in hand, to keep the passengers from the boats. The +full moon rises. The wind abates. A raft is constructed at a cost of +one column and a half of out and out plagiarism. Corkey, Lockwin and +forty wood-choppers are saved on the raft. The captain goes down on +his ship, refusing to live longer. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet!" comments the laboring, perspiring Corkey. Corkey is a short +man, short in speech. This "full account" is a grievous +responsibility, for marine reporters are taught to "boil it down." +</P> + +<P> +The raft goes to pieces in mid-sea, and the survivors take to the yawl. +</P> + +<P> +Then Corkey returns and interpolates a column death scene on the raft. +</P> + +<P> +"Too bad there wasn't no starving," he laments. "I was hungry enough +to starve." +</P> + +<P> +The boat comes ashore in the breakers, and as the result of an +all-night's struggle with the muse of conventionality Corkey has seven +columns of double-leaded copy. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime the telegraph operator at Wiarton at Corkey's order has been +sending the Covode Investigation from an antique copy of the +"Congressional Globe." There is an office rule that dispatches must +take their turn on the file. The four interviewers have filed their +accounts and their accounts will be sent after the Covode +Investigation. When Corkey's dispatch is ready he joins it to a sheet +of the Covode Investigation, and therefore the operator has been busy +on one dispatch all the time. +</P> + +<P> +The night editor of Corkey's paper begins getting the Covode +Investigation from Wiarton. He enjoins the foreman to start more +type-setters. Reprint copy is freely set all night, and at dawn the +real stuff begins to arrive. +</P> + +<P> +"Appalling Calamity. Loss of 115 Lives on Georgian Bay. Only Two +Saved. Graphic and Exciting Account of Our Special Survivor. +Unparalleled Feat in Journalism." +</P> + +<P> +Such are some of the many headings. They fill a column. +</P> + +<P> +The night editor, the telegraph editors, the proof-readers, the +type-setters, the ring-men, the make-ups, the press-men, are thrilled +to the marrow. The printers can scarcely set their portions, they are +so desirous to read the other takes. +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't know Corkey had it in him," says Slug 75. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd have it in you," answers Slug 10, "if you went through the wet +like he did. How do you end? What's your last word?" +</P> + +<P> +The victorious newspaper is out and on the streets--the greatest +chronicle of any age--the most devout function of the most conventional +epoch of civilization. +</P> + +<P> +The night editors of all other city newspapers look with livid faces on +that front page. They scan the true and succinct account of Corkey's +interview, which reaches them an hour later. They indignantly throw it +in the waste-basket, cut off the correspondents by telegraph, and +proceed hurriedly to re-write the front page of their exemplar. +</P> + +<P> +The able editor comes down the next day and writes a leader on the +great shipwrecks of past times, the raft scene and the heroism of +Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey and his mascot are still at Wiarton. Corkey is superintending +the search for the yawl and Lockwin's body. +</P> + +<P> +Superintending the search is but a phrase. Corkey is exhibiting his +mascot, pounding on the hotel bar and accepting the congratulations of +all who will take a drink. +</P> + +<P> +The four correspondents fall back on the Special Survivor and hope for +sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +"We have been discharged by our papers," they cry in bitter anger and +deep chagrin. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you get us re-instated?" they implore, in eager hope. +</P> + +<P> +"The man," says Corkey, judicially, "who don't know no better than to +send that shipwreck as it was--well, excuse me, gentlemen, but he ought +to get fired, I suppose." Corkey stands sidewise to the bar, his hand +on the glass. He looks with affection on the mascot and ruminates. +Then he brings his adamantine fist down on the bar to the peril of all +glassware. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, sir! Now I was out on that old tub. I was right there when she +drapped in the drink. If anybody might make it just as it was, I +might--mightn't I?" +</P> + +<P> +"You might," they answer in admiration of a great man. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I didn't do no such foolish thing as you fellows, did I?" +</P> + +<P> +"But why didn't you tell us, Mr. Corkey?" +</P> + +<P> +"That isn't what my paper hired me to do. Is it, you cow-licked, +cross-eyed, two-thumbed, six-toed stuttering moke?" +</P> + +<P> +There is a terrifying report of knuckles on the counter. There are +signs of strangling and a sneeze. +</P> + +<P> +"N--n--n--noah," stammers the faithful son of swart Afric. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0201"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +BOOK II +<BR><BR> +ESTHER LOCKWIN +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +<BR><BR> +EXTRA! EXTRA! +</H3> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin, the bride of a few months, has been hungrily happy. +</P> + +<P> +She has been the wife of David Lockwin, the people's idol. She has +passed out of a single state which had become wearisome. She has +removed from a vast mansion to a less conspicuous home. +</P> + +<P> +Of all the women in Chicago she would consider herself most fortunate. +</P> + +<P> +People call her cold. It is certain that she is best pleased with a +husband like Lockwin. It is his business to be famous. +</P> + +<P> +"Go to Congress," she says. "Outlive your enemies. I think, David, +that men are not the equals of women in defending themselves against +the shafts of enmity. Outlive your enemies, David." +</P> + +<P> +That Lockwin has the nature she required was to be seen in the death of +Davy. An event which would have beclouded the life of common brides +came to Esther as an important communication. She saw Lockwin's heart. +She saw him kissing the soles of Davy's feet. There is something +despotic in her nature which was satisfied in his act. There is also a +devotion in her nature which might be as profound. +</P> + +<P> +She would kiss the soles of David Lockwin's feet, were he dead. She +could kiss his feet were he despised and rejected among men. +</P> + +<P> +Yet she is counted the haughtiest woman that goes by. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lockwin is a double-decker," the grocer declares to his head +clerk. "She rides mighty high out of the water." +</P> + +<P> +The grocer used to haul lumber from Muskegon. His metaphors smell of +the deep. +</P> + +<P> +For ten years young men of all temperaments had besieged this lady. +The fame of her money had entranced them. Suitors who were afraid of +her distinguished person still paid court, smitten by the love of money. +</P> + +<P> +She was so proud that she must marry a proud man. She must marry a man +conspicuous, tall, large, slow. She must banish from her mind that +hateful fear of the man who might want her for her financial +expectations. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes when she surveyed the matrimonial field she noted that the +eligible suitors were few. +</P> + +<P> +Men with blonde mustaches of extreme length would recite lovers' poems. +Men with jet-black hair, eyes and beard would be equally foolish. The +lady would listen politely to both. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the Manitoba cold wave!" the lovers would lament as they left +her. +</P> + +<P> +To see Esther Wandrell pass by--beautiful, heroic, composed--was to +feel she was the most magnetic of women. To recite verses to her--to +lay siege to her heart--was to learn that her personal magnetism was +from a repellant pole. The air grew heavy. There was a lack of ozone. +The presumptuous beleaguerer withdrew and was glad to come off without +capture. +</P> + +<P> +There had been one man, and toward the last, two men, who did not meet +these mystic difficulties. Esther Wandrell was pleased to be in the +society of either David Lockwin or George Harpwood. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin she knew. He was socially her equal. He had lived in +Chicago as long as she. He was essentially the man she might love, for +there was an element of unrest in his nature that corresponded with the +turmoil underneath her calm exterior. +</P> + +<P> +She knew nothing of George Harpwood other than that he was an +acquaintance with whom she liked to pass an hour. He did not degrade +her pride. He walked erectly, he scorned the common people, he +presented an appearance sufficiently striking to enable her to +accompany him without making a bad picture on the street or in the +parlor. +</P> + +<P> +All other men bored her, and she could not conceal the fact. +</P> + +<P> +To promenade with Harpwood and notice that Lockwin was interested--this +was indeed a tonic. The world of tuberoses and <I>portes cocheres</I>--the +world of soft carpets and waltzes heard in the distance--this aromatic, +conventional and dreary world became a paradise. +</P> + +<P> +When David Lockwin declared his love, life became dramatic. +</P> + +<P> +When David Lockwin won the primaries and carried the election, life +became useful. +</P> + +<P> +When David Lockwin held the little feet of the dead foundling life +became noble. She, too, would bring from out the recesses of that +man's better nature the treasures of love which lay there. She had not +before known that she hungered and thirsted for love. +</P> + +<P> +It might be the affection of a lioness. She might lick her cubs with +the tongue of a tiger, but her temperament, stirring beneath her, was +pleased. +</P> + +<P> +She has a husband worthy of her worship. She who had not known that +she wanted lover's verses, wants them from David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +She who had never been jealous of Davy, grows jealous of politics. +Yet, fearing her husband may guess her secret and despise her, she +appears more Spartan. +</P> + +<P> +She nursed the man sick of brain fever and buried little Davy. She +brought her patient to his senses after nearly a month of alienation. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Davy dead, Esther?" he had asked. +</P> + +<P> +This was his first rational utterance. +</P> + +<P> +"You are elected to Congress, David," she said. "Are you not glad?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he answered, and looked like death itself. +</P> + +<P> +She dared not to throw herself upon his pillow and tell him how happy +she was that he was restored. Her heart beat rebelliously that she did +not declare to him the consuming passion of love which she felt. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, let him resign his honors! Let him travel with her alone! Let her +love him--love him as he loved Davy--as he must love her! +</P> + +<P> +But the caution of love and experience had warned her to be still. Had +not David waited until the child was dead before she saw the man as he +really loved that child? +</P> + +<P> +"I think I can do my duty," he said, wearily. +</P> + +<P> +"I am so glad you were elected!" she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," he answered, and became whiter. +</P> + +<P> +She had sat by the bed, growing uneasy. Ought she to have told him +all? Ought she to have acknowledged her deep devotion? Why was he so +sad? Surely they could mourn for Davy together! Tears had come in her +eyes as she gazed on the couch where Davy's soul went away. +</P> + +<P> +The man had been comforted. "Were you remembering Davy?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear," she said. +</P> + +<P> +He had put his weak hand in hers. She was the happiest she had ever +been. +</P> + +<P> +She had debated if she might deplore politics. She hated politics now. +But she had not dared to be frank. In five minutes more the bridges +were burned. The man and the woman were apart again, each in anguish, +and neither able to aid the other. +</P> + +<P> +That Lockwin needed a trip to Washington could not be denied. That +Esther feared to speak of Davy was becoming very noticeable. +</P> + +<P> +Yet no sooner is the husband gone than the woman laments the folly of +letting him leave her. +</P> + +<P> +"Go, David," she had commanded, when she was eager with a desire to +keep him or to go with him. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I accompany you?" she asked, smiling and trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"I must return by a lake steamer, and must see Corkey alone," the +husband had replied. +</P> + +<P> +"A lake steamer!" In October! The affair alarmed the wife. She must +not let that fear be known. +</P> + +<P> +"Live down your enemies, David!" she had said, as she kissed him. +</P> + +<P> +The words were insincere. They had a false sound, or an unconvincing +sound. They had jarred on David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"I can outlive my friends easily enough, it seems," he thought, as he +recited the lines of holy fields over whose acres walked those blessed +feet. "I can outlive poor Davy. I ought to be happy in politics. It +cost me enough!" +</P> + +<P> +And the man had wept. +</P> + +<P> +At home the wife had also wept. She was afraid she had erred. She had +not been frank. She accused herself, she defended herself, she noted +that it was not yet too late to bid David good-bye, or beg him not to +go until he should be stronger. She called a cab from the livery. It +was Sunday. There was a long delay. She entered the vehicle and +directed that haste should be made to the Canal street depot. She +approached the bridge. She feared she had made a mistake. David would +think she was silly. It was entirely unlike the cold Esther Lockwin to +be acting in this manner. +</P> + +<P> +The bridge bell had rung. The bridge swung. She had looked at her +watch. The train would leave at five o'clock. It was 4:50. Could not +the driver go round by the Washington street tunnel? +</P> + +<P> +"It is closed for repairs," the driver had said--a falsehood. +</P> + +<P> +When Esther reached the station the train had left. She had returned +to her home to wait in dire anxiety until her husband should reach +Washington. She had written a long letter unfolding her heart to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Come back to me, my darling," she said in that letter, "and see how +happy we shall be! Let the politics go; that killed Davy and makes us +all so unhappy. You were made for something nobler. Let us go to +Europe once more. Let us seek out the places where you and I have met +in the past." +</P> + +<P> +It had seemed too cold. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you, I love you. I shall die without you! Come home to me and +save me! I love you, I love you!" +</P> + +<P> +So she had written for a page, and was satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +If she might telegraph it! No! only advertisers and divorced people +did that. She must wait. +</P> + +<P> +He would not reply. He would come. +</P> + +<P> +The newspaper announces the arrival of the congressman-elect at the +White House. He had left almost immediately for the West. +</P> + +<P> +Then he will not get the letter! +</P> + +<P> +He may arrive in Chicago this night, but how and where? A gale is +rising. The wife is terrified with waiting and with love. If she had +some little clue of his route homeward. She is a woman, and does not +know how to proceed. She goes to her father. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, fudge, puss! You mustn't let him go again. Ha! ha! you're just +like your mother. She pretty near had a fit when I went away the first +time. He went a little soon for his health, but our leading men tell +us he was needed in Washington. They wanted to see him and get some +pledges from him. He'll be home by some lake boat in the morning. +They get in about daylight, but it's like a needle in a haystack. Why, +the last time I came from Mackinaw they landed me on a pile of soft +coal--blest if they didn't! Stay all night, puss. Or go home, if you +want to be there." +</P> + +<P> +"Wind blows like sixty!" says the old Chicagoan, after Esther has gone. +</P> + +<P> +The mother harkens. She goes to the window. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that the lake?" she asks. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; it's too late in the year for David to be on any boat." +</P> + +<P> +The wife of David Lockwin cannot sleep. She cannot even write another +letter. "How happy are lovers who may write to each other!" she says. +The gale rises and she waits. It is midnight and David is not home. +Now, if he should arrive, he would probably keep his state-room until +morning. +</P> + +<P> +She awakes at daylight. She dons a wrapper and creeps to the front +door. There are the morning papers. She scans every paragraph. Ah! +here is David! +</P> + +<P> +"NIAGARA FALLS, Oct. 16.--Congressman Lockwin left here to-day for Owen +Sound, on Georgian Bay." +</P> + +<P> +Georgian Bay! Where is that? She seeks the library. She finds a map. +Georgian Bay! Perhaps David has some lumber interest there. +</P> + +<P> +The paper is scanned again. Owen Sound, Owen Sound. She is reading +the marine intelligence. Yes, here is Owen Sound. +</P> + +<P> +"OWEN SOUND, Oct. 16.--Cleared--Propeller Africa, merchandise, for +Thunder Bay. Gale blowing, with snow." +</P> + +<P> +Thunder Bay! It is still more incomprehensible. +</P> + +<P> +There is a cry in the streets, hoarse and loud--a triumphant +proclamation: +</P> + +<P> +"Extra! Full account o' de shipwreck o' de Africa! Full account o' de +big shipwreck!" +</P> + +<P> +A white arm reaches from a front door. A dime is paid for two papers. +The door must be held open for light to read. +</P> + +<P> +"Appalling calamity! Unparalleled feat of journalism!" +</P> + +<P> +Hideous it seems to Esther Lockwin. She clings to the newell-post. +</P> + +<P> +"Death, off Cape Croker, of Congressman Lockwin!" + +There may be two congressmen of that name. +</P> + +<P> +There may be two! It is a dying hope. Can the eyes cling to the +column long enough to read that paragraph? +</P> + +<P> +"Congressman David Lockwin, of the First Illinois, died of his wounds +about daylight in a yawl off Cape Croker. His body is lost with the +yawl!" +</P> + +<P> +There is a shriek that awakens the household. There is a white form +lying in the hall near an open front door. +</P> + +<P> +The servants rush up-stairs. There is a hubbub and a giving of orders. +</P> + +<P> +The voices of the street come into the hall-way as winds into a cave: +</P> + +<P> +"Extra! Extra! 'Palling calamity! Hundred and fifteen congressmen +drowned! Extra! Extra!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0202"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +<BR><BR> +CORKEY'S FEAR OF A WIDOW'S GRIEF +</H3> + +<P> +Corkey and Noah are nearing the residence of Esther Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet your sweet life I don't want to see her nibs. It just breaks +me all up to hear 'em take on, rip and snort and beller. Now, see +here, you moke, when we git in you stand behind where I stand, and +don't you begin to beller, too. If you do I'll shake you--I'll give +you the clean lake breeze. If you walk up to the mark I'll get you +into the league nine. You'll be their man to hoodoo the other ball +clubs." +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" +</P> + +<P> +"You can't say nothing nohow, so all you've got to do is to see me face +the music." +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" +</P> + +<P> +"There's the house now. They say he thought a powerful lot of her. Is +there a saloon anywhere near?" +</P> + +<P> +The twain look in vain for a beer sign, and resume their journey. They +ascend the steps. +</P> + +<P> +"There ain't no yawl up here! This is worse than the Africa. I +believe I ain't so solid with myself as I was before she founder. Open +that valve!" +</P> + +<P> +Noah pulls the bell. There is no retreat now. Faces are peering from +every window. Museum managers are on guard at the ends of the street. +The story of Corkey and his mascot is on every tongue in Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin opens the door. Corkey had hoped he might have a moment +of grace. At best there is a hindrance in his voice. Now he is +speechless. +</P> + +<P> +"Step in," she says. +</P> + +<P> +He rolls a huge quid of tobacco to the other side of his face, and then +falls in a second panic. He introduces his first finger in his mouth +as if it were a grappling iron and extracts the black tobacco. He +trots down a step or two and heaves the tobacco into the street, +resisting, at the last moment, a temptation to hit a mark. He returns +up the steps, a bunchy figure, in an enormously heavy, chinchilla, +short coat, with blue pantaloons, +</P> + +<P> +"Step in," says the voice pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +The action has begun as Corkey has not wished. He is both angry and +contused. A spasm seizes his throat. He strangles. He coughs. He +sneezes. +</P> + +<P> +There is an opening of street doors on this alarming report, and Corkey +pushes Noah before him into Esther Lockwin's parlors. The man's +jet-black hair is wet with perspiration. The boy strives to stand +behind, but Corkey feels more secure if the companion be held in front. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me take your hats," she says calmly. She goes to the hall-tree +with the hats. She shuts the door as she re-enters. +</P> + +<P> +"Take those seats," she says. +</P> + +<P> +But Corkey must pull himself together. This affair is compromising the +great Corkey himself. He does not sit. He must begin. +</P> + +<P> +"Me and this coon, madam, we suppose you want to hear how Mr. Lockwin +cashed in--how he--" +</P> + +<P> +"You, of course, are Mr. Corkey, my husband's political opponent?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I am, or was, madam; and you ain't no sorrier for that +than me." +</P> + +<P> +"The boy and you escaped?" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess so." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Mr. Corkey, tell me why Mr. Lockwin went to Owen Sound?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't do that, nohow; and the less said about it the better. It +would let a big political cat out of the bag." +</P> + +<P> +"Politics! Was that the reason?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what it <I>was</I>, your honor, madam." +</P> + +<P> +"Can you tell me something about my poor husband?" +</P> + +<P> +It is a figure that by its mere presence over-awes Corkey. Of all +women, he admires the heroic mold. The garb is black beyond the man's +conception of mourning. The face is chastened with days of mental +torture. There is an intoxication of grief in the aspect of the woman +that hangs the house in woe. +</P> + +<P> +The mascot slips away from Corkey. The Special Survivor is drifting +into an open sea of sentiment. He feels he shall drown. +</P> + +<P> +Yet the beautiful face seems to take pity on him--seems to read the +heart which beats under that burry, bristly form--seems to reach forth +a hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly as we catched onto Lockwin," thinks the grateful Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"It comes mighty hard for me, Mrs. Lockwin, for I never expected to be +his friend, nohow. He was an aristocratic duck, and I will say that I +thought it was his bar'l that beat me." +</P> + +<P> +The widow is striving so hard to understand that the man speaks more +slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"But I meet him at Owen Sound. Between you and me he was to fix +me--see?" +</P> + +<P> +The woman does not see. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't say it to nobody, but I went to Georgian Bay to show him +my slate." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it politics?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what it is, and it's mighty dirty work. But I don't think your +husband was no politician." +</P> + +<P> +It is a compliment, and the woman so receives it. +</P> + +<P> +"He was late, and the old tub was rubbing the pier away when the +jackleg train arrive." +</P> + +<P> +"The st-st-steamer was wa-wa-waiting," explained the boy. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! yes," nods the listener. +</P> + +<P> +"You see, the coon can't talk," says Corkey, "but he's got any number +of points. Well, we wet our whistles, and it's raw stuff they sell +over there--but you don't know nothing about that. I introduce him to +the outfit, and we go aboard. We eat, but he don't eat nothing. I +notice that. We take the lounge in the fore-cabin. You know where +that would be?" +</P> + +<P> +A nod, and Corkey is well pleased. +</P> + +<P> +"We sit there all the time. I want to tell you just how he did. He +sit back, out straight, like this, his hands deep in his pockets, his +legs crossed onto each other, his hat down, and his chin way down--see?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is regaining his presence of mind. +</P> + +<P> +The widow attests the correctness of Corkey's illustration. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet your sweet life, nobody could get nothing out of him, then. +What ailded him I don't know, and I ain't calling the turn, but nobody +could get nothing out of him, I know that. I talk and talk. I slap +him on the shoulder, and pull his leg and sing to him--" +</P> + +<P> +"S-s-say it over," suggests the mascot. +</P> + +<P> +The widow cannot understand. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, don't you know, I was expecting him to fix me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Is it politics?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what it <I>is</I>. So I guess I sing to him an hour--two hours--I +can't tell--when he comes to. 'Mr. Corkey,' says that feller--says Mr. +Lockwin--'you don't get nothing; You don't get the light at Ozaukee.' +</P> + +<P> +"'There ain't no lamp at Ozaukee,' says I. +</P> + +<P> +"'That's what the First High said,' says he. So you see I was +whipsawed. I get nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"P-p-politics!" interprets the mascot." +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps I understand," says the widow. Withal, she can see David +Lockwin sitting his last hours on that lounge. How unhappy he was! +Ah! could he only have read her letter! +</P> + +<P> +"I don't just remember what I did after I found I wasn't fixed. It +flabbergasted me, don't you forget it! I know I sneezed--and you must +excuse me out there a while ago--and a big first mate he tried to put +the hoodoo on me. No, that's not politics, but life is too short. We +go out on deck." +</P> + +<P> +"To make the raft?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's all poppycock! Don't you believe no newspaper yarn. You +just listen to me. I'm giving it to you straight. We go out on deck, +and then I don't see Lockwin till we git the wood-choppers. How many +of them wood-choppers, Noey?" +</P> + +<P> +"Ei-ei-eight!" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lockwin, them wood-choppers was no earthly use. It didn't pay to +pull 'em in. I know it was me who hurt Lockwin with the oars. I +didn't know for hours that he was aboard. He showed up at daybreak, +you see. I tell you he was awfully hurt." +</P> + +<P> +The face of Esther is again miserably expectant. There will be no +mystery of politics in it now. "I wouldn't know him, either by face or +voice, Mrs. Lockwin. He lie in the stern and Noey try to help him, but +the sea was fearful. I couldn't hear him speak. Noey--the coon +here--hear him speak. +</P> + +<P> +"'Are you a-dying, old man?' I asks. +</P> + +<P> +"Noey says he answer that he was." +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah, h-h-he done spoke that he w-w-was." +</P> + +<P> +"'Want to send some word home, old man?' says I, to cheer him up; for +don't you see, I allowed we was all in the drink--just tumble to what +an old tub she was--117 of us at the start, and we all croak but me and +the moke--the coon, I should say." +</P> + +<P> +The woman is afraid to interrupt. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly the eye of Corkey moistens. He has escaped a great error. "I +didn't hear his last words, nohow." +</P> + +<P> +"He said to p-p-put a st-st-stone over D-Davy's grave," says the lad +</P> + +<P> +The man turns on the boy. The brows beetle. The mouth gives a +squaring movement, significant beyond words. +</P> + +<P> +The listener still waits. +</P> + +<P> +"And then," says Corkey, "he whisper his good-bye to you. 'Tell her +good-bye for me.' <I>That's</I> what he said, you moke!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah." +</P> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin grasps those short hands. She thanks the commodore for +saving her husband, for living to tell her his last words. She can +herself live to find her husband's body. +</P> + +<P> +But it is far too much for the navigator. +</P> + +<P> +His sobs resound through the room. The woman cannot weep. Her eyes +are dry, +</P> + +<P> +"I had such feelings as no decent man ever gits," he explains, "but +I'll never forgive myself that it was me who steered him agin it." +</P> + +<P> +"You have a better heart than most men, Mr. Corkey." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd give seven hundred cases in bar gelt if he was in Congress to-day, +Mrs. Lockwin." +</P> + +<P> +"I know you would, you poor man. God bless you for it!" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is feeling in all his pockets. +</P> + +<P> +"Take this handkerchief, Mr. Corkey, if it will help you. God bless +you always! God bless you always! Come and see me often. I shall +never get tired of hearing how my husband died. He must have been +brave to cling to the boat." +</P> + +<P> +"You bet he <I>was</I>, and if ever you need money, you come to me, for I'm +the boy that's got it in the yellow!" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey bows himself down the steps. There two managers of museums +implore a few moments' conversation. They tender their cards. +</P> + +<P> +"Naw!" says Corkey, "we don't want no museum." +</P> + +<P> +The managers persist. +</P> + +<P> +"No use o' your chinning us! Go on, now!" +</P> + +<P> +The heroes escape from their persecutors. The mind of Corkey reverts +to the parlors of Esther Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Great Caesar!" he exclaims. +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" +</P> + +<P> +"Steer me to a bar!" +</P> + +<P> +A few moments later Corkey leans sidewise against a whisky counter, his +left foot on the iron rail, his hand on the glass. A mouthful of +tobacco is gnawed from the biggest and blackest of plugs. The mascot +stands by the stove. +</P> + +<P> +The bartender is proud to serve the only Corkey, the most famous man on +the whole "Levee." While the bartender burns incense, the square mouth +grows scornful, laconic, boastful. Corkey is himself again. The +barkeeper goes to the oil-room for a small bottle. +</P> + +<P> +The handsome eyes of the navigator rest on his protege. The head sets +up a vibration something like the movement of a rattlesnake before it +strikes. The little tongue plays about the black tobacco. The speech +comes forth. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a great act I play on the widow about the 'last words'. He +didn't say nothing of the kind. I come near putting my foot right into +it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey's right hand is in his side pocket. He ruminates. He feels an +unfamiliar thing in his pocket. He draws out a dainty white-and-black +handkerchief. There is a painful reaction in his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll burn that female wipe right now!" he says. +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah." +</P> + +<P> +The stove is for soft coal and stands open. Corkey advances to toss +the handkerchief in the fire. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes meet the crooked and quizzical orbs of the mascot. +</P> + +<P> +"You mourning-colored moke!" +</P> + +<P> +There is a huge threat in the deliverance. +</P> + +<P> +The hook-like finger tears the black tobacco out of the choking mouth. +The great quid is thrown in the fire. The proposed motion is made, and +the handkerchief is not burned. Down it goes in the hip pocket beside +Corkey's revolver, out of harm's way. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey started to throw something in the fire, and has kept to his +purpose. +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" says the mascot, sagaciously. +</P> + +<P> +"Bet your black life!" vows Corkey, as if great things hung by it. +</P> + +<P> +He looks with renewed affection on his protege. "I git you into the +league nine, sure, Noey!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yessah!" +</P> + +<P> +It is plain that the mascot will preserve an admirable reticence. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0203"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +<BR><BR> +THE CENOTAPH +</H3> + +<P> +"TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD.--This sum of money will be paid for the +recovery of the body of the Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Bay +the morning of Oct. 17. When last seen the body was afloat in the yawl +of the propeller Africa, off Cape Croker. For full particulars and +suggestions, address H. M. H. Wandrell, Chicago, Ill." +</P> + +<P> +This advertisement may be seen everywhere. It increases the public +excitement attending the death of the people's idol. There is a +ferment of the whole body politic. +</P> + +<P> +Of all the popular pastors who turn the catastrophe to their account +the famous preacher at Esther Lockwin's church makes the most of it. +To a vast gathering of the devout and the curious he dwells upon the +uncertainties of life. Here, indeed, was a Chicagoan who but yesterday +was almost certain to be President of the United States. +</P> + +<P> +"Now his beloved body, my dear brethren and fellow-citizens, lies +buried in the sands of an unfrequented sea." +</P> + +<P> +There is suppressed emotion. +</P> + +<P> +"And as for man," chants the harmonious choir, "his days are as grass." +</P> + +<P> +"As a flower of the field," sounds the bass. +</P> + +<P> +"So he flourisheth," answers the soft alto. +</P> + +<P> +"For the wind passeth over it," sings the tenor. +</P> + +<P> +"And it is gone," proclaims the treble. +</P> + +<P> +"And the place thereof shall know it no more," breathes the full choir, +preparing to shout that the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to +everlasting upon them that fear Him. +</P> + +<P> +It is found that Lockwin had hosts of friends. There is so much +inquiry on account of that strange journey to Owen Sound that the +political boss is grievously disturbed. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is not blind to this general uneasiness. He reads the posters +and the advertisements. He whistles. It is a sum of money worthy of +deep consideration. +</P> + +<P> +"You offered to l-le-end to her," observes the mascot. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if she had needed the stuff she'd a been after it soon enough, +wouldn't she? I don't offer it to everybody. But that ain't the +point. I'm going after that roll--ten thousand dollars! You want to +come? If I win, you git $500. I reckon that's enough for a kid." +</P> + +<P> +It is a project which is well conceived, for Corkey may easily arrange +for a salary from his great newspaper. To find Lockwin's body would be +a clever feat of journalism, inasmuch as the search has been abandoned +by the other papers. +</P> + +<P> +A delegation of dock-frequenters waits on Corkey to demand that he +shall stand for Congress in the second special election, made necessary +by the death of Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Gentlemen, I'm off on business. I beg to de--de--re--re--drop out! +Please excuse me, and take something." +</P> + +<P> +The touching committees cannot touch Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"The plant has been sprung," they comment, "His barrel is empty." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey had once been rich when he did not know the value of wealth. He +had been reduced to poverty. On becoming a reporter, he had +laboriously saved $1,000 in gold coins. In a few weeks $300 of this +store had been dissipated. +</P> + +<P> +"And all the good work didn't cost nothing, either," thinks Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +Would it not be wise now to keep the $700 that remain? When the vision +of a contest, with Emery Storrs as advocate, had crossed poor Corkey's +mind on the Africa, the Contestant could see that his gold was to be +lost. He could not retreat without disgrace. Now he need not advance. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I <I>won't</I>!" thinks Corkey, as he expresses his regrets that +enforced absence from Chicago will prevent his candidacy. +</P> + +<P> +"You'd be elected!" chime the touching committees. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet I <I>would</I>," says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Corkey is too smart," say the touching committees. "Wait till he gets +into politics from the inside. Won't he wolf the candidates!" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is at last on the shores of Georgian Bay. The weather soon +interferes with the search. But there are no signs of either body or +yawl. +</P> + +<P> +The wreck of the Africa, followed by daily conventional catastrophes, +soon fades from public recollection. The will of David Lockwin is +brought into court. The estate is surprisingly small. +</P> + +<P> +It had been supposed that Lockwin was worth half a million. Wise men +said Lockwin was probably good for $200,000. The probate shows that +barely $75,000 have been left to the wife, and the estate thus +bequeathed is in equities on mortgaged property. Mills that had always +been clear of incumbrances are found to have been used for purposes of +money-raising at the time of the election, or shortly thereafter. +</P> + +<P> +The public conclusion is quick and unfavorable. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin ruined himself in carrying the primaries! The opposition +papers, while professing the deepest pity for the dead, dip deep into +the scandals of the election. "It is well the briber is out of the +reach of further temptation," say they. +</P> + +<P> +This tide of opprobrium would go higher but for the brave efforts of a +single woman. She visits the political boss. +</P> + +<P> +"You killed my husband!" she says deliberately. +</P> + +<P> +The leader protests. +</P> + +<P> +"Now you let these hyenas bark every day at his grave. And he has no +grave!" +</P> + +<P> +The woman grows white. The leader expostulates, The woman regains her +anger. +</P> + +<P> +"He has no grave, and yet your hyenas are barking, and barking. Do you +think I do not read it? Do you think I intend to endure it?" +</P> + +<P> +The leader makes his peace. +</P> + +<P> +As a result there is a return to the question in the party press. Long +eulogies of Lockwin appear. There is a movement for a monument. The +memory of the dead man's oratory stirs the community. Several +prominent citizens subscribe--when they learn that their subscriptions, +however meager, will be made noteworthy from a source where money is +not highly valued. The poor on every side touch the widow's heart with +their sincere and generous offerings. +</P> + +<P> +The philosophic discuss the character of Esther Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Her troubles have brought her out. These cold women are slow to +strike fire, but I admire them," says the first philosopher. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you think our American widows make too much ado?" asks the +second philosopher. +</P> + +<P> +"They at least do not ascend the burning pyre of their dead husbands." +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure. That's so. I don't know but I like Esther Lockwin the +better. I never knew a man to lose so much as Lockwin did by dying." +</P> + +<P> +"She declares his death was due to the little boy's death." +</P> + +<P> +"Odd thing, wasn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but he was a beautiful child. What was his name, now?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was Lockwin's name--let me see--David." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, Davy, they called him." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she has erected the prettiest sarcophagus in the whole cemetery +for Davy. I tell you Esther Lockwin is a magnificent woman." +</P> + +<P> +"She would have more critics, though, if she were not Wandrell's only +daughter." +</P> + +<P> +"Wandrell's only daughter! You don't tell me so! Ah, yes, yes! That +accounts for it." +</P> + +<P> +So, while the philosophers account for it, Esther Lockwin goes on with +the black business of life. Every week she waits impatiently for news +from Corkey. Every week he gives notice that he has found nothing. +</P> + +<P> +"When spring comes, I'll find that yawl," he promises. He knows he can +do that much with time. +</P> + +<P> +How often has Esther Lockwin thrown herself on a couch, weeping and +moaning as if her body would not hold her rebellious heart--as when +Corkey left her in those black and earliest days of the great tempest +of woe! +</P> + +<P> +"It is marvelous that it is held to be dishonorable to die, and +honorable to live," she cries. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David, David, come back! come back! so noble, so good, so great! +You who loved little Davy so! You who kissed his blessed little feet! +Oh, my own! my husband!" +</P> + +<P> +A fond old mother, knocking on the door, comes always in time to stop +these brain-destroying paroxysms. +</P> + +<P> +"And to think, mother, that they shall asperse his name! The people's +idol! Faugh! The people! Oh, mother, mother!" +</P> + +<P> +The mother deplores these months of persistent brooding. It is wrong. +</P> + +<P> +"So they always say, who have not suffered, mother. How fortunate you +are." +</P> + +<P> +But the daughter must recollect that to-day is the dedication. A band +has marched past. Kind friends have carried the subscription to +undoubted success. Emery Storrs will deliver the oration. The papers +are full of the programme, the line of march, the panegyric. There are +many delicate references to the faithful widow, who has devoted her +husband's estate and as much more to the erection of a vast fire-proof +annex at a leading hospital. +</P> + +<P> +The public ear is well pleased. The names of the men who have led in +the memorial of to-day are rolled on everybody's tongue. +</P> + +<P> +There appears at the scene of dedication a handsome woman. Her smile, +though wofully sad, is sweet and sympathetic. She humbly and +graciously thanks all the prominent citizens, who receive her +assurances as so much accustomed tribute. The trowel rings. The +soprano sings. The orator is at his best. Band after band takes up +its air. The march begins again. Chicago is gratified. The great day +ends with a banquet to the prominent citizens by the political leader. +</P> + +<P> +The slander that republics and communities are ungrateful is hurled in +the faces of the base caitiffs who have given it currency. +</P> + +<P> +Behind all the gratulations of conventionality--in the unprinted, +unreported, unconventional world--the devotion of Esther Lockwin is +universally remarked upon. +</P> + +<P> +Learned editors, noting this phase of the matter, discuss the +mausoleums of Asia erected by loving relicts and score a point in +journalism. +</P> + +<P> +"The widow of the late Hon. David Lockwin, M. C., will soon sail for +Europe," says the society paper. +</P> + +<P> +But she will do no such thing. She will spend her nights and mornings +lamenting her widowhood. She will be present every day to see that the +work goes forward on the monument. +</P> + +<P> +"I might die," she says, moodily. +</P> + +<P> +There will be no cessation of labor at the ascending column. It is not +in the order of things here that a committee should go to Springfield +to urge an unwilling public conclusion of a grateful private beginning. +Money pours like water. The memorial rises. It becomes a city lion. +It is worth going to see. +</P> + +<P> +Society waits with becoming patience. "Inasmuch as the prominent +citizens saw fit to render Esther's sorrow conspicuous," says Mrs. +Grundy, "it is perfectly decent that she should remain in complete +retirement." +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless notice is secretly served on the entire matrimonial world. +</P> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin will soon be worth not a penny less than five million +dollars! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0204"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +<BR><BR> +A KNOLLING BELL +</H3> + +<P> +It seems to Esther Lockwin that her night of sorrow grows heavier. The +books open to her a new world of emotions. Ere her bridal veil was +dyed black she had read of life and creation as inexpressibly joyous. +The lesson was always that she should look upon the glories of nature +and give thanks. +</P> + +<P> +Now the title of each chapter is "Sorrow." The omniscient Shakespeare +preaches of sorrow. The tender and beautiful Richter teaches of the +nightingale. Tennyson, Longfellow, Carlyle, Beecher, Bovee, the great +ancient stoics, the Bible itself, becomes a discourse on that tragic +phenomenon of the soul, where peace goes out, where longing takes the +place of action, where the will sets itself against the universe. +</P> + +<P> +"Sorrow," she reads, "like a heavy hanging bell, once set on ringing, +with his own weight goes." +</P> + +<P> +"How true! How true!" she weeps. She turns to "Hamlet." She reads +that drama of sorrow. She accepts that eulogium of the dead as +something worthy of her lost husband. +</P> + +<P> +She gloomily reviews the mistakes of her earlier life. She had been +restricted in nature to the attentions of a few men. She had found her +lord and master. The sublime selfishness of human pride had driven her +on the rocks of destruction. This she can now charge to herself. Had +she sufficiently valued David Lockwin; had she counseled him to live +for himself, to study those inclinations which she secretly understood +and never encouraged--had she begged him to turn student rather than to +court politics and popularity--then she might yet have had him with her. +</P> + +<P> +The heavy bell of sorrow clangs loudly upon this article of her pride, +ambition and lack of address to the true interests of her dead lord. +</P> + +<P> +"Davy would not have died if politics had not been in the way. And +then that dreadful fever! That month of vigil! How strangely he spoke +in his delirium! How lonesome he was! How he begged for a companion +to share his grief! Oh, David! David! David! Come back! Come back! +Let me lay my head on your true heart and tell you how I love you. Let +me tell you how I honor you above all men! You who had so much love +for a foundling--oh, God bless you! Keep you in heaven for me! +Forgive the hard heart of a foolish woman whose love was so slow! +Come, holy spirit, heavenly dove, with all thy quickening power! Our +Father, which art in heaven, which art in heaven!" +</P> + +<P> +The knolling of the heavy bell grows softer. The paroxysm passes. +Religion, the early refuge of the sex--the early refuge, too, of the +higher types of the masculine sex--this solace has lit the taper of +hope, the taper of hope that emits the brighter ray. +</P> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin will meet her lord again. She will dwell with him where +the clouds of pride and ambition do not obscure the path of duty. +</P> + +<P> +She who a half hour ago could not live on must now live at all cost. +She has other labors. She must visit the portrait painter's to-day. +She would that the gifted orator might be portrayed as standing before +the immense audiences which used to greet his voice, but it cannot be +done. She must be contented with the posthumous portraits which +forever gratify and disturb the lovers of the dead. +</P> + +<P> +It is a day's labor done. The portrait will be praised on all hands, +but it has not come without previous failures and despairs. +</P> + +<P> +To return to the house out of which the light has gone--how Esther +Lockwin dreads that nightly torment! Shall she linger at the parental +home? Is it not the bitterer to feel that here the selfish life grew +to the full? Is it not worse than sorrow to discover in this abode the +same influences of estrangement? What is David Lockwin in the old home? +</P> + +<P> +A dead man, to be forgotten as soon as possible! +</P> + +<P> +No! no! Better to enter the door where the white arm reached out for +the message of blackness. Better to go up and down the stairs +searching for David, listening for Davy's organ--better to fling one's +self on the couch, abandoning all to the tempest of regret and +disappointment; to cry out to David; to apostrophize the unseen; to +fall into the hideous abyss of hopelessness; to see once again the +north star of religion; to call upon God for help; to doze; to awaken +to the abominations of the reality; to remember the escape from +perdition; to hasten to the duties of the day! +</P> + +<P> +So goes the night. So comes the morning. She who would not live the +evening before is terrified now for fear of death ere her last great +labor shall be done. +</P> + +<P> +She calls her carriage. She rides but a few squares. Every block in +that noble structure represents a pang in her heart. Some of those +great stones below must have been heavier than these sobs she now +feels. "Oh, David! David! Every iron beam; every copestone, every +coigne of vantage, every oriel window in this honorable edifice is for +you! Every element has cost an agony in her who weeps for you." +</P> + +<P> +The widow gazes far aloft. It has been promised for this date, and it +is done. Something of the old look of pride comes to the calm and +beautiful face which the architect and the workmen have always seen. +</P> + +<P> +The vari-colored slate shingles are going on the roof. +</P> + +<P> +Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black granite letters +over the portal. She reads: +</P> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE DAVID LOCKWIN ANNEX +</H3> + +<BR> + +<A NAME="img-178"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-178.jpg" ALT="Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black +granite letters over the portal." BORDER="2" WIDTH="346" HEIGHT="470"> +<H5> +[Illustration: Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black +granite letters over the portal.] +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"A magnificent hospital," says an approving press, "the very dream of +an intelligent philanthropy." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0301"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +BOOK III +<BR><BR> +ROBERT CHALMERS +</H2> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +<BR><BR> +A DIFFICULT PROBLEM +</H3> + +<P> +David Lockwin is not dead. +</P> + +<P> +Look into his heart and see what was there while he sat beside Corkey +on the lounge in the forecabin of the Africa. +</P> + +<P> +The time has come for momentous action. It is settled that at the +other end of this journey David Lockwin shall cease to exist. Now, how +to do it. +</P> + +<P> +He may commit suicide. +</P> + +<P> +He may disappear. +</P> + +<P> +In furtherance of the latter plan there awaits the draft of Robert +Chalmers, who bears letters from David Lockwin, the sum of $75,000. +This deposit is in the Coal and Oil Trust Company's institution at New +York. The amount is half of Lockwin's estate. Esther shall have the +rest. +</P> + +<P> +Serious matters are these, for a man to consider, who sits stretched +out on a seat, one ankle over the other, his hands deep in pocket, his +chin far down on his chest; and Corkey appealing in his dumb, yet +eloquent way, for a share of the spoils of office. +</P> + +<P> +This life of David Lockwin, the people's idol, is an unendurable fiasco. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is disconsolate. Davy is no more. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is sick and weak. Whether he be sane or daft, he +scarcely knows, and he cares not at all. +</P> + +<P> +He recoils from politics. +</P> + +<P> +He loathes the reputation of a rich man with ambition--a rich man with +a barrel. +</P> + +<P> +He does not believe himself to be a true orator. +</P> + +<P> +He is urged forward by unknown interests over which he has no control. +He is morally and publicly responsible for the turpitude of the party +leaders and the party hacks. +</P> + +<P> +He is married to a cold and unsympathetic woman. Did he not wed her as +a part of the political bargain? +</P> + +<P> +Is life sweet? No. Then let Davy's path be followed. Now, therefore, +let this affair of suicide be discussed. +</P> + +<P> +Can David Lockwin, the people's idol, commit suicide? Does he desire +to pay the full earthly penalty of that act? He is of first-class +family. There has never been a suicide in the records. +</P> + +<P> +His self-slaughter will be the first scandal in his strain. +</P> + +<P> +He is happily married, so far as this world knows. If he be bored with +the presence of Esther he alone possesses that secret. She does not. +He is the husband of a lady to whom there will some day come an added +fortune which will make her the richest woman in the West. +</P> + +<P> +He is the reliance of the party. He is the one orator who remains +unanswered in joint debate. Quackery as it is, no opponent dares to +cross the path of David Lockwin. It is a common saying that to give an +opponent a date with Lockwin is to foretell the serious illness of the +opponent. It is a sham--this oratory--but it befools the city. +</P> + +<P> +Can the fashionable church to which Esther belongs sustain the shock of +Lockwin's suicide? Behold the funeral of such a wight, once the +particular credit of the congregation, now the particular disgrace! +</P> + +<P> +That forthcoming contest with Corkey! +</P> + +<P> +Is it not uncomfortable? What is it Corkey is saying? Oh! yes, +Corkey, to be sure! "Mr. Corkey, I should have told you they will do +nothing. You must contest." +</P> + +<P> +Here, therefore, are two men who are plunged into the deepest seethings +of mental action. The one has missed greatness by the distance of a +mere hand's grasp; the other is half crazed to find himself so fatally +conspicuous in society. +</P> + +<P> +Let the rich, respectable, beloved, ambitious and eloquent Lockwin +hurry back to that problem: What to do when he shall arrive in Chicago? +</P> + +<P> +Can the community be deceived? Let us see how it fared with Lockwin's +friend Orthwaite, who found life to be insupportable. The +respectability which so beclogs Lockwin had been secretly lost by +Orthwaite. +</P> + +<P> +His shame would soon be exposed. Orthwaite returned to his home on the +last suburban train. He purposely appeared gay before his +train-acquaintances. He left the train in high spirits. He pursued a +lonely path toward home. He reached a stream. He set to work making +many marks of a desperate struggle. He placed a revolver at his heart +and fired. Then with unusual fortitude he threw the weapon in the +stream. +</P> + +<P> +But the ruse was ineffectual. The keen eyes of the detectives and the +keener ear of scandal had the whole truth in a week's time. It was +suicide, said the press--bald, cowardly, pitiful. +</P> + +<P> +How difficult! How difficult! Now let us set at that device of +mysterious disappearance. How far is that fair to a young wife? Why +should she wait and search and hope, although Esther would not disturb +herself much! She is too cold for that. +</P> + +<P> +How difficult! How difficult! But why do the eyes of Corkey bulge +with excitement? Oh, yes, the ship is foundering because Corkey is in +the way of this great business. Corkey should be flung in the sea and +well rid of him. As the ship is foundering we will go on deck, but +when a man is so conspicuous as David Lockwin, how can he commit +suicide--how can he disappear? +</P> + +<P> +There are words, indistinctly heard. It is Corkey crying to Lockwin to +climb up the steps to the hurricane deck. Indeed it is a clever +riddance of that uncomfortable man. Ouf! that brutal sneeze, that +jargon, that tobacco, that quaking of head and hesitancy of expression! +It distracts one's thoughts from an insoluble problem; How to shuffle +off this coil--not of life, but of respectability, conspicuity, +environment! +</P> + +<P> +But what is this? This is not a wave. If David Lockwin hold longer to +this stanchion, he will go to the bottom of the sea. This must be what +excited Corkey. Something has happened. +</P> + +<P> +The red fire of drowning sets up its conflagration. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin has time for one regret. His estate has lost $75,000. He +enters the holocaust and passes into nothingness, feeling heavy blows. +</P> + +<P> +He awakes to find himself still with Corkey. His brain is dizzy and he +relapses into lethargy. In the faint light of the dawn, totally +benumbed by the night's exposure, he is again passing into nothingness. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey questions the sinking man, and Lockwin tries to tell of the +money--the deposit of $75,000 to the order of a fictitious person. He +cannot do it. +</P> + +<P> +"Put a stone over Davy's grave," he says, and goes into a region which +seems still more cold, more desolate, more terrible. +</P> + +<P> +There is a knocking, knocking, knocking. He hears it long before he +replies to it. Let them knock! Let a man sleep a little longer! It +is probably the chambermaid at the hotel in Washington. +</P> + +<P> +But it is a persistent chambermaid. Ah, now the bed is lifted up and +down. This must be seen to. We will open our eyes. +</P> + +<P> +What a world of light and shimmer! The couch is the yawl of the +Africa. The persistent chambermaid is the Georgian Bay. +</P> + +<P> +The gale has subsided. The sun shines. Blackbirds are singing. The +yawl is dancing on the waves near the shore. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin sits up. How warm and pleasant to be alive! +</P> + +<P> +Alive! Oh, yes! Chicago! The Africa! Is it not better? +</P> + +<P> +Has he any face left? His nose seems flat. He must be desperately +wounded. His eyes grow dim. He must be dying again. +</P> + +<P> +He sleeps and is once more gently awakened by the sea--so fond now, so +terrible last night. +</P> + +<P> +He sits upright in the yawl, wet, sore, and yet whole in limb. He +gathers his scattered faculties. He finds a handkerchief and ties up +his face. He muses. +</P> + +<P> +"I am the sole survivor! I, Robert Chalmers, of New York City, am the +sole survivor, and nobody shall know even that. Corkey--let me +see--Corkey and a boy--they must be at the bottom of Georgian Bay!" +</P> + +<P> +He muses again. His face hurts him once more. He sees a cabin at a +distance. He finds he has money in plenty. To heal his wounds will be +easy. He must be greatly changed if his feelings may be credited. Two +of his teeth are broken, and harass his curious tongue. +</P> + +<P> +What plotter, cunning in exploits, could so well plan an honorable +discharge from the bitterness of life in Chicago? +</P> + +<P> +"Sing on, you birds! Fly off to Cuba! I am as free!" +</P> + +<P> +The man is startled by his own voice. It sounds as if some one else +were talking. Yet this surprise only increases his joy. +</P> + +<P> +"Free! Free! Free!" The word has a complete charm. It is like the +shimmer of the waters. All this expanse of hammered silver is free! +</P> + +<P> +"I am as free!" exclaims Robert Chalmers, of New York City. +</P> + +<P> +And again starting at the sound of his own voice, he seeks the cabin of +a hospitable trapper, where his wounds healing without surgical +attention, may disguise him all the better. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0302"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +<BR><BR> +A COMPLETE DISGUISE +</H3> + +<P> +David Lockwin has undertaken that Robert Chalmers shall have no +trouble. It was David Lockwin, in theory, who suffered all the ills of +life. In this theory David Lockwin has seriously erred. Robert +Chalmers must bear burdens. +</P> + +<P> +The first burden is a broken nose and a facial appearance strangely +inferior to the look of David Lockwin, the orator. Robert Chalmers +need not disguise himself. He will never be identified. That broken +nose is a distortion that no detective could fathom. Those scarlet +fimbrications under the skin proclaim the toper. Those missing teeth +complete a picture which men do not admire. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin was courted. Robert Chalmers is shunned. It wounds a +personal vanity that in David Lockwin's philosophy had not existed. It +is the ideal of disguises, but it does not make Robert Chambers happy. +</P> + +<P> +Why, too, should Robert Chalmers desire so many appurtenances of life +that were in David Lockwin's quarters? If we find Chalmers housed in +comfortable apartments at Gramercy Square, is it not inconsistent that +he should gradually supply himself with cough medicine, turpentine, +alcohol, ammonia, niter, mentholine, camphor spirits, cholagogue, +cholera mixture, whisky, oil, acid, salves and all the aids to health +and cleanliness by which David Lockwin flourished? How slight an +annoyance is the lack of that old-time prescription of Dr. Tarpion, +which alone will relieve the melancholia! +</P> + +<P> +For Robert Chalmers finds that the weather still gives him a turn. If +the lost prescription will alone lift the oppression, is not the +annoyance considerable, providing Dr. Tarpion cannot be seen? +</P> + +<P> +Robert Chalmers had planned a life at Florence. But now he is a man +without a body. It is enough. He will not also be a man without a +country. He will stay in New York. +</P> + +<P> +In fact, a fortune of $75,000 is not so much! It will be well to +husband it. The books must be bought. Day after day the search must +go forward for copies like those in Chicago. Josephus! What other +copy will satisfy Robert Chalmers? Here is a handsome Josephus--as +fine as the one in Chicago. But did Davy's head ever lie on it? +</P> + +<P> +Well, bear up then, Robert Chalmers. You are free at least. You need +not lie and cheat at elections. You need not live with a woman whose +heart is as cold as ice and whose pride is like the pride of an +Egyptian Pharaoh. You sunk that yawl well in the sands of Georgian +Bay! You filled it with stones! +</P> + +<P> +You thought you were the sole survivor, yet how admirably the rescue of +Corkey and the boy abetted your escape, Robert Chalmers. They saw +David Lockwin die. They took his dying wishes. Fortunate that he +could not mention the deposit at New York! +</P> + +<P> +But why is David Lockwin so dear? Why not forget him? +</P> + +<P> +Did he play a part that credits him? Why stop at Washington and take +the mail that awaited in that long-advertised list? Truly, Robert +Chalmers was strong enough to lay those letters aside without reading. +That, at least, was prudent. +</P> + +<P> +Let us read these newspaper accounts. There is intense excitement at +Chicago. Lockwin is libeled. The election briberies are exposed. +David Lockwin had spent nearly $200,000 to go to Congress, it is stated. +</P> + +<P> +"Infamous!" cries Robert Chalmers, and vows he is glad he is out of a +world so base. He puts forth for books. +</P> + +<P> +Search as he may, he cannot find the editions that have grown dear to +David Lockwin. He cannot abstain from more purchases of Chicago +papers. They are familiar--like the books in David Lockwin's library +at Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +This is a dreary life, without a friend. He dares not to seek +acquaintances. Not a soul, not even a restaurant keeper, has ventured +to be familiar. The man with a broken nose and missing teeth--the man +with a grotesque voice--is scarcely desired as a customer at select +places on the avenues and Broadway. Let him find better accommodations +among the Frenchmen and Italians on Sixth avenue. +</P> + +<P> +"Probably," they say, "he has fallen in a duel." +</P> + +<P> +But there are fits of melancholia. Return, Robert Chalmers, to your +handsome apartments. Draw down your folding-bed, turn on the heat, +study those Chicago papers. Live once again! What is this? A +reaction at Chicago. Why, here is a page of panegyric. Here is a +large portrait of the late Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Bay! +</P> + +<P> +The man whisks off his bed, and runs it up to the wall, whereupon he +may confront a handsome mirror. He compares the two faces. +</P> + +<P> +"A change. A change, indeed!" he exclaims sadly. It is not alone in +the features. The new man is growing meager. He is an inconsequential +person. He is a character to be kept waiting in an ante-room while +strutting personages walk into the desired presence. +</P> + +<P> +He pulls the bed down. He cannot lie on it now. He takes a chair and +greedily reads the apotheosis of David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +As he reads he is seized with a surprising feeling. In all this +eulogium he sees the hand of Esther Lockwin. Without her aid this +great biography could not have been collated. +</P> + +<P> +The sweat stands on his brow. He studies the type, to learn those +confessions that the publishers make, one to another, but not to the +world. +</P> + +<P> +"It is paid for," he groans. He is wounded and unhappy. +</P> + +<P> +"It is her cursed pride," he says. "I'm glad I'm out of it all." +</P> + +<P> +He sits, week after week, hands deep in pockets, his legs stretched +out, one ankle over the other, his chin far down on his chest. +</P> + +<P> +"Funny man in the east parlor!" says the chambermaid. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't he ugly!" says her fellow-chambermaid. +</P> + +<P> +But after this long discontent, Robert Chalmers finds that Chicago +mourns for him. He is flattered. "I earned it!" he cries, and goes in +search of the books that once eased him--the identical copies. +</P> + +<P> +The movement for a cenotaph makes him smile. On the whole, he is glad +men are so sentimental about monuments. He is glad, however, that no +monument will be erected. +</P> + +<P> +It is undoubtedly embarrassing. +</P> + +<P> +He is thinking too much of Chicago. He must begin this second life on +a new principle. He must forget David Lockwin. It grows apparent to +the man that his brain will not bear the load which now rests upon it. +He must rather dwell upon the miseries that he has escaped He must +canvass the good fortune of a single and irresponsible citizen, Robert +Chalmers, who has no less than $74,500 in bank. He must put his mind +on business. +</P> + +<P> +No! +</P> + +<P> +One reason for quitting the old life was the desire to pass a studious +life. +</P> + +<P> +Well, then, he must wait patiently for that period when his mind will +be quiet. A certain thought at last reanimates him. +</P> + +<P> +Would it not be well to act as a clerk until the weariness of servitude +should make freedom pleasing? This is both philosophical and thrifty. +</P> + +<P> +Robert Chalmers therefore advertises for a situation as book-keeper. +This occupation will support him in his determination to neglect the +Chicago newspapers. +</P> + +<P> +"Greatest man I ever saw to sit stretched out, his hands deep in his +pockets, his feet crossed, his head far down on his shirt bosom," says +the chambermaid at Gramercy Square. "He must be an inventor. He +thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Dear sakes, but he is homely." +</P> + +<P> +An advertisement secures to Robert Chalmers a book-keeper's place in a +dry-goods agency on Walker street. The move is a wise one. The labor +occupies his time, improves his spirits and emancipates him from the +unpleasant conclusions that were forcing themselves on him. He is not +liked by the other clerks because he is not social, but he is able to +consider, once more, the humiliations which he escaped by avoiding a +contested election, and by a successful evasion of a wedding compact +which was a part of his foolish political ambition. +</P> + +<P> +Several months pass away. If Chalmers is to be anything better than a +book-keeper at nine hours' work each day he must move, but he who so +willingly took the great step is now afraid to resign his +book-keepership. He dreads life away from his tall desk. This problem +is engaging his daily attention. This afternoon the clerks are arguing +about Chicago. He cannot avoid hearing. He is the only party not +engaged in the debate. They desire his arbitration. Does Clark street +run both north and south of the river in Chicago? Here, for instance, +is the route of a procession. Is it not clear that Clark street must +run north if the procession shall follow this route? +</P> + +<P> +They lay a Chicago Sunday paper on his desk. The portrait of David +Lockwin confronts Robert Chalmers. There is a page of matter +concerning the dedication of a monument on the following Saturday. +</P> + +<P> +The arbiter stammers so wretchedly that the losing side withdraw their +offer of arbitration. +</P> + +<P> +"Chalmers doesn't know," they declare, and take away the paper while +Chalmers strives to read to the last syllable. +</P> + +<P> +He is sick. He cannot conclude his day's work. His evident distress +secures a leave for the day. +</P> + +<P> +"Get somebody in my place if I am not here tomorrow," he says, +thoughtfully, for they have been his only friends, little as they +suspect it. "Chicago in mourning for David Lockwin!" he cries in +astonishment, as he purchases great files of old Chicago papers. +"Chicago dedicating a monument to David Lockwin! It is beyond +conception! And so soon! The monument of Douglas waited for twenty +years." +</P> + +<P> +The air and the ride revive the man. He even enters a restaurant and +tries to eat a <I>table d'hote</I> dinner with a bottle of Jersey wine, all +for 50 cents, To do a perfunctory act seems to resuscitate him. He +takes up his heavy load of newspapers and finds a boy to carry them. +He remembers that he is a book-keeper on a small salary, and discharges +the boy at half-way. +</P> + +<P> +He reaches his apartments and prepares for the long perusal of his +files of Chicago news. Each item seems to feed his self-love. He is +not Robert Chalmers. He is David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +Hour by hour the reader goes on. Paper after paper falls aside, to be +followed by the succeeding issue. At last the tale is complete. David +Lockwin, dead, is the idol of the day at Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +The man stretches his legs, puts one ankle over the other, sinks his +hands deep in his pockets, a newspaper entering with the left arm, and +lowers his head far down on his chest. The clock strikes and recalls +him to action. +</P> + +<P> +"I can reach Chicago in time for that dedication," he says. "I guess, +after all, that I am David Lockwin's chief mourner." +</P> + +<P> +Ah, yes! Why has not this second life brought more joy? The man +ponders and questions himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I am Davy's chief mourner, too!" he says, and sobs. "By heaven, it is +Davy that has made me unhappy! I thought it was Chicago. I thought it +was politics. I thought it was Esther. It must have been Davy!" +</P> + +<P> +"If it were Davy," he says, an hour later, "I have made a mistake." +</P> + +<P> +Down he looks into his heart, whither he has not dared to search +before. He is homesick. Nobody loves Robert Chalmers. Nobody +respects Robert Chalmers. David Lockwin dead is great and good. How +about David Lockwin living? +</P> + +<P> +His hands go deeper in his pockets at this. The motion rustles the +newspaper. He strives to shake free of the sheet. His eye rests on +the railway timetables. +</P> + +<P> +He falls into profound meditation again. He considers himself +miserable. He is, in fact, happy, if absence of dreadful pain and +turmoil be a human blessing. At last his eye lights up, and the heavy +face grows cheerful. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go to Chicago!" he says. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0303"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +<BR><BR> +BEFORE THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE +</H3> + +<P> +Robert Chalmers is in Chicago this morning of the dedication, and has +slept well. He tossed in his bed at New York. He snores at the +Western inn. +</P> + +<P> +He asks himself why this is so, and his logic tells him that nature +hopes to re-establish him as David Lockwin. There is a programme in +such a course. At New York there was neither chart nor compass. It +was like the Africa in mid-sea, foundering. +</P> + +<P> +Now Robert Chalmers is nearing land. And the land is David Lockwin. +The welcoming shore is the old life of respectability. Banish the +difficulties! They will evaporate. Listen to the bands, and the +marching of troops! +</P> + +<P> +He goes to the window. The intent of these ceremonies smites him and +he falls on the bed. But nature restores him. Bad as it is, here is +Chicago. David Lockwin is not dead. That is certain. He is not +pursued by the law, for another congressman has been chosen. David +Lockwin has tried to kill himself, but he has not committed murder. +</P> + +<P> +Is it not bravado to return and court discovery? But is not Robert +Chalmers in the mood to be discovered? "What disguise is so real as +mine?" he asks, as friend after friend passes him by. +</P> + +<P> +True, he wears a heavy watch-chain and a fashionable collar. His garb +was once that of a professional man. Now his face is entirely altered. +Gouts of carmine are spotted over his cheeks; wounds are visible on his +forehead. His nose is crooked and his teeth are misshapen. His voice +is husky. +</P> + +<P> +He enters a street-car for the north. It startles him somewhat to have +Corkey take a seat beside him. +</P> + +<P> +"Will this car take me to the dedication?" Chalmers makes bold to ask +the conductor. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what it will!" answered Corkey. "Going there? I'm going up +myself. I reckon it will be a big thing. Takes a big thing to git me +out of bed this time of day. I'm a great friend of Mrs. Lockwin's!" +</P> + +<P> +"You are?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what I am. I was on the old tub when she go down. May be +you've heard of me. My name is Corkey." +</P> + +<P> +"Clad to meet you. My name is Chalmers. I have read the account." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I've got tired of telling it. But it's a singular thing, about +Lockwin's yawl. Next week I go out again. I'll find that boat, you +hear me? I'll find it. I tell the dame that, the other day." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lockwin?" +</P> + +<P> +"I tell her the other day that I find the yawl. I'll never forget that +boat. Lord! how unsteady she was! I'm sorry for the dame. Women +don't generally feel so bad as she does. It's a great act, this +monument--all her--every bit! These prominent citizens--say, they make +me weary! You've heard about the hospital--the memorial hospital. She +blow hundred and fifty thousand straight cases against that +hospital--the David Lockwin Annex. Oh, it's a cooler. It's all iron +and stone and terra cotta. She's spent a fortune already. She doesn't +cry much--none, I reckon. But no one can bluff her out." +</P> + +<P> +Robert Chalmers is pleased in a thousand ways. He is so glad that he +scarcely notes the facts about the annex. Since he was cast away no +other person has talked freely with him. The open Western manner +rejoices his very blood. +</P> + +<P> +"Lockwin was a pretty fair-sized man, like you. I guess you remind me +of him a trifle. They was a fine pair. I never was stuck on him, for +I was in politics against him; but somehow or other I've hearn the dame +praise him so much, and he die in the yawl, and so on, until I feel +like a brother to him. Just cut across with me," as they leave the +car. "Want a seat with the reporters? Oh, that will be all right out +here. Say you're from the outside--where is it? Eau Claire? Say Eau +Claire. Here is some copy paper. Sit side of me. Screw your nut out +of my place, young feller," to a mere sight-seer. "Bet your life. +Don't take that seat neither! Go on, now!" +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is to report the dedication of his own monument. He +trembles and grows thankful that Corkey has ceased to talk. The +audience gathers slowly. David Lockwin wonders it he be a madman thus +to expose himself. A memorial hospital! Did not Corkey speak of that? +The David Lockwin Annex! +</P> + +<P> +This is awful! Lockwin has not read a word of it. Ay, but the +apartments are still at Gramercy Square. Why did he come? What fate +led him away? What devil has lured him back? Hold! Hold! There is +Esther! Lift her veil! Give her air! Esther, the beautiful! +</P> + +<P> +The reporter for the Eau Claire paper groans with the people. His +heart falls to the bottom of the sea. She loves him! God bless her! +She loves him! Why did he not believe it at home? God bless her! Is +she not noble? +</P> + +<P> +"She's a great dame," Corkey whispers loudly. "Special friend of mine. +You bet your sweet life I'd do anything for her. I'll find that yawl, +too!" +</P> + +<P> +"The late honorable David Lockwin," begins the pastor of the +fashionable church. +</P> + +<P> +"The late honorable David Lockwin," write the reporters. +</P> + +<P> +"The late honorable David Lockwin," writes David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +He grows ill and dizzy once more. The exercises proceed. He will fall +if he do not look at Esther's face. +</P> + +<P> +"I know," cries the shrill soprano, "that my--Redeemer liveth." +</P> + +<P> +There comes upon the widow's face an ecstatic look of hope. She will +meet her husband in heaven, and he will praise her love and fidelity. +</P> + +<P> +"God bless her!" writes the Eau Claire reporter, and hastily scratches +the sentence as he reads it. +</P> + +<P> +A messenger approaches the reporters. A note is passed along. +</P> + +<P> +"I got to go!" whispers Corkey, "you can stay. They sent for me at the +office. I guess something's up." +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is only too glad to escape. He dreads to leave Esther, +yet what is Esther to him? He will hurry away to New York before he +falls into the abyss that opens before him. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suppose she loved her husband as much as it seems?" he asks. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish she'd love me a quarter as much, though I'm a married man. +Love him! Well, I should say!" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey tries to be loquacious. But his dark face grows darker. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! it's bad business. I'm sorry for her, and it knocks me out, I +ain't my old self. I got up feeling beautiful, and it just knocks me. +I don't think she ought to build no monument, nor no hospital, for it +keeps her hoping. What's the use of hoping? I'll find that yawl. +Curious about that yawl. Wouldn't it be great stuff if he should show +up? Wonder what he'd think of his monument and his hospital? A +hospital, now, ain't so bad. You could take his name off it. They'll +do that some day, anyhow, I reckon. I've seen the name changed on a +good many signs in Chicago. But what's a monument good for after the +duck has showed up? Old man, wouldn't it be a sensation? Seven +columns!" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey slaps his leg. He quakes his head. The little tongue plays +about the black tobacco. He sneezes. The passengers are generally +upset. +</P> + +<P> +A substantial woman of fifty, out collecting her rents, expostulates in +a sharp voice. +</P> + +<P> +A girl of seventeen laughs in a manner foreboding hysteria. +</P> + +<P> +The conductor flies to the scene. +</P> + +<P> +"None o' that in here!" he cries, frowning majestically on Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you be so gay, or I'll get you fired off the road," answers the +cause of all the commotion. +</P> + +<P> +"Randolph street!" yells the conductor in a great voice. +</P> + +<P> +The irate and insulted Corkey debarks with Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardner, I wouldn't like to see him come back, though. I'd be sorry +for him. Think of the racket he'd have to take!" +</P> + +<P> +"What time does the train start for New York?" asks Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Panic! Panic! Panic!" is the deafening cry of the newsboys. +</P> + +<P> +The two men join a crowd in front of a telegraph office. Bulletins are +on a board and in the windows. Men are rushing about. The scene is in +strange contrast with the sylvan drama which is closing far to the +north, where the choir is singing "Asleep in Jesus." +</P> + +<P> +There is a financial crash on the New York Stock Exchange. Bank after +bank is failing. "The New State's Fund Closes," is the latest bulletin. +</P> + +<P> +"I got pretty near a thousand cases," says Corkey, "but you bet your +sweet life she ain't in no bank. I put my money in the vaults." +</P> + +<P> +"Banks are better," says Lockwin. He has a bank-book somewhere in his +pockets. He pulls forth a mass of letters gray with wear. The visible +letter reads: +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +<B> + "HON. DAVID LOCKWIN,<BR> + Washington,<BR> + D. C." +</B> +</P> + +<P> +His thought is that he should destroy these telltale documents. Then +he wonders what may be in these envelopes. There flashes over him a +new feeling--a sharp, lightning-like stroke passes across his +shoulder-blade and down his arm. +</P> + +<P> +It is Esther's handwriting, faded but familiar. The envelope is still +sealed. It is a letter he got at Washington. +</P> + +<P> +The man trembles violently. +</P> + +<P> +"'Fraid you're stuck?" asks Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +The man hurriedly separates his bank-book from the letters. He +displays the fresh and legible name of Robert Chalmers on the bank-book. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a little in a New York bank," he says. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey looks on the book. "The Coal and Oil Trust Company's +Institution," he reads, "in account with Robert Chalmers. Well, money +is a good thing. Glad you're fixed. Glad to know you. I'm fixed +myself." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey examines the list of failures. "I'm glad you're heeled," he +says. +</P> + +<P> +A boy is fastening a new bulletin on the window. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>There</I> you be, now!" says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"The Coal and Oil Trust Company's Institution Goes Down," is on the +bulletin. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll lend you money enough to git home," says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Panic! Panic! Panic!!" bawls a large boy, who beats his small rivals +ruthlessly aside and makes his way to Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +The man is still trembling. He is trying to put away his worthless +bank-book and cannot gain the entrance of the pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"'Ere's your panic! Buy of me, mister. Say, mister, won't you buy of +me? Ah! git out, you great big coward!" +</P> + +<P> +It is the sympathetic Corkey, smartly cuffing the invader. +</P> + +<P> +"Strike somebody of your size, you great big coward! Ah! git out, you +great big coward!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0304"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +<BR><BR> +"A SOUND OF REVELRY BY NIGHT" +</H3> + +<P> +"Poverty," says Ben Franklin, "often deprives a man of all spirit and +virtue. It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright." +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin has but one familiar acquaintance in the world and that +is Corkey. Corkey will now start in search of the body of David +Lockwin! +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin has but a few hundred dollars in cash. His fortune is in +a ruined bank. He hopes to get something out of it. His experience +tells him he may expect several thousand dollars. +</P> + +<P> +Is it wise to return to New York? Yes. A situation awaits him there. +He can protect his rights as a depositor. He can enjoy the pleasant +apartments at Gramercy Park. +</P> + +<P> +But the expense! Ah! yes, he must take cheaper quarters. It is the +first act of despotism which poverty has ever ventured to impose on +David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +It makes New York seem inhospitable. It makes Chicago seem like home. +Still, as David Lockwin seeks his hotel, noting always the complete +solitude in which he dwells among the vast crowds that once knew him +familiarly or by sight, it chills him to the marrow. +</P> + +<P> +He enters the hotel dining-room. The head waiter seats his guest at a +table where three men are eating. Every one of them is a business +acquaintance of Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +The excitement of the moment drives away the brain terrors which were +entering the man's head. The men regard the newcomer with that look +which is given to an uninvited banqueter whose appearance is not +imposing. The best-natured of the group, however, breaks the silence. +He speaks to the diner on his left. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you get the stone for that sarcophagus you put up yesterday?" +</P> + +<P> +"In Vermont." +</P> + +<P> +"Who ordered the job--Lockwin or the widow?" +</P> + +<P> +"She did." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's a pretty thing. I wish I were rich. I lost a little boy +too." +</P> + +<P> +The monument-maker at this begins a discourse on the economies of his +business and shows that he can meet the requirements of any income or +purse. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see Lockwin's portrait at the institute?" asks the third party, +</P> + +<P> +"No. Is it good?" +</P> + +<P> +"I hardly think so. I don't remember that he ever looked just like it. +Everybody knew Lockwin, yet I doubt if he had more than one close +acquaintance and that was Tarpion--Doc. Tarpion." +</P> + +<P> +"Does the doctor act as her adviser in all these affairs? Did you read +about the dedication? Did you know about the hospital? She had better +keep her money. She'll need it." +</P> + +<P> +"She? Not much. She had a big estate from Judge Wandell's sister who +died. The judge himself has no other heir. I shouldn't wonder if he +advised the erection of the hospital to give her the credit of what he +intended to do for himself." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I never knew a town to be so full of one man as this town is of +Lockwin. You'd think he was Douglas or Lincoln." +</P> + +<P> +"Worse than that! Douglas and Lincoln are way behind. Take this city +to-day and it's all Lockwin. Going to the banquet to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin has finished his meal. He rises. +</P> + +<P> +"Coming back," says the monument-maker confidentially to his inquirer, +"I can fix you a beautiful memorial for much less money and it will +answer every purpose." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see you again," says the customer, cooling rapidly away from the +business. "I must go to the North Side and get back here by 9 o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +Why shall not David Lockwin take the night train and leave this living +tomb in which the world has put him? +</P> + +<P> +"In which I put myself!" he corrects. +</P> + +<P> +It all hurts him yet it delights him. "She loved me after I was dead," +he vows and forgets the sting of poverty. +</P> + +<P> +Now about this going to New York to-night. He would like to be +prevented from that journey. What shall do that for David Lockwin? +</P> + +<P> +"Davy's sarcophagus!" +</P> + +<P> +The thought seizes him with violence. Of course he cannot go. He +seeks his room. He throws himself on his bed and gives way to all his +grief. It takes the form of love for Davy. David Lockwin weeps for +golden-head. He weeps for the past. He is living. He ought to be +dead. He is poor. He is misshapen in feature. He is hungry for human +sympathy. The world is giving him a stone. Oh, Davy! Davy! +</P> + +<P> +The outside electric lights make a thousand monuments, hospitals, +sarcophagi, portraits and panics on the chamber walls. The hours go +past. There is a bustle in the hotel. There is a sound of merriment +in the banqueting hall, directly below. The satisfaction of having +dealt tenderly by the beloved dead is expressing itself in choice +libations and eloquent addresses. +</P> + +<P> +The man listens for these noises. There is a loud clapping of hands. +An address has concluded. +</P> + +<P> +The glasses tinkle. Doors open and shut. Waiters and servants run +through the hall giving orders and carrying on those quarrels which +pertain to the unseen parts of public festivities. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did I not go?" David Lockwin asks. "Ah! yes. Davy! Davy's tomb. +I will see it, if it shall kill me to live until then. But how shall I +pass this night? What shall I do? What shall I do?" +</P> + +<P> +The glasses tinkle. The laughter bursts forth unrestrainedly. The +banquet is moving to the inn-keeper's taste. +</P> + +<P> +The electric lights swing on long wires. The glass in the windows is +full of imperfections and sooty. The phantasmagoria on the wall +distracts the suffering man. Why not have a light? He rises and turns +on the gas. Perhaps there will be a paper or a book in the room. That +will help. +</P> + +<P> +Poverty of hotel life! There is only the card of rules hung on the +door. Lockwin reads the rules and is thankful. He studies the lock +history of the door, as represented in the marks of old locks and +staples. Here a burglar has bored. Here a chisel has penetrated to +push back the bolt. Yes, it was a burglar, for there is now a brass +sheath to prevent another entry. Most of these breakages, however, +have been made by the hotel people, as can be seen by the transom locks. +</P> + +<P> +That brings up suicides. David Lockwin has committed suicide once. +The subject is odious. +</P> + +<P> +The laughter below resounds. The man above will read from the lining +of some bureau drawer. +</P> + +<P> +He goes to that piece of furniture. The dressing-case is completely +empty excepting a laundry bill on pink paper. +</P> + +<P> +He clutches that. He examines the printer's mark. He strives to +recall the particular printing-office. +</P> + +<P> +He has not the courage to go forth into the street. He does not want +to read, except as it shall ease him from the cruel torment which he +feels. +</P> + +<P> +The glasses jingle and chime. The stores across the street close their +doors and darken their show windows. Why not go below and buy the +latest novel? +</P> + +<P> +The suggestion fairly sickens the man. He did not know he was so +nervous. To read ror pastime while a great city is filled with his +obsequies--he cannot do it! +</P> + +<P> +There is but one course--to read the rules, to study the history of the +door until it reaches the stage of suicide--ah! to feel in one's +pockets! That is it! That is it! +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin cons his bank-book. He opens his worn letters---letters +to the Hon. David Lockwin. He grows timid as he descends into the vale +of despair. +</P> + +<P> +Why did he do it? These details of the electoral campaign seem trivial +now. Easy difficulties! +</P> + +<P> +He reaches the last letter of the packet. Marvelous that he should +wait to unseal it until an hour so fraught with need! +</P> + +<P> +It is Esther's letter--probably some cold missive such as she wrote +during their courtship and engagement. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is beginning to love his wife as a dog worships its +master. He looks to her for safety. He wants to think of her as she +is now--a sincere mourner for a dead friend, husband and protector; a +superior being, capable of pity for David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it wise to read it?" he asks in a dread. "But why should I not be +generous? Why should I not love her--as I do love her? God forgive +me! I do love her! I love her though she smite me now--cold, cold +Esther!" +</P> + +<P> +The man is crying. He cannot hear the banqueters. He has at last +escaped from their world. His hands shake and he unseals the letter, +careful to the last that no part of the envelope be torn. +</P> + +<P> +He will read the cold letter. Cold, cold Esther! He kisses the +envelope again and again. The sheets are drawn from the inclosure. +She never wrote at such length before. He scans the first page. His +face grows cold with the old look of disappointment. He wishes he had +not read. He turns to the next page. The text changes in tone. There +succeeds a warmth that heats the heart aglow. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin passes his hands across his eyes. He is dazed. He reads +on: +</P> + +<P> +"Come back to me, my darling, and see how happy we shall be! Let the +politics go--that killed Davy and makes us all so unhappy. You were +created for something nobler. Let us go to Europe once more. Let's +seek the places where we have met in the past." +</P> + +<P> +How much more of this can David Lockwin endure? +</P> + +<P> +His temples rise and grow blood-red. The gas seems to give no light. +He reads like a man of short sight. His eyes kiss the sacred sheet. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you! I love you! I shall die without you! Come home to me, +and save me! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love--!" +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin has fainted. +</P> + +<P> +The glasses chink, and heavy feet tramp on soft carpets, making a +muffled sound. +</P> + +<P> +"'Scuse me!" says a thick-voiced banqueter in the hall. "I thought it +was my hat! Hooray! 'Scuse me! I know it's pretty late. Whoop! +'Scuse me!" +</P> + +<P> +The waiters bicker hotly; the counting-room bell rings afar off. There +is a smothered cry of "Front!" +</P> + +<P> +"All trains for the East--" comes a monotonous announcement in the +corridors. +</P> + +<P> +"Sixty-six! Number sixty-six!" screeches the carriage-crier. +</P> + +<P> +A drunken refrain floats on the air from Wabash avenue: +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +   "We won't go home till morn-i-n-g,<BR> +   T-i-l-l daylight doth appear." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0305"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +<BR><BR> +LETTERS OF CONSOLATION +</H3> + +<P> +On the Africa David Lockwin loved but one person, and that was David +Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +On this morning after the banquet David Lockwin hates but one person, and +that is David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +He had lately hungered for somebody more charitable to himself than he +himself could be. He had experienced a mean, spiritless happiness in +noting the honors which the widow was heaping on his memory. Now he is +furiously in love with that widow. He sallies from the hotel in haste to +her residence. +</P> + +<P> +Three blocks away from his goal, with the old home in sight, he awakens +to his danger. A moment more and the whole shameful truth had been known! +</P> + +<P> +"No, base as I am, I cannot do that," he shudders. +</P> + +<P> +Besides, he is a true lover, and what one ever dared to take the great +risk? +</P> + +<P> +Here she lives! And between her and her lover, her husband, yawns the +chasm of death! Was it not a black act that could so enrobe a woman? He +recalls her garb as she appeared at the dedication yesterday--solemn, +solemn! +</P> + +<P> +It is unsafe to stay in this neighborhood, yet let this man creep nearer +and gaze on the house where Davy died. +</P> + +<P> +The balcony--it seems to him, dimly, that he made a speech from that +balcony. But Davy's death is not now the calamity it was yesterday. It +seems more like a pleasant memory--a small memory. The gigantic thought +is Esther, Esther--Esther the beautiful, the noble, the generous, the +faithful. She shall be the wife of Ulysses, waiting for his return, and +he shall return! +</P> + +<P> +The husband again starts for Esther's door. There are two men within +him--one is David Lockwin dead, the other is David Lockwin living. Once +more the eminent man who is dead seizes the maddened lover who is living +and prevents a disaster. +</P> + +<P> +Love this house as he may, therefore, David Lockwin must avoid it until +he can control himself. It is true his books are in there, his +manuscripts, his chronicles, "Josephus," and a thousand things without +which he cannot lay hold on the true dignity of life. It is true he is +slipping down the declivity that invites the easy descent of the obscure +and powerless citizen. If he have true hope--and what lover has it +not--he must hurry away. He is not safe in Chicago just at present, +because the abstraction of a lover, joined with the self-forgetfulness of +a man in the second life, will assuredly lead him to ruin. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes leave that house with utter regret. He makes the long ride to +Davy's tomb and finds it covered with fresh flowers. The tenderest of +care is visible. The lawn is perfect--not a leaf of plantain, not a +spear of dandelion. Money will not produce such stewardship of the +sepulcher. It is Esther's own devotion. +</P> + +<P> +He goes to the site of the cenotaph. Is it not a difficulty for a lover? +Yet love sustains him. His invention suggests method after method by +which he may undo the past. +</P> + +<P> +He visits the foundations of the David Lockwin Annex. He notes the +character of the materials that are strewn over three streets. His love +for Esther only increases. +</P> + +<P> +Thence to the Art Institute he hastens. They said it was a poor likeness +of Lockwin. He vows it is good. It is good because Esther has done it! +</P> + +<P> +He has seen all--all but Esther. He starts blindly for Esther's house +once more. As he walks rapidly southward, his own team comes up the +avenue. It is Esther within the carriage. She looks at a man in gray +business dress, with colored nose and a drunkard's complexion. She notes +the large watch-chain. She finds him no different from all other living +men. She is looking for David. "Come back, my noble husband," she sobs, +"come back from the grave, or let me join you." +</P> + +<P> +A moment afterward she fears she may die before her work shall be done. +That was a sharp sting at her heart just then. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is frozen with that cold look. The carriage is past. He +was on his way to Esther's to tell her all. If he had not risen out of +his abstraction ere it should be too late, he would have confronted this +cold lady--this mature builder of cenotaph and hospital. +</P> + +<P> +He is terrified--a lover's panic. She does not love him, or she would +have called to him as they passed. +</P> + +<P> +So thinks David Lockwin, for he cannot see himself except as he once was. +People call him Chalmers when they address him, which is not more than +once a day, but it is like the salutation to Judge Wandrell. He does not +call himself "Judge" nor sign himself "Judge." "My dear judge," writes a +friend. "Your friend, H. M. H. Wandrell," answers the same man. +</P> + +<P> +It is easy for David Lockwin to answer to the name of Robert Chalmers. +He has found it totally impossible to become Robert Chalmers in fact. He +is David Lockwin, disinherited--a picture of the prodigal son---but David +Lockwin in every bone and muscle--no one else. +</P> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin has refused to know David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +Sharp as may be his hurt at this event, he is, nevertheless, once more +recalled to the expediencies. If he shall be in hope of Esther, it would +be well to escape from a situation so dangerous. +</P> + +<P> +"And I am poor! Why did I not think of that? It was easy to marry her, +because I was wealthy. I am a poor man now." He repeats it over and +over. +</P> + +<P> +It would be well to hurry to New York and attend to that matter of the +Coal and Oil Trust Company institution. He could not go but for the +lover's hope of preparing something for the reunion. +</P> + +<P> +Between Chicago and New York one may fall into a wide abyss of despair. +The late Honorable David Lockwin has tarried in Chicago, has assisted at +the public dedication of his own cenotaph, has visited the David Lockwin +Annex, has looked his own widow in the face. His pride is torn out by +the roots. A man once exalted is now humbled. And, added to the horrors +of his situation, every fiber of his body, every aspiration of his +spirit, proclaims his love of the woman who once wearied him. +</P> + +<P> +His dilemma is dreadful without this catastrophe of love. He thanks the +fates that he is in love. It gives him business. He will not sell his +claim against the ruined bank. He will work as book-keeper. He will +wait and collect all. Patience shall be his motto. He will communicate +with Esther through a spiritual medium. He will--better yet--write to +her anonymously. Every day a type-written missive shall be sent to her. +He will have her! It is all possible! +</P> + +<P> +"It is all easy!" David Lockwin says, and goes resolutely at work to save +the remnants of his fortune. +</P> + +<P> +For a year he turns the inertia of his love into his daily business. +Esther is building at Chicago, David will build at New York--a fabric of +love, airy, it may be, but graceful and beautiful. +</P> + +<P> +Each night he indites in type-writer and addresses to Esther Lockwin an +essay on the value of hope in great afflictions. The tone grows +familiar, as the weeks pass by. "My dear madam" becomes "my dear Mrs. +Lockwin," and at last "my dear friend." To-night, far into the small +hours, he pours out his advice and comfort: +</P> + +<P> +"Be brave, my dear friend," he proceeds. "Undreamed-of happiness may +still be yours, if you can but come to place confidence in your faithful +correspondent. There are things more strange than anything which the +books give us. As a matter of fact, dear friend, the writers do not dare +to make life as it is, for fear of outrunning the bounds of fiction. Let +me give you comfort, and at the proper time I shall be able, not to +reveal myself, perhaps, but to offer you opportunity to give me a signal +that my services are valuable to you. +</P> + +<P> +"Preserve your health. This admonition has been iterated in the hundreds +of different treatises I have placed before you. My diligence and +patience must recommend themselves. My hope must reinspire your drooping +energies. Until to-morrow at eventide, adieu!" +</P> + +<P> +The time is ripe to learn the effect of these courteous ministrations. +David Lockwin dares not intrust his secret to a chance acquaintance like +Corkey, who is completely devoted to Mrs. Lockwin. What man can now be +found who will support a possible relation of mutual friend in this +singular case? +</P> + +<P> +The thought of Dr. Tarpion comes again and again. +</P> + +<P> +Clearly a lover cannot wait forever. And he must know whether or not +Esther reads the letters. But, of course, she reads them! +</P> + +<P> +"And they comfort her, God bless her!" cries the happy lover. But he +must not wait too long. She needs him. She must be rescued from Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +Why not write to Dr. Tarpion? He is a dear old friend. +</P> + +<P> +He seems very dear, now that Lockwin needs him. The doctor is the +administrator of the estate, if we come to recollect. Certainly! +</P> + +<P> +Now, therefore, let David undertake an interrogatory, and tremblingly +mail it to Dr. Tarpion. To be sure, this is better. Suppose David +Lockwin the unknown monitor, had invited Esther to advertise in a +newspaper, and the advertisement had been left out! Or, suppose he had +suggested a certain signal at her house, or in New York--anywhere! It +would be a chance too great to take. No lover should leave anything to +fortune. Dr. Tarpion will give the information. He shall be the mutual +friend--the go-between to unravel this tangled web of deception. +</P> + +<P> +If David Lockwin shall in future discover himself to Esther, he must have +the aid of a discreet and loving friend. Dr. Tarpion is the man. This +letter will open the way for further disclosures. It is as follows: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent"> +PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. +</P> + +<P> +DEAR SIR:--For about a year I have seen fit to offer to Mrs. Lockwin such +consolation as I thought might lessen her grief. Will you kindly inform +me if my suggestions have at any time mitigated her sorrow? I shall be +happy to know that an earnest and faithful labor has done some little +good. You may inclose a letter to the care of Robert Chalmers, New York +City, who will deliver it to me. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The reply is prompt: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +CHICAGO, May 1.--I am in receipt of a type-written communication from an +unknown party, and am not unwilling to inform the writer that Mrs. +Lockwin's mail all comes to me. I have for a year burned every one of +the consolatory letters alluded to, in common with thousands of other +screeds, which I have considered as so many assaults on the charity of an +unhappy lady. +</P> + +<P> +The series of letters from New York have, however, been the most +persistent of these demonstrations. I have expected that at the proper +time we should have a claimant, like the Tichborne estate. Some +experience in administrative affairs, together with the timely +suggestions of a friend, lead me to note the opportunity for a claimant +in our case. David Lockwin's body was not found. I have, therefore, +kept a sharp eye out for claimants, and will say to the writer of the +"consolatory letters" that our proofs of Lockwin's death are ample. Two +persons saw him die. Mrs. Lockwin is a sagacious woman, keenly aware of +the covetousness aroused by the public mention of her great wealth. +</P> + +<P> +The writer will therefore, if wise, abandon his attentions and +intentions. If I receive any more of his "consolatory letters" I shall +look up Robert Chalmers with detectives. Respectfully, +<BR><BR> +IRENAEUS TARPION, M. D. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0306"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI +<BR><BR> +THE YAWL +</H3> + +<P> +It is about 10 o'clock at night in the office of the great newspaper. +The night editor sits at his desk reading the latest exchanges. The +telegraph editor labors under a bright yellow light, secured by the use +of a vast expanse of yellow paper. +</P> + +<P> +The assistant telegraph editor is groaning over a fraudulent dispatch +from a correspondent whose repute is the worst. +</P> + +<P> +A place is still vacant at the tables. The marine dispatches are +piling high. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the sea-dog?" asks the night editor, who is in command of the +paper. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening, Corkey," says the telegraph editor. "I trust we are +spared for another day of usefulness," says the night editor, with an +unction which is famous in the office. +</P> + +<P> +"How is the ooze of the salt deep, commodore?" asks the night editor. +</P> + +<P> +"How is the coral and green amber?" asks the telegraph editor. +</P> + +<P> +"Green nothing!" mutters Corkey. He feels weary. +</P> + +<P> +"How did you leave great Neptune?" asks the assistant telegraph editor. +</P> + +<P> +These questions are wholly perfunctory. The telegraph editor has +dedicated five minutes to the history and diary of the triple alliance. +</P> + +<P> +When Corkey is happy this inquisition flatters him. When he is black +in the face there is an inclination to deal harshly with these wits. A +thousand clever things flash into his black eyes but escape his tongue. +</P> + +<P> +He struggles to say something that will put the laugh on the telegraph +editor, and begins choking. The head vibrates, the little tongue plays +about the black tobacco, the mouth grows square. +</P> + +<P> +"Run for your lives, gentlemen," cries the assistant telegraph editor, +making believe to hold down his shears. There is an explosion. It is +accompanied with many distinguishable noises--the hissing of steam, the +routing of hogs from their wallow, the screech of tug whistles and the +yell of Indians. +</P> + +<P> +The door stands open to the great composing-room, where eighty +typesetters--eighty cynics--eighty nervous, high-strung, well-paid +workmen--stand at their intellectual toil. They are all in a hurry, +but each rasps his iron type-stick across a thin partition of his type +case. It is a small horse-fiddle. The combined effect is impressive, +chaotic. +</P> + +<P> +The night foreman rages internally. He stalks about with baleful eye. +"Buck in, you fellows," he says. "The paper is behind." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish it would kill him," the night foreman says of Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +There is silence in the telegraph-room. The tinkle of the horse-cars +comes up audibly from the street. The night editor knows what has +happened, to the slightest detail. He mentally sees the night foreman +standing in the shadows of the parlor (wash-place) laughing to kill. +The night editor grows still more unctuous. +</P> + +<P> +"From earthquakes, hailstorms and early frosts," he prays, "good Lord, +deliver us." +</P> + +<P> +"Good Lord, deliver us!" comes the solemn antiphone of the telegraph +editor, the assistant telegraph editor, Corkey and the copy boy. +</P> + +<P> +The chinchilla coat is off. This is manifestly a hard way to earn a +living for a candidate for Congress, a dark horse for the legislature +and a marine editor who has run his legs off all day. +</P> + +<P> +"He's been moving," the boy whispers to the night editor. +</P> + +<P> +The night editor scans the dark face. It is serious enough. It is the +night editor's method to rule his people by the moderation of his +speech. In this way they do all the work and thank him for keeping his +nose out of affairs. +</P> + +<P> +"We hear, commodore, that you have moved your household gods." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," grunts Corkey. To the jam-jorum Corkey must be civil, as he +will tell you. +</P> + +<P> +"Where to?" +</P> + +<P> +"Top flat, across the alley from the Grand Pacific." +</P> + +<P> +"That's a five-story building, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's what it is." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is busy fixing his telegrams for the printer. He is trying to +learn what the current date is, and is unwilling to ask. +</P> + +<P> +The night editor is thinking of Mrs. Corkey, a handsome little woman, +for whom the "boys in the office" have a pleasant regard. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there an elevator?" +</P> + +<P> +"I didn't see no elevator when I was carrying the kitchen stove in." +</P> + +<P> +"How will Mrs. Corkey get up?" +</P> + +<P> +This is too much. Corkey has made a hundred trips to the new abode, +each time laden with some heavy piece of furniture or package of goods. +How will Mrs. Corkey get there, when Corkey has been up and down the +docks from the north pier to the lumber district on Ashland avenue, and +all since supper? +</P> + +<P> +The marine editor sits back rigidly in his chair. The head quakes, the +tongue plays, he looks defiantly at the night editor. +</P> + +<P> +"She's coming," says the assistant telegraph editor, holding down his +shears and paste-pot. +</P> + +<P> +The head quakes, but it is not a sneeze. It is a deliverance, <I>ex +cathedra</I>. The night editor wants to hear it. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet your sweet life, Mrs. Corkey," says the commodore, "screw her +nut up four flight of stairs. That's what Mrs. Corkey do!" +</P> + +<P> +The compliments of the evening are over. It is a straining of every +nerve now to get a good first edition for the fast train. +</P> + +<P> +"Gale to-night, Corkey," says the telegraph editor. "We've taken most +of your stuff for the front page. The display head isn't long enough. +Write me another line for it." +</P> + +<P> +"Hain't got nothing to write," Corkey doesn't like to have his report +taken out of its customary place. When there are blood-curdling wrecks +he wants the news in small type along with his port list. +</P> + +<P> +"Hain't got nothing to write," he repeats sullenly. He gapes and +stretches. He knows he must obey the telegraph editor. +</P> + +<P> +"Hurry! Give it to me. Give me the idea." Corkey's eye brightens. +He is a man of ideas, not of words. He has an idea. His head quakes. +The tongue begins its whirring like the fan-wheel before the clock +strikes. +</P> + +<P> +"You can say that the life-saving service display a great act," says +the marine editor, relieved of a grievous duty. +</P> + +<P> +His pile of telegrams grows smaller. The dreaded work will soon be +over. +</P> + +<P> +"How's your rich widow?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey has not failed to plume himself on his aristocratic and familiar +acquaintance. His associates are themselves flattered. Corkey is to +take the telegraph editor to call on Mrs. Lockwin. The night editor is +jealously regarded as too smooth with the ladies. He will be left to +his own devices. +</P> + +<P> +"How's your rich widow?" is repeated. But Corkey cannot hear. He is +reading a telegram that astonishes, electrifies and confuses him. +</P> + +<P> +"COLLINGWOOD, 14.--After wading ten miles along shore found yawl Africa +sunk in three feet water, filled with sand and hundreds stone. Can +take you to spot. What reward? What shall we do?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey seizes the dispatch, puts on his coat, and rides downstairs. On +the street he finds it is midnight. He looks for a carriage. He sets +his watch by a jeweler's chronometer, over which a feeble gas flame +burns all night. +</P> + +<P> +He changes his mind and rides back upstairs. He enters the telegraph +operators' room, where five men are at work receiving special +intelligence. +</P> + +<P> +"Get Collingwood, boys." +</P> + +<P> +"That drops off at Detroit. Collingwood's a day job." +</P> + +<P> +The instrument is clicking. The operator takes each word as the +laborious Corkey, with short pencil, presses it into the buff-colored +paper. +</P> + +<P> +CHICAGO, 14.--Let it be! Will be at Collingwood to-morrow. +CORKEY. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0307"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII +<BR><BR> +A RASH ACT +</H3> + +<P> +David Lockwin reads the letter of Dr. Tarpion with horror. +</P> + +<P> +"Heavens and earth!" he cries, and pulls at his hair, rubs his eyes and +stamps on the floor. "Heavens and earth!" This, an edifice built with +the patience and cunning of a lover, must fall to nothing. +</P> + +<P> +He is as dead to Esther as on the day the yawl danced on the shining +sands of Georgian Bay. +</P> + +<P> +He is terrified to know his loss. To believe that he was in daily +communication with Esther, and that she must ache to know him, has +sustained David Lockwin in his penance. +</P> + +<P> +The crime he committed, he feels, has been atoned in this year of +lover's agony. That agony was necessary--in order that Esther might be +gradually prepared for the revelation. +</P> + +<P> +She has not been prepared. The labor must begin again, and on new +lines. +</P> + +<P> +The receiver of the Coal and Oil Trust Company's Institution this day +declares a dividend of 10 per cent. The lover may draw over $7,000--a +magnificent estate. It seems greater to him than the wealth of the +Indies or the Peruvians seemed to the early navigators. +</P> + +<P> +He sells his belongings to a second-hand dealer. He hastens his +departure. The folks at Walker street can get another book-keeper. +Robert Chalmers is going to San Francisco. Easy to lie now after the +practice of nearly two years. +</P> + +<P> +But to think that Esther has not read a word of all he has written! +David Lockwin hisses the name of Dr. Tarpion. Many is the time they +have tented together. But how did the doctor know? He had only a +type-written anonymous communication. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless this lover curses the administrator as the cause of the +fiasco. +</P> + +<P> +"But for him my path would be easy." +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin thinks of Tarpion's threat about a claimant. It grows +clear to him that there is a Chicagoan alive who can view his own +cenotaph, his own memorial hospital, his own home--who can proclaim +himself to be the husband, and yet there will be men like Tarpion who +will deny all. +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin's face annoys him. "Why was I such a fool to go without the +proper treatment in that outlandish region! Why was I so anxious to be +disguised?" +</P> + +<P> +Oh, it is all on account of the letters. That busybody of an +administrator and censor has undone all! Better he had never been +born. Why should a doctor neglect his patients to separate husband and +wife? The wise way will be to march to the house at Chicago and take +possession. +</P> + +<P> +"That I will do!" the man at last declares. He is maddened. He cares +nothing for reputation. He cannot bear the thought that Dr. Tarpion, +an old friend, should day by day burn the epistles that evinced so much +scholarship, charity and sympathy. The lover is not poor. No man with +$7,000 in his pocket is poor. He is not driven back to Esther by want, +as it was before. That stings the man to recall it. No, he has means. +But if he were poor, he would work for the dear lady who loved him so +secretly. He gloats over the letter of Esther. It is worn in pieces +now, like so many cards. The train from New York enters the city of +Chicago. +</P> + +<P> +"That is the new David Lockwin Hospital," says a passenger. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did I blunder in on this road?" the lover asks. He had not +thought his situation so terrible as it seemed just now. +</P> + +<P> +"I am doubtless the sorriest knave that ever lived here," he mourns, +but it only increases his determination to go directly to Esther. +</P> + +<P> +"I guess Dr. Tarpion will not throw <I>me</I> in the waste-basket! Seven +thousand dollars!" +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin feels as rich as Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +It is a mad thing he is doing, this pulling of the door-bell at the old +home. The balcony is overhead. Never mind little Davy! We can live +without him, but we cannot live without Esther. Ah that Tarpion! that +base Tarpion! Probably he intends to marry her! It is none too soon +to pull this bell. Now David Lockwin will enter, never to be driven +forth. He will enter among his books. Never mind his books. It is +she, SHE, SHE! Till death part them SHE is his. It is the seven +thousand dollars that gives him this lion-like courage. Esther needs +him. He has come. +</P> + +<P> +The door opens. A pleasant-faced lady appears. +</P> + +<P> +"Call Mrs. Lockwin, please." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Lockwin? Oh, yes. I believe she did live here. I do not know +where she lives now, but it is on Prairie avenue. After her father +died she went home to live." +</P> + +<P> +Is Judge Wandrell dead? The caller is adding together the mills, +pineries, elevators, hotels, steamers, steel mills, quarries and +railroads that Judge Wandrell owned on the great lakes. +</P> + +<P> +The pleasant-faced lady thinks her caller ought to go. +</P> + +<P> +He is angry at her. He shows it. He blames her as much as he does +Tarpion. He retreats reluctantly. A stranger is in possession of the +home of David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +He was foolhardy a moment before. He is timid now. +</P> + +<P> +He was rich. He has seven thousand. Esther is rich. She has five +millions. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0308"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII +<BR><BR> +A GOOD SCHEME +</H3> + +<P> +The absence of love ruined David Lockwin. Love built Chicago. Love +erected the David Lockwin Hospital. Love supports David Lockwin. He +is a man to be pitied from the depths of the heart. Love makes him +happy. +</P> + +<P> +He reads the revised scriptures. To love's empire has been added the +whole realm of charity. "Love," says the sacred word, "covereth a +multitude of sins." +</P> + +<P> +"Love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, +endureth all things." +</P> + +<P> +Love has become prudent. Love has whispered in David Lockwin's ear +that while it might be brave to knock at the door of one's own home, it +would be rash to present one's self to Esther Lockwin, on Prairie +avenue--Esther Lockwin, worth five millions! +</P> + +<P> +Yet this lover, in order to bear, to believe, to hope and to endure, +must enter the charmed circle of her daily life. He haunts the +vicinity, he grows fertile in his plans. He discovers an admirable +method of coming in correspondence with the Prairie avenue mansion. +</P> + +<P> +Dr. Floddin has recently died, and a new proprietor is in possession of +the drug store. It is a matter of a week's time to install David +Lockwin. It could have been done in a minute, but a week's time seemed +more in order and pleased the seller. You look in and you see a square +stove. Rising behind it you see a white prescription counter, with +bottles of blue copper water at each corner. Rising still higher +behind is a partition. Peer to the right and you may see a curtain, +drawn aside. A little room contains a bed, an Argand lamp, a table +with a small clock, druggist's books and the revised New Testament. +</P> + +<P> +You may see David Lockwin, almost any day, sitting near and under that +curtain; his clothes are strangely of the color of the drapery; his +legs are stretched out one ankle over the other; his hands are deep in +pockets; his head is far down on his breast. Or you may see him +washing his windows. He keeps the cleanest windows on lower State +street. +</P> + +<P> +In this coigne of vantage it turns out that David Lockwin eventually +comes to know the family life at the mansion. The servants at the +Wandrell home have long stood behind the prescription counter while +their orders were in course of serving. +</P> + +<P> +The confinement of the business--the eternal hours of vigil--these +matters feed the hungry love of the husband. +</P> + +<P> +"Without this I should have died," he vows. The months go by without +event. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey has been the earliest caller. "Saw your sign," he says; +"recollected the name. Been in New York all the time? I say, old man, +want a pardner? I got a clean thousand cases in gold to put in." +</P> + +<P> +The druggist has difficulty in withstanding Corkey's offers of capital. +Corkey is struck with the idea of business. He has taken a strong +fancy to Chalmers. Day by day the two men grow more intimate. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought I'd never see you again, old man. I suppose I ought to start +a saloon, but somehow I hate to do it, now I know some good people. +Bet your life I'm solid over there!" +</P> + +<P> +He points with his thumb toward Prairie avenue. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a good friend of the richest woman, I guess, there is in the +world!" His tongue pops like a champagne cork. "I don't like to keep +no saloon." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall sell as little liquor as possible," the druggist says, +conceiving the drift of Corkey's ideas. +</P> + +<P> +"Pardner, you must have been a hard drinker yourself. How did your +voice get so husky?" +</P> + +<P> +"It was so always." +</P> + +<P> +"It was so the first day I met you. Remember the dedication?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; do you remember the bank?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yep. Don't you know I tell you I was going to find that yawl?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I find it." +</P> + +<P> +Does David Lockwin color? Or are those features forever crimson? +</P> + +<P> +"You do look like a man as has been a red-hot sport in his day. Ever +do anything in the ring? Let me try that red liquor of yours. Let's +see if it tears. Oh, yes, about the yawl. I just go to the widow the +other day and ask her for three hundred cases on the search. Well, she +give me the three hundred and want me to take more, and I go right to +Collingwood. The duck he show me the boat, and you bet your sweet life +I hid her where she never will be seen. What's the use of tearing up +the widow's feelings again?" +</P> + +<P> +"You did right!" says the husky voice, the lover all the time wishing +the discovery had been published. He feels like a claimant. He is not +sure the world would believe David Lockwin to be alive if he could +prove it. +</P> + +<P> +"Chalmers, I'm going to tell you something that I haven't said to +nobody. I hid that boat, and I threw away big money--I know I did. +But I could get all the money I wanted of her--a free graft. Give me +another slug of that budge." +</P> + +<P> +The druggist is filling a small graduate with whisky for Corkey. What +is Corkey about to say? +</P> + +<P> +"They're having high old times in Russia. That was a great bomb they +git in on his nobs last winter." +</P> + +<P> +"The czar? Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I reckon they're going to git the feller they've got on top there now, +too, don't you? They say he put on ten crowns yesterday. What do they +call it? The coronation, yes. What's the name of the place? Moscow, +yes." +</P> + +<P> +The druggist is less confused. +</P> + +<P> +"Wouldn't it be funny if the czar wasn't dead. But say, pardner, what +would you say if I went over there and told my widow I didn't believe +her old man was dead at all? Would she give me the gaff? Would she +git mad?" +</P> + +<P> +The druggist is busy finding a cork for a bottle. At last he comes to +the light to try the cork. He is behind a show-case. Corkey is in +front of the, case holding a newspaper in hand, out of which he has +been reading of the coronation. His black eyes seem to pierce David +Lockwin's face. David Lockwin looks back--in hope, if any feeling can +show itself in that veiled countenance. + +"He ain't dead! Not much! Can't tell me! I don't bury boats for +nothing. I tell you I think a heap of her, and she slung herself so on +that hospital and on that other thing there, out north, that I'd hate +to give her away. What was that yawl buried for? Nobody see it and it +was worth money, too. What was it buried for? Now I never tell you +the story of the night on the old tub. He sit just so." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey takes a seat behind the stove and imitates David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +The druggist gazes as in a stupor. He steps to his little room and +removes the chair. He must not sit and cogitate. +</P> + +<P> +"Something ail him. I guess he was crazy." +</P> + +<P> +"He must have been," says the druggist, "if he wasn't killed." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he wasn't killed. Can't tell me. Now, suppose he want to come +back to Chicago--ain't he in a sweet box? And his wife over there +crying her eyes out--with more money--with more money--well--" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey's head vibrates, his tongue whirs, he sneezes. Children, +romping on the sidewalk, troop to the door of the druggist to learn +what has happened. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey looks at the prescription booth. He notes the blue copper water +at each corner. His eyes rise to the white partition which separates +the rear room from the store. +</P> + +<P> +"Sleep in there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," says the druggist, huskily. +</P> + +<P> +"Get out of here!" cries Corkey to the last of the merry throng. "I +used to play just that same way right here in this street. Cozy place +in there. Well, I ain't so smart, but I've had a scheme on ever since +I found that yawl. She's crying her eyes out over there--you can't +tell me, for I know. Mebbe his nobs would like to come back. I'm +going to sound her, and if she's favorable I'm going to advertise--see?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see her often?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, oftener than I want to. You see she makes me go over that last +night on the old tub and on the yawl. Now I'm getting tired of telling +how he died. He ain't dead. But she seems to harp on that. You just +ought to hear her cap him up. He's the greatest and goodest man you +ever see. Well, now. I'm going to change the play a little. Oh, +she's no use. She even wants me to bring the coon, and I let the +ball-players take him. He can't be going down there. I don't want him +along nohow. I tell you I'm going to change the box. I'm going to +bring her round to the idea that he's alive." +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is earnest. His eyes are sparkling. He is chewing hard on his +tobacco. His head is quaking. +</P> + +<P> +"He's alive, and so he's a--well, he's a no-gooder." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," says the druggist huskily. +</P> + +<P> +"But I hate to see her pining away, and I'm going to steer her against +the idea that she can get him if she wants him. She's so rich she can +do anything she wants to. I guess if she wants him she can clear out +with him and live in--where is it?--in Moscow. That's about the place +for ducks like him." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," says the druggist. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey takes the glass graduate in hand. He turns sideways and puts +his arm heavily on the frail show-case. He lifts his foot to place it +on the customary iron railing of a whisky shop. He ruminates. +</P> + +<P> +"The David Lockwin Annex--that means a wing, doesn't it? Yes, I +thought so. Well, the wing is bigger than the--than the--than the--the +wing is bigger than the bird." +</P> + +<P> +It is an observation that Corkey believes would be applauded among the +sharp blades of the telegraph room. He drinks in a well-pleased mood. +</P> + +<P> +"The David Lockwin Annex! The monument! They've given that a stiff +name, too. I've seen some gay things in this town, but that beats me. +It takes a woman to make a fool of herself. And there she is over +there crying for her great hero. Fill this jim-crack with the budge +again. Let her draw as much water as she will--put it to the top +notch!" +</P> + +<P> +The druggist trembles as he fills the graduate. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you have a bigger one?" he suggests. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I ain't drinking much between campaigns. Did you know I was going +to run for the Illinois house? Yes, that's nearer to my size than a +whole congressional district. I'm in for it. But that's not now. My +mind is over there, on the avenue. Say, old man, is the scheme any +good? He dassen't come back. Do you think she'd pull out and go to +him, wherever he is?" +</P> + +<P> +The druggist carries the empty graduate to the water sink. He rinses +it. His heart beats with the greatest joy it has ever known. He +returns the graduate to the prescription counter. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a good scheme, Corkey." +</P> + +<A NAME="img-250"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-250.jpg" ALT=""It is a good scheme, Corkey."" BORDER="2" WIDTH="480" HEIGHT="364"> +<H5> +[Illustration: "It is a good scheme, Corkey."] +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"You bet it <I>is</I>. Chalmers, just fill that thimble-rig once more. It +don't hold three fingers, nohow. Hurry, for I got to go to the north +pier right off. That's your little clock striking 6 in there now, +ain't it?" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0309"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX +<BR><BR> +A HEROIC ACT +</H3> + +<P> +David Lockwin is losing ground. He daily grows less likely to attract +the favorable notice of Esther Lockwin, or any other woman of +consequence. His face has not only lost comeliness, but character. It +would seem that the carmen fimbrications just under the skin of his +cheeks flame forth with renewed anger. The difficulty in his throat +increases. He relies nowadays entirely on Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"And Corkey does not know how rapidly this anxiety is killing me!" +</P> + +<P> +The druggist plans every day to confess all to Corkey. Every day, too, +there is a plan to meet Esther. But as David Lockwin grows small, +Esther grows grand. Talking with the servants of her mother's home has +degraded, declassed, the husband. He has hungered to meet her, yet +months intervene without that bitter joy. +</P> + +<P> +It is a bitter joy. Yesterday, when Lockwin carried a prescription to +the house of a very sick widow, he suddenly came face to face with +Esther. It had been long apparent to the man that the woman was +repelled by his face. This, yesterday, she did not conceal. + +The husband trembled with a thousand pleasures as the sacred form +passed by. He struggled with ten thousand despairs as he was robbed of +her company and left to bemoan her disdain. +</P> + +<P> +He worshiped her the more. He read last night, more eagerly, how love +endureth all things. It must fast come to this, that David Lockwin +shall love her at a distance, and that she shall be true to the memory +of the great and good David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +Or, he must approach Corkey on the subject of his scheme of reunion. + +This morning, washing the windows of the drug-store, the proprietor +revolves the problems of his existence. +</P> + +<P> +"Time is passing," he groans; "too much time." +</P> + +<P> +The gossip of the store deals often with Dr. Tarpion. Dr. Tarpion is +gradually arousing the jealousy of the husband. The burning of the +consolatory letters was a dreadful repulse of the lover's siege. +</P> + +<P> +The druggist has scrubbed the windows with the brush. He is drying +them with the rubber wiper. He stamps the pole on the sidewalk. He +does not want to be jealous, but time is going by--time is going by. +That Tarpion! It would be hard! It would be hard! +</P> + +<P> +A new thought comes. The disfigured face grows malicious. +</P> + +<P> +"It would be bigamy! Ha!" +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin has fallen upon a low place. But he would perish if +jealousy must be added. +</P> + +<P> +"Corkey's plan is a good one, but why does he not push it faster? And +Corkey has not spoken of the matter for three weeks. One night he said +he would soon be 'where he could talk.'" +</P> + +<P> +The prescription clerk is very busy. A customer wants a cigar. The +druggist goes in to make a profit of three and a half cents. He +returns to his window, wets it once more, begins the wiping, and is +frightened by the thought of five millions of money. +</P> + +<P> +"Davy's tonsils swelled, and Tarpion was to cut them off. I wonder if +it is my tonsils. I wonder if my nose could be straightened. I have +no doubt my skin could be cleared." +</P> + +<P> +Once more the supporting forces of nature have come to the rescue of +David Lockwin. It is clear that he must be rejuvenated. He must +exercise and regain an appetite. He must recover twenty-five pounds of +flesh that have left him since that cursed night of the Africa. +</P> + +<P> +"Strange fate!" he ejaculates, remembering the almost comatose +condition in which he walked on deck, and was saved. +</P> + +<P> +His eyes grow sightless. The dull, little, trivial street has palled +upon his view. He sees a crowd gathering at a corner and making +demonstrations in a cross street. +</P> + +<P> +The next moment his own horses dash around the corner into State +street, driverless and running away. +</P> + +<P> +A lady's head protrudes from the window. Yes, it is Esther! +</P> + +<P> +The druggist grasps his long pole lightly. He takes the middle of the +street. He holds his pole like a fence before the team. +</P> + +<P> +"Whoa, Pete! Whoa, Coley!" he cries. +</P> + +<P> +The horses believe they must turn. They lose momentum. They shy. The +man is at their bits. +</P> + +<P> +They drag him along the curb. One horse slips down. The pole cracks +in two. A hundred men are on hand now. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin flies to the carriage. He unlocks the door. He gathers +his wife in his arms. Oh! happy day! He carries her into his drug +store. He applies restoratives to the fainting woman. She slowly +revives. +</P> + +<P> +"Please take me home and send for Dr. Tarpion," she says, relapsing +into lethargy. +</P> + +<P> +Men seize David Lockwin, for he is bleeding profusely. +</P> + +<P> +"He terrifies her!" they exclaim. They wash his forehead. He has a +long cut over the brow. +</P> + +<P> +Work fast as he may with court-plaster Esther is carried forth before +the druggist can be in front to aid. People are full of praise for the +heroic man. +</P> + +<P> +"But he won't be no prettier for it," say the gossips of the +neighborhood. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0310"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X +<BR><BR> +ESTHER AS A LIBERAL PATRON +</H3> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin has been confined to her room for a month by Dr. +Tarpion's orders. The servants say she will not enter a carriage again. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin has hired an extra clerk, and is daily under a surgeon's +hands. After six months of suffering he is promised a removal of the +red fimbrications; his nose shall be re-erected; his throat shall be +reasonably cleared. +</P> + +<P> +He lies on his cot, and Corkey is a frequent visitor. +</P> + +<P> +"You wa'n't no prize beauty, that's a fact," says the candid Corkey. +"I think you're wise, but I'd never a did it. You've got as much grit +as a tattooed man. Them fellers, the doctors, picks you with electric +needles, don't they? Yes, I thought so. Well, I suppose that's +nothing side of setting up your nose. But she sets up there like a +hired man--you've got a good nob now! Yes, I'm deep in politics again. +I'm a fool--I know it, but I don't spend more'n five hundred cases, and +I go to the legislature sure. If I get there some of these +corporations that knocked me out afore will squeal--you hear me! No, +you don't spend no money on me. I wish you could git out and hustle, +though. But you ain't no hustler, nohow. Want any drug laws passed?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey must do the greater part of the talking. He sits beside the bed +carrying an atmosphere of sympathy that the feverish lover needs. +Gradually the thoughts of the sympathizer fix on the glass graduate. +It tickles his membranes. His head quakes, his tongue whirs, he jars +the great bottles outside with his sneeze. +</P> + +<P> +The tears start from his eyes, his throat rebels at its misusage, his +big red handkerchief comes out. It makes a sharp contrast with his jet +black hair and mustache. +</P> + +<P> +"Old man," he said, "do you suppose your bone-sawers could cut that out +of me? It makes me forgit things sometimes. Oh, yes, yes! That puts +me in mind! I came to tell you this morning that Mrs. Lockwin was +coming over to thank you!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's time," whispers the lover, bravely. +</P> + +<P> +"I told her to come on. She needn't be afraid of you. I tell you she +was mighty glad when I tell her you was a friend of mine." +</P> + +<P> +There is a click at the door-latch. The patient starts. Corkey looks +out into the store. +</P> + +<P> +"Here she is!" whispers Corkey, smoothing the coverlet. "How d'ye do, +Mrs. Lockwin? Just step in here. Mr. Chalmers is not able to sit up." +</P> + +<P> +"I heard he was hurt," says Esther. "Poor man! I owe him so much!" +</P> + +<P> +It is perhaps well that David Lockwin has had no warning of this +supreme event. It seems to him like the last day. It is the Second +Coming. A hundred little wounds set up their stings, for which the +husband is ever thankful. He can hear her out there in the store. He +can feel her presence. She appears at his door! She stands at the +foot of his couch! She, the ineffable! +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" she exclaims, not expecting to see a man so badly wounded, so +highly bandaged. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing at all serious, Mrs. Lockwin," explains Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am so very sorry," says the lady. "Mr. Chalmers, you find me +unable to express my feelings. I cannot tell you how many things I +should like to explain, and how seriously I am embarrassed by the evils +I have brought on you. I dare say only that I am a person of large +means, and am sensible that I cannot repay you. I owe my life to your +noble act. If I can ever be of service to you, please to command me. +I shall certainly testify my regard for you in some proper way, but it +afflicts me to feel that you are so much worse hurt than I was by the +runaway. I lost a noble husband. If he had been alive you would not +have been left unthanked and unserved for so long a time." +</P> + +<P> +It distresses Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"That's what he was--a white man!" +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin is dumb. But he thinks he is saying: "I am David +Lockwin! I am David Lockwin!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a sweet remembrance, now." Her voice grows clearer. "They tell +me I did wrong to mourn so bitterly. I suppose I did. Mr. Chalmers, I +should like to entertain you on your recovery. How singular! This is +our old family drug store! Didn't Dr. Floddin keep here? Poor Dr. +Floddin! Oh! David! David! Good-bye, Mr. Chalmers." +</P> + +<P> +"He's not badly hurt at all," says Corkey, "you mustn't worry over +that." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm so glad, Mr. Corkey." +</P> + +<P> +It is the autumn of a great misery. The woman is righting herself. +She is trying to listen to the advice of society. Lockwin, by dying, +committed a crime against the first circles. "A failure to live is a +gigantic failure," says Mrs. Grundy. +</P> + +<P> +David Lockwin listens to every movement. The widow tarries. +</P> + +<P> +"Send me a dozen large bottles of that extract," she says, choosing a +variety of odors. She orders a munificent bill of fancy goods. The +clerk moves with astonishing celerity. +</P> + +<P> +The patient suppresses his groans. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Chalmers is well off," says Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad," says Esther, "poor man! Good-bye, Mr. Corkey. You are +neglecting me lately. I hope you will be elected. I wish I could +vote. Oh, yes, I guess the clerk may give me a stock of white +notepaper. Do you believe it, Mr. Corkey, I haven't a scrap about the +house that isn't mourning paper! Yes, that will do. Send plenty. +Good-bye. Come over and tell me about politics. Tell me something +that will make life seem pleasant. I'm tired of my troubles. I think +I'm forgetting David. Good-bye." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0401"></A> +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +BOOK IV +<BR><BR> +GEORGE HARPWOOD +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I +<BR><BR> +CORKEY'S GOOD SCHEME +</H3> + +<P> +The courtly and affable George Harpwood has fought the good fight and +is finishing the course. It is he who has labored with the prominent +citizens. It is he who has moved the great editors to place David +Lockwin in the western pantheon--to pay him the honors due to Lincoln +and Douglas. It is Harpwood who has carried the banquet to success. +It is he who, in the midnight of Esther Lockwin's grief, prepared for +her confidential reading those long and scholarly essays of consolation +which she studied so gratefully. Mr. Harpwood did not put his +lucubrations in the care of Dr. Tarpion. Each and every one was +written for no other eye but Esther's. +</P> + +<P> +While Dr. Tarpion was holding the husband at bay, Dr. Tarpion was +rapidly overcoming a prejudice against Harpwood. +</P> + +<P> +"Really, the man has been invaluable to me," the administrator now +vows. "No one could deliberately and selfishly enter the grief-life of +such a widow." +</P> + +<P> +For Harpwood, smarting with a double defeat, in the loss of Esther and +the election of Lockwin, has at once devoted himself to the saddest +offices. He has been diligent in all kinds of weather. He has +discreetly avoided the outer appearance of personal service. But he +has filled the place of spiritual comforter to Esther Lockwin, and has +filled it well. +</P> + +<P> +If you ask what friends Mrs. Lockwin has, the servants will speak of +Dr. Tarpion first, of the architects, and of Corkey. Harpwood they do +not mention. He may have called--so have a thousand other gentlemen. +They have rarely seen Mrs. Lockwin, for she has been at the cenotaph, +the hospital, and the grave of little Davy. +</P> + +<P> +So long as Harpwood's suit has flourished by letter, why should the +less cautious method of speech be interposed? To-day, Esther could not +sustain the intermission of the usual consolatory epistle. +</P> + +<P> +George Harpwood is one of those characters who have many friends and +are friends to few. Others need him--not he them. He can please if he +attempt the task, and if the task be exceedingly difficult, he will +become infatuated with it. He will then grow sincere. At least he +believes he is sincere. Thus his patience is superb. +</P> + +<P> +His manners are widely praised. If he have served Esther Lockwin with +rare personal devotion, it cannot be denied that it has piqued many +other beautiful, eligible and desirable women. +</P> + +<P> +He can well support the air of a disinterested friend. The ladies +generally bewail his absence from their society. Esther Lockwin must +soon be warm in the praise of a gentleman who, divining the needs of a +widow, has so chivalrously taken up her woes as his own. +Tenderly--like a mother--he has touched upon her projects. Gladly he +has accepted the mission she has given to him. At last when he brings +Dr. Tarpion to the special censorship of Esther's mail, and to the fear +of claimants, George Harpwood is in command of the situation. +</P> + +<P> +When a man cultured in all the arts that please, gives himself to the +fascinating of a particular person, male or female, that man does not +often fail. Where the prize is five millions he ought to play his +highest trumps. +</P> + +<P> +This is what George Harpwood has done. Sometimes he has paused to +admire his own unselfishness. Sometimes, after a drenching on account +of the David Lockwin Annex--a costly fabric--Mr. Harpwood marvels that +men should be created so for the solace of widows! The other ladies +show their discontent. Fortunes are on every hand, and Esther is like +Niobe, all tears. Why does Harpwood turn all tears, weeping for +Lockwin? This causes Harpwood to be himself astonished. +</P> + +<P> +It is only genius that can adapt itself to an environment so +lugubrious. It is only genius that can unhorse suspicion itself, +leaving even the would-be detractor to admit that Mr. Harpwood is a +kind man--as he certainly is. +</P> + +<P> +"Who would not be kind for five millions?" he asks, yet he the next +moment may deny that he wants the five millions. +</P> + +<P> +It is a fine fortitude that George Harpwood can show upon occasion. It +was he who, lost in the opium habit, went to his room for two weeks, +and kept the pieces of opium and bottles of morphine within sight on +his mantel, touching none of the drug--curing himself. +</P> + +<P> +He could serve Esther as long as Jacob served Laban. He could end by +the conquest of himself. While he shall be doubtful of his own +selfishness, all others must be glad that Esther is given into hands so +gentle and intelligent. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Grundy knows little about this. Esther Lockwin has offended Mrs. +Grundy by a long absence from the world. +</P> + +<P> +If Esther now feel a warm glow in her heart; if she pass a dreary day +while Mr. Harpwood is necessarily absent, nobody suspects it--except +Mr. Harpwood. + +It has not displeased the disinterested friend of Esther Lockwin to +note the upward drift of his political opportunities. It is silently +taken for granted that he is a coming man. Whenever he shall cease his +disinterested attentions to the widow it is clear he will be a paragon. +And the critics who might aver as much, did they know the case, would +be scandalized if he so mistreated the lady who has come to lean on him. +</P> + +<P> +"In doing good to others," says George Harpwood, "we do the greatest +good to ourselves." +</P> + +<P> +Yet one must not devote himself to a rich lady beyond a period of +reasonable length. One's own business must be rescued from neglect. +If this doctrine be taught skillfully Esther Lockwin will learn that +she must show her gratitude in a substantial manner. +</P> + +<P> +Five millions, for instance. +</P> + +<P> +After that crisis secrecy may be, less sternly imposed. If the lady, +in her illness--ah! that was a shock to Harpwood, that runaway--if the +lady, in her illness, demand personal calls, which must certainly let +loose the gossips--after all, it is her matter. If Esther Lockwin +desire to see George Harpwood in the day-time, in the evening--all the +time--so be it. +</P> + +<P> +Is it the bright face of Esther Lockwin that spurs Corkey to his grand +enterprise? What has kept the short man so many months in silence? +Why is it he has never gotten beyond the matter of the lounge in the +fore-cabin of the Africa? This afternoon he will speak. It is a good +scheme. It can be fixed--especially by a woman. +</P> + +<P> +"She can stand it if he can," says Corkey, who reckons on the +resurrection of David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +So the face that was dark at State street becomes self-satisfied at +Prairie avenue. Corkey is picturesque as he raps his cane on the +marble stairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Bet your sweet life none of this don't scare me!" he soliloquizes, +touching the stateliness of the premises. +</P> + +<P> +He enters. He comes forth later, meeting another caller in the +vestibule. It is a dark face that the Commodore carries to the bedside +of David Lockwin, around on State street. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey sits down. Then he stands up. He concludes he will not talk, +but it is a false conclusion. He will talk on the patient's case. +</P> + +<P> +"How slow you git on, old man." +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. I am getting well," is the cheerful reply. Corkey is in +trouble. It is, therefore, time for Lockwin to give him sympathy. +"Corkey is a good fellow," thinks Lockwin, gazing contentedly on his +caller. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid it ain't no use," says Corkey, half to himself. "I ain't +had no luck since I let the mascot go to the league nine," he says, +more audibly. +</P> + +<P> +"I am quite happy," Lockwin says. "It will be a sufficient reward to +look like other folks. Only a few weeks of this. But it is a trial." +</P> + +<P> +"It's more of a trial, old man, than I like to see you undertake." +</P> + +<P> +"Yet I am happy. It will be a success. Wonderful, isn't it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty wonderful!" Yet Corkey does not look it. +</P> + +<P> +The man in the bandages thinks upon what he has suffered with his face. +He blesses the day he was permitted by Providence to stop that runaway. +All is coming about in good order. It needed the patience of love--of +love, the impatient. He is so sanguine to-day that he must push Corkey +a little regarding that scheme. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it is wonderful!" says Corkey with affected animation, recovering +his presence of mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you been over at our friend's lately?" The question comes with +the deepest excitement. The countenance of Corkey falls instantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, just come from there." +</P> + +<P> +"Are things all smiling over there?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. They're too smiling." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you see Dr. Tarpion?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I never see him! Things are too smiling! You'll never catch me +there again." +</P> + +<P> +Lockwin starts. +</P> + +<P> +"She can't play none of her high games onto me. Bet your sweet life! +If she don't want to listen to reason, it's none of my funeral. I say +to her--and I ought to say it afore--I say to her how would she like to +see her old man." +</P> + +<P> +The patient turns away from Corkey. The oldest wounds sting like a +hive of hornets. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you ought to see the office she give me! She rip and stave and +tear! She talk of political slander, and libel, and disgrace, and all +that. She rise up big right afore me, and come nigh swearing she would +kill such a David Lockwin on sight. There wasn't no such a David +Lockwin at all. Her husband was a nobleman. She wished I was fit to +black his boots--do you mind?--and you bet your sweet life I was +gitting pretty hot myself!" +</P> + +<P> +The thought of it sets Corkey coughing. A thousand wounds are piercing +David Lockwin, yet he does not lose a word. +</P> + +<P> +"Then she cool off a considerable, and ask me for to excuse her. 'Oh, +it is all right,' says I, a little tart. 'That will be all right.' +</P> + +<P> +"Then she fall right on her knees, and pray to David Lockwin to forgive +her for even thinking he isn't dead. +</P> + +<P> +"Now it was only Wednesday that a duck in this town knocked me out at +the primaries--played the identical West Side car-barn game on me! +Yes, sir, fetched over 500 street-sweepers to my primaries--machine +candidate and all that--oh! he's a jim-dandy!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry for you, Corkey," the wretched husband says, and thus +escapes for a moment from his own terror. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was bad medicine. So I wasn't taking much off anybody. I +gets up pretty stiff--this way, and says: 'Good day, Mrs. Lockwin. I +guess I can't be no more use to you, nohow.' And just as I was pulling +my hat off the peg there comes the very duck that knocked me out--right +there! And she chipper to him as sweet as if David Lockwin had been +dead twenty years. And he as sweet on her, and right before me! Ugh!" +</P> + +<P> +"Weren't you mistaken, Corkey!" feebly asks the man in the bandages. +</P> + +<P> +"Wasn't I mistaken? Oh, yes! I suppose I can't tell a pair that wants +to bite each other! She that was a giving me the limit a minute before +was as cunning as a kitten to that rooster. Ugh! it makes me ill!" +</P> + +<P> +"Who is he?" asks David Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"He's Mister George Harpwood," cries Corkey bitterly, "and if he aint +no snooker, then you needn't tell me I ever see one!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0402"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II +<BR><BR> +HAPPINESS AND PEACE +</H3> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin looks upon George Harpwood as her savior. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to be happy," she smiles. "I did not believe I could exist +in that desolate state. You came to me! You came to me!" +</P> + +<P> +"Emerson declares that all men honor love because it looks up, not +down; aspires, not despairs," says Harpwood. The friend of Esther's +widowhood has quoted to her nearly every consolatory remark of the +philosophers. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we live here?" she asks, willing to go to Sahara. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly. Here I have the best future. You are a helpful soul, +Esther. I shall rely upon you." +</P> + +<P> +"We are too sad to be true lovers," she sighs. "Yet I could wish to +have you all to myself." +</P> + +<P> +The man is flattered. He, too, is in love. "I will go with you if you +would be happier amid other scenes," he suggests. +</P> + +<P> +"I have nothing to be ashamed of, have I?" she asks proudly, thinking +of her noble David and his fragrant memory. +</P> + +<P> +"If I am to have a widow I should like such a widow," the man replies. +</P> + +<P> +"I pray God you shall never have one," she vows. +</P> + +<P> +Both are exquisitely happy. Neither can say aught that displeases or +hurts the other. For Esther it is the dawn--the glorious sun rising +out of a winter night. She never had a lover before. +</P> + +<P> +With George Harpwood it is the crowning of an edifice built with +infinitely more pains than the David Lockwin Annex. +</P> + +<P> +The noise of all this is abroad. "The wedding will be private," says +Mrs. Grundy with sorrow. "But the Mrs. Harpwood that is to be will +this winter entertain on a lavish scale. She is devoted to Harpwood's +political aspirations." +</P> + +<P> +"That man Harpwood, if he gets to Congress this winter, will begin a +great career. I wouldn't be surprised to see him President," says one +bank cashier to another. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he's marrying the woman who can help him most. The labor people +are all on her side." +</P> + +<P> +"When shall the day be, Esther?" the friend of her sorrows asks. +</P> + +<P> +"Let it be the last Thursday of next month at 6 o'clock," she replies, +and is far more peaceful than when David Lockwin asked her to marry him +far on in the long ago, for on that night she cried. +</P> + +<P> +"I suppose the number of guests should be small," he notes. +</P> + +<P> +"Only our nearest friends. A Thursday, dear, at 6 o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +The neighborhood is agog. The servants outdo each other in gossip. +There are household arrangements which are to turn a gloomy abode into +a merry dwelling-place. +</P> + +<P> +The decorators must work night and day. The mansion is as brilliant +with gas as on the evening Esther Wandrell put her hands in David +Lockwin's and listened rapturously to his praise of the beautiful child. +</P> + +<P> +Is that a shadow skulking about this corner! Probably it is some night +policeman employed by the widow. +</P> + +<P> +Certainly it is a faithful watch the figure keeps on the great house +where the decorators toil. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad I'm not rich," says one pedestrian to his companion. +</P> + +<P> +"They're awfully afraid of burglary," says the companion. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0403"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III +<BR><BR> +AT 3 IN THE MORNING +</H3> + +<P> +"Where is Chalmers?" asks Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Chalmers is not in," answers the clerk. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to see him," says Corkey, authoritatively. +</P> + +<P> +"He is not in," retorts the clerk with spirit. +</P> + +<P> +"Has he sold out?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"When will he be in?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't tell you. Excuse me." A customer waits. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes, yes!" growls Corkey. But he never was busier. He is trying +to do his work at the office and to get through election week. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Chalmers?" Again Corkey is at the drug store. "See here, my +friend, I don't take no street-car way down here to have you do no +cunning act. Is Chalmers in town?" +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know." +</P> + +<P> +The clerk is telling the truth, and is in turn offended. "I do not +know," he says, resolutely. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is convinced. "I'll bet it's true," he says, suddenly summing +up the situation. +</P> + +<P> +He hurries away. The weather is wet and cold. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey is drenched, and of all things he dreads a drenching. For that +he wears the thickest of clothes. +</P> + +<P> +Three hours later he is known to be badly beaten at the polls. He is +denounced as a sore-head, a bolter, and a fool. +</P> + +<P> +Corkey goes to his home. On the night of the fourth day he appears in +the yellow light of the telegraph-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Commodore, we're sorry for you. Take it easy, and get back to work. +No man can live, doing as you've done. You were up all the time, +weren't you?" +</P> + +<P> +Corkey's light is burning because the other editors need it. He sits +with his coat on, his face on his hands, his elbows on the table. +</P> + +<P> +"I was up the last six days," he explains. "I just got out of bed now." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you good to sleep," says the night editor. +</P> + +<P> +"What day is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Saturday." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I go to sleep some time Wednesday. I sleep ever since." +</P> + +<P> +There is a chorus of astonishment. "It will save your life, Corkey. +We thought the election would kill you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sleepy yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Go back and sleep more." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye, boys. I'm much obliged to you all. I'm out of politics. +They got all my stuff. I'm worried over a friend, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Too bad, Corkey, too bad." +</P> + +<P> +These editors, whose very food is the human drama, have not lost sight +of the terrible chapter of Corkey's activity, anxiety and inevitable +disappointment. +</P> + +<P> +"Too bad, isn't it!" the telegraph editor says. "Had any fires?" +</P> + +<P> +"It makes me almost cry," answers the assistant telegraph editor. +"Fires? Yes, I've enough for a display head." +</P> + +<P> +"We must go and look after Corkey if he isn't here to-morrow night," +observes the night editor. "He's bad off." +</P> + +<P> +A little after midnight there is a loud rattle at the door of the drug +store. +</P> + +<P> +The prescription clerk at last opens the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Chalmers home yet?" +</P> + +<P> +The clerk is angry. "You have no right to call me up for that!" he +avers. "I need my sleep." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't need sleep no worse than I do, young feller." +</P> + +<P> +The door is shut, and Corkey must go home. +</P> + +<P> +When the comrades next see Corkey he is down with pneumonia. His fever +rages. Sores break out about his mouth. "I have a friend I want to +find awful bad," he says, fretting and rolling. "Chalmers! He runs a +drug store at 803 State street, down beyond Eighteenth. But I'm afraid +he ain't to be found. I'm afraid he's disappeared. I couldn't find +him last week, nor last night, but it was pretty late when I git down +there." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor is grave. "He must not worry. Find this Chalmers. Tell +him he must come at once if he wishes to make his friend easier." +</P> + +<P> +"I must see Chalmers. I'm sicker than they think. I'm tired out. I +can't stand such a fever. That pillow's wet. That's better. It's +cold, though. I guess my fever's going. Now I'm getting hot again. I +do want to see Chalmers." +</P> + +<P> +The patient tosses and fumes. The comrades hurry to Chalmers' drug +store, as others have done. +</P> + +<P> +"The proprietor is out of the city," the clerk answers to all +inquirers. "He left no address." +</P> + +<P> +"If he arrives, tell him to hasten to Mr. Corkey's. Mr. Corkey is +fatally ill with pneumonia. He must see Mr. Chalmers." +</P> + +<P> +Twenty-four hours pass, with Corkey no better--moaning and asking for +Chalmers. All other affairs are as nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Chalmers does not come. +</P> + +<P> +Twenty-four hours more go by. The doctor now allows none of the +comrades to see the sick man. +</P> + +<P> +He does not roll and toss so much. But he inquires feebly and +constantly for Chalmers. +</P> + +<P> +At midnight he calls his wife. "You've heard me speak of Chalmers, +sissy," he says. +</P> + +<P> +There is a ring on the door of the flat. +</P> + +<P> +"That's him now." +</P> + +<P> +But it is a neighbor, come to stay the night out. +</P> + +<P> +"Lock the door. Open that drawer, sissy. Get out that big letter." +</P> + +<P> +The trembling little woman obeys. +</P> + +<P> +"Sissy, did you know we was broke?" +</P> + +<P> +"Our gold?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's all gone; every nickel. But I wouldn't bother you with that +if Chalmers would come. Now, don't cry, and listen, for I'm awful +sick. This letter here is to Mrs. Lockwin, and it will fix <I>you</I>. +And I want to see Chalmers, to see that he stands by her. See?" +</P> + +<P> +The wife listens. She knows there is a letter to Mrs. Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Now I'm going to give something away. When I see Chalmers in his drug +store, he sits on his chair so I know it's a dead ringer on Lockwin. +Chalmers is Lockwin, sissy. Don't you blow it. I've never told a soul +till you. I've schemed and schemed to fix it up, but I never see a man +in such a hole. He don't know I'm onto him. But I've no use for this +Harpwood, that did me up when he had no need to. I wasn't in his way. +A week from Thursday night Harpwood is to marry Mrs. Lockwin. It isn't +no good. I want you to see Lockwin, and tell him for me that if his +story gets out it wasn't me, and I want you to tell him for me that he +mustn't let that poor widow commit no bigamy. It's an awful hole, +that's what it is! It is tough on him!" +</P> + +<P> +He has worked on the problem for years. +</P> + +<P> +The man groans. There is a rap on the door. "Hold up a minute. I +wouldn't mix in it, but I've done a good deal for the two of 'em, and +I've lost a good deal by Harpwood's play on me. I expect Harpwood will +set her against you, and I want her to do for you, pretty. So you tell +Lockwin he must act quick, and mustn't let her commit no bigamy. She's +too good a woman, and you need money bad, sissy. All my twenty-pieces! +All my twenty-pieces! My yellow stuff! Will you see Chalmers, sissy? +Call him Chalmers. He's Lockwin, just the same, but call him Chalmers." +</P> + +<P> +The wife kisses her husband, and puts the letter back in the drawer. +</P> + +<P> +"Sissy." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot one thing. Git a little mourning handkerchief out of my +hip-pocket. There ain't no gun there. You needn't be afraid." +</P> + +<P> +The woman at last secures a handkerchief which looks the worse for +Corkey's long, though reverent, custody. +</P> + +<P> +"Wash it, sissy, and show it up to Mrs. Lockwin. I reckon it will +steer her back to the day when she felt pretty good toward me. Be +careful of that Harpwood. He ain't no use. I know it. She give me +that wipe her own self--yes, she did! God bless her." +</P> + +<P> +The woman once more kisses the sick man. +</P> + +<P> +"The gold, sissy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind it," she says. +</P> + +<P> +"You think it's some good--this letter--don't you, sissy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Of course I do." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm much obliged to you, sissy. Let in those people, now." +</P> + +<P> +The doctor enters. Corkey is at ease. He sinks into the wet pillow. +He closes his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Did Chalmers come?" asks the physician. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind him," says Corkey faintly. +</P> + +<P> +The night goes on. The yellow lights still color the telegraph-room. +At 3 o'clock the copy boy enters hurriedly. +</P> + +<P> +"Corkey just died," he says, electrifying the comrades. "He just gave +one of his most awful sneezes, and it killed him right off. The doctor +says he burst a vein." +</P> + +<P> +Eighty lights are burning in the composing-room. Eighty +compositors--cross old dogs, most of them--are ending a long and weary +day's toil. There are bunches of heads rising over the cases in eager +inquiry. +</P> + +<P> +"Corkey's sneeze killed him!" says Slug I. +</P> + +<P> +"Glad of it," growls one cross dog. +</P> + +<P> +"Glad of it," growls another cross dog +</P> + +<P> +"Glad of it," goes from alley to alley about the broad floor. +</P> + +<P> +"Who's got 48 X?" inquires the man with the last piece of copy. It is +the end of Corkey's obituary. +</P> + +<P> +"This will be a scoop," says the copy-cutter. +</P> + +<P> +The father of the chapel has written some handsome resolutions to make +the article longer. +</P> + +<P> +"Come up here, all you fellows! Chapel meeting!" +</P> + +<P> +The resolutions are passed with a mighty "Aye!" They are already in +type. A long subscription paper for the widow finds ready signers. No +one stands back. +</P> + +<P> +The men wash their hands, standing like cattle at a manger. +</P> + +<P> +"It's tough!" says Slug 1. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet it's tough!" says Slug 10, the crossest old dog of the pack. +</P> + +<P> +"They say he went broke at election," says Slug 50. +</P> + +<P> +"If his widow could learn to distribute type she could do mighty well +over here. I'd give her 4,000 to throw in every day," says Slug 10. +"Oh, let go of that towel!" +</P> + +<P> +The men return to their cases, put on their coats and wrap their white +throats. This pneumonia is a bad thing, anyhow. +</P> + +<P> +Tramp, tramp, the small army goes down the long, iron stairways. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you hear about Corkey?" they ask as they go. "Corkey had a heart +in him like an ox." +</P> + +<P> +"Bet he had," echoes up from the nethermost iron stairway. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0404"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV +<BR><BR> +THE BRIDEGROOM +</H3> + +<P> +Esther Lockwin's wedding day is at hand. Her mansion is this afternoon +a suite of odorous bowers. Happy the man who may be secure in her +affection! +</P> + +<P> +Such a man is George Harpwood. Let the November mists roll in from +Lake Michigan. "It is no bed out there for me," thinks the bridegroom, +whose other days have often been gloomy enough in November. +</P> + +<P> +Let the smoke of the tall chimneys tumble into the streets and +pirouette backward and forward in black eddies, giving to the city an +aspect forbidding to even the manner-born. George Harpwood feels no +mist. He sees no smoke. It is the tide of industry. It is the +earnest of Esther's five millions. +</P> + +<P> +"My God, what a prize!" he exclaims. The marriage license is procured. +The minister is well and cannot fail. There is a bank-bill in the vest +pocket, convenient for the wedding fee. +</P> + +<P> +It is wise to visit the hotel once more and inspect one's attire. This +city is undeniably sooty. A groom with a sooty shirt bosom would not +reflect credit on Esther Lockwin. +</P> + +<P> +"Magnificent woman!" he cries, as he changes his linen once more. He +thinks he would marry her if she were poor. +</P> + +<P> +It is getting well toward the event. Would it be correct to go early? +Where would he stay? Would he annoy the bride? What time is it? Let +us see. Four-thirty! Yes, now to keep this linen white. How would it +do to put a silk handkerchief over it--this way? Where are those silk +handkerchiefs? Must have one! Must have one! Not a one! Where is +that bell? +</P> + +<P> +He touches the bell. He awaits the boy, who comes, and goes for a +handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +He sits upon the side of the bed and listens to the bickerings of the +waiters in the hall of the dining-room below. Dinner is now to be +served. +</P> + +<P> +He studies the lock-history of the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Lots of people have broken in here," he muses. +</P> + +<P> +He passes over the rules--well he knows them! +</P> + +<P> +The electric lights on the street throw dim shadows on the gas-lit +wall--factories, depots, vessels, docks, saw-mills. The phantasmagoria +pleases Mr. Harpwood. +</P> + +<P> +"At 6 o'clock," he smiles, "I shall be the most powerful man in these +parts. I shall have the employment of nearly 15,000 men. I shall be +the husband of the woman who built the David Lockwin Annex--" +</P> + +<P> +The man pauses. +</P> + +<P> +"The David Lockwin Annex," he sneers, "No! No! No! It was a splendid +pile. It was a splendid pile." +</P> + +<P> +The man grows sordid. +</P> + +<P> +"But it cost a splendid pile. Pshaw, George Harpwood, will anything +ever satisfy you? How about that hospital? Didn't it give you your +opportunity?" +</P> + +<P> +The boy returns. The man sits on his bed and muses: +</P> + +<P> +"How differently things go in this world! See how easily Lockwin fell +into all this luck! See how I have hewn the wood and drawn the water!" +</P> + +<P> +Something of disquiet takes possession of the bride-groom. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm awfully tired of consolatory epistles. I must keep Esther from +being a hen. She's dreadfully in earnest." +</P> + +<P> +As the goal is neared, this swift runner grows weary. The David +Lockwin Annex never seemed so unpleasant before. +</P> + +<P> +It has taken longer to rearrange his linen and secure a faultless +appearance than he would have believed. He hastens to don his +overcoat. He smiles as he closes the door of his little bedroom at the +hotel. He goes to take the vast Wandrell mansion. +</P> + +<P> +Why is his coachman so careless? After 5 o'clock already. The +bridegroom is late! He must bargain with a street jehu. But, pshaw! +where can he find a clean vehicle? He hurries along the pavement. +</P> + +<P> +His own driver, approaches. "I went to the stables to put the last +touches on her. Come around to Wabash avenue and see how she shines." +</P> + +<P> +It is not too late after all, and the groom will turn out of a +faultless equipage at the very moment. Ladies of experience, like Mrs. +Lockwin, notice all such things. +</P> + +<P> +"In fact," says George Harpwood, "there is no other man in town whom +she could marry, even if she loved him. Might as well expect her to +marry Corkey. Poor dead Corkey!" +</P> + +<P> +It is pleasant, this riding down Prairie avenue to one's wedding. +</P> + +<P> +"Splendid! Splendid!" cries the ardent soldier of fortune, as the +blaze of the Wandrell mansion flashes through the plate-glass windows, +of his carriage. It is the largest private residence in the city. +"Splendid!" he repeats, and leaps out on the curb. A messenger is +hurrying away. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that Esther on the portico? What an impulsive woman." +</P> + +<P> +His back is towards the carriage to close the silver-mounted door. He +turns. +</P> + +<P> +It must be a mistake! Is he blind? The mansion, which was a moment +before ablaze, is now all dark! But the bride still stands under the +lamp on the portico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea. The statue grasps +a paper. Like Galatea, she speaks: +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, George?" +</P> + +<A NAME="img-291"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG SRC="images/img-291.jpg" ALT="But the bride still stands under the lamp on the +portico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea." BORDER="2" WIDTH="340" HEIGHT="466"> +<H5> +[Illustration: But the bride still stands under the lamp on the +portico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea.] +</H5> +</CENTER> + +<P> +"I have come, my love. What has happened?" +</P> + +<P> +"Listen!" she commands, and reads by the portico light: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> + Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 30. +</P> + +<P> +ESTHER, MY WIFE AND WIDOW: +</P> + +<P> +It is absolutely necessary that you should come at once to the drug +store formerly kept by Dr. Floddin, at 803 State street. +</P> + +<P> +Bring an escort. +</P> + +<P> +This step must be taken in your own interest--certainly not in the +interest of your husband. +</P> + +<P> + DAVID LOCKWIN. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Come!" she says, taking her lover by the hand as a teacher might take +a child. +</P> + +<P> +But George Harpwood is not at his wits' end. +</P> + +<P> +"Get into my carriage, Esther," he suggests softly. +</P> + +<P> +"No," she says sternly. "We will walk thither." +</P> + +<P> +The pair go round the corner into a mist made azure by a vast building +which is lighted at every window to the seventh story. It rises three +blocks away like a storm-cloud over the lake. +</P> + +<P> +It is the David Lockwin Annex. The bride hurries faster than the +bridegroom would have her walk. He seizes her arm. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear," he whispers in those accents which seem to have lost their +magic power, "it is merely a claimant. I was expecting it, and I'll +put him in the penitentiary for it. Do not be alarmed by forgers. It +is only a forgery." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap0405"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V +<BR><BR> +AT SIX O'CLOCK +</H3> + +<P> +Through the mist and the smoke a red and a green light shine out on +State street. +</P> + +<P> +The door of the little store is locked. The bride's hand has rattled +the latch. +</P> + +<P> +A silver star can be seen in the store. It is an officer in charge of +the premises. He hurries to the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you Mrs. Lockwin?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am. Let him in, too." The officer has willed to exclude the +bridegroom. +</P> + +<P> +"Hadn't he better wait outside?" +</P> + +<P> +"Let him in!" +</P> + +<P> +"Here is a packet addressed to you." The officer hands to the bride a +thick letter. "Take this chair, madam." +</P> + +<P> +The bride sits down, her back toward the lights in the window. The +bridegroom stands close behind her. +</P> + +<P> +"Be firm, Esther. I'll put him in the penitentiary. I'll put him in +the penitentiary!" +</P> + +<P> +The bride opens the packet. Many folded documents fall to her lap. +She is quick to spread out the chief letter. +</P> + +<P> +The bridegroom pulls the silk handkerchief off his white shirt-front +and wipes his perspiring forehead again and again. He leans over her +shoulder to read. The writing is large and distinct: +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> + Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 30. +</P> + +<P> +MY DEARLY BELOVED WIFE AND WIDOW: +</P> + +<P> +It may be barely possible that I have lived these years of shame and +degradation to some good purpose, and for the following reasons: The +man whom you now love so well--the man whom you are about to +marry--George Harpwood--is an adventurer and a criminal. +</P> + +<P> +I inclose documents which show that on Monday, the 4th of August, 1873, +this George Harpwood, described and photographed, married Mary Berners, +who now lives at Crescentville, a suburb of Philadelphia. She bears +the name of Mrs. Mary Harpwood, and has not been divorced to her +knowledge. Beside deserting her, Harpwood robbed her and reduced her +to penury. +</P> + +<P> +I inclose documents showing that five years earlier, or on Wednesday, +the 8th of January, 1868, George Harpwood eloped with a child wife, +Eleanor Hastings, and basely deserted her within four weeks. She now +resides with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Moses Hastings, on Ox-Bow Prairie, +a few miles south of Sturgis, Michigan. +</P> + +<P> +It is my request that the little store and its belongings, including +the bank account of Robert Chalmers, so-called, be given to the widow +of the late Walter B. Corkey. +</P> + +<P> +The bitterness of life is yours. But the bitterness of death is mine. +</P> + +<P> +Your husband, who loves you, +</P> + +<P> + DAVID LOCKWIN. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +There is a click at the door. The bride hears it not. The documents +fall to the floor. There are photographs of George Harpwood; there are +green seals; there are many attestations. +</P> + +<P> +The bride must raise her eyes now. She sees the star of the officer. +She reads the number--803. Is that from David, too? +</P> + +<P> +Ah, yes, she must turn her head. The bridegroom is gone! +</P> + +<P> +A man enters, in hot haste and intense excitement. Is it the +bridegroom returning? +</P> + +<P> +It is Dr. Tarpion. He seizes her by the hand. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear friend!" he cries. "My dear friend!" he repeats, "I have just +now learned that your husband is still living." +</P> + +<P> +But she does not hear it. She can only look gratefully toward the +administrator, clinging to his hand. +</P> + +<P> +She gazes in a dazed way on the white prescription-booth beyond the +square stove; on the bottles of blue copper-water on each corner. +Higher, the partition rises into view. +</P> + +<P> +She meets the eyes of the officer. +</P> + +<P> +A patrol wagon clangs and clamors down State street. It will stop +before the door. +</P> + +<P> +Officers enter from the patrol wagon. "Where is that suicide?" they +ask in a low voice, seeing a bride. +</P> + +<P> +The officer in charge steps to the side of the bride. He speaks +tenderly--the tenderness of a rough man with a kind heart. "Madam," he +says, "you can go behind the partition and see the body. No one will +come in for a few moments." +</P> + +<P> +The bride rises. She hurries toward the little room where Robert +Chalmers suffered and died. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, David!" she cries. "Oh, David! Oh, God!" +</P> + +<P> +"I guess we will not need the wagon," the officers say among +themselves, and step out on the sidewalk. +</P> + +<P> +The little clock behind the partition strikes 6. +</P> + +<P> +A dozen factory whistles set up their dismal concert out in the blue +mist. +</P> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +THE END. +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's David Lockwin--The People's Idol, by John McGovern + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAVID LOCKWIN--THE PEOPLE'S IDOL *** + +***** This file should be named 15123-h.htm or 15123-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/1/2/15123/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: David Lockwin--The People's Idol + +Author: John McGovern + +Release Date: February 21, 2005 [EBook #15123] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAVID LOCKWIN--THE PEOPLE'S IDOL *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: He appears on the balcony. There is a cheer that may +be heard all over the South Side.] + + + + + + + +DAVID LOCKWIN + +The People's Idol + + + + +BY + +JOHN McGOVERN, + + + +AUTHOR OF + + +"Daniel Trentworthy," "Burritt Durand," "Geoffrey," "Jason Hortner," +"King Darwin," etc. + + + + + + + +CHICAGO: + +DONOHUE, HENNEBERRY & CO. + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1889, BY JOHN M'GOVERN. + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. + + + + +COPYRIGHT, 1891, BY JOHN M'GOVERN. + +ALL RIGHTS RESERVED. + + + + +TABLE OF CONTENTS + + +Book I - Davy + +Chapter + + I. Harpwood and Lockwin + II. The People's Idol + III. Of Sneezes + IV. Bad News All Around + V. Dr. Floddin's Patient + VI. A Reign of Terror + VII. The Primaries + VIII. Fifty Kegs of Beer + IX. The Night Before Election + X. Elected + XI. Lynch-Law for Corkey + XII. In Georgian Bay + XIII. Off Cape Croker + XIV. In the Conventional Days + + +Book II - Esther Lockwin + + I. Extra! Extra! + II. Corkey's Fear of a Widow's Grief + III. The Cenotaph + IV. A Knolling Bell + + +Book III - Robert Chalmers + + I. A Difficult Problem + II. A Complete Disguise + III. Before the Telegraph Office + IV. "A Sound of Revelry by Night" + V. Letters of Consolation + VI. The Yawl + VII. A Rash Act + VIII. A Good Scheme + IX. A Heroic Act + X. Esther as a Liberal Patron + + +Book IV - George Harpwood + + I. Corkey's Good Scheme + II. Happiness and Peace + III. At 3 in the Morning + IV. The Bridegroom + V. At Six O'clock + + + + +LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS + +Frontispiece: He appears on the balcony. There is a cheer that may be +heard all over the South Side. + +Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. + +The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand. + +Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black granite letters +over the portal. + +"It's a good scheme, Corkey." + +But the bride still stands under the lamp on the portico, statuesque as +Zenobia or Medea. + + + + +DAVID LOCKWIN + +THE PEOPLE'S IDOL + + +BOOK I + +DAVY + + +CHAPTER I + +HARPWOOD AND LOCKWIN + +Esther Wandrell, of Chicago, will be worth millions of dollars. + +It is a thought that inspires the young men of all the city with +momentous ambitions. Why does she wait so long? Whom does she favor? + +To-night the carriages are trolling and rumbling to the great mansion +of the Wandrells on Prairie Avenue. The women are positive in their +exclamations of reunion, and this undoubted feminine joy exhilarates, +and entertains the men. The lights are brilliant, the music is far +away and clever, the flowers and decorations are novel. + +If you look in the faces of the guests you shall see that the affair +cannot fail. Everybody has personally assured the success of the +evening. + +Many times has this hospitable home opened to its companies of selected +men, and women. Often has the beautiful Esther Wandrell smiled upon +the young men--upon rich and poor alike. Why is she, at twenty-seven +years of age, rich, magnificent and unmarried? + +Ask her mother, who married at fifteen. Ask the father, who for ten +years worried to think his only child might go away from him at any day. + +"I tell you," says Dr. Tarpion, "Harpwood will get her, and get her +to-night. That is what this party is for. I've seen them together, +and I know what's in the air." + +"Is that so?" says David Lockwin. + +"Yes, it is so, and you know you don't like Harpwood any too well since +he got your primary in the Eleventh." + +"I should say I didn't!" says Lockwin, half to himself. + +At a distance, Esther Wandrell passes on Harpwood's arm. + +"Who is Harpwood?" asks Lockwin. + +"I'm blessed if I know," answers Dr. Tarpion. + +"How long has he been in town?" + +"Not over two years." + +"Do you know anybody who knows him?" + +"He owes me a bill." + +"What was he sick of?" + +"Worry." + +The man and woman repass. The woman looks toward Lockwin and his dear +friend the renowned Dr. Irenaeus Tarpion. Guests speak of Harpwood. +His suit is bold. The lady is apparently interested. + +"I should not think you would like that?" says the doctor. + +"Why should I care, after all?" asks Lockwin. + +"Well, if ever I have seen two men whose destinies are hostile, it +seems to me that you and Harpwood fill the condition. If he gets into +Wandrell's family you might as well give up politics." + +"Perhaps I might do that anyhow." + +"Well, you are an odd man. I'll not dispute that. What you will do at +any given time I'll not try to prophesy." + +The twain separate. However, of any two men in Chicago, perhaps David +Lockwin and Dr. Tarpion are most agreeable to each other. From boyhood +they have been familiar. If one has said to the other, "Do that!" it +has been done. + +"I fear you cannot be spared from your other guests, Esther," says +Lockwin. + +"I fear you are trying to escape to that dear doctor of yours. Now, +are you not?" + +"No. I have been with him for half an hour already. Esther, you are a +fine-looking woman. Upon my honor, now--" + +She will not tolerate it, yet she never looked so pleased before. + +"Tell me," she says, "of your little boy." + +"Of my foundling?" + +"Yes, I love to hear you speak of him." + +"Well, Esther, the truest thing I have heard of my boy was said by old +Richard Tarbelle. He stopped me the other day. You know our houses +adjoin. 'Mr. Lockwin,' said he, as he came home with his basket--he +goes to his son's hotel each day for family stores--'I often say to +Mary that the happiest moment in my day is when I give an apple or an +orange to your boy, for the look on that child's face is the nearest we +ever get to heaven on this earth." + +"O, beautiful! beautiful! Mr. Lockwin." + +"Yes, indeed, Esther. I took that little fellow three years ago. I +had no idea he would grow so pretty. Folks said it was the oddest of +pranks, but if I had bought fifteen more horses than I could use, or +dogs enough to craze the neighborhood, or even a parrot, like my good +neigbor Tarbelle, everybody would have been satisfied. Of course, I +had to take a house and keep a number of people for whom a bachelor has +no great need. But, Esther, when I go home there is framed in my +window the most welcome picture human eye has ever seen--that little +face, Esther!" + +The man is enwrapped. The woman joins in the man's exaltation. + +"He is the most beautiful child I have ever seen anywhere. It is the +talk of everybody. You are so proud of him when you ride together!" + +"Esther, I have seen him in the morning when he came to rouse me--his +face as white as his gown; his golden hair long, and so fleecy that it +would stand all about his head; his mouth arched like the Indian's bow; +his great blue eyes bordered with dark brows and lashed with jet-black +hairs a half-inch long. That picture, Esther, I fear no painter can +get. I marvel why I do not make the attempt." + +"He is as bright as he is beautiful," she says. + +"Yes, Esther, I have looked over this world. Childhood is always +beautiful--always sweet to me--but my boy is without equal, and nearly +everybody admits it." + +"He is not yours, David." + +The man looks inquiringly. + +"I have as good a right to love him as you have. I do love him." + +The man has been eloquent and self-forgetful. The woman has lost her +command. Tears are coming in her eyes. Shame is mantling her cheeks. +David Lockwin is startled. + +George Harpwood passes in the distance with Esther's mother on his arm. + +"Esther, you know me, with all my faults. I think we could be happy +together--we three--you and I and the boy. Will you marry me? Will +you be a mother to my little boy? He is lonesome while I am gone!" + +The matter is settled. It has come by surprise. If David Lockwin had +foreseen it, he would have left the field open to Harpwood. + +If Esther Wandrell had foreseen it, she would have shunned David +Lockwin. It is her dearest hope, and yet-- + + + + +CHAPTER II + +THE PEOPLE'S IDOL + +If David Lockwin had planned to increase all his prospects, and if all +his plans had worked with precision, he could in nowise have pushed his +interests more powerfully than by marrying Esther Wandrell. + +It might have been said of Lockwin that he was impractical; that he was +a dreamer. He had done singular things. He had not studied the ways +of public opinion. + +But now, to solidify all his future--to take a secure place in society, +especially as his leanings toward politics are pronounced--to do these +things--this palliates and excuses the adoption of the golden-haired +boy. + +Lockwin hears this from his friend, the doctor. Lockwin hears it from +the world. The more he hears it the less he likes it. + +But people, particularly the doctor, are happy in Lockwin. His +popularity in the district is amazing. He will soon be deep in +politics. He has put Harpwood out of the combat--so the doctor says. + +And David Lockwin, when he comes home at night, still sees his boy at +the window. What a noble affection is that love for this waif! Why +should such a thought seize the man as he sits in his library with wife +and son? Why should not David be tender and good to the woman who +loves him so well, and is so proud of her husband? + +Tender and good he is--as if he pitied her. Tender and good is she. +So that if an orphan in the great city should be in the especial care +of the Lord, why should not that orphan drop into this house, exactly +as has happened, and no matter at all what society may have said? + +"You must run for Congress!" the doctor commands. + +It spurs Lockwin. He thinks of the great white dome at Washington. He +thinks of his marked ability as an orator, everywhere conceded. He +says he does not care to enter upon a life so active, but he is not +truly in earnest. + +"You must run for Congress!" the committee says the next week. + +Feelings of friendliness for the incumbent of the office to give +Lockwin a sufficient excuse for inaction. + +The incumbent dies suddenly a week later. + +"You must run to save the party," the committeemen announce. + +A day later the matter is settled. The great editors are seen; the +boss of the machine is satisfied; the ward-workers and the +saloon-keepers are infused with party allegiance. + +David Lockwin begins at one end of State street and drinks, or pretends +to drink, at every bar between Lake and Fortieth streets. This +libation poured on the altar of liberty, he is popularly declared to be +in the race. The newspapers announce that he is the people's idol, and +the boss of the machine sends word to the newspapers that it is all +well enough, but it must be kept up. + +David Lockwin rents head-quarters in the district, and shakes hands +with all the touching committees. Twelve members of the Sons of Labor +can carry their union over to him. It will require $100, as the union +is mostly democratic. + +They are told they must see Mr. Lockwin's central committee. But Mr. +Lockwin must be prepared to deliver an address on the need of reform in +the government, looking to the civil service, to retrenchment and to +the complete allegiance of the officeholder to his employers, the +voters. + +Mr. Lockwin must listen with attention to a plan by which the central +committee of the Sodalified Assembly can be packed with republicans at +the annual election, to take place the next Sunday. This will enable +Lockwin to carry the district in case he should get the nomination. To +show a deep interest in the party and none in himself must arouse +popular idolatry. + +This popular idolatry must be kept awake, because Harpwood has opened +head-quarters and is visited by the same touching committees. He has +been up and down State street, and has drunk more red liquor than was +seen to go down Lockwin's throat. In more ways than one, Harpwood +shows the timber out of which popular idols are made. + +The doctor is alarmed. He makes a personal canvass of all his +patients. They do not know when the primaries will be held. They do +not know who ought to go to Washington. All they know is that the +congressman is dead and there must be a special election, which is +going to cost them some extra money. If the boss of the machine will +see to it, that will do! + +But Lockwin is the man. This the boss has been at pains to determine. +The marriage has made things clear. + +One should study the boss. Why is he king? If we have a democracy how +is it that everybody in office or in hope of office obeys the pontiff? +It is the genius of the people for government. The boss is at a summer +resort near the city. + +To him comes Harpwood, and finds the great contractor, the promoter of +the outer docks, the park commissioners, and a half-dozen other great +men already on the ground. + +"Harpwood," says the boss, "I am out of politics, particularly in your +district. Yet, if you can carry the primaries, I could help you +considerably. Carry the primaries, me boy, and I'll talk with you +further. See you again. Good-bye." + +The next day comes Lockwin. + +There are no "me-boys" now. Here is the candidate. He must be put in +irons. + +"Lockwin, what makes you want to go to Congress?" + +"I don't believe I do want to go, but I was told you wished to see me +up here, privately." + +"Well, you ought to know whether or not you want to go. Nobody wants +you there if it isn't yourself. Harpwood will go if you don't." + +"Yes, I suppose so." + +"Well, if you want our support, we must have a pledge from you. I +guess you want to go, and we are willing to put you there for the +unexpired term and the next one. Then are you ready to climb down? +Say the word. The mayor and the senator are out there waiting for me." + +"All right. It is a bargain." + +"And you won't feel bad when we knock you out, in three years?" + +"No. I will probably be glad to come home." + +"Very well; we will carry the primaries. But that district needs +watching. Spend lots of money." + + + + +CHAPTER III + +OF SNEEZES + +There is no chapter on sneezes in "Tristam Shandy." The faithful +Boswell has recorded no sneeze of Dr. Johnson. Spinoza does not reckon +it among the things the citizen may do without offense to a free state. +Montesquieu does not give the Spirit of Sneezing, nor tell how the +ancients sneezed. Pascal, in all his vanities of man, has no thought +on sneezing. Bacon has missed it. Of all the glorious company of +Shakespeare's brain, a few snored, but not one sneezed or spoke of +sneezing. Darwin avoids it. Hegel and Schlegel haven't a word of it. +The encyclopedias leave it for the dictionaries. + +We might suppose the gentle latitudes and halcyon seas of Asia and the +Mediterranean had failed to develop the sneeze, save that the immortal +Montaigue, a friend in need to every reader, will point you that +Aristotle told why the people bless a man who sneezes. "The gods bless +you!" said the Athenian. "God bless you!" says the Irishman or +Scotchman of to-day. + +A sneeze is to enter the politics of the First District. Could any +political boss, however prudent or scholarly, foresee it? A sneeze is +to influence the life of David Lockwin. Does not providence move in a +mysterious way? + +A great newspaper has employed as its marine reporter a singular +character. He once was rich--that is, he had $10,000 in currency. How +had he made it? Running a faro bank. How did he lose it? By taking a +partner, who "played it in"--that is, the partner conspired with an +outside player, or "patron" of the house. Why did not our man begin +over again? He was disheartened--tired of the business. Besides, it +gives a gambler a bad name to be robbed--it is like a dishonored +husband. + +The marine reporter's ancestors were knights. The ancestral name was +Coeur de Cheval. The attrition of centuries, and the hurry of the +industrial period, have diminished this name in sound and dignity to +Carkey, and finally to Corkey. + +Naturally of a knightly fiber, this queer man has no sooner established +himself in command of the port of Chicago than he has found his dearest +dreams realized. To become the ornament of the sailor's fraternity is +but to go up and down the docks, drinking the whisky which comes in +free from Canada and sneezing. + +"We steer toward Corkey's sneeze," the sailors declare. + +To produce the greatest sneeze that was ever heard in the valley of the +Mississippi, give us, then, a man who is called a "sawed-off" by those +who love him--a very thick, very short, very tobaccofied, strong man in +cavalry pants, with a jacket of the heaviest chinchilla--a restless, +oathful, laconic, thirsty, never-drunk "editor." It is a man after the +sailor's own heart. It is a man, too, well known to the gamblers, and +they all vote in Lockwin's district. + +Parlor entertainers make a famous sneeze by delegating to each of a +group some vowel in the word "h--sh!" It shall be "hash" for this one, +"hish" for that one, "hush" for still another, and so on. Then the +professor counts three, at which all yell together, and the +consolidated sound is a sneeze. + +In a chorus the leader may tell you one singer is worth all the rest. +So, if Corkey were in this parlor, and should render one unforeseen, +unpremeditated sneeze, you would not know the parlorful had sneezed +along with him. Corkey's sneeze is unapproachable, unrivaled, hated, +feared, admired, reverenced. The devout say "God bless you!" with deep +unction. The adventurous declare that such a sneeze would buckle the +cabin-floor of a steamer like a wave in the trough of the sea. + +When Corkey sneezes, sailors are moved to treat to the drinks. They +mark it as an event. A sailor will treat you because it is Christmas, +or because Corkey has sneezed. + +Greatness consists in doing one thing better or worse than any one else +can do it. Thus it is rare a man is so really great as Corkey. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +BAD NEWS ALL AROUND + +With thousands of gamblers in good luck, and thousands of sailors in +port, why should not the saloons of the dock regions resound also with +politics--a politics of ultra-marine color--Corkey recooking and +warming the cold statesmanship of his newspaper, breaking the counter +with his fist, paying gorgeously for both drinks and glasses, smiling +when the sailors expel outside politicians and at last rocking the +building with his sneeze. + +It is thus settled that Corkey shall go to Congress from Lockwin's +district. Because this is a sailor's matter it is difficult to handle +it from the adversary's side. The political boss first hears of it +through the information of a rival marine reporter on a democratic +sheet. + +This is on Wednesday. The primaries are to be held on Friday. The +boss has never dealt with a similar mishap. He learns that ten wagons +have been engaged by the president of the sailors' society. He +observes that the season is favorable to Corkey's plans. + +What, then, does Corkey want? + +"Nothing!" + +What is he after? He surely doesn't expect to go to Washington! + +"That's what I expect. You just screw your nut straight that time, +sure." + +What does he want to go to Congress for? + +"Well, my father got there. I guess my grandfather was in, too. My +great-grandfather wasn't no bad player. But I don't care nothing for +dead men. I'm going to Congress to start the labor party. I'm going +to have Eight Hours and more fog-horns on the Manitous and the Foxes. +I'm going to have a Syrena on the break-water." + +The siren-horn is just now the wonder of the lake region. + +"I tell you she'll be a bird." + +The eyes grow brighter, the face grows dark, the mouth squares, the +head vibrates, the little tongue plays about a mass of jet-black +tobacco--the sneeze comes. + +"That's a bird, too," says the political boss. + +If Corkey is to start a labor party, why should he set out to carry a +republican primary election? + +"Oh, well, you're asking too many questions. Will you take a drink? +Come down and see the boys. See how solid I've got 'em." + +Lockwin's brow clouds as the boss tells of this new development. + +"Those sailors will fight," he says. + +"But Corkey reckons on the gamblers," explains the boss, "and we can +fix the gamblers." + +"What will you do?" + +"Do? I'll do as I did in 1868, when I was running the Third. The +eight-hour men had the ward." + +"What did you do?" + +"I carted over the West Side car company's laborers--a thousand on 'em." + +David Lockwin starts for home. His heart is heavy. To-day has been +hard. The delegations of nominating committees have been eager and +greedy. The disbursements have been large. An anonymous circular has +appeared, which calls attention to the fact that David Lockwin is a +mere reader of books, an heir of some money who has married for more +money. Good citizens are invited to cast aside social reasons and oust +the machine candidate, for the nomination of Lockwin will be a +surrender of the district into the clutches of the ring at the city +hall. + +There is more than political rancor in this handbill. + +There is more than a well defined, easily perceived personal malice in +this argument. + +There is the poisoning sting of the truth--the truth said in a general +way, but striking in a special and a tender place. + +The house is reached. Lockwin has not enlarged his establishment. +Politics, at least, has spared him the humiliation of moving on Prairie +Avenue. Politics has kept him "among the people." + +It is the house which holds his boy. Lockwin did not adopt the boy for +money! The boy was not a step on the way to Congress! Lockwin did not +become a popular idol because he became a father to the foundling! + +It is a cooling and a comforting thought. Yesterday, while Lockwin sat +in his study hurriedly preparing his statement to the party, on the +needs of the nation and a reformed civil service, the golden head was +as deep at a little desk beside. Pencil in hand, the child had +addressed the voters of the First District, explaining to them the +reasons why his papa should be elected. "Josephus," wrote curly-head; +"Groceries," he added; "Ice," he concluded; A, B, C, D and so on, with +a tail the wrong way on J. + +It is a memory that robs politics of its bitterness. Lockwin opens the +door and kisses his wife affectionately. After all, he is a most +fortunate man. If there were a decent way he would let Harpwood go to +Congress and be rid of him. + +"Davy is very sick," she says, with a white face. + +"What! My boy!! When was he taken? Is it diphtheria? What has the +doctor said? Why wasn't I called? Where is he? Here, Davy, here's +papa. Here's papa! Old boy! Old fel'! Oh, God, I'm so scared!" + +All this as Lockwin goes up the stairs. + +It is a wheezing little voice that replies; "S-u-h-p-e-s-o-J! What's +that, papa?" + +"Does that hurt, Davy? There? or there?" + +"That's 'Josephus,' papa, on your big book, that I'll have some day--it +I live. If I live I'll have all your books!" + + + + +CHAPTER V + +DR. FLODDIN'S PATIENT + +If there be one thing of which great Chicago stands in fear, it is that +King Herod of the latter day, diphtheria. + +This terror of the people is absolute, ignorant, and therefore supine. +The cattle have a scourge, but the loss of money makes men active. +When the rinderpest appears, governors issue proclamations. When +horses show the glanders, quarantine is established. But when a +father's flock is cut off, it is done before he can move, and other +fathers will not or cannot interpose for their own protection. + +All the other fathers do is to discount the worst--to dread the unseen +sword which is suspended over all heads. + +When David Lockwin heard that one of his tenants had a child dead with +the contagion, the popular idol strove to recall his movements. Had he +been in the sick-room? Had Davy been in that region? The thought +which had finally alarmed Lockwin was the recollection that he had +stopped with Davy in the grocery beneath the apartments of the dying +child. + +That was nine days before. Why is Dr. Tarpion absent? What a good +fortune, however, that Dr. Floddin can be given charge. And if the +disease be diphtheria, whisky will alleviate and possibly cure the +patient. It is a hobby with Lockwin. + +Dr. Floddin has come rather oddly by this practice. Who he is, no +other regular doctor knows. But Dr. Floddin has an honest face, and +keeps a little drug store on State street below Eighteenth. He usually +charges fifty cents a visit, which is all he believes his services to +be worth. This piece of quackery would ruin his name with Lockwin, +were it known to him, or had Dr. Tarpion been consulted. + +The regular fee is two dollars. + +The poor come daily to Dr. Floddin's, and his fame is often in their +mouths. + +Why is Davy white and beautiful? Why is he gentle and so marvelously +intelligent? + +A year back, when his tonsils swelled, Dr. Tarpion said they must be +cut out. The house-keeper said it was the worst possible thing to do. +The cook said it should never be done. The peddling huckster's son +said Dr. Floddin didn't believe in it. + +Then Davy would wake in the night. "I tan't breathe," he would +complain. + +"Yes, you can, Davy. Papa's here. Lie down, Davy. Here's a drink." + +And in the morning all would be well. Davy would be in the library +preparing for a great article. + +The tribe on the other street, back, played ball from morning until +night. The toddler of the lot was no bigger than Davy. Every face was +as round and red as a Spitzbergen apple. + +Last summer Lockwin and Davy went for a ball and bat, the people along +the cross-street as usual admiring the boy. A blacksmith shop was on +the way. A white bulldog was at the forge. He leaped away from his +master, and was on the walk in an instant. With a dash he was on Davy, +his heavy paw in the neat little pocket, bursting it and strewing the +marbles and the written articles. Snap! went the mouth on the child's +face, but it was merely a caprice. + +"Bulldog never bite a child," observed the blacksmith. + +But Lockwin had time only to take his baby between his legs. "Please +call in your dog," he said to the blacksmith. "Please call him in. +Please call him in." + +The dog was recalled. The child smiled, and yet he felt he had been +ill served. The little hanging pocket testified that Lockwin must +tarry in that hateful locality and pick up the treasure and documents. + +Trembling in every joint, he called at the house of an acquaintance. +"I dislike to keep you here," said the friend, "if you are afraid of +the whooping-cough. We have it here in the house." + +It seemed to David Lockwin that the city was an inhospitable place for +childhood. The man and child traveled on and on. They reached the toy +store. They stood before the soda fountain. They bought bat and ball. + +It was too far. They rode by street car three miles in order to return +the half mile. The child was asleep when they reached home. + +"I drank sewer water," he observed to the housekeeper, speaking of the +soda fountain, for sewer gas is a thing for Chicagoans to discuss with +much learning. + +So Davy and David went on the rear lot to play ball. The neighboring +tribe offered their services for two-old-cat. The little white boy +with the golden curls made a great hit. + +"Bully for the codger!" quoth all the red-cheeked. + +"We will cut off his curls and make him as healthy as those young +ones," said Lockwin. + +"You'll never do it!" said the housekeeper. + +"Such as him do be too pretty for this life," said the cook, almost +with tears in her eyes. + +And just at this epoch of new hygiene Davy's eyes grew sore. "Take him +to a specialist," said Dr. Tarpion. + +The specialist made the eyes a little worse. + +"Them's just such eyes as Dr. Floddin cured on my sister," said the +peddling huckster's son at the kitchen door. + +The housekeeper could say as much for a relative whom the cheap +druggist had served. + +"Can you cure my boy?" was Lockwin's question to Dr. Floddin. + +"I think so," said the good man. He was gratified to be called to the +relief of a person of so much consequence. Thereupon began a patient +treatment of Davy's tonsils, his nose, and his eyes. As if Dr. Floddin +knew all things, he foretold the day when the boy would reappear in his +own countenance. + +"Bless your little soul," the housekeeper would say, "I can't for the +life of me laugh at you. But you do look so strange!" + +"I thought," Lockwin would say, "I loved you for your beauty, Davy, but +I guess it was for yourself." + +"I guess you will love me better when I can play ball with the swear +boys, won't you, papa?" + +"Yes, you must get strong. We will cut off your curls then." + +"And may I sit in your library and write articles if I will be very +still and not get mud on me? They throwed mud on me once, papa." + +Poor little swollen-eyed Davy! Yet richer than almost any other living +thing in Chicago. None knew him but to love him. "I didn't think it +would hit him," said even the barbarian who shied the clod at Davy. + +When Esther Lockwin took charge of that home she found Davy all issued +from the chrysalis of sores and swellings. If he had once been +beautiful, he was now more lovely. The union of intelligence, +affection, and seemliness was startling to Esther's mind. + +It was a dream. It knit her close to her husband. The child talked of +his papa all day. Because his new mother listened so intently, he +found less time to write his articles, and no time at all out-doors. + +"Don't let him study if you can help it," said Dr. Floddin. + +The child stood at his favorite place in the window, waiting for old +Richard Tarbelle to come home. + +"'Bon-Ton Grocery,' mamma; what is 'Bon-Ton?'" + +"That is the name of the grocery." + +"Yes, I see that. It's on the wagon, of course, but does Mr. Bon-Ton +keep your grocery?" + +How, therefore, shall the book of this world be shut from Davy? But, +is it not a bad thing to see the child burst out crying in the midst of +an article? + +"Don't write any more to-day, baby," the housekeeper would say. + +"Come down and get the elephant I baked for yez, pet," the cook would +beg. + +And then Richard Tarbelle would come around the corner with his basket, +his eye fastened on that window where the smiling child was pictured. + +"Here, Davy. There was a banquet at the hotel last night. See that +bunch of grapes, now!" + +"You are very kind, Mr. Tarbelle." + +"Mrs. Lockwin, I have been a hard man all my life. When I had my +argument with the bishop on baptism--" + +"Yes, Mr. Tarbelle, you are very kind." + +"Mrs. Lockwin, as I said, I have been a hard man all my life, but your +little boy has enslaved me. Sixty-three years! I don't believe I +looked twice at my own three boys. But they are great men. Big times +at the _ho_-tel, Mrs. Lockwin. Four hundred people on cots. Here, +Davy, you can carry an orange, too. Well, Mary will be waiting for me. +Your servant, madam. Good day. I hear your husband is up for +Congress. Tell him he has my vote. Good day, madam. Yes, Mary, yes, +yes. Good-bye, Davy. Good-bye, madam." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +A REIGN OF TERROR + +When a man is in politics--when the party is intrusting its sacred +interests to his leadership--it is expected that he will stay at +head-quarters. It is as good as understood that he will be where the +touching committees can touch him. His clarion voice must be heard +denouncing the evil plans of the political enemy. + +The absence of David Lockwin from his head-quarters is therefore +declared to be a "bomb-shell." In the afternoon papers it is said that +he has undoubtedly withdrawn in favor of Harpwood. + +The morning papers announce serious illness in Lockwin's family. + +What they announce matters nothing to Lockwin. He cannot be seen. + +If it be diphtheria Lockwin will use whisky plentifully. It is his +hobby that whisky is the only antidote. + +Dr. Floddin has taken charge. He believes that whisky would increase +Davy's fever. "It is not diphtheria," he says. "Be assured on that +point. It is probably asthma." + +Whatever it may be, it is terrible to David Lockwin, and to Esther, and +to all. + +The child draws his breath with a force that sometimes makes itself +heard all over the house. He must be treated with emetics. He is in +the chamber this Wednesday night, on a couch beside the great bed. The +room has been hot, but by what chance does the furnace fail at such a +moment? It is David Lockwin up and down, all night--now going to bed +in hope the child will sleep--now rising in terror to hear that shrill +breathing--now rousing all hands to heat the house and start a fire at +the mantel. Where is Dr. Cannoncart's book? Read that. Ah, here it +is. "For asthma, I have found that stramonium leaves give relief. +Make a decoction and spray the patient." + +Off the man goes to the drug store for the packet of stramonium. It +must be had quickly. It must be boiled, and that means an hour. It is +incredible that the fire should go out! The man sweats a cold liquor. +He feels like a murderer. He feels bereft. He is exhausted with a +week of political orgy. + +And yet along toward morning, as the gray morn grows red in response to +the stained glasses and rich carpetings, the room is warm once more. +The whistling in the child's throat is less shrill. The man and the +woman sit by the little couch and the man presses the rubber bulb and +sprays the air about the sick boy. + +He will take no medicine. Never before did he refuse to obey. But now +he is in deeper matters. It requires all his strength and all his +thoughts to get his breath. As for medicine, he will not take it. For +the spray he is grateful. His beautiful eyes open gloriously when a +breath has come without that hard tugging for it. + +At eight in the morning the man and the woman eat--a cup of coffee and +a nubbin of bread. The mother of Esther arrives. She too is terrified +by the ordeal through which the child is passing. + +"Go to the head-quarters, David," she says. "You are needed. Pa says +so. I will stay all day," + +"Oh, Mother Wandrell, what do you think?" + +"Here is your Dr. Floddin, ask him." + +The doctor speaks sadly. "He is much worse. What has happened?" + +"The fires went out," answers Lockwin. + +"Get some flaxseed at once. Get a stove in here. These fine houses +kill many people. Keep the body enswathed in the double poultice, but +don't let the emulsion touch his skin directly. What is the effect of +the medicine? I see he has taken a little. The bottleful is not going +fast enough." + +"He has taken no medicine at all," says Esther. "It was spilled." + +David Lockwin, starting for head-quarters, must now attend the fixing +of a stove where there is little accommodation for a stove. + +"Give me the child," says the cook, "and the fire will not go out." + +"It would be murder for me to go to head-quarters, and I believe it +would be double murder," he whispers to himself. He is in a lamentable +state. At two o'clock, with the stove up, the flaxseed cooking, the +boy warmly bandaged, the asthmatic sounds diminished, and the women +certain they have administered some of the medicine to the stubborn +patient, Lockwin finds that he can lie down. He sleeps till dark, +while Corkey organizes for the most tumultuous primaries that were ever +held in Chicago. + +With the twilight settling in upon his bed Lockwin starts into +wakefulness. He has dreamed of two-old-cat. "Bully for the codger!" +the tribe of red-faces yell. In the other room he now hears the dismal +gasps of his curly-head. + +He rinses his mouth with water, not daring to ask if the worst is +coming. He knows it is not coming, else he had been called. Yet he is +not quick to enter the sick chamber. + +"David, it is your duty to make him take it," the mother says, as she +goes. "Esther, you look worse than David." + +Thus the night begins. The child has learned to dislike the +imprisonment of poultices. The air is heavy with flaxseed. The basin +of stramonium water adds its melancholy odor to the room. + +It is the first trouble Lockwin has ever seen. He is as unready and +unwilling as poor little Davy. It is murder--that furnace going out. +This thought comes to Lockwin over and over; perhaps the feeling of +murder is because Davy is not an own son. + +It is all wretched and hideous! The slime of politics and the smell of +flaxseed unite to demoralize the man. O if Dr. Tarpion were only here! +But Davy will take no medicine; how could Tarpion help Davy? + +Yes, that medicine--ipecac! The name has been hateful to Lockwin from +childhood. + +Let Corkey win the primaries! What odds? Will not that release +Lockwin from the touching committees? Does he wish to owe his election +to a street car-company in another quarter of the city? + +Perhaps Harpwood will win! How would that aid Davy? Ah, Davy! Davy! +all comes back to him! It is a strange influence this little boy has +thrown upon David Lockwin, child of fortune and people's idol. + +It is a decent and wholesome thing---the only good and noble deed which +David Lockwin can just now credit to himself. He bathes his hot +forehead again. + +Yes, Davy! Davy! Davy--the very thought of Davy restores the fallen +spirit. That water, too, seems to purify. Water and Davy! But it is +the well Davy--the little face framed at the window, waiting for papa, +waiting to know about Josephus--it is that Davy which stimulates the +soul. + +Is it not a trial, then, to hear this boy--this rock of Lockwin's +better nature--in the grapple with Death himself? + +If Davy were the flesh and blood of Lockwin, perhaps Lockwin might +determine that the child should follow its own wishes as to the taking +of ipecac. But this question of murder--this general feeling of +Chicago that its babes are slaughtered willfully--takes hold of the man +powerfully as he gathers his own scattered forces of life. + +"Esther, will you not go to the rear chamber and sleep?" + +The child appeals to her that her presence aids him. + +"May I sit down here, Davy?" + +There is a nod. + +"Will you take some medicine now, Davy?" + +"No, ma'am!" comes the gasping voice. + +The man sprays with the stramonium. The doctor returns. + +"Your boy is very ill with the asthma, Mr. Lockwin. He ought to be +relieved. But I think he will pull through. Do not allow your nerves +to be over-strained by the asthmatic respiration. It gives you more +pain than it gives to Davy." + +"Do you suffer, Davy?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Ah, well, he does not know what we mean. Get him to take the +medicine, Mr. Lockwin. It is your duty." + +Duty! Alas! Is not David Lockwin responding to both love and duty +already? Is it not a response such as he did not believe he could make? + +The doctor goes. The man works the rubber bulb until his fingers grow +paralytic. Esther sleeps from exhaustion. The child gets oversprayed. +The man stirs the flaxseed--how soon the stuff dries out! He adds +water. He rinses his mouth. He arranges the mash on the cloths. It +is cold already, and he puts it on the sheet-iron of the stove. + +But Davy is still. How to get the poultices changed? The man feels +about the blessed little body. A tide of tenderness sweeps through his +frame. Alas! the poultices are cold again, and hard. + +They are doing no good. + +"Esther, I beg pardon, but will you assist me with the flaxseed?" + +"Certainly, David. Have I slept? Why did you not call me sooner? +Here, lamby! Here, lamby! Let mamma help you." + +The poultices are to be heated again. The woman concludes the affair. +The man sits stretched in a chair, hands deep in pockets, one ankle +over the other, chin deep on his breast. + +"Esther," he says at last, "it must be done! It must be done! Give +him to me!" + +"Oh, David, don't hurt him!" + +The man has turned to brute. He seizes the child as the spoiler of a +city might begin his rapine. + +"Pour the medicine--quick!" + +It is ready. + +"Now, Davy, you must take this, or I don't know but papa will--I don't +know but papa will kill you." + +Up and down the little form is hurled. Stubbornly the little will +contends for its own liberty. Rougher and rougher become the motions, +darker and darker becomes the man's face--Satanic now--a murderer, bent +on having his own will. + +"Oh, David, David!" + +"Keep still, Esther! I'll tolerate nothing from you!" + +Has there been a surrender of the gasping child? The man is too +murderous to hear it. + +"I'll take it, papa! I'll take it, papa!" + +It is a poor, wheezing little cry, barely distinguishable. How long it +has been coming to the understanding of those terrible captors cannot +be known. + +How eagerly does the shapely little hand clutch the spoon. "Another," +he nods. It is swallowed. The golden head is hidden in the couch. + +And David Lockwin sits trembling on the bed, gazing in hatred on the +medicine that has entered between him and his foundling. + +"Papa had to do it! Papa had to do it! You will forgive him, pet?" +So the woman whispers. + +There is no answer. + +The man sprays the air. "You won't blame papa, will you, Davy?" + +The answer is eager. "No, please! Please, papa!" + +It is a reign of terror erected on the government of love. It is chaos +and asthma together. + +"It is a horrible deed!" David Lockwin comments inwardly. + +"Mother will be so glad," says Esther. She pities the man. She would +not have been so cruel. She would have used gentler means, as she had +been doing for twenty-eight hours! And Davy would have taken no +medicine. + +The room is at eighty degrees. The spray goes incessantly. The +medicine is taken every half hour. + +At three o'clock the emetic acts, giving immediate relief. + +"I have heard my mother say," says Esther, "that a child is eased by a +change of flannels. He is better now. I think I will put on a clean +undershirt." + +The woman takes the sick child in her lap and sits near the stove. The +difficulties of the night return. + +Why should the man's eyes be riveted on that captive's form! Ah! What +a pitiful look is that on golden-head's face! The respiration is once +more impeded. The little ribs start into sight. The little bellows of +the body sucks with all its force. The breath comes at last. There is +no complaint. There is the mute grandeur of Socrates. + +"It is in us all!" the man cries. + +"What is it in us all, David?" asks the woman. + +"Cover him quickly, Esther, my dear," the man gasps, and buries his +face in the pillow. "God of mercy, wipe that picture out of my +memory!" he prays. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +THE PRIMARIES + +The sun of Friday morning shines brightly. The sparrows chirp, the +wagons rattle, the boys cry the papers, and the household smiles. + +The peddling huckster's son is not surprised. He knew Dr. Floddin +would cure Davy. + +The cook buys heavily. They'll eat now. "Mind what I'll fix for that +darlint to-day!" she threatens. + +The housekeeper has taken Esther's place at Davy's couch. + +"You have undoubtedly saved the life of your boy by making him take the +emetic. He will love you just as much. I know--Mrs. Lockwin was +telling me how much it disturbed you. Don't lose your empire over him, +and he will be all right in a week. He must not have a relapse--that +might kill him." + +"Doctor, I am risen out of hell, the third day. I cannot tell you what +I have felt, especially since midnight. But I can tell you now what I +want. I desire that you shall take my place on this case. My personal +affairs are extremely pressing. What yesterday was impossible is now +easy. In fact, it seems to me that only impossibilities are probable. +Remember that money is of no account. Throw aside your other practice. +See that the women keep my boy from catching that cold again and I will +pay you any sum you may name." + +In Lockwin's school money will purchase all things. Money will now +keep Davy from a relapse. Money will carry the primaries. Money will +win the election. + +After all, Lockwin is inclined to smile at the terrors of the evening +before. "I was in need of sleep," he says. + +He has not slept since. Why is he so brave now? But brave he is. He +carries an air of happiness all about him. He has left his Davy +talking in his own voice, breathing with perfect freedom and ready to +go to sleep. + +The people's idol appears at head-quarters. He tells all the boys of +his good fortune. They open his barrel and become more in hope of the +country than ever before. + +The great Corkey appears also at Lockwin's head-quarters. "Hear you've +had sickness." he says. "Sorry, because I guess I've knocked you out +while you was at home. I never like to take an unfair advantage of +nobody." + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Corkey. Go ahead! Nobody happier than me +to-day." + +"He beats me," said Corkey; "but he isn't goin' to be so sweet +to-night." + +"Oh, I'm elected, sure!" Corkey announces on the docks. "Harpwood he +offer me the collectorship of the port if I git down. But I go round +to Lockwin's, and he seem to hope I'd win. He beats _me_." + +"Why, he's the machine man, Corkey. You don't expect to beat the +machine?" + +"Cert. All machines is knocked out, some time, ain't they?" + +"Not by the marines, Corkey." + +"I can lick the man who comes down on these docks to say I'm going to +get the worst of it." + +Corkey is accordingly elected, and all hands take a drink at the other +fellow's invitation, for which the great Corkey demands the privilege +of paying. With this prologue the crowds start for the primaries. + +"Lockwin, I expect you to stand straight up to the work to-day. You +went back on us a little through the week. I know how sickness is, but +my wife died while I was in charge of one campaign. Politics is +politics. Stand to the work to-day. Nothing's the matter. You've +created a good feeling among the boys. I've got to give the car +company some more streets anyhow. The residents are hot for +facilities. So don't bother about their coming over. They will be +over about three o'clock. Let Corkey have the precincts of the Second +and Third. If he comes further, a-repeating, you folks must fight. He +will vote the gamblers but they will put in vest-pocket tickets for +you. Understand? Got all I said? Give Corkey two wards---if he can +get the sailors up." + +Such are the day's injunctions of the political boss. It is only a +special election in one district. It is practically settled already. +The boss has a thousand other matters of equal moment. + +This is a day on which the prominent citizen stays out of politics. +The polling booths are built of stout timber in front of some saloon. +The line which is in possession votes all day. Every vote counts one. + +The sailors arrive and form in line before the various polls of the +Second and Third wards. + +A stranger--a tenderfoot--that is, a resident party man, entitled to +vote--takes his place in the line. + +"What did you tell me I lied for?" asks a very tough politician. + +"I didn't tell you you lied." + +"I lie, do I?" + +Several toughs seize the infuriated politician and hold him while the +resident escapes. + +These wards will be carried for Corkey. In twice as many other +precincts the situation is precisely the same, except that Harpwood and +Lockwin, the recognized rivals, have the polls. + +At three o'clock the wagons begin to unload, vote and reload. A place +is made at the head of the line for these "passengers." + +The "passenger" sailors vote at all of Corkey's precincts. They start +for the other wards. + +Now we may see the man Lockwin as commandant. He has the police and +the touching committees. He is voting his own "passengers" by the +thousands. + +The sailors arrive in wagons. + +"You can't unload here!" says Lockwin. + +The sailors unload. + +Eight men seize a sailor and land him back in the wagon. + +Corkey sits on the wagon in front. He draws his revolver. + +"Put up that gun!" cries Lockwin. + +"Put up your pop, Corkey," cry a half-dozen friendly toughs. + +"I hate to do it," says Corkey, "but I guess them fellers has got the +drop on me." + +The battle is over. The sailors are all in the wagon. They drive off +toward another precinct. + +Corkey is pronounced a white-flag man. It is recalled that he let a +partner play in his faro bank and did not kill the traitor. + +"Oh, Corkey ain't no good at all," say the bad men from Bitter Creek. + +It heats their blood. They shake hands with Lockwin and deploy on the +threatened precincts. + +When the sailors unload at the next precinct of the Fourth ward the +emissaries who have arrived with notice of Corkey's surrender--these +great hearts lead the fight. A saloon-keeper rushes out with a +bung-starter and hits a sailor on the head. An alderman bites off a +sailor's ear. An athletic sailor fells the first six foes who advance +upon him. A shot is fired. The long line at the polls dissolves as if +by magic. The judges of election disappear out the back door. + +There is nothing for the unoccupied alderman to do but to place 400 +Lockwin ballots in the box. + +The Lockwin ballot contains the name of delegates who are sworn for all +time to the alderman. + +The police finally arrest all the fighting sailors and hurry them to +the station. + +The attempt of Corkey to carry any wards or precincts outside of the +First and Second is futile. It passes the practicable. In theory it +was good. + +Twelve wagon-loads of fighting sailors ought to be able to vote +anywhere. + +A Napoleon would have massed his forces and conquered precincts. + +But Napoleon himself sometimes displayed the white feather. + +And that is the only way in which Corkey resembles Napoleon. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +FIFTY KEGS OF BEER + +"It is estimated," says the opposition press, "that Lockwin, the rich +man's candidate, backed by the machine, the organized toughs of the +'Levee,' and the gamblers, has spent over $25,000 of corruption money. +The primaries, which were held yesterday, were the most disgraceful +political exhibitions which have ever been offered in our civic +history. Harpwood was counted out in every ward but one. Corkey, the +sailors' candidate, carried two wards by the same tactics which the +police made use of elsewhere. In the First and Second, the officers +arrested all 'disturbers' on complaint of Corkeyites. Everywhere else +Corkeyites were either forced off the field or are now in the bull-pens +at the stations. + +"As our interview with the mayor shows, he is unacquainted with facts +which everybody else possesses. It is well enough to repeat that we +shall never have a real mayor until the present rule-or-ruin machine +shall be destroyed. + +"It is to be hoped that the split which threatens the convention of +to-day will herald the dawn of law-and-order rule, when bossism, clamor +for office, and saloon primaries will happily be things of the past." + +The primaries which were held on Friday elected delegates to the +convention of Saturday. If we scan the large body which is now +gathering, it may be seen that the business of to-day is to be done by +men who either hold or control office. The sidewalk inspectors, the +health inspectors, the city and county building men, the men of the +"institutions;" and the men of the postoffice are delegates. It may be +safely guessed that they have no desire other than to hold their places +until better places can be commanded. The party can trust its +delegates. In this hall is gathered the effective governing force of +the whole city. To these men a majority of the citizens have +relinquished the business of public service. All those citizens who +object are in the minority, and a majority of the minority object, only +because it is desired that a different set of men should perform the +same labors in the same way. + +The political boss is not in sight. Eight delegations of Harpwood men +are admitted because they cannot be kept out. The convention is called +to order by a motion that a Lockwin man shall be chairman. + +Four saloon-keepers stand upon chairs and shout. + +Four bouncers of four rival saloons pull the orators down to the floor. +The saloon-keepers are unarmed--their bung-starters are at home. The +Lockwin man is in the chair. He has not been elected. Election in +such a hubbub is impossible, and is not expected. + +But the assumption of the chair by anybody is a good thing. The +convention is thus enabled to learn that Corkey is making a speech. A +chair is held on top of another chair. On this conspicuous perch the +hero of the docks holds forth. + +Corkey is an oddity. He is a new factor in politics. The rounders are +curious to hear what he is saying. + +"Your honor!" cries Corkey in a loud voice. + +There is a sensation of merriment, which angers the orator. + +"Oh, I know you're all no-gooders," he says. "I know that as well as +any of ye." + +There is a hurricane of cat-calls from the galleries. + +There are cries of "Come down!" "Pull down his vest!" "See the +sawed-off!" + +"Yes, 'come down'!" yells the speaker in a white heat. "That's what +you bloodsuckers make Lockwin do. He come down! I should say he did! +But I'm no soft mark--you hear me? You bet your sweet life!" + +The merriment is over. This is outrageous. The dignity of this +convention has been compromised. There is a furious movement in the +rear. The tumult is again unrestrained. Corkey has blundered. + +The chairman pounds for order. The police begin to "suppress the +excitement." + +"Mr. Corkey, I understand, has an important announcement to make," +cries the chair. + +"You bet I _have_!" corroborates the navigator. + +"Spit it out!" + +"Make the turn, Corkey!" + +"Everything goes as it lays!" + +Such are the preparatory comments of the audience. + +"Your honor--" + +Corkey has been "pulled" for gambling. His public addresses heretofore +have been made before the police justice. + +"YOUR HONOR, MR. CHAIRMAN, AND MR. DELEGATES:--We're goin' to quit you. +We're goin' to walk, to sherry, to bolt. We didn't have no fair chance +to vote our men yesterday. We carried our wards just as you carried +your'n. We've just as good a right to the candidate as you have. We +therefore with-with-with-go out--and you can bet your sweet life we +stay out! and you hear me--" + +"Goon!" "Goon!" "Ki-yi!" "Yip-yip!" + +Such are the flattering outbursts. Why does the orator pause? + +His head quakes and vibrates, his face grows black, the mouth opens +into a parallelogram, the sharp little tongue plays about the mass of +black tobacco. + +The convention leaps to its feet. The Sneeze has come. + +"That settles it!" cry the delegates. "Bounce any man that'll do such +a thing as that! Fire him out!" + +The irresistible movement has reached Corkey's eyrie. Four faithful +Corkeyites are holding Corkey's platform. The assault on these +supports, these Atlases, brings the collapse of Corkey. He goes down +fighting, and he fights like a hero. One of the toughs who saw Corkey +put away his revolver at the primary is badly battered before he can +retreat. + +The melee is a good-sized one. "It is to be observed," writes the +keen-eyed reporters, "that the consumption of peanuts rises to its +maximum during the purgation of a convention." + +The convention is purged. The fumes of whisky and tobacco increase. +The crash of peanuts ceases. The committee on credentials reports. +Harmony is to be the watchword. In this interest it has been agreed to +seat four Harpwood delegates and eight Lockwin delegates in each of the +contests. + +Although the Harpwood delegates howl with indignation, it is only a +howl. None of them go out. They will all vote. But their votes will +not affect the nomination. If otherwise, the convention can be again +purged and the correct result established. That would be bloody and +difficult. Wait until it shall be necessary. + +"It is one of the workings of the status quo," writes the reporter of +the single-tax weekly, "that friction is everywhere reduced to the +minimum of the system. There is little waste of bloody noses in +politics." + +"It is getting past dinner time. Why not be through with this? What +is the matter?" + +These are the questions of the sidewalk inspectors, who perhaps ache to +return to their other public duties. + +"It is Corkey's fault--Corkey's fault! But here's the platform, now!" + +"We point with the finger of scorn--" reads the clerk in a great voice. + +"That's the stuff!" respond the faithful, shaking hands one with +another. + +"Order!" scream the bouncers and police. They desire to hear the +platform. It is the hinge on which liberty hangs. It is the brass +idol of politics. + +"And the peace, prosperity and general happiness of the American people +will ever remain dear to the party which saved the union and now +reaches a fraternal hand across the bloody chasm!" So reads the clerk. + +"That's what! We win on that! They can't answer to that!" + +"We demand a free ballot and a fair count!" + +"No more bulldozing!" exclaims the bouncer who has heard the plank. + +"We guarantee to the sovereign electors of the First district, and to +the whole population of the nation a reform of the civil service and an +entire abolition of the spoils system." + +"I suppose," says the bouncer, "that things is going on too open in +Washington." + +The reading ceases. + +"Ki-yi!" "Hooray!" "He-e-e-e-e-e!" "Zip-zip-zippee!" + +There is a crash of peanuts, a tornado of bad air, a tempest of wild +and joyous noise. + +"The platform was received with genuine enthusiasm. It was adopted +without a dissenting voice." Thus the reporters write hurriedly. + +There has been an uproar ever since the question was put. Now, if the +delegate quicken his ear, he may hear the chairman commanding: + +"All those in favor will vote 'aye!'" + +Again there is the tempest. The Harpwood delegates have voted aye! + +"What is it?" ask most of the delegates. + +"Lockwin is nominated by acclamation," comes the answer from the front. + +"Oh, is he?" say the delegates, Harpwood men and all. + +There is a numerous outgo for liquor. A man is escorted to the stage. +He is cheered by those who see him. Most of the leading delegates are +bargaining for places on the central committee. The Harpwood men are +to be taken care of. + +The speech goes on. "It is," says the orator, "the proudest day of my +life, I assure you." + +"Do you suppose he's gone broke?" inquire the committee men. + +"It is the matchless character of our institutions--" continues the +candidate. + +"We'd be done up if the other fellows should indorse Corkey," says a +hungry saloon-keeper. + +"--The matchless character of our institutions that the people hold the +reins of government." + +The orator is gathering an audience. "The people" are hungry, but love +of oratory is a still weaker place in their armor. The voice rises. +The eye flashes. The cheeks turn crimson. The form straightens. + +The orator weeps and he thunders. + +"Hi--_hi_!" says the hungry saloon-keeper, in sudden admiration. + +"America! My fellow-countrymen, it is the palm of the desert--the rock +of liberty. + + "We have a weapon firmer set, + And better than the bayonet; + A weapon that comes down as still + As snowflakes fall upon the sod; + But executes a freeman's will + As lightning does the will of God." + +The effect is electric. + +"Jiminy!" whistles the hungry saloonkeeper, "ain't we lucky we put him +up? I could sell fifty kag if he spoke anywhere in the same block." + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THE NIGHT BEFORE ELECTION + +"The art of declamation," says Colton, "has been sinking in value from +the moment that speakers were foolish enough to publish and readers +wise enough to read." + +All speakers are not foolish enough to publish; all readers are not +wise enough to read. Besides, there is still a distinct art of oratory +which has not lost its hold on the ears of men. + +The orator weeps and he thunders. His audience by turns laments and +clamors. But the orator, on the inner side of his spirit, is more +calm. The practice of his wiles has dulled the edge of his feelings. + +It may be, therefore, that the orator's art is not honest. Yet who +knows that the painter himself really admires the landscape which, in +his picture, gathers so much fame for him? The interests of the +nation are now to be husbanded in this First Congressional district. +The silvery voice of the gifted orator is to reclaim the wandering or +lagging voter. + +The man who has lost faith in the power of the ballot is to be revived +with the stimulus of human speech. It can be done. It is done in +every campaign. + +Lockwin is doing it each afternoon and night. Bravely he meets the cry +of "Money and machine." One would think he needed no better text. + +But his secret text is Davy. Davy, whose life has been intrusted to +Dr. Floddin, the friend of the poor, the healer who healed the eyes of +the peddling huckster's son's sister, the eyes of the housekeeper's +relatives, and the eyes of Davy himself. + +The orator's speech may be impassioned, but he is thinking of Davy. + +The orator may be infusing the noblest of patriotism in his hearers' +hearts, but often he hardly knows what he is saying. + +At a telling point he stops to think of Davy. + +The hearer confesses that the question is unanswered. + +Is Davy safe? Of course. "Then, my fellow-citizens, behold the superb +rank of America among nations!" [Cheers.] + +Is Dr. Tarpion to be gone another week, and is the cook right when she +says Davy must eat? "Can we not, my friends and neighbors, lend our +humble aid in restoring these magnificent institutions of liberty to +their former splendor?" [Cries of "Hear!" "Hear!" "Down in front!"] + +"The winning candidate," says the majority press, "is making a +prodigious effort. It is confidentially explained that he was wounded +by the charges of desertion or lukewarmness, which were circulated +during the week of the primaries." + +Dr. Floddin is therefore to take care of Davy. Dr. Floddin's horse is +sick. It is a poor nag at best--a fifty-cents-a-call steed. The +doctor meantime has a horse from the livery. + +Davy is to continue the emetic treatment. He sits on the floor in the +parlor and turns his orguinette. "Back to Our Mountains" is his +favorite air. He has twenty-eight tunes, and he plays Verdi's piece +twenty-eight times as often as any of the others. + +"Oh, Davy, you'll kill us!" laments the housekeeper, for the little +orguinette is stridulent and loud. + +"He'll kill himself," says the cook. "He's not strong enough to grind +that hand-organ. He eats nothing at all, at all." + +"Papa isn't here any more, but I take my medicine," the child says. +The drug is weakening his stomach. + +"It is the only way," says Dr. Floddin, "to relieve his lungs." + +"Are you sure he is safe?" asks Esther. "Are you sure it was asthma?" + +"Oh, yes. Did you not see the white foam? That is asthma." + +"You do not come often enough, doctor. I know Mr. Lockwin would be +angry if he knew." + +"My horse will be well to-morrow and I can call twice. But the child +has passed the crisis. You must soon give him air. Let him play a +while in the back yard. His lungs must be accustomed to the cold of +winter." + +"I presume Mr. Lockwin will take us south in December." + +"Yes, I guess he'd better." + +But Esther does not let Davy go out. The rattle is still in the little +chest. + +Lockwin is home at one o'clock in the morning. He visits Davy's bed. +How beautiful is the sleeping child! "My God! if he had died!" + +Lockwin is up and away at seven o'clock in the morning. "Be careful of +the boy, Esther," he says. "What does the doctor seem to think?" + +"He gives the same medicine," says Esther, "but Davy played his +orguinette for over an hour yesterday." + +"He did! Good! Esther, that lifts me up. I wish I could have heard +him!" + +"David, I fear that you are overtasking yourself. Do be careful! +please be careful!" + +Tears come in the fine eyes of the wife. Lockwin's back is turned. + +"Good! Good!" he is saying. "So Davy played! I'll warrant it was +'Back to Our Mountains!'" + +"Yes," says the wife. + +"Good! Good! That's right. By-bye, Esther." + +And the man goes out to victory whistling the lament of the crooning +witch, "Back to Our Mountains! Back to Our Mountains!" + +"Why should Davy be so fond of that?" thinks the whistler. + +But this week of campaign cannot stretch out forever. It must end, +just as Lockwin feels that another speech had killed him. It must end +with Lockwin's nerves agog, so that when a book falls over on the +shelves he starts like a deer at a shot. + +It is Monday night, and there will be no speeches by the candidates. +Esther has prepared to celebrate the evening by a gathering of a +half-dozen intimate friends to hear an eminent violinist, whose +performances are the delight of Chicago. The violinist is doubly +eminent because he has a wife who is devoted to her husband's renown. + +Lockwin sits on a sofa with his pet nestled at the side. What a sense +of rest is this! How near heaven is this! He looks down on his little +boy and has but one wish--that he might be across the room to behold +the picture. Perhaps the man is extravagantly fond of that view of +curly head, white face, dark brow and large, clear eyes! + +Would the violinist make such an effect if his wife were not there to +strike those heavy opening chords of that "Faust" fantasie? + +"Will they play 'Back to Our Mountains?'" whispers the child. + +"Keep still, Davy," the man says, himself silenced by a great rendition. + +"The doctor's horse is sick," whispers Davy, hoarsely. + +"Yes, I know," says the man. "Bravo, professor, bravo! You are a +great artist." + +"But the doctor's both horses is sick," insists Davy. + +"Bravo! professor, bravo!" + +Now comes the sweetest of cradle-songs, the professor with damper on +his strings, the professor's wife scarcely touching the piano. + +The strain ends. The man is in tears--not the tears of an orator. He +glances at the child and the great eyes are likewise dim. "Kiss me, +Davy!" + +But it is as if Davy were too hard at work with an article. He must +break from the room, the man suddenly wishing that the child could find +its chief relief in him. + +"Yet I made him take the medicine," thinks the man, in terror of that +night. + +The professor will take some little thing to eat--a glass of beer, +perhaps--but he must not stay. + +They go below, where Davy has told the cook of the extraordinary +professor who can scarcely speak English. Davy has asked him if he +could spell Josephus. "After all," says Davy, "I'd be ashamed to play +so loud if I couldn't spell Josephus. It hurt my head." + +"Yes, you darlint," says the cook; "here's some ice cream. I don't +want you to wait. Eat it now." + +"I can't eat anything but medicine," says Davy, "and I have to eat that +or papa wouldn't love me. Do you think he loves me?" + +"Ah, yes, darlint. Don't ye's be afraid of that. Thim as don't love +the likes of ye's is scarcer than hen's teeth." + +"T-double-e-t-h," observes the scholarly Davy. + +"My! my!" cries the cook. + +At the table, the professor will not care for any beer. Well, let it +be a little. Well, another glass. Yes, the glasses are not large. +Another? Yes. + +"Ah! Meester Lockwin," he says at last, "I like to play for you. You +look very tired, I hear you will go to the--to the--" + +The professor must be aided by his good wife. + +"To the Congress--ah, yes, to the Congress." + +"If I shall be elected to-morrow," smiles the candidate. + +The friends go to their homes. It is not late. Esther has explained +the need her husband has of both diversion and rest. "He is naturally +an unhappy man," she says, "but Davy and I are making him happier." + +"Of all the men I have ever known," says one of the guests to his wife, +as they walk the few steps they must take, "I think David Lockwin is +the most blessed. All that money could do was dedicated to his +education. He is a brilliant man naturally. He has married Esther +Wandrell. He is sure to be elected to-morrow, and I heard a very +prominent man say the other day that he wouldn't be surprised if +Lockwin should some day be President of the United States. They call +him the people's idol. I don't know but he is." + +"I don't believe he appreciates his good fortune," says the wife. +"Perhaps he has had too much." + + + + +CHAPTER X + +ELECTED + +Yes, this is distinctly happy--this night at home, in the chamber after +the music, with Davy to sleep over here, too. + +"There, Davy," urges Esther, "you have romped and romped. You have not +slept a wink to-day. It is far too late for children to be up, David. +I only took down the stove to-day, for fear we might need it." + +But it is difficult to moderate the spirits of the boy. He is playing +all sorts of pranks with his father. The little lungs come near the +man's ear. There is a whistling sound. + +The north wind has blown for two weeks. It is howling now outside the +windows. + +"Pshaw!" the man laughs, "it is that cut-throat wind!" + +For orators dislike the north wind. + +"Pshaw! Esther!" he repeats, "I mistook the moaning of the wind in the +chimney." But he is pale at the thought. + +"I hardly think you did, David. I can hear him wheeze over here." + +"You can! Come here, Davy." But the child must be caught. His eyes +flash. He is all spirit. His laugh grows hoarse. + +"How stupid I am," thinks the man. He seizes the arch boy and clasps +him in his arms. + +Then Lockwin takes that white and tiny wrist. He pulls his watch. In +five seconds he has fifteen beats. Impossible! Wait a few minutes. + +"Sit still for papa. Please, Davy." + +The indefinable message is transmitted from the man's heart to the +child's. The child is still. The animation is gone. + +Now, again. The watch goes so slowly. Is it going at all? Let us see +about that. + +The watch is put to ear. Yes, it is going fast enough now. Of course +it is going. Is it not a Jurgensen of the costliest brand? Well, +then, we will count a full minute. + +"Hold still, Davy, pet." + +What is Congress and President now, as the wheeze settles on this +child, and the north wind batters at the windows? + +The man looks for help to Esther. "Esther," he says, "I have counted +140 pulsations." + +"Is that bad for a child, David? I guess not." + +"I am probably mistaken. I will try again." + +The child lays the curly head against Lockwin's breast. The full +vibration of the struggling lungs resounds through the man's frame. + +"The pulse is even above 140. Oh! Esther, will he have to go through +that again?" + +"No, David, no. See, he's asleep. Put him here. You look like a +ghost. Go right to bed. To-morrow will be a trying day. Davy is +tired out. To be sure, he must be worse when he is tired." + +"Does the doctor come at all in the night?" + +"Why, no, of course not. It is a chronic case now, he says. It +requires the same treatment." + +The voice is soft consoling and sympathetic. The man is as tired as +Davy. + +"We ought not to have had the folks here," he says. + +"No," says Esther. + +"I wish the stove were up," he thinks. + +"I wish David were not in politics," the woman thinks. + +There is in and about that chamber, then, the sleep of a tired man, the +whistling of a cold and hostile wind, such as few cities know, the +half-sleeping vigil of a troubled woman, and the increasing shrillness +of Davy's breathing. + +"It sounds like croup to me," she whispers to herself. "It has always +sounded like croup to me. I wonder if it could be diphtheria? I +wonder what I ought to do? But David needs sleep so badly! I'm sorry +I had the company. I told David I was afraid of the child's health. +But David needed the music. Music rested him, he said." + +The milk-wagons are rattling along the street once more. Will they +never cease? The man awakes with a start. + +"What is that?" he demands. He has just dreamed how he treated 150 +people to cigars and drinks on the day Dr. Floddin brought Davy +through. He has been walking with Davy among the animals in Lincoln +Park. "There's Santa Claus' horses," said Davy, of the elks. + +There is a loud noise in the room. + +"What on earth is it?" he asks. He is only partly awake. + +"It is poor little Davy," Esther answers. "Oh, David!" The woman is +sobbing. She herself has awakened her husband. + +The man is out of bed in an instant. The room is cold. There is no +stove. There is no stramonium. There is no flaxseed. There is no hot +water. + +It is not the lack of these appliances that drives Lockwin into his +panic. He may keep his courage by storming about these misadventures. + +But in his heart--in his logic--there is NO HOPE. + +He hastens to the drug store. He has alarmed the household. + +"Davy is dying!" he has said, brutally. + +The drug clerk is a sound sleeper. "Let them rattle a little while," +he soliloquizes with professional tranquillity. + +"Child down again?" he inquires later on, in a conciliatory voice. +"Wouldn't give him any more of that emetic if it was my child. I've +re-filled that bottle three times now." + +The stove must be gotten up. The pipe enters the mantel. There, that +will insure a hot poultice. But why does the thing throw out gas? Why +didn't it do that before? + +"It is astonishing how much time can be lost in a crisis," the man +observes. He must carry his Davy into another room, couch and all, for +he will not suffer the little body to be chilled any further. "If this +cup may be kept from my lips," he prays, "I will be a better man." + +The sun is high before the child is swathed with hot flaxseed. The man +sprays the stramonium. The child has periods of extreme difficulty. +He is nauseated in every fiber. + +"God forgive me!" prays Lockwin. + +"Mamma, will I have to play with the swear boys?" + +"No, my darling." + +"And will my curls be cut off before you get a picture?" + +The man remembers that Davy has been sick much of late. They have no +likeness of him since he grew beautiful. + +"And may I go to Sunday-school if I don't play with the swear boys? +For the teacher said--" + +The canal tightens in the throat. The old battle begins. + +The man sprays furiously. The child lisps: "Please don't, papa." + +The man is hurt to think he has mistaken the child's needs. + +The air gets dry again. The child signals with its hand. + +"More spray, Davy? Ah! that helps you!" + +The man is eased. + +"Esther, where is that doctor?" + +They had forgotten him. The case is chronic. All the household are +doctors. So now by his coming there is only to be one more to the lot +of vomiters and poulticers. + +Yet it dismays all hands to think they have forgotten the famous savior +of Davy. They telephoned for him hours ago. "Ah me!" each says. + +The child's feet grow cold. "Hot bottles! Hot bottles!" is the cry. +The first lot without corks. And at last Lockwin goes to the closet +and gets the rubber bags made for such uses. + +At one o'clock the doctor arrives. Lockwin has gone to the drug store +to get more flaxseed If he get it himself it will be done. If he +order it some fatal hour might pass. The cold air revives him. He +sees a crowd of men down the street. It is a polling-booth. + +He strives to gather the fact that it is election day. Corkey is +running as an independent democrat, because the democratic convention +did not indorse him after he bolted from the Lockwin convention. + +But for that strange fillip of politics Lockwin must have been beaten +before he began the campaign. Well, what is the election now? Davy +dying all the week, and not a soul suspecting it! + +"Girls wanted!" The sign is on the basement windows. Yes, that +accounts for the strange disorganization of the household. That, in +some way, explains the cold furnaces and lack of the most needful +things. + +Never mind the girls. Plenty of them to be had. That doctor--what can +he say for himself? + +The man starts as he enters the house. What was it Davy said last +night? That "the doctor's both horses were sick!" It is a +disagreeable recollection, therefore banish it, David Lockwin. Go up +and see the doctor. + +The door is reached. Perhaps the child is already easier. The door is +opened. The smell of flaxseed reproduces every horror of Davy's first +attack. After the man has grown used to the flaxseed he begins to +detect the odor of stramonium. The pan is dry. Carry it back to the +stove and put some hot water in it. But look at Davy first. + +"Esther, how is he?" + +"I think he is growing better, David." + +"The room here is not warm enough. Let us carry him back where the +stove is." + +The cook is on the stairs and beholds the little cortege. "Lord! +Lord!" she wails, and the housekeeper silences the cry. "They carry +them like that at the hospital," the frightened woman explains. "But +they are always dead!" + +In the kitchen sits a woman, visiting the cook. Her face is the very +picture of trouble. She rocks her body as she talks. + +"I buried seven," she says. + +"Seven children?" + +"Yes, and every one with membrainyous croup. They may call it what +they please. Ah! I know; I know!" + +She rocks her body, and laughs almost a silly laugh. + +"Every one of them had a terrible attack, and then was well for a week. +Two of 'em dropped dead at play. They seems so full of life just +before they go. When my husband broke his leg I lost one. When I +caught the small-pox they let one die. Oh, my! Oh, my!" + +The woman rocks her body and laughs. + +Lockwin wants more boiling water. It gives him something to do to get +it. He enters the kitchen. + +"Davy has the asthma," he says to the desolate mother as he passes. + +"Davy has the membrainyous croup," she replies: "I saw that a week ago. +Makes no difference what the doctors say; they can't help no child." + +"Where is that doctor, Esther?" the man says. + +"He was here while you were gone. He said he would return soon. He +said it was a relapse, but he thought there was no danger." + +"It is lucky," the man inwardly comments, "that we are all doctors." + +"He should have stayed here and attended to his business," the man +observes audibly, as he makes a new poultice. + +"Mamma!" It is Davy. + +"Yes, mamma is here." + +"Why don't the doctor come?" + +"Are you suffering, precious?" + +"I don't know." + +"There, let us warm your feet. Don't take them away, pet. See, you +breathe easily now." + +"Thank God!" says the man "that we are all doctors." + +The afternoon wanes. + +"Georgie Day, mamma." + +"Yes, lamby." + +"I want him to have my sleeve-buttons. He can play base-ball, not +two-old-cat. He can play real base-ball." + +"Yes, Georgie shall come to see you to-morrow." + +Lockwin goes to the speaking tube. + +"Go and get Dr. Floddin at once. Tell him to come and stay with us. +Tell him we have difficulty in keeping the child warm." + +The sun has poured into the window and gone on to other sick chambers. +The flaxseed and stramonium seem like reminders of the past stage of +the trouble. Richard Tarbelle, never before in a room where the tide +of life was low, looks down on Davy. + +"Mr. Lockwin, I'm not rich, but I'd give a thousand dollars--a thousand +dollars!" + +"My God, doctor! why have you been so slow getting here?" + +"My horses have been taken sick as fast as I got them." + +The doctor advances to the child. The child is smiling on Richard +Tarbelle. + +"What ails you?" + +It is Lockwin, looking in scorn on his doctor, who now, pale as a +ghost, throws his hands up and down silly as the crone downstairs by +the kitchen-range. + +"Nothing can be done! Nothing can be done!" + +"They say it hasn't been asthma at all," sobs Esther. "I suppose it's +diphtheria." + +"The man who can't tell when a child is sick, can't tell when he's +dying," sneers Lockwin. "Doctor, when were you here yesterday?" + +"I haven't been here since to-morrow week. My horses have been sick +and the child was well." + +Davy is white as marble. His breath comes hard. But why he should be +dying, and why this fifty-cent doctor should know that much, puzzles +and dumfounds the father. Davy may die next week, perhaps. Not dying +now! + +"It's a lie. It's not so," the father says. + +"Mr. Lockwin, I don't want to say it, but it is so." It is the kind +voice of Richard Tarbelle. + +"Very well, then. It is diphtheria." It is the one goblin that for +years has appalled Lockwin. Well it might, when it steals on a man +like this. "To think I never gave him a drop of whisky. Oh! God! Get +us a surgeon." + +A medical college is not far away. The surgeon comes quickly, although +Lockwin has gone half-way to meet him. The two men arrive. Dr. +Floddin continues to throw his hands up and down. He loved Davy. +Perhaps Dr. Floddin is a brave man to stay now. Perhaps he would be +brave to go. + +"Well, Mr. Surgeon, look at that child." + +"Your boy is dying," says the surgeon, as the men retire to a back room. + +"What is to be done?" asks the father, resolutely. + +"We can insert a tube in his throat." + +"Will that save his life?" + +"It will prolong his life if the shock do not result fatally." + +"If it were your own child would you do this operation?" + +"Yes, I think so." + +"Would you do it, certainly?" + +"Yes, sir." + +"Let us go in." + +"Esther, we shall have to give him air through his throat." + +"No, no!" shrieks the woman. "No, no!" + +The child's eyes, almost filmy before, are lifted in beautiful appeal +to the mother. "No, Davy. It shall not be!" + +"It must be," says Lockwin. + +"I have not brought my instruments," says the surgeon. "It is now very +late in the case, anyway." + +"Thank God!" is the thought of the father. + +The child smiles upon his mother. He smiles upon Richard Tarbelle. + +"How can he smile on papa, when papa was to cut that white and narrow +throat?" It is David Lockwin putting his unhappy cheek beside the +little face. + +Now, if all these flaxseed rags and this stramonium sprayer and pan +could be cleared out! If it were only daylight, so we could see Davy +plainer! + +Then comes a low cry from the kitchen. It is the forlorn mother, +detailing the treacherous siege of membraneous croup. + +David Lockwin can only think of the hours last night, while Davy was in +Gethsemane. The cradle song was the death song. The doctors sit in +the back room. Esther holds the little hands and talks to the ears +that have gone past hearing. "There is a sublime patience in women," +thinks Lockwin, for he cannot wait. + +"Inconceivable! Inconceivable! Davy never at the window again! Take +away my miserable life, oh, just nature! Just God!" + +The white lips are moving: + +"Books, papa! J-o-s-e-p--" + +"Yes, Davy. Josephus. Papa knows. Thank you, Davy. I can't say +good-bye, Davy, for I hope I can go with you!" + +The man's head is in the pillow. "Oh, to take a little child like +this, and send him out ahead of us--ahead of the strong man. Is it not +hard, Richard Tarbelle?" + +"Mr. Lockwin, as I said, I am not a rich man, but I would give a +thousand dollars--a thousand dollars--I guess you had better look at +him, Mr. Lockwin." + +Davy is dead. + +Never yet has that father showered on the child such a wealth of love +as lies in that father's heart. It would spoil the boy, and Lockwin, +himself almost a spoiled son, has had an especial horror of parental +over-indulgence. + +So, therefore, he is now free to take that little form in his arms. +The women will rid it of the nightgown and put on a cleaner garment. +And while they do this act, the man will kiss that form, beginning at +the soles of the feet. + + --Those holy fields + Over whose acres walked those blessed feet + Which fourteen hundred years ago were nailed + For our advantage on the bitter cross.-- + +Why do these lines course through the man's brain? Curses on that +flaxseed and that vile drug which made these fields so hard for these +little feet. Any way, the man may gather this clay in his arms. No +one else shall touch it! It is a long way down these stairs! Never at +the window again, Davy. "I would give a thousand dollars." Well, God +bless Richard Tarbelle. If it were a longer distance to carry this +load, it would be far better! Light up the back parlor! Let us have +that ironing-board! Fix the chairs thus! He must have a good book. +It shall be Josephus. Oh, God! "Josephus, papa." Yes, yes, Davy. +Put curly-head on Josephus. + +The man is crooning. He is happy with his dead. + +He talks to the nearest person and to Davy. + +There is a great noise at the head of the street. There is an inflow +of the people. The shrill flageolet, the brass horns, the bass drums, +the crash of the general brass and the triangle--these sounds fill the +air. + +Where is the people's idol, elected to Congress by to-night's count, +already conceded at Opposition head-quarters? + +The orator stands over his dead. What is that? Elected to Congress? +A speech? + +"It will be better," says Richard Tarbelle. "Come up on the balcony, +Mr. Lockwin. It will be better." + +This noise relieves the father's brain. How fortunate it has come. +The orator goes up by a rear stairway. He appears on the balcony. +There is a cheer that may be heard all over the South Side. + +"He looks haggard," says the first citizen. + +"You'd look tired if you opened your barrel the way he did," vouchsafes +the second citizen. + +The orator lifts his voice. It is the proudest moment of his life, he +assures them. In this eventful day's work the nation has been offered +a guarantee of its welfare. The sanctity of our institutions has been +vindicated. + +Here the tin-horns, the cat-calls, the drunken congratulations--the +whole Babel--rises above the charm of oratory. But the people's idol +does not stop. The words roll from his mouth. The form sways, the +finger points. + +"He's the boy!" "Notice his giblets!" "He will be President--if his +barrel lasts." Thus the first, second and third saloon-keepers +determine. + +There is a revulsion in the crowd. What is the matter at the basement +gate? + +It is the cook and the housekeeper in contention. + +"I tell ye's I'm goin' to fasten it on the door! Such doings as this I +never heard of. Oh, Davy, my darlint! Oh! Davy, my darlint!" + +The crowd is withdrawing to the opposite curb, But the crush is +tremendous. There are ten thousand people in the street. Only those +near by know what is happening. + +The cook escapes from the housekeeper. She climbs the steps of the +portico. She flaunts the white crape. "Begone, ye blasphemous +wretches!" she cries. + +"What the devil is that?" asks the first citizen. + +The cook is fastening the white gauze and the white satin ribbon on the +bell knob. + +"Do ye see that, ye graveyard robbers? Will ye blow yer brass bands +and yer tin pipes now, ye murtherin' wretches?" + +The host has seen the signal of death, as it flaunts under the +flickering light of the gas lamp. There is an insensible yet rapid +departure. There were ten thousand hearers. There are, perhaps, ten +hundred whose eyes are as yet fixed upward on the orator. + +"Our republic will forever remain splendid among nations," comes the +rich voice from the balcony. One may see a form swaying, an arm +reaching forth in the dim light. + +The ten hundred are diminishing. It is like the banners of the auroral +light. The ten hundred were there a moment ago. Now it is but a +memory. No one is there. The street is so empty that a belated +delivery wagon may rattle along, stopping at wrong houses to fix the +number. + +The orator speaks on. He weeps and he thunders. + +Hasten out on that balcony, Richard Tarbelle, and stop this scandal! +Lead that demented orator in! Pluck him by the sleeve! Pluck harder! + +"The voice of the people, my fellow-citizens," cries the people's idol, +"is the voice--is the voice of God." + +"God, and Holy Mary, and the sweet angels!" comes a low, keening cry +from the kitchen. + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +LYNCH-LAW FOR CORKEY + +It is a month after the election. Lockwin has been out of bed for a +week. + +"You astound me!" cries Dr. Tarpion. + +The doctor is just back from his mine in Mexico. The doctor has +climbed the volcano of Popocatapetl. His six-story hotel in Chicago is +leased on a bond for five years. He has a nugget of gold from his +mine. His health is capital. He is at the mental and physical +antipodes of his friend. Talk of Mexican summer resorts and Chicago +real estate is to the doctor's taste. He is not prepared for Lockwin's +recital. + +"Your Davy, my poor fellow, had no constitution. Mind you, I do not +say he would have died had I remained at my office. I do not say that. +Of course, it was highly important that his stomach should be +preserved. You fell in the hands of a Dr. Flod--let me see our list. +Why, by heavens! his name is not down at all!" + +Dr. Floddin's name is not in the medical peerage. Dr. Floddin, +therefore, does not exist. + +"Well, David, let us speak of it no more. You were entrapped. How +about this Congress? I tell you that you must go. You must do exactly +as our leader directs." + +Lockwin is elected, and he is not. He received the most votes, but +great frauds were openly perpetrated. Without the false votes Corkey +would have been elected. There is to be a contest in the lower House. +The majority of the party in the House is only three, with two +republicans on sick beds in close districts. + +Interest in the Chicago affair is overshadowing. The President's +private secretary has commissioned the Chicago political boss to fix it +up. + +Corkey is an unknown factor. The boss assures the administration that +the district would be lost if Corkey should win. + +What does Corkey want? + +"I was elected," says Corkey. + +"You don't carry the papers," answers the boss. + +"I just made you fellers screw your nut for 2,000 crooked votes," says +Corkey. + +"None of your sailors had the right to vote," says the boss. "Now, +here, Corkey, you are going to lose that certificate. It doesn't +belong to you, and we've got the House. Here's a telegram from a high +source: 'Lockwin must get the election at all hazards. See Corkey.' +I'll tell you what you do. You and Lockwin go on and see the +President." + +"That will never do," says Corkey. "But I'll tell you what I will do." + +"Go on." + +"Do you know I've a notion that Lockwin ain't goin' to serve. If he +resigns, I want it. If he catches on, all right. I want him or you to +get me collector of the port. You hear me? Collector of the port. +His nobs, this collector we have now--he must get out, I don't care +how. But he must sherry. I can't fool with these sailors. If they +see me trading with Lockwin they will swear I sell out. See? Well, I +want to see Lockwin, just the same. Now, I'll tell you what I'll do: +You Send Lockwin to Washington to explain the situation. Get in +writing what is to be done. Don't let there be any foolin' on that +point. Tell Lockwin to return by the way of Canada, and get to Owen +Sound. I know a way home that will leave us alone for two days or +more. In that time I can tell what I'll do." + +"All right; Lockwin shall go." + +"I'll give it out that I've gone to Duluth for the newspaper. But I've +no use for newspapers no more. It's collector or Congress, sure. +Don't attempt no smart plays. Tell that to the jam-jorum at +Washington. If they want me to take down my contest and cover up the +hole you ballot-box-stuffers is in here at home, let 'em fix _me_." + +"All right." + +"It's all right if Lockwin meets me at Owen Sound. I've got the +_papes_ to send a lot of you duffers to the pen if you don't come to +time." + +Corkey therefore sails for Duluth. It increases his standing with the +sailors to make these trips late in the year. + +Lockwin is to go to Washington. It is evident, say his friends, that +he is greatly exhausted with the efforts of the campaign. Dr. Tarpion +has hinted that Lockwin is not the ambitious man that he has seemed to +be. Dr. Tarpion has hinted that it was only through strong personal +influence that Lockwin has been held faithful to the heavy party duty +that now lies upon him. + +Dr. Tarpion has hinted that Lockwin did not want the office if it did +not belong to him. + +But Lockwin has had brain fever for nearly a month. What could you +expect of a man who made so many speeches at so many wigwams? + +"Besides," says the political boss, "he had sickness in his family." + +"Some one died, didn't they?" asks a rounder where these reports are +bandied. + +"Yes, a little boy. Good-looking little fellow, too. I saw him with +Lockwin." + +"When I was a young man," said the boss, "old Sol Wynkoop got in the +heat of the canvass, just like Lockwin. Old Sol was just about as good +a speaker. He would talk right on, making 'em howl every so often. +Well, his wife and his daughter they both died and was buried, and Old +Sol he didn't miss his three dates a day. He didn't come home at all. +I had a notion to tell Lockwin that. Oh, he ain't no timber for +President, or even for senator. I did tell Lockwin how my wife died. +I got to the funeral, of course, for this is a city, and Old Sol was +forty miles away, with muddy roads. But, boys, when I get tired I just +have to go up to the lake and catch bass. I tell you, politics is +hard. I must find Lockwin right away. Good-bye, boys. Charge those +drinks to me." + +It is Sunday. David Lockwin is walking toward the little church where +Davy went to Sunday-school. He passes a group at a gate near the +church. "Every week, just at this time, there goes by the most +beautiful child. Stay and see him. See how he smiles up at our +window." + +"He is dead and buried," says Lockwin in their ear. They are young +women. They are startled, and run in the cottage. + +Lockwin walks as in a dream. To-morrow he goes to Washington. +"Politics is hard," he says, but he does not feel it. He feels +nothing. He feels at rest. Nothing is hard. He is weak from an +illness, of which he knows little. He has never been in this +infant-room. Many a time he has left Davy at the door. + +The pastor's wife is the shepherdess. She has a long, white crook. +Before her sit seven rows of wee faces and bodies. It is sweeter than +a garden of flowers. They are too small to read books, but they learn +at the fastest pace. The shepherdess gets Lockwin a chair. There are +tears in her eyes. The audience is quick to feel. Tears come in the +eyes of little faces nearly as beautiful as Davy's. Roses are sweetest +when the dew sparkles on them. + +"Oh, my dear sir, no. None of them are as pretty as he was." Such is +the opinion of the shepherdess. "We see only one like him in a +lifetime," she testifies. A wee, blue chair is vacant in the first row +at the end--clearly the place of honor. A withered wreath lies on the +chair. The man's eyes are fastened on that spot. Here is a world of +which he knew nothing. Here he follows in the very footsteps. + +"Listen, listen," says the motherly teacher. "This is Davy's father." + +Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed. Strange power +of human pity! + +[Illustration: Three of the most bashful arise and come to be kissed.] + +"Little Davy is with Jesus," says the shepherdess. "Now all you who +want to be with Jesus, raise your hands." + +Every right hand is up. Their faith is implicit, but many a left hand +is pulling a neighboring curl. Busy is that long shepherd crook, to +defeat those wicked left hands. + +A head obtrudes in the door. "Excuse me," says the political boss. +"Mr. Lockwin, can you spare a moment? Hello, Jessie! no, papa will not +be home to-night. Tell mamma, will you?" + +A curly head is saddened. Lockwin thanks the shepherdess, and follows +his boss. + +"The train goes East at 4:45. Don't lose a moment. Lucky I found you." + +The newspaper press is in possession of a sensation. On Monday morning +we quote: "A plot has been revealed which might have resulted in the +loss of the First district, and possibly of Congress, just at the +moment the re-apportionment bill was to be passed. Notice of contest +has been served on Congressman Lockwin as a blind for subsequent +operations, and yesterday the newly elected member left hurriedly for +Washington to consult with the attorney general. It is evident that +the federal authorities will inquire into the high-handed outrages +which swelled the votes of Corkey and the other unsuccessful candidates +on election day. + +"The time is coming," concludes the article, "when lynch law will be +dealt out to the repeaters who haunt the tough precincts at each +election day." + +The prominent citizens say among themselves: "We ought to do something +pretty soon, or these ward politicians will be governing the nation!" + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +IN GEORGIAN BAY + +Corkey is at Owen Sound. The political bee is buzzing in his bonnet. +Collector of the port--this office seems small to a man who really +polled more votes than Lockwin. The notion has taken hold of Corkey +that, by some hook or crook, Lockwin will get out and Corkey will get +in. + +When he thinks of this, Corkey rises and walks about his chair, sitting +down again. + +This is a gambler's habit. + +There follows this incantation an incident which flatters his ambition. +Having changed his tobacco from the right to the left side of his +mouth, he strangles badly. It takes him just five minutes to get a +free breath. This is always a good sign. Thereupon the darkest of +negro lads, with six fingers, a lick, left-handed and cross-eyed, +enters the barroom of the hotel. + +"Here!" cries Corkey. "What's your name?" The boy stammers in his +speech. + +"N-n-n-noah!" he replies. + +"Why not?" inquires Corkey. "You bet your sweet life you tell me what +your name is!" + +"N-n-n-noah!" + +"Why not? Tell me that!" + +"M-m-my name is N-n-noah!" exclaims the boy. + +"Ho! ho!" laughs Corkey. "Let's see them fingers! Got any more in +your pockets?" + +"N-n-n-noah," answers the boy. + +"Got six toes, too?" + +"Y-y-yes, sah!" + +"A dead mascot!" says Corkey. It is an auspice of the most eminent +fortune. Corkey from this moment rejects the collectorship, and stakes +all on going to Congress. Thoughts of murdering Lockwin out here in +this wilderness come into the man's mind. + +"I wouldn't do that, nohow. Oh, I'll never be worked off--none of that +for me!" + +In Corkey's tongue, to be worked off is to be hanged. + +"Nixy. I'll never be worked off. But it would be easy to throw him +from the deck to-night. Some of the boys would do it, too, if they +knew him." + +The man grows murderous. + +"Easy enough. Somebody slap his jaw and get him in a fight. Oh, he'll +fight quick enough. Then three or four of 'em tip him into the lake. +Why, it ain't even the lake out here. It's Georgian Bay. It's out of +the world, too. My father was in Congress. My grandfather was in. +Wonder how they got there? Wonder if they did any dirt?" + +Corkey's face is hard and black. He rises. He feels ill. He swears +at the mascot. "I _thought_ he had too many points when I see him." + +The train is late. The propeller, Africa, lies at the dock ready to +start. + +"Well, if I come to such a place as this I must expect a jackleg +railroad. They say they've got an old tub there at the dock. Good +stiff fall breeze, too." + +The thought of danger resuscitates Corkey. He finds some sailors, +tells them how he was elected to Congress, slaps them on the back, +tries to split the bar with his fist, a feat which has often won votes, +and tightens his heart with raw Canadian whisky. + +"Going to be rough, Corkey." + +"'Spose so," nods Corkey. "Is she pretty good?" + +"The Africa?" + +"Um-huh!" + +"Oh, well, she's toted me often enough. She's like the little nig they +carry." + +"Does that mascot sail with her?" + +"To be sure." + +"That settles it. Landlord, give us that sour mash." + +"Train's coming!" + +The drinks are hurriedly swallowed and paid for, and the men are off +for the depot near by. + +"How are ye, Lockwin?" "How-dy-do, Corkey. Where have you got me? +Going to murder me and get to Congress in my place?" + +"No, but I expect you're going to resign and let me in." + +"Where's your boat? I hear they're waiting. I suppose we can get +supper on board. Why did you choose such a place as this?" + +"Well, cap, I had a long slate to fix up when I came here. If I was to +be collector, of course I want to make my pile out of it, and I must +take care of the boys. But I didn't start out to be collector, and +I've about failed to make any slate at all. Yet, if I'm to sell out to +you folks, I reckon I couldn't do it on any boat in the open lakes. +I'm not sure but Georgian Bay is purty prominent. Captain Grant, this +is Mr. Lockwin, of Chicago. This is the captain of the Africa. Mr. +Bodine, Mr. Lockwin, of Chicago. Mr. Bodine is station-keeper here. +Mr. Troy, Mr. Lockwin. Mr. Troy keeps the hotel. Mr. Flood, Mr. +Lockwin. Mr. Flood runs the bank and keeps the postoffice and general +store." + +The group nears the hotel. + +Corkey is seized with a paroxysm of tobacco strangling, ending with a +sneeze that is a public event. He is again black in the face, but he +has been polite. + +The uninitiated express their astonishment at a sneeze so mighty, and +enter the inn. The women of the dining-room come peeping into the +bar-room, But the captain explains: + +"That sneeze carried Corkey to Congress. I've heern tell how he'd be +in the middle of a speech and some smart Aleck would do something to +raise the laugh on the gentleman. Corkey would get to strangling and +then would end with a sneeze that would carry the house. It's great!" + +"That's what it is!" says Mr. Bodine. + +"Gentlemen, my father had it. It's no laughing matter. God sakes, how +that does shake a man!" + +But Corkey has not only done the polite act. He has relieved his mind. +He is no longer in danger of being worked off. + +"I wouldn't be likely to do up my man if I introduced him to everybody." + +Yet the opportunity to murder Lockwin, as a theoretical proposition, +dwells with Corkey, now that he is clearly innocent. + +"I might have given him a false name. He'd a had to stand it, because +he don't like this business nohow. Everything was favorable. Have we +time for a drink, cap'n?" The last sentence aloud. + +The captain looks at the hotel-keeper. The captain also sells the +stuff aboard. But will the captain throw a stone into Mr. Troy's bar? + +"I guess we have time," nods the captain. + +The party drinks. The gale rises. One hundred wood-choppers, bound +for Thunder Bay, go aboard. The craft rubs her fenders and strains the +wavering pier. It is a dark night and cold. + +"No sailor likes a north wind," says Corkey. + +"I have no reason to like it," says Lockwin. + +"I'll bet he couldn't be done up so very easy after all," thinks Corkey +with a quick, loud guttural bark, due to his tobacco. "I wonder why he +looks so blue? It can't be they won't trade at Washington." + +The thought of no office at all frightens the marine reporter. He asks +himself why he did not put the main question at the depot before the +other folks met Lockwin. The paroxysm has made a coward of Corkey. He +gets mental satisfaction by thoughts of the weather. The mate of the +Africa is muttering that they ought to tie up for the night. + +"What ye going to do?" asks Corkey of Captain Grant. + +"The captain is well sprung with sour mash," says Corkey to himself. + +"We're going to take these choppers to Thunder Bay to-night," says the +captain with an oath. + +Supper is set in the after-cabin. It is nine o'clock before the engine +moves. There are few at table. After supper Corkey and Lockwin enter +the forward cabin and take a sofa that sits across the little room. +The sea is rough, but the motion of the boat is least felt at this +place. + +Lockwin has the appearance of a man who is utterly unwilling to be +happy. Corkey has regarded this demeanor as a political wile. + +"I'll fetch this feller!" Corkey has observed to himself. + +But on broaching the question of politics, the commodore has found that +Lockwin is scarcely able to speak. He sinks in profound meditation, +and is slowly recalled to the most obvious matters. + +The genial Corkey is puzzled. "He's going to resign, sure. He beats +me--this feller does." + +The boat lunges and groans. It lurches sidewise three or four times, +and there are sudden moans of the sick on all sides beyond thin wooden +partitions. + +"I bet he gits sick," says Corkey. "Pard, are ye sick now? Excuse me, +Mr. Lockwin, but are ye sick any?" + +"No," says Lockwin, and he is not sick. He wishes he were. + +"Well, let's git to business, then. You must excuse me, but--" + +Corkey is seized with a paroxysm. He gives a screeching sneeze, and +the cries of the sick grow furious. + +"Who _is_ that?" asks the mate, peering out of his room and then going +on deck. + +David Lockwin is at the end of his forces. This is life. This is +politics. This is expediency. This is the way men become illustrious. +He straightens his legs, sinks his chin and pushes his hands far in his +pockets. + +"Before I begin," says Corkey, "let me tell ye, that if you're sick I'd +keep off the decks. You have a gold watch. Some one might nail ye." + +"Is that so?" asks Lockwin, his thoughts far away. + +"He beats _me_!" comments the contestant. "Well, pard, if you're not +sick, I'd like to say a good many things. I suppose them ducks at +Washington weakened. If they give me collector, here's my slate." + +Corkey produces a long list of names, written on copy-paper. + +"I bet she don't budge an inch," he remarks, as he hears the north wind +and waves pounding at one end, and the engine pounding at the other. + +"Needn't be afraid, pard. Sometimes they go out in Georgian Bay and +burn some coal. Then if they can't git anywhere, they come back." + +Corkey is pleased with his own remark. "Sometimes," he adds, "they +don't come back. They are bluffed back by the wind." + +Lockwin sits in the same uncommunicative attitude. + +"Pardner, you didn't come out into Georgian Bay for nothing. I know +that. So I will tell you what I am going to do with the collectorship. +By the great jumping Jewhillikins, that's a wave in the stateroom +windows! I never see anything like that." + +The captain passes. + +"High sea, cap'n!" It is not in good form for Corkey to rise. He is a +passenger, with a navigator's reputation to sustain. + +"High hell!" says the captain. + +"What a hullabaloo them choppers is a-making," says Corkey to Lockwin. +"I reckon they're about scared to death. Well, as I was a-saying, I +want to know what the jam-jorum said." + +Corkey is terrified. He does not fear that he will go down in Georgian +Bay. He dreads to hear the bursting of the bladders that are +supporting him in his sea of glory. + +Lockwin starts as from a waking dream: + +"I beg your pardon, Mr. Corkey, but I could have told you at the start +that the administration, when it was confronted by the question whether +or not it would give you anything, said; 'No!' It will give you +nothing. The administration said it would not appoint you lightkeeper +at Ozaukee." + +"There hain't no light at Ozaukee," says Corkey. + +"That's what the administration said, too," replies Lockwin. + +"Did you tell 'em I got you fine?" asks Corkey. + +"I told them I thought you had as good a case as I had." + +"Did you tell 'em I'd knock seventeen kinds of stuffin' out of their +whole party? That I'd--" + +Corkey is at his wits ends. His challenge has been accepted. At the +outset he had saved fifty twenty-dollar gold pieces out of his wages. +He has spent fifteen already. The thought of a contest against the +machine candidate carries with it the loss of the rest of the little +hoard. He has boasted that he will retain Emery Storrs, the eminent +advocate. Corkey grows black in the face. He hiccoughs. He strangles. + +He unburdens himself with a supreme sneeze. The mate enters the cabin. + +"I _knew_ that sneeze would wreck us!" he cries savagely. + +"Is your old tub sinking?" asks Corkey, in retort. + +"That's what she is!" replies the mate. + +Corkey looks like a man relieved. Politics is off his mind. He will +not be laughed at on the docks now. + +"Pardner, I'm sorry we're in this hole," he says, as the twain rush +through the door to the deck. It was dim under that swinging lamp. It +is dark out here. The wind is bitter. The second mate stands hard by. + +"How much water is in?" asks Corkey. + +"Plenty," says the second mate. + +"What have ye done?" asks Corkey. + +"Captain's blind, stavin' drunk, and won't do nothin'." + +"Nice picnic!" says Corkey. + +"Nice picnic!" says the second mate, warming up. + +It is midnight in the middle of Georgian Bay. There is a fall gale +such as comes only once in four or five years. In the morning there +will be three hundred wrecks on the great lakes--the most inhospitable +bodies of water in the world. + +And of all stormy places let the sailor keep out of Georgian Bay. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +OFF CAPE CROKER + +Corkey has climbed to the upper deck and stands there alone in the +darkness and the gale. The engine stops. The steamer falls into the +trough of the sea. + +The Africa carries two yawls attached to her davits. Corkey is feeling +about one of these yawls. He suspects that the lines are old. He +steps to the other side. He strains at a rope. He strives to unloose +it from its cleat. The line is stiff and almost frozen. + +"I'd be afraid to lower myself, anyhow," he observes, for he has the +notion that everything about the Africa is insecure. + +The ship gives another lurch. Something must be done. Almost before +he knows it, Corkey has cut loose the stern. The rope seems strong. + +Now he must unwind the bow line from its cleat, or he will lose his +boat. He kicks at the cleat. He loosens a loop. He raises the boat +and then lowers it. The tackle works. + +The other yawl and its tackle roll and creak in the gale. Nobody else +comes up the ladders. + +The man aloft pulls his line out and fastens it to the cleat which he +tried to kick off. He seizes the stern of the yawl and hoists it far +over the upper deck. The yawl falls outside the gunwale below, with a +great crash and splintering of oars. + +"She's there!" says Corkey, feeling the taut line. "She's there, and +the rope is good. The davit is good." + +The people below seem to know that a boat is being put out. But Corkey +is the only man on the ship who thinks the idea practicable. "Of what +use to lower a small boat," say the sailors, "in Georgian Bay?" + +The man above must descend on that little line. He doesn't want to do +that. He goes to the other boat, and makes a feeble experiment of +hoisting and lowering, by means of both davits, the man to sit in the +yawl. "I couldn't do it!" he vows, and recrosses. + +"What'll I do when I get down there?" he mutters. "How'll I get loose?" + +He must make his descent knife in hand. + +"I can't do it!" he says, and gets out his knife. It is a large +fur-handled hunting knife--like Corkey in its style. + +Corkey peers down on deck. The wood-choppers are fastening +life-preservers about their bodies. Whether they be crying or +shouting, cannot be told. + +He sees human forms hurrying past the cabin window, and there is +reflected the yellow, wooden, ribby thing which he knows to be a +life-preserver. + +It is a cheering thing in such a moment. "I wish I had one," he says, +but he holds to the rope of his boat. + +There is no crew, in the proper sense of the word. Not an officer or +man on board feels a responsibility for the lives of the passengers. +As at a country summer resort, each person must wait on himself. + +"Nobody is better'n we are," says the captain. + +The Africa is rapidly foundering. + +"She must be as rotten as punk," sneers Corkey. He thinks of his +cheerful desk at the newspaper office. He thinks of his marine +register. He tries to recall the rating of this hulk of an Africa. + +"Anyhow, it is tough!" he laments. + +The wind is perhaps less boisterous since the engine slacked. The rays +of light from the cabin lamps pierce and split the waves. Corkey never +saw so much foam before. + +"It's an easy good-bye for all of us," he says, and falls ill. + +But shall he wait for the Africa to settle? + +"She'll pull me down, sure!" he comments. + +Shall he wait much longer, then? + +"All them roosters will be up here, and then we can't do nothing. Yet +I wish I had somebody with me. Oh, Lockwin! I say, hello! Old man! +Lockwin! Come up this way!" + +For a moment there is nothing to be heard but the furious whistling of +the gale about the mast in front. There is nobody in the wheel-house +to the best of Corkey's eyesight. + +There are three or four booming sounds. Corkey is startled. They are +repeated. + +It is the yawl making its hollow sound. + +But there are no noises of human beings. "Oddest thing I ever see!" +says Corkey. "I didn't know a shipwreck was like this. Everything is +different from what is printed--Lord save me!" + +The Africa is rolling. + +"Here goes!" It is now or never. + +Corkey has short, tough fingers. He grasps that rope like a vise. He +wraps his left leg well in the coils. He kicks the steamer with his +right. The small boat does not touch the water when the steamer is +sitting straight in the sea. + +It is a horrible turmoil in which to enter. Perhaps he came down too +soon! + +"I wish I had some one with me now. Mebbe the two of us would get an +advantage." + +The second mate looks over the gunwale from the prow of the steamer. +He knows a land-lubber is handling a yawl. + +"D---- fool!" he mutters. + +In the Georgian Bay, if the ship go down, all hands are to drown. Only +sham sailors like Corkey are to make any effort, beyond fastening +pieces of wood about their waists. + +"I wonder if I'd come out here for this if I'd got onto it?" Then the +grim features relax. "I wonder if his nobs would?" + +Corkey's feet rest on the prow of the small boat. He asks if he +fastened that rope securely at the cleat. He has asked that all the +way down. Perhaps the steamer is not going to sink. + +"Whoopy!" + +Corkey is under the steamer's side, deep in the waves. He goes down +suddenly, cold, frightened, benumbed. He feels that some one is trying +to pull the rope out of his hands. It must be Lockwin. The drowning +man clutches with a hundred forces. The tug increases. The struggling +man will lose the rope. Lockwin is striking Corkey with a bludgeon. +That is unfair! There is a last pull, and Corkey comes up out of the +waves. + +What has happened? The Africa has rolled nearly over, but is righting. + +Corkey's wits return. "I've lost my knife!" he cries, in bitter +disappointment. But, lo! his knife is in his hands. He can with +difficulty unloose his fingers from the rope. + +The Africa is listing upon him again. He dreads that abyss of waters. +He cuts the rope far above him and he falls in the sea, the entire +scope of his life passing in a red fire before his eyes. + +Beside, there is a drowning thought that he has gone out to die before +the rest. At the last, when he swung out as the Africa rolled toward +him he wanted to climb back. + +Now the red fire is gone and Corkey can think. He believes he is +drowning. "It's because I wasn't a real sailor," he argues. "The +sailors knew better." + +Something pulls him. It is the rope which he holds. He knows now that +he has a yawl on the end of that line. He pulls and pulls--and comes +up to the air, a choking, sneezing, exceedingly active human being. +The yawl is riding the water. He rolls into the boat at the prow. He +feels quickly for the oars and finds two that are in their locks. +Water is deep in the bottom. There is nothing to bail with. + +But the joy of the little man is keen. "I'm saved! That's what I am! +I'm saved!" + +He thinks he hears a new noise--a great sough--the pouring of waters. +He is moved sidewise in his boat. He wipes the mist from his eyes and +peers in all directions for the ship. + +"Where in God's name is she?" It is the most frightful thought Corkey +has ever entertained. + +The Africa has gone down. It is as sure as that Corkey sits in the +yawl, safe for the moment. The spirit of the man sinks with the ship, +and then rides high again. + +"They're nothing to me!" he says. "I'm the only contestant, too!" + +He is too brave. The thought seems sacrilegious. He grows faint with +fear! All alone on Georgian Bay! + +The boat leaps and settles, leaps and settles. The oars fly in his +face, and are jerked away. The boat falls on something solid. What is +that? It hits the boat again. An oar flies out of Corkey's hand. His +hand seizes the gunwale for security. A warmer hand is felt. Corkey +pulls on the hand--a head--a kinky head--comes next. The thing is +alive, and is welcome. Corkey pulls with both hands. A small form +comes over the gunwale just as a wave strikes the side of the yawl with +the only noise that can be heard. The yawl does not capsize. The boy +begins bailing with his hands. + +It is the mascot. "Hooray!" cries the man. His confidence returns. +He hears the boy paddling the water. The rebellious oars are seized +with hope, but Corkey feels as if he were high on a fractious horse, + +"Bail, you moke!" he commands in tones that are heard for a hundred +yards. + +"Bail, you cross-eyed, left-handed, two-thumbed, six-toed, stuttering +moke!" + +The boy paddles with his hands. The man, by spasmodic efforts, holds +the boat against the wind for a minute, and then loses his control. + +"Bail, you moke!" he screams, as the tide goes against him. + +The hands fly faster. + +The boat comes back against the wind and the great seas split on each +side of the prow. + +The swimmers hear Corkey. + +"Lordy!" he says. "I know I hit a man then with that right oar. I +felt it smash him. There! we're on him now! Bail, you moke! No +stopping, or I throw you in! Stop that bailing and catch that duck +there! Got him? Hang on!" + +It is a wood-chopper. + +This yawl is like a wild animal. It springs upward, it rolls, it +flounders. It is like a wild bronco newly haltered. How can these +many heads hope to get upon so spirited a steed? See it leap backward +and on end! Now up, now sidewise, now vertically! + +But the swimmers are also the sport of the waves. They, too, are +thrown far aloft. They, too, sink deeply. + +"There, I hit that man again, I know I did! Don't you feel him? They +must be thick. Come this way, all you fellers! I can take ye!" + +The boat is leaping high. These survivors are brave and good. + +The wood-chopper, with his wooden life-preserver, is clumsy getting in. +He angers Corkey. + +"Bail, you moke! Let the other fellows fish for the floaters!" + +It inspires Corkey, this frequent admonition of the boy. But the boat +cavorts dizzily. + +"Bail, you moke! You black devil! Don't you forget it!" The oars go +fast and furious, often in the air, and each time with a volley of +oaths. + +The wood-chopper has seized a man. It is another wood-chopper. There +are now four souls in the boat. + +It leaps less like an athlete. + +It has been half an hour since the Africa went down. There still are +cries. To all these, Corkey replies: "Come on! all you fellers that +has life-preservers!" But it is incredible that any more should get in +the yawl. + +Nevertheless, one, two, three, four, five, six wood-choppers arrive in +the next half-hour, and all are saved. Tugging for dear life, Corkey +holds his boat against the wind. + +"There!" cries the commander. "I strike him again!" + +A wood-chopper this time grasps a floating man who can make little +effort for himself. A half-dozen pair of hands bring him aboard. He +sinks on a seat. The boat is now full. It leaps less lightly. The +commander is jubilant. He thinks himself safe. He returns to his +favorite topic, the mascot. + +"You're from the Africa, ain't you? Bail, you moke! He-oh-he! Golly, +that was a big one!" + +"Yessah!" + +"You're Noah. Good name! Fine name! Where's Ararat? He-oh-he!" + +"Never seed a-a-airy-rat." + +"Bail, you moke! Don't you give me more o' your lip! Bail, you little +devil! Don't you see--he-oh--Godsakes! Lookout! Bail, all you +fellers! Other side! Quick! It's no good! Hang on! All you +fellers." + +The boat is turning. Hands grasp the gunwale. The gunwale sinks. +Hands rise. The back of the boat rolls toward them. The hands +scramble and pat the back of the boat. The gunwale comes over. The +boat is right side up. She still leaps. She still struggles to be +free. Hand after hand lets go. Six hands remain. The boat rises and +ends about. Then the bow rises; next the stern. The yawl strives +persistently to shake free from the daring creatures who have so far +escaped the Africa and the storm. The boy turns on the gunwale, as it +were a trapeze. He opens the locker. He finds a tin pie-plate. He +bails. + +Corkey gets in. + +"Lord of heavens!" he ejaculates, "that was a close call. Them +wood-choppers! They was no earthly use." + +Two hands are yet on the gunwale. + +"Suppose we can git him in?" + +"Yessah!" stammers the boy. + +The unknown man is evidently wounded, but is more active than when he +was first picked up. + +Every wood-chopper is gone. There are no sounds in Georgian Bay other +than the noises of the boat, the wind and the great waves. There were +117 souls on the Africa. Now 114 are drowned. They perished like rats +in a trap. + +What moment will the boat overturn again? + +"Bail, my son!" + +"Yessah!" stammers the boy. + +The boat is riding southward and backward at a fast rate. Three hours +have passed--three hours of increasing effort and nerve-straining +suspense. + +The wounded survivor lies in the stern of the boat. The boy bails +incessantly. The water is thrown in at the stern in passing over the +boat from the prow. + +"It's bad on that rooster!" says Corkey, as he hears the water dashing +on the prostrate form. "Wonder if his head is out of the drink?" + +"Yessah!" stammers the boy, feeling slowly in the stern. + +The work and the fear settle into a sodden, unbroken period of three +hours more. Growing familiarity with the seas aids Corkey in holding +the craft to the wind. But how long can he last? How long can he defy +the wind? + +"Bail, my son!" he begs. + +"Yessah," stammers the boy. + +The gray light begins to touch the east. Corkey has lived an age since +he saw that light. He is afraid of it now. + +A cloud moves by and the morning bursts on the group. + +Busy as he is, Corkey is eager to see the man in the stern. + +"Holy smoke!" says the oarsman. + +"Yessah!" stammers the obedient lad. + +The face on the stern seat startles Corkey. The nose is broken, the +lips are cut, some of the front teeth are gone and the face has been +bloody. It is like a wound poulticed white. It has been wet and cold +all night. + +"Lockwin, isn't it you?" asks Corkey, greatly moved at a sight so +affecting. + +"It is," signals Lockwin. The voice is inaudible to Corkey. + +The head rises and Corkey strains his ear. + +"I'm dying, Corkey. God bless you. I wanted to thank you." + +"God bless you, Lockwin. We're all in the same boat. I'm glad we +caught you!" + +The mascot moves toward the sinking man. + +The head falls again on the stern seat. The body is in ten inches of +water. + +The boat is moving rapidly. + +"Want to send any word home, Lockwin?" + +There is a pause. There is an effort to speak of money. There is +another effort. + +"He s-a-ays put a st-st-stone at Davy's-s-s-s-s grave," interprets the +stammerer. + +"Who's Davy?" asks the oarsman. "What else did he say?" + +"H-h-h-he's dead!" says the lad. + +"Bail! bail!" answers the man. "Let's g-g-get 'im out!" suggests the +boy in a half-hour. Corkey has been sobbing. + +"I thought a heap of Lockwin," he answers. + +"I d-d-don't like a d-d-dead man in the boat!" + +"Bail, you moke! I'll throw you in!" + +But Corkey's voice is far from menacing. Corkey is weak. Now he sees +the boy's face in dreadful contortions. The lad is trying to speak +quickly, and can make no noise at all. + +He rises and points. He is frantic. + +"He's crazy!" thinks Corkey, in alarm. + +"L-l-land!" screams the lad. + +"That is what it is, unless it's sucking us in." Corkey has heard of +mirages in shipwreck. + +"It's land!" he says, a moment later, as he sees a tamarack scrub. + +It is, in reality, a long, narrow spit of sand that pushes out above +Colpoy's Bay. Beyond that point is the black and open Georgian Bay for +thirty miles. + +The boat will ride by, and at least three hundred yards outside. +Unless Corkey can get inside, what will become of him? + +If he turn away from the wind he will capsize. + +On comes the point. It is the abyss of death beyond. + +"We never will get it!" cries the man. + +The boy's face is all contortions. He is trying to say something. + +"Bail, you moke!" commands the man. But his eyes look imploringly on +the peninsula of sand. + +The black face grows hideous. The eyes are white and protrude. The +point is off the stern of the yawl. + +"Not d-d-deep!" yells the mascot with an explosion. + +"Sure enough!" + +"S-s-s-s-see the sand in the wa-wa-ter!" + +"Sure enough!" + +The idea saves Corkey and the boy. Over the side Corkey goes. He +touches bottom and is swept off. + +The boat drags him. He catches the boy's hand. + +"Let her go," is the command, and, boy in arms, Corkey stands on the +bottom. The sea rages as if it were a thousand feet deep. + +If Corkey wore a life-preserver he would be lost. + +Now is he on a sand-bar? This is his last and most prostrating fear. +Step by step he moves toward the point. The waves dash over his head, +as they dash over the yawl. Step by step he learns that he is safe. + +The boat is gone forever. + +The water grows shallower. The great sea goes by. The bay beyond may +look black now Corkey has escaped its jaws. + +He puts down the lad. + +"Walk, you moke!" he commands. + +The twain labor hand in hand to the point. + +The man sinks like a drunkard upon the sands wet with the tempest. + +When Corkey regains his senses four men are lifting him in a wagon. +The mascot sits on the front seat. + +Four newspaper reporters want his complete account. + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +IN THE CONVENTIONAL DAYS + +One congressman, a hundred wood-choppers and fourteen miscellaneous +lives have been lost in Georgian Bay. + +It is the epoch of sensational news. A life is a life. The valiant +night editor places before his readers the loss of 115 congressmen, for +a wood-chopper is as good as a congressman. + +And while the theory that 115 congressmen have gone down astounds and +horrifies the subscriber, it might be different if that many +congressmen of the opposite party should really be sent to the bottom. + +The conditions for conventional news are, therefore, perfect. Upon the +length of the report depends the reputation of the newspaper. The +newspaper with the widest circulation must have the longest string of +type and the blackest letters in its headings. + +Corkey works for that paper. + +"Give us your full story," demand his four saviors. + +The mascot stammers so that communication with him is restricted to his +answers of yes and no. + +It is therefore Corkey's duty to the nation to tell all he has +witnessed. He conceals nothing. + +"It ain't much I know about it," he says; "she was rotten and she go +down." + +"Yes, but begin with the thrilling scenes." + +"There wa'n't no scenes. I never see anything like it." + +"Of course you didn't." + +"Well, dry up. The cap'n he came in and went out. The first mate--he +wa'n't no good on earth--well--he--" + +The remembrance of the first mate's indignities throws Corkey into a +long fit of strangling, ending with a monstrous sneeze. + +"That's what wrecked her," observes the witty reporter. + +"Exactly. I was trying to give you what this Aleck of a first mate was +a-saying. After that we start out on deck, and I go up on the +hurricane, and stand there in the dark." + +"What did you see up there?" + +Corkey gazes scornfully at his inquisitors. + +"As I was a-saying, I let down the yawl, and it was no good--it was +good enough--it saved us. When I get in the wet, I screw my nut and +the blooming old tub was gone down, I reckon!" + +When Corkey screws his nut he turns his head. He can use no other +phrase. + +The interviewers are busy catching his exact words. + +"Then I pick up the mascot, and he bail. Then we catch them +wood-choppers, and they are no earthly good. But I'm mighty sorry for +'em. Then I reckon we take up Lockwin, and he ain't no congressman, +neither. I'm the congressman. Don't you forget that. He die off the +point in the boat. We see the point, and we sherry out of that yawl. +Hey, there, you moke--ain't that about so?" + +"Yessah!" stammers the mascot. + +"He come from the Africa, and his name is Noah--good name for so much +drink, I reckon." + +"Yes," say the eager interviewers, "go on." + +"Go on! Go on yourselves. That's all." + +There is no profit in catechising Corkey. He has spoken. There is +Indian blood in him. He saw nothing. It was dark. + +"It wasn't no shipwreck, I tell you: not like a real shipwreck. She +just drap. She's where she belongs now. But that first mate, he was a +bird, and I guess the second mate wasn't no better. The cap'n--I don't +like to mention it of him, for I stood up to the bar with his crowd--he +was too full of budge to sail any ship at all. But don't say that, +boys. It'd only make his old woman feel bad." + +The Africa is lost. Ask Corkey over and over. He will bring up out of +the sea of his memory that same short, matter-of-fact recital. + +The rural interviewers, unused to the needs of the city +service--faithful to the sources of their news--finish the concise +tale. It covers a quarter of a column. + +That will never do for Corkey's paper. He knows it well. + +He reaches Wiarton. He hurries to the telegraph office. He buys a +half-dozen tales of the sea. He finds a shipwreck to suit his needs. +He describes in a column the happy scenes in the cabin before the +calamity is feared. He depicts the stern face of the commander as he +stands, pistols in hand, to keep the passengers from the boats. The +full moon rises. The wind abates. A raft is constructed at a cost of +one column and a half of out and out plagiarism. Corkey, Lockwin and +forty wood-choppers are saved on the raft. The captain goes down on +his ship, refusing to live longer. + +"You bet!" comments the laboring, perspiring Corkey. Corkey is a short +man, short in speech. This "full account" is a grievous +responsibility, for marine reporters are taught to "boil it down." + +The raft goes to pieces in mid-sea, and the survivors take to the yawl. + +Then Corkey returns and interpolates a column death scene on the raft. + +"Too bad there wasn't no starving," he laments. "I was hungry enough +to starve." + +The boat comes ashore in the breakers, and as the result of an +all-night's struggle with the muse of conventionality Corkey has seven +columns of double-leaded copy. + +Meantime the telegraph operator at Wiarton at Corkey's order has been +sending the Covode Investigation from an antique copy of the +"Congressional Globe." There is an office rule that dispatches must +take their turn on the file. The four interviewers have filed their +accounts and their accounts will be sent after the Covode +Investigation. When Corkey's dispatch is ready he joins it to a sheet +of the Covode Investigation, and therefore the operator has been busy +on one dispatch all the time. + +The night editor of Corkey's paper begins getting the Covode +Investigation from Wiarton. He enjoins the foreman to start more +type-setters. Reprint copy is freely set all night, and at dawn the +real stuff begins to arrive. + +"Appalling Calamity. Loss of 115 Lives on Georgian Bay. Only Two +Saved. Graphic and Exciting Account of Our Special Survivor. +Unparalleled Feat in Journalism." + +Such are some of the many headings. They fill a column. + +The night editor, the telegraph editors, the proof-readers, the +type-setters, the ring-men, the make-ups, the press-men, are thrilled +to the marrow. The printers can scarcely set their portions, they are +so desirous to read the other takes. + +"I didn't know Corkey had it in him," says Slug 75. + +"You'd have it in you," answers Slug 10, "if you went through the wet +like he did. How do you end? What's your last word?" + +The victorious newspaper is out and on the streets--the greatest +chronicle of any age--the most devout function of the most conventional +epoch of civilization. + +The night editors of all other city newspapers look with livid faces on +that front page. They scan the true and succinct account of Corkey's +interview, which reaches them an hour later. They indignantly throw it +in the waste-basket, cut off the correspondents by telegraph, and +proceed hurriedly to re-write the front page of their exemplar. + +The able editor comes down the next day and writes a leader on the +great shipwrecks of past times, the raft scene and the heroism of +Corkey. + +Corkey and his mascot are still at Wiarton. Corkey is superintending +the search for the yawl and Lockwin's body. + +Superintending the search is but a phrase. Corkey is exhibiting his +mascot, pounding on the hotel bar and accepting the congratulations of +all who will take a drink. + +The four correspondents fall back on the Special Survivor and hope for +sympathy. + +"We have been discharged by our papers," they cry in bitter anger and +deep chagrin. + +"Can't you get us re-instated?" they implore, in eager hope. + +"The man," says Corkey, judicially, "who don't know no better than to +send that shipwreck as it was--well, excuse me, gentlemen, but he ought +to get fired, I suppose." Corkey stands sidewise to the bar, his hand +on the glass. He looks with affection on the mascot and ruminates. +Then he brings his adamantine fist down on the bar to the peril of all +glassware. + +"Yes, sir! Now I was out on that old tub. I was right there when she +drapped in the drink. If anybody might make it just as it was, I +might--mightn't I?" + +"You might," they answer in admiration of a great man. + +"Well, I didn't do no such foolish thing as you fellows, did I?" + +"But why didn't you tell us, Mr. Corkey?" + +"That isn't what my paper hired me to do. Is it, you cow-licked, +cross-eyed, two-thumbed, six-toed stuttering moke?" + +There is a terrifying report of knuckles on the counter. There are +signs of strangling and a sneeze. + +"N--n--n--noah," stammers the faithful son of swart Afric. + + + + +BOOK II + +ESTHER LOCKWIN + + + +CHAPTER I + +EXTRA! EXTRA! + +Esther Lockwin, the bride of a few months, has been hungrily happy. + +She has been the wife of David Lockwin, the people's idol. She has +passed out of a single state which had become wearisome. She has +removed from a vast mansion to a less conspicuous home. + +Of all the women in Chicago she would consider herself most fortunate. + +People call her cold. It is certain that she is best pleased with a +husband like Lockwin. It is his business to be famous. + +"Go to Congress," she says. "Outlive your enemies. I think, David, +that men are not the equals of women in defending themselves against +the shafts of enmity. Outlive your enemies, David." + +That Lockwin has the nature she required was to be seen in the death of +Davy. An event which would have beclouded the life of common brides +came to Esther as an important communication. She saw Lockwin's heart. +She saw him kissing the soles of Davy's feet. There is something +despotic in her nature which was satisfied in his act. There is also a +devotion in her nature which might be as profound. + +She would kiss the soles of David Lockwin's feet, were he dead. She +could kiss his feet were he despised and rejected among men. + +Yet she is counted the haughtiest woman that goes by. + +"Mrs. Lockwin is a double-decker," the grocer declares to his head +clerk. "She rides mighty high out of the water." + +The grocer used to haul lumber from Muskegon. His metaphors smell of +the deep. + +For ten years young men of all temperaments had besieged this lady. +The fame of her money had entranced them. Suitors who were afraid of +her distinguished person still paid court, smitten by the love of money. + +She was so proud that she must marry a proud man. She must marry a man +conspicuous, tall, large, slow. She must banish from her mind that +hateful fear of the man who might want her for her financial +expectations. + +Sometimes when she surveyed the matrimonial field she noted that the +eligible suitors were few. + +Men with blonde mustaches of extreme length would recite lovers' poems. +Men with jet-black hair, eyes and beard would be equally foolish. The +lady would listen politely to both. + +"It is the Manitoba cold wave!" the lovers would lament as they left +her. + +To see Esther Wandrell pass by--beautiful, heroic, composed--was to +feel she was the most magnetic of women. To recite verses to her--to +lay siege to her heart--was to learn that her personal magnetism was +from a repellant pole. The air grew heavy. There was a lack of ozone. +The presumptuous beleaguerer withdrew and was glad to come off without +capture. + +There had been one man, and toward the last, two men, who did not meet +these mystic difficulties. Esther Wandrell was pleased to be in the +society of either David Lockwin or George Harpwood. + +David Lockwin she knew. He was socially her equal. He had lived in +Chicago as long as she. He was essentially the man she might love, for +there was an element of unrest in his nature that corresponded with the +turmoil underneath her calm exterior. + +She knew nothing of George Harpwood other than that he was an +acquaintance with whom she liked to pass an hour. He did not degrade +her pride. He walked erectly, he scorned the common people, he +presented an appearance sufficiently striking to enable her to +accompany him without making a bad picture on the street or in the +parlor. + +All other men bored her, and she could not conceal the fact. + +To promenade with Harpwood and notice that Lockwin was interested--this +was indeed a tonic. The world of tuberoses and _portes cocheres_--the +world of soft carpets and waltzes heard in the distance--this aromatic, +conventional and dreary world became a paradise. + +When David Lockwin declared his love, life became dramatic. + +When David Lockwin won the primaries and carried the election, life +became useful. + +When David Lockwin held the little feet of the dead foundling life +became noble. She, too, would bring from out the recesses of that +man's better nature the treasures of love which lay there. She had not +before known that she hungered and thirsted for love. + +It might be the affection of a lioness. She might lick her cubs with +the tongue of a tiger, but her temperament, stirring beneath her, was +pleased. + +She has a husband worthy of her worship. She who had not known that +she wanted lover's verses, wants them from David Lockwin. + +She who had never been jealous of Davy, grows jealous of politics. +Yet, fearing her husband may guess her secret and despise her, she +appears more Spartan. + +She nursed the man sick of brain fever and buried little Davy. She +brought her patient to his senses after nearly a month of alienation. + +"Is Davy dead, Esther?" he had asked. + +This was his first rational utterance. + +"You are elected to Congress, David," she said. "Are you not glad?" + +"Yes," he answered, and looked like death itself. + +She dared not to throw herself upon his pillow and tell him how happy +she was that he was restored. Her heart beat rebelliously that she did +not declare to him the consuming passion of love which she felt. + +Oh, let him resign his honors! Let him travel with her alone! Let her +love him--love him as he loved Davy--as he must love her! + +But the caution of love and experience had warned her to be still. Had +not David waited until the child was dead before she saw the man as he +really loved that child? + +"I think I can do my duty," he said, wearily. + +"I am so glad you were elected!" she said. + +"Yes," he answered, and became whiter. + +She had sat by the bed, growing uneasy. Ought she to have told him +all? Ought she to have acknowledged her deep devotion? Why was he so +sad? Surely they could mourn for Davy together! Tears had come in her +eyes as she gazed on the couch where Davy's soul went away. + +The man had been comforted. "Were you remembering Davy?" he asked. + +"Yes, dear," she said. + +He had put his weak hand in hers. She was the happiest she had ever +been. + +She had debated if she might deplore politics. She hated politics now. +But she had not dared to be frank. In five minutes more the bridges +were burned. The man and the woman were apart again, each in anguish, +and neither able to aid the other. + +That Lockwin needed a trip to Washington could not be denied. That +Esther feared to speak of Davy was becoming very noticeable. + +Yet no sooner is the husband gone than the woman laments the folly of +letting him leave her. + +"Go, David," she had commanded, when she was eager with a desire to +keep him or to go with him. + +"Shall I accompany you?" she asked, smiling and trembling. + +"I must return by a lake steamer, and must see Corkey alone," the +husband had replied. + +"A lake steamer!" In October! The affair alarmed the wife. She must +not let that fear be known. + +"Live down your enemies, David!" she had said, as she kissed him. + +The words were insincere. They had a false sound, or an unconvincing +sound. They had jarred on David Lockwin. + +"I can outlive my friends easily enough, it seems," he thought, as he +recited the lines of holy fields over whose acres walked those blessed +feet. "I can outlive poor Davy. I ought to be happy in politics. It +cost me enough!" + +And the man had wept. + +At home the wife had also wept. She was afraid she had erred. She had +not been frank. She accused herself, she defended herself, she noted +that it was not yet too late to bid David good-bye, or beg him not to +go until he should be stronger. She called a cab from the livery. It +was Sunday. There was a long delay. She entered the vehicle and +directed that haste should be made to the Canal street depot. She +approached the bridge. She feared she had made a mistake. David would +think she was silly. It was entirely unlike the cold Esther Lockwin to +be acting in this manner. + +The bridge bell had rung. The bridge swung. She had looked at her +watch. The train would leave at five o'clock. It was 4:50. Could not +the driver go round by the Washington street tunnel? + +"It is closed for repairs," the driver had said--a falsehood. + +When Esther reached the station the train had left. She had returned +to her home to wait in dire anxiety until her husband should reach +Washington. She had written a long letter unfolding her heart to him. + +"Come back to me, my darling," she said in that letter, "and see how +happy we shall be! Let the politics go; that killed Davy and makes us +all so unhappy. You were made for something nobler. Let us go to +Europe once more. Let us seek out the places where you and I have met +in the past." + +It had seemed too cold. + +"I love you, I love you. I shall die without you! Come home to me and +save me! I love you, I love you!" + +So she had written for a page, and was satisfied. + +If she might telegraph it! No! only advertisers and divorced people +did that. She must wait. + +He would not reply. He would come. + +The newspaper announces the arrival of the congressman-elect at the +White House. He had left almost immediately for the West. + +Then he will not get the letter! + +He may arrive in Chicago this night, but how and where? A gale is +rising. The wife is terrified with waiting and with love. If she had +some little clue of his route homeward. She is a woman, and does not +know how to proceed. She goes to her father. + +"Oh, fudge, puss! You mustn't let him go again. Ha! ha! you're just +like your mother. She pretty near had a fit when I went away the first +time. He went a little soon for his health, but our leading men tell +us he was needed in Washington. They wanted to see him and get some +pledges from him. He'll be home by some lake boat in the morning. +They get in about daylight, but it's like a needle in a haystack. Why, +the last time I came from Mackinaw they landed me on a pile of soft +coal--blest if they didn't! Stay all night, puss. Or go home, if you +want to be there." + +"Wind blows like sixty!" says the old Chicagoan, after Esther has gone. + +The mother harkens. She goes to the window. + +"Is that the lake?" she asks. + +"Yes; it's too late in the year for David to be on any boat." + +The wife of David Lockwin cannot sleep. She cannot even write another +letter. "How happy are lovers who may write to each other!" she says. +The gale rises and she waits. It is midnight and David is not home. +Now, if he should arrive, he would probably keep his state-room until +morning. + +She awakes at daylight. She dons a wrapper and creeps to the front +door. There are the morning papers. She scans every paragraph. Ah! +here is David! + +"NIAGARA FALLS, Oct. 16.--Congressman Lockwin left here to-day for Owen +Sound, on Georgian Bay." + +Georgian Bay! Where is that? She seeks the library. She finds a map. +Georgian Bay! Perhaps David has some lumber interest there. + +The paper is scanned again. Owen Sound, Owen Sound. She is reading +the marine intelligence. Yes, here is Owen Sound. + +"OWEN SOUND, Oct. 16.--Cleared--Propeller Africa, merchandise, for +Thunder Bay. Gale blowing, with snow." + +Thunder Bay! It is still more incomprehensible. + +There is a cry in the streets, hoarse and loud--a triumphant +proclamation: + +"Extra! Full account o' de shipwreck o' de Africa! Full account o' de +big shipwreck!" + +A white arm reaches from a front door. A dime is paid for two papers. +The door must be held open for light to read. + +"Appalling calamity! Unparalleled feat of journalism!" + +Hideous it seems to Esther Lockwin. She clings to the newell-post. + +"Death, off Cape Croker, of Congressman Lockwin!" + +There may be two congressmen of that name. + +There may be two! It is a dying hope. Can the eyes cling to the +column long enough to read that paragraph? + +"Congressman David Lockwin, of the First Illinois, died of his wounds +about daylight in a yawl off Cape Croker. His body is lost with the +yawl!" + +There is a shriek that awakens the household. There is a white form +lying in the hall near an open front door. + +The servants rush up-stairs. There is a hubbub and a giving of orders. + +The voices of the street come into the hall-way as winds into a cave: + +"Extra! Extra! 'Palling calamity! Hundred and fifteen congressmen +drowned! Extra! Extra!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +CORKEY'S FEAR OF A WIDOW'S GRIEF + +Corkey and Noah are nearing the residence of Esther Lockwin. + +"You bet your sweet life I don't want to see her nibs. It just breaks +me all up to hear 'em take on, rip and snort and beller. Now, see +here, you moke, when we git in you stand behind where I stand, and +don't you begin to beller, too. If you do I'll shake you--I'll give +you the clean lake breeze. If you walk up to the mark I'll get you +into the league nine. You'll be their man to hoodoo the other ball +clubs." + +"Yessah!" + +"You can't say nothing nohow, so all you've got to do is to see me face +the music." + +"Yessah!" + +"There's the house now. They say he thought a powerful lot of her. Is +there a saloon anywhere near?" + +The twain look in vain for a beer sign, and resume their journey. They +ascend the steps. + +"There ain't no yawl up here! This is worse than the Africa. I +believe I ain't so solid with myself as I was before she founder. Open +that valve!" + +Noah pulls the bell. There is no retreat now. Faces are peering from +every window. Museum managers are on guard at the ends of the street. +The story of Corkey and his mascot is on every tongue in Chicago. + +Esther Lockwin opens the door. Corkey had hoped he might have a moment +of grace. At best there is a hindrance in his voice. Now he is +speechless. + +"Step in," she says. + +He rolls a huge quid of tobacco to the other side of his face, and then +falls in a second panic. He introduces his first finger in his mouth +as if it were a grappling iron and extracts the black tobacco. He +trots down a step or two and heaves the tobacco into the street, +resisting, at the last moment, a temptation to hit a mark. He returns +up the steps, a bunchy figure, in an enormously heavy, chinchilla, +short coat, with blue pantaloons, + +"Step in," says the voice pleasantly. + +The action has begun as Corkey has not wished. He is both angry and +contused. A spasm seizes his throat. He strangles. He coughs. He +sneezes. + +There is an opening of street doors on this alarming report, and Corkey +pushes Noah before him into Esther Lockwin's parlors. The man's +jet-black hair is wet with perspiration. The boy strives to stand +behind, but Corkey feels more secure if the companion be held in front. + +"Let me take your hats," she says calmly. She goes to the hall-tree +with the hats. She shuts the door as she re-enters. + +"Take those seats," she says. + +But Corkey must pull himself together. This affair is compromising the +great Corkey himself. He does not sit. He must begin. + +"Me and this coon, madam, we suppose you want to hear how Mr. Lockwin +cashed in--how he--" + +"You, of course, are Mr. Corkey, my husband's political opponent?" + +"That's what I am, or was, madam; and you ain't no sorrier for that +than me." + +"The boy and you escaped?" + +"I guess so." + +"Now, Mr. Corkey, tell me why Mr. Lockwin went to Owen Sound?" + +"I can't do that, nohow; and the less said about it the better. It +would let a big political cat out of the bag." + +"Politics! Was that the reason?" + +"That's what it _was_, your honor, madam." + +"Can you tell me something about my poor husband?" + +It is a figure that by its mere presence over-awes Corkey. Of all +women, he admires the heroic mold. The garb is black beyond the man's +conception of mourning. The face is chastened with days of mental +torture. There is an intoxication of grief in the aspect of the woman +that hangs the house in woe. + +The mascot slips away from Corkey. The Special Survivor is drifting +into an open sea of sentiment. He feels he shall drown. + +Yet the beautiful face seems to take pity on him--seems to read the +heart which beats under that burry, bristly form--seems to reach forth +a hand. + +"Exactly as we catched onto Lockwin," thinks the grateful Corkey. + +"It comes mighty hard for me, Mrs. Lockwin, for I never expected to be +his friend, nohow. He was an aristocratic duck, and I will say that I +thought it was his bar'l that beat me." + +The widow is striving so hard to understand that the man speaks more +slowly. + +"But I meet him at Owen Sound. Between you and me he was to fix +me--see?" + +The woman does not see. + +"You mustn't say it to nobody, but I went to Georgian Bay to show him +my slate." + +"Is it politics?" + +"That's what it is, and it's mighty dirty work. But I don't think your +husband was no politician." + +It is a compliment, and the woman so receives it. + +"He was late, and the old tub was rubbing the pier away when the +jackleg train arrive." + +"The st-st-steamer was wa-wa-waiting," explained the boy. + +"Ah! yes," nods the listener. + +"You see, the coon can't talk," says Corkey, "but he's got any number +of points. Well, we wet our whistles, and it's raw stuff they sell +over there--but you don't know nothing about that. I introduce him to +the outfit, and we go aboard. We eat, but he don't eat nothing. I +notice that. We take the lounge in the fore-cabin. You know where +that would be?" + +A nod, and Corkey is well pleased. + +"We sit there all the time. I want to tell you just how he did. He +sit back, out straight, like this, his hands deep in his pockets, his +legs crossed onto each other, his hat down, and his chin way down--see?" + +Corkey is regaining his presence of mind. + +The widow attests the correctness of Corkey's illustration. + +"You bet your sweet life, nobody could get nothing out of him, then. +What ailded him I don't know, and I ain't calling the turn, but nobody +could get nothing out of him, I know that. I talk and talk. I slap +him on the shoulder, and pull his leg and sing to him--" + +"S-s-say it over," suggests the mascot. + +The widow cannot understand. + +"Why, don't you know, I was expecting him to fix me?" + +"Is it politics?" + +"That's what it _is_. So I guess I sing to him an hour--two hours--I +can't tell--when he comes to. 'Mr. Corkey,' says that feller--says Mr. +Lockwin--'you don't get nothing; You don't get the light at Ozaukee.' + +"'There ain't no lamp at Ozaukee,' says I. + +"'That's what the First High said,' says he. So you see I was +whipsawed. I get nothing." + +"P-p-politics!" interprets the mascot." + +"Perhaps I understand," says the widow. Withal, she can see David +Lockwin sitting his last hours on that lounge. How unhappy he was! +Ah! could he only have read her letter! + +"I don't just remember what I did after I found I wasn't fixed. It +flabbergasted me, don't you forget it! I know I sneezed--and you must +excuse me out there a while ago--and a big first mate he tried to put +the hoodoo on me. No, that's not politics, but life is too short. We +go out on deck." + +"To make the raft?" + +"Oh, that's all poppycock! Don't you believe no newspaper yarn. You +just listen to me. I'm giving it to you straight. We go out on deck, +and then I don't see Lockwin till we git the wood-choppers. How many +of them wood-choppers, Noey?" + +"Ei-ei-eight!" + +"Mrs. Lockwin, them wood-choppers was no earthly use. It didn't pay to +pull 'em in. I know it was me who hurt Lockwin with the oars. I +didn't know for hours that he was aboard. He showed up at daybreak, +you see. I tell you he was awfully hurt." + +The face of Esther is again miserably expectant. There will be no +mystery of politics in it now. "I wouldn't know him, either by face or +voice, Mrs. Lockwin. He lie in the stern and Noey try to help him, but +the sea was fearful. I couldn't hear him speak. Noey--the coon +here--hear him speak. + +"'Are you a-dying, old man?' I asks. + +"Noey says he answer that he was." + +"Yessah, h-h-he done spoke that he w-w-was." + +"'Want to send some word home, old man?' says I, to cheer him up; for +don't you see, I allowed we was all in the drink--just tumble to what +an old tub she was--117 of us at the start, and we all croak but me and +the moke--the coon, I should say." + +The woman is afraid to interrupt. + +Suddenly the eye of Corkey moistens. He has escaped a great error. "I +didn't hear his last words, nohow." + +"He said to p-p-put a st-st-stone over D-Davy's grave," says the lad + +The man turns on the boy. The brows beetle. The mouth gives a +squaring movement, significant beyond words. + +The listener still waits. + +"And then," says Corkey, "he whisper his good-bye to you. 'Tell her +good-bye for me.' _That's_ what he said, you moke!" + +"Yessah." + +Esther Lockwin grasps those short hands. She thanks the commodore for +saving her husband, for living to tell her his last words. She can +herself live to find her husband's body. + +But it is far too much for the navigator. + +His sobs resound through the room. The woman cannot weep. Her eyes +are dry, + +"I had such feelings as no decent man ever gits," he explains, "but +I'll never forgive myself that it was me who steered him agin it." + +"You have a better heart than most men, Mr. Corkey." + +"I'd give seven hundred cases in bar gelt if he was in Congress to-day, +Mrs. Lockwin." + +"I know you would, you poor man. God bless you for it!" + +Corkey is feeling in all his pockets. + +"Take this handkerchief, Mr. Corkey, if it will help you. God bless +you always! God bless you always! Come and see me often. I shall +never get tired of hearing how my husband died. He must have been +brave to cling to the boat." + +"You bet he _was_, and if ever you need money, you come to me, for I'm +the boy that's got it in the yellow!" + +Corkey bows himself down the steps. There two managers of museums +implore a few moments' conversation. They tender their cards. + +"Naw!" says Corkey, "we don't want no museum." + +The managers persist. + +"No use o' your chinning us! Go on, now!" + +The heroes escape from their persecutors. The mind of Corkey reverts +to the parlors of Esther Lockwin. + +"Great Caesar!" he exclaims. + +"Yessah!" + +"Steer me to a bar!" + +A few moments later Corkey leans sidewise against a whisky counter, his +left foot on the iron rail, his hand on the glass. A mouthful of +tobacco is gnawed from the biggest and blackest of plugs. The mascot +stands by the stove. + +The bartender is proud to serve the only Corkey, the most famous man on +the whole "Levee." While the bartender burns incense, the square mouth +grows scornful, laconic, boastful. Corkey is himself again. The +barkeeper goes to the oil-room for a small bottle. + +The handsome eyes of the navigator rest on his protege. The head sets +up a vibration something like the movement of a rattlesnake before it +strikes. The little tongue plays about the black tobacco. The speech +comes forth. + +"It's a great act I play on the widow about the 'last words'. He +didn't say nothing of the kind. I come near putting my foot right into +it." + +"Yessah!" + +Corkey's right hand is in his side pocket. He ruminates. He feels an +unfamiliar thing in his pocket. He draws out a dainty white-and-black +handkerchief. There is a painful reaction in his mind. + +"I'll burn that female wipe right now!" he says. + +"Yessah." + +The stove is for soft coal and stands open. Corkey advances to toss +the handkerchief in the fire. + +His eyes meet the crooked and quizzical orbs of the mascot. + +"You mourning-colored moke!" + +There is a huge threat in the deliverance. + +The hook-like finger tears the black tobacco out of the choking mouth. +The great quid is thrown in the fire. The proposed motion is made, and +the handkerchief is not burned. Down it goes in the hip pocket beside +Corkey's revolver, out of harm's way. + +Corkey started to throw something in the fire, and has kept to his +purpose. + +"Yessah!" says the mascot, sagaciously. + +"Bet your black life!" vows Corkey, as if great things hung by it. + +He looks with renewed affection on his protege. "I git you into the +league nine, sure, Noey!" + +"Yessah!" + +It is plain that the mascot will preserve an admirable reticence. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE CENOTAPH + +"TEN THOUSAND DOLLARS REWARD.--This sum of money will be paid for the +recovery of the body of the Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Bay +the morning of Oct. 17. When last seen the body was afloat in the yawl +of the propeller Africa, off Cape Croker. For full particulars and +suggestions, address H. M. H. Wandrell, Chicago, Ill." + +This advertisement may be seen everywhere. It increases the public +excitement attending the death of the people's idol. There is a +ferment of the whole body politic. + +Of all the popular pastors who turn the catastrophe to their account +the famous preacher at Esther Lockwin's church makes the most of it. +To a vast gathering of the devout and the curious he dwells upon the +uncertainties of life. Here, indeed, was a Chicagoan who but yesterday +was almost certain to be President of the United States. + +"Now his beloved body, my dear brethren and fellow-citizens, lies +buried in the sands of an unfrequented sea." + +There is suppressed emotion. + +"And as for man," chants the harmonious choir, "his days are as grass." + +"As a flower of the field," sounds the bass. + +"So he flourisheth," answers the soft alto. + +"For the wind passeth over it," sings the tenor. + +"And it is gone," proclaims the treble. + +"And the place thereof shall know it no more," breathes the full choir, +preparing to shout that the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to +everlasting upon them that fear Him. + +It is found that Lockwin had hosts of friends. There is so much +inquiry on account of that strange journey to Owen Sound that the +political boss is grievously disturbed. + +Corkey is not blind to this general uneasiness. He reads the posters +and the advertisements. He whistles. It is a sum of money worthy of +deep consideration. + +"You offered to l-le-end to her," observes the mascot. + +"Well, if she had needed the stuff she'd a been after it soon enough, +wouldn't she? I don't offer it to everybody. But that ain't the +point. I'm going after that roll--ten thousand dollars! You want to +come? If I win, you git $500. I reckon that's enough for a kid." + +It is a project which is well conceived, for Corkey may easily arrange +for a salary from his great newspaper. To find Lockwin's body would be +a clever feat of journalism, inasmuch as the search has been abandoned +by the other papers. + +A delegation of dock-frequenters waits on Corkey to demand that he +shall stand for Congress in the second special election, made necessary +by the death of Lockwin. + +"Gentlemen, I'm off on business. I beg to de--de--re--re--drop out! +Please excuse me, and take something." + +The touching committees cannot touch Corkey. + +"The plant has been sprung," they comment, "His barrel is empty." + +Corkey had once been rich when he did not know the value of wealth. He +had been reduced to poverty. On becoming a reporter, he had +laboriously saved $1,000 in gold coins. In a few weeks $300 of this +store had been dissipated. + +"And all the good work didn't cost nothing, either," thinks Corkey. + +Would it not be wise now to keep the $700 that remain? When the vision +of a contest, with Emery Storrs as advocate, had crossed poor Corkey's +mind on the Africa, the Contestant could see that his gold was to be +lost. He could not retreat without disgrace. Now he need not advance. + +"You bet I _won't_!" thinks Corkey, as he expresses his regrets that +enforced absence from Chicago will prevent his candidacy. + +"You'd be elected!" chime the touching committees. + +"You bet I _would_," says Corkey. + +"Corkey is too smart," say the touching committees. "Wait till he gets +into politics from the inside. Won't he wolf the candidates!" + +Corkey is at last on the shores of Georgian Bay. The weather soon +interferes with the search. But there are no signs of either body or +yawl. + +The wreck of the Africa, followed by daily conventional catastrophes, +soon fades from public recollection. The will of David Lockwin is +brought into court. The estate is surprisingly small. + +It had been supposed that Lockwin was worth half a million. Wise men +said Lockwin was probably good for $200,000. The probate shows that +barely $75,000 have been left to the wife, and the estate thus +bequeathed is in equities on mortgaged property. Mills that had always +been clear of incumbrances are found to have been used for purposes of +money-raising at the time of the election, or shortly thereafter. + +The public conclusion is quick and unfavorable. + +Lockwin ruined himself in carrying the primaries! The opposition +papers, while professing the deepest pity for the dead, dip deep into +the scandals of the election. "It is well the briber is out of the +reach of further temptation," say they. + +This tide of opprobrium would go higher but for the brave efforts of a +single woman. She visits the political boss. + +"You killed my husband!" she says deliberately. + +The leader protests. + +"Now you let these hyenas bark every day at his grave. And he has no +grave!" + +The woman grows white. The leader expostulates, The woman regains her +anger. + +"He has no grave, and yet your hyenas are barking, and barking. Do you +think I do not read it? Do you think I intend to endure it?" + +The leader makes his peace. + +As a result there is a return to the question in the party press. Long +eulogies of Lockwin appear. There is a movement for a monument. The +memory of the dead man's oratory stirs the community. Several +prominent citizens subscribe--when they learn that their subscriptions, +however meager, will be made noteworthy from a source where money is +not highly valued. The poor on every side touch the widow's heart with +their sincere and generous offerings. + +The philosophic discuss the character of Esther Lockwin. + +"Her troubles have brought her out. These cold women are slow to +strike fire, but I admire them," says the first philosopher. + +"Don't you think our American widows make too much ado?" asks the +second philosopher. + +"They at least do not ascend the burning pyre of their dead husbands." + +"To be sure. That's so. I don't know but I like Esther Lockwin the +better. I never knew a man to lose so much as Lockwin did by dying." + +"She declares his death was due to the little boy's death." + +"Odd thing, wasn't it?" + +"Yes, but he was a beautiful child. What was his name, now?" + +"It was Lockwin's name--let me see--David." + +"Oh, yes, Davy, they called him." + +"Well, she has erected the prettiest sarcophagus in the whole cemetery +for Davy. I tell you Esther Lockwin is a magnificent woman." + +"She would have more critics, though, if she were not Wandrell's only +daughter." + +"Wandrell's only daughter! You don't tell me so! Ah, yes, yes! That +accounts for it." + +So, while the philosophers account for it, Esther Lockwin goes on with +the black business of life. Every week she waits impatiently for news +from Corkey. Every week he gives notice that he has found nothing. + +"When spring comes, I'll find that yawl," he promises. He knows he can +do that much with time. + +How often has Esther Lockwin thrown herself on a couch, weeping and +moaning as if her body would not hold her rebellious heart--as when +Corkey left her in those black and earliest days of the great tempest +of woe! + +"It is marvelous that it is held to be dishonorable to die, and +honorable to live," she cries. + +"Oh, David, David, come back! come back! so noble, so good, so great! +You who loved little Davy so! You who kissed his blessed little feet! +Oh, my own! my husband!" + +A fond old mother, knocking on the door, comes always in time to stop +these brain-destroying paroxysms. + +"And to think, mother, that they shall asperse his name! The people's +idol! Faugh! The people! Oh, mother, mother!" + +The mother deplores these months of persistent brooding. It is wrong. + +"So they always say, who have not suffered, mother. How fortunate you +are." + +But the daughter must recollect that to-day is the dedication. A band +has marched past. Kind friends have carried the subscription to +undoubted success. Emery Storrs will deliver the oration. The papers +are full of the programme, the line of march, the panegyric. There are +many delicate references to the faithful widow, who has devoted her +husband's estate and as much more to the erection of a vast fire-proof +annex at a leading hospital. + +The public ear is well pleased. The names of the men who have led in +the memorial of to-day are rolled on everybody's tongue. + +There appears at the scene of dedication a handsome woman. Her smile, +though wofully sad, is sweet and sympathetic. She humbly and +graciously thanks all the prominent citizens, who receive her +assurances as so much accustomed tribute. The trowel rings. The +soprano sings. The orator is at his best. Band after band takes up +its air. The march begins again. Chicago is gratified. The great day +ends with a banquet to the prominent citizens by the political leader. + +The slander that republics and communities are ungrateful is hurled in +the faces of the base caitiffs who have given it currency. + +Behind all the gratulations of conventionality--in the unprinted, +unreported, unconventional world--the devotion of Esther Lockwin is +universally remarked upon. + +Learned editors, noting this phase of the matter, discuss the +mausoleums of Asia erected by loving relicts and score a point in +journalism. + +"The widow of the late Hon. David Lockwin, M. C., will soon sail for +Europe," says the society paper. + +But she will do no such thing. She will spend her nights and mornings +lamenting her widowhood. She will be present every day to see that the +work goes forward on the monument. + +"I might die," she says, moodily. + +There will be no cessation of labor at the ascending column. It is not +in the order of things here that a committee should go to Springfield +to urge an unwilling public conclusion of a grateful private beginning. +Money pours like water. The memorial rises. It becomes a city lion. +It is worth going to see. + +Society waits with becoming patience. "Inasmuch as the prominent +citizens saw fit to render Esther's sorrow conspicuous," says Mrs. +Grundy, "it is perfectly decent that she should remain in complete +retirement." + +Nevertheless notice is secretly served on the entire matrimonial world. + +Esther Lockwin will soon be worth not a penny less than five million +dollars! + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A KNOLLING BELL + +It seems to Esther Lockwin that her night of sorrow grows heavier. The +books open to her a new world of emotions. Ere her bridal veil was +dyed black she had read of life and creation as inexpressibly joyous. +The lesson was always that she should look upon the glories of nature +and give thanks. + +Now the title of each chapter is "Sorrow." The omniscient Shakespeare +preaches of sorrow. The tender and beautiful Richter teaches of the +nightingale. Tennyson, Longfellow, Carlyle, Beecher, Bovee, the great +ancient stoics, the Bible itself, becomes a discourse on that tragic +phenomenon of the soul, where peace goes out, where longing takes the +place of action, where the will sets itself against the universe. + +"Sorrow," she reads, "like a heavy hanging bell, once set on ringing, +with his own weight goes." + +"How true! How true!" she weeps. She turns to "Hamlet." She reads +that drama of sorrow. She accepts that eulogium of the dead as +something worthy of her lost husband. + +She gloomily reviews the mistakes of her earlier life. She had been +restricted in nature to the attentions of a few men. She had found her +lord and master. The sublime selfishness of human pride had driven her +on the rocks of destruction. This she can now charge to herself. Had +she sufficiently valued David Lockwin; had she counseled him to live +for himself, to study those inclinations which she secretly understood +and never encouraged--had she begged him to turn student rather than to +court politics and popularity--then she might yet have had him with her. + +The heavy bell of sorrow clangs loudly upon this article of her pride, +ambition and lack of address to the true interests of her dead lord. + +"Davy would not have died if politics had not been in the way. And +then that dreadful fever! That month of vigil! How strangely he spoke +in his delirium! How lonesome he was! How he begged for a companion +to share his grief! Oh, David! David! David! Come back! Come back! +Let me lay my head on your true heart and tell you how I love you. Let +me tell you how I honor you above all men! You who had so much love +for a foundling--oh, God bless you! Keep you in heaven for me! +Forgive the hard heart of a foolish woman whose love was so slow! +Come, holy spirit, heavenly dove, with all thy quickening power! Our +Father, which art in heaven, which art in heaven!" + +The knolling of the heavy bell grows softer. The paroxysm passes. +Religion, the early refuge of the sex--the early refuge, too, of the +higher types of the masculine sex--this solace has lit the taper of +hope, the taper of hope that emits the brighter ray. + +Esther Lockwin will meet her lord again. She will dwell with him where +the clouds of pride and ambition do not obscure the path of duty. + +She who a half hour ago could not live on must now live at all cost. +She has other labors. She must visit the portrait painter's to-day. +She would that the gifted orator might be portrayed as standing before +the immense audiences which used to greet his voice, but it cannot be +done. She must be contented with the posthumous portraits which +forever gratify and disturb the lovers of the dead. + +It is a day's labor done. The portrait will be praised on all hands, +but it has not come without previous failures and despairs. + +To return to the house out of which the light has gone--how Esther +Lockwin dreads that nightly torment! Shall she linger at the parental +home? Is it not the bitterer to feel that here the selfish life grew +to the full? Is it not worse than sorrow to discover in this abode the +same influences of estrangement? What is David Lockwin in the old home? + +A dead man, to be forgotten as soon as possible! + +No! no! Better to enter the door where the white arm reached out for +the message of blackness. Better to go up and down the stairs +searching for David, listening for Davy's organ--better to fling one's +self on the couch, abandoning all to the tempest of regret and +disappointment; to cry out to David; to apostrophize the unseen; to +fall into the hideous abyss of hopelessness; to see once again the +north star of religion; to call upon God for help; to doze; to awaken +to the abominations of the reality; to remember the escape from +perdition; to hasten to the duties of the day! + +So goes the night. So comes the morning. She who would not live the +evening before is terrified now for fear of death ere her last great +labor shall be done. + +She calls her carriage. She rides but a few squares. Every block in +that noble structure represents a pang in her heart. Some of those +great stones below must have been heavier than these sobs she now +feels. "Oh, David! David! Every iron beam; every copestone, every +coigne of vantage, every oriel window in this honorable edifice is for +you! Every element has cost an agony in her who weeps for you." + +The widow gazes far aloft. It has been promised for this date, and it +is done. Something of the old look of pride comes to the calm and +beautiful face which the architect and the workmen have always seen. + +The vari-colored slate shingles are going on the roof. + +Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black granite letters +over the portal. She reads: + + THE DAVID LOCKWIN ANNEX + +[Illustration: Her eye returns in satisfaction to the glittering black +granite letters over the portal.] + +"A magnificent hospital," says an approving press, "the very dream of +an intelligent philanthropy." + + + + +BOOK III + +ROBERT CHALMERS + + +CHAPTER I + +A DIFFICULT PROBLEM + +David Lockwin is not dead. + +Look into his heart and see what was there while he sat beside Corkey +on the lounge in the forecabin of the Africa. + +The time has come for momentous action. It is settled that at the +other end of this journey David Lockwin shall cease to exist. Now, how +to do it. + +He may commit suicide. + +He may disappear. + +In furtherance of the latter plan there awaits the draft of Robert +Chalmers, who bears letters from David Lockwin, the sum of $75,000. +This deposit is in the Coal and Oil Trust Company's institution at New +York. The amount is half of Lockwin's estate. Esther shall have the +rest. + +Serious matters are these, for a man to consider, who sits stretched +out on a seat, one ankle over the other, his hands deep in pocket, his +chin far down on his chest; and Corkey appealing in his dumb, yet +eloquent way, for a share of the spoils of office. + +This life of David Lockwin, the people's idol, is an unendurable fiasco. + +David Lockwin is disconsolate. Davy is no more. + +David Lockwin is sick and weak. Whether he be sane or daft, he +scarcely knows, and he cares not at all. + +He recoils from politics. + +He loathes the reputation of a rich man with ambition--a rich man with +a barrel. + +He does not believe himself to be a true orator. + +He is urged forward by unknown interests over which he has no control. +He is morally and publicly responsible for the turpitude of the party +leaders and the party hacks. + +He is married to a cold and unsympathetic woman. Did he not wed her as +a part of the political bargain? + +Is life sweet? No. Then let Davy's path be followed. Now, therefore, +let this affair of suicide be discussed. + +Can David Lockwin, the people's idol, commit suicide? Does he desire +to pay the full earthly penalty of that act? He is of first-class +family. There has never been a suicide in the records. + +His self-slaughter will be the first scandal in his strain. + +He is happily married, so far as this world knows. If he be bored with +the presence of Esther he alone possesses that secret. She does not. +He is the husband of a lady to whom there will some day come an added +fortune which will make her the richest woman in the West. + +He is the reliance of the party. He is the one orator who remains +unanswered in joint debate. Quackery as it is, no opponent dares to +cross the path of David Lockwin. It is a common saying that to give an +opponent a date with Lockwin is to foretell the serious illness of the +opponent. It is a sham--this oratory--but it befools the city. + +Can the fashionable church to which Esther belongs sustain the shock of +Lockwin's suicide? Behold the funeral of such a wight, once the +particular credit of the congregation, now the particular disgrace! + +That forthcoming contest with Corkey! + +Is it not uncomfortable? What is it Corkey is saying? Oh! yes, +Corkey, to be sure! "Mr. Corkey, I should have told you they will do +nothing. You must contest." + +Here, therefore, are two men who are plunged into the deepest seethings +of mental action. The one has missed greatness by the distance of a +mere hand's grasp; the other is half crazed to find himself so fatally +conspicuous in society. + +Let the rich, respectable, beloved, ambitious and eloquent Lockwin +hurry back to that problem: What to do when he shall arrive in Chicago? + +Can the community be deceived? Let us see how it fared with Lockwin's +friend Orthwaite, who found life to be insupportable. The +respectability which so beclogs Lockwin had been secretly lost by +Orthwaite. + +His shame would soon be exposed. Orthwaite returned to his home on the +last suburban train. He purposely appeared gay before his +train-acquaintances. He left the train in high spirits. He pursued a +lonely path toward home. He reached a stream. He set to work making +many marks of a desperate struggle. He placed a revolver at his heart +and fired. Then with unusual fortitude he threw the weapon in the +stream. + +But the ruse was ineffectual. The keen eyes of the detectives and the +keener ear of scandal had the whole truth in a week's time. It was +suicide, said the press--bald, cowardly, pitiful. + +How difficult! How difficult! Now let us set at that device of +mysterious disappearance. How far is that fair to a young wife? Why +should she wait and search and hope, although Esther would not disturb +herself much! She is too cold for that. + +How difficult! How difficult! But why do the eyes of Corkey bulge +with excitement? Oh, yes, the ship is foundering because Corkey is in +the way of this great business. Corkey should be flung in the sea and +well rid of him. As the ship is foundering we will go on deck, but +when a man is so conspicuous as David Lockwin, how can he commit +suicide--how can he disappear? + +There are words, indistinctly heard. It is Corkey crying to Lockwin to +climb up the steps to the hurricane deck. Indeed it is a clever +riddance of that uncomfortable man. Ouf! that brutal sneeze, that +jargon, that tobacco, that quaking of head and hesitancy of expression! +It distracts one's thoughts from an insoluble problem; How to shuffle +off this coil--not of life, but of respectability, conspicuity, +environment! + +But what is this? This is not a wave. If David Lockwin hold longer to +this stanchion, he will go to the bottom of the sea. This must be what +excited Corkey. Something has happened. + +The red fire of drowning sets up its conflagration. + +Lockwin has time for one regret. His estate has lost $75,000. He +enters the holocaust and passes into nothingness, feeling heavy blows. + +He awakes to find himself still with Corkey. His brain is dizzy and he +relapses into lethargy. In the faint light of the dawn, totally +benumbed by the night's exposure, he is again passing into nothingness. + +Corkey questions the sinking man, and Lockwin tries to tell of the +money--the deposit of $75,000 to the order of a fictitious person. He +cannot do it. + +"Put a stone over Davy's grave," he says, and goes into a region which +seems still more cold, more desolate, more terrible. + +There is a knocking, knocking, knocking. He hears it long before he +replies to it. Let them knock! Let a man sleep a little longer! It +is probably the chambermaid at the hotel in Washington. + +But it is a persistent chambermaid. Ah, now the bed is lifted up and +down. This must be seen to. We will open our eyes. + +What a world of light and shimmer! The couch is the yawl of the +Africa. The persistent chambermaid is the Georgian Bay. + +The gale has subsided. The sun shines. Blackbirds are singing. The +yawl is dancing on the waves near the shore. + +David Lockwin sits up. How warm and pleasant to be alive! + +Alive! Oh, yes! Chicago! The Africa! Is it not better? + +Has he any face left? His nose seems flat. He must be desperately +wounded. His eyes grow dim. He must be dying again. + +He sleeps and is once more gently awakened by the sea--so fond now, so +terrible last night. + +He sits upright in the yawl, wet, sore, and yet whole in limb. He +gathers his scattered faculties. He finds a handkerchief and ties up +his face. He muses. + +"I am the sole survivor! I, Robert Chalmers, of New York City, am the +sole survivor, and nobody shall know even that. Corkey--let me +see--Corkey and a boy--they must be at the bottom of Georgian Bay!" + +He muses again. His face hurts him once more. He sees a cabin at a +distance. He finds he has money in plenty. To heal his wounds will be +easy. He must be greatly changed if his feelings may be credited. Two +of his teeth are broken, and harass his curious tongue. + +What plotter, cunning in exploits, could so well plan an honorable +discharge from the bitterness of life in Chicago? + +"Sing on, you birds! Fly off to Cuba! I am as free!" + +The man is startled by his own voice. It sounds as if some one else +were talking. Yet this surprise only increases his joy. + +"Free! Free! Free!" The word has a complete charm. It is like the +shimmer of the waters. All this expanse of hammered silver is free! + +"I am as free!" exclaims Robert Chalmers, of New York City. + +And again starting at the sound of his own voice, he seeks the cabin of +a hospitable trapper, where his wounds healing without surgical +attention, may disguise him all the better. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +A COMPLETE DISGUISE + +David Lockwin has undertaken that Robert Chalmers shall have no +trouble. It was David Lockwin, in theory, who suffered all the ills of +life. In this theory David Lockwin has seriously erred. Robert +Chalmers must bear burdens. + +The first burden is a broken nose and a facial appearance strangely +inferior to the look of David Lockwin, the orator. Robert Chalmers +need not disguise himself. He will never be identified. That broken +nose is a distortion that no detective could fathom. Those scarlet +fimbrications under the skin proclaim the toper. Those missing teeth +complete a picture which men do not admire. + +David Lockwin was courted. Robert Chalmers is shunned. It wounds a +personal vanity that in David Lockwin's philosophy had not existed. It +is the ideal of disguises, but it does not make Robert Chambers happy. + +Why, too, should Robert Chalmers desire so many appurtenances of life +that were in David Lockwin's quarters? If we find Chalmers housed in +comfortable apartments at Gramercy Square, is it not inconsistent that +he should gradually supply himself with cough medicine, turpentine, +alcohol, ammonia, niter, mentholine, camphor spirits, cholagogue, +cholera mixture, whisky, oil, acid, salves and all the aids to health +and cleanliness by which David Lockwin flourished? How slight an +annoyance is the lack of that old-time prescription of Dr. Tarpion, +which alone will relieve the melancholia! + +For Robert Chalmers finds that the weather still gives him a turn. If +the lost prescription will alone lift the oppression, is not the +annoyance considerable, providing Dr. Tarpion cannot be seen? + +Robert Chalmers had planned a life at Florence. But now he is a man +without a body. It is enough. He will not also be a man without a +country. He will stay in New York. + +In fact, a fortune of $75,000 is not so much! It will be well to +husband it. The books must be bought. Day after day the search must +go forward for copies like those in Chicago. Josephus! What other +copy will satisfy Robert Chalmers? Here is a handsome Josephus--as +fine as the one in Chicago. But did Davy's head ever lie on it? + +Well, bear up then, Robert Chalmers. You are free at least. You need +not lie and cheat at elections. You need not live with a woman whose +heart is as cold as ice and whose pride is like the pride of an +Egyptian Pharaoh. You sunk that yawl well in the sands of Georgian +Bay! You filled it with stones! + +You thought you were the sole survivor, yet how admirably the rescue of +Corkey and the boy abetted your escape, Robert Chalmers. They saw +David Lockwin die. They took his dying wishes. Fortunate that he +could not mention the deposit at New York! + +But why is David Lockwin so dear? Why not forget him? + +Did he play a part that credits him? Why stop at Washington and take +the mail that awaited in that long-advertised list? Truly, Robert +Chalmers was strong enough to lay those letters aside without reading. +That, at least, was prudent. + +Let us read these newspaper accounts. There is intense excitement at +Chicago. Lockwin is libeled. The election briberies are exposed. +David Lockwin had spent nearly $200,000 to go to Congress, it is stated. + +"Infamous!" cries Robert Chalmers, and vows he is glad he is out of a +world so base. He puts forth for books. + +Search as he may, he cannot find the editions that have grown dear to +David Lockwin. He cannot abstain from more purchases of Chicago +papers. They are familiar--like the books in David Lockwin's library +at Chicago. + +This is a dreary life, without a friend. He dares not to seek +acquaintances. Not a soul, not even a restaurant keeper, has ventured +to be familiar. The man with a broken nose and missing teeth--the man +with a grotesque voice--is scarcely desired as a customer at select +places on the avenues and Broadway. Let him find better accommodations +among the Frenchmen and Italians on Sixth avenue. + +"Probably," they say, "he has fallen in a duel." + +But there are fits of melancholia. Return, Robert Chalmers, to your +handsome apartments. Draw down your folding-bed, turn on the heat, +study those Chicago papers. Live once again! What is this? A +reaction at Chicago. Why, here is a page of panegyric. Here is a +large portrait of the late Hon. David Lockwin, lost in Georgian Bay! + +The man whisks off his bed, and runs it up to the wall, whereupon he +may confront a handsome mirror. He compares the two faces. + +"A change. A change, indeed!" he exclaims sadly. It is not alone in +the features. The new man is growing meager. He is an inconsequential +person. He is a character to be kept waiting in an ante-room while +strutting personages walk into the desired presence. + +He pulls the bed down. He cannot lie on it now. He takes a chair and +greedily reads the apotheosis of David Lockwin. + +As he reads he is seized with a surprising feeling. In all this +eulogium he sees the hand of Esther Lockwin. Without her aid this +great biography could not have been collated. + +The sweat stands on his brow. He studies the type, to learn those +confessions that the publishers make, one to another, but not to the +world. + +"It is paid for," he groans. He is wounded and unhappy. + +"It is her cursed pride," he says. "I'm glad I'm out of it all." + +He sits, week after week, hands deep in pockets, his legs stretched +out, one ankle over the other, his chin far down on his chest. + +"Funny man in the east parlor!" says the chambermaid. + +"Isn't he ugly!" says her fellow-chambermaid. + +But after this long discontent, Robert Chalmers finds that Chicago +mourns for him. He is flattered. "I earned it!" he cries, and goes in +search of the books that once eased him--the identical copies. + +The movement for a cenotaph makes him smile. On the whole, he is glad +men are so sentimental about monuments. He is glad, however, that no +monument will be erected. + +It is undoubtedly embarrassing. + +He is thinking too much of Chicago. He must begin this second life on +a new principle. He must forget David Lockwin. It grows apparent to +the man that his brain will not bear the load which now rests upon it. +He must rather dwell upon the miseries that he has escaped He must +canvass the good fortune of a single and irresponsible citizen, Robert +Chalmers, who has no less than $74,500 in bank. He must put his mind +on business. + +No! + +One reason for quitting the old life was the desire to pass a studious +life. + +Well, then, he must wait patiently for that period when his mind will +be quiet. A certain thought at last reanimates him. + +Would it not be well to act as a clerk until the weariness of servitude +should make freedom pleasing? This is both philosophical and thrifty. + +Robert Chalmers therefore advertises for a situation as book-keeper. +This occupation will support him in his determination to neglect the +Chicago newspapers. + +"Greatest man I ever saw to sit stretched out, his hands deep in his +pockets, his feet crossed, his head far down on his shirt bosom," says +the chambermaid at Gramercy Square. "He must be an inventor. He +thinks, and thinks, and thinks. Dear sakes, but he is homely." + +An advertisement secures to Robert Chalmers a book-keeper's place in a +dry-goods agency on Walker street. The move is a wise one. The labor +occupies his time, improves his spirits and emancipates him from the +unpleasant conclusions that were forcing themselves on him. He is not +liked by the other clerks because he is not social, but he is able to +consider, once more, the humiliations which he escaped by avoiding a +contested election, and by a successful evasion of a wedding compact +which was a part of his foolish political ambition. + +Several months pass away. If Chalmers is to be anything better than a +book-keeper at nine hours' work each day he must move, but he who so +willingly took the great step is now afraid to resign his +book-keepership. He dreads life away from his tall desk. This problem +is engaging his daily attention. This afternoon the clerks are arguing +about Chicago. He cannot avoid hearing. He is the only party not +engaged in the debate. They desire his arbitration. Does Clark street +run both north and south of the river in Chicago? Here, for instance, +is the route of a procession. Is it not clear that Clark street must +run north if the procession shall follow this route? + +They lay a Chicago Sunday paper on his desk. The portrait of David +Lockwin confronts Robert Chalmers. There is a page of matter +concerning the dedication of a monument on the following Saturday. + +The arbiter stammers so wretchedly that the losing side withdraw their +offer of arbitration. + +"Chalmers doesn't know," they declare, and take away the paper while +Chalmers strives to read to the last syllable. + +He is sick. He cannot conclude his day's work. His evident distress +secures a leave for the day. + +"Get somebody in my place if I am not here tomorrow," he says, +thoughtfully, for they have been his only friends, little as they +suspect it. "Chicago in mourning for David Lockwin!" he cries in +astonishment, as he purchases great files of old Chicago papers. +"Chicago dedicating a monument to David Lockwin! It is beyond +conception! And so soon! The monument of Douglas waited for twenty +years." + +The air and the ride revive the man. He even enters a restaurant and +tries to eat a _table d'hote_ dinner with a bottle of Jersey wine, all +for 50 cents, To do a perfunctory act seems to resuscitate him. He +takes up his heavy load of newspapers and finds a boy to carry them. +He remembers that he is a book-keeper on a small salary, and discharges +the boy at half-way. + +He reaches his apartments and prepares for the long perusal of his +files of Chicago news. Each item seems to feed his self-love. He is +not Robert Chalmers. He is David Lockwin. + +Hour by hour the reader goes on. Paper after paper falls aside, to be +followed by the succeeding issue. At last the tale is complete. David +Lockwin, dead, is the idol of the day at Chicago. + +The man stretches his legs, puts one ankle over the other, sinks his +hands deep in his pockets, a newspaper entering with the left arm, and +lowers his head far down on his chest. The clock strikes and recalls +him to action. + +"I can reach Chicago in time for that dedication," he says. "I guess, +after all, that I am David Lockwin's chief mourner." + +Ah, yes! Why has not this second life brought more joy? The man +ponders and questions himself. + +"I am Davy's chief mourner, too!" he says, and sobs. "By heaven, it is +Davy that has made me unhappy! I thought it was Chicago. I thought it +was politics. I thought it was Esther. It must have been Davy!" + +"If it were Davy," he says, an hour later, "I have made a mistake." + +Down he looks into his heart, whither he has not dared to search +before. He is homesick. Nobody loves Robert Chalmers. Nobody +respects Robert Chalmers. David Lockwin dead is great and good. How +about David Lockwin living? + +His hands go deeper in his pockets at this. The motion rustles the +newspaper. He strives to shake free of the sheet. His eye rests on +the railway timetables. + +He falls into profound meditation again. He considers himself +miserable. He is, in fact, happy, if absence of dreadful pain and +turmoil be a human blessing. At last his eye lights up, and the heavy +face grows cheerful. + +"I will go to Chicago!" he says. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +BEFORE THE TELEGRAPH OFFICE + +Robert Chalmers is in Chicago this morning of the dedication, and has +slept well. He tossed in his bed at New York. He snores at the +Western inn. + +He asks himself why this is so, and his logic tells him that nature +hopes to re-establish him as David Lockwin. There is a programme in +such a course. At New York there was neither chart nor compass. It +was like the Africa in mid-sea, foundering. + +Now Robert Chalmers is nearing land. And the land is David Lockwin. +The welcoming shore is the old life of respectability. Banish the +difficulties! They will evaporate. Listen to the bands, and the +marching of troops! + +He goes to the window. The intent of these ceremonies smites him and +he falls on the bed. But nature restores him. Bad as it is, here is +Chicago. David Lockwin is not dead. That is certain. He is not +pursued by the law, for another congressman has been chosen. David +Lockwin has tried to kill himself, but he has not committed murder. + +Is it not bravado to return and court discovery? But is not Robert +Chalmers in the mood to be discovered? "What disguise is so real as +mine?" he asks, as friend after friend passes him by. + +True, he wears a heavy watch-chain and a fashionable collar. His garb +was once that of a professional man. Now his face is entirely altered. +Gouts of carmine are spotted over his cheeks; wounds are visible on his +forehead. His nose is crooked and his teeth are misshapen. His voice +is husky. + +He enters a street-car for the north. It startles him somewhat to have +Corkey take a seat beside him. + +"Will this car take me to the dedication?" Chalmers makes bold to ask +the conductor. + +"That's what it will!" answered Corkey. "Going there? I'm going up +myself. I reckon it will be a big thing. Takes a big thing to git me +out of bed this time of day. I'm a great friend of Mrs. Lockwin's!" + +"You are?" + +"That's what I am. I was on the old tub when she go down. May be +you've heard of me. My name is Corkey." + +"Clad to meet you. My name is Chalmers. I have read the account." + +"Yes, I've got tired of telling it. But it's a singular thing, about +Lockwin's yawl. Next week I go out again. I'll find that boat, you +hear me? I'll find it. I tell the dame that, the other day." + +"Mrs. Lockwin?" + +"I tell her the other day that I find the yawl. I'll never forget that +boat. Lord! how unsteady she was! I'm sorry for the dame. Women +don't generally feel so bad as she does. It's a great act, this +monument--all her--every bit! These prominent citizens--say, they make +me weary! You've heard about the hospital--the memorial hospital. She +blow hundred and fifty thousand straight cases against that +hospital--the David Lockwin Annex. Oh, it's a cooler. It's all iron +and stone and terra cotta. She's spent a fortune already. She doesn't +cry much--none, I reckon. But no one can bluff her out." + +Robert Chalmers is pleased in a thousand ways. He is so glad that he +scarcely notes the facts about the annex. Since he was cast away no +other person has talked freely with him. The open Western manner +rejoices his very blood. + +"Lockwin was a pretty fair-sized man, like you. I guess you remind me +of him a trifle. They was a fine pair. I never was stuck on him, for +I was in politics against him; but somehow or other I've hearn the dame +praise him so much, and he die in the yawl, and so on, until I feel +like a brother to him. Just cut across with me," as they leave the +car. "Want a seat with the reporters? Oh, that will be all right out +here. Say you're from the outside--where is it? Eau Claire? Say Eau +Claire. Here is some copy paper. Sit side of me. Screw your nut out +of my place, young feller," to a mere sight-seer. "Bet your life. +Don't take that seat neither! Go on, now!" + +David Lockwin is to report the dedication of his own monument. He +trembles and grows thankful that Corkey has ceased to talk. The +audience gathers slowly. David Lockwin wonders it he be a madman thus +to expose himself. A memorial hospital! Did not Corkey speak of that? +The David Lockwin Annex! + +This is awful! Lockwin has not read a word of it. Ay, but the +apartments are still at Gramercy Square. Why did he come? What fate +led him away? What devil has lured him back? Hold! Hold! There is +Esther! Lift her veil! Give her air! Esther, the beautiful! + +The reporter for the Eau Claire paper groans with the people. His +heart falls to the bottom of the sea. She loves him! God bless her! +She loves him! Why did he not believe it at home? God bless her! Is +she not noble? + +"She's a great dame," Corkey whispers loudly. "Special friend of mine. +You bet your sweet life I'd do anything for her. I'll find that yawl, +too!" + +"The late honorable David Lockwin," begins the pastor of the +fashionable church. + +"The late honorable David Lockwin," write the reporters. + +"The late honorable David Lockwin," writes David Lockwin. + +He grows ill and dizzy once more. The exercises proceed. He will fall +if he do not look at Esther's face. + +"I know," cries the shrill soprano, "that my--Redeemer liveth." + +There comes upon the widow's face an ecstatic look of hope. She will +meet her husband in heaven, and he will praise her love and fidelity. + +"God bless her!" writes the Eau Claire reporter, and hastily scratches +the sentence as he reads it. + +A messenger approaches the reporters. A note is passed along. + +"I got to go!" whispers Corkey, "you can stay. They sent for me at the +office. I guess something's up." + +David Lockwin is only too glad to escape. He dreads to leave Esther, +yet what is Esther to him? He will hurry away to New York before he +falls into the abyss that opens before him. + +"Do you suppose she loved her husband as much as it seems?" he asks. + +"I wish she'd love me a quarter as much, though I'm a married man. +Love him! Well, I should say!" + +Corkey tries to be loquacious. But his dark face grows darker. + +"Oh! it's bad business. I'm sorry for her, and it knocks me out, I +ain't my old self. I got up feeling beautiful, and it just knocks me. +I don't think she ought to build no monument, nor no hospital, for it +keeps her hoping. What's the use of hoping? I'll find that yawl. +Curious about that yawl. Wouldn't it be great stuff if he should show +up? Wonder what he'd think of his monument and his hospital? A +hospital, now, ain't so bad. You could take his name off it. They'll +do that some day, anyhow, I reckon. I've seen the name changed on a +good many signs in Chicago. But what's a monument good for after the +duck has showed up? Old man, wouldn't it be a sensation? Seven +columns!" + +Corkey slaps his leg. He quakes his head. The little tongue plays +about the black tobacco. He sneezes. The passengers are generally +upset. + +A substantial woman of fifty, out collecting her rents, expostulates in +a sharp voice. + +A girl of seventeen laughs in a manner foreboding hysteria. + +The conductor flies to the scene. + +"None o' that in here!" he cries, frowning majestically on Corkey. + +"Don't you be so gay, or I'll get you fired off the road," answers the +cause of all the commotion. + +"Randolph street!" yells the conductor in a great voice. + +The irate and insulted Corkey debarks with Lockwin. + +"Pardner, I wouldn't like to see him come back, though. I'd be sorry +for him. Think of the racket he'd have to take!" + +"What time does the train start for New York?" asks Lockwin. + +"Panic! Panic! Panic!" is the deafening cry of the newsboys. + +The two men join a crowd in front of a telegraph office. Bulletins are +on a board and in the windows. Men are rushing about. The scene is in +strange contrast with the sylvan drama which is closing far to the +north, where the choir is singing "Asleep in Jesus." + +There is a financial crash on the New York Stock Exchange. Bank after +bank is failing. "The New State's Fund Closes," is the latest bulletin. + +"I got pretty near a thousand cases," says Corkey, "but you bet your +sweet life she ain't in no bank. I put my money in the vaults." + +"Banks are better," says Lockwin. He has a bank-book somewhere in his +pockets. He pulls forth a mass of letters gray with wear. The visible +letter reads: + + "HON. DAVID LOCKWIN, + Washington, + D. C." + +His thought is that he should destroy these telltale documents. Then +he wonders what may be in these envelopes. There flashes over him a +new feeling--a sharp, lightning-like stroke passes across his +shoulder-blade and down his arm. + +It is Esther's handwriting, faded but familiar. The envelope is still +sealed. It is a letter he got at Washington. + +The man trembles violently. + +"'Fraid you're stuck?" asks Corkey. + +The man hurriedly separates his bank-book from the letters. He +displays the fresh and legible name of Robert Chalmers on the bank-book. + +"I have a little in a New York bank," he says. + +Corkey looks on the book. "The Coal and Oil Trust Company's +Institution," he reads, "in account with Robert Chalmers. Well, money +is a good thing. Glad you're fixed. Glad to know you. I'm fixed +myself." + +Corkey examines the list of failures. "I'm glad you're heeled," he +says. + +A boy is fastening a new bulletin on the window. + +"_There_ you be, now!" says Corkey. + +"The Coal and Oil Trust Company's Institution Goes Down," is on the +bulletin. + +"I'll lend you money enough to git home," says Corkey. + +"Panic! Panic! Panic!!" bawls a large boy, who beats his small rivals +ruthlessly aside and makes his way to Lockwin. + +The man is still trembling. He is trying to put away his worthless +bank-book and cannot gain the entrance of the pocket. + +"'Ere's your panic! Buy of me, mister. Say, mister, won't you buy of +me? Ah! git out, you great big coward!" + +It is the sympathetic Corkey, smartly cuffing the invader. + +"Strike somebody of your size, you great big coward! Ah! git out, you +great big coward!" + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +"A SOUND OF REVELRY BY NIGHT" + +"Poverty," says Ben Franklin, "often deprives a man of all spirit and +virtue. It is hard for an empty bag to stand upright." + +David Lockwin has but one familiar acquaintance in the world and that +is Corkey. Corkey will now start in search of the body of David +Lockwin! + +David Lockwin has but a few hundred dollars in cash. His fortune is in +a ruined bank. He hopes to get something out of it. His experience +tells him he may expect several thousand dollars. + +Is it wise to return to New York? Yes. A situation awaits him there. +He can protect his rights as a depositor. He can enjoy the pleasant +apartments at Gramercy Park. + +But the expense! Ah! yes, he must take cheaper quarters. It is the +first act of despotism which poverty has ever ventured to impose on +David Lockwin. + +It makes New York seem inhospitable. It makes Chicago seem like home. +Still, as David Lockwin seeks his hotel, noting always the complete +solitude in which he dwells among the vast crowds that once knew him +familiarly or by sight, it chills him to the marrow. + +He enters the hotel dining-room. The head waiter seats his guest at a +table where three men are eating. Every one of them is a business +acquaintance of Lockwin. + +The excitement of the moment drives away the brain terrors which were +entering the man's head. The men regard the newcomer with that look +which is given to an uninvited banqueter whose appearance is not +imposing. The best-natured of the group, however, breaks the silence. +He speaks to the diner on his left. + +"Where did you get the stone for that sarcophagus you put up yesterday?" + +"In Vermont." + +"Who ordered the job--Lockwin or the widow?" + +"She did." + +"Well, it's a pretty thing. I wish I were rich. I lost a little boy +too." + +The monument-maker at this begins a discourse on the economies of his +business and shows that he can meet the requirements of any income or +purse. + +"Did you see Lockwin's portrait at the institute?" asks the third party, + +"No. Is it good?" + +"I hardly think so. I don't remember that he ever looked just like it. +Everybody knew Lockwin, yet I doubt if he had more than one close +acquaintance and that was Tarpion--Doc. Tarpion." + +"Does the doctor act as her adviser in all these affairs? Did you read +about the dedication? Did you know about the hospital? She had better +keep her money. She'll need it." + +"She? Not much. She had a big estate from Judge Wandell's sister who +died. The judge himself has no other heir. I shouldn't wonder if he +advised the erection of the hospital to give her the credit of what he +intended to do for himself." + +"Well, I never knew a town to be so full of one man as this town is of +Lockwin. You'd think he was Douglas or Lincoln." + +"Worse than that! Douglas and Lincoln are way behind. Take this city +to-day and it's all Lockwin. Going to the banquet to-night?" + +David Lockwin has finished his meal. He rises. + +"Coming back," says the monument-maker confidentially to his inquirer, +"I can fix you a beautiful memorial for much less money and it will +answer every purpose." + +"I'll see you again," says the customer, cooling rapidly away from the +business. "I must go to the North Side and get back here by 9 o'clock." + +Why shall not David Lockwin take the night train and leave this living +tomb in which the world has put him? + +"In which I put myself!" he corrects. + +It all hurts him yet it delights him. "She loved me after I was dead," +he vows and forgets the sting of poverty. + +Now about this going to New York to-night. He would like to be +prevented from that journey. What shall do that for David Lockwin? + +"Davy's sarcophagus!" + +The thought seizes him with violence. Of course he cannot go. He +seeks his room. He throws himself on his bed and gives way to all his +grief. It takes the form of love for Davy. David Lockwin weeps for +golden-head. He weeps for the past. He is living. He ought to be +dead. He is poor. He is misshapen in feature. He is hungry for human +sympathy. The world is giving him a stone. Oh, Davy! Davy! + +The outside electric lights make a thousand monuments, hospitals, +sarcophagi, portraits and panics on the chamber walls. The hours go +past. There is a bustle in the hotel. There is a sound of merriment +in the banqueting hall, directly below. The satisfaction of having +dealt tenderly by the beloved dead is expressing itself in choice +libations and eloquent addresses. + +The man listens for these noises. There is a loud clapping of hands. +An address has concluded. + +The glasses tinkle. Doors open and shut. Waiters and servants run +through the hall giving orders and carrying on those quarrels which +pertain to the unseen parts of public festivities. + +"Why did I not go?" David Lockwin asks. "Ah! yes. Davy! Davy's tomb. +I will see it, if it shall kill me to live until then. But how shall I +pass this night? What shall I do? What shall I do?" + +The glasses tinkle. The laughter bursts forth unrestrainedly. The +banquet is moving to the inn-keeper's taste. + +The electric lights swing on long wires. The glass in the windows is +full of imperfections and sooty. The phantasmagoria on the wall +distracts the suffering man. Why not have a light? He rises and turns +on the gas. Perhaps there will be a paper or a book in the room. That +will help. + +Poverty of hotel life! There is only the card of rules hung on the +door. Lockwin reads the rules and is thankful. He studies the lock +history of the door, as represented in the marks of old locks and +staples. Here a burglar has bored. Here a chisel has penetrated to +push back the bolt. Yes, it was a burglar, for there is now a brass +sheath to prevent another entry. Most of these breakages, however, +have been made by the hotel people, as can be seen by the transom locks. + +That brings up suicides. David Lockwin has committed suicide once. +The subject is odious. + +The laughter below resounds. The man above will read from the lining +of some bureau drawer. + +He goes to that piece of furniture. The dressing-case is completely +empty excepting a laundry bill on pink paper. + +He clutches that. He examines the printer's mark. He strives to +recall the particular printing-office. + +He has not the courage to go forth into the street. He does not want +to read, except as it shall ease him from the cruel torment which he +feels. + +The glasses jingle and chime. The stores across the street close their +doors and darken their show windows. Why not go below and buy the +latest novel? + +The suggestion fairly sickens the man. He did not know he was so +nervous. To read ror pastime while a great city is filled with his +obsequies--he cannot do it! + +There is but one course--to read the rules, to study the history of the +door until it reaches the stage of suicide--ah! to feel in one's +pockets! That is it! That is it! + +David Lockwin cons his bank-book. He opens his worn letters---letters +to the Hon. David Lockwin. He grows timid as he descends into the vale +of despair. + +Why did he do it? These details of the electoral campaign seem trivial +now. Easy difficulties! + +He reaches the last letter of the packet. Marvelous that he should +wait to unseal it until an hour so fraught with need! + +It is Esther's letter--probably some cold missive such as she wrote +during their courtship and engagement. + +David Lockwin is beginning to love his wife as a dog worships its +master. He looks to her for safety. He wants to think of her as she +is now--a sincere mourner for a dead friend, husband and protector; a +superior being, capable of pity for David Lockwin. + +"Is it wise to read it?" he asks in a dread. "But why should I not be +generous? Why should I not love her--as I do love her? God forgive +me! I do love her! I love her though she smite me now--cold, cold +Esther!" + +The man is crying. He cannot hear the banqueters. He has at last +escaped from their world. His hands shake and he unseals the letter, +careful to the last that no part of the envelope be torn. + +He will read the cold letter. Cold, cold Esther! He kisses the +envelope again and again. The sheets are drawn from the inclosure. +She never wrote at such length before. He scans the first page. His +face grows cold with the old look of disappointment. He wishes he had +not read. He turns to the next page. The text changes in tone. There +succeeds a warmth that heats the heart aglow. + +David Lockwin passes his hands across his eyes. He is dazed. He reads +on: + +"Come back to me, my darling, and see how happy we shall be! Let the +politics go--that killed Davy and makes us all so unhappy. You were +created for something nobler. Let us go to Europe once more. Let's +seek the places where we have met in the past." + +How much more of this can David Lockwin endure? + +His temples rise and grow blood-red. The gas seems to give no light. +He reads like a man of short sight. His eyes kiss the sacred sheet. + +"I love you! I love you! I shall die without you! Come home to me, +and save me! I love you! I love you! I love you! I love--!" + +David Lockwin has fainted. + +The glasses chink, and heavy feet tramp on soft carpets, making a +muffled sound. + +"'Scuse me!" says a thick-voiced banqueter in the hall. "I thought it +was my hat! Hooray! 'Scuse me! I know it's pretty late. Whoop! +'Scuse me!" + +The waiters bicker hotly; the counting-room bell rings afar off. There +is a smothered cry of "Front!" + +"All trains for the East--" comes a monotonous announcement in the +corridors. + +"Sixty-six! Number sixty-six!" screeches the carriage-crier. + +A drunken refrain floats on the air from Wabash avenue: + + "We won't go home till morn-i-n-g, + T-i-l-l daylight doth appear." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +LETTERS OF CONSOLATION + +On the Africa David Lockwin loved but one person, and that was David +Lockwin. + +On this morning after the banquet David Lockwin hates but one person, and +that is David Lockwin. + +He had lately hungered for somebody more charitable to himself than he +himself could be. He had experienced a mean, spiritless happiness in +noting the honors which the widow was heaping on his memory. Now he is +furiously in love with that widow. He sallies from the hotel in haste to +her residence. + +Three blocks away from his goal, with the old home in sight, he awakens +to his danger. A moment more and the whole shameful truth had been known! + +"No, base as I am, I cannot do that," he shudders. + +Besides, he is a true lover, and what one ever dared to take the great +risk? + +Here she lives! And between her and her lover, her husband, yawns the +chasm of death! Was it not a black act that could so enrobe a woman? He +recalls her garb as she appeared at the dedication yesterday--solemn, +solemn! + +It is unsafe to stay in this neighborhood, yet let this man creep nearer +and gaze on the house where Davy died. + +The balcony--it seems to him, dimly, that he made a speech from that +balcony. But Davy's death is not now the calamity it was yesterday. It +seems more like a pleasant memory--a small memory. The gigantic thought +is Esther, Esther--Esther the beautiful, the noble, the generous, the +faithful. She shall be the wife of Ulysses, waiting for his return, and +he shall return! + +The husband again starts for Esther's door. There are two men within +him--one is David Lockwin dead, the other is David Lockwin living. Once +more the eminent man who is dead seizes the maddened lover who is living +and prevents a disaster. + +Love this house as he may, therefore, David Lockwin must avoid it until +he can control himself. It is true his books are in there, his +manuscripts, his chronicles, "Josephus," and a thousand things without +which he cannot lay hold on the true dignity of life. It is true he is +slipping down the declivity that invites the easy descent of the obscure +and powerless citizen. If he have true hope--and what lover has it +not--he must hurry away. He is not safe in Chicago just at present, +because the abstraction of a lover, joined with the self-forgetfulness of +a man in the second life, will assuredly lead him to ruin. + +His eyes leave that house with utter regret. He makes the long ride to +Davy's tomb and finds it covered with fresh flowers. The tenderest of +care is visible. The lawn is perfect--not a leaf of plantain, not a +spear of dandelion. Money will not produce such stewardship of the +sepulcher. It is Esther's own devotion. + +He goes to the site of the cenotaph. Is it not a difficulty for a lover? +Yet love sustains him. His invention suggests method after method by +which he may undo the past. + +He visits the foundations of the David Lockwin Annex. He notes the +character of the materials that are strewn over three streets. His love +for Esther only increases. + +Thence to the Art Institute he hastens. They said it was a poor likeness +of Lockwin. He vows it is good. It is good because Esther has done it! + +He has seen all--all but Esther. He starts blindly for Esther's house +once more. As he walks rapidly southward, his own team comes up the +avenue. It is Esther within the carriage. She looks at a man in gray +business dress, with colored nose and a drunkard's complexion. She notes +the large watch-chain. She finds him no different from all other living +men. She is looking for David. "Come back, my noble husband," she sobs, +"come back from the grave, or let me join you." + +A moment afterward she fears she may die before her work shall be done. +That was a sharp sting at her heart just then. + +David Lockwin is frozen with that cold look. The carriage is past. He +was on his way to Esther's to tell her all. If he had not risen out of +his abstraction ere it should be too late, he would have confronted this +cold lady--this mature builder of cenotaph and hospital. + +He is terrified--a lover's panic. She does not love him, or she would +have called to him as they passed. + +So thinks David Lockwin, for he cannot see himself except as he once was. +People call him Chalmers when they address him, which is not more than +once a day, but it is like the salutation to Judge Wandrell. He does not +call himself "Judge" nor sign himself "Judge." "My dear judge," writes a +friend. "Your friend, H. M. H. Wandrell," answers the same man. + +It is easy for David Lockwin to answer to the name of Robert Chalmers. +He has found it totally impossible to become Robert Chalmers in fact. He +is David Lockwin, disinherited--a picture of the prodigal son---but David +Lockwin in every bone and muscle--no one else. + +Esther Lockwin has refused to know David Lockwin. + +Sharp as may be his hurt at this event, he is, nevertheless, once more +recalled to the expediencies. If he shall be in hope of Esther, it would +be well to escape from a situation so dangerous. + +"And I am poor! Why did I not think of that? It was easy to marry her, +because I was wealthy. I am a poor man now." He repeats it over and +over. + +It would be well to hurry to New York and attend to that matter of the +Coal and Oil Trust Company institution. He could not go but for the +lover's hope of preparing something for the reunion. + +Between Chicago and New York one may fall into a wide abyss of despair. +The late Honorable David Lockwin has tarried in Chicago, has assisted at +the public dedication of his own cenotaph, has visited the David Lockwin +Annex, has looked his own widow in the face. His pride is torn out by +the roots. A man once exalted is now humbled. And, added to the horrors +of his situation, every fiber of his body, every aspiration of his +spirit, proclaims his love of the woman who once wearied him. + +His dilemma is dreadful without this catastrophe of love. He thanks the +fates that he is in love. It gives him business. He will not sell his +claim against the ruined bank. He will work as book-keeper. He will +wait and collect all. Patience shall be his motto. He will communicate +with Esther through a spiritual medium. He will--better yet--write to +her anonymously. Every day a type-written missive shall be sent to her. +He will have her! It is all possible! + +"It is all easy!" David Lockwin says, and goes resolutely at work to save +the remnants of his fortune. + +For a year he turns the inertia of his love into his daily business. +Esther is building at Chicago, David will build at New York--a fabric of +love, airy, it may be, but graceful and beautiful. + +Each night he indites in type-writer and addresses to Esther Lockwin an +essay on the value of hope in great afflictions. The tone grows +familiar, as the weeks pass by. "My dear madam" becomes "my dear Mrs. +Lockwin," and at last "my dear friend." To-night, far into the small +hours, he pours out his advice and comfort: + +"Be brave, my dear friend," he proceeds. "Undreamed-of happiness may +still be yours, if you can but come to place confidence in your faithful +correspondent. There are things more strange than anything which the +books give us. As a matter of fact, dear friend, the writers do not dare +to make life as it is, for fear of outrunning the bounds of fiction. Let +me give you comfort, and at the proper time I shall be able, not to +reveal myself, perhaps, but to offer you opportunity to give me a signal +that my services are valuable to you. + +"Preserve your health. This admonition has been iterated in the hundreds +of different treatises I have placed before you. My diligence and +patience must recommend themselves. My hope must reinspire your drooping +energies. Until to-morrow at eventide, adieu!" + +The time is ripe to learn the effect of these courteous ministrations. +David Lockwin dares not intrust his secret to a chance acquaintance like +Corkey, who is completely devoted to Mrs. Lockwin. What man can now be +found who will support a possible relation of mutual friend in this +singular case? + +The thought of Dr. Tarpion comes again and again. + +Clearly a lover cannot wait forever. And he must know whether or not +Esther reads the letters. But, of course, she reads them! + +"And they comfort her, God bless her!" cries the happy lover. But he +must not wait too long. She needs him. She must be rescued from Chicago. + +Why not write to Dr. Tarpion? He is a dear old friend. + +He seems very dear, now that Lockwin needs him. The doctor is the +administrator of the estate, if we come to recollect. Certainly! + +Now, therefore, let David undertake an interrogatory, and tremblingly +mail it to Dr. Tarpion. To be sure, this is better. Suppose David +Lockwin the unknown monitor, had invited Esther to advertise in a +newspaper, and the advertisement had been left out! Or, suppose he had +suggested a certain signal at her house, or in New York--anywhere! It +would be a chance too great to take. No lover should leave anything to +fortune. Dr. Tarpion will give the information. He shall be the mutual +friend--the go-between to unravel this tangled web of deception. + +If David Lockwin shall in future discover himself to Esther, he must have +the aid of a discreet and loving friend. Dr. Tarpion is the man. This +letter will open the way for further disclosures. It is as follows: + + +PERSONAL AND CONFIDENTIAL. + +DEAR SIR:--For about a year I have seen fit to offer to Mrs. Lockwin such +consolation as I thought might lessen her grief. Will you kindly inform +me if my suggestions have at any time mitigated her sorrow? I shall be +happy to know that an earnest and faithful labor has done some little +good. You may inclose a letter to the care of Robert Chalmers, New York +City, who will deliver it to me. + + +The reply is prompt: + +CHICAGO, May 1.--I am in receipt of a type-written communication from an +unknown party, and am not unwilling to inform the writer that Mrs. +Lockwin's mail all comes to me. I have for a year burned every one of +the consolatory letters alluded to, in common with thousands of other +screeds, which I have considered as so many assaults on the charity of an +unhappy lady. + +The series of letters from New York have, however, been the most +persistent of these demonstrations. I have expected that at the proper +time we should have a claimant, like the Tichborne estate. Some +experience in administrative affairs, together with the timely +suggestions of a friend, lead me to note the opportunity for a claimant +in our case. David Lockwin's body was not found. I have, therefore, +kept a sharp eye out for claimants, and will say to the writer of the +"consolatory letters" that our proofs of Lockwin's death are ample. Two +persons saw him die. Mrs. Lockwin is a sagacious woman, keenly aware of +the covetousness aroused by the public mention of her great wealth. + +The writer will therefore, if wise, abandon his attentions and +intentions. If I receive any more of his "consolatory letters" I shall +look up Robert Chalmers with detectives. Respectfully, + + IRENAEUS TARPION, M. D. + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +THE YAWL + +It is about 10 o'clock at night in the office of the great newspaper. +The night editor sits at his desk reading the latest exchanges. The +telegraph editor labors under a bright yellow light, secured by the use +of a vast expanse of yellow paper. + +The assistant telegraph editor is groaning over a fraudulent dispatch +from a correspondent whose repute is the worst. + +A place is still vacant at the tables. The marine dispatches are +piling high. + +"Where is the sea-dog?" asks the night editor, who is in command of the +paper. + +"Good evening, Corkey," says the telegraph editor. "I trust we are +spared for another day of usefulness," says the night editor, with an +unction which is famous in the office. + +"How is the ooze of the salt deep, commodore?" asks the night editor. + +"How is the coral and green amber?" asks the telegraph editor. + +"Green nothing!" mutters Corkey. He feels weary. + +"How did you leave great Neptune?" asks the assistant telegraph editor. + +These questions are wholly perfunctory. The telegraph editor has +dedicated five minutes to the history and diary of the triple alliance. + +When Corkey is happy this inquisition flatters him. When he is black +in the face there is an inclination to deal harshly with these wits. A +thousand clever things flash into his black eyes but escape his tongue. + +He struggles to say something that will put the laugh on the telegraph +editor, and begins choking. The head vibrates, the little tongue plays +about the black tobacco, the mouth grows square. + +"Run for your lives, gentlemen," cries the assistant telegraph editor, +making believe to hold down his shears. There is an explosion. It is +accompanied with many distinguishable noises--the hissing of steam, the +routing of hogs from their wallow, the screech of tug whistles and the +yell of Indians. + +The door stands open to the great composing-room, where eighty +typesetters--eighty cynics--eighty nervous, high-strung, well-paid +workmen--stand at their intellectual toil. They are all in a hurry, +but each rasps his iron type-stick across a thin partition of his type +case. It is a small horse-fiddle. The combined effect is impressive, +chaotic. + +The night foreman rages internally. He stalks about with baleful eye. +"Buck in, you fellows," he says. "The paper is behind." + +"I wish it would kill him," the night foreman says of Corkey. + +There is silence in the telegraph-room. The tinkle of the horse-cars +comes up audibly from the street. The night editor knows what has +happened, to the slightest detail. He mentally sees the night foreman +standing in the shadows of the parlor (wash-place) laughing to kill. +The night editor grows still more unctuous. + +"From earthquakes, hailstorms and early frosts," he prays, "good Lord, +deliver us." + +"Good Lord, deliver us!" comes the solemn antiphone of the telegraph +editor, the assistant telegraph editor, Corkey and the copy boy. + +The chinchilla coat is off. This is manifestly a hard way to earn a +living for a candidate for Congress, a dark horse for the legislature +and a marine editor who has run his legs off all day. + +"He's been moving," the boy whispers to the night editor. + +The night editor scans the dark face. It is serious enough. It is the +night editor's method to rule his people by the moderation of his +speech. In this way they do all the work and thank him for keeping his +nose out of affairs. + +"We hear, commodore, that you have moved your household gods." + +"Yes," grunts Corkey. To the jam-jorum Corkey must be civil, as he +will tell you. + +"Where to?" + +"Top flat, across the alley from the Grand Pacific." + +"That's a five-story building, isn't it?" + +"That's what it is." + +Corkey is busy fixing his telegrams for the printer. He is trying to +learn what the current date is, and is unwilling to ask. + +The night editor is thinking of Mrs. Corkey, a handsome little woman, +for whom the "boys in the office" have a pleasant regard. + +"Is there an elevator?" + +"I didn't see no elevator when I was carrying the kitchen stove in." + +"How will Mrs. Corkey get up?" + +This is too much. Corkey has made a hundred trips to the new abode, +each time laden with some heavy piece of furniture or package of goods. +How will Mrs. Corkey get there, when Corkey has been up and down the +docks from the north pier to the lumber district on Ashland avenue, and +all since supper? + +The marine editor sits back rigidly in his chair. The head quakes, the +tongue plays, he looks defiantly at the night editor. + +"She's coming," says the assistant telegraph editor, holding down his +shears and paste-pot. + +The head quakes, but it is not a sneeze. It is a deliverance, _ex +cathedra_. The night editor wants to hear it. + +"You bet your sweet life, Mrs. Corkey," says the commodore, "screw her +nut up four flight of stairs. That's what Mrs. Corkey do!" + +The compliments of the evening are over. It is a straining of every +nerve now to get a good first edition for the fast train. + +"Gale to-night, Corkey," says the telegraph editor. "We've taken most +of your stuff for the front page. The display head isn't long enough. +Write me another line for it." + +"Hain't got nothing to write," Corkey doesn't like to have his report +taken out of its customary place. When there are blood-curdling wrecks +he wants the news in small type along with his port list. + +"Hain't got nothing to write," he repeats sullenly. He gapes and +stretches. He knows he must obey the telegraph editor. + +"Hurry! Give it to me. Give me the idea." Corkey's eye brightens. +He is a man of ideas, not of words. He has an idea. His head quakes. +The tongue begins its whirring like the fan-wheel before the clock +strikes. + +"You can say that the life-saving service display a great act," says +the marine editor, relieved of a grievous duty. + +His pile of telegrams grows smaller. The dreaded work will soon be +over. + +"How's your rich widow?" + +Corkey has not failed to plume himself on his aristocratic and familiar +acquaintance. His associates are themselves flattered. Corkey is to +take the telegraph editor to call on Mrs. Lockwin. The night editor is +jealously regarded as too smooth with the ladies. He will be left to +his own devices. + +"How's your rich widow?" is repeated. But Corkey cannot hear. He is +reading a telegram that astonishes, electrifies and confuses him. + +"COLLINGWOOD, 14.--After wading ten miles along shore found yawl Africa +sunk in three feet water, filled with sand and hundreds stone. Can +take you to spot. What reward? What shall we do?" + +Corkey seizes the dispatch, puts on his coat, and rides downstairs. On +the street he finds it is midnight. He looks for a carriage. He sets +his watch by a jeweler's chronometer, over which a feeble gas flame +burns all night. + +He changes his mind and rides back upstairs. He enters the telegraph +operators' room, where five men are at work receiving special +intelligence. + +"Get Collingwood, boys." + +"That drops off at Detroit. Collingwood's a day job." + +The instrument is clicking. The operator takes each word as the +laborious Corkey, with short pencil, presses it into the buff-colored +paper. + +CHICAGO, 14.--Let it be! Will be at Collingwood to-morrow. +CORKEY. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A RASH ACT + +David Lockwin reads the letter of Dr. Tarpion with horror. + +"Heavens and earth!" he cries, and pulls at his hair, rubs his eyes and +stamps on the floor. "Heavens and earth!" This, an edifice built with +the patience and cunning of a lover, must fall to nothing. + +He is as dead to Esther as on the day the yawl danced on the shining +sands of Georgian Bay. + +He is terrified to know his loss. To believe that he was in daily +communication with Esther, and that she must ache to know him, has +sustained David Lockwin in his penance. + +The crime he committed, he feels, has been atoned in this year of +lover's agony. That agony was necessary--in order that Esther might be +gradually prepared for the revelation. + +She has not been prepared. The labor must begin again, and on new +lines. + +The receiver of the Coal and Oil Trust Company's Institution this day +declares a dividend of 10 per cent. The lover may draw over $7,000--a +magnificent estate. It seems greater to him than the wealth of the +Indies or the Peruvians seemed to the early navigators. + +He sells his belongings to a second-hand dealer. He hastens his +departure. The folks at Walker street can get another book-keeper. +Robert Chalmers is going to San Francisco. Easy to lie now after the +practice of nearly two years. + +But to think that Esther has not read a word of all he has written! +David Lockwin hisses the name of Dr. Tarpion. Many is the time they +have tented together. But how did the doctor know? He had only a +type-written anonymous communication. + +Nevertheless this lover curses the administrator as the cause of the +fiasco. + +"But for him my path would be easy." + +David Lockwin thinks of Tarpion's threat about a claimant. It grows +clear to him that there is a Chicagoan alive who can view his own +cenotaph, his own memorial hospital, his own home--who can proclaim +himself to be the husband, and yet there will be men like Tarpion who +will deny all. + +Lockwin's face annoys him. "Why was I such a fool to go without the +proper treatment in that outlandish region! Why was I so anxious to be +disguised?" + +Oh, it is all on account of the letters. That busybody of an +administrator and censor has undone all! Better he had never been +born. Why should a doctor neglect his patients to separate husband and +wife? The wise way will be to march to the house at Chicago and take +possession. + +"That I will do!" the man at last declares. He is maddened. He cares +nothing for reputation. He cannot bear the thought that Dr. Tarpion, +an old friend, should day by day burn the epistles that evinced so much +scholarship, charity and sympathy. The lover is not poor. No man with +$7,000 in his pocket is poor. He is not driven back to Esther by want, +as it was before. That stings the man to recall it. No, he has means. +But if he were poor, he would work for the dear lady who loved him so +secretly. He gloats over the letter of Esther. It is worn in pieces +now, like so many cards. The train from New York enters the city of +Chicago. + +"That is the new David Lockwin Hospital," says a passenger. + +"Why did I blunder in on this road?" the lover asks. He had not +thought his situation so terrible as it seemed just now. + +"I am doubtless the sorriest knave that ever lived here," he mourns, +but it only increases his determination to go directly to Esther. + +"I guess Dr. Tarpion will not throw _me_ in the waste-basket! Seven +thousand dollars!" + +David Lockwin feels as rich as Corkey. + +It is a mad thing he is doing, this pulling of the door-bell at the old +home. The balcony is overhead. Never mind little Davy! We can live +without him, but we cannot live without Esther. Ah that Tarpion! that +base Tarpion! Probably he intends to marry her! It is none too soon +to pull this bell. Now David Lockwin will enter, never to be driven +forth. He will enter among his books. Never mind his books. It is +she, SHE, SHE! Till death part them SHE is his. It is the seven +thousand dollars that gives him this lion-like courage. Esther needs +him. He has come. + +The door opens. A pleasant-faced lady appears. + +"Call Mrs. Lockwin, please." + +"Mrs. Lockwin? Oh, yes. I believe she did live here. I do not know +where she lives now, but it is on Prairie avenue. After her father +died she went home to live." + +Is Judge Wandrell dead? The caller is adding together the mills, +pineries, elevators, hotels, steamers, steel mills, quarries and +railroads that Judge Wandrell owned on the great lakes. + +The pleasant-faced lady thinks her caller ought to go. + +He is angry at her. He shows it. He blames her as much as he does +Tarpion. He retreats reluctantly. A stranger is in possession of the +home of David Lockwin. + +He was foolhardy a moment before. He is timid now. + +He was rich. He has seven thousand. Esther is rich. She has five +millions. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +A GOOD SCHEME + +The absence of love ruined David Lockwin. Love built Chicago. Love +erected the David Lockwin Hospital. Love supports David Lockwin. He +is a man to be pitied from the depths of the heart. Love makes him +happy. + +He reads the revised scriptures. To love's empire has been added the +whole realm of charity. "Love," says the sacred word, "covereth a +multitude of sins." + +"Love beareth all things, believeth all things, hopeth all things, +endureth all things." + +Love has become prudent. Love has whispered in David Lockwin's ear +that while it might be brave to knock at the door of one's own home, it +would be rash to present one's self to Esther Lockwin, on Prairie +avenue--Esther Lockwin, worth five millions! + +Yet this lover, in order to bear, to believe, to hope and to endure, +must enter the charmed circle of her daily life. He haunts the +vicinity, he grows fertile in his plans. He discovers an admirable +method of coming in correspondence with the Prairie avenue mansion. + +Dr. Floddin has recently died, and a new proprietor is in possession of +the drug store. It is a matter of a week's time to install David +Lockwin. It could have been done in a minute, but a week's time seemed +more in order and pleased the seller. You look in and you see a square +stove. Rising behind it you see a white prescription counter, with +bottles of blue copper water at each corner. Rising still higher +behind is a partition. Peer to the right and you may see a curtain, +drawn aside. A little room contains a bed, an Argand lamp, a table +with a small clock, druggist's books and the revised New Testament. + +You may see David Lockwin, almost any day, sitting near and under that +curtain; his clothes are strangely of the color of the drapery; his +legs are stretched out one ankle over the other; his hands are deep in +pockets; his head is far down on his breast. Or you may see him +washing his windows. He keeps the cleanest windows on lower State +street. + +In this coigne of vantage it turns out that David Lockwin eventually +comes to know the family life at the mansion. The servants at the +Wandrell home have long stood behind the prescription counter while +their orders were in course of serving. + +The confinement of the business--the eternal hours of vigil--these +matters feed the hungry love of the husband. + +"Without this I should have died," he vows. The months go by without +event. + +Corkey has been the earliest caller. "Saw your sign," he says; +"recollected the name. Been in New York all the time? I say, old man, +want a pardner? I got a clean thousand cases in gold to put in." + +The druggist has difficulty in withstanding Corkey's offers of capital. +Corkey is struck with the idea of business. He has taken a strong +fancy to Chalmers. Day by day the two men grow more intimate. + +"Thought I'd never see you again, old man. I suppose I ought to start +a saloon, but somehow I hate to do it, now I know some good people. +Bet your life I'm solid over there!" + +He points with his thumb toward Prairie avenue. + +"I'm a good friend of the richest woman, I guess, there is in the +world!" His tongue pops like a champagne cork. "I don't like to keep +no saloon." + +"I shall sell as little liquor as possible," the druggist says, +conceiving the drift of Corkey's ideas. + +"Pardner, you must have been a hard drinker yourself. How did your +voice get so husky?" + +"It was so always." + +"It was so the first day I met you. Remember the dedication?" + +"Yes; do you remember the bank?" + +"Yep. Don't you know I tell you I was going to find that yawl?" + +"I do." + +"Well, I find it." + +Does David Lockwin color? Or are those features forever crimson? + +"You do look like a man as has been a red-hot sport in his day. Ever +do anything in the ring? Let me try that red liquor of yours. Let's +see if it tears. Oh, yes, about the yawl. I just go to the widow the +other day and ask her for three hundred cases on the search. Well, she +give me the three hundred and want me to take more, and I go right to +Collingwood. The duck he show me the boat, and you bet your sweet life +I hid her where she never will be seen. What's the use of tearing up +the widow's feelings again?" + +"You did right!" says the husky voice, the lover all the time wishing +the discovery had been published. He feels like a claimant. He is not +sure the world would believe David Lockwin to be alive if he could +prove it. + +"Chalmers, I'm going to tell you something that I haven't said to +nobody. I hid that boat, and I threw away big money--I know I did. +But I could get all the money I wanted of her--a free graft. Give me +another slug of that budge." + +The druggist is filling a small graduate with whisky for Corkey. What +is Corkey about to say? + +"They're having high old times in Russia. That was a great bomb they +git in on his nobs last winter." + +"The czar? Yes." + +"I reckon they're going to git the feller they've got on top there now, +too, don't you? They say he put on ten crowns yesterday. What do they +call it? The coronation, yes. What's the name of the place? Moscow, +yes." + +The druggist is less confused. + +"Wouldn't it be funny if the czar wasn't dead. But say, pardner, what +would you say if I went over there and told my widow I didn't believe +her old man was dead at all? Would she give me the gaff? Would she +git mad?" + +The druggist is busy finding a cork for a bottle. At last he comes to +the light to try the cork. He is behind a show-case. Corkey is in +front of the, case holding a newspaper in hand, out of which he has +been reading of the coronation. His black eyes seem to pierce David +Lockwin's face. David Lockwin looks back--in hope, if any feeling can +show itself in that veiled countenance. + +"He ain't dead! Not much! Can't tell me! I don't bury boats for +nothing. I tell you I think a heap of her, and she slung herself so on +that hospital and on that other thing there, out north, that I'd hate +to give her away. What was that yawl buried for? Nobody see it and it +was worth money, too. What was it buried for? Now I never tell you +the story of the night on the old tub. He sit just so." + +Corkey takes a seat behind the stove and imitates David Lockwin. + +The druggist gazes as in a stupor. He steps to his little room and +removes the chair. He must not sit and cogitate. + +"Something ail him. I guess he was crazy." + +"He must have been," says the druggist, "if he wasn't killed." + +"Oh, he wasn't killed. Can't tell me. Now, suppose he want to come +back to Chicago--ain't he in a sweet box? And his wife over there +crying her eyes out--with more money--with more money--well--" + +Corkey's head vibrates, his tongue whirs, he sneezes. Children, +romping on the sidewalk, troop to the door of the druggist to learn +what has happened. + +Corkey looks at the prescription booth. He notes the blue copper water +at each corner. His eyes rise to the white partition which separates +the rear room from the store. + +"Sleep in there?" + +"Yes," says the druggist, huskily. + +"Get out of here!" cries Corkey to the last of the merry throng. "I +used to play just that same way right here in this street. Cozy place +in there. Well, I ain't so smart, but I've had a scheme on ever since +I found that yawl. She's crying her eyes out over there--you can't +tell me, for I know. Mebbe his nobs would like to come back. I'm +going to sound her, and if she's favorable I'm going to advertise--see?" + +"Do you see her often?" + +"Yes, oftener than I want to. You see she makes me go over that last +night on the old tub and on the yawl. Now I'm getting tired of telling +how he died. He ain't dead. But she seems to harp on that. You just +ought to hear her cap him up. He's the greatest and goodest man you +ever see. Well, now. I'm going to change the play a little. Oh, +she's no use. She even wants me to bring the coon, and I let the +ball-players take him. He can't be going down there. I don't want him +along nohow. I tell you I'm going to change the box. I'm going to +bring her round to the idea that he's alive." + +Corkey is earnest. His eyes are sparkling. He is chewing hard on his +tobacco. His head is quaking. + +"He's alive, and so he's a--well, he's a no-gooder." + +"Yes," says the druggist huskily. + +"But I hate to see her pining away, and I'm going to steer her against +the idea that she can get him if she wants him. She's so rich she can +do anything she wants to. I guess if she wants him she can clear out +with him and live in--where is it?--in Moscow. That's about the place +for ducks like him." + +"Yes," says the druggist. + +Corkey takes the glass graduate in hand. He turns sideways and puts +his arm heavily on the frail show-case. He lifts his foot to place it +on the customary iron railing of a whisky shop. He ruminates. + +"The David Lockwin Annex--that means a wing, doesn't it? Yes, I +thought so. Well, the wing is bigger than the--than the--than the--the +wing is bigger than the bird." + +It is an observation that Corkey believes would be applauded among the +sharp blades of the telegraph room. He drinks in a well-pleased mood. + +"The David Lockwin Annex! The monument! They've given that a stiff +name, too. I've seen some gay things in this town, but that beats me. +It takes a woman to make a fool of herself. And there she is over +there crying for her great hero. Fill this jim-crack with the budge +again. Let her draw as much water as she will--put it to the top +notch!" + +The druggist trembles as he fills the graduate. + +"Won't you have a bigger one?" he suggests. + +"No, I ain't drinking much between campaigns. Did you know I was going +to run for the Illinois house? Yes, that's nearer to my size than a +whole congressional district. I'm in for it. But that's not now. My +mind is over there, on the avenue. Say, old man, is the scheme any +good? He dassen't come back. Do you think she'd pull out and go to +him, wherever he is?" + +The druggist carries the empty graduate to the water sink. He rinses +it. His heart beats with the greatest joy it has ever known. He +returns the graduate to the prescription counter. + +"It is a good scheme, Corkey." + +[Illustration: "It is a good scheme, Corkey."] + +"You bet it _is_. Chalmers, just fill that thimble-rig once more. It +don't hold three fingers, nohow. Hurry, for I got to go to the north +pier right off. That's your little clock striking 6 in there now, +ain't it?" + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +A HEROIC ACT + +David Lockwin is losing ground. He daily grows less likely to attract +the favorable notice of Esther Lockwin, or any other woman of +consequence. His face has not only lost comeliness, but character. It +would seem that the carmen fimbrications just under the skin of his +cheeks flame forth with renewed anger. The difficulty in his throat +increases. He relies nowadays entirely on Corkey. + +"And Corkey does not know how rapidly this anxiety is killing me!" + +The druggist plans every day to confess all to Corkey. Every day, too, +there is a plan to meet Esther. But as David Lockwin grows small, +Esther grows grand. Talking with the servants of her mother's home has +degraded, declassed, the husband. He has hungered to meet her, yet +months intervene without that bitter joy. + +It is a bitter joy. Yesterday, when Lockwin carried a prescription to +the house of a very sick widow, he suddenly came face to face with +Esther. It had been long apparent to the man that the woman was +repelled by his face. This, yesterday, she did not conceal. + +The husband trembled with a thousand pleasures as the sacred form +passed by. He struggled with ten thousand despairs as he was robbed of +her company and left to bemoan her disdain. + +He worshiped her the more. He read last night, more eagerly, how love +endureth all things. It must fast come to this, that David Lockwin +shall love her at a distance, and that she shall be true to the memory +of the great and good David Lockwin. + +Or, he must approach Corkey on the subject of his scheme of reunion. + +This morning, washing the windows of the drug-store, the proprietor +revolves the problems of his existence. + +"Time is passing," he groans; "too much time." + +The gossip of the store deals often with Dr. Tarpion. Dr. Tarpion is +gradually arousing the jealousy of the husband. The burning of the +consolatory letters was a dreadful repulse of the lover's siege. + +The druggist has scrubbed the windows with the brush. He is drying +them with the rubber wiper. He stamps the pole on the sidewalk. He +does not want to be jealous, but time is going by--time is going by. +That Tarpion! It would be hard! It would be hard! + +A new thought comes. The disfigured face grows malicious. + +"It would be bigamy! Ha!" + +David Lockwin has fallen upon a low place. But he would perish if +jealousy must be added. + +"Corkey's plan is a good one, but why does he not push it faster? And +Corkey has not spoken of the matter for three weeks. One night he said +he would soon be 'where he could talk.'" + +The prescription clerk is very busy. A customer wants a cigar. The +druggist goes in to make a profit of three and a half cents. He +returns to his window, wets it once more, begins the wiping, and is +frightened by the thought of five millions of money. + +"Davy's tonsils swelled, and Tarpion was to cut them off. I wonder if +it is my tonsils. I wonder if my nose could be straightened. I have +no doubt my skin could be cleared." + +Once more the supporting forces of nature have come to the rescue of +David Lockwin. It is clear that he must be rejuvenated. He must +exercise and regain an appetite. He must recover twenty-five pounds of +flesh that have left him since that cursed night of the Africa. + +"Strange fate!" he ejaculates, remembering the almost comatose +condition in which he walked on deck, and was saved. + +His eyes grow sightless. The dull, little, trivial street has palled +upon his view. He sees a crowd gathering at a corner and making +demonstrations in a cross street. + +The next moment his own horses dash around the corner into State +street, driverless and running away. + +A lady's head protrudes from the window. Yes, it is Esther! + +The druggist grasps his long pole lightly. He takes the middle of the +street. He holds his pole like a fence before the team. + +"Whoa, Pete! Whoa, Coley!" he cries. + +The horses believe they must turn. They lose momentum. They shy. The +man is at their bits. + +They drag him along the curb. One horse slips down. The pole cracks +in two. A hundred men are on hand now. + +David Lockwin flies to the carriage. He unlocks the door. He gathers +his wife in his arms. Oh! happy day! He carries her into his drug +store. He applies restoratives to the fainting woman. She slowly +revives. + +"Please take me home and send for Dr. Tarpion," she says, relapsing +into lethargy. + +Men seize David Lockwin, for he is bleeding profusely. + +"He terrifies her!" they exclaim. They wash his forehead. He has a +long cut over the brow. + +Work fast as he may with court-plaster Esther is carried forth before +the druggist can be in front to aid. People are full of praise for the +heroic man. + +"But he won't be no prettier for it," say the gossips of the +neighborhood. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +ESTHER AS A LIBERAL PATRON + +Esther Lockwin has been confined to her room for a month by Dr. +Tarpion's orders. The servants say she will not enter a carriage again. + +David Lockwin has hired an extra clerk, and is daily under a surgeon's +hands. After six months of suffering he is promised a removal of the +red fimbrications; his nose shall be re-erected; his throat shall be +reasonably cleared. + +He lies on his cot, and Corkey is a frequent visitor. + +"You wa'n't no prize beauty, that's a fact," says the candid Corkey. +"I think you're wise, but I'd never a did it. You've got as much grit +as a tattooed man. Them fellers, the doctors, picks you with electric +needles, don't they? Yes, I thought so. Well, I suppose that's +nothing side of setting up your nose. But she sets up there like a +hired man--you've got a good nob now! Yes, I'm deep in politics again. +I'm a fool--I know it, but I don't spend more'n five hundred cases, and +I go to the legislature sure. If I get there some of these +corporations that knocked me out afore will squeal--you hear me! No, +you don't spend no money on me. I wish you could git out and hustle, +though. But you ain't no hustler, nohow. Want any drug laws passed?" + +Corkey must do the greater part of the talking. He sits beside the bed +carrying an atmosphere of sympathy that the feverish lover needs. +Gradually the thoughts of the sympathizer fix on the glass graduate. +It tickles his membranes. His head quakes, his tongue whirs, he jars +the great bottles outside with his sneeze. + +The tears start from his eyes, his throat rebels at its misusage, his +big red handkerchief comes out. It makes a sharp contrast with his jet +black hair and mustache. + +"Old man," he said, "do you suppose your bone-sawers could cut that out +of me? It makes me forgit things sometimes. Oh, yes, yes! That puts +me in mind! I came to tell you this morning that Mrs. Lockwin was +coming over to thank you!" + +"It's time," whispers the lover, bravely. + +"I told her to come on. She needn't be afraid of you. I tell you she +was mighty glad when I tell her you was a friend of mine." + +There is a click at the door-latch. The patient starts. Corkey looks +out into the store. + +"Here she is!" whispers Corkey, smoothing the coverlet. "How d'ye do, +Mrs. Lockwin? Just step in here. Mr. Chalmers is not able to sit up." + +"I heard he was hurt," says Esther. "Poor man! I owe him so much!" + +It is perhaps well that David Lockwin has had no warning of this +supreme event. It seems to him like the last day. It is the Second +Coming. A hundred little wounds set up their stings, for which the +husband is ever thankful. He can hear her out there in the store. He +can feel her presence. She appears at his door! She stands at the +foot of his couch! She, the ineffable! + +"Oh!" she exclaims, not expecting to see a man so badly wounded, so +highly bandaged. + +"Nothing at all serious, Mrs. Lockwin," explains Corkey. + +"Oh, I am so very sorry," says the lady. "Mr. Chalmers, you find me +unable to express my feelings. I cannot tell you how many things I +should like to explain, and how seriously I am embarrassed by the evils +I have brought on you. I dare say only that I am a person of large +means, and am sensible that I cannot repay you. I owe my life to your +noble act. If I can ever be of service to you, please to command me. +I shall certainly testify my regard for you in some proper way, but it +afflicts me to feel that you are so much worse hurt than I was by the +runaway. I lost a noble husband. If he had been alive you would not +have been left unthanked and unserved for so long a time." + +It distresses Corkey. + +"That's what he was--a white man!" + +David Lockwin is dumb. But he thinks he is saying: "I am David +Lockwin! I am David Lockwin!" + +"It is a sweet remembrance, now." Her voice grows clearer. "They tell +me I did wrong to mourn so bitterly. I suppose I did. Mr. Chalmers, I +should like to entertain you on your recovery. How singular! This is +our old family drug store! Didn't Dr. Floddin keep here? Poor Dr. +Floddin! Oh! David! David! Good-bye, Mr. Chalmers." + +"He's not badly hurt at all," says Corkey, "you mustn't worry over +that." + +"I'm so glad, Mr. Corkey." + +It is the autumn of a great misery. The woman is righting herself. +She is trying to listen to the advice of society. Lockwin, by dying, +committed a crime against the first circles. "A failure to live is a +gigantic failure," says Mrs. Grundy. + +David Lockwin listens to every movement. The widow tarries. + +"Send me a dozen large bottles of that extract," she says, choosing a +variety of odors. She orders a munificent bill of fancy goods. The +clerk moves with astonishing celerity. + +The patient suppresses his groans. + +"Oh! Chalmers is well off," says Corkey. + +"I'm glad," says Esther, "poor man! Good-bye, Mr. Corkey. You are +neglecting me lately. I hope you will be elected. I wish I could +vote. Oh, yes, I guess the clerk may give me a stock of white +notepaper. Do you believe it, Mr. Corkey, I haven't a scrap about the +house that isn't mourning paper! Yes, that will do. Send plenty. +Good-bye. Come over and tell me about politics. Tell me something +that will make life seem pleasant. I'm tired of my troubles. I think +I'm forgetting David. Good-bye." + + + + +BOOK IV + +GEORGE HARPWOOD + + +CHAPTER I + +CORKEY'S GOOD SCHEME + +The courtly and affable George Harpwood has fought the good fight and +is finishing the course. It is he who has labored with the prominent +citizens. It is he who has moved the great editors to place David +Lockwin in the western pantheon--to pay him the honors due to Lincoln +and Douglas. It is Harpwood who has carried the banquet to success. +It is he who, in the midnight of Esther Lockwin's grief, prepared for +her confidential reading those long and scholarly essays of consolation +which she studied so gratefully. Mr. Harpwood did not put his +lucubrations in the care of Dr. Tarpion. Each and every one was +written for no other eye but Esther's. + +While Dr. Tarpion was holding the husband at bay, Dr. Tarpion was +rapidly overcoming a prejudice against Harpwood. + +"Really, the man has been invaluable to me," the administrator now +vows. "No one could deliberately and selfishly enter the grief-life of +such a widow." + +For Harpwood, smarting with a double defeat, in the loss of Esther and +the election of Lockwin, has at once devoted himself to the saddest +offices. He has been diligent in all kinds of weather. He has +discreetly avoided the outer appearance of personal service. But he +has filled the place of spiritual comforter to Esther Lockwin, and has +filled it well. + +If you ask what friends Mrs. Lockwin has, the servants will speak of +Dr. Tarpion first, of the architects, and of Corkey. Harpwood they do +not mention. He may have called--so have a thousand other gentlemen. +They have rarely seen Mrs. Lockwin, for she has been at the cenotaph, +the hospital, and the grave of little Davy. + +So long as Harpwood's suit has flourished by letter, why should the +less cautious method of speech be interposed? To-day, Esther could not +sustain the intermission of the usual consolatory epistle. + +George Harpwood is one of those characters who have many friends and +are friends to few. Others need him--not he them. He can please if he +attempt the task, and if the task be exceedingly difficult, he will +become infatuated with it. He will then grow sincere. At least he +believes he is sincere. Thus his patience is superb. + +His manners are widely praised. If he have served Esther Lockwin with +rare personal devotion, it cannot be denied that it has piqued many +other beautiful, eligible and desirable women. + +He can well support the air of a disinterested friend. The ladies +generally bewail his absence from their society. Esther Lockwin must +soon be warm in the praise of a gentleman who, divining the needs of a +widow, has so chivalrously taken up her woes as his own. +Tenderly--like a mother--he has touched upon her projects. Gladly he +has accepted the mission she has given to him. At last when he brings +Dr. Tarpion to the special censorship of Esther's mail, and to the fear +of claimants, George Harpwood is in command of the situation. + +When a man cultured in all the arts that please, gives himself to the +fascinating of a particular person, male or female, that man does not +often fail. Where the prize is five millions he ought to play his +highest trumps. + +This is what George Harpwood has done. Sometimes he has paused to +admire his own unselfishness. Sometimes, after a drenching on account +of the David Lockwin Annex--a costly fabric--Mr. Harpwood marvels that +men should be created so for the solace of widows! The other ladies +show their discontent. Fortunes are on every hand, and Esther is like +Niobe, all tears. Why does Harpwood turn all tears, weeping for +Lockwin? This causes Harpwood to be himself astonished. + +It is only genius that can adapt itself to an environment so +lugubrious. It is only genius that can unhorse suspicion itself, +leaving even the would-be detractor to admit that Mr. Harpwood is a +kind man--as he certainly is. + +"Who would not be kind for five millions?" he asks, yet he the next +moment may deny that he wants the five millions. + +It is a fine fortitude that George Harpwood can show upon occasion. It +was he who, lost in the opium habit, went to his room for two weeks, +and kept the pieces of opium and bottles of morphine within sight on +his mantel, touching none of the drug--curing himself. + +He could serve Esther as long as Jacob served Laban. He could end by +the conquest of himself. While he shall be doubtful of his own +selfishness, all others must be glad that Esther is given into hands so +gentle and intelligent. + +Mrs. Grundy knows little about this. Esther Lockwin has offended Mrs. +Grundy by a long absence from the world. + +If Esther now feel a warm glow in her heart; if she pass a dreary day +while Mr. Harpwood is necessarily absent, nobody suspects it--except +Mr. Harpwood. + +It has not displeased the disinterested friend of Esther Lockwin to +note the upward drift of his political opportunities. It is silently +taken for granted that he is a coming man. Whenever he shall cease his +disinterested attentions to the widow it is clear he will be a paragon. +And the critics who might aver as much, did they know the case, would +be scandalized if he so mistreated the lady who has come to lean on him. + +"In doing good to others," says George Harpwood, "we do the greatest +good to ourselves." + +Yet one must not devote himself to a rich lady beyond a period of +reasonable length. One's own business must be rescued from neglect. +If this doctrine be taught skillfully Esther Lockwin will learn that +she must show her gratitude in a substantial manner. + +Five millions, for instance. + +After that crisis secrecy may be, less sternly imposed. If the lady, +in her illness--ah! that was a shock to Harpwood, that runaway--if the +lady, in her illness, demand personal calls, which must certainly let +loose the gossips--after all, it is her matter. If Esther Lockwin +desire to see George Harpwood in the day-time, in the evening--all the +time--so be it. + +Is it the bright face of Esther Lockwin that spurs Corkey to his grand +enterprise? What has kept the short man so many months in silence? +Why is it he has never gotten beyond the matter of the lounge in the +fore-cabin of the Africa? This afternoon he will speak. It is a good +scheme. It can be fixed--especially by a woman. + +"She can stand it if he can," says Corkey, who reckons on the +resurrection of David Lockwin. + +So the face that was dark at State street becomes self-satisfied at +Prairie avenue. Corkey is picturesque as he raps his cane on the +marble stairs. + +"Bet your sweet life none of this don't scare me!" he soliloquizes, +touching the stateliness of the premises. + +He enters. He comes forth later, meeting another caller in the +vestibule. It is a dark face that the Commodore carries to the bedside +of David Lockwin, around on State street. + +Corkey sits down. Then he stands up. He concludes he will not talk, +but it is a false conclusion. He will talk on the patient's case. + +"How slow you git on, old man." + +"Not at all. I am getting well," is the cheerful reply. Corkey is in +trouble. It is, therefore, time for Lockwin to give him sympathy. +"Corkey is a good fellow," thinks Lockwin, gazing contentedly on his +caller. + +"I'm afraid it ain't no use," says Corkey, half to himself. "I ain't +had no luck since I let the mascot go to the league nine," he says, +more audibly. + +"I am quite happy," Lockwin says. "It will be a sufficient reward to +look like other folks. Only a few weeks of this. But it is a trial." + +"It's more of a trial, old man, than I like to see you undertake." + +"Yet I am happy. It will be a success. Wonderful, isn't it?" + +"Pretty wonderful!" Yet Corkey does not look it. + +The man in the bandages thinks upon what he has suffered with his face. +He blesses the day he was permitted by Providence to stop that runaway. +All is coming about in good order. It needed the patience of love--of +love, the impatient. He is so sanguine to-day that he must push Corkey +a little regarding that scheme. + +"Yes, it is wonderful!" says Corkey with affected animation, recovering +his presence of mind. + +"Have you been over at our friend's lately?" The question comes with +the deepest excitement. The countenance of Corkey falls instantly. + +"Yes, just come from there." + +"Are things all smiling over there?" + +"Yes. They're too smiling." + +"Did you see Dr. Tarpion?" + +"Oh, I never see him! Things are too smiling! You'll never catch me +there again." + +Lockwin starts. + +"She can't play none of her high games onto me. Bet your sweet life! +If she don't want to listen to reason, it's none of my funeral. I say +to her--and I ought to say it afore--I say to her how would she like to +see her old man." + +The patient turns away from Corkey. The oldest wounds sting like a +hive of hornets. + +"Well, you ought to see the office she give me! She rip and stave and +tear! She talk of political slander, and libel, and disgrace, and all +that. She rise up big right afore me, and come nigh swearing she would +kill such a David Lockwin on sight. There wasn't no such a David +Lockwin at all. Her husband was a nobleman. She wished I was fit to +black his boots--do you mind?--and you bet your sweet life I was +gitting pretty hot myself!" + +The thought of it sets Corkey coughing. A thousand wounds are piercing +David Lockwin, yet he does not lose a word. + +"Then she cool off a considerable, and ask me for to excuse her. 'Oh, +it is all right,' says I, a little tart. 'That will be all right.' + +"Then she fall right on her knees, and pray to David Lockwin to forgive +her for even thinking he isn't dead. + +"Now it was only Wednesday that a duck in this town knocked me out at +the primaries--played the identical West Side car-barn game on me! +Yes, sir, fetched over 500 street-sweepers to my primaries--machine +candidate and all that--oh! he's a jim-dandy!" + +"I'm sorry for you, Corkey," the wretched husband says, and thus +escapes for a moment from his own terror. + +"Yes, it was bad medicine. So I wasn't taking much off anybody. I +gets up pretty stiff--this way, and says: 'Good day, Mrs. Lockwin. I +guess I can't be no more use to you, nohow.' And just as I was pulling +my hat off the peg there comes the very duck that knocked me out--right +there! And she chipper to him as sweet as if David Lockwin had been +dead twenty years. And he as sweet on her, and right before me! Ugh!" + +"Weren't you mistaken, Corkey!" feebly asks the man in the bandages. + +"Wasn't I mistaken? Oh, yes! I suppose I can't tell a pair that wants +to bite each other! She that was a giving me the limit a minute before +was as cunning as a kitten to that rooster. Ugh! it makes me ill!" + +"Who is he?" asks David Lockwin. + +"He's Mister George Harpwood," cries Corkey bitterly, "and if he aint +no snooker, then you needn't tell me I ever see one!" + + + + +CHAPTER II + +HAPPINESS AND PEACE + +Esther Lockwin looks upon George Harpwood as her savior. + +"I wanted to be happy," she smiles. "I did not believe I could exist +in that desolate state. You came to me! You came to me!" + +"Emerson declares that all men honor love because it looks up, not +down; aspires, not despairs," says Harpwood. The friend of Esther's +widowhood has quoted to her nearly every consolatory remark of the +philosophers. + +"Shall we live here?" she asks, willing to go to Sahara. + +"Certainly. Here I have the best future. You are a helpful soul, +Esther. I shall rely upon you." + +"We are too sad to be true lovers," she sighs. "Yet I could wish to +have you all to myself." + +The man is flattered. He, too, is in love. "I will go with you if you +would be happier amid other scenes," he suggests. + +"I have nothing to be ashamed of, have I?" she asks proudly, thinking +of her noble David and his fragrant memory. + +"If I am to have a widow I should like such a widow," the man replies. + +"I pray God you shall never have one," she vows. + +Both are exquisitely happy. Neither can say aught that displeases or +hurts the other. For Esther it is the dawn--the glorious sun rising +out of a winter night. She never had a lover before. + +With George Harpwood it is the crowning of an edifice built with +infinitely more pains than the David Lockwin Annex. + +The noise of all this is abroad. "The wedding will be private," says +Mrs. Grundy with sorrow. "But the Mrs. Harpwood that is to be will +this winter entertain on a lavish scale. She is devoted to Harpwood's +political aspirations." + +"That man Harpwood, if he gets to Congress this winter, will begin a +great career. I wouldn't be surprised to see him President," says one +bank cashier to another. + +"Well, he's marrying the woman who can help him most. The labor people +are all on her side." + +"When shall the day be, Esther?" the friend of her sorrows asks. + +"Let it be the last Thursday of next month at 6 o'clock," she replies, +and is far more peaceful than when David Lockwin asked her to marry him +far on in the long ago, for on that night she cried. + +"I suppose the number of guests should be small," he notes. + +"Only our nearest friends. A Thursday, dear, at 6 o'clock." + +The neighborhood is agog. The servants outdo each other in gossip. +There are household arrangements which are to turn a gloomy abode into +a merry dwelling-place. + +The decorators must work night and day. The mansion is as brilliant +with gas as on the evening Esther Wandrell put her hands in David +Lockwin's and listened rapturously to his praise of the beautiful child. + +Is that a shadow skulking about this corner! Probably it is some night +policeman employed by the widow. + +Certainly it is a faithful watch the figure keeps on the great house +where the decorators toil. + +"I'm glad I'm not rich," says one pedestrian to his companion. + +"They're awfully afraid of burglary," says the companion. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +AT 3 IN THE MORNING + +"Where is Chalmers?" asks Corkey. + +"Mr. Chalmers is not in," answers the clerk. + +"I want to see him," says Corkey, authoritatively. + +"He is not in," retorts the clerk with spirit. + +"Has he sold out?" + +"No." + +"When will he be in?" + +"I can't tell you. Excuse me." A customer waits. + +"Yes, yes, yes!" growls Corkey. But he never was busier. He is trying +to do his work at the office and to get through election week. + +"Where is Chalmers?" Again Corkey is at the drug store. "See here, my +friend, I don't take no street-car way down here to have you do no +cunning act. Is Chalmers in town?" + +"I do not know." + +The clerk is telling the truth, and is in turn offended. "I do not +know," he says, resolutely. + +Corkey is convinced. "I'll bet it's true," he says, suddenly summing +up the situation. + +He hurries away. The weather is wet and cold. + +Corkey is drenched, and of all things he dreads a drenching. For that +he wears the thickest of clothes. + +Three hours later he is known to be badly beaten at the polls. He is +denounced as a sore-head, a bolter, and a fool. + +Corkey goes to his home. On the night of the fourth day he appears in +the yellow light of the telegraph-room. + +"Commodore, we're sorry for you. Take it easy, and get back to work. +No man can live, doing as you've done. You were up all the time, +weren't you?" + +Corkey's light is burning because the other editors need it. He sits +with his coat on, his face on his hands, his elbows on the table. + +"I was up the last six days," he explains. "I just got out of bed now." + +"Do you good to sleep," says the night editor. + +"What day is it?" + +"Saturday." + +"Well, I go to sleep some time Wednesday. I sleep ever since." + +There is a chorus of astonishment. "It will save your life, Corkey. +We thought the election would kill you." + +"I'm sleepy yet." + +"Go back and sleep more." + +"Good-bye, boys. I'm much obliged to you all. I'm out of politics. +They got all my stuff. I'm worried over a friend, too." + +"Too bad, Corkey, too bad." + +These editors, whose very food is the human drama, have not lost sight +of the terrible chapter of Corkey's activity, anxiety and inevitable +disappointment. + +"Too bad, isn't it!" the telegraph editor says. "Had any fires?" + +"It makes me almost cry," answers the assistant telegraph editor. +"Fires? Yes, I've enough for a display head." + +"We must go and look after Corkey if he isn't here to-morrow night," +observes the night editor. "He's bad off." + +A little after midnight there is a loud rattle at the door of the drug +store. + +The prescription clerk at last opens the door. + +"Is Chalmers home yet?" + +The clerk is angry. "You have no right to call me up for that!" he +avers. "I need my sleep." + +"You don't need sleep no worse than I do, young feller." + +The door is shut, and Corkey must go home. + +When the comrades next see Corkey he is down with pneumonia. His fever +rages. Sores break out about his mouth. "I have a friend I want to +find awful bad," he says, fretting and rolling. "Chalmers! He runs a +drug store at 803 State street, down beyond Eighteenth. But I'm afraid +he ain't to be found. I'm afraid he's disappeared. I couldn't find +him last week, nor last night, but it was pretty late when I git down +there." + +The doctor is grave. "He must not worry. Find this Chalmers. Tell +him he must come at once if he wishes to make his friend easier." + +"I must see Chalmers. I'm sicker than they think. I'm tired out. I +can't stand such a fever. That pillow's wet. That's better. It's +cold, though. I guess my fever's going. Now I'm getting hot again. I +do want to see Chalmers." + +The patient tosses and fumes. The comrades hurry to Chalmers' drug +store, as others have done. + +"The proprietor is out of the city," the clerk answers to all +inquirers. "He left no address." + +"If he arrives, tell him to hasten to Mr. Corkey's. Mr. Corkey is +fatally ill with pneumonia. He must see Mr. Chalmers." + +Twenty-four hours pass, with Corkey no better--moaning and asking for +Chalmers. All other affairs are as nothing. + +Chalmers does not come. + +Twenty-four hours more go by. The doctor now allows none of the +comrades to see the sick man. + +He does not roll and toss so much. But he inquires feebly and +constantly for Chalmers. + +At midnight he calls his wife. "You've heard me speak of Chalmers, +sissy," he says. + +There is a ring on the door of the flat. + +"That's him now." + +But it is a neighbor, come to stay the night out. + +"Lock the door. Open that drawer, sissy. Get out that big letter." + +The trembling little woman obeys. + +"Sissy, did you know we was broke?" + +"Our gold?" + +"Yes, it's all gone; every nickel. But I wouldn't bother you with that +if Chalmers would come. Now, don't cry, and listen, for I'm awful +sick. This letter here is to Mrs. Lockwin, and it will fix _you_. +And I want to see Chalmers, to see that he stands by her. See?" + +The wife listens. She knows there is a letter to Mrs. Lockwin. + +"Now I'm going to give something away. When I see Chalmers in his drug +store, he sits on his chair so I know it's a dead ringer on Lockwin. +Chalmers is Lockwin, sissy. Don't you blow it. I've never told a soul +till you. I've schemed and schemed to fix it up, but I never see a man +in such a hole. He don't know I'm onto him. But I've no use for this +Harpwood, that did me up when he had no need to. I wasn't in his way. +A week from Thursday night Harpwood is to marry Mrs. Lockwin. It isn't +no good. I want you to see Lockwin, and tell him for me that if his +story gets out it wasn't me, and I want you to tell him for me that he +mustn't let that poor widow commit no bigamy. It's an awful hole, +that's what it is! It is tough on him!" + +He has worked on the problem for years. + +The man groans. There is a rap on the door. "Hold up a minute. I +wouldn't mix in it, but I've done a good deal for the two of 'em, and +I've lost a good deal by Harpwood's play on me. I expect Harpwood will +set her against you, and I want her to do for you, pretty. So you tell +Lockwin he must act quick, and mustn't let her commit no bigamy. She's +too good a woman, and you need money bad, sissy. All my twenty-pieces! +All my twenty-pieces! My yellow stuff! Will you see Chalmers, sissy? +Call him Chalmers. He's Lockwin, just the same, but call him Chalmers." + +The wife kisses her husband, and puts the letter back in the drawer. + +"Sissy." + +"Yes." + +"I forgot one thing. Git a little mourning handkerchief out of my +hip-pocket. There ain't no gun there. You needn't be afraid." + +The woman at last secures a handkerchief which looks the worse for +Corkey's long, though reverent, custody. + +"Wash it, sissy, and show it up to Mrs. Lockwin. I reckon it will +steer her back to the day when she felt pretty good toward me. Be +careful of that Harpwood. He ain't no use. I know it. She give me +that wipe her own self--yes, she did! God bless her." + +The woman once more kisses the sick man. + +"The gold, sissy!" + +"Never mind it," she says. + +"You think it's some good--this letter--don't you, sissy?" + +"Of course I do." + +"I'm much obliged to you, sissy. Let in those people, now." + +The doctor enters. Corkey is at ease. He sinks into the wet pillow. +He closes his eyes. + +"Did Chalmers come?" asks the physician. + +"Never mind him," says Corkey faintly. + +The night goes on. The yellow lights still color the telegraph-room. +At 3 o'clock the copy boy enters hurriedly. + +"Corkey just died," he says, electrifying the comrades. "He just gave +one of his most awful sneezes, and it killed him right off. The doctor +says he burst a vein." + +Eighty lights are burning in the composing-room. Eighty +compositors--cross old dogs, most of them--are ending a long and weary +day's toil. There are bunches of heads rising over the cases in eager +inquiry. + +"Corkey's sneeze killed him!" says Slug I. + +"Glad of it," growls one cross dog. + +"Glad of it," growls another cross dog + +"Glad of it," goes from alley to alley about the broad floor. + +"Who's got 48 X?" inquires the man with the last piece of copy. It is +the end of Corkey's obituary. + +"This will be a scoop," says the copy-cutter. + +The father of the chapel has written some handsome resolutions to make +the article longer. + +"Come up here, all you fellows! Chapel meeting!" + +The resolutions are passed with a mighty "Aye!" They are already in +type. A long subscription paper for the widow finds ready signers. No +one stands back. + +The men wash their hands, standing like cattle at a manger. + +"It's tough!" says Slug 1. + +"You bet it's tough!" says Slug 10, the crossest old dog of the pack. + +"They say he went broke at election," says Slug 50. + +"If his widow could learn to distribute type she could do mighty well +over here. I'd give her 4,000 to throw in every day," says Slug 10. +"Oh, let go of that towel!" + +The men return to their cases, put on their coats and wrap their white +throats. This pneumonia is a bad thing, anyhow. + +Tramp, tramp, the small army goes down the long, iron stairways. + +"Did you hear about Corkey?" they ask as they go. "Corkey had a heart +in him like an ox." + +"Bet he had," echoes up from the nethermost iron stairway. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +THE BRIDEGROOM + +Esther Lockwin's wedding day is at hand. Her mansion is this afternoon +a suite of odorous bowers. Happy the man who may be secure in her +affection! + +Such a man is George Harpwood. Let the November mists roll in from +Lake Michigan. "It is no bed out there for me," thinks the bridegroom, +whose other days have often been gloomy enough in November. + +Let the smoke of the tall chimneys tumble into the streets and +pirouette backward and forward in black eddies, giving to the city an +aspect forbidding to even the manner-born. George Harpwood feels no +mist. He sees no smoke. It is the tide of industry. It is the +earnest of Esther's five millions. + +"My God, what a prize!" he exclaims. The marriage license is procured. +The minister is well and cannot fail. There is a bank-bill in the vest +pocket, convenient for the wedding fee. + +It is wise to visit the hotel once more and inspect one's attire. This +city is undeniably sooty. A groom with a sooty shirt bosom would not +reflect credit on Esther Lockwin. + +"Magnificent woman!" he cries, as he changes his linen once more. He +thinks he would marry her if she were poor. + +It is getting well toward the event. Would it be correct to go early? +Where would he stay? Would he annoy the bride? What time is it? Let +us see. Four-thirty! Yes, now to keep this linen white. How would it +do to put a silk handkerchief over it--this way? Where are those silk +handkerchiefs? Must have one! Must have one! Not a one! Where is +that bell? + +He touches the bell. He awaits the boy, who comes, and goes for a +handkerchief. + +He sits upon the side of the bed and listens to the bickerings of the +waiters in the hall of the dining-room below. Dinner is now to be +served. + +He studies the lock-history of the door. + +"Lots of people have broken in here," he muses. + +He passes over the rules--well he knows them! + +The electric lights on the street throw dim shadows on the gas-lit +wall--factories, depots, vessels, docks, saw-mills. The phantasmagoria +pleases Mr. Harpwood. + +"At 6 o'clock," he smiles, "I shall be the most powerful man in these +parts. I shall have the employment of nearly 15,000 men. I shall be +the husband of the woman who built the David Lockwin Annex--" + +The man pauses. + +"The David Lockwin Annex," he sneers, "No! No! No! It was a splendid +pile. It was a splendid pile." + +The man grows sordid. + +"But it cost a splendid pile. Pshaw, George Harpwood, will anything +ever satisfy you? How about that hospital? Didn't it give you your +opportunity?" + +The boy returns. The man sits on his bed and muses: + +"How differently things go in this world! See how easily Lockwin fell +into all this luck! See how I have hewn the wood and drawn the water!" + +Something of disquiet takes possession of the bride-groom. + +"I'm awfully tired of consolatory epistles. I must keep Esther from +being a hen. She's dreadfully in earnest." + +As the goal is neared, this swift runner grows weary. The David +Lockwin Annex never seemed so unpleasant before. + +It has taken longer to rearrange his linen and secure a faultless +appearance than he would have believed. He hastens to don his +overcoat. He smiles as he closes the door of his little bedroom at the +hotel. He goes to take the vast Wandrell mansion. + +Why is his coachman so careless? After 5 o'clock already. The +bridegroom is late! He must bargain with a street jehu. But, pshaw! +where can he find a clean vehicle? He hurries along the pavement. + +His own driver, approaches. "I went to the stables to put the last +touches on her. Come around to Wabash avenue and see how she shines." + +It is not too late after all, and the groom will turn out of a +faultless equipage at the very moment. Ladies of experience, like Mrs. +Lockwin, notice all such things. + +"In fact," says George Harpwood, "there is no other man in town whom +she could marry, even if she loved him. Might as well expect her to +marry Corkey. Poor dead Corkey!" + +It is pleasant, this riding down Prairie avenue to one's wedding. + +"Splendid! Splendid!" cries the ardent soldier of fortune, as the +blaze of the Wandrell mansion flashes through the plate-glass windows, +of his carriage. It is the largest private residence in the city. +"Splendid!" he repeats, and leaps out on the curb. A messenger is +hurrying away. + +"Is that Esther on the portico? What an impulsive woman." + +His back is towards the carriage to close the silver-mounted door. He +turns. + +It must be a mistake! Is he blind? The mansion, which was a moment +before ablaze, is now all dark! But the bride still stands under the +lamp on the portico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea. The statue grasps +a paper. Like Galatea, she speaks: + +"Is that you, George?" + +[Illustration: But the bride still stands under the lamp on the +portico, statuesque as Zenobia or Medea.] + +"I have come, my love. What has happened?" + +"Listen!" she commands, and reads by the portico light: + + + Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 30. + +ESTHER, MY WIFE AND WIDOW: + +It is absolutely necessary that you should come at once to the drug +store formerly kept by Dr. Floddin, at 803 State street. + +Bring an escort. + +This step must be taken in your own interest--certainly not in the +interest of your husband. + + DAVID LOCKWIN. + + +"Come!" she says, taking her lover by the hand as a teacher might take +a child. + +But George Harpwood is not at his wits' end. + +"Get into my carriage, Esther," he suggests softly. + +"No," she says sternly. "We will walk thither." + +The pair go round the corner into a mist made azure by a vast building +which is lighted at every window to the seventh story. It rises three +blocks away like a storm-cloud over the lake. + +It is the David Lockwin Annex. The bride hurries faster than the +bridegroom would have her walk. He seizes her arm. + +"My dear," he whispers in those accents which seem to have lost their +magic power, "it is merely a claimant. I was expecting it, and I'll +put him in the penitentiary for it. Do not be alarmed by forgers. It +is only a forgery." + + + + +CHAPTER V + +AT SIX O'CLOCK + +Through the mist and the smoke a red and a green light shine out on +State street. + +The door of the little store is locked. The bride's hand has rattled +the latch. + +A silver star can be seen in the store. It is an officer in charge of +the premises. He hurries to the door. + +"Are you Mrs. Lockwin?" + +"I am. Let him in, too." The officer has willed to exclude the +bridegroom. + +"Hadn't he better wait outside?" + +"Let him in!" + +"Here is a packet addressed to you." The officer hands to the bride a +thick letter. "Take this chair, madam." + +The bride sits down, her back toward the lights in the window. The +bridegroom stands close behind her. + +"Be firm, Esther. I'll put him in the penitentiary. I'll put him in +the penitentiary!" + +The bride opens the packet. Many folded documents fall to her lap. +She is quick to spread out the chief letter. + +The bridegroom pulls the silk handkerchief off his white shirt-front +and wipes his perspiring forehead again and again. He leans over her +shoulder to read. The writing is large and distinct: + + + Thursday Afternoon, Nov. 30. + +MY DEARLY BELOVED WIFE AND WIDOW: + +It may be barely possible that I have lived these years of shame and +degradation to some good purpose, and for the following reasons: The +man whom you now love so well--the man whom you are about to +marry--George Harpwood--is an adventurer and a criminal. + +I inclose documents which show that on Monday, the 4th of August, 1873, +this George Harpwood, described and photographed, married Mary Berners, +who now lives at Crescentville, a suburb of Philadelphia. She bears +the name of Mrs. Mary Harpwood, and has not been divorced to her +knowledge. Beside deserting her, Harpwood robbed her and reduced her +to penury. + +I inclose documents showing that five years earlier, or on Wednesday, +the 8th of January, 1868, George Harpwood eloped with a child wife, +Eleanor Hastings, and basely deserted her within four weeks. She now +resides with her sister-in-law, Mrs. Moses Hastings, on Ox-Bow Prairie, +a few miles south of Sturgis, Michigan. + +It is my request that the little store and its belongings, including +the bank account of Robert Chalmers, so-called, be given to the widow +of the late Walter B. Corkey. + +The bitterness of life is yours. But the bitterness of death is mine. + +Your husband, who loves you, + + DAVID LOCKWIN. + + +There is a click at the door. The bride hears it not. The documents +fall to the floor. There are photographs of George Harpwood; there are +green seals; there are many attestations. + +The bride must raise her eyes now. She sees the star of the officer. +She reads the number--803. Is that from David, too? + +Ah, yes, she must turn her head. The bridegroom is gone! + +A man enters, in hot haste and intense excitement. Is it the +bridegroom returning? + +It is Dr. Tarpion. He seizes her by the hand. + +"My dear friend!" he cries. "My dear friend!" he repeats, "I have just +now learned that your husband is still living." + +But she does not hear it. She can only look gratefully toward the +administrator, clinging to his hand. + +She gazes in a dazed way on the white prescription-booth beyond the +square stove; on the bottles of blue copper-water on each corner. +Higher, the partition rises into view. + +She meets the eyes of the officer. + +A patrol wagon clangs and clamors down State street. It will stop +before the door. + +Officers enter from the patrol wagon. "Where is that suicide?" they +ask in a low voice, seeing a bride. + +The officer in charge steps to the side of the bride. He speaks +tenderly--the tenderness of a rough man with a kind heart. "Madam," he +says, "you can go behind the partition and see the body. No one will +come in for a few moments." + +The bride rises. She hurries toward the little room where Robert +Chalmers suffered and died. + +"Oh, David!" she cries. "Oh, David! Oh, God!" + +"I guess we will not need the wagon," the officers say among +themselves, and step out on the sidewalk. + +The little clock behind the partition strikes 6. + +A dozen factory whistles set up their dismal concert out in the blue +mist. + + +THE END. + + + + + + + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg's David Lockwin--The People's Idol, by John McGovern + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK DAVID LOCKWIN--THE PEOPLE'S IDOL *** + +***** This file should be named 15123.txt or 15123.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/1/5/1/2/15123/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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