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diff --git a/19356-h/19356-h.htm b/19356-h/19356-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..cc4169e --- /dev/null +++ b/19356-h/19356-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,12062 @@ +<!DOCTYPE html PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd"> + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml"> + <head> + <meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=utf-8" /> + <title> + The Project Gutenberg eBook of Golden Stories, by Various + </title> + <style type="text/css"> +/*<![CDATA[ XML blockout */ +<!-- + p { margin-top: .75em; + text-align: justify; + margin-bottom: .75em; + } + h1,h2,h3,h4,h5,h6 { + text-align: center; /* all headings centered */ + clear: both; + } + hr { width: 33%; + margin-top: 2em; + margin-bottom: 2em; + margin-left: auto; + margin-right: auto; + clear: both; + } + + table {margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;} + + body {margin-left: 10%; + margin-right: 10%;} + + .margin {margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;} + .margin2 {margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%;} + + + + .blockquot{margin-left: 5%; margin-right: 10%;} + + + .bb {border-bottom: solid 2px;} + .bl {border-left: solid 2px;} + .bt {border-top: solid 2px;} + .br {border-right: solid 2px;} + .bbox {border: solid 1px; padding-bottom: 1em; padding-top: 1em; + padding-left: 1em; padding-right: 1em; } + + .center {text-align: center;} + .right {text-align: right;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps;} + .u {text-decoration: underline;} + + + .figcenter {margin: auto; text-align: center;} + + + + .tnote {font-size: smaller; font-style: italic; border: 1px solid black; margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%;padding-bottom: .5em; padding-top: .5em; + padding-left: .5em; padding-right: .5em;} + + ins {text-decoration:none; + border-bottom: thin dotted gray;} + + + + .poem {margin-left:10%; margin-right:10%; text-align: left;} + .poem br {display: none;} + .poem .stanza {margin: 1em 0em 1em 0em;} + .poem span.i0 {display: block; margin-left: 0em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i2 {display: block; margin-left: 2em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + .poem span.i4 {display: block; margin-left: 4em; padding-left: 3em; text-indent: -3em;} + // --> + /* XML end ]]>*/ + </style> + </head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Golden Stories, by Various + +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: Golden Stories + A Selection of the Best Fiction by the Foremost Writers + +Author: Various + +Release Date: September 22, 2006 [EBook #19356] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOLDEN STORIES *** + + + + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Melissa Er-Raqabi +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + + + +<h1>Golden Stories</h1> + + +<h3>A SELECTION OF THE BEST FICTION<br /> +BY THE FOREMOST WRITERS<br /><br /></h3> + + +<div class="figcenter"> +<img src="images/001.png" +alt="publisher's mark" title="publisher's mark" /> +</div> + + +<p class="center">NEW YORK<br /> +THE SHORT STORIES COMPANY<br /> +1909 +</p> + + + +<p class="center"><br /><br /><br /><br /><br />ALL RIGHTS RESERVED, INCLUDING THAT OF TRANSLATION<br /> +INTO FOREIGN LANGUAGES, INCLUDING THE SCANDINAVIAN</p> + +<p class="center">COPYRIGHT, 1908-1909, BY THE SHORT STORIES COMPANY +<br /><br /><br /><br /><br /></p> + + + +<div class="tnote"> +<p>TRANSCRIBER'S NOTES:</p> + +<p>Following each author's name was a notice: "All rights reserved." This +book is currently in the public domain, and the notices have been +removed, but are mentioned here in the interest of completeness.</p> + +<p>Many inconsistencies in spelling, punctuation, and hyphenation have been +normalized. Others remain as in the original. Any deviation from the +author's intent is solely the responsibility of the transcriber.</p> + +<p>This book seems to have been bound in two sections, each with stories +numbered I-XII. </p> + +<p>Though there was no Table of Contents in the original, one has been included +for ease of navigation.</p></div> +<p><br /><br /><br /></p> +<h2>TABLE OF CONTENTS</h2> + +<div class='center'> +<table border="0" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="0" summary="Table of Contents"> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_NIGHT_EXPRESS">The Night Express</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#OVER_THE_GARDEN_WALL">Over The Garden Wall</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#RURAL_INSURANCE">Rural Insurance</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#HIS_HONOR_THE_DISTRICT_JUDGE">His Honor, The District Judge</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FOG-HORN_CONCLUSION">A Fog-horn Conclusion</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#MARY_JANES_DIVERSION">Mary Jane's Diversion</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#BETWEEN_FRIENDS">Between Friends</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_HAMMERPOND_BURGLARY">The Hammerpond Burglary</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_FOCSLE_TRAGEDY">A Fo'c's'le Tragedy</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_ADOPTED_SON">The Adopted Son</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PROVIDENCE_AND_MRS_URMY">Providence And Mrs. Urmy</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_MILLION_DOLLAR_FREIGHT_TRAIN">The Million Dollar Freight Train</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'> </td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_BULLDOG_BREED">The Bulldog Breed</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#ICE_IN_JUNE">Ice In June</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_DITTY-BOX">The Ditty-box</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_YELLOW_CAT">The Yellow Cat</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#A_COCK_AND_POLICEMAN">A Cock And Policeman</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#PRISONERS_IN_THE_TOWER">Prisoners In The Tower</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#SANKEYS_DOUBLE-HEADER">Sankey's Double-header</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#AUNT_MARY_TELEGRAPHS">Aunt Mary Telegraphs</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_VENGEANCE_OF_THE_WOLF">The Vengeance Of The Wolf</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_WOOING_OF_BETTINA">The Wooing Of Bettina</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#THE_JAM_GOD">The Jam God</a></td></tr> +<tr><td align='left'><a href="#WHEN_FATHER_WORKED">When Father Worked</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>I</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_NIGHT_EXPRESS" id="THE_NIGHT_EXPRESS"></a>THE NIGHT EXPRESS</h2> + +<h3>The Story of a Bank Robbery</h3> + +<h3>By FRED M. WHITE</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">A pelting</span> rain volleyed against the great glass dome +of the terminus, a roaring wind boomed in the roof. +Passengers, hurrying along the platform, glistened in big +coats and tweed caps pulled close over their ears. By the +platform the night express was drawn up—a glittering mass +of green and gold, shimmering with electric lights, warm, +inviting, and cozy.</p> + +<p>Most of the corridor carriages and sleeping berths were +full, for it was early in October still, and the Scotch exodus +was not just yet. A few late comers were looking anxiously +out for the guard. He came presently, an alert figure in +blue and silver. Really, he was very sorry. But the train +was unusually crowded, and he was doing the best he +could. He was perfectly aware of the fact that his questioners +represented a Cabinet Minister on his way to +Balmoral and a prominent Lothian baronet, but there +are limits even to the power of an express guard, on the +Grand Coast Railway.</p> + +<p>"Well, what's the matter with this?" the Minister demanded. +"Here is an ordinary first-class coach that will do very well +for us. Now, Catesby, unlock one of these doors and turn +the lights on."</p> + +<p>"Very sorry, my lord," the guard explained, "but it can't +be done. Two of the carriages in the coach are quite full, as +you see, and the other two are reserved. As a matter of +fact, my lord, we are taking a body down to Lydmouth. +Gentleman who is going to be buried there. And the other +carriage is for the Imperial Bank of Scotland. Cashier +going up north with specie, you understand."</p> + +<p>It was all plain enough, and disgustingly logical. To +intrude upon the presence of a body was perfectly impossible; +to try and force the hand of the bank cashier equally out of +the question. As head of a great financial house, the Minister +knew that. A platform inspector bustled along presently, +with his hand to his gold-laced cap.</p> + +<p>"Saloon carriage being coupled up behind, my lord," +he said.</p> + +<p>The problem was solved. The guard glanced at his +watch. It seemed to him that both the bank messenger and +the undertaker were cutting it fine. The coffin came presently +on a hand-truck—a black velvet pall lay over it, and +on the sombre cloth a wreath or two of white lilies. The +door of the carriage was closed presently, and the blinds +drawn discreetly close. Following behind this came a barrow +in charge of a couple of platform police. On the barrow +were two square deal boxes, heavy out of all proportion +to their size. These were deposited presently to the satisfaction +of a little nervous-looking man in gold-rimmed +glasses. Mr. George Skidmore, of the Imperial Bank, +had his share of ordinary courage, but he had an imagination, +too, and he particularly disliked these periodical trips +to branch banks, in convoy, so to speak. He took no risks.</p> + +<p>"Awful night, sir," the guard observed. "Rather lucky +to get a carriage to yourself, sir. Don't suppose you would +have done so only we're taking a corpse as far as Lydmouth, +which is our first stop."</p> + +<p>"Really?" Skidmore said carelessly. "Ill wind that +blows nobody good, Catesby. I may be overcautious, but +I much prefer a carriage to myself. And my people prefer it, +too. That's why we always give the railway authorities +a few days' notice. One can't be too careful, Catesby."</p> + +<p>The guard supposed not. He was slightly, yet discreetly, +amused to see Mr. Skidmore glance under the +seats of the first-class carriage. Certainly there was nobody +either there or on the racks. The carriage at the far side +was locked, and so, now, was the door next the platform. +The great glass dome was brilliantly lighted so that anything +suspicious would have been detected instantly. The +guard's whistle rang out shrill and clear, and Catesby had +a glimpse of Mr. Skidmore making himself comfortable as he +swung himself into his van. The great green and gold serpent +with the brilliant electric eyes fought its way sinuously into +the throat of the wet and riotous night on its first stage of +over two hundred miles. Lydmouth would be the first stop.</p> + +<p>So far Mr. Skidmore had nothing to worry him, nothing, +that is, except the outside chance of a bad accident. He +did not anticipate, however, that some miscreant might +deliberately wreck the train on the off chance of looting +those plain deal boxes. The class of thief that banks +have to fear is not guilty of such clumsiness. Unquestionably +nothing could happen on this side of Lydmouth. +The train was roaring along now through the fierce gale at +sixty odd miles an hour, Skidmore had the carriage to himself, +and was not the snug, brilliantly lighted compartment +made of steel? On one side was the carriage with the +coffin; on the other side another compartment filled with +a party of sportsmen going North. Skidmore had noticed +the four of them playing bridge just before he slipped into +his own carriage. Really, he had nothing to fear. He +lay back comfortably wondering how Poe or Gaboriau +would have handled such a situation with a successful robbery +behind it. There are limits, of course, both to a +novelist's imagination and a clever thief's process of invention. +So, therefore....</p> + +<p>Three hours and twenty minutes later the express pulled +up at Lydmouth. The station clock indicated the hour to +be 11.23. Catesby swung himself out of his van on to the +shining wet platform. Only one passenger was waiting +there, but nobody alighted. Catesby was sure of this, +because he was on the flags before a door could be opened. +He came forward to give a hand with the coffin in the +compartment next to Skidmore's. Then he noticed, to his +surprise, that the glass in the carriage window was +smashed; he could see that the little cashier was huddled +up strangely in one corner. And Catesby could see also +that the two boxes of bullion were gone!</p> + +<p>Catesby's heart was thumping against his ribs as he +fumbled with his key. He laid his hand upon Skidmore's +shoulder, but the latter did not move. The fair hair +hung in a mass on the side of his forehead, and here it was +fair no longer. There was a hole with something horribly +red and slimy oozing from it. The carpet on the floor +was piled up in a heap; there were red smears on the +cushions. It was quite evident that a struggle had taken +place here. The shattered glass in the window testified +to that. And the boxes were gone, and Skidmore had +been murdered by some assailant who had shot him through +the brain. And this mysterious antagonist had got off +with the bullion, too.</p> + +<p>A thing incredible, amazing, impossible; but there it was. +By some extraordinary method or another the audacious +criminal had boarded an express train traveling at sixty +miles an hour in the teeth of a gale. He had contrived +to enter the cashier's carriage and remove specie to the +amount of eight thousand pounds! It was impossible +that only one man could have carried it. But all the same +it was gone.</p> + +<p>Catesby pulled himself together. He was perfectly certain +that nobody at present on the train had been guilty +of this thing. He was perfectly certain that nobody had +left the train. Nobody could have done so after entering +the station without the guard's knowledge, and to +have attempted such a thing on the far side of the river +bridge would have been certain death to anybody. There was +a long viaduct here—posts and pillars and chains, with +tragedy lurking anywhere for the madman who attempted +such a thing. And until the viaduct was reached the +express had not slackened speed. Besides, the thief who +had the courage and intelligence and daring to carry out +a robbery like this was not the man to leave an express +train traveling at a speed of upwards of sixty miles an hour.</p> + +<p>The train had to proceed, there was no help for it. There +was a hurried conference between Catesby and the stationmaster; +after that the electric lamps in the dead man's carriage +were unshipped, and the blinds pulled down. The +matter would be fully investigated when Edinburgh was +reached, meanwhile the stationmaster at Lydmouth would +telephone the Scotch capital and let them know there what +they had to expect. Catesby crept into his van again, very +queer and dizzy, and with a sensation in his legs suggestive +of creeping paralysis.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Naturally, the mystery of the night express caused a +great sensation. Nothing like it had been known since the +great crime on the South Coast, which is connected with +the name of Lefroy. But that was not so much a mystery +as a man hunt. There the criminal had been identified. +But here there was no trace and no clue whatever. +It was in vain that the Scotland Yard authorities tried to +shake the evidence of the guard, Catesby. He refused to +make any admissions that would permit the police even +to build up a theory. He was absolutely certain that Mr. +Skidmore had been alone in the carriage at the moment +that the express left London; he was absolutely certain +that he had locked the door of the compartment, and the +engine driver could testify that the train had never traveled +at a less speed than sixty miles an hour until the bridge +over the river leading into Lydmouth station was reached; +even then nobody could have dropped off the train without +the risk of certain death. Inspector Merrick was +bound to admit this himself when he went over the spot. +And the problem of the missing bullion boxes was quite +as puzzling in its way as the mysterious way in which Mr. +Skidmore had met his death.</p> + +<p>There was no clue to this either. Certainly there had +been a struggle, or there would not have been blood marks +all over the place, and the window would have remained +intact. Skidmore had probably been forced back into +his seat, or he had collapsed there after the fatal shot +was fired. The unfortunate man had been shot through +the brain with an ordinary revolver of common pattern, +so that for the purpose of proof the bullet was useless. +There were no finger marks on the carriage door, a proof +that the murderer had either worn gloves or that he had +carefully removed all traces with a cloth of some kind. +It was obvious, too, that a criminal of this class would +take no risks, especially as there was no chance of his being +hurried, seeing that he had had three clear hours for his work. +The more the police went into the matter, the more puzzled +they were. It was not a difficult matter to establish +the bona fides of the passengers who traveled in the next +coach with Skidmore, and as to the rest it did not matter. +Nobody could possibly have left any of the corridor coaches +without attracting notice; indeed, the very suggestion was +absurd. And there the matter rested for three days.</p> + +<p>It must not be supposed that the authorities had been +altogether idle. Inspector Merrick spent most of his time +traveling up and down the line by slow local trains on the +off-chance of hearing some significant incident that might +lead to a clue. There was one thing obvious—the bullion +boxes must have been thrown off the train at some spot +arranged between the active thief and his confederates. +For this was too big a thing to be entirely the work of one +man. Some of the gang must have been waiting along the +line in readiness to receive the boxes and carry them to a +place of safety. By this time, no doubt, the boxes themselves +had been destroyed; but eight thousand pounds in gold +takes some moving, and probably a conveyance, a motor +for choice, had been employed for this purpose. But +nobody appeared to have seen or heard anything suspicious +on the night of the murder; no prowling gamekeeper +or watcher had noticed anything out of the common. +Along the Essex and Norfolk marshes, where the Grand +Coast Railway wound along like a steel snake, they had +taken their desolate and dreary way. True, the dead body +of a man had been found in the fowling nets up in the mouth +of the Little Ouse, and nobody seemed to know who he +was; but there could be no connection between this unhappy +individual and the express criminal. Merrick shook his +head as he listened to this from a laborer in a roadside +public house where he was making a frugal lunch on +bread and cheese.</p> + +<p>"What do you call fowling nets?" Merrick asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, what they catches the birds in," the rustic +explained. "Thousands and thousands of duck and teel +and widgeon they catches at this time of year. There's +miles of nets along the road—great big nets like fowl runs. +Ye didn't happen to see any on 'em as ye came along in +the train?"</p> + +<p>"Now I come to think of it, yes," Merrick said thoughtfully. +"I was rather struck by all that netting. So they +catch sea birds that way?"</p> + +<p>"Catches 'em by the thousand, they does. Birds fly +against the netting in the dark and get entangled. Ducks +they get by 'ticing 'em into a sort of cage with decoys. +There's some of 'em stan's the best part of half a mile long. +Covered in over the top like great cages. Ain't bad sport, +either."</p> + +<p>Merrick nodded. He recollected it all clearly now. He +recalled the wide, desolate mud flats running right up to +the railway embankment for some miles. At high tide +the mud flats were under water, and out of these the great +mass of network rose both horizontally and perpendicular. +And in this tangle the dead body of a man had been found +after the storm.</p> + +<p>There was nothing really significant in the fact that the +body had been discovered soon after the murder of Mr. +George Skidmore. Still, there might be a connection +between the two incidents. Merrick was going to make +inquiries; he was after what looked like a million to one +chance. But then Merrick was a detective with an imagination, +which was one of the reasons why he had been +appointed to the job. It was essentially a case for the +theoretical man. It baffled all the established rules of the +game.</p> + +<p>Late the same afternoon Merrick arrived at Little Warlingham +by means of a baker's cart. It was here that the +body of the drowned man lay awaiting the slim chances +of identity. If nothing transpired during the next eight +and forty hours, the corpse would be buried by the parish +authorities. The village policeman acted as Merrick's +guide. It was an event in his life that he was not likely +to forget.</p> + +<p>"A stranger to these parts, I should say, sir," the local +officer said. "He's in a shed at the back of the 'Blue +Anchor,' where the inquest was held. If you come this +way, I'll show him to you."</p> + +<p>"Anything found on the body?"</p> + +<p>"Absolutely nothing, sir. No mark on the clothing or +linen, either. Probably washed off some ship in the storm. +Pockets were quite empty, too. And no signs of foul play. +<i>There</i> you are, sir!"</p> + +<p>Casually enough Merrick bent over the still, white form +lying there. The dead face was turned up to the light, +Rembrandtesque, coming through the door. The detective +straightened himself suddenly, and wiped his forehead.</p> + +<p>"Stranger to you, sir, of course?" the local man said +grimly.</p> + +<p>"Well, no," Merrick retorted. "I happen to know the +fellow quite well. I'm glad I came here."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Until it was quite too dark to see any longer Merrick +was out on the mud flats asking questions. He appeared +to be greatly interested in the wildfowlers and the many +methods of catching their prey. He learned, incidentally, +that on the night of the express murder most of the nets +and lures had been washed away. He took minute particulars +as to the state of the tide on the night in question; +he wanted to know if the nets were capable of holding up +against any great force. For instance, if a school of porpoises +came along? Or if a fish eagle or an osprey found +itself entangled in the meshes?</p> + +<p>The fowlers smiled. They invited Merrick to try it for +himself. On that stormy east coast it was foolish to take +any risks. And Merrick was satisfied. As a matter of +fact, he was more than satisfied.</p> + +<p>He was really beginning to see his way at last. By the +time he got back to his headquarters again he had practically +reconstructed the crime. As he stood on the railway +permanent way, gazing down into the network of the +fowlers below, he smiled to himself. He could have tossed +a biscuit on to the top of the long lengths of tarred and +knotted rigging. Later on he telephoned to the London +terminus of the Grand Coast Railway for the people there +to place the services of Catesby at his disposal for a day +or two. Could Catesby meet him at Lydmouth to-morrow?</p> + +<p>The guard could and did. He frankly admitted that +he was grateful for the little holiday. He looked as if +he wanted it. The corners of his mouth twitched, his +hands were shaky.</p> + +<p>"It's nerves, Mr. Merrick," he explained. "We all +suffer from them at times. Only we don't like the company +to know it, ye understand? To tell the truth, I've +never got over that affair at the Junction here eight years +ago. I expect you remember that."</p> + +<p>Merrick nodded. Catesby was alluding to a great railway +tragedy which had taken place outside Lydmouth +station some few years back. It had been a most disastrous +affair for a local express, and Catesby had been +acting as guard to the train. He spoke of it under his breath.</p> + +<p>"I dream of it occasionally even now," he said. "The +engine left the line and dragged the train over the embankment +into the river. If you ask me how I managed to +escape, I can't tell you. I never come into Lydmouth with +the night express now without my head out of the window +of the van right away from the viaduct till she pulls up at +the station. And what's more, I never shall. It isn't +fear, mind you, because I've as much pluck as any man. +It's just nerves."</p> + +<p>"We get 'em in our profession, too," Merrick smiled. +"Did you happen to be looking out of the window on the +night of the murder?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, and every other night, too. Haven't I just told +you so? Directly we strike the viaduct I come to my feet +by instinct."</p> + +<p>"Always look out the same side, I suppose?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, on the left. That's the platform side, you understand."</p> + +<p>"Then if anybody had left the train there——"</p> + +<p>"Anybody left the train! Why we were traveling at +fifty miles an hour when we reached the viaduct. Oh, +yes, if anybody <i>had</i> left the train I should have been bound +to see them, of course."</p> + +<p>"But you can't see out of both windows at once."</p> + +<p>"Nobody could leave the train by the other side. The +stone parapet of the viaduct almost touches the footboard, +and there's a drop of ninety feet below that. Of course +I see what you are driving at, Mr. Merrick. Now look +here. I locked Mr. Skidmore in the carriage myself, and I +can <i>prove</i> that nobody got in before we left London. That +would have been too dangerous a game so long as the train +was passing any number of brilliantly lighted stations, +and by the time we got into the open we were going at sixty +miles an hour. That speed never slackened till we were +just outside Lydmouth, and I was watching at the moment +that our pace dropped. I had my head out of the window +of my van till we pulled up by the platform. I am prepared +to swear to all this if you like. Lord knows how the thing +was done, and I don't suppose anybody else ever will."</p> + +<p>"You are mistaken there," said Merrick drily. "Now, +what puzzles you, of course, is the manner in which the +murderer left the train."</p> + +<p>"Well, isn't that the whole mystery?"</p> + +<p>"Not to me. That's the part I really do know. Not +that I can take any great credit to myself, because luck +helped me. It was, perhaps, the most amazing piece of +luck I have ever had. It was my duty, of course, to take +no chances, and I didn't. But we'll come to that presently. +Let it suffice for the moment that I know how the murderer left +the train. What puzzles me is to know how he got on it. +We can dismiss every other passenger in the train, and we +need not look for an accomplice. There <i>were</i> accomplices, of +course, but they were not on the express. Why didn't Mr. +Skidmore travel in one of the corridor coaches?"</p> + +<p>"He was too nervous. He always had a first-class carriage +to himself. We knew he was coming, and that was +why we attached an ordinary first-class coach to the train. +We shouldn't do it for anybody, but Lord Rendelmore, +the chairman of Mr. Skidmore's bank, is also one of our +directors. The coach came in handy the other night +because we had an order from a London undertaker to bring +a corpse as far as here—to Lydmouth."</p> + +<p>"Really! You would have to have a separate carriage +for that."</p> + +<p>"Naturally, Mr. Merrick. It was sort of killing two +birds with one stone."</p> + +<p>"I see. When did you hear about the undertaking job?"</p> + +<p>"The same morning we heard from the bank that Mr. +Skidmore was going to Lydmouth. We reserved a coach +at once, and had it attached to the Express. The other +carriages were filled with ordinary passengers."</p> + +<p>"Why didn't I hear of this before?" Merrick asked.</p> + +<p>"<i>I</i> don't know. It doesn't seem to me to be of much +importance. You might just as well ask me questions as +to the passengers' baggage."</p> + +<p>"Everything is of importance," Merrick said sententiously. +"In our profession, there are no such things as +trifles. I suppose there will be no difficulty in getting at +the facts of this corpse business. I'll make inquiries here +presently."</p> + +<p>So far Merrick professed himself to be satisfied. But +there were still difficulties in the way. The station people +had a clear recollection of the receipt of a coffin on the night +of the tragedy, and, late as it was, the gruesome thing had +been fetched away by the people whom it was consigned +to. A plain hearse, drawn by one horse, had been driven +into the station yard, the consignment note had been +receipted in the usual way, and there was an end of the +matter. Lydmouth was a big place, with nearly a quarter +of a million of inhabitants, and would necessarily contain +a good many people in the undertaking line. Clearly it was no +business of the railway company to take this thing any further.</p> + +<p>Merrick admitted that freely enough. It was nearly dark +when he came back to the station, profoundly dissatisfied +with a wasted afternoon.</p> + +<p>"No good," he told Catesby. "At the same time there +are consolations. And, after all, I am merely confirming +my suspicions. I suppose your people here are on the telephone. +If so, I should like to send a message to your head +office. I want the name of the firm in London who consigned +the coffin here. I suppose the stationmaster could +manage this for me."</p> + +<p>An hour or so later the information came. Merrick, +at the telephone, wanted a little further assistance. Would +the Grand Coast Railway call up the undertaker's firm +whilst he held the line and ask the full particulars as to the +body sent from London to Lydmouth. For half an hour +Merrick stood patiently there till the reply came.</p> + +<p>"Are you there? Is that Inspector Merrick? Oh, yes. +Well, we have called up Lincoln & Co., the undertakers. +We got on to the manager himself. He declares that the +whole thing is a mistake. They have not sent a corpse +over our trunk system for two months. I read the manager +the letter asking for special facilities, a letter on the +firm's own paper. The manager does not hesitate to say +the whole thing is a forgery. I think he is right, Inspector. +If we can do anything else for you——"</p> + +<p>Merrick hung up the receiver and smiled as if pleased +with himself. He turned to his companion, Catesby.</p> + +<p>"It's all right," he said. "Is there any way we can +get back to London to-night? The whole thing is perfectly +plain, now."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Though Merrick returned to London thoroughly satisfied, +he knew that the sequel was not just yet. There was +much conjuring work to be done before it would be possible +to place all the cards on the table. The Christmas +holidays had arrived before Merrick obtained a couple of +warrants, and, armed with these, he went down to Brighton +on Boxing Day, and put up at the Hotel Regina, registering +himself as Colonel Beaumont, sometime of the United +States Field Forces. Merrick could pose as an authority +on Cuba, for on one occasion he had been there for six +months on the lookout for a defaulting bank manager. +He had made certain changes in his appearance, and just +now he bore little resemblance to Inspector Merrick of +New Scotland Yard.</p> + +<p>The big hotel on the front was full. There was a smart +dance that same night, preceded by a children's party and +Christmas tree. The house swarmed with young folks, +and a good many nationalities were represented. On +occasions like these somebody generally takes the lead, +and by common consent the part of the chief of the events +had been allotted to the Marquis de Branza.</p> + +<p>To begin with, he was immensely rich. He had vast +estates in Italy. He had been staying at the Regina for +the past month, and it was whispered that his bill had +reached three figures. He entertained lavishly; he was +the soul of hospitality; he was going to buy a palace in +Kings' Gardens, and more or less settle down in Brighton.</p> + +<p>In addition to all this the Marquis was a handsome man, +very fascinating, and a prime favorite with all the boys and +girls at the Regina. He had his little peculiarities, of course—for +instance, he paid for everything in gold. All his +hotel bills were met with current coin.</p> + +<p>Merrick had gleaned all this before he had been a day +at the Regina. They were quite a happy family, and the +Colonel speedily found himself at home. The Marquis +welcomed him as if he owned the hotel, and as if everybody +was his guest. The dance was a great success, as +also were the presents in connection with the cotillon +promoted by the Marquis.</p> + +<p>At two o'clock the following morning the Marquis was +entertaining a select party in the smoking-room. The +ladies had all vanished by this time. The Marquis was +speaking of his adventures. He really had quite a talent +in that direction. Naturally, a man of his wealth was +certain to be the mark for swindlers. Merrick listened with +an approving smile. He knew that most of these stories +were true, for they had all been recorded from time to time +at Scotland Yard.</p> + +<p>"You would have made an excellent detective, Marquis," +he said. "You have made it quite clear where the police +blundered over that Glasgow tragedy. I suppose you read +all about the Grand Coast Railway murder."</p> + +<p>The Marquis started ever so slightly. There was a +questioning look in his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Did you?" he said. "Naturally one would, Colonel. +But a matter the most inexplicable. I gave him up. From +the very first I gave him up. If the guard Catesby was +not the guilty person, then I admit I have no theory."</p> + +<p>One by one, the smoking-room company faded away. +Presently only Merrick and the Marquis remained, save +one guest who had fallen asleep in his chair. A sleepy +waiter looked in and vanished again. The hotel was absolutely +quiet now. Merrick, however, was wide awake +enough; so, apparently, was the Marquis. All the same, +he yawned ostentatiously.</p> + +<p>"Let us to bed," he said. "To-morrow, perhaps——"</p> + +<p>"No," Merrick said somewhat curtly. "I prefer to-night. +Sit down."</p> + +<p>The last two words came crisply and with a ring of command +in them. The Marquis bowed as he dropped into +a chair and lighted a fresh cigarette. A little red spot +glowed on either of his brown cheeks, his eyes glittered.</p> + +<p>"You want to speak to me, Colonel?" he said.</p> + +<p>"Very much indeed. Now, you are an exceedingly clever +man, Marquis, and you may be able to help me. It happens +that I am deeply interested in the Grand Coast Express +murder; in fact, I have devoted the last two months to its +solution."</p> + +<p>"With no success whatever, my dear Colonel?" the +Marquis murmured.</p> + +<p>"On the contrary, my dear Marquis, with absolute satisfaction. +I am quite sure that you will be interested in my +story."</p> + +<p>The Marquis raised his cigarette graciously.</p> + +<p>"You are very good to give me your confidence," he said. +"Pray proceed."</p> + +<p>"Thank you. I will not bore you with any preliminary +details, for they are too recent to have faded from your +memory. Sufficient that we have a murder committed in +an express train; we have the disappearance of eight thousand +pounds in gold, without any trace of the criminal. +That he was on the train at the start is obvious. That he +was not in any of the carriages conveying ordinary passengers +is equally obvious. It is also certain that he left +the train after the commission of the crime. Doubtless +you read the evidence of the guard to prove that nobody +left the train after the viaduct leading to Lydmouth station +was reached. Therefore, the murderer contrived to make +his escape when the express was traveling at sixty miles +per hour."</p> + +<p>"Is not all this superfluous?" the Marquis asked.</p> + +<p>"Well, not quite. I am going to tell you how the murderer +joined the train and how he left it after the murder and the +robbery."</p> + +<p>"You are going to tell me that! Is it possible?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," Merrick said modestly. "Now, Mr. Skidmore +had a compartment to himself. He was locked in +the very last thing, and nobody joined the train afterward. +Naturally a—well—an amateur detective like myself +wanted to know who was in the adjoining compartments. +Three of these could be dismissed at once. But in the fourth +there was a corpse——"</p> + +<p>"A corpse! But there was no mention of that at the +inquest."</p> + +<p>"No, but the fact remains. A corpse in a coffin. In a +dark compartment with the blinds down. And, strangely +enough, the firm of undertakers who consigned, or were +supposed to consign, the body to Lydmouth denied the whole +business. Therefore, it is only fair to suppose that the +whole thing was a put-up job to get a compartment in the +coach that Mr. Skidmore traveled by. I am going to assume +that in that coffin the murderer lay concealed. But let +me give you a light—your cigarette is out."</p> + +<p>"I smoke no more," the Marquis said. "My throat, +he is dry. And then——"</p> + +<p>"Well, then, the first part is easy. The man gets out of +the coffin and proceeds to fill it with some heavy substance +which has been smuggled into the carriage under the pall. +He screws the lid down and presently makes his way +along the footboard to the next compartment. An athlete +in good condition could do that; in fact, a sailor has done +it in a drunken freak more than once. Mind you, I don't +say that murder was intended in the first instance; but will +presume that there was a struggle. The thief probably +lost his temper, and perhaps Mr. Skidmore irritated him. +Now, the rest was easy. It was easy to pack up the gold +in leather bags, each containing a thousand sovereigns, +and to drop them along the line at some spot previously +agreed upon. I have no doubt that the murderer and his +accomplices traveled many times up and down the line +before the details were finally settled. Any way, there +was no risk here. The broken packing cases were pitched +out also, probably in some thick wood. Or they might +have been weighted and cast into a stream. Are you +interested?"</p> + +<p>The Marquis gurgled. He had some difficulty in +speaking.</p> + +<p>"A little dangerous," he said. "Our ingenious friend +could not possibly screw himself down in the coffin after +returning to his compartment. And have you perceived +the danger of discovery at Lydmouth?"</p> + +<p>"Precisely," Merrick said drily. "It is refreshing to +meet with so luminous a mind as yours. There were many +dangers, many risks to take. The train might have been +stopped, lots of things might have happened. It would +be far better for the man to leave the express. And he +did so!"</p> + +<p>"The express at top speed! Impossible!"</p> + +<p>"To the ordinary individual, yes. But then, you see, +this was not an ordinary individual. He was—let us +suppose—an acrobat, a man of great nerve and courage, +accustomed to trapeze work and the use of the diving net."</p> + +<p>"But Colonel, pardon me, where does the net come in?"</p> + +<p>"The net came in at a place near Little Warlingham, +on the Norfolk coast. There are miles of net up there, +trap and flight nets close by the side of the line. These +nets are wide and strong; they run many furlongs without +supports, so that an acrobat could easily turn a somersault +on to one of these at a given spot without the slightest +risk. He could study out the precise spot carefully +beforehand—there are lightships on the sands to act as +guides. I have been down to the spot and studied it all +out for myself. The thing is quite easy for the class of man +I mean. I am not taking any great credit to myself, because +I happened to see the body of the man who essayed that +experiment. I recognized him for——"</p> + +<p>"You recognized him! You knew who he was?"</p> + +<p>"Certainly. He was Luigi Bianca, who used to perform +in London years ago, with his brother Joseph, on the +high trapeze. Then one of them got into trouble and subsequently +embarked, as the papers say, on a career of crime. +And when I saw the body of Luigi I knew at once that he +had had a hand in the murder of Mr. Skidmore. When +the right spot was reached the fellow took a header in the +dark boldly enough, but he did not know that the storm +had come with a very high October tide, and washed the +nets away. He fell on the sands and dislocated his neck. +But I had something to go on with. When I found out +about the bogus corpse I began to see my way. I have +been making careful inquiries ever since for the other +criminal——"</p> + +<p>"The other criminal! You mean to insinuate——"</p> + +<p>"I insinuate nothing," Merrick said coldly; "naturally +enough I wanted to find Joseph Bianca. He was the man +who picked up the gold; he was the man who hired a car +in London from Moss & Co., in Regent Street, for a week. +This was to recover the gold and incidentally also to take +up the thief who stole it. I wanted to find Joseph Bianca, +and <i>I've done it!</i>"</p> + +<p>The Marquis leaped to his feet. As he did so the man +in the distant chair woke up and moved across the room.</p> + +<p>"Don't make a fuss!" Merrick said quietly. "You +will be able to explain presently—perhaps what you are +doing here posing as a Marquis, and where you got all that +ready money from. Meanwhile, let me inform you that I +am Inspector Merrick, of Scotland Yard, and that this is +Sergeant Matthews. Joseph Bianca, you are my prisoner, +and I have a warrant for your arrest as an accessory before +and after the fact for the murder of Mr. George Skidmore. +Ask them to call us a cab, Matthews!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>II</h3> + +<h2><a name="OVER_THE_GARDEN_WALL" id="OVER_THE_GARDEN_WALL"></a>OVER THE GARDEN WALL</h2> + +<h3>The Story of a Vacation</h3> + +<h3>By LOUISE HAMILTON MABIE</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> impression, which floated vaguely as a perfume +in the wake of the departing Mr. and Mrs. Jasper +Prentiss, adapted itself pleasingly to any point of view. +Generally, it was thought that Katrina Prentiss was to +remain at home under the eye of Grandfather McBride. +Particularly, was this Grandfather McBride's reading of +the unspoken word. But Miss Prentiss, herself, thought +so otherwise that the situation completely reversed itself. +To Miss Prentiss, Grandfather McBride was left absolutely +under her eye.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile the Jasper Prentisses, characteristically +explaining nothing, commanding nothing, leaving events +to work themselves out somehow, as events have been known +to do, were off for their month's fishing without undue worry.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather will smoke his pipe all over the house," +remarked Mrs. Prentiss easily, as they drove away.</p> + +<p>"Oh, Katrina will manage somehow," returned Mr. +Prentiss, as easily. "They'll come to terms. By the way, +Kitty, we mustn't forget that marmalade." And, absorbed +in their list of supplies, the Jasper Prentisses disappeared +from view.</p> + +<p>Grandfather McBride, eighty-one, dependent, save in +moments of excitement, upon his knotted stick, hard-featured, +with a rusty beard and a shabby black hat, departed +slowly for his own quarters. Miss Prentiss, twenty-one, +hazel-eyed and graceful, with a wonderful creamy skin, +under a crown of auburn braids, sank dreamily upon the +broad porch step and gazed across the green lawn into the +future.</p> + +<p>"A whole month," thought Miss Prentiss, "of doing as +I please—consulting nobody, ordering things, going to +places, and coming home to—freedom." Miss Prentiss +spread out her hands with a sigh of content. "Not that +I'm interfered with—ever," she added, reproaching herself, +"but now—well, I'm it."</p> + +<p>She rose swiftly and turned up the steps. In the wide +doorway stood Grandfather McBride, stick in hand, hat +jammed down, and in his mouth, at a defiant angle, a battered +black pipe. A red flag, backed up by a declaration +of the rights of man, could not have spoken more plainly. +Miss Prentiss drew back; Mr. McBride stepped forward. +Their eyes met. Then the old gentleman flung down his +challenge. He removed the pipe and held it poised in his +hand.</p> + +<p>"What you goin' to do to-day, Triny?" he asked, briskly. +"When you goin' over to see the Deerings' parrot? There +ain't another such bird in America. You go over there +this morning and see that parrot. Don't loll about the +house. Don't be lazy!" Whereupon, with less profanity, +but as much of autocracy as was ever displayed by an Irish +boss whipping into shape the lowliest of his Italian gang, +Mr. McBride replaced his pipe elaborately, and walked +off with the honors. Katrina, utterly astonished, stared +after him, then shrugged, then smiled.</p> + +<p>"Poor Grandfather," she reached at length, "in minor +matters I'll let him have his way."</p> + +<p>The next day, Grandfather McBride smoked his pipe +on the porch. On the third morning he smoked it in the +drawing-room—out of sheer defiance, for he never entered +the room save under compulsion. Katrina, reminding herself +that peace was to be desired above victory, shrugged +once more, smiled, and went for a ride. When she swept +in, an hour or so later, Grandfather McBride was in the +back garden with John, and the smoke of a huge bonfire +obscured the sunlight. This was revolution, simple and +straightforward, and Katrina went at once to the back +garden.</p> + +<p>"John," she said, "what is the meaning of this? Don't +you know that Mr. Prentiss never allows bonfires? The +rubbish is to be carted away, <i>not</i> set on fire."</p> + +<p>John, apologetic, perturbed, nodded toward the old +gentleman. "Yes, miss, I know. I told Mr. McBride, +miss——"</p> + +<p>Grandfather McBride turned coldly upon Katrina. "I +ordered this bonfire," he said.</p> + +<p>"But, Grandfather, you know the old orders. Father +never allows them."</p> + +<p>"I allow them," said Mr. McBride. "Your father's +away fishing, and I'm in charge. This is my bonfire. I +order bonfires when I please. I like 'em. I like the smell +of 'em, I like the smoke——" Here an unexpected cough +gave Katrina a word.</p> + +<p>"But, Grandfather," she began again, only to be cut +short.</p> + +<p>"When the folks are home, I sit still and mind my own +business. Now they're away, I'm goin' to do things. I'm +on a vacation myself," said Mr. McBride, "and I'll have +a bonfire on the front lawn if I say so. You go back to the +house, Katriny, and read Gibson."</p> + +<p>"Ibsen," flashed Katrina.</p> + +<p>"I don't care what his Dutch name is—read him. Or +else"—a grim light of humor in his hard gray eye—"go +over and see that parrot."</p> + +<p>Katrina almost stamped her foot. "I loathe parrots," +she cried, "and I came out to talk about this bonfire."</p> + +<p>"I know you did," said Mr. McBride, "but this parrot +ain't like other parrots. It's a clown. It would make +a rag baby laugh."</p> + +<p>Katrina, flushed, angry, at a loss what to say, decided +to say nothing. The sight of John, discreetly gazing at +the roof of the chicken house, the grimness of Grandfather's +face, the discomfort of the choking smoke, urged a dignified +retreat. She turned abruptly and left them, overwhelmed +at the exhibition furnished by Mr. McBride, confounded +at his sudden leap into activity after years of +serene floating and absolutely in the dark as to any method +of controlling him in the future.</p> + +<p>For a week, his pipe and his daily bonfire contented Mr. +McBride. Between himself and Katrina, relations were +polite but not cordial. Katrina preserved a dignity which +deceived neither of them. Both knew that she was awaiting +something sensational, and the fact worried the old +gentleman, for already he had exhausted his possibilities. +He longed for new ideas in this matter of revolution, but +none came. He began to be bored by bonfires, and the +lack of opposition to them. Even the parrot failed to +amuse, and he was sinking into dull monotony, when a walk +down the long lane behind the back garden one sunny afternoon +changed the horizon of his world.</p> + +<p>He was gone for two hours; but Katrina was away from +the house herself, and did not notice. The next afternoon +he disappeared for three, finally dragging in weary in +body, but high in spirit. Twice at dinner he chuckled +audibly, and three times he recommended the parrot across +the street to Katrina. The next day he vanished after +luncheon, and was late for dinner. At this, Katrina decided +to take a hand.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather," she said abruptly at dessert, after a long +interval of silence on both sides, "it's all very well to take +a vacation, but there is such a thing as overdoing it. I'm +sure you would do nothing that would alarm mother, and I +know that if she were at home she would worry over you. +For days you have had no nap. Please rest to-morrow. +Don't go walking. Let me drive you to the club for +luncheon."</p> + +<p>The old gentleman glanced up at Katrina quickly. "I +declare if I hadn't forgot all about that fellow till this minute," +he said. "Speaking of the club, how's Sparks, Katriny?"</p> + +<p>Katrina sat suddenly erect and her color deepened. "Do +you by any chance mean Mr. Willoughby Park, Grandfather? +If so, I know nothing whatever about him. I +haven't seen him for a week." This with a jerk.</p> + +<p>"Don't you marry that chap, Katriny," went on Mr. +McBride, unimpressed, "and don't you let him come around +here. He's no good. A fellow that hangs around a country +club when he ain't hangin' around a girl, is always no good. +You marry a chap with brains, Katriny, even if he ain't so +long on the cash. Why, I know a young fellow——" Mr. +McBride pulled himself up short. "You dash in for brains, +Triny, and I'll take out my pocket book." Here he nodded, +as if concluding a bargain, but Katrina was already upon +her feet.</p> + +<p>"Grandfather McBride, you are growing insufferable," +she cried. "Simply because I mention the club, you assume +that I am—angling—for a man that—that has been +decently polite to me. I have never been invited to marry +Mr. Park. And you give me low advice about laying traps +for some other sort of a man. And you mention pocket +books! And you go off alone for hours and come home +worn out. And you smoke your horrible old pipe and build +your sickening bonfires, just to spite me! I think you are +a wretch, and I've worried over you every day since +mother left." Here she stopped suddenly, with a catch in +her throat.</p> + +<p>The old gentleman looked at her silently. Then he got +up and came around the table. Awkwardly, he patted her +shoulder. Katrina sat down.</p> + +<p>"I'm glad you don't like Sparks, my dear," said Mr. +McBride, leaning on his stick. "And don't worry your +heart over Grandfather, Triny. Grandfather's no fool. +He ain't had so much fun in years." Mr. McBride winked +just here, and put on an air of profound mystery.</p> + +<p>"I wonder where you do disappear to," said Katrina. +"I think I'll go along."</p> + +<p>"Don't you do that," spoke up Mr. McBride alertly. +"Don't you do that! A man can't stand a woman tagging +at his heels. He's got to have room, and air to breathe."</p> + +<p>"Smoke, you mean," put in Katrina, with returning +spirit, "and I warn you, Grandfather, that if you make +fires off our place, you'll be arrested."</p> + +<p>"Pooh! Fires!" said Mr. McBride contemptuously. +"Amusement for children. I ain't a-makin' fires these +days, Katriny. I've got other things to do." And, with +a final pat upon her shoulder, and a last most telling wink, +Grandfather McBride dragged himself wearily, but triumphantly, +to bed.</p> + +<p>When Katrina, on the lookout next afternoon, saw Mr. +McBride join John in the back garden, hold with him a +whispered consultation broken by many stealthy glances +toward the house, and finally disappear with him down the +lane, behind a wheelbarrow laden with boards, she gave orders +that she was not at home, waited half an hour, and followed.</p> + +<p>The lane wound coolly green and deserted from the Prentiss +place into the heart of the country. Katrina, walking +steadily, passed her own, passed the Graham and the Haskell +boundaries, and stopped in surprise. At a branching path +hung a new and conspicuous sign. "Private Road! No +Trespassing, Under Penalty of the Law."</p> + +<p>It was a churlish sign. The people of the neighborhood—a +summer settlement of friends and pleasant informalities—were +used to no such signs. And Katrina, knowing +Grandfather McBride, turned at once into the branching +path. At some distance in, she passed a similar sign, with +every mark of disdain. Finally, she was brought up short +by a wire fence, with a gate, high, wooden, and new, that +stretched across the path. She tried the gate, but it did +not budge. From the wood beyond came the sound of +voices and the strokes of a hammer. With a quick glance +behind her, and a determined set to her chin, she began to +climb the gate.</p> + +<p>She was descending upon the other side in safety, when +Grandfather McBride came upon her. His hat was pushed +back upon his head, his stick was forgotten. He descended +upon her as might a hungry lion upon its prey. He roared—in +fact, he bellowed.</p> + +<p>"Katrina Prentiss, get back over that fence. Climb back +over that gate; you're trespassing. Didn't you see the signs? +Are you blind? Can't you read? What do you mean by +coming in here where you don't belong? Climb back there +and go home at once!"</p> + +<p>Katrina, unprepared for battle and aware of being at a disadvantage, +swallowed hard and obeyed. She climbed back +over the gate. Once upon solid earth, however, and she +glared as fiercely at Grandfather McBride as he stared ferociously +at her.</p> + +<p>"I'm not a child," she said furiously, when he stopped to +breathe, "to be ordered about and sent home and insulted. +I have never been so treated in my life and I give you fair +warning, Grandfather, that I'll stand it no longer. After this +I'll do as I please." Whereupon Katrina, having woman-like, +in the act of obedience, said her say, retreated with dignity +and dispatch. Behind her, Mr. McBride waved his +recovered stick over the gate and shouted, but she did not +turn nor attempt an answer.</p> + +<p>He came home within an hour, slowly, leaning heavily upon +his stick. John followed with the empty wheelbarrow. They +parted at the barn and Mr. McBride went at once to his +room and shut the door. Katrina, sitting at her own window, +looked thoughtfully into space and swung a key upon +her forefinger. After a time she stood up, smoothed her +hair and pinned on her wide, rose-laden hat. Then she +went down the hall quietly, stopped before Mr. McBride's +door, and listened a moment. A gentle snore proclaimed +Mr. McBride's occupation. Katrina fitted the key into the +lock and turned it, took it out again and slipped it beneath +a corner of the rug, listened a further moment and then +walked down the stairs, out through the back garden, and, +with a final glance behind her, turned once more into the +green and deserted lane.</p> + +<p>It must be confessed that Katrina started upon her quest +in a spirit far removed from that of your single-minded +explorer. She was urged by a variety of causes. Among +them was a determination to disobey Grandfather McBride, +to serve him with his own medicine, to pay him in his own +coin, and to do it as quickly and as frankly as possible. Her +rapidly increasing curiosity concerning the region he guarded +with so much mystery counted as well, but the paramount +force—for Katrina was young enough to take her responsibility +seriously—was anxiety over the old gentleman himself. +In fact, Katrina departed, as did Lot's wife, with her +face and her thought turned backward, a policy not conducive +to brilliant success in exploration.</p> + +<p>This time, however, she was stopped by no one. She passed +the gate safely, penetrated the wood and came at length upon +a part of Mr. McBride's secret. It was a rough little flight of +steps, made with the help of John, the wheelbarrow, and the +boards, which led to the top of a high brick wall. The wall +astounded Katrina even more than did the steps, which is +saying a good deal. The whole elaborate contrivance for +keeping people away, puzzled Katrina. It was some time +before she mounted the steps and looked over the wall, but +when she finally did so, she ceased to be merely puzzled. +She became lost in a maze of wonder.</p> + +<p>Stretching before her, was a wide expanse of green. Just +opposite stood a long, low building of workmanlike appearance. +At the left was a very presentable rose garden. At +the right, a rustic summer-house. Surrounding all was the +high brick wall. But it was none of these things that amazed +Katrina.</p> + +<p>Moving toward her, from the door of the long building, +came a little procession—men and women, walking slowly, +sedately dressed in old-time silks and finery, decked with +plumes, jewels, laces, bouquets of flowers. Arrived at a +broad space near the summer-house, the company, after a +series of low and preliminary bows, launched forth into a +stately dance. Katrina, conscious of music, descried an +individual in very modern blue overalls, who manipulated a +phonograph. A voice from beyond the summer-house, called +forth instructions at intervals, with a huskiness vaguely suggestive +of old Coney.</p> + +<p>"More side-play there, Miss Beals. Just imagine he's a +young hobo you're in love with and yer father won't let him +up the steps. You're doing the Merry Widow act while +the old man's not looking. Don't bow so low you hide your +face, Mr. Peters. Your face is worth money to us all. And +everybody get a move on! You're too slow! Hit it up a +bit, Jim."</p> + +<p>The overalls, thus adjured, accelerated the time of his +machine, and a new spirit animated the group. Katrina +leaned far over the wall in order to miss nothing. At length, +the dance, moving toward a finale, reached it with a succession +of stirring chords, and a flourish of curtseys, and the group +dissolved.</p> + +<p>"That'll do for to-day. You can knock off now," began +the husky voice, when Jim, glancing up from his phonograph, +beheld Katrina in her rose-laden hat, leaning far over the wall. +If he had stopped to reflect, he might have ignored the vision, +for he was but man, and the vision a guilelessly pretty one, +but he did not stop to reflect. With Jim, to see a thing was +to proclaim it abroad. Immediately, he yelled:</p> + +<p>"Hey! Get on to the lady on the wall! Hey! Mr. +Connor, come around here. There's somebody on the wall. +Hey!"</p> + +<p>At once Katrina, to her utmost discomfort, became the +centre of the stage. Everybody turned, saw her, and began +to stare. The silken ladies, the velvet gentlemen, delayed their +return to modern apparel, and took her in. Jim stared +clamorously. Mr. Connor, rounding the summer-house, +glared angrily. To Katrina, even the long building blinked its +windows at her, and she thought, with sudden longing, of +Grandfather McBride. She wished she had not come. Most +of all, she wished to go, but she did not quite dare.</p> + +<p>At once, Mr. Connor took charge of the situation. "Say, +young lady," he demanded, in a truculent manner, "what do +you mean by gettin' into these grounds and rubberin' at us +over our wall? Don't you know you can be run in for passin' +those signs? Didn't you see that gate?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes," faltered Katrina; "yes—I saw the gate."</p> + +<p>"Well, how'd you get past that gate and them signs," Mr. +Connor wanted to know.</p> + +<p>"I—I climbed the gate," hesitated Katrina.</p> + +<p>Clearly this was not what Mr. Connor expected. Such +simplicity must cover guile. A suppressed smile glimmered +through the group and Mr. Connor became more suspicious +of Katrina.</p> + +<p>"I don't want no kiddin' now, do you hear?" he burst +forth. "You're in a tight place, young woman, and you may +as well wake up to the fact at once. The Knickerbocker is +doin' things on a plane of high art, and our methods are our +own. Now, I want to know who you represent? And freshness +don't go, d'you see?"</p> + +<p>Katrina hardly heard Mr. Connor. Her mind was occupied +with the freedom that lay clear behind her, and the possible +patrol-wagons and police stations before her. Perhaps she +might conciliate this red-faced man by allowing him to talk, +by being mild and meek and polite. Perhaps a chance might +come for a desperate attempt at escape. But Mr. Connor, +conversing fluently, read her very soul.</p> + +<p>"Bring that there light ladder, Jim," he interrupted himself +to order, "and if you try to get away, young woman, it'll be +the worse for you. Now, I want to know what yellow sheet +you represent?"</p> + +<p>"Yellow—why do you take me for a newspaper woman?" +cried Katrina. "I'm not. I'm nothing of the sort. I've +never been inside a newspaper office in my life."</p> + +<p>"Of course not," observed Mr. Connor, ironically. "They +never have. Always society ladies that can't write their own +names. You stand just where you are, miss, till that ladder +arrives. Then I'm coming up to confiscate any little sketches +and things you may have handy.</p> + +<p>"You are a brute," said Katrina, lips trembling but head +held high. "I am Miss Prentiss. I live near here, and you +will not dare to detain me."</p> + +<p>"Oh, won't I?" returned Mr. Connor. "I have a picture +of myself letting you go. And where the deuce is Jim?" +He turned impatiently toward the building across the lawn, +then somewhat relaxed his frown. "Oh, well, I can take an +orchestra chair," observed Mr. Connor. "Here comes the +boss."</p> + +<p>Katrina, with deepening concern, glanced from Mr. Connor +toward the long building. A young man was sprinting across +the stretch of green—a clean-cut young man in gray flannels. +At the first sight of him, Katrina caught her breath sharply +and blushed. It was Katrina's despair that she blushed so +easily. As the young man neared them the spectators achieved +the effect of obliterating themselves from the landscape. They +melted into space. There remained the young man, Mr. +Connor, and a divinely flushed Katrina.</p> + +<p>The young man looked up at her without smiling. He +bowed to her gravely. Then he turned to Mr. Connor. With +a few low-spoken words, he wilted Mr. Connor. Katrina, +gazing at the rose-garden, heard something in spite of herself. +She heard her name, and caught Mr. Connor's articulate +amazement. She heard mentioned some "old gentleman." +She heard a recommendation to Mr. Connor to go more slowly +in the future and to mend his manners at all times. After a +hint to Mr. Connor to look up Jim and the ladder, she heard +that gentleman withdraw much more quietly than he had +come, and her eyes finally left the rose-garden and looked +straight down into those of warm gray, belonging to the +young man below her.</p> + +<p>"Will you mind—waiting—just a moment longer?" he +asked. "This is more luck than I've had lately."</p> + +<p>Katrina smiled tremulously. "It's in my power to go, +then," she said.</p> + +<p>"No," said the young man, firmly, "it isn't. On second +thoughts, you are to stay just where you are till that blockhead +brings the ladder. I've a good deal to say. I'm going to +walk home with you."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Katrina. "And what will become of your +fancy-dress party?"</p> + +<p>"My fancy-dress party," returned the young man, "will +catch the next trolley for New York. Oh! Here labors the +trusty henchman across the green. Right you are, Jim! +No, the lady is not to come down. I'm to go up." And +go up he did, in the twinkling of an eye, and in less than +another the rose-wreathed hat and the young man's gray +cap had disappeared from view together.</p> + +<p>"Well, what do you know about that?" observed Jim, under +his breath, staring at the top of the wall. He whistled softly. +Then he grinned. "Hypnotized, by thunder," concluded +Jim, returning with the ladder.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, the two lingered homeward through the deepening +twilight. The gate opened easily to a key from the young +man's pocket; the signs glimmered dimly. They talked +lightly, but what they said proved to both simply an airy veil +for what they did not say. Katrina spoke of the club and the +tennis tournament.</p> + +<p>"Of course, we lost," she said. "Our best man," with a +sidelong look, "did not enter. The committee said that he +was away—on business. I see now that they were +misinformed."</p> + +<p>"But they weren't," said the young man, eagerly, "if you +mean me. I am 'away on business.' Why, do you know it's +seven days since I've seen you?"</p> + +<p>Katrina regarded her neat brown shoes.</p> + +<p>"The fact is," continued the young man, diffidently, "I've +been trying a new method with you. I've been endeavoring +to be missed. And I'm afraid to hear that I haven't been."</p> + +<p>"A little wholesome fear is good for anyone," observed +Katrina, judicially, "but I can truthfully say that I rejoiced at +the sight of you this afternoon. That red-faced man was about +to drag me off the wall by the hair."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Connor," said the young man. "Connor's not +polished, but in his line, he's a jewel. He used to be a stage +manager, and considered in that light, he's really mild."</p> + +<p>"Is he?" said Katrina, drily. "Does he stage manage for +you?"</p> + +<p>"Practically that. Don't scoff—please. You see, there's +a big future in this business. My father growled at first, +but he's come clean around. The land was mine, and we +are using it this way. The American public are going in for +this thing. They want amusement and they want it quick. +And the thing is to provide them with what they want, when +they want it."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Katrina. "And you are providing the American +public with what they want—back there?" with a tilt +of her head behind her.</p> + +<p>"Exactly," he answered. "That's our plant. We are +the Knickerbocker Film Manufacturing Company."</p> + +<p>"Oh," said Katrina, again. "And the fancy-dress people?"</p> + +<p>"We are getting up 'Romeo and Juliet,'" said the young +man. "Please don't laugh. It's been proven that the moving +picture audiences like Shakespeare canned."</p> + +<p>"Moving picture audiences," repeated Katrina in surprise, +and then as the light broke, she stopped short and looked at +the young man.</p> + +<p>"Why, didn't you guess?" he queried. "The summer-house—why, +of course, the summer-house must have hidden +the camera." He looked at her dejectedly. "I've wanted +you so much to know all about it," he said, "and now that you +do, it sounds—oh, drivelling."</p> + +<p>"But it doesn't," cried Katrina, eyes shining. "It sounds +splendid. It sounds thrilling. I'm sure it will be a success. +You're bound to make it one. I congratulate you. You've +left out a good deal. You've told your story very badly, but +I'm good at filling in. The fact is, I'm proud to know you, +and you may shake hands with me if you wish to."</p> + +<p>"Oh, Katrina," murmured the young man, and they clasped +hands. It was just here that Grandfather McBride turned into +the lane from the back garden and came upon them. When +they became aware of him, leaning heavily upon his stick +and frowning at them through the dusk, Katrina braced +herself to meet whatever might come. But, suddenly, +to her intense surprise, Mr. McBride beamed upon them +radiantly.</p> + +<p>"Well, well, Katriny," he said, in high good humor, "so +you've been over that gate again, eh? Been lookin' over that +wall, eh? I knew you would, my dear, I knew you would. +There's some of the McBride spirit in you after all, thank +God. I meant to take you myself, but you got ahead of me." +Here he shook hands with the young man. "Glad to see you +again, my boy," said Grandfather McBride. "Brought my +little girl home, eh?"</p> + +<p>"Well, we were on the way," admitted the young man with +enthusiasm. "I see you got the steps up, sir."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. McBride, "oh, yes. I'm much obliged to +you for the permission. It's as good as any vaudeville, and it's +a sight nearer home. You're bound to make money. I +tell my granddaughter," with a triumphant nod to the lady +in question, "to bank on brains and energy and American +push. I tell her," with a profound wink to Katrina, "to let this +old family nonsense and society racket go hang. I'm glad +she met you."</p> + +<p>"But we mustn't stand here in the lane, Grandfather," +put in Katrina, hurriedly. "It's getting damp."</p> + +<p>"That's so," agreed Mr. McBride, "and it's getting late." +He hooked his cane about the young man's arm. "Come in +and have dinner with us," he said.</p> + +<p>Katrina stared in amazement at Mr. McBride. The +young man looked eagerly at Katrina. "If Miss Prentiss will +allow me——" he began.</p> + +<p>"Huh! Miss Prentiss," spoke up Mr. McBride. "What's +she got to say about it? I allow you." And as Katrina, +behind Mr. McBride's back, smiled and nodded, the young +man accepted promptly.</p> + +<p>Together the three went through the back garden and up to +the house. Arrived there, Katrina disappeared. Grandfather +McBride, after settling his guest, came straight upstairs and +stopped at her door.</p> + +<p>"Little cuss," beamed Mr. McBride, "goin' off, locking up +her old grandfather and meetin' young chaps. Say, Katriny," +he remarked casually, "he's a fine fellow, ain't he?"</p> + +<p>Katrina, busy with her hair, nodded.</p> + +<p>"Now, if I was a girl," continued Mr. McBride, diplomatically, +"and a fellow like that took a shine to me I'd show +a glimmer of sense. I'd up and return it."</p> + +<p>"Would you?" remarked Katrina. "I'm glad you like him. +You see, Grandfather, you are too smart for me. I didn't +know until just now that you had even met Mr. Park."</p> + +<p>Mr. McBride's smile stiffened, then froze, finally disappeared. +He opened his mouth, and shut it. He swallowed +hard. At last, he got it out. "Katriny—Katriny, is <i>that</i> +Sparks—that fellow downstairs? Is that <i>Sparks</i>?"</p> + +<p>"Hush," said Katrina. "Of course, that is Willoughby +Park. Why, Grandfather, didn't you ask his name?"</p> + +<p>"No," said Mr. McBride, "I didn't. I just saw he was a +fine, likely——" He stopped abruptly. "Well, I'll be +damned," said Mr. McBride.</p> + +<p>Katrina came over to him and put her hand on his shoulder. +Mr. McBride looked into space. Standing so, he spoke once +more. "Do you—do you really like him, Triny?" he asked, +and although he looked into space, Mr. McBride saw Katrina's +blush. He patted her hand once, and left her.</p> + +<p>On his way downstairs, the grimness of Mr. McBride's face +relaxed. In the lower hall, he went so far as to chuckle. +When he joined Mr. Park on the porch, he grinned at him +amiably.</p> + +<p>"I'm a good sport," remarked Mr. McBride, irrelevantly, +"but I know when to retire to my corner and stay there. +Say," continued Mr. McBride, unconscious of discrepancies +between thought and action, "after dinner I'm goin' to take +you children across the street to see that parrot."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>III</h3> + +<h2><a name="RURAL_INSURANCE" id="RURAL_INSURANCE"></a>RURAL INSURANCE</h2> + +<h3>The Story of a Wayside Halt</h3> + +<h3>By CLOTILDE GRAVES</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Exhausted</span> by the effort involved in keeping the +thermometer of the closing day of August at an +altitude intolerable to the human kind and irksome to the +brute, a large, red-hot sun was languidly sinking beyond +an extensive belt of dusky-brown elms fringing the western +boundary of a seventy acre expanse of stubbles diagonally +traversed by a parish right-of-way leading from the +village of Bensley to the village of Dorton Ware. A knee-deep +crop of grasses, flattened by the passage of the harvest +wains, clothed this strip of everyman's land, and a +narrow footpath divided the grass down the middle, as a +parting divides hair.</p> + +<p>A snorting sound, which, accompanied by a terrific clatter +of old iron and the crunching of road-mendings, had been +steadily growing from distant to near, and from loud to +deafening, now reached a pitch of utter indescribability; +and as a large splay-wheeled, tall-funneled, plowing engine +rolled off the Bensley highroad and lumbered in upon the +right-of-way, the powerful bouquet of hot lubricating oil +nullified all other smells, and the atmosphere became opaque +to the point of solidity. As the dust began to settle it was +possible to observe that attached to the locomotive was a +square, solid, wooden van, the movable residence of the +stoker, the engineer, and an apprentice; that a Powler cultivator, +a fearsome piece of mechanism, apparently composed +of second-hand anchors, chain-cables, and motor driving-wheels, +was coupled to the back of the van, and that a bright +green water-cart brought up the rear. Upon the rotund +barrel of this water-cart rode a boy.</p> + +<p>The plowing-engine came to a standstill, the boy got +down from the water-cart and uncoupled the locomotive +from the living-van. During the operations, though the boy +received many verbal buffets from both his superiors, it +was curiously noticeable that the engineer and stoker, while +plainly egging one another on to wreak physical retribution +upon the body of the neophyte, studiously refrained +from personally administering it.</p> + +<p>"Hook off, can't ye, hook off!" commanded the engineer. +"A 'ead like a dumpling, that boy 'as!" he commented +to the stoker, as Billy wrought like a grimy goblin at the +appointed task.</p> + +<p>"A clout on the side of it 'ud do 'im good!" pronounced +the stoker, who was as thin and saturnine as the engineer +was stout and good-humored. "Boys need correction."</p> + +<p>"I'll allow you're right," said the engineer. "But it +ain't my business to 'it Billy for 's own good. Bein' own +brother to 'is sister's 'usband—it's plainly your place +to give 'im wot for if 'e 'appens to need it."</p> + +<p>The stoker grunted and the clock belonging to the Anglo-Norman +church tower of the village struck six. Both the +engineer and his subordinate wiped their dewy foreheads +with their blackened hands, and simultaneously thought of +beer.</p> + +<p>"Us bein' goin' up to Bensley for a bit, me an' George," +said the engineer, "an' supposin' Farmer Shrubb should +come worritin' along this way and ask where us are, what +be you a-going to tell 'im, Billy boy?"</p> + +<p>"The truth, I 'ope," said the stoker, with a vicious look +in an eye which was naturally small and artificially bilious.</p> + +<p>"Ah, but wot is the truth to be, this time?" queried the +engineer. "Let's git it settled before we go. As far as +I'm consarned, the answer Billy's to give in regards to my +question o' my whereabouts is: 'Anywhere but in the tap o' +the Red Cow.'"</p> + +<p>"And everythink but decently drunk," retorted the stoker.</p> + +<p>"That's about it," assented the unsuspecting engineer.</p> + +<p>The stoker laughed truculently, and Billy ventured upon +a faint echo of the jeering cachinnation. The grin died from +the boy's face, however, as the engineer promptly relieved +a dawning sense of injury by cuffing him upon one side of +the head, while the stoker wrung the ear upon the other.</p> + +<p>"Ow, hoo," wailed Billy, stanching his flowing tears in +the ample sleeve of his coat, "Ow, hoo, hoo!"</p> + +<p>"Stop that blubberin', you," commanded the stoker, +who possessed a delicate ear, "and make th' fire an' git th' +tea ready against Alfred and me gits back. You hear me?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, plaize," whimpered Billy.</p> + +<p>"An' mind you warms up the cold bacon pie," added the +stoker.</p> + +<p>"And don't you forget to knock in the top of that tin o' +salmon," added the engineer, "an' set it on to stew a bit. +An' don't you git pickin' the loaf wi' they mucky black +fingers o' yours, Billy, my lad, or you'll suffer for it when +I comes home."</p> + +<p>"Yes, plaize," gasped Billy, bravely swallowing the recurrent +hiccough of grief. "An' plaize where be I to build +fire?"</p> + +<p>"The fire," mused the engineer. He looked at the crimson +ball of the sun, now drowning in a lake of ruddy vapors +behind the belt of elms; he nodded appreciatively at the +palely glimmering evening star and pointed to a spot some +yards ahead. "Build it there, Billy," he commanded briefly.</p> + +<p>The stoker hitched his thumbs in his blackened leather +waist-strap and spat toward the rear of the van. "You +build the fire nigh th' hedge there," he ordered, "so as us +can sit wi' our faces to'rds yon bit o' quick an' hev th' van +to back of us, an' git a bit o' comfort outside four walls fur +once. D' ye hear, boy?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, George," quavered Billy.</p> + +<p>The sleepy eye of the engineer had a red spark in it that +might have jumped out of his own engine-furnace as he +turned upon the acquiescent Billy. "Didn't you catch +wot I said to you just now, my lad?" he inquired with ill-boding +politeness.</p> + +<p>"Yes, Alfred," gasped the alarmed Billy.</p> + +<p>"If the boy doesn't mind me," came from the stoker, +who was thoroughly roused, "and if I don't find a blazin' +good fire, an' victuals welding hot, ready just in the place +I've pointed out to 'im, when I've 'ad my pipe and my +glass at the 'Red Cow,' I'll——" A palpably artificial +fit of coughing prevented further utterance.</p> + +<p>"You'll strap 'im within an inch of 'is life, I dursay," +hinted the engineer. "You pipe what George says, Billy?" +he continued, as Billy applied his right and left coat cuffs to +his eyes in rapid succession. "He's give you his promise, +and now I give you mine. If I don't find a roarin' +good fire and the rest to match, just where I've said +they're to be when I come back from where I've said +I'm a-goin'——"</p> + +<p>"You'll wallop 'im a fair treat, I lays you will," said the +stoker, revealing a discolored set of teeth in a gratified +smile. "We'll bide by wot the boy does then," he added. +"Knowin' that wot 'e gits from either of us, he'll earn. +An' your road is my road, Alfred, leastways as far as the +'Red Cow.'"</p> + +<p>The engineer and the stoker walked off amicably side by +side. The sun sank to a mere blot of red fire behind the +elms, and crowds of shrilly-cheering gnats rose out of the +dry edges and swooped upon the passive victim, Billy, +who sat on the steps of the living van with his knuckles in +his eyes.</p> + +<p>"Neither of 'em can't kill me, 'cos the one what did it +'ud 'ave to be 'ung," he reflected, and this thought gave +consolation. He unhooked a rusty red brazier from the +back of the living van, and dumping it well into the hedge at +the spot indicated by the stoker, filled it with dry grass, +rotten sticks, coals out of the engine bunker, and lumps +of oily cotton waste. Then he struck and applied a match, +saw the flame leap and roar amongst the combustibles, +filled the stoker's squat tea-kettle with water from the green +barrel, put in a generous handful of Tarawakee tea, and, +innocent of refinements in tea-making, set it on to boil.</p> + +<p>"George is more spitefuller nor wot Alfred is," Billy +Beesley murmured, as the kettle sent forth its first faint +shrill note. Then he added with a poignant afterthought, +"But Alfred is a bigger man than wot George be."</p> + +<p>The stimulus of this reflection aided cerebration. Possessed +by an original idea, Billy rubbed the receptacle containing +it, and his mouth widened in an astonished grin. +A supplementary brazier, temporarily invalided by reason +of a hole in the bottom, hung at the back of the living-van. +The engineer possessed a kettle of his own. Active as a +monkey, the small figure in the flapping coat and the baggy +trousers sped hither and thither. Two hearths were established, +two fires blazed, two tea-kettles chirped. Close +beside the stoker's brazier a bacon pie in a brown earthen +dish nestled to catch the warmth, a tin of Canadian salmon, +which Billy had neglected to open, leaned affectionately +against the other. Suddenly the engineer's kettle boiled +over, and as Billy hurried to snatch it from the coals, the +salmon-tin exploded with an awe-inspiring bang, and oily +fragments of fish rained from the bounteous skies.</p> + +<p>"He'll say I did it a purpose, Alfred will!" the aggrieved +boy wailed, as he collected and restored to the battered tin +as much of its late contents as might be recovered. While +on all fours searching for bits which might have escaped +him, and diluting the gravy which yet remained in the tin +with salt drops of foreboding, a scorching sensation in the +region of the back brought his head round. Then he yelled +in earnest, for the roaring flame from the other brazier had +set the quickset hedge, inflammable with drought, burning +as fiercely as the naphtha torch of a fair-booth, while +a black patch, widening every moment, was spreading through +the dry, white grasses under the clumsy wheels of the living-van, +whose brown painted sides were beginning to blister +and char, as Billy, rendered intrepid by desperation, grabbed +the broken furnace-rake handle, usually employed as a poker, +and beat frantically at the encroaching fire. As he beat +he yelled, and stamped fiercely upon those creeping yellow +tongues. There was fire from side to side of the field pathway +now, the straggling hedge on both sides was crackling +gaily. And realizing the unconquerable nature of the +disaster, Billy dropped the broken furnace-rake, uttered +the short, sharp squeal of the ferret-pressed rabbit, and took +to his heels, leaving a very creditable imitation of a prairie +conflagration behind him.</p> + +<p>It was quite dark by the time the engineer and his subordinate +returned from the "Red Cow," and their wavering +progress along the field pathway was rendered more +difficult, after the first hundred yards or so, by the unaccountable +absence of the hedge. It was a singularly oppressive +night, a brooding pall of hot blackness hung above their +heads, clouds of particularly acrid and smothering dust +arose at every shuffle of their heavy boots, even the earth +they trod seemed glowing with heat, and they remarked +on the phenomenon to one another.</p> + +<p>"It's thunder weather, that's wot it be," said the engineer, +mopping his face. "I'm like my old mother, I feel +it coming long before it's 'ere. Phew!"</p> + +<p>"Uncommon strong smell o' roast apples there is about +'ere," commented the stoker, sniffing.</p> + +<p>"That beer we 'ad must 'ave bin uncommon strong," +said the engineer in a low, uneasy voice. "I seem to see +three fires ahead of us, that's what I do."</p> + +<p>"One whopping big one to the left, one little one farther +on, right plumb ahead, and another small one lower down +on my right 'and. I see 'em as well as you," confirmed +the stoker in troubled accents. "And that's how that +young nipper thinks to get off a licking from one of us——"</p> + +<p>"By obeying both," said the engineer, quickening his +pace indignantly. "This is Board School, this is. Well, +you'll learn 'im to be clever, you will."</p> + +<p>"You won't leave a whole bone in his dirty little carcase +once you're started," said the stoker confidently.</p> + +<p>By this time they were well upon the scene of the disaster. +Before their dazed and horrified eyes rose the incandescent +shell of what had been, for eight months past, their movable +home, and a crawling crisping rustle came from the +pile of ashes that represented the joint property of two men +and one boy.</p> + +<p>"Pinch me, Alfred," said the stoker, after an interval of +appalled silence.</p> + +<p>"Don't ask me," said the engineer, in a weak voice, "I +'aven't the power to kill a flea."</p> + +<p>"There ain't one left living to kill," retorted the stoker, +as he contemplated the smoking wreck. "There was +'undreds in that van, too," he added as an afterthought.</p> + +<p>"Burned up the old cabin!" moaned the engineer, "an' +my Sunday rig-out in my locker, an' my Post Office Savings +Bank book sewed up in the pillar o' my bunk, along o' +my last week's wages what I 'adn't paid in."</p> + +<p>"I shouldn't wonder if Government 'ung on to they +savings o' yourn," said the stoker, shaking his head. +"It's a pity, but you'd invested yours as I 'ave mine," +he added.</p> + +<p>"In public 'ouses?" retorted the engineer.</p> + +<p>"Some of it 'as went that way," the stoker admitted, "but +for three weeks past I've denied myself to put a bit into a +concern as I think is going to prove a paying thing."</p> + +<p>"Owch!" exclaimed the engineer, who had been restlessly +pacing in the velvety darkness round the still glowing wreck +of the living-van.</p> + +<p>"Don't you believe wot I've told you?" demanded the +stoker haughtily.</p> + +<p>"You don't always lie, George," said the engineer, gently. +"Wot made me shout out like that just now," he explained, +"was treading on something queer, down by the near side +wheels. Somethink brittle that cracked like rotten sticks +under my 'eel, an' then I slid on something round an' +squashy. An' the smell like roast apples, what I noticed +before, is stronger than ever."</p> + +<p>"'Ave you a match about you?" asked the stoker eagerly.</p> + +<p>"One," said the engineer, delicately withdrawing a solitary +"kindler" from the bottom of his waistcoat pocket.</p> + +<p>The stoker received the match, and struck it on his trousers. +A blue glimmer resulted, a faint s-s-s! followed, and the match +went out.</p> + +<p>"On'y a glim," said the stoker in a satisfied tone, "but it +showed me as I've made my money. An' made it easy, too."</p> + +<p>"'Ow much 'ave you pulled orf, then?" asked the +engineer.</p> + +<p>"Double the value," replied the stoker, smiling broadly +through the darkness, "of the property what I've lost in this +here conflagration."</p> + +<p>"That 'ud bring you in about eighteenpence," retorted +the engineer bitterly.</p> + +<p>The stoker laughed pleasantly.</p> + +<p>"Wot do you say to three pun' seventeen?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Better than a poke in the eye with a burnt stick," said +the engineer. "Wot did you say was the concern you +invested in?"</p> + +<p>The stoker felt in the darkness for his superior's arm, +grasped it, and putting his mouth close to where he thought +his ear ought to be, said loudly:</p> + +<p>"A boy."</p> + +<p>"Look 'ere, mate," began the engineer, hotly, "if you're +trying a joke on me——"</p> + +<p>"It ain't no joke," responded the stoker cheerfully. "Leastways +not for the boy, it ain't. But Lord! when I think 'ow +near I come to lettin' the policy fall through." He chuckled. +"It's three weeks gone since I took it out," he said contentedly, +"an' paid three weeks' money in advance, an' at threepence +a week, that makes ninepence, an' the thought o' them +nine half-pints I might 'ave 'ad out o' money 'as drove me +'arf wild with thirst, over an' over. I should 'ave 'ad to +pay again come Monday, if only 'e 'ad 'ave lived."</p> + +<p>"If only 'e 'ad lived—" repeated the engineer in a strange +far-away tone, "Oo's 'e?" he asked eagerly.</p> + +<p>"You know old Abey Turner as keeps the little sweet-an'-tobaccer +shop over to Dorton Ware?" pursued the stoker. +"Old Abey is a agint for the Popular Thrifty Life Insurance +Company——"</p> + +<p>"I know 'e is," confirmed the engineer.</p> + +<p>"Abey 'as bin at me over an' over again to insure my life," +explained the stoker, "but I told 'im as I didn't 'old with +laying out good money wot wouldn't never come 'ome to +roost-like, until I was dead. Then Abey leans over the +counter an' ketches me by the neck 'andkerchief an' says, +'Think of the worst life you know, an' 'ave a bit on that.' +Naturally, talkin' o' bad lives, you're the first chap whose +name comes into my 'ead."</p> + +<p>"Me!" ejaculated the engineer, starting.</p> + +<p>"But it wasn't wickedness old Abey meaned," continued +the stoker, "only un'ealthiness in general. Somebody wot +wasn't likely to live long, that's the sort o' man or woman +'e wanted me to insure. 'A child'll do,' says 'e, smiling, +an' tells me 'ow a large family may be made a source of +blessing to parents 'oo are wise enough to insure in the +Popular Thrifty. Then it comes into my mind all of a +sudden as 'ow Billy 'ud do a treat, an' I names 'im to Old +Abey. 'That young shaver!' calls out old Abey, disgusted +like. 'Why, 'e's as 'ard as nails. Wot's likely to 'appen +to 'im?' 'If you was to see the 'andling 'e gets when my +mate is in 'is tantrums,' I says to old Abey, 'you'd put +your bit o' money on 'im cheerful an' willin'.' 'Is Alfred +Evans such a savage in 'is drink?' says old Abey, quite +surprised——"</p> + +<p>"I'll surprise 'im!" muttered the engineer, "when I +meets 'im!"</p> + +<p>The stoker continued: "So the long an' the short is, +I insured Billy, an' Billy's dead!"</p> + +<p>"You don't really think so?" cried the engineer, in +shocked accents.</p> + +<p>"I don't think," said the stoker, in a hard, high tone, "I +knows 'e is."</p> + +<p>"Not—burned with the van!" gasped the engineer.</p> + +<p>"Burned to cinders," said the stoker comfortably. "'Ow +about that smell o' roasting you kep' a sniffing as we came +along, an' wot were it if not cooked boy? Wot was it your +foot crashed into when you called out awhile back? 'Is +ribs, 'im being overdone to a crisp. Wot was it you slipped +on——?"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" shuddered the engineer. "'Old 'ard! I can't +bear it."</p> + +<p>"I can," said the stoker, following his comrade as he +gingerly withdrew from the immediate scene of the tragedy. +"I could if it was twice as much."</p> + +<p>"It will be that to me!" sighed the engineer, seating himself +upon the parish boundary stone, over which he had +stumbled in his retreat, and sentimentally gazing at the +star-jewelled skies. "Twice three pound is six, an' twice +seventeen bob is one-fourteen. Seven pounds fourteen is +wot that pore boy's crool end 'as dropped into my pocket, +and I'd 'ad those best clothes ever since I got married; +an' there was only eight an' fourpence in the piller o' the +bunk, an——"</p> + +<p>The engineer stopped short, not for lack of words, but +because the stoker was clutching him tightly by the windpipe.</p> + +<p>"You don't durst dare to tell me," the frenzied mechanic +shouted, "as wot you went an' insured Billy too?"</p> + +<p>"That's just wot I 'ave done," replied the half-strangled +engineer. Then as the dismayed stoker's arms dropped +helplessly by his side, he added, "you ought to be grateful, +George, you 'ad no 'and in it. I couldn't 'ave +enjoyed the money properly, not if you'd 'ad to be 'ung +for the boy's murder. That's wot I said to old Abey +two weeks back, when I told 'im as 'ow Billy's life went +more in danger than anyone else's what I could think of, +through your being such a brutal, violent-tempered, dangerous +man."</p> + +<p>"An' wot did that old snake in the grass say to that +bloomin' lie?" demanded the stoker savagely.</p> + +<p>"'E said life was a uncertain thing for all," sniggered +the engineer, gently. "An' I'd better 'ave a bit on +the event an' turn sorrow into joy, as the saying is. So +I give Abey a shillin', bein' two weeks in advance, an' +the Company sent me the policy, an' 'ere I am in for the +money."</p> + +<p>"Like wot I am, an' with clean 'ands for both of us," +said the stoker in a tone of cheerful self-congratulation. +"I 'aven't laid a finger on that boy, not since I insured 'im."</p> + +<p>"Nor I ave'n't," said the engineer. "It's wonderful +how I've bin able to keep my temper since I 'ad the policy +to take care of at the same time."</p> + +<p>"Same with me," said the stoker happily. "Why, wot's +wrong?" he added, for a tragic cry had broken from the +engineer.</p> + +<p>"Mate," he stammered tremulously, "where did you +keep your policy?"</p> + +<p>"Meanin' the bit o' blue-printed paper I 'ad from the +Popular Thrifty? Wot do you want to know for?" +snapped the stoker suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"It just come into my 'ead to arsk," said the engineer, +in faltering accents.</p> + +<p>"In my little locker in the van, since you're so curious," +said the stoker grudgingly.</p> + +<p>"I 'ad mine stitched up in the piller o' my bunk with +my Post Office Savin's book," said the engineer in the deep, +hollow voice of a funeral bell. "An' it's burned to hashes, +an' so is yours!"</p> + +<p>"Then it's nineteen to one the company won't pay up," +said the stoker after an appalled silence.</p> + +<p>"Ten 'underd to one," groaned the engineer.</p> + +<p>Another blank silence was broken by the stoker's saying, +with a savage oath:</p> + +<p>"I wish that boy was alive, I do."</p> + +<p>"I know your feeling," agreed the engineer sympathetically. +"It 'ud be a comfort to you to kick 'im—or any-think +else weak and small wot didn't durst to kick back."</p> + +<p>"If I was to give you a bounce on the jor," inquired the +stoker, breathing heavily, "should you 'ave the courage +to land me another?"</p> + +<p>The engineer promptly hit out in the darkness, and arrived +safe home on the stoker's chin. With a tiger-like roar of +fury, the stoker charged, and on the engineer's dodging +conjecturally aside, fell heavily over the parish boundary-stone. +He rose, foaming, and a pitched battle ensued, +in which the combatants saw nothing but the brilliant showers +of stars evoked by an occasional head-blow, and the general +advisability of homicide. Toward dawn fatigue overcame +them. The stoker lay down and declined to get up +again and the engineer even while traveling on all fours in +search of him, lost consciousness in slumber.</p> + +<p>A yellow glare in the east heralded the rising of the orb +of day, as the figures of an aged man and a ragged boy moved +from the shelter of the belt of elms that screened the village +of Dorton Ware, and proceeded along the right-of-way.</p> + +<p>"It's burned, right enough, Billy, my boy," said the +old man, shading his bleared eyes with his horny hand as +he gazed at the blackened skeleton of the living-van. "An' +all considered, you can't be called to blame."</p> + +<p>Billy whistled.</p> + +<p>"If you'd bin asleep inside the van when that theer blaze +got started," said old Abey, rebukingly, as he hobbled along +by the boy's side, "you wouldn't be whistlin' 'My Own +Bluebell' now; your pore widowed mother, what lives in +that theer little cottage o' mine at Porberry End—and +'om I persuaded to insure you in the Popular Thrifty—would +'ave 'ad a bit o' money comin' in 'andy for 'er Michaelmas +rent, an' one or two other people would be a penny o' th' +right side, likewise." He paused, and shading his bleared +eyes under his gnarled hand, looked steadfastly at two huddled, +motionless, grimy figures, lying in the charred grass +beside the pathway. "Dang my old eyes!" he cried. "'Tis +George an' Alfred—Alfred an' George—snatched away +i' their drink an' neither of 'em insured. I'll lay a farden. +Here's a judgment on their lives, what wouldn't listen +to Old Abey an' put into the Popular Thrifty. Here's +a waste of opportunity—here's——"</p> + +<p>Old Abey's voice quavered and broke off suddenly as +the corpse of the engineer, opening a pair of hideously blood-shot +eyes, inquired ferociously what in thunder he meant +by making such a blamed row, while the body of the stoker +rolled over, yawned, revealing a split lip, and sat up staring.</p> + +<p>"We—we thought you was dead, mates," faltered Old +Abey. "Didn't us, Billy?"</p> + +<p>"At first I did," Billy admitted, "an' then I——"</p> + +<p>"Then you wot?" repeated the engineer, bending his +brows sternly above a nose swollen to twice its usual size.</p> + +<p>"Out with it!" snarled the stoker, whose lip was painful.</p> + +<p>"I was afraid as it couldn't be true," stuttered Billy.</p> + +<p>The stoker exchanged a look with the engineer.</p> + +<p>"The van's burnt, an' we've both lost our property, +to say nothin' of our prospects, mate," he said with a sardonic +sneer, "but one comfort's left us, Billy's alive!"</p> + +<p>A little later the plowing engine with its consort was +at work under the hot September sky. As the Powler cultivator +traveled to and fro, ripping up the stubbles, the boy +who sat on the iron seat and manipulated the guiding-wheel, +snivelled gently, realizing that the brief but welcome interval +of icy aloofness on the part of his superiors had passed, +never to return; and that the injunction of the Prophet would +thenceforth be scrupulously obeyed.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>IV</h3> + +<h2><a name="HIS_HONOR_THE_DISTRICT_JUDGE" id="HIS_HONOR_THE_DISTRICT_JUDGE"></a>HIS HONOR, THE DISTRICT JUDGE</h2> + +<h3>A Tale of India</h3> + +<h3>By JOHN LE BRETON</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">His</span> Honor, Syed Mehta, the District Judge of Golampore, +had dined with the Malcolms, and he was the +first of the Collector's guests to leave the bungalow. He +sauntered down the drive, lifting his contemplative gaze +to the magnificence of the starry heavens. Behind him, +the lamp-lit rooms sent long thrusts of light, sword-wise, +into the hot darkness. Joan Malcolm had taken up her +violin, and the sweet, wailing notes of it came sighing out +on to the heavy air. Ruddy, broad-faced young Capper, of +the Police, lounged by the open window, eating her up with +adoring eyes.</p> + +<p>His Honor smoked his cigar tranquilly, but at heart, +he smouldered. Harrow and Lincoln's Inn backed his +past, the High Courts awaited him in the future. For the +present he was a Civil Servant of excellent position and recognized +ability, a Mohammedan gentleman who had distinguished +himself in England as well as in the land of his +birth. Also, he was of less account in the eyes of Joan +Malcolm than Capper, a blundering English Acting-Superintendent +of Police, with a pittance of six hundred rupees +per mensem.</p> + +<p>Possibly Capper had not intended to be offensive, but +it is not given to the young and the British to entirely conceal +all consciousness of superiority when speaking with +a native. His courtesy was that of a man who considered it +to be beneath his dignity to use less ceremony. His civility +was due to his respect for himself, not for the person +whom he honored with his unintellectual conversation.</p> + +<p>The Judge flipped the ash off his cigar, and his slender +hand was cool and leisurely. His dark, straight-featured +face was impassive as carven stone. Mentally, he was +cursing Capper with curses of inexhaustible fire and venom.</p> + +<p>Malcolm, the Collector, had a right to speak loudly, and +to say this or that without cause, for he was Collector; but +Capper, a mere Superintendent of the Police, a cub of +twenty-three, was on a very different footing. Yet, not +even as an equal had he borne himself toward a District +Judge.</p> + +<p>His Honor's bungalow was on the outskirts of the town, +and as he paced along the dusty road, he came to a footpath +that ran down the hill, through dense jungle, to the +native village in the valley. There was a swarm of dark-skinned +fellow-men down there, to whom his name stood +for all that is highest in authority. They would have +loaded him with gifts had he permitted them to approach +him. To them, it seemed that he was placed far above as +a god, holding their lives and their fate 'twixt finger and +thumb, in mid-air. In the unfathomed depths of the +Judge's educated, well-ordered mind stirred a craving for +solace. Galled by the brutish indifference of the Englishmen, +there was yet left to him the reverence of his own +people. He looked sharply up and down the road before +he dived into the moist heat beneath the trees. He knew +all that he was risking for a mere escapade. He had +never trodden that path before, excepting when he had +gone on a shooting expedition with the Collector. There +were strange noises in the darkness, stealthy rustlings, +small, unfamiliar cries. He heard nothing but Capper's +comment on his carefully reasoned prediction that the day +must come when India would govern herself.</p> + +<p>"Oh! you think so?"</p> + +<p>Stupid, unmeaning, absurd, but—successful.</p> + +<p>Then, immediately Capper was talking to Miss Malcolm +about tennis, and she was listening, smiling and intent. +The Judge was a crack tennis player. He loathed the +game, but he had made himself proficient in it, because it is +one of the things that people expect of a man. He was +impelled to challenge Capper, and the answer was a +drawled excuse.</p> + +<p>The Judge was well down the hill now, descending the +last precipitous slope, and the countless odors of the Indian +village rose to his nostrils. There was a dull murmurous +commotion afar off, such as bees make when they are hiving. +He listened, without curiosity, as he pressed forward. +Suddenly he halted. The murmur boomed out into a long, +thunderous roar. Then silence, and out of the silence a +single voice, deep and ringing.</p> + +<p>"An infernal protest meeting," the Judge's British training +informed him.</p> + +<p>He went forward again, moving noiselessly, and reached +the outskirts of the crowd, sheltering himself between the +bushes that fringed the jungle. Torches flared, and smoked, +and shed a ruddy, uncertain light on hundreds of rapt, +upturned faces. The orator stood tall and straight above +them, fully revealed by purposely clustered lights. He +volleyed reproach and insult upon his listeners, he gave +them taunts instead of persuasion. They stood enthralled +by the passionate voice, and bitter words found their mark, +and rankled poisonously.</p> + +<p>"These <i>soors</i> of Feringhi, whom you call your masters, +beat you, and they use your brothers to be their sticks. But +for your brothers, who wear the uniform of the Feringhi, +and carry their guns, these worthless masters would be +trodden into the dust beneath your feet. The men who +hedge them in with steel must turn that steel against them."</p> + +<p>The roar of voices thundered among the trees, and died +away suddenly, so that no word from the speaker might +be lost.</p> + +<p>"They are cunning, these Feringhi, my brothers. They +steal the wisest from among us while yet they are children, +and bear them away to their own land, and give them over +to their own teachers. Thus come back your own, with +power and authority to scourge you. Your sons, your brothers +come back to you, learned, praised greatly, having striven +against the Feringhi in their own schools, and won what +they desired. Collector-sahib, Judge-sahib, yea, even +padre-sahib, come they back to you—not to lift you to +honor and happiness beside them, but to side with those +that oppress you, to grind taxes from you who starve, to +imprison you who would be free. Sons of unspeakable +shame! They drink your blood, they fatten on your misery, +and they have their reward. <i>We</i> curse, them, brothers! +The Feringhis smile upon them, they eat bread and salt +in their company, but they spit when they have passed by!"</p> + +<p>Something in the scornful voice rang familiarly on the +Judge's ears, and incautiously he changed his position and +tried to get a clearer view of the treasonmonger. Instantly +the man's bare brown arm shot out, and pointed him to +public notice.</p> + +<p>"Here is one," pealed out the trumpet-voice, "has he +come as our brother? Or comes he as the slave of our +masters, to spy upon our meetings, and to deal out punishment +to those who dare to be free? O brother, do you +walk to Calcutta, where the High Courts be, over our bodies, +and the bodies of our children? Will you go to the Collector-sahib +with tales of a native rising, and call up our brothers +of the police to kill and maim us? Or come you to offer +us a great heart?"</p> + +<p>The Judge stood there, a motionless figure, flaring +against the dark jungle in his spotless, white linen evening +dress. There was a broad silk cummerband about his +lean waist, and a gold signet-ring gleamed on his left hand. +Half a dozen Englishmen, thread for thread in similar +garb, still lounged in the Collector's drawing-room. He +appeared the very symbol of Anglicized India. The brown, +half-naked mob surged and struggled to look at him. The +brown, half-naked orator still pointed at him, and waited +for reply. Meanwhile, he had been recognized.</p> + +<p>"Iswar Chandra—by Jove," muttered the Judge.</p> + +<p>The last time they had met was in a London drawing-room. +Iswar Chandra, the brilliant young barrister-at-law +had discoursed to a philanthropic peeress upon the +social future of his native land, whilst an admiring circle +of auditors hung upon his words. The fate of India's women, +he had said, lay at the feet of such fair and noble ladies as +her Grace. The Judge remembered that people were saying +that evening of Iswar Chandra that he was a fascinating +and earnest man, and that he would be the pioneer of great +things in the country of his birth.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the half-naked savage challenged the Judge +over the sea of moving heads, and drove away the supercilious +smile from his lips.</p> + +<p>"Brother, we claim you! You are of our blood, and we +need such as you to lead us. The Feringhi have sharpened +a sword to cut us down, but it shall turn to destroy them. +Brother, we suffer the torments of hell—will you deliver +us? Brother, we starve—will you give us food? Will +you deal out to us life or death, you whose fathers were as +our fathers? Choose now between great honor and the +infamy that dies not! You are the paid creature of the +British Raj, or you are a leader of free men. Brother, +speak!"</p> + +<p>As in a dream the Judge approached the waiting crowd. +His mouth was parched, his heart beat fitfully. He wanted +that piercing voice to wake the echoes again, to take up +the story of the old blood-feud, to goad him into doing that +which he had not the courage to do. Vanished was his +pride of intellect, and of fine achievement. He was a +native, and he tugged and crawled at the stretch of the +British chain.</p> + +<p>"The Feringhi are few, and we are many. Shall the +few rule the many? Shall we be servants and poor while +yet in the arms of our own golden mother? In their own +country do the Feringhi not say that the word of the majority +shall be law? So be it! We accept their word. The +majority shall rule! O brother, skilled in the Feringhi +craft, high-placed to administer justice to all who are brought +before thee, do I not speak the truth?"</p> + +<p>The Judge threw away the dead end of his cigar, and +shouldered his way into the inmost circle.</p> + +<p>"Peace, thou," he said, thickly; "this is folly. Ye must +wait awhile for vengeance."</p> + +<p>Chandra threw up his arms, writhing in a very ecstasy +of fury.</p> + +<p>"We have waited—have we not waited?—beside our +open graves. Death to the Feringhi! Let them no longer +desecrate our land. Let us forget that they ever were. +They be few, and we be many. Brothers! To-night, +to-night!"</p> + +<p>The Judge was tearing off his clothes, he was trampling +them beneath his feet, he was crying out in a strange, raucous +voice; and all the swaying crowds were taking up his +words, maddening themselves and their fellows with the +intoxicating sounds.</p> + +<p>"Death to the Feringhi! To-night, to-night! Our land +for ourselves!"</p> + +<p>All but a few torches were extinguished. Secret places +were torn up, and out came old guns, old swords sharpened +to razor-like edges, great pistols, clubs, skinning-knives, +daggers. Then, up and up through the dark jungle they +thronged, hordes of them in the grip of a red and silent +frenzy. Chandra was in the forefront, but the leader was +his Honor the District Judge, a glassy-eyed, tight-lipped +Mussulman in a loincloth and a greasy turban.</p> + +<p>The lights of the Collector's bungalow came in view, +and the leader thought of young Capper, and rushed on, +frothing like a madman, waving his sword above his head. +Then he paused, and ran back to meet the laggards of a +yard or two.</p> + +<p>"Only the men!" he shouted.</p> + +<p>Chandra mocked at him as the press bore him onward +again, with scarcely an instant's halt.</p> + +<p>"Only the men, my brother!" he echoed.</p> + +<p>A few of the native police stood guard at the Collector's +gates, but they turned and fled before the overwhelming +numbers of the attacking force. Up the long drive the dark +wave poured, and into the wide, bright rooms. The bungalow +was deserted. Some fleet-footed servant had brought +warning in time, and the British were well out of the town +by the other road, with young Capper and a score of his +men guarding their rear.</p> + +<p>The mob howled with disappointment. The next instant +it was screaming with triumph as it settled down to sack +and burn and destroy.</p> + +<p>The Judge went into the dining-room, and looked at +the long table still decked with silver, and glass, and flowers. +He looked at the chair on which he had sat, with Joan Malcolm +at his side, and he picked it up and dashed it with all +his might into a great ivory-framed mirror, and laughed aloud +at the crash, and the ruin, and the rain of jagged splinters.</p> + +<p>"India must pass into the hands of the Indians!"</p> + +<p>"Oh! <i>you</i> think so—you think so—you think so...."</p> + +<p>He overthrew a couple of standard lamps, and watched +the liquid fire run and eat up their silken shades, and run +again and leap upon the snowy curtains, and so, like lightning, +spring to the ceiling, and lick the dry rafters with a +thousand darting tongues. Then, he was out in the night +again, the night of his life, the wonderful night that was +calling for blood, and would not be denied.</p> + +<p>There was no lack of light now to make clear the path +to vengeance. The Collector's bungalow roared red to the +very heavens, and flames shot up in a dozen different parts +of the town. The bazaar was looted, and English-made +goods were piled upon bonfires in the street. A greater mob +than had entered the town poured out of it, swift on the +road to Chinsurah where thousands of their brothers lay, +lacking only courage and leaders.</p> + +<p>At the midway turn of the road where the giant trees +rear themselves at the side of the well, came a sudden check, +and the mob fell back upon itself, and grew dead silent. +Those in the rear could only wait and guess what had happened. +The forefront saw that the road was barred. The moon +had risen, and well out in the white light, was Capper Sahib. +Some of his men were behind him. There were soldiers +there, too, how many could not be seen, for they were +grouped in the velvety black shadows which the trees flung +across the road. There might have been only fifty—or +five hundred.</p> + +<p>Young Capper came forward with his hands in his pockets, +and stared at them. They saw that he was not afraid. +He spoke to them in Maharattee, bluntly and earnestly, +so that some of them wavered, and looked back. He said +they were fools, led by a few rotten schemers who had only +personal gain in view.</p> + +<p>"Take good advice," he said, "go to your homes while +ye may. Ignorant, and greatly daring that ye are, the +<i>bandar-log</i>, or such thievish scum among ye, drive ye with +idle words and chatterings even to the brink of death. So +far have ye come, but no farther——"</p> + +<p>The Judge had snatched a villager's gun, and fired. +Capper Sahib fell, unspoken words upon his lips. His +fair head draggled in the dust, and a red stain showed suddenly +upon the white linen over his breast.</p> + +<p>A triumphant roar swept the mob from end to end. +British rifles cracked out the answer, and the bullets went +home surely, into the rioting mass. Amid shrill screams +of pain and fury the leaders rallied their men, and charged +forward. A second volley stopped them, before young +Capper's prostrate body could be reached. Few had joined +the attack, but now they were fewer, and neither of the +leaders stood among them.</p> + +<p>That was the end. Bearing their dead and wounded, +the rebels returned, wailing as they went. Before daylight +the townsmen were in their houses, and the villagers +had passed through the jungle, and regained their homes. +Arms were concealed with all haste. The dead were buried, +the wounded, for the most part, were hidden. Prisoners +had been taken, but only an inconsiderable number. +Before daylight also, the headman of the village, and a native +surgeon came stealthily from the Judge's bungalow, and +went their ways. They had their order, and they went to +spread it abroad. The order was—<i>Silence!</i> The headman +had bowed himself to the earth when it was given, +for he understood all that it meant. Prisoners would be +brought before a brother, not only to-day, but to-morrow, +and for many morrows. So much had the night given them.</p> + +<p>At noon His Honor came stiffly into the court-room, +leaning upon the arm of his native servant. The Collector, +who was awaiting him there, feared that he had been +injured by the rioters on the previous night; but he was +quickly reassured. The Judge, it seemed, had sprained +his knee shortly after leaving the Malcolm's hospitable roof. +It was nothing. A mere trifle, though indisputably painful.</p> + +<p>The Collector seated himself near the bench, and talked +in a low voice. The ladies were all safe. No Europeans +had been killed, and few injured. Capper had been shot +by some cowardly dog while parleying with the rioters, but +there were good hopes of him.</p> + +<p>The Judge was most truly concerned to hear of the calamity +which had befallen Mr. Capper—immensely thankful to +know that things were no worse with him.</p> + +<p>His Honor had heard little or nothing of what had happened +during the riot, being laid by the leg, as it were, in +his own room.</p> + +<p>The first batch of prisoners was brought in. At first +the Judge did not look at them. Afterward his eyes sought +their gaze, and held it, and they knew him for their brother. +They heard his soft voice speaking of them compassionately, +as wayward children whom mercy would win over, though +harshness might confirm them in their foolish resistance to +authority. The Collector seemed to protest, but with gentle +courtesy his objections were put aside. He leaned back +in his chair, flushed and angry, as one after another, the +sullen-looking rebels were fined, and having paid what was +demanded, were set at liberty.</p> + +<p>When the Judge looked up again, a single prisoner stood +before him, a wounded, hawk-faced native, whose eyes +blazed hate and contempt. The Collector drew his chair +closer to the bench, and began to speak in gruff undertones.</p> + +<p>"A ring-leader. Man of some education, I understand—qualified +as a barrister, and has taken to journalism. Must +make an example of him—eh?"</p> + +<p>The Judge, straining in agony of mind and body, was +aware of sudden relief from the pain of his wound. The +bandage had slipped, and blood was cooling the torturing +fire. A deathly faintness was upon him, and through it he +spoke distinctly—again of mercy.</p> + +<p>"They were all blind. The leaders were blind. The +blind leading the blind. Blind—blind——"</p> + +<p>The Collector sprang up with a startled exclamation. +A thin stream of blood trickled from behind His Honor's +desk, and went a twisting way down to the well of the court. +He caught the Judge in his arms as he fell forward, and +lowered him gently to the ground. Then it was seen that +the unconscious man's clothes were saturated with blood.</p> + +<p>Instantly the court was cleared. A military surgeon +cut away the blood-stained clothing from the Judge's thigh, +and laid bare the clean wound made by a British bullet. A +look passed between him and the Collector, but never a word. +Syed Mehta's life had ebbed with his blood, and so he passed, +unawakened, from swoon to death.</p> + +<p>The English, as their way is, betrayed nothing. It was +His Honor, the District Judge of Golampore, who had died, +and they gave him burial the next day with due regard to the +high position which he had held in the service of H.M. the +King and Emperor.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> + +<h3>IV</h3> + +<h2><a name="A_FOG-HORN_CONCLUSION" id="A_FOG-HORN_CONCLUSION"></a>A FOG-HORN CONCLUSION</h2> + +<h3>The Story of a Gramophone</h3> + +<h3>By FOX RUSSELL</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> <i>Saucy Sally</i> was a vessel of renown. No blustering +liner, no fussy tug, no squattering steamer, she; but +a bluff-bowed, smartly painted, trim-built sailing barge, +plying chiefly from the lower reaches of the Thames to ports +west of Dover. She had no equal of her class, at any point of +sailing, and certainly her Master, Mr. Joseph Pigg, was not +the man to let her fair fame suffer for want of seamanship.</p> + +<p>"Cap'n Pigg," as he insisted upon being called, was a great, +hairy-faced man, with brawny muscles and a blood-shot eye. +And in these respects, his mate, Bob Topper, greatly favored +him—in fact, their physical resemblance was rather marked; +but their tastes were in no way similar; 'the Cap'n' was +fond of his glass, whilst the mate was a blue-ribbon man; +Joseph Pigg couldn't bear music, in any form, whilst the +total abstainer had a weakness for the flute and would not +infrequently burst into song; the Skipper hated women, +whereas the mate was, what he himself called "a bit of a gay +Lathero." But notwithstanding these dissimilarities of tastes +and disposition, they got along fairly well together, and both +met on the common ground of getting as much work out of the +two "hands" as was ordinarily possible. The Skipper didn't +drink alcoholic liquors before the mate, and the mate returned +the compliment by refraining from any musical outrage in +the hearing of his superior officer.</p> + +<p>One hot summer afternoon, when the <i>Saucy Sally</i> was +taking in cargo and the Skipper was ashore, Mr. Topper, +seated on the coamings of the hatchway, abandoned himself +to the melancholy pleasures of Haydn's "Surprise," the tune +being wrung out of a tarnished German-silver flute. "Kittiwake +Jack," one of the crew, was seated as far as possible +for'ard, vainly trying to absorb his tea and stop his ears, at +one and the same time, whilst his fellow-sufferer, Bill Brown, +having hastily dived below, lay in his bunk, striving to deaden +the weird, wailing sounds that filled the ship. And just as +Haydn's "Surprise" was half way through, for the seventh +time, the Skipper walked on board.</p> + +<p>The flutist stopped short, and stared up at him.</p> + +<p>"Didn't expect you back so soon, Cap'n," he said in +confused tones.</p> + +<p>"No. What's that 'owlin' row you're making?"</p> + +<p>"I dunno about no 'owlin' row, but——"</p> + +<p>"Well, I do. I s'pose, accordin' to you, I ain't got no +musical h'ear," sneered Cap'n Pigg.</p> + +<p>"This—this here tune——"</p> + +<p>"Yes. This disgustin' noise—what is it?"</p> + +<p>The mate looked sulky.</p> + +<p>"This is Haydn's 'Surprise,'" he growled.</p> + +<p>"So I should think. I dunno who the bloke was, but it +must have given Haydn quite a turn! Don't let's 'ave no +more of it."</p> + +<p>"Well, I don't see as there's no 'arm in music. And I +didn't loose it off when you was about. I know you don't +like it, so I studied your pecooliarities. Fact is, I studies yer +too much," and the mate looked mutinous.</p> + +<p>Cap'n Pigg scowled.</p> + +<p>"You shet yer 'ead," he grunted as he stamped off below. +He went to a small cupboard in the corner of the cabin, and +mixed himself a stiff "go" of gin and water, which he tossed off +at one gulp, saying:</p> + +<p>"Haydn's 'S'prise,' eh? Haydn's S'prise be d—dished! +'E don't come no s'prises 'ere while I'm master of the <i>Saucy +Sally</i>!"</p> + +<p>After this slight breeze, things quickly settled down again +on the old lines between master and mate, and the voyage to +Chichester Harbor was entirely uneventful, the barge bringing +up at a snug anchorage near Emsworth.</p> + +<p>The next day Mr. Topper had undressed and gone overboard +for a swim. After this, climbing up the bobstay, he +regained the deck, and proceeded to dry his hairy frame on an +ancient flannel shirt. In the midst of this occupation, temporarily +forgetful of his superior officer's prejudices, he broke +into song.</p> + +<p>Thirty seconds after he had let go the first howl, the Skipper's +head was thrust up the companion-way.</p> + +<p>"Wodjer want to make all that row about? Anything +disagreed with yer? If so, why don't yer take something +for it?"</p> + +<p>"It's a funny thing yer carn't let a man alone, when all 'e's +a doin' is making a bit of 'armony on board," replied the mate, +pausing in the act of drying his shock head.</p> + +<p>"'Armony be d—driven overboard!" cried Mr. Pigg, +wrathfully. "Now, look 'ere, Bob Topper, I ain't a onreasonable +man in my likes and dislikes, but it ain't fair to sing at a +feller creature with the voice nature fitted you out with! I +never done you no 'arm."</p> + +<p>Next day the <i>Saucy Sally</i> shipped some shingle ballast, got +under weigh on the first of the ebb tide, and safely threading +her way past the shallows and through the narrow channels +of the harbor, emerged into the open sea, and turned her bluff-bowed +stem eastwards.</p> + +<p>The following afternoon, as Bob Topper took his trick at the +wheel, he ruminated on the mutability of human affairs in +general, and the "contraryness" of skippers in particular.</p> + +<p>"Won't 'ave no music, won't he? Well, I reckon it's like +religion when the missionaries is a shovin' of it into the +African niggers—they just jolly well got to 'ave it! An' +so it'll be with the ole man. I'll jest fix up a scheme as'll +do 'im a treat."</p> + +<p>He smiled broadly; and when Bob Topper smiled, the corners +of his mouth seemed to almost meet at the back of his +head.</p> + +<p>And as soon as the <i>Saucy Sally</i> had pitched and tossed her +way up channel—for she was light as a cork in ballast—and +dropped anchor a little way off Gravesend, Bob Topper sculled +himself ashore. Twenty minutes after stepping out of the +boat, he was seated in the back-parlor of a friend, a musical-instrument +maker.</p> + +<p>When Mr. Topper went aboard again, he carried under +his arm a large brown paper package, which he smuggled +below, without encountering the Skipper, who was in his +cabin at the time, communing with a bill of lading and a +glass of Hollands neat. And, soon after the mate had come +aboard, "the Cap'n" went ashore.</p> + +<p>And then Mr. Topper laid himself out for some tranquil +enjoyment, on quite an unusual scale. He unfastened the +package, produced a gramophone, brought it on to the deck, +and started "The Washington Post."</p> + +<p>"Kittiwake Jack" and Bill Brown immediately fled below.</p> + +<p>The mate sat on the edge of the hatch and gazed lovingly +at the new instrument of torture, as he beat time to the inspiring +strains, with a belaying pin. When the "Washington +Post," was finished, he laid on "Jacksonville," with a chorus +of human laughter, which sounded quite eerie. And so +intent was he on this occupation, that he never even noticed +the approach of Cap'n Pigg's boat until it was almost alongside.</p> + +<p>The Skipper clambered aboard, looking black as thunder. +This new outrage was not to be borne. Just as his foot +touched the deck the instrument gave forth its unholy cachinnation +of "Ha! Ha! Ha!" in the high nasal tones peculiar to +its kind.</p> + +<p>Cap'n Pigg was not easily disconcerted, but this ghostly +"Ha! Ha! Ha!" was a distinct trial to his nerves; he thrust his +hands deep into his coat pockets, glared at the mate, and then +growled:</p> + +<p>"Wodjer got there? More 'armony?"</p> + +<p>"Grammarphone," was the mate's brief reply. He was +getting sulky.</p> + +<p>"Grammar be blowed! Worst grammar I ever 'eard," +returned Pigg. "Turn the bloomin' thing off—and turn it +off at the main. Enough to give any respectable, law-abidin' +sailor-man the 'ump!"</p> + +<p>He proceeded two steps down the companion; then hurled +this parting shot at the offending mate:</p> + +<p>"You oughter be 'ead of a laundry where the 'andle of the +mangle turns a pianer-horgan as well—work and play!" he +concluded scornfully, as he disappeared from the musician's +sight below.</p> + +<p>The mate whistled softly; then he stopped the offending +instrument and conveyed it below.</p> + +<p>"P'raps the old man'll be glad of it, one o' these days," +he muttered mysteriously.</p> + +<p>The next trip of the <i>Saucy Sally</i> was a more eventful one. +She left Tilbury in a light haze, which first thickened into a +pale-colored fog, and then, aided by the smoke from the tall +chimneys, to a regular "pea-souper." The mate, taking +advantage of the Captain's spell below, brought up a long +yard of tin, which looked remarkably like the <i>Saucy Sally's</i> +fog-horn, and quietly slipped it overboard.</p> + +<p>As they got lower and lower down the river, the fog increased, +and both Cap'n Pigg and Topper experienced a certain amount +of anxiety as, first another barge, then a tramp steamer, and +finally, a huge liner, all sounding their fog-horns loudly, passed +them considerably too close for comfort. The Skipper himself +was at the wheel and, coughing the raw, damp fog out of +his throat, he shouted hoarsely to Topper:</p> + +<p>"Better get our fog-horn goin', mate."</p> + +<p>"Aye, aye, Skipper. It's in your cabin, ain't it?"</p> + +<p>"Yes, in the first locker."</p> + +<p>The mate descended the companion-steps, with a mysterious +smile on his face, and his dexter optic closed. The +casual observer might have thought that Mr. Topper was +actually indulging in a wink.</p> + +<p>After a time, he reappeared on deck, walked aft, and said:</p> + +<p>"Fog-horn don't seem nowheres about, Skipper. Thought +you always kept her in your charge."</p> + +<p>Cap'n Pigg whisked the wheel round just in time to escape +a tug, fussing up-stream, and feeling her way through the +fog at half-speed, and then he grunted sourly:</p> + +<p>"So I do. What the d—delay in findin' it is, I can't understand. +'Ere, ketch 'old o' the spokes, and I'll go; always +got to do everything myself on this old tank, seems to me."</p> + +<p>And thus grumbling, Cap'n Pigg went below—not +altogether unwillingly, as, being a man who understood the +importance of economizing time, he combined his search +for the fog-horn with the quenching of a highly useful thirst. +But when he came on deck again, wiping his mouth with the +back of his hand, he was unaccompanied by the fog-horn.</p> + +<p>"Where the blamed thing's got to, I dunno, more'n the +dead. I see it there, myself, not two days ago, but it ain't +nowheres to be found now."</p> + +<p>"Rather orkard, Skipper, ain't it, in all this maze o' +shippin'?" returned Mr. Topper with a half turn at the wheel.</p> + +<p>"Yes, I don't more'n 'arf like it," returned the Cap'n +uneasily. "My nerves arn't quite what they was. An' a fog's +a thing as I never could abide."</p> + +<p>On glided the <i>Saucy Sally</i>, almost the only one on the great +water way which spoke not, in the midst of a babel of confusing +sounds. Syrens whooped, steam whistles shrieked +hoarsely; the raucous voices of fog-horns proclaimed the +whereabouts of scores of craft, passing up and down the +river; but the trim-built barge slid noiselessly along, ghost-like, +in the dun-colored "smother," giving no intimation of her +proximity.</p> + +<p>Then it was that Mr. Bob Topper's moment for action +arrived. In casual tones, he observed to the Skipper:</p> + +<p>"Pity, we ain't got something as'll make a sound o' some +kind, so's to let people know as we 're a-comin'."</p> + +<p>Cap'n Pigg said nothing: but the anxiety deepened perceptibly +in his face.</p> + +<p>"Where the blank blank are yer comin' to?" roared the voice +of another bargeman, as, tooting loudly on a fog-horn, one of +the "Medway flyers," shaved past them.</p> + +<p>"Near thing, that," observed the mate, calmly.</p> + +<p>Cap'n Pigg went a shade paler beneath the tan on his +weather-beaten face.</p> + +<p>"Cuss 'im! careless 'ound!" he muttered. "Might a' +sunk us."</p> + +<p>"'Ad no proper lookout, I expect," returned Mr. Topper, +"even if 'e 'ad, 'e couldn't see anything, and we got no fog-'orn +to show 'em where we was, yer see."</p> + +<p>"No. An' p'raps we shall go to the bottom, all along o' +our 'aving lost our ole bit o' tin. It's a orful thing to think +of, ain't it?" said Cap'n Pigg solemnly.</p> + +<p>The mate appeared to be in a brown study. Then, as +though he had suddenly been inspired, he exclaimed:</p> + +<p>"What about the grammarphone, Skipper?"</p> + +<p>Even in the midst of his perturbation, Cap'n Pigg looked +askance at mention of the hated instrument. But it was a +case of 'any port in a storm,' and, with a grim nod, he relieved +the mate at the wheel, and said:</p> + +<p>"Fetch the bloomin' consarn up."</p> + +<p>Mr. Topper obeyed, with alacrity in his step, and a wink +in his eye. The 'consarn' was quickly brought on deck, and +the 'Washington Post' let loose on the astonished ears of fog-smothered +mariners, right and left of them.</p> + +<p>One old shell-back, coming up river on a Gravesend shrimper, +listened in blank astonishment for a minute, and then +confided huskily to his mate that he thought their time had +come.</p> + +<p>"'Eavenly, strains! It's wot they calls 'the music o' the +spears,'" he said mysteriously, "Hangels' music wot comes just +before a bloke's time's up. We better prepare for the wust."</p> + +<p>His mate, less superstitious and with more common sense, +rejoined:</p> + +<p>"Garn! 'Music o' the spears' be blowed! It's more like a +pianer-horgan or a 'urdy-gurdy."</p> + +<p>The shrimper glided on, and a tramp steamer, going dead +slow, just shaved past the musical barge. Its master roared +derisively from the bridge:</p> + +<p>"'Ullo, barge, ahoy! Wot yer got there? Punch and +Judy show aboard?"</p> + +<p>Which cost Cap'n Pigg a nasty twinge. He had always +prided himself on his seaman-like ways, and to proceed thus, +down the great river, like a mountebank, or a Cockney out on +a Bank Holiday, hurt his feelings more than he could say.</p> + +<p>Yet another insult was to be hurled at the <i>Saucy Sally</i>, for +"Jacksonville," with its weird human chorus, having been +turned on—when the "Ha! Ha! Ha!" rang out on the ears +of a passing tug's captain, that outraged gentleman, thinking +he was being personally derided, shouted, as the tide swept +them out of sight:</p> + +<p>"Yah! 'Oo yer larfin' at? Set o' bloomin' monkeys!"</p> + +<p>But the gramophone was certainly playing a useful part in +warning others off the <i>Saucy Sally</i>, down that fog-laden river. +And, when, at the end of their day's slow journey, they let go +their anchor, the "Washington Post" was again nasally shrieking +out its march-time glories.</p> + +<p>The mate stopped the machine and carried it tenderly +below, then, returning to the deck, he observed.</p> + +<p>"Good job as we 'ad the grammarphone aboard, Cap'n."</p> + +<p>Cap'n Pigg swallowed a lump in his throat, and looked like +a child confronted with a dose of nauseous medicine, as he +gruffly replied:</p> + +<p>"It's better n' nothin' when yer wants a row made."</p> + +<p>A pause ensued, and then the Skipper went on:</p> + +<p>"In future, I don't object—not very much—to the dammarphone—grammarphone, +I mean—If you can stand +music, well, so can I. But you can't contrarst the beauty o' +the two instruments, and I'm goin' ashore, straight away, to +buy myself a good, old-fashioned fog-'orn. The tone of that +is altogether more 'armonious and more soothin' to the hear, +than that there beastly grammarphone ever could be!"</p> + +<p>The mate heaved a deep sigh and sorrowfully went below. +In the effort to ram music into his superior officer he had to +admit himself defeated.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>VI</h3> + +<h2><a name="MARY_JANES_DIVERSION" id="MARY_JANES_DIVERSION"></a>MARY JANE'S DIVERSION</h2> + +<h3>A Western Tale</h3> + +<h3>By CHARLES ALDEN SELTZER</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Texas Rankin</span> stood in the street in front of the +High Card Saloon, his lank body trembling with +surprise, indecision, and indignation; his face alight with +the fire of outraged dignity. Three long paces from him +stood Sheriff Webster, indifferently fondling an ivory-handled +.45.</p> + +<p>The sheriff was nonchalantly deliberative in his actions, +betraying only a negative interest in Rankin's movements—for +Rankin's holster yawned with eloquent emptiness. +With his empty holster dragging on his desires, +it seemed to Rankin that to await the sheriff's pleasure +was his most logical course.</p> + +<p>And so he waited.</p> + +<p>The sheriff had come upon him, when, in an incautious +moment, he had emerged from the High Card Saloon, having +forgotten the very important fact that the sheriff was +looking for him. This forgetfulness had been the cause of +his undoing, for at the instant he had turned to go down the +street the sheriff had reached for his gun. The empty holster +was evidence of his success.</p> + +<p>After that there was no use in getting excited. True, Texas +had flashed around in his tracks when he had felt the gun +leaving its holster, and had made a lightning movement +with his hand to prevent such a disgraceful occurrence. +But he might just as well have reached for a rainbow. +As he had faced about, rage-flushed and impotent, he saw +his gun swinging loosely in Webster's left hand, while in +Webster's right hand another big six-shooter had reached a +foreboding level.</p> + +<p>The distance between the two men approximated ten +feet; for Webster had wisely stepped back, knowing Rankin's +reluctance toward submission.</p> + +<p>And now, over the ten feet of space, captive and captor +surveyed one another with that narrowing of the eyes which +denotes tension and warns of danger.</p> + +<p>"I reckon I was too quick for you, Texas," said Webster, +with a gentleness that fell too softly to be genuine.</p> + +<p>Rankin gazed dolefully at his empty holster. The skin +tensed over his teeth in a grinning sneer.</p> + +<p>"I ain't sayin' that you took a mean advantage," he said, +raising his eyes and allowing them an expression of mild +innocence that contrasted strangely with his drawn lips, +"but you might have given me a chance to fight it out square. +I wouldn't have took your gun, Jim."</p> + +<p>Knowing Texas less intimately, the sheriff might have +been misled by this crude sentiment; but the sheriff's fingers +only drew more closely around the ivory handle of his +.45. And there came a glint of humor into his eyes.</p> + +<p>"I ain't sayin' you would, Texas. But as sheriff of +Socorro County I ain't takin' any chances. I wanted to +talk to you, an' I knew if I had your gun I'd feel easier."</p> + +<p>"Which means that you didn't want me to have a +chance," complained Texas glumly. "Socorro's always +been meaner'n ——"</p> + +<p>"'T ain't Socorro's fault," interrupted the sheriff with +a sudden coldness; "you've been cuttin' didoes in Socorro +for so long a time that you've disgraced yourself. You've +gambled an' shot yourself into disfavor with the <i>élite</i>. +You've been as ornery an' as compromisin' as it's possible +for any human maverick to get without havin' to requisition +the unwillin' mourners."</p> + +<p>"Not that I'm sayin' you're naturally bad, Texas. It's +that you've got an overdose of what them modern brain +specialists call exaggerated ego; which us common critters +would call plain swell head. That there disease is listed +an' catalogued in the text books of the New York Medical +Institoot as bearin' a close relationship to the geni Loco; +which is a scientific way of sayin' that you've got buzzers +in your attic."</p> + +<p>Texas smiled, showing his teeth in wan sarcasm.</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't say that if I had my gun, Jim. It ain't +like you to pour out your blackguardisms on a man what +ain't armed."</p> + +<p>"I ain't blackguardin' you none," said Webster easily. +"It's the naked truth, an' you know it. Takin' your gun +was part of my official duty. Personally I could have talked +to you without trampling down any of the niceties of etiquette, +but officially I had to have your gun."</p> + +<p>Rankin's face lengthened with a deep melancholy. +With this expression he intended to convey the impression +that he was suffering a martyrdom. But the sheriff's +acquaintance with Texas was not recent.</p> + +<p>"An' now that you've got the gun," said Texas, after +an embarrassed silence, "what's the next thing on the +programme?"</p> + +<p>"Takin' your gun," said the sheriff heavily, "was a preliminary; +like they say in the sporting papers. The big +event is that you're goin' to say your adoos to Socorro without +bein' allowed to make any farewell announcement. +The reason is that you an' Socorro is incongruous—like a +side-saddle on a razor-back hog. Socorro won't stand for +you a minute longer. You're a Public Favorite which +has lost its popularity an' which has become heterogeneous +to the established order of things. In other words, you're +an outlaw; a soft-spoken, lazy, good-for-nothin' road-agent. +An' though Socorro ain't never had anything on you before, +it knows you had a hand in robbin' the express office last +night. An' it's——"</p> + +<p>"You're a damn ——"</p> + +<p>"——like playin' a king-full against three deuces that +you done the trick. You was seen goin' toward the station +about an hour before Budd Tucker found Ridgely, the +agent, stretched out on the floor of the office, a bullet +from a .45 clean through him. An' there's five thousand +dollars in gold gone, an' no trace of it. An' there's been +no strangers in town. An' here's your gun, showin' plain +that it's been shot off lately, for there's the powder smudge +on the cylinder an' the barrel. That's a pay streak of +circumstantial evidence or I ain't sheriff of Socorro!"</p> + +<p>Rankin's eyes had flashed with an unusual brilliancy as +the sheriff had spoken of him being seen going toward the +station previous to the finding of the agent's body, but they +glazed over with unconcern during the rest of the recital. +And as the sheriff concluded, Rankin gazed scornfully at +him, sneering mildly:</p> + +<p>"I couldn't add nothin' to what you've just said." He +idly kicked the gray dust that was mounded at his feet, standing +loose and inert, as though he cared little what might +be the outcome of this impromptu interview. And then, +suddenly, his blue eyes twinkled humorously as he raised +them to meet the sheriff's.</p> + +<p>"Give you time you might tell me where I spent the +money," he said drily. "There's no tellin' where your +theorizin' might end."</p> + +<p>The sheriff ignored this, but he eyed his prisoner +meditatively.</p> + +<p>"There's been a rumor," he said coldly, "that you've +got cracked on my daughter, Mary Jane. But I ain't never +been able to properly confirm it. I meant to tell you some +time ago that while I ain't had no objection to livin' in the +same town with you, I'm some opposed to havin' you +for a son-in-law. But now, since the express robbery, it +won't be necessary for me to tell you not to nose around +my house, for you're goin' to ride straight out of Socorro +County, an' you ain't comin' back any more. If you +do, I reckon you'll discover that Socorro's present leniency +ain't elastic enough to be stretched to cover your home-comin'."</p> + +<p>"I ain't sayin' nothin'," said Texas, glancing with pensive +eyes to a point far up the sun-baked street where his +gaze rested upon a pretentious house in a neatly-fenced +yard where there were green things that gave a restful +impression. "Circumstantial evidence is sure convincin'." +he sighed deeply. "I reckon you knowed all along that I +thought a heap of Mary Jane. That's the reason you picked +me out for the express job."</p> + +<p>He scowled as his eyes took in the meagre details of +Socorro's one street. Because of long association these +details had become mental fixtures. Socorro had been his +home for ten years, and in ten years things grow into a man's +heart. And civic pride had been his one great virtue. If +in the summer the alkali dust of the street formed into miniature +hills of grayish white which sifted into surrounding +hollows under the whipping tread of the cow-pony's hoofs, +Texas likened it unto ruffled waters that seek a level. The +same condition in another town would have drawn a curse +from him. If in the winter the huge windrows of caked +mud stretched across the street in unlovely phalanx, Texas +was reminded of itinerant mountain ranges. The stranger +who would be so unwary as to take issue with him on this +point would regret—if he lived. The unpainted shanties, +the huddled, tottering dives, the tumble-down express +station—all, even the maudlin masquerade of the High +Card Saloon—were institutions inseparable from his +thoughts, inviolable and sacred in the measure of his love +for them.</p> + +<p>And now! Something caught in his throat and gave +forth a choking sound.</p> + +<p>"But I reckon it's just as well," he said resignedly. "I +sure ain't of much account." He hesitated and smiled +weakly at the sheriff. "I ain't croakin'," he said apologetically; +"there's the circumstantial evidence." He hesitated +again, evidently battling a ponderous question. "You +didn't happen to hear Mary Jane say anything about the +express job?" he questioned with an expression of dog-like +hopefulness. "Anything that would lead you to believe she +knowed about it?"</p> + +<p>"I don't see what——"</p> + +<p>"No, of course!" He shuffled his feet awkwardly. "An' +so she don't know anything. Didn't mention me at all?" +The hopefulness was gone from his eyes, and in its place +was the dull glaze of puzzled wonder. "Not that it makes +any difference," he added quickly, as he caught a sudden +sharp glance from the sheriff's eyes.</p> + +<p>"An' so I'm to leave Socorro." He looked dully at +the sheriff. "Why, of course, there's the circumstantial +evidence." His eyes swept the shanties, the street, the +timber-dotted sides of the mountains that rose above the +town—familiar landmarks of his long sojourn; landmarks +that brought pleasant memories.</p> + +<p>"I've lived here a long time," he said, with abrupt melancholy, +his voice grating with suppressed regret. "I won't +forget soon."</p> + +<p>There ensued a silence which lasted long. It brought +a suspicious lump into the sheriff's throat.</p> + +<p>"I wouldn't take it so hard, Texas," he said gently. +"Mebbe it'll be the best for you in the long run. If you +get away from here mebbe you make a man——"</p> + +<p>"Quit your damn croakin'!" flashed back Texas. "I +ain't askin' for none of your mushy sentiment!" He +straightened up suddenly and smiled with set lips. "I +guess I've been a fool. If you'll hand over that six-shooter +I'll be goin'. I've got business in San Marcial."</p> + +<p>"I'll walk up to the station platform an' lay the gun +there," said the sheriff coldly; for Texas was less dangerous +at a distance; "an' when you see me start away from +the platform you can start for the gun. I'm takin' your +word that you'll leave peaceable."</p> + +<p>And so, with his gun again in its holster, Texas threw +himself astride his Pinto pony and loped down toward the +sloping banks of the Rio Grande del Norte.</p> + +<p>A quarter of a mile from town he halted on the bare +knob of a low hill and took a lingering look at the pretentious +house amid the green surroundings.</p> + +<p>Near the house was something he had not seen when +he had looked before—the flutter of a white dress against the +background of green. As he looked the white figure moved +rapidly through the garden and disappeared behind the house.</p> + +<p>"She didn't say a word," said Texas chokingly.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ten hours out of Socorro Texas Rankin rode morosely +into San Marcial. Into San Marcial the unbeautiful, with +its vista of unpainted shanties and lurid dives. For in +San Marcial foregathered the men of the mines and the +ranges; men of forgotten morals, but of brawn and muscle, +whose hearts beat not with a yearning for high ideals, but +with a lust for wealth and gain—white, Indian, Mexican, +half-breed; predatory spirits of many nations, opposed in +the struggle for existence.</p> + +<p>For ten hours Texas had ridden the river trail, and for ten +hours his ears had been burdened with the dull beat of his +pony's hoofs on the matted mesquite grass, and the rattle +of his wooden stirrups against the chaparral growth. And +for ten hours his mind had been confused with a multitude +of perplexities and resentments.</p> + +<p>But all mental confusions reach a culminating point when +the mind finally throws aside the useless chaff of thought +and considers only the questions that have to do with the +heart. Wherefore, Texas Rankin's mind dwelt on Mary Jane. +Subconsciously his mind harbored rebellion against her +father, who had judged him; against Socorro, which had +misunderstood him; against Fate, which had been unjust. +All these atoms of personal interest were elements of a primitive +emotion that finally evolved into one great concrete +determination that he would show Jim Webster, Socorro, +Mary Jane—the world, that he was not the creature they +had thought him. Tearing aside all mental superfluities, +there was revealed a new structure of thought:</p> + +<p>"I am goin' to be a man again!"</p> + +<p>And so Texas rode his tired pony in the gathering dusk; +down the wide street that was beginning to flicker with the +shafts of light from grimy windows; down to the hitching +rail in front of the Top Notch Saloon—where he dismounted +and stood stiffly beside his beast while he planned +his regeneration.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Half an hour later Texas sat opposite a man at a card +table in the rear of the Top Notch Saloon.</p> + +<p>The man conversed easily, but it was noticeable that he +watched Texas with cat-like vigilance, and that he poured +his whiskey with his left hand.</p> + +<p>Ordinarily Texas would have noticed this departure from +the polite rules, but laboring under the excitement that +his new determination brought him he was careless. For +he had planned his regeneration, and his talk with the +man was the beginning.</p> + +<p>"You lifted the express box at Socorro, Buck!" said Texas, +so earnestly that the table trembled.</p> + +<p>Buck Reible, gambler, outlaw, murderer, pushed back +his broad-brimmed hat with his hand—always he used his +left—and gazed with level, menacing eyes at Texas. His +lips parted with a half-sneer.</p> + +<p>"If a man does a job nowadays, there's always some +one wants in on it!" he declared, voicing his suspicion of +Rankin's motive in bringing up the subject. "Because +you was lucky in bein' close when the game come off is the +reason you want a share of the cash," he added satirically. +"How much——"</p> + +<p>"Go easy, Buck," said Texas. "I ain't no angel, but I +never played your style. I ain't askin' for a share."</p> + +<p>"Then what in——"</p> + +<p>"It's a new deal," declared Texas heavily. "A square +deal. You took five thousand dollars out of Socorro, an' +you salivated the agent doin' it. Jim Webster thought it +was me, an' I was invited to a farewell performance in which +I done the starrin'. Some night-prowler saw me down +near the station just before you made your grand entrée, +an'——"</p> + +<p>"Serves you right for spoonin' with a female so close to +where gentlemen has business," said Buck. "I saw her +when you come toward me shootin'."</p> + +<p>"An' what makes it more aggravatin'," continued Texas, +unmoved by the interruption; "is that the lady was Jim +Webster's daughter, an' we was thinkin' of gettin' married. +But we didn't want Jim to know just then, an' she told +me to keep mum, seein' that Jim was opposed. She said +we'd keep it secret until——"</p> + +<p>"I admire the lady's choice," said Buck, sneering ironically.</p> + +<p>"——until I braced up an' was a man again," went on +Texas, with bull-dog persistency.</p> + +<p>"Then you wasn't thinkin' of gettin' married soon," +slurred Buck.</p> + +<p>"I reckon we was," returned Texas coldly; "that's why +I came here. I'm goin' to take that five thousand back +to Socorro with me!"</p> + +<p>And now Buck used his right hand. But quick as he +was, he was late. Rankin's gun gaped at him across the +table the while his own weapon lagged tardily half-way in +its holster.</p> + +<p>"I'm goin' to be a man again," said Texas. There +was a positiveness in his voice that awoke thoughts of death +and violence.</p> + +<p>"You damn——" began Buck.</p> + +<p>"I'll count ten," said Texas frigidly. "If the money +ain't on the table then I reckon you won't care what becomes +of it!"</p> + +<p>"One!—Two!"</p> + +<p>With a snarl of rage and hate Buck rose from his chair +and sprang clear, his gun flashing to a level with the movement, +its savage roar shattering the silence.</p> + +<p>Texas did not wince as the heavy bullet struck him, but +his face went white. He had been a principal in more +than one shooting affray, and experience had taught him +the value of instantaneous action. And so, even with the +stinging pain in his left shoulder, his hand swept his gun +lightly upward, and before it had reached a level he had +begun to pull the trigger. But to his astonishment only +the metallic click, click of the hammer striking the steel +of the cylinder rewarded his efforts. Once, twice, thrice; +so rapidly that the metallic clicks blended.</p> + +<p>And now he saw why he was to meet his death at the +muzzle of Buck's gun. Fearing him, Jim Webster had +removed the cartridges from his weapon before returning +it to him that morning. He had committed a fatal error +in not examining it after he had received it from Webster's +hand. The Law, in judging him, had removed his chance +of life.</p> + +<p>But he smiled with bitter irony into Buck's eyes as the +latter, still snarling and relentless, deliberately shot again; +once, twice.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>According to the ancient custom—which has many +champions—and to the conventions—which are not to +be violated with impunity—Texas should have recovered +from his wounds to return to Mary Jane and Socorro. No +narrative is complete without the entire vindication of the +brave and the triumph of the honorable. But to the chronicler +belongs only the simple task of true and conscientious +record.</p> + +<p>Therefore is the end written thus:</p> + +<p>Came to Jim Webster's home in Socorro a week later a +babbler from San Marcial, who told a tale:</p> + +<p>"There was a man by the name of Texas Rankin came +down to San Marcial last week an' went gunnin' for Buck +Reible. Quickest thing you ever saw. Buck peppered him +so fast you couldn't count; an' I'm told Texas wasn't no +slouch with a gun, either."</p> + +<p>"Dead?" questioned Webster.</p> + +<p>"As a door nail," returned the babbler.</p> + +<p>"Socorro's bad man," said Webster, sententiously. +"Wasn't a bit of good in him. Gamblin', shootin', outlaw. +Best job Buck ever done."</p> + +<p>He found Mary Jane in the kitchen, singing over the supper +dishes.</p> + +<p>"Texas Rankin is dead over at San Marcial," he said, +with the importance of one communicating delectable news.</p> + +<p>Mary Jane continued with her dishes, looking at her +father over her shoulder with a mild unconcern.</p> + +<p>"At San Marcial?" she said wonderingly. "I didn't +know he had left Socorro!"</p> + +<p>"A week now," returned Webster with much complacence. +"Fired him from Socorro for doin' that express job. Socorro's +bad enough without Texas——"</p> + +<p>His mouth opened with dumb astonishment as Mary +Jane whirled around on him with a laugh on her lips.</p> + +<p>"Why, dad! Texas Rankin didn't do that job! It was +Buck Reible. Texas told me the night it happened. We +were walking down near the station and we heard some +shooting. I wasn't close enough to see plainly, but Texas +said he could recognize Buck by the flash of his gun. And +so Texas is dead!"</p> + +<p>"I thought," said Webster feebly, "that you was pretty +sweet on Texas."</p> + +<p>"Sweet!" said Mary Jane, blushing with maidenly modesty. +"Socorro is so dull. A young lady must have some diversion."</p> + +<p>"Then you don't care——"</p> + +<p>"Why, dad! You old sobersides. To think—why I +was only fooling with him. It was fun to see how serious——"</p> + +<p>"In that case——" began Webster. And then he went out +and sat on the front stoop.</p> + +<p>Far into the night he sat, and always he stared in the +direction of San Marcial.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>VII</h3> + +<h2><a name="BETWEEN_FRIENDS" id="BETWEEN_FRIENDS"></a>BETWEEN FRIENDS</h2> + +<h3>A Story of the Italian Quarter</h3> + +<h3>By ADRIANA SPADONI</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Vincenza</span> looked from the three crisp dollar bills to +her husband, and back again, wonderingly and with +fear in her eyes.</p> + +<p>"I understand nothing, Gino, and I am afraid. Perhaps +it will bring the sickness, the money—it is of the devil, +maybe——"</p> + +<p>Luigi laughed, but a little uneasily. "It is time, then, +that the devil went to paradise; he makes better for us than +the saints, to whom you pray so——"</p> + +<p>"S-sh!" Vincenza crossed herself quickly. "That is a great +wickedness."</p> + +<p>Luigi picked up the bills, examining them closely. Apparently +they were good. Nevertheless he put them down +again, and went on carving a wooden cow for the little +Carolina, with a puzzled look in his black eyes.</p> + +<p>"Gino," Vincenza stopped undressing the baby suddenly +when the thought came to her. "Go thou and ask Biaggio. +He has been many years in this country, and, besides, he is also +a Genovese. He will tell thee."</p> + +<p>Luigi's eyes cleared, but he condescended to make no +reply. It is not for a man to take the advice of a woman. +But when it was dark, and Vincenza had gone to lie down +with the Little One, Luigi took his hat and went over to the +shop of Biaggio Franchini.</p> + +<p>Biaggio listened attentively; his pudgy hands, crossed on +his stomach, rose and fell with the undulations of the rolls of +flesh beneath. From time to time he ceased for a moment +the contemplation of the strings of garlic and sausage that +hung from the fly-specked ceiling of his diminutive shop, +and turned his little black eyes sharply on Luigi.</p> + +<p>"So," he said at last, "to-day a lady came to thy house, +and after to ask many questions left these three dollars. +It was in this way?"</p> + +<p>"Just so," replied Luigi, "and questions the most marvelous +I have ever heard. And in this country, where everyone +asks the questions. How long that I do not work, and +if we have to eat?" Luigi laughed; "of a surety, Biaggio, +she asked that. She sees that we live—and she asks if we +eat—<i>ma! chè!</i> And then, if we have every day the meat? +When I said once, sometimes twice in the week—thou +knowest it is not possible to have more often, when one waits +to buy the house—then it was she put on the table the three +dollars, and gave me a paper to sign——"</p> + +<p>"Thou didst sign nothing?" Biaggio spoke eagerly.</p> + +<p>"No. Once I signed the paper in English and it cost +me two dollars; not again. I said I could not write, and +she wrote for me."</p> + +<p>"<i>Bene</i>," Biaggio nodded approval. "It is not thy writing. +It can do nothing."</p> + +<p>"Perhaps it is because I voted twice at the election last +week? But already I have taken the money for that. It +was one only dollar. I——"</p> + +<p>"Non, non, it is not that. Listen!" Slowly Biaggio +shut both eyes, as if to keep out the tremendous light that +had dawned upon him, and nodded his head knowingly. +Then he opened them, shifted his huge bulk upright, and +clapped Luigi on the knee.</p> + +<p>"Thou art in great luck friend," he cried, "and it is well that +thou hast asked me. If thou hadst gone to another, to a man +not honest, who knows? Listen. In our country when a rich +man dies, he leaves always something for the poor, but he +leaves it to the church and it is the fathers who give away +the money. Corpo di Bacco! what that means thou knowest +well. Sometimes a little gets to the poor. Sometimes—— But +in this country it is not so. He leaves to a society. There +are many. And they pay the women, and sometimes the +men, to give away the money——"</p> + +<p>"Santo Cristo," gasped Luigi, "they pay to give away the +money?"</p> + +<p>"For them it is a job like any other. Didst think it was +for love of thee or the red curls of thy Vincenza?"</p> + +<p>"Marvelous, most marvelous," murmured Luigi, "and it +is possible then for all people to get——"</p> + +<p>"Ma, that no one can explain," and Biaggio shrugged his +shoulders; in a gesture of absolute inability to solve the +problem.</p> + +<p>"She will come then again, this lady?" Luigi leaned forward +eagerly. He was beginning to grasp it.</p> + +<p>"It is for thee to say stop, my son, if thou hast in thy head +anything but fat. But thou art a Genovese. Only I say," +Biaggio laid a grimy thumb across his lips and winked knowingly—"Tell +to none."</p> + +<p>"Thanks, many thanks friend," Luigi's voice was deeply +grateful, "perhaps some day I can do for thee——?"</p> + +<p>"It is nothing—nothing," insisted Biaggio, patting the +air with his pudgy hands in a gesture of denial, "a little kindness +between friends."</p> + +<p>At great inconvenience to himself, Biaggio held the door +open to give Luigi more light in crossing the street. As he +closed it and turned out the gas, he smiled to himself. "And +each bottle of oil will cost thee ten cents more, friend. Business +is business, and yesterday thy Vincenza returned the +carrots because they were not fresh. Ecco!"</p> + +<p>Back in his own room, Luigi folded the three notes neatly, +while Vincenza watched him, her gray eyes wide with wonder.</p> + +<p>"Marvelous, marvelous," she whispered just as Luigi had +done, "to-night I thank the Virgin."</p> + +<p>As Biaggio had foretold, the Lady in Fur came every day. +Luigi did not understand all that she said, but he always +listened politely and smiled, with his dark eyes and his lips +and his glistening white teeth. It made her feel very old to see +Luigi smile like that, when he had to live in one room with a +leaking water pipe and a garbage can outside the door. +Sometimes she was almost ashamed to offer the three +dollars, and she was grateful for the gentle, sweet way Luigi +accepted it.</p> + +<p>Then one day when the air was thick with snow, and the +air in the tenement halls cut like needles of ice and the lamps +had to be lit at two o'clock, the Lady in Brown Fur came +unexpectedly. She had found work for Luigi. She kissed +the Little One, patted Vincenza's shoulder and shook hands +with Luigi. Again and again she made him repeat the name +and address to make sure he had it quite right. The Lady +in Brown Fur was very happy. When she went Vincenza +leaned far over the banisters with the lamp while Luigi called +out in his soft, broken English, directions for avoiding the +lines of washing below and the refuse piled in dark turns of +the stairs. When the Lady in Brown Fur had disappeared +Vincenza turned to Luigi.</p> + +<p>"Of a surety, cara, the saints are good. Never before didst +thou work before April. In the new house we will keep for +ourselves two rooms.</p> + +<p>"These people have the 'pull' even more than the alderman, +Biaggio says," replied Luigi with a dreamy look in his eyes. +"It may be that from this work I shall take three dollars +each day."</p> + +<p>"Madonna mia," gasped Vincenza, "it is beyond belief."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>For five days Luigi stood four hours each afternoon, bent +forward, to the lifting of a cardboard block, while Hugh +Keswick painted, as he had not painted for months, the tense +muscles under the olive skin, the strong neck and shoulders. +The Building of the Temple advanced rapidly. And Luigi's +arms and back ached so that each night Vincenza had to rub +them with the oil which now cost ten cents more in the shop of +Biaggio.</p> + +<p>On the Sixth day Luigi refused to go.</p> + +<p>"I tell thee it is a stupidness—to stand all day with the pain +in the back. For what? Fifty cents. It is a work for old +men and children——"</p> + +<p>"But thou canst not make the money, sitting in thy chair, +with thy feet on the stove, like now——"</p> + +<p>"Dost thou wish then that I have every night the knives in +my back? If so——"</p> + +<p>"Not so, caro, but——"</p> + +<p>"Listen. You understand nothing and talk as a woman. +A lady comes to my house. She says—you have no work, +here is money. Then she comes and says—here is work. +But at this work I make not so much as before she gave; and +in addition, I have the pain in the back. Ecco, when she comes +again, I no longer have the work. It is her job to give away +the money. She is not a fool, that Lady in Brown Fur. It is +that I make her a kindness. Not so?"</p> + +<p>"As thou sayest," and Vincenza went on with her endless +washing.</p> + +<p>But when the week passed and the Lady in Brown Fur did +not come, Luigi's forehead wrinkled with the effort to understand. +When the second had gone, Luigi was openly troubled. +When the third was half over, he again took his hat and went +over to the shop of Biaggio.</p> + +<p>As before Biaggio listened attentively, his eyes closed, until +Luigi had finished. Then he opened them, made a clicking +noise with his tongue, and laid one finger along the side +of his nose.</p> + +<p>"Holy Body of Christ," he said softly, "in business thou +hast the head like a rock. In one curl of thy Vincenza there +is more sense than in all thy great body. Did I not tell thee +to be careful, and it would stop only when thou didst wish. +And now, without to ask my advice, you make the stupidness, +bah——"</p> + +<p>"Ma, Dio mio," Luigi's hands made angry protest against +the invective of Biaggio, "I said only like a man of sense. It +is her job, it make no difference——"</p> + +<p>"Blood of the Lamb! Thou hast been in America eight +months, and thou dost not know that they are mad, all quite +mad, to work? Never do they stop. Even after to have fifty +years, think, fifty years, still they work. They work even with +the children old enough to keep them. For many months The +Skinny One, she who gives milk to the baby of Giacomo, had +the habit to find him such work, like the foolishness of your +painter. And Giacomo has already three children more than +fifteen. Ma——" Biaggio snorted his contempt. Then suddenly +his manner changed. He leaned back in his chair, and +apparently dismissed the subject with a wave of his fat hand.</p> + +<p>"And the little Carolina she is well in this weather of the +devil?" But Luigi did not answer. He was thinking with +a pucker between his black eyes. Biaggio watched him narrowly. +At last he spoke, looking fixedly at the sausages +above his head.</p> + +<p>"Of course—it—is—possible—you have made a—mistake—but——"</p> + +<p>Luigi leaned forward eagerly. "It is possible then to——"</p> + +<p>"All things are possible," Biaggio nodded his head at the +sausages, blinking like a large, fat owl. Then he stopped.</p> + +<p>"Perhaps, you will tell—to me," Luigi was forced to +it at last.</p> + +<p>Biaggio gave a little grunt as if he were being brought back +from a deep meditation. "There is a way," he said slowly. +"If thou write to her of the Brown Fur that thou art sick and +cannot do the work——"</p> + +<p>"But never in my life was I better. Only last week Giacomo +said I have grown fat. How the——"</p> + +<p>"It is possible," replied Biaggio wearily, "to be sick of a +sickness that makes one neither thin nor white. With a sickness—of +the legs like the rheumatism, for example, one eats, +one sleeps, only one cannot walk or stand for many hours."</p> + +<p>In spite of his efforts to the contrary, the wonder and admiration +grew deeper in Luigi's eyes. "Thou thinkest the——?"</p> + +<p>"I am sure," now that Luigi was reduced to the proper state +of humility Biaggio gave up his attitude of distant oracle, +and leaned close. "Thou hast made a mistake, but it is not +too late. If thou dost wish I will write it for thee."</p> + +<p>"If thou sayest," replied Luigi and now it was his turn +to gaze at the strings of garlic, "if you will do this favor."</p> + +<p>"With pleasure," Biaggio's fat hands made little gestures of +willingness to oblige. "Of a truth it is not much, but when one +wishes to buy the house, and already the family is begun, two +dollars and a half each week——"</p> + +<p>Luigi glanced at him sharply. "Two and——"</p> + +<p>Biaggio drew the ink to him and dipped his pen. "Two +and a half for thee, and for me——"</p> + +<p>"Bene, bene," Luigi interrupted quickly, "it is only just."</p> + +<p>"Between friends," explained Biaggio as he began to write.</p> + +<p>"Between friends," echoed Luigi, and added to himself, +"closer than the skin of a snake art thou—friend."</p> + +<p>The Lady in the Brown Fur came next day. She had been +very angry and disappointed in Luigi, too angry and disappointed +to go near him. Now she felt very sorry and uncomfortable +when she saw his right leg stretched out before, so +stiff that he could not bend it. He smiled and made the +motion of getting up, but could not do it, and sank back again +with a gesture of helplessness more eloquent than words. +When the Lady in Brown Fur had gone, Vincenza found +an extra bill, brand new, tucked into the pocket of the +little Carolina.</p> + +<p>Luigi waited until he was quite sure that Biaggio would be +alone. There was a look of real sorrow in his dark eyes as +he slipped a shiny quarter across the counter. "She left only +two," he explained, "the reason I do not know. Perhaps +next time——"</p> + +<p>"It is nothing, nothing between friends." Biaggio slipped +the quarter into the cigar box under the counter and smiled +a fat smile at Luigi. But he did not hold the door open when +Luigi went, and his little eyes were hard like gimlet points. +"So," he whispered softly. "So. One learns quickly, very +quickly in this new country. Only two dollars this time. Bene, +Gino mio, the price of sausage, as that of oil, goes up—between +friends."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_HAMMERPOND_BURGLARY" id="THE_HAMMERPOND_BURGLARY"></a>THE HAMMERPOND BURGLARY</h2> + +<h3>The Story of an Artist</h3> + +<h3>By H.G. WELLS</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It</span> is a moot point whether burglary is to be considered +as a sport, a trade, or an art. For a trade the technique +is scarcely rigid enough, and its claims to be considered +an art are vitiated by the mercenary element that qualifies +triumphs. On the whole it seems to be most justly +ranked as sport, a sport for which no rules are at present +formulated, and of which the prizes are distributed in an +extremely informal manner. It was this informality of +burglary that led to the regrettable extinction of two promising +beginners at Hammerpond Park.</p> + +<p>The stakes offered in this affair consisted chiefly of diamonds +and other personal <i>bric-à-brac</i> belonging to the newly +married Lady Aveling. Lady Aveling, as the reader will +remember, was the only daughter of Mrs. Montague Pangs, +the well-known hostess. Her marriage to Lord Aveling +was extensively advertised in the papers, the quantity and +quality of her wedding presents, and the fact that the honeymoon +was to be spent at Hammerpond. The announcement +of these valuable prizes created a considerable sensation +in the small circle in which Mr. Teddy Watkins was the +undisputed leader, and it was decided that, accompanied +by a duly qualified assistant, he should visit the village of +Hammerpond in his professional capacity.</p> + +<p>Being a man of naturally retiring and modest disposition, +Mr. Watkins determined to make his visit <i>incog</i>, and, after +due consideration of the conditions of his enterprise, he +selected the rôle of a landscape artist, and the unassuming +surname of Smith. He preceded his assistant, who, it was +decided, should join him only on the last afternoon of his +stay at Hammerpond. Now the village of Hammerpond +is perhaps one of the prettiest little corners in Sussex; +many thatched houses still survive, the flint-built church, +with its tall spire nestling under the down, is one of the finest +and least restored in the county, and the beech-woods and +bracken jungles through which the road runs to the great +house are singularly rich in what the vulgar artist and photographer +call "bits." So that Mr. Watkins, on his arrival +with two virgin canvases, a brand-new easel, a paint-boy, +portmanteau, an ingenious little ladder made in sections; +(after the pattern of that lamented master, Charles Peace), +crowbar, and wire coils, found himself welcomed with effusion +and some curiosity by half a dozen other brethren of +the brush. It rendered the disguise he had chosen unexpectedly +plausible, but it inflicted upon him a considerable +amount of æsthetic conversation for which he was very +imperfectly prepared.</p> + +<p>"Have you exhibited very much?" said young Porson +in the bar-parlor of the "Coach and Horses," where Mr. +Watkins was skilfully accumulating local information on +the night of his arrival.</p> + +<p>"Very little," said Mr. Watkins; "just a snack here and +there."</p> + +<p>"Academy?"</p> + +<p>"In course. <i>And</i> at the Crystal Palace."</p> + +<p>"Did they hang you well?" said Porson.</p> + +<p>"Don't rot," said Mr. Watkins; "I don't like it."</p> + +<p>"I mean did they put you in a good place?"</p> + +<p>"Whatyer mean?" said Mr. Watkins suspiciously. "One +'ud think you were trying to make out I'd been put +away."</p> + +<p>Porson was a gentlemanly young man even for an artist, +and he did not know what being "put away" meant, but +he thought it best to explain that he intended nothing of +the sort. As the question of hanging seemed a sore point +with Mr. Watkins, he tried to divert the conversation a little.</p> + +<p>"Did you do figure work at all?"</p> + +<p>"No, never had a head for figures," said Mr. Watkins. +"My miss—Mrs. Smith, I mean, does all that."</p> + +<p>"She paints too!" said Porson. "That's rather jolly."</p> + +<p>"Very," said Mr. Watkins, though he really did not think +so, and, feeling the conversation was drifting a little beyond +his grasp, added: "I came down here to paint Hammerpond +House by moonlight."</p> + +<p>"Really!" said Porson. "That's rather a novel idea."</p> + +<p>"Yes," said Mr. Watkins, "I thought it rather a good +notion when it occurred to me. I expect to begin to-morrow +night."</p> + +<p>"What! You don't mean to paint in the open, by night?"</p> + +<p>"I do, though."</p> + +<p>"But how will you see your canvas?"</p> + +<p>"Have a bloomin' cop's——" began Mr. Watkins, rising +too quickly to the question, and then realizing this, +bawled to Miss Durgan for another glass of beer. "I'm +goin' to have a thing called a dark lantern," he said to +Porson.</p> + +<p>"But it's about new moon now," objected Porson. +"There won't be any moon."</p> + +<p>"There'll be the house," said Watkins, "at any rate. +I'm goin', you see, to paint the house first and the moon +afterward."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Porson, too staggered to continue the conversation.</p> + +<p>Toward sunset next day Mr. Watkins, virgin canvas, +easel, and a very considerable case of other appliances in +hand, strolled up the pleasant pathway through the beech-woods +to Hammerpond Park, and pitched his apparatus +in a strategic position commanding the house. Here he +was observed by Mr. Raphael Sant, who was returning +across the park from a study of the chalk-pits. His curiosity +having been fired by Porson's account of the new arrival, +he turned aside with the idea of discussing nocturnal art.</p> + +<p>Mr. Watkins was mixing color with an air of great +industry. Sant, approaching more nearly, was surprised +to see the color in question was as harsh and brilliant an +emerald green as it is possible to imagine. Having cultivated +an extreme sensibility to color from his earliest years, he drew +the air in sharply between his teeth at the very first glimpse of +this brew. Mr. Watkins turned round. He looked annoyed.</p> + +<p>"What on earth are you going to do with that <i>beastly</i> +green?" said Sant.</p> + +<p>Mr. Watkins realized that his zeal to appear busy in +the eyes of the butler had evidently betrayed him into some +technical error. He looked at Sant and hesitated.</p> + +<p>"Pardon my rudeness," said Sant; "but, really, that +green is altogether too amazing. It came as a shock. What +<i>do</i> you mean to do with it?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Watkins was collecting his resources. Nothing could +save the situation but decision. "If you come here interrupting +my work," he said, "I'm a-goin' to paint your face +with it."</p> + +<p>Sant retired, for he was a humorist and a peaceful man. +Going down the hill he met Porson and Wainwright. "Either +that man is a genius or he is a dangerous lunatic," said he. +"Just go up and look at his green." And he continued his +way, his countenance brightened by a pleasant anticipation +of a cheerful affray round an easel in the gloaming, and +the shedding of much green paint.</p> + +<p>But to Porson and Wainwright Mr. Watkins was less +aggressive, and explained that the green was intended to +be the first coating of his picture. It was, he admitted, +in response to a remark, an absolutely new method, invented +by himself.</p> + +<p>Twilight deepened, first one then another star appeared. +The rooks amid the tall trees to the left of the house had +long since lapsed into slumberous silence, the house itself +lost all the details of its architecture and became a dark +gray outline, and then the windows of the salon shone out +brilliantly, the conservatory was lighted up, and here and +there a bedroom window burnt yellow. Had any one +approached the easel in the park it would have been found +deserted. One brief uncivil word in brilliant green sullied +the purity of its canvas. Mr. Watkins was busy in the +shrubbery with his assistant, who had discreetly joined him +from the carriage-drive.</p> + +<p>Mr. Watkins was inclined to be self-congratulatory upon +the ingenious device by which he had carried all his apparatus +boldly, and in the sight of all men, right up to the scene +of operations. "That's the dressing-room," he said to +his assistant, "and, as soon as the maid takes the candle +away and goes down to supper, we'll call in. My! how +nice the house do look, to be sure, against the starlight, +and with all its windows and lights! Swop me, Jim, I almost +wish I <i>was</i> a painter-chap. Have you fixed that there wire +across the path from the laundry?"</p> + +<p>He cautiously approached the house until he stood below +the dressing-room window, and began to put together +his folding ladder. He was too experienced a practitioner +to feel any unusual excitement. Jim was reconnoitring +the smoking-room. Suddenly, close beside Mr. +Watkins in the bushes, there was a violent crash and a stifled +curse. Some one had tumbled over the wire which his +assistant had just arranged. He heard feet running on +the gravel pathway beyond. Mr. Watkins, like all true +artists, was a singularly shy man, and he incontinently dropped +his folding ladder and began running circumspectly through +the shrubbery. He was indistinctly aware of two people +hot upon his heels, and he fancied that he distinguished +the outline of his assistant in front of him. In another +moment he had vaulted the low stone wall bounding the +shrubbery, and was in the open park. Two thuds on the +turf followed his own leap.</p> + +<p>It was a close chase in the darkness through the trees. +Mr. Watkins was a loosely built man and in good training, +and he gained hand over hand upon the hoarsely panting +figure in front. Neither spoke, but, as Mr. Watkins +pulled up alongside, a qualm of awful doubt came over him. +The other man turned his head at the same moment and +gave an exclamation of surprise. "It's not Jim," thought +Mr. Watkins, and simultaneously the stranger flung himself, +as it were, at Watkins's knees, and they were forthwith +grappling on the ground together. "Lend a hand, +Bill," cried the stranger, as the third man came up. And +Bill did—two hands, in fact, and some accentuated feet. +The fourth man, presumably Jim, had apparently turned +aside and made off in a different direction. At any rate, +he did not join the trio.</p> + +<p>Mr. Watkins's memory of the incidents of the next two +minutes is extremely vague. He has a dim recollection +of having his thumb in the corner of the mouth of the first +man, and feeling anxious about its safety, and for some +seconds at least he held the head of the gentleman answering +to the name of Bill to the ground by the hair. He was +also kicked in a great number of different places, and apparently +by a vast multitude of people. Then the gentleman +who was not Bill got his knee below Mr. Watkins's diaphragm +and tried to curl him up upon it.</p> + +<p>When his sensations became less entangled he was sitting +upon the turf, and eight or ten men—the night was +dark, and he was rather too confused to count—standing +around him, apparently waiting for him to recover. +He mournfully assumed that he was captured, and would +probably have made some philosophical reflections on the +fickleness of fortune, had not his internal sensations disinclined +him to speech.</p> + +<p>He noticed very quickly that his wrists were not handcuffed, +and then a flask of brandy was put in his hands. +This touched him a little—it was such unexpected kindness.</p> + +<p>"He's a-comin' round," said a voice which he fancied +he recognized as belonging to the Hammerpond second +footman.</p> + +<p>"We've got 'em, sir, both of 'em," said the Hammerpond +butler, the man who had handed him the flask. "Thanks +to <i>you</i>."</p> + +<p>No one answered his remark. Yet he failed to see how +it applied to him.</p> + +<p>"He's fair dazed," said a strange voice; "the villain's +half-murdered him."</p> + +<p>Mr. Teddy Watkins decided to remain fair dazed until +he had a better grasp of the situation. He perceived that +two of the black figures round him stood side by side with +a dejected air, and there was something in the carriage of +their shoulders that suggested to his experienced eye hands +that were bound together. In a flash he rose to his position. +He emptied the little flask and staggered—obsequious +hands assisting him—to his feet. There was a +sympathetic murmur.</p> + +<p>"Shake hands, sir, shake hands," said one of the +figures near him. "Permit me to introduce myself. I +am very greatly indebted to you. It was the jewels of +my wife, Lady Aveling, which attracted these scoundrels +to the house."</p> + +<p>"Very glad to make your lordship's acquaintance," said +Teddy Watkins.</p> + +<p>"I presume you saw the rascals making for the shrubbery, +and dropped down on them?"</p> + +<p>"That's exactly how it happened," said Mr. Watkins.</p> + +<p>"You should have waited till they got in at the window," +said Lord Aveling; "they would get it hotter if they had +actually committed the burglary. And it was lucky for +you two of the policemen were out by the gates, and followed +up the three of you. I doubt if you could have secured +the two of them—though it was confoundedly plucky of +you, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Yes, I ought to have thought of all that," said Mr. Watkins; +"but one can't think of everything."</p> + +<p>"Certainly not," said Lord Aveling. "I am afraid they +have mauled you a little," he added. The party was now +moving toward the house. "You walk rather lame. May +I offer you my arm?"</p> + +<p>And instead of entering Hammerpond House by the dressing-room +window, Mr. Watkins entered it—slightly intoxicated, +and inclined now to cheerfulness again—on the arm +of a real live peer, and by the front door. "This," thought +Mr. Watkins, "is burgling in style!" The "scoundrels," +seen by the gaslight, proved to be mere local amateurs unknown +to Mr. Watkins, and they were taken down into +the pantry and there watched over by the three policemen, +two gamekeepers with loaded guns, the butler, an ostler, +and a carman, until the dawn allowed of their removal to +Hazelhurst police-station. Mr. Watkins was made much +of in the salon. They devoted a sofa to him, and would +not hear of a return to the village that night. Lady Aveling +was sure he was brilliantly original, and said her idea of +Turner was just such another rough, half-inebriated, deep-eyed, +brave, and clever man. Some one brought up a remarkable +little folding-ladder that had been picked up in the +shrubbery, and showed him how it was put together. They +also described how wires had been found in the shrubbery, +evidently placed there to trip up unwary pursuers. It was +lucky he had escaped these snares. And they showed him +the jewels.</p> + +<p>Mr. Watkins had the sense not to talk too much, and in +any conversational difficulty fell back on his internal pains. +At last he was seized with stiffness in the back and yawning. +Everyone suddenly awoke to the fact that it was a shame +to keep him talking after his affray, so he retired early to his +room, the little red room next to Lord Aveling's suite.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>The dawn found a deserted easel bearing a canvas with +a green inscription, in the Hammerpond Park, and it found +Hammerpond House in commotion. But if the dawn found +Mr. Teddy Watkins and the Aveling diamonds, it did not +communicate the information to the police.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>IX</h3> + +<h2><a name="A_FOCSLE_TRAGEDY" id="A_FOCSLE_TRAGEDY"></a>A FO'C'S'LE TRAGEDY</h2> + +<h3>An Ancient Mariner's Yarn</h3> + +<h3>By PERCY LONGHURST</h3> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">Yeh</span> may gas about torpedoes an' 'fernal machines +an' such like, but yeh can't learn me nothin'; onct +I had t' do wi' suthin' o' th' sort that turned th' heads o' +a dozen men from black ter white in 'bout ten minutes," +and the ancient mariner looked at me with careful +impressiveness.</p> + +<p>"Bad, eh?" I inquired.</p> + +<p>"Sh'd think it was—for them poor chaps."</p> + +<p>"Didn't turn your hair white, Uncle?"</p> + +<p>"Gue-e-ss not," and the ancient mariner had a fit of +chuckling that nearly choked him.</p> + +<p>When he recovered he told me the yarn. I had heard +several of old Steve's yarns, and I considered that his fine +talents were miserably wasted; he ought to have been a +politician or a real estate agent. This yarn, however, might +very well have been true.</p> + +<p>"It was 'bout nineteen years ago," Steve commenced, +"an' I'd jest taken up a job as cook on the <i>Here at Last</i>, +a blamed old Noah's Ark of a wind-jammer from New +York to Jamaica. She did th' trip in 'bout th' same time +as yeh'd walk it. She was a beauty—an' th' crew 'bout +fitted her. Where th' old man had gathered 'em from th' +Lord on'y knows; but they was th' most difficult lot I've +ever sailed with, which is sayin' a deal consid'rin' that, +man an' boy, I've been a sailor for forty years. They was +as contrairy as women, an' as stoopid as donkeys. I +couldn't do nothin' right for 'em. They complained of +the coffee, grumbled at th' biscuit, an' swore terrible at th' +meat. But most of all they swore at me."</p> + +<p>"'It all lies in th' cookin',' an old one-eyed chap, named +Barton, used ter say. 'Any cook that is worth his salt can +do wonders wi' th' worst vittles'; an' he told me how he'd +once sailed with a cook as c'd make a stewed cat taste better'n +a rabbit. An', durn me, when I went ashore next, an' at +great risk managed to lay holt of a big tom and cooked it for +em, hopin' to please 'em, an' went inter th' fo'c's'le arter +dinner an' told 'em what I'd done, ef that self-same chap, +Barton, didn't hit me over th' head wi' his tin can for tryin' +ter poison 'em, as he said. They complained to th' old +man, too, which was worse; for when we got t' th' +next port my leave ashore was stopped, an' all for tryin' +to please 'em. Rank ingratitood, I call it.</p> + +<p>"Another time I tried to give the junk—it really was +bad, but as I hadn't bought th' stores, that wasn't no fault +o' mine—a bit of a more pleasant flavor by bilin' with it +a packet o' spice I found in th' skipper's cabin. One +o' th' sailors comes into my galley in a towerin' rage arter +dinner.</p> + +<p>"'Yer blamed rascal,' he said, an' there was suthin' like +murder in his starin' eyes. 'Yeh blamed rascal, whatcher +been doin' ter our grub now?'</p> + +<p>"'What's th' trouble, Joe?' I asks quietly.</p> + +<p>"'Trouble, yeh skunk,' he howls; 'our throats is hot as +hell, all th' skin's comin' off 'em; Bill Tomson's got his +lips that blistered he can't hold his pipe between 'em. +What yeh been doin?'</p> + +<p>"'Hold hard a jiffy,' I said, an' looks at what was left +o' th' spice I'd used. I nearly had a fit.</p> + +<p>"'Go 'way,' I says, pullin' myself together; ''t ain't nuthin'.'</p> + +<p>"An' it wasn't nuthin'; but there was such an almighty +run on th' water barrel that arternoon th' old man was +beginnin' ter think a teetotal revival had struck th' <i>Here at +Last</i>. But though cayenne pepper drives a chap ter water +pretty often while th' effect lasts, it don't have no permanent +result, as th' old man found out. Course it was a mistake +o' mine; but ain't we all liable to go a bit astray?</p> + +<p>"I'm jest givin' yeh these few examples t' show yeh that +things wasn't altogether O.K. 'tween me an' the crew. +They was always swearin' at me, an' callin' of me names, +an' heavin' things at me head, because I'd done or hadn't +done suthin' or other. An angel from heaven wouldn't +have pleased 'em; an' as I never held much stock in the +angelic trust yeh kin easily understand we was most times +very much at sixes an' sevens.</p> + +<p>"One evenin' I was sittin' in th' fo'c's'le patiently listenin' +ter th' horrible language in which they reproached +me because one o' 'em had managed t' break a front tooth +in biting a bit o' th' salt pork they'd had for dinner, which +was certainly no fault o' mine, when one of 'em, an English +chap he was, an' the worst grumbler of all, suddenly cries:</p> + +<p>"'Jeerusalem, wouldn't I give somethin' fer a drop of +beer just now. Strike me pink if I ain't a'most forgotten +what the taste o' it's like.'</p> + +<p>"'Me, too,' said Harry Towers, the carpenter. 'A +schooner o' lager an' ale! Sakes! Wouldn't it jest sizzle +down a day like this?'</p> + +<p>"'My aunt! I'd give a month's pay f'r a quart,' the +surly Britisher says fiercely.</p> + +<p>"'A quart, why don't yeh ask for a barrel while yeh're +about it; then I'd help yeh drink it,' I says.</p> + +<p>"'Yer, yer blighted, perishin' idiot,' he shouts—it was +him that'd broken his tooth. 'What, waste good beer on yer +that's fit fer nothin' but cuttin' up into shark bait!'</p> + +<p>"'That ain't th' way t' talk to a man as is always ready +an' willin' t' help yeh,' I says reproachfully.</p> + +<p>"The chap glares at me like a tiger with the colic. His +language was awful. 'Lord 'elp us,' he finishes up with, +'why, yer've done nuthin' but try ter pizen us ever since +we come aboard. Ain't I right, mates?'</p> + +<p>"'Righto,' they choruses; an' I begin t' think they'd +soon be gittin' up to mischief.</p> + +<p>"'P'raps I might help yeh t' git some beer if yer was more +respectful,' I says hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"'Beer!' they all yells, an' looks up at me all to onct as +if I was a dime museum freak.</p> + +<p>"'Yes, beer,' I says quietly.</p> + +<p>"'An' where'd you be gittin' it from?' asks one.</p> + +<p>"'Never yeh mind that,' I answers. 'I've a dozen or +two bottles of English stout I brought aboard, an' since +yeh're so anxious to taste a drop o' beer, I don't mind +lettin' yeh have some—at a price, o' course.'</p> + +<p>"'What's the figure?' Towers inquires suspiciously. He +was a Michigan man.</p> + +<p>"'A dollar th' bottle.'</p> + +<p>"'What!' shouts th' man as was ready t' give a month's +pay fer a quart. 'A dollar th' bottle! Why, yer miserable +old skinflint!'</p> + +<p>"'A dollar th' bottle. That's the terms, take 'em or +leave 'em,' says I, very firmly.</p> + +<p>"They talked a lot, and they swore a lot more, but finally +seem' as I wasn't t' be moved, and that they couldn't get +the beer except at my price, the hull ten of 'em agreed to +have a bottle apiece.</p> + +<p>"'Money down,' I stipulates; an' after a lot o' trouble +they collects seven dollars between 'em, an' tells me it's +all they've got, an' if I didn't bring up th' ten bottles +mighty quick they'd knock me on th' head an' drop me +overboard.</p> + +<p>"'Mind,' I said, as I goes off to th' galley, money in my +hand; 'don't yeh let th' officers see yeh drinkin' it or they'll +think yeh've been broachin' cargo, an' that's little short o' +mutiny.'</p> + +<p>"'Bring up that beer,' growls the Britisher, almost +foamin' at th' mouth.</p> + +<p>"When I came back with th' ten bottles o' stout in a basket +they all looked so pleased an' happy it did my heart good +ter look at 'em.</p> + +<p>"'Hand it over,' they shouts impatiently.</p> + +<p>"'I'm afraid it's gone a bit flat,' I said, as I handed th' +bottles round. 'But I've tried to pull it round.'</p> + +<p>"Flat or not, they weren't goin' to kick; an' they was +jest 'bout to unscrew the stoppers when the second mate +suddenly shoves his head down the hatchway an' yells out:</p> + +<p>"'On deck, yer lazy, skulking, highly colored lubbers. +Tumble up at once, an' git a lively move on, or I'll be down +an' smarten ye up!'</p> + +<p>"McClosky, the second mate, was not a fellow who stood +any nonsense, an' th' men weren't long before they was +out o' th' fo'c's'le, grumblin' an' swearin' as only men +who've lost their watch below can. They just stayed long +enough t' shove th' unopened bottles o' stout well out o' +sight underneath th' mattresses o' their bunks an' then they +was up on deck working like niggers. A squall had struck +the <i>Here at Last</i>; mighty inconvenient, these squalls in the +Caribbean Sea are, an' th' <i>Here at Last</i> wasn't best calc'lated +t' weather 'em. For two mortal hours everyone was +hard at it, takin' in sail, doublin' ropes, an' makin' all ready +for what promised t' be a dirty night. All thoughts o' beer +was driven out o' their heads. An' when everythin' was +ship-shape an' they came below again, soakin' wet an' dog-tired, +they just climbed into their berths without stoppin' +to think of th' precious bottles o' stout.</p> + +<p>"'Bout two o'clock in th' mornin', I was woke up by +what sounded like a pistol shot in th' fo'c's'le, an' before +I c'd rub th' sleep out er my eyes, there was another, an' +another an' another, an' I saw four sailors tumble outer +their bunks an' fall on th' floor shriekin' as if they'd been +attacked by th' most awful pain. Everyone else in th' +fo'c's'le sits up, wide awake, an' starin' at th' sufferin' +wretches on th' floor.</p> + +<p>"'Wot th' 'ell's up?' asks th' Britisher; but no one knew, +an' th' nex' second there was another explosion, an' he suddenly +gave a scream that lifted th' hair on my scalp, an' +leaps outer his bunk as if he'd been suddenly prodded in +a tender spot wi' a red hot poker.</p> + +<p>"'My Gawd!' he screeches; 'th' bunk's exploded an' +I'm bleedin' ter death;' an' he starts yellin' like a catamount, +runnin' up an' down th' gangway, an' tramplin' upon th' four +shriekin', cursin', prayin' sailors who'd been attacked fust.</p> + +<p>"'It's an infernal machine, an' it's blowed a hole in me +back,' the Britisher yelled; an' we who was lookin' on c'd +certainly hear suthin' drippin' from th' bunk he'd just got +out of.</p> + +<p>"'Owch! I'm blowed t' bits. I'm bein' murdered. +I'm dyin', Lord help me,' Harry Towers, the carpenter, +wails; an' there was another terrific bang, an' outer his bunk +Harry shot, landin', on th' chest o' one o' th' moanin' squirmin' +sailors. Th' poor fellow, findin' himself thus flattened +out, an' not knowin' what it was had fallen on him, gives a +gaspin' sort er yell, an' drives Towers in th' back wi' his fist.</p> + +<p>"Th' row goin' on was suthin' terrible; a' 'sylum full o' +ravin' lunatics on th' rampage couldn't have made more +noise; an' them that hadn't been hurt was beginnin' t' feel +as bad as them that was, when someone scrambles down th' +companionway.</p> + +<p>"It was McClosky, th' second mate, whose watch on +deck it was. He'd heard th' row—an' no wonder—an' +thinkin', I dessay, that murder or mutiny was goin' on, came +forward to investigate. He was a red-headed, hot-tempered +Irishman, an' c'd handle a crew in rare style.</p> + +<p>"'What th' dickens——' he commences, when one o' +th' men on th' floor, seein' th' gun in his hand, an' not recognizin' +him, shouted, 'They're comin' t' finish us,' an' grabs +th' mate round th' legs wi' th' grip of a boa constrictor.</p> + +<p>"Th' mate, sure it was mutiny, lets off his gun permiscuous. +A clip on the jaw made th' sailor let go, an' th' mate, +seein' Towers groanin' on th' floor quite close, kicks him +hard an' asks what's th' matter.</p> + +<p>"'We're blown up, sir,' Towers whimpers.</p> + +<p>"'Blown up, ye fool, what d' ye mean? Who's blowin' +ye up?' demands McClosky.</p> + +<p>"'Dunno, sir,' Harry stammered; an' just then there was +two more explosions, an' a couple more o' the seamen bundled +headlong out er their berths, utterin' doleful shrieks +that'd make yer heart stand still.</p> + +<p>"Th' mate was kickin', swearin', and shoutin' like a +demon, th' men all th' while keepin' up their row as if they +was bein' paid a dollar a minute to yell. Then th' skipper +put in an appearance. His face was white as chalk, but +his hands, in each o' which was a big Colt, were steady as +rocks, an' he come down th' ladder like a man who reckons +he's in for a good fight.</p> + +<p>"'What's all this mean, Mr. McClosky?' he asks, pausin' +when he sees there's no fightin' goin' on.</p> + +<p>"Whatever th' mate said was drowned by th' row th' +sailors was makin', though he bellowed like a frisky bull. +Th' old man didn't seem a bit frightened; droppin' one o' +th' Colts inter his pocket, he roars, 'Silence'; and steps over +to th' berth where Joe Harper, th' bo'sun, was sittin' upright, +stiff as a poker, an' his eyes fairly startin' out er his head +wi' terror.</p> + +<p>"'Now, then, Harper,' he says, an' judgin' by his face +th' skipper was 'bout as mad as a bear with a sore head. +'What th' blazes does it mean? Have yeh all gone mad?'</p> + +<p>"But th' bo'sun, he was too scared to do more than gape +at th' skipper like a codfish three days out er water, an th' +old man gits a bit madder.</p> + +<p>"'Answer, yeh damn rascal,' he shouted; an' he grabs +Harper by th' shoulder an' shakes him until his teeth fairly +rattled. But th' bo'sun couldn't say a word.</p> + +<p>"'If this ain't enough t' drive a man crazy,' th' skipper +yells; 'McClosky, have yeh lost yer senses like all these +condemned rascals here? What's th' meanin' o' it?'</p> + +<p>"'Don't know, sir; I heard 'em ravin' an' screamin' like +lunatics, but I can't get a word out of 'em. Think they +must all have become mad,' an' th' mate kicked Towers +again t' relieve his feelin's.</p> + +<p>"He'd just finished speakin' when suthin' busted underneath +th' bo'sun. Harper screams, th' skipper gives a jump +an' lets go of his arm, an' Harper falls out er his berth as if +he'd been suddenly shot dead, only he was makin' a row +like a man suddenly attacked wi' D.T.'s. And at that all +th' other miserable wretches on th' floor starts worse than +ever.</p> + +<p>"Th' skipper pulls himself together, an' goin' t' th' bo'sun's +bunk, leans over an' examines it. He poked about f'r a +bit, put his fingers into a stream of suthin' that was fallin' +from th' bunk to th' floor, an' then by th' light o' th' swingin' +oil lamp, I see his face turn a blazin' crimson. I see him +take suthin' outer th' bed, an' then he swings round an' +faces th' men.</p> + +<p>"'Yeh low down, thievin', chicken-hearted, blank, blank +scoundrels,' he yells, an' his voice was that loud an' so full +o' passion th' sailors were scared into quietness. 'Yeh +miserable sneakin' apologies for men! So this is what's +th' matter, is it? By gum! If I don't have every mother's +son of ye clapped into jail soon as we reach Kingstown, +call me a crimson Dutchman. Blown up, are ye? I wish +t' th' Lord some of ye had been. Sailors, yeh calls yeh-selves! +Why, by gosh! yeh haven't enough spirit t' rob +a mouse. What's that yeh say, Towers? Infernal +machines, eh? Dyin'! If yeh don't all get a move on ye +in double quick time, some of yeh will be. Git out o' my +sight, ye blubberin' babies; I'm sick an' ashamed of ye.'</p> + +<p>"A more sick an' unhappy lookin' drove I never saw +when th' men got on their legs again an' found out they +weren't hurt a little bit; an' discovered what it was had +caused th' explosions. They wouldn't look at each other; +an' they daren't speak or else there'd have been fightin'.</p> + +<p>"I went about in fear of my life for days, but they did +nothin'; though if they'd known that I—quite innocent o' +mischief, yeh understand—had put a dozen grains or so +of rice inter every bottle o' stout—amazin' stuff rice for +causin' fermentation in hot climates—they wouldn't +have stopped short at mere profanity. My life wouldn't +have been worth a moment's purchase."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>X</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_ADOPTED_SON" id="THE_ADOPTED_SON"></a>THE ADOPTED SON</h2> + +<h3>A Tale of Peasant Life</h3> + +<h3>From the French of GUY de MAUPASSANT</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> two cottages stood side by side at the foot of a hill +near a little seaside resort. The two peasants +labored hard on the unproductive soil to rear their little +ones, of which each family had four.</p> + +<p>In front of the adjoining doors the whole troop of urchins +sprang and tumbled about from morning till night. The two +eldest were six years old, and the two youngest were about +fifteen months; the marriages, and afterward the births, +having taken place nearly simultaneously in both families.</p> + +<p>The two mothers could hardly distinguish their own offspring +among the lot, and as for the fathers, they were +altogether at sea. The eight names danced in their heads; +they were always getting them mixed up; and when they +wished to call one child, the men often called three names +before getting the right one.</p> + +<p>The first of the two dwellings, coming from the direction +of the sea-bath, Belleport, was occupied by the Tuvaches, +who had three girls and one boy; the other house sheltered +the Vallins, who had one girl and three boys.</p> + +<p>They all subsisted with difficulty on soup, potatoes, and +the open air. At seven o'clock in the morning, then at noon, +then at six o'clock in the evening, the housewives got their +nestlings together to give them their food, as the goose-herds +collect their charges. The children were seated, +according to age, before the wooden table, varnished by +fifty years of use; the mouths of the youngest hardly reaching +the level of the table. Before them was placed a deep +dish filled with bread, soaked in the water in which the +potatoes had been boiled, half a cabbage, and three onions; +and the whole line ate until their hunger was appeased. +The mother herself fed the smallest.</p> + +<p>A little meat, boiled in a soup, on Sunday, was a feast +for all; and the father on this day sat longer over the repast, +repeating: "I should like this every day."</p> + +<p>One afternoon, in the month of August, a light carriage +stopped suddenly in front of the cottages, and a young woman, +who was driving the horses, said to the gentleman sitting +at her side:</p> + +<p>"Oh, look, Henri, at all those children! How pretty +they are, tumbling about in the dust, like that!"</p> + +<p>The man did not answer, being accustomed to these outbursts +of admiration, which were a pain and almost a +reproach to him. The young woman continued:</p> + +<p>"I must hug them! Oh, how I should like to have one +of them—that one there—the little bit of a one!"</p> + +<p>Springing down from the carriage, she ran toward the +children, took one of the two youngest—that of the Tuvaches, +and lifting it up in her arms, she kissed him passionately +on his dirty cheeks, on his frowzy hair daubed with earth, +and on his little hands, which he swung vigorously, to get +rid of the caresses which displeased him.</p> + +<p>Then she got up into the carriage again, and drove off +at a lively trot. But she returned the following week, and +seating herself on the ground, took the youngster in her arms, +stuffed him with cakes, gave bon-bons to all the others, +and played with them like a young girl, while the husband +waited patiently in the frail carriage.</p> + +<p>She returned again; made the acquaintance of the parents, +and reappeared every day with her pockets full of dainties +and of pennies.</p> + +<p>Her name was Madame Henri d'Hubières.</p> + +<p>One morning, on arriving, her husband alighted with her, +and without stopping with the children, who now knew her +well, she entered the peasants' cottage.</p> + +<p>They were busy splitting wood to cook the soup. They +straightened up, much surprised, offered chairs, and waited +expectantly.</p> + +<p>Then the woman, in a broken, trembling voice, began:</p> + +<p>"My good people, I have come to see you, because I should +like—I should like to take—your little boy with me——"</p> + +<p>The country people, too stupefied to think, did not answer.</p> + +<p>She recovered her breath, and continued: "We are alone, +my husband and I. We should keep it—Are you +willing?"</p> + +<p>The peasant woman began to understand. She asked:</p> + +<p>"You want to take Charlot from us? Oh, no, indeed!"</p> + +<p>Then M. d'Hubières intervened:</p> + +<p>"My wife has not explained clearly what she means. +We wish to adopt him, but he will come back to see you. +If he turns out well, as there is every reason to expect, he +will be our heir. If we, perchance, should have children, +he will share equally with them; but if he should not reward +our care, we should give him, when he comes of age, a sum +of twenty thousand francs, which shall be deposited immediately +in his name, with a notary. As we have thought also +of you, we should pay you, until your death, a pension of +one hundred francs a month. Have you quite understood +me?"</p> + +<p>The woman had arisen, furious.</p> + +<p>"You want me to sell you Charlot? Oh, no, that's +not the sort of thing to ask of a mother! Oh, no! That +would be an abomination!"</p> + +<p>The man, grave and deliberate, said nothing; but approved +of what his wife said by a continued nodding of his head.</p> + +<p>Mme. d'Hubières, in dismay, began to weep, and turning +to her husband, with a voice full of tears, the voice of a child +used to having all its wishes gratified, she stammered:</p> + +<p>"They will not do it, Henri, they will not do it."</p> + +<p>Then he made a last attempt: "But, my friends, think of +the child's future, of his happiness, of——"</p> + +<p>The peasant woman, however, exasperated, cut him short:</p> + +<p>"It's all considered! It's all understood! Get out of +this, and don't let me see you here again—the idea of wanting +to take away a child like that!"</p> + +<p>Then Mme. d'Hubières bethought herself that there were +two children, quite little, and she asked, through her tears, +with the tenacity of a wilful and spoiled woman:</p> + +<p>"But is the other little one not yours?"</p> + +<p>Father Tuvache answered: "No, it is our neighbors'. +You can go to them, if you wish." And he went back into +his house whence resounded the indignant voice of his wife.</p> + +<p>The Vallins were at table, in the act of slowly eating slices +of bread which they parsimoniously spread with a little +rancid butter on a plate between the two.</p> + +<p>M. d'Hubières recommenced his propositions, but with +more insinuations, more oratorical precautions, more guile.</p> + +<p>The two country people shook their heads, in sign of +refusal, but when they learned that they were to have a +hundred francs a month, they considered, consulting one +another by glances, much disturbed. They kept silent +for a long time, tortured, hesitating. At last the woman +asked: "What do you think about it, man?" In a sententious +tone he said: "I say that it's not to be despised."</p> + +<p>Then Mme. d'Hubières, trembling with anguish, spoke +of the future of their child, of his happiness, and of the money +which he could give them later.</p> + +<p>The peasant asked: "This pension of twelve hundred +francs, will it be promised before a notary?"</p> + +<p>M. d'Hubières responded: "Why, certainly, beginning +with to-morrow."</p> + +<p>The woman, who was thinking it over, continued:</p> + +<p>"A hundred francs a month is not enough to deprive us +of the child. That child would be working in a few years; +we must have a hundred and twenty francs."</p> + +<p>Stamping with impatience, Mme. d'Hubières granted +it at once, and as she wished to carry off the child with her, +she gave a hundred francs as a present, while her husband +drew up a writing. And the young woman, radiant, carried +off the howling brat, as one carries away a wished-for knick-knack +from a shop.</p> + +<p>The Tuvaches, from their door, watched her departure; +mute, severe, perhaps regretting their refusal.</p> + +<p>Nothing more was heard of little Jean Vallin. The parents +went to the notary every month to collect their hundred +and twenty francs, and they were angry with their +neighbors, because Mother Tuvache grossly insulted them, +repeating without ceasing from door to door, that one must +be unnatural to sell one's child; that it was horrible, nasty, +and many other vile expressions. Sometimes she would +take her Chariot in her arms with ostentation, exclaiming, +as if he understood:</p> + +<p>"I didn't sell <i>you</i>, I didn't! I didn't sell <i>you</i>, my little +one! I'm not rich, but I don't sell my children!"</p> + +<p>The Vallins lived at their ease, thanks to the pension. +That was the cause of the inappeasable fury of the Tuvaches, +who had remained miserably poor. Their eldest son went +away into service; Charlot alone remained to labor with his +old father, to support the mother and two younger sisters +which he had.</p> + +<p>He had reached twenty-one years, when, one morning, +a brilliant carriage stopped before the two cottages. A +young gentleman, with a gold watch chain, got out, +giving his hand to an aged, white-haired lady. The old +lady said to him: "It is there, my child, at the second +house." And he entered the house of the Vallins, as if he +were at home.</p> + +<p>The old mother was washing her aprons; the infirm father +slumbered at the chimney-corner. Both raised their heads, +and the young man said:</p> + +<p>"Good morning, papa; good morning, mamma!"</p> + +<p>They both stood up, frightened. In a flutter, the peasant +woman dropped her soap into the water, and stammered:</p> + +<p>"Is it you, my child? Is it you, my child?"</p> + +<p>He took her in his arms and hugged her, repeating: "Good +morning, mamma," while the old man, all in a tremble, said, +in his calm tone which he never lost: "Here you are, back +again, Jean," as if he had seen him a month before.</p> + +<p>When they had got to know one another again the parents +wished to take their boy out through the neighborhood, +and show him. They took him to the mayor, to the deputy, +to the curé, and to the schoolmaster.</p> + +<p>Charlot, standing on the threshold of his cottage, watched +him pass.</p> + +<p>In the evening, at supper, he said to the old people: "You +must have been stupid to let the Vallins's boy be taken."</p> + +<p>The mother answered, obstinately: "I wouldn't sell <i>my</i> +child."</p> + +<p>The father said nothing. The son continued:</p> + +<p>"It is unfortunate to be sacrificed like that." Then +Father Tuvache, in an angry tone, said:</p> + +<p>"Are you going to reproach us for having kept you?" +And the young man said, brutally:</p> + +<p>"Yes, I reproach you for having been such simpletons. +Parents like you make the misfortune of their children. +You deserve that I should leave you."</p> + +<p>The old woman wept over her plate. She moaned, as she +swallowed the spoonfuls of soup, half of which she spilled: +"One may kill one's self to bring up children."</p> + +<p>Then the boy said, roughly: "I'd rather not have been born +than be what I am. When I saw the other my heart stood still. +I said to myself: 'See what I should have been now!'" He +arose: "See here, I feel that I would do better not to stay +here, because I should bring it up against you from morning +till night, and I should make your life miserable. I +shall never forgive you that, you know!"</p> + +<p>The two old people were silent, downcast, in tears.</p> + +<p>He continued: "No, the thought of that would be too +hard. I'd rather go look for a living somewhere else."</p> + +<p>He opened the door. A sound of voices entered. The +Vallins were celebrating the return of their child.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>XI</h3> + +<h2><a name="PROVIDENCE_AND_MRS_URMY" id="PROVIDENCE_AND_MRS_URMY"></a>PROVIDENCE AND MRS. URMY</h2> + +<h3>The Story of an International Marriage</h3> + +<h3>By ARMIGER BARCLAY and OLIVER SANDYS</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Lady Hartley</span> (<i>née</i> Miss Persis Van Ness) gave +a little gasp. In her excitement the paper rustled +noisily to her knee.</p> + +<p>"O-h! Have you seen this?" She shot the <i>Morning +Post</i> across the breakfast table to Mrs. Rufus P. Urmy, +with her finger marking a paragraph.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Urmy glanced at it. "I guess it ought to corral him +right away," she said, with the merest suspicion of embarrassment. +"You see, it's Jeannette's last chance. Two +seasons in England and never a catch, so I——"</p> + +<p>"<i>You</i> did it?" Lady Hartley looked at her friend in round-eyed +wonder.</p> + +<p>"I—I had to do something," allowed Mrs. Urmy, with +a dawning suspicion that perhaps she had, after all, run +afoul of British conventions, which she found as difficult +of comprehension as her regular morning study of Debrett.</p> + +<p>"But Jeannette!"</p> + +<p>"That's so. Jeannette'll raise Cain." Mrs. Urmy got +up from the table. "It's this a-way, Persis. I reckon I +fixed your little affair up with Lord Hartley to home, and +you've got to thank me for it. Now, I'm trying to do the +same for my girl. She can't, or she won't, play her own hand. +Every chance she's had she's let slide, and I allow she's +got to marry a title before I go back to the States. Some +one's got to hustle when Providence isn't attending to +business, and as there's nobody else to do it, I've taken +on the contract." She pointed to the paragraph. "I +own up I don't see just how, but there wasn't much +time, and it was the best I could do."</p> + +<p>Lady Hartley slowly reread the incriminating paragraph:</p> + +<p>"A marriage has been arranged, and will shortly take +place between the Earl of Chilminster, of Sapworth Hall, +Wilts, and Miss Jeannette L. Urmy, of Boston, Massachusetts."</p> + +<p>"It knocks me out!" she murmured, lapsing into the +Western idiom which a whole week spent in the society of +her bosom friend was bound to call up. "But why Lord +Chilminster?" She pronounced the name Chilster.</p> + +<p>"Why won't he do? Isn't he the real thing? I picked +him out in my sample book of the aristocracy, and when I +fitted the name on to Jeannette—the Countess of Chilminster—it +sounded quite elegant."</p> + +<p>"Then it wasn't because you knew I knew him?" demanded +Mrs. Urmy's hostess with growing amazement.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Urmy's face took on a blank expression.</p> + +<p>"You've heard me mention the name. That's how it's +pronounced," explained Lady Hartley. "His place isn't +far from here."</p> + +<p>"You don't say! The way these British titles are pronounced +is enough to make you doubt your own eyesight. +I didn't know. But if he's a friend of yours that'll +likely make it all the easier."</p> + +<p>"Lord Chilminster!" Lady Hartley spoke in an awed tone.</p> + +<p>She felt it would be useless to make Mrs. Urmy understand +the enormity of her offence against good taste, and +presently her astonishment gave way to amusement.</p> + +<p>"Lavinia," she rippled, "as a matchmaker you take the +cake! I don't believe——" She paused, listening. "Hush! +Here's Jeannette!"</p> + +<p>Miss Jeannette Urmy came in through the open French +window. She was dressed in a natty little cotton frock, +looked fresh and chic, and only pleasantly American. Perhaps +she inherited her good looks and refined tastes from +"popper" Urmy, deceased, in which case that gentleman +must have committed one serious error of taste and judgment +when he selected Jeannette's mother for his better half.</p> + +<p>"My! You're late, Jeannette!" observed Mrs. Urmy, +shooting a quick glance at Lady Hartley.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, both ladies, by common consent, +sauntered toward the door. They knew Jeannette's temperament. +A crisis, such as the announcement in the <i>Morning +Post</i> was sure to evoke, was one at which they were +not anxious to assist.</p> + +<p>"Oh, I'm ahead of time," answered Jeannette. "I've +been up since six looking for eggs."</p> + +<p>"Eggs?" echoed Lady Hartley.</p> + +<p>"Yes; I collect birds' eggs." She picked up the newspaper +and let her eye wander along the items in the Court +Circular. "But getting up early makes me homesick. The +best time of my life was when I was a kid, when I hadn't +an idea beyond the woods on the old Massachusetts farm, +when popper kept his store, and—Oh!"</p> + +<p>She had reached the fatal announcement, and sat with +parted lips, rigid as stone, while the world seemed toppling +about her ears. There was a long pause. Jeannette's lips +gradually tightened, and her firm hand crumpled up the +paper.</p> + +<p>"Mommer!" she exclaimed. "Here, Mommer!" But +Mrs. Urmy and Lady Hartley had beaten a diplomatic retreat. +Jeannette jumped to her feet, the color flaming in her face, +her eyes snapping with indignation. "Oh!" she cried, impotently. +"I'll—I'll—oh! what can I do? It must come +out! He must apologize. Who did it? Oh, I don't even +know him, the—wretch!"</p> + +<p>The "chuff-chuff" of a motor-car coming up the drive +interrupted her outburst, and she looked up to see it being +driven up and halted before the entrance. Lady Hartley +had a perfect fleet of cars. Jeannette at once jumped to +the conclusion that this was one of them. She had a sudden +inspiration. It was running free—ready to start. There +was temptation in the soft purr of its engine. The driver, +quietly dressed, but not in livery, she appraised as one of +Lady Hartley's motor-men.</p> + +<p>"Shall I?" she whispered. "Dare I? I can set things +straight at once if I do. Persis will be wild with me for +going off without a word, but I'll—I'll chance it!"</p> + +<p>She ran into the hall, slipped into her motoring coat, and, +throwing discretion to the winds, walked out to the front +of the house and quickly up to the car.</p> + +<p>"How soon can you drive me to Sapworth Hall?" she +asked, getting in and pulling the rug around her.</p> + +<p>The barefaced appropriation of his car by an unknown +young woman almost took Lord Chilminster's breath away. +He had, at much inconvenience to himself, motored all the +way to Lady Hartley's to contradict and sift an amazing +and annoying report that he had discovered in the <i>Morning +Post</i>. He had heard Lady Hartley mention the name of +Urmy as that of a friend of hers, and naturally decided that +she was the proper person to consult. But before he had +time to get out of his car and ring the bell here was a young +person, springing from goodness knows where, mistaking +him for a motor-man, and ordering him about. For a moment +he was speechless. Then, as the humor of the situation +began to appeal to him, so did the good looks of the girl.</p> + +<p>"Really," he began. "You see I——"</p> + +<p>"Don't talk, get under way!" commanded Jeannette. +"Quick! Her ladyship has altered her mind about going +out. You've got to take me to Sapworth Hall. It's thirty +miles. I want to be there by lunch-time. Do you know +the way?"</p> + +<p>"I—I think so," stammered Chilminster.</p> + +<p>Her bewildering eagerness to be off was infectious. The +noble owner of the car felt it. But apart from that, he was +quite ready for an adventure in such pleasant company. +He forgot all about the object of his visit. Without another +word he let in the clutch and started.</p> + +<p>Jeannette sank back with a sigh of relief. She credited +herself with having secured Persis's car very neatly. The +man might, perhaps, get into trouble, but she could make +that up to him by a generous tip. Her one idea was to contradict +and confute the disgraceful announcement at its +fountain-head. It was providential that the unknown Lord +Chilminster's place was so near; but had it been ten times +as far off, Jeannette, boiling with justifiable indignation, and +with her mind made up to exact reparation, would have gone +there.</p> + +<p>"It's awful! It's unheard of! I—I won't have it! +Who can have done it?" she kept repeating through white +teeth set viciously. "I'll have it contradicted in large +print by this time to-morrow, or the American Ambassador +shall——"</p> + +<p>She was not quite sure what ambassadors did under similar +circumstances, and she left the mental threat unfinished. +Anyhow, it was a disgrace to herself, and her sex, if not a +slight on her country, and it redoubled her determination +to "get even" with the perpetrator of it. She leaned forward +to make herself heard.</p> + +<p>"Set a killing pace," she called. "I'll make it up to you."</p> + +<p>Chilminster nodded, hid a smile, and let the car out to +the top of its speed. It ate up mile after mile; and as it +came to Jeannette that each one brought her nearer and +nearer to the hateful person whose name had been so scandalously +bracketed with her own, she experienced a feeling +of nervousness. The boldness of her escapade began to +alarm her. What should she say? How express in words +her view of an intolerable situation which no self-respecting +girl could even calmly think about?</p> + +<p>Lord Chilminster's mind was almost similarly engaged. +He was wondering who Miss Jeannette L. Urmy could be, +and whether she was aware of the obnoxious paragraph +in the paper. He did not do her the injustice to suppose +that she had inspired it (he had an open mind on that point), +but as he was not responsible for it himself, he had a suspicion +that she might be. Chilminster had met very few +unmarried American girls, but like most Englishmen, he +was aware of their capacity for resolution in most matters. +Then, again, it was leap year. Suppose—— For a little +while he did a lot of hard thinking.</p> + +<p>"I say," he called suddenly, looking over his shoulder. +"Isn't there a Miss Urmy staying at the White House?"</p> + +<p>Jeannette drew herself up and fixed him with a stony stare.</p> + +<p>"I am Miss Urmy," she answered frigidly.</p> + +<p>The start that Chilminster gave unconsciously affected +the steering-wheel, and the car swerved sharply.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing? You're driving disgracefully!" +exclaimed Jeannette.</p> + +<p>"I—I beg your pardon," faltered Chilminster. "I thought +you were her lady's maid."</p> + +<p>He felt he owed her that one. A girl who could announce +her approaching marriage with a stranger (Chilminster +no longer gave her the benefit of the doubt) and follow up +that glaring indiscretion by a visit to her victim, was—— The +imminence of such a thing alarmed him. Was she coming +to propose—to molest him? He got hot thinking of it.</p> + +<p>The situation had undergone a complete change since he +had started out in a rage, and some trepidation, to confront +Miss Urmy herself, if need be. Now trepidation over-balanced +all his other emotions. Miss Urmy was behind +him, in his own automobile, and he was meekly driving +her at a cracking speed to his own house! It was too late +to turn back now. The thing had to be seen through. Besides, +he could not help feeling a curiosity to know what was +in his passenger's mind, and to discover her bewildering +plan of action.</p> + +<p>Neither spoke for the rest of the journey, and at length the +car passed through the lodge gates, swept up the drive, and +stopped at the entrance to Sapworth Hall. Jeannette got out.</p> + +<p>"You had better go round to the stables and ask for something +to eat. I may be some time," was all she volunteered +as she rang the bell.</p> + +<p>Rather staggered by the order, but foreseeing a bad quarter +of an hour ahead of him, Chilminster was glad of the +respite. He opened the throttle and slid out of sight as +Jeannette was admitted.</p> + +<p>His lordship was out, the butler informed her. Then +she would wait—wait all day, if necessary, she said decisively, +following the man into the library. No, she was in +no need of refreshment, but her <i>chauffeur</i>, who had gone +round to the stables, might be glad of something in the servants' +hall.</p> + +<p>With a foot impatiently tapping the polished floor, she +sat summoning up all her determination whilst awaiting +the ordeal before her. For, by this time had come the inevitable +reaction, and the sudden impulse that had made her +act as she had seemed, somehow, out of relation to the motive +that had inspired it. Not that she regretted having come: +her self-respect demanded that sacrifice; but she wished +the unpleasant affair over.</p> + +<p>An intolerable ten minutes passed. The beautiful seventeenth +century room, like a reflection on the spirit of democracy, +was getting on Jeannette's nerves. The strain of +listening, watching the big mahogany door for the expected +entrance of Lord Chilminster, at last reduced her to a state +of apathy, and when he did come quietly in she was taken +by surprise.</p> + +<p>"I'm so sorry to have kept you waiting," he said.</p> + +<p>Jeannette stared. Bareheaded, gaiterless, minus his driving +coat, very self-contained and eminently aristocratic, +the supposed motor-man advanced into the room.</p> + +<p>"You see, you told me to take the car round to the stables," +he proceeded, with a touch of apology in his tone.</p> + +<p>"You—you are the Earl of Chilminster?" she gasped.</p> + +<p>"Of Sapworth Hall, Wilts," he augmented, like one who +quotes. "And you are Miss Jeannette L. Urmy, of Boston, +Massachusetts, I believe."</p> + +<p>There was quite a long silence.</p> + +<p>"You knew all along," she flushed angrily.</p> + +<p>Chilminster raised a hand in protest. "Not until you +told me."</p> + +<p>"Then why didn't you stop? You ought to have taken +me back immediately you knew who I was."</p> + +<p>"So I would have if——"</p> + +<p>"You mean you didn't believe me. You thought I was +a lady's maid!" Jeannette interrupted indignantly.</p> + +<p>"That was an error of judgment for which I humbly +apologize. We are all liable to make mistakes sometimes. +You, Miss Urmy, for instance, took me for a motor-man. +You also appropriated my car, and commanded me to bring +you here at a murderous—no, a killing pace. And I think +you added that you would make it up to me."</p> + +<p>Jeannette's face tingled. She had come to accuse, and, +instead, found herself patiently listening to a recital of her +indiscretions. But if Lord Chilminster was a strategist, +Jeannette was a tactician. She appreciated the danger of +a passive defense, and conversely, of the value of a vigorous +aggression. Without a moment's hesitation she began +a counter attack.</p> + +<p>"In to-day's <i>Morning Post</i>——" she commenced.</p> + +<p>"Ah, the <i>Morning Post</i>!" echoed Chilminster, also changing +front.</p> + +<p>"There was a disgraceful announcement."</p> + +<p>"Half of it certainly was—irksome."</p> + +<p>"Which half?" asked Jeannette suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"I have no conscientious scruples about matrimony in +the abstract," parried Chilminster.</p> + +<p>"But I have. I object altogether to the paragraph. I +resent it."</p> + +<p>"Then you did not insert it?"</p> + +<p>"I insert it? <i>I?</i>" flamed Jeannette. She drew herself +up as haughtily as a pretty woman can under the disadvantage +of being seated in a yielding easy chair. "Do +you mean to assert, Lord Chilminster, that I——?"</p> + +<p>She was interrupted by the entrance of the butler.</p> + +<p>"Luncheon is served, my lord," he announced.</p> + +<p>"You will take off your coat?"</p> + +<p>Lord Chilminster turned to Miss Urmy, and advanced a +step in anticipation. The butler—with a well-trained +butler's promptness—was behind her, and before she could +frame a word of objection, the fur-lined garment had slipped +from her shoulders.</p> + +<p>Thus must martyrs have marched to the stake, was one +of Jeannette's bewildered reflections as she preceded her +host out of the room, and, as in a dream, found herself a few +minutes later facing him across the luncheon table. Outwardly, +the meal proceeded in well-ordered calm. Lord +Chilminster made no further reference to the debatable +topic; only talked lightly and pleasantly on a variety of +non-committal subjects.</p> + +<p>As the lady's host that, of course, was the only attitude +he could adopt; but the fact remains that he did so <i>de bonne +volonté</i>. Perhaps because, so far, he had scored more points +than his opponent in the morning's encounter; perhaps, +also, because of her undeniable good looks, his irritation, +due to the circumstances that had prompted that encounter, +began to lessen with <i>truites en papilotte</i>, was almost forgotten +in face of a <i>mousse de volaille</i>, and entirely vanished among +<i>asperges vertes mousseline</i>.</p> + +<p>Miss Jeannette L. Urmy, with her veil lifted, and relieved +of her voluminous coat, was, he had to admit, distractingly +pretty; not at all the type he had pictured as the original +of the name. Young, pretty, and charming women (he was +convinced that <i>au fond</i> she was charming) ought to have +no obstinate prejudices against marriage. He even ventured +to think that Miss Urmy's mind had become obscured +on that point by those—well, indiscreet lines in the <i>Morning +Post</i>. They had upset him; then why not her? They were +so—premature.</p> + +<p>As for Jeannette, in spite of Lord Chilminster's effortless +ease, her powers of conversation were frozen. She was +reduced to monosyllables, and she ate in proportion. It +was a humiliating experience to be accepting the hospitality +of the enemy; one, moreover, that made it awkward for her +to prolong hostilities. Having broken bread in his tents +(a Puritan strain was responsible for the illustration) she +felt disarmed. Besides, she was rather ashamed of her +maladroitness in mistaking Lord Chilminster for a common +motor-man. It argued <i>gaucherie</i>. Perhaps he thought her +unconventional call a violation of good taste—considered +her forward! He had plainly shown his annoyance about +that obnox—that embarrassing paragraph, and that fact +spiked most of her batteries. He might, after all, prove to +be quite——</p> + +<p>"Do you mind if I smoke?"</p> + +<p>Lord Chilminster's voice startled her out of her reverie. +The servants had noiselessly retired, and they were alone.</p> + +<p>"I—I feel ready to sink through the floor," she rejoined +inconsequently.</p> + +<p>He returned his cigarette case to his pocket, looking quite +concerned. "I'm so sorry. I ought not to have——"</p> + +<p>"No, no. Please smoke. It isn't that," stammered Jeannette.</p> + +<p>"It's the <i>Morning Post</i>?"</p> + +<p>Jeannette evaded his eye.</p> + +<p>"Yes; it does put us in rather a tight place," mediated +Chilminster.</p> + +<p>Nothing was said for a moment.</p> + +<p>"Engaged!" he murmured.</p> + +<p>Jeannette raised her eyes and noted his reflective attitude.</p> + +<p>"Who can have put it in?" he went on.</p> + +<p>"I can't imagine."</p> + +<p>"And why?"</p> + +<p>"It does seem strange," admitted Jeannette in a detached +tone.</p> + +<p>"It's not as if we were——"</p> + +<p>"No," she interposed hurriedly.</p> + +<p>"Well, what ought we to do about it? Of course, we +can contradict it, but——"</p> + +<p>"But what?" she asked, filling his pause.</p> + +<p>"I hate advertisement—that is, <i>unnecessary</i> advertisement," +Chilminster corrected himself. "It would make +us—I mean me—look so—so vacillating."</p> + +<p>He looked up rather suddenly, and just missed Jeannette's +eyes by the thousandth of a second.</p> + +<p>What could he mean? she asked herself, while her heart +pumped boisterously. Was he magnanimous enough to +be thinking of accepting a compromising situation to save +her? What he had said sounded very unselfish. Of course, +she couldn't allow him to. What a pity he was not an +American—or something quite ordinary. Then she might——</p> + +<p>"There's nothing for it but to write to the paper, I suppose?" +he said ruefully.</p> + +<p>"I—I suppose not." The comment was dragged from +Jeannette in a tone as unconsciously reluctant as his was +rueful.</p> + +<p>Chilminster sighed. "It's so rough on you."</p> + +<p>Jeannette felt a consuming anxiety to know whether +his sympathy was occasioned by the announcement or the +suggested denial of it.</p> + +<p>"And on you, too," she admitted. "What were you +thinking—how did you propose to phrase it?"</p> + +<p>"I?" he asked apprehensively. "To be quite frank. I +haven't got as far as that. Never wrote to the papers in +my life," he added pusillanimously.</p> + +<p>"But <i>I</i> can't," argued Jeannette. Her determination +of two hours ago had vanished into the Ewigkeit.</p> + +<p>Chilminster had an inspiration. "What do you say if +we do it together?"</p> + +<p>While she digested this expedient he fetched paper and +pencil, and then sat gazing at the ceiling for inspiration.</p> + +<p>"Well?" she queried at the end of a minute.</p> + +<p>"How ought one to begin these things?" asked the desperate +man.</p> + +<p>Jeannette cogitated deeply. "It's so difficult to say what +one wants to a stranger in a letter, isn't it?" she hesitated. +"Wouldn't a telegram do?"</p> + +<p>"By Jove! Yes; and simply say: 'Miss Urmy wishes +to deny——'"</p> + +<p>"In <i>my</i> name!" exclaimed Jeannette.</p> + +<p>"Well—you are the person aggrieved."</p> + +<p>"I really don't think it's fair to put the whole of the responsibility +on my shoulders," she demurred.</p> + +<p>"No, I suppose not," Chilminster admitted grudgingly. +"How would this do: 'Miss Urmy and Lord Chilminster +wish to contradict their engagement——'"</p> + +<p>"But that implies that there <i>was</i> an engagement!"</p> + +<p>Chilminster pondered the deduction. "So it does. I see. +People would jump to the conclusion that we were in a desperate +hurry to alter our minds!"</p> + +<p>"And, of course, we haven't."</p> + +<p>"Y-es. I don't know how you feel about it, but if there's +one thing I dislike it's tittle-tattle about my private affairs."</p> + +<p>"Horrid!" shivered Jeannette. "What <i>are</i> we to do?"</p> + +<p>Her tone was so hopeless, so full of tears, that it melted +Chilminster. Susceptibilities that had been simmering within +him for an hour past came unexpectedly to the boil; and +as they did so the difficulty vanished.</p> + +<p>"Why need we bother at all about it?" he asked impulsively.</p> + +<p>For a world of moments, Jeannette stared at him, revolving +the question. Then a faint radiance came into her +face, and grew and grew until it burned. Jeannette bit +her lip. Jeannette looked down.</p> + +<p>"What do you mean?" she asked in confusion.</p> + +<p>"Don't—don't you think we had better—take the +consequences?" said Chilminster, as he reached across the +table and let his hand fall on hers.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Mrs. Urmy stood at the window looking with lack-lustre +eyes across the park. She had had six solid hours in which +to reflect on that risky communication of hers to the +<i>Morning Post</i>, and Jeannette's disappearance since breakfast +time provided a gloomy commentary on it. She fidgeted +uneasily as she recalled her daughter's scared look +when reading the paper, and maternal forebodings discounted +her interest in an automobile that showed at intervals between +the trees of the drive as it approached the White House.</p> + +<p>But two moments later it occurred to her that it was Jeannette +who sat on its front seat beside the driver; and, as the +car drew up, her experienced eye detected something in the +demeanor of the pair that startled but elated her.</p> + +<p>"Here's Jeannette!" she called over her shoulder to +Lady Hartley. "In an auto with a young man. Say, +Persis, who is he?"</p> + +<p>Lady Hartley hurried to the window, gave one look, and +doubted the evidence of her eyes.</p> + +<p>"Lavinia, it's Lord Chilminster!" she cried, with a catch +in her voice.</p> + +<p>The two women flashed a glance brimful of significance +at one another. Lady Hartley's expressed uncertainty; +Mrs. Urmy's triumph—sheer, complete, perfect triumph.</p> + +<p>"Didn't I say it was a sure thing?" she shrilled excitedly. +"It's fixed them up! Come right ahead and introduce me +to my future son-in-law!"</p> + +<p>As she raced to the door she added half to herself: "I +don't want to boast, but, thank the Lord, I've got Jeannette +off this season!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>XII</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_MILLION_DOLLAR_FREIGHT_TRAIN" id="THE_MILLION_DOLLAR_FREIGHT_TRAIN"></a>THE MILLION DOLLAR FREIGHT TRAIN</h2> + +<h3>The Story of a Young Engineer</h3> + +<h3>By FRANK H. SPEARMAN</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It was</span> the second month of the strike, and not a pound +of freight had been moved. Things did look smoky on +the West End. The General Superintendent happened to +be with us when the news came. "You can't handle it, boys," +said he nervously. "What you'd better do is to turn it over +to the Columbian Pacific."</p> + +<p>Our contracting freight agent on the Coast at that time +was a fellow so erratic that he was nicknamed "Crazy-horse." +Right in the midst of the strike Crazy-horse wired that he +had secured a big silk shipment for New York. We were +paralyzed. We had no engineers, no firemen, and no motive +power to speak of. The strikers were pounding our men, +wrecking our trains, and giving us the worst of it generally; +that is, when we couldn't give it to them. Why the fellow +displayed his activity at that particular juncture still remains +a mystery. Perhaps he had a grudge against the road; if +so, he took an artful revenge. Everybody on the system with +ordinary railroad sense knew that our struggle was to keep +clear of freight business until we got rid of our strike. Anything +valuable or perishable was especially unwelcome. But +the stuff was docked, and loaded, and consigned in our care +before we knew it. After that, a refusal to carry it would be +like hoisting the white flag; and that is something which +never yet flew over the West End.</p> + +<p>"Turn it over to the Columbian," said the General Superintendent; +but the General Superintendent was not looked +up to on our division. He hadn't enough sand. Our head +was a fighter, and he gave tone to every man under him. +"No," he thundered, bringing down his fist. "Not in a +thousand years. We'll move it ourselves. Wire Montgomery +(the General Manager) that we will take care of it. +And wire him to fire Crazy-horse—and to do it right off." +And before the silk was turned over to us Crazy-horse was +looking for another job. It is the only case on record where +a freight hustler was discharged for getting business.</p> + +<p>There were twelve carloads; it was insured for $85,000 a +car; you can figure how far the title is wrong, but you never +can estimate the worry the stuff gave us. It looked as big as +twelve million dollars' worth. In fact, one scrub car-link, +with the glory of the West End at heart, had a fight over +the amount with a skeptical hostler. He maintained that +the actual money value was a hundred and twenty millions; +but I give you the figures just as they went over the wire, +and they are right.</p> + +<p>What bothered us most was that the strikers had the tip +almost as soon as we had it. Having friends on every road +in the country, they knew as much about our business as we +ourselves. The minute it was announced that we should +move the silk, they were after us. It was a defiance; a last +one. If we could move freight—for we were already moving +passengers after a fashion—the strike might be well accounted +beaten.</p> + +<p>Stewart, the leader of the local contingent, together with +his followers, got after me at once. "You don't show much +sense, Reed," said he. "You fellows here are breaking +your necks to get things moving, and when this strike's over, +if our boys ask for your discharge, they'll get it. This road +can't run without our engineers. We're going to beat you. +If you dare try to move this silk, we'll have your scalp when +it's over. You'll never get your silk to Zanesville, I'll +promise you that. And if you ditch it and make a million-dollar +loss, you'll get let out anyway, my buck."</p> + +<p>"I'm here to obey orders, Stewart," said I. What was +the use of more? I felt uncomfortable; but we had determined +to move the silk; there was no more to be said.</p> + +<p>When I went over to the round-house and told Neighbor +the decision, he said never a word; but he looked a great +deal. Neighbor's task was to supply the motive power. +All that we had, uncrippled, was in the passenger service, +because passengers should be taken care of first of all. In +order to win a strike, you must have public opinion on +your side.</p> + +<p>"Nevertheless, Neighbor," said I, after we had talked +awhile, "we must move the silk also."</p> + +<p>Neighbor studied; then he roared at his foreman. "Send +Bartholomew Mullen here." He spoke with a decision that +made me think the business was done. I had never happened, +it is true, to hear of Bartholomew Mullen in the department +of motive power; but the impression the name gave +me was of a monstrous fellow, big as Neighbor, or old man +Sankey, or Dad Hamilton. "I'll put Bartholomew ahead +of it," said Neighbor tightly.</p> + +<p>I saw a boy walk into the office. "Mr. Garten said you +wanted me, sir," said he, addressing the Master Mechanic.</p> + +<p>"I do, Bartholomew," responded Neighbor.</p> + +<p>The figure in my mind's eye shrunk in a twinkling. Then +it occurred to me that it must be this boy's father who was +wanted.</p> + +<p>"You have been begging for a chance to take out an engine, +Bartholomew," began Neighbor coldly; and I knew it was on.</p> + +<p>"Yes, sir."</p> + +<p>"You want to get killed, Bartholomew."</p> + +<p>Bartholomew smiled as if the idea was not altogether +displeasing.</p> + +<p>"How would you like to go pilot to-morrow for McCurdy? +You to take the 44 and run as first Seventy-eight. McCurdy +will run as second Seventy-eight."</p> + +<p>"I know I could run an engine all right," ventured Bartholomew, +as if Neighbor were the only one taking the chances in +giving him an engine. "I know the track from here to Zanesville. +I helped McNeff fire one week."</p> + +<p>"Then go home, and go to bed; and be over here at six +o'clock to-morrow morning. And sleep sound, for it may be +your last chance."</p> + +<p>It was plain that the Master Mechanic hated to do it; +it was simply sheer necessity. "He's a wiper," mused +Neighbor, as Bartholomew walked springily away. "I took +him in here sweeping two years ago. He ought to be firing +now, but the union held him back; that's why he don't like +them. He knows more about an engine now than half the +lodge. They'd better have let him in," said the Master +Mechanic grimly. "He may be the means of breaking their +backs yet. If I give him an engine and he runs it, I'll never +take him off, union or no union, strike or no strike."</p> + +<p>"How old is that boy?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Eighteen; and never a kith or a kin that I know of. +Bartholomew Mullen," mused Neighbor, as the slight figure +moved across the flat, "big name—small boy. Well, Bartholomew, +you'll know something more by to-morrow night +about running an engine, or a whole lot less: that's as it +happens. If he gets killed, it's your fault, Reed."</p> + +<p>He meant that I was calling on him for men when he +couldn't supply them.</p> + +<p>"I heard once," he went on, "about a fellow named Bartholomew +being mixed up in a massacre. But I take it +he must have been an older man than our Bartholomew—nor +his other name wasn't Mullen, neither. I disremember +just what it was; but it wasn't Mullen."</p> + +<p>"Well, don't say I want to get the boy killed, Neighbor," +I protested. "I've got plenty to answer for. I'm here to +run trains—when there are any to run; that's murder +enough for me. You needn't send Bartholomew out on my +account."</p> + +<p>"Give him a slow schedule, and I'll give him orders to +jump early; that's all we can do. If the strikers don't ditch +him, he'll get through somehow."</p> + +<p>It stuck in my crop—the idea of putting that boy on a +pilot engine to take all the dangers ahead of that particular +train; but I had a good deal else to think of besides. From +the minute the silk got into the McCloud yards, we posted +double guards around. About twelve o'clock that night +we held a council of war, which ended in our running the +train into the out freight-house. The result was that by morning +we had a new train made up. It consisted of fourteen +refrigerator cars loaded with oranges which had come in +mysteriously the night before. It was announced that the +silk would be held for the present and the oranges rushed +through at once. Bright and early the refrigerator train was +run down to the icehouses, and twenty men were put to work +icing the oranges. At seven o'clock, McCurdy pulled in the +local passenger with engine 105. Our plan was to cancel the +load and run him right out with the oranges. When he got in, +he reported that the 105 had sprung a tire; this threw us out +entirely. There was a hurried conference in the round-house.</p> + +<p>"What can you do?" asked the Superintendent in +desperation.</p> + +<p>"There's only one thing I can do. Put Bartholomew +Mullen on it with the 44, and put McCurdy to bed for Number +Two to-night," responded Neighbor.</p> + +<p>It was eight o'clock. I looked into the locomotive stalls. +The first—the only—man in sight was Bartholomew +Mullen. He was very busy polishing the 44. He had good +steam on her, and the old tub was wheezing away as if she +had the asthma. The 44 was old; she was homely; she was +rickety; but Bartholomew Mullen wiped her battered nose +as deferentially as if she had been a spick-span, spider-driver, +tail-truck mail-racer. She wasn't much—the 44. But in +those days Bartholomew wasn't much: and the 44 was +Bartholomew's.</p> + +<p>"How is she steaming, Bartholomew?" I sang out; he +was right in the middle of her. Looking up, he fingered +his waste modestly and blushed through a dab of crude-petroleum +over his eye. "Hundred and thirty pounds, sir. +She's a terrible free steamer, the old 44. I'm all ready to +run her out."</p> + +<p>"Who's marked up to fire for you, Bartholomew?"</p> + +<p>Bartholomew Mullen looked at me fraternally. "Neighbor +couldn't give me anybody but a wiper, sir," said Bartholomew, +in a sort of a wouldn't-that-kill-you tone.</p> + +<p>The unconscious arrogance of the boy quite knocked me: +so soon had honors changed his point of view. Last night a +despised wiper; at daybreak, an engineer; and his nose +in the air at the idea of taking on a wiper for fireman. And +all so innocent.</p> + +<p>"Would you object, Bartholomew," I suggested gently, +"to a train-master for fireman?"</p> + +<p>"I don't—think so, sir."</p> + +<p>"Thank you; because I am going down to Zanesville this +morning myself, and I thought I'd ride with you. Is it all +right?"</p> + +<p>"Oh, yes, sir—if Neighbor doesn't care."</p> + +<p>I smiled: he didn't know whom Neighbor took orders +from; but he thought, evidently, not from me.</p> + +<p>"Then run her down to the oranges, Bartholomew, and +couple on, and we'll order ourselves out. See?"</p> + +<p>The 44 looked like a baby-carriage when we got her in +front of the refrigerators. However, after the necessary +preliminaries, we gave a very sporty toot, and pulled out. In +a few minutes we were sailing down the valley.</p> + +<p>For fifty miles we bobbed along with our cargo of iced silk +as easy as old shoes; for I need hardly explain that we had +packed the silk into the refrigerators to confuse the strikers. +The great risk was that they would try to ditch us.</p> + +<p>I was watching the track as a mouse would a cat, looking +every minute for trouble. We cleared the gumbo cut west of +the Beaver at a pretty good clip, in order to make the grade +on the other side. The bridge there is hidden in summer by +a grove of hackberries. I had just pulled open to cool her a +bit when I noticed how high the back-water was on each side +of the track. Suddenly I felt the fill going soft under the +drivers; felt the 44 wobble and slew. Bartholomew shut +off hard, and threw the air as I sprang to the window. The +peaceful little creek ahead looked as angry as the Platte in +April water, and the bottoms were a lake.</p> + +<p>Somewhere up the valley there had been a cloudburst, +for overhead the sun was bright. The Beaver was roaring +over its banks, and the bridge was out. Bartholomew +screamed for brakes: it looked as if we were against +it—and hard. A soft track to stop on; a torrent of storm-water +ahead, and ten hundred thousand dollars' worth of +silk behind, not to mention equipment.</p> + +<p>I yelled at Bartholomew, and motioned for him to jump; +my conscience is clear on that point. The 44 was stumbling +along, trying like a drunken man to hang to the rotten track.</p> + +<p>"Bartholomew!" I yelled; but he was head out and looking +back at his train while he jerked frantically at the air-lever. +I understood: the air wouldn't work; it never will +on those old tubs when you need it. The sweat pushed out +on me. I was thinking of how much the silk would bring +us after the bath in the Beaver. Bartholomew stuck to his +levers like a man in a signal-tower, but every second brought +us closer to open water. Watching him intent only on saving +his first train—heedless of his life—I was actually ashamed +to jump. While I hesitated he somehow got the brakes +to set; the old 44 bucked like a bronco.</p> + +<p>It wasn't too soon. She checked her train nobly at the +last, but I saw nothing could keep her from the drink. I +gave Bartholomew a terrific slap, and again I yelled; then +turning to the gangway, I dropped into the soft mud on my +side: the 44 hung low, and it was easy lighting.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew sprang from his seat a second later; but his +blouse caught in the teeth of the quadrant. He stooped +quick as thought, and peeled the thing over his head. Then +he was caught fast by the wristbands, and the ponies of the +44 tipped over the broken abutment. Pull as he would he +couldn't get free. The pilot dipped into the torrent slowly. +But losing her balance, the 44 kicked her heels into the air +like lightning, and shot with a frightened wheeze plump into +the creek, dragging her engineer with her.</p> + +<p>The head car stopped on the brink. Running across the +track, I looked for Bartholomew. He wasn't there; I knew +he must have gone down with his engine. Throwing off my +gloves, I dived, just as I stood, close to the tender, which hung +half submerged. I am a good bit of a fish under water, but +no self-respecting fish would be caught in that yellow mud. +I realized, too, the instant I struck the water, that I should +have dived on the upstream side. The current took me +away whirling; when I came up for air, I was fifty feet below +the pier. I scrambled out, feeling it was all up with Bartholomew; +but to my amazement, as I shook my eyes open +the train crew were running forward, and there stood Bartholomew +on the track above me, looking at the refrigerator. When +I got to him, he explained how he was dragged under and had +to tear the sleeve out of his blouse under water to get free.</p> + +<p>The surprise is how little fuss men make about such things +when they are busy. It took only five minutes for the conductor +to hunt up a coil of wire and a sounder for me, and +by the time he got forward with it, Bartholomew was half-way +up a telegraph pole to help me cut in on a live wire. Fast as +I could, I rigged a pony, and began calling the McCloud despatcher. +It was rocky sending, but after no end of pounding, +I got him and gave orders for the wrecking gang, and for one +more of Neighbor's rapidly decreasing supply of locomotives.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew, sitting on a strip of fence which still rose +above water, looked forlorn. To lose in the Beaver the first +engine he ever handled was tough, and he was evidently +speculating on his chances of ever getting another. If there +weren't tears in his eyes, there was storm-water certainly. +But after the relief engine had pulled what was left of us back +six miles to a siding, I made it my first business to explain to +Neighbor, who was nearly beside himself, that Bartholomew +not only was not at fault, but that by his nerve he had actually +saved the train.</p> + +<p>"I'll tell you, Neighbor," I suggested, when we got +straightened around. "Give us the 109 to go ahead as pilot, +and run her around the river division with Foley and the 216."</p> + +<p>"What'll you do with Number Six?" growled Neighbor. +Six was the local passenger west.</p> + +<p>"Annul it west of McCloud," said I instantly. "We've +got this silk on our hands now, and I'd move it if it tied up +every passenger train on the division. If we can get the stuff +through, it will practically beat the strike. If we fail, it will +beat the company."</p> + +<p>By the time we had backed to Newhall Junction, Neighbor +had made up his mind my way. Mullen and I climbed into +the 109, and Foley, with the 216, and none too good a grace, +coupled on to the silk, and flying red signals, we started again +for Zanesville over the river division.</p> + +<p>Foley was always full of mischief. He had a better engine +than ours, and he took great satisfaction the rest of the afternoon +in crowding us. Every mile of the way he was on our +heels. I was throwing the coal, and have reason to remember. +It was after dark when we reached the Beverly Hill, and we +took it at a lively pace. The strikers were not on our minds +then; it was Foley who bothered.</p> + +<p>When the long parallel steel lines of the upper yards spread +before us, flashing under the arc lights, we were away above +yard speed. Running a locomotive into one of those big yards +is like shooting a rapid in a canoe. There is a bewildering +maze of tracks, lighted by red and green lamps, which must +be watched the closest to keep out of trouble. The hazards +are multiplied the minute you pass the throat, and a yard +wreck is a dreadful tangle; it makes everybody from road-master +to flagman furious, and not even Bartholomew wanted +to face an inquiry on a yard wreck. On the other hand, he +couldn't afford to be caught by Foley, who was chasing him +out of pure caprice.</p> + +<p>I saw the boy holding the throttle at a half and fingering the +air anxiously as we jumped over the frogs; but the roughest +riding on track so far beats the ties as a cushion, that when +the 109 suddenly stuck her paws through an open switch we +bounced against the roof of the cab like footballs. I grabbed +a brace with one hand, and with the other reached instinctively +across to Bartholomew's side to seize the throttle. But as +I tried to shut him off, he jerked it wide open in spite of me, +and turned with lightning in his eye. "No!" he cried, and +his voice rang hard. The 109 took the tremendous shove +at her back, and leaped like a frightened horse. Away we +went across the yard, through the cinders, and over the ties; +my teeth have never been the same since. I don't belong on +an engine, anyway, and since then I have kept off. At the +moment, I was convinced that the strain had been too much, +that Bartholomew was stark crazy. He sat clinging like a +lobster to his levers and bouncing clear to the roof.</p> + +<p>But his strategy was dawning on me; in fact, he was pounding +it into me. Even the shock and scare of leaving the track +and tearing up the yard had not driven from Bartholomew's +noddle the most important feature of our situation, which +was, above everything, to <i>keep out of the way of the silk train</i>.</p> + +<p>I felt every moment more mortified at my attempt to shut +him off. I had done the trick of the woman who grabs the +reins. It was even better to tear up the yard than to stop for +Foley to smash into and scatter the silk over the coal chutes. +Bartholomew's decision was one of the traits which make the +runner: instant perception coupled to instant resolve. The +ordinary dub thinks what he should have done to avoid +disaster after it is all over; Bartholomew thought before.</p> + +<p>On we bumped, across frogs, through switches, over splits, +and into target rods, when—and this is the miracle of it all—the +109 got her forefeet on a split switch, made a contact, and +after a slew or two, like a bogged horse, she swung up sweet +on the rails again, tender and all. Bartholomew shut off with +an under cut that brought us up stuttering, and nailed her +feet with the air right where she stood. We had left the track +and plowed a hundred feet across the yards and jumped on +to another track. It is the only time I ever heard of its happening +anywhere, but I was on the engine with Bartholomew +Mullen when it was done.</p> + +<p>Foley choked his train the instant he saw our hind lights +bobbing. We climbed down, and ran back. He had stopped +just where we should have stood if I had shut off.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew ran to the switch to examine it. The contact +light (green) still burned like a false beacon; and lucky it +did, for it showed that the switch had been tampered with and +exonerated Bartholomew Mullen completely. The attempt +of the strikers to spill the silk in the yards had only made the +reputation of a new engineer. Thirty minutes later, the +million-dollar train was turned over to the East End to wrestle +with, and we breathed, all of us, a good bit easier.</p> + +<p>Bartholomew Mullen, now a passenger runner who ranks +with Kennedy and Jack Moore and Foley and George Sinclair +himself, got a personal letter from the General Manager complimenting +him on his pretty wit; and he was good enough +to say nothing whatever about mine.</p> + +<p>We registered that night and went to supper together: +Foley, Jackson, Bartholomew, and I. Afterward we dropped +into the despatcher's office. Something was coming from +McCloud, but the operator to save his life couldn't catch it. +I listened a minute; it was Neighbor. Now, Neighbor isn't +great on despatching trains. He can make himself understood +over the poles, but his sending is like a boy's sawing +wood—sort of uneven. However, though I am not much +on running yards, I claim to be able to take the wildest ball +that ever was thrown along the wire, and the chair was tendered +me at once to catch Neighbor's extraordinary passes at the +McCloud key. They came something like this:</p> + +<p>"To Opr. Tell Massacree"—that was the word that stuck +them all, and I could perceive that Neighbor was talking +emphatically. He had apparently forgotten Bartholomew's +last name, and was trying to connect with the one he had +"disremembered" the night before. "Tell Massacree," +repeated Neighbor, "that he is al-l-l right. Tell hi-m I give +him double mileage for to-day all the way through. And +to-morrow he gets the 109 to keep.—<span class="smcap">Neighb-b-or</span>."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>I</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_BULLDOG_BREED" id="THE_BULLDOG_BREED"></a>THE BULLDOG BREED</h2> + +<h3>A Story of the Russo-Japanese War</h3> + +<h3>By AMBROSE PRATT</h3> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">What</span> do you make of her, Maclean?" asked Captain +Brandon anxiously.</p> + +<p>First mate Hugh Maclean did not reply at once. Embracing +a stanchion of the S.S. <i>Saigon's</i> bridge in order to steady +himself against the vessel's pitching, he was peering with +strained eyes through the captain's binoculars at two small +brown needle-points, set very close together, that stabbed +the northeastern horizon.</p> + +<p>At length, however, he lowered the glass, and resumed +the perpendicular.</p> + +<p>"You were right, sir," he declared. "She has altered +her course, and our paths now converge."</p> + +<p>"Which proves that she is one of those d——d Russian +volunteer pirates."</p> + +<p>"Or else a Japanese cruiser, sir."</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! The Jap cruisers have only one mast."</p> + +<p>"So they have, sir. I was forgetting that."</p> + +<p>"What to do!" growled the captain, and he fell to frowning +and cracking his long fingers—his habit when perplexed. +He was a short, thick-set man, with a round, red face, keen +blue eyes, and strong, square jaws: a typical specimen of +the old-time British sailor. Hugh Maclean, on the other +hand, was a lean and lank Australian, of evident Scottish +ancestry. His long, aquiline nose and high cheek-bones +were tightly covered with a parchment-like skin, bronzed +almost to the hue of leather. He wore a close-cropped, +pointed beard, and the deep-set gray eyes that looked out +from under the peak of his seaman's cap twinkled with good +health and humor.</p> + +<p>"We might alter our course, too, sir," he suggested.</p> + +<p>"Ay!" snapped the other, "and get pushed for our pains +on to the Teraghlind Reef. We are skirting those rocks +more closely than I like already."</p> + +<p>"You know best, sir, of course. But I meant that we +might slip back toward Manila, and try the other channel +after we have given that fellow the go-by."</p> + +<p>"What!" snorted the captain, his blue eyes flashing fire, +"run from the Russian! I'll be —— first. We haven't +a stitch of contraband aboard," he added more calmly a +moment later. "He daren't do more than stop and +search us."</p> + +<p>But Maclean shook his head. "One of them took and +sunk the <i>Acandaga</i> last month, sir, and she carried no contraband +either."</p> + +<p>"Russia will have to foot the bill for that."</p> + +<p>"May be, sir. But Captain Tollis—as fine a chap as +ever breathed, sir—has lost his ship, and the Lord knows +if he'll ever get another."</p> + +<p>"Are you trying to frighten me, Maclean?" asked Captain +Brandon, stormily.</p> + +<p>The mate shrugged his shoulders. "No, sir; but I am +interested in this venture, and if the <i>Saigon</i> gets back all +right to Liverpool I'm due to splice Mr. Keppel's niece, and +the old gentleman, as you know, has promised me a ship."</p> + +<p>"And hasn't it entered your thick skull that to return as +you suggest would cost fifty pounds' worth of coal? How +do you suppose old Kep would like that?"</p> + +<p>"Better burn a few tons of coal than risk losing the <i>Saigon</i>, +sir, and mark time till God knows when in a Russian prison."</p> + +<p>Captain Brandon shut his mouth with a snap, and muttered +something about Scottish caution that was distinctly uncomplimentary +to the Caledonian race. Then, to signify the +end of the argument, he strode to the ladder, and prepared +to descend. Maclean, however, was of an equally stubborn +character. "About the course, sir?" he demanded, touching +his cap with ironical deference.</p> + +<p>"Carry on!" snarled the captain, and he forthwith +disappeared.</p> + +<p>Two hours afterward Hugh Maclean knocked at the door +of the captain's cabin, and was hoarsely bidden enter. Captain +Brandon was seated before a bottle of whisky, which +was scarce half full.</p> + +<p>"Have a nip?" he hospitably inquired.</p> + +<p>Maclean nodded, and half filled a glass.</p> + +<p>"Thank you, sir. Queer thing's happened," he observed, +as he wiped his lips. "The Russian——"</p> + +<p>"I know," interrupted the captain. "I've been watching +her through the port. She's the <i>Saigon's</i> twin-sister ship, +that was the <i>Saragossa</i> which old Kep sold to Baron Dabchowski +six months ago. Much good it would have done us +to run. She has the heels of us. Old Kep had just put new +triple-expansion engines into her before she changed hands. +But they've killed the look of her, converting her into a +cruiser. She's nothing but a floating scrap-heap now."</p> + +<p>"But she has six guns," observed Maclean. "Don't you +think you'd better come up, sir? She is almost near enough +to signal."</p> + +<p>"Well, well," said the captain, and putting away the +whisky bottle, he led the way to the bridge.</p> + +<p>Some half-dozen miles away, steaming at an angle to meet +the <i>Saigon</i> at a destined point, there plowed through the +sea a large iron steamer of about three thousand tons' burden. +She exactly resembled the <i>Saigon</i> in all main points of build, +and except for the fact that two guns were mounted fore and +aft on her main deck above the line of steel bulwarks, and +that her masts were fitted with small fighting tops, she might +very well have passed for an ordinary merchantman.</p> + +<p>For twenty minutes or thereabouts the two officers watched +her in silence, taking turn about with the binoculars; then, +quite suddenly, the vessel, now less than two miles distant, +luffed and fell slightly away from her course.</p> + +<p>"She is going to speak," said Captain Brandon, who held +the glasses. "Look out!"</p> + +<p>Maclean smiled at the caution; but next instant a bright +flash quivered from the other vessel's side, and involuntarily +he ducked his head, for something flew dipping and shrieking +over the <i>Saigon</i>. In the following second there was heard +the clap of the distant cannon and the splash of a shell striking +the sea close at hand. Invisible hands unfolded and +shook out three balls of bunting at the truck of the war-ship's +signal boom. They fluttered for awhile, and then spread out +to the breeze. The arms of Russia surmounted two lines of +symbolic letters.</p> + +<p>"Quartermaster!" shouted Captain Brandon.</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir!" rang out a sailor's voice, and the <i>Saigon's</i> +number raced a Union Jack to the mast-head.</p> + +<p>"Well, Mac?" cried the captain, with his hand on the +engine-room signal-bell.</p> + +<p>Maclean looked up from the book. "His Imperial Majesty +of Russia, by the commander of the converted cruiser <i>Nevski</i>, +orders us to stop."</p> + +<p>Captain Brandon pressed the lever, and before ten might +be counted the shuddering of the <i>Saigon's</i> screw had ceased.</p> + +<p>"What next?" he muttered.</p> + +<p>As if in answer, another flag fluttered up the <i>Nevski's</i> +halliards.</p> + +<p>"He will send a boat," interpreted Maclean.</p> + +<p>A short period of fret and fume ensued, then a small steam +launch rounded the <i>Nevski's</i> bows, and sped like a gray-hound +across the intervening space. The <i>Nevski</i> now presented +her broadside to the <i>Saigon</i>, and all of her six guns were +trained upon the English steamer's decks. The launch was +crammed with men. Captain Brandon ordered a gangway +to be lowered, and although the tars sprang to the task with +great alacrity, it was hardly completed before the launch +touched the <i>Saigon's</i> side. An officer, bedizened with gold +lace, and accompanied by two glittering subordinates, climbed +aboard, and Captain Brandon met him on the main deck. +Hugh Maclean, from the bridge, watched them file into the +captain's cabin. Ten minutes later they emerged, and without +waiting a moment the Russians hurried back into the launch. +Captain Brandon's face was purple. He hurriedly mounted +to the bridge, and leaning over the rail cursed the departing +launch at the top of his voice in five different languages.</p> + +<p>"What's the trouble, sir?" asked Maclean when his +superior appeared at last to be exhausted.</p> + +<p>"They want our coal. C——t them to —— for all +eternity," gasped the frenzied captain. "And they'll blow +us out of the water if we don't follow them to Tramoieu."</p> + +<p>"Where is that?"</p> + +<p>"It's a little island off the Cochin coast, a hundred miles +from anywhere, with a harbor. By —— they'll smart for this!"</p> + +<p>"Not they," said Maclean. "That is, if you obey. They'll +gut and scuttle the <i>Saigon</i>, and then kill every mother's son +of us. Dead men tell no tales. We'll be posted at Lloyds +as a storm loss."</p> + +<p>"But what can we do?"</p> + +<p>"Full speed ahead, and ram her while she's picking up the +launch! Chance the guns!"</p> + +<p>"By ——! I'll do it!" shrieked the captain, and he +sprang to the signal-bell. But even as he grasped the lever +with his hand, he paused.</p> + +<p>"What now?" demanded the mate, his face tense with +passion. "Hurry's the word, sir. Hurry!"</p> + +<p>The captain, however, turned and looked him in the eye. +"You've counseled me to murder—wholesale murder, +Maclean. Avast there, man! Keep your mouth shut. This +is my bridge, and I'll not hear another word from you."</p> + +<p>The mate bit his lips and shrugged his shoulders. His +eyes were blazing with contempt and rage, but he kept his +self-control, and was rewarded by a dozen sympathetic +glances from those of the crew grouped upon the deck who +had heard the controversy. From that moment he was their +idol. The second mate, too, who was standing by the wheel, +turned and nodded to him as he passed.</p> + +<p>The captain, who missed nothing of this by-play, felt himself +to have been absolutely isolated. But he was a strong +man, and he knew that he acted rightly. Five minutes later +four thunderous reports rang out, and shells splashed the sea +on all sides of the <i>Saigon</i>. Then the machine-guns began to +speak, and a perfect storm of bullets tore through the vessel's +rigging, some directed so low that they pierced the top rim of +the funnel smoke-stack. The display lasted sixty seconds. +When it was over, a very sheepish looking lot of men arose +from the recumbent attitudes they had assumed. Of the +whole ship's company on deck, Captain Brandon, Hugh +Maclean, and the chief engineer had alone remained +standing.</p> + +<p>There was a new flag at the <i>Nevski's</i> truck. "Follow at +full speed!" it commanded. The <i>Saigon</i> instantly obeyed. +Before night fell, the moon rose, three-quarters full. It +lighted the procession into dawn. Sunrise brought them to +a rock-bound coast, and so nicely had the <i>Nevski's</i> navigator +steered, that the first headland circumvented made room +for the revelation of a little bay. It was enclosed on three +sides with gray hills, and across the mouth was stretched a +broken line of hungry-looking surf-crowned reefs. The +<i>Nevski</i> steamed boldly through the first opening, and dropped +her anchor in smooth water three-quarters of a mile beyond. +The <i>Saigon</i>, currishly obedient to the Russian's signals, followed +suit, bringing up within a biscuit cast of her consort +and captor. An hour later Hugh Maclean, the engineer, and +the lesser officers and thirty-two men of the <i>Saigon's</i> company +and some two score of Russian sailors were working like +slaves transferring, under the supervision of a strong guard, +the <i>Saigon's</i> coal and cargo into the <i>Nevski's</i> boats.</p> + +<p>Captain Brandon was not among the toilers. He would +have been, perhaps, but for the circumstance that he had +permitted himself the liberty of striking a Russian officer in +the face. A marine having retorted with the butt end of a +carbine, the Englishmen had helplessly watched their captain +being carried off, bleeding and insensible, and dumped with +a sickening thud into the Russian launch. The incident +encouraged them so much that they worked without complaint +throughout the day, and they did not even grumble at +the rations which their taskmasters served out to them. +Shortly before dusk the breeze that had been blowing died +away, and the Russians took advantage of the calm to warp +the vessels together. After that the business in hand proceeded +at such a pace that by dawn the <i>Saigon</i> was completely +gutted, and she rode the water like a swan, the greater part +of her bulk in air. The weary Englishmen were thereupon +driven like sheep upon the <i>Nevski's</i> deck, and forced to descend +the small after-hold, which was almost empty. The hatches +were then fastened over them for their greater security, and +they were left in darkness. But they were too worn out to +care. Within five minutes every man of them was sleeping +dreamlessly, lying listlessly stretched out upon the ship's +false bottom, excepting only Hugh Maclean. He was too +tired to sleep. He was, therefore, the only one who heard an +hour later the muffled boom of a distant explosion and a +faint cheer on deck.</p> + +<p>"They have sunk the poor old <i>Saigon</i>," muttered Maclean. +"There goes the last hope of my captaincy and Nellie Lane." +He uttered a low groan, and covered his face with his grimy +paws. Maclean was very much in love, but he was too young +and of too strenuous a temperament to rest for long the +victim of despair. Moreover, contempt for foreigners, particularly +Russians, served him instead of a religion, when not +ashore, and he soon fell to wondering just where was the weak +spot in his captor's armor, and how he could find and put +his finger on it. That there was a weak spot he did not doubt +at all. He searched his pockets and found half a plug of +tobacco, but not his meerschaum. A Russian sailor had +confiscated that some hours before. Maclean consigned the +thief to perdition, and with some trouble bit off a plug. Then +he lay back to chew and think. "There's only one thing +to do," was the result of his reflections. "We'll have to +take this boat from the Russians somehow."</p> + +<p>But exhausted nature would not be denied, and before he +knew it Maclean was in the land of dreams. He was awakened +by the noisy removal of a portion of the hatch. He looked +up and saw the moon, also a couple of bearded faces looking +down at him.</p> + +<p>"Good Lord!" he groaned, "I've slept the day out."</p> + +<p>"You hingry—men—like—eat?" observed a hoarse +voice. And Maclean saw an immense steaming pan descending +toward him on a line. He caught it deftly. A can of water +and a tin of biscuits followed. He was instantly surrounded +by the <i>Saigon's</i> company, who attacked the contents of the +pan like wolves. He seized a lump of fat meat from the mess, +also a couple of biscuits, and retired apart. The darkness +renewed itself a second later, and for some time the hold +buzzed with the noise of crunching jaws and guttural +exclamations.</p> + +<p>Of a sudden someone near him struck a match, and Maclean +looked over the flame into the eyes of Robert Sievers, the +<i>Saigon's</i> chief engineer.</p> + +<p>"Hello, Mac," said Sievers.</p> + +<p>"Good evening, Sievers," replied Maclean politely. +"We're still at anchor."</p> + +<p>"I've remarked it. What do you suppose they intend to +do with us?"</p> + +<p>"Maroon us, likely, if we let them, on the island yonder."</p> + +<p>"How can we prevent them? But I think not. It's +my belief this meat is poisoned!"</p> + +<p>"Tastes vile enough," agreed Maclean, but he went on +eating, and Robert Sievers, after a momentary hesitation, +followed suit.</p> + +<p>"We're in the devil of a hole!" he muttered, his mouth +full of biscuit. Then he swore horribly, for the match had +burned his fingers.</p> + +<p>Maclean stood up. "Any of you men happen to have a bit +of candle in your pockets?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>Silence for a minute, then a Norwegian fireman spoke up. +"Bout dree inches," he said.</p> + +<p>"He eats 'em," cried another voice, and a roar of laughter +greeted the announcement.</p> + +<p>"Pass it here," commanded Maclean.</p> + +<p>Sievers struck another match, and presently the steady +flame of a candle stump showed Maclean a picture such as +Gustave Doré would have loved to paint. He glanced at the +begrimed faces of the <i>Saigon's</i> wild and ghastly looking +company, and beyond them for a moment, then stumbled over +the coal, followed by Sievers, until he was brought up by the +iron partition of the hold. He made, however, straight for +the bulkhead, and stooping down, held the candle close to +the line of bolts covering the propeller's tunnel.</p> + +<p>"By Jingo!" cried Sievers. "I see your game. Let me +look, Maclean! This is my trade."</p> + +<p>He bent forward, wrenched at a shoot-bolt, and with a cry +of satisfaction threw back a plate. The <i>Saigon's</i> company +crowded round the man-hole thus revealed, muttering with +excitement.</p> + +<p>"One moment, Sievers!" cried Maclean, for the engineer +had one leg already in the tunnel. Then he turned to the +men. "My lads," he said, "it's a case of our lives or the +Russians', for I firmly believe the accursed pirates mean to +kill us. We must take this ship by hook or by crook, and +I think I see the way to do it!" He concluded with some precise +instructions, and a few savage sentences, in which he +promised an unmentionable fate to the unfortunate who made +a sound or failed to follow to the letter his instructions.</p> + +<p>A second later, in a silence that could be felt, he blew out +the light, and followed Sievers into the tunnel. A few cave-black +yards, crawled painfully on hands and knees, slipping +and slithering along the propeller shaft, brought the leaders +to the edge of a wider space. Sievers struck a match, and +a well-like, vertical opening was revealed. High overhead +towered and threatened an enormous steel crank. Before +their feet lay a deep pool of slime. The heat was horrible.</p> + +<p>"It should be hereabouts," whispered Sievers, and his +fingers searched the wall. For a moment nothing could be +heard but the deep breathing of the <i>Saigon's</i> company. Then +came a slight but terrifying clang.</p> + +<p>"I've got it!" whispered Sievers. "Are you ready?"</p> + +<p>"Right!"</p> + +<p>Maclean's eyes were dazzled of a sudden with a hot flare of +light, and the deafening thud of the condensers smote in his +ears. He never quite coherently remembered that which +immediately ensued, for something struck him on the head.</p> + +<p>When he came to his full senses again he was lying on a +grating beside the body of the Russian cleaner he had strangled. +The <i>Saigon's</i> men were all around him. He arose, gasping +for breath. Sievers thrust a bar into his hand and pointed to +a line of ladders. Maclean nodded, crossed the grating, and +began to climb. Sievers, armed with a hammer, followed +at his heels.</p> + +<p>There were three men in the engine-room, an engineer +and two cleaners. They took the climbers for stokers, and +went on with their occupations. Maclean sidled to the door +across the grating and closed it in the twinkling of an eye. +The engineer, who was reading a newspaper, heard the noise +and looked up. Sievers struck him with the hammer and +flew at one of the cleaners. Maclean rushed at the other with +his spade. It was all over in a moment, and without any +noise that the thudding of the donkey-engine did not drown. +Maclean changed coats and caps with the insensible Russian +engineer, while Sievers called the <i>Saigon's</i> men from below. +He then strapped on the man's dirk, and put his revolver in +his pocket.</p> + +<p>"What next?" asked Sievers.</p> + +<p>Maclean glanced at the engine-room clock. The hands +pointed to seven-fifteen. "Captain and officers are just about +half through their dinner," he reflected.</p> + +<p>"Wait here," he said aloud: "I'm going to reconnoitre. +Just keep the door ajar when I leave. Let anyone come in +that wants to, but crack him over the skull once he gets inside."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir!"</p> + +<p>Maclean opened the door and stepped out leisurely upon +the deck. Before him rose the captain's cabin, the officers' +quarters, and the bridge above. Beyond that stretched the +main deck, with the forecastle far forward. An officer paced +the bridge; some two score sailors were grouped about the +forecastle door drinking tea, and the rattle of knives and +forks, the clink of glasses, and sounds of talk and laughter +proceeding from the saloon astern sufficiently located the +leaders of his enemies. Maclean thought hard for a moment, +then pulling his cap over his eyes walked underneath the +bridge and looked up. As he had expected, and ardently +hoped, he perceived the muzzle of a machine-gun protruding +from the very centre of the iron rampart. Thanking Providence +for two years spent in the service of the New South +Wales Naval Brigade in his younger days, he returned to the +engine-room door, and after a cautious whisper stepped inside.</p> + +<p>"Sievers," said he, "the officers are all at dinner astern. +Take this revolver, and when you hear me knock three times +on the railing of the bridge, sneak out with all the men and +rush the cabin. Most of the crew are forward. I'll look +after them; there's a Nordenfeldt on the bridge."</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir!"</p> + +<p>"Give me your hammer!"</p> + +<p>"Good luck to you, sir!"</p> + +<p>Maclean took the hammer, slipped it under his jacket, +and once more sought the deck. A steward passed him at +a run, and two stokers proceeding toward the engine-house +saluted his uniform. He pulled his cap over his eyes, and +began to climb the ladder. The <i>Nevski</i> was swinging softly +at her anchor, her nose pointing to the land. On the distant +beach a small fire was burning, and at this the officer of the +watch was gazing through his telescope. He was quite alone, +and standing in a shaded corner of the bridge. "What sort +of a watch can one man keep?" muttered Maclean who had +served on an Australian gunboat. He stepped to the officer's +side, seized the telescope in his left hand, and as the startled +man turned, he dealt him a terrible blow on the nape of his +neck with the hammer. The officer fell into his arms sighing +out his breath. Maclean laid him gently on the floor, and +relieved him of his revolver. Then he slid softly to the machine-gun, +and uttered a low, irrepressible cry of joy to find that it +was stored with cartridges and prepared for action. A moment +later its muzzle commanded the deck before the forecastle. +One of the sailors had just commenced a song. He had a +fine tenor voice, and the others listened entranced. Maclean, +however, rapped three times very loudly on the railing with his +hammer, and the song ceased.</p> + +<p>Someone called to him in Russian, but he would not have +answered even if he understood. His every sense was strained +to listen. He counted twenty, the song commenced again. +Thirty, forty. Then a wild scream resounded through the +vessel.</p> + +<p>"Sievers is dealing with the watch on the after-hold," +muttered Maclean. "Hurry!" he whispered. "Hurry! +Sievers, hurry!"</p> + +<p>The sailors forward were now afoot, exclaiming aloud +and glancing questioningly at one another. A great many +more, too, poured out every second from the forecastle, made +curious by the noise. Maclean grasped the crank firmly and +gave them every scrap of his attention. There woke an +increasing buzz of shouts and cries astern. It culminated +presently in the crack of a revolver, a shriek of pain, and a +wild British cheer. Then all over the din a loud, insistent +whistle shrilled. The sailors forward rushed for their stacked +arms, and formed in ranks with the speed of magic. A petty +officer shouted a command, and down the deck they started +at the double.</p> + +<p>"Halt!" Maclean shouted, and he turned the crank of the +Nordenfeldt. The effect was horrible. A dozen fell at the +first discharge. The rest halted, and after one dazed instant's +wavering, threw down their arms, broke and fled for the cover +of the forecastle. The air was filled with the sound of groans. +The deck was like a shambles. Maclean watched three or +four poor wounded creatures crawl off on their hands and +knees for shelter and he shuddered violently.</p> + +<p>He was already sick to death of war. But the fight was +not yet over. He heard footsteps on the ladder behind him, +and turned just in time to escape a sweeping sword stroke. +Next instant he was locked in a deadly struggle with the +captain of the <i>Nevski</i>, a brave man, who, it seems, had refused +to surrender, and had cut his way through all Sievers's men in +the desperate resolve to retrieve the consequences of his own +carelessness. Maclean, however, was a practised wrestler, +and although lean almost as a lath, the muscles he possessed +were as strong as steel bands. Even as they fell he writhed +uppermost, and baffling with an active elbow the captain's +last effort to transfix him, he dashed his adversary's head +upon the boards. A second later he arose, breathless, but +quite uninjured.</p> + +<p>Sievers was calling to him: "Maclean! Maclean! I say!"</p> + +<p>"Hallo, there!" he gasped back, hoarsely.</p> + +<p>"Look out for the captain. He escaped us!"</p> + +<p>"I've got him!" croaked Maclean, with a grim glance at +his unconscious foe. "How about the rest?"</p> + +<p>"All sigarnio! What shall I do?"</p> + +<p>"Drive them forward to the foc'sle."</p> + +<p>Sievers obeyed, and very soon five splendidly upholstered, +but shamefaced-looking gentlemen, three stewards, and four +sailors were standing underneath the beacon light before the +forecastle companion. Maclean noted that already many of +the <i>Saigon's</i> men carried swords and carbines. He watched +the rest arm themselves with the <i>Nevski</i> sailors' discarded +weapons as they marched their prisoners along the deck. +His breast began to swell with pride.</p> + +<p>"Any casualties?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Two of ours have crossed over," replied Sievers, "and +some of us are hurt a bit. But we can't grumble. There are +four Russian corpses aft, and I see you've bagged seven."</p> + +<p>"Damned pirates!" commented Maclean. "I've a mind +to shoot the rest of them out of hand."</p> + +<p>"Just give the word, sir."</p> + +<p>"No," said Maclean, "we'll maroon them instead. Lower +away all the boats but one, Sievers, and bring them under +the bows. I can look after these dogs!"</p> + +<p>"Ay, ay, sir. But first three cheers for Captain Maclean, +lads!"</p> + +<p>The cheers were given with hearty good-will, and then the +men tramped off to carry out their new task.</p> + +<p>Maclean, whose face was still flushed from the compliment +that had been paid him, leaned over the machine-gun and +surveyed the prisoners.</p> + +<p>"Can any of you pirate scum speak English?" he demanded +truculently.</p> + +<p>"I have that privilege, sir," replied a swart-faced lieutenant.</p> + +<p>"Then kindly inform your friends that at the first sign of +any monkey trick I'll send you all to kingdom come."</p> + +<p>The officer complied presumably with this command, +and when he had finished, addressed Maclean:</p> + +<p>"You cannot intend to maroon us, sir?" he cried. "The +island yonder is totally uninhabited."</p> + +<p>"You're a liar!" retorted Maclean. "Fires don't light +themselves. Look yonder."</p> + +<p>The officer choked back an oath. "Have a care what +you are doing, sir," he muttered in a strangled voice. "This +will lead to a war between your country and mine."</p> + +<p>"I guess not—not even if I hanged the lot of you—you +dirty pirates. But if it did, what then?"</p> + +<p>"You should see, sir."</p> + +<p>"And so would you—see that Englishmen can fight a +durned sight better than the Japs. I guess you know how +<i>they</i> fight by this."</p> + +<p>"I have always heard that the English are generous foes, +sir——"</p> + +<p>"None of your blarney," interrupted Maclean. "Short +shrift to pirates, is an English motto. You sank our ship: +we take yours. Fair exchange is no robbery. You should +be thankful to get off with your skins."</p> + +<p>"At least permit us to take with us our personal belongings."</p> + +<p>"Not a match."</p> + +<p>"Some provisions?"</p> + +<p>"Not a biscuit."</p> + +<p>"Some arms, then, to defend ourselves against the natives, +if we are attacked?"</p> + +<p>"Not a penknife."</p> + +<p>"Sir, you condemn us to death!"</p> + +<p>"Sir, we have but forestalled your intention in regard +to us!"</p> + +<p>"As God hears me, sir——"</p> + +<p>"Shut up!" cried Maclean, "your voice hurts my ears."</p> + +<p>Nevertheless, when all was ready, Maclean commanded +Sievers to stock the boats with water and provisions, and +to throw some fifty swords and bayonets aboard. Then +began the debarkation. Using the officer who could speak +English as his mouthpiece, Maclean commanded the crew of +the <i>Nevski</i> to file out one by one from the forecastle, and slide +down a rope over the vessel's bows into the waiting boats. +They numbered one hundred and thirty-three all told, but not +a man offered to resist, and within an hour the last boat had +sheered off, carrying with its hale company the still unconscious +bodies of the Russian captain and the officer of the +watch. Maclean's next business was to bury the dead, which +done, he searched the ship. He made two discoveries: He +found in the captain's cabin a chest containing no less than +fifteen thousand golden rubles; and locked away in one +of the disused bathrooms astern, inhumanly disposed of in +a tub, the silent form of Captain Brandon. But the tough +little bulldog of an Englishman was by no means dead, and +when some three days later the ghost of what had been the +<i>Nevski</i> steamed out of the bay of Tramoieu, he was already +so far recovered from the terrible blow that had laid him low, +but which had, nevertheless, failed to shatter his hard skull, +as to be engaged in a confused but constant effort to remember. +On the following morning he insisted upon getting up, and +was helped afterward by a steward to the bridge.</p> + +<p>Maclean greeted him with a genial smile.</p> + +<p>"Well done, sir," he cried heartily. "Glad to see you up +again and looking so fit. The old <i>Saigon</i> has been as dull as +a coffin-ship without you."</p> + +<p>Captain Brandon nodded, frowned, and glanced around +him. A carpenter close by was busily at work painting +<i>S.S. Saigon</i> upon a row of virgin-white life buoys. The +captain wondered and glanced up at the masts. They were +just ordinary masts in the sense that they had no fighting tops, +but they gleamed with wet paint. He frowned again, and, +wondering more and more, looked forward. There was not +the slightest trace of a cannon to be seen—but the deck +in one place had a canvas covering. He began to crack +his fingers, his old habit, but a moment later he abruptly +turned and faced the mate.</p> + +<p>"Maclean," said he.</p> + +<p>The eyes of the two men met.</p> + +<p>"This is not the <i>Saigon</i>, Maclean," said Captain Brandon.</p> + +<p>"You'll see it in iron letters on her bows, sir, if you look."</p> + +<p>"Come into the chart-room."</p> + +<p>Maclean obeyed, chuckling under his breath.</p> + +<p>"Tell me how you did it," commanded the captain as he +took a chair.</p> + +<p>"It was as easy as rolling off a log, sir," replied the first +mate. "The blighters clapped us into the small after-hold, +but totally forgot there was such a thing there as a propeller +tunnel. We got into the stoke-hole and collared the engine-room +while the Russians were at dinner. Then, while I +covered the sailors forward with the machine-gun on the +bridge, Sievers took the gold-laced crowd aft with a rush. +The rest is not worth telling, for you know it. All that is to +say, barring the fact that we're the richer by 15,000 rubles +and triple-expansion engines, and the poorer by two of our +crew the Russian captain killed."</p> + +<p>Captain Brandon drew a deep breath.</p> + +<p>"What course are we steering," he demanded.</p> + +<p>"Straight for Kobe, sir, to carry out our charter. We've +every stick of the old cargo aboard—the pirates saw to that—also +our books and papers. The guns are all at the +bottom of the sea. We'll be a bit late, but we can easily +rig up a yarn to explain."</p> + +<p>"But the Russians will talk."</p> + +<p>"No fear, sir: they'd be too ashamed to own up the truth; +ay, and afraid as well, for what they did was piracy on the high +seas—nothing less. You take my tip for it, sir, one of these +days we'll hear that the <i>Nevski</i> struck a reef."</p> + +<p>"We'll have to tell the owners, though—what will they +say?"</p> + +<p>Maclean closed one eye. "The new <i>Saigon</i> has triple-expansion +engines, sir. If I know anything of Mr. Keppel, +he'll be better pleased with a ship in the hand than a cause +of action against the Russian Government."</p> + +<p>"But our own men?"</p> + +<p>"Why, sir, we have 7,000 rubles to share among them. +They'll be made for life."</p> + +<p>"But I thought you said just now there were 15,000?"</p> + +<p>"So I did, sir; but there's only you and Sievers and myself +know how much there is exactly: there was no call to shout +it all over the ship. And I've figured it out this way: You, +as captain, are entitled to the most, and you'll want all of +four thousand to heal up the memory of that crack you got +on your skull properly. That'll leave two for Sievers to do +with as he likes, and two for me to buy Nellie—that's +Mrs. Maclean that is to be—just the sort of house she's set +her heart on these ages back. What do you say, sir?"</p> + +<p>"What do I say, Maclean?" cried Captain Brandon, his +eyes big with excitement and surprise, too, perhaps. "Why, +I say this: You are that rare thing, a sensible, honest man! +Tip us your flipper!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>II</h3> + +<h2><a name="ICE_IN_JUNE" id="ICE_IN_JUNE"></a>ICE IN JUNE</h2> + +<h3>A Playwright's Story</h3> + +<h3>By FRED M. WHITE</h3> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">That</span>," said Ethel Marsh judicially, "is the least stupid +remark you have made during our five weeks' +acquaintance."</p> + +<p>"Which means that I am improving," John Chesney +murmured. "There is hope even for me. You cannot +possibly understand how greatly I appreciate——"</p> + +<p>The sentence trailed off incoherently as if the effort had +been all too much. It was hard to live up to the mental +brilliance of Ethel Marsh. She had had the advantage, +too, of a couple of seasons in town, whilst Chesney was of the +country palpably. She also had the advantage of being distractingly +pretty.</p> + +<p>Really, she had hoped to make something of Chesney. It +seemed to her that he was fitted for better things than tennis-playing +and riding and the like. It seemed strange that +he should prefer his little cottage to the broader delights of +surveying mankind from China to Peru.</p> + +<p>The man had possibilities, too. For instance, he knew +how to dress. There was an air about his flannels, a suggestion +in his Norfolk suits. He had the knack of the tie +so that it sat just right, and his boots.... A clean-cut +face, very tanned; deep, clear gray eyes, very steady. He +was like a dog attached very much to a careless master. The +thing had been going on for five weeks.</p> + +<p>Ethel was staying with the Frodshams. They were poor +for their position, albeit given to hospitality—at a price. +Most people call this kind of thing taking in paying guests. +It was a subject delicately veiled. Ethel had come down for +a fortnight, and she had stayed five weeks. Verily the education +of John Chesney was a slow process. Chesney was +a visitor in the neighborhood, too; he had a little furnished +cottage just by the Goldney Park lodge gates, where a house-keeper +did for him. As for the rest he was silent. He was +a very silent man.</p> + +<p>It was too hot for tennis, so the two had wandered into +the woods. A tiny trout stream bubbled by, the oak and +beech ferns were wet with the spray of it. Between the trees +lances of light fell, shafts of sunshine on Ethel's hair and +face. It was at this point that Chesney made the original +remark. It slipped from him as naturally as if he had been +accustomed to that kind of thing.</p> + +<p>"I am afraid you got that from Mr. John Kennedy," Ethel +said. "I am sure that you have seen Mr. Kennedy's comedy +'Flies in Ointment.' Confess now!"</p> + +<p>"Well, I have," Chesney confessed accordingly. "I—I +saw it the night it was produced. On the whole it struck me +as rather a feeble thing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, really? We are getting on, Mr. Chesney. Let me +tell you that I think it is the cleverest modern comedy I have +ever seen."</p> + +<p>"Yes! In that case you like the part of 'Dorothy Kent?'"</p> + +<p>Ethel's dainty color deepened slightly. She glanced suspiciously +at the speaker. But he was gazing solidly, stolidly, +into space—like a man who had just dined on beef. The +idea was too preposterous. The idea of John Chesney chaffing +her, chaffing anybody.</p> + +<p>"I thought perhaps you did," Chesney went on. "Mr. +Kent is a bit of a butterfly, a good sort at the bottom, but +decidedly of the species lepidopteræ——"</p> + +<p>"Stop!" Ethel cried. "Where did you get that word +from? Whence comes it in the vocabulary of a youth—a +youth? Oh, you know what I mean."</p> + +<p>"I believe it is a general name for insects," Chesney said +humbly. "Mrs. Kent is a good sort, but a little conceited. +Apt to fancy herself, you know. Young widows of her type +often do. She is tired of the artificial existence of town, and +goes off into the country, where she leads the simple life. She +meets a young man there, who, well, 'pon my word, is rather +like me. He was a bit of an ass——"</p> + +<p>"He was nothing of the kind," Ethel cried indignantly. +"He was splendid. And he made that woman love him, he +made her acknowledge that she had met her match at last. +And he turned out to be one of the most brilliant——"</p> + +<p>"My dear Miss Ethel, after all it was only a play. You +remind me of 'Mrs. Kent,' and you say that I remind you of +the hero of the play who——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't, Mr. Chesney. I said nothing of the kind. It +is unfair of you——"</p> + +<p>"When the likeness is plain enough," Chesney said stubbornly. +"You are 'Mrs. Kent,' and I am the hero of the +comedy. Do you think that there is any possibility that +some day you and—of course not yet, but——"</p> + +<p>Miss Marsh sat there questioning the evidence of her coral-pink +ears. She knew that she was furiously angry because +she felt so cool about it. She knew that the more furious one +was, the more calm and self-contained the senses become. +The man meant nothing, either—one could see that by the +respectful expression of his eye. Still——</p> + +<p>"You are quite wrong," Ethel said. "You have altogether +misunderstood the <i>motif</i> of the play. I presume you +know what a <i>motif</i> is?"</p> + +<p>"I think so," Chesney said humbly. "It is a word they +apply in music when you don't happen to understand what the +composer—especially the modern composer—is driving at."</p> + +<p>"Oh, let it pass," Ethel said hopelessly. "You have +misunderstood the gist of the play, then! 'Walter Severn' in +the comedy is a man of singular points. He is a great author. +Instead of being that woman's plaything, he is her merciless +analyst. The great scene in the play comes when she finds +this out. Now, you do not for a moment presume to put +yourself on a level with 'Walter Severn,' do you?"</p> + +<p>Chesney was bound to admit the height of his audacity. +His eyes were fixed humbly on his Minerva; he was Telemachus +seated at the feet of the goddess. And even yet he did not +seem really cognizant of the enormity of his offence. He saw +the sunlight on that sweetly serious face, he saw the beams +playing with the golden meshes of her hair. No doubt he +was fully conscious of his own inferiority, for he did not speak +again. It was for him to wait. The silence deepened; in +the heart of the wood a blackbird was piping madly on a +blackthorn.</p> + +<p>"Before you go away," Chesney hazarded, "I should very +much like——"</p> + +<p>"But I am not going away, at least not yet. Besides, I +have a purpose to serve. I am waiting until those impossible +people leave Goldney Park. I understand that they have +already gone, but on that head I am not sure. I want to go +over the house. The late owner, Mr. Mainbrace, was a great +friend of my family. Before he died he was so good as to +express a wish that the heir to the property should come and +see us and—but that part is altogether too ridiculous. And +as an only daughter——"</p> + +<p>"I see," Chesney said reflectively. "The heir and yourself. +It sounds ridiculous. Now, if you had been in the least like +the romantic type of young woman, perhaps——"</p> + +<p>"How do you know that I am not? Am I like Byron's +woman: 'Seek roses in December, ice in June'? Well, perhaps +you are right. After all, one doesn't find ice in June. However, +the heir to the Goldney Park estate and myself never +met. He let the place to those awful Gosway people for three +years and went abroad. There was not even the suspicion +of a romance. But I am curious to see the house, all the same."</p> + +<p>"Nothing easier, Miss Marsh. Let us go and see it after +luncheon. The Gosways have gone, you may take my word +for that, and only a caretaker is in possession. Will you +come with me this afternoon?"</p> + +<p>The prospect was not displeasing. Miss Marsh poised +it in her mind for a few moments. There was Chesney's +education to be thought of as well. On the whole, she decided +that there might be less pleasant ways of spending a hot +August afternoon.</p> + +<p>"I think I'll come," she said. "I want to see the old +furniture and the pictures. I love old furniture. Perhaps +if the heir to the property had gone on his knees whilst I was +seated on a priceless Chippendale settee, I might——"</p> + +<p>"You might, but I don't think you would," Chesney +interrupted. "Whatever your faults may be I am sure you +are not mercenary."</p> + +<p>"Really! How good of you! The thing that we are apt to +call depravity——"</p> + +<p>"Is often another name for the promptings of poor human +nature."</p> + +<p>Miss Marsh turned and stared at the speaker. Really, +his education was progressing at a most amazing rate. Without +the least sign of mental distress he had delivered himself +of an epigram. There was quite a flavor of Piccadilly about +it. And Chesney did not appear in the least conscious of his +achievement. Ethel rose and shook out the folds of her +dainty muslin dress.</p> + +<p>"Isn't it getting late?" she asked. "I'm sure it is lunch +time. You can walk as far as the gate with me, and I will +meet you here at three o'clock."</p> + +<p>She passed thoughtfully across the lawn to the house, her +pretty brows knitted in a thoughtful frown. Was she giving +her pupil too much latitude? Certainly he had begun to +show symptoms of an audacious presumption, which in the +earlier days had been conspicuous by its absence. Whereupon +Miss Marsh sighed three times without being in the least +aware of the painful fact.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"This," said Chesney, "is the Norman Tower, built by +John Mainbrace, who was the original founder of the family. +The first two trees in the avenue of oaks that leads up to the +house were planted by Queen Elizabeth. She also slept on +several occasions in the house; indeed, the bedroom she occupied +is intact to this day. The Virgin Queen seemed to pass most +of her time, apart from affairs of state, in occupying bedrooms, +so that the descendants of her courtiers might be able to boast +about it afterward. Those who could not give the royal +lady a shakedown had special bedrooms fitted up and lied +about them. It was an innocent deception."</p> + +<p>Miss Marsh eyed her pupil distrustfully. The educational +progress was flattering, and at the same time a little disturbing. +She had never seen Chesney in this gay and frivolous, not to +say excited, mood before. The man was positively glib. +There were distinct flashes of wit in his discourse, too. And +where did he get so close and intimate a knowledge of the +old house from?</p> + +<p>He knew every nook and corner. He took her through +the grand old park where the herd of fallow deer were grazing; +he showed her the Dutch and Italian gardens; he knew even +the history of the sundial on the terrace. And yet they had +not been within the house, though the great hall door stood +hospitably open. They moved at length out of the glare of +the sunshine into the grateful shadows. Glint of armor +and gleam of canvas were all there. Ethel walked along in +an ecstasy of quiet enjoyment. Rumor had not lied as to +the artistic beauties of Goldney Park. The Mainbraces must +have been a tasteful family. They had it all here, from the +oaken carvings of the wandering monks down through Grinling +Gibbons and Pugin, and away to Chippendale and Adam, +and other masters of the Georgian era. They came at length +to the chamber sacred to the Virgin Queen; they contemplated +the glorious view from the window in silent appreciation +tinged with rapture.</p> + +<p>"It's exquisite," Ethel said in a low voice. "If this were +my house I should be very much tempted to commit an act +of sacrilege. I should want this for my own room. I'm +afraid I could not resist such an opportunity."</p> + +<p>"Easily done," said Chesney. "No trouble to discover +from the family archives that a mistake had been made, and +that Elizabeth of blessed memory had not slept in this room. +Being strong-minded she preferred a north aspect, and this +is due south. You would get a reputation for sound historical +knowledge as well."</p> + +<p>Certainly the education was progressing. But Ethel let +it pass. She was leaning out of the latticed windows with +the creamy roses about her hair; she was falling unconsciously +under the glamour of the place.</p> + +<p>"It is exquisite," she sighed. "If this were only mine!"</p> + +<p>"Well, it is not too late. The heir will be here before long, +probably. You have only to introduce the name of Mr. +Mainbrace and say who you are, and then——"</p> + +<p>"Oh, no. If I happened to be in love with a man—what +am I saying? Of course, no girl who respects herself could +possibly marry a man for the sake of his position. Even +'Mrs. Dorothy Kent,' to whom you compared me this morning, +was above that kind of thing. She married the man she +loved after all, you know. But I forget—you did not think +much of the comedy."</p> + +<p>"I didn't. I thought it was vague and incomplete. +I am certain of it now. This is the real thing; the +other was merely artificial. And when the hero brought +'Dorothy Kent' to the home of his ancestors he already +knew that she loved him. And I am glad to know that +you would never marry a man like that because it gives +me courage——"</p> + +<p>"Gives you courage! Whatever for?"</p> + +<p>"Why, to make a confession. You laughed at me just now +when I presumed to criticize your favorite modern comedy. +As a matter of fact, I have every right to criticize it. You see, +I happen to be the author. I am 'John Kennedy'! I have +been writing for the stage, or trying to write for the stage, for +years. I got my new idea from that old wish of my uncle's +that you and I should come together. It struck me as a pretty +suggestion for a comedy."</p> + +<p>"Stop, stop," Ethel cried. "One thing at a time, if you +please. Positively you overwhelm me with surprise. In one +breath you tell me you are 'John Kennedy,' and then, without +giving a poor girl a chance, you say you are the owner of Goldney +Park."</p> + +<p>"But I didn't," Chesney protested. "I never said anything +of the kind."</p> + +<p>"No, but you inferred it. You say you got the idea from +your uncle—I mean the suggestion that you and I—oh, I +really cannot say it."</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid I'm but a poor dramatist after all," Chesney +said lamely. "I intended to keep that confession till after +I had—but no matter. At any rate, there is no getting away +from the fact that my pen name is 'John Kennedy.'"</p> + +<p>"And you wrote 'Flies in Ointment'? And you have been +laughing at me all this time? You were amused because I +took you for a simple countryman, you whom men call the +Sheridan of to-day! After all the pains I took with your +education."</p> + +<p>Ethel's voice rose hysterically. Points of flame stood out +from the level of her memory of the past five weeks and +scorched her. How this man must have been amused, how +consumedly he must have laughed at her! And she had never +guessed it, never once had she had an inkling of the truth.</p> + +<p>"You have behaved disgracefully, cruelly," she said +unsteadily.</p> + +<p>"I don't think so," Chesney said coolly. "After all is +said and done, we were both posing, you know. You were +playing 'Mrs. Kent' to my hero. It seemed a pity to disturb +so pleasant a pastoral. And no harm has been done."</p> + +<p>Ethel was not quite so sure of that. But then for the nonce +she was regarding the matter from a strictly personal point of +view.</p> + +<p>"I hardly think you were playing the game," she said.</p> + +<p>"Why not? I come down here where nobody knows me. +It is my whim to keep quiet the fact that Goldney Park belongs +to me. As to my dramatic tastes, they don't concern anybody +but myself. I take a cottage down here until those tenants +of mine are ready to go. They are such utter bounders that +I have no desire to disclose my identity to them. And so it +falls about that I meet you. Then I recollect all that my +uncle has said about you. I cultivate your acquaintance. It +wasn't my fault that you took me for a countryman with +no idea beyond riding a horse and shooting a pheasant. Your +patronage was very pretty and pleasing, and I am one of +those men who always laugh or cry inside. It is perhaps +a misfortune that I can always joke with a grave face. But +don't forget that the man who laughs inside is also the man +who bleeds inside, and these feel the worst. Come, Ethel, +you are not going to be angry because you have lost the game +playing with your own weapons."</p> + +<p>The education was finished, the schoolmaster was abroad—very +much abroad. In his cool, masterful way Chesney +had taken matters into his own hands. He was none +the less handsome because he looked so stern, so sure +of his ground.</p> + +<p>"You are a man and I am a woman," she faltered.</p> + +<p>"Of course. How could the comedy proceed otherwise? +Now where shall we move these Elizabethan relics? After +what you said just now they could not possibly remain here. +Among the family archives I dare say——"</p> + +<p>Chesney paused; he was conscious of the fact that two large +diamond drops were stealing down Ethel's cheeks. It seemed +the most natural thing in the world for him to cross over and +take her hands in his.</p> + +<p>"My dear child, what have I said to pain you," he said. +"I am truly sorry."</p> + +<p>"You—you take too much for granted," Ethel sobbed. +"You make me feel so small and silly. And you have no +right to assume that I—I could care for anybody simply +because he happens to possess a p—p—place like Goldney +Park."</p> + +<p>"But, my darling, I didn't. I was delighted when you said +just now that you would never marry a man you did not care +for, even if he could give you Chippendale for breakfast, so +to speak. I watched your face then. I am sure that you +were speaking from the bottom of your heart. I have been +watching you for the last five weeks, my sweetheart. And +they have been the happiest weeks in my life.</p> + +<p>"Laughing at me, I suppose! It's all the same if you do +laugh inside."</p> + +<p>"No, I don't think I laughed," Chesney said thoughtfully. +"I only know that I have been very much charmed. And +besides, see how useful it has been to me to be in a position +to hear all the weak points in my literary armor. When I +come to write my next comedy, it will be far in advance of +'Flies in Ointment.' I have learned so much of human +nature, you see."</p> + +<p>Ethel winked the tears from her lids; her eyes were all the +brighter for the passing shower, like a sky in April, Chesney +thought. A smile was on her face, her lips were parted. As +a lover Chesney was charming. She wondered how she was +playing her part. But she need not have had any anxiety. +There was nothing wanting in the eyes of the man opposite, +and his face said so.</p> + +<p>"You are going to put me into it?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course. There is no other woman so far as I can +see. Why are you pulling my roses to pieces like that? Do +you know that that rose tree was planted a hundred years +ago by Thomas à Becket after the battle of Agincourt? My +dear, I am so happy that I could talk nonsense all day. And +I say, Ethel——"</p> + +<p>The girl broke off one of the creamy roses and handed +it shyly to Chesney.</p> + +<p>"<i>Væ victis</i>," she said with a flushing smile. "It is yours. +You have conquered."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but I want all the fruits of victory. I ask for a hand +and you give me—a rose. Am I not going to have the hand +as well as the rose, dear?"</p> + +<p>He had the hand and the rose and the slender waist; he drew +her toward him in his strong, masterful way, and his lips lay +on hers in a lingering pressure. It was a long time before the +girl looked up; then her eyes were full of shy happiness.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>III</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_DITTY-BOX" id="THE_DITTY-BOX"></a>THE DITTY-BOX</h2> + +<h3>A Pawnbroker's Story</h3> + +<h3>By OWEN OLIVER</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In the</span> course of our dealings over the curiosities that +my brother sent home from Burma, Mr. Levy and I +became very good friends. When we had finished one of +our deals we generally had a chat in the quaint little room +behind his queer little shop in the old-world alley frequented +by sailormen. On one of these occasions he mentioned that +the cigar which he had given me was the brand which he +always smoked; and the quality of the cigar suggested +opulence.</p> + +<p>"If you can afford cigars like this," I remarked, "you +must make some pretty good bargains with your curiosities!"</p> + +<p>"Good and bad," he said. "That's the way in business—in +life, if you come to that!" He was a bit of a philosopher.</p> + +<p>"You make more good bargains than bad ones, I'll be +bound," I asserted.</p> + +<p>"Yes," he agreed; "but it isn't so much that. The bad +aren't very bad, as a rule; and some of the good are very +good. That's where I get my profit."</p> + +<p>"What was the best bargain you ever made?" I asked.</p> + +<p>He filled his glass and pushed the decanter toward me.</p> + +<p>"The best bargain I ever made," he said, "was over a +ditty-box."</p> + +<p>I helped myself to a little whiskey.</p> + +<p>"A ditty-box? I thought they were ordinary sailors' chests +that they keep their clothes in?"</p> + +<p>"Not exactly chests," he corrected. "They're smallish +boxes that they keep their needles and thread in, and their +money, and anything else that they set store by—their letters +or their sweethearts' photos, or their wives'—or other +people's! There's no profit in them, and I don't deal in them +in a general way. I got my gain out of this one in a roundabout +fashion; but it was handsome. If you've got half an +hour to spare I'll tell you about it."</p> + +<p>This was his story:</p> + +<p>It was eight years ago, and I'd had Isaac for seven years, +and concluded that he was to be trusted. So I took it into +my head to have a fortnight's holiday and leave him in +charge of the shop. Everything was in order when I came +back, and the books balanced to a penny. Business had +been pretty good, he told me, but nothing out of the ordinary.</p> + +<p>"Unless," he said, "I've stumbled on a good thing by +accident. It's a ditty-box; rather a superior one, and a good +bit bigger than usual; almost a chest; brass bound and a +nice bit of poker-work on it; a girl's head. I've put it in +your bedroom."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" I said. "Ah-h!" He wouldn't make this fuss +over a bit of poker-work, I knew.</p> + +<p>"The mate of the <i>Saucy Jane</i> brought it here," he went on. +"It belonged to the captain. George Markby, the name was; +and that's poker-work on it, too. He sickened of a fever +over at Rotterdam and died at sea; and they sold off his things +to send the money to his widow. I gave a sovereign for it. +There's a tray inside with a lock-up till. Keys all complete. +Ought to fetch thirty-five shillings."</p> + +<p>"As much as that?" I said. I knew there must be a good +deal more in it than appeared, but it's no use hurrying Isaac. +He likes to tell things his own way.</p> + +<p>"I thought it might suit you to lock up your books and +papers. That was all—till the day before yesterday. Then +a ginger-haired sailor came in. North countryman. Wanted +a ditty-box, he said. I told him we weren't marine outfitters, +and he'd better try Barnard's, round the corner. He +said he didn't want the ordinary sort, but something out of +the common; extra large size; brass-bound; tray with a lock-up +till. 'Mind if it was a trifle old?' I asked. 'Carved or cut +about a bit? You know how some chaps use their knives on +them, just to pass the time.' He said he didn't care for +things that were hacked about, but he wouldn't object to a +bit of poker-work on it. I told him I'd look through the +warehouse and let him know in the morning, and he went. +Byles, the dock policeman, was standing outside. I went +and asked him who the chap was. He said he was cook on +the <i>Anne Traylor</i>, just come in, and he believed he'd done +time. If he hadn't I'll swear he ought to have, from the +look of him.</p> + +<p>"About half an hour afterward in walks an oldish chap with +a stoop and a gray goat's beard. He wanted a ditty-box, too; +something extra large and old, and strong, and a tray with +a lock-up till in it. He was a fireman on the <i>Anne Traylor</i>, +I found; a shifty sort of chap that couldn't look you in the +face. He offered to go to a couple of pounds for the right +thing. I told him I'd look through our stuff and let him +know if we had one of the sort.</p> + +<p>"Just as I was closing, a smart young fellow swaggered in. +He was second mate of the <i>Anne Traylor</i>, and he'd heard +of the death of her old captain on the <i>Saucy Jane</i>, and that +we'd bought some of his effects, and he'd like to have a +memento; just a matter of sentiment, he explained. I asked +him what form the sentiment took, and he said a ditty-box; +and if we had the one that belonged to the old man he'd +give two pounds five for it. I put him off like the others.</p> + +<p>"Two Swedish sailors came in after the shutters were up, +while the door was still open. They wanted a ditty-box of +the identical description. I told them I'd look for it, same +as I told the rest. You always brought me up not to close too +soon with a customer who was keen on a thing."</p> + +<p>"Very good, Isaac," I said. "Very good! Go on!"</p> + +<p>"In the evening I made inquiries at the 'Duke of Wellington,' +where the dock policemen go, and the two-penny-halfpenny +money lenders and such; and old Mrs. Higgins, the +landlady, knows more about the crews that come here than +anyone. Lots of them knew old Markby, it seemed; a very +respectable old chap and a favorite with his men, but a bit +of a miser, and a trifle queer in his ways. He boasted that +he didn't believe in banks and such things, and he'd got his +money hidden where even his wife didn't know. And the +conclusion I've come to is that those chaps believe it's in the +ditty-box, and they mean to have it."</p> + +<p>"Ah!" I said. "We'll have something to say to that, +Isaac! You told them we hadn't got it, of course."</p> + +<p>"Of course," he said; "and of course they didn't believe +me! I had a rare bother with the ginger-haired man yesterday +morning, and had to send the boy for a policeman before he'd +go. And in the afternoon the Swedes tried to sneak through +the shop into the warehouse, but I jumped out of the shop +parlor and hustled them off. I've put longer screws in the +bars to the windows; but I'd be easier if you'd let me sleep +here."</p> + +<p>Isaac always thought that he could look after me better +than I could look after myself!</p> + +<p>"I'm all right, Isaac," I said; "but we'll have a look at the +box before you go. It might be worth a bit more if it had a +secret drawer, eh?"</p> + +<p>When the shop was closed we went upstairs and laid the +box on my bed, and turned it over and tapped it, and put a +lamp inside, and examined every inch. We couldn't find a +trace of a secret drawer, or anything scratched on it to say +where the old captain had hidden his long stocking. So I +concluded that the talk was the usual nonsense, and I daresay +I'd have sold it and thought no more about it, if the goat's-beard +man hadn't come in the first thing the next morning. +He didn't beat about the bush, but said he wanted Captain +Markby's ditty-box that we'd bought, and he'd give two +pounds ten for it. I told him I wished I'd got it to sell, since +he was so generous, but ditty-boxes weren't in my line.</p> + +<p>The others that Isaac had spoken of came in too. I was +tempted to sell it to the mate for three pounds, but I couldn't +quite make up my mind, and told him to come again the next +morning. That very night the two Swedes broke into the +shop. The police caught them. They're always on the +look-out round my place, knowing that it's a fiver to them on +the quiet if they catch anyone breaking in. The Swedes got +three months apiece.</p> + +<p>That made up my mind. I showed the mate an ordinary +box when he called, and he went off grumbling that it was +nothing like the one he'd asked about, and I'd played the +fool with him. I never saw him again, or the Swedes either; +but the old man and the ginger-headed chap were always +looking in the window. They seemed to have chummed up. +I had an anonymous letter that I put down to them—written +in red ink that I suppose they meant me to take for blood. +It warned me against keeping "a ditty-box that others have +a better claim to, and is like to cost you dear." D-e-r-e they +spelt it, and one t in ditty.</p> + +<p>Two days later they called to ask if the box had come my +way yet. "Yes," I said, "and I'm going to keep it. It's +got two blackguards three months, and it will get two others +a good hiding if they don't mind. Clear out, and don't come +here again." They didn't, but we often saw them hanging +round, and when I went out one of them generally followed +me. I didn't worry about that, for I could have settled the +two of them easily if I wasn't taken unaware. I was always +a bit obstinate, and I'd sooner have chopped the chest up +for firewood than have been bullied into letting them have +it; but I was sorry that I hadn't taken the mate's offer, for +Isaac and I had measured it all over inside and out, and +calculated that there wasn't space anywhere for a secret +drawer.</p> + +<p>I'd had it about three months; and then a young girl, +about twenty, came into the shop one afternoon, when Isaac +was at tea. She was a pale slip of a young thing, and her +clothes looked as if they'd been worn all through the summer, +and it was autumn then; and she hesitated as if she was half +afraid of me.</p> + +<p>"Well, little missie," I said. "What is it?" I spoke to +her with the smooth side of my tongue uppermost, as a big, +rough chap generally does to a girl of that sort, if there's +anything decent about him.</p> + +<p>"My father was Captain Markby," she said, and I liked +the way she spoke. "He died at sea, and they sold his things +here. I want to find something of his, and I thought that perhaps +you might have bought it?"</p> + +<p>I knew directly what she meant, but I looked very innocent.</p> + +<p>"If it was anything in the curiosity line, I might have," I +answered. "You see the sort of things I deal in." I waved +my hand round the place.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "It wasn't a curiosity. It was an oak +chest with brass corners. I think they call it a ditty-box."</p> + +<p>"A ditty-box," I said. "They're too common to be +curious. Was there anything special about it?"</p> + +<p>"It had a tray in it, and he'd drawn a head on it with a +red-hot iron; a girl's head. He meant it for me; but I don't +expect you'd recognize me by it. I hope not!" She smiled +faintly.</p> + +<p>"I hope not," I agreed, "judging from what I've seen of +such figures." I laughed, and she laughed a little, too. "And +you want to buy it, if you can find it?"</p> + +<p>"Ye-es," she said. "At least—I haven't very much +money; but I would pay you as soon as I could, if—I suppose +you wouldn't be so kind—so very kind—as to agree +to that?"</p> + +<p>"Umph!" I said. "I don't generally give credit; but as +it was your father's, I might stretch a point for once if I should +find that I have it."</p> + +<p>"Oh, <i>thank</i> you!" she said with a flush. "It is a kindness +that I have no right to expect. <i>Thank</i> you!"</p> + +<p>"I'll have a look round among my things," I promised. +"I haven't bought such a box myself; but my assistant +might have; or I might be able to find it for you in +some of the shops round here. I'll see what I can do." +I meant to let her have it, but I wanted to find out more +about it first.</p> + +<p>"How kind you are!" she cried. "I—you see I want it +very particularly, Mr. Levy."</p> + +<p>"Being associated with your father," I said, "naturally you +would. Perhaps if I don't come across the ditty-box, I might +find something else of his that would do, eh?"</p> + +<p>"No-o," she said. "It wouldn't. You see we—my +mother and I—aren't well off. We knew that father had +some money, but we couldn't find it, or learn anything +about it; and we think it must be in the box, or a paper +telling us about it."</p> + +<p>I shook my head.</p> + +<p>"There's no paper in any box that I have," I assured her. +"We always go through the things that we buy very carefully."</p> + +<p>"You wouldn't find it," she explained eagerly. "There +was a secret place. He showed it to me when I was a little +girl. I don't expect he thought I would remember, but I +did. You take off the brass corners on top, and then the +lower part of the lid drops out. The lid's in two pieces and +you could put papers—or bank notes—in between."</p> + +<p>I couldn't help smiling.</p> + +<p>"Aren't you rather foolish to tell me?" I suggested.</p> + +<p>She looked at me appealingly.</p> + +<p>"Am I?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"No," I said. "As it happens, you aren't; but I wouldn't +tell anyone else, if I were you. They <i>might</i> think they'd +like those bank notes for themselves. <i>I</i> might if—well, if +you weren't a good deal younger and more in need of them +than I am."</p> + +<p>"I think you are a very good and kind man, Mr. Levy," +she said solemnly.</p> + +<p>"I'm afraid not, little missie," I told her; "but there are +some a good deal worse; and some of them have an inkling of +what may be in that box, if I'm not mistaken. They've +been inquiring after it."</p> + +<p>"Oh!" She started. "There were two horrid men who +seemed to be watching me when I came in here. I half +thought I remembered one of them: an old man with a stoop. +I believe I must have seen him aboard my father's ship. I +felt rather nervous—because it's such a dark alley." She +looked anxiously at the door.</p> + +<p>"It is a bit dark," I agreed. "Would you feel safer if I +saw you to a main thoroughfare?"</p> + +<p>"I should feel <i>quite</i> safe then," she declared, and she smiled +like a child does. "I really don't know <i>how</i> to thank you +enough for your goodness to me."</p> + +<p>I called Isaac to look after the shop, and put on my hat and +walked off with her. She was a bright little creature to talk +to, and when she was excited she looked very pretty. I found +that she was going to walk all the way, so I said that I would +see her right to her road. She seemed pleased to have my +company, and jabbered nineteen to the dozen. It was such +a change to have someone to talk to, she said, because they +had moved and knew nobody here. She told me that she +tried to earn money by teaching music and by painting. +I said that I was badly in want of a few little sketches, and +she promised to bring some for me to look at.</p> + +<p>"I would ask you to accept them," she said, with a flush, +"if we weren't so poor."</p> + +<p>"If it weren't for that," I said, "I should ask you to have +some tea before I leave you, without fear that you would be +too proud to accept. It would be a pleasure to me. Will +you?" We were just outside a good place, and I stopped.</p> + +<p>"It is very kind of you," she said, "but I don't think—I +suppose I <i>am</i> foolishly proud." She laughed an uneasy +laugh.</p> + +<p>"You mustn't let your pride spoil my pleasure," I told her, +and grinned at myself for talking like a book. "You can +repay me when you find your fortune, if you insist; but I hope +you won't."</p> + +<p>She looked up at me quickly.</p> + +<p>"No," she said. "I couldn't treat your kindness like +that. Thank you, Mr. Levy."</p> + +<p>So we went in, and I ordered tea and chicken and cakes. +The poor little thing was positively hungry, I could see; and +when she mentioned her mother the tears came into her eyes. +I understood what she was thinking, and I had some meat +patties put up in a package. When I left her at the corner +of her road I put the package into her hands, and boarded +a 'bus with a run before she had time to object. She shook +her head at me when I was on top of the 'bus; but when I +took off my hat she waved her hand, and laughed as if she was +a great mind to cry. It's hard for an old woman and a +young girl when they're left like that.</p> + +<p>I had the corners of that ditty-box off as soon as Isaac had +gone for the night. The lid was double, as she had said. +Between the two boards I found a portrait of an elderly +woman—her mother, no doubt—and three photos of herself; +two in short frocks and one with her hair in a plait when +she was about seventeen. She looked stouter and jollier +then, poor girl. There was one other thing: a half sheet of +note-paper. "Memo in case of accident. Money up chimney +in best bedroom. Geo. Markby, sixth of April, 1897."</p> + +<p>I started to change my clothes to go there and tell them; +but just as I had taken off my waistcoat I altered my mind. +The money wouldn't be in the rooms where they lived then, +but in their old house; and that was probably occupied by +someone else now, and even if the money was still there she +would not be able to get it. It was no use raising her hopes, +just to disappoint her. I would try to get the money before +I spoke, I decided.</p> + +<p>She came at eleven the next morning, and timidly produced +a few little sketches, mostly copies of things. I'd like to say +that they were good, but I can't. It was just schoolgirl +painting, nothing else. She wanted to give me some, but +I wouldn't hear of that. She had sold a few for eighteenpence +apiece, she said. I said that I wanted four to frame for ships' +cabins, and I'd give twelve-and-six for them, and that would +leave me a fair margin. I was afraid to offer more, for fear +she would suspect me; and as it was she was dubious.</p> + +<p>"You're sure you <i>will</i> get a profit?" she asked.</p> + +<p>"You ask anyone round here about me," I said. "They'll +soon tell you that I look out sharp for that. They'll look +very nice when they're framed; and I make a good bit out +of the frames, you see. Now about this ditty-box. I've +got on the track of one that might turn out right; but there's +a difficulty that I'd like to put to you. Suppose that there's +no money in it, only a clue to where your father hid it. +Wouldn't that be likely to be somewhere where you can't +get at it? On board his ship, for example? Or in your old +house?</p> + +<p>"If it's in the house," she said, "I could get in. At least +it was empty a week ago. Mother heard from an old neighbor. +But perhaps it would be better to get someone else to +go, and say that they wanted to look at the house?" She +glanced at me doubtfully.</p> + +<p>"You mean me?" She nodded slowly. "You are afraid +that I might keep some of it?"</p> + +<p>She stared at me in sheer amazement.</p> + +<p>"Why, of course not!" she cried. "I was only thinking +that it was a long way to ask you to go; and that I must not +impose on your kindness."</p> + +<p>"Give me the address," I said, "in case I should want it +any time."</p> + +<p>She gave me an address in Andeville. Then I changed +the subject. I walked part of the way home with her. Then +I had my dinner and went off to Andeville.</p> + +<p>It was about an hour by train. By the time that I had +found the agent and got the key it was growing dusk. I was +some time arguing with him, because he wanted to send a +man with me to lock up afterward. "We've had tramps get +in several times," he explained, "and they've done a lot of +damage; torn up the flooring and such senseless mischief." +It occurred to me directly that the tramps were some of the +men who had come after the ditty-box.</p> + +<p>I persuaded him at last that I'd lock up all right and he +let me go alone. I soon spotted what would be the best +bedroom. I fumbled up the chimney and lit a match or two, +and found a heavy canvas bag and a smaller one that rustled +like notes. I was just looking for the last time when I heard +soft steps behind me. I glanced round and saw two men +before the match flickered out. The light caught the face of +the foremost. It was the old man with the goat's beard. +Then I was struck on the head and knocked senseless.</p> + +<p>It was about six when I came to and lit another match +and looked at my watch. The bags were gone, of course. +I never saw them again or the two men. It was as well for +them I didn't!</p> + +<p>It was no use telling the agent or anybody. I never thought +about that, only what I was to do about the girl and her +mother. I didn't think very much about the mother, if you +come to that. It seemed to me that I'd made a mess of it +and lost their money, and I couldn't bear to think of the +girl's disappointment. What upset me most was that I +knew she'd believe every word of my story, and never dream +that I'd taken the money myself, as some people would. +She was such a trusting little thing, and—well, I may as well +own up that I liked her. If I hadn't been fifteen years older +than she was, and felt sure that she'd never look at a Jew—and +a much rougher chap then than I am now—I should +have had serious thoughts of courting her. And so—well, +I knew that a hundred pounds was what they hoped for; +and it didn't make very much odds to me. I took out the +paper that night and put in twenty five-pound notes, and did +it up again. A bit of folly that you wouldn't have suspected +me of, eh? Then you think me a bigger fool than most +people do! At the same time, it was only fair and honest. +I'd had her money and lost it, you see.</p> + +<p>I was going to take the chest to their lodgings in a cab the +next morning, but she called in early to ask if I had found it. +I had an unhappy sort of feeling when I saw her come smiling +into the shop, thinking that she wouldn't need to come any +more. It's queer how a man feels over a little slip of a girl +when he's knocked about all over the world and known +hundreds of women and thought nothing of them!</p> + +<p>I'd carried it down into this room, and I took her in and +showed it. Her delight was pretty to see. She fidgeted +about at my elbow like a child while I was taking the corners +off; and when she saw the notes she danced and clapped her +hands; and when I gave them to her she sat down and hugged +them and laughed and cried.</p> + +<p>"If you knew how poor we've been!" she said, wiping +her eyes. "How lonely and worried and miserable! Your +kindness has been the only nice thing ever since father died. +Twenty times five! That's a hundred. They're real notes +aren't they? I haven't seen one for ages."</p> + +<p>"They're real enough," I told her. "I'll give you gold +for them, if you like."</p> + +<p>"I'd rather have their very selves," she said with a laugh. +She studied one carefully; and suddenly she dropped them +with a cry and sprang to her feet. Her face had gone white.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Levy!" she cried. "Oh, Mr. Levy! <i>You put them +there!</i>"</p> + +<p>I told her a lie right out; and I'm not ashamed of it. I was +a hard man of business, I said; and a Jew; and she was a +silly sentimental child, or she'd never take such an idea into +her head; and she needn't suppose I kept my shop for charity, +and she'd know better when she was older. She heard me +out. Then she put her hand on my shoulder.</p> + +<p>"Dear kind friend," she said, "father died in May this +year. The note that I looked at was dated in June!" And +I stood and stared at her like a fool. I suppose I looked a bit +cut up, for she stroked my arm gently.</p> + +<p>"You dear, good fellow!" she said. She seemed to have +grown from a child into a woman in a few minutes. "I can't +take them, but it will help me to be a better girl, to have +known someone like you!"</p> + +<p>"Like me!" I said, and laughed. "I'm just—just a +rough, money-grubbing Jew. That's all I am."</p> + +<p>She shook her head like mad.</p> + +<p>"You may say what you like," she told me; "but you can't +alter what I think. You're good—good—good!"</p> + +<p>Then I told her just what had happened.</p> + +<p>"So, you see, you owe me nothing," I wound up.</p> + +<p>She wiped her eyes and took hold of me by the sleeve.</p> + +<p>"I will tell you what I owe you," she said. "Food when I +was hungry; kindness when I was wretched; your time, your +care—yes, and the risk of your life. If you had had your +way you would have given me all that money. You—Mr. +Levy, you say that it is just a matter of business. What +profit did you expect to make?"</p> + +<p>"I expected—to make you happy," I said; and she looked +up at me suddenly; and I saw what I saw. "Little girl!" +I cried. "May I try? In another way."</p> + +<p>I held out my arms, and she dropped into them.</p> + +<p>"My profits!" I said.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she cried. "I hope so. I will try—try—try!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Levy offered me a fresh cigar and took another himself.</p> + +<p>"It's a class of profit that's difficult to estimate," he +remarked. "I had a difficulty with Isaac over the matter. +You see he has 5 per cent. over the business that he introduces, +but that was only meant for small transactions, I argued. +He argued that there were no profits at all; not meaning any +disrespect to her, but holding that there was no money in it; +or, if there was, it was a loss because I'd have to keep her, +and nobody knew how a wife would turn out. She held much +the same, except that she was sure she was going to turn out +good; but she thought I ought to find some plan of doing +something for Isaac. We settled it that way. He wanted +to get married, so I gave him a rise and let them have the rooms +over the shop to live in; and there they are now."</p> + +<p>"And how do you reckon the profits yourself?" I asked.</p> + +<p>"Well," he said "in these last eight years I've cleared +forty thousand pounds, though you wouldn't think it in this +little shop. I reckon that I cleared a good bit more over +that ditty-box. Come round to my house one evening, and +I'll introduce you to her."</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>IV</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_YELLOW_CAT" id="THE_YELLOW_CAT"></a>THE YELLOW CAT</h2> + +<h3>An Idyll of the Summer</h3> + +<h3>By ANNIE E.P. SEARING</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> minister of Blue Mountain Church, and the minister's +wife, were enjoying their first autumn fire, and the +presence of the cat on the hearth between them.</p> + +<p>"He came home this afternoon," the minister's wife was +saying, "while I was picking those last peppers in the garden, +and he jumped on my shoulder and purred against my ear as +unconcernedly as if he'd only been for a stroll in the lower +pasture, instead of gone for three months—the little wretch!"</p> + +<p>"It does seem extraordinary"—the minister unbent his +long legs and recrossed them carefully, in order to remove +his foot from the way of the tawny back where it stretched +out in blissful elongation—"very extraordinary, that an +animal could lead that sort of double life, disappearing completely +when summer comes and returning promptly with +the fall. I daresay it's a reversion to the old hunting instinct. +No doubt we could find him if we knew how to trail him on +the mountains."</p> + +<p>"The strangest thing about it is that this year and last he +came back fat and sleek—always before, you know, he has +been so gaunt and starved looking in the fall." She leaned +over and stroked the cat under his chin; he purred deeply +in response, and looked up into her eyes, his own like wells +of unfathomed speech. "I have an eerie feeling," she said, +"that if he could talk he'd have great things to tell."</p> + +<p>The minister laughed, and puffed away at his corncob +pipe. "Tales of the chase, my dear, of hecatombs of field-mice +and squirrels!"</p> + +<p>But she shook her head. "Not this summer—that cat has +spent these last two summers with human beings who have +treated him as a kind of fetich—just as we do!" As she +rubbed his ear she murmured regretfully: "To think of all +you've heard and seen and done, and you can't tell us one +thing!"</p> + +<p>The Yellow Cat's eyes narrowed to mere slits of black +across two amber agates; then he shook his ears free, yawned, +and gave himself up to closed lids and dreams. If he could +have told it all, just as it happened, not one word of it could +those good souls have comprehended—and this was the +way of it.</p> + +<p>It was near the close of a June day when the cat made his +entrance into that hidden life of the summers from which his +exits had been as sudden, though less dramatic. In the +heart of the hills, where a mountain torrent has fretted its way +for miles through a rocky gorge, there is a place where the +cleft widens into a miniature valley, and the stream slips +along quietly between banks of moss before it plunges again +on its riotous path down the mountain. Here the charcoal-burners, +half a century ago, had made a clearing, and left +their dome-shaped stone kiln to cover itself with the green +velvet and lace of lichen and vine. The man who was stooping +over the water, cleaning trout for his supper, had found +it so and made it his own one time in his wandering quest +for solitude. The kiln now boasted a chimney, a door, and +one wide window that looked away over the stream's next +plunge, over other mountains and valleys to far horizons of +the world of men. This was the hermitage to which he +brought his fagged-out nerves from the cormorant city that +feeds on the blood and brains of humans. Here through +the brief truce of summer he found time to fish and hunt +enough for his daily wants, time to read, to write, time to +dream and to smoke his evening pipe, to think long thoughts, +and more blessed than all—to sleep! When autumn came +he would go back with renewed life and a pile of manuscript +to feed to his hungry cormorant. He was chewing the cud +of contentment as he bent to his fish cleaning, when, glancing +to one side where the fire, between stones, was awaiting his +frying-pan, he caught sight among the bushes of two gleaming +eyes, and then the sleek back and lashing tail of the Yellow +Cat. The man, being a cat lover was versed in their ways, so +for a time he paid no attention, then began to talk softly.</p> + +<p>"If you'd come out of that," he said, as he scraped the +scales, "and not sit there watching me like a Comanche +Indian, I'd invite you to supper!"</p> + +<p>Whether it was the tone of his voice or the smell of the fish +that conquered, the tawny creature was suddenly across the +open with a rush and on the stooping shoulders. That was +the beginning of the companionship that lasted until fall. +The next season brought the animal as unexpectedly, and +they took up the old relation where it had left off the previous +summer. They trudged together through miles of forest, +sometimes the cat on the man's shoulder, but often making +side excursions on his own account and coming back with +the proud burden of bird or tiny beast. Together they +watched the days decline in red and gold glory from the +ledge where the stream drops over the next height, or when +it rained, companioned each other by the hearth in the hut. +There was between them that satisfying and intimate communion +of inarticulate speech only possible between man +and beast.</p> + +<p>There came a day when the man sat hour after hour over +his writing, letting the hills call in vain. The cat slept himself +out, and when paws in the ink and tracks over the paper +proved of no avail, he jumped down and marched himself +haughtily off through the door and across the clearing to +the forest, tail in air. Late that afternoon the man was +arrested midway of a thought rounding into phrase by the +sudden darkness. There was a fierce rush of wind, as if +some giant had sighed and roused himself. The door of +the hut slammed shut and the blast from the window scattered +the papers about the floor. As he went to pull down the +sash the cat sprang in, shaking from his feet the drops of +rain already slanting in a white sheet across the little valley. +At the same moment there was a "halloo" outside, and a +woman burst open the door, turning quickly to shut out +behind her the onrush of the shower and the biting cold of the +wind. She stood shaking the drops from her hair, and then +she looked into the astonished face of the man and laughed.</p> + +<p>She was as slim and straight as a young poplar, clad in +white shirt-waist and khaki Turkish trousers with gaiters +laced to the knee. Her hair was blown about in a red-gold +snarl, and her eyes looked out as unabashed as a boy's. The +two stared at each other for a time in silence, and finally it +was the woman who spoke first.</p> + +<p>"This isn't exactly what I call a warm welcome—not +just what the cat led me to expect! It was really the cat who +brought me—I met him over on Slide Mountain—he fled +and I pursued, and now here we are!"</p> + +<p>She made a hasty survey of the hut, and then of its owner, +putting her head on one side as she looked about her with a +quick, bird-like movement, he still staring in stupefaction.</p> + +<p>"Of course you detest having me here, but you won't put +me out in the rain, again, will you?"</p> + +<p>At once he was his courteous self. With the same motion +he dumped the astonished cat from the cushioned chair by +the writing table, and drew it forward to the fire. Then he +threw on a fresh stick of pine that flared up in a bright blaze, +and with deferring gentleness took the sweater that hung from +her shoulders and hung it to dry over a section of tree-trunk +that served as a chimney seat.</p> + +<p>"You are as welcome to my hut as any princess to her +palace," he smiled on her, "indeed, it is yours while you choose +to stay in it!"</p> + +<p>"Don't you think," she made reply, as he drew another +chair up opposite to her, "that under the circumstances we +might dispense with fine speeches? It is hardly, I suppose, +what one would call a usual situation, is it?"</p> + +<p>He looked at her as she stretched her small feet comfortably +to the blaze, her face quite unconcerned.</p> + +<p>"No," he acquiesced, "it certainly is not usual—or I +should hate it—the 'usual' is what I fly from!"</p> + +<p>She threw back her head, clasping her hands behind it as +she laughed. She seemed to luxuriate as frankly in the heat +and the dryness as the cat between them.</p> + +<p>"And I"—she turned the comprehension of her eyes upon +him—"I cross the ocean every year in the same flight!"</p> + +<p>The storm drove leaves and flying branches against the +window, while they sat, for what seemed a long time, in contented +silence. He found himself as openly absorbing her +charm as if she had been a tree or a mountain sunset, while +she was making further tours of inspection with her eyes +about the room.</p> + +<p>"It is entirely adorable," she smiled at him, "but it piques +my curiosity!'</p> + +<p>"Ask all the questions you wish—no secrets here."</p> + +<p>"Then what, if you please, is the object I see swung aloft +there in the dome?"</p> + +<p>"My canvas hammock which I lower at night to climb into +and go to bed, and pull up in the daytime to clear the decks."</p> + +<p>"And the big earthen pot in the fireplace—it has gruesome +suggestions of the 'Forty Thieves!'"</p> + +<p>"Only a sort of perpetual hot-water tank. The fire never +quite goes out on this domestic hearth, and proves a very +acceptable companion at this high altitude. There is always +the kettle on the crane, as you see it there, but limitless hot +water is the fine art of housekeeping—but, perhaps you +don't know the joy there is to be found in the fine art +of housekeeping?"</p> + +<p>"No, I do not," her eyes took on a whimsical expression, +"but I'd like to learn—anything in the way of a new +joy! In the way of small joys I am already quite a +connoisseur, indeed I might call myself a collector in that +line—of <i>bibelot</i> editions, you understand, for thus far I +seem to have been unable to acquire any of the larger +specimens! Would you be willing to take me on as a +pupil in housekeeping?"</p> + +<p>"It would add to my employment a crowning joy—not a +<i>bibelot</i>!"</p> + +<p>"Pinchbeck fine speeches again," she shrugged. "Do +you stop here all the long summer quite alone?"</p> + +<p>"All the 'short summer,'" he corrected, "save for the +society of the cat, who dropped down last year from nowhere. +He must have approved of the accommodations, for he has +chosen me, you see, a second time for a summer resort."</p> + +<p>"Yes—I think he was trying to protest about you being +his exclusive find, when I invited myself to follow him down the +mountain—leading and eluding are so much alike, one is +often mistaken, is it not so?"</p> + +<p>She was sitting forward now, chin in hands, elbows on her +knees, gazing into the flames where a red banner waved +above the back log. When she turned to him again the +westering sun had broken through the clouds and was sending +a flare of rosy light in at the window. Studying her face +more fully, he saw that she was years—fully ten years—older +than he had supposed. The boyish grace that sat so lightly +was after all the audacious ease of a woman of the world, sure +of herself.</p> + +<p>"I, too, am living the hermit life for the summer. I am the +happy possessor of a throat that demands an annual mountain-cure. +Switzerland with its perpetual spectacular note gets +on my nerves, so last year we found this region—I and my +two faithful old servitors. Do you know the abandoned +tannery in the West Branch Clove? That has been fitted +up for our use, and there we live the simple life as I am able +to attain it—but you have so far outdone me that you have +filled my soul with discontent!"</p> + +<p>"Alas," said the man, "you have served me the very same +trick! I could almost wish—"</p> + +<p>"That I had not come!"</p> + +<p>"Say, rather, that you would come again!"</p> + +<p>She stood up and reached for her sweater, waiting for him +to open the door. The round of the little valley was a glittering +green bowl filled with pink cloud scuds. They stepped +out into a jubilant world washed clean and freshly smiling. +She put out her hand in good-bye.</p> + +<p>"I almost think I shall come again! If you were a person +with whom one could be solitary—who knows!"</p> + +<p>When she appeared the next time she found him by the +noise of his chopping. They climbed to the top of the moss-covered +boulder that hangs poised over the ledge where the +stream leaps into the abyss. Below them the hills rolled in +an infinite recession of leaf-clad peaks to the sky line, where +they melted to a blur of bluish-green mist.</p> + +<p>"Oh, these mountains of America!" she cried, "their +greenness is a thing of dreams to us who know only bare +icy and alps!"</p> + +<p>"Far lovelier," he said, "to look down upon than to look +up to, I think. To be a part of the height comes pretty near +to being happy, for the moment."</p> + +<p>She turned from the view to study her companion. The +lines in the corners of his kind, tired eyes, the lean, strong +figure, hair graying about the temples. He grew a little +impatient under it before she spoke.</p> + +<p>"Do you know," she said slowly, "I am going to like you! +To like you immensely—and to trust you!"</p> + +<p>"Thank you, I shall try to be worthy"—even his derision +was gentle—"I seem to remember having been trusted +before by members of your sex—even liked a little, though +not perhaps 'immensely'! At any rate this certainly promises +to be an experience quite by itself!"</p> + +<p>"Quite by itself," she echoed.</p> + +<p>"Wouldn't it be as well for you to know my name, say, as +a beginning?"</p> + +<p>"No," she nodded, "that's just what I don't want! I +only want to know you. Names are extraneous things—tags, +labels—let us waive them. If I tell you how I feel +about this meeting of ours will you try to understand me?"</p> + +<p>The answer was less in words than in the assent of his +honest gray eyes.</p> + +<p>"I have been surfeited all my life," she went on, "with +love—I want no more of it! The one thing I do want, +more than anything else, is a man friend. I have thought a +great deal about such a friendship—the give and take on +equal terms, the sexless companionship of mind—what it +could be like!"</p> + +<p>He brushed the twigs from the lichens between them and +made no answer.</p> + +<p>"Fate—call the power what you will"—she met the +disclaimer that puckered the corners of his mouth—"fate +brought us together. It was the response to my longing for +such a friendship!"</p> + +<p>"It was the Yellow Cat!"</p> + +<p>"The Yellow Cat plus fate! While I sat there by your +fire I recognized you for that friend!"</p> + +<p>Far below over the tree tops cloud shadows and sunlight +were playing some wonderful game of follow-my-leader; a +hawk hung poised on tilting wings; and on the veil of mist +that was the spirit of the brook where it cast itself from the +ledge curved the arch of a rainbow. The man pointed to +the augury.</p> + +<p>"You might try me," he said, and they shook hands on the +compact, laughing half shamefacedly at their own solemnity.</p> + +<p>"As woman to woman," he offered.</p> + +<p>"Let it be rather as man to man," she shrugged.</p> + +<p>"As you like—as women we should have to begin by +explaining ourselves."</p> + +<p>"Precisely, and men companion each other on impersonal +grounds."</p> + +<p>"Then it is a man's friendship?"</p> + +<p>"Better still," she mused, "we'll pattern it after the ideals +of the disembodied! We'll make this summer, you and I +together, a gem from the heart of life—I will have it so!"</p> + +<p>So it came about that like two children they played together, +worked, walked, or read and talked by the open fire when cold +storms came. Every morning she came over the wood-road +that led by winding ways from her valley, and at sunset she +went back over the trail alone. He might go as far as the +outlook half way over the mountain where the path begins +to go down, but no farther; as for any fear, she seemed to know +nothing of its workings, and the revolver she wore in a case that +hung from her belt was a mere convention.</p> + +<p>One morning she came with eyes dancing—it was to be +an especial day—a fête—and the gods had smiled on her +planning and given them perfect weather. Never such sunshine, +such crystal air, such high-hung clouds! Breakfast +over, they hurried about the miniature housework, and +packed the kit for a long day's tramp. Then they started +forth, the cat following, tail aloft. Beyond a dim peak, where +the clove opens southward, by the side of a tiny lake they +lunched and took their noonday rest. She watched the +smoke curl up from his pipe where he lay at peace with the +scheme of things.</p> + +<p>"Do you know, Man, dear," she said, "I am glad I don't +in the least guess who you are! I have no doubt you write +the most delightful stories in the world—but never put me in +one, please!"</p> + +<p>He took the pipe out of his mouth and looked at her long +before he replied.</p> + +<p>"Woman, dear," he said, "I have put you in a place—your +own place—and it is not in my novels!"</p> + +<p>She scrambled to her feet laughing.</p> + +<p>"It's very well to make stories, but it is really more diverting +to live them! Come, I must lead you now with your +eyes shut tight to my surprise!"</p> + +<p>So hand in hand they went along a smooth green wood-road +until she stopped him.</p> + +<p>"Look," she cried, "now look!"</p> + +<p>Straight away till the road narrowed to a point of light +against the sky where the mountain dipped down, banks of +mountain laurel rose on either side in giant hedges of rose +and white, while high above them waved the elms and beeches +of the forest.</p> + +<p>"It is the gardening of the gods!"</p> + +<p>"It is my own treasure-trove! I found it last year and I +have been waiting to bring you to it on my fête—what you +call birthday! And now wish me some beautiful thing—it +may come true! There is a superstition in my country—but +I shall not tell you—unless the wish comes true!"</p> + +<p>He broke off a spray of the waxen buds and crowned her +solemnly where she stood.</p> + +<p>"I have already wished for you—the most beautiful thing +in the world!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head, sorrowful. "Man, dear, the only +thing in all the world I still want is the impossible!"</p> + +<p>"Only the impossible is worth while—and I have +wished!"</p> + +<p>She shook her head again, laughing a little ruefully. "It +could not arrive—my impossible—and yet you almost +tempt me to hope!"</p> + +<p>"Anything—everything may arrive! You once thought +that such a friendship as this of ours could not, and lo, we +have achieved it!"</p> + +<p>"I wonder"—her eyes seemed fixed on some far prospect, +a world beyond the flowery way—"I wonder if we have! +And I wonder why you have never made a guess about my world +when you have at least let me get a peep now and then into +yours?"</p> + +<p>"I don't care a rap about your 'world,'" he smiled into her +eyes, "while I have you!"</p> + +<p>"No curiosity about my—my profession?"</p> + +<p>"Not a bit—though it was clear enough from the first +that it was the stage!"</p> + +<p>She made an odd little outcry at his powers of divination.</p> + +<p>"Then I must look it—before the footlights from my +birth! Since you are so clever, Mr. Man, will you also be +merciful when you come to weigh me in those scales you try +to hide beneath the garment of your kindness? Think, when +you judge me, what it is for a woman never to be herself—always +to have to play a part!"</p> + +<p>He reached and took her hand suddenly, drawing her to +him with a movement that was almost rough.</p> + +<p>"This is no play acting—this is real! No footlights—no +audience—only you and me in all this world!"</p> + +<p>But she drew away, insistently aloof. She would have +none of his caresses.</p> + +<p>"This, too," she said, as she moved apart and stood waiting +for him to follow, "is a part of the play—I do not deceive +myself! When I go back to my world—my trade, I +shall remember this little time that you and I have +snatched from the grudging grasp of life as an act—a +scene only! It's a perfect pastoral, Man, dear, but unreal—absurdly +unreal—and we know it ourselves while we +play the game!"</p> + +<p>Down through the flower-bordered vista the cat went +stalking his prey, his sinuous body a tawny streak winding +along the green path. These trivial humans, with their +subtle attractions and compunctions, were as though they +never had been when the chase was on—the real business +and purpose of life!</p> + +<p>For the rest of the time they were together they avoided +the personal. Each felt the threat in the air and tacitly averted +it. For that one perfect day there should be no past, no future, +nothing but the golden present.</p> + +<p>Swinging in his breeze-rocked hammock between door and +window the man lay awake through the long watches of the +night, thinking, thinking, while his heart sang. Toward +dawn he fell into a deep sleep from which he was only awakened +by the cat springing up to lick his face in reminder of +breakfast.</p> + +<p>It was when he came back from his plunge in the pool +that he first noticed a paper pinned to his door-post. Within +its folds his doom was penned!</p> + +<p>"Even you, dear Man, could not wish me the impossible! +That superstition of my country is that to come true it must +be the first wish of your fête day—and by one who loves you! +Alas, my old servant had already wished—that he might get +me started for home to-day! Clever Friedrich—for he had +also packed! When you read this I shall be far on my way. +You could never find me though you searched the earth—but +you will never try! It is well as it is, for you see—it +was not friendship after all!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>And yet there was a sequel. During the following year there +dropped to the man in his hard-pressed literary life, one of +those errant plums from the political tree that now and then +find their way to the right basket. He was named for an +excellent diplomatic post. His friends congratulated him +and talked a good deal about "material" and opportunities +for "unique local color;" his wife chattered unceasingly +about gowns and social details, while he armed himself, with +the listless reticence that was become habit, to face new +responsibilities and rather flavorless experiences. He had +so withdrawn himself of late to the inner creative life that he +moved in a kind of phantasmagoria of outer unrealities. It +was the nearest to a comfortable adjustment for the mis-mating +of such a marriage as his, but it was not the best of +preparations for the discharge of public duties, and he walked +toward his new future with reluctant feet, abstractedly. In +some such mood as this, his mind bent on a problem of arrangement +of fiction puppets, seeing "men as trees walking," he +found himself one day making his bows at a court function. +Along the line of royal highnesses and grand duchesses with +his wife he moved, himself a string-pulled puppet, until—but +who, in heaven's name is this?</p> + +<p>For one mad moment, as he looked into her eyes, he thought +the tightened cord he sometimes felt tugging at his tired brain +had snapped, and the images of sight and memory gone hopelessly +confused. She stood near the end of the line with the +princesses of secondary rank, and the jewels in her hair were +not more scintillant than her eyes as he bent over her hand. +She went a little pale, but she greeted him bravely, and when +they found themselves unobserved for a moment she spoke +to him in her soft, careful English:</p> + +<p>"You recognized me, you remember, for a play actor, and +now you are come from the world's end to see me perform +on my tiny stage! Alas, dear critic, since my last excursion, +I am no longer letter perfect in my part!"</p> + +<p>They met but once again. It was in the crush of guests +in the great hall where her old Prince, in the splendor of his +decoration-covered coat, was waiting to hand her to her +carriage. There was a brief time in which to snatch the doubtful +sweetness of a few hurried words. She was leaving in the early +morning for the petty Balkan province where her husband +held a miniature sway, over a handful of half-savage subjects. +Hardly more than a renewal of greeting and a farewell, and +she was gone!</p> + +<p>As the old Prince wrapped her more carefully in her furs, +and the carriage rolled away in the darkness, he spoke to her, +somewhat puzzled:</p> + +<p>"I should be sorry to think the American Ambassador has +been taking too much wine—as you well know, my knowledge +of the barbarous English tongue is but limited, and yet—I +thought, as I joined you, he was talking some farrago of +nonsense about a <i>Yellow Cat</i>!"</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>That year the Yellow Cat came home lean and gaunt, a +chastened, humble creature, as one who has failed in a long +quest, and is glad to stretch his weary length before the hearth +and reap the neglected benefits of the domestic life.</p> + +<p>"It is really very odd" said the minister, quite as if he were +saying something he had never thought of saying before, +"where that cat goes in the summer!"</p> + +<p>"Isn't it?" responded the minister's wife—just as she +always did. "It fires the imagination! He walks off some +fine morning and completely shuts the door on our life here—as +if he gave us notice not to pry into his movements. But +this time"—she was leaning to stroke the tawny sides with a +pitying touch—"this time you may be sure something very sad +and disappointing happened to him—something in that +other life went quite wrong! How I wish we could understand +what it was!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>V</h3> + +<h2><a name="A_COCK_AND_POLICEMAN" id="A_COCK_AND_POLICEMAN"></a>A COCK AND POLICEMAN</h2> + +<h3>A Tale of Rural England</h3> + +<h3>By RALPH KAYE ASSHETON</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">It happened</span> up in Lancashire, and the truth can be +vouched for by at least half a hundred spectators. It +fell in this wise: Bob O' Tims owned a game-cock which +was the envy of the whole street for lustre of coloring and +soundness of wind. Its owner was almost unduly proud of +his possession, and would watch it admiringly as it stalked +majestically about among its family of hens.</p> + +<p>"There's a cock for you!" he would say, with a little wave +of his pipe. "There's not many cocks like that one. The +king himself has got nothing like it down at Windsor Castle."</p> + +<p>Now, Jimmy Taylor had always been a rival of Bob O' +Tims's. Jimmy's grandfather had fought at the Battle of +Waterloo. This gave him great prestige, and it was almost +universally believed, in Chellowdene, that the preëminence of +the British Empire was mainly due to the battle-zeal of Jimmy's +ancestry. But whenever Jimmy talked about his grandfather, +Bob skilfully turned the conversation to his game-cock. +This made Jimmy testy, and one day he told Bob, +in contemptuous tones, that "he'd be even wi' him yet, in +the matter o' game-cocks, as well as everything else."</p> + +<p>That was one Monday evening, and the following Wednesday +Bob O' Tims's cock disappeared. When Bob discovered +his loss, his face went quite pale with anger. Without a word, +he flung on his cap and set off for Jimmy Taylor's cottage.</p> + +<p>When he reached it, he went still whiter. For Jimmy was +sitting at the door, and up and down the yard in front of him +strutted a magnificent game-cock.</p> + +<p>Bob O' Tims stretched out his forefinger, pointed at the +cock, and with a stubborn look forming about his mouth +and jaw, observed:</p> + +<p>"Yon's mine."</p> + +<p>"It isn't," responded Jimmy. "It's mine."</p> + +<p>"I tell thee, yon's mine. Yo've prigged it."</p> + +<p>"It's mine! I bought it at th' fair."</p> + +<p>"Thee never bought yon cock at any fair. It's mine, I +tell thee."</p> + +<p>Words grew high between the disputants, as the cock, in +all its bronze and golden splendor, marched up and down the +yard, until the argument between the two men terminated in +a quarrel so violent that half-a-dozen neighbors came in to +see what was the matter. It ended in Bob O' Tims insisting +that he would take the matter into court. He was as good +as his word, and the next time that the bench met, Bob O' +Tims summoned Jimmy Taylor on a charge of having stolen +his game-cock.</p> + +<p>The magistrates listened to the witnesses on either side. +Half-a-dozen people were ready to swear that the cock belonged +to Bob. But Jimmy brought up a couple of witnesses to +testify that they had seen him buy a similar animal at Turton +Fair. The cock was then brought into court. It clucked +and choked indignantly, and the partisans of Bob and Jimmy +swore against each other as hard as ever they could. The +bench appeared perplexed; and it was owing to their inability +to come to any decision that the magistrate's clerk made his +famous suggestion.</p> + +<p>"The case appears to me impossible to prove as it stands, +your worships," he said to the bench. "I would suggest, if +I may be allowed, that you direct an officer of the court to +take the cock to some spot at an equal distance between the +houses of the plaintiff and of the defendant. If he is there +placed upon the ground, and left to his own devices, he is +pretty sure to make his way straight home."</p> + +<p>The magistrates accepted the suggestion of the clerk, and +gave judgment accordingly. A policeman was ordered to +carry out their instructions. Now, this officer was young and +raw, and had only recently been enrolled in the constabulary. +He was a fat, rosy man, with an air of self-importance. He +set out from the court with the cock under his arm. An +excited crowd streamed after the policeman, who stalked on +with no little pomposity. When he reached the common, +which lay between the houses of the rival claimants, he stood +still for a minute or two, grasping the cock and looking judiciously +from one side of the broken land to the other.</p> + +<p>The crowd eagerly commenced to give information.</p> + +<p>"You're a bit nearer Bob O' Tims's than you are to +Jimmy's!" cried one.</p> + +<p>"Nay! Nay!" interposed another spectator, who was a +partisan of Bob O' Tims. "There's a corner to turn afore +you get to Bob's. It's not fair, not to make allowance for +that."</p> + +<p>"Stand back!" cried the policeman majestically—"Stand +back, every man of you. The critter will be too much put +about to go anywhere if you don't keep still tongues in your +heads."</p> + +<p>The officer still stood, with his legs wide apart, turning his +head slowly from side to side. Once he made a pace in the +direction of Jimmy Taylor's; then, changing his mind, he took +a couple of steps toward Bob O' Tims's. Finally, he decided +that he had fixed upon the exact locality commanded by the +law, and with a magisterial air, he again waved back the +crowd and deposited the cock upon the ground in front of him.</p> + +<p>Everybody held their breath. The first thing that the +cock did was to shake himself until he resembled nothing +so much as a living mop. Then he began to smooth his +feathers down again. Then he stretched his neck, flapped +his wings and crowed. Finally, with a blink of his bright +eyes, which almost appeared like a wink to the hushed and +expectant crowd, he made two solemn steps with his slender +legs in the direction of Jimmy Taylor's cottage.</p> + +<p>"He's going to Jimmy's!" exclaimed the crowd with one +voice.</p> + +<p>"Can't you all be quiet for a moment or two," interposed +the policeman, indignantly. "I tell you, if you don't keep +still, you'll upset the critter's mind, and make the magistrates' +decision just good for nothing."</p> + +<p>The crowd appeared ashamed and relapsed once more +into silence.</p> + +<p>The policeman stood erect and tall, a few paces in front +of them, watching the cock with great solemnity. It was +standing still now, jerking its neck a little. Then it looked +round, and, retracing its paces, began stepping slowly off in +the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>"It's going to Bob's!" cried the crowd.</p> + +<p>But the cock was doing no such thing; it paused again, +scratching in an imaginary dust-heap, and then, with a loud +crow, stretched its wings and flew up into a small tree.</p> + +<p>This was disconcerting. The policeman turned with anger +upon the crowd.</p> + +<p>"I told you you were not giving the critter a chance!" +he exclaimed. "You'd best be off home. Come, move on! +Move on!"</p> + +<p>The crowd retreated, but it had no intention of going +home. Some of those less interested strolled away, but the +partisans of Bob and Jimmy remained at a little distance, +eagerly watching to see what would happen next.</p> + +<p>The cock, after jerking his head round several times, settled +down comfortably among his feathers, and went to sleep +in the tree.</p> + +<p>This was altogether beyond the expectancy of the policeman. +Not knowing what else to do, he sat down on a broken +bit of fence under the tree and waited.</p> + +<p>The day advanced. The cock slept on and the policeman +began to doze. Now and then he awoke with a start, and +looked up at the obstinate biped above his head. Presently +the man got down from the fence and shook himself.</p> + +<p>The partisans of Bob and Jimmy still remained at a discreet +distance, watching the progress of events. The policeman +stood still for a few moments, staring at the cock; then he +approached the small, stumpy tree and clapped his hands +vigorously.</p> + +<p>The cock woke up, gurgled, and went to sleep again.</p> + +<p>The policeman clapped his hands a second time, and then +with shrill indignation the creature flew down from the tree, +and set off in the direction of the distant moors.</p> + +<p>The proceedings promptly assumed the aspect of a hunt. +The cock ran along with outstretched wings and neck, and +the policeman and the crowd ran after it. At last it reached +a small cottage, belonging to a widow of the name of Gammer. +Exerting a final effort, it flew up toward her open window +and ensconced itself on the top of the good woman's +tester-bed.</p> + +<p>Now Mrs. Gammer was a woman of character. She +heard the noise outside; and when the breathless policeman +arrived at the door of her kitchen, she was wiping the soapsuds +off her plump red arms, ready for any dispute or fray. +She stood with her arms held akimbo, as the man in blue +explained his errand. When he had finished his recital she +looked at him defiantly.</p> + +<p>"And I should like to know what you call yourself, policeman +or no policeman, to be chasing a poor harmless critter +across 'em blazing commons on a day like this! You want +to go and poke him down from my tester-bed, do you? Well, +you can just go back and tell the magistrates as Mrs. Gammer's +got him, and if they want him they must come for him +themselves."</p> + +<p>This was direct defiance of the law, and the policeman +commenced a remonstrance. His remarks were, however, cut +short by Mrs. Gammer.</p> + +<p>"I have always said as magistrates was as ignorant as +babies, and I only wish that they was as harmless," she persisted, +in open contempt of the government of her country. +"You can go back, and tell 'em as Mrs. Gammer says so. +My house is my house, magistrate or no magistrate, and I +won't have any policeman messing about on the top of my +tester-bed."</p> + +<p>The policeman was not certain whether the authority which +had been entrusted to him in the matter would justify his +making a deliberate prisoner of Mrs. Gammer. And, as +she showed every sign of resorting to violence, should he +attempt to pass the door, which she barred with her stout +figure, he decided upon beating a retreat. He went outside +again and reasserted his shattered dignity by once more driving +away the crowd; then, not knowing what else to do, he returned +to the police station and reported the matter to the chief +constable.</p> + +<p>The chief laughed, and so did everybody else who heard +the story. The policeman was directed to return to Mrs. +Gammer's cottage later in the day, and serve her with an order +requiring her to give up the cock immediately. But when +he handed Mrs. Gammer the official paper, she laughed in +his face.</p> + +<p>"You can look round the house for the cock now if you +like," she said contemptuously, slapping down the order upon +the table, "and you can see if you can find him."</p> + +<p>"Is he still on the top of your tester-bed?" demanded the +policeman.</p> + +<p>"Go and look," responded Mrs. Gammer, with a snort. +"You can take the turk's-head brush and brush him down!"</p> + +<p>So, armed with the turk's-head brush, the policeman +ascended Mrs. Gammer's small, steep staircase. When he +reached her bedroom, he poked into every cranny and corner +with the handle of his brush. But no cock was to be found.</p> + +<p>He descended the stairs, and stood again in the little +kitchen. A savory smell of cooking arose from a stew-pan +on the fire.</p> + +<p>"Where's the critter gone to?" he demanded.</p> + +<p>"How should I know?" replied Mrs. Gammer testily.</p> + +<p>The policeman, still standing in the kitchen, wished that +Mrs. Gammer would give him an invitation to supper. The +widow glanced up sharply at him and saw what was in his +mind.</p> + +<p>"You'd like some supper, I make no doubt, after your +wild-goose chase," she said. "Sit down at t' table and take +a bit o' stew."</p> + +<p>The policeman seated himself with alacrity. The stew +which Mrs. Gammer placed before him consisted of a mixture +of barley, onions and some white meat. He ate a hearty +supper, and when he stood up he drew his hands across his +mouth.</p> + +<p>"Thank you kindly," he said. "I must be off now, and +see where that cock has gone to."</p> + +<p>Then it was that Mrs. Gammer gave a short and derisive +laugh. She began to pile up the empty plates and to put the +spoons and forks in the basin by the sink.</p> + +<p>"If you go a-chasing of that cock until you are black and +blue in the face," she said, "you'll never find him. And the +reason why, is that you have just helped to eat him up."</p> + +<p>"I have eat him up!" he gasped.</p> + +<p>"Aye," responded Mrs. Gammer, with brevity. "I made +him into soup!"</p> + +<p>The policeman remained open-mouthed, staring at the +impenitent widow.</p> + +<p>"You'd no business ever to do such a thing," he said. +"The cock belonged to the Law."</p> + +<p>"I care nowt for your Law," retorted Mrs. Gammer. +"Anyway you've helped to eat him!"</p> + +<p>A vague sense of cannibalism was haunting the policeman's +mind; he felt almost as dismayed as if he had made a +hearty supper off the magistrate's clerk himself.</p> + +<p>"You're a very wicked woman," he said to Mrs. Gammer. +"And—and——"</p> + +<p>He broke off, entirely nonplussed by the situation in which +he found himself. Mrs. Gammer continued to wash up the +spoons and forks with utter indifference to his consternation.</p> + +<p>"The cock's eat up, and there's an end of it," she said. +"You'd best go and tell the magistrates all about it."</p> + +<p>Sheepish and disconcerted, the policeman slunk home. +The next morning the chief asked him if he had served the +order on Mrs. Gammer.</p> + +<p>"I—served it," said he, scratching his head.</p> + +<p>"And did you get the bird given up?" demanded his +superior officer.</p> + +<p>"No, I can't say as I did," replied the policeman.</p> + +<p>"Was it still on the top of the tester-bed?" pursued his +awkward questioner.</p> + +<p>"No. It was not on the tester-bed," replied the policeman.</p> + +<p>"Then where was it?" insisted the chief.</p> + +<p>For several seconds the policeman was silent, then he +told a lie.</p> + +<p>"I canna say," he answered, "it war gone."</p> + +<p>The chief shrugged his shoulders, and sent the man about +the business of the day. The next time that the magistrates +met, the question of Bob O' Tims's cock was again brought +into court. The magistrate's clerk demanded if the case +were settled.</p> + +<p>To the great relief of the policeman, who was waiting in +attendance, Bob O' Tims spoke up from the spot where he +stood.</p> + +<p>"Jim hadna stolen my cock after all, sir," he said, "for +it came home the next morning."</p> + +<p>"Then what happened to the cock that was brought into +court on Tuesday?" demanded the magistrate's clerk. But +nobody seemed to know.</p> + +<p>Only, people used to wonder why Widow Gammer almost +always gave a peculiar kind of snort when she spoke of Police +Constable X, and why that worthy officer avoided her cottage +ever after, and invariably turned down a side street if he saw +the widow within speaking distance of him.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>VI</h3> + +<h2><a name="PRISONERS_IN_THE_TOWER" id="PRISONERS_IN_THE_TOWER"></a>PRISONERS IN THE TOWER</h2> + +<h3>An Episode of Travel</h3> + +<h3>By LUCY COPINGER</h3> + + +<p>"<span class="smcap">In the</span> words of Macaulay this, ladies and gentleman, is +the saddest spot on earth." The white-haired old +Tower guard in charge of the little chapel of Saint Peter waved +his hand impressively toward the open door. "Through that +door"—the heads of the American tourists who were doing +the Tower all turned in unison—"you may see the block +upon which many a royal head has rested, and beneath these +very stones lie buried two dukes between two queens—Dukes +of Northumberland and of Somerset, with the Queens +Anne Boleyn and Katherine Howard—all beheaded."</p> + +<p>The chapel was a crypt-like place, windowless, dark, and +musty, and at this mournful climax one of the tourists who +was nervous moved suddenly off that particular stone upon +which she had been standing; the school teachers out for +self-improvement began to write it all in their note-books, +while a stout matron evidently of good old Dutch stock looked +sadly down at the flat, gray stones. "Poor things!" she +murmured, "and there ain't one of them got a respectable +white tombstone with a wreath carved on it." Then, in their +usual two-by-two line, the party moved down the aisle wearily, +but triumphant in the fact that they had succeeded in doing +the Tower, the Abbey, and the Museum all in one day. Peggy +Wynne, in demurely severe blue suit and jaunty panama, +lagged at the end of the line while she looked critically at her +compatriots.</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"The animals went out two by two,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">The elephant and the kangaroo,"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>she murmured to herself, "and I'm so tired of playing Noah's +Ark or a Christian Association out for a lark," she continued +in unconscious poetical despair. Then, warned by the attitude +of the guard, that wonderful attitude of the haughty Briton +in hopes of a tip, she opened her ridiculously tiny gold-linked +purse and gave herself up to the absorbing question as to +which of the pieces therein was a shilling. Having at last +decided this, she presented it to the guard with a dazzling +smile. It had been so long since Peggy had had an opportunity +to smile at anything masculine that the smile was +unusually bright.</p> + +<p>She had already passed through the little door when she +suddenly turned back. The other tourists, noses in Baedekers, +were hurrying on before, the guard was busily counting +his sixpences, and she slipped back into the dim chapel +unperceived.</p> + +<p>"They'll think I've gone back to those dingy lodgings," +she reflected, as she groped her way between the benches +into an even more shadowy corner—a little recess, with a tiny +niche in the wall, that had probably been the sanctuary of +some pious king. She seated herself comfortably behind the +pillar in the corner and gazed pensively at the stones.</p> + +<p>"Tombs and tombs and tombs!" she murmured mournfully, +"even in Paris, instead of Maxim's and the cafes, nothing +but tombs! The next time I want to see where anybody is +buried I will just go out to the cemetery instead of coming +across that dreadful ocean. Oh, just to have one adventure +before I go home!" she continued with a long sigh, "a real +adventure with a real man in it—not a horrid, womanish +Frenchman or a stolid, conceited Britisher, but a nice, safe +American—like—like—like—my American."</p> + +<p>Then the dimple in her right cheek that was probably +responsible for the calling her Peggy, in spite of her many +protests for her rightful dignity of "Margaret," came out +suddenly as it always did when she thought of her American. +She had called him that from the time when, in the midst of +the perplexities of the English luggage system, she had looked +up and found him watching her. The cut of his gray suit +and his shoes had told her his nationality at once, and they +had looked for a moment at each other with that peculiar +friendliness that compatriots in a strange land always feel. +She had forgotten him until, leaning from a taxi-cab in the +Rue de la Paix, she had met the same eyes, this time so unrefrainedly +joyful in their recognition that she had suddenly +blushed. When, a week later at Calais, as she stood by the +rail of the departing Channel steamer she caught a glimpse of +him on the dock, he had seemed like an old friend, and before +she had thought she had smiled in answer to his lifted hat. +She had grown so sure of seeing him that now when they had +been in London a week and he had not appeared she found +herself suddenly sick of tombs and tourists.</p> + +<p>Peggy's day had been a strenuous one of trams, motor-busses, +abbeys, and galleries, and though she realized an adventure +might probably await her outside, it was pleasant to +sit for awhile in the dimness of the quiet chapel. From her +recess she could look out through the open doors upon the +tragic Tower Green, where in the sunlight two sparrows were +frivolously flirting. Even as she watched, the sparrows grew +dim, her ridiculously tiny purse slipped from her hand, her +head with its thick dark hair dropped against the pillar, and +her lashes touched her cheek. After awhile a cautious footfall +sounded in the chapel, then somewhere a heavy door closed, +and all was still.</p> + +<p>When Peggy sat up indignantly with the queer sensation +that she had been violently shaken, darkness surrounded +her, a darkness so deep that she could not see her hand as +she ran it along the bench in front of her. With the movement +came remembrance of her surroundings, and also a +realization in strained and aching muscles that a stone pillar +is not a wise choice for a head-rest.</p> + +<p>"Oh!" she gasped painfully.</p> + +<p>"Don't be frightened," entreated a voice quite near to her, +and out of the lesser darkness a tall black figure rose suddenly.</p> + +<p>"I am not at all frightened," said Peggy at once. In +spite of the bigness of the figure there was something reassuring +in the voice with its crisp, humorous note and its intonation +that Peggy at once recognized as American.</p> + +<p>"What are you doing here?" she continued, inhospitably +addressing the darkness before her.</p> + +<p>"I went to sleep" the voice explained, "on the other side +of the pillar."</p> + +<p>"How silly!" said Peggy, severely, "didn't you see me here?"</p> + +<p>"It was a little dim," the voice apologized and, Peggy's +silence still condemning, "you should have snored," it continued +extenuatingly.</p> + +<p>Peggy arose with a dignity that she hoped penetrated the +darkness. Then she groped along the bench.</p> + +<p>"My purse," she explained anxiously, "and it had a sixpence +for tea and two shillings for tips," she continued with an +unconscious epitome of the joys of traveling. As she groped +along bench and floor she was conscious of assistance from +her companion, and just as she grasped the discovered purse +she felt purse and hand caught and retained in a firm grip.</p> + +<p>"I apologize," he said at once, still however, holding on +to her hand, "I thought it was the purse."</p> + +<p>Peggy jerked her hand loose indignantly, and speechless +with wrath she hurried toward the door only to find that she +had mistaken her direction. In her effort to recover her +bearings she become hopelessly confused, stumbled noisily +over a bench, and fell headlong into the arms of her companion.</p> + +<p>"You had better sit down again," he remarked coolly as +he returned her to her seat and sat down calmly beside her. +As he did so Peggy noted curiously the dim attractive silhouette +of his head and the remarkably good line from ear to +shoulder.</p> + +<p>"I am going at once," she said haughtily, but without moving.</p> + +<p>"You can't," the man beside her replied, "and if you +promise not to cry or fall over any more benches I will tell you +why—although I myself do not object to the latter," he continued +judicially, "but for the sake of your own bones, merely."</p> + +<p>Peggy ignored the last.</p> + +<p>"Why can't I go?" she said defiantly.</p> + +<p>"Because the door is locked," he explained succinctly.</p> + +<p>"We can both scream or you can throw a bench through +the window," said Peggy triumphantly.</p> + +<p>The unseen laughed a nice laugh that Peggy liked.</p> + +<p>"In that latter case, beside the fact that there is no window, +we would surely be had up before the head-warden of this +old jail. Besides, do you know what time it is?"</p> + +<p>"About tea time," said Peggy who had lunched frugally +at one of the tea-shops on a cup of tea and a jam roll.</p> + +<p>"Just before you woke up," said her companion, "I used +my last match—it always is the last in a case like this—to +look at my watch. It was half-past twelve. Remember, you +promised——" at a warning gurgle from Peggy.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly a laugh rang out sweet and clear in the +darkness of the musty chapel, a laugh that echoed into the +recesses of the old tombs—perhaps in its musical cadences +stirring pleasantly the haughty slumber of their noble +occupants.</p> + +<p>"What are you laughing at?" said the voice suspiciously.</p> + +<p>"An adventure at last!" Peggy cried, clapping her hands +applaudingly.</p> + +<p>"I am glad you take it so cheerfully," returned her companion. +"There is only one thing to do," he continued +practically, "I thought it out for myself before you woke up +and complicated matters by your appearance. Of course +with sufficient yelling we can arouse the barrack sentry, and +for our pains we'd probably have the whole barrack out to +arrest us. There is no way in which you can offend the noble +and independent Briton more deeply than by treating lightly +his worship of royalty, dead or alive, and we would probably +be held for committing <i>lese majeste</i> by getting ourselves +locked up with the numerous relicts of Henry the Eighth. But +if we wait until morning we can run good chances of slipping +out unperceived with the first crowd of tourists."</p> + +<p>"I feel just like the little princes in the Tower, or Queen +Mary or Charlotte Corday," murmured Peggy in ecstatic +historical confusion, "or somebody noble and romantic and +beheaded. I think I shall play at being Queen Mary. I +once learned a piece about her. It was very sad, but I always +stuck at the fifth line and had to sit down. Since we have to +stay here till morning we might as well amuse ourselves and +you may be Rizzio."</p> + +<p>"Who was he?" asked her companion sceptically, "sounds +like one of those Italian fellows."</p> + +<p>"He was Queen Mary's chaperon," Peggy explained +vaguely, "and he sang her love songs."</p> + +<p>"Good," said the voice agreeably.</p> + +<p>"Can't you think of something else for me?" said the unseen, +gloomily appalled by the prospect of having doughnut recipes +pronounced over his remains.</p> + +<p>"How would you like to be Darnley?" said Peggy. "He +was her husband." "I'll be Darnley," came from the +darkness so decidedly that Peggy jumped.</p> + +<p>"You have to get blown-up right off," she hastened to add. +"Darnley did."</p> + +<p>"Oh he did, did he?" the voice spoke with deeper gloom.</p> + +<p>"Queen Mary did it," added Peggy.</p> + +<p>"Well, even in the Dark Ages matrimony seems to have +given your sex the same privileges," philosophized her companion +cynically.</p> + +<p>"How mean!" said Peggy coldly, "I shall play at being +Elizabeth all alone."</p> + +<p>"It wouldn't suit you," said her discarded leading man, +"not with your voice."</p> + +<p>"Why not?" said Peggy.</p> + +<p>"Because it's not hard and cold and metallic enough. +Because it has too much womanly sweetness in it and not +enough harsh masculinity."</p> + +<p>"What a good dramatic critic you would make!" said +Peggy a little spitefully, "and since you are reading voices +I can tell quite well by yours that you are fat and red faced."</p> + +<p>The man laughed.</p> + +<p>"And by the same token you are all sweetness and blue +eyes and dearness and dimples," he punished her. Then +the banter in his tones died suddenly out.</p> + +<p>"There's something I want to tell you," he said abruptly, +with a movement that seemed in the darkness like a sudden +squaring of his shoulders. "But first I want you to tell me +your name."</p> + +<p>"What a sudden descent from romance and poetry to mere +stupid facts," hedged Peggy. "Think, in this atmosphere of +royalties if it should be Bridget, or, still more horrible, +Mamie."</p> + +<p>"Please," the voice persisted in its gravity, "we have been +fellow-prisoners, you know, and you should be kind."</p> + +<p>Peggy told him with the full three-syllabled dignity of the +"Margaret."</p> + +<p>"Mine," he continued, "is John Barrett."</p> + +<p>"Now," cried Peggy, "if this were a proper adventure we +have reached the place when I should be able to say, 'Why! +not the Jack Barrett that Brother Billy knew at Harvard?' +Then you would cry, 'And this is my old chum William's +little sister Peggy that used to send him fudge!' and then +everything would be all right. But I haven't any brother +at all," she finished regretfully.</p> + +<p>"And Harvard wasn't my college," said her companion. +"However," he went on, "it would take more than the conventional +backing of many brother Billies to put me right +with you after I've told you what I have to tell you."</p> + +<p>"Then don't do it," said Peggy softly.</p> + +<p>"If I didn't know you'd find it out in a very few minutes +I wouldn't," he confessed shamelessly. "But before I +tell you I want you to know what finding you here meant to +me. You've got to realize the temptation before you can +understand the fall. You always got away from me, from that +first time in Liverpool——"</p> + +<p>"Oh!" said Peggy with a gasp.</p> + +<p>"And at Paris and at Calais when you smiled adorably +at me——"</p> + +<p>"I didn't" said Peggy, blushing in the darkness.</p> + +<p>"When you didn't smile adorably at me, then," pursued +the voice relentlessly. "It was always the same. I found +you and you were gone—snatched away by an unkind fate +in the form of your man from Cook's. When you sailed away +from me at Calais I was booked to leave that same day from +Antwerp, but I came on here after you instead. London is +small—the American tourist London, that is—the Abbey, +the Museum, the galleries, and the Tower, but I seemed to +miss you everywhere. It was fate again that sent me here to +find you asleep in the corner."</p> + +<p>"Now I know you are going to tell something very foolish," +said Peggy reflectively, "when people begin to talk about +fate like that you always find they are just trying to shift the +responsibility."</p> + +<p>"I want you to know it wasn't premeditated, however," +pursued the voice. "It wasn't till the guard shut the door +that I thought of it. You will believe that, won't you?" he +pleaded.</p> + +<p>The dimple appeared suddenly in Peggy's cheek. There +came an echo from without of many footsteps.</p> + +<p>"And so," she took up the tale quickly, "having nicely +planned it all out you shook me rudely to wake me up, told +me the door was locked, and that it was midnight when it +was only four in the afternoon. And it wasn't at all necessary +to shake me so hard," she continued, "because I woke up +when you came in."</p> + +<p>"Peggy you knew!" the voice cried with a sudden realization, +"you knew and you stayed!" He caught her hand, and in +the darkness she could feel his nearness. Then suddenly the +door opened letting into the chapel a flood of bright sunlight. +"Ladies and gentlemen," the sonorous voice of the old guard +came to them, "this, in the words of Macaulay, is the saddest +spot on earth," continued the mournful recital, even as, in +happy contradiction, Peggy and her American, secure in their +little recess, looked blissfully into each other's eyes.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>VII</h3> + +<h2><a name="SANKEYS_DOUBLE-HEADER" id="SANKEYS_DOUBLE-HEADER"></a>SANKEY'S DOUBLE-HEADER</h2> + +<h3>A Winter's Tale</h3> + +<h3>By FRANK H. SPEARMAN</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">The</span> oldest man in the train service didn't pretend to +say how long Sankey had worked for the company. +Pat Francis was a very old conductor; but old man Sankey +was a veteran when Pat Francis began braking. Sankey ran +a passenger train when Jimmie Brady was running—and +Jimmie afterward enlisted and was killed in the Custer fight.</p> + +<p>There was an odd tradition about Sankey's name. He was +a tall, swarthy fellow, and carried the blood of a Sioux chief +in his veins. It was in the time of the Black Hills excitement, +when railroad men, struck by the gold fever, were abandoning +their trains even at way-stations and striking across the +divide for Clark's Crossing. Men to run the trains were +hard to get, and Tom Porter, trainmaster, was putting in every +man he could pick up without reference to age or color. +Porter (he died at Julesburg afterward) was a great "jollier," +and he wasn't afraid of anybody on earth. One day a war +party of Sioux clattered into town and tore around like a +storm. They threatened to scalp everything, even to the +local tickets. They dashed in on Tom Porter, sitting in the +despatcher's office upstairs, while the despatcher was hiding +below, under a loose plank in the baggage-room floor. Tom, +being bald as a sand-hill, considered himself exempt from +scalping parties anyway. He was working a game of solitaire +when they bore down on him, and got them interested in it. +That led to a parley, which ended by Porter's hiring the whole +band to brake on freight trains. Old man Sankey was said +to have been one of that original war party.</p> + +<p>Now this is merely a caboose story, told on winter nights +when trainmen get stalled in the snow that drifts down from +the Sioux country. But what follows is better attested.</p> + +<p>Sankey, to start with, had a peculiar name—an unpronounceable, +unspellable, unmanageable name. I never heard +it, so I can't give it to you; but it was as hard to catch as an +Indian pony, and that name made more trouble on the payrolls +than all the other names put together. Nobody at headquarters +could handle it; it was never turned in twice alike, +and they were always writing Tom Porter about the thing. +Tom explained several times that it was Sitting Bull's ambassador +who was drawing that money, and that he usually signed +the pay-roll with a tomahawk. But nobody at Omaha ever +knew how to take a joke. The first time Tom went down, he +was called in very solemnly to explain again about the name, +and being in a hurry and very tired of the whole business, +Tom spluttered: "Hang it, don't bother me any more about +that name! If you can't read it make it Sankey, and be done +with it."</p> + +<p>They took Tom at his word. They actually did make it +Sankey; and that's how our oldest conductor came to bear +the name of the famous singer. And more I may tell you: +good name as it was—and is—the Sioux never disgraced it.</p> + +<p>I suppose every old traveler on the system knew Sankey. +He was not only always ready to answer questions; but, what +is more, ready to answer the same question twice. It is that +which makes conductors gray-headed and spoils their chances +for heaven—answering the same questions over and over +again. Children were apt to be startled a bit at first sight +of Sankey, he was so dark. But Sankey had a very quiet +smile that always made them friends after the first trip +through the sleepers, and they sometimes ran about asking +for him after he had left the train. Of late years—and this +hurts a bit—these very same children, grown ever so much +bigger, and riding again to or from California or Japan or +Australia, will ask, when they reach the West End, about the +Indian conductor. But the conductors who now run the overland +trains pause at the question, checking over the date +limits on the margins of the coupon tickets, and handing +the envelopes back, look at the children, and say quietly: +"He isn't running any more."</p> + +<p>If you have ever gone over our line to the mountains or to +the coast, you may remember at McCloud, where they change +engines and set the diner in or out, the pretty little green park +to the east of the depot, with a row of catalpa trees along the +platform line. It looks like a glass of spring water. If it +happened to be Sankey's run and a regular West End day, +sunny and delightful, you would be sure to see standing under +the catalpas a shy, dark-skinned girl of fourteen or fifteen +years, silently watching the preparations for the departure of +the Overland. And after the new engine had been backed +champing down, and harnessed to its long string of vestibuled +sleepers; after the air-hose had been connected and examined; +after the engineer had swung out of his cab, filled his cups, and +swung in again; after the fireman and his helper had disposed +of their slice-bar and shovel and given the tender a final +sprinkle, and after the conductor had walked leisurely +forward, compared time with the engineer, and cried, +"All Abo-o-o-ard!" then, as your coach moved slowly ahead, +you might notice, under the receding catalpas, the little girl +waving a parasol or a handkerchief at the outgoing train. +That is, at Conductor Sankey; for she was his daughter, +Neeta Sankey. Her mother was Spanish, and died when +Neeta was a wee bit. Neeta and the Limited were Sankey's +whole world.</p> + +<p>When Georgie Sinclair began pulling the Limited, running +west opposite Foley, he struck up a great friendship with +Sankey. Sankey, though he was hard to start, was full of +early-day stories. Georgie, it seemed, had the faculty of +getting him to talk; perhaps because when he was pulling +Sankey's train he made extraordinary efforts to keep on time; +time was a hobby with Sankey. Foley said he was so careful +of it that he let his watch stop when he was off duty just to +save time. Sankey loved to breast the winds and the floods and +the snows, and if he could get home pretty near on schedule, +with everybody else late, he was happy; and in respect of that, +as Sankey used to say, Georgie Sinclair could come nearer +gratifying Sankey's ambition than any engine-runner we had. +Even the firemen used to observe that the young engineer, +always neat, looked still neater on the days when he took out +Sankey's train.</p> + +<p>By and by there was an introduction under the catalpas. +After that it was noticed that Georgie began wearing gloves +on the engine—not kid gloves, but yellow dogskin; and +black silk shirts—he bought them in Denver. Then—such +an odd way engineers have of paying compliments—when +Georgie pulled into town on Number Two, if it was Sankey's +train, the big sky-scraper would give a short, hoarse scream, +a most peculiar note, just as it drew past Sankey's house, +which stood on the brow of the hill west of the yards. Thus +Neeta would know that Number Two and her father, and +naturally Mr. Sinclair, were in again, and all safe and sound.</p> + +<p>When the railway trainmen held their division fair at +McCloud there was a lantern to be voted to the most popular +conductor—a gold-plated lantern with a green curtain in +the globe. Cal Stewart and Ben Doton, who were very swell +conductors and great rivals, were the favorites, and had the +town divided over their chances for winning it. But at the +last moment Georgie Sinclair stepped up to the booth and cast +a storm of votes for old man Sankey. Doton's friends and +Stewart's laughed at first; but Sankey's votes kept pouring +in amazingly. The two favorites got frightened; they pooled +their issues by throwing Stewart's vote to Doton. But it +wouldn't do. Georgie Sinclair, with a crowd of engineers—Cameron, +Kennedy, Foley, Bat Mullen, and Burns—came +back at them with such a swing that in the final five +minutes they fairly swamped Doton. Sankey took the lantern +by a thousand votes. But I understood it cost Georgie and +his friends a pot of money.</p> + +<p>Sankey said all the time that he didn't want the lantern, +but just the same he always carried that particular lantern, +with his full name, Sylvester Sankey, ground into the glass +just below the green mantle. Pretty soon, Neeta being then +eighteen, it was rumored that Sinclair was engaged to Miss +Sankey, and was going to marry her. And marry her he did; +though that was not until after the wreck in the Blackwood +gorge after the Big Snow.</p> + +<p>It goes by just that name on the West End yet; for never +were such a winter and such a snow known on the plains and +in the mountains. One train on the northern division was +stalled six weeks that winter, and one whole coach was chopped +up for kindling wood. The great and desperate effort of +the company was to hold open the main line, the artery which +connected the two coasts. It was a hard winter on trainmen. +Week after week the snow kept falling and blowing. The +trick was not to clear the line; it was to keep it clear. Every +day we sent out trains with the fear that we should not see +them again for a week. Freight we didn't pretend to move; +local passenger business had to be abandoned. Coal, to keep +our engines and our towns supplied, we had to carry; and +after that all the brains and muscle and motive power were +centered on keeping One and Two, our through passenger +trains, running.</p> + +<p>Our trainmen worked like Americans; there were no +cowards on our rolls. But after too long a strain men become +exhausted, benumbed, indifferent; reckless, even. The nerves +give out, and will-power seems to halt on indecision; but +decision is the life of the fast train. None of our conductors +stood the hopeless fight like Sankey. He was patient, taciturn, +untiring; and in a conflict with the elements, ferocious. All +the fighting blood of his ancestors seemed to course again in +that struggle with the winter king. I can see him yet, on bitter +days, standing alongside the track in a heavy pea-jacket and +Napoleon boots, a sealskin cap drawn snugly over his straight +black hair, watching, ordering, signaling, while Number One, +with its frost-bitten sleepers behind a rotary, tried to buck +through ten and twenty-foot cuts which lay bank-full of snow +west of McCloud.</p> + +<p>Not until April did it begin to look as if we should win out. +A dozen times the line was all but choked on us. And then, +when snow-plows were disabled and train crews desperate, +there came a storm that discounted the worst blizzard of the +winter. As the reports rolled in on the morning of the 5th, +growing worse as they grew thicker, Neighbor, dragged out, +played out, mentally and physically, threw up his hands. +It snowed all day the 6th, and on Saturday morning the +section men reported thirty feet in the Blackwood cañon. +It was six o'clock when we got the word, and daylight before +we got the rotary against it. They bucked away till noon +without much headway, and came in with their gear smashed +and a driving-rod fractured. It looked as if we were at last +beaten. Number One pulled into McCloud that day eighteen +hours late; it was Sankey's and Sinclair's run west.</p> + +<p>There was a long council in the round-house. The rotary +was knocked out; coal was running low in the chutes. If +the line wasn't kept open for the coal from the mountains, it +was plain we should be tied until we could ship it from Iowa +or Missouri. West of Medicine Pole there was another big +rotary working east, with plenty of coal behind her; but she +was reported stuck fast in the Cheyenne Hills. Foley made +suggestions, and Dad Sinclair made suggestions. Everybody +had a suggestion left. The trouble was, Neighbor said, they +didn't amount to anything, or were impossible. "It's a +dead block, boys," announced Neighbor sullenly after everybody +had done. "We are beaten unless we can get Number +One through to-day. Look there: by the holy poker, it's +snowing again."</p> + +<p>The air was dark in a minute with whirling clouds. Men +turned to the windows and quit talking. Every fellow felt +the same—hopeless; at least, all but one. Sankey, sitting +back of the stove, was making tracings with a piece of chalk. +"You might as well unload your passengers, Sankey," said +Neighbor. "You'll never get 'em through this winter."</p> + +<p>And it was then that Sankey proposed his double-header.</p> + +<p>He devised a snow-plow which combined in one monster +ram about all the good material we had left, and submitted +the scheme to Neighbor. Neighbor studied it, and hacked +at it all he could, and brought it over to the office. It was +like staking everything on the last cast of the dice, but we +were in the state of mind which precedes a desperate venture. +It was talked over an hour, and orders were finally given by +the superintendent to rig up the double-header and get against +the snow with it.</p> + +<p>All that day and most of the night Neighbor worked twenty +men on Sankey's device. By Sunday morning it was in such +shape that we began to take heart. "If she don't get through, +she'll sure get back again, and that's what most of 'em don't +do," growled Neighbor, as he and Sankey showed the new ram +to the engineers.</p> + +<p>They had taken the 566, George Sinclair's engine, for one +head, and Burns's, the 497, for the other. Behind these +were Kennedy, with the 314, and Cameron, with the 296. +The engines were set in pairs, headed each way, and buckled +up like pack mules. Over the pilots and stacks of the head +engines rose the tremendous plows, which were to tackle the +worst drifts ever recorded, before or since, on the West End. +The ram was designed to work both ways. Under the coal, +each tender was loaded with pig-iron.</p> + +<p>The beleaguered passengers on Number One, side-tracked +in the yards, eagerly watched the preparations Sankey was +making to clear the line. Every amateur on the train had his +camera out taking pictures of the ram. The town, gathered +in a single great mob, looked silently on, and listened to the +frosty notes of the sky-scrapers as they went through their +preliminary manœuvers. Just as the final word was given +by Sankey, conductor in charge, the sun burst through the +fleecy clouds, and a wild cheer followed the ram out of the +western yard; it was looked on as a sign of good luck to see +the sun again.</p> + +<p>Little Neeta, up on the hill, must have seen them as they +pulled out. Surely she heard the choppy ice-bitten screech +of the 566; for that was never forgotten, whether the service +was special or regular. Besides, the head cab of the ram +carried this time not only Georgie Sinclair, but her father as +well. Sankey could handle a slice-bar as well as a punch, and +rode on the head engine, where, if anywhere, the big chances +would come. What Sankey was not capable of in the train-service +we never knew, because he rose superior to every +emergency that ever confronted him.</p> + +<p>Bucking snow is principally brute force; there is very little +coaxing. West of the bluffs there was a volley of sharp tooting, +like code signals between a fleet of cruisers, and in just a +minute the four ponderous engines, two of them in the back +motion, fires white and throats bursting, steamed wildly into +the cañon. Six hundred feet from the first cut, Sinclair's +whistle signaled again. Burns and Cameron and Kennedy +answered; and then, literally turning the monster ram loose +against the dazzling mountain, the crews settled themselves +for the shock.</p> + +<p>At such a moment there is nothing to be done. If anything +goes wrong, eternity is too close to consider. There came a +muffled drumming on the steam-chests; a stagger and a +terrific impact; and then the recoil, like the stroke of a trip-hammer. +The snow shot into the air fifty feet, and the wind +carried a cloud of fleecy confusion over the ram and out of +the cut. The cabs were buried in white, and the great steel +frames of the engines sprung like knitting-needles under the +frightful force of the blow. Pausing for hardly a breath, +they began the signaling again; then backed up and up and +up the line; and again the massive machines were hurled +screaming into the cut. "We're getting there, Georgie," +cried Sankey when the rolling and lurching had stopped.</p> + +<p>No one else could tell a thing about it, for it was snow and +snow and snow; above and behind and ahead and beneath. +Sinclair coughed the flakes out of his eyes and nose and mouth +like a baffled collie. He looked doubtful of the claim until +the mist had blown clear and the quivering monsters were +again recalled for a dash. Then it was plain that Sankey's +instinct was right; they were gaining.</p> + +<p>Again they went in, lifting a very avalanche over the stacks, +packing the banks of the cut with walls hard as ice. Again, +as the drivers stuck, they raced in a frenzy, and into the shriek +of the wind went the unearthly scrape of the overloaded +safeties. Slowly and sullenly the machines were backed again. +"She's doing the work, Georgie," cried Sankey. "For +that kind of a cut she's as good as a rotary. Look everything +over now while I go back and see how the boys are standing +it. Then we'll give her one more, and give it the hardest +kind."</p> + +<p>And they did give her one more; and another. Men at +Santiago put up no stouter fight than these men made that +Sunday morning in the cañon of the Blackwood. Once they +went in, and twice. And the second time the bumping +drummed more deeply; the drivers held, pushed, panted, and +gained against the white wall; heaved and stumbled ahead; +and with a yell from Sinclair and Sankey and the fireman, the +double-header shot her nose into the clear over the Blackwood +gorge. As engine after engine flew past the divided +walls each cab took up the cry; it was the wildest crowd that +ever danced to victory. Through they went and half-way +across the bridge before they could check their monster +catapult. Then, at a half full, they shot it back again at the +cut, for it worked as well one way as the other.</p> + +<p>"The thing is done," declared Sankey, when they got into +position up the line for a final shoot to clean out the eastern +cut and get head for a dash across the bridge and into the west +end of the cañon, where there lay another mountain of snow +to split. "Look the machines over pretty close, boys," said +he to the engineers. "If nothing's sprung, we'll take a full +head across the gorge—the bridge will carry anything—and +buck the west cut. Then after we get Number One +through this afternoon, Neighbor can put his baby cabs in here +and keep 'em chasing all night. But it's done snowing," +he added, looking at the leaden sky.</p> + +<p>He had the plans all figured out for the master mechanic, +the shrewd, kindly old man. I think, myself, there's no man +on earth like a good Indian; and, for that matter, none like +a bad one. Sankey knew by a military instinct just what +had to be done and how to do it. If he had lived, he was to +have been assistant superintendent. That was the word +that leaked from headquarters afterward. And with a volley +of jokes between the cabs and a laughing and yelling between +toots, down went Sankey's double-header again into the +Blackwood gorge.</p> + +<p>At the same moment, by an awful misunderstanding of +orders, down came the big rotary from the west end with a +dozen cars of coal behind. Mile after mile it had wormed +east toward Sankey's ram, and it now burrowed through the +western cut of the Blackwood, crashed through the drift Sankey +was aiming for, and whirled out into the open, dead against +him, at forty miles an hour. Each train, in order to make +the grade and the blockade against it, was straining the +cylinders.</p> + +<p>Through the swirling snow that half hid the bridge and +interposed between the rushing plows Sinclair saw them +coming. He yelled. Sankey saw them a fraction of a second +later, and while Sinclair struggled with the throttle and the +air, Sankey gave the alarm through the whistle to the poor +fellows in the blind pockets behind. But the track was at the +worst. Where there was no snow there were "whiskers"; +oil itself couldn't have been worse to stop on. It was the old +and deadly peril of fighting blockades from both ends on a +single track. The great rams of steel and fire had done their +work, and with their common enemy overcome, they dashed +at each other like madmen across the Blackwood gorge.</p> + +<p>The fireman at the first cry shot out the side. Sankey +yelled at Sinclair to jump. But Georgie shook his head: he +never would jump. Without hesitating, Sankey picked him +from the levers in his arms, planted a sure foot, and hurled him +like a coal shovel through the gangway far out into the gorge. +The other cabs were already empty. But the instant's delay +in front cost Sankey his life. Before he himself could jump +the rotary crashed into the 566. They reared like mountain +lions, pitched sideways and fell headlong into the creek, fifty +feet. Sankey went under them. He could have saved himself; +he chose to save George. There wasn't time to do +both; he had to choose, and to choose instantly. Did he, +maybe, think in that flash of Neeta and of whom she needed +most—of a young and a stalwart protector rather than an +old and failing one? I do not know; I know only what he +did. Every one who jumped got clear. Sinclair lit in ten +feet of snow, and they pulled him out with a rope: he wasn't +scratched. Even the bridge was not badly strained. Number +One pulled over it next day.</p> + +<p>Sankey was right; there was no more snow; not even +enough to cover the dead engines that lay on the rocks. But +the line was open: the fight was won.</p> + +<p>There never was a funeral in McCloud like Sankey's. +George Sinclair and Neeta followed first, and of the mourners +there were as many as there were spectators. Every engine on +the division carried black for thirty days.</p> + +<p>Sankey's contrivance for fighting snow has never yet been +beaten on the high line. It is perilous to go against a drift +behind it: something has to give. But it gets there, as Sankey +got there—always; and in time of blockade and desperation +on the West End they still send out Sankey's double-header; +though Sankey, as the conductors tell the children, traveling +east or traveling west—Sankey isn't running any more.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>VIII</h3> + +<h2><a name="AUNT_MARY_TELEGRAPHS" id="AUNT_MARY_TELEGRAPHS"></a>AUNT MARY TELEGRAPHS</h2> + +<h3>A Comedy of Everyday Life</h3> + +<h3>By LLOYD E. LONERGAN</h3> + + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"<span class="smcap">Auntie</span> left on the six-o'clock train last night. Meet +her at the depot.—<span class="smcap">Clara</span>."</p></div> + +<p>This telegram, dated New York, greeted Frank Carey +when he reached his pleasant little home on Indiana Avenue, +Chicago.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Mary will be here to-night," he said to his wife, "my +rich aunt from New York, you know. I am to meet her at +the depot."</p> + +<p>"When does she arrive?" fluttered pretty little Mrs. Carey, +a bride of a few months. "Cannot I go with you to +the depot?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Carey said she could, then he thought for a moment, +then he put his doubts into words after a second reading of +the telegram.</p> + +<p>"I wonder what road she is coming in on?" he said.</p> + +<p>"'Twas stupid of her," replied his wife, "but call up the +railroads and find out which one has a six-o'clock train from +New York. Silly!"</p> + +<p>Mr. Carey kissed his wife and remarked that she was the +brightest little girl in the world, after which he gaily telephoned, +listened intently to someone on the other end of the +line, made numerous notes, and turned to his wife in despair.</p> + +<p>"Bless Clara!" he said devoutly.</p> + +<p>His wife looked surprised, so he hastily explained.</p> + +<p>"There is a six o'clock train from New York on the Pennsylvania, +also on the Lake Shore, likewise on the Michigan +Central, and the Lehigh Valley, and the Grand Trunk, and the +West Shore, and the B. &. O.!"</p> + +<p>"Which one is auntie coming on?" inquired Mrs. Carey +with interest.</p> + +<p>"All of them," replied her husband wrathfully. "She is +sitting on the cow-catcher of each and every train, and if I'm +not there to meet her she'll disinherit me. Haven't you +any sense?"</p> + +<p>Whereupon there were tears, apologies, and finally a council +of war. It was Mrs. Carey who solved the problem.</p> + +<p>"All we have to do," she cried, "is to meet all the trains. +Won't it be cute?"</p> + +<p>Carey didn't think so, but was afraid to express himself. +He simply tried to look impressed and listened.</p> + +<p>"There are only seven trains," she continued. "Now +you," counting on her fingers, "are one, and I am two and Mr. +and Mrs. Haines next door, who belong to my whist club, are +four; and Ella Haines is five; and I just saw Mr. What's-his-name +go in to call on Ella—and he'll be six; and that +horrid man on the next block who is in your lodge will have +to be seven."</p> + +<p>The "train meeters" were gathered together inside of an +hour. Mrs. Carey overruled all objections and laughed away +all difficulties. She told them it would be a lark, and they +believed it—at the time! As none of them had met Mrs. +Smith (Aunt Mary), Carey was called upon for a description.</p> + +<p>"Aunt Mary," he said, "is of medium height, dark complexion +and usually dresses in black. She is fifty-eight +years old, but tells people she is under fifty. You cannot +miss her." And with this they were compelled to be satisfied.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Ella Haines was assigned to the Pennsylvania depot and +arrived late. All the New York passengers had disembarked, +but an old woman was standing at the entrance and looking +anxiously at the passers-by.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Smith?" said Ella, inquiringly.</p> + +<p>"Thank heaven, you have come," was the joyous reply.</p> + +<p>"Here," and she stepped to one side and revealed a little girl +who was gazing out at the tracks. "I've had such a time +with that brat and I'll never travel with another again. I've +just got time to catch my train for St. Paul. Good-bye!" +Whereupon, disregarding Ella's cries and her protestations, +the woman rushed madly to the other end of the depot and +disappeared through a gate which closed behind her with a +slam. It was the last call for the St. Paul train.</p> + +<p>Naturally, Ella did not know what to do. She hung around +the depot for half an hour, hoping someone would claim the +child. Then she put the little one in a cab and gave the +Careys' address in Indiana Avenue.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Walter Haines went to the Lake Shore depot. One of +the first passengers to emerge from the New York train was a +female, who seemed to answer the general description furnished +by Carey. She was breathless as if from running +faster than an old woman should run. As she reached Haines, +she stopped and glared at him.</p> + +<p>"Mrs. Smith?" he inquired, lifting his hat.</p> + +<p>The woman grabbed him by the arm. "I knew you would +be here, but hurry, that man is after me!"</p> + +<p>"What man?" asked Haines in surprise.</p> + +<p>"Hush, we cannot talk now," was the reply. "Get a +carriage and drive fast, fast; we must escape him."</p> + +<p>"George couldn't come, he sent me. My name is Haines," +said the puzzled escort.</p> + +<p>"I don't care if your name is Beelzebub" was the impatient +retort. "You get that carriage or I'll write to Roosevelt." +And Mr. Haines, very much astonished, complied.</p> + +<p>He thought as he drove away that he heard someone shouting, +but was not sure; in fact, he paid no attention, for he was +too busy thinking what a queer old aunt his friend Carey had.</p> + +<p>The "horrid man who belonged to the lodge" was named +Perkins. He reached the B. & O. depot half an hour ahead +of time, so he went across the street and had a drink. When +he returned he discovered that No. 7 was late, and so had +another. Also, several more. By the time the train did +arrive he was in such a mellow state that he couldn't tell a +parlor car from a lake steamer—and he didn't care! He +had likewise forgotten what George's aunt looked like, but +that, too, was a trivial matter. So he stood at the gate, beaming +blandly at every person that appeared.</p> + +<p>"Are you Georsh's saunt?" he inquired of a tall man with +white side-whiskers and garbed in ministerial black. His +answer was a look of horror, but it had no effect on Perkins, +who repeated his question at intervals without result. His +lack of success finally drove him to tears.</p> + +<p>"Poor Georsh!" he sobbed. "Dear old Georsh! Must +have an naunt! Break hish heart if he don't have an naunt! +Can't fine his naunt! Get him one myself!"</p> + +<p>A gang of immigrants were passing at the time. Perkins +grabbed one of them by the arm.</p> + +<p>"Be nish fellow," he said persuasively, "be Georsh's +aunt."</p> + +<p>The immigrant was obdurate, but Perkins was persistent. +He drew a roll of bills from his pocket and peeled off a five. +This he pressed upon his new-found friend.</p> + +<p>"Be a good aunt," he said, "be a nish aunt, and I'll give +you two more like thish!"</p> + +<p>The Italian, overcome by the sight of so much wealth, +fell captive to the eloquence of Perkins. The latter was +delighted. He escorted his victim to a saloon across the +street and hurled six drinks into him in rapid succession. +The immigrant beamed and forgot all his troubles. He lit +a fifteen-cent cigar and puffed away as if he were used to it.</p> + +<p>"Be your-a aunt," he said, "be-a anybody's aunt. You +good-a feller."</p> + +<p>This sentiment led to another round of drinks, and then +the pair tumbled into a cab, singing discordantly in two languages. +Perkins fortunately remembered the address of Haines, +and was able to mumble it so that the hackman could understand. +Therefore there was no bar to his enjoyment.</p> + +<p>Of course they stopped en route, for Perkins was brimming +over with gratitude and the cabman was included in their +rejoicing. Long before they reached Indiana Avenue, everybody +was drunk except the horse.</p> + +<p>In the meantime there was all sorts of trouble in the modest +residence of George Carey. The head of the household had +fumed and fretted about the Michigan Central depot, and +finally started home, auntless. There he met his wife, Mrs. +Haines and Ella's young man with similar stories. Five minutes +later a carriage drove up and Ella and her charge alighted.</p> + +<p>"Isn't she a dear little girl?" gurgled Miss Haines, who, +being petite and worried, didn't know anything else to do +under the circumstances except to gurgle.</p> + +<p>Carey gazed at the young woman with distinct disapproval +for the first time in his life.</p> + +<p>"I know the popular impression is that old ladies shrink," +he said, "but Aunt Mary could never have shrunk to that +size. Where did you get her and why?"</p> + +<p>Falteringly, Miss Haines explained. Then she cried. The +child, who had regarded them gravely up to this point, took +it for a signal. She screamed, then she roared. Nobody +could comfort her or find out who she was.</p> + +<p>The arrival of another cab distracted their attention. The +bell rang loudly. As Carey opened the door, an old woman +bounded in. Her hat was on one side of her head and her eyes +gleamed madly.</p> + +<p>"Safe at last!" she cried. Then she ran upstairs, entered +Mrs. Haines's room, and locked the door. Through the panels +came the sound of hysterical laughter.</p> + +<p>Walter Haines entered the house at this moment. His +attitude was distinctly apologetic.</p> + +<p>"Remarkable old lady, isn't she?" he ventured.</p> + +<p>"Who?" asked Mr. Carey.</p> + +<p>"Why your aunt, of course; didn't you see her come in?"</p> + +<p>Carey choked down his wrath out of respect to the ladies, +but it was hard work.</p> + +<p>"I never saw that woman before," he remarked; "you +brought her here uninvited, now you take her away."</p> + +<p>Naturally this provoked argument. Mrs. Haines sided +with her husband, Mrs. Carey flew to the aid of her worser +half, Miss Haines wept, and the little girl screamed. Upstairs, +the bogus Aunt Mary was still laughing.</p> + +<p>None of the interested parties could tell afterward how long +the talk continued. A louder noise outside drew them all to +the front porch. In front of the house was a hansom cab +drawn by a disgusted-looking horse. He looked and acted +like one who had been compelled against his will to mingle +with disreputable associates.</p> + +<p>The driver descended from his seat and fell full length upon +the pavement. He didn't try to get up, but chanted in a +husky tone, "Hail! hail! the gang's all here!!!"</p> + +<p>Then the door of the cab opened and Mr. Perkins appeared. +Nobody could deny that he was very much the worse for wear. +But Mr. Perkins bore himself like a conqueror. He advanced +hastily and embraced Carey with enthusiasm. Carey +recoiled.</p> + +<p>"Dear Georsh," said Perkins. "Got you an naunt!"</p> + +<p>Apprehensively, Carey ran to the carriage. Huddled upon +the floor was an object that moved faintly. From the atmosphere +Sherlock Holmes would have deduced that a whisky +refinery had exploded in that cab a few hours before. The +onlooker gingerly touched the object. It rolled over, then it +rolled out of the cab and lay on the sidewalk beside the driver.</p> + +<p>Perkins kept on smiling. "Your naunt," he remarked, +blandly. "Couldn't get you what you wanted. Got you +thish one!"</p> + +<p>At this moment, Carey remembered that he had a telephone. +He spurned his "aunt" with his foot and passed into the +house. He called up Police Headquarters. His friend, +Sergeant Bob O'Rourke, was on duty, which made it easier +for him.</p> + +<p>"Bob," he said, after greetings had been exchanged, "have +you an alarm out for a little girl kidnapped from the Pennsylvania +station?"</p> + +<p>"Yes."</p> + +<p>"And does anybody want a crazy woman, last seen on a +Lake Shore train?"</p> + +<p>"Yes; her keeper was here half an hour ago," was the +reply. "He was taking her to Kankakee and she made a get-away. +What do you know about her?"</p> + +<p>"They are both here," was the reply. "Send the wagon, +and just for good measure I'll throw in an Italian immigrant +who came in over the B. & O. and a cab-driver. They are +both drunk, very drunk, and please take the cab away too."</p> + +<p>The next half hour gave Indiana Avenue residents plenty +to talk about for a month. But finally the combat was over, +and Carey and his friends sat down exhausted.</p> + +<p>"But what I would like to know," remarked the head of +the house, "where, oh where is Aunt Mary?"</p> + +<p>It was a messenger-boy who brought the answer—a telegram +dated Niagara Falls, current date and reading:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"Stopped over here. Isn't the view from Goat Island +wonderful? Leave for Chicago on the first train. Meet me."</p></div> + +<p>There was a sudden painful silence.</p> + +<p>"Does anybody know how many trains there are from +Niagara Falls?" inquired Mrs. Carey, speaking to the company +generally. She didn't dare to address her husband.</p> + +<p>"Just about as many as there are from New York," replied +Haines, with a woebegone look. "But—"</p> + +<p>"Don't finish it," returned Carey, "I am not going to ask +you to try again, and I am not going to do so myself. Aunt +Mary can leave her money to anybody she pleases. If I +had another night like this the executors would be compelled +to mail me my cheque to an asylum."</p> + +<p>And the next evening Aunt Mary, unattended, reached her +nephew's house without any trouble at all. She didn't +disinherit him; in fact, she felt so sorry because of his troubles +that she bought Mrs. Carey a complete spring outfit regardless +of cost.</p> + +<p>It's a good thing to have an Aunt Mary, even if she is +indefinite in her telegrams.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>IX</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_VENGEANCE_OF_THE_WOLF" id="THE_VENGEANCE_OF_THE_WOLF"></a>THE VENGEANCE OF THE WOLF</h2> + +<h3>A Drama in Wales</h3> + +<h3>By J. AQUILA KEMPSTER</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">In the</span> great stone hall of Llangarth, Daurn-ap-Tavis, +the old Welsh Wolf lay dying. Outside was the night +and a sullen gale whose winds came moaning down the hills +and clung about the house with little bodeful whispers that +grew to long-drawn eerie wails, while pettish rain-squalls +spent their spite in futile gusts on door and casement.</p> + +<p>And through the night from time to time a horseman came, +spurring hard and spitting out strange Welsh oaths at the +winds that harried him. Five had passed the door since sun-down, +four worthy sons and a nephew of the Wolf. They +stood now booted and spurred about the old man's couch, +a rough-looking crew with the mud caking them from +head to foot, while the leaping flames from the log +fire flung their shadows black and distorted far up among +the rafters.</p> + +<p>They hung around him sullenly, but as he looked them up +and down the sick man's eyes took on a new keenness and a +low, throaty laugh that was half a growl escaped him.</p> + +<p>"Well, Cedric, man, what devil's game have you been +playing of late? and, Tad, you black rascal—ah, 'twas a +pity you were born to Gruffydd instead of me. Well, well, +boys, the old Wolf's cornered at last, cornered at last, and +Garm, Levin, Rhys—the Cadwallader's going to live and +laugh, aye, he's going to live and laugh while a Tavis roasts +in hell."</p> + +<p>Garm started with a low growl, while Cedric kicked savagely +at a hound that lay beside the logs.</p> + +<p>"Aye, Ced, kick the old dog, but it won't stop the Cadwallader's +laugh."</p> + +<p>Cedric clenched his fists at the taunt and his face grew +purple in the fire glow, but old Daurn went on remorselessly: +"Twenty years he's laughed at the Wolf and his whelps, an' +think you he'll stop now? He was always too lucky for me. +I thought when my lads grew strong—— But there, he laid me +low, the only man that ever did, curse him! There's the +mark, boys; see the shamed blood rise to it?"</p> + +<p>He loosened his shirt with a fretful jerk and they bent +over and glowered at the red scar which ran across his chest. +They had all seen it times before, knew the dark quarrel and +the darker fight, had tingled with shame again and again, but +to-night it seemed to hold an added sting, for the Wolf was +going out with his debt unpaid.</p> + +<p>Cedric, the elder, gaped and shuddered, then fell to cursing +again, but Daurn drew back the quilt and went on talking: +"I swore by the body of God to get even, and day and night +I've watched my chance. I tried at Tredegar, and that +night ye all mind at Ebbu Vale. Yes, I tell you a dozen times, +but he's a fox, curse him! a sly old fox, and now the Wolf's +teeth are broken. What's that, Ced? Look to him, Tad—aye, +look to all thy cousins. Fine grown lads, big, brave, and +fierce, but the Cadwallader still lives and laughs; yes, laughs +at old Daurn and his boys. My God! to think of it."</p> + +<p>"Curse me! choke me!" Cedric stormed out in spluttering +fury, gripping his sword with one hand while he dragged at +his coat with the other. "I'll cut—cut his bl-black gizzard, +blast him. I'm a c-c-coward, eh! Right in my t-teeth! +Well, wait till th'-th' dawn an' see."</p> + +<p>He had crammed his hat over his eyes and with coat buttoned +all awry was half way to the door before Tad caught +and held him, whispering in his ear: "Steady, Ced, steady. +He's got some plan or I'm a fool. Come back an' wait a bit, +an' if I'm mistaken I'll surely ride along with ye."</p> + +<p>Cedric yielded, doubtful and sullen, but Daurn greeted +him bravely: "God's truth, lad, you've the spirit of the +Wolf at least, but you've got no brains to plan. Come close +an' listen, an' if ye truly want a fight thy father'll never +balk thee."</p> + +<p>Then with faltering breath but gleaming eyes he unfolded +the plan he had conceived to make his dying a thing of greater +infamy than all his bloody days.</p> + +<p>The beginnings of the feud between the House of the Wolf +and that of Llyn Gethin, the Cadwallader, were so remote +that probably both had forgotten, if they ever knew them, for +the old Welsh chieftains passed their quarrels on from generation +to generation and their hot blood rarely cooled in the +passing. Llyn was about the only man in the country who had +been able to hold his own against "the Tavis," but hold it he +had with perhaps a trifle to spare. Indeed, of late years he +had let slip many an opportunity for reprisals, and thrice had +made overtures of peace which had been violently rejected. +Llyn had fought fair at least, even if he had struck hard, but +the life of the Wolf had been as treacherous as it was bloody. +And day by day and year by year, as Daurn's strength began +to fail and brooding took the place of action, the bitterness +of his hatred grew, and out of this at last the plan. It was +simple.</p> + +<p>Daurn was old, dying, and weary of the strife. He would +pass at peace with the world and particularly with his ancient +foe. A messenger should be sent inviting Llyn and his sons +to Llangarth. They would suspect nothing, for all Wales +knew the Wolf lay low—would probably come unarmed and +needs must, as time was short, travel by night. Well, there +was a convenient and lonely spot some three miles from +Llangarth—did the lads understand? Aye, they understood, +but their breath came heavily and they glanced furtively +each at the other, while the youngest, Rhys, shivered and drew +closer to Tad.</p> + +<p>Daurn's burning eyes questioned them one by one, and +one by one they bowed their heads but spake never a word.</p> + +<p>"Ye'll swear to it, lads," he whispered hoarsely, and drew +a long dagger from beneath his pillow. For answer there +came the rattle of loosened steel, and as he again bared his +breast they drew closer in a half circle, laying their blades +flat above his heart, his own dagger adding to the ring of +steel.</p> + +<p>And then they swore by things unknown to modern men +to wipe out the shame that had lain so long upon their house, +and that before their father died.</p> + +<p>As their voices ceased the wind outside seemed to take +up the burden of their bloody oath as if possessed, for it +shrieked and wailed down the great chimney like some living +thing in pain. And then, in a little lull following on the sobbing +cry, there came a curious straining push that shook the +closed oak door.</p> + +<p>They stood transfixed, for a moment daunted, with their +swords half in and half out their scabbards, till with a warning +gesture to his cousins, Black Tad stole softly across the floor +and, lifting the heavy bar cautiously, opened the door.</p> + +<p>He paused an instant on the lintel, motionless and rigid to +the point of his sword, his eyes fixed on the white face of a +girl who was cowered back against the further wall. For a +fraction of time he hesitated, but the awful anguish of the +face and the mute, desperate appeal of the whole pose settled +him. With a rough clatter he sprang into the dim passage, +rattling his sword and stamping his feet, at the same time +giving vent with his lips to the yelp of a hound in pain, and +following it with rough curses and vituperation. Then, without +another glance at the girl, he re-entered the hall and +slammed to the door, grumbling at Rhys for not keeping his +dogs tied up.</p> + +<p>By one o'clock the great hall was still. The men were +lying scattered about the house, for the most part sleeping +as heavily as many jorums of rum made possible.</p> + +<p>But the firelight flickering in the hall caught ever an answering +gleam from the old Wolf's eyes as he lay there gray, shaggy, +and watchful. From time to time his bony fingers plucked +restlessly at his beard, and now and again his lips stretched +back over yellow teeth in an evil smile as he gloated over the +details of his coming vengeance.</p> + +<p>And out in a chill upper hall Gwenith, the fair daughter +of a black house, sat in a deep embrasure, her arms clinging +to the heavy oak bars desperately. The wind moaned and +sighed about her while her white terrified lips echoed the +agony of her heart. And the burden of her whispered cry +was ever, "Davy!—Davy!" and then: "For the Christ's +sake! Davy!—Davy!—Davy!"</p> + +<p>So the night drew on with the men and dogs sleeping torpidly; +with the old Wolf chuckling grimly as the shadows +closed about him, and with the child in the cold above sobbing +out pitiful prayers for her lover, for only yesterday she had +plighted her troth to Davy Gethin, the Cadwallader's youngest +son.</p> + +<p>These two had met in the early days when she wandered +free over the rolling hills, a wild young kilted sprite, fearful +of nothing save her father and his grim sons. And Davy +had wooed her ardently, though in secret from the first. It +had been charming enough in the past despite the fear that +ever made her say him nay. Then yesterday he had won her +from her tears and fears, won her by his brave and tender +front, and she had placed her little hands on his breast and +sworn to follow him despite all else when once her father had +passed away. And now, twelve short hours after her fingers +had touched him, her fear had caught her by the throat, for +they would kill him surely, her prince, the only joy she had +ever known.</p> + +<p>So went the night, with desperate distracted plans, and the +dumb agony of cold despair. And in the very early dawn, +when men and things cling close to sleep, she heard a gentle +stirring—a muffled footfall on the stairs, and Black Tad +stood at her side, a great shadow, questioning her.</p> + +<p>"Mistress, what heard you?"</p> + +<p>And she answered quick with loathing: "All! all the vile, +shameful thing!"</p> + +<p>"They are our foes" he muttered moodily.</p> + +<p>"Foes! Foes! Nay, none of you are worthy any foe—save +the hangman! Ah, God will curse you! Cruel! Cruel!"</p> + +<p>She leaned out of her seat toward him, her panting breath +and fierce words lashing him so that he stepped back a pace, +dazed—she was ever such a gentle child.</p> + +<p>"What would you, Gwen?"</p> + +<p>"What would I! My God!—a fair fight at least. Oh, +Tad, and I thought you were a brave man."</p> + +<p>"I—I—damme, I, what can I do?—and what does it +matter?"</p> + +<p>"Matter?—a foul blot!—matter to you and Ced and +father—nothing! Murderers! I hate you all! What has +the Cadwallader done? All Wales knows 'twas ever father +set on him, not he on father—Always!—always, I say! Aye, +I remember that bloody night at Ebbu Vale. Shame! Shame! +And the harrying and burning at Rhyll, when the mother and +her babes perished. No, you weren't there, Tad, but you +know and I know who was. Ah, Tad, she's crying to God—that +mother, and holding the little dead things in her hands, +close up to his face. And now you'd murder Llyn, for all he's +ever been for peace."</p> + +<p>"Hush-s-sh! not so loud, Gwen."</p> + +<p>"Not so loud! not so loud!" she jibed bitterly. "If you +fear my poor voice now, what will it be when all Wales is +ringing with this last foul deed?"</p> + +<p>Tad breathed hard, then caught her wrists suddenly, +crushing them in his fierceness: "Listen, Gwenith. After +all I'm no Tavis—I'm Gruffydd, and I love you."</p> + +<p>She shrank away with wide, fearful eyes, her breath coming +in little painful gasps.</p> + +<p>"What—what do you mean, Tad?"</p> + +<p>"I love you, Gwen."</p> + +<p>"And——?"</p> + +<p>"Well, I'm no Tavis—I'm Gruffydd."</p> + +<p>Slowly the meaning which he himself hardly understood +dawned on her.</p> + +<p>"You'll save them, Tad?"</p> + +<p>"Na, na. A fair fight is what you said. 'Tis all I can do."</p> + +<p>"And you will?"</p> + +<p>"I love you," he persisted stubbornly.</p> + +<p>She closed her eyes tightly and leaned back against the +wooden shutter, her hands still held close in his grasp. And +she strove to see clearly through the mist of horror and pain. +It was a chance, at least a fighting chance, to save Davy, her +prince; the only chance, the only way, and outside that what +else mattered?</p> + +<p>Her eyes opened and her lips trembled; then she got her +strength back and faced him in the dim dawn.</p> + +<p>"My life for theirs, Tad,—is that it?"</p> + +<p>Her eyes and her question shamed him, but he clung to +his text doggedly, for he had loved her long and hopelessly in +his wild, stubborn way, and this was his first and only desperate +chance.</p> + +<p>"I love ye, Gwenith, I love ye!"</p> + +<p>There came a stir in the far hall, a long-drawn yawn; and +at the sound the girl whispered fiercely: "Well, it's a bargain; +give them fair warning and I'll—I'll do—give you your +will. Yes, I swear it by the dear Saint David. Quick! let +me go—no, not now!—Tad, I command you, I—I—Quick! +that's Garm's voice; let me go."</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>"Llyn Gethin! a word in your ear before we ride on."</p> + +<p>It was Tad who spoke to the old Cadwallader out in the +moonlight. Llyn had answered Daurn's urgent message +for peace, and a few miles north of Llangarth had met Tad. +At the words the old man looked at him curiously, but reined +his horse in, while his sons watched the pair suspiciously, for +they were young, their blood and their hate still ran hotly, +and save for their father would have had none of this death-bed +reconciliation.</p> + +<p>"Well, lad, what is it?" asked Llyn, when they were out +of earshot.</p> + +<p>"A word of warning, sir—from one who hates you."</p> + +<p>"Ah! You were ever a good hater, boy. What is it?"</p> + +<p>"'Tis a trick o 'mine, sir—this visit—and you'd better +ride back."</p> + +<p>"I think not, Tad."</p> + +<p>"Well, have your way, but if you ride with me you ride to +hell."</p> + +<p>"We ride with you, Tad."</p> + +<p>"Your blood be on you and your sons, then, Llyn Gethin. +You're safe to the stone bridge; after that fend for yourself. +I—I'm a cursed traitor, but, by David, I strike with my +house. There, I've warned you, and God forgive me."</p> + +<p>"Amen, lad! Will you shake hands before we ride?"</p> + +<p>"No, choke me! I'd sooner ding my dagger in your +neck."</p> + +<p>So they rejoined the waiting group and rode forward, Tad +moodily in advance, Llyn and his sons in a whispering bunch +some yards behind. It had been Tad's own suggestion that +he ride forward and meet the Gethins so they might be lured +the more easily to the turn beyond the bridge. Now they +followed on till they saw the white masonry gleaming in the +moonlight, and then the dark form of Tad's horse crossing it, +when there was a halt and a grim tightening of belts and +loosening of swords. And as the man on the bridge threw up +his arm, Llyn answered the sign hoarsely: "God keep thee, +son of Gruffydd!" he cried. Then as his sons closed in he +turned on them sternly: "Remember, lads! who touches him +touches me. Ah! steady now! Forward!"</p> + +<p>Even as they clattered on the bridge Tad's challenge and +signal to his kinsmen rang out furiously:</p> + +<p>"The Wolf! The Wolf and Saint David!"</p> + +<p>Then came a rush of horse and steel and wild-eyed men, +which but for their preparation would have swept the Gethins +down. As it was they met it fiercely as it came. They had +not come unarmed—perhaps wise old Llyn distrusted such +late penitence even as did his sons. Be that as it may, the cry +of "Cadwallader!" rose against "The Wolf!" and bore it +back, for even in the first wild rush, Cedric fell away before +a long, swift thrust, and a moment later Rhys, the youngest of +the house went down and died beneath the stamping iron +hoofs.</p> + +<p>When Llyn saw this he called to stop the fight, but Tad, +in a frenzy of horror and remorse, flung on again with Garth +and Levin striking wild beside him. 'Twas a wicked rush, +but now the fight stood five to three, and in the crash Levin +slipped and got a dagger in his throat, while Tad spurred +through an open way. Then as he reined and turned, the +end was come, for Garm's shrill death-cry tore the air, and +he was left alone.</p> + +<p>Thrice he charged like a wounded boar, shouting hoarsely +for the house he had betrayed. "The Wolf! The Wolf! +Saint David and the Wolf!"</p> + +<p>And ever he found that open way and ever their steel +avoided him.</p> + +<p>At last he reined in his sweating mare and fell to cursing, +his face distraught with agony and wet with blood and sweat +and tears. So he stood, desperate—at bay, and taunted +them with every vileness his furious tongue could frame. +Then faltered at last with a great heartbroken sob, for they +sat silent and still and would not give him fight.</p> + +<p>On the road at his horse's feet Cedric lay and Rhys, and +over yonder in the grass the other two. He swayed weakly +as he looked, then slid from his saddle and stooping, kissed +his cousins one by one, with those grim, silent figures looking +on. He broke his sword across his knee—his father, Gruffydd's +sword—and flung the pieces with an oath at Llyn. +Then, ere they could guess his meaning, his dagger flashed, +and with a last weak cry for "the Wolf," he fell with the men +of his House.</p> + +<hr style='width: 45%;' /> + +<p>Back at Llangarth the great hall was aglow and Daurn +chuckled and waited and plucked at his beard, till, just past +midnight, there came a sudden commotion and the heavy +tramp of horses in the outer court. Then Gwenith ran in +white and wild, and kneeling, buried her sobs in the drapery +of the couch. And ere her father could question her a group +of sombre figures filled the doorway.</p> + +<p>'Twas a dream—surely 'twas a fearful dream! Or were +they ghosts? Yes, that was it; see the blood on them! He +was either dreaming or these were the very dead.</p> + +<p>They drew up to the couch, Llyn and his tall, stern sons. +Daurn knew them well and strove to curse them, but the +Cadwallader's grave voice hushed him to a sudden fear.</p> + +<p>"Peace be with thee, Daurn-ap-Tavis, we come—to +bid thee farewell."</p> + +<p>Daurn gasped and stuttered, his fingers clawing fearfully +while a cold sweat broke out over his forehead. But ere +he found his voice two of Llyn's sons, David and Sion, drew +away to the door, and later, Llewellen and Pen. They came +back heavily and laid their burdens gently by the fire logs +and returned, then came again and went. Five times in all. +And an awful fear was in Daurn's eyes as he glared at those +still, muffled shapes lying close beside him in the firelight.</p> + +<p>Then Llyn spoke, slow and sorrowfully, as he stooped and +one by one drew the face-cloths from the dead.</p> + +<p>"Peace be with thee, Daurn-ap-Tavis; thy son Cedric—bids +thee farewell.</p> + +<p>"Rhys—bids thee farewell.</p> + +<p>"Also Tad, thy brother's son—bids thee farewell."</p> + +<p>But the end was come, for Daurn, with a little childish cry, +had gone to seek his sons. Llyn stooped and gently closed the +old Wolf's eyes, then with bent head and weary step passed +from the room.</p> + +<p>But young Davy stole back softly and knelt near the stricken +girl at the foot of the couch.</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>X</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_WOOING_OF_BETTINA" id="THE_WOOING_OF_BETTINA"></a>THE WOOING OF BETTINA</h2> + +<h3>A Story of Finance</h3> + +<h3>By W.Y. SHEPPARD</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Mr. Paul Strumley</span> stood on the veranda of Mr. +Richard Stokes's sumptuous home in the fashionable +suburb of Lawrenceville and faced the daughter of the house +indignantly. The daughter of the house was also plainly +perturbed. Their mutual agitation was sharply accentuated +by the fresh calmness of the spring morning, which seemed +to hover like a north-bound bird over the wide, velvety lawn.</p> + +<p>"Bettina," announced Mr. Strumley suddenly, "your +father is—is——"</p> + +<p>"An old goose."</p> + +<p>"No, a brute!"</p> + +<p>This explosion appeared momentarily to relieve his state +of mind. But in his breast there was still left a sufficiency +of outraged dignity to warm his cheeks hotly, and not by any +means without an abundance of cause. Scarcely an hour +before he had nervously, yet exultantly, alighted from his big +touring car in front of the Commercial Bank, to seek the +president of that institution in the sanctity of his private +office. There, briefly but eloquently, he announced the +engagement of Miss Bettina Stokes to Mr. Paul Strumley, +and naïvely requested for the happy young people a full share +of the parental sanction and blessing. And his callow confidence +can hardly be condemned on recalling that he was +one of the wealthiest and most popular young swains in the +city. Mr. Stokes, however, did not seem to take this into +consideration. On the contrary, he rose to the occasion with +an outburst of disapprobation too inflammatory to be set +on paper, and quickly followed it with a picturesque and +uncompromising ultimatum. In the confused distress of +the unexpected Mr. Strumley found himself unable to marshal +a single specimen of logical refutation. He could only retreat +in haste, to recover, if possible, at leisure.</p> + +<p>But this leisure, the time it had taken him to hurl the +machine across town to Bettina, had proven sadly insufficient. +When he rushed up the steps to the veranda, where sat +the object of his affections rocking in beautiful serenity, he +was still choking from indignation, and had found it hard to +tell her in coherent sentences that her father had energetically +refused the honor of an alliance with the highly respectable +Strumley family.</p> + +<p>The grounds, however, on which had been based this +unreasonable objection were of all things under the sun the +most preposterous. Mr. Stokes had emphatically declared +that his daughter's happiness was too dear to him to be foolishly +entrusted to one who could not even manage his own +affairs, let alone the affairs of a wife, and, presumably later, +of a family. Mr. Strumley was rich at present, so much +was readily conceded; but he was not capable himself of taking +care of what a thrifty parent had laid by for him. He in his +weak-mindedness was compelled to hire the brains of a mere +substitute, a manager, if you prefer. Should anything happen, +and such things happen every day, where would Mr. Strumley +be? And where, pray, would be his wife and family? In +the poorhouse!</p> + +<p>"My daughter is too good for a man who cannot manage +his own concerns," the irate father had summed up. "When +you have shown yourself capable, my lad, of competing in +the world with grown-up intellects, then there will be time +enough for you to contemplate matrimony—and not until +then. Good morning to you, Mr. Strumley."</p> + +<p>"And he snapped his jaws together like a vise," recalled +Paul, coming out from his gloomy retrospection.</p> + +<p>"If he shut them so," and Bettina worked her pretty chin +out to its farthest extension, "well, that means he is like the +man from Missouri; you've got to show him before he changes +his mind one iota."</p> + +<p>"I ought to have been humping over a desk from the start," +regretted Mr. Strumley, feeling his bulging biceps dolefully. +"It's all right stroking a crew, and heaps of fun, too, but it +doesn't win you a wife. Now there's your dad, he couldn't +pull a soap box across a bath tub; but he can pull through +a 'deal' I couldn't budge with a hand-spike."</p> + +<p>Miss Bettina sighed sympathetically, and smiled appreciatively. +She felt deeply for her lover, and was justly proud +of such a capable parent. "Every one does say papa is an +excellent business man," she remarked; "and he certainly +can swing some wonderful deals. Only yesterday I accidentally +overheard him telling Mr. Proctor that he held an option—I +think that was the word—from Haynes, Forster & Company +on thousands and thousands of acres of timber land in Arkansas. +He said it would expire to-day at two o'clock, but that +he was going to buy the land for cash—'spot cash' he said +was what they demanded."</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley smiled ruefully. "And I guess it will be +some of my 'spot cash,'" he ruminated. "I am not saying +anything against your father, Bettina, but if it wasn't for +such idle good-for-nothings as myself, who let their money +accumulate in his bank, I doubt if he could swing many of +these 'big deals.' If we were like he wanted us to be, we'd +be swinging them ourselves."</p> + +<p>After Mr. Strumley had finished his bit of philosophy, he +fell to communing with himself. Apparently his own wisdom +had stirred a new thought within his breast. It had. He +was beginning to wonder what would happen if Bettina's +father suddenly found himself bereft of sufficient "spot cash" +to take advantage of this option. Anyone having a second +call on same might be fortunate enough to swing the "big +deal"—and profit by it, according to his intentions!</p> + +<p>"Paul," Bettina broke in upon his meditations, a little note +of hopeful pleading in her voice, "it might not be too late +for you to—to reform?"</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley aroused himself with difficulty, and looked +into her bewitching face before replying. Then: "Maybe +you are right," he mused; "at any rate I have an idea." +And kissing her thoughtfully, he strode down the steps toward +where encouragingly panted his car.</p> + +<p>The car proudly bore Mr. Strumley and his idea to the +brand-new offices of a certain young friend of his who had +himself only recently metamorphosed from the shell to the +swivel chair. Mr. Greenlee looked up in mute surprise. But +Mr. Strumley ignored it and came to the point with a rush. +Did Mr. Greenlee have twenty thousand dollars in cash to +spare? He did? Good! Would he lend it to Mr. Strumley +on gilt-edge collateral? Never mind exclamations; they had +no market value. Eight per cent. did. Then Mr. Greenlee +was willing to make the loan? That was talking business; +and Mr. Strumley with the securities would call in two hours +for the cash. That would give Mr. Greenlee ample time in +which to get it from his bank—the Commercial.</p> + +<p>When outside Mr. Strumley allowed himself to smile. +Suddenly this evidence of inward hilarity broadened into a +heartily exploded greeting, as a familiar figure turned the +corner and advanced directly toward him. It was another +wealthy customer of the aforesaid bank.</p> + +<p>"I was just on my way to your office, Mr. Proctor," Paul +announced pleasantly, at the same time cautiously drawing to +one side the customer of the Commercial. "I intend investing +heavily in real estate," he vouchsafed with admirable sang-froid; +"and need, right away, in spot cash, about thirty +thousand dollars. Have you got that much to spare at 8 per +cent., on first class security?"</p> + +<p>Eight per cent! Mr. Proctor's expression expanded. He +made his living by lending money for much less. If dear +Mr. Strumley would call at his office within two hours he +should have it every cent—just as soon as he could get a +check cashed at the Commercial.</p> + +<p>Next the faithful machine whirled Paul to the rooms of +his staid attorney and general manager, Mr. John Edwards.</p> + +<p>That elderly gentleman welcomed him with his nearest +approach to a smile. But the young man was in no mood for +an elaborate exchange of exhilarations. Without preface he +inquired the amount of his deposit subject to check in the +Commercial Bank. Fifty thousand dollars! A most delightful +sum. He needed it every cent within an hour. Also he +wanted from his safe-deposit box enough A1 collateral to +secure loans of twenty and thirty thousand, respectively. But +first would Mr. Edwards kindly call up and get second option +on all Arkansas timber lands represented by Haynes, Forster +& Company? Mr. Strumley believed that the first option +was held by a local party. Furthermore he knew it expired +to-day; and had reasons to believe that a local party would not +be able to take advantage of it, and he, Mr. Strumley, thought +that he could handle the property to a good purpose.</p> + +<p>For the first time Mr. Edwards learned that his young +client had a will of his own. After a few fruitless exhortations +he rose to obey, but remarking: "Right much money in +these hard times to withdraw in a lump from the bank." +Then, with a sidelong glance at the grave, boyish face, he +added significantly: "Know you would not do anything to +jeopardize Mr. Stokes's financial standing."</p> + +<p>"Oh, a bagatelle like that wouldn't embarrass as shrewd +and resourceful a business man as he," assured Paul breezily.</p> + +<p>"Money is pretty tight," mused the lawyer. But he called +up Haynes, Forster & Company without further remonstrances +and afterward went out to perform his commissions. +Soon Mr. Strumley lighted a cigar and followed. There +would be something doing in the way of entertainment +presently in the neighborhood of the musty old Commercial +Bank.</p> + +<p>In front of that institution he had the good fortune to meet +the town miser, who seldom strayed far from the portals +behind which reposed his hoard. Mr. Strumley halted to +liberally wish the local celebrity an abundance of good health +and many days of prosperity. Incidentally he noted through +the massive doors that his three cash-seeking friends were in +the line before the paying teller's window, the lawyer being +last and Mr. Greenlee first. When the latter came out, still +busily trying to cram the packages of bills properly in the +satchel he carried, Paul remarked confidentially to his +companion:</p> + +<p>"Must be something doing to-day. The big guns are +drawing all of theirs out."</p> + +<p>The old fellow gave a start as the suggestion shot home. +Before Paul could nurse it further, he had sprinted off up the +street like mad, chattering to himself about the desirability +of returning immediately with his certificates of deposit.</p> + +<p>It is an old adage that no one knows the genesis of a "run +on the bank." Maybe Mr. Strumley was the exception which +proves the validity of the rule. At any rate he considered +with large satisfaction the magical gathering of a panic-inoculated +crowd, which, sans courage, sans reason, sans everything +but a thirst for the touch of their adored cash, clamored +loudly, despairingly, for the instant return of their dearly +beloved.</p> + +<p>At last through the meshes of the mad throng appeared the +shiny pate of Mr. John Edwards. He uttered an exclamation +of relief at the sight of his calm client.</p> + +<p>"Hope you got it before the storm broke?" Mr. Strumley +greeted amiably.</p> + +<p>"S-s-sh!" cautioned the attorney dramatically. "I was +about to go in search of you." Then he added in even a +lower key: "Mr. Stokes asked me to persuade you not to +withdraw the money until he had had a chance to get the flurry +well in hand."</p> + +<p>"But the money is mine, and I want it now," expostulated +the young man.</p> + +<p>"Come with me, please, and listen to reason," beseeched +the lawyer, drawing him resolutely in the direction of a side +entrance. "It would be a dire misfortune, sir, a calamity to +the community, if the bank were forced to close its doors. So +far, however, it is only the small depositors who are clamoring; +but the others will quickly enough follow if you do not +let your fifty thousand remain to help wipe out this first rush. +The bank, though, is as sound as a dollar."</p> + +<p>In another instant they were through the door, and before +Mr. Strumley could reply, for the second time that morning +he stood in the presence of Bettina's father.</p> + +<p>"As Mr. Edwards will tell you," explained Paul, unable +altogether to suppress his nervousness, "I hold second option +for to-day on large timber tracts in Arkansas, represented by +Messrs. Haynes, Forster & Company. The first option, +I was advised, will expire at two o'clock; and my party was +of the belief it would not be closed. It is a big deal, Mr. +Stokes,"—Mr. Stokes winced perceptibly—"and I was +extremely anxious to swing it, because—er—well, because +it's my first big venture and much depends on its success."</p> + +<p>"Yes," mused Mr. Stokes sadly, "it is quite probable the +first option may be allowed to lapse, and I understand good +money is to be made in Arkansas timber." His face had +grown a trifle ashy. "Of course, this being the case, I feel +in honor bound, Mr. Strumley, to instantly recall my +request."</p> + +<p>Paul gave a gasp of admiration. He was glad Bettina's +father was "game." So was Bettina. In the up-boiling of +his feelings he emphatically vetoed the determination of the +banker. Indeed, so well and eloquently did he argue for the +retention and use of his funds by the Commercial, that even +the self-effacing man of "deals" could not resist the onslaught. +He rose with unconcealed emotion and grasped the hand of +the young man whose generosity would save the credit of the +old financial institution.</p> + +<p>Later, flushed with victory, Mr. Strumley returned to the +cushions of his touring car; and the jubilantly chugging +machine whizzed him off in the direction where, surrounded by +cash, awaited the 8 per cent. expectations of Messrs. Proctor +and Greenlee. Later still he descended with said cash upon +the offices of Haynes, Forster & Company. And even later, +after an exhilarating spin in the country, he arrived safe and +blithesome at his well-appointed rooms in the Hotel Fulton, +ready to remove with good soap and pure aqua the stains of +mart and road before calling on Miss Bettina Stokes.</p> + +<p>The first thing that attracted his eyes on entering his little +sitting room was a neatly wrapped parcel on the table. On +the top of it reclined a dainty, snowy envelope. Mr. Strumley +approached suspiciously. Then he recognized the handwriting +and uttered an exclamation of joy. It was from +Bettina.</p> + +<p>In the short time he held the missive poised reverently in +his hand Paul permitted a glow of satisfaction to permeate +his being. He had done well and was justly entitled to a +moment of self laudation. Mr. Stokes—Bettina's father—would +no longer be against him, for who could not say he +was not capable of competing in the world-arena with full-grown, +gladiatorial intellects? He had even successfully +crossed blades with Mr. Stokes's own best brand of Damascene +gray matter. And he had won the fray, for the everlasting +good and happiness of all parties concerned. In anticipation +he already felt himself thrilling proudly beneath the crown of +Bettina's love and her father's benediction.</p> + +<p>The crackle of the delicate linen beneath his grasp brought +him sweetly back to the real. What delicious token could +Bettina be sending him? Of course her father had told her +all. How happy she, too, must be! Mr. Strumley broke the +seal of the envelope and read:</p> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">"Mr. Paul Strumley</span>,<br /> +City.<br /> +<br /> +"<span class="smcap">Dear Sir:</span><br /> +</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>"I herewith return your letters, photographs, etc. Papa +has told me all. It was at first impossible to believe you +capable of taking such a base advantage of my confidence +about the Arkansas option; but I am at last thoroughly convinced +that you incited the run on the bank to embarrass poor +papa and compel him to let the deal fall into your traitorous +hands. And the by-play of yours in returning the money you +did not really need, though it has completely deceived him, +has in my eyes only added odium to your treachery. I trust +that I have made it quite clear that in the future we can meet +only as strangers.</p></div> + +<p> +<span class="smcap">"Bettina Stokes."</span><br /> +</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley let the letter slip unnoticed through his +palsied fingers. He sat down with heavy stupefaction. So +this was the sud-spray of his beautiful bubble? It was incomprehensible! +Bettina! Bettina! Oh, how could she? Where +was her faith? No small voice answered from within the +depths of his breast; and Mr. Strumley got clumsily to his +feet. He was painfully conscious that he must do something—think +something. But what was he to do? What was he +to think? Could he ever make her understand? Make her +believe? At least he could go and try.</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley finished his toilet nervously; and repaired +to the home of Bettina, to cast his hope on the waters of her +faith and charity. The butler courteously informed him that +she was "not in." But Mr. Stokes was in the library. Would +Mr. Strumley like to see him? Mr. Strumley thought not.</p> + +<p>It was a bad night for Paul. From side to side he tossed +in search of inspiration. Day came; and he rolled wearily +over to catch the first beams of the gladsome spring sunshine. +From its torrid home ninety-three million miles afar it hurried +to his bedside. It shimmered in his face and laughed with +warm invigoration into the torpid cells of his brain. It awakened +them, filled them with new life, hope—inspiration!</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley leaped from his bed to the bath-tub, and +fluttered frolicsomely in the crystal tide. When he sprang out +there was the flush of vigorous young manhood on his skin +and the glow of an expectant lover's ardency in his breast. +Everything was arranged satisfactorily in the space beneath +Mr. Strumley's water-tousled hair, wherein sat the goddess of +human happiness—reason.</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley, after a hurried stop-over at the office of his +astounded charge d'affaires, reached the Commercial Bank +before the messenger boys. While waiting in the balm of +the spring morning for the doors to open he circumnavigated +the block nine times—he counted them. Coming in on the +last tack he sighted the portly form of the banker careening +with dignified speed around the corner. Another instant he +had crossed the mat and disappeared into his financial harbor. +Mr. Strumley steered rapidly in his wake.</p> + +<p>Again he stood in the presence of Bettina's father. This +time, however, he was calm. In fact, the atmosphere about +the two men was heavily charged with the essence of good +fellowship. Mr. Stokes held out his hand cordially. The +younger man pressed its broad palm with almost filial veneration. +He noted, too, with a slight touch of remorse, that the +banker's countenance was harassed. Evidently his heart +still ached for the lost Arkansas timber. Mr. Strumley +smiled philanthropically.</p> + +<p>He had something to say to Mr. Stokes, and began to say +it with the easy enunciation of one who rests confident in the +sunshine of righteousness. He spoke evenly, fluently. Of +course Mr. Stokes at first might be a trifle perplexed. But +please bear with him, hear him through, then he himself should +be the sole judge.</p> + +<p>He, Mr. Strumley, did not care a rap—no, not a single +rap, for every tree that grew in the entire state of Arkansas. +What he wanted to do was to show Mr. Stokes—Bettina's +father—that he was worth the while. That is, he wanted to +demonstrate—it was a good word—to demonstrate that he +had brains in his cranium as good as many another variety +that boasted a trade mark of wider popularity. Had he done +it? And if what he had done did not concur with the elements +of high finance, he would like Mr. Stokes—Bettina's +father—to tell him what it did concur with. Now, there was +the whole story from its incipiency. And as conclusive proof +that he did not mean to profit by the deal financially, would +Mr. Stokes kindly examine those papers?</p> + +<p>Mr. Stokes looked at the documents tossed on the desk +before him; and saw that they were several warranty deeds, +conveying to Richard Stokes, his heirs and assigns forever, +all titles and claims of all kinds whatsoever in certain therein-after +described tracts or parcels of land in the state of Arkansas, +for value received.</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley leaned back and contentedly watched a flush +overspread the banker's face. His automobile waited at the +door to whisk him to Bettina, and he was ready to carry on +the campaign there the moment her father had finished his +effusions of gratitude. Meanwhile the flush deepened; and, +all impatience to fly to his lady-love, Paul egged on the speech.</p> + +<p>"You will note, Mr. Stokes," he volunteered, "that the +price is exactly the same you had proposed paying. At your +convenience, of course, you can remit this amount to my +attorney, Mr. Edwards."</p> + +<p>Mr. Stokes rose slowly. The flush had become apoplectic.</p> + +<p>"Mr. Strumley," he began, his large voice trembling, "this +trick of yours is unworthy of an honorable man. Here, sir, +take these papers and leave my office immediately."</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley rose also. Like the banker's voice, he, too, +was trembling.</p> + +<p>"But, sir——" he commenced to expostulate.</p> + +<p>"Go!" thundered the father of Bettina.</p> + +<p>Dazed, confused by the suddenness of the blast, Paul +groped his way through the bank to the refuge of his car. +Mechanically he put one hand on the lever and glanced ahead +for obstacles. Crossing the street, not twenty yards ahead, +tripped the most dangerous one conceivable—the beautiful +Bettina herself!</p> + +<p>Mr. Strumley's hand fell limply to his knee. Fascinated +he watched her reach the curb and with a little skip spring to +the pavement. Then she came straight toward him; but he +could see she was blissfully oblivious of his nearness. Suddenly +an odd wave of emotion surged through his brain. His +heart leaped with primitive savagery of love, and every fibre +in him rebelled fiercely against the decrees and limitations of +modern courtship. He had failed in the game as governed +and modified by the rules of polite society and high finance. +The primogenital man-spirit in him cried out for its inning. +Mr. Strumley, as umpire, hearkened to its clamor.</p> + +<p>"Bettina!" he called, as that young lady came calmly +abreast of the car, "wait a moment. I must speak with you."</p> + +<p>She started with a half-frightened exclamation; but met +his look, at first defiantly, scornfully, then hesitatingly, faltering +as she tried to take another step onward.</p> + +<p>"Bettina!" Mr. Strumley's voice vibrated determinedly, +"I said I wished to speak with you. I can explain—everything."</p> + +<p>She halted reluctantly, and partly turned. In a moment +he was at her side, his hand upon her arm. His glance had +in it all the compelling strength of unadulterated, pristine +manhood. She seemed to feel its potency, and without +remonstrance suffered him to lead her toward the machine.</p> + +<p>For a moment, for a single moment, Mr. Strumley was +exhilaratingly conscious of being borne aloft on a great wave +of victorious gladness. Then the waters of triumph let him +down with a shock.</p> + +<p>"Bettina!"</p> + +<p>At the word they both pivoted like pieces of automata. Mr. +Stokes, large and severe, was standing between the portals of +his financial fortification.</p> + +<p>"Bettina!" His voice was almost irresistible in the force +of its parental summons.</p> + +<p>At the sound of it the primeval lover, newly renascent in +Mr. Strumley's breast, cowed before the power of genitorial +insistency. Then it came back into its own exultantly.</p> + +<p>"Bettina, my darling, get in," he commanded.</p> + +<p>She faltered, turned rebelliously, turned again and obeyed.</p> + +<p>"Bettina!" The voice of the childless banker faded off in +the distance, its last echo drowned in the full-throated: +"Bettina, we are going to be married at once," that broke +joyously from Mr. Strumley's lips. "I have followed the +example of the Romans, and taken me a wife from the Sabines."</p> + +<p>Bettina peeped up at him from beneath the dark screens +of her lashes. "Then I, like the wise Sabian ladies, shall save +the day for peace and for Rome," she smiled archly.</p> + +<p>And the machine laughed "Chug-chug!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>XI</h3> + +<h2><a name="THE_JAM_GOD" id="THE_JAM_GOD"></a>THE JAM GOD</h2> + +<h3>A Tale of Nigeria</h3> + +<h3>By H.M. EGBERT</h3> + + +<p><span class="smcap">Lieutenant Peters</span>, of the Royal Nigerian Service, +was lying upon the ground face downward, under a +prickly tree. The sun was nearly vertical, and the little +round shadow in which he reclined was interlaced with streaks +of hot light. As the sun moved, Peters rolled into the shade +automatically. His eyes were shut, and he was in that hot +borderland which is the nearest approach to sleep at noontide +in Nigeria.</p> + +<p>The flies were pestering him, and he was thirsty—not with +that thirst of the mouth which may be quenched with a long +draught, but with the thirst of the throat that sands and +sears. He felt thirsty all over. He had been thirsty, like +this, ever since he struck the bend of the Niger. What made +it worse, every night he dreamed of fruits that were snatched +away, like the food of Tantalus, as he approached to grasp +them. Two nights before he had been wandering knee-deep +in English strawberry beds; the night before he had +been shaking down limes and oranges from groves of trees +set with green leaves and studded with golden fruit. Once +he had dreamed of a new fruit, a cross between a pear and +a watermelon; but when he cut into it he found nothing but +hard, small seeds, with a pineapple flavor, which he detested.</p> + +<p>Peters was dreaming now, for he twined his fingers in the +long grass and tossed uneasily.</p> + +<p>"I'll pick them all," he muttered sleepily. "All mixed +together, with ten or twelve pounds of damp, brown sugar, +and boiled into jam."</p> + +<p>He woke and felt his teeth for the hundredth time, to note +whether any untoward looseness betokened the advent of +the dreaded scurvy. Reassured, he stretched his limbs and +rolled over into the shade of the tree.</p> + +<p>"When I get back to a white man's country," he murmured—"when +I get home to England what is it I am going to do? +Why, I shall go into a restaurant and order some rich brown +soup. Then I shall have <i>pate de foie gras</i> sandwiches. Then +scrambled eggs, chocolate, and muffins buttered with whipped +cream. Then half a dozen cans of jam. I shall either begin +with strawberry and conclude with apricot, or else I shall +begin with apricot and wind up with raspberry. It doesn't +matter much; any kind of jam will do except pineapple."</p> + +<p>He opened his eyes, brushed away the flies that swarmed +noisily round him, took out his hard-tack, and opened a small +can of dried beef. He munched for a while, sipping occasionally +from the tepid water in his canteen. When he had +finished he put the can-opener back in the pocket of his tunic +and rose, his face overspread with a look of resolution.</p> + +<p>"I believe," he cried, "I believe that I could eat even a +can of pineapple!"</p> + +<p>He rose, the light of his illusion still in his eyes, and began +staggering weakly under the blazing sun in the direction +of his camp. He was weaker than he had thought, and when +he reached the shelter of his tent he sank down exhausted +upon the bed. Through the open flap he could see, five +hundred yards away, the round, beehive-shaped huts of the +native village and, in their centre, the square palace of King +Mtetanyanga, built of sticks and Niger mud, surrounded by +its stockade, the royal flag, a Turkish bath-towel stained yellow +and blue, floating proudly above.</p> + +<p>Lieutenant Peters had been sent by the Nigerian Government +along the upper Niger to conclude treaties with the +different kings and sweep them within the British sphere of +interest. The French were out upon a similar errand, for +in this region the two nations possessed only a vague and very +indeterminate boundary line. Peters had been successful +until he came to the village of King Mtetanyanga, who had +balked at affixing his cross to the piece of mysterious parchment +on the ground that it was unlawful to do so during the +festival of the great Ju-Ju, whose worshipers could be heard +wailing and beating tom-toms nightly in some unknown part +of the jungle. What this Ju-Ju fetish was nobody could tell; +it had come into the village recently, from the coast, men +whispered; it possessed awful and mysterious potency; +was guarded zealously by some score of priests, who veiled +its awful vision; and it was the greatest Ju-Ju for hundreds +of miles along the Niger, tribes from distant regions frequently +arriving to sacrifice pigs to it.</p> + +<p>However, Lieutenant Raguet, the French commissioner, +had been equally unsuccessful in inducing the dusky monarch +to affix his signature to the French treaty, and the ambassadors +of the rival nations were both encamped near the village, +waiting for the Ju-Ju festivities to reach their plethoric conclusion +before the king sobered up and attended to business.</p> + +<p>Raguet, strolling into his rival's camp that evening, found +Peters in his tent, flushed, and breathing heavily.</p> + +<p>"Tcht! tcht! you are seeck," said the Frenchman sympathetically. +"That ees too bad. Have you quinine?"</p> + +<p>"Quinine be hanged," cried Peters huskily. "I've taken +the stuff until I've floated in it. There's only one thing +can cure me, Raguet. I've been living on crackers and +canned beef for over a month, and I'm pining for jam. Have +you got any jam?"</p> + +<p>"Dsham, dsham?" repeated Raguet with a puzzled +expression.</p> + +<p>"Yes, les preserves—le fruit et le sugar, bouilli—you +know what I mean."</p> + +<p>"Ah, ze preserve!" said the Frenchman, with an expression +of enlightenment. "Ze preserve, I have him not."</p> + +<p>"I tell you what, Raguet," said Peters irritably, "I've got +to get some jam somewhere or I shall kick the bucket. I'm +craving for it, man. If I had one can of the stuff it would +put me upon my feet instantly, I can feel it. Now it's ten to +one I'll be too sick to see the king after the ceremonies are +over, and he'll sign your treaty instead of mine. And I've +given him three opera hats, a phonograph, and a gallon of +rum, curse the luck! What did you give him, Raguet?"</p> + +<p>"Me? I give him a umbrella with ze gold embroider," the +Frenchman answered.</p> + +<p>"My government won't let me give the little kings umbrellas," +said Peters in vexation. "It makes the big chiefs +jealous. I say, Raguet," he rambled on, sitting up dizzily, +"what is this Ju-Ju idol of theirs?"</p> + +<p>"I know not," said the French lieutenant. "Only ze +king and ze priests have seen him. If zey tell, zey die—ze +idol keel zem."</p> + +<p>"I suppose they'll be keeping up these infernal tom-toms +for another week," grumbled the sick man, lying back and +half closing his eyes from weariness. "Well, I'll have to +try to get well in time."</p> + +<p>The Frenchman resisted the impulse to leap back in surprise, +but his eyes narrowed till they were slits in his face. +So! This Englishman did not know that this had been the +last day of the sacrifices, that at midnight a hecatomb of pigs +was to be killed and eaten in the bush in honor of the Ju-Ju. +Nor that the king, when he had broached and drunk the cask +of rum, would be in a mood to discuss the treaty. Peters +evidently was unaware how much his majesty had been +affronted by his failure to present him with an umbrella. La! +la! Fortune was evidently upon his side. All this flashed +through the Frenchman's mind in an instant. A solitary +chuckle escaped him, but he turned it into an exclamation of +grief, sighed deeply, seated himself upon the bed, and kissed +Peters affectionately on either cheek.</p> + +<p>"My Peters, my poor friend," he began, "you must not +theenk of leaving your tent for ze next two, t'ree days. Ze +fever, he is very bad onless you receive him in bed. I shall +take care of you."</p> + +<p>"You're a good fellow, Raguet," said Peters, wiping his +face surreptitiously with the backs of his hands. When his +visitor had left he turned over and sank into a half-delirious +doze that lasted until the sun sank with appalling suddenness, +and night rushed over the land. Tossing upon his bed, all +through the velvet darkness he was dimly conscious, through +his delirious dreams, of tom-toms beaten in the bush. His +throat was parched, and in his dreams he drank greedily +from his canteen; but each time that he awoke he saw it hanging +empty from the tent flap. Presently a large, bright, yellow +object rose up in front of him. Greedily he set his teeth into +it; and even as he did so it disappeared, and he awoke, gasping +and choking under the broiling blackness.</p> + +<p>"I'll have to take that canteen down to the stream and +fill it," he muttered, rising unsteadily and proceeding toward +the bank. To his surprise he found that rain had fallen. +He was treading in ooze, which rose higher and higher until +it clogged his footsteps. He struggled, but now it held him +fast, and he was sinking slowly, but persistently, now to the +waist, now to the shoulders. Frantically he thrust his hands +downward to free himself, and withdrew them sticky with—jam! +He scooped up great handsful greedily; and even as +he raised it to his mouth it vanished, and he awoke once more +in his tent.</p> + +<p>He flung himself out of bed with an oath, took down his +canteen, and started toward the river. The noise of the +tom-toms was louder than ever, proceeding, apparently, from +some point in the bush a little to the left of the king's palace. +Scrambling and struggling through the thorn thickets, he +reached the sandy bed of the stream, filled his water-bottle +at a pool, and drank greedily.</p> + +<p>It was that still hour of night when the many-voiced clamor +of the bush grows hushed, because the lions are coming down +to drink at the waters. The rising moon threw a pale light +over the land. The tom-toms were still resounding in the +bush, but to Peters's distorted mind they took on the sound of +ripe mangoes falling to the ground and bursting open as they +struck the soil. He counted, "one, two, three," and waited. +He counted again. There must be thousands of them. +Peters began to edge his way through the reeds in the direction +of the sound. After a while he came to a wall of rocks +perpendicular and almost insurmountable. He paused and +considered, licking his lips greedily as the thud, thud continued, +now, apparently, directly in front of him. All at once +his eyes, curiously sensitive to external impressions, discovered +a little, secret trail between two boulders. He +followed it; a great stone revolved at his touch, and he found +himself inside the sacred groves. He went on, gulping +greedily in anticipation of the feast which awaited him.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he stopped short. He had seen something that +brought back to him with a rush the realization of his whereabouts. +Seated in the shelter of a cactus tree, not fifty yards +away, was King Mtetanyanga, wearing his three opera hats, +one upon another, in the form of a triple crown, and drinking +his own rum with Raguet, under the shade of Raguet's +umbrella. Prone at their feet crouched Tom, the interpreter.</p> + +<p>"His Majesty say, 'How you fix him Ju-Ju?'" translated +Tom.</p> + +<p>"Tell His Majesty, my Ju-Ju stronger than the Englishman's +Ju-Ju," answered the Frenchman. "My Ju-Ju eat +up his Ju-Ju. He very sick. If I choose, he die."</p> + +<p>"Ugh!" grunted the king, when this explanation was +vouchsafed, apparently impressed.</p> + +<p>"Tell His Majesty my Ju-Ju stronger than his own Ju-Ju. +If he no sign treaty, eat up his Ju-Ju," Raguet went on.</p> + +<p>A flow of language came from the king's lips.</p> + +<p>"His Majesty say, he bring his Ju-Ju, see whose greater," +said the interpreter.</p> + +<p>Vaguely aware that treachery was impending, but crazed +now by the falling mangoes, Peters left them palavering and +followed the trail. All at once he emerged into a tiny clearing +and stood blinking at a fire, round which a group of men—priests, +as he knew, from their buffalo horns and crane +feathers—were reclining, hammering upon tom-toms and +shouting in various stages of intoxication. The firelight +blinded their eyes. Peters stood still uncertainly. Then +his eyes fell upon a sawed-off tree-trunk, in the hollow of +which lay something wrapped in a white cloth, surrounded +with snake-skins. He had come by this secret road into the +actual presence of the great Ju-Ju.</p> + +<p>Curiously he inserted his hand, lifted the object out, and +examined it. Inside was something of a strange, yet familiar +shape, oval, and flattened at the ends. He lifted it out of its +wrappings, and there, in his hand, he saw a can, bearing the +legend:</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>GREENAWAY'S BEST JAM.</p></div> + +<p>He looked at it in solemn and holy meditation; then, sitting +down, he drew the can-opener from his tunic and wiped +it clean upon his sleeve.</p> + +<p>After awhile a babel of sound broke in upon his ears. Men +had come running up, brandishing spears, stopped, flung +themselves upon the ground prostrate in front of him. The +priests were there, frantically abasing themselves; Mtetanyanga, +his opera hats rolling, unheeded, on the ground. +Their cries ceased; they veiled their eyes. Then from the +dust came the feeble tones of the interpreter.</p> + +<p>"His Majesty say, you eat him Ju-Ju—yours greatest +Ju-Ju, he want to sign treaty."</p> + +<p>But Peters, waving the empty can over his head, shouted:</p> + +<p>"I've eaten jam, I've eaten jam! It's pineapple—and +I don't care!"</p> + + + +<hr style="width: 65%;" /> +<h3>XII</h3> + +<h2><a name="WHEN_FATHER_WORKED" id="WHEN_FATHER_WORKED"></a>WHEN FATHER WORKED</h2> + +<h3>A Suburban Story</h3> + +<h3>By CHARLTON LAWRENCE EDHOLM</h3> + + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"H'everybody works but Fadher,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">H'and 'e sets 'round h'all diy——"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p><span class="smcap">Thus</span> in chorus shrilled the infant Cadges like the morning +stars singing together, but still more like the transplanted +little cockneys they were.</p> + +<p>The placid brow of Mr. Thomas Cadge was darkened +with disapproval, he shifted his stubby brier pipe to the other +corner of his mouth, edged a little from his seat on the sunny +front stoop and, craning his neck around the corner of his +house, revealed an unwashed area extending from collarbone +to left ear.</p> + +<p>"Shet up, you kids!" he barked. "Wot for? Becos I +say so, that's why. I don't like that song, 'taint fit for +Sunday."</p> + +<p>With a soothing consciousness that he had upheld the +sacred character of the Sabbath, Mr. Cadge settled back to +the comfort of his sun-bath and smoke. But he had scarcely +emitted three puffs before the piping voice of Arabella Cadge +was again wafted to his ears. She sang solo this time, and the +selection was of a semi-devotional nature, more in keeping with +the day:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Oh fadher, dear fadher, come 'ome wid me now,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">De clock on de steeple strikes——"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>"Shet up, drat you!" again commanded her parent. "If +I has to get up and go arter you——"</p> + +<p>The balance of this direful threat may never be known, for +at that moment Mr. Job Snavely, garbed in the black broadcloth +which he wore one day out of seven, paused in front of +Mr. Cadge's door and bade him good morning.</p> + +<p>"Mornin'," responded the ruffled father.</p> + +<p>"Your little girl is quite a song bird," continued Mr. +Snavely, with his usual facility in making well-meant small-talk +more irritating than a hurled brick.</p> + +<p>"She sings too much," commented Mr. Cadge, shortly, +"I likes people wot knows when to 'old their tongues."</p> + +<p>"Very true, very true!" amiably replied Mr. Snavely, "but +for all that, there is nothing sweeter than the artless babble of +babes; I declare it almost brought the tears to my eyes when +I heard them prattling, 'Everybody works but father,' it is +so very, very appro——"</p> + +<p>Mr. Snavely checked himself abruptly, for the light in +the small, green eyes of Thomas Cadge was baleful, and his +square jaw protruded menacingly. The kindly critic of music +had a vague feeling that the subject might be changed to +advantage.</p> + +<p>"Been to church this morning, I suppose?" he inquired +briskly with the assurance of a man just returning from that +duty.</p> + +<p>"No I 'asn't," retorted Cadge, "and wot's more the old +woman 'asn't, and the kids 'asn't neither. 'Cos why? +'Cos in this 'ere free country of yours, a laboring man can't +make a living for 'is family, workin' 'ard as I does, Sundays, +nights, and h'all the time. The missus and the kids stays +from church 'cos their duds ain't fit, and I stays 'ome 'cos +I've got to work like a slave to pay you for seven dollars' +worth of spoiled vegetables and mouldy groceries. That's +the reason I works on Sundays, if you've got to know."</p> + +<p>"Work on Sundays!" gasped the grocer. "Work! work?" +and he stared at the reclining figure of Mr. Cadge in unfeigned +astonishment.</p> + +<p>"Yes, work. This 'ere construction company wot's doing +the job of grading this vacant block, employs me to sort of +look after things, their shovels, scoops, and the like. A kind +of private police officer, I am," he concluded, drawing +himself up a little and puffing into the air.</p> + +<p>"And when are you on duty?" asked Mr. Snavely.</p> + +<p>"Nights," replied Cadge, "nights and Sundays, when the +tools ain't in use."</p> + +<p>"I hope they pay you well for it?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, but they don't. 'Ow much do you think I get for +stayin' awake nights and doin' without my church on Sunday? +Three measly dollars a week and the rent of this 'ere 'ouse, +if you can call it a 'ouse."</p> + +<p>It would have been difficult to determine just what name +to give the residence of Mr. Thomas Cadge. It would hardly +be called a cottage, though not because it was more spacious +than the name implied; nor was it a piano-box, in spite of the +fact that a piano would have fitted snugly within its walls, +for no manufacturer would have trusted a valuable instrument +in so flimsy a shell. It was not a real-estate office, as the +sign which decorated its entire front proclaimed it to be, for +through a jagged hole in the window facing the street projected +a rusty iron stovepipe, which was wired to the façade of +the building, and emitted the sooty smoke that had almost +totally obscured and canceled the legend, "Suburban Star +Realty Syndicate."</p> + +<p>Moreover, a litter of tin cans, impartially distributed at +the front and back doors, indicated the domestic use to which +this temporary office had been put. A smell of steaming suds +that pervaded the place likewise indicated the manner in which +Mrs. Cadge eked out her lord's stipend. This impression was +confirmed by the chorus of irrepressible little Cadges proclaiming:</p> + +<div class="poem"><div class="stanza"> +<span class="i0">"Mother tikes in washin',<br /></span> +<span class="i0">H'and so does sister h'Ann,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">H'everybody works at our 'ouse,<br /></span> +<span class="i0">But my old——"<br /></span> +</div></div> + +<p>—a burst of melody which was abruptly checked with a tomato +can hurled like a hand-grenade by their unmusical father.</p> + +<p>"Look here, Cadge," said Mr. Snavely, with the air of +proprietorship one adopts to hopeless debtors, "three dollars +a week is not going to keep your family, to say nothing of +paying up that seven dollars. I can't carry you forever, you +know. Why don't you get a daylight job?"</p> + +<p>"Ah, that is easy enough said," protested that injured +individual. "'Aven't I tramped the streets day after day, +lookin' for work?"</p> + +<p>"Them as 'as a good paying business don't know wot it +means to look for a job," pursued Cadge bitterly.</p> + +<p>"Yes they do," asserted the grocer cheerfully. "I was +given work at sweeping floors in the very store I now own. +The fact is, I am sorry for you, Cadge, and I have been looking +around to get you a job."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cadge seemed depressed.</p> + +<p>"And I am glad to say," chirruped Mr. Snavely, "that +I have found a small piece of work for you, which will be +worth a dollar and a half a day."</p> + +<p>Cadge's brow was still gloomy.</p> + +<p>"Of course, it is real work," added his kind-hearted creditor, +briskly, "no sitting in the sun and watching other people's +shovels; but a customer of mine, a widow lady, that lives +along Catnip Creek, wants a man to pile up a wall of loose +stones to keep her land from washing away in high water."</p> + +<p>Thomas Cadge shook his head with the air of Cæsar virtuously +refusing the crown.</p> + +<p>"No, no, Snavely, it wouldn't do," he said. "I can see +that it would interfere with my present h'occupation, and I +can't afford to risk losing this 'ere job. Supposin' my family +was to be turned out of doors!"</p> + +<p>"Nonsense! It will only take you about four days to build +the wall, and at one-fifty per day, that will be six dollars, twice +your week's wages right there, and almost enough to pay +what you owe me."</p> + +<p>"I am afraid it can't be done, Snavely; the company might +not like it; you see, I would be competing with them, that's +their line."</p> + +<p>"They wouldn't handle so small a job. You know that, +Cadge."</p> + +<p>"Yes, but a man can't draw pay for two positions at once; +'t ain't honest."</p> + +<p>"Why, this is not a regular situation," protested the upright +Snavely, who saw his bill still unpaid; "you could work on +it at odd times if you like. She'll pay you by the piece, +I am pretty sure, and you will get your six dollars cash when +the wall is done."</p> + +<p>The furtive eyes of the hunter of work avoided those of +his benefactor. He was pondering a new excuse when he +happened to notice Master Cadge, aged nine, Thomas Cadge, +Jr., aged eight, and Arabella Cadge, whose years were six, +busily constructing a fort of cobblestones, and an idea struck +him.</p> + +<p>"Very well," he said, loftily waving his pipe, "I'll drop +in Monday and talk this over with you, Snavely. Then if +the job suits me I may take it. I don't like to talk business +on Sunday, you know."</p> + +<p>Thus rebuked, Mr. Snavely resumed his homeward way.</p> + +<p>The following Monday Cadge overslept; Tuesday found +him with a headache as a result, which by Wednesday had +settled in a tooth; Thursday he felt so much better that he +feared to do anything which might check his convalescence; +Friday was an unlucky day, but so desirous was he of work +that he manfully conquered his superstitious qualms and +strolled over to the little shop where Mr. Job Snavely dealt in +groceries and vegetables.</p> + +<p>The details regarding the work were furnished with cheerful +alacrity, the tradesman going so far as to accompany his +protegé to the home of their patron, Mrs. Pipkin, a withered +little lady who lived with her cats on the bank of the creek.</p> + +<p>The work to be performed demanded more brawn than +brain and no vast amount of either. All that was required +was to pile up the boulders and cobblestones which littered +the bed of the stream, as a rough, unmortared wall, along the +sloping bank of Mrs. Pipkin's property.</p> + +<p>It was evident that Mrs. Pipkin herself had not the slightest +notion of how much a wall should cost, as she was ignorant of +the two factors which determined it, namely, the wages of +day-laborers and the time required to build the wall; therefore +she requested Mr. Snavely, as a man of affairs, to make +the bargain for her.</p> + +<p>It was well that she did so, for Mr. Cadge's ideas on the +subject were as boundless as hers were limited. Day wages, +he affirmed, ranged from two dollars up for common labor, +and as building a wall was highly skilled labor he thought +three and a half or four dollars per diem would be about right, +going on the basis of at least six days of eight hours each.</p> + +<p>Mr. Snavely, on the contrary, after looking over the ground +declared that four days' steady work would build a wall running +the entire length of the widow's lot. Furthermore, that a +dollar and a quarter a day was fair wages for such employment, +while laborers would scramble for the job at a dollar +and a half. As a concession to Mr. Cadge, he was willing +to allow him to take his own time and agreed to pay six +dollars when the wall should be completed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Cadge waxed indignant and very voluble, while Mr. +Snavely was a mild man of few words; but the simple laborer +was no match for a man who made his living by small chaffering. +He was forced to give in, and Saturday morning, bright +and early, he appeared on the banks of Catnip Creek accompanied +by Master Cadge, Thomas Cadge, Jr., and Arabella +Cadge.</p> + +<p>"Daddy's going to give you kids a treat to-day," he +announced. "My eye! wot larks we will 'ave. Nothing to +do all day long but play building a stone fort right on the +brook, and Daddy will show you 'ow to build it."</p> + +<p>The little Cadges were perfectly charmed at this condescension +on the part of their sire, who seldom acknowledged +their presence except with a cuff in passing. They were +eager to begin, and as they had no need to strip their legs, +which were always bare, the work proceeded apace.</p> + +<p>Cadge, Sr., ensconced himself in the sunniest nook of the +bank, and directed his offspring what stones to select and +where to place them, and above all, to make haste, since the +enemy would soon appear to attack the fort.</p> + +<p>Before their Saturday holiday was over, the children had +discovered that their father was a strenuous playfellow. In +vain they suggested fishing, hunting Injuns, or gathering +wild flowers; they had set out to build a fort on Catnip Creek, +and build it they must.</p> + +<p>They entertained hopes of sneaking off alone when they +should go home for lunch, but Mr. Cadge had provided for +this contingency. His wife appeared at noon with slices of +bread and butter for the Cadgelings, to which was added a +cold beefsteak and a bucket of beer for the support of their +house. Having already lunched at home, she was permitted +to lay a tier of heavier stones along the wall while waiting for +her family to finish the repast.</p> + +<p>It was an arduous day for the tribe of Cadge, excepting, +of course, its head. Not until the first star came out and +the owls began to hoot along the Catnip did he declare himself +satisfied with the day's work and proceed homeward to +supper. Widow Pipkin's wall was half finished.</p> + +<p>Not until Saturday was the patient father able to enlist +once more the services of his offspring, for, "What if they are +your own kids!" retorted Mrs. Cadge from her wash-board. +"I've rubbed my 'ands raw to give 'em the eddication you +and me lacks, and to school they go. You build that wall +yourself, or wait until the week's end for your pay."</p> + +<p>The former alternative was not to be thought of, and the +Widow Pipkin wondered mildly whether the half finished +wall was ever to be completed.</p> + +<p>But Saturday at dawn Cadge once more appeared, driving +before him three tear-stained and reluctant Cadgelets. They +had inherited part of their father's disposition in regard to +real work, likewise his unwillingness to be imposed upon. +Constructing fortifications along the Catnip was well enough +for one Saturday, but their backs still ached from their exertions, +and they had only disdain for the restricted paternal +imagination which suggested that this time they build stone +castles.</p> + +<p>Their sire waxed eloquent over the art of castle building and +the sport of imprisoning ogres in them, but was finally compelled +to assume the attitude of an ogre himself, and threatened +to skin them alive if they did not do as they were bid.</p> + +<p>It was a long, hard day for the whole Cadge family. The +little Cadges worked like galley-slaves in fear of the lash; +their mother, out of pity for them, laid two tiers of cobbles +when she came at noon, and even Cadge himself was tempted +on one or two occasions to descend from his nook and lend +a hand, but restrained himself.</p> + +<p>Again the owls hooted along the stream and bullfrogs +croaked from the reedy places. Cadge knocked the dottle +out of his pipe and arose, stretching his short, muscular limbs, +which had become cramped from sitting still so long.</p> + +<p>"Run along 'ome, kiddies," he said, "and tell the old woman +not to wait supper for me. There's a man down town as +wants to see me about a job. I'll 'ave a bite with 'im."</p> + +<p>The little Cadges disappeared in the twilight and their +father presented himself at the Widow Pipkin's door to receive +his hard-earned wages.</p> + +<p>"Oh, dear me! I can't pay you to-night," answered Mrs. +Pipkin. "I never keep any money in the house."</p> + +<p>Cadge grumbled something about, a check would do. He +was pretty sure that the barkeeper at Spider Grogan's place +would cash it.</p> + +<p>"Oh, but mine is a savings account, and I will have to go +down to the bank myself and get the money; but, never mind, +you shall have it first thing Monday morning."</p> + +<p>The thirsty man could find no solution to this problem and, +although he urged the Widow Pipkin to think of a way, as +his "missus needed the medicine something orful," that +kind-hearted old lady could suggest nothing more to the +point than going at once with a mustard poultice to the +sufferer.</p> + +<p>Old women are so set in their notions that the anxious +husband was a full half hour dissuading her, and, when he +reached home with both hands in his empty pockets, Mrs. +Cadge was washing the dishes.</p> + +<p>"Did the man give you a job?" inquired his wife brightly.</p> + +<p>"Wot man? Wot job? Where's my supper?" snapped +Cadge. Then, as the ingenious ruse occurred to him, a flood +of language rose to his lips and would not be dammed, though +everything else was.</p> + +<p>"Gone and hogged all the supper, did you!" he growled. +"H'it's a nice state of affairs, when a man comes 'ome from a +'ard day's work to a h'empty table."</p> + +<p>"But it was such a little steak, Tom," urged his wife, +"and the children were so hungry that I let them finish it."</p> + +<p>There was no money in the house, and Snavely, the only +credit grocer, had closed his shop, so Mr. Cadge's supper that +night was bread and cheese without kisses.</p> + +<p>Sunday was a long-remembered day of misery for Cadge's +wife and children, who played the scapegoat for Mr. Snavely +and whipping-boy for Mrs. Pipkin.</p> + +<p>Monday morning the head of the house arose early and, +before Mrs. Pipkin had finished her beauty sleep, that hard-working +man was at the door demanding his pay. An hour +was all the time she required for dressing. Mr. Cadge wished +he had broken his fast before leaving home.</p> + +<p>"Really, I don't know whether I ought to pay you," replied +Widow Pipkin when she finally answered his last, desperate +ring. "Mr. Snavely made the bargain, and I should like to +have him see the work before settling with you."</p> + +<p>She jingled some silver in her plump chain purse as she +spoke.</p> + +<p>Aha, the widow had deceived him! It was eight o'clock, +the bank would not open for an hour, she had had the money +in the house all the time. The deceitfulness of women!</p> + +<p>Mr. Cadge's blood rose to his head. His little green eyes +smouldered. Fortunately for the widow, Mr. Snavely drove +up at that moment on his delivery wagon, and cheerfully +agreed to appraise the work.</p> + +<p>"Oh, come now, Cadge, my man, you don't call that a +finished job, I hope? Why, it is three foot short at each end +and lacks a tier at the top. You had better pitch in for an +hour or two and make a fair job of it, and then you'll get your +money."</p> + +<p>"Wot do you call a fair job, I should like to know?" replied +the heated Cadge; "look at them 'ere boulders, as I fished out +of the h'icy water at peek o' day! Look at all them little +stones, h'every one of them as cost me backache and sweat. +H'if that job ain't worth six dollars it ain't worth six cents."</p> + +<p>"Mebbe so, mebbe so, my good man," responded the +grocer, genially, "but whatever it's worth, I don't pay for a +job until it's finished."</p> + +<p>At this point Cadge's torrent of eloquence swept away all +punctuating pauses and he became slightly incoherent, but +the drift of his harangue was that because he had worked like +a slave and finished the wall in two days they wanted to rob +him of his money. "I'll 'ave the six dollars for my work, or +I'll 'ave the lor on you," he concluded.</p> + +<p>The amiable but tactless Snavely saw a happy solution of +the problem. "Never mind, Mrs. Pipkin," he said, "there +shall be no lawsuit. You pay me the six dollars, and I will +write Cadge a receipt for the seven dollars he owes me. I lose +a dollar that way, to be sure, but then it is just the same as +finding six."</p> + +<p>"Ho! that's your game is it?" snarled Cadge, gasping with +indignation. "That's 'ow you two plot against a poor 'ard-workin' +man with a family, to beat him out of 'is pay. H'it's +a put-up job, that's wot h'it is! But you don't get the best +of Tom Cadge that way. I'll 'ave a h'orficer 'ere if I don't +get my money, you bloomin' old plotters, you!"</p> + +<p>"Yes, you had better call an officer," agreed Mr. Snavely. +"I saw one around the corner as I passed; the same one your +brats were pelting from behind a fence last week."</p> + +<p>Mr. Cadge tacked adroitly. "No, I ain't going to spend +my money with the loryers, as'd want twelve dollars to get +you back six. I'll tear down the wall, that's wot I'll do. +If I don't get my pay the loidy don't get her wall, and you can +tike your measly job and give it to some poor man wot +needs it."</p> + +<p>Mr. Snavely had one foot on the wheel and swung lightly +into his cart. "Have it your own way, Cadge," he responded +cheerfully. "You can finish the wall and get your six dollars +cash, or you can leave it as it stands and take my receipt for +seven, or you can tear it down and have your labor for your +pains; but mind, if the police catch you destroying property, +you will get a month in the chain gang."</p> + +<p>"I don't care if I get sixty days!" screamed the outraged +laborer. "The city can look after my missus and the kids if +their nateral provider is took from them. That wall is +comin' down! I'm h'only a workin'-man, and I don't mind +bein' spit on once in a while, but I won't stand for it bein' +rubbed in."</p> + +<p>It was a sultry June day, the first of the summer vacation, +and toward noon Mrs. Cadge set out to take her husband a +bite of lunch. The little Cadges accompanied her, eager to +exhibit the noble castle which they had completed on Catnip +Creek. When they came to that charming stream, their +eyes flew open in amazement and their jaws dropped.</p> + +<p>"Why, mamma, look at daddy!" they cried in unison. +"Daddy's workin'!"</p> + +<p>Incredible though it seemed, it was true indeed. Father +worked. Mrs. Cadge wondered whether she, too, was to have a +vacation, after her years of drudgery.</p> + +<p>Cadge worked furiously, his rage uncooled by the waters +of the Catnip which flowed through his shoes. He had discarded +coat, vest, and hat, and was hurling rocks with the +strength of a maddened giant, clear across the stream. What +splendid muscles he had!</p> + +<p>A tier or two of Mrs. Pipkin's wall was already down. +The telephone within her cottage was ringing madly.</p> + +<p>Even as the Cadgelings watched their parent sweating at +his toil, a blue-coated figure ran swiftly down the bank, caught +the hard-working man by the collar, and firmly led him away +to where steady work awaited him.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cadge watched him go with mingled feelings. She +had seen him depart thus before, and remembered how much +easier it was that month to feed four mouths instead of five. +Besides, the exercise on the rock pile would do him good, poor +man. A night-watchman's position was so confining.</p> + +<p>Mr. Snavely had driven up to the curb, and the Widow +Pipkin ran out all of a flutter. They sympathetically related +to Mrs. Cadge the events of the morning which had led to +her husband's arrest.</p> + +<p>"And there was only an hour's work to be done on the +job," said Mr. Snavely judicially.</p> + +<p>"I would gladly pay six dollars cash to have it just as it was +this morning," added the tremulous Widow Pipkin, "and +I'd make it ten if it were done as Mr. Snavely says."</p> + +<p>"And I'd still be willing to write a receipt for the +full seven dollars for six dollars cash," interposed that +astute philanthropist.</p> + +<p>Mrs. Cadge's shrewd, birdlike eyes were half closed in +mental computation; ten dollars for the wall and one dollar +discount on the grocery bill, that would make eleven dollars +clear.</p> + +<p>"Come along, kiddies," she said, "you and me will pitch +in and finish that wall to the queen's taste in an hour or two!" +And she did.</p> + +<p>Eleven dollars clear, and the watchman's pay still going +on, Cadge on the rock pile, hence the biggest mouth of the +family fed by the city. Indeed, indeed, the little Cadges +were not the only ones who enjoyed a vacation when father +worked!</p> + +<hr style="width: 95%;" /> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Golden Stories, by Various + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK GOLDEN STORIES *** + +***** This file should be named 19356-h.htm or 19356-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/9/3/5/19356/ + +Produced by Suzanne Lybarger, Brian Janes, Melissa Er-Raqabi +and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at +http://www.pgdp.net + + +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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