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diff --git a/29570-h/29570-h.htm b/29570-h/29570-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..1e5087e --- /dev/null +++ b/29570-h/29570-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,8027 @@ +<!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=iso-8859-1" /> +<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of Rope, by Holworthy Hall.</title> + +<style type="text/css"> + @media screen { + hr.pb {margin:30px 0; width:100%; border:none;border-top:thin dashed silver;} + .pagenum {display: inline; font-size: x-small; text-align: right; position: absolute; right: 2%; padding: 1px 3px; font-style: normal; font-variant:normal; font-weight:normal; text-decoration: none; background-color: inherit; border:1px solid #eee;} + .pncolor {color: silver;} + } + @media print { + hr.pb {border:none;page-break-after: always;} + .pagenum { display:none; } + } + a {text-decoration: none;} + body {margin-left: 11%; margin-right: 10%;} + .chsp {margin: auto; text-align: center; padding-top: 2em; padding-bottom: 1em;} + p {margin-top: 0.5em; text-align: justify; margin-bottom: 0.5em;} + hr.toprule {width: 65%; margin-top: 2em; margin-bottom: 2em; border:none; border-bottom:1px solid silver; clear:both;} + hr.tb {border: none; border-bottom:1px solid black; width: 33%; margin-top: 10px; margin-bottom: 10px;} + p.center {text-align: center !important;} + .smcap {font-variant: small-caps} + p.tp {font-size:1em; margin-top:0; margin-bottom:0; text-align:center;} + h1,h2 {text-align:center; font-weight:normal;} + h1 {font-size:1.4em;} + h2 {font-size:1.2em;} +</style> + +</head> +<body> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Rope, by Holworthy Hall + +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: Rope + +Author: Holworthy Hall + +Release Date: August 2, 2009 [EBook #29570] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROPE *** + + + + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<h1>ROPE</h1> +<hr class='pb' /> +<table style="background-image:url('images/img-title.png'); width:416px; height:616px; margin:auto;" summary="title page"> +<tr><td> + +<p class='tp' style='font-size:2.2em;margin-top:0.6em;margin-bottom:1.2em;'>ROPE</p> +<p class='tp' >BY</p> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.3em;'>HOLWORTHY HALL</p> +<p class='tp' >Author of “<span class='smcap'>The Man Nobody Knew</span>,” etc.</p> +</td></tr> + +<tr><td align='center'> +<img alt='emblem' style='margin:60px auto;' src='images/illus-emb.png' /> +</td></tr> + +<tr><td> +<p class='tp' style='margin-bottom:1em;'>NEW YORK<br /> +DODD, MEAD AND COMPANY<br /> +1922</p> + +</td></tr> +</table> +<hr class='pb' /> +<p class='tp' style='font-size:1.4em;'>ROPE</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_1' name='page_1'></a>1</span></div> +<div class='chsp'> +<a name='CHAPTER_I' id='CHAPTER_I'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER I</h2> +</div> +<p>As Henry came blithely into the house with +a heavy suit-case in one hand and a +cumbersome kit-bag in the other, his Aunt +Mirabelle marched out like a grenadier from +the living-room, and posted herself in the hallway +to watch him approach. There was this +much to say for Aunt Mirabelle: she was at +least consistent, and for twenty years she had +worn the same expression whenever she looked +at him. During that period the rest of the +world and Henry had altered, developed, advanced––but +not Aunt Mirabelle. She had +changed neither the style of her clothes nor the +nature of her convictions; she had disapproved +of Henry when he was six, and therefore, she +disapproved of him today. To let him know +it, she regarded him precisely as though he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_2' name='page_2'></a>2</span> +were still six, and had forgotten to wash his +face.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” remarked Aunt Mirabelle, in +her most abrasive voice, “I suppose you’re +waiting for me to say I hope you had a good +time. Well, I’m not a-going to say it, because +it wouldn’t be true, and I wouldn’t want to have +it sitting on my conscience. Of course, <i>some</i> +people haven’t got much of any conscience for +anything to sit on, anyway. If they did, they’d +be earnest, useful citizens. If they did, then +once in a while they’d think about something +else besides loud ties and silk socks and golf. +And they wouldn’t be gallivanting off on house-parties +for a week at a time, either; they’d be +tending to their business––if they had any. +And if they hadn’t, they ought to.”</p> +<p>Henry put down the bag and the suit-case, +removed his straw hat, and grinned, with a +fair imitation of cheerfulness. He had never +learned how to handle Aunt Mirabelle, and +small wonder; for if he listened in silence, he +was called sulky; if he disputed her, he was +called flippant; if he agreed with her, she accused +him of fraud; and if he obeyed his natural +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_3' name='page_3'></a>3</span> +instincts, and treated her with tolerant good-humour, +she usually went on a conversation +strike, and never weakened until after the +twelfth apology. Whatever he did was wrong, +so that purely on speculation, he grinned, and +said what came to his tongue.</p> +<p>“Maybe so,” said Henry, “maybe so, but +conscience is a plant of slow growth,” and immediately +after he had said this, he wished that +he had chosen a different epigram––something +which wasn’t so liable to come back at him, +later, like a boomerang.</p> +<p>“Humph!” said Aunt Mirabelle. “It is, is +it? Well, if I was in your place, I’d be impatient +for it to grow faster.”</p> +<p>Henry shook his head. “No, I don’t believe +you would. I’ve read somewhere that impatience +dries the blood more than age or sorrow.” +He assumed an air of critical satisfaction. +“The bird that wrote that had pretty +good technique, don’t you think?”</p> +<p>She shrugged her shoulders. “All right, +Henry. Be pert. But I know what made you +so almighty anxious to sneak off on this house-party; +and I know whose account it was you +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_4' name='page_4'></a>4</span> +went on, too, and I don’t see for the <i>life</i> of me +why your uncle hasn’t put his foot down.” +She sighed, as though in deep mourning. “I +did hope you’d grow up different from these +other boys, Henry, but you’re all of you just +alike. When you get old enough, do you pick +out some pure, innocent, sensible, young woman +that’s been trained the way girls were trained +in <i>my</i> day? No. You go and make fools of +yourselves over these short-skirted little hussies +all powdered up like a box of marshmallows. +And as long as they’re spry enough <i>and</i> +immodest enough to do all these new bunny +dances and what not, you think that’s a sure +sign they’ll make good wives and mothers. +Humph. Makes me sick.”</p> +<p>In spite of himself, Henry lost his artificial +grin, and began to turn dull red. “I wouldn’t +go quite so far as to say that.”</p> +<p>“Well,” retorted Aunt Mirabelle, “I didn’t +hardly expect you would. But you’ll go far +enough to <i>see</i> one of ’em, I notice.... Well, +your uncle’s home this afternoon; long’s he’s +paying your bills, you might have the grace to +go in and say howdy-you-do to him.” She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_5' name='page_5'></a>5</span> +marched upstairs, and Henry, revolving his hat +in his hand, gazed after her until she was out of +sight. He stood, irresolute, until the echo of +her common-sense shoes died into silence; and +as he lingered, he was struck for the ten +thousandth time by the amazing mystery of the +human family.</p> +<p>First, there was his mother, a small and exquisite +woman with music in her heart and in +the tips of her fingers; his memory of her was +dim, but he knew that she had been the maddest +and the merriest of all possible mothers––a +creature of joy and sunshine and the sheer +happiness of existence. And then her sister +Mirabelle, who found life such a serious condition +to be in, and loved nothing about it, save +the task of reforming it for other people +whether the other people liked it or not. And +finally, her brother John, bald, fat, and good-natured; +a man whose personal interests were +bounded by his own physical comfort, and by +his desire to see everyone else equally comfortable. +Whenever Henry thought of this trio, he +reflected that his grandparents must have been +very versatile.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_6' name='page_6'></a>6</span></div> +<p>He drew a long breath, and glanced up the +stairway, as though the spirit of his Aunt +Mirabelle were still haunting him; then, with a +depressing recollection of what she had said +about his conscience, and with hot resentment +at what she said about his taste, he walked +slowly into the library.</p> +<p>His uncle John Starkweather, who had been +writing at a big desk between the windows, +sprang up to shake hands with him. “Hello, +boy! Thought Bob Standish must have kidnapped +you. Have a good party?”</p> +<p>“Fine, thanks,” said Henry, but his tone was +so subdued and joyless that his uncle stared at +him for a moment, and then went over to close +the door. Standing with his back to it, Mr. +Starkweather smiled reminiscently and a trifle +ruefully, and began to peel the band from a +cigar. “What’s the matter? Mirabelle say +anything to you?”</p> +<p>“Why––nothing special.”</p> +<p>His uncle hesitated. “In a good many +ways,” he said, lowering his voice, “Mirabelle +puts me in mind of my father. When he was +a boy, out in the country, he’d had to smash the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_7' name='page_7'></a>7</span> +ice in the water-pitcher every mornin’, and he +was proud of it––thought a boy that hadn’t +earned some of his godliness with an ice-pick +was a dude. Thought what was good enough +for his father was good enough for <i>him</i>, and +sometimes it was <i>too</i> good. Didn’t believe in +modern improvements like telephones and +easy chairs and three-tined forks; didn’t believe +in labour-savin’ devices because labour wasn’t +<i>meant</i> to be saved. Bible says for us to work +six days a week, and if he ever had any spare +time before Sat’day night, he figured he must +have forgot somethin’. Business––well, he +called advertisin’ a rich man’s luxury, and +said an audit was an insult to his partners. +Said he’d welcome a sheriff sooner’n he would +an expert accountant––and in the long run, +that’s exactly what he <i>did</i>. Involuntary bankruptcy––found +his sanctimonious old cashier’d +been sanctimoniously lootin’ the till for +eighteen years.” He paused, and eyed his +cigar. “Well, Mirabelle’s cut more or less off +the same piece. Lord, I wish <i>she</i> could go +through some kind of bankruptcy, if ’t would +shake her up like it did father.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_8' name='page_8'></a>8</span></div> +<p>“It––shook him up, did it?” inquired Henry, +fidgeting.</p> +<p>“Well,” said his uncle, “after the crash, I +don’t recollect he ever mentioned the good old +times again except once; and that was to praise +the good old habit of takin’ defaulters and +boilin’ ’em in oil. No, sir, he wouldn’t so much +as add two and two together without an addin’ +machine, and he used to make an inventory of +his shirts and winter flannels pretty near every +week. And Mirabelle’s the same way; she’s +still tryin’ to live under the 1874 rules.” He +came back to his desk, and sat down thoughtfully. +“Well, she’s been talkin’ to me ever +since you went off on this party and as far’s +most of it’s concerned, I’m not on <i>her</i> side, and +I’m not on <i>your</i> side; I’m sort of betwixt and +between.” He looked sidewise at Henry, and +discovered that Henry was peering off into +space, and smiling as though he saw a vision in +the clouds. “Just as man to man, just for the +information; suppose you passed up everything +I’ve said to you, and went and got married one +of these days––did you expect I’d go on supportin’ +you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_9' name='page_9'></a>9</span></div> +<p>Henry came down to earth, and his expression +showed that he had landed heavily. +“Why––what was that?”</p> +<p>His uncle repeated it, with a postscript. +“Oh, I’ve always told you you could have anything +you wanted within reason that I could pay +for. But from what I been told”––his eyes +twinkled––“wives ain’t always reasonable. +And it does seem to me that when a young man +gets to be twenty five or six, and never did a +lick of work in his life, and loafs around clubs +and plays polo just because he’s got a rich +uncle, why, it’s a sort of a reflection on both of +’em. Seem so to you?”</p> +<p>Henry glanced up nervously and down again. +“To tell the truth, I hadn’t thought much about +it.”</p> +<p>“Say,” said his uncle, confidentially. +“Neither had I. Not ’till Mirabelle told me +you went off on this party because Anna Barklay +was goin’ to be there.... Now I had +pretty hard sleddin’ when I was your age; I’ve +kind of liked to see you enjoy yourself. But +Mirabelle––Now I said before, I ain’t on <i>her</i> +side, and I ain’t on <i>your</i> side; I had the thing +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_10' name='page_10'></a>10</span> +out with you once or twice already, and I guess +you know what my angles are. Only if Mirabelle’s +got any grounds, maybe I ought to say +it over again.... You been out of college four +years now, and you tried the automobile +business for two months and the bond business +for two weeks and the real-estate business for +two minutes, and there you quit. You spent +five, six thousand a year and <i>that</i> was all right, +but I admit I don’t like the idea of your +gettin’ married on nothin’ but prospects, +specially when <i>I</i>’m all the prospects there is. +Sound fair to you?”</p> +<p>Henry nodded, with much repression, +“You couldn’t be unfair if you tried, Uncle +John.”</p> +<p>“Well, you was always open to reason, even +when you was in kindergarten.... Now, in +some ways I don’t approve of you any more’n +Mirabelle does, but she wants me to go too +blamed far. She wants me to turn you loose +the way my father did me. She wants me to +say if you should ever marry without my consent +I’ll cut you out of my will. But that’s old +stuff. That’s cold turkey. Mirabelle don’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_11' name='page_11'></a>11</span> +know times have changed––she’s so busy with +that cussed Reform League of hers, she don’t +have time to reform any of her own slants +about things.” He rolled his cigar under his +tongue.</p> +<p>“Well, I’m goin’ to compromise. Before you +get involved too deep, I want you to know +what’s in my mind. I don’t believe it’s the best +thing for either of us for me to go on bein’ a +kind of an evergreen money-bush. And a man +that’s earnin’ his own livin’ don’t have to ask +odds of anybody. Don’t you think you better +bundle up your courage and get to work, +Henry?”</p> +<p>Henry was twiddling his watch-chain. “It +hasn’t been a matter of <i>courage</i>, exactly––”</p> +<p>“Oh, I know <i>that</i>. I don’t believe you’re +<i>scared</i> of work; you’re only sort of shy about it. +I never saw you really afraid of more’n three +things––bein’ a spoil-sport, or out of style, or +havin’ a waiter think you’re stingy. No, you +ain’t <i>afraid</i> of work, but you never been +properly introduced, so you’re kind of standoffish +about it. I’ve always kind of hoped +you’d take a tip from Bob Standish––<i>there’s</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_12' name='page_12'></a>12</span> +one of your own breed that knows where the +durable satisfactions of life are. Just as good +family’s yours; just as much money; just as +fond of games;––and workin’ like a prize pup +in my office and makin’ good. <i>He</i>’ll tell +you.... But if you go get married, boy, before +you show you <i>could</i> take care of yourself, +and what money I might leave you––oh, I don’t +say you got to put over any miracle, but I <i>do</i> +say you got to learn the value of money first. +You’d do that by earnin’ some. If you don’t, +then you and me’d have a quarrel. Sound +logical to you?”</p> +<p>Henry was frowning a little, and sitting +nearer to the edge of his chair. “Too <i>darned</i> +logical,” he said.</p> +<p>His uncle surveyed him with great indulgence. +“What’s the idea?” he asked, humourously. +“You ain’t gone off and got yourself +married already, have you?”</p> +<p>Henry stood up, and squared his shoulders, +and looked straight into his uncle’s eyes. His +voice was strained, but at the same time it held +a faint note of relief, as if he had contained his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_13' name='page_13'></a>13</span> +secret too long for his own nerves. “Yes, +Uncle John....”</p> +<p>And waited, as before the Court of last +appeal.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_14' name='page_14'></a>14</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_II' id='CHAPTER_II'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER II</h2> +</div> +<p>The older man sat limp in his chair, and +stared until the ash of his cigar tumbled, +untidily, over his waistcoat. He brushed at it +with uncertain, ineffective motions, but his eyes +never left his nephew. He put the cigar once +more to his lips, shuddered, and flung it away.</p> +<p>“Boy––” he said, at length, “Boy––is that +true?”</p> +<p>Henry cleared his throat. “Yes, Uncle +John.”</p> +<p>“Who is it? Anna Barklay?”</p> +<p>“Yes, Uncle John.”</p> +<p>“<i>When?</i>”</p> +<p>“Yesterday afternoon.”</p> +<p>“Does––Judge Barklay know it yet?”</p> +<p>“No, not yet. He’s out of town.”</p> +<p>His uncle drew a tremendous breath, and +pulled himself upright. “Boy,” he said, “why +in the hell did you ever go and do a thing like +that?... Haven’t I been pretty decent to you, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_15' name='page_15'></a>15</span> +the best I knew how?... Why’d you ever go, +and––<i>have</i> I been mistaken in you all this while? +Why, boy, I thought you and me were <i>friends</i>.”</p> +<p>There was another heavy silence. “I don’t +know. It just happened. The way things do––sometimes. +We’ve always been crazy about +each other.”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather was looking at and through +his nephew, who was man-grown and presumably +a rational human being; but what Mr. +Starkweather actually saw was the vision of +a little boy dressed in Lord Fauntleroy velvet, +with silver knee-buckles and a lace collar; and +much as a drowning man is supposed to review, +in a lightning flash, every incident of his whole +life, so was Mr. Starkweather reviewing the +life of Henry, beginning with the era of black +velvet, and ending with the immediate present. +That history was a continuous record of dashing +impulses, and the gayest irresponsibility; +and yet, when the time came for an accounting, +Henry had offered only explanations, and never +excuses. In his glorious pursuit of the +calendar, he had paid his penalties as royally as +he had earned them; and even now, when he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_16' name='page_16'></a>16</span> +was confessed of the most impetuous and the +most astounding act of all his unballasted +youth, he had nothing to say in defence. As a +climax, marriage had “happened” to him, and +he was braced for whatever might happen next.</p> +<p>Presently, Mr. Starkweather, coming out of +his daze, began to wonder if, by this very +climax, Henry hadn’t prescribed his own +medicine, and at the same time taken out insurance +on his own salvation. For one thing, he +had selected the right girl––a girl with no +money, and plenty of character––a girl who +would manage him so skilfully that Henry +would think himself the manager. For another +thing, Mr. Starkweather believed that Henry +was profoundly in love with her, even though he +tried to conceal his seriousness by spreading it +with a generous helping of light manner, and +modern vocabulary. These facts, together +with Mr. Starkweather’s control of the finances, +might possibly operate as the twin levers which +would pry Henry out of his improvidence. +The levers themselves were certainly strong +enough; it was a question only of Henry’s resistance. +Mr. Starkweather winced to realize +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_17' name='page_17'></a>17</span> +that by the time the minute-hand of his watch +had gone twice again around the dial, he should +know definitely and permanently whether +Henry was worth his powder, or not.</p> +<p>He leaned his elbows on his desk, judicially. +“I’m pretty much knocked edgeways, Henry––but +tell me one more thing; this wasn’t any +bet, was it, or––”</p> +<p>“Bet!” flared Henry, and all the youth went +out of his features.</p> +<p>“Yes. Nobody <i>dared</i> you to go and get married––it +wasn’t any kind of a put-up job, was +it?”</p> +<p>The younger man was righteously indignant. +“Uncle John, I admit I haven’t won any medals +for––for <i>some</i> things,––and maybe you think I +<i>am</i> the kind of bird that would––do this on a bet, +or a dare––and if you <i>do</i> think that––I guess +we’re <i>both</i> mistaken in each other!”</p> +<p>His uncle’s hand went up. “Hold your +horses! You’ve answered the question. If +you hadn’t got mad, I’d have thrown you out +the window. Why <i>did</i> you do it, then?... No––never +mind.” He looked away. “<i>I</i> know. +Spring, and impulse and no emergency brakes. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_18' name='page_18'></a>18</span> +<i>I</i> know....” He looked back at Henry, and +smiled oddly. “And I was just goin’ to tell +you, before you sprung it on me, that if you +cared two cents about that girl,––and me, too,––you’d +want to deserve her:––do somethin’ besides +be a model to hang expensive clothes on.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” said Henry, also judicial. “I guess +I’m entitled to that wallop.”</p> +<p>His uncle nodded. “That one and quite a +few more. Still, you never heard anybody accuse +me of not bein’ a good sport, did you?”</p> +<p>“No, Uncle John. I counted on it.”</p> +<p>“Who knows this––besides us?”</p> +<p>“Just Bob Standish. We took him along for +a witness.”</p> +<p>“So! Bob Standish! Hm. I’d have thought +Bob’d had sense enough to try to stop it. I’ll +have words with him.”</p> +<p>“He did try.”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather rose. “Where’s Anna?”</p> +<p>“Out in the car. With Bob.”</p> +<p>His uncle froze. “Out there? Waitin’ +there all this time? For Heaven’s sake, Henry, +she’ll be in a conniption fit! You go bring her +in here––and tell her to stop worryin’. I’m +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_19' name='page_19'></a>19</span> +sore as the devil, and I’m goin’ to make an example +out of you, but that ain’t any reason to +act like a grouch, is it? Sound sensible to you? +Bring her in here. Not Bob––I’ll see him +afterwards.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>She was small and intensely feminine, but +there was nothing fragile about her, and no +slightest hint of helplessness. She was pretty +enough, too, and her attractions were more than +skin-deep; to the qualities which showed in her +eyes––sincerity and humour and imagination––there +was also to be added sweetness of disposition +and sensitiveness, which were proved +by the curves of her mouth; and finally, there +was quiet determination, stopping just short of +stubbornness, which was evident in the moulding +of her strong little chin.</p> +<p>She came in slowly, questioningly, not in fear, +but merely poised so as to adjust herself to any +style of reception. Mr. Starkweather met her +eyes and laughed––a fat, spontaneous, understanding +laugh––and blushing furiously, she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_20' name='page_20'></a>20</span> +ran to him, with both her hands outstretched.</p> +<p>“Well, my dear,” said Mr. Starkweather, and +interrupted himself long enough to kiss her, +“I’ll say Henry’s got a darned sight better +judgment ’n <i>you</i> have.... Go on and blush. +Make a good job of it. Ashamed of yourself? +So ’m I. Sit down there and cringe. You too, +Henry.” He himself remained on his feet. +“Funny thing,” he said, after a pause. “Only +chance I ever had to get married myself was +somethin’ like this is––oh, <i>I</i> wasn’t a gilt loafer, +like Henry is; I was workin’ sixteen hours a +day, but I wasn’t makin’ money enough. Both +our fathers said so. And she’d have run off, +but I wouldn’t. Thought it wasn’t respectable, +I guess. Anyhow, it kind of petered out, and +I lost my nerve. Wish to thunder I’d taken a +chance when I had it. Worth it, sometimes.” +He whirled on Henry, abruptly. “Well, you +took <i>your</i> chance. Now let’s see if you think +it’s worth it. If you’re figurin’ on any help +from me, you got to work for it first. If you’d +waited, I’d kind of made things easy for you. +Now, I’m goin’ to hand you the meanest job I +can think of. It won’t be an insult and it won’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_21' name='page_21'></a>21</span> +be a joke, but maybe you’ll take it for both––until +you learn better.”</p> +<p>“What is it, Uncle John?”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you when you get back from your +honeymoon.”</p> +<p>The two young people stared at each other, +and at Mr. Starkweather. “From our––what?” +asked the girl, incredulously.</p> +<p>“Honeymoon. Oh, you made a couple of +prize fools of yourselves, and if I did what I +ought to, I’d cut Henry off sharp this minute. +But––guess I better make a fool of <i>my</i>self, so +you’ll feel more at home.” He coughed explosively. +“Besides, you’re awful young, both +of you––and damn it, if you don’t cash in on it +now, next thing you know you’ll be wonderin’ +where the time’s gone, anyway. No sense in +robbin’ you of the best months of your life, just +because you hadn’t sense enough to rob your<i>selves</i> +of it––is there? Oh, I suppose I’m a +kind of a sentimental cuss, but––must be I like +the feelin’ of it.” He jerked his head toward +Henry. “This is April. Take her off somewhere––Italy? +South of France?––’till next +August. Then you report back here, all fixed +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_22' name='page_22'></a>22</span> +and ready to eat crow. Sound fair to you?”</p> +<p>The girl rose, and crossed the room to him. +“Mr. Starkweather––”</p> +<p>“Name’s Uncle John,” he corrected. “You +married it.”</p> +<p>“Uncle John––I––I don’t know how to––” +She bit her lip, and he saw the depths of her +eyes, and saw that they were filling with tears. +She gestured imperatively to Henry. “You +know him better––<i>you</i> tell him.”</p> +<p>Henry had sprung across to join them. “Uncle +John, you’re a peach! I’ll break rock on +the streets if you say so! You’re a peach!”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Starkweather, uncomfortably. +“If everybody else’s goin’ to bawl, I +guess it’ll have to be contagious.... Only +when you get back, you’re both goin’ to pay the +piper. I’m goin’ to make Henry earn his salt, +whether he’s got it in him or not; I’m goin’ to +make him crawl. That goes as it stands, too; +no foolin’.... Look here, don’t you want me +to break it to the Judge? Guess I better. I +can put it up to him in <i>writin’</i> twice as good +as Henry put it up to me by talkin’, anyhow.... +And I’ll put an announcement in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_23' name='page_23'></a>23</span> +<i>Herald</i> that’ll take the cuss off. Anna, you +hustle up some engraved notices to get around +to all our friends. You know what’s in +style.... Oh, you’re a couple of champion +idiots, and Henry’s goin’ to sweat for it when +he comes home, but––God bless you, my boy, +and you too, my dear––only <i>how</i> in blazes am +I goin’ to get it across to Mirabelle? That’s +what bites me the worst, Henry; that’s what +bites me the worst!”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_24' name='page_24'></a>24</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_III' id='CHAPTER_III'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER III</h2> +</div> +<p>In a small office on the third floor of the City +Bank Building Mr. Theodore Mix, broker +and amateur politician, sat moodily intent upon +his morning newspaper. For thirty years (he +was fifty-five) Mr. Mix had been a prominent +and a mildly influential citizen, and by great effort +he had managed to keep himself excessively +overrated. A few years ago he had even been +mentioned as a candidate for Mayor, and the +ambition was still alive within him, although +fulfilment was never so distant. But despite +his appearance, which was dignified, and despite +his manner, which would have done for +the diplomatic corps, and despite his connection +with local charities and churches and +civic committees, Mr. Mix was secretly a bit of +a bounder; and although the past decade or +two he had made a handsome income, he had +contrived to get rid of it as fast as he conveniently +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_25' name='page_25'></a>25</span> +could, and by methods which wouldn’t +always have stood analysis.</p> +<p>Lately, for no apparent cause, his best customers +had edged away from him; he was gliding +rapidly into debt, and he knew that unless +he clambered out again within six or eight +weeks, he should have considerable difficulty +in preserving his reputation, both financial and +ethical. And like all men in the same position, +Mr. Mix was fiercely jealous of his prestige; +by long practice he had warped himself into +thinking that it belonged to him; and he was +ready to defend it with every conceivable +weapon.</p> +<p>For the moment, however, Mr. Mix was +querulous rather than defensive. He was trying +to place the blame for the past two seasons +of misfortune, and when he observed that +Pacific Refining was twelve points up from Saturday’s +close, he sighed wearily and told himself +that it was all a matter of luck. He had +had an appointment, last Saturday at nine +o’clock, with his friend John Starkweather, and +he had meant to borrow something from him, if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_26' name='page_26'></a>26</span> +possible, and to risk a few hundred shares of +Pacific Refining on margin; but he had overslept, +and Mr. Starkweather had left his office +at nine fifteen and hadn’t come back again that +day, so that the profit which might so easily +have come to rest in Mr. Mix’s pockets was now +in other quarters.</p> +<p>Luck! The most intangible of assets and +the most unescapable of liabilities. On Saturday, +Mr. Mix had arrived too late because he +had overslept because his alarm-clock had been +tinkered by a watchmaker who had inherited a +taste for alcohol from a parent who had been +ruined by the Chicago fire––and almost before +he knew it, Mr. Mix had trailed the blame to +Adam and Eve, and was feeling personally resentful. +It was plain to him that his failure +wasn’t in any sense his own fault.</p> +<p>As he resumed his paper, however, his +querulousness yielded to a broad sunny optimism, +and he turned to the sporting page and +hunted out the news from the Bowie track. +He had a friend at Bowie, and the friend owned +a horse which he swore was the darkest three-year-old +in captivity; he had wired Mr. Mix to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_27' name='page_27'></a>27</span> +hypothecate his shirt, and bet the proceeds on +the fourth race, this coming Saturday. The +odds would be at least 10 to 1, he said, and he +could place all the money that Mr. Mix might +send him.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix leaned back and built a stable in the +air. Suppose he could borrow a couple of thousand. +Twenty thousand clear profit. Then a +quick dash into the cotton-market (the price was +certainly going to break wide open in another +month) and the twenty would unfold, and expand, +and become fifty. And if a shrewd, cold-blooded +man went down to Wall Street with +fifty thousand dollars, and played close to his +chest, he ought to double his capital in four +months. To be sure, Mr. Mix had been losing +steadily for a dozen years, but he was confident +that he had it in him to be a great and +successful plunger. He felt it. Heretofore, +he had been handicapped by operating on a +shoestring; but with fifty thousand dollars to +put his back against––</p> +<p>His stenographer announced a caller, and +on the instant, Mr. Mix, put on his other personality, +and prepared to silver his tongue. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_28' name='page_28'></a>28</span> +The caller, however, came straight to Mr. Mix’s +desk, and flipped out one sheet from a large +portfolio. “Say,” he remarked brusquely. +“What’s the matter with this bill? Ziegler +and Company. Two ninety two sixty––dated +November.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix laughed genially, and offered a cigar. +“Why, nothing’s the matter with it.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with Ziegler and Company? +Aren’t they solvent?”</p> +<p>The visitor lighted his cigar, and mellowed. +“Well it ain’t any of <i>my</i> funeral, but Ziegler +he says if you don’t settle by the fifteenth, he’ll +give it to his attorney.”</p> +<p>For the third time in a week, an attorney +had been lugged into the conversation; more +than that, Mr. Mix had received four letters +from two different collection agencies. “In +the words of the Good Book,” he said soothingly, +“have patience and I will pay thee all.”</p> +<p>“What say? Will I come in next week sometime?”</p> +<p>“Now, that,” said Mr. Mix, with a rush of +approval, “is a first-rate idea. That’s first-rate. +Come in next week some time.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_29' name='page_29'></a>29</span></div> +<p>“Right-o. Only Ziegler, he’s pretty hard-boiled, +Mr. Mix.... Say, why don’t you +gimme a check now, and save me from gettin’ +flat-footed? Two ninety two sixty? Why for +<i>you</i> that’s chicken-feed.”</p> +<p>“Bill hasn’t been audited yet,” said Mr. +Mix, with all the grandeur of an industrial +chieftain. “Come in next week.”</p> +<p>The visitor went out, and Mr. Mix scowled +at the bill, threatened to tear it, and finally put +it away in a drawer where it had plenty of +companionship. To think that after his lifetime +as an important citizen––generally supposed +to be well-to-do if not actually rich––he +couldn’t pay a trifling account of less than +three hundred dollars because he didn’t have +three hundred dollars in the bank. Collection +agencies and the warning of suits––and +impertinence from young ruffians who were +hired to dun him! He scowled more heavily, +and then gave his shoulders an upward movement +of rancour and disgust.</p> +<p>And yet––the lines receded from his forehead––and +yet there was always John Starkweather, +and the friend at Bowie. Mr. Mix rose, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_30' name='page_30'></a>30</span> +went out to the corridor, and down it to a +door which was lettered with Mr. Starkweather’s +name, followed by the inscription: +Real Estate and Insurance, Mortgage Loans. +And as he entered, and remembered that thirty +years ago he and John Starkweather had occupied +adjoining stools at the same high desk, +and broken their back over the same drudgery, +and at the same wage, he was filled with an +emotion which made his cheeks warm. Side +by side, only thirty years ago, and separated +now by the Lord knew what, and the Lord +knew why. Mr. Mix knew that he was brainier +than John Starkweather; he admitted it. +Brainier, smoother, quicker of wit, and more +polished. But Starkweather’s office handled +the bulk of local realty transactions; it wrote +more insurance than all of its competitors in a +mass; it loaned almost as much money, on +mortgage, as the Trust and Savings. And Mr. +Mix, Broker, was on the verge of bankruptcy. +Luck! No question about it.</p> +<p>At the swinging gate there was a girl-clerk +who smiled up at him, flirtatiously. “Want to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_31' name='page_31'></a>31</span> +see the boss? He’s busy for a coupla minutes.”</p> +<p>“All right,” said Mr. Mix in an undertone. +“I’ll stay here and talk to you.”</p> +<p>“The nerve of some folks! Think I’m paid +to listen to your line of hot air? Not ’till they +double my salary. You go sit down and have +a thought. Exercise’s what you need.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix rolled his eyes heavenward. “So +young, and so heartless!” he murmured, and +went sedately forward to the reception room.</p> +<p>The door of the private office was not quite +closed; so that the voices of two men were +faintly audible. Mr. Mix cast about him, made +sure that he was unobserved, and dignifiedly +changed his seat––nearer that door.</p> +<p>“Yes,” said a voice which at first he couldn’t +recognize. “The deed’s recorded. So legally, +Henry owns the property now.” Mr. Mix +nodded triumphantly; the voice belonged to Mr. +Archer, a leading lawyer and Mr. Starkweather’s +closest friend.</p> +<p>“That’s the idea.” This was in Mr. Starkweather’s +familiar bass. “Now how’d you fix +the will?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_32' name='page_32'></a>32</span></div> +<p>“Why, it was very simple. Your point was +that you didn’t want everybody to know what +was going on. So––”</p> +<p>“No. And if I put a lot o’ conditions like +that in a will, why just as soon as it was probated, +Henry and Mirabelle’d both get an awful +lot o’ bum publicity. They’d both be sore, +and I’d look like a nut.... Naturally, I don’t +plan to die off as soon as all this, but better +be safe. I just want to fix it up so Henry’ll +get the same deal no matter what happens.”</p> +<p>“Very wise, very wise,... Well, here’s +what I’ve done. I’ve changed the will so that +the entire residuary estate is left to me in trust +for your sister and nephew to be administered +according to the trust-deed we’re executing today. +They can probate that until they’re black +in the face, but nobody’s going to find out any +more than we want them to.”</p> +<p>“Sounds all right so far, but don’t you have +to take a trust agreement like that into Court, +too?”</p> +<p>“Sooner or later, yes. But you’ll notice that +I’ve covered it so that unless Henry or Miss +Starkweather says something, nobody’s going +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_33' name='page_33'></a>33</span> +to know until the year’s out, and I make +the accounting. Now for the trust agreement +itself––if Henry demonstrates to me that within +a year––”</p> +<p>“A year from August first. The lease don’t +expire ’till then, and Henry won’t be home ’till +then. August to August’s what I’m goin’ to +put up to him.”</p> +<p>“Correct. If he demonstrates to me that +within the calendar year he’s made a net profit +of ten thousand dollars from the property––by +the way, isn’t that rather steep?”</p> +<p>“No. Man’s in there now’s made three +thousand and manhandled it. Just horse-sense +and some alterations and advertising’ll bring +it up to ten.”</p> +<p>“You’re the doctor. If Henry makes ten +out of it, then he receives from me, as trustee, +the whole residuary estate, otherwise it goes to +your sister. And during that trial year, she +gets the whole income from it, anyway.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix was sitting motionless as a cat.</p> +<p>“That’s right.”</p> +<p>“Well, then, if you’ll just read these over and +make sure I’ve got your meaning, and then get +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_34' name='page_34'></a>34</span> +a couple of witnesses in here, we can clear the +whole thing up and have it out of the way.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix heard the scrape of chair-legs against +the floor, and hastily, on tiptoe, he crossed the +room to his original seat, and in passing the +centre table he helped himself to a magazine +which he was reading with much concentration +when the door of the private office opened.</p> +<p>“Why, hello, Mix,” said Mr. Starkweather. +“Been waitin’ long? Be with you in half a +second.”</p> +<p>“Just got here,” said Mr. Mix, as though +startled. He returned the magazine to the +table, and was still standing when his friend +came back, in convoy of young Mr. Robert Standish, +his chief assistant.</p> +<p>“Come on in, Mix. Want you to witness a +will.”</p> +<p>“Anything to oblige,” said Mr. Mix, with +alacrity.</p> +<p>He spoke cordially to young Mr. Standish +and in another moment, to the lawyer. With +due solemnity he carried out the function which +was assigned to him; he would have loved a +peep at the body of the documents, but already +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_35' name='page_35'></a>35</span> +he was possessed of some very interesting information, +and he kept his eyes religiously in +the boat. Mr. Mix believed that in business and +society, as well as in war, advance information +is the basis of victory; and even while he was +blotting his second signature, he was wondering +how to capitalize what he had overheard. +No inspiration came to him; so that methodically +he stowed away the facts for reference.</p> +<p>“Stay right here, Mix. That’s all, ain’t it, +Mr. Archer?”</p> +<p>“That’s all.” The lawyer was packing up +his papers. “Good-morning, gentlemen.” He +bowed himself away; Standish had long since +vanished.</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather mopped his face. “Hot, +ain’t it?”</p> +<p>“You aren’t looking so very fit,” said Mr. +Mix, critically. “Feel all right, do you?”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather pulled himself together. +“Sure,” he said, but his voice lacked its usual +heartiness. “I feel fine. Well, what can I do +for you?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix, delaying only to close the door +(and to see that it latched) began with a foreword +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_36' name='page_36'></a>36</span> +which was followed by a preface and +then by a prelude, but he had hardly reached +the main introduction when Mr. Starkweather +put up his hand. “To make a long story short, +Mix––how much do you want?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix looked pained. “Why, to tide me +over the dull season, John, I need––let’s see––” +He stole a glance at his friend, and doubled +the ante. “About five thousand.”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather drummed on his desk. +“Any security!”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix smiled blandly. “What’s security +between friends? I’ll give you a demand note.”</p> +<p>At length, Mr. Starkweather stopped drumming. +“Mix, I don’t quite get you.... You’ve +had a good business; you must have made considerable +money. You oughtn’t be borrowin’ +from me; that’s what your bank’s for. You +oughtn’t be borrowin’ money any way. You +been too big a man to get in a hole like this. +What’s wrong––business rotten?”</p> +<p>“<i>Too</i> good,” said Mr. Mix, frankly. “It’s +taking all my capital to carry my customers. +And you know how tight money is.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. Well––I guess your credit’s good +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_37' name='page_37'></a>37</span> +for five, all right. When do you have to have +it? Now?”</p> +<p>“Any time that suits you, suits me.”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather shook his head. “No, it +don’t, either. When a man wants money, he +<i>wants</i> it. Wants it some particular day. When +is it?”</p> +<p>“Why, if you <i>could</i> let me have it today, +John, I’d appreciate it.”</p> +<p>“Make out your note,” said Mr. Starkweather, +heavily, “Interest at six percent, semi-annually. +I’ll have the cashier write you out +a check.”</p> +<p>Ten minutes later Mr. Mix, patting his +breast pocket affectionately, bestowed a paternal +smile upon the girl at the wicket; and Mr. +Starkweather, alone in his office, drew a +prodigious breath and slumped down in his +chair, and fell to gazing out over the roof-tops.</p> +<p>It was a fortnight, now, since Henry’s last +letter. He wished that Henry would write +oftener. He told himself that one of Henry’s +impulsive, buoyant letters would furnish the +only efficacious antidote to Mirabelle. And he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_38' name='page_38'></a>38</span> +needed an antidote, and a powerful one, for +during the past two weeks Mirabelle had been +surpassing herself. That is, if one can surpass +a superlative.</p> +<p>Judge Barklay, of course, had taken the revelation +like a man. Like a philosopher. He +was fond of Henry personally; he had objected +to him purely for the obvious reasons. He +agreed, however, with Mr. Starkweather––marriage +might awaken Henry to complete responsibility. +Indeed he had Mr. Starkweather’s +guaranty of it. To be sure a secret marriage +was somewhat sensational, somewhat indecorous––</p> +<p>“Humph!” Mirabelle had interrupted. “I +don’t know who’s insulted most––you or us. +Still I suppose you’ve got <i>one</i> consolation––and +that’s if two young fools marry each other +instead of somebody else it only leaves just +the two of ’em to repent at leisure instead of +four.”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather recalled, with chagrin, his +own and the Judge’s futile attempts at tact. +Mirabelle was tact-proof; you might as well +try subtle diplomacy on a locomotive. He took +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_39' name='page_39'></a>39</span> +another deep breath, and gazed abstractedly out +over the roof-tops. He wished that Henry +would write. Henry had his defects, but the +house was not quite livable without him. Mr. +Starkweather was swept by an emotion which +took him wholly by surprise and almost overcame +him; he sat up, and began to wonder +where he could find some occupation which +would chink up the crevices in his thoughts, and +prevent him from introspection. Eventually he +hit upon it, and with a conscious effort, he +pulled himself out of his chair, and went over +to Masonic Hall to meet his sister Mirabelle.</p> +<p>She had been attending a conference of the +Ethical Reform League, and as Mr. Starkweather’s +car drew in to the curb, the reformers +were just emerging to the sidewalk. He surveyed +them, disparagingly. First, there was +a vanguard of middle-aged women, remarkably +short of waist and long of skirt, who looked as +though they had stepped directly from the files +of Godey’s Lady’s Book; he recognized a few +of them, and judged the others accordingly––these +were the militants, the infantry, who bore +the brunt of the fighting. Next, there was a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_40' name='page_40'></a>40</span> +group of younger women, and of young men––the +men, almost without exception, wore spectacles +and white washable ties. These were the +skirmishers and the reserves. At one side, +there was a little delegation in frock-coats and +silk hats, and as Mr. Starkweather beheld them, +he lifted his eyebrows; some of those older +men he hadn’t seen in public for a dozen years––he +had forgotten that they were alive. But +the majority of them were retired or retiring +capitalists; men who in their day, had managed +important interests, and even now controlled +them. Mr. Starkweather reflected that +life must have become very insipid to them; +and he further reflected that their place in this +organization must be as shock-troops. They +would seldom go into action, but when they did, +they had the power of consequence to give them +an added momentum.</p> +<p>His sister caught sight of him, and waved +her hand in greeting; and this astonished him +all the more, because since Henry’s departure, +she had behaved towards him as though his +character needed a bath.</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather made room for her. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_41' name='page_41'></a>41</span> +“Thought I’d give you a lift back to the house,” +he said.</p> +<p>There was an unusual colour in her cheeks, +and her eyes were brilliant. “John, do you +know what I am?”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather didn’t dare to hesitate. +“No. What?”</p> +<p>“I’m the––president,” she said, and her voice +was trembling with pride and bewilderment.</p> +<p>“President? Of the League?”</p> +<p>Transfigured, she nodded again and again. +“The nominating committee reported this +morning. I’m the only candidate....” She +stared at him and stiffened. “Of course, I +know you aren’t interested in anything helpful +or progressive, so I don’t expect to be congratulated. +Of course not.”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather made a dutiful struggle +to be joyous about it, and succeeded only in +producing a feeble smirk. “I’ll say one thing––you’ve +got some money represented in that +crowd. Those old codgers. I didn’t realize +it.... Well, what’s your program?”</p> +<p>She unbent a little, and began to recite her +platform, and as she skipped from plank to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_42' name='page_42'></a>42</span> +plank, her own enthusiasm was multiplied, and +Mr. Starkweather was correspondingly encased +in gloom. As a mere active member of the +League, a private in the ranks, Mirabelle had +made his house no more cheerful as a mausoleum; +and when he considered what she might +accomplish as a president, in charge of a sweeping +blue-law campaign, his imagination refused +to take the hurdle.</p> +<p>Fortunately, he wasn’t expected to say anything. +His sister was making a speech. She +didn’t stop when the car stopped, nor when +Mr. Starkweather climbed down stiffly, and +held open the door for her, nor even when they +had reached the portico of the big brick house. +He told himself, dumbly, that if the world +would ever listen to Mirabelle, it would certainly +reform. Not necessarily in contrition, +but in self-defence.</p> +<p>And yet when he sat opposite her, at lunch, +his expression was as calm and untroubled as +though she had fashioned for him an ideal existence. +He was seeing a vision of Mirabelle +as a soap-box orator; he was seeing humorous +stories about her in the newspapers; he was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_43' name='page_43'></a>43</span> +shuddering at all the publicity which he knew +would be her portion, and yet he could smile +across the table at her, and speak in his normal +voice. Physically, he was distressed and +joyless, but he found it easier to rise above his +body than above his mind. His smile was a +tribute to a dual heroism.</p> +<p>“Got a little present for you,” said Mr. +Starkweather, suddenly. He tossed a slip of +paper to her, and watched her as she examined +it. “There’s a string to it, though––I want +you to hold it awhile.”</p> +<p>She looked up, sceptically. “Suppose it’s +good?”</p> +<p>“Oh, it’s perfectly good. Mix is all right. +Only I don’t want you to press him for awhile. +Not for three, four months, anyhow.” He +pushed away his dessert, untasted. “You +know why I’m givin’ you these little dibs and +dabs every now and then, don’t you? So if +anything ever happens to me, all of a sudden, +you’ll have somethin’ to draw on. Let’s see, +I’ve put about forty in the little trust fund +I been buildin’ up for you, and given you +twelve––” He broke off abruptly; his own +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_44' name='page_44'></a>44</span> +symptoms puzzled him. As though somebody +had tried to throttle him.</p> +<p>His sister had already been sitting bolt upright, +but now she achieved an even greater +rigidity. “Did you take my advice about your +will? I don’t suppose you did.”</p> +<p>“I made some changes in it this morning,” +said Mr. Starkweather, uncomfortably.</p> +<p>“Did you do what I told you to––about +Henry?”</p> +<p>He was struggling to keep a grip on himself. +“Well, no––not exactly.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you didn’t?” she said tartly. “Well, +what <i>did</i> you do?”</p> +<p>“Mirabelle,” said her brother, “don’t you +think that’s––just a little mite personal?”</p> +<p>“Well––I should hope so. I meant it to be. +After the way Henry’s acted, he don’t deserve +one bit of sympathy, or one dollar from +anybody. And if <i>I</i>’ve got anything to say, he +won’t get it, either.”</p> +<p>Mr. Starkweather’s round, fat face, wore an +expression which his sister hadn’t seen before. +He stood up, and held the back of his chair for +support. “Mirabelle, you haven’t got a <i>word</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_45' name='page_45'></a>45</span> +to say about it. I’ve made some changes in my +will, but it’s nobody’s damned business outside +of mine.”</p> +<p>She reached for her handkerchief. “John! +To think that you’d <i>swear</i>––at <i>me</i>––”</p> +<p>He wet his lips. “I didn’t swear at you, but +it’s a holy wonder I don’t. I’ve stood this just +about as long as I’m goin’ to. Henry’s my own +flesh and blood. And furthermore he wouldn’t +waste my money a minute quicker’n <i>you</i> would. +He’d do a damn sight better with it. He’d +have a good time with it, and make everybody +in the neighbourhood happy, and you’d burn +it up in one of your confounded reform clubs. +Well, all I’ve got’s a sister and a nephew, so +I guess the money’s goin’ to be wasted anyhow. +But one way’s as good’s another, and Henry’s +goin’ to get a fair break, and don’t you forget +it.” He took a glass of water from the table, +and spilled half of it. “Don’t you forget it.”</p> +<p>At last, she had perception. “John, you +don’t know what you’re saying! What’s the +matter? Are you sick?”</p> +<p>He was swallowing repeatedly. “Yes, I am. +Sick of the whole thing.” His eyes, and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_46' name='page_46'></a>46</span> +hue of his cheeks, genuinely alarmed her; she +went to him, but he avoided her. “No, I don’t +want anything except to be let alone.... Is +the car out there?”</p> +<p>“But John––<i>listen</i> to me––”</p> +<p>He waved her off. “I listened to you the day +Henry came home, Mirabelle. That’s enough +to last me quite some time. I ain’t forgot a +word you said––not a word. Where’s my +hat?” He rushed past her, and out of the +house, and left her gaping after him.</p> +<p>Half an hour later, young Mr. Standish telephoned +to her.</p> +<p>“Miss Starkweather?... Your brother +isn’t feeling any too well, and I’ve just sent +him home. He looks to me as if he’s in pretty +bad shape. Wouldn’t be a bad idea to have +your doctor there, seems to me.”</p> +<p>She had the doctor there, and before the night +was over, there was another doctor in consultation. +There were also two nurses. And to both +doctors, both nurses and Mirabelle, Mr. Starkweather, +who knew his destiny, whispered the +same message at intervals of fifteen minutes. +“Don’t have Henry come back––don’t have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_47' name='page_47'></a>47</span> +Henry come back––no sense his comin’ back ’till +August. Tell him I said so. Tell him I want +him to stay over there––’till August.”</p> +<p>And then, in the cool, fresh morning, Mr. +Starkweather, who hadn’t stirred a muscle for +several hours, suddenly tried to sit up.</p> +<p>“Postman!” said Mr. Starkweather, with +much difficulty.</p> +<p>He was waiting for a letter from Henry, and +when they put it into his hands, he smiled and +was content. He hadn’t the strength to open +it, and he wouldn’t let anyone else touch it; he +was satisfied to know that Henry had written. +And after that, there was nothing worth waiting +for.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_48' name='page_48'></a>48</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IV' id='CHAPTER_IV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IV</h2> +</div> +<p>It never occurred to Henry, when he came +home in late July, to take his wife to the +big brick house which had been his uncle’s. He +didn’t know whether the house would go to Aunt +Mirabelle or to himself, and for the time being, +it was immaterial; Aunt Mirabelle was welcome +to possession of it, undisturbed. Except +for his uncle, there would have been open warfare +between them long ago; now that the arbitrator +was gone, war was inevitable, but Henry +wouldn’t fight on sacred ground. He preferred +to accept the hospitality of Judge Barklay. The +Judge’s house was a third the size, and not the +least prepossessing, and there really wasn’t +room for the young Devereuxs in it, but as soon +as you stepped inside the door, you knew that +you were welcome.</p> +<p>He was sorry for his aunt, and he went to see +her immediately, but even in this new situation, +she let him know that she disapproved of him +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_49' name='page_49'></a>49</span> +thoroughly and permanently. She wasn’t reconciled +to his marriage; she didn’t care to receive +Anna; she implied that regardless of Mr. +Starkweather’s express wishes, Henry was a +stony-hearted ingrate for remaining so long +abroad. To be sure, his presence at home +would have served no purpose whatsoever, but +Mirabelle was firm in her opinion. More than +that, she succeeded in making Henry feel that +by his conduct he had hurried his uncle into an +untimely grave; she didn’t say this flatly, nor +yet by innuendo, but she managed to convey it +through the atmosphere.</p> +<p>“Of course,” she said, “you’ve been to call +on Mr. Archer, haven’t you?”</p> +<p>Henry flushed indignantly. “I hadn’t even +thought about it.”</p> +<p>“Well, when you do, you’ll hear some fine +news.” Her lip curled. “Your friend Bob +Standish’s bought the business. Some of it, +anyway. Bought it on a shoestring’s <i>my</i> guess,––but +he’s bought it.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know it, Aunt Mirabelle.”</p> +<p>“Well, they only closed the deal a few days +ago.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_50' name='page_50'></a>50</span></div> +<p>“Good for Bob!” He was thinking that if +honest toil were demanded of him, nothing +could be more pleasant than an alliance with +this same Standish. His uncle had always offered +up Standish, subtly, as an illustration of +what Henry himself ought to be. And it was a +tribute to the mutual affection of all three men +that Henry had never been irritated at Mr. +Starkweather, nor resentful towards his friend. +On the contrary, he admitted that unless he +were himself, he would rather be Standish +than anyone else. He wondered if his uncle +could have planned for him so delightful a penance +as a year or two of happy servitude under +Bob. He must see Bob and congratulate him. +Only twenty-seven, and the head of the most +important concern of its type in several counties.</p> +<p>Aunt Mirabelle sniffed. “Good for <i>nothing</i>. +He’s most as scatter-brained as you are.”</p> +<p>Henry declined the combat, and after she +sensed his intention, she went on, with increasing +acridity.</p> +<p>“The rest of the whole estate’s tied up for +a year in a trust, to see what you’re going to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_51' name='page_51'></a>51</span> +do with some piece of property he deeded to +you just before he died, but Mr. Archer +wouldn’t tell me much about it ’till you came +home. I <i>suppose</i> it’s part of the business––some +department of it. If you can make ten +thousand dollars out of it, you’re to have everything. +All <i>I</i> get’s a few thousand outright, and +what John gave me in a little separate fund, +and a year’s income from the whole estate. I +suppose you think that’s perfectly fair and +right and just. Naturally, you would.”</p> +<p>In his present mood, Henry was immune to +astonishment. “I don’t believe it’s up to me +to criticize Uncle John, whatever he did.”</p> +<p>“Not under the circumstances, no. You’ve +got some piece of property––<i>I</i> don’t know what +it is; he didn’t tell me; <i>I</i>’m only his sister––and +he’s fixed things so it’s just a gamble for +you. You’re going to do the gambling; and I +sit back and fold my hands and wait a year to +see whether you get everything, or I do. Even +this house.”</p> +<p>“What’s that?”</p> +<p>She made a deprecating gesture. “Oh, yes, +if you aren’t a good enough gambler, then <i>I</i> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_52' name='page_52'></a>52</span> +come into everything. It puts me in such a +sweet position, doesn’t it? So comfortable for +me.” Her smile was bitter; she was recalling +what her brother had said to her at lunch, on +that final day––that he wouldn’t listen to her, +because already he had heard the worst that she +had to say. Originally, as she knew, he had +intended to bequeath Henry a fourth of his +property, and herself the remainder; and she +knew that by her too vigorous indictment of +Henry she had egged her brother into a state +of mind which, regardless of the cause of it, +she still considered to be unfathomable. The +memory galled her, and so did the possibility +of Henry’s triumph. “Well,” she said, “I +wish you every happiness and success, Henry. +I suppose you feel in your conscience you deserve +it, don’t you?”</p> +<p>When he left her, he was aware that the last +tie had been severed.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>His friend Bob Standish was a young man +who in the past ten years had achieved many +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_53' name='page_53'></a>53</span> +different kinds of success by the reason that +mere acquaintances, as well as strangers, invariably +underestimated him. For one thing, +his skin was so tender, his eyes so blue and innocent, +his mouth so wide and sensitive, his +forehead so white and high, that he gave the +impression of almost childish simplicity and +ingenuousness. For another thing, he dressed +with such meticulous regard for the fashion, +and he moved about with such indolent amiability, +that his clothes and his manners distracted +attention from what was underneath.</p> +<p>And so, at college, a full battalion of kindly +sophomores had volunteered to teach him +poker, and couldn’t understand why the profits +went not to the teacher, but to the pupil. Immature +professors, who liked to score off idlers +and fat-brained sons of plutocrats, had selected +him as the perfect target, and some of them had +required several terms to realize that Standish, +always baby-eyed, beau-attired and apparently +dreaming of far distant things, was +never lower in rank than the top twenty of his +class. Out on the Field, visiting ends and +tackles, meeting him for the first time, had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_54' name='page_54'></a>54</span> +nearly laughed in his face, and prepared to +slaughter him, only to discover, with alarm +and horror which steadily increased from the +first whistle to the last, that Standish could explode +his muscles with such a burst of dynamic +energy that his hundred and sixty +pounds felt like two hundred and ten. It was +equally discouraging to learn, from breathless +experience, that when he was in his stride he +was as unpursueable as a coyote; and that he +could diagnose the other fellow’s tactics even +before the other fellow had quite decided what +to do next.</p> +<p>In commerce, he had merely continued the +same species of career; and by virtue of being +thoroughly depreciated, and even pitied, by +his customers, he had risen in six years from +the grade of city insurance solicitor to that +of Mr. Starkweather’s principal assistant. +And now, as casually as he had ever raked in a +jack-pot from the bewildered sophomores, he +had bought the Starkweather business, and not +on a shoestring, either, as Mirabelle had suspected.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_55' name='page_55'></a>55</span></div> +<p>He had roomed with Henry at college; he +had been his inseparable companion, out of +office hours, ever since; he knew him too well +to proffer any trite condolence. But his sympathy +was firm and warm in his fingers when +he shook hands and Henry got the message.</p> +<p>“Thought probably you’d rather not have +me at the train,” said Standish, “so I didn’t +come. Right or wrong?”</p> +<p>“Right, Bob.... Allow smoking in your +sanctum?”</p> +<p>“Don’t allow anybody <i>not</i> to smoke. What +are you doing––borrowing or offering?”</p> +<p>Henry glanced at Standish’s brand. “Neither +one. Every man for himself––and you’ve +got vile taste. Well, I hear you’re the big +boss around here. Please, mister, gimme a +job?”</p> +<p>“Nothing I’d like better,” said Standish. +“I’ve got just the thing for you. Sit over on +the window-sill and be a lily. Flowers brighten +up an office so.”</p> +<p>“You basely misjudge me. Didn’t you know +I’m going to work?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_56' name='page_56'></a>56</span></div> +<p>Standish’s eyes were round and guileless. +“See any sea-serpents on your way over? I’ve +heard there <i>are</i> such things.”</p> +<p>“Fact, though, I am. And you know it, too. +I’m hoping it’s here.”</p> +<p>His friend shook his head. “Not here, +Henry.”</p> +<p>“No?”</p> +<p>“No, and I’m sorry. I’d make you clean inkwells +and say ‘sir,’ and you’d get to be almost +as democratic as I am.... Haven’t you seen +Archer?”</p> +<p>“Not yet.”</p> +<p>“Why not?”</p> +<p>“Oh, just squeamish, I suppose. You sort of +hate to think of the––cash end of it.”</p> +<p>“That’s right, too. But as long as you’re in +the building, you’d better drop in there. From +all the talk there is, you’ve picked up a mystery.”</p> +<p>“Mystery? In what way?”</p> +<p>“Not for me to say. Go find out. And say––you +and Anna come and dine with me tonight, +will you? I just want to have you all to myself. +Mind?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_57' name='page_57'></a>57</span></div> +<p>“Not noticeably.”</p> +<p>“Good. Seven o’clock. Now get out of here +and see Archer. Come back afterwards, if you +want to; but do that first.”</p> +<p>As if from pressure of business, he projected +Henry into the corridor; and then, meditatively, +he returned to his desk. Young Mr. Standish +had watched his employer very closely, during +those last few days, and in witnessing Mr. +Starkweather’s will, he had sensed, intuitively, +that it contained a stick of dynamite for Henry.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Mr. Archer, who had known Henry since the +Fauntleroy days, greeted him with the proper +mixture of repression and cordiality. “But +I’m afraid,” owned Mr. Archer, “I’m afraid +you’re going to be a little disappointed.”</p> +<p>Henry shook his head. “Then you’ve sized +me up all wrong,” he said, much subdued. “Because +no matter what I get, I’m going to be satisfied +that Uncle John wanted me to have it. +Besides, I’ve apparently got to hump myself, or +I don’t get anything at all. Aunt Mirabelle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_58' name='page_58'></a>58</span> +gave me some idea of it––I’d thought it was +probably an interest in the business, but Bob +Standish says it isn’t.”</p> +<p>“No, it’s a building. 361 Main Street. But +it’s rather more than a mere building; it <i>is</i> a +business. It’s leased until next Monday; after +that it’s yours to operate. The deed’s recorded +now. It’s yours outright. Did your aunt tell +you what the conditions are?”</p> +<p>“All or nothing!”</p> +<p>“Yes. Oh, he made a separate provision for +Miss Starkweather; she’ll never go hungry; but +the bulk of the estate depends on what you do +with the business in the next year. And strictly +between ourselves, your uncle expected you to +finish with a bit to spare.”</p> +<p>“I know this much; if it’s anything <i>he</i> doped +out for me, it’s an even bet. It’s to make ten +thousand dollars?”</p> +<p>“Yes, and without any outside help except +straight commercial loans––if you can get ’em. +No favours from anybody, and no free keep +from your families.”</p> +<p>“What building is it, Mr. Archer?”</p> +<p>The lawyer paused to wipe his glasses. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_59' name='page_59'></a>59</span> +“It’s one your uncle took over on a mortgage +last winter.... You see, Henry, he’d figured +out what he was going to do with you, and it +would have been this same thing even if he’d +lived. He picked out what he thought would do +you the most good––get you in touch with +different people––break down some of your (excuse +me for being blunt) class prejudice––teach +you how many dimes there are in a dollar. +And for that reason he expressly stipulated +that you’ve got to keep your own books. +That’ll give you more of a respect for money +than anything else would, I guess.”</p> +<p>“Keep my own books?”</p> +<p>“That’s the way Mr. Starkweather began––only +in his case, he kept somebody else’s. But +I warned you to expect something out of the +ordinary.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Henry. “I was all set for +<i>some</i> kind of a low-brow job. What is it––a +garage?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid you’ll think a garage is fashionable, +compared with it.”</p> +<p>Henry looked serious. “361 Main? I don’t +seem to––What on earth <i>is</i> it, Mr. Archer?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_60' name='page_60'></a>60</span></div> +<p>“Go down and look at it. Only don’t be +shocked, Henry; because it’s exactly what he’d +have given you to do, anyway. And then let +me know what your plans are, will you? By +the way––have you any money of your own?”</p> +<p>Henry looked pained. “I’m down to a +couple of hundred. Why?”</p> +<p>“Then you’d better not waste any time. Go +on down and look it over this morning, and let +me know.”</p> +<p>“Why––let you know <i>what</i>?”</p> +<p>“Whether you’re going to take the dare.”</p> +<p>Henry’s lips twitched. “Nobody ever beat +me by default yet, Mr. Archer.”</p> +<p>“Just the same, I wish you’d let me know +definitely––won’t you? Of course, if you +shouldn’t feel inclined to go ahead on your +uncle’s plan––and that <i>would</i> disappoint me––you +could simply sell out. I hope you won’t, +though. I hope very much indeed that you +won’t. But––go look at it. And one last +thing, Henry; your uncle put the thing in this +shape so that too many people wouldn’t be gossiping +about it. I mean, if you and your aunt +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_61' name='page_61'></a>61</span> +don’t tell––nobody will. That’s all––but let me +know.”</p> +<p>Obediently, Henry proceeded down Main +Street to the 300 block. His curiosity was +active, but he was warning himself to be on +guard, for his uncle’s sentences, although invariably +fair and invariably appropriate, were +also founded on a solid base of humour and surprise. +Henry remembered what Mr. Starkweather +had said about coming home to eat +crow, and what Mr. Archer had said about the +comparative aristocracy of a garage, and he +prepared himself for a thunderstroke, and got a +laugh ready. That book-keeping provision was +really clever; Uncle John had palpably framed +it up to keep Henry on the job. But Henry +would outwit the provision. A few lessons in a +commercial-school, a modern card-system, and +he could handle the books of any small business +in no time at all, as per the magazine advertisements. +Of course, the crow and the garage +were merely symbols; but whatever the +business might be, and however distasteful, +there was only a year of it, and after that (so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_62' name='page_62'></a>62</span> +confident was Henry) there was a lifetime of +luxury. He was rather glad that his penance +came first; it would serve to make the enjoyment +of his wealth so much more zestful. He +should always feel as though he had worked for +it, instead of having it handed out to him on a +platter, regardless of his personal deserts. +Yes, he would work faithfully, and because the +task would be within his capabilities, (for Mr. +Starkweather was sane and practical, and Mr. +Archer had prophesied a finish with something +to spare) he would end his probation in a blaze +of glory, and Anna would be proud of him, +Judge Barklay would approve of him, and Aunt +Mirabelle would have to revise her estimate of +him. Altogether, it was a fine arrangement, +provided that his business, whatever it was, +wouldn’t entirely prevent him from keeping up +with the procession, socially, and playing +enough golf to hold his present form.</p> +<p>He had passed 331 and 341 and 351 and his +heart began to beat more rapidly. This was +almost as exciting as a Christmas stocking in +the Fauntleroy days. His eyes were searching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_63' name='page_63'></a>63</span> +among the numbers; there was a four-story +office building (335) and an automobile agency +(339) ... and next to that––.... Henry +halted, and the laugh dried up in his throat. +He had been prepared for anything but the +reality. The ark of his fortunes was a shabby +little motion-picture theatre.</p> +<p>Gasping, he looked up again at the number, +and when he realized that he had made no mistake, +his knees turned to gelatine, and he stood +staring, fascinated, numbed. His eyes wandered +blankly from the crumbling ticket-booth +to the unkempt lobby and back to the lurid billing––the +current attraction was a seven-reel +thriller entitled “What He Least Expected,” +but Henry missed the parallel. With trembling +fingers he produced a cigarette, but in his daze +he blew out two matches in succession. He +crushed the cigarette in his palm, and moved a +few steps towards the lobby. Great Heaven, +was it possible that John Starkweather had condemned +Henry the fashionable, Henry the +clubable, Henry the exclusive to a year of <i>this</i>? +Was <i>this</i> his punishment for the past? Was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_64' name='page_64'></a>64</span> +<i>this</i> the price of his future? This picayune +sordidness, and vulgarity and decay? Evidently, +it was so intended, and so ordered.</p> +<p>His power of reason was almost atrophied. +He struggled to understand his uncle’s purpose; +his uncle’s logic. To break down his +class prejudice, and teach him the dimes in a +dollar, and put him on the level of a workingman? +All that could have been accomplished +by far less drastic methods. It could have been +accomplished by a tour of duty with Bob. To +be sure, Mr. Starkweather had promised him +the meanest job in the directory, but Henry had +put it down as a figure of speech. Now, he was +faced with the literal interpretation of it, and +ahead of him there was a year of trial, and then +all or nothing.</p> +<p>He succeeded in lighting a fresh cigarette, +but he couldn’t taste it. Previously he had +paid his forfeits with the best of good-nature, +but his previous forfeits hadn’t obliged him to +declass himself. They hadn’t involved his wife. +He hadn’t married Anna to drag her down to +this. It would stand them in a social pillory, +targets for those who had either admired them +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_65' name='page_65'></a>65</span> +or envied them. It would make them the most +conspicuous pair in the whole community: +older people would point to them as an illustration +of justice visited on blind youth, and would +chuckle to observe Henry in the process of receiving +his come-uppance: the younger set +would quake with merriment and poor jokes +and sly allusions to Henry’s ancient grandeur. +Even Bob Standish would have to hide his +amusement; why, Bob himself had made society +and success his fetiches. And Anna––Anna +who was so ambitious for him––how could <i>she</i> +endure the status of a cheap showman’s wife?</p> +<p>And even if she had been willing to ally himself +with such a business, how could he conceivably +make ten thousand dollars out of it in a +single year? Ten? It would take a genius to +make five. An inexperienced man, with luck, +might make two or three. He couldn’t afford +to hire a trained man to manage it for him: the +place was too small to support such a man, and +still to net any appreciable profit. Mr. Starkweather +had undoubtedly foreseen this very +fact––foreseen that Henry couldn’t sit back as +a magnate, and pile responsibility on a paid +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_66' name='page_66'></a>66</span> +employé. To reach his quota, Henry would +have to get in all over, and act as his own +manager, and take the resulting publicity and +the social isolation. But the business was impossible, +the quota was impossible, the entire +project from first to last was unthinkable. His +uncle, whether by accident or design, had +virtually disowned him. There was no other +answer.</p> +<p>His laugh came back to him, but there was no +hilarity in it. It was merely an expression of +his helplessness; it was tragedy turned inside +out. Yet he felt no resentment towards his +uncle, but rather an overwhelming pity. He +felt no resentment towards his friend Standish, +who had bought out the perfectly respectable +business which Mr. Starkweather might so +easily have left to Henry. Mr. Starkweather +had schemed to bring about a certain reaction, +and he had overplayed his hand. Instead of +firing Henry with a new ardour for success, he +had convinced him of the futility of endeavour. +He had set a standard so high, and chosen a +medium so low, that he had defeated his own +object.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_67' name='page_67'></a>67</span></div> +<p>The next step––why, it was to chart his life +all over again. It was to dispose of this ridiculous +property, and begin to make a living for +Anna. And there was no time to lose, either, +for Henry’s checking balance was about to slide +past the vanishing point.</p> +<p>He felt a hand on his shoulder, and turned to +meet the gravely sympathetic eyes of Mr. +Theodore Mix.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Mr. Mix was fresh from an interview with +Miss Mirabelle Starkweather. Her acquaintance +with him was slight, but from a distance +she had always esteemed him, partly for his +mature good-looks, and partly for the distinguished +manner which had always been a large +fraction of his stock-in-trade, and was now to be +listed among his principal assets. Her esteem, +however, applied to him merely as an individual, +and not as a debtor.</p> +<p>“I wanted to see you about a note,” she said, +primly. “A five thousand dollar demand note +you gave my brother four months ago. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_68' name='page_68'></a>68</span> +endorsed it over to me, and I wanted to see you +about it.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix allowed his mouth to widen in a +smile which was disarmingly benevolent. The +horse at Bowie had proved dark indeed,––so +dark that it had still been merged with the background +when the winner passed the judge’s +stand––and this colour-test had cost Mr. Mix +precisely two thousand dollars. Beyond that, +he had paid off a few of his most pressing +creditors, and he had spent a peculiarly carefree +week in New York (where he had also +taken a trifling flyer in cotton, and made a disastrous +forced landing) so that there was +practically nothing but his smile between himself +and bankruptcy. Yet Mr. Mix beamed, +with almost ecclesiastical poise, upon the +holder of his demand note, and tried her with +honey.</p> +<p>“Ordinarily, I’m embarrassed to talk business +with a woman,” said Mr. Mix. “I’m so +conscious of the––what shall I say?––of a +woman’s disadvantage in a business interview. +But in your case, Miss Starkweather, when your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_69' name='page_69'></a>69</span> +executive ability is so well known and so universally +praised––”</p> +<p>She nodded, and took it without discount, but +she wasn’t distracted from her purpose. “I +hope it’s convenient for you to pay it, Mr. +Mix.”</p> +<p>“If it weren’t convenient,” said Mr. Mix, +soothingly, “I should <i>make</i> it convenient. +When the sister of my oldest friend––a man +who once sat at the same desk with me, when +we were young clerks together––when his +sister is in need of funds, I––”</p> +<p>“’T isn’t that,” she said, quickly. “I want +this money for some special reason.”</p> +<p>He inclined his head slightly. “One of your +favourite charities, I have no doubt. But whatever +the reason, the obligation is the same. +Now, let’s see––I’ll have to sell some securities––when +must you have it?”</p> +<p>“Next Tuesday.”</p> +<p>Inwardly, Mr. Mix was startled, but outwardly +he looked grieved. “Tuesday? Now––that +<i>is</i>––wait a minute.” He created the +impression that he was juggling vast affairs, in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_70' name='page_70'></a>70</span> +order to gratify a whim of his old friend’s +sister. As a matter of fact, he was wondering +what plausible excuse he could give without revealing +any hint of the truth. “Is Tuesday +imperative?”</p> +<p>“Tuesday by ten o’clock in the morning.”</p> +<p>His face cleared, “You’ve shared a secret +with me,” said Mr. Mix, and although he spoke +aloud, his attitude was as though he were +whispering. “Because I happen to know that +every Tuesday at ten o’clock there’s a meeting +of a––a certain organization of which you’re the +illustrious president. Needless to say, I refer +to the Ethical Reform League.” He lowered +his voice. “I ask your pardon for the intrusion +of anything of such a delicately personal +nature, Miss Starkweather, but I <i>must</i> tell you +that when a person, such as yourself, even in the +midst of inconsolable sorrow, can’t forget that +great principles and great institutions can +never perish, but are immortal, and go on forever––that’s +true nobility of character, Miss +Starkweather, and I honour you for it.”</p> +<p>She touched her eyes with her handkerchief. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_71' name='page_71'></a>71</span> +“Thank you, Mr. Mix. Yes, I intend to make a +contribution to our League––in memory of my +brother. You’re––familiar with our League?”</p> +<p>He gestured effectively. “Familiar with it? +You might as well ask me if I’m familiar with +the Emancipation Proclamation––the Magna +Charta.” And this was accurate; his knowledge +of all three was based on hearsay evidence.</p> +<p>“And are you at all in sympathy with it?”</p> +<p>“My dear lady! I was one of the pioneer +supporters of suffrage in this region. I––”</p> +<p>“Yes, I know that, and I know your work in +the Associated Charities, and in your church, +but––how did you vote on prohibition?”</p> +<p>He side-stepped with great agility. “How +would any man of my calibre vote?”</p> +<p>“True, true.” She was becoming animated.</p> +<p>“But we’ve tremendous problems yet to +solve.... Do you believe in enforcing the +laws, Mr. Mix? The Sunday laws especially?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix picked up his cue, and gave thanks +for the diversion. “Dear lady, I am a citizen. +As a citizen, I help to <i>make</i> the laws; they’re +made by all of us for our own good. Show me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_72' name='page_72'></a>72</span> +a man who <i>doesn’t</i> believe in enforcing the laws, +and I won’t argue with him––I couldn’t count +on his sincerity.”</p> +<p>“It’s a pleasure to talk to a man like you,” +she said. “I wonder if you agree with our +other ideals. Er––what do you think about +dancing?”</p> +<p>He had a good phrase which he had been +saving up for six weeks. “Dancing,” he said, +“is popular because it’s so conspicuously innocent, +and so warmly satisfactory to the guilty.”</p> +<p>“Good! <i>Good!</i> How about tobacco?”</p> +<p>This, too, he side-stepped. “It’s a poison, +so the doctors say. Who am I to put any opinion +against theirs?”</p> +<p>She was regarding him earnestly, and a little +perplexedly.</p> +<p>“How is it, when in spirit you’re one of us, +you’ve never joined the League?”</p> +<p>“I-I’ve never been invited,” said Mr. Mix, +somewhat taken aback.</p> +<p>“Then <i>I</i> invite you,” she said, promptly. +“And I know you’ll accept. It’s men like you +we need––men with some backbone; prominent, +useful citizens. You sit right there. I’ve got +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_73' name='page_73'></a>73</span> +an application blank in my desk. Read it +over when you get home, and sign it and mail it +to me.”</p> +<p>“I appreciate the distinction of your asking +me,” said Mr. Mix, with supreme deference. +“And if you have time, I wish you’d tell me +what your aims are. I am very deeply interested.”</p> +<p>He stayed another half hour, and the conversation +never swerved from the entertaining +subject of reform. Mr. Mix was insufferably +bored, and cumulatively restless, but he was +convinced that he was making headway, so that +he kept his mind relentlessly on the topic, and +dispensed honey by the shovelful. When he +prepared to leave, he tested out his conviction, +and reminded her gently: “Now, in regard to +that note––”</p> +<p>Mirabelle was blinded by her own visionings, +and deafened by her own eloquence. “Well, +we’ll have to take that up again––But you come +to the meeting Tuesday, anyhow. And here’s +one of our pamphlets for you to look at in the +meantime.”</p> +<p>As he went down the steps, she was watching +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_74' name='page_74'></a>74</span> +him, from the ambush of lace window-curtains, +and she was saying to herself: “Such a nice +man––so influential, too.... Now if I could +get <i>him</i> persuaded over––”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix, strolling nonchalantly downtown, +was also talking to himself, and his conclusions +would have astonished her. “What I’ve got to +do,” said Mr. Mix, thoughtfully, “is to string +the old dame along until I can raise five +thousand bucks. But where’s it coming +from?”</p> +<p>Then, squarely in front of the Orpheum +Theatre, he met Henry Devereux.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>“Good-morning, Henry,” said Mr. Mix, +soberly. “First time I’ve had a chance to +speak to you since....” He coughed discreetly. +“I don’t believe I need to say that if +there’s anything I can do for you at any time, +all you’ve got to do is to say so.”</p> +<p>Privately, Henry had always considered Mr. +Mix as a genial poseur, but he knew that Mr. +Mix belonged to the Citizens Club, which was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_75' name='page_75'></a>75</span> +the local standard, and that for thirty years he +had been on rather intimate business relations +with Mr. Starkweather. This was sufficient +recommendation for Henry, in the swirl of his +agitation, to loose his tongue.</p> +<p>“All right,” he said. “Tell me how soon I +can sell this overgrown magic-lantern outfit––and +what I can get for it––and where I can +put the money to bring in the biggest income––and +where I can get a good job.”</p> +<p>Now all this was intended to be purely in the +nature of a rhetorical question: for naturally, +if Henry decided to sell, he would want Bob +Standish to handle the transaction for him, +and to get the commission: and also, if Henry +had to find employment, he would go to his +friend, and be sure of a cordial reception. But +Mr. Mix took it literally.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix started, and his memory began to unfold. +It was on the tip of his tongue to blurt +out: “And lose your shot at the estate?” but +he restrained himself. He wasn’t supposed to +know the circumstances, and as a matter of fact, +as he realized with a thrill of relish, he was +probably the only outsider who <i>did</i> know the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_76' name='page_76'></a>76</span> +circumstances. “Why,” said Mr. Mix. “Do +you own the Orpheum? Well, I should say offhand +it’s worth a good deal. Twenty thousand. +The land, you know: the building’s no good.”</p> +<p>Henry nodded impatiently. “Yes, but who’d +buy it?”</p> +<p>“Well, now, about <i>that</i>––of course, I’m not a +real estate man––but you could certainly <i>trade</i> +it.”</p> +<p>“What for?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix caught the note of sincerity in +Henry’s voice, and Mr. Mix thought rapidly. +He appeared to deliberate, to waver, to burn his +bridges. “Well––say for a third interest in +Theodore Mix and Company.”</p> +<p>Henry stared. “Are you serious?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix almost fell over backwards. “Why, +yes. It’s sudden, but ... why, yes. I could +use more capital, and I want a crack salesman. +I’ll trade––if you’re quick on the trigger. I’ve +got two or three people interested so far, but +when it’s <i>you</i>––”</p> +<p>Henry took him by the arm. “Come on over +to the Citizens Club, then, and we’ll talk about +it.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_77' name='page_77'></a>77</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_V' id='CHAPTER_V'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER V</h2> +</div> +<p>When Henry went home to his wife and +his father-in-law, he was confident that +he had a very fine bargain; when he told them +what he had heard from his aunt and Mr. +Archer, what he had seen with his own eyes, and +what he had done with Mr. Mix, he expected +first, sympathy, and afterwards, unqualified approval. +Within the next five minutes, however, +Henry was sitting limp and baffled; and wishing +that he had Bob Standish to support him. +Bob, at least, would understand.</p> +<p>“Holy Smoke!” he said, weakly. “<i>I</i> didn’t +suppose you’d take it like that! Why, I––I feel +as if I’d been run over by a steam-roller with +Taft at the wheel!”</p> +<p>Judge Barklay had long since forgiven his +daughter, but he hadn’t quite forgiven Henry. +“Do you want my honest opinion? I should +say you’re suffering from two extreme causes––exaggerated +ego and cold feet.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_78' name='page_78'></a>78</span></div> +<p>Henry flushed. He had the most profound +respect for Judge Barklay––a man who had +preferred to be a city magistrate, and to be +known throughout the whole state for his +wisdom and humanity, instead of keeping up +his law practice, at five times the income––and +Henry, like every one else, valued the Judge’s +opinions. “You don’t mean you think I’d <i>run</i> +the miserable little peanut-stand, do you? And +keep books on it as if it had been the Federal +Reserve Bank?”</p> +<p>“It strikes me,” said the Judge, “that both +of us would rather have you run a peanut-stand +than––I’m using your own analogy––than spend +your whole life eating peanuts. Why, Henry, +your uncle <i>wanted</i> you to be shocked––wanted +you to be mad enough to stand up on your hind +legs and fight.”</p> +<p>Henry looked at his wife. “What are <i>you</i> +going to suggest? Hire a snake-charmer and a +wild-man-from-Borneo and an infant pachyderm +and a royal ring-tailed gyasticutus, and +pull off a side-show after the main tent’s +closed?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_79' name='page_79'></a>79</span></div> +<p>“Oh, <i>Henry</i>! Can’t you <i>see</i> what a lark it +would be?”</p> +<p>“Lark?” he repeated, hazily. “Lark? +You’ve got the wrong bird. It’s crow.”</p> +<p>“No, but Henry dear, you aren’t going to be +a quitter, are you?”</p> +<p>“Wife of my bosom, do you realize what +you’re talking about? It would cost a +thousand dollars just to make the place <i>clean</i>. +It’ll cost three or four more to make it attractive +enough to get anybody inside of it. +And I haven’t got the price.”</p> +<p>“What’s the matter with a mortgage?” demanded +the Judge. “And you’ve got a car, +haven’t you? You’ve got a saddle-horse. +You’ve got all kinds of junk you can turn into +money.”</p> +<p>“On a wild gamble? Why, Anna, we +couldn’t stay on here with the Judge––that +would be getting help I’m not allowed to have––we’d +have to go live in some cheap apartment; +we couldn’t even have a maid for awhile; we +couldn’t entertain anybody; we couldn’t +have any outside pleasures; I’d have to work +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_80' name='page_80'></a>80</span> +like a dog; you <i>know</i> what the crowd on the +hill would say––and then I’m beaten before +I start anyway. Quitter! You wouldn’t call a +man a quitter if he stayed out of a hurdle race +because he’d broken a leg, would you?”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Anna, “I’m willing to live in +such a cheap apartment that the landlord calls +it a <i>flat</i>. And you can’t get any servants these +days; there <i>aren’t</i> any. And who cares about +entertaining? And for outside pleasures, why +couldn’t we go to the Orpheum?” They all +laughed, but Anna was the first to stop. “I’ll +work just as hard as you will, Henry. I’ll peel +potatoes and wash the sink––” She glanced, +ruefully, at her hands––“and if it’ll help you, +I––I’d sell tickets or be an usher or play the +piano. Why, Henry, it would be a <i>circus</i>––and +we wouldn’t need any snake-charmers, either.”</p> +<p>“<i>And</i> an education,” said Judge Barklay.</p> +<p>“And a gold-mine for us––in just one little +year. We could do it; I <i>know</i> we could.”</p> +<p>“And if the stupid fool who’s had it this last +year could make money out of it,” added the +Judge, “and you used any intelligence on it, +you’d come out ahead. John made up his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_81' name='page_81'></a>81</span> +figures very carefully. That’s the kind of man +he was.”</p> +<p>Henry stared at them alternately. “But if +I <i>did</i> fall down––”</p> +<p>“Henry!” The Judge was using a professional +gesture. “What do you suppose your +time is worth, at its present market value? +Don’t you think you can afford to risk a year of +it against half a million dollars?”</p> +<p>“But when I’ve practically closed with +Mix––”</p> +<p>“Sign any agreement?”</p> +<p>“No, he’s having one typed.”</p> +<p>The judge breathed in relief. “You’re +lucky. You’d lose money if you took a third +interest for a gift, and if you took <i>all</i> of it as a +gift you’d lose three times as much. Because +you’d have to assume your share of his +liabilities. People think he’s got money, but +he hasn’t; he’s broke. He must have picked +you for a life preserver.”</p> +<p>Henry’s jaw dropped. “What makes you +think so?”</p> +<p>“I don’t think so; I <i>know</i> so. Oh, he’s pretty +shifty on his feet, and he’s got a good many +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_82' name='page_82'></a>82</span> +people hoodwinked––your uncle always gave +him too much credit, incidentally––but his New +York correspondents happened to be clients of +mine when I was practising law, and they’ve +both asked me about him and told me about him, +inside of the last six weeks.”</p> +<p>Henry sat unblinking “Is that––a fact!”</p> +<p>“And if you wanted to sell out,” continued +the Judge, with a trifle of asperity, “why on +earth didn’t you go to Bob Standish? Why +didn’t you go to an expert? And why didn’t +you have an audit made of Mix’s company––why +didn’t you get a little information––why +didn’t you know what you were buying? Oh, +it isn’t too late, if you haven’t signed anything, +but––Henry, it looks to me as if you need a +guardian!”</p> +<p>At the sight of his face, Anna went over to +him, and perched on the arm of his chair. +“That’s enough, Dad.... <i>I</i>’m his guardian; +aren’t I, dear? And he’s just upset and dizzy +and I don’t blame him a bit. We won’t say +another word about it; we’ve told him what we +think; and tonight he can have a long talk with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_83' name='page_83'></a>83</span> +Bob. You’d want to do that, wouldn’t you, +Henry? Of course you would. You wish +you’d done it before. You’re feeling awfully +ashamed of yourself for being so hasty. <i>And</i> +snobbish. I know you.”</p> +<p>Henry looked across at the Judge. “Might +as well have my brains where my hair is, +mightn’t I? She sees it just as easy.... All +right; we’ll let the whole thing ride ’till I’ve +seen Bob.”</p> +<p>His friend Standish, gazing with childlike +solemnity out of his big blue eyes, listened to +both sides of the story, and to Henry’s miscalculation, +at no time during the recital did he +laugh uproariously, or exclaim compassionately, +or indicate that he shared any of Henry’s +conclusions:</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” he said, “people might giggle a +bit. But they always giggle at a man’s first +shot at business, anyway. Like his first pair +of long trousers. It’s done. But how many +times will they do it? A thousand? Ten +thousand? A hundred thousand? At maybe +seven dollars a giggle? For less than that, I’d +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_84' name='page_84'></a>84</span> +be a comedian. I’d be a contortionist. I’d be +a pie-thrower. Henry, old rubbish, you do +what they tell you to.”</p> +<p>“Would you do it if you were in my place?”</p> +<p>“Would I lie down like a yellow dog, and let +people say I hadn’t sand enough to stop a wristwatch?”</p> +<p>“I know, but Bob––the Orpheum!”</p> +<p>“I know, but Henry––don’t you sort of owe +it to Mr. Starkweather? You wouldn’t have +put on this milk-fed expression if he’d soaked it +to you himself, would you?”</p> +<p>At this precise instant, Henry was required +on the telephone. It was his Aunt Mirabelle; +and even if he had been dining with royalty, she +would still have called him––if she could have +got the address.</p> +<p>“Henry,” she said acidly. “I’ve just found +out what kind of a building it was your uncle +deeded you. Theodore Mix told me. <i>I</i> didn’t +know your uncle was ever messed up in that +kind of a thing. He never told me. Good +reason he didn’t, too. I certainly hope you +aren’t going to spread this news around town, +Henry––it’s scandalous enough to have it in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_85' name='page_85'></a>85</span> +the family, even. Of all the hellish influences +we’ve got to contend with in this day and +generation––”</p> +<p>“Well,” said Henry, “it isn’t any of it <i>my</i> +fault, is it?”</p> +<p>“That remains to be seen. Are you going +to <i>run</i> that––dive?”</p> +<p>“Why––I don’t know. If I didn’t––”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, you’re probably thinking how +selfish I am. You wouldn’t recognize a pure +motive if you met one in the street. But to +think of a Devereux––almost the same thing as +a Starkweather––”</p> +<p>“What’s your idea? To have me be a jolly +little martyr?”</p> +<p>“There’s this much to say, Henry––at least +I’d put John’s money to a nobler use than you +ever would.”</p> +<p>Henry grimaced. “Your League?”</p> +<p>“Yes, what else?”</p> +<p>He was an impulsive young man, and sometimes +he made up his mind by contraries. “I +wouldn’t count too much on it,” he said cheerfully. +“I might astonish you.”</p> +<p>“You––Henry Devereux! Am I going to see +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_86' name='page_86'></a>86</span> +my own sister’s son in a polluted enterprise +like––”</p> +<p>“You’re going to see your own grandfather’s +great-grandson make P. T. Barnum look a Kickapoo +medicine man––if necessary,” said Henry. +“Only don’t you worry about any pollution. +That’s where I draw the line. I’m not going to +stage one single pollute.”</p> +<p>“You <i>are</i> going to operate that place?”</p> +<p>“Why certainly,” said Henry. “And speaking +of operations, I’ve got a hunch the patient’s +going to recover. I’ve just been holding a +clinic.... Well––good-bye, Aunt Mirabelle.” +He turned back to his wife and his friend +Standish. “So <i>that’s</i> settled,” said Henry, +and grinned, a trifle apprehensively. “We’re +off in a cloud of dust.... Waiter, where’s +those two portions of crow I ordered four +months ago? The service in this place is +getting something rotten.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_87' name='page_87'></a>87</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VI' id='CHAPTER_VI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VI</h2> +</div> +<p>Mr. Theodore Mix, sprawled in his +desk chair, gazed with funereal gloom at +the typewritten agreement which lay before +him, unsigned. It was barely twenty minutes +ago that Mr. Mix had risen to welcome the man +who was to save his credit and his reputation; +but during those twenty minutes Mr. Mix, who +had felt that he was sitting on top of the world, +had been unceremoniously shot off into space.</p> +<p>His creditors surrounded him, (and because +they were small creditors they were inclined to +be nasty), he owed money to his New York +correspondents, whose letters were becoming +peremptory, and his brokerage business was +pounding against the rocks. Quietly, overnight +he had located a purchaser for the +Orpheum, and as soon as Henry’s name had +been safe on the dotted line, Mr. Mix would +have been financed for many months ahead. +And then came Henry––and Henry, who had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_88' name='page_88'></a>88</span> +been cast for the part of the lamb, had suddenly +become as obstinate as a donkey. Mr. Mix, +gazing at that agreement, was swept by impotent +rage at Henry, and he took the document +and ripped it savagely across and across, and +crumpled it in both his hands, and jammed it +into his scrap-basket.</p> +<p>For the moment, he subordinated his +personal problems to his wrath at Henry. He +charged Henry with full responsibility for this +present crisis; for if Henry had simply scribbled +his signature, Mr. Mix would have made a +good deal of money. It never occurred to him +that in the same transaction, Henry would have +changed places with Mr. Mix. That was +Henry’s look-out. And damn him, he had +<i>looked</i>!</p> +<p>“I’m going to get him for that,” said Mr. +Mix, half-aloud. “I’m going to get him, and +get him good. Jockeying me into a pocket! +Conceited young ass! And I’d have been +square with the world, and paid off that infernal +note, and had <i>four ... thousand ... +dollars</i> left over.” His lips made a straight +line. “And he’d have brought fifty thousand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_89' name='page_89'></a>89</span> +dollars’ worth of business into this office––he’d +have <i>had</i> to––he’d have had to hold up his +friends––to protect his ante. Yes, sir, I’m going +to get him <i>good</i>.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix sat up, and emitted a short, mirthless +laugh. He frowned thoughtfully: and +then, after a little search, he examined the +pamphlet which Mirabelle had given him, and +skimmed through the pages until he came to the +paragraph he had in mind. Enforcement of +the Sunday ordinances ... hm!... present +ordinance seems to prohibit Sunday theatrical +performances of all kinds, but city administrations +have always been lax. Want the law on +the books, don’t dare to repeal it, but don’t +care to enforce it.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix sat back and pondered. He knew +enough about the motion-picture business to +realize that the Sunday performances made up +the backbone of the week. He knew enough +about the Orpheum to know that Henry’s quota, +which under normal conditions would require +only diligence, and initiative, and originality to +reach, would be literally impossible if Sundays +were taken from the schedule. The League’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_90' name='page_90'></a>90</span> +blue-law campaign, if it proved successful, +would make Henry Devereux even bluer than +Mr. Mix. “Three rousing cheers for reform!” +said Mr. Mix, and grinned at the pamphlet.</p> +<p>Another brilliant thought infected him. He +had long since passed the stage in which women +were a mystery to him: he had long since +realized that unless a man’s passions intervene, +there is nothing more mysterious about +women than about men. It was all humbug––all +this mummery about intuitions and unerring +perception and inscrutability. Women are all +alike––all human––all susceptible to sheer, +blatant flattery. The only difference in women +is in the particular brand of flattery to which, +as individuals, they react.</p> +<p>Take Miss Starkweather: he had seen that if +he fed her vanity unsparingly––not her physical +vanity, but her pride in her own soul, and in her +League presidency––she blazed up into a flame +which consumed even her purpose in causing +the interview. Once already, by no remarkable +effort, he had been able to divert her attention; +and it was now imperative for him to keep it +diverted until he had raised five thousand +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_91' name='page_91'></a>91</span> +dollars. And if she were so susceptible, why +shouldn’t Mr. Mix venture a trifle further? He +knew that she regarded him as an important +man; why shouldn’t he let himself be won over, +slowly and by her influence alone, to higher +things? Stopping, of course, just short of actually +becoming a League partisan? Why +shouldn’t he feed her fat with ethics and adulation, +until she were more anxious for his cooperation +than for his money? If he couldn’t +play hide-and-seek for six months,––if he +couldn’t turn her head so far that she couldn’t +bear to press him for payment––he wasn’t the +strategist he believed himself to be. But in +the meantime, where was he to get the money to +live on? Still, Mirabelle came first.</p> +<p>On Sunday, he fortified himself from his meagre +supply of contraband, ate two large cloves, +and went formally to call on her. He remained +an hour, and by exercise of the most finished +diplomacy, he succeeded in building up the situation +exactly as he had planned it. The note +hadn’t been mentioned; the League hadn’t been +given a breathing-space; and Mirabelle was +pleading with him to see the light, and join the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_92' name='page_92'></a>92</span> +crusade. Finally, she leaned forward and put +her hand on his arm.</p> +<p>“Two weeks ago,” she said, “I told the +League I was going to give it a real surprise +this next Tuesday. What I meant was money. +The money for that note. But I’d hate to have +you sell any securities when they’re down so +low. And besides, <i>any</i>body can give money––just +money. What we need most is men. Let +me do something different. You’re one of the +big men here. You count for a good deal. We +want you. I said I’d give ’em a surprise––let +me make the League a present of <i>you</i>.” She +bestowed upon him a smile which was a startling +combination of sharpness and appeal. +“I’m certainly going to keep my promise, Mr. +Mix. I’m going to give ’em one or the other––you +or the five thousand. Only I tell you +in all sincerity, I’d rather it would be you.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix sat up with a jerk. The climax had +been reached six months too soon. “Dear +lady––”</p> +<p>“You can’t refuse,” she went on with an emphasis +which sobered him. “We want you for +an officer, and a director. I’ve taken it up with +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_93' name='page_93'></a>93</span> +the committee. And you <i>can’t</i> refuse. You +believe everything we believe. Mr. Mix, look +me in the eye, and tell me––if you’re true to +yourself, how <i>can</i> you refuse?”</p> +<p>“That isn’t it,” he said, truthfully enough. +“I––I wouldn’t be as valuable to you as you +think.”</p> +<p>“We’ll judge of that.”</p> +<p>He knew that he was in a corner, and he +hunted desperately for an opening. “And––in +<i>any</i> event, I couldn’t become an officer, or even +a director. I––”</p> +<p>“Why not, pray?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t the time, for one thing, nor the +experience in––”</p> +<p>She swept away his objections with a stiff +gesture. “You’re modest, and it’s becoming. +But either you’re with us or against us: there’s +no half-way about morals. If you’re with us, +you ought to show your colours. And if you +<i>are</i> with us, you’ll lead us, because you’re a +born leader. You inspire. You instill. And +for the sake of the common welfare––” She +paused: he was staring at her as if hypnotized. +“For the sake of the city and the state and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_94' name='page_94'></a>94</span> +nation––” His eyes were wide, and filled with +a light which deceived her. “For the sake of +civic honour and decency and self-respect––”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix cleared his throat. “Yes, but––”</p> +<p>Again, she leaned out and touched his arm. +“For <i>my</i> sake?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix recoiled slightly. “For <i>your</i> sake!” +he muttered.</p> +<p>“Yes, for mine. The sister of your oldest +friend.”</p> +<p>He owed her five thousand dollars, and if she +demanded payment, he was a bankrupt. “Why +does it mean so much to you?” he asked, sparring +for time.</p> +<p>“It would be an epoch in the history of the +League, Mr. Mix.”</p> +<p>“You spoke about leadership. No one can +hope to replace yourself.”</p> +<p>“Thank you––I know you mean it. But <i>no</i> +woman can lead a campaign such as the one +we’re just starting. It takes a strong, dominant +man who knows politics. Of course, when we go +after dancing and cards and dress-reform, I +guess I can do all right, but in <i>this</i> campaign––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_95' name='page_95'></a>95</span></div> +<p>“What campaign is this, Miss Starkweather?”</p> +<p>“Sunday enforcement.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix pursed his lips. “Really?”</p> +<p>She nodded. “We’re going to concentrate on +one thing at a time. That’s first.”</p> +<p>“Close all the theatres and everything?”</p> +<p>“Tight!” she said, and the word was like the +lash of a whip. “Tight as a drum.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix controlled himself rigidly. “You’ll +have to pardon my seeming indelicacy, but––” +He coughed behind his hand. “That might +bring about a very unhappy relationship between +my family and yours. Had you thought +of it?”</p> +<p>“Henry? Humph! Yes. I’m sorry, but I +don’t propose to let my family or anybody else’s +stand in the way of my principles. Do <i>you</i>? +No. If Henry stands in the way, he’s going to +get run over. Mark my words.”</p> +<p>His expression was wooden, but it concealed a +thought which had flashed up, spontaneously, to +dazzle him. In spite of his age and experience, +Mr. Mix threatened to blush. The downfall of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_96' name='page_96'></a>96</span> +Henry meant the elevation of Mirabelle. Mr. +Mix himself could assist in swinging the balance. +And he couldn’t quite destroy a picture +of Mirabelle, walking down the aisle out of step +to the wedding march. Her arms were loaded +with exotic flowers, of which each petal was a +crisp yellow bank-bill. He wanted to laugh, he +wanted to snort in deprecation, and he did +neither. He was too busy with the consciousness +that at last he was in a position to capitalize +his information. He knew what nobody else +did, outside of Henry and his wife, Mirabelle, +Mr. Archer and probably Judge Barklay and if +he flung himself into the League’s campaign, +what might he now accomplish?</p> +<p>He looked at Mirabelle. Her eyes betrayed +her admiration. Mr. Mix drew a very long +breath, and in the space of ten seconds thought +ahead for a year. The League was ridiculously +radical, but if Mr. Mix were appointed to direct +it, he was confident that he could keep Mirabelle +contented, without making himself too +much of a ludicrous figure. All it needed was +tact, and foresight. “If I could only spare the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_97' name='page_97'></a>97</span> +time to help you––but you see, this is my dull +season––I have to work twice as hard as usual +to make an honest dollar––”</p> +<p>“Would you accept an honorarium?”</p> +<p>“Beg pardon?”</p> +<p>“If you took charge of the drive, would you +accept a salary? And give us most of your +time? Say, four days a week?”</p> +<p>Once more, his thoughts raced through the +year. “Now,” he said, presently, “you <i>are</i> +making it hard for me to refuse.”</p> +<p>“Only that? Haven’t I made it impossible?”</p> +<p>To Mr. Mix, her tone was almost more of a +challenge than an invitation. He looked at her +again; and at last he nodded. “I think––you +have.”</p> +<p>She held out her hand. “I’ve always respected +you as a man. Now I greet you as a +comrade. We’ll make this city a place where +a pure-minded man or woman won’t be ashamed +to live. I tell you, I won’t be satisfied until +we reach the <i>ideal</i>! And prohibition was only +one tiny move in advance, and we’ve miles to +go. I’m glad we’re going the rest of the way +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_98' name='page_98'></a>98</span> +together. And it wouldn’t surprise me in the +least if you came out of it Mayor. That’s <i>my</i> +idea.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix, with the faint aroma of cloves in +his nostrils, backed away.</p> +<p>“Oh, no, I don’t dream of <i>that</i> ...” he said. +“But I feel as if I’d taken one of the most significant +steps of my whole life. I––I think I’d +better say good afternoon, Miss Starkweather. +I want to be alone––and meditate. You understand?”</p> +<p>“Like Galahad,” she murmured.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix looked puzzled; he thought she had a +cold. But he said no more; he went home to his +bachelor apartment, and after he had helped +himself to three full fingers of meditation, together +with a little seltzer, he smiled faintly, +and told himself that there was no use in debating +the point––a man with brains is predestined +to make progress. But he couldn’t help +reflecting that now, more than ever, if any echo +of his New York escapades, or any rumour of +his guarded habits got to Mirabelle’s ears––or, +for that matter, to anybody’s ears at all––his +dreams would float away in vapour. Perhaps it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_99' name='page_99'></a>99</span> +would be wise to explain to Mirabelle that he +had once been a sinner. She would probably +forgive him, and appreciate him all the more. +Women do.... It was curious that she had +mentioned him as a possible Mayor. It had +been his dearest ambition. He wondered if, +with his present reputation, and then with the +League behind him, there were a ghost of a +chance....</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_100' name='page_100'></a>100</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VII' id='CHAPTER_VII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VII</h2> +</div> +<p>There was probably no power on the face +of the earth which could have driven +Henry Devereux to the operation of a picture +theatre, strictly as a business venture; but when +he once got it into his head that the Orpheum +wasn’t so much a business as a sporting proposition, +he couldn’t have been stopped by anything +short of an injunction. Immediately, his +attitude was normal, and from the moment that +he resolved to take possession of his property, +and operate it, he was indifferent to the public +estimate of him. The thing was a game, a game +with a great stake, and set rules, and Henry took +it as he once had taken his golf and his billiards +and his polo––joyously, resiliently, determinedly, +and without the slightest self-consciousness, +and with never an eye for the gallery.</p> +<p>He was inspirited, moreover, by the attitude +of his friends. To be sure, they laughed, but in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_101' name='page_101'></a>101</span> +their laughter there was no trace of the ridicule +he had feared. They took the situation as a +very good joke on Henry, but at the same time, +because gossip had already begun to build up a +theory to explain that situation, there were several +of them who wished that a similar joke, +with a similar nubbin, might be played on +themselves. They told this to Henry, they +urged him to go ahead and become a strictly +moral Wallingford, they slapped him on the +back and assured him that if there was justice +in the Sunday-school books, he was certain +to finish in the money; and Henry, who had +provided himself with several air-tight alibis, +found them dead stock on his hands. He had +known, of course, that he could count on Bob +Standish, and a few of his other intimates, but +the hearty fellowship of the whole circle overwhelmed +him. He knew that even when they +waxed facetious, they were rooting for him; +and this knowledge multiplied his confidence, +and gave him fresh courage.</p> +<p>And yet, with all the consciousness of his +loyal backing, he was considerably upset to +read in the <i>Herald</i>, on the very morning that +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_102' name='page_102'></a>102</span> +he took control of his property, a seven column +streamer headline which leaped out to threaten +him.</p> +<p class='center'>“SUNDAY THEATRES AND AMUSEMENTS<br /> +MUST GO!”––MIX<br /> +<br /> +Prominent Business Man Turns Reformer<br /> +<br /> +THEODORE MIX CHOSEN TO MANAGE<br /> +CAMPAIGN OF LEAGUE<br /> +<br /> +Pledges Enforcement of City Ordinances to the Letter</p> +<p>His first reaction was one of bewilderment, +and after that, one of consternation. His +friend Bob Standish tried to laugh it off for +him, but Henry hadn’t a smile in his system.</p> +<p>“All right, then,” said Bob Standish. “Go +see the judge. He’ll tell you the same thing. +Mix’s nothing but a bag of wind. He’s an old +blowhard.”</p> +<p>“Maybe he is,” conceded Henry, soberly. +“But I’d be just as satisfied about it if he blew +in some other direction.”</p> +<p>Henry took the paper to Judge Barklay, +who had already seen it, and made his own deductions. +“Oh, no,” he said, “I’m not astonished. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_103' name='page_103'></a>103</span> +When a man’s in hot enough water, +he’ll cut up almost any kind of caper to get +out. There’s only two kinds of people who +ever go into these radical movements––great +successes and great failures. Never any <i>average</i> +folks. I’d say it’s a pretty good refuge +for him, and you drove him to it.”</p> +<p>“Well––does he mean what he says there?”</p> +<p>“Not too much of it. How could he? If he +does half he says he will, he’ll lose his job. +The town would be as pure as Utopia, and +there wouldn’t be any League.”</p> +<p>“How about the ordinance he quotes, +though?”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>that</i> ... it’s Ordinance 147. It’s so +old it’s toothless. The City Council doesn’t +quite dare to repeal it––nobody’s sure enough, +these days, to get up and take a chance––but +they don’t want it enforced, and they haven’t +for ages.”</p> +<p>Henry frowned. “That’s all right. But +suppose they did arrest somebody under that +Ordinance? What would you do?”</p> +<p>“Fine ’em, of course. I’d have to. But +I’ve never had such a case that I can remember. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_104' name='page_104'></a>104</span> +There haven’t been any arrests. It’s an +understood thing.”</p> +<p>“Yes, that’s fine––as long as everybody understands +it the same way. But maybe Mix +doesn’t––or Aunt Mirabelle either.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I shouldn’t worry much.”</p> +<p>Henry continued serious. “Oh, I guess I +can sleep nights all right without any paregoric, +but what right have <i>they</i> got to butt into +the only day of recreation the working people +have? If their immortal souls hurt ’em as +much as all that, why don’t they go off and +suffer where they can do it in peace and not +bother <i>us</i>?”</p> +<p>The Judge laughed quietly. “Whence all this +sudden affection for the working man, Henry?”</p> +<p>Henry reddened. “Strictly between the two +of us, I don’t like the idea of Sunday business, +anyway. But unfortunately, that’s the big +day.... But, if <i>you</i> had to work indoors, +eight hours a day, six days a week, maybe you’d +be satisfied to spend Sundays picking sweet +violets out by the barge canal, but what would +you do when it rained?”</p> +<p>“Of course,” admitted the Judge, “it’s a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_105' name='page_105'></a>105</span> +poor policy to have a law on the books, and ignore +it. Both of us must admit that. A good +law ought to be kept; a bad one ought to be repealed; +but any law that <i>is</i> valid oughtn’t to +be winked at. And if pressure <i>should</i> be +brought on the Mayor to enforce that ordinance, +and any arrests are made, why I’ll have +to do my duty.”</p> +<p>“Yes––and here I’m raising a mortgage and +spending the money on improvements that’ll +hold us up for more than two weeks––and here +Anna and I are going to live in a couple of +box-stalls (every time you take a long breath +in that flat you create a vacuum!)––and here +I’ve been going to the City Commercial School +every afternoon for two solid hours, and studying +like a dog every night––and here I’ve resigned +from the Golf Club, and everything +else but the Citizens––and if they <i>do</i> put the +kibosh on Sunday shows, why I’ll be elected +to the Hohenzollern Club. And the cream of +<i>that</i> joke is that Aunt Mirabelle’s outfit’d get +itself endowed for putting me out of commission!”</p> +<p>“They won’t do it, Henry. These organizations +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_106' name='page_106'></a>106</span> +always make the same mistake. They go +too far. They aren’t talking reform; they’re +talking revolution, and people won’t stand for +it. These reform crowds always start out +to be a band-wagon, and if they kept their +senses, they could do some real good––and then +they march so fast that pretty soon they find +they’ve winded everybody else, and there isn’t +any parade. All they need is rope. Give ’em +enough of it, and they always hang themselves. +That speech of Mix’s has done more harm to +the League than it has good. You go right +ahead with your improvements.”</p> +<p>In view of the Judge’s official position, this +was in the nature of an opinion from headquarters; +and yet Henry delayed for a day +or two before he signed his contract for the +alterations. In the meantime, he saw Mr. +Archer and got an interpretation of the will; +Mr. Archer was sorry, but if Sundays were +ruled out, there was no provision for reducing +the quota, and Henry would have to stand or +fall on the exact phraseology. He had another +session with the Judge, and three a day with +Anna, and one with the largest exhibitor in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_107' name='page_107'></a>107</span> +town (who pooh-poohed the League, and offered +to back up his pooh-poohs with a cash +bet that nothing would ever come of it) and +eventually he was persuaded to execute the +contract.</p> +<p>Through Bob Standish, he negotiated a +mortgage which would cover the cost of the +work, and leave a comfortable balance. +“We’re not going to be as poor as I thought +we were,” he said cheerfully to Anna who had +put in two hectic weeks on the apartment she +had chosen because it was the cheapest in the +market. “We’ve got something in the bank +for emergencies, and ten thousand a year is +two hundred a week besides.”</p> +<p>Anna was horrified. “You didn’t think we’d +<i>spend</i> what we make, did you?”</p> +<p>“Why not? Uncle John didn’t say we had +to show them ten thousand in coin at the end +of the year; he said I had to <i>make</i> it––on the +books. We can spend every kopeck of it, if we +want to. And I was about to say that with +six thousand dollars left over from the mortgage +money, we’ll have a maid after all. Yea, +verily, even a cook.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_108' name='page_108'></a>108</span></div> +<p>Anna glanced at her hands––slim, beautiful +hands they were––and shook her head obstinately. +“No, dear. Because what we save +now <i>might</i> be our only capital later.”</p> +<p>“But we’re going to <i>win</i>. We’re going to +exert our resistless wills to the utmost. What’s +the use of being tightwads?”</p> +<p>“But if we <i>shouldn’t</i> win, look where we’d +be! No, dear, we’re going to save our pennies. +That’s why I picked out this apartment; that’s +why I’m doing as much as I can with it myself. +It’s the only safe way. And just look +around––haven’t I done wonders with almost +nothing at all?”</p> +<p>Henry looked around, not that his memory +was at fault, but because he was perpetually +dumbfounded by her genius. Originally, this +living-room had been a dolorous cave with varnished +yellow-pine woodwork, gas-logs, yellow +wall-paper to induce toothache, and a stark +chandelier with two anemic legs kicking out at +vacancy. She had caused the Orpheum electrician +to remove the chandelier; with her own +hands, she had painted the woodwork a deep, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_109' name='page_109'></a>109</span> +rich cream-colour; she had ripped out the gas-logs +and found what no one had ever suspected––a +practicable flue; and she had put in a basket +grate which in the later season would glow +with cheerful coals. Over the wall-paper she +had laid a tint which was a somewhat deeper +cream than the woodwork. She had made that +cave attractive with a soft, dull-blue rug, and +wicker furniture, with hangings of cretonne in +sunny gold and an echo of the blue rug, with +brass bowls which held the bulbs she had tended +on the kitchen window-sill, with bookshelves, +and pictures from her own home. Especially +by candle-light, it was charming; and her greatest +joy, and Henry’s unending marvel, was that +it had cost so little, and that so much of it was +her own handiwork.</p> +<p>“Yes, but pause and reflect a minute,” said +Henry. “I’ve sold the big car and bought a +tin-plated runabout. I’ve sold my horse. I’ve +sold ten tons of old clothes and priceless jewels. +Financially speaking, I’m as liquid as a pellucid +pool in a primeval forest. And there’s +another grand thing to consider; I’m keeping +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_110' name='page_110'></a>110</span> +my own books, so nobody’s going to crack +the till, the way they did with grandfather. +Can’t we even have a <i>cook</i>?”</p> +<p>“No, dear. Nobody but me. We’ve got to +play safe. It’s all part of the game. Don’t +you see it is?”</p> +<p>Eventually, he agreed with her, and went +back to the Orpheum, where a score of workmen +were busy remodelling the interior, and +patching up the façade. He stood for a moment +to watch the loading of a truck with +broken-seats, jig-saw decorations, and the remains +of a battered old projector; he looked +up, presently to the huge sign over the entrance: +“Closed During Alterations, Grand Opening +Sunday Afternoon, August 20th. Souvenirs.” +There was no disputing the fact that all his +eggs were in one basket, and that if the Reform +League started to throw stones at it, they +would find it a broad mark. But Henry had +plenty of assurances that he didn’t need to +worry, and so he sponged away the last of his +doubts, and set to work to learn his business +with all possible speed.</p> +<p>It was his first experience with the building +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_111' name='page_111'></a>111</span> +trades, and he was innocent enough to believe +in schedules and estimates. In less than a fortnight, +however, he came home to his wife in +a mood which she was quick to detect, no matter +how carefully he disguised it.</p> +<p>“Oh, I’m just peevish,” said Henry. “The +contractor says it’ll take four weeks instead +of three, and cost six thousand instead of forty-five +hundred. But there’s no use wearing a +long face about it. If I did, I didn’t mean to.”</p> +<p>Anna slipped out of her big apron, and rearranged +her hair. “Of course you didn’t. I +just knew.”</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact,” he said, “my face +feels long enough to fit in a churn. Only I +was under the impression that I’d put on a +mask of gaiety that was absolutely impenetrable.... Well, +what’s happened in the ancestral +home today?”</p> +<p>She had burned a steak and both thumbs; +there was a leak in the plumbing, and the +family overhead had four children and a phonograph. +Henry kissed the thumbs, cursed the +kitchen range, and forgot his troubles.</p> +<p>“You’re going to ruin your hands,” he said, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_112' name='page_112'></a>112</span> +sympathetically. “Darn it, we <i>can</i> afford a +cook, Anna. Come on; be reasonable.”</p> +<p>She shook her head. “Oh! And I meant to +tell you the wall-paper’s peeling off in the dining +room, and the most <i>awful</i> smell of fried +onions keeps coming up the dumb-waiter +shaft.”</p> +<p>Henry gathered her into his arms. “Dearest, +in a year you can have a dipperful of +attar of roses for every fried onion. And +we’ll be so rich you can mingle practically on +equal terms with the plumber’s wife.... Now +let’s go put on the feed-bag. And by the way, +I prefer my steak slightly burned––it’s more +antiseptic.”</p> +<p>He never suspected that ninety-nine percent +of her difficulties were imaginary, and that she +had invented them as soon as she saw his +face.</p> +<p>A week later, the contractor brought in still +another schedule, and another estimate; Henry +became Chesterfieldian in his politeness, and +wanted to know if a contract were a contract, +or merely a piece of light literature. The contractor +was apologetic, but wages were going +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_113' name='page_113'></a>113</span> +up––materials were high––labour was scarce––transportation +was uncertain––shipments were +slow––</p> +<p>Henry was angry and disillusioned, but he +knew that belligerence would gain him nothing. +“In other words,” he said, genially, “there’s +something the matter with everything but the +Orpheum, and everybody but me. I congratulate +myself. Well, when I do get the job finished, +and what does it cost––not to a minute +and a fraction of a cent, of course, but a general +idea––what year, and––”</p> +<p>“Mr. Devereux!”</p> +<p>“And a guess that’s within say, a couple of +thousand dollars of the real price.”</p> +<p>“I hope you don’t think <i>I</i>’m making any +big profit out of this. To tell the truth––”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>I</i> know,” said Henry. “You’re losing +money. Don’t deny it, you eleemosynary rascal, +don’t deny it.”</p> +<p>The man felt himself insulted, but Henry +was smiling, and of course that strange word +might be something technical. “Well, to tell +the truth, we––”</p> +<p>“Come on, now. I know you’re an altruist, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_114' name='page_114'></a>114</span> +but be a sport. You’re losing money, and the +children are moaning with hunger in their little +trundle-beds, but when do I get the job done?”</p> +<p>“The second week in September.”</p> +<p>“<i>This</i> September? And the bill?”</p> +<p>“Shaved down so close there’s hardly +any––”</p> +<p>“Shave it every morning; it’s being done. +But what’s your figure?”</p> +<p>“Seventy-six fifty.”</p> +<p>There was nothing for Henry to do but to +have a new date painted on the sign, and to +draw on his reserve fund, but at bottom he +was vastly perturbed. He had counted on a +running start, and every week of delay was +a vicious handicap. If he had remotely imagined +how elastic a contractor’s agreement could +be, he would certainly have thought twice +about ordering so many changes––he would +have steered a middle course, and been satisfied +with half the improvement––but as it was, +he had put himself in a trap. Now that the +work was partly done, it would have to be completed. +There was no way out of it. And from +day to day, as the arrears of labour heaped up, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_115' name='page_115'></a>115</span> +and cost was piled on cost, Henry began to +lose a trifle of his fine buoyancy and optimism.</p> +<p>Also, it was amazing to discover that Anna +was much less self-reliant than he had thought +her. Almost every night she displayed some +unsuspected trait of helplessness, so that he +simply had to shelve his worries, and baby her +out of her own. He adored her, and therefore +he never questioned her ingenuousness; he +didn’t see that by monopolizing his thoughts, +and turning them entirely upon herself, she prevented +him from wasting his energy in futile +brooding, even if he had inclined to it.</p> +<p>He planned to open in mid-September, but a +strike among the carpenters added a few days +to the time, and, by virtue of a compromise, +a few dollars to the account. The building inspector +wouldn’t pass the wiring, and the electricians +took a holiday before they condescended +to return. When the last nail was +driven, the last brushful of paint applied, the +final item added to the long statement, the day +was the last Friday in the month, and the total +bill amounted to more than nine thousand dollars.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_116' name='page_116'></a>116</span></div> +<p>“Anna,” said Henry, reflectively, “it’s a +lucky thing for us this world was all built before +we were born. Know that? Because if +they’d ever started it under <i>modern</i> conditions, +there wouldn’t be anything to it yet but the +Garden of Eden and Atlantic City and maybe +Gopher Prairie.... Well, I wonder what’s +next?”</p> +<p>“There won’t <i>be</i> any next, dear. Nothing +can happen now. And aren’t you glad I’ve +made us economize? Aren’t you? Say your +prayers! Say––’bless Anna’!”</p> +<p>“Not Anna––<i>Polly</i>anna. Glad we economized! +Why don’t you say you’re glad it took +two months to do two weeks’ work because that +gave me so much more time to study the game, +and find out how to run the theatre? No, it +goes back farther than that. I’m glad you +caught me while I was so young.”</p> +<p>“Henry!”</p> +<p>“What? Don’t you remember how you pursued +me, and vamped me, and took away my +volition, so I was helpless as a babe––”</p> +<p>“Oh, <i>Henry</i>!”</p> +<p>“Sure you did. Funny you don’t remember +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_117' name='page_117'></a>117</span> +that. Or else––was it the other way around?”</p> +<p>“Well––”</p> +<p>“Well, anyhow,” he said, in a slightly lower +key. “I’m glad it happened.... And you +stick to me, and you’ll wear diamonds yet. +Great hunks of grit, strung all over you. I’ll +make you look as vulgar as a real society +woman. That’s the kind of man I am. A good +provider––that is, of course, <i>providing</i>.”</p> +<p>And on Saturday morning, the <i>Herald</i> told +them that a committee from the Reform League +had waited on the Mayor for the third time, +and delivered an ultimatum.</p> +<p>“Oh, bother!” said Anna. “There’s been +something in the paper every two or three +days. It doesn’t amount to a row of pins. Dad +says so.”</p> +<p>Henry inhaled deeply. “Did you see who’s +on that committee? Mix and Aunt Mirabelle, +of course, and if they’ve got it in for anybody +special, I’m it. Bob says Mix is a grand little +hater; he’s seen him in action, and he says to +keep an eye on him: says Mix had lined up a +buyer for the Orpheum, so naturally he’s sore +at me.... And then a flock of old men just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_118' name='page_118'></a>118</span> +under par––I’d say they average about ninety-seven +and a half––but they’re a pretty solid +lot; too solid to be booted out of <i>any</i> Mayor’s +office. And if they <i>should</i> get the Mayor +stirred up, why, we wouldn’t have the chance +of a celluloid rat in a furnace.... I wish the +Judge were where I could get at him. He’d +know what’s going on.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t you ask the Exhibitors Association?”</p> +<p>“<i>They</i> don’t know. The Judge is on the inside. +Do you know when he’s coming back +from his vacation?”</p> +<p>“Not for two or three weeks yet. But I’ve +an intuition, dear––”</p> +<p>“Sure. So have I. A year from now we’ll +be eating our golden pheasants off our golden +plates with our gold teeth. But in the meantime, +you better keep your eye on the butcher’s +bill.... They tell me hash is a great nerve-food.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_119' name='page_119'></a>119</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_VIII' id='CHAPTER_VIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER VIII</h2> +</div> +<p>In years the Mayor was no chicken, but in +politics he had hardly chipped his shell, +so that he was still susceptible to delegations, +and sets of resolutions, and references to his +solemn oath of office. Furthermore, he had +been secretly awed by Mr. Mix’s eloquence; +for Mr. Mix, as spokesman of the committee, +had delivered a speech which was a brief history +of both common and statutory law from +the time of Solon and Draco up to the most recent +meeting of the City Council. Then, in +addition, the Mayor had been mightily impressed +by the personnel of that committee––chiefly +old men, to be sure, but men of immense +dignity and considerable weight in local finance; +and also, for a counterpoise, there was +Miss Starkweather. He hadn’t liked the way +Miss Starkweather looked at him. She had +looked at him with the same rigid intensity +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_120' name='page_120'></a>120</span> +with which his wife looked at a fly in the dining-room.</p> +<p>As the door closed behind the last of the committee, +the Mayor drew a prodigious breath, +and walked over to the window, where for several +minutes he remained in deep thought. He +tried to remember Mr. Mix’s peroration:</p> +<p>“Thousands of years ago, Mr. Mayor, when +the race of man was still dressed in skins, and +domiciled in caves, and settling its differences +with clubs and brickbats, there was no institution +of law,––there was no written language. +But as civilization advanced, men found the +necessity of communicating their ideas; so that +they devised a form of speech which would +enable them to exchange these ideas––such as +they were––about life, and law. And later on, +it was plain that in order to perpetuate these +ideas and pass them to posterity, it was necessary +to write them down; and so there was developed +a written language, and by this method +civilized men through all the ages have written +down the laws under which they are willing to +live. It would be impractical for all of us to +meet together to pass our laws, and therefore +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_121' name='page_121'></a>121</span> +we elect representatives who make our laws +for us. These laws are binding upon all of +us until they are set aside by still other legislators, +still acting for the whole people, who +have chosen them as their legislative representatives. +The duty of the executive branch +of our government is to enforce those laws, +whether made yesterday, or made fifty years +ago, or five hundred years ago, and written +down in our law-books.... This is our third +conference with you, Mr. Mayor, in regard to +one of those laws. I therefore have to inform +you, in behalf of our committee and our League, +and our whole city (whose representatives in +City Council passed that law for our common +good) that you stand today at the parting of +the ways. You must choose whether to uphold +your sacred oath of office, or to disregard +it. And within forty-eight hours you +will have made that choice, and we shall know +where our duty lies.... I thank you for your +patience.”</p> +<p>The Mayor was one of those who, without +the first atom of sustaining evidence, had long +been vaguely suspicious that Mr. Mix wasn’t +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_122' name='page_122'></a>122</span> +always as pious as he appeared in church. He +had noted, too, that although Mr. Mix’s name +was frequently listed on committees, yet it +never bobbed up in connection with an obscure +cause, however worthy, or among the +names of unimportant citizens. He was convinced +that Mr. Mix had an ulterior motive––political, +social, financial––but the worst of it +was that Mr. Mix had come with support which +couldn’t be sidetracked.</p> +<p>The Mayor shook himself, and went over to +his telephone; a few minutes later the Chief of +Police strolled in, and grinned at the disordered +semi-circle of chairs. “Been holdin’ a prayer-meetin’, +Mr. Rowland?”</p> +<p>The Mayor was biting his moustache. “Sit +down, Chief. I want some advice.... Lord, +I wish Barklay wasn’t off on his vacation.... +Why, I’ve just had a threat from this Reform +League.”</p> +<p>“Threat? What kind of a threat?”</p> +<p>The Mayor didn’t reply immediately; he continued +to chew his moustache. “You know that +fool Sunday law––was passed ’way back in the +year One?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_123' name='page_123'></a>123</span></div> +<p>“Sure. 147. Dead letter.”</p> +<p>“They say it’s got to be enforced.”</p> +<p>The Chief laughed boisterously. “That’s a +big order.”</p> +<p>“I know it is. The mass of the people don’t +want it––never did. But in these days there +isn’t a Councillor <i>I</i> know’d put a motion to repeal +it, or amend it. Probition’s scared ’em. +They don’t know <i>what</i> the people want, so +they’re laying mighty low.... Same time, this +League’s getting pretty strong. Mix, and John +Starkweather’s sister, and ex-Senator Kaplan, +Richards of the First National, Dr. Smillie of +the Church crowd, old man Fredericks of National +Metal––know what they handed me today?”</p> +<p>“Let her come.”</p> +<p>The Mayor snorted with disgust. “Hinted +if I didn’t begin enforcement day after tomorrow +they’d appeal to the Governor.... Lord, +I wish Barklay was here.”</p> +<p>The Chief grinned again. “I know what +Barklay’d say.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Give ’em rope.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_124' name='page_124'></a>124</span></div> +<p>“We-ll ... that’s easy enough to <i>say</i>.”</p> +<p>“Easy to do, too.”</p> +<p>“I can’t see it. But if they go up to the +Governor, with a petition to investigate––and +the state law’s pretty rough––and start impeachment +proceedings––”</p> +<p>The Chief spat contemptuously. “Shucks, +give ’em rope.”</p> +<p>“Well––<i>how</i>?”</p> +<p>“Why, <i>enforce</i> the damn’ law––just once. +Spike Mix’s guns––he’s only doin’ this on a +bluff. Guess he wants the reform vote for +Council, or somethin’. Keep it under our bonnets, +and send out a squad of patrolman Sunday +afternoon to raid every theatre in town. +Bat ’em over the head before they know it. I +wouldn’t even tell my own men ’till I lined +’em up and give ’em their orders. Then listen +for the public to holler.”</p> +<p>The Mayor had broken into a high-pitched +laugh; he stopped abruptly. “How many +people’d there be in all the houses put together?”</p> +<p>“Six thousand. Five of ’em at the movies.”</p> +<p>“They’d start a riot!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_125' name='page_125'></a>125</span></div> +<p>“Oh, I wouldn’t pinch the audiences; just +the managers, and bust up the shows. <i>Then</i> +you’d find out if the people want that law or +not. We say they don’t, but how do we know? +Let’s find out.”</p> +<p>The Mayor sat down at his desk, and began +to chuckle. “Chief, that’s a bully idea––but +what’d happen on Monday?”</p> +<p>“Happen? When, five, six thousand voters +got put out in the street and their Sunday afternoon +spoiled? Fellows with girls––Pa takin’ +the family out for a treat––factory hands? +They’d be a howlin’ mob in the Council chamber +on Monday mornin’; that’s what’d happen. +And <i>one</i> damn fool law’d be fixed so’s the Police +Department’d know how to handle it.”</p> +<p>“It’s passing the buck!” murmured the +Mayor, ecstatically. “It’s passing the buck +right to the people, by George!”</p> +<p>“Sure. Do we go ahead with it? Want +anybody tipped off?”</p> +<p>The Mayor was hugging his knees ecstatically. +“No, we’ll make a clean sweep. No +favourites. The bigger haul the better. All the +boys’ll understand. Keep it dead under your +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_126' name='page_126'></a>126</span> +hat. We’ll talk over the details tomorrow.” +Chuckling, he leaned back and opened his arms +wide, his fists closed. “Rope!” he said. +“Rope! Chief, we’ll give ’em a hawser!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>On Saturday evening, Henry gave a special +invitation performance, to which only his personal +friends and Anna’s were bidden, and if +he had cherished any lingering doubt of his +place in society, it must have been removed that +night. His friends didn’t know the details of +the Starkweather trust fund, but they knew that +Henry’s future was lashed to his success with +the Orpheum, and they came to help tie the +knot. Naturally, since the auditorium was +filled with young people who had grown up together, +and with a few older people who had +helped to bring them up, there was plenty of +informality––indeed, a large part of it had been +scheduled and rehearsed in advance. Henry +didn’t have to ask any questions; he knew that +Bob Standish was responsible.</p> +<p>With Anna beside him, he had stood for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_127' name='page_127'></a>127</span> +thirty minutes in the foyer, to receive his +guests, and as smile after smile encouraged him, +and he heard the steady stream of sincere +good-wishes, Henry began to grow curiously +warm in the region of his heart, and curiously +weak in the knees. Anna moved closer to him.</p> +<p>“I told you so,” she whispered. “I told you +so. Everybody loves you.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t me,” he whispered back, with ungrammatical +fervour. “It’s you.”</p> +<p>They stood together, then, at the rear of the +house, to watch the high-jinks going on in front. +Standish had ousted the three-piece orchestra, +and taken over the piano; two other volunteers +had flanked him, and the revelry began +with a favourite ditty to proclaim that all reports +to the contrary notwithstanding, Henry +was style all the while, all the while.</p> +<p>Then, suddenly, there were loud shouts for +Henry and Anna, and they were seized and +dragged to the top of the centre aisle. Standish +swung into the Mendelssohn Wedding +March, and through a haze of rose-leaf confetti +and paper streamers, the two Devereuxs were +forced down to the orchestra-pit. The house +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_128' name='page_128'></a>128</span> +was on its feet to them, and Anna, half-laughing, +half-crying with happiness, was sorting +confetti out of her hair when Standish clambered +up on the stage, and waved for silence.</p> +<p>“Listen, everybody.... Old Hank Devereux +and wife tried to save the price of a caterer, +last spring, and they got away with it. +Alas, Hank’s a jealous bird, and he was afraid +somebody’d kiss the bride. Furthermore, Anna +didn’t want to get any wedding presents, because +they clutter up the house so. And when +most of your friends live in the same town, +it’s hard to get rid of the stuff you don’t want. +So they buncoed us out of a party. Well, so +far we’ve given ’em Mendelssohn and confetti. +Any lady or gent who now desires to kiss the +bride, please rise and come forward.... +Hey, there! This isn’t any Sinn Fein sociable! +Ceremony’s postponed!... And finally, +dearly beloved brethren and sistren, we +come to the subject of wedding gifts.” He +turned to look down at the Devereuxs, and +some of the levity went out of his voice. “We +thought we’d bring you a little something for +good-luck, old man. It’s from all of us. Hope +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_129' name='page_129'></a>129</span> +you like it. If you don’t, you can swap it for +a few tons of coal.... There she comes!”</p> +<p>It was a magnificent silver tea-service, +borne down the aisle by the two men who, +next to Standish, were Henry’s best friends.</p> +<p>Anna was utterly speechless, and Henry was +coughing diligently. The service was placed +on the piano; Henry touched the cool smoothness +of a cream-jug, and tried to crystallize his +thought into coherence.</p> +<p>The applause had died away; the house was +quiet, expectant. From the rear, a man’s +voice said: “It isn’t like a golf championship +trophy, old man––you don’t have to win +it three times––it’s all yours.”</p> +<p>In the shriek of laughter which followed, +Henry, with Anna in tow, fled to shelter. +“Lights!” said Henry. Abruptly, the auditorium +was dim. And with Anna holding tight +to his fingers, he sat down in the furthest corner, +and trembled.</p> +<p>For the next two hours, Standish, who was +on one of his periodical fits of comedy, stuck +to his piano, and dominated the evening. He +played grotesquely inappropriate melodies, he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_130' name='page_130'></a>130</span> +commanded singing, once he stopped the show +and with the assistance of a dozen recruits put +on the burlesque of an amateur night at a +music-hall. He made the occasion a historical +event, and when at last it was over, and the +guests were filing out to the lobby, he came +to Henry and held out his hand.</p> +<p>“Big-time, Henry, big-time,” he said. “See? +They’re all with you.”</p> +<p>Henry cleared his throat. “You’re a peach, +Bob. You got it up.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it wasn’t anything.” Standish’s cloak +of comedy had fallen away; he looked as lazy, +and as innocent and childlike as ever. “Before +I go––I had a letter today from one of the +big movie circuit crowd. They’ll pay you +thirty-seven thousand five hundred cash for the +Orpheum. I’ve got a certified check for a thousand +to bind the bargain. Want it?”</p> +<p>Henry didn’t even glance at it. “Put it +back in your pocket, Bob. I wouldn’t sell it +for ten times that––not after tonight.”</p> +<p>His friend smiled very faintly. “It’s a good +price, if you care to get out from under. Between +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_131' name='page_131'></a>131</span> +you and me, I think it’s more than the +Orpheum’s worth.”</p> +<p>“Don’t want it,” said Henry gruffly.</p> +<p>Standish gazed with vast innocence at Anna. +“Third and last chance, Henry. Otherwise, +I’ll mail it back tonight. Just a few hours +from now this place, right where we’re standing, +’ll look like a sardine-can come to life, +and you’ll be taking in money hand over fist, +and you’ll be branded forever as––”</p> +<p>“Oh, shut up,” said Henry, affectionately.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Through the jostling, good-natured crowd +which blocked the sidewalk in front of the Orpheum +Theatre, that Sunday at two o’clock, +a policeman in uniform pushed his way to the +ticket-booth. “Where’s the manager?”</p> +<p>The ticket-seller bobbed her head backwards. +“First door on the left.”</p> +<p>The policeman stalked through the lobby, +and found the door; knocked belligerently, and +stepped inside. “You the manager? Well, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_132' name='page_132'></a>132</span> +there ain’t goin’ to be no show today, see?”</p> +<p>Henry jumped to his feet. “What’s that?”</p> +<p>“You heard what I said. No show. Close +up your theatre and call it a day.”</p> +<p>Henry turned, for moral support, to his wife: +she had already hurried to his side. “What’s +all this, Mr. Officer?” she asked, unsteadily.</p> +<p>“It’s police orders; that’s what it is, young +lady.”</p> +<p>She seized Henry’s hand. “But––but when +we’ve––why, you don’t really <i>mean</i> it, do you?”</p> +<p>He dug into his pocket, and produced a tattered, +dog-eared pamphlet, folded open at one +of the early pages. He read aloud, slowly: +“‘Whosoever shall fail in the strict observance +o’ the Lord’s Day by any unseemly act, speech, +or carriage, or whosoever shall engage in any +manner o’ diversion or profane occupation for +profit––’”</p> +<p>Anna, holding tight to Henry’s hand, knew +that argument was futile, but she was a woman, +and she had a husband to defend. Her heart +was leaden, but her voice was stout with indignation.</p> +<p>“But Mr. Policeman! Do you know who I +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_133' name='page_133'></a>133</span> +am? I’m Judge Barklay’s daughter. <i>I</i> know +all about that ordinance. Nobody’s ever––”</p> +<p>He held up his hand in warning. “That’s +<i>all</i> right, young lady. If you’re his daughter, +you oughter keep on the right side o’ the law. +It won’t do you no good to bicker about it neither––you +go in there an’ tell your audience to +get their money back, an’ go on home.”</p> +<p>Henry picked up his cigarette. He had no +craving to smoke, but he didn’t want Anna to +see that his lips were trembling. “Well,” he +said, “there goes the old ball-game. And we’ve +sold every seat in the house, and thrown away +three hundred dollar’s worth of souvenirs, and +the sidewalk’s full of people waiting for the +second show.... Knockout Mix beats Battling +Devereux in the first round.” He did his best +to smile, but the results were poor. “And +when we held off three days just so we could +start on Sunday with a grand smash!”</p> +<p>“Get a move on, young feller. If the show +begins, you’re pinched, see? You go in there +and do what I told you.”</p> +<p>From within there was a sudden rattle of +applause. Anna gripped her husband’s arm. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_134' name='page_134'></a>134</span> +“It’s ... it’s begun already,” she said, breathlessly.</p> +<p>The policeman stepped forward. “You +heard me tell you to stop it, didn’t you? What +are you tryin’ to do––play horse with me? Now +you go in there an’ <i>stop</i> it, and then you come +along with me an’ explain it to the Judge. See? +Now, get a wiggle on.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_135' name='page_135'></a>135</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_IX' id='CHAPTER_IX'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER IX</h2> +</div> +<p>From the moment that he went out upon the +little stage of his theatre until he came +wearily into his own apartment at five o’clock, +Henry lived upon a mental plane so far removed +from his usual existence that he was +hardly aware of any bodily sensations at all. +A brand-new group of emotions had picked him +out for their play-ground, and Henry had no +time to be self-conscious.</p> +<p>In the first place, he was too stunned to remember +that he hated to be conspicuous, and +that he had never made a public speech in all +his life. He was paralyzed by the contrast between +last night and today. Consequently, he +made a very good speech indeed, and it had +some acrid humour in it, too, and the audience +actually cheered him––although later, when he +reviewed the incident in his mind, he had to +admit that the cheers were loudest just after +he had told the audience to keep the souvenirs.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_136' name='page_136'></a>136</span></div> +<p>Then, when in the custody of the patrolman, +he went out to the street, his mood was still +so concentrated, his anger and depression so +acute, that he was transported out of the very +circumstances which caused him to be angry +and depressed. He realized, with a hazy sort +of perception, that a tail of small boys had attached +itself to the lodestar of the policeman’s +uniform; but even at this indignity, his reaction +was curiously impersonal. It was as +though the spiritual part of him and the material +part had got a divorce; and the spiritual +part, which was the plaintiff, stood coldly aloof, +watching the material part tramping down +Main Street, with a flat-footed policeman beside +it, a voluntary escort behind, and rumour flying +on ahead to all the newspapers. He was actually +too humiliated to suffer from the humiliation.</p> +<p>To be sure, this wasn’t by any means his +first entanglement with the law, but heretofore +his occasions had been marked by a very different +ritual. He recalled, phlegmatically, +that whenever, in the old days, a member of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_137' name='page_137'></a>137</span> +motorcycle squad had shot past him, and +signalled to him to stop, the man had always +treated him more or less fraternally, in recognition +of the fellowship of high speed. The +traffic officers had cheerfully delivered a summons +with one hand, and accepted a cigar with +the other. There was a sort of sporting code +about it; and even in Court, a gentleman who +had been arrested for speeding was given the +consideration which belonged to his rank, and +the fine was usually doubled on the assumption +that a gentleman could afford it. But +this was different. A Devereux––which was +almost the same thing as a Starkweather––was +haled along the highway like a common prisoner. +And if the Devereux hadn’t been engaged +in that two-for-a-cent, low-class, revolting +business,––and if Aunt Mirabelle hadn’t +been Aunt Mirabelle––it couldn’t have happened. +The spiritual part of him looked down +at the material part, and wondered how Henry +Devereux could be so white-hot with passion, +and yet so calm.</p> +<p>What would his friends say now? What +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_138' name='page_138'></a>138</span> +would Bob Standish say, and Mr. Archer and +Judge Barklay? And what would Aunt Mirabelle +<i>not</i> say? This was a grim reflection.</p> +<p>During the journey he spoke only once, and +that was to say, brusquely, to his captor: +“Court isn’t open today, is it?”</p> +<p>“Nope. But we’re goin’ to a Justice o’ +the Peace. Might save you a night in the hoosegow. +Can’t tell. Orders, anyway.”</p> +<p>The Justice of the Peace (or, as he took some +pains to inform Henry, the Most Honourable +Court of Special Sessions) was a grizzled +dyspeptic who held forth in the back room of +a shoemaker’s shop, while the rabble waited +outside, flattening their noses against the window-glass. +The dyspeptic had evidently been +coached for the proceeding; on his desk he had +a copy of the ordinance, and as soon as he had +heard the charge, he delivered a lecture which +he seemed to have by heart, and fined Henry +twenty-five dollars and costs. Henry paid the +fine, and turning to go, stumbled against two +more policemen, each with his quarry. “Just +out of curiosity,” said Henry, speaking to no +one in particular, and in a voice which came so +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_139' name='page_139'></a>139</span> +faintly to his ears that he barely heard it, +“Just out of idle curiosity, when the justice +gets half the fine, isn’t this court open on Sunday +for godless profit, too?” And in the same, +enduring haze of unreality, he paid an additional +twenty dollars for contempt, and went +out to the sidewalk.</p> +<p>He emerged as the focus of interest for a +large, exuberant crowd of loiterers. A camera +clicked, and Henry saw that the man at the +shutter was one of the <i>Herald’s</i> staff photographers. +A youthful reporter caught up with +him, and asked him what he had to say for +publication. “Say for publication?” repeated +Henry, dully. “Why, you can say––” He +walked half a block before he completed the +sentence. “You can say if I said it, you +couldn’t print it anyway.”</p> +<p>And although the reporter paced him for a +quarter of a mile, Henry never opened his +mouth again. He was curiously obsessed, as +men under heavy mental pressure are so often +obsessed, by a ridiculously trivial detail. How +was he going to enter that forty-five dollars +on his books?</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_140' name='page_140'></a>140</span></div> +<p>He had intended to go straight home to Anna, +but automatically his steps led him to the Orpheum, +where he went into his tiny office and +sat down at his desk. There were two envelopes +on his blotter; he slit them, diffidently, +and found a bill from the novelty house which +had supplied the souvenirs, and a supplementary +statement from the decorator.</p> +<p>He opened a fat ledger, took up a pencil, and +began to jot down figures on the back of one of +the envelopes. Already, by remodelling the +the theatre, he had lost two month’s headway, +and spent three times too much money, and +if Sunday performances were to be eliminated.... He +threw down the pencil, and sat +back spiritless. The good-wishes of all his +friends, last night, had turned sour in his possession. +To reach his goal, he should have +to contrive, somehow, to fill nearly every seat +at nearly every performance for the balance +of the year. It was all well enough to have +self-confidence, and courage, but it was better +to look facts in the face. He had come to an +impasse. Not only that, but overnight his +property, by virtue of this Sunday enforcement +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_141' name='page_141'></a>141</span> +and its effect upon the trade, had seriously +depreciated in value. If it had been worth +thirty-seven thousand five hundred yesterday, +it wasn’t worth a penny more than twenty today. +And he could have had Standish’s certified +check, and got out from under. And he +had thrown away in improvements almost every +cent that he had borrowed against the original +value. He was hardly better off, today, than +if he had carried through his first bargain with +Mr. Mix.</p> +<p>He would have to go home to Anna, and confess +that he was beaten by default. He would +have to explain to her, as gently as he could, +that the road which led to the end of the rainbow +was closed to traffic. He would have to +admit to her that as far as he could see, he +was destined to go on living indefinitely in a +jerry-built apartment, with the odour of fried +onions below, and the four children and the +phonograph overhead. And Anna would have +to go on pinch-hitting for cook, and waitress, +and chambermaid, and bottle-washer––she +would have to go on with the desecration of +her beautiful hands in dish-water, and the ruin +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_142' name='page_142'></a>142</span> +of her complexion over the kitchen-stove. The +clothes that he had planned to buy for her, the +jewels, the splendid car––the cohort of servants +he had planned for her––the social prestige! +And instead of that, he was nothing but a fragment +of commercial driftwood, and he couldn’t +afford, now, to buy her so much as a new hat, +without a corresponding sacrifice.</p> +<p>And yet––involuntarily, he stiffened––and +yet he’d be hanged if he went back and acted +like a whipped pup. No, he was supposed to +be a man, and his friends and Anna believed in +him, an he’d be hanged if he went back and +confessed anything at all, admitted anything. +It was all well enough to look facts in the face, +but it was better still to keep on fighting until +the gong rang. And when he was fighting +against the cant purity and goodness of Mr. +Mix, and the cold astigmatism of Aunt Mirabelle, +he’d be hanged if he quit in the first +round. No, even if Henry himself knew that +he was beaten, nobody else was going to know +it, and Anna least of all.</p> +<p>At five o’clock, he came blithely into his living-room: +and as he saw Anna’s expression, his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_143' name='page_143'></a>143</span> +own changed suddenly. He had thought to +find her in tears; but she was coming to him +with her usual welcome, her usual smile.</p> +<p>Henry didn’t quite understand himself, but +he was just the least bit offended, regardless +of his relief. You simply couldn’t tell from +one minute to the next what a woman was going +to do. By all precedent, Anna should have +been enjoying hysterics, which Henry had come +prepared to treat.</p> +<p>“Well,” he said, “you’d better cancel that +order for golden pheasants, old dear.” She +stopped short, and stared at him curiously, as +though the remark had come from a stranger.</p> +<p>“We’ve got lamb chops tonight,” said Anna, +with whimsical relevance, “and fresh strawberry +ice-cream. And pheasants are awfully +indigestible, anyway.”</p> +<p>Henry returned her stare. “What have you +been doing all the afternoon––reading Marcus +Aurelius?”</p> +<p>“No, I haven’t been reading anything at all. +I tidied up the kitchen. What happened to +<i>you</i>?”</p> +<p>There were two different ways of presenting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_144' name='page_144'></a>144</span> +the narrative, and Henry chose the second. +He made it a travesty: and all the time that he +was talking, Anna continued to gaze at him in +that same curious, thoughtful fashion, as if she +were noting, for the first time, a subtle variation +in his character.</p> +<p>“And––aren’t you even <i>mad</i>?” she demanded. +“I thought you’d be furious. I +thought you’d be tearing your hair and––and +<i>every</i>thing.”</p> +<p>Henry laughed explosively. “Impatience, +as I’ve pointed out so often to Aunt Mirabelle, +dries the blood more than age or sorrow. Yes, +I’m mad, but I’ve put it on ice. I’m trying to +work out some scheme to keep us in the running, +and not give Mix too good an excuse to hoot at +us. No––they say it’s darkest just before the +dawn, so I’m trying to fix it so we’ll be sitting +on the front steps to see the sunrise. Only so +far I haven’t had a mortal thought.”</p> +<p>“As a matter of fact,” she confided, “I +loathed the idea of our running the Orpheum on +Sundays. Didn’t you?”</p> +<p>“Naturally. Also on Thursdays, Saturdays, +Mondays, Fridays, Wednesdays and Tuesdays. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_145' name='page_145'></a>145</span> +But Sundays did sort of burrow a little further +under my tough hide. And you know that’s +quite an admission for anybody that was +brought up by Aunt Mirabelle.” He smiled +in reminiscence. “She used to make virtue so +darned scaly and repulsive that it’s a wonder +I’ve got a moral left. As it is, my conscience +may be all corrugated like a raisin, but I’m +almost glad we <i>can’t</i> run Sundays. That is, I +would be if my last remaining moral weren’t +going to be so expensive.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think they’ll probably change +that ordinance now, though? Don’t you think +people will insist on it? After today?”</p> +<p>“Guess work,” said Henry. “Pure guesswork. +But <i>my</i> guess is that we’re ditched.”</p> +<p>“Well, why don’t you join the Exhibitors +Association, and fight?”</p> +<p>He shook his head. “No, because that’s just +what Mix and Aunt Mirabelle expect me to do. +This campaign of theirs is impersonal towards +everybody else, but it’s slightly personal +towards me. I mean, Aunt Mirabelle’s sore on +general principles, and Mix is sore because I +wouldn’t come up and eat out of his hand and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_146' name='page_146'></a>146</span> +get myself sheared. We won’t fight. We’ll +outwit ’em.”</p> +<p>“But <i>how</i>?”</p> +<p>“Now that question,” he said reproachfully, +“was mighty tactless. <i>I</i> don’t know how. +But I know I’m not going to stick my head over +the ramparts for ’em to shoot at. I’m no +African Dodger––I’m an impresario. Maybe +they’ll hit me in the eye, all right, but I’m not +going to give ’em a good cigar for it.”</p> +<p>“I know, dear, but how are we going to make +up all that tremendous loss?”</p> +<p>“Sheer brilliance,” said Henry, easily. +“Which is what I haven’t got nothing but, of. +So I’m banking on you.... And in the meantime, +let’s go ahead with the orgy of lamb chops +you were talking about. I’m hungry.”</p> +<p>They spent the evening in a cheerful discussion +of ways and means, during which she was +continually impressed by Henry’s attitude. +From earlier circumstances she had gathered +that when he was under fire, his rash impulsiveness +would remain constant, and that only his +jocular manner would disappear; furthermore, +she knew that in spite of that manner, he was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_147' name='page_147'></a>147</span> +a borrower of trouble. And yet Henry, who +had a pretty legitimate reason to be bristling +with rancour, sat and talked away as assuredly +as though this hadn’t been his doomsday.</p> +<p>She left him, once, to answer the telephone, +and when she came back, she caught him off +guard, and saw his face in repose. Henry +wasn’t aware of it; and when he heard her +footsteps, he looked up with an instantaneous +re-arrangement of his features. But Anna had +seen, and Anna had understood; she sensed that +Henry, for a generous purpose, had merely +adopted a pose. Secretly, he was quite as tormented, +quite as desperate, as she had expected +him to be.</p> +<p>Her heart contracted, but for Henry’s sake, +she closed her eyes to the revelation, and +resumed the discourse in the same key which +Henry had set for it. Far into the night they +exchanged ideas, and half-blown inspirations, +but when Henry finally arose, with the remark +that it was time to wind the clock and put out +the cat, they had come to no conclusion except +that something would certainly have to be done +about it. “Oh, well,” said Henry, indulgently, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_148' name='page_148'></a>148</span> +“a pleasant evening was reported as having +been had by all, and nothing was settled––so it +was just as valuable as a Cabinet Meeting.”</p> +<p>The sight of the silver tea-service, however, +sent him to bed with renewed determination.</p> +<p>In the morning, he dreaded to open his newspaper, +but when he had read through the story +twice, he conceded that it wasn’t half as yellow +as he feared. No, it was really rather conservative, +and the photograph of him wasn’t +printed at all; he read, with grim satisfaction, +that another culprit, somewhat more impetuous, +had smashed the camera, and attempted to +stage a revival of his success upon the photographer.</p> +<p>He had been fully prepared to find himself +singled out for publicity, and he was greatly +relieved. To be sure, there was a somewhat +flippant mention of his relationship to Mirabelle, +but it wasn’t over-emphasized, and altogether, +he had no justification for resentment––that +is, at the <i>Herald</i>. The <i>Herald</i> had +merely printed the news; what Henry resented +was the fact.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_149' name='page_149'></a>149</span></div> +<p>He turned to the editorial page and found, as +he had imagined, a solid column of opinion; but +to his amazement, it made no protest of yesterday’s +event––on the contrary, it echoed Judge +Barklay. It said half a dozen times, in half a +dozen different ways, that a bad law ought to be +repealed, a good law ought to be preserved, and +that all laws, good or bad, as long as they were +written on the books, ought to be enforced. +Henry was mystified; for the <i>Herald</i> had +always professed to be in utter sympathy with +the workingman.</p> +<p>Later in the day, however, he saw the leading +exhibitor in town, who winked at him. “Clever +stuff, Devereux, clever stuff. ’Course, if we +put up a roar, they’ll say it’s because we’ve got +an ax to grind. Sure we have. But the +<i>Herald</i> wants the <i>people</i>––the people that come +to our shows––to get up and blat. Then it +wouldn’t be the League against the Association––it’d +be the people against the League, and the +laugh’d be on the other foot.”</p> +<p>“What’s the betting?”</p> +<p>“Search <i>me</i>. But Mayor Rowland told me if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_150' name='page_150'></a>150</span> +we got up a monster petition with a thousand or +two names on it, he’ll bring it up to the Council. +We’re puttin’ up posters in the lobby.”</p> +<p>Henry’s heart jumped. “But suppose the +people don’t sign?”</p> +<p>“Well then we’d be out o’ luck. But there’s +other ways o’ goin’ at that damn League, and +we’re goin’ to use <i>all</i> of ’em. And that reminds +me, Devereux––ain’t it about time for +you to join the Association?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid not. I ought to, but––you see, +you’re going to make things as hot as you can +for the League––personalities, and all that, and +when my aunt is president of it––”</p> +<p>“But great guns! What’s she done to +<i>you</i>?”</p> +<p>“I know, but I can’t help that. You go +ahead and rip things up any way you want to, +but I’d better stay out. It may be foolish, but +that’s how I feel about it.”</p> +<p>“It’s your own affair. <i>I</i> think you’re too +blamed easy, but you suit yourself.... And +about the big noise, why I guess all we can do is +wait and see what happens.”</p> +<p>Miss Starkweather, who met him on the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_151' name='page_151'></a>151</span> +street that morning, told him the same thing. +“<i>Some</i> people,” she remarked, altitudinously, +“are always getting their toes stepped on, +aren’t they? Well, there’s another way to +look at it––the toes oughtn’t to have been +there.”</p> +<p>“Oh, give us time,” said Henry, pleasantly. +“Even the worm turns, you know.”</p> +<p>“Humph!” said Aunt Mirabelle. “Let a +dozen worms do a <i>dozen</i> turns! I never +thought I’d see the day when a Devereux––almost +the same thing as a Starkweather––’d +figure in a disgrace such as yours. You’ve +heaped muck on your uncle’s parlour-carpet. +But some day you’ll see the writing on the wall, +Henry.”</p> +<p>He was tempted to remind her of another city +ordinance against bill-posting, but he refrained, +and saved it up for Anna.</p> +<p>“I’ll watch for it,” he said.</p> +<p>“Well, you better. All <i>I</i>’ve got to say is +this: you just wait and see what happens.”</p> +<p>And then, to complete the record, he got +identically the same suggestion from Bob +Standish.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_152' name='page_152'></a>152</span></div> +<p>“I suppose,” said Standish, “maybe you’re +wishing you’d taken that check.”</p> +<p>“Not that, exactly––but I’ve thought about +it.”</p> +<p>“Strikes me that you’re in the best position +of anybody in town, Henry. You’ve got a +following that’ll see you through, if it’s +humanly possible.”</p> +<p>“Sounds like passing the hat, doesn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, no. And the side that scores first +doesn’t always win the game, either––I dare +say you’ve noticed it. It’ll come out all right––you +just wait and see what happens.”</p> +<p>Henry waited, and he saw. And to Henry’s +dismay, and to the Mayor’s chagrin, and to +Miss Mirabelle Starkweather’s exceeding complacence, +nothing happened at all.</p> +<p>The public petition, which had been advertised +as “monstrous,” caught hardly five hundred +names, and two thirds of them were Mr. +A. Mutt, Mr. O. Howe Wise, Mr. O. U. Kidd, +and similar patronymics, scribbled by giggling +small boys. The blue-law was universally unpopular, +and no doubt of it, but the citizenry +hesitated to attack it; the recent landslide for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_153' name='page_153'></a>153</span> +prohibition showed an apparent sentiment +which nobody wanted to oppose––Why, if a +man admitted that he was in favour of Sunday +tolerance, his friends (who of course were going +through exactly the same mental rapids) +might put him down in the same class with +those who still mourned for saloons. Each +man waited for his neighbour to sign first, and +the small boys giggled, and filled up the lists. +Besides, there was a large amusement park just +beyond the city line, and the honest workingman +proceeded to pay his ten-cent fare, and double +the profit of the park.</p> +<p>The Exhibitors Association put up its fists +to the Mayor, and the Mayor proposed a public +hearing, with the Council in attendance. +At this juncture the Reform League sent a +questionnaire to each Councillor, and to each +member of the Association. The phraseology +was Socratic (it was the product of Mr. Mix’s +genius) and if any one answered Yes, he was +snared: if he said No, he was ambushed, and if +he said nothing he was cooked. It reminded +the Mayor of the man who claimed that in a +debate, he would answer every question of his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_154' name='page_154'></a>154</span> +adversary with a simple No or Yes––and the +first question was: “Have you stopped beating +your wife?”</p> +<p>The Exhibitors held a meeting behind closed +doors, and gave out the statement that nothing +was to be gained by a public hearing. But +they launched a flank attack on the Council only +to discover that the Council was wide awake, +and knew that its bread was buttered on one +side only.</p> +<p>“We are listening,” said the Chairman, with +statesmanlike dignity, “for the voice of the +people, and so far we haven’t heard a peep. It +looks as if they don’t <i>want</i> you fellows to run +Sunday’s, don’t it?”</p> +<p>The spokesman of the Exhibitors cleared his +throat. “Statistics prove that every Sunday, +an average of six thousand people––”</p> +<p>“That’s all right. We’ve seen your petition. +And Mr. Mutt and Mr. Kid and most of the +rest of your patrons don’t seem to be registered +voters. How about it?”</p> +<p>The Council burst into a loud laugh, and the +spokesman retreated in discomfiture.</p> +<p>For several days, Henry was fairly besieged +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_155' name='page_155'></a>155</span> +by his friends, who joked him about his arrest, +and then, out of genuine concern, wanted to +know if his prospects were seriously damaged. +To each interrogatory, Henry waved his hand +with absolute nonchalance. As far as he knew, +only six people were in the secret––himself, his +wife, Judge Barklay, Standish, Mr. Archer and +Aunt Mirabelle––and he wasn’t anxious to increase +the number. His aunt might not have +believed it, but this was more on her account +than on his own.</p> +<p>“Lord, no,” said Henry, casually. “Don’t +worry about <i>me</i>. I’m only glad there’s some +news for the <i>Herald</i>. It was getting so dry you +had to put cold cream on it or it’d crack.”</p> +<p>By the time that Judge Barklay returned +from his vacation, the subject had even slipped +away from the front page of the newspapers. +The flurry was over. And out of a population +of fifty thousand, ninety-nine per cent of whom +were normal-minded citizens, neither ultra-conservative +nor ultra-revolutionary, that tiny +fraction which composed the Ethical Reform +League had stowed its propaganda down the +throats of the overwhelming majority.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_156' name='page_156'></a>156</span></div> +<p>The Judge shrugged his shoulders. “Organization,” +he said. “They’ve got a leader, +and speakers, and a publicity bureau. That’s +all. I hear they’re going to use it to boom Mix +for a political job. But you wait––wait, and +keep on paying out the rope.”</p> +<p>“That’s all I’ve got left to pay out,” said +Henry, amiably.</p> +<p>“Aren’t you doing pretty well, considering?”</p> +<p>Henry nodded. “We’re doing great business––I +mean, anybody else would think so. +About a hundred and fifty a week net, for the +first three weeks. And Anna’s salting away a +hundred and ten of it. Every morning I draw +a clean handkerchief, and a dime for dissipation, +and she keeps a clutch on the rest.”</p> +<p>“Hm! A hundred and fifty. That’s good +money, Henry.”</p> +<p>“Well, that’s the only kind we take. But +you can see for yourself what this thing’s done +to us. We ought to be averaging two twenty-five. +And we’d have done it, too.”</p> +<p>The Judge appeared contrite. “I’m afraid +you’re blaming me for bad advice, Henry.”</p> +<p>“No, sir. If I blamed anybody, I’d just +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_157' name='page_157'></a>157</span> +blame myself for taking it. But I don’t. You +see, even if I fall down on the first prize, I’ve +got a pretty good business under way. Eight +thousand a year.”</p> +<p>“Would you keep on with it?”</p> +<p>“I’d think it over. It isn’t particularly joyous, +but it sure does pay the rent. Oh, I suppose +I’d try to sell it, if I could get a price for +it, but Bob says I couldn’t expect a big one, because +so much of the trade sort of belongs to +<i>us</i>––and wouldn’t necessarily patronize the +chap that bought me out. He tells me it was +worth twenty when I took it, and thirty now, +and if it weren’t for this law, it would be worth +fifty. That’s all due to the improvements, and +you advised me to put ’em in, and you engineered +the mortgage. So I’m not huffy at you. +Hardly.”</p> +<p>“Still, you want the big prize if you can get +it.... Notice what Mix is giving out to the +papers? He’ll hang himself yet, and if he does, +you won’t be too far behind to catch up. +That’s a prophecy. But by George, I can’t help +feeling that Mix isn’t in that outfit for his +health. It just don’t smell right, somehow.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_158' name='page_158'></a>158</span></div> +<p>The Reform League had jubilantly explained +to Mr. Mix that he was a liberator and a saviour +of humanity from itself, and Mr. Mix had +deftly caught whatever bouquets were batted +up to him. He had allowed the fragrance of +them to waft even as far as the <i>Herald</i> office, to +which he sent a bulletin every forty-eight hours. +Mr. Mix’s salary was comforting, his expense +accounts were paid as soon as vouchers were +submitted, he was steadily advancing in Miss +Starkweather’s good books, and he considered +himself to be a very clever man indeed.</p> +<p>At the very least, he was clever enough to +realize that his position was now strategically +favourable, and that as long as he moved +neither forward nor backward, he was in no +danger from any source. He had a living +salary, and he was saving enough out of it to reduce +his indebtedness; in a year he could snap +his fingers at the world. Furthermore, he +could see no possibility of legislating himself +out of his job before that time––certainly not if +he played his cards craftily, and didn’t push +his success too far. And by the end of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_159' name='page_159'></a>159</span> +year, he could select a future to fit the circumstances.</p> +<p>For the time being, however, it seemed advisable +to Mr. Mix to make haste slowly; he had +turned an impending personal catastrophe into +a personal triumph, but the triumph could be +spoiled unless he kept it carefully on ice. The +failure of the public to rise up and flay the +League had lifted Mr. Mix into a position of +much prominence, and conveyed the very +reasonable supposition that he was individually +powerful. When a man is supposed to possess +power, he can travel a long distance on the +effect of a flashing eye, and an expanded chest; +also, it is a foolhardy man who, regardless of +his reputation, engages to meet all-comers in +their own bailiwick.</p> +<p>He had committed himself to the preparation +of an amendment to the ordinance, which should +be more definite, and more cerulean, than the +original, but he knew that if he pressed it too +soon, it might topple back and crush him. The +people could be led, but they couldn’t be driven. +And therefore Mr. Mix, who had naturally +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_160' name='page_160'></a>160</span> +made himself solid with the reactionaries and +the church-going element (except those liberals +who regarded him as an officious meddler), and +who had actually succeeded in being mentioned +as the type of man who would make a good +Mayor, or President of Council, followed out a +path which, unless his geography of common-sense +was wrong, could hardly end at a +precipice.</p> +<p>He became, overnight, a terror to the boys +and young men who rolled dice in the city parks, +and on the alley sidewalks in the business district; +and this was held commendable even by +the church-goers who played bridge at the +Citizens Club for penny points. He headed a +violent onslaught upon the tobacconists who +sold cigarettes to minors, and this again was +applauded by those who in their youth had +avoided tobacco––because it was too expensive––and +smoked sweet-fern and cornsilk behind +the barn. He nagged the School Board until +there went forth an edict prohibiting certain +styles of dress; and the mothers of several unattractive +maidens wrote letters to him, and +called him a Christian. The parents of other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_161' name='page_161'></a>161</span> +girls also wrote to him, but he didn’t save the +letters. He made a great stir about the +Sanitary Code, and the Pure Food regulations, +and although the marketmen began to murmur +discontentedly––and why, indeed, should the +grocery cat not sleep in a bed of her own +choosing; and why should not the busy, +curious, thirsty fly have equal right of access +with any other insect?––yet Mr. Mix contrived +to hold himself up to the public as a live reformer, +but not a radical, and to the League as +a radical but not a rusher-in where angels fear +to tread. It required the equilibrium of a +tight-rope walker, but Mr. Mix had it. Indeed, +he felt as pleased with himself as though +he had invented it. And he observed, with +boundless satisfaction, that the membership of +the League was steadily increasing, and that +the Mayoralty was mentioned more frequently. +He was aware, of course, that a reform candidate +is always politically anemic, but he was +hoping that by the injection of good-government +virus, he might be strong enough to catch +a regular nomination, to boot, and to run on a +fusion ticket. From present indications, it +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_162' name='page_162'></a>162</span> +wasn’t impossible. And Mr. Mix smirked in +his mirror.</p> +<p>Mirabelle said, with a rolling-up of her mental +shirt-sleeves: “Well, now let’s get after something +<i>drastic</i>. I’ve heard lots of people say +you ought to get elected to office; well, show ’em +what you can do. Of course, what we’ve been +doing is all <i>right</i>, but it’s kind of small +potatoes.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix looked executive. “Mustn’t go too +fast, Miss Starkweather. Can’t afford to make +people nervous.”</p> +<p>“Humph! People that don’t feel guilty, +don’t feel nervous. I say it’s about time to +launch something drastic. Next thing for us +to do is to make the League a state-wide +organization, and put through a Sunday law +with teeth in it. That amusement park’s got +to go. Maybe we’d better run over to the +capital and talk to the Governor.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix was decisively opposed, but he +couldn’t withstand her. He had a number of +plausible arguments, but she talked them into +jelly, and eventually dragged him to an interview +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_163' name='page_163'></a>163</span> +with the Governor. When it was over, +she beamed victoriously.</p> +<p>“There! Didn’t I tell you so? He’s with +us.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix repressed a smile. “Yes, he said if +we draft a bill, and get it introduced and passed, +he’ll sign it.”</p> +<p>“Well, what more could he say?”</p> +<p>He wanted to ask, in turn, what less could be +said, but he contained himself. “You know,” +he warned her, “as soon as we put out any +really violent propaganda, we’re going to lose +some of our new members, and some of our +prestige.”</p> +<p>“Good! Weed out the dead-wood.”</p> +<p>“That’s all right, but after what we’ve done +with the food laws and stopping the sale of +cigarettes to boys, and so on, people are looking +at us as a switch to chastise the city. But we +don’t want them to look at us as a cudgel. And +this state law you’ve got in mind hits too many +people.”</p> +<p>“Let it hit ’em.”</p> +<p>“Well, anyway,” he pleaded, “there’s no +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_164' name='page_164'></a>164</span> +sense in going out and waving the club so everybody’s +scared off. We ought to take six months +or a year, and do it gradually. And we ought +to pass a model ordinance here first, before we +talk about statutes. I’d suggest a series of +public lectures, and a lot of educational +pamphlets for a start. I’ll write them myself.”</p> +<p>She was impatient, but she finally yielded. +“Well, we’ll see how it works. Go ahead and +do it.”</p> +<p>“I will––I’ll have the whole thing done by +late this spring.”</p> +<p>“Not ’till <i>then</i>?” she protested, vigorously.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix shook his head. “Perfect the organization +first, and begin to fight when we’ve +got all our ammunition. It’ll take me three +months to get that ready. So far, all we’ve had +is a battle, but now we’re planning a war. I +want to be prepared in every detail before we +fire a single more shot.”</p> +<p>She regarded him admiringly. “Sounds +reasonable at that. You do it your own way.”</p> +<p>He was feeling a warm sense of power, and +yet he had his moments of uncertainty, did Mr. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_165' name='page_165'></a>165</span> +Mix, for even with his genius for hypocrisy, he +sometimes found it difficult to be a hypocrite on +both sides of the same proposition. His status +was satisfactory, at the moment, but he mustn’t +let Mirabelle get the bit in her teeth, and run +away with him. As soon as ever she got him on +record as favouring the sort of legislation +which she herself wanted, Mr. Mix’s power was +going to dwindle. And Mr. Mix adored his +power, and he hated to think of losing it by +too extravagant propaganda.</p> +<p>There were moments when he wished that +Henry were more belligerent, so that special +measures could be taken against him, or that +Mirabelle were more seductive, so that Mr. Mix +could be more spontaneous. He knew that he +was personally responsible for the present +enforcement; he believed that because of it, +Henry Devereux didn’t have a Chinaman’s +chance; he knew that if Mirabelle got her +legacy, she would have Mr. Mix to thank for it. +But Henry was too cheerful, and Mirabelle was +too coy, and the two facts didn’t co-ordinate.</p> +<p>Certainly there was no finesse in hailing +Mirabelle as an heiress until Henry’s failure +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_166' name='page_166'></a>166</span> +was more definitely placarded. To be sure, she +had plenty of money now, and she was spending +it like water, but he knew that it included the +income from the whole Starkweather estate. +She probably had––oh, a hundred thousand or +more of her own. And that wasn’t enough. +Yes, it was time for Mr. Mix to think ahead; he +had identified himself so thoroughly with the +League that he couldn’t easily withdraw, and +Mirabelle still held his note. Of course, if the +League could furnish him with a stepping-stone +to the Mayoralty, or the presidency of Council, +Mr. Mix didn’t care to withdraw from it anyway; +nor would he falter in his allegiance as +long as he had a chance at an heiress. He +wished that Henry would show fight, but Henry +hadn’t even joined the Exhibitors Association. +It was so much easier to fight when the other +fellow offered resistance. Henry merely +smiled; you couldn’t tell whether he were despondent +or not. But if he wouldn’t fight, +there was always the thin possibility that he +might be satisfied with his progress. And that +would be unfortunate for Mr. Mix.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_167' name='page_167'></a>167</span></div> +<p>There was something else; suppose Mirabelle +got her legacy, and Mr. Mix volunteered to +share it with her. He was reasonably confident +that she would consent; her symptoms were +already on the surface. But how, in such +event, could Mr. Mix regulate the habits which +were so precious to him? How could he hide +his fondness for his cigar, and his night-cap, his +predilection for burlesque shows and boxing +bouts and blonde stenographers? It was difficult +enough, even now, and he had eaten enough +trochees and coffee beans to sink a frigate, and +he had been able only once to get away to +New York––“to clean up his affairs.” How +could he manage his alternative self when Mirabelle +had him under constant and intimate +supervision?</p> +<p>Still, all that could be arranged. For twenty +years he had gone to New York, regularly, on +irregular business and not a soul in town was +any the wiser; it was simply necessary to discover +what “business” could summon him if he +were married, independent, and a professional +reformer. Mr. Mix, who was always a few +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_168' name='page_168'></a>168</span> +lengths ahead of the calendar, procured the addresses +of a metropolitan anti-cigarette conference, +and a watch-and-ward society, and +humbly applied by mail for membership. An +alibi is exactly the opposite of an egg; the +older it is, the better.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_169' name='page_169'></a>169</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_X' id='CHAPTER_X'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER X</h2> +</div> +<p>When Henry told his wife that he was +counting on her for brilliant ideas, he +meant the compliment rather broadly; for he +couldn’t imagine how a girl brought up as Anna +had been brought up could supply any practical +schemes for increasing the patronage of a +motion-picture theatre. Indeed, when she +brought him her first suggestion he laughed, +and kissed her, and petted her, and while he +privately appraised her as a dear little +dreamer, he told her that he was ever so much +obliged, but he was afraid that her plan +wouldn’t work.</p> +<p>“You see,” he said, “you haven’t had very +much experience in this business––”</p> +<p>“Methuselah!” she retorted, and Henry +laughed again.</p> +<p>“That’s no way for a wife to talk. When I +mention business you’re supposed to look at me +with ill-concealed awe. But to get down to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_170' name='page_170'></a>170</span> +brass tacks, I’ve watched the audiences for four +or five weeks, and I <i>am</i> beginning to size them +up. And I don’t believe you can put over any +grand-opera stuff on ’em.”</p> +<p>“It doesn’t make the least bit of difference +whether it’s grand-opera or the movies, my +lord. It’ll work.”</p> +<p>He shook his head dubiously. “Well, even +suppose it would, I still don’t like it. You +don’t make friends simply to use ’em for your +own purposes.”</p> +<p>“Why, of <i>course</i> not. But after you’ve made +’em, you’re silly not to let ’em help you if they +can. And if they want to. And if they don’t +then they aren’t really your friends, are they? +It’s a good way to find out.”</p> +<p>Henry frowned a little. “What makes you +think it would work?”</p> +<p>“Human nature.... Now you just think it +all over from the beginning. All our friends +come to the Orpheum <i>some</i> night, don’t they? +They’d go to <i>some</i> picture, anyway, but they +come to the Orpheum for two reasons––one’s +because it’s a nice house now, and the other’s +because it’s ours. And sometimes they’re in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_171' name='page_171'></a>171</span> +time to get good seats, and sometimes they +aren’t. Well, we aren’t asking any special +favour of them; we’re just making sure that if +they all come the same night, they’ll have the +same seats, time after time. And they’ll like +it, Henry.”</p> +<p>“But to be brutally frank, I still don’t see +where <i>we</i> get off any better.”</p> +<p>“You wait.... So we sell for just one +particular performance––say the 8.45 one, one +night a week––season tickets. Boxes, loges, +and some of the orchestra seats. And it would +be like opera; if they couldn’t always come, they +couldn’t return their tickets, but they could +give them to somebody else. And that night +we’d have special music, and––”</p> +<p>“Confirming today’s conversation, including +brutal frankness as per statement, I still don’t +see––”</p> +<p>“Why, you silly. It’ll be <i>Society Night</i>! +And I don’t care whether it’s movies or +opera, if you make a thing fashionable, then it +gets <i>every</i>body––the fashionable ones, and then +the ones who <i>want</i> to be fashionable, and finally +the ones who know they haven’t a ghost of a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_172' name='page_172'></a>172</span> +chance, and just want to go and look at the +others!”</p> +<p>Henry laboured with his thoughts. “Well, +granted that we could herd the hill crowd in +there, and all that, I <i>still</i> don’t––”</p> +<p>“Why, Henry darling! Because we’d make +it <i>Monday</i> night––that’s our worst night in the +whole week, ordinarily––and have <i>all</i> reserved +seats that night, and then of course we’d raise +the prices!”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Henry. “Now I get it. I +thought it was just swank.”</p> +<p>“And it’s true––it’s <i>true</i> that if you get +people to thinking there’s something exclusive +about a shop, or a hotel, or a club, or even a +theatre, they’ll pay <i>any</i> amount to get in. And +<i>our</i> friends don’t care when they come, and +they’ll <i>love</i> all sitting together in the boxes, or +even in the orchestra.”</p> +<p>“Who was Methuselah’s wife?” asked +Henry, irrelevantly.</p> +<p>“Why, he had several, didn’t he?”</p> +<p>“Cleopatra, Portia, Minerva, Nemesis, and +the Queen of Sheba,” said Henry, “and you’re +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_173' name='page_173'></a>173</span> +all five in one package. I retract everything +I said. And if I may be permitted to kiss the +hem of your garment, to show I’m properly +humbled, why––in plain English, that idea has +a full set of molars!”</p> +<p>He left the mechanics of it to Anna, who +merely conferred with Bob Standish, and then +with one of her girl-friends, and sent out a little +circular among the high elect; but even Anna +was amazed at the prompt response. The response +was due partly to friendship, and partly +to convenience, but whatever the reason, Anna +brought in checks for a hundred season-tickets, +and turned the worst night of the week into the +best. As she had sensed, because the insiders +of society were willing to commit themselves to +Monday, the outsiders would have paid four +times, instead of merely double, to be there, too. +It was socially imperative.</p> +<p>“That boosts us up another fifty a week,” +said Henry appreciatively. “And we must +have a thousand in the bank, haven’t we?... +Say, Anna, this bread and cheese racket is all +right when you can’t afford anything else, but +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_174' name='page_174'></a>174</span> +honestly, won’t you just get a cook? I don’t +care if she’s rotten, but to think of you giving +those dishes a sitz-bath twice a day––”</p> +<p>“Not yet, dear. We aren’t <i>nearly</i> out of the +woods. Society Night’s helped a lot, but we +aren’t averaging over two hundred and twenty +yet, are we? That’s eighty a week short. So +if we don’t think up some more schemes, why, +what we’re saving now’ll have to be our capital +<i>next</i> year.”</p> +<p>“But when a man has this much income––”</p> +<p>“Yes, and you owe ten thousand on a +mortgage, and the tax bills haven’t come in yet, +and you’ll have an income tax to pay.... +We’ll save awhile longer.”</p> +<p>It was greater heroism than he realized, for +she had never lost, for a single instant, her abhorrence +of the kitchen; nor was she willing to +cater to her prejudice, and work with only the +tips of her fingers. She had two principal defences––she +wore rubber gloves, and she sang––but +whenever she had to put her hands into +greasy water, whenever she scrubbed a kettle, +whenever she cleaned the sink, a series of cold +chills played up and down her spine as fitfully +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_175' name='page_175'></a>175</span> +as a flame plays on the surface of alcohol. She +detested every item which had to do with that +kitchen; and yet, to save Henry the price of a +cook––now seventy dollars a month––she sacrificed +her squeamishness. There were nights +when she simply couldn’t eat––she couldn’t +draw a cloud over her imagination, and forget +what the steak had looked like, and felt like, uncooked. +There were six days in seven when the +mere sight of blackened pots and pans put her +nerves on edge. But she always remembered +that Henry was supposed to be irresponsible, +and that a penny in hand is worth two in prospect; +so that she sang away, and tried to +dispel her thoughts of the kitchen by thinking +about the Orpheum.</p> +<p>It was in early December that she conceived +the Bargain Matinee, which wasn’t the ordinary +cut-price performance, but the adaptation of +an old trick of the department stores. The +Tuesday and Friday matinees were the poorest +attended, so that Anna suggested––and Henry +ordered––that beginning at half past four on +Tuesdays and Fridays, the fifty-cent seats were +reduced at the rate of a cent a minute. In other +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_176' name='page_176'></a>176</span> +words, the Orpheum challenged the public to +buy its entertainment by the clock; a person +who came a quarter hour late saved fifteen +cents, and the bargain-hunter who could find a +vacant seat at twenty minutes past five could +see the last two reels for nothing. It didn’t +bring in a tremendous revenue, but it caught +the popular fancy, and it was worth another +thirty dollars a week.</p> +<p>And Anna discovered, too, that the unfinished +second story of the theatre had possibilities. +She had it plastered and gaily papered, she put +up a frieze of animals from Noah’s ark; she +bought toys and games and a huge sand-box––and +for a nominal fee, a mother could leave her +angel child or squalling brat, as the case might +be, in charge of a kindergarten assistant, and +watch the feature film without nervousness or +bad conscience. There was no profit in it, as +a department, but it was good advertising, and +helped the cause.</p> +<p>In the meantime Henry, who at this season +of the year would ordinarily have gone to Lake +Placid for the winter sports or to Pinehurst +for golf, was watching the rise and fall of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_177' name='page_177'></a>177</span> +box-office receipts as eagerly as he would have +watched the give and take of match-play in +tournament finals. He kept his records as +perfectly, and studied them with as much zest, +as once he had kept and studied the records of +the First Ten in the tennis ranking, and of all +teams and individuals in first-class polo. To +Henry, the Orpheum had long ceased to be a +kitchen; he had almost forgotten that a few +months ago, his soul had been corrugated with +goose-flesh at the prospect of this probation. +Since August, he had done more actual work +than in all his previous life, and the return from +it was approximately what his allowance had +been from Mr. Starkweather, but Henry had +caught the spark of personal ambition, and he +wouldn’t stop running until the race was over. +He wouldn’t stop, and furthermore he wouldn’t +think of stopping. But now and then he +couldn’t help visualizing his status when he did +stop, or was ruled off the track.</p> +<p>He hadn’t quite recovered, yet, from his +surprise at the continuing reaction of his +friends. He was deeply touched by the realization +that even those who were most jocular were +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_178' name='page_178'></a>178</span> +regarding him with new respect. Instead of +losing caste, he seemed to have risen higher +than before; certainly he had never been made +to feel so sure of his place in the affection of his +own set. And almost more satisfactory than +that, the older men in the Citizens Club were +treating him with increasing friendliness, +whereas in the past, they had treated him +rather as an amusing young comedian, to be +laughed at, but not with. And finally, he was +flattered by the growing intimacy with Mr. +Archer.</p> +<p>“A year ago,” Mr. Archer once said to him, +“I used to think you were a spoiled brat, Henry. +Now I think you’re––rather a credit to your +uncle.”</p> +<p>Henry grinned. “And I used to think some +very disrespectful things about you, and now +I’d rather have you on my side than anybody I +know. I <i>must</i> have been a raw egg.”</p> +<p>“You’ll win out yet, my boy––Ted Mix to the +contrary notwithstanding.”</p> +<p>“Oh, sure!” said Henry, optimistically. “I +don’t gloom much––only fifteen minutes a day +in my own room. I got the habit when I was +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_179' name='page_179'></a>179</span> +taking my correspondence course on efficiency.” +Even in these occasional sessions of gloom, +however, (and his estimate of time was fairly +accurate) he never felt any acute antagonism +either towards his aunt or towards Mr. Mix, +he never felt as though he were in competition +with them. He was racing against time, and it +was the result of his own individual effort +which would go down on the record. As to his +aunt, she had been perfectly consistent; as to +Mr. Mix, Henry didn’t even take the trouble to +despise him. He carried over to business one +of his principles in sport––if the other fellow +wanted so badly to win that he was willing to +cheat, he wanted victory more than Henry did, +and he was welcome to it. After the match was +over, Henry might volunteer to black his eye +for him, but that was a side issue.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix had said to him, sorrowfully, at the +Citizens Club: “One of the prime regrets of +my life, Henry, was that you––the nephew of +my old friend––should have suffered––should +have been in a <i>position</i> to suffer––from the +promotion of civic integrity.”</p> +<p>Henry laughed unaffectedly. “Yes,” he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_180' name='page_180'></a>180</span> +said, “it must have raised perfect Cain with +you.”</p> +<p>“I don’t like your tone, Henry. Do you +doubt my word?”</p> +<p>“Doubt it? After I’ve just sympathized +with the awful torture you must have gone +through?... Tell me something; what’s all +this gossip I hear about you and Aunt Mirabelle? +Somebody saw you buggy-riding last +Sunday. Gay young dog!”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix grew red. “Buggy-riding! Miss +Starkweather was kind enough to take me out +to the lake in her car.”</p> +<p>“That’s buggy-riding,” said Henry, affably. +“Buggy-riding’s a generic term. Don’t blush. +I was young myself, once.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix fought down his anger. “You’re +very much of a joker, Henry. It seems to run +in the family. Your uncle––”</p> +<p>“Yes, and Aunt Mirabelle, too.”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Henry. “Aunt Mirabelle’s +a joker, too. She advised me not to run the +Orpheum in the first place; she’d rather have +had me trade it and go into something more respectable, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_181' name='page_181'></a>181</span> +and profitable. Doesn’t that strike +you as funny? It does me.”</p> +<p>Mentally, Mr. Mix bit his lip, but outwardly +he was ministerial. “I’m afraid you’re too +subtle for me.”</p> +<p>“I was afraid of that myself.”</p> +<p>“Isn’t business good?” His voice was solicitous.</p> +<p>Henry was reminded of what Judge Barklay +had twice expressed, and for a casual experiment, +he tried to plumb the depths of Mr. Mix’s +interest.</p> +<p>“Oh, with a few new schemes I’ve got, I +guess I’ll clean up eleven or twelve thousand +this year.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix shook his head. “As much as that?”</p> +<p>Henry inquired of himself why, to accompany +a question which was apparently one of mere +rhetorical purport, Mr. Mix should have shaken +his head. The action had been positive, rather +than interrogative.</p> +<p>“Easy,” said Henry. “Come in next week, +and see how we’re going to turn ’em away. +I’ve got a new pianist; you’ll want to hear him. +He looks like a Sealyhan terrier, but he’s got a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_182' name='page_182'></a>182</span> +repertoire like a catalogue of phonograph records. +I dare the audience to name anything he +can’t play right off the bat––songs, opera, +Gregorian chants, sonatas, jazz––and if he +can’t play it, the person that asked for it gets a +free ticket.”</p> +<p>“So––to use a colloquialism––you’re going +very strong?”</p> +<p>“To use another colloquialism,” said Henry, +“we fairly reek with prosperity, and we’re going +to double our business. That is, unless you +Leaguers stop all forms of amusement but tit-tat-toe +and puss-in-the-corner.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix smiled feebly. “One expects to be +rallied for one’s convictions.”</p> +<p>Henry nodded, engagingly. “I certainly got +rallied enough for mine. That justice of the +peace rallied me for twenty-five to start with, +and followed it up with twenty more.... But +if you want my opinion, Mr. Mix, you’ll lay off +trying to promote civic integrity with a meat-ax. +All you did with that Sunday row was to +take a lot of money away from the picture +houses, and give it to the trolley company and +the White City––white when it was painted. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_183' name='page_183'></a>183</span> +And if you don’t behave, I won’t vote for you +next election.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix ignored the threat. “Come to a +meeting of the League some time, Henry, and +we’ll give you a chance to air your views.”</p> +<p>He reported the interview to Anna, and she +seemed to find in it the material for reflection. +She asked Henry if he thought that Mr. Mix +was deliberately making up to Mirabelle. +Henry reflected, also.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>In January, Henry had an interview with Mr. +Archer, who went over his books with a fine-tooth +comb, and praised him for his accomplishment.</p> +<p>“But it only goes to show how the best intentions +in the world can get all twisted up,” +said Mr. Archer, gravely. “Here you’ve done +what you were supposed to do––you’ve done it +better than you were supposed to do it––and +then because of that cussed enforcement that +neither your uncle nor I ever dreamed about, +you’re liable to get punished just as badly as if +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_184' name='page_184'></a>184</span> +you’d made a complete failure. It’s a shame, +Henry, it’s a downright shame!”</p> +<p>“We’re packing ’em in pretty well,” said +Henry. “I figured out that if we sold every +seat at every performance we’d collect fourteen +hundred a week gross. We’re actually taking +in about eight fifty. That’s a local record, but +it isn’t good enough.”</p> +<p>“No, you seem to be shy about––three thousand +to date. You’ve got to make that up, and +hit a still higher average for the next seven +months, and I’m blessed if <i>I</i> can see how you’re +going to do it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, well, I’ll have the theatre. That’s something.”</p> +<p>“Yes, it’ll bring you a good price. But not +a half of what you <i>should</i> have had. One +thing, Henry, I wish your uncle could know how +you’re taking it. As far as I know, you haven’t +swung a golf club or sat a horse for six months, +have you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, shucks!... When Uncle John went to +a ball game, he always liked to see a man run +like fury on a fly ball. Nine times out of ten +an outfielder’d catch it and the batter’d get a +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_185' name='page_185'></a>185</span> +big hoot from the grand-stand. The other time +he’d drop it, and the batter’d take two bases. +That’s all I’m doing now. Playing the percentage. +And golf takes too much time––even if +there weren’t snow on the ground––and stable +feed’s so high <i>I</i> can’t afford it. The fool horse +would cost more to feed than I do myself.”</p> +<p>“And even if the percentage beats you, +you’ve got something you never had before, +Henry, and that’s the solid respect of your +community. Everybody knows you hated this +job. Everybody’s back of you.”</p> +<p>“Up on the farm,” said Henry, thoughtfully. +“There was a field-hand with a great line of +philosophy. Some of it was sort of crude, but––one +day Uncle John was saying something +about tough things we all have to do, and this +fellow chimed in and said: ‘Yes, sir, every +man’s got to skin his own skunk.’”</p> +<p>Mr. Archer smiled and nodded. “Your year +won’t have been wasted, Henry. And when it’s +over, if you want to get out of the picture business, +you’ll find that you can get a dozen first-rate +jobs from men who wouldn’t have taken +you in as their office-boy a season ago.... +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_186' name='page_186'></a>186</span> +Give my love to your wife, Henry, and tell her +for me that I’m proud of you.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell her,” said Henry, “but <i>I</i> won’t be +proud until I’ve nailed that skin over the barn-door.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>On his way out, he dropped in for a moment +to see Bob Standish. Bob was at his old tricks +again; and while his competitors in realty, and +insurance, and mortgage loans, made the same +mistake that once his classmates and instructors +and the opposing ends and tackles had +made, and argued that his fair skin and his innocent +blue eyes, his indolent manner and his +perfection of dress all evidenced his lack of wit +and stamina, he had calmly proceeded to chase +several of those competitors out of business, +and to purchase their good-will on his own +terms. It was popularly said, in his own circle, +that Standish would clear a hundred thousand +dollars his first year.</p> +<p>He winked lazily at Henry, and indicated a +chair. “Set!” said Standish. “Glad you came +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_187' name='page_187'></a>187</span> +in. Two things to ask you. Want to sell? +Want to rent?”</p> +<p>“If you were in my shoes, would you sell, +Bob?”</p> +<p>“I can get you twenty-eight thousand.”</p> +<p>“That’s low.”</p> +<p>“Sure, but everybody knows you’ve got a +clientele that nobody else could get. Are you +talking?”</p> +<p>“I––guess not just yet.”</p> +<p>“Want to rent? I just had a nibble for small +space; you could get fifty a month for that attic +you’re using for a nursery.”</p> +<p>“I––hardly think so, Bob. That’s a pet +scheme of Anna’s, and besides, we need it. It’s +good advertising.”</p> +<p>His friend’s eyes were round and childlike. +“Made any plans for the future, Henry? Know +what you’ll do if you stub your toe?”</p> +<p>“Sell out and strike you for a job, I guess.”</p> +<p>“Don’t believe it would work, old man.”</p> +<p>“Don’t you think so?”</p> +<p>“One pal boss another? Too much family.”</p> +<p>Henry looked serious. “I’m sorry you think +so. <i>I</i> wouldn’t have kicked.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_188' name='page_188'></a>188</span></div> +<p>“No, I’m afraid I couldn’t give you a job, +old dear. I like you too well to bawl you out. +But maybe we’ll do business together some +other way.”</p> +<p>As he drove his tin runabout homeward, +Henry was unusually downcast. He didn’t +blame Standish––Standish had showed himself +over and over to be Henry’s best friend on +earth. But it was dispiriting to realize how +Standish must privately appraise him. Henry +recalled the justification, and grew red to think +of the ten years of their acquaintance––ten +years of continuous achievement for Standish, +and only a few months of compulsory display +for himself. But he wished that Standish +hadn’t thrown in that last remark about doing +business together some other way. That +wasn’t like Bob, and it hurt. It was too infernally +commercial.</p> +<p>He found the apartment deserted. His shout +of welcome wasn’t answered: his whistle, in the +private code which everybody uses, met with +dead silence. Henry hung up his hat with considerable +pique, and lounged into the living-room. +What excuse had Anna to be missing at +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_189' name='page_189'></a>189</span> +the sacred hour of his return? Didn’t she +know that the happiest moment of his whole +day was when she came flying into his arms as +soon as he crossed the threshold? Didn’t she +know that as the golden pheasants fled further +and further into the thicket of unreality, +the more active was his need of her? He wondered +where she had gone, and what had kept +her so late. Was this a precedent, and had the +first veneer of their companionability worn off +so soon––for Anna?</p> +<p>A new apprehension seized him, and he hurried +from room to room to see if instead of +censuring Anna, he ought to censure himself. +There were so many accidents that might have +happened to her. Women have been burned so +severely as to faint: they have drowned in a +bathtub: they have fallen down dumb-waiter +shafts: they have been asphyxiated when the +gas-range went out. And to think that only a +moment ago, he had been vexed with her. The +sight of each room, once so hideously commonplace, +now so charming with Anna’s artistry +and the work of her own hands––her beautiful +hands which ought to be so cared for––filled +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_190' name='page_190'></a>190</span> +him with contrition and fresh nervousness.</p> +<p>No, she had escaped these tragedies––yet she +was missing. Missing, but now half an hour +late. And downtown there were dangerous +street-crossings, and dangerous excavations, +and reckless motorists.... Once in a while a +structural-iron worker dropped a rivet from the +seventh story; and there were kidnappers +abroad.... The key turned in the lock, and +Henry dropped noiselessly into a chair, and +caught up day-before-yesterday’s paper.</p> +<p>He greeted her tenderly, but temperately. +“Well, where’ve <i>you</i> been?”</p> +<p>She had to catch her breath. “Oh, my <i>dear</i>, +I’ve had the most <i>wonderful</i> time! I’ve––oh, +it’s been perfectly gorgeous! And I’ve got it! +I’ve got it!”</p> +<p>He had never seen her keyed to such a pitch, +and manlike, he attempted to calm her instead +of rising to her own level. “Got what? St. +Vitus’ dance?”</p> +<p>“<i>No!</i> The scheme! The scheme we were +looking for!”</p> +<p>Henry discarded his paper. “Shoot it.”</p> +<p>She waved him off. “Just wait ’till I can +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_191' name='page_191'></a>191</span> +breathe.... Do you remember what you told +me a long time ago about a talk you had with +your aunt? And she said bye-and-bye you’d +see the writing on the wall?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, I’ve <i>seen</i> it!”</p> +<p>“Whereabouts?”</p> +<p>“Wait.... And remember your talking to +Mr. Mix, when he said you ought to go to a +League meeting and air your views?”</p> +<p>“Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, I went!”</p> +<p>He gazed at her. “You what?”</p> +<p>She nodded repeatedly. “It was a big public +meeting. I was going past Masonic Hall, +and I saw the sign. So I went in ... oh, it was +so funny. The man at the door stared at me +as if I’d been in a bathing suit, or something, +and he said to me in a sort of undertaker’s +voice: ‘Are you one of us?’ And I said I +wasn’t, but I was thinking about it, and he +said something about the ninety and nine, and +gave me a blank to fill out––only I didn’t do it: +I used it for something <i>lots</i> better: I’ll show +you in a minute––and then I sat down, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_192' name='page_192'></a>192</span> +pretty soon Mr. Mix got up to talk,––and you +<i>should</i> have seen the way your aunt looked at +him; as if he’d been a tin god on wheels––and +he bragged about what the League was doing, +and how it had already purified the city, but +that was only a beginning––and what a lot more +it was going to do––oh, it was just <i>ranting</i>––but +everybody clapped and applauded––only +the man next to me said it was politics instead +of reform––and then he went on to talk about +that ordinance 147, and what it really meant, +and how they were going to use it like a bludgeon +over the heads of wrong-doers, and all +that sickening sort of thing––and the more he +talked the more I kept thinking.... My <i>dear</i>, +all that ordinance says––at least, all they <i>claim</i> +it says––is that we can’t keep open on Sunday +for <i>profit</i>, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>Henry was a trifle dizzy, but he retained his +perspective. “Yes, but who’d want to keep +open for charity?”</p> +<p>She gave a little cry of exultation. “But +that’s <i>exactly</i> what we want to do! That’s +what we <i>are</i> going to do. And they can’t prevent +us, either. We’re going to keep open for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_193' name='page_193'></a>193</span> +a high, noble purpose, and not charge a cent. +And the more I thought, and Mr. Mix bragged, +the more I ... so I wrote it all down on the +back of that blank the man gave me––and there +it is––and <i>I</i> think it’s perfectly gorgeous––even +if it <i>is</i> mine. <i>Now</i> who’s Methuselah’s +wife?”</p> +<p>On the back of the blank there was written, +in shaky capitals, what was evidently intended +as the copy for an advertisement. She watched +Henry eagerly as he read it, and when at first +she could detect no change in his expression, her +eyes widened, and her lips trembled imperceptibly. +Then Henry, half-way down the page, began +to grin: and his grin spread and spread +until his whole face was abeam with joy. He +came to the last line, gasped, looked up at +Anna, and suddenly springing towards her, he +caught her in his arms, and waltzed her madly +about the living-room.</p> +<p>When he released her, her hat was set at a +new and rakish angle, and she had lost too many +hair-pins, but to Henry she had never looked +half so adorable.</p> +<p>“Of course,” he panted, “everybody else’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_194' name='page_194'></a>194</span> +do it too, as soon as we’ve showed ’em how––”</p> +<p>“What––what difference does <i>that</i> make?”</p> +<p>“That’s right, too....” He fairly doubled +himself with mirth. “Can’t you just see Mix’s +face when he sees <i>this</i> writing on the wall––of +the Orpheum?”</p> +<p>“I––I’ve been seeing it all afternoon. +When can we start?”</p> +<p>“Right away. <i>Now.</i>” He stopped, rigid. +“No, we won’t either. No we <i>won’t</i>. First, +we’ve got to see the Judge––we’ve got to make +sure there’s no flaw in it. And <i>then</i>––we won’t +<i>let</i> anybody copy us!”</p> +<p>“But how can you stop them?”</p> +<p>Henry was electric. “What’s a movie theatre +worth on Sunday? When they can’t give a +show anyway? I’ll rent every house in town +for every Sunday from now ’till August! I’ll +have to go slow, so nobody’ll suspect. It may +take a month, or <i>two</i> months, but what do we +care? We’ll play it sure. It won’t cost too +much, and we’ve got the cash in the bank. +We’ve––” He paused again, and looked down +at her, and his voice fell a semi-tone. “I don’t +know where I get all this <i>we</i> stuff. <i>I</i>’d have +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_195' name='page_195'></a>195</span> +spent two-thirds of it by this time. You’re the +one that’s saved it––and earned it too, by gosh!” +He lifted her hands, and while she watched him, +with shining eyes, he deliberately kissed the tip +of each of her ten fingers. “<i>That’s</i> where the +money’s come from,” said Henry, clearing his +throat. “Out of dish-water. Only tonight +we’re going out to a restaurant and eat ourselves +logy, and you won’t wash a damn dish. +It’s my party.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_196' name='page_196'></a>196</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XI' id='CHAPTER_XI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XI</h2> +</div> +<p>Miss Mirabelle Starkweather +lifted up her cup of tea, and with the little +finger of her right hand stiffly extended to Mr. +Mix’s good health. Mr. Mix, sitting upright +in a gilded chair which was three sizes too +small for him, bowed with a courtliness which +belonged to the same historical period as the +chair, and also drank. Over the rim of his cup, +his eyes met Mirabelle’s.</p> +<p>“Seems to me you’ve got on some kind of a +new costume, haven’t you?” asked Mr. Mix gallantly. +“Looks very festive to me––very.”</p> +<p>For the first time since bustles went out of +fashion, Miss Starkweather blushed; and when +she blushed, she was quite as uncompromising +about it as she was about everything else. It +wasn’t that she had a grain of romance in her, +but that she was confused to be caught in the +act of flagging a beau; to hide her confusion, +she rose, and went over to the furthest window +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_197' name='page_197'></a>197</span> +and flung it wide open. The month was +February, and the air was chill and raw, but +Mirabelle could think of no other pretext for +turning her back and cooling her cheeks. And +yet, although she would have perjured herself a +thousand times before she would admit it, she +felt a certain strange, spring-like pleasure to +know that Mr. Mix was only pretending to be +deceived.</p> +<p>“Oh, my, no,” she said over her shoulder. +“I’ve had this since the Flood.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix had also risen, to hand her back to +her seat, and now he stood looking down at her. +She was wearing a gown of rustling, plum-coloured +taffeta, with cut-steel buttons; and at her +belt there was a Dutch silver châtelaine which +had been ultra-smart when she had last worn it. +Vaguely, she supposed that it was ultra-smart +today, and that was the reason she had attached +it to her. From the châtelaine depended a silver +pencil, a gold watch, a vinaigrette with gold-enamelled +top, and a silver-mesh change-purse. +At her throat, she had a cameo, and on her left +hand, an amethyst set in tiny pearls. Mr. Mix, +finishing the inventory, seated himself and began +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_198' name='page_198'></a>198</span> +to tap one foot on the floor, reflectively. +He was a man of perception, and he knew warpaint +when he saw it.</p> +<p>“Makes you look so much younger,” said +Mr. Mix, and sighed a little.</p> +<p>“Don’t be a fool,” said Miss Starkweather, +and to dissemble her pleasure, she put an extra-sharp +edge on her voice. “I don’t wear clothes +to make me look younger; I wear ’em to cover +me up.”</p> +<p>“That’s more than I can say for the present +generation.”</p> +<p>“Ugh!” said Miss Starkweather. “Don’t +speak of it! Shameless little trollops! But the +<i>worst</i> comment you could make about this present +day is that men <i>like</i> it. They <i>like</i> to see +those disgraceful get-ups. They <i>marry</i> those +girls. Beyond <i>me</i>.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix sneezed unexpectedly. There was +a cold draught on the back of his neck, but as +Mirabelle said nothing about closing the window, +he hesitated to ask permission. “I’ve +always wondered what effect it would have had +on your––public career––if you hadn’t preferred +to remain single.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_199' name='page_199'></a>199</span></div> +<p>“My opinions aren’t annuals, Mr. Mix. +They’re hardy perennials.”</p> +<p>“I know, but do you think a married woman +ought to devote herself entirely to public affairs? +Shouldn’t she consider marriage almost +a profession in itself?”</p> +<p>“Well, I don’t know about that. Duty’s +duty.”</p> +<p>“Oh, to be sure. But would marriage have +interfered with your career? Would you have +let it? Or is marriage really the higher duty +of the two?”</p> +<p>“There’s something in that, Mr. Mix. I +never did believe a married woman ought to be +in the road <i>all</i> the time.”</p> +<p>“It <i>was</i> a question of your career, then?”</p> +<p>Mirabelle put down her cup. “Humph! No, +it wasn’t. Right man never asked me.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix’s mind was on tiptoe. “But your +standards are so lofty––naturally, they <i>would</i> +be.” He paused. “I wonder what your standard +really is. Is it––unapproachable? Or do +you see some good in most of us?”</p> +<p>Mirabelle sat primly erect, but her voice had +an unusual overtone. “Oh, no, I’m not a ninny. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_200' name='page_200'></a>200</span> +But good husbands don’t grow on goose-berry bushes. +If I’d ever found a man that had the +right principles, and the respect of everybody, +and not too much tom-foolishness––a good, +solid, earnest citizen I could be proud of––”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix interpolated a wary comment. “You +didn’t mention money.”</p> +<p>She sniffed. “Do I look like the kind of a +woman that would marry for money?”</p> +<p>“And in all these––I mean to say, haven’t +you ever met a man who complied with these +conditions?”</p> +<p>She made no intelligible response, but as Mr. +Mix watched her, he was desperately aware +that his moment had come. His next sentence +would define his future.</p> +<p>He was absolutely convinced, through his private +source of information, that Henry was due +to fall short of his quota by four or five thousand +dollars; nothing but a miracle could save +him, and Mr. Mix was a sceptic in regard to +miracles. He was positive that in a brief six +months Miss Starkweather would receive at +least a half million; and Mr. Mix, at fifty-five, +wasn’t the type of man who could expect to +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_201' name='page_201'></a>201</span> +have lovely and plutocratic débutantes thrown +at his head. He believed––and his belief was +cousin to a prayer––that Mirabelle was absorbed +in reform only because no one was absorbed +in Mirabelle. Indeed, she had implied, +a few moments ago, that marriage would cramp +her activities; but it was significant that she +hadn’t belittled the institution. Perhaps if she +were skilfully managed, she might even be +modernized. Certainly she had been content, +so far, to be guided by Mr. Mix’s conservatism. +He hoped that he was right, and he trusted in +his own strategy even if he were wrong. And +every day that he continued moderate in his +public utterances, and in his actions, he was a +day nearer to the golden ambition of an elective +office.</p> +<p>He was threatened with vertigo but he mastered +himself, and drew a long, long breath in +farewell to his bachelorhood.</p> +<p>“You have heartened me more than you +know,” said Mr. Mix, with ecclesiastical soberness. +“Because––it has been my poverty––which +has kept me silent.” He bent forward. +“Mirabelle, am <i>I</i> the right man?” Almost by +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_202' name='page_202'></a>202</span> +sheer will-power, he rose and came to her, and +took her hand. She shrank away, in maiden +modesty, but her fingers remained quiescent. +Mr. Mix sneezed again, and stooped to kiss her +cheek, but Mirabelle avoided him.</p> +<p>“No,” she said, with a short laugh. “That +don’t signify––I don’t approve of it much.” +She wavered, and relented. “Still, I guess it’s +customary––Theodore.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Before he left her, they had staged their first +altercation––it could hardly be called a quarrel, +because it was too one-sided. Mirabelle had +asked him without the slightest trace of shyness, +to telephone the glad tidings to the <i>Herald</i>; and +of a sudden, Mr. Mix was afflicted with self-consciousness. +Unfortunately, he couldn’t give +a valid reason for it; he couldn’t tell her that +illogically, but instinctively, he wanted to keep +the matter as a locked secret––and especially +to keep it locked from Henry Devereux––until +the minister had said: Amen. He admitted to +himself that this was probably a foolish whim, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_203' name='page_203'></a>203</span> +a needless precaution, but nevertheless it obsessed +him, so that he tried to argue Mirabelle +away from the <i>Herald</i>. His most cogent argument +was that the announcement might weaken +their position in the League––the League might +be too much interested in watching the romance +to pay strict attention to reform.</p> +<p>“Humph!” said Mirabelle. “<i>I</i>’m not +ashamed of being congratulated. Are you? +But if you’re so finicky about it, I’ll do the telephoning +myself.”</p> +<p>Whereupon Mr. Mix went back to his room, +and drank two highballs, and communed with +himself until long past midnight.</p> +<p>In the morning, with emotions which puzzled +him, he turned to the society column of the +<i>Herald</i>; and when he saw the flattering paragraph +in type,––with the veiled hint that he +might be the next candidate for Mayor, on a reform +ticket––he sat very still for a moment or +two, while his hand shook slightly. No backward +step, now! His head was in the noose. +He wondered, with a fresh burst of self-effacement, +what people would say about it. One thing––they +wouldn’t accuse him of the truth. Nobody +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_204' name='page_204'></a>204</span> +but Mr. Mix himself knew the whole truth––unless +perhaps it were Henry Devereux. +Henry had developed a knowing eye. But +Henry didn’t count––Henry was beaten already. +Still, if Henry should actually come out +and accuse Mr. Mix of––why, what <i>could</i> Henry +accuse him of? Simply marrying for money? +If it didn’t make any difference to Mirabelle, +it certainly didn’t to Mr. Mix. And what booted +the rest of the world? Why should he concern +himself with all the petty spite and gossip of a +town which wasn’t even progressive enough to +have an art museum or a flying field, to say +nothing of a good fight-club? Let ’em gossip.... +But just the same, he wished that +Mirabelle had been willing to keep the engagement +a secret. Mr. Mix was sure to encounter +Henry, once in a while, at the Citizens Club, and +he didn’t like to visualize Henry’s smile.</p> +<p>He was in the act of tossing away the paper +when his attention was snatched back by a half-page +advertisement; in which the name of the +Orpheum Theatre stood out like a red flag. Mr. +Mix glanced at it, superciliously, but a moment +later, his whole soul was strung on it.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_205' name='page_205'></a>205</span></div> +<p class='center'>THE ORPHEUM<br /> +Educational Motion Pictures<br /> +FREE! FREE! FREE!<br /> +Every Sunday afternoon and evening<br /> +ESPECIALLY HIGH-CLASS ENTERTAINMENT<br /> +of instructive and educational features<br /> +With Sacred Music<br /> +ABSOLUTELY FREE</p> +<p>to all those who present at the door ticket-stubs from +the previous week’s performances (bargain matinees +excepted) showing a total expenditure of Three +Dollars.</p> +<p class='center'>IN OTHER WORDS<br /> +<br /> +Two people coming twice during the week,<br /> +in 75 cent seats, come FREE Sunday<br /> +<br /> +Three people coming twice during the week,<br /> +in 50 cent seats, come FREE Sunday<br /> +<br /> +A PURELY VOLUNTARY COLLECTION<br /> +will be taken up and divided between<br /> +The Associated Charities<br /> +The Starving Children of Belgium <i>and</i><br /> +The Chinese Famine Fund<br /> +This Sunday<br /> + +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_206' name='page_206'></a>206</span><br /> +THE SWORDMAKER’S SON––an absorbing drama<br /> + of Biblical days<br /> + Next Sunday<br /> +BEN-HUR, in seven reels<br /> +<br /> +NO ADMISSION FEE BEING CHARGED, AND<br /> +ALL VOLUNTARY CONTRIBUTIONS BEING DEVOTED<br /> +TO CHARITY, THIS ENTERTAINMENT<br /> +DOES <i>NOT</i> FALL WITHIN ANY CITY ORDINANCE<br /> +PROHIBITING SUNDAY PERFORMANCES<br /> +<br /> +THE ORPHEUM<br /> +Motion Pictures</p> +<p>Mr. Mix, goggle-eyed, jumped for the telephone, +and called the City Hall, but as soon +as the Mayor was on the wire, Mr. Mix wrestled +down his excitement, and spoke in his embassy +voice. “Hello––Rowland? This is Mix. I want +to ask you if you’ve seen an ad of the Orpheum +Theatre in this morning’s paper?... Well, +what do you propose to do about it?”</p> +<p>The Mayor answered him in a single word: +Mr. Mix started, and gripped the receiver more +tightly. “<i>Nothing!</i>... Why, I don’t quite +get you on that.... It’s an open and shut +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_207' name='page_207'></a>207</span> +proposition––No, I most certainly am <i>not</i> trying +to make a pun; I’m calling you up in my official +capacity. That’s the most flagrant, barefaced +attempt to evade a law––Why, an <i>idiot</i> +could see it! It’s to drive the crowd into the +Orpheum during the week, so that––”</p> +<p>He listened, with increasing consternation. +“<i>Who</i> says it isn’t a violation? Who? The +City Attorney?” Mr. Mix was pale; and this +was quite as uncommon as for his fiancée to +blush. “When did he say so?... What’s +that? What’s his grounds?... Repeat it, if +you don’t mind––Practically a charitable performance +by <i>invitation</i>––”</p> +<p>“Why, sure,” said the Mayor. He realized +perfectly that Mr. Mix had the League and +another thousand people of small discernment +behind him, but the Mayor didn’t want to be +re-elected, and did want to retire from politics. +“The Orpheum doesn’t say a fellow that comes +Sunday has got to prove <i>he</i> spent the money +for the tickets, does it? Anybody that’s got +the stubs can come. They’re just as much invitations +as if they were engraved cards sent +around in swell envelopes. If you’ve got +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_208' name='page_208'></a>208</span> +one––whether you paid for the <i>invitation</i> or not, or +if you got it in the mail or picked it up on the +street, you can go on in. And as long’s no +money’s taken in over the counter, the City Attorney +says it’s O.K. Of course, you can petition +the Council, if you want to.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix was licking his lips feverishly. +“I’m obliged to you for your advice. We <i>will</i> +petition the Council––I’ll have it signed, sealed +and delivered by noon today.... And if that +don’t do, we’ll apply for an injunction.... +And we’ll carry this to the <i>Governor</i> before +we’re done with it, Rowland, and you know +what state laws we’ve got to <i>compel</i> a Mayor +of an incorporated city to do his duty!... +This is where we part company, Rowland. +You’ll hear from me later!” He slammed down +the receiver, rattled the hook impetuously, and +called Mirabelle’s number.</p> +<p>“Mirabelle ... good-morning; have you +... No, I’m not cross at you, but––Oh! Good-morning, +<i>dear</i>.... This is important. Have +you seen the Orpheum’s ad in the <i>Herald</i>? +Isn’t that the most barefaced thing you ever +<i>saw</i>? Don’t we want to rush in and––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_209' name='page_209'></a>209</span></div> +<p>She interrupted him. “Why, no, not when +it’s for charity, do we?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix nearly dropped the receiver. +“Charity! Charity your grandmother! It’s a +cheap trick to attract people during the week, +so they’ll have a show on Sunday in <i>spite</i> of the +law!”</p> +<p>“Oh, I don’t doubt there’s <i>some</i> catch in it. +That’s Henry all over. But if the League went +out and interfered with an educational and sort +of religious program with a collection for +charity, we’d–––”</p> +<p>“Yes, but my dear woman, would we sanction +a <i>dance</i> for charity? A poker-party? A +wine-supper? We–––”</p> +<p>“But there won’t be any dancing or drinking +or card-playing at the Orpheum, will there?”</p> +<p>He lost his temper. “What’s the matter +with you? Can’t you <i>see</i>––?”</p> +<p>“No, but I can hear pretty well,” said Mirabelle. +“I’m not deaf. And seems to me––” +She sniffled. “Seems to me you’re making an +awful funny start of things, Theodore.”</p> +<p>“My dear girl––”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_210' name='page_210'></a>210</span></div> +<p>“I just said ‘my dear girl.’ I–––”</p> +<p>“Say it again, Theodore!”</p> +<p>To himself, Mr. Mix said something else, but +for Mirabelle’s benefit, he began a third time. +“My dear girl, it’s simply to evade the law, +and–––”</p> +<p>“But Theodore, if we lift one finger to stop +the raising of money for the poor starving children +in foreign countries, we’d lose every scrap +of influence we’ve gained.”</p> +<p>“But this means that <i>all</i> the theatres can +open again!”</p> +<p>“Well, maybe you’d better get to work and +frame the amendment to Ordinance 147 we’ve +been talking about, then. And the new statute, +too. We’ve wasted too much time. But under +the old one, we can’t go flirting with trouble. +And if all they do is show pictures like Ben-Hur, +and The Swordmaker’s Son, why ... +don’t you see? We just won’t notice this thing +of Henry’s. We can’t afford to act too narrow.... +And I’m not cross with you any +more. You <i>were</i> all worked up, weren’t you? +I’ll excuse you. And I could just <i>hug</i> you for +being so worked up in the interests of the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_211' name='page_211'></a>211</span> +League. I didn’t understand.... When are +you coming up to see me? I’ve been awfully +lonesome––since yesterday.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix hung up, and sat staring into vacancy. +Out of the wild tumult of his thoughts, +there arose one picture, clear and distinct––the +picture of his five thousand dollar note. +Whatever else happened, he couldn’t financially +afford, now or in the immediate future, to break +with Mirabelle. She would impale him with +bankruptcy as ruthlessly as she would swat a +fly; she would pursue him, in outraged pride, +until he slept in his grave. And on the other +hand, if certain things <i>did</i> happen––at the Orpheum––how +could he spiritually afford to pass +the remainder of his life with a militant reformer +who wouldn’t even have money to +sweeten her disposition––and Mr. Mix’s. He +wished that he had put off until tomorrow what +he had done, with such conscious foresight, only +yesterday.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_212' name='page_212'></a>212</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XII' id='CHAPTER_XII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XII</h2> +</div> +<p>Now although Mr. Mix had shaken with consternation +when he saw the advertisement +of the Orpheum, Henry shook with far different +sentiments when he saw the announcement in +eulogy of Mr. Mix. It was clear in his mind, +now, that Mr. Mix wasn’t the sort of man to +marry on speculation; Henry guessed that +Mirabelle had confided to him the terms of the +trust agreement, and that Mr. Mix (who had +shaken his head, negatively, when Henry estimated +his profits) had decided that Henry was +out of the running, and that Mirabelle had a +walkover. The guess itself was wrong, but the +deduction from it was correct; and Henry was +convulsed to think that Mr. Mix had shown his +hand so early. And instead of gritting his +teeth, and damning Mr. Mix for a conscienceless +scoundrel, Henry put back his head and +laughed until the tears came.</p> +<p>He hurried to show the paragraph to Anna, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_213' name='page_213'></a>213</span> +but Anna wouldn’t even smile. She was a +woman, and therefore she compressed her lips, +sorrowfully, and said: “Oh––<i>poor</i> Miss Starkweather!” +To which Henry responded with a +much more vigorous compression of his own +lips, and the apt correction: “Oh, no––poor +Mr. Mix!”</p> +<p>He carried his congratulations to his aunt in +person; she received them characteristically. +“Humph!... Pretty flowery language.... +Well, you don’t need to send me any present, +Henry; I didn’t send <i>you</i> one.”</p> +<p>“When’s the happy event to be?” he inquired, +politely.</p> +<p>“June. Fourth of June.”</p> +<p>“And do you know where you’re going for +your honeymoon?”</p> +<p>“I don’t like that word,” said Mirabelle. +“It sounds mushier than a corn-starch pudding. +And besides, it’s nobody’s business but his and +mine, and I haven’t even told <i>him</i> yet. I’m +keeping it for a surprise.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” said Henry. “That’s rather a novel +idea, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“Humph!” said Mirabelle, dryly. “The +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_214' name='page_214'></a>214</span> +whole thing’s novel, isn’t it? But I’m obliged +for your coming up here, Henry. I didn’t suppose +you had enough interest in family matters +to be so nosey, even.”</p> +<p>Later in the week, Henry encountered Mr. +Mix, and repeated his congratulations with such +honeyed emphasis that Mr. Mix began to stammer. +“I appreciate all you say, Henry––but––come +here a minute.” He drew Henry into +a convenient doorway. “I’m sort of afraid, +from the way you act, there’s something in the +back of your mind. I’ve thought, sometimes, +you must have lost sight of the big, broad principles +behind the work I’m doing. I’ve been +afraid you’ve taken my work as if it was directed +personally against <i>you</i>. Not that I’ve +ever heard you <i>say</i> anything like that, but your +manner’s been ... well, anyway, you’re too +big a man for that, Henry. Now about this +new scheme of yours. It’s my feeling that +you’re dodging the law by sliding in the back +door. It’s my official duty to look into it. Only +if we <i>do</i> have to put a stop to it, I want you +to realize that I sympathize with any personal +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_215' name='page_215'></a>215</span> +loss you may have to suffer. Personally, I’m +grieved to have to take this stand against John +Starkweather’s nephew. You understand that, +don’t you?”</p> +<p>Henry nodded assent. “Why, certainly. +Your motives are purer than the thoughts of +childhood. The only thing I <i>don’t</i> understand +is what all this has to do with my congratulating +you?”</p> +<p>“Oh, nothing whatever. Nothing at all. It +was just your manner.”</p> +<p>“Let’s come out in the open, then. How do +you think you <i>could</i> put a stop to it? Because +if you could, why, I’ll save you the trouble.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix hesitated. “You were always an +original young man, Henry. But if it’s my +duty to stop your show, why should I give away +my plans? So you could anticipate ’em?”</p> +<p>“No, I’ve done that already.”</p> +<p>“Now, Henry, that sounds too conceited to be +like <i>you</i>.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, it’s only a fact. But here––I’ll run +through the list for you. Have me pinched under +the ordinance? Can’t be done; the City +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_216' name='page_216'></a>216</span> +Attorney’s said so, and I saw the Chief of Police +was in on it. Get an injunction? You can’t +do that either, because––”</p> +<p>“Why can’t we?”</p> +<p>“Because I’ve got one already.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix’s jaw dropped. “What’s that? +<i>How</i> could you––”</p> +<p>“Oh, I got Bob Standish––just as a citizen +tax-payer––to apply for a temporary injunction +yesterday, to test it out. It’s being argued +this morning. Don’t you want to come over +and hear it? If I lose, I won’t open next Sunday +at all; and if I win, then the League can’t +get an injunction later.... What else can you +do?”</p> +<p>“We may have other cards up our sleeves,” +said Mr. Mix, stiltedly.</p> +<p>“Just the place I’d have looked for ’em,” +said Henry, but his tone was so gentle and inoffensive +that Mr. Mix only stared.</p> +<p>He shook hands with Henry, and hurried over +to the Court House, where he arrived just in +time to hear the grey-haired jurist say, dispassionately: +“Motion denied.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix swabbed his face, and thought in +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_217' name='page_217'></a>217</span> +lurid adjectives. He wouldn’t have dared, in +view of Mirabelle’s opinion, to ask for an injunction +on behalf of the League itself, but it +had occurred to him that he might arrange the +matter privately. He could persuade one +of the old moss-backs that Mirabelle might be +swayed by her relationship to Henry (this +struck him as the height of sardonic humour), +and the moss-back could go into Court as an individual, +to enjoin the Sunday performance as +opposed to public policy. But Henry had outstripped +him; and furthermore, there was no +question of judicial favour. The Judge who +had refused the application was no friend of +Henry, or of Judge Barklay. And Bob Standish’s +attorney, who by a fiction was attacking +Henry’s position, had claimed that the Sunday +show was designed for profit, and that the price +was merely collected in advance. This would +have been precisely Mr. Mix’s thesis. Henry’s +own lawyer had replied that since there was no +advance in the price of tickets during the week, +there was no charge for Sunday. A ticket during +the week included an invitation. To be +sure, one couldn’t get the invitation without the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_218' name='page_218'></a>218</span> +ticket, but where was the ordinance violated? +Would the Court hold, for example, that a grocer +couldn’t invite to a lecture, for charity, on +Sunday, every one who had patronized his shop +during the previous week? Would the Court +hold that an author couldn’t invite to a public +reading on Sunday, every one who had bought +his book on Saturday?</p> +<p>The Court wouldn’t.</p> +<p>And Mr. Mix, who knew Henry’s income to +the nearest dollar, went home and got a pencil, +and covered sheet after sheet with figures.</p> +<p>Presently, he sat back and laughed. Why, +he had had his hysterics for nothing! Henry +couldn’t overcome his handicap unless he +jammed his house to capacity from now until +August. No theatre had even yet accomplished +such a feat. And it wasn’t as though Henry +had a monopoly on this scheme; in another +week, all his competitors would be open Sundays, +too, with strictly moral shows, and no +money taken at the door, and he would have the +same competition as always. And yet, to be +perfectly safe, (for Henry was fast on his feet) +Mr. Mix had better frame his amendment to the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_219' name='page_219'></a>219</span> +ordinance, and set the wheels in motion. With +good luck, he could have Henry blanketed by +April.</p> +<p>That evening, Mirabelle found him more animated +than usual; and more lavish with compliments.</p> +<p>Since he had first seen Henry’s advertisement, +Mr. Mix had been as uncertain of his +prospects as a child with a daisy; he had foreseen +that it was only a part of a very narrow +margin of fortune which would determine +whether he was to be a rich man, poor man, beggar +man––or jilt. Now, however, his confidence +was back in his heart, and when, on Sunday afternoon, +he placed himself inconspicuously in +the window of an ice-cream parlour, squarely +opposite the Orpheum, it was merely to satisfy +his inquisitiveness, and not to feed his doubt.</p> +<p>He had to concede that Henry was clever. +Henry had introduced more fresh ideas into +his business than all his competitors in bulk. +What a customers’-man Henry would have +been, if he had entered Mr. Mix’s brokerage office! +Yes, he was clever, and this present inspiration +of his was really brilliant. Mr. Mix +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_220' name='page_220'></a>220</span> +could see, clearly, just what Henry had devised. +He had devised a rebate: from a book-keeping +standpoint he was cutting his own prices during +the week (for of course the Sunday performance +was costly to him) but he was cutting them +in such a subterranean manner that he wouldn’t +expect to lose by it. Palpably, he thought that +Orpheum stubs would become negotiable, that +they would pass almost as currency, that when +people hesitated between the Orpheum and any +other theatre, they would choose the Orpheum +because of the Sunday feature. But did Henry +imagine that his scheme was copyrighted? Mr. +Mix had to smile. Across the street, there were +fully a hundred people waiting for the doors +to open ... the doors <i>had</i> opened, and the +crowd was filing past the ticket-booth. The +house would be packed solid from now until late +evening. But when <i>next</i> Sunday came, and all +the other houses, relying upon Henry’s triumph +over the City Attorney and the District Court, +stole Henry’s thunder.... It was to laugh. +Week-day business would be spread thin, as always; +people could suit their own choice, and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_221' name='page_221'></a>221</span> +have the same Sunday privilege. And this +would knock all the profit out of it.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix retired, in the blandest of good-humour, +and on Monday he visited the manager +of the largest picture house in town.</p> +<p>“I suppose,” he said, “you’re going to follow +the procession, aren’t you?”</p> +<p>The manager looked at him queerly. “Well––no.”</p> +<p>“Really?”</p> +<p>“No. That bird Devereux put it all over us +like a tent.” He snorted with disgust. “Man +from Standish’s office come round here a while +back and asked for a price for the house for +Sundays up to August. <i>We</i> thought it was for +some forum, or something; and the damn place +was shut down anyway; so we made a lease. +Next twenty Sundays for four hundred and +seventy-five beanos, cash in advance. Then it +turns up that Standish’s office was actin’ for +Devereux.”</p> +<p>The bloom of apoplexy rose to Mr. Mix’s +cheeks. “You mean he––do you know if he +leased more theatres than <i>this</i> one? Did he?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_222' name='page_222'></a>222</span></div> +<p>“<i>Did</i> he! He signed up the whole damn Exhibitors’ +Association. There’s twenty-two +houses in town, and he’s tied up twenty-one +and he owns the other. Far’s I can find out, +it only cost him about six thousand to get an +air-tight monopoly on Sunday shows for the +next six months.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix drew breath from the very bottom +of his lungs. “What can you––do about it?”</p> +<p>“Do? What <i>is</i> there to do? All we can do +is put on an extra feature durin’ the week, to +try and buck him <i>that</i> way––and it won’t pay +to do it. He’s got a cinch. He’s got a graft. +And all the rest of us are in the soup.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix was occupied with mental arithmetic. +“Tell me this––is it going to pay him?”</p> +<p>“Pay him!” echoed the manager scornfully. +“Six thou for twenty weeks is three hundred a +week. Fifty a day. Twelve-fifty a performance. +Twelve-fifty calls for about twenty-five +people. Don’t you think he’ll draw that many +new patrons, when he can give ’em on Sundays +what nobody else can? And everything over +twenty-five’ll be velvet. He’ll clean up two, +three thousand easy and maybe more. What +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_223' name='page_223'></a>223</span> +beats <i>me</i> is why he didn’t get leases for the next +hundred years. <i>We</i> wouldn’t have had the +sense to block him.”</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you why,” said Mr. Mix, choking +down his passion. “Because there’s going to +be a new ordinance. It’ll deal with Sunday entertainments. +And it’s going to prohibit any +such horse-play as this.” He surveyed his +man critically. “Does Henry Devereux belong +to your Association?”</p> +<p>“No, he don’t. And he won’t either. We +don’t want him.”</p> +<p>“Then as long as you people can’t keep open +Sundays anyway,” observed Mr. Mix carelessly, +“maybe you’d find it to your advantage +to support the Mix amendment when it gets up +to the Council. It’ll kill off any such unfair +competition as this.”</p> +<p>The manager shrugged his shoulders. “If +it wasn’t for your damn League we’d <i>all</i> be +makin’ money.”</p> +<p>“I’m sorry we don’t all see this thing in the +same light. But as long as the rest of you <i>are</i> +out of it––”</p> +<p>“Oh, I can see <i>that</i>.... And you and me +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_224' name='page_224'></a>224</span> +both understand a little about politics, I should +imagine.” He grinned wryly. “Never thought +I’d link up with any reform outfit––but why +don’t you mail me a copy of your amendment, +and I’ll see how the boys take it.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix agreed to mail a copy as soon as +the final draft was completed, and he was as +good as his word. On the same evening, he +read the masterpiece to Mirabelle with finished +emphasis.</p> +<p>“It’s perfect,” she said, her eyes snapping. +“It’s perfect! Of course, I wish you’d have +made it cover more ground, but just as a Sunday +law, it’s perfect. When are we going to +offer it to the Council?”</p> +<p>“Mirabelle,” said Mr. Mix, “we’ve got to do +some missionary work first. And before you +can do missionary work, whether it’s for religion +or politics or reform, you’ve got to have +a fund.”</p> +<p>“Fund? Fund? To get an ordinance +passed? Why don’t you walk in and <i>hand</i> it +to ’em?”</p> +<p>He shook his head. “I was in politics a good +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_225' name='page_225'></a>225</span> +many years. We’ve got to get out printed matter, +we’ve got to spend something for advertising, +we’ve got to––approach some of the Councillors +the right way.”</p> +<p>She sat up in horror. “Not––<i>bribe</i> them!”</p> +<p>“Oh, dear, no! You didn’t think <i>that</i> of +me!”</p> +<p>“No, but when you <i>said</i>––”</p> +<p>“I said they had to be ‘approached.’ I didn’t +mean corruption; I meant enlightenment.” +He rubbed his nose reflectively. “But the cost +is approximately the same.”</p> +<p>“Of course, I trust your judgment, Theodore, +but ... how big a fund do you suppose we’ll +want.”</p> +<p>“Oh, I should think five thousand would do +it.”</p> +<p>“Five––! Theodore Mix, <i>how</i> could you +spend five thousand <i>dollars</i> for such a thing? +There isn’t that much in the treasury! There’s +hardly <i>one</i> thousand.”</p> +<p>“My dear, if I were in your place, I’d protect +my ante. I’d––”</p> +<p>“What’s all that gibberish?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_226' name='page_226'></a>226</span></div> +<p>“I said,” he corrected hastily, “we’ve got +too much at stake to risk any failure when a +little money would guarantee success.”</p> +<p>“Would five thousand dollars guarantee it?”</p> +<p>“If I had that much in cash, to spend here +and there as I saw the need of it––take one type +of man out to dinner a few times, where I could +get close to him––loan another type fifty dollars +if he asked me for it (and some of ’em would)––hire +detectives to shadow another type––”</p> +<p>“Detectives!”</p> +<p>“Yes. To check up their habits. Suppose +we found a man gambling on the sly; we’d +hold that over his head and––”</p> +<p>“Humph! I don’t like it much, but in a good +cause it may be justifiable.”</p> +<p>“And leaflets and circulars and one thing and +another.... But if I have to go out and get +permission from a finance committee before I +can let go of a dime, I can’t do <i>any</i>thing. I’d +have to have the money so I could use it exactly +as I needed it. And if I did, I’ll bet I could get +support you never dreamed of. Get outside +people to bring pressure on the Council.” He +gazed at the ceiling. “Why, with a leeway of +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_227' name='page_227'></a>227</span> +five thousand, I’d even have the Exhibitor’s Association +with us. I’d have––”</p> +<p>“Think so?”</p> +<p>“I <i>know</i> so.”</p> +<p>“How?”</p> +<p>“Because long before I was in the League, +I was in politics. When I say I know, I <i>know</i>. +Of course, the Association’s help would only +go to show that they see the light in respect to +their own business––it wouldn’t cover all the +whole scope of the amendment, but even so––”</p> +<p>“Theodore, you know politics and I don’t. +But both of us know the proverb about what +you catch flies with. So we’ll try both methods +together. You can put out the molasses, and +I’ll put out the vinegar; and between us, we +ought to get somewhere.”</p> +<p>“We can’t fail,” said Mr. Mix, sitting on +needles.</p> +<p>Mirabelle went over to her desk, and searched +the pigeon-holes. “I’ve been told, Theodore, +by––people I consider very reliable––that in +August, dear John’s money will be coming to +me.” This was the first time that she had ever +broached the delicate subject. “I always +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_228' name='page_228'></a>228</span> +meant to use some of it for the League.” She +had unearthed her check book, and was +writing words and figures as angular as +herself. “So really,––this is on account.” +She came over to hand him the check, and after +a slight hesitation, she stooped and pecked him +on the forehead, but immediately afterwards +she relapsed into her consistently, non-romantic +character. “You better give me an itemized +account of how you spend it, though, Theodore. +You better give me one every day. +We’ve got to be businesslike, even if we <i>are</i>––engaged.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_229' name='page_229'></a>229</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIII' id='CHAPTER_XIII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIII</h2> +</div> +<p>For two-thirds of a year, Henry Devereux +had lived contrary to his independent +taste, and to his education. He had virtually +cut himself adrift from the people he liked +and the pleasures he loved; his sole luxury had +been his membership in the Citizens Club; and +he had laboured far more diligently and with +far less respite than his uncle had ever intended. +He had overcome great difficulties, of which +the most significant was his own set of social +fetiches, and he had learned his weaknesses +by exercise of his strength. He had made new +friends, and brought the old ones closer to him––and +this by virtue of honest plugging, and determination. +He was unassumingly proud of +himself, and he was prouder yet of Anna; he +knew that the major portion of his accomplishment––and +especially that part of it which had +taken place within himself––was to be put down +to Anna’s credit. But the spring was coming +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_230' name='page_230'></a>230</span> +towards them, and Henry winced to think of +it. Heretofore, the message of spring, in +Henry’s estimation, had been a welcome to new +clothes, golf, horseback parties, and out-of-door +flirtations; this season, it meant to him a falling-off +in the motion-picture business.</p> +<p>The spring was calling to him, but Henry +had to discipline his ears. His working hours +were from eleven in the morning until midnight; +he sat, day after day, in his constricted +office, and glued his mind upon his problems. +The Orpheum was still a sporting proposition +to him, but even in sport, there come periods +in which the last atom of nerve and will-power +are barely sufficient to keep the brain in motion. +Henry’s nerves were fagged, his muscles were +twitching, the inside of his head felt curiously +heavy and red-hot; the spring was calling him, +but he didn’t dare to listen. The spirit of his +Uncle John Starkweather was waiting to see if +he came to the tape with his head down, and +Henry was going to finish on his nerve.</p> +<p>As a matter of fact, he could easily have +spared an hour of two each day for exercise and +recreation, but he wouldn’t believe it. He +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_231' name='page_231'></a>231</span> +wouldn’t yield to Anna when she implored him +to get out of doors, to freshen his mind and +tame his muscles.</p> +<p>The atmosphere of his office almost nauseated +him; the endless parade of petty details +was almost unbearably irksome; the book-keeping +part of it alone was soul-disintegrating; +but to Henry, ambition had become a monomania, +and to it he was ready to make every +conceivable sacrifice, including––if necessary––his +health. There were days when he told himself +that he would pay a thousand dollars +merely to have green turf under his feet, blue +sky above, and no worries in his soul––but he +wouldn’t sacrifice an hour of supervision over +his theatre. There were days when he felt that +he would give up his chance of salvation +if only he could go away with Anna, up into +the wooded country, for a week’s vacation––but +he wouldn’t sacrifice a week from the Orpheum +guardianship. The spring was calling +him––the golf course, the bridle-paths, the lake, +the polo––but Henry had put himself in high +speed forward, and there was no reverse. +Then, too, he was constantly thinking of Anna, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_232' name='page_232'></a>232</span> +who without the daily stimulus that Henry had, +was cheerfully performing the function of a domestic +drudge. One of his most frequently repeated +slogans was that if Anna could stick it +out, he could.</p> +<p>While the winter favoured it, his monopoly +had brought him a splendid return, but the +first warm days had signalled a serious loss of +patronage, and Henry couldn’t successfully +combat the weather. The weather was too glorious; +it called away Henry’s audiences, just as +it tried in vain to inveigle Henry. And then +the monopoly had been double-edged; it had +been a good risk––and without it, he wouldn’t +have had the slightest chance against the requirements––but +it had been <i>too</i> perfect, too +prominent. In the beginning, everybody had +hailed him as a Napoleon because he had vanquished +his little world of competitors; but now +that his laurel was old enough to wilt, he was +receiving the natural back-lash of criticism. +Naturally, his personal friends were still delighted, +the older men at the club were still congratulating +him for foresight and ingenuity, +and Mr. Archer was still complimentary and +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_233' name='page_233'></a>233</span> +confident: but the great mass of theatre-goers, +and the mass of self-appointed arbiters of +business ethics, were pointing to him as a +follower of the gods of grasp and gripe. More +disquieting than that, however, were the indications +of a new crusade, led by Mr. Mix, and +directed against the Council. The Mix amendment, +which was so sweeping that it prohibited +even Sunday shows for charity, would automatically +checkmate Henry; and the worst +of it was that money was being spent with +some effectiveness. Of course, the amendment +wouldn’t ever be adopted <i>in toto</i>––it was too +sweeping, too drastic––but even a compromise +on the subject of Sunday entertainments would +be fatal.</p> +<p>Despite the strain, he was outwardly as blithe +and optimistic as usual. When Anna pleaded +with him to take a vacation, he either laughed +her off in his most jovial manner, or riposted +that she needed a vacation far more than he +did, which may have been true; when Judge +Barklay attempted to reason with him, he responded +with respectful humour. He had seen +victory slip within his grasp, and slip out of it, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_234' name='page_234'></a>234</span> +so often that he was on the verge of complete +demoralization, but he thought that he alone +was aware of it, and because of his pride, Anna +didn’t disillusion him.</p> +<p>Nor did Bob Standish disillusion him. +Standish tried to bolster him up with undergraduate +slang, and to convey to Henry the fact +that all the hill-folk were solidly behind him, +but he knew better than to come out flat with +commiseration. Then, too, Standish was conscious +of a vague cloud which had come up to +blur their relationship. He didn’t suspect for +an instant the true cause of it, which was his +remark, some months ago, that he wouldn’t +employ in his office a friend such as Henry; +but he felt it, and was keenly concerned about +it. Nevertheless, his own unselfish interest +never faltered, and he waited patiently, because +he knew that between himself and Henry there +could be no permanent misunderstanding.</p> +<p>Nor did Mr. Archer, Henry’s firm friend and +ally (insofar as Mr. Archer could separate his +personality into two separate entities, one of +which was ally, and the other was impartial +trustee) disillusion him, although Mr. Archer +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_235' name='page_235'></a>235</span> +had also eyes to see with. On the contrary, Mr. +Archer put out numerous remarks which he intended +as lifebuoys.</p> +<p>“There was a directors’ meeting of the Trust +and Deposit the other day, Henry, and somehow +they got talking about your account. I +shouldn’t wonder––if you ever wanted to +change your business––if they wouldn’t give +you the opportunity; and if they did, it wouldn’t +be so very long before they’d invite you on the +Board.”</p> +<p>Henry disparaged it. “What as––deputy +assistant splinter?”</p> +<p>“You’ve made rather a hit with the older +crowd, Henry. And even if you aren’t a rich +man by inheritance next August, I’m not +worrying about your future.”</p> +<p>“Neither am I. Not while I’ve got Anna to +think up my best thoughts for me.”</p> +<p>The lawyer nodded. “A girl in a thousand, +Henry.”</p> +<p>“That’s the worst insult I ever heard! +The population of the world’s over two billion!”</p> +<p>Mr. Archer laughed, but his eyes showed approval. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_236' name='page_236'></a>236</span> +“It’s simply something for you to +keep in mind, my boy––about the bank. It’s a +possible career, unless you want to go on with +the Orpheum. Of course, you’d have to start +pretty low, at first, but you know as well as I +do that nobody’s asked to come into <i>that</i> bank +unless he’s well thought of.”</p> +<p>Henry didn’t repeat this conversation to Bob +Standish, because he thought it would sound +too much like saying “Yah!” nor did he repeat +it to his wife, because he thought it would +sound too egotistical; but on the same day he +collected another item of news which he unhesitatingly +shared with her.</p> +<p>He said to Anna: “I saw something downtown +that’ll amuse you. Cigar store with a +sign in front: Trading Stamps, Premium +Coupons, and Orpheum Theatre Stubs Bought +and Sold. If <i>that</i> isn’t a footprint on the +sands of time I’m going to get measured for +glasses.”</p> +<p>She laughed a trifle recessively. “I’ll be +glad when it’s all over, though. Won’t you?”</p> +<p>Inspecting her, he realized with a little thrill +of self-accusation, that Anna had worn herself +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_237' name='page_237'></a>237</span> +out; she hadn’t had a day’s freedom from +housework, and she had worked twice as hard +as he thought necessary. She was very tired, +and she showed it; but he knew that when +she wanted the year to be over, she wasn’t +thinking of herself, but of him. He paid her +the compliment of accepting what she said, +without tossing it back as though she had meant +it for herself. “Well, I <i>told</i> you I’d drag in +the bearded lady and the wild man of Borneo, +if I had to. What’s the matter; don’t you like +the show business?”</p> +<p>“Of course, we didn’t exactly go into it for +<i>fun</i>.”</p> +<p>“I seem to remember your calling it a lark, +though.”</p> +<p>“I didn’t know it was going to be quite as +awful as this.”</p> +<p>“Awful?”</p> +<p>“You know what I mean––you’re worn out, +and you look <i>dreadfully</i>––and I <i>didn’t</i> know +we’d have to do so much––” She fumbled for +the word. “What is it when a man stands outside, +and tries to make people come in and look +at the snake-charmer?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_238' name='page_238'></a>238</span></div> +<p>“Ballyhoo. Would you have wanted me to +stay out of it, if you’d known?”</p> +<p>She deliberated. “It’s funny––but I don’t +think I would. In a way, it’s been good for +both of us. I’ll just be glad when it’s +over.... What sort of house did you have?”</p> +<p>Henry put on his best smile. “Not too good. +Fair.”</p> +<p>“If we should fall down, after all we’ve done––oh, +we <i>can’t</i>! Henry, we just <i>can’t</i>!”</p> +<p>“I used to know a poem,” he said, “that kept +asking the question ‘Where are the snows of +yesteryear?’ Well, if I could find out, and +have ’em shovelled back in the street, we’d be +in a good position. But as soon as the snow +melted, so did the big crowds. I’ll never look +a crocus in the face again. They’ve croaked +us out of a couple of hundred a week, gross.”</p> +<p>“If we <i>should</i> fall down, do you know who +I’d be sorry for? The managers of the other +theatres. We’d just have been dogs in the +manger. And every time I think about it, I +don’t feel nearly as smart as I did last January. +Of course, I suppose it was <i>fair</i> enough, but––”</p> +<p>“Fair? Oh, yes. That sort of thing’ll +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_239' name='page_239'></a>239</span> +always be fair––as long as there’s any business. +Queer, though, when you come to think of it. +<i>We</i> hadn’t any grudge against the other +fellows; but they’d have stolen our idea, so we +had to protect it. If they’d stolen our ten +dollar bill, they’d have had to go to jail for it; +but they could have stolen an idea worth ten +<i>thousand</i>, and we’d just have had to stand back, +and gibber. As long as <i>that’s</i> fair, then <i>we</i> +were fair.”</p> +<p>“I wonder,” she said, “if all monopolists go +through the same thing––first, they get such a +wonderful scheme that they hardly dare to go +to bed for fear they’ll talk in their sleep: +then they’re crazy for fear it won’t work; then +it <i>does</i> work, and they think they’re the Lord’s +anointed; and bye-and-bye they look around +and feel––sort of apologetic.”</p> +<p>“Oh. Do <i>you</i> feel apologetic?”</p> +<p>“I’m looking around, anyway.”</p> +<p>“You’d better save your energy. Mix’s +amendment’s coming up pretty soon, and even +if it doesn’t pass, I don’t see how we’re going +to compete with this weather. It’s so abominably +beautiful that it’s––sickening.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_240' name='page_240'></a>240</span></div> +<p>“Oh––Mix!” she said, scornfully. “It gives +me the creeps just to hear his name! He’s a +nasty hypocrite, and a sneak, and a––How long +do you suppose he’ll be hurrying around with +that pious air after he gets his money? Why, +he won’t even stay in the League!”</p> +<p>Henry grimaced. “You’re wrong. If he +gets his money, he <i>will</i> stay in the League, and +I’ll bet on it.”</p> +<p>There was a short silence. “Henry,” she +burst out, “everything considered, I believe he +wants your uncle’s money more than we do!”</p> +<p>“Whichever one of us gets it,––” said Henry +grimly, “––He’ll <i>earn</i> it!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>When he recalled his previous years of +irresponsibility, he was staggered to realize +how little a fifty dollar bill had meant to him. +It had meant a casual request across the breakfast +table; now, it meant that seventy-five or +a hundred people were willing to pay him a +few cents apiece for the result of his headaches; +and the absence of those people, and the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_241' name='page_241'></a>241</span> +failure of those receipts, meant the difference +between achievement and bitter downfall.</p> +<p>He had risked everything on his monopoly, +and added six thousand dollars to his quota. +For two months, he had carried the double load, +and beaten his schedule; in early May, he was +falling behind at the rate of fifty dollars a +week. With twelve weeks ahead, he faced a +deficit of a paltry six hundred dollars––and +the Mix amendment was peeping over the +horizon.</p> +<p>He shaved down his expenses to the uttermost +penny; he ruthlessly discarded the last +fraction of his class pride, and in emergency, +to save the cost of a substitute, acted in place +of his own doorman. He rearranged the +lighting of the auditorium to save half a dollar +a day. When the regular pianist was ill, he +permitted Anna, for an entire fortnight, to +play in his stead; and during that fortnight +they ate three meals a day in a quick-lunch +restaurant. There was no economy so trivial +that he wouldn’t embrace it; and yet his receipts +hung steadily, maddeningly, just below +the important average. Meanwhile, the subject +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_242' name='page_242'></a>242</span> +of reform crept out again to the front page +of the morning papers.</p> +<p>For nine months, Mr. Mix and Henry had +occupied, mentally, the end seats on a see-saw, +and as Henry’s mood went down, Mr. Mix’s +mood went up. By strict fidelity to his own +affairs, Mr. Mix had kept himself in the public +eye as a reformer of the best and broadest type, +and he had done this by winning first Mirabelle, +and then the rest of the League, to his theory +that organization must come before attack. +Needless to say, he had found many impediments +in the way of organization; Mirabelle +had often betrayed impatience, but Mr. Mix had +been able, so far, to hold her in check. He had +realized very clearly, however, that Mirabelle +wasn’t to be put off indefinitely; and he had +been glad that he had a readymade ruse which +he could employ as a blinder whenever she +began to fidget. This ruse was his amendment; +and although he could no longer see any +value in it for the purposes of his private feud, +yet he was passing it for two reasons; Mirabelle +was one, and the public was the other. +Even a reformer must occasionally justify his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_243' name='page_243'></a>243</span> +title; and besides, it wasn’t the sort of thing +which could injure the majesty of his reputation.</p> +<p>On this, then, Mr. Mix had laboured with unceasing +diligence, and he had spent Mirabelle’s +money so craftily that thirty five hundred +dollars had done the work of five thousand (and +the balance had gone into his own pocket, and +thence into a disastrous speculation in cotton), +but as the year came into June, he told himself +cheerfully that amendment or no amendment, +he was justified in buying Mirabelle a wedding-ring. +And when a belated epidemic of influenza +rode into town, on the wings of an untimely +spell of weather, and the Health Department +closed all theatres for five days, Mr. Mix +told himself, further, that the end of his career +as a reformer was in sight, and that the beginning +of his career of statecraft was just over +the hill. Once the minister had said “Amen,” +and once his bride had made him her treasurer, +and helped him into the Mayor’s chair, the Reform +League was at liberty to go to the devil.</p> +<p>Mirabelle had persisted in keeping the +wedding-journey a surprise from him. She +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_244' name='page_244'></a>244</span> +had hinted at a trip which would dazzle him, +and also at a wedding gift which would stun +him by its magnificence; Mr. Mix had visions +on the one hand, of Narragansett, Alaska or the +Canadian Rockies, and on the other hand, of a +double fistful of government bonds. Mr. Mix +didn’t dare to tease her about the gift, but he +did dare to tease her about the journey, and +eventually she relented.</p> +<p>“I’ll tell you,” said Mirabelle, archly. +“We’re going to the convention.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix looked blank. “Convention?”</p> +<p>She nodded proudly. “The national convention +of reform clubs, in Chicago. Aren’t +you surprised?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix swallowed, and made himself smile, +but it was a hazardous undertaking. “Surprised? +I––I’m––I’m knocked endways!”</p> +<p>“You see,” she said, “we’ll be married on +the fourth and be in Chicago on the sixth and be +home again on the fourteenth and the Council +won’t vote on the amendment until the sixteenth. +Could anything have been nicer? +Now, Theodore, you <i>had</i>n’t guessed it, had +you?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_245' name='page_245'></a>245</span></div> +<p>“Guessed it?” he stammered. “I should +say not. I don’t see how you ever thought of +it. It’s––why, I’m paralyzed!”</p> +<p>“You could be a little more enthusiastic without +hurting yourself any,” she said suspiciously.</p> +<p>“I was thinking. I used to fancy I was +pretty good at making plans myself, but this +beats <i>me</i>. The way those dates all dovetail like +the tiles on a roof. I never heard of anything +like it. Only––well, if you <i>will</i> be so quick at +reading my mind, I was wondering if we ought +to leave town before the Council meets.”</p> +<p>“That’s mighty unselfish of you, Theodore, +but you said only a couple of days ago you’d +done all you could. And the Exhibitors’ll still +be working––”</p> +<p>“I don’t believe they’ll work any too hard. +It’s taken too long to get under way. If the +amendment passes, you see they’ll only have +the advantage of six weeks of fair competition. +I mean, Henry’d lose only six weeks of his <i>un</i>fair +competition. And then we’ve got to see +about getting new quarters for the League, +when our Masonic Hall lease runs out, and––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_246' name='page_246'></a>246</span></div> +<p>“But our advertising’ll be running just the +same, and the League’ll still have its public +meetings, and all. And everywhere I go I hear +the same thing; the people really want this +passed. And <i>any</i>body can find us a new hall. +I’ll appoint somebody. No, you’re just as unselfish +as you can be, but we’ll be back in time. +Truly, Theodore, didn’t you guess?”</p> +<p>Much of the jauntiness had gone out of Mr. +Mix, but he consoled himself with the certainty +that in another two months, he would be in a +position to become masterful. The week in +Chicago would bore him excessively, but after +all, it was only a small part of a lifetime. He +reflected that to any prisoner, the last few days +before release, and freedom, are probably the +hardest.</p> +<p>“How could I, my dear?”</p> +<p>“No, you must have thought I’d want you +to traipse off on some perfectly aimless, nonsensical +trip like a pair of sentimental idiots.”</p> +<p>“Oh, you know me better than that,” he murmured.</p> +<p>“Yes, but I didn’t know how well you knew +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_247' name='page_247'></a>247</span> +<i>me</i>. Sometimes I’ve been afraid you think I’m +too––gushing.”</p> +<p>“Oh, Mirabelle!”</p> +<p>“Just because I chatter along to you as any +innocent young girl might––”</p> +<p>She continued to chatter for some minutes, +but Mr. Mix was absent-minded. He had +chewed the cud of his own virtue for too long a +time, and it had given him a sour stomach. He +was thinking that if her gift to him were in +money (and from her hints he rather expected +it) he might even manage to find, in +Chicago, a type of unascetic diversion which +would remove the taste of the convention from +his spirit. But it was better to be safe than +sorry, and therefore Mr. Mix decided to make +a flying trip to New York, for his bachelor celebration.</p> +<p>To Mirabelle he said that he was going to +confer with his friend, the head of the Watch-and-Ward +Society. Mirabelle promptly volunteered +to go along too, but Mr. Mix told her, as +delicately as he could, that it wouldn’t look +proper, and Mirabelle, who worshipped propriety +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_248' name='page_248'></a>248</span> +as all gods in one, withdrew the suggestion.</p> +<p>“But before you go,” she said, “You’ve <i>got</i> +to do something about the state-wide campaign. +You’ve got to write the literature, anyway.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix felt that he was protected by the +calendar, and promised.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>Before he went to New York, he wrote three +pamphlets which were marvels of circumlocution, +as far as reform was concerned, and +masterpieces of political writing, as far as his +own interests were concerned. He had +borrowed freely, and without credit, from the +speeches of every orator from Everett to +Choate, and when he delivered the manuscripts +to Mirabelle, and went off on his solitary +junket, he was convinced that he had helped +his own personal cause, and satisfied the +League, without risking the smallest part of his +reputation.</p> +<p>On his return, he stopped first at the Citizens +Club, and when he came into the great living-room +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_249' name='page_249'></a>249</span> +he was aware that several members +looked up at him and smiled. Over in a +corner, Henry Devereux and Judge Barklay +had been conversing in undertones; but they, +too, had glanced up, and their smiles were +among the broadest.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix had an uncomfortable intuition that +something had blown. Could he have been +spotted, in New York, by any one from home?</p> +<p>“What’s the joke?” he inquired of the +nearest member.</p> +<p>“Got a new name for you––Pitchfork Mix.” +Mr. Mix spread a thin smile over his lips. +“Supposed to be funny, is it?”</p> +<p>“Some folks think so.”</p> +<p>“Where’d it originate? Let me in on the +joke.”</p> +<p>“Where <i>would</i> it originate? You’re some +strenuous author––aren’t you? Didn’t know +you had that much acid in your system.”</p> +<p>“Author? Author?”</p> +<p>From the table at his side, the man picked up +three pamphlets. One was entitled The Model +Statute, the second was Local Problems, and +the third was Reform and Regeneration. To +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_250' name='page_250'></a>250</span> +each of the three, Mr. Mix’s name was signed. +He took them up, and scrutinized them closely.</p> +<p>“Why, what’s so remarkable about these?”</p> +<p>“Well, that one on Local Problems isn’t so +bad, but you know, Mix, when you come out in +print and tell us that sooner or later you’re +going to stop the manufacture and sale of playing-cards, +and––”</p> +<p>“What?”</p> +<p>“And stop all public dancing, and––”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix looked moonstruck. “Who ever +said <i>that</i>?”</p> +<p>“And hand us out sumptuary laws––regulate +the length of women’s skirts and––”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix caught his breath sharply. +“Where’s <i>that</i>? Where is it? Show it to me! +Show it to me!”</p> +<p>Obligingly, the member showed him; and as +Mr. Mix stared at the pages, one by one, the +veins in his cheeks grew purple. Mirabelle +had edited his manuscript,––thank Heaven she +hadn’t tampered with the Mix amendment of +the blue-law ordinance, which Mr. Mix had so +carefully phrased to checkmate Henry, without +at the same time seeming to do more than provide +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_251' name='page_251'></a>251</span> +conservative Sunday regulation,––but in +the other articles Mirabelle had shovelled in a +wealth of her own precious thoughts, clad in her +own bleak style, and as soon as he had read two +consecutive paragraphs, Mr. Mix knew that the +worst wasn’t yet to come––it had arrived.</p> +<p>The other man was amusedly calm. “Well, +you’re not going to deny you wrote it, are you? +Too bad, in a way, though. Oh, I don’t blame +you for getting it off your chest, if you really +mean it––a man might as well come out in the +open––but I’m afraid too many people’ll think +it just funny.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix produced a smile which was a sickly +attempt to register nonchalant poise. “What +do you hear about it?”</p> +<p>“Oh, what I said. Say Mix, do you honestly +mean all that blood-and-thunder?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix smiled again, and hoped that his expression +was taken to be non-committal. To +save his life, he couldn’t have helped looking +towards the corner where Henry and Judge +Barklay sat, and his fury and chagrin were +multiplied when he saw that they were still affected +by humour.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_252' name='page_252'></a>252</span></div> +<p>He went out, with vast dignity––even the +doorman had a twinkle in his eye––and made +for Masonic Hall. Mirabelle was there, in the +committee room, and at sight of him, she had a +temporary fit of maidenly diffidence. He +wanted to slap her; but he didn’t even dare to +use a tone of voice which was more than disapproving.</p> +<p>“Those pamphlets––” he began, censoriously.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, Theodore, I took the liberty of +making a few slight changes.”</p> +<p>“Slight changes! Sleight of <i>hand</i> changes!”</p> +<p>Mirabelle drew herself up. “Do you mean +to say you criticise what I did? <i>I</i> couldn’t see +the sense of being milk-and-watery, even if <i>you</i> +could. All I put in was what you’ve said to +me a hundred times over. We’ve wasted too +much time already. I thought we’d better +show our true colours.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix stood and gaped at her. Underground +politician that he was, he knew that +Mirabelle had utterly destroyed the half of his +ambition. She had made him a laughing-stock, +a buffoon, a political joke. To think that his +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_253' name='page_253'></a>253</span> +name was connected with a crusade against +short-skirts and dancing––Ugh! Not even the +average run of church-goers would swallow it. +“Mayor!” he thought bitterly. “President of +Council! I couldn’t get elected second deputy +assistant dog-catcher!”</p> +<p>Aloud, he said slowly: “I’m afraid it was +premature, that’s all.”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, it wasn’t! You’ve no <i>idea</i> how +people are talking about it.”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes, I have,” said Mr. Mix, but he +hadn’t the temerity to put a sarcastic stress on +it. He was wondering whether, if he issued a +statement to assure the public that what was +in those pamphlets was pure idealism, and not +to be taken as his outline of any immediate +campaign, he could remove at least the outer +layer of the bad impression, and save his +amendment from the wreck. He had thought, +earlier, that he wouldn’t need that amendment +as a personal weapon against Henry, but the +value of it had appreciated by the possibility of +losing it. As to the state-wide law, Mr. Mix +was totally unconcerned. “Oh, yes, I have,” +he said.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_254' name='page_254'></a>254</span></div> +<p>“Don’t get too conceited, though, Theodore. +The <i>best</i> part of it was mine.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix’s eagle eye saw a loophole. “You +don’t think I’m going to take praise for what +belongs to <i>you</i>, do you?” he demanded.</p> +<p>“Why––”</p> +<p>“No, sir!” said Mr. Mix. “Not exactly. +I’m going to tell the truth about it at our next +meeting, and I’m going to send a statement to +the <i>Herald</i>.”</p> +<p>“Oh, it doesn’t matter.”</p> +<p>“It matters to me. Maybe I’m too finicky, +but that’s the kind of man I am.”</p> +<p>“You’re too generous,” she murmured.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix wiped away a stray bead of perspiration, +and breathed more freely. With Mirabelle’s +money to back him, and the stigma of +those two pamphlets removed, perhaps he had +a fighting chance for the mayoralty yet.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>It was a house-wedding, with very few guests, +no decorations, and perfectly digestible refreshments. +When the last of the party had +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_255' name='page_255'></a>255</span> +gone down the steps, Mirabelle, in a travelling-suit +which was new in comparison with the rest +of her wardrobe, approached the bridegroom.</p> +<p>“Theodore, I want you to have your gift before +we start. I don’t want you to feel too dependent +on me. Maybe after next month I’ll +make some kind of a settlement on you, but +that’s neither here nor there. So ... take it, +and I hope it’s what you wanted.”</p> +<p>He took it, and his fingers trembled. A +check? And for what generous amount?</p> +<p>“<i>Well</i>––aren’t you going to thank me?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix tried to speak, but the lump in his +throat prevented him. She had given him what +was the legal equivalent of five thousand +dollars, but it wasn’t in the form of a check. +It was his own demand note, payable to John +Starkweather and endorsed by him to Mirabelle. +The word “Cancelled” was written, in +Mirabelle’s angular hand, across the face of it.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_256' name='page_256'></a>256</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XIV' id='CHAPTER_XIV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XIV</h2> +</div> +<p>As Henry and his wife went down the steps, +they exchanged glances and smiled +faintly. “First time I’ve been in that house +for seven months,” said Henry, half to himself. +“It’s a bully old shack, too. I lived in it ever +since I was six.”</p> +<p>“Still, we’re pretty comfortable right where +we are, dear.”</p> +<p>Henry lagged a little. “That <i>does</i> hurt my +feelings. Of course, I’m so busy I could live +in a dog-kennel and hardly notice it, but when +<i>you</i> have to camp day in and day out in that +measly little joint, and smell everybody else’s +corned beef and cabbage, and dig like a general-housework +girl and cook, and manicure the +stove, and peel the potatoes and dust off the +what-not and so on––not that you haven’t made +it a mighty pretty place, because you <i>have</i>––without +one day’s vacation since last +August––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_257' name='page_257'></a>257</span></div> +<p>“But I’ve told you so often, dear, I’m <i>glad</i> +to do it if it helps you.”</p> +<p>“It helped a lot. If you hadn’t done it in +the first place, I wouldn’t have had the cash on +hand to tie up the rest of the picture houses. +But that time’s gone by. I don’t see why in +thunder you won’t hire some servants. And at +least you could pike up into the country for a +week. Why don’t you?”</p> +<p>She hesitated, for temptation was strong, and +she was really very tired. “Maybe it’s just +because I want to play the game out, too. It’s +only two months more.”</p> +<p>“And after that,” he said firmly, “we’re +going to move. I’ll have enough to buy a +young bungle-house up on the hill, even if I +don’t get anything from Archer. And then +I’m going to make up to you for this year––see +if I don’t.”</p> +<p>“Would you sell the Orpheum?”</p> +<p>“Sell it!” he echoed. “I’d sell it so quick +you’d think it was a fake oil-well! I could, +too. Bob Standish sends me a proposition +from somebody about once a week.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_258' name='page_258'></a>258</span></div> +<p>“Don’t you believe there’s any chance of our +catching up, then?”</p> +<p>“Looks pretty black,” he admitted. +“They’ve got us eight down and nine to go, but +if this amendment holds off we’ve still got +eight weeks left to think up some wild scheme.”</p> +<p>She squeezed his arm. “I’m not afraid of +the future, no matter what happens. We can +take care of ourselves.”</p> +<p>“Sure we can,” he said, easily. “Maybe I +could get a job keeping the books for the +League!... Seriously, though, I’ve had two +or three different propositions put up to me +over at the Club ... but Lord! how I hate +to be licked! Well––let’s train our gigantic +intellects on the job, and finish out the heat, +anyway.”</p> +<p>She went back to her hated housekeeping, and +Henry went back to his hated theater, and for +another week they labored and pinched and +saved, each in a specific purpose, and each in +desperate support of the other’s loyalty and +sacrifice.</p> +<p>He brought her, then, the morning edition of +the <i>Herald</i>, and pointed out a telegraphic item +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_259' name='page_259'></a>259</span> +on the first page. “They must think it’s a sure +thing,” he said, “and the devil of it is that I +guess they’re pretty nearly right.”</p> +<p>Anna glanced at the headlines, and gasped. +“Mix elected second vice-president of the +national organization––and pledges twenty-five +thousand dollars to the national campaign +fund! Oh!... I <i>wish</i> I could say what I +think!”</p> +<p>“If a hearty oath would relieve you, don’t +mind me,” said Henry. His chin was squarer +than usual, and his eyes were harder. “You +can see what happened, can’t you? Aunt Mirabelle +railroaded him through––and the pompous +old fool looks the part––and she let him promise +money she expects to get in August. And I’ll +bet it hurt him just as much to promise it as it +does me to have him!”</p> +<p>She threw the paper to the floor. “Henry, +can’t we do <i>some</i>thing? We’re only a few +hundred dollars short! Can’t we make up +just <i>that</i> little bit?”</p> +<p>“It’s a thousand, now,” he said. “A +thousand, and we’re falling further behind +every time the clock ticks.” He retrieved the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_260' name='page_260'></a>260</span> +<i>Herald</i>, and abstractedly smoothed out the +pages. “That was a great spread-eagle speech +of Mix’s wasn’t it? Talking about his model +ordinance, and what he’s going to do next +year!... Nothing I’d love better than to give +that fellow a dose of his own tonic. But that’s +the deuce of it––I can’t think how to put it +over.... Even if I’m licked, I wouldn’t feel +so badly if I just had the personal satisfaction +of making him look like a sick cat. Just once.”</p> +<p>“Yes,” she said, sorrowfully. “Dad’s +prophecy didn’t seem to work out, did it?”</p> +<p>“What prophecy was that?”</p> +<p>“Don’t you remember? He said if Mr. Mix +only had enough rope––”</p> +<p>“Oh, yes. Only Mix declined the invitation. +He’s handled himself pretty well; you’ve got +to grant that. There’s a lot of people around +here that honestly think he’s a first-class +citizen. Sometimes I’m darned if I don’t think +they <i>will</i> elect him something. And then God +save the Commonwealth! But if they ever +realized how far that League’ll go if it ever gets +under way, and what a bunch of hocum Mix’s +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_261' name='page_261'></a>261</span> +part of it is––” He stopped abruptly, and +froze in his place; and then, to Anna’s amazement, +he turned to her with a whoop which +could have carried half-way to the Orpheum.</p> +<p>“Henry! What on earth <i>is</i> it?”</p> +<p>Henry snatched up his hat and made for the +door. “More rope!” he said, exultantly, over +his shoulder. “<i>Lots</i> more rope––I’ll tell you +tonight!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>He arrived at the City Hall before the record +room was open, and he fretted and stamped in +the corridor until a youthful clerk with spats, +pimples, and an imitation diamond scarf-pin +condescended to listen to his wants. In twenty +minutes he was away again, and he was lucky +enough to catch Judge Barklay before the +bailiff had opened court.</p> +<p>“Hello, Henry,” said the Judge. “Did you +want to see me about anything?”</p> +<p>“Rather!” said Henry, who was slightly out +of breath. “It’s about a comma.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_262' name='page_262'></a>262</span></div> +<p>“A what?”</p> +<p>“A comma. Where’s your copy of the +ordinances?”</p> +<p>“On my desk. Why?”</p> +<p>Henry ran through the volume to the proper +place, inserted his thumb as a marker, and held +the book in reserve. “Judge, do you suppose +the voters want any of these fool blue-laws +passed?”</p> +<p>“No.”</p> +<p>“Well, who does, then, outside of the +League?”</p> +<p>“Nobody. All we want is a decent city.”</p> +<p>“It’s simply that the League’s got the Council +more or less buffaloed, isn’t it?”</p> +<p>“That’s what I’ve heard, Henry.”</p> +<p>“And the first thing we know, the League’ll +have put in such a big wedge that it’ll be too +late to get it out. If this amendment gets over, +Mix’ll have a show in the fall, and then the +League’ll run wild. Just as they said in those +pamphlets that Mix published, and then +squirmed out of. Isn’t that so?”</p> +<p>“Very likely. Very likely.”</p> +<p>“And yet everybody’s afraid to stand up +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_263' name='page_263'></a>263</span> +against it, for fear they’ll be called names?”</p> +<p>“It looks so, Henry.”</p> +<p>“But if the people once started a back fire––”</p> +<p>The Judge shook his head. “Mobs don’t +start without a leader.”</p> +<p>“I know, but if they ever realized what a +ghastly farce it would be––not even using any +of the League’s <i>new</i> notions, but taking what +we’ve got on the books right now––” He +opened the volume of ordinances, and read +slowly: “‘Whosoever shall fail in the strict +observance of the Lord’s Day by any unseemly +act, speech or carriage; or whosoever shall engage +in any manner of diversion––’” Here +he paused impressively. “‘––or profane occupation––’” +He slung the volume on the +desk, and faced the Judge. “Don’t you get +it?”</p> +<p>“I’m afraid I don’t––quite.”</p> +<p>“Why,” said Henry, with a beatific grin. +“Why, <i>there’s a comma after that word ‘diversion.’</i> +I’ve just come from the City Hall. I’ve +seen the original copy. There <i>is</i> a comma. +‘Any manner of diversion’––that’s one thing: +‘<i>or</i> any manner of profane occupation for +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_264' name='page_264'></a>264</span> +profit––’ that’s something else again, and different +entirely. And the Reform League has +been shrieking to have that ordinance enforced––to +say nothing of the amendment. Well, why +not enforce it once. ‘Any manner of diversion?’” +He began to laugh, helplessly. “Oh, +come on, Judge––take the pins out and let your +imagination down. <i>Any</i> manner of––”</p> +<p>The Judge was whistling softly. “By +George, Henry––”</p> +<p>“Can’t you <i>see</i> it working? I’m not sure +anybody could even take a nap! And––”</p> +<p>The Judge stepped past him. “That’s all +right, Henry. Stay where you are. I’m just +going to telephone Rowland.... Hello: Mayor’s +office, please––” He motioned to his +son-in-law. “Make yourself comfortable––I +shouldn’t wonder a bit if these blue-laws +weren’t going to get just a little bit––bleached.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>On his delirious way to the Orpheum, he +stopped in to see Bob Standish, not to share the +joke with him, for Judge Barklay had laid great +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_265' name='page_265'></a>265</span> +stress on the closest secrecy, but in answer to +a recent message asking him to call.</p> +<p>“What’s the excitement, Bob?”</p> +<p>His friend regarded him with the innocent +stare which had made his fortune. “Remember +I spoke to you some time ago about renting +that space over the Orpheum?”</p> +<p>“The nursery? Yes.”</p> +<p>“Well, it’s come up again. Different party, +this time. Of course he hasn’t seen it yet, but +it’s a chap who wants about that much space––might +want to enlarge it a little, but we’d arrange +that; he’d do it at his own expense––and +he’d pay fifteen hundred a year.”</p> +<p>Henry deliberated. “It’s so near the finish.... +I don’t much care one way or the +other. Who’s the party?”</p> +<p>“Bird named McClellan.”</p> +<p>“I don’t know him; do I?”</p> +<p>“I don’t know why you should; never met +him before, myself. Well, do you want to +trade?”</p> +<p>“I don’t much care what I do.”</p> +<p>Standish surveyed him closely. “You’re +very peppy this morning, seems to me.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_266' name='page_266'></a>266</span></div> +<p>“I’ve got an excuse to be.”</p> +<p>“For publication?”</p> +<p>“Not yet. You’ll see it soon enough.”</p> +<p>Standish’s eyes dropped back to his desk. +“Well, let’s get this lease question off our +chests. If you’ll let me handle it for you, I’ll +guarantee you’ll be satisfied.”</p> +<p>“Would you do it if you were in my shoes?”</p> +<p>“Absolutely––provided you were in mine.”</p> +<p>Henry laughed. “Well, Mr. Bones, what <i>is</i> +the answer?”</p> +<p>“Why––this <i>may</i> do you some good. That is, +if you let me manage it for you. But suppose +it’s immaterial. Suppose you run out your +string, and win or lose, you know what’s on the +docket for you, don’t you? If you want it?”</p> +<p>“I haven’t thought that far ahead. I’ve had +one or two things put up to me.”</p> +<p>“Forget ’em.” Standish pointed at the wall. +“Nice new mahogany flat-topped desk right +there.”</p> +<p>Henry’s mouth relaxed. “Why––<i>Bob</i>.”</p> +<p>As Standish gazed at him, no observer would +have said that this immature-looking boy was +rated in the highest group of local businessmen. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_267' name='page_267'></a>267</span> +To a stranger, the offer might have +seemed insignificant, even humorously insignificant; +but to Henry it was stupendous, and +for two widely varying reasons.</p> +<p>“Just to think over,” said Standish. “In +case.”</p> +<p>Henry’s fists were doubled. “It isn’t so +much the ... the commercial side of it, Bob, +but when I know you’ve always had me down +for such an <i>incompetent</i> sort of––”</p> +<p>“That was before the war. To tell the truth, +old rubbish, last August I couldn’t have seen it +with the Lick telescope. Thought you were a +great scout, of course––good pal––all that––but +<i>business</i>; that’s different. A friend’s one +thing; but a partner’s a lot of ’em.”</p> +<p>Henry was staring fixedly at him. “I +wouldn’t have any money to speak of––”</p> +<p>“Then don’t speak of it. <i>I</i>’ll name the price. +The price is your year’s profit on the Orpheum.”</p> +<p>There was a little silence. “When did you +get this hunch, Bob?”</p> +<p>“Oh, about last February.”</p> +<p>“But it was about then that I came in here +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_268' name='page_268'></a>268</span> +one day, and––and you said you––you said one +pal <i>couldn’t</i> boss another. You said––”</p> +<p>“Oh!... But as I recall it, you were talking +about a job.”</p> +<p>“Yes, and you said you wouldn’t give me +one! And ever since then I’ve been––”</p> +<p>“Idiot!” said Standish. “Is that what’s +been gnawing at his tender heart! Why, you +astigmatic fool––why.... Stop right there! +Certainly I wouldn’t have you for an employé, +but as a partner––that’s different. If you +apologize, I’ll slay you. Shake hands and +wipe it off your brain.... Now let’s get back +to business. We’ve got to have quick action.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_269' name='page_269'></a>269</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XV' id='CHAPTER_XV'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XV</h2> +</div> +<p>As the train slowed for the station, and a +score of other passengers began to assemble +wraps and luggage, Mr. Theodore Mix +sat calm and undisturbed, although inwardly +he was still raging at Mirabelle for making a +spectacle of him. It was fully half an hour ago +that she had prodded him into activity, ignored +his plea of greater experience in ways of travel, +and compelled him to get the suitcases out to +the platform (she didn’t trust the porter), to +help her on with her cape, and to be in instant +readiness for departure. For half an hour she +had sat bolt upright on the edge of her seat, +an umbrella in one hand and an antique satchel +in the other, and her air was a public proclamation +that no railroad, soulless corporation +though it might be, was going to carry her one +inch beyond her destination.</p> +<p>By a superhuman effort, Mr. Mix removed +his eyes from Mirabelle’s convention badge. It +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_270' name='page_270'></a>270</span> +was a chaste decoration of three metal bars, two +sets of supporting chains, and a half foot of +blue silk ribbon, with white lettering, and Mirabelle +continued to wear it for two reasons: she +was proud of it, and Mr. Mix had made his initial +attempt to be masterful, and told her twenty-four +hours ago that it looked as though she +belonged to the Third Ward Chowder Club. +Since then, she had reproached him afresh +whenever she caught him looking at it. And +inasmuch as it could hardly be avoided by anyone +who cast the briefest glance in her general +direction, he had been in hot water from Chicago +to the present moment. He couldn’t even +escape to the smoking room.</p> +<p>When a man is telling himself that a woman +has made a fool of him in public, and that every +one in the neighborhood is amused to watch +him, he finds it peculiarly difficult to carry on a +conversation with the woman. But Mr. Mix +saw that Mirabelle was about to converse, and +glowering at a drummer across the aisle, he +beat her to it.</p> +<p>“Seems to me the League had an almighty +gall to wire you for that three thousand dollars, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_271' name='page_271'></a>271</span> +Mirabelle. If it had been <i>my</i> money, I’d +have hung on to it until I knew what they +wanted it for.”</p> +<p>She straightened her lips. “Well, it wasn’t, +was it?––So I didn’t, did I?... If I can’t +have faith in my own associates, who <i>can</i> I +have it in? And it isn’t a gift; it’s a loan. +Treasurer said he needed it right off, and there +wasn’t anybody else to get it from in a hurry.” +She caught his eyes wandering towards her +gorgeous insignia, and her own eyes snapped +back at him. “And I hope at least I’m to have +the privilege of doing what I choose with my +own money. Don’t forget that women are +<i>people</i>, now, just as much as men are. After +the first of August, maybe I’ll––”</p> +<p>“Mirabelle. Sh-h!”</p> +<p>“No, I won’t either,” she retorted. “I don’t +<i>care</i> to shush. After the first of August, maybe +you’ll have your share, and I won’t presume +to interfere with <i>you</i>. So don’t you interfere +with <i>me</i>. If the League had to have money, it +was for some proper purpose. And it wasn’t +a gift; it was a loan. And if I couldn’t +trust––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_272' name='page_272'></a>272</span></div> +<p>“Oh, give it a drink!” said Mr. Mix, under +his breath; and while he maintained an attitude +of courteous attention, he barricaded his +ears as best he could, and shut Mirabelle out of +his consciousness.</p> +<p>Even in Chicago, he had received bulletins +from the seat of war; they had merely confirmed +his previous knowledge that Henry was +beaten, thoroughly and irretrievably. A few +more weeks, and Mirabelle would be rich. Half +a million? That was the minimum. Three +quarters? That was more likely. A million +dollars? It wasn’t in the least improbable. +And Mirabelle had told him more than once, and +in plain English, that she planned to divide +with him––not equally, but equitably. She had +said that she would give him a third of her +own inheritance. Hm ... a hundred and +fifty to three hundred thousand, say. And what +couldn’t he do with such a benefice? Of course, +he would have to profess some slight interest in +the League for awhile, but gradually he could +slide out of it––and he hoped that he could engineer +Mirabelle out of it. Mirabelle made herself +too conspicuous. But even if Mirabelle +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_273' name='page_273'></a>273</span> +stuck to her colours, Mr. Mix needn’t hesitate +to drift away––that is, after he had received his +settlement. Late in August, he would make a +trip to New York on business––reform business––and +in the glare of the flaming-arcs, he would +compensate himself for his years of penance. +Mirabelle was sharp, but (he smiled reminiscently) +in Chicago he had once managed to +hoodwink her; and what man has done, man +can do.</p> +<p>“It’s nothing to laugh at, Theodore!”</p> +<p>He came to himself with a start. “I wasn’t +laughing.”</p> +<p>“Did you hear what I said?”</p> +<p>“Yes, dear. Certainly.”</p> +<p>“Very well. We’ll go out, then.”</p> +<p>“Out where?”</p> +<p>“Out to the vestibule, just as I said.”</p> +<p>“But Mirabelle! We’re more than a mile +from the station!”</p> +<p>“We’re going out to the vestibule, Theodore. +I don’t propose to get left.”</p> +<p>A moment ago, Mr. Mix had been arguing +that the smiles and sympathy of his fellow-passengers +were cheap at the price, but when he +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_274' name='page_274'></a>274</span> +rose and escorted Mirabelle down the aisle, he +was telling himself that the old-fashioned principle +was best––the wife’s property ought to +pass under the absolute control of the husband. +He was strengthened in this conviction by the +fact that two fashionable young men in the corner +were snickering at him.</p> +<p>“Home again,” said Mirabelle, with a sigh of +relief. “Home again, and time to get to work. +And I’m just itching for it.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix said nothing: he was wondering how +soon he could get to his private caché, and +whether he had better put in a supply of young +onions in addition to cloves and coffee beans. +He hadn’t yet discovered whether Mirabelle +had a particularly keen scent: but he would take +no chances.</p> +<p>“Stop staring at those girls, Theodore!”</p> +<p>“I may be married,” said Mr. Mix, defensively. +“But I’m dashed if I’m blind.... Immodest +little hussies. We’ll have to tackle +that question next, Mirabelle.”</p> +<p>The train eased to a standstill: he helped her +down to the platform. The big car was waiting +for them: and as the door slammed, Mr. Mix +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_275' name='page_275'></a>275</span> +sat back luxuriously, and beamed at the chauffeur. +Yes, virtue had its compensations; and +as soon as he had money to his own credit, he +would figuratively take Mirabelle by the scruff +of the neck, and he would tell her just exactly +how to behave, and he would see that she did +it. But for the present––soft diplomacy.</p> +<p>Mirabelle clamped his arm. “Why, what’s +that policeman stopping us for, right in the +middle of a block!”</p> +<p>“Search <i>me</i>....” He opened the door, and +he leaned out, imperially. “What’s wrong, officer? +We weren’t going over twelve or thirteen––”</p> +<p>The policeman, who had brought out a thick +book of blank summonses, and an indelible pencil, +motioned him to desist. “What name?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix swelled, pompously. “But, officer, +I––”</p> +<p>“Cut it out. Name?”</p> +<p>“Theodore Mix. But––”</p> +<p>“Address?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix gave it, but before he could add a +postscript, Mirabelle was on active duty. “Officer, +we’ve got a perfect right to know what all +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_276' name='page_276'></a>276</span> +this fol-de-rol is about. I’m the president of the +Ethical Reform League.” She flirted her badge +at him. “I’m Mrs. Theodore Mix––used to be +Miss Starkweather. My husband is a personal +friend of Mayor Rowland, and the Chief of +Police. I demand to know the reason for +this insult!”</p> +<p>The policeman tore off a page at the perforation, +and handed it to Mr. Mix. “Judge Barklay’s +Court, Tuesday, 10 A.M.... Why, +you’re violatin’ City Ordinance 147.”</p> +<p>Mirabelle turned red. “Now you see here, +young man, I know that ordinance backwards +and forwards! I––”</p> +<p>“Try it sideways,” said the unabashed policeman. +“Ordinance says nobody can’t engage +in no diversion on the Lord’s Day. That’s +today, and this here limousine’s a diversion, +ain’t it?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix cried out in anguish, as her grip +tightened. “Ouch! It’s a damned outrage! +Leggo my arm.”</p> +<p>“No, it isn’t! Oh, Theodore, don’t you see +what it <i>means</i>––”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_277' name='page_277'></a>277</span></div> +<p>“Leggo, Mirabelle! It’s a damned outrage!”</p> +<p>“No, it isn’t either! Theodore, don’t you +<i>see</i>? The Mayor’s weakened––they probably +read your speech at Chicago––they aren’t <i>waiting</i> +for the amendment! They’re enforcing the +ordinance––better than we ever dreamed of! +And that means that you’re going to the City +Hall next autumn!” She leaned out and bowed +to the gaping officer. “We beg your pardon. +You did perfectly right. Thank you for doing +your duty. Can we go on, now?”</p> +<p>The man scratched his head, perplexedly.</p> +<p>“What are you tryin’ to do––kid me? Sure; +go ahead. Show that summons to anybody else +that stops you.”</p> +<p>In the two miles to the hill, they were stopped +seven times, and when they arrived at the +house, Mirabelle was almost hysterical with +triumph. Without delaying to remove her +hat, she sent a telegram to the national president, +and she also telephoned to a few of her +League cronies, to bid them to a supper in celebration. +Mr. Mix made three separate essays +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_278' name='page_278'></a>278</span> +to escape, but after the third and last trial was +made to appear in its proper light as a subterfuge, +he lapsed into heavy infestivity; and he +spent the evening drinking weak lemonade, and +trying to pretend that it belonged to the Collins +family. And while his wife (still wearing +her insignia) and his guests were talking in a +steady stream, Mr. Mix was telling himself that +if Ordinance 147 was going to prevent so innocent +an occupation as riding in a car on Sunday, +he was very much afraid that life in this +community was going to be too rich for his +blood. That is, unless he were elected to be +chief of the community. And in this case, he +would see that he wasn’t personally inconvenienced.</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>At half past seven in the morning, Mirabelle +was already at the breakfast table, and semi-audibly +rating Mr. Mix for his slothfulness, +when he came in with an odd knitting of his forehead +and an unsteady compression of his mouth. +To add to the effect, he placed his feet with studied +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_279' name='page_279'></a>279</span> +clumsiness, and as he gave the <i>Herald</i> into +Mirabelle’s hands, he uttered a sound which +annoyed her.</p> +<p>“For the cat’s sake, Theodore, what are you +groaning about?”</p> +<p>“Groan yourself,” said Mr. Mix, and put a +trembling finger on the headline. As he removed +the finger, it automatically ceased to +tremble. Mr. Mix didn’t care two cents for +what was in the <i>Herald</i>, but he knew that +to Mirabelle it would be a tragedy, and that he +was cast for the part of chief mourner.</p> +<p>“Well, what’s <i>that</i> to groan about? I’d call +it a smashing victory––just as I did last night. +And <i>our</i> being caught only shows––”</p> +<p>“Rave on,” said Mr. Mix lugubriously, and +stood with his hands in his pockets, jingling his +keys.</p> +<p>“Certainly! It shows they meant business. +It shows <i>we</i> did. We’ll take our own medicine. +And the amendment––” She broke off +sharply; her eyes had strayed back to the +smaller type. “Good grief!” said Mirabelle, +faintly, and there was silence.</p> +<p>Mr. Mix came to look over her shoulder.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_280' name='page_280'></a>280</span></div> +<p class='center'>LEADING REFORMERS ARRESTED<br /> +FOR VIOLATING OWN PET LAW<br /> +<br /> +<i>Police Issue Over 2800 Summonses to Golfers, Pick-<br /> +nickers, Canoeists, Cyclists, Hikers and Motorists</i><br /> +including Mr. and Mrs. Theodore Mix<br /> +<br /> +MAYOR PUTS OVER UNIQUE REFERENDUM<br /> +TO SEE WHAT PEOPLE REALLY WANT<br /> +<br /> +<i>Special Meeting of Council Called This Morning</i><br /> +<br /> +Entire City Roused to Fight Blue-Law-Campaign:<br /> +Mix Amendment Doomed: Ordinance 147 Sure to be<br /> +Modified</p> +<p>Mirabelle collected herself. “What are you +standing around gawking like that for? Find +out what time that meeting is. Telephone +every member of the committee. They won’t +have any meeting without <i>us</i>, not by a long, long +row of apple-trees!”</p> +<p>“Save your strength,” said Mr. Mix, with a +spiritual yawn.</p> +<p>“Save my strength! Well, what about saving +my five thousand dollars for––for missionary +work!”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_281' name='page_281'></a>281</span></div> +<p>“The missionary fund,” said Mr. Mix, +“seems to have fallen among cannibals. Save +your energy, my dear. This isn’t reform; it’s +elementary politics, and Rowland’s used the +steam-roller. As a matter of fact, we’re +stronger than we were before. If they’d passed +my amendment, a lot of voters might have said +it wouldn’t do any good to elect me Mayor; +when all my best work was done beforehand. +Now I’ve got a <i>real</i> platform to fight on. And +the League’ll have a real fund, won’t it? You +put up forty or fifty thousand, and we’ll stage +a Waterloo.”</p> +<p>“And you can stand there and––oh, you +coward!”</p> +<p>He shook his head, with new dignity. “No, +you’re simply lucky Rowland didn’t think of +it a year ago. If he <i>had</i>, and––” Mr. Mix +broke off the sentence, and turned pale.</p> +<p>“What’s the matter, Theodore?”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix slumped down as though hit from behind. +“Mirabelle––listen––” His voice was +strained, and hoarse. “I may have to have +some money today––four or five thousand––”</p> +<p>“I haven’t got it.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_282' name='page_282'></a>282</span></div> +<p>He stared at her until she backed away in +awe. “You––you haven’t <i>got</i>––four or five +<i>thousand</i>––?”</p> +<p>Mirabelle began to whimper. “I’ve been so +sure of––of August, you know––I’ve spent all +Mr. Archer sent me. I––”</p> +<p>As he stepped forward, Mirabelle retreated. +“You’ve got something of your own, though?” +It wasn’t an ordinary question, it was an agonized +appeal.</p> +<p>“Only a separate trust fund John set up for +me before he died––fifty thousand dollars––I +just get the interest––sixty dollars a week.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix sat down hard, and his breathing +was laboured. “Great––Jumping––Jehosophat!” +He wet his lips, repeatedly. “Mirabelle––listen––if +they modify that ordinance––so +Sunday shows are legal again––those other +fellows’ll want to buy back––their contracts––from +Henry. There’s only a few weeks––but if +Henry only raised a thousand dollars––he’d be +so close to his ten thousand––” He reached +for a glass of water and drank it, gulping. +“Henry’ll see <i>that</i>––he’s got his eyes open +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_283' name='page_283'></a>283</span> +every minute.... We’ve got to cut inside of +him. Prevent those fellows from buying their +Sunday leases back. Get hold of the man that’s +the boss of the Exhibitors’ Association. Tell +him we’ll buy a <i>second</i> option to lease the whole +string of theatres for six weeks, subject to our +getting a release from Henry. As if the +League wanted ’em or something. Offer a big +enough rent so they’ll <i>have</i> to accept––so they’d +get more out of <i>us</i> than if they opened up. +Then they <i>can’t</i> buy back from Henry––and +he’s over a thousand short. I <i>know</i> he is. And +if you don’t do it––” His gesture was dramatic.</p> +<p>Mirabelle’s expression, as she wiped her eyes, +was a pot-pourri of sentiments. “Humph! +Can’t say I like the idea much, kind of too +tricky.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix played his last card. “Don’t the +ends justify the means? You and I’d be philanthropists, +and <i>Henry</i>––” He watched her +quiver. “And with a fund such as <i>we’d</i> have, +we’d begin all over again, and next time we’d +win, wouldn’t we?”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_284' name='page_284'></a>284</span></div> +<p>“Theodore. I’ve got fifty one hundred in the +bank. It has to last ’till August. If you took +five thousand <i>more</i>––”</p> +<p>He snatched at the straw. “You bet I’ll take +it. It’s for <i>insurance</i>. And you telephone to +Masonic Hall and see what’s left of the three +grand you wired ’em from––”</p> +<p>“The what?”</p> +<p>“The money you sent from Chicago. Get +what’s left. Soon as I find out, I’ll hustle down +town and get busy.”</p> +<p>Mirabelle wavered. “The Council’s going +to––”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix gave her a look which was a throwback +to his cave-man ancestry. “To <i>hell</i> with +the Council!”</p> +<p>For an instant, her whole being rebelled, and +then she saw his eyes. “A-all right,” she faltered. +“I––I’ll telephone!”</p> +<p>Inside of five minutes, she told him that of +her loan, there was nothing left at all. The +money had been wanted for the two-year rental +of a new hall, at 300 Chestnut Street; the owner +had made a marked concession in price for advance +payment.</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_285' name='page_285'></a>285</span></div> +<p>“Never mind, then,” he rasped. “That’s +cold turkey. Give me a check for every nickel +you’ve got.... And I’ll want the car all day. +I want a cup of coffee. And you wait right +here until I get word to you what to do next.”</p> +<p>“Couldn’t I even––”</p> +<p>“You stay here! Far’s <i>I</i> know, I’ll have you +making the rounds of the hock-shops to cash in +your jewelry. But––” He relaxed slightly. +“But when it’s for reform, my dear––when it’s +for civilization––the League––isn’t it worth <i>any</i> +sacrifice?”</p> +<p>A spark of the old fire burned in her eyes. +“Humph! Good thing <i>one</i> of us has <i>got</i> something +to sacrifice, if anybody asked me. But +here’s your coffee.... Don’t make such a +horrid noise with it, Theodore.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>At noon, he telephoned her two pieces of +news. The Council, fairly swamped with hundreds +of outraged voters, had promptly modified +the existing ordinance, and rejected––unanimously––the +Mix amendment. And Mr. +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_286' name='page_286'></a>286</span> +Mix, who had spent three hours in conference, +and in battle, had emerged victorious.</p> +<p>“Thank Heaven, we’re safe!... And it +only costs thirty-nine hundred. (Five of this +was Mr. Mix’s self-granted commission.) I’ve +bought a second option on every last house in +town. And I’ll need the car all afternoon. +I’ve got to run all over everywhere and close +these deals.... What are you going to do?”</p> +<p>“Why,” she said with a rueful glance at her +check-book. “I guess I’ll go down and see how +soon I can get that loan back. I’m not used to––putting +off tradesmen’s bills, Theodore. I +wasn’t brought up to it.”</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_287' name='page_287'></a>287</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVI' id='CHAPTER_XVI'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVI</h2> +</div> +<p>Now after prolonged debate, and a trial of +irresistible force (which was Henry’s +logic) against an immovable body (which was +Anna’s loyalty), she had finally consented to +run up into the country for a week’s respite +from the hot weather. Before she left, however, +she was first sworn to secrecy, and told +of the discovery of the lurking comma, and of +the plan for a militant referendum; she was +properly convulsed, but a little later, when her +practical instincts had had a chance to assert +themselves, she inquired of Henry where there +was any benefit to the Orpheum.</p> +<p>“Not a bit,” he assured her cheerfully.</p> +<p>“Not even in the Council––”</p> +<p>“Dearest, it doesn’t make the difference of +the billionth part of a counterfeit Russian +rouble.”</p> +<p>She regarded him curiously. “Are you as +cheerful as all that just because you’re getting +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_288' name='page_288'></a>288</span> +back at Mr. Mix? And maybe spoiling his boom +for Mayor?”</p> +<p>Henry said that he was all as cheerful as +that; yea, more so. He was merely snagging +the rope which had already been paid out; and +it was glory in his pocket, because so many +people before him had found the rope twitched +out of their hands. She thought that this indication +of a vengeful spirit was out of place in +his character, but she forgave it, because at +least it was founded on humour. And when +he took her to the train, she forgave it on +another score, because she realized that not +since last autumn had she seen him so fundamentally +boyish and irresponsible. She was +glad that so much of his spontaneity had come +back to him, but at the same time she was +puzzled, for it didn’t seem altogether like +Henry, as she had analyzed him, to gloat so +thoroughly over mere retaliation, humourous +or not.</p> +<p>On Monday, he met her at the station, and as +soon as she saw him, she remarked again the +extraordinary uplift of his mood. She had read +the <i>Herald</i>, and taken deep enjoyment from +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_289' name='page_289'></a>289</span> +it; but Henry had a hundred unpublished incidents +to tell her,––one of them concerned his +own escape from possible complications by closing +the Orpheum, issuing passes good for the +following week; and spending the day in the +library of the Citizens Club––and in her amusement, +and also in her happiness to be back with +him, she didn’t notice that Henry was driving +her to the Orpheum instead of to their apartment.</p> +<p>“Why, what are we stopping here for, dear?”</p> +<p>Henry’s laugh had a pronounced overtone. +“To meet Mr. Archer. I thought you’d like +to be in on it.”</p> +<p>“In on what?” She caught his arm. +“Henry! Has something happened? Has it?” +She stared at him, and as she recognized what +might be hidden behind his expression of exquisite, +unreserved joy, she was almost as +frightened as if he had looked despairing instead +of joyful.</p> +<p>“It wasn’t settled until last week,” he said, +still with that wide, speculative smile, like a +baby’s. “It <i>really</i> wasn’t settled until Saturday. +And it won’t be <i>positively</i> settled until +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_290' name='page_290'></a>290</span> +we’ve seen Archer.... And there he is waiting +for us! I couldn’t get him before––he was +in the country for the week-end.”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>With no clear recollection of how she got +there, she was sitting in Henry’s tiny office, +and Mr. Archer was sitting beside her, and +Henry was standing at his desk, pawing over +a heap of ledgers and cash-books. To Anna, +there was something commanding in his attitude, +something more of crest than she had ever +seen in him, even during the early period of +his intrepid youth. And yet she could see, too, +that his hands were a trifle unsteady, and that +his lips betrayed an immense excitement.</p> +<p>“Mr. Archer,” he said. “There’s no use +waiting until the first of the year. Either +we’ve made good by this time, or we never will. +Here’s the books. They’ll show a net profit, +including Saturday’s deposit, of ten thousand +five hundred.”</p> +<p>Anna turned weak and faint, and she wanted +to laugh and cry in the same breath, but she +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_291' name='page_291'></a>291</span> +gripped the arms of her chair, and clung fast +to what was left of her poise. If Henry had +a miracle to report, Anna must hear it.</p> +<p>“It’s a matter of interpretation,” he went +on, with his voice shaking for an instant. +“And you’re the interpreter. It came up so +suddenly last week that I couldn’t get hold of +you. But I took a chance, anyway.... Does +a lease count?”</p> +<p>The lawyer looked very sober. “A lease?”</p> +<p>“Yes. If I leased part of the theatre to +somebody, would the income from that count?”</p> +<p>During the resultant silence, Anna distinctly +heard her own heart beating. She looked at +Mr. Archer, and saw that his brows were drawn +down, and that his eyes were distant. Fearfully, +she hung on his reply.</p> +<p>“That’s a delicate question, Henry. You +were supposed to make your profit from the +operation of the theatre.”</p> +<p>Henry was tense. “I don’t mean if I leased +the <i>theatre</i>. I mean if I leased some <i>part</i> of it––some +part that wouldn’t interfere with the +show.”</p> +<p>Anna closed her eyes. Mr. Archer’s brows +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_292' name='page_292'></a>292</span> +had risen to normal. “Why, in that case, I +should certainly say that the income would +count, Henry. Let’s see the lease?”</p> +<p>Anna wished that Henry would come over to +her, and hold her in his arms while Mr. Archer, +with maddening deliberation, glanced through +the long typewritten document––but Henry had +turned his back, and was gazing out of the +window.</p> +<p>“Peter McClellan? What’s <i>he</i> want so much +space for?”</p> +<p>Henry made no response. There was a long +hiatus, broken only by the rustling of the pages.</p> +<p>“Just a minute, Henry. Some of this is all +right––and some isn’t. The space you mention +is what you’re using now for the––er––nursery, +I take it. And the privilege of the lessee to +enlarge the upper story at his own expense is +all right.” His brows had gone down again, +and Anna shivered. “But even if you’ve got +your whole rental in advance, you aren’t +entitled to claim all of it belongs to this year’s +income. As a matter of fact, you actually <i>earn</i> +a twenty-fourth of that whole payment every +month for twenty-four months.”</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_293' name='page_293'></a>293</span></div> +<p>Henry spoke over his shoulder. “You +haven’t read far enough.”</p> +<p>“Oh!” Mr. Archer laughed, but his voice was +no lighter. “Why, how on earth did you +persuade anybody to execute such an agreement +as that?”</p> +<p>Henry faced around. “Bob Standish +engineered it. Told this chap as long as he +paid in advance anyway, to get a bargain, it +wouldn’t make any difference to <i>him</i>, and it +made a lot to me. Nine hundred and fifty a +month for July and August and fifty a month +for the next twenty-two months.”</p> +<p>“But my dear boy, you still don’t <i>earn</i> more +than a twenty-fourth of the whole rental each +month. That’s ordinary book-keeping. I +should have thought you’d have learned it. It +makes no difference <i>when</i> the lessee pays. All +you can credit yourself in July and August +is––”</p> +<p>“Oh, no, Mr. Archer. There’s a consideration. +You’ll find it on the next page. I’m to +keep the theatre closed every afternoon in July +and August so the lessee can make his alterations +to the second story. And the extra price +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_294' name='page_294'></a>294</span> +for those months is to pay me for loss of +revenue. So it <i>does</i> count on this year’s income. +Maybe I’m no impresario, but by gosh, +I can keep a set of books.”</p> +<p>Mr. Archer nodded briskly. “That <i>is</i> different. +Why, Henry, as far as I can see ... +what’s this? 300 Chestnut Street? But the +Orpheum’s on Main.”</p> +<p>“300 Chestnut is the back entrance,” said +Henry. He smiled across at Anna, and she +stood up and came a perilous step towards +him. “Well, old lady,” said Henry, and the +same wide, foolish smile of utter joy was on +his lips. “I guess this fixes it. I––”</p> +<p>He was rudely interrupted by the violent +opening of the door. His Aunt Mirabelle +stood there, dynamic, and behind her, in a +great fluster of dismay and apprehension, +stood the chairman of the Quarters Committee +of the Reform League.</p> +<p>“Henry! Henry Devereux! You––you +swindler!” Her speech was seriously impeded +by her wrath. “You––you––you.” She flung +a savage gesture towards the little man in the +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_295' name='page_295'></a>295</span> +background. “You had an agent show him––show +Mr. McClellan––this place through the +back door!––<i>He</i> didn’t know I––Henry Devereux, +you’ve got <i>my</i> three thousand dollars, and +you’re going to give it straight back to me! +This minute! Do you <i>hear</i>?”</p> +<p>Anna stared at her, and at Henry, and sat +down plump and cried into her handkerchief, +from sheer hysterical reaction.</p> +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Henry. “Through the back +door, if you say so. But that’s the regular +business entrance. I suppose the agent thought +it looked better, too.”</p> +<p>“The agent! That Standish man! You <i>conspired</i>. +You––”</p> +<p>Henry’s chin went up. “Excuse me, Aunt +Mirabelle, but I didn’t know the first thing +about it until Bob Standish told me he had a +client ready to close, and to pay in advance. +I didn’t even know your man by sight. I’d +have rented it to anybody on earth on the same +terms.”</p> +<p>The little chairman edged forward. “Miss +Starkweather––Mrs. Mix––I knew how you feel +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_296' name='page_296'></a>296</span> +about motion pictures, of course, but how could +<i>I</i> know you wouldn’t even want to be in the +same building with––”</p> +<p>“Oh, dry up!” She whirled on the lawyer. +“Is that fair? Do you call that fair? <i>Do</i> +you?”</p> +<p>Mr. Archer put his hand on Henry’s shoulder, +and nodded benignly. “To tell the truth, Mrs. +Mix, I can’t see where this concerns you personally +at all. It’s a straightforward commercial +transaction between Henry and Mr. McClellan.”</p> +<p>“It isn’t, either! Mr. McClellan had authority +from the League to get us a hall and sign +a lease in his own name. I had the directors +give it to him, myself. And it was <i>my</i> money +that paid for it! Mine!”</p> +<p>Henry grinned at the lawyer. “I didn’t +know it until last Saturday. Bob told me if I’d +make a dirt-low rent I could get it in advance, +and up to Saturday I didn’t even know who +I was dickering with.”</p> +<p>His aunt was menacing. “Henry Devereux, +if you try to cheat me out of my rightful property +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_297' name='page_297'></a>297</span> +by any such flim-flam as this, I ... I +... I don’t know <i>what</i> I’ll do!”</p> +<p>“Oh, don’t, Aunt Mirabelle,” said Henry +compassionately. “You know I won’t be a +hog about it.”</p> +<p>Some of the fury went out of her expression, +and Mirabelle was on the verge of sniffling. +“That’s just exactly it. I <i>know</i> you won’t. +And the humiliation of it to <i>me</i>. When you +know perfectly well if <i>I</i>’d––”</p> +<p>She stopped there, with her mouth wide open. +They all waited, courteously, for her to speak, +but Mirabelle was speechless. She was thinking +partly of the past, and partly of the future, +but chiefly of the present––the hideous, unnecessary +present in which Mr. Mix was motoring +serenely about the city, paying out good money +to theatre managers. Mirabelle’s money, not +to be replaced. And then––she nearly collapsed!––the +unspeakable humiliation of retracting +her pledge to the national convention. +Her pledge through Mr. Mix of twenty-five +thousand dollars. How could she ever offer an +excuse that would hold water? And how could +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_298' name='page_298'></a>298</span> +she tell the truth? And to think of Mr. Mix’s +place in the community when it was shown––as +inevitably it would be shown––that he had acted +merely as a toy balloon, inflated by Mirabelle’s +vain expectations.</p> +<p>“Humph!” she said at length, and her voice +was a hoarse, thin whisper. “Well––you just +wait––’till I get hold of him!”</p> +<hr class='tb' /> +<p>The door had closed behind her: the door +had been closed behind Mr. Archer, whose +kindly congratulations had been the more affecting +because he had learned to love and respect +the boy who had won them: Henry and +his wife stood gazing into each other’s eyes. +He took a step forward and held out his arms, +and she ran to him, and held tightly to him, +and sobbed a little for a postscript.</p> +<p>He stroked her hair, gently. “Well––Archer +says it’s going to be about seven hundred thousand. +And I deserve about thirty cents. And +you’re responsible for all the rest of it.... +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_299' name='page_299'></a>299</span> +What do you want first? Those golden pheasants, +or humming-birds’ wings?”</p> +<p>She lifted her face. “Both––b-<i>because I +won’t have to cook ’em</i>. Oh, my dear, my dear, +I’ve l-loved it, I’ve loved it, I’ve loved working +and saving and being poor with you and everything––b-but +look at my h-hands, Henry, and +<i>don’t</i> laugh at me––but I’m going to have a +cook! I’m going to have a cook! I’m going to +have a cook!”</p> +<p>He kissed her hands.</p> +<p>“It’s all over, isn’t it? All over, and <i>we</i>’re +doing the shouting. No more wild men of +Borneo, no more dishes to wash, no more Orpheum. +Remember what Aunt Mirabelle said +a year ago? She was dead right. Look! See +the writing on the wall, baby?”</p> +<p>He swung her towards the door! she brushed +away her tears, and beheld the writing. It was +in large red letters, and what it said was very +brief and very appropriate. It said: EXIT.</p> +<hr class='toprule' /> +<div class='chsp'> +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_300' name='page_300'></a>300</span> +<a name='CHAPTER_XVII' id='CHAPTER_XVII'></a> +<h2>CHAPTER XVII</h2> +</div> +<p>In the living-room of an unfashionable house +on an unfashionable street, Mrs. Theodore +Mix sat in stately importance at her desk, composing +a vitriolic message to the unsympathetic +world. As her husband entered, she glanced up +at him with chronic disapproval; she was on +the point of giving voice to it, not for any specific +reason but on general principles, but Mr. +Mix had learned something from experience, +so his get-away was almost simultaneous with +his entrance.</p> +<p>“Mail!” said Mr. Mix, and on the wing, he +dropped it on his wife’s desk, and went on out +of the room.</p> +<p>The mail consisted of one letter; it contained +the check which Henry sent her regularly, on +the first of each month.</p> +<p>She sat back for a moment, and stared out +at the unfashionable street. Mr. Mix was always +urging her to live in a better neighbourhood, +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_301' name='page_301'></a>301</span> +but with only her own two hundred and +fifty a month, and four hundred more from +Henry, she could hardly afford it,––certainly +not while she gave so generously to the Reform +League.</p> +<p>She thought of the big brick house on the +hill and sighed profoundly. She would have +made it a national shrine, and Henry––Henry +was even worse than his uncle. He kept it full +of people who were satisfied to squander the +precious stuff of life by enjoying themselves. +It made her sick, simply to think of Henry. +People said he and Bob Standish were the two +cleverest men that ever lived in town. Doubled +the Starkweather business in two years. Directors +of banks. Directors of the Associated +Charities and trustees of the City Hospital. +Humph! As if she didn’t know Henry’s capabilities. +Just flippancy and monkey-tricks. +And married to a girl who was a walking advertisement +of exactly what every right-minded +woman should revolt against. <i>That</i> girl to be +the mother of children! Oh Lord, oh Lord, if +Anna were a modern specimen, what would the +<i>next</i> generation be?</p> +<div><span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_302' name='page_302'></a>302</span></div> +<p>She sighed again, and went back to the lecture +she was composing. “The Influence of +Dress on Modern Society.” Suddenly, she +cocked her head and sniffed. She rose cautiously, +as one who is about to trail suspicion. +She went to the side-window, and peered out. +From a little grape-arbor on the lawn, there +floated to her the unmistakable odour of tobacco––yes, +and she could see a curling wisp +of smoke.</p> +<p>“<i>Theodore!</i>”</p> +<p>A pause. “Yes, dear.” Mr. Mix’s voice +had taken on, some months ago, a permanent +quality of langour; and never, since the day +that he was laughed out of politics, had he regained +his former dignity and impressiveness.</p> +<p>“Is that <i>you</i>––smoking again?”</p> +<p>“Why––”</p> +<p>“<i>Are</i> you? Answer me.”</p> +<p>“Why––yes, dear––I––”</p> +<p>“Come in here this minute.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix emerged from the arbor. “Yes, +dear?”</p> +<p>She brandished her forefinger at him. “I +<i>told</i> you what would happen next time I caught +<span class='pagenum pncolor'><a id='page_303' name='page_303'></a>303</span> +you. Not one single cent do you get out of <i>me</i> +for many a long day, young man.... Come +in here; I want you to listen to what I’ve written.”</p> +<p>Mr. Mix’s shoulders sagged, but he didn’t +stop to argue. “Yes, dear,” he said, pacifically. +“I’m coming.”</p> +<p style='text-align:center;margin-top:1.5em;margin-bottom:1em'>THE END</p> + +<!-- generated by ppg.rb version: ppg0801 --> +<!-- timestamp: Sat Aug 01 21:47:56 -0400 2009 --> + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Rope, by Holworthy Hall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ROPE *** + +***** This file should be named 29570-h.htm or 29570-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/5/7/29570/ + +Produced by Roger Frank and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at https://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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