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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/35038-8.txt b/35038-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..25b8914 --- /dev/null +++ b/35038-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,6894 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Carleton Case, by Ellery H. Clark + +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: The Carleton Case + +Author: Ellery H. Clark + +Illustrator: George Brehm + +Release Date: January 22, 2011 [EBook #35038] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARLETON CASE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + The + Carleton Case + + _By_ ELLERY H. CLARK + + Author of "Loaded Dice," Etc. + + ILLUSTRATED BY + GEORGE BREHM + + A. L. BURT COMPANY + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + + + COPYRIGHT 1910 + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + + + +[Illustration: "The girl who knelt upon the grass."--Page 29] + + + + + _To My Friends_ + MR. AND MRS. H. DENTON WHITE + + + + +THE CARLETON CASE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +DOCTOR HELMAR VISITS THE BIRCHES + + "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright." + _Psalm xxxvii._ + + +In Doctor Morrison's breakfast-room the curtains were drawn back, and +the windows stood wide open, letting in a flood of warm June sunshine, +and filling the whole room with the fragrance of the soft June air. Even +into the streets of the city, restricted and shut in, something of the +freshness and beauty of the summer morning had managed to make their +way, and to Franz Helmar, seated alone at the breakfast table, listening +to the chatter of the sparrows and the cooing of the pigeons on the +roofs outside, there came suddenly a sense of irritation at the +monotony of dingy sidewalk and dusty street, of house after house of +brick varied only by house after house of stone. + +Irresistibly, there crept over him the whimsical fancy that he would +like to see the whole vast city at one stroke fade and vanish completely +before his eyes, and in its place behold once more hill and valley, +river and plain; all the wide and boundless freedom of the country; the +splendid, sunlit glory of out-of-doors. + +Suddenly, across the current of his musing, there sounded once again the +sharp, insistent ringing of the telephone, scattering all his day-dreams +into flight, and for the moment he paused, his coffee-cup suspended in +mid air, the better to listen to the doctor's voice in the hall outside. + +"Yes, this is Doctor Morrison," he heard in the doctor's sharp, alert, +yet not unpleasant tones, his "professional" voice, and then, pitched +in a lower key, far more intimate and cordial, he heard at broken +intervals, "Ah, yes, good morning--I'm sorry to hear that--No, I'm +afraid I can't myself; not this morning, anyway--No, but I can send my +colleague, Doctor Helmar--Oh, perfectly, no doubt of that; this is the +day of young men, you know--All right--Eight-fifteen, South--All right; +good-by," and then the click of the receiver, and the doctor himself +reëntered the room. + +Doctor Morrison was a slender, wiry, middle-aged little man, with a +quick, nervous manner, and a face pleasantly keen and inquisitive, +clean-shaven, save for a little sandy mustache, and with hair--what was +left of it--of the same color. Professionally, he ranked among the first +half-dozen practitioners in the city. He was an autocrat in demanding +obedience from his patients, and a very martinet in insisting that his +rules should be obeyed, while he himself, in private life, with the most +delightful inconsistency, contrived successfully to break them all. +Cocktails he absolutely forbade--and drank them with infinite relish. +Tobacco he denounced as one of the curses of modern life--and peacefully +smoked cigarettes innumerable. Eight hours sleep he declared to be +a necessity--and himself sat up until all hours of the night and +morning. In him you met a doctor stern and awe-inspiring--terrifying, +even--until you came to know him, and then, shorn of his "professional" +voice and manner, you came suddenly upon a man, gentle-hearted, humane +and kind. + +Seating himself, he glanced up at Helmar, talking jerkily over his eggs +and toast, in his absence now grown somewhat discouraged looking and +cold. + +"A job for you, Franz," he said, "Edward Carleton--the man who owns that +big place out at Eversley--Oaks? Beeches? What is the name? Some kind of +tree. Birches. That's it. Birches. Funny name to give a place, anyway. +Well, the old man's laid up with a cold. That was his brother who +telephoned. Henry Carleton, you know, the bank man. He wanted me to +come out at once, and I told him I couldn't, but that I'd send you +instead.--Train leaves South Station at eight-fifteen. So you've plenty +of time. I'll look after Colonel Wentworth myself, and drop in to see +Mrs. Brooks. Nothing else, is there?" + +Helmar shook his head. "No, that's all," he answered, "and I'm mighty +glad to trade. For one thing, I was just thinking how the country would +look to-day, and for another, I'd like to meet old Mr. Carleton. I knew +Jack Carleton very well when we were in college--as well as I knew +anyone, really. So I should enjoy meeting his father." + +Doctor Morrison paused a moment. He was rather a well-advised man on +social affairs. "_Jack_ Carleton," he repeated, "some trouble there +somewhere, isn't there? Isn't he the one who doesn't live at home?" + +"Yes," Helmar assented, "he's the one. The trouble's all between him +and Henry, I believe. Uncle and nephew--it's a queer combination for a +family row. But I guess it's a case where the old gentleman's on the +best of terms with both of them, and hardly feels like taking sides. And +so, since Henry Carleton and Jack can't get along together, why, it's +Henry that's rather got the inside track. He always did live at The +Birches, you know, even before his wife died. And then there's his +little girl--I understand that Edward Carleton is most devoted to her, +and for the matter of that, that Jack is too. And she's awfully fond of +him, and of the old gentleman. Likes them fully as much as she does her +father, from what I hear. But it's Jack and his uncle that can't agree. +Never could, I guess. Maybe Jack's a bit more jealous than he ought to +be. Anyway, it was all right while he was in college--he wasn't home a +great deal then--but after he graduated, I understand things began to +get a little raw, so he quit and branched out for himself." + +Doctor Morrison nodded. "Yes," he said, "I see. I thought I recalled +something of the sort," and after a little pause, he added, "I suppose, +as you intimate, it isn't very hard to guess where the trouble lies, +either. I'm afraid, Helmar, there's something rather rattle-brained +about your friend. An attractive looking fellow enough, though, as I +remember him, but I'm afraid without much of his uncle's ability, or, +for that matter, of his character, either." + +Helmar looked thoughtful. "Well," he began doubtfully, "I don't really +know. But somehow I think--" + +Doctor Morrison cut him short. After the fashion of many clever men, he +was possessed of an idea, and was going to deliver himself of it. Until +he had done so, the privilege of the floor was his, and his alone. "I +look upon Henry Carleton," he continued, a little sententiously, "as one +of our coming men. Some day he is sure to be regarded as one of the +really solid men of the city; practically, I suppose he is that now. +They tell me that he's exceedingly able, and that he's amassed a great +deal of money of his own; and then they say he has all his brother's +fortune behind him, too. The old gentleman made his money away back in +the days of the clipper ships, and the Chinese trade. One of the old +time merchants, Edward Carleton was, shrewd and thrifty and far-seeing, +and I guess Henry is all that his brother ever was, and more besides. +And then he's interested in so many other things. You know what a +thorough musician he is, and what a lot he does to help the younger +singers along. And confound it all, the man's literary, too. Writes, +you know, and presides at anniversaries and dedications and all that +sort of thing. Oh, he's one of our leading men, Helmar. Able, and +public-spirited, and upright. I wish we had a hundred more like him." + +Helmar had listened patiently, but the thoughtful expression had not +left his face. "Yes," he assented at last, though scarcely with +enthusiasm. "Yes, I suppose so. Certainly I never knew anybody more +generally looked up to than Henry Carleton seems to be. And yet--it's +queer about him and Jack, because Jack's a good fellow, too. In a +different way, perhaps. I suppose he does lack balance; but there's +something awfully human and likeable about him, just the same. But I'm +prejudiced in his favor, I'll admit; I used to know him so well." + +He rose as he spoke, and started to leave the room; then paused a moment +on the threshold, throwing a backward glance over his shoulder. + +"Come on, Rex," he called, and at the sound of his voice there came +slowly from beneath the breakfast table a little brown and white +spaniel, who first stopped leisurely to stretch himself, next shook +his slender body mightily as if to get himself thoroughly awake, and +finally trotted briskly away at Helmar's heels. Then, outside in the +hall, as he saw his master reach for his hat and bag, he became suddenly +greatly excited, springing to and fro with quick, nervous bounds, his +mouth open, his little red tongue hanging out, his brown eyes glowing, +finally standing straight up on his hind legs, and waving his fore paws +frantically, as in supplication. Helmar, observing him, held up a +warning finger, and instantly the dog again subsided, sitting quietly +down on his haunches, his head cocked inquiringly to one side, his brown +eyes, now grown a trifle anxious, fixed on his master's face, uncertain +of his fate. Helmar looked gravely down at him, a twinkle in his eye, +but speaking with assumed regret. "No," he said slowly, "no, I guess +not, sir. It's a long ways for a little dog, and he might not behave +himself, either. He might bark--he might run away--he might chase +squirrels, even--he might be a bad, bad dog." Now the little dog's big, +soft eyes looked very sorrowful, as if they were not far from tears; the +head and ears drooped pathetically, the tail limp, discouraged and +lifeless, every line of his body expressing the idea that for little +dogs it was a very hard, a very sad, a very unkind world. Then suddenly +he raised his head. Surely, even as he had despaired, a change had come; +surely the admonishing finger was being lowered, and his master's voice +was speaking to him in the tones he loved best to hear. "_But_," Helmar +was slowly emphasizing, "seeing that on the whole you're a pretty good +little dog, perhaps if you'll give me your word--your solemn word--to +behave, and be a gentleman, why, I think--" his voice quickened +perceptibly to a more encouraging tone--"I think, sir, I might let you +go. Do you want to go, sir? Do you want to go?" + +There was no mistaking the little dog's answer. With one bound he hurled +himself headlong like a miniature catapult against the solid oak of the +door, then stood motionless, quivering with excitement, his tail waving +jauntily, like a plume, over his back, giving vent to short, sharp barks +of joyful impatience. It was a great world for little dogs, after all; +a world of blue sky and long, waving grass, a world of running brooks +and sunshine, a world perhaps of squirrels even. Helmar, regarding him, +laughed. "Come on, then," he cried, and in a moment the door had closed +behind them. + +The town clock was striking nine as Helmar got off the train at +Eversley, walked up the station lane, and turned into the narrow +footpath leading straight across the half mile of broad green meadow +that lay between the station and The Birches. Rapidly and steadily his +tall figure strode along, from time to time with a half smile on his +dark, clean-shaven face, as he watched the little spaniel tearing on far +ahead of him, in a very frenzy of delighted freedom, racing and circling +desperately here and there in vain pursuit of butterfly and bird. + +To the farther edge of the meadow they came. There Helmar, clearing the +low rail fence at a bound, for a moment hesitated as he sought to recall +Doctor Morrison's directions, then turned sharp to the right along the +shady country road; proceeding at first uncertainly, as on a journey +into unknown country, then more confidently, as one by one he came on +the landmarks the doctor had foretold: first the massive wall of stone +and concrete that marked the limits of the Carleton boundaries, then +grove after grove of the silver birches that had gained the place its +name, and finally, almost before he expected it, a break in the high +lilac hedge, a long, winding drive, green lawns shaded by towering elms, +gardens fragrant with flowers, and in the background, just pleasantly +distant from the road, the huge, rambling, many-chimneyed old house +itself--Edward Carleton's home. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +INQUIRING FRIENDS + + "Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweeteneth it." + _Howell._ + + +Helmar had covered perhaps half the distance to the house, when ahead of +him he caught sight of a little girl, sitting cross-legged under the +shade of one of the big elms, her head bent low over the buttercup +wreath she was weaving, and at her side a young woman--from her dress, +evidently the child's nurse or companion--sitting with her back against +the tree, deep buried in her book. At the sound of Helmar's footsteps +the child glanced up quickly, and catching sight of the spaniel +advancing manfully with head in air, and tail wagging in friendliest of +greetings, she scrambled to her feet, and tossing her half-finished +wreath aside, came flying across the lawn to meet him. Evidently with +both it was a case of love at first sight, for the child stooped and +picked the dog up bodily in her arms, pressing his face to hers, and +calling him by the hundred pet names which spring so readily to the lips +of any true woman--whatever her age. "Oh, you dear," she cried softly, +"you darling; aren't you a pretty dog!" while the spaniel lay quietly in +her arms, only striving to lick her face with his little red tongue. +Then, as Helmar approached, she looked up. "Isn't he a beauty!" she +said. "Does he belong to you?" + +Helmar stood smiling down at her, thinking that unconsciously she made a +very pretty picture with the spaniel's head pressed against her cheek. +She was a dainty little fairy, slender and graceful, dressed in an airy +frock of white muslin, with a broad sash of blue ribbon, her straw hat +dangling neglected down her back, her big, serious dark eyes gazing +solemnly up into his. He nodded in answer. "Yes, he belongs to me," he +said, "but do you suppose you could look after him while I go in to see +your uncle?" + +The little girl nodded in eager assent. "Oh, yes, indeed," she cried. +"I'll take care of him. I'll give him my buttercup wreath. Come now, +you darling, come with me," and with the spaniel still in her arms, she +walked back toward the shelter of the big elm. + +At Helmar's nearer approach, the child's nurse, too, had risen, laying +aside her book, and as he passed, naturally enough their glances +met--for an instant only--and then Helmar again strode along upon his +way, carrying with him the impression of a charming face, and a most +alluring smile. + +What was there, he wondered, about the girl, that was so vaguely +disquieting? She was dressed quietly enough in simple black, with a +little snugly-fitting white apron, reaching, by mere chance, just to the +height of her bosom, and held in place by smart little shoulder-straps, +about it all a daintily vague impression of ribbon and lace. Her figure, +indeed, was perfect; deliciously rounded; and the closely-fitting dress +seemed to bring out, with significant emphasis, all the beauty of her +form. Her face, moreover, was more striking still; her pretty blonde +hair appeared to curl so naturally as utterly to defy the mode of +convention; her big blue eyes drooped modestly as soon as she had become +conscious of his gaze, just long enough to show the heavy fringed +eyelashes above, and then almost as quickly glanced up again; there had +been a flush of rose in her cheeks, and a deeper scarlet on the lips +that had smiled at him. Perhaps it was in the smile itself--slow, +langourous, inviting--that the whole woman had seemed suddenly to lie +revealed; and scarcely able as yet to define it, Helmar felt that the +girl's seeming simplicity was the dangerous charm of the highest art, +and that he had gazed on the guile of the serpent, and not on the +innocence of the dove. + +Puzzling a little as he walked along, he cast back in his mind to chance +words that from time to time had fallen haphazard from Jack Carleton's +lips, and finally, in one sudden flash of memory, he came upon the clue. +"Jeanne," he said to himself, half aloud, "of course; that's who it is; +Jeanne." Then, falling back unconsciously into the slang of college +days, he added, "and she is a peach, too; Jack told the truth for once; +no wonder he had his little affair." And finally, as he mounted the +steps of the broad piazza, he spoke again. "But pretty risky fun," he +muttered, "playing with fire, all right; there are some women in the +world that a man wants to steer clear of, and I should put that girl +down for one of them." + +He rang the bell, and almost immediately there appeared in answer a +butler, thin, pale, and of uncertain age, but even to Helmar's +unpractised eye superlatively autocratic, hopelessly correct. He seemed, +indeed, to be not so much a human being as the living embodiment of all +known rules of social etiquette, condensed, as it were, into the final +perfect expression of a type, before whom and whose vast store of +knowledge one could only bow, humbly praying that the mistakes of honest +ignorance might graciously be forgiven. Helmar, following in his wake, +felt properly sensible of the honor done him, as he was ushered up the +broad, winding staircase to the entrance of the big square room at the +front of the house, where his guide stopped, and most decorously +knocked. In answer a great voice called lustily, "Come in!" and the +butler promptly stepped to one side. "Mr. Carleton, sir," he observed, +"left orders that you were to be admitted at once," and thereupon, +opening the door, he stood respectfully back, and as Helmar entered, +closed it softly behind him. + +Edward Carleton, attired in an old-fashioned quilted dressing-gown, was +sitting up, reading, in his huge, high, square bed, his back propped +with pillows innumerable. Well upward of seventy, he looked strong and +active still; gaunt, with a wrinkled, weather-beaten face, a great bushy +square-cut gray beard, and fiercely tufted eyebrows, while in the eyes +beneath them, as he slowly took off his horn-rimmed spectacles and +glanced up at his visitor, Helmar caught an expression of lurking, +humorous kindliness that put him at once in mind of Jack Carleton +himself. + +As Helmar advanced, the old man reached out a gnarled and sinewy hand. +"Good morning, sir," he said pleasantly, "I take it that you're Doctor +Morrison's young man." + +Helmar, as he took the proffered hand, smiled to himself at the +old-fashioned quaintness of the phrase. "Yes, sir," he answered, +"that's my professional title. In private life I'm Franz Helmar, and in +either capacity very much at your service." + +Edward Carleton nodded. "Thank you," he answered courteously, and then, +more abruptly, "you think you've come out here to see a sick man, +Doctor, but you haven't. Just a bit of a chill--I managed to let myself +get caught in that shower yesterday afternoon--and maybe a little fever +with it. But I'm not sick. It's all Henry's nonsense. Just because he's +twenty years younger than I am, he has to look after me as if I were a +baby." + +He spoke with assumed indignation, yet Helmar could detect in his tone a +note of satisfaction at being so well cared for; and when he answered +him, he aimed to fall in with the old man's mood. + +"Why, I think myself that I'm out here under false pretenses," he said +good-humoredly, "you don't look at all like an invalid to me; but still +the ounce of prevention, you know, it never does any harm. So many +things nowadays start with a cold. It's just as well to step right in +and stop them before they get a hold on us. Now, then, we'll see where +we are, at any rate," and as he spoke, he deftly slipped the little +temperature tube under Edward Carleton's tongue, and closed his fingers +lightly on the lean brown wrist. A minute or two passed in silence, the +old man's eyes fixed on Helmar's face with the scrutinizing interest of +the patient who awaits the professional verdict. Then Helmar withdrew +the tube, studied it an instant, nodded as if satisfied, asked a few +questions, and then hastened to give his opinion. + +"Oh, well," he said reassuringly, "this is all right. We'll fix you up, +Mr. Carleton. Just a little tonic, and a few days' rest, and you'll be +as good as new; better than new, really, because a day or two off is a +benefit to anybody, at any time. You'd better stay in bed, though, +to-day, I think; and personally I rather envy you. I see you have good +company." + +He pointed as he spoke, to the three stout little volumes that lay by +Mr. Carleton's side. _Roderick Random_ was the first; _Tom Jones_, the +second; _Tristram Shandy_, the third. Their owner nodded in pleased +assent. + +"Yes, indeed," he answered, "they'll last me through the day, all right. +I never get tired of them, Doctor. I was just reading, when you came in, +how Tom Bowling came to see the old curmudgeon who was about to die. +'So, old gentleman,' he says, 'you're bound for the other shore, I see, +but in my opinion most damnably ill-provided for the voyage'; and later +on, after the old fellow's dead, he tells some one, that asks after him, +that they might look for him 'somewhere about the latitude of hell.' +There's good, sound, human nature for you. Smollett knew his sailors, +and the rest of his world, too, and enjoyed them both, I imagine. And he +wasn't a hypocrite; that's what I like most about him. He saw things as +they were." + +Helmar smiled. "I agree with you," he answered, "but the modern school +of readers doesn't care for him, just the same. He's either too simple +for them, or too coarse; I don't know which." + +Edward Carleton looked his scorn. "Modern school!" he ejaculated. "Let +me tell you, sir, I have but very little opinion of your modern school, +writers or readers either. But Henry stands up for 'em, and brings 'em +all to me to read. Good Lord above, the different kinds! There's some +that tell you whether John Smith had one egg for breakfast, or two, and +whether either of 'em was bad, and if it was, what John Smith said to +his wife, and what she said to him--and Henry claims those books are +modern classics. Then he's got another lot--romantic school, I believe +they are--all dashing cavaliers and lovely ladies and flashing swords +and general moonshine--stuff about fit for idiots and invalids; and last +of all--" he glared at Helmar as if he were the unfortunate embodiment +of all the literary sins of the day day--"he's got a crowd--Heaven knows +what _he_ calls 'em; the pig-sty school's _my_ name--that seem to be +having a regular game; trying to see which can write the dirtiest book, +and yet have it stop just enough short of the line so they can manage to +get it published without the danger of having it suppressed. And the +mean, hypocritical excuses they make--they're always teaching a moral +lesson, you know, or something like that. It makes me sick, sir; it +makes me sick; and I don't hesitate to tell Henry so, either." + +Helmar nodded assentingly, and yet, with a twinkle in his eye, he could +not resist the temptation to reach forward and pick up from the bed the +volume of Sterne. "I agree with a great deal of what you say, sir," he +answered, "especially the latter part, and yet--it isn't wholly a modern +vice. There was old Rabelais, for instance, and his imitators, and even +_Tristram_ here I suppose you could hardly recommend for a +Sunday-school." + +Edward Carleton was no casuist. He loved to fight, but he always fought +fair. "I grant it," he answered quickly; "Laurence Sterne did have a +little sneaking peep-hole way with him at times--he was modern +there--but you can forgive a great deal to the man who gave us Uncle +Toby and Corporal Trim. And then, he isn't a fair example; he was a kind +of literary exception to all rules; but take Smollett or Henry Fielding. +They struck straight out from the shoulder, every time. What they meant, +they said. They painted vice, I grant you, but they painted her naked +and repulsive, as she should be, and that's fair enough; you can go +back to your Aristotle for that, Doctor. But they didn't disguise her, +sir; they didn't call her something that she never was and never could +be; and these modern swine, they dress out vice in silks and satins, and +make you believe she's the most beautiful thing in the world--so +beautiful that no man can be happy unless he may possess her; and +there's no Henry Fielding to come along with his big, scornful laugh, +and strip her of all her frippery and finery, and show you the stark, +naked sin that lies there underneath it all. Oh, I'm right, Doctor, and +I'm always telling Henry so, but I can't convince him. He says it's art, +whatever that means, and he's all for the modern school." + +Helmar rose, smiling. "You _are_ right, I believe," he said heartily, +"and if we all read more of the old worthies, and less of this flood of +modern trash, we'd do better, beyond a doubt. Well, I must get my train, +I suppose. I'm going to leave the medicine with your butler; I'll give +him full directions; and you'll be all right, without any question. If +you should want anything, telephone Doctor Morrison or me at once. I'm +very glad to have had the chance of meeting you, sir. Oh, and there was +one other thing I meant to tell you: I knew your son Jack very well in +college. We used to be the best of friends." + +Edward Carleton looked up quickly, but without speaking, and when at +last he did so, there was a new note of cordiality in his tone. "You +knew Jack," he repeated, "why, I'm glad to hear that, I'm sure. I'm very +fond of my boy, Doctor. Boy? He's a man now, though I can never seem to +realize it. He's only a little boy to me still, for all his six feet and +his forty inches around the chest. Do you ever see him nowadays, +Doctor?" + +Helmar nodded. "Yes, indeed," he answered readily, "not very often, of +course. We're in different lines of work, and both busy, I guess. But I +run across him every once in a while. And this week we're going to dine +together. Jack and I and another fellow who was in our class--a sort of +small reunion, to celebrate being five years out of college. He'll be +interested to know I've been out here." + +The old man nodded, gazing straight before him. "Doctor," he asked +suddenly, with apparent irrelevance, "you took my pulse to-day. What did +you think of my heart?" + +Helmar, surprised, parried with the clumsiness of a man not fond of +deception. "Why," he evaded, "I wouldn't worry about that. All you have +is a cold. You've got a pretty good heart, I think. We none of us grow +any younger, though. That's sure." + +Edward Carleton smiled a little grimly. "Thanks," he said, "sometimes a +patient knows more about himself than a doctor thinks he does. And I +suppose I could guess pretty well what certain things mean. Never mind, +though. As you say, we don't grow any younger, more's the pity." + +Both were silent, Helmar pausing a moment, uncertainly, with one hand on +the knob of the door. Then the old man glanced up at him, with a smile +genial and friendly, if a trifle wistful. "Good-by, Doctor," he said +courteously, "thank you for your interest. And tell Jack he's always +welcome, whenever he finds time to run out. The Birches is always his +home, and his room stands ready for him--always." + +Five minutes later Helmar again passed down the broad steps of the +piazza into the cheerful, dazzling sunlight. The little girl and her +nurse were still seated under the shade of the big elm, and at once the +spaniel, breaking away from his new friends, came tearing across the +lawn to his master, ruthlessly scattering buttercups at every bound. +With a laugh Helmar picked him up in his arms, and took him back to make +his proper farewells. For the little girl the final moment of parting +was a hard one, and she gazed longingly at her playmate, as though +unwilling to have him go. Her nurse, observing her, shook her head in +reproof. "Don't be so foolish, Miss Rose," she chided, "he's only a +little dog; you mustn't be silly;" then, suddenly, she looked squarely +at Helmar. "Will you excuse me, please," she said softly, "but I know +that you're a friend of Mr. Jack's. Would you tell me where a letter +would reach him?" + +Helmar eyed her keenly, and before his gaze the blue eyes dropped, and +this time were not raised again. A faint flush stole into her cheeks. +Helmar, in his turn, looked away. "Yes," he answered shortly, "Mayflower +Club, City, is his present address." + +He had his reward. At once the girl's eyes were raised again, and her +look sought his with the same smile that he had seen before. It was not +a smile of the lips alone, but of the eyes as well, and a certain +nameless something that flashed from still deeper within, a piquant +frankness, a dangerous friendliness. Again he started to turn away, then +stopped; his eyes, though half against his will, still seeking hers. + +On the silence broke in the voice of the little girl. "Is it Cousin +Jack?" she demanded, "do you know Cousin Jack?" And as Helmar nodded, +she cried, "I wish you'd tell him to come out and see me. He hasn't been +here for an awfully long time. Will you tell him, please?" + +Helmar promised, and with a glance at his watch, took a hasty leave. +Thoughtfully enough he made his way back to the station, and yet, before +he reached it, one meeting more was destined to give him food for +further meditation. Nearing the entrance to the station lane, the +vigorous and friendly bark of his faithful body-guard struck suddenly on +his ear, and turning the corner, he paused in quick surprise at the +sight of the girl who knelt upon the grass, parasol, hat and gloves +tossed carelessly aside, holding the spaniel's head imprisoned +caressingly between her dainty hands, and talking to him with mock +severity the while. As she glanced up, perceiving Helmar, she somewhat +hastily arose, and as he approached, smilingly extended her hand in +greeting. + +Very attractive, indeed, she looked. Fashionably dressed, yet simply, as +well; young--she could scarcely have been over twenty, at the most--and +with a face that one could hardly choose but like at once--the +clear-cut, regular features, the honest, straightforward brown eyes, the +pretty color in the dimpled cheeks, the firm little chin, the laughing, +yet sensitive mouth. One liked too the erectness of her slender figure, +and the well-poised head, crowned with its masses of soft brown hair. If +one had been ungracious enough to venture a criticism, the thought +might have come that she shared, perhaps, the fault of so many American +girls of the well-to-do class, the excusable habit of taking the good +things of life too much as a matter of course, of being too easily +satisfied with the doings and standards of their own particular class +and "set," of having no real knowledge, and worse still, perhaps, of +desiring none, of the great world at large. Yet even if the criticism +had been hazarded, the critic must still have been forced to admit that +plenty of character showed in the girl's face, and while of her mere +good looks alone there could be no question, in seeming paradox, the +more one looked at her the more one forgot her mere prettiness, granting +it carelessly enough as something secondary, so much more uncommon and +striking were the other qualities written there--strength and sympathy +and above all, that holy and beautiful thing before which any man may +well stand in reverent admiration--the innate goodness of the true +woman, pure in thought and deed. + +As he took her hand, Helmar's face showed his surprise. "Well, Marjory +Graham," he cried, "who'd have thought of seeing you?" + +Laughingly the girl mimicked him. "Why, Franz Helmar," she said in turn, +"you're not the one to be surprised. You knew I lived in Eversley. But +what are _you_ doing out here?" + +"Old Mr. Carleton," he answered, "he's a little under the weather. I ran +out to see how he was getting along." + +The girl's face clouded. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "he's such a dear +old man. And he's my father's greatest friend, you know. I hope it's +nothing serious." + +Helmar shook his head. "No, I think not," he answered, "he'll be all +right--for this time. And he is a first-class old chap, too. Do you +know, I think Jack is awfully like him, in many ways?" + +At the words a sudden change came over the girl's expressive face. For a +moment she hesitated, then raised her eyes to his. "Franz," she said, +"how often do you see Jack now?" + +Helmar glanced at her quizzically. "Oh," he answered, "every once in a +while. Not so often as you do, though, I guess." + +He spoke jestingly, but the girl gave him no answering smile, and he +hastened to add, "Why, I expect to see him Wednesday night, Marjory, to +make arrangements for a little dinner we're going to have Thursday--Jack +and Arthur Vaughan and I. Is there anything I can do?" + +The girl colored faintly. "It's only this," she said, "and I ought to +write to him and not bother you. But when you see Jack, would you mind +telling him that I shall be at home Friday evening, if he cares to come +out?" + +Seemingly, there was more in the words than appeared on the surface, but +Helmar, with a certain instinctive chivalry, chose to treat the request +with apparent lightness. "Of course I'll tell him," he answered, "with +all the pleasure in life." + +She looked her gratitude. "Thank you very much, Franz," she said, "and +you will remember, won't you?" + +He nodded reassuringly. "I surely will," he answered, and as he spoke, +the train burst shrieking, around the near-by curve. "Oh, don't miss +it!" she cried. "Thank you, Franz; thank you so much; good-by." + +Breaking into a swift run, Helmar, with the spaniel racing excitedly at +his heels, reached the station platform just in time. Boarding the +train, and taking a seat far forward in the almost deserted car, he sat +for some time in thoughtful silence, and then at last voiced his +reflections to the one friend who never betrayed his confidence. "Rex, +my boy," he said slowly, "our friend Jack seems to have achieved the +secret of universal popularity." + +The spaniel, listening with head cocked knowingly to one side, gave a +sharp, quick bark in reply, and Helmar laughed. "Does that mean you +think so, or you don't think so?" he asked, but the little dog refused +further to commit himself, and curling up in his master's lap, went +promptly and comfortably to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE PRODIGAL SON + + "The pains and penalties of idleness." + _Pope._ + + +It was after eight o'clock, yet still faintly light out-of-doors, as +Jack Carleton left his rooms at the Mayflower Club, and came slowly down +the winding staircase, with one hand groping for the railing, as if +uncertain of his way. + +At first sight he looked extremely well, and in his fashionably-cut +street suit of light gray, his tall and well-built figure showed to +excellent advantage, though in the five years which had passed since his +graduation he had seemingly grown heavier and stouter, and somehow +distinctly softer looking, as if the active exercise of former days had +come now to be the exception, and not the rule. And this impression, as +he paused midway on the stairs to light a cigarette, was still further +borne out by the appearance of his face. He was handsome enough still, +and his complexion, indeed, from a distance, in contrast with his fair +hair and closely-clipped mustache, seemed the perfection of ruddy +health; yet the tell-tale spurt of the match, as he held it to his lips, +told a far different story. His color, naturally high, was beginning now +to be patched with red and white, giving his face a significantly +mottled look, and if any further hint had been needed, it was furnished +by his eyes, which stared straight ahead of him with a curiously glassy +expression. Plainly enough, Jack Carleton was drunk. + +Still holding fast to the rail, he accomplished the remainder of his +journey in safety; then started a little unsteadily toward the door of +the lounging room, stopping short at the entrance, and staring vacantly +in at the half dozen figures looming mistily through the haze of smoke. +Instantly he was hailed by two or three at once. "Hullo, Jack, what'll +you have?" "Come on in, Jack." "Make a fourth at bridge, Jack?" +Carleton, standing motionless, with one hand fumbling in his pocket for +a match with which to relight his cigarette, still gazed aimlessly and +apparently without recognition into the room. "Make a fourth at bridge, +Jack?" some one called again sharply, and Carleton, starting, jerkily, +but with intense gravity, shook his head. "No, not t'night," he said +slowly, as if settling some matter of immense moment to all concerned, +"can't play t'night; very shorry; got date." He stood a moment longer; +then, half mechanically, as it seemed, turned and slowly walked toward +the outer door that led into the street. + +With a little exclamation, one of the loungers hastily rose, and +followed him out into the hall. Jim Turner was a stock broker, and a +most successful one. He was a man of middle age, short, stout, and +unattractive looking. He had a round, fat face, pale reddish hair and +mustache, small, nondescript, expressionless eyes, a pasty complexion, +and white, pudgy hands, which he took pains to have manicured +regularly three times a week. He was entirely unimaginative, practical, +commonplace--and very successful. He had one favorite motto; "Look at +things as they are, and not as you'd like 'em to be." + +He quickly overtook Carleton--a feat, indeed, not difficult of +accomplishment--and laid a detaining hand on his shoulder. "See here, +Jack," he said in a low tone, "I want you to let me sell out some of +your things. We get advices that there's trouble coming--and pretty +quickly, too. And by this time you're really carrying quite a big line. +So I guess it wouldn't do any harm if you began gradually to unload a +little. Don't you think so yourself, Jack?" + +Carleton gazed at him from eyes in which there was no understanding. He +shook his head slightly. "Don' want t'sell," he said at last, "ain't I +'way 'head th' game?" + +"Oh, sure," Turner assented. "You're ahead of the game, all right, but I +want to have you stay there. And when things start to go in a top-heavy +market, why--they go almighty quick. That's all. There's your Suburban +Electric, now. That's had a big rise. Let me sell five hundred of that, +anyway. You've got a good profit. And you'll find you can get out and +in again, too. You won't have any trouble doing that." + +Again Carleton obstinately shook his head. "No," he said, with an almost +childish delight in contradiction, "I don' get 'ny 'dvices like that. I +get 'dvices S'burban 'Lectric's going to hundred'n fifty. I don' want +t'sell now. Not such fool." + +Turner, seeing the futility of further argument, shrugged his shoulders +impassively. "Well, drop in at the office and see me to-morrow, anyway, +Jack," he said. + +Carleton nodded. "Sure," he answered cheerfully, "I'll be in. Got t'get +'long now," and he made again for the door. + +Turner slowly made his way back into the lounging room. One of the +smokers looked up at him with a laugh. "Old Jack's pretty full, isn't +he?" he said, "growing on him, I should say." + +A second lounger caught up the remark. "Full," he echoed, "oh, no, not +for him. He's sober as a church now. When he can walk, and see where +he's going, he's all right. You ought to see him around the Club here +some nights. Talk about raising hell!" + +The first man yawned. "Well," he said slowly, "it's like lots of other +things. It's all right and good fun for once in a way, but for a steady +thing--why, Heaven help the poor devil that gets going it and can't +stop. There isn't any humor in it then. Nothing jovial, or convivial, or +anything else. It's just simply damnable; that's what it is. And Jack +Carleton's too good a fellow to go that way. It's a shame." + +The second man nodded in answer. "That's right enough," he assented, +"and it's rough on his old man, too. He's an awfully good sort, the old +chap. And Jack could amount to something, if he wanted to. That's the +bad part. He was never cut out for a soak." + +"Doesn't he do anything at all?" some one asked. + +The first man shook his head. "Not a thing," he answered. "The old man +gives him an allowance, I understand, or else he inherited something +from his mother; I don't really know which. And Jack's playing Alcohol +to win, I guess, and Suburban Electric for place." He grinned at his own +joke. + +The second man turned suddenly to Turner. "Say, Jim, you know +everything," he said; "what about this uncle of Jack's--this Henry +Carleton? I seem to hear a lot about him lately. He's the whole +shooting-match down-town. What sort of man is he, anyway?" + +Turner launched a little family of smoke rings into the air, and watched +them float upward before he replied. "Oh, I don't know," he answered +indifferently, "he's smart as the devil, for one thing. I know that for +a fact." + +"Yes, that's right," the first man chimed in, "everybody says that. And +yet, you know, it's funny, but there's always something that strikes me +as disagreeable about that man's looks. He seems so confoundedly +self-assertive, and sure of himself, somehow." + +Turner rose to take his departure. "Oh, I don't know," he said again. +"First we sit here and damn a man for being a sport, and then we turn +around and damn another man because he's smart, and we don't like his +face. It's mighty easy to criticize." He paused a moment, then added, +with what for him was almost an excess of feeling, "I'm really sorry +about Jack, though. It's too bad." + +Meantime, once out in the street, the air seemed for the moment to +steady Carleton, and he started off briskly enough for the South +Station. As he walked along, he pulled a letter from his pocket, read it +through carefully, and then, as though striving to recall something that +had escaped him, proceeded on his way with a puzzled and dissatisfied +expression on his face. "Friday, Friday," he muttered to himself, +"something else, but can't seem to think what. Guess nothing important. +Anyway, can't think." + +In due time he reached the station, and took his stand opposite the +gateway through which the passengers from the incoming Eversley train +would pass. There he stood, from time to time absent-mindedly consulting +his watch, until at length from a distant rumble and cloud of smoke +emerged the big engine, with flashing headlight and clanging bell, and +huge wheels revolving more and more slowly until at length, with one +last jerk, the whole train came suddenly to a stand. Then under the +arc-light bustled forth the figures of the incoming passengers--first +one, then another, then twos and threes, lines, groups--all hurrying, +intent and eager, bound for their destination, and restlessly anxious to +get there at once, wasting as little time as possible in transit. +Scrutinizing them with care, it was not until the very end of the +procession was reached that Carleton started suddenly forward. At the +same instant the girl discovered him, and came quickly toward him. + +Carleton's masculine eye could hardly have appreciated all the details +of her dress, yet the general effect was certainly not lost on him. +Knowledge of the name of the dainty gown of blue and white would +probably have conveyed no impression to his mind, but the way in which +it fitted and the significant emphasis it lent to the graceful lines of +the girl's figure were matters which he viewed with no unappreciative +eye. Surveying her critically as she advanced, from head to foot, from +the hat of simple straw, with its clusters of blue flowers, to the tip +of the dainty slipper, with just a glimpse of silken stocking above, he +nodded in gracious approval. The girl was certainly looking her best, +her pretty hair curling about her forehead in little clustering rings, +her face just delicately flushed with color, her blue eyes very +coquettish and very sparkling. Doubtless, too, these same practised eyes +lost nothing of Carleton's condition, for it was with a certain easy +assurance that she came up to him and slipped her arm familiarly through +his with a gentle welcoming pressure, glancing up almost impudently into +his face. "Hullo, dear," she said, "and how's Jack?" + +Carleton looked down at her, an odd mixture of emotions showing in his +face; a certain satisfaction, a certain shame, above all, a certain +recklessness--the recklessness of the aristocrat who, with a shrug of +his shoulders, goes voluntarily out of his class, fascinated beyond his +strength, half scornful of himself, and wholly regardless of what the +consequences may be. + +"Oh, fine, thanks," he answered absently, and then, as they emerged from +the station into the street, he returned the pressure of her arm. +"You're looking very pretty, Jeanne," he said, "I'm glad I got your +note." + +They sauntered slowly up Union Street, the girl chattering vivaciously, +and glancing up at Carleton as she talked, with a subtle and flattering +attention; Carleton for the most part listening, from time to time +nodding or answering in monosyllables. At the up-town crossing they came +to a brief irresolute halt. "Well," said Carleton, "and whash going to +be to-night? The river?" + +The girl, with a little smile, shook her head. "No," she answered +capriciously, "I'm tired of the river. We've done that so often. I want +a motor to-night. A nice long ride. We'll have a beautiful time." + +Carleton doubtfully shook his head. He was in a distinctly contradictory +mood. "Nice long ridsh," he observed, "in nice big motors, damn +'xpensive things for man that's short money. Motors 'xpensive things; +so's girls." + +The girl laughed, but did not lack the cleverness to see how her point +might best be gained. "Are you short of money, really?" she said, with +quick sympathy. "Why, you poor old Jack, it's a shame. We'll go on the +river, then, in a little boat, all snug and nice. You dear boy; you need +some one to comfort you," and the big blue eyes gazed up into his, bold +and unashamed. + +She had comprehended his mood perfectly. Instantly his tone changed. +"No, no," he answered quickly, "won't do an'thing of the kind. Got +little money left for frens." He laughed uncertainly. "'F you want +motor, you're going t' have motor. That's all there'sh to it. Do +an'thing for you, Jeanne." + +She smiled up at him with dangerous sweetness. "You're so good to me, +Jack," she murmured, and the gentle pressure on his arm was in nowise +diminished. "You do everything for me. I only wish sometimes I could do +something for you." + +He gazed down at her, all that was weakest and worst in his nature +uppermost in his face. "Maybe can," he said thickly, "maybe can; come +on; we're goin' get motor now." + + * * * * * + +At about the same hour that Carleton had left the Mayflower, farther +up-town, in the reception-room at the Press Club, Arthur Vaughan sat +waiting for his friend Helmar to return. He was a young man of medium +height and build, inclined to be a trifle careless about his dress; his +clothes a little threadbare; his brown hair and mustache allowed to grow +a little too long; his carelessly knotted tie a good year out of style. +Yet his face, looked at more closely, was distinctly good; a face +somewhat thin and worn; the mouth and chin nervous, sensitive; the +forehead high; the brown eyes straightforward and kindly,--the eyes of +a man a little detached from the world about him, a little inclined, on +his way through life, unconsciously to pause and dream. + +Presently the door opened, and Helmar entered, the expression on his +face one of half-humorous disgust. "Same old Jack Carleton," he said. +"He's not down-stairs, and it's five minutes of eight. You're sure he +understood?" + +Vaughan nodded. "Oh, perfectly," he answered, "I saw him Wednesday +night, and told him that your meeting had been changed to Thursday, so +that we'd have to put this thing over until to-night; and then I gave +him Miss Graham's message, and told him he'd have to square himself with +her, because we couldn't put things off again. And I remember his saying +that it was all right for him; I even recall his repeating it after me, +as if he wanted to make sure of it, 'seven-thirty, Press Club; eight +o'clock, theater; eleven o'clock, Press Club, supper and talk'; oh, no, +he understood all right. I'm sure of it." + +Helmar considered. "Well," he said at length, "just because Jack's got a +poor memory, I can't see why we should miss a good show. Let's leave his +ticket at the desk, and if he happens to drift in, all right. Then he +can come on after us. Isn't that O. K.?" and on Vaughan's assent, they +left the club for the theater, where in due course the curtain rose, and +later fell again upon an excellent performance, indeed, but without +revealing any sign of the absent Carleton. Once outside in the street, +Helmar turned to Vaughan. "Well, what next?" he queried. + +Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. "Why, the supper's ordered," he +answered, "so I suppose we might as well go ahead in solitary state. But +it rather takes the edge off the thing. It's too bad," and a moment or +two later he added, half to himself, and half to his companion, "I don't +know what to think of Jack, really." + +Helmar made no answer, and it was not until the supper was served in the +little private room, and the waiter had withdrawn, that they again +returned to the subject. "What is it about Jack, anyway?" Helmar asked. +"I was out at his place the other day, and he seemed to be making no end +of trouble; everybody stirred up about him. What's he been doing?" + +Vaughan helplessly shook his head. "Search me," he answered, "you know I +scarcely see him now. He travels with a different crowd these days. But +I guess since he joined the Mayflower he's changed quite a lot; playing +the market, I hear, and drinking pretty hard, and sort of gone to +pieces generally." + +Helmar looked thoughtful. "That's bad," he said shortly, and after a +pause, "Never happen to hear any gossip about him and a girl, do you?" + +Again Vaughan shook his head. "No, I don't," he answered, "if he's doing +anything of that sort, it's news to me. That is, I mean, anything really +out of the way. Jack likes a good time, of course; we've always known +that; but I don't believe he's that kind. I guess he's all right enough +that way. At any rate, I've always understood that he was about as good +as engaged to Marjory Graham, and that ought to keep a fellow straight, +if anything could." + +Helmar nodded. "Yes," he answered abruptly, "I should say it ought. +Well, never mind. Now I want to hear how things are going with you, +Arthur. We'll talk about Jack later on." + +And then, with the progress of the supper, the talk ran along as such +talks will; each telling of past experiences, losses, gains; of future +plans, hopes, fears; speaking of classmates and friends; skimming the +passing events of the day; comparing notes on the thousand and one +subjects that crowd the lips so readily when friends of long standing, +who meet but seldom, settle down to the luxury of a leisurely, +comfortable talk. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, far out on the Escomb Road, the big motor bowled swiftly +along. Carleton's arm was around the girl's waist, her head was on his +shoulder, and she was smiling up into his face. Very charming, very +young and innocent she looked, unless, in some occasional passing flash +of light, one could have seen the look in her eyes which lay behind the +smile. "Oh, this is so nice, Jack," she murmured; even the tone of her +voice was a subtle caress, and she nestled a little closer to his side; +"I could keep on like this for ever; you were so good to take me, dear." + +Carleton did not at once answer, and when he did, his tone seemed +scarcely sentimental. Drowsiness, indeed, brought on by his many +potations, rather than sentiment, appeared to be the spell which bound +him, and his mind wandered irresponsibly in a dozen different directions +at one and the same time. "Say," he asked suddenly, "how'd you know +where a letter'd get me, anyway?" + +Had the girl's mood been real, the matter-of-fact, commonplace tone must +have driven her to sudden anger; as it was, her sense of humor saved +her, and after a moment or two, half in spite of herself, she gave a +little laugh. "Why," she answered lightly, "from your good-looking +friend, Doctor Helmar, of course," and the next instant she could have +bitten her tongue out for the chance words, as Carleton, for the moment +startled into his senses, with a sudden exclamation sat bolt upright in +his seat. "Helmar," he cried, as everything in one instant's flash came +back to him, "to-night was the night. Oh, Lord, I wouldn't have done +this for a thousand dollars." Then leaning forward, to the chauffeur, +"Here there, you, stop a minute!" he cried; and fumbling in his pocket +for his watch, he glanced at it, and then looked quickly around him. +"Ten o'clock," he muttered, "we can make it;" then, aloud, "Put her +round now, driver, and head her straight for town; let her out, and let +her go!" + +With a surprised grin, the chauffeur slowly slackened speed, reversed +his power, and ponderously turned the big car about. The girl meantime +protested vigorously. "No, no," she cried, "why, Jack, we're almost out +there now; what do you care for him, anyway? You wouldn't do a thing +like that, Jack. You've got better manners than to leave me now. How +shall I get home? Now, Jack--" + +Carleton, with a most disconcerting lack of gallantry, obstinately shook +his head. "This very important," he said, "we'll go back way of Birches; +leave you there; this 'xceedingly important. You don't understand. You +never went college. Quincentennial--no, quinquecentennial, no, +quinquen--oh, damn, five years out of college, that's what it is. +Special dinner. Oh, what a fool I was to forget. How could I?" + +The girl sat with frowning brows. "Oh, very well," she said, offended, +"you needn't ask _me_ to go anywhere with you again; that's all;" and +then, this remark having no noticeable effect, she began softly to cry. + +Instantly Carleton's shifting mood had veered again, and in a moment his +arm was once more around her waist, and he leaned protectingly over her. + +"Come, come," he cried, "don' do that. Can't stan' that. We'll go out +there s'mother time, my dear. But not t'night, not t'night; special +t'night; special; awful good fellows, both of 'em; better'n I am, damn +sight. Both good fellows. Don't cry." + +With a quick, sinuous movement she wrenched herself free, putting half +the distance of the broad cushioned seat between them. "Don't," she +cried, "I hate you!" and in constrained and moody silence the big motor +whirred along upon its homeward way. + +Nor was home to be gained without further misadventure. Presently, even +before they had covered half the distance to The Birches, something went +wrong with the machine, and the chauffeur, steering in close to the side +of the road, dismounted and began to search for the trouble, spurred on +by the accompaniment of Carleton's speech, which seemed every moment to +gain in picturesqueness and force. Suddenly out of the darkness appeared +two broad white streaks of dazzling light, the wail of a horn sounded in +their ears, and another automobile passed them, to draw up, just beyond, +with a quick grinding and jarring of brakes. A friendly voice hailed +them. "Anything wrong? Help you out?" Carleton started at the words. He +leaned forward in the seat, and whispered hastily to the chauffeur. +Instantly the latter answered, "No thank you, sir, nothing wrong," and +the second motor sped along upon its way. Carleton's brow contracted. +"Wonder if he saw," he muttered, "light's pretty bright; looked like +Marjory, too; didn't know the colonel drove much at night, anyway." +There was a moment's pause; then all at once, he added, "Friday! Friday! +Good God! that was the other thing. Damn the luck! Damn everything!" and +mingling threats and entreaties, he renewed his urging to the worried +chauffeur. + +An hour later, at the Press Club, Vaughan's cigar was well under way, +and Helmar was helping himself to a second cup of coffee, when suddenly +the door burst open, and there appeared before them the somewhat +unsteady figure of their absent friend. Before either of them could +speak, he had begun a rambling and incoherent apology, continuing it as +he sank limply into the chair reserved for him. + +"Must 'scuse me," was the burden of his speech, "mem'ry comple'ly wen' +back on me; thoroughly 'shame myself--" and there was much more in the +same vein; then, all at once reaching the sentimental stage of his orgy, +he began to develop a vein of maudlin self-pity; "Helmar," he cried +despairingly, "you been good fren' me always. I tell you, 's no good. I +try--I try 's hard's anyone--and oh, Helmar--" his voice broke, and with +a mixture of the ridiculous and the pathetic that made both his hearers +choke a little hysterically, even while their eyes were moist, he +culminated despairingly, "'S no use, fellers; 's no use; I'll tell you +where'm going; _I'm going to hell in a hack_; thash what I am," and +forthwith he laid his head upon the table, and began to weep. + +It was long after midnight when Helmar and Vaughan finally deposited +him, remonstrating and unwilling, in safety at the Mayflower, leaving +him in skilful hands well versed in the treatment of his malady, and +found themselves, flushed, weary, and not in the best of humors, again +in the street. + +"And so ends our great reunion," said Vaughan, mopping his heated +forehead. "Jack ought to feel pleased with himself; he's certainly +succeeded in knocking all the pleasure out of it for everybody, about as +well as any one could. And I think, on the whole, that I'm inclined to +agree with him about where he's bound." + +Helmar sighed, a sigh of honest disappointment and anxiety. "Jack's a +mighty good fellow," he answered, "but he's certainly in a bad way now. +If he ever means to amount to anything, he's got to fight, and fight +hard, too. Well, come on, Arthur, I suppose we'd better get to bed," and +thus the long-planned quinquennial reunion came sadly and dismally to an +end. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A FOOL AND HIS MONEY + + "Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances." + _Shakespeare._ + + +Jack Carleton stood in front of the ticker in Turner and Driver's +office, letting the narrow white ribbon run lightly through his fingers. +For the moment he was alone. The big clock over on the post-office +building had just boomed slowly the hour of twelve, and the little knot +of customers, calmly or hurriedly, according to their several +temperaments, had one by one gone out to lunch, for man must eat, though +black care sit at his elbow. And indeed, though the little ticker still +buzzed and whirred unceasingly, and the tape, with scarcely a halt or +pause in its onward course, still ran as smoothly and persistently as +ever, for the moment the worst of the drive seemed really to be over. So +that presently Carleton lifted his eyes, red-rimmed and tired from the +blur of black and white beneath them, letting the quotations run on +unheeded, and stood with eyes fixed on the spot where, just visible +through the very top of the tall window, framed in with line and bar of +blackened roof and dingy chimney top, there smiled cheerfully down into +the gloom of the darkened office a cloudless patch of bright blue sky. + +Imperceptibly the sound of the ticker ceased, and the white ribbon began +fantastically to curl and twist in his hand, for all unconsciously his +fingers had closed upon it, checking the smoothness of its onward flow. +The little patch of blue sky had sent his thoughts wandering far afield. +A moment before he had been standing there in the office, wondering +miserably whether to try to pull out, while there was yet time, with a +good part of his little fortune gone, or whether, with anchors grappling +desperately for holding ground, to strive somehow to ride out the storm. +And now, so long had his mind run upon things trivial and unimportant, +that despite the panic, despite the danger he was in, thanks to that +casual upward glance, he stood already in imagination at the first tee +at the Country Club, the green of the valley lying smooth and fair +beneath him, the couple ahead just disappearing over the farther dip +of the hill, and he himself, well-limbered up, driver in hand, in +the act of placing the new white ball on the well-made tee, properly +confident of smashing it out a hundred and eighty yards away, amid the +close-cropped velvet of the rolling turf. Absolutely a perfect day, he +reflected, for the medal round; no wind, a bright sun, greens quick, yet +true--and above all, he felt that he could win. Barnes was entered, of +course, and Henderson himself--he was paired with him--and Henderson had +told Jake Rogers that since he had changed his grip he could "put it all +over" Carleton, match or medal, any time they met. Rogers, with his +little crooked smile, had taken pains, of course, to repeat the remark, +and while Jack had laughed and said, "Oh, sure, he can lick me all +right," in his own heart of hearts, nevertheless, he knew that he could +trim Henderson, and somewhat grimly had awaited his chance. About a +hundred and sixty would do it, he figured; say a seventy-nine to-day +and an eighty-one to-morrow--two such perfect days in succession could +hardly be--yes, about a couple of eighties would do the trick. + +His vision faded as swiftly as it had come. The green of the links had +vanished, and in its stead the four square walls of the office, swinging +smoothly into place, had closed tightly in again upon him and his +troubled fortunes. With a start, and a half-guilty flush, he glanced +hastily over the yard or two of tape which he still held, looped and +bent, in his tense fingers. But to his relief, as he quickly scanned the +quotations, there seemed to be no cause for further immediate alarm. On +the contrary, the general tone of things was still improving. Akme +Mining was seventeen now, up two and a quarter; Suburban Electric had +rallied to sixty-three; Fuel was up four, at eighty. With a sigh, +Carleton's eyes were raised again to the patch of blue sky. + +And now into the office bustled Jim Turner, hurried and preoccupied, +showing plainly the nervous strain of the last three days, and +especially of that grim and ghastly yesterday, when for five endless +hours it had seemed that the bottom of the market, if not, indeed, of +the earth itself, might be going to fall out for ever and a day; a +troubled, anxious time alike for broker and customer, banker and +depositor, a time when the emergency brakes had been put on so suddenly +and so hard that the whole great financial stage-coach had come +momentarily to a standstill, with a jar so tremendous that scores of +passengers, especially those who occupied only precarious standing-room, +had been hurled bodily to the ground, and some indeed, according to the +stern panic-law of self-preservation, had even been quietly and with +despatch pushed over the side, in order to make better the chances of +those remaining for keeping in safety the threatened security of their +seats. + +Turner headed straight for the ticker, as he neared it striving, with an +obviousness scarcely reassuring, to appear cheerful and unconcerned. +"Hullo, Jack," he said, "how they coming now?" and without waiting for a +reply, gathered up a dozen yards of the tape and let it pass quickly +under his practised eye. "H'm," he said, almost immediately, in a tone +that plainly enough showed his relief, "not so bad, are they? Quite a +lot better than they were an hour ago. Oh, I guess we'll come through it +somehow, after all." + +His tone gave Carleton measureless comfort. He found himself nodding +with assurance. "Oh, yes," he answered, "they're really a lot better. I +guess things are all right now. Do you suppose, Jim--" he hesitated, +stopped, and then, with a flush of color, and his eyes averted from +Turner's face, "do you suppose, Jim, you'll be able to see me through?" + +Turner non-committally shrugged his shoulders. "Why," he answered, not +unkindly, "I guess so. Yes, if things don't go all to the devil again, +I guess we can. But you're in too deep, Jack, for a man that hasn't +unlimited resources. It isn't right, really. I'll stand by you as long +as I can--and when I can't, I'll let you know--and then, if you can't +do anything, and it gets too bad, why, business is business, Jack, and +we'll have to chuck you. That's all we _can_ do." + +Carleton gazed at him a little helplessly; then asked, "But you +think the worst's over, don't you?" He spoke so trustfully, and +with such confidence in the other's judgment, that Turner gave a +half-contemptuous, half-embarrassed laugh. "Why, yes," he answered +slowly, "I _think_ it is, but good Lord, Jack, at a time like this I'm +not on the inside. I'm only one of the small fry. If I could tell you +what you wanted to know, instead of just guessing at it, I wouldn't be +here, working for a living; I can tell you that; I'd be over touring the +continent in a big French six-cylinder. That's where I'd be." He paused +a moment; then, laying a hand on Carleton's arm, continued, "But to the +best of my knowledge, I really think the worst _is_ over, and that +things are going to right themselves. Gradually, of course; it's going +to take time; but they'll right themselves, for all that. And I wouldn't +worry too much, Jack, if I were you. I'll give you warning anyway, and +if worst should come to worst, why, I suppose your old man would see you +through, wouldn't he, if it was a case of that or bust?" + +Carleton shook his head. "No, I guess not," he answered, "he would if +he could, but there's something queer about the property now. I didn't +know about it till a little while ago, and I don't understand all the +details yet; but the idea is that my father's made Henry trustee of +everything. Henry's the whole shooting-match at home now, you know. So I +guess it wouldn't do to try the old gentleman. No, I've got in too deep, +like a fool, and I've got to get out by myself or else drown; one of the +two. But if I can only get by, this time, you can bet I'll never be such +an ass again. You see, Jim," he added, ruefully enough, "I wanted to +show people--" + +Turner laughed, though without amusement. "Yes, I know," he said dryly, +"you wanted to come the young Napoleon racket. There've been others. You +needn't kick yourself for being the only one. But there must be some one +that would help you out, Jack. Why couldn't you go to your uncle +himself?" + +He made the suggestion casually enough, yet with a shrewd eye on the +younger man's expression. Carleton frowned. "Well," he answered +doubtfully, "I'd hate to do that. You know what Henry and I think of +each other. I suppose I could, though, if I was dead up against it. But +I'm not going to worry yet." He glanced once more at the tape; then +added, "Things really have steadied, haven't they, Jim? I guess we're +all safe for to-day." + +Turner did not at once reply. The events of the last three days had to a +large extent discouraged him from hazarding further prophecies. "Can't +tell," he answered guardedly, at length, "can't tell these days, but +they've certainly steadied quite a bit; that's sure; perhaps they'll +begin to pick up now." + +As he spoke, a clerk entered with a bundle of papers in his hand. "For +you to sign, Mr. Turner," he said, and Turner, taking them, departed +into his private office. One or two quick lunchers, the vanguard of the +returning stream of regular patrons, came in at the outer door; the +first, thin, pale and dyspeptic looking, making hastily for the ticker, +with no attempt to conceal his anxiety; the other, stout, red-faced, and +philosophic, following more calmly, his hat on the back of his head, +making leisurely exploration with a toothpick the while, evidently with +a certain not unpraiseworthy desire to show that even in the throes of a +panic a man could still be game. As they approached, Carleton glanced +first at the tape, then at his watch, then at the patch of blue sky. +The tape said that Akme Mining was seventeen and a quarter, and that +Suburban Electric was sixty-four and a half; the watch said that it was +twelve-fifteen, and that the twelve-thirty train would get him to the +Country Club in time for lunch; the patch of blue sky said "Come." With +a rather guilty haste he walked quickly toward the door, for a moment +paused on the threshold, still listening to the whirring of the ticker; +and then passed hurriedly out into the street. + +It was Championship Cup day at the Country Club, and the locker room, +when Carleton entered it two hours later, was crowded with excited men +in various stages of dress and undress; men who had entered the Club +five minutes before as respectable doctors, lawyers, bankers and +business men, and who, five minutes later, were to emerge in a common +indecorous garb of faded flannel shirts, dingy gray trousers and +shapeless felt hats, making their way toward the first tee with an +eagerness which in fulfilling their professional engagements, they were +seldom, if ever, seen to display. + +Carleton, entering, with the mechanical dexterity of long habit, almost +with one motion stripped off coat and vest, collar and tie, and opening +his locker, began pulling out his clubs and his battered golfing +clothes. He affected not to see Henderson, thin and spare and brown, +seated on a bench with knees drawn up under his chin and clasped by +bare, sinewy arms. + +Presently his rival rose and sauntered over to him across the room. He +stood near Carleton in silence, and the two eyed each other with grins, +hostile, yet friendly. Finally Henderson spoke. "Well," he observed, +without enthusiasm, "how's the boy? Looking a little bit fine, what? A +little bit pale for him, hey?" Carleton laughed, with elaborate disdain. +"Oh, no, Tommy," he returned, "can't catch me that way. That's too old +a gag. Never felt better in my life, thanks. How are they scoring? +Barnes finished yet?" + +Henderson nodded. "Played this morning," he said, "was going fine till +the eighteenth, and then drove into the quarry, and dropped his nerve. +Cost him nine for the hole, and did an eighty-five at that. Said his +caddie moved just as he was swinging back for his drive; too bad, wasn't +it?" + +His tone belied the grief expressed by his last words, and at his +humorous wink Carleton openly smiled. Both could exult in the common +enjoyment of seeing a dangerous rival put out of the running. "Yes, too +bad," he rejoined, "his eighty-five the best?" + +Henderson shook his head. "No," he answered, "fellow from Brooklawn did +an eighty-three. Nothing much else under ninety, though; one or two +eighty-nines, I believe, and an eighty-eight; better get limbered up a +bit, Jack; it's getting near our turn. See you outside." + +Carleton nodded, tightened his belt another hole, and reached for his +clubs. Then, for a moment turning his back on the crowded room, he held +out his hand, scanning the fingers critically. His ideas of conditioning +himself were his own. He frowned slightly, shaking his head in +displeasure. "That's the first time that's happened again so soon," he +muttered, "I thought I looked out for that this morning. Well, I know +the answer, anyway," and a couple of minutes later, wiping his lips with +his handkerchief, he joined Henderson outside the club-house, and began +leisurely to limber up. + +It was a quarter of an hour later when, in answer to their names, they +stepped forward to the first tee. Henderson, having the honor, surveyed +his footing with care, and then, absolutely cool and phlegmatic, teed +his ball, eyed the direction flag waving on the cop bunker some seventy +yards away, and with his provokingly easy swing drove a ball without +much "ginger" behind it, a trifle high yet superlatively safe, unerring +in direction and with some distance to it as well, for the road was a +full hundred and fifty yards from the tee, and the little white sphere +stood out plainly against the green of the turf some twenty yards +beyond. Still with the utmost deliberation he stepped back off the tee, +and Carleton took his place. His style was almost the antithesis of +Henderson's. His tee was scarcely more than a pinch of the damp sand, +just enough to insure a good lie for his ball; almost negligently, it +seemed, he fell at once into his stance, swinging back with an +astonishing freedom, yet with complete mastery of a somewhat dashing +style, and coming through into a finish absolutely superb. Low and +straight sped his ball, hardly more than twenty feet over the top of the +bunker; then, beginning slowly to rise, soaring magnificently onward, +finally to come to a stop some fifty or sixty yards beyond the road. +Henderson whistled as they walked down the path. "Some one's feeling +fine," he said. "Glad you got in one good one, anyway, Jack." + +Carleton smiled grimly. "Oh, a few more at home like that I guess," he +retorted, "you've got to crack an eighty to-day, Tommy, if you want to +be in the game." + +His second shot, indeed, seemed to bear out his words. Henderson had +taken an iron, cleared the bunker that guarded the green, and was +safely on its farther edge in two, but Carleton, playing a high, clean +mashie, with plenty of back-spin, managed to lay his ball up within a +dozen feet of the flag. On the green Henderson putted true and straight, +his ball stopping so near the hole as to make a four a certainty. +Carleton, with a little more deliberation than he had yet shown, eyed +the line of his put. "Easy," he muttered to himself, half-aloud, +"nothing to it; easiest thing you know; just get the line, follow her +through, and she--goes--_down_." + +With the final word the ball ticked against the farther edge of the cup, +and dropped gently in for a three. Henderson, holing out, whistled +again. "Somebody's got their good eye with 'em," he observed, and +Carleton, picking up his ball, drew a long breath of content. "Oh, the +devil," he answered good-naturedly, "this is one of my days; I can do +anything I want to to 'em to-day;" and in silence they strode away for +the second tee. + +Outward for the first nine holes they played, into a world, green under +foot and blue and white above, the sunshine just pleasantly warm, the +cool westerly breeze barely stirring the green leaves in the tree-tops, +and faintly rousing the drooping direction flags below. A world of +good-fellowship, a world of youth and joy, and withal, the rigor of the +game to make them at times wholly unconscious, at times all the more +conscious, of the glory above, around, beneath them. Henderson, the safe +and sane, was on his game, making the first nine holes in an even forty, +but Carleton played beyond himself. Twice only on the outward journey +did he make mistakes, and for both he atoned by pulling off two shots +well-nigh marvelous--one a clean, slashing brassie that put him on the +edge of the green on the long fifth--four hundred and fifty yards--in +two; one a straight, deadly put of twenty-five feet at the eighth; no +wonder that Henderson unwillingly totaled a thirty-six for his rival, +puckered his lips, but this time without the whistle, and mournfully +shook his head. Coming in, indeed, Carleton's pace slackened a bit, and +his playing became, in Henderson's phrase, "considerably more like a +human being's." Mistakes, one or two of them costly, were not lacking; +his putting fell off a bit; his confidence seemed a little to diminish; +yet, spite of all, he still played brilliantly, and when on the +eighteenth, he drove a long, straight ball, far over the quarry, with no +danger between him and the home hole, Henderson was forced to admit +defeat. He himself finished as steadily as ever, coming in without any +serious error, without anything especially brilliant, with a card all +fours and fives, in forty-two, and thus handed it an eighty-two for the +round. Carleton's card in was more irregular; it was marred by two +sixes, but these were balanced by two threes and an occasional four, +altogether forty-one for the second nine, and a total of seventy-seven. +Surely, the gold medal lay all but in his grasp, and Henderson, indeed, +had the grace to acknowledge it. "You're all right, Jack," he said, as +they parted, "see you to-morrow afternoon, but I guess you've got things +cinched; this is your lucky day;" and Carleton, though perforce he +shrugged his shoulders and said that no one could ever tell, felt in his +heart that the prize was as good as won. + +At the club-house he dressed, and then, finding that he had plenty of +time, walked leisurely down to the train, and started back for town. For +a while, just comfortably tired with the afternoon's round, he was +content to sit back in his seat with passive enjoyment, with eyes half +closed, playing over again each stroke of the round in pleasant +retrospect, again smashing straight low balls from the tee, again laying +up his approach shots, again successfully holing long, difficult puts. +It made pleasant enough dreaming, and he sat thus until Hillside was +reached. + +Then suddenly, two men, entering hurriedly, took the vacant seat behind +him, evidently resuming their conversation where it had been broken off +as they had boarded the train. Their first words drove golf a million +miles from his brain. "So it busted clean to hell, did it?" asked the +stout man, panting with haste and excitement. + +"Did it?" echoed his companion, with a certain dismal pride, the sense +of proprietorship that one gains in the communication of bad news, +"well, I should say it did. Didn't begin till two o'clock, and then, +say, you never saw such a time in your life. Smash--Bang--Smash! +Everything thrown over, right and left; why, down at Wellman's--" + +The train roared into the long tunnel, and the rest of the sentence was +lost. It was enough, and Carleton, sitting motionless, felt a sudden +sickening reaction creep over him. A game of golf--a gold medal--and the +market again in the grip of a panic beside which the first break of +three days ago must have been as nothing. And then, insistently, he +began to wonder--how bad--how bad? His margin had been slender enough +before--hardly sufficient, really, to pass muster unless tinctured with +the dangerous kindness of friendship--he clenched his hands; his mouth +had gone suddenly dry-- + +Inside the smoky station the train came to a halt. Alighting, he paused +to buy the evening papers from a clamorous newsboy; then without +stopping even to glance at them, hastened straight to his office. It was +long after the hour of closing. The office boy was gone, the door made +fast. Unlocking it, he entered, sat down at his desk, and began hastily +to examine the letters and memoranda reposing there. "Ring up Mr. +Turner," was penciled half a dozen times in the office boy's round, +sprawling hand, with various additions, "Important," "Urgent," "At +once," "Ring 698, Lincoln;" that was Harris and Wheeler's; "Ring Main, +422;" that was Claxton Brothers. He turned to the papers. Lord above, +what headlines! Panic--market crash--houses suspended--banks in +danger--half dazed, he gazed for a moment around him, as if doubting +that it could all be real; then, with a grim feeling that nothing could +much matter now, he read steadily the long rows of stock quotations; and +ever, as he read down a column, values dropped downward with him, and +never, as he turned to the top of the next, did they rise again. Once +more he had to stop, unable to grasp the truth; Akme Mining, nine and a +half; Suburban Electric, forty-seven; Fuel, sixty-three; it was all +impossible. + +Through the slide in the office door a letter fluttered gently to the +floor. He rose and picked it up. It had Turner's name in the corner. +Inside was a hasty scrawl, "Things very bad; must have ten thousand +additional margin at opening to-morrow, sure." As he laid it down, the +telephone rang; "Yes," he answered, "Mr. Harris; oh, yes, I know; five +thousand; yes; thanks; you've got to have it at the opening; all right; +good-by." He hung up the receiver, and turned to confront a telegraph +boy at his elbow. He hastily signed, and ripped open the envelope. This +time the laconic message was from Claxton Brothers. "Good," he muttered, +"only five thousand more. This is fine," and he threw himself back in +his office chair, and for a moment or two thought hard. Then he smiled +ironically. "Oh, yes," he muttered, "Henderson got it right, as usual; +this is certainly my lucky day;" then after a moment, he added, "Well, I +suppose it's a case of must now. It's all I _can_ do." He rose, +shrugging his shoulders, and thrusting the papers into his pocket, he +hurriedly left the office. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A QUESTION OF HONOR + + "What is left when honour is lost?" + _Publius Syrus._ + + +Twilight was falling over The Birches, and Edward Carleton, seated alone +on the piazza, gazed out over the darkening fields into a world of ever +blending shadows and onward creeping dusk. Always, as long as the +weather permitted, after his evening meal, he loved to sit there, +puffing quietly at his big, old-fashioned, curved pipe, and letting his +memory roam back at will through scene after scene from the long years +that now lay behind him; or sometimes, more rarely, living in the +present, content merely to gaze out on blossoming flower, and tree in +full leaf; to watch the fiery colors of the sunset glow and die in the +far-off west; to hear from the orchard across the road a robin singing +his good night song; to listen to the thousand wonderful secrets which +Nature at the last loves to whisper to those who have lived their lives +pure in deed and word, and who have journeyed far onward into the +shadow, still kindly and serene, with the wonderful dreams of childhood +making beautiful their minds, and in their hearts the faith of little +children. + +Often Henry Carleton sat there with him, but to-night the old man was +alone. An hour ago, a message had come from Henry, saying that he would +not be home until the following evening--perhaps not even then--that +business matters of importance had arisen, making it necessary that he +should remain in town. Characteristic of Henry Carleton's unfailing +thoughtfulness the message had been, and it was of his brother, and, +with a half-sigh, of Jack as well, that Edward Carleton was thinking +now, as the darkness pressed closer and closer around the old house that +had sheltered for so many generations so many fathers and sons of the +Carleton blood. + + * * * * * + +From the entrance to the gravel walk, the sound of footsteps smote +briskly on his ear and he glanced up to see a tall and familiar figure +coming up the path. A moment later, and Jack had hastily mounted the +steps, scarce seeming to heed his father's greeting, and speaking at +once, in a voice strangely unlike his own. "Father," he said, "where's +Henry?" + +The old man gazed at him in surprise. "He's not at home, Jack," he +answered, and then, with a momentary foreboding, "What is it, my boy? +Nothing wrong?" + +Jack laughed, a little grimly. "No, nothing like that," he answered, +"I'm in trouble, that's all. I've stayed too long in a falling market, +and got caught. If I can't get help from Henry, I guess I'm done." + +In the darkness Edward Carleton reached out his hand, and laid it on his +son's shoulder. "My dear boy," he said, "I'm sorry. If only Henry has +the money available. But I don't know. These must be terrible times for +every one. Tell him if there's any way he can use what he holds for me, +that I asked him to do so. I'm so sorry, Jack--so sorry--" + +With what was for him unusual feeling, Jack took his father's hand in +both his own. "Thank you, father," he said, "I know you are. It's all my +own fault, of course. I don't deserve any help. But it's all come so +suddenly. I never thought--" + +He broke off abruptly, then spoke again. "Well, I suppose I must get +back in town, I haven't much time. I never dreamed of not finding Henry +here. I'm sorry I can't stay. Good night, father," and he was gone. + +It was nearly two hours later when he hastened down Adams Street toward +the Harmon Building, where high overhead in many a window, lights +ordinarily extinguished by five or six o'clock, were still burning +brightly; some of them, indeed, destined to gleam and flicker throughout +that long, anxious summer's night, and only to pale at last as the first +faint streaks of dawn struck through the shades on the men who planned +and toiled within, working feverishly, with gray, unshaven faces, and +weary, bloodshot, deep-sunken eyes. + +Getting out of the elevator at the fourth floor, Jack hastily made his +way into Henry Carleton's offices. Once there, however, although his +name was quickly sent in, he was compelled to wait for a full half hour +in the outer corridor, until at length a bell rang sharply, and a tired +looking clerk, with a nod of his head toward the inner office, signified +that the audience was granted. With a curious sense of old-time +familiarity, Jack entered the big square room which he had visited last, +now upward of three years ago, and closed the door behind him. + +Over by the window, Henry Carleton was seated at his desk. He was a man +of about fifty, in complexion so dark as to appear almost swarthy, and +with coal black hair and beard, here and there just faintly touched with +gray. He was tall, much of Jack's height and build, yet constructed +upon finer lines, with a sinuous grace of movement that had about it +something almost feline. His face was rather long, the forehead and +cheek-bones high, the eyes were black and piercing, and the lips of +the strong, well-chiseled mouth noticeably full and red. Altogether, +an interesting face, a fitting index to the dual personality of the +man--Henry Carleton the shrewd and able leader in the business world, +and Henry Carleton the musician and man of letters--the artist to his +finger-tips. + +As Jack entered, he glanced up pleasantly enough, though far back in his +eyes there lurked a hidden gleam of some emotion difficult to fathom. +"Why, hello, Jack," he said, "I'm surprised to see _you_. What brings +you here? Sit down." He motioned toward a chair. + +Jack Carleton came forward into the room, standing a little awkwardly +with his hand on the back of the proffered seat. "It's the market, +Henry," he said briefly, "I've got caught. I have to raise twenty +thousand by the opening to-morrow, or go under. I've just come from +home; I thought I'd find you there. I'll tell you the truth. I hate like +hell to come to you, and you know it, but I've got to get the money +somehow, and if you can help me, I wish to Heaven you would." + +Henry Carleton gazed at him meditatively. "Better sit down," he said +curtly, and this time Jack accepted the invitation. There was a short +silence. Then Henry Carleton drew a tiny note-book from his pocket, and +looked up, with pencil poised, "Now let's have it," he said. + +Jack Carleton frowned. It was easy enough to see that the confession of +his sins was little less than torture to him. "Well," he began, a trifle +defiantly, "it's like this. I've got in a trifle deeper than I meant to +when I started. Things looked so like a cinch, I couldn't help it. I've +fifteen hundred shares of Suburban Electric, and seven hundred Akme +Mining, and five hundred Fuel, and a little other stuff besides. My +heaviest account's with Turner and Driver; then I've got an account with +Harris and Wheeler, and another with Claxton Brothers; altogether--" + +Piece by piece the whole story came out. Henry Carleton wrote, figured, +meditated; asked a question here, another there; meditated again. +Finally he seemed to make up his mind. He spoke with deliberation, +weighing his words. "No one can tell," he said, "what the next +twenty-four hours are going to bring. But what you ought to do is clear. +You've got to lighten up, to start with. Close out your account with +Harris, and with the Claxtons; hang on to what you have at Turner and +Driver's, if you can. That's enough; and that's our problem: how best to +try to carry it through." + +As if the words brought him measureless comfort, Jack drew a long breath +of relief. "You think, then," he asked, almost timidly, "you can fix it +somehow? You think you can get me by?" + +Henry Carleton did not at once reply, and when he finally spoke, it was +but to answer Jack's question with another. "Have you done everything +you can yourself?" he queried. "Where else have you tried?" + +Jack gave a short mirthless laugh. "Where _haven't_ I tried?" he +retorted. "I've tackled about every friend and acquaintance I've got in +the world. I began four days ago. And I've had the same identical +come-back from every one of them. They're sorry, but they have to look +out for themselves first. And security. They all talk about that. I +never knew before that security cut such a lot of ice with people. But +it does." + +Henry Carleton nodded grimly. "Yes, it does," he answered dryly, "most +of us make that discovery sooner or later. And generally for ourselves, +too. And when you mention security, Jack, you've come right down to the +root of the whole trouble. We might as well acknowledge it now. I can't +help you myself. I tell you so frankly. I couldn't use trust funds for +such a purpose, of course. Any one would tell you that. That's out of +the question. And my own money is hopelessly tied up. I couldn't get the +sum you need under a month, if I could then. But there's one thing I +might do. It isn't business. I hate to try it. But I don't want to see +you disgraced, Jack, if I can help it. Wait here a minute, till I see--" + +He rose and walked over to the telephone booth in the rear of his +office, and entering, closed the door behind him. In two minutes he came +back to his desk, penciled a name on a card, and handed it to Jack. +"This fellow Farrington," he said shortly, "is under some obligations to +me. I think you'll get what you want from him. Better see him anyway. +He's in the Jefferson Building, top floor. I told him you'd be there in +ten minutes, at the most." + +Jack Carleton rose. "I'm much obliged, Henry," he said, a little +lamely, "you're very good. I'm much obliged. I'll go right over, of +course." + +The other stood gazing at him with a curious expression on his swarthy +face, a curious gleam far back in his dark eyes. "Don't mention it," he +said smoothly, "Carletons must stand together, Jack. We mustn't bring +dishonor on the name, whatever we do." + +Unerringly he had pierced the weak joint in the armor. Jack's face went +whiter than before. He stood for a moment silent, then spoke with +effort. "No," he answered, "we mustn't do that," and turning, he left +the room. + +Up-town toward the Jefferson Building he hurried, half-daring, yet +half-fearing, to hope. Noting the number of the room on the framed +directory placarded within, he left the elevator at the tenth floor, and +hastening down the corridor, paused opposite the door. Externally the +office was a modest one, with "H. O. Farrington, Agent" inscribed in +plain black lettering on the glass. Entering, he found the interior to +correspond. A tiny room, with a small enclosure at one end, within which +sat Farrington himself, a man perhaps best described by saying that he +perfectly typified that somewhat vague being whom most of us have in +mind when we speak glibly of the "average man." "Average" best described +him in height, build, and appearance, the nondescript sort of person +whom one meets on Monday, and passes in the street on Tuesday, wholly +unconscious of ever having seen him before. + +As Jack entered, he glanced up quickly. "Mr. Carleton?" he questioned, +and as Jack nodded, motioned to a chair. "Just a minute," he said, and +bent over his writing again. Presently, as he stopped, and reached for a +sheet of blotting paper, Jack ventured to speak. "I don't know how much +you know about this--" he began, but the other raised his hand. "All +right," he said briefly, and shoved a check and a receipt across the +desk, "Sign, please." + +Mechanically Jack glanced at the check. It was for the amount required. +Mechanically, too, he signed the receipt, and handed it back to +Farrington. Half unable to realize his good fortune, he rose, the check +in his hand. "I'm greatly obliged," he said. + +Farrington made no reply. Evidently words with him were precious things. +Perforce Jack turned to go, and then, half-way to the door, turned. + +"Mr. Farrington," he said hesitatingly, "if things should go lower--" + +Farrington did not look up. "They won't," he said tersely. + +Again Jack hesitated. Then, finally, "But if they should--" he said +again. + +A little impatiently, Farrington raised his head. "We'll see you +through," he said. "Good night." And Jack, not disposed to quarrel +further with fortune, closed the door behind him. + +It was a quarter of ten on the morning following when he entered Turner +and Driver's office, advancing to meet the senior partner with the +little strip of paper in his outstretched hand. Turner took it eagerly +enough, and as he scanned the amount, he nodded, while a wrinkle or two +seemed to vanish from his puckered and frowning brow. Then he looked +up. "Well, you got it," he said, and Carleton hastened to assent. "Oh, +yes," he returned lightly, "I got it all right. Why, didn't you think I +would?" + +The broker shrugged his shoulders. "Hard telling anything these days," +he answered, "but I'll tell you one thing, though; you're mighty lucky +to be able to put your hands on it so easy. There'll be more than one +poor devil this morning who would pretty near give his soul for a tenth +part of what you've got here. It's a bad time for customers, Jack, and I +don't mind telling you--" he lowered his voice confidentially--"that +it's a bad time for brokers, too. A little piece of paper like this--" +he waved the check gently to and fro--"is a nice comforting sight for a +man; between you and me, I wouldn't mind seeing three or four mates to +it. Yes, I'm glad to get it all right, on my account, and on yours, +too." + +Jack nodded. Somehow, entirely without justification, as he well knew, +the check had given him a feeling of great stability; at once, on +receiving it, he had felt that he had risen in his own self-esteem. +"Yes," he assented, "I'm glad myself; and you needn't worry about my +account, Jim. We'll just leave it this way. Don't treat mine as an +ordinary account; don't sell me out, whatever happens. I've friends +that'll see me through anything. If things should go lower, and you +should need more margin, just let me know, and I'll get it over to you +right away. Will that be satisfactory?" + +The broker nodded. "Why, yes, Jack," he answered, "knowing the way +you're fixed, I guess that'll be all right, though with nine men out of +ten, of course I wouldn't consider such a way of doing things. Business +is business, and when it comes right down to the fine point, why, it's +the cold hard cash that counts, and nothing else; not friendship, or +honor, or gratitude, or common decency, even--" both face and voice had +hardened as he spoke; it was not his first panic--and then his look met +Carleton's fairly and squarely. "But with you, Jack," he continued, +"it's different, as I say. Only let's be perfectly sure that we +understand each other. I don't believe myself, you know, that things can +go much lower; I think the chances are they've steadied for good; but +for argument, let's suppose they do. Then, as I understand it, you don't +want to have me sell you out at any price, no matter how far they break. +You'll make good any time I ask you to. You give me your word on that?" + +Carleton readily enough assented. "Why, sure," he answered lightly, "of +course I do; you needn't worry; I'll make good," and the broker nodded, +well pleased. + +"One thing less to bother over, then," he said. "You'll excuse me now, +Jack, won't you? This is going to be a horrible busy day, anyway, and +the Lord send it's nothing worse than that; it wouldn't take much now to +raise the very deuce." + +As he spoke the _News Despatch_ boy entered, tossing down on the table a +half dozen sheets fresh from the press. Turner glanced at them, and +handed them over to Carleton, shaking his head as he did so. "London's +not feeling gay," he observed, "I call that a pretty ragged opening +myself. I don't know what you think of it." + +Carleton read and nodded. It seemed as if everything in the half dozen +pages made for discouragement. London had opened weak--lamentably weak. +There were rumors of this--rumors of that--sickly, unhealthy mushroom +growths of the night. There was talk of failures--suspensions--financial +troubles of every kind--even the good name of a great bank was bandied +carelessly to and fro. Silently Turner crossed the room, and took his +seat at his desk; silently Carleton walked out into the customers' room, +and joined the other unfortunates who had come slowly straggling in, and +who now stood around the ticker, waiting gloomily and apprehensively for +the opening bell to ring. + +The tension of the moment was plainly enough to be read in the attitudes +and expressions of the members of the little group, not one of whom +failed in some manner or other to betray the fact that he was far from +possessing his usual poise and calm. Most of them, either consciously or +unconsciously, showed their nervousness so plainly and even painfully +that it was impossible to misinterpret the anxious glances cast first at +the clock, then at the tape, as the moment of the opening drew near. +One or two, indeed, essayed a nonchalance so obviously assumed as to +render even more apparent the emotion it sought to conceal. One young +fellow, with hat shoved far back on his head, hair in disorder, and a +restless, frightened look in his eyes, glanced at Carleton as he +approached. + +"How _you_ standing it, Jack?" he queried, with a faint attempt at +jocularity. "Bad night to sleep last night, _I_ called it; guess most +likely 'twas something in the air." + +Another man, he of the toothpick, stout and coarse, held forth at some +length for the benefit of the rest. "Oh, it was perfectly clear, the +whole thing," he was saying, with the air of one to whom all the +mysteries and marvels of stock fluctuations are but as matters writ +large in print the most plain. "You see Rockman and Sharp and +Haverfeller got together on this thing, and then they had a conference +with Horgan, and got him to say that he'd keep his hands off, and let +things alone; then they had a clear chance, and you can see what they've +done with it; oh, they're clever all right; when those fellows get +together, it's time to look out; you can't beat 'em." + +He spoke with a certain condescending finality, as if he had somehow +once and for all fixed the status of the panic. After a moment or two a +gray, scholarly looking little man, with gentle, puzzled eyes, addressed +him, speaking with an air of timid respect for the stout man's evident +knowledge. + +"Do you imagine, sir," he asked, "that securities will decline still +further in value? If they should, I am afraid that I might find myself +seriously involved. I can't seem to understand this whole affair; I was +led to believe--" + +The big man, charmed with the novelty of having a genuine, voluntary +listener, interrupted him at once. + +"Oh, you don't have to worry," he said largely, "they might open 'em off +a little lower, perhaps, but they'll go back again. Don't you fret; the +country's all right; they'll come back; they always do." + +The little man seemed vastly comforted. "I'm very glad to hear you say +so," he answered. "It would come very hard--I had no idea the risk was +so great--I was led to believe--" + +The young man with the rumpled hair turned a trifle disgustedly to +Carleton. "Heard from London?" he asked abruptly. His brief, and not +wholly unintelligent connection with the game had led him to believe +firmly in facts and figures, not in the dangerous pastime of theorizing +over values, or speculating as to what the next move of the "big +fellows" might be. + +Carleton nodded. "Weak," he answered, his tone pitched low and meant for +his neighbor's ear only, "horribly weak; and all sorts of stories +starting, too; it looks as bad as it could." + +The young man nodded. "I supposed so," he said, with resignation, and +then added whimsically, "Well, there's no use crying about it, I guess, +but it certainly looks as if this was the time when little Willie gets +it good and plenty, right in the neck." + +Just in front of them, a pale, slender man, with blinking eyes, and a +mumbling, trembling mouth that was never still, talked steadily in an +undertone, apparently partly to himself, partly to the man who stood at +his shoulder, a red-faced farmer with a hundred shares of Akme at stake. +"Now'd be the time," he muttered, "now'd be the time to jump right in; +jump right in and buy four or five thousand shares; a man could make a +fortune, and get out for good; it's the chance of a man's life; to jump +right in and buy four or five thousand shares." + +The countryman gazed at him in silence, sizing him up at first +curiously, and then with a certain amused and not unkindly contempt. +"Four or five thousand!" he said, at last. "That ain't enough. Buy ten +thousand while you're at it. You'll get twice as rich then," but the +nervous man seemed to take no offense, and indeed, not even to notice +the remark. "Now's the time," he rambled on, and it was clear that it +was to himself alone that his mumblings were addressed, "to jump right +in; that's the thing to do." + +To Carleton, all at once it seemed that the group around the ticker was +a gathering merely of the wrecks of men--of idle fools of greater or +less degree. All of them he pitied, except the big, coarse man with the +toothpick, for whom he felt a huge dislike; and most of all his pity +went out to the gentle man with the puzzled eyes; something unfair there +seemed to be in such a one being decoyed into the market game--something +repellant, as if one had lied, deliberately and maliciously, to a child. +Pity or anger--old or young--was there in all the group, he reflected +with sudden distaste, one real man? And then, instant and unexpected, a +lightning flame of keenest irony seemed to sear its way into his very +soul; suppose Farrington had withheld the check? Was there, in all the +group, _himself included_, one real man-- + +The bell rang. The ticker whirred. For a moment the dozen heads were +grouped closely together over the tape, and then--the first quotation, +five hundred Fuel at fifty-seven, gave warning of the truth; and the +second and third verified it beyond all doubt or questioning. No further +need of argument; no further agony; the suspense was over. So weak was +the opening as to be almost incredible, so weak that it took a moment or +two to adjust oneself to the shock. Akme Mining had closed the night +before at ten. Carleton, figuring on the lowest, had imagined that it +might open at eight and a half, or even eight. Two thousand shares came +over the tape at six and a quarter. Everything else was in like ratio; +everything else kept the same proportion--or lack of it. For perhaps ten +seconds there was silence absolute, and then the reaction came. The +young man with the rumpled hair turned sharply away, his hands thrust +deep into his trousers' pockets, his lips curiously twisted and +contorted, the tip of his tongue showing between his teeth. He gazed up +at the blank wall, nodding unsmilingly to himself. "I thought so," he +observed, quietly, "in the neck." + +The man with the mumbling mouth started again to speak. "Now," he +muttered, "now would be the time; to jump right in--" and then, as if +just for a moment he caught a glimpse of himself and the figure he made, +old and futile, worn out and wan, he stopped abruptly, rubbing his eyes, +and for a time spoke no more, only standing there motionless, with the +force of a habit too strong to be broken, glancing down unseeingly at +the rows of little black letters and figures that issued steadily from +the ticker, only to pass, unregarded and unmeaning, beneath the vacancy +of his gaze. + +Carleton had stood staring grimly with the rest. In a moment he felt a +hand laid upon his arm, and turned to meet the wistful glance of the +little gray man. "I beg your pardon," he asked timidly, "but can you +tell me at what price Kentucky Coal is selling? I dislike to trouble +you, but I am entirely unfamiliar with the abbreviations used." + +Carleton nodded with the feeling that he might as well deal the little +man a blow squarely between the eyes. "Forty-eight," he said shortly. + +The little man turned very pale. "Forty-eight," he repeated +mechanically, "can it be so? Forty-eight!" He shook his head slowly from +side to side, then glanced at Carleton with a smile infinitely gentle +and pathetic. "And to earn it," he murmured, "took me twenty years;" and +then again, after a pause, "twenty years; and I'm afraid I'm pretty old +to begin again now." + +Carleton's heart smote him. Gladly enough would he have sought to aid, +if a half of his own depleted fortune had remained to him. He stood for +a moment as if in a dream. The whole scene--the familiar office, the +stock-board, the ticker, the disheartened, discouraged group of +unsuccessful gamblers--it was all real enough, and yet at the same time +about it all there clung an air somehow theatric, melodramatic, hard of +realization. Then, from the doorway, Turner called him sharply, and he +hastened into the private office. Outwardly, the broker still had a +pretty good grip on himself, but in his tone his rising excitement was +easily enough discerned. "Look, Jack," he said quickly, "things are bad; +there's all sorts of talk coming over our private wire. Hell's broke +loose; that's the amount of it. I want you to get me ten thousand on +your account as quick as the Lord'll let you; get fifteen, if you can. +It's better for us both that way. Saves worrying--any more than anybody +can help. And Jack," he added, "I'm not supposed to know this, neither +are you. But they're letting go a raft of your father's stuff over at +Brown's. I don't know what the devil it means, but I call it a mighty +bad sign." + +Carleton nodded, and without wasting time, left the room. The ten +minutes' walk between Turner's office and the Jefferson Building he +covered in half that time, and striding hastily down the corridor, had +almost reached Farrington's door when a tall, red-faced young man, +emerging with equal speed, pulled up short to avoid the threatened +collision, and stood back for Carleton to enter. Glancing at him, Jack +recognized a casual acquaintance, and nodded to him as he passed. "How +are you, Cummings?" he said, and the other, looking at him a little +curiously, returned his salutation, and then passed quickly on. + +Farrington was seated at his desk, and Jack at once, and without +ceremony, entered. Farrington, glancing up, acknowledged his greeting, +with a curt nod; then looked at him with questioning gaze. "Well?" he +said. + +"Well," Jack echoed, a trifle deprecatingly, "you can guess what I've +come for, I suppose. You saw the opening. I want ten thousand +more--fifteen, if I can have it--but ten will do." + +Farrington looked him straight in the eye. + +"Ten will do," he echoed; then, dryly, "I should think it would." He +paused for the veriest instant, then added, with the utmost directness, +"It's no go, Mr. Carleton. I'm caught myself. I can't let you have a +cent." + +At the words the blood seemed suddenly to leave Jack Carleton's heart. +Something tightened in his throat, and a faint mist seemed to gather +between Farrington's face and his own. Then, as he came to himself, +"Can't let me have it!" he cried sharply. "Why, you told me last night +you'd see me through, you won't go back on your word now. The money's +promised. It's too late." + +Farrington's face was expressionless. "You don't realize," he said, +"what a time this is. It's one day out of a million--the worst there's +ever been. If I could have foreseen--" + +The telephone on his desk rang sharply, and he turned to answer it. +Jack Carleton sat as if stunned. This man had lied to him; had given +him his word, and now, with the market hopelessly lower, retracted it; +had thrown him a rope, and, as he hung helpless in mid air, was +leaning coolly forward to cut it, and let him perish. And he had +promised Turner--his word of honor. He felt physically faint and sick. +Farrington hung up the receiver, and then, as Jack started to speak, an +interruption occurred. Suddenly the door opened, and Cummings appeared +in the entrance. He seemed greatly hurried and excited, as if he had +been running hard. "All ready, Hal," he cried, "he'll ring you any +minute now. And when he does, buy like hell! For the personal, of +course! He says--" + +Quickly Farrington cut in on him. "Shut up!" he cried, so sharply that +Jack could not but note his tone, "Can't you see I'm busy? Wait outside, +till I'm through," and Cummings, his red face many shades redder than +before, at once hastily withdrew. + +Immediately Carleton leaned forward. "Look here," he cried desperately, +"this isn't right. You told me you'd see me through. Those were your +very words. You can't go back on them now. If you do, you've got me +ruined--worse than ruined. It isn't only the money; I've pledged my +word; pledged myself to make good. I've got to have it, Farrington; +that's all; I've got to; can't you understand?" + +Farrington frowned. "You _can't_ have it," he answered sharply, "and +don't take that tone to me, either, Mr. Carleton. Haven't I given you +twenty thousand already? You must have misunderstood me last night. I +said I'd see you through if I could, and now I find I can't. That's all. +I tell you I can't; and I won't stop to split hairs about it, either. +I've got too much at stake. You'd better not wait, Mr. Carleton. There's +no use in it. There's nothing for you here." + +Carleton's eyes blazed. Just for an instant things swam before him; for +an instant he half crouched, like an animal about to spring. In the +office, absolute stillness reigned, save for the tall clock in the +corner ticking off the seconds--five--ten--fifteen--and then, all at +once, his tightly closed hands unclenched, his lips relaxed; on the +instant he stood erect, and without speaking, turned quickly on his +heel, and left the room. + +Grim and white of face, he burst five minutes later into Turner's +private office, with a bearing so changed that Turner could not help +but notice it, and read the trouble there. "Something wrong?" he asked +sharply, and Carleton nodded, with a strange feeling as if he were +acting a part in some sinister dream. "I couldn't get it," he said. + +Turner gazed at him, frowning. "Nonsense," he cried, and Carleton could +have laughed hysterically to hear his own words of ten minutes before +coming back to him: "You've got to get it. You told me you were all +right, Jack. You can't do this now. Last night was the time to settle or +sell. You can't turn around now. It's too late." + +Carleton's face was haggard, his mouth dry. He shook his head +stubbornly. "I can't get it," he said again. + +The broker's eyes grew suddenly hard. "Of course you can," he cried, +"you said you could; you know you can get it, Jack; go ahead!" + +But Carleton only shook his head once more. "It's no use," he answered +wearily, "I _can't_ get it, I say. I wouldn't lie to you." + +It was an unfortunate phrase. The broker sneered. "Oh, no," he cried, +"of course not. You wouldn't lie to me. How about this morning?" And +then, struck suddenly by the expression on Carleton's face, and perhaps +a little ashamed of his own loss of self-control, he hastened to add, in +a tone kindlier by far, "Come, come, Jack, this isn't like you. There's +something queer here. You told me you had friends who'd see you through. +You told me that not three hours ago. And if you lied to me, it was a +dirty thing to do, and a foolish thing, as well. Because now I've got to +sell you out; there's no other way; and it leaves you ruined, and costs +me money, besides. But I won't preach. Thank God, that's one thing I've +never done yet. You've been a good customer here, and a good friend of +mine, too. So give it to me straight, Jack. If you lied to me, tell me +so. It's bad enough for you; I won't make it any worse. I'll keep my +head shut, and you can pay me back as you're able. But now look here--" +and his tone hardened again--"if it isn't that; if it's somebody else +that's lied to _you_, and fooled us both, why that's a different story +altogether. There's nothing to stop us then, and by God, we won't let it +stop us, either. We'll tell the story all over this town, till we make +somebody good and sorry for what he's done. Give it to me straight, +Jack. How did it happen? Is this whole business up to somebody else, or +is it up to you? Was it the truth you told me, or was it a lie?" + +For a moment Carleton stood silent. Through his tired brain flashed +evil thoughts--suspicion--conjecture--the possibility of a just revenge. +And yet--it was all so confused--so uncertain. Blame there was +somewhere--but where? What could he really do? And then, curiously +enough, once more he seemed to see before his eyes the dark face of +Henry Carleton; once again he seemed to hear him say, "The Carletons +must stand together, Jack. We mustn't bring dishonor on the name." And +in that sudden instant Jack Carleton ceased all at once to be a boy, and +became a man. Low and hesitating came the words, the words that in the +broker's eyes branded him for ever as a coward, beaten and disgraced, +and yet his gaze, fixed on Turner's face, never faltered. "Jim," he +said, "I'm sorry. It's up to me. I told you a lie." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +DEATH COMES + + "Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail + Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, + Dispraise, or blame,--nothing but well and fair, + And what may quiet us in a death so noble." + _Milton._ + + +Through the gathering darkness of the short, chilly December day the +carriage swung up the driveway of The Birches, and in front of the porch +came to a sudden halt. Doctor Morrison, hastily alighting, ran quickly +up the piazza steps to find Henry Carleton, worried and anxious, already +awaiting him at the open door. + +"I'm glad you've come, Doctor," he said, his relief plainly enough +showing in his tone, "I've been reproaching myself for not letting you +know before. Step into the parlor for a moment, though, and warm +yourself before you go up. You must be cold." + +Pulling off his gloves, and laying aside his overcoat and bag, Doctor +Morrison followed Carleton into the room, rubbing his hands and holding +them out to the warmth of the open blaze. Then he turned. "And how is he +now?" he asked. "Any change for the worse?" + +"No, I think not," Carleton answered, "he appears to be comfortable +enough, and says he has no pain. Yet there seems something curious about +it, too. It was almost a week ago, I suppose, that he first began to +complain. There was nothing that you could fix on definitely, though. +Only that he didn't seem to be quite himself--not as bright as usual, or +so interested in things--and wanted to sleep a great deal, even in the +daytime; something, as you know, most unusual for him. I thought then of +sending for you, and then I felt that that might alarm him, and to tell +the truth, I expected every day to see him begin to pick up again; he's +had times like this before. And so things went along until to-day. But +this morning, as I telephoned you, he didn't get up at all--complained +of feeling very weak and faint--so of course I rang you up at once. I +only hope I've made no mistake in waiting so long." + +Doctor Morrison shook his head. "Oh, no, I don't think so for a moment," +he answered, "I doubt if it's anything serious at all. All men, as they +get on in years, are apt to get queer notions at times, especially about +their health. I'll go right up and see him now, but I don't anticipate +that we'll find there's the slightest cause for alarm." + +For half an hour Henry Carleton sat alone in the firelight, in spite +of all the doctor had said still anxious and disturbed. Then he rose +quickly as he heard footsteps descending the stairs, and stood waiting, +expectant and apprehensive. As the doctor entered the room, it was easy +to see from the expression on his face that his news was certainly none +of the best. Abruptly Henry Carleton stepped forward. "Is it serious?" +he asked. + +The doctor did not keep him in suspense. He nodded gravely. "Yes," he +answered, "I suppose I should tell you so at once. It is," and then, +seeing the unspoken question in the other's eyes, he added quickly, "No, +I don't mean anything immediate, necessarily; but he's failed terribly +since I saw him last. I suppose it's been all of six months now, at +least, since I came out before; and probably to you, living with him and +seeing him every day, the change has been so gradual that you haven't +noticed it, but it's been going on steadily just the same, all the time. +He's certainly failed--alarmingly." + +Slowly Henry Carleton nodded. "I see," he said half-mechanically, then +added, "Is it anything particular, Doctor, or just a general breaking +up?" + +"Just that," the doctor answered. "Just old age. It's the same story +with all of us, after all. The machine is built to run about so long. +Sometimes it wears out gradually; sometimes, as in Mr. Carleton's case, +even at the allotted age, it seems almost as good as new; and those are +the cases, where, when anything does go wrong, it's apt to go wrong very +suddenly indeed, so that to every one the shock is proportionately +greater, and just so much harder to bear." + +Again Henry Carleton nodded. "Nothing that one can do, I suppose?" he +asked, and the doctor shook his head. "No," he answered, "practically +nothing; it's really his own fight. I'll leave some directions about +medicine and diet, of course, and I rather think, on the whole, though +it's probably a needless precaution, that I'll stay here with you for +the night. You might fix me up a sofa in his room, if you don't mind; +I think perhaps I should feel better satisfied to stay until morning, +anyway. His heart isn't quite what I'd like it to be." + +By nine o'clock Edward Carleton seemed to be in better spirits, and +to be resting more comfortably, and neither Henry Carleton, nor, for +that matter, Doctor Morrison himself, retired with any thought of +an immediate turn for the worse. Henry Carleton, indeed, resigned +himself to sleep with all the comfort that comes from a conscience +serenely at peace with every one, and a knowledge that one's worldly +affairs--deprecated but not despised--are going magnificently to one's +advantage. Calmly enough he balanced his spiritual accounts with his +Creator and his fellow-men, and found that with both his credit was +good. Placidly he passed in review on matters more material, and there +found, if such a thing could be, his credit better still; and then, as +a good man should, dropped off to sleep with no disturbing or vexing +thoughts to mar his rest. + +Yet after all, the night was not destined to be a peaceful one, for +somewhere in the long, silent spaces that lie between midnight and the +dawn, the bell connecting Edward Carleton's room with his rang once, +twice, thrice; insistent and shrill, piercing his dreams with a sudden +foreboding of evil. In a moment he was up and across the hall, to find, +in the dim light, the doctor, half-dressed, supporting the old man's +figure, swaying as he strove to prop him against the pillows. Sharply +the doctor spoke. "On the mantel," he cried, "my case. Quick, please. +No, come here. I'll get it myself. Keep his head up--there--that +way--so. Just a minute, now; just a minute--" + +It was but the fraction of a minute, at the most, until he returned, but +in the interval the old man's eyes had opened and had gazed at Henry +Carleton with an expression of recognition. Instantly, too, he strove to +speak, but in vain, and then, just as the doctor reached his side, his +eyes closed, and his head dropped back among the pillows. Edward +Carleton was dead. + + * * * * * + +It was seven o'clock the next morning when Doctor Morrison, tired and +pale with the strain of his long, sleepless night, entered his office, +to meet Helmar just coming down the stairs. "Old Mr. Carleton's gone, +Franz," he said abruptly, "heart failure. He died early this morning." + +Helmar glanced up quickly. "I'm very sorry indeed," he said, "but it's +not a surprise. I remember when I saw him I didn't give him over six +months, or a year, at the most. His heart action was none too good even +then, and there were other things." + +Doctor Morrison nodded, then looked at him with a rather curious +expression. "Franz," he said, "you know your friend Jack Carleton?" + +Helmar's eyes met his frankly. "I was just thinking of him," he said, +"I'm afraid it will be a terrible shock. I think he scarcely realized +that his father was failing at all. Poor old Mr. Carleton! And what a +difference it all makes. To think that Jack will come into his fortune +now." + +Again Doctor Morrison eyed him curiously. "Come into his fortune," he +repeated, and again Helmar looked up quickly, struck by his tone. + +"Why, yes," he answered, "why not? I always understood that Jack would +have the estate on his father's death. There's been no change, has +there? Jack hasn't been cut off in any way?" + +Doctor Morrison shook his head. "No," he answered, "nothing like that, +exactly; but suppose I have nothing, and give you all I have; that +doesn't do you such a tremendous lot of good." + +Helmar's expression sufficiently showed his astonishment. "You don't +mean it!" he cried. "Why, that can't be so! I always understood from +every one that Edward Carleton was a very rich man. Why, just look at +his place, for one thing; it can't be so." + +Doctor Morrison shrugged his shoulders. "It's the same old story," he +said, "you know yourself how often it happens, and how surprised people +are on a man's death to find how comparatively little he has. +Sometimes, of course, you'll find it just reversed, and the man that's +rated at fifty thousand dies worth half a million. But that's the +exception, these days, and the other's the rule. For one man that +scrapes and saves, there are a dozen who live on a big scale, spend +their income to the last cent, and maybe draw on the principal, too. And +Edward Carleton spent money very freely, I suppose." + +Helmar looked entirely unconvinced. "Well, suppose he did," he answered, +"admit that he did, even; for he did give a lot to charity and things +like that; I know that for a fact. But even then--think of the different +enterprises he was in in his day, and practically all big, successful +ones. Oh, it can't be that he left nothing; it's an impossibility." + +Doctor Morrison shook his head. "No, sir, it's true," he replied, "I'm +not speculating about it; I know it positively, because I got it from +Henry Carleton's own lips. He surely ought to know, if any one does, and +he'd hardly care to publish the fact if it wasn't really so. He's a most +remarkable man, Helmar. I've always admired him, but I don't think I +ever really quite appreciated him before. Sometimes I seemed to find him +a little self-centered, a little too sure of himself, if you know what I +mean. But I know better now, for what he's done in his brother's case is +really as fine a thing as you ever heard. It seems that the old +gentleman had always managed his own affairs, but about a year ago he +came to Henry and asked him to take charge of everything for him. I +suppose he felt that he was getting a little out of touch with things, +perhaps; anyway, whether he suspected it or not, the sequel proved that +he'd managed to put matters off a little too long. He had some very +unfortunate investments, and he'd looked out for lots of other people +ahead of himself, and the long and short of it was that when the panic +blew along, it simply wiped Edward Carleton off the map." + +Helmar nodded grudgingly. "Well, on those facts, I can understand it, +then," he replied. "But I always thought he was too conservative a man +to get caught in anything like that. He had plenty of company, though." + +"No doubt of that," Doctor Morrison assented, "and then what do you +suppose Henry Carleton did? Straightened out what was left of the wreck +as well as he could, told the old gentleman that everything was all +right, and has kept the estate going ever since, letting him have +whatever he wanted, right out of his own pocket, and without a word to +any one that things were any different from what they always had been. +He's even kept on paying Jack the allowance his father gave him, and +that, too, after he and Jack had had another row, more serious than any +that had gone before. And he'd have kept on like that, he told me, if +the old gentleman had lived ten years instead of one. If that isn't +doing one's duty, in the best sense of the word, I'd like to have you +tell me what is." + +For a moment, Helmar did not reply. To all that Doctor Morrison had said +he had listened with the closest attention. "He told you all this +himself, you say?" he queried at length. + +At once the doctor felt the unspoken criticism in his tone. "And why +not?" he retorted. "This has been a time of great strain for him, and we +were together there for the rest of the night. At a time like that a +man's tongue is loosened perhaps a little more than usual." + +Helmar made no answer, either of denial or assent. Then, after a little +while, "Does Jack know?" he asked. + +"Not yet," the doctor answered. "There seemed nothing to be gained by +telephoning. I told Henry Carleton I'd go up at once myself." + +Helmar reached for his hat. "If you don't mind," he said, "let me go +instead," and Doctor Morrison, spent and weary, readily enough nodded +assent. + +Carleton, as Helmar entered the door of his room at the Mayflower, +turned with some surprise to greet his friend. "Why, hello, Franz," he +cried. "What the devil brings you here?" Then noticing the look on +Helmar's face, he added quickly, and in a very different tone, "What is +it? Anything wrong?" + +Helmar nodded. Between man and man, he was no believer in striving to +break bad news gently. "It's your father, Jack," he said. "He died this +morning. It was very sudden. Doctor Morrison was there. It was his +heart. There was nothing that could be done. And he didn't suffer, Jack; +and that means a great deal." + +He stopped, making no empty protestations of sympathy. Carleton, turning +on his heel, stepped quickly to the window, and stood, with his back to +Helmar, gazing blankly out into the street. Presently he turned again; +his eyes were moist; and his voice, when he spoke, was pitched low. "The +poor old Governor," he said. "He was awfully good to me. I never +thought--I wish now--I wish somehow I'd been different with him." + +With the vast freemasonry of experience Helmar divined his thoughts. "I +know, Jack," he said, "I know how I felt when my father died. I've known +since, a hundred times, what sons and daughters might be to their +parents, but somehow we're not. It's just the fact of being young, I +suppose. We don't understand; we don't appreciate--until it's too late; +and then we never can repay; only remember, I suppose, when we have +children of our own, that we've got to make allowances, too--" + +He broke off abruptly, and for a moment there was silence. Then, with +evident constraint, he spoke again. "Doctor Morrison was coming up here +himself, Jack," he said, "but I asked him to let me come instead. There +was something I wanted to tell you especially--about the estate. Henry +has told Doctor Morrison that in the panic your father lost about +everything he had, so that practically there's nothing left. I wanted to +tell you first--" + +Carleton nodded, but the expression on his face showed no new emotion. +"Thank you, Franz," he said, "I understand, and I appreciate; you've +always been a good friend to me. But I don't care about the money; it +isn't that; I only wish--" + +In spite of himself his voice faltered and broke, and he again turned +hastily away, while Helmar waited in silence, scarce knowing what to do +or say. At length Carleton turned to him once more, speaking as one +speaks only to a tried friend, his voice steady enough now, yet hardly +sounding like his own. "Memory's a queer thing, Franz," he said. "Of all +that I remember about my father, what do you suppose comes back to me +now? Something that happened almost twenty years ago, when we used to +spend our summers down at the shore. A little trivial thing, too, I +suppose any one would say. I was just a youngster then--nine or ten, +maybe--and we had two little sail-boats that were the apple of my eye. +Poor enough craft I guess they were, looking back at them now, but no +two cup defenders to-day could look to me as those two boats did then. + +"I wasn't considered big enough to go out in them alone, but one +Saturday afternoon my father promised me that if Henry, when he came +down from town, would take one boat, I could take the other, and we +could have a race. As long as I live, I'll never forget that morning. A +thousand times I looked out to where the two boats lay moored; crazy +with excitement; planning everything; the start, the course; looking at +the wind; right on edge--and somehow it never even occurred to me that +Henry wouldn't want to go. I suppose I honestly couldn't imagine that +any man, woman or child could possibly refuse a chance to sail a boat +race. + +"Well, Henry arrived, and you can imagine what Henry did. He hated me +even then; I believe he'd always hated me, though of course I didn't +realize it. Poor little rascal that I was, I'd never learned to think +about hating any one. He heard me out--I can even remember how I grabbed +hold of him as he was getting out of the station wagon, and how he shook +me off, too--and then he looked at me with a queer kind of a smile that +wasn't really a smile--I can imagine now just what fun it must have been +for him--and said he was afraid there wasn't wind enough to go sailing. +That was just to tantalize me--to see me argue and run out on the piazza +and point to the ripples and the big American flag on the Island waving +in the breeze--and then he had to turn away, and pretend to yawn, and +say he didn't believe he cared to go, that anyway he was going over to +the Country Club to play tennis. And then he went into the house to get +ready, and left me out there on the piazza alone. + +"I can laugh now, and shrug my shoulders at the whole thing, but +then--why, it was black tragedy for me. I guess I was a pretty +solemn-looking little chap, swallowing hard and trying not to cry, when +my father found me there half an hour later. He'd been fishing all the +morning, I remember, and I guess he was good and tired--he hadn't been +well that summer, anyway--and he had a cigar in his mouth, and had his +hand on the long piazza chair, just going to pull it into the shade, and +settle down with a book and a paper for a nice, quiet afternoon. I told +him, I remember, and he looked at his chair, and looked out on the +water--the sun was strong, and pretty hot, and to tell the truth, though +there was a little light air close to shore, about a quarter of a mile +out to sea it was getting rather flat--and then he looked again at his +chair, and then at me, and then he put down his book and his paper, and +drew me up to him with one hand, and gave a smile--that was a smile. + +"'Come on, my old sailor,' he said 'and we'll see if we can't have a +little boat race of our own.' Oh, how my heart jumped--the poor old +Governor, I think my expression must pretty nearly have paid him--and +then we toiled down over the rocks, with me hanging to his hand, the way +a kid that really likes his father will; and out we went in the skiff, +with me doing the rowing, splashing and jerking, and very proud, and +then we got up sail, and drifted around the little course for a couple +of hours--I can remember how hot it was--and of course I won. I didn't +dream then that he let me, and perhaps, for him to hear me telling my +mother about it over and over again at the supper table--perhaps--" + +He stopped, unable to go on, and then, after a little pause, he added +half-wistfully, in a voice that shook in spite of him, "It's queer, +Helmar--isn't it?--how a little thing like that can stand out in +your memory, and so many other things you utterly forget. It's just +the--what is the word--just the _kindness_ of it--damn it all--" and +self-restraint at last giving way, he buried his face in his hands, +and for the first time in many a long year, cried like a child. + +Helmar for a moment stood still in troubled silence; then turned upon +his heel, and softly left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A PARTING + + "For of fortunes sharpe adversite, + The worst kind of infortune is this,-- + A man that hath been in prosperite, + And it remember when it passed is." + _Chaucer._ + + +Marjory Graham rose from her seat as Carleton entered the room, her hand +outstretched in friendly greeting. "I'm glad you came out, Jack," she +said, "it's seemed like a long time." + +Carleton, as he seated himself, unconsciously kept his eyes fixed on the +girl's face, thinking to himself that he had never seen her looking +prettier, or more charming. He gave a nod of assent. "It _has_ been a +long time," he answered, "but you know how much has happened. I should +have come before, but I thought I'd wait until things were settled +first." + +The girl looked at him, with sympathy in her glance. "I was so sorry, +Jack," she said, "about your father." + +He nodded again. "I know you were, Marjory," he answered, "you were +always kind to him, and he valued your friendship, I know. He used to +speak to me about you, many a time. And I never dreamed--he seemed so +well--it's so hard for me to realize, even now, that we'll never see him +again." + +There followed a moment's silence. And then the girl spoke once more. +"And I'm sorry, Jack, about all the rest, too." + +His answering glance was grateful enough, yet somehow he appeared to +wince a little at her words. "You needn't be, Marjory," he said, +"because I don't deserve it. I've made a fool of myself. Your father +told you everything, I suppose." + +"Yes, Jack, he told me," she answered, "I don't think he liked doing +it--he hates talking about other people's business--but he said you +asked him to." + +"Yes, I wanted him to," Carleton assented. "I wanted you to know all +about it, before I came out. I thought I'd make a clean breast of +things. I've paid my debts, thank Heaven, but I'm left practically +without a cent; I'm no better than a beggar. And I'm living in a +lodging-house, down-town. Quite a change, all right, from the +Mayflower." + +Her face clouded. "I won't bother you with sympathy, Jack," she said, +"if you don't want me to; but I am awfully sorry, just the same; I've +thought of you so many times. And Jack," she added, "I wish you'd +promise me to think more about yourself now. You've been through +such a lot, and really you don't look well at all. You're thin, and +tired-looking, and different--somehow--every way." + +Carleton nodded. What the inward change had been, he knew better than +any one else. And outwardly, indeed, he did appear more careworn, more +thoughtful, than he had ever done before. In his whole manner there was +a new poise, and a new gravity as well. "Oh, I'm all right, thanks," he +answered, "only when you get worried, and begin not to sleep, it makes +a difference, you know. Thank you, though, Marjory, for being sorry. I +appreciate it more than I can say. But I didn't mean to bother you with +all my troubles like this. I came out to tell you something different +altogether, and I find it's awfully hard to begin." + +Momentarily he paused. Intent on what he was saying, he had sat looking +straight before him, never lifting his eyes to the girl's face. Had he +done so, he could scarcely have failed to note the expression there, a +look as if already she both knew and dreaded what it was that he wished +to say, and had it been possible, would gladly have checked the words +before he could give them utterance. But all absorbed in his desire to +express himself as he wished, Carleton still sat gazing fixedly into the +firelight, and after a pause, went on. + +"I wonder how I can make you understand. Did you ever have something, +Marjory, that you wanted to do very much; something that you were always +on the point of doing, and yet somehow kept putting off from day to day, +until at last something else happened that made it impossible ever to do +it at all, and left you just saying over and over to yourself, 'Why +didn't I? Why didn't I when I could?'" + +The girl gave a nod of assent. "Yes, Jack," she answered, "I +understand." + +"Then you'll know what I mean," he continued, "by what I'm going to tell +you now. It's only this, and I think you know what it is before I say +it, even. I love you, Marjory; I always have loved you, even when you +were only a little girl. That was the trouble all along, I suppose. I +always thought of you as so young that I kept saying to myself that I +oughtn't to bother you, that there would be plenty of time when you were +older. And then--when you _were_ older--I'd got started on a foolish way +of living. I don't really know how I began--just seemed to drift into it +somehow. And I didn't keep on because I enjoyed it--for I didn't--it was +just the habit of it that gripped me so I couldn't seem to break away. +And now that I've come to my senses again, Marjory--now that I can come +to you, feeling that I've a right to tell you that I love you--why now +it's too late. I've got to begin at the foot of the ladder; I can't ask +you to marry me; but I want to know if you'll wait--let me show that +I'm able to make good--give me another chance. That's all I ask, +Marjory; all that I've a right to ask." + +Slowly and unwillingly, her gaze met his, "Jack," she began, "you know +the money would make no difference; I'd never think of that, of course. +It isn't that--" + +She hesitated, and stopped. Carleton's eyes sought hers with the look of +a man who feels the whole world reel beneath him. + +"Marjory," he cried, "do you mean you don't care--you don't love me?" + +There was a moment's silence. And then the girl slowly shook her head. +"No, Jack, I don't mean that. Of course I care. I've always cared. You +must have known. Any time, from the day you graduated from college, up +to a year ago, if you'd come to me and asked me to marry you, I'd have +been the happiest girl you could find anywhere--" + +For an instant she paused, and Carleton raised his eyes to hers, as if +both knowing and dreading what her next words would be. "Well?" he +asked. + +"And then, Jack," she went on, even more slowly, as if the words cost +her greater and greater effort, "you began to change. And caring isn't +enough, Jack. For a girl really to love a man, she's got to respect +him--and trust him. And you know how you've lived, Jack, for this last +year. First I only heard things--you know how girls gossip among +themselves--and each one has a brother, or a cousin or a sweetheart, who +tells her things; so first I heard, and then, little by little, I could +see for myself. I tried to think just as much of you as ever, Jack. I +pretended to laugh at the stories they told. And then there came one +night at a dance, when you weren't yourself at all--I hate to remember +it even--and I knew then that things couldn't go on like that; that we'd +have to come to some kind of an understanding. So I sent word by Franz +Helmar, to ask you to come out to see me that Friday night. I'd made up +my mind that we'd talk everything all over, between ourselves--about +your drinking, and about that girl--I'd heard all people were saying; +you can't keep those things from being known. And then, after I'd waited +and waited for you all that evening, and finally given you up--then to +come across you, the way we did, by accident, out motoring with +her--with that common girl--I don't see how you could do it, Jack! I +don't see how men can do things like that, and respect themselves; +much less expect other people to respect them. And you, Jack, of all +people--that was a terrible night for me. If I hadn't cared for you--if +I didn't care for you, Jack--I wouldn't have minded; I wouldn't mind +now. But for me to know that you'd been as devoted to me as you +had--that every one talked about us as if we were really engaged--and +then to know that all the time you'd been--oh, Jack, I had such faith in +you! I thought you were different from other men. I don't see how you +could." + +Carleton had sat listening, his eyes fixed on the ground, wincing under +her words. Gradually, as she spoke, a dull red flush had mounted to his +very temples, and when she ended he at once made answer, speaking +rapidly, as if the words were fairly wrung, by force, from his lips. +"Don't, Marjory!" he cried. "For God's sake, don't! It's all true +enough. I've been selfish, thoughtless, brutal; anything you please. +I don't know why I did it. Men are queer things, that way, I guess. +Because I loved you just as much, Marjory, all the time. I didn't +know it then, but I do now. And it wasn't so bad, Marjory. It was +foolishness, but that was all. The girl's none the worse for me. Don't +condemn me for all our lives, because I've failed once. Let me make my +fight. Let me show that I can be the kind of a man a girl can respect. +And then it will be all right again. You'll marry me then, Marjory; say +that you will." + +Perhaps the straightforward vehemence of his speech helped him as +nothing else could have done. The girl hesitated a moment before she +answered; and finally, half-doubtfully, shook her head. "Ah, Jack," she +said, "_if_ you would. Then things would be all right again. But would +you, Jack? _Can_ you change your way of living, as you think you can? +Suppose you did, for a time. Suppose we should marry, even. And +then--if anything should happen. I'm different from most women, perhaps. +But my husband has to be _mine_, the whole of him. And if you +did--things like this--again, it would kill me, Jack. I couldn't bear +the misery, and the shame. I want to trust you, Jack; I want to, more +than anything in the world. But can I? Would you do as you say?" + +Impulsively he rose, and walked over to the fireplace, leaning a hand on +the mantel, and looking down into her face. "I can't blame you, +Marjory," he cried, "if I would. And I won't waste time in words. But +let me tell you what I'll do. I've two chances now. One here in +town--that Henry's got for me--it's steady and sure, and pays fifteen +hundred a year. And the other's to go ranching it out West, with a +fellow I used to know in college. He always wanted me, and he'll take me +now. There's a chance there, too; a chance to make money; a chance to +get rich, even. I've been hesitating--I wanted to stay, to be near +you--but I won't delay any longer. I'll go out there and take my chance. +It means three years, anyway; maybe more. If I can come back then, with +some prospect ahead of me--if I can come back then, and tell you, on my +word of honor, that I've done nothing in all that time for which you +need to feel ashamed--then things would be right again, wouldn't they? +You'd marry me, Marjory, then." + +Her face had clouded as he spoke. "Ah, Jack," she said, "it seems so +hard to have you go away like that. I don't want you to; I'd rather have +you here. And yet--I suppose it's best for both of us. I know you're +right, Jack; that you ought to go, and make your fight. And I'll trust +to what you tell me; and I'll wait--I'll wait three years, or twice +three years." + +His face had brightened with her words. He bent over her, and took her +hand in his. "God bless you, Marjory," he said. "I'll go, and I'll fight +as no man ever fought before." + +For an instant longer he stood gazing down into her eyes; then turned +abruptly. A moment later the portières had rustled behind him, and then +were still. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +TEMPTATION + + "Why comes temptation, but for man to meet + And master and make crouch beneath his foot, + And so be pedestaled in triumph?" + _Browning._ + + +Slowly and thoughtfully Carleton ascended the stairs; reached his room; +entered it; had even begun, with the mechanical force of habit, to +fumble in his pockets for a match--and then, all at once, with a sudden +shock of surprise, he awoke from his abstraction. The lamp on the center +table was already lighted, though turned low, and from the shadow +beyond, a dark figure rose, and came forward to meet him. + +In an instant, he had reached out his hand; the next moment, the lamp +light flooded the room; and then, as he recognized his visitor, there +swept over his face a medley of emotions--amazement, displeasure, +perhaps some other feeling as well. For an instant he stood motionless; +then, frowning, again stepped forward, pitching his voice little louder +than a whisper. "What the devil does this mean, Jeanne?" he asked. + +The girl's lips were smiling; her eyes dancing with suppressed +amusement. Plainly enough, she was in nowise disconcerted at her +greeting, but instead met his glance with the expression of one who +feels herself mistress of the situation. She too stepped forward, until +only the width of the table separated them; then spoke, in the same low +key, half, it seemed, in real precaution, half in mocking mimicry of his +own anxious tone. "Aren't you glad to see me, Jack?" she whispered. "I +thought you'd be so pleased." + +Carleton's expression did not change, except that his frown deepened, +and his mouth grew stern. "What are you thinking of?" he said again, and +in the same tone as before. "Coming here! At this time of night! Are you +crazy, Jeanne?" + +Smiling still, the girl came closer, laying her hand appealingly on his +arm, and looking up into his face with the innocent gaze of a child +unjustly wronged. "Now, Jack--" she began. + +Carleton, with a quick intake of his breath, stepped back, shaking off +the slender hand. "Drop it, Jeanne," he said sharply. "Here--" he thrust +the arm-chair toward her, "sit down, and tell me what all this means, +and then, for God's sake, go away!" + +With an amused shrug of her shoulders, the girl complied, seating +herself leisurely and comfortably, as if she were far from being in a +hurry to depart, and glanced up at him with a look charming and demure +enough to have driven away the frown which still lingered on his brow. +And then, as she made no move to speak, he broke the silence. + +"How on earth," he asked, "did you get here?" + +She smiled back at him, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Bribery," she +answered. "The maid at the door said it was as much as her place was +worth. I told her it was a matter of great importance--I really did it +rather well, I think--and then I told her that no one would ever know +and--persuaded her. And here I am." + +"So I perceive," he observed dryly, and then, more gravely, "And now +what is it, Jeanne? Be quick, please. It must be close to midnight. If +any one found you here--" + +The girl laughed, low and mockingly. "Why, Jack," she said, "how awfully +moral we've grown. You never used to be so particular about appearances. +Don't you remember--" + +He held up a silencing hand. "I remember a great many things, Jeanne. We +had our good times, and we enjoyed them, too. But they're all gone by +for me, my dear. If you dance, you've got to pay the piper. That's the +truest thing that ever was said. And I'm paying him now. You heard all +about the smash, of course. And you know that I'm a poor man. My +sporting days are over, for good and all." + +The girl nodded. For the first time, the smile had left her face, and +her tone, when she spoke, was as grave as his own. "I know all about it, +Jack," she said, "it isn't the money I care about. I thought it +was--once--but it wasn't; it was you. And you haven't sent me word now +for so long. And I wrote you, and you never answered. And then--I was +lonesome, and so--I came." + +He looked back at her steadily. "I didn't put things quite right, +Jeanne," he said, "I didn't mean that it was wholly because I didn't +have money any more. That is part of it, I guess, but there's more to it +than just that. I'm sorry for a lot of foolish things I've done, and I +mean to quit them." + +She raised her eyebrows at the words, and a new expression came over her +face. "Oh," she said. "I see. So going around with me was foolish, was +it? That's strange. You didn't seem to think so, when you were doing it, +Jack." + +If she had expected to hear him withdraw his words, she was XXXX +disappointed. "You don't understand me, Jeanne," he said, "there was +no question about my enjoying it. I didn't mean that. I enjoyed it +too much--that was all. But that doesn't alter the fact that it was +foolishness for both of us. It was all my fault. It was only because I +got used to seeing you around the place, out at The Birches, and you +were so pretty, and so nice, that I wasn't strong enough to resist +temptation. And we had some great old times together. Don't think I've +turned preacher all at once, because I haven't. We had some bully times, +and I shall always remember them. But I was injuring you, Jeanne, and I +was injuring myself, too. We were going ahead with something that could +turn out only one way--we were playing the devil's pet game. And I thank +God we pulled up in time." + +The girl stiffled a little yawn; then smiled up at him more brightly +than before, motioning, as she did so, to the arm of the chair. "You +_have_ turned preacher, Jack," she said. "Don't do it any more, please; +it's so stupid. And don't stand, either. There's lots of room." + +He shook his head. There came into her eyes a gleam of something other +than mirth, and as she spoke, she raised her voice a trifle. "Sit down, +Jack," she said again. + +Carleton threw an anxious glance over his shoulder, and then, +unwillingly enough, drew up to the table the only other chair in the +room. Again the gleam flashed, far back in her eyes, and once more she +tapped on the arm of the chair. "Sit here," she said imperiously, and +heedful, not of the words, but of the tone, he obeyed. + +[Illustration: "Jack," she murmured, "have I changed?"--Page 145] + +At once her slender hand had stolen into his. "Look at me, Jack," she +commanded, and reluctantly enough he gazed down into the face that in +the past had fascinated him beyond his strength. As if in a silent trial +of their wills, her eyes held his, "Jack," she murmured, "have I +changed?" + +Carleton's teeth came together sharply; unconsciously the hand that held +hers tightened so that she gave a little cry of pain, before it again +relaxed. "No," he muttered hoarsely, "only you're prettier than ever, +Jeanne." + +Her other hand crept upward until it rested on his shoulder; still her +eyes were fixed on his, and still he did not look away. And then, "Ah, +Jack," she whispered, "you foolish boy! What did you think, anyway? That +I thought you'd marry me? Of course I didn't. I wanted a good time too. +'Only end one way,' Jack. Of course. That was the way I _wanted_ it to +end. That's why I came here to-night, Jack, dear--" + +At last he had wrenched his eyes free from her gaze. "Don't Jeanne!" he +cried. "Don't--" but she clung the closer to him. + +"Jack," she said, as though not understanding, "Jack, what's changed +you? Don't you want me?" and then, her whole tone altering in one +instant's flash, "There's some one else, then," she cried. "You were +never like this before. Isn't there, Jack? Isn't there?" + +Once more he met her glance. "Yes, Jeanne," he said, very low, "there +is." + +On the instant, her eyes flamed; instinctively she drew back, and +Carleton, freed from her grasp, started to his feet. She rose also, +quivering from head to foot. + +"It's that Graham girl!" she cried. "That doll! Don't do it, Jack! Don't +marry her! She'd never love you the way I would. Don't do it, Jack! We +can have such a good time. I've got some money; we can get more. We can +go abroad together. You've made me love you, Jack; you can't cast me off +now. It isn't fair. I'm not asking much. You can have me Jack, the whole +of me--as long as you want me--and then, when you're tired of me, you +can leave me, and go your way. Jack, please--" + +She stood there, breathing quick and hard, and gazing at him with such a +look on her face that half against his will, he stepped forward, and +took her hand in his. "Jeanne," he said, "God knows I'm sorry. I never +meant things to end like this; I never thought you really cared. But I +can't do what you say. It _is_ Marjory Graham; I've asked her to marry +me, and I've promised her, this very night, to live straight from now +on. Don't think it's easy for me, dear; it isn't. Don't think I don't +appreciate--everything. But we wouldn't be happy, Jeanne--either of us. +It wouldn't be right; it wouldn't be square; we'd both regret--we +mustn't do it, Jeanne. I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart, if I've +hurt you; but I never meant it. You must go your way, Jeanne; and I must +go mine." + +Even as he spoke, his heart smote him. The girl stood, her eyes cast +down, her breast heaving--"My way," she muttered, half under her breath. +"My way; oh, God!" and then, slowly and uncertainly, she lifted her +eyes to his and Carleton saw that they were filled with tears. For the +first time she seemed to realize her dismissal, and to accept it. "Very +well," she said wearily, "I'll go," and then, after a pause, "kiss me, +Jack." + +Carleton bent and kissed her; then, almost roughly, released her, and as +she turned away, stood silent, with averted face, not daring to trust +himself to look. + +The silence deepened. Then, very softly, the door closed. He raised his +eyes. He was alone in the room. Like a man physically spent, he threw +himself down into the arm-chair, and buried his face in his hands. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THREE YEARS LATER + + "Ay me, how many perils do enfold the righteous man!" + _Spenser._ + + +Across the rampart of his desk Henry Carleton gazed regretfully at his +visitor; then once again shook his head. "I'm sorry, Van Socum," he +said, "I hate to refuse such a call, and I hate to refuse you of all +men. A year ago I should have felt differently, but now as you know, +we're in the midst of hard times, and first and last, one has to meet so +many demands. I'm afraid I shall really have to ask you to excuse me. +But I'm sorry, though; extremely sorry; I only wish I felt able to +respond. Perhaps some time a little later--" + +Slowly the Reverend William Van Socum nodded his head. From his general +appearance--his bland, plump, rosy face; his stout, well-fed little +body; his ultra correct ministerial garb--one would scarcely have +divined his really unusual talents. For the Reverend William Van Socum +was the man whose remarkable ability to assist his church in a certain +deprecated, but much needed and excessively practical department of its +activities, had gained for him among his clerical associates the title, +bestowed in ungrudging admiration, of "The Painless Separator." + +And now, while the gentle inclination of his head was meant to convey +the most sympathetic understanding, at the same time he made no move to +rise, but on the contrary kept his seat, and unflinchingly returned +Henry Carleton's gaze. For Van Socum's pride was touched. He had made up +his mind, before entering the great man's office, that its doors should +not again be closed behind him until in the neat little space opposite +Henry Carleton's name he had seen inserted the pleasantly round sum of +five hundred dollars. And now to all appearances he had met a foeman +worthy of his steel--of his brass, possibly some envious detractor might +have preferred to say--a man every whit as smooth and polished as +himself, a man who was both ready and able to defend his little garrison +of beleaguered dollars with a skill of fence and a completeness of +repulse which could not but arouse Van Socum's somewhat unwilling +admiration. Accustomed to success as he had become, defeat seemed now +well-nigh assured. Whimsically he thought of the ancient problem of the +irresistible force and its contact with the immovable body, and as an +afterthought he added grudgingly to himself, "This man's wasted in +business; he ought to be one of us." + +But these, of course, were thoughts merely. Outwardly, the reverend +gentleman gave no sign that he dreaded, or even expected, a refusal. His +little oily professional smile was as winning and as confident as ever. +Yet he realized that he was dealing with a busy man, and prudently +determined, while the chance yet remained to him, to play his last card +without delay. + +"I understand, my dear Mr. Carleton," he exclaimed, "I perfectly +understand. For a man like yourself, a man of your standing in the +community, none can realize better than I what a tax these constant +demands must be, on patience and on pocket-book as well." He paused +for just the veriest instant, inwardly to smack his lips; he loved +a well-turned phrase, above all if it had about it a flavor of +alliteration, and "On patience and on pocket-book as well" struck him +as distinctly good. Then, with a swift return to business methods, + +"But I did feel, Mr. Carleton, that this time you would favor us. +The project of the new altar seems to have made a wide appeal to +all those most interested in the beautifying of our beloved church, +and example--the example, let us say, of a man of your type, Mr. +Carleton--does mean so much to some of the weaker brethren. Not every +one, perhaps, realizes this, but I myself know it to be a matter of the +greatest consequence, and it was this same power of example that I +had in mind when I arranged to have the preliminary list made public +to-morrow in six of the leading dailies. And for my part, I can see +nothing out of the way in such a proceeding. The press and the +pulpit--or rather, let us say, the pulpit and the press--why should they +not proceed together hand in hand, so that all things, spiritual and +secular, may at last work together for good. That, at least, is my +conception of it. And the papers have been very kind. Almost invariably, +I think I may say. To a laborer in the vineyard, to one who bears the +burden and heat of the day, it is gratifying--I must confess it--very +gratifying indeed." + +He spoke but the truth, as Henry Carleton well knew. The Reverend +William Van Socum had the reputation of being the greatest XXXX +ecclesiastical advertiser in the city. Just how he did it, none but +himself seemed to know, yet stony-hearted editors and impervious +reporters were but as wax in his hands. "The pulpit and the press" was +not simply another of his favorite catch-words; it meant something +substantial as well. Hand in hand they traveled, in very truth, and it +was the bland and smiling Van Socum who managed to unite them in this +touching amity. + +"Yes," he said reminiscently, "six of the leading dailies. And good +position in all of them, too. It's a splendid thing for us. So +far the Honorable Samuel Rogers has made the largest individual +subscription--two hundred and fifty dollars--and his name at the head +of the list will of course mean a great deal. We consider that he has +acted very handsomely. But--" the smile again appeared, like the sun +from behind the clouds, deprecating, wistful, with just a hint of gentle +reproach, and oily enough to have turned an ocean into calm--"but above +that of Mr. Rogers we had hoped to have one other name, one other name +still more widely and--if you will pardon me--still more favorably known +than even that of Mr. Rogers himself." + +Henry Carleton looked, as he felt, a trifle uncomfortable. "I deplore," +he said, a little stiffly, "any publicity in such matters. The right +hand, and the left, Van Socum, you know." + +Occasionally an expert boxer, for some reason of his own, will leave +himself unguarded, purposely to invite a blow. With joy the Reverend +William Van Socum foresaw the beginning of the end. "True! true!" he +cried, "as far as the giver is concerned. But for the effect on others, +Mr. Carleton. That is where you are in error. Let your light so shine! +That is the injunction which covers the case. The shining light, Mr. +Carleton! The shining light!" + +The blow sped home. Henry Carleton meekly inclined his head, as it +seemed, a willing sacrifice. "I deplore publicity--" he again began, but +his tone was feebler by far; and then he added, metaphorically throwing +up the sponge, "in six papers, did you say?" + +Van Socum bore his honors modestly. "Six," he answered, again producing +the subscription book from his pocket, "six; and excellent position in +all. And of course our own paper, _The Flaming Torch_, which in itself +has a circulation by no means contemptible. Let me see. Five hundred, +Mr. Carleton? A thousand, perhaps, would be almost too large a sum." + +Inwardly Henry Carleton was returning the compliment the Reverend Doctor +had just paid to him. "This fellow," he thought, "is thrown away on the +church. I could use a man like him to excellent advantage." "Yes," he +answered, "five hundred, I think. I shouldn't wish to be criticized on +the score of ostentation." + +The victor drew out his pencil; then, almost in the act of writing, +paused, as if suddenly recalling something to mind. + +"By the way, Mr. Carleton," he asked, "did some one tell me the other +day that your nephew had returned from the West?" + +Henry Carleton's face was expressionless. "Yes," he answered, "he is +back. He has been in town several days." + +Van Socum nodded amiably. "How very pleasant!" he said smoothly. "He +is--improved--I trust?" + +A slight frown seemed to hover about the banker's brow. He appeared to +place a curb on his speech. "Greatly, thank you," he answered briefly. + +The clerical smile again burst into bloom. "So glad; so very glad to +hear it," he murmured; then continued brightly, "but I felt sure that it +would be so. There was such a field for it. When he left us, one might +almost have dared to uproot the tares without feeling that the wheat +would be in danger. So glad--so very glad." + +He paused a moment; then, as if tentatively feeling his way toward a +possible germ for a sermon, he moralized, "Three years! How swiftly time +passes us by! What changes it brings to us all! To you--to me--to your +nephew--" He stopped abruptly, his ideas swinging suddenly into another +channel, "And speaking of the passage of time, Mr. Carleton, what a +change it has brought in your daughter, Rose! I remember her as a +charming child, and behold, I met her the other afternoon at a little +tea--why, Mr. Carleton, I assure you I could scarcely believe my eyes. A +young lady--grown-up, self-possessed, a half-dozen young men around her. +Why, I was amazed. The passage of time--" + +He half paused; perhaps, if the truth were told, Henry Carleton half +broke in upon him. "Yes," the banker agreed, "it passes, as you say. And +it's valuable, Van Socum. We can't afford to waste it, any of us." + +The minister smiled--forgivingly--and bending over his book, he +wrote--yet did not at once vanish. Of a man so comfortably portly, of a +plumpness so suggestive of a certain counterpart in the animal creation, +perhaps that could hardly have been expected. Instead he rose slowly, +beaming on his conquered antagonist. "By their fruits--" he murmured. + +Henry Carleton nodded, handing the check across the desk. "Exactly," he +said dryly. "By the way, Van Socum, I heard a capital story the other +day. It was told--this time--about a man high up in municipal office. +'Is that fellow Blank,' asked some one who didn't know just what +position he really occupied, 'is that fellow Blank a politician--or just +a _common thief_?' Good, wasn't it?" + +The Reverend William Van Socum laughed heartily. "Oh, capital," he +cried, and then, casually, he added, "you say that was told about a +politician?" + +Henry Carleton met his glance. "Yes," he answered, "that time--it was +told about a politician. Well, good-by, Van Socum; call again. Always +glad to see you, you know, at any time. Good-by." + +Half way to the door Van Socum turned. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Carleton," +he said, "are any of these rumors that I hear true, by any chance? Are +you going to give your friends an opportunity in the near future to see +you reaping still further and still higher honors? Or is it merely +gossip? For my part, I most sincerely hope that it's all true." + +Henry Carleton's expression and tone were alike inscrutable. "Thank you +very much, I'm sure," he returned, "but really I'm not at liberty to +talk just now." + +Van Socum nodded. "I perfectly understand," he answered. "Well, in any +event I shall hope. And don't forget, Mr. Carleton, the shining light. +It's most important. Good-by," and a little hastily he passed from the +room, with a certain satisfied feeling that verbal honors were at least +easy, and that from the field of more practical warfare he had again +returned a triumphant victor. + +Left alone, Henry Carleton, smiling a little to himself, once more +leaned comfortably back in his chair. As he sat there, the waning +sunlight, slanting through the tall window, fell pleasantly upon him, +lighting up the dark, black-bearded face, with the full red lips, and +the keen and scrutinizing eyes. A noticeable man, in almost any company, +he would have been, and justly so as well. Doing many things, he did +them all with skill. And still, in spite of the activities in which he +was actually engaged, his friends were wont to talk of the many other +things he might have done--living his life over for him in retrospect, +as people will--and it was significant of his many-sidedness to note the +different views which different people held of him. Some said that the +bar had been robbed of a great lawyer, others that the universities had +lost a great teacher and instructor of youth, others still, like Mr. Van +Socum, that the church alone should rightfully have claimed his great +talents. No one, perhaps, had ever suggested that the stage had lost a +great actor. + +And now, not satisfied with the active benevolence that he had just +displayed, Henry Carleton was passively showing the same praiseworthy +spirit which actuated his every deed and word. His day's work was done. +It was ten minutes after five, and there seemed to be no possible reason +why he should longer wait for the young man with whom he had made an +appointment at five o'clock sharp. Adding to the fact that the young man +was late, the further information that Henry Carleton felt tolerably +sure he was coming to ask some sort of favor of him, we behold the +heights to which it is possible for a man to rise. + +Even patience, however, has its definite limits, and at a quarter past +five Henry Carleton snapped his watch with a click, and had one hand +already outstretched to close the top of his desk, when the clerk +knocked, and opened the door far enough to announce Mr. Vaughan. +Henry Carleton nodded, sighed, again leaned back in his chair, and +relinquished the idea of getting the five-thirty home. + +A moment later Arthur Vaughan entered the office with the rather +breathless haste of the man who is thoroughly aware that to keep a great +financier waiting for a quarter of an hour is an offense not lightly to +be condoned. Indeed, about his whole manner, in spite of his thirty +years, there was still something boyish and deprecating, the air of a +man who is perhaps too modest, too slow to assert himself, yet who, if +these be faults, is perhaps all the more likable for possessing them. + +He came quickly forward. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Carleton," he began, "I +know I'm late; but really I couldn't help it." + +There may have been something a little less cordial than usual in the +manner in which Henry Carleton shook the young man's proffered hand. Yet +his voice, when he answered, was politeness itself. Early in life he had +made it his invariable rule to treat every man who had once crossed the +threshold of his office with complete and unvarying courtesy, until he +had found out exactly what the visitor's business might be. After that, +there was of course room for wider discretion. And so now, "Don't +mention it," he said; "a trifle late, perhaps, but never mind. And what +may I be able to do for you, Mr. Vaughan?" + +Once seated, Vaughan appeared to be even more ill at ease than before. +His eyes were fixed on the floor. His hat revolved aimlessly and +sheepishly enough between his nervous fingers. "Why," he began, "why, +the fact is, Mr. Carleton--you see what I wanted to tell you about--you +see--" and then he came to a full and embarrassed stop. + +Henry Carleton, through a long and varied experience, was nothing if not +a shrewd reader of men. The same awkward hesitation, the same +nervousness, the same half-cringing expression; he had seen them all +displayed many times before by men who had sat there in the inner office +in the selfsame seat which Vaughan was occupying now. And nine times out +of ten it all meant but one thing. In the brief pause analysis and +deduction in his mind were practically one. Vaughan's manner showed +embarrassment. Vaughan was a would-be literary man. All would-be +literary men, in greater or less degree, were poor. Vaughan, presuming +on a rather slight acquaintanceship, had come to borrow money. The whole +matter was painfully plain. + +And then, even at the very instant when Henry Carleton had sorrowfully, +but with philosophy, arrived at this inevitable conclusion, Vaughan, +drawing a long breath, at last found his tongue. "Why," he said, +speaking with a seeming boldness and hardihood which in reality were but +the result of the most extreme embarrassment, "it's like this, Mr. +Carleton; I want to marry Rose." + +The proverbial bombshell, exploding at Henry Carleton's feet, could +hardly have made the same havoc with his body that Vaughan's few words +managed to create in his mind. And yet, to his credit be it said, his +habitual self-control now stood him in such stead that after the one +first uncontrollable glance of sheer surprise, he at once contrived to +conceal not only his amazement, but as well any other feeling that might +have been agitating his soul. And in another moment, indeed, he had even +successfully achieved a very fair imitation of a jocular smile. "Rose," +he echoed, "my daughter Rose! Why, you're joking with me, my dear +fellow. She's not eighteen yet. She's a child." + +Vaughan, now that the worst was over, did not seem to be properly +disconcerted at the reply. "Oh, I know she's quite young," he answered +readily enough, "but that doesn't seem to make any particular +difference. We're both prepared for a long engagement. I'm not well off, +in the least. It's bound to be some time before I could dream of +providing for her in any proper way at all. But I love her, Mr. +Carleton--as much, I think, as any man could--and she loves me, and we +think, after all, that's the main thing. The other details we'll work +out somehow, I guess." + +Henry Carleton had now perfectly regained his self-possession. He gazed +at the young man with benevolence in his eye. "Yes, yes," he assented, a +little dreamily, "love, of course; that's the great essential. With that +I thoroughly agree. And yet, while with me Rose's wishes are the first +consideration--no, rather I should say the only consideration--still, as +I understand you to say yourself, it must equally be a point of proper +pride with every man to know that he is earning an honest living, amply +sufficient for all future needs. I take it that you would hardly quarrel +with that, Mr. Vaughan?" + +To Vaughan it appeared that he was progressing famously. "No, indeed," +he cried readily enough, "I should say not. That's the first thing to +consider, of course. But I think I'm going to be able to solve that +difficulty in a short time now. I think I'm fairly on my way to a little +luck at last. You know, of course, Mr. Carleton, in any of the arts it +isn't exactly the same proposition for a man as if he'd chosen a +business career. There, if he gets a start, and then sticks to his job, +and shows any kind of ability at all, after a while he's almost certain +to get somewhere or other. But with any of the arts--that's the chance a +man takes when he turns his back on the solid, steady kind of +things--you can work along for a devil of a while, putting in the very +best that's in you, too, and yet you always stand a good chance of not +arriving at all, or, if you do, perhaps not till two or three hundred +years after you're dead. And of course, while even that, in a sense, is +very gratifying, still it's hardly practical. Dining late, but in select +company, in Landor's phrase, is all very well, if you can afford it, but +the majority of us poor fellows have to dine in the middle of the day. +The other thing's a luxury we can't afford." + +Henry Carleton nodded. "Quite so, quite so," he said, "I know something +of that myself. I thoroughly appreciate all the difficulties in the way +of combining devotion to art with a large income. It's one of the least +gratifying things about our life of the present day. And still, too, +each year I believe the artist is coming more and more fully into his +own. But you were going to say--about your immediate prospects--" + +Vaughan flushed a little. "I didn't mean to ramble on into so long a +preface," he said, "I'm afraid it was nothing but a desire to excuse +myself, anyway. However, here's where I think I really have a chance at +last. I've written a book--a novel--and it's in the hands of Small and +White now. Of course I needn't tell you what it would mean to have their +imprint on a book--it would be half the battle to start with. And I've +been able to get a little information in a roundabout way, so that I +have some idea of what's happening. I know the book has got by the +preliminary stages, anyway; I know that they're really considering it +seriously, and that is something in its favor. But I'm hoping for more +than that; I'm hoping that they will really accept it, and launch it in +good style; and if they do, why--I know of course you'll think I'm +conceited and over-fond of myself to say such a thing--but, with all +sincerity, Mr. Carleton, I think the book would be a success; I think it +makes an approach to something like literary merit. Oh, if I could once +get my start--get some pretext for thinking that I had a right to put +more and more time into writing, and less and less into what is really +only the merest hack work, that has to be done so hastily and +superficially that in the end it would kill any man's style--then I'd +work as nobody ever worked before--I'd kill myself to learn to write as +I want to write--" + +He broke off suddenly, his hands clenched, his face ablaze with the +passion of the artist who craves to express in concrete form the dreams +and visions that float athwart his brain. Henry Carleton sat regarding +him narrowly, his face expressionless, but when he spoke, his tone +could hardly have been kinder or more sympathetic. + +"Yes, yes, I understand your feeling exactly," he said, "and your +ambition is a most worthy one. I'm delighted to hear about the book, and +if you will allow me to do so, I should be very happy to try to help a +little. There are one or two ways that occur to me off-hand--understand +me, of course,--ways perfectly legitimate and businesslike in every +particular, in which I think a word from me with Small and White might +at least do no harm. Won't you try to get me a list of the men who do +their reading for them? We'll leave no stone unturned that properly may +be turned to give your effort a fair show. Rose's happiness is my +happiness, and to see you in a position when you may rightfully pay your +addresses to her--that I most earnestly desire. And in the meantime, you +must come out to The Birches--let me see--come out to-morrow night, +won't you, and dine with us? Jack's coming, and another man, I think. I +shall be delighted to have you join us, and I think, after what you have +told me, I may safely answer for Rose." + +He rose as he finished speaking, extending his hand in farewell. +Vaughan, rising also, could only stammer his thanks. "You're too kind, +altogether, Mr. Carleton," he managed to say. "I know how any word from +you would meet with the most respectful consideration from Small and +White. It would help immensely. And as for to-morrow night, nothing +could please me more. And how is Jack? I haven't seen him since he got +back from the West." + +"Jack is greatly improved, I think," Henry Carleton answered, as it +seemed to Vaughan, a trifle shortly, "however, you'll see him to-morrow +night, and can judge for yourself." + +Vaughan nodded. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "I got the impression +from his letters that he was doing far better in every way, and I'm +awfully glad if it's so. Well, I must go, Mr. Carleton. You've been very +kind to take everything the way you have. I know, of course, in one way, +at least, what a disappointment this must be for you. I don't care such +a lot myself. Family trees and all that never meant such a great deal to +me, and money bags even less, but for Rose's sake, why, I wish I were +the wealthiest man in the world, and the most aristocratic; she ought to +have everything that a girl can have. So you're awfully good not to make +a row." + +Again Henry Carleton smiled. "Nonsense," he said heartily, "those things +make no difference with me, either. You've chosen a great career, and +all we must do now is to make success assured, so that you can come to +me as I know you want to come, saying, 'Mr. Carleton, I'm earning a fair +living; I can keep your daughter from want; I wish to marry her.' That's +the way you'll be coming some day, and you'll find no one more ready to +congratulate you than I. Good-by again; good-by." + +As Vaughan left the office, Carleton slowly reseated himself. "Strange," +he murmured, "a prospective son-in-law in young Vaughan, and I never +even dreamed of it. Very prospective, too; that's one comfort; and he +seems actually to believe he may succeed in a literary career. Odd, what +a time youth is for such dreams. He seems rather an inoffensive young +man, at least; plastic, I should imagine, and rather easy to influence, +if one only goes about it in the right way. That, I judge, is his weak +point; that, and too great a tendency to confide in others. Due, I +suppose, to the lack of a sound business training." He sat silently for +some moments, then repeated thoughtfully, "The lack of a sound business +training," and reached for the telephone. And then, a moment later, "Is +Mr. Cummings in? Oh, it's you, is it, Jim? Want to run over for a +moment? Important? Yes, I should call it so. Thank you. Good-by," and +restoring the receiver to its hook, he gave himself up to earnest +thought. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BIRCHES AGAIN + + "The ancient grudge I bear him." + _Shakespeare._ + + +Opposite the gateway of the Eversley train, the three men stood grouped +together, with growing impatience awaiting Jack Carleton's arrival. The +gilded hands of the big clock, embedded in the solid masonry of the +station wall, now pointed to three minutes of five; the Eversley "flyer" +left at five precisely; and the long train was filling more rapidly each +instant. Henry Carleton's tone plainly enough showed his displeasure. +"Whatever else it may have done for him," he observed, "I can't see +that a residence in Montana has improved Jack's habits of punctuality. +Perhaps, Vaughan, you wouldn't mind waiting here for him and letting us +go ahead and make sure of getting seats. What do you say, Cummings?" + +Cummings nodded with alacrity. He was a man between thirty and +thirty-five, tall and heavily built. His face, while rather of the +bulldog type, yet to the eye of the careful observer seemed to disclose +a certain weakness under the outward show of strength. His complexion +was of a vivid red, plentifully ornamented with those souvenirs which +come at length as badges of distinction to those who have had the +perseverance to drink hard and steadily over a long enough term of +years. His hair was very black and very curly; his tie perfectly matched +his complexion; and his clothes, though of excellent make and cut, yet +seemed a little obtrusive as well, as if the effort at gentility +had been somehow overdone. Possibly several small trifles in his +apparel--the conspicuously high polish on his shoes, the violet-bordered +corner of the immaculate handkerchief, just visible above the breast +pocket of his coat, the pair of very new tan gloves that he carried +in his left hand--all proclaimed something of the inner man; a man +not lacking in a certain force and aggressiveness, even in a kind of +blustering self-assertion and desire for recognition, yet one who still +realized with vague discomfort, that there was something wrong about +him. Jim Cummings was far from being a fool. He was well-versed in the +ways of the city; had "been around," had "seen life;" was altogether a +pretty shrewd and capable young man. And yet--spite of all--there was +still a mysterious something somewhere lacking. To save his soul, he +could not have told what it was. Perhaps Henry Carleton could. + +"What do I say?" he echoed. "Sure, Mr. Carleton; suit me fine. Just as +cheap to sit down as to stand, you know. Sure, let's get along." + +In thus voicing his delight, it chanced that he spoke the truth, as +sometimes, indeed, he was wont to do. Merely to be seen alone with Henry +Carleton, in what would doubtless have been his phrase, "meant a lot" to +him. And to have an hour's ride with this versatile man of affairs, who +had made a great name for himself in "straight" business, in the stock +market, and in politics; who was possessed of "inside information"; who, +if he chose, could give a friend a "straight tip"; and who had now been +kind enough again to ask him out to spend the night, as on two or three +memorable occasions he had done before; why, this was a chance that +might well "mean a lot" to him in more senses than one. + +Arthur Vaughan, no great admirer of Cummings, appeared, as indeed he +was, equally well pleased at Henry Carleton's words. "Yes, indeed," he +assented cordially, "don't run the risk of missing a seat, Mr. Carleton. +I remember Jack's habits of old. You go right along, and I'll wait here +for him." + +Forthwith the two men took their departure, and Vaughan, waiting until +only a scant half minute remained, was just on the point of leaving his +post, when he espied Carleton threading his way hastily through the +crowd. With only the briefest of greetings, they swung aboard the rear +car, by good fortune found the one remaining vacant seat, and then +Vaughan turned and slowly surveyed his friend from head to foot. At once +he gave a quick smile of satisfaction. "Well, Jack," he said, "you are +looking fit. I don't think you ever looked better in your life." + +"Oh, pretty fair, thanks," Carleton answered, but his appearance, +indeed, far more than bore out his words. He had regained and increased +the physical vigor of his college days. He was broader, thicker, more +solidly built, with an impression of reserve strength which he had +lacked before. Nor did the change stop there. In face and feature, in +his manner, in his whole bearing, there had come a change, and a change, +too, in every way for the better. In his expression, the old uncertainty +of purpose had given place to a look of determined resolve; in his +manner there was a new alertness, a new interest; from his eyes and +mouth a certain indescribable something had vanished, leaving them +pleasantly frank and wholesome. + +With a pleased laugh, Vaughan looked down at his friend's big brown +hand, and placed his own, white and slender, beside it. "I guess," he +said, "if it came to a fight, Jack, you could probably manage to lick +me." + +Carleton smiled, and with equal interest returned Vaughan's gaze. To +him, Vaughan appeared scarcely to have changed at all. About him there +was something of the man who is given to habitual overwork, yet +otherwise, in his rather delicate way, he looked healthy and vigorous, +and his face itself was still as pleasant and as kindly as of old. +Carleton shook his head. "I don't think there will be any fight, +Arthur," he said, "my fighting days are over. I've learned that much +since I went away. I've come to believe that they don't pay--fights of +any kind." + +Vaughan nodded, quick to take his meaning. "Good," he answered, "I'm +mighty glad to hear it, Jack." + +Carleton's glance had been roaming up and down the aisle. "By the way," +he said, "where's the rest of our merry party? Where's my respected +uncle? And wasn't there somebody else he was going to bring out with +him?" + +Vaughan's eyes searched the car in vain. "I guess Mr. Carleton's up +ahead," he returned, "probably in the smoker with Cummings." + +Jack Carleton frowned. "Cummings?" he queried, "which Cummings? Jim?" + +"Yes, Jim," Vaughan assented, "why? Know him?" + +Carleton nodded. "Yes, I know him, all right." From his tone it would +have been possible to draw the inference that his opinion of Cummings +was scarcely favorable. But when, after a pause, he turned again to his +friend, it was not of Cummings, but of Henry Carleton that he spoke. +"And how's Henry been standing it?" he asked. "I've hardly heard +anything, you see, for practically three years now. I'm away behind the +times." + +"Why," Vaughan answered, "he's a bigger man than ever, Jack. I guess I'm +pretty well posted on him. Being on the paper, you know, you pick up a +lot. He's a power on the Street now, and he's been making big strides in +politics, besides. Some folks think he's right in line for the vacancy +in the United States senatorship. And I'm not sure but what it's so, +too. Then he's doing more for charity now than he used to. He gave five +thousand at one crack the other day to something or other--a musical +conservatory, I think it was. And he does a lot here at Eversley. The +people out this way think he's just about right. Gave a thousand last +month to the Eversley library, they say. Oh, I tell you it's good to +see a man on the crest of the wave who still has an eye for the poor +devils down in the hollow;" he paused for a moment, then added, with a +smile, "of whom I have the honor to be one, Jack. You know I haven't +made more than a million out of reporting. It's funny, but journalists +don't seem to get appreciated in the salary line. But then, I oughtn't +to complain. I've made a living, and kept out of debt, and if I hadn't +had the folks down home to look after, I might have had a little put by, +too. I'm not discouraged, either. I still consider it a privilege to be +alive, and not to be kicked. + +"But I was going to tell you about Mr. Carleton, and what he's going to +do for me. I've written a novel that I'm trying to get published, and +he's going to help me. I don't mean, of course, that such things don't +go strictly on their merits, but still, even then, a friend at court +doesn't do any harm. I've seen a lot of it, or I wouldn't talk that way. +There's an inside story, I've come to believe, and an inside track, in +everything, even in art, where of all places there shouldn't be. Not +always, of course, but, I believe, oftener than you'd think. And Mr. +Carleton's surprisingly well known, everywhere. I've been amazed at it. +I can't for the life of me see how he manages to get the time for all +his different interests, but he does it somehow, and what's more +remarkable still, he contrives to do everything well. His last bit of +literary criticism in _Cosmopolis_ was really excellently done. It's +been well spoken of everywhere. So now that he's going to turn to and +help, I'm immensely encouraged." + +For a moment or two Carleton sat silent, as if perplexed. Then, "But why +on earth," he asked, "is Henry taking all this sudden interest in +_you_?" + +With a laugh of enjoyment, Vaughan leaned forward. "I knew you'd ask +that, Jack," he said triumphantly. "That's what I was leading up to. +He's interested in me because--there's a very good chance that some day +he's going to have the delightful pleasure of welcoming me as his +son-in-law." + +For an instant Carleton stared at him; then puckered his lips in a +whistle of amazement. "The devil you say," he ejaculated, and then, +after a moment, as if he could think of nothing that would better do +justice to the situation, he repeated, with even greater emphasis, "The +_devil_ you say." + +Vaughan sat silently enjoying his surprise; then, as his friend did not +speak again, he said, a little anxiously, "I hope you're pleased, Jack." + +Carleton recovered a little from his astonishment. The grip he gave +Vaughan's hand was sufficient answer, even before he found his tongue. +"Pleased," he echoed, "of course I am. I couldn't be more so. You know +that without my saying it. But more than surprised, Arthur. I didn't +know you were even interested in that direction. I can't realize it yet. +Rose! Why, she hadn't put away her dolls when I left home. But three +years. Let's see. Thirteen--fourteen--seventeen--that's right, she's +almost eighteen, now. A child and a woman--I suppose that's the size of +it. Well, well, Arthur, this is fine. And she's a splendid little girl, +too. You're a lucky man. Any idea when you'll be married?" + +Vaughan shook his head. "No, indeed," he answered, "I only wish I had. +You see it's just as I told you. I'm a poor man, and I've got to make +good first, before I can decently ask her to leave a home like the one +she's got now. Mr. Carleton put all that part of it to me plainly enough +yesterday. Plainly enough, and fairly enough, too. I have to admit that. +But I can't help wishing, just the same, for once in my life, that I did +have a little money to fall back on, or that my prospects were a little +brighter. However, I surely can't complain; and now, Jack, it's your +turn. How about yourself, and how about the ranching? Is it all you +thought it would be?" + +But Carleton did not seem disposed to talk of himself. "Oh, yes," he +answered absently, "all that, and more. It's the greatest ever--" then, +breaking off abruptly, he asked, "Do you know, Arthur, when Colonel +Graham's expected back from England?" + +Vaughan looked at him with a smile. "_Colonel_ Graham?" he said, "did +you say _Colonel_, Jack?" + +Carleton nodded. "That's what I said," he answered, "Colonel Graham. You +know I used to be pretty good friends with him once on a time." + +Vaughan's smile broadened. "Yes, I know," he answered dryly, "and you +used to be _very_ good friends with some one else. Are you sure it isn't +Marjory you mean, Jack, and not the colonel?" + +At last Carleton smiled too. "Well," he returned, "I won't argue about +it. You can put it that way if you like. When do they get back?" + +"Three months, I believe," answered Vaughan, "I think that was what Rose +said." He paused, then added with sympathy, "Sounds like a long time, +too, I'll bet." + +Carleton made no answer. Slackening speed, the train came to a halt, and +rising, they filed down the aisle, and out on the Eversley platform, to +find Henry Carleton and Cummings awaiting them. Somewhat perfunctorily +Jack Carleton shook hands with Cummings; then turned to his uncle. "Wait +for me just a minute," he said, "I've got a bag here somewhere," and he +strode off into the station, while the others turned the corner, and +took their places in Carleton's waiting motor, Cummings and Vaughan +ushered by their host into the tonneau, while he himself took his seat +in front with the chauffeur, a short, thick-set young fellow, with a +round, pleasant face, honest eyes, and a frank and good-humored smile. +He touched his cap, and Henry Carleton nodded in return. "Everything all +right, Satterlee?" he asked, and the chauffeur quickly responded, "Yes, +sir; everything all right, sir;"--then, very respectfully, as if he +realized that his interest was leading him into a breach of strict +decorum, "Isn't Mr. Jack coming, sir?" + +"Oh, yes, he'll be here in a moment," answered his employer, and even as +he spoke, Carleton appeared around the corner of the station, tossed his +bag into the tonneau, and came up to the front of the machine with +outstretched hand. "Well, Tom, old man," he cried, "and how are you? +Looking fine. You couldn't drive anything but horses when I went away. +How do you like this kind of thing? More speed, I guess, all right." + +The chauffeur's answering smile was the friendliest imaginable, although +his taking of Carleton's outstretched hand was a little reluctant, as if +he were aware that this was a freedom hardly likely, in a servant, to +find favor in his master's eyes. Henry Carleton, indeed, frowned with +repressed disapproval. Kindness and even affability toward one's +dependents were permissible--but this frank friendship, with its +implication of equality, of which Jack was guilty, was apt to be +destructive of a proper domestic régime. "We're waiting, Jack," he said, +his meaning perfectly manifest in his tone, "jump in behind, please." + +Jack Carleton was about to comply; then suddenly, either the beauty of +the day or his lack of pleasure in Jim Cummings' society, served to make +him change his mind. He stepped quickly back. "I guess I'll walk it, +after all," he said, "just for the sake of old times. See you at the +house," and before he had gone a quarter of the length of the station +lane, a cloud of powdery dust was the only memento of the big motor left +in sight. + +Thoughtfully he traversed the familiar path, the meadow lying smooth and +fair before him, still peaceful and serene as on the day when Helmar had +walked there three years ago. The same outward world, the same green +underfoot, the same glory of blue above. But though Helmar had found +nothing but pleasure in the scene, now, mellowed and tinted with the +oncoming of the summer night, Carleton's meditation ran in a quieter and +sadder strain. + +Midway at the bank of the little stream, he paused, and his thoughts, +casting backward, were of the little boy who had sailed his boat in the +pool below the bridge, and who had searched so patiently along the +pleasant, grass-grown banks to gather and bring home in triumph to his +mother the earliest violets of the spring. Tinged all with vague regret +were his dreamings, as backward glances in one sense always must be, but +even as his thoughts came down the years, his face did not seem to +brighten with them. + +"Three years," he muttered, "of good resolutions. Three years of killing +out old hatred, and honestly trying to feel toward him as I ought. And +now--almost the first day home--to be put back just where I was before. +To find him the same as ever, so smooth, so self-satisfied, and so +cursedly successful, too. And if I told any one what I believe--why, +they'd think I was mad, I suppose." + +Once more he started on his homeward way, taking the old familiar +short-cut through the woods, as the twilight deepened and the shadows of +the tall elms lengthened down the quiet road. Still lost in thought, he +strode along unheeding; then all at once, struck with a sense of +something unfamiliar, he pulled up sharply and glanced about him. The +path he was following now was new to him, there was something about it +which he could not call to mind, tax his memory as he would. And then +suddenly, as he turned a sharp corner, tucked away amid the shelter of a +grove of birches which rose about it on every hand, a little cottage +appeared before his eyes. + +For a moment he stood silent, staring in astonishment. Of this Henry had +told him nothing. The Birches itself was still a good half mile away. +"What in the world--" he muttered to himself, and then, obeying a sudden +impulse, he turned aside, walked quickly up the path to the little +house, mounted the steps leading to the porch, and knocked. + +For a moment or two he waited. Then somewhere above him, a window +opened; a woman's voice called low, "Is it you?" + +At the sound Carleton threw back his head with an uncontrollable start +of astonishment; and then without raising his voice, he answered, "Yes, +it's I." + +The window closed. A moment still he waited in suspense, until the door +cautiously opened. And then, suddenly, through the dusk there sounded a +surprised cry, "Jack, Jack!" + +Carleton took a quick step forward. Three long years, as far as seeing +women of any attraction went, he had spent practically alone. Three long +years, and in the girl before him what a change. Charming she had always +been, yet now in looks, in dress, in bearing, in every way she had +altered for the better a hundredfold. Almost with a gasp, the memories +of old days came flooding over heart and mind and soul. His voice, when +at last he spoke, sounded hoarse with stifled emotion; "Jeanne," he +cried, "you!" + +As of old, the woman seemed to dominate the situation. She laughed the +old friendly laugh as she stepped backward into the gloom. Her words +were commonplace enough, but not the tone in which she uttered them. +"I'm glad to see you back, Jack," she said. "Won't you come in?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING + + "What mighty ills have not been done by woman!" + _Otway._ + + +It was nearly seven o'clock when Jack Carleton strolled into the +carriage house, to find Satterlee, sleeves rolled up, his big rubber +apron tied around his waist, busy washing the carriages. Leisurely +Carleton took his seat upon an inverted bucket, and lit a cigarette. "So +you use a horse now and then, too, do you, Tom?" he asked, "it isn't all +automobiles?" + +Satterlee grinned a little ruefully. "To speak true, Mr. Jack," he +answered, "we gets a lot of trouble out of that there machine. The +gentlemen walked the last quarter mile to-night, and she's out there +in the road yet. You see, we got a new universal joint--" + +Carleton raised his hand. "No, no," he cried, "you don't get me to +listen to any of those yarns. I don't know anything about motors, and I +don't want to. A horse is good enough for me. It isn't your automobile +troubles I want to hear about, Tom. It's your own, if you've got any, +only I don't believe you have. As near as I can make out, you're an +infernally lucky man." + +The chauffeur nodded. "I am that, sir," he answered, readily enough. "No +man could have had better luck, or more of it, than I've had the last +year. It seems sometimes to me, Mr. Jack, like it couldn't really be so. +It's been most too much for one man." + +Jack nodded. "It was all a surprise to me," he said. "Mr. Carleton never +told me he'd built you the house; I didn't even know you were married. I +wouldn't know it now if I hadn't happened to stop in there on the way up +from the train. I only did it out of curiosity, too. I wondered who on +earth had built that house, so near the big one." + +Satterlee's face lit up with pleasure. "I'm more than glad you did, +sir," he said. "It's a neat little place, if I am saying so. And you +were after seeing the Mrs., I suppose?" + +Jack nodded again. "Yes, indeed I did. She's prettier than ever, Tom. +And she was telling me all about the house. So Mr. Carleton built it for +you." + +Satterlee pushed the wagon back into place, removed his apron, and took +his stand in front of Carleton. "Yes, sir," he answered, "you see, it +was like this. I always liked Jeanne fine--no one could help it, she's +got that way with her--but I always thought as how she was more than a +cut above me, being, as you might say, a lady, almost. And she never'd +have much to say to me, either, excepting to pass the time of day, and +such like things, you know, just friendly like, and nothing more. But +about a year ago, of a sudden she began to seem to take more notice of +me, and at last, never dreaming I was doing anything more than settle +all my hopes of ever getting her, once and for all, I got that crazy +about her I up and asked her--and she said she would. And then I didn't +know what to do. I wanted to go to housekeeping, of course; I knew +where I could rent a tidy little house down in the village, but I was +feared of losing my job, if Mr. Carleton shouldn't seem to take kindly +to the idea of it. + +"Well, at last I told him, and he seemed pleased enough, and asked me +about my plans, and so on, and finally he said he'd like to think it +over for a while. So I said all right, of course, and one evening he +came down here, and talked a long time, about how fine a thing it was to +be married--he spoke something beautiful about his poor dear lady--and +said as how that I'd always done my work right, and been a faithful man +to him, and as how he knew Jeanne was a fine girl, and so on, and +finally that he'd hate to have me leave him--I got scared then--but he +didn't want me so far away as the village, and so, if I'd like it, +partly for me, and partly for a good example to the rest of the house, +he'd build me a cottage right here on the place, and set me up to +housekeeping there. And that he did, and you've seen the cottage for +yourself, so there's no need of my saying what a neat little place it +is, or how happy we are. I like it fine, and Jeanne even more than me, I +believe; you know what it is for a woman to have her own home to fuss +round with; flowers and a vegetable garden, and all such things. We +couldn't be better fixed in all the wide world." + +Carleton slowly nodded. "Well, I should say not," he said at length. +"And about the money, too. Jeanne was telling me of that." + +Satterlee's face brightened. "Wasn't that the greatest ever?" he said. +"I never knew she had relatives so well fixed as that; I guess she +didn't, either; but Mr. Carleton looked after all the law part of it for +her, and it seems she gets a steady income for the rest of her life. Not +so much, of course, for some folks, but for her, you see, it's just pin +money, to do as she likes with. Of course I'd never touch a cent of it; +I'm doing pretty well myself, and I live simple, anyway; but she likes +her fine clothes, and her trip in town, same as all the women do, and +I'm glad to let her have the fun. Sometimes I get let off, too, but I +don't like to go often; there's plenty doing here with six horses, and +that rascal of a car. And this summer she's going off for two months to +the mountains with some friends of hers. You see, the work gets slacker +then; Mr. Carleton always goes away about that time, and it's pretty hot +here, of course, for a woman, anyway. Yes, Jeanne's quite the lady now, +and no one more glad than me." + +Carleton, again nodding thoughtfully, sat for some time in silence +without looking up. At last he raised his eyes to the chauffeur's. +"Tom," he said, speaking with unwonted gravity, "I'd like to ask you one +question. What do you really think--" Abruptly he broke off. "Well, +speaking of angels," he muttered, and again was silent. + +Down the drive Henry Carleton was walking briskly toward them, with a +step that a youth of twenty might have envied. As he entered the +carriage house, he eyed the pair a trifle keenly, it seemed, yet when he +spoke his tone was amiability itself. "Ah, Jack," he said, "I wondered +where you'd gone. Talking over old times with Satterlee, I suppose. We +dine at seven, you know." + +Carelessly Jack Carleton answered him. "Yes, I know. I'll be ready. Lots +of time yet." + +There was nothing in the words at which offense could be taken, yet at +the tone Henry Carleton's eyebrows were raised a trifle. "Suit +yourself," he said, "as long as you're not late," then turning to the +chauffeur. "It's unfortunate about the motor, isn't it, Satterlee? I +understand you to say that you can't possibly have it fixed before +to-morrow night?" + +Satterlee shook his head. "Oh, no, sir, not possibly," he answered. "I +shall have to go in town to-morrow morning, and see them at the factory. +And then there's a good half day, just on labor alone. No, sir, +to-morrow night would be the very earliest possible." + +Henry Carleton's face clouded a trifle, and for a moment he thought in +silence. Then he spoke, with a little reluctance evident in his manner. +"I don't like to ask you to do it, Satterlee, but I can't see any other +way. I've promised to send a message over to Mr. Sheldon to-night, a +message which is of great importance to both of us. I was going to ask +you to take the motor, and go over after dinner--it wouldn't have taken +much over an hour, I suppose--but that's out of the question now. Do you +think, Satterlee, you could oblige me by taking one of the horses, and +driving over. It will be something of a trip, I'm afraid." + +Satterlee's assent could hardly have been readier, or more heartily +given. "Of course I'll go, sir," he answered, "and be more than glad to. +It's not too long a drive, sir. The night's fine. Let me see. Twelve +miles over. Twelve miles back. I could take old Robin, sir, and make it +in a matter of three hours, or I could take Fleetwood, in the sulky, and +make it in pretty near an hour quicker, if there's haste." + +Henry Carleton shook his head. "Oh, no, there's no special hurry," he +answered, "and I wouldn't take Fleetwood, I think. I want to save him +for Mr. Jack to drive to-morrow. No, I think I'd take old Robin. And I +suppose you could get started by eight. If you'll stop at the house, +then, Satterlee, I'll have everything ready, and I'm sure I'm much +obliged to you. I won't forget it." + +Satterlee's face showed his pleasure. There was a thoughtfulness and +consideration in his master's manner unusual and agreeable. "You're more +than welcome, I'm sure, sir," he said. "I'll be ready sharp at eight." + +Jack Carleton had stood silent, with knitted brows. Now he looked up +quickly, gazing at Henry Carleton with a singular intentness, +considering the comparative unimportance of the matter involved. + +"What's the matter with telephoning?" he asked abruptly, well-nigh +rudely, in fact. + +Henry Carleton smiled at him benignantly in return. "You always were +fond of old Robin, weren't you, Jack?" he said. "Well, I hate myself to +use a horse on a drive as long as that, and I hate to use Satterlee so +late at night, besides. But these happen to be a set of plans, Jack, and +you know to telephone plans is rather a difficult thing; and, since +you've been so good as to interest yourself in the matter, I'll tell you +further that they're street railway plans, of very great importance, +considering the fact that Sheldon is my counsel before a committee of +the legislature to-morrow morning. After all," he added more slowly, "it +is a practical world, Jack. Some one has to look after things, even if +it involves an evening trip, a horse and a man. But I suppose it's hard +for you to get used to it. Yours never was the strictly practical side." + +The tone was of kindly benevolence. That there was a deliberate purpose +behind the words was evident. Jack Carleton's face gave no sign, save +that all at once his eyes seemed suddenly to have turned hard and cold. +"I see perfectly now," he answered. "Pardon my suggestion, won't you? I +didn't know the drive was connected with any plans, or of course I +shouldn't have spoken. Well, I guess I'll go ahead and dress for dinner +now." + +He turned with elaborate nonchalance, almost feeling Henry Carleton's +searching glance follow him; and once, half way up the drive, he +chuckled to himself, as if in his mind he felt perfectly satisfied with +the result of the little encounter of words. + +[Illustration: "I can't tell you how glad I am."--Page 201] + +As he mounted the piazza steps, from the cosy corner hidden far back +among the ivy, Rose Carleton and Vaughan advanced a little consciously +to meet him. Very possibly, from a certain tumbled look about her pretty +curls and a flush in her cheeks suspiciously bright, he felt that he +might have done well to enter the house from the side door. Yet, if he +had proved an interrupter, she readily enough forgave him, coming +forward with hands outstretched, and kissing him affectionately, first +on one cheek and then on the other. "Well, cousin Jack," she cried, +"it's seemed so long. Welcome home again; I can't tell you how glad I +am." + +He held her off at arm's length, looking at her with real affection in +his glance, yet quizzically. "My dear," he said, "those are very nice +kisses. You weren't as skilful as that when I left. But practice, I +suppose, will do a lot for any one." + +Rose Carleton's face flushed, but not at all with anger. She held up an +admonishing finger. "Why," she cried, "I _am_ surprised at you. Even to +hint at such a thing," and then suddenly shifting the attack, "and +what's made you such a judge of kisses, anyway? Were they experts out +where you've been? I think you ought to explain, at least." + +Carleton laughed. "Never mind, never mind," he said, "we'll change the +subject at once; I'm getting embarrassed; but seriously, my dear, I wish +you two people all the luck in the world. Nothing could please me +better; you can be sure of that. But I'm not going to stay here and say +nice things about you; I'll warrant you do enough of that yourselves to +make you as proud as peacocks. And if I don't get ready for dinner, +Henry'll give me a calling down; I know that much from old times," and +with a friendly wave of his hand by way of parting benediction, he took +his departure for his room. + + * * * * * + +To an outsider, it might have seemed that the company assembled for +dinner was a somewhat curiously assorted one; yet the dinner itself, +thanks to the efforts of the dark, observant man who presided at the +head of the table, could hardly have been more successful. Tact--always +tact--and in little things even more than in great, this was the +feature that distinguished Henry Carleton's discharge of his duties as +host. And once well under way, there was little reason, indeed, why the +occasion should not have been a success. The meal was one for an +epicure, deliciously cooked and faultlessly served, and with a quality +and variety in the liquids which accompanied it, sufficient to satisfy +even Cummings himself. Fortunate, indeed, it seemed, that Jack Carleton +took nothing at all, and that Henry Carleton and Vaughan drank +sparingly, for Cummings' capacity was frankly enormous. Constantly his +red face grew redder and redder, and his conversation became every +moment more and more monopolistic; yet Henry Carleton, with the courtesy +of the host, seemed to pay no heed, and if there was any conflict +between the laws of temperance and those of hospitality, the star of the +latter seemed to be in the ascendant, for the butler was even more than +assiduous in his attentions, and took good care that the bottom of +Cummings' glass was never visible from the beginning of the dinner until +the end. + +A little late in beginning, it was doubtless due to Cummings' frank +enjoyment of his food and drink, and his innocent delight in recounting +at length anecdote after anecdote of which he was invariably the hero, +that the dinner came to an end far later than Henry Carleton had +anticipated. It was fully half-past eight, indeed, before he had the +opportunity to slip out on the piazza, where Satterlee sat patiently +waiting, with old Robin dozing peacefully between the shafts. "I'm +sorry, Satterlee," he said, as he handed over the parcel; "I didn't mean +to keep you waiting so long. I'm afraid it's going to be pretty late +before you get back." + +Satterlee gathered up the reins. "Close to midnight, I expect, sir," he +answered cheerfully, "maybe later, if the old fellow doesn't happen to +be feeling very brisk. But what's the odds? The night's fine, and +there'll be a moon later on. It's no difference to me. Good night, sir. +I'll be ready for the eight-two, in the morning," and he jogged +leisurely away down the avenue. + +The rest of the party, in the meantime, had joined their host on the +piazza. Almost imperceptibly Rose and Vaughan seemed to be again +gravitating in the direction of the sheltered corner. Jack Carleton, +observing them, smiled to himself; then turned to his host. "If you'll +excuse me, Henry," he said, "I believe I'll go up to my room, smoke a +pipe and turn in. I've been awfully short of sleep since I got back." + +Henry Carleton, the hospitable, with the greatest readiness assented. +"Why, of course, Jack, don't talk of my excusing you. No such ceremony +as that out here. Turn in, and sleep the clock around, if you want to. +Come on, Cummings. You and I will have a little game of billiards, if +that'll suit you." + +"Suit me?" echoed Cummings expansively, "well, I guess yes. Surest thing +you know." This, he reflected to himself, was certainly going some. This +was being treated better than ever before. A bang-up dinner; all the +fizz he wanted--that, from Cummings, meant much--and now a game of +billiards with the old man. And billiards was his particular long suit. +No wonder that he was perfectly happy. Scarcely, it seemed to him, +could he wait until the next morning, to see the other fellows in the +office, and recount all his good fortune to their well-nigh unbelieving +ears. "Surest thing you know," he repeated again, "just what I'd like to +do." + +Left alone, Rose Carleton and Vaughan retreated under the shadow of the +vines. For a little while, indeed, with a self-restraint most +commendable, their talk was not wholly of themselves. A few words they +had to say about Jack; a few, with bated breath, concerning Cummings and +his peculiarities; a brief account Vaughan gave of his wholly pleasant +and successful interview with Henry Carleton, and then, in spite of +themselves, their talk swung around into the path of that endless circle +which engrosses so absolutely the attention of those happy persons but +newly engaged, and soon, all unconsciously, they had drifted away into +the realms of the small but all-sufficing world which can never be +inhabited by more than two. + +Meanwhile, up-stairs in the billiard room Jim Cummings was enjoying +himself always more and more. The table was perfect; the cigar from +the box which Henry Carleton had carelessly shoved toward him he +had appraised with a critical eye, and instantly classified as a +twenty-five-cent straight; at his elbow, on the neat little sideboard, +were liqueurs, and Scotch and soda. Only a victory at the game was +needed to make for Cummings a perfect world, and that finally was also +forthcoming. Not easily, indeed; old Carleton, to his infinite surprise, +played a most surprising game, marred only by a tendency to slip up on +easy shots after he had made a run of those which almost any amateur +in the city might have envied. The first game went to Cummings, the +second to his host, the third and rubber at last, after the closest of +finishes, to Cummings again. And then, pulling their chairs up to the +little table, they sat for perhaps half an hour and talked. Cummings, +indeed, seemed to be the leader as far as number of words went; Carleton +apparently doing little more than to make a suggestion here, propound a +difficulty there, and then finally to allow himself to be assured by +Cummings' lordly manner of overcoming every obstacle in the path. At +last they rose; the lights in the billiard room were extinguished, and +Carleton left his guest at the door of the bedroom allotted to him. "So +I think," he said, laying a friendly hand on Cummings' arm, "that, as +between two men of the world, we may fairly say that we perfectly +understand each other." + +Cummings' speech was a trifle thick, something scarcely to be wondered +at, but his step was steady, and his brain clear. "Perfe'ly," he +responded. "No misund'standing at all. Perfe'ly, I'm sure." + +Henry Carleton looked at him sharply. He was well aware of the quantity +of liquor his guest had somehow managed to put away. "And just one +thing," he added, "you won't forget that it's got to be done quietly. +That's the important thing. You can't be too careful. It's a most +delicate mission. That, Jim," he added in a burst of confidence, "is +why I selected you." + +Cummings' immediate expansion was visible to the eye. "I 'preciate your +choice," he responded handsomely, "and I un'erstand just how you want it +done. 'S that enough, or d'you want talk some more?" + +Henry Carleton whipped out his watch. "No, no," he answered hastily, +"it's late now, Jim. Later than I thought. We understand each other, of +course. Do your best, that's all. And, Jim," he added, with a curious +note, almost, one would have said, of entreaty, in his tone, "you +understand my motives perfectly, don't you? You see my reasoning? You're +convinced that I'm acting for the best?" + +Singular enough it was to see the great financier verging on an appeal +to a man in every way so far his inferior. Cummings, even in his +slightly befuddled condition, seemed to appreciate the honor conferred. +"Mr. Carleton," he answered, "I un'erstand 'ntirely. Your motives +irreproachable; no one say otherwise, by possibility." + +Henry Carleton looked his relief. "Good," he said briefly. "I shouldn't +proceed without your approval of the plan. And you will bear in mind the +need of haste, I know." + +It was five minutes later that he rejoined his daughter and Vaughan upon +the piazza, with his usual thoughtfulness emerging slowly from the +house, and clearing his throat somewhat ostentatiously several times by +way of fair and friendly warning. It may have been that this signal was +needed, it may have been that it was not; in any event, when Henry +Carleton had actually reached the cosy corner, it was to find Rose and +Vaughan seated decorously enough some distance apart, although for the +moment, indeed, conversation between the two appeared to have come +completely to a standstill. + +Henry Carleton eyed them benevolently. "A beautiful night," he observed +impartially, and then, more especially addressing himself to Rose, "Did +you know that it was after half-past ten, my dear. Early to bed, you +know." + +In the darkness Rose Carleton frowned impatiently. Yes, she knew. That +she should retire early was one point on which her father insisted with +a strictness that made it hopeless to contest the point with him. "Early +to bed." She felt a huge dislike for the worthy originator of the +phrase. Even the soundest and sanest of maxims, without the occasional +exception which proves the rule, may come to mean next to nothing. +"Yes, I know it," she answered shortly, with just a trace of irritated +rebellion in her tone. Eighteen does not relish being treated like +twelve. + +Her father noted the tone. "Well, good night, my dear," he observed +evenly. "Say good night to Mr. Vaughan, and don't forget to be up in +good season to-morrow. We shall be a little hurried without the motor. +You must have our coffee ready for us sharp on time." Then, a pause +ensuing, without any move seeming to come from Rose, he added +persuasively, "I trust you and Mr. Vaughan have enjoyed your evening +together, my dear." + +There was a hint of mild reproach in his tone, and at the words +forthwith the girl relented. It was true enough. He had been considerate +to allow her to have Vaughan to herself for the evening. It would have +been easy to have managed things otherwise. He was a pretty good father, +after all. So obediently she rose and gave her hand to Vaughan, with +just sufficient pressure to let him understand that had the occasion +served, her good night would have been a very different one, kissed her +father, and went quietly up-stairs. + +Left alone, Vaughan turned to Henry Carleton. + +"Cummings turned in?" he asked casually. + +Carleton nodded. "Yes, he's turned in, I believe," he answered; then, +with the hospitality for which he was famous, he added, "Is there +anything more that I may chance to be able to do for your entertainment, +Mr. Vaughan?" + +Vaughan shook his head. "Oh, thanks, no," he answered, "I'm ready for +bed myself, I believe." + +"Very well," said Carleton quickly, "then I think, in that case, if you +will excuse me, I'll take my little turn about the grounds and retire +myself. If you should care for a pipe on the piazza, the house is always +open. We don't lock up here at all. I always say, if a burglar is going +to try to break into a country house, that's all windows and doors, a +key turned in the lock isn't going to stop him. So you can get in at any +time between now and morning." + +Vaughan laughed. "Thanks," he answered, "that's genuine kindness, but I +don't think I shall take advantage of it. A bed seems more attractive +to me just now than a pipe even." + +"Suit yourself," answered Carleton, "I'll have my man call you in the +morning. Good night." + +He turned indoors as he spoke, and Vaughan stood silent for perhaps five +minutes, looking out into the glorious summer night, with his thoughts +where they could scarcely have failed to be--on the wonderment of all +the happiness that had come to him, on the difference that the love of a +girl had made in him, his ambitions, his hopes, of all the great things +that he longed to accomplish now for her sake, to show her that perhaps +she had not chosen unworthily. + +Then, coming suddenly to himself, he decided that it would be pleasant +to accompany Carleton on his rounds, looked indoors for him, and not +finding him there, concluded that he must have gone out by some other +way. Coming out once more on to the piazza, he stood for a moment +irresolute, had even made a hesitating step toward the house again, and +then, summoned irresistibly by some subtle kinship with tree and flower, +star and whispering breeze, he walked hastily down the steps, and then, +more leisurely, strolled away around the curve of the drive until his +figure was lost amid the shrubbery of the lawn. + +Surely Henry Carleton's little evening had been enjoyed to the full by +every one. And, as it chanced, even the humblest actor in it was to have +his share of luck. Tom Satterlee, with some two thirds of his journey to +Mr. Sheldon's accomplished, suddenly gripped the reins more tightly as a +warning blast fell on his ears, and a moment later a big motor whizzed +past him from the rear. Instantly he recognized the chauffeur, driving +alone, and the next moment his cheerful hail had brought the motor to a +halt. Then ensued a brief conference, resulting in the transfer of the +package, while Satterlee, with a good hour saved from the schedule that +was to bring him back at midnight, in high good humor turned old Robin's +head toward home. + +Meanwhile, back at The Birches, Vaughan wandered idly along, his feet on +earth, his thoughts in the clouds. Rose and his book. His book and Rose. +From one to the other his thoughts plied back and forth. Not, indeed, +that the book could ever rival Rose, but it was as a means to win her +that it now appeared most precious to him, as if his written word, as +something outside of himself, were striving, like some faithful friend, +to aid him in his fight--and Rose and the book and his happiness blended +in his mind with all the intoxication of youth and hope, and a world +still untried and unconquered, its problems undespaired of still. + +On and on he walked, half unconscious of where he was going, and +then, on a sudden he seemed to become aware of a light flashing +somewhere ahead of him through the trees, now disappearing, now, +as he went onward, springing again into view, much as some gigantic +will-o'-the-wisp might have done. And at the same instant, looking +around him, he perceived, to his surprise, that unconsciously he had +been following the trail of a little rough hewn path, winding first to +right, and then to left, but always forward, and always toward the +light. Partly from a real curiosity as to what it might be, partly with +enough of the instinct of boyhood days left in him, to make him feel a +perfectly irrational delight in the sense of nocturnal adventure, he +skirted his way along through the woods, and a moment later found +himself standing on a little elevation of rock, gazing through the trees +at the house which stood over across from him, not a hundred yards away, +amid the circle of birches which, gleaming like silver in the faint +moonlight, surrounded it with their protection as with a natural +palisade. + +Something singular there seemed to him about the whole affair. The +cottage he could not place; and idly he began to wonder whether, intent +upon his day-dreams, he had wandered farther than he had intended, +and had crossed the boundaries of The Birches to trespass on some +neighboring domain. His vivid imagination had even begun to weave a +web of vague, elusive romance about the cottage itself, based partly, +perhaps, on the spell of the moonlight, partly on the fact that despite +the lateness of the hour a light still gleamed in the upper, and one in +the lower, hall. And then, with a realizing rush of sober common sense, +with a smile at his wandering fancies, he came back to real life again, +and had turned, though half regretfully, to go, when suddenly, at the +very instant, he stopped, and again stood still. A dark figure had come +across the lawn in the rear of the house, walked up to the door without +reconnoitering, and disappeared within. + +A moment or two of silence. Then the light down-stairs was extinguished, +and an instant later the one above was suddenly darkened, until only the +faintest glimmer remained. And again Vaughan, though half doubtfully +this time, smiled at his folly. Surely this was the novelist at his +worst. Striving to find something unusual and strange, worthy of his +notice and comment, in what? In the coming home of some prosaic +householder, doubtless tempted into a longer stay than usual at the +village by the charms of the good fellowship of tavern or grocery store. + +Suddenly his heart leaped. What was that? Something mysterious was on +foot, then, after all. From within the house came sounds as if of a +struggle--a crash, as of furniture overturned--a single half-choked, +muffled cry. Then a rush and clatter of feet on the stairs, and then, +before his wide-open, straining eyes, from the rear door of the house a +figure emerged, followed almost instantly by another. The pursued, the +taller and slimmer of the two, and evidently by far the fleeter of foot, +ran, as one who knows his ground, straight for the thickest cluster of +trees, and reaching them, dived into their shelter like a hare. The +pursuer, following for a space, all at once slackened his speed, +swerving and bearing aimlessly away, constantly farther and farther to +the left, in a wide half circle, his body bent all the time more and +more to one side, his head thrown back and upward, as if spent and +exhausted, even with the brief effort he had made. And finally, fairly +doubling on his tracks, he came headed straight for the rock at the +summit of which Vaughan stood. Nearer and nearer he came, and then, +quickly, as in the faint moonlight the man's face became more plainly +visible, Vaughan drew one instant gasping breath of sickened horror. The +face was set, as if rigid with agony, the eyes were unnaturally wide, +and over the upturned forehead and the pallid cheeks flowed something +hideously dark and glistening. And then, convulsively, with a ghastly +semblance of an athlete who finishes his race, the figure threw one arm +high into the air, as if grasping for support, staggered, pitched +forward, and fell motionless, lying, in the darkness below, a huddled +heap in the road. + +To Vaughan, all unschooled in the darker experiences of life, came a +sudden access of blind terror. He knew that he should at once descend, +yet, knowing it, stood motionless, his will unequal to the task. And +then, as he sought to nerve himself for the trial, nature intervened. At +once he was conscious that his heart was throbbing so faintly and so +fast that his ear could scarcely separate the beats; something tightened +in his throat; the silver birches floated and turned before him, +and he found himself nearer fainting than he had ever been in his life +before. Slowly, after what seemed to him an indefinite period of +semi-consciousness, his brain again cleared; distrustingly he loosed his +hold on the sapling which he had grasped, and with genuine courage, +sought once more to approach the edge of the little cliff and begin his +descent. + +Yet that descent, spite of his newly taken resolution, was now never to +be made. At the edge he gave one shuddering look below, then hastily +and with caution drew back, peering fixedly through the screen of leaf +and branch. The man, indeed, still lay where he had fallen, but now, +creeping down the driveway, came the first figure, returning, as if +impelled by some impulse too powerful to resist. Stealthily it +approached the huddled figure on the ground, looked around listening, +then swiftly knelt, turned the body over, and raised the head upon its +knee. Then came the quick spurt of a match, and Vaughan, leaning forward +with fascinated gaze, saw more than he wished to see--saw what he would +have given anything in the world not to have seen; for the motionless +figure, with head drooped horribly to one side, hair matted, and face +streaked and dabbled with red, was that of Tom Satterlee, and the face +which bent over him, showing pale and horror-stricken in the light of +the tiny flame, was the face of Jack Carleton. Vaughan turned and ran. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE YELLOW STREAK + + "A plague on all cowards, I say." + _Shakespeare._ + + +From a slumber that was scarcely a sleep, a slumber feverish and fitful, +broken by restless starts and uneasy twitchings, Arthur Vaughan suddenly +opened his eyes, on the instant broad awake. For just one blank moment, +as has happened with mankind so many million times before, as will +happen so many million times again, his brain seemed to hang motionless, +without impression of any sort; and the next minute across it the +blurred and distorted images of the night before were rushing and +crowding their way with a sense almost of physical suffocation and +terror. He had half started from his bed, when at the same moment the +knock on the door which had first awakened him was repeated. "Come in," +he called, and at the word the door opened, and Henry Carleton's valet +softly entered and began to pull back the curtains. For a moment Vaughan +lay motionless, watching the man, and wondering instinctively if he +knew; then, trying hard to speak in a tone casual and off-hand, he +greeted him. "Good morning, Rollins." + +Swiftly and silently the man turned. His face, to Vaughan's relief, +appeared perfectly impassive. "Good morning, sir," he returned +respectfully. "A fine morning out, sir," and then, after a hardly +perceptible pause--Vaughan could almost feel the words coming--"There +was bad doings last night, sir." + +Vaughan had risen, and was slowly crossing the room toward his bath. He +stopped abruptly. "And what was that, Rollins?" he asked. + +The valet stepped a little nearer, speaking in a hushed and somewhat +awe-struck tone. "It was poor Satterlee," he answered. "He's dead, sir. +They found him this morning, outside his house, with his head all bashed +in. Stone dead, sir. I was there when they brought him in. It was a +horrid sight to see;--" and then, with real feeling, the man, and not +the servant in him uppermost, he added, "Poor Tom. He was that happy, +sir." + +Vaughan still stood without moving. "Dead," he repeated mechanically, +"Good God!" and then, "His head, you say? Why, do they think--" + +The man shook his head. "Nobody knows anything, sir," he answered. "It +was right near his house; right underneath a big high rock; he might +have fell off, or been pushed off; you couldn't tell. Of course, sir, +they've sent for the medical examiner, direct. He should be here in an +hour or two, I should judge, sir, at the most." + +"Yes, yes," Vaughan assented. "I understand;" then at once added, "and +what does Mr. Carleton say?" + +"Oh, he feels terribly, sir," the valet answered, "I never saw him so +broke up in my life. 'Poor Satterlee,' he kept saying, 'I feel as if I +was to blame. I shouldn't have asked him to go that far, so late. It was +after hours. I should have waited.'" + +Vaughan nodded. "Yes, that's like Mr. Carleton," he said. "But of course +it wasn't any of his fault, just the same. He couldn't have looked +ahead to anything like that." + +"No, indeed, sir," the man answered heartily, "of course he couldn't. +But as you say, sir, it's like him. He's always very considerate with +all of us. Oh, he certainly took on terrible; he was as white as a sheet +when they brought poor Tom in." + +"Yes, yes," said Vaughan absently, "I don't doubt;" then quickly, "and +how about Mr. Jack?" + +"Why, he was in a bad way, too, sir," answered Rollins, "but different +like, more quiet, as if he had his wits more about him." + +In spite of himself, at the words Vaughan started, and then, "What about +the horse?" he asked. + +"That was curious, sir," the man replied, "the horse was in, unharnessed +and in his stall; seems as if Tom must have got back early, after all. +But no one knows how." + +As he spoke, in the hall outside a bell rang sharply and at once he +turned to answer it, then paused. "That's Mr. Carleton, sir," he said, +and then with a quick return to his usual manner, "Is there anything +further you might wish, sir?" and on Vaughan's half-mechanical answer +in the negative, he hastily left the room. + +It was on a disturbed and disordered household that Vaughan half an hour +later descended. Rose alone came to meet him as he reached the foot of +the stairs, and in silence led the way into the deserted breakfast room. + +"You won't find very much to eat, Arthur, I'm afraid," she said. "You +mustn't mind. Everything's so terribly upset." + +He bent and kissed her, pitying her white face and trembling hands. "My +dear girl," he said tenderly, "don't worry about me. Breakfast doesn't +count at a time like this. Where has everybody gone?" + +The girl, pouring out his coffee, helplessly shook her head. "Oh, I +don't know," she answered. "It's all been so confused. My father's gone +down to see Mrs. Satterlee, I believe, and Mr. Cummings is outside +somewhere, too. He seemed to feel it as much as any one. He really +looked very badly, and hardly touched his breakfast at all. And Cousin +Jack--I don't know where he's gone. I suppose he minded more than +anybody; he was always around so much with Tom in the old days out here. +He acted so queerly, too; and looked at everybody so--oh, I don't know +how to describe it--stern and fierce, as if somehow he thought we all +had something to do with Tom's being killed. And all the time father +kept saying things, like that in the midst of life we were in death, and +that no man could tell the hour--oh, it was all ghastly. It was awful." + +Vaughan, nibbling gingerly at the cold toast, and struggling to swallow +the luke-warm coffee, nodded understandingly. Every instinct, every bit +of good sense that he possessed, told him to drop the subject, and +still, for the life of him he could not check the words that rose to his +lips. "Did you--did you see him?" he asked. + +The girl shuddered. "Not close to," she answered, "only when they +brought him by the house. I didn't know--I looked--once. I wish I +hadn't. Oh, his face--" + +Abruptly, a little dizzily, Vaughan rose from the table, last night's +ugly vision again seeming to pass before his swimming eyes. On the +instant the girl, all penitence, rose also, coming swiftly around to his +side. "Forgive me, dear," she cried, "I didn't mean to shock you. I +should have thought. Excuse me, please." + +He hastened to take her hand. "No, no," he cried, "there's nothing to +forgive. It's not your fault. Let's get outside in the air. It's close +in here. I feel a little faint." + +A moment later they stood on the broad piazza, in all the glory of the +warm June sunshine. Up in the top of a swaying elm an oriole flooded the +air with song; out over the lawn, against the green of the shrubbery, +a big golden butterfly floated softly along; in and out of the vines +above their heads a tiny humming-bird--a living gem--darted here and +there, his crimson throat flashing like flame in the sunlight--then +quick as thought with a whir of his swiftly moving wings, was gone. +Life--life--life--in every tone and call of nature's voice,--and out +there, in the hushed quiet of the stable, a man lay dead. + +Vaughan rested a hand on the girl's arm. "Look," he whispered, "down by +the road." + +The girl raised her eyes. There, dimly to be seen through the screen of +the shrubbery, up and down, up and down, a figure paced, with eyes fixed +on the ground, with one hand tugging fiercely at his mustache, to and +fro--to and fro. "Cousin Jack," she said. + +Silently Vaughan nodded. Well enough, from the uncertain tumult going on +in his own mind, he could guess the bitter struggle that was being waged +in Carleton's. In an hour the medical examiner would come; all would in +turn be examined on oath. Henry Carleton, doubtless, would be the first +called upon to testify; then Jack; then, he supposed, Cummings and +himself. And what should he do? The truth, the whole truth, and nothing +but the truth--the words seemed aimlessly to sing themselves over and +over in his brain. And then, with a shake of his head, he roused +himself. One thing was plain. Before the examiner came, there must be +some plan of concerted action between Jack Carleton and himself--some +knowledge of what each was going to say when called on to face that +grim ordeal. And it might be that there was little time to spare. He +turned quickly to Rose. "I'm going to speak to him," he said. + +She made a protesting movement. "Oh, must you?" she cried, "I so hate to +be left alone, just now," but for once her lover was firm. "I must, +dear," he said, "I won't be long. You stay right here, and don't worry +or think about it at all. I've got to see him for a minute, anyway; I +won't be long," and as she released her detaining hold on his arm, he +walked swiftly down the steps and across the lawn. + +On the velvet of the yielding turf his footsteps made no sound, his +figure cast no shadow, and it was not until he was almost upon Carleton +that the latter glanced up. Deep in thought he must have been, for to +Vaughan it seemed that it was for a full half minute, at the least, that +Carleton continued to gaze, hardly at him, but rather beyond, as if for +all that time he was unable to call his thoughts back to the present. +And even when he had done so, his greeting sounded scarcely cordial, as +if he would greatly have preferred being left alone without interruption +of any kind, however well intended. + +"Hello, Arthur," he said, "you've heard about it, I suppose." + +Vaughan nodded. "Yes, I've just heard." For a moment he faltered, +uncertain how to proceed; then, lamely enough, he added, "How was he +killed, Jack?" + +Carleton looked at him strangely; and, almost roughly, he answered, +"Killed? How should he have been killed? Fell off that rock, of course." +He paused for a moment in his turn; then, with a singular distortion of +the muscles of his mouth that gave to his expression a look almost +ghastly, he added, with a kind of savage emphasis, "He took one drink +too many, I suppose; poor devil; it's an ugly rock." + +Tone and words alike sounded utterly foreign to him. He stood staring at +Vaughan, as he spoke, but still as if he scarcely saw or heeded him, as +if he strove to map out for himself a path in the tangled net of +circumstance which threatened him. Vaughan, regarding him, drew a long +breath, and grasped his courage in both his hands. "Look here, Jack," he +said, forcing the words with effort, "Mr. Carleton and I were on the +piazza last night about half past ten. I told him I was going to turn +in, and he said he was going to do the same after he'd taken a little +walk around the place. I started for bed, and then I changed my mind.--I +went for a walk too." + +At once Carleton seemed to catch an unusual meaning in the other's tone, +and yet for a moment the real import of the words did not dawn on his +brain. Then suddenly he started, half drawing away. "You went for a +walk?" he echoed, and then, apparently throwing aside all caution, "What +do you mean, Arthur?" he cried, "What do you mean?" + +Vaughan, hesitating still, dreading the effect his words might have, +almost regretting that he had spoken at all, looked his friend squarely +in the face. "I saw it all, Jack," he said. + +Carleton's look was one of utter amazement. For an instant he stood +silent, staring at Vaughan as if doubtful of his senses. Then, "You saw +him run out of the house?" he cried. + +Vaughan nodded. "I saw it all," he repeated, "and afterward, by the +rock--" + +But to everything beyond his mere assent Carleton seemed to pay scant +heed. He stared at Vaughan still, but now with a strange mingling of +emotions showing in his face. And curiously enough, there seemed to +predominate, above all the rest, a look almost of savage relief. + +"That clenches it, then," he cried. "That settles the whole thing," and, +swift as thought, the next moment the expression faded. "No, no, +Arthur," he cried, with the most intense earnestness, "we can't; don't +you see we can't? See what would happen. There'd be the devil and all to +pay. Rose might not marry you, even. You know how proud she is. It isn't +a question of what I ought to do myself, Arthur. It's a question of the +family honor. It mustn't be known; it shan't. We'll tell the same story. +No one else knows, man. No one that would tell. It's the only way. Give +me your word, Arthur; give me your word." + +In silence Vaughan stood and looked at him. These were the same +temptations that had beset him the long night through; against which his +instinctive feeling of justice had struggled well-nigh in vain. And yet, +while gropingly and half-unconsciously he had felt that for him there +might be some excuse, somehow now, the frank cowardice of the plea, +coming from the man himself, jarred strangely upon him. And yet--was it +cowardice? Was there not more than a grain of truth in all that Carleton +had said? Would it not, after all, be for the best? For there, on the +other hand, lay the scandal to be faced; the notoriety of it all, +scarcely endurable; the hordes of prying reporters; the vulgar crowd of +eager seekers after mystery who would make of Eversley a very +Mecca--from all this he shrank, as he could see that Carleton shrank, +and yet, in spite of all, from the other alternative he shrank as well. + +"What do you want me to say?" he asked, and his tone was grudging; his +eyes this time did not seek Jack's face. + +Carleton drew a sigh of evident relief. "Say?" he echoed eagerly. "What +should you want to say? You were abed and asleep the whole time. You +went straight up-stairs and slept soundly all night. That's simple +enough, isn't it? Of course Henry'll swear that you told him that's what +you were going to do. Swear to it, and stick to it. That's all." + +Slowly Vaughan nodded. "And you the same?" he asked. + +"Of course," Carleton answered eagerly, and at his manner Vaughan found +himself all at once marveling. Whatever else of emotion he might feel in +the medley of sensations which swept over him, above everything else he +was conscious of a stinging disappointment, an open shame, for this +man--his friend. He turned away, his voice as he answered, sounding +dully in his own ears. "All right," he said. Then suddenly a new +difficulty struck him with stunning force. "But what's the use, Jack?" +he cried, "Mrs. Satterlee--" + +Carleton took one quick step forward. "Everything's the use," he said, +almost menacingly. "Do as I tell you, for God's sake! Don't worry about +the woman. Her testimony will be the same as ours. Nobody knows +anything. Can't you see? Or don't you know what sort of woman--" + +Across the lawn Rose Carleton's voice sounded, vibrant with anxiety. +"Arthur, Cousin Jack," she called, "you're wanted at once. The medical +examiner is here." + + * * * * * + +The _Columbian_ reporter, jotting down a note or two, rose from his seat +at the examiner's desk. "I'm very much obliged, sir," he said. "That +clears _that_ matter up. You've told me exactly what I wanted to know. +And on this last case that came in to-day, the coachman out at the +Carleton place, you say there won't be anything doing?" + +The medical examiner shook his head in decided negative. "The coroner's +verdict," he answered, "not of course speaking officially, or for +quotation in any way, will be one of accidental death. Of that I am +morally certain. There wasn't a shred of evidence to prove anything +different. Or, one chance in ten, perhaps, at the most, it might be +'death at the hands of persons unknown.'" + +The reporter sighed. "It's too bad, though, isn't it?" he rejoined. +"All the elements of a great story there somewhere"--he paused a moment; +then added thoughtfully, "I'm not jollying, you know; I really am +awfully disappointed. Because--it's a queer thing--if there was any +evidence for a starter, I could furnish some mighty interesting +information in a certain direction. Do you know anything about the wife +of this man that was killed, this Mrs. Satterlee?" + +The examiner shook his head. "Nothing," he answered, "excepting that I +couldn't help but notice that she was a remarkably beautiful woman. +Entirely out of her class as the wife of a coachman, I should have +said." + +"Exactly," the reporter exclaimed. "Well, now, listen to this. If +anybody wanted to hear some mighty funny evidence concerning this woman, +and concerning one of the men who was at the Carleton place the night +this happened--not gossip, you know, but something that I actually know +about, saw with my own eyes--if anybody wanted to get hold of that, why, +I rather think--" + +The examiner raised a restraining hand. "Well, don't think," he said +curtly. "You ought to know enough about the laws of evidence to stop you +from figuring that two and two make five. And, anyway, don't think too +hard. It's an awful strain on a man. Your business, as I understand it, +as a reporter on the _Columbian_, is to report facts, and not to come +any of these gum-shoe sleuth tricks." + +The reporter smiled, wrinkling his forehead whimsically. "Your ideas of +facts and mine," he rejoined, "might not tally, exactly, but in the +main, yes, I guess you're right." He rose to take his leave. "And +still," he said again, "I can't help wishing there was just a little +evidence to go to the district attorney's office. If there should be, +now--" + +"Well, there won't," snapped the examiner, "you needn't worry. I tell +you the case ends here." + +The reporter raised his eyebrows, at the same time making a deprecating +gesture with arms and shoulders. "Oh, all right, all right," he said +soothingly. "Just as you say." He held the door fully open now. "Oh, and +look," he added, "which Cummings was it that was spending the night out +there? The railroad man, or Jim?" + +The examiner did not look up from his writing. "Jim," he answered +shortly. + +The reporter half closed the door again. "Say," he observed engagingly, +"now that's another mighty funny thing--" + +The medical examiner wheeled suddenly on him. "Oh, come, come," he said, +"get out. You make me tired. You know too much altogether. There's one +thing you don't know, though. That I'm busy sometimes--even too busy to +listen to you and your 'funny things,' as you call them. Now, get out." + +The reporter was on the farther side of the threshold now. He paused for +one parting shot. "I'll bet you a dollar," he said, "that things don't +stop here for good. I'll bet you a dollar--I'll bet you five--that some +day we hear of this case again." + +There was no response. He waited a moment in silence. And then the door +at last closed behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +VAUGHAN DOUBTS + + "Truth is the highest thing that man may keep." + _Chaucer._ + + +Once again the household at The Birches had settled down into its wonted +routine of daily life. Yet with a difference, too, for over the whole +place the shadow of the tragedy still hung. Henry Carleton, deeply +affected at the loss of a faithful and valued servant, showed his sorrow +by making no attempt to replace him, letting the motor lie idle, and +promoting Saunders, the former groom, to the coachman's vacant post. +Mrs. Satterlee herself, very pretty and very sad in deepest black, +continued to live alone at the cottage, going out but seldom and +seemingly well-nigh inconsolable in her grief. Just once, Rose Carleton, +feeling vaguely repulsed in the visit or two she had made to her one +time nurse, had gone to her father's study to question him in regard to +the widow's position. "Is it quite proper, father," she had asked, "for +her to live there now, all alone? Don't you think people may begin to +talk ill-naturedly about her?" + +Henry Carleton had sat thoughtfully for a time before he had made +answer, and then, "Poor woman," he said, with deep feeling, "this has +been a heavy blow for her. And but such a short time married, too. +Really, I hardly know what to say, and yet, for the present, at least, I +think I should allow her to remain. To me it would seem heartless to do +otherwise. Too much as if, just because poor Satterlee were of no +further use to me, I was anxious to cast off his widow also. I +understand your feeling in the matter, Rose, and I appreciate the +kindness you have shown in speaking of it, but in time of sorrow and +affliction, the breath of scandal seems but a secondary consideration. +Duty first, my child, come what may," and Rose, ashamed of her +prudishness, had risen and kissed him. + +"You're right, father," she cried hastily, "as you always are. If +there's anything I can do to make things easier for her, you've only to +tell me." Henry Carleton, with a little smile, had thanked her, and the +incident had been closed. + +Across Jack Carleton's path the shadow of Satterlee's tragic death +seemed to lie dark and unforgettable. For a day or two, indeed, morose +and grave, he continued to make The Birches his home; then, suddenly, he +took his departure, going back to his in-town lodgings, and The Birches +knew him no more. + +But of all the changes caused by the doings of the night, the most +marked had taken place in Arthur Vaughan. With him, indeed, all else +apart, things had been going badly enough to warrant discouragement. +First of all, after a week or two of indulgence in ever strengthening +hope, coming home one hot and breathless evening to his lodging house, +he had found an envelope with Small and White's name in the corner +awaiting him on the table in the hall. With it there appeared no bulky +parcel of type-written sheets, and on the instant his heart beat rapidly +at twice its usual speed. Could it be at last the turning point in the +long, straight path of disappointments? Somehow he could not bring +himself to open the letter there, and in spite of weariness, of the +almost overpowering heat of the day, he ran up the three flights of +stairs, never stopping until he had reached the shelter of his own bare +and simply furnished room. + +Even then he still hesitated, scarcely even bringing himself to glance +at the missive that burned in his hand. Once more he looked about him, +at the familiar, friendly old arm-chair, at the battered desk in the +window, with the manuscript sheets of his new story scattered over its +surface, then out at the restful green of the big elm tree whose +spreading branches almost touched his window, screening the whole room +with their welcome shade. All of these he had come to know and hail as +friends, and natural enough it seemed to him that now in the hour of his +joy he should wish to take them into his confidence, and to bid them +rejoice with him at last. With a final look from the window down into +the quiet, deserted street below, he resolutely tore open the letter, +and ran his eye over the first line or two of its contents--then, with +a sharp intake of breath he raised his eyes, and stood silent and +motionless, his face suddenly white, as though he had received some +mortal blow. It was over, then. The first three lines were enough. +He knew that stereotyped form so well. "We are returning to you +to-day"--that was sufficient--he could have gone on and completed the +letter, with scarcely the miscalling of a single word. Yet presently, +with a self-contemptuous smile, he took up the letter again, and read +it, slowly and deliberately, as a man might run a sword inch by inch +into his body, stopping now and again to give it a little extra twist or +turn stoically to watch himself twinge and wince with the pain, eyes +closing, mouth contorted. + +And anguish of soul, indeed, every whit as bitter Arthur Vaughan now +knew. Hardly had he realized, after his friendly chat with Henry +Carleton, and the words of encouragement he had received from that +practised man of affairs, how thoroughly he had discounted the future. +Down in the bottom of his heart he knew now that for a fortnight he had +really cherished the belief that all would at last come right, that the +book would be taken, that his name would be made, that his marriage with +Rose would be but a question of a longer or shorter time; and now, hopes +dashed, he was back again where he had started; nay, worse off, indeed, +for another possible chance was lost to him, another publisher had set +the seal of disapproval on his work--oh, it was all too bitter! + +Mechanically he read and re-read the letter. All were there--all the +little catch words, the honeyed phrases which said one thing, yet were +made to say it so smoothly and courteously that at the end he half +doubted that after all, his work had been refused;--all were there. "We +are returning"--yes, that seemed enough, almost, but still they had to +go on,--"manuscript you have been so kind as to submit,"--oh, of course, +it had been such a kindness on his part,--"reading it has occasioned us +much pleasure,"--pleasure! Of what sort, Vaughan wondered; "it has many +obvious merits,"--why didn't they take it, then?--"and some equally +obvious defects."--Ah, yes, the defects; that was it, of course, the +defects; that phrase, he felt, at least was sincere.--"Only after +careful deliberation--at last unwillingly compelled to come to the +conclusion--present state of the public taste--certain practical +considerations inevitably to be considered--on the whole--again thanking +you--" More and more hastily, as he neared the end, Vaughan read, almost +with a feeling of physical disgust. Then he tossed the letter on his +desk, and stood, with folded arms, looking out once more into the silent +street, where the shadows were beginning to fall deeper and deeper, +merging gradually into the dusk of twilight. At last he spoke. "I +wouldn't care," he said, "if it was bad work; if it was work that I'd +slighted; if it was work I'd done in a hurry, letting a word and a +phrase go when I knew that somewhere, if I hunted long enough, I could +find the one that really fitted. But it isn't like that. I can't +reproach myself. It's been three years of the best I've got in me. +Everything in the world I know of style, every bit of incident I wanted, +every turn and twist of character. It isn't vanity; it isn't conceit; I +don't care _who_ wrote the book; it's good, and I know it's good; and +yet to have them, one after the other--" + +Practical, prosaic, monotonous, boomed the supper gong. With a sorry +laugh Vaughan turned from the window, and then paused, irresolute. Must +he go down again, as he had done so many times before; to compare +himself, as he knew that in his present mood he so inevitably must, to +his fellow lodgers around the well-worn board. The clerk in the +down-town bank, the dapper young shoe salesman, the would-be humorist +who made no secret of the fact that he was "pulling down" fifty a week +out of his "knock 'em silly" insect powder, the old graybeard who +tottered away each morning to haunt the reading-room of the public +library, staying there the livelong day until he tottered home again at +night--look at it as he would, one fact remained: these men, all of +them, however much he might see in them to criticize, were, each in his +way, successful men. Each, in his turn, to do them full justice, had +stepped up at the sound of the bell, had wrestled his fall with the +practical world, and had come out on top. And he, as the world judges +success, had failed and failed, and now had failed once more. A money +getter, it seemed, he would never be. Never before had his inability to +make and lay away the dollars struck him with such tantalizing force. +What good was he in the world, he asked himself, and with a sudden envy +for every plain, practical, plodding man who was doing his daily round +in the treadmill for his appointed wage, he felt himself to be an idle +dreamer, absolutely unfitted for battle with the sane and commonplace +world in which he lived; and with a savage fluency of bitter self +disgust of which he was for ever after ashamed, he cursed himself, and +his art, tore the letter vengefully into little pieces, slammed the door +behind him, and went grimly down to his waiting supper. + +It was ten o'clock the next morning, when, no whit less discouraged and +sick at heart, he contrived to gain an audience with Henry Carleton. +Even the great man's unfailing affability, this morning, it seemed, even +kindlier and more pronounced than ever, for once failed to awaken in +Vaughan's downcast face any semblance of an answering gleam. "Bad news, +Mr. Carleton," he said, briefly, "it's been rejected again." + +Carleton's face clouded with ready sympathy. + +"Why, my dear boy," he cried, "I am sorry indeed. That is a shame. I had +trusted so much that this time you would be successful. Indeed, I had +almost in a way begun to feel as if your success were mine. I can't +begin to tell you how sorry I am." + +Gloomily Vaughan nodded assent. "It does make things bad," he said. "I +hoped so much. And now I'm as far from Rose as ever." + +Carleton cleared his throat. "My dear Vaughan," he said, "since you've +chanced to mention the subject, I believe I ought to tell you that I've +been thinking a great deal of late--as is only natural--about the +position you and Rose are in. You know, of course, that I desire only +her happiness, and yours, too. You know that. You believe that, I'm +confident. Do you not, my boy?" + +Vaughan, although not altogether without a vague feeling of uneasiness, +hastened to assent to this self-evident proposition, and Carleton at +once went on. + +"Now then, my only feeling in the whole matter is this. You're neither +of you really happy now; not in the least. Long engagements, as a rule, +never are provocative of much happiness. And of course, as we've said +before, you wouldn't want to get married, and have me support you. No, +no, I'm sure you wouldn't wish that; no, of course you wouldn't--" he +spoke a little hastily, himself answering the question he had appeared +to ask--"and so," he continued, "I have been wondering, wouldn't it be +better--fairer, perhaps, to Rose--not to see her so much for a while. +She's very young, you know. And if it gets to be understood that you two +are practically engaged, she's cut off from a great deal of pleasure +which a young girl at her age ought rightfully to enjoy. So why won't it +be best for you to go back in earnest to your work--try as you've never +tried before--and I know that ultimately you'll succeed. I envy you your +ability, Arthur; I envy you your choice of a profession; and I know +that success is only a matter of time--only a matter of time--" he +repeated a little dreamily. "But you can't do it and have all this +strain of a long love affair at the same time. I know how that distracts +one; it would scarcely be worthy the name of love if it were otherwise. +I remember--" + +He sat silent for a moment, as if lost in the contemplation of the past; +and then suddenly coming to the present again, continued, in a far +brisker and more practical tone, "And so, about Rose--remember, I'm not +attempting to dictate, I'm not urging it, even; I'm only suggesting to +your own sense of what is fairest and in the end best for both of you, +how it would be if perhaps you didn't see her for a time. How does it +seem to you, Arthur? I want you to be perfectly frank with me, of +course, just as I have been with you." + +To some men, possessing the defects of their virtues, any appeal to +their spirit of fairness transforms their strongest into their weakest +side. Vaughan nodded miserably. "Perhaps," he said, a little faintly, +"you're right. I hadn't thought of it in just that way before. But I +want to do what's best for Rose, of course. And I'll own up that having +the book rejected this last time has taken all the confidence out of me. +Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I'm not being fair to her." + +"I'm very glad," Carleton said cordially, "that you take such a sensible +view of it. It isn't the easiest thing for a man in your position to do; +I appreciate that. And of course we have one other thing to consider. +It's hardly probable that Rose is going to take the same view of all +this that we do--at least, not with any great enthusiasm. She's very +fond of you, Vaughan, as is only right and natural. But all women in the +world, where their lovers are concerned, are hopelessly and by nature +entirely selfish and jealous, to a degree, of anything that keeps the +man in the case away from them, jealous even of so worthy a thing as a +man's life work; and a man's life work, after all, as you must realize +now as perhaps never before, is a terribly important thing. So you will +have to do your best to try to make her see the common sense side of all +this. And that you'll do, I'm sure." + +To Vaughan it appeared as if he found himself suddenly involved, really +against his will; arrayed on the same side with Henry Carleton to fight +the battle of stern common sense, without having any very clear idea of +how he had happened to get there. "Do you mean," he asked, "that you +think I ought not to see her at all?" + +Henry Carleton's success had been too great to permit of the slightest +risk of endangering it. "Oh, by no means," he made haste to answer. "Run +out and see her whenever you feel like it--say once a month or so. But +to come as an ordinary friend, and not as an accepted suitor, I think +perhaps would be the wiser way. That commends itself to you also, I have +no doubt." + +Vaughan's expression was that of a man to whom nothing now mattered. +"Oh, yes," he answered wearily, "that commends itself to me. That +strikes me as very sensible indeed." + +The complete discouragement in his tone caused Carleton to eye him +keenly. "One other thing," he said, hastening to shift the topic with +unusual abruptness, "about the book. I don't want you to feel in the +least cast down. We'll find a publisher yet; I'm confident of it. And +this next time, let's start fair and square. Give me the manuscript, and +let me try negotiations in my own way. I think I may almost promise that +you'll not find yourself disappointed." + +The expression on Vaughan's face did not seem to indicate that he by any +means shared Carleton's confidence. "We can't do worse," he said, +perhaps a little ungraciously. "If you think there's any good in going +ahead, why, all right. My confidence is gone. I'll send the great work +over to you to-morrow; and you can send it off on its travels again, or +burn it. I don't know which would be the more sensible of the two." + +Henry Carleton shook his head reprovingly. "Oh, come now," he protested, +"don't insult yourself that way. We'll show them yet." He extended a +benevolent hand as he spoke. Some one had once described Carleton's +method of getting rid of his callers as imperceptible, but inevitable. +"And run out and see Rose soon," he added kindly, "have a good long talk +with her, and fully explain your side of the case. She won't fail to +grasp it, I'm sure. She's nobody's fool, if her own father does say so." + +Somehow Vaughan found himself outside the office, outside the building +itself, walking along the street in a kind of maze, before his ordinary +powers of intellect again asserted themselves. Curiously enough, for one +who had agreed so readily and so entirely with everything that Henry +Carleton had proposed, he now appeared to be actuated by a certain +feeling of resentment against that worthiest of men. "Confound him," he +muttered disrespectfully. "How on earth does he manage it? He can turn +me around like a weathercock. I never make such a fool of myself as I do +when I talk with him. I never saw such a man. I can think of twenty +things now that I might have said, but when I needed them, I'll be +hanged if I could lay a finger on one. And if I had, I don't doubt but +what the next minute he'd have shown me where I was wrong. He's always +right. That's the puzzle about him. He's so fair and just about things; +you can't dispute him; and yet, for all it seems like such an idiotic +thing to say, he's right, and you know all the time he's wrong. Confound +the man. He's one too many for me." + + * * * * * + +His talk with Rose came an evening or so later on the broad piazza at +The Birches. For half an hour Vaughan had sought vainly to bring himself +to make a beginning, with his attention in the meantime miserably +distracted from all that Rose Carleton had to say, finding it indeed +hard to assent with any great degree of pleasure to plans for a future +which he now felt was for ever barred to him. So noticeable and so +unlike himself did his inattention finally become that the girl stopped +short in something she was saying to turn his face toward hers, +scrutinizing it as though she sought to read the trouble there. "What's +gone wrong, Arthur?" she asked, "nothing that I've done to displease +you?" + +Vaughan's answer to the latter part of the question was not made in +words. And then, as he again raised his head, at last he made his +explanation. "It's this, dear," he said. "I happened to go in to see +your father the other day about the book--to bother him with more bad +news--and he began to talk, apropos of that, about ourselves. He was +very pleasant--very fair--I must acknowledge that--but--he thinks that +for a man with no more prospects than I have, that I have no right to +hold you to anything like an engagement; that it isn't fair to you; and +all that. I suppose, though he was too polite to put it in just that +way, the implication would be that I ought never to have spoken to you +at all. And so--I didn't see, for the life of me, just what there was +for me to say. He asked me if I didn't agree with him--it was an awkward +question, sort of a 'you'll be damned if you don't; you'll be damned if +you do' sort of affair--and between being a fool or appearing to be a +knave, I chose the rôle that seems to come so easily to me always; I +chose to be the fool, and stammered out that I supposed I did. And now I +don't know what to do; in a way I've given him my word not to visit you +as if we were engaged; in a way it seems as if he were right, too; and +yet--" the unfinished sentence was eloquent of all his doubt and misery. + +He might have been prepared for almost any answer other than the girl's +laugh of real amusement. And on the instant, wrought up and perplexed as +he was, the surprise of it made him draw himself up with offended +dignity. Reading his mood with all a woman's skill, the girl drew closer +to him, and raised her face to his. "Kiss me," she cried imperiously, +and when, with a rather ill-grace, he had complied, "There," she said, +"that's better; don't imagine you can get rid of me as easily as you +think. My affections aren't to be trifled with like that, I'll have you +know." + +Half vexed still, yet with a feeling of immense relief, he gazed at her +with a certain pathos of indecision. "Then you don't think--" he began. + +She broke in upon him. "My dear," she said, "I'm going to lecture you. I +might tell you, of course, if I wanted to, that you were perfection, +possessing no faults whatever; but it wouldn't be true. You've got them, +just as everybody else in the world has. And your greatest fault of all +is lack of confidence in yourself. You're too willing to take everybody +else's opinion in place of your own. That's what you've done now. And +on the other hand, my father, who's one of the best men that ever +lived, I believe--every daughter has that privilege of belief about her +father--my father isn't without his faults, either. And his besetting +one is to think that because he's made a success of so many things, that +that gives him a sort of divine right to run everybody else's affairs +for them, too. In just one word, speaking of course with the greatest +respect, he's a good deal of an autocrat. And so, when I laughed just +now, it was because I was thinking, when it came to an argument, what +possible chance you, with your modesty, could have had against him, with +all his certainty of being right. And the funny thing--the thing neither +of you seemed to think of--" she added audaciously, "is that I've got +very distinct ideas of my own on most subjects, and especially about +the merits of the man I'm going to marry. Oh, Arthur, please--now +it's all rumpled--well, anything's better than having you with that +'farewell-for-ever' look on your face. So, you see, I refuse to release +you; with the greatest respect, as I say, for my father's judgment on +almost every other subject under the sun." + +Vaughan, as he properly should have been, appeared vastly cheered. He +drew a long breath; then as quickly again looked troubled. "But about +coming out here," he objected. "I don't want to be a sneak. And I've +agreed not to come; only once a month, that is, and I believe," he added +a little ruefully, "I undertook the contract of persuading you to assent +to the change of program. So now there are new difficulties. If I report +your insubordination, not to say rebellion, to your father, there'll be +trouble all around, and if I lie about it, and report entire success, +your father will be delighted, but he'll be the only one. You're so +clever, I guess I'll have to leave things to you. You're bound to get me +into trouble; you've got to get me out again." + +"Now," the girl returned, "you're showing your true brilliancy. And from +what I know of my father, I think we will--what's the word they use in +the melodramas--dissemble. That's it. We'll dissemble. You just tell my +father that you talked with me, and that I very sensibly agreed with +him. That will put his mind at rest. Poor father. He has so many things +he's busy about I should never forgive myself if I caused him one worry +more. Yes, I think that will be very satisfactory. The best way for +every one." + +Vaughan did not appear greatly to relish her plans. "Satisfactory," he +echoed. "Seeing you once a month. Well, if you think that's clever, I +must say--" + +"Seeing you _here_," the girl interrupted. "There's a vast difference in +that. This isn't the only place in the world. Really, Arthur, for a +young man of your inventiveness--" + +She paused, her eyes alight with tender merriment. At last he seemed to +comprehend. "Oh, yes," he nodded, "I see. In town, I suppose, but then +there's always somebody sees you, and then your father hears about it--" + +"Stupid," she flashed at him. "Aren't there better places than walking +down the Avenue, or going around to picture galleries? What's the fun in +that? Isn't there a river not so far away? Aren't there woods all about +us romantic enough even for you? That's all easy to arrange. It'll be +quite fun working it all out. But the main thing to manage, Arthur--" +her tone suddenly altered--"is that nothing shall ever come between us. +To try to keep apart two people who really love each other as we do, +just because of anything like money, or fame, why, really, my dear, +that's nothing short of a crime." + +He nodded, yet a little grimly. "In theory, dear, you're quite right," +he answered. "But how about the practice? Money! Fame! We can talk about +them all we choose as little things, when we haven't them, and the +grapes, perhaps, are a little sour, but how they count, after all. Poor +Love! Love wasn't made for a practical world. His bow and arrow is +effectual enough, when there's no fiercer game abroad than the hearts of +girls and boys, but how can he fight against real warriors--shields of +gold and trumpets of brass. Poor Love! Who could blame him for running +away?" + +She took his hand with a gesture almost maternal. "My dear, my dear," +she said, "you mustn't talk like that. It's sacrilege, almost. If he +were the true god of love, he wouldn't fly. And his darts would pierce +the golden shield, and put the trumpets to rout. You, Arthur, a lover of +all things beautiful, to dream of deserting, of arraying yourself on the +side of Mammon." + +She spoke lightly, but with a real meaning behind her words. He seemed, +however, to be unconvinced, for when he replied it was with a bitterness +that startled her. "I don't care," he said, "I've missed it somehow. +I've made an awful failure of things. Look at me! Making no bluffs, +as lots of men do, keeping back nothing, I'm earning a little over a +thousand dollars a year. And other men--classmates--yes, confound it, +and men who came out of college five years later than I did--and worse +than that, men who never went to college at all--they can make money; +good money, lots of them; a few, big money, even; and here I am, trying +to publish a book that never will be published; and which, if it should +be, nobody'd ever read. Oh, the world's pretty near right, after all; +nearer right than we think; I'm labeled at just about my face value: a +thousand dollars a year." + +She laid her hand lightly on his lips. "No, no," she cried, "you don't +understand. You've been brooding over this so long you've lost all sense +of proportion between money and other things. I'll tell you what I +think. I think making money's only a knack. I believe some men are born +with it, and others aren't. Look at the men who start with a pack of +rags on their back, and die worth millions. It's in them; it's no credit +to them; maybe the reverse. No one man can be everything. Some men can +build railroads, but I couldn't imagine you doing anything like that if +you tried your honest best for a hundred years. No, my dear, because +money seems to you to be the thing you need the most just now, you've +been so envious of the men who are able to make it quickly that you've +forgotten all that you have to be thankful for; something that very few +men have granted to them at all, even a hundredth part of what you +possess--and that's the precious perception of the artist; the power to +see things which the ordinary man can never see. You'll succeed, I know +you will, but even if you never should--by the world's standards, I +mean--you ought never to repine. Read your Browning again, dear; even I +can appreciate that. 'One who never turned his back but marched breast +forward, never doubted clouds would break'--how can any man turn faint +heart after that? The truth, dear, that's everything, after all." + +Very humbly and very reverently he stooped and kissed her. "You're +right, Rose," he said, "and I've been wrong. Forgive me. But you know +yourself--sometimes it's hard; sometimes the world's standards grip you +so that you can't keep to your own. But I've been wrong, and I admit it +most humbly. You've a very wise little head on your shoulders, dear, and +I thank you for setting me right. I won't go backsliding again in a +hurry, I'll promise you." + +There was a long silence. Then at last abruptly Vaughan spoke, "Rose," +he said, "what you've just been saying has reminded me of something I +wanted to ask you about. It's a hypothetical case, that a friend of mine +put to me; simple enough, seemingly, yet hard for me to decide. What +would you say to this? Suppose some friend of yours had done something +for which there was no possible excuse; committed a crime, we'll say. +Suppose you had it in your power to condemn him, by telling something +that you knew, or, by keeping silent, could clear him for ever. What is +your duty?" + +The girl did not hesitate. "To tell what I know, friend or no friend," +she answered. + +Vaughan nodded. "That's what I supposed you'd say," he rejoined. "Now go +a step further. Suppose it were I that had done the wrong. Would you +tell then?" + +The girl's answer came as direct as before. "You," she cried, "never; +never in the world. I couldn't. Any one but you." + +Vaughan's laugh had little of mirth in it. "And yet," he said, "if we +are worshippers of the truth, which it is so easy to prate of and so +hard to live, where is the logical distinction? Why should a little +matter of personal liking for anybody stand in your way?" + +The girl was silent. Then, unwillingly enough, "No, I suppose you're +right," she said. "But it wouldn't be logic that would decide me. I +_couldn't_ expose you, that would be all. I'd acknowledge to myself the +wrong I was doing, but I'd go ahead with it just the same. Perhaps +that's because I'm a woman, and trust too much to intuition. If I were a +man, I don't know. As you say, there's no question of the real right and +wrong of it. One should speak, regardless of everything else. And making +it a question of degree does put the whole thing in a terribly +unsatisfactory light. A stranger I wouldn't hesitate about. You, I could +never betray, though I knew I was doing wrong. Midway between, all +grades of hatred, liking, love. No, it isn't satisfactory, is it? Oh, I +don't know how to answer, Arthur. But we've only a few minutes left, +dear. Let's not spoil it by being too grave. I'm glad that it's only a +hypothetical question, at any rate. Not an actual one." + +"Yes," Vaughan answered, "I'm glad too." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE QUEST OF TRUTH + + "And broader and brighter + The Gleam flying onward, + Wed to the melody, + Sang thro' the world; + + * * * + + After it, follow it, + Follow the Gleam." + _Tennyson._ + + +It was nine o'clock on a cold, bleak evening in late December. A bitter, +stinging, northwest wind raged unopposed up and down the length of +the passive, shivering, all but deserted Avenue; buffeting the few +unfortunate stragglers still out-of-doors, making shrill music among the +chimney-tops, shouting and storming at fast-closed doors, and tracing +every moment deeper and deeper its bold, yet delicate design on rattling +window and frost-embroidered pane. + +A pleasant thing, indeed, on this wild night, to turn indoors to some +place where comfort lay; and for a moment to glance at the little room +where Professor Emerson sat alone among his books, reading peacefully, +and with such absorption, that to the tumult without he paid no heed. +His venerable, white-bearded figure lay for the greater part almost +wholly in shadow, and the light of the study lamp, shining full upon his +features, brought out in vivid contrast the strong and well-etched +outline of his face. It was a face noble and sensitive, with a certain +clear-cut delicacy of line; pale as if hewn from the very marble, and +yet as if lighted by the cold, clear fire of the spirit within, so fine, +so keen, so intellectual still, that one must needs peer more closely to +discover the network of tiny, almost imperceptible wrinkles; one must +needs note more carefully the trembling of the thin, blue-veined hand +that held the book, to realize that the professor, alert and active for +so many long years, was but a professor emeritus now; and that one was +gazing on a man feeble, infirm and old. + +Peacefully he sat there, and indeed, in that quiet room, on an ear far +quicker and readier than his own the fury of the gale would scarce have +struck disturbingly. Blow the wind as it might around the casement, rug +and curtain and tapestry laughed it to scorn; whistle as it would down +the chimney, the mounting warmth of the crackling flame met and repulsed +it at every turn. Verily the little room, restful and serene, the +scholar's orderly abode, seemed a sanctuary alike from the storms of +nature and from the storms of the world. + +Presently, through the stillness of the house, a bell pealed sharply. To +the old man, however, it must have sounded but faintly, for at once, +with but a momentary half glance upward from his book, he fell to +reading again. Nor was his servant's knock on the study door enough. It +was only when he had entered the room, and had approached respectfully +almost to within arm's length, that the professor at last gave heed. +"Mr. Vaughan, sir," said the man, "wishes to know if you could see him +for a little while." + +At once the old scholar seemed to rouse himself. Closing his book, he +laid it aside. "Mr. Vaughan," he repeated, "why, yes indeed. Ask him to +step right up, please," and a moment later footsteps sounded in the hall +outside, and Arthur Vaughan came quickly into the room. + +Greetings exchanged, the old man beamed benevolently across the fire at +his former pupil. "This is very kind of you, Arthur," he said, "I'm +always glad to see any of my old boys; and I don't get the chance so +often now. And what is it to-night? Something you wished to ask me +about, or did you just drop in for a chat?" + +Vaughan hesitated for a moment before replying. "A little of both, +Professor," he said at length. "I wanted to see how you were, for one +thing; and for another, I had something on my mind that I wanted to get +your opinion on. I always used to come to you in college, when things +bothered me, and I thought I'd do the same now. This is a hypothetical +case--a question of conduct--and one of the puzzling ones that seem to +have right on both sides." + +Instantly the old man's interest was awakened. "A question of conduct," +he repeated, "by all means let me hear it, Arthur. There's nothing +more interesting than that, ever. Matthew Arnold, you know--'conduct +three-fourths of life.' Very likely so, of course, and yet I always +wondered just how he fixed it with such exactness. Why not five-eighths, +I used to wonder, or seven-eighths; why just the seventy-five per cent. +He thought himself, as I remember it, that he'd pitched it low, and +Stevenson, on the other hand, considered it high. Well, that was +Arnold, all over. A little arbitrary in such things; a little given to +catch-words, perhaps; black letter, you know; and yet, for all that, +a great critic, a great debater, and to my thinking, a great poet as +well. Well, well, there I go rambling again. This old head-piece, I'm +beginning to think, Arthur, is getting pretty shaky now. Well, to come +back to the point. A question of conduct; that's it, isn't it?" + +Vaughan smiled. "To tell the truth, Professor," he answered, "if I were +to consult my own pleasure, I'd rather try to keep you rambling, as you +call it, than to come down to any dry question of right and wrong. But +as long as I have this on my mind, I suppose I'd better get down to +business, and save the ramble for another time. This is the case, +Professor. Suppose a man has a friend--not a mere acquaintance, you +understand--but one of those rare things, a real friend, for whom he +would do almost anything under heaven, if it would help him in any way. +And then suppose that suddenly, absolutely by chance, he comes upon the +knowledge that this friend has committed a crime--a crime so dastardly +that he can atone for it only with his life. No one else in the whole +world--" for just an instant he stopped, then with a shrug of his +shoulders, went on. "Yes, we'll let it go at that, I think. No one +else in the whole world knows the facts. He holds his friend's life +practically in his hands. And so--the question comes. Shall he turn +informer? What is his duty? Shall he treat his friend as if he were some +ordinary criminal whom he had never seen--should be at all eagerness to +drag him before the bar of justice, and have him pay the penalty of his +crime? Or has friendship some claim? Has he the right to stand aside, +shoulders shrugged, mouth tightly closed? Has he the right to say, 'No +business of mine. Let the man settle it with his conscience and his +God?' Has he a choice? Or is he bound to step forward? Is he dragged +into the cursed business against his will? Can he keep silence, or must +he speak?" + +He stopped abruptly. There was a silence, a silence so long that Vaughan +was beginning to wonder whether or not the old man's brain had fully +grasped his words. But when at last the professor spoke, it was evident +that the pause had been given only to careful thought; that no detail of +the problem had been lost on him. "Is any one else, Arthur," he asked, +"supposed to be involved? Or is it simply the case of the man himself? +Are there others to be considered, or does he stand alone, confronted +with the deed he has done?" + +Vaughan's answering laugh had nothing of mirth in it. "Any one else," he +echoed, "I should say so. Relatives; friends; a woman's heart, perhaps, +to be broken. And the man who is confronted with the problem--it may +mean loss of his own happiness as well. And a name, too; a family name +that's been maintained with honor for centuries, almost, one might say. +That's to be dragged in the dust, if it all becomes known. Is any one +else involved?" He laughed again. + +There was a pause before the professor spoke, and then, "Could the man +make atonement, Arthur?" he asked. + +Vaughan's tone, when he answered, was low and sad. "Never," he replied, +"never in a million years. It is a crime where mankind seek to do +justice, but where really there is no possible atonement. The crime is +the taking of the life of a fellow-man." + +The old man slowly nodded. "And he refuses to come forward?" he asked. + +"He refuses to come forward," Vaughan answered, "though of his motives, +perhaps it is hardly fair to pretend to judge. Still, strictly speaking, +I suppose that scarcely alters the case. Whatever his idea in keeping +silent, in any event he does so." + +"And of his guilt," said the professor, "I understand you to make no +question. That, as I understand it, is one of the fixed hypotheses of +the problem, and not open to discussion." + +Vaughan inclined his head. "Exactly," he returned. "Of his guilt, +unfortunately, there is no question. That we may regard as fixed." + +Long and earnestly the old man pondered. "There is a difficulty, of +course," he said, at length. "Under ordinary circumstances, or rather, +perhaps, I should say, under extraordinary circumstances, under the +hypothesis, I mean, that there existed in all the world only the +murdered man, the criminal, yourself, and the tribunal of justice, then +I suppose the case would be tolerably clear. I suppose no sophistry +could convince us that the incidental fact of a personal friendship +should in reality make the slightest difference as to what your duty +would be. But then there enters the complication of which you speak--the +rights of the other parties involved. As to whether there were others +concerned, my question was almost a needless precaution. Of course there +are. No man, even the lowest, ever lives to himself alone. Consciously +or unconsciously, he has to influence some one about him, for good or +evil, as the case may be. But considering everything, even the sorrow +and misfortune that must result from it, I am of opinion, Arthur, that +the man should speak. It would be hard, of course; terribly hard; but +life _is_ hard. And of the ultimate standard of right and wrong, we may +scarcely hope to judge. All that we may hope to do is to act up to the +truth as we see it. And here, Arthur, I believe the duty is plain. To +what the man has seen he must bear witness, at whatever cost. That way +lies right, and to follow the easier, the more human course, and to keep +silence, that way lies wrong." + +Vaughan had sat listening with downcast eyes. In spite of himself, he +could not raise them to meet the professor's glance, though within him +his mind, mutinous, rebelled. "But doesn't friendship count?" he said at +last. "Doesn't loyalty go for anything? Can a man play the traitor, as +you would have him do, and not be branded false for all eternity?" + +The professor's gaze, serene and calm, never for an instant faltered. +"Arthur," he said, "you don't believe that--not a word of it. You're +trying to make good soldiers enlist in a bad cause. Friendship, loyalty; +yes, they are fine things; scarce anything finer, perhaps; but where the +true allegiance of these fine things belongs--that it is the truth that +transcends all else--that, Arthur, you know, in your inmost heart, as +well as I." + +Vaughan sat silent, with clouded brow. And then, as the pause +lengthened, he made another effort still. "But, Professor, even if the +individual amounts to little, isn't there the further question of the +other matter of which I have spoken--the question of an honored family +name. That, at least, Professor, is no small thing. To bring a stain +upon it, without the most absolute necessity for so doing, doesn't it +seem, in a way, like seeking to debase the currency? A name, graced by +generations of those who have borne it worthily, passes always current +for patriotism, integrity, honesty; the name becomes of itself a force +for the public good. And now, suddenly debase that name--smirch and mar +it--and you have struck a blow at the very foundation of things; you +shake the confidence of the people at large in something which they had +come to regard as one of the unquestioned bulwarks of the city and the +state. Isn't that something to be well considered? Should not the man +see to it, that in righting, or trying to right, a wrong for which he is +not responsible, he does not go too far, and instead of reparation, +leave behind him, in its place, a scar--a blot--that even time can not +erase. Isn't that the solution, sir? Should not the man keep still?" + +For a time the old man sat silent, weighing Vaughan's words well, before +he at length made answer. "That is an argument, Arthur," he replied, "a +plausible argument; yet hardly, I should say, sound. Debasing the +currency is an excellent figure, yet there is a currency as much higher +than that of family names, as gold outvalues copper. And to seek to keep +the copper inviolate, while at the same time forced to debase the real +currency--the standard gold--would that be the path of wisdom? Names, +you say; great names; but they seem such a small thing in the wide +universe itself; a name; a great name; a generation of great names; all +but the tiniest dust motes shimmering across the sunbeam which gives +them all the luster they may claim. Is the dust speck of reputation +worth saving, if its rescue means the shutting out of the +sunbeam--Truth?" + +In his turn Vaughan sat silent, seeking vainly for +words--thoughts--arguments--that would not come. At length he rose, his +hands clenched, the struggle going on within him showing in every line +of his sensitive face. "I don't know; I don't know;" he cried, "I have +to think it out myself. But I thank you, Professor, for your kindness; I +hope I haven't tired you," and taking the old man's hand in farewell, he +made his way hurriedly out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MURDER WILL OUT + + "Murder, though it have no tongue, will speak + With most miraculous organ." + _Shakespeare._ + + +Henry Carleton and his daughter sat in the library at The Birches, +Carleton writing at the long table, Rose, with easy chair drawn up in +front of the fire, busied with her embroidery. Presently Henry Carleton +laid aside his pen, and rising, walked over to the bookcase; where he +found the volume and verified the quotation which he sought; then, with +a smile of satisfaction, he walked back to the table again, and for an +instant stood there, glancing down contentedly at the orderly +arrangement of papers and documents now completed and laid aside, +awaiting the morrow. + +The expression of his face was serene and benevolent. His very +attitude--even, indeed, something about the atmosphere of the room +itself--breathed of the man at peace with himself and with the world. +And such a man, at the moment, in very truth Henry Carleton was, and +with every reason therefor besides. The routine of his well-ordered day +was drawing to a close. From the dinner table he had gone direct to his +evening paper--from the paper to his desk. The little white heap of +envelopes that stood ready for the morrow's mailing bore witness to his +labors there. The big check book at their side was closed--modestly and +becomingly closed--but if the observer's eye had been able to penetrate +the cover, and for a moment to look at the stubs within, his admiration +for Henry Carleton could but have been increased by what he would there +have seen. One check, made payable to the Cripples' Home, was for five +hundred dollars; there were a half dozen more, payable to other +charities, for a hundred each; there was one for twenty-five drawn to +the order of a poor veteran in Eversley village. Surely witnesses better +than these no man could well desire. What wonder that Henry Carleton was +content. + +And now, with business out of the way, with his household and his +private affairs all in order, this man of so many talents and virtues +had turned to his pet avocation--literature--and was forging busily +ahead on his scholarly essay, _Character Drawing in the Early English +Novel_. Glancing over what he had written, at once he spoke aloud, half +to his daughter, half--the most important half--to himself. This +thinking aloud over his literary work was a favorite method with him. He +liked to get Rose's ideas and criticisms--sometimes, to his surprise, +they appeared upon reflection to contain much of good sense--and apart +from this, he believed that it was in this way he could pass the fairest +and the most searching judgment upon his labors. And after all, the +question of benefit apart, the sound of his own voice was in nowise +distasteful to him. Nor could he well be blamed. It was a pleasant voice +and well-modulated, and through its medium he liked to think around his +subject, to get the swing and cadence of each varying phrase, before at +length he came to make his last "fair copy," and thus to transmit his +ideas to paper in final form. + +"'Sir Charles Grandison,' Rose," he read, "'is beyond question most +skilfully drawn, with all the author's great command of those quiet +little strokes and touches, one superimposed on the other, which at last +give us the portrait of the man, standing forth from the canvas in all +the seeming reality of flesh and blood.' How does that strike you, +Rose?" + +The girl wrinkled her pretty forehead "Well, father," she answered, a +little dubiously, "for one thing, I don't know that I think it's quite +true. I always thought Sir Charles was a terrible prig; horribly +self-satisfied and altogether too much taken up with marveling at his +own virtues. I don't believe, you know, that a man like Sir Charles ever +could assume for any one 'the seeming reality of flesh and blood.' 'The +seeming reality of a lay figure,' I think, would be about the nearest +phrase one could properly use." + +Henry Carleton hastened to dissent. "No, no, my dear," he returned, +"you're quite wrong. Sir Charles wasn't perfect. Richardson was far too +clever to fall into that error. Sir Charles had his faults, and the +author in his concluding note takes special pains to draw attention to +them. He had his faults, but then his virtues so far outweighed them +that they sank into insignificance. Then there was Lovelace, whose +faults were so pronounced, and who had such a lack of any redeeming +virtues, that he is at once to be condemned as a character thoroughly +immoral, serviceable ethically only to point the awful example of +talents misspent and energies abused. And midway between the two is Mr. +B., who also had his failings, but who finally atoned for them by his +condescension in marrying Pamela. The trio, I think, point the way to +the author's whole philosophy of life. We have our faults, even the best +of us. We can't help them. But on the other hand, by constant endeavor, +we can do so much good that in the end we counterbalance the evil we do, +and so to speak obliterate it altogether. Very good, I think, and very +sound. An interesting title for a little essay, _The Balance_, don't you +think so, Rose?" + +The girl looked doubtful. "Why, no," she answered, "to tell the truth, I +don't. I should think that was a pretty dangerous doctrine. Good and +evil--debit and credit. I should think it was a very grave question +whether any amount of good could ever really balance one conscious evil +act. Take Mr. B., whom you've just quoted, for example. I could never, +in reading that book, think of him as anything but a great, hulking, +overbearing, arrogant animal, and the shameful way in which he treated +poor Sally Goodwin is a case right in point--that was something no man +could ever atone for, even by a series of the finest deeds in the world. +No, father, I think, if I were you, I shouldn't try to justify a theory +like that. I'm afraid it isn't sound." + +Henry Carleton frowned. "Nonsense," he cried, for him a little +irritably, "it's perfectly sound. I could give you a hundred examples. +'Take him for all in all,' as Shakespeare phrases it; that's what I +mean. Some evil has to be done with the good, unless we're going back to +pillories and hermitages, to keep ourselves unspotted from the world. +And in these days common sense forbids that. Your view is entirely +unreasonable, Rose." + +The girl seemed somewhat surprised at his unusual heat. With a little +laugh she rolled up her embroidery, quitted the easy chair, and coming +over to him, kissed him obediently on the cheek. "Well, don't mind me, +father," she said affectionately, "if you don't want my foolish ideas, +you shouldn't ask for them. One thing's sure; if your theory is right, +you can do about anything you want to now. Rob a bank--or commit any +dreadful crime you choose. Your balance must be so large you couldn't +overdraw it if you tried." + +Carleton laughed. "Well, perhaps that is rather a _reductio ad +absurdum_," he answered. "In any event, I don't think I'll experiment in +the way you mention. You're not going up-stairs already, are you, Rose?" + +She nodded. "Yes, if you don't mind," she replied, "I'm a little tired +this evening. Good night. Don't work too hard over your writing now. +You never rest. I never saw such a man." + +Left alone, Carleton returned to his essay, but not with the +concentration he had before displayed. A sudden restlessness seemed to +have come over him. Once or twice he ceased his work to consult his +watch, and finally stopped, rose hastily, and walked over to the window, +where he stood gazing aimlessly put into the night; then, with a sigh, +turned slowly, almost, one would have said, reluctantly, again to his +task. + +For perhaps five minutes he kept manfully at work. Then once again his +attention seemed to wander; slowly and still more slowly moved the +unwilling pen, and finally, with a sudden impatient gesture, he laid it +down, flung himself back in his chair, and sat there motionless, yet not +with the air of one who has comfortably finished the task he has in +hand, but rather as if debating within himself, between two possible +courses of action, which one at last to choose. + +If such, indeed, was the case, the decision was not to lie with him. +There came a knock at the door. "Come in," he said quickly, and the +butler, Helmar's friend of old, a little thinner, a little grayer, a +little more imperturbable than ever, entered softly, approaching close +to his master's elbow before he delivered himself of his message. +"Mr. Vaughan, sir," he announced with slow deliberation, "in the +reception-room. He wishes to know, sir, if without inconvenience to +yourself you could give him a few moments." + +Henry Carleton looked a little surprised, perhaps also a little annoyed. +"To see _me_," he said, "you're sure, Burton, that it wasn't Miss Rose +he asked for?" + +The butler's manner was one verging on gentle reproof. Within his domain +he did not allow himself the luxury of making mistakes. "Quite sure, +sir," he answered. His tone, though respectful, did not admit of further +questioning upon the point. Henry Carleton sighed, and appeared to rouse +himself. "Why, of course," he said, "tell him I'll be down at once; or +no," he added, "please, Burton, tell him to come up here instead." + +The butler, inclining his head, withdrew. Then, a moment or two later, +the sound of ascending footsteps, and Vaughan entered the room. At once +something in his appearance struck Henry Carleton as far out of the +ordinary. "Why, my dear boy," he cried, "you look worried to death. +What's gone wrong? No more bad news from the book?" + +Vaughan silently shook his head. He was indeed looking miserably, and +when he took a chair, he sat bolt upright on its edge, leaning forward +nervously when he spoke. "No," he said, "it's worse than that, Mr. +Carleton; a whole lot worse. It's something that's been troubling me for +a long time now, until finally I've made up my mind that the only thing +for me to do is to come straight to you with it, and tell you the whole +story. And that's why I'm here." + +At once Carleton shoved books and papers aside, as if the better to +prepare himself for proper attention to Vaughan's words. He looked at +his visitor with an air of friendly concern. "Anything that I can do--" +he murmured. "You know, of course, that you may count on me. Anything in +my power--" + +Vaughan nodded abruptly. "Thank you," he said hastily and a little +grimly, "it's not a favor that I've come for. I'm going to do you a bad +turn, I'm afraid. Going to do everybody a bad turn, as far as that goes. +But it can't be helped. I've got to go ahead, and that's all there is to +it." + +Henry Carleton eyed him narrowly, but without speaking, and Vaughan, +looking up, as if eager to have his task over, with sudden resolve, +began. "It's about Satterlee," he said, "you remember how things +happened out here that night, of course. I guess we all do. Jack went +up-stairs to bed, you remember, and you and Cummings went off to play +billiards. I was on the piazza with Rose, and stayed there until you +came down to tell her that it was getting late. Then, after she went +up-stairs, you told me that you were going for a short walk, and I said +I believed I'd go to my room. Well, I didn't. I don't know why. I +started to go in, and then--the night was so fine; I had so much that +was pleasant to think about--somehow I couldn't stand the idea of going +into the house, and instead I took a stroll around the grounds." + +He stopped for a moment. Henry Carleton, gazing intently at him, gave no +sign from his expression that he was experiencing any emotion beyond +that of the keenest interest and attention. Only his eyes, in the +shadow, had lost their customary benevolent expression, narrowing until +their look was keen, alert; the look of a man put quickly on his guard. +And as Vaughan still kept silence, it chanced that Carleton was the +first again to speak. "Well," he queried impatiently, "and what then?" + +Vaughan drew a quick breath. "This," he cried hastily, almost +recklessly, "this. I walked down toward Satterlee's cottage, and I saw +what happened there. Satterlee didn't fall from any rock. He was +murdered. And I saw it all." + +Henry Carleton did not start. There was no cry of surprise, no single +word, even. Only, as Vaughan had finished, on a sudden his eyes dilated +strangely; his lips parted a trifle; for a moment, without breathing, +without animation, it seemed as if the man's whole being hung poised +motionless, suspended. So great the surprise, so great the shock, that +one, not knowing, might almost have believed himself to be looking upon +the man who had done the deed. "Murdered?" he at last repeated dully, +"You saw it? Murdered?"--there was a moment's silence, and then, all at +once seeming to recover himself, he leaned forward in his chair. "By +whom?" he cried sharply, with just a note of menace in his tone, "By +whom?" + +On Vaughan's part there was no further hesitation. He had gone too far +for that. Yet his face was drawn and distorted with pain as in a tone so +low that Carleton could scarcely hear, he uttered the single word, +"Jack." + +And this time the added shock was too great. Henry Carleton started +visibly, the most intense emotion showing in every line of his face. +"Jack?" he gasped, "Jack?" + +In silence Vaughan bowed his head, hardly able to look on the anguish +which his words had caused. "Jack," he muttered again, under his breath. + +[Illustration: Henry Carleton started visibly.--Page 292] + +There was a silence, tense, pregnant. Once Vaughan, slowly raising his +head, had started to speak, and Henry Carleton had instantly lifted a +hand to enjoin silence. "Wait a minute!" he commanded. Evidently he was +striving to recollect. Then presently he spoke again. "Nonsense," he +cried, "I remember perfectly now. That was the night that Jack said he +felt tired; he went to his room early to smoke a pipe, and then turn in. +Jack murder Satterlee! Why, nonsense, man! You're dreaming. You're not +in your right mind. Jack and Satterlee were always good friends, and +Mrs. Satterlee, too. No, no. Jack to murder any one is nonsensical +enough; but Jack to murder Satterlee--impossible--simply impossible!" + +Stubbornly Vaughan shook his head. "I wish to God it were," he answered, +with deep feeling. "It sounds wild enough, I know, but it's true, for +all that. Every word. And one thing you've just said--" he hesitated, +and stopped, then unwillingly enough continued, "one thing, I'm afraid, +goes a long ways toward explaining, and that is that Jack was such good +friends with Mrs. Satterlee. I'm afraid that was the beginning of +everything." + +Carleton's face was pale, and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse with +emotion. "God, Vaughan," he said, "this is terrible," and then, with a +quick return to his former manner, "no, no, I can't believe it yet. Tell +me what you saw. Not what you imagined or conjectured. Just what you +saw--actually saw with your own eyes." + +"There isn't very much to tell," Vaughan answered. "I just happened to +walk that way, for no reason whatsoever. Just by chance; I might have +gone any other way as well. And finally I came out on the top of a +little hill--no, not a hill exactly; more like a cliff--and from there I +could see across to Satterlee's house. And while I stood there, I saw a +man--Satterlee--come across the drive, and up the back way, and go in. +Then, in a minute, I heard a noise up-stairs, and some one cry out; and +then, a minute after that, Jack rushed out of the house, with Satterlee +after him--and suddenly Satterlee took to running queer and wide and in +a circle, with his head all held pitched to one side--ah, it was ghastly +to see him--and then he came straight for the rock where I was standing, +and all at once his legs seemed to go out from under him, and he +sprawled right out on the gravel on his face, and lay there. I turned +faint for a minute, I think, and the next thing I recall was looking +down again, and there was Jack trying to lift Satterlee up, and when he +scratched a match his hands were all over blood, and Satterlee's +face--oh, I've dreamed it all fifty times since--he was dead then, I +suppose. His head hung limp, I remember, and then--it was cowardly, of +course, and all that, but the whole thing was so unexpected--so like a +damnable kind of a nightmare, somehow--and Jack, you know--why, it was +too much for me. I just turned, and made off, and never stopped till I'd +got back safe into my room again. And that's all." + +Henry Carleton sat silent, engrossed in thought. Almost he seemed to be +oblivious of Vaughan's presence. "It couldn't be," he muttered, at last, +as though incredulous still, "it couldn't be. Jack!" he paused, only to +repeat the name again. Then he shook his head. "Never," he said with +decision, "he would have told everything. You saw wrong, Arthur. You +didn't see Jack." + +Something in the older man's attitude of continued disbelief seemed to +have the effect of nettling Vaughan. "How many times," he said, with a +note of irritation in his tone, "must I repeat it? I tell you I _know_. +Can't a man trust his own eyes? It _was_ Jack. There's no room for doubt +at all. Don't you suppose--" his voice rose with the strain of all that +he had been through--"don't you suppose that I'd have jumped at any +chance to clear him? Don't you suppose that if there'd been the faintest +shadow of a doubt in his favor, I'd have stretched it to the breaking +point to see him go free. No, there's no question. It was Jack. Why he +did it, or how he did it, you can conjecture, if you wish, but one thing +is plain. Murder Tom Satterlee he did." + +His tone rang true. At last, in spite of himself, Carleton appeared +unwillingly to be convinced. Again he pondered. "Then he perjured +himself at the inquest?" he said quickly at last. + +Vaughan nodded. "He perjured himself at the inquest," he assented. + +"And you?" asked Carleton, again, "you perjured yourself too?" + +"I perjured myself too," Vaughan answered. "There were plenty of other +reasons, of course; reasons that you can imagine. It wasn't just a case +of Jack alone. There was a lot else to think of besides. We talked it +over as well as we could--Jack and I. We thought of you. We thought of +Rose--and of me. We thought of the Carleton name. The disgrace of it +all. We only had a quarter of an hour, at the most--and we lied, +deliberately and consciously lied." + +He looked up, instantly amazed at the look on Carleton's face, for +Carleton was gazing at him as if he could scarcely believe his ears--as +if this piece of news, for some reason, came as something more +unexpected than all the rest. "You talked it over with Jack?" he said, +"talked it over with Jack, and Jack thought of me--and the family name. +Upon my word, Arthur, I believe one of us is mad." + +Vaughan stared at him, uncomprehending. "I don't see why you say that," +he returned. "What was there more natural? Or do you mean Jack wasn't +sincere when he put that forward as a reason? I've thought of that, but +I don't believe it now. Just think how we should feel if instead of +sitting here and theorizing about it, we knew that the facts were really +public property. Do you wonder that we stopped to consider everything? +Do you wonder that we decided as we did? But we were wrong--all wrong--I +knew it, really, all the time. To tell what I saw--that was the only +honest thing to do. I lied, and now I'm going to try to make amends. I'm +going to tell the truth, no matter what comes. It's the only way." + +Impatiently Henry Carleton shook his head. "I don't agree with you, in +the least," he said quickly. "I think you decided rightly. I should have +done the same. And right or wrong, you've made your choice. Why alter it +now? It would make the scandal of the day." + +"I know it," Vaughan desperately assented, "I know it will. But +anything's better than having things go on as they are now. I can't look +people in the face. I've been miserable. I thought I knew what it was to +be badly off before, but poverty, and bad luck, and failure--what are +they, anyway? What do they amount to? Nothing. But a thing like this on +your conscience. Why, a man's better dead. He can't live with it, day +and night. He _can't_; that's all. I know. He's got to tell, or go +crazy; it isn't to be endured." + +Without making answer, Henry Carleton rose, and walked over to the +window, standing precisely as he had stood before Vaughan's coming, +gazing out into the blackness of the night. Then he turned. "Wait here," +he said peremptorily. "I've got to get to the bottom of this, or you +won't be the one to lose your senses. Wait here. I'll be back in half an +hour, at the very latest." + +Sudden conjecture dawned in Vaughan's eyes. "You're going--" he began, +and then paused. + +Henry Carleton completed the sentence for him. "I'm going to see Mrs. +Satterlee," he answered. "I refuse to credit your story, Arthur, or what +you say Jack admits, unless she corroborates your tale of what happened +that night. It all depends on her." + +He turned to leave the room, then paused a moment, and again turned to +Vaughan. "Have you told Jack," he asked, "just what you propose to do?" + +Vaughan shook his head. "I haven't seen Jack," he answered, "since the +morning after it happened. To tell the truth, I've taken pains not to +see him. I couldn't bear to. The whole thing got on my nerves. It seemed +to change him so. And about this part of it, I haven't seen him, either. +I couldn't. To go to a man, and read him his death-warrant. I couldn't. +I thought I'd come to you." + +Carleton nodded. "I think you've done wisely," he said, "if this can all +be true, I must see Jack myself first. It becomes a family matter then. +Well, I must go. Wait here for me, please. I won't be long." + + * * * * * + +For perhaps twenty minutes Vaughan sat alone in the library, his mind, +after the long strain of all he had undergone, singularly torpid. +Mechanically he found himself counting the squares on a rug near the +table; three rows of six--three rows of five--eighteen, fifteen, +thirty-three. Over and over again he did this until at last he pulled +himself up short with a start. And then he heard footsteps ascending; +and Henry Carleton hastily reëntered the room, his face stern and set. +For an instant, as Vaughan rose, the two men stood confronting each +other. "Well?" Vaughan asked, though reading the answer to his question +in the other's eyes. + +Carleton nodded. In the lamplight his face looked ten years older. He +spoke but two words. "It's true," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE FAMILY NAME + + "Reputation, reputation, reputation!" + _Shakespeare._ + + +It was long past closing time at Henry Carleton's. Every one, from the +oldest clerk to the smallest office boy, had long since gone home. For +three hours, almost, the two men had had the office to themselves. A +long, bitter battle of words it had been, all the stored-up brood of +evil passions, hatred and envy, anger and fear, as with the bursting of +some festering sore, had surged, foul and horrible, into the clear light +of the open day. + +Henry Carleton sat at his desk, but not in his usual attitude of calm +composure, leaning back in his chair, the acknowledged lord and master +of his little world, envied by all men who came to see him, to buy or +sell, bargain and haggle, plot and plan. This Henry Carleton was a +strangely different man. Wearily enough he leaned forward in his chair, +his head propped on one hand, while in the other the pencil which +ordinarily never moved but to some purpose, to jot down some pregnant +list of facts or figures, now moved over the blank surface of the paper +in little aimless scrawls and circles; fit index, perhaps, to its +owner's strange confusion of brain--a man for once troubled, wavering +and irresolute, well-nigh, at times, despairing, yet still seeking +feverishly the solution of the puzzle, making desperate hunt for the +missing key. + +Facing him sat Jack Carleton, astride of one of the office chairs, his +hands grasping its back, his eyes never leaving the other's face. His +whole expression--the twitching mouth, the deep-set gleam in his +troubled eyes, the unconsciously wrinkled brow--all seemed to bear +witness to some storm of passion that had passed over him, and even in +the comparative calm which had followed, had still left its traces +behind. One might have hazarded that the man who sat there staring into +Henry Carleton's face was a man actuated by two feelings, one new, one +old; one a fear, deep and deadly, the other a resentment so fierce and +bitter, that unrestrained by time and place, it would have loosed him, +like a bulldog, at the other's throat. + +Without looking up, Henry Carleton again began the argument, his tone an +odd mixture, half threatening, half conciliatory, as one who, knowing +that it lies within his power to effect his ends by force, yet for some +reason strives first to gain them by gentler means. "Jack," he said, "we +have to find a way out somehow. And I want to play fair with you--I want +even to be more than fair--" + +Jack Carleton cut him short with a laugh so utterly devoid of mirth, so +full of the bitterest malice, that a curse would have struck more +pleasantly upon the ear. "Oh, yes," he mocked, "of course you do. You +want to be fair." He paused a moment; then, with a naked, unrestrained, +deliberate passion horrible to witness, he protruded his head with a +gesture almost bestial, his tone lowered so that the words came +sibilantly from between his teeth. "You damned sneak," he said, "why, in +the name of God, can't you act like a man? Talk like a man? All these +dirty, canting phrases of yours; they've grown on you now so you can't +drop 'em if you wanted to. You've stifled all the real man that was ever +in you--and to start with that was precious little. You're a money +making machine; money distributing, too, if that's any comfort to you; +_you_ credit to the Carleton name. You've sneaked and schemed your way +so long that you do it from habit now; and a devil of a fine result +you've got this time. You want to be fair. Fair! Oh, my God!" he laughed +again. + +Henry Carleton lifted a face flushed suddenly with angry crimson. "Stop +it, Jack," he commanded, and then, through force of long discipline, +with a sigh he slowly shook his head, and let his clenched hands relax. +"What's the use?" he said, with infinite patience, "what's the use now, +of all times? Hear me out, Jack. I know that you hate me. And I know +why. I've been a successful man, and you've been a failure, but our +chances were the same. You could have done as well as I. Only you chose +to use your energies in a different way. That's all been your fault, not +mine. And now this thing's come up. You've had a surprise to-day. +You've found things very different from what you expected. But what is +my attitude all the while? Am I trying to press my advantage as I could? +That's the last thing I want to do. You think I hate you, Jack. Can't +you see that I don't? If I did, would I be talking as I'm talking now? +Would I talk with you at all, even? Would I above all sit here and take +your insults--your abuse? Not for an instant. You sit there, alive and +free--and yet a dead man, Jack. Think of it! Dead already. Dead as if +you sat this instant in the electric chair. And what am I saying?--the +man that you think hates you. What am I urging and advising all this +time, when I could see you going in the prison door, never to come out +again alive? I'm showing you how to get out of the whole thing +scot-free; giving you every chance; and you won't listen to me." + +Jack Carleton had heard him out in silence, indeed, but without further +emotion, without any change of the hard, set look on his face. "Oh, +you're damned generous," he sneered, as the other paused, "and you're +doing it all out of love for me. It's awfully sudden, this affection, +isn't it? It's been a long time coming." He laughed with a jarring +offensiveness, as if, strangely enough, he was deliberately trying to +incense, instead of to placate, the man of whose good will he stood so +sorely in need. + +Again Henry Carleton's face grew dark, as if at last his irritation had +got the upper hand. "For Heaven's sake, Jack," he cried, "don't be a +child, just for the pleasure of trying to annoy me. I say again, I'm +being fair with you. I say again, more than fair. And if you want to +exercise your irony on me by implying that I'm not actuated by any love +for you, I'll say frankly that this is too complicated an affair for any +one person's claims to be paramount in trying to settle it. I'm +considering every one interested; I'm weighing all the chances for +everybody concerned; you and I, and Rose, and Vaughan, and Mrs. +Satterlee--we're all involved, and I say again, looking at everything +from all possible points of view, it's for our interest, Jack--for yours +and mine--to stand together, whatever happens. There's nothing I want +more, whether you believe it or not, than to see you get out of the +whole thing clear. And don't--" he raised his hand as Jack started to +speak--"don't go running off on any abstract theory of what's right and +what isn't. It's no use. It's waste of time. We've got to look at this +matter as it is--not as perhaps it ought to be. It's intensely practical +for us, Jack, and so let's look at it that way." + +His words seemed effectual, as far as any further protest from Jack +Carleton was concerned. For a moment he sat silent, and then, with an +air of resignation, mingled with a certain indifference, "Very well," he +said, "look at it in that way, if you choose, for all of me. How does +that help? The whole thing's as mixed as before; you can't solve it +satisfactorily, try as you may." + +Henry Carleton, well pleased, drew a quiet breath of satisfaction. So +much, indeed, seemed to him a signal gain. Little by little--that was +Henry Carleton's way. "Good," he said shortly, and then, "but it can be +solved, Jack, for all that. Not with perfect satisfaction to everybody, +perhaps; but it can be solved." + +He spoke with such an air of assurance that Jack Carleton glanced at him +quickly, as if seeking some underlying significance in his words. Henry +Carleton's face, however, was devoid of anything of enlightenment, and +his eyes were looking idly across the room. "Yes," he repeated, "still +satisfactorily, in the main, I think. It's a pure question of logic, +Jack. Let's start with the assumption that if it can be avoided, you're +not eager to die." + +Jack Carleton's eyebrows were raised half grimly, half ruefully. +Something of a kind of hysterical humor seemed to him to exist in the +idea of asking a man with such seriousness whether or not he was eager +to die. "Yes," he returned, "you can assume that. That's a good point to +start with." + +There was something in his tone, despite the solemnity of the +discussion, that made Henry Carleton force a sickly smile, which faded +almost before it had come. "And second," he said, "you'll keep quiet as +long as any one else will." + +Jack nodded again. "Certainly," he said, perhaps with more of bitterness +in his tone. + +Henry Carleton leaned forward, looking him now straight in the eye, and +speaking with the most intense earnestness. "Then take the parties +involved in their turn," he cried, "if you stick to that, no harm can +come from you. No harm will come from me, in any event. And Rose, of +course, doesn't know. Of the other two, Mrs. Satterlee--" he paused an +instant, then continued, a little hastily, as it seemed. "Perhaps +there's no further need of going into that. As we know, she is safe, and +if not, there are certain precautions--no, we may dismiss that entirely, +I think. And that--" the pause was longer this time, "that leaves the +man who's been foolish enough to raise all this trouble to start with. +That leaves your friend, and my prospective son-in-law,--one man to be +reckoned with--Arthur Vaughan." + +This time there was no mistaking the gathering menace in his tone. But +Jack Carleton seemed not to choose to understand his words. "Well?" he +asked. + +Henry Carleton frowned. "Well," he snapped, "isn't it perfectly plain? +Vaughan wants something, of course. He's got us where he wants us now. +Of course I knew, for a man who, as a rule, is so pliable, that when he +turned stubborn about this, it was a plain case of hold-up. So that's +what we've got to do. Square him, in any way he wants. He's your friend. +Sound him; see what he's after. Whatever it is, if I can give it to him, +and I guess I can, of course I will. Go ahead and see him right away. +We've got to fix him quickly, whatever else we do." + +Jack Carleton shook his head in vigorous dissent. "You're miles wide of +the mark. That isn't Vaughan at all. He's not that kind. Arthur's a +visionary, almost. He'd never have kept quiet as long as he has if I +hadn't practically gone on my knees to him. No, this is principle with +him. You're altogether mistaken. You can't stop him that way in a +thousand years." + +Henry Carleton sighed. "I don't believe it," he said stubbornly. "I +don't want to believe it, but you ought to know him better than I. And +if it's so--I want to be fair with him--more than fair--" at the +familiar phrase Jack Carleton smiled a grim little smile--"but we're in +a bad box, Jack; a terribly bad box; and we've got to pull out of it +somehow. Make him the squarest offer you can--anything in reason he +wants--and if he doesn't see fit to accept--" + +Jack Carleton sprang to his feet. "No, no," he cried, "that won't do. I +won't see anything happen to Vaughan. I'll go to him; tell him he's +mistaken; tell him he mustn't speak; tell him--" + +Henry Carleton cut him short. "No use, Jack," he said curtly. "I've +thought of all that. It wouldn't do any good. In the first place, +Vaughan has this crazy idea about duty, and about Satterlee's blood +crying out to him from the ground, and all that nonsense; you know how a +nervous man can get worked up over a thing; and he's bound to speak +anyway. And in the second place, he wouldn't believe you. You can hardly +blame him, either. All the evidence together; the affair you had with +that woman, your stopping at the cottage that evening,--no, no, it won't +do. You might as well save your breath." + +There was a pause. Jack at last nodded grudgingly. "Well, then," he +cried. "I'll let it go the other way. Let him go to the district +attorney, if he chooses. Let him tell his story, and let them arrest me, +and get me into court. Let him tell it over again there, for everybody +to hear, and you can tell your story, and Jeanne Satterlee hers. And +then, by God, I'll tell mine, and if there's such a thing as justice--" + +Again Henry Carleton broke in upon him. "Nonsense, Jack," he said, "law +isn't justice. You know that as well as I do. You wouldn't have a +chance. It's open and shut against you. And don't go up in the air about +Vaughan; I didn't mean to be melodramatic. We won't need to go to +extremes. We can think up some way of keeping his mouth shut. You can +buy him off, I still maintain. And if you can't, we can still get at him +somehow. It isn't hard. I'll be frank with you, Jack. I'll lay my cards +on the table. It would mean death for you, but the scandal would hurt +me, at the same time. And above all, the Carleton name, Jack. Think of +your father. Think--" + +Jack sprang to his feet. "Stop!" he cried. "It isn't for you to talk of +my father, and the Carleton name. Those words don't belong in your +mouth, Henry. And as for Vaughan, he's doing what he thinks is right. +And anything you do to him, reacts on Rose--on your own daughter. And +that's impossible. No, Henry, I tell you again, you can't work it out +that way. Whatever else you please, but I won't see harm come to Arthur +Vaughan." + +Henry Carleton, unmoved, shrugged his shoulders. "As _you_ please," he +answered evenly. "You have your choice, Jack; there's only one other +way." + +Jack looked him full in the face. "For the last time," he said, "you +tell me that this is true. You'll go ahead, and do as you say?" + +The elder man inclined his head. "For the last time," he answered +calmly, "yes. Vaughan or yourself? The choice is yours." + +Jack Carleton stood suddenly erect, throwing back his head, almost with +the gesture of a fighter on guard. "Then I tell you this," he cried, +"you're crowding me too far. I've done the best I could; I've thought of +others long enough; I'll think of myself now. There's a limit to what a +man's got to stand. I've been an awful fool, I know. I've wasted most +of my life, so far; lost my money; lost the chance to marry the girl I +loved. But for the last three years, I've got no apologies to make. I've +tried with every bit that's in me; I had my fight all but won. I made +good out West there; made good with myself; with my prospects; with the +girl I meant to marry--and then this damnable business had to come. And +I tell you, Henry, I won't quit now. You've got the best of me before; +perhaps you will again; but I'll take my chance. I'm willing to back +Right against Wrong, and I give you fair warning now that I'm going to +fight. You haven't beaten me yet." + +He swung short around upon his heel, without waiting for a reply. The +door crashed to behind him, and Henry Carleton was left alone in the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +IN THE BALANCE + + "I trust in God,--the right shall be the right + And other than the wrong, while he endures." + _Browning._ + + +Henry Carleton leaned back contentedly in his office chair. The +afternoon was drawing to a close; another good day's work was done; the +pathway of the future lay bright before him. Money? He had his fill of +it. Except as the trophy, the stakes in the game, for which, coolly and +half-disdainfully, it still suited him to play, he had come scarcely to +value it at all. Fame? That, too, had come to him. His reputation, first +made in the city, had spread later throughout the state, and now, thanks +to that long and well-laid net of carefully adjusted wires, was to +become national as well. Member-elect of the United States senate! It +was enough. Fame--and power--and patronage--more glory to add to that +of the long line of ancestors whose dignified faces looked down at him +from the walls of the gallery at The Birches. He had done well; he knew +it; and was content. Nor was he an old man yet. A glorious prospect lay +before him still, filled with pleasures--of many kinds. Only this one +matter to be adjusted now, and whichever way fate tipped the scales, he +could not lose. How pleasant it was to look back over all his struggles +with Jack! How pleasant to know, with the lifelong enmity between them, +that in every encounter, he had decisively outwitted and got the better +of his nephew! And now--either Jack must suffer, or if Vaughan's silence +could not be bought, Jack's scruples must somehow be overcome. The +latter, of course, everything considered, would be the better way. For +Jack--much as he hated him--was a Carleton, and Jack's fate, in a way, +was bound up with his own. And Vaughan was a nobody, a mere scribbler, +of no use to the world. He must be silenced--somehow. Yet there was +danger too. In spite of himself, the matter troubled him. + +As he sat, thus musing, his clerk appeared at his elbow. "A young lady +to see you, sir," he announced, "Miss Graham, from Eversley. I showed +her into the private office." + +Carleton nodded. "All right," he answered briefly. "Tell her I'll see +her at once," and a moment or so later he was bowing deferentially over +the girl's outstretched hand. "I'm delighted to see you back, Miss +Graham," he said cordially, "if I thought a trip abroad would do me the +good it's done you, I'd start to-morrow. You're looking splendidly. And +what may I do for you? Is this a business call?" + +The girl shook her head. "No, Mr. Carleton," she returned, "it's not; +and I should apologize, I know, for coming to see you at your office. +Yet I didn't want to go to The Birches either. I wanted to ask--I want +to see you, Mr. Carleton--about Jack." + +She paused, and as he waited, she did not at once continue, but sat with +her eyes fixed on the ground, as if embarrassed, and uncertain how to +proceed. So that presently he broke the silence. "And what about Jack?" +he asked lightly, though his watchful gaze was upon her face, "I rather +thought that you and Jack could settle your own affairs. But if you +can't--" + +She glanced up quickly. "Oh, don't joke, Mr. Carleton, please," she +said, "you wouldn't, if you knew how anxious I am. I can't seem to +understand it at all. You know what good friends Jack and I always were; +we were more than that; you know what I mean. And then--something +happened. That was when Jack went West. And I was so glad when I heard +how well he'd done--how well, I mean, in every way--and when he came +back, everything would have been all right again. I had written him--and +he'd written me. We had everything arranged. He was to meet the steamer +in New York. And then--when we got in, he wasn't there. Only a message +at the hotel that he'd been called away on business, and would see me +soon. And that was a week ago; and I haven't seen him, or even heard +from him, since then. I've asked all his friends. Franz Helmar doesn't +know anything about him. Neither does Rose. And when I asked Arthur +Vaughan, he acted as if he knew something, but didn't want to tell me +what it was. So I've come to you, Mr. Carleton. If there's something +about Jack that I don't know, and that I ought to know, I want you to +tell me." + +Henry Carleton sat listening to her, as she talked, his face +expressionless, yet keenly attentive, all the while. And as she ended, +he hesitated, before replying, as if struggling with some inward +temptation which finally, in spite of himself, overcame him. At length +he spoke. "My dear Miss Graham," he said, "I am so many years older than +you, that I'm going to ask you to let me give you a piece of advice. I +have felt uneasy--very uneasy--for a long time, concerning Jack's +attentions to you. Not, of course, that one could blame him--" the girl +ignored the somewhat mechanical smile which accompanied the words +words--"but the man who aspires to win your hand, Miss Graham, should be +of a type very different from my nephew. I'm not talking at random; I +know whereof I speak; and as a friend, I want to tell you that it would +be better for you to forget all about Jack--not to try to find out +anything concerning him--but to dismiss him entirely from your mind. And +I don't think--" he added significantly, "that you will find yourself +troubled by him any more." + +The girl's expression was one of bewilderment. "Troubled by him," she +repeated. "Jack _trouble_ me. You don't understand, Mr. Carleton. I +haven't made myself clear. I'm as fond of Jack as he is of me. I've +promised to be his wife. And all I'm asking now is what has happened to +keep him away from me. There's some mystery about it, and I want to know +what it is." + +Henry Carleton gave a little apologetic cough. "Really, my dear Miss +Graham," he said, "you make this very hard for me. I was trying to +intimate, without putting things too plainly--I thought you would +understand--you know that Jack's character is none of the strongest; you +know his weaknesses as well as I do. You don't want me to go on, Miss +Graham, I know. Why should I pain you? Let us leave things as they are." + +At last the girl seemed to comprehend, yet she did not take his words +without protest. "Jack isn't weak," she cried indignantly, "you've +no right to say that, Mr. Carleton. If you knew all that he's +conquered--all that he's overcome--you'd know that he's strong, not +weak. And please don't hint or insinuate about him; this is too serious +for that. If you've something to say against him, say it. Don't half say +it, and then stop. It's neither fair to him, nor to me." + +Henry Carleton raised his eyebrows. "As you will," he responded evenly, +"I only sought to spare you, Miss Graham. But if you want me to tell +you, I suppose you know as well as any one that before Jack went away, +he'd made himself conspicuous by going around in public with the girl +who later married my chauffeur, Satterlee. There was nothing improper, I +believe, about it all; simply a bit of boyish folly and bravado; nothing +worse. But on Jack's return--I don't know, of course, what his life in +the West has been; I suppose that perhaps one might hazard a guess--he +fell in with this woman again, and this time--I'm speaking plainly, Miss +Graham, because you've asked me to--this time their relations have +passed the bounds of decency. He visits her openly. And that, I +suppose, is the reason that he keeps away from you." + +A little red spot flamed in the girl's cheeks. "It's not true!" she +cried, "I don't believe it--not a word. I know Jack too well. No man +could have written me the letters he has--it's a lie; a lie!" Face and +figure alike were tense and rigid with emotion. + +Henry Carleton's eyes gleamed, yet when he spoke, his tone was calm. "My +dear Miss Graham," he said, "pardon me for suggesting it, but isn't your +conduct rather extraordinary. You come here, in my office hours, knowing +that I am a busy man--a man of varied interests--you come here, on your +private affairs, which surely have no special interest for me--and then, +upon my giving you all the assistance in my power, you inform me that I +lie. Really, Miss Graham--" + +The girl rose quickly, yet her expression seemed to show little of +contrition. "I beg your pardon, if I was rude," she said, "you are quite +right to remind me that I am taking up your time. I will go at once." + +She did not give him her hand in parting, nor did he stir from where he +stood, as she walked toward the door of the office. Before she reached +it, he spoke again. "If you care," he said smoothly, "to hear the +rest--" + +She turned upon him. "I do not," she said, "I care to hear nothing more. +And you say, upon your honor, that what you've told me is true?" + +He shrugged his shoulders. "You're very hard to convince," he said. "I +don't blame you. It's not a pleasant thing to hear. But it is true. He's +not away on business. He goes there constantly. In fact, if you care to +see him, I dare say you would find him there now." + +The words struck home. For an instant the girl stood gazing at him, as +if she would have spoken; then quickly turned, and left the room. + + * * * * * + +A chance shaft sometimes cleaves to the very center of the mark. At the +hour and minute when Marjory Graham was leaving Henry Carleton's +office, Jack Carleton sat with Jeanne Satterlee in the parlor of the +little cottage at Eversley. His face was pale and drawn, and he was +talking tensely, earnestly, evidently striving, with all the power +within him, to convince and persuade with his words. The woman sat with +her eyes averted, as if she listened half against her will. Three years +of life had wrought their change. She was beautiful--beyond all +question--more beautiful than ever; and yet a nameless something had +crept into her face--hardly to be detected, even--a certain look of +restlessness--of discontent--a vague change for the worse. + +"And so, Jeanne," Carleton concluded, "that's all I ask. I say nothing +about that panic in the stock market--I say nothing about the property. +You know, and I know, what he did, and how he did it; I got it all out +of that sneak, Cummings; but all that's past and done with now. Even if +I wanted to make the scandal, I'm not sure that he's answerable legally; +he's a wonderfully clever man. And I say nothing about poor Vaughan, and +his book. You know, and I know, how he worked that with Cummings, but +once more, that's done with now. And Vaughan's come into his own, at +last. But about the other thing, that's different, Jeanne. You must +speak. You can't say that you won't, where it's life and death. You must +do it, Jeanne; I've a right to make my fight; you _must_." + +There was a pause. And then the woman spoke. "I can't, Jack," she +parried, "I promised. I wouldn't dare--" + +He interrupted her. "Promised!" he echoed. "What's a promise wrung out +of one by force? Nothing. You can't mean you'd let that stop you, +Jeanne." + +She looked up at him, with appeal in her glance. "Jack," she said +desperately, "I'll tell you the truth. I'm afraid. Afraid he'd kill me. +You're a man; you're strong, and could fight. You don't know how a woman +dreads anything like that. He said that night he'd kill me, if I told. +And I promised--I promised, Jack." + +Carleton gave an impatient sigh. "Nonsense, Jeanne," he said sharply, +"he wouldn't dare. He only threatened, to frighten you. You--of all +people. And can't you see? He couldn't afford to, if he would. Where's +his hold on me, then? Tell him, Jeanne, what you're going to do, and +then go away, if you're frightened; go somewhere where you'll be safe. +Go straight to Marjory Graham, why don't you, and stay with her." + +"Yes," she flamed, "go to Marjory Graham! That's just like a man. You +don't think of me, Jack, at all. Tell her everything! That's such an +easy thing to say. You don't think of the shame--the disgrace--" + +Carleton rose, and walking across the room, laid a hand upon her +shoulder, looking down into her face, as he answered her. "Jeanne," he +said, wearily, "we've been over this so many times that there's no use +in saying anything more. Only this. I'm not asking you to do this for +me, or for Marjory, or for Arthur, or for Rose, though if you do it, +you'll be doing it for all four of us at once. That isn't the point. A +man gets to thinking pretty hard when he's in a fix like mine, and his +own life dwindles down to something that doesn't count for much, after +all. But I tell you this, Jeanne, and you can call it preaching, and +laugh at it, if you choose, but it's so: there's only one thing in the +world worth doing, after all, and that's to try to keep as near to +what's right and fair as we can. People can disagree about lots of +things--you can criticize my life, and I can criticize yours--but some +things are so plain that there's no chance to differ about what's right +and what's wrong. And the trouble we're in now is one of them. You ought +to tell Arthur Vaughan. You ought to tell Marjory. And then your part is +done. You can leave the rest to fate. But to keep silence now, because +of a promise that was forced from you--it isn't square--it's upsetting +the belief that every one ought to have: that in the end the right's a +better thing than the wrong. And, Jeanne, I tell you this once more. If +you won't do what you ought to do; if you still keep silence; I tell you +this: I won't see harm come to Arthur Vaughan. I won't see Rose's life +spoiled. There's one thing I could do, and that's to put myself out of +the way, and stop everything; but that would be cowardly, I suppose. +No, I'll make my fight, but you know as well as I do, that it's a losing +one. My life is in your hands, Jeanne, and I've a right to ask you to do +what's fair. I've tried, for three years now, as hard as a man could +try. I'll never be anything famous in the world--I know that--but I've a +right to want to bring some credit to my father's name, even if it's +only by living an honest life, to marry, and to pass the name down to +some one that can do better with it than I've done. That's all, Jeanne. +And there are only two days left. That's as long as Vaughan will wait. +So you've got to make up your mind quick. Think it over, Jeanne, and for +every one's sake, be fair." + +She rose from her chair, shaking off his hand. "I'm afraid, Jack;" she +said once more, "I'm afraid." + +Carleton's hand fumbled in his pocket; then, finding what he sought, he +handed it to the girl. The light flickered upon the polished barrel. +"You could use it?" he asked. The girl nodded. "Then you've no reason to +fear him," he said. "Tell him, Jeanne, when he comes to-morrow night, +and then you go straight to Marjory's, and tell her too." + +She looked up quickly, as if seeking to make one last plea. "You ask too +much, Jack," she cried. "If I had my life over--but I haven't. I've +lived out all that was ever good in me; there's only one kind of life +left for me now. And he's been good to me--given me everything. And +think of all I lose. All the life I'd see down there. All the money. All +the good times. You're not a woman, Jack. You don't understand. Think of +the fun--" + +Once more he laid his hand upon her shoulder. "Is it worth it, Jeanne?" +he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +REPARATION + + "Whoever fights, whoever falls, + Justice conquers evermore." + _Emerson._ + + +The butler had withdrawn to superintend the bringing in of the dinner's +final course. Helmar, with his hand outstretched toward his wine glass, +for a moment hesitated, and looking first at Rose and then at Vaughan, +came to a puzzled, half-humorous pause. "I realize," he said, "that this +is the proper time for a toast, yet my tongue is tied. Not through +diffidence, either. I never have stage fright, and I know exactly what +I'm going to say. In fact, I've been working all day on it, and if +anything should happen now to prevent me from inflicting it on you, it +would be the bitterest of disappointments--to me, I mean. But the +question of proper precedence is what I can't make up my mind about. +For the life of me, I don't know whether I ought to drink first to Rose, +and reserve a separate glass for our rising author here, or whether my +first duty is to drink to you both, in celebration of your engagement's +being formally made public to-morrow. By the latter plan, you see, I'm +forced to drink alone, which is always bad; by the former, I manage to +be in good company each time. And on the whole, I believe that's the +proper way. So here goes. Arthur, I propose the health of Miss Rose +Carleton. In order not to embarrass her, I intend to refrain from any +fulsome praise, merely observing that the fact that she is herself, +suffices for everything. Youth, beauty, virtue; Arthur, you're a +fortunate man, and the only drawback to the whole affair is the horde of +envious enemies you're going to make for yourself. But that you'll have +to stand for; and the reward is certainly worth it." + +He bowed with exaggerated deference as he concluded, and the girl, +laughing, softly clapped her hands. "Oh, beautiful, beautiful, Franz," +she cried, "I'm overcome. I suppose I ought to respond, but in the +presence of two such distinguished beings, I'm actually dumb. But, +believe me, Mr. Toastmaster, I deeply appreciate your effort. It's fully +worth all the time you must have spent on it." + +Vaughan, touching his glass to Helmar's, laughed also. "There, Franz," +he cried, "isn't that a fitting reward? And as for your enemies, and +their envy, let them come, all of them. I'm safe; nothing matters now," +and the look in Rose Carleton's eyes, as their glances met, was more +eloquent than any response could have been. + +The toast drunk, Helmar turned to the girl. "And now, Rose," he said, +"actually words fail. Here comes the really difficult part. How shall we +try to describe such greatness? The literary man; the author fairly +launched; the coming all-around novelist of the century, who has shown +himself a romanticist by aspiring to the hand of Miss Carleton and a +realist by winning it. There, how does that suit you? Will that do?" + +The girl smiled. "Indeed it will," she answered. "But if it's +permissible ever to amend a toast, even such a good one as that, I'm +going to venture to do it. Something so nice happened to-day. Tell him, +Arthur, do." + +Vaughan shook his head. "Not I," he answered, "I wouldn't dare. I'm +having a hard enough time as it is, trying to make all these remarkable +things seem real. I still walk around pinching myself, and pulling out +letters and telegrams and re-reading them, to make sure they're genuine, +after all. But if I should start to talk, I'd know I was a liar before I +said five words. I don't mind listening, though, a bit. Go ahead and +tell him, Rose, if you want to, and I'll sit still and try to look the +part of modest but intensely deserving merit. That's the best I can do." + +Rose turned eagerly to Helmar. "Well, then," she cried, "he got word +to-day. The book's gone into a third large edition. In three months! And +his first book! Think of it. And he's had more fine letters and notices, +besides. And two other magazines have written to see if he has any short +stories he'd let them see. So he's going to be a great success, and I'm +awfully proud of him, and when we drink our toast, I want it to be to +the author, the book and the third edition." + +Helmar nodded in vigorous assent. "By all means," he exclaimed, "if all +amendments were as good as that one, no maker of an original motion +could ever object. We'll drink to the third edition, of course, and I +hope, before we're done, there'll be thirty of them. There," he added, +as he put down his glass, "my pleasant duty's done, and I think I may +claim well done. Unless, Arthur, you can think of anything I've +omitted." + +Vaughan shook his head. "No, no," he answered, "you've been a great +success; said a lot of things about us both that aren't true, and +successfully reduced us to just the proper stage of uncomfortable +embarrassment." + +Helmar laughed. "It's a pity, though," he said, "that we didn't have our +full attendance. Think of all the other nice things I might have had a +chance to say. Wasted opportunities. Marjory unable to come; Jack kept +away on business; Mr. Carleton started for his big time in town. That is +a banquet, though, with a vengeance, isn't it! Think of it; United +States Senator! But of course every one knew he'd make it. I never saw +such a man. Success in everything. He's certainly a wonder. You must +feel awfully proud of him, Rose." + +She nodded gaily. "Of course I do," she answered. "We must drink his +health, anyway. He deserves it. What shall we say? The man who has +brought new honors to the Carleton name!" + +As they drank the toast, the butler entered with the coffee and cigars, +and the girl rose, smiling down at Vaughan. "Don't be too long, now," +she said, "remember I'm all alone." + +As the portières closed behind her, Helmar turned to Vaughan. "Well, +Arthur," he said, "you're certainly a lucky man. Engaged to such a girl +as Rose, and fairly on your literary feet into the bargain. It's fine +about the book. I didn't realize it was doing so well." + +Vaughan nodded. "It was queer," he said meditatively, "about the whole +thing. I guess I ought to be ashamed of myself for claiming, once upon a +time, that there was a pull in literature. Because look how it worked +with me. There I had Mr. Carleton using all his influence, and three +times that book was turned down. And then, just because Jack kept after +me to do it, when I took the manuscript back and began plugging ahead +with it on my own account, just see what happened. It was accepted the +very next crack." + +Helmar puffed thoughtfully at his cigar. "It does look that way," he +assented, then, after a little pause, he asked abruptly, "Arthur, how +about Jack and Marjory? Was it just a coincidence they didn't come +to-night, or was it something more than that? I don't believe they're +hitting things off, somehow. And Jack himself--I never saw a fellow so +changed. Ever since that time he was out at The Birches he has seemed +awfully down on his luck. I was wondering--" + +Vaughan rose quickly. "Oh, he's worried about his business, I think +that's all." Then added abruptly, "Would you mind smoking in the other +room, Franz? Rose doesn't object, and I hate to leave her alone." + +Helmar rose also. "Of course not," he said, "why didn't you say so +sooner? Let's go right in." + +Half way down the hall, Henry Carleton's valet approached them, a letter +in his outstretched hand. "For you, Mr. Vaughan," he said. + +Vaughan, taking the letter, hastily opened it, and read its contents. A +puzzled frown wrinkled his forehead. "H'm," he muttered, "that's queer," +and as they entered the parlor, he spoke at once to his fiancée. "Rose," +he said, "I'm sorry, but everything about to-night seems to be fated. +First our guests disappoint us, and now I'm called away myself. But only +for an hour. I'll be back just as soon as I can." + +The girl's face clouded. "Oh, no, Arthur," she cried, "not to-night. You +oughtn't to go to-night, no matter who it is. Tell them to wait--" + +He broke in upon her. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said gravely, "but this +is something that can't be delayed. I must go at once." + +There was no misunderstanding his tone. "All right, then, Arthur," she +said, "but be back as soon as you can," and nodding, he left the room. + +The waiting motor made short work of the distance between The Birches +and Colonel Graham's home; and a short half hour later Vaughan was +ushered across the threshold of the big drawing-room. Marjory Graham +came forward to meet him, and then, as she led the way across the room, +he stared in surprise at the sight of the second figure that rose from +the seat by the open fire. Yet Marjory Graham seemed to see nothing +unusual in the situation. "I think you know Mrs. Satterlee, Arthur," she +said, and Vaughan, his wonderment increasing every moment, bowed, and +took his seat. + +The lights were turned low; only the firelight flickered and gleamed +about the room. Marjory Graham reached out and took the woman's hand in +hers. "Tell him, Jeanne," she said. + +There followed a pause, and then at last, slowly and with evident +effort, Jeanne Satterlee began to speak. "Mr. Vaughan," she said, "the +fewer words the better. You've made up your mind to tell the story of +that night. If it's going to be told, it must be the true one. I've +promised Jack to tell what I know to Miss Graham and to you. I've +already told her." + +She paused, while Vaughan sat waiting breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon +her face. And then she spoke again. "There's no need to ask you," she +went on, "whether you remember all that happened on that night. You +remember how you were all together at The Birches; how Jack said he was +going to bed early; how you and Miss Rose sat out on the piazza; how Mr. +Carleton played billiards with Jim Cummings, and then how he came down +and told you he was going for a walk about the grounds. You remember +every bit of that, of course?" + +Vaughan assented silently. "And then," she went on, "you went for a +stroll yourself; you came to the rock opposite the cottage, and saw Tom +when he came in. You heard the noise; you saw some one run out of the +house, with Tom after him; and then you saw Tom fall, and a minute +afterward you saw Jack bending over him, with Tom's head on his knee." + +Again she stopped for his assent; again Vaughan nodded; and once more +she continued, "You thought it was Jack who was in my room; you thought +it was Jack who ran from the cottage. And no one could blame you, Mr. +Vaughan, for what you thought. But I'm going to tell you the true story +of that night--to my shame. Jack Carleton wasn't in the cottage; there +was never anything between Jack and me--though I tried--never mind, I've +told Miss Graham--but there was some one in my room that night, and that +man was the father of the girl whom you are going to marry." + +Vaughan's heart seemed to stop beating; there came a ringing in his +ears; his voice, when he spoke, sounded faint and far-away. "_Henry_ +Carleton?" he gasped. + +Jeanne Satterlee bowed her head. "I said the fewer words the better," +she went on. "It wasn't the first time. Things had been--that way--for +nearly two years." + +Vaughan's face flushed with anger. "Henry Carleton!" he cried again, +"it's impossible. How dare you say it?" + +Jeanne Satterlee's tone did not alter, its very calmness carrying +conviction with it. "It's true," she said, "every word. And more, Mr. +Vaughan, that you will never know. It's all true. Jack knows--" + +Vaughan started at the name. "But how did Jack--" he began. She broke in +upon him. "Jack suspected," she answered. "He saw me at the cottage that +afternoon. He talked with Tom. He put two and two together. And you know +what he thinks of his uncle, anyway. So he came down to the cottage that +evening, early. He was hidden outside. And after Henry Carleton got +away--he struck Tom from behind to do it--then Jack came down into the +drive to help Tom--and you had to see him. And that was all." + +Vaughan sat as if stunned. "My God!" he muttered, under his breath, "my +God!" + +Once more Mrs. Satterlee broke the silence. "And then," she said, "you +went to Henry Carleton, and told him what you thought you knew. And he +sat there, and listened to you telling him that Jack did the murder. He +came to the cottage that night. He was furious. He'd have killed you, I +truly believe, if he'd dared. He threatened me, even. He told me I must +stick to the story that Jack was in my rooms, and murdered Tom; and that +he'd see that no harm came to Jack; that money could do anything; that +he'd get Jack out of the country; and that it would be better for every +one; and I was frightened--and promised. And then--" + +Gradually, as she talked, the whole sequence of events had been shaping +in Vaughan's brain. And now, all at once, and more to himself than to +the others, he voiced his thoughts in words. "I see; I see;" he cried; +"that was why I could never seem to believe it. Poor Jack! Poor Jack! +Oh, what a fool I've been!" + +Again he was silent, and she concluded. "And then Jack came to me--I did +all this for him--don't think it was easy for me. And I told Henry +to-night, before I came here. He was going in town, and came to the +cottage first. And I told him--with a loaded pistol in my hand. He +wouldn't believe me at first. He never knew that I--that I was fond of +Jack--and when he realized I was in earnest, I thought he was going out +of his mind. I never saw a man so changed. He said I'd ruined +him--ruined his whole life--and then, all at once, he put his hand to +his head, and stopped right in the middle of what he was saying, and +turned, and went away. And I came here, to keep my promise. I told Jack +to come here at eight; he ought to be here now." + +Vaughan pulled out his watch. "Quarter past," he said, "I suppose he'll +be here soon." + +Marjory Graham turned to him. "Mr. Carleton lied to me, Arthur," she +said, "tried to make me believe awful things of Jack. And I knew--I knew +all the time that he lied. Think of it. Think how Jack--" + +Vaughan nodded, yet even on the instant another thought flashed through +his mind. "But, Rose!" he cried, "I never thought. Rose! Good God!" + +"I know; I know;" cried the girl, "I've been thinking about her. You +mustn't speak now, Arthur. Jack didn't, even before he knew. And you +mustn't. It would kill Rose." + +Vaughan drew a long breath. "Marjory--" he began, but the sentence was +never finished. A quick step sounded in the hall outside, and Jack +Carleton came hastily into the room. In an instant, as if unmindful of +all else, Marjory Graham had risen, and crossed the room, her face +transfigured--"Oh, Jack!" she cried, "Jack!" + +For a moment he drew her to him; then, without speaking, his arm still +around her, came forward to meet the others. Vaughan, too, had risen, +and stood with outstretched hand. "Jack," he said, "I never knew--I +never dreamed--can you forgive me?" + +In answer Carleton took his friend's hand in his, yet without uttering a +word. His face was haggard, his eyes wild. Jeanne Satterlee started to +her feet. "What is it, Jack?" she cried, "something's wrong." + +Carleton looked from one to the other, moistening his lips with his +tongue before at last the words would come. "It's Henry," he said +hoarsely, "he's dead. At the station. He fell in front of the train. He +slipped--an accident--" + +For an instant there fell silence--utter; horror-stricken. And then +Vaughan's eyes sought Carleton's face. He spoke in a tone scarcely above +a whisper. "An accident--" he said. + +Carleton met his gaze squarely. The silence deepened; and then, "An +accident," he said again, "he must have thought of Rose--and the +Carleton name. And Rose must never know." + +Assentingly Vaughan bowed his head; then stood, gazing straight before +him, a dawning horror in his eyes. Jeanne Satterlee sank back in her +chair, covering her face with her hands. Drawing a long breath, Carleton +seemed again to come to himself. Very gently he drew Marjory closer to +his side. Neither spoke, for no words were needed. Her glance told him +all that he wished to know; he bent over her, and their lips met. + + THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and +intent. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Carleton Case, by Ellery H. 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Clark + +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: The Carleton Case + +Author: Ellery H. Clark + +Illustrator: George Brehm + +Release Date: January 22, 2011 [EBook #35038] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARLETON CASE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<h1>The<br /> +Carleton Case</h1> + +<p class="double"> </p> + +<p class="center"><i>By</i> ELLERY H. CLARK</p> + +<p class="double2"> </p> + +<p class="center">Author of “Loaded Dice,” Etc.</p> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 102px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="102" height="100" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<p class="gap"> </p> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Illustrated by</span><br /> +GEORGE BREHM</p> + +<p class="double"> </p> + +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="50%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="PUBLISHERS"> + +<tr><td align="center" colspan="3">A. L. BURT COMPANY</td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left">PUBLISHERS</td> +<td align="center">::</td> +<td align="right">NEW YORK</td></tr> +</table></div></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center"><span class="smcap">Copyright 1910</span><br /> +<span class="smcap">The Bobbs-Merrill Company</span></p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<p><a name="Frontispiece" id="Frontispiece"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 340px;"> +<img src="images/i003.jpg" width="340" height="500" alt="“The girl who knelt upon the grass.”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“The girl who knelt upon the grass.”—Page <a href="#Page_29">29</a></span> +</div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center"> +<i>To My Friends</i><br /> +MR. AND MRS. H. DENTON WHITE</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="70%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="1" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr><td align="right">I.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Doctor Helmar Visits the Birches</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_1">1</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">II.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Inquiring Friends</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_13">13</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">III.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Prodigal Son</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_34">34</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">IV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Fool and His Money</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_57">57</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">V.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Question of Honor</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_78">78</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Death Comes</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_109">109</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">A Parting</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_128">128</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">VIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Temptation</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_139">139</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">IX.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Three Years Later</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_149">149</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">X.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Birches Again</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_173">173</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Events of an Evening</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_191">191</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Yellow Streak</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_221">221</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Vaughan Doubts</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_239">239</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XIV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Quest Of Truth</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_267">267</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XV.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Murder Will Out</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_280">280</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVI.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Family Name</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_302">302</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">In the Balance</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_316">316</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="right">XVIII.</td> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Reparation</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Page_331">331</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_1" id="Page_1">[Pg 1]</a></span></p> +<h1><a name="THE_CARLETON_CASE" id="THE_CARLETON_CASE"></a>THE CARLETON CASE</h1> + +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_I" id="CHAPTER_I"></a>CHAPTER I</h2> + +<h3>DOCTOR HELMAR VISITS THE BIRCHES</h3> + +<div class="centerbox2 bbox2"> +<p>“Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Psalm xxxvii.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>n Doctor Morrison’s breakfast-room the curtains were drawn back, and +the windows stood wide open, letting in a flood of warm June sunshine, +and filling the whole room with the fragrance of the soft June air. Even +into the streets of the city, restricted and shut in, something of the +freshness and beauty of the summer morning had managed to make their +way, and to Franz Helmar, seated alone at the breakfast table, listening +to the chatter of the sparrows and the cooing of the pigeons on the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_2" id="Page_2">[Pg 2]</a></span>roofs outside, there came suddenly a sense of irritation at the +monotony of dingy sidewalk and dusty street, of house after house of +brick varied only by house after house of stone.</p> + +<p>Irresistibly, there crept over him the whimsical fancy that he would +like to see the whole vast city at one stroke fade and vanish completely +before his eyes, and in its place behold once more hill and valley, +river and plain; all the wide and boundless freedom of the country; the +splendid, sunlit glory of out-of-doors.</p> + +<p>Suddenly, across the current of his musing, there sounded once again the +sharp, insistent ringing of the telephone, scattering all his day-dreams +into flight, and for the moment he paused, his coffee-cup suspended in +mid air, the better to listen to the doctor’s voice in the hall outside.</p> + +<p>“Yes, this is Doctor Morrison,” he heard in the doctor’s sharp, alert, +yet not unpleasant tones, his “professional” voice, and then, pitched +in a lower key, far more intimate and cordial, he heard at broken +intervals, “Ah, yes, good morning—I’m sorry to hear that—No, I’m +afraid I can’t myself; not this morning, anyway—No, but I can send my +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span>colleague, Doctor Helmar—Oh, perfectly, no doubt of that; this is the +day of young men, you know—All right—Eight-fifteen, South—All right; +good-by,” and then the click of the receiver, and the doctor himself +reëntered the room.</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison was a slender, wiry, middle-aged little man, with a +quick, nervous manner, and a face pleasantly keen and inquisitive, +clean-shaven, save for a little sandy mustache, and with hair—what was +left of it—of the same color. Professionally, he ranked among the first +half-dozen practitioners in the city. He was an autocrat in demanding +obedience from his patients, and a very martinet in insisting that his +rules should be obeyed, while he himself, in private life, with the most +delightful inconsistency, contrived successfully to break them all. +Cocktails he absolutely forbade—and drank them with infinite relish. +Tobacco he denounced as one of the curses of modern life—and peacefully +smoked cigarettes innumerable. Eight hours sleep he declared to be +a necessity—and himself sat up until all hours of the night and +morning. In him you met a doctor stern and awe-inspiring—terrifying, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>even—until you came to know him, and then, shorn of his “professional” +voice and manner, you came suddenly upon a man, gentle-hearted, humane +and kind.</p> + +<p>Seating himself, he glanced up at Helmar, talking jerkily over his eggs +and toast, in his absence now grown somewhat discouraged looking and +cold.</p> + +<p>“A job for you, Franz,” he said, “Edward Carleton—the man who owns that +big place out at Eversley—Oaks? Beeches? What is the name? Some kind of +tree. Birches. That’s it. Birches. Funny name to give a place, anyway. +Well, the old man’s laid up with a cold. That was his brother who +telephoned. Henry Carleton, you know, the bank man. He wanted me to +come out at once, and I told him I couldn’t, but that I’d send you +instead.—Train leaves South Station at eight-fifteen. So you’ve plenty +of time. I’ll look after Colonel Wentworth myself, and drop in to see +Mrs. Brooks. Nothing else, is there?”</p> + +<p>Helmar shook his head. “No, that’s all,” he answered, “and I’m mighty +glad to trade. For one thing, I was just thinking how the country would +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>look to-day, and for another, I’d like to meet old Mr. Carleton. I knew +Jack Carleton very well when we were in college—as well as I knew +anyone, really. So I should enjoy meeting his father.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison paused a moment. He was rather a well-advised man on +social affairs. ”<i>Jack</i> Carleton,” he repeated, “some trouble there +somewhere, isn’t there? Isn’t he the one who doesn’t live at home?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Helmar assented, “he’s the one. The trouble’s all between him and +Henry, I believe. Uncle and nephew—it’s a queer combination for a +family row. But I guess it’s a case where the old gentleman’s on the +best of terms with both of them, and hardly feels like taking sides. And +so, since Henry Carleton and Jack can’t get along together, why, it’s +Henry that’s rather got the inside track. He always did live at The +Birches, you know, even before his wife died. And then there’s his +little girl—I understand that Edward Carleton is most devoted to her, +and for the matter of that, that Jack is too. And she’s awfully fond of +him, and of the old gentleman. Likes them fully as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>much as she does her +father, from what I hear. But it’s Jack and his uncle that can’t agree. +Never could, I guess. Maybe Jack’s a bit more jealous than he ought to +be. Anyway, it was all right while he was in college—he wasn’t home a +great deal then—but after he graduated, I understand things began to +get a little raw, so he quit and branched out for himself.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison nodded. “Yes,” he said, “I see. I thought I recalled +something of the sort,” and after a little pause, he added, “I suppose, +as you intimate, it isn’t very hard to guess where the trouble lies, +either. I’m afraid, Helmar, there’s something rather rattle-brained +about your friend. An attractive looking fellow enough, though, as I +remember him, but I’m afraid without much of his uncle’s ability, or, +for that matter, of his character, either.”</p> + +<p>Helmar looked thoughtful. “Well,” he began doubtfully, “I don’t really +know. But somehow I think—”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison cut him short. After the fashion <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>of many clever men, he +was possessed of an idea, and was going to deliver himself of it. Until +he had done so, the privilege of the floor was his, and his alone. “I +look upon Henry Carleton,” he continued, a little sententiously, “as one +of our coming men. Some day he is sure to be regarded as one of the +really solid men of the city; practically, I suppose he is that now. +They tell me that he’s exceedingly able, and that he’s amassed a great +deal of money of his own; and then they say he has all his brother’s +fortune behind him, too. The old gentleman made his money away back in +the days of the clipper ships, and the Chinese trade. One of the old +time merchants, Edward Carleton was, shrewd and thrifty and far-seeing, +and I guess Henry is all that his brother ever was, and more besides. +And then he’s interested in so many other things. You know what a +thorough musician he is, and what a lot he does to help the younger +singers along. And confound it all, the man’s literary, too. Writes, you +know, and presides at anniversaries and dedications and all that <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>sort +of thing. Oh, he’s one of our leading men, Helmar. Able, and +public-spirited, and upright. I wish we had a hundred more like him.”</p> + +<p>Helmar had listened patiently, but the thoughtful expression had not +left his face. “Yes,” he assented at last, though scarcely with +enthusiasm. “Yes, I suppose so. Certainly I never knew anybody more +generally looked up to than Henry Carleton seems to be. And yet—it’s +queer about him and Jack, because Jack’s a good fellow, too. In a +different way, perhaps. I suppose he does lack balance; but there’s +something awfully human and likeable about him, just the same. But I’m +prejudiced in his favor, I’ll admit; I used to know him so well.”</p> + +<p>He rose as he spoke, and started to leave the room; then paused a moment +on the threshold, throwing a backward glance over his shoulder.</p> + +<p>“Come on, Rex,” he called, and at the sound of his voice there came +slowly from beneath the breakfast table a little brown and white +spaniel, who first stopped leisurely to stretch himself, next shook his +slender body mightily as if to get himself <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>thoroughly awake, and +finally trotted briskly away at Helmar’s heels. Then, outside in the +hall, as he saw his master reach for his hat and bag, he became suddenly +greatly excited, springing to and fro with quick, nervous bounds, his +mouth open, his little red tongue hanging out, his brown eyes glowing, +finally standing straight up on his hind legs, and waving his fore paws +frantically, as in supplication. Helmar, observing him, held up a +warning finger, and instantly the dog again subsided, sitting quietly +down on his haunches, his head cocked inquiringly to one side, his brown +eyes, now grown a trifle anxious, fixed on his master’s face, uncertain +of his fate. Helmar looked gravely down at him, a twinkle in his eye, +but speaking with assumed regret. “No,” he said slowly, “no, I guess +not, sir. It’s a long ways for a little dog, and he might not behave +himself, either. He might bark—he might run away—he might chase +squirrels, even—he might be a bad, bad dog.” Now the little dog’s big, +soft eyes looked very sorrowful, as if they were not far from tears; the +head and ears drooped pathetically, the tail limp, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span>discouraged and +lifeless, every line of his body expressing the idea that for little +dogs it was a very hard, a very sad, a very unkind world. Then suddenly +he raised his head. Surely, even as he had despaired, a change had come; +surely the admonishing finger was being lowered, and his master’s voice +was speaking to him in the tones he loved best to hear. “<i>But</i>,” Helmar +was slowly emphasizing, “seeing that on the whole you’re a pretty good +little dog, perhaps if you’ll give me your word—your solemn word—to +behave, and be a gentleman, why, I think—” his voice quickened +perceptibly to a more encouraging tone—“I think, sir, I might let you +go. Do you want to go, sir? Do you want to go?”</p> + +<p>There was no mistaking the little dog’s answer. With one bound he hurled +himself headlong like a miniature catapult against the solid oak of the +door, then stood motionless, quivering with excitement, his tail waving +jauntily, like a plume, over his back, giving vent to short, sharp barks +of joyful impatience. It was a great world for little dogs, after all; a +world of blue sky and long, waving grass, a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>world of running brooks and +sunshine, a world perhaps of squirrels even. Helmar, regarding him, +laughed. “Come on, then,” he cried, and in a moment the door had closed +behind them.</p> + +<p>The town clock was striking nine as Helmar got off the train at +Eversley, walked up the station lane, and turned into the narrow +footpath leading straight across the half mile of broad green meadow +that lay between the station and The Birches. Rapidly and steadily his +tall figure strode along, from time to time with a half smile on his +dark, clean-shaven face, as he watched the little spaniel tearing on far +ahead of him, in a very frenzy of delighted freedom, racing and circling +desperately here and there in vain pursuit of butterfly and bird.</p> + +<p>To the farther edge of the meadow they came. There Helmar, clearing the +low rail fence at a bound, for a moment hesitated as he sought to recall +Doctor Morrison’s directions, then turned sharp to the right along the +shady country road; proceeding at first uncertainly, as on a journey +into unknown country, then more confidently, as one by one he came on +the landmarks the doctor had foretold: <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>first the massive wall of stone +and concrete that marked the limits of the Carleton boundaries, then +grove after grove of the silver birches that had gained the place its +name, and finally, almost before he expected it, a break in the high +lilac hedge, a long, winding drive, green lawns shaded by towering elms, +gardens fragrant with flowers, and in the background, just pleasantly +distant from the road, the huge, rambling, many-chimneyed old house +itself—Edward Carleton’s home.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_II" id="CHAPTER_II"></a>CHAPTER II</h2> + +<h3>INQUIRING FRIENDS</h3> + +<div class="centerbox3 bbox2"><p>“Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweeteneth it.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Howell.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">H</span>elmar had covered perhaps half the distance to the house, when ahead of +him he caught sight of a little girl, sitting cross-legged under the +shade of one of the big elms, her head bent low over the buttercup +wreath she was weaving, and at her side a young woman—from her dress, +evidently the child’s nurse or companion—sitting with her back against +the tree, deep buried in her book. At the sound of Helmar’s footsteps +the child glanced up quickly, and catching sight of the spaniel +advancing manfully with head in air, and tail wagging in friendliest of +greetings, she scrambled to her feet, and tossing her half-finished +wreath aside, came flying across the lawn to meet him. Evidently with +both it was a case of love at first <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>sight, for the child stooped and +picked the dog up bodily in her arms, pressing his face to hers, and +calling him by the hundred pet names which spring so readily to the lips +of any true woman—whatever her age. “Oh, you dear,” she cried softly, +“you darling; aren’t you a pretty dog!” while the spaniel lay quietly in +her arms, only striving to lick her face with his little red tongue. +Then, as Helmar approached, she looked up. “Isn’t he a beauty!” she +said. “Does he belong to you?”</p> + +<p>Helmar stood smiling down at her, thinking that unconsciously she made a +very pretty picture with the spaniel’s head pressed against her cheek. +She was a dainty little fairy, slender and graceful, dressed in an airy +frock of white muslin, with a broad sash of blue ribbon, her straw hat +dangling neglected down her back, her big, serious dark eyes gazing +solemnly up into his. He nodded in answer. “Yes, he belongs to me,” he +said, “but do you suppose you could look after him while I go in to see +your uncle?”</p> + +<p>The little girl nodded in eager assent. “Oh, yes, indeed,” she cried. +“I’ll take care of him. I’ll <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>give him my buttercup wreath. Come now, +you darling, come with me,” and with the spaniel still in her arms, she +walked back toward the shelter of the big elm.</p> + +<p>At Helmar’s nearer approach, the child’s nurse, too, had risen, laying +aside her book, and as he passed, naturally enough their glances +met—for an instant only—and then Helmar again strode along upon his +way, carrying with him the impression of a charming face, and a most +alluring smile.</p> + +<p>What was there, he wondered, about the girl, that was so vaguely +disquieting? She was dressed quietly enough in simple black, with a +little snugly-fitting white apron, reaching, by mere chance, just to the +height of her bosom, and held in place by smart little shoulder-straps, +about it all a daintily vague impression of ribbon and lace. Her figure, +indeed, was perfect; deliciously rounded; and the closely-fitting dress +seemed to bring out, with significant emphasis, all the beauty of her +form. Her face, moreover, was more striking still; her pretty blonde +hair appeared to curl so naturally as utterly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>to defy the mode of +convention; her big blue eyes drooped modestly as soon as she had become +conscious of his gaze, just long enough to show the heavy fringed +eyelashes above, and then almost as quickly glanced up again; there had +been a flush of rose in her cheeks, and a deeper scarlet on the lips +that had smiled at him. Perhaps it was in the smile itself—slow, +langourous, inviting—that the whole woman had seemed suddenly to lie +revealed; and scarcely able as yet to define it, Helmar felt that the +girl’s seeming simplicity was the dangerous charm of the highest art, +and that he had gazed on the guile of the serpent, and not on the +innocence of the dove.</p> + +<p>Puzzling a little as he walked along, he cast back in his mind to chance +words that from time to time had fallen haphazard from Jack Carleton’s +lips, and finally, in one sudden flash of memory, he came upon the clue. +“Jeanne,” he said to himself, half aloud, “of course; that’s who it is; +Jeanne.” Then, falling back unconsciously into the slang of college +days, he added, “and she is a peach, too; Jack told the truth for once; +no wonder he had his little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>affair.” And finally, as he mounted the +steps of the broad piazza, he spoke again. “But pretty risky fun,” he +muttered, “playing with fire, all right; there are some women in the +world that a man wants to steer clear of, and I should put that girl +down for one of them.”</p> + +<p>He rang the bell, and almost immediately there appeared in answer a +butler, thin, pale, and of uncertain age, but even to Helmar’s +unpractised eye superlatively autocratic, hopelessly correct. He seemed, +indeed, to be not so much a human being as the living embodiment of all +known rules of social etiquette, condensed, as it were, into the final +perfect expression of a type, before whom and whose vast store of +knowledge one could only bow, humbly praying that the mistakes of honest +ignorance might graciously be forgiven. Helmar, following in his wake, +felt properly sensible of the honor done him, as he was ushered up the +broad, winding staircase to the entrance of the big square room at the +front of the house, where his guide stopped, and most decorously +knocked. In answer a great voice called lustily, “Come in!” and the +butler promptly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span>stepped to one side. “Mr. Carleton, sir,” he observed, +“left orders that you were to be admitted at once,” and thereupon, +opening the door, he stood respectfully back, and as Helmar entered, +closed it softly behind him.</p> + +<p>Edward Carleton, attired in an old-fashioned quilted dressing-gown, was +sitting up, reading, in his huge, high, square bed, his back propped +with pillows innumerable. Well upward of seventy, he looked strong and +active still; gaunt, with a wrinkled, weather-beaten face, a great bushy +square-cut gray beard, and fiercely tufted eyebrows, while in the eyes +beneath them, as he slowly took off his horn-rimmed spectacles and +glanced up at his visitor, Helmar caught an expression of lurking, +humorous kindliness that put him at once in mind of Jack Carleton +himself.</p> + +<p>As Helmar advanced, the old man reached out a gnarled and sinewy hand. +“Good morning, sir,” he said pleasantly, “I take it that you’re Doctor +Morrison’s young man.”</p> + +<p>Helmar, as he took the proffered hand, smiled to himself at the +old-fashioned quaintness of the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>phrase. “Yes, sir,” he answered, +“that’s my professional title. In private life I’m Franz Helmar, and in +either capacity very much at your service.”</p> + +<p>Edward Carleton nodded. “Thank you,” he answered courteously, and then, +more abruptly, “you think you’ve come out here to see a sick man, +Doctor, but you haven’t. Just a bit of a chill—I managed to let myself +get caught in that shower yesterday afternoon—and maybe a little fever +with it. But I’m not sick. It’s all Henry’s nonsense. Just because he’s +twenty years younger than I am, he has to look after me as if I were a +baby.”</p> + +<p>He spoke with assumed indignation, yet Helmar could detect in his tone a +note of satisfaction at being so well cared for; and when he answered +him, he aimed to fall in with the old man’s mood.</p> + +<p>“Why, I think myself that I’m out here under false pretenses,” he said +good-humoredly, “you don’t look at all like an invalid to me; but still +the ounce of prevention, you know, it never does any harm. So many +things nowadays start with a cold. It’s just as well to step right in +and stop them before they get a hold on us. Now, then, we’ll see where +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>we are, at any rate,” and as he spoke, he deftly slipped the little +temperature tube under Edward Carleton’s tongue, and closed his fingers +lightly on the lean brown wrist. A minute or two passed in silence, the +old man’s eyes fixed on Helmar’s face with the scrutinizing interest of +the patient who awaits the professional verdict. Then Helmar withdrew +the tube, studied it an instant, nodded as if satisfied, asked a few +questions, and then hastened to give his opinion.</p> + +<p>“Oh, well,” he said reassuringly, “this is all right. We’ll fix you up, +Mr. Carleton. Just a little tonic, and a few days’ rest, and you’ll be +as good as new; better than new, really, because a day or two off is a +benefit to anybody, at any time. You’d better stay in bed, though, +to-day, I think; and personally I rather envy you. I see you have good +company.”</p> + +<p>He pointed as he spoke, to the three stout little volumes that lay by +Mr. Carleton’s side. <i>Roderick Random</i> was the first; <i>Tom Jones</i>, the +second; <i>Tristram Shandy</i>, the third. Their owner nodded in pleased +assent.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span>“Yes, indeed,” he answered, “they’ll last me through the day, all right. +I never get tired of them, Doctor. I was just reading, when you came in, +how Tom Bowling came to see the old curmudgeon who was about to die. +‘So, old gentleman,’ he says, ‘you’re bound for the other shore, I see, +but in my opinion most damnably ill-provided for the voyage’; and later +on, after the old fellow’s dead, he tells some one, that asks after him, +that they might look for him ‘somewhere about the latitude of hell.’ +There’s good, sound, human nature for you. Smollett knew his sailors, +and the rest of his world, too, and enjoyed them both, I imagine. And he +wasn’t a hypocrite; that’s what I like most about him. He saw things as +they were.”</p> + +<p>Helmar smiled. “I agree with you,” he answered, “but the modern school +of readers doesn’t care for him, just the same. He’s either too simple +for them, or too coarse; I don’t know which.”</p> + +<p>Edward Carleton looked his scorn. “Modern school!” he ejaculated. “Let +me tell you, sir, I have but very little opinion of your modern school, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>writers or readers either. But Henry stands up for ’em, and brings ’em +all to me to read. Good Lord above, the different kinds! There’s some +that tell you whether John Smith had one egg for breakfast, or two, and +whether either of ’em was bad, and if it was, what John Smith said to +his wife, and what she said to him—and Henry claims those books are +modern classics. Then he’s got another lot—romantic school, I believe +they are—all dashing cavaliers and lovely ladies and flashing swords +and general moonshine—stuff about fit for idiots and invalids; and last +of all—” he glared at Helmar as if he were the unfortunate embodiment +of all the literary sins of the day day—“he’s got a crowd—Heaven knows +what <i>he</i> calls ’em; the pig-sty school’s <i>my</i> name—that seem to be +having a regular game; trying to see which can write the dirtiest book, +and yet have it stop just enough short of the line so they can manage to +get it published without the danger of having it suppressed. And the +mean, hypocritical excuses they make—they’re always teaching a moral +lesson, you know, or something like that. It makes me sick, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>sir; it +makes me sick; and I don’t hesitate to tell Henry so, either.”</p> + +<p>Helmar nodded assentingly, and yet, with a twinkle in his eye, he could +not resist the temptation to reach forward and pick up from the bed the +volume of Sterne. “I agree with a great deal of what you say, sir,” he +answered, “especially the latter part, and yet—it isn’t wholly a modern +vice. There was old Rabelais, for instance, and his imitators, and even +<i>Tristram</i> here I suppose you could hardly recommend for a +Sunday-school.”</p> + +<p>Edward Carleton was no casuist. He loved to fight, but he always fought +fair. “I grant it,” he answered quickly; “Laurence Sterne did have a +little sneaking peep-hole way with him at times—he was modern +there—but you can forgive a great deal to the man who gave us Uncle +Toby and Corporal Trim. And then, he isn’t a fair example; he was a kind +of literary exception to all rules; but take Smollett or Henry Fielding. +They struck straight out from the shoulder, every time. What they meant, +they said. They painted vice, I grant you, but they painted her naked +and repulsive, as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>she should be, and that’s fair enough; you can go +back to your Aristotle for that, Doctor. But they didn’t disguise her, +sir; they didn’t call her something that she never was and never could +be; and these modern swine, they dress out vice in silks and satins, and +make you believe she’s the most beautiful thing in the world—so +beautiful that no man can be happy unless he may possess her; and +there’s no Henry Fielding to come along with his big, scornful laugh, +and strip her of all her frippery and finery, and show you the stark, +naked sin that lies there underneath it all. Oh, I’m right, Doctor, and +I’m always telling Henry so, but I can’t convince him. He says it’s art, +whatever that means, and he’s all for the modern school.”</p> + +<p>Helmar rose, smiling. “You <i>are</i> right, I believe,” he said heartily, +“and if we all read more of the old worthies, and less of this flood of +modern trash, we’d do better, beyond a doubt. Well, I must get my train, +I suppose. I’m going to leave the medicine with your butler; I’ll give +him full directions; and you’ll be all right, without any question. If +you should want anything, telephone Doctor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>Morrison or me at once. I’m +very glad to have had the chance of meeting you, sir. Oh, and there was +one other thing I meant to tell you: I knew your son Jack very well in +college. We used to be the best of friends.”</p> + +<p>Edward Carleton looked up quickly, but without speaking, and when at +last he did so, there was a new note of cordiality in his tone. “You +knew Jack,” he repeated, “why, I’m glad to hear that, I’m sure. I’m very +fond of my boy, Doctor. Boy? He’s a man now, though I can never seem to +realize it. He’s only a little boy to me still, for all his six feet and +his forty inches around the chest. Do you ever see him nowadays, +Doctor?”</p> + +<p>Helmar nodded. “Yes, indeed,” he answered readily, “not very often, of +course. We’re in different lines of work, and both busy, I guess. But I +run across him every once in a while. And this week we’re going to dine +together. Jack and I and another fellow who was in our class—a sort of +small reunion, to celebrate being five years out of college. He’ll be +interested to know I’ve been out here.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>The old man nodded, gazing straight before him. “Doctor,” he asked +suddenly, with apparent irrelevance, “you took my pulse to-day. What did +you think of my heart?”</p> + +<p>Helmar, surprised, parried with the clumsiness of a man not fond of +deception. “Why,” he evaded, “I wouldn’t worry about that. All you have +is a cold. You’ve got a pretty good heart, I think. We none of us grow +any younger, though. That’s sure.”</p> + +<p>Edward Carleton smiled a little grimly. “Thanks,” he said, “sometimes a +patient knows more about himself than a doctor thinks he does. And I +suppose I could guess pretty well what certain things mean. Never mind, +though. As you say, we don’t grow any younger, more’s the pity.”</p> + +<p>Both were silent, Helmar pausing a moment, uncertainly, with one hand on +the knob of the door. Then the old man glanced up at him, with a smile +genial and friendly, if a trifle wistful. “Good-by, Doctor,” he said +courteously, “thank you for your interest. And tell Jack he’s always +welcome, whenever he finds time to run out. The Birches is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>always his +home, and his room stands ready for him—always.”</p> + +<p>Five minutes later Helmar again passed down the broad steps of the +piazza into the cheerful, dazzling sunlight. The little girl and her +nurse were still seated under the shade of the big elm, and at once the +spaniel, breaking away from his new friends, came tearing across the +lawn to his master, ruthlessly scattering buttercups at every bound. +With a laugh Helmar picked him up in his arms, and took him back to make +his proper farewells. For the little girl the final moment of parting +was a hard one, and she gazed longingly at her playmate, as though +unwilling to have him go. Her nurse, observing her, shook her head in +reproof. “Don’t be so foolish, Miss Rose,” she chided, “he’s only a +little dog; you mustn’t be silly;” then, suddenly, she looked squarely +at Helmar. “Will you excuse me, please,” she said softly, “but I know +that you’re a friend of Mr. Jack’s. Would you tell me where a letter +would reach him?”</p> + +<p>Helmar eyed her keenly, and before his gaze the blue eyes dropped, and +this time were not raised <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>again. A faint flush stole into her cheeks. +Helmar, in his turn, looked away. “Yes,” he answered shortly, “Mayflower +Club, City, is his present address.”</p> + +<p>He had his reward. At once the girl’s eyes were raised again, and her +look sought his with the same smile that he had seen before. It was not +a smile of the lips alone, but of the eyes as well, and a certain +nameless something that flashed from still deeper within, a piquant +frankness, a dangerous friendliness. Again he started to turn away, then +stopped; his eyes, though half against his will, still seeking hers.</p> + +<p>On the silence broke in the voice of the little girl. “Is it Cousin +Jack?” she demanded, “do you know Cousin Jack?” And as Helmar nodded, +she cried, “I wish you’d tell him to come out and see me. He hasn’t been +here for an awfully long time. Will you tell him, please?”</p> + +<p>Helmar promised, and with a glance at his watch, took a hasty leave. +Thoughtfully enough he made his way back to the station, and yet, before +he reached it, one meeting more was destined to give <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>him food for +further meditation. Nearing the entrance to the station lane, the +vigorous and friendly bark of his faithful body-guard struck suddenly on +his ear, and turning the corner, he paused in quick surprise at the +sight of the girl who knelt upon the grass, parasol, hat and gloves +tossed carelessly aside, holding the spaniel’s head imprisoned +caressingly between her dainty hands, and talking to him with mock +severity the while. As she glanced up, perceiving Helmar, she somewhat +hastily arose, and as he approached, smilingly extended her hand in +greeting.</p> + +<p>Very attractive, indeed, she looked. Fashionably dressed, yet simply, as +well; young—she could scarcely have been over twenty, at the most—and +with a face that one could hardly choose but like at once—the +clear-cut, regular features, the honest, straightforward brown eyes, the +pretty color in the dimpled cheeks, the firm little chin, the laughing, +yet sensitive mouth. One liked too the erectness of her slender figure, +and the well-poised head, crowned with its masses of soft brown hair. If +one had been ungracious enough to venture a criticism, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>thought +might have come that she shared, perhaps, the fault of so many American +girls of the well-to-do class, the excusable habit of taking the good +things of life too much as a matter of course, of being too easily +satisfied with the doings and standards of their own particular class +and “set,” of having no real knowledge, and worse still, perhaps, of +desiring none, of the great world at large. Yet even if the criticism +had been hazarded, the critic must still have been forced to admit that +plenty of character showed in the girl’s face, and while of her mere +good looks alone there could be no question, in seeming paradox, the +more one looked at her the more one forgot her mere prettiness, granting +it carelessly enough as something secondary, so much more uncommon and +striking were the other qualities written there—strength and sympathy +and above all, that holy and beautiful thing before which any man may +well stand in reverent admiration—the innate goodness of the true +woman, pure in thought and deed.</p> + +<p>As he took her hand, Helmar’s face showed his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>surprise. “Well, Marjory +Graham,” he cried, “who’d have thought of seeing you?”</p> + +<p>Laughingly the girl mimicked him. “Why, Franz Helmar,” she said in turn, +“you’re not the one to be surprised. You knew I lived in Eversley. But +what are <i>you</i> doing out here?”</p> + +<p>“Old Mr. Carleton,” he answered, “he’s a little under the weather. I ran +out to see how he was getting along.”</p> + +<p>The girl’s face clouded. “Oh, I’m sorry,” she said, “he’s such a dear +old man. And he’s my father’s greatest friend, you know. I hope it’s +nothing serious.”</p> + +<p>Helmar shook his head. “No, I think not,” he answered, “he’ll be all +right—for this time. And he is a first-class old chap, too. Do you +know, I think Jack is awfully like him, in many ways?”</p> + +<p>At the words a sudden change came over the girl’s expressive face. For a +moment she hesitated, then raised her eyes to his. “Franz,” she said, +“how often do you see Jack now?”</p> + +<p>Helmar glanced at her quizzically. “Oh,” he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>answered, “every once in a +while. Not so often as you do, though, I guess.”</p> + +<p>He spoke jestingly, but the girl gave him no answering smile, and he +hastened to add, “Why, I expect to see him Wednesday night, Marjory, to +make arrangements for a little dinner we’re going to have Thursday—Jack +and Arthur Vaughan and I. Is there anything I can do?”</p> + +<p>The girl colored faintly. “It’s only this,” she said, “and I ought to +write to him and not bother you. But when you see Jack, would you mind +telling him that I shall be at home Friday evening, if he cares to come +out?”</p> + +<p>Seemingly, there was more in the words than appeared on the surface, but +Helmar, with a certain instinctive chivalry, chose to treat the request +with apparent lightness. “Of course I’ll tell him,” he answered, “with +all the pleasure in life.”</p> + +<p>She looked her gratitude. “Thank you very much, Franz,” she said, “and +you will remember, won’t you?”</p> + +<p>He nodded reassuringly. “I surely will,” he answered, and as he spoke, +the train burst shrieking, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>around the near-by curve. “Oh, don’t miss +it!” she cried. “Thank you, Franz; thank you so much; good-by.”</p> + +<p>Breaking into a swift run, Helmar, with the spaniel racing excitedly at +his heels, reached the station platform just in time. Boarding the +train, and taking a seat far forward in the almost deserted car, he sat +for some time in thoughtful silence, and then at last voiced his +reflections to the one friend who never betrayed his confidence. “Rex, +my boy,” he said slowly, “our friend Jack seems to have achieved the +secret of universal popularity.”</p> + +<p>The spaniel, listening with head cocked knowingly to one side, gave a +sharp, quick bark in reply, and Helmar laughed. “Does that mean you +think so, or you don’t think so?” he asked, but the little dog refused +further to commit himself, and curling up in his master’s lap, went +promptly and comfortably to sleep.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_III" id="CHAPTER_III"></a>CHAPTER III</h2> + +<h3>THE PRODIGAL SON</h3> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox2"><p>“The pains and penalties of idleness.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Pope.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t was after eight o’clock, yet still faintly light out-of-doors, as +Jack Carleton left his rooms at the Mayflower Club, and came slowly down +the winding staircase, with one hand groping for the railing, as if +uncertain of his way.</p> + +<p>At first sight he looked extremely well, and in his fashionably-cut +street suit of light gray, his tall and well-built figure showed to +excellent advantage, though in the five years which had passed since his +graduation he had seemingly grown heavier and stouter, and somehow +distinctly softer looking, as if the active exercise of former days had +come now to be the exception, and not the rule. And this impression, as +he paused midway on the stairs to light a cigarette, was still further +borne out by the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>appearance of his face. He was handsome enough still, +and his complexion, indeed, from a distance, in contrast with his fair +hair and closely-clipped mustache, seemed the perfection of ruddy +health; yet the tell-tale spurt of the match, as he held it to his lips, +told a far different story. His color, naturally high, was beginning now +to be patched with red and white, giving his face a significantly +mottled look, and if any further hint had been needed, it was furnished +by his eyes, which stared straight ahead of him with a curiously glassy +expression. Plainly enough, Jack Carleton was drunk.</p> + +<p>Still holding fast to the rail, he accomplished the remainder of his +journey in safety; then started a little unsteadily toward the door of +the lounging room, stopping short at the entrance, and staring vacantly +in at the half dozen figures looming mistily through the haze of smoke. +Instantly he was hailed by two or three at once. “Hullo, Jack, what’ll +you have?” “Come on in, Jack.” “Make a fourth at bridge, Jack?” +Carleton, standing motionless, with one hand fumbling in his pocket <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>for +a match with which to relight his cigarette, still gazed aimlessly and +apparently without recognition into the room. “Make a fourth at bridge, +Jack?” some one called again sharply, and Carleton, starting, jerkily, +but with intense gravity, shook his head. “No, not t’night,” he said +slowly, as if settling some matter of immense moment to all concerned, +“can’t play t’night; very shorry; got date.” He stood a moment longer; +then, half mechanically, as it seemed, turned and slowly walked toward +the outer door that led into the street.</p> + +<p>With a little exclamation, one of the loungers hastily rose, and +followed him out into the hall. Jim Turner was a stock broker, and a +most successful one. He was a man of middle age, short, stout, and +unattractive looking. He had a round, fat face, pale reddish hair and +mustache, small, nondescript, expressionless eyes, a pasty complexion, +and white, pudgy hands, which he took pains to have manicured regularly +three times a week. He was entirely unimaginative, practical, +commonplace—and very successful. He had one favorite <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span>motto; “Look at +things as they are, and not as you’d like ’em to be.”</p> + +<p>He quickly overtook Carleton—a feat, indeed, not difficult of +accomplishment—and laid a detaining hand on his shoulder. “See here, +Jack,” he said in a low tone, “I want you to let me sell out some of +your things. We get advices that there’s trouble coming—and pretty +quickly, too. And by this time you’re really carrying quite a big line. +So I guess it wouldn’t do any harm if you began gradually to unload a +little. Don’t you think so yourself, Jack?”</p> + +<p>Carleton gazed at him from eyes in which there was no understanding. He +shook his head slightly. “Don’ want t’sell,” he said at last, “ain’t I +’way ’head th’ game?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, sure,” Turner assented. “You’re ahead of the game, all right, but I +want to have you stay there. And when things start to go in a top-heavy +market, why—they go almighty quick. That’s all. There’s your Suburban +Electric, now. That’s had a big rise. Let me sell five hundred of that, +anyway. You’ve got a good profit. And you’ll find <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>you can get out and +in again, too. You won’t have any trouble doing that.”</p> + +<p>Again Carleton obstinately shook his head. “No,” he said, with an almost +childish delight in contradiction, “I don’ get ’ny ’dvices like that. I +get ’dvices S’burban ’Lectric’s going to hundred’n fifty. I don’ want +t’sell now. Not such fool.”</p> + +<p>Turner, seeing the futility of further argument, shrugged his shoulders +impassively. “Well, drop in at the office and see me to-morrow, anyway, +Jack,” he said.</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. “Sure,” he answered cheerfully, “I’ll be in. Got t’get +’long now,” and he made again for the door.</p> + +<p>Turner slowly made his way back into the lounging room. One of the +smokers looked up at him with a laugh. “Old Jack’s pretty full, isn’t +he?” he said, “growing on him, I should say.”</p> + +<p>A second lounger caught up the remark. “Full,” he echoed, “oh, no, not +for him. He’s sober as a church now. When he can walk, and see where +he’s going, he’s all right. You ought to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>see him around the Club here +some nights. Talk about raising hell!”</p> + +<p>The first man yawned. “Well,” he said slowly, “it’s like lots of other +things. It’s all right and good fun for once in a way, but for a steady +thing—why, Heaven help the poor devil that gets going it and can’t +stop. There isn’t any humor in it then. Nothing jovial, or convivial, or +anything else. It’s just simply damnable; that’s what it is. And Jack +Carleton’s too good a fellow to go that way. It’s a shame.”</p> + +<p>The second man nodded in answer. “That’s right enough,” he assented, +“and it’s rough on his old man, too. He’s an awfully good sort, the old +chap. And Jack could amount to something, if he wanted to. That’s the +bad part. He was never cut out for a soak.”</p> + +<p>“Doesn’t he do anything at all?” some one asked.</p> + +<p>The first man shook his head. “Not a thing,” he answered. “The old man +gives him an allowance, I understand, or else he inherited something +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>from his mother; I don’t really know which. And Jack’s playing Alcohol +to win, I guess, and Suburban Electric for place.” He grinned at his own +joke.</p> + +<p>The second man turned suddenly to Turner. “Say, Jim, you know +everything,” he said; “what about this uncle of Jack’s—this Henry +Carleton? I seem to hear a lot about him lately. He’s the whole +shooting-match down-town. What sort of man is he, anyway?”</p> + +<p>Turner launched a little family of smoke rings into the air, and watched +them float upward before he replied. “Oh, I don’t know,” he answered +indifferently, “he’s smart as the devil, for one thing. I know that for +a fact.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s right,” the first man chimed in, “everybody says that. And +yet, you know, it’s funny, but there’s always something that strikes me +as disagreeable about that man’s looks. He seems so confoundedly +self-assertive, and sure of himself, somehow.”</p> + +<p>Turner rose to take his departure. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said again. +“First we sit here and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span>damn a man for being a sport, and then we turn +around and damn another man because he’s smart, and we don’t like his +face. It’s mighty easy to criticize.” He paused a moment, then added, +with what for him was almost an excess of feeling, “I’m really sorry +about Jack, though. It’s too bad.”</p> + +<p>Meantime, once out in the street, the air seemed for the moment to +steady Carleton, and he started off briskly enough for the South +Station. As he walked along, he pulled a letter from his pocket, read it +through carefully, and then, as though striving to recall something that +had escaped him, proceeded on his way with a puzzled and dissatisfied +expression on his face. “Friday, Friday,” he muttered to himself, +“something else, but can’t seem to think what. Guess nothing important. +Anyway, can’t think.”</p> + +<p>In due time he reached the station, and took his stand opposite the +gateway through which the passengers from the incoming Eversley train +would pass. There he stood, from time to time absent-mindedly consulting +his watch, until at length from a distant rumble and cloud of smoke +emerged the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span>big engine, with flashing headlight and clanging bell, and +huge wheels revolving more and more slowly until at length, with one +last jerk, the whole train came suddenly to a stand. Then under the +arc-light bustled forth the figures of the incoming passengers—first +one, then another, then twos and threes, lines, groups—all hurrying, +intent and eager, bound for their destination, and restlessly anxious to +get there at once, wasting as little time as possible in transit. +Scrutinizing them with care, it was not until the very end of the +procession was reached that Carleton started suddenly forward. At the +same instant the girl discovered him, and came quickly toward him.</p> + +<p>Carleton’s masculine eye could hardly have appreciated all the details +of her dress, yet the general effect was certainly not lost on him. +Knowledge of the name of the dainty gown of blue and white would +probably have conveyed no impression to his mind, but the way in which +it fitted and the significant emphasis it lent to the graceful lines of +the girl’s figure were matters which he viewed with no unappreciative +eye. Surveying her critically as she <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span>advanced, from head to foot, from +the hat of simple straw, with its clusters of blue flowers, to the tip +of the dainty slipper, with just a glimpse of silken stocking above, he +nodded in gracious approval. The girl was certainly looking her best, +her pretty hair curling about her forehead in little clustering rings, +her face just delicately flushed with color, her blue eyes very +coquettish and very sparkling. Doubtless, too, these same practised eyes +lost nothing of Carleton’s condition, for it was with a certain easy +assurance that she came up to him and slipped her arm familiarly through +his with a gentle welcoming pressure, glancing up almost impudently into +his face. “Hullo, dear,” she said, “and how’s Jack?”</p> + +<p>Carleton looked down at her, an odd mixture of emotions showing in his +face; a certain satisfaction, a certain shame, above all, a certain +recklessness—the recklessness of the aristocrat who, with a shrug of +his shoulders, goes voluntarily out of his class, fascinated beyond his +strength, half scornful of himself, and wholly regardless of what the +consequences may be.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>“Oh, fine, thanks,” he answered absently, and then, as they emerged from +the station into the street, he returned the pressure of her arm. +“You’re looking very pretty, Jeanne,” he said, “I’m glad I got your +note.”</p> + +<p>They sauntered slowly up Union Street, the girl chattering vivaciously, +and glancing up at Carleton as she talked, with a subtle and flattering +attention; Carleton for the most part listening, from time to time +nodding or answering in monosyllables. At the up-town crossing they came +to a brief irresolute halt. “Well,” said Carleton, “and whash going to +be to-night? The river?”</p> + +<p>The girl, with a little smile, shook her head. “No,” she answered +capriciously, “I’m tired of the river. We’ve done that so often. I want +a motor to-night. A nice long ride. We’ll have a beautiful time.”</p> + +<p>Carleton doubtfully shook his head. He was in a distinctly contradictory +mood. “Nice long ridsh,” he observed, “in nice big motors, damn +’xpensive things for man that’s short money. Motors ’xpensive things; +so’s girls.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>The girl laughed, but did not lack the cleverness to see how her point +might best be gained. “Are you short of money, really?” she said, with +quick sympathy. “Why, you poor old Jack, it’s a shame. We’ll go on the +river, then, in a little boat, all snug and nice. You dear boy; you need +some one to comfort you,” and the big blue eyes gazed up into his, bold +and unashamed.</p> + +<p>She had comprehended his mood perfectly. Instantly his tone changed. +“No, no,” he answered quickly, “won’t do an’thing of the kind. Got +little money left for frens.” He laughed uncertainly. “’F you want +motor, you’re going t’ have motor. That’s all there’sh to it. Do +an’thing for you, Jeanne.”</p> + +<p>She smiled up at him with dangerous sweetness. “You’re so good to me, +Jack,” she murmured, and the gentle pressure on his arm was in nowise +diminished. “You do everything for me. I only wish sometimes I could do +something for you.”</p> + +<p>He gazed down at her, all that was weakest and worst in his nature +uppermost in his face. “Maybe <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span>can,” he said thickly, “maybe can; come +on; we’re goin’ get motor now.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>At about the same hour that Carleton had left the Mayflower, farther up-town, +in the reception-room at the Press Club, Arthur Vaughan sat +waiting for his friend Helmar to return. He was a young man of medium +height and build, inclined to be a trifle careless about his dress; his +clothes a little threadbare; his brown hair and mustache allowed to grow +a little too long; his carelessly knotted tie a good year out of style. +Yet his face, looked at more closely, was distinctly good; a face +somewhat thin and worn; the mouth and chin nervous, sensitive; the +forehead high; the brown eyes straightforward and kindly,—the eyes of a +man a little detached from the world about him, a little inclined, on +his way through life, unconsciously to pause and dream.</p> + +<p>Presently the door opened, and Helmar entered, the expression on his +face one of half-humorous disgust. “Same old Jack Carleton,” he said. +“He’s not down-stairs, and it’s five minutes of eight. You’re sure he +understood?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span>Vaughan nodded. “Oh, perfectly,” he answered, “I saw him Wednesday +night, and told him that your meeting had been changed to Thursday, so +that we’d have to put this thing over until to-night; and then I gave +him Miss Graham’s message, and told him he’d have to square himself with +her, because we couldn’t put things off again. And I remember his saying +that it was all right for him; I even recall his repeating it after me, +as if he wanted to make sure of it, ‘seven-thirty, Press Club; eight +o’clock, theater; eleven o’clock, Press Club, supper and talk’; oh, no, +he understood all right. I’m sure of it.”</p> + +<p>Helmar considered. “Well,” he said at length, “just because Jack’s got a +poor memory, I can’t see why we should miss a good show. Let’s leave his +ticket at the desk, and if he happens to drift in, all right. Then he +can come on after us. Isn’t that O. K.?” and on Vaughan’s assent, they +left the club for the theater, where in due course the curtain rose, and +later fell again upon an excellent performance, indeed, but without +revealing any sign of the absent Carleton. Once outside in the street, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>Helmar turned to Vaughan. “Well, what next?” he queried.</p> + +<p>Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. “Why, the supper’s ordered,” he +answered, “so I suppose we might as well go ahead in solitary state. But +it rather takes the edge off the thing. It’s too bad,” and a moment or +two later he added, half to himself, and half to his companion, “I don’t +know what to think of Jack, really.”</p> + +<p>Helmar made no answer, and it was not until the supper was served in the +little private room, and the waiter had withdrawn, that they again +returned to the subject. “What is it about Jack, anyway?” Helmar asked. +“I was out at his place the other day, and he seemed to be making no end +of trouble; everybody stirred up about him. What’s he been doing?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan helplessly shook his head. “Search me,” he answered, “you know I +scarcely see him now. He travels with a different crowd these days. But +I guess since he joined the Mayflower he’s changed quite a lot; playing +the market, I hear, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>drinking pretty hard, and sort of gone to +pieces generally.”</p> + +<p>Helmar looked thoughtful. “That’s bad,” he said shortly, and after a +pause, “Never happen to hear any gossip about him and a girl, do you?”</p> + +<p>Again Vaughan shook his head. “No, I don’t,” he answered, “if he’s doing +anything of that sort, it’s news to me. That is, I mean, anything really +out of the way. Jack likes a good time, of course; we’ve always known +that; but I don’t believe he’s that kind. I guess he’s all right enough +that way. At any rate, I’ve always understood that he was about as good +as engaged to Marjory Graham, and that ought to keep a fellow straight, +if anything could.”</p> + +<p>Helmar nodded. “Yes,” he answered abruptly, “I should say it ought. +Well, never mind. Now I want to hear how things are going with you, +Arthur. We’ll talk about Jack later on.”</p> + +<p>And then, with the progress of the supper, the talk ran along as such +talks will; each telling of past experiences, losses, gains; of future +plans, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>hopes, fears; speaking of classmates and friends; skimming the +passing events of the day; comparing notes on the thousand and one +subjects that crowd the lips so readily when friends of long standing, +who meet but seldom, settle down to the luxury of a leisurely, +comfortable talk.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Meanwhile, far out on the Escomb Road, the big motor bowled swiftly +along. Carleton’s arm was around the girl’s waist, her head was on his +shoulder, and she was smiling up into his face. Very charming, very +young and innocent she looked, unless, in some occasional passing flash +of light, one could have seen the look in her eyes which lay behind the +smile. “Oh, this is so nice, Jack,” she murmured; even the tone of her +voice was a subtle caress, and she nestled a little closer to his side; +“I could keep on like this for ever; you were so good to take me, dear.”</p> + +<p>Carleton did not at once answer, and when he did, his tone seemed +scarcely sentimental. Drowsiness, indeed, brought on by his many +potations, rather than sentiment, appeared to be the spell which <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>bound +him, and his mind wandered irresponsibly in a dozen different directions +at one and the same time. “Say,” he asked suddenly, “how’d you know +where a letter’d get me, anyway?”</p> + +<p>Had the girl’s mood been real, the matter-of-fact, commonplace tone must +have driven her to sudden anger; as it was, her sense of humor saved +her, and after a moment or two, half in spite of herself, she gave a +little laugh. “Why,” she answered lightly, “from your good-looking +friend, Doctor Helmar, of course,” and the next instant she could have +bitten her tongue out for the chance words, as Carleton, for the moment +startled into his senses, with a sudden exclamation sat bolt upright in +his seat. “Helmar,” he cried, as everything in one instant’s flash came +back to him, “to-night was the night. Oh, Lord, I wouldn’t have done +this for a thousand dollars.” Then leaning forward, to the chauffeur, +“Here there, you, stop a minute!” he cried; and fumbling in his pocket +for his watch, he glanced at it, and then looked quickly around him. +“Ten o’clock,” he muttered, “we can make it;” then, aloud, “Put her +round now, driver, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>and head her straight for town; let her out, and let +her go!”</p> + +<p>With a surprised grin, the chauffeur slowly slackened speed, reversed +his power, and ponderously turned the big car about. The girl meantime +protested vigorously. “No, no,” she cried, “why, Jack, we’re almost out +there now; what do you care for him, anyway? You wouldn’t do a thing +like that, Jack. You’ve got better manners than to leave me now. How +shall I get home? Now, Jack—”</p> + +<p>Carleton, with a most disconcerting lack of gallantry, obstinately shook +his head. “This very important,” he said, “we’ll go back way of Birches; +leave you there; this ’xceedingly important. You don’t understand. You +never went college. Quincentennial—no, quinquecentennial, no, +quinquen—oh, damn, five years out of college, that’s what it is. +Special dinner. Oh, what a fool I was to forget. How could I?”</p> + +<p>The girl sat with frowning brows. “Oh, very well,” she said, offended, +“you needn’t ask <i>me</i> to go anywhere with you again; that’s all;” and +then, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>this remark having no noticeable effect, she began softly to cry.</p> + +<p>Instantly Carleton’s shifting mood had veered again, and in a moment his +arm was once more around her waist, and he leaned protectingly over her.</p> + +<p>“Come, come,” he cried, “don’ do that. Can’t stan’ that. We’ll go out +there s’mother time, my dear. But not t’night, not t’night; special +t’night; special; awful good fellows, both of ’em; better’n I am, damn +sight. Both good fellows. Don’t cry.”</p> + +<p>With a quick, sinuous movement she wrenched herself free, putting half +the distance of the broad cushioned seat between them. “Don’t,” she +cried, “I hate you!” and in constrained and moody silence the big motor +whirred along upon its homeward way.</p> + +<p>Nor was home to be gained without further misadventure. Presently, even +before they had covered half the distance to The Birches, something went +wrong with the machine, and the chauffeur, steering in close to the side +of the road, dismounted <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span>and began to search for the trouble, spurred on +by the accompaniment of Carleton’s speech, which seemed every moment to +gain in picturesqueness and force. Suddenly out of the darkness appeared +two broad white streaks of dazzling light, the wail of a horn sounded in +their ears, and another automobile passed them, to draw up, just beyond, +with a quick grinding and jarring of brakes. A friendly voice hailed +them. “Anything wrong? Help you out?” Carleton started at the words. He +leaned forward in the seat, and whispered hastily to the chauffeur. +Instantly the latter answered, “No thank you, sir, nothing wrong,” and +the second motor sped along upon its way. Carleton’s brow contracted. +“Wonder if he saw,” he muttered, “light’s pretty bright; looked like +Marjory, too; didn’t know the colonel drove much at night, anyway.” +There was a moment’s pause; then all at once, he added, “Friday! Friday! +Good God! that was the other thing. Damn the luck! Damn everything!” and +mingling threats and entreaties, he renewed his urging to the worried +chauffeur.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>An hour later, at the Press Club, Vaughan’s cigar was well under way, +and Helmar was helping himself to a second cup of coffee, when suddenly +the door burst open, and there appeared before them the somewhat +unsteady figure of their absent friend. Before either of them could +speak, he had begun a rambling and incoherent apology, continuing it as +he sank limply into the chair reserved for him.</p> + +<p>“Must ’scuse me,” was the burden of his speech, “mem’ry comple’ly wen’ +back on me; thoroughly ’shame myself—” and there was much more in the +same vein; then, all at once reaching the sentimental stage of his orgy, +he began to develop a vein of maudlin self-pity; “Helmar,” he cried +despairingly, “you been good fren’ me always. I tell you, ’s no good. I +try—I try ’s hard’s anyone—and oh, Helmar—” his voice broke, and with +a mixture of the ridiculous and the pathetic that made both his hearers +choke a little hysterically, even while their eyes were moist, he +culminated despairingly, “’S no use, fellers; ’s no use; I’ll tell you +where’m going; <i>I’m going to hell in a hack</i>; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>thash what I am,” and +forthwith he laid his head upon the table, and began to weep.</p> + +<p>It was long after midnight when Helmar and Vaughan finally deposited +him, remonstrating and unwilling, in safety at the Mayflower, leaving +him in skilful hands well versed in the treatment of his malady, and +found themselves, flushed, weary, and not in the best of humors, again +in the street.</p> + +<p>“And so ends our great reunion,” said Vaughan, mopping his heated +forehead. “Jack ought to feel pleased with himself; he’s certainly +succeeded in knocking all the pleasure out of it for everybody, about as +well as any one could. And I think, on the whole, that I’m inclined to +agree with him about where he’s bound.”</p> + +<p>Helmar sighed, a sigh of honest disappointment and anxiety. “Jack’s a +mighty good fellow,” he answered, “but he’s certainly in a bad way now. +If he ever means to amount to anything, he’s got to fight, and fight +hard, too. Well, come on, Arthur, I suppose we’d better get to bed,” and +thus the long-planned quinquennial reunion came sadly and dismally to an +end.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IV" id="CHAPTER_IV"></a>CHAPTER IV</h2> + +<h3>A FOOL AND HIS MONEY</h3> + +<div class="centerbox5 bbox2"><p>“Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Shakespeare.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">J</span>ack Carleton stood in front of the ticker in Turner and Driver’s +office, letting the narrow white ribbon run lightly through his fingers. +For the moment he was alone. The big clock over on the post-office +building had just boomed slowly the hour of twelve, and the little knot +of customers, calmly or hurriedly, according to their several +temperaments, had one by one gone out to lunch, for man must eat, though +black care sit at his elbow. And indeed, though the little ticker still +buzzed and whirred unceasingly, and the tape, with scarcely a halt or +pause in its onward course, still ran as smoothly and persistently as +ever, for the moment the worst of the drive seemed really to be over. So +that presently Carleton lifted his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>eyes, red-rimmed and tired from the +blur of black and white beneath them, letting the quotations run on +unheeded, and stood with eyes fixed on the spot where, just visible +through the very top of the tall window, framed in with line and bar of +blackened roof and dingy chimney top, there smiled cheerfully down into +the gloom of the darkened office a cloudless patch of bright blue sky.</p> + +<p>Imperceptibly the sound of the ticker ceased, and the white ribbon began +fantastically to curl and twist in his hand, for all unconsciously his +fingers had closed upon it, checking the smoothness of its onward flow. +The little patch of blue sky had sent his thoughts wandering far afield. +A moment before he had been standing there in the office, wondering +miserably whether to try to pull out, while there was yet time, with a +good part of his little fortune gone, or whether, with anchors grappling +desperately for holding ground, to strive somehow to ride out the storm. +And now, so long had his mind run upon things trivial and unimportant, +that despite the panic, despite the danger he was in, thanks to that +casual upward glance, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>he stood already in imagination at the first tee +at the Country Club, the green of the valley lying smooth and fair +beneath him, the couple ahead just disappearing over the farther dip of +the hill, and he himself, well-limbered up, driver in hand, in the act +of placing the new white ball on the well-made tee, properly confident +of smashing it out a hundred and eighty yards away, amid the +close-cropped velvet of the rolling turf. Absolutely a perfect day, he +reflected, for the medal round; no wind, a bright sun, greens quick, yet +true—and above all, he felt that he could win. Barnes was entered, of +course, and Henderson himself—he was paired with him—and Henderson had +told Jake Rogers that since he had changed his grip he could “put it all +over” Carleton, match or medal, any time they met. Rogers, with his +little crooked smile, had taken pains, of course, to repeat the remark, +and while Jack had laughed and said, “Oh, sure, he can lick me all +right,” in his own heart of hearts, nevertheless, he knew that he could +trim Henderson, and somewhat grimly had awaited his chance. About a +hundred and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>sixty would do it, he figured; say a seventy-nine to-day +and an eighty-one to-morrow—two such perfect days in succession could +hardly be—yes, about a couple of eighties would do the trick.</p> + +<p>His vision faded as swiftly as it had come. The green of the links had +vanished, and in its stead the four square walls of the office, swinging +smoothly into place, had closed tightly in again upon him and his +troubled fortunes. With a start, and a half-guilty flush, he glanced +hastily over the yard or two of tape which he still held, looped and +bent, in his tense fingers. But to his relief, as he quickly scanned the +quotations, there seemed to be no cause for further immediate alarm. On +the contrary, the general tone of things was still improving. Akme +Mining was seventeen now, up two and a quarter; Suburban Electric had +rallied to sixty-three; Fuel was up four, at eighty. With a sigh, +Carleton’s eyes were raised again to the patch of blue sky.</p> + +<p>And now into the office bustled Jim Turner, hurried and preoccupied, +showing plainly the nervous strain of the last three days, and +especially of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>that grim and ghastly yesterday, when for five endless +hours it had seemed that the bottom of the market, if not, indeed, of +the earth itself, might be going to fall out for ever and a day; a +troubled, anxious time alike for broker and customer, banker and +depositor, a time when the emergency brakes had been put on so suddenly +and so hard that the whole great financial stage-coach had come +momentarily to a standstill, with a jar so tremendous that scores of +passengers, especially those who occupied only precarious standing-room, +had been hurled bodily to the ground, and some indeed, according to the +stern panic-law of self-preservation, had even been quietly and with +despatch pushed over the side, in order to make better the chances of +those remaining for keeping in safety the threatened security of their +seats.</p> + +<p>Turner headed straight for the ticker, as he neared it striving, with an +obviousness scarcely reassuring, to appear cheerful and unconcerned. +“Hullo, Jack,” he said, “how they coming now?” and without waiting for a +reply, gathered up a dozen yards of the tape and let it pass quickly +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>under his practised eye. “H’m,” he said, almost immediately, in a tone +that plainly enough showed his relief, “not so bad, are they? Quite a +lot better than they were an hour ago. Oh, I guess we’ll come through it +somehow, after all.”</p> + +<p>His tone gave Carleton measureless comfort. He found himself nodding +with assurance. “Oh, yes,” he answered, “they’re really a lot better. I +guess things are all right now. Do you suppose, Jim—” he hesitated, +stopped, and then, with a flush of color, and his eyes averted from +Turner’s face, “do you suppose, Jim, you’ll be able to see me through?”</p> + +<p>Turner non-committally shrugged his shoulders. “Why,” he answered, not +unkindly, “I guess so. Yes, if things don’t go all to the devil again, I +guess we can. But you’re in too deep, Jack, for a man that hasn’t +unlimited resources. It isn’t right, really. I’ll stand by you as long +as I can—and when I can’t, I’ll let you know—and then, if you can’t do +anything, and it gets too bad, why, business is business, Jack, and +we’ll have to chuck you. That’s all we <i>can</i> do.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span>Carleton gazed at him a little helplessly; then asked, “But you +think the worst’s over, don’t you?” He spoke so trustfully, and +with such confidence in the other’s judgment, that Turner gave a +half-contemptuous, half-embarrassed laugh. “Why, yes,” he answered +slowly, “I <i>think</i> it is, but good Lord, Jack, at a time like this I’m +not on the inside. I’m only one of the small fry. If I could tell you +what you wanted to know, instead of just guessing at it, I wouldn’t be +here, working for a living; I can tell you that; I’d be over touring the +continent in a big French six-cylinder. That’s where I’d be.” He paused +a moment; then, laying a hand on Carleton’s arm, continued, “But to the +best of my knowledge, I really think the worst <i>is</i> over, and that +things are going to right themselves. Gradually, of course; it’s going +to take time; but they’ll right themselves, for all that. And I wouldn’t +worry too much, Jack, if I were you. I’ll give you warning anyway, and +if worst should come to worst, why, I suppose your old man would see you +through, wouldn’t he, if it was a case of that or bust?”</p> + +<p>Carleton shook his head. “No, I guess not,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>he answered, “he would if +he could, but there’s something queer about the property now. I didn’t +know about it till a little while ago, and I don’t understand all the +details yet; but the idea is that my father’s made Henry trustee of +everything. Henry’s the whole shooting-match at home now, you know. So I +guess it wouldn’t do to try the old gentleman. No, I’ve got in too deep, +like a fool, and I’ve got to get out by myself or else drown; one of the +two. But if I can only get by, this time, you can bet I’ll never be such +an ass again. You see, Jim,” he added, ruefully enough, “I wanted to +show people—”</p> + +<p>Turner laughed, though without amusement. “Yes, I know,” he said dryly, +“you wanted to come the young Napoleon racket. There’ve been others. You +needn’t kick yourself for being the only one. But there must be some one +that would help you out, Jack. Why couldn’t you go to your uncle +himself?”</p> + +<p>He made the suggestion casually enough, yet with a shrewd eye on the +younger man’s expression. Carleton frowned. “Well,” he answered +doubtfully, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>“I’d hate to do that. You know what Henry and I think of +each other. I suppose I could, though, if I was dead up against it. But +I’m not going to worry yet.” He glanced once more at the tape; then +added, “Things really have steadied, haven’t they, Jim? I guess we’re +all safe for to-day.”</p> + +<p>Turner did not at once reply. The events of the last three days had to a +large extent discouraged him from hazarding further prophecies. “Can’t +tell,” he answered guardedly, at length, “can’t tell these days, but +they’ve certainly steadied quite a bit; that’s sure; perhaps they’ll +begin to pick up now.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, a clerk entered with a bundle of papers in his hand. “For +you to sign, Mr. Turner,” he said, and Turner, taking them, departed +into his private office. One or two quick lunchers, the vanguard of the +returning stream of regular patrons, came in at the outer door; the +first, thin, pale and dyspeptic looking, making hastily for the ticker, +with no attempt to conceal his anxiety; the other, stout, red-faced, and +philosophic, following more calmly, his hat on the back of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span>head, +making leisurely exploration with a toothpick the while, evidently with +a certain not unpraiseworthy desire to show that even in the throes of a +panic a man could still be game. As they approached, Carleton glanced +first at the tape, then at his watch, then at the patch of blue sky. The +tape said that Akme Mining was seventeen and a quarter, and that +Suburban Electric was sixty-four and a half; the watch said that it was +twelve-fifteen, and that the twelve-thirty train would get him to the +Country Club in time for lunch; the patch of blue sky said “Come.” With +a rather guilty haste he walked quickly toward the door, for a moment +paused on the threshold, still listening to the whirring of the ticker; +and then passed hurriedly out into the street.</p> + +<p>It was Championship Cup day at the Country Club, and the locker room, +when Carleton entered it two hours later, was crowded with excited men +in various stages of dress and undress; men who had entered the Club +five minutes before as respectable doctors, lawyers, bankers and +business <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>men, and who, five minutes later, were to emerge in a common +indecorous garb of faded flannel shirts, dingy gray trousers and +shapeless felt hats, making their way toward the first tee with an +eagerness which in fulfilling their professional engagements, they were +seldom, if ever, seen to display.</p> + +<p>Carleton, entering, with the mechanical dexterity of long habit, almost +with one motion stripped off coat and vest, collar and tie, and opening +his locker, began pulling out his clubs and his battered golfing +clothes. He affected not to see Henderson, thin and spare and brown, +seated on a bench with knees drawn up under his chin and clasped by +bare, sinewy arms.</p> + +<p>Presently his rival rose and sauntered over to him across the room. He +stood near Carleton in silence, and the two eyed each other with grins, +hostile, yet friendly. Finally Henderson spoke. “Well,” he observed, +without enthusiasm, “how’s the boy? Looking a little bit fine, what? A +little bit pale for him, hey?” Carleton laughed, with elaborate disdain. +“Oh, no, Tommy,” he returned, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span>“can’t catch me that way. That’s too old +a gag. Never felt better in my life, thanks. How are they scoring? +Barnes finished yet?”</p> + +<p>Henderson nodded. “Played this morning,” he said, “was going fine till +the eighteenth, and then drove into the quarry, and dropped his nerve. +Cost him nine for the hole, and did an eighty-five at that. Said his +caddie moved just as he was swinging back for his drive; too bad, wasn’t +it?”</p> + +<p>His tone belied the grief expressed by his last words, and at his +humorous wink Carleton openly smiled. Both could exult in the common +enjoyment of seeing a dangerous rival put out of the running. “Yes, too +bad,” he rejoined, “his eighty-five the best?”</p> + +<p>Henderson shook his head. “No,” he answered, “fellow from Brooklawn did +an eighty-three. Nothing much else under ninety, though; one or two +eighty-nines, I believe, and an eighty-eight; better get limbered up a +bit, Jack; it’s getting near our turn. See you outside.”</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded, tightened his belt another hole, and reached for his +clubs. Then, for a moment <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>turning his back on the crowded room, he held +out his hand, scanning the fingers critically. His ideas of conditioning +himself were his own. He frowned slightly, shaking his head in +displeasure. “That’s the first time that’s happened again so soon,” he +muttered, “I thought I looked out for that this morning. Well, I know +the answer, anyway,” and a couple of minutes later, wiping his lips with +his handkerchief, he joined Henderson outside the club-house, and began +leisurely to limber up.</p> + +<p>It was a quarter of an hour later when, in answer to their names, they +stepped forward to the first tee. Henderson, having the honor, surveyed +his footing with care, and then, absolutely cool and phlegmatic, teed +his ball, eyed the direction flag waving on the cop bunker some seventy +yards away, and with his provokingly easy swing drove a ball without +much “ginger” behind it, a trifle high yet superlatively safe, unerring +in direction and with some distance to it as well, for the road was a +full hundred and fifty yards from the tee, and the little white sphere +stood out plainly against the green of the turf some twenty yards +beyond. Still with the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>utmost deliberation he stepped back off the tee, +and Carleton took his place. His style was almost the antithesis of +Henderson’s. His tee was scarcely more than a pinch of the damp sand, +just enough to insure a good lie for his ball; almost negligently, it +seemed, he fell at once into his stance, swinging back with an +astonishing freedom, yet with complete mastery of a somewhat dashing +style, and coming through into a finish absolutely superb. Low and +straight sped his ball, hardly more than twenty feet over the top of the +bunker; then, beginning slowly to rise, soaring magnificently onward, +finally to come to a stop some fifty or sixty yards beyond the road. +Henderson whistled as they walked down the path. “Some one’s feeling +fine,” he said. “Glad you got in one good one, anyway, Jack.”</p> + +<p>Carleton smiled grimly. “Oh, a few more at home like that I guess,” he +retorted, “you’ve got to crack an eighty to-day, Tommy, if you want to +be in the game.”</p> + +<p>His second shot, indeed, seemed to bear out his words. Henderson had +taken an iron, cleared the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>bunker that guarded the green, and was +safely on its farther edge in two, but Carleton, playing a high, clean +mashie, with plenty of back-spin, managed to lay his ball up within a +dozen feet of the flag. On the green Henderson putted true and straight, +his ball stopping so near the hole as to make a four a certainty. +Carleton, with a little more deliberation than he had yet shown, eyed +the line of his put. “Easy,” he muttered to himself, half-aloud, +“nothing to it; easiest thing you know; just get the line, follow her +through, and she—goes—<i>down</i>.”</p> + +<p>With the final word the ball ticked against the farther edge of the cup, +and dropped gently in for a three. Henderson, holing out, whistled +again. “Somebody’s got their good eye with ’em,” he observed, and +Carleton, picking up his ball, drew a long breath of content. “Oh, the +devil,” he answered good-naturedly, “this is one of my days; I can do +anything I want to to ’em to-day;” and in silence they strode away for +the second tee.</p> + +<p>Outward for the first nine holes they played, into a world, green under +foot and blue and white above, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>the sunshine just pleasantly warm, the +cool westerly breeze barely stirring the green leaves in the tree-tops, +and faintly rousing the drooping direction flags below. A world of +good-fellowship, a world of youth and joy, and withal, the rigor of the +game to make them at times wholly unconscious, at times all the more +conscious, of the glory above, around, beneath them. Henderson, the safe +and sane, was on his game, making the first nine holes in an even forty, +but Carleton played beyond himself. Twice only on the outward journey +did he make mistakes, and for both he atoned by pulling off two shots +well-nigh marvelous—one a clean, slashing brassie that put him on the +edge of the green on the long fifth—four hundred and fifty yards—in +two; one a straight, deadly put of twenty-five feet at the eighth; no +wonder that Henderson unwillingly totaled a thirty-six for his rival, +puckered his lips, but this time without the whistle, and mournfully +shook his head. Coming in, indeed, Carleton’s pace slackened a bit, and +his playing became, in Henderson’s phrase, “considerably more like a +human being’s.” Mistakes, one or two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>of them costly, were not lacking; +his putting fell off a bit; his confidence seemed a little to diminish; +yet, spite of all, he still played brilliantly, and when on the +eighteenth, he drove a long, straight ball, far over the quarry, with no +danger between him and the home hole, Henderson was forced to admit +defeat. He himself finished as steadily as ever, coming in without any +serious error, without anything especially brilliant, with a card all +fours and fives, in forty-two, and thus handed it an eighty-two for the +round. Carleton’s card in was more irregular; it was marred by two +sixes, but these were balanced by two threes and an occasional four, +altogether forty-one for the second nine, and a total of seventy-seven. +Surely, the gold medal lay all but in his grasp, and Henderson, indeed, +had the grace to acknowledge it. “You’re all right, Jack,” he said, as +they parted, “see you to-morrow afternoon, but I guess you’ve got things +cinched; this is your lucky day;” and Carleton, though perforce he +shrugged his shoulders and said that no one could ever tell, felt in his +heart that the prize was as good as won.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span>At the club-house he dressed, and then, finding that he had plenty of +time, walked leisurely down to the train, and started back for town. For +a while, just comfortably tired with the afternoon’s round, he was +content to sit back in his seat with passive enjoyment, with eyes half +closed, playing over again each stroke of the round in pleasant +retrospect, again smashing straight low balls from the tee, again laying +up his approach shots, again successfully holing long, difficult puts. +It made pleasant enough dreaming, and he sat thus until Hillside was +reached.</p> + +<p>Then suddenly, two men, entering hurriedly, took the vacant seat behind +him, evidently resuming their conversation where it had been broken off +as they had boarded the train. Their first words drove golf a million +miles from his brain. “So it busted clean to hell, did it?” asked the +stout man, panting with haste and excitement.</p> + +<p>“Did it?” echoed his companion, with a certain dismal pride, the sense +of proprietorship that one gains in the communication of bad news, +“well, I should say it did. Didn’t begin till two <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>o’clock, and then, +say, you never saw such a time in your life. Smash—Bang—Smash! +Everything thrown over, right and left; why, down at Wellman’s—”</p> + +<p>The train roared into the long tunnel, and the rest of the sentence was +lost. It was enough, and Carleton, sitting motionless, felt a sudden +sickening reaction creep over him. A game of golf—a gold medal—and the +market again in the grip of a panic beside which the first break of +three days ago must have been as nothing. And then, insistently, he +began to wonder—how bad—how bad? His margin had been slender enough +before—hardly sufficient, really, to pass muster unless tinctured with +the dangerous kindness of friendship—he clenched his hands; his mouth +had gone suddenly dry—</p> + +<p>Inside the smoky station the train came to a halt. Alighting, he paused +to buy the evening papers from a clamorous newsboy; then without +stopping even to glance at them, hastened straight to his office. It was +long after the hour of closing. The office boy was gone, the door made +fast. Unlocking <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span>it, he entered, sat down at his desk, and began hastily +to examine the letters and memoranda reposing there. “Ring up Mr. +Turner,” was penciled half a dozen times in the office boy’s round, +sprawling hand, with various additions, “Important,” “Urgent,” “At +once,” “Ring 698, Lincoln;” that was Harris and Wheeler’s; “Ring Main, +422;” that was Claxton Brothers. He turned to the papers. Lord above, +what headlines! Panic—market crash—houses suspended—banks in +danger—half dazed, he gazed for a moment around him, as if doubting +that it could all be real; then, with a grim feeling that nothing could +much matter now, he read steadily the long rows of stock quotations; and +ever, as he read down a column, values dropped downward with him, and +never, as he turned to the top of the next, did they rise again. Once +more he had to stop, unable to grasp the truth; Akme Mining, nine and a +half; Suburban Electric, forty-seven; Fuel, sixty-three; it was all +impossible.</p> + +<p>Through the slide in the office door a letter fluttered gently to the +floor. He rose and picked it <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>up. It had Turner’s name in the corner. +Inside was a hasty scrawl, “Things very bad; must have ten thousand +additional margin at opening to-morrow, sure.” As he laid it down, the +telephone rang; “Yes,” he answered, “Mr. Harris; oh, yes, I know; five +thousand; yes; thanks; you’ve got to have it at the opening; all right; +good-by.” He hung up the receiver, and turned to confront a telegraph +boy at his elbow. He hastily signed, and ripped open the envelope. This +time the laconic message was from Claxton Brothers. “Good,” he muttered, +“only five thousand more. This is fine,” and he threw himself back in +his office chair, and for a moment or two thought hard. Then he smiled +ironically. “Oh, yes,” he muttered, “Henderson got it right, as usual; +this is certainly my lucky day;” then after a moment, he added, “Well, I +suppose it’s a case of must now. It’s all I <i>can</i> do.” He rose, +shrugging his shoulders, and thrusting the papers into his pocket, he +hurriedly left the office.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_V" id="CHAPTER_V"></a>CHAPTER V</h2> + +<h3>A QUESTION OF HONOR</h3> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox2"><p>“What is left when honour is lost?”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Publius Syrus.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>wilight was falling over The Birches, and Edward Carleton, seated alone +on the piazza, gazed out over the darkening fields into a world of ever +blending shadows and onward creeping dusk. Always, as long as the +weather permitted, after his evening meal, he loved to sit there, +puffing quietly at his big, old-fashioned, curved pipe, and letting his +memory roam back at will through scene after scene from the long years +that now lay behind him; or sometimes, more rarely, living in the +present, content merely to gaze out on blossoming flower, and tree in +full leaf; to watch the fiery colors of the sunset glow and die in the +far-off west; to hear from the orchard across the road a robin singing +his good night song; to listen to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>the thousand wonderful secrets which +Nature at the last loves to whisper to those who have lived their lives +pure in deed and word, and who have journeyed far onward into the +shadow, still kindly and serene, with the wonderful dreams of childhood +making beautiful their minds, and in their hearts the faith of little +children.</p> + +<p>Often Henry Carleton sat there with him, but to-night the old man was +alone. An hour ago, a message had come from Henry, saying that he would +not be home until the following evening—perhaps not even then—that +business matters of importance had arisen, making it necessary that he +should remain in town. Characteristic of Henry Carleton’s unfailing +thoughtfulness the message had been, and it was of his brother, and, +with a half-sigh, of Jack as well, that Edward Carleton was thinking +now, as the darkness pressed closer and closer around the old house that +had sheltered for so many generations so many fathers and sons of the +Carleton blood.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>From the entrance to the gravel walk, the sound <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>of footsteps smote +briskly on his ear and he glanced up to see a tall and familiar figure +coming up the path. A moment later, and Jack had hastily mounted the +steps, scarce seeming to heed his father’s greeting, and speaking at +once, in a voice strangely unlike his own. “Father,” he said, “where’s +Henry?”</p> + +<p>The old man gazed at him in surprise. “He’s not at home, Jack,” he +answered, and then, with a momentary foreboding, “What is it, my boy? +Nothing wrong?”</p> + +<p>Jack laughed, a little grimly. “No, nothing like that,” he answered, +“I’m in trouble, that’s all. I’ve stayed too long in a falling market, +and got caught. If I can’t get help from Henry, I guess I’m done.”</p> + +<p>In the darkness Edward Carleton reached out his hand, and laid it on his +son’s shoulder. “My dear boy,” he said, “I’m sorry. If only Henry has +the money available. But I don’t know. These must be terrible times for +every one. Tell him if there’s any way he can use what he holds for me, +that I asked him to do so. I’m so sorry, Jack—so sorry—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>With what was for him unusual feeling, Jack took his father’s hand in +both his own. “Thank you, father,” he said, “I know you are. It’s all my +own fault, of course. I don’t deserve any help. But it’s all come so +suddenly. I never thought—”</p> + +<p>He broke off abruptly, then spoke again. “Well, I suppose I must get +back in town, I haven’t much time. I never dreamed of not finding Henry +here. I’m sorry I can’t stay. Good night, father,” and he was gone.</p> + +<p>It was nearly two hours later when he hastened down Adams Street toward +the Harmon Building, where high overhead in many a window, lights +ordinarily extinguished by five or six o’clock, were still burning +brightly; some of them, indeed, destined to gleam and flicker throughout +that long, anxious summer’s night, and only to pale at last as the first +faint streaks of dawn struck through the shades on the men who planned +and toiled within, working feverishly, with gray, unshaven faces, and +weary, bloodshot, deep-sunken eyes.</p> + +<p>Getting out of the elevator at the fourth floor, Jack hastily made his +way into Henry Carleton’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span>offices. Once there, however, although his +name was quickly sent in, he was compelled to wait for a full half hour +in the outer corridor, until at length a bell rang sharply, and a tired +looking clerk, with a nod of his head toward the inner office, signified +that the audience was granted. With a curious sense of old-time +familiarity, Jack entered the big square room which he had visited last, +now upward of three years ago, and closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>Over by the window, Henry Carleton was seated at his desk. He was a man +of about fifty, in complexion so dark as to appear almost swarthy, and +with coal black hair and beard, here and there just faintly touched with +gray. He was tall, much of Jack’s height and build, yet constructed upon +finer lines, with a sinuous grace of movement that had about it +something almost feline. His face was rather long, the forehead and +cheek-bones high, the eyes were black and piercing, and the lips of the +strong, well-chiseled mouth noticeably full and red. Altogether, an +interesting face, a fitting index to the dual personality of the +man—Henry Carleton <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span>the shrewd and able leader in the business world, +and Henry Carleton the musician and man of letters—the artist to his +finger-tips.</p> + +<p>As Jack entered, he glanced up pleasantly enough, though far back in his +eyes there lurked a hidden gleam of some emotion difficult to fathom. +“Why, hello, Jack,” he said, “I’m surprised to see <i>you</i>. What brings +you here? Sit down.” He motioned toward a chair.</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton came forward into the room, standing a little awkwardly +with his hand on the back of the proffered seat. “It’s the market, +Henry,” he said briefly, “I’ve got caught. I have to raise twenty +thousand by the opening to-morrow, or go under. I’ve just come from +home; I thought I’d find you there. I’ll tell you the truth. I hate like +hell to come to you, and you know it, but I’ve got to get the money +somehow, and if you can help me, I wish to Heaven you would.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton gazed at him meditatively. “Better sit down,” he said +curtly, and this time Jack accepted the invitation. There was a short +silence. Then Henry Carleton drew a tiny note-book <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>from his pocket, and +looked up, with pencil poised, “Now let’s have it,” he said.</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton frowned. It was easy enough to see that the confession of +his sins was little less than torture to him. “Well,” he began, a trifle +defiantly, “it’s like this. I’ve got in a trifle deeper than I meant to +when I started. Things looked so like a cinch, I couldn’t help it. I’ve +fifteen hundred shares of Suburban Electric, and seven hundred Akme +Mining, and five hundred Fuel, and a little other stuff besides. My +heaviest account’s with Turner and Driver; then I’ve got an account with +Harris and Wheeler, and another with Claxton Brothers; altogether—”</p> + +<p>Piece by piece the whole story came out. Henry Carleton wrote, figured, +meditated; asked a question here, another there; meditated again. +Finally he seemed to make up his mind. He spoke with deliberation, +weighing his words. “No one can tell,” he said, “what the next +twenty-four hours are going to bring. But what you ought to do is clear. +You’ve got to lighten up, to start with. Close out your account with +Harris, and with the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>Claxtons; hang on to what you have at Turner and +Driver’s, if you can. That’s enough; and that’s our problem: how best to +try to carry it through.”</p> + +<p>As if the words brought him measureless comfort, Jack drew a long breath +of relief. “You think, then,” he asked, almost timidly, “you can fix it +somehow? You think you can get me by?”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton did not at once reply, and when he finally spoke, it was +but to answer Jack’s question with another. “Have you done everything +you can yourself?” he queried. “Where else have you tried?”</p> + +<p>Jack gave a short mirthless laugh. “Where <i>haven’t</i> I tried?” he +retorted. “I’ve tackled about every friend and acquaintance I’ve got in +the world. I began four days ago. And I’ve had the same identical +come-back from every one of them. They’re sorry, but they have to look +out for themselves first. And security. They all talk about that. I +never knew before that security cut such a lot of ice with people. But +it does.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton nodded grimly. “Yes, it does,” he answered dryly, “most +of us make that discovery <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>sooner or later. And generally for ourselves, +too. And when you mention security, Jack, you’ve come right down to the +root of the whole trouble. We might as well acknowledge it now. I can’t +help you myself. I tell you so frankly. I couldn’t use trust funds for +such a purpose, of course. Any one would tell you that. That’s out of +the question. And my own money is hopelessly tied up. I couldn’t get the +sum you need under a month, if I could then. But there’s one thing I +might do. It isn’t business. I hate to try it. But I don’t want to see +you disgraced, Jack, if I can help it. Wait here a minute, till I see—”</p> + +<p>He rose and walked over to the telephone booth in the rear of his +office, and entering, closed the door behind him. In two minutes he came +back to his desk, penciled a name on a card, and handed it to Jack. +“This fellow Farrington,” he said shortly, “is under some obligations to +me. I think you’ll get what you want from him. Better see him anyway. +He’s in the Jefferson Building, top floor. I told him you’d be there in +ten minutes, at the most.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton rose. “I’m much obliged, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span>Henry,” he said, a little +lamely, “you’re very good. I’m much obliged. I’ll go right over, of +course.”</p> + +<p>The other stood gazing at him with a curious expression on his swarthy +face, a curious gleam far back in his dark eyes. “Don’t mention it,” he +said smoothly, “Carletons must stand together, Jack. We mustn’t bring +dishonor on the name, whatever we do.”</p> + +<p>Unerringly he had pierced the weak joint in the armor. Jack’s face went +whiter than before. He stood for a moment silent, then spoke with +effort. “No,” he answered, “we mustn’t do that,” and turning, he left +the room.</p> + +<p>Up-town toward the Jefferson Building he hurried, half-daring, yet +half-fearing, to hope. Noting the number of the room on the framed +directory placarded within, he left the elevator at the tenth floor, and +hastening down the corridor, paused opposite the door. Externally the +office was a modest one, with “H. O. Farrington, Agent” inscribed in +plain black lettering on the glass. Entering, he found the interior to +correspond. A tiny room, with a small enclosure at one end, within which +sat <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span>Farrington himself, a man perhaps best described by saying that he +perfectly typified that somewhat vague being whom most of us have in +mind when we speak glibly of the “average man.” “Average” best described +him in height, build, and appearance, the nondescript sort of person +whom one meets on Monday, and passes in the street on Tuesday, wholly +unconscious of ever having seen him before.</p> + +<p>As Jack entered, he glanced up quickly. “Mr. Carleton?” he questioned, +and as Jack nodded, motioned to a chair. “Just a minute,” he said, and +bent over his writing again. Presently, as he stopped, and reached for a +sheet of blotting paper, Jack ventured to speak. “I don’t know how much +you know about this—” he began, but the other raised his hand. “All +right,” he said briefly, and shoved a check and a receipt across the +desk, “Sign, please.”</p> + +<p>Mechanically Jack glanced at the check. It was for the amount required. +Mechanically, too, he signed the receipt, and handed it back to +Farrington. Half unable to realize his good fortune, he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>rose, the check +in his hand. “I’m greatly obliged,” he said.</p> + +<p>Farrington made no reply. Evidently words with him were precious things. +Perforce Jack turned to go, and then, half-way to the door, turned.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Farrington,” he said hesitatingly, “if things should go lower—”</p> + +<p>Farrington did not look up. “They won’t,” he said tersely.</p> + +<p>Again Jack hesitated. Then, finally, “But if they should—” he said +again.</p> + +<p>A little impatiently, Farrington raised his head. “We’ll see you +through,” he said. “Good night.” And Jack, not disposed to quarrel +further with fortune, closed the door behind him.</p> + +<p>It was a quarter of ten on the morning following when he entered Turner +and Driver’s office, advancing to meet the senior partner with the +little strip of paper in his outstretched hand. Turner took it eagerly +enough, and as he scanned the amount, he nodded, while a wrinkle or two +seemed to vanish from his puckered and frowning brow. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>Then he looked +up. “Well, you got it,” he said, and Carleton hastened to assent. “Oh, +yes,” he returned lightly, “I got it all right. Why, didn’t you think I +would?”</p> + +<p>The broker shrugged his shoulders. “Hard telling anything these days,” +he answered, “but I’ll tell you one thing, though; you’re mighty lucky +to be able to put your hands on it so easy. There’ll be more than one +poor devil this morning who would pretty near give his soul for a tenth +part of what you’ve got here. It’s a bad time for customers, Jack, and I +don’t mind telling you—” he lowered his voice confidentially—“that +it’s a bad time for brokers, too. A little piece of paper like this—” +he waved the check gently to and fro—“is a nice comforting sight for a +man; between you and me, I wouldn’t mind seeing three or four mates to +it. Yes, I’m glad to get it all right, on my account, and on yours, +too.”</p> + +<p>Jack nodded. Somehow, entirely without justification, as he well knew, +the check had given him a feeling of great stability; at once, on +receiving it, he had felt that he had risen in his own self-esteem. +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>“Yes,” he assented, “I’m glad myself; and you needn’t worry about my +account, Jim. We’ll just leave it this way. Don’t treat mine as an +ordinary account; don’t sell me out, whatever happens. I’ve friends +that’ll see me through anything. If things should go lower, and you +should need more margin, just let me know, and I’ll get it over to you +right away. Will that be satisfactory?”</p> + +<p>The broker nodded. “Why, yes, Jack,” he answered, “knowing the way +you’re fixed, I guess that’ll be all right, though with nine men out of +ten, of course I wouldn’t consider such a way of doing things. Business +is business, and when it comes right down to the fine point, why, it’s +the cold hard cash that counts, and nothing else; not friendship, or +honor, or gratitude, or common decency, even—” both face and voice had +hardened as he spoke; it was not his first panic—and then his look met +Carleton’s fairly and squarely. “But with you, Jack,” he continued, +“it’s different, as I say. Only let’s be perfectly sure that we +understand each other. I don’t believe myself, you know, that things can +go much lower; I think the chances <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>are they’ve steadied for good; but +for argument, let’s suppose they do. Then, as I understand it, you don’t +want to have me sell you out at any price, no matter how far they break. +You’ll make good any time I ask you to. You give me your word on that?”</p> + +<p>Carleton readily enough assented. “Why, sure,” he answered lightly, “of +course I do; you needn’t worry; I’ll make good,” and the broker nodded, +well pleased.</p> + +<p>“One thing less to bother over, then,” he said. “You’ll excuse me now, +Jack, won’t you? This is going to be a horrible busy day, anyway, and +the Lord send it’s nothing worse than that; it wouldn’t take much now to +raise the very deuce.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke the <i>News Despatch</i> boy entered, tossing down on the table a +half dozen sheets fresh from the press. Turner glanced at them, and +handed them over to Carleton, shaking his head as he did so. “London’s +not feeling gay,” he observed, “I call that a pretty ragged opening +myself. I don’t know what you think of it.”</p> + +<p>Carleton read and nodded. It seemed as if <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>everything in the half dozen +pages made for discouragement. London had opened weak—lamentably weak. +There were rumors of this—rumors of that—sickly, unhealthy mushroom +growths of the night. There was talk of failures—suspensions—financial +troubles of every kind—even the good name of a great bank was bandied +carelessly to and fro. Silently Turner crossed the room, and took his +seat at his desk; silently Carleton walked out into the customers’ room, +and joined the other unfortunates who had come slowly straggling in, and +who now stood around the ticker, waiting gloomily and apprehensively for +the opening bell to ring.</p> + +<p>The tension of the moment was plainly enough to be read in the attitudes +and expressions of the members of the little group, not one of whom +failed in some manner or other to betray the fact that he was far from +possessing his usual poise and calm. Most of them, either consciously or +unconsciously, showed their nervousness so plainly and even painfully +that it was impossible to misinterpret the anxious glances cast first at +the clock, then at the tape, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span>as the moment of the opening drew near. +One or two, indeed, essayed a nonchalance so obviously assumed as to +render even more apparent the emotion it sought to conceal. One young +fellow, with hat shoved far back on his head, hair in disorder, and a +restless, frightened look in his eyes, glanced at Carleton as he +approached.</p> + +<p>“How <i>you</i> standing it, Jack?” he queried, with a faint attempt at +jocularity. “Bad night to sleep last night, <i>I</i> called it; guess most +likely ’twas something in the air.”</p> + +<p>Another man, he of the toothpick, stout and coarse, held forth at some +length for the benefit of the rest. “Oh, it was perfectly clear, the +whole thing,” he was saying, with the air of one to whom all the +mysteries and marvels of stock fluctuations are but as matters writ +large in print the most plain. “You see Rockman and Sharp and +Haverfeller got together on this thing, and then they had a conference +with Horgan, and got him to say that he’d keep his hands off, and let +things alone; then they had a clear chance, and you can see what they’ve +done <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span>with it; oh, they’re clever all right; when those fellows get +together, it’s time to look out; you can’t beat ’em.”</p> + +<p>He spoke with a certain condescending finality, as if he had somehow +once and for all fixed the status of the panic. After a moment or two a +gray, scholarly looking little man, with gentle, puzzled eyes, addressed +him, speaking with an air of timid respect for the stout man’s evident +knowledge.</p> + +<p>“Do you imagine, sir,” he asked, “that securities will decline still +further in value? If they should, I am afraid that I might find myself +seriously involved. I can’t seem to understand this whole affair; I was +led to believe—”</p> + +<p>The big man, charmed with the novelty of having a genuine, voluntary +listener, interrupted him at once.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you don’t have to worry,” he said largely, “they might open ’em off +a little lower, perhaps, but they’ll go back again. Don’t you fret; the +country’s all right; they’ll come back; they always do.”</p> + +<p>The little man seemed vastly comforted. “I’m <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>very glad to hear you say +so,” he answered. “It would come very hard—I had no idea the risk was +so great—I was led to believe—”</p> + +<p>The young man with the rumpled hair turned a trifle disgustedly to +Carleton. “Heard from London?” he asked abruptly. His brief, and not +wholly unintelligent connection with the game had led him to believe +firmly in facts and figures, not in the dangerous pastime of theorizing +over values, or speculating as to what the next move of the “big +fellows” might be.</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. “Weak,” he answered, his tone pitched low and meant for +his neighbor’s ear only, “horribly weak; and all sorts of stories +starting, too; it looks as bad as it could.”</p> + +<p>The young man nodded. “I supposed so,” he said, with resignation, and +then added whimsically, “Well, there’s no use crying about it, I guess, +but it certainly looks as if this was the time when little Willie gets +it good and plenty, right in the neck.”</p> + +<p>Just in front of them, a pale, slender man, with blinking eyes, and a +mumbling, trembling mouth that was never still, talked steadily in an +undertone, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>apparently partly to himself, partly to the man who stood at +his shoulder, a red-faced farmer with a hundred shares of Akme at stake. +“Now’d be the time,” he muttered, “now’d be the time to jump right in; +jump right in and buy four or five thousand shares; a man could make a +fortune, and get out for good; it’s the chance of a man’s life; to jump +right in and buy four or five thousand shares.”</p> + +<p>The countryman gazed at him in silence, sizing him up at first +curiously, and then with a certain amused and not unkindly contempt. +“Four or five thousand!” he said, at last. “That ain’t enough. Buy ten +thousand while you’re at it. You’ll get twice as rich then,” but the +nervous man seemed to take no offense, and indeed, not even to notice +the remark. “Now’s the time,” he rambled on, and it was clear that it +was to himself alone that his mumblings were addressed, “to jump right +in; that’s the thing to do.”</p> + +<p>To Carleton, all at once it seemed that the group around the ticker was +a gathering merely of the wrecks of men—of idle fools of greater or +less degree. All of them he pitied, except the big, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span>coarse man with the +toothpick, for whom he felt a huge dislike; and most of all his pity +went out to the gentle man with the puzzled eyes; something unfair there +seemed to be in such a one being decoyed into the market game—something +repellant, as if one had lied, deliberately and maliciously, to a child. +Pity or anger—old or young—was there in all the group, he reflected +with sudden distaste, one real man? And then, instant and unexpected, a +lightning flame of keenest irony seemed to sear its way into his very +soul; suppose Farrington had withheld the check? Was there, in all the +group, <i>himself included</i>, one real man—</p> + +<p>The bell rang. The ticker whirred. For a moment the dozen heads were +grouped closely together over the tape, and then—the first quotation, +five hundred Fuel at fifty-seven, gave warning of the truth; and the +second and third verified it beyond all doubt or questioning. No further +need of argument; no further agony; the suspense was over. So weak was +the opening as to be almost incredible, so weak that it took a moment or +two to adjust oneself to the shock. Akme Mining had closed the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span>night +before at ten. Carleton, figuring on the lowest, had imagined that it +might open at eight and a half, or even eight. Two thousand shares came +over the tape at six and a quarter. Everything else was in like ratio; +everything else kept the same proportion—or lack of it. For perhaps ten +seconds there was silence absolute, and then the reaction came. The +young man with the rumpled hair turned sharply away, his hands thrust +deep into his trousers’ pockets, his lips curiously twisted and +contorted, the tip of his tongue showing between his teeth. He gazed up +at the blank wall, nodding unsmilingly to himself. “I thought so,” he +observed, quietly, “in the neck.”</p> + +<p>The man with the mumbling mouth started again to speak. “Now,” he +muttered, “now would be the time; to jump right in—” and then, as if +just for a moment he caught a glimpse of himself and the figure he made, +old and futile, worn out and wan, he stopped abruptly, rubbing his eyes, +and for a time spoke no more, only standing there motionless, with the +force of a habit too strong to be broken, glancing down unseeingly at +the rows of little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span>black letters and figures that issued steadily from +the ticker, only to pass, unregarded and unmeaning, beneath the vacancy +of his gaze.</p> + +<p>Carleton had stood staring grimly with the rest. In a moment he felt a +hand laid upon his arm, and turned to meet the wistful glance of the +little gray man. “I beg your pardon,” he asked timidly, “but can you +tell me at what price Kentucky Coal is selling? I dislike to trouble +you, but I am entirely unfamiliar with the abbreviations used.”</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded with the feeling that he might as well deal the little +man a blow squarely between the eyes. “Forty-eight,” he said shortly.</p> + +<p>The little man turned very pale. “Forty-eight,” he repeated +mechanically, “can it be so? Forty-eight!” He shook his head slowly from +side to side, then glanced at Carleton with a smile infinitely gentle +and pathetic. “And to earn it,” he murmured, “took me twenty years;” and +then again, after a pause, “twenty years; and I’m afraid I’m pretty old +to begin again now.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s heart smote him. Gladly enough would he have sought to aid, +if a half of his own <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span>depleted fortune had remained to him. He stood for +a moment as if in a dream. The whole scene—the familiar office, the +stock-board, the ticker, the disheartened, discouraged group of +unsuccessful gamblers—it was all real enough, and yet at the same time +about it all there clung an air somehow theatric, melodramatic, hard of +realization. Then, from the doorway, Turner called him sharply, and he +hastened into the private office. Outwardly, the broker still had a +pretty good grip on himself, but in his tone his rising excitement was +easily enough discerned. “Look, Jack,” he said quickly, “things are bad; +there’s all sorts of talk coming over our private wire. Hell’s broke +loose; that’s the amount of it. I want you to get me ten thousand on +your account as quick as the Lord’ll let you; get fifteen, if you can. +It’s better for us both that way. Saves worrying—any more than anybody +can help. And Jack,” he added, “I’m not supposed to know this, neither +are you. But they’re letting go a raft of your father’s stuff over at +Brown’s. I don’t know what the devil it means, but I call it a mighty +bad sign.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>Carleton nodded, and without wasting time, left the room. The ten +minutes’ walk between Turner’s office and the Jefferson Building he +covered in half that time, and striding hastily down the corridor, had +almost reached Farrington’s door when a tall, red-faced young man, +emerging with equal speed, pulled up short to avoid the threatened +collision, and stood back for Carleton to enter. Glancing at him, Jack +recognized a casual acquaintance, and nodded to him as he passed. “How +are you, Cummings?” he said, and the other, looking at him a little +curiously, returned his salutation, and then passed quickly on.</p> + +<p>Farrington was seated at his desk, and Jack at once, and without +ceremony, entered. Farrington, glancing up, acknowledged his greeting, +with a curt nod; then looked at him with questioning gaze. “Well?” he +said.</p> + +<p>“Well,” Jack echoed, a trifle deprecatingly, “you can guess what I’ve +come for, I suppose. You saw the opening. I want ten thousand +more—fifteen, if I can have it—but ten will do.”</p> + +<p>Farrington looked him straight in the eye.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span>“Ten will do,” he echoed; then, dryly, “I should think it would.” He +paused for the veriest instant, then added, with the utmost directness, +“It’s no go, Mr. Carleton. I’m caught myself. I can’t let you have a +cent.”</p> + +<p>At the words the blood seemed suddenly to leave Jack Carleton’s heart. +Something tightened in his throat, and a faint mist seemed to gather +between Farrington’s face and his own. Then, as he came to himself, +“Can’t let me have it!” he cried sharply. “Why, you told me last night +you’d see me through, you won’t go back on your word now. The money’s +promised. It’s too late.”</p> + +<p>Farrington’s face was expressionless. “You don’t realize,” he said, +“what a time this is. It’s one day out of a million—the worst there’s +ever been. If I could have foreseen—”</p> + +<p>The telephone on his desk rang sharply, and he turned to answer it. Jack +Carleton sat as if stunned. This man had lied to him; had given him his +word, and now, with the market hopelessly lower, retracted it; had +thrown him a rope, and, as he hung helpless in mid air, was leaning +coolly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>forward to cut it, and let him perish. And he had promised +Turner—his word of honor. He felt physically faint and sick. Farrington +hung up the receiver, and then, as Jack started to speak, an +interruption occurred. Suddenly the door opened, and Cummings appeared +in the entrance. He seemed greatly hurried and excited, as if he had +been running hard. “All ready, Hal,” he cried, “he’ll ring you any +minute now. And when he does, buy like hell! For the personal, of +course! He says—”</p> + +<p>Quickly Farrington cut in on him. “Shut up!” he cried, so sharply that +Jack could not but note his tone, “Can’t you see I’m busy? Wait outside, +till I’m through,” and Cummings, his red face many shades redder than +before, at once hastily withdrew.</p> + +<p>Immediately Carleton leaned forward. “Look here,” he cried desperately, +“this isn’t right. You told me you’d see me through. Those were your +very words. You can’t go back on them now. If you do, you’ve got me +ruined—worse than ruined. It isn’t only the money; I’ve pledged my +word; pledged myself to make good. I’ve got to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>have it, Farrington; +that’s all; I’ve got to; can’t you understand?”</p> + +<p>Farrington frowned. “You <i>can’t</i> have it,” he answered sharply, “and +don’t take that tone to me, either, Mr. Carleton. Haven’t I given you +twenty thousand already? You must have misunderstood me last night. I +said I’d see you through if I could, and now I find I can’t. That’s all. +I tell you I can’t; and I won’t stop to split hairs about it, either. +I’ve got too much at stake. You’d better not wait, Mr. Carleton. There’s +no use in it. There’s nothing for you here.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s eyes blazed. Just for an instant things swam before him; for +an instant he half crouched, like an animal about to spring. In the +office, absolute stillness reigned, save for the tall clock in the +corner ticking off the seconds—five—ten—fifteen—and then, all at +once, his tightly closed hands unclenched, his lips relaxed; on the +instant he stood erect, and without speaking, turned quickly on his +heel, and left the room.</p> + +<p>Grim and white of face, he burst five minutes later into Turner’s +private office, with a bearing so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span>changed that Turner could not help +but notice it, and read the trouble there. “Something wrong?” he asked +sharply, and Carleton nodded, with a strange feeling as if he were +acting a part in some sinister dream. “I couldn’t get it,” he said.</p> + +<p>Turner gazed at him, frowning. “Nonsense,” he cried, and Carleton could +have laughed hysterically to hear his own words of ten minutes before +coming back to him: “You’ve got to get it. You told me you were all +right, Jack. You can’t do this now. Last night was the time to settle or +sell. You can’t turn around now. It’s too late.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s face was haggard, his mouth dry. He shook his head +stubbornly. “I can’t get it,” he said again.</p> + +<p>The broker’s eyes grew suddenly hard. “Of course you can,” he cried, +“you said you could; you know you can get it, Jack; go ahead!”</p> + +<p>But Carleton only shook his head once more. “It’s no use,” he answered +wearily, “I <i>can’t</i> get it, I say. I wouldn’t lie to you.”</p> + +<p>It was an unfortunate phrase. The broker sneered. “Oh, no,” he cried, +“of course not. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>You wouldn’t lie to me. How about this morning?” And +then, struck suddenly by the expression on Carleton’s face, and perhaps +a little ashamed of his own loss of self-control, he hastened to add, in +a tone kindlier by far, “Come, come, Jack, this isn’t like you. There’s +something queer here. You told me you had friends who’d see you through. +You told me that not three hours ago. And if you lied to me, it was a +dirty thing to do, and a foolish thing, as well. Because now I’ve got to +sell you out; there’s no other way; and it leaves you ruined, and costs +me money, besides. But I won’t preach. Thank God, that’s one thing I’ve +never done yet. You’ve been a good customer here, and a good friend of +mine, too. So give it to me straight, Jack. If you lied to me, tell me +so. It’s bad enough for you; I won’t make it any worse. I’ll keep my +head shut, and you can pay me back as you’re able. But now look here—” +and his tone hardened again—“if it isn’t that; if it’s somebody else +that’s lied to <i>you</i>, and fooled us both, why that’s a different story +altogether. There’s nothing to stop us then, and by God, we won’t let it +stop us, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>either. We’ll tell the story all over this town, till we make +somebody good and sorry for what he’s done. Give it to me straight, +Jack. How did it happen? Is this whole business up to somebody else, or +is it up to you? Was it the truth you told me, or was it a lie?”</p> + +<p>For a moment Carleton stood silent. Through his tired brain flashed evil +thoughts—suspicion—conjecture—the possibility of a just revenge. And +yet—it was all so confused—so uncertain. Blame there was +somewhere—but where? What could he really do? And then, curiously +enough, once more he seemed to see before his eyes the dark face of +Henry Carleton; once again he seemed to hear him say, “The Carletons +must stand together, Jack. We mustn’t bring dishonor on the name.” And +in that sudden instant Jack Carleton ceased all at once to be a boy, and +became a man. Low and hesitating came the words, the words that in the +broker’s eyes branded him for ever as a coward, beaten and disgraced, +and yet his gaze, fixed on Turner’s face, never faltered. “Jim,” he +said, “I’m sorry. It’s up to me. I told you a lie.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VI" id="CHAPTER_VI"></a>CHAPTER VI</h2> + +<h3>DEATH COMES</h3> + +<div class="centerbox2 bbox2"><p>“Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail<br /> +Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt,<br /> +Dispraise, or blame,—nothing but well and fair,<br /> +And what may quiet us in a death so noble.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Milton.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>hrough the gathering darkness of the short, chilly December day the +carriage swung up the driveway of The Birches, and in front of the porch +came to a sudden halt. Doctor Morrison, hastily alighting, ran quickly +up the piazza steps to find Henry Carleton, worried and anxious, already +awaiting him at the open door.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you’ve come, Doctor,” he said, his relief plainly enough +showing in his tone, “I’ve been reproaching myself for not letting you +know before. Step into the parlor for a moment, though, and warm +yourself before you go up. You must be cold.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>Pulling off his gloves, and laying aside his overcoat and bag, Doctor +Morrison followed Carleton into the room, rubbing his hands and holding +them out to the warmth of the open blaze. Then he turned. “And how is he +now?” he asked. “Any change for the worse?”</p> + +<p>“No, I think not,” Carleton answered, “he appears to be comfortable +enough, and says he has no pain. Yet there seems something curious about +it, too. It was almost a week ago, I suppose, that he first began to +complain. There was nothing that you could fix on definitely, though. +Only that he didn’t seem to be quite himself—not as bright as usual, or +so interested in things—and wanted to sleep a great deal, even in the +daytime; something, as you know, most unusual for him. I thought then of +sending for you, and then I felt that that might alarm him, and to tell +the truth, I expected every day to see him begin to pick up again; he’s +had times like this before. And so things went along until to-day. But +this morning, as I telephoned you, he didn’t get up at all—complained +of feeling very weak and faint—so of course I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span>rang you up at once. I +only hope I’ve made no mistake in waiting so long.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison shook his head. “Oh, no, I don’t think so for a moment,” +he answered, “I doubt if it’s anything serious at all. All men, as they +get on in years, are apt to get queer notions at times, especially about +their health. I’ll go right up and see him now, but I don’t anticipate +that we’ll find there’s the slightest cause for alarm.”</p> + +<p>For half an hour Henry Carleton sat alone in the firelight, in spite of +all the doctor had said still anxious and disturbed. Then he rose +quickly as he heard footsteps descending the stairs, and stood waiting, +expectant and apprehensive. As the doctor entered the room, it was easy +to see from the expression on his face that his news was certainly none +of the best. Abruptly Henry Carleton stepped forward. “Is it serious?” +he asked.</p> + +<p>The doctor did not keep him in suspense. He nodded gravely. “Yes,” he +answered, “I suppose I should tell you so at once. It is,” and then, +seeing the unspoken question in the other’s eyes, he added quickly, “No, +I don’t mean anything immediate, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>necessarily; but he’s failed terribly +since I saw him last. I suppose it’s been all of six months now, at +least, since I came out before; and probably to you, living with him and +seeing him every day, the change has been so gradual that you haven’t +noticed it, but it’s been going on steadily just the same, all the time. +He’s certainly failed—alarmingly.”</p> + +<p>Slowly Henry Carleton nodded. “I see,” he said half-mechanically, then +added, “Is it anything particular, Doctor, or just a general breaking +up?”</p> + +<p>“Just that,” the doctor answered. “Just old age. It’s the same story +with all of us, after all. The machine is built to run about so long. +Sometimes it wears out gradually; sometimes, as in Mr. Carleton’s case, +even at the allotted age, it seems almost as good as new; and those are +the cases, where, when anything does go wrong, it’s apt to go wrong very +suddenly indeed, so that to every one the shock is proportionately +greater, and just so much harder to bear.”</p> + +<p>Again Henry Carleton nodded. “Nothing that one can do, I suppose?” he +asked, and the doctor <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span>shook his head. “No,” he answered, “practically +nothing; it’s really his own fight. I’ll leave some directions about +medicine and diet, of course, and I rather think, on the whole, though +it’s probably a needless precaution, that I’ll stay here with you for +the night. You might fix me up a sofa in his room, if you don’t mind; I +think perhaps I should feel better satisfied to stay until morning, +anyway. His heart isn’t quite what I’d like it to be.”</p> + +<p>By nine o’clock Edward Carleton seemed to be in better spirits, and to +be resting more comfortably, and neither Henry Carleton, nor, for that +matter, Doctor Morrison himself, retired with any thought of an +immediate turn for the worse. Henry Carleton, indeed, resigned himself +to sleep with all the comfort that comes from a conscience serenely at +peace with every one, and a knowledge that one’s worldly +affairs—deprecated but not despised—are going magnificently to one’s +advantage. Calmly enough he balanced his spiritual accounts with his +Creator and his fellow-men, and found that with both his credit was +good. Placidly he passed in review on matters more material, and there +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>found, if such a thing could be, his credit better still; and then, as +a good man should, dropped off to sleep with no disturbing or vexing +thoughts to mar his rest.</p> + +<p>Yet after all, the night was not destined to be a peaceful one, for +somewhere in the long, silent spaces that lie between midnight and the +dawn, the bell connecting Edward Carleton’s room with his rang once, +twice, thrice; insistent and shrill, piercing his dreams with a sudden +foreboding of evil. In a moment he was up and across the hall, to find, +in the dim light, the doctor, half-dressed, supporting the old man’s +figure, swaying as he strove to prop him against the pillows. Sharply +the doctor spoke. “On the mantel,” he cried, “my case. Quick, please. +No, come here. I’ll get it myself. Keep his head up—there—that +way—so. Just a minute, now; just a minute—”</p> + +<p>It was but the fraction of a minute, at the most, until he returned, but +in the interval the old man’s eyes had opened and had gazed at Henry +Carleton with an expression of recognition. Instantly, too, he strove to +speak, but in vain, and then, just as the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>doctor reached his side, his +eyes closed, and his head dropped back among the pillows. Edward +Carleton was dead.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>It was seven o’clock the next morning when Doctor Morrison, tired and +pale with the strain of his long, sleepless night, entered his office, +to meet Helmar just coming down the stairs. “Old Mr. Carleton’s gone, +Franz,” he said abruptly, “heart failure. He died early this morning.”</p> + +<p>Helmar glanced up quickly. “I’m very sorry indeed,” he said, “but it’s +not a surprise. I remember when I saw him I didn’t give him over six +months, or a year, at the most. His heart action was none too good even +then, and there were other things.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison nodded, then looked at him with a rather curious +expression. “Franz,” he said, “you know your friend Jack Carleton?”</p> + +<p>Helmar’s eyes met his frankly. “I was just thinking of him,” he said, +“I’m afraid it will be a terrible shock. I think he scarcely realized +that his father was failing at all. Poor old Mr. Carleton! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>And what a +difference it all makes. To think that Jack will come into his fortune +now.”</p> + +<p>Again Doctor Morrison eyed him curiously. “Come into his fortune,” he +repeated, and again Helmar looked up quickly, struck by his tone.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes,” he answered, “why not? I always understood that Jack would +have the estate on his father’s death. There’s been no change, has +there? Jack hasn’t been cut off in any way?”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison shook his head. “No,” he answered, “nothing like that, +exactly; but suppose I have nothing, and give you all I have; that +doesn’t do you such a tremendous lot of good.”</p> + +<p>Helmar’s expression sufficiently showed his astonishment. “You don’t +mean it!” he cried. “Why, that can’t be so! I always understood from +every one that Edward Carleton was a very rich man. Why, just look at +his place, for one thing; it can’t be so.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison shrugged his shoulders. “It’s the same old story,” he +said, “you know yourself how often it happens, and how surprised people +are on a man’s death to find how comparatively <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span>little he has. +Sometimes, of course, you’ll find it just reversed, and the man that’s +rated at fifty thousand dies worth half a million. But that’s the +exception, these days, and the other’s the rule. For one man that +scrapes and saves, there are a dozen who live on a big scale, spend +their income to the last cent, and maybe draw on the principal, too. And +Edward Carleton spent money very freely, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>Helmar looked entirely unconvinced. “Well, suppose he did,” he answered, +“admit that he did, even; for he did give a lot to charity and things +like that; I know that for a fact. But even then—think of the different +enterprises he was in in his day, and practically all big, successful +ones. Oh, it can’t be that he left nothing; it’s an impossibility.”</p> + +<p>Doctor Morrison shook his head. “No, sir, it’s true,” he replied, “I’m +not speculating about it; I know it positively, because I got it from +Henry Carleton’s own lips. He surely ought to know, if any one does, and +he’d hardly care to publish the fact if it wasn’t really so. He’s a most +remarkable <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span>man, Helmar. I’ve always admired him, but I don’t think I +ever really quite appreciated him before. Sometimes I seemed to find him +a little self-centered, a little too sure of himself, if you know what I +mean. But I know better now, for what he’s done in his brother’s case is +really as fine a thing as you ever heard. It seems that the old +gentleman had always managed his own affairs, but about a year ago he +came to Henry and asked him to take charge of everything for him. I +suppose he felt that he was getting a little out of touch with things, +perhaps; anyway, whether he suspected it or not, the sequel proved that +he’d managed to put matters off a little too long. He had some very +unfortunate investments, and he’d looked out for lots of other people +ahead of himself, and the long and short of it was that when the panic +blew along, it simply wiped Edward Carleton off the map.”</p> + +<p>Helmar nodded grudgingly. “Well, on those facts, I can understand it, +then,” he replied. “But I always thought he was too conservative a man +to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span>get caught in anything like that. He had plenty of company, though.”</p> + +<p>“No doubt of that,” Doctor Morrison assented, “and then what do you +suppose Henry Carleton did? Straightened out what was left of the wreck +as well as he could, told the old gentleman that everything was all +right, and has kept the estate going ever since, letting him have +whatever he wanted, right out of his own pocket, and without a word to +any one that things were any different from what they always had been. +He’s even kept on paying Jack the allowance his father gave him, and +that, too, after he and Jack had had another row, more serious than any +that had gone before. And he’d have kept on like that, he told me, if +the old gentleman had lived ten years instead of one. If that isn’t +doing one’s duty, in the best sense of the word, I’d like to have you +tell me what is.”</p> + +<p>For a moment, Helmar did not reply. To all that Doctor Morrison had said +he had listened with the closest attention. “He told you all this +himself, you say?” he queried at length.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>At once the doctor felt the unspoken criticism in his tone. “And why +not?” he retorted. “This has been a time of great strain for him, and we +were together there for the rest of the night. At a time like that a +man’s tongue is loosened perhaps a little more than usual.”</p> + +<p>Helmar made no answer, either of denial or assent. Then, after a little +while, “Does Jack know?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” the doctor answered. “There seemed nothing to be gained by +telephoning. I told Henry Carleton I’d go up at once myself.”</p> + +<p>Helmar reached for his hat. “If you don’t mind,” he said, “let me go +instead,” and Doctor Morrison, spent and weary, readily enough nodded +assent.</p> + +<p>Carleton, as Helmar entered the door of his room at the Mayflower, +turned with some surprise to greet his friend. “Why, hello, Franz,” he +cried. “What the devil brings you here?” Then noticing the look on +Helmar’s face, he added quickly, and in a very different tone, “What is +it? Anything wrong?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span>Helmar nodded. Between man and man, he was no believer in striving to +break bad news gently. “It’s your father, Jack,” he said. “He died this +morning. It was very sudden. Doctor Morrison was there. It was his +heart. There was nothing that could be done. And he didn’t suffer, Jack; +and that means a great deal.”</p> + +<p>He stopped, making no empty protestations of sympathy. Carleton, turning +on his heel, stepped quickly to the window, and stood, with his back to +Helmar, gazing blankly out into the street. Presently he turned again; +his eyes were moist; and his voice, when he spoke, was pitched low. “The +poor old Governor,” he said. “He was awfully good to me. I never +thought—I wish now—I wish somehow I’d been different with him.”</p> + +<p>With the vast freemasonry of experience Helmar divined his thoughts. “I +know, Jack,” he said, “I know how I felt when my father died. I’ve known +since, a hundred times, what sons and daughters might be to their +parents, but somehow we’re not. It’s just the fact of being young, I +suppose. We don’t understand; we don’t appreciate—until <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span>it’s too late; +and then we never can repay; only remember, I suppose, when we have +children of our own, that we’ve got to make allowances, too—”</p> + +<p>He broke off abruptly, and for a moment there was silence. Then, with +evident constraint, he spoke again. “Doctor Morrison was coming up here +himself, Jack,” he said, “but I asked him to let me come instead. There +was something I wanted to tell you especially—about the estate. Henry +has told Doctor Morrison that in the panic your father lost about +everything he had, so that practically there’s nothing left. I wanted to +tell you first—”</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded, but the expression on his face showed no new emotion. +“Thank you, Franz,” he said, “I understand, and I appreciate; you’ve +always been a good friend to me. But I don’t care about the money; it +isn’t that; I only wish—”</p> + +<p>In spite of himself his voice faltered and broke, and he again turned +hastily away, while Helmar waited in silence, scarce knowing what to do +or say. At length Carleton turned to him once more, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span>speaking as one +speaks only to a tried friend, his voice steady enough now, yet hardly +sounding like his own. “Memory’s a queer thing, Franz,” he said. “Of all +that I remember about my father, what do you suppose comes back to me +now? Something that happened almost twenty years ago, when we used to +spend our summers down at the shore. A little trivial thing, too, I +suppose any one would say. I was just a youngster then—nine or ten, +maybe—and we had two little sail-boats that were the apple of my eye. +Poor enough craft I guess they were, looking back at them now, but no +two cup defenders to-day could look to me as those two boats did then.</p> + +<p>“I wasn’t considered big enough to go out in them alone, but one +Saturday afternoon my father promised me that if Henry, when he came +down from town, would take one boat, I could take the other, and we +could have a race. As long as I live, I’ll never forget that morning. A +thousand times I looked out to where the two boats lay moored; crazy +with excitement; planning everything; the start, the course; looking at +the wind; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span>right on edge—and somehow it never even occurred to me that +Henry wouldn’t want to go. I suppose I honestly couldn’t imagine that +any man, woman or child could possibly refuse a chance to sail a boat +race.</p> + +<p>“Well, Henry arrived, and you can imagine what Henry did. He hated me +even then; I believe he’d always hated me, though of course I didn’t +realize it. Poor little rascal that I was, I’d never learned to think +about hating any one. He heard me out—I can even remember how I grabbed +hold of him as he was getting out of the station wagon, and how he shook +me off, too—and then he looked at me with a queer kind of a smile that +wasn’t really a smile—I can imagine now just what fun it must have been +for him—and said he was afraid there wasn’t wind enough to go sailing. +That was just to tantalize me—to see me argue and run out on the piazza +and point to the ripples and the big American flag on the Island waving +in the breeze—and then he had to turn away, and pretend to yawn, and +say he didn’t believe he cared to go, that anyway he was going over to +the Country Club to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>play tennis. And then he went into the house to get +ready, and left me out there on the piazza alone.</p> + +<p>“I can laugh now, and shrug my shoulders at the whole thing, but +then—why, it was black tragedy for me. I guess I was a pretty +solemn-looking little chap, swallowing hard and trying not to cry, when +my father found me there half an hour later. He’d been fishing all the +morning, I remember, and I guess he was good and tired—he hadn’t been +well that summer, anyway—and he had a cigar in his mouth, and had his +hand on the long piazza chair, just going to pull it into the shade, and +settle down with a book and a paper for a nice, quiet afternoon. I told +him, I remember, and he looked at his chair, and looked out on the +water—the sun was strong, and pretty hot, and to tell the truth, though +there was a little light air close to shore, about a quarter of a mile +out to sea it was getting rather flat—and then he looked again at his +chair, and then at me, and then he put down his book and his paper, and +drew me up to him with one hand, and gave a smile—that was a smile.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>“‘Come on, my old sailor,’ he said ‘and we’ll see if we can’t have a +little boat race of our own.’ Oh, how my heart jumped—the poor old +Governor, I think my expression must pretty nearly have paid him—and +then we toiled down over the rocks, with me hanging to his hand, the way +a kid that really likes his father will; and out we went in the skiff, +with me doing the rowing, splashing and jerking, and very proud, and +then we got up sail, and drifted around the little course for a couple +of hours—I can remember how hot it was—and of course I won. I didn’t +dream then that he let me, and perhaps, for him to hear me telling my +mother about it over and over again at the supper table—perhaps—”</p> + +<p>He stopped, unable to go on, and then, after a little pause, he added +half-wistfully, in a voice that shook in spite of him, “It’s queer, +Helmar—isn’t it?—how a little thing like that can stand out in your +memory, and so many other things you utterly forget. It’s just the—what +is the word—just the <i>kindness</i> of it—damn it all—” and +self-restraint at last giving way, he buried his face in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span>hands, and +for the first time in many a long year, cried like a child.</p> + +<p>Helmar for a moment stood still in troubled silence; then turned upon +his heel, and softly left the room.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VII" id="CHAPTER_VII"></a>CHAPTER VII</h2> + +<h3>A PARTING</h3> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox2"><p>“For of fortunes sharpe adversite,<br /> +The worst kind of infortune is this,—<br /> +A man that hath been in prosperite,<br /> +And it remember when it passed is.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Chaucer.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">M</span>arjory Graham rose from her seat as Carleton entered the room, her hand +outstretched in friendly greeting. “I’m glad you came out, Jack,” she +said, “it’s seemed like a long time.”</p> + +<p>Carleton, as he seated himself, unconsciously kept his eyes fixed on the +girl’s face, thinking to himself that he had never seen her looking +prettier, or more charming. He gave a nod of assent. “It <i>has</i> been a +long time,” he answered, “but you know how much has happened. I should +have come before, but I thought I’d wait until things were settled +first.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span>The girl looked at him, with sympathy in her glance. “I was so sorry, +Jack,” she said, “about your father.”</p> + +<p>He nodded again. “I know you were, Marjory,” he answered, “you were +always kind to him, and he valued your friendship, I know. He used to +speak to me about you, many a time. And I never dreamed—he seemed so +well—it’s so hard for me to realize, even now, that we’ll never see him +again.”</p> + +<p>There followed a moment’s silence. And then the girl spoke once more. +“And I’m sorry, Jack, about all the rest, too.”</p> + +<p>His answering glance was grateful enough, yet somehow he appeared to +wince a little at her words. “You needn’t be, Marjory,” he said, +“because I don’t deserve it. I’ve made a fool of myself. Your father +told you everything, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jack, he told me,” she answered, “I don’t think he liked doing +it—he hates talking about other people’s business—but he said you +asked him to.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I wanted him to,” Carleton assented. “I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>wanted you to know all +about it, before I came out. I thought I’d make a clean breast of +things. I’ve paid my debts, thank Heaven, but I’m left practically +without a cent; I’m no better than a beggar. And I’m living in a +lodging-house, down-town. Quite a change, all right, from the +Mayflower.”</p> + +<p>Her face clouded. “I won’t bother you with sympathy, Jack,” she said, +“if you don’t want me to; but I am awfully sorry, just the same; I’ve +thought of you so many times. And Jack,” she added, “I wish you’d +promise me to think more about yourself now. You’ve been through such a +lot, and really you don’t look well at all. You’re thin, and +tired-looking, and different—somehow—every way.”</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. What the inward change had been, he knew better than +any one else. And outwardly, indeed, he did appear more careworn, more +thoughtful, than he had ever done before. In his whole manner there was +a new poise, and a new gravity as well. “Oh, I’m all right, thanks,” he +answered, “only when you get worried, and begin not to sleep, it makes a +difference, you know. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>Thank you, though, Marjory, for being sorry. I +appreciate it more than I can say. But I didn’t mean to bother you with +all my troubles like this. I came out to tell you something different +altogether, and I find it’s awfully hard to begin.”</p> + +<p>Momentarily he paused. Intent on what he was saying, he had sat looking +straight before him, never lifting his eyes to the girl’s face. Had he +done so, he could scarcely have failed to note the expression there, a +look as if already she both knew and dreaded what it was that he wished +to say, and had it been possible, would gladly have checked the words +before he could give them utterance. But all absorbed in his desire to +express himself as he wished, Carleton still sat gazing fixedly into the +firelight, and after a pause, went on.</p> + +<p>“I wonder how I can make you understand. Did you ever have something, +Marjory, that you wanted to do very much; something that you were always +on the point of doing, and yet somehow kept putting off from day to day, +until at last something else happened that made it impossible ever to do +it at all, and left you just saying over and over to yourself, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>‘Why +didn’t I? Why didn’t I when I could?’”</p> + +<p>The girl gave a nod of assent. “Yes, Jack,” she answered, “I +understand.”</p> + +<p>“Then you’ll know what I mean,” he continued, “by what I’m going to tell +you now. It’s only this, and I think you know what it is before I say +it, even. I love you, Marjory; I always have loved you, even when you +were only a little girl. That was the trouble all along, I suppose. I +always thought of you as so young that I kept saying to myself that I +oughtn’t to bother you, that there would be plenty of time when you were +older. And then—when you <i>were</i> older—I’d got started on a foolish way +of living. I don’t really know how I began—just seemed to drift into it +somehow. And I didn’t keep on because I enjoyed it—for I didn’t—it was +just the habit of it that gripped me so I couldn’t seem to break away. +And now that I’ve come to my senses again, Marjory—now that I can come +to you, feeling that I’ve a right to tell you that I love you—why now +it’s too late. I’ve got to begin at the foot of the ladder; I can’t ask +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>you to marry me; but I want to know if you’ll wait—let me show that +I’m able to make good—give me another chance. That’s all I ask, +Marjory; all that I’ve a right to ask.”</p> + +<p>Slowly and unwillingly, her gaze met his, “Jack,” she began, “you know +the money would make no difference; I’d never think of that, of course. +It isn’t that—”</p> + +<p>She hesitated, and stopped. Carleton’s eyes sought hers with the look of +a man who feels the whole world reel beneath him.</p> + +<p>“Marjory,” he cried, “do you mean you don’t care—you don’t love me?”</p> + +<p>There was a moment’s silence. And then the girl slowly shook her head. +“No, Jack, I don’t mean that. Of course I care. I’ve always cared. You +must have known. Any time, from the day you graduated from college, up +to a year ago, if you’d come to me and asked me to marry you, I’d have +been the happiest girl you could find anywhere—”</p> + +<p>For an instant she paused, and Carleton raised his eyes to hers, as if +both knowing and dreading <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span>what her next words would be. “Well?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>“And then, Jack,” she went on, even more slowly, as if the words cost +her greater and greater effort, “you began to change. And caring isn’t +enough, Jack. For a girl really to love a man, she’s got to respect +him—and trust him. And you know how you’ve lived, Jack, for this last +year. First I only heard things—you know how girls gossip among +themselves—and each one has a brother, or a cousin or a sweetheart, who +tells her things; so first I heard, and then, little by little, I could +see for myself. I tried to think just as much of you as ever, Jack. I +pretended to laugh at the stories they told. And then there came one +night at a dance, when you weren’t yourself at all—I hate to remember +it even—and I knew then that things couldn’t go on like that; that we’d +have to come to some kind of an understanding. So I sent word by Franz +Helmar, to ask you to come out to see me that Friday night. I’d made up +my mind that we’d talk everything all over, between ourselves—about +your drinking, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>about that girl—I’d heard all people were saying; +you can’t keep those things from being known. And then, after I’d waited +and waited for you all that evening, and finally given you up—then to +come across you, the way we did, by accident, out motoring with +her—with that common girl—I don’t see how you could do it, Jack! I +don’t see how men can do things like that, and respect themselves; much +less expect other people to respect them. And you, Jack, of all +people—that was a terrible night for me. If I hadn’t cared for you—if +I didn’t care for you, Jack—I wouldn’t have minded; I wouldn’t mind +now. But for me to know that you’d been as devoted to me as you +had—that every one talked about us as if we were really engaged—and +then to know that all the time you’d been—oh, Jack, I had such faith in +you! I thought you were different from other men. I don’t see how you +could.”</p> + +<p>Carleton had sat listening, his eyes fixed on the ground, wincing under +her words. Gradually, as she spoke, a dull red flush had mounted to his +very temples, and when she ended he at once made <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>answer, speaking +rapidly, as if the words were fairly wrung, by force, from his lips. +“Don’t, Marjory!” he cried. “For God’s sake, don’t! It’s all true +enough. I’ve been selfish, thoughtless, brutal; anything you please. I +don’t know why I did it. Men are queer things, that way, I guess. +Because I loved you just as much, Marjory, all the time. I didn’t know +it then, but I do now. And it wasn’t so bad, Marjory. It was +foolishness, but that was all. The girl’s none the worse for me. Don’t +condemn me for all our lives, because I’ve failed once. Let me make my +fight. Let me show that I can be the kind of a man a girl can respect. +And then it will be all right again. You’ll marry me then, Marjory; say +that you will.”</p> + +<p>Perhaps the straightforward vehemence of his speech helped him as +nothing else could have done. The girl hesitated a moment before she +answered; and finally, half-doubtfully, shook her head. “Ah, Jack,” she +said, “<i>if</i> you would. Then things would be all right again. But would +you, Jack? <i>Can</i> you change your way of living, as you think you can? +Suppose you did, for a time. Suppose <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span>we should marry, even. And +then—if anything should happen. I’m different from most women, perhaps. +But my husband has to be <i>mine</i>, the whole of him. And if you +did—things like this—again, it would kill me, Jack. I couldn’t bear +the misery, and the shame. I want to trust you, Jack; I want to, more +than anything in the world. But can I? Would you do as you say?”</p> + +<p>Impulsively he rose, and walked over to the fireplace, leaning a hand on +the mantel, and looking down into her face. “I can’t blame you, +Marjory,” he cried, “if I would. And I won’t waste time in words. But +let me tell you what I’ll do. I’ve two chances now. One here in +town—that Henry’s got for me—it’s steady and sure, and pays fifteen +hundred a year. And the other’s to go ranching it out West, with a +fellow I used to know in college. He always wanted me, and he’ll take me +now. There’s a chance there, too; a chance to make money; a chance to +get rich, even. I’ve been hesitating—I wanted to stay, to be near +you—but I won’t delay any longer. I’ll go out there and take my chance. +It means three years, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span>anyway; maybe more. If I can come back then, with +some prospect ahead of me—if I can come back then, and tell you, on my +word of honor, that I’ve done nothing in all that time for which you +need to feel ashamed—then things would be right again, wouldn’t they? +You’d marry me, Marjory, then.”</p> + +<p>Her face had clouded as he spoke. “Ah, Jack,” she said, “it seems so +hard to have you go away like that. I don’t want you to; I’d rather have +you here. And yet—I suppose it’s best for both of us. I know you’re +right, Jack; that you ought to go, and make your fight. And I’ll trust +to what you tell me; and I’ll wait—I’ll wait three years, or twice +three years.”</p> + +<p>His face had brightened with her words. He bent over her, and took her +hand in his. “God bless you, Marjory,” he said. “I’ll go, and I’ll fight +as no man ever fought before.”</p> + +<p>For an instant longer he stood gazing down into her eyes; then turned +abruptly. A moment later the portières had rustled behind him, and then +were still.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_VIII" id="CHAPTER_VIII"></a>CHAPTER VIII</h2> + +<h3>TEMPTATION</h3> + +<div class="centerbox5 bbox2"><p>“Why comes temptation, but for man to meet<br /> +And master and make crouch beneath his foot,<br /> +And so be pedestaled in triumph?”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Browning.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">S</span>lowly and thoughtfully Carleton ascended the stairs; reached his room; +entered it; had even begun, with the mechanical force of habit, to +fumble in his pockets for a match—and then, all at once, with a sudden +shock of surprise, he awoke from his abstraction. The lamp on the center +table was already lighted, though turned low, and from the shadow +beyond, a dark figure rose, and came forward to meet him.</p> + +<p>In an instant, he had reached out his hand; the next moment, the lamp +light flooded the room; and then, as he recognized his visitor, there +swept over his face a medley of emotions—amazement, displeasure, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span>perhaps some other feeling as well. For an instant he stood motionless; +then, frowning, again stepped forward, pitching his voice little louder +than a whisper. “What the devil does this mean, Jeanne?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The girl’s lips were smiling; her eyes dancing with suppressed +amusement. Plainly enough, she was in nowise disconcerted at her +greeting, but instead met his glance with the expression of one who +feels herself mistress of the situation. She too stepped forward, until +only the width of the table separated them; then spoke, in the same low +key, half, it seemed, in real precaution, half in mocking mimicry of his +own anxious tone. “Aren’t you glad to see me, Jack?” she whispered. “I +thought you’d be so pleased.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s expression did not change, except that his frown deepened, +and his mouth grew stern. “What are you thinking of?” he said again, and +in the same tone as before. “Coming here! At this time of night! Are you +crazy, Jeanne?”</p> + +<p>Smiling still, the girl came closer, laying her hand appealingly on his +arm, and looking up into <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>his face with the innocent gaze of a child +unjustly wronged. “Now, Jack—” she began.</p> + +<p>Carleton, with a quick intake of his breath, stepped back, shaking off +the slender hand. “Drop it, Jeanne,” he said sharply. “Here—” he thrust +the arm-chair toward her, “sit down, and tell me what all this means, +and then, for God’s sake, go away!”</p> + +<p>With an amused shrug of her shoulders, the girl complied, seating +herself leisurely and comfortably, as if she were far from being in a +hurry to depart, and glanced up at him with a look charming and demure +enough to have driven away the frown which still lingered on his brow. +And then, as she made no move to speak, he broke the silence.</p> + +<p>“How on earth,” he asked, “did you get here?”</p> + +<p>She smiled back at him, her eyes dancing with mischief. “Bribery,” she +answered. “The maid at the door said it was as much as her place was +worth. I told her it was a matter of great importance—I really did it +rather well, I think—and then I told her that no one would ever know +and—persuaded her. And here I am.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>“So I perceive,” he observed dryly, and then, more gravely, “And now +what is it, Jeanne? Be quick, please. It must be close to midnight. If +any one found you here—”</p> + +<p>The girl laughed, low and mockingly. “Why, Jack,” she said, “how awfully +moral we’ve grown. You never used to be so particular about appearances. +Don’t you remember—”</p> + +<p>He held up a silencing hand. “I remember a great many things, Jeanne. We +had our good times, and we enjoyed them, too. But they’re all gone by +for me, my dear. If you dance, you’ve got to pay the piper. That’s the +truest thing that ever was said. And I’m paying him now. You heard all +about the smash, of course. And you know that I’m a poor man. My +sporting days are over, for good and all.”</p> + +<p>The girl nodded. For the first time, the smile had left her face, and +her tone, when she spoke, was as grave as his own. “I know all about it, +Jack,” she said, “it isn’t the money I care about. I thought it +was—once—but it wasn’t; it was you. And you haven’t sent me word now +for so <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>long. And I wrote you, and you never answered. And then—I was +lonesome, and so—I came.”</p> + +<p>He looked back at her steadily. “I didn’t put things quite right, +Jeanne,” he said, “I didn’t mean that it was wholly because I didn’t +have money any more. That is part of it, I guess, but there’s more to it +than just that. I’m sorry for a lot of foolish things I’ve done, and I +mean to quit them.”</p> + +<p>She raised her eyebrows at the words, and a new expression came over her +face. “Oh,” she said. “I see. So going around with me was foolish, was +it? That’s strange. You didn’t seem to think so, when you were doing it, +Jack.”</p> + +<p>If she had expected to hear him withdraw his words, she was +disappointed. “You don’t understand me, Jeanne,” he said, “there was no +question about my enjoying it. I didn’t mean that. I enjoyed it too +much—that was all. But that doesn’t alter the fact that it was +foolishness for both of us. It was all my fault. It was only because I +got used to seeing you around the place, out at The Birches, and you +were so pretty, and so nice, that I wasn’t strong enough to resist +temptation. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>And we had some great old times together. Don’t think I’ve +turned preacher all at once, because I haven’t. We had some bully times, +and I shall always remember them. But I was injuring you, Jeanne, and I +was injuring myself, too. We were going ahead with something that could +turn out only one way—we were playing the devil’s pet game. And I thank +God we pulled up in time.”</p> + +<p>The girl stiffled a little yawn; then smiled up at him more brightly +than before, motioning, as she did so, to the arm of the chair. “You +<i>have</i> turned preacher, Jack,” she said. “Don’t do it any more, please; +it’s so stupid. And don’t stand, either. There’s lots of room.”</p> + +<p>He shook his head. There came into her eyes a gleam of something other +than mirth, and as she spoke, she raised her voice a trifle. “Sit down, +Jack,” she said again.</p> + +<p>Carleton threw an anxious glance over his shoulder, and then, +unwillingly enough, drew up to the table the only other chair in the +room. Again the gleam flashed, far back in her eyes, and once more she +tapped on the arm of the chair. “Sit here,”<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>she said imperiously, and heedful, not of the words, but of the tone, he +obeyed.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 325px;"> +<img src="images/i149.jpg" class="ispace" width="325" height="500" alt="“Jack,” she murmured, “have I changed?”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“Jack,” she murmured, “have I changed?”—Page <a href="#Page_145">145</a></span> +</div> + +<p>At once her slender hand had stolen into his. “Look at me, Jack,” she +commanded, and reluctantly enough he gazed down into the face that in +the past had fascinated him beyond his strength. As if in a silent trial +of their wills, her eyes held his, “Jack,” she murmured, “have I +changed?”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s teeth came together sharply; unconsciously the hand that held +hers tightened so that she gave a little cry of pain, before it again +relaxed. “No,” he muttered hoarsely, “only you’re prettier than ever, +Jeanne.”</p> + +<p>Her other hand crept upward until it rested on his shoulder; still her +eyes were fixed on his, and still he did not look away. And then, “Ah, +Jack,” she whispered, “you foolish boy! What did you think, anyway? That +I thought you’d marry me? Of course I didn’t. I wanted a good time too. +‘Only end one way,’ Jack. Of course. That was the way I <i>wanted</i> it to +end. That’s why I came here to-night, Jack, dear—”</p> + +<p>At last he had wrenched his eyes free from her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>gaze. “Don’t Jeanne!” he +cried. “Don’t—” but she clung the closer to him.</p> + +<p>“Jack,” she said, as though not understanding, “Jack, what’s changed +you? Don’t you want me?” and then, her whole tone altering in one +instant’s flash, “There’s some one else, then,” she cried. “You were +never like this before. Isn’t there, Jack? Isn’t there?”</p> + +<p>Once more he met her glance. “Yes, Jeanne,” he said, very low, “there +is.”</p> + +<p>On the instant, her eyes flamed; instinctively she drew back, and +Carleton, freed from her grasp, started to his feet. She rose also, +quivering from head to foot.</p> + +<p>“It’s that Graham girl!” she cried. “That doll! Don’t do it Jack! Don’t +marry her! She’d never love you the way I would. Don’t do it, Jack! We +can have such a good time. I’ve got some money; we can get more. We can +go abroad together. You’ve made me love you, Jack; you can’t cast me off +now. It isn’t fair. I’m not asking much. You can have me Jack, the whole +of me—as long as you want me—and then, when you’re <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>tired of me, you +can leave me, and go your way. Jack, please—”</p> + +<p>She stood there, breathing quick and hard, and gazing at him with such a +look on her face that half against his will, he stepped forward, and +took her hand in his. “Jeanne,” he said, “God knows I’m sorry. I never +meant things to end like this; I never thought you really cared. But I +can’t do what you say. It <i>is</i> Marjory Graham; I’ve asked her to marry +me, and I’ve promised her, this very night, to live straight from now +on. Don’t think it’s easy for me, dear; it isn’t. Don’t think I don’t +appreciate—everything. But we wouldn’t be happy, Jeanne—either of us. +It wouldn’t be right; it wouldn’t be square; we’d both regret—we +mustn’t do it, Jeanne. I’m sorry, from the bottom of my heart, if I’ve +hurt you; but I never meant it. You must go your way, Jeanne; and I must +go mine.”</p> + +<p>Even as he spoke, his heart smote him. The girl stood, her eyes cast +down, her breast heaving—“My way,” she muttered, half under her breath. +“My way; oh, God!” and then, slowly and uncertainly, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span>she lifted her +eyes to his and Carleton saw that they were filled with tears. For the +first time she seemed to realize her dismissal, and to accept it. “Very +well,” she said wearily, “I’ll go,” and then, after a pause, “kiss me, +Jack.”</p> + +<p>Carleton bent and kissed her; then, almost roughly, released her, and as +she turned away, stood silent, with averted face, not daring to trust +himself to look.</p> + +<p>The silence deepened. Then, very softly, the door closed. He raised his +eyes. He was alone in the room. Like a man physically spent, he threw +himself down into the arm-chair, and buried his face in his hands.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_IX" id="CHAPTER_IX"></a>CHAPTER IX</h2> + +<h3>THREE YEARS LATER</h3> + +<div class="centerbox6 bbox2"><p>“Ay me, how many perils do enfold the righteous man!”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Spenser.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">A</span>cross the rampart of his desk Henry Carleton gazed regretfully at his +visitor; then once again shook his head. “I’m sorry, Van Socum,” he +said, “I hate to refuse such a call, and I hate to refuse you of all +men. A year ago I should have felt differently, but now as you know, +we’re in the midst of hard times, and first and last, one has to meet so +many demands. I’m afraid I shall really have to ask you to excuse me. +But I’m sorry, though; extremely sorry; I only wish I felt able to +respond. Perhaps some time a little later—”</p> + +<p>Slowly the Reverend William Van Socum nodded his head. From his general +appearance—his bland, plump, rosy face; his stout, well-fed little +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>body; his ultra correct ministerial garb—one would scarcely have +divined his really unusual talents. For the Reverend William Van Socum +was the man whose remarkable ability to assist his church in a certain +deprecated, but much needed and excessively practical department of its +activities, had gained for him among his clerical associates the title, +bestowed in ungrudging admiration, of “The Painless Separator.”</p> + +<p>And now, while the gentle inclination of his head was meant to convey +the most sympathetic understanding, at the same time he made no move to +rise, but on the contrary kept his seat, and unflinchingly returned +Henry Carleton’s gaze. For Van Socum’s pride was touched. He had made up +his mind, before entering the great man’s office, that its doors should +not again be closed behind him until in the neat little space opposite +Henry Carleton’s name he had seen inserted the pleasantly round sum of +five hundred dollars. And now to all appearances he had met a foeman +worthy of his steel—of his brass, possibly some envious detractor might +have preferred to say—a man every whit as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>smooth and polished as +himself, a man who was both ready and able to defend his little garrison +of beleaguered dollars with a skill of fence and a completeness of +repulse which could not but arouse Van Socum’s somewhat unwilling +admiration. Accustomed to success as he had become, defeat seemed now +well-nigh assured. Whimsically he thought of the ancient problem of the +irresistible force and its contact with the immovable body, and as an +afterthought he added grudgingly to himself, “This man’s wasted in +business; he ought to be one of us.”</p> + +<p>But these, of course, were thoughts merely. Outwardly, the reverend +gentleman gave no sign that he dreaded, or even expected, a refusal. His +little oily professional smile was as winning and as confident as ever. +Yet he realized that he was dealing with a busy man, and prudently +determined, while the chance yet remained to him, to play his last card +without delay.</p> + +<p>“I understand, my dear Mr. Carleton,” he exclaimed, “I perfectly +understand. For a man like yourself, a man of your standing in the +community, none can realize better than I what a tax these constant +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>demands must be, on patience and on pocket-book as well.” He paused for +just the veriest instant, inwardly to smack his lips; he loved a +well-turned phrase, above all if it had about it a flavor of +alliteration, and “On patience and on pocket-book as well” struck him as +distinctly good. Then, with a swift return to business methods,</p> + +<p>“But I did feel, Mr. Carleton, that this time you would favor us. The +project of the new altar seems to have made a wide appeal to all those +most interested in the beautifying of our beloved church, and +example—the example, let us say, of a man of your type, Mr. +Carleton—does mean so much to some of the weaker brethren. Not every +one, perhaps, realizes this, but I myself know it to be a matter of the +greatest consequence, and it was this same power of example that I had +in mind when I arranged to have the preliminary list made public +to-morrow in six of the leading dailies. And for my part, I can see +nothing out of the way in such a proceeding. The press and the +pulpit—or rather, let us say, the pulpit and the press—why should they +not proceed together hand in hand, so that all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>things, spiritual and +secular, may at last work together for good. That, at least, is my +conception of it. And the papers have been very kind. Almost invariably, +I think I may say. To a laborer in the vineyard, to one who bears the +burden and heat of the day, it is gratifying—I must confess it—very +gratifying indeed.”</p> + +<p>He spoke but the truth, as Henry Carleton well knew. The Reverend +William Van Socum had the reputation of being the greatest +ecclesiastical advertiser in the city. Just how he did it, none but +himself seemed to know, yet stony-hearted editors and impervious +reporters were but as wax in his hands. “The pulpit and the press” was +not simply another of his favorite catch-words; it meant something +substantial as well. Hand in hand they traveled, in very truth, and it +was the bland and smiling Van Socum who managed to unite them in this +touching amity.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” he said reminiscently, “six of the leading dailies. And good +position in all of them, too. It’s a splendid thing for us. So far the +Honorable Samuel Rogers has made the largest individual +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span>subscription—two hundred and fifty dollars—and his name at the head +of the list will of course mean a great deal. We consider that he has +acted very handsomely. But—” the smile again appeared, like the sun +from behind the clouds, deprecating, wistful, with just a hint of gentle +reproach, and oily enough to have turned an ocean into calm—“but above +that of Mr. Rogers we had hoped to have one other name, one other name +still more widely and—if you will pardon me—still more favorably known +than even that of Mr. Rogers himself.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton looked, as he felt, a trifle uncomfortable. “I deplore,” +he said, a little stiffly, “any publicity in such matters. The right +hand, and the left, Van Socum, you know.”</p> + +<p>Occasionally an expert boxer, for some reason of his own, will leave +himself unguarded, purposely to invite a blow. With joy the Reverend +William Van Socum foresaw the beginning of the end. “True! true!” he +cried, “as far as the giver is concerned. But for the effect on others, +Mr. Carleton. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>That is where you are in error. Let your light so shine! +That is the injunction which covers the case. The shining light, Mr. +Carleton! The shining light!”</p> + +<p>The blow sped home. Henry Carleton meekly inclined his head, as it +seemed, a willing sacrifice. “I deplore publicity—” he again began, but +his tone was feebler by far; and then he added, metaphorically throwing +up the sponge, “in six papers, did you say?”</p> + +<p>Van Socum bore his honors modestly. “Six,” he answered, again producing +the subscription book from his pocket, “six; and excellent position in +all. And of course our own paper, <i>The Flaming Torch</i>, which in itself +has a circulation by no means contemptible. Let me see. Five hundred, +Mr. Carleton? A thousand, perhaps, would be almost too large a sum.”</p> + +<p>Inwardly Henry Carleton was returning the compliment the Reverend Doctor +had just paid to him. “This fellow,” he thought, “is thrown away on the +church. I could use a man like him to excellent <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span>advantage.” “Yes,” he +answered, “five hundred, I think. I shouldn’t wish to be criticized on +the score of ostentation.”</p> + +<p>The victor drew out his pencil; then, almost in the act of writing, +paused, as if suddenly recalling something to mind.</p> + +<p>“By the way, Mr. Carleton,” he asked, “did some one tell me the other +day that your nephew had returned from the West?”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton’s face was expressionless. “Yes,” he answered, “he is +back. He has been in town several days.”</p> + +<p>Van Socum nodded amiably. “How very pleasant!” he said smoothly. “He +is—improved—I trust?”</p> + +<p>A slight frown seemed to hover about the banker’s brow. He appeared to +place a curb on his speech. “Greatly, thank you,” he answered briefly.</p> + +<p>The clerical smile again burst into bloom. “So glad; so very glad to +hear it,” he murmured; then continued brightly, “but I felt sure that it +would be so. There was such a field for it. When he left us, one might +almost have dared to uproot the tares <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>without feeling that the wheat +would be in danger. So glad—so very glad.”</p> + +<p>He paused a moment; then, as if tentatively feeling his way toward a +possible germ for a sermon, he moralized, “Three years! How swiftly time +passes us by! What changes it brings to us all! To you—to me—to your +nephew—” He stopped abruptly, his ideas swinging suddenly into another +channel, “And speaking of the passage of time, Mr. Carleton, what a +change it has brought in your daughter, Rose! I remember her as a +charming child, and behold, I met her the other afternoon at a little +tea—why, Mr. Carleton, I assure you I could scarcely believe my eyes. A +young lady—grown-up, self-possessed, a half-dozen young men around her. +Why, I was amazed. The passage of time—”</p> + +<p>He half paused; perhaps, if the truth were told, Henry Carleton half +broke in upon him. “Yes,” the banker agreed, “it passes, as you say. And +it’s valuable, Van Socum. We can’t afford to waste it, any of us.”</p> + +<p>The minister smiled—forgivingly—and bending <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span>over his book, he +wrote—yet did not at once vanish. Of a man so comfortably portly, of a +plumpness so suggestive of a certain counterpart in the animal creation, +perhaps that could hardly have been expected. Instead he rose slowly, +beaming on his conquered antagonist. “By their fruits—” he murmured.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton nodded, handing the check across the desk. “Exactly,” he +said dryly. “By the way, Van Socum, I heard a capital story the other +day. It was told—this time—about a man high up in municipal office. +‘Is that fellow Blank,’ asked some one who didn’t know just what +position he really occupied, ‘is that fellow Blank a politician—or just +a <i>common thief</i>?’ Good, wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>The Reverend William Van Socum laughed heartily. “Oh, capital,” he +cried, and then, casually, he added, “you say that was told about a +politician?”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton met his glance. “Yes,” he answered, “that time—it was +told about a politician. Well, good-by, Van Socum; call again. Always +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>glad to see you, you know, at any time. Good-by.”</p> + +<p>Half way to the door Van Socum turned. “Oh, by the way, Mr. Carleton,” +he said, “are any of these rumors that I hear true, by any chance? Are +you going to give your friends an opportunity in the near future to see +you reaping still further and still higher honors? Or is it merely +gossip? For my part, I most sincerely hope that it’s all true.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton’s expression and tone were alike inscrutable. “Thank you +very much, I’m sure,” he returned, “but really I’m not at liberty to +talk just now.”</p> + +<p>Van Socum nodded. “I perfectly understand,” he answered. “Well, in any +event I shall hope. And don’t forget, Mr. Carleton, the shining light. +It’s most important. Good-by,” and a little hastily he passed from the +room, with a certain satisfied feeling that verbal honors were at least +easy, and that from the field of more practical warfare he had again +returned a triumphant victor.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Henry Carleton, smiling a little to himself, once more +leaned comfortably back in his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>chair. As he sat there, the waning +sunlight, slanting through the tall window, fell pleasantly upon him, +lighting up the dark, black-bearded face, with the full red lips, and +the keen and scrutinizing eyes. A noticeable man, in almost any company, +he would have been, and justly so as well. Doing many things, he did +them all with skill. And still, in spite of the activities in which he +was actually engaged, his friends were wont to talk of the many other +things he might have done—living his life over for him in retrospect, +as people will—and it was significant of his many-sidedness to note the +different views which different people held of him. Some said that the +bar had been robbed of a great lawyer, others that the universities had +lost a great teacher and instructor of youth, others still, like Mr. Van +Socum, that the church alone should rightfully have claimed his great +talents. No one, perhaps, had ever suggested that the stage had lost a +great actor.</p> + +<p>And now, not satisfied with the active benevolence that he had just +displayed, Henry Carleton was passively showing the same praiseworthy +spirit <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>which actuated his every deed and word. His day’s work was done. +It was ten minutes after five, and there seemed to be no possible reason +why he should longer wait for the young man with whom he had made an +appointment at five o’clock sharp. Adding to the fact that the young man +was late, the further information that Henry Carleton felt tolerably +sure he was coming to ask some sort of favor of him, we behold the +heights to which it is possible for a man to rise.</p> + +<p>Even patience, however, has its definite limits, and at a quarter past +five Henry Carleton snapped his watch with a click, and had one hand +already outstretched to close the top of his desk, when the clerk +knocked, and opened the door far enough to announce Mr. Vaughan. Henry +Carleton nodded, sighed, again leaned back in his chair, and +relinquished the idea of getting the five-thirty home.</p> + +<p>A moment later Arthur Vaughan entered the office with the rather +breathless haste of the man who is thoroughly aware that to keep a great +financier waiting for a quarter of an hour is an offense not lightly to +be condoned. Indeed, about his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span>whole manner, in spite of his thirty +years, there was still something boyish and deprecating, the air of a +man who is perhaps too modest, too slow to assert himself, yet who, if +these be faults, is perhaps all the more likable for possessing them.</p> + +<p>He came quickly forward. “I’m awfully sorry, Mr. Carleton,” he began, “I +know I’m late; but really I couldn’t help it.”</p> + +<p>There may have been something a little less cordial than usual in the +manner in which Henry Carleton shook the young man’s proffered hand. Yet +his voice, when he answered, was politeness itself. Early in life he had +made it his invariable rule to treat every man who had once crossed the +threshold of his office with complete and unvarying courtesy, until he +had found out exactly what the visitor’s business might be. After that, +there was of course room for wider discretion. And so now, “Don’t +mention it,” he said; “a trifle late, perhaps, but never mind. And what +may I be able to do for you, Mr. Vaughan?”</p> + +<p>Once seated, Vaughan appeared to be even more ill at ease than before. +His eyes were fixed on the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span>floor. His hat revolved aimlessly and +sheepishly enough between his nervous fingers. “Why,” he began, “why, +the fact is, Mr. Carleton—you see what I wanted to tell you about—you +see—” and then he came to a full and embarrassed stop.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton, through a long and varied experience, was nothing if not +a shrewd reader of men. The same awkward hesitation, the same +nervousness, the same half-cringing expression; he had seen them all +displayed many times before by men who had sat there in the inner office +in the selfsame seat which Vaughan was occupying now. And nine times out +of ten it all meant but one thing. In the brief pause analysis and +deduction in his mind were practically one. Vaughan’s manner showed +embarrassment. Vaughan was a would-be literary man. All would-be +literary men, in greater or less degree, were poor. Vaughan, presuming +on a rather slight acquaintanceship, had come to borrow money. The whole +matter was painfully plain.</p> + +<p>And then, even at the very instant when Henry Carleton had sorrowfully, +but with philosophy, arrived at this inevitable conclusion, Vaughan, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>drawing a long breath, at last found his tongue. “Why,” he said, +speaking with a seeming boldness and hardihood which in reality were but +the result of the most extreme embarrassment, “it’s like this, Mr. +Carleton; I want to marry Rose.”</p> + +<p>The proverbial bombshell, exploding at Henry Carleton’s feet, could +hardly have made the same havoc with his body that Vaughan’s few words +managed to create in his mind. And yet, to his credit be it said, his +habitual self-control now stood him in such stead that after the one +first uncontrollable glance of sheer surprise, he at once contrived to +conceal not only his amazement, but as well any other feeling that might +have been agitating his soul. And in another moment, indeed, he had even +successfully achieved a very fair imitation of a jocular smile. “Rose,” +he echoed, “my daughter Rose! Why, you’re joking with me, my dear +fellow. She’s not eighteen yet. She’s a child.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan, now that the worst was over, did not seem to be properly +disconcerted at the reply. “Oh, I know she’s quite young,” he answered +readily <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>enough, “but that doesn’t seem to make any particular +difference. We’re both prepared for a long engagement. I’m not well off, +in the least. It’s bound to be some time before I could dream of +providing for her in any proper way at all. But I love her, Mr. +Carleton—as much, I think, as any man could—and she loves me, and we +think, after all, that’s the main thing. The other details we’ll work +out somehow, I guess.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton had now perfectly regained his self-possession. He gazed +at the young man with benevolence in his eye. “Yes, yes,” he assented, a +little dreamily, “love, of course; that’s the great essential. With that +I thoroughly agree. And yet, while with me Rose’s wishes are the first +consideration—no, rather I should say the only consideration—still, as +I understand you to say yourself, it must equally be a point of proper +pride with every man to know that he is earning an honest living, amply +sufficient for all future needs. I take it that you would hardly quarrel +with that, Mr. Vaughan?”</p> + +<p>To Vaughan it appeared that he was progressing <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>famously. “No, indeed,” +he cried readily enough, “I should say not. That’s the first thing to +consider, of course. But I think I’m going to be able to solve that +difficulty in a short time now. I think I’m fairly on my way to a little +luck at last. You know, of course, Mr. Carleton, in any of the arts it +isn’t exactly the same proposition for a man as if he’d chosen a +business career. There, if he gets a start, and then sticks to his job, +and shows any kind of ability at all, after a while he’s almost certain +to get somewhere or other. But with any of the arts—that’s the chance a +man takes when he turns his back on the solid, steady kind of +things—you can work along for a devil of a while, putting in the very +best that’s in you, too, and yet you always stand a good chance of not +arriving at all, or, if you do, perhaps not till two or three hundred +years after you’re dead. And of course, while even that, in a sense, is +very gratifying, still it’s hardly practical. Dining late, but in select +company, in Landor’s phrase, is all very well, if you can afford it, but +the majority of us poor fellows have to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>dine in the middle of the day. +The other thing’s a luxury we can’t afford.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton nodded. “Quite so, quite so,” he said, “I know something +of that myself. I thoroughly appreciate all the difficulties in the way +of combining devotion to art with a large income. It’s one of the least +gratifying things about our life of the present day. And still, too, +each year I believe the artist is coming more and more fully into his +own. But you were going to say—about your immediate prospects—”</p> + +<p>Vaughan flushed a little. “I didn’t mean to ramble on into so long a +preface,” he said, “I’m afraid it was nothing but a desire to excuse +myself, anyway. However, here’s where I think I really have a chance at +last. I’ve written a book—a novel—and it’s in the hands of Small and +White now. Of course I needn’t tell you what it would mean to have their +imprint on a book—it would be half the battle to start with. And I’ve +been able to get a little information in a roundabout way, so that I +have some idea of what’s happening. I know <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span>the book has got by the +preliminary stages, anyway; I know that they’re really considering it +seriously, and that is something in its favor. But I’m hoping for more +than that; I’m hoping that they will really accept it, and launch it in +good style; and if they do, why—I know of course you’ll think I’m +conceited and over-fond of myself to say such a thing—but, with all +sincerity, Mr. Carleton, I think the book would be a success; I think it +makes an approach to something like literary merit. Oh, if I could once +get my start—get some pretext for thinking that I had a right to put +more and more time into writing, and less and less into what is really +only the merest hack work, that has to be done so hastily and +superficially that in the end it would kill any man’s style—then I’d +work as nobody ever worked before—I’d kill myself to learn to write as +I want to write—”</p> + +<p>He broke off suddenly, his hands clenched, his face ablaze with the +passion of the artist who craves to express in concrete form the dreams +and visions that float athwart his brain. Henry Carleton sat regarding +him narrowly, his face expressionless, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>but when he spoke, his tone +could hardly have been kinder or more sympathetic.</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes, I understand your feeling exactly,” he said, “and your +ambition is a most worthy one. I’m delighted to hear about the book, and +if you will allow me to do so, I should be very happy to try to help a +little. There are one or two ways that occur to me off-hand—understand +me, of course,—ways perfectly legitimate and businesslike in every +particular, in which I think a word from me with Small and White might +at least do no harm. Won’t you try to get me a list of the men who do +their reading for them? We’ll leave no stone unturned that properly may +be turned to give your effort a fair show. Rose’s happiness is my +happiness, and to see you in a position when you may rightfully pay your +addresses to her—that I most earnestly desire. And in the meantime, you +must come out to The Birches—let me see—come out to-morrow night, +won’t you, and dine with us? Jack’s coming, and another man, I think. I +shall be delighted to have you join us, and I think, after what you have +told me, I may safely answer for Rose.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span>He rose as he finished speaking, extending his hand in farewell. +Vaughan, rising also, could only stammer his thanks. “You’re too kind, +altogether, Mr. Carleton,” he managed to say. “I know how any word from +you would meet with the most respectful consideration from Small and +White. It would help immensely. And as for to-morrow night, nothing +could please me more. And how is Jack? I haven’t seen him since he got +back from the West.”</p> + +<p>“Jack is greatly improved, I think,” Henry Carleton answered, as it +seemed to Vaughan, a trifle shortly, “however, you’ll see him to-morrow +night, and can judge for yourself.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded. “I’m glad to hear it,” he said. “I got the impression +from his letters that he was doing far better in every way, and I’m +awfully glad if it’s so. Well, I must go, Mr. Carleton. You’ve been very +kind to take everything the way you have. I know, of course, in one way, +at least, what a disappointment this must be for you. I don’t care such +a lot myself. Family trees and all that never meant such a great deal to +me, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span>money bags even less, but for Rose’s sake, why, I wish I were +the wealthiest man in the world, and the most aristocratic; she ought to +have everything that a girl can have. So you’re awfully good not to make +a row.”</p> + +<p>Again Henry Carleton smiled. “Nonsense,” he said heartily, “those things +make no difference with me, either. You’ve chosen a great career, and +all we must do now is to make success assured, so that you can come to +me as I know you want to come, saying, ‘Mr. Carleton, I’m earning a fair +living; I can keep your daughter from want; I wish to marry her.’ That’s +the way you’ll be coming some day, and you’ll find no one more ready to +congratulate you than I. Good-by again; good-by.”</p> + +<p>As Vaughan left the office, Carleton slowly reseated himself. “Strange,” +he murmured, “a prospective son-in-law in young Vaughan, and I never +even dreamed of it. Very prospective, too; that’s one comfort; and he +seems actually to believe he may succeed in a literary career. Odd, what +a time youth is for such dreams. He seems rather an inoffensive young +man, at least; plastic, I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>should imagine, and rather easy to influence, +if one only goes about it in the right way. That, I judge, is his weak +point; that, and too great a tendency to confide in others. Due, I +suppose, to the lack of a sound business training.” He sat silently for +some moments, then repeated thoughtfully, “The lack of a sound business +training,” and reached for the telephone. And then, a moment later, “Is +Mr. Cummings in? Oh, it’s you, is it, Jim? Want to run over for a +moment? Important? Yes, I should call it so. Thank you. Good-by,” and +restoring the receiver to its hook, he gave himself up to earnest +thought.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_X" id="CHAPTER_X"></a>CHAPTER X</h2> + +<h3>THE BIRCHES AGAIN</h3> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox2"><p>“The ancient grudge I bear him.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Shakespeare.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span>pposite the gateway of the Eversley train, the three men stood grouped +together, with growing impatience awaiting Jack Carleton’s arrival. The +gilded hands of the big clock, embedded in the solid masonry of the +station wall, now pointed to three minutes of five; the Eversley “flyer” +left at five precisely; and the long train was filling more rapidly each +instant. Henry Carleton’s tone plainly enough showed his displeasure. +“Whatever else it may have done for him,” he observed, “I can’t see that +a residence in Montana has improved Jack’s habits of punctuality. +Perhaps, Vaughan, you wouldn’t mind waiting here for him and letting us +go ahead and make sure of getting seats. What do you say, Cummings?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span>Cummings nodded with alacrity. He was a man between thirty and +thirty-five, tall and heavily built. His face, while rather of the +bulldog type, yet to the eye of the careful observer seemed to disclose +a certain weakness under the outward show of strength. His complexion +was of a vivid red, plentifully ornamented with those souvenirs which +come at length as badges of distinction to those who have had the +perseverance to drink hard and steadily over a long enough term of +years. His hair was very black and very curly; his tie perfectly matched +his complexion; and his clothes, though of excellent make and cut, yet +seemed a little obtrusive as well, as if the effort at gentility had +been somehow overdone. Possibly several small trifles in his +apparel—the conspicuously high polish on his shoes, the violet-bordered +corner of the immaculate handkerchief, just visible above the breast +pocket of his coat, the pair of very new tan gloves that he carried in +his left hand—all proclaimed something of the inner man; a man not +lacking in a certain force and aggressiveness, even in a kind of +blustering self-assertion and desire for recognition, yet one who still +realized <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span>with vague discomfort, that there was something wrong about +him. Jim Cummings was far from being a fool. He was well-versed in the +ways of the city; had “been around,” had “seen life;” was altogether a +pretty shrewd and capable young man. And yet—spite of all—there was +still a mysterious something somewhere lacking. To save his soul, he +could not have told what it was. Perhaps Henry Carleton could.</p> + +<p>“What do I say?” he echoed. “Sure, Mr. Carleton; suit me fine. Just as +cheap to sit down as to stand, you know. Sure, let’s get along.”</p> + +<p>In thus voicing his delight, it chanced that he spoke the truth, as +sometimes, indeed, he was wont to do. Merely to be seen alone with Henry +Carleton, in what would doubtless have been his phrase, “meant a lot” to +him. And to have an hour’s ride with this versatile man of affairs, who +had made a great name for himself in “straight” business, in the stock +market, and in politics; who was possessed of “inside information”; who, +if he chose, could give a friend a “straight tip”; and who had now been +kind enough again to ask him out to spend the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span>night, as on two or three +memorable occasions he had done before; why, this was a chance that +might well “mean a lot” to him in more senses than one.</p> + +<p>Arthur Vaughan, no great admirer of Cummings, appeared, as indeed he +was, equally well pleased at Henry Carleton’s words. “Yes, indeed,” he +assented cordially, “don’t run the risk of missing a seat, Mr. Carleton. +I remember Jack’s habits of old. You go right along, and I’ll wait here +for him.”</p> + +<p>Forthwith the two men took their departure, and Vaughan, waiting until +only a scant half minute remained, was just on the point of leaving his +post, when he espied Carleton threading his way hastily through the +crowd. With only the briefest of greetings, they swung aboard the rear +car, by good fortune found the one remaining vacant seat, and then +Vaughan turned and slowly surveyed his friend from head to foot. At once +he gave a quick smile of satisfaction. “Well, Jack,” he said, “you are +looking fit. I don’t think you ever looked better in your life.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, pretty fair, thanks,” Carleton answered, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span>but his appearance, +indeed, far more than bore out his words. He had regained and increased +the physical vigor of his college days. He was broader, thicker, more +solidly built, with an impression of reserve strength which he had +lacked before. Nor did the change stop there. In face and feature, in +his manner, in his whole bearing, there had come a change, and a change, +too, in every way for the better. In his expression, the old uncertainty +of purpose had given place to a look of determined resolve; in his +manner there was a new alertness, a new interest; from his eyes and +mouth a certain indescribable something had vanished, leaving them +pleasantly frank and wholesome.</p> + +<p>With a pleased laugh, Vaughan looked down at his friend’s big brown +hand, and placed his own, white and slender, beside it. “I guess,” he +said, “if it came to a fight, Jack, you could probably manage to lick +me.”</p> + +<p>Carleton smiled, and with equal interest returned Vaughan’s gaze. To +him, Vaughan appeared scarcely to have changed at all. About him there +was something of the man who is given to habitual <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span>overwork, yet +otherwise, in his rather delicate way, he looked healthy and vigorous, +and his face itself was still as pleasant and as kindly as of old. +Carleton shook his head. “I don’t think there will be any fight, +Arthur,” he said, “my fighting days are over. I’ve learned that much +since I went away. I’ve come to believe that they don’t pay—fights of +any kind.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded, quick to take his meaning. “Good,” he answered, “I’m +mighty glad to hear it, Jack.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s glance had been roaming up and down the aisle. “By the way,” +he said, “where’s the rest of our merry party? Where’s my respected +uncle? And wasn’t there somebody else he was going to bring out with +him?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s eyes searched the car in vain. “I guess Mr. Carleton’s up +ahead,” he returned, “probably in the smoker with Cummings.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton frowned. “Cummings?” he queried, “which Cummings? Jim?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Jim,” Vaughan assented, “why? Know him?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>Carleton nodded. “Yes, I know him, all right.” From his tone it would +have been possible to draw the inference that his opinion of Cummings +was scarcely favorable. But when, after a pause, he turned again to his +friend, it was not of Cummings, but of Henry Carleton that he spoke. +“And how’s Henry been standing it?” he asked. “I’ve hardly heard +anything, you see, for practically three years now. I’m away behind the +times.”</p> + +<p>“Why,” Vaughan answered, “he’s a bigger man than ever, Jack. I guess I’m +pretty well posted on him. Being on the paper, you know, you pick up a +lot. He’s a power on the Street now, and he’s been making big strides in +politics, besides. Some folks think he’s right in line for the vacancy +in the United States senatorship. And I’m not sure but what it’s so, +too. Then he’s doing more for charity now than he used to. He gave five +thousand at one crack the other day to something or other—a musical +conservatory, I think it was. And he does a lot here at Eversley. The +people out this way think he’s just about right. Gave a thousand last +month to the Eversley library, they say. Oh, I tell you it’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span>good to +see a man on the crest of the wave who still has an eye for the poor +devils down in the hollow;” he paused for a moment, then added, with a +smile, “of whom I have the honor to be one, Jack. You know I haven’t +made more than a million out of reporting. It’s funny, but journalists +don’t seem to get appreciated in the salary line. But then, I oughtn’t +to complain. I’ve made a living, and kept out of debt, and if I hadn’t +had the folks down home to look after, I might have had a little put by, +too. I’m not discouraged, either. I still consider it a privilege to be +alive, and not to be kicked.</p> + +<p>“But I was going to tell you about Mr. Carleton, and what he’s going to +do for me. I’ve written a novel that I’m trying to get published, and +he’s going to help me. I don’t mean, of course, that such things don’t +go strictly on their merits, but still, even then, a friend at court +doesn’t do any harm. I’ve seen a lot of it, or I wouldn’t talk that way. +There’s an inside story, I’ve come to believe, and an inside track, in +everything, even in art, where of all places there shouldn’t be. Not +always, of course, but, I believe, oftener than you’d think. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span>And Mr. +Carleton’s surprisingly well known, everywhere. I’ve been amazed at it. +I can’t for the life of me see how he manages to get the time for all +his different interests, but he does it somehow, and what’s more +remarkable still, he contrives to do everything well. His last bit of +literary criticism in <i>Cosmopolis</i> was really excellently done. It’s +been well spoken of everywhere. So now that he’s going to turn to and +help, I’m immensely encouraged.”</p> + +<p>For a moment or two Carleton sat silent, as if perplexed. Then, “But why +on earth,” he asked, “is Henry taking all this sudden interest in +<i>you</i>?”</p> + +<p>With a laugh of enjoyment, Vaughan leaned forward. “I knew you’d ask +that, Jack,” he said triumphantly. “That’s what I was leading up to. +He’s interested in me because—there’s a very good chance that some day +he’s going to have the delightful pleasure of welcoming me as his +son-in-law.”</p> + +<p>For an instant Carleton stared at him; then puckered his lips in a +whistle of amazement. “The devil you say,” he ejaculated, and then, +after a moment, as if he could think of nothing that would <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>better do +justice to the situation, he repeated, with even greater emphasis, “The +<i>devil</i> you say.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan sat silently enjoying his surprise; then, as his friend did not +speak again, he said, a little anxiously, “I hope you’re pleased, Jack.”</p> + +<p>Carleton recovered a little from his astonishment. The grip he gave +Vaughan’s hand was sufficient answer, even before he found his tongue. +“Pleased,” he echoed, “of course I am. I couldn’t be more so. You know +that without my saying it. But more than surprised, Arthur. I didn’t +know you were even interested in that direction. I can’t realize it yet. +Rose! Why, she hadn’t put away her dolls when I left home. But three +years. Let’s see. Thirteen—fourteen—seventeen—that’s right, she’s +almost eighteen, now. A child and a woman—I suppose that’s the size of +it. Well, well, Arthur, this is fine. And she’s a splendid little girl, +too. You’re a lucky man. Any idea when you’ll be married?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan shook his head. “No, indeed,” he answered, “I only wish I had. +You see it’s just as I told you. I’m a poor man, and I’ve got to make +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span>good first, before I can decently ask her to leave a home like the one +she’s got now. Mr. Carleton put all that part of it to me plainly enough +yesterday. Plainly enough, and fairly enough, too. I have to admit that. +But I can’t help wishing, just the same, for once in my life, that I did +have a little money to fall back on, or that my prospects were a little +brighter. However, I surely can’t complain; and now, Jack, it’s your +turn. How about yourself, and how about the ranching? Is it all you +thought it would be?”</p> + +<p>But Carleton did not seem disposed to talk of himself. “Oh, yes,” he +answered absently, “all that, and more. It’s the greatest ever—” then, +breaking off abruptly, he asked, “Do you know, Arthur, when Colonel +Graham’s expected back from England?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan looked at him with a smile. “<i>Colonel</i> Graham?” he said, “did +you say <i>Colonel</i>, Jack?”</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. “That’s what I said,” he answered, “Colonel Graham. You +know I used to be pretty good friends with him once on a time.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s smile broadened. “Yes, I know,” he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span>answered dryly, “and you +used to be <i>very</i> good friends with some one else. Are you sure it isn’t +Marjory you mean, Jack, and not the colonel?”</p> + +<p>At last Carleton smiled too. “Well,” he returned, “I won’t argue about +it. You can put it that way if you like. When do they get back?”</p> + +<p>“Three months, I believe,” answered Vaughan, “I think that was what Rose +said.” He paused, then added with sympathy, “Sounds like a long time, +too, I’ll bet.”</p> + +<p>Carleton made no answer. Slackening speed, the train came to a halt, and +rising, they filed down the aisle, and out on the Eversley platform, to +find Henry Carleton and Cummings awaiting them. Somewhat perfunctorily +Jack Carleton shook hands with Cummings; then turned to his uncle. “Wait +for me just a minute,” he said, “I’ve got a bag here somewhere,” and he +strode off into the station, while the others turned the corner, and +took their places in Carleton’s waiting motor, Cummings and Vaughan +ushered by their host into the tonneau, while he himself took his seat +in front with the chauffeur, a short, thick-set young fellow, with <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span>a +round, pleasant face, honest eyes, and a frank and good-humored smile. +He touched his cap, and Henry Carleton nodded in return. “Everything all +right, Satterlee?” he asked, and the chauffeur quickly responded, “Yes, +sir; everything all right, sir;”—then, very respectfully, as if he +realized that his interest was leading him into a breach of strict +decorum, “Isn’t Mr. Jack coming, sir?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes, he’ll be here in a moment,” answered his employer, and even as +he spoke, Carleton appeared around the corner of the station, tossed his +bag into the tonneau, and came up to the front of the machine with +outstretched hand. “Well, Tom, old man,” he cried, “and how are you? +Looking fine. You couldn’t drive anything but horses when I went away. +How do you like this kind of thing? More speed, I guess, all right.”</p> + +<p>The chauffeur’s answering smile was the friendliest imaginable, although +his taking of Carleton’s outstretched hand was a little reluctant, as if +he were aware that this was a freedom hardly likely, in a servant, to +find favor in his master’s eyes. Henry Carleton, indeed, frowned with +repressed <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span>disapproval. Kindness and even affability toward one’s +dependents were permissible—but this frank friendship, with its +implication of equality, of which Jack was guilty, was apt to be +destructive of a proper domestic régime. “We’re waiting, Jack,” he said, +his meaning perfectly manifest in his tone, “jump in behind, please.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton was about to comply; then suddenly, either the beauty of +the day or his lack of pleasure in Jim Cummings’ society, served to make +him change his mind. He stepped quickly back. “I guess I’ll walk it, +after all,” he said, “just for the sake of old times. See you at the +house,” and before he had gone a quarter of the length of the station +lane, a cloud of powdery dust was the only memento of the big motor left +in sight.</p> + +<p>Thoughtfully he traversed the familiar path, the meadow lying smooth and +fair before him, still peaceful and serene as on the day when Helmar had +walked there three years ago. The same outward world, the same green +underfoot, the same glory of blue above. But though Helmar had found +nothing but pleasure in the scene, now, mellowed and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>tinted with the +oncoming of the summer night, Carleton’s meditation ran in a quieter and +sadder strain.</p> + +<p>Midway at the bank of the little stream, he paused, and his thoughts, +casting backward, were of the little boy who had sailed his boat in the +pool below the bridge, and who had searched so patiently along the +pleasant, grass-grown banks to gather and bring home in triumph to his +mother the earliest violets of the spring. Tinged all with vague regret +were his dreamings, as backward glances in one sense always must be, but +even as his thoughts came down the years, his face did not seem to +brighten with them.</p> + +<p>“Three years,” he muttered, “of good resolutions. Three years of killing +out old hatred, and honestly trying to feel toward him as I ought. And +now—almost the first day home—to be put back just where I was before. +To find him the same as ever, so smooth, so self-satisfied, and so +cursedly successful, too. And if I told any one what I believe—why, +they’d think I was mad, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>Once more he started on his homeward way, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span>taking the old familiar +short-cut through the woods, as the twilight deepened and the shadows of +the tall elms lengthened down the quiet road. Still lost in thought, he +strode along unheeding; then all at once, struck with a sense of +something unfamiliar, he pulled up sharply and glanced about him. The +path he was following now was new to him, there was something about it +which he could not call to mind, tax his memory as he would. And then +suddenly, as he turned a sharp corner, tucked away amid the shelter of a +grove of birches which rose about it on every hand, a little cottage +appeared before his eyes.</p> + +<p>For a moment he stood silent, staring in astonishment. Of this Henry had +told him nothing. The Birches itself was still a good half mile away. +“What in the world—” he muttered to himself, and then, obeying a sudden +impulse, he turned aside, walked quickly up the path to the little +house, mounted the steps leading to the porch, and knocked.</p> + +<p>For a moment or two he waited. Then <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>somewhere above him, a window +opened; a woman’s voice called low, “Is it you?”</p> + +<p>At the sound Carleton threw back his head with an uncontrollable start +of astonishment; and then without raising his voice, he answered, “Yes, +it’s I.”</p> + +<p>The window closed. A moment still he waited in suspense, until the door +cautiously opened. And then, suddenly, through the dusk there sounded a +surprised cry, “Jack, Jack!”</p> + +<p>Carleton took a quick step forward. Three long years, as far as seeing +women of any attraction went, he had spent practically alone. Three long +years, and in the girl before him what a change. Charming she had always +been, yet now in looks, in dress, in bearing, in every way she had +altered for the better a hundredfold. Almost with a gasp, the memories +of old days came flooding over heart and mind and soul. His voice, when +at last he spoke, sounded hoarse with stifled emotion; “Jeanne,” he +cried, “you!”</p> + +<p>As of old, the woman seemed to dominate the situation. She laughed the +old friendly laugh as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>she stepped backward into the gloom. Her words +were commonplace enough, but not the tone in which she uttered them. +“I’m glad to see you back, Jack,” she said. “Won’t you come in?”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XI" id="CHAPTER_XI"></a>CHAPTER XI</h2> + +<h3>THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING</h3> + +<div class="centerbox2 bbox2"><p>“What mighty ills have not been done by woman!”</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Otway.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t was nearly seven o’clock when Jack Carleton strolled into the +carriage house, to find Satterlee, sleeves rolled up, his big rubber +apron tied around his waist, busy washing the carriages. Leisurely +Carleton took his seat upon an inverted bucket, and lit a cigarette. “So +you use a horse now and then, too, do you, Tom?” he asked, “it isn’t all +automobiles?”</p> + +<p>Satterlee grinned a little ruefully. “To speak true, Mr. Jack,” he +answered, “we gets a lot of trouble out of that there machine. The +gentlemen walked the last quarter mile to-night, and she’s out there in +the road yet. You see, we got a new universal joint—”</p> + +<p>Carleton raised his hand. “No, no,” he cried, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span>“you don’t get me to +listen to any of those yarns. I don’t know anything about motors, and I +don’t want to. A horse is good enough for me. It isn’t your automobile +troubles I want to hear about, Tom. It’s your own, if you’ve got any, +only I don’t believe you have. As near as I can make out, you’re an +infernally lucky man.”</p> + +<p>The chauffeur nodded. “I am that, sir,” he answered, readily enough. “No +man could have had better luck, or more of it, than I’ve had the last +year. It seems sometimes to me, Mr. Jack, like it couldn’t really be so. +It’s been most too much for one man.”</p> + +<p>Jack nodded. “It was all a surprise to me,” he said. “Mr. Carleton never +told me he’d built you the house; I didn’t even know you were married. I +wouldn’t know it now if I hadn’t happened to stop in there on the way up +from the train. I only did it out of curiosity, too. I wondered who on +earth had built that house, so near the big one.”</p> + +<p>Satterlee’s face lit up with pleasure. “I’m more than glad you did, +sir,” he said. “It’s a neat little <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>place, if I am saying so. And you +were after seeing the Mrs., I suppose?”</p> + +<p>Jack nodded again. “Yes, indeed I did. She’s prettier than ever, Tom. +And she was telling me all about the house. So Mr. Carleton built it for +you.”</p> + +<p>Satterlee pushed the wagon back into place, removed his apron, and took +his stand in front of Carleton. “Yes, sir,” he answered, “you see, it +was like this. I always liked Jeanne fine—no one could help it, she’s +got that way with her—but I always thought as how she was more than a +cut above me, being, as you might say, a lady, almost. And she never’d +have much to say to me, either, excepting to pass the time of day, and +such like things, you know, just friendly like, and nothing more. But +about a year ago, of a sudden she began to seem to take more notice of +me, and at last, never dreaming I was doing anything more than settle +all my hopes of ever getting her, once and for all, I got that crazy +about her I up and asked her—and she said she would. And then I didn’t +know <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>what to do. I wanted to go to housekeeping, of course; I knew +where I could rent a tidy little house down in the village, but I was +feared of losing my job, if Mr. Carleton shouldn’t seem to take kindly +to the idea of it.</p> + +<p>“Well, at last I told him, and he seemed pleased enough, and asked me +about my plans, and so on, and finally he said he’d like to think it +over for a while. So I said all right, of course, and one evening he +came down here, and talked a long time, about how fine a thing it was to +be married—he spoke something beautiful about his poor dear lady—and +said as how that I’d always done my work right, and been a faithful man +to him, and as how he knew Jeanne was a fine girl, and so on, and +finally that he’d hate to have me leave him—I got scared then—but he +didn’t want me so far away as the village, and so, if I’d like it, +partly for me, and partly for a good example to the rest of the house, +he’d build me a cottage right here on the place, and set me up to +housekeeping there. And that he did, and you’ve seen the cottage for +yourself, so there’s no need of my saying <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>what a neat little place it +is, or how happy we are. I like it fine, and Jeanne even more than me, I +believe; you know what it is for a woman to have her own home to fuss +round with; flowers and a vegetable garden, and all such things. We +couldn’t be better fixed in all the wide world.”</p> + +<p>Carleton slowly nodded. “Well, I should say not,” he said at length. +“And about the money, too. Jeanne was telling me of that.”</p> + +<p>Satterlee’s face brightened. “Wasn’t that the greatest ever?” he said. +“I never knew she had relatives so well fixed as that; I guess she +didn’t, either; but Mr. Carleton looked after all the law part of it for +her, and it seems she gets a steady income for the rest of her life. Not +so much, of course, for some folks, but for her, you see, it’s just pin +money, to do as she likes with. Of course I’d never touch a cent of it; +I’m doing pretty well myself, and I live simple, anyway; but she likes +her fine clothes, and her trip in town, same as all the women do, and +I’m glad to let her have the fun. Sometimes I get let off, too, but I +don’t like to go often; there’s plenty doing here with six horses, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>and +that rascal of a car. And this summer she’s going off for two months to +the mountains with some friends of hers. You see, the work gets slacker +then; Mr. Carleton always goes away about that time, and it’s pretty hot +here, of course, for a woman, anyway. Yes, Jeanne’s quite the lady now, +and no one more glad than me.”</p> + +<p>Carleton, again nodding thoughtfully, sat for some time in silence +without looking up. At last he raised his eyes to the chauffeur’s. +“Tom,” he said, speaking with unwonted gravity, “I’d like to ask you one +question. What do you really think—” Abruptly he broke off. “Well, +speaking of angels,” he muttered, and again was silent.</p> + +<p>Down the drive Henry Carleton was walking briskly toward them, with a +step that a youth of twenty might have envied. As he entered the +carriage house, he eyed the pair a trifle keenly, it seemed, yet when he +spoke his tone was amiability itself. “Ah, Jack,” he said, “I wondered +where you’d gone. Talking over old times with Satterlee, I suppose. We +dine at seven, you know.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>Carelessly Jack Carleton answered him. “Yes, I know. I’ll be ready. Lots +of time yet.”</p> + +<p>There was nothing in the words at which offense could be taken, yet at +the tone Henry Carleton’s eyebrows were raised a trifle. “Suit +yourself,” he said, “as long as you’re not late,” then turning to the +chauffeur. “It’s unfortunate about the motor, isn’t it, Satterlee? I +understand you to say that you can’t possibly have it fixed before +to-morrow night?”</p> + +<p>Satterlee shook his head. “Oh, no, sir, not possibly,” he answered. “I +shall have to go in town to-morrow morning, and see them at the factory. +And then there’s a good half day, just on labor alone. No, sir, +to-morrow night would be the very earliest possible.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton’s face clouded a trifle, and for a moment he thought in +silence. Then he spoke, with a little reluctance evident in his manner. +“I don’t like to ask you to do it, Satterlee, but I can’t see any other +way. I’ve promised to send a message over to Mr. Sheldon to-night, a +message which is <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span>of great importance to both of us. I was going to ask +you to take the motor, and go over after dinner—it wouldn’t have taken +much over an hour, I suppose—but that’s out of the question now. Do you +think, Satterlee, you could oblige me by taking one of the horses, and +driving over. It will be something of a trip, I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p>Satterlee’s assent could hardly have been readier, or more heartily +given. “Of course I’ll go, sir,” he answered, “and be more than glad to. +It’s not too long a drive, sir. The night’s fine. Let me see. Twelve +miles over. Twelve miles back. I could take old Robin, sir, and make it +in a matter of three hours, or I could take Fleetwood, in the sulky, and +make it in pretty near an hour quicker, if there’s haste.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton shook his head. “Oh, no, there’s no special hurry,” he +answered, “and I wouldn’t take Fleetwood, I think. I want to save him +for Mr. Jack to drive to-morrow. No, I think I’d take old Robin. And I +suppose you could get started by eight. If you’ll stop at the house, +then, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span>Satterlee, I’ll have everything ready, and I’m sure I’m much +obliged to you. I won’t forget it.”</p> + +<p>Satterlee’s face showed his pleasure. There was a thoughtfulness and +consideration in his master’s manner unusual and agreeable. “You’re more +than welcome, I’m sure, sir,” he said. “I’ll be ready sharp at eight.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton had stood silent, with knitted brows. Now he looked up +quickly, gazing at Henry Carleton with a singular intentness, +considering the comparative unimportance of the matter involved.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter with telephoning?” he asked abruptly, well-nigh +rudely, in fact.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton smiled at him benignantly in return. “You always were +fond of old Robin, weren’t you, Jack?” he said. “Well, I hate myself to +use a horse on a drive as long as that, and I hate to use Satterlee so +late at night, besides. But these happen to be a set of plans, Jack, and +you know to telephone plans is rather a difficult thing; and, since +you’ve been so good as to interest yourself in the matter, I’ll tell you +further that they’re street <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>railway plans, of very great importance, +considering the fact that Sheldon is my counsel before a committee of +the legislature to-morrow morning. After all,” he added more slowly, “it +is a practical world, Jack. Some one has to look after things, even if +it involves an evening trip, a horse and a man. But I suppose it’s hard +for you to get used to it. Yours never was the strictly practical side.”</p> + +<p>The tone was of kindly benevolence. That there was a deliberate purpose +behind the words was evident. Jack Carleton’s face gave no sign, save +that all at once his eyes seemed suddenly to have turned hard and cold. +“I see perfectly now,” he answered. “Pardon my suggestion, won’t you? I +didn’t know the drive was connected with any plans, or of course I +shouldn’t have spoken. Well, I guess I’ll go ahead and dress for dinner +now.”</p> + +<p>He turned with elaborate nonchalance, almost feeling Henry Carleton’s +searching glance follow him; and once, half way up the drive, he +chuckled to himself, as if in his mind he felt perfectly satisfied with +the result of the little encounter of words.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 345px;"> +<img src="images/i206.jpg" class="ispace" width="345" height="500" alt="“I can’t tell you how glad I am.”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“I can’t tell you how glad I am.”—Page <a href="#Page_201">201</a></span> +</div> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span>As he mounted the piazza steps, from the cosy corner hidden far back +among the ivy, Rose Carleton and Vaughan advanced a little consciously +to meet him. Very possibly, from a certain tumbled look about her pretty +curls and a flush in her cheeks suspiciously bright, he felt that he +might have done well to enter the house from the side door. Yet, if he +had proved an interrupter, she readily enough forgave him, coming +forward with hands outstretched, and kissing him affectionately, first +on one cheek and then on the other. “Well, cousin Jack,” she cried, +“it’s seemed so long. Welcome home again; I can’t tell you how glad I +am.”</p> + +<p>He held her off at arm’s length, looking at her with real affection in +his glance, yet quizzically. “My dear,” he said, “those are very nice +kisses. You weren’t as skilful as that when I left. But practice, I +suppose, will do a lot for any one.”</p> + +<p>Rose Carleton’s face flushed, but not at all with anger. She held up an +admonishing finger. “Why,” she cried, “I <i>am</i> surprised at you. Even to +hint at such a thing,” and then suddenly shifting the attack, “and +what’s made you such a judge of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>kisses, anyway? Were they experts out +where you’ve been? I think you ought to explain, at least.”</p> + +<p>Carleton laughed. “Never mind, never mind,” he said, “we’ll change the +subject at once; I’m getting embarrassed; but seriously, my dear, I wish +you two people all the luck in the world. Nothing could please me +better; you can be sure of that. But I’m not going to stay here and say +nice things about you; I’ll warrant you do enough of that yourselves to +make you as proud as peacocks. And if I don’t get ready for dinner, +Henry’ll give me a calling down; I know that much from old times,” and +with a friendly wave of his hand by way of parting benediction, he took +his departure for his room.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>To an outsider, it might have seemed that the company assembled for +dinner was a somewhat curiously assorted one; yet the dinner itself, +thanks to the efforts of the dark, observant man who presided at the +head of the table, could hardly have been more successful. Tact—always +tact—and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>in little things even more than in great, this was the +feature that distinguished Henry Carleton’s discharge of his duties as +host. And once well under way, there was little reason, indeed, why the +occasion should not have been a success. The meal was one for an +epicure, deliciously cooked and faultlessly served, and with a quality +and variety in the liquids which accompanied it, sufficient to satisfy +even Cummings himself. Fortunate, indeed, it seemed, that Jack Carleton +took nothing at all, and that Henry Carleton and Vaughan drank +sparingly, for Cummings’ capacity was frankly enormous. Constantly his +red face grew redder and redder, and his conversation became every +moment more and more monopolistic; yet Henry Carleton, with the courtesy +of the host, seemed to pay no heed, and if there was any conflict +between the laws of temperance and those of hospitality, the star of the +latter seemed to be in the ascendant, for the butler was even more than +assiduous in his attentions, and took good care that the bottom of +Cummings’ glass was never visible from the beginning of the dinner until +the end.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>A little late in beginning, it was doubtless due to Cummings’ frank +enjoyment of his food and drink, and his innocent delight in recounting +at length anecdote after anecdote of which he was invariably the hero, +that the dinner came to an end far later than Henry Carleton had +anticipated. It was fully half-past eight, indeed, before he had the +opportunity to slip out on the piazza, where Satterlee sat patiently +waiting, with old Robin dozing peacefully between the shafts. “I’m +sorry, Satterlee,” he said, as he handed over the parcel; “I didn’t mean +to keep you waiting so long. I’m afraid it’s going to be pretty late +before you get back.”</p> + +<p>Satterlee gathered up the reins. “Close to midnight, I expect, sir,” he +answered cheerfully, “maybe later, if the old fellow doesn’t happen to +be feeling very brisk. But what’s the odds? The night’s fine, and +there’ll be a moon later on. It’s no difference to me. Good night, sir. +I’ll be ready for the eight-two, in the morning,” and he jogged +leisurely away down the avenue.</p> + +<p>The rest of the party, in the meantime, had joined their host on the +piazza. Almost imperceptibly <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span>Rose and Vaughan seemed to be again +gravitating in the direction of the sheltered corner. Jack Carleton, +observing them, smiled to himself; then turned to his host. “If you’ll +excuse me, Henry,” he said, “I believe I’ll go up to my room, smoke a +pipe and turn in. I’ve been awfully short of sleep since I got back.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton, the hospitable, with the greatest readiness assented. +“Why, of course, Jack, don’t talk of my excusing you. No such ceremony +as that out here. Turn in, and sleep the clock around, if you want to. +Come on, Cummings. You and I will have a little game of billiards, if +that’ll suit you.”</p> + +<p>“Suit me?” echoed Cummings expansively, “well, I guess yes. Surest thing +you know.” This, he reflected to himself, was certainly going some. This +was being treated better than ever before. A bang-up dinner; all the +fizz he wanted—that, from Cummings, meant much—and now a game of +billiards with the old man. And billiards was his particular long suit. +No wonder that he was perfectly happy. Scarcely, it seemed to him, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>could he wait until the next morning, to see the other fellows in the +office, and recount all his good fortune to their well-nigh unbelieving +ears. “Surest thing you know,” he repeated again, “just what I’d like to +do.”</p> + +<p>Left alone, Rose Carleton and Vaughan retreated under the shadow of the +vines. For a little while, indeed, with a self-restraint most +commendable, their talk was not wholly of themselves. A few words they +had to say about Jack; a few, with bated breath, concerning Cummings and +his peculiarities; a brief account Vaughan gave of his wholly pleasant +and successful interview with Henry Carleton, and then, in spite of +themselves, their talk swung around into the path of that endless circle +which engrosses so absolutely the attention of those happy persons but +newly engaged, and soon, all unconsciously, they had drifted away into +the realms of the small but all-sufficing world which can never be +inhabited by more than two.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, up-stairs in the billiard room Jim Cummings was enjoying +himself always more and more. The table was perfect; the cigar from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>box which Henry Carleton had carelessly shoved toward him he had +appraised with a critical eye, and instantly classified as a +twenty-five-cent straight; at his elbow, on the neat little sideboard, +were liqueurs, and Scotch and soda. Only a victory at the game was +needed to make for Cummings a perfect world, and that finally was also +forthcoming. Not easily, indeed; old Carleton, to his infinite surprise, +played a most surprising game, marred only by a tendency to slip up on +easy shots after he had made a run of those which almost any amateur in +the city might have envied. The first game went to Cummings, the second +to his host, the third and rubber at last, after the closest of +finishes, to Cummings again. And then, pulling their chairs up to the +little table, they sat for perhaps half an hour and talked. Cummings, +indeed, seemed to be the leader as far as number of words went; Carleton +apparently doing little more than to make a suggestion here, propound a +difficulty there, and then finally to allow himself to be assured by +Cummings’ lordly manner of overcoming every obstacle in the path. At +last they rose; the lights in the billiard <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span>room were extinguished, and +Carleton left his guest at the door of the bedroom allotted to him. “So +I think,” he said, laying a friendly hand on Cummings’ arm, “that, as +between two men of the world, we may fairly say that we perfectly +understand each other.”</p> + +<p>Cummings’ speech was a trifle thick, something scarcely to be wondered +at, but his step was steady, and his brain clear. “Perfe’ly,” he +responded. “No misund’standing at all. Perfe’ly, I’m sure.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton looked at him sharply. He was well aware of the quantity +of liquor his guest had somehow managed to put away. “And just one +thing,” he added, “you won’t forget that it’s got to be done quietly. +That’s the important thing. You can’t be too careful. It’s a most +delicate mission. That, Jim,” he added in a burst of confidence, “is why +I selected you.”</p> + +<p>Cummings’ immediate expansion was visible to the eye. “I ’preciate your +choice,” he responded handsomely, “and I un’erstand just how you want it +done. ’S that enough, or d’you want talk some more?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span>Henry Carleton whipped out his watch. “No, no,” he answered hastily, +“it’s late now, Jim. Later than I thought. We understand each other, of +course. Do your best, that’s all. And, Jim,” he added, with a curious +note, almost, one would have said, of entreaty, in his tone, “you +understand my motives perfectly, don’t you? You see my reasoning? You’re +convinced that I’m acting for the best?”</p> + +<p>Singular enough it was to see the great financier verging on an appeal +to a man in every way so far his inferior. Cummings, even in his +slightly befuddled condition, seemed to appreciate the honor conferred. +“Mr. Carleton,” he answered, “I un’erstand ’ntirely. Your motives +irreproachable; no one say otherwise, by possibility.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton looked his relief. “Good,” he said briefly. “I shouldn’t +proceed without your approval of the plan. And you will bear in mind the +need of haste, I know.”</p> + +<p>It was five minutes later that he rejoined his daughter and Vaughan upon +the piazza, with his usual thoughtfulness emerging slowly from the +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>house, and clearing his throat somewhat ostentatiously several times by +way of fair and friendly warning. It may have been that this signal was +needed, it may have been that it was not; in any event, when Henry +Carleton had actually reached the cosy corner, it was to find Rose and +Vaughan seated decorously enough some distance apart, although for the +moment, indeed, conversation between the two appeared to have come +completely to a standstill.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton eyed them benevolently. “A beautiful night,” he observed +impartially, and then, more especially addressing himself to Rose, “Did +you know that it was after half-past ten, my dear. Early to bed, you +know.”</p> + +<p>In the darkness Rose Carleton frowned impatiently. Yes, she knew. That +she should retire early was one point on which her father insisted with +a strictness that made it hopeless to contest the point with him. “Early +to bed.” She felt a huge dislike for the worthy originator of the +phrase. Even the soundest and sanest of maxims, without the occasional +exception which proves the rule, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>may come to mean next to nothing. +“Yes, I know it,” she answered shortly, with just a trace of irritated +rebellion in her tone. Eighteen does not relish being treated like +twelve.</p> + +<p>Her father noted the tone. “Well, good night, my dear,” he observed +evenly. “Say good night to Mr. Vaughan, and don’t forget to be up in +good season to-morrow. We shall be a little hurried without the motor. +You must have our coffee ready for us sharp on time.” Then, a pause +ensuing, without any move seeming to come from Rose, he added +persuasively, “I trust you and Mr. Vaughan have enjoyed your evening +together, my dear.”</p> + +<p>There was a hint of mild reproach in his tone, and at the words +forthwith the girl relented. It was true enough. He had been considerate +to allow her to have Vaughan to herself for the evening. It would have +been easy to have managed things otherwise. He was a pretty good father, +after all. So obediently she rose and gave her hand to Vaughan, with +just sufficient pressure to let him understand that had the occasion +served, her good <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>night would have been a very different one, kissed her +father, and went quietly up-stairs.</p> + +<p>Left alone, Vaughan turned to Henry Carleton.</p> + +<p>“Cummings turned in?” he asked casually.</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. “Yes, he’s turned in, I believe,” he answered; then, +with the hospitality for which he was famous, he added, “Is there +anything more that I may chance to be able to do for your entertainment, +Mr. Vaughan?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan shook his head. “Oh, thanks, no,” he answered, “I’m ready for +bed myself, I believe.”</p> + +<p>“Very well,” said Carleton quickly, “then I think, in that case, if you +will excuse me, I’ll take my little turn about the grounds and retire +myself. If you should care for a pipe on the piazza, the house is always +open. We don’t lock up here at all. I always say, if a burglar is going +to try to break into a country house, that’s all windows and doors, a +key turned in the lock isn’t going to stop him. So you can get in at any +time between now and morning.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan laughed. “Thanks,” he answered, “that’s genuine kindness, but I +don’t think I shall <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>take advantage of it. A bed seems more attractive +to me just now than a pipe even.”</p> + +<p>“Suit yourself,” answered Carleton, “I’ll have my man call you in the +morning. Good night.”</p> + +<p>He turned indoors as he spoke, and Vaughan stood silent for perhaps five +minutes, looking out into the glorious summer night, with his thoughts +where they could scarcely have failed to be—on the wonderment of all +the happiness that had come to him, on the difference that the love of a +girl had made in him, his ambitions, his hopes, of all the great things +that he longed to accomplish now for her sake, to show her that perhaps +she had not chosen unworthily.</p> + +<p>Then, coming suddenly to himself, he decided that it would be pleasant +to accompany Carleton on his rounds, looked indoors for him, and not +finding him there, concluded that he must have gone out by some other +way. Coming out once more on to the piazza, he stood for a moment +irresolute, had even made a hesitating step toward the house again, and +then, summoned irresistibly by some subtle kinship with tree and flower, +star and whispering breeze, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span>he walked hastily down the steps, and then, +more leisurely, strolled away around the curve of the drive until his +figure was lost amid the shrubbery of the lawn.</p> + +<p>Surely Henry Carleton’s little evening had been enjoyed to the full by +every one. And, as it chanced, even the humblest actor in it was to have +his share of luck. Tom Satterlee, with some two thirds of his journey to +Mr. Sheldon’s accomplished, suddenly gripped the reins more tightly as a +warning blast fell on his ears, and a moment later a big motor whizzed +past him from the rear. Instantly he recognized the chauffeur, driving +alone, and the next moment his cheerful hail had brought the motor to a +halt. Then ensued a brief conference, resulting in the transfer of the +package, while Satterlee, with a good hour saved from the schedule that +was to bring him back at midnight, in high good humor turned old Robin’s +head toward home.</p> + +<p>Meanwhile, back at The Birches, Vaughan wandered idly along, his feet on +earth, his thoughts in the clouds. Rose and his book. His book and Rose. +From one to the other his thoughts plied <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>back and forth. Not, indeed, +that the book could ever rival Rose, but it was as a means to win her +that it now appeared most precious to him, as if his written word, as +something outside of himself, were striving, like some faithful friend, +to aid him in his fight—and Rose and the book and his happiness blended +in his mind with all the intoxication of youth and hope, and a world +still untried and unconquered, its problems undespaired of still.</p> + +<p>On and on he walked, half unconscious of where he was going, and then, +on a sudden he seemed to become aware of a light flashing somewhere +ahead of him through the trees, now disappearing, now, as he went +onward, springing again into view, much as some gigantic +will-o’-the-wisp might have done. And at the same instant, looking +around him, he perceived, to his surprise, that unconsciously he had +been following the trail of a little rough hewn path, winding first to +right, and then to left, but always forward, and always toward the +light. Partly from a real curiosity as to what it might be, partly with +enough of the instinct of boyhood days left in him, to make him feel a +perfectly irrational <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span>delight in the sense of nocturnal adventure, he +skirted his way along through the woods, and a moment later found +himself standing on a little elevation of rock, gazing through the trees +at the house which stood over across from him, not a hundred yards away, +amid the circle of birches which, gleaming like silver in the faint +moonlight, surrounded it with their protection as with a natural +palisade.</p> + +<p>Something singular there seemed to him about the whole affair. The +cottage he could not place; and idly he began to wonder whether, intent +upon his day-dreams, he had wandered farther than he had intended, and +had crossed the boundaries of The Birches to trespass on some +neighboring domain. His vivid imagination had even begun to weave a web +of vague, elusive romance about the cottage itself, based partly, +perhaps, on the spell of the moonlight, partly on the fact that despite +the lateness of the hour a light still gleamed in the upper, and one in +the lower, hall. And then, with a realizing rush of sober common sense, +with a smile at his wandering fancies, he came back to real life <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span>again, +and had turned, though half regretfully, to go, when suddenly, at the +very instant, he stopped, and again stood still. A dark figure had come +across the lawn in the rear of the house, walked up to the door without +reconnoitering, and disappeared within.</p> + +<p>A moment or two of silence. Then the light down-stairs was extinguished, +and an instant later the one above was suddenly darkened, until only the +faintest glimmer remained. And again Vaughan, though half doubtfully +this time, smiled at his folly. Surely this was the novelist at his +worst. Striving to find something unusual and strange, worthy of his +notice and comment, in what? In the coming home of some prosaic +householder, doubtless tempted into a longer stay than usual at the +village by the charms of the good fellowship of tavern or grocery store.</p> + +<p>Suddenly his heart leaped. What was that? Something mysterious was on +foot, then, after all. From within the house came sounds as if of a +struggle—a crash, as of furniture overturned—a single half-choked, +muffled cry. Then a rush and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>clatter of feet on the stairs, and then, +before his wide-open, straining eyes, from the rear door of the house a +figure emerged, followed almost instantly by another. The pursued, the +taller and slimmer of the two, and evidently by far the fleeter of foot, +ran, as one who knows his ground, straight for the thickest cluster of +trees, and reaching them, dived into their shelter like a hare. The +pursuer, following for a space, all at once slackened his speed, +swerving and bearing aimlessly away, constantly farther and farther to +the left, in a wide half circle, his body bent all the time more and +more to one side, his head thrown back and upward, as if spent and +exhausted, even with the brief effort he had made. And finally, fairly +doubling on his tracks, he came headed straight for the rock at the +summit of which Vaughan stood. Nearer and nearer he came, and then, +quickly, as in the faint moonlight the man’s face became more plainly +visible, Vaughan drew one instant gasping breath of sickened horror. The +face was set, as if rigid with agony, the eyes were unnaturally wide, +and over the upturned forehead and the pallid cheeks <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span>flowed something +hideously dark and glistening. And then, convulsively, with a ghastly +semblance of an athlete who finishes his race, the figure threw one arm +high into the air, as if grasping for support, staggered, pitched +forward, and fell motionless, lying, in the darkness below, a huddled +heap in the road.</p> + +<p>To Vaughan, all unschooled in the darker experiences of life, came a +sudden access of blind terror. He knew that he should at once descend, +yet, knowing it, stood motionless, his will unequal to the task. And +then, as he sought to nerve himself for the trial, nature intervened. At +once he was conscious that his heart was throbbing so faintly and so +fast that his ear could scarcely separate the beats; something tightened +in his throat; the silver birches floated and turned before him, and he +found himself nearer fainting than he had ever been in his life before. +Slowly, after what seemed to him an indefinite period of +semi-consciousness, his brain again cleared; distrustingly he loosed his +hold on the sapling which he had grasped, and with genuine courage, +sought once more to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>approach the edge of the little cliff and begin his +descent.</p> + +<p>Yet that descent, spite of his newly taken resolution, was now never to +be made. At the edge he gave one shuddering look below, then hastily and +with caution drew back, peering fixedly through the screen of leaf and +branch. The man, indeed, still lay where he had fallen, but now, +creeping down the driveway, came the first figure, returning, as if +impelled by some impulse too powerful to resist. Stealthily it +approached the huddled figure on the ground, looked around listening, +then swiftly knelt, turned the body over, and raised the head upon its +knee. Then came the quick spurt of a match, and Vaughan, leaning forward +with fascinated gaze, saw more than he wished to see—saw what he would +have given anything in the world not to have seen; for the motionless +figure, with head drooped horribly to one side, hair matted, and face +streaked and dabbled with red, was that of Tom Satterlee, and the face +which bent over him, showing pale and horror-stricken in the light of +the tiny flame, was the face of Jack Carleton. Vaughan turned and ran.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XII" id="CHAPTER_XII"></a>CHAPTER XII</h2> + +<h3>THE YELLOW STREAK</h3> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox2"><p>“A plague on all cowards, I say.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Shakespeare.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">F</span>rom a slumber that was scarcely a sleep, a slumber feverish and fitful, +broken by restless starts and uneasy twitchings, Arthur Vaughan suddenly +opened his eyes, on the instant broad awake. For just one blank moment, +as has happened with mankind so many million times before, as will +happen so many million times again, his brain seemed to hang motionless, +without impression of any sort; and the next minute across it the +blurred and distorted images of the night before were rushing and +crowding their way with a sense almost of physical suffocation and +terror. He had half started from his bed, when at the same moment the +knock on the door which had first awakened him was repeated. “Come in,” +he called, and at the word the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>door opened, and Henry Carleton’s valet +softly entered and began to pull back the curtains. For a moment Vaughan +lay motionless, watching the man, and wondering instinctively if he +knew; then, trying hard to speak in a tone casual and off-hand, he +greeted him. “Good morning, Rollins.”</p> + +<p>Swiftly and silently the man turned. His face, to Vaughan’s relief, +appeared perfectly impassive. “Good morning, sir,” he returned +respectfully. “A fine morning out, sir,” and then, after a hardly +perceptible pause—Vaughan could almost feel the words coming—“There +was bad doings last night, sir.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan had risen, and was slowly crossing the room toward his bath. He +stopped abruptly. “And what was that, Rollins?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The valet stepped a little nearer, speaking in a hushed and somewhat +awe-struck tone. “It was poor Satterlee,” he answered. “He’s dead, sir. +They found him this morning, outside his house, with his head all bashed +in. Stone dead, sir. I was there when they brought him in. It was a +horrid sight to see;—” and then, with real feeling, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span>the man, and not +the servant in him uppermost, he added, “Poor Tom. He was that happy, +sir.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan still stood without moving. “Dead,” he repeated mechanically, +“Good God!” and then, “His head, you say? Why, do they think—”</p> + +<p>The man shook his head. “Nobody knows anything, sir,” he answered. “It +was right near his house; right underneath a big high rock; he might +have fell off, or been pushed off; you couldn’t tell. Of course, sir, +they’ve sent for the medical examiner, direct. He should be here in an +hour or two, I should judge, sir, at the most.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” Vaughan assented. “I understand;” then at once added, “and +what does Mr. Carleton say?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, he feels terribly, sir,” the valet answered, “I never saw him so +broke up in my life. ‘Poor Satterlee,’ he kept saying, ‘I feel as if I +was to blame. I shouldn’t have asked him to go that far, so late. It was +after hours. I should have waited.’”</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded. “Yes, that’s like Mr. Carleton,” he said. “But of course +it wasn’t any of his <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span>fault, just the same. He couldn’t have looked +ahead to anything like that.”</p> + +<p>“No, indeed, sir,” the man answered heartily, “of course he couldn’t. +But as you say, sir, it’s like him. He’s always very considerate with +all of us. Oh, he certainly took on terrible; he was as white as a sheet +when they brought poor Tom in.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, yes,” said Vaughan absently, “I don’t doubt;” then quickly, “and +how about Mr. Jack?”</p> + +<p>“Why, he was in a bad way, too, sir,” answered Rollins, “but different +like, more quiet, as if he had his wits more about him.”</p> + +<p>In spite of himself, at the words Vaughan started, and then, “What about +the horse?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“That was curious, sir,” the man replied, “the horse was in, unharnessed +and in his stall; seems as if Tom must have got back early, after all. +But no one knows how.”</p> + +<p>As he spoke, in the hall outside a bell rang sharply and at once he +turned to answer it, then paused. “That’s Mr. Carleton, sir,” he said, +and then with a quick return to his usual manner, “Is there anything +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span>further you might wish, sir?” and on Vaughan’s half-mechanical answer +in the negative, he hastily left the room.</p> + +<p>It was on a disturbed and disordered household that Vaughan half an hour +later descended. Rose alone came to meet him as he reached the foot of +the stairs, and in silence led the way into the deserted breakfast room.</p> + +<p>“You won’t find very much to eat, Arthur, I’m afraid,” she said. “You +mustn’t mind. Everything’s so terribly upset.”</p> + +<p>He bent and kissed her, pitying her white face and trembling hands. “My +dear girl,” he said tenderly, “don’t worry about me. Breakfast doesn’t +count at a time like this. Where has everybody gone?”</p> + +<p>The girl, pouring out his coffee, helplessly shook her head. “Oh, I +don’t know,” she answered. “It’s all been so confused. My father’s gone +down to see Mrs. Satterlee, I believe, and Mr. Cummings is outside +somewhere, too. He seemed to feel it as much as any one. He really +looked very badly, and hardly touched his breakfast at all. And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>Cousin +Jack—I don’t know where he’s gone. I suppose he minded more than +anybody; he was always around so much with Tom in the old days out here. +He acted so queerly, too; and looked at everybody so—oh, I don’t know +how to describe it—stern and fierce, as if somehow he thought we all +had something to do with Tom’s being killed. And all the time father +kept saying things, like that in the midst of life we were in death, and +that no man could tell the hour—oh, it was all ghastly. It was awful.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan, nibbling gingerly at the cold toast, and struggling to swallow +the luke-warm coffee, nodded understandingly. Every instinct, every bit +of good sense that he possessed, told him to drop the subject, and +still, for the life of him he could not check the words that rose to his +lips. “Did you—did you see him?” he asked.</p> + +<p>The girl shuddered. “Not close to,” she answered, “only when they +brought him by the house. I didn’t know—I looked—once. I wish I +hadn’t. Oh, his face—”</p> + +<p>Abruptly, a little dizzily, Vaughan rose from the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span>table, last night’s +ugly vision again seeming to pass before his swimming eyes. On the +instant the girl, all penitence, rose also, coming swiftly around to his +side. “Forgive me, dear,” she cried, “I didn’t mean to shock you. I +should have thought. Excuse me, please.”</p> + +<p>He hastened to take her hand. “No, no,” he cried, “there’s nothing to +forgive. It’s not your fault. Let’s get outside in the air. It’s close +in here. I feel a little faint.”</p> + +<p>A moment later they stood on the broad piazza, in all the glory of the +warm June sunshine. Up in the top of a swaying elm an oriole flooded the +air with song; out over the lawn, against the green of the shrubbery, a +big golden butterfly floated softly along; in and out of the vines above +their heads a tiny humming-bird—a living gem—darted here and there, +his crimson throat flashing like flame in the sunlight—then quick as +thought with a whir of his swiftly moving wings, was gone. +Life—life—life—in every tone and call of nature’s voice,—and out +there, in the hushed quiet of the stable, a man lay dead.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>Vaughan rested a hand on the girl’s arm. “Look,” he whispered, “down by +the road.”</p> + +<p>The girl raised her eyes. There, dimly to be seen through the screen of +the shrubbery, up and down, up and down, a figure paced, with eyes fixed +on the ground, with one hand tugging fiercely at his mustache, to and +fro—to and fro. “Cousin Jack,” she said.</p> + +<p>Silently Vaughan nodded. Well enough, from the uncertain tumult going on +in his own mind, he could guess the bitter struggle that was being waged +in Carleton’s. In an hour the medical examiner would come; all would in +turn be examined on oath. Henry Carleton, doubtless, would be the first +called upon to testify; then Jack; then, he supposed, Cummings and +himself. And what should he do? The truth, the whole truth, and nothing +but the truth—the words seemed aimlessly to sing themselves over and +over in his brain. And then, with a shake of his head, he roused +himself. One thing was plain. Before the examiner came, there must be +some plan of concerted action between Jack Carleton and himself—some +knowledge of what <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>each was going to say when called on to face that +grim ordeal. And it might be that there was little time to spare. He +turned quickly to Rose. “I’m going to speak to him,” he said.</p> + +<p>She made a protesting movement. “Oh, must you?” she cried, “I so hate to +be left alone, just now,” but for once her lover was firm. “I must, +dear,” he said, “I won’t be long. You stay right here, and don’t worry +or think about it at all. I’ve got to see him for a minute, anyway; I +won’t be long,” and as she released her detaining hold on his arm, he +walked swiftly down the steps and across the lawn.</p> + +<p>On the velvet of the yielding turf his footsteps made no sound, his +figure cast no shadow, and it was not until he was almost upon Carleton +that the latter glanced up. Deep in thought he must have been, for to +Vaughan it seemed that it was for a full half minute, at the least, that +Carleton continued to gaze, hardly at him, but rather beyond, as if for +all that time he was unable to call his thoughts back to the present. +And even when he had done so, his greeting sounded scarcely cordial, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>as +if he would greatly have preferred being left alone without interruption +of any kind, however well intended.</p> + +<p>“Hello, Arthur,” he said, “you’ve heard about it, I suppose.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded. “Yes, I’ve just heard.” For a moment he faltered, +uncertain how to proceed; then, lamely enough, he added, “How was he +killed, Jack?”</p> + +<p>Carleton looked at him strangely; and, almost roughly, he answered, +“Killed? How should he have been killed? Fell off that rock, of course.” +He paused for a moment in his turn; then, with a singular distortion of +the muscles of his mouth that gave to his expression a look almost +ghastly, he added, with a kind of savage emphasis, “He took one drink +too many, I suppose; poor devil; it’s an ugly rock.”</p> + +<p>Tone and words alike sounded utterly foreign to him. He stood staring at +Vaughan, as he spoke, but still as if he scarcely saw or heeded him, as +if he strove to map out for himself a path in the tangled net of +circumstance which threatened him. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>Vaughan, regarding him, drew a long +breath, and grasped his courage in both his hands. “Look here, Jack,” he +said, forcing the words with effort, “Mr. Carleton and I were on the +piazza last night about half past ten. I told him I was going to turn +in, and he said he was going to do the same after he’d taken a little +walk around the place. I started for bed, and then I changed my mind.—I +went for a walk too.”</p> + +<p>At once Carleton seemed to catch an unusual meaning in the other’s tone, +and yet for a moment the real import of the words did not dawn on his +brain. Then suddenly he started, half drawing away. “You went for a +walk?” he echoed, and then, apparently throwing aside all caution, “What +do you mean, Arthur?” he cried, “What do you mean?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan, hesitating still, dreading the effect his words might have, +almost regretting that he had spoken at all, looked his friend squarely +in the face. “I saw it all, Jack,” he said.</p> + +<p>Carleton’s look was one of utter amazement. For an instant he stood +silent, staring at Vaughan <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span>as if doubtful of his senses. Then, “You saw +him run out of the house?” he cried.</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded. “I saw it all,” he repeated, “and afterward, by the +rock—”</p> + +<p>But to everything beyond his mere assent Carleton seemed to pay scant +heed. He stared at Vaughan still, but now with a strange mingling of +emotions showing in his face. And curiously enough, there seemed to +predominate, above all the rest, a look almost of savage relief.</p> + +<p>“That clenches it, then,” he cried. “That settles the whole thing,” and, +swift as thought, the next moment the expression faded. “No, no, +Arthur,” he cried, with the most intense earnestness, “we can’t; don’t +you see we can’t? See what would happen. There’d be the devil and all to +pay. Rose might not marry you, even. You know how proud she is. It isn’t +a question of what I ought to do myself, Arthur. It’s a question of the +family honor. It mustn’t be known; it shan’t. We’ll tell the same story. +No one else knows, man. No one that would tell. It’s the only way. Give +me your word, Arthur; give me your word.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span>In silence Vaughan stood and looked at him. These were the same +temptations that had beset him the long night through; against which his +instinctive feeling of justice had struggled well-nigh in vain. And yet, +while gropingly and half-unconsciously he had felt that for him there +might be some excuse, somehow now, the frank cowardice of the plea, +coming from the man himself, jarred strangely upon him. And yet—was it +cowardice? Was there not more than a grain of truth in all that Carleton +had said? Would it not, after all, be for the best? For there, on the +other hand, lay the scandal to be faced; the notoriety of it all, +scarcely endurable; the hordes of prying reporters; the vulgar crowd of +eager seekers after mystery who would make of Eversley a very +Mecca—from all this he shrank, as he could see that Carleton shrank, +and yet, in spite of all, from the other alternative he shrank as well.</p> + +<p>“What do you want me to say?” he asked, and his tone was grudging; his +eyes this time did not seek Jack’s face.</p> + +<p>Carleton drew a sigh of evident relief. “Say?” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>he echoed eagerly. “What +should you want to say? You were abed and asleep the whole time. You +went straight up-stairs and slept soundly all night. That’s simple +enough, isn’t it? Of course Henry’ll swear that you told him that’s what +you were going to do. Swear to it, and stick to it. That’s all.”</p> + +<p>Slowly Vaughan nodded. “And you the same?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” Carleton answered eagerly, and at his manner Vaughan found +himself all at once marveling. Whatever else of emotion he might feel in +the medley of sensations which swept over him, above everything else he +was conscious of a stinging disappointment, an open shame, for this +man—his friend. He turned away, his voice as he answered, sounding +dully in his own ears. “All right,” he said. Then suddenly a new +difficulty struck him with stunning force. “But what’s the use, Jack?” +he cried, “Mrs. Satterlee—”</p> + +<p>Carleton took one quick step forward. “Everything’s the use,” he said, +almost menacingly. “Do as I tell you, for God’s sake! Don’t worry about +the woman. Her testimony will be the same as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span>ours. Nobody knows +anything. Can’t you see? Or don’t you know what sort of woman—”</p> + +<p>Across the lawn Rose Carleton’s voice sounded, vibrant with anxiety. +“Arthur, Cousin Jack,” she called, “you’re wanted at once. The medical +examiner is here.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>The <i>Columbian</i> reporter, jotting down a note or two, rose from his seat +at the examiner’s desk. “I’m very much obliged, sir,” he said. “That +clears <i>that</i> matter up. You’ve told me exactly what I wanted to know. +And on this last case that came in to-day, the coachman out at the +Carleton place, you say there won’t be anything doing?”</p> + +<p>The medical examiner shook his head in decided negative. “The coroner’s +verdict,” he answered, “not of course speaking officially, or for +quotation in any way, will be one of accidental death. Of that I am +morally certain. There wasn’t a shred of evidence to prove anything +different. Or, one chance in ten, perhaps, at the most, it might be +‘death at the hands of persons unknown.’”</p> + +<p>The reporter sighed. “It’s too bad, though, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span>isn’t it?” he rejoined. +“All the elements of a great story there somewhere”—he paused a moment; +then added thoughtfully, “I’m not jollying, you know; I really am +awfully disappointed. Because—it’s a queer thing—if there was any +evidence for a starter, I could furnish some mighty interesting +information in a certain direction. Do you know anything about the wife +of this man that was killed, this Mrs. Satterlee?”</p> + +<p>The examiner shook his head. “Nothing,” he answered, “excepting that I +couldn’t help but notice that she was a remarkably beautiful woman. +Entirely out of her class as the wife of a coachman, I should have +said.”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” the reporter exclaimed. “Well, now, listen to this. If +anybody wanted to hear some mighty funny evidence concerning this woman, +and concerning one of the men who was at the Carleton place the night +this happened—not gossip, you know, but something that I actually know +about, saw with my own eyes—if anybody wanted to get hold of that, why, +I rather think—”</p> + +<p>The examiner raised a restraining hand. “Well, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>don’t think,” he said +curtly. “You ought to know enough about the laws of evidence to stop you +from figuring that two and two make five. And, anyway, don’t think too +hard. It’s an awful strain on a man. Your business, as I understand it, +as a reporter on the <i>Columbian</i>, is to report facts, and not to come +any of these gum-shoe sleuth tricks.”</p> + +<p>The reporter smiled, wrinkling his forehead whimsically. “Your ideas of +facts and mine,” he rejoined, “might not tally, exactly, but in the +main, yes, I guess you’re right.” He rose to take his leave. “And +still,” he said again, “I can’t help wishing there was just a little +evidence to go to the district attorney’s office. If there should be, +now—”</p> + +<p>“Well, there won’t,” snapped the examiner, “you needn’t worry. I tell +you the case ends here.”</p> + +<p>The reporter raised his eyebrows, at the same time making a deprecating +gesture with arms and shoulders. “Oh, all right, all right,” he said +soothingly. “Just as you say.” He held the door fully open now. “Oh, and +look,” he added, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>“which Cummings was it that was spending the night out +there? The railroad man, or Jim?”</p> + +<p>The examiner did not look up from his writing. “Jim,” he answered +shortly.</p> + +<p>The reporter half closed the door again. “Say,” he observed engagingly, +“now that’s another mighty funny thing—”</p> + +<p>The medical examiner wheeled suddenly on him. “Oh, come, come,” he said, +“get out. You make me tired. You know too much altogether. There’s one +thing you don’t know, though. That I’m busy sometimes—even too busy to +listen to you and your ‘funny things,’ as you call them. Now, get out.”</p> + +<p>The reporter was on the farther side of the threshold now. He paused for +one parting shot. “I’ll bet you a dollar,” he said, “that things don’t +stop here for good. I’ll bet you a dollar—I’ll bet you five—that some +day we hear of this case again.”</p> + +<p>There was no response. He waited a moment in silence. And then the door +at last closed behind him.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIII" id="CHAPTER_XIII"></a>CHAPTER XIII</h2> + +<h3>VAUGHAN DOUBTS</h3> + +<div class="centerbox5 bbox2"><p>“Truth is the highest thing that man may keep.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Chaucer.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">O</span>nce again the household at The Birches had settled down into its wonted +routine of daily life. Yet with a difference, too, for over the whole +place the shadow of the tragedy still hung. Henry Carleton, deeply +affected at the loss of a faithful and valued servant, showed his sorrow +by making no attempt to replace him, letting the motor lie idle, and +promoting Saunders, the former groom, to the coachman’s vacant post. +Mrs. Satterlee herself, very pretty and very sad in deepest black, +continued to live alone at the cottage, going out but seldom and +seemingly well-nigh inconsolable in her grief. Just once, Rose Carleton, +feeling vaguely repulsed in the visit or two she had made to her one +time nurse, had gone to her <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span>father’s study to question him in regard to +the widow’s position. “Is it quite proper, father,” she had asked, “for +her to live there now, all alone? Don’t you think people may begin to +talk ill-naturedly about her?”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton had sat thoughtfully for a time before he had made +answer, and then, “Poor woman,” he said, with deep feeling, “this has +been a heavy blow for her. And but such a short time married, too. +Really, I hardly know what to say, and yet, for the present, at least, I +think I should allow her to remain. To me it would seem heartless to do +otherwise. Too much as if, just because poor Satterlee were of no +further use to me, I was anxious to cast off his widow also. I +understand your feeling in the matter, Rose, and I appreciate the +kindness you have shown in speaking of it, but in time of sorrow and +affliction, the breath of scandal seems but a secondary consideration. +Duty first, my child, come what may,” and Rose, ashamed of her +prudishness, had risen and kissed him.</p> + +<p>“You’re right, father,” she cried hastily, “as <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>you always are. If +there’s anything I can do to make things easier for her, you’ve only to +tell me.” Henry Carleton, with a little smile, had thanked her, and the +incident had been closed.</p> + +<p>Across Jack Carleton’s path the shadow of Satterlee’s tragic death +seemed to lie dark and unforgettable. For a day or two, indeed, morose +and grave, he continued to make The Birches his home; then, suddenly, he +took his departure, going back to his in-town lodgings, and The Birches +knew him no more.</p> + +<p>But of all the changes caused by the doings of the night, the most +marked had taken place in Arthur Vaughan. With him, indeed, all else +apart, things had been going badly enough to warrant discouragement. +First of all, after a week or two of indulgence in ever strengthening +hope, coming home one hot and breathless evening to his lodging house, +he had found an envelope with Small and White’s name in the corner +awaiting him on the table in the hall. With it there appeared no bulky +parcel of type-written sheets, and on the instant his heart beat rapidly +at twice its usual speed. Could it be <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>at last the turning point in the +long, straight path of disappointments? Somehow he could not bring +himself to open the letter there, and in spite of weariness, of the +almost overpowering heat of the day, he ran up the three flights of +stairs, never stopping until he had reached the shelter of his own bare +and simply furnished room.</p> + +<p>Even then he still hesitated, scarcely even bringing himself to glance +at the missive that burned in his hand. Once more he looked about him, +at the familiar, friendly old arm-chair, at the battered desk in the +window, with the manuscript sheets of his new story scattered over its +surface, then out at the restful green of the big elm tree whose +spreading branches almost touched his window, screening the whole room +with their welcome shade. All of these he had come to know and hail as +friends, and natural enough it seemed to him that now in the hour of his +joy he should wish to take them into his confidence, and to bid them +rejoice with him at last. With a final look from the window down into +the quiet, deserted street below, he resolutely tore open the letter, +and ran his eye over <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>the first line or two of its contents—then, with +a sharp intake of breath he raised his eyes, and stood silent and +motionless, his face suddenly white, as though he had received some +mortal blow. It was over, then. The first three lines were enough. He +knew that stereotyped form so well. “We are returning to you +to-day”—that was sufficient—he could have gone on and completed the +letter, with scarcely the miscalling of a single word. Yet presently, +with a self-contemptuous smile, he took up the letter again, and read +it, slowly and deliberately, as a man might run a sword inch by inch +into his body, stopping now and again to give it a little extra twist or +turn stoically to watch himself twinge and wince with the pain, eyes +closing, mouth contorted.</p> + +<p>And anguish of soul, indeed, every whit as bitter Arthur Vaughan now +knew. Hardly had he realized, after his friendly chat with Henry +Carleton, and the words of encouragement he had received from that +practised man of affairs, how thoroughly he had discounted the future. +Down in the bottom of his heart he knew now that for a fortnight <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>he had +really cherished the belief that all would at last come right, that the +book would be taken, that his name would be made, that his marriage with +Rose would be but a question of a longer or shorter time; and now, hopes +dashed, he was back again where he had started; nay, worse off, indeed, +for another possible chance was lost to him, another publisher had set +the seal of disapproval on his work—oh, it was all too bitter!</p> + +<p>Mechanically he read and re-read the letter. All were there—all the +little catch words, the honeyed phrases which said one thing, yet were +made to say it so smoothly and courteously that at the end he half +doubted that after all, his work had been refused;—all were there. “We +are returning”—yes, that seemed enough, almost, but still they had to +go on,—“manuscript you have been so kind as to submit,”—oh, of course, +it had been such a kindness on his part,—“reading it has occasioned us +much pleasure,”—pleasure! Of what sort, Vaughan wondered; “it has many +obvious merits,”—why didn’t they take it, then?—“and some equally +obvious defects.”—Ah, yes, the defects; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>that was it, of course, the +defects; that phrase, he felt, at least was sincere.—“Only after +careful deliberation—at last unwillingly compelled to come to the +conclusion—present state of the public taste—certain practical +considerations inevitably to be considered—on the whole—again thanking +you—” More and more hastily, as he neared the end, Vaughan read, almost +with a feeling of physical disgust. Then he tossed the letter on his +desk, and stood, with folded arms, looking out once more into the silent +street, where the shadows were beginning to fall deeper and deeper, +merging gradually into the dusk of twilight. At last he spoke. “I +wouldn’t care,” he said, “if it was bad work; if it was work that I’d +slighted; if it was work I’d done in a hurry, letting a word and a +phrase go when I knew that somewhere, if I hunted long enough, I could +find the one that really fitted. But it isn’t like that. I can’t +reproach myself. It’s been three years of the best I’ve got in me. +Everything in the world I know of style, every bit of incident I wanted, +every turn and twist of character. It isn’t vanity; it isn’t conceit; I +don’t care <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span><i>who</i> wrote the book; it’s good, and I know it’s good; and +yet to have them, one after the other—”</p> + +<p>Practical, prosaic, monotonous, boomed the supper gong. With a sorry +laugh Vaughan turned from the window, and then paused, irresolute. Must +he go down again, as he had done so many times before; to compare +himself, as he knew that in his present mood he so inevitably must, to +his fellow lodgers around the well-worn board. The clerk in the +down-town bank, the dapper young shoe salesman, the would-be humorist +who made no secret of the fact that he was “pulling down” fifty a week +out of his “knock ’em silly” insect powder, the old graybeard who +tottered away each morning to haunt the reading-room of the public +library, staying there the livelong day until he tottered home again at +night—look at it as he would, one fact remained: these men, all of +them, however much he might see in them to criticize, were, each in his +way, successful men. Each, in his turn, to do them full justice, had +stepped up at the sound of the bell, had wrestled his fall with the +practical world, and had come out on top. And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span>he, as the world judges +success, had failed and failed, and now had failed once more. A money +getter, it seemed, he would never be. Never before had his inability to +make and lay away the dollars struck him with such tantalizing force. +What good was he in the world, he asked himself, and with a sudden envy +for every plain, practical, plodding man who was doing his daily round +in the treadmill for his appointed wage, he felt himself to be an idle +dreamer, absolutely unfitted for battle with the sane and commonplace +world in which he lived; and with a savage fluency of bitter self +disgust of which he was for ever after ashamed, he cursed himself, and +his art, tore the letter vengefully into little pieces, slammed the door +behind him, and went grimly down to his waiting supper.</p> + +<p>It was ten o’clock the next morning, when, no whit less discouraged and +sick at heart, he contrived to gain an audience with Henry Carleton. +Even the great man’s unfailing affability, this morning, it seemed, even +kindlier and more pronounced than ever, for once failed to awaken in +Vaughan’s downcast face any semblance of an answering <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>gleam. “Bad news, +Mr. Carleton,” he said, briefly, “it’s been rejected again.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s face clouded with ready sympathy.</p> + +<p>“Why, my dear boy,” he cried, “I am sorry indeed. That is a shame. I had +trusted so much that this time you would be successful. Indeed, I had +almost in a way begun to feel as if your success were mine. I can’t +begin to tell you how sorry I am.”</p> + +<p>Gloomily Vaughan nodded assent. “It does make things bad,” he said. “I +hoped so much. And now I’m as far from Rose as ever.”</p> + +<p>Carleton cleared his throat. “My dear Vaughan,” he said, “since you’ve +chanced to mention the subject, I believe I ought to tell you that I’ve +been thinking a great deal of late—as is only natural—about the +position you and Rose are in. You know, of course, that I desire only +her happiness, and yours, too. You know that. You believe that, I’m +confident. Do you not, my boy?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan, although not altogether without a vague feeling of uneasiness, +hastened to assent to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>this self-evident proposition, and Carleton at +once went on.</p> + +<p>“Now then, my only feeling in the whole matter is this. You’re neither +of you really happy now; not in the least. Long engagements, as a rule, +never are provocative of much happiness. And of course, as we’ve said +before, you wouldn’t want to get married, and have me support you. No, +no, I’m sure you wouldn’t wish that; no, of course you wouldn’t—” he +spoke a little hastily, himself answering the question he had appeared +to ask—“and so,” he continued, “I have been wondering, wouldn’t it be +better—fairer, perhaps, to Rose—not to see her so much for a while. +She’s very young, you know. And if it gets to be understood that you two +are practically engaged, she’s cut off from a great deal of pleasure +which a young girl at her age ought rightfully to enjoy. So why won’t it +be best for you to go back in earnest to your work—try as you’ve never +tried before—and I know that ultimately you’ll succeed. I envy you your +ability, Arthur; I envy you your choice of a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span>profession; and I know +that success is only a matter of time—only a matter of time—” he +repeated a little dreamily. “But you can’t do it and have all this +strain of a long love affair at the same time. I know how that distracts +one; it would scarcely be worthy the name of love if it were otherwise. +I remember—”</p> + +<p>He sat silent for a moment, as if lost in the contemplation of the past; +and then suddenly coming to the present again, continued, in a far +brisker and more practical tone, “And so, about Rose—remember, I’m not +attempting to dictate, I’m not urging it, even; I’m only suggesting to +your own sense of what is fairest and in the end best for both of you, +how it would be if perhaps you didn’t see her for a time. How does it +seem to you, Arthur? I want you to be perfectly frank with me, of +course, just as I have been with you.”</p> + +<p>To some men, possessing the defects of their virtues, any appeal to +their spirit of fairness transforms their strongest into their weakest +side. Vaughan nodded miserably. “Perhaps,” he said, a little faintly, +“you’re right. I hadn’t thought of <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span>it in just that way before. But I +want to do what’s best for Rose, of course. And I’ll own up that having +the book rejected this last time has taken all the confidence out of me. +Perhaps you’re right. Perhaps I’m not being fair to her.”</p> + +<p>“I’m very glad,” Carleton said cordially, “that you take such a sensible +view of it. It isn’t the easiest thing for a man in your position to do; +I appreciate that. And of course we have one other thing to consider. +It’s hardly probable that Rose is going to take the same view of all +this that we do—at least, not with any great enthusiasm. She’s very +fond of you, Vaughan, as is only right and natural. But all women in the +world, where their lovers are concerned, are hopelessly and by nature +entirely selfish and jealous, to a degree, of anything that keeps the +man in the case away from them, jealous even of so worthy a thing as a +man’s life work; and a man’s life work, after all, as you must realize +now as perhaps never before, is a terribly important thing. So you will +have to do your best to try to make her see the common sense side of all +this. And that you’ll do, I’m sure.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span>To Vaughan it appeared as if he found himself suddenly involved, really +against his will; arrayed on the same side with Henry Carleton to fight +the battle of stern common sense, without having any very clear idea of +how he had happened to get there. “Do you mean,” he asked, “that you +think I ought not to see her at all?”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton’s success had been too great to permit of the slightest +risk of endangering it. “Oh, by no means,” he made haste to answer. “Run +out and see her whenever you feel like it—say once a month or so. But +to come as an ordinary friend, and not as an accepted suitor, I think +perhaps would be the wiser way. That commends itself to you also, I have +no doubt.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s expression was that of a man to whom nothing now mattered. +“Oh, yes,” he answered wearily, “that commends itself to me. That +strikes me as very sensible indeed.”</p> + +<p>The complete discouragement in his tone caused Carleton to eye him +keenly. “One other thing,” he said, hastening to shift the topic with +unusual abruptness, “about the book. I don’t want you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span>to feel in the +least cast down. We’ll find a publisher yet; I’m confident of it. And +this next time, let’s start fair and square. Give me the manuscript, and +let me try negotiations in my own way. I think I may almost promise that +you’ll not find yourself disappointed.”</p> + +<p>The expression on Vaughan’s face did not seem to indicate that he by any +means shared Carleton’s confidence. “We can’t do worse,” he said, +perhaps a little ungraciously. “If you think there’s any good in going +ahead, why, all right. My confidence is gone. I’ll send the great work +over to you to-morrow; and you can send it off on its travels again, or +burn it. I don’t know which would be the more sensible of the two.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton shook his head reprovingly. “Oh, come now,” he protested, +“don’t insult yourself that way. We’ll show them yet.” He extended a +benevolent hand as he spoke. Some one had once described Carleton’s +method of getting rid of his callers as imperceptible, but inevitable. +“And run out and see Rose soon,” he added kindly, “have a good long talk +with her, and fully <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span>explain your side of the case. She won’t fail to +grasp it, I’m sure. She’s nobody’s fool, if her own father does say so.”</p> + +<p>Somehow Vaughan found himself outside the office, outside the building +itself, walking along the street in a kind of maze, before his ordinary +powers of intellect again asserted themselves. Curiously enough, for one +who had agreed so readily and so entirely with everything that Henry +Carleton had proposed, he now appeared to be actuated by a certain +feeling of resentment against that worthiest of men. “Confound him,” he +muttered disrespectfully. “How on earth does he manage it? He can turn +me around like a weathercock. I never make such a fool of myself as I do +when I talk with him. I never saw such a man. I can think of twenty +things now that I might have said, but when I needed them, I’ll be +hanged if I could lay a finger on one. And if I had, I don’t doubt but +what the next minute he’d have shown me where I was wrong. He’s always +right. That’s the puzzle about him. He’s so fair and just about things; +you can’t dispute him; and yet, for all it seems <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>like such an idiotic +thing to say, he’s right, and you know all the time he’s wrong. Confound +the man. He’s one too many for me.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>His talk with Rose came an evening or so later on the broad piazza at +The Birches. For half an hour Vaughan had sought vainly to bring himself +to make a beginning, with his attention in the meantime miserably +distracted from all that Rose Carleton had to say, finding it indeed +hard to assent with any great degree of pleasure to plans for a future +which he now felt was for ever barred to him. So noticeable and so +unlike himself did his inattention finally become that the girl stopped +short in something she was saying to turn his face toward hers, +scrutinizing it as though she sought to read the trouble there. “What’s +gone wrong, Arthur?” she asked, “nothing that I’ve done to displease +you?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s answer to the latter part of the question was not made in +words. And then, as he again raised his head, at last he made his +explanation. “It’s this, dear,” he said. “I happened to go <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>in to see +your father the other day about the book—to bother him with more bad +news—and he began to talk, apropos of that, about ourselves. He was +very pleasant—very fair—I must acknowledge that—but—he thinks that +for a man with no more prospects than I have, that I have no right to +hold you to anything like an engagement; that it isn’t fair to you; and +all that. I suppose, though he was too polite to put it in just that +way, the implication would be that I ought never to have spoken to you +at all. And so—I didn’t see, for the life of me, just what there was +for me to say. He asked me if I didn’t agree with him—it was an awkward +question, sort of a ‘you’ll be damned if you don’t; you’ll be damned if +you do’ sort of affair—and between being a fool or appearing to be a +knave, I chose the rôle that seems to come so easily to me always; I +chose to be the fool, and stammered out that I supposed I did. And now I +don’t know what to do; in a way I’ve given him my word not to visit you +as if we were engaged; in a way it seems as if he were <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>right, too; and +yet—” the unfinished sentence was eloquent of all his doubt and misery.</p> + +<p>He might have been prepared for almost any answer other than the girl’s +laugh of real amusement. And on the instant, wrought up and perplexed as +he was, the surprise of it made him draw himself up with offended +dignity. Reading his mood with all a woman’s skill, the girl drew closer +to him, and raised her face to his. “Kiss me,” she cried imperiously, +and when, with a rather ill-grace, he had complied, “There,” she said, +“that’s better; don’t imagine you can get rid of me as easily as you +think. My affections aren’t to be trifled with like that, I’ll have you +know.”</p> + +<p>Half vexed still, yet with a feeling of immense relief, he gazed at her +with a certain pathos of indecision. “Then you don’t think—” he began.</p> + +<p>She broke in upon him. “My dear,” she said, “I’m going to lecture you. I +might tell you, of course, if I wanted to, that you were perfection, +possessing no faults whatever; but it wouldn’t be true. You’ve got them, +just as everybody else in <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span>the world has. And your greatest fault of all +is lack of confidence in yourself. You’re too willing to take everybody +else’s opinion in place of your own. That’s what you’ve done now. And on +the other hand, my father, who’s one of the best men that ever lived, I +believe—every daughter has that privilege of belief about her +father—my father isn’t without his faults, either. And his besetting +one is to think that because he’s made a success of so many things, that +that gives him a sort of divine right to run everybody else’s affairs +for them, too. In just one word, speaking of course with the greatest +respect, he’s a good deal of an autocrat. And so, when I laughed just +now, it was because I was thinking, when it came to an argument, what +possible chance you, with your modesty, could have had against him, with +all his certainty of being right. And the funny thing—the thing neither +of you seemed to think of—” she added audaciously, “is that I’ve got +very distinct ideas of my own on most subjects, and especially about the +merits of the man I’m going to marry. Oh, Arthur, please—now it’s all +rumpled—well, anything’s <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>better than having you with that +‘farewell-for-ever’ look on your face. So, you see, I refuse to release +you; with the greatest respect, as I say, for my father’s judgment on +almost every other subject under the sun.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan, as he properly should have been, appeared vastly cheered. He +drew a long breath; then as quickly again looked troubled. “But about +coming out here,” he objected. “I don’t want to be a sneak. And I’ve +agreed not to come; only once a month, that is, and I believe,” he added +a little ruefully, “I undertook the contract of persuading you to assent +to the change of program. So now there are new difficulties. If I report +your insubordination, not to say rebellion, to your father, there’ll be +trouble all around, and if I lie about it, and report entire success, +your father will be delighted, but he’ll be the only one. You’re so +clever, I guess I’ll have to leave things to you. You’re bound to get me +into trouble; you’ve got to get me out again.”</p> + +<p>“Now,” the girl returned, “you’re showing your true brilliancy. And from +what I know of my <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>father, I think we will—what’s the word they use in +the melodramas—dissemble. That’s it. We’ll dissemble. You just tell my +father that you talked with me, and that I very sensibly agreed with +him. That will put his mind at rest. Poor father. He has so many things +he’s busy about I should never forgive myself if I caused him one worry +more. Yes, I think that will be very satisfactory. The best way for +every one.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan did not appear greatly to relish her plans. “Satisfactory,” he +echoed. “Seeing you once a month. Well, if you think that’s clever, I +must say—”</p> + +<p>“Seeing you <i>here</i>,” the girl interrupted. “There’s a vast difference in +that. This isn’t the only place in the world. Really, Arthur, for a +young man of your inventiveness—”</p> + +<p>She paused, her eyes alight with tender merriment. At last he seemed to +comprehend. “Oh, yes,” he nodded, “I see. In town, I suppose, but then +there’s always somebody sees you, and then your father hears about it—”</p> + +<p>“Stupid,” she flashed at him. “Aren’t there <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>better places than walking +down the Avenue, or going around to picture galleries? What’s the fun in +that? Isn’t there a river not so far away? Aren’t there woods all about +us romantic enough even for you? That’s all easy to arrange. It’ll be +quite fun working it all out. But the main thing to manage, Arthur—” +her tone suddenly altered—“is that nothing shall ever come between us. +To try to keep apart two people who really love each other as we do, +just because of anything like money, or fame, why, really, my dear, +that’s nothing short of a crime.”</p> + +<p>He nodded, yet a little grimly. “In theory, dear, you’re quite right,” +he answered. “But how about the practice? Money! Fame! We can talk about +them all we choose as little things, when we haven’t them, and the +grapes, perhaps, are a little sour, but how they count, after all. Poor +Love! Love wasn’t made for a practical world. His bow and arrow is +effectual enough, when there’s no fiercer game abroad than the hearts of +girls and boys, but how can he fight against real warriors—shields of +gold and trumpets of brass. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span>Poor Love! Who could blame him for running +away?”</p> + +<p>She took his hand with a gesture almost maternal. “My dear, my dear,” +she said, “you mustn’t talk like that. It’s sacrilege, almost. If he +were the true god of love, he wouldn’t fly. And his darts would pierce +the golden shield, and put the trumpets to rout. You, Arthur, a lover of +all things beautiful, to dream of deserting, of arraying yourself on the +side of Mammon.”</p> + +<p>She spoke lightly, but with a real meaning behind her words. He seemed, +however, to be unconvinced, for when he replied it was with a bitterness +that startled her. “I don’t care,” he said, “I’ve missed it somehow. +I’ve made an awful failure of things. Look at me! Making no bluffs, as +lots of men do, keeping back nothing, I’m earning a little over a +thousand dollars a year. And other men—classmates—yes, confound it, +and men who came out of college five years later than I did—and worse +than that, men who never went to college at all—they can make money; +good money, lots of them; a few, big money, even; and here I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span>am, trying +to publish a book that never will be published; and which, if it should +be, nobody’d ever read. Oh, the world’s pretty near right, after all; +nearer right than we think; I’m labeled at just about my face value: a +thousand dollars a year.”</p> + +<p>She laid her hand lightly on his lips. “No, no,” she cried, “you don’t +understand. You’ve been brooding over this so long you’ve lost all sense +of proportion between money and other things. I’ll tell you what I +think. I think making money’s only a knack. I believe some men are born +with it, and others aren’t. Look at the men who start with a pack of +rags on their back, and die worth millions. It’s in them; it’s no credit +to them; maybe the reverse. No one man can be everything. Some men can +build railroads, but I couldn’t imagine you doing anything like that if +you tried your honest best for a hundred years. No, my dear, because +money seems to you to be the thing you need the most just now, you’ve +been so envious of the men who are able to make it quickly that you’ve +forgotten all that you have to be thankful for; something that very few +men have granted to them <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>at all, even a hundredth part of what you +possess—and that’s the precious perception of the artist; the power to +see things which the ordinary man can never see. You’ll succeed, I know +you will, but even if you never should—by the world’s standards, I +mean—you ought never to repine. Read your Browning again, dear; even I +can appreciate that. ‘One who never turned his back but marched breast +forward, never doubted clouds would break’—how can any man turn faint +heart after that? The truth, dear, that’s everything, after all.”</p> + +<p>Very humbly and very reverently he stooped and kissed her. “You’re +right, Rose,” he said, “and I’ve been wrong. Forgive me. But you know +yourself—sometimes it’s hard; sometimes the world’s standards grip you +so that you can’t keep to your own. But I’ve been wrong, and I admit it +most humbly. You’ve a very wise little head on your shoulders, dear, and +I thank you for setting me right. I won’t go backsliding again in a +hurry, I’ll promise you.”</p> + +<p>There was a long silence. Then at last abruptly Vaughan spoke, “Rose,” +he said, “what you’ve <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span>just been saying has reminded me of something I +wanted to ask you about. It’s a hypothetical case, that a friend of mine +put to me; simple enough, seemingly, yet hard for me to decide. What +would you say to this? Suppose some friend of yours had done something +for which there was no possible excuse; committed a crime, we’ll say. +Suppose you had it in your power to condemn him, by telling something +that you knew, or, by keeping silent, could clear him for ever. What is +your duty?”</p> + +<p>The girl did not hesitate. “To tell what I know, friend or no friend,” +she answered.</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded. “That’s what I supposed you’d say,” he rejoined. “Now go +a step further. Suppose it were I that had done the wrong. Would you +tell then?”</p> + +<p>The girl’s answer came as direct as before. “You,” she cried, “never; +never in the world. I couldn’t. Any one but you.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s laugh had little of mirth in it. “And yet,” he said, “if we +are worshippers of the truth, which it is so easy to prate of and so +hard to live, where is the logical distinction? Why should a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span>little +matter of personal liking for anybody stand in your way?”</p> + +<p>The girl was silent. Then, unwillingly enough, “No, I suppose you’re +right,” she said. “But it wouldn’t be logic that would decide me. I +<i>couldn’t</i> expose you, that would be all. I’d acknowledge to myself the +wrong I was doing, but I’d go ahead with it just the same. Perhaps +that’s because I’m a woman, and trust too much to intuition. If I were a +man, I don’t know. As you say, there’s no question of the real right and +wrong of it. One should speak, regardless of everything else. And making +it a question of degree does put the whole thing in a terribly +unsatisfactory light. A stranger I wouldn’t hesitate about. You, I could +never betray, though I knew I was doing wrong. Midway between, all +grades of hatred, liking, love. No, it isn’t satisfactory, is it? Oh, I +don’t know how to answer, Arthur. But we’ve only a few minutes left, +dear. Let’s not spoil it by being too grave. I’m glad that it’s only a +hypothetical question, at any rate. Not an actual one.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” Vaughan answered, “I’m glad too.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XIV" id="CHAPTER_XIV"></a>CHAPTER XIV</h2> + +<h3>THE QUEST OF TRUTH</h3> + +<div class="centerbox7 bbox2"><p>“And broader and brighter<br /> +The Gleam flying onward,<br /> +Wed to the melody,<br /> +Sang thro’ the world;</p> + +<p>     *     *     *</p> + +<p>After it, follow it,<br /> +Follow the Gleam.”</p> + +<p class="right"><i>Tennyson.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t was nine o’clock on a cold, bleak evening in late December. A bitter, +stinging, northwest wind raged unopposed up and down the length of +the passive, shivering, all but deserted Avenue; buffeting the few +unfortunate stragglers still out-of-doors, making shrill music among the +chimney-tops, shouting and storming at fast-closed doors, and tracing +every moment deeper and deeper its bold, yet delicate design on rattling +window and frost-embroidered pane.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span>A pleasant thing, indeed, on this wild night, to turn indoors to some +place where comfort lay; and for a moment to glance at the little room +where Professor Emerson sat alone among his books, reading peacefully, +and with such absorption, that to the tumult without he paid no heed. +His venerable, white-bearded figure lay for the greater part almost +wholly in shadow, and the light of the study lamp, shining full upon his +features, brought out in vivid contrast the strong and well-etched +outline of his face. It was a face noble and sensitive, with a certain +clear-cut delicacy of line; pale as if hewn from the very marble, and +yet as if lighted by the cold, clear fire of the spirit within, so fine, +so keen, so intellectual still, that one must needs peer more closely to +discover the network of tiny, almost imperceptible wrinkles; one must +needs note more carefully the trembling of the thin, blue-veined hand +that held the book, to realize that the professor, alert and active for +so many long years, was but a professor emeritus now; and that one was +gazing on a man feeble, infirm and old.</p> + +<p>Peacefully he sat there, and indeed, in that quiet <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>room, on an ear far +quicker and readier than his own the fury of the gale would scarce have +struck disturbingly. Blow the wind as it might around the casement, rug +and curtain and tapestry laughed it to scorn; whistle as it would down +the chimney, the mounting warmth of the crackling flame met and repulsed +it at every turn. Verily the little room, restful and serene, the +scholar’s orderly abode, seemed a sanctuary alike from the storms of +nature and from the storms of the world.</p> + +<p>Presently, through the stillness of the house, a bell pealed sharply. To +the old man, however, it must have sounded but faintly, for at once, +with but a momentary half glance upward from his book, he fell to +reading again. Nor was his servant’s knock on the study door enough. It +was only when he had entered the room, and had approached respectfully +almost to within arm’s length, that the professor at last gave heed. +“Mr. Vaughan, sir,” said the man, “wishes to know if you could see him +for a little while.”</p> + +<p>At once the old scholar seemed to rouse himself. Closing his book, he +laid it aside. “Mr. Vaughan,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>he repeated, “why, yes indeed. Ask him to +step right up, please,” and a moment later footsteps sounded in the hall +outside, and Arthur Vaughan came quickly into the room.</p> + +<p>Greetings exchanged, the old man beamed benevolently across the fire at +his former pupil. “This is very kind of you, Arthur,” he said, “I’m +always glad to see any of my old boys; and I don’t get the chance so +often now. And what is it to-night? Something you wished to ask me +about, or did you just drop in for a chat?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan hesitated for a moment before replying. “A little of both, +Professor,” he said at length. “I wanted to see how you were, for one +thing; and for another, I had something on my mind that I wanted to get +your opinion on. I always used to come to you in college, when things +bothered me, and I thought I’d do the same now. This is a hypothetical +case—a question of conduct—and one of the puzzling ones that seem to +have right on both sides.”</p> + +<p>Instantly the old man’s interest was awakened. “A question of conduct,” +he repeated, “by all <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>means let me hear it, Arthur. There’s nothing more +interesting than that, ever. Matthew Arnold, you know—‘conduct +three-fourths of life.’ Very likely so, of course, and yet I always +wondered just how he fixed it with such exactness. Why not five-eighths, +I used to wonder, or seven-eighths; why just the seventy-five per cent. +He thought himself, as I remember it, that he’d pitched it low, and +Stevenson, on the other hand, considered it high. Well, that was Arnold, +all over. A little arbitrary in such things; a little given to +catch-words, perhaps; black letter, you know; and yet, for all that, a +great critic, a great debater, and to my thinking, a great poet as well. +Well, well, there I go rambling again. This old head-piece, I’m +beginning to think, Arthur, is getting pretty shaky now. Well, to come +back to the point. A question of conduct; that’s it, isn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan smiled. “To tell the truth, Professor,” he answered, “if I were +to consult my own pleasure, I’d rather try to keep you rambling, as you +call it, than to come down to any dry question of right and wrong. But +as long as I have this <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>on my mind, I suppose I’d better get down to +business, and save the ramble for another time. This is the case, +Professor. Suppose a man has a friend—not a mere acquaintance, you +understand—but one of those rare things, a real friend, for whom he +would do almost anything under heaven, if it would help him in any way. +And then suppose that suddenly, absolutely by chance, he comes upon the +knowledge that this friend has committed a crime—a crime so dastardly +that he can atone for it only with his life. No one else in the whole +world—” for just an instant he stopped, then with a shrug of his +shoulders, went on. “Yes, we’ll let it go at that, I think. No one else +in the whole world knows the facts. He holds his friend’s life +practically in his hands. And so—the question comes. Shall he turn +informer? What is his duty? Shall he treat his friend as if he were some +ordinary criminal whom he had never seen—should be at all eagerness to +drag him before the bar of justice, and have him pay the penalty of his +crime? Or has friendship some claim? Has he the right to stand aside, +shoulders shrugged, mouth tightly closed? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>Has he the right to say, ‘No +business of mine. Let the man settle it with his conscience and his +God?’ Has he a choice? Or is he bound to step forward? Is he dragged +into the cursed business against his will? Can he keep silence, or must +he speak?”</p> + +<p>He stopped abruptly. There was a silence, a silence so long that Vaughan +was beginning to wonder whether or not the old man’s brain had fully +grasped his words. But when at last the professor spoke, it was evident +that the pause had been given only to careful thought; that no detail of +the problem had been lost on him. “Is any one else, Arthur,” he asked, +“supposed to be involved? Or is it simply the case of the man himself? +Are there others to be considered, or does he stand alone, confronted +with the deed he has done?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s answering laugh had nothing of mirth in it. “Any one else,” he +echoed, “I should say so. Relatives; friends; a woman’s heart, perhaps, +to be broken. And the man who is confronted with the problem—it may +mean loss of his own happiness as well. And a name, too; a family name +that’s been maintained with honor for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>centuries, almost, one might say. +That’s to be dragged in the dust, if it all becomes known. Is any one +else involved?” He laughed again.</p> + +<p>There was a pause before the professor spoke, and then, “Could the man +make atonement, Arthur?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s tone, when he answered, was low and sad. “Never,” he replied, +“never in a million years. It is a crime where mankind seek to do +justice, but where really there is no possible atonement. The crime is +the taking of the life of a fellow-man.”</p> + +<p>The old man slowly nodded. “And he refuses to come forward?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“He refuses to come forward,” Vaughan answered, “though of his motives, +perhaps it is hardly fair to pretend to judge. Still, strictly speaking, +I suppose that scarcely alters the case. Whatever his idea in keeping +silent, in any event he does so.”</p> + +<p>“And of his guilt,” said the professor, “I understand you to make no +question. That, as I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span>understand it, is one of the fixed hypotheses of +the problem, and not open to discussion.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan inclined his head. “Exactly,” he returned. “Of his guilt, +unfortunately, there is no question. That we may regard as fixed.”</p> + +<p>Long and earnestly the old man pondered. “There is a difficulty, of +course,” he said, at length. “Under ordinary circumstances, or rather, +perhaps, I should say, under extraordinary circumstances, under the +hypothesis, I mean, that there existed in all the world only the +murdered man, the criminal, yourself, and the tribunal of justice, then +I suppose the case would be tolerably clear. I suppose no sophistry +could convince us that the incidental fact of a personal friendship +should in reality make the slightest difference as to what your duty +would be. But then there enters the complication of which you speak—the +rights of the other parties involved. As to whether there were others +concerned, my question was almost a needless precaution. Of course there +are. No man, even the lowest, ever lives to himself alone. Consciously +or unconsciously, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>he has to influence some one about him, for good or +evil, as the case may be. But considering everything, even the sorrow +and misfortune that must result from it, I am of opinion, Arthur, that +the man should speak. It would be hard, of course; terribly hard; but +life <i>is</i> hard. And of the ultimate standard of right and wrong, we may +scarcely hope to judge. All that we may hope to do is to act up to the +truth as we see it. And here, Arthur, I believe the duty is plain. To +what the man has seen he must bear witness, at whatever cost. That way +lies right, and to follow the easier, the more human course, and to keep +silence, that way lies wrong.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan had sat listening with downcast eyes. In spite of himself, he +could not raise them to meet the professor’s glance, though within him +his mind, mutinous, rebelled. “But doesn’t friendship count?” he said at +last. “Doesn’t loyalty go for anything? Can a man play the traitor, as +you would have him do, and not be branded false for all eternity?”</p> + +<p>The professor’s gaze, serene and calm, never for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>an instant faltered. +“Arthur,” he said, “you don’t believe that—not a word of it. You’re +trying to make good soldiers enlist in a bad cause. Friendship, loyalty; +yes, they are fine things; scarce anything finer, perhaps; but where the +true allegiance of these fine things belongs—that it is the truth that +transcends all else—that, Arthur, you know, in your inmost heart, as +well as I.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan sat silent, with clouded brow. And then, as the pause +lengthened, he made another effort still. “But, Professor, even if the +individual amounts to little, isn’t there the further question of the +other matter of which I have spoken—the question of an honored family +name. That, at least, Professor, is no small thing. To bring a stain +upon it, without the most absolute necessity for so doing, doesn’t it +seem, in a way, like seeking to debase the currency? A name, graced by +generations of those who have borne it worthily, passes always current +for patriotism, integrity, honesty; the name becomes of itself a force +for the public good. And now, suddenly debase that name—smirch and mar +it—and you have struck <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>a blow at the very foundation of things; you +shake the confidence of the people at large in something which they had +come to regard as one of the unquestioned bulwarks of the city and the +state. Isn’t that something to be well considered? Should not the man +see to it, that in righting, or trying to right, a wrong for which he is +not responsible, he does not go too far, and instead of reparation, +leave behind him, in its place, a scar—a blot—that even time can not +erase. Isn’t that the solution, sir? Should not the man keep still?”</p> + +<p>For a time the old man sat silent, weighing Vaughan’s words well, before +he at length made answer. “That is an argument, Arthur,” he replied, “a +plausible argument; yet hardly, I should say, sound. Debasing the +currency is an excellent figure, yet there is a currency as much higher +than that of family names, as gold outvalues copper. And to seek to keep +the copper inviolate, while at the same time forced to debase the real +currency—the standard gold—would that be the path of wisdom? Names, +you say; great names; but they seem such a small thing in the wide +uni<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>verse itself; a name; a great name; a generation of great names; all +but the tiniest dust motes shimmering across the sunbeam which gives +them all the luster they may claim. Is the dust speck of reputation +worth saving, if its rescue means the shutting out of the +sunbeam—Truth?”</p> + +<p>In his turn Vaughan sat silent, seeking vainly for +words—thoughts—arguments—that would not come. At length he rose, his +hands clenched, the struggle going on within him showing in every line +of his sensitive face. “I don’t know; I don’t know;” he cried, “I have +to think it out myself. But I thank you, Professor, for your kindness; I +hope I haven’t tired you,” and taking the old man’s hand in farewell, he +made his way hurriedly out of the room.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XV" id="CHAPTER_XV"></a>CHAPTER XV</h2> + +<h3>MURDER WILL OUT</h3> + +<div class="centerbox5 bbox2"><p>“Murder, though it have no tongue, will speak<br /> +With most miraculous organ.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Shakespeare.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">H</span>enry Carleton and his daughter sat in the library at The Birches, +Carleton writing at the long table, Rose, with easy chair drawn up in +front of the fire, busied with her embroidery. Presently Henry Carleton +laid aside his pen, and rising, walked over to the bookcase; where he +found the volume and verified the quotation which he sought; then, with +a smile of satisfaction, he walked back to the table again, and for an +instant stood there, glancing down contentedly at the orderly +arrangement of papers and documents now completed and laid aside, +awaiting the morrow.</p> + +<p>The expression of his face was serene and benevolent. His very +attitude—even, indeed, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span>something about the atmosphere of the room +itself—breathed of the man at peace with himself and with the world. +And such a man, at the moment, in very truth Henry Carleton was, and +with every reason therefor besides. The routine of his well-ordered day +was drawing to a close. From the dinner table he had gone direct to his +evening paper—from the paper to his desk. The little white heap of +envelopes that stood ready for the morrow’s mailing bore witness to his +labors there. The big check book at their side was closed—modestly and +becomingly closed—but if the observer’s eye had been able to penetrate +the cover, and for a moment to look at the stubs within, his admiration +for Henry Carleton could but have been increased by what he would there +have seen. One check, made payable to the Cripples’ Home, was for five +hundred dollars; there were a half dozen more, payable to other +charities, for a hundred each; there was one for twenty-five drawn to +the order of a poor veteran in Eversley village. Surely witnesses better +than these no man could well desire. What wonder that Henry Carleton was +content.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>And now, with business out of the way, with his household and his +private affairs all in order, this man of so many talents and virtues +had turned to his pet avocation—literature—and was forging busily +ahead on his scholarly essay, <i>Character Drawing in the Early English +Novel</i>. Glancing over what he had written, at once he spoke aloud, half +to his daughter, half—the most important half—to himself. This +thinking aloud over his literary work was a favorite method with him. He +liked to get Rose’s ideas and criticisms—sometimes, to his surprise, +they appeared upon reflection to contain much of good sense—and apart +from this, he believed that it was in this way he could pass the fairest +and the most searching judgment upon his labors. And after all, the +question of benefit apart, the sound of his own voice was in nowise +distasteful to him. Nor could he well be blamed. It was a pleasant voice +and well-modulated, and through its medium he liked to think around his +subject, to get the swing and cadence of each varying phrase, before at +length he came <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>to make his last “fair copy,” and thus to transmit his +ideas to paper in final form.</p> + +<p>“‘Sir Charles Grandison,’ Rose,” he read, “‘is beyond question most +skilfully drawn, with all the author’s great command of those quiet +little strokes and touches, one superimposed on the other, which at last +give us the portrait of the man, standing forth from the canvas in all +the seeming reality of flesh and blood.’ How does that strike you, +Rose?”</p> + +<p>The girl wrinkled her pretty forehead “Well, father,” she answered, a +little dubiously, “for one thing, I don’t know that I think it’s quite +true. I always thought Sir Charles was a terrible prig; horribly +self-satisfied and altogether too much taken up with marveling at his +own virtues. I don’t believe, you know, that a man like Sir Charles ever +could assume for any one ‘the seeming reality of flesh and blood.’ ‘The +seeming reality of a lay figure,’ I think, would be about the nearest +phrase one could properly use.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton hastened to dissent. “No, no, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span>my dear,” he returned, +“you’re quite wrong. Sir Charles wasn’t perfect. Richardson was far too +clever to fall into that error. Sir Charles had his faults, and the +author in his concluding note takes special pains to draw attention to +them. He had his faults, but then his virtues so far outweighed them +that they sank into insignificance. Then there was Lovelace, whose +faults were so pronounced, and who had such a lack of any redeeming +virtues, that he is at once to be condemned as a character thoroughly +immoral, serviceable ethically only to point the awful example of +talents misspent and energies abused. And midway between the two is Mr. +B., who also had his failings, but who finally atoned for them by his +condescension in marrying Pamela. The trio, I think, point the way to +the author’s whole philosophy of life. We have our faults, even the best +of us. We can’t help them. But on the other hand, by constant endeavor, +we can do so much good that in the end we counterbalance the evil we do, +and so to speak obliterate it altogether. Very good, I think, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>very +sound. An interesting title for a little essay, <i>The Balance</i>, don’t you +think so, Rose?”</p> + +<p>The girl looked doubtful. “Why, no,” she answered, “to tell the truth, I +don’t. I should think that was a pretty dangerous doctrine. Good and +evil—debit and credit. I should think it was a very grave question +whether any amount of good could ever really balance one conscious evil +act. Take Mr. B., whom you’ve just quoted, for example. I could never, +in reading that book, think of him as anything but a great, hulking, +overbearing, arrogant animal, and the shameful way in which he treated +poor Sally Goodwin is a case right in point—that was something no man +could ever atone for, even by a series of the finest deeds in the world. +No, father, I think, if I were you, I shouldn’t try to justify a theory +like that. I’m afraid it isn’t sound.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton frowned. “Nonsense,” he cried, for him a little +irritably, “it’s perfectly sound. I could give you a hundred examples. +‘Take him for all in all,’ as Shakespeare phrases it; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>that’s what I +mean. Some evil has to be done with the good, unless we’re going back to +pillories and hermitages, to keep ourselves unspotted from the world. +And in these days common sense forbids that. Your view is entirely +unreasonable, Rose.”</p> + +<p>The girl seemed somewhat surprised at his unusual heat. With a little +laugh she rolled up her embroidery, quitted the easy chair, and coming +over to him, kissed him obediently on the cheek. “Well, don’t mind me, +father,” she said affectionately, “if you don’t want my foolish ideas, +you shouldn’t ask for them. One thing’s sure; if your theory is right, +you can do about anything you want to now. Rob a bank—or commit any +dreadful crime you choose. Your balance must be so large you couldn’t +overdraw it if you tried.”</p> + +<p>Carleton laughed. “Well, perhaps that is rather a <i>reductio ad +absurdum</i>,” he answered. “In any event, I don’t think I’ll experiment in +the way you mention. You’re not going up-stairs already, are you, Rose?”</p> + +<p>She nodded. “Yes, if you don’t mind,” she replied, “I’m a little tired +this evening. Good night. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>Don’t work too hard over your writing now. +You never rest. I never saw such a man.”</p> + +<p>Left alone, Carleton returned to his essay, but not with the +concentration he had before displayed. A sudden restlessness seemed to +have come over him. Once or twice he ceased his work to consult his +watch, and finally stopped, rose hastily, and walked over to the window, +where he stood gazing aimlessly put into the night; then, with a sigh, +turned slowly, almost, one would have said, reluctantly, again to his +task.</p> + +<p>For perhaps five minutes he kept manfully at work. Then once again his +attention seemed to wander; slowly and still more slowly moved the +unwilling pen, and finally, with a sudden impatient gesture, he laid it +down, flung himself back in his chair, and sat there motionless, yet not +with the air of one who has comfortably finished the task he has in +hand, but rather as if debating within himself, between two possible +courses of action, which one at last to choose.</p> + +<p>If such, indeed, was the case, the decision was not to lie with him. +There came a knock at the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span>door. “Come in,” he said quickly, and the +butler, Helmar’s friend of old, a little thinner, a little grayer, a +little more imperturbable than ever, entered softly, approaching close +to his master’s elbow before he delivered himself of his message. “Mr. +Vaughan, sir,” he announced with slow deliberation, “in the +reception-room. He wishes to know, sir, if without inconvenience to +yourself you could give him a few moments.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton looked a little surprised, perhaps also a little annoyed. +“To see <i>me</i>,” he said, “you’re sure, Burton, that it wasn’t Miss Rose +he asked for?”</p> + +<p>The butler’s manner was one verging on gentle reproof. Within his domain +he did not allow himself the luxury of making mistakes. “Quite sure, +sir,” he answered. His tone, though respectful, did not admit of further +questioning upon the point. Henry Carleton sighed, and appeared to rouse +himself. “Why, of course,” he said, “tell him I’ll be down at once; or +no,” he added, “please, Burton, tell him to come up here instead.”</p> + +<p>The butler, inclining his head, withdrew. Then, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>a moment or two later, +the sound of ascending footsteps, and Vaughan entered the room. At once +something in his appearance struck Henry Carleton as far out of the +ordinary. “Why, my dear boy,” he cried, “you look worried to death. +What’s gone wrong? No more bad news from the book?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan silently shook his head. He was indeed looking miserably, and +when he took a chair, he sat bolt upright on its edge, leaning forward +nervously when he spoke. “No,” he said, “it’s worse than that, Mr. +Carleton; a whole lot worse. It’s something that’s been troubling me for +a long time now, until finally I’ve made up my mind that the only thing +for me to do is to come straight to you with it, and tell you the whole +story. And that’s why I’m here.”</p> + +<p>At once Carleton shoved books and papers aside, as if the better to +prepare himself for proper attention to Vaughan’s words. He looked at +his visitor with an air of friendly concern. “Anything that I can do—” +he murmured. “You know, of course, that you may count on me. Anything in +my power—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>Vaughan nodded abruptly. “Thank you,” he said hastily and a little +grimly, “it’s not a favor that I’ve come for. I’m going to do you a bad +turn, I’m afraid. Going to do everybody a bad turn, as far as that goes. +But it can’t be helped. I’ve got to go ahead, and that’s all there is to +it.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton eyed him narrowly, but without speaking, and Vaughan, +looking up, as if eager to have his task over, with sudden resolve, +began. “It’s about Satterlee,” he said, “you remember how things +happened out here that night, of course. I guess we all do. Jack went +up-stairs to bed, you remember, and you and Cummings went off to play +billiards. I was on the piazza with Rose, and stayed there until you +came down to tell her that it was getting late. Then, after she went +up-stairs, you told me that you were going for a short walk, and I said +I believed I’d go to my room. Well, I didn’t. I don’t know why. I +started to go in, and then—the night was so fine; I had so much that +was pleasant to think about—somehow I couldn’t stand the idea of going +into the house, and instead I took a stroll around the grounds.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span>He stopped for a moment. Henry Carleton, gazing intently at him, gave no +sign from his expression that he was experiencing any emotion beyond +that of the keenest interest and attention. Only his eyes, in the +shadow, had lost their customary benevolent expression, narrowing until +their look was keen, alert; the look of a man put quickly on his guard. +And as Vaughan still kept silence, it chanced that Carleton was the +first again to speak. “Well,” he queried impatiently, “and what then?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan drew a quick breath. “This,” he cried hastily, almost +recklessly, “this. I walked down toward Satterlee’s cottage, and I saw +what happened there. Satterlee didn’t fall from any rock. He was +murdered. And I saw it all.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton did not start. There was no cry of surprise, no single +word, even. Only, as Vaughan had finished, on a sudden his eyes dilated +strangely; his lips parted a trifle; for a moment, without breathing, +without animation, it seemed as if the man’s whole being hung poised +motionless, suspended. So great the surprise, so great the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span>shock, that +one, not knowing, might almost have believed himself to be looking upon +the man who had done the deed. “Murdered?” he at last repeated dully, +“You saw it? Murdered?”—there was a moment’s silence, and then, all at +once seeming to recover himself, he leaned forward in his chair. “By +whom?” he cried sharply, with just a note of menace in his tone, “By +whom?”</p> + +<p>On Vaughan’s part there was no further hesitation. He had gone too far +for that. Yet his face was drawn and distorted with pain as in a tone so +low that Carleton could scarcely hear, he uttered the single word, +“Jack.”</p> + +<p>And this time the added shock was too great. Henry Carleton started +visibly, the most intense emotion showing in every line of his face. +“Jack?” he gasped, “Jack?”</p> + +<p>In silence Vaughan bowed his head, hardly able to look on the anguish +which his words had caused. “Jack,” he muttered again, under his breath.</p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 353px;"> +<img src="images/i299.jpg" class="ispace" width="353" height="500" alt="Henry Carleton started visibly." title="" /> +<span class="caption">Henry Carleton started visibly.—Page <a href="#Page_292">292</a></span> +</div> + +<p>There was a silence, tense, pregnant. Once Vaughan, slowly raising his +head, had started to speak, and Henry Carleton had instantly lifted a <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span>hand to enjoin silence. “Wait a minute!” he commanded. Evidently he was +striving to recollect. Then presently he spoke again. “Nonsense,” he +cried, “I remember perfectly now. That was the night that Jack said he +felt tired; he went to his room early to smoke a pipe, and then turn in. +Jack murder Satterlee! Why, nonsense, man! You’re dreaming. You’re not +in your right mind. Jack and Satterlee were always good friends, and +Mrs. Satterlee, too. No, no. Jack to murder any one is nonsensical +enough; but Jack to murder Satterlee—impossible—simply impossible!”</p> + +<p>Stubbornly Vaughan shook his head. “I wish to God it were,” he answered, +with deep feeling. “It sounds wild enough, I know, but it’s true, for +all that. Every word. And one thing you’ve just said—” he hesitated, +and stopped, then unwillingly enough continued, “one thing, I’m afraid, +goes a long ways toward explaining, and that is that Jack was such good +friends with Mrs. Satterlee. I’m afraid that was the beginning of +everything.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s face was pale, and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse with +emotion. “God, Vaughan,” <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span>he said, “this is terrible,” and then, with a +quick return to his former manner, “no, no, I can’t believe it yet. Tell +me what you saw. Not what you imagined or conjectured. Just what you +saw—actually saw with your own eyes.”</p> + +<p>“There isn’t very much to tell,” Vaughan answered. “I just happened to +walk that way, for no reason whatsoever. Just by chance; I might have +gone any other way as well. And finally I came out on the top of a +little hill—no, not a hill exactly; more like a cliff—and from there I +could see across to Satterlee’s house. And while I stood there, I saw a +man—Satterlee—come across the drive, and up the back way, and go in. +Then, in a minute, I heard a noise up-stairs, and some one cry out; and +then, a minute after that, Jack rushed out of the house, with Satterlee +after him—and suddenly Satterlee took to running queer and wide and in +a circle, with his head all held pitched to one side—ah, it was ghastly +to see him—and then he came straight for the rock where I was standing, +and all at once his legs seemed to go out from under him, and he +sprawled right out on the gravel <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span>on his face, and lay there. I turned +faint for a minute, I think, and the next thing I recall was looking +down again, and there was Jack trying to lift Satterlee up, and when he +scratched a match his hands were all over blood, and Satterlee’s +face—oh, I’ve dreamed it all fifty times since—he was dead then, I +suppose. His head hung limp, I remember, and then—it was cowardly, of +course, and all that, but the whole thing was so unexpected—so like a +damnable kind of a nightmare, somehow—and Jack, you know—why, it was +too much for me. I just turned, and made off, and never stopped till I’d +got back safe into my room again. And that’s all.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton sat silent, engrossed in thought. Almost he seemed to be +oblivious of Vaughan’s presence. “It couldn’t be,” he muttered, at last, +as though incredulous still, “it couldn’t be. Jack!” he paused, only to +repeat the name again. Then he shook his head. “Never,” he said with +decision, “he would have told everything. You saw wrong, Arthur. You +didn’t see Jack.”</p> + +<p>Something in the older man’s attitude of continued <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>disbelief seemed to +have the effect of nettling Vaughan. “How many times,” he said, with a +note of irritation in his tone, “must I repeat it? I tell you I <i>know</i>. +Can’t a man trust his own eyes? It <i>was</i> Jack. There’s no room for doubt +at all. Don’t you suppose—” his voice rose with the strain of all that +he had been through—“don’t you suppose that I’d have jumped at any +chance to clear him? Don’t you suppose that if there’d been the faintest +shadow of a doubt in his favor, I’d have stretched it to the breaking +point to see him go free. No, there’s no question. It was Jack. Why he +did it, or how he did it, you can conjecture, if you wish, but one thing +is plain. Murder Tom Satterlee he did.”</p> + +<p>His tone rang true. At last, in spite of himself, Carleton appeared +unwillingly to be convinced. Again he pondered. “Then he perjured +himself at the inquest?” he said quickly at last.</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded. “He perjured himself at the inquest,” he assented.</p> + +<p>“And you?” asked Carleton, again, “you perjured yourself too?”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>“I perjured myself too,” Vaughan answered. “There were plenty of other +reasons, of course; reasons that you can imagine. It wasn’t just a case +of Jack alone. There was a lot else to think of besides. We talked it +over as well as we could—Jack and I. We thought of you. We thought of +Rose—and of me. We thought of the Carleton name. The disgrace of it +all. We only had a quarter of an hour, at the most—and we lied, +deliberately and consciously lied.”</p> + +<p>He looked up, instantly amazed at the look on Carleton’s face, for +Carleton was gazing at him as if he could scarcely believe his ears—as +if this piece of news, for some reason, came as something more +unexpected than all the rest. “You talked it over with Jack?” he said, +“talked it over with Jack, and Jack thought of me—and the family name. +Upon my word, Arthur, I believe one of us is mad.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan stared at him, uncomprehending. “I don’t see why you say that,” +he returned. “What was there more natural? Or do you mean Jack wasn’t +sincere when he put that forward as a reason? <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>I’ve thought of that, but +I don’t believe it now. Just think how we should feel if instead of +sitting here and theorizing about it, we knew that the facts were really +public property. Do you wonder that we stopped to consider everything? +Do you wonder that we decided as we did? But we were wrong—all wrong—I +knew it, really, all the time. To tell what I saw—that was the only +honest thing to do. I lied, and now I’m going to try to make amends. I’m +going to tell the truth, no matter what comes. It’s the only way.”</p> + +<p>Impatiently Henry Carleton shook his head. “I don’t agree with you, in +the least,” he said quickly. “I think you decided rightly. I should have +done the same. And right or wrong, you’ve made your choice. Why alter it +now? It would make the scandal of the day.”</p> + +<p>“I know it,” Vaughan desperately assented, “I know it will. But +anything’s better than having things go on as they are now. I can’t look +people in the face. I’ve been miserable. I thought I knew what it was to +be badly off before, but poverty, and bad luck, and failure—what are +they, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>anyway? What do they amount to? Nothing. But a thing like this on +your conscience. Why, a man’s better dead. He can’t live with it, day +and night. He <i>can’t</i>; that’s all. I know. He’s got to tell, or go +crazy; it isn’t to be endured.”</p> + +<p>Without making answer, Henry Carleton rose, and walked over to the +window, standing precisely as he had stood before Vaughan’s coming, +gazing out into the blackness of the night. Then he turned. “Wait here,” +he said peremptorily. “I’ve got to get to the bottom of this, or you +won’t be the one to lose your senses. Wait here. I’ll be back in half an +hour, at the very latest.”</p> + +<p>Sudden conjecture dawned in Vaughan’s eyes. “You’re going—” he began, +and then paused.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton completed the sentence for him. “I’m going to see Mrs. +Satterlee,” he answered. “I refuse to credit your story, Arthur, or what +you say Jack admits, unless she corroborates your tale of what happened +that night. It all depends on her.”</p> + +<p>He turned to leave the room, then paused a moment, and again turned to +Vaughan. “Have you <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span>told Jack,” he asked, “just what you propose to do?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan shook his head. “I haven’t seen Jack,” he answered, “since the +morning after it happened. To tell the truth, I’ve taken pains not to +see him. I couldn’t bear to. The whole thing got on my nerves. It seemed +to change him so. And about this part of it, I haven’t seen him, either. +I couldn’t. To go to a man, and read him his death-warrant. I couldn’t. +I thought I’d come to you.”</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. “I think you’ve done wisely,” he said, “if this can all +be true, I must see Jack myself first. It becomes a family matter then. +Well, I must go. Wait here for me, please. I won’t be long.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>For perhaps twenty minutes Vaughan sat alone in the library, his mind, +after the long strain of all he had undergone, singularly torpid. +Mechanically he found himself counting the squares on a rug near the +table; three rows of six—three rows of five—eighteen, fifteen, +thirty-three. Over and over again he did this until at last he pulled +himself <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span>up short with a start. And then he heard footsteps ascending; +and Henry Carleton hastily reëntered the room, his face stern and set. +For an instant, as Vaughan rose, the two men stood confronting each +other. “Well?” Vaughan asked, though reading the answer to his question +in the other’s eyes.</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. In the lamplight his face looked ten years older. He +spoke but two words. “It’s true,” he said.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVI" id="CHAPTER_XVI"></a>CHAPTER XVI</h2> + +<h3>THE FAMILY NAME</h3> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox2"><p>“Reputation, reputation, reputation!”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Shakespeare.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">I</span>t was long past closing time at Henry Carleton’s. Every one, from the +oldest clerk to the smallest office boy, had long since gone home. For +three hours, almost, the two men had had the office to themselves. A +long, bitter battle of words it had been, all the stored-up brood of +evil passions, hatred and envy, anger and fear, as with the bursting of +some festering sore, had surged, foul and horrible, into the clear light +of the open day.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton sat at his desk, but not in his usual attitude of calm +composure, leaning back in his chair, the acknowledged lord and master +of his little world, envied by all men who came to see him, to buy or +sell, bargain and haggle, plot and plan. This Henry Carleton was a +strangely different man. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>Wearily enough he leaned forward in his chair, +his head propped on one hand, while in the other the pencil which +ordinarily never moved but to some purpose, to jot down some pregnant +list of facts or figures, now moved over the blank surface of the paper +in little aimless scrawls and circles; fit index, perhaps, to its +owner’s strange confusion of brain—a man for once troubled, wavering +and irresolute, well-nigh, at times, despairing, yet still seeking +feverishly the solution of the puzzle, making desperate hunt for the +missing key.</p> + +<p>Facing him sat Jack Carleton, astride of one of the office chairs, his +hands grasping its back, his eyes never leaving the other’s face. His +whole expression—the twitching mouth, the deep-set gleam in his +troubled eyes, the unconsciously wrinkled brow—all seemed to bear +witness to some storm of passion that had passed over him, and even in +the comparative calm which had followed, had still left its traces +behind. One might have hazarded that the man who sat there staring into +Henry Carleton’s face was a man actuated by two feelings, one new, one +old; one a fear, deep and deadly, the <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>other a resentment so fierce and +bitter, that unrestrained by time and place, it would have loosed him, +like a bulldog, at the other’s throat.</p> + +<p>Without looking up, Henry Carleton again began the argument, his tone an +odd mixture, half threatening, half conciliatory, as one who, knowing +that it lies within his power to effect his ends by force, yet for some +reason strives first to gain them by gentler means. “Jack,” he said, “we +have to find a way out somehow. And I want to play fair with you—I want +even to be more than fair—”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton cut him short with a laugh so utterly devoid of mirth, so +full of the bitterest malice, that a curse would have struck more +pleasantly upon the ear. “Oh, yes,” he mocked, “of course you do. You +want to be fair.” He paused a moment; then, with a naked, unrestrained, +deliberate passion horrible to witness, he protruded his head with a +gesture almost bestial, his tone lowered so that the words came +sibilantly from between his teeth. “You damned sneak,” he said, “why, in +the name of God, can’t you act like a man? Talk like a man? All these +dirty, canting phrases of yours; <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>they’ve grown on you now so you can’t +drop ’em if you wanted to. You’ve stifled all the real man that was ever +in you—and to start with that was precious little. You’re a money +making machine; money distributing, too, if that’s any comfort to you; +<i>you</i> credit to the Carleton name. You’ve sneaked and schemed your way +so long that you do it from habit now; and a devil of a fine result +you’ve got this time. You want to be fair. Fair! Oh, my God!” he laughed +again.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton lifted a face flushed suddenly with angry crimson. “Stop +it, Jack,” he commanded, and then, through force of long discipline, +with a sigh he slowly shook his head, and let his clenched hands relax. +“What’s the use?” he said, with infinite patience, “what’s the use now, +of all times? Hear me out, Jack. I know that you hate me. And I know +why. I’ve been a successful man, and you’ve been a failure, but our +chances were the same. You could have done as well as I. Only you chose +to use your energies in a different way. That’s all been your fault, not +mine. And now this thing’s come up. You’ve had a surprise <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>to-day. +You’ve found things very different from what you expected. But what is +my attitude all the while? Am I trying to press my advantage as I could? +That’s the last thing I want to do. You think I hate you, Jack. Can’t +you see that I don’t? If I did, would I be talking as I’m talking now? +Would I talk with you at all, even? Would I above all sit here and take +your insults—your abuse? Not for an instant. You sit there, alive and +free—and yet a dead man, Jack. Think of it! Dead already. Dead as if +you sat this instant in the electric chair. And what am I saying?—the +man that you think hates you. What am I urging and advising all this +time, when I could see you going in the prison door, never to come out +again alive? I’m showing you how to get out of the whole thing +scot-free; giving you every chance; and you won’t listen to me.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton had heard him out in silence, indeed, but without further +emotion, without any change of the hard, set look on his face. “Oh, +you’re damned generous,” he sneered, as the other paused, “and you’re +doing it all out of love for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span>me. It’s awfully sudden, this affection, +isn’t it? It’s been a long time coming.” He laughed with a jarring +offensiveness, as if, strangely enough, he was deliberately trying to +incense, instead of to placate, the man of whose good will he stood so +sorely in need.</p> + +<p>Again Henry Carleton’s face grew dark, as if at last his irritation had +got the upper hand. “For Heaven’s sake, Jack,” he cried, “don’t be a +child, just for the pleasure of trying to annoy me. I say again, I’m +being fair with you. I say again, more than fair. And if you want to +exercise your irony on me by implying that I’m not actuated by any love +for you, I’ll say frankly that this is too complicated an affair for any +one person’s claims to be paramount in trying to settle it. I’m +considering every one interested; I’m weighing all the chances for +everybody concerned; you and I, and Rose, and Vaughan, and Mrs. +Satterlee—we’re all involved, and I say again, looking at everything +from all possible points of view, it’s for our interest, Jack—for yours +and mine—to stand together, whatever happens. There’s nothing I want +more, whether <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>you believe it or not, than to see you get out of the +whole thing clear. And don’t—” he raised his hand as Jack started to +speak—“don’t go running off on any abstract theory of what’s right and +what isn’t. It’s no use. It’s waste of time. We’ve got to look at this +matter as it is—not as perhaps it ought to be. It’s intensely practical +for us, Jack, and so let’s look at it that way.”</p> + +<p>His words seemed effectual, as far as any further protest from Jack +Carleton was concerned. For a moment he sat silent, and then, with an +air of resignation, mingled with a certain indifference, “Very well,” he +said, “look at it in that way, if you choose, for all of me. How does +that help? The whole thing’s as mixed as before; you can’t solve it +satisfactorily, try as you may.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton, well pleased, drew a quiet breath of satisfaction. So +much, indeed, seemed to him a signal gain. Little by little—that was +Henry Carleton’s way. “Good,” he said shortly, and then, “but it can be +solved, Jack, for all that. Not with perfect satisfaction to everybody, +perhaps; but it can be solved.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>He spoke with such an air of assurance that Jack Carleton glanced at him +quickly, as if seeking some underlying significance in his words. Henry +Carleton’s face, however, was devoid of anything of enlightenment, and +his eyes were looking idly across the room. “Yes,” he repeated, “still +satisfactorily, in the main, I think. It’s a pure question of logic, +Jack. Let’s start with the assumption that if it can be avoided, you’re +not eager to die.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton’s eyebrows were raised half grimly, half ruefully. +Something of a kind of hysterical humor seemed to him to exist in the +idea of asking a man with such seriousness whether or not he was eager +to die. “Yes,” he returned, “you can assume that. That’s a good point to +start with.”</p> + +<p>There was something in his tone, despite the solemnity of the +discussion, that made Henry Carleton force a sickly smile, which faded +almost before it had come. “And second,” he said, “you’ll keep quiet as +long as any one else will.”</p> + +<p>Jack nodded again. “Certainly,” he said, perhaps with more of bitterness +in his tone.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>Henry Carleton leaned forward, looking him now straight in the eye, and +speaking with the most intense earnestness. “Then take the parties +involved in their turn,” he cried, “if you stick to that, no harm can +come from you. No harm will come from me, in any event. And Rose, of +course, doesn’t know. Of the other two, Mrs. Satterlee—” he paused an +instant, then continued, a little hastily, as it seemed. “Perhaps +there’s no further need of going into that. As we know, she is safe, and +if not, there are certain precautions—no, we may dismiss that entirely, +I think. And that—” the pause was longer this time, “that leaves the +man who’s been foolish enough to raise all this trouble to start with. +That leaves your friend, and my prospective son-in-law,—one man to be +reckoned with—Arthur Vaughan.”</p> + +<p>This time there was no mistaking the gathering menace in his tone. But +Jack Carleton seemed not to choose to understand his words. “Well?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton frowned. “Well,” he snapped, “isn’t it perfectly plain? +Vaughan wants something, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>of course. He’s got us where he wants us now. +Of course I knew, for a man who, as a rule, is so pliable, that when he +turned stubborn about this, it was a plain case of hold-up. So that’s +what we’ve got to do. Square him, in any way he wants. He’s your friend. +Sound him; see what he’s after. Whatever it is, if I can give it to him, +and I guess I can, of course I will. Go ahead and see him right away. +We’ve got to fix him quickly, whatever else we do.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton shook his head in vigorous dissent. “You’re miles wide of +the mark. That isn’t Vaughan at all. He’s not that kind. Arthur’s a +visionary, almost. He’d never have kept quiet as long as he has if I +hadn’t practically gone on my knees to him. No, this is principle with +him. You’re altogether mistaken. You can’t stop him that way in a +thousand years.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton sighed. “I don’t believe it,” he said stubbornly. “I +don’t want to believe it, but you ought to know him better than I. And +if it’s so—I want to be fair with him—more than fair—” at the +familiar phrase Jack Carleton smiled <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span>a grim little smile—“but we’re in +a bad box, Jack; a terribly bad box; and we’ve got to pull out of it +somehow. Make him the squarest offer you can—anything in reason he +wants—and if he doesn’t see fit to accept—”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton sprang to his feet. “No, no,” he cried, “that won’t do. I +won’t see anything happen to Vaughan. I’ll go to him; tell him he’s +mistaken; tell him he mustn’t speak; tell him—”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton cut him short. “No use, Jack,” he said curtly. “I’ve +thought of all that. It wouldn’t do any good. In the first place, +Vaughan has this crazy idea about duty, and about Satterlee’s blood +crying out to him from the ground, and all that nonsense; you know how a +nervous man can get worked up over a thing; and he’s bound to speak +anyway. And in the second place, he wouldn’t believe you. You can hardly +blame him, either. All the evidence together; the affair you had with +that woman, your stopping at the cottage that evening,—no, no, it won’t +do. You might as well save your breath.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause. Jack at last nodded grudgingly. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>“Well, then,” he +cried. “I’ll let it go the other way. Let him go to the district +attorney, if he chooses. Let him tell his story, and let them arrest me, +and get me into court. Let him tell it over again there, for everybody +to hear, and you can tell your story, and Jeanne Satterlee hers. And +then, by God, I’ll tell mine, and if there’s such a thing as justice—”</p> + +<p>Again Henry Carleton broke in upon him. “Nonsense, Jack,” he said, “law +isn’t justice. You know that as well as I do. You wouldn’t have a +chance. It’s open and shut against you. And don’t go up in the air about +Vaughan; I didn’t mean to be melodramatic. We won’t need to go to +extremes. We can think up some way of keeping his mouth shut. You can +buy him off, I still maintain. And if you can’t, we can still get at him +somehow. It isn’t hard. I’ll be frank with you, Jack. I’ll lay my cards +on the table. It would mean death for you, but the scandal would hurt +me, at the same time. And above all, the Carleton name, Jack. Think of +your father. Think—”</p> + +<p>Jack sprang to his feet. “Stop!” he cried. “It <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>isn’t for you to talk of +my father, and the Carleton name. Those words don’t belong in your +mouth, Henry. And as for Vaughan, he’s doing what he thinks is right. +And anything you do to him, reacts on Rose—on your own daughter. And +that’s impossible. No, Henry, I tell you again, you can’t work it out +that way. Whatever else you please, but I won’t see harm come to Arthur +Vaughan.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton, unmoved, shrugged his shoulders. “As <i>you</i> please,” he +answered evenly. “You have your choice, Jack; there’s only one other +way.”</p> + +<p>Jack looked him full in the face. “For the last time,” he said, “you +tell me that this is true. You’ll go ahead, and do as you say?”</p> + +<p>The elder man inclined his head. “For the last time,” he answered +calmly, “yes. Vaughan or yourself? The choice is yours.”</p> + +<p>Jack Carleton stood suddenly erect, throwing back his head, almost with +the gesture of a fighter on guard. “Then I tell you this,” he cried, +“you’re crowding me too far. I’ve done the best I could; I’ve thought of +others long enough; I’ll think of myself now. There’s a limit to what a +man’s got <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>to stand. I’ve been an awful fool, I know. I’ve wasted most +of my life, so far; lost my money; lost the chance to marry the girl I +loved. But for the last three years, I’ve got no apologies to make. I’ve +tried with every bit that’s in me; I had my fight all but won. I made +good out West there; made good with myself; with my prospects; with the +girl I meant to marry—and then this damnable business had to come. And +I tell you, Henry, I won’t quit now. You’ve got the best of me before; +perhaps you will again; but I’ll take my chance. I’m willing to back +Right against Wrong, and I give you fair warning now that I’m going to +fight. You haven’t beaten me yet.”</p> + +<p>He swung short around upon his heel, without waiting for a reply. The +door crashed to behind him, and Henry Carleton was left alone in the +room.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVII" id="CHAPTER_XVII"></a>CHAPTER XVII</h2> + +<h3>IN THE BALANCE</h3> + +<div class="centerbox5 bbox2"><p>“I trust in God,—the right shall be the right<br /> +And other than the wrong, while he endures.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Browning.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">H</span>enry Carleton leaned back contentedly in his office chair. The +afternoon was drawing to a close; another good day’s work was done; the +pathway of the future lay bright before him. Money? He had his fill of +it. Except as the trophy, the stakes in the game, for which, coolly and +half-disdainfully, it still suited him to play, he had come scarcely to +value it at all. Fame? That, too, had come to him. His reputation, first +made in the city, had spread later throughout the state, and now, thanks +to that long and well-laid net of carefully adjusted wires, was to +become national as well. Member-elect of the United States senate! It +was enough. Fame—and power—and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>patronage—more glory to add to that +of the long line of ancestors whose dignified faces looked down at him +from the walls of the gallery at The Birches. He had done well; he knew +it; and was content. Nor was he an old man yet. A glorious prospect lay +before him still, filled with pleasures—of many kinds. Only this one +matter to be adjusted now, and whichever way fate tipped the scales, he +could not lose. How pleasant it was to look back over all his struggles +with Jack! How pleasant to know, with the lifelong enmity between them, +that in every encounter, he had decisively outwitted and got the better +of his nephew! And now—either Jack must suffer, or if Vaughan’s silence +could not be bought, Jack’s scruples must somehow be overcome. The +latter, of course, everything considered, would be the better way. For +Jack—much as he hated him—was a Carleton, and Jack’s fate, in a way, +was bound up with his own. And Vaughan was a nobody, a mere scribbler, +of no use to the world. He must be silenced—somehow. Yet there was +danger too. In spite of himself, the matter troubled him.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>As he sat, thus musing, his clerk appeared at his elbow. “A young lady +to see you, sir,” he announced, “Miss Graham, from Eversley. I showed +her into the private office.”</p> + +<p>Carleton nodded. “All right,” he answered briefly. “Tell her I’ll see +her at once,” and a moment or so later he was bowing deferentially over +the girl’s outstretched hand. “I’m delighted to see you back, Miss +Graham,” he said cordially, “if I thought a trip abroad would do me the +good it’s done you, I’d start to-morrow. You’re looking splendidly. And +what may I do for you? Is this a business call?”</p> + +<p>The girl shook her head. “No, Mr. Carleton,” she returned, “it’s not; +and I should apologize, I know, for coming to see you at your office. +Yet I didn’t want to go to The Birches either. I wanted to ask—I want +to see you, Mr. Carleton—about Jack.”</p> + +<p>She paused, and as he waited, she did not at once continue, but sat with +her eyes fixed on the ground, as if embarrassed, and uncertain how to +proceed. So that presently he broke the silence. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>“And what about Jack?” +he asked lightly, though his watchful gaze was upon her face, “I rather +thought that you and Jack could settle your own affairs. But if you +can’t—”</p> + +<p>She glanced up quickly. “Oh, don’t joke, Mr. Carleton, please,” she +said, “you wouldn’t, if you knew how anxious I am. I can’t seem to +understand it at all. You know what good friends Jack and I always were; +we were more than that; you know what I mean. And then—something +happened. That was when Jack went West. And I was so glad when I heard +how well he’d done—how well, I mean, in every way—and when he came +back, everything would have been all right again. I had written him—and +he’d written me. We had everything arranged. He was to meet the steamer +in New York. And then—when we got in, he wasn’t there. Only a message +at the hotel that he’d been called away on business, and would see me +soon. And that was a week ago; and I haven’t seen him, or even heard +from him, since then. I’ve asked all his friends. Franz Helmar doesn’t +know anything about him. Neither does Rose. And <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span>when I asked Arthur +Vaughan, he acted as if he knew something, but didn’t want to tell me +what it was. So I’ve come to you, Mr. Carleton. If there’s something +about Jack that I don’t know, and that I ought to know, I want you to +tell me.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton sat listening to her, as she talked, his face +expressionless, yet keenly attentive, all the while. And as she ended, +he hesitated, before replying, as if struggling with some inward +temptation which finally, in spite of himself, overcame him. At length +he spoke. “My dear Miss Graham,” he said, “I am so many years older than +you, that I’m going to ask you to let me give you a piece of advice. I +have felt uneasy—very uneasy—for a long time, concerning Jack’s +attentions to you. Not, of course, that one could blame him—” the girl +ignored the somewhat mechanical smile which accompanied the words +words—“but the man who aspires to win your hand, Miss Graham, should be +of a type very different from my nephew. I’m not talking at random; I +know whereof I speak; and as a friend, I want to tell you that it would +be better for you to forget all about <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span>Jack—not to try to find out +anything concerning him—but to dismiss him entirely from your mind. And +I don’t think—” he added significantly, “that you will find yourself +troubled by him any more.”</p> + +<p>The girl’s expression was one of bewilderment. “Troubled by him,” she +repeated. “Jack <i>trouble</i> me. You don’t understand, Mr. Carleton. I +haven’t made myself clear. I’m as fond of Jack as he is of me. I’ve +promised to be his wife. And all I’m asking now is what has happened to +keep him away from me. There’s some mystery about it, and I want to know +what it is.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton gave a little apologetic cough. “Really, my dear Miss +Graham,” he said, “you make this very hard for me. I was trying to +intimate, without putting things too plainly—I thought you would +understand—you know that Jack’s character is none of the strongest; you +know his weaknesses as well as I do. You don’t want me to go on, Miss +Graham, I know. Why should I pain you? Let us leave things as they are.”</p> + +<p>At last the girl seemed to comprehend, yet she did not take his words +without protest. “Jack <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span>isn’t weak,” she cried indignantly, “you’ve no +right to say that, Mr. Carleton. If you knew all that he’s +conquered—all that he’s overcome—you’d know that he’s strong, not +weak. And please don’t hint or insinuate about him; this is too serious +for that. If you’ve something to say against him, say it. Don’t half say +it, and then stop. It’s neither fair to him, nor to me.”</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton raised his eyebrows. “As you will,” he responded evenly, +“I only sought to spare you, Miss Graham. But if you want me to tell +you, I suppose you know as well as any one that before Jack went away, +he’d made himself conspicuous by going around in public with the girl +who later married my chauffeur, Satterlee. There was nothing improper, I +believe, about it all; simply a bit of boyish folly and bravado; nothing +worse. But on Jack’s return—I don’t know, of course, what his life in +the West has been; I suppose that perhaps one might hazard a guess—he +fell in with this woman again, and this time—I’m speaking plainly, Miss +Graham, because you’ve asked me to—this time their relations have +passed the bounds <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span>of decency. He visits her openly. And that, I +suppose, is the reason that he keeps away from you.”</p> + +<p>A little red spot flamed in the girl’s cheeks. “It’s not true!” she +cried, “I don’t believe it—not a word. I know Jack too well. No man +could have written me the letters he has—it’s a lie; a lie!” Face and +figure alike were tense and rigid with emotion.</p> + +<p>Henry Carleton’s eyes gleamed, yet when he spoke, his tone was calm. “My +dear Miss Graham,” he said, “pardon me for suggesting it, but isn’t your +conduct rather extraordinary. You come here, in my office hours, knowing +that I am a busy man—a man of varied interests—you come here, on your +private affairs, which surely have no special interest for me—and then, +upon my giving you all the assistance in my power, you inform me that I +lie. Really, Miss Graham—”</p> + +<p>The girl rose quickly, yet her expression seemed to show little of +contrition. “I beg your pardon, if I was rude,” she said, “you are quite +right to <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>remind me that I am taking up your time. I will go at once.”</p> + +<p>She did not give him her hand in parting, nor did he stir from where he +stood, as she walked toward the door of the office. Before she reached +it, he spoke again. “If you care,” he said smoothly, “to hear the +rest—”</p> + +<p>She turned upon him. “I do not,” she said, “I care to hear nothing more. +And you say, upon your honor, that what you’ve told me is true?”</p> + +<p>He shrugged his shoulders. “You’re very hard to convince,” he said. “I +don’t blame you. It’s not a pleasant thing to hear. But it is true. He’s +not away on business. He goes there constantly. In fact, if you care to +see him, I dare say you would find him there now.”</p> + +<p>The words struck home. For an instant the girl stood gazing at him, as +if she would have spoken; then quickly turned, and left the room.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>A chance shaft sometimes cleaves to the very center of the mark. At the +hour and minute <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>when Marjory Graham was leaving Henry Carleton’s +office, Jack Carleton sat with Jeanne Satterlee in the parlor of the +little cottage at Eversley. His face was pale and drawn, and he was +talking tensely, earnestly, evidently striving, with all the power +within him, to convince and persuade with his words. The woman sat with +her eyes averted, as if she listened half against her will. Three years +of life had wrought their change. She was beautiful—beyond all +question—more beautiful than ever; and yet a nameless something had +crept into her face—hardly to be detected, even—a certain look of +restlessness—of discontent—a vague change for the worse.</p> + +<p>“And so, Jeanne,” Carleton concluded, “that’s all I ask. I say nothing +about that panic in the stock market—I say nothing about the property. +You know, and I know, what he did, and how he did it; I got it all out +of that sneak, Cummings; but all that’s past and done with now. Even if +I wanted to make the scandal, I’m not sure that he’s answerable legally; +he’s a wonderfully clever man. And I say nothing about poor Vaughan, and +his book. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>You know, and I know, how he worked that with Cummings, but +once more, that’s done with now. And Vaughan’s come into his own, at +last. But about the other thing, that’s different, Jeanne. You must +speak. You can’t say that you won’t, where it’s life and death. You must +do it, Jeanne; I’ve a right to make my fight; you <i>must</i>.”</p> + +<p>There was a pause. And then the woman spoke. “I can’t, Jack,” she +parried, “I promised. I wouldn’t dare—”</p> + +<p>He interrupted her. “Promised!” he echoed. “What’s a promise wrung out +of one by force? Nothing. You can’t mean you’d let that stop you, +Jeanne.”</p> + +<p>She looked up at him, with appeal in her glance. “Jack,” she said +desperately, “I’ll tell you the truth. I’m afraid. Afraid he’d kill me. +You’re a man; you’re strong, and could fight. You don’t know how a woman +dreads anything like that. He said that night he’d kill me, if I told. +And I promised—I promised, Jack.”</p> + +<p>Carleton gave an impatient sigh. “Nonsense, Jeanne,” he said sharply, +“he wouldn’t dare. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>He only threatened, to frighten you. You—of all +people. And can’t you see? He couldn’t afford to, if he would. Where’s +his hold on me, then? Tell him, Jeanne, what you’re going to do, and +then go away, if you’re frightened; go somewhere where you’ll be safe. +Go straight to Marjory Graham, why don’t you, and stay with her.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” she flamed, “go to Marjory Graham! That’s just like a man. You +don’t think of me, Jack, at all. Tell her everything! That’s such an +easy thing to say. You don’t think of the shame—the disgrace—”</p> + +<p>Carleton rose, and walking across the room, laid a hand upon her +shoulder, looking down into her face, as he answered her. “Jeanne,” he +said, wearily, “we’ve been over this so many times that there’s no use +in saying anything more. Only this. I’m not asking you to do this for +me, or for Marjory, or for Arthur, or for Rose, though if you do it, +you’ll be doing it for all four of us at once. That isn’t the point. A +man gets to thinking pretty hard when he’s in a fix like mine, and his +own life dwindles down to something that doesn’t count for <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span>much, after +all. But I tell you this, Jeanne, and you can call it preaching, and +laugh at it, if you choose, but it’s so: there’s only one thing in the +world worth doing, after all, and that’s to try to keep as near to +what’s right and fair as we can. People can disagree about lots of +things—you can criticize my life, and I can criticize yours—but some +things are so plain that there’s no chance to differ about what’s right +and what’s wrong. And the trouble we’re in now is one of them. You ought +to tell Arthur Vaughan. You ought to tell Marjory. And then your part is +done. You can leave the rest to fate. But to keep silence now, because +of a promise that was forced from you—it isn’t square—it’s upsetting +the belief that every one ought to have: that in the end the right’s a +better thing than the wrong. And, Jeanne, I tell you this once more. If +you won’t do what you ought to do; if you still keep silence; I tell you +this: I won’t see harm come to Arthur Vaughan. I won’t see Rose’s life +spoiled. There’s one thing I could do, and that’s to put myself out of +the way, and stop everything; but that would be cowardly, I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span>suppose. +No, I’ll make my fight, but you know as well as I do, that it’s a losing +one. My life is in your hands, Jeanne, and I’ve a right to ask you to do +what’s fair. I’ve tried, for three years now, as hard as a man could +try. I’ll never be anything famous in the world—I know that—but I’ve a +right to want to bring some credit to my father’s name, even if it’s +only by living an honest life, to marry, and to pass the name down to +some one that can do better with it than I’ve done. That’s all, Jeanne. +And there are only two days left. That’s as long as Vaughan will wait. +So you’ve got to make up your mind quick. Think it over, Jeanne, and for +every one’s sake, be fair.”</p> + +<p>She rose from her chair, shaking off his hand. “I’m afraid, Jack;” she +said once more, “I’m afraid.”</p> + +<p>Carleton’s hand fumbled in his pocket; then, finding what he sought, he +handed it to the girl. The light flickered upon the polished barrel. +“You could use it?” he asked. The girl nodded. “Then you’ve no reason to +fear him,” he said. “Tell him, Jeanne, when he comes to-morrow night, +<span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span>and then you go straight to Marjory’s, and tell her too.”</p> + +<p>She looked up quickly, as if seeking to make one last plea. “You ask too +much, Jack,” she cried. “If I had my life over—but I haven’t. I’ve +lived out all that was ever good in me; there’s only one kind of life +left for me now. And he’s been good to me—given me everything. And +think of all I lose. All the life I’d see down there. All the money. All +the good times. You’re not a woman, Jack. You don’t understand. Think of +the fun—”</p> + +<p>Once more he laid his hand upon her shoulder. “Is it worth it, Jeanne?” +he said.</p> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="CHAPTER_XVIII" id="CHAPTER_XVIII"></a>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> + +<h3>REPARATION</h3> + +<div class="centerbox4 bbox2"><p>“Whoever fights, whoever falls,<br /> +Justice conquers evermore.”</p> +<p class="right"><i>Emerson.</i></p></div> + +<p class="n"><span style="float:left;font-size:40px;line-height:25px;padding-top:2px;padding-bottom:1px;">T</span>he butler had withdrawn to superintend the bringing in of the dinner’s +final course. Helmar, with his hand outstretched toward his wine glass, +for a moment hesitated, and looking first at Rose and then at Vaughan, +came to a puzzled, half-humorous pause. “I realize,” he said, “that this +is the proper time for a toast, yet my tongue is tied. Not through +diffidence, either. I never have stage fright, and I know exactly what +I’m going to say. In fact, I’ve been working all day on it, and if +anything should happen now to prevent me from inflicting it on you, it +would be the bitterest of disappointments—to me, I mean. But the +question of proper precedence is what I <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>can’t make up my mind about. +For the life of me, I don’t know whether I ought to drink first to Rose, +and reserve a separate glass for our rising author here, or whether my +first duty is to drink to you both, in celebration of your engagement’s +being formally made public to-morrow. By the latter plan, you see, I’m +forced to drink alone, which is always bad; by the former, I manage to +be in good company each time. And on the whole, I believe that’s the +proper way. So here goes. Arthur, I propose the health of Miss Rose +Carleton. In order not to embarrass her, I intend to refrain from any +fulsome praise, merely observing that the fact that she is herself, +suffices for everything. Youth, beauty, virtue; Arthur, you’re a +fortunate man, and the only drawback to the whole affair is the horde of +envious enemies you’re going to make for yourself. But that you’ll have +to stand for; and the reward is certainly worth it.”</p> + +<p>He bowed with exaggerated deference as he concluded, and the girl, +laughing, softly clapped her hands. “Oh, beautiful, beautiful, Franz,” +she cried, “I’m overcome. I suppose I ought to respond, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span>but in the +presence of two such distinguished beings, I’m actually dumb. But, +believe me, Mr. Toastmaster, I deeply appreciate your effort. It’s fully +worth all the time you must have spent on it.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan, touching his glass to Helmar’s, laughed also. “There, Franz,” +he cried, “isn’t that a fitting reward? And as for your enemies, and +their envy, let them come, all of them. I’m safe; nothing matters now,” +and the look in Rose Carleton’s eyes, as their glances met, was more +eloquent than any response could have been.</p> + +<p>The toast drunk, Helmar turned to the girl. “And now, Rose,” he said, +“actually words fail. Here comes the really difficult part. How shall we +try to describe such greatness? The literary man; the author fairly +launched; the coming all-around novelist of the century, who has shown +himself a romanticist by aspiring to the hand of Miss Carleton and a +realist by winning it. There, how does that suit you? Will that do?”</p> + +<p>The girl smiled. “Indeed it will,” she answered. “But if it’s +permissible ever to amend a toast, even <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>such a good one as that, I’m +going to venture to do it. Something so nice happened to-day. Tell him, +Arthur, do.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan shook his head. “Not I,” he answered, “I wouldn’t dare. I’m +having a hard enough time as it is, trying to make all these remarkable +things seem real. I still walk around pinching myself, and pulling out +letters and telegrams and re-reading them, to make sure they’re genuine, +after all. But if I should start to talk, I’d know I was a liar before I +said five words. I don’t mind listening, though, a bit. Go ahead and +tell him, Rose, if you want to, and I’ll sit still and try to look the +part of modest but intensely deserving merit. That’s the best I can do.”</p> + +<p>Rose turned eagerly to Helmar. “Well, then,” she cried, “he got word +to-day. The book’s gone into a third large edition. In three months! And +his first book! Think of it. And he’s had more fine letters and notices, +besides. And two other magazines have written to see if he has any short +stories he’d let them see. So he’s going to be a great success, and I’m +awfully proud of him, and <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>when we drink our toast, I want it to be to +the author, the book and the third edition.”</p> + +<p>Helmar nodded in vigorous assent. “By all means,” he exclaimed, “if all +amendments were as good as that one, no maker of an original motion +could ever object. We’ll drink to the third edition, of course, and I +hope, before we’re done, there’ll be thirty of them. There,” he added, +as he put down his glass, “my pleasant duty’s done, and I think I may +claim well done. Unless, Arthur, you can think of anything I’ve +omitted.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan shook his head. “No, no,” he answered, “you’ve been a great +success; said a lot of things about us both that aren’t true, and +successfully reduced us to just the proper stage of uncomfortable +embarrassment.”</p> + +<p>Helmar laughed. “It’s a pity, though,” he said, “that we didn’t have our +full attendance. Think of all the other nice things I might have had a +chance to say. Wasted opportunities. Marjory unable to come; Jack kept +away on business; Mr. Carleton started for his big time in town. That is +a banquet, though, with a vengeance, isn’t it! <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span>Think of it; United +States Senator! But of course every one knew he’d make it. I never saw +such a man. Success in everything. He’s certainly a wonder. You must +feel awfully proud of him, Rose.”</p> + +<p>She nodded gaily. “Of course I do,” she answered. “We must drink his +health, anyway. He deserves it. What shall we say? The man who has +brought new honors to the Carleton name!”</p> + +<p>As they drank the toast, the butler entered with the coffee and cigars, +and the girl rose, smiling down at Vaughan. “Don’t be too long, now,” +she said, “remember I’m all alone.”</p> + +<p>As the portières closed behind her, Helmar turned to Vaughan. “Well, +Arthur,” he said, “you’re certainly a lucky man. Engaged to such a girl +as Rose, and fairly on your literary feet into the bargain. It’s fine +about the book. I didn’t realize it was doing so well.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded. “It was queer,” he said meditatively, “about the whole +thing. I guess I ought to be ashamed of myself for claiming, once upon a +time, that there was a pull in literature. <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>Because look how it worked +with me. There I had Mr. Carleton using all his influence, and three +times that book was turned down. And then, just because Jack kept after +me to do it, when I took the manuscript back and began plugging ahead +with it on my own account, just see what happened. It was accepted the +very next crack.”</p> + +<p>Helmar puffed thoughtfully at his cigar. “It does look that way,” he +assented, then, after a little pause, he asked abruptly, “Arthur, how +about Jack and Marjory? Was it just a coincidence they didn’t come +to-night, or was it something more than that? I don’t believe they’re +hitting things off, somehow. And Jack himself—I never saw a fellow so +changed. Ever since that time he was out at The Birches he has seemed +awfully down on his luck. I was wondering—”</p> + +<p>Vaughan rose quickly. “Oh, he’s worried about his business, I think +that’s all.” Then added abruptly, “Would you mind smoking in the other +room, Franz? Rose doesn’t object, and I hate to leave her alone.”</p> + +<p>Helmar rose also. “Of course not,” he said, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>“why didn’t you say so +sooner? Let’s go right in.”</p> + +<p>Half way down the hall, Henry Carleton’s valet approached them, a letter +in his outstretched hand. “For you, Mr. Vaughan,” he said.</p> + +<p>Vaughan, taking the letter, hastily opened it, and read its contents. A +puzzled frown wrinkled his forehead. “H’m,” he muttered, “that’s queer,” +and as they entered the parlor, he spoke at once to his fiancée. “Rose,” +he said, “I’m sorry, but everything about to-night seems to be fated. +First our guests disappoint us, and now I’m called away myself. But only +for an hour. I’ll be back just as soon as I can.”</p> + +<p>The girl’s face clouded. “Oh, no, Arthur,” she cried, “not to-night. You +oughtn’t to go to-night, no matter who it is. Tell them to wait—”</p> + +<p>He broke in upon her. “I’m sorry, my dear,” he said gravely, “but this +is something that can’t be delayed. I must go at once.”</p> + +<p>There was no misunderstanding his tone. “All right, then, Arthur,” she +said, “but be back as soon as you can,” and nodding, he left the room.</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span>The waiting motor made short work of the distance between The Birches +and Colonel Graham’s home; and a short half hour later Vaughan was +ushered across the threshold of the big drawing-room. Marjory Graham +came forward to meet him, and then, as she led the way across the room, +he stared in surprise at the sight of the second figure that rose from +the seat by the open fire. Yet Marjory Graham seemed to see nothing +unusual in the situation. “I think you know Mrs. Satterlee, Arthur,” she +said, and Vaughan, his wonderment increasing every moment, bowed, and +took his seat.</p> + +<p>The lights were turned low; only the firelight flickered and gleamed +about the room. Marjory Graham reached out and took the woman’s hand in +hers. “Tell him, Jeanne,” she said.</p> + +<p>There followed a pause, and then at last, slowly and with evident +effort, Jeanne Satterlee began to speak. “Mr. Vaughan,” she said, “the +fewer words the better. You’ve made up your mind to tell the story of +that night. If it’s going to be told, it must be the true one. I’ve +promised Jack to tell <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>what I know to Miss Graham and to you. I’ve +already told her.”</p> + +<p>She paused, while Vaughan sat waiting breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon +her face. And then she spoke again. “There’s no need to ask you,” she +went on, “whether you remember all that happened on that night. You +remember how you were all together at The Birches; how Jack said he was +going to bed early; how you and Miss Rose sat out on the piazza; how Mr. +Carleton played billiards with Jim Cummings, and then how he came down +and told you he was going for a walk about the grounds. You remember +every bit of that, of course?”</p> + +<p>Vaughan assented silently. “And then,” she went on, “you went for a +stroll yourself; you came to the rock opposite the cottage, and saw Tom +when he came in. You heard the noise; you saw some one run out of the +house, with Tom after him; and then you saw Tom fall, and a minute +afterward you saw Jack bending over him, with Tom’s head on his knee.”</p> + +<p>Again she stopped for his assent; again Vaughan <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>nodded; and once more +she continued, “You thought it was Jack who was in my room; you thought +it was Jack who ran from the cottage. And no one could blame you, Mr. +Vaughan, for what you thought. But I’m going to tell you the true story +of that night—to my shame. Jack Carleton wasn’t in the cottage; there +was never anything between Jack and me—though I tried—never mind, I’ve +told Miss Graham—but there was some one in my room that night, and that +man was the father of the girl whom you are going to marry.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s heart seemed to stop beating; there came a ringing in his +ears; his voice, when he spoke, sounded faint and far-away. “<i>Henry</i> +Carleton?” he gasped.</p> + +<p>Jeanne Satterlee bowed her head. “I said the fewer words the better,” +she went on. “It wasn’t the first time. Things had been—that way—for +nearly two years.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan’s face flushed with anger. “Henry Carleton!” he cried again, +“it’s impossible. How dare you say it?”</p> + +<p>Jeanne Satterlee’s tone did not alter, its very <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>calmness carrying +conviction with it. “It’s true,” she said, “every word. And more, Mr. +Vaughan, that you will never know. It’s all true. Jack knows—”</p> + +<p>Vaughan started at the name. “But how did Jack—” he began. She broke in +upon him. “Jack suspected,” she answered. “He saw me at the cottage that +afternoon. He talked with Tom. He put two and two together. And you know +what he thinks of his uncle, anyway. So he came down to the cottage that +evening, early. He was hidden outside. And after Henry Carleton got +away—he struck Tom from behind to do it—then Jack came down into the +drive to help Tom—and you had to see him. And that was all.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan sat as if stunned. “My God!” he muttered, under his breath, “my +God!”</p> + +<p>Once more Mrs. Satterlee broke the silence. “And then,” she said, “you +went to Henry Carleton, and told him what you thought you knew. And he +sat there, and listened to you telling him that Jack did the murder. He +came to the cottage that night. He was furious. He’d have killed you, <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>I +truly believe, if he’d dared. He threatened me, even. He told me I must +stick to the story that Jack was in my rooms, and murdered Tom; and that +he’d see that no harm came to Jack; that money could do anything; that +he’d get Jack out of the country; and that it would be better for every +one; and I was frightened—and promised. And then—”</p> + +<p>Gradually, as she talked, the whole sequence of events had been shaping +in Vaughan’s brain. And now, all at once, and more to himself than to +the others, he voiced his thoughts in words. “I see; I see;” he cried; +“that was why I could never seem to believe it. Poor Jack! Poor Jack! +Oh, what a fool I’ve been!”</p> + +<p>Again he was silent, and she concluded. “And then Jack came to me—I did +all this for him—don’t think it was easy for me. And I told Henry +to-night, before I came here. He was going in town, and came to the +cottage first. And I told him—with a loaded pistol in my hand. He +wouldn’t believe me at first. He never knew that I—that I was fond of +Jack—and when he <span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>realized I was in earnest, I thought he was going out +of his mind. I never saw a man so changed. He said I’d ruined +him—ruined his whole life—and then, all at once, he put his hand to +his head, and stopped right in the middle of what he was saying, and +turned, and went away. And I came here, to keep my promise. I told Jack +to come here at eight; he ought to be here now.”</p> + +<p>Vaughan pulled out his watch. “Quarter past,” he said, “I suppose he’ll +be here soon.”</p> + +<p>Marjory Graham turned to him. “Mr. Carleton lied to me, Arthur,” she +said, “tried to make me believe awful things of Jack. And I knew—I knew +all the time that he lied. Think of it. Think how Jack—”</p> + +<p>Vaughan nodded, yet even on the instant another thought flashed through +his mind. “But, Rose!” he cried, “I never thought. Rose! Good God!”</p> + +<p>“I know; I know;” cried the girl, “I’ve been thinking about her. You +mustn’t speak now, Arthur. Jack didn’t, even before he knew. And you +mustn’t. It would kill Rose.”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>Vaughan drew a long breath. “Marjory—” he began, but the sentence was +never finished. A quick step sounded in the hall outside, and Jack +Carleton came hastily into the room. In an instant, as if unmindful of +all else, Marjory Graham had risen, and crossed the room, her face +transfigured—“Oh, Jack!” she cried, “Jack!”</p> + +<p>For a moment he drew her to him; then, without speaking, his arm still +around her, came forward to meet the others. Vaughan, too, had risen, +and stood with outstretched hand. “Jack,” he said, “I never knew—I +never dreamed—can you forgive me?”</p> + +<p>In answer Carleton took his friend’s hand in his, yet without uttering a +word. His face was haggard, his eyes wild. Jeanne Satterlee started to +her feet. “What is it, Jack?” she cried, “something’s wrong.”</p> + +<p>Carleton looked from one to the other, moistening his lips with his +tongue before at last the words would come. “It’s Henry,” he said +hoarsely, “he’s dead. At the station. He fell in front of the train. He +slipped—an accident—”</p> + +<p><span class='pagenum'><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>For an instant there fell silence—utter; horror-stricken. And then +Vaughan’s eyes sought Carleton’s face. He spoke in a tone scarcely above +a whisper. “An accident—” he said.</p> + +<p>Carleton met his gaze squarely. The silence deepened; and then, “An +accident,” he said again, “he must have thought of Rose—and the +Carleton name. And Rose must never know.”</p> + +<p>Assentingly Vaughan bowed his head; then stood, gazing straight before +him, a dawning horror in his eyes. Jeanne Satterlee sank back in her +chair, covering her face with her hands. Drawing a long breath, Carleton +seemed again to come to himself. Very gently he drew Marjory closer to +his side. Neither spoke, for no words were needed. Her glance told him +all that he wished to know; he bent over her, and their lips met.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h3><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Notes:</span></h3> + +<p>1. Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and +intent.</p> + +<p>2. The original book from which this etext was transcribed did not have a +Table of Contents; one has been added for the reader’s convenience.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Carleton Case, by Ellery H. 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Clark + +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: The Carleton Case + +Author: Ellery H. Clark + +Illustrator: George Brehm + +Release Date: January 22, 2011 [EBook #35038] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE CARLETON CASE *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander and the Online Distributed +Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was +produced from images generously made available by The +Internet Archive) + + + + + + + + + + The + Carleton Case + + _By_ ELLERY H. CLARK + + Author of "Loaded Dice," Etc. + + ILLUSTRATED BY + GEORGE BREHM + + A. L. BURT COMPANY + PUBLISHERS NEW YORK + + + + + COPYRIGHT 1910 + THE BOBBS-MERRILL COMPANY + + + + +[Illustration: "The girl who knelt upon the grass."--Page 29] + + + + + _To My Friends_ + MR. AND MRS. H. DENTON WHITE + + + + +THE CARLETON CASE + + + + +CHAPTER I + +DOCTOR HELMAR VISITS THE BIRCHES + + "Mark the perfect man, and behold the upright." + _Psalm xxxvii._ + + +In Doctor Morrison's breakfast-room the curtains were drawn back, and +the windows stood wide open, letting in a flood of warm June sunshine, +and filling the whole room with the fragrance of the soft June air. Even +into the streets of the city, restricted and shut in, something of the +freshness and beauty of the summer morning had managed to make their +way, and to Franz Helmar, seated alone at the breakfast table, listening +to the chatter of the sparrows and the cooing of the pigeons on the +roofs outside, there came suddenly a sense of irritation at the +monotony of dingy sidewalk and dusty street, of house after house of +brick varied only by house after house of stone. + +Irresistibly, there crept over him the whimsical fancy that he would +like to see the whole vast city at one stroke fade and vanish completely +before his eyes, and in its place behold once more hill and valley, +river and plain; all the wide and boundless freedom of the country; the +splendid, sunlit glory of out-of-doors. + +Suddenly, across the current of his musing, there sounded once again the +sharp, insistent ringing of the telephone, scattering all his day-dreams +into flight, and for the moment he paused, his coffee-cup suspended in +mid air, the better to listen to the doctor's voice in the hall outside. + +"Yes, this is Doctor Morrison," he heard in the doctor's sharp, alert, +yet not unpleasant tones, his "professional" voice, and then, pitched +in a lower key, far more intimate and cordial, he heard at broken +intervals, "Ah, yes, good morning--I'm sorry to hear that--No, I'm +afraid I can't myself; not this morning, anyway--No, but I can send my +colleague, Doctor Helmar--Oh, perfectly, no doubt of that; this is the +day of young men, you know--All right--Eight-fifteen, South--All right; +good-by," and then the click of the receiver, and the doctor himself +reentered the room. + +Doctor Morrison was a slender, wiry, middle-aged little man, with a +quick, nervous manner, and a face pleasantly keen and inquisitive, +clean-shaven, save for a little sandy mustache, and with hair--what was +left of it--of the same color. Professionally, he ranked among the first +half-dozen practitioners in the city. He was an autocrat in demanding +obedience from his patients, and a very martinet in insisting that his +rules should be obeyed, while he himself, in private life, with the most +delightful inconsistency, contrived successfully to break them all. +Cocktails he absolutely forbade--and drank them with infinite relish. +Tobacco he denounced as one of the curses of modern life--and peacefully +smoked cigarettes innumerable. Eight hours sleep he declared to be +a necessity--and himself sat up until all hours of the night and +morning. In him you met a doctor stern and awe-inspiring--terrifying, +even--until you came to know him, and then, shorn of his "professional" +voice and manner, you came suddenly upon a man, gentle-hearted, humane +and kind. + +Seating himself, he glanced up at Helmar, talking jerkily over his eggs +and toast, in his absence now grown somewhat discouraged looking and +cold. + +"A job for you, Franz," he said, "Edward Carleton--the man who owns that +big place out at Eversley--Oaks? Beeches? What is the name? Some kind of +tree. Birches. That's it. Birches. Funny name to give a place, anyway. +Well, the old man's laid up with a cold. That was his brother who +telephoned. Henry Carleton, you know, the bank man. He wanted me to +come out at once, and I told him I couldn't, but that I'd send you +instead.--Train leaves South Station at eight-fifteen. So you've plenty +of time. I'll look after Colonel Wentworth myself, and drop in to see +Mrs. Brooks. Nothing else, is there?" + +Helmar shook his head. "No, that's all," he answered, "and I'm mighty +glad to trade. For one thing, I was just thinking how the country would +look to-day, and for another, I'd like to meet old Mr. Carleton. I knew +Jack Carleton very well when we were in college--as well as I knew +anyone, really. So I should enjoy meeting his father." + +Doctor Morrison paused a moment. He was rather a well-advised man on +social affairs. "_Jack_ Carleton," he repeated, "some trouble there +somewhere, isn't there? Isn't he the one who doesn't live at home?" + +"Yes," Helmar assented, "he's the one. The trouble's all between him +and Henry, I believe. Uncle and nephew--it's a queer combination for a +family row. But I guess it's a case where the old gentleman's on the +best of terms with both of them, and hardly feels like taking sides. And +so, since Henry Carleton and Jack can't get along together, why, it's +Henry that's rather got the inside track. He always did live at The +Birches, you know, even before his wife died. And then there's his +little girl--I understand that Edward Carleton is most devoted to her, +and for the matter of that, that Jack is too. And she's awfully fond of +him, and of the old gentleman. Likes them fully as much as she does her +father, from what I hear. But it's Jack and his uncle that can't agree. +Never could, I guess. Maybe Jack's a bit more jealous than he ought to +be. Anyway, it was all right while he was in college--he wasn't home a +great deal then--but after he graduated, I understand things began to +get a little raw, so he quit and branched out for himself." + +Doctor Morrison nodded. "Yes," he said, "I see. I thought I recalled +something of the sort," and after a little pause, he added, "I suppose, +as you intimate, it isn't very hard to guess where the trouble lies, +either. I'm afraid, Helmar, there's something rather rattle-brained +about your friend. An attractive looking fellow enough, though, as I +remember him, but I'm afraid without much of his uncle's ability, or, +for that matter, of his character, either." + +Helmar looked thoughtful. "Well," he began doubtfully, "I don't really +know. But somehow I think--" + +Doctor Morrison cut him short. After the fashion of many clever men, he +was possessed of an idea, and was going to deliver himself of it. Until +he had done so, the privilege of the floor was his, and his alone. "I +look upon Henry Carleton," he continued, a little sententiously, "as one +of our coming men. Some day he is sure to be regarded as one of the +really solid men of the city; practically, I suppose he is that now. +They tell me that he's exceedingly able, and that he's amassed a great +deal of money of his own; and then they say he has all his brother's +fortune behind him, too. The old gentleman made his money away back in +the days of the clipper ships, and the Chinese trade. One of the old +time merchants, Edward Carleton was, shrewd and thrifty and far-seeing, +and I guess Henry is all that his brother ever was, and more besides. +And then he's interested in so many other things. You know what a +thorough musician he is, and what a lot he does to help the younger +singers along. And confound it all, the man's literary, too. Writes, +you know, and presides at anniversaries and dedications and all that +sort of thing. Oh, he's one of our leading men, Helmar. Able, and +public-spirited, and upright. I wish we had a hundred more like him." + +Helmar had listened patiently, but the thoughtful expression had not +left his face. "Yes," he assented at last, though scarcely with +enthusiasm. "Yes, I suppose so. Certainly I never knew anybody more +generally looked up to than Henry Carleton seems to be. And yet--it's +queer about him and Jack, because Jack's a good fellow, too. In a +different way, perhaps. I suppose he does lack balance; but there's +something awfully human and likeable about him, just the same. But I'm +prejudiced in his favor, I'll admit; I used to know him so well." + +He rose as he spoke, and started to leave the room; then paused a moment +on the threshold, throwing a backward glance over his shoulder. + +"Come on, Rex," he called, and at the sound of his voice there came +slowly from beneath the breakfast table a little brown and white +spaniel, who first stopped leisurely to stretch himself, next shook +his slender body mightily as if to get himself thoroughly awake, and +finally trotted briskly away at Helmar's heels. Then, outside in the +hall, as he saw his master reach for his hat and bag, he became suddenly +greatly excited, springing to and fro with quick, nervous bounds, his +mouth open, his little red tongue hanging out, his brown eyes glowing, +finally standing straight up on his hind legs, and waving his fore paws +frantically, as in supplication. Helmar, observing him, held up a +warning finger, and instantly the dog again subsided, sitting quietly +down on his haunches, his head cocked inquiringly to one side, his brown +eyes, now grown a trifle anxious, fixed on his master's face, uncertain +of his fate. Helmar looked gravely down at him, a twinkle in his eye, +but speaking with assumed regret. "No," he said slowly, "no, I guess +not, sir. It's a long ways for a little dog, and he might not behave +himself, either. He might bark--he might run away--he might chase +squirrels, even--he might be a bad, bad dog." Now the little dog's big, +soft eyes looked very sorrowful, as if they were not far from tears; the +head and ears drooped pathetically, the tail limp, discouraged and +lifeless, every line of his body expressing the idea that for little +dogs it was a very hard, a very sad, a very unkind world. Then suddenly +he raised his head. Surely, even as he had despaired, a change had come; +surely the admonishing finger was being lowered, and his master's voice +was speaking to him in the tones he loved best to hear. "_But_," Helmar +was slowly emphasizing, "seeing that on the whole you're a pretty good +little dog, perhaps if you'll give me your word--your solemn word--to +behave, and be a gentleman, why, I think--" his voice quickened +perceptibly to a more encouraging tone--"I think, sir, I might let you +go. Do you want to go, sir? Do you want to go?" + +There was no mistaking the little dog's answer. With one bound he hurled +himself headlong like a miniature catapult against the solid oak of the +door, then stood motionless, quivering with excitement, his tail waving +jauntily, like a plume, over his back, giving vent to short, sharp barks +of joyful impatience. It was a great world for little dogs, after all; +a world of blue sky and long, waving grass, a world of running brooks +and sunshine, a world perhaps of squirrels even. Helmar, regarding him, +laughed. "Come on, then," he cried, and in a moment the door had closed +behind them. + +The town clock was striking nine as Helmar got off the train at +Eversley, walked up the station lane, and turned into the narrow +footpath leading straight across the half mile of broad green meadow +that lay between the station and The Birches. Rapidly and steadily his +tall figure strode along, from time to time with a half smile on his +dark, clean-shaven face, as he watched the little spaniel tearing on far +ahead of him, in a very frenzy of delighted freedom, racing and circling +desperately here and there in vain pursuit of butterfly and bird. + +To the farther edge of the meadow they came. There Helmar, clearing the +low rail fence at a bound, for a moment hesitated as he sought to recall +Doctor Morrison's directions, then turned sharp to the right along the +shady country road; proceeding at first uncertainly, as on a journey +into unknown country, then more confidently, as one by one he came on +the landmarks the doctor had foretold: first the massive wall of stone +and concrete that marked the limits of the Carleton boundaries, then +grove after grove of the silver birches that had gained the place its +name, and finally, almost before he expected it, a break in the high +lilac hedge, a long, winding drive, green lawns shaded by towering elms, +gardens fragrant with flowers, and in the background, just pleasantly +distant from the road, the huge, rambling, many-chimneyed old house +itself--Edward Carleton's home. + + + + +CHAPTER II + +INQUIRING FRIENDS + + "Distance sometimes endears friendship, and absence sweeteneth it." + _Howell._ + + +Helmar had covered perhaps half the distance to the house, when ahead of +him he caught sight of a little girl, sitting cross-legged under the +shade of one of the big elms, her head bent low over the buttercup +wreath she was weaving, and at her side a young woman--from her dress, +evidently the child's nurse or companion--sitting with her back against +the tree, deep buried in her book. At the sound of Helmar's footsteps +the child glanced up quickly, and catching sight of the spaniel +advancing manfully with head in air, and tail wagging in friendliest of +greetings, she scrambled to her feet, and tossing her half-finished +wreath aside, came flying across the lawn to meet him. Evidently with +both it was a case of love at first sight, for the child stooped and +picked the dog up bodily in her arms, pressing his face to hers, and +calling him by the hundred pet names which spring so readily to the lips +of any true woman--whatever her age. "Oh, you dear," she cried softly, +"you darling; aren't you a pretty dog!" while the spaniel lay quietly in +her arms, only striving to lick her face with his little red tongue. +Then, as Helmar approached, she looked up. "Isn't he a beauty!" she +said. "Does he belong to you?" + +Helmar stood smiling down at her, thinking that unconsciously she made a +very pretty picture with the spaniel's head pressed against her cheek. +She was a dainty little fairy, slender and graceful, dressed in an airy +frock of white muslin, with a broad sash of blue ribbon, her straw hat +dangling neglected down her back, her big, serious dark eyes gazing +solemnly up into his. He nodded in answer. "Yes, he belongs to me," he +said, "but do you suppose you could look after him while I go in to see +your uncle?" + +The little girl nodded in eager assent. "Oh, yes, indeed," she cried. +"I'll take care of him. I'll give him my buttercup wreath. Come now, +you darling, come with me," and with the spaniel still in her arms, she +walked back toward the shelter of the big elm. + +At Helmar's nearer approach, the child's nurse, too, had risen, laying +aside her book, and as he passed, naturally enough their glances +met--for an instant only--and then Helmar again strode along upon his +way, carrying with him the impression of a charming face, and a most +alluring smile. + +What was there, he wondered, about the girl, that was so vaguely +disquieting? She was dressed quietly enough in simple black, with a +little snugly-fitting white apron, reaching, by mere chance, just to the +height of her bosom, and held in place by smart little shoulder-straps, +about it all a daintily vague impression of ribbon and lace. Her figure, +indeed, was perfect; deliciously rounded; and the closely-fitting dress +seemed to bring out, with significant emphasis, all the beauty of her +form. Her face, moreover, was more striking still; her pretty blonde +hair appeared to curl so naturally as utterly to defy the mode of +convention; her big blue eyes drooped modestly as soon as she had become +conscious of his gaze, just long enough to show the heavy fringed +eyelashes above, and then almost as quickly glanced up again; there had +been a flush of rose in her cheeks, and a deeper scarlet on the lips +that had smiled at him. Perhaps it was in the smile itself--slow, +langourous, inviting--that the whole woman had seemed suddenly to lie +revealed; and scarcely able as yet to define it, Helmar felt that the +girl's seeming simplicity was the dangerous charm of the highest art, +and that he had gazed on the guile of the serpent, and not on the +innocence of the dove. + +Puzzling a little as he walked along, he cast back in his mind to chance +words that from time to time had fallen haphazard from Jack Carleton's +lips, and finally, in one sudden flash of memory, he came upon the clue. +"Jeanne," he said to himself, half aloud, "of course; that's who it is; +Jeanne." Then, falling back unconsciously into the slang of college +days, he added, "and she is a peach, too; Jack told the truth for once; +no wonder he had his little affair." And finally, as he mounted the +steps of the broad piazza, he spoke again. "But pretty risky fun," he +muttered, "playing with fire, all right; there are some women in the +world that a man wants to steer clear of, and I should put that girl +down for one of them." + +He rang the bell, and almost immediately there appeared in answer a +butler, thin, pale, and of uncertain age, but even to Helmar's +unpractised eye superlatively autocratic, hopelessly correct. He seemed, +indeed, to be not so much a human being as the living embodiment of all +known rules of social etiquette, condensed, as it were, into the final +perfect expression of a type, before whom and whose vast store of +knowledge one could only bow, humbly praying that the mistakes of honest +ignorance might graciously be forgiven. Helmar, following in his wake, +felt properly sensible of the honor done him, as he was ushered up the +broad, winding staircase to the entrance of the big square room at the +front of the house, where his guide stopped, and most decorously +knocked. In answer a great voice called lustily, "Come in!" and the +butler promptly stepped to one side. "Mr. Carleton, sir," he observed, +"left orders that you were to be admitted at once," and thereupon, +opening the door, he stood respectfully back, and as Helmar entered, +closed it softly behind him. + +Edward Carleton, attired in an old-fashioned quilted dressing-gown, was +sitting up, reading, in his huge, high, square bed, his back propped +with pillows innumerable. Well upward of seventy, he looked strong and +active still; gaunt, with a wrinkled, weather-beaten face, a great bushy +square-cut gray beard, and fiercely tufted eyebrows, while in the eyes +beneath them, as he slowly took off his horn-rimmed spectacles and +glanced up at his visitor, Helmar caught an expression of lurking, +humorous kindliness that put him at once in mind of Jack Carleton +himself. + +As Helmar advanced, the old man reached out a gnarled and sinewy hand. +"Good morning, sir," he said pleasantly, "I take it that you're Doctor +Morrison's young man." + +Helmar, as he took the proffered hand, smiled to himself at the +old-fashioned quaintness of the phrase. "Yes, sir," he answered, +"that's my professional title. In private life I'm Franz Helmar, and in +either capacity very much at your service." + +Edward Carleton nodded. "Thank you," he answered courteously, and then, +more abruptly, "you think you've come out here to see a sick man, +Doctor, but you haven't. Just a bit of a chill--I managed to let myself +get caught in that shower yesterday afternoon--and maybe a little fever +with it. But I'm not sick. It's all Henry's nonsense. Just because he's +twenty years younger than I am, he has to look after me as if I were a +baby." + +He spoke with assumed indignation, yet Helmar could detect in his tone a +note of satisfaction at being so well cared for; and when he answered +him, he aimed to fall in with the old man's mood. + +"Why, I think myself that I'm out here under false pretenses," he said +good-humoredly, "you don't look at all like an invalid to me; but still +the ounce of prevention, you know, it never does any harm. So many +things nowadays start with a cold. It's just as well to step right in +and stop them before they get a hold on us. Now, then, we'll see where +we are, at any rate," and as he spoke, he deftly slipped the little +temperature tube under Edward Carleton's tongue, and closed his fingers +lightly on the lean brown wrist. A minute or two passed in silence, the +old man's eyes fixed on Helmar's face with the scrutinizing interest of +the patient who awaits the professional verdict. Then Helmar withdrew +the tube, studied it an instant, nodded as if satisfied, asked a few +questions, and then hastened to give his opinion. + +"Oh, well," he said reassuringly, "this is all right. We'll fix you up, +Mr. Carleton. Just a little tonic, and a few days' rest, and you'll be +as good as new; better than new, really, because a day or two off is a +benefit to anybody, at any time. You'd better stay in bed, though, +to-day, I think; and personally I rather envy you. I see you have good +company." + +He pointed as he spoke, to the three stout little volumes that lay by +Mr. Carleton's side. _Roderick Random_ was the first; _Tom Jones_, the +second; _Tristram Shandy_, the third. Their owner nodded in pleased +assent. + +"Yes, indeed," he answered, "they'll last me through the day, all right. +I never get tired of them, Doctor. I was just reading, when you came in, +how Tom Bowling came to see the old curmudgeon who was about to die. +'So, old gentleman,' he says, 'you're bound for the other shore, I see, +but in my opinion most damnably ill-provided for the voyage'; and later +on, after the old fellow's dead, he tells some one, that asks after him, +that they might look for him 'somewhere about the latitude of hell.' +There's good, sound, human nature for you. Smollett knew his sailors, +and the rest of his world, too, and enjoyed them both, I imagine. And he +wasn't a hypocrite; that's what I like most about him. He saw things as +they were." + +Helmar smiled. "I agree with you," he answered, "but the modern school +of readers doesn't care for him, just the same. He's either too simple +for them, or too coarse; I don't know which." + +Edward Carleton looked his scorn. "Modern school!" he ejaculated. "Let +me tell you, sir, I have but very little opinion of your modern school, +writers or readers either. But Henry stands up for 'em, and brings 'em +all to me to read. Good Lord above, the different kinds! There's some +that tell you whether John Smith had one egg for breakfast, or two, and +whether either of 'em was bad, and if it was, what John Smith said to +his wife, and what she said to him--and Henry claims those books are +modern classics. Then he's got another lot--romantic school, I believe +they are--all dashing cavaliers and lovely ladies and flashing swords +and general moonshine--stuff about fit for idiots and invalids; and last +of all--" he glared at Helmar as if he were the unfortunate embodiment +of all the literary sins of the day day--"he's got a crowd--Heaven knows +what _he_ calls 'em; the pig-sty school's _my_ name--that seem to be +having a regular game; trying to see which can write the dirtiest book, +and yet have it stop just enough short of the line so they can manage to +get it published without the danger of having it suppressed. And the +mean, hypocritical excuses they make--they're always teaching a moral +lesson, you know, or something like that. It makes me sick, sir; it +makes me sick; and I don't hesitate to tell Henry so, either." + +Helmar nodded assentingly, and yet, with a twinkle in his eye, he could +not resist the temptation to reach forward and pick up from the bed the +volume of Sterne. "I agree with a great deal of what you say, sir," he +answered, "especially the latter part, and yet--it isn't wholly a modern +vice. There was old Rabelais, for instance, and his imitators, and even +_Tristram_ here I suppose you could hardly recommend for a +Sunday-school." + +Edward Carleton was no casuist. He loved to fight, but he always fought +fair. "I grant it," he answered quickly; "Laurence Sterne did have a +little sneaking peep-hole way with him at times--he was modern +there--but you can forgive a great deal to the man who gave us Uncle +Toby and Corporal Trim. And then, he isn't a fair example; he was a kind +of literary exception to all rules; but take Smollett or Henry Fielding. +They struck straight out from the shoulder, every time. What they meant, +they said. They painted vice, I grant you, but they painted her naked +and repulsive, as she should be, and that's fair enough; you can go +back to your Aristotle for that, Doctor. But they didn't disguise her, +sir; they didn't call her something that she never was and never could +be; and these modern swine, they dress out vice in silks and satins, and +make you believe she's the most beautiful thing in the world--so +beautiful that no man can be happy unless he may possess her; and +there's no Henry Fielding to come along with his big, scornful laugh, +and strip her of all her frippery and finery, and show you the stark, +naked sin that lies there underneath it all. Oh, I'm right, Doctor, and +I'm always telling Henry so, but I can't convince him. He says it's art, +whatever that means, and he's all for the modern school." + +Helmar rose, smiling. "You _are_ right, I believe," he said heartily, +"and if we all read more of the old worthies, and less of this flood of +modern trash, we'd do better, beyond a doubt. Well, I must get my train, +I suppose. I'm going to leave the medicine with your butler; I'll give +him full directions; and you'll be all right, without any question. If +you should want anything, telephone Doctor Morrison or me at once. I'm +very glad to have had the chance of meeting you, sir. Oh, and there was +one other thing I meant to tell you: I knew your son Jack very well in +college. We used to be the best of friends." + +Edward Carleton looked up quickly, but without speaking, and when at +last he did so, there was a new note of cordiality in his tone. "You +knew Jack," he repeated, "why, I'm glad to hear that, I'm sure. I'm very +fond of my boy, Doctor. Boy? He's a man now, though I can never seem to +realize it. He's only a little boy to me still, for all his six feet and +his forty inches around the chest. Do you ever see him nowadays, +Doctor?" + +Helmar nodded. "Yes, indeed," he answered readily, "not very often, of +course. We're in different lines of work, and both busy, I guess. But I +run across him every once in a while. And this week we're going to dine +together. Jack and I and another fellow who was in our class--a sort of +small reunion, to celebrate being five years out of college. He'll be +interested to know I've been out here." + +The old man nodded, gazing straight before him. "Doctor," he asked +suddenly, with apparent irrelevance, "you took my pulse to-day. What did +you think of my heart?" + +Helmar, surprised, parried with the clumsiness of a man not fond of +deception. "Why," he evaded, "I wouldn't worry about that. All you have +is a cold. You've got a pretty good heart, I think. We none of us grow +any younger, though. That's sure." + +Edward Carleton smiled a little grimly. "Thanks," he said, "sometimes a +patient knows more about himself than a doctor thinks he does. And I +suppose I could guess pretty well what certain things mean. Never mind, +though. As you say, we don't grow any younger, more's the pity." + +Both were silent, Helmar pausing a moment, uncertainly, with one hand on +the knob of the door. Then the old man glanced up at him, with a smile +genial and friendly, if a trifle wistful. "Good-by, Doctor," he said +courteously, "thank you for your interest. And tell Jack he's always +welcome, whenever he finds time to run out. The Birches is always his +home, and his room stands ready for him--always." + +Five minutes later Helmar again passed down the broad steps of the +piazza into the cheerful, dazzling sunlight. The little girl and her +nurse were still seated under the shade of the big elm, and at once the +spaniel, breaking away from his new friends, came tearing across the +lawn to his master, ruthlessly scattering buttercups at every bound. +With a laugh Helmar picked him up in his arms, and took him back to make +his proper farewells. For the little girl the final moment of parting +was a hard one, and she gazed longingly at her playmate, as though +unwilling to have him go. Her nurse, observing her, shook her head in +reproof. "Don't be so foolish, Miss Rose," she chided, "he's only a +little dog; you mustn't be silly;" then, suddenly, she looked squarely +at Helmar. "Will you excuse me, please," she said softly, "but I know +that you're a friend of Mr. Jack's. Would you tell me where a letter +would reach him?" + +Helmar eyed her keenly, and before his gaze the blue eyes dropped, and +this time were not raised again. A faint flush stole into her cheeks. +Helmar, in his turn, looked away. "Yes," he answered shortly, "Mayflower +Club, City, is his present address." + +He had his reward. At once the girl's eyes were raised again, and her +look sought his with the same smile that he had seen before. It was not +a smile of the lips alone, but of the eyes as well, and a certain +nameless something that flashed from still deeper within, a piquant +frankness, a dangerous friendliness. Again he started to turn away, then +stopped; his eyes, though half against his will, still seeking hers. + +On the silence broke in the voice of the little girl. "Is it Cousin +Jack?" she demanded, "do you know Cousin Jack?" And as Helmar nodded, +she cried, "I wish you'd tell him to come out and see me. He hasn't been +here for an awfully long time. Will you tell him, please?" + +Helmar promised, and with a glance at his watch, took a hasty leave. +Thoughtfully enough he made his way back to the station, and yet, before +he reached it, one meeting more was destined to give him food for +further meditation. Nearing the entrance to the station lane, the +vigorous and friendly bark of his faithful body-guard struck suddenly on +his ear, and turning the corner, he paused in quick surprise at the +sight of the girl who knelt upon the grass, parasol, hat and gloves +tossed carelessly aside, holding the spaniel's head imprisoned +caressingly between her dainty hands, and talking to him with mock +severity the while. As she glanced up, perceiving Helmar, she somewhat +hastily arose, and as he approached, smilingly extended her hand in +greeting. + +Very attractive, indeed, she looked. Fashionably dressed, yet simply, as +well; young--she could scarcely have been over twenty, at the most--and +with a face that one could hardly choose but like at once--the +clear-cut, regular features, the honest, straightforward brown eyes, the +pretty color in the dimpled cheeks, the firm little chin, the laughing, +yet sensitive mouth. One liked too the erectness of her slender figure, +and the well-poised head, crowned with its masses of soft brown hair. If +one had been ungracious enough to venture a criticism, the thought +might have come that she shared, perhaps, the fault of so many American +girls of the well-to-do class, the excusable habit of taking the good +things of life too much as a matter of course, of being too easily +satisfied with the doings and standards of their own particular class +and "set," of having no real knowledge, and worse still, perhaps, of +desiring none, of the great world at large. Yet even if the criticism +had been hazarded, the critic must still have been forced to admit that +plenty of character showed in the girl's face, and while of her mere +good looks alone there could be no question, in seeming paradox, the +more one looked at her the more one forgot her mere prettiness, granting +it carelessly enough as something secondary, so much more uncommon and +striking were the other qualities written there--strength and sympathy +and above all, that holy and beautiful thing before which any man may +well stand in reverent admiration--the innate goodness of the true +woman, pure in thought and deed. + +As he took her hand, Helmar's face showed his surprise. "Well, Marjory +Graham," he cried, "who'd have thought of seeing you?" + +Laughingly the girl mimicked him. "Why, Franz Helmar," she said in turn, +"you're not the one to be surprised. You knew I lived in Eversley. But +what are _you_ doing out here?" + +"Old Mr. Carleton," he answered, "he's a little under the weather. I ran +out to see how he was getting along." + +The girl's face clouded. "Oh, I'm sorry," she said, "he's such a dear +old man. And he's my father's greatest friend, you know. I hope it's +nothing serious." + +Helmar shook his head. "No, I think not," he answered, "he'll be all +right--for this time. And he is a first-class old chap, too. Do you +know, I think Jack is awfully like him, in many ways?" + +At the words a sudden change came over the girl's expressive face. For a +moment she hesitated, then raised her eyes to his. "Franz," she said, +"how often do you see Jack now?" + +Helmar glanced at her quizzically. "Oh," he answered, "every once in a +while. Not so often as you do, though, I guess." + +He spoke jestingly, but the girl gave him no answering smile, and he +hastened to add, "Why, I expect to see him Wednesday night, Marjory, to +make arrangements for a little dinner we're going to have Thursday--Jack +and Arthur Vaughan and I. Is there anything I can do?" + +The girl colored faintly. "It's only this," she said, "and I ought to +write to him and not bother you. But when you see Jack, would you mind +telling him that I shall be at home Friday evening, if he cares to come +out?" + +Seemingly, there was more in the words than appeared on the surface, but +Helmar, with a certain instinctive chivalry, chose to treat the request +with apparent lightness. "Of course I'll tell him," he answered, "with +all the pleasure in life." + +She looked her gratitude. "Thank you very much, Franz," she said, "and +you will remember, won't you?" + +He nodded reassuringly. "I surely will," he answered, and as he spoke, +the train burst shrieking, around the near-by curve. "Oh, don't miss +it!" she cried. "Thank you, Franz; thank you so much; good-by." + +Breaking into a swift run, Helmar, with the spaniel racing excitedly at +his heels, reached the station platform just in time. Boarding the +train, and taking a seat far forward in the almost deserted car, he sat +for some time in thoughtful silence, and then at last voiced his +reflections to the one friend who never betrayed his confidence. "Rex, +my boy," he said slowly, "our friend Jack seems to have achieved the +secret of universal popularity." + +The spaniel, listening with head cocked knowingly to one side, gave a +sharp, quick bark in reply, and Helmar laughed. "Does that mean you +think so, or you don't think so?" he asked, but the little dog refused +further to commit himself, and curling up in his master's lap, went +promptly and comfortably to sleep. + + + + +CHAPTER III + +THE PRODIGAL SON + + "The pains and penalties of idleness." + _Pope._ + + +It was after eight o'clock, yet still faintly light out-of-doors, as +Jack Carleton left his rooms at the Mayflower Club, and came slowly down +the winding staircase, with one hand groping for the railing, as if +uncertain of his way. + +At first sight he looked extremely well, and in his fashionably-cut +street suit of light gray, his tall and well-built figure showed to +excellent advantage, though in the five years which had passed since his +graduation he had seemingly grown heavier and stouter, and somehow +distinctly softer looking, as if the active exercise of former days had +come now to be the exception, and not the rule. And this impression, as +he paused midway on the stairs to light a cigarette, was still further +borne out by the appearance of his face. He was handsome enough still, +and his complexion, indeed, from a distance, in contrast with his fair +hair and closely-clipped mustache, seemed the perfection of ruddy +health; yet the tell-tale spurt of the match, as he held it to his lips, +told a far different story. His color, naturally high, was beginning now +to be patched with red and white, giving his face a significantly +mottled look, and if any further hint had been needed, it was furnished +by his eyes, which stared straight ahead of him with a curiously glassy +expression. Plainly enough, Jack Carleton was drunk. + +Still holding fast to the rail, he accomplished the remainder of his +journey in safety; then started a little unsteadily toward the door of +the lounging room, stopping short at the entrance, and staring vacantly +in at the half dozen figures looming mistily through the haze of smoke. +Instantly he was hailed by two or three at once. "Hullo, Jack, what'll +you have?" "Come on in, Jack." "Make a fourth at bridge, Jack?" +Carleton, standing motionless, with one hand fumbling in his pocket for +a match with which to relight his cigarette, still gazed aimlessly and +apparently without recognition into the room. "Make a fourth at bridge, +Jack?" some one called again sharply, and Carleton, starting, jerkily, +but with intense gravity, shook his head. "No, not t'night," he said +slowly, as if settling some matter of immense moment to all concerned, +"can't play t'night; very shorry; got date." He stood a moment longer; +then, half mechanically, as it seemed, turned and slowly walked toward +the outer door that led into the street. + +With a little exclamation, one of the loungers hastily rose, and +followed him out into the hall. Jim Turner was a stock broker, and a +most successful one. He was a man of middle age, short, stout, and +unattractive looking. He had a round, fat face, pale reddish hair and +mustache, small, nondescript, expressionless eyes, a pasty complexion, +and white, pudgy hands, which he took pains to have manicured +regularly three times a week. He was entirely unimaginative, practical, +commonplace--and very successful. He had one favorite motto; "Look at +things as they are, and not as you'd like 'em to be." + +He quickly overtook Carleton--a feat, indeed, not difficult of +accomplishment--and laid a detaining hand on his shoulder. "See here, +Jack," he said in a low tone, "I want you to let me sell out some of +your things. We get advices that there's trouble coming--and pretty +quickly, too. And by this time you're really carrying quite a big line. +So I guess it wouldn't do any harm if you began gradually to unload a +little. Don't you think so yourself, Jack?" + +Carleton gazed at him from eyes in which there was no understanding. He +shook his head slightly. "Don' want t'sell," he said at last, "ain't I +'way 'head th' game?" + +"Oh, sure," Turner assented. "You're ahead of the game, all right, but I +want to have you stay there. And when things start to go in a top-heavy +market, why--they go almighty quick. That's all. There's your Suburban +Electric, now. That's had a big rise. Let me sell five hundred of that, +anyway. You've got a good profit. And you'll find you can get out and +in again, too. You won't have any trouble doing that." + +Again Carleton obstinately shook his head. "No," he said, with an almost +childish delight in contradiction, "I don' get 'ny 'dvices like that. I +get 'dvices S'burban 'Lectric's going to hundred'n fifty. I don' want +t'sell now. Not such fool." + +Turner, seeing the futility of further argument, shrugged his shoulders +impassively. "Well, drop in at the office and see me to-morrow, anyway, +Jack," he said. + +Carleton nodded. "Sure," he answered cheerfully, "I'll be in. Got t'get +'long now," and he made again for the door. + +Turner slowly made his way back into the lounging room. One of the +smokers looked up at him with a laugh. "Old Jack's pretty full, isn't +he?" he said, "growing on him, I should say." + +A second lounger caught up the remark. "Full," he echoed, "oh, no, not +for him. He's sober as a church now. When he can walk, and see where +he's going, he's all right. You ought to see him around the Club here +some nights. Talk about raising hell!" + +The first man yawned. "Well," he said slowly, "it's like lots of other +things. It's all right and good fun for once in a way, but for a steady +thing--why, Heaven help the poor devil that gets going it and can't +stop. There isn't any humor in it then. Nothing jovial, or convivial, or +anything else. It's just simply damnable; that's what it is. And Jack +Carleton's too good a fellow to go that way. It's a shame." + +The second man nodded in answer. "That's right enough," he assented, +"and it's rough on his old man, too. He's an awfully good sort, the old +chap. And Jack could amount to something, if he wanted to. That's the +bad part. He was never cut out for a soak." + +"Doesn't he do anything at all?" some one asked. + +The first man shook his head. "Not a thing," he answered. "The old man +gives him an allowance, I understand, or else he inherited something +from his mother; I don't really know which. And Jack's playing Alcohol +to win, I guess, and Suburban Electric for place." He grinned at his own +joke. + +The second man turned suddenly to Turner. "Say, Jim, you know +everything," he said; "what about this uncle of Jack's--this Henry +Carleton? I seem to hear a lot about him lately. He's the whole +shooting-match down-town. What sort of man is he, anyway?" + +Turner launched a little family of smoke rings into the air, and watched +them float upward before he replied. "Oh, I don't know," he answered +indifferently, "he's smart as the devil, for one thing. I know that for +a fact." + +"Yes, that's right," the first man chimed in, "everybody says that. And +yet, you know, it's funny, but there's always something that strikes me +as disagreeable about that man's looks. He seems so confoundedly +self-assertive, and sure of himself, somehow." + +Turner rose to take his departure. "Oh, I don't know," he said again. +"First we sit here and damn a man for being a sport, and then we turn +around and damn another man because he's smart, and we don't like his +face. It's mighty easy to criticize." He paused a moment, then added, +with what for him was almost an excess of feeling, "I'm really sorry +about Jack, though. It's too bad." + +Meantime, once out in the street, the air seemed for the moment to +steady Carleton, and he started off briskly enough for the South +Station. As he walked along, he pulled a letter from his pocket, read it +through carefully, and then, as though striving to recall something that +had escaped him, proceeded on his way with a puzzled and dissatisfied +expression on his face. "Friday, Friday," he muttered to himself, +"something else, but can't seem to think what. Guess nothing important. +Anyway, can't think." + +In due time he reached the station, and took his stand opposite the +gateway through which the passengers from the incoming Eversley train +would pass. There he stood, from time to time absent-mindedly consulting +his watch, until at length from a distant rumble and cloud of smoke +emerged the big engine, with flashing headlight and clanging bell, and +huge wheels revolving more and more slowly until at length, with one +last jerk, the whole train came suddenly to a stand. Then under the +arc-light bustled forth the figures of the incoming passengers--first +one, then another, then twos and threes, lines, groups--all hurrying, +intent and eager, bound for their destination, and restlessly anxious to +get there at once, wasting as little time as possible in transit. +Scrutinizing them with care, it was not until the very end of the +procession was reached that Carleton started suddenly forward. At the +same instant the girl discovered him, and came quickly toward him. + +Carleton's masculine eye could hardly have appreciated all the details +of her dress, yet the general effect was certainly not lost on him. +Knowledge of the name of the dainty gown of blue and white would +probably have conveyed no impression to his mind, but the way in which +it fitted and the significant emphasis it lent to the graceful lines of +the girl's figure were matters which he viewed with no unappreciative +eye. Surveying her critically as she advanced, from head to foot, from +the hat of simple straw, with its clusters of blue flowers, to the tip +of the dainty slipper, with just a glimpse of silken stocking above, he +nodded in gracious approval. The girl was certainly looking her best, +her pretty hair curling about her forehead in little clustering rings, +her face just delicately flushed with color, her blue eyes very +coquettish and very sparkling. Doubtless, too, these same practised eyes +lost nothing of Carleton's condition, for it was with a certain easy +assurance that she came up to him and slipped her arm familiarly through +his with a gentle welcoming pressure, glancing up almost impudently into +his face. "Hullo, dear," she said, "and how's Jack?" + +Carleton looked down at her, an odd mixture of emotions showing in his +face; a certain satisfaction, a certain shame, above all, a certain +recklessness--the recklessness of the aristocrat who, with a shrug of +his shoulders, goes voluntarily out of his class, fascinated beyond his +strength, half scornful of himself, and wholly regardless of what the +consequences may be. + +"Oh, fine, thanks," he answered absently, and then, as they emerged from +the station into the street, he returned the pressure of her arm. +"You're looking very pretty, Jeanne," he said, "I'm glad I got your +note." + +They sauntered slowly up Union Street, the girl chattering vivaciously, +and glancing up at Carleton as she talked, with a subtle and flattering +attention; Carleton for the most part listening, from time to time +nodding or answering in monosyllables. At the up-town crossing they came +to a brief irresolute halt. "Well," said Carleton, "and whash going to +be to-night? The river?" + +The girl, with a little smile, shook her head. "No," she answered +capriciously, "I'm tired of the river. We've done that so often. I want +a motor to-night. A nice long ride. We'll have a beautiful time." + +Carleton doubtfully shook his head. He was in a distinctly contradictory +mood. "Nice long ridsh," he observed, "in nice big motors, damn +'xpensive things for man that's short money. Motors 'xpensive things; +so's girls." + +The girl laughed, but did not lack the cleverness to see how her point +might best be gained. "Are you short of money, really?" she said, with +quick sympathy. "Why, you poor old Jack, it's a shame. We'll go on the +river, then, in a little boat, all snug and nice. You dear boy; you need +some one to comfort you," and the big blue eyes gazed up into his, bold +and unashamed. + +She had comprehended his mood perfectly. Instantly his tone changed. +"No, no," he answered quickly, "won't do an'thing of the kind. Got +little money left for frens." He laughed uncertainly. "'F you want +motor, you're going t' have motor. That's all there'sh to it. Do +an'thing for you, Jeanne." + +She smiled up at him with dangerous sweetness. "You're so good to me, +Jack," she murmured, and the gentle pressure on his arm was in nowise +diminished. "You do everything for me. I only wish sometimes I could do +something for you." + +He gazed down at her, all that was weakest and worst in his nature +uppermost in his face. "Maybe can," he said thickly, "maybe can; come +on; we're goin' get motor now." + + * * * * * + +At about the same hour that Carleton had left the Mayflower, farther +up-town, in the reception-room at the Press Club, Arthur Vaughan sat +waiting for his friend Helmar to return. He was a young man of medium +height and build, inclined to be a trifle careless about his dress; his +clothes a little threadbare; his brown hair and mustache allowed to grow +a little too long; his carelessly knotted tie a good year out of style. +Yet his face, looked at more closely, was distinctly good; a face +somewhat thin and worn; the mouth and chin nervous, sensitive; the +forehead high; the brown eyes straightforward and kindly,--the eyes of +a man a little detached from the world about him, a little inclined, on +his way through life, unconsciously to pause and dream. + +Presently the door opened, and Helmar entered, the expression on his +face one of half-humorous disgust. "Same old Jack Carleton," he said. +"He's not down-stairs, and it's five minutes of eight. You're sure he +understood?" + +Vaughan nodded. "Oh, perfectly," he answered, "I saw him Wednesday +night, and told him that your meeting had been changed to Thursday, so +that we'd have to put this thing over until to-night; and then I gave +him Miss Graham's message, and told him he'd have to square himself with +her, because we couldn't put things off again. And I remember his saying +that it was all right for him; I even recall his repeating it after me, +as if he wanted to make sure of it, 'seven-thirty, Press Club; eight +o'clock, theater; eleven o'clock, Press Club, supper and talk'; oh, no, +he understood all right. I'm sure of it." + +Helmar considered. "Well," he said at length, "just because Jack's got a +poor memory, I can't see why we should miss a good show. Let's leave his +ticket at the desk, and if he happens to drift in, all right. Then he +can come on after us. Isn't that O. K.?" and on Vaughan's assent, they +left the club for the theater, where in due course the curtain rose, and +later fell again upon an excellent performance, indeed, but without +revealing any sign of the absent Carleton. Once outside in the street, +Helmar turned to Vaughan. "Well, what next?" he queried. + +Vaughan shrugged his shoulders. "Why, the supper's ordered," he +answered, "so I suppose we might as well go ahead in solitary state. But +it rather takes the edge off the thing. It's too bad," and a moment or +two later he added, half to himself, and half to his companion, "I don't +know what to think of Jack, really." + +Helmar made no answer, and it was not until the supper was served in the +little private room, and the waiter had withdrawn, that they again +returned to the subject. "What is it about Jack, anyway?" Helmar asked. +"I was out at his place the other day, and he seemed to be making no end +of trouble; everybody stirred up about him. What's he been doing?" + +Vaughan helplessly shook his head. "Search me," he answered, "you know I +scarcely see him now. He travels with a different crowd these days. But +I guess since he joined the Mayflower he's changed quite a lot; playing +the market, I hear, and drinking pretty hard, and sort of gone to +pieces generally." + +Helmar looked thoughtful. "That's bad," he said shortly, and after a +pause, "Never happen to hear any gossip about him and a girl, do you?" + +Again Vaughan shook his head. "No, I don't," he answered, "if he's doing +anything of that sort, it's news to me. That is, I mean, anything really +out of the way. Jack likes a good time, of course; we've always known +that; but I don't believe he's that kind. I guess he's all right enough +that way. At any rate, I've always understood that he was about as good +as engaged to Marjory Graham, and that ought to keep a fellow straight, +if anything could." + +Helmar nodded. "Yes," he answered abruptly, "I should say it ought. +Well, never mind. Now I want to hear how things are going with you, +Arthur. We'll talk about Jack later on." + +And then, with the progress of the supper, the talk ran along as such +talks will; each telling of past experiences, losses, gains; of future +plans, hopes, fears; speaking of classmates and friends; skimming the +passing events of the day; comparing notes on the thousand and one +subjects that crowd the lips so readily when friends of long standing, +who meet but seldom, settle down to the luxury of a leisurely, +comfortable talk. + + * * * * * + +Meanwhile, far out on the Escomb Road, the big motor bowled swiftly +along. Carleton's arm was around the girl's waist, her head was on his +shoulder, and she was smiling up into his face. Very charming, very +young and innocent she looked, unless, in some occasional passing flash +of light, one could have seen the look in her eyes which lay behind the +smile. "Oh, this is so nice, Jack," she murmured; even the tone of her +voice was a subtle caress, and she nestled a little closer to his side; +"I could keep on like this for ever; you were so good to take me, dear." + +Carleton did not at once answer, and when he did, his tone seemed +scarcely sentimental. Drowsiness, indeed, brought on by his many +potations, rather than sentiment, appeared to be the spell which bound +him, and his mind wandered irresponsibly in a dozen different directions +at one and the same time. "Say," he asked suddenly, "how'd you know +where a letter'd get me, anyway?" + +Had the girl's mood been real, the matter-of-fact, commonplace tone must +have driven her to sudden anger; as it was, her sense of humor saved +her, and after a moment or two, half in spite of herself, she gave a +little laugh. "Why," she answered lightly, "from your good-looking +friend, Doctor Helmar, of course," and the next instant she could have +bitten her tongue out for the chance words, as Carleton, for the moment +startled into his senses, with a sudden exclamation sat bolt upright in +his seat. "Helmar," he cried, as everything in one instant's flash came +back to him, "to-night was the night. Oh, Lord, I wouldn't have done +this for a thousand dollars." Then leaning forward, to the chauffeur, +"Here there, you, stop a minute!" he cried; and fumbling in his pocket +for his watch, he glanced at it, and then looked quickly around him. +"Ten o'clock," he muttered, "we can make it;" then, aloud, "Put her +round now, driver, and head her straight for town; let her out, and let +her go!" + +With a surprised grin, the chauffeur slowly slackened speed, reversed +his power, and ponderously turned the big car about. The girl meantime +protested vigorously. "No, no," she cried, "why, Jack, we're almost out +there now; what do you care for him, anyway? You wouldn't do a thing +like that, Jack. You've got better manners than to leave me now. How +shall I get home? Now, Jack--" + +Carleton, with a most disconcerting lack of gallantry, obstinately shook +his head. "This very important," he said, "we'll go back way of Birches; +leave you there; this 'xceedingly important. You don't understand. You +never went college. Quincentennial--no, quinquecentennial, no, +quinquen--oh, damn, five years out of college, that's what it is. +Special dinner. Oh, what a fool I was to forget. How could I?" + +The girl sat with frowning brows. "Oh, very well," she said, offended, +"you needn't ask _me_ to go anywhere with you again; that's all;" and +then, this remark having no noticeable effect, she began softly to cry. + +Instantly Carleton's shifting mood had veered again, and in a moment his +arm was once more around her waist, and he leaned protectingly over her. + +"Come, come," he cried, "don' do that. Can't stan' that. We'll go out +there s'mother time, my dear. But not t'night, not t'night; special +t'night; special; awful good fellows, both of 'em; better'n I am, damn +sight. Both good fellows. Don't cry." + +With a quick, sinuous movement she wrenched herself free, putting half +the distance of the broad cushioned seat between them. "Don't," she +cried, "I hate you!" and in constrained and moody silence the big motor +whirred along upon its homeward way. + +Nor was home to be gained without further misadventure. Presently, even +before they had covered half the distance to The Birches, something went +wrong with the machine, and the chauffeur, steering in close to the side +of the road, dismounted and began to search for the trouble, spurred on +by the accompaniment of Carleton's speech, which seemed every moment to +gain in picturesqueness and force. Suddenly out of the darkness appeared +two broad white streaks of dazzling light, the wail of a horn sounded in +their ears, and another automobile passed them, to draw up, just beyond, +with a quick grinding and jarring of brakes. A friendly voice hailed +them. "Anything wrong? Help you out?" Carleton started at the words. He +leaned forward in the seat, and whispered hastily to the chauffeur. +Instantly the latter answered, "No thank you, sir, nothing wrong," and +the second motor sped along upon its way. Carleton's brow contracted. +"Wonder if he saw," he muttered, "light's pretty bright; looked like +Marjory, too; didn't know the colonel drove much at night, anyway." +There was a moment's pause; then all at once, he added, "Friday! Friday! +Good God! that was the other thing. Damn the luck! Damn everything!" and +mingling threats and entreaties, he renewed his urging to the worried +chauffeur. + +An hour later, at the Press Club, Vaughan's cigar was well under way, +and Helmar was helping himself to a second cup of coffee, when suddenly +the door burst open, and there appeared before them the somewhat +unsteady figure of their absent friend. Before either of them could +speak, he had begun a rambling and incoherent apology, continuing it as +he sank limply into the chair reserved for him. + +"Must 'scuse me," was the burden of his speech, "mem'ry comple'ly wen' +back on me; thoroughly 'shame myself--" and there was much more in the +same vein; then, all at once reaching the sentimental stage of his orgy, +he began to develop a vein of maudlin self-pity; "Helmar," he cried +despairingly, "you been good fren' me always. I tell you, 's no good. I +try--I try 's hard's anyone--and oh, Helmar--" his voice broke, and with +a mixture of the ridiculous and the pathetic that made both his hearers +choke a little hysterically, even while their eyes were moist, he +culminated despairingly, "'S no use, fellers; 's no use; I'll tell you +where'm going; _I'm going to hell in a hack_; thash what I am," and +forthwith he laid his head upon the table, and began to weep. + +It was long after midnight when Helmar and Vaughan finally deposited +him, remonstrating and unwilling, in safety at the Mayflower, leaving +him in skilful hands well versed in the treatment of his malady, and +found themselves, flushed, weary, and not in the best of humors, again +in the street. + +"And so ends our great reunion," said Vaughan, mopping his heated +forehead. "Jack ought to feel pleased with himself; he's certainly +succeeded in knocking all the pleasure out of it for everybody, about as +well as any one could. And I think, on the whole, that I'm inclined to +agree with him about where he's bound." + +Helmar sighed, a sigh of honest disappointment and anxiety. "Jack's a +mighty good fellow," he answered, "but he's certainly in a bad way now. +If he ever means to amount to anything, he's got to fight, and fight +hard, too. Well, come on, Arthur, I suppose we'd better get to bed," and +thus the long-planned quinquennial reunion came sadly and dismally to an +end. + + + + +CHAPTER IV + +A FOOL AND HIS MONEY + + "Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances." + _Shakespeare._ + + +Jack Carleton stood in front of the ticker in Turner and Driver's +office, letting the narrow white ribbon run lightly through his fingers. +For the moment he was alone. The big clock over on the post-office +building had just boomed slowly the hour of twelve, and the little knot +of customers, calmly or hurriedly, according to their several +temperaments, had one by one gone out to lunch, for man must eat, though +black care sit at his elbow. And indeed, though the little ticker still +buzzed and whirred unceasingly, and the tape, with scarcely a halt or +pause in its onward course, still ran as smoothly and persistently as +ever, for the moment the worst of the drive seemed really to be over. So +that presently Carleton lifted his eyes, red-rimmed and tired from the +blur of black and white beneath them, letting the quotations run on +unheeded, and stood with eyes fixed on the spot where, just visible +through the very top of the tall window, framed in with line and bar of +blackened roof and dingy chimney top, there smiled cheerfully down into +the gloom of the darkened office a cloudless patch of bright blue sky. + +Imperceptibly the sound of the ticker ceased, and the white ribbon began +fantastically to curl and twist in his hand, for all unconsciously his +fingers had closed upon it, checking the smoothness of its onward flow. +The little patch of blue sky had sent his thoughts wandering far afield. +A moment before he had been standing there in the office, wondering +miserably whether to try to pull out, while there was yet time, with a +good part of his little fortune gone, or whether, with anchors grappling +desperately for holding ground, to strive somehow to ride out the storm. +And now, so long had his mind run upon things trivial and unimportant, +that despite the panic, despite the danger he was in, thanks to that +casual upward glance, he stood already in imagination at the first tee +at the Country Club, the green of the valley lying smooth and fair +beneath him, the couple ahead just disappearing over the farther dip +of the hill, and he himself, well-limbered up, driver in hand, in +the act of placing the new white ball on the well-made tee, properly +confident of smashing it out a hundred and eighty yards away, amid the +close-cropped velvet of the rolling turf. Absolutely a perfect day, he +reflected, for the medal round; no wind, a bright sun, greens quick, yet +true--and above all, he felt that he could win. Barnes was entered, of +course, and Henderson himself--he was paired with him--and Henderson had +told Jake Rogers that since he had changed his grip he could "put it all +over" Carleton, match or medal, any time they met. Rogers, with his +little crooked smile, had taken pains, of course, to repeat the remark, +and while Jack had laughed and said, "Oh, sure, he can lick me all +right," in his own heart of hearts, nevertheless, he knew that he could +trim Henderson, and somewhat grimly had awaited his chance. About a +hundred and sixty would do it, he figured; say a seventy-nine to-day +and an eighty-one to-morrow--two such perfect days in succession could +hardly be--yes, about a couple of eighties would do the trick. + +His vision faded as swiftly as it had come. The green of the links had +vanished, and in its stead the four square walls of the office, swinging +smoothly into place, had closed tightly in again upon him and his +troubled fortunes. With a start, and a half-guilty flush, he glanced +hastily over the yard or two of tape which he still held, looped and +bent, in his tense fingers. But to his relief, as he quickly scanned the +quotations, there seemed to be no cause for further immediate alarm. On +the contrary, the general tone of things was still improving. Akme +Mining was seventeen now, up two and a quarter; Suburban Electric had +rallied to sixty-three; Fuel was up four, at eighty. With a sigh, +Carleton's eyes were raised again to the patch of blue sky. + +And now into the office bustled Jim Turner, hurried and preoccupied, +showing plainly the nervous strain of the last three days, and +especially of that grim and ghastly yesterday, when for five endless +hours it had seemed that the bottom of the market, if not, indeed, of +the earth itself, might be going to fall out for ever and a day; a +troubled, anxious time alike for broker and customer, banker and +depositor, a time when the emergency brakes had been put on so suddenly +and so hard that the whole great financial stage-coach had come +momentarily to a standstill, with a jar so tremendous that scores of +passengers, especially those who occupied only precarious standing-room, +had been hurled bodily to the ground, and some indeed, according to the +stern panic-law of self-preservation, had even been quietly and with +despatch pushed over the side, in order to make better the chances of +those remaining for keeping in safety the threatened security of their +seats. + +Turner headed straight for the ticker, as he neared it striving, with an +obviousness scarcely reassuring, to appear cheerful and unconcerned. +"Hullo, Jack," he said, "how they coming now?" and without waiting for a +reply, gathered up a dozen yards of the tape and let it pass quickly +under his practised eye. "H'm," he said, almost immediately, in a tone +that plainly enough showed his relief, "not so bad, are they? Quite a +lot better than they were an hour ago. Oh, I guess we'll come through it +somehow, after all." + +His tone gave Carleton measureless comfort. He found himself nodding +with assurance. "Oh, yes," he answered, "they're really a lot better. I +guess things are all right now. Do you suppose, Jim--" he hesitated, +stopped, and then, with a flush of color, and his eyes averted from +Turner's face, "do you suppose, Jim, you'll be able to see me through?" + +Turner non-committally shrugged his shoulders. "Why," he answered, not +unkindly, "I guess so. Yes, if things don't go all to the devil again, +I guess we can. But you're in too deep, Jack, for a man that hasn't +unlimited resources. It isn't right, really. I'll stand by you as long +as I can--and when I can't, I'll let you know--and then, if you can't +do anything, and it gets too bad, why, business is business, Jack, and +we'll have to chuck you. That's all we _can_ do." + +Carleton gazed at him a little helplessly; then asked, "But you +think the worst's over, don't you?" He spoke so trustfully, and +with such confidence in the other's judgment, that Turner gave a +half-contemptuous, half-embarrassed laugh. "Why, yes," he answered +slowly, "I _think_ it is, but good Lord, Jack, at a time like this I'm +not on the inside. I'm only one of the small fry. If I could tell you +what you wanted to know, instead of just guessing at it, I wouldn't be +here, working for a living; I can tell you that; I'd be over touring the +continent in a big French six-cylinder. That's where I'd be." He paused +a moment; then, laying a hand on Carleton's arm, continued, "But to the +best of my knowledge, I really think the worst _is_ over, and that +things are going to right themselves. Gradually, of course; it's going +to take time; but they'll right themselves, for all that. And I wouldn't +worry too much, Jack, if I were you. I'll give you warning anyway, and +if worst should come to worst, why, I suppose your old man would see you +through, wouldn't he, if it was a case of that or bust?" + +Carleton shook his head. "No, I guess not," he answered, "he would if +he could, but there's something queer about the property now. I didn't +know about it till a little while ago, and I don't understand all the +details yet; but the idea is that my father's made Henry trustee of +everything. Henry's the whole shooting-match at home now, you know. So I +guess it wouldn't do to try the old gentleman. No, I've got in too deep, +like a fool, and I've got to get out by myself or else drown; one of the +two. But if I can only get by, this time, you can bet I'll never be such +an ass again. You see, Jim," he added, ruefully enough, "I wanted to +show people--" + +Turner laughed, though without amusement. "Yes, I know," he said dryly, +"you wanted to come the young Napoleon racket. There've been others. You +needn't kick yourself for being the only one. But there must be some one +that would help you out, Jack. Why couldn't you go to your uncle +himself?" + +He made the suggestion casually enough, yet with a shrewd eye on the +younger man's expression. Carleton frowned. "Well," he answered +doubtfully, "I'd hate to do that. You know what Henry and I think of +each other. I suppose I could, though, if I was dead up against it. But +I'm not going to worry yet." He glanced once more at the tape; then +added, "Things really have steadied, haven't they, Jim? I guess we're +all safe for to-day." + +Turner did not at once reply. The events of the last three days had to a +large extent discouraged him from hazarding further prophecies. "Can't +tell," he answered guardedly, at length, "can't tell these days, but +they've certainly steadied quite a bit; that's sure; perhaps they'll +begin to pick up now." + +As he spoke, a clerk entered with a bundle of papers in his hand. "For +you to sign, Mr. Turner," he said, and Turner, taking them, departed +into his private office. One or two quick lunchers, the vanguard of the +returning stream of regular patrons, came in at the outer door; the +first, thin, pale and dyspeptic looking, making hastily for the ticker, +with no attempt to conceal his anxiety; the other, stout, red-faced, and +philosophic, following more calmly, his hat on the back of his head, +making leisurely exploration with a toothpick the while, evidently with +a certain not unpraiseworthy desire to show that even in the throes of a +panic a man could still be game. As they approached, Carleton glanced +first at the tape, then at his watch, then at the patch of blue sky. +The tape said that Akme Mining was seventeen and a quarter, and that +Suburban Electric was sixty-four and a half; the watch said that it was +twelve-fifteen, and that the twelve-thirty train would get him to the +Country Club in time for lunch; the patch of blue sky said "Come." With +a rather guilty haste he walked quickly toward the door, for a moment +paused on the threshold, still listening to the whirring of the ticker; +and then passed hurriedly out into the street. + +It was Championship Cup day at the Country Club, and the locker room, +when Carleton entered it two hours later, was crowded with excited men +in various stages of dress and undress; men who had entered the Club +five minutes before as respectable doctors, lawyers, bankers and +business men, and who, five minutes later, were to emerge in a common +indecorous garb of faded flannel shirts, dingy gray trousers and +shapeless felt hats, making their way toward the first tee with an +eagerness which in fulfilling their professional engagements, they were +seldom, if ever, seen to display. + +Carleton, entering, with the mechanical dexterity of long habit, almost +with one motion stripped off coat and vest, collar and tie, and opening +his locker, began pulling out his clubs and his battered golfing +clothes. He affected not to see Henderson, thin and spare and brown, +seated on a bench with knees drawn up under his chin and clasped by +bare, sinewy arms. + +Presently his rival rose and sauntered over to him across the room. He +stood near Carleton in silence, and the two eyed each other with grins, +hostile, yet friendly. Finally Henderson spoke. "Well," he observed, +without enthusiasm, "how's the boy? Looking a little bit fine, what? A +little bit pale for him, hey?" Carleton laughed, with elaborate disdain. +"Oh, no, Tommy," he returned, "can't catch me that way. That's too old +a gag. Never felt better in my life, thanks. How are they scoring? +Barnes finished yet?" + +Henderson nodded. "Played this morning," he said, "was going fine till +the eighteenth, and then drove into the quarry, and dropped his nerve. +Cost him nine for the hole, and did an eighty-five at that. Said his +caddie moved just as he was swinging back for his drive; too bad, wasn't +it?" + +His tone belied the grief expressed by his last words, and at his +humorous wink Carleton openly smiled. Both could exult in the common +enjoyment of seeing a dangerous rival put out of the running. "Yes, too +bad," he rejoined, "his eighty-five the best?" + +Henderson shook his head. "No," he answered, "fellow from Brooklawn did +an eighty-three. Nothing much else under ninety, though; one or two +eighty-nines, I believe, and an eighty-eight; better get limbered up a +bit, Jack; it's getting near our turn. See you outside." + +Carleton nodded, tightened his belt another hole, and reached for his +clubs. Then, for a moment turning his back on the crowded room, he held +out his hand, scanning the fingers critically. His ideas of conditioning +himself were his own. He frowned slightly, shaking his head in +displeasure. "That's the first time that's happened again so soon," he +muttered, "I thought I looked out for that this morning. Well, I know +the answer, anyway," and a couple of minutes later, wiping his lips with +his handkerchief, he joined Henderson outside the club-house, and began +leisurely to limber up. + +It was a quarter of an hour later when, in answer to their names, they +stepped forward to the first tee. Henderson, having the honor, surveyed +his footing with care, and then, absolutely cool and phlegmatic, teed +his ball, eyed the direction flag waving on the cop bunker some seventy +yards away, and with his provokingly easy swing drove a ball without +much "ginger" behind it, a trifle high yet superlatively safe, unerring +in direction and with some distance to it as well, for the road was a +full hundred and fifty yards from the tee, and the little white sphere +stood out plainly against the green of the turf some twenty yards +beyond. Still with the utmost deliberation he stepped back off the tee, +and Carleton took his place. His style was almost the antithesis of +Henderson's. His tee was scarcely more than a pinch of the damp sand, +just enough to insure a good lie for his ball; almost negligently, it +seemed, he fell at once into his stance, swinging back with an +astonishing freedom, yet with complete mastery of a somewhat dashing +style, and coming through into a finish absolutely superb. Low and +straight sped his ball, hardly more than twenty feet over the top of the +bunker; then, beginning slowly to rise, soaring magnificently onward, +finally to come to a stop some fifty or sixty yards beyond the road. +Henderson whistled as they walked down the path. "Some one's feeling +fine," he said. "Glad you got in one good one, anyway, Jack." + +Carleton smiled grimly. "Oh, a few more at home like that I guess," he +retorted, "you've got to crack an eighty to-day, Tommy, if you want to +be in the game." + +His second shot, indeed, seemed to bear out his words. Henderson had +taken an iron, cleared the bunker that guarded the green, and was +safely on its farther edge in two, but Carleton, playing a high, clean +mashie, with plenty of back-spin, managed to lay his ball up within a +dozen feet of the flag. On the green Henderson putted true and straight, +his ball stopping so near the hole as to make a four a certainty. +Carleton, with a little more deliberation than he had yet shown, eyed +the line of his put. "Easy," he muttered to himself, half-aloud, +"nothing to it; easiest thing you know; just get the line, follow her +through, and she--goes--_down_." + +With the final word the ball ticked against the farther edge of the cup, +and dropped gently in for a three. Henderson, holing out, whistled +again. "Somebody's got their good eye with 'em," he observed, and +Carleton, picking up his ball, drew a long breath of content. "Oh, the +devil," he answered good-naturedly, "this is one of my days; I can do +anything I want to to 'em to-day;" and in silence they strode away for +the second tee. + +Outward for the first nine holes they played, into a world, green under +foot and blue and white above, the sunshine just pleasantly warm, the +cool westerly breeze barely stirring the green leaves in the tree-tops, +and faintly rousing the drooping direction flags below. A world of +good-fellowship, a world of youth and joy, and withal, the rigor of the +game to make them at times wholly unconscious, at times all the more +conscious, of the glory above, around, beneath them. Henderson, the safe +and sane, was on his game, making the first nine holes in an even forty, +but Carleton played beyond himself. Twice only on the outward journey +did he make mistakes, and for both he atoned by pulling off two shots +well-nigh marvelous--one a clean, slashing brassie that put him on the +edge of the green on the long fifth--four hundred and fifty yards--in +two; one a straight, deadly put of twenty-five feet at the eighth; no +wonder that Henderson unwillingly totaled a thirty-six for his rival, +puckered his lips, but this time without the whistle, and mournfully +shook his head. Coming in, indeed, Carleton's pace slackened a bit, and +his playing became, in Henderson's phrase, "considerably more like a +human being's." Mistakes, one or two of them costly, were not lacking; +his putting fell off a bit; his confidence seemed a little to diminish; +yet, spite of all, he still played brilliantly, and when on the +eighteenth, he drove a long, straight ball, far over the quarry, with no +danger between him and the home hole, Henderson was forced to admit +defeat. He himself finished as steadily as ever, coming in without any +serious error, without anything especially brilliant, with a card all +fours and fives, in forty-two, and thus handed it an eighty-two for the +round. Carleton's card in was more irregular; it was marred by two +sixes, but these were balanced by two threes and an occasional four, +altogether forty-one for the second nine, and a total of seventy-seven. +Surely, the gold medal lay all but in his grasp, and Henderson, indeed, +had the grace to acknowledge it. "You're all right, Jack," he said, as +they parted, "see you to-morrow afternoon, but I guess you've got things +cinched; this is your lucky day;" and Carleton, though perforce he +shrugged his shoulders and said that no one could ever tell, felt in his +heart that the prize was as good as won. + +At the club-house he dressed, and then, finding that he had plenty of +time, walked leisurely down to the train, and started back for town. For +a while, just comfortably tired with the afternoon's round, he was +content to sit back in his seat with passive enjoyment, with eyes half +closed, playing over again each stroke of the round in pleasant +retrospect, again smashing straight low balls from the tee, again laying +up his approach shots, again successfully holing long, difficult puts. +It made pleasant enough dreaming, and he sat thus until Hillside was +reached. + +Then suddenly, two men, entering hurriedly, took the vacant seat behind +him, evidently resuming their conversation where it had been broken off +as they had boarded the train. Their first words drove golf a million +miles from his brain. "So it busted clean to hell, did it?" asked the +stout man, panting with haste and excitement. + +"Did it?" echoed his companion, with a certain dismal pride, the sense +of proprietorship that one gains in the communication of bad news, +"well, I should say it did. Didn't begin till two o'clock, and then, +say, you never saw such a time in your life. Smash--Bang--Smash! +Everything thrown over, right and left; why, down at Wellman's--" + +The train roared into the long tunnel, and the rest of the sentence was +lost. It was enough, and Carleton, sitting motionless, felt a sudden +sickening reaction creep over him. A game of golf--a gold medal--and the +market again in the grip of a panic beside which the first break of +three days ago must have been as nothing. And then, insistently, he +began to wonder--how bad--how bad? His margin had been slender enough +before--hardly sufficient, really, to pass muster unless tinctured with +the dangerous kindness of friendship--he clenched his hands; his mouth +had gone suddenly dry-- + +Inside the smoky station the train came to a halt. Alighting, he paused +to buy the evening papers from a clamorous newsboy; then without +stopping even to glance at them, hastened straight to his office. It was +long after the hour of closing. The office boy was gone, the door made +fast. Unlocking it, he entered, sat down at his desk, and began hastily +to examine the letters and memoranda reposing there. "Ring up Mr. +Turner," was penciled half a dozen times in the office boy's round, +sprawling hand, with various additions, "Important," "Urgent," "At +once," "Ring 698, Lincoln;" that was Harris and Wheeler's; "Ring Main, +422;" that was Claxton Brothers. He turned to the papers. Lord above, +what headlines! Panic--market crash--houses suspended--banks in +danger--half dazed, he gazed for a moment around him, as if doubting +that it could all be real; then, with a grim feeling that nothing could +much matter now, he read steadily the long rows of stock quotations; and +ever, as he read down a column, values dropped downward with him, and +never, as he turned to the top of the next, did they rise again. Once +more he had to stop, unable to grasp the truth; Akme Mining, nine and a +half; Suburban Electric, forty-seven; Fuel, sixty-three; it was all +impossible. + +Through the slide in the office door a letter fluttered gently to the +floor. He rose and picked it up. It had Turner's name in the corner. +Inside was a hasty scrawl, "Things very bad; must have ten thousand +additional margin at opening to-morrow, sure." As he laid it down, the +telephone rang; "Yes," he answered, "Mr. Harris; oh, yes, I know; five +thousand; yes; thanks; you've got to have it at the opening; all right; +good-by." He hung up the receiver, and turned to confront a telegraph +boy at his elbow. He hastily signed, and ripped open the envelope. This +time the laconic message was from Claxton Brothers. "Good," he muttered, +"only five thousand more. This is fine," and he threw himself back in +his office chair, and for a moment or two thought hard. Then he smiled +ironically. "Oh, yes," he muttered, "Henderson got it right, as usual; +this is certainly my lucky day;" then after a moment, he added, "Well, I +suppose it's a case of must now. It's all I _can_ do." He rose, +shrugging his shoulders, and thrusting the papers into his pocket, he +hurriedly left the office. + + + + +CHAPTER V + +A QUESTION OF HONOR + + "What is left when honour is lost?" + _Publius Syrus._ + + +Twilight was falling over The Birches, and Edward Carleton, seated alone +on the piazza, gazed out over the darkening fields into a world of ever +blending shadows and onward creeping dusk. Always, as long as the +weather permitted, after his evening meal, he loved to sit there, +puffing quietly at his big, old-fashioned, curved pipe, and letting his +memory roam back at will through scene after scene from the long years +that now lay behind him; or sometimes, more rarely, living in the +present, content merely to gaze out on blossoming flower, and tree in +full leaf; to watch the fiery colors of the sunset glow and die in the +far-off west; to hear from the orchard across the road a robin singing +his good night song; to listen to the thousand wonderful secrets which +Nature at the last loves to whisper to those who have lived their lives +pure in deed and word, and who have journeyed far onward into the +shadow, still kindly and serene, with the wonderful dreams of childhood +making beautiful their minds, and in their hearts the faith of little +children. + +Often Henry Carleton sat there with him, but to-night the old man was +alone. An hour ago, a message had come from Henry, saying that he would +not be home until the following evening--perhaps not even then--that +business matters of importance had arisen, making it necessary that he +should remain in town. Characteristic of Henry Carleton's unfailing +thoughtfulness the message had been, and it was of his brother, and, +with a half-sigh, of Jack as well, that Edward Carleton was thinking +now, as the darkness pressed closer and closer around the old house that +had sheltered for so many generations so many fathers and sons of the +Carleton blood. + + * * * * * + +From the entrance to the gravel walk, the sound of footsteps smote +briskly on his ear and he glanced up to see a tall and familiar figure +coming up the path. A moment later, and Jack had hastily mounted the +steps, scarce seeming to heed his father's greeting, and speaking at +once, in a voice strangely unlike his own. "Father," he said, "where's +Henry?" + +The old man gazed at him in surprise. "He's not at home, Jack," he +answered, and then, with a momentary foreboding, "What is it, my boy? +Nothing wrong?" + +Jack laughed, a little grimly. "No, nothing like that," he answered, +"I'm in trouble, that's all. I've stayed too long in a falling market, +and got caught. If I can't get help from Henry, I guess I'm done." + +In the darkness Edward Carleton reached out his hand, and laid it on his +son's shoulder. "My dear boy," he said, "I'm sorry. If only Henry has +the money available. But I don't know. These must be terrible times for +every one. Tell him if there's any way he can use what he holds for me, +that I asked him to do so. I'm so sorry, Jack--so sorry--" + +With what was for him unusual feeling, Jack took his father's hand in +both his own. "Thank you, father," he said, "I know you are. It's all my +own fault, of course. I don't deserve any help. But it's all come so +suddenly. I never thought--" + +He broke off abruptly, then spoke again. "Well, I suppose I must get +back in town, I haven't much time. I never dreamed of not finding Henry +here. I'm sorry I can't stay. Good night, father," and he was gone. + +It was nearly two hours later when he hastened down Adams Street toward +the Harmon Building, where high overhead in many a window, lights +ordinarily extinguished by five or six o'clock, were still burning +brightly; some of them, indeed, destined to gleam and flicker throughout +that long, anxious summer's night, and only to pale at last as the first +faint streaks of dawn struck through the shades on the men who planned +and toiled within, working feverishly, with gray, unshaven faces, and +weary, bloodshot, deep-sunken eyes. + +Getting out of the elevator at the fourth floor, Jack hastily made his +way into Henry Carleton's offices. Once there, however, although his +name was quickly sent in, he was compelled to wait for a full half hour +in the outer corridor, until at length a bell rang sharply, and a tired +looking clerk, with a nod of his head toward the inner office, signified +that the audience was granted. With a curious sense of old-time +familiarity, Jack entered the big square room which he had visited last, +now upward of three years ago, and closed the door behind him. + +Over by the window, Henry Carleton was seated at his desk. He was a man +of about fifty, in complexion so dark as to appear almost swarthy, and +with coal black hair and beard, here and there just faintly touched with +gray. He was tall, much of Jack's height and build, yet constructed +upon finer lines, with a sinuous grace of movement that had about it +something almost feline. His face was rather long, the forehead and +cheek-bones high, the eyes were black and piercing, and the lips of +the strong, well-chiseled mouth noticeably full and red. Altogether, +an interesting face, a fitting index to the dual personality of the +man--Henry Carleton the shrewd and able leader in the business world, +and Henry Carleton the musician and man of letters--the artist to his +finger-tips. + +As Jack entered, he glanced up pleasantly enough, though far back in his +eyes there lurked a hidden gleam of some emotion difficult to fathom. +"Why, hello, Jack," he said, "I'm surprised to see _you_. What brings +you here? Sit down." He motioned toward a chair. + +Jack Carleton came forward into the room, standing a little awkwardly +with his hand on the back of the proffered seat. "It's the market, +Henry," he said briefly, "I've got caught. I have to raise twenty +thousand by the opening to-morrow, or go under. I've just come from +home; I thought I'd find you there. I'll tell you the truth. I hate like +hell to come to you, and you know it, but I've got to get the money +somehow, and if you can help me, I wish to Heaven you would." + +Henry Carleton gazed at him meditatively. "Better sit down," he said +curtly, and this time Jack accepted the invitation. There was a short +silence. Then Henry Carleton drew a tiny note-book from his pocket, and +looked up, with pencil poised, "Now let's have it," he said. + +Jack Carleton frowned. It was easy enough to see that the confession of +his sins was little less than torture to him. "Well," he began, a trifle +defiantly, "it's like this. I've got in a trifle deeper than I meant to +when I started. Things looked so like a cinch, I couldn't help it. I've +fifteen hundred shares of Suburban Electric, and seven hundred Akme +Mining, and five hundred Fuel, and a little other stuff besides. My +heaviest account's with Turner and Driver; then I've got an account with +Harris and Wheeler, and another with Claxton Brothers; altogether--" + +Piece by piece the whole story came out. Henry Carleton wrote, figured, +meditated; asked a question here, another there; meditated again. +Finally he seemed to make up his mind. He spoke with deliberation, +weighing his words. "No one can tell," he said, "what the next +twenty-four hours are going to bring. But what you ought to do is clear. +You've got to lighten up, to start with. Close out your account with +Harris, and with the Claxtons; hang on to what you have at Turner and +Driver's, if you can. That's enough; and that's our problem: how best to +try to carry it through." + +As if the words brought him measureless comfort, Jack drew a long breath +of relief. "You think, then," he asked, almost timidly, "you can fix it +somehow? You think you can get me by?" + +Henry Carleton did not at once reply, and when he finally spoke, it was +but to answer Jack's question with another. "Have you done everything +you can yourself?" he queried. "Where else have you tried?" + +Jack gave a short mirthless laugh. "Where _haven't_ I tried?" he +retorted. "I've tackled about every friend and acquaintance I've got in +the world. I began four days ago. And I've had the same identical +come-back from every one of them. They're sorry, but they have to look +out for themselves first. And security. They all talk about that. I +never knew before that security cut such a lot of ice with people. But +it does." + +Henry Carleton nodded grimly. "Yes, it does," he answered dryly, "most +of us make that discovery sooner or later. And generally for ourselves, +too. And when you mention security, Jack, you've come right down to the +root of the whole trouble. We might as well acknowledge it now. I can't +help you myself. I tell you so frankly. I couldn't use trust funds for +such a purpose, of course. Any one would tell you that. That's out of +the question. And my own money is hopelessly tied up. I couldn't get the +sum you need under a month, if I could then. But there's one thing I +might do. It isn't business. I hate to try it. But I don't want to see +you disgraced, Jack, if I can help it. Wait here a minute, till I see--" + +He rose and walked over to the telephone booth in the rear of his +office, and entering, closed the door behind him. In two minutes he came +back to his desk, penciled a name on a card, and handed it to Jack. +"This fellow Farrington," he said shortly, "is under some obligations to +me. I think you'll get what you want from him. Better see him anyway. +He's in the Jefferson Building, top floor. I told him you'd be there in +ten minutes, at the most." + +Jack Carleton rose. "I'm much obliged, Henry," he said, a little +lamely, "you're very good. I'm much obliged. I'll go right over, of +course." + +The other stood gazing at him with a curious expression on his swarthy +face, a curious gleam far back in his dark eyes. "Don't mention it," he +said smoothly, "Carletons must stand together, Jack. We mustn't bring +dishonor on the name, whatever we do." + +Unerringly he had pierced the weak joint in the armor. Jack's face went +whiter than before. He stood for a moment silent, then spoke with +effort. "No," he answered, "we mustn't do that," and turning, he left +the room. + +Up-town toward the Jefferson Building he hurried, half-daring, yet +half-fearing, to hope. Noting the number of the room on the framed +directory placarded within, he left the elevator at the tenth floor, and +hastening down the corridor, paused opposite the door. Externally the +office was a modest one, with "H. O. Farrington, Agent" inscribed in +plain black lettering on the glass. Entering, he found the interior to +correspond. A tiny room, with a small enclosure at one end, within which +sat Farrington himself, a man perhaps best described by saying that he +perfectly typified that somewhat vague being whom most of us have in +mind when we speak glibly of the "average man." "Average" best described +him in height, build, and appearance, the nondescript sort of person +whom one meets on Monday, and passes in the street on Tuesday, wholly +unconscious of ever having seen him before. + +As Jack entered, he glanced up quickly. "Mr. Carleton?" he questioned, +and as Jack nodded, motioned to a chair. "Just a minute," he said, and +bent over his writing again. Presently, as he stopped, and reached for a +sheet of blotting paper, Jack ventured to speak. "I don't know how much +you know about this--" he began, but the other raised his hand. "All +right," he said briefly, and shoved a check and a receipt across the +desk, "Sign, please." + +Mechanically Jack glanced at the check. It was for the amount required. +Mechanically, too, he signed the receipt, and handed it back to +Farrington. Half unable to realize his good fortune, he rose, the check +in his hand. "I'm greatly obliged," he said. + +Farrington made no reply. Evidently words with him were precious things. +Perforce Jack turned to go, and then, half-way to the door, turned. + +"Mr. Farrington," he said hesitatingly, "if things should go lower--" + +Farrington did not look up. "They won't," he said tersely. + +Again Jack hesitated. Then, finally, "But if they should--" he said +again. + +A little impatiently, Farrington raised his head. "We'll see you +through," he said. "Good night." And Jack, not disposed to quarrel +further with fortune, closed the door behind him. + +It was a quarter of ten on the morning following when he entered Turner +and Driver's office, advancing to meet the senior partner with the +little strip of paper in his outstretched hand. Turner took it eagerly +enough, and as he scanned the amount, he nodded, while a wrinkle or two +seemed to vanish from his puckered and frowning brow. Then he looked +up. "Well, you got it," he said, and Carleton hastened to assent. "Oh, +yes," he returned lightly, "I got it all right. Why, didn't you think I +would?" + +The broker shrugged his shoulders. "Hard telling anything these days," +he answered, "but I'll tell you one thing, though; you're mighty lucky +to be able to put your hands on it so easy. There'll be more than one +poor devil this morning who would pretty near give his soul for a tenth +part of what you've got here. It's a bad time for customers, Jack, and I +don't mind telling you--" he lowered his voice confidentially--"that +it's a bad time for brokers, too. A little piece of paper like this--" +he waved the check gently to and fro--"is a nice comforting sight for a +man; between you and me, I wouldn't mind seeing three or four mates to +it. Yes, I'm glad to get it all right, on my account, and on yours, +too." + +Jack nodded. Somehow, entirely without justification, as he well knew, +the check had given him a feeling of great stability; at once, on +receiving it, he had felt that he had risen in his own self-esteem. +"Yes," he assented, "I'm glad myself; and you needn't worry about my +account, Jim. We'll just leave it this way. Don't treat mine as an +ordinary account; don't sell me out, whatever happens. I've friends +that'll see me through anything. If things should go lower, and you +should need more margin, just let me know, and I'll get it over to you +right away. Will that be satisfactory?" + +The broker nodded. "Why, yes, Jack," he answered, "knowing the way +you're fixed, I guess that'll be all right, though with nine men out of +ten, of course I wouldn't consider such a way of doing things. Business +is business, and when it comes right down to the fine point, why, it's +the cold hard cash that counts, and nothing else; not friendship, or +honor, or gratitude, or common decency, even--" both face and voice had +hardened as he spoke; it was not his first panic--and then his look met +Carleton's fairly and squarely. "But with you, Jack," he continued, +"it's different, as I say. Only let's be perfectly sure that we +understand each other. I don't believe myself, you know, that things can +go much lower; I think the chances are they've steadied for good; but +for argument, let's suppose they do. Then, as I understand it, you don't +want to have me sell you out at any price, no matter how far they break. +You'll make good any time I ask you to. You give me your word on that?" + +Carleton readily enough assented. "Why, sure," he answered lightly, "of +course I do; you needn't worry; I'll make good," and the broker nodded, +well pleased. + +"One thing less to bother over, then," he said. "You'll excuse me now, +Jack, won't you? This is going to be a horrible busy day, anyway, and +the Lord send it's nothing worse than that; it wouldn't take much now to +raise the very deuce." + +As he spoke the _News Despatch_ boy entered, tossing down on the table a +half dozen sheets fresh from the press. Turner glanced at them, and +handed them over to Carleton, shaking his head as he did so. "London's +not feeling gay," he observed, "I call that a pretty ragged opening +myself. I don't know what you think of it." + +Carleton read and nodded. It seemed as if everything in the half dozen +pages made for discouragement. London had opened weak--lamentably weak. +There were rumors of this--rumors of that--sickly, unhealthy mushroom +growths of the night. There was talk of failures--suspensions--financial +troubles of every kind--even the good name of a great bank was bandied +carelessly to and fro. Silently Turner crossed the room, and took his +seat at his desk; silently Carleton walked out into the customers' room, +and joined the other unfortunates who had come slowly straggling in, and +who now stood around the ticker, waiting gloomily and apprehensively for +the opening bell to ring. + +The tension of the moment was plainly enough to be read in the attitudes +and expressions of the members of the little group, not one of whom +failed in some manner or other to betray the fact that he was far from +possessing his usual poise and calm. Most of them, either consciously or +unconsciously, showed their nervousness so plainly and even painfully +that it was impossible to misinterpret the anxious glances cast first at +the clock, then at the tape, as the moment of the opening drew near. +One or two, indeed, essayed a nonchalance so obviously assumed as to +render even more apparent the emotion it sought to conceal. One young +fellow, with hat shoved far back on his head, hair in disorder, and a +restless, frightened look in his eyes, glanced at Carleton as he +approached. + +"How _you_ standing it, Jack?" he queried, with a faint attempt at +jocularity. "Bad night to sleep last night, _I_ called it; guess most +likely 'twas something in the air." + +Another man, he of the toothpick, stout and coarse, held forth at some +length for the benefit of the rest. "Oh, it was perfectly clear, the +whole thing," he was saying, with the air of one to whom all the +mysteries and marvels of stock fluctuations are but as matters writ +large in print the most plain. "You see Rockman and Sharp and +Haverfeller got together on this thing, and then they had a conference +with Horgan, and got him to say that he'd keep his hands off, and let +things alone; then they had a clear chance, and you can see what they've +done with it; oh, they're clever all right; when those fellows get +together, it's time to look out; you can't beat 'em." + +He spoke with a certain condescending finality, as if he had somehow +once and for all fixed the status of the panic. After a moment or two a +gray, scholarly looking little man, with gentle, puzzled eyes, addressed +him, speaking with an air of timid respect for the stout man's evident +knowledge. + +"Do you imagine, sir," he asked, "that securities will decline still +further in value? If they should, I am afraid that I might find myself +seriously involved. I can't seem to understand this whole affair; I was +led to believe--" + +The big man, charmed with the novelty of having a genuine, voluntary +listener, interrupted him at once. + +"Oh, you don't have to worry," he said largely, "they might open 'em off +a little lower, perhaps, but they'll go back again. Don't you fret; the +country's all right; they'll come back; they always do." + +The little man seemed vastly comforted. "I'm very glad to hear you say +so," he answered. "It would come very hard--I had no idea the risk was +so great--I was led to believe--" + +The young man with the rumpled hair turned a trifle disgustedly to +Carleton. "Heard from London?" he asked abruptly. His brief, and not +wholly unintelligent connection with the game had led him to believe +firmly in facts and figures, not in the dangerous pastime of theorizing +over values, or speculating as to what the next move of the "big +fellows" might be. + +Carleton nodded. "Weak," he answered, his tone pitched low and meant for +his neighbor's ear only, "horribly weak; and all sorts of stories +starting, too; it looks as bad as it could." + +The young man nodded. "I supposed so," he said, with resignation, and +then added whimsically, "Well, there's no use crying about it, I guess, +but it certainly looks as if this was the time when little Willie gets +it good and plenty, right in the neck." + +Just in front of them, a pale, slender man, with blinking eyes, and a +mumbling, trembling mouth that was never still, talked steadily in an +undertone, apparently partly to himself, partly to the man who stood at +his shoulder, a red-faced farmer with a hundred shares of Akme at stake. +"Now'd be the time," he muttered, "now'd be the time to jump right in; +jump right in and buy four or five thousand shares; a man could make a +fortune, and get out for good; it's the chance of a man's life; to jump +right in and buy four or five thousand shares." + +The countryman gazed at him in silence, sizing him up at first +curiously, and then with a certain amused and not unkindly contempt. +"Four or five thousand!" he said, at last. "That ain't enough. Buy ten +thousand while you're at it. You'll get twice as rich then," but the +nervous man seemed to take no offense, and indeed, not even to notice +the remark. "Now's the time," he rambled on, and it was clear that it +was to himself alone that his mumblings were addressed, "to jump right +in; that's the thing to do." + +To Carleton, all at once it seemed that the group around the ticker was +a gathering merely of the wrecks of men--of idle fools of greater or +less degree. All of them he pitied, except the big, coarse man with the +toothpick, for whom he felt a huge dislike; and most of all his pity +went out to the gentle man with the puzzled eyes; something unfair there +seemed to be in such a one being decoyed into the market game--something +repellant, as if one had lied, deliberately and maliciously, to a child. +Pity or anger--old or young--was there in all the group, he reflected +with sudden distaste, one real man? And then, instant and unexpected, a +lightning flame of keenest irony seemed to sear its way into his very +soul; suppose Farrington had withheld the check? Was there, in all the +group, _himself included_, one real man-- + +The bell rang. The ticker whirred. For a moment the dozen heads were +grouped closely together over the tape, and then--the first quotation, +five hundred Fuel at fifty-seven, gave warning of the truth; and the +second and third verified it beyond all doubt or questioning. No further +need of argument; no further agony; the suspense was over. So weak was +the opening as to be almost incredible, so weak that it took a moment or +two to adjust oneself to the shock. Akme Mining had closed the night +before at ten. Carleton, figuring on the lowest, had imagined that it +might open at eight and a half, or even eight. Two thousand shares came +over the tape at six and a quarter. Everything else was in like ratio; +everything else kept the same proportion--or lack of it. For perhaps ten +seconds there was silence absolute, and then the reaction came. The +young man with the rumpled hair turned sharply away, his hands thrust +deep into his trousers' pockets, his lips curiously twisted and +contorted, the tip of his tongue showing between his teeth. He gazed up +at the blank wall, nodding unsmilingly to himself. "I thought so," he +observed, quietly, "in the neck." + +The man with the mumbling mouth started again to speak. "Now," he +muttered, "now would be the time; to jump right in--" and then, as if +just for a moment he caught a glimpse of himself and the figure he made, +old and futile, worn out and wan, he stopped abruptly, rubbing his eyes, +and for a time spoke no more, only standing there motionless, with the +force of a habit too strong to be broken, glancing down unseeingly at +the rows of little black letters and figures that issued steadily from +the ticker, only to pass, unregarded and unmeaning, beneath the vacancy +of his gaze. + +Carleton had stood staring grimly with the rest. In a moment he felt a +hand laid upon his arm, and turned to meet the wistful glance of the +little gray man. "I beg your pardon," he asked timidly, "but can you +tell me at what price Kentucky Coal is selling? I dislike to trouble +you, but I am entirely unfamiliar with the abbreviations used." + +Carleton nodded with the feeling that he might as well deal the little +man a blow squarely between the eyes. "Forty-eight," he said shortly. + +The little man turned very pale. "Forty-eight," he repeated +mechanically, "can it be so? Forty-eight!" He shook his head slowly from +side to side, then glanced at Carleton with a smile infinitely gentle +and pathetic. "And to earn it," he murmured, "took me twenty years;" and +then again, after a pause, "twenty years; and I'm afraid I'm pretty old +to begin again now." + +Carleton's heart smote him. Gladly enough would he have sought to aid, +if a half of his own depleted fortune had remained to him. He stood for +a moment as if in a dream. The whole scene--the familiar office, the +stock-board, the ticker, the disheartened, discouraged group of +unsuccessful gamblers--it was all real enough, and yet at the same time +about it all there clung an air somehow theatric, melodramatic, hard of +realization. Then, from the doorway, Turner called him sharply, and he +hastened into the private office. Outwardly, the broker still had a +pretty good grip on himself, but in his tone his rising excitement was +easily enough discerned. "Look, Jack," he said quickly, "things are bad; +there's all sorts of talk coming over our private wire. Hell's broke +loose; that's the amount of it. I want you to get me ten thousand on +your account as quick as the Lord'll let you; get fifteen, if you can. +It's better for us both that way. Saves worrying--any more than anybody +can help. And Jack," he added, "I'm not supposed to know this, neither +are you. But they're letting go a raft of your father's stuff over at +Brown's. I don't know what the devil it means, but I call it a mighty +bad sign." + +Carleton nodded, and without wasting time, left the room. The ten +minutes' walk between Turner's office and the Jefferson Building he +covered in half that time, and striding hastily down the corridor, had +almost reached Farrington's door when a tall, red-faced young man, +emerging with equal speed, pulled up short to avoid the threatened +collision, and stood back for Carleton to enter. Glancing at him, Jack +recognized a casual acquaintance, and nodded to him as he passed. "How +are you, Cummings?" he said, and the other, looking at him a little +curiously, returned his salutation, and then passed quickly on. + +Farrington was seated at his desk, and Jack at once, and without +ceremony, entered. Farrington, glancing up, acknowledged his greeting, +with a curt nod; then looked at him with questioning gaze. "Well?" he +said. + +"Well," Jack echoed, a trifle deprecatingly, "you can guess what I've +come for, I suppose. You saw the opening. I want ten thousand +more--fifteen, if I can have it--but ten will do." + +Farrington looked him straight in the eye. + +"Ten will do," he echoed; then, dryly, "I should think it would." He +paused for the veriest instant, then added, with the utmost directness, +"It's no go, Mr. Carleton. I'm caught myself. I can't let you have a +cent." + +At the words the blood seemed suddenly to leave Jack Carleton's heart. +Something tightened in his throat, and a faint mist seemed to gather +between Farrington's face and his own. Then, as he came to himself, +"Can't let me have it!" he cried sharply. "Why, you told me last night +you'd see me through, you won't go back on your word now. The money's +promised. It's too late." + +Farrington's face was expressionless. "You don't realize," he said, +"what a time this is. It's one day out of a million--the worst there's +ever been. If I could have foreseen--" + +The telephone on his desk rang sharply, and he turned to answer it. +Jack Carleton sat as if stunned. This man had lied to him; had given +him his word, and now, with the market hopelessly lower, retracted it; +had thrown him a rope, and, as he hung helpless in mid air, was +leaning coolly forward to cut it, and let him perish. And he had +promised Turner--his word of honor. He felt physically faint and sick. +Farrington hung up the receiver, and then, as Jack started to speak, an +interruption occurred. Suddenly the door opened, and Cummings appeared +in the entrance. He seemed greatly hurried and excited, as if he had +been running hard. "All ready, Hal," he cried, "he'll ring you any +minute now. And when he does, buy like hell! For the personal, of +course! He says--" + +Quickly Farrington cut in on him. "Shut up!" he cried, so sharply that +Jack could not but note his tone, "Can't you see I'm busy? Wait outside, +till I'm through," and Cummings, his red face many shades redder than +before, at once hastily withdrew. + +Immediately Carleton leaned forward. "Look here," he cried desperately, +"this isn't right. You told me you'd see me through. Those were your +very words. You can't go back on them now. If you do, you've got me +ruined--worse than ruined. It isn't only the money; I've pledged my +word; pledged myself to make good. I've got to have it, Farrington; +that's all; I've got to; can't you understand?" + +Farrington frowned. "You _can't_ have it," he answered sharply, "and +don't take that tone to me, either, Mr. Carleton. Haven't I given you +twenty thousand already? You must have misunderstood me last night. I +said I'd see you through if I could, and now I find I can't. That's all. +I tell you I can't; and I won't stop to split hairs about it, either. +I've got too much at stake. You'd better not wait, Mr. Carleton. There's +no use in it. There's nothing for you here." + +Carleton's eyes blazed. Just for an instant things swam before him; for +an instant he half crouched, like an animal about to spring. In the +office, absolute stillness reigned, save for the tall clock in the +corner ticking off the seconds--five--ten--fifteen--and then, all at +once, his tightly closed hands unclenched, his lips relaxed; on the +instant he stood erect, and without speaking, turned quickly on his +heel, and left the room. + +Grim and white of face, he burst five minutes later into Turner's +private office, with a bearing so changed that Turner could not help +but notice it, and read the trouble there. "Something wrong?" he asked +sharply, and Carleton nodded, with a strange feeling as if he were +acting a part in some sinister dream. "I couldn't get it," he said. + +Turner gazed at him, frowning. "Nonsense," he cried, and Carleton could +have laughed hysterically to hear his own words of ten minutes before +coming back to him: "You've got to get it. You told me you were all +right, Jack. You can't do this now. Last night was the time to settle or +sell. You can't turn around now. It's too late." + +Carleton's face was haggard, his mouth dry. He shook his head +stubbornly. "I can't get it," he said again. + +The broker's eyes grew suddenly hard. "Of course you can," he cried, +"you said you could; you know you can get it, Jack; go ahead!" + +But Carleton only shook his head once more. "It's no use," he answered +wearily, "I _can't_ get it, I say. I wouldn't lie to you." + +It was an unfortunate phrase. The broker sneered. "Oh, no," he cried, +"of course not. You wouldn't lie to me. How about this morning?" And +then, struck suddenly by the expression on Carleton's face, and perhaps +a little ashamed of his own loss of self-control, he hastened to add, in +a tone kindlier by far, "Come, come, Jack, this isn't like you. There's +something queer here. You told me you had friends who'd see you through. +You told me that not three hours ago. And if you lied to me, it was a +dirty thing to do, and a foolish thing, as well. Because now I've got to +sell you out; there's no other way; and it leaves you ruined, and costs +me money, besides. But I won't preach. Thank God, that's one thing I've +never done yet. You've been a good customer here, and a good friend of +mine, too. So give it to me straight, Jack. If you lied to me, tell me +so. It's bad enough for you; I won't make it any worse. I'll keep my +head shut, and you can pay me back as you're able. But now look here--" +and his tone hardened again--"if it isn't that; if it's somebody else +that's lied to _you_, and fooled us both, why that's a different story +altogether. There's nothing to stop us then, and by God, we won't let it +stop us, either. We'll tell the story all over this town, till we make +somebody good and sorry for what he's done. Give it to me straight, +Jack. How did it happen? Is this whole business up to somebody else, or +is it up to you? Was it the truth you told me, or was it a lie?" + +For a moment Carleton stood silent. Through his tired brain flashed +evil thoughts--suspicion--conjecture--the possibility of a just revenge. +And yet--it was all so confused--so uncertain. Blame there was +somewhere--but where? What could he really do? And then, curiously +enough, once more he seemed to see before his eyes the dark face of +Henry Carleton; once again he seemed to hear him say, "The Carletons +must stand together, Jack. We mustn't bring dishonor on the name." And +in that sudden instant Jack Carleton ceased all at once to be a boy, and +became a man. Low and hesitating came the words, the words that in the +broker's eyes branded him for ever as a coward, beaten and disgraced, +and yet his gaze, fixed on Turner's face, never faltered. "Jim," he +said, "I'm sorry. It's up to me. I told you a lie." + + + + +CHAPTER VI + +DEATH COMES + + "Nothing is here for tears, nothing to wail + Or knock the breast, no weakness, no contempt, + Dispraise, or blame,--nothing but well and fair, + And what may quiet us in a death so noble." + _Milton._ + + +Through the gathering darkness of the short, chilly December day the +carriage swung up the driveway of The Birches, and in front of the porch +came to a sudden halt. Doctor Morrison, hastily alighting, ran quickly +up the piazza steps to find Henry Carleton, worried and anxious, already +awaiting him at the open door. + +"I'm glad you've come, Doctor," he said, his relief plainly enough +showing in his tone, "I've been reproaching myself for not letting you +know before. Step into the parlor for a moment, though, and warm +yourself before you go up. You must be cold." + +Pulling off his gloves, and laying aside his overcoat and bag, Doctor +Morrison followed Carleton into the room, rubbing his hands and holding +them out to the warmth of the open blaze. Then he turned. "And how is he +now?" he asked. "Any change for the worse?" + +"No, I think not," Carleton answered, "he appears to be comfortable +enough, and says he has no pain. Yet there seems something curious about +it, too. It was almost a week ago, I suppose, that he first began to +complain. There was nothing that you could fix on definitely, though. +Only that he didn't seem to be quite himself--not as bright as usual, or +so interested in things--and wanted to sleep a great deal, even in the +daytime; something, as you know, most unusual for him. I thought then of +sending for you, and then I felt that that might alarm him, and to tell +the truth, I expected every day to see him begin to pick up again; he's +had times like this before. And so things went along until to-day. But +this morning, as I telephoned you, he didn't get up at all--complained +of feeling very weak and faint--so of course I rang you up at once. I +only hope I've made no mistake in waiting so long." + +Doctor Morrison shook his head. "Oh, no, I don't think so for a moment," +he answered, "I doubt if it's anything serious at all. All men, as they +get on in years, are apt to get queer notions at times, especially about +their health. I'll go right up and see him now, but I don't anticipate +that we'll find there's the slightest cause for alarm." + +For half an hour Henry Carleton sat alone in the firelight, in spite +of all the doctor had said still anxious and disturbed. Then he rose +quickly as he heard footsteps descending the stairs, and stood waiting, +expectant and apprehensive. As the doctor entered the room, it was easy +to see from the expression on his face that his news was certainly none +of the best. Abruptly Henry Carleton stepped forward. "Is it serious?" +he asked. + +The doctor did not keep him in suspense. He nodded gravely. "Yes," he +answered, "I suppose I should tell you so at once. It is," and then, +seeing the unspoken question in the other's eyes, he added quickly, "No, +I don't mean anything immediate, necessarily; but he's failed terribly +since I saw him last. I suppose it's been all of six months now, at +least, since I came out before; and probably to you, living with him and +seeing him every day, the change has been so gradual that you haven't +noticed it, but it's been going on steadily just the same, all the time. +He's certainly failed--alarmingly." + +Slowly Henry Carleton nodded. "I see," he said half-mechanically, then +added, "Is it anything particular, Doctor, or just a general breaking +up?" + +"Just that," the doctor answered. "Just old age. It's the same story +with all of us, after all. The machine is built to run about so long. +Sometimes it wears out gradually; sometimes, as in Mr. Carleton's case, +even at the allotted age, it seems almost as good as new; and those are +the cases, where, when anything does go wrong, it's apt to go wrong very +suddenly indeed, so that to every one the shock is proportionately +greater, and just so much harder to bear." + +Again Henry Carleton nodded. "Nothing that one can do, I suppose?" he +asked, and the doctor shook his head. "No," he answered, "practically +nothing; it's really his own fight. I'll leave some directions about +medicine and diet, of course, and I rather think, on the whole, though +it's probably a needless precaution, that I'll stay here with you for +the night. You might fix me up a sofa in his room, if you don't mind; +I think perhaps I should feel better satisfied to stay until morning, +anyway. His heart isn't quite what I'd like it to be." + +By nine o'clock Edward Carleton seemed to be in better spirits, and +to be resting more comfortably, and neither Henry Carleton, nor, for +that matter, Doctor Morrison himself, retired with any thought of +an immediate turn for the worse. Henry Carleton, indeed, resigned +himself to sleep with all the comfort that comes from a conscience +serenely at peace with every one, and a knowledge that one's worldly +affairs--deprecated but not despised--are going magnificently to one's +advantage. Calmly enough he balanced his spiritual accounts with his +Creator and his fellow-men, and found that with both his credit was +good. Placidly he passed in review on matters more material, and there +found, if such a thing could be, his credit better still; and then, as +a good man should, dropped off to sleep with no disturbing or vexing +thoughts to mar his rest. + +Yet after all, the night was not destined to be a peaceful one, for +somewhere in the long, silent spaces that lie between midnight and the +dawn, the bell connecting Edward Carleton's room with his rang once, +twice, thrice; insistent and shrill, piercing his dreams with a sudden +foreboding of evil. In a moment he was up and across the hall, to find, +in the dim light, the doctor, half-dressed, supporting the old man's +figure, swaying as he strove to prop him against the pillows. Sharply +the doctor spoke. "On the mantel," he cried, "my case. Quick, please. +No, come here. I'll get it myself. Keep his head up--there--that +way--so. Just a minute, now; just a minute--" + +It was but the fraction of a minute, at the most, until he returned, but +in the interval the old man's eyes had opened and had gazed at Henry +Carleton with an expression of recognition. Instantly, too, he strove to +speak, but in vain, and then, just as the doctor reached his side, his +eyes closed, and his head dropped back among the pillows. Edward +Carleton was dead. + + * * * * * + +It was seven o'clock the next morning when Doctor Morrison, tired and +pale with the strain of his long, sleepless night, entered his office, +to meet Helmar just coming down the stairs. "Old Mr. Carleton's gone, +Franz," he said abruptly, "heart failure. He died early this morning." + +Helmar glanced up quickly. "I'm very sorry indeed," he said, "but it's +not a surprise. I remember when I saw him I didn't give him over six +months, or a year, at the most. His heart action was none too good even +then, and there were other things." + +Doctor Morrison nodded, then looked at him with a rather curious +expression. "Franz," he said, "you know your friend Jack Carleton?" + +Helmar's eyes met his frankly. "I was just thinking of him," he said, +"I'm afraid it will be a terrible shock. I think he scarcely realized +that his father was failing at all. Poor old Mr. Carleton! And what a +difference it all makes. To think that Jack will come into his fortune +now." + +Again Doctor Morrison eyed him curiously. "Come into his fortune," he +repeated, and again Helmar looked up quickly, struck by his tone. + +"Why, yes," he answered, "why not? I always understood that Jack would +have the estate on his father's death. There's been no change, has +there? Jack hasn't been cut off in any way?" + +Doctor Morrison shook his head. "No," he answered, "nothing like that, +exactly; but suppose I have nothing, and give you all I have; that +doesn't do you such a tremendous lot of good." + +Helmar's expression sufficiently showed his astonishment. "You don't +mean it!" he cried. "Why, that can't be so! I always understood from +every one that Edward Carleton was a very rich man. Why, just look at +his place, for one thing; it can't be so." + +Doctor Morrison shrugged his shoulders. "It's the same old story," he +said, "you know yourself how often it happens, and how surprised people +are on a man's death to find how comparatively little he has. +Sometimes, of course, you'll find it just reversed, and the man that's +rated at fifty thousand dies worth half a million. But that's the +exception, these days, and the other's the rule. For one man that +scrapes and saves, there are a dozen who live on a big scale, spend +their income to the last cent, and maybe draw on the principal, too. And +Edward Carleton spent money very freely, I suppose." + +Helmar looked entirely unconvinced. "Well, suppose he did," he answered, +"admit that he did, even; for he did give a lot to charity and things +like that; I know that for a fact. But even then--think of the different +enterprises he was in in his day, and practically all big, successful +ones. Oh, it can't be that he left nothing; it's an impossibility." + +Doctor Morrison shook his head. "No, sir, it's true," he replied, "I'm +not speculating about it; I know it positively, because I got it from +Henry Carleton's own lips. He surely ought to know, if any one does, and +he'd hardly care to publish the fact if it wasn't really so. He's a most +remarkable man, Helmar. I've always admired him, but I don't think I +ever really quite appreciated him before. Sometimes I seemed to find him +a little self-centered, a little too sure of himself, if you know what I +mean. But I know better now, for what he's done in his brother's case is +really as fine a thing as you ever heard. It seems that the old +gentleman had always managed his own affairs, but about a year ago he +came to Henry and asked him to take charge of everything for him. I +suppose he felt that he was getting a little out of touch with things, +perhaps; anyway, whether he suspected it or not, the sequel proved that +he'd managed to put matters off a little too long. He had some very +unfortunate investments, and he'd looked out for lots of other people +ahead of himself, and the long and short of it was that when the panic +blew along, it simply wiped Edward Carleton off the map." + +Helmar nodded grudgingly. "Well, on those facts, I can understand it, +then," he replied. "But I always thought he was too conservative a man +to get caught in anything like that. He had plenty of company, though." + +"No doubt of that," Doctor Morrison assented, "and then what do you +suppose Henry Carleton did? Straightened out what was left of the wreck +as well as he could, told the old gentleman that everything was all +right, and has kept the estate going ever since, letting him have +whatever he wanted, right out of his own pocket, and without a word to +any one that things were any different from what they always had been. +He's even kept on paying Jack the allowance his father gave him, and +that, too, after he and Jack had had another row, more serious than any +that had gone before. And he'd have kept on like that, he told me, if +the old gentleman had lived ten years instead of one. If that isn't +doing one's duty, in the best sense of the word, I'd like to have you +tell me what is." + +For a moment, Helmar did not reply. To all that Doctor Morrison had said +he had listened with the closest attention. "He told you all this +himself, you say?" he queried at length. + +At once the doctor felt the unspoken criticism in his tone. "And why +not?" he retorted. "This has been a time of great strain for him, and we +were together there for the rest of the night. At a time like that a +man's tongue is loosened perhaps a little more than usual." + +Helmar made no answer, either of denial or assent. Then, after a little +while, "Does Jack know?" he asked. + +"Not yet," the doctor answered. "There seemed nothing to be gained by +telephoning. I told Henry Carleton I'd go up at once myself." + +Helmar reached for his hat. "If you don't mind," he said, "let me go +instead," and Doctor Morrison, spent and weary, readily enough nodded +assent. + +Carleton, as Helmar entered the door of his room at the Mayflower, +turned with some surprise to greet his friend. "Why, hello, Franz," he +cried. "What the devil brings you here?" Then noticing the look on +Helmar's face, he added quickly, and in a very different tone, "What is +it? Anything wrong?" + +Helmar nodded. Between man and man, he was no believer in striving to +break bad news gently. "It's your father, Jack," he said. "He died this +morning. It was very sudden. Doctor Morrison was there. It was his +heart. There was nothing that could be done. And he didn't suffer, Jack; +and that means a great deal." + +He stopped, making no empty protestations of sympathy. Carleton, turning +on his heel, stepped quickly to the window, and stood, with his back to +Helmar, gazing blankly out into the street. Presently he turned again; +his eyes were moist; and his voice, when he spoke, was pitched low. "The +poor old Governor," he said. "He was awfully good to me. I never +thought--I wish now--I wish somehow I'd been different with him." + +With the vast freemasonry of experience Helmar divined his thoughts. "I +know, Jack," he said, "I know how I felt when my father died. I've known +since, a hundred times, what sons and daughters might be to their +parents, but somehow we're not. It's just the fact of being young, I +suppose. We don't understand; we don't appreciate--until it's too late; +and then we never can repay; only remember, I suppose, when we have +children of our own, that we've got to make allowances, too--" + +He broke off abruptly, and for a moment there was silence. Then, with +evident constraint, he spoke again. "Doctor Morrison was coming up here +himself, Jack," he said, "but I asked him to let me come instead. There +was something I wanted to tell you especially--about the estate. Henry +has told Doctor Morrison that in the panic your father lost about +everything he had, so that practically there's nothing left. I wanted to +tell you first--" + +Carleton nodded, but the expression on his face showed no new emotion. +"Thank you, Franz," he said, "I understand, and I appreciate; you've +always been a good friend to me. But I don't care about the money; it +isn't that; I only wish--" + +In spite of himself his voice faltered and broke, and he again turned +hastily away, while Helmar waited in silence, scarce knowing what to do +or say. At length Carleton turned to him once more, speaking as one +speaks only to a tried friend, his voice steady enough now, yet hardly +sounding like his own. "Memory's a queer thing, Franz," he said. "Of all +that I remember about my father, what do you suppose comes back to me +now? Something that happened almost twenty years ago, when we used to +spend our summers down at the shore. A little trivial thing, too, I +suppose any one would say. I was just a youngster then--nine or ten, +maybe--and we had two little sail-boats that were the apple of my eye. +Poor enough craft I guess they were, looking back at them now, but no +two cup defenders to-day could look to me as those two boats did then. + +"I wasn't considered big enough to go out in them alone, but one +Saturday afternoon my father promised me that if Henry, when he came +down from town, would take one boat, I could take the other, and we +could have a race. As long as I live, I'll never forget that morning. A +thousand times I looked out to where the two boats lay moored; crazy +with excitement; planning everything; the start, the course; looking at +the wind; right on edge--and somehow it never even occurred to me that +Henry wouldn't want to go. I suppose I honestly couldn't imagine that +any man, woman or child could possibly refuse a chance to sail a boat +race. + +"Well, Henry arrived, and you can imagine what Henry did. He hated me +even then; I believe he'd always hated me, though of course I didn't +realize it. Poor little rascal that I was, I'd never learned to think +about hating any one. He heard me out--I can even remember how I grabbed +hold of him as he was getting out of the station wagon, and how he shook +me off, too--and then he looked at me with a queer kind of a smile that +wasn't really a smile--I can imagine now just what fun it must have been +for him--and said he was afraid there wasn't wind enough to go sailing. +That was just to tantalize me--to see me argue and run out on the piazza +and point to the ripples and the big American flag on the Island waving +in the breeze--and then he had to turn away, and pretend to yawn, and +say he didn't believe he cared to go, that anyway he was going over to +the Country Club to play tennis. And then he went into the house to get +ready, and left me out there on the piazza alone. + +"I can laugh now, and shrug my shoulders at the whole thing, but +then--why, it was black tragedy for me. I guess I was a pretty +solemn-looking little chap, swallowing hard and trying not to cry, when +my father found me there half an hour later. He'd been fishing all the +morning, I remember, and I guess he was good and tired--he hadn't been +well that summer, anyway--and he had a cigar in his mouth, and had his +hand on the long piazza chair, just going to pull it into the shade, and +settle down with a book and a paper for a nice, quiet afternoon. I told +him, I remember, and he looked at his chair, and looked out on the +water--the sun was strong, and pretty hot, and to tell the truth, though +there was a little light air close to shore, about a quarter of a mile +out to sea it was getting rather flat--and then he looked again at his +chair, and then at me, and then he put down his book and his paper, and +drew me up to him with one hand, and gave a smile--that was a smile. + +"'Come on, my old sailor,' he said 'and we'll see if we can't have a +little boat race of our own.' Oh, how my heart jumped--the poor old +Governor, I think my expression must pretty nearly have paid him--and +then we toiled down over the rocks, with me hanging to his hand, the way +a kid that really likes his father will; and out we went in the skiff, +with me doing the rowing, splashing and jerking, and very proud, and +then we got up sail, and drifted around the little course for a couple +of hours--I can remember how hot it was--and of course I won. I didn't +dream then that he let me, and perhaps, for him to hear me telling my +mother about it over and over again at the supper table--perhaps--" + +He stopped, unable to go on, and then, after a little pause, he added +half-wistfully, in a voice that shook in spite of him, "It's queer, +Helmar--isn't it?--how a little thing like that can stand out in +your memory, and so many other things you utterly forget. It's just +the--what is the word--just the _kindness_ of it--damn it all--" and +self-restraint at last giving way, he buried his face in his hands, +and for the first time in many a long year, cried like a child. + +Helmar for a moment stood still in troubled silence; then turned upon +his heel, and softly left the room. + + + + +CHAPTER VII + +A PARTING + + "For of fortunes sharpe adversite, + The worst kind of infortune is this,-- + A man that hath been in prosperite, + And it remember when it passed is." + _Chaucer._ + + +Marjory Graham rose from her seat as Carleton entered the room, her hand +outstretched in friendly greeting. "I'm glad you came out, Jack," she +said, "it's seemed like a long time." + +Carleton, as he seated himself, unconsciously kept his eyes fixed on the +girl's face, thinking to himself that he had never seen her looking +prettier, or more charming. He gave a nod of assent. "It _has_ been a +long time," he answered, "but you know how much has happened. I should +have come before, but I thought I'd wait until things were settled +first." + +The girl looked at him, with sympathy in her glance. "I was so sorry, +Jack," she said, "about your father." + +He nodded again. "I know you were, Marjory," he answered, "you were +always kind to him, and he valued your friendship, I know. He used to +speak to me about you, many a time. And I never dreamed--he seemed so +well--it's so hard for me to realize, even now, that we'll never see him +again." + +There followed a moment's silence. And then the girl spoke once more. +"And I'm sorry, Jack, about all the rest, too." + +His answering glance was grateful enough, yet somehow he appeared to +wince a little at her words. "You needn't be, Marjory," he said, +"because I don't deserve it. I've made a fool of myself. Your father +told you everything, I suppose." + +"Yes, Jack, he told me," she answered, "I don't think he liked doing +it--he hates talking about other people's business--but he said you +asked him to." + +"Yes, I wanted him to," Carleton assented. "I wanted you to know all +about it, before I came out. I thought I'd make a clean breast of +things. I've paid my debts, thank Heaven, but I'm left practically +without a cent; I'm no better than a beggar. And I'm living in a +lodging-house, down-town. Quite a change, all right, from the +Mayflower." + +Her face clouded. "I won't bother you with sympathy, Jack," she said, +"if you don't want me to; but I am awfully sorry, just the same; I've +thought of you so many times. And Jack," she added, "I wish you'd +promise me to think more about yourself now. You've been through +such a lot, and really you don't look well at all. You're thin, and +tired-looking, and different--somehow--every way." + +Carleton nodded. What the inward change had been, he knew better than +any one else. And outwardly, indeed, he did appear more careworn, more +thoughtful, than he had ever done before. In his whole manner there was +a new poise, and a new gravity as well. "Oh, I'm all right, thanks," he +answered, "only when you get worried, and begin not to sleep, it makes +a difference, you know. Thank you, though, Marjory, for being sorry. I +appreciate it more than I can say. But I didn't mean to bother you with +all my troubles like this. I came out to tell you something different +altogether, and I find it's awfully hard to begin." + +Momentarily he paused. Intent on what he was saying, he had sat looking +straight before him, never lifting his eyes to the girl's face. Had he +done so, he could scarcely have failed to note the expression there, a +look as if already she both knew and dreaded what it was that he wished +to say, and had it been possible, would gladly have checked the words +before he could give them utterance. But all absorbed in his desire to +express himself as he wished, Carleton still sat gazing fixedly into the +firelight, and after a pause, went on. + +"I wonder how I can make you understand. Did you ever have something, +Marjory, that you wanted to do very much; something that you were always +on the point of doing, and yet somehow kept putting off from day to day, +until at last something else happened that made it impossible ever to do +it at all, and left you just saying over and over to yourself, 'Why +didn't I? Why didn't I when I could?'" + +The girl gave a nod of assent. "Yes, Jack," she answered, "I +understand." + +"Then you'll know what I mean," he continued, "by what I'm going to tell +you now. It's only this, and I think you know what it is before I say +it, even. I love you, Marjory; I always have loved you, even when you +were only a little girl. That was the trouble all along, I suppose. I +always thought of you as so young that I kept saying to myself that I +oughtn't to bother you, that there would be plenty of time when you were +older. And then--when you _were_ older--I'd got started on a foolish way +of living. I don't really know how I began--just seemed to drift into it +somehow. And I didn't keep on because I enjoyed it--for I didn't--it was +just the habit of it that gripped me so I couldn't seem to break away. +And now that I've come to my senses again, Marjory--now that I can come +to you, feeling that I've a right to tell you that I love you--why now +it's too late. I've got to begin at the foot of the ladder; I can't ask +you to marry me; but I want to know if you'll wait--let me show that +I'm able to make good--give me another chance. That's all I ask, +Marjory; all that I've a right to ask." + +Slowly and unwillingly, her gaze met his, "Jack," she began, "you know +the money would make no difference; I'd never think of that, of course. +It isn't that--" + +She hesitated, and stopped. Carleton's eyes sought hers with the look of +a man who feels the whole world reel beneath him. + +"Marjory," he cried, "do you mean you don't care--you don't love me?" + +There was a moment's silence. And then the girl slowly shook her head. +"No, Jack, I don't mean that. Of course I care. I've always cared. You +must have known. Any time, from the day you graduated from college, up +to a year ago, if you'd come to me and asked me to marry you, I'd have +been the happiest girl you could find anywhere--" + +For an instant she paused, and Carleton raised his eyes to hers, as if +both knowing and dreading what her next words would be. "Well?" he +asked. + +"And then, Jack," she went on, even more slowly, as if the words cost +her greater and greater effort, "you began to change. And caring isn't +enough, Jack. For a girl really to love a man, she's got to respect +him--and trust him. And you know how you've lived, Jack, for this last +year. First I only heard things--you know how girls gossip among +themselves--and each one has a brother, or a cousin or a sweetheart, who +tells her things; so first I heard, and then, little by little, I could +see for myself. I tried to think just as much of you as ever, Jack. I +pretended to laugh at the stories they told. And then there came one +night at a dance, when you weren't yourself at all--I hate to remember +it even--and I knew then that things couldn't go on like that; that we'd +have to come to some kind of an understanding. So I sent word by Franz +Helmar, to ask you to come out to see me that Friday night. I'd made up +my mind that we'd talk everything all over, between ourselves--about +your drinking, and about that girl--I'd heard all people were saying; +you can't keep those things from being known. And then, after I'd waited +and waited for you all that evening, and finally given you up--then to +come across you, the way we did, by accident, out motoring with +her--with that common girl--I don't see how you could do it, Jack! I +don't see how men can do things like that, and respect themselves; +much less expect other people to respect them. And you, Jack, of all +people--that was a terrible night for me. If I hadn't cared for you--if +I didn't care for you, Jack--I wouldn't have minded; I wouldn't mind +now. But for me to know that you'd been as devoted to me as you +had--that every one talked about us as if we were really engaged--and +then to know that all the time you'd been--oh, Jack, I had such faith in +you! I thought you were different from other men. I don't see how you +could." + +Carleton had sat listening, his eyes fixed on the ground, wincing under +her words. Gradually, as she spoke, a dull red flush had mounted to his +very temples, and when she ended he at once made answer, speaking +rapidly, as if the words were fairly wrung, by force, from his lips. +"Don't, Marjory!" he cried. "For God's sake, don't! It's all true +enough. I've been selfish, thoughtless, brutal; anything you please. +I don't know why I did it. Men are queer things, that way, I guess. +Because I loved you just as much, Marjory, all the time. I didn't +know it then, but I do now. And it wasn't so bad, Marjory. It was +foolishness, but that was all. The girl's none the worse for me. Don't +condemn me for all our lives, because I've failed once. Let me make my +fight. Let me show that I can be the kind of a man a girl can respect. +And then it will be all right again. You'll marry me then, Marjory; say +that you will." + +Perhaps the straightforward vehemence of his speech helped him as +nothing else could have done. The girl hesitated a moment before she +answered; and finally, half-doubtfully, shook her head. "Ah, Jack," she +said, "_if_ you would. Then things would be all right again. But would +you, Jack? _Can_ you change your way of living, as you think you can? +Suppose you did, for a time. Suppose we should marry, even. And +then--if anything should happen. I'm different from most women, perhaps. +But my husband has to be _mine_, the whole of him. And if you +did--things like this--again, it would kill me, Jack. I couldn't bear +the misery, and the shame. I want to trust you, Jack; I want to, more +than anything in the world. But can I? Would you do as you say?" + +Impulsively he rose, and walked over to the fireplace, leaning a hand on +the mantel, and looking down into her face. "I can't blame you, +Marjory," he cried, "if I would. And I won't waste time in words. But +let me tell you what I'll do. I've two chances now. One here in +town--that Henry's got for me--it's steady and sure, and pays fifteen +hundred a year. And the other's to go ranching it out West, with a +fellow I used to know in college. He always wanted me, and he'll take me +now. There's a chance there, too; a chance to make money; a chance to +get rich, even. I've been hesitating--I wanted to stay, to be near +you--but I won't delay any longer. I'll go out there and take my chance. +It means three years, anyway; maybe more. If I can come back then, with +some prospect ahead of me--if I can come back then, and tell you, on my +word of honor, that I've done nothing in all that time for which you +need to feel ashamed--then things would be right again, wouldn't they? +You'd marry me, Marjory, then." + +Her face had clouded as he spoke. "Ah, Jack," she said, "it seems so +hard to have you go away like that. I don't want you to; I'd rather have +you here. And yet--I suppose it's best for both of us. I know you're +right, Jack; that you ought to go, and make your fight. And I'll trust +to what you tell me; and I'll wait--I'll wait three years, or twice +three years." + +His face had brightened with her words. He bent over her, and took her +hand in his. "God bless you, Marjory," he said. "I'll go, and I'll fight +as no man ever fought before." + +For an instant longer he stood gazing down into her eyes; then turned +abruptly. A moment later the portieres had rustled behind him, and then +were still. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII + +TEMPTATION + + "Why comes temptation, but for man to meet + And master and make crouch beneath his foot, + And so be pedestaled in triumph?" + _Browning._ + + +Slowly and thoughtfully Carleton ascended the stairs; reached his room; +entered it; had even begun, with the mechanical force of habit, to +fumble in his pockets for a match--and then, all at once, with a sudden +shock of surprise, he awoke from his abstraction. The lamp on the center +table was already lighted, though turned low, and from the shadow +beyond, a dark figure rose, and came forward to meet him. + +In an instant, he had reached out his hand; the next moment, the lamp +light flooded the room; and then, as he recognized his visitor, there +swept over his face a medley of emotions--amazement, displeasure, +perhaps some other feeling as well. For an instant he stood motionless; +then, frowning, again stepped forward, pitching his voice little louder +than a whisper. "What the devil does this mean, Jeanne?" he asked. + +The girl's lips were smiling; her eyes dancing with suppressed +amusement. Plainly enough, she was in nowise disconcerted at her +greeting, but instead met his glance with the expression of one who +feels herself mistress of the situation. She too stepped forward, until +only the width of the table separated them; then spoke, in the same low +key, half, it seemed, in real precaution, half in mocking mimicry of his +own anxious tone. "Aren't you glad to see me, Jack?" she whispered. "I +thought you'd be so pleased." + +Carleton's expression did not change, except that his frown deepened, +and his mouth grew stern. "What are you thinking of?" he said again, and +in the same tone as before. "Coming here! At this time of night! Are you +crazy, Jeanne?" + +Smiling still, the girl came closer, laying her hand appealingly on his +arm, and looking up into his face with the innocent gaze of a child +unjustly wronged. "Now, Jack--" she began. + +Carleton, with a quick intake of his breath, stepped back, shaking off +the slender hand. "Drop it, Jeanne," he said sharply. "Here--" he thrust +the arm-chair toward her, "sit down, and tell me what all this means, +and then, for God's sake, go away!" + +With an amused shrug of her shoulders, the girl complied, seating +herself leisurely and comfortably, as if she were far from being in a +hurry to depart, and glanced up at him with a look charming and demure +enough to have driven away the frown which still lingered on his brow. +And then, as she made no move to speak, he broke the silence. + +"How on earth," he asked, "did you get here?" + +She smiled back at him, her eyes dancing with mischief. "Bribery," she +answered. "The maid at the door said it was as much as her place was +worth. I told her it was a matter of great importance--I really did it +rather well, I think--and then I told her that no one would ever know +and--persuaded her. And here I am." + +"So I perceive," he observed dryly, and then, more gravely, "And now +what is it, Jeanne? Be quick, please. It must be close to midnight. If +any one found you here--" + +The girl laughed, low and mockingly. "Why, Jack," she said, "how awfully +moral we've grown. You never used to be so particular about appearances. +Don't you remember--" + +He held up a silencing hand. "I remember a great many things, Jeanne. We +had our good times, and we enjoyed them, too. But they're all gone by +for me, my dear. If you dance, you've got to pay the piper. That's the +truest thing that ever was said. And I'm paying him now. You heard all +about the smash, of course. And you know that I'm a poor man. My +sporting days are over, for good and all." + +The girl nodded. For the first time, the smile had left her face, and +her tone, when she spoke, was as grave as his own. "I know all about it, +Jack," she said, "it isn't the money I care about. I thought it +was--once--but it wasn't; it was you. And you haven't sent me word now +for so long. And I wrote you, and you never answered. And then--I was +lonesome, and so--I came." + +He looked back at her steadily. "I didn't put things quite right, +Jeanne," he said, "I didn't mean that it was wholly because I didn't +have money any more. That is part of it, I guess, but there's more to it +than just that. I'm sorry for a lot of foolish things I've done, and I +mean to quit them." + +She raised her eyebrows at the words, and a new expression came over her +face. "Oh," she said. "I see. So going around with me was foolish, was +it? That's strange. You didn't seem to think so, when you were doing it, +Jack." + +If she had expected to hear him withdraw his words, she was XXXX +disappointed. "You don't understand me, Jeanne," he said, "there was +no question about my enjoying it. I didn't mean that. I enjoyed it +too much--that was all. But that doesn't alter the fact that it was +foolishness for both of us. It was all my fault. It was only because I +got used to seeing you around the place, out at The Birches, and you +were so pretty, and so nice, that I wasn't strong enough to resist +temptation. And we had some great old times together. Don't think I've +turned preacher all at once, because I haven't. We had some bully times, +and I shall always remember them. But I was injuring you, Jeanne, and I +was injuring myself, too. We were going ahead with something that could +turn out only one way--we were playing the devil's pet game. And I thank +God we pulled up in time." + +The girl stiffled a little yawn; then smiled up at him more brightly +than before, motioning, as she did so, to the arm of the chair. "You +_have_ turned preacher, Jack," she said. "Don't do it any more, please; +it's so stupid. And don't stand, either. There's lots of room." + +He shook his head. There came into her eyes a gleam of something other +than mirth, and as she spoke, she raised her voice a trifle. "Sit down, +Jack," she said again. + +Carleton threw an anxious glance over his shoulder, and then, +unwillingly enough, drew up to the table the only other chair in the +room. Again the gleam flashed, far back in her eyes, and once more she +tapped on the arm of the chair. "Sit here," she said imperiously, and +heedful, not of the words, but of the tone, he obeyed. + +[Illustration: "Jack," she murmured, "have I changed?"--Page 145] + +At once her slender hand had stolen into his. "Look at me, Jack," she +commanded, and reluctantly enough he gazed down into the face that in +the past had fascinated him beyond his strength. As if in a silent trial +of their wills, her eyes held his, "Jack," she murmured, "have I +changed?" + +Carleton's teeth came together sharply; unconsciously the hand that held +hers tightened so that she gave a little cry of pain, before it again +relaxed. "No," he muttered hoarsely, "only you're prettier than ever, +Jeanne." + +Her other hand crept upward until it rested on his shoulder; still her +eyes were fixed on his, and still he did not look away. And then, "Ah, +Jack," she whispered, "you foolish boy! What did you think, anyway? That +I thought you'd marry me? Of course I didn't. I wanted a good time too. +'Only end one way,' Jack. Of course. That was the way I _wanted_ it to +end. That's why I came here to-night, Jack, dear--" + +At last he had wrenched his eyes free from her gaze. "Don't Jeanne!" he +cried. "Don't--" but she clung the closer to him. + +"Jack," she said, as though not understanding, "Jack, what's changed +you? Don't you want me?" and then, her whole tone altering in one +instant's flash, "There's some one else, then," she cried. "You were +never like this before. Isn't there, Jack? Isn't there?" + +Once more he met her glance. "Yes, Jeanne," he said, very low, "there +is." + +On the instant, her eyes flamed; instinctively she drew back, and +Carleton, freed from her grasp, started to his feet. She rose also, +quivering from head to foot. + +"It's that Graham girl!" she cried. "That doll! Don't do it, Jack! Don't +marry her! She'd never love you the way I would. Don't do it, Jack! We +can have such a good time. I've got some money; we can get more. We can +go abroad together. You've made me love you, Jack; you can't cast me off +now. It isn't fair. I'm not asking much. You can have me Jack, the whole +of me--as long as you want me--and then, when you're tired of me, you +can leave me, and go your way. Jack, please--" + +She stood there, breathing quick and hard, and gazing at him with such a +look on her face that half against his will, he stepped forward, and +took her hand in his. "Jeanne," he said, "God knows I'm sorry. I never +meant things to end like this; I never thought you really cared. But I +can't do what you say. It _is_ Marjory Graham; I've asked her to marry +me, and I've promised her, this very night, to live straight from now +on. Don't think it's easy for me, dear; it isn't. Don't think I don't +appreciate--everything. But we wouldn't be happy, Jeanne--either of us. +It wouldn't be right; it wouldn't be square; we'd both regret--we +mustn't do it, Jeanne. I'm sorry, from the bottom of my heart, if I've +hurt you; but I never meant it. You must go your way, Jeanne; and I must +go mine." + +Even as he spoke, his heart smote him. The girl stood, her eyes cast +down, her breast heaving--"My way," she muttered, half under her breath. +"My way; oh, God!" and then, slowly and uncertainly, she lifted her +eyes to his and Carleton saw that they were filled with tears. For the +first time she seemed to realize her dismissal, and to accept it. "Very +well," she said wearily, "I'll go," and then, after a pause, "kiss me, +Jack." + +Carleton bent and kissed her; then, almost roughly, released her, and as +she turned away, stood silent, with averted face, not daring to trust +himself to look. + +The silence deepened. Then, very softly, the door closed. He raised his +eyes. He was alone in the room. Like a man physically spent, he threw +himself down into the arm-chair, and buried his face in his hands. + + + + +CHAPTER IX + +THREE YEARS LATER + + "Ay me, how many perils do enfold the righteous man!" + _Spenser._ + + +Across the rampart of his desk Henry Carleton gazed regretfully at his +visitor; then once again shook his head. "I'm sorry, Van Socum," he +said, "I hate to refuse such a call, and I hate to refuse you of all +men. A year ago I should have felt differently, but now as you know, +we're in the midst of hard times, and first and last, one has to meet so +many demands. I'm afraid I shall really have to ask you to excuse me. +But I'm sorry, though; extremely sorry; I only wish I felt able to +respond. Perhaps some time a little later--" + +Slowly the Reverend William Van Socum nodded his head. From his general +appearance--his bland, plump, rosy face; his stout, well-fed little +body; his ultra correct ministerial garb--one would scarcely have +divined his really unusual talents. For the Reverend William Van Socum +was the man whose remarkable ability to assist his church in a certain +deprecated, but much needed and excessively practical department of its +activities, had gained for him among his clerical associates the title, +bestowed in ungrudging admiration, of "The Painless Separator." + +And now, while the gentle inclination of his head was meant to convey +the most sympathetic understanding, at the same time he made no move to +rise, but on the contrary kept his seat, and unflinchingly returned +Henry Carleton's gaze. For Van Socum's pride was touched. He had made up +his mind, before entering the great man's office, that its doors should +not again be closed behind him until in the neat little space opposite +Henry Carleton's name he had seen inserted the pleasantly round sum of +five hundred dollars. And now to all appearances he had met a foeman +worthy of his steel--of his brass, possibly some envious detractor might +have preferred to say--a man every whit as smooth and polished as +himself, a man who was both ready and able to defend his little garrison +of beleaguered dollars with a skill of fence and a completeness of +repulse which could not but arouse Van Socum's somewhat unwilling +admiration. Accustomed to success as he had become, defeat seemed now +well-nigh assured. Whimsically he thought of the ancient problem of the +irresistible force and its contact with the immovable body, and as an +afterthought he added grudgingly to himself, "This man's wasted in +business; he ought to be one of us." + +But these, of course, were thoughts merely. Outwardly, the reverend +gentleman gave no sign that he dreaded, or even expected, a refusal. His +little oily professional smile was as winning and as confident as ever. +Yet he realized that he was dealing with a busy man, and prudently +determined, while the chance yet remained to him, to play his last card +without delay. + +"I understand, my dear Mr. Carleton," he exclaimed, "I perfectly +understand. For a man like yourself, a man of your standing in the +community, none can realize better than I what a tax these constant +demands must be, on patience and on pocket-book as well." He paused +for just the veriest instant, inwardly to smack his lips; he loved +a well-turned phrase, above all if it had about it a flavor of +alliteration, and "On patience and on pocket-book as well" struck him +as distinctly good. Then, with a swift return to business methods, + +"But I did feel, Mr. Carleton, that this time you would favor us. +The project of the new altar seems to have made a wide appeal to +all those most interested in the beautifying of our beloved church, +and example--the example, let us say, of a man of your type, Mr. +Carleton--does mean so much to some of the weaker brethren. Not every +one, perhaps, realizes this, but I myself know it to be a matter of the +greatest consequence, and it was this same power of example that I +had in mind when I arranged to have the preliminary list made public +to-morrow in six of the leading dailies. And for my part, I can see +nothing out of the way in such a proceeding. The press and the +pulpit--or rather, let us say, the pulpit and the press--why should they +not proceed together hand in hand, so that all things, spiritual and +secular, may at last work together for good. That, at least, is my +conception of it. And the papers have been very kind. Almost invariably, +I think I may say. To a laborer in the vineyard, to one who bears the +burden and heat of the day, it is gratifying--I must confess it--very +gratifying indeed." + +He spoke but the truth, as Henry Carleton well knew. The Reverend +William Van Socum had the reputation of being the greatest XXXX +ecclesiastical advertiser in the city. Just how he did it, none but +himself seemed to know, yet stony-hearted editors and impervious +reporters were but as wax in his hands. "The pulpit and the press" was +not simply another of his favorite catch-words; it meant something +substantial as well. Hand in hand they traveled, in very truth, and it +was the bland and smiling Van Socum who managed to unite them in this +touching amity. + +"Yes," he said reminiscently, "six of the leading dailies. And good +position in all of them, too. It's a splendid thing for us. So +far the Honorable Samuel Rogers has made the largest individual +subscription--two hundred and fifty dollars--and his name at the head +of the list will of course mean a great deal. We consider that he has +acted very handsomely. But--" the smile again appeared, like the sun +from behind the clouds, deprecating, wistful, with just a hint of gentle +reproach, and oily enough to have turned an ocean into calm--"but above +that of Mr. Rogers we had hoped to have one other name, one other name +still more widely and--if you will pardon me--still more favorably known +than even that of Mr. Rogers himself." + +Henry Carleton looked, as he felt, a trifle uncomfortable. "I deplore," +he said, a little stiffly, "any publicity in such matters. The right +hand, and the left, Van Socum, you know." + +Occasionally an expert boxer, for some reason of his own, will leave +himself unguarded, purposely to invite a blow. With joy the Reverend +William Van Socum foresaw the beginning of the end. "True! true!" he +cried, "as far as the giver is concerned. But for the effect on others, +Mr. Carleton. That is where you are in error. Let your light so shine! +That is the injunction which covers the case. The shining light, Mr. +Carleton! The shining light!" + +The blow sped home. Henry Carleton meekly inclined his head, as it +seemed, a willing sacrifice. "I deplore publicity--" he again began, but +his tone was feebler by far; and then he added, metaphorically throwing +up the sponge, "in six papers, did you say?" + +Van Socum bore his honors modestly. "Six," he answered, again producing +the subscription book from his pocket, "six; and excellent position in +all. And of course our own paper, _The Flaming Torch_, which in itself +has a circulation by no means contemptible. Let me see. Five hundred, +Mr. Carleton? A thousand, perhaps, would be almost too large a sum." + +Inwardly Henry Carleton was returning the compliment the Reverend Doctor +had just paid to him. "This fellow," he thought, "is thrown away on the +church. I could use a man like him to excellent advantage." "Yes," he +answered, "five hundred, I think. I shouldn't wish to be criticized on +the score of ostentation." + +The victor drew out his pencil; then, almost in the act of writing, +paused, as if suddenly recalling something to mind. + +"By the way, Mr. Carleton," he asked, "did some one tell me the other +day that your nephew had returned from the West?" + +Henry Carleton's face was expressionless. "Yes," he answered, "he is +back. He has been in town several days." + +Van Socum nodded amiably. "How very pleasant!" he said smoothly. "He +is--improved--I trust?" + +A slight frown seemed to hover about the banker's brow. He appeared to +place a curb on his speech. "Greatly, thank you," he answered briefly. + +The clerical smile again burst into bloom. "So glad; so very glad to +hear it," he murmured; then continued brightly, "but I felt sure that it +would be so. There was such a field for it. When he left us, one might +almost have dared to uproot the tares without feeling that the wheat +would be in danger. So glad--so very glad." + +He paused a moment; then, as if tentatively feeling his way toward a +possible germ for a sermon, he moralized, "Three years! How swiftly time +passes us by! What changes it brings to us all! To you--to me--to your +nephew--" He stopped abruptly, his ideas swinging suddenly into another +channel, "And speaking of the passage of time, Mr. Carleton, what a +change it has brought in your daughter, Rose! I remember her as a +charming child, and behold, I met her the other afternoon at a little +tea--why, Mr. Carleton, I assure you I could scarcely believe my eyes. A +young lady--grown-up, self-possessed, a half-dozen young men around her. +Why, I was amazed. The passage of time--" + +He half paused; perhaps, if the truth were told, Henry Carleton half +broke in upon him. "Yes," the banker agreed, "it passes, as you say. And +it's valuable, Van Socum. We can't afford to waste it, any of us." + +The minister smiled--forgivingly--and bending over his book, he +wrote--yet did not at once vanish. Of a man so comfortably portly, of a +plumpness so suggestive of a certain counterpart in the animal creation, +perhaps that could hardly have been expected. Instead he rose slowly, +beaming on his conquered antagonist. "By their fruits--" he murmured. + +Henry Carleton nodded, handing the check across the desk. "Exactly," he +said dryly. "By the way, Van Socum, I heard a capital story the other +day. It was told--this time--about a man high up in municipal office. +'Is that fellow Blank,' asked some one who didn't know just what +position he really occupied, 'is that fellow Blank a politician--or just +a _common thief_?' Good, wasn't it?" + +The Reverend William Van Socum laughed heartily. "Oh, capital," he +cried, and then, casually, he added, "you say that was told about a +politician?" + +Henry Carleton met his glance. "Yes," he answered, "that time--it was +told about a politician. Well, good-by, Van Socum; call again. Always +glad to see you, you know, at any time. Good-by." + +Half way to the door Van Socum turned. "Oh, by the way, Mr. Carleton," +he said, "are any of these rumors that I hear true, by any chance? Are +you going to give your friends an opportunity in the near future to see +you reaping still further and still higher honors? Or is it merely +gossip? For my part, I most sincerely hope that it's all true." + +Henry Carleton's expression and tone were alike inscrutable. "Thank you +very much, I'm sure," he returned, "but really I'm not at liberty to +talk just now." + +Van Socum nodded. "I perfectly understand," he answered. "Well, in any +event I shall hope. And don't forget, Mr. Carleton, the shining light. +It's most important. Good-by," and a little hastily he passed from the +room, with a certain satisfied feeling that verbal honors were at least +easy, and that from the field of more practical warfare he had again +returned a triumphant victor. + +Left alone, Henry Carleton, smiling a little to himself, once more +leaned comfortably back in his chair. As he sat there, the waning +sunlight, slanting through the tall window, fell pleasantly upon him, +lighting up the dark, black-bearded face, with the full red lips, and +the keen and scrutinizing eyes. A noticeable man, in almost any company, +he would have been, and justly so as well. Doing many things, he did +them all with skill. And still, in spite of the activities in which he +was actually engaged, his friends were wont to talk of the many other +things he might have done--living his life over for him in retrospect, +as people will--and it was significant of his many-sidedness to note the +different views which different people held of him. Some said that the +bar had been robbed of a great lawyer, others that the universities had +lost a great teacher and instructor of youth, others still, like Mr. Van +Socum, that the church alone should rightfully have claimed his great +talents. No one, perhaps, had ever suggested that the stage had lost a +great actor. + +And now, not satisfied with the active benevolence that he had just +displayed, Henry Carleton was passively showing the same praiseworthy +spirit which actuated his every deed and word. His day's work was done. +It was ten minutes after five, and there seemed to be no possible reason +why he should longer wait for the young man with whom he had made an +appointment at five o'clock sharp. Adding to the fact that the young man +was late, the further information that Henry Carleton felt tolerably +sure he was coming to ask some sort of favor of him, we behold the +heights to which it is possible for a man to rise. + +Even patience, however, has its definite limits, and at a quarter past +five Henry Carleton snapped his watch with a click, and had one hand +already outstretched to close the top of his desk, when the clerk +knocked, and opened the door far enough to announce Mr. Vaughan. +Henry Carleton nodded, sighed, again leaned back in his chair, and +relinquished the idea of getting the five-thirty home. + +A moment later Arthur Vaughan entered the office with the rather +breathless haste of the man who is thoroughly aware that to keep a great +financier waiting for a quarter of an hour is an offense not lightly to +be condoned. Indeed, about his whole manner, in spite of his thirty +years, there was still something boyish and deprecating, the air of a +man who is perhaps too modest, too slow to assert himself, yet who, if +these be faults, is perhaps all the more likable for possessing them. + +He came quickly forward. "I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Carleton," he began, "I +know I'm late; but really I couldn't help it." + +There may have been something a little less cordial than usual in the +manner in which Henry Carleton shook the young man's proffered hand. Yet +his voice, when he answered, was politeness itself. Early in life he had +made it his invariable rule to treat every man who had once crossed the +threshold of his office with complete and unvarying courtesy, until he +had found out exactly what the visitor's business might be. After that, +there was of course room for wider discretion. And so now, "Don't +mention it," he said; "a trifle late, perhaps, but never mind. And what +may I be able to do for you, Mr. Vaughan?" + +Once seated, Vaughan appeared to be even more ill at ease than before. +His eyes were fixed on the floor. His hat revolved aimlessly and +sheepishly enough between his nervous fingers. "Why," he began, "why, +the fact is, Mr. Carleton--you see what I wanted to tell you about--you +see--" and then he came to a full and embarrassed stop. + +Henry Carleton, through a long and varied experience, was nothing if not +a shrewd reader of men. The same awkward hesitation, the same +nervousness, the same half-cringing expression; he had seen them all +displayed many times before by men who had sat there in the inner office +in the selfsame seat which Vaughan was occupying now. And nine times out +of ten it all meant but one thing. In the brief pause analysis and +deduction in his mind were practically one. Vaughan's manner showed +embarrassment. Vaughan was a would-be literary man. All would-be +literary men, in greater or less degree, were poor. Vaughan, presuming +on a rather slight acquaintanceship, had come to borrow money. The whole +matter was painfully plain. + +And then, even at the very instant when Henry Carleton had sorrowfully, +but with philosophy, arrived at this inevitable conclusion, Vaughan, +drawing a long breath, at last found his tongue. "Why," he said, +speaking with a seeming boldness and hardihood which in reality were but +the result of the most extreme embarrassment, "it's like this, Mr. +Carleton; I want to marry Rose." + +The proverbial bombshell, exploding at Henry Carleton's feet, could +hardly have made the same havoc with his body that Vaughan's few words +managed to create in his mind. And yet, to his credit be it said, his +habitual self-control now stood him in such stead that after the one +first uncontrollable glance of sheer surprise, he at once contrived to +conceal not only his amazement, but as well any other feeling that might +have been agitating his soul. And in another moment, indeed, he had even +successfully achieved a very fair imitation of a jocular smile. "Rose," +he echoed, "my daughter Rose! Why, you're joking with me, my dear +fellow. She's not eighteen yet. She's a child." + +Vaughan, now that the worst was over, did not seem to be properly +disconcerted at the reply. "Oh, I know she's quite young," he answered +readily enough, "but that doesn't seem to make any particular +difference. We're both prepared for a long engagement. I'm not well off, +in the least. It's bound to be some time before I could dream of +providing for her in any proper way at all. But I love her, Mr. +Carleton--as much, I think, as any man could--and she loves me, and we +think, after all, that's the main thing. The other details we'll work +out somehow, I guess." + +Henry Carleton had now perfectly regained his self-possession. He gazed +at the young man with benevolence in his eye. "Yes, yes," he assented, a +little dreamily, "love, of course; that's the great essential. With that +I thoroughly agree. And yet, while with me Rose's wishes are the first +consideration--no, rather I should say the only consideration--still, as +I understand you to say yourself, it must equally be a point of proper +pride with every man to know that he is earning an honest living, amply +sufficient for all future needs. I take it that you would hardly quarrel +with that, Mr. Vaughan?" + +To Vaughan it appeared that he was progressing famously. "No, indeed," +he cried readily enough, "I should say not. That's the first thing to +consider, of course. But I think I'm going to be able to solve that +difficulty in a short time now. I think I'm fairly on my way to a little +luck at last. You know, of course, Mr. Carleton, in any of the arts it +isn't exactly the same proposition for a man as if he'd chosen a +business career. There, if he gets a start, and then sticks to his job, +and shows any kind of ability at all, after a while he's almost certain +to get somewhere or other. But with any of the arts--that's the chance a +man takes when he turns his back on the solid, steady kind of +things--you can work along for a devil of a while, putting in the very +best that's in you, too, and yet you always stand a good chance of not +arriving at all, or, if you do, perhaps not till two or three hundred +years after you're dead. And of course, while even that, in a sense, is +very gratifying, still it's hardly practical. Dining late, but in select +company, in Landor's phrase, is all very well, if you can afford it, but +the majority of us poor fellows have to dine in the middle of the day. +The other thing's a luxury we can't afford." + +Henry Carleton nodded. "Quite so, quite so," he said, "I know something +of that myself. I thoroughly appreciate all the difficulties in the way +of combining devotion to art with a large income. It's one of the least +gratifying things about our life of the present day. And still, too, +each year I believe the artist is coming more and more fully into his +own. But you were going to say--about your immediate prospects--" + +Vaughan flushed a little. "I didn't mean to ramble on into so long a +preface," he said, "I'm afraid it was nothing but a desire to excuse +myself, anyway. However, here's where I think I really have a chance at +last. I've written a book--a novel--and it's in the hands of Small and +White now. Of course I needn't tell you what it would mean to have their +imprint on a book--it would be half the battle to start with. And I've +been able to get a little information in a roundabout way, so that I +have some idea of what's happening. I know the book has got by the +preliminary stages, anyway; I know that they're really considering it +seriously, and that is something in its favor. But I'm hoping for more +than that; I'm hoping that they will really accept it, and launch it in +good style; and if they do, why--I know of course you'll think I'm +conceited and over-fond of myself to say such a thing--but, with all +sincerity, Mr. Carleton, I think the book would be a success; I think it +makes an approach to something like literary merit. Oh, if I could once +get my start--get some pretext for thinking that I had a right to put +more and more time into writing, and less and less into what is really +only the merest hack work, that has to be done so hastily and +superficially that in the end it would kill any man's style--then I'd +work as nobody ever worked before--I'd kill myself to learn to write as +I want to write--" + +He broke off suddenly, his hands clenched, his face ablaze with the +passion of the artist who craves to express in concrete form the dreams +and visions that float athwart his brain. Henry Carleton sat regarding +him narrowly, his face expressionless, but when he spoke, his tone +could hardly have been kinder or more sympathetic. + +"Yes, yes, I understand your feeling exactly," he said, "and your +ambition is a most worthy one. I'm delighted to hear about the book, and +if you will allow me to do so, I should be very happy to try to help a +little. There are one or two ways that occur to me off-hand--understand +me, of course,--ways perfectly legitimate and businesslike in every +particular, in which I think a word from me with Small and White might +at least do no harm. Won't you try to get me a list of the men who do +their reading for them? We'll leave no stone unturned that properly may +be turned to give your effort a fair show. Rose's happiness is my +happiness, and to see you in a position when you may rightfully pay your +addresses to her--that I most earnestly desire. And in the meantime, you +must come out to The Birches--let me see--come out to-morrow night, +won't you, and dine with us? Jack's coming, and another man, I think. I +shall be delighted to have you join us, and I think, after what you have +told me, I may safely answer for Rose." + +He rose as he finished speaking, extending his hand in farewell. +Vaughan, rising also, could only stammer his thanks. "You're too kind, +altogether, Mr. Carleton," he managed to say. "I know how any word from +you would meet with the most respectful consideration from Small and +White. It would help immensely. And as for to-morrow night, nothing +could please me more. And how is Jack? I haven't seen him since he got +back from the West." + +"Jack is greatly improved, I think," Henry Carleton answered, as it +seemed to Vaughan, a trifle shortly, "however, you'll see him to-morrow +night, and can judge for yourself." + +Vaughan nodded. "I'm glad to hear it," he said. "I got the impression +from his letters that he was doing far better in every way, and I'm +awfully glad if it's so. Well, I must go, Mr. Carleton. You've been very +kind to take everything the way you have. I know, of course, in one way, +at least, what a disappointment this must be for you. I don't care such +a lot myself. Family trees and all that never meant such a great deal to +me, and money bags even less, but for Rose's sake, why, I wish I were +the wealthiest man in the world, and the most aristocratic; she ought to +have everything that a girl can have. So you're awfully good not to make +a row." + +Again Henry Carleton smiled. "Nonsense," he said heartily, "those things +make no difference with me, either. You've chosen a great career, and +all we must do now is to make success assured, so that you can come to +me as I know you want to come, saying, 'Mr. Carleton, I'm earning a fair +living; I can keep your daughter from want; I wish to marry her.' That's +the way you'll be coming some day, and you'll find no one more ready to +congratulate you than I. Good-by again; good-by." + +As Vaughan left the office, Carleton slowly reseated himself. "Strange," +he murmured, "a prospective son-in-law in young Vaughan, and I never +even dreamed of it. Very prospective, too; that's one comfort; and he +seems actually to believe he may succeed in a literary career. Odd, what +a time youth is for such dreams. He seems rather an inoffensive young +man, at least; plastic, I should imagine, and rather easy to influence, +if one only goes about it in the right way. That, I judge, is his weak +point; that, and too great a tendency to confide in others. Due, I +suppose, to the lack of a sound business training." He sat silently for +some moments, then repeated thoughtfully, "The lack of a sound business +training," and reached for the telephone. And then, a moment later, "Is +Mr. Cummings in? Oh, it's you, is it, Jim? Want to run over for a +moment? Important? Yes, I should call it so. Thank you. Good-by," and +restoring the receiver to its hook, he gave himself up to earnest +thought. + + + + +CHAPTER X + +THE BIRCHES AGAIN + + "The ancient grudge I bear him." + _Shakespeare._ + + +Opposite the gateway of the Eversley train, the three men stood grouped +together, with growing impatience awaiting Jack Carleton's arrival. The +gilded hands of the big clock, embedded in the solid masonry of the +station wall, now pointed to three minutes of five; the Eversley "flyer" +left at five precisely; and the long train was filling more rapidly each +instant. Henry Carleton's tone plainly enough showed his displeasure. +"Whatever else it may have done for him," he observed, "I can't see +that a residence in Montana has improved Jack's habits of punctuality. +Perhaps, Vaughan, you wouldn't mind waiting here for him and letting us +go ahead and make sure of getting seats. What do you say, Cummings?" + +Cummings nodded with alacrity. He was a man between thirty and +thirty-five, tall and heavily built. His face, while rather of the +bulldog type, yet to the eye of the careful observer seemed to disclose +a certain weakness under the outward show of strength. His complexion +was of a vivid red, plentifully ornamented with those souvenirs which +come at length as badges of distinction to those who have had the +perseverance to drink hard and steadily over a long enough term of +years. His hair was very black and very curly; his tie perfectly matched +his complexion; and his clothes, though of excellent make and cut, yet +seemed a little obtrusive as well, as if the effort at gentility +had been somehow overdone. Possibly several small trifles in his +apparel--the conspicuously high polish on his shoes, the violet-bordered +corner of the immaculate handkerchief, just visible above the breast +pocket of his coat, the pair of very new tan gloves that he carried +in his left hand--all proclaimed something of the inner man; a man +not lacking in a certain force and aggressiveness, even in a kind of +blustering self-assertion and desire for recognition, yet one who still +realized with vague discomfort, that there was something wrong about +him. Jim Cummings was far from being a fool. He was well-versed in the +ways of the city; had "been around," had "seen life;" was altogether a +pretty shrewd and capable young man. And yet--spite of all--there was +still a mysterious something somewhere lacking. To save his soul, he +could not have told what it was. Perhaps Henry Carleton could. + +"What do I say?" he echoed. "Sure, Mr. Carleton; suit me fine. Just as +cheap to sit down as to stand, you know. Sure, let's get along." + +In thus voicing his delight, it chanced that he spoke the truth, as +sometimes, indeed, he was wont to do. Merely to be seen alone with Henry +Carleton, in what would doubtless have been his phrase, "meant a lot" to +him. And to have an hour's ride with this versatile man of affairs, who +had made a great name for himself in "straight" business, in the stock +market, and in politics; who was possessed of "inside information"; who, +if he chose, could give a friend a "straight tip"; and who had now been +kind enough again to ask him out to spend the night, as on two or three +memorable occasions he had done before; why, this was a chance that +might well "mean a lot" to him in more senses than one. + +Arthur Vaughan, no great admirer of Cummings, appeared, as indeed he +was, equally well pleased at Henry Carleton's words. "Yes, indeed," he +assented cordially, "don't run the risk of missing a seat, Mr. Carleton. +I remember Jack's habits of old. You go right along, and I'll wait here +for him." + +Forthwith the two men took their departure, and Vaughan, waiting until +only a scant half minute remained, was just on the point of leaving his +post, when he espied Carleton threading his way hastily through the +crowd. With only the briefest of greetings, they swung aboard the rear +car, by good fortune found the one remaining vacant seat, and then +Vaughan turned and slowly surveyed his friend from head to foot. At once +he gave a quick smile of satisfaction. "Well, Jack," he said, "you are +looking fit. I don't think you ever looked better in your life." + +"Oh, pretty fair, thanks," Carleton answered, but his appearance, +indeed, far more than bore out his words. He had regained and increased +the physical vigor of his college days. He was broader, thicker, more +solidly built, with an impression of reserve strength which he had +lacked before. Nor did the change stop there. In face and feature, in +his manner, in his whole bearing, there had come a change, and a change, +too, in every way for the better. In his expression, the old uncertainty +of purpose had given place to a look of determined resolve; in his +manner there was a new alertness, a new interest; from his eyes and +mouth a certain indescribable something had vanished, leaving them +pleasantly frank and wholesome. + +With a pleased laugh, Vaughan looked down at his friend's big brown +hand, and placed his own, white and slender, beside it. "I guess," he +said, "if it came to a fight, Jack, you could probably manage to lick +me." + +Carleton smiled, and with equal interest returned Vaughan's gaze. To +him, Vaughan appeared scarcely to have changed at all. About him there +was something of the man who is given to habitual overwork, yet +otherwise, in his rather delicate way, he looked healthy and vigorous, +and his face itself was still as pleasant and as kindly as of old. +Carleton shook his head. "I don't think there will be any fight, +Arthur," he said, "my fighting days are over. I've learned that much +since I went away. I've come to believe that they don't pay--fights of +any kind." + +Vaughan nodded, quick to take his meaning. "Good," he answered, "I'm +mighty glad to hear it, Jack." + +Carleton's glance had been roaming up and down the aisle. "By the way," +he said, "where's the rest of our merry party? Where's my respected +uncle? And wasn't there somebody else he was going to bring out with +him?" + +Vaughan's eyes searched the car in vain. "I guess Mr. Carleton's up +ahead," he returned, "probably in the smoker with Cummings." + +Jack Carleton frowned. "Cummings?" he queried, "which Cummings? Jim?" + +"Yes, Jim," Vaughan assented, "why? Know him?" + +Carleton nodded. "Yes, I know him, all right." From his tone it would +have been possible to draw the inference that his opinion of Cummings +was scarcely favorable. But when, after a pause, he turned again to his +friend, it was not of Cummings, but of Henry Carleton that he spoke. +"And how's Henry been standing it?" he asked. "I've hardly heard +anything, you see, for practically three years now. I'm away behind the +times." + +"Why," Vaughan answered, "he's a bigger man than ever, Jack. I guess I'm +pretty well posted on him. Being on the paper, you know, you pick up a +lot. He's a power on the Street now, and he's been making big strides in +politics, besides. Some folks think he's right in line for the vacancy +in the United States senatorship. And I'm not sure but what it's so, +too. Then he's doing more for charity now than he used to. He gave five +thousand at one crack the other day to something or other--a musical +conservatory, I think it was. And he does a lot here at Eversley. The +people out this way think he's just about right. Gave a thousand last +month to the Eversley library, they say. Oh, I tell you it's good to +see a man on the crest of the wave who still has an eye for the poor +devils down in the hollow;" he paused for a moment, then added, with a +smile, "of whom I have the honor to be one, Jack. You know I haven't +made more than a million out of reporting. It's funny, but journalists +don't seem to get appreciated in the salary line. But then, I oughtn't +to complain. I've made a living, and kept out of debt, and if I hadn't +had the folks down home to look after, I might have had a little put by, +too. I'm not discouraged, either. I still consider it a privilege to be +alive, and not to be kicked. + +"But I was going to tell you about Mr. Carleton, and what he's going to +do for me. I've written a novel that I'm trying to get published, and +he's going to help me. I don't mean, of course, that such things don't +go strictly on their merits, but still, even then, a friend at court +doesn't do any harm. I've seen a lot of it, or I wouldn't talk that way. +There's an inside story, I've come to believe, and an inside track, in +everything, even in art, where of all places there shouldn't be. Not +always, of course, but, I believe, oftener than you'd think. And Mr. +Carleton's surprisingly well known, everywhere. I've been amazed at it. +I can't for the life of me see how he manages to get the time for all +his different interests, but he does it somehow, and what's more +remarkable still, he contrives to do everything well. His last bit of +literary criticism in _Cosmopolis_ was really excellently done. It's +been well spoken of everywhere. So now that he's going to turn to and +help, I'm immensely encouraged." + +For a moment or two Carleton sat silent, as if perplexed. Then, "But why +on earth," he asked, "is Henry taking all this sudden interest in +_you_?" + +With a laugh of enjoyment, Vaughan leaned forward. "I knew you'd ask +that, Jack," he said triumphantly. "That's what I was leading up to. +He's interested in me because--there's a very good chance that some day +he's going to have the delightful pleasure of welcoming me as his +son-in-law." + +For an instant Carleton stared at him; then puckered his lips in a +whistle of amazement. "The devil you say," he ejaculated, and then, +after a moment, as if he could think of nothing that would better do +justice to the situation, he repeated, with even greater emphasis, "The +_devil_ you say." + +Vaughan sat silently enjoying his surprise; then, as his friend did not +speak again, he said, a little anxiously, "I hope you're pleased, Jack." + +Carleton recovered a little from his astonishment. The grip he gave +Vaughan's hand was sufficient answer, even before he found his tongue. +"Pleased," he echoed, "of course I am. I couldn't be more so. You know +that without my saying it. But more than surprised, Arthur. I didn't +know you were even interested in that direction. I can't realize it yet. +Rose! Why, she hadn't put away her dolls when I left home. But three +years. Let's see. Thirteen--fourteen--seventeen--that's right, she's +almost eighteen, now. A child and a woman--I suppose that's the size of +it. Well, well, Arthur, this is fine. And she's a splendid little girl, +too. You're a lucky man. Any idea when you'll be married?" + +Vaughan shook his head. "No, indeed," he answered, "I only wish I had. +You see it's just as I told you. I'm a poor man, and I've got to make +good first, before I can decently ask her to leave a home like the one +she's got now. Mr. Carleton put all that part of it to me plainly enough +yesterday. Plainly enough, and fairly enough, too. I have to admit that. +But I can't help wishing, just the same, for once in my life, that I did +have a little money to fall back on, or that my prospects were a little +brighter. However, I surely can't complain; and now, Jack, it's your +turn. How about yourself, and how about the ranching? Is it all you +thought it would be?" + +But Carleton did not seem disposed to talk of himself. "Oh, yes," he +answered absently, "all that, and more. It's the greatest ever--" then, +breaking off abruptly, he asked, "Do you know, Arthur, when Colonel +Graham's expected back from England?" + +Vaughan looked at him with a smile. "_Colonel_ Graham?" he said, "did +you say _Colonel_, Jack?" + +Carleton nodded. "That's what I said," he answered, "Colonel Graham. You +know I used to be pretty good friends with him once on a time." + +Vaughan's smile broadened. "Yes, I know," he answered dryly, "and you +used to be _very_ good friends with some one else. Are you sure it isn't +Marjory you mean, Jack, and not the colonel?" + +At last Carleton smiled too. "Well," he returned, "I won't argue about +it. You can put it that way if you like. When do they get back?" + +"Three months, I believe," answered Vaughan, "I think that was what Rose +said." He paused, then added with sympathy, "Sounds like a long time, +too, I'll bet." + +Carleton made no answer. Slackening speed, the train came to a halt, and +rising, they filed down the aisle, and out on the Eversley platform, to +find Henry Carleton and Cummings awaiting them. Somewhat perfunctorily +Jack Carleton shook hands with Cummings; then turned to his uncle. "Wait +for me just a minute," he said, "I've got a bag here somewhere," and he +strode off into the station, while the others turned the corner, and +took their places in Carleton's waiting motor, Cummings and Vaughan +ushered by their host into the tonneau, while he himself took his seat +in front with the chauffeur, a short, thick-set young fellow, with a +round, pleasant face, honest eyes, and a frank and good-humored smile. +He touched his cap, and Henry Carleton nodded in return. "Everything all +right, Satterlee?" he asked, and the chauffeur quickly responded, "Yes, +sir; everything all right, sir;"--then, very respectfully, as if he +realized that his interest was leading him into a breach of strict +decorum, "Isn't Mr. Jack coming, sir?" + +"Oh, yes, he'll be here in a moment," answered his employer, and even as +he spoke, Carleton appeared around the corner of the station, tossed his +bag into the tonneau, and came up to the front of the machine with +outstretched hand. "Well, Tom, old man," he cried, "and how are you? +Looking fine. You couldn't drive anything but horses when I went away. +How do you like this kind of thing? More speed, I guess, all right." + +The chauffeur's answering smile was the friendliest imaginable, although +his taking of Carleton's outstretched hand was a little reluctant, as if +he were aware that this was a freedom hardly likely, in a servant, to +find favor in his master's eyes. Henry Carleton, indeed, frowned with +repressed disapproval. Kindness and even affability toward one's +dependents were permissible--but this frank friendship, with its +implication of equality, of which Jack was guilty, was apt to be +destructive of a proper domestic regime. "We're waiting, Jack," he said, +his meaning perfectly manifest in his tone, "jump in behind, please." + +Jack Carleton was about to comply; then suddenly, either the beauty of +the day or his lack of pleasure in Jim Cummings' society, served to make +him change his mind. He stepped quickly back. "I guess I'll walk it, +after all," he said, "just for the sake of old times. See you at the +house," and before he had gone a quarter of the length of the station +lane, a cloud of powdery dust was the only memento of the big motor left +in sight. + +Thoughtfully he traversed the familiar path, the meadow lying smooth and +fair before him, still peaceful and serene as on the day when Helmar had +walked there three years ago. The same outward world, the same green +underfoot, the same glory of blue above. But though Helmar had found +nothing but pleasure in the scene, now, mellowed and tinted with the +oncoming of the summer night, Carleton's meditation ran in a quieter and +sadder strain. + +Midway at the bank of the little stream, he paused, and his thoughts, +casting backward, were of the little boy who had sailed his boat in the +pool below the bridge, and who had searched so patiently along the +pleasant, grass-grown banks to gather and bring home in triumph to his +mother the earliest violets of the spring. Tinged all with vague regret +were his dreamings, as backward glances in one sense always must be, but +even as his thoughts came down the years, his face did not seem to +brighten with them. + +"Three years," he muttered, "of good resolutions. Three years of killing +out old hatred, and honestly trying to feel toward him as I ought. And +now--almost the first day home--to be put back just where I was before. +To find him the same as ever, so smooth, so self-satisfied, and so +cursedly successful, too. And if I told any one what I believe--why, +they'd think I was mad, I suppose." + +Once more he started on his homeward way, taking the old familiar +short-cut through the woods, as the twilight deepened and the shadows of +the tall elms lengthened down the quiet road. Still lost in thought, he +strode along unheeding; then all at once, struck with a sense of +something unfamiliar, he pulled up sharply and glanced about him. The +path he was following now was new to him, there was something about it +which he could not call to mind, tax his memory as he would. And then +suddenly, as he turned a sharp corner, tucked away amid the shelter of a +grove of birches which rose about it on every hand, a little cottage +appeared before his eyes. + +For a moment he stood silent, staring in astonishment. Of this Henry had +told him nothing. The Birches itself was still a good half mile away. +"What in the world--" he muttered to himself, and then, obeying a sudden +impulse, he turned aside, walked quickly up the path to the little +house, mounted the steps leading to the porch, and knocked. + +For a moment or two he waited. Then somewhere above him, a window +opened; a woman's voice called low, "Is it you?" + +At the sound Carleton threw back his head with an uncontrollable start +of astonishment; and then without raising his voice, he answered, "Yes, +it's I." + +The window closed. A moment still he waited in suspense, until the door +cautiously opened. And then, suddenly, through the dusk there sounded a +surprised cry, "Jack, Jack!" + +Carleton took a quick step forward. Three long years, as far as seeing +women of any attraction went, he had spent practically alone. Three long +years, and in the girl before him what a change. Charming she had always +been, yet now in looks, in dress, in bearing, in every way she had +altered for the better a hundredfold. Almost with a gasp, the memories +of old days came flooding over heart and mind and soul. His voice, when +at last he spoke, sounded hoarse with stifled emotion; "Jeanne," he +cried, "you!" + +As of old, the woman seemed to dominate the situation. She laughed the +old friendly laugh as she stepped backward into the gloom. Her words +were commonplace enough, but not the tone in which she uttered them. +"I'm glad to see you back, Jack," she said. "Won't you come in?" + + + + +CHAPTER XI + +THE EVENTS OF AN EVENING + + "What mighty ills have not been done by woman!" + _Otway._ + + +It was nearly seven o'clock when Jack Carleton strolled into the +carriage house, to find Satterlee, sleeves rolled up, his big rubber +apron tied around his waist, busy washing the carriages. Leisurely +Carleton took his seat upon an inverted bucket, and lit a cigarette. "So +you use a horse now and then, too, do you, Tom?" he asked, "it isn't all +automobiles?" + +Satterlee grinned a little ruefully. "To speak true, Mr. Jack," he +answered, "we gets a lot of trouble out of that there machine. The +gentlemen walked the last quarter mile to-night, and she's out there +in the road yet. You see, we got a new universal joint--" + +Carleton raised his hand. "No, no," he cried, "you don't get me to +listen to any of those yarns. I don't know anything about motors, and I +don't want to. A horse is good enough for me. It isn't your automobile +troubles I want to hear about, Tom. It's your own, if you've got any, +only I don't believe you have. As near as I can make out, you're an +infernally lucky man." + +The chauffeur nodded. "I am that, sir," he answered, readily enough. "No +man could have had better luck, or more of it, than I've had the last +year. It seems sometimes to me, Mr. Jack, like it couldn't really be so. +It's been most too much for one man." + +Jack nodded. "It was all a surprise to me," he said. "Mr. Carleton never +told me he'd built you the house; I didn't even know you were married. I +wouldn't know it now if I hadn't happened to stop in there on the way up +from the train. I only did it out of curiosity, too. I wondered who on +earth had built that house, so near the big one." + +Satterlee's face lit up with pleasure. "I'm more than glad you did, +sir," he said. "It's a neat little place, if I am saying so. And you +were after seeing the Mrs., I suppose?" + +Jack nodded again. "Yes, indeed I did. She's prettier than ever, Tom. +And she was telling me all about the house. So Mr. Carleton built it for +you." + +Satterlee pushed the wagon back into place, removed his apron, and took +his stand in front of Carleton. "Yes, sir," he answered, "you see, it +was like this. I always liked Jeanne fine--no one could help it, she's +got that way with her--but I always thought as how she was more than a +cut above me, being, as you might say, a lady, almost. And she never'd +have much to say to me, either, excepting to pass the time of day, and +such like things, you know, just friendly like, and nothing more. But +about a year ago, of a sudden she began to seem to take more notice of +me, and at last, never dreaming I was doing anything more than settle +all my hopes of ever getting her, once and for all, I got that crazy +about her I up and asked her--and she said she would. And then I didn't +know what to do. I wanted to go to housekeeping, of course; I knew +where I could rent a tidy little house down in the village, but I was +feared of losing my job, if Mr. Carleton shouldn't seem to take kindly +to the idea of it. + +"Well, at last I told him, and he seemed pleased enough, and asked me +about my plans, and so on, and finally he said he'd like to think it +over for a while. So I said all right, of course, and one evening he +came down here, and talked a long time, about how fine a thing it was to +be married--he spoke something beautiful about his poor dear lady--and +said as how that I'd always done my work right, and been a faithful man +to him, and as how he knew Jeanne was a fine girl, and so on, and +finally that he'd hate to have me leave him--I got scared then--but he +didn't want me so far away as the village, and so, if I'd like it, +partly for me, and partly for a good example to the rest of the house, +he'd build me a cottage right here on the place, and set me up to +housekeeping there. And that he did, and you've seen the cottage for +yourself, so there's no need of my saying what a neat little place it +is, or how happy we are. I like it fine, and Jeanne even more than me, I +believe; you know what it is for a woman to have her own home to fuss +round with; flowers and a vegetable garden, and all such things. We +couldn't be better fixed in all the wide world." + +Carleton slowly nodded. "Well, I should say not," he said at length. +"And about the money, too. Jeanne was telling me of that." + +Satterlee's face brightened. "Wasn't that the greatest ever?" he said. +"I never knew she had relatives so well fixed as that; I guess she +didn't, either; but Mr. Carleton looked after all the law part of it for +her, and it seems she gets a steady income for the rest of her life. Not +so much, of course, for some folks, but for her, you see, it's just pin +money, to do as she likes with. Of course I'd never touch a cent of it; +I'm doing pretty well myself, and I live simple, anyway; but she likes +her fine clothes, and her trip in town, same as all the women do, and +I'm glad to let her have the fun. Sometimes I get let off, too, but I +don't like to go often; there's plenty doing here with six horses, and +that rascal of a car. And this summer she's going off for two months to +the mountains with some friends of hers. You see, the work gets slacker +then; Mr. Carleton always goes away about that time, and it's pretty hot +here, of course, for a woman, anyway. Yes, Jeanne's quite the lady now, +and no one more glad than me." + +Carleton, again nodding thoughtfully, sat for some time in silence +without looking up. At last he raised his eyes to the chauffeur's. +"Tom," he said, speaking with unwonted gravity, "I'd like to ask you one +question. What do you really think--" Abruptly he broke off. "Well, +speaking of angels," he muttered, and again was silent. + +Down the drive Henry Carleton was walking briskly toward them, with a +step that a youth of twenty might have envied. As he entered the +carriage house, he eyed the pair a trifle keenly, it seemed, yet when he +spoke his tone was amiability itself. "Ah, Jack," he said, "I wondered +where you'd gone. Talking over old times with Satterlee, I suppose. We +dine at seven, you know." + +Carelessly Jack Carleton answered him. "Yes, I know. I'll be ready. Lots +of time yet." + +There was nothing in the words at which offense could be taken, yet at +the tone Henry Carleton's eyebrows were raised a trifle. "Suit +yourself," he said, "as long as you're not late," then turning to the +chauffeur. "It's unfortunate about the motor, isn't it, Satterlee? I +understand you to say that you can't possibly have it fixed before +to-morrow night?" + +Satterlee shook his head. "Oh, no, sir, not possibly," he answered. "I +shall have to go in town to-morrow morning, and see them at the factory. +And then there's a good half day, just on labor alone. No, sir, +to-morrow night would be the very earliest possible." + +Henry Carleton's face clouded a trifle, and for a moment he thought in +silence. Then he spoke, with a little reluctance evident in his manner. +"I don't like to ask you to do it, Satterlee, but I can't see any other +way. I've promised to send a message over to Mr. Sheldon to-night, a +message which is of great importance to both of us. I was going to ask +you to take the motor, and go over after dinner--it wouldn't have taken +much over an hour, I suppose--but that's out of the question now. Do you +think, Satterlee, you could oblige me by taking one of the horses, and +driving over. It will be something of a trip, I'm afraid." + +Satterlee's assent could hardly have been readier, or more heartily +given. "Of course I'll go, sir," he answered, "and be more than glad to. +It's not too long a drive, sir. The night's fine. Let me see. Twelve +miles over. Twelve miles back. I could take old Robin, sir, and make it +in a matter of three hours, or I could take Fleetwood, in the sulky, and +make it in pretty near an hour quicker, if there's haste." + +Henry Carleton shook his head. "Oh, no, there's no special hurry," he +answered, "and I wouldn't take Fleetwood, I think. I want to save him +for Mr. Jack to drive to-morrow. No, I think I'd take old Robin. And I +suppose you could get started by eight. If you'll stop at the house, +then, Satterlee, I'll have everything ready, and I'm sure I'm much +obliged to you. I won't forget it." + +Satterlee's face showed his pleasure. There was a thoughtfulness and +consideration in his master's manner unusual and agreeable. "You're more +than welcome, I'm sure, sir," he said. "I'll be ready sharp at eight." + +Jack Carleton had stood silent, with knitted brows. Now he looked up +quickly, gazing at Henry Carleton with a singular intentness, +considering the comparative unimportance of the matter involved. + +"What's the matter with telephoning?" he asked abruptly, well-nigh +rudely, in fact. + +Henry Carleton smiled at him benignantly in return. "You always were +fond of old Robin, weren't you, Jack?" he said. "Well, I hate myself to +use a horse on a drive as long as that, and I hate to use Satterlee so +late at night, besides. But these happen to be a set of plans, Jack, and +you know to telephone plans is rather a difficult thing; and, since +you've been so good as to interest yourself in the matter, I'll tell you +further that they're street railway plans, of very great importance, +considering the fact that Sheldon is my counsel before a committee of +the legislature to-morrow morning. After all," he added more slowly, "it +is a practical world, Jack. Some one has to look after things, even if +it involves an evening trip, a horse and a man. But I suppose it's hard +for you to get used to it. Yours never was the strictly practical side." + +The tone was of kindly benevolence. That there was a deliberate purpose +behind the words was evident. Jack Carleton's face gave no sign, save +that all at once his eyes seemed suddenly to have turned hard and cold. +"I see perfectly now," he answered. "Pardon my suggestion, won't you? I +didn't know the drive was connected with any plans, or of course I +shouldn't have spoken. Well, I guess I'll go ahead and dress for dinner +now." + +He turned with elaborate nonchalance, almost feeling Henry Carleton's +searching glance follow him; and once, half way up the drive, he +chuckled to himself, as if in his mind he felt perfectly satisfied with +the result of the little encounter of words. + +[Illustration: "I can't tell you how glad I am."--Page 201] + +As he mounted the piazza steps, from the cosy corner hidden far back +among the ivy, Rose Carleton and Vaughan advanced a little consciously +to meet him. Very possibly, from a certain tumbled look about her pretty +curls and a flush in her cheeks suspiciously bright, he felt that he +might have done well to enter the house from the side door. Yet, if he +had proved an interrupter, she readily enough forgave him, coming +forward with hands outstretched, and kissing him affectionately, first +on one cheek and then on the other. "Well, cousin Jack," she cried, +"it's seemed so long. Welcome home again; I can't tell you how glad I +am." + +He held her off at arm's length, looking at her with real affection in +his glance, yet quizzically. "My dear," he said, "those are very nice +kisses. You weren't as skilful as that when I left. But practice, I +suppose, will do a lot for any one." + +Rose Carleton's face flushed, but not at all with anger. She held up an +admonishing finger. "Why," she cried, "I _am_ surprised at you. Even to +hint at such a thing," and then suddenly shifting the attack, "and +what's made you such a judge of kisses, anyway? Were they experts out +where you've been? I think you ought to explain, at least." + +Carleton laughed. "Never mind, never mind," he said, "we'll change the +subject at once; I'm getting embarrassed; but seriously, my dear, I wish +you two people all the luck in the world. Nothing could please me +better; you can be sure of that. But I'm not going to stay here and say +nice things about you; I'll warrant you do enough of that yourselves to +make you as proud as peacocks. And if I don't get ready for dinner, +Henry'll give me a calling down; I know that much from old times," and +with a friendly wave of his hand by way of parting benediction, he took +his departure for his room. + + * * * * * + +To an outsider, it might have seemed that the company assembled for +dinner was a somewhat curiously assorted one; yet the dinner itself, +thanks to the efforts of the dark, observant man who presided at the +head of the table, could hardly have been more successful. Tact--always +tact--and in little things even more than in great, this was the +feature that distinguished Henry Carleton's discharge of his duties as +host. And once well under way, there was little reason, indeed, why the +occasion should not have been a success. The meal was one for an +epicure, deliciously cooked and faultlessly served, and with a quality +and variety in the liquids which accompanied it, sufficient to satisfy +even Cummings himself. Fortunate, indeed, it seemed, that Jack Carleton +took nothing at all, and that Henry Carleton and Vaughan drank +sparingly, for Cummings' capacity was frankly enormous. Constantly his +red face grew redder and redder, and his conversation became every +moment more and more monopolistic; yet Henry Carleton, with the courtesy +of the host, seemed to pay no heed, and if there was any conflict +between the laws of temperance and those of hospitality, the star of the +latter seemed to be in the ascendant, for the butler was even more than +assiduous in his attentions, and took good care that the bottom of +Cummings' glass was never visible from the beginning of the dinner until +the end. + +A little late in beginning, it was doubtless due to Cummings' frank +enjoyment of his food and drink, and his innocent delight in recounting +at length anecdote after anecdote of which he was invariably the hero, +that the dinner came to an end far later than Henry Carleton had +anticipated. It was fully half-past eight, indeed, before he had the +opportunity to slip out on the piazza, where Satterlee sat patiently +waiting, with old Robin dozing peacefully between the shafts. "I'm +sorry, Satterlee," he said, as he handed over the parcel; "I didn't mean +to keep you waiting so long. I'm afraid it's going to be pretty late +before you get back." + +Satterlee gathered up the reins. "Close to midnight, I expect, sir," he +answered cheerfully, "maybe later, if the old fellow doesn't happen to +be feeling very brisk. But what's the odds? The night's fine, and +there'll be a moon later on. It's no difference to me. Good night, sir. +I'll be ready for the eight-two, in the morning," and he jogged +leisurely away down the avenue. + +The rest of the party, in the meantime, had joined their host on the +piazza. Almost imperceptibly Rose and Vaughan seemed to be again +gravitating in the direction of the sheltered corner. Jack Carleton, +observing them, smiled to himself; then turned to his host. "If you'll +excuse me, Henry," he said, "I believe I'll go up to my room, smoke a +pipe and turn in. I've been awfully short of sleep since I got back." + +Henry Carleton, the hospitable, with the greatest readiness assented. +"Why, of course, Jack, don't talk of my excusing you. No such ceremony +as that out here. Turn in, and sleep the clock around, if you want to. +Come on, Cummings. You and I will have a little game of billiards, if +that'll suit you." + +"Suit me?" echoed Cummings expansively, "well, I guess yes. Surest thing +you know." This, he reflected to himself, was certainly going some. This +was being treated better than ever before. A bang-up dinner; all the +fizz he wanted--that, from Cummings, meant much--and now a game of +billiards with the old man. And billiards was his particular long suit. +No wonder that he was perfectly happy. Scarcely, it seemed to him, +could he wait until the next morning, to see the other fellows in the +office, and recount all his good fortune to their well-nigh unbelieving +ears. "Surest thing you know," he repeated again, "just what I'd like to +do." + +Left alone, Rose Carleton and Vaughan retreated under the shadow of the +vines. For a little while, indeed, with a self-restraint most +commendable, their talk was not wholly of themselves. A few words they +had to say about Jack; a few, with bated breath, concerning Cummings and +his peculiarities; a brief account Vaughan gave of his wholly pleasant +and successful interview with Henry Carleton, and then, in spite of +themselves, their talk swung around into the path of that endless circle +which engrosses so absolutely the attention of those happy persons but +newly engaged, and soon, all unconsciously, they had drifted away into +the realms of the small but all-sufficing world which can never be +inhabited by more than two. + +Meanwhile, up-stairs in the billiard room Jim Cummings was enjoying +himself always more and more. The table was perfect; the cigar from +the box which Henry Carleton had carelessly shoved toward him he +had appraised with a critical eye, and instantly classified as a +twenty-five-cent straight; at his elbow, on the neat little sideboard, +were liqueurs, and Scotch and soda. Only a victory at the game was +needed to make for Cummings a perfect world, and that finally was also +forthcoming. Not easily, indeed; old Carleton, to his infinite surprise, +played a most surprising game, marred only by a tendency to slip up on +easy shots after he had made a run of those which almost any amateur +in the city might have envied. The first game went to Cummings, the +second to his host, the third and rubber at last, after the closest of +finishes, to Cummings again. And then, pulling their chairs up to the +little table, they sat for perhaps half an hour and talked. Cummings, +indeed, seemed to be the leader as far as number of words went; Carleton +apparently doing little more than to make a suggestion here, propound a +difficulty there, and then finally to allow himself to be assured by +Cummings' lordly manner of overcoming every obstacle in the path. At +last they rose; the lights in the billiard room were extinguished, and +Carleton left his guest at the door of the bedroom allotted to him. "So +I think," he said, laying a friendly hand on Cummings' arm, "that, as +between two men of the world, we may fairly say that we perfectly +understand each other." + +Cummings' speech was a trifle thick, something scarcely to be wondered +at, but his step was steady, and his brain clear. "Perfe'ly," he +responded. "No misund'standing at all. Perfe'ly, I'm sure." + +Henry Carleton looked at him sharply. He was well aware of the quantity +of liquor his guest had somehow managed to put away. "And just one +thing," he added, "you won't forget that it's got to be done quietly. +That's the important thing. You can't be too careful. It's a most +delicate mission. That, Jim," he added in a burst of confidence, "is +why I selected you." + +Cummings' immediate expansion was visible to the eye. "I 'preciate your +choice," he responded handsomely, "and I un'erstand just how you want it +done. 'S that enough, or d'you want talk some more?" + +Henry Carleton whipped out his watch. "No, no," he answered hastily, +"it's late now, Jim. Later than I thought. We understand each other, of +course. Do your best, that's all. And, Jim," he added, with a curious +note, almost, one would have said, of entreaty, in his tone, "you +understand my motives perfectly, don't you? You see my reasoning? You're +convinced that I'm acting for the best?" + +Singular enough it was to see the great financier verging on an appeal +to a man in every way so far his inferior. Cummings, even in his +slightly befuddled condition, seemed to appreciate the honor conferred. +"Mr. Carleton," he answered, "I un'erstand 'ntirely. Your motives +irreproachable; no one say otherwise, by possibility." + +Henry Carleton looked his relief. "Good," he said briefly. "I shouldn't +proceed without your approval of the plan. And you will bear in mind the +need of haste, I know." + +It was five minutes later that he rejoined his daughter and Vaughan upon +the piazza, with his usual thoughtfulness emerging slowly from the +house, and clearing his throat somewhat ostentatiously several times by +way of fair and friendly warning. It may have been that this signal was +needed, it may have been that it was not; in any event, when Henry +Carleton had actually reached the cosy corner, it was to find Rose and +Vaughan seated decorously enough some distance apart, although for the +moment, indeed, conversation between the two appeared to have come +completely to a standstill. + +Henry Carleton eyed them benevolently. "A beautiful night," he observed +impartially, and then, more especially addressing himself to Rose, "Did +you know that it was after half-past ten, my dear. Early to bed, you +know." + +In the darkness Rose Carleton frowned impatiently. Yes, she knew. That +she should retire early was one point on which her father insisted with +a strictness that made it hopeless to contest the point with him. "Early +to bed." She felt a huge dislike for the worthy originator of the +phrase. Even the soundest and sanest of maxims, without the occasional +exception which proves the rule, may come to mean next to nothing. +"Yes, I know it," she answered shortly, with just a trace of irritated +rebellion in her tone. Eighteen does not relish being treated like +twelve. + +Her father noted the tone. "Well, good night, my dear," he observed +evenly. "Say good night to Mr. Vaughan, and don't forget to be up in +good season to-morrow. We shall be a little hurried without the motor. +You must have our coffee ready for us sharp on time." Then, a pause +ensuing, without any move seeming to come from Rose, he added +persuasively, "I trust you and Mr. Vaughan have enjoyed your evening +together, my dear." + +There was a hint of mild reproach in his tone, and at the words +forthwith the girl relented. It was true enough. He had been considerate +to allow her to have Vaughan to herself for the evening. It would have +been easy to have managed things otherwise. He was a pretty good father, +after all. So obediently she rose and gave her hand to Vaughan, with +just sufficient pressure to let him understand that had the occasion +served, her good night would have been a very different one, kissed her +father, and went quietly up-stairs. + +Left alone, Vaughan turned to Henry Carleton. + +"Cummings turned in?" he asked casually. + +Carleton nodded. "Yes, he's turned in, I believe," he answered; then, +with the hospitality for which he was famous, he added, "Is there +anything more that I may chance to be able to do for your entertainment, +Mr. Vaughan?" + +Vaughan shook his head. "Oh, thanks, no," he answered, "I'm ready for +bed myself, I believe." + +"Very well," said Carleton quickly, "then I think, in that case, if you +will excuse me, I'll take my little turn about the grounds and retire +myself. If you should care for a pipe on the piazza, the house is always +open. We don't lock up here at all. I always say, if a burglar is going +to try to break into a country house, that's all windows and doors, a +key turned in the lock isn't going to stop him. So you can get in at any +time between now and morning." + +Vaughan laughed. "Thanks," he answered, "that's genuine kindness, but I +don't think I shall take advantage of it. A bed seems more attractive +to me just now than a pipe even." + +"Suit yourself," answered Carleton, "I'll have my man call you in the +morning. Good night." + +He turned indoors as he spoke, and Vaughan stood silent for perhaps five +minutes, looking out into the glorious summer night, with his thoughts +where they could scarcely have failed to be--on the wonderment of all +the happiness that had come to him, on the difference that the love of a +girl had made in him, his ambitions, his hopes, of all the great things +that he longed to accomplish now for her sake, to show her that perhaps +she had not chosen unworthily. + +Then, coming suddenly to himself, he decided that it would be pleasant +to accompany Carleton on his rounds, looked indoors for him, and not +finding him there, concluded that he must have gone out by some other +way. Coming out once more on to the piazza, he stood for a moment +irresolute, had even made a hesitating step toward the house again, and +then, summoned irresistibly by some subtle kinship with tree and flower, +star and whispering breeze, he walked hastily down the steps, and then, +more leisurely, strolled away around the curve of the drive until his +figure was lost amid the shrubbery of the lawn. + +Surely Henry Carleton's little evening had been enjoyed to the full by +every one. And, as it chanced, even the humblest actor in it was to have +his share of luck. Tom Satterlee, with some two thirds of his journey to +Mr. Sheldon's accomplished, suddenly gripped the reins more tightly as a +warning blast fell on his ears, and a moment later a big motor whizzed +past him from the rear. Instantly he recognized the chauffeur, driving +alone, and the next moment his cheerful hail had brought the motor to a +halt. Then ensued a brief conference, resulting in the transfer of the +package, while Satterlee, with a good hour saved from the schedule that +was to bring him back at midnight, in high good humor turned old Robin's +head toward home. + +Meanwhile, back at The Birches, Vaughan wandered idly along, his feet on +earth, his thoughts in the clouds. Rose and his book. His book and Rose. +From one to the other his thoughts plied back and forth. Not, indeed, +that the book could ever rival Rose, but it was as a means to win her +that it now appeared most precious to him, as if his written word, as +something outside of himself, were striving, like some faithful friend, +to aid him in his fight--and Rose and the book and his happiness blended +in his mind with all the intoxication of youth and hope, and a world +still untried and unconquered, its problems undespaired of still. + +On and on he walked, half unconscious of where he was going, and +then, on a sudden he seemed to become aware of a light flashing +somewhere ahead of him through the trees, now disappearing, now, +as he went onward, springing again into view, much as some gigantic +will-o'-the-wisp might have done. And at the same instant, looking +around him, he perceived, to his surprise, that unconsciously he had +been following the trail of a little rough hewn path, winding first to +right, and then to left, but always forward, and always toward the +light. Partly from a real curiosity as to what it might be, partly with +enough of the instinct of boyhood days left in him, to make him feel a +perfectly irrational delight in the sense of nocturnal adventure, he +skirted his way along through the woods, and a moment later found +himself standing on a little elevation of rock, gazing through the trees +at the house which stood over across from him, not a hundred yards away, +amid the circle of birches which, gleaming like silver in the faint +moonlight, surrounded it with their protection as with a natural +palisade. + +Something singular there seemed to him about the whole affair. The +cottage he could not place; and idly he began to wonder whether, intent +upon his day-dreams, he had wandered farther than he had intended, +and had crossed the boundaries of The Birches to trespass on some +neighboring domain. His vivid imagination had even begun to weave a +web of vague, elusive romance about the cottage itself, based partly, +perhaps, on the spell of the moonlight, partly on the fact that despite +the lateness of the hour a light still gleamed in the upper, and one in +the lower, hall. And then, with a realizing rush of sober common sense, +with a smile at his wandering fancies, he came back to real life again, +and had turned, though half regretfully, to go, when suddenly, at the +very instant, he stopped, and again stood still. A dark figure had come +across the lawn in the rear of the house, walked up to the door without +reconnoitering, and disappeared within. + +A moment or two of silence. Then the light down-stairs was extinguished, +and an instant later the one above was suddenly darkened, until only the +faintest glimmer remained. And again Vaughan, though half doubtfully +this time, smiled at his folly. Surely this was the novelist at his +worst. Striving to find something unusual and strange, worthy of his +notice and comment, in what? In the coming home of some prosaic +householder, doubtless tempted into a longer stay than usual at the +village by the charms of the good fellowship of tavern or grocery store. + +Suddenly his heart leaped. What was that? Something mysterious was on +foot, then, after all. From within the house came sounds as if of a +struggle--a crash, as of furniture overturned--a single half-choked, +muffled cry. Then a rush and clatter of feet on the stairs, and then, +before his wide-open, straining eyes, from the rear door of the house a +figure emerged, followed almost instantly by another. The pursued, the +taller and slimmer of the two, and evidently by far the fleeter of foot, +ran, as one who knows his ground, straight for the thickest cluster of +trees, and reaching them, dived into their shelter like a hare. The +pursuer, following for a space, all at once slackened his speed, +swerving and bearing aimlessly away, constantly farther and farther to +the left, in a wide half circle, his body bent all the time more and +more to one side, his head thrown back and upward, as if spent and +exhausted, even with the brief effort he had made. And finally, fairly +doubling on his tracks, he came headed straight for the rock at the +summit of which Vaughan stood. Nearer and nearer he came, and then, +quickly, as in the faint moonlight the man's face became more plainly +visible, Vaughan drew one instant gasping breath of sickened horror. The +face was set, as if rigid with agony, the eyes were unnaturally wide, +and over the upturned forehead and the pallid cheeks flowed something +hideously dark and glistening. And then, convulsively, with a ghastly +semblance of an athlete who finishes his race, the figure threw one arm +high into the air, as if grasping for support, staggered, pitched +forward, and fell motionless, lying, in the darkness below, a huddled +heap in the road. + +To Vaughan, all unschooled in the darker experiences of life, came a +sudden access of blind terror. He knew that he should at once descend, +yet, knowing it, stood motionless, his will unequal to the task. And +then, as he sought to nerve himself for the trial, nature intervened. At +once he was conscious that his heart was throbbing so faintly and so +fast that his ear could scarcely separate the beats; something tightened +in his throat; the silver birches floated and turned before him, +and he found himself nearer fainting than he had ever been in his life +before. Slowly, after what seemed to him an indefinite period of +semi-consciousness, his brain again cleared; distrustingly he loosed his +hold on the sapling which he had grasped, and with genuine courage, +sought once more to approach the edge of the little cliff and begin his +descent. + +Yet that descent, spite of his newly taken resolution, was now never to +be made. At the edge he gave one shuddering look below, then hastily +and with caution drew back, peering fixedly through the screen of leaf +and branch. The man, indeed, still lay where he had fallen, but now, +creeping down the driveway, came the first figure, returning, as if +impelled by some impulse too powerful to resist. Stealthily it +approached the huddled figure on the ground, looked around listening, +then swiftly knelt, turned the body over, and raised the head upon its +knee. Then came the quick spurt of a match, and Vaughan, leaning forward +with fascinated gaze, saw more than he wished to see--saw what he would +have given anything in the world not to have seen; for the motionless +figure, with head drooped horribly to one side, hair matted, and face +streaked and dabbled with red, was that of Tom Satterlee, and the face +which bent over him, showing pale and horror-stricken in the light of +the tiny flame, was the face of Jack Carleton. Vaughan turned and ran. + + + + +CHAPTER XII + +THE YELLOW STREAK + + "A plague on all cowards, I say." + _Shakespeare._ + + +From a slumber that was scarcely a sleep, a slumber feverish and fitful, +broken by restless starts and uneasy twitchings, Arthur Vaughan suddenly +opened his eyes, on the instant broad awake. For just one blank moment, +as has happened with mankind so many million times before, as will +happen so many million times again, his brain seemed to hang motionless, +without impression of any sort; and the next minute across it the +blurred and distorted images of the night before were rushing and +crowding their way with a sense almost of physical suffocation and +terror. He had half started from his bed, when at the same moment the +knock on the door which had first awakened him was repeated. "Come in," +he called, and at the word the door opened, and Henry Carleton's valet +softly entered and began to pull back the curtains. For a moment Vaughan +lay motionless, watching the man, and wondering instinctively if he +knew; then, trying hard to speak in a tone casual and off-hand, he +greeted him. "Good morning, Rollins." + +Swiftly and silently the man turned. His face, to Vaughan's relief, +appeared perfectly impassive. "Good morning, sir," he returned +respectfully. "A fine morning out, sir," and then, after a hardly +perceptible pause--Vaughan could almost feel the words coming--"There +was bad doings last night, sir." + +Vaughan had risen, and was slowly crossing the room toward his bath. He +stopped abruptly. "And what was that, Rollins?" he asked. + +The valet stepped a little nearer, speaking in a hushed and somewhat +awe-struck tone. "It was poor Satterlee," he answered. "He's dead, sir. +They found him this morning, outside his house, with his head all bashed +in. Stone dead, sir. I was there when they brought him in. It was a +horrid sight to see;--" and then, with real feeling, the man, and not +the servant in him uppermost, he added, "Poor Tom. He was that happy, +sir." + +Vaughan still stood without moving. "Dead," he repeated mechanically, +"Good God!" and then, "His head, you say? Why, do they think--" + +The man shook his head. "Nobody knows anything, sir," he answered. "It +was right near his house; right underneath a big high rock; he might +have fell off, or been pushed off; you couldn't tell. Of course, sir, +they've sent for the medical examiner, direct. He should be here in an +hour or two, I should judge, sir, at the most." + +"Yes, yes," Vaughan assented. "I understand;" then at once added, "and +what does Mr. Carleton say?" + +"Oh, he feels terribly, sir," the valet answered, "I never saw him so +broke up in my life. 'Poor Satterlee,' he kept saying, 'I feel as if I +was to blame. I shouldn't have asked him to go that far, so late. It was +after hours. I should have waited.'" + +Vaughan nodded. "Yes, that's like Mr. Carleton," he said. "But of course +it wasn't any of his fault, just the same. He couldn't have looked +ahead to anything like that." + +"No, indeed, sir," the man answered heartily, "of course he couldn't. +But as you say, sir, it's like him. He's always very considerate with +all of us. Oh, he certainly took on terrible; he was as white as a sheet +when they brought poor Tom in." + +"Yes, yes," said Vaughan absently, "I don't doubt;" then quickly, "and +how about Mr. Jack?" + +"Why, he was in a bad way, too, sir," answered Rollins, "but different +like, more quiet, as if he had his wits more about him." + +In spite of himself, at the words Vaughan started, and then, "What about +the horse?" he asked. + +"That was curious, sir," the man replied, "the horse was in, unharnessed +and in his stall; seems as if Tom must have got back early, after all. +But no one knows how." + +As he spoke, in the hall outside a bell rang sharply and at once he +turned to answer it, then paused. "That's Mr. Carleton, sir," he said, +and then with a quick return to his usual manner, "Is there anything +further you might wish, sir?" and on Vaughan's half-mechanical answer +in the negative, he hastily left the room. + +It was on a disturbed and disordered household that Vaughan half an hour +later descended. Rose alone came to meet him as he reached the foot of +the stairs, and in silence led the way into the deserted breakfast room. + +"You won't find very much to eat, Arthur, I'm afraid," she said. "You +mustn't mind. Everything's so terribly upset." + +He bent and kissed her, pitying her white face and trembling hands. "My +dear girl," he said tenderly, "don't worry about me. Breakfast doesn't +count at a time like this. Where has everybody gone?" + +The girl, pouring out his coffee, helplessly shook her head. "Oh, I +don't know," she answered. "It's all been so confused. My father's gone +down to see Mrs. Satterlee, I believe, and Mr. Cummings is outside +somewhere, too. He seemed to feel it as much as any one. He really +looked very badly, and hardly touched his breakfast at all. And Cousin +Jack--I don't know where he's gone. I suppose he minded more than +anybody; he was always around so much with Tom in the old days out here. +He acted so queerly, too; and looked at everybody so--oh, I don't know +how to describe it--stern and fierce, as if somehow he thought we all +had something to do with Tom's being killed. And all the time father +kept saying things, like that in the midst of life we were in death, and +that no man could tell the hour--oh, it was all ghastly. It was awful." + +Vaughan, nibbling gingerly at the cold toast, and struggling to swallow +the luke-warm coffee, nodded understandingly. Every instinct, every bit +of good sense that he possessed, told him to drop the subject, and +still, for the life of him he could not check the words that rose to his +lips. "Did you--did you see him?" he asked. + +The girl shuddered. "Not close to," she answered, "only when they +brought him by the house. I didn't know--I looked--once. I wish I +hadn't. Oh, his face--" + +Abruptly, a little dizzily, Vaughan rose from the table, last night's +ugly vision again seeming to pass before his swimming eyes. On the +instant the girl, all penitence, rose also, coming swiftly around to his +side. "Forgive me, dear," she cried, "I didn't mean to shock you. I +should have thought. Excuse me, please." + +He hastened to take her hand. "No, no," he cried, "there's nothing to +forgive. It's not your fault. Let's get outside in the air. It's close +in here. I feel a little faint." + +A moment later they stood on the broad piazza, in all the glory of the +warm June sunshine. Up in the top of a swaying elm an oriole flooded the +air with song; out over the lawn, against the green of the shrubbery, +a big golden butterfly floated softly along; in and out of the vines +above their heads a tiny humming-bird--a living gem--darted here and +there, his crimson throat flashing like flame in the sunlight--then +quick as thought with a whir of his swiftly moving wings, was gone. +Life--life--life--in every tone and call of nature's voice,--and out +there, in the hushed quiet of the stable, a man lay dead. + +Vaughan rested a hand on the girl's arm. "Look," he whispered, "down by +the road." + +The girl raised her eyes. There, dimly to be seen through the screen of +the shrubbery, up and down, up and down, a figure paced, with eyes fixed +on the ground, with one hand tugging fiercely at his mustache, to and +fro--to and fro. "Cousin Jack," she said. + +Silently Vaughan nodded. Well enough, from the uncertain tumult going on +in his own mind, he could guess the bitter struggle that was being waged +in Carleton's. In an hour the medical examiner would come; all would in +turn be examined on oath. Henry Carleton, doubtless, would be the first +called upon to testify; then Jack; then, he supposed, Cummings and +himself. And what should he do? The truth, the whole truth, and nothing +but the truth--the words seemed aimlessly to sing themselves over and +over in his brain. And then, with a shake of his head, he roused +himself. One thing was plain. Before the examiner came, there must be +some plan of concerted action between Jack Carleton and himself--some +knowledge of what each was going to say when called on to face that +grim ordeal. And it might be that there was little time to spare. He +turned quickly to Rose. "I'm going to speak to him," he said. + +She made a protesting movement. "Oh, must you?" she cried, "I so hate to +be left alone, just now," but for once her lover was firm. "I must, +dear," he said, "I won't be long. You stay right here, and don't worry +or think about it at all. I've got to see him for a minute, anyway; I +won't be long," and as she released her detaining hold on his arm, he +walked swiftly down the steps and across the lawn. + +On the velvet of the yielding turf his footsteps made no sound, his +figure cast no shadow, and it was not until he was almost upon Carleton +that the latter glanced up. Deep in thought he must have been, for to +Vaughan it seemed that it was for a full half minute, at the least, that +Carleton continued to gaze, hardly at him, but rather beyond, as if for +all that time he was unable to call his thoughts back to the present. +And even when he had done so, his greeting sounded scarcely cordial, as +if he would greatly have preferred being left alone without interruption +of any kind, however well intended. + +"Hello, Arthur," he said, "you've heard about it, I suppose." + +Vaughan nodded. "Yes, I've just heard." For a moment he faltered, +uncertain how to proceed; then, lamely enough, he added, "How was he +killed, Jack?" + +Carleton looked at him strangely; and, almost roughly, he answered, +"Killed? How should he have been killed? Fell off that rock, of course." +He paused for a moment in his turn; then, with a singular distortion of +the muscles of his mouth that gave to his expression a look almost +ghastly, he added, with a kind of savage emphasis, "He took one drink +too many, I suppose; poor devil; it's an ugly rock." + +Tone and words alike sounded utterly foreign to him. He stood staring at +Vaughan, as he spoke, but still as if he scarcely saw or heeded him, as +if he strove to map out for himself a path in the tangled net of +circumstance which threatened him. Vaughan, regarding him, drew a long +breath, and grasped his courage in both his hands. "Look here, Jack," he +said, forcing the words with effort, "Mr. Carleton and I were on the +piazza last night about half past ten. I told him I was going to turn +in, and he said he was going to do the same after he'd taken a little +walk around the place. I started for bed, and then I changed my mind.--I +went for a walk too." + +At once Carleton seemed to catch an unusual meaning in the other's tone, +and yet for a moment the real import of the words did not dawn on his +brain. Then suddenly he started, half drawing away. "You went for a +walk?" he echoed, and then, apparently throwing aside all caution, "What +do you mean, Arthur?" he cried, "What do you mean?" + +Vaughan, hesitating still, dreading the effect his words might have, +almost regretting that he had spoken at all, looked his friend squarely +in the face. "I saw it all, Jack," he said. + +Carleton's look was one of utter amazement. For an instant he stood +silent, staring at Vaughan as if doubtful of his senses. Then, "You saw +him run out of the house?" he cried. + +Vaughan nodded. "I saw it all," he repeated, "and afterward, by the +rock--" + +But to everything beyond his mere assent Carleton seemed to pay scant +heed. He stared at Vaughan still, but now with a strange mingling of +emotions showing in his face. And curiously enough, there seemed to +predominate, above all the rest, a look almost of savage relief. + +"That clenches it, then," he cried. "That settles the whole thing," and, +swift as thought, the next moment the expression faded. "No, no, +Arthur," he cried, with the most intense earnestness, "we can't; don't +you see we can't? See what would happen. There'd be the devil and all to +pay. Rose might not marry you, even. You know how proud she is. It isn't +a question of what I ought to do myself, Arthur. It's a question of the +family honor. It mustn't be known; it shan't. We'll tell the same story. +No one else knows, man. No one that would tell. It's the only way. Give +me your word, Arthur; give me your word." + +In silence Vaughan stood and looked at him. These were the same +temptations that had beset him the long night through; against which his +instinctive feeling of justice had struggled well-nigh in vain. And yet, +while gropingly and half-unconsciously he had felt that for him there +might be some excuse, somehow now, the frank cowardice of the plea, +coming from the man himself, jarred strangely upon him. And yet--was it +cowardice? Was there not more than a grain of truth in all that Carleton +had said? Would it not, after all, be for the best? For there, on the +other hand, lay the scandal to be faced; the notoriety of it all, +scarcely endurable; the hordes of prying reporters; the vulgar crowd of +eager seekers after mystery who would make of Eversley a very +Mecca--from all this he shrank, as he could see that Carleton shrank, +and yet, in spite of all, from the other alternative he shrank as well. + +"What do you want me to say?" he asked, and his tone was grudging; his +eyes this time did not seek Jack's face. + +Carleton drew a sigh of evident relief. "Say?" he echoed eagerly. "What +should you want to say? You were abed and asleep the whole time. You +went straight up-stairs and slept soundly all night. That's simple +enough, isn't it? Of course Henry'll swear that you told him that's what +you were going to do. Swear to it, and stick to it. That's all." + +Slowly Vaughan nodded. "And you the same?" he asked. + +"Of course," Carleton answered eagerly, and at his manner Vaughan found +himself all at once marveling. Whatever else of emotion he might feel in +the medley of sensations which swept over him, above everything else he +was conscious of a stinging disappointment, an open shame, for this +man--his friend. He turned away, his voice as he answered, sounding +dully in his own ears. "All right," he said. Then suddenly a new +difficulty struck him with stunning force. "But what's the use, Jack?" +he cried, "Mrs. Satterlee--" + +Carleton took one quick step forward. "Everything's the use," he said, +almost menacingly. "Do as I tell you, for God's sake! Don't worry about +the woman. Her testimony will be the same as ours. Nobody knows +anything. Can't you see? Or don't you know what sort of woman--" + +Across the lawn Rose Carleton's voice sounded, vibrant with anxiety. +"Arthur, Cousin Jack," she called, "you're wanted at once. The medical +examiner is here." + + * * * * * + +The _Columbian_ reporter, jotting down a note or two, rose from his seat +at the examiner's desk. "I'm very much obliged, sir," he said. "That +clears _that_ matter up. You've told me exactly what I wanted to know. +And on this last case that came in to-day, the coachman out at the +Carleton place, you say there won't be anything doing?" + +The medical examiner shook his head in decided negative. "The coroner's +verdict," he answered, "not of course speaking officially, or for +quotation in any way, will be one of accidental death. Of that I am +morally certain. There wasn't a shred of evidence to prove anything +different. Or, one chance in ten, perhaps, at the most, it might be +'death at the hands of persons unknown.'" + +The reporter sighed. "It's too bad, though, isn't it?" he rejoined. +"All the elements of a great story there somewhere"--he paused a moment; +then added thoughtfully, "I'm not jollying, you know; I really am +awfully disappointed. Because--it's a queer thing--if there was any +evidence for a starter, I could furnish some mighty interesting +information in a certain direction. Do you know anything about the wife +of this man that was killed, this Mrs. Satterlee?" + +The examiner shook his head. "Nothing," he answered, "excepting that I +couldn't help but notice that she was a remarkably beautiful woman. +Entirely out of her class as the wife of a coachman, I should have +said." + +"Exactly," the reporter exclaimed. "Well, now, listen to this. If +anybody wanted to hear some mighty funny evidence concerning this woman, +and concerning one of the men who was at the Carleton place the night +this happened--not gossip, you know, but something that I actually know +about, saw with my own eyes--if anybody wanted to get hold of that, why, +I rather think--" + +The examiner raised a restraining hand. "Well, don't think," he said +curtly. "You ought to know enough about the laws of evidence to stop you +from figuring that two and two make five. And, anyway, don't think too +hard. It's an awful strain on a man. Your business, as I understand it, +as a reporter on the _Columbian_, is to report facts, and not to come +any of these gum-shoe sleuth tricks." + +The reporter smiled, wrinkling his forehead whimsically. "Your ideas of +facts and mine," he rejoined, "might not tally, exactly, but in the +main, yes, I guess you're right." He rose to take his leave. "And +still," he said again, "I can't help wishing there was just a little +evidence to go to the district attorney's office. If there should be, +now--" + +"Well, there won't," snapped the examiner, "you needn't worry. I tell +you the case ends here." + +The reporter raised his eyebrows, at the same time making a deprecating +gesture with arms and shoulders. "Oh, all right, all right," he said +soothingly. "Just as you say." He held the door fully open now. "Oh, and +look," he added, "which Cummings was it that was spending the night out +there? The railroad man, or Jim?" + +The examiner did not look up from his writing. "Jim," he answered +shortly. + +The reporter half closed the door again. "Say," he observed engagingly, +"now that's another mighty funny thing--" + +The medical examiner wheeled suddenly on him. "Oh, come, come," he said, +"get out. You make me tired. You know too much altogether. There's one +thing you don't know, though. That I'm busy sometimes--even too busy to +listen to you and your 'funny things,' as you call them. Now, get out." + +The reporter was on the farther side of the threshold now. He paused for +one parting shot. "I'll bet you a dollar," he said, "that things don't +stop here for good. I'll bet you a dollar--I'll bet you five--that some +day we hear of this case again." + +There was no response. He waited a moment in silence. And then the door +at last closed behind him. + + + + +CHAPTER XIII + +VAUGHAN DOUBTS + + "Truth is the highest thing that man may keep." + _Chaucer._ + + +Once again the household at The Birches had settled down into its wonted +routine of daily life. Yet with a difference, too, for over the whole +place the shadow of the tragedy still hung. Henry Carleton, deeply +affected at the loss of a faithful and valued servant, showed his sorrow +by making no attempt to replace him, letting the motor lie idle, and +promoting Saunders, the former groom, to the coachman's vacant post. +Mrs. Satterlee herself, very pretty and very sad in deepest black, +continued to live alone at the cottage, going out but seldom and +seemingly well-nigh inconsolable in her grief. Just once, Rose Carleton, +feeling vaguely repulsed in the visit or two she had made to her one +time nurse, had gone to her father's study to question him in regard to +the widow's position. "Is it quite proper, father," she had asked, "for +her to live there now, all alone? Don't you think people may begin to +talk ill-naturedly about her?" + +Henry Carleton had sat thoughtfully for a time before he had made +answer, and then, "Poor woman," he said, with deep feeling, "this has +been a heavy blow for her. And but such a short time married, too. +Really, I hardly know what to say, and yet, for the present, at least, I +think I should allow her to remain. To me it would seem heartless to do +otherwise. Too much as if, just because poor Satterlee were of no +further use to me, I was anxious to cast off his widow also. I +understand your feeling in the matter, Rose, and I appreciate the +kindness you have shown in speaking of it, but in time of sorrow and +affliction, the breath of scandal seems but a secondary consideration. +Duty first, my child, come what may," and Rose, ashamed of her +prudishness, had risen and kissed him. + +"You're right, father," she cried hastily, "as you always are. If +there's anything I can do to make things easier for her, you've only to +tell me." Henry Carleton, with a little smile, had thanked her, and the +incident had been closed. + +Across Jack Carleton's path the shadow of Satterlee's tragic death +seemed to lie dark and unforgettable. For a day or two, indeed, morose +and grave, he continued to make The Birches his home; then, suddenly, he +took his departure, going back to his in-town lodgings, and The Birches +knew him no more. + +But of all the changes caused by the doings of the night, the most +marked had taken place in Arthur Vaughan. With him, indeed, all else +apart, things had been going badly enough to warrant discouragement. +First of all, after a week or two of indulgence in ever strengthening +hope, coming home one hot and breathless evening to his lodging house, +he had found an envelope with Small and White's name in the corner +awaiting him on the table in the hall. With it there appeared no bulky +parcel of type-written sheets, and on the instant his heart beat rapidly +at twice its usual speed. Could it be at last the turning point in the +long, straight path of disappointments? Somehow he could not bring +himself to open the letter there, and in spite of weariness, of the +almost overpowering heat of the day, he ran up the three flights of +stairs, never stopping until he had reached the shelter of his own bare +and simply furnished room. + +Even then he still hesitated, scarcely even bringing himself to glance +at the missive that burned in his hand. Once more he looked about him, +at the familiar, friendly old arm-chair, at the battered desk in the +window, with the manuscript sheets of his new story scattered over its +surface, then out at the restful green of the big elm tree whose +spreading branches almost touched his window, screening the whole room +with their welcome shade. All of these he had come to know and hail as +friends, and natural enough it seemed to him that now in the hour of his +joy he should wish to take them into his confidence, and to bid them +rejoice with him at last. With a final look from the window down into +the quiet, deserted street below, he resolutely tore open the letter, +and ran his eye over the first line or two of its contents--then, with +a sharp intake of breath he raised his eyes, and stood silent and +motionless, his face suddenly white, as though he had received some +mortal blow. It was over, then. The first three lines were enough. +He knew that stereotyped form so well. "We are returning to you +to-day"--that was sufficient--he could have gone on and completed the +letter, with scarcely the miscalling of a single word. Yet presently, +with a self-contemptuous smile, he took up the letter again, and read +it, slowly and deliberately, as a man might run a sword inch by inch +into his body, stopping now and again to give it a little extra twist or +turn stoically to watch himself twinge and wince with the pain, eyes +closing, mouth contorted. + +And anguish of soul, indeed, every whit as bitter Arthur Vaughan now +knew. Hardly had he realized, after his friendly chat with Henry +Carleton, and the words of encouragement he had received from that +practised man of affairs, how thoroughly he had discounted the future. +Down in the bottom of his heart he knew now that for a fortnight he had +really cherished the belief that all would at last come right, that the +book would be taken, that his name would be made, that his marriage with +Rose would be but a question of a longer or shorter time; and now, hopes +dashed, he was back again where he had started; nay, worse off, indeed, +for another possible chance was lost to him, another publisher had set +the seal of disapproval on his work--oh, it was all too bitter! + +Mechanically he read and re-read the letter. All were there--all the +little catch words, the honeyed phrases which said one thing, yet were +made to say it so smoothly and courteously that at the end he half +doubted that after all, his work had been refused;--all were there. "We +are returning"--yes, that seemed enough, almost, but still they had to +go on,--"manuscript you have been so kind as to submit,"--oh, of course, +it had been such a kindness on his part,--"reading it has occasioned us +much pleasure,"--pleasure! Of what sort, Vaughan wondered; "it has many +obvious merits,"--why didn't they take it, then?--"and some equally +obvious defects."--Ah, yes, the defects; that was it, of course, the +defects; that phrase, he felt, at least was sincere.--"Only after +careful deliberation--at last unwillingly compelled to come to the +conclusion--present state of the public taste--certain practical +considerations inevitably to be considered--on the whole--again thanking +you--" More and more hastily, as he neared the end, Vaughan read, almost +with a feeling of physical disgust. Then he tossed the letter on his +desk, and stood, with folded arms, looking out once more into the silent +street, where the shadows were beginning to fall deeper and deeper, +merging gradually into the dusk of twilight. At last he spoke. "I +wouldn't care," he said, "if it was bad work; if it was work that I'd +slighted; if it was work I'd done in a hurry, letting a word and a +phrase go when I knew that somewhere, if I hunted long enough, I could +find the one that really fitted. But it isn't like that. I can't +reproach myself. It's been three years of the best I've got in me. +Everything in the world I know of style, every bit of incident I wanted, +every turn and twist of character. It isn't vanity; it isn't conceit; I +don't care _who_ wrote the book; it's good, and I know it's good; and +yet to have them, one after the other--" + +Practical, prosaic, monotonous, boomed the supper gong. With a sorry +laugh Vaughan turned from the window, and then paused, irresolute. Must +he go down again, as he had done so many times before; to compare +himself, as he knew that in his present mood he so inevitably must, to +his fellow lodgers around the well-worn board. The clerk in the +down-town bank, the dapper young shoe salesman, the would-be humorist +who made no secret of the fact that he was "pulling down" fifty a week +out of his "knock 'em silly" insect powder, the old graybeard who +tottered away each morning to haunt the reading-room of the public +library, staying there the livelong day until he tottered home again at +night--look at it as he would, one fact remained: these men, all of +them, however much he might see in them to criticize, were, each in his +way, successful men. Each, in his turn, to do them full justice, had +stepped up at the sound of the bell, had wrestled his fall with the +practical world, and had come out on top. And he, as the world judges +success, had failed and failed, and now had failed once more. A money +getter, it seemed, he would never be. Never before had his inability to +make and lay away the dollars struck him with such tantalizing force. +What good was he in the world, he asked himself, and with a sudden envy +for every plain, practical, plodding man who was doing his daily round +in the treadmill for his appointed wage, he felt himself to be an idle +dreamer, absolutely unfitted for battle with the sane and commonplace +world in which he lived; and with a savage fluency of bitter self +disgust of which he was for ever after ashamed, he cursed himself, and +his art, tore the letter vengefully into little pieces, slammed the door +behind him, and went grimly down to his waiting supper. + +It was ten o'clock the next morning, when, no whit less discouraged and +sick at heart, he contrived to gain an audience with Henry Carleton. +Even the great man's unfailing affability, this morning, it seemed, even +kindlier and more pronounced than ever, for once failed to awaken in +Vaughan's downcast face any semblance of an answering gleam. "Bad news, +Mr. Carleton," he said, briefly, "it's been rejected again." + +Carleton's face clouded with ready sympathy. + +"Why, my dear boy," he cried, "I am sorry indeed. That is a shame. I had +trusted so much that this time you would be successful. Indeed, I had +almost in a way begun to feel as if your success were mine. I can't +begin to tell you how sorry I am." + +Gloomily Vaughan nodded assent. "It does make things bad," he said. "I +hoped so much. And now I'm as far from Rose as ever." + +Carleton cleared his throat. "My dear Vaughan," he said, "since you've +chanced to mention the subject, I believe I ought to tell you that I've +been thinking a great deal of late--as is only natural--about the +position you and Rose are in. You know, of course, that I desire only +her happiness, and yours, too. You know that. You believe that, I'm +confident. Do you not, my boy?" + +Vaughan, although not altogether without a vague feeling of uneasiness, +hastened to assent to this self-evident proposition, and Carleton at +once went on. + +"Now then, my only feeling in the whole matter is this. You're neither +of you really happy now; not in the least. Long engagements, as a rule, +never are provocative of much happiness. And of course, as we've said +before, you wouldn't want to get married, and have me support you. No, +no, I'm sure you wouldn't wish that; no, of course you wouldn't--" he +spoke a little hastily, himself answering the question he had appeared +to ask--"and so," he continued, "I have been wondering, wouldn't it be +better--fairer, perhaps, to Rose--not to see her so much for a while. +She's very young, you know. And if it gets to be understood that you two +are practically engaged, she's cut off from a great deal of pleasure +which a young girl at her age ought rightfully to enjoy. So why won't it +be best for you to go back in earnest to your work--try as you've never +tried before--and I know that ultimately you'll succeed. I envy you your +ability, Arthur; I envy you your choice of a profession; and I know +that success is only a matter of time--only a matter of time--" he +repeated a little dreamily. "But you can't do it and have all this +strain of a long love affair at the same time. I know how that distracts +one; it would scarcely be worthy the name of love if it were otherwise. +I remember--" + +He sat silent for a moment, as if lost in the contemplation of the past; +and then suddenly coming to the present again, continued, in a far +brisker and more practical tone, "And so, about Rose--remember, I'm not +attempting to dictate, I'm not urging it, even; I'm only suggesting to +your own sense of what is fairest and in the end best for both of you, +how it would be if perhaps you didn't see her for a time. How does it +seem to you, Arthur? I want you to be perfectly frank with me, of +course, just as I have been with you." + +To some men, possessing the defects of their virtues, any appeal to +their spirit of fairness transforms their strongest into their weakest +side. Vaughan nodded miserably. "Perhaps," he said, a little faintly, +"you're right. I hadn't thought of it in just that way before. But I +want to do what's best for Rose, of course. And I'll own up that having +the book rejected this last time has taken all the confidence out of me. +Perhaps you're right. Perhaps I'm not being fair to her." + +"I'm very glad," Carleton said cordially, "that you take such a sensible +view of it. It isn't the easiest thing for a man in your position to do; +I appreciate that. And of course we have one other thing to consider. +It's hardly probable that Rose is going to take the same view of all +this that we do--at least, not with any great enthusiasm. She's very +fond of you, Vaughan, as is only right and natural. But all women in the +world, where their lovers are concerned, are hopelessly and by nature +entirely selfish and jealous, to a degree, of anything that keeps the +man in the case away from them, jealous even of so worthy a thing as a +man's life work; and a man's life work, after all, as you must realize +now as perhaps never before, is a terribly important thing. So you will +have to do your best to try to make her see the common sense side of all +this. And that you'll do, I'm sure." + +To Vaughan it appeared as if he found himself suddenly involved, really +against his will; arrayed on the same side with Henry Carleton to fight +the battle of stern common sense, without having any very clear idea of +how he had happened to get there. "Do you mean," he asked, "that you +think I ought not to see her at all?" + +Henry Carleton's success had been too great to permit of the slightest +risk of endangering it. "Oh, by no means," he made haste to answer. "Run +out and see her whenever you feel like it--say once a month or so. But +to come as an ordinary friend, and not as an accepted suitor, I think +perhaps would be the wiser way. That commends itself to you also, I have +no doubt." + +Vaughan's expression was that of a man to whom nothing now mattered. +"Oh, yes," he answered wearily, "that commends itself to me. That +strikes me as very sensible indeed." + +The complete discouragement in his tone caused Carleton to eye him +keenly. "One other thing," he said, hastening to shift the topic with +unusual abruptness, "about the book. I don't want you to feel in the +least cast down. We'll find a publisher yet; I'm confident of it. And +this next time, let's start fair and square. Give me the manuscript, and +let me try negotiations in my own way. I think I may almost promise that +you'll not find yourself disappointed." + +The expression on Vaughan's face did not seem to indicate that he by any +means shared Carleton's confidence. "We can't do worse," he said, +perhaps a little ungraciously. "If you think there's any good in going +ahead, why, all right. My confidence is gone. I'll send the great work +over to you to-morrow; and you can send it off on its travels again, or +burn it. I don't know which would be the more sensible of the two." + +Henry Carleton shook his head reprovingly. "Oh, come now," he protested, +"don't insult yourself that way. We'll show them yet." He extended a +benevolent hand as he spoke. Some one had once described Carleton's +method of getting rid of his callers as imperceptible, but inevitable. +"And run out and see Rose soon," he added kindly, "have a good long talk +with her, and fully explain your side of the case. She won't fail to +grasp it, I'm sure. She's nobody's fool, if her own father does say so." + +Somehow Vaughan found himself outside the office, outside the building +itself, walking along the street in a kind of maze, before his ordinary +powers of intellect again asserted themselves. Curiously enough, for one +who had agreed so readily and so entirely with everything that Henry +Carleton had proposed, he now appeared to be actuated by a certain +feeling of resentment against that worthiest of men. "Confound him," he +muttered disrespectfully. "How on earth does he manage it? He can turn +me around like a weathercock. I never make such a fool of myself as I do +when I talk with him. I never saw such a man. I can think of twenty +things now that I might have said, but when I needed them, I'll be +hanged if I could lay a finger on one. And if I had, I don't doubt but +what the next minute he'd have shown me where I was wrong. He's always +right. That's the puzzle about him. He's so fair and just about things; +you can't dispute him; and yet, for all it seems like such an idiotic +thing to say, he's right, and you know all the time he's wrong. Confound +the man. He's one too many for me." + + * * * * * + +His talk with Rose came an evening or so later on the broad piazza at +The Birches. For half an hour Vaughan had sought vainly to bring himself +to make a beginning, with his attention in the meantime miserably +distracted from all that Rose Carleton had to say, finding it indeed +hard to assent with any great degree of pleasure to plans for a future +which he now felt was for ever barred to him. So noticeable and so +unlike himself did his inattention finally become that the girl stopped +short in something she was saying to turn his face toward hers, +scrutinizing it as though she sought to read the trouble there. "What's +gone wrong, Arthur?" she asked, "nothing that I've done to displease +you?" + +Vaughan's answer to the latter part of the question was not made in +words. And then, as he again raised his head, at last he made his +explanation. "It's this, dear," he said. "I happened to go in to see +your father the other day about the book--to bother him with more bad +news--and he began to talk, apropos of that, about ourselves. He was +very pleasant--very fair--I must acknowledge that--but--he thinks that +for a man with no more prospects than I have, that I have no right to +hold you to anything like an engagement; that it isn't fair to you; and +all that. I suppose, though he was too polite to put it in just that +way, the implication would be that I ought never to have spoken to you +at all. And so--I didn't see, for the life of me, just what there was +for me to say. He asked me if I didn't agree with him--it was an awkward +question, sort of a 'you'll be damned if you don't; you'll be damned if +you do' sort of affair--and between being a fool or appearing to be a +knave, I chose the role that seems to come so easily to me always; I +chose to be the fool, and stammered out that I supposed I did. And now I +don't know what to do; in a way I've given him my word not to visit you +as if we were engaged; in a way it seems as if he were right, too; and +yet--" the unfinished sentence was eloquent of all his doubt and misery. + +He might have been prepared for almost any answer other than the girl's +laugh of real amusement. And on the instant, wrought up and perplexed as +he was, the surprise of it made him draw himself up with offended +dignity. Reading his mood with all a woman's skill, the girl drew closer +to him, and raised her face to his. "Kiss me," she cried imperiously, +and when, with a rather ill-grace, he had complied, "There," she said, +"that's better; don't imagine you can get rid of me as easily as you +think. My affections aren't to be trifled with like that, I'll have you +know." + +Half vexed still, yet with a feeling of immense relief, he gazed at her +with a certain pathos of indecision. "Then you don't think--" he began. + +She broke in upon him. "My dear," she said, "I'm going to lecture you. I +might tell you, of course, if I wanted to, that you were perfection, +possessing no faults whatever; but it wouldn't be true. You've got them, +just as everybody else in the world has. And your greatest fault of all +is lack of confidence in yourself. You're too willing to take everybody +else's opinion in place of your own. That's what you've done now. And +on the other hand, my father, who's one of the best men that ever +lived, I believe--every daughter has that privilege of belief about her +father--my father isn't without his faults, either. And his besetting +one is to think that because he's made a success of so many things, that +that gives him a sort of divine right to run everybody else's affairs +for them, too. In just one word, speaking of course with the greatest +respect, he's a good deal of an autocrat. And so, when I laughed just +now, it was because I was thinking, when it came to an argument, what +possible chance you, with your modesty, could have had against him, with +all his certainty of being right. And the funny thing--the thing neither +of you seemed to think of--" she added audaciously, "is that I've got +very distinct ideas of my own on most subjects, and especially about +the merits of the man I'm going to marry. Oh, Arthur, please--now +it's all rumpled--well, anything's better than having you with that +'farewell-for-ever' look on your face. So, you see, I refuse to release +you; with the greatest respect, as I say, for my father's judgment on +almost every other subject under the sun." + +Vaughan, as he properly should have been, appeared vastly cheered. He +drew a long breath; then as quickly again looked troubled. "But about +coming out here," he objected. "I don't want to be a sneak. And I've +agreed not to come; only once a month, that is, and I believe," he added +a little ruefully, "I undertook the contract of persuading you to assent +to the change of program. So now there are new difficulties. If I report +your insubordination, not to say rebellion, to your father, there'll be +trouble all around, and if I lie about it, and report entire success, +your father will be delighted, but he'll be the only one. You're so +clever, I guess I'll have to leave things to you. You're bound to get me +into trouble; you've got to get me out again." + +"Now," the girl returned, "you're showing your true brilliancy. And from +what I know of my father, I think we will--what's the word they use in +the melodramas--dissemble. That's it. We'll dissemble. You just tell my +father that you talked with me, and that I very sensibly agreed with +him. That will put his mind at rest. Poor father. He has so many things +he's busy about I should never forgive myself if I caused him one worry +more. Yes, I think that will be very satisfactory. The best way for +every one." + +Vaughan did not appear greatly to relish her plans. "Satisfactory," he +echoed. "Seeing you once a month. Well, if you think that's clever, I +must say--" + +"Seeing you _here_," the girl interrupted. "There's a vast difference in +that. This isn't the only place in the world. Really, Arthur, for a +young man of your inventiveness--" + +She paused, her eyes alight with tender merriment. At last he seemed to +comprehend. "Oh, yes," he nodded, "I see. In town, I suppose, but then +there's always somebody sees you, and then your father hears about it--" + +"Stupid," she flashed at him. "Aren't there better places than walking +down the Avenue, or going around to picture galleries? What's the fun in +that? Isn't there a river not so far away? Aren't there woods all about +us romantic enough even for you? That's all easy to arrange. It'll be +quite fun working it all out. But the main thing to manage, Arthur--" +her tone suddenly altered--"is that nothing shall ever come between us. +To try to keep apart two people who really love each other as we do, +just because of anything like money, or fame, why, really, my dear, +that's nothing short of a crime." + +He nodded, yet a little grimly. "In theory, dear, you're quite right," +he answered. "But how about the practice? Money! Fame! We can talk about +them all we choose as little things, when we haven't them, and the +grapes, perhaps, are a little sour, but how they count, after all. Poor +Love! Love wasn't made for a practical world. His bow and arrow is +effectual enough, when there's no fiercer game abroad than the hearts of +girls and boys, but how can he fight against real warriors--shields of +gold and trumpets of brass. Poor Love! Who could blame him for running +away?" + +She took his hand with a gesture almost maternal. "My dear, my dear," +she said, "you mustn't talk like that. It's sacrilege, almost. If he +were the true god of love, he wouldn't fly. And his darts would pierce +the golden shield, and put the trumpets to rout. You, Arthur, a lover of +all things beautiful, to dream of deserting, of arraying yourself on the +side of Mammon." + +She spoke lightly, but with a real meaning behind her words. He seemed, +however, to be unconvinced, for when he replied it was with a bitterness +that startled her. "I don't care," he said, "I've missed it somehow. +I've made an awful failure of things. Look at me! Making no bluffs, +as lots of men do, keeping back nothing, I'm earning a little over a +thousand dollars a year. And other men--classmates--yes, confound it, +and men who came out of college five years later than I did--and worse +than that, men who never went to college at all--they can make money; +good money, lots of them; a few, big money, even; and here I am, trying +to publish a book that never will be published; and which, if it should +be, nobody'd ever read. Oh, the world's pretty near right, after all; +nearer right than we think; I'm labeled at just about my face value: a +thousand dollars a year." + +She laid her hand lightly on his lips. "No, no," she cried, "you don't +understand. You've been brooding over this so long you've lost all sense +of proportion between money and other things. I'll tell you what I +think. I think making money's only a knack. I believe some men are born +with it, and others aren't. Look at the men who start with a pack of +rags on their back, and die worth millions. It's in them; it's no credit +to them; maybe the reverse. No one man can be everything. Some men can +build railroads, but I couldn't imagine you doing anything like that if +you tried your honest best for a hundred years. No, my dear, because +money seems to you to be the thing you need the most just now, you've +been so envious of the men who are able to make it quickly that you've +forgotten all that you have to be thankful for; something that very few +men have granted to them at all, even a hundredth part of what you +possess--and that's the precious perception of the artist; the power to +see things which the ordinary man can never see. You'll succeed, I know +you will, but even if you never should--by the world's standards, I +mean--you ought never to repine. Read your Browning again, dear; even I +can appreciate that. 'One who never turned his back but marched breast +forward, never doubted clouds would break'--how can any man turn faint +heart after that? The truth, dear, that's everything, after all." + +Very humbly and very reverently he stooped and kissed her. "You're +right, Rose," he said, "and I've been wrong. Forgive me. But you know +yourself--sometimes it's hard; sometimes the world's standards grip you +so that you can't keep to your own. But I've been wrong, and I admit it +most humbly. You've a very wise little head on your shoulders, dear, and +I thank you for setting me right. I won't go backsliding again in a +hurry, I'll promise you." + +There was a long silence. Then at last abruptly Vaughan spoke, "Rose," +he said, "what you've just been saying has reminded me of something I +wanted to ask you about. It's a hypothetical case, that a friend of mine +put to me; simple enough, seemingly, yet hard for me to decide. What +would you say to this? Suppose some friend of yours had done something +for which there was no possible excuse; committed a crime, we'll say. +Suppose you had it in your power to condemn him, by telling something +that you knew, or, by keeping silent, could clear him for ever. What is +your duty?" + +The girl did not hesitate. "To tell what I know, friend or no friend," +she answered. + +Vaughan nodded. "That's what I supposed you'd say," he rejoined. "Now go +a step further. Suppose it were I that had done the wrong. Would you +tell then?" + +The girl's answer came as direct as before. "You," she cried, "never; +never in the world. I couldn't. Any one but you." + +Vaughan's laugh had little of mirth in it. "And yet," he said, "if we +are worshippers of the truth, which it is so easy to prate of and so +hard to live, where is the logical distinction? Why should a little +matter of personal liking for anybody stand in your way?" + +The girl was silent. Then, unwillingly enough, "No, I suppose you're +right," she said. "But it wouldn't be logic that would decide me. I +_couldn't_ expose you, that would be all. I'd acknowledge to myself the +wrong I was doing, but I'd go ahead with it just the same. Perhaps +that's because I'm a woman, and trust too much to intuition. If I were a +man, I don't know. As you say, there's no question of the real right and +wrong of it. One should speak, regardless of everything else. And making +it a question of degree does put the whole thing in a terribly +unsatisfactory light. A stranger I wouldn't hesitate about. You, I could +never betray, though I knew I was doing wrong. Midway between, all +grades of hatred, liking, love. No, it isn't satisfactory, is it? Oh, I +don't know how to answer, Arthur. But we've only a few minutes left, +dear. Let's not spoil it by being too grave. I'm glad that it's only a +hypothetical question, at any rate. Not an actual one." + +"Yes," Vaughan answered, "I'm glad too." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV + +THE QUEST OF TRUTH + + "And broader and brighter + The Gleam flying onward, + Wed to the melody, + Sang thro' the world; + + * * * + + After it, follow it, + Follow the Gleam." + _Tennyson._ + + +It was nine o'clock on a cold, bleak evening in late December. A bitter, +stinging, northwest wind raged unopposed up and down the length of +the passive, shivering, all but deserted Avenue; buffeting the few +unfortunate stragglers still out-of-doors, making shrill music among the +chimney-tops, shouting and storming at fast-closed doors, and tracing +every moment deeper and deeper its bold, yet delicate design on rattling +window and frost-embroidered pane. + +A pleasant thing, indeed, on this wild night, to turn indoors to some +place where comfort lay; and for a moment to glance at the little room +where Professor Emerson sat alone among his books, reading peacefully, +and with such absorption, that to the tumult without he paid no heed. +His venerable, white-bearded figure lay for the greater part almost +wholly in shadow, and the light of the study lamp, shining full upon his +features, brought out in vivid contrast the strong and well-etched +outline of his face. It was a face noble and sensitive, with a certain +clear-cut delicacy of line; pale as if hewn from the very marble, and +yet as if lighted by the cold, clear fire of the spirit within, so fine, +so keen, so intellectual still, that one must needs peer more closely to +discover the network of tiny, almost imperceptible wrinkles; one must +needs note more carefully the trembling of the thin, blue-veined hand +that held the book, to realize that the professor, alert and active for +so many long years, was but a professor emeritus now; and that one was +gazing on a man feeble, infirm and old. + +Peacefully he sat there, and indeed, in that quiet room, on an ear far +quicker and readier than his own the fury of the gale would scarce have +struck disturbingly. Blow the wind as it might around the casement, rug +and curtain and tapestry laughed it to scorn; whistle as it would down +the chimney, the mounting warmth of the crackling flame met and repulsed +it at every turn. Verily the little room, restful and serene, the +scholar's orderly abode, seemed a sanctuary alike from the storms of +nature and from the storms of the world. + +Presently, through the stillness of the house, a bell pealed sharply. To +the old man, however, it must have sounded but faintly, for at once, +with but a momentary half glance upward from his book, he fell to +reading again. Nor was his servant's knock on the study door enough. It +was only when he had entered the room, and had approached respectfully +almost to within arm's length, that the professor at last gave heed. +"Mr. Vaughan, sir," said the man, "wishes to know if you could see him +for a little while." + +At once the old scholar seemed to rouse himself. Closing his book, he +laid it aside. "Mr. Vaughan," he repeated, "why, yes indeed. Ask him to +step right up, please," and a moment later footsteps sounded in the hall +outside, and Arthur Vaughan came quickly into the room. + +Greetings exchanged, the old man beamed benevolently across the fire at +his former pupil. "This is very kind of you, Arthur," he said, "I'm +always glad to see any of my old boys; and I don't get the chance so +often now. And what is it to-night? Something you wished to ask me +about, or did you just drop in for a chat?" + +Vaughan hesitated for a moment before replying. "A little of both, +Professor," he said at length. "I wanted to see how you were, for one +thing; and for another, I had something on my mind that I wanted to get +your opinion on. I always used to come to you in college, when things +bothered me, and I thought I'd do the same now. This is a hypothetical +case--a question of conduct--and one of the puzzling ones that seem to +have right on both sides." + +Instantly the old man's interest was awakened. "A question of conduct," +he repeated, "by all means let me hear it, Arthur. There's nothing +more interesting than that, ever. Matthew Arnold, you know--'conduct +three-fourths of life.' Very likely so, of course, and yet I always +wondered just how he fixed it with such exactness. Why not five-eighths, +I used to wonder, or seven-eighths; why just the seventy-five per cent. +He thought himself, as I remember it, that he'd pitched it low, and +Stevenson, on the other hand, considered it high. Well, that was +Arnold, all over. A little arbitrary in such things; a little given to +catch-words, perhaps; black letter, you know; and yet, for all that, +a great critic, a great debater, and to my thinking, a great poet as +well. Well, well, there I go rambling again. This old head-piece, I'm +beginning to think, Arthur, is getting pretty shaky now. Well, to come +back to the point. A question of conduct; that's it, isn't it?" + +Vaughan smiled. "To tell the truth, Professor," he answered, "if I were +to consult my own pleasure, I'd rather try to keep you rambling, as you +call it, than to come down to any dry question of right and wrong. But +as long as I have this on my mind, I suppose I'd better get down to +business, and save the ramble for another time. This is the case, +Professor. Suppose a man has a friend--not a mere acquaintance, you +understand--but one of those rare things, a real friend, for whom he +would do almost anything under heaven, if it would help him in any way. +And then suppose that suddenly, absolutely by chance, he comes upon the +knowledge that this friend has committed a crime--a crime so dastardly +that he can atone for it only with his life. No one else in the whole +world--" for just an instant he stopped, then with a shrug of his +shoulders, went on. "Yes, we'll let it go at that, I think. No one +else in the whole world knows the facts. He holds his friend's life +practically in his hands. And so--the question comes. Shall he turn +informer? What is his duty? Shall he treat his friend as if he were some +ordinary criminal whom he had never seen--should be at all eagerness to +drag him before the bar of justice, and have him pay the penalty of his +crime? Or has friendship some claim? Has he the right to stand aside, +shoulders shrugged, mouth tightly closed? Has he the right to say, 'No +business of mine. Let the man settle it with his conscience and his +God?' Has he a choice? Or is he bound to step forward? Is he dragged +into the cursed business against his will? Can he keep silence, or must +he speak?" + +He stopped abruptly. There was a silence, a silence so long that Vaughan +was beginning to wonder whether or not the old man's brain had fully +grasped his words. But when at last the professor spoke, it was evident +that the pause had been given only to careful thought; that no detail of +the problem had been lost on him. "Is any one else, Arthur," he asked, +"supposed to be involved? Or is it simply the case of the man himself? +Are there others to be considered, or does he stand alone, confronted +with the deed he has done?" + +Vaughan's answering laugh had nothing of mirth in it. "Any one else," he +echoed, "I should say so. Relatives; friends; a woman's heart, perhaps, +to be broken. And the man who is confronted with the problem--it may +mean loss of his own happiness as well. And a name, too; a family name +that's been maintained with honor for centuries, almost, one might say. +That's to be dragged in the dust, if it all becomes known. Is any one +else involved?" He laughed again. + +There was a pause before the professor spoke, and then, "Could the man +make atonement, Arthur?" he asked. + +Vaughan's tone, when he answered, was low and sad. "Never," he replied, +"never in a million years. It is a crime where mankind seek to do +justice, but where really there is no possible atonement. The crime is +the taking of the life of a fellow-man." + +The old man slowly nodded. "And he refuses to come forward?" he asked. + +"He refuses to come forward," Vaughan answered, "though of his motives, +perhaps it is hardly fair to pretend to judge. Still, strictly speaking, +I suppose that scarcely alters the case. Whatever his idea in keeping +silent, in any event he does so." + +"And of his guilt," said the professor, "I understand you to make no +question. That, as I understand it, is one of the fixed hypotheses of +the problem, and not open to discussion." + +Vaughan inclined his head. "Exactly," he returned. "Of his guilt, +unfortunately, there is no question. That we may regard as fixed." + +Long and earnestly the old man pondered. "There is a difficulty, of +course," he said, at length. "Under ordinary circumstances, or rather, +perhaps, I should say, under extraordinary circumstances, under the +hypothesis, I mean, that there existed in all the world only the +murdered man, the criminal, yourself, and the tribunal of justice, then +I suppose the case would be tolerably clear. I suppose no sophistry +could convince us that the incidental fact of a personal friendship +should in reality make the slightest difference as to what your duty +would be. But then there enters the complication of which you speak--the +rights of the other parties involved. As to whether there were others +concerned, my question was almost a needless precaution. Of course there +are. No man, even the lowest, ever lives to himself alone. Consciously +or unconsciously, he has to influence some one about him, for good or +evil, as the case may be. But considering everything, even the sorrow +and misfortune that must result from it, I am of opinion, Arthur, that +the man should speak. It would be hard, of course; terribly hard; but +life _is_ hard. And of the ultimate standard of right and wrong, we may +scarcely hope to judge. All that we may hope to do is to act up to the +truth as we see it. And here, Arthur, I believe the duty is plain. To +what the man has seen he must bear witness, at whatever cost. That way +lies right, and to follow the easier, the more human course, and to keep +silence, that way lies wrong." + +Vaughan had sat listening with downcast eyes. In spite of himself, he +could not raise them to meet the professor's glance, though within him +his mind, mutinous, rebelled. "But doesn't friendship count?" he said at +last. "Doesn't loyalty go for anything? Can a man play the traitor, as +you would have him do, and not be branded false for all eternity?" + +The professor's gaze, serene and calm, never for an instant faltered. +"Arthur," he said, "you don't believe that--not a word of it. You're +trying to make good soldiers enlist in a bad cause. Friendship, loyalty; +yes, they are fine things; scarce anything finer, perhaps; but where the +true allegiance of these fine things belongs--that it is the truth that +transcends all else--that, Arthur, you know, in your inmost heart, as +well as I." + +Vaughan sat silent, with clouded brow. And then, as the pause +lengthened, he made another effort still. "But, Professor, even if the +individual amounts to little, isn't there the further question of the +other matter of which I have spoken--the question of an honored family +name. That, at least, Professor, is no small thing. To bring a stain +upon it, without the most absolute necessity for so doing, doesn't it +seem, in a way, like seeking to debase the currency? A name, graced by +generations of those who have borne it worthily, passes always current +for patriotism, integrity, honesty; the name becomes of itself a force +for the public good. And now, suddenly debase that name--smirch and mar +it--and you have struck a blow at the very foundation of things; you +shake the confidence of the people at large in something which they had +come to regard as one of the unquestioned bulwarks of the city and the +state. Isn't that something to be well considered? Should not the man +see to it, that in righting, or trying to right, a wrong for which he is +not responsible, he does not go too far, and instead of reparation, +leave behind him, in its place, a scar--a blot--that even time can not +erase. Isn't that the solution, sir? Should not the man keep still?" + +For a time the old man sat silent, weighing Vaughan's words well, before +he at length made answer. "That is an argument, Arthur," he replied, "a +plausible argument; yet hardly, I should say, sound. Debasing the +currency is an excellent figure, yet there is a currency as much higher +than that of family names, as gold outvalues copper. And to seek to keep +the copper inviolate, while at the same time forced to debase the real +currency--the standard gold--would that be the path of wisdom? Names, +you say; great names; but they seem such a small thing in the wide +universe itself; a name; a great name; a generation of great names; all +but the tiniest dust motes shimmering across the sunbeam which gives +them all the luster they may claim. Is the dust speck of reputation +worth saving, if its rescue means the shutting out of the +sunbeam--Truth?" + +In his turn Vaughan sat silent, seeking vainly for +words--thoughts--arguments--that would not come. At length he rose, his +hands clenched, the struggle going on within him showing in every line +of his sensitive face. "I don't know; I don't know;" he cried, "I have +to think it out myself. But I thank you, Professor, for your kindness; I +hope I haven't tired you," and taking the old man's hand in farewell, he +made his way hurriedly out of the room. + + + + +CHAPTER XV + +MURDER WILL OUT + + "Murder, though it have no tongue, will speak + With most miraculous organ." + _Shakespeare._ + + +Henry Carleton and his daughter sat in the library at The Birches, +Carleton writing at the long table, Rose, with easy chair drawn up in +front of the fire, busied with her embroidery. Presently Henry Carleton +laid aside his pen, and rising, walked over to the bookcase; where he +found the volume and verified the quotation which he sought; then, with +a smile of satisfaction, he walked back to the table again, and for an +instant stood there, glancing down contentedly at the orderly +arrangement of papers and documents now completed and laid aside, +awaiting the morrow. + +The expression of his face was serene and benevolent. His very +attitude--even, indeed, something about the atmosphere of the room +itself--breathed of the man at peace with himself and with the world. +And such a man, at the moment, in very truth Henry Carleton was, and +with every reason therefor besides. The routine of his well-ordered day +was drawing to a close. From the dinner table he had gone direct to his +evening paper--from the paper to his desk. The little white heap of +envelopes that stood ready for the morrow's mailing bore witness to his +labors there. The big check book at their side was closed--modestly and +becomingly closed--but if the observer's eye had been able to penetrate +the cover, and for a moment to look at the stubs within, his admiration +for Henry Carleton could but have been increased by what he would there +have seen. One check, made payable to the Cripples' Home, was for five +hundred dollars; there were a half dozen more, payable to other +charities, for a hundred each; there was one for twenty-five drawn to +the order of a poor veteran in Eversley village. Surely witnesses better +than these no man could well desire. What wonder that Henry Carleton was +content. + +And now, with business out of the way, with his household and his +private affairs all in order, this man of so many talents and virtues +had turned to his pet avocation--literature--and was forging busily +ahead on his scholarly essay, _Character Drawing in the Early English +Novel_. Glancing over what he had written, at once he spoke aloud, half +to his daughter, half--the most important half--to himself. This +thinking aloud over his literary work was a favorite method with him. He +liked to get Rose's ideas and criticisms--sometimes, to his surprise, +they appeared upon reflection to contain much of good sense--and apart +from this, he believed that it was in this way he could pass the fairest +and the most searching judgment upon his labors. And after all, the +question of benefit apart, the sound of his own voice was in nowise +distasteful to him. Nor could he well be blamed. It was a pleasant voice +and well-modulated, and through its medium he liked to think around his +subject, to get the swing and cadence of each varying phrase, before at +length he came to make his last "fair copy," and thus to transmit his +ideas to paper in final form. + +"'Sir Charles Grandison,' Rose," he read, "'is beyond question most +skilfully drawn, with all the author's great command of those quiet +little strokes and touches, one superimposed on the other, which at last +give us the portrait of the man, standing forth from the canvas in all +the seeming reality of flesh and blood.' How does that strike you, +Rose?" + +The girl wrinkled her pretty forehead "Well, father," she answered, a +little dubiously, "for one thing, I don't know that I think it's quite +true. I always thought Sir Charles was a terrible prig; horribly +self-satisfied and altogether too much taken up with marveling at his +own virtues. I don't believe, you know, that a man like Sir Charles ever +could assume for any one 'the seeming reality of flesh and blood.' 'The +seeming reality of a lay figure,' I think, would be about the nearest +phrase one could properly use." + +Henry Carleton hastened to dissent. "No, no, my dear," he returned, +"you're quite wrong. Sir Charles wasn't perfect. Richardson was far too +clever to fall into that error. Sir Charles had his faults, and the +author in his concluding note takes special pains to draw attention to +them. He had his faults, but then his virtues so far outweighed them +that they sank into insignificance. Then there was Lovelace, whose +faults were so pronounced, and who had such a lack of any redeeming +virtues, that he is at once to be condemned as a character thoroughly +immoral, serviceable ethically only to point the awful example of +talents misspent and energies abused. And midway between the two is Mr. +B., who also had his failings, but who finally atoned for them by his +condescension in marrying Pamela. The trio, I think, point the way to +the author's whole philosophy of life. We have our faults, even the best +of us. We can't help them. But on the other hand, by constant endeavor, +we can do so much good that in the end we counterbalance the evil we do, +and so to speak obliterate it altogether. Very good, I think, and very +sound. An interesting title for a little essay, _The Balance_, don't you +think so, Rose?" + +The girl looked doubtful. "Why, no," she answered, "to tell the truth, I +don't. I should think that was a pretty dangerous doctrine. Good and +evil--debit and credit. I should think it was a very grave question +whether any amount of good could ever really balance one conscious evil +act. Take Mr. B., whom you've just quoted, for example. I could never, +in reading that book, think of him as anything but a great, hulking, +overbearing, arrogant animal, and the shameful way in which he treated +poor Sally Goodwin is a case right in point--that was something no man +could ever atone for, even by a series of the finest deeds in the world. +No, father, I think, if I were you, I shouldn't try to justify a theory +like that. I'm afraid it isn't sound." + +Henry Carleton frowned. "Nonsense," he cried, for him a little +irritably, "it's perfectly sound. I could give you a hundred examples. +'Take him for all in all,' as Shakespeare phrases it; that's what I +mean. Some evil has to be done with the good, unless we're going back to +pillories and hermitages, to keep ourselves unspotted from the world. +And in these days common sense forbids that. Your view is entirely +unreasonable, Rose." + +The girl seemed somewhat surprised at his unusual heat. With a little +laugh she rolled up her embroidery, quitted the easy chair, and coming +over to him, kissed him obediently on the cheek. "Well, don't mind me, +father," she said affectionately, "if you don't want my foolish ideas, +you shouldn't ask for them. One thing's sure; if your theory is right, +you can do about anything you want to now. Rob a bank--or commit any +dreadful crime you choose. Your balance must be so large you couldn't +overdraw it if you tried." + +Carleton laughed. "Well, perhaps that is rather a _reductio ad +absurdum_," he answered. "In any event, I don't think I'll experiment in +the way you mention. You're not going up-stairs already, are you, Rose?" + +She nodded. "Yes, if you don't mind," she replied, "I'm a little tired +this evening. Good night. Don't work too hard over your writing now. +You never rest. I never saw such a man." + +Left alone, Carleton returned to his essay, but not with the +concentration he had before displayed. A sudden restlessness seemed to +have come over him. Once or twice he ceased his work to consult his +watch, and finally stopped, rose hastily, and walked over to the window, +where he stood gazing aimlessly put into the night; then, with a sigh, +turned slowly, almost, one would have said, reluctantly, again to his +task. + +For perhaps five minutes he kept manfully at work. Then once again his +attention seemed to wander; slowly and still more slowly moved the +unwilling pen, and finally, with a sudden impatient gesture, he laid it +down, flung himself back in his chair, and sat there motionless, yet not +with the air of one who has comfortably finished the task he has in +hand, but rather as if debating within himself, between two possible +courses of action, which one at last to choose. + +If such, indeed, was the case, the decision was not to lie with him. +There came a knock at the door. "Come in," he said quickly, and the +butler, Helmar's friend of old, a little thinner, a little grayer, a +little more imperturbable than ever, entered softly, approaching close +to his master's elbow before he delivered himself of his message. +"Mr. Vaughan, sir," he announced with slow deliberation, "in the +reception-room. He wishes to know, sir, if without inconvenience to +yourself you could give him a few moments." + +Henry Carleton looked a little surprised, perhaps also a little annoyed. +"To see _me_," he said, "you're sure, Burton, that it wasn't Miss Rose +he asked for?" + +The butler's manner was one verging on gentle reproof. Within his domain +he did not allow himself the luxury of making mistakes. "Quite sure, +sir," he answered. His tone, though respectful, did not admit of further +questioning upon the point. Henry Carleton sighed, and appeared to rouse +himself. "Why, of course," he said, "tell him I'll be down at once; or +no," he added, "please, Burton, tell him to come up here instead." + +The butler, inclining his head, withdrew. Then, a moment or two later, +the sound of ascending footsteps, and Vaughan entered the room. At once +something in his appearance struck Henry Carleton as far out of the +ordinary. "Why, my dear boy," he cried, "you look worried to death. +What's gone wrong? No more bad news from the book?" + +Vaughan silently shook his head. He was indeed looking miserably, and +when he took a chair, he sat bolt upright on its edge, leaning forward +nervously when he spoke. "No," he said, "it's worse than that, Mr. +Carleton; a whole lot worse. It's something that's been troubling me for +a long time now, until finally I've made up my mind that the only thing +for me to do is to come straight to you with it, and tell you the whole +story. And that's why I'm here." + +At once Carleton shoved books and papers aside, as if the better to +prepare himself for proper attention to Vaughan's words. He looked at +his visitor with an air of friendly concern. "Anything that I can do--" +he murmured. "You know, of course, that you may count on me. Anything in +my power--" + +Vaughan nodded abruptly. "Thank you," he said hastily and a little +grimly, "it's not a favor that I've come for. I'm going to do you a bad +turn, I'm afraid. Going to do everybody a bad turn, as far as that goes. +But it can't be helped. I've got to go ahead, and that's all there is to +it." + +Henry Carleton eyed him narrowly, but without speaking, and Vaughan, +looking up, as if eager to have his task over, with sudden resolve, +began. "It's about Satterlee," he said, "you remember how things +happened out here that night, of course. I guess we all do. Jack went +up-stairs to bed, you remember, and you and Cummings went off to play +billiards. I was on the piazza with Rose, and stayed there until you +came down to tell her that it was getting late. Then, after she went +up-stairs, you told me that you were going for a short walk, and I said +I believed I'd go to my room. Well, I didn't. I don't know why. I +started to go in, and then--the night was so fine; I had so much that +was pleasant to think about--somehow I couldn't stand the idea of going +into the house, and instead I took a stroll around the grounds." + +He stopped for a moment. Henry Carleton, gazing intently at him, gave no +sign from his expression that he was experiencing any emotion beyond +that of the keenest interest and attention. Only his eyes, in the +shadow, had lost their customary benevolent expression, narrowing until +their look was keen, alert; the look of a man put quickly on his guard. +And as Vaughan still kept silence, it chanced that Carleton was the +first again to speak. "Well," he queried impatiently, "and what then?" + +Vaughan drew a quick breath. "This," he cried hastily, almost +recklessly, "this. I walked down toward Satterlee's cottage, and I saw +what happened there. Satterlee didn't fall from any rock. He was +murdered. And I saw it all." + +Henry Carleton did not start. There was no cry of surprise, no single +word, even. Only, as Vaughan had finished, on a sudden his eyes dilated +strangely; his lips parted a trifle; for a moment, without breathing, +without animation, it seemed as if the man's whole being hung poised +motionless, suspended. So great the surprise, so great the shock, that +one, not knowing, might almost have believed himself to be looking upon +the man who had done the deed. "Murdered?" he at last repeated dully, +"You saw it? Murdered?"--there was a moment's silence, and then, all at +once seeming to recover himself, he leaned forward in his chair. "By +whom?" he cried sharply, with just a note of menace in his tone, "By +whom?" + +On Vaughan's part there was no further hesitation. He had gone too far +for that. Yet his face was drawn and distorted with pain as in a tone so +low that Carleton could scarcely hear, he uttered the single word, +"Jack." + +And this time the added shock was too great. Henry Carleton started +visibly, the most intense emotion showing in every line of his face. +"Jack?" he gasped, "Jack?" + +In silence Vaughan bowed his head, hardly able to look on the anguish +which his words had caused. "Jack," he muttered again, under his breath. + +[Illustration: Henry Carleton started visibly.--Page 292] + +There was a silence, tense, pregnant. Once Vaughan, slowly raising his +head, had started to speak, and Henry Carleton had instantly lifted a +hand to enjoin silence. "Wait a minute!" he commanded. Evidently he was +striving to recollect. Then presently he spoke again. "Nonsense," he +cried, "I remember perfectly now. That was the night that Jack said he +felt tired; he went to his room early to smoke a pipe, and then turn in. +Jack murder Satterlee! Why, nonsense, man! You're dreaming. You're not +in your right mind. Jack and Satterlee were always good friends, and +Mrs. Satterlee, too. No, no. Jack to murder any one is nonsensical +enough; but Jack to murder Satterlee--impossible--simply impossible!" + +Stubbornly Vaughan shook his head. "I wish to God it were," he answered, +with deep feeling. "It sounds wild enough, I know, but it's true, for +all that. Every word. And one thing you've just said--" he hesitated, +and stopped, then unwillingly enough continued, "one thing, I'm afraid, +goes a long ways toward explaining, and that is that Jack was such good +friends with Mrs. Satterlee. I'm afraid that was the beginning of +everything." + +Carleton's face was pale, and his voice, when he spoke, was hoarse with +emotion. "God, Vaughan," he said, "this is terrible," and then, with a +quick return to his former manner, "no, no, I can't believe it yet. Tell +me what you saw. Not what you imagined or conjectured. Just what you +saw--actually saw with your own eyes." + +"There isn't very much to tell," Vaughan answered. "I just happened to +walk that way, for no reason whatsoever. Just by chance; I might have +gone any other way as well. And finally I came out on the top of a +little hill--no, not a hill exactly; more like a cliff--and from there I +could see across to Satterlee's house. And while I stood there, I saw a +man--Satterlee--come across the drive, and up the back way, and go in. +Then, in a minute, I heard a noise up-stairs, and some one cry out; and +then, a minute after that, Jack rushed out of the house, with Satterlee +after him--and suddenly Satterlee took to running queer and wide and in +a circle, with his head all held pitched to one side--ah, it was ghastly +to see him--and then he came straight for the rock where I was standing, +and all at once his legs seemed to go out from under him, and he +sprawled right out on the gravel on his face, and lay there. I turned +faint for a minute, I think, and the next thing I recall was looking +down again, and there was Jack trying to lift Satterlee up, and when he +scratched a match his hands were all over blood, and Satterlee's +face--oh, I've dreamed it all fifty times since--he was dead then, I +suppose. His head hung limp, I remember, and then--it was cowardly, of +course, and all that, but the whole thing was so unexpected--so like a +damnable kind of a nightmare, somehow--and Jack, you know--why, it was +too much for me. I just turned, and made off, and never stopped till I'd +got back safe into my room again. And that's all." + +Henry Carleton sat silent, engrossed in thought. Almost he seemed to be +oblivious of Vaughan's presence. "It couldn't be," he muttered, at last, +as though incredulous still, "it couldn't be. Jack!" he paused, only to +repeat the name again. Then he shook his head. "Never," he said with +decision, "he would have told everything. You saw wrong, Arthur. You +didn't see Jack." + +Something in the older man's attitude of continued disbelief seemed to +have the effect of nettling Vaughan. "How many times," he said, with a +note of irritation in his tone, "must I repeat it? I tell you I _know_. +Can't a man trust his own eyes? It _was_ Jack. There's no room for doubt +at all. Don't you suppose--" his voice rose with the strain of all that +he had been through--"don't you suppose that I'd have jumped at any +chance to clear him? Don't you suppose that if there'd been the faintest +shadow of a doubt in his favor, I'd have stretched it to the breaking +point to see him go free. No, there's no question. It was Jack. Why he +did it, or how he did it, you can conjecture, if you wish, but one thing +is plain. Murder Tom Satterlee he did." + +His tone rang true. At last, in spite of himself, Carleton appeared +unwillingly to be convinced. Again he pondered. "Then he perjured +himself at the inquest?" he said quickly at last. + +Vaughan nodded. "He perjured himself at the inquest," he assented. + +"And you?" asked Carleton, again, "you perjured yourself too?" + +"I perjured myself too," Vaughan answered. "There were plenty of other +reasons, of course; reasons that you can imagine. It wasn't just a case +of Jack alone. There was a lot else to think of besides. We talked it +over as well as we could--Jack and I. We thought of you. We thought of +Rose--and of me. We thought of the Carleton name. The disgrace of it +all. We only had a quarter of an hour, at the most--and we lied, +deliberately and consciously lied." + +He looked up, instantly amazed at the look on Carleton's face, for +Carleton was gazing at him as if he could scarcely believe his ears--as +if this piece of news, for some reason, came as something more +unexpected than all the rest. "You talked it over with Jack?" he said, +"talked it over with Jack, and Jack thought of me--and the family name. +Upon my word, Arthur, I believe one of us is mad." + +Vaughan stared at him, uncomprehending. "I don't see why you say that," +he returned. "What was there more natural? Or do you mean Jack wasn't +sincere when he put that forward as a reason? I've thought of that, but +I don't believe it now. Just think how we should feel if instead of +sitting here and theorizing about it, we knew that the facts were really +public property. Do you wonder that we stopped to consider everything? +Do you wonder that we decided as we did? But we were wrong--all wrong--I +knew it, really, all the time. To tell what I saw--that was the only +honest thing to do. I lied, and now I'm going to try to make amends. I'm +going to tell the truth, no matter what comes. It's the only way." + +Impatiently Henry Carleton shook his head. "I don't agree with you, in +the least," he said quickly. "I think you decided rightly. I should have +done the same. And right or wrong, you've made your choice. Why alter it +now? It would make the scandal of the day." + +"I know it," Vaughan desperately assented, "I know it will. But +anything's better than having things go on as they are now. I can't look +people in the face. I've been miserable. I thought I knew what it was to +be badly off before, but poverty, and bad luck, and failure--what are +they, anyway? What do they amount to? Nothing. But a thing like this on +your conscience. Why, a man's better dead. He can't live with it, day +and night. He _can't_; that's all. I know. He's got to tell, or go +crazy; it isn't to be endured." + +Without making answer, Henry Carleton rose, and walked over to the +window, standing precisely as he had stood before Vaughan's coming, +gazing out into the blackness of the night. Then he turned. "Wait here," +he said peremptorily. "I've got to get to the bottom of this, or you +won't be the one to lose your senses. Wait here. I'll be back in half an +hour, at the very latest." + +Sudden conjecture dawned in Vaughan's eyes. "You're going--" he began, +and then paused. + +Henry Carleton completed the sentence for him. "I'm going to see Mrs. +Satterlee," he answered. "I refuse to credit your story, Arthur, or what +you say Jack admits, unless she corroborates your tale of what happened +that night. It all depends on her." + +He turned to leave the room, then paused a moment, and again turned to +Vaughan. "Have you told Jack," he asked, "just what you propose to do?" + +Vaughan shook his head. "I haven't seen Jack," he answered, "since the +morning after it happened. To tell the truth, I've taken pains not to +see him. I couldn't bear to. The whole thing got on my nerves. It seemed +to change him so. And about this part of it, I haven't seen him, either. +I couldn't. To go to a man, and read him his death-warrant. I couldn't. +I thought I'd come to you." + +Carleton nodded. "I think you've done wisely," he said, "if this can all +be true, I must see Jack myself first. It becomes a family matter then. +Well, I must go. Wait here for me, please. I won't be long." + + * * * * * + +For perhaps twenty minutes Vaughan sat alone in the library, his mind, +after the long strain of all he had undergone, singularly torpid. +Mechanically he found himself counting the squares on a rug near the +table; three rows of six--three rows of five--eighteen, fifteen, +thirty-three. Over and over again he did this until at last he pulled +himself up short with a start. And then he heard footsteps ascending; +and Henry Carleton hastily reentered the room, his face stern and set. +For an instant, as Vaughan rose, the two men stood confronting each +other. "Well?" Vaughan asked, though reading the answer to his question +in the other's eyes. + +Carleton nodded. In the lamplight his face looked ten years older. He +spoke but two words. "It's true," he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XVI + +THE FAMILY NAME + + "Reputation, reputation, reputation!" + _Shakespeare._ + + +It was long past closing time at Henry Carleton's. Every one, from the +oldest clerk to the smallest office boy, had long since gone home. For +three hours, almost, the two men had had the office to themselves. A +long, bitter battle of words it had been, all the stored-up brood of +evil passions, hatred and envy, anger and fear, as with the bursting of +some festering sore, had surged, foul and horrible, into the clear light +of the open day. + +Henry Carleton sat at his desk, but not in his usual attitude of calm +composure, leaning back in his chair, the acknowledged lord and master +of his little world, envied by all men who came to see him, to buy or +sell, bargain and haggle, plot and plan. This Henry Carleton was a +strangely different man. Wearily enough he leaned forward in his chair, +his head propped on one hand, while in the other the pencil which +ordinarily never moved but to some purpose, to jot down some pregnant +list of facts or figures, now moved over the blank surface of the paper +in little aimless scrawls and circles; fit index, perhaps, to its +owner's strange confusion of brain--a man for once troubled, wavering +and irresolute, well-nigh, at times, despairing, yet still seeking +feverishly the solution of the puzzle, making desperate hunt for the +missing key. + +Facing him sat Jack Carleton, astride of one of the office chairs, his +hands grasping its back, his eyes never leaving the other's face. His +whole expression--the twitching mouth, the deep-set gleam in his +troubled eyes, the unconsciously wrinkled brow--all seemed to bear +witness to some storm of passion that had passed over him, and even in +the comparative calm which had followed, had still left its traces +behind. One might have hazarded that the man who sat there staring into +Henry Carleton's face was a man actuated by two feelings, one new, one +old; one a fear, deep and deadly, the other a resentment so fierce and +bitter, that unrestrained by time and place, it would have loosed him, +like a bulldog, at the other's throat. + +Without looking up, Henry Carleton again began the argument, his tone an +odd mixture, half threatening, half conciliatory, as one who, knowing +that it lies within his power to effect his ends by force, yet for some +reason strives first to gain them by gentler means. "Jack," he said, "we +have to find a way out somehow. And I want to play fair with you--I want +even to be more than fair--" + +Jack Carleton cut him short with a laugh so utterly devoid of mirth, so +full of the bitterest malice, that a curse would have struck more +pleasantly upon the ear. "Oh, yes," he mocked, "of course you do. You +want to be fair." He paused a moment; then, with a naked, unrestrained, +deliberate passion horrible to witness, he protruded his head with a +gesture almost bestial, his tone lowered so that the words came +sibilantly from between his teeth. "You damned sneak," he said, "why, in +the name of God, can't you act like a man? Talk like a man? All these +dirty, canting phrases of yours; they've grown on you now so you can't +drop 'em if you wanted to. You've stifled all the real man that was ever +in you--and to start with that was precious little. You're a money +making machine; money distributing, too, if that's any comfort to you; +_you_ credit to the Carleton name. You've sneaked and schemed your way +so long that you do it from habit now; and a devil of a fine result +you've got this time. You want to be fair. Fair! Oh, my God!" he laughed +again. + +Henry Carleton lifted a face flushed suddenly with angry crimson. "Stop +it, Jack," he commanded, and then, through force of long discipline, +with a sigh he slowly shook his head, and let his clenched hands relax. +"What's the use?" he said, with infinite patience, "what's the use now, +of all times? Hear me out, Jack. I know that you hate me. And I know +why. I've been a successful man, and you've been a failure, but our +chances were the same. You could have done as well as I. Only you chose +to use your energies in a different way. That's all been your fault, not +mine. And now this thing's come up. You've had a surprise to-day. +You've found things very different from what you expected. But what is +my attitude all the while? Am I trying to press my advantage as I could? +That's the last thing I want to do. You think I hate you, Jack. Can't +you see that I don't? If I did, would I be talking as I'm talking now? +Would I talk with you at all, even? Would I above all sit here and take +your insults--your abuse? Not for an instant. You sit there, alive and +free--and yet a dead man, Jack. Think of it! Dead already. Dead as if +you sat this instant in the electric chair. And what am I saying?--the +man that you think hates you. What am I urging and advising all this +time, when I could see you going in the prison door, never to come out +again alive? I'm showing you how to get out of the whole thing +scot-free; giving you every chance; and you won't listen to me." + +Jack Carleton had heard him out in silence, indeed, but without further +emotion, without any change of the hard, set look on his face. "Oh, +you're damned generous," he sneered, as the other paused, "and you're +doing it all out of love for me. It's awfully sudden, this affection, +isn't it? It's been a long time coming." He laughed with a jarring +offensiveness, as if, strangely enough, he was deliberately trying to +incense, instead of to placate, the man of whose good will he stood so +sorely in need. + +Again Henry Carleton's face grew dark, as if at last his irritation had +got the upper hand. "For Heaven's sake, Jack," he cried, "don't be a +child, just for the pleasure of trying to annoy me. I say again, I'm +being fair with you. I say again, more than fair. And if you want to +exercise your irony on me by implying that I'm not actuated by any love +for you, I'll say frankly that this is too complicated an affair for any +one person's claims to be paramount in trying to settle it. I'm +considering every one interested; I'm weighing all the chances for +everybody concerned; you and I, and Rose, and Vaughan, and Mrs. +Satterlee--we're all involved, and I say again, looking at everything +from all possible points of view, it's for our interest, Jack--for yours +and mine--to stand together, whatever happens. There's nothing I want +more, whether you believe it or not, than to see you get out of the +whole thing clear. And don't--" he raised his hand as Jack started to +speak--"don't go running off on any abstract theory of what's right and +what isn't. It's no use. It's waste of time. We've got to look at this +matter as it is--not as perhaps it ought to be. It's intensely practical +for us, Jack, and so let's look at it that way." + +His words seemed effectual, as far as any further protest from Jack +Carleton was concerned. For a moment he sat silent, and then, with an +air of resignation, mingled with a certain indifference, "Very well," he +said, "look at it in that way, if you choose, for all of me. How does +that help? The whole thing's as mixed as before; you can't solve it +satisfactorily, try as you may." + +Henry Carleton, well pleased, drew a quiet breath of satisfaction. So +much, indeed, seemed to him a signal gain. Little by little--that was +Henry Carleton's way. "Good," he said shortly, and then, "but it can be +solved, Jack, for all that. Not with perfect satisfaction to everybody, +perhaps; but it can be solved." + +He spoke with such an air of assurance that Jack Carleton glanced at him +quickly, as if seeking some underlying significance in his words. Henry +Carleton's face, however, was devoid of anything of enlightenment, and +his eyes were looking idly across the room. "Yes," he repeated, "still +satisfactorily, in the main, I think. It's a pure question of logic, +Jack. Let's start with the assumption that if it can be avoided, you're +not eager to die." + +Jack Carleton's eyebrows were raised half grimly, half ruefully. +Something of a kind of hysterical humor seemed to him to exist in the +idea of asking a man with such seriousness whether or not he was eager +to die. "Yes," he returned, "you can assume that. That's a good point to +start with." + +There was something in his tone, despite the solemnity of the +discussion, that made Henry Carleton force a sickly smile, which faded +almost before it had come. "And second," he said, "you'll keep quiet as +long as any one else will." + +Jack nodded again. "Certainly," he said, perhaps with more of bitterness +in his tone. + +Henry Carleton leaned forward, looking him now straight in the eye, and +speaking with the most intense earnestness. "Then take the parties +involved in their turn," he cried, "if you stick to that, no harm can +come from you. No harm will come from me, in any event. And Rose, of +course, doesn't know. Of the other two, Mrs. Satterlee--" he paused an +instant, then continued, a little hastily, as it seemed. "Perhaps +there's no further need of going into that. As we know, she is safe, and +if not, there are certain precautions--no, we may dismiss that entirely, +I think. And that--" the pause was longer this time, "that leaves the +man who's been foolish enough to raise all this trouble to start with. +That leaves your friend, and my prospective son-in-law,--one man to be +reckoned with--Arthur Vaughan." + +This time there was no mistaking the gathering menace in his tone. But +Jack Carleton seemed not to choose to understand his words. "Well?" he +asked. + +Henry Carleton frowned. "Well," he snapped, "isn't it perfectly plain? +Vaughan wants something, of course. He's got us where he wants us now. +Of course I knew, for a man who, as a rule, is so pliable, that when he +turned stubborn about this, it was a plain case of hold-up. So that's +what we've got to do. Square him, in any way he wants. He's your friend. +Sound him; see what he's after. Whatever it is, if I can give it to him, +and I guess I can, of course I will. Go ahead and see him right away. +We've got to fix him quickly, whatever else we do." + +Jack Carleton shook his head in vigorous dissent. "You're miles wide of +the mark. That isn't Vaughan at all. He's not that kind. Arthur's a +visionary, almost. He'd never have kept quiet as long as he has if I +hadn't practically gone on my knees to him. No, this is principle with +him. You're altogether mistaken. You can't stop him that way in a +thousand years." + +Henry Carleton sighed. "I don't believe it," he said stubbornly. "I +don't want to believe it, but you ought to know him better than I. And +if it's so--I want to be fair with him--more than fair--" at the +familiar phrase Jack Carleton smiled a grim little smile--"but we're in +a bad box, Jack; a terribly bad box; and we've got to pull out of it +somehow. Make him the squarest offer you can--anything in reason he +wants--and if he doesn't see fit to accept--" + +Jack Carleton sprang to his feet. "No, no," he cried, "that won't do. I +won't see anything happen to Vaughan. I'll go to him; tell him he's +mistaken; tell him he mustn't speak; tell him--" + +Henry Carleton cut him short. "No use, Jack," he said curtly. "I've +thought of all that. It wouldn't do any good. In the first place, +Vaughan has this crazy idea about duty, and about Satterlee's blood +crying out to him from the ground, and all that nonsense; you know how a +nervous man can get worked up over a thing; and he's bound to speak +anyway. And in the second place, he wouldn't believe you. You can hardly +blame him, either. All the evidence together; the affair you had with +that woman, your stopping at the cottage that evening,--no, no, it won't +do. You might as well save your breath." + +There was a pause. Jack at last nodded grudgingly. "Well, then," he +cried. "I'll let it go the other way. Let him go to the district +attorney, if he chooses. Let him tell his story, and let them arrest me, +and get me into court. Let him tell it over again there, for everybody +to hear, and you can tell your story, and Jeanne Satterlee hers. And +then, by God, I'll tell mine, and if there's such a thing as justice--" + +Again Henry Carleton broke in upon him. "Nonsense, Jack," he said, "law +isn't justice. You know that as well as I do. You wouldn't have a +chance. It's open and shut against you. And don't go up in the air about +Vaughan; I didn't mean to be melodramatic. We won't need to go to +extremes. We can think up some way of keeping his mouth shut. You can +buy him off, I still maintain. And if you can't, we can still get at him +somehow. It isn't hard. I'll be frank with you, Jack. I'll lay my cards +on the table. It would mean death for you, but the scandal would hurt +me, at the same time. And above all, the Carleton name, Jack. Think of +your father. Think--" + +Jack sprang to his feet. "Stop!" he cried. "It isn't for you to talk of +my father, and the Carleton name. Those words don't belong in your +mouth, Henry. And as for Vaughan, he's doing what he thinks is right. +And anything you do to him, reacts on Rose--on your own daughter. And +that's impossible. No, Henry, I tell you again, you can't work it out +that way. Whatever else you please, but I won't see harm come to Arthur +Vaughan." + +Henry Carleton, unmoved, shrugged his shoulders. "As _you_ please," he +answered evenly. "You have your choice, Jack; there's only one other +way." + +Jack looked him full in the face. "For the last time," he said, "you +tell me that this is true. You'll go ahead, and do as you say?" + +The elder man inclined his head. "For the last time," he answered +calmly, "yes. Vaughan or yourself? The choice is yours." + +Jack Carleton stood suddenly erect, throwing back his head, almost with +the gesture of a fighter on guard. "Then I tell you this," he cried, +"you're crowding me too far. I've done the best I could; I've thought of +others long enough; I'll think of myself now. There's a limit to what a +man's got to stand. I've been an awful fool, I know. I've wasted most +of my life, so far; lost my money; lost the chance to marry the girl I +loved. But for the last three years, I've got no apologies to make. I've +tried with every bit that's in me; I had my fight all but won. I made +good out West there; made good with myself; with my prospects; with the +girl I meant to marry--and then this damnable business had to come. And +I tell you, Henry, I won't quit now. You've got the best of me before; +perhaps you will again; but I'll take my chance. I'm willing to back +Right against Wrong, and I give you fair warning now that I'm going to +fight. You haven't beaten me yet." + +He swung short around upon his heel, without waiting for a reply. The +door crashed to behind him, and Henry Carleton was left alone in the +room. + + + + +CHAPTER XVII + +IN THE BALANCE + + "I trust in God,--the right shall be the right + And other than the wrong, while he endures." + _Browning._ + + +Henry Carleton leaned back contentedly in his office chair. The +afternoon was drawing to a close; another good day's work was done; the +pathway of the future lay bright before him. Money? He had his fill of +it. Except as the trophy, the stakes in the game, for which, coolly and +half-disdainfully, it still suited him to play, he had come scarcely to +value it at all. Fame? That, too, had come to him. His reputation, first +made in the city, had spread later throughout the state, and now, thanks +to that long and well-laid net of carefully adjusted wires, was to +become national as well. Member-elect of the United States senate! It +was enough. Fame--and power--and patronage--more glory to add to that +of the long line of ancestors whose dignified faces looked down at him +from the walls of the gallery at The Birches. He had done well; he knew +it; and was content. Nor was he an old man yet. A glorious prospect lay +before him still, filled with pleasures--of many kinds. Only this one +matter to be adjusted now, and whichever way fate tipped the scales, he +could not lose. How pleasant it was to look back over all his struggles +with Jack! How pleasant to know, with the lifelong enmity between them, +that in every encounter, he had decisively outwitted and got the better +of his nephew! And now--either Jack must suffer, or if Vaughan's silence +could not be bought, Jack's scruples must somehow be overcome. The +latter, of course, everything considered, would be the better way. For +Jack--much as he hated him--was a Carleton, and Jack's fate, in a way, +was bound up with his own. And Vaughan was a nobody, a mere scribbler, +of no use to the world. He must be silenced--somehow. Yet there was +danger too. In spite of himself, the matter troubled him. + +As he sat, thus musing, his clerk appeared at his elbow. "A young lady +to see you, sir," he announced, "Miss Graham, from Eversley. I showed +her into the private office." + +Carleton nodded. "All right," he answered briefly. "Tell her I'll see +her at once," and a moment or so later he was bowing deferentially over +the girl's outstretched hand. "I'm delighted to see you back, Miss +Graham," he said cordially, "if I thought a trip abroad would do me the +good it's done you, I'd start to-morrow. You're looking splendidly. And +what may I do for you? Is this a business call?" + +The girl shook her head. "No, Mr. Carleton," she returned, "it's not; +and I should apologize, I know, for coming to see you at your office. +Yet I didn't want to go to The Birches either. I wanted to ask--I want +to see you, Mr. Carleton--about Jack." + +She paused, and as he waited, she did not at once continue, but sat with +her eyes fixed on the ground, as if embarrassed, and uncertain how to +proceed. So that presently he broke the silence. "And what about Jack?" +he asked lightly, though his watchful gaze was upon her face, "I rather +thought that you and Jack could settle your own affairs. But if you +can't--" + +She glanced up quickly. "Oh, don't joke, Mr. Carleton, please," she +said, "you wouldn't, if you knew how anxious I am. I can't seem to +understand it at all. You know what good friends Jack and I always were; +we were more than that; you know what I mean. And then--something +happened. That was when Jack went West. And I was so glad when I heard +how well he'd done--how well, I mean, in every way--and when he came +back, everything would have been all right again. I had written him--and +he'd written me. We had everything arranged. He was to meet the steamer +in New York. And then--when we got in, he wasn't there. Only a message +at the hotel that he'd been called away on business, and would see me +soon. And that was a week ago; and I haven't seen him, or even heard +from him, since then. I've asked all his friends. Franz Helmar doesn't +know anything about him. Neither does Rose. And when I asked Arthur +Vaughan, he acted as if he knew something, but didn't want to tell me +what it was. So I've come to you, Mr. Carleton. If there's something +about Jack that I don't know, and that I ought to know, I want you to +tell me." + +Henry Carleton sat listening to her, as she talked, his face +expressionless, yet keenly attentive, all the while. And as she ended, +he hesitated, before replying, as if struggling with some inward +temptation which finally, in spite of himself, overcame him. At length +he spoke. "My dear Miss Graham," he said, "I am so many years older than +you, that I'm going to ask you to let me give you a piece of advice. I +have felt uneasy--very uneasy--for a long time, concerning Jack's +attentions to you. Not, of course, that one could blame him--" the girl +ignored the somewhat mechanical smile which accompanied the words +words--"but the man who aspires to win your hand, Miss Graham, should be +of a type very different from my nephew. I'm not talking at random; I +know whereof I speak; and as a friend, I want to tell you that it would +be better for you to forget all about Jack--not to try to find out +anything concerning him--but to dismiss him entirely from your mind. And +I don't think--" he added significantly, "that you will find yourself +troubled by him any more." + +The girl's expression was one of bewilderment. "Troubled by him," she +repeated. "Jack _trouble_ me. You don't understand, Mr. Carleton. I +haven't made myself clear. I'm as fond of Jack as he is of me. I've +promised to be his wife. And all I'm asking now is what has happened to +keep him away from me. There's some mystery about it, and I want to know +what it is." + +Henry Carleton gave a little apologetic cough. "Really, my dear Miss +Graham," he said, "you make this very hard for me. I was trying to +intimate, without putting things too plainly--I thought you would +understand--you know that Jack's character is none of the strongest; you +know his weaknesses as well as I do. You don't want me to go on, Miss +Graham, I know. Why should I pain you? Let us leave things as they are." + +At last the girl seemed to comprehend, yet she did not take his words +without protest. "Jack isn't weak," she cried indignantly, "you've +no right to say that, Mr. Carleton. If you knew all that he's +conquered--all that he's overcome--you'd know that he's strong, not +weak. And please don't hint or insinuate about him; this is too serious +for that. If you've something to say against him, say it. Don't half say +it, and then stop. It's neither fair to him, nor to me." + +Henry Carleton raised his eyebrows. "As you will," he responded evenly, +"I only sought to spare you, Miss Graham. But if you want me to tell +you, I suppose you know as well as any one that before Jack went away, +he'd made himself conspicuous by going around in public with the girl +who later married my chauffeur, Satterlee. There was nothing improper, I +believe, about it all; simply a bit of boyish folly and bravado; nothing +worse. But on Jack's return--I don't know, of course, what his life in +the West has been; I suppose that perhaps one might hazard a guess--he +fell in with this woman again, and this time--I'm speaking plainly, Miss +Graham, because you've asked me to--this time their relations have +passed the bounds of decency. He visits her openly. And that, I +suppose, is the reason that he keeps away from you." + +A little red spot flamed in the girl's cheeks. "It's not true!" she +cried, "I don't believe it--not a word. I know Jack too well. No man +could have written me the letters he has--it's a lie; a lie!" Face and +figure alike were tense and rigid with emotion. + +Henry Carleton's eyes gleamed, yet when he spoke, his tone was calm. "My +dear Miss Graham," he said, "pardon me for suggesting it, but isn't your +conduct rather extraordinary. You come here, in my office hours, knowing +that I am a busy man--a man of varied interests--you come here, on your +private affairs, which surely have no special interest for me--and then, +upon my giving you all the assistance in my power, you inform me that I +lie. Really, Miss Graham--" + +The girl rose quickly, yet her expression seemed to show little of +contrition. "I beg your pardon, if I was rude," she said, "you are quite +right to remind me that I am taking up your time. I will go at once." + +She did not give him her hand in parting, nor did he stir from where he +stood, as she walked toward the door of the office. Before she reached +it, he spoke again. "If you care," he said smoothly, "to hear the +rest--" + +She turned upon him. "I do not," she said, "I care to hear nothing more. +And you say, upon your honor, that what you've told me is true?" + +He shrugged his shoulders. "You're very hard to convince," he said. "I +don't blame you. It's not a pleasant thing to hear. But it is true. He's +not away on business. He goes there constantly. In fact, if you care to +see him, I dare say you would find him there now." + +The words struck home. For an instant the girl stood gazing at him, as +if she would have spoken; then quickly turned, and left the room. + + * * * * * + +A chance shaft sometimes cleaves to the very center of the mark. At the +hour and minute when Marjory Graham was leaving Henry Carleton's +office, Jack Carleton sat with Jeanne Satterlee in the parlor of the +little cottage at Eversley. His face was pale and drawn, and he was +talking tensely, earnestly, evidently striving, with all the power +within him, to convince and persuade with his words. The woman sat with +her eyes averted, as if she listened half against her will. Three years +of life had wrought their change. She was beautiful--beyond all +question--more beautiful than ever; and yet a nameless something had +crept into her face--hardly to be detected, even--a certain look of +restlessness--of discontent--a vague change for the worse. + +"And so, Jeanne," Carleton concluded, "that's all I ask. I say nothing +about that panic in the stock market--I say nothing about the property. +You know, and I know, what he did, and how he did it; I got it all out +of that sneak, Cummings; but all that's past and done with now. Even if +I wanted to make the scandal, I'm not sure that he's answerable legally; +he's a wonderfully clever man. And I say nothing about poor Vaughan, and +his book. You know, and I know, how he worked that with Cummings, but +once more, that's done with now. And Vaughan's come into his own, at +last. But about the other thing, that's different, Jeanne. You must +speak. You can't say that you won't, where it's life and death. You must +do it, Jeanne; I've a right to make my fight; you _must_." + +There was a pause. And then the woman spoke. "I can't, Jack," she +parried, "I promised. I wouldn't dare--" + +He interrupted her. "Promised!" he echoed. "What's a promise wrung out +of one by force? Nothing. You can't mean you'd let that stop you, +Jeanne." + +She looked up at him, with appeal in her glance. "Jack," she said +desperately, "I'll tell you the truth. I'm afraid. Afraid he'd kill me. +You're a man; you're strong, and could fight. You don't know how a woman +dreads anything like that. He said that night he'd kill me, if I told. +And I promised--I promised, Jack." + +Carleton gave an impatient sigh. "Nonsense, Jeanne," he said sharply, +"he wouldn't dare. He only threatened, to frighten you. You--of all +people. And can't you see? He couldn't afford to, if he would. Where's +his hold on me, then? Tell him, Jeanne, what you're going to do, and +then go away, if you're frightened; go somewhere where you'll be safe. +Go straight to Marjory Graham, why don't you, and stay with her." + +"Yes," she flamed, "go to Marjory Graham! That's just like a man. You +don't think of me, Jack, at all. Tell her everything! That's such an +easy thing to say. You don't think of the shame--the disgrace--" + +Carleton rose, and walking across the room, laid a hand upon her +shoulder, looking down into her face, as he answered her. "Jeanne," he +said, wearily, "we've been over this so many times that there's no use +in saying anything more. Only this. I'm not asking you to do this for +me, or for Marjory, or for Arthur, or for Rose, though if you do it, +you'll be doing it for all four of us at once. That isn't the point. A +man gets to thinking pretty hard when he's in a fix like mine, and his +own life dwindles down to something that doesn't count for much, after +all. But I tell you this, Jeanne, and you can call it preaching, and +laugh at it, if you choose, but it's so: there's only one thing in the +world worth doing, after all, and that's to try to keep as near to +what's right and fair as we can. People can disagree about lots of +things--you can criticize my life, and I can criticize yours--but some +things are so plain that there's no chance to differ about what's right +and what's wrong. And the trouble we're in now is one of them. You ought +to tell Arthur Vaughan. You ought to tell Marjory. And then your part is +done. You can leave the rest to fate. But to keep silence now, because +of a promise that was forced from you--it isn't square--it's upsetting +the belief that every one ought to have: that in the end the right's a +better thing than the wrong. And, Jeanne, I tell you this once more. If +you won't do what you ought to do; if you still keep silence; I tell you +this: I won't see harm come to Arthur Vaughan. I won't see Rose's life +spoiled. There's one thing I could do, and that's to put myself out of +the way, and stop everything; but that would be cowardly, I suppose. +No, I'll make my fight, but you know as well as I do, that it's a losing +one. My life is in your hands, Jeanne, and I've a right to ask you to do +what's fair. I've tried, for three years now, as hard as a man could +try. I'll never be anything famous in the world--I know that--but I've a +right to want to bring some credit to my father's name, even if it's +only by living an honest life, to marry, and to pass the name down to +some one that can do better with it than I've done. That's all, Jeanne. +And there are only two days left. That's as long as Vaughan will wait. +So you've got to make up your mind quick. Think it over, Jeanne, and for +every one's sake, be fair." + +She rose from her chair, shaking off his hand. "I'm afraid, Jack;" she +said once more, "I'm afraid." + +Carleton's hand fumbled in his pocket; then, finding what he sought, he +handed it to the girl. The light flickered upon the polished barrel. +"You could use it?" he asked. The girl nodded. "Then you've no reason to +fear him," he said. "Tell him, Jeanne, when he comes to-morrow night, +and then you go straight to Marjory's, and tell her too." + +She looked up quickly, as if seeking to make one last plea. "You ask too +much, Jack," she cried. "If I had my life over--but I haven't. I've +lived out all that was ever good in me; there's only one kind of life +left for me now. And he's been good to me--given me everything. And +think of all I lose. All the life I'd see down there. All the money. All +the good times. You're not a woman, Jack. You don't understand. Think of +the fun--" + +Once more he laid his hand upon her shoulder. "Is it worth it, Jeanne?" +he said. + + + + +CHAPTER XVIII + +REPARATION + + "Whoever fights, whoever falls, + Justice conquers evermore." + _Emerson._ + + +The butler had withdrawn to superintend the bringing in of the dinner's +final course. Helmar, with his hand outstretched toward his wine glass, +for a moment hesitated, and looking first at Rose and then at Vaughan, +came to a puzzled, half-humorous pause. "I realize," he said, "that this +is the proper time for a toast, yet my tongue is tied. Not through +diffidence, either. I never have stage fright, and I know exactly what +I'm going to say. In fact, I've been working all day on it, and if +anything should happen now to prevent me from inflicting it on you, it +would be the bitterest of disappointments--to me, I mean. But the +question of proper precedence is what I can't make up my mind about. +For the life of me, I don't know whether I ought to drink first to Rose, +and reserve a separate glass for our rising author here, or whether my +first duty is to drink to you both, in celebration of your engagement's +being formally made public to-morrow. By the latter plan, you see, I'm +forced to drink alone, which is always bad; by the former, I manage to +be in good company each time. And on the whole, I believe that's the +proper way. So here goes. Arthur, I propose the health of Miss Rose +Carleton. In order not to embarrass her, I intend to refrain from any +fulsome praise, merely observing that the fact that she is herself, +suffices for everything. Youth, beauty, virtue; Arthur, you're a +fortunate man, and the only drawback to the whole affair is the horde of +envious enemies you're going to make for yourself. But that you'll have +to stand for; and the reward is certainly worth it." + +He bowed with exaggerated deference as he concluded, and the girl, +laughing, softly clapped her hands. "Oh, beautiful, beautiful, Franz," +she cried, "I'm overcome. I suppose I ought to respond, but in the +presence of two such distinguished beings, I'm actually dumb. But, +believe me, Mr. Toastmaster, I deeply appreciate your effort. It's fully +worth all the time you must have spent on it." + +Vaughan, touching his glass to Helmar's, laughed also. "There, Franz," +he cried, "isn't that a fitting reward? And as for your enemies, and +their envy, let them come, all of them. I'm safe; nothing matters now," +and the look in Rose Carleton's eyes, as their glances met, was more +eloquent than any response could have been. + +The toast drunk, Helmar turned to the girl. "And now, Rose," he said, +"actually words fail. Here comes the really difficult part. How shall we +try to describe such greatness? The literary man; the author fairly +launched; the coming all-around novelist of the century, who has shown +himself a romanticist by aspiring to the hand of Miss Carleton and a +realist by winning it. There, how does that suit you? Will that do?" + +The girl smiled. "Indeed it will," she answered. "But if it's +permissible ever to amend a toast, even such a good one as that, I'm +going to venture to do it. Something so nice happened to-day. Tell him, +Arthur, do." + +Vaughan shook his head. "Not I," he answered, "I wouldn't dare. I'm +having a hard enough time as it is, trying to make all these remarkable +things seem real. I still walk around pinching myself, and pulling out +letters and telegrams and re-reading them, to make sure they're genuine, +after all. But if I should start to talk, I'd know I was a liar before I +said five words. I don't mind listening, though, a bit. Go ahead and +tell him, Rose, if you want to, and I'll sit still and try to look the +part of modest but intensely deserving merit. That's the best I can do." + +Rose turned eagerly to Helmar. "Well, then," she cried, "he got word +to-day. The book's gone into a third large edition. In three months! And +his first book! Think of it. And he's had more fine letters and notices, +besides. And two other magazines have written to see if he has any short +stories he'd let them see. So he's going to be a great success, and I'm +awfully proud of him, and when we drink our toast, I want it to be to +the author, the book and the third edition." + +Helmar nodded in vigorous assent. "By all means," he exclaimed, "if all +amendments were as good as that one, no maker of an original motion +could ever object. We'll drink to the third edition, of course, and I +hope, before we're done, there'll be thirty of them. There," he added, +as he put down his glass, "my pleasant duty's done, and I think I may +claim well done. Unless, Arthur, you can think of anything I've +omitted." + +Vaughan shook his head. "No, no," he answered, "you've been a great +success; said a lot of things about us both that aren't true, and +successfully reduced us to just the proper stage of uncomfortable +embarrassment." + +Helmar laughed. "It's a pity, though," he said, "that we didn't have our +full attendance. Think of all the other nice things I might have had a +chance to say. Wasted opportunities. Marjory unable to come; Jack kept +away on business; Mr. Carleton started for his big time in town. That is +a banquet, though, with a vengeance, isn't it! Think of it; United +States Senator! But of course every one knew he'd make it. I never saw +such a man. Success in everything. He's certainly a wonder. You must +feel awfully proud of him, Rose." + +She nodded gaily. "Of course I do," she answered. "We must drink his +health, anyway. He deserves it. What shall we say? The man who has +brought new honors to the Carleton name!" + +As they drank the toast, the butler entered with the coffee and cigars, +and the girl rose, smiling down at Vaughan. "Don't be too long, now," +she said, "remember I'm all alone." + +As the portieres closed behind her, Helmar turned to Vaughan. "Well, +Arthur," he said, "you're certainly a lucky man. Engaged to such a girl +as Rose, and fairly on your literary feet into the bargain. It's fine +about the book. I didn't realize it was doing so well." + +Vaughan nodded. "It was queer," he said meditatively, "about the whole +thing. I guess I ought to be ashamed of myself for claiming, once upon a +time, that there was a pull in literature. Because look how it worked +with me. There I had Mr. Carleton using all his influence, and three +times that book was turned down. And then, just because Jack kept after +me to do it, when I took the manuscript back and began plugging ahead +with it on my own account, just see what happened. It was accepted the +very next crack." + +Helmar puffed thoughtfully at his cigar. "It does look that way," he +assented, then, after a little pause, he asked abruptly, "Arthur, how +about Jack and Marjory? Was it just a coincidence they didn't come +to-night, or was it something more than that? I don't believe they're +hitting things off, somehow. And Jack himself--I never saw a fellow so +changed. Ever since that time he was out at The Birches he has seemed +awfully down on his luck. I was wondering--" + +Vaughan rose quickly. "Oh, he's worried about his business, I think +that's all." Then added abruptly, "Would you mind smoking in the other +room, Franz? Rose doesn't object, and I hate to leave her alone." + +Helmar rose also. "Of course not," he said, "why didn't you say so +sooner? Let's go right in." + +Half way down the hall, Henry Carleton's valet approached them, a letter +in his outstretched hand. "For you, Mr. Vaughan," he said. + +Vaughan, taking the letter, hastily opened it, and read its contents. A +puzzled frown wrinkled his forehead. "H'm," he muttered, "that's queer," +and as they entered the parlor, he spoke at once to his fiancee. "Rose," +he said, "I'm sorry, but everything about to-night seems to be fated. +First our guests disappoint us, and now I'm called away myself. But only +for an hour. I'll be back just as soon as I can." + +The girl's face clouded. "Oh, no, Arthur," she cried, "not to-night. You +oughtn't to go to-night, no matter who it is. Tell them to wait--" + +He broke in upon her. "I'm sorry, my dear," he said gravely, "but this +is something that can't be delayed. I must go at once." + +There was no misunderstanding his tone. "All right, then, Arthur," she +said, "but be back as soon as you can," and nodding, he left the room. + +The waiting motor made short work of the distance between The Birches +and Colonel Graham's home; and a short half hour later Vaughan was +ushered across the threshold of the big drawing-room. Marjory Graham +came forward to meet him, and then, as she led the way across the room, +he stared in surprise at the sight of the second figure that rose from +the seat by the open fire. Yet Marjory Graham seemed to see nothing +unusual in the situation. "I think you know Mrs. Satterlee, Arthur," she +said, and Vaughan, his wonderment increasing every moment, bowed, and +took his seat. + +The lights were turned low; only the firelight flickered and gleamed +about the room. Marjory Graham reached out and took the woman's hand in +hers. "Tell him, Jeanne," she said. + +There followed a pause, and then at last, slowly and with evident +effort, Jeanne Satterlee began to speak. "Mr. Vaughan," she said, "the +fewer words the better. You've made up your mind to tell the story of +that night. If it's going to be told, it must be the true one. I've +promised Jack to tell what I know to Miss Graham and to you. I've +already told her." + +She paused, while Vaughan sat waiting breathlessly, his eyes fixed upon +her face. And then she spoke again. "There's no need to ask you," she +went on, "whether you remember all that happened on that night. You +remember how you were all together at The Birches; how Jack said he was +going to bed early; how you and Miss Rose sat out on the piazza; how Mr. +Carleton played billiards with Jim Cummings, and then how he came down +and told you he was going for a walk about the grounds. You remember +every bit of that, of course?" + +Vaughan assented silently. "And then," she went on, "you went for a +stroll yourself; you came to the rock opposite the cottage, and saw Tom +when he came in. You heard the noise; you saw some one run out of the +house, with Tom after him; and then you saw Tom fall, and a minute +afterward you saw Jack bending over him, with Tom's head on his knee." + +Again she stopped for his assent; again Vaughan nodded; and once more +she continued, "You thought it was Jack who was in my room; you thought +it was Jack who ran from the cottage. And no one could blame you, Mr. +Vaughan, for what you thought. But I'm going to tell you the true story +of that night--to my shame. Jack Carleton wasn't in the cottage; there +was never anything between Jack and me--though I tried--never mind, I've +told Miss Graham--but there was some one in my room that night, and that +man was the father of the girl whom you are going to marry." + +Vaughan's heart seemed to stop beating; there came a ringing in his +ears; his voice, when he spoke, sounded faint and far-away. "_Henry_ +Carleton?" he gasped. + +Jeanne Satterlee bowed her head. "I said the fewer words the better," +she went on. "It wasn't the first time. Things had been--that way--for +nearly two years." + +Vaughan's face flushed with anger. "Henry Carleton!" he cried again, +"it's impossible. How dare you say it?" + +Jeanne Satterlee's tone did not alter, its very calmness carrying +conviction with it. "It's true," she said, "every word. And more, Mr. +Vaughan, that you will never know. It's all true. Jack knows--" + +Vaughan started at the name. "But how did Jack--" he began. She broke in +upon him. "Jack suspected," she answered. "He saw me at the cottage that +afternoon. He talked with Tom. He put two and two together. And you know +what he thinks of his uncle, anyway. So he came down to the cottage that +evening, early. He was hidden outside. And after Henry Carleton got +away--he struck Tom from behind to do it--then Jack came down into the +drive to help Tom--and you had to see him. And that was all." + +Vaughan sat as if stunned. "My God!" he muttered, under his breath, "my +God!" + +Once more Mrs. Satterlee broke the silence. "And then," she said, "you +went to Henry Carleton, and told him what you thought you knew. And he +sat there, and listened to you telling him that Jack did the murder. He +came to the cottage that night. He was furious. He'd have killed you, I +truly believe, if he'd dared. He threatened me, even. He told me I must +stick to the story that Jack was in my rooms, and murdered Tom; and that +he'd see that no harm came to Jack; that money could do anything; that +he'd get Jack out of the country; and that it would be better for every +one; and I was frightened--and promised. And then--" + +Gradually, as she talked, the whole sequence of events had been shaping +in Vaughan's brain. And now, all at once, and more to himself than to +the others, he voiced his thoughts in words. "I see; I see;" he cried; +"that was why I could never seem to believe it. Poor Jack! Poor Jack! +Oh, what a fool I've been!" + +Again he was silent, and she concluded. "And then Jack came to me--I did +all this for him--don't think it was easy for me. And I told Henry +to-night, before I came here. He was going in town, and came to the +cottage first. And I told him--with a loaded pistol in my hand. He +wouldn't believe me at first. He never knew that I--that I was fond of +Jack--and when he realized I was in earnest, I thought he was going out +of his mind. I never saw a man so changed. He said I'd ruined +him--ruined his whole life--and then, all at once, he put his hand to +his head, and stopped right in the middle of what he was saying, and +turned, and went away. And I came here, to keep my promise. I told Jack +to come here at eight; he ought to be here now." + +Vaughan pulled out his watch. "Quarter past," he said, "I suppose he'll +be here soon." + +Marjory Graham turned to him. "Mr. Carleton lied to me, Arthur," she +said, "tried to make me believe awful things of Jack. And I knew--I knew +all the time that he lied. Think of it. Think how Jack--" + +Vaughan nodded, yet even on the instant another thought flashed through +his mind. "But, Rose!" he cried, "I never thought. Rose! Good God!" + +"I know; I know;" cried the girl, "I've been thinking about her. You +mustn't speak now, Arthur. Jack didn't, even before he knew. And you +mustn't. It would kill Rose." + +Vaughan drew a long breath. "Marjory--" he began, but the sentence was +never finished. A quick step sounded in the hall outside, and Jack +Carleton came hastily into the room. In an instant, as if unmindful of +all else, Marjory Graham had risen, and crossed the room, her face +transfigured--"Oh, Jack!" she cried, "Jack!" + +For a moment he drew her to him; then, without speaking, his arm still +around her, came forward to meet the others. Vaughan, too, had risen, +and stood with outstretched hand. "Jack," he said, "I never knew--I +never dreamed--can you forgive me?" + +In answer Carleton took his friend's hand in his, yet without uttering a +word. His face was haggard, his eyes wild. Jeanne Satterlee started to +her feet. "What is it, Jack?" she cried, "something's wrong." + +Carleton looked from one to the other, moistening his lips with his +tongue before at last the words would come. "It's Henry," he said +hoarsely, "he's dead. At the station. He fell in front of the train. He +slipped--an accident--" + +For an instant there fell silence--utter; horror-stricken. And then +Vaughan's eyes sought Carleton's face. He spoke in a tone scarcely above +a whisper. "An accident--" he said. + +Carleton met his gaze squarely. The silence deepened; and then, "An +accident," he said again, "he must have thought of Rose--and the +Carleton name. And Rose must never know." + +Assentingly Vaughan bowed his head; then stood, gazing straight before +him, a dawning horror in his eyes. Jeanne Satterlee sank back in her +chair, covering her face with her hands. Drawing a long breath, Carleton +seemed again to come to himself. Very gently he drew Marjory closer to +his side. Neither spoke, for no words were needed. Her glance told him +all that he wished to know; he bent over her, and their lips met. + + THE END + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and +intent. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Carleton Case, by Ellery H. 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