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diff --git a/46699.txt b/46699.txt deleted file mode 100644 index fffdd4e..0000000 --- a/46699.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,7852 +0,0 @@ - JUDGE ELBRIDGE - - - - -This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and -most other parts of the world 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 -http://www.gutenberg.org/license. If you are not located in the United -States, you'll have to check the laws of the country where you are -located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: Judge Elbridge -Author: Opie Read -Release Date: August 26, 2014 [EBook #46699] -Language: English -Character set encoding: US-ASCII - - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUDGE ELBRIDGE *** - - - - -Produced by Al Haines. - - - - -[Illustration: Cover art] - - - - -[Illustration: He threw a piece of silver upon the banner of the -salvationists.--_Page_ 180] - - - - - JUDGE ELBRIDGE - - - BY - - OPIE READ - - - - AUTHOR Of - "AN ARKANSAS PLANTER," "THE WATERS - OF CANEY FORK," "A YANKEE - FROM THE WEST," ETC. - - - - CHICAGO AND NEW YORK: - RAND, McNALLY & CO., PUBLISHERS. - MDCCCXCIX. - - - - - Copyright, 1899, by Rand, McNally & Co. - - - - - *CONTENTS* - -CHAPTER - - I. THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR - II. THE FAMILY JOKE - III. THE NIGHT CAME BACK WITH A RUSH - IV. STOOD LOOKING AT THEM - V. SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG - VI. THE WEXTON CLUB - VII. WENT OUT TO "DIG" - VIII. SAW THE BLACK FACE, GRIM, WITHOUT A SMILE - IX. HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY - X. WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE - XI. THE OLD OFFICE - XII. WALKED AND REPENTED - XIII. WANTED TO SEE HIS SON - XIV. A PROPOSITION TO MAKE - XV. DID NOT TOUCH HER - XVI. WITH AN EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR - XVII. LYING ON THE SIDEWALK - XVIII. MADE HIS PROPOSITION - XIX. THE GIRL AGAIN - XX. THE PREACHER CONFESSES - XXI. UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN - XXII. TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE - XXIII. THE LIGHT BREAKS - XXIV. SENT A MESSAGE - - - - - *ILLUSTRATIONS* - -He threw a piece of silver upon the banner of the salvationists . . . -_Frontispiece_ - -"Halloa, Goyle," said he. "Come in." - -Goyle began to turn the knob of the safe - -"How's everything?" Bodney asked - -Bodney took the money - -The old man pointed toward the door, and Howard walked slowly out - -Bodney struck him in the mouth - -The Judge seized the shears and raised them high above his head - - - - - *JUDGE ELBRIDGE* - - - - *CHAPTER I.* - - *THE STUDENT AND THE ORATOR.* - - -When John Elbridge retired from the bench, the newspapers said that he -had been an honorable judge. He was not a pioneer, but had come to -Chicago at a time which we now call an early day, when churches rang -their bells where now there is a jungle of trade, when the legs of the -Giant of the West were in the ache of "growing pains;" at a time when -none but the most visionary dreamed that a mud-hole full of old boots, -dead rats, cats, dogs, could ever be worth a million of dollars. -Elbridge came from Maryland, with a scant wardrobe, a lawyer's diploma, -and the confident ambition of youth. It was not long before he formed a -copartnership with a young man named Bodney, a Kentuckian, in whose mind -still lived the chimes of Henry Clay's bells--a memory that not so much -fitted him to the law as it atuned him to oratory; but in those days the -bar could be eloquent without inviting the pitying smile which means, -"Oh, yes, it sounds all right, but it's crude." Elbridge was the -student of the firm, and Bodney the orator, not a bad combination in the -law at that time, for what one did not know the other was prepared to -assert. They prospered in a way, but never had the forethought to -invest in the magic mud-hole; took wives unto themselves, and, in the -opinion of the "orator," settled down to dull and uneventful honesty. -The years, like racing horses, flew round and round the track, and a -palace of trade grew out of the mud-hole. Bodney and his wife passed -away, leaving two children, a boy and a girl. Elbridge had stood at the -bedside of his partner, who was following his wife into the eternal -shadow. "Don't worry about the children, Dan; they are mine," said the -"student," and the "orator" passed away in peace. And they were his. -He took them to his home to be brother and sister to his son; and the -years raced round and round the track. - -At the time of his retirement from the bench the Judge was asked why he -refused longer to serve the people. "Because," said he, "I am beginning -to be afraid of my judgment; I am becoming too careful--like the old -engineer who can't summon the nerve to bring his train in on time." - -Mrs. Elbridge had been known as a local "beauty." It was said that the -"orator" had rung his Henry Clay bells for her hand, and with -philosophy, a rare quality among orators, had accepted defeat, to spur -himself into another contest and to win a woman not unknown to "looks." -Rachel Fry, afterward Mrs. Elbridge, had written verses to sky tints and -lake hues, and the "student" believed that he had won her with a volume -of Keats, bound in blue, the color of one of her own lake odes. And in -the reminiscent humor of his older days he was wont to laugh over it -until he himself was shot through with a metric thrill, when in measure -he strove to recall the past; and then she had the laugh on him. It may -be a mere notion, but it seems that the young doctor and the old lawyer -are much inclined to write verses, for among the papers of many an aged -jurist sonnets are found, and editors are well acquainted with the -beguiling smile of the young physician. So the "pink fleece of the -cloud-sheep," and the "blue, mysterious soul of the lake," inspirations -of the "beauty's" earlier years, found sympathy in the "student's" -"mellow morning of sunlit hope," penned in the late afternoon of life. -But verses, be they ever so bad, are the marks of refinement, and there -was no vulgar streak in the mind of the Judge. His weakness, and he -possessed more than one, was the doggedness with which he held to a -conviction. His mind was not at all times clear; a neighbor said that -he often found himself in a cloud of dust that arose from ancient law -books; and it is a fact that an able judge is sometimes a man of strong -prejudices. At the time of this narration he was still hale, good -humored, a little given to the pedantry of advancing years, devoted to -his family, impressive in manner, with his high forehead and thin gray -hair; firm of step, heavy in the shoulders, not much above medium -height, cleanly shaven, with full lips slightly pouting. Following his -own idea of comfort, he had planned his house, a large brick building in -Indiana Avenue, at first far out, but now within easy reach of the area -where the city's pile-driving heart beats with increasing violence. It -was a happy household. The son, Howard, was a manly fellow, studious -but wide awake, and upon him the old man rested a precious hope. The -mother was a blonde, and nature had given her cast to the boy, blue eyes -and yellowish hair; and it was said that if he had a vanity it lay in -his bronze beard, which he kept neatly trimmed--and it had come early, -this mark of the matured man. His foster brother, George Bodney, was -dark, inclined to restlessness, over-impressionable, nervous. The old -man had another precious hope--Florence, Bodney's sister; but of this he -shall tell in his own words. A stranger might not have seen anything -striking about the girl; but all acquaintances thought her handsome. At -school she had been called a "character," not that she was original to -the degree of being "queer," but because she acted in a manner -prematurely old, discussing serious questions with her teachers, -debating the problems of life. Her hobby was honor, a virtue which a -cynic has declared is more often found among boys than among girls. She -liked to read of martyrs, not that there was heaven in their faith, but -because she thought it glorious to suffer and to die for a principle, no -matter what that principle might happen to be. - -There was one other member of the family, William, the Judge's brother. -He looked like a caricature of the "student," with thinner hair and -thicker lips. He had not given his energies to any one calling; -shiftless is the word best fitted to set him forth. He had lived in -different parts of the far West, had been dissatisfied with all places -because a failure in all, and had come to spend the remainder of his -days with his brother in Chicago. Here, he declared, a man could not -find disappointment, for no man of sense expected anything but -permission to breathe and to keep out of the way. Friends knew that he -was the Judge's standing joke, a family laughing stock, a humorous -burden, a necessary idleness. Of course, it was natural for him to feel -that he owned the place. - -Howard and George Bodney were bred to the law, and recently had been -admitted to the bar. The "starvation period" of the average young -lawyer did not arise out of dull prospect to confront them; they were to -make their way, it was true, but they could study and wait. Howard was -ambitious, and his mind was grasping. It was said that he "gulped" a -book. He did not stop at the stern texts which were to serve as a part -of his necessary equipment, but gave himself excursions among those -graces of half-idle minds which light a torch for souls that may be -greater. He peeped into the odd corners of thought. Once he startled -his father by declaring that genius was the unconscious wisdom of -ignorance. - -"It is the reflection of hard work," said the old man. The boy was the -corner-stone of his hope; he wanted to feel that his work was to go on, -generation after generation, a pardonable vanity, but a vanity -nevertheless. He wanted the boy to be practical, for a speculative -youth is not a good perpetuator of a father's career. And on one -occasion the boy was taken gently to task for reading a decadent book. - -"I like to brush up against different minds," said he. - -"But nothing is gained by brushing against a diseased mind." - -"We might learn something from a mad dog." - -"But all of value that we may learn from him," said the old man, "is to -keep out of his way. I must request you not to read such books." - -Bodney had not distinguished himself. He appeared to be restless and -dissatisfied with himself and with his prospects. He thought that the -law afforded but a slow and tedious way to make money, and deplored the -shortsightedness of his father and his benefactor for not having -invested in the mud-hole. Nervousness may inspire force of character, -but it more often induces weakness. In many respects Bodney was weak. -But the Judge, who should have been a shrewd observer of men as well as -of principles, did not see it. In the "youth of old age," a man who, in -his younger days, may have been keenly of the world, sometimes turns -upon life the goggle eye of optimism. - -After his retirement from the bench and the more active affairs of the -law, the Judge fitted up an office at his home, with desks, long table -covered with green baize, books and safe. - -One evening Bodney sat alone in the home office, deeply brooding. The -household was at dinner, and he heard the hearty laughter of the Judge. -He was joking with a guest, a preacher, a good fellow. The young man's -brow was dark. Of late he had formed an association with a man named -Goyle, clearly an adventurer, but a man to inflame the fancy of a morbid -nature. Bodney and Goyle had been much together, at the house and at -the office down town, but no one made any objection. Personal freedom -was a hobby with the Judge. - -There were two doors leading into the office, one opening into a hall, -the other into a passageway communicating directly with the street. -Through the door opening into the passage Goyle entered. He carried a -valise in his hand. Bodney looked up. - -"Halloa, Goyle," said he. "Come in." - -[Illustration: "Halloa, Goyle," said he. "Come in."] - -"That's what I'm doing," Goyle replied, putting down the valise near the -door and advancing toward the desk at which Bodney was seated. - -"Sit down," said Bodney. - -"That's what I'm going to do," Goyle replied. - -He sat down, and for a time both were silent. "Where's everybody?" Goyle -asked. - -The bass laughter of the Judge and the contralto of a woman's mirth were -heard. - -"At dinner," said Bodney, nodding toward the dining room. - -"Don't you eat?" - -"Sometimes," Bodney answered, and then after a short silence he asked: -"Did you get my note?" - -"Yes." - -"What do you think?" - -"I think you're scared," said Goyle. - -Bodney gave him a quick look. "Who wouldn't be?" - -"I wouldn't." - -"Yes, you would. It's this way, and there's no other way to it: The old -man has missed money from the safe. He hasn't said so, but I can tell -by the way he acts." - -Goyle smiled. "Well, but no one but himself knows the combination of -the safe. He doesn't know that you found a piece of paper with the -figures on it, does he?" - -"Of course not, but it won't be long before he begins to suspect -someone." - -"Which, necessarily, fastens it on you. Is that it?" - -"Doesn't it look like it?" - -"Oh, it might," said Goyle. "That is, if you let it?" - -Bodney looked at him with reproach. "If I let it. How the deuce can I -help it? You don't suppose he'd suspect his son Howard, do you? No man -could trust a son more than he does." - -Goyle shrugged his shoulders. "Didn't trust him with the combination of -the safe, did he?" - -"No, for it's his idea of business not to trust anyone absolutely. He -laughs and jokes all right enough, and says that this is a fine old -world, but he hasn't quite forgotten that he practiced law among -rascals." - -"Yes," said Goyle, leaning back and stretching himself. "This soft air -makes me lazy. It's not natural, you know, to be comfortable in -Chicago. What were we talking about?" - -Bodney turned upon him almost fiercely, but the visitor looked at him -with the self-command of impudent laziness. He was not given to starts. -He was born a rascal, and had cultivated his legacy. Coolness may be a -virtue; it is also the strongest weapon of the scoundrel, and Goyle was -always cool. He motioned with his hand, bowed, smiled, and Bodney's -anger was gone. - -"Don't get hot, old man," said he. "Everything is all right. If it -isn't, we'll make it so. Oh, yes, we were talking about the old -gentleman's suspicions. And we've got to take care of them. If I -understand it, Howard is to marry your sister. You are all of a family. -Your father and the Judge were law partners years ago, and you and your -sister were adopted by--" - -Bodney waved his hand impatiently. "We know all about that. Yes, and -he has been a father to me and I have been--" - -"A villain, necessarily," Goyle broke in. "Villainy is born in us, and -for a time we may hide out our inheritance, but we can't get away from -it. And it's only the weak that struggle against it. The lamb is born -with wool and the dog with hair. No, we can't get away from it." - -"But we needn't delight in it," said Bodney, with a faint struggle. - -"No, and we needn't lie down on it, either. But, to business. The -Judge must know who took the money from the safe." - -Bodney started. "What, do you think I am going to tell him?" - -Goyle yawned. "No, you must show him." - -"Show him!" - -"Yes. He must see his son Howard take the money." - -Bodney stood up and looked down upon him. "Goyle, are you a fool, or do -you take me for one? Must see Howard take the money! What do you mean? -Do you think I can bribe Howard to take it? I don't understand you." - -"Sit down," said Goyle, and Bodney obeyed, looking at him. Goyle -lighted a cigarette, turned and pointed to the valise. "The thief is in -that grip, and the Judge must see him take the money from the safe. -Listen to me a minute. Among my numerous accomplishments I number -several failures--one as an actor. But we learn more from a failure -than from a success. All right. I heard Howard say that tonight he is -going to a reception. In that grip is his semblance--make-up. At the -proper time, after Howard is gone, you must lead the Judge in here and -see me, as Howard, take money from the safe. On the mother's account -the old man can be made to keep quiet--to hold his tongue, and not even -say anything to his son. He changes his combination, the affair blows -over--and we've got the money." - -"Monstrous!" exclaimed Bodney, jumping up and glaring at Goyle. - -"Do you think so? Sit down." - -Bodney sat down. "Yes, I do think so," he said. - -"What, the crime or the--" - -"Both. And the trick! Anybody could see through it. It's nonsense, -it's rot." - -"Yes? Now, let me tell you, Brother Bodney, that life itself is but a -trick. The world worships a trick--art, literature, music--all tricks. -And what sort of art is the most successful? Bold art. What sort of -scoundrel is the most admired by the world? The bold scoundrel. Bold -art, my boy." - -"But art has its limits and its rules," Bodney feebly protested. - -Goyle dropped the stub of his cigarette upon the floor. "Yes, rules for -imitators to follow. Originals break rules. Rules are made by -weaklings to hamper the success of the strong. You've got to take the -right view of life," he said, slowly lifting his hand and slowly letting -it drop upon his knee. "We are living in the nervous atmosphere of -adventure and bold trickery. The spirit of this town hates the -stagnant; we wipe our muddy feet on tradition. To us the pig squeal of -the present is sweeter than the flute of the past. You and I are -intellectual failures, and why? The town is against us. Put an -advertisement in tomorrow morning's newspaper--'Graduates of Harvard and -Yale wanted, fifteen dollars a week,' and see how many answers you'll -get. A cartload--and from men who were turned out prepared to fight the -battle of life. Think of it. The man who has had his mind trained to -failure, whose teaching has made him a refined weakling, with a mind -full of quotations and mystic theories--that man has a cause to be -avenged upon life, upon society for misleading him. Hear them laughing -in there? You don't hear me laughing. I've got nothing to laugh about. -You and I know that there isn't any future beyond this infernal life. -Then, why hesitate to do anything that works toward our advantage here? -I'm talking to your reason now. We have gambled, and we have lost." He -turned and shook his finger at the valise. "The thief, I tell you, is -in that grip, and he will get us out. If it fails, of course, we are -done for, but we are done for if we don't try. I know it's a bold -trick, but that's in its favor. It's too bold to be expected or -understood. It's no time to think of gratitude. We've got to act. -Give me the combination." - -They got up, and Bodney stood trembling. He seemed to be struggling to -break loose from something that held him in its grasp. Goyle gazed into -his eyes. Bodney put up his hand as if to shield them from a dazzling -light. - -"Give me the combination." - -Bodney tore loose from the something that seemed to be gripping him, and -started on a run toward the door. Goyle caught him, put his hand on -him, held him. - -"I hear them coming. Give me that piece of paper." - -Bodney gave him a slip of paper. Goyle took up the valise. "Come on," -he said, and Bodney followed him out through the door leading into the -passage. - - - - - *CHAPTER II.* - - *THE FAMILY JOKE.* - - -The Judge, his brother William and the Rev. Mr. Bradley entered the -office. "Yes, sir," said the Judge, "I'm delighted that you have been -called to Chicago. We are full of enterprise here, religious as well as -secular. Sit down. And we push religious matters, Mr. Bradley. Here -everything takes up the vigorous character of the town. You know that -one of our poets has said that when the time comes we'll make culture -hum." Bradley sat down, smiling. "William," said the Judge, still -standing, "can't you find a chair?" - -"Oh, I believe so," William replied, sitting down. "But why do you make -everybody sit down and then stand up yourself? Mr. Bradley, my brother -John is a browbeater. He forgets that he ain't always on the bench." - -The Judge winked at Bradley, and laughed. He was full of good humor, -sniffing about on the scent of a prank, and when all other resources -failed, he had the reserve fund of his brother, the family joke, the -humorous necessity. - -"You remember," said Bradley, "I told you, some time ago, that it was my -ambition to have a charge here." - -The Judge, standing in front of him, began to make convincing motions -with his finger, laying down the law, as William termed it. "It's the -field, Bradley. You can raise more money in a church here than--" - -"Oh, it is not that, Judge," the preacher broke in. "Chicago presents a -fertile opportunity for doing good, for making men better, life more -worth living, and--" - -"Death more certain," William suggested. - -"My brother doesn't like it here," said the Judge. - -Bradley turned his mild eyes upon the brother and in the form of a -question, said, "No?" - -William cleared his husky throat. "I have lived further West, where a -fellow may make you get out of a stage-coach at the muzzle of a pistol, -but he won't sneak up and slip his hand into your pocket." - -"My brother took a whirl at the board of trade," said the Judge. He sat -down, lighted a cigar, and offered one to Bradley. "Won't you smoke?" - -"Not now," Bradley answered. "I am trying to break myself." - -"Go down to the board of trade," William suggested. The Judge laughed, -and looked as if he were proud of his family joke. "Won't you smoke, -William?" - -"No," replied the humorous necessity, "I'll wait till I go to my room -and then smoke sure enough--a pipe." - -"Smoke it here." - -"No, I'll put it off--always enjoy it more then. I recollect the tenth -of June, sixty-three--was it the tenth or the eleventh? Anyway, a party -of us were going--it was the eleventh. Yes, the eleventh. I was only a -young fellow at the time, but I liked a pipe, and on that day--no, it -must have been the tenth. John, did I say the eleventh?" - -"I think you hung a little in favor of the eleventh, William." He -winked at Bradley. "And I was sorry to see it, too, for of all the days -in June, the tenth is my favorite." - -William looked at him and cleared his throat, but the Judge wore the -mask of seriousness. The brother proceeded: "Well, I'm reasonably -certain it was the tenth. Yes. Well, on the tenth of June, -sixty-three, a party of us were going over to--yes, the tenth--over -to--" - -"Hold on a moment," said the Judge. "Are you quite sure it was the -tenth? We want it settled, don't we, Bradley? Of course, you are much -younger than we are, Bradley, but you are old enough to enter into the -importance of this thing. As far as he can, a preacher should be as -exact as a judge." Bradley nodded, laughing, and the flame of William's -anger burst forth.' - -"Confound it, John, don't you suppose I know?" - -"I hope so, William," said the Judge. - -William snorted. "You don't do anything of the sort, and you know it." - -"Well, if I don't I know it, of course, but--" - -"Oh, you be confound. You are all the time--" - -"Go ahead with your story." - -"I'll do nothing of the sort, sir; I'll do nothing of the sort. You are -all the time trying to put it on me, and I'll do nothing of the sort; -and the first thing you know, I'll pick up and leave here. I was simply -going to tell of something that took place on the--Mr. Bradley, did I -say the tenth?" - -The preacher had not been able to keep a straight face, but with -reasonable gravity he managed to say that the tenth was the final date -agreed upon. "By all parties concerned," said the Judge, puffing at his -cigar. William scratched his head. "But, after all, it must have been -on the eleventh." - -"Knocks out my favorite again," the Judge muttered, but William took no -notice of the interruption. It is the duty of a family joke to be -forbearing. - -"Ab Tollivar came to me on that day," William began, "and said that -there was to be--" - -"On the tenth--came to you on the tenth?" the Judge broke in. - -"I said the eleventh." - -"William, I beg your pardon," the Judge replied, "but you said the -tenth, raising my hopes, for you well know my predilection for that day. -In many ways a man may be pardoned for recklessness, but not in the -matter of a date. The exact time of an occurrence is almost as -important as the occurrence itself. History would lose much of its -value if the dates--" - -"John, when you get into one of your tantrums you are enough to make a -snow man melt himself with an oath. You'd make a dog swear." - -"Not before me when I was on the bench. But your story. Ab Tollivar -came to you and--" - -"I'll not tell it." He got up and glared at the Judge. "Oughtn't I to -know what day it was on?" - -"Yes, and I believe you do. Sit down." - -"I'll do nothing of the sort, sir. I'll not sit here to be insulted by -you or anybody else." He moved off toward the door, but before going -out, halted, turned, and said: "Mr. Bradley, I'll tell you the story -some other time. But John shall never hear it." He gave his head a -jerk, intended for a bow of indignation, and strode out. - -"He's the dearest old fellow in the world," said the Judge, "and I -couldn't get along without him." - -"Isn't he somewhat younger than yourself?" - -"Yes, two years. Come in." - -Mrs. Elbridge entered the dingy room, brightening it with her presence. -"Won't you please come into the drawing room?" she said. "It is so -dreary in here. Judge, why do you bring visitors to this room? After -the Judge retired from the bench, Mr. Bradley, he decided to move the -main branch of his law office out here, and I didn't think that he would -make it his home, but he has; and, worse than that, he makes it a home -for all his clients. They can stroll in from the street at any time." - -"A sort of old shoe that fits everybody," said the Judge. "The only way -to live is to be comfortable, and the only place in which to find -comfort is in a room where nothing can be spoiled." - -"But won't you phase come into the drawing room?" - -"Yes, my dear, as soon as I am done smoking." - -"But you may smoke in there. Do come, please. The girls want to see Mr. -Bradley. Won't you make him come?" she asked, appealing to the -preacher. - -"Yes, very shortly," replied Bradley. "If he doesn't drop his cigar -pretty soon we'll have him driven out with Mr. William's pipe." - -"The threat is surely dark enough," she rejoined. "Don't be long, -Judge," she added, turning to go. "Agnes declares that you shall not -drag Mr. Bradley into your den and keep him shut out from civilized -life." - -Agnes was a Miss Temple, a visitor, bright and full of mischief. And -during all the talk the preacher's mind had been dwelling upon her, the -mischief in her eyes and the dazzle of her smile. - -"Miss Temple is an exceedingly charming woman," he said, when Mrs. -Elbridge had quitted the room. "She and Miss Bodney were schoolmates, I -believe." - -"Yes, and although much separated, have not broken the gauze bonds of -school fellowship." - -"Gauze bonds, Judge?" - -"The beautiful but flimsy friendship of girlhood." - -"Younger than Miss Bodney, I fancy." - -"Yes, a year or so. She lives in Quincy, and is here for a month, but -we shall keep her longer if we can. She is a source of great -entertainment. Of course, you have noticed Florence closely--you -couldn't help it. She is one of the sweetest creatures that ever lived, -and she has character, too. I couldn't think more of her if she were my -daughter--and she is to be my daughter. She and my son Howard are soon -to be married. It is the prettiest romance in life or fiction. They -are near the same age. They went to school hand in hand--sat beside -each other at table, year after year, and in innocent love kissed each -other good-night. They don't know the time when they made their first -vows--upon this life they opened their eyes in love; an infant devotion -reached forth its dimpled hand and drew their hearts together. -Beautiful." - -The preacher was thoughtful for a few moments, and then he said: "The -Spirit of God doing the work it loves the best. And they are soon to be -married. May I hope to--" - -"You shall join them together, Bradley." - -"I thank you." - -"No, thank the memory of your father. I knew him well. He was my -friend at a time when friendship meant something to me." - -"And the young woman's brother, Judge. I haven't seen much of him." - -"George Bodney? A manly young fellow, sir, quiet and thoughtful. He -and Howard are to take up the law when I put it down--indeed, they have -begun already." - -"You are a happy man, Judge." - -The Judge leaned back in his chair and was thoughtful; his cigar had -gone out, and he held it listlessly. "Yes, for the others are so -happy." He dropped the cigar stub upon the ash tray, roused himself, -and said: "Nothing bothers me now. I am out of the current of life; I -am in a quiet pool, in the shade; and I don't regret having passed out -of the swift stream where the sun was blazing. No, I am rarely worried. -Yes, I am annoyed at times, to be perfectly frank, now, for instance, -and by a most peculiar thing. I--er--a friend of mine told me a story -that bothers me, although it is but a trifle and shouldn't worry me at -all. He is a lawyer, situated very much as I am. He has been missing -money from his safe. No one but himself knows the combination. He -couldn't suspect either of his sons; they didn't know the -combination--not to be considered at all. He doesn't keep large sums on -hand, of course; just enough to accommodate some of his old-fashioned -clients who like to do business in the old-fashioned way. It bothered -him, for he took it into his head that he himself was getting up at -night and in his sleep taking the money from the safe and hiding it -somewhere. For years, whenever he has had anything important on hand, -he has been in the habit of waking himself at morning with an alarm -clock. And I told him to set the clock in the safe and catch himself. -He has done better than that--has fixed a gong so that it will ring -whenever the inner drawer of the safe is pulled open. Of course, it is -nothing to me, but--ah, come in, Agnes." - -"Your wife has sent a bench warrant for you," said the young woman, -entering the room and shaking her finger at the Judge. - -"To be served by a charming deputy," said Bradley. - -She laughed. "No wonder preachers catch women," she replied. "I'm glad -I struck you. I was afraid I might miss." - -The Judge arose and bowed to her. "We might dodge an arrow but not a -perfume," said he. - -"Now, Mr. Judge, when did you come from the South?" she cried. "But are -you going with me? There are some more people in there; a young fellow -that looks like a scared rabbit. But he's got nerve enough to say -cawn't. I told him that if he'd come to Quincy we'd make him say -kain't." - -"Well, Bradley," said the Judge, "we are prisoners. Come on." - -Bradley halted a moment to speak to Agnes. The Judge turned and asked if -Howard and George Bodney were in the drawing room. She replied that -Howard had gone or was going to a reception and that Mr. Bodney was -somewhere about the house. She had seen him passing along the hall with -Mr. Goyle. Just then, in evening dress, Howard came into the room. "I -thought I heard Florence in here," said he, looking about. - -"Going to leave us?" said the Judge. - -"Yes, to bore and be politely bored. I want Florence to see if I look -all right." - -"Oh, I wonder," cried Agnes, "if any man will ever have that much -confidence in me. There she is now. Florence, here's a man that wants -you to put the stamp of approval upon his appearance." - -Howard turned to Florence. "I wanted you to see me," he said. - -"I've been looking for you," she replied. - -Bradley, in an undertone, spoke to the Judge. "I can see the picture you -drew of them." - -"No," replied the preacher, with the light of admiration in his honest -eyes. - -Agnes spoke to Howard. "It must have been nearly half an hour since you -and Florence saw each other. What an age," she added, with the -caricature of a sigh. "But come on, Judge, you and Mr. Bradley." She -led the two men away, looking back with another mock sigh at Florence. - -"I may not be back till late," said Howard, "and I couldn't go without -my good-night kiss." - -She smiled upon him. "I knew that you had not forgotten it. And yet," -she added, looking at him--"and yet I was anxious." - -"Anxious?" - -"Yes, but I didn't know why. Howard, within the past few days my love -for you has taken so--so trembling a turn. We have been so happy, -and--" - -"And what, Florence?" - -"Oh, I don't know, but something makes me afraid now. You know that -there are times when happiness halts to shudder." - -He put his arm about her. "Yes, we are sometimes afraid that something -may happen because it has not. But it is only a reproachful fancy. We -see the sorrow of others and are afraid that we don't deserve to be -happy. But I must go," he added, kissing her. - -She continued to cling to him. "Do I look all right?" he asked. - -"I don't know--I can't see." - -"Can't see?" - -"No. Love, which they say is blind, has blinded me." - -He kissed her again. "But if love blinds, Florence, it would make a bat -of me. You are serious tonight," he added, looking into her eyes. - -"Yes, I am." The sound of laughter came from the drawing room. "Yes, I -am, and I must go in there to be pleased. Howard, do you believe that -anything could separate us?" - -"Really, you are beginning to distress me. I have never known what it -was to live without you, and I couldn't know it. But cheer up, won't -you? To-morrow we--" - -"Yes, I will," she broke in. "It was only a shadow and it has passed. -But I wonder where such shadows come from. Why do they come? Who has -the ordering of them?" - -As they were walking toward the door opening into the hall, William -entered from the passage, smoking his pipe, his thin hair rumpled as if -he had just emerged from a contest. Howard and Florence did not see -him, and he called to them. - -"I say, there, Howard, I thought you were going out." - -The young man halted and looked back with a smile. "Don't you see me -going out, Uncle Billy?" - -"Now look here, young fellow!" exclaimed the old man in a rage, his hair -seeming to stand up straighter, "I don't want to be Uncle Billied by -you, and I won't have it, either. Your daddy's got it in for me lately, -and I'll be hanged if I'm going to put up with it much longer. And -Florence, you'd better speak to him about it. I want to give him every -opportunity to mend his ways toward me, and you'd better caution him -before it's too late. Do you understand?" - -"Yes, Uncle William," she answered. "And I will speak to him." - -"Well, see that you do. And, mind you, I wasn't certain whether it was -on the tenth or the eleventh; I was willing to give either the benefit -of the doubt; I--" - -"That's all right, Uncle William," said Howard. - -The old man glared at him. "It's not all right, sir, and you know it. -But go ahead. I don't belong to the plot of this household, anyway. -I'm only a side issue." Howard and Florence passed out, and he shouted -after them. "Do you hear me? Only a side issue." - -Just then Bodney came in. "You are a what, Uncle William?" he asked, -looking about. - -"I said a side issue." - -"What's that?" - -"If you haven't got sense enough to know, I haven't the indulgence to -tell you." - -"Where did you get that pipe, Uncle William?" - -"I got it in the Rocky Mountains," said the old fellow. - -"It must have come there about the time the mountains arrived. Whew!" - -"Now, look here, George Bodney, don't you bring up the tail end of an -entire evening of insult by whewing at my pipe. I won't stand it, do -you hear?" - -Bodney undoubtedly heard, but he did not reply; he went over to the desk -and began to look about, moving papers, as if searching for something. -"I left my knife here, somewhere," said he. "Must have a little more -light." He turned up the gas drop light on the table, went back to the -desk, and, pretending to find his knife, turned down the drop light -lower than it had been before. - -"There's no use to put out the light simply because you've found your -knife," said William. "It may be to your advantage to have it dark, but -I like to see. I haven't always lived in this soot and smoke; I have -lived where I could see the sky from one year's end to another." - -"I beg your pardon," said Bodney, "but how long do you expect to stay in -this room?" - -"Oh, don't pay any attention to me. I don't belong to the plot." - -"What plot?" Bodney exclaimed, with a start. - -"Why, the plot of this household--the general plot of the whole thing." - -"Oh, yes, I see," said Bodney. - -"I'm glad you do. And, here, just a minute. The Judge and I had a -difference tonight." - -"Not a serious one, I hope." - -"Devilish serious. Wait a moment. I set out by admitting that I was -not exactly certain whether it was on the tenth or the eleventh. But I -settled it, finally, I think, on the eleventh. I--" - -"Eleventh of what?" - -"Of June, sixty-three. On that day, as I started to tell them--now, I -want to be exact, and I'll tell you all about it." The old man sat -down, crossed his legs, took a few puffs at his pipe, preliminaries to a -long recital; but the young fellow, standing near, began to shift about -in impatience. "I remember exactly what sort of a day it was. There -had been a threat of rain, but the clouds--" - -"Oh, I don't care anything about it." - -"What!" - -"I say, I don't care anything about it." - -"The hell you don't! Why, you trifling rascal, I raised you; you owe -almost your very existence to me. And now you tell me that you don't -care anything about it. Go on out, then. You shan't hear it now, after -your ingratitude." Bodney strode out, and the old man shouted after -him, "I wouldn't tell you that story to save your life." Laughter came -from the drawing room. William grunted contemptuously. "There's John -telling his yarns. And that preacher--why, if I couldn't tell a better -story than a preacher--" He broke off and got up with sudden energy. -"But they've got to hear that story. They can't get away from it." And -muttering, he walked out briskly. - -Bodney stepped back into the room. He looked at the light, turned it -lower, sat down and, leaning forward, covered his face with his hands. -But he did not remain long in this position; he got up and went to the -safe, put his hand upon it, snatched it away, put it back and stood -there, gazing at the light. Then he went to the door and beckoned. -Goyle, disguised as Howard, walked in with insolent coolness. In -Bodney's room he had dressed himself, posing before the glass, arranging -his bronze beard, clipping here and there, touching up his features with -paint--and Bodney had stood by, dumb with astonishment. The dress suit, -everything, was complete, and when he came out he imitated Howard's -walk. Bodney could not help admiring the superb control he had of his -nerves; but more than once he felt an impulse to kill him, particularly -when, in response to the beckoning, he stepped into the office. - -"If it fails, I shoot you," Bodney whispered. - -"Rot. It can't fail. Don't I look like him?" - -"Yes. You would deceive me--you--" - -"Art, bold art," said Goyle. "A man ought to be willing to die for his -art. Turn the light a little higher." - -"No, it's high enough." - -Goyle walked over leisurely and turned up the light. "That's better. -We must give him a chance to see." - -"Wait a moment," said Bodney, as Goyle took his position at the safe. -"Wolf, I want to acknowledge myself the blackest scoundrel on the -earth." - -"Not necessary. Taken for granted. Go ahead." - -Bodney turned to go, but hesitated at the hall door and seemed again to -struggle with something that had him in its grasp. Goyle motioned, and -said, "Go ahead, fool." Bodney passed into the hall, and Goyle began to -turn the knob of the safe, holding his paper to catch the light. He -heard the voice of Bodney. "It won't take long. I want you to help -me--" The door swung. Goyle pulled open the drawer, and then followed -three sharp strokes of the gong, just as loud laughter burst from the -drawing room. Goyle jumped back. The Judge rushed in, with Bodney -clinging to him. Goyle turned as if he had not seen the Judge and rushed -from the room. Bodney struggled with the Judge, his hand over his -mouth, and forced him down upon a chair. "Judge, father, not a -word--for his mother's sake. You must freeze your heart for her sake." -The old man dropped with a groan, Bodney bending over him. - -[Illustration: Goyle began to turn the knob of the safe.] - - - - - *CHAPTER III.* - - *THE NIGHT CAME BACK WITH A RUSH.* - - -Bodney led the Judge to his room on the second floor, where he left him -almost in a state of collapse. He spoke of calling Mrs. Elbridge, but -the old man shook his head, which Bodney knew he would do, and in a -broken voice said that he wanted to be left alone. At the time when the -Judge left the drawing room with Bodney, Bradley was bidding the family -good-night, but lingered a moment longer to join the company in a laugh -at William, who, having settled his date to his own satisfaction, had -forgotten the point of the story. - -Bodney's room was on the first floor, off the passage, and, going -thither, he found Goyle sitting on the side of the bed, not as Howard, -but as himself. The scoundrel declared that it had worked like a charm, -but that the clang of the gong had prevented his getting any money. -That, however, was a minor consideration. He needed money, it was true; -he had not expected much, but even a little would have helped him -greatly. A lower order of mind might have brooded over the -disappointment, but his mind was exultant over the success of his art. -He argued that if his impersonation of a son could deceive a father, he -might bring forth a Hamlet to charm an audience. - -"How is he?" Goyle asked, as Bodney stepped into the room. - -"Don't talk to me, now," said Bodney, sitting down. He took up a -newspaper and fanned himself. "For a time I wished that I had killed -you." - -"Yes? And now?" - -"I wish that you had killed me. Tell me, are you a human being? I -don't believe you are. I don't believe that any human being could have -the influence over me that you have had--that you still have, you -scoundrel. I wish I could stab you." - -"Can't you?" - -"No. My arm would fall, paralyzed. I used to scout the idea of a -personal devil, but I believe in one now. He is sitting on my bed. He -has compelled me to do something--" - -"It worked like a charm, George; and now, old fellow, don't hold a -grudge against me. I have taught you more than you ever learned before; -I have shown you that a man can do almost anything--that men are but -children to be deluded by trickery. There, for instance, is a judge, a -man who was set up to pass upon the actions of men. What did I do? -Convinced him that his own son is a robber. Was that right? Perhaps. -Why should such a man have been a judge? What wrongs may not his -shortsightedness have caused him to commit? We can't tell. He may have -committed a thousand unconscious crimes. But an unconscious crime may -be just as bad as a conscious one. He has been sitting above other men. -Now let him suffer; it is due him. And his son! What does he care for -you or me? He reads, and thinks that he is wise. He has stuffed -himself with the echo of feeble minds; and now let him wallow in his -wisdom. Look at me. Are you sorry for what we have done? Look at me." - -Bodney made an effort to get up, but his strength seemed to fail him, -and he remained as he was, gazing at Goyle. "George," Goyle continued, -his eyes glittering, "I was the hope of a father, a better man than -Judge Elbridge. But he was ruined by honest men and died of a broken -heart. That was all right; it was a part of life's infamous plan. -Everything is all right---a part of the plan. My friends called me a -genius; they believed that I was to astonish the world, and I believed -it. I bent myself to study, but one day the bubble burst and I felt -then that nothing amounted to anything--that all was a fraud. The world -is the enemy of every man. Every man is the natural enemy of every -other man. Evil has always triumphed and always will. The churches -meet to reform their creeds. After a while they must revise out -God--another bubble, constantly bursting. Then, why should there be a -conscience? That's the point I want to make. Why should you and I -suffer on account of anything we have done? Everything you see will -soon pass away. Nothing is the only thing eternal. Then, let us make -the most of our opportunities for animal enjoyment. The animal is the -only substance. Intellectuality is a shadow. Are you sorry for what I -have done?" - -He fixed his glittering eyes upon Bodney, and, gazing at him, Bodney -answered: "No, I am not. It was marked out for us, and I don't suppose -we could help it; but somehow--somehow, I wish that I had killed you." - -"What for? to cut off a few days of animalism--to make of me an eternal -nothing? That wouldn't have done any good." - -"It would have prevented the misery--" - -Goyle stopped him with a snap of his fingers. "For how long? For a -minute. It will all pass away. Be cheerful, now. We haven't any money -as a reward of our enterprise and art, but we have let the life blood -out of all suspicion attaching to us. Let us go to bed." - -"You go to bed. I will lie on the floor." - -"No use to put yourself out, George. I'll lie on the floor." - -"No," said Bodney, and Goyle let him have his way. The hours passed, -Bodney lying in a restless stupor, but Goyle slept. Sunlight poured -into the room and Bodney got up. He went to the window and stood to -cool his face in the fresh air. He looked back at the bed. Goyle was -still sleeping, breathing gently. The horror of the night came in a -rush. And there was the cause of it, sleeping in peace. Bodney -snatched open a drawer and seized a razor. Goyle turned over, with his -face toward the window. - -"Ah, up? What time is it, George?" - -Bodney dropped the razor and sat down. "It is time to get up," he said. -Goyle got out of bed and began to exercise himself by striking out with -his fists. He had passed, he said, a night of delicious rest, with not -a dream to disturb him. He whistled merrily as he dressed himself. -Bodney stood with his elbow resting on the marble top of the "bureau," -his face yellow and haggard. Glancing down into the half closed drawer, -he saw the razor and shuddered at the sight of it. With his left hand -he felt of his right arm, gripping it from shoulder down to wrist as if -in some strange manner it had been deprived of strength. Goyle moved -toward him and he pushed against the drawer to close it, but the keen -eye of the "artist" fell upon the open razor, and glittered like the eye -of a snake. But he showed no sign of fear or even of resentment. - -"I will stay to breakfast with you," he said, putting his hand on -Bodney's shoulder. - -"I wish you wouldn't," Bodney feebly replied. - -"Oh, no you don't. Come, brace up now. My part of the work is done, -but yours is just beginning. I have saved you from suspicion, but you -must keep yourself saved. That's right, brighten up. Now you are -beginning to look like yourself. Why, nothing so very bad has been done. -We have enacted a little drama, that's all. Such things, or things on a -par with them, are enacted every day. The newspapers are full of -stranger things. We haven't hired a 'castle' and entered upon a career -of wholesale murder; we haven't cut up a woman and made her into -sausage." - -The voice of William was heard in the passage, scolding a housemaid for -disturbing his papers. The old man tapped on the door and Goyle opened -it. - -"Ah, you here?" said the old man, stepping into the room. "You'd better -go in to breakfast. Well, sir, I never saw anything like it in my life. -I can't put a thing down and find it where I left it. George, what's -the matter with you this morning?" - -"Nothing at all, sir. I had a headache and didn't sleep very well. -That's all. Is the Judge up yet?" - -"I believe not. And when he does get up I want to have a talk with him. -I'll be hanged if he didn't get that preacher to laughing at me last -night--laughing at me right here in my own house. I can stand a good -deal, but when a preacher laughs at me, why things have gone too far." - -Goyle smiled upon him. "But, Mr. Elbridge, a preacher means quite as -little when he laughs as when he talks." - -This pleased the old man, and he chuckled, his fat sides shaking. -Bodney smiled, too, and Goyle gave him a look of approval and it -appeared to brighten him. He dressed himself hastily, turning -occasionally to heed a remark made by Goyle or the old man, and when he -stepped out of the room to go with them to breakfast, his face was not -so yellow, nor his countenance so haggard. - - - - - *CHAPTER IV.* - - *STOOD LOOKING AT THEM.* - - -About two hours later Florence was sitting alone in the drawing room -when Howard entered. She asked him if he had seen his father that -morning. He sat down on a sofa beside her and said, after a moment's -reflection: - -"Yes, I have seen him? Why did you ask?" - -She seemed worried and did not immediately answer him. He repeated his -question. "Because he spoke of you at breakfast," she said. "He didn't -appear at all well--sat staring about, and--" - -"That explains it," said Howard. - -"Explains what?" she asked. - -"His treatment of me." - -"Treatment of you? Has anything gone wrong?" - -"Yes, in the office, just now. When I went in he jumped up from his -desk, threw down a hand full of papers, and stared at me--muttered, -seemed to struggle with himself, sat down, and asked me to leave him -alone. He never acted that way toward me before. I'm afraid he's ill. -Why, he's the most jovial man in the world, and--I'm worried. I don't -understand it. If he's sick, why didn't he say so?" - -"I don't know, but don't let it worry you, dear," she said. - -"But it does, Florence, to be turned upon in that way. What did he say -about me at the table this morning? He surely wasn't angry because I -didn't get up in time for breakfast." - -"Surely not. He didn't say anything, only asked where you were, and -kept staring at the place where you sit." - -"And is that the reason you asked me if I had seen him?" - -"Yes, that and the fact that he didn't appear to be well." - -"I don't understand it. Why, he has joked with me all my life, sick or -well. It hurts me." And, after a slight pause, he added: "I wonder if -he turned on George, too." - -"It wouldn't seem so, for as he was going out of the breakfast room he -put his hand on brother's shoulder and leaned on him." - -Bodney came in at that moment, and, looking about, asked if they had -seen Goyle. As he was going out, Howard called him. - -"Oh, George, just a moment. Have you noticed anything strange about -father this morning?" - -And Bodney was master of himself when he answered: "Nothing much. Only -he didn't seem to be as well as usual. It will pass off. I wonder -where that fellow is?" He strode out, and they heard him talking to -Goyle in the hall. - -"Put his hand on George's shoulder and leaned on him," Howard mused, -aloud. "Then he is not well. George knows it and doesn't want to -distress me by telling me. Did he sit up late?" - -"No. Mr. Bradley had to go early, and just as he was taking his leave -brother stepped in and asked your father to help him with an important -matter--some abstract of title, or something of the sort, and they went -out and he didn't come back. I don't want to distress you, but your -mother said that he walked the floor nearly all night." - -"Did she? And George knows more than he is willing to tell. But why do -they try to shield me? It would be all right to shield mother if -anything were wrong, but if there's a burden, I ought to help bear it." - -She besought him not to be worried, assuring him that nothing had gone -very far wrong and that everything would come right. The clearness and -the strength of her mind, her individuality, her strength of character, -always had a quick influence upon him, and he threw off the heavier part -of his worry and they talked of other matters, of the reception which he -had attended the night before. He repeated a part of a stupid address -delivered by a prominent man, and they laughed at it, he declaring that -nearly all men, no matter how prominent or bright, were usually dull at -a reception. And, after a time, she asked: "What sort of a man is Mr. -Goyle?" - -"Oh, he's all right, I suppose; smart, full of odd conceits. I don't -know him very well. He comes into the down-town office quite -frequently, but he rarely has much to say to me. George seems to be -devoted to him." - -Florence shook her head, deploring the intimacy. "I don't like him," she -said. "And Agnes says she hates him. She snaps him up every time he -speaks to her." She looked at Howard, and saw that his worry was -returning upon him. She put the hair back from his forehead, -affection's most instinctive by-play, and said that he must not be -downcast at a mere nothing, a passing whim on the part of his father. -"And it was only a whim," she added. - -"But whims make an atmosphere," he replied. - -"Not ours, Howard--not yours, not mine. Love makes our atmosphere." - -"Yes," he said, putting his arm about her, "our breath of life. -Florence, last night you were depressed, and now I am heavy." Their -heads, bent forward, touched each other. "And your love is dearer to me -now than ever before." Their faces were turned from the hall door. The -Judge silently entered, and, seeing them, started toward them, making -motions with his hands as if he would tear them apart. But Howard, -after a brief pause, spoke again, and the old man halted, gazing at -them. "Florence, you asked me, last night, if anything could separate -us, and now I ask you that same question. Could anything part us?" - -"No," she said, "not man, not woman, nothing but God, and he has bound -us together." - -"With silken cords woven in the loom of eternity," he replied; and the -Judge wheeled about, and, with a sob, was gone, unseen. - -"What was that?" Florence asked, looking round. "It sounded like a sob." - -"We were not listening for sobs and should not have heard them," he -replied. "It wasn't anything." - -William came in, clearing his throat. "Don't let me disturb you," he -said, as they got up. "I don't belong to the plot at all." He began to -look about. "I left my pipe somewhere." - -"I don't think it's here, Uncle William," said Howard. "You surely -wouldn't leave it here; and, besides, I don't hear it." - -There came a sort of explosion, and upon it was borne the words, "What's -that? You don't hear it? You don't? Now what have I ever done to you -to deserve such an insult? Ha! What have I done?" - -"Why, nothing at all, Uncle William." - -"Then why do you want to insult me? Haven't I been your slave ever -since I came here? Haven't I passed sleepless nights devising things -for your good? You can't deny it, and yet, at the first opportunity, -you turn upon me with an insult." - -"Why, Uncle Billy," said Florence, "he wouldn't insult you. He was only -joking." - -Howard assured him that he meant no insult, whereupon the old man said: -"All right, but I know a joke as well as anybody. I have joked with -some of the best of 'em in my time, I'll tell you that. But it's no -joke when you come talking about not hearing a man's pipe. It's a -reflection on his cleanliness--it means that his pipe is stronger than a -gentleman's pipe ought to be. But I want to tell you, sir, that it -isn't. It's as sweet as a pie." - -Howard said that he knew the import of such an accusation. "But," he -added, "I was in hopes that it was strong, not to cast any reflection, -you understand, but to show my appreciation of what you have done for -me. I was going to give you that meerschaum of mine." - -The old man's under jaw dropped. "Hah? Well, now, I do believe that it -has got to be just a little nippy; just a little, you understand." - -"I wish it were stronger than that, Uncle Billy." - -"You do? Howard, you have always been a good friend to me; our -relations have been most cordial and confidential, and I don't mind -telling you--to go no further, mind you--that my old pipe is as strong -as--as a red fox. Yes, sir, it's a positive fact. Er--where is your -pipe?" - -"In my room. You may go and get it as soon as you like." - -"All right, and I'm a thousand times obliged to you. Florence, did that -preacher go away so suddenly last night because I settled the fact that -it was on the tenth?" - -"Oh, no, he left because he had an engagement." - -"Well," drawled the old man, "I don't know about that. Why, confound -him, I've got a right to settle it as my memory dictates. Does he think -that I'm going to warp my recollection just for him?" - -"What was it all about, Uncle Billy?" Howard asked. - -"About a story I was going to tell." - -"Did you tell it?" - -"Did I tell it! Well, after a fashion; after they had badgered me. -Then I made a mess of it. How do you expect me to tell a story -when--look here, ain't you trying to put it on me? Hah, ain't you?" - -"I don't know what you mean, Uncle William." - -"Oh, you don't. The whole kit of you are devilish dull all at once." - -"You surely don't include me," said Florence. - -"No, not you, Florence, but all the men about the house. Why, I went up -to John, just a while ago, and I'll be hanged if he didn't snap at me -like a turtle--told me to get out of his office. Shall I tell you what -he said? He said that last night he went to hell and was still there. -There's something wrong with him, as sure as you live." - -Howard turned away and began to walk up and down the room. "There it is -again," said he. "I no sooner convince myself that it might have been a -mere whim when something comes up to assure me that it is something -worse. And the look he gave me, Florence. It hurts me." He walked -toward the door. Florence asked him if he were going to his father. He -turned and stood for a moment in silence. "No, I am going down town. I -don't feel right. I am hurt. But don't say anything to him, please. I -am going to wait and see what comes of it. And please don't say -anything to mother." He took his leave, and Florence went to the window -and looked after him as he passed down the street. She spoke to -William. "I wonder what the trouble is," she said. - -"I don't know," William replied, ruffling his brow, "but as for that -preacher--the first thing he knows, I won't let him come here. John has -insisted on his dropping in at any time, because he used to know his -father, but I'll attend to that. Why does a great, strong fellow as he -is want to throw away his time? Why doesn't he get to work?" He sat -down and, looking toward the piano, asked Florence to play something. -"I'd like a tune quick and high-stepping," he said. She told him that -she was in no humor. "In that event," he insisted, "you might play the -Maiden's Prayer." - -"Not now, Uncle William. Here's Agnes. She'll play for you." - -"No, I won't," said Agnes, coming into the room. Florence expected the -old fellow to snort his displeasure at so flat a refusal, but he did -not. He bowed to her and said: "Now, that's the way to talk. I like to -have a woman come right out and say what she means. Well," he added, -getting up, "I am not in your plot, anyway, so I'll bid you good -morning." - -As soon as William was gone, Agnes went to the piano, seated herself on -the stool and began to ripple on the keys. "There are times when we -feel like dabbling in water but don't want to swim," she said. - -"And you are dabbling now," Florence spoke up. - -"Only dabbling. Oh, I forgot; your dressmaker is out there, and I came -in to tell you." - -"I'm glad you didn't forget it entirely. Oh, and I must tell you -something. Brother says that Mr. Goyle is smitten with you." - -Agnes, still rippling, turned half way round, sniffed and turned back. -"I hate him so hard that it's almost second cousin to love," she -declared. - -"Don't let it be any closer kin, Agnes. There is always danger in a -first cousin." - -Agnes, still rippling, sniffed contemptuously. "He's been following me -around all the morning. How I love to hate him." - -The voice of Mrs. Elbridge was heard, calling Florence, who answered -that she was coming, but she halted long enough to say to Agnes, -mischievously, that she might learn to love him if she loved to hate -him. Both love and hate were kindred passions, with but a thin -partition between them. As she was going out, Agnes shouted after her -that, if she ever loved him she would hate herself, and then, just as -Goyle and Bodney entered the room, she added: "We tar and feather such -fellows in Quincy." - -"You do what in Quincy?" Bodney asked. - -And Agnes, without looking round, repeated: "Tar and feather such -fellows." - -Goyle knew that she meant him, but instead of kindling resentment, her -words aroused in him an additional interest in her. He looked at her as -in the rhythmic sway of her graceful form, the nodding of her shapely -head, she kept time with a tune, half remembered, half improvised; and, -turning to Bodney, he asked in tones too low for the girl to hear: "Has -she got any money?" - -"I think she has." - -"Leave me alone with her." - -"Do you want to snatch her purse?" - -"Do you suppose I want a hair pin, a pearl button, a scrap of verse, and -a three-cornered piece of silk that no man can match? I mean, has she -got any money in her own name?" - -"I haven't asked her, but I think she has." - -"Then leave me alone with her." - -Bodney stood looking at him. There was a continuous fascination in the -fellow's affrontery. "All right," he said, but quickly added: "We've -got to go down town, you know. I'll step into the office and wait till -she gets through with you. You may hypnotize me, but--" - -Goyle cut him off with a gesture. "Nonsense! When she gets through with -me! Cool, coming from a man whose honor I have saved at the risk of my -own. But no cooler than the bullet you threatened me with." - -"I wish I had given it to you," said Bodney. - -"Do you? It's not too late, if you are bent on murder. But that's all -right," he broke off, with a wave of the hand. "Leave me alone with -her." - -Bodney went out and Goyle sat down on a sofa, gazed at the girl, cleared -his throat, coughed; but she did not look round. "What are you playing? -May I ask?" - -"You have asked," she replied, without looking round. - -"But you haven't told me." - -She left off playing, and slowly turned on the stool to face him. "A -tune they played in Quincy one night, when they tarred and feathered a -man," she said. And then, with a smile of sweet innocence, she added: -"You were never in Quincy, were you?" - -"Well, I was never tarred and feathered there." - -"Possibly an acknowledgment that you were never in the town. Oh, -somebody told me that you were once connected with opera." - -"Then somebody flattered me. I couldn't sing in a chorus of scissors -grinders." - -"A sort of Chinese opera, I inferred," she said. - -"Well, that's about the only sort I could sing in. Chinese opera, eh?" - -"Yes, that's what I inferred. It was something about Sing-Sing. Isn't -that Chinese?" - -"Oh, it sounds like a joke," said he. - -"And it wasn't?" she asked, in surprise. "Then it was serious opera -instead of comic. They call serious opera grand, I believe. And is -that the reason they call larceny grand--because it is serious?" - -For a time he sat in a deep study of her. How different from the -nervous and impressionable weakling who had just left the room; and in -looking at her he felt that his eyes refused to glitter with a -snake-like charm; they were dull and flat, and he drew his hand across -them. "Do you know that I like you?" he said. - -"Then I do not bring up an unpleasant recollection." - -"No, a beautiful vision." And now he had more confidence in his eyes, -for he got up and moved toward her. She slipped off the stool and stood -looking at him. - -"Won't you play something for me?" he asked. - -"I don't want to play. I don't feel like it." - -"Let your fingers dream over the keys." - -"My hands aren't asleep." She moved off from him. - -"You aren't afraid of me, are you?". - -She looked him in the eye. "My grandmother killed a panther," she said. - -He drew his hand across his eyes; he recalled what Bodney had -said--about her getting through with him. In the dictionary of slang -there is a word to fit him: the resources of his "gall" were boundless. -"Why don't you like me?" he asked. "Am I ugly in your sight? Do I look -like a villain?" - -"If you looked more like a villain you'd be less dangerous." - -"That's cruel. We may not see each other again. Won't you shake hands -with me?" - -"What is the use of shaking hands with a stranger we are never to see -again," she said. - -"But if we shake hands," he persisted, "we may not be strangers." - -"No? Then, we'll not shake." - -William strolled through the room, halting just long enough to assure -them that he was not trying to break into the plot. "He's a queer -duck," said Goyle. - -"I wish there were more of his feather," she replied. "He can pass -through without stopping." - -"And so could I but for you," he rejoined. - -She snapped her eyes at him. "What nerve tonic do you take?" - -"Nature's. She gives me a tonic whenever I look at you." - -She laughed at this, and she said: "I am woman enough to like that sort -of talk, but I don't like you." - -"You like my talk, but don't like me. Why this discrepancy? Why don't -you like me?" - -"Oh, I don't know. You give me the creeps." - -"You are very frank." - -"Oh, the creeps would make anybody frank." - -Bodney appeared at the door and cleared his throat to attract attention, -and he was bold enough to ask her if she had got through with him. -"Long ago," she answered. "And now you may have him." - -Goyle bowed to her. "Mr. Bodney and I may go out of town for a day or -two--or, at least, I may. Will you permit me to hope to see you upon my -return?" - -"Oh, certainly," she said, and he felt that at last he was making some -sort of progress. "I thank you," he replied. - -But there was something more to follow. "You can hope that you may, and -I will hope that you may not," she said. - -Goyle bowed, and looked at her, admiringly. "Miss Needle-tongue," he -said. "But you catch me." - -Bodney told him to come on, but he lingered a moment longer. "May I -tell you good-bye?" he said, and she replied that she hoped so. As the -two men were going out the Judge came in. Goyle glanced at him, but -Bodney averted his eyes. The old man's face smote him with reproach. - - - - - *CHAPTER V.* - - *SHE SAID THAT SHE WAS STRONG.* - - -Agnes, accustomed to joke with the Judge, now looked at him in -astonishment; his face was haggard and his eyes appeared hot with -suffering. But he had not forgotten his dignified courtesy. He bowed -to her, bade her good morning, as if he had not seen her earlier in the -day, said that he was looking for Florence, and asked if she would -please find her, that he desired to see her--alone. Agnes went out at -once to find Florence, wondering what could have happened to throw so -serious a cast upon the countenance of the Judge; and, left alone, the -old man walked slowly up and down the room, talking to himself. "I -don't know how to tell her, but she must know of it. It is my duty to -tell her." He paused, looked toward the door, and continued: "I am -striving to master my heart by smothering it; I must be the master of a -dead heart." He paused again and resumed his walk. "Yesterday the -world was a laugh, but today it is a groan. I wonder if he saw me. No, -and toward him I must bear the burden of silence. A mother's heart -would see the accusation in his face, and I must protect her. To keep -her shielded is now my only duty in life. That decadent book! It was a -seed of degeneracy. Ah, come in," he said, as Florence appeared at the -door. Howard had called her eyes the searchlights of sympathy; and she -turned those lights upon the old man's face as she came into the room, -slowly approaching him. - -"Did you send for me--father?" - -"Father," he repeated with a catch in his breath that sounded like a -sob. "My dear, it comes sweet from your lips, but it falls upon me with -reproach." He stood with bowed head, and Florence put her hand on his -arm. - -"What is the matter, father? Why, you need a doctor. Let me call--" - -"No!" came from him like a cry of pain, as he stepped back from her. -"You must call no one. Wait a moment. Oh, I've got iron in me--but it -is cold, Florence--cold. Wait a moment. Wait." - -She stood looking at him, wondering, striving to catch some possible -forecast of what might follow, but in his face there was no light save -the dull hue of agony. Gradually he became calmer, and then he said: "I -am going to tell you something; it is my duty." - -"Yes, sir, I am listening." - -"But are you strong enough to hear what I have to say?" - -"Does it take strength to hear?" - -"In your case--yes." - -"Then I am strong." She moved closer and stood resolutely before him, -looking into his eyes. - -"Florence, I know your character; I know that your word is too sacred to -break, but this is--is an unparalleled case, and you must be put under -oath." - -"Judge, instead of administering an oath, you ought to take medicine. -Why, I never saw you this way before." - -She was about to turn away from him, but he took her by the arm. "Look -at me. You never saw me this way before. No. In all my experience I -have never heard of a man being so situated. I am a novelty of -distress. And you must know what my ailment is, but you must take an -oath, a sacred oath, not to speak of it to any human being." - -"But if it is so awful, why should I know it? Tell it to a physician." - -"It is my duty to tell it to one human being, and you are the one." - -"Then I will take the oath." - -"Hold up your right hand." She obeyed him. "You swear never to repeat -what I tell you." - -"Yes, I swear." - -"By the memory of your mother?" - -"Yes, by the memory of my mother." - -"And you hope that the Eternal God may frown upon you if you do not keep -your oath?" - -"Judge, this is awful." - -"Are you going to back out now? Are you afraid?" - -"I am not afraid. I hope that the Eternal God may frown upon me if I do -not keep my oath." - -He took her hand, the hand held high, and said to her, "You will keep -your oath. It was disagreeable to take it, but the measure was -necessary. And now comes the agonizing part of my duty--and I wish I -had died before being compelled to discharge it. Florence, you know -that I love you." - -"Yes, sir, I know it--could never have doubted it. But why do you speak -of it? What has it to do with--" - -"Wait. This shall be explained. You must not marry my son." - -She stepped back from him and from her clear eyes, always so -sympathetic, there came a flash of anger. "You are mad, Judge," she -said. - -"I grant it. He drove me mad--he sent me to hell." - -"And you would drag me there." - -"I would save you. It is a duty I owe to the memory of your father and -to my own love for you. Yes, it is my duty." - -"And it is my duty," she said, with now the light of sympathy in her -eyes, "to send for a doctor." - -"Wait. You have not heard. Remember you have sworn." - -"Yes, and I will keep my oath. No, I have not heard. You have told me -nothing. You have simply been mad enough to say that we must not -marry." The sympathy had gone from her eyes. "You must know that Howard -and I have all our lives lived for each other. I owe you nearly -everything, I would make almost any sacrifice for you, but when you even -intimate--but I will not reproach you," she said, softening again. "You -have not told me why," she added, looking into his eyes. - -"My child, it would break your heart." - -She straightened and put her hand upon her bosom. "I offer my heart. -Break it." - -"Florence, my son Howard is a thief." - -She snatched her hand from her bosom and raised it as if to strike him, -but one look of agony from his eyes, and her hand fell. "Judge, how can -you say such a thing? Something has tripped your mind, but how could it -fall so low?" - -"My mind has not been tripped. It is as firm as a rock. And you cannot -doubt my word. Last night I saw him stealing money from the safe, as if -I had not always supplied all his wants, and at an alarm which I had -fixed, little dreaming who the thief might be, he ran away--a thief. -You cannot doubt my word." - -Stern of countenance and with her eyes piercing him, regal as the -barbaric queens we find in ancient fiction, she stood, and the moment of -her silence seemed an age to him. "I pity your word and I doubt your -eyes." - -"You may pretend to, but you cannot in your heart. You must believe me -when I say that I saw him." - -"You saw a vision. Your eyes have lied to you." - -"I saw no vision. My eyes told a heart-breaking truth. Florence, would -you marry a thief?" - -"Sir, I would marry Howard if I knew that he had stolen a hammer to nail -a god to the cross." - -The old man wheeled away from her with a cry. "Oh, crumbled hope--" - -Mrs. Elbridge swept into the room, gazing at the Judge. "Why, what is -the matter?" - -The old man gripped himself together. "Why, I--I have just received a -dispatch, telling me--telling me that my brother Henry is dead. Don't -tell William--brother Henry is dead." - -Mrs. Elbridge went to him and put her arm about him. "And you loved him -so," she said. "Poor, dear man, but we must bow to it, and pray for -consolation. Don't--don't grieve so, dear. Where is the message?" - -The old man looked at Florence. "It distressed him so that I tore it to -pieces and threw it away," she said. - -The Judge gave her a grateful look. "I thank you," he muttered. - - - - - *CHAPTER VI.* - - *THE WEXTON CLUB.* - - -When Goyle and Bodney left the house they went to a place known as the -Wexton Club. This institution was not incorporated under the laws of -the state, but its affairs were conducted under a law, the law that -governs the game of poker. The public dinner pail gaming house, the -pickpocket of the laborer, had been closed; the grave-countenanced faro -dealer and the sad-eyed man who turned the roulette wheel; the -hoarse-voiced "hazard" operator, and the nimble and enterprising thief -of the "stud poker" game, now thrown out of visible employment, stood at -the mouth of the alley waiting for "good times" to return. -"Bucket-shops" broke out in new places, once in a while, and there was -the occasional raid of a poolroom, but it was agreed that public -gambling was a thing of the rough and disgraceful past. But the poker -clubs! They were not traps set for the man in overalls. His pennies -and dimes were not solicited. Of course, if he saved up capital to the -amount of five dollars, and came with a reasonable appearance of -respectability, he could get into the game, but he was not wanted. The -board of trade men, the race horse man, the merchant, doctor, lawyer, -and particularly the fool with money, furnished the life blood of the -enterprise. Shrewd gamblers risked their money and pronounced the game -"straight." And it was "straight." The "house" could not afford to -permit any "crooked" work. Its success, the "rake off," depended upon -its own fairness to everyone playing in the game. But the "sucker" does -not need to be cheated to lose. His own impulses will sooner or later -rob him of all the money he can borrow, beg or steal. The man who plays -for recreation wants it, not after a long season of waiting for a good -hand, but at once; and putting in his money he draws to "short" pairs or -to every four straight or four flush. He may have an encouraging spurt; -he may make a hardened player wince and swear under his breath or even -above it, but in the end, and it comes on apace, he shoves it back, -broke, and the old-timer rakes in the money. Within recent years -several fine young fellows of good standing and of bright prospects have -looked for diversion in poker and have found state's prison. The road -to the penitentiary is paved with four flushes. - -At the Wexton, Goyle had introduced Bodney as his friend, Mr. Ramage, -and out of that familiarity which comes of constantly gazing into a -man's countenance, in the effort to determine what he holds in his hand, -they shortened his name to Ram. The young lawyer had played with -friends, and had won, not because his friends were kind to him, but -because they were as experimental in drawing cards as himself, and -because they were possessed of equally as much curiosity. The -"gentleman's game" is a trap door, and it is easy enough to fall from -"Billy" and "George" and "Tom," down into a hell on earth. This is not -a tirade against gambling, for the horrors of that vice have engaged the -ablest of pens, but to give life in poker clubs as it really exists, the -attractive with the distressful. Indeed, the distress is not seen in -the club. The victim gets up with a jocular remark, and silently goes -out, wishing that he were dead, and resolving deep within his -disconsolate heart that he will never enter the place again. Then his -heart lightens. He is saved. He has lost money that he could not -afford to lose, the very bread of his family; but he will do so no more. -He has strength of purpose, an object in life, a position to maintain. -He is now grateful to himself for his own strength of will. The next -morning he goes dull and heavy to his business. He shudders as he -enumerates the amount of money that he has lost within the past few -weeks; counts it all up, and then, with a sickening pang, recurs a -forgotten sum, borrowed from a friend and not yet returned, though he -had promised to "hand" it back the next day. The details of his -business are wearisome. At noon he goes out. At the "Club" they serve -a meal, better than he can get at a restaurant. He will go there, but -not to play. He plays, to get even--will try it once more; and at -evening he sends a message to his wife--"detained on important -business." He has several checks, and one by one they melt away in the -pot. He is broke. He wants more chips. He has money in the bank, he -declares; but the man at the desk is sorry to inform him that it is a -rule of the "house" not to take personal checks. He is angry, of -course. He wants to know why a check which he offered earlier in the -evening was accepted, and is told that the other check was different, -that it was signed by a name better known than his. Then he tries to -borrow from the men who have won his money; he knows them well, for he -has played with them day after day. They have laughed at his jokes, -when with the fool's luck he has drawn to "short" pairs and won. They -have no money to lend--would really like to accommodate him, but have -obligations to meet. And so he goes heavily down the stairs again, with -murder in his heart. But his heart lightens after a time. He will -never, so help him God, play again. But he does. Ah, it is less bad to -be bitten by a mad dog. - -Goyle was but an indifferent player. He well knew the value of a hand, -but was too impatient to wait. But no despair fell upon him when he -lost. He did not look forward to a time when circumstances or the force -of his own resolution might set him beyond the temptations of the game, -but to the time when luck might give him enough money to put him in the -game. Bodney, however, was bound soul and body. He could hardly think -of anything else. Dozing to sleep he saw aces and kings; asleep, he -drew to flushes and straights. In his sleep he might win, but only in -his sleep. His soul seemed to have been created for this one debasing -passion. It was his first, for though impressionable, no enthusiasm had -ever mastered him, and love had never set his heart aflame. But now he -was an embodiment of raging poker, not for gain, but for the thrill, the -drunkenness of playing. His bank account, never large, was gone. For -himself and for Goyle he had taken small sums of money from the Judge's -safe, and had lived in the terror of being confronted with the theft. -And he actually believed that had the old man accused him or even -strongly suspected him he would have killed himself. Suspicion was now -averted, but at the cost of what infamy! He could face Howard; he could -endure with a show of self-control the agonized countenance of the old -man; but remorse gnawed him like a rat. It was not to be supposed that -Florence would be enlightened as to the coolness which, of necessity, -must fall between Howard and the Judge, but it could not be otherwise -than a grief to her. He could look forward and see the wonder in her -eyes, and then the sorrow that must come to her. It is one of the -misfortunes of a weak man to have a strong conscience, a conscience with -not enough of forecast to prevent a crime, but one which agonizes when a -crime has been committed. His only solace was to play. Then his mind -was chained to the game, the dealing of the cards, the scanning of his -hand, to the thrill of winning, the dull oppression of losing. Upon -entering the club he had been surprised to see so many old and venerable -looking men sitting about the tables. One had been a prominent lawyer; -another, a doctor, had turned from a fine practice to waste his -substance and the remainder of his days. There was good humor, an -occasional story of brightness and color, but upon the whole the place -was sad, everyone seeming to recognize that he was a hopeless slave. -The scholar turned poker-player, thinks and talks poker. He forgets his -grammar, and puts everything in the present tense. "How did you come out -last night?" someone asks, and he answers, "I lose." Many of those men -would not have gone to a "regular" gaming house; they would not have -played faro or roulette, but the blight of poker fell upon them, to -weaken them morally, to make them liars. Sometimes an old fellow, -getting up broke, would turn moralist. One said to Bodney: "The chips -you see on the table don't belong to anyone. You may go so far as to -cash them and put the money into your pocket, but it isn't yours. You -may spend it, but you will borrow or steal to make it good to the game." -Among those daily associates engaged in the enterprise of "wolfing" one -another there was a fine shade of courtesy. No one can be politer or -more genial than a winner, and a loser is expected to shove over the pot -which he has just lost, in case the winner cannot reach it. In return -for this the loser is permitted to swear at his victor, but etiquette -demands that it shall be done in a mumble, as if he were talking to -himself. The winner can stand a great deal of abuse. In the game there -were usually two or more players put in by the "house," cool fellows, -educated to know the value of a hand or the advantage of a position. -They were the "regulars," the others the militia. The dash and the fire -of the militiaman sometimes overrode the regular, but there was no -question as to the ultimate result. The regular knew when to put down a -bad hand; he could be "bluffed" by the militiaman. But he could afford -to wait; he was paid to sit there; it was his business. Bodney, -however, could not wait. With him, impulsive hope was leaping from deal -to deal, from card to card, from spot to spot. - -When Goyle and Bodney arrived the members of this family of -interchangeable robbery were ranged at a long table in the dining room, -eating in hurried silence or talking about the game. Occasionally -someone would venture an opinion of a race horse or a prize fighter, but -for the most part the meal was solemn and dull. Laughter was not -unknown, but it was short, like a bark. This does not mean that there -was a want of fellowship in the club, but eating was looked upon as a -necessary interruption. - -"You are just in time," said the proprietor of the house, not a bad -fellow, a business man, accommodating as far as he could be, yielding -sometimes to the almost tearful importunity of a fool to the extent of -lending him money never to be returned. "Sit down. Fine weather we're -having." - -"A champagne day," said Goyle, sitting down and spreading a napkin -across his knees. "How's the game going?" - -"Oh, fairly well. We've got a good run of customers. They know that -they are perfectly safe here." - -"What's become of that fellow they called Shad?" asked a man at the end -of the table. - -"Oh, that fellow from Kansas City? He's gone. I didn't want him. I -think he'd snatch a card." - -Bodney was silent. He could hear the rat gnawing at his conscience, and -he yearned for the moral oblivion of the game. Leaving Goyle at the -table, he arose, and walked up and down, then went into the room where -the game was forming. He had but fifteen dollars, but with this amount -he felt that he could win. He bought ten dollars worth of chips, musing -upon the fact that he had a reserve fund of five dollars. The game was -all jackpots, twenty-five cent ante, and three dollar limit, except when -the pot was doubled, and then the limit was five dollars. While a man at -his side was shuffling a deck of new cards, Bodney began to meditate -upon the policy which he intended to pursue. He would not draw to a -flush or straight except when there were several "stayers," for then the -percentage would warrant the risk. He would not draw to a pair below -kings, nor open on jacks next to the dealer. If the pot were opened and -came around to him, even without a raise, he would not stay on a pair of -queens. If he opened on one pair and was raised, he would lie down. He -would not stand a raise under kings up. Goyle came in, bought twenty -dollars worth of chips, and took a seat on the opposite side of the -table; and the game proceeded, with seven players. Bodney opened on a -pair of kings. All passed around to Goyle. He looked at his hand a -moment, and said: "Only one in? Well, I've got to stay. Give me that -one," he said to the dealer, meaning that he wanted one card. "Got two -little pairs here, and I won't raise you unless I help." Bodney drew -three cards and did not help his kings. He bet a white chip. "Now I'll -go down and look," said Goyle. "Bet you three dollars," he added. -Bodney was smoking. He puffed at his cigar. "I don't know about that," -he said. "What do you want to raise me for?" - -"Got to play my hand, haven't I?" Goyle replied. - -Bodney put his cigar on the table and thought. "Well, you've got 'em or -you haven't. I'll call you." He threw in three blue chips, and Goyle -spread a flush. "Thought you said you had two little pairs," said -Bodney, as Goyle raked in the pot. - -"I hadn't looked at my hand very close." - -"You knew what you had all the time. Stayed on a four flush with only -one man in. Of course you can always make it against me." - -The deal went round and round, and occasionally Bodney won a pot, once a -large one, and now as he stacked up his chips he felt at peace with the -world. He laughed and joked with a man whom he had never met before; he -did not see how he could lose. He threw off the rigor of his resolution, -and drew to a pair of sixes, caught the third, raised the opener three -dollars, and won the pot against aces up. Then his senses floated in a -limpid pool of delight. Goyle opened a pot. Bodney raised him, having -kings up. "I've got to stay," said Goyle. "Give me one card." Bodney -drew one and made a king full. His heart leaped with joy. "What do you -do?" he asked. - -"Bet three dollars," said Goyle, putting in the chips, and Bodney was -almost smothered in exultation. - -"I raise you three." - -"Raise you three," said Goyle. - -"Are you as strong as that?" Bodney remarked, striving to hide the -delight that was shooting through him. "Well, I'll have to raise you -three." - -Goyle began to study. "Well, if you can beat a jack full, take the -money." He put in his three dollars. "King full," said Bodney, and -Goyle threw down his cards with an oath. "Of course you couldn't make -that against anybody but me. It's what a man gets for not playing his -hand before the draw. I ought to have raised you back. Had three jacks -all the time. But I didn't want to beat you." - -"Looked like it when you made that flush." - -"That's ancient history." - -Bodney did not reply. He was behind a bulwark of chips, and his heart -beat high. He began to tell a story. The winners were interested; the -losers did not hear it. In the midst of the story, just below the -climax, he had a hand beaten for six dollars, and the story, thus -broken, fell into silence. - -"What was that story you were going to tell?" - -"It didn't amount to anything," said Bodney, but not long afterward he -won a ten dollar pot, found the fragments of the story, lying at the -bottom of silence, and gave them voice. The winners laughed; the losers -did not hear it. - -A minute legitimately employed may seem an hour; an hour at a poker -table may be but a minute. - -Someone asked the time. Bodney looked at his watch, and said that it -was five o'clock. He was nearly seventy dollars ahead, with the reserve -fund still in his pocket, and was resolved to quit very soon. Just then -Goyle emerged from a contest, broke. "Let me take ten," said he. -Bodney hesitated a moment. "Say, I've got to pay for--" - -"Oh, I'll give it to you tomorrow. Let me take ten." - -He passed over the chips, but with a feeling of depression. "I may be -broke pretty soon," said he. "And I can't let you have any more." - -"Broke pretty soon! Why, you're even on your whole life. You got all -my money." - -"I haven't won as much from you as you have from me." - -"That's all right. My day may come." - -Bodney was determined to play no longer than dinner time. Then he would -cash in. Goyle's stack grew to the amount of thirty dollars. Bodney -was glad to see it grow; ten dollars of it belonged to him. He did not -care for ten dollars; he had loaned Goyle ten times ten, and did not -expect to recover the sum, but chips were different, and especially now -that they fed his passion and dulled his conscience. Goyle got up. -"Let me have that ten till tomorrow," said he, and Bodney did not say -anything, but his spirits felt a sudden weight. He was pleased, -however, when Goyle went out, for there were to be no more raids upon -his stack. Dinner was announced. He motioned to an attendant upon the -game, and his chips were taken over to the desk. - -"Going to quit us?" a man asked. - -"Yes. This is the first time I've won," he added, by way of apology. - -"Have dinner before you go," said the proprietor, coming forward. - -"I don't know that I've got the time." - -"Just as well. You've got to eat anyway." - -He went out to dinner, and was permitted to be vivacious. An old -fellow, sitting on his right, remarked: "I'm glad to see you win." -Others said that they were glad to see him win. It was surely a very -genial company. - - - - - *CHAPTER VII.* - - *WENT OUT TO "DIG."* - - -After dinner, when the game was reorganized, Bodney looked on for a few -moments, still alive to the keen pleasure of winning; and just as he was -about to go out, a thought struck him. What was the use of quitting now -that he had luck? He had waited for it a long time, and now that it had -arrived he was going to throw it away. He might just as well win a -hundred and seventy as seventy. He could at least try ten dollars, and -quit if he found that fortune was against him. There was one vacant -seat and he took it. Ten dollars and not a cent more. That would leave -sixty to the good, enough to play on for a long time. So he bought ten -dollars worth of chips and was again forgetful of the Judge, of Howard, -of Florence, of the world. After a few hands he picked up a straight, -seven high. He raised the opener, who promptly raised him in return, -giving him the other barrel, as the saying went. Bodney raised again. -He was to get action on all the money in front of him. The dealer said -"cards," and the opener, tapping the table with his cards, replied, -"Help him." - -"Don't you want any?" Bodney eagerly asked. - -"Didn't hear me call for any, did you?" - -"Well, I don't want any either," said Bodney, in faltering tones. A -seven high straight looked weak against a pat hand. - -"Turn 'em over, boys," said the man in the look-out chair. - -Bodney tremulously spread his hand. "Only seven high." - -"Just top you. Mine's eight high. You had me scared, and if you'd have -more money and bet me after the draw I don't think I call." - -That might have been true, but it offered no consolation to Bodney. -"Just my luck," he said. - -"When a man gets them sort of hands beaten he's got to lose his money," -said the "look-out." "There's nothing to it." A man standing near was -waiting for Bodney's seat. He shoved back and was about to get up, -pursuant upon the resolution which he had formed when, it occurred to -him, as it always does, that with ten more he could win back the ten -just lost. It was simply an accident that the fellow held over him. He -would try ten more. His luck was gone, but he expected every moment to -see it return. He opened a pot on aces and tens. A fool stayed on -deuces, caught his third, and slaughtered him. He bought ten more. His -spirits were heavy and he sighed distressfully. It was not the loss of -the money; it was the harassing sense of being beaten. He opened -another pot on queens up. One of the regulars raised him. He began to -reason. "He would raise it on two pairs smaller than queens up. I saw -him raise just now on sevens up. I'll stand it." He put in his money -and drew one card. The regular drew one. The prospect was not bright, -still it was not so bad. He did not help. He bet a white chip; the -regular raised him three dollars and he called. Then the regular had -recourse to a joke, new to Bodney, but old to the game. "I have the -waiter's delight," said he. - -"The what?" - -"The waiter's delight," and he spread a tray full. - -At ten o'clock, Bodney's capital, including the reserve fund, amounted -to twenty dollars. "You beat me every time," he said, to an offensive -fellow who sat opposite. It was the stranger with whom he had laughed -early in the game. - -"That's what I'm here for." - -"That's all right. I'll get you yet." - -He won several pots, and then opened a double pot for five dollars. He -had a king high flush, and he intended the heavy opening to operate as a -reverse bluff, to argue a small hand. The offensive fellow stayed and -drew one card. He made a small full and Bodney felt his heart stop -beating. At eleven o'clock he had simply the five dollar reserve fund. -And he saw it melt away--saw his last chip go in. He drew, having a -show for the pot, and made jacks up. The opener had queens up. Heavy -of heart, Bodney went down the stairs. He cursed himself for playing -after dinner. "If I only had ten dollars I might win it all back," he -mused. "They can't possibly beat me all the time. I played as good -cards as anybody. I wonder where I can get ten dollars. Everybody that -knows me has gone home by now. Let me see. I know a fellow over at -that drug store. But I've forgotten his name. Wonder if he'd let me -have ten. I'll try him." He went into the drug store, saw the man -standing behind the counter, walked up, reached over and shook hands -with him. - -"How's everything?" Bodney asked. - -[Illustration: "How's everything?" Bodney asked.] - -"Oh, pretty fair. How is it with you?" - -"All right. Say, old man, a college chum of mine, devilish good fellow, -came in just now on a train and happened to catch me at the office--" - -"Yes?" said the druggist, looking at him. - -"Yes, and the fact is, he got here broke and has called on me to help -him out. He's a devilish good fellow, and I don't exactly know what to -do. Every one I know has gone home, and--could you let me have ten till -tomorrow? You can count on it then." - -"Oh, I guess so, but I'm rather short." - -"I'll give it to you tomorrow without fail." - -He went out with a ten dollar note crumpled in his hand. A man may fail -to get rent money, clothes money, bread money; he may meet with -obstacles that he cannot overcome; his self-respect withholds him from -asking favors of certain men. But the fool in hot quest of poker money -knows no self-respect, recognizes no embarrassments that might stand in -modesty's way. Bodney bounded up the stairs, afraid that the game might -have broken up. Panting and tremulous, he pressed the electric button. -A negro porter pulled aside a blue curtain, peeped through the glass and -opened the door. The game had not broken up. Every seat was taken, the -regulars, with chips stacked high before them, the "suckers" squirming -with "short money." How dull and spiritless everything had looked when -Bodney went out, and now how bright it all was, the carpet, the window -curtains, the pictures on the walls. The room was large, affording -ample space for a meditative walk up and down, and as he was too nervous -to sit still, he walked. - -"Think there'll be a seat pretty soon?" he asked of the man at the desk. - -"Very soon, I think. Sit down and make yourself comfortable. Have a -cigar." He lighted the cigar and resumed his walk. Passing the table -he saw a man in the death throes of a "show-down." Some one had opened -a pot and he had been compelled to stay. Bodney eagerly watched the -draw. The opener drew one card. The "show-down" man had to draw four, -presumably to an ace. This was encouraging to Bodney. He was the next -in line; he would get the seat. He leaned forward to catch the result. -The opener had tens up. The four-card draw yielded a better crop, aces -up, and with a sense of disappointment and injury Bodney resumed his -walk. But pretty soon a man cashed in, and the young lawyer bought five -dollars worth of chips, and took his seat. He won the first pot, the -second and the third, but without stayers. Surely his luck had -returned. Again he felt a current of pleasure flowing through his mind. -He laughed at a stale joke. It had never sounded so well before. A -man, the offensive fellow, now quite a gentleman, began to tell a story, -and Bodney encouraged him with a smile. "I knew a man once, a preacher, -by the way," said he, "who got into the habit of playing faro; I guess -he must have played before he began to preach, and found that he -couldn't quit. Some fellow that was kin to him croaked, and left him a -lot of money. Then he knew he wouldn't play any more. Well, one day he -went by the bank where he had his money, and pretty soon he says to -himself: 'Believe I'll draw out just a small sum and try my luck once -more--just once.' Well, he kept drawing on that money till it is all -gone. Nothing to it, you know. Then one night he gets down on his -knees and prays. 'Lord,' says he, 'if I ever play again I hope you'll -make me lose.'" - -"Did he play again?" Bodney asked. - -"Yes; he keep right on." - -"And did he lose?" - -"No. He coppers his bets." - -Bodney was immensely tickled at the idea of the fellow "coppering" his -bets to offset the influence of the Deity, and he laughed uproariously, -but just then he lost a pot, and his mirth fell dead. And after this -every time he opened a pot someone would raise him. After a while he -dragged out his last five dollars and invested in chips. Then he sank -into the condition known as "sifting," anteing and never getting a pair. -Behind him stood a man waiting for his seat. He saw his last chip melt -away and he got up, so heavy that he could hardly stand. The fellow who -had told the story, and to whom Bodney had paid the tribute of most -generous laughter, dealt the cards and skipped Bodney without even -looking at him. But Bodney looked at him, and how offensive he was. -"I'd like to cut his infamous throat," he mused. Down the stairs again -he went, heavier and more desperate than before. It was now past -midnight. "Now what?" he said, halting on a corner and wiping his hot -face. "I don't know what to do, but I almost know I could win out if I -had ten more. But I don't know where to get it. There's no use to look -for Goyle. I wonder if that fellow at the drug store would let me have -another ten. I'll go and see." He crossed over, went into the drug -store, and asked the squirter of soda water if his friend was there. -No, he had gone home. "Is there anything I can do for you?" - -"Well, I don't know. By the way, you've seen me in here a number of -times, haven't you?" - -"Oh, yes. And I used to see you over at the other place." - -"Yes, I remember, now. And your name is--" - -"Watkins." - -"Yes, that's a fact. I remember you now. How are you getting along, -Watkins?" - -"All right." - -"Yes, sir, I used to know you," said Bodney. "And I guess you are about -the best in your line." - -The man smiled. "Well, that's what they say." - -"Yes, I've heard a good many people say it. Well, you understand your -business. Say, can you do me a favor? I need ten dollars till tomorrow -morning, and if you'll let me have it, I'll--" - -The man shut him off with the shake of the head. "I haven't got ten -cents," he said. - -Bodney stepped out. "Come in again," the fellow called after him. He -did not reply, except in a mumble, to hurl imprecations back over his -shoulder at the soda-water man. "He's a liar, and I'll bet he's a -thief. Now what?" he added, halting on the corner. He looked up and -down the street, and scanned the faces of the passers-by, hoping to -recognize an acquaintance. Presently a man rushed up and with a -"helloa, old fellow," grasped him by the hand. Bodney gripped him; he -did not recall his name, but he held him close. "I haven't seen you for -some time," said Bodney. - -"No, not since we were out on Lake Geneva, fishing for cisco." - -"That's a fact. Say, everybody has closed up, and I need ten dollars -till tomorrow morning. Can you--" - -"I was just going to ask you for five," said the cisco fisherman. "I -went over here at three sixty-one, and got into a little game of poker -and got busted. Ever over there? Now, there's a good game, only two -dollars limit, but it's liberal. There ain't a tight wad in the house. -Come up some time." - -Bodney got on a car to go home. He had just five cents. The talking of -two women and the frolicking of a party of young fellows annoyed him. -And then arose before him the sorrowful face of his sister. The rat had -come back with his teeth sharpened, and he felt his heart bleeding. He -fancied that he could hear the dripping of the blood. Then came upon him -the resolve never to play another game of poker. It was a sure road to -ruin, to despair. He would confess to Howard and the Judge. The car -stopped and Bradley, the preacher, got on, sitting down opposite Bodney, -who, upon recognizing him, arose and warmly shook his hand. "I am -delighted to see you, Mr. Bradley. You are out thus late for the good of -humanity, I suppose, or rather I know." - -"I can only hope so," replied the preacher. - -"Some sort of meeting of preachers for the advancement of morals, Mr. -Bradley?" - -"No, a dinner." - -"Well, a good dinner contributes to good morals." - -"If not over-indulged in." - -"Yes, if there is a virtuous lack of wine, such as must have been the -case tonight." He continued to stand, holding a strap, and meditating -upon future procedure, for there was a purpose in the cordiality with -which he had greeted the minister, a purpose now fully developed. "By -the way, I must come down again tonight--am going home to get some -money. Late this evening I received a note, telling me that a friend of -mine, a divinity student, was exceedingly ill. I hastened to the number -given and found him in a poverty-stricken room, lying upon a wretched -bed, without a nurse, almost delirious with suffering. I knew that he -was poor, that he had bent his energies to study to the neglect of -material things, but I had not expected to find him in so deplorable a -condition. So I am now on my way home to get ten dollars. I went to -several places, hoping that I could borrow, but failed to find any one -whom I knew well enough to ask for a loan, even for so short a time as -tomorrow. But perhaps you could let me have it." - -"Why, I'll go with you--at once. What is the young man's name?" - -"Patterson. But he's so peculiar that he might not like to see a -stranger. He begged me not to say anything about his condition." - -Bradley gave him ten dollars, and he did not wait to reach the next -street crossing, but jumped off the car, sprang upon a cable train going -north, and was soon climbing the stairs leading to the Wexton Club. The -same negro admitted him, and again he was afraid that the game might -have dissolved, merely to cheat him of victorious reprisal, but it was -still in progress, with one vacant seat. This time he invested his -entire amount. The feeling of security, inspired by a reserve fund, -favored an over-confidence, he fancied; it was better to know that there -was nothing in reserve; it enforced caution. He played with varying luck -till about twelve o'clock, till a regular smote him, hip and thigh; and -then, like the captain, in the version of the poem, not recited to -ladies, he staggered down the stairs. - - - - - *CHAPTER VIII.* - - *SAW THE BLACK FACE, GRIM, WITHOUT A SMILE.* - - -It was nearly daylight when Bodney reached home. As he stood on the -steps, after unlocking the door, he looked toward the east and said -aloud: "The sun will soon draw to his flush. But he always makes it. -God, what a night I've had. It is the last one, for here at the -threshold of a new day I swear that I will never touch another card. -And Goyle--I'll have nothing more to do with him." He went in, still -repeating his vow, and as he passed the door of the office, was -surprised to see a light within; and halting, he heard footsteps slowly -pacing up and down. He stepped in and stood face to face with the -Judge. - -"Why, Judge, are you up so soon, or haven't you gone to bed?" - -"I haven't been to bed. And you?" - -"I have been sitting up with a sick friend. Don't you think you'd -better lie down now?" - -"No, I think nothing of the sort. It is better to stand in hell, sir, -than to wallow in it." Bodney sat down and the old man stood facing -him. "But I can hardly realize that it was not a nightmare, George. Go -over it with me; tell me about it. How did it happen?" - -"Why, we simply came in here together and found--him. That's all." - -"Yes, that's all, but it is enough." - -"Was there very much money involved?" Bodney asked, not knowing what -else to say. - -"Money! I haven't once thought of the amount. It is the fact that I -have been shot with an arrow taken from my own quiver, and poisoned. -And yet, when I look at him, as I did today at dinner, I can hardly -bring myself to believe my own eyes." - -"You haven't--haven't said anything to him, have you?" - -"In the way of accusation? No. It would leap from him to his mother. -And I charge you to breathe it to no one." - -"Not even my sister, who is to be his wife?" - -"No. I will take her case in hand." - -"But will you permit them to marry?" - -"Not in a house of God; not in the presence of a guest. If she is -determined to marry him against my protest, it must be in secret, as his -deed was." - -"I hope, sir, that everything may--may come out right." - -"What do you mean by that?" - -"Why, I hope that you may forgive him. I don't think that he's -dishonest at heart." - -"Then you are a fool." - -"I admit that, Judge. I am a fool, an infamous fool." - -"But you are not a scoundrel, not a thief." - -"I might be worse." - -"Enough of that. You are trying to debase yourself to raise him. Don't -do it. You can't afford it. You have an honest living to make, and -through you I must now look to the future." He turned away, and for a -time walked up and down in silence; then, coming back, resumed his place -in front of Bodney. "It all comes from my over-confidence in modern -civilization. I did not presume to instruct or even advise him as to a -course of reading, permitting him to exercise his own fancy; and it led -him to that running sore on the face of the earth--Paris. He read -French books, the germs thrown off by diseased minds. He lived in a -literary pest house, and how could he come out clean? He was prepared -for any enormity against nature, and why then should he have drawn the -line between me and any of his desires?" He turned away, walking up and -down, sometimes rubbing his hands together, as if washing them, then -putting them behind him; halting at the desk to gaze down at something; -going once to the safe and putting his hand upon it, but snatching it -away as if the iron were hot. Bodney followed him about with his eyes, -seeing him through cards, hearts and spades. His mind flew back to the -game, and he could see the players sitting just as he had left them, the -offensive fellow and the regular, behind a redoubt of chips. Only ten -dollars more would have saved him; he had fancied so before, but now it -was not fancy but almost a perfect knowledge. Why had he not asked the -preacher for twenty instead of ten? - -"'But it is so strange," said the old man, sitting down with one arm -straight out upon the green baize table; and the wretch with his mind on -the game thought that it would be but an ungainly position for a player -to take; he ought to sit facing the table with his hands in front of -him. "Stranger than truth," said the Judge, and Bodney looked at him -with a start. For a moment the game vanished and darkness fell upon the -players, but soon a blue curtain was pulled aside, a black face, grim, -without a smile, showed glistering behind the glass, the door was -opened, and there again were the players in the light, the offensive -fellow drawing one card, the regular solemn and confident with a hand -that was pat. "Stranger than the strangest truth that I have ever -encountered," the Judge went on, turning his back to the table and -looking over Bodney's head at something on the wall. "But I brood too -much." - -"One card," said Bodney, in a thick muse. - -"What's that?" - -The young man started. "Nothing." - -"You said something about a card." - -"Yes, sir; it was sent in to me tonight while I was with my sick -friend--man wanted to see him on business and insisted upon coming in, -and it was all I could do to put him off." - -"Brood too much," the Judge repeated, after a brief interval of silence. -"The mind mildews under any one thing that lies upon it long. A -continuous joy might be as poisonous as a grief." He leaned forward -with his head in his hands, and talked in a smothered voice. - -"The sun is coming up," said Bodney. "Don't you think you'd better lie -down?" - -"You go to bed. Don't mind me." - -"Believe I will. I am worn out, and I don't see how you can stand it as -well as you do." - -"In worry there is a certain sort of strength. Go to bed." - -Bodney got up and went to the door, but turned and looked at the old -man, bowed over with his fingers pressed to his eyes. The coming of the -sun had driven the game further off into the night, and now the wretch's -heart smote him hard. He could lift that gray head; into those dull -eyes he could throw the light of astonishment, but they would shoot -anger at him and drive him out of the house. If he could only win enough -to replace the money taken from the safe, to give himself the standing -of true repentance, he would confess his crime. Win enough! He could -not conceive of getting it in any other way; all idea of business had -been driven from his mind. He had no mind, no reason; what had been his -mind was now a disease on fire, half in smoke and half in flame, but he -felt that if he could get even, the fire would go out and the smoke -clear away. The old fellow who turned moralist could have told him that -he had for more than half a life-time struggled to get even, that the -poker fool is never even but twice, once before he plays and once after -he is dead. And the scholar who had forgotten his grammar in the -constant strain of the present tense would have assured him that the -hope to get even was a trap set by the devil to catch the imaginative -mind. - -The Judge groaned, and Bodney took a step toward him, with his hands -stretched forth as if he would grasp him and shake him into a -consciousness of the truth, but the old man looked up and the young man -faltered. "I thought you were going to bed, George." - -"I am, sir." - -"Then, why do you stand there looking at me?" - -"I--I don't know," he stammered, in his embarrassment. - -"Yes, you do know," said the Judge, giving him a straight and steady -look. "You know that you are hanging about to plead the cause of -your--your friend; but it is of no use. Friend! I would to God he had -been my friend. Confess, now; isn't that the reason you are standing -there?" - -"You read my mind, Judge," said the wretch. - -"Do I? Then read mine and go to bed." - -As Bodney turned toward the door, he met William coming in. The old -fellow carried his coat thrown across one arm and was trying to button -his shirt collar. It was his custom to begin dressing at his bedside, -grabbing up the first garment within reach, and to complete his work in -the office, the basement, or even the back yard. "Hold on a minute," he -said to Bodney. "Button this infernal collar for me." Bodney halted to -obey. "Can't you take hold of it? Is it as slick as all that? Do you -think I wear an eel around my neck? Confound it, don't choke the life -out of me. Get away. I can do it better myself. Didn't I tell you to -quit? Are you a bull-dog, that you have to hang on that way?" - -Bodney trod heavily to his room. The old fellow threw his coat on the -table and began to walk about, tugging at his collar. - -"Do you think you can button it here better than in your own room?" the -Judge asked, straightening up and looking at him. "Has this office been -set aside as a sort of dressing parade ground for you?" - -William was muttering and fuming. "I was Judge Lynch out West, once, -and was about to set a horse-thief free, but just then I incidentally -heard that he had sold collars and I ordered him hanged. Did you speak -to me, John?" - -"I asked you a question." - -"I knew a Universalist preacher that changed his religion on account of -a collar--swore that its inventor must necessarily go to the flames. -What was the question you asked me, John?" - -"One that would have no more effect on you than a drop of water on the -back of a mole." - -William buttoned his collar, tied his cravat, took a seat opposite his -brother and looked hard at him. "John, I see that your temper hasn't -improved. And you have got up early to turn it loose on me. Now, what -have I done? Hah, what have I done?" - -"I have never heard of your doing anything, William." - -"That's intended as an insult. Oh, I understand you. You never heard -of my doing anything. You haven't? You never heard of my electing two -governors out West. You bat your eyes at the fact that I sent a man to -the United States Senate. Why, at one time I owned the whole state of -Montana, and a man who had never done anything couldn't--couldn't make -that sort of showing." - -"What did you do with the state?" - -"What did I do with it? A nice question to ask a man. What did Adam do -with the Garden of Eden?" - -"You were not driven out of Montana, were you?" - -"Driven out? Who said I was driven out?" - -"But Adam was driven out of the garden." - -"Oh, yes, of course. I merely spoke of the Garden of Eden for the -reason that Adam's claim on it was only sentimental, if I may call it -such. I mean that I owned the good opinion of every man in the state. -I could have had anything within the gift of the commonwealth." - -"Then, why didn't you go to the Senate, or elect yourself governor? Why -were you so thoughtless a prodigal of your influence?" - -"That's a nice question to ask a man. Why didn't you buy an acre in -this town that would have made you worth millions? Why didn't I go to -the Senate? I had something else on my mind. Every man is not -ambitious to hold office. There's something higher than politics. I -was educated for a different sphere of action. I was, as you know, -educated for a preacher, but my faith slipped from under me. But it is -of no use to talk to you." - -"Not much, William, I admit." - -"But can't you tell me why this peculiar change has come over you? It -worries me, and you know why." - -The Judge made a gesture. "Don't--it's not that. My mind is perfectly -sound." - -"Then, what's the trouble?" - -"I can't tell you." - -"Am I ever to know?" - -"I hope not." - -"I don't see why you should give me the keen edge of your temper and not -tell me the cause that led you to whet it against me." - -"I have not whetted it against you--it has been whetted on my heart. Go -away, William, and leave me to myself." - -"I would if you were yourself, but you are not. There is something the -matter with you." - -"I grant that." - -"And in it there is cause for alarm, both for you and for myself." - -"Now, please don't allude to that again. My mind is perfectly sound, I -tell you." - -"And so one dear to us often declared." - -The Judge got up. "I shall have to command you to leave this room." - -"Then, of course, I'll go. Here comes your wife. Rachel, there is -something radically wrong with John, and I advise you to send for the -best physician in this town." - - - - - *CHAPTER IX.* - - *HEARD A GONG IN THE ALLEY.* - - -More than once during the night had Mrs. Elbridge looked in upon her -husband, to urge upon him the necessity for rest. But he had told her -that he had on hand the most important case that ever came to him, -declared that the life of a man depended upon his meditation; a new -point in law was involved, and it would be a crime to sleep until his -work was done. The governor of the state had submitted the question to -him. And thus had she been put off, having no cause to doubt him; but -now she caught William's alarm. "My dear," said the Judge, when she -approached him, "it seems that both you and my brother are struggling -hard to misunderstand me. You know that I have never deceived you--you -know that I would tell you if there were anything wrong. It is true -that the death of my brother Henry has shocked me greatly--" - -"But why don't you tell William? He ought to know. And it is our duty -to tell him." - -The old man, looking toward the door, held up his hand. "No, he must -not be told--nor must anyone else. I have an object." - -"But, my dear, I don't see--" - -"I know you don't. And I cannot tell you--I can--can merely hint. It -is a question of life insurance, and the company must not hear of his -death till certain points are settled. William, as you know, while one -of the best men in the world, has a slippery tongue. And, besides, he -is in no condition now to hear bad news. It is a secret, but he is -having trouble with his heart--under treatment. Let us wait till he is -stronger." - -"But, dear, is that a cause why you should frown so at Howard, and treat -him with such contempt?" - -He walked away from her, but she followed him and put her hand on his -arm. They halted near the safe and stood in silence, he looking at the -iron chest, she looking at him. The sound of a peddler's gong came from -the alley, and he sprang back from the safe and dropped heavily down -upon a chair. Florence was heard talking to someone, and Mrs. Elbridge -called her, and at this the old man brightened. Florence was his -recourse, his safeguard, and when she came in he greeted her with -something of his former heartiness. - -"Florence, they are worried about me. Tell them that they have no -cause." - -The young woman's face was bright with a smile, but it was a light -without warmth, a kindly light intended to deceive, not the Judge, but -his wife. Mrs. Elbridge looked at her husband and was astonished at the -change in him. She could not understand it, but she was not halting to -investigate causes. "You are our physician, Florence," she said. "But -you must bring your patient under better discipline. He didn't go to -bed at all last night." - -"Then I shall have to reprimand him. Sir, why do you disobey my -orders?" - -The old man's attempt at a smile was but a poor pretense, but it -deceived the eye of affection. "Because, Doctor, I had a most important -case on hand; but it is about worked out now, and I will in the future -have more regard for your instructions." - -They talked pleasantly for a time, and then Mrs. Elbridge went out, -leaving the Judge and Florence in the office; but no sooner was the wife -gone than the husband began to droop; and the light of the forced smile -faded from the countenance of the young woman. She looked at the Judge -and her face was stern. "We are hypocrites for her," she said, nodding -toward the door through which Mrs. Elbridge had just passed. - -"Yes, to protect the tenderest nature I have ever known. She could not -stand such a trouble. It would kill her." - -"She would not believe your story." - -"Yes, she would. Unlike you, she could not be infatuated with the -blindness of her own faith. She loves her son, but she knows me--loves -me. She could not doubt my eyes. What," he said, getting up with -energy and standing in front of Florence, "you are not debating with -yourself whether or not to tell her, are you? Can you, for one moment, -forget your oath--an oath as solemn and as binding as any oath ever -taken? You, surely, are not forgetting it." - -"No, but I ought to. My heart cries for permission to tell Howard. His -distress reproaches me." - -"But your oath." - -"Oh, I shall not forget it, sir," she said, almost savagely. "But, it -was not generous of you--not generous." - -"What wasn't?" - -"Swearing me to secrecy. You took advantage of what you conceive to be -my honor, my strength of character; and you would have me break his -heart by refusing to marry him. You have a far-reaching cruelty." - -"Florence--my daughter, you must not say that. You know why I would keep -you from marrying him. Have I been a judge all these years, to find -that I am now incapable of pronouncing against my own affections and my -own flesh and blood? I am broader than that." - -"You mean that you are narrower than that. It is noble to shield those -whom we love." - -"No, it is selfish. You are a woman, and therefore cannot see justice -as a man sees it." - -"My eyes may not be clear enough to see justice, but they have never -beheld a vision to--" - -"Don't, Florence--now, please don't. You know how I held him in my -heart; you know that no vision could have driven him out. But it is -useless to argue. I have knowledge and you have faith. Knowledge is -brightest when the eye is opened wide; faith is strongest when the eye -is closed." - -And thus she replied: "Ignorant faith may save a soul; knowledge alone -might damn it." - -"Very good and very orthodox, my child; a saying, though, may be -orthodox, and yet but graze the outer edge of truth." - -"But if there be so little truth in things orthodox, why should there be -such obligation in an oath?" - -"Ah, you still have that in your mind. Look at me. I hold you to that -oath. Will you keep it?" - -"Yes, but if I did not believe that within a short time something might -occur to clear this mystery, I would break it in a minute." - -"And let your soul be damned?" - -"Now, you are orthodox. Yes, I would break it. But I will wait, in the -belief that something must occur." - -"There is no way too tortuous for a faith to travel," the old man -murmured, but then he bethought himself that to encourage waiting was a -furtherance of this humane plan of protection, and then he added: "Yes, -wait; we never know, of course. Something might occur. But make me a -promise, now in addition to your oath--that if, finally, when nothing -does occur and you are resolved to break it, that you will first come to -me." - -"I will make that promise." - -Agnes tripped in with a tune on her lips. The Judge wondered why George -Bodney had not fallen in love with her. She was bright enough and -pretty enough to ensnare the heart of any man. But Bodney was peculiar, -and susceptibility to the blandishments of a bewildering eye was not one -of his traits; his nature held itself in reserve for a debasing -weakness. Agnes asked Florence why everyone seemed to drift -unconsciously into that mouldy old office. Florence did not know, but -the Judge said that it was attractive to women because it was their -nature to find interest in the machinery of man's affairs. Business was -the means with which man had established himself as woman's superior, -and there was always a mystery in the appliances of his work-shop. - -"What nonsense, Mr. Judge," said Agnes. "It is because there is so much -freedom in here. You can't soil anything in here--never can in a place -where men stay." Howard passed the door, and the Judge's face darkened. -Florence looked at him and her eyes were not soft. - -"Now, what are you frowning at, Mr. Judge?" said Agnes. "Do you mean -that I haven't told the truth?" - -"You always tell the truth, Agnes." - -"No, I don't. I told Mr. Bradley a fib--a small one, though; a little -white mouse of a fib. But you have to tell fibs to a preacher." - -"It is the way of life. Fibs to a preacher and lies to a judge," said -the old man. - -"Lies _for_ a judge," Florence spoke up. - -"What's the matter with everybody!" Agnes cried, looking from one to -another. "You people talk in riddles to me. I'm not used to it. And, -Florence, you are getting to be so sober I don't know what to do with -you. You and the Judge are just alike. What's the matter with -everybody? Mr. Howard mumbles about the house and Mr. Bodney acts like a -man with--with the jerks, whatever that is, for I don't know. There, -I'm glad breakfast is ready. Come on, Mr. Judge." - - - - - *CHAPTER X.* - - *WILLIAM AGREED WITH THE JUDGE.* - - -The Judge took his accustomed seat at the head of the breakfast table, -Howard on his right and Bodney's vacant chair at his left; but there was -no disposition on the part of the worry-haunted father to enter into -conversation with the son. Howard was talkative; his mind might have -been termed dyspeptic instead of digestive. The books, stories, -sketches, scraps that he read, ill-stored, appeared as a patchwork in -his talk. He spoke of a French author, and Florence saw the Judge -wince. She was sitting beside Howard, and she pulled at his coat sleeve -as a warning to drop the disagreeable name. He understood and changed -the subject, but the fire had been kindled. - -"It is no wonder that the French could not whip the Germans," said the -Judge, not addressing himself to Howard, but to the table. "It was the -literature of France that weakened her armies. Morality was destroyed, -and without morality there can be no enduring courage." - -"I think Victor Hugo is just lovely," said Agnes. The Judge nodded -assent. "A great genius--and, by the way, he said that there were but -three men worthy to be estimated as memorable in all the history of this -life--Moses, Shakespeare and Homer. He belonged to older and better -France, at the dying end of her greatness. And you will observe that he -did not include a Frenchman in his list." - -"But I warrant you," said Howard, "that in his secret mind he put -himself at the head of it." - -The Judge looked at him. "Warrants issued by you, sir, are not always -returnable accompanied by the facts." - -"No, I wouldn't issue a warrant for the arrest of a fact. Truth ought -to be at large." - -Florence glanced at the Judge and saw him slowly close his eyes and -slowly open them. "You think Hugo lovely," said the old man, speaking -to Agnes. "But what do you think of Zola?" - -"I don't know anything about him. But some of the girls said he was -horrid," she answered. - -"It is a good thing for you that you don't know anything about him, and -it reflects credit upon the judgment of the girls who pronounced him -horrid," said the Judge. "His influence upon his own country, and upon -this country, too, has been most pernicious." - -William was usually most prompt at meal time, but now he was for some -unaccountable reason delayed; but he came in just as the Judge closed -his remark concerning Zola, sat down and began to tuck a napkin under -his chin. The Judge had more than once hinted his displeasure at this -vulgarity, but his brother continued to practice it, not without heeding -the hint, but with a defense of his custom. He had elected governors, -and was not to be ruled into discomfort by a woman who had written a -book on etiquette. He knew politeness as well as the next man or next -woman, for that matter. Many a time had he seen Senator Bascomb, who -owed his election to him, sit down to table in his shirt sleeves, with a -napkin tucked into his bosom, and Washington City was compelled to -acknowledge him a man of brains. The Judge stared at William, and was -doubtless about to repeat his hint, when Florence said something to -attract his eye, and shook her head at him. - -"What have we under discussion this morning?" said William, squaring in -readiness to defend himself, for he ever expected an attack. - -"French literature," Howard answered. - -"French fiddlesticks," William replied. "There is no French literature. -They have slop that they call literature." - -"I thank you, William," said the Judge, forgetting the napkin. This was -received by the former owner of Montana as proof that the Judge's -ill-nature had been cured; and, bowing, he pulled the napkin from about -his jowl and spread it upon his knees. And then arose a spirited -discussion between the political Warwick and Howard, the former -snatching a cue from his brother, affirming that the influence of France -had always been bad, the latter maintaining that France had civilized -and cultivated the modern world. Florence pulled at Howard's coat -sleeve; and the Judge, observing her, and irritated that she was moved -to employ restraint, threw off all attempt at an exercise of his -patience. "Let him proceed!" he roared, and everyone looked at him in -surprise. "Let him proceed to the end of his disgraceful advocacy of -corruption. But I will not stay to hear it." And, getting up, he bowed -himself out. - -"Howard," said Mrs. Elbridge, "you ought not to talk about things that -irritate your father. He is not well." - -"You are wrong, Howard, to oppose him," Florence spoke up. - -"I suppose I am," the young man admitted, "but he has always taught me -to form an opinion of my own and to hold it when once well formed, and -until recently he seemed pleased at what he termed my individuality and -independence. But now I can't do or say a thing to please him. I'm no -child, and not a fool, I hope; then, why should I be treated as if I had -no sense at all? What have I done that he should turn against me? He -treats everyone else with consideration and respect. He even has -toleration of Uncle William's dates," he added, mischievously thrusting -at the old fellow for the recent stand he had taken, knowing that, with -him, it was the policy of the moment rather than the conviction of the -hour. - -"What!" exclaimed William, with a bat of eye and a swell of jaw. -"Turned loose on me, have you? Well, I want to tell you, sir, that I -won't stand it. I am aware that my forbearance heretofore may have -misled you with regard to the extent of my endurance, but I want to say -that you have made a mistake. I am treated with consideration and -respect everywhere except in this household, and I won't stand it, -that's all." - -"Thank you," Howard replied. - -"Thank me! Thank me for what?" - -"You said, 'that's all,' and I thank you for it." - -Mrs. Elbridge interposed with a mild and smiling admonition. She shook -her finger at Howard. "Let him go ahead, Rachel," the old fellow spoke -up. "Let him go ahead as far as his strength will permit him. -He's--he's set himself against us, and as he runs riot in the privilege -of the spoiled heir, why, I guess we'll have to stand it--as long as we -can. Of course, there'll come a time when all bodily and moral strength -will fail us, but until then let him go ahead. Yes, has set himself -against us." - -"Us, did you say, Uncle Billy? You are evidently one of the us. Who's -the other?" Howard asked, immensely tickled, for the warmth of the -family joke was most genial to him. - -"I don't want any of your Uncle Billying. I always know what to expect -when you begin that." - -"I began it the other night and ended by giving you a meerschaum pipe, -didn't I?" - -"Oh, meerschaum. Chalk--if there ever was a piece used by a tailor to -mark out the angles of a raw-boned man--that pipe's chalk. You could no -more color it than you could a door-knob." - -"A friend of mine brought it from Germany, Uncle Billy." - -"Did he? He brought it from a German beer garden, where they peddle -them in baskets and sell them by the paper bag full, like popcorn. I -had my suspicions at the time." - -"But you were willing to run the risk of acceptance because your pipe -was so strong." - -The old fellow put down his knife and fork and, straightening up, looked -at Howard as if he would bore him through. "I deny your slander, sir." - -"So do I," said Howard. - -"You do what?" - -"Deny the slander--unless there is slander in truth." - -"Howard, you remind me of a cart-horse, treading on his trace chains. -You remind me--I don't know what you remind me of." - -"Of a cart-horse, you said." - -Again Mrs. Elbridge admonished him not to irritate the old fellow, but -did it so laughingly that he accepted it more as a spur than as a -restraint; and Florence pulled at his sleeve, but more in connivance -than in reproof. Agnes laughed outright. She declared that it was -better than a circus. The old man turned his eyes upon her, giving her -a long and steady gaze, and she whispered to Florence that even the -pin-feathers of his dignity had begun to rise. "Better than a circus," -he replied. "I don't see any similarity except that we have a clown." -He winked at Mrs. Elbridge, as if he expected her to rejoice in what he -believed to be a victory over the young man. Marriage may cripple a -man's opportunities--in some respects it may restrict his range of -vision, but it renders his near view much more nearly exact. Having -never known the repressions of the married state--ignorant of the -intellectual clearing-house of matrimony--William was blind to many -things, and particularly to the fact that the mother hated him at that -moment, though she smiled when he winked at her. - -"Not much like modern circuses," Howard admitted. "They have a whole -group of clowns, while we have but two, at most." - -"Howard," said the old fellow, "do you mean to call me a clown?" - -"Not a good one, Uncle William." - -"Not a good one. Well, sir, I want to say that I'd make a deuced sight -better one than you." When emphasis was put upon the word, it meant, -with Uncle William, not the opprobrious, but the commendable. During -his boyhood, to be a clown was to be greater than a judge, greater, if -possible, than the driver of a stage-coach. In the old day, it was a -compliment to tell a boy that he would make a good clown. - -"I don't doubt you'd make a good clown, Uncle Billy. Aspiration is, -within itself, a sort of fitness." - -"What do you mean by that?" - -"There is a certain genius in mere ambition," Howard went on. "If we -yearn--and yearn, only, we come nearer to an achievement than those who -don't yearn. Who knows that genius is not desire--just desire, and -nothing more. I know a man over at St. Jo that can eat more cherries -than any man in Michigan, not because he is larger than any of the rest, -but because he has a broader appetite for cherries--more yearning." - -William turned to Mrs. Elbridge. "Rachel, do you think he's lost what -little sense he ever had." - -"William," she said, "you must not talk to me that way. I won't put up -with it, sir. I am sure he has as good sense as any--" - -"Oh, if you are going to turn against me I guess I'd better go," he -broke in, getting up. "I'll go to my brother. He at least can -understand me." - -The Judge was in the office. William entered, and, going up to the -desk, began to rummage among some papers. "Trying to swim?" the Judge -asked, looking up from a document spread out before him on the table. - -"No, I'm looking for a cigar." - -"I thought you were trying to swim." - -William stepped back from the desk. "John, I didn't expect such -treatment after our hearty agreement at the breakfast table. But it's -what I get for taking sides. The neutral is the only man that gets -through this life in good shape." - -"And is that the reason, William, that you didn't preach--didn't want to -take sides against the devil?" - -"If I'm not wanted here, I can go to my own room." - -"I wish you would. I am expecting an old client." - -"Oh, I can go." - -"Can you?" - -"John, your irritability has irritated everybody on the place. You have -poisoned our atmosphere. I will leave you." - -"Thank you," said the Judge, examining the document before him. After a -time, and still without looking up, he added: "Still here?" - -"I have just come in, sir," said Howard. The Judge looked up. - -"I thought it was William." - -"He has just gone out. And I have come to beg your pardon for what I -said at breakfast. I didn't mean to worry you; I--" - -"It is unnecessary to beg my pardon, sir." - -"I hope not." He moved closer, with one hand resting upon the table. -"Father, something is wrong, and--" - -"Most decidedly." - -"But won't you please tell me what it is? If the fault is in me and I -can reach it I will pull it out. I could bear many crosses, but your -ill-opinion is too heavy." - -The old man looked up at him. "To your lack of virtue you have added -silly reading." - -"But I am playing in a farce worse than any I have ever read. Be frank -with me. You have taught me frankness." - -"And tried to teach you honesty." - -"Yes, both by precept and example. But what is to come of it all when -you treat me this way? Why don't you go to some springs?" - -"Why don't you leave me to myself?" - -"I am almost afraid. You rake up enmities against me when you are -alone, it seems; and you pour them out upon me when we meet. Why is -it?" - -The Judge waved him off. "Go away," he said. - - - - - *CHAPTER XI.* - - *THE OLD OFFICE.* - - -The office in La Salle Street was in an old-fashioned building, with -heavily ornamented front. The room was large, high of ceiling, with a -grate and a marble mantlepiece. It was on the first floor, after the -short flight of iron steps leading from the pavement. Once it had been -active with business, but now few clients found their way into its dingy -precincts. Occasionally some old-timer would come in, but upon seeing -Howard or Bodney, faces offensively young to him, would go out again, -sighing over the degeneracy of the day. The young men had often advised -a change of quarters, apartments in a steel building, but the Judge -would not consent. The old room was sentiment's heritage. Many a famous -man had trod the rough carpet on the floor; many a time had the dry eye -of the tired lawyer watered at the wit of Emery Storrs; and Ingersoll, -warm with fellowship and wine, walking up and down, had poured out the -overflow of his magic brain. How intellectual were its surroundings -then, and now how different! The great advocate was gone, and in his -stead sat the real-estate lawyer, emotionless, keen-eyed, searching out -the pedigree of a title to a few feet of soil--narrow, direct, -dyspeptic, money-dwarfed. - -After leaving home, Howard went straightway to the down-town office, and -there, amid the dust raised by the negro who was sweeping, he found -Goyle, waiting for Bodney. "I have taken possession," said Goyle. - -"All right. And you are taking more dust than is good for you." - -"I don't mind that. Where is Bodney?" - -"He hadn't got up when I left home. He was up all night with a sick -friend, I believe, and is not likely to be down before the afternoon." - -Goyle looked at his watch. "I will come in again about three o'clock. -How is business with you?" He did not get up. - -"The business of waiting is good. It is about all a young lawyer need -expect." Howard sat down, telling the negro to leave off sweeping; and -Goyle, leaning back, put his feet upon the window ledge. He was never in -haste to leave. It was one of his sayings that he was looking for a -soft seat, and he appeared now to have found one. He gazed out into the -rumbling thoroughfare, at men of all ages passing one another, pushing, -jamming, limping, some on crutches, some tottering, some strong of limb, -all with eager faces. "Rushing after the dollar," said Goyle. - -"Or fleeing from necessity," replied Howard. - -"Yes, and hard pressed by the enemy. But they have made their enemy -powerful--have built up their necessities. Once a shadow lay upon the -ground, a harmless thing; but they breathed hot breath upon it and it -became a thing of life, jumped up and took after them. I hate the whole -scheme." He waved his hand, and Howard sat looking at him--at the hair -curling about his forehead, at his Greek nose; and he wondered why one -so seemingly fitted for the chase should express such contempt for it. -He spoke of it, and Goyle turned toward him with a cold smile. "You -have heard," said he, "of the fellow who would rather be a cat in hell -without claws. Well, that's what I am, and where I am when thrown out -there." He nodded toward the street, and then lazily taking out a -cigarette, lighted it. - -"I don't believe that," said Howard. "I believe that you are well -fitted, except, possibly, by disposition. You lack patience." - -"Patience! It doesn't admit of patience. Do those fellows out there -look patient?" - -"A man may run and be patient." - -"And he may also run and be a fool." - -"Or be a bigger fool and not run. I am a believer in the world--in -man." - -"I'm not," said Goyle. "I know that the world is a trap and that man is -caught. Puppies play, but the old dog lies down. He knows that life is -a farce." - -"The old dog lies down, it is true," Howard replied, "but he dreams of -his youth and barks in his dream." - -"And calls himself a fool when he awakes. It is the same with the old -man. There comes a time when he loses confidence even in those who are -nearest him." Out of the sharp corner of his eye he shot a glance at -Howard and saw his countenance change. An old man, shriveled and -wretched, with feather dusters for sale, came shambling into the room. -Goyle glanced at him, and when he was gone, turned to Howard and said: -"Ask his opinion of the world. He is your old dog who dreamed and -barked in his dream." - -"Goyle, I don't like the position you take. My experience and my -reading teach me better." - -Goyle glanced at him again. "Your reading, because what you read was -written to flatter hope--to sell. Your experience is not ripe. It is -not even green fruit. It is a bud. Oh, of course there are some old -men, your father, for instance, who--" - -"Well, what about him?" - -"Nothing, only he is by nature fitted to smile at everything." - -Howard got up, went over to a bookcase, took down a book, put it back, -went to the open door, and stood there looking at a doctor's sign, just -across the hall. Goyle got up with a yawn, came walking slowly toward -the door, and Howard, hearing him, but without looking round, stepped -aside to let him pass out. In the hall he halted to repeat that he -would return during the afternoon. - -"You have the privilege to come and go as often as you like, being -George's friend," said Howard, "but, so far as you and I are concerned, -I don't think we are suited to each other." - -Goyle laughed and stepped back a pace or two. "Why, on account of my -nonsense just now? That was all guff; I didn't mean it. It is the -easiest thing in the world for a man to condemn the whole of creation, -and I talk that way when my mind is too dull to act. Why, I am going -out now to knock an eye tooth out of the wolf." - -"And you didn't mean what you said about old men?" - -"Not a word of it." - -"Why did you happen to speak of my father?" - -"Merely to refute what I had said about old men in general. Well, so -long." - -Howard went into the doctor's office, as musty a den as ever a fox -inhabited. The physician was an old man, who had no future and who -prescribed in the past. During the best years of his life he had dozed -or talked under the influence of opium, so given to harmless fabrication -when awake that it followed him into his slumber, snoring a lie; now -cured of the habit but not of the evil it had wrought. When Howard -entered the old man was reading a medical journal of 1849, and he -glanced up disappointed to see the visitor looking so well. He had met -Howard many a time, but his memory was short. - -"Ah, come in, sir. Have a seat. You are--let me see. - -"My office is just across the hall." - -"Yes, yes, I remember. You are in the--the brokerage business. And -your name is--" - -"I am trying to be a lawyer. Elbridge is my name." - -"Of course it is. I used to know your father--was called in -consultation just before he died." - -"Then it must have been since I left the house this morning." - -"Ah, let me see. Elbridge--the Judge. I'm wrong, of course. It was -Elsworth. How is your father?" - -"That's what I wanted to talk about, and I am sorry that you do not -recall him more vividly. I wanted to ask your opinion." - -"Why, now I know him as well as I know myself. What is it you wish to -consult me about? His health?" - -"Well, I hardly know how to get at it. You know he has been a very busy -man--working day and night for years; and I wanted to ask if a sudden -breaking off isn't dangerous--that is, not exactly dangerous, but likely -to induce a change in disposition?" - -The doctor looked wise, with his hand flat upon the medical journal, and -as it had been printed in the drowsy afternoon of a slow day, seemed to -inspire caution against a quick opinion. - -"I hold, and have held for years," said he, "that a complete revolution -in a man's affairs, sudden riches or sudden poverty--the er--the -withdrawing of vital forces necessary to a continuous strain, is a shock -to the system, and therefore deleterious. It is unquestionably a fact, -not only known to the medical fraternity, but to ordinary observation, -that incentive in the aged is a sort of continuance of youth, in other -words, to make myself perfectly clear, the impetus of youth when -unchecked, goes far into old age--when the pursuit has not been changed; -and therefore a sudden halting is bad for the system. Is your father's -health impaired?" - -"I can't say that it is. He appears to be strong, but his temper is not -of the best--toward me. Toward the others he is just the same." - -"Ah, not unusual in such cases. It so happened that a sudden change -must have taken place in him, and as you were doubtless the first one to -come in contact with him after the change, his--his displeasure, if I -may be permitted the term, fell upon you." - -"But I was not the first one." - -"Um, a complication. I shall have to study that up a little. Perhaps -I'd better see him." - -"Oh, no, don't do that. It really amounts to nothing. I consulted you -because you were well acquainted with him. And I am now inclined to -think that I have made more of it than it really is. How are you getting -along?" Howard asked, to change the subject. - -"Never better, sir, I am pleased to say. Of course medicine has -degenerated, splitting up into all sorts of specialties, but there are a -few people who don't want to be humbugged. Well, I am glad you called," -he added as Howard turned to go. "Give my regards to your father." - -Howard returned to the office, took up a book which held in closer -affinity the laws of verse than the laws of the land, and lying down -upon a leather lounge, was borne away by the gentle tide of a rhythmic -sea. - - - - - *CHAPTER XII.* - - *WALKED AND REPENTED.* - - -A man can be more repentant when he walks than when he rides. The -world's most meditative highway is that road which we are told is paved -with good intentions; and strolling along it, our determination to -reform becomes stronger at each step until--until something occurs to -change it all. Bodney walked down town. And for the first time in his -life he fancied that he found the very bottom of his mind, and thereon -lay a resolution, an oath self-made, self-sworn to tell Howard the truth -and to take the consequences no matter what they might be. He had -intended, upon getting out of bed to make his confession to the old -gentleman, and he would have done so, he fully believed, had not the -Judge been engaged with a client. But perhaps after all it would better -serve the purposes of justice to confess to Howard. He was the one most -deeply injured. Yes, he would go at once to Howard and tell him the -truth. It would of course involve Goyle, but he ought to be involved; -he was a scoundrel. Perhaps they might both be sent to the -penitentiary. No matter, the confession must be made. He passed the -building wherein the night before he had agonized under the frown of -hard luck; he halted and looked into the entry-way, at the stairs worn -and splintered by the heavy feet of the unfortunate. Some strange -influence had fallen upon him, some strength not gathered by his own -vital forces had come to him, and now he knew that no longer could he be -a slave held by chains forged in that house of bondage. As he turned -away he met a man who had been in the game the night before. His face -was bright and he did not look like a slave. - -"How did you come out?" Bodney asked. - -"I was ninety in when you left, and I pull out sixty winner." - -"You did? You were losing when I left." - -"Yes, but they can't beat a man all the time. I tell you it would put -me in the hole if I didn't win. I owe at three or four places, and I go -around today and pay up." - -Then, with a feeling like a sudden sickness at the stomach, came the -recollection of the druggist and the preacher, obligations not to be -discharged that day. Long after the moral nature has been weakened, the -poker player may continue to respect his own word, or rather he may not -respect it himself but may desire others to do so. Unless his income is -large he must operate mainly upon borrowed capital, and breaking his -word cripples his resources. And then, after having lost, there is a -self-shame in having borrowed, a confession of weakness. He condemns -himself for not having had strength enough to quit when he found that -there was no chance to get even. "There never is a chance to get even," -Bodney mused as he walked on toward the office. "The old fellow who has -worn himself out at the cursed game says so and I believe it. I will -tell Howard--nothing shall shake my resolution. I will simply cut my -throat before I'll sink myself further in this iniquity. By nature I am -not dishonest. If I hadn't met that fellow Goyle I might--but I'll not -think of him. Now that fellow didn't play any better cards than I did, -was nearly a hundred in and pulled out sixty ahead. And he has paid his -debts while I must dodge. I wonder how much I have lost within the past -two months. On an average of fifty dollars a sitting. That won't do. -I had money enough to--but I won't think about it--won't do any good, -and besides it is over with now." - -He found Howard in the office writing. "A brief?" said Bodney, sitting -down. - -"In one sense--short meter," Howard replied. - -"What, poetry?" - -"Rhyme. I come by it naturally, you know. Have you heard from your -friend today, the one you sat up with?" - -"Yes, he's better." - -"Goyle was here--said he'd be back this afternoon." - -"Didn't leave any money--didn't say what he wanted, did he?" - -"No. I think he wants to talk more than anything else. He is a smart -fellow, George, but I am beginning to find fault with him. I don't like -his principles." - -"Perhaps he has none," Bodney replied. - -"What, have you begun to--" - -"Oh, no, I merely said that." - -"That's the way he talks--makes a statement and then declares he didn't -mean it. By the way, I'm going to get out of this office. There's no -use staying here. If father wants to keep it, let him; but you and I -ought to be in a more modern building. We have played at the law long -enough. What do you say?" - -"I don't know but you are right. I would like to do something. Has -anyone else called?" - -"Yes, Bradley was here." - -"Bradley! What did he want?" - -"He didn't say what he wanted." - -"What did he say?" - -"He inquired about your friend--the divinity student." - -Bodney was silent, and to him it seemed that he was groping about in his -own mind, searching for his resolution, but he could not find it. The -preacher might have asked about the divinity student, the wretch mused, -but of course he wanted ten dollars; and what if it should be known at -the house that he had borrowed the money? - -"Howard, can you let me have twenty-five dollars?" - -"What, haven't you--you any money?" - -"None that I can get hold of. I haven't said anything about it, but the -fact is, I have invested in suburban lots, and can make a good profit -any time I care to sell out, but I don't want to sell just now." - -"Ah, business man, eh?" said Howard, crumpling the paper which he had -covered with rhymes and throwing it into the waste basket. "Well, I am -going to do something of that sort myself. I am glad you told me. Yes, -I'll let you have twenty-five. I have just about that amount with me." - -Bodney took the money and seized his hat. "If Goyle comes in, tell him -I don't know when I'll be back. By the way, do you suppose Bradley went -home?" - -[Illustration: Bodney took the money.] - -"Yes, I think so--in fact, he remarked that he was going home to do some -work. Why?" - -"Nothing, only he seemed interested in the young fellow I sat up -with--wanted to go with me to see him, in fact." - -With a determination to pay the druggist and to go at once to Bradley's -house, Bodney left the office, still wondering, though, what had become -of his resolve to make a confession to Howard. But he would fortify -himself against trivial annoyances and then, morally stronger, he could -confess. As he was crossing the street he thought of the fellow who had -won sixty dollars. "No better player than I am," he mused. "He hung -on, that's all. Now, when I pay the preacher and the druggist I'll have -five dollars left. And with that five dollars I might win out. If I -had held to my resolution not to stay in on so many four flushes I might -have won out anyway. But the other fellows filled flushes and straights -against me. Why couldn't I against them? Simply because it wasn't my -day. But this may be my day. My day must come some time. As that -fellow said, 'they can't beat a man all the time.' Why not go to the -club first? Then, if I win, I can easily meet my obligations." - -He went to the club. The game was full, but a "house" player got up and -gave him a seat. He bought ten dollars' worth of chips, and the first -hand he picked up was three queens. The pot was opened ahead of him and -another man came in. Bodney raised; they stood it, and drew one card -each. To disguise his hand, Bodney drew one, holding up a six. He -caught a six. The opener bet a white chip. The next man raised him -three dollars. Bodney raised all he had. The opener laid down; the -other man studied. "Is it that bad?" he asked, peeping at the tips of -his cards. Bodney said nothing; his blood was tingling, but in his eyes -there was a far-away look. - -"It's up to you, Griff," said an impatient fellow. - -"Yes, so I see; but I'm playing this hand. Raised it and drew one card, -then raised a one-card draw. Well, I've got to call you." - -"Queen full." - -"Beats a flush. Take the hay." - -And now Bodney's troubles all were luminous. The wine of the game flowed -through his veins and made his heart drunk with delight. He held a pat -flush, won a big pot and felt a delicious coolness in his mind, the -chamber wherein he had groped through darkness, searching for the lost -resolution. But now it was light, and was crowded with charming fancies. -He bubbled wit and simmered humor, and the look-out man said, "you bet, -he's a good one." His stack was building so high that he could hardly -keep from knocking it over--did overturn it with a crash, and a loud -voice called to the porter: "Chip on the floor." The man attendant upon -the desk came over, put his hand on Bodney's shoulder and said: "Give it -to 'em; eat 'em up." - -In the game there was a mind-reader, and they called him Professor. In -his "studio" he told marvelous things, brought up the past and read the -future. Hundreds of persons consulted him, race-track men looking for -tips, board of trade men wanting to know the coming trend of the market; -and in the twilight came the blushing maiden to ask if her lover were -true. In deepest secret you might write a dozen questions, put them in -your pocket and button your coat, but the Professor could read them. He -was unquestionably a mind-reader--till he sat down to play poker--and -then his marvelous powers failed him. The most unintuitive man at the -table could beat him. Bodney slaughtered him. "Can you make those -things every time?" said the Professor, calling a three-dollar bet. - -"Not every time," Bodney replied, spreading a straight, "but I made it -this time." - -"You can make them every time against me. You are the luckiest man I -ever saw. Do you always win?" - -"I have lost more within the last two months than any man that comes up -the stairs." - -"That's right," said the look-out. - -One wretched fellow, who had been struggling hard, got up broke. He -strove to appear unconcerned, but despair was written on his face. As -he walked across the room toward the door the man at the desk called to -him. He turned with the light of a vague hope in his eye. In -consideration of his hard luck was the house about to stake him? "Have a -cigar before you go," said the man at the desk. The light went out of -the wretch's eye. He took the cigar and drooped away, to beg for an -extension from his landlord, to plead with the grocer, to lie to his -wife. - -At six o'clock Bodney cashed in one hundred and four dollars. He would -eat dinner with them, but he would not play afterward. He had tried -that before. His eye-tooth had not only been cut; it had been sharpened -to the point of keenest wisdom. While he was at the dinner table Goyle -came in and took a seat behind him. - -"Understand you sewed up the game," said the master. - -"I've got just about enough to pay up what I owe," replied the slave. - -"Come off. Let me have twenty." - -"I can't do it--swear I can't. I owe all round town. I let you have -ten yesterday, you know." - -"That's all right. You'll get it again--you know that. Let me have -twenty." - -"I can't possibly do it." - -But he did. Goyle got up and walked out into the hall with him, put his -hand on his arm and stood a long time, talking, gazing into his eyes. -So Bodney gave him the money and hastened away, his spirits somewhat -dampened. But his heart was still light enough to keep him pleased with -himself. Luck had surely turned. He would win enough to replace the -money taken from the safe, and then he would make a confession. But, -that fellow Goyle! What was the secret of his infatuating influence? -How did he inspire common words with such power, invest mere slang with -such command? But his influence could not last; indeed, it was -weakening. And when thus he mused his heart grew lighter. "He couldn't -make me aid and abet a robbery now," he said. "I would turn on him and -rend him. Let him take the money. The debt is now large enough to make -him shun me." With a smile and a merry salutation he stepped into the -drug store, and handed the druggist ten dollars, apologizing for not -having called during the day, but he had been busy and did not suppose -that it would make any particular difference. The druggist assured him -that it did not. Good fortune in its many phases may be taken as a -matter of course, but the return of borrowed money is nearly always a -surprise. The druggist gave him a cigar. - -"Thank you," said Bodney. "By the way, have you an envelope and stamp?" - -He found an envelope, but no stamp. A young woman who had held his -telephone for ten minutes had bought the last one. It was of no -consequence; Bodney could get one at the next corner. Tearing a scrap of -paper out of his notebook and putting it upon a show case, he scribbled -a few lines upon it, folded a ten dollar note in the paper, enclosed it -in the envelope and directed it to Bradley. - -"I guess that ought to be safe enough," he said. - -"I don't know," replied the druggist. - -"Well, I'll risk it. Again let me thank you for your kindness. It -isn't often that I am forced to borrow, and wouldn't have done so last -night but for--" - -"Oh, that's all right. Come in again," he added, as Bodney stepped out. -At the next corner he stamped his letter and went out to drop it into a -box, but before reaching it was accosted by someone, the Professor whom -he had slaughtered in the game. - -"How did you come out?" Bodney asked. - -"You broke me." - -"Didn't you sit in after dinner?" - -"For about three minutes--first hand finished me. I see you have a -letter there with ten dollars in it." - -"What! How do you know?" - -"And a note written with a pencil." - -"Why, that's marvelous. How do you do it?" - -The Professor smiled. "It is the line of my business. Why don't you -come up to my place some time? I can tell you many things." - -It flashed through Bodney's mind that he might tell him many things, and -he shrank back from him. "I will, one of these days," he said, and -strode off without dropping his letter into the box. He put it into his -pocket, intending to stop at the next corner, but forgot it. "Now, -what?" he mused. "Believe I'll go home." He got on a car, but stepped -off before it started. He went to a hotel, into the reading room, and -took up a newspaper, but found nothing interesting in it. His thoughts -were upon the game. In his mind was the red glare of a pat diamond -flush. He could see it as vividly as if it had been held before his -eye. Was it prophetic? He strolled out, not in the direction of the -Wexton Club; but he changed his course, and was soon mounting the -stairs. There was no seat, but the man at the desk said that there were -enough players to start another game. The game was organized with four -regulars, Bodney and another fool. The regulars took twenty dollars' -worth of chips apiece; the two fools took ten, and within ten minutes -Bodney was buying more. A man got up from the other table, and Bodney -returned to his old seat, where he knew that luck waited for him. The -desk man came over to him. "That other gentleman is number one," said -he. Just then a new arrival took the seat which Bodney had vacated and -number one called out: "Let him go ahead. I'll stay here." And there, -sure enough, was the pat diamond flush. Wasn't it singular that he -should have seen it glowing upon the surface of his mind? And wasn't it -fortunate that the pot was opened ahead of him? He raised and the -opener stayed and drew one card. He bet a white chip and Bodney raised. -The opener gave him what was termed the "back wash," re-raised. Then -the beauty of the flush began to fade. Could it be that the fellow--the -very same offensive fellow, who had beaten him before--could have filled -his hand? Or, had he drawn to threes and "sized" Bodney for a revengeful -"bluff?" - -"Well, I'll have to call you," said Bodney. He put in his money and the -offensive fellow showed him a ten full. - -"You always beat me." - -"I do whenever I can." - -"But you make it a point to beat me." - -"Make it a point to beat anybody." - -"Well, I don't want any abuse and I won't have it." - -"Play cards, boys," said the look-out. - -"What's the matter with you, worms?" said the offensive fellow, looking -at Bodney. - -"Play like brothers," spoke up the look-out. - -At a little after eleven o'clock Bodney came down as heavy as a drowned -man. His heart was full of bitterness. He cursed the world and all -that was in it. He called on God to strike him dead. Then he swore -that there could be no God; there was nothing but evil and he was the -embodiment of it. But if he had only ten dollars he could win out. He -had won, and it was but reason to suppose that he could win again. Any -old player, imbued with the superstitions of the game, would have told -him that to go back was to lose. "I'll go over and see that druggist -again," he mused. "Strange that I have lived in this town all my life -and don't know where to get money after eleven o'clock at night. I -ought to have set my stakes better than that. And now, what excuse can -I give for coming back to borrow again so soon? Perhaps he isn't -there." Nor was he there. Bodney looked in with anxiety toward the -show case behind which he expected to see his friend, and with contempt -at the soda-water man. He thought of the envelope. He pictured himself -standing there, smiling, a few hours before--and like an arrow came the -recollection of the note directed to the preacher. He wheeled about, -rushed across the street, jostling through the crowd which was still -thick upon the sidewalk, raced around the corner, swam through another -crowd, bounded across another street just in front of a cable train, -and, breathless, panted up the stairway leading to the Wexton. Before -touching the electric button he tore open the envelope, took out the -money, destroyed the note; he touched the button and wondered if the -black porter would ever come. Undoubtedly the game must have broken up. -No, there was the black face, grim in the vitreous light. And there was -a vacant seat, his old, lucky seat. - -"Bring me ten," he called, as he sat down. And addressing the look-out, -he asked if Goyle had been there. He had played a few pots after -dinner, but had quit early. - -"Did he win?" - -"I think he win a few dollars. Said he had an engagement on the West -Side." - -"Leave me out," said a man, counting his imposing stack of chips. -"Never mind, I'll play this one." A hand had been dealt him. "But I've -got to go after this hand; oughtn't to stay as long as I do. Got to -catch a train. Who opened it?" - -"I did," replied a regular. - -"Raise you." - -"So soon? Well, I'll have to trot you. Tear me one off the roof." - -"I'll play these," said the man who had to catch a train. - -"You'd better take some. He won't come round again. Well, I'll chip it -up to you." - -"Raise you three." - -The regular raised him back. The man who had to go raised, and the -regular fired back at him, nor did the contest end here, but when it did -end the regular spread an ace full to overcast with the shade of defeat -three queens and a pair. And the man who had been in a hurry continued -to sit there. At short intervals, during half an hour or more, he had -snapped his watch, but he did not snap it now. Trains might come and -trains might go, but he was not compelled to catch them; he lost his -last chip, bought more, lost, and, finally, accepted carfare from the -man at the desk. Bodney won, and the world threw off its sables and put -on bright attire, and at two o'clock he thought of cashing in, though -not quite even. He lacked just seventy-five cents--three red chips. He -would play one more pot. He lost, and now he was two dollars behind, -the pot having been opened for a dollar and twenty-five cents. Pretty -soon he had a big hand beaten. - -"I see my finish," he said. - -"You can't win every pot," replied a railway engineer, who had failed to -take out his train. "I have four pat hands beat and every set of threes -I pick up. Serves me right. Pot somebody for a bottle of beer." - -"You're on," replied the dealer, a comical-looking countryman, known as -Cy. "Deal 'em lower, I can see every card," someone remarked; and just -at that moment Cy turned over a deuce and replied: "Can't deal 'em much -lower than that, can I?" - -But who is this going down the stairs just as daylight is breaking? And -why is he making such gestures? It is Bodney, and he is swearing that -he will never play again. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIII.* - - *WANTED TO SEE HIS SON.* - - -Howard had shared his father's sentiment with regard to the old office, -for then the sky was clear, but now a cloud had come the atmosphere was -changed. And on his way home to dinner, after a day spent without -progress, he formed a resolve to tell the old gentleman that he needed a -fresher and a brisker air than that blown about the ancient temple of -lore. It ought not to hurt him now since he had begun to look upon his -son with an eye so dark with censure. Even if his affection had been -withdrawn his blood-interest must surely still remain, the young man -mused; even though sentiment were dead, there must remain alive a desire -to see him prosper, and to prosper in that old place was impossible. He -believed that his father was losing his mind; years of dry opinion, of -unyielding fact and the dead weight of precedent growing heavier, -smothered his mental life. - -The household, with the exception of the Judge, was at dinner, and when -Howard entered the dining room his mother arose hastily and came to meet -him. "Your father wants to see you in the office," she said, and -putting her hand on his arm, she added: "I don't know what he wants, but -no matter what it is, please bear with him--don't say anything to annoy -him." - -"Has anything happened?" Howard asked. - -"Something, but I don't know what. Someone called, I heard loud talking -in the office, and after the caller had gone, your father came out and -said that he wanted to see you as soon as you arrived. Be gentle with -him, dear." - -The old gentleman was sitting at his desk when Howard entered the -office. He got up and for a time stood looking at the young man with no -word of explanation. "Well, sir," he said, after a time, "what will you -do next?" - -"What have I done now?" - -"No quibbling, sir. You know what you have done." - -"I pledge you my honor I do not." - -"Pledge me your what! Pledge me your old clothes, but not your honor." - -"You wanted to see me, so mother says, and now I should like to know -why." - -"I suppose that you are so innocent that you can't even guess. Or is it -that you are so forgetful of your deeds that you cannot remember? Why -did you send that old fool out here?" - -"Send an old fool out here! I didn't send anyone." - -The old man took a step toward him with his finger uplifted. His eyes -were full of anger and his finger shook, a willow in the wind. "How can -you deny it? You sent old Dr. Risbin, the morphine eater, out here to -see me." - -"Oh, did he come out here? But I swear I did not send him. In fact, I -told him not to come." - -"Ah, and is that the reason he came--because you told him not to? He -was never here before in his life, and why should he say that you sent -him?" - -"Because he is a poor old liar, I suppose. I admit that I saw him in -his office and--" - -"A gradual acknowledgment is better than no acknowledgment at all. Why -did you see him in his office, or why did you speak of me?" - -"Father, if you'll only be patient with me I will tell you. Your -bearing toward me has been distressful. I was afraid that your mind--" - -"Enough of that. My mind is sounder, sir, than yours will ever be. -But, suppose something were wrong. Is he the physician to consult? -Why, his mind has been dead for years. Why did you consult him if it -were not in contempt of me? I ask you why?" - -"I was standing in the door of our office and happened to notice his -sign just across the hall; and I thought that as he knew you well, I -would speak to him. I soon saw that he didn't know what he was talking -about, and when he suggested that he ought to see you, I told him no, -and changed the subject. That's my offense, and I beg your pardon." - -"I will try to believe you," said the Judge, sitting down. "Your office -is down town. This one is mine." - -"Yes, sir, and I will not intrude. I wouldn't have come in but you -wanted--" - -The Judge waved his hand. "Our business has been transacted." - -"Yours has, but I have something to say. I don't want to occupy that -musty old den any longer. It doesn't make any difference to me if there -are a thousand javelins of wit sticking in the walls, or a thousand -ghosts of oratory floating in the air, I can't make a living so long as -I stay in it. I don't want to be of the past, but of the present. Your -success was not a past but a present, and my present is as valuable to -me as yours was to you." - -"You are at liberty to get out of that office as soon as you like. But -before you go, put up some sort of emblem expressive of your contempt of -all its memories. Stuff out a suit of old clothes with straw, a -scarecrow of the past, set it at the desk and call it--me." - -"Please don't talk to me that way. I don't mean any disrespect--I want -to establish myself on a modern footing. You know that Florence and -I--" - -"Don't speak of her." - -"Why not? She is to be my wife." - -"Not with my consent." - -"Your consent is desirable, but not absolutely necessary. I don't mean -this in impudence; I mean it merely to show my--our determination. I -don't know why you should oppose our marriage, and I have no idea as to -what extent you will oppose it, but I wish to say that no extreme will -have any effect. You say that you are not ill; you swear that your mind -is not affected, and yet you refuse to tell me the cause of your change -toward me. I must have done something, either consciously or -unconsciously, and now again I beg of you to tell me what it is." - -The old man leaned forward with his eyes bent upon the floor. "I have -seen great actors, but this--go away, Howard. Leave me alone." - -"Am I ever to know, sir?" - -The old man pointed toward the door, and Howard walked slowly out. His -mother stood in the hall. Her eyes were tearful, and taking his arm she -held it as if she would say something, but liberated him, motioned him -away, and went into the office. The Judge got up, forcing a change upon -his countenance, smiled at her, took her hand and led her to a chair. -"Now, don't be worried," said he. "I merely reprimanded Howard, as I -had a right to do, for sending an old fool, who calls himself a doctor, -out here to see me. That's all." - -[Illustration: The old man pointed toward the door, and Howard walked -slowly out.] - -"But what did you mean by calling him an actor? What has he done that -he should be acting now?" - -"Nothing--nothing at all, I assure you." - -"You said he was acting," she persisted. - -"Perhaps I did, but I didn't mean it. Oh, yes, acting as if he didn't -care for the memories of the old office." - -"But, dear, something has come between you and Howard. What is it?" - -"Between us, my dear? Surely not. We don't agree on all points; he has -his opinions and I have mine; but there is no serious difference between -us. Come, I will show you. He and I will eat dinner together." - -He led her to the dining room, where Howard sat moodily looking at the -table. He glanced up, and the Judge waved his hand with something of -his old-time graciousness. "Any callers today, Howard?" he asked, -sitting down. - -"Goyle, whom I am beginning not to like, and Mr. Bradley." - -"Whom you cannot help but like. A good man, conscientious and yet not -creed-bound." - -"He is building up a great church," said Mrs. Elbridge. "It is almost -impossible to get a seat." - -"Ah, I don't attend as regularly as I should," remarked the Judge, "but -I am going to mend my ways. Howard, shall we go together soon?" - -"I shall be delighted, sir." - -"Then let us appoint an early day." - -The father and the son laughed with each other, and to the mother it was -as if new strings, to replace broken ones, had been put upon an old -guitar, and she was happy merely to listen; but soon she was called -away, attendant upon some duty, and then a darkness fell upon the old -man's countenance. "Enough of this," he said. And there was more than -surprise in the look which Howard gave him--there was grief in it. -"Then your good humor was assumed," he replied. - -"We may assume good humor as we assume honesty--for policy," the Judge -rejoined. - -"I swear I don't understand you." - -"Then don't strive to do so when your mother is present. At such times, -take me as you find me." - -"My pleasure just now was real. It is a grief to know that yours was -not. I was in hopes that our difference, whatever it is, for I don't -know, was at an end. You led me to believe so." - -"Lay no store by what you suppose I lead you to believe. When our -difference shall reach an end, if such a thing is possible, I will tell -you." - -"Then you acknowledge a difference." - -"I have not denied it." - -"And you will not tell what it is?" - -"Now, you are mocking me. Ah, come in, my dear." Mrs. Elbridge had -returned. "Yes, we will go to hear Bradley preach. And I warrant I can -remember more of the sermon than you." - -"Mr. Bradley is here now," said Mrs. Elbridge. - -"Ah, is he? Did you tell him I would be in pretty soon?" - -"He has come to see Agnes, I think. He asked for her." - -"Ah, the sly dog. Well, he couldn't ask for a better girl. Are you -going, Howard?" - -"Yes, sir, to take a walk with Florence, if she cares to go." - -The Judge frowned, but his wife did not notice it. Howard did, however, -and was sorry that he spoke of his intention, but he had no opportunity -to apologize, if indeed he felt an inclination to do so. It was a -sorrow to feel that his father was set against him, but to know that he -was trying to influence the girl was more than a sorrow--it was a grief -hardened with anger. He found Florence and they went out together, -walking southward. - -"How soft the air is," she said. - -"Nature is breathing low." - -They walked on in silence beneath the cottonwoods and elms. Laughter, -the buzz of talk and tunes softly hummed came from door-steps and -porticos where families and visitors were gathered, to the disgust of -Astors and flunkies from over the sea. - -"Florence," said Howard, "before I came home this evening I was -determined to move out of that old building down town, and to get an -office in a modern building. But now I have decided upon something -else." - -"To remain there out of respect for your father and his memories?" - -"No. To get away from this town--out West, to build a home for you. I -hope you don't object." - -"Object. I am pleased. I think it is the very wisest thing you could -do. And as soon as you are ready for me, I will go." - -He took her hand and held it till, passing under a lamp, near a group of -persons on a flight of steps, he gently let it fall. "Yes, it is the -wisest thing I can do. The law is altogether different from what it was -when father was in his prime--the practice of it, I mean--and I don't -believe I could ever build up here. Oh, I might. The fact is, I don't -want to practice here. I am disheartened. The idea of a man, at his -age, turning against--do you know what he holds against me, Florence?" - -"Howard, you must not ask me." - -"Must not ask you? Then you know." - -"Please don't ask me." - -They were in the light, amid laughter and the humming of tunes, and he -waited till they reached a place where there was no one to hear, and -then he said: "If you know and love me, it would be unnatural not to -tell me." - -"Howard, Peter may have denied his Lord, martyrs may have denied their -religion, but you can't deny my love." - -"No, I can't; but how can you keep from me a secret that concerns me so -vitally? Do you suppose I could hold back anything from you?" - -"Not if your mother were dead and you had taken an oath upon her -memory?" - -"Not if God were dead and I had sworn--" - -"Howard, you must not talk that way." - -He was holding her hand and he felt the ripples of her agitation. "I -think I know your secret," he said. "You have cause to believe that his -mind is giving way and you don't want to distress me by confessing -it--have been sworn to silence, as if it could be kept hidden from me." - -She admitted that she did not believe that his mind was sound, and he -accepted it as the secret which she had at first held back, but her -conscience arose against the deception of leaving him so completely in -the dark. "Howard, you have often said in your joking way that I have -the honor of a man." - -"Yes, the honor of the Roman famed for honor. But honor can be cool, and -I need something warmer, now--love. I am, as you know, deeply -distressed at father's condition; it has changed nearly all my -plans--every plan, in fact, except the one great plan--our plan. Mother -begs me to be patient. But for what end, if there is to be no -improvement in his treatment of me? I took a hint from Uncle William, -not intended for me, that there has been insanity in the family. That's -a comforting thought, now, isn't it? Why do you tremble so?" - -"Because I believe that there is truth in Uncle William's hint." - -"But it should not have any effect upon our plans--our marriage." - -"I would marry you, Howard, if you were a maniac." - -They were in the dark, and he put his arm about her. "Then, let the -whole world go insane," he said. - -The soft air murmured among the leaves of the cottonwood. A band of -happy children danced about an organ grinder in the street. A -fraudulent newsboy cried a murder in Indiana Avenue, and from afar came -as if in echo, "All about the murder on Prairie Avenue." - -"Howard, knowing me as you do, and supposing that I had not told all I -know, and I were to ask you to wait, what would you say?" - -"Not knowing you so well I would say, 'out with it,' but knowing you, I -would say, 'wait.' But what do you mean?" - -"I mean to wait four weeks and no longer." - -"Now you begin to mystify me. But we'll not think about it. I wonder -what's the trouble with George. I never saw a fellow change so. I -believe that fellow Goyle is having a bad influence on him. There is -something uncanny about that chap. Did you ever notice his eyes? They -have a sort of a draw, like a nerve. Have you noticed it?" - -"I have noticed that I don't like him. He looks like a professional -spiritualist." - -"I guess he is in one sense--in slate writing--guess he has most -everything put down on the slate." - -"I don't know what you mean." - -"Has everything charged that he can. He's a fraud, no doubt." - -"Agnes says so." - -"Oh, well, what Agnes says couldn't be taken as evidence. She sees a -man and has a sort of flutter. If the flutter's pleasant the man's all -right; if it isn't, he's all wrong." - -"But there might be intuition in a flutter," she said. - -"Yes, or prejudice. But George has always been a good judge of men. He -has excellent business sense--has invested in lots and can make a fair -profit on them at any time he cares to sell. Shall we turn back here?" - -Agnes and the preacher sat in the drawing room, she flouncing about on a -sofa, and he dignified on a straight-back chair. It is rather -remarkable that a preacher is more often attracted by a mischief-loving -girl than by a sedate maiden; and this may account for the truth that -ministers' sons are sometimes so full of that quality known, impiously, -as the devil. In the early days of the English church, when the meek -parson, not permitted to hope that he might one day chase a fox or drink -deep with the bishop, and who was forced to retire to the servants' hall -when the ale and the cheese cakes came on, had cause in secret to offer -up thanks that not more than two of his sons were pirates on the high -seas. And Bradley sat there watching a cotillion of mischief dancing in -the eyes of the girl. - -"You have never been connected with any church, have you?" - -"Once," she replied, with a graceful flounce. "But I danced out." - -"Danced out, did you say?" - -"Yes. I got religion in the fall and lost it in the winter--by going to -a ball and dancing." - -"Why," said the preacher, slowly, patting his knee, "that did not cause -you to lose it." - -"Well, that's what they said, anyway. And I know I cried after I got -home because my religion was gone." - -"It is a crime to teach such rubbish." - -"Then you don't think I lost it?" - -"Surely not." - -"Then I must have it yet," she cried, clapping her hands. - -"Miss Agnes, your purity is of itself a religion." - -"I don't know about that. I am wicked sometimes--I say hateful things." - -"But there is no bitterness in your soul." - -"I don't know, but I think there is, sometimes. I know once I wished -that a woman was dead; but she was the meanest thing you ever saw. And -she did die not long after that and I was scared nearly to death--and I -prayed and sent flowers to the funeral. Wasn't that wicked?" - -The preacher admitted that it was wayward, but he could not find it in -his inflamed heart to call her wicked. She was too engaging, too -handsome to be wicked. Nature could not so defame herself, he thought, -though he knew that there was many a beautiful flower without perfume. -But while settled love condemns, love springing into life forgives. -"Wayward," said the preacher, "Perhaps thoughtless would be a better -word." - -"No, it wasn't thoughtless, because I was thinking hard all the time. -Don't you get awfully tired studying up something to preach about?" - -He smiled upon her. "All work in time becomes laborious, and that is -why congregations desire young men--they want freshness. An old man may -continue to be fresh, but his brain must be wonderful and his soul must -be a garden of flowers. The wisdom of the old man often offends the -young and tires the middle-aged; human nature demands entertainment, and -the preacher who entertains while he instructs is the one who makes the -most friends and the one who indeed does the most good. The unpoetic -preacher is doomed; the gospel itself is a poem. The practical man may -not read poetry, may not understand it; but he likes it in a sermon, for -it breathes the gentleness and the purity of Christ. But poetry cannot -be laborious, cannot be dry with studied wisdom, and therefore, when a -preacher becomes a great scholar, he forgets his simple poetry and the -people begin to forget him." - -"My!" exclaimed the girl, "what a sermon you have preached. And it's -true, too, I think. I know we had an old man at our church--one of the -best old men you ever saw--but they got tired of him. He--he couldn't -hold anybody. Even the old men gaped and yawned. He was giving them -dry creed. Well, a young man came along and preached for us. And it -was like spring time coming in the winter. He made us laugh and cry. -People like to cry--it makes them laugh so much better afterward. Well, -the old man had to go." - -"And after a time, the young man, grown old, will have to go. We must -keep this life fresh; we must look for incentives to freshness. A -preacher ought to be the most genial of men. And his wife ought to be -genial; indeed, innocent mischief would not ill become her." - -He looked at her, but she did not look at him. She was leaning back with -her eyes half closed. "I hear Mr. Howard and Agnes coming," she said. - - - - - *CHAPTER XIV.* - - *A PROPOSITION TO MAKE.* - - -Two weeks passed, and during the time Howard busied himself with the -writing of letters to numerous real-estate men and postmasters in the -West. Sometimes he would put down his pen to muse over what Florence had -said, that she might tell him something after the lapse of four weeks, -and more than once had he spoken to her with regard to what seemed to -him as her vague information, but she had told him to wait. He knew her -well enough not to persist. One of his earliest memories was a certain -sort of stubbornness which formed a part of her character. She was -gentle and lovable, but strong. He fancied that had she been reared in -a different sphere of life she would have become a leader in the -Salvation Army. - -Bodney came to the office every day, but was so restless that he rarely -remained long. Once he came to the door, saw the preacher within, and -stole away without speaking. And one afternoon Howard heard him and -Goyle tossing high words in the hall, but a few moments later they went -out, arm in arm. One morning the Judge came in. "I didn't know but you -had left this place," he said, standing near the door and looking about -to search for the old memories, Howard mused. - -"No, sir. The fact is I may not move to any other office in this town." - -"In this town!" the old man repeated. "What other town is there?" To a -Chicago man that ought to have established his complete soundness of -mind. "I can give you credit for all sorts of--let me say, -weakness--but I cannot see why you should be so foolish as to leave this -city." - -"You came at an early day," said Howard. "I might better my prospects -by going to a town that is still in its early day." - -"Um, and come back broke. You haven't stuffed that old suit of clothes -yet." - -"There's time enough for that, sir?" - -"What! Then you really intend to do it?" - -"Didn't you command me?" - -"None of your banter." The Judge walked over to the old iron safe, with -the names Elbridge & Bodney slowly rusting into the invisible past, put -his hand upon it and stood there with his head bowed. From the street -came the sharp clang of a fireman's gong, and the old man sprang back. - -"There is a fire somewhere," said Howard. - -"There is, sir; it is here," the Judge replied, putting his hand on his -breast. Yes, it was now only too evident that his mind was diseased. -The young man went to him, took his hand, looked into his eyes. "I beg -of you to believe that my love for you is as strong as ever. I don't -know how to humble myself, for you have taught me independence, but I -would get down on my knees to you if--" The old man threw his hand from -him and hastened from the room. In the hall he encountered the opium -eating doctor. "Why, my dear Judge, I am surprised to see you out." - -"And you will be still more surprised if you don't get out of my way." - -"But won't you stop a while for old-time's sake?" - -"I will do nothing, sir, but attend to my own affairs, and I request you -to do the same." - -"Of course, yes, of course. Well, drop in when you are passing." - -The old doctor stepped up to the door of Howard's office. The young man -stood confronting him. "I have thought over what you said the other day -concerning your father, and have come to the conclusion that you are -right," said the doctor. "There is something wrong with him." - -"But I wish you wouldn't irritate him. And, by the way, why did you -tell him that I told you to go out to the house?" - -"Didn't you request me to go?" - -"I certainly did not." - -"Well, really, I misunderstood you. By the way, someone told me that -you intended to give up this office. It is a better one than mine, -having the advantage of a better view, and I don't know but I might take -it." - -"I am not going to give it up yet a while." - -Bodney came into the hall and the old doctor shuffled into his own den. -"I guess he wants to poison someone," said Bodney, nodding toward the -doctor's office. "Anybody with you?" he asked. - -"No," Howard answered, as they both stepped into the office. "Why?" - -"Oh, I am getting so I don't want to see anybody. I feel as if I were a -thousand years old," he added, dropping upon a chair. - -"You don't look well, that's a fact. What seems to be the trouble?" - -"I don't know. Liver, perhaps. Goyle been here today?" - -"No, and I don't want him to come again. Now, look here, George, I -believe that fellow has a bad influence on you. You are not the same -man since you became so intimate with him. What's his business? What -does he do?" - -"I'd rather not talk about him, Howard." - -"Then his influence must be bad. Turn him over to me the next--" - -"No," Bodney quickly interposed. "Let everything go along as it is till -the proper time and then--then I will attend to him. I am not in a -position now to do anything, but one of these days I am going to tell -you something that will open your eyes to the perfidy of man--man close -to you. Don't say anything more now; I am crushed. I am--" - -He leaned forward with his arms on a table and his head on his arms, his -eyes hidden from the light. "Why, my dear boy," said Howard, going to -him, touching him gently, "don't look at it that way. It is not so bad -as that." - -"It is worse," said Bodney, in a smothered voice. "It is worse than you -can possibly picture it. And when I tell you, you will hate me as you -never hated a human being on the earth. Don't ask me now, for I can't -tell you. Just simply don't pay any attention to me. But I beg of you -not to say a word at home. I have been led into hell, Howard, and there -is no way out." - -"Oh, yes, there is, my boy. There is the door through which you went -in. Go out at it." - -"I can't. You don't know." - -"Are you in financial trouble? Has that fellow led you--" - -"Worse than that, Howard. But I can't tell you now." - -Once his long-delayed confession flowed to the very brim of utterance, -but he forced it back and sat in silence. Howard went out and Bodney -was thankful to be alone with his own misery; but he was not to be long -alone--Goyle came in. - -"Why, what's the matter, old chap? You seem to be in the dumps. Come, -cheer up now. You've got no cause to be so blue? You don't see those -fellows over yonder in the bank blue, do you? I guess not. And they -are the biggest sort of robbers. I beat the horses today. And here's -thirty of what I owe you. Oh, it's coming around all right. You can't -keep a squirrel on the ground, you know." - -"That's all right," replied Bodney, brightening as he took the bank -notes. "Can't keep a squirrel on the ground, but you can shoot him out -of a tree." - -"But we haven't been shot out of the tree yet. Things will begin to come -our way now, you see if they don't. I've got a proposition to submit to -you that will make us both rich--regular gold mine, with not a dull -moment in it--life from beginning to end. I can't, tell you now, but -hold yourself in readiness for it. You can take that thirty and maybe -win a hundred at the Wexton. In the meantime I'll be perfecting my -plans. We shall need four or five agents, but I can get them all right, -and if we don't live in clover a bumble bee never did. Now, don't you -feel better? Look at me." - -"Yes, I feel better." - -"And don't you believe we'll pull out all right? Hah?" He put his hand -on Bodney's shoulder and looked into his eyes. - -"Yes, I do." - -"Of course you do. We have been living in the night, but the sun is -rising now. Let's go over to the Wexton and eat dinner." - -"I ought to stay here till Howard comes back." - -"Why, just to tell him you are going out? If you go out he'll know you -are gone, won't he?" - -"You go on and I will come pretty soon. I said something to Howard just -now that I want to correct." - -"All right," said Goyle. "But come over as soon as you can." - -When Howard returned he found Bodney idly drawing comic pictures on a -sheet of paper. He looked at him in astonishment. "Why, what has -happened?" Howard asked. - -"My fit's passed, that's all. I must have talked like a wild man." - -"I rather think you did. You alarmed me--said you were worse than -ruined. What has occurred to change it all?" - -Bodney laughed as he looked about, making ready to take his leave. He -was beginning to be restless, for the fever was rising fast. He turned -his eye inward to look for full hands and flushes. - -"Nothing has occurred," said he. "The fit of melancholy has simply -passed. That's all." He was moving toward the door. - -"Don't be in a hurry," said Howard. "There is something I want to talk -about." - -"I haven't time now," Bodney replied. "I have thought of something that -must be attended to at once." - -"Just a moment, George. Hasn't Goyle been here?" - -"Goyle? No, not today. And, by the way," he added, turning toward -Howard, "I think I must have spoken rashly about him just now. There is -nothing wrong in his make-up; he may appear queer, but he's all right -when you come down to principle. He thinks the world of you." - -"I don't want him to think anything of me." - -Bodney did not stay to reply. His fever was now so strong that it would -have taken two giants to hold him. He fought his way through the crowd, -and, panting, rushed into the poker room. They greeted him with the -complimentary encouragement usually poured out upon the arrival of the -"sucker." "He'll make you look at your hole card." "Cash my chips." -"None of us got any show now." It was nearly dinner time when Bodney -sat down to the game, and when the meal was announced he was winner. -Goyle came in and sat beside him at the dinner table. "The scheme I -spoke to you about is a sure road to fortune," he said, in a low tone. - -"Bank robbery?" Bodney asked, smiling with the brightness of a winner. - -"No, it's not the robbery of the robbers. It is less dangerous and more -profitable--almost legitimate." - -"Almost!" - -"Yes--but full of sauce." - -"Don't you think you'd better tell me what it is?" - -"Not now. I want to see you alone--tomorrow. In the meantime make up -your mind." - -"How can I make up my mind to do something that hasn't been proposed?" - -"Make up your mind to agree to my plan no matter what it may be. We are -going to ride in carriages." - -"Or in a police van, which?" said Bodney, smiling. - -Goyle put his hand on Bodney's shoulder. "I see you are in a hurry to -get back to the game. All right, but keep your mind on my proposition." - -"A proposition that hasn't been made," replied Bodney, getting up from -the table. The game was re-forming, for the poker player does not -dawdle over a meal; he eats just as a pig does--as fast as he can. - -It seemed that Bodney's luck had come to stay. "You make your third man -every time," said a losing wretch whose rent was past due. A kindlier -eye might have seen through him his ragged children, but the eye of the -winner looks at his stack--no poverty and no wretchedness softens its -glitter. - -The offensive fellow was there, sitting to the left of Bodney, but he -was not offensive now; defeat had subdued him; and the Professor was -present, in the darkness of hard luck, and with his air of mystery. -"You either made your hand or you didn't," he said to a man who had -drawn one card. - -"You ought to know," the man replied, looking at him with a steady eye. -"You are a mind-reader." - -"Yes, when there is a mind to read. I will call you." He did so and -lost his money. - -"You knew what I had in my note," said Bodney. "Don't you remember, -when I met you on the corner? You said it was written with a pencil. -Why couldn't you tell what that man held--whether or not he had made his -flush?" - -"Both science and psychology stop and grow dizzy when they come to -cards," the Professor replied. - -Goyle came in and put his hand on Bodney's shoulder. "Slaughter 'em," -he said. "You've got everything coming your way." - -"But I don't know how long it will last," Bodney replied. - -"Don't scare away your luck with mistrust. And above all, don't forget -that I have a proposition to make. Well, I'll see you tomorrow." He -went out, humming a tune. Bodney looked round to see whether he was -gone, and seemed to be relieved upon seeing him pass out. Now it was -time to quit, the slave thought. He had not counted his chips, for that -was bad luck, but he must have won nearly sixty dollars. Still the -cards kept coming, two pairs holding good, and to quit was an insult to -the goddess of good fortune. He remembered hearing a gambler say, -speaking of an unlucky player: "He stays to lose, but not to win." At -ten o'clock he felt that he had reached his limit, and counted his -chips--eighty-seven dollars. "I'll have to quit you," he said, shoving -back. And now how bright and spirited the streets were. He threw a -piece of silver upon the banner of the Salvationists. - - - - - *CHAPTER XV.* - - *DID NOT TOUCH HER.* - - -As Howard was going out he met Bradley coming up the stairs. "I have -caught you in time," said the preacher. "I want you to go to dinner -with me--at a place off Van Buren Street, where they cater to the poor." - -"It is rather a tough neighborhood for a dinner," Howard replied. -"Wouldn't you rather go to a better place?" - -"No, I would rather like to see how the unfortunate dine." - -They went to a restaurant that opened into an alley. The long room was -furnished with plain tables, without cloths, and not clean. There was -sand on the floor, and on the whitewashed walls, together with -Scriptural texts, against one of which some brute had thrown a quid of -tobacco, were placards which read, "Lodging ten cents." They took seats -at a table and a girl came up and put down a piece of paper, scrawled -upon with a pencil. It was a bill of fare. The price set opposite each -dish was five cents, and at the bottom it was announced that any order -included bread. The place was gradually filling up with a mottled -crowd, negroes, a sprinkle of Chinamen, Greeks, Polish Jews, tramps--and -off in a corner sat an American Indian. "The air is bad," said the -preacher. - -"No worse than the bill of fare," Howard replied. "Let us get out. -Don't you see how they are eyeing us?" - -"Let us at least make a pretense of eating. I like to watch these odd -pieces of driftwood." - -"Washed from the wreck of humanity," said Howard. - -The preacher looked at him with a sad smile. "Yes, and perhaps not all -of them are responsible for the wreck. They couldn't weather the -storm." - -The crowd was noisy and profane. The preacher spoke to a waitress, a -girl with a hard, unconcerned face. "I thought that this place was -under the auspices of the gospel," said he. - -She did not look at him as she replied: "I believe some sort of a church -duck did start it, but a feller named Smith runs it now." - -"Then services are not held here." - -She looked at him. "What sort of services?" - -"Church services." - -"Well, I guess not. These guys don't want services--they want grub." - -"I believe I will address them," the preacher said to Howard. - -"On the subject of foreign missions?" Howard asked. - -"A merited sarcasm," the minister replied. "Let us go." - -In the alley near the door a woman and a ruffian were quarreling. The -woman held a piece of money in her hand and the ruffian was trying to -take it from her. A policeman passed down the alley, but paid no -attention. The ruffian demanded the money. The woman refused. He -knocked her down, took it from her hand and was walking off when Bradley -touched him on the shoulder. "Give her back that money," he said. The -man drew back his ponderous fist. At that moment Howard ran up. The -ruffian looked at him and let his arm fall. Bradley called the -policeman. He turned and came walking slowly back, swinging his club. -"What's wanted?" he asked. Bradley told him what had occurred. "It's a -lie!" exclaimed the woman, stepping forward. "You never hit me, did -you, Jack?" - -"Never touched her," said Jack, and a group about the door of the -restaurant roared with laughter. "Move on," said the policeman, and -Howard and the preacher moved on, the crowd jeering them. - -"What put it into your head to go there?" Howard asked. - -"I thought it was my duty." - -"A man's duty lies mostly among his own people," said the young lawyer. - -"No, among stricken humanity." - -"A heroic idea, but fallacious. The Lord takes care of His own. These -people are evidently not His own. Pardon my slang, but here is a -genuine gospel shop. Let us go in." - -At the door of a room forbiddingly neat to the class which it intended -to feed, they were met by a cool young woman and a ministerial man. It -was a coffee house established to offset the influence of the saloon. -At the rear end of the room a young fellow played upon a wheezing -melodion. Girls were serving coffee. On the walls were pictures of the -Prodigal's Return, Daniel in the Lion's Den, Jacob before Pharaoh, The -Old Home, several cows, a horse with his head over a barred gate, and a -child lamenting over a broken doll. Howard called attention to the fact -that the sandwiches were thin and that the coffee looked pale. "It is -charity," said he, "and charity is pale. Now, let me take you to the -enemy--the den against which these mild batters are directed." - -They went to a saloon. The place was ablaze with light. The walls were -hung with paintings, some of them costly, some modest, others -representing figures as nude as Lorado's nymphs. On a side counter was -a roast of beef, weighing at least a hundred pounds. "Look at that," -said Howard. "Vice sets us a great roast--and for five cents, a glass of -beer, the vagabond may feast." - -"The devil pandering to the drunkard and the glutton," replied the -preacher. - -"But the devil is not pale; he is not niggardly--he is bountiful. To -cope with him, Virtue must be more liberal--give more beef and better -coffee." - -"Good," said the minister. "I am going to preach a sermon on the Virtue -of Vice." - -"Red beef versus pale coffee," Howard said, as they stepped out. "And -now," he added, "let us get something to eat and then go home." - -"Home," repeated the preacher. "I have no home--I have lodgings. - -"I know, and I mean that you must go home with me." - -Bradley muttered a protest, but was delighted at the thought of seeing -Agnes again so soon. He had spent the afternoon at the Judge's house, -had left to unite in marriage a servant girl and a hackman, and now -wanted an excuse to return, not that he needed one, for the Judge had -urged upon him the freedom of the house; but timid love must show cause, -or rather must apologize to appearances. And, though the cause now was -not strong, yet he argued that the fact of meeting Howard would make it -valid enough. He felt that his secret was not known to the Judge, as if -that would have made any difference; and he was sure that the girl did -not more than suspect him. He wanted her to suspect him, for there was -a sweetness in it, but he wanted it to be as yet only a suspicion. He -did not acknowledge that he had quite made up his mind regarding her -fitness as a wife; and when a man thus reasons he is hopelessly -entangled. When a man decides that a woman is not fitted to be his wife -he may have arrived at reason but has stopped short of love. - -They went to a place that makes a specialty of crabs and sat down in the -cool breath of an electric fan. "Quite a difference in our bill of -fare," said Bradley, taking up a long card framed in brass edged wood. - -"And quite as much difference in our company," Howard replied. - -"The old saying, Howard: 'One half the world doesn't know how the other -half lives.'" - -"Doesn't know how the other half dies," said Howard. - -"You are sententious tonight. I have led you into a place that has -sharpened your wits." - -"But not into a place that sharpened my appetite. But it makes a meal -all the more enjoyable afterward. Do you find anything that hits your -fancy?" - -During the meal the preacher talked of the vices of a great city. A -truthful farmer could have told him that there are almost as many vices -in the country, and an observant moralist could have assured him that -the great mass of women parading the sidewalks at night were sent -thither by the rural reprobate, proprietor of a horse and buggy. - -"Vice is in man," said Howard. - -"Ah, but how are we to eradicate it?" - -"By educating woman." - -"I don't know that I fully comprehend you." - -"Were you ever in a place where women are shameless?" - -"No," said the preacher. "The only shameless women I ever met are those -who accost me in the street." - -"And if," said Howard, "you were to go into a thousand such places you -would not meet a well-educated woman. Some of them are bright; some -speak several languages, but I have yet to find one who speaks good -English. But we are on a subject that is as old as the ocean. It is, -however, always new to one in your profession, I suppose. You preach -about it, and innocence wonders at your insight, but the young fellow -who reports your sermon laughs in his sleeve." - -"But, my gracious, Howard, what must we do, ignore it all?" - -"I give it up." - -"You are young to take so gloomy a view." - -"Oh, I don't view it at all," said Howard. "I shoulder my way through -it." - -An elderly woman, handsomely dressed, came up and held out her hand to -the preacher, who arose, bowed over it and declared his pleasure at -meeting her. Then he introduced her to Howard, a woman noted for her -work in the slums. A part of her labor was to talk morality to the -girls in department stores, to make them pious and virtuous on three -dollars a week. She kept a house of refuge which she visited once a -day, to talk to the women who had been gathered in from the streets and -the dens rented to vice by the rich. Her register showed that within -the past ten years thousands of women had been reclaimed. But the -register did not show how many had gone back to loud music and shame, -preferring the glare of infamy, tired out with the simmer of the -tea-kettle and the shadows of the kitchen. The preacher had visited her -place and had complimented her upon the work she was doing. - -"Oh, what has become of Margaret, the blonde girl?" - -The matron shook her head. "She became dissatisfied and left us." - -"And the one called Fanny. Where is she?" - -"Oh, she was too pretty and went away." - -"And Julia?" - -"Didn't you hear about her? Well, well. Why, the newspapers were full -of it. She left us and shortly afterward married a rich man. He took -her to his mansion and gave her everything that heart could wish, but it -did not suffice. He returned home after an absence from the city to -find a drunken crowd in his house, and he turned her out. I am so glad -to have met you again. Good-bye." - -Bradley began to talk of something foreign, to lead Howard's mind away, -but the young man looked at him with a smile and said: "You see that a -palace is not even sufficient.' - -"Her moral nature had not been trained," Bradley replied. - -"It is not that, Mr. Bradley. Her miserable little head had not been -trained. Morality without intellectual force is a weakness waiting for -a temptation." - -"Don't say that, Howard; it is a monstrous thought. Brain is not the -whole force of this life. There is something stronger than brain. Love -is stronger." - -"Yes, it overturns brain. And I will not argue against it, though it -might be the cause of thousands of wretched feet on our thoroughfares -tonight. It is a glory or a disgrace. But we have been moralists long -enough. Let us go home." - - - - - *CHAPTER XVI.* - - *WITH AN EAR TURNED TOWARD THE DOOR.* - - -Mrs. Elbridge met Howard and the preacher in the hall. She told them -that the girls had gone to a meeting of the Epworth League, a short -distance away. They had gone to a religious gathering held in the -interest of the young, but the preacher felt a deadening sense of -disappointment. "They will be back soon," said Mrs. Elbridge, seeming to -divine the effect her information had made upon him. Howard heard his -father and Uncle William talking in the office. "We will wait for the -girls in here," he said, leading the way into the drawing room. Mrs. -Elbridge went in to tell the Judge, and shortly afterward entered the -drawing room with him. The old gentleman paid no attention to Howard, -but warmly shook hands with Bradley, as if he had not seen him only a -few hours before. - -"Delighted to see you, Mr. Bradley." - -Howard glanced at his mother and she read a communication in his eye. -It was that in the old man's enthusiasm there was added evidence of -mental weakness. The Latin may express delight at seeing one a dozen -times a day, but with an Anglo-Saxon more than one "delight" within -twenty-four hours is an extreme. - -Bradley looked embarrassed. He said that he was glad to see the Judge, -which was hardly true, as he was not prepared at that moment to be glad -or even pleased. His heart had gone over to the Epworth League, not to -worship God, but one of God's creatures, which, after all, is a -pardonable backsliding. He remarked that he and Howard had encountered -quite an adventure, giving it in detail, but to avoid any moralizing, -having had enough of that for one evening, hastened to change the -subject, asking if Mr. William had become any nearer settled as to his -dates. This brought a flow of good humor. The Judge looked toward the -door. "He has so far improved," said he, "as to admit that at times he -may possibly be wrong. I asked him if it were possible to be right, and -then we had our battle to fight over again." He offered the preacher a -cigar, but ignored his son. The mother noticed it and sighed. Howard -smiled at her sadly, and shook his head. Bradley took the cigar -abstractedly and after holding it for a time, offered it to Howard, who -declined it. The Judge glanced at him but said nothing. William came -in. "John," said he, after speaking to Bradley, "I saw old Bodsford this -morning." - -"Not old Bill Bodsford." - -"Yes, sir, old Bill." - -"I thought he died years ago." - -"No, he has been out in Colorado. I haven't seen him since -seventy-eight." - -"Are you sure?" the Judge asked, winking at Bradley. - -"I ought to know. I met him in St. Louis in -seventy-eight--seventy-eight or seventy-nine--in July, about the fifth." - -"About the fifth. How can a date be about the fifth?" - -"I mean that it was either the fourth, fifth or sixth. He told me then -that he was on his way to New Orleans, by boat. It was during that -intensely hot weather when so many people were sun--but that was in -seventy-nine, wasn't it?" - -"I don't remember," said the Judge, winking at Howard by mistake and -then frowning to undeceive him. - -"Yes, I think it was." - -"Seventy-nine," said the preacher, at a venture. - -"Then I couldn't have seen old Bill in seventy-eight. But I saw him -today--and he looks like a grizzly bear. And he didn't seem to be in -very good circumstances. But the last time I saw him before that--" - -"In seventy-nine," interrupted the Judge. - -"Well, I'm not so sure about that, John. Let me see. I was in St. Paul -and went from there directly to St. Louis. Yes. Now, I haven't been in -St. Paul but once since seventy-eight and that was year before last. -Went directly to St. Louis. It must have been seventy-eight, John. -Yes, it was." - -"Well, go ahead with your story," said the Judge. - -"Oh, it's no story. I was simply telling you when I met old Bill the -last time." - -"And is that all there is to it?" - -"All! Isn't it enough? I didn't start to tell a story and you know it -well enough. Look here, Howard," he added, turning upon the young -lawyer, "are you fixing to jump on me, too?" - -"Not at all, Uncle Billy." - -"Oh, Uncle Billy, is it? Then I know you've got it in for me. Mr. -Bradley, I studied for the ministry--not very hard, I admit--but I -studied, and I am sorry sometimes that I didn't go so far as to put on -the cloth. It would have at least protected me from ridicule." - -Bradley smiled upon him in a lonesome sort of way, with his ear turned -toward the front door, listening for the coming of Agnes. The family -joke, so eternally green for the Judge, was but dry grass to him. His -soul was panting for the sweet waters of love, the babbling brook of a -girl's delightful mischief. But the mind can talk shop while the soul -is panting. "You no doubt would have added strength to our profession," -he said. "I call it profession in want at the present moment of a -better term. Why did you give up your intention? Not want of faith, I -hope." - -Mrs. Elbridge shook her head as if to imply that there could be no want -of faith in one connected with her family. "Well, I don't know," said -William. "But the scheme, if I may so express it, struck me as being -not exactly useless, but, let us say, hopeless." - -"Hopeless," echoed the preacher. - -"Yes. The warfare has been going on nearly two thousand years, and the -victory is not yet in sight." - -"At what date did it begin?" the Judge asked. - -William began to puff up. "Now, look here, John, this is a serious -discussion. Is it possible that there is nothing serious except in the -law, in the names of your old clients? Do you keep everything serious -shut up in your safe?" - -The Judge's countenance changed, like the sudden turning down of a -light, and he made a distressful gesture. "Don't, William; don't say -that." - -"Why, what did I say to shock you so?" - -The Judge got up and slowly walked back into his office. William looked -at Mrs. Elbridge. "Rachel, did I say anything?" - -"He isn't well, William, and we never know what is going to displease -him. But he means nothing by it, Mr. Bradley," she added. "Sometimes -he begins to joke in its old way, but it has been long since we heard -his laugh in its old heartiness. I wish you would talk to him, Mr. -Bradley. I know he is not well, but he won't permit a doctor to come -near him." - -The preacher assured her that he would. He did not believe that there -was any serious trouble; it was the strain of former years now claiming -its debt of his constitution. "Nature does not forget," said he. "But -nature may be humored. I have noticed a change in him, but I am -inclined to think that he is gradually improving." - -Howard was silent, though the minister looked at him at the conclusion -of his speech as if expecting some sort of reply. "He doesn't forget -about my dates, no matter how much of a change he has undergone," said -William. "But, as to our discussion: I read some little in those days, -and my mind led me into bogs and swamps--into doubts, if I may say so. -It seemed to me that the whole plan was marked out and couldn't be -changed. I remember having come across this startling question: 'If man -can make his own destiny; if he can, by his own free will, arrest the -accomplishment of the general plan, what becomes of God?' That struck -me, sir, like a knockout blow." - -"And yet," said Howard, "you say that the French have a slop which they -call literature." - -"What! I said so? Well, what if I did?" - -"You have quoted Balzac." - -"Have I? But, sir, do you appoint yourself to preside over my -conscience?" - -"I didn't say anything about your conscience, Uncle Billy." - -"Oh, no, but you Uncle Billy me into a broil, that's what you do." - -The preacher's mind had caught the quotation, relating as it did to the -shop, and he smiled as he said: "I am afraid, Uncle William, that the -young man has read too much for us. In an argument he is a porcupine -with sharp quills." - -"A pig with the bristles of impudence," said William, and smiled an -apology to the mother. - -"Nevertheless," remarked the preacher, returning to the subject, "I -don't see how the eye of faith could have been dimmed by such a mote. -Conscience--" - -"Meaning education," Howard interrupted. - -The minister bowed to Howard, but continued to address himself to -William. "Conscience ought to have pointed out the good you could do. -You could at least have gone to a foreign country--" - -"Or off Van Buren Street," said Howard. - -Bradley braced himself for a debate. Alone with Howard he might have -said, "let it pass," but in the presence of a woman, a believer in his -faith, a preacher must not shun a controversy. It would be an -acknowledgment of the strength of the doubt and of the weakness of -faith. So he braced himself against the wall of creed, and with polemic -finger raised was about to proceed when he heard the front door open. - -"The girls," said Mrs. Elbridge, glad enough to break in. - -"So soon?" remarked Bradley, looking at his watch and meaning so late. -Florence and Agnes came in, laughing. Bradley got up with a bow. "You -here?" said Agnes, and then corrected herself by saying that she was -pleased to see him there. "I never know how anything is going to sound," -she continued, throwing her hat on a sofa. "It's all improvisation with -me. I never saw as awkward a man in my life--" Bradley looked at her -with such a start that she hastened to exclaim: "Oh, not you, Mr. -Bradley--the young man who walked home with us. I couldn't for the life -of me get it out of my head that he wasn't on stilts." She sat down on -the sofa. Bradley made bold to go over and sit down beside her, taking -up her hat, looking about for some place to put it and ending by holding -it on his knees, awkwardly pressing them together. He felt that Howard -was laughing at him; he knew that Agnes was. But she didn't offer to -take the hat. Florence, however, relieved him, and then everyone -laughed except William. The preacher had been placed in an awkward -position, though anyone might have made a grace of it--anyone but a man -whom custom almost forces to adopt solemnity as a badge of office; and -William gave Howard credit for it all. In certain humors he would have -charged the young man with a rainy day, a frost or a cold wind. He -looked at him in his reproachful way and cleared his throat. - -"What is it now, Uncle William?" Howard asked. - -"Oh, don't ask me. You ought to know." - -"But I don't. I haven't said a word or done a thing that you should -give me the bad eye." - -"Rachel," said the old man, "it seems to me that the more he reads the -more slang he uses. The 'bad eye!' That belongs to the police court." - -"Then it is not a quotation from Balzac." - -"Never you mind about quotations. I have quoted before you were -born--and I knew, sir, from what source. But I won't stay to be -browbeaten. I will leave you." - -"By the way," Howard called after him, "if you want a pipe of good -tobacco step into my room. You'll find a fresh can on the table." - -"I don't want any of your tobacco, sir; I don't want anything you've -got." - -Bradley might have thought that in this family the joke was overworked, -that is, had he been prepared to think anything. But he was not. His -mind was aglow from the light beside him, and his ideas, if at that -moment he had any, were as gold fishes in a globe, swimming round and -round. - -Florence went to the piano. Howard stood beside her. Mrs. Elbridge -went out. It was time, and she knew it. William appeared at the door. -"I thought you said that your tobacco was on the table in your room. -What right have you got--what cause have I ever given you to deceive me -in that way?" - -"You said you didn't want any of my tobacco." - -"You said it was on the table. Of course I don't want it--I wouldn't -have it." - -"You just wanted to see where it was." - -"I don't care anything about it, sir. I want you to understand that as -you go along." - -"All right, but the can of tobacco, I remember now, is in the closet on -the shelf." - -William went away, and the young man knew that in the morning his -tobacco can would be empty. Florence played the air of a slow, old love -song, and between the notes fell the soft words, her own and Howard's; -they looked into each other's eyes, eyes so familiar to both, eyes they -could no more remember first seeing than we can remember the first sky, -the first star--love as old as recollection and as young as the moment. - -There is one thing we can always say, and Bradley said it: "I shall miss -you when you are gone." - -"I'm not gone yet," Agnes replied. - -"I hope you are not getting tired of us." - -"Tired?" She raised her eyes and he looked into them, into the depth of -their blue mystery. "No, I am having lots of fun." - -"Fun! Is that all?" - -"Isn't that enough? That's all I want." - -"But life is not all fun." - -"No?" She raised her eyes again. - -"Life is serious," he said. "The greatest joy is serious; the greatest -happiness comes to the heart when the heart is solemn." - -"Oh, I don't think so. I cry when I'm serious." - -"There is joy in a tear." - -"Not in mine." - -He did not hear the front door open. For him all the world had come in. -He did not hear a step at the door. Bodney came in. Florence left off -playing and turned about on the stool. Bradley arose and shook hands -with him, said that he was glad to meet him, and lied. He would not at -that moment have been glad to see the glory promised to the faithful. -But he lied, as we all of us are compelled to lie, for to lie at times -is the necessary martyrdom of the conscience. Bodney's face was bright -and his laugh was gay. "You are as merry as a serenade," said Florence. - -"As happy as a lark," he replied. The love-making was spoiled. Bradley -said that it was time to take his leave. Bodney followed him to the -door, and beneath the hall light handed him a bank note, apologizing for -not having sooner returned the loan of ten dollars. - -"But you have given me twenty," said Bradley. - -"Have I? Then give the extra ten to the church." - - - - - *CHAPTER XVII.* - - *LYING ON THE SIDEWALK.* - - -Bradley lived in Aldine Square. By the light of the first gas lamp he -looked at his watch and found that it wanted but three minutes to -midnight. At the corner of the street he waited for a cross-town car, -but as none was within sight, he walked on, thinking little of the -distance home, which was not great, for his mind was on Agnes. He had -not decided that she would make a good wife, but he knew that he would -ask her to marry him. He believed that his happiness depended upon her -decision. This is a conclusion reached by nearly every man. His salary -was not large, for his church was poor, but it was growing rich in -numbers and that meant a popularity insuring larger pay. But why should -he consider his income? They could live happily in Aldine Square. It -was a charming place, and so romantic that one would scarcely expect to -find it in Chicago. It might have been a part of Paris. It was come -upon suddenly, its gate, with two great posts of stone, opening into the -street. There was a plastered wall, and it looked as if it had been -built for ages. Through the gate, which was always left open, the view -was attractive--there were trees, shrubbery, flowers, a pool, a fountain -and a carriage drive. It would charm Agnes. - -The street was deserted, with the exception of a straggler here and -there, turned out of a saloon. "Vice shutting its red eye," he mused, as -one place closed its door. Looking ahead he saw a man leaning against a -lamp post. As Bradley came up the man, stepping out, said: "Mister, -will you please tell me what time it is?" - -Bradley halted and took out his watch, and, holding it so as to catch -the light, was about to tell him when the man snatched the watch, broke -the chain and fled down an alley. The preacher shouted after him, ran a -short distance down the alley, but, realizing that pursuit was folly, if -not dangerous, returned to the street and continued his way homeward, -the piece of chain dangling from his pocket. He thought of going to the -nearest station to report the robbery, but his mind flew back to Agnes. -How delicious it would be to have her all to himself, sitting by the -fountain in the summer air. The perfume of the flowers would be -sweeter, the falling of the water more musical. They would read together -till the twilight came, read silly books, if she preferred them; and in -the twilight they would read a book in which God had written--the book -of their own hearts. And in cold weather they would sit in the warm -light, at the window, and look out upon the little park, the shrubbery -covered with snow, the statuary of winter. He would never seek to -change the current of her mind. Nature had fashioned it a laughing -rivulet and it should never be a sighing wave. With her in the -congregation he could be more eloquent, touch more hearts through his -love for her; he would be more akin to the young, for her love would be -as a stream of youth constantly flowing into his life. Nature might -have shown her power in the creation of man, but surely her glory in the -creation of woman. He drew a contrast between Florence and Agnes. -Florence was stronger, and had more dignity; but, of course, he believed -that Agnes was more affectionate, and love was more beautiful than -strength. - -He turned into the street leading to the Aldine gate. And how quiet -everything was. It was a love night, the leaves murmuring. But, what -was that lying on the sidewalk in front of the gate? A woman. He stood -looking down at her. Could she have been murdered. The light was not -strong, but he could see that she was not ill dressed. She was lying on -her right side. He touched her shoulder and she turned upon her back -with a moan. He leaned over her and caught the fumes of liquor. But he -got down upon his knees, raised her head and spoke to her. - -"What are you doing here, poor girl?" he said. The light falling upon -her face showed that she was young. She moaned and mumbled something. -He asked her where she lived, but she could not tell him. - -"I don't know what to do with you," he said. - -"Don't leave me," she mumbled. - -"I will be back in a moment," he said, placing her with her back against -the wall. Then he ran to the fountain, wet his handkerchief, and -returning with it dripping, bathed her face. It was hot and feverish. -The cold handkerchief appeared somewhat to revive her. - -"Don't you know where you live?" - -"I can't--don't know the number." - -"Nor the street?" - -"Nothing." - -Again he bathed her face, and taking his hat fanned her with it. "How -did you come here?" - -"They must have left me." - -"Then you were with someone." - -"Yes--three." - -"Where had you been?" - -"Wine room. Don't turn me over to the police. I won't go there again." - -"Can't you remember now where you live?" - -"It is a long ways from here--over on the West Side. I won't go there -in this fix. I would rather die." - -"Then I don't know what to do." - -"Don't turn me over to the police," she moaned. - -He stood with his hat in his hand, looking up and down the street. From -the corner came the whack of the policeman's club against a lamp post. -Not far away the fountain splashed its music. "Can you walk?" he asked. - -"I'll try. But where are you going to take me?" - -"To my home." - -"No," she cried piteously. "I don't want a woman to see me this way." - -"No woman is there to see you. Come on." - -He led her along, supporting her with his arm. He did not look to see if -there were any windows lighted about the square; he did not think of -scandal; he thought of the poor thing heavy upon his arm, not as a -preacher, but as a man. He carried her up the stone steps, unlocked the -door and went into the hall, into the red light falling from the lamp. -Up the stairs he led her, into a front room, striking a match as he -entered, lighted the gas and eased her down upon a chair. She was -deathly pale. - -"Let me lie down," she said. - -He pointed to the bed, stepped out into another room and drew the -portieres. Then he lay down upon a sofa, not to think of what he had -done, but of Agnes. - -He was awakened by the housekeeper's tap upon the door. "Come in," he -called, and as she entered he thought of the woman. The housekeeper was -fat and full of scandal. She walked straightway to the portieres and -drew them aside to enter the room, and started back with a gasp of -surprise. - -"My sister," said Bradley. "She came on a late train, and is going out -early. Don't disturb her. She brought me bad news from home, and must -go on further to see my other brother. She could not explain by -telegraph. It involves the settling of an estate." - -He was now standing beside the housekeeper and could see into the -adjoining room. The girl, with a remnant of modesty, had drawn the -covering over her. - -Two days later, Sunday, at the close of services, a woman came forward, -held out her hand to Bradley and said: "I want you to pray for me." - -Her face was pale and there was true repentance in her eyes. "You are -my sister," Bradley replied, and this time he did not believe that he -had told a falsehood. She went out, with tears on her cheeks; and a -lady who had come up to compliment the preacher on his sermon, asked: - -"Who is that girl?" - -"I don't know her name." - -"She met me just as I was coming in," said the lady, "and was anxious as -to whether or not this was your church. She was evidently not looking -for denominations." - -She was not. She was looking for something nearer God--a man. - - - - - *CHAPTER XVIII.* - - *MADE HIS PROPOSITION.* - - -The farmers have a saying to illustrate restlessness: "Like a hen on a -hot griddle." And Bodney thought of it the next day, as he sat about -the office waiting for the noon hour, for the game did not start before -then. He tried to read, but the words were as the echo of a pot that -had been played. He attempted to write, but called it a misdeal. How -swift was life, viewed from the window, and yet how slow time was, -limping, halting, standing still, boulders between minutes and mountains -between hours. Surely his watch was slow. No, for a bell confirmed it -in its record of the forenoon's slothfulness. He thought of Goyle, and -wondered why he did not come to make his proposition, if it were so -important. He went out to walk in the cool air blowing from the lake, -and the Wexton stairs arose before him. He rang the bell, and, standing -there waiting for the grim face of the porter, reminded himself of an -old horse at a stable door. Inside they were cleaning up, sweeping, -dusting, getting ready for another day and another night. From off in a -bedroom came the snoring of a man who had gone to sleep, drunk and -broke; but the porter would bid him a pleasant good-morning and would -give him a drink from a bottle kept in ice all night. Bodney sat down -at a window and took up a newspaper and glanced at the report of a -committee appointed to investigate gambling in Chicago. Numerous -witnesses had been summoned, some of them connected with the poker -clubs; and in a vague way they admitted under oath that they might have -seen men playing cards for money, but could not recall exactly where. -"I am looking for a fool," said the Legislature. "What do you want with -him?" the Governor asked. "I want to put him on an investigative -committee," the Legislature replied. "For the city?" the Governor -inquired. "Yes," answered the Legislature. "Then," said the Governor, -"take the first countryman you come to." - -Men with borrowed money burning in their pockets began to arrive, and -each one was asked by an earlier comer if he wanted to play poker, and -though he had shouldered his way through the crowd to get there, fearing -that he might not find a vacant seat, he answered in a hesitating way, -"Well, I don't know; haven't got much time--might play a little while." -It was a part of the hypocrisy of the game, recognized by all and -practiced by all. - -The noon meal was munched and the game began. Opposite Bodney sat a man -whose liquor lapped over from the previous day. One eye was smaller -than the other, and on one cheek, red and flaming, was a white scar. He -drew to everything, won from the start and was therefore offensive. -Bodney opened a pot on a pair of aces. All passed but the man with the -white scar, who said that he would stay. "You are a pretty good -fellow," he remarked to Bodney. "I'll help you along." Bodney drew -three cards and caught his third ace. The white scar drew two cards. -Bodney, to lead him on, bet a chip. - -"Well," said the scar, "I had a pair of sixes and an ace here. I'll go -down now and see if I helped, and I won't bet you unless I have. Well, -I'll have to raise you three dollars." - -"Raise you three," said Bodney. - -"You must have helped. Still, we never know. Ain't that so, Jim?" - -Jim said that it was so, and the scar, as if pleased and reassured in -thus finding his view confirmed, raised Bodney. - -It was wrong to take a drunken man's money; it was robbery, but it was -poker, and Bodney raised him. - -"Well, you play two pairs pretty hard, and I don't believe you can beat -three sixes. Raise you." Then Bodney began to study. "I'll call you," -he said. - -"I drew to three little diamonds," said the fellow, "and caught a -flush." He spread his hand. Bodney swore. "I never played with a -drunken man that he didn't beat me." - -The fellow looked up at him as he raked in the pot. "Have to do it. My -pew rent's due. Ain't that right, Jim?" - -"That's right," said Jim. - -Bad ran into worse and rounded up in a heap of disaster. At three -o'clock, just as the game was getting good, as someone remarked, Bodney -went out, feeling in his pockets. This becomes a habit with the poker -fool. He continues to search himself long after he has raked up the -lint from the bottom of his pockets. In the street the air was stagnant -and the sunshine was a mockery. At several places he tried to borrow -money, but failed; his former accommodater, the druggist, told him that -he had a note to meet and could not spare it. He was sorry, he said. -Bodney went out, muttering that he was a liar. He went to the office -and found the door locked. Howard was not there, and he could hide -himself, the peacock whose tail feathers had been pulled out. But -before going into the office he thought of the old doctor across the -hall, and hesitated. Perhaps he had money, and, having ruined his mind, -might be fool enough to lend it. The doctor was pleased to see him. He -was astonished to find Bodney so much interested in his affairs, and he -wondered if a spirit of reformation had come upon the youth of the land. -Bodney said that of late he had begun to hear much of the old man's -skill as a physician. The old man turned a whitish smile upon him and -listened like a gray rat, bristles resembling feelers sticking out on -his lip. And after a time Bodney asked if he would be so kind as to -lend ten dollars till the following morning? He was sorry, but could -not. That part of the mind which takes account of money is the last to -suffer from disease. - -Bodney went into the office to wait for something, he did not know what. -He thought of Bradley, and wondered if he could find him. Just then he -discovered the something he had been waiting for. Goyle came in. - -"Halloa, old man," said Goyle. "I went up to the club just now to look -for you and they told me that you had gone down stairs." - -"Down stairs broke," Bodney replied. - -"That's all right," said Goyle. - -"It's not all right. I'm broke, I tell you; and a man that's broke is -all wrong." - -"He may think so. I'm glad you are broke." He put his hand on a table, -leaned forward, and gazed into Bodney's eyes. - -"Glad," said Bodney, blinking. - -"Yes, glad. It teaches you the need of money. You are forced to shove -back your chair, to give your place to a brute standing behind you. You -see the deal go on. You are frozen out, but no one cares. That game is -life, the affairs of man epitomized; you put in your last chip, you -lose, and you have failed in business. A fellow who hasn't one-tenth -the education has succeeded. He stacks up the chips that you have -bought, and for consolation he says that chips have no home. Am I -right?" - -"Yes, you are. But I want to get back into the affairs of man. Let me -have ten dollars." - -"Two weeks from now I can give you ten thousand. Listen to me. Wait a -moment." He closed the door, came back, drew a chair in front of -Bodney, sat down and leaned forward. "Now, I will submit my -proposition." - -"I don't know that I can entertain any proposition. I am in too -desperate a fix to go into any sort of an enterprise. My blood is full -of fever. I've got this gambling mania on me and I'm tempted to cut my -throat. One evening you took me to a supper that was not to cost -anything. It has cost everything, all the money I had, my honor, my -future, my--" - -"That's rot, George. I introduced you to a supper that gave you -experience--real knowledge of the world. You have met men without their -dress-coats--you know man as he is and not as he says he is. You were -blind and I opened your eyes to the fact that money is not the reward of -the honest and industrious. It is the agent of hell, and must be won by -means of the devil. You ought to have been a rich man. If there'd been -any foresight you would have been. And whose fault was it that the -opportunity slipped? Not yours. Now to my plan. Look at me. Child -stealing." - -"What!" Bodney exclaimed. - -"I have laid my wires. We will steal children and gather in thousands -of dollars in reward for restoring them to their parents. Hold on. -Look at me. We will steal from the rich, for that is always legitimate. -We will have our agents stationed here and there--we will--" - -"Infamous scoundrel, I could cut your throat. I wish to God I had." - -"Sit down and listen to me." - -"I won't sit down. I will stand and look you in the eye, you scoundrel. -Don't put your hand on me. Stand back, or I'll knock you down." - -Goyle sneered at him. "You can't hit me. I am your master. Now, -listen to me. I am going over into Michigan to establish a--post, I'll -call it. And when I come back, you will join me. I present a plan by -which you can get out of all your difficulties, and you turn on me. Is -that the way to treat a benefactor? I have settled upon our first -enterprise. Every day a nurse and child are at a certain place in -Lincoln Park. The father is dead and the mother is rich. The child, I -have found from the nurse, is a boy. I am engaged to marry her. While -I am walking with her you steal--" - -Bodney struck him in the mouth--struck him with all the force of -disgrace and despair. He fell and the blood flowed from his mouth. He -did not get up; he lay with his head back, and Bodney thought that he -saw death in his half-closed eyes. He touched him with his foot and -spoke to him, but he did not move. Someone knocked at the door, and -without a tremor Bodney opened it, expecting to find Howard. The old -doctor stood in the hall. "I am sorry I refused to let you have the -money," he said. "And now, if you assure me that--" - -[Illustration: Bodney struck him in the mouth.] - -"I am obliged to you," Bodney broke in, "but I do not need it. I wanted -to gamble with it, but I have quit gambling. I have overthrown the -evil. Here," he added, taking the old man's arm and leading him into the -room. "There it lies bleeding," he said, pointing. "Perhaps it needs -your assistance. I must bid you good day." He walked out, leaving the -old man alone with Goyle. - -"What are you smiling at?" asked an acquaintance who met him in the -street. - -"Was I smiling?" - -"Yes, like a four-time winner." - -"I am at least a one-time winner," Bodney replied. He stepped into a -drug store to get a cold drink, his friend's place, he noticed after -entering. The druggist came forward and thus spoke to him: "I was sorry -after you went out that I didn't let you have ten dollars. I found that -I had more than enough to meet the note. I can let you have it now." - -Bodney shook his head. "No, I thank you--I don't care for it. I have -quit borrowing." - -"I hope you don't feel offended." - -"Not at all. I am grateful to you for not lending it to me." - -Late in the evening he went back to the office. No one was there, but -soon the negro janitor came in and pointed to a damp spot on the floor. -"I have washed up the blood where the man fainted and fell," he said. -"The doctor brought him to all right, and there's a note on the table he -left for you." - -Bodney opened the note and read: "I leave for Michigan, and will be back -within a few days. I don't blame you as much as I do myself. I -permitted you to break away from me, but you will come back and at last -be thankful. Goyle." - - - - - *CHAPTER XIX.* - - *THE GIRL AGAIN.* - - -Bodney's "breaking away" from Goyle had taken place on the day following -the night when Bradley had been robbed of his watch, and two days before -the girl appeared in church to ask for prayers. On the Monday following, -about noon, she appeared again, this time at Bradley's lodgings. The -housekeeper answered her ring at the bell. "Ah," she said, "come in. -You are Mr. Bradley's sister, I believe. I didn't see you but a moment, -but I think I recognize you." - -"Is Mr. Bradley here?" the girl asked. - -"No, your brother has gone out. I think you can find him over at Judge -Elbridge's. I don't know exactly where it is, but some place on Indiana -Avenue. Anyone can tell you. I hope you haven't any more bad news for -him." - -The girl was shrewd and did not betray herself. "No," she said, and went -away. Bradley was in the Judge's drawing room with Agnes when a servant -came in to tell him that a young woman at the door wished to see him. - -"Oh, a young woman," cried Agnes, pretending to pout. "Some girl you -have been talking sweet to, I warrant." He had risen to go out, but he -halted to lean over and say to her, "I have never talked sweet, as you -term it, to anyone--except--" - -"This one," Agnes broke in. "Oh, go on. Don't let me detain you." - -"Probably someone connected with the church--" - -"Of course, they always are. Go on, please." - -"I will tell you all about her when I come back." - -"Oh, don't mind me. Here's Florence. She knows I don't care. Do -please go on." - -Bradley went out, and not with a light heart, for his love had now -entered into the stew and fretful state. The girl stood in the hall, -and in the dim light he did not recognize her till she spoke. She -handed him a small package. - -"What is this?" he asked. - -"It is yours." - -"My what?" - -"Your watch." - -It was some time before he could speak. All ideas were as dust blown -about his mind. "You don't mean to say that--you couldn't have taken -it--you--" - -"Let me go where I can talk to you--outside." - -He went out with her and together they walked along the street. Looking -back, he saw Agnes at the window, and he waved his hand at her. She -made a face at him, he thought. "Now, what is it you have to say?" - -"You know a man named Goyle?" she said. - -"Yes, I have met him at the Judge's house." - -He waited for her to proceed. "I was with him and two others the night -you found me. They left me on the sidewalk because I could not go -further, I have been told. Goyle went away alone and snatched your -watch." - -"But, my gracious, how do you know? Did he tell you?" - -"For some time he has been coming to see me. He was the first man I ever -went with to--a place where I should not have gone. I blush to own it, -but I was fascinated by him. He asked me to marry him, and I consented. -The last time he came after that night was yesterday evening. But you -had taught me to despise him. I could not drive him away, however, so I -sat in the room with him. His mouth had been hurt--two of his teeth were -gone. He said he had fallen off a car. He said also that as soon as he -got a little better he was going to Michigan. He took out his watch, -one that I had never seen him have before, and I noticed that it had a -broken chain. Then I remembered seeing a broken chain hanging from your -pocket; and the next morning before I left your house I thought I heard -you tell someone that your watch had been snatched from you. I asked -him to let me see the watch, and in it I found your name. I did not -return it to him--I jumped up and ran out. He called after me, and -tried to catch me, but I slammed a door in his face and locked it. Then, -my mother, who never did like him, ordered him out of the house." - -"What is your name?" - -"Margaret Frayer." - -"Then, Margaret Frayer, I am sorry you brought me the watch." - -"Sorry?" - -"I did not wish a reward for what I had done for you." - -"Oh, that--the watch is not your reward. You have saved a soul. In my -heart I believe that I have found peace. I went to sleep with a prayer -on my lips, and I awoke with such a joy in my heart that I was -frightened. I called mother and she came running into the room, and -there must have been a spirit there, for before I said a word, and -before mother had seen me, for it was dark, she cried out that I was -saved. She had always been worried over me; she feared that my soul was -lost. And she put her arms about me and sobbed in her happiness. That -is your reward, Mr. Bradley." - -"Come back to the house with me," he said. - -He led her into the drawing room and introduced her to Florence and -Agnes. "I wish to present a young woman whom God has smiled upon," he -said, and they looked at him in astonishment. He told them that he had -found her wandering and had led her home. Florence took her hand. - -"I may not be worthy, yet," said Margaret Frayer. "You don't know me -well enough to take my hand." - -"I know that you must have suffered, and that is enough," Florence -replied. The preacher looked at Agnes. He wondered why she did not -come oftener to his church. He wondered what she would say to the young -woman. - -"You are my sister," said Agnes, as if inspired, and Bradley clasped his -hands and pressed them to his bosom. His heart was full. - -Margaret Frayer did not remain long. "You may meet me again," she said. - -"She is to become a member of my church," Bradley spoke up. - -"My heart and my prayers will be with your church, Mr. Bradley," she -said; "I shall remember you and be grateful to you as long as I live, -but my soul tells me to go with the Salvation Army, among girls, and -persuade them to work in the street when they have the time. It is not -goodness alone that saves us, Mr. Bradley; goodness may be selfish--it -is saving others that saves us. You know how that is. You have saved -others." - -"You are right," he said. "Go with the army; you can do more there." - -"And, do you say so?" Florence cried. "I thought you too orthodox for -that." - -"Not too orthodox for the truth," he replied, bowing. - -"Then," said Florence, "I think more of you than I did. I thought it -was your ambition to build up a church, but I find that you have -forgotten your creed to save a woman. I am coming oftener to hear you -preach." - -During this time Margaret Frayer stood near the door, waiting, it -seemed, for an opportunity to go. The preacher looked at her, and mused -upon the change that had come over her face since he had first seen her, -only a short time, but a great change. The Salvation Army has a -countenance and a complexion peculiarly its own, serene and pale; and so -quick, it seems, is the transformation that the coarse-featured, -evil-eyed woman of today may, to-morrow, have a striking refinement. "I -hope you will come frequently to my church," said Bradley, taking her -hand. - -"Whenever I am selfish," she replied. - -"You young ladies have done yourselves credit," said Bradley, when -Margaret Frayer had taken her leave. - -"Why so?" said Agnes. "Because we treated her kindly? Did you take us -for heathens?" - -"Oh, no, but women--women are so slow to forgive." - -"Forgive? Why, what has she done? She simply wanted religion, and you -have helped her. Oh, she might have done wrong, I don't know. But -women are more forgiving now that they have taken more of man's -privileges. They may become quite generous after a while." With Agnes -it was innocence; with Florence it was knowledge. She divined the -history of the girl; and in giving her hand felt that it was to one who -had gone astray, who had suffered, and who had turned back. The Judge -came in, to the disappointment of the preacher, who feared that, soon to -be followed by William, the old jurist would begin anew to stir up the -old straw of family humor. But William did not come, and the Judge was -in no mood for joking. He had been brooding, and his brow was dark. -"Florence," he said, after exchanging a few words with Bradley, "I wish -you would walk out with me." She said nothing, but went out and came -back with her hat. They walked in the shade of the elms, and he -remarked upon different objects, but she said nothing. - -"Why don't you talk, Florence?" - -"Because I haven't anything to say." - -"You mean that you have nothing to say to me." - -"I mean that it is useless to say anything to you. Shall I say -something? I will. You are an unnatural father." - -"No, I have an unnatural son." - -"That is not true, Judge. Anyone to see him, to hear him talk, to know -him, would feel that he could not commit such a crime. Why, sometimes -when I am alone it almost exasperates me to think about it; and to -realize that I am in a conspiracy against him. It is cruel, and at -times I fancy that I am almost as unnatural as you are." - -"To be bound by an oath? Is that unnatural? Is it unnatural to have -honor? I told you in the first place to protect you; I bound you by -oath to protect her, his mother. That is simple enough." - -"But you don't know how near I have come to the violation of that oath. -More than once I have had it in my heart to tell him--but I couldn't," -she broke off. "I couldn't. But he is going away, and I will write it -to him, every detail of it; and I know that he will forgive me." - -"You make me the criminal when I am the injured. Let us go back." - - - - - *CHAPTER XX.* - - *THE PREACHER CONFESSES.* - - -Bradley had argued with himself that at the proper time it would be -simple enough to tell the girl that he loved her, and no doubt he was -right, but the time did not come. He sat beside her on the sofa, when -the Judge and Florence had quitted the room, and he looked into her -eyes, and the proper words arose like a graceful flight of birds, rich -in bright feathers, but they scattered and flew away. He could have -delivered an oration upon beauty and love, and he did; but he feared to -surprise her by telling her that he loved her. He did not dream that -she had discovered it coming before he felt it. It was not possible for -so innocent a creature to know so much. He was a large man, and large -men may have sentiment, but sometimes they lack sentimental nerve. - -"You don't believe now that I talked what you termed sweet to that poor -girl, do you?" - -"Oh, I don't know. But I don't see why she should look at you that way -even if you did--did lead her. It must have looked nice, you going -along leading her. What do you suppose people thought?" - -"No one--one saw me lead her," Bradley stammered. - -"Oh, then it was in the dark. Led her in the dark." - -"She didn't mean that I really took her by the hand and led her. I led -her spiritually." - -"Is that all? Where did you find her--spiritually?" - -"Going--shall I say?" - -"Why, of course." - -"Going to the devil." - -"Oh, and did she say so, or could you see for yourself?" - -"I could see. Agnes--Miss Agnes, if I were not afraid of lowering -myself in your esteem, I would tell you something." - -"Don't tell me anything dreadful," she cried, stopping her ears. "I -know it must be something awful." - -He waited for her to unstop her ears, which she did very soon, and then -he spoke, but on another subject. She replied listlessly, leaning her -head on the back of the sofa. He told her about his church and she -yawned. He had been delighted to see her in the congregation, and she -yawned again. "I thought you were going to tell me about that woman," -she said. - -"But you stopped your ears." - -"And don't you know that when a woman stops her ears it's the time when -she wants to hear?" - -"I didn't know that." - -"You didn't? Then you needn't tell me anything." - -"Yes, I believe I ought to tell you--only you." - -"Why only me?" she asked, her eyes half closed. - -"I don't know, but--" - -"Then, why did you say only me?" - -"Because I--I think more of you than of anyone else." - -"Oh, if you think it's your duty you'd better tell me." - -He told her, and she sat up straight, looking at him; she got up and -walked slowly to the opposite side of the room, he gazing at her. He -reproached himself for telling her. She was young, lived apart from the -great crowd, and could not understand. He could not see her face, for -she stood with her back toward him, but displeasure has many -countenances, and he could see that his story had offended her. Her -head was slightly bowed, and she was no doubt weeping; he heard her sob. -Then she had loved him, and her love was dying. But he did not dare to -go to her, to the death of the love he had murdered. Suddenly she -turned about. Her face was radiant, and she was laughing. He stared at -her in amazement. - -"It is exactly what you ought to have done," she said. - -"And I am not lowered in your estimation?" - -"For being a truer man than any man I have ever known? Oh, no." - -Yes, she had turned round, laughing, but there were tear stains on her -checks. He did not know that she had passed through a struggle of doubt -to reach laughter. Surely she was a strange creature, worthy of being -loved and capable of loving; but he did not tell her that he loved her. -The words were warm in his heart, but felt cool upon his lips, and he -did not utter them. He talked in a round-about way, in an emotional -skirmish, he afterward said to himself, and then took his leave, as the -Judge and Florence had returned. Just outside he met Bodney coming in. -"Oh, by the way, the very man I want to see, Mr. Bodney. I want a talk -with you." - -Bodney thought that the preacher was going to thank him again for the -money sent to the church, to tell him how much good it had done. "I -will walk along with you," he said. - -"This is a peculiar world," remarked the preacher, as they strode along, -side by side. - -"You might almost say a damnable world," Bodney replied. - -"No, not quite so bad as that." They walked on in silence, Bodney -wondering what the preacher wanted to talk about, the preacher wondering -how he could best get at what he intended to say. "You are well -acquainted with Mr. Goyle," said Bradley. - -"Why do you speak of him? Why didn't you say I am well acquainted with -the devil?" - -"I suppose I might as well. Do you believe him desperate?" - -"In his milder moods, yes; at other times he goes beyond that--he is -inhuman." - -"Ah. Do you believe that he would snatch a man's watch?" - -"He would snatch a woman's child. He is a beast. But you have -something to tell me. What is it?" - -"I will, but as I do not wish to bring someone else into the glare of -scandal, you must keep it to yourself. The other night, as I was going -home, a man standing under a lamppost asked me the time. I took out my -watch and he snatched it and fled down an alley. I didn't notice his -face, or at least I could not see it very well, and I did not recognize -him, but I have recovered the watch and have been told that it was Goyle -who snatched it. And you do not suppose that there is any question as to -his being bold enough to do such a thing." - -"Mr. Bradley, that man would do anything; he is a footpad or a sorcerer, -just as the humor takes him. Now, I will tell you something. He made -himself my master, so completely that at times I could not resist him. -But the other day he made me an infamous proposition and I struck him in -the mouth and knocked him senseless upon the floor. Blood ran out of -his mouth, and it was black--black, I will swear. I left him lying -there, and when I returned he was gone, but he had written a note to me, -a note in which there was not a word of reproach or resentment. He said -he was going away and would see me upon his return. That note -frightened me, and I have been scared ever since, dreading to meet him, -for I feel that he has some sort of reserve power to throw over me. I -would go away, but the thought that he knows all my movements is -constantly haunting me. You may smile at this and say that I ought to -be stronger, that it is superstition, and that we are not living in a -superstitious age, but I tell you that in his presence I feel a weakness -come over me to such a degree that when I am with him I have only one -strength--a passion for gambling. I have let him ruin me, soul and -body; I--" - -"I will pray for you," said Bradley. - -"You might as well pray for rain, and nothing could be more foolish than -that." - -"What, you doubt the spirit of God?" - -"I believe in the spirit of the devil. But this is jugglery. If he had -left me a note full of resentment, or had even left no word at all, I -should have felt that I had conquered him; but, as it is, I know that I -am his slave." - -"My dear young man," said the preacher, "you ascribe to him supernatural -powers; you have permitted him to take you back into the middle ages. -Such a thing is absurd, in this great, progressive city. See," he -added, pointing at an electric car rushing by. "There goes the -nineteenth century, and yonder," he broke off, waving his hand at a cart -shoved by an Italian, "is the sixteenth century. You have let the -Italian put you into his wretched cart. Get out--get on the electric -car." - -"Your illustration is all right, Mr. Bradley; but he has me in his cart -bound hand and foot. But we have both said enough, and what we have -said is not to be repeated to others. I'll turn back here." - -After knocking Goyle down, Bodney had fully determined to make a -confession to Howard and the Judge, but upon finding the note his will -resolved itself into fear and indecision. He felt, however, that the -gambling germ was dead--"germ," he muttered to himself. "Giant!" he -cried aloud. It must be, though, that he would gradually gain strength, -and the time for the confession was surely not far off. But he would -bring disgrace upon himself and be driven out of the house. He could -not bear the thought of seeing hatred in the eye of the Judge. The old -man was unforgiving; had not forgiven his son, and would surely send -Bodney to the penitentiary. "I can't tell him yet," he mused. "I must -wait for strength. That scoundrel is thinking of me at this moment, and -I know it." In the night he awoke with a feeling that Goyle was in the -room, and he sprang out of bed and lighted the gas. Thus it was for -three nights, and on the third morning came a letter from Goyle, not a -letter, but an envelope directed by his hand, and in it was a newspaper -cutting, set in the large type of the village press. "Last night, at -Col. Radley's, the guests were entertained in a most novel, not to say -startling, manner, by Prof. Goyle, of Chicago, who gave several feats of -mind-reading. Miss Sarah Mayhew, daughter of our leading merchant, -stuck a pin in the door-facing as high as she could reach, while the -Professor was out of the room, and then hid the pin under the carpet. -The Professor was brought in blindfolded, amid the silence which the -Colonel had enjoined. He took Miss Mayhew by the hand, fell into deep -thought for a few moments and then went straightway and took the pin -from under the carpet, and then, marvelous to relate, ran across the -room and leaping off the floor stuck the pin in the exact hole which it -had occupied at the hands of the handsome Miss Mayhew. George Halbin, -one of our leading lawyers, said that the feat would have seemed -impossible to even a man with both eyes open. The Professor will appear -at the opera house tomorrow night, and our citizens who appreciate a -good thing when they see it should turn out." - -"What have you got there?" William asked, standing in Bodney's door. - -"Just a clipping from a newspaper telling of Goyle's wonderful -mind-reading." - -"Let me see it." - -William read the paragraph and handed it back. "I don't believe a word -of it," he said. "Those fellows will write anything if they are paid -for it. It's all a lie." - -"It's all true," said Bodney. - -"What, have you turned spiritualist? Is the whole family going to -pieces? Howard has ruined himself with French books and John is so -snappish that no one can speak to him. Is that the sort of home I've -found? Give me that cigar sticking out of your packet. You don't need -it. Thank you. A man who believes the stuff you do don't know whether -he's smoking or not. Is that John, roaring at Howard? I want to tell -you that there's something wrong here. What do you keep holding that -thing for? Why, you shake like a sifter at a sawmill. You are all going -crazy." - - - - - *CHAPTER XXI.* - - *UP THE STAIRS AND DOWN AGAIN.* - - -When Bodney went into the hall he found the Judge walking up and down, -waiting for breakfast. His brow was troubled and dark, for Howard had -just announced his determination to leave on the following day. He had -acknowledged to himself that there was nothing left to hope for, and yet -he had continued to hope that it all might be, as Florence believed, a -vision, a nightmare, to be relieved by a sudden start. He knew that it -was unreasonable thus to hope, but hope was born before reason, and will -exist after reason has died of old age. As Bodney approached the old -man stood with his hand pressed against his forehead. Bodney's heart -smote him, but his fear was stronger than his remorse. The piece of -paper, still in his hand, seemed to burn his palm, as poker money had -burned in his pocket; and he felt that he was but a pin hidden under a -carpet and that Goyle could find him and thrust him back into obedience. -The Judge noticed the grip with which he held the slip of paper. "What -have you there, George?" he asked. - -"A--a--thing cut out of a newspaper." He opened his hand and the Judge -looked at the slip of paper. - -"But why did you grip it that way?" He took the cutting, smoothed it -out, and, putting on his glasses, read it. "Ah," he said, handing it -back, "that fellow. I have seen him in my sleep--last night. Tell him -not to come here again." - -"It has been some time since he was here." - -"Don't apologize for him. Tell him that he must not enter this house -again." - -William came out and saw the Judge hand the cutting to Bodney. "Is it -possible, John, that you believe in that nonsense, too?" - -"I don't believe in anything," said the Judge. - -"That's putting it rather strong," replied William. "That is to say, -that when I tell you I elected Governors and Senators, you don't believe -it." Bodney passed on, leaving the brothers walking up and down the -hall, shoulder to shoulder. - -"Did I say that I didn't believe you? What difference does it make -anyway?" - -"What difference does any man's record make? If a man isn't proud of his -record, what should he be proud of? You are proud of your -decisions--they go to make up your record. I elected Governors, and--" - -"Why didn't you elect yourself?" - -"That's a nice way to come back at a man--your own brother. Haven't you -heard me say that there is something higher than a desire for office? -Hah, haven't you heard me say that?" - -"Yes, there is something higher--the roof of the board of trade." - -"John, that is an unfair thrust at my speculations. But, sir, at one -time I could have closed out for millions. Do you understand, for -millions." - -"Why didn't you?" - -"Now, just listen to that. Reproaches me for not being a money grabber, -for not joining the robbers to crush the weaklings. I have suffered a -good deal at your hands lately, but I didn't expect that stab. It -wounds me here." He halted, and placed his hand on his breast. But he -went in to breakfast and ate with the appetite of a man who, if wounded, -must have marvelously recovered; he joked with Agnes about the preacher; -he told her that it would be her duty to take care of his numerous -slippers, presented by women. "And when you have a pound party at your -house I will contribute a--" - -"Senator," said Howard. - -"Oh, so you have broken out, have you? I thought you were too deep in -the study of French literature to pay any attention to such trifles. -And you have got on a reddish necktie. You'll be an anarchist the first -thing you know." - -"He is going away, William," said Mrs. Elbridge, and the Judge did not -look up. The sadness of her voice stirred William to repentance. "Going -away? I don't see how we can get along without him. He and I joke, but -we understand each other, don't we, Howard?" - -"Perfectly, Uncle William; and when I open my ranch out West, you may -look on it as your home." - -"Thank you, my boy; but I don't care to go out there again. I was once -a power there, but the country is now overrun with a lesser breed, and I -am afraid that I might not get along with them. I want men, such as -there used to be. Man will soon be a thing of the past. The scorcher -is running over him--and I want to say right here, that if one of those -fellows ever runs over me, he'll get a bullet just about the size of -a--a--about the size of that." He held up his thumb and measured off -the missile intended for the scorcher. "You hear what I say. Why, -confound 'em, if they see a man, a real man, they bow their necks and -make at him, but if one of them ever runs into me, the coroner will have -a job." - -Howard and Bodney went down town together and opened the office, as -usual, for clients who did not come, and who, if they had come, would -have shaken their heads and gone away. - -"Howard," said Bodney, "I told you that I was financially ruined." - -"Yes, I remember, but afterward you said that everything was all right, -that your fit had passed. Has it come again?" - -"It didn't go away. A sort of drunkenness made it appear so. The fact -is, I am in need of ten dollars, to pay a man I owe. He keeps harassing -me." - -"I need every cent I've got, old man, but here's ten." - -Bodney took the bank note and went out. The poker microbe was not so -easily to be exterminated. It had suggested to Bodney that the only way -to replace the money taken from the Judge's safe was to play poker. -And, why not play? He might win--he had won once, and what the cards -had done they would do again. He remembered the courtesies that had -been shown him at the club, the congratulation of the man at the desk -when he won and the sympathy when he lost. "Couldn't make 'em stick, -eh? When a man gets the hands beaten you do, he's got to lose his -money. There's nothing to it. But you'll get 'em yet--you play as good -game as any of them." A man of sense could see that it was a losing -game from the start, no matter how honestly conducted. And Bodney, -going to the club before business put on its cheerful countenance, had -seen them counting the swallowings of the ever hungry box, the rake-off, -the unsatisfied maw. A fairly active game would average for the house -at least eight dollars an hour, so that in the end every man must be a -loser. He knew all this as the others knew it, but the microbe squirmed -and made him itch. - -He walked toward the Wexton Club, not in a rush, for he was still -fighting. Speculation urged him to play one more time, and to realize -during the game that it was the last. The hunger for play was surely -dying; then, why kill it? why not let it die of its own accord? Then -came the memory of nights of distress, the nervous sweat of anxiety in -the street, scanning faces, looking for money. He turned aside, went -into a hotel and sat down. Two men were talking of a defaulter. "Yes, -sir," said one of them, "everybody had confidence in him--the firm -trusted him implicitly; but he embezzled and must go up for it." He -mentioned the embezzler's name, and Bodney recognized it as that of a -gentlemanly young fellow well known at the Wexton. He had come under an -assumed name, but had thrown off this weak disguise, to indorse a check. -So the players, who gossip among themselves, knew his real name, but -addressed him as Jones. Bodney continued to listen. "I understand," -said one of the men, "that the place where he went is a regular robbers' -den." Bodney knew better than this; he knew that in the fairness, the -courtesy, the good nature of the place lay its greatest danger. Men -swore, it was true; cursed their luck and called upon a neighbor to -testify to the fact that he had never seen such hands beaten; but for -the most part, the atmosphere was genial, the talk bright and with a -crispness rarely found in society. He resented this misrepresentation, -and was even on the point of speaking when the men walked off. Soon -afterward he went out, though not in the direction of the club; he -circled round and round, like a deer, charmed by a snake; but after a -time he saw the stairway, dusty and grim, rise before him. In the hall -above, just as he was about to ring the bell, he thought of his short -resources, only one ten dollar note, and he took out the crumpled paper -and held it in his hand for a moment and looked at it, not to find the -ten dollars, but the newspaper cutting. He started as if stung, stepped -back and stood with his hand resting on the balustrade. The door opened -and a man came out. Bodney spoke to him, and he halted. It was the -offensive fellow with the white scar. - -"How did you come out?" - -The man opened both hands and raised them. He was not drunk now. He was -sober and desperate. "They have ruined me," he said; "ruined me, and I -don't know what in the name of God to do. I'll never play again as long -as I live--I'd swear it on all the bibles in the world. Are you going -to play?" - -"I was thinking about it." - -"I could have quit big winner. Say, have you got enough to stake me?" -His eyes brightened, but the light went out when Bodney shook his head. -"I've got just ten dollars." - -"Then you won't last as long as a feather in hell." He went down the -stairs, and Bodney continued to stand there, fighting against himself, -with the newspaper cutting still in his hand. Suddenly, with his teeth -set and both hands clenched, he ran down the stairs. At the door -opening out upon the street he met the master of the game. "Won't you -come back and eat with us?" - -"No, I am in a hurry." - -The master of the game was astonished. The idea of a poker player being -in a hurry to get away from the game was almost new to him--and it was -new to Bodney. But he hastened on, not daring to look back lest he -might find some new temptation beckoning him to return. Passing beyond -the circle wherein the lodestone seemed to draw the hardest, he felt, -upon looking back, that he had escaped and was beyond pursuit. It was -now eleven o'clock, and the victory must have been won at about ten -minutes to eleven. He had cause to remember this afterward, on the -following day, when he believed that the cause of this sudden strength -had been revealed to him. - -Howard was in the office when Bodney returned. "Well, did you pay your -persistent creditor?" - -"There was none. Here is your money; I don't need it now." - -"But you will, so you'd better keep it." - -"That's a fact, and I don't know how soon." - -"But you say there was none." - -"None. I'll explain sometime, but I can't now." - -Howard did not pursue the subject further, for his mind was on his own -affairs. He had settled upon taking his departure the next morning, and -now he looked about the old room with a feeling of sadness. He had -consulted another physician who knew his father well, and had been -informed that the old man might improve rapidly in the absence of his -son. This made the young man wince, but he had told the doctor that his -father seemed to have an especial antipathy to him. "It is one of the -freaks peculiar to diseased minds to turn upon one who has been -nearest," said the physician. Howard had repeated this to his mother, -and frequently she remarked it as a discovery of her own. - -That evening when the young men went home there was a great hub-hub in -the hall. William had just come in, covered with dust and was blowing -like a hippopotamus. "If I live, I'll kill him; mind what I tell you." - -"What's the trouble?" Howard asked. William had been knocked down by a -scorcher. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXII.* - - *TOLD HIM GOOD-BYE.* - - -At the breakfast table the next morning the Judge paid no attention to -Howard, though he knew that his departure was to take place that day. He -had striven to be genial when Mrs. Elbridge was present, and for a time -had succeeded, but all effort was thrown off now. - -Howard went to his room to make ready, and his mother went with him. -The Judge was walking up and down in his office as they passed his door. -Florence entered, and the Judge bowed to her. - -"Are you going to tell Howard good-bye?" she asked. - -"That's easy enough," he answered. - -"He will come in here to see you before he goes." - -"How do you know?" - -"I know because it is not possible for him to prove so unnatural as--" - -The Judge raised his hand. "Don't say it, please." - -She stood looking at him. "Don't you think you ought to tell him why -you have hardened your heart against him?" - -"I shall tell him nothing." - -"And is that the part of a true man? Is it not almost inhuman to let -him suffer in ignorance?" - -The Judge raised his hand and looked toward the door. "I tell you, it -is to protect her. Can't you see?" - -"It is well enough to protect her, but you ought to give him an -opportunity to defend himself." - -"There is no defense. Mind, your oath." - -"Oh, I am sick of that," she said. "Every time I say a word in his -behalf you remind me of a foolish vow. Judge, I am weary of this -senseless and insane drama, seeing the others stumble about in the dark -while you and I stand in the light. No, you do not stand in the light, -I alone am in the light of truth; and if I did not think that the trip -out West would be good for him. I would not let him go; I would stop -him short with what you have told me and made me swear by the memory of -my mother not to repeat. No wonder you put your hand to your head. It -must ache. But, there, I won't reproach you." - -He had sat down. She went to him and put her hand on his shoulder. He -looked up, and then looked down again. "I believe something is going to -clear it all up one of these days," she said. He got up and resumed his -walk. Howard's voice came down the hall: "Has the trunk gone yet?" - -"I think he is coming," she said. - -"Stay with me, Florence." - -"No, you must face him, the injured, alone." - -"I have not injured him; he has injured me." - -She went out and the Judge stood there waiting for Howard. He came in, -more serious now that everything had been made ready. "I am about to -start for the West, sir," he said. "I can't stand it here any longer. -You frown at me, and when I beg you to tell me--" - -"How long do you expect to be gone?" the Judge interrupted. - -"Till the day when I am to marry almost in secret, or when you send for -me." - -The Judge was walking up and down. He turned and replied. "I shall not -send for you." - -"Do you still deny us the right to be married in a church?" - -"You shall never marry her at all with my sanction, and if you marry her -without it, you marry out West or in there," he added, waving toward the -drawing room. "There must be no guests." - -"I should like to marry in my father's house, but on the prairie or in -the woods will do as well; it makes no difference." He looked hard at -his father, and, after a time, added: "I didn't think that a man could -change so much--be so unnatural." - -"None of that, sir!" the Judge exclaimed, turning upon him. "It is not -for you to call me unnatural." - -"Father, if I have committed a crime in your eye, why don't you tell me -what it is?" - -"In my eye! You must have studied long to frame that speech." - -"But why don't you tell me?" - -"Don't mock me, sir." - -Howard looked at him, as if trying to study out something in his -countenance, in his eye. "May I ask you something?" - -"Why should you desire my permission since you would pay no attention to -my refusal? What is it that you wish to ask?" - -"May I ask if there has ever been any insanity in our family?" - -The Judge started. "In our family--in my family there has been -something worse than insanity." - -Howard slowly nodded his head as if admitting a sad fact. "Yes, there -has been the death of affection--in your family." - -"Ah," cried the Judge, "the shrouding of a hope." - -"The murder of a jovial spirit," said Howard. - -"Don't shoot your poisonous arrows at me. Go on, away. Good-bye." He -waved his hand. Howard turned toward the door, but halted, faced about -and looked at the Judge with troubled tenderness. "Father, I don't know -exactly where I am going, but out in the wilds somewhere to find a place -for me and mine. I did not believe--couldn't have foreseen such a -moment as this. It seems to me that my father is gone." He paused, and -the Judge stood with his face turned away. "Shall I write to you?" - -"No," said the Judge, without looking round. - -Mrs. Elbridge came in and found them standing apart, the Judge still -with his back toward Howard. "Howard," she said, "the cab is waiting. -Judge, Howard is going away from us." - -The old man turned slightly, looked at her, nodded his head, said "yes," -and walked to the opposite side of the room. Mrs. Elbridge touched her -forehead. "You must bear with him," she whispered. "You can see where -the trouble lies." - -"Yes, and it is a sorrowful thought. I can hardly believe it. And to -think that he should select me as the object of his contempt." - -"He will get over it soon and send for you," she said in a low voice. -"A disordered mind turns against the loved one--nearly always." Then, -advancing toward the old man, she said: "Judge, tell him good-bye." - -"I have," replied the old man, standing with his face turned from her. -She went to him and, touching his arm, said: "But not in your old -way--not as you would have told him good-bye before--before you were -ill." - -"I am not ill," he said, without turning his eyes toward her. "I never -was better in my life." - -"But, tell him good-bye, please." - -"I tell you I have!" he exclaimed, stamping upon the floor; and turning -with his hand uplifted, he cried: "Can't you see--no, you cannot," he -broke off, his hand shaking, and slowly falling to his side. "No, you -cannot see, must not see. I beg your pardon for speaking so -impatiently, but I am worried, Rachel; worried, and--" - -"Yes, I know," she said, taking the arm which he had raised from under -her gentle touch. "But, you must tell him good-bye." - -The Judge struggled against her, though not with violence; the struggle, -indeed, was more against himself. She led him toward Howard, who stood -looking on, sorrowfully. - -"Put your arm about him," she said to the Judge. "For me, please." - -"For you," he said, and suffered her to put his arm on Howard's -shoulder. She raised his other arm, and now he stood with both arms -about the boy's neck. - -"Good-bye, father," said Howard. - -For a moment the old man's countenance was aglow with the light of love -and sympathy; convulsively he pressed Howard to his bosom--but a horror -seemed to seize him, the light of sympathy went out as if blown by a -cold wind, and, stepping back, he said: - -"There. Go. Not another word. Why do you continue to stand there -gazing at me? Rachel, can't you take him away? I have told him -good-bye to please you--now, why don't you oblige me by taking him -away?" - -"But, dear, have you no word for him?" - -"Word, yes. Good-bye." - -"No word of advice?" - -"Advice! Don't mock me. Go away, please. Can't you see--no, you -cannot, and why should I expect it? Now go." - -"We are going," she said. - -"Yes, but--I beg your pardon--but why don't you?" - -She took Howard's arm and walked out, looking back as if she hoped that -the Judge might repent and follow, but he did not; he resumed his walk -up and down the room. Suddenly he turned. "Now, what are you doing, -William?" The brother had entered and was turning over papers on the -desk. - -"I am looking for a slip of paper I dropped out of my pocket-book." - -"You didn't leave anything here." - -"That may be," said William, "but I don't know whether I did or not till -I find out. A man never knows--" - -"Some men never know," the Judge broke in, going over to the desk and -taking a paper out of William's hand. "Go away, please." William -stepped back, shocking himself from the storage battery of his dignity. -"Oh, I can go, if that's what you want." - -"That's what I want." - -"It is? All right. John, I'll be hanged if I know what's the matter -with you." The Judge was paying no attention. He was listening to a -cab driving off from the door. "I say, sir, I'll be hanged if I know -what's the matter with you." - -"I heard what you said." - -"I don't know whether you did or not. There's no living in the house -with you. And last night, after I had been knocked down in the -street--and I'm going to kill him if detectives can find him--last night -when I merely intimated that something had taken place on the fourteenth -of September, you--" - -"William, are you going to begin all that over again?" - -"I don't know what you mean by again. John, you talk in riddles. I -can't for the life of me get at your meaning. Yes, sir, and last night -you flew off like a jug handle when I told you that Carl Miller--" - -"Oh, damn Carl Miller." - -"That's all right. I don't care how much you damn him. He deserves -it--broke a pair of boots for me and made 'em so kidney footed that I -couldn't walk in 'em. But I am positive about that other date, John. -It was the tenth." - -The Judge looked at him, drew a long breath, and said: "William, you are -an old fool." - -"An old fool, John--old? Did you say old?" - -"That is what I said. Old." - -William sighed. "Then, that settles it. It isn't so bad to be simply a -fool--for we may grow out of that as time goes on--but to be an old -fool--John, I'll leave your house. I can't stand your abuse any longer. -I am without means, broke, you might say, and I don't know which way to -turn, except to turn my back on your ill-treatment of me. I may starve -to death or be killed in the street or on some freight car, stealing a -ride from misery to misery, but I am going." - -"William, sit down and behave yourself." - -"Never again will I sit down in your house. I have joked with you, I -know, and have said a great many things that I didn't mean, but I am in -deadly earnest this time. I am going away." - -The Judge put his hand on William's shoulder. "Look at me," he said. -"Don't leave me. I need you. I am mean, and I know it, but I beg of -you not to leave me." - -"Mean!" William cried. "Who the deuce said you were mean? Show the -villain to me. Show him to me, I tell you." - -"There, now, sit down; it is all right." - -"No, sir, it is not all right, and it never will be till I find the -scoundrel that called you mean. Was it Bradley? Tell me, and I'll -choke him till his eyes pop out. Was it Bradley?" - -The Judge smiled. "Bradley," said he, "is one of my props. He is the -son of my old friend, and I think the world of him." - -"Well, let him congratulate himself on his escape, for before the Lord I -would choke him. It is all right, yes, sir--but, really, John, if I -tell you earnestly it was on the tenth won't you believe--" - -"Yes, yes; let it be the tenth." - -"Let it be! Why, confound it, I tell you it was the tenth." - -"All right. When you go out I wish you would tell Florence to come -here." - -William grunted. "Oh, I can go out. By the way, John, Howard asked me -a pertinent question this morning. And it staggered me a little. He -wanted to know whether there had ever been any insanity in our family." - -The Judge showed signs of coming agitation, but he fought with himself -as it was his custom to fight. "What did you tell him?" - -"I lied, I told him no. John, do you remember the night when they came -from the mad-house and told us children that father was dead?" - -"Don't, William; don't. Please tell Florence to come here." - -William went out and the Judge resumed his walk up and down the pathway -of trouble. Yes, he did remember the night when they came from the -mad-house, two men in a doctor's gig; he remembered the lamps on each -side of the vehicle, eyes of a great bug, they seemed. But his father's -malady had not come of inheritance, but of fever. But other men had -fever and did not go mad. Could it be that he himself had been touched -with the disease--touched in the eye with a vision? No, for there was -Bodney. He had seen it. "My mind is sound, even in distress," he -mused. "But wouldn't it have been better if I had talked to him kindly -about his crime? I ought to have let him know that I saw him. No, his -mother would have drawn it out of him--love sucking poison from a -wound." - -Florence entered the room, advanced a few paces, halted, and stood, -looking at him. "Well, you sent for me and I am here." - -"Yes, sit down, please." - -"No, I thank you." - -The Judge looked at her sorrowfully. "Did Howard tell you where he -intends to go?" - -Florence looked at him with a smile, but in the smile he saw bitterness. -"Does it concern you?" she asked. - -"I am not a brute, Florence." - -"No," she said. "A brute is not unnatural." - -"Don't, please. I am trying not to be unnatural. There can be a broken -heart shielding a heart to keep it from breaking." - -"You were a judge, a man of justice. And was it just to let him suffer -in the dark? Was it right to lock your own lips and put a seal on mine. -Judge, I ought to have told him in your presence." - -"Don't say that." - -"But I do say it. You presume upon what you are pleased to think is my -strength of character. I am beginning to believe that I was weak instead -of strong. Yes, I ought to have told him in your presence. I ought to -have said: 'Your father, who has been a judge, has passed sentence upon -you without giving you a hearing. He says you are a thief.'" - -"Hush," said the Judge, in a loud whisper, motioning toward the door. -"Don't talk that way to me. Ah, I have killed all the love you ever had -for me." - -"You have choked it and it is gasping." - -"I am grieved--but it cannot be undone--the fingers are stiffened about -your gasping love." He walked up and down for a time, and then turned -again to her. "When you get a letter from him will you let me read it?" - -"No. His heart will write to mine, and your eye would blur the words." - -"Don't say that. I am not without a heart. I had a heart--it is -broken." He walked off again, but turned quickly. "Florence, I -sometimes wonder if my eye could have deceived me--could have lied to -me." - -She moved toward him, her hands uplifted, hope in her face. "A man's -mind lies to him, and why not his eyes?" the Judge continued. Florence -caught him by the arm and looked appealingly at him. "But your brother, -Florence--your brother. He saw him, too." - -"What!" she cried, stepping back. "Brother saw him! You didn't tell me -that." - -"I promised him I would not tell you." - -"Ah, you break your promises and expect me to keep mine. I will go this -moment and tell his mother." - -He caught her arm and poured out a distressful imploration, a prayer. -"I would rather you'd stab me," he said, concluding. "I would rather -you'd kill us both. But I didn't swear, Florence. You have taken an -oath." - -"Judge, that is cowardly." - -"Yes, it is. I am a coward--but only for her. A bitter word, -Florence." - -"Yes, forgive me. I didn't mean that. You are not a coward, but you -are blind." He held forth his hands. She stepped back, shaking her -head. - -"All gone," said he, "all respect, all confidence. And you were my -daughter." - -"I was." - -"In love and in duty," he said. - -"In both," she replied. "In both, yes, and now love is gasping and duty -has become a hard master." Suddenly she sprang toward him. "Brother -saw him! I am just beginning to realize what you said. I don't believe -it. His eyes lied, too." - -"Oh, beautiful faith, it would move a mountain." - -"It would pluck a mote from an eye. May I go now?" - -"I am not on the bench to discharge or restrain you. But, just a -moment. You feel that I am a tyrant. That could not have been possible -with your former self. What is so cold as frozen gentleness? And now it -is only through the frost-crusted windows that I can catch a glimpse of -your other spirit." - -"In the hall, yesterday," she said, "I thought that I heard a lurking -echo of your old laughter." - -He made a gesture of distress. "Don't remind me of it," he said. - -"May I go?" - -"Yes. But let me ask you one more favor. Don't tell your brother that -I mentioned him." - -"Another chain," she said. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIII.* - - *THE LIGHT BREAKS.* - - -The Judge turned and saw Bradley in the door. His appearance at any -moment was not in the nature of a surprise. Agnes said that she -expected him at most unexpected times. He no doubt regarded himself as -a brave man, and perhaps he was; it required courage to be so timidly -persistent. - -"I hope I don't intrude," said the preacher. - -"Oh, not at all. Come in." - -"Miss Agnes is out for a walk, I understand," said Bradley, sitting -down. - -The Judge stood looking at him absent-mindedly. "Ah, yes, I suppose so. -But I don't know why I suppose so. The truth is, I don't know anything -about it. I beg your pardon, Bradley. I am--am greatly disturbed. The -fact is, I hardly know what I am about. I am a mystery unto myself. I -was just thinking of it as you came in. It does not seem possible for a -man, with a mountain of sorrow upon his heart, to turn squarely about -and speculate upon trivial things--to jest, if I may say so, and I must -for it is a fact. I am glad you came." - -"I am always delighted to come, Judge. Here I find the shade of a palm -tree in a great desert of trade. And I came in the hope of finding you -better." - -"Better!" The Judge looked at him almost sternly. "Better, why I am -not sick. What put that into your head, Bradley?" - -"Why, I understood from what you have said that your health was not of -the best." - -"But it is of the best, I assure you. But I brood, yes, I brood, and -that is worse than ill-health--it is the ill health of the mind, the -soul." - -"I am afraid you work too hard." - -"Um, work, I hardly know what that is. I am trying to rest, but it is -like a man seeking sleep on a bed of thorns. Work is all right, for we -can put it aside, but worry rides us till we are down, and then sits on -our breast, waiting for us to get up." - -William came in, shying a little upon seeing Bradley, but shook hands -with him. "I am glad to see you looking so well, Mr. William," said the -preacher. - -"Oh, I'm a pine knot. Ain't I, John?" - -The Judge looked at him inquiringly. "What did you say?" - -"I said I was a pine knot." - -"Did you?" - -"Did I? Didn't I just say I did?" - -"If you did, you did. That's all. But who accused you of not being a -pine knot?" - -Bradley chuckled, and William frowned at him; then, addressing himself -to the Judge, the old fellow said: "You did. You disputed it. You call -me a liar every time I open my mouth." - -"William, you have often declared that you are not in the plot, but the -first thing you know you may break into it." - -"No, I won't!" William exclaimed, shaking his finger. "And I won't -break into your intellectual atmosphere, either." He turned to Bradley. -"Why, sir, John is a regular professor, browbeating his class. He -expects everybody to talk book. I say, damn a book. I beg your pardon. -It is the first time I ever said that in the presence of a preacher." - -Bradley laughed. "It's all right, Mr. William, if you feel that way." - -"Is it? Then, I say, damn a book. What I want is action." - -"I subscribe to your doctrine concerning much of our literary output," -said the preacher. - -William was so delighted at this that he seized the preacher's hand and -shook it with more of vigor than he was wont to put forth. "Good for -you, Bradley. I am half inclined to come to hear you preach." - -A twinkle in the Judge's eye showed that again he was playing in the -midst of his sorrow. "You'd never get there, William. You could never -settle on the date." - -"Oh, you be confound, John. I have settled on more dates than you ever -saw." He arose, went to the table and took up a pair of long shears. -"Let me take these to my room, will you? I want to clip out something -for my scrap-book." - -"Oh, I thought you damned a book. No, sir, put those shears right down -where you found them. You took my mucilage off yesterday and I had to go -after it--down where you found them." - -William put down the shears and looked angrily at the Judge. "Oh, I can -put them down." - -"Thank you." - -"May I have a cigar, John?" - -"Help yourself." - -"Much obliged." He went to the desk, took up a box of cigars and walked -out unnoticed by the Judge, who had turned his back, following a strand -of his sorrow, intertwined with a strand of humor, the two phases of -himself which he could not comprehend. He walked slowly to the wall, -and, turning, remarked, as he walked toward the preacher, "Bradley, I -feel as one waiting for something--some shadow." - -"I'm not a shadow," Agnes cried, skipping into the room. Bradley arose -with a bow. "No, for shadows may be dark," he replied. - -"Did you hear that, Mr. Judge? Did you hear him say that shadows may be -dark? Of course, for if they were bright they wouldn't be shadows. May -I sit here?" She sat on a corner of the long baize table swinging her -feet, as if the music in her soul impelled her to dance, Bradley mused. -"Why do you people stick in here all the time?" she went on. "Oh, I -see," she added, lifting her hand with a piece of paper adhering to it. -"You glue yourselves in here." She plucked off the paper, took out a -handkerchief, a dainty bit of lace, and wiped her hand. "Have you just -got here, Mr. Bradley? What's the news? Who's murdered on the West -Side? They have murdered somebody every day since I came, first one -side and then the other, and it's the West Side's turn today. Anybody -killed today?" - -"I don't know," Bradley replied, "but I hear that a prominent citizen -was sand-bagged last night--in front of a church." - -"Oh, for pity sake. And had he came out of a church fair? Did the -robber get any money?" - -"Bradley," said the Judge, "as William would say, she is putting it on -you." - -Bradley smiled, and said that it seemed so. Bodney stepped into the -room, halted as if confused, and as Bradley got up to shake hands with -him, hurriedly went out. Agnes spoke in an undertone to the preacher. -"Mr. Bodney is worried, too. And it makes me awfully sorry to see the -Judge so distressed at times. Can't you do something for him?" - -"I can simply advise him not to worry, that's all." - -"Beg him not to be so sad. I don't see how he can be. Everything is so -bright." - -The Judge went to the desk to get a cigar. "That rascal has taken every -one of my cigars. Now, I've got to find him to recover my property." -He went out, and they heard him calling William. - -"They have to watch Mr. William all the time," said Agnes. "He carries -off everything he can get his hands on. They say his room looks like a -junk shop." - -Bradley nodded in acknowledgment, and after a short silence, full of -meditation, he said: "You seem still to enjoy your visit. And I hope -you are not thinking of going home." - -"Ah, ha, I am having a lovely time. Isn't it a nice place to visit. -They make you feel so much at home, snap at each other if they want to, -just as if you weren't here. That's the way for people to do; make you -feel at home. But they are just as good as they can be, and their -little spats are so full of fun to me, only it makes me sad to see the -Judge worry. Yes, I am having a lovely time. I went to the vaudeville -yesterday, and tomorrow I am going to your church." - -"Oh, you are?" Bradley laughed. - -"Ah, ha. Oh, do you know what I heard about you? I heard you were seen -walking along the street with a drunken man." - -"Yes, a friend of mine. And if a preacher shouldn't support a -staggering brother, who should?" - -"Oh, how human. I like you for that?" - -"Do you?" - -"Yes, I do." - -"And for that alone?" - -"Oh, no, I like you for that and for a good many other things. I think -I could have lots of fun with you." - -"Fun with me?" The preacher was thinking of a summer evening in Aldine -Square, the music of the fountain, the sweetness of the flowers. - -"Ah, ha. There's something about you that makes me feel like a little -girl. And I dreamed that you took me by the hand and led me along." - -"Agnes, let me lead you." - -She slid off the corner of the table and stood with her hands flat -together, like a delighted child, but suddenly she looked up with -seriousness in her eyes. "But now you make me feel like a woman." - -The Judge came in. Bradley spoke almost in a whisper. "But a woman -might be led by a man." And then to the Judge he remarked, striving to -hide his annoyance at the interruption: "I see you have recovered your -property." - -The Judge sat down on a chair near the table. "Yes, some of it. William -is a good grabber, but he gives up after an argument, and there is some -virtue in that." - -"What was in the paper that worried Mr. Bodney so?" Agnes asked, -speaking to the Judge. - -"I don't know. Has anything worried him?" - -"Yes, I saw him grabbing the paper as if he would tear it to pieces." - -"Ball game, probably," said the Judge, and then looking at Agnes he -added: "Nothing seems to bother you, little one." - -"No, sir. I won't let it. When I am worried something jumps this way," -she said, making an upward motion with her hands, indicating the sudden -rise of spirits, "and the bother is gone." - -The Judge spoke to Bradley. "The heart of youth jumps up and says boo -to a trouble and frightens it away." - -"Ah," replied Bradley, "and couldn't an older heart learn to boo a -trouble away?" - -The Judge shook his head. "The old heart crouches, but cannot jump." - -"Make it jump," Agnes cried. "Let me hear you laugh as you used to." - -"The saints laugh with an old man," said Bradley. - -"Don't," the Judge interposed, with a slow gesture. "Your roses are -pretty, but you bring them to a funeral. No, I don't mean that. I mean -that I am simply worried over a little matter, but I am getting better -and will be all right pretty soon. I shall be my old self in a very -short time." Bodney entered, and stood looking fixedly at the Judge. -"What is it, George?" - -Bodney nodded to Bradley and Agnes. "I beg your pardon, but I must see -the Judge alone." - -Bradley asked Agnes if she would accept of banishment with him. "Yes," -she said. "Come on." - -"It is not necessary," the Judge spoke up. "We can--" - -"I beg your pardon," Bodney broke in, "but it is necessary." - -"Of course it is," Agnes declared. "As Mr. William would say, we are -not in the plot." - -"No," said Bodney, bowing to her. - -As they were going out, the Judge called to the preacher. "Don't go -away without seeing me again, Bradley. I want you to spend the day with -me." - -Bodney leaned against the table, stepped off, came back, and stood -looking down upon the Judge. The old man glanced up. "Well?" - -It was some time before Bodney could speak. His words seemed dry in his -mouth. At last he began: "I carried half of a heavy load. Something -has thrown the other half on me, and I can't stand up under -it--dispatch--railroad wreck--" - -The Judge jumped out of his chair. "What!" - -Bodney continued. "Yes. Goyle is dead." - -"Oh, Goyle. I was afraid--where?" - -"In Michigan, at fifteen minutes to eleven, yesterday. I have cause to -note the time. The load--" - -"Well, go ahead. But let me tell you now, George, you have no cause to -regret the broken association. I deplore the man's death, of course, -but I begun to feel that his influence upon you was bad. I had begun to -dream about him, and to fear that he had a strange influence upon me. -But go ahead." - -"Half of it was crushing me, and I can't stand it all. I--" - -"Why, what's the matter? What are you trying to tell. Go ahead." - -"Judge, Goyle robbed the safe--Goyle and I--wait--I gave him the -combination--he made up for Howard--I--" - -The Judge seized the shears and raised them high above his head, his -eyes fixed on Bodney's breast. Bodney did not flinch. The old man -raised his eyes, to meet a steady gaze; and he stood with the shears -high in his hand. He had uttered no outcry, no sound came from him, no -sound that could have been heard beyond the door--only a low groan, like -the moan of a fever-stricken man, turning over in his sleep. - -[Illustration: The Judge seized the shears and raised them high above -his head.] - -"Kill me, Judge, I deserve it." - -The shears fell from the old man's hand, and he dropped upon the chair, -his arms upon the table and his face upon them. - -"I wish you had struck me." - -With a slight motion of the hand the Judge waved him off. Bodney -continued: "For your heart there is a cure. There is none for mine. I -was a fool, I was caught, I gambled, I couldn't quit, that snake held -me, charmed me, hypnotized me. I knocked him down and he bled black on -the floor, and I left him lying there, but I could not break loose from -him." - -The Judge waved him off. "Don't tempt me to look upon your face again." - -Bodney did not move. "The old laugh that they have spoken so much about -may return; old confidences and an old love will be restored, but there -must be a wanderer that can never come back, a fool whom nature made -weak. But I feel that if you would give me your hand--I am not -deserving of it--but I feel that if I could once more touch that -honorable hand, I could go forth an honest man. I would try." - -The Judge slowly raised his head. Tears were in his eyes. He held -forth his hand. Bodney grasped it, and--was gone. - - - - - *CHAPTER XXIV.* - - *SENT A MESSAGE.* - - -William went to the office door and found it locked. This was so -singular a happening that the old fellow stalked about the house, -marveling over it and complaining against an innovation that shut a man -out of an apartment that had served so long as a sort of public domain. -It was like the closing of a park or a county road. Everyone laughed at -him and he snorted. In the vocabulary of William's contempt, the snort -was the strongest expression. "It is all right to laugh," said he, "but -I want to tell you that there has got to be a change here." He returned -to the office door and knocked upon it, but his knuckles aroused no heed -within. He could hear the Judge walking up and down. Bodney had been -gone nearly half an hour. But the Judge had not noted the time. To -him, life was but a conflicting, mental eternity, and he was in the -whirling midst of it. For a long time he sat with his head on the -table, one arm stretched out before him, the other hanging limp; then he -staggered about the room, and then sat down with his head in his hands. -To the eye turned inward all was black, till gradually a light appeared, -seeming softly to shine upon a hideous shape, crouching in a dark -corner. He gazed upon it, and it spoke, shrinking further back from the -soft light. "I am your injustice," it said. He got up, raised a -window, and stood looking out upon the sunlight in the street. But he -shivered as if with cold, and his lips moved as if he were talking and -swallowing his words down into deep silence. A gladness began to form -in his heart. His son was innocent, but in that innocence there was a -reproach. He had been unnatural as a father, and might he not many a -time have been unjust as a judge? He acknowledged to himself that he -must have decided in favor of error while on the bench. His retirement -was a sort of unconscious justice. He realized that his mind had not -been sound. He had felt a coming weakness. But now he felt a coming -strength. The trial through which he had passed must have served as a -test. It was to restore or ruin his mental life. But why should there -have been such a test, and why should the innocent have suffered? It -would not do to reason, and he banished the test idea, fighting it off. -Still, he acknowledged that his mind had sickened and that now it was -gaining strength. He remembered his frivolity and loathed it, his jokes -with William at a time when his heart was heavy and swollen. "Unnatural -as a father and inconsistent as a man," he muttered. "But who is to -judge of man's naturalness? One kink in the mind and the entire world -is changed." William knocked again, and now the Judge opened the door. -The old fellow looked at his brother and exclaimed: - -"Why, what has happened, John?" - -"Nothing, except that I have been really ill. But I am almost -recovered. My mind has passed through a sort of crisis, William. I can -now look back and see that I was not right. My present strength tells -me of my former weakness. I am soon to be entirely well." - -"Well, I am glad to hear that. It is particularly gratifying to me. -And I suppose that you are, or, at least, soon will be, willing to -concede that I am sometimes correct with regards to my dates." - -"Yes, but we won't mention that. It is of no importance." - -"What! No importance? Take care, John, you'll get back where you were, -for when a man says that a date is of no importance, he's in danger." - -"William, I want you to do me a favor. I am almost afraid to trust -myself to go out just now. Wait a moment." He went to his desk, found a -telegraph blank, and upon it wrote the following message: "The light has -broken. Come back at once." William read the words and looked at him. -"Go to the station," said the Judge, "and send this to Howard, in care -of the conductor. It is not a secret, mind you, but don't stay to show -it. They would delay you with puzzling over it." - -"All right, I'll jump into a cab and go right over. I know the station. -It's only a few blocks from here. He didn't go all the way down town. -I heard him tell his mother. By the way," William added, "I found one -of Howard's French books--" - -"Put it back where you found it." - -"What, you haven't flopped, have you?" - -"I don't know what you mean." - -"Why, you said that French literature was the--" - -"It is the civilizing force of the modern world. Go on, please. Just a -moment. Tell Florence that I wish to see her." - -When Florence came in her face was radiant. William had spread the news -of Howard's recall. "Ah," said the Judge, "you know that I have sent for -him." - -"Yes, father," she replied, going up to him with outstretched hands. He -took her in his arms and kissed her. "What has happened?" she asked. - -"The atmosphere is cleared, my dear." - -"But, what cleared it?" - -"The truth. You were right. I saw a vision." - -She looked at him. "But what was it that brother saw?" - -"Ah," said the old man, shaking his head, "you are shrewd. You are not -willing to let it pass. Florence, we both saw Goyle disguised with his -devilish art as Howard." - -She gazed at him. "Is that all?" - -"All? Is not that enough for us to know, my child?" - -"But, why did brother happen to lead you into the office just at that -time?" - -"There, I have told enough, and what I have told you must not repeat. -If there is anything to come, Howard may tell you, but my wife must -never know that I have been so weak and unnatural a father." - -"But she can see that something must have occurred to change your -bearing toward Howard. Mr. William has told her that you have sent for -him, and she is in her room with tears of joy in her eyes." - -"Florence, I am striving to be calm, the master of myself. I don't -deserve to be happy--not yet. How could I have been so blind? And how -at times could I have indulged in levity with such a sorrow upon my -heart?" - -"It was the truth, father, striving to break through." - -He nodded his head. "Yes, and now we must tell her something. Ah, tell -her that a man came and brought me word that my brother is not dead. -Keep her from coming to me with any sort of demonstration. I can't -stand it. I must recall my old self and become gradually accustomed to -it. I must realize that it was all a dream and that it is passing away. -Tomorrow, with Howard, we may make a joke of it." - -"It will never be a joke with me." - -"No, my child, I did not mean that. It was a nightmare--a breath-shape -breathed upon us by the devil while we slept. But we are awake now, and -God's sun shines. Go to her and tell her that my brother is not dead." - -"I will. But, father, do you realize how resourceful you have made -me--how replete with falsehood? And must I not go into the closet and -pray for forgiveness?" - -"It was done for love, my dear; and love, which is the soul of all up -yonder, has forgiven already." - -Florence and Mrs. Elbridge entered the drawing room. "Who brought that -news that his brother was not dead?" Mrs. Elbridge asked. - -"A man. He was in a great hurry to catch a train and could not stop -long. He brought direct word from Mr. Henry himself." - -"Then there can be no doubt about it." - -"No. And I did not believe it in the first place." - -"Who is in there with him?" - -"I think Agnes and the preacher have just gone in." - -"This is a happy day," said Mrs. Elbridge, looking toward the door. - -"A day when falsehood may be told, but when truth is revealed," Florence -replied. "It is one of God's days." - -"All days are His, my dear." - -Florence slowly shook her head. "No, not all." - -The Judge came in. He put his arms about Mrs. Elbridge. "Rachel," he -said, "you shall never see my face gloomy again. I will go laughing -down into green old age, into the very moss of time." He motioned -toward the office. "In there is a beautiful picture of sweet distress." - -Mrs. Elbridge looked upon him with a trembling lip. "But, my dear, it -is not more beautiful than the fact that you sent for your son and that -you yourself have come back to us all." - -The Judge smiled. Florence could see that he was growing stronger, that -his mind was clearing. "He returns like a lost child suddenly finding -the path home," she said. - -"Faith has its wisdom and its reward," replied the Judge, looking at -her. "In the days of the New Testament, you would have been one of the -followers. You would have wiped His feet with your hair." And, looking -at his watch, he added: "I wonder why William doesn't come back." - -"It is not time," Mrs. Elbridge replied, glancing at the clock. - -"The minutes are hours, but clearing and strengthening hours," said the -Judge. He turned about and began to walk up and down the room, with all -the simpleness of his nature in his face. He did not look like a man -who had sat in judgment upon the actions of men. His heart had cried -for pardon, and a belief that it had come lighted his countenance. A -man who has been shrewd in the affairs of the world, sharp in practice, -suspicious, sometimes becomes simple and trustful in the love of a -grandchild. And at this time, the Judge might have reminded one of such -a man. - -Mrs. Elbridge stood in the door looking down the hall. The Judge halted -to speak to Florence. "Forgiveness," said he, "is the essence of all -that is noble in life. And do you forgive me?" - -"Yes," she said. "And I hope that I shall be forgiven all the -falsehoods I have been forced to tell." - -"They were for her, Florence, and there is a virtue in an untruth that -shields a heart." He moved closer to her and added: "I wonder at your -strength and marvel at my weakness." - -"You were groping in the dark. It was not your fault, but your nature." - -"And you are my daughter again." - -"Yes," said Florence, "in love and in duty." - -Mrs. Elbridge went out. The Judge and Florence sat down to wait for -William. He was a sort of way-station which must be reached before they -could arrive at Howard. The Judge told her of the darkness through -which he had passed, throwing new light upon it, as if she had not seen -it, as she stood by, holding a torch. He spoke of Goyle, of his strange -power; he told her of the newspaper cutting that gave account of his -mind-reading, and finally he told her of Bodney's confession. She was -prepared, and showed no agitation. But there was grief on her face. -Then he told her that he could not find it in his heart to condemn him. -"In your own words, Florence, it was not his fault, but his nature. I -will take him back, and not even Howard must know of his part in--in my -darkness." - -"Howard ought to know everything," she said. "But not now, my dear; by -degrees, as he shall be able to bear it. He is generous, and I believe -he will forgive." - -Mrs. Elbridge returned and stood in the door. "Here comes William," she -said. The Judge arose. William came in puffing. "We were looking for -you," said Mrs. Elbridge. - -"Well, now," replied the old fellow, "you don't have to look long for -me, I'll tell you that. I made the driver whip his horses all the way -there and back." - -"And are you sure that your message caught the train?" said the Judge. - -"Oh, I always fetch 'em whenever I go after 'em." - -"Are you sure you sent it all right?" the Judge asked. - -"John, I thought you'd get well. But, sir, you exhibit the most -alarming sign of sickness I have ever seen in you. Sure I sent it all -right! What other way do I ever do a thing? Of course I sent it all -right. The train wasn't far out, and there's one back every few -minutes." - -"It seems that he has been gone a year instead of two hours," said the -Judge. - -Florence smiled at him. "And are we to be married in secret?" she -asked, speaking low. - -"My dear, that shall be as you please. I have only one wish--that it -shall be one of the happiest days of my life, and I believe that it will -be." - -"What day of the month is this?" William asked. - -"The fifth," the Judge answered. - -"Are you sure?" - -"I am sure it is not the tenth of June, sixty-three," said the Judge, -and was in deep regret at his levity at such a time, when his wife spoke -up, "Judge, please don't get him started." - -"Started!" William snorted. "Now--now, that's good. A man races all -the way to the station and back, and they talk about getting him -started." Suddenly he thrust his hands into his pockets and stood -staring at the wall. "Well, if that don't beat anything I ever saw." - -"What is the trouble?" the Judge asked. - -"Why, I dated that telegram the fourth." - -"You did!" Mrs. Elbridge cried. The Judge looked hard at his brother. -"It won't make any difference," said Florence. "He will know that it -was a mistake." - -"He will undoubtedly know who sent it," the Judge added. - -"I wonder why Mr. Bradley and Agnes stay in that dingy place," said Mrs. -Elbridge, always anxious to change the talk from William's dates. - -"The place may be dingy," replied the Judge, "but there are no cobwebs -hanging from the rafters in the abode of love." - -"Judge!" she said, giving him a smiling frown. - -"To some eyes," remarked Florence, half musingly, "there may be cobwebs -hanging from the rafters in love's abode, but to love they are strands -of gold." - -"Let us go out and watch for his coming," said Mrs. Elbridge, taking -Florence by the arm. They went out, leaving William staring at the -Judge. - -"By the way, what's this I happened to hear about brother Henry being -dead? I didn't know he was dead till he wasn't." - -"You didn't?" - -"I mean I heard the news of his death and the contradiction about the -same time. Why did you keep it from me?" - -"Oh, I knew there wasn't any truth in the report, and there wasn't -anything to be gained by telling you." - -"Anything to be gained. Do you only tell a man a thing when there is -something to be gained by it?" - -The Judge looked at the clock and then at his watch. "He ought to be -here pretty soon. I want everybody to keep away from me. I want to see -him first alone--in here." - -"But what's all this mystery about? I'll be hanged if you haven't put -my light under a bushel." - -"No, William, it is my light that has been under a bushel." - -"Everything may be all right, John, but I don't understand it. There -was something I wanted to say. Yes. In case I forget it, tell him the -date was a mistake." - -"You won't forget it, William. You never forget a mistaken date." - -"There you go again. Can't a man make a request?" - -"I believe a man can, William." - -"You don't believe anything of the sort, and you know it. But I won't -be left in the dark. I refuse to stumble in ignorance." He started -toward the door. - -"What are you going to do?" - -"I am going to get the morning paper and settle that date." - -"All right," said the Judge, as William went out. "And tell them out -there that I must see him here alone. Don't forget that." He walked up -and down the room and then stood at the door. "Do you see anything of -him yet?" he called to his wife. - -"Not yet. It isn't time. But here's a cab. It's going to stop--no, -it's gone on." - -"Let me get there," said the Judge, as if the others were responsible -for the fact that the cab had not halted and put Howard down at the -door. A moment after he went out Bradley and Agnes entered the room. -"They are gone to watch for him. Shall we go, too?" the girl asked, -looking at him with a mischievous quiz in her eyes. - -"No, let us stop here a moment. Strange, isn't it, his going away and -coming back so soon?" - -They sat on a sofa, looking at each other as if new interests were -constantly springing up. - -"We have talked all over the house," she said. "I feel as if I have been -on an excursion. Yes, it is strange. Don't you think they have -quarreled?" - -"Perhaps--but it will bring them closer together." - -"Yes," she said, "but I wouldn't like to quarrel just to be brought -closer together. I wonder why Mr. Bodney went away, too." - -"And you ask?" - -"Yes, didn't you hear me? I heard him muttering as he went out. And I -understood him to say that he wasn't coming back any more." - -"I thought you knew why he went." - -"Thought I did? How was I to know?" - -"I could not help but think--" - -"What did you think?" she broke in. - -"That he had asked you to be his wife and--" - -"Oh, he never thought of such a thing." - -"And if he should?" - -"I'd tell him no, of course." - -"You may have to say yes sometime, Agnes." - -She looked down. "I won't have to--but I may." - -"Agnes, do you know what love is?" - -"What a question. Of course I do." - -"What is it?" - -"Oh, it's er--er--don't you know what it is?" - -"Yes, Agnes, it is a glorious defeat of the heart." - -"Oh, I don't think so. It's more a victory than a defeat." - -"No, the heart surrenders." They heard the Judge exclaim, "No, it is -not going to stop." - -"Agnes, did your heart ever surrender?" - -"You must not ask me that." - -"Why not? Did your heart ever fight till it was so tired that it had to -give up--surrender?" - -"You mustn't ask me that. You'll make me cry." She hid her eyes. - -"In sorrow, Agnes?" - -"No--no, in happiness." - -He put his arms about her, kissed her, pouring forth his dream of the -fountain and the evening in summer. The Judge startled them. "Don't -let me disturb your tableau," he said, laughing, "but I must see my son -in here alone, not in the office where--where the safe is." - -"Come," said Bradley, taking Agnes by the hand, "Let us watch with -them." - -As they arose the Judge looked at Agnes. "Ah, I see happiness in your -face, little one. Keep it there, Bradley, for it is God-given." He -took the preacher's hand. "God bless you, Bradley. You are a good -fellow." - -"Don't call him fellow, Mr. Judge," said the girl, pretending to pout. - -"Yes, fellow," Bradley replied. "It is closer to the weakness of man." - -"Closer to his heart, Bradley," said the Judge. - -"Yes," said Bradley, and then he spoke to Agnes. "Come with me." - -"Anywhere with you," she replied, taking his arm and looking up into his -face. They passed out, and the Judge stood, waiting. William appeared -at the door. "It's all right now, John." - -"What's all right?" - -"That date--the one that caused so much trouble one night. It was on -the tenth." - -"Is it finally settled?" the Judge asked, listening. - -"Yes, sir, finally, and nothing can throw me off. Here comes Howard." -The Judge motioned, and William withdrew. Howard's footsteps were -heard. The old man stood with his face turned from the door, striving -to master himself. He felt that surely he should break down. Howard -stepped into the room. "Father," he said. The Judge turned, and, -perfectly calm, held forth his hand. Howard grasped it. "My son, let us -be masters of ourselves. Let us be strong, for you will have need of -strength. I have something to tell you." - -"No," Howard replied. "You have nothing to tell. George met me at the -station and told me. I have forgiven him. I know how he has suffered. -I have seen his struggles. He must not be sent away. I have brought him -back with me. He is out there." - -"Howard," said the old man, "you are a noble fellow." - -Howard stepped to the door and called Bodney. When he entered the Judge -said: "George, I am going to rent an office in a modern building. That -old place is worn out. We are going to start new. Ah, come in, -Florence." - -"I have simply come to tell you that dinner is ready," she said, with -tears in her eyes. - -"Yes," said the Judge. "Come, boys." Florence led the way, looking -back, smiling, and the old man went out between Bodney and Howard, with -his hands resting on their shoulders. In the hall stood Agnes, the -preacher and William. The preacher was speaking. "If there were but -one word to express all the qualities of God, I should select the word -forgiveness," he said. - - - - - THE END. - - - - - - -*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK JUDGE ELBRIDGE *** - - - - -A Word from Project Gutenberg - - -We will update this book if we find any errors. - -This book can be found under: http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/46699 - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, so -the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United -States without permission and without paying copyright royalties. -Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this -license, apply to copying and distributing Project Gutenberg(tm) -electronic works to protect the Project Gutenberg(tm) concept and -trademark. Project Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be -used if you charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific -permission. 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