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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/4790-h.zip b/4790-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..6e2e145 --- /dev/null +++ b/4790-h.zip diff --git a/4790-h/4790-h.htm b/4790-h/4790-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..900303c --- /dev/null +++ b/4790-h/4790-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,16542 @@ +<!DOCTYPE HTML PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD HTML 4.01 Transitional//EN"> +<HTML> +<HEAD> + +<META HTTP-EQUIV="Content-Type" CONTENT="text/html; charset=iso-8859-1"> + +<TITLE> +The Project Gutenberg E-text of Half a Rogue, by Harold MacGrath +</TITLE> + +<STYLE TYPE="text/css"> +BODY { color: Black; + background: White; + margin-right: 10%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; + text-align: justify } + +P {text-indent: 4% } + +P.noindent {text-indent: 0% } + +P.poem {text-indent: 0%; + margin-left: 10%; + font-size: small } + +P.letter {text-indent: 0%; + font-size: small ; + margin-left: 10% ; + margin-right: 10% } + +P.footnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.transnote {font-size: small ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.intro {font-size: medium ; + text-indent: -5% ; + margin-left: 5% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +P.finis { font-size: larger ; + text-align: center ; + text-indent: 0% ; + margin-left: 0% ; + margin-right: 0% } + +</STYLE> + +</HEAD> + +<BODY> + + +<pre> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Half a Rogue, by Harold MacGrath + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Half a Rogue + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Posting Date: September 11, 2009 [EBook #4790] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 20, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALF A ROGUE *** + + + + +Produced by Duncan Harrod. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +Half A Rogue +</H1> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +By +</H3> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Harold MacGrath +</H2> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +To The Memory Of My Mother +</H3> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<TABLE ALIGN="center" WIDTH="60%"> +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">I</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">II</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">III</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">IV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">V</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">VI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">VII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">VIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap09">IX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top" WIDTH="10%"> +<A HREF="#chap10">X</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +<TR> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap11">XI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap12">XII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap13">XIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap14">XIV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap15">XV</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap16">XVI</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap17">XVII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap18">XVIII</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap19">XIX</A> +</TD> +<TD ALIGN="left" VALIGN="top"> +<A HREF="#chap20">XX</A> +</TD> +</TR> + +</TABLE> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +Half A Rogue +</H2> + +<BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter I +</H3> + +<P> +It was Warrington's invariable habit—when no business or social +engagement pressed him to go elsewhere—to drop into a certain quaint +little restaurant just off Broadway for his dinners. It was out of the +way; the throb and rattle of the great commercial artery became like +the far-off murmur of the sea, restful rather than annoying. He always +made it a point to dine alone, undisturbed. The proprietor nor his +silent-footed waiters had the slightest idea who Warrington was. To +them he was simply a profitable customer who signified that he dined +there in order to be alone. His table was up stairs. Below, there was +always the usual dinner crowd till theater time; and the music had the +faculty of luring his thoughts astray, being, as he was, fonder of +music than of work. As a matter of fact, it was in this little +restaurant that he winnowed the day's ideas, revamped scenes, trimmed +the rough edges of his climaxes, revised this epigram or rejected this +or that line; all on the backs of envelopes and on the margins of +newspapers. In his den at his bachelor apartments, he worked; but here +he dreamed, usually behind the soothing, opalescent veil of Madame +Nicotine. +</P> + +<P> +What a marvelous thing a good after-dinner cigar is! In the smoke of +it the poor man sees his ships come in, the poet sees his muse +beckoning with hands full of largess, the millionaire reverts to his +early struggles, and the lover sees his divinity in a thousand +graceful poses. +</P> + +<P> +To-night, however, Warrington's cigar was without magic. He was out of +sorts. Things had gone wrong at the rehearsal that morning. The star +had demanded the removal of certain lines which gave the leading man +an opportunity to shine in the climax of the third act. He had labored +a whole month over this climax, and he revolted at the thought of +changing it to suit the whim of a capricious woman. +</P> + +<P> +Everybody had agreed that this climax was the best the young dramatist +had yet constructed. A critic who had been invited to a reading had +declared that it lacked little of being great. And at this late hour +the star wanted it changed in order to bring her alone in the +lime-light! It was preposterous. As Warrington was on the first wave +of popularity, the business manager and the stage manager both agreed +to leave the matter wholly in the dramatist's hands. He resolutely +declined to make a single alteration in the scene. There was a fine +storm. The star declared that if the change was not made at once she +would leave the company. In making this declaration she knew her +strength. Her husband was rich; a contract was nothing to her. There +was not another actress of her ability to be found; the season was too +late. There was not another woman available, nor would any other +manager lend one. As the opening performance was but two weeks hence, +you will realize why Warrington's mood this night was anything but +amiable. +</P> + +<P> +He scowled at his cigar. There was always something, some sacrifice to +make, and seldom for art's sake. It is all very well to witness a play +from the other side of the footlights; everything appears to work out +so smoothly, easily and without effort. To this phenomenon is due the +amateur dramatist—because it looks simple. A play is not written; it +is built, like a house. In most cases the dramatist is simply the +architect. The novelist has comparatively an easy road to travel. The +dramatist is beset from all sides, now the business manager—that is +to say, the box-office—now the stage manager, now the star, now the +leading man or woman. Jealousy's green eyes peer from behind every +scene. The dramatist's ideal, when finally presented to the public, +resembles those mutilated marbles that decorate the museums of Rome +and Naples. Only there is this difference: the public can easily +imagine what the sculptor was about, but seldom the dramatist. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington was a young man, tolerably good-looking, noticeably well +set up. When they have good features, a cleft chin and a generous +nose, clean-shaven men are good to look at. He had fine eyes, in the +corners of which always lurked mirth and mischief; for he possessed +above all things an inexhaustible fund of dry humor. His lines seldom +provoked rough laughter; rather, silent chuckles. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's scowl abated none. In business, women were generally +nuisances; they were always taking impossible stands. He would find +some way out; he was determined not to submit to the imperious fancies +of an actress, however famous she might be. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir, will you aid a lady in distress?" The voice was tremulous, but +as rich in tone as the diapason of an organ. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington looked up from his cigar to behold a handsome young woman +standing at the side of his table. Her round, smooth cheeks were +flushed, and on the lower lids of her splendid dark eyes tears of +shame trembled and threatened to fall. Behind her stood a waiter, of +impassive countenance, who was adding up the figures on a check, his +movement full of suggestion. +</P> + +<P> +The dramatist understood the situation at once. The young lady had +ordered dinner, and, having eaten it, found that she could not pay for +it. It was, to say the least, a trite situation. But what can a man do +when a pretty woman approaches him and pleads for assistance? So +Warrington rose. +</P> + +<P> +"What may the trouble be?" he asked coldly, for all that he instantly +recognized her to be a person of breeding and refinement. +</P> + +<P> +"I—I have lost my purse, and I have no money to pay the waiter." She +made this confession bravely and frankly. +</P> + +<P> +He looked about. They were alone. She interpreted his glance rather +shrewdly. +</P> + +<P> +"There were no women to appeal to. The waiter refused to accept my +word, and I really can't blame him. I had not even the money to send a +messenger home." +</P> + +<P> +One of the trembling tears escaped and rolled down the blooming cheek. +Warrington surrendered. He saw that this was an exceptional case. The +girl was truly in distress. He knew his New York thoroughly; a man or +woman without funds is treated with the finished cruelty with which +the jovial Romans amused themselves with the Christians. Lack of money +in one person creates incredulity in another. A penniless person is +invariably a liar and a thief. Only one sort of person is pitied in +New York: the person who has more money than she or he can possibly +spend. +</P> + +<P> +The girl fumbled in her hand-bag and produced a card, which she gave +to Warrington—"Katherine Challoner." He looked from the card to the +girl and then back to the card. Somehow, the name was not wholly +unfamiliar, but at that moment he could not place it. +</P> + +<P> +"Waiter, let me see the check," he said. It amounted to two dollars +and ten cents. Warrington smiled. "Scarcely large enough to cause all +this trouble," he added reassuringly. "I will attend to it." +</P> + +<P> +The waiter bowed and withdrew. So long as the check was paid he did +not care who paid it. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it is so horribly embarrassing! What must you think of me?" She +twisted her gloves with a nervous strength which threatened to rend +them. +</P> + +<P> +"May I give you a bit of friendly advice?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, hiding the fall of the second tear. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, never dine alone in public; at any rate, in the evening. It is +not wise for a woman to do so. She subjects herself to any number of +embarrassments." +</P> + +<P> +She did not reply, and for a moment he believed that she was about to +break down completely. He aimlessly brushed the cigar ashes from the +tablecloth. He hated a scene in public. In the theater it was +different; it was a part of the petty round of business to have the +leading lady burst into tears when things didn't suit her. What fools +women are in general! But the girl surprised him by holding up +determinedly, and sinking her white teeth into her lips to smother the +sob which rose in her throat. +</P> + +<P> +"Be seated," he said, drawing out the opposite chair. +</P> + +<P> +A wave of alarm spread over her face. She clasped her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir, if you are a gentleman—" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington interrupted her by giving her his card, which was +addressed. She glanced at it through a blur of tears, then sat down. +He shrugged his shoulders slightly; his vanity was touched. There was, +then, a young woman in New York who had not heard of Richard +Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"In asking you to be seated," he explained, "it was in order that you +might wait in comfort while I despatched a messenger to your home. +Doubtless you have a brother, a father, or some male relative, who +will come at once to your assistance." Which proved that Warrington +was prudent. +</P> + +<P> +But instead of brightening as he expected she would, she straightened +in her chair, while her eyes widened with horror, as if she saw +something frightful in perspective. +</P> + +<P> +What the deuce could be the matter now? he wondered, as he witnessed +this inexplicable change. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! You must not send a messenger!" she protested. +</P> + +<P> +"But—" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no!" tears welling into her beautiful eyes again. They were +beautiful, he was forced to admit. +</P> + +<P> +"But," he persisted, "you wished the waiter to do so. I do not +understand." His tone became formal again. +</P> + +<P> +"I have reasons. Oh, heavens! I am the most miserable woman in all the +world!" She suddenly bowed her head upon her hands and her shoulders +rose and fell with silent sobs. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stared at her, dumfounded. NOW what? He glanced cautiously +around as if in search of some avenue of escape. The waiter, ever +watchful, assumed that he was wanted, and made as though to approach +the table; but Warrington warned him off. All distrust in the girl +vanished. Decidedly she was in great trouble of some sort, and it +wasn't because she could not pay a restaurant check. Women—and +especially New York women—do not shed tears when a stranger offers to +settle for their dinner checks. +</P> + +<P> +"If you will kindly explain to me what the trouble is," visibly +embarrassed, "perhaps I can help you. Have you run away from home?" +he asked. +</P> + +<P> +A negative nod. +</P> + +<P> +"Are you married?" +</P> + +<P> +Another negative nod. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington scratched his chin. "Have you done anything wrong?" +</P> + +<P> +A decided negative shake of the head. At any other time the +gesticulation of the ostrich plume, so close to his face, would have +amused him; but there was something eminently pathetic in the diapasm +which drifted toward him from the feather. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come; you may trust me thoroughly. If you are afraid to return +home alone—" +</P> + +<P> +He was interrupted by an affirmative nod this time. Possibly, he +conjectured, the girl had started out to elope and had fortunately +paused at the brink. +</P> + +<P> +"Will it help you at all if I go home with you?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +His ear caught a muffled "Yes." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington beckoned to the waiter. +</P> + +<P> +"Order a cab at once," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The waiter hurried away, with visions of handsome tips. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the girl raised her head and sat up. Her eyes, dark as +shadows in still waters, glistened. +</P> + +<P> +"Be perfectly frank with me; and if I can be of service to you, do not +hesitate to command me." He eyed her thoughtfully. Everything attached +to her person suggested elegance. Her skin was as fine as vellum; her +hair had a dash of golden bronze in it; her hands were white and +shapely, and the horn on the tips of the fingers shone rosily. Now, +what in the world was there to trouble a young woman who possessed +these favors, who wore jewels on her fingers and sable on her +shoulders? "Talk to me just as you would to a brother," he added +presently. +</P> + +<P> +"You will take this ring," she said irrelevantly. She slipped a fine +sapphire from one of her fingers and pushed it across the table. +</P> + +<P> +"And for what reason?" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +"Security for my dinner. I can not accept charity," with a hint of +hauteur which did not in the least displease him. +</P> + +<P> +"But, my dear young woman, I can not accept this ring. You have my +address. You may send the sum whenever you please. I see no reason +why, as soon as you arrive home, you can not refund the small sum of +two dollars and ten cents. It appears to me very simple." +</P> + +<P> +"There will be no one at home, not even the servants," wearily. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's brows came together. Was the girl fooling him, after all? +But for what reason? +</P> + +<P> +"You have me confused," he admitted. "I can do nothing blindly. Tell +me what the trouble is." +</P> + +<P> +"How can I tell you, an absolute stranger? It is all so frightful, and +I am so young!" +</P> + +<P> +Frightful? Young? He picked up his half-finished cigar, but +immediately let it fall. He stole a look at his watch; it was seven. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I know what you must think of me," despairingly. "Nobody believes +in another's real misfortune in this horrid city. There are so many +fraudulent methods used to obtain people's sympathies that every one +has lost trust. I had no money when I entered here; but outside it was +so dark. Whenever I stopped, wondering where I should go, men turned +and stared at me. Once a policeman peered into my face suspiciously. +And I dared not return home, I dared not! No, no; I promise not to +embarrass you with any more tears." She brushed her eyes with a rapid +movement. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's success as a dramatist was due largely to his interest in +all things that passed under his notice. Nothing was too trivial to +observe. The tragic threads of human life, which escaped the eyes of +the passing many or were ignored by them, always aroused his interest +and attention; and more than once he had picked up one of these +threads and followed it to the end. Out of these seemingly +insignificant things he often built one of those breathless, +nerve-gripping climaxes which had, in a few years' time, made him +famous. In the present case he believed that he had stumbled upon +something worthy his investigation. This handsome young woman, richly +dressed, who dared not go home, who had jewels but no money—there +was some mystery surrounding her, and he determined to find out what +it was. And then, besides, for all that he was worldly, he was young +and still believed in his Keats. +</P> + +<P> +"If, as you say, there is no one at your home, why do you fear to go +there?" he asked, with some remnant of caution. +</P> + +<P> +"It is the horror of the place," shuddering; "the horror!" And indeed, +at that moment, her face expressed horror. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it some one dead?" lowering his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Dead?" with a flash of cold anger in her eyes. "Yes—to me, to truth, +to honor; dead to everything that should make life worth the living. +Oh, it is impossible to say more in this place, to tell you here what +has happened this day to rob me of all my tender illusions. This +morning I awoke happy, my heart was light; now, nothing but shame and +misery!" She hid her eyes for a space behind the back of her hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I will take you home," he said simply. +</P> + +<P> +"You trust me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why not? I am a man, and can take care of myself." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you!" +</P> + +<P> +What a voice! It possessed a marvelous quality, low and penetrating, +like the voices of great singers and actresses. Any woman with such a +voice ... +</P> + +<P> +Here the waiter returned to announce that a cab awaited them in the +street below. Warrington paid the two checks, dropped a liberal tip, +rose and got into his coat. The girl also rose, picked up his card, +glanced carelessly at it, and put it into her hand-bag—a little +gold-link affair worth many dinners. It was the voice and these +evidences of wealth, more than anything else, that determined +Warrington. Frauds were always perpetrated for money, and this +exquisite creature had a small fortune on her fingers. +</P> + +<P> +Silently they left the restaurant, entered the cab, and went rolling +out into Broadway. Warrington, repressing his curiosity, leaned back +against the cushions. The girl looked dully ahead. +</P> + +<P> +What manner of tragedy was about to unfold itself to his gaze? +</P> + +<P> +The house was situated in Central Park, West. It was of modern +architecture, a residence such as only rich men can afford to build. +It was in utter gloom; not a single light could be seen at any window. +It looked, indeed, as if tragedy sat enthroned within. Warrington's +spine wrinkled a bit as he got out of the cab and offered his hand to +the girl. +</P> + +<P> +Mute and mysterious as a sphinx, the girl walked to the steps, not +even looking around to see if he was coming after her. Perhaps she +knew the power of curiosity. Without hesitance she mounted the steps; +he followed, a step behind. At the door, however, she paused. He could +hear her breath coming in quick gasps. Oddly enough, the recollection +of some detective stories flashed through his mind. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, nothing; only I am afraid." +</P> + +<P> +She stooped; there was a grating sound, a click, and the door opened. +Warrington was a man of courage, but he afterward confessed that it +took all his nerve force to move his foot across the threshold. +</P> + +<P> +"Do not be frightened," she said calmly; "there is nothing but ghosts +here to frighten any one." +</P> + +<P> +"Ghosts?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you brought me here to tell me a ghost story?" with an effort at +lightness. What misery the girl's tones conveyed to his ears! +</P> + +<P> +"The ghosts of things that ought to, and should, have been; are not +those the most melancholy?" She pressed a button and flooded the +hallway with light. +</P> + +<P> +His keen eyes roving met nothing but signs of luxury. She led him into +the library and turned on the lights. Not a servant anywhere in sight; +the great house seemed absolutely empty. Not even the usual cat or dog +came romping inquisitively into the room. The shelves of books stirred +his sense of envy; what a den for a literary man to wander in! There +were beautiful marbles, splendid paintings, taste and refinement +visible everywhere. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stood silently watching the girl as she took off her hat +and carelessly tossed it on the reading-table. The Russian sables were +treated with like indifference. The natural abundance of her hair +amazed him; and what a figure, so elegant, rounded, and mature! The +girl, without noticing him, walked the length of the room and back +several times. Once or twice she made a gesture. It was not addressed +to him, but to some conflict going on in her mind. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down on the edge of a chair and fell to twirling his hat, a +sign that he was not perfectly at his ease. +</P> + +<P> +"I am wondering where I shall begin," she said. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington turned down his coat-collar, and the action seemed to +relieve him of the sense of awkwardness. +</P> + +<P> +"Luxury!" she began, with a sweep of her hand which was full of +majesty and despair. "Why have I chosen you out of all the thousands? +Why should I believe that my story would interest you? Well, little as +I have seen of the world, I have learned that woman does not go to +woman in cases such as mine is." And then pathetically: "I know no +woman to whom I might go. Women are like daws; their sympathy comes +but to peck. Do you know what it is to be alone in a city? The desert +is not loneliness; it is only solitude. True loneliness is to be found +only in great communities. To be without a single friend or confidant, +when thousand of beings move about you; to pour your sorrows into +cold, unfeeling ears; to seek sympathy in blind eyes—that is +loneliness. That is the loneliness that causes the heart to break." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's eyes never left hers; he was fascinated. +</P> + +<P> +"Luxury!" she repeated bitterly. "Surrounding me with all a woman +might desire—paintings that charm the eye, books that charm the mind, +music that charms the ear. Money!" +</P> + +<P> +"Philosophy in a girl!" thought Warrington. His hat became motionless. +</P> + +<P> +"It is all a lie, a lie!" The girl struck her hands together, impotent +in her wrath. +</P> + +<P> +It was done so naturally that Warrington, always the dramatist, made a +mental note of the gesture. +</P> + +<P> +"I was educated in Paris and Berlin; my musical education was +completed in Dresden. Like all young girls with music-loving souls, I +was something of a poet. I saw the beautiful in everything; sometimes +the beauty existed only in my imagination. I dreamed; I was happy. I +was told that I possessed a voice such as is given to few. I sang +before the Emperor of Austria at a private musicale. He complimented +me. The future was bright indeed. Think of it; at twenty I retained +all my illusions! I am now twenty-three, and not a single illusion is +left. I saw but little of my father and mother, which is not unusual +with children of wealthy parents. The first shock that came to my +knowledge was the news that my mother had ceased to live with my +father. I was recalled. There were no explanations. My father met me +at the boat. He greeted my effusive caresses—caresses that I had +saved for years!—with careless indifference. This was the second +shock. What did it all mean? Where was my mother? My father did not +reply. When I reached home I found that all the servants I had known +in my childhood days were gone. From the new ones I knew that I should +learn nothing of the mystery which, like a pall, had suddenly settled +down upon me." +</P> + +<P> +She paused, her arms hanging listless at her sides, her gaze riveted +upon a pattern in the rug at her feet. Warrington sat like a man of +stone; her voice had cast a spell upon him. +</P> + +<P> +"I do not know why I tell you these things. It may weary you. I do not +care. Madness lay in silence. I had to tell some one. This morning I +found out all. My mother left my father because he was ... a thief!" +</P> + +<P> +"A thief!" fell mechanically from Warrington's lips. +</P> + +<P> +"A thief, bold, unscrupulous; not the petty burglar, no. A man who has +stolen funds intrusted to him for years; a man who has plundered the +orphan and the widow, the most despicable of all men. My mother died +of shame, and I knew nothing. My father left last night for South +America, taking with him all the available funds, leaving me a curt +note of explanation. I have neither money, friends, nor home. The +newspapers as yet know nothing; but to-morrow, to-morrow! The banks +have seized everything." +</P> + +<P> +She continued her story. Sometimes she was superb in her wrath; at +others, abject in her misery. She seemed to pass through the whole +gamut of the passions. +</P> + +<P> +And all this while it ran through Warrington's head—"What a theme for +a play! What a voice!" +</P> + +<P> +He pitied the girl from the bottom of his heart; but what could he do +for her other than offer her cold sympathy? He was ill at ease in the +face of this peculiar tragedy. +</P> + +<P> +All at once the girl stopped and faced him, There was a smile on her +lips, a smile that might be likened to a flash of sunlight on a wintry +day. Directly the smile melted into a laugh, mellow, mischievous, +reverberating. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington sat up stiffly in his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I beg your pardon!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +The girl sat down before a small writing-table. She reached among some +papers and finally found what she sought. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Warrington, all this has been in very bad taste; I frankly +confess it. There are two things you may do: leave the house in anger, +or remain to forgive me this imposition." +</P> + +<P> +"I fail to understand." He was not only angered, but bewildered. +</P> + +<P> +"I have deceived you." +</P> + +<P> +"You mean that you have lured me here by trick? That you have played +upon my sympathies to gratify ..." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a moment," she interrupted proudly, her cheeks darkening richly. +"A trick, it is true; but there are extenuating circumstances. What I +have told you HAS happened, only it was not to-day nor yesterday. +Please remain seated till I have done. I AM poor; I WAS educated in +the cities I have named; I have to earn my living." +</P> + +<P> +She rose and came over to his chair. She gave him a letter. +</P> + +<P> +"Read this; you will fully understand." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington experienced a mild chill as he saw a letter addressed to +him, and his rude scribble at the bottom of it. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Challoner—I beg to state that I have neither the time nor the +inclination to bother with amateur actresses. Richard Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"It was scarcely polite, was it?" she asked, with a tinge of irony. +"It was scarcely diplomatic, either, you will admit. I simply asked +you for work. Surely, an honest effort to obtain employment ought not +to be met with insolence." +</P> + +<P> +He stared dumbly at the evidence in his hand. He recalled distinctly +the rage that was in his heart when he penned this note. The stage +manager had lost some valuable manuscript that had to be rewritten +from memory, the notes having been destroyed. +</P> + +<P> +"For weeks," said the girl, "I have tried to get a hearing. Manager +after manager I sought; all refused to see me. I have suffered a +hundred affronts, all in silence. Your manager I saw, but he referred +me to you, knowing that probably I should never find you. But I was +determined. So I wrote; that was your answer. I confess that at the +time I was terribly angry, for courtesy is a simple thing and within +reach of every one." +</P> + +<P> +To receive a lesson in manners from a young woman, when that young +woman is handsome and talented, is not a very pleasant experience. But +Warrington was, a thorough gentleman, and he submitted with grace. +</P> + +<P> +"I know that you are a busy man, that you are besieged with +applications. You ought, at least, to have formal slips, such as +editors have. I have confidence in my ability to act, the confidence +which talent gives to all persons. After receiving your letter I was +more than ever determined to see you. So I resorted to this +subterfuge. It was all very distasteful to me; but I possess a vein of +wilfulness. This is not my home. It is the home of a friend who was +kind enough to turn it over to me this night, relying upon my wit to +bring about this meeting." +</P> + +<P> +"It was neatly done," was Warrington's comment. He was not angry now +at all. In fact, the girl interested him tremendously. "I am rather +curious to learn how you went about it." +</P> + +<P> +"You are not angry?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was." +</P> + +<P> +This seemed to satisfy her. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, first I learned where you were in the habit of dining. All day +long a messenger has been following you. A telephone brought me to the +restaurant. The rest you know. It was simple." +</P> + +<P> +"Very simple," laconically. +</P> + +<P> +"You listened and believed. I have been watching you. You believed +everything I have told you. You have even been calculating how this +scene might go in a play. Have I convinced you that I have the ability +to act?" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington folded the letter and balanced it on his palm. +</P> + +<P> +"You have fooled me completely; that ought to be sufficient +recommendation." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." But her eyes were eager with anxiety. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Challoner, I apologize for this letter. I do more than that. I +promise not to leave this house till you agree to call at the theater +at ten to-morrow morning." He was smiling, and Warrington had a +pleasant smile. He had an idea besides. "Good fortune put it into my +head to follow you here. I see it all now, quite plainly. I am in a +peculiar difficulty, and I honestly believe that you can help me out +of it. How long would it take you to learn a leading part? In fact, +the principal part?" +</P> + +<P> +"A week." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you had any experience?" +</P> + +<P> +"A short season out west in a stock company." +</P> + +<P> +"Good!" +</P> + +<P> +"And I love work." +</P> + +<P> +"Do not build any great hopes," he warned, "for your chance depends +upon the whim of another woman. But you have my word and my good +offices that something shall be put in your way. You will come at +ten?" drawing on his gloves. +</P> + +<P> +"Promptly." +</P> + +<P> +"I believe that we both have been wise to-night; though it is true +that a man dislikes being a fool and having it made manifest." +</P> + +<P> +"And how about the woman scorned?" with an enchanting smile. +</P> + +<P> +"It is kismet," he acknowledged. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter II +</H3> + +<P> +Warrington laid down his pen, brushed his smarting eyes, lighted his +pipe, and tilted back his chair. With his hands clasped behind his +head, he fell into a waking dream, that familiar pastime of the +creative mind. It was half after nine, and he had been writing +steadily since seven. The scenario was done; the villain had lighted +his last cigarette, the hero had put his arms protectingly around the +heroine, and the irascible rich uncle had been brought to terms. All +this, of course, figuratively speaking; for no one ever knew what the +plot of that particular play was, insomuch as Warrington never +submitted the scenario to his manager, an act which caused almost a +serious rupture between them. But to-night his puppets were moving +hither and thither across the stage, pulsing with life; they were +making entrances and exits; developing this climax and that; with wit +and satire, humor and pathos. It was all very real to the dreamer. +</P> + +<P> +The manuscript lay scattered about the top of his broad flat desk, and +the floor beside the waste-basket was flaked with the remains of +various futile lines and epigrams. The ash-pan was littered with burnt +matches, ends of cigars and pipe tobacco, while the ash-crumbs +speckled all dark objects, not excepting the green rug under his feet. +Warrington smoked incessantly while at work, now a cigarette, now a +cigar, now a pipe. Specialists declare with cold authoritative +positiveness that the use of tobacco blunts the thought, dulls the +edge of invention; but Warrington knew better. Many a night he had +thrown his coat over his smoking-jacket and dashed down the street to +the corner drug-store for a fresh supply of tobacco. He simply could +not work without it. I do not know that he saw his heroes and heroines +any plainer for the smoke; but I do know that when their creator held +a cigar between his teeth, they frowned less, and the spirit of malice +and irony, of which he was master, became subdued. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington was thirty-five now. The grey hair at the temples and the +freshness of his complexion gave him a singularly youthful appearance. +His mouth was even-lipped and rather pleasure-loving, which, without +the balance of a strong nose, would have appealed to you as +effeminate. Warrington's was what the wise phrenologists call the +fighting nose; not pugnacious, but the nose of a man who will fight +for what he believes to be right, fight bitterly and fearlessly. +To-day he was famous, but only yesterday he had been fighting, +retreating, throwing up this redoubt, digging this trench; fighting, +fighting. Poverty, ignorance and contempt he fought; fought +dishonesty, and vice, and treachery, and discouragement. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he leaned toward the desk and picked up a letter. He read it +thoughtfully, and his brows drew together. A smile, whimsically sad, +stirred his lips, and was gone. It was written by a girl or a very +young woman. There was no signature, no address, no veiled request for +an autograph. It was one of those letters which bring to the novelist +or dramatist, or any man of talent, a real and singular pleasure. It +is precious because honest and devoid of the tawdry gilt of flattery. +</P> + +<P> +Richard Warrington—You will smile, I know, when you read this letter, +doubtless so many like it are mailed to you day by day. You will toss +it into the waste-basket, too, as it deserves to be. But it had to be +written. However, I feel that I am not writing to a mere stranger, but +to a friend whom I know well. Three times you have entered into my +life, and on each occasion you have come by a different avenue. I was +ill at school when you first appeared to me. It was a poem in a +magazine. It was so full of the spirit of joyousness, so full of +kindliness, so rich in faith and hope, that I cried over it, cut it +out and treasured it, and re-read it often in the lonely hours when +things discouraged me,—things which mean so little to women but so +much to girls. Two years went by, and then came that brave book! It +was like coming across a half-forgotten friend. I actually ran home +with it, and sat up all night to complete it. It was splendid. It was +the poem matured, broadened, rounded. And finally your first play! How +I listened to every word, watched every move! I wrote you a letter +that night, but tore it up, not having the courage to send it to you. +How versatile you must be: a poem, a book, a play! I have seen all +your plays these five years, plays merry and gay, sad and grave. How +many times you have mysteriously told me to be brave! I envy and +admire you. What an exquisite thing it must be to hear one's thoughts +spoken across the footlights! Please do not laugh. It would hurt me to +know that you could laugh at my honest admiration. You won't laugh, +will you? I am sure you will value this letter for its honesty rather +than for its literary quality. I have often wondered what you were +like. But after all, that can not matter, since you are good and kind +and wise; for you can not be else, and write the lofty things you do. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington put the letter away, placed it carefully among the few +things he held of value. It would not be true to say that it left him +unaffected. There was an innocent barb in this girlish admiration, and +it pierced the quick of all that was good in him. +</P> + +<P> +"Good and kind and wise," he mused. "If only the child knew! Heigh-ho! +I am kind, sometimes I've been good, and often wise. Well, I can't +disillusion the child, happily; she has given me no address." +</P> + +<P> +He rose, wheeled his chair to a window facing the street, and opened +it. The cool fresh April air rushed in, clearing the room of its +opalescent clouds, cleansing his brain of the fever that beset it. He +leaned with his elbows on the sill and, breathed noisily, gratefully. +Above, heaven had decked her broad bosom with her flickering stars, +and from the million lamps of the great city rose and floated a +tarnished yellow haze. So many sounds go forth to make the voices of +the night: somewhere a child was crying fretfully, across the way the +faint tinkle of a piano, the far-off rattle of the elevated, a muffled +laugh from a window, above, the rat-tat of a cab-horse, the breeze in +the ivy clinging to the walls of the church next door, the quarrelsome +chirp of the sleepy sparrows; and then, recurrence. Only the poet or +the man in pain opens his ears to these sounds. +</P> + +<P> +Over on Broadway a child of his fertile brain was holding the rapt +attention of several hundred men and women; and across the broad land +that night four other dramas were being successfully acted. People +were discussing his theories, denouncing or approving his conception +of life. The struggle was past, his royalties were making him rich. +And here he was this night, drinking the cup of bitterness, of +unhappiness, the astringent draft of things that might and should have +been. The coveted grape was sour, the desired apple was withered. +Those who traverse the road with Folly as boon companion find only +emptiness. +</P> + +<P> +And so it was with Warrington. He had once been good, wholly good and +kind and wise, lofty as a rural poet who has seen nothing of life save +nature's pure and visible face. In the heat of battle he had been +strong, but success had subtly eaten into the fibers and loosed his +hold, and had swept him onward into that whirlpool out of which no man +emerges wholly undefiled. It takes a great and strong man to withstand +success, and Warrington was only a genius. It was not from lack of +will power; rather it was because he was easy-going and loved pleasure +for its own sake. He had fought and starved, and now for the jingle of +the guinea in his pocket and the junkets of the gay! The prodigality +of these creative beings is not fully understood by the laity, else +they would forgive more readily the transgressions. Besides, the +harbor of family ties is a man's moral bulwark; and Warrington drifted +hither and thither with no harbor in view at all. +</P> + +<P> +He had been an orphan since his birth; a mother meant simply a giver +of life, and a father meant, even less. Until he had read the reverse +and obverse sides of life, his sense of morality had lain dormant and +untilled. Such was his misfortune. The solitary relative he laid claim +to was an aged aunt, his father's sister. For her he had purchased a +beautiful place in the town of his birth, vaguely intending to live +out his old age there. +</P> + +<P> +There had been a fight for all he possessed. Good had not come easily, +as it does to some particularly favored mortals. There was no family, +aristocracy to back him up, no melancholy recollections of past +grandeur to add the interest of romance to his endeavors. His father +had been a poor man of the people, a farmer. And yet Warrington was by +no means plebeian. Somewhere there was a fine strain. It had been a +fierce struggle to complete a college education. In the summer-time he +had turned his hand to all sorts of things to pay his winter's +tuition. He had worked as clerk in summer hotels, as a surveyor's +assistant in laying street-railways, he had played at private +secretary, he had hawked vegetables about the streets at dawn. +Happily, he had no false pride. Chance moves quite as mysteriously as +the tides. On leaving college he had secured a minor position on one +of the daily newspapers, and had doggedly worked his way up to the +coveted position of star-reporter. Here the latent power of the +story-teller, the poet and the dramatist was awakened; in any other +pursuit the talent would have quietly died, as it has died in the +breasts of thousands who, singularly enough, have not stood in the +path of Chance. +</P> + +<P> +Socially, Warrington was one of the many nobodies; and if he ever +attended dinners and banquets and balls, it was in the capacity of +reporter. But his cynical humor, which was manifest even in his youth, +saved him the rancor and envy which is the portion of the outsider. +</P> + +<P> +At length the great city called him, and the lure was strong. He +answered, and the long battle was on. Sometimes he dined, sometimes he +slept; for there's an old Italian saying that he who sleeps dines. He +drifted from one paper to another, lived in prosperity one week and in +poverty the next; haggled with pawnbrokers and landladies, and +borrowed money and lent it. He never saved anything; the dreamer never +does. Then one day the end came to the long lane, as it always does to +those who keep on. A book was accepted and published; and then +followed the first play. +</P> + +<P> +By and by, when his name began to figure in the dramatic news items, +and home visitors in New York returned to boast about the Warrington +"first nights," the up-state city woke and began to recollect +things—what promise Warrington had shown in his youth, how clever he +was, and all that. Nothing succeeds like success, and nobody is so +interesting as the prophet who has shaken the dust of his own country +and found honor in another. Human nature can't help itself: the women +talked of his plays in the reading-clubs, the men speculated on the +backs of envelopes what his royalties were, and the newspaper that had +given him a bread-and-butter pittance for a man's work proudly took it +upon itself to say that its columns had fostered the genius in the +growing. This was not because the editors were really proud of their +townsman's success; rather it was because it made a neat little +advertisement of their own particular foresight, such as it was. In +fact, in his own town (because he had refused to live in it!) +Warrington was a lion of no small dimensions. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's novel (the only one he ever wrote) was known to few. To +tell the truth, the very critics that were now praising the dramatist +had slashed the novelist cruelly. And thereby hangs a tale. A New York +theatrical manager sent for Warrington one day and told him that he +had read the book, and if the author would attempt a dramatic version, +the manager would give it a fair chance. Warrington, the bitterness of +failure in his soul, undertook the work, and succeeded. Praise would +have made an indifferent novelist of him, for he was a born dramatist. +</P> + +<P> +Regularly each year he visited his birthplace for a day or so, to pay +in person his taxes. For all that he labored in New York, he still +retained his right to vote in his native town. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +A sudden desire seized him to-night to return to his home, to become a +citizen in fact and deed. It was now the time of year when the spring +torrents flood the lowlands, when the melting snows trickle down the +bleak hillsides, when the dead hand of winter lies upon the bosom of +awakening spring, and the seed is in travail. Heigh-ho! the world went +very well in the springs of old; care was in bondage, and all the many +gateways to the heart were bastioned and sentineled. +</P> + +<P> +"Sir, a lady wishes to see you." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington turned. His valet stood respectfully in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"The name?" Warrington rose impatiently. Nobody likes to have his +dreams disturbed. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Challoner, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Challoner!" in surprise; "and this time of night?" He stroked his +chin. A moment passed. Not that he hesitated to admit her; rather he +wished to make a final analysis of his heart before his eyes fell down +to worship her beauty. "Admit her at once." He brushed the ashes from +his jacket and smoothed his hair. The valet disappeared. "If I only +loved the woman, loved her honestly, boldly, fearlessly, what a +difference it would make! I don't love her, and I realize that I never +did. She never touched my heart, only my eye and mind. I may be +incapable of loving any one; perhaps that's it. But what can have +possessed her to leave the theater this time of night?" +</P> + +<P> +A swish of petticoats, a rush of cool air with which mingled an +indefinable perfume, and, like a bird taking momentary rest in the +passage, she stood poised on the threshold. A beautiful woman is a +tangible enchantment; and fame and fortune had made Katherine +Challoner beautiful, roguishly, daringly, puzzlingly beautiful. Her +eyes sparkled like stars on ruffled waters, the flame of health and +life burned in her cheeks, and the moist red mobile mouth expressed +emotions so rapidly and irregularly as to bewilder the man who +attempted to follow them. Ah, but she could act; comedy or tragedy, it +mattered not; she was always superb. +</P> + +<P> +There was a tableau of short duration. Her expression was one of +gentle inquiry, his was one of interest not unmixed with fascination. +He felt a quick touch of compassion, of embarrassment. There had been +times when yonder woman had seemed to show him the preference that is +given only to men who are loved. Even as the thought came to him, he +prayed that it was only his man's vanity that imagined it. As he +stared at her, there came the old thrill: beauty is a power +tremendous. +</P> + +<P> +"Dick, you do not say you are glad to see me." +</P> + +<P> +"Beauty striketh the sage dumb," he laughed. "What good fortune brings +you here to-night? What has happened? How could you find time between +the acts to run over?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not acting to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. Nor shall I be to-morrow night, nor the thousand nights that +shall follow." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, girl!" he cried, pushing out a chair. He had not seen her for +two weeks. He had known nothing of her movements, save that her +splendid talents had saved a play from utter ruin. Her declaration was +like a thunderbolt. "Explain!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I am tired, Dick; I am tired." She sat down, and her gaze roved +about the familiar room with a veiled affection for everything she +saw. "The world is empty. I have begun to hate the fools who applaud +me. I hate the evil smells which hang about the theater. I hate the +overture and the man with the drums," whimsically. +</P> + +<P> +"What's he done to you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing, only he makes more noise than the others. I'm tired. It is +not a definite reason; but a woman is never obliged to be definite." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I never could understand you, even when you took the trouble to +explain things." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know." She drew off her gloves and rubbed her fingers, which +were damp and cold. +</P> + +<P> +"But, surely, this is only a whim. You can't seriously mean to give up +the stage when the whole world is watching you!" +</P> + +<P> +She did not answer him, but continued to rub her fingers. She wore +several rings, among which was a brilliant of unusual luster. +Warrington, however, had eyes for nothing but her face. For the past +six months he had noted a subtle change in her, a growing reserve, a +thoughtfulness that was slowly veiling or subduing her natural gaiety. +She now evaded him when he suggested one of their old romps in queer +little restaurants; she professed illness when he sent for her to join +him in some harmless junketing. She was slowly slipping away from him; +no, drifting, since he made no real effort to hold her. And why had he +made no real effort? Sometimes he thought he could answer this +question, and then again he knew that he could not. Ah, if he only +loved her! What a helpmeet: cheerful, resourceful, full of good humor +and practical philosophy, a brilliant wit, with all the finished +graces of a goddess. Ah, if indeed he only loved her! This thought +kept running through his mind persistently; it had done so for days; +but it had always led him back to the starting point. Love is not +always reasoning with itself. Perhaps—and the thought filled him with +regret—perhaps he was indeed incapable of loving any one as his +poet's fancy believed he ought to love. And this may account for the +truth of the statement that genius is rarely successful in love; the +ideal is so high that it is out of the reach of life as we, genius or +clod, live it. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't this determination rather sudden?" he asked, when the pause +grew insupportable. +</P> + +<P> +"I have been thinking of it for some time," she replied, smiling. A +woman always finds herself at ease during such crises. "Only, I hadn't +exactly made up my mind. You were at work?" glancing at the desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but I'm through for the night. It's only a scenario, and I am +not entirely satisfied with it." +</P> + +<P> +She walked over to the desk and picked up a sheet at random. She was a +privileged person in these rooms. Warrington never had any nervous +dread when she touched his manuscript. +</P> + +<P> +"How is it going to end?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, they are going to marry and be happy ever after," he answered, +smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah; then they are never going to have any children?" she said, with a +flash of her old-time mischief. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you have a cigarette?" lighting one and offering her the box. +</P> + +<P> +"No; I have a horror of cigarettes since that last play. To smoke in +public every night, perforce, took away the charm. I hated that part. +An adventuress! It was altogether too close to the quick; for I am +nothing more or less than an adventuress who has been successful. Why, +the very method I used to make your acquaintance years and years ago, +wasn't it?—proved the spirit. 'We hate two kinds of people,'" she +read, taking up another page of manuscript; "'the people we wrong and +the people who wrong us. Only, the hate for those we have wronged is +most enduring.' That isn't half bad, Dick. How do you think of all +these things?" +</P> + +<P> +She crossed over to the window to cool her hot face. She, too, heard +the voices of the night; not as the poet hears them, but as one in +pain. "He never loved me!" she murmured, so softly that even the +sparrows in the vine heard her not. And bitter indeed was the pain. +But of what use to struggle, or to sigh, or vainly to regret? As +things are written, so must they be read. She readily held him +guiltless; what she regretted most deeply was the lack of power to +have him and to hold him. Long before, she had realized the +hopelessness of it all. Knowing that he drank from the cup of +dissipation, she had even sought to hold him in contempt; but to her +he had never ceased to be a gentleman, tender, manly and kind. It is +contempt that casts the first spadeful in the grave of love. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, girl," he said, going to her side; "you have something to tell +me. What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +She turned to find his hand outstretched and a friendly look in his +eyes. Impulsively she gave him both her hands. He bowed over them with +the grave air of the days of powdered wigs. There was not a particle +of irony in the movement; rather it was a quiet acknowledgment that he +recollected the good influence she had at times worked upon him in +some dark days. As he brushed her fingers with his lips, he saw. His +head came up quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Her voice was steady and her eyes were brave. +</P> + +<P> +He drew her to the lamp and studied the ring. The ruddy lights dartled +as he slowly turned the jewel around. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a beauty. No one but a rich man could have given a ring like +that. And on your finger it means but one thing." +</P> + +<P> +"I am to be married in June." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you love him?" +</P> + +<P> +"I respect him; he is noble and good and kind." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington did not press the question. He still retained the hand, +though he no longer gazed at the ring. +</P> + +<P> +"I have always wanted a home. The stage never really fascinated me; it +was bread and butter." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it necessary to marry in order to have a home?" he asked quietly, +letting the hand gently slide from his. "You are wealthy, after a +fashion; could you not build a home of your own?" +</P> + +<P> +"Always to be identified as the actress? To be looked at curiously, to +be annoyed by those who are not my equals, and only tolerated by those +who are? No! I want a man who will protect me from all these things, +who will help me to forget some needless follies and the memory that a +hundred different men have made play-love to me on the other side of +the footlights." +</P> + +<P> +"Some men marry actresses to gratify their vanity; does this man love +you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; and he will make me what Heaven intended I should be—a woman. +Oh, I have uttered no deceit. This man will take me for what I am." +</P> + +<P> +"And you have come here to-night to ask me to forget, too?" There was +no bitterness in his tone, but there was a strong leaven of regret. +"Well, I promise to forget." +</P> + +<P> +"It was not necessary to ask you that," generously. "But I thought I +would come to you and tell you everything. I did not wish you to +misjudge me. For the world will say that I am marrying this good man +for his money; whereas, if he was a man of the most moderate +circumstances, I should still marry him." +</P> + +<P> +"And who might this lucky man be? To win a woman, such as I know you +to be, this man must have some extraordinary attributes." And all at +once a sense of infinite relief entered into his heart: if she were +indeed married, there would no longer be that tantalizing doubt on his +part, that peculiar attraction which at one time resembled love and at +another time was simply fascination. She would pass out of his life +definitely. He perfectly recognized the fact that he admired her above +all other women he knew; but it was also apparent that to see her day +by day, year by year, his partner in the commonplaces as well as in +the heights, romance would become threadbare quickly enough. "Who is +he?" he repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"That I prefer not to disclose to you just yet. What are you going to +call your new play?" with a wave of her hand toward the manuscript. +</P> + +<P> +"I had intended to call it Love and Money, but the very name presages +failure." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it needs the cement of compatibility to keep the two together." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, from my heart I wish you all the best luck in the world," he +said, the absence of any mental reservation in his eyes. "You would +make any man a good wife. If I weren't a born fool—" +</P> + +<P> +She leaned toward him, her face suddenly tense and eager. +</P> + +<P> +"—if I weren't a born fool," with a smile that was whimsical, "I'd +have married you myself, long ago. But fate has cut me out for a +bachelor." He knocked the ash from a cold pipe, filled and lighted it. +"By the way," he said, "I received a curious letter to-day." Its +production would relieve the awkwardness of the moment. "Would you +like to see it?" opening the drawer and handing the letter to her. +"It's one of the few letters of the sort I'm going to keep." +</P> + +<P> +She accepted the letter, but without any spirit of interest. For a +moment a thought had all but swept her off her feet; yet she realized +instantly that this thought was futile. Warrington did not love her; +and there was nothing to do but to follow out the course she had +planned. She had come to him that night with a single purpose in mind: +to plumb the very heart of this man who was an enigma to every woman +he met. She had plumbed it. Warrington loved nobody but Warrington and +pleasure. Oh, he was capable of the grand passion, she very well knew, +but the woman to arouse it had not yet crossed his path. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of it?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +She came closer to the lamp. It was only pretense, but Warrington was +not aware of it. She had stared at the sheet, reading only her +miserable thoughts. Presently she smiled; the girlish exuberance +amused her. +</P> + +<P> +"She has put you quite out of reach. What a fine thing it must be to +have such faith in any man!" +</P> + +<P> +"And I'm not worth in her esteem an ounce to the pound." He was quite +frank with himself. "I would to Heaven I were!" +</P> + +<P> +"And this is the kind of woman that you will fall violently in love +with, some day, Dick. It will be your punishment." She had fully +recovered by now, and the old-time raillery was in the ascendant. "Oh, +she has read you fairly well. You are good and kind and wise, but +these virtues are not of equal weight. Your goodness and wisdom will +never catch up with your abundant kindness. I've a good deal to thank +you for, Dick; a good deal." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense! The shoe is on the other foot. You have made half my plays +what they are to-day." He rang and ordered some coffee. +</P> + +<P> +She dropped into his desk-chair and propped her chin in her palms, +viewing him through half-closed, speculative eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"We've had some jolly larks together," he said. "I shall miss you; how +much I shall know only when you are gone. Is he good-looking?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very. He is tall and straight, with a manly face, fine eyes, and a +good nose. You know that I'm always particular about a man's nose." +</P> + +<P> +"And young, of course?" not without some feeling of jealousy. +</P> + +<P> +"And young." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me all about him," drawing up a chair and facing her. +</P> + +<P> +"He is a lucky chap," he summed up when she had done. +</P> + +<P> +"That remains to be seen," lightly. "I may prove the worst wife +possible. Perhaps, when I have burned my bridges, I shall be mad for +the very publicity I'm trying to escape. Women are like extinct +volcanos; they are most to be dreaded when written perfectly +harmless." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington shook his head and laughed. Here the coffee came in. He +dismissed his man, and poured the nectar himself. +</P> + +<P> +"You are the one man I know who never asks to sweeten my coffee," she +observed. +</P> + +<P> +"And yet I had to learn. You haven't taught this other fellow yet, I +see. Is he warranted house-broken, or will he have to be chained?" +</P> + +<P> +"He will not have to be chained; and a man who is a recluse seldom has +to be broken in." +</P> + +<P> +"A recluse? What's his hobby: butterflies, stones, stamps, or +coins?—No, girl; I don't mean that. I'm a little heavy to-night. Do +you recollect the night you donned a suit of mine, bundled your hair +under a felt hat, and visited the studios? What a romp! Not a soul +ever found out who you were; and if I hadn't been in the secret, I +shouldn't have known, either. I shall never forget how funny Dolman +looked when he started a certain popular story of his and you shut him +up. 'Gentlemen,' you said, 'neither listen to, nor repeat that kind of +story in the presence of ladies.' 'Ladies?' cried Dolman. 'I see no +ladies.' 'But there are gentlemen,' you added quickly. Later, Dolman +advised me not to bring any more of my Sunday-school friends to HIS +studio." +</P> + +<P> +The woman smiled, but the smile was only on the lips. All those happy +frolics were to be no more. Heigh-ho! Over the mantel there were +several photographs of herself. Like all celebrities of her kind, the +camera was a constant source of amusement. It was not necessarily +vanity. The rose is not vain, yet it repeats its singular beauty as +often as the seasons permit it. Across these pictures she had scrawled +numerous signatures, "Kate" and "Kit" and "Kitty" and "Katherine +Challoner," with here and there a phrase in French and Italian. +</P> + +<P> +"You wouldn't return those under any circumstances?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, indeed! That's all I'll have. And besides, you wouldn't ask me to +give them up?" +</P> + +<P> +Her answer remained unspoken. The valet appeared deferentially. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" said Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"A gentleman to see you, sir. He said he wouldn't need any card. Mr. +John Bennington, sir. +</P> + +<P> +"John Bennington!" Warrington sprang from his chair, his face joyous. +"Old John here to-night! Finest chap on earth, Kate; my roommate at +college, and the only chap in my town who was my friend when I was a +nobody. Old John ..." +</P> + +<P> +"Richard, you must hide me quickly. I mustn't be seen here. There is +no way of passing him the hall." +</P> + +<P> +"Good Lord!" He did not notice her pallor. "The butler's pantry," he +said hastily. +</P> + +<P> +She slipped out of sight noiselessly. Presently she heard sounds, +men's voices, a hearty greeting and for a moment the world seemed +gliding from under her feet. Her gloves! She had forgotten her gloves! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter III +</H3> + +<P> +Men have a way of greeting which is all their own. It is unlike the +kiss and flutter of women, which may signify frankness or deceit, +generosity or selfishness, some favor to gain, some treachery to +forestall. Men's likes and dislikes are generally visible. The dog +wags his tail, or he warns you away with a growl; there is no +mistaking his attitude. On the other hand, the cat purrs and rubs +against your leg, and when you reach down to smooth her, as likely as +not she gives you a dig for your pains. True, there are always +exceptions to this rule. +</P> + +<P> +With their hands on each other's shoulders, at arm's length they +stood, a likely pair to look at, smiling frankly and joyfully into +each other's eyes. When it is without self-interest, friendship +between man and man is a fine and noble thing. It is known best in the +stress of storms, in the hour of sorrow and adversity. Friendship, to +be perfect, must be without any sense of obligation; for obligation +implies that one or the other is in debt, and the debtor is always +wondering when he will have to pay. Between these two men only the +slightest favors had been exchanged. They had grown up together, one +the son of a rich steel-mill owner, the other the son of a poor +farmer. The one had entered college to the sounding of golden cymbals, +the other had marched in with nothing but courage in his pocket. It is +impossible to describe how these great friendships come about; +generally they begin with some insignificant trifle, soon forgotten. +Warrington had licked Bennington in the boyhood days; why, I doubt +that the Recording Angel himself remembers. So the friendship began +with secret admiration on one side and good-natured toleration on the +other. One day Warrington broke a colt for Bennington, and later +Bennington found a passably good market for Warrington's vegetables. +Friendship, like constancy, finds strange niches. The Bennington +family were not very cordial to the young vegetable grower. On the +mother's side there was a long line of military ancestors. It is +impossible that a cabbage and a uniform should cohere. Warrington's +great-grandsires had won honors in the Revolution, but as this fact +did not make cabbages grow any faster he kept the faded glory to +himself. +</P> + +<P> +In college the two lads were as inseparable as La Mole and Coconnas; +they played on the same teams, rowed on the same crews and danced with +the same girls. The only material difference in their respective +talents lay in one thing: Bennington could not write a respectable +rhyme, and I'm not sure that he wasn't proud of it. It distinguished +him from the other members of his class. As for Warrington, there +wasn't a pretty girl in the whole college town who couldn't boast of +one or more of his impassioned stanzas. And you may be sure that when +Warrington became talked about these self-same halting verses were dug +up from the garret and hung in sundry parlors. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington was handsome, and, but for his father's blood, the idleness +of his forebears would have marked him with effeminateness. His head, +his face, the shape of his hands and feet, these proclaimed the +aristocrat. It was only in the eyes and the broad shoulders that you +recognized the iron-monger's breed. His eyes were as blue as his own +hammered steel; but, like the eyes of the eagle at peace, they were +mild and dreamy and deceptive to casual inspection. In the shops the +men knew all about those eyes and shoulders. They had been fooled +once, but only once. They had felt the iron in the velvet. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm mighty glad to see you, boy," said Warrington, dropping his arms. +"You haven't changed a bit." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor you, Dick; if anything you look younger." +</P> + +<P> +"How many years is it, John?" +</P> + +<P> +"Six or seven; not very long." +</P> + +<P> +"Time never seems long to a man who never has to wait for anything. I +have had to reckon time with hours full of suspense, and those hours +have aged me; perhaps not outwardly, but all the same, I'm an old man, +John." +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" +</P> + +<P> +"When did you cross?" +</P> + +<P> +"About a year ago, when father died. I had given up the English end of +the concern two years before, and was just wandering about the +continent. I was dreadfully disappointed when I learned that you had +visited the shops in ninety-eight. That summer I was in Switzerland. +I had no idea there was going to be war, and never saw a newspaper +till it was nearly over. I should have enlisted. And another year we +passed within two days of each other." +</P> + +<P> +"No!" Bennington exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. It was in Italy, at Sorrento, that I learned of your nearness. +You were off for Amalfi and I had just come from there. For three days +I ran across your name in the hotel registers. I tried to find your +permanent address, but failed. Cook's nor the bankers in Naples knew +anything about you. I tell you what, it was discouraging." +</P> + +<P> +"What luck! I was having all my mail sent direct to Mentone, where I +spent the winter. Say, what do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +"About what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Won five thousand at Monte Carlo in one play." +</P> + +<P> +"Pounds?" exclaimed Bennington. +</P> + +<P> +"Lord, no!—dollars." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! But of course you went back and lost it?" ironically. +</P> + +<P> +"On the contrary, I've never staked a dollar since. Gambling was never +a habit of mine, though I dare say the moral side of the subject would +not have held me back. Simply, I know that the gambler always loses, +and the banker always wins, in the end. Common sense told me to quit, +and I did. I brought my letter of credit home practically intact." +</P> + +<P> +"You used to play poker," dubiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Poker isn't gambling. It's surreptitiously lending money to your +friends." +</P> + +<P> +"You were always good at definitions," sighed Bennington. +</P> + +<P> +"I understand you've sold your holdings in the English shops?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I was weary of the people and what they called their +conservatism, which is only a phase of stupidity. And then, besides, I +loved the old home up there. I've been living there about a year now." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a pity you couldn't have looked me up before this," Warrington +complained. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington only laughed affectionately. +</P> + +<P> +"Take a look around the room while I get the whisky and soda." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't bother, Dick." +</P> + +<P> +"Boy, I licked you once, and I'll do it again if you don't sit down. A +little extra attention won't hurt; and I'll guarantee the whisky." +Waving his arms toward all the desirable things in the room, he +vanished beyond the curtain. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington looked about leisurely. It was just the kind of room he had +always imagined; it was like the man who occupied it. Simplicity and +taste abounded; the artist and the collector, the poet and the +musician, were everywhere in evidence. He strolled over to the mantel +and took down one of the pictures signed "Kate." He smiled. It was not +an indulgent smile, nor the smile of a man who has stumbled upon +another man's secret. The smile was rather exultant. He leaned against +the mantel and studied the face in its varied expressions. He nodded +approvingly. It was a lovely face; it was more than lovely,—it was +tender and strong. Presently he returned to his chair and sat down, +the photograph still in his hand. And in this position Warrington +found him. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, you sly dog!" he hailed, setting down the glasses and pouring out +a liberal bumper. "So I've caught you? Well, you're not the only man +who has been conquered by that very photograph." He had half a notion +to go in and bring her out; but then, women are such finicky beings! +</P> + +<P> +Bennington laid aside the photograph, a certain reverence in his +action that in ordinary times would not have escaped Warrington's +notice. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this to be?" asked Bennington, lifting his glass and stirring +the ice. +</P> + +<P> +"Immer und immer, as the German has it," Warrington replied. +</P> + +<P> +"For ever and ever, then!" +</P> + +<P> +And the two lightly touched glasses, with that peculiar gravity which +always accompanies such occasions. +</P> + +<P> +"When a man drinks your health in bad whisky, look out for him; but +this whisky is very good, Dick." Bennington set down his glass and +wiped his lips. "It is very good, indeed." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, how are things up in Herculaneum?" asked Warrington. "You know, +or ought to know, that I get up there only once a year." +</P> + +<P> +"Things are not very well. There's the devil to pay in politics, and +some day I may have a jolly long strike on my hands," grimly. "But I +shall know exactly what to do. That man McQuade owns about all the +town now. He controls congressmen, state senators and assemblymen, and +the majority of the Common Council is his, body and soul. Only +recently he gave the traction company a new right of way. Not a penny +went into the city's purse. And you know these street-railways; they +never pay their taxes. A franchise for ninety-nine years; think of +it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you men wake up and oust McQuade? I'll tell you right here, +Jack, you have no one to blame but yourself. Scoundrels like McQuade +are always in the minority; but they remain in power simply because +men like you think politics a dirty business and something for an +honest man to keep out of. Run for mayor yourself, if you want clean +politics. Rouse up an independent party." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know what they call me up there?" Bennington laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"I confess to ignorance." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the newspapers say covertly that I'm all but a naturalized +Englishman, a snob, when I'm only a recluse, a man who dresses every +night for dinner, who dines instead of eats. There are some things it +is impossible to understand, and one is the interest the newspapers +take in the private affairs of men. If they jumped on me as a +mill-owner, there might be some excuse, but they are always digging me +on the private-citizen side. Every man, in his own house, ought to be +allowed to do as he pleases. They never bothered the governor any, +when he was alive. I believe they were afraid of him." +</P> + +<P> +"I can explain all that, my boy. Buy your clothes of the local +tailors; get rid of your valet; forget that you have lived in England. +They'll come around to you, then. You may talk as much as you like +about the friendliness between the Englishman and the American. It is +simply a case of two masters who are determined that their dogs shall +be friendly. Let the masters drop out of sight for a moment, and you +will find the dogs at each other's throat. And the masters? The dollar +on this side and the sovereign on the other. There is a good deal of +friendship these days that is based upon three and a half per cent. +Get into politics, my boy." +</P> + +<P> +"Bah! I'd look nice running for mayor, wouldn't I? The newspapers +would howl calamity, and the demagogues would preach that I would soon +impose English wages in the shops, and all that tommyrot. No, thank +you; I'll take trouble as it comes, but I'm not looking for it." +</P> + +<P> +"I see that I shall have to go back there and start the ball myself," +said Warrington, jesting. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you? You are not a rank outsider. The people are proud of +you." +</P> + +<P> +"And always will be, so long as I have sense enough to remain here in +New York," dryly. "But if I lived there ...!" +</P> + +<P> +"You are not always going to live in New York?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not always." +</P> + +<P> +"You've a beautiful old home up there." +</P> + +<P> +"I bought that just to show the people I had the money," laughing. +"They may never forget my cabbages, but they'll forgive them." +</P> + +<P> +"Nevertheless, you ought to return." +</P> + +<P> +"Listen," said Warrington, lifting his hand. They became silent, and +presently the voice of the city came into the room. "I'm afraid I +could not live away from that. How many times have I stopped work to +listen to it! How many inspirations have I drawn from it! It is the +siren's music, I know, but I am no longer afraid of the reefs. Perhaps +I have become enamored with noise; it is quite possible." +</P> + +<P> +"I have lived in London. I thought it was going to be hard to break +away, but it wasn't." +</P> + +<P> +They lighted cigars, and Bennington took up the photograph again. +</P> + +<P> +"A lovely face," was his comment. +</P> + +<P> +"With a heart and a mind even more lovely," supplemented Warrington. +"She is one of the most brilliant women I have ever met, and what is +more, humorous and good-humored. My word for it, she may have equals, +but she has no superiors on this side of the ocean." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington looked up sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing serious?" he asked gently. +</P> + +<P> +"Serious? No. We are capital friends, but nothing more. There's been +too much comradeship to admit anything like sentimentality. Ah, boy, +you should see her act!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have. I saw her in London last season. She was playing your War of +Women. She appeared to me enchanting. But about these actresses ..." +</P> + +<P> +"I know, I know," interrupted Warrington. "Some of them are bad, but +some of them are the noblest creatures God ever put on earth; and +yonder is one of them. I remember. Often we were both in debt; plays +went wrong; sometimes I helped her out, sometimes she returned the +favor. We were more like two men. Without her help I shouldn't be +where I am to-day. I always read the scenario of a play to her first; +and often we've worked together half a night on one scene. I shall +miss her." +</P> + +<P> +"What! Is she going away?" +</P> + +<P> +"After a fashion. She has retired from the stage." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you believe she means it?" asked Bennington. "You know how +changeable actresses' moods are." +</P> + +<P> +"I think Miss Challoner will never act again. She has always been an +enigma to the majority of the show people. Never any trumpets, +jewelry, petty squabbles, lime-lights, and silks; she never read +criticisms, save those I sent her. Managers had to knock on her +dressing-room door. Oh, I do not say that she is an absolute paragon, +but I do say that she is a good woman, of high ideals, loyal, +generous, frank, and honest. And I have often wondered why the devil I +couldn't fall in love with her myself," moodily. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington was silent for a moment. Finally he said: "How does it feel +to be famous, to have plays produced simultaneously in New York and +London?" +</P> + +<P> +"After the first success there is never anything but hard work. A +failure once in a while acts like a tonic. And sometimes we get an +anonymous letter that refreshes us—a real admirer, who writes from +the heart and doesn't fish for a letter or an autograph in return. I +received one of these only a few days ago, and I want you to read it." +Warrington produced the missive and tossed it into Bennington's hands. +"Read that. It's worth while to get a letter like that one." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington took up the letter, smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. A +single glance at the graceful script, however, changed his expression. +He sat back and stared at Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +Bennington did not answer, but settled down to his task, reading +carefully and slowly. He did not look for any signature, for he knew +there would be none. He returned the letter, his face sober, but his +eyes dancing. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, what the deuce do you see that is so amusing?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't tell me there isn't any romance in the world. But, hang it, +Jack, I'm not worth a letter like that," earnestly. +</P> + +<P> +"Of course not." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not jesting. I've sown wild oats, and God knows what the harvest +will be. There's a law that exacts payment. Retribution is the only +certain thing in this world." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, you're no worse than the average man. But the average man is +jolly bad," Bennington added gravely. "But you, Dick; I'm not worrying +about you. Perhaps the writer of that letter sees good in you that you +can't see yourself; good that is in you but of which you are +unconscious. One thing, you have never besmirched the talents God gave +you. Everything you have done has been clean and wholesome—like +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish I could believe that! But I've had no ties, Jack, none. You +can't keep to a course without a compass. The real good in life, the +good that makes life worth while, is the toil for those you love. I +love nobody, not even myself. But this girl rather woke me up. I began +to look inward, as they say. So far I've not discovered much good. I'd +give a good deal to meet this writer." +</P> + +<P> +"Doubtless you will find her charming." +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Warrington turned upon his friend. "But what I want to know +is, what brought you around here this time o' night? I never knew you +to do anything without a definite purpose." +</P> + +<P> +"That's precisely what I've been waiting for you to lead up to. The +truth is—" Bennington hesitated. His hand, idly trailing over the +desk, came into contact with something smooth and soft. It was a pair +of white kid gloves, a woman's. Absently he drew them through his +hand. He was only half conscious of his action, and he did not observe +Warrington's sudden agitation. "The truth is, I've gone and done it. +I'm going to be married in June, and I want you to be my best man." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's hand went out impulsively. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I felt it in my bones when your card came in," he said, +rearranging the glasses. "Lucky woman! Long life to you, Jack, and +long happiness!" +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, Dick." (Ceremonial recurrence of drinking a health.) +</P> + +<P> +"Now, out with it. Who is she, and all about her?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dick, I'm genuinely sorry, but I'm still under bond of silence." +</P> + +<P> +"More mysteries!" cried Warrington, with evident discontent. +</P> + +<P> +"Only for a week, when, if you say, we'll have breakfast here in these +very rooms. +</P> + +<P> +"Done. Only I must say you're a bit hard on me to-night. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see; I'll describe her for you. Beautiful." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Accomplished." +</P> + +<P> +"Very." +</P> + +<P> +"A woman who will be both wife and comrade." +</P> + +<P> +"Exactly." +</P> + +<P> +"An American." +</P> + +<P> +"In all things." +</P> + +<P> +"You make me envious." +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you get married yourself?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bah!" Warrington went to the window and looked down upon the street. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington eyed his broad shoulders sympathetically. He looked down at +the limp, smooth skins in his hand, and sat up stiffly. From the +gloves to Warrington and back again to the gloves, his gaze traveled. +With an impulse rather mechanical he raised the gloves to his nose. +Quickly he dropped them on the desk, took up the photograph, rose and +replaced it on the mantel. Hearing him, Warrington turned. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Jack, I doubt if I shall ever be lucky enough to find the one +woman. I've been so busy that I've never had time to hunt for +happiness. And those who hunt for it never find it, and those who wait +for it can not see it standing at their side." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington wandered about, from object to object. Here he picked up a +dagger, there a turquoise in the matrix, and again some inlaid wood +from Sorrento. From these his interest traveled to and lingered over +some celebrated autographs. +</P> + +<P> +"Happiness is a peculiar thing," went on the dramatist. "It is far +less distinctive than fame or fortune. They sometimes knock at your +door, but happiness steals in without warning, and often leaves as +mysteriously as it comes." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington paused to examine a jade cigarette case, which he opened +and closed aimlessly. And there were queer little Japanese ash-trays +that arrested his attention. +</P> + +<P> +"Men like you and me, Jack, never marry unless we love. It is never a +business transaction." +</P> + +<P> +"It is love or nothing," said Bennington, turning his face toward +Warrington. The smile he gave was kindly. "Yes, true happiness can be +sought only in those we love. There is happiness even in loving some +one who does not love you." Bennington repressed a sigh. "But, Dick, +you'll be the best man?" +</P> + +<P> +"Depend upon me. What do you say to this day week for breakfast here?" +</P> + +<P> +"That will be wholly agreeable to me." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington's cigar had gone out. He leaned upon the desk and took his +light from the chimney. Men who have traveled widely never waste +matches. +</P> + +<P> +"Can't you bunk here for the night? There's plenty of room," said +Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible, Dick. I leave at midnight for home. I must be there +to-morrow morning. I'm afraid of trouble in the shops. The unions are +determined to push me to the limit of my patience." +</P> + +<P> +"Why the deuce don't you get rid of the shops?" +</P> + +<P> +"They're the handiwork of my father, and I'm proud to follow his +steps." Bennington's eyes were no longer at peace; they sparkled with +defiance. "Half-past ten!" suddenly. "I must be going. My luggage is +still at the hotel. God bless you, Dick!" +</P> + +<P> +Their hands met once again. +</P> + +<P> +"You know, jack, that I love you best of all men." +</P> + +<P> +"You are sure there is no woman?" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington laughed easily. "Ah, if there was a woman! I expect to be +lonely some day." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington put on his hat and gloves, and Warrington followed him into +the hall. Once the prospective bridegroom paused, as if he had left +something unsaid; but he seemed to think the better of silence, and +went on. +</P> + +<P> +"Tuesday morning, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tuesday morning. Good night." +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, and luck attend you." +</P> + +<P> +The door closed, and Warrington went slowly back to his desk, his mind +filled with pleasant recollections of youth. He re-read the letter, +studied it thoroughly, in hopes that there might be an anagram. There +was nothing he could see, and he put it away, rather annoyed. He +arranged the sheets and notes of the scenario, marshaled the scattered +pencils, and was putting the glasses on the tray, when a sound in the +doorway caused him to lift his head. One of the glasses tumbled over +and rolled across the desk, leaving a trail of water which found its +level among the ash-trays. +</P> + +<P> +"It is quite evident that you forgot me," said the woman, a faint +mirthless smile stirring her lips. "It was very close in there, and I +could hear nothing." She placed a hand on her forehead, swayed, and +closed her eyes for a second. +</P> + +<P> +"You are faint!" he cried, springing toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"It is nothing," she replied, with a repelling gesture. "John +Bennington, was it not?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." His eyes grew round with wonder. +</P> + +<P> +"I was going to keep it secret as long as I could, but I see it is +useless. He is the man I have promised to marry." Her voice had a +singular quietness. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington retreated to his desk, leaning heavily against it. +</P> + +<P> +"Bennington? You are going to marry John Bennington?" dully. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +He sat down abruptly and stared at her with the expression of one who +is suddenly confronted by some Medusa's head, as if in the straggling +wisps of hair that escaped from beneath her hat he saw the writhing +serpents. She was going to marry John Bennington! +</P> + +<P> +She stepped quickly up to the desk and began to scatter things about. +Her hands shook, she breathed rapidly, her delicate nostrils dilating +the while. +</P> + +<P> +"Look out!" he warned, at her side the same instant. "Your hat is +burning!" He smothered the incipient flame between his palms. +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind the hat. My gloves, Dick, my gloves! I left them here on +the desk." +</P> + +<P> +"Your gloves?" Then immediately he recollected that he had seen them +in Bennington's hands, but he was positive that the gloves meant +nothing to Bennington. He had picked them up just as he would have +picked up a paper-cutter, a pencil, a match-box, if any of these had +been within reach of his nervous fingers. Most men who are at times +mentally embarrassed find relief in touching small inanimate objects. +So he said reassuringly: "Don't let a pair of gloves worry you, girl." +</P> + +<P> +"He bought them for me this morning," a break in her voice. "I MUST +find them!" +</P> + +<P> +The situation assumed altogether a different angle. There was a hint +of tragedy in her eyes. More trivial things than a forgotten pair of +gloves have brought about death and division. Together they renewed +the search. They sifted the manuscripts, the books, the magazines, +burrowed into the drawers; and sometimes their hands touched, but they +neither noticed nor felt the contact. Warrington even dropped to his +knees and hunted under the desk, all the while "Jack Bennington, Jack +Bennington!" drumming in his ears. The search was useless. The gloves +were nowhere to be found. He stood up irresolute, dismayed and +anxious, keenly alive to her misery and to the inferences his best +friend might draw. The desk stood between them, but their faces were +within two spans of the hand. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't find them." +</P> + +<P> +"They are gone!" she whispered. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter IV +</H3> + +<P> +When the pathfinders came into the territory which is now called the +Empire State, they carried muskets and tripods under one arm and Greek +dictionaries under the other. They surveyed all day and scanned all +night, skirmishing intermittently with prowling redskins. They knew +something about elementary geometry, too, and you will find evidences +of it everywhere, even in the Dutch settlements. The Dutchman always +made the beauty of geometry impossible. Thus, nowadays, one can not +move forward nor backward fifty miles in any direction without having +the classic memory jarred into activity. Behold Athens, Rome, Ithaca, +Troy; Homer, Virgil, Cicero; Pompey and Hannibal; cities and poets and +heroes! It was, in those early days, a liberal education to be born in +any one of these towns. Let us take Troy, for instance. When the young +mind learned to spell it, the young mind yearned to know what Troy +signified. Then came Homer, with his heroic fairy-story of gods, +demigods and mortals. Of one thing you may be reasonably sure: Helen +was kept religiously in the background. You will find no city named +after her; nor Sappho, nor Aspasia. The explorer and the geographer +have never given woman any recognition; it was left to the poets to +sing her praise. Even Columbus, fine old gentleman that he was, +absolutely ignored Isabella as a geographical name. +</P> + +<P> +The city of Herculaneum (so called in honor of one Hercules) was very +well named. To become immortal it had the same number of tasks to +perform as had old Hercules. The Augean Stables were in the City Hall; +and had Hercules lived in Herculaneum, he never would have sat with +the gods. The city lay in a pleasant valley, embraced by imposing +wooded hills. There was plenty of water about, a lake, a river, a +creek; none of these, however, was navigable for commercial purposes. +But this in nowise hindered the city's progress. On the tranquil bosom +of the Erie Canal rode the graceful barges of commerce straight and +slowly through the very heart of the town. Like its historic namesake, +the city lived under the eternal shadow of smoke, barring Sundays; but +its origin was not volcanic, only bituminous. True, year in and year +out the streets were torn up, presenting an aspect not unlike the +lava-beds of Vesuvius; but as this phase always implies, not +destruction, but construction, murmurs were only local and few. It was +a prosperous and busy city. It grew, it grows, and will grow. Long +life to it! Every year the city directory points with pride to its +growing bulk. A hundred thousand people; and, as Max O'Rell said—"All +alive and kicking!" Herculaneum held its neighbors in hearty contempt, +like the youth who has suddenly found his man's strength, and parades +round with a chip on his shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +Three railroad lines ran through the business section, bisecting the +principal thoroughfares. The passenger trains went along swiftly +enough, but often freights of almost interminable length drawled +through the squares. I say drawled advisedly. Surely the whuff-whuff +of the engine seems to me a kind of mechanical speech; and to this was +often added the sad lowing of cattle. From time to time some earnest +but misdirected young man would join the aldermanic body, and +immediately lift up his voice in protest. It was outrageous, and so +forth; the railroads must be brought to their senses, and so forth. +Presently a meeting would come and go without his voice being heard, +another, and yet another. By and by he would silently cast his vote +for the various businesses under hand, and go home. The old-timers +would smile. They understood. They rode on annuals themselves. +</P> + +<P> +All the same, Herculaneum was a beautiful city in parts. Great leafy +maples and elms arched the streets in the residential quarters, and +the streets themselves were broad and straight. There were several +dignified buildings of ten and twelve stories, many handsome banks, +several clubs, and two or three passable monuments. There were at that +time five enterprising newspapers, four frankly partizan and one +independent. Personalities entered freely into the editorials, which +often abounded in wit and scholarship. There were three theaters, and +many churches of many denominations; religion and amusement, to +thrive, must have variety. There were great steel shops, +machine-shops, factories and breweries. And there were a few people +who got in touch with one another, and invented society. +</P> + +<P> +Herculaneum has its counterpart in every state; each city is a +composite of all the others. A fashion in New York is immediately +reproduced in every other city on the continent. Conservatism, day by +day, becomes more and more retiring; presently it will exist only in +Webster, side by side with the word prehistoric. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It was Sunday in Herculaneum, a June Sunday, radiant with sunshine. +The broad green leaves of the maples shivered, lacing the streets with +amber and jade, and from a thousand emerald gardens rose the subtle, +fragrant incense of flowers. How still and beautiful this day seems to +us who have hurried hither and thither for six long days, sometimes in +anger, sometimes in exultation, failure or success! It breathes a +peace and quiet that is tonic. Upon this day there is truce between us +and the enemy. +</P> + +<P> +In Herculaneum they still went to church on a Sunday morning. Perhaps +it was merely habit, perhaps it was simply formality, perhaps it was +only to parade new clothes; anyhow, they went to church. At ten-thirty +the procession started; gentlemen in their tiles, ladies in their +furbelows, children stiffly starched. Some rode to church, but the +majority walked. There were many store-windows to preen before, as in +a mirror. Vanity has something to her credit, after all; it is due to +her that most of us make an effort to keep spruce and clean. +</P> + +<P> +Comment passed like the fall of dominoes. Some woman, +ultra-fashionable, would start the chatter. She NEVER saw anything +like the gowns Mrs. Jones wore; Mrs. Jones touched upon the impossible +feathers of Mrs. Smith's hat, and Mrs. Smith in turn questioned the +exquisite complexion of Mrs. Green, who thought Mrs. White's children +the homeliest in the city. (Can't you hear the dominoes going down?) +</P> + +<P> +The men nodded here and there, briefly. Saturday night in a provincial +town holds many recollections. +</P> + +<P> +The high church was a stately pile of granite, with lofty spire and +fine memorial windows. Doves fluttered about the eaves. Upon this +particular Sunday morning there seemed to be something in the air that +was not a component part of any of the elements. It was simply a bit +of news which the church-goers had read in the papers that morning. To +many a bud and belle it was a thunder-clap, a bolt from a cloudless +heaven. They whispered about it, lifted their eyebrows, and shrugged +their shoulders. But their mamas gave no sign. If the fox of +disappointment ate into their vitals, they determined, Spartan-like, +that none should know it. An actress! Men might marry actresses in +England, but Herculaneum still clung to the belief that actresses were +not eligible. +</P> + +<P> +Some of the men had seen Katherine Challoner act, and they sighed, +retrospectively and introspectively. +</P> + +<P> +"I feel for Mrs. Bennington and her daughter. It must be a great blow +to their pride." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene sat down in her pew-seat and +arranged her silk petticoats. Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds sat down +beside her. "You know I never meddle with scandal." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fairchilds nodded brightly. +</P> + +<P> +"Never. I never repeat anything I hear. The Archibald affair was +enacted right under my very nose; but did I circulate what I saw? I +think not! That woman!—but there! I pray for her every night." +</P> + +<P> +"Was it really true, then?" asked Mrs. Fairchilds, breathless. She +knew something about the Archibald affair, but not enough. +</P> + +<P> +"I saw it all with these eyes," flatly. "But, as I said, I keep my +hands clean of scandal." Her hands were white and flabby. "I consider +it not only wicked to start a scandal, but positively bad taste. The +lightest word sometimes ruins a reputation." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Archibald—" began Mrs. Fairchilds. +</P> + +<P> +"Not another word, my dear. I've said nothing at all; I haven't even +told you what I saw. But an actress is different. Think of it, my +dear! She will live among us and we shall have to meet her. Think of +the actors who have kissed her in their make-believe love affairs! It +is so horribly common. I have heard a good many things about her. She +has romped in studios in male attire and smokes cigarettes. I should +not want any son of mine to be seen with her. I'm not saying a single +word against her, mind you; not a single word. You know as well as I +do what a wild fellow Warrington is. Well, she has been going around +with him." +</P> + +<P> +"But they took him up in London," said Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds. +</P> + +<P> +"London! London society, indeed! It's the greatest jumble in the +world: nobility hobnobs with jockeys, piano-players, writers and +actors." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Fairchilds shook her head sadly. She had always believed London +society quite the proper thing, and she had followed the serials of +"The Duchess" with reverent awe. But Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene ought to +know; she had traveled in Europe several seasons. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +was one of the prominent social leaders, and Mrs. Fairchilds +had ambitions. The ready listener gets along very well in this old +world of ours. +</P> + +<P> +"I always knew that some time or other the plebeian Bennington blood +would crop out," went on Mrs. Haldene. "But we must not criticize the +dead," benignly. +</P> + +<P> +"We shall have to receive her." +</P> + +<P> +"After a fashion," replied Mrs. Haldene, opening her prayer-book. Her +tone implied that things would not go very smoothly for the +interloper. "All this comes from assimilating English ideas," she +added. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was one of those fortunate persons who always +have their names in the society columns of the Sunday newspapers. +Either she was among those present, or she gave a luncheon, or she +assisted at a reception, or was going out of town, or coming back. +Those who ran their husbands in debt to get into society always looked +to see what Mrs. Haldene had been doing the past week. The society +reporters, very often smug young women of aristocratic but +impoverished families, called her up by telephone every day in the +week. Mrs. Haldene pretended to demur, but the reporters found her an +inexhaustible mine of tittle-tattle. Sometimes they omitted some news +which she considered important; and, as the saying goes, the hair +flew. She found many contestants for the leadership; but her rivals +never lasted more than a month. She was president of hospital +societies, orphan asylums, and the auxiliary Republican Club, and +spoke at a bimonthly club on the servant question. Everybody was a +little afraid of her, with one exception. +</P> + +<P> +The society columns of the Sunday newspapers have become permanently +established. In every city and hamlet from New York to San Francisco, +you will find the society column. It is all tommyrot to the outsider; +but the proprietor is generally a shrewd business man and makes vanity +pay tribute to his exchequer. The column especially in early summer, +begins something like this: +</P> + +<P> +June will be a busy month for brides, and King Cupid and his gala +court will hold sway. The bridal processions will begin to move this +week in homes and churches. On Wednesday, at high noon, the marriage +of Miss Katherine Challoner, the well-known actress, and Mr. John +Bennington, of this city, will be solemnized in New York. Only the +immediate relatives will be present. Richard Warrington, our own +celebrated townsman, will act as best man. The announcement comes as a +great surprise to society, as Mr. Bennington was looked upon as a +confirmed bachelor. +</P> + +<P> +And again you will find something of this sort: +</P> + +<P> +April 22—Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene leaves next week for Washington, where +she will be the guest of Senator Soandso's wife. +</P> + +<P> +April 29—Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left yesterday for Washington. +</P> + +<P> +May 6—Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who is visiting in Washington, will +return next week. +</P> + +<P> +May 13—Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene has returned home from a delightful +visit in Washington. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes, when there was no escape from it, Mr. Franklyn-Haldene's +name also appeared. +</P> + +<P> +From mundane things to the spiritual! +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I feel for Mrs. Bennington," continued Mrs. Haldene. "We have to +submit to our boys' running around with actresses; but to marry them!" +</P> + +<P> +"And married life, I understand, seldom agrees with them. They +invariably return to the stage. I wonder if this woman has ever been +married before?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shouldn't be surprised. For my part, I'm very glad the ceremony +will not be performed in the church. Hush!" with a warning glance over +her shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +There was a sudden craning of necks, an agitation among the hats and +bonnets. Down the aisle came a handsome, dignified woman in widow's +weeds, a woman who was easily fifty-six, but who looked as if she had +just crossed the threshold of the forties. Her face was serene, the +half-smile on her lips was gentle and sweet her warm brown eyes viewed +the world peacefully. Ah, how well she knew that to-day this temple of +worship was but a den of jackals, ready to rend her if she so much as +hesitated, so much as faltered in look or speech! Never should they +feed themselves upon her sorrow. She went on, smiling here and there. +The low hum, the pallid lights, the murmur from the organ, all seemed +cruelly accented. Her pew was third from the chancel; she was but +half-way through the gantlet of curious eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Following her was a young girl of twenty. She was youth in all its +beauty and charm and fragrance. Many a young masculine heart throbbed +violently as she passed, and straightway determined to win fame and +fortune, if for no other purpose than to cast them at her feet. This +was Patty Bennington. +</P> + +<P> +The two reached their pew without mishap, and immediately rested their +heads reverently upon the rail in prayer. Presently the music ceased, +the rector mounted the pulpit, and the day's service began. I doubt if +many could tell you what the sermon was about that day. +</P> + +<P> +No other place offers to the speculative eye of the philosopher so +many varied phases of humanity as the church. In the open, during the +week-days, there is little pretense, one way or the other; but in +church, on Sunday, everybody, or nearly everybody, seems to have +donned a mask, a transparent mask, a smug mask, the mask of the known +hypocrite. The man who is a brute to his wife goes meekly to his seat; +the miser, who has six days pinched his tenants or evicted them, +passes the collection plate, his face benevolent; the woman whose +tongue is that of the liar and the gossip, who has done her best to +smirch the reputation of her nearest neighbor, lifts her eyes +heavenward and follows every word of a sermon she can not comprehend; +and the man or woman who has stepped aside actually believes that his +or her presence in church hoodwinks every one. Heigh-ho! and envy with +her brooding yellow eyes and hypocrisy with her eternal smirk sit side +by side in church. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, there are some good and kindly people in this ragged world of +ours, and they go to church with prayer in their hearts and goodness +on their lips and forgiveness in their hands. They wear no masks; +their hearts and minds go in and out of church unchanged. These are +the salt of the earth, and do not often have their names in the Sunday +papers, unless it is in the matter of their wills and codicils. Then +only do the worldly know that charity had walked among them and they +knew her not. +</P> + +<P> +Of such was Miss Anna Warrington, spinster-aunt of Richard. She +occupied the other half of the Bennington pew. Until half a dozen +years ago, when her boy had come into his own, she had known but +little save poverty and disillusion; and the good she always dreamed +of doing she was now doing in fact. Very quietly her withered old hand +stole over the low partition and pressed Mrs. Bennington's hand. The +clasp spoke mutely of courage and good-will. She knew nothing of awe, +kindly soul; the great and the small were all the same to her. She +remembered without rancor the time when Mrs. Bennington scarcely +noticed her; but sorrow had visited Mrs. Bennington and widened her +vision and broadened her heart; and the two met each other on a common +basis, the loss of dear ones. +</P> + +<P> +The clock is invariably hung in the rear of the church. The man who +originally selected this position was evidently a bit of a cynic. +Perhaps he wanted to impress the preacher with the fact that there +must be a limitation to all things, even good sermons; or perhaps he +wanted to test the patience and sincerity of the congregation. The +sermon was rather tedious this Sunday; shiny, well-worn platitudes are +always tedious. And many twisted in their seats to get a glimpse of +the clock. +</P> + +<P> +Whenever Patty looked around (for youth sits impatiently in church), +always she met eyes, eyes, eyes. But she was a brave lass, and more +than once she beat aside the curious gaze. How she hated them! She +knew what they were whispering, whispering. Her brother was going to +marry an actress. She was proud of her brother's choice. He was going +to marry a woman who was as brilliant as she was handsome, who counted +among her friends the great men and women of the time, who dwelt in a +world where mediocrity is unknown and likewise unwelcome. Mediocrity's +teeth are sharp only for those who fear them. +</P> + +<P> +Patty was nervous on her mother's account, not her own. It had been a +blow to the mother, who had always hoped to have her boy to herself as +long as she lived. He had never worried her with flirtations; there +had been no youthful affairs. The mother of the boy who is always +falling in love can meet the final blow half-way. Mrs. Bennington had +made an idol of the boy, but at the same time she had made a man of +him. From the time he could talk till he had entered man's estate, she +had been constant at his side, now with wisdom and learning, now with +laughter and wit, always and always with boundless and brooding love. +The first lesson had been on the horror of cruelty; the second, on the +power of truth; the third, on the good that comes from firmness. It is +very easy to make an idol and a fool of a boy; but Mrs. Bennington +always had the future in mind. It was hard, it was bitter, that +another should step in and claim the perfected man. She had been +lulled into the belief that now she would have him all her own till +the end of her days. But it was not to be. Her sense of justice was +evenly balanced; her son had the same right that his father had; it +was natural that he should desire a mate and a home of his own; but, +nevertheless, it was bitter. That his choice had been an actress +caused her no alarm. Her son was a gentleman; he would never marry +beneath him; it was love, not infatuation; and love is never love +unless it can find something noble and good to rest upon. It was not +the actress, no; the one great reiterating question was: did this +brilliant woman love her son? Was it the man or his money? She had +gone to New York to meet Miss Challoner. She had steeled her heart +against all those subtle advances, such as an actress knows how to +make. She had gone to conquer, but had been conquered. For when Kate +Challoner determined to charm she was not to be resisted. She had gone +up to the mother and daughter and put her arms around them. "I knew +that I should love you both. How could I help it? And please be kind +to me: God has been in giving me your son." Ah, if she had only said: +"I shall love you because I love him!" But there was doubt, haunting +doubt. If the glamour of married life wore out, and the craving for +publicity returned, this woman might easily wreck her son's life and +the lives of those who loved him. +</P> + +<P> +She was very glad when the service came to an end and the stir and +rustle announced the departure of the congregation. +</P> + +<P> +At the door she found Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She rather expected to +find her. They were enemies of old. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall I congratulate you?" asked the formidable person. +</P> + +<P> +Many of the congregation stopped. They hadn't the courage of Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene, but they lacked none of her curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"You may, indeed," returned Mrs. Bennington serenely. She understood +perfectly well; but she was an old hand at woman's war. "My son is +very fortunate. I shall love my new daughter dearly, for she loves my +son." +</P> + +<P> +"She is just splendid!" said Patty, with sparkling eyes. How she +longed to scratch the powder from Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's beak-like +nose! Busybody, meddler! "I never suspected John had such good sense." +</P> + +<P> +"You are very fortunate," said Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She smiled, +nodded, and passed on into the street. A truce! +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Franklyn-Haldene, as he entered the carriage after his wife, +savagely bit off the end of a cigar. +</P> + +<P> +"What the devil's the matter with you women, anyhow?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Franklyn!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why couldn't you leave her alone? You're all a pack of buzzards, +waiting for some heart to peck at. Church!—bah!" +</P> + +<P> +It was only on rare occasions that Mr. Franklyn-Haldene voiced his +sentiments. On these occasions Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene rarely spoke. +There was a man in her husband she had no desire to rouse. Mr. Haldene +was the exception referred to; he was not afraid of his wife. +</P> + +<P> +They rode homeward in silence. As they passed the Warrington place, +Mr. Haldene again spoke. +</P> + +<P> +"Warrington is home over Sunday. Saw him on horseback this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"There's one thing I'm thankful for: the wedding will not be in +Herculaneum." +</P> + +<P> +"Humph!" +</P> + +<P> +"It's disgusting; and we shall have to receive her. But I do not envy +her her lot." +</P> + +<P> +"Neither do I," said Haldene. "You women have already mapped out a +nice little hell for her. Why should you be so vindictive simply +because she is an actress? If she is good and honest, what the deuce?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's no use arguing with you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you've found that out. You'd find out lots of other things +if you stayed home long enough. I shall treat the woman decently." +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say all you men will." +</P> + +<P> +"And you, Madam, shall be among the first to call on her. Mind that!" +</P> + +<P> +She looked at the man pityingly. Men never understood. Call on her? Of +course, she would call on her. For how could she make the woman +unhappy if she did not call on her? +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter V +</H3> + +<P> +Every city has its Fifth Avenue. That which we can not have as our own +we strive to imitate. Animal and vegetable life simply reproduces +itself; humanity does more than that, it imitates. Williams Street was +the Fifth Avenue of Herculaneum. It was broad, handsome, and climbed a +hill of easy incline. It was a street of which any city might be +justly proud. Only two or three houses jarred the artistic sense. +These were built by men who grew rich so suddenly and unexpectedly +that their sense of the grotesque became abnormal. It is an +interesting fact to note that the children of this class become +immediately seized with a species of insanity, an insanity which urges +them on the one hand to buy newspapers with dollar-bills, and on the +other to treat their parents with scant respect. Sudden riches have, +it would seem, but two generations: the parent who accumulates and the +son who spends. +</P> + +<P> +The Warrington home (manor was applied to but few houses in town) +stood back from the street two hundred feet or more, on a beautiful +natural terrace. The lawn was wide and crisp and green, and the oak +trees were the envy of many. The house itself had been built by one of +the early settlers, and Warrington had admired it since boyhood. It +was of wood, white, with green blinds and wide verandas, pillared +after the colonial style. Warrington had purchased it on a bank +foreclosure, and rather cheaply, considering the location. The +interior was simple but rich. The great fireplace was made of old +Roman bricks; there were exquisite paintings and marbles and rugs and +china, and books and books. Very few persons in Herculaneum had been +inside, but these few circulated the report that the old house had the +handsomest interior in town. Straightway Warrington's income became +four times as large as it really was. +</P> + +<P> +The old aunt and the "girl" kept the house scrupulously clean, for +there was no knowing when Richard might take it into his head to come +home. The "girl's" husband took care of the stables and exercised the +horses. And all went very well. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington seldom went to church. It was not because he was without +belief; there was a strong leaven of faith underlying his cynicism. +Frankly, sermons bored him. It was so easy for his imaginative mind to +reach out and take the thought from the preacher's mouth almost before +he uttered it. Thus, there was never any suspense, and suspense in +sermons, as in books and plays, is the only thing that holds captive +our interest. +</P> + +<P> +So he stayed at home and read the Sunday papers. That part not devoted +to society and foreign news was given up wholly to local politics. +Both the Democratic and Republican parties were in bad odor. In the +Common Council they were giving away street-railway franchises; +gambling-dens flourished undisturbed, and saloons closed only when +some member of the saloon-keeper's family died. The anti-gambling +league had succeeded in suppressing the slot machines for a fortnight; +this was the only triumph virtue could mark down for herself. There +were reformers in plenty, but their inordinate love of publicity +ruined the effectiveness of their work. A brass band will not move the +criminal half so quickly as a sudden pull at the scruff of his neck. +So the evil-doer lay low, or borrowed the most convenient halo and +posed as a deeply-wronged man. Warrington, as he read, smiled in +contempt. They had only one real man in town, scoundrel though he was. +There are certain phases of villainy that compel our admiration, and +the villainy of McQuade was of this order. The newspapers were +evidently subsidized, for their clamor was half-hearted and +hypocritical. Once or twice Warrington felt a sudden longing to take +off his coat and get into the fight; but the impulse was transitory. +He realized that he loved ease and comfort too well. +</P> + +<P> +Finally he tossed aside the sheets and signaled to the dog. It was a +bull terrier, old and scarred, and unchanging in his affections. He +loved this master of his, even if he saw him but once a year. They +understood each other perfectly. He was a peace-loving animal, but he +was a fighter at times—like his master. He had a beautiful head, +broad punishing jaws, and, for all his age, he had not run to fat, +which is the ignominious end of all athletes, men or dogs. +</P> + +<P> +"Old boy, this is a jolly bad world." +</P> + +<P> +Jove wagged his stump of a tail. +</P> + +<P> +"We should all be thieves if it were not for publicity and jail." +</P> + +<P> +Jove coughed deprecatingly. Perhaps he recollected purloined haunches +of aforetime. +</P> + +<P> +"Sometimes I've half a mind to pack up and light out to the woods, and +never look at a human being again." +</P> + +<P> +Jove thought this would be fine; his tail said so. +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm like a man at a good play; I've simply got to stay and see +how it ends, for the great Dramatist has me guessing." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stared into the kind brown eyes and pulled the ragged ears. +There was a kind of guilt in the old dog's eyes, for dogs have +consciences. If only he dared tell his master! There was somebody else +now. True, this somebody else would never take the master's place; but +what was a poor dog to do when he was lonesome and never laid eyes on +his master for months and months? Nobody paid much attention to him in +this house when the master was away. He respected aunty (who had the +spinster's foolish aversion for dogs and the incomprehensible +affection for cats!) and for this reason never molested her +supercilious Angora cat. Could he be blamed if he sought (and found) +elsewhere affection and confidence? Why, these morning rides were as +good as a bone. She talked to him, told him her secrets (secrets he +swore on a dog's bible never to reveal!) and desires, and fed him +chicken, and cuddled him. There were times when he realized that old +age was upon him; some of these canters left him breathless and +groggy. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been thinking, boy," the master's voice went on. "New York isn't +so much, after all. I wasn't city born, and there are times when the +flowing gold of the fields and the cool woods call. Bah! There's +nothing now to hold me anywhere. I hope she'll make him happy; she can +do it if she tries. Heigh-ho! the ride this morning has made me +sleepy. To your rug, boy, to your rug." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stretched himself on the lounge and fell asleep. And thus +the aunt found him on her return from church. She hated to wake him +but she simply could not hold back the news till luncheon. She touched +his arm, and he woke with the same smile that had dimpled his cheeks +when he was a babe in her arms. Those of us who have retained the good +disposition of youth never scowl upon being awakened. +</P> + +<P> +"Aha," he cried, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Richard, I wish you had gone to church this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"And watched the gossips and scandal-mongers twist their barbs in Mrs. +Bennington's heart? Hardly." +</P> + +<P> +She gazed at him, nonplussed. There was surely something uncanny in +this boy, who always seemed to know what people were doing, had done +or were going to do. +</P> + +<P> +"I wouldn't have believed it of my congregation," she said. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Mrs. Bennington is a woman of the world; she understands how to +make barbs harmless. But that's why I never go to church. It doesn't +soothe me as it ought to; I fall too easily into the habit of pulling +my neighbor's mind into pieces. Gossip and weddings and funerals; your +reputation in shreds, your best girl married, your best friend dead. I +find myself nearer Heaven when I'm alone in the fields. But I've been +thinking, Aunty." +</P> + +<P> +"About what?" +</P> + +<P> +"About coming home to stay." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Richard, if you only would!" sitting beside him and folding him +in her arms. "I'm so lonely. There's only you and I; all the others +I've loved are asleep on the hill. Do come home, Richard; you're all I +have." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm thinking it over." +</P> + +<P> +Here the Angora came in cautiously. She saw Jove and the dog saw her; +fur and hair bristled. Jove looked at his master beseechingly—"Say +the word, Dick, say the word, and I'll give you an entertainment." But +the word did not come. +</P> + +<P> +"There's your church-goers, Aunty; always ready to fly at each other. +In order to study humanity thoroughly, one must first learn the ways +of the beast." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid your dog's a traitor." +</P> + +<P> +"A traitor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Half the time he runs over to the Benningtons' and stays all +night. I don't see why he should." +</P> + +<P> +"Maybe they pet him over there. Perhaps he wants a hand sometimes, +just like human beings when they're lonely. If you petted him once in +a while, one pat for every ten you give the cat, the old boy would be +tickled to death." +</P> + +<P> +"But I'm kind to him, Richard; he has the best meat I can buy. I'd pet +him, too, but I'm afraid of him. I'm always afraid of dogs. Besides, +his feet are always muddy and his hair falls out and sticks to +everything." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is his latest love?" +</P> + +<P> +"Patty Bennington. They go out riding together. I can always tell, for +his stomach is invariably caked with dried mud." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty Bennington? The old dog shows good taste. And I had forgotten +all about Bennington's having a sister. I was thunderstruck when I met +her the other week in New York. I had really forgotten her. She is +charming." +</P> + +<P> +"She is a dear young girl. Ah, Richard, if only you would find some +one like her." +</P> + +<P> +"Marriages are made in Heaven, Aunt, and I'm going to wait till I get +there. But I'll think it over about coming home to stay." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be so happy!" the old lady cried. "I'm going right out into the +kitchen myself and make one of those cherry pies you used to rave +over." +</P> + +<P> +She disappeared; and Warrington laughed, rose and stretched the sleep +from his arms and legs, and went up stairs to dress. Yes, he would +think it over. There was nothing to hold him in New York, nothing but +the craving for noise and late hours. Why not settle down here? There +would be plenty to do. Besides, if he lived in Herculaneum he could +run over to the Bennington home at any time of day. His cheeks flushed +of a sudden. +</P> + +<P> +"Hang it, am I lying to myself about that girl? Is it the knowledge +that she'll be my neighbor that inclines me to live here? I know I +shall miss her if I stay in New York; I'm honest enough to admit that. +God knows I've nothing but honor in my heart for her. Why, I wouldn't +even kiss her hand without old Jack's consent. Well, well; the scene +in the church Wednesday will solve all doubts—if I have any." +</P> + +<P> +The Sunday luncheon passed uneventfully. The aunt said nothing more +about his coming home to stay. She knew her boy; urging would do more +harm than good; so she left him to decide freely. +</P> + +<P> +"Is the pie good, Richard?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Fine! Can you spare me another piece?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm glad you'll never be too proud to eat pie," she returned. +</P> + +<P> +"Not even when it's humble," laughed Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"There are some folks roundabout who do not think pie is proper," +seriously. +</P> + +<P> +"Not proper? Tommyrot! Pie is an institution; it is as unassailable as +the Constitution of the country. I do not speak of the human +constitution. There are some folks so purse-proud that they call pies +tarts." +</P> + +<P> +She looked askance at him. There were times when she wasn't quite sure +of this boy of hers. He might be serious, and then again he might be +quietly laughing. But she saw with satisfaction that the pie +disappeared. +</P> + +<P> +"The world, Richard, isn't what it was in my time." +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say it isn't, Aunty; yet cherries are just as good as ever and +June as beautiful. It isn't the world, Aunt o' mine; it's the plaguy +people. Those who stay away from church ought to go, and those who go +ought to stay away. I'm going down to the club this afternoon. I shall +dine there, and later look up the Benningtons. So don't keep dinner +waiting for me." +</P> + +<P> +"Cheer her up, Richard; she needs cheering. It's been a blow to her to +lose her boy. If you'd only get married, too, Richard, I could die +content. What in the world shall you do when I am gone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven knows!" The thought of losing this dear old soul gave a +serious tone to his voice. He kissed her on the cheek and went out +into the hall. Jove came waltzing after him. "Humph! What do you want, +sir? Want to go out with me, eh? Very well; but you must promise to +behave yourself. I'll have you talking to no poor-dog trash, mind." +Jove promised unutterable things. "Come on, then." +</P> + +<P> +He walked slowly down town, his cane behind his back, his chin in his +collar, deep in meditation. He knew instinctively that Mrs. Bennington +wanted to talk to him about the coming marriage. He determined to tell +her the truth, truth that would set her mother's heart at peace. +</P> + +<P> +Jove ran hither and thither importantly. It was good to be out with +the master. He ran into this yard and that, scared a cat up a tree, +chased the sparrows, and grumbled at the other dogs he saw. All at +once he paused, stiffened, each muscle tense. Warrington, catching the +pose, looked up. A handsome trotter was coming along at a walk. In the +light road-wagon sat a man and a white bulldog. It was easy for +Warrington to recognize McQuade, who in turn knew that this +good-looking young man must be the dramatist. The two glanced at each +other casually. They were unacquainted. Not so the dogs. They had met. +The white bull teetered on the seat. Jove bared his strong teeth. How +he hated that sleek white brute up there! He would have given his life +for one good hold on that broad throat. The white dog was thinking, +too. Some day, when the time came, he would clean the slate. Once he +had almost had the tan for his own. And he hated the girl who had +beaten him off with her heavy riding-crop. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade drove on, and Warrington resumed his interrupted study of the +sidewalk. McQuade thought nothing more about the fellow who wrote +plays, and the dramatist had no place in his mind for the petty +affairs of the politician. Fate, however, moves quite as certainly and +mysteriously as the cosmic law. The bitter feud between these two men +began with their dogs. +</P> + +<P> +At the club Warrington found a few lonely bachelors, who welcomed him +to the long table in the grill-room; but he was in no mood for gossip +and whisky. He ordered a lithia, drank it quickly, and escaped to the +reading-room to write some letters. +</P> + +<P> +Down in the grill-room they talked him over. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know whether he boozes now, but he used to be tanked quite +regularly," said one. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and they say he writes best when half-seas over." +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently," said a third, "he doesn't drink unless he wants to; and +that's more than most of us can say." +</P> + +<P> +"Pshaw! Sunday's clearing-up day; nobody drinks much on Sunday. I +wonder that Warrington didn't marry Challoner himself. He went around +with her a lot." +</P> + +<P> +Everybody shrugged. You can shrug away a reputation a deal more safely +than you can talk it. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Bennington's no ass. She's a woman of brains, anyhow. It's +something better than marrying a little fool of a pretty chorus girl. +She'll probably make things lively for one iron-monger. If the hair +doesn't fly, the money will. He's a good sort of chap, but he wants a +snaffle and a curb on his high-stepper." +</P> + +<P> +Then the topic changed to poker and the marvelous hands held the night +before. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington finished his correspondence, dined alone, and at +seven-thirty started up the street to the Benningtons'. Jove, with the +assurance of one who knows he will be welcomed, approached the +inviting veranda at a gallop. His master, however, followed with a +sense of diffidence. He noted that there was a party of young people +on the veranda. He knew the severe and critical eye of youth, and he +was a bit afraid of himself. Evidently Miss Patty had no lack of +beaux. Miss Patty in person appeared at the top of the steps, and +smiled. +</P> + +<P> +"I was half expecting you," she said, offering a slim cool hand. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington clasped it in his own and gave it a friendly pressure. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," he replied. "Please don't disturb yourselves," he +remonstrated, as the young men rose reluctantly from their chairs. "Is +Mrs. Bennington at home?" +</P> + +<P> +"You will find her in the library." Then Patty introduced him. There +was some constraint on the part of the young men. They agreed that, +should the celebrity remain, he would become the center of attraction +at once, and all the bright things they had brought for the dazzlement +of Patty would have to pass unsaid. +</P> + +<P> +To youth, every new-corner is a possible rival; he wouldn't be human +if he didn't believe that each man who comes along is simply bound to +fall in love with the very girl HE has his eyes on. +</P> + +<P> +On the other hand, the young girls regretted that the great dramatist +wasn't going to sit beside them. There is a strange glamour about +these men and women who talk or write to us from over the footlights. +As Warrington disappeared into the hallway, the murmur and frequent +laughter was resumed. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bennington was very glad to see him. She laid aside her book and +made room for him on the divan. They talked about the weather, the +changes that had taken place since the fall, a scrap of foreign travel +of mutual interest, each hoping that the other would be first to +broach the subject most vital to both. Finally, Mrs. Bennington +realized that she could fence no longer. +</P> + +<P> +"It was very good of you to come. I have so many things to ask you." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"My boy's determination to marry has been very sudden. I knew nothing +till a month ago. I love him so, and my whole heart hungers for one +thing—the assurance that he will be happy with the woman of his +choice." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Mrs. Bennington, Jack will marry a woman who is as loyal and +honest as she is brilliant and beautiful. Miss Challoner is a woman +any family might be proud to claim. She numbers among her friends many +of the brilliant minds of the age; she compels their respect and +admiration by her intellect and her generosity. Oh, Jack is to be +envied. I can readily understand the deep-rooted antagonism the +actress still finds among the laity. It is a foolish prejudice. I can +point out many cases where the layman has married an actress and has +been happy and contented with his lot." +</P> + +<P> +"But on the obverse side?" with a smile that was sad and dubious. +</P> + +<P> +"Happiness is always in the minority of cases, in all walks of life. +Happiness depends wholly upon ourselves; environment has nothing to do +with it. Most of these theatrical marriages you have read about were +mere business contracts. John is in love." +</P> + +<P> +"But is he loved?" +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Challoner has a very comfortable fortune of her own. She would, +in my opinion, be the last person in the world to marry for money or +social position, the latter of which she already has." +</P> + +<P> +But she saw through his diplomacy. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps she may desire a home?" +</P> + +<P> +"That is probable; but it is quite evident to me that she wants John +with it." +</P> + +<P> +"There are persons in town who will do their best to make her +unhappy." +</P> + +<P> +"You will always find those persons; but I am confident Miss Challoner +will prove a match for any of them. There is no other woman in the +world who knows better than she the value of well-applied flattery." +</P> + +<P> +"She is certainly a charming woman; it is impossible not to admit that +frankly. But you, who are familiar with the stage, know how unstable +people of that sort are. Suppose she tires of John? It would break my +heart." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, all that will depend upon Jack. Doubtless he knows the meaning of +'to have and to hold.' To hold any woman's love, a man must make +himself indispensable; he must be her partner in all things: her +comrade and husband when need be, her lover always. There can be no +going back to old haunts, so attractive to men; club life must become +merely an incident. Again, he must not be under her feet all the time. +Too much or too little will not do; it must be the happy between." +</P> + +<P> +"You are a very wise young man." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington laughed embarrassedly. "I have had to figure out all these +things." +</P> + +<P> +"But if she does not love him!" +</P> + +<P> +"How in the world can she help it?" +</P> + +<P> +She caught up his hand in a motherly clasp. +</P> + +<P> +"We mothers are vain in our love. We make our sons paragons; we blind +ourselves to their faults; we overlook their follies, and condone +their sins. And we build so many castles that one day tumble down +about our ears. Why is it a mother always wishes her boy to marry the +woman of her choice? What right has a mother to interfere with her +son's heart-desires? It may be that we fear the stranger will stand +between us. A mother holds, and always will hold, that no woman on +earth is good enough for her son. Now, as I recollect, I did not think +Mr. Bennington too good for me." She smiled drolly. +</P> + +<P> +Lucky Jack! If only he had had a mother like this! Warrington thought. +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say he thought that, too," he said. "Myself, I never knew a +mother's love. No doubt I should have been a better man. Yet, I've +often observed that a boy with a loving mother takes her love as a +matter of course, and never realizes his riches till he has lost them. +My aunt is the only mother I have known." +</P> + +<P> +"And a dear, kind, loving soul she is," said Mrs. Bennington. "She +loves you, if not with mother-love, at least with mother-instinct. +When we two get together, we have a time of it; I, lauding my boy; +she, praising hers. But I go round and round in a circle: my boy. Sons +never grow up, they are always our babies; they come to us with their +heartaches, at three or at thirty; there is ever one door open in the +storm, the mother's heart. If she loves my boy, nothing shall be too +good for her." +</P> + +<P> +"I feel reasonably sure that she does." Did she? he wondered. Did she +love Jack as he (Warrington) wanted some day to be loved? +</P> + +<P> +"As you say," the mother went on, "how can she help loving him? He is +a handsome boy; and this alone is enough to attract women. But he is +so kind and gentle, Richard; so manly and strong. He has his faults; +he is human, like his mother. John is terribly strong-willed, and this +would worry me, were I not sure that his sense of justice is equally +strong. He is like me in gentleness; but the man in him is the same +man I loved in my girlhood days. When John maps out a course to act +upon, if he believes he is right, nothing can swerve him—nothing. And +sometimes he has been innocently wrong. I told Miss Challoner all his +good qualities and his bad. She told me that she, too, has her faults. +She added that there was only one other man who could in any manner +compare with John, and that man is you." +</P> + +<P> +"I?" his face growing warm. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But she had no right to compare anybody with my boy," laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't any comparison whatever," admitted Warrington, laughing +too. "But it was very kind of Miss Challoner to say a good word for +me." And then upon impulse he related how, and under what +circumstances, he had first met the actress. +</P> + +<P> +"It reads like a story,—a versatile woman. This talk has done me much +good. I know the affection that exists between you and John, and I am +confident that you would not misrepresent anything. I shall sleep +easier to-night." +</P> + +<P> +The portieres rattled, and Patty stood in the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +"Everybody's gone; may I come in?" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington rose. "I really should be very glad to make your +acquaintance," gallantly. "It's so long a time since I've met young +people—" +</P> + +<P> +"Young people!" indignantly. "I am not young people; I am twenty, +going on twenty-one." +</P> + +<P> +"I apologize." Warrington sat down. +</P> + +<P> +Thereupon Miss Patty, who was a good sailor, laid her course close to +the wind, and with few tacks made her goal; which was the complete +subjugation of this brilliant man. She was gay, sad, witty and wise; +and there were moments when her mother looked at her in puzzled +surprise. As for Warrington, he went from one laugh into another. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, dazzling twenty; blissful, ignorant, confident twenty! Who among +you would not be twenty, when trouble passes like cloud-shadows in +April; when the door of the world first opens? Ay, who would not trade +the meager pittance, wrested from the grinding years, for one fleet, +smiling dream of twenty? +</P> + +<P> +"It is all over town, the reply you made to Mrs. Winthrop and that +little, sawed-off, witty daughter of hers." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty!" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she is sawed-off and witty." +</P> + +<P> +"What did I say?" asked Warrington, blushing. He had forgotten the +incident. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Winthrop asked you to make her daughter an epigram, and you +replied that Heaven had already done that." +</P> + +<P> +"By the way," said Warrington, when the laughter subsided, "I +understand that my old dog has been running away from home lately. I +hope he doesn't bother you." +</P> + +<P> +"Bother, indeed! I just love him," cried Patty. "He's such a lovable +animal. We have such good times on our morning rides. We had trouble +last week, though. A white bulldog sprang at him. Jove was so tired +that he would have been whipped had I not dismounted and beaten the +white dog off. Oh, Jove was perfectly willing to contest the right of +way. And when it was all over, who should come along but Mr. McQuade, +the politician. It was his dog. And he hadn't even the grace to make +an apology for his dog's ill manners." +</P> + +<P> +"May I not ride with you to-morrow morning?" he asked. He had intended +to leave Herculaneum at noon; but there were many later trains. +</P> + +<P> +"That will be delightful! I know so many beautiful roads; and we can +lunch at the Country Club. And Jove can go along, too." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is the traitor?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is sound asleep on the veranda rugs." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's long past his bedtime. I must be going." +</P> + +<P> +"Some time I hope you will come just to call on me." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not need any urging." +</P> + +<P> +They followed him to the door, and good nights were said. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Patty, he has lifted so much doubt!" said the mother, as the two +returned to the library. "He has nothing but praise for Miss +Challoner. It is quite possible that John will be happy." +</P> + +<P> +"It is not only possible, mother darling, but probable. For my part, I +think her the most charming, most fascinating woman I ever met. And +she told me she rides. What jolly times we'll have together, when John +settles down in the new house!" +</P> + +<P> +"The new house!" repeated the mother, biting her lips. "How the word +hurts! Patty, why could they not come here? We'll be so lonely. Yet, +it is the law of Heaven that a man and his wife must live by and for +themselves." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington walked home, lightened in spirit. He swung his cane, gave +Jove a dozen love-taps and whistled operatic airs. What a charming +young creature it was, to be sure! The brain of a woman and the heart +of a child. And he had forgotten all about her. Now, of course, his +recollection became clear. He remembered a mite of a girl in short +frocks, wonder-eyes, and candy-smudged lips. How they grew, these +youngsters! +</P> + +<P> +He went into the house, still whistling. Jove ran out into the kitchen +to see if by some possible miracle there was another piece of steak in +his grub-pan. A dog's eyes are always close to his stomach. +Warrington, finding that everybody had gone to bed, turned out the +lights and went up stairs. He knocked on the door of his aunt's +bedroom. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that you, Richard?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. May I come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly." +</P> + +<P> +He entered quietly. The moonlight, pouring in through the window, lay +blue-white on the counterpane and the beloved old face. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her hands. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunty, old lady, I'm through thinking. I'm going to come home just as +soon as I can fix up things in New York." +</P> + +<P> +"Richard, my boy!" Her arms pulled him downward. "I knew it when you +came in. I've prayed so long for this. God has answered my prayers. +I'm so happy. Don't you remember how you used to tell me all your +plans, the plots of your stories, the funny things that had come to +you during the day? You used to come home late, but that didn't +matter; you'd always find some pie and cheese and a glass of milk on +the kitchen table—the old kitchen table. I'm so glad!" +</P> + +<P> +"It may be a month or so; for I'll have to sell some of the things. +But I'm coming home, I'm coming home." He bent swiftly and kissed her. +"Good night." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter VI +</H3> + +<P> +Warrington was up and about at six the next morning. He had never +really outgrown the natural habit of waking at dawn, but he had fallen +upon the evil way of turning over and sleeping till half after nine. +He ate a light breakfast and went out to the stables and moved among +the stalls, talking affectionate nonsense to the horses. A man can not +talk baby-talk, that is the undisputed prerogative of the woman; but +he has a fashion of his own which serves. "Aha, old boy! handsome +beggar!" or—"How's the little lady this morning, eh?" or yet +again—"Rascal! you've been rubbing the hair off your tail!" In the +boxstall Warrington's thoroughbred Irish hunter nozzled his palm for +loaf-sugar, and whinnied with pleasure when he found it. One of the +first things Warrington had done, upon drawing his first big royalty +check, was to buy a horse. As a boy on the farm he had hungered for +the possession of one of those sleek, handsome animals which men call +thoroughbreds. Then for a while he bought, sold and traded horses, for +the mere pleasure it gave him to be near them. Finally he came to +Herculaneum with two such saddle-horses as made every millionaire in +town (and there were several in Herculaneum) offer fabulous sums +whenever they ran across the owner. Next, he added two carriage-horses, +in their way quite equal to the hunters. Men offered to buy these, +too, but Warrington was a property owner now, and he wanted the horses +for his own. In New York one of his wealthy friends had given him free +use of his stables: so Warrington rode, at home and abroad. His +income, ranging from twenty to thirty thousand the year, gave him that +financial independence which neither the clerk nor the millionaire +knew or understood. In the phraseology of the day, he carried his +business under his hat: in other words, he had no business cares or +responsibilities whatever. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington made it a rule to saddle and bridle his own horses; grooms +become careless. One or two men of his acquaintance had gone to their +death for the want of care and a firm buckle. Besides, he enjoyed the +work, and it accustomed the horses to his touch. He saddled his +favorite hunter and led the eager animal into the open. He mounted and +whistled for the dog; but Jove for once did not respond; doubtless he +was out of hearing. Thereupon Warrington started for the Benningtons' +and found Patty already in the saddle. It was not that the dramatist +was blase, but he had come into contact with so many beautiful women +that his pulse rarely stirred out of its healthy, measured beat. But +this morning he was conscious of a slight thrill. The girl was really +beautiful; more than that, she was fresh with youth and gaiety, gaiety +which older women find necessary to repress. She was dressed in a dark +grey riding-habit and wore a beaver cocked-hat. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning," he said, touching his cap with his crop. "I hope I +haven't kept you waiting." +</P> + +<P> +"Only a moment." The truth is, she wanted to prove to him that there +was one woman who did not keep men waiting. "Shall I pick the going?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid I've lost track of the good country roads." +</P> + +<P> +"Follow me, then." +</P> + +<P> +They walked their horses to the city limits. You never saw either of +them galloping over brick or asphalt, which quickly ruins the +surest-footed horse; neither did they permit any fox-trotting, which, while +it shows off a spirited horse, decreases his value in the ring. All of +which is to say, these two, like their mounts, were thoroughbreds. +</P> + +<P> +"Where is Jove?" she asked presently. +</P> + +<P> +"The rogue is missing. I dare say he is gallivanting around some +neighbor's back yard. I haven't laid eyes on him this morning. I +believe he realizes that he will see me frequently hereafter, and has +not bothered his head to look me up." +</P> + +<P> +"Frequently?" She turned her head. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I am coming home to live. Of course, this is my place of +residence; my voter's bed, as the politicians say, is here in +Herculaneum. But I mean to live here now in deed as well as in +thought." +</P> + +<P> +"I am sure we shall be delighted to have you with us." This was said +gravely. A thought, which she would have repelled gladly, sprang into +being. "I know John will be glad. He's always talking about you and +your exploits at college." +</P> + +<P> +"Our exploits," he corrected, laughing. "Shall we give them a little +exercise now?" he asked, with a gesture toward the long brown road. +</P> + +<P> +She nodded, and they started off at a sharp trot, and presently broke +into a canter. So he was coming home to live? She felt a hot wave of +sudden anger sweep over her, and her hands tightened on the reins. It +was true, then? She loved her brother. What right had this man at her +side to threaten her brother's happiness? Had Katherine Challoner +signified her desire not to leave New York, would Warrington have +decided to return to Herculaneum? Her hands relaxed. What a silly +little fool she was! She, who despised and contemned gossip, was +giving it ready ear. Had she ever found gossip other than an errant, +cowardly liar? Gossip, gossip! Ah, if gossip, when she had made her +round, would not leave suspicion behind her; suspicion, hydra-headed! +What signified it that Warrington intended to come home to live? What +signified it that her brother's wife would live across the way? She +was ashamed of her evil thought; presently she would be no better than +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, or any of those women who get together to tear +somebody apart. As if Warrington could compare with her big, handsome, +manly brother! It was all impossible. She would punish herself for +even entertaining such a thought as had been hers but a moment gone. +</P> + +<P> +She stole a glance at Warrington. He was riding easily, his feet light +in the stirrups, his head thrown back, his eyes half closed, and was +breathing deeply of the cool air, which was heavy with the smell of +sweet clover and dew-wet earth. It was a good, clean, honest face. +Indeed, it was all impossible. Dissipation writes plainly upon the +human countenance, and it had left no visible sign on Warrington's +face. It may be that dissipation sometimes whimsically neglects to +write at all. +</P> + +<P> +They thundered over a wooden bridge. The spirit of the morning was in +the horses; they began to race. An unexpected curve in the road +discovered a road-builder and his gang of Italians. A low barrier ran +across the road. It was not exactly needed, as they were not digging, +but laying crushed stone. The obstruction was simply for the +convenience of the boss, who desired to work unhampered. +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we?" cried Warrington, mischief in his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." There was no fear in this girl. +</P> + +<P> +On they went, in a cloud of dust. The Italians made for the ditches, +but the boss stood in the road and waved his arms in warning. +Presently he, too, ducked. +</P> + +<P> +Hep! and over the pair went, landing clean and sound on the other side +of the barrier. Before the surprised boss could express himself, they +were far down the road. A curse was hurled after them, but they heard +it not. They hadn't hurt the road at all, but the authority of the +boss had suffered. He knew the girl, little snob! He would find out +who the man was, soon enough. And if he had any influence in the City +Hall, as he believed he had, he would make it tolerably warm for +yonder vanishing parties. +</P> + +<P> +He had put up that barrier to signify that the road was closed; very +well, they'd see. Dirt under their feet, huh? All right. How he hated +them all, with their horses and carriages and dances and dinners and +clubs! Bah! He took a flask from his pocket and drank. Then he cursed +the laggard Italians, and mourned that a year and a half must pass +before he could sell their votes again. Bolles contracted for Italian +labor and controlled something more than eight hundred votes. McQuade +sublet various small contracts to him, and in return used the Italians +during elections. +</P> + +<P> +That jump, harmless enough in itself, was to prove a bad inspiration +on Warrington's part. But it is always these seemingly inconsequent +things that bear the heaviest reckoning. +</P> + +<P> +Half a mile onward they drew down to a walk, flushed and breathless. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps we oughtn't to have done that," she said doubtfully, working +the numbness from her fingers. "No thoroughfare" had hitherto been +religiously respected by her; this was her first transgression, and +she wasn't entirely satisfied with herself. +</P> + +<P> +"Pshaw! There's no harm done. There was no earthly reason why we +should have turned back to the fork and added two miles to our ride. +Don't let anything like that worry you; we went by too fast to be +recognized. Look! here's a big clover patch. I never pass clover +without wanting to get down and hunt for four-leaves. Shall we?" +</P> + +<P> +She was out of the saddle before the query had left his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe it would be a good idea to arm ourselves against bad luck," +she replied, gently moving aside the clover heads with her crop. +</P> + +<P> +"You believe in four-leaf clover, then?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"I do. I also am very careful," he added, "to catch the money-patches +on my coffee." +</P> + +<P> +She laughed. After all, there was something old-fashioned about this +man. "And I never think of plucking a five-leaf. That's bad luck." +</P> + +<P> +"The worst kind of bad luck. I remember, when I was a kid, I never +played hooky without first hunting up my four-leaved amulet. If I got +a licking when I returned home, why, I consoled myself with the +thought, that it might have been ten times worse but for the +four-leaf." +</P> + +<P> +They moved about, looking here and there, while the horses buried +their noses in the wet grass and threatened never to return to the +road again. After a diligent search Patty found a beautiful four-leaf +clover. She exhibited it in triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"You've better luck than I," said Warrington. "We shall have to go on +without my finding one." +</P> + +<P> +"You may have this one," she replied; "and I hope it will bring you +all sorts of good luck." +</P> + +<P> +He took out his card-case and made room for the little amulet. +</P> + +<P> +"It is impossible not to be fortunate now," he said, with a gravity +that was not assumed. +</P> + +<P> +She looked at him dubiously. No, there was no laughter in his eyes; he +was perfectly serious. +</P> + +<P> +They walked the horses over a small hill, then mounted. It was a very +pleasant morning for Warrington. It had been years since he had talked +to a young woman who was witty and unworldly. He had to readjust +himself. He had written down that all witty women were worldly, but +that all worldly women were not witty. But to be witty and +unsophisticated was altogether out of his calculations. +</P> + +<P> +At the Country Club they stabled the horses and wandered about the +golf links. Luncheon was served on the veranda; and presently +Warrington found himself confiding in this young girl as if he had +known her intimately all his life. The girl felt a thrill of +exultation. It flattered her young vanity to hear this celebrity +telling her about his ambitions. +</P> + +<P> +"Everything becomes monotonous after a while," he said. "And I have +just begun to grow weary of living alone. Day after day, the same +faces, the same places, the same arguments, the same work. I've grown +tired. I want to live like other human beings. Monotony leads very +quickly into folly, and I confess to many acts of folly. And no folly +is absolutely harmless." He stirred his tea and stared into the cup. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, I should think you ought to be the most contented of men," she +cried. "You are famous, wealthy, courted. And when you return to +Herculaneum, every girl in town will set her cap for you. I warn you +of this, because I've taken a friendly interest in you." +</P> + +<P> +"It is very good of you. Come," he said, draining his cup; "surely you +tell fortunes in tea-cups; tell mine." +</P> + +<P> +"Four-leaf clovers and tea-grounds," she mused. "You strike me as +being a very superstitious young man." +</P> + +<P> +"I am." +</P> + +<P> +She passed the cup back to him. "Pour a little fresh tea in, spill it +gently, turn the cup against the saucer and twirl it three times. +That's the incantation." +</P> + +<P> +He followed the directions carefully, and she extended her hand for +the cup. +</P> + +<P> +"There is always a woman in a man's tea-cup," she began. "There are +two in this one." +</P> + +<P> +"Good gracious!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Do you see that?" pointing to a cluster of leaves. +</P> + +<P> +"Looks like a camel. Am I going to be thirsty?" +</P> + +<P> +"That always indicates scandal," she declared soberly. +</P> + +<P> +"Scandal?" He smiled skeptically. +</P> + +<P> +"Scandal and disappointment. But happily these do not appear as having +permanency." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," piously. "Disappointment? I can readily believe that. +Disappointment has always been my portion. But scandal has never +lifted her ugly head." +</P> + +<P> +"We are all far-sighted when scandal is in our immediate vicinity. +This cup says scandal. There is plenty of money about you. See that? +That means an enemy, strong, implacable. Disappointment and scandal +are in his zone, which means he will probably be the cause of all your +trouble. Have you an enemy?" +</P> + +<P> +"None that I know of, save myself. But don't you think something is +the matter with the tea? It seems impossible that those harmless +grounds ... Why, I shan't sleep o' nights after this." +</P> + +<P> +"You are laughing. Yet, this man is there. And here is a lie, too. +It's a very bad cup, Mr. Warrington. I'm sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"So am I," gaily. "By the way, when do you and your mother start for +New York?" +</P> + +<P> +"We leave to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Good. Do you mind if I take the same train down?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mother and I'll be glad to have you with us." +</P> + +<P> +The servant cleared the table, and Warrington lighted a cigar. A +trolley-car rolled up in front of the club, and several golf +enthusiasts alighted. They knew Patty, and bowed; they weren't quite +certain who her escort was. +</P> + +<P> +At two o'clock they began the journey home. There wasn't much +loitering by the way. Patty had a tea; she must have time to rest and +dress. All told, it was an enjoyable day for Warrington. More than +ever he set his face against the great city and looked with +satisfaction on the hills of his childhood. It would be a pleasant +pastime to sit on Patty's veranda and talk, become, and act like one +of the young people. He was growing old; his youth must be renewed +soon, or he would lose it utterly. This young man had been surfeited +with noise and light, with the sham and glitter of hotels, clubs and +restaurants. He was not to the manner born; thus he could easily see +how palpably false life is in a great city. To those who have lived in +the abnormal glamour of city life, absolute quiet is a kind of new +excitement. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington found that he was a bit stiff from the long ride. +</P> + +<P> +Patty, however, rode nearly every day; so she was but slightly +fatigued. Nevertheless, she was conscious of not wanting to dress for +the tea. But there was a very good reason why she must attend the +function (as applied by the society reporter); they would naturally +discuss her brother's coming marriage, but if she was present, the +discussion would not rise above whispers. She wanted to meet the old +busybodies in the open; she wasn't afraid. As she dressed, she caught +herself doing aimless things, such as approaching the window and +watching the clouds, or thoughtfully studying her face in the mirror, +or patting the rug impatiently, or sighing. She shook herself +vehemently, and went resolutely about the intricate business known as +toilet. +</P> + +<P> +"I simply can't believe it. I know he isn't that kind of man. This +can't be such a wicked world. But if she dares to make John unhappy, I +shall hate her. Why must we hear these things that make us doubt and +ponder and hesitate?" +</P> + +<P> +At the tea the ladies greeted her sympathetically. Sympathy! +Hypocrites! Heads came together; she could see them from the corner of +her eyes. She saw Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, like a vast ship of the line, +manoeuvering toward her. There were several escapes, but Patty stood +her ground. +</P> + +<P> +"You are looking charming, my dear," said Mrs. Haldene. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you." +</P> + +<P> +"You go to the wedding, of course." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; mother and I leave to-night for New York. I am so excited over +it. To think of John's being married to a celebrity!" +</P> + +<P> +Patty was excited, but this excitement did not find its origin in +anything exultant. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene to mind her own business. There was something +primitive in Patty. Her second thoughts were due to cultivation, and +not from any inherent caution. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Haldene smiled and went on. It was a wonderful smile; it never +changed; it served for all emotions, anger, hate, love, envy and +malice. Mrs. Haldene never flew into passions or ecstasies. She was +indeed preserved; and from the puckering taste she left in her wake, +it might be suspected that she was pickled. +</P> + +<P> +Before Patty arrived, two things had been fully discussed: the +Bennington wedding and the report that Warrington was coming home to +live. Shrugs, knowing glances, hypocritical resignation. Too bad, too +bad! Warrington was coming home to live; young Mrs. Bennington would +live across the street. When two and two make four, what more need be +said? +</P> + +<P> +But Patty had her friends, and they stood by her loyally. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +New York. Clamor, clamor; noise, noise; the calling of cabmen, the +clanging of street-cars, the rumbling of the elevated, the roaring of +the drays, the rattling of the carts; shouting, pushing, hurrying, +rushing, digging, streaming, pell-mell; the smell of coal-gas, of food +cooking, of good and bad tobacco, of wet pavements, of plaster; riches +and poverty jostling; romance and reality at war; monoliths of stone +and iron; shops, shops; signs, signs; hotels; the tower of Babel; all +the nations of the world shouldering one another; Jews and Gentiles, +Christians and Turks; jumble, jumble. This is New York. There is +nothing American about it; there is nothing English, French, German, +Latin or Oriental about it. It is cosmopolitan; that is to say, it +represents everything and nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington, Patty and her mother alighted from the train in the +gloomy, smoky cavern called the Grand Central Station and walked +toward the gates. There was sunshine outside, but it was scarcely +noticeable through the blackened canopy overhead. +</P> + +<P> +"There's John!" cried Patty, seizing her mother's arm. "And Miss +Challoner, too!" +</P> + +<P> +A moment later the son was holding his mother in a fond embrace. Mrs. +Bennington gave the actress her hand, who ignored it, put her arms +around the mother and kissed her. There was not the slightest +affectation in the act; it was done naturally and sweetly. Mrs. +Bennington was well pleased. But Patty, Miss Challoner hugged Patty +and whispered: "My sister!" If Patty had any doubts, they disappeared +like summer mists in sunshine. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm a rank outsider," Warrington grumbled. +</P> + +<P> +"Surely you did not expect to be kissed!" Patty retorted. +</P> + +<P> +"A man never gives up hoping. Well, Benedick," to John, "I suppose +you've a nice breakfast waiting for us somewhere." +</P> + +<P> +"That I have!" John thwacked Warrington on the shoulder. "It was good +of you to come down with the folks." +</P> + +<P> +"No trouble at all." +</P> + +<P> +They all followed John, who announced that he had a carriage waiting, +large enough to carry them all comfortably. As they crossed over to +the street exit Warrington covertly glanced at Miss Challoner. She was +radiant; there was color on her cheeks and lips; she was happy. +Heigh-ho! Warrington sighed. She was gone, as completely as though she +had died. He grew angry at the heaviness of his heart. Was he always +to love no one but Warrington? It is fine to be a bachelor when one is +young; but when the years multiply, when there are no new junkets and +old ones grow stale, when scenes change, when friends drop out one by +one, when a younger generation usurps the primrose path of dalliance, +ah! the world becomes a dreary place. The old bachelor is the +loneliest and most pathetic of men. +</P> + +<P> +Once inside the carriage, the women began a light, friendly chatter; +smiles and laughter; little jests about Benedicks, about the servant +question, about coming home late o' nights; antenuptial persiflage. +There was little that was spontaneous; each jest was an effort; but it +sufficed to relieve what might have been awkward silence. +</P> + +<P> +"It's up to you, now, Dick," said John. "Think of the good times we +four could have together!" +</P> + +<P> +"And who'd marry an old man like me?" asked Warrington plaintively. +</P> + +<P> +"Bosh!" said John. +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense!" said Patty. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a young man," said the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"There are plenty setting their caps for you, if you but knew it," +said Miss Challoner. +</P> + +<P> +"Aha! I smell a conspiracy!" laughed Warrington. "You are putting your +heads together to get me off your hands." +</P> + +<P> +The breakfast awaited them at Bennington's hotel. This passed off +smoothly. Then Warrington excused himself. He had a business +engagement down town. It was arranged, however, that they were to be +his guests that evening at dinner and a box-party at the summer opera. +On Wednesday, at ten, they were to breakfast in his apartment. From +his rooms they would go straight to the parson's, the "Little Church +Around the Corner." +</P> + +<P> +When Warrington had gone, John turned to his sister. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't he the finest chap?" +</P> + +<P> +"He isn't to be compared with you," Patty answered. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody is," said Miss Challoner. +</P> + +<P> +John colored with pleasure. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Warrington is a thorough gentleman, and I like him very much," +said Mrs. Bennington. "I have heard things about him; I can see that +there has been some exaggeration. I shall be very glad to have him for +a neighbor." +</P> + +<P> +"A neighbor?" said Miss Challoner. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He is coming back to Herculaneum to live." +</P> + +<P> +"That is news to me." The actress stirred her coffee and smiled at +Patty. "I understand you've been riding together. He is really a +splendid horseman." +</P> + +<P> +"He has the dearest old dog," replied Patty. +</P> + +<P> +The day passed quickly for all concerned: the dinner and box-party +left nothing to be desired. +</P> + +<P> +The wedding-breakfast would have provoked envy in the heart of +Lucullus; for Warrington was a man of the world, thoroughly polished; +there was nothing Stoic about him (though, in the early days he had +been a disciple of this cult perforce); he was a thoroughgoing epicure. +</P> + +<P> +Patty was delighted. Warrington guided her about the rooms on a tour +of inspection. He pointed out all the curios and told the history of +each. But the desk was the article which interested her most. +</P> + +<P> +"And this is where you write? Upon this desk plays have grown up? +Won't you give me a single sheet of manuscript to take home with me?" +</P> + +<P> +"I certainly shall." +</P> + +<P> +He pulled out a drawer and found some old manuscript. He selected a +sheet, signed it, and gave it to her. +</P> + +<P> +"I am rich!" the girl exclaimed. "Signed manuscript from a real live +author! I suppose that you receive tons of letters, some praising, +some arguing, some from mere autograph fiends." +</P> + +<P> +"It's a part of the day's work." His face brightened. He searched his +pockets. "Here is one out of the ordinary. It is unsigned, so I feel +no qualms of conscience in letting you read it." +</P> + +<P> +Patty took the envelope with suppressed eagerness. She drew out the +letter and read it slowly. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you receive many like that?" she asked, folding the letter and +returning it. +</P> + +<P> +"Very few; that's why I treasure it. I should like to meet the writer; +but that's impossible. I have read and re-read it fifty times." +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently it was written in good faith." Patty was not very +enthusiastic. +</P> + +<P> +"There's not the least doubt of that. I am glad of one thing: I can't +disillusion her." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, this young woman thinks I must be a paragon of virtues. I'm not; +I'm a miserable impostor. She takes it for granted that I am good and +kind and wise." +</P> + +<P> +"Aren't you?" asked Patty gravely. +</P> + +<P> +"As men go. I always try to be kind; sometimes I am good, and +sometimes I am wise." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm afraid you are one of those young men who try to be bad and +can't. They are hopeless." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"But I am superstitious about that letter. I've carried it in my +pocket for weeks. It's a kind of mentor. Whenever some fool thing +comes into my head, I stop and think of the letter." +</P> + +<P> +"That is good. The writer hasn't wasted her time." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"I love you!" whispered John. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Challoner smiled into his eyes. The smile encouraged him, and he +raised her hand to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +Ah, if it were not for those gloves! Why did he not say something? She +was positive that he had them. To smile and laugh and talk; to face +the altar, knowing that he possessed those hateful gloves! To pretend +to deceive when she knew that he was not deceived! It was maddening. +It was not possible that Warrington had the gloves; he would never +have kept them all this while. What meant this man at her side? What +was he going to do? She recollected a play in which there was a pair +of gloves. The man had thrown them at the woman's feet, and, at the +very altar, turned and left her. But she knew that men did not do such +things in life. She was innocent of any wrong; this knowledge +sustained her. +</P> + +<P> +"A honeymoon in Switzerland: it has been the dream of my life." This +time he drew her arm through his and crossed the room to his mother's +side. "Mother mine, we shall be gone only three months; then we shall +come home to stay." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall miss you so; you have been away so much that I am hardly +acquainted with you." +</P> + +<P> +The woman who was to become her daughter suddenly dropped on her knees +beside the chair. +</P> + +<P> +"Please love me, too. I have been so lonely all my life." +</P> + +<P> +"My daughter!" Mrs. Bennington laid her hand on the splendid head. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall never marry," said Patty decidedly. +</P> + +<P> +"What? Young lady, don't let any one hear you make such a remark. One +of these fine days somebody will swoop you up and run off with you. I +don't know but that I could play the part fairly well." Warrington +laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed! You'd have a time of it." +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say. But there's the breakfast waiting." +</P> + +<P> +Toasts and good wishes, how easy they are to give! +</P> + +<P> +At the church the women cried a little. Women cry when they are happy, +they cry when they are not; their tears keep a man guessing year in +and year out. But this is no place for a dissertation on tears. +There's time enough for that. +</P> + +<P> +The bride and groom left immediately for Boston, from which city they +were to sail for Europe the following day. In the carriage John drew +his bride close to his heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Mine!" he said, kissing her. "God grant that I may make you happy, +girl." +</P> + +<P> +"John, you are the finest gentleman in the world!" +</P> + +<P> +His hand stole into his coat pocket and gently dropped something into +her lap. She looked down and saw through her tears a crumpled pair of +white kid gloves. Then she knew what manner of man was this at her +side. +</P> + +<P> +"It was not because I doubted you," he said softly: "it was because +they were yours." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter VII +</H3> + +<P> +Spring came round again in Herculaneum. People began to go to the +tailor and the dress-maker and the hatter. There were witty +editorials in the newspapers on house-cleaning and about the man who +had the courage to wear the first straw hat. The season (referring to +the winter festivities) had been unusually lively. There had been two +charity balls by rival hospital boards, receptions, amateur dramatics, +dinners and dances, not to omit the announcement of several +engagements. +</P> + +<P> +The new Bennington mansion had its house-warming in November. The +reception, followed by a dinner-dance in the evening, was, according +to the society columns, "one of the social events of the season. The +handsomest house in town was a bower of smilax and hothouse roses." +Everybody went to the reception, for everybody was more or less +curious to meet the former celebrated actress. The society reporters, +waiting for their cues, were rather non-committal in their description +of the mistress. There was reason. They did not care, at this early +stage of the game, to offend the leader by too much praise of a +newcomer who had yet to establish herself. Besides, they realized how +little their paragraphs would mean to a woman whose portrait had +appeared in nearly all the illustrated magazines in the world. Thus, +the half-heartedness of the newspapers was equally due to +self-consciousness. Society itself, however, was greatly pleased with +the beautiful Mrs. Bennington, for she entered with zest into all +society's plans. In fact, she threatened to become very popular. The +younger element began to call her Mrs. Jack. +</P> + +<P> +Kate was in her element, for to live after this fashion was the one +ambition that had survived all seasons. She was like a child with some +wonderful new French doll. There was always a crowd of young married +people about her, which is a healthy sign. She and Patty became +inseparable comrades. They shopped together, went to the matinees, and +drove and rode together. +</P> + +<P> +Everything went along smoothly, too smoothly. Fate never permits +anything like this to prosper long. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time in her career Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw her +position menaced. The younger set no longer consulted her as formerly. +When, like Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, a woman has nothing more serious to +live for than to organize social affairs, the slightest defection from +her ranks is viewed in the light of a catastrophe. She had called on +Mrs. Bennington the second, armed with all those subtle cruelties +which women of her caliber know so well how to handle. And behold! she +met a fencer who quietly buttoned the foils before the bout began. She +had finally departed with smiles on her lips and rage in her heart. +This actress, whom she had thought to awe with the majesty of her +position in Herculaneum, was not awed at all. It was disconcerting; it +was humiliating. She had condescended to tolerate and was tolerated in +turn. Katherine adored Patty, and Patty had told her that she hated +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. Naturally Katherine assumed the defensive +whenever she met the common enemy. +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Haldene could wait. She had waited before this. She had made +certain prophecies, and it embittered her to learn that so far none of +these prophecies had come true. She could wait. Something was destined +to happen, sooner or later. She knew human nature too well not to be +expectant. To Mrs. Haldene the most gratifying phrase in the language +was: "I told you so!" Warrington had disappointed her, too. He behaved +himself. He did not run after young Mrs. Bennington; he never called +there alone; he was seen more frequently at the old Bennington place. +The truth is, Patty was busy reforming the wayward dramatist, and +Warrington was busy watching the result. There were those who nodded +and looked wise whenever they saw the two together. +</P> + +<P> +Oh, Herculaneum was a city to be desired, socially. Everybody was on +his or her best behavior. It was only from among the poor that scandal +gleaned her items for the newspapers. The shooting of such a man by +such a woman's husband aroused only the mildest comment. But that +class of people, don't you know, is so primeval. To kill a man from +jealousy! It was ridiculous. Why did they not go to court, like +civilized human beings? +</P> + +<P> +Of course there is always scandal in politics; everybody understands +that this is unavoidable. Another franchise had slipped out of the +Common Council into the transit company's pocket, and even the +partizan papers mildly belabored the aldermanic body. The Evening +Call, however slashed the ward representatives vigorously. It wound up +its editorial with the query: "How much longer will the public stand +this sort of thing?" The Call was the only independent sheet in town, +and did about as it pleased. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington found himself taking more than normal interest in the +situation. Occasionally, on Monday nights, he wandered into the City +Hall and listened to the impassioned speeches of the aldermen. Many a +tempestuous scene passed under his notice. Ordinances were passed or +blocked, pavement deals were rushed through or sidetracked. And once, +when the gas company was menaced with dollar-gas, the city pay-roll +was held up for two months by the lighting company's cohorts. Only +Heaven knows how much longer it might have been held back, had not an +assemblyman come to the mayor's help by rushing up to the capital and +railroading through a law that required only a two-thirds vote. +</P> + +<P> +The Democrats had remained in power for six years, and Herculaneum was +essentially a Republican city. On the Democratic side was McQuade, on +the Republican side was ex-Senator Henderson. These men were bosses of +no ordinary type. The first was from the mass, the second from the +class; and both were millionaires. The political arena was a pastime +for these two men; it was a huge complex game of chess in which +recently the senator had been worsted. The public paid, as it +invariably does, to watch this game on the checkerboard of wards. The +senator had been unfortunate in his candidates. He had tried young men +and old, lawyers and merchants; but he had failed to nominate a man +who was popular with class and mass. +</P> + +<P> +The present mayor was a shrewd Democrat who understood the diplomacy +of petty politics. He shook the grimy hand of toil in preference to +the gloved hand of idleness. He was thoroughly a politician. He never +disregarded public opinion openly. He never sailed close to the wind, +but spent his time in safe tacks to whatever harbor he desired. He was +McQuade's man just so long as McQuade made the business worth while. +He had opened up many new streets, abolished needless nuisances, and +these concessions gave him a strong hold on the independent voter. He +was a king over frogs which had changed much since Aesop's time, for +now they let well enough alone. +</P> + +<P> +Nevertheless, things were going from bad to worse. Three terms are +likely to cause a man to grow careless or indifferent, and Donnelly +was making frequent bad breaks. The senator, ever watchful, believed +he saw a chance to sweep McQuade off the board. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade had an able lieutenant in Alderman Martin, whom the sporting +fraternity followed loyally. Martin owned and ran the most +disreputable hotel in the city. It occupied a position of unusual +prominence on one of the principal business streets. There was a +saloon and a cheap restaurant on the ground floor. On the second floor +were wine-rooms and a notorious gambling-den. Above this was the +hotel. The guests stole in at midnight and stole out at dawn. +</P> + +<P> +This gambling-den was frequently the bone of contention between +energetic ministers of the gospel and the police department. Regularly +the police swore that gambling did not exist in town, and regularly +the ministers went on a still hunt for proofs. Singularly enough, they +never found any. A hint from headquarters, and the den would close up +till after the excitement was over. All the newspapers understood that +the police lied; but the editors were either afraid or indifferent; +and the farce was played over yearly for the benefit of the +ministerial association. +</P> + +<P> +The place was run honestly enough. When the stakes are small, the +professional gambler does not have to be dishonest. All the same, this +kind of gambler is the most despicable of men. He lures the wage of +the poor; clerks, bookkeepers, traveling salesmen, laborers, college +boys, men who drink too much of a Saturday night, all these come to +the net. Nobody ever wins anything; and if perchance one does make a +small winning, it goes quickly over the bar. Women wait and wonder at +home; it is their common lot. The spirit of the gambler is in us all, +and we might as well confess it here and now. It is in the corpuscles: +something for nothing, something for nothing! +</P> + +<P> +Martin was a power in the Common Council. He could block or put +through any measure. He always carried a roll of gold-bills in his +pockets—for what purpose no one had the temerity to inquire. His +following was large and turbulent; it came from the shops and the +factories and the streets. In his ward no candidate had ever defeated +him. "Nice people" had very little to do with Mr. Martin; the laborer +who was honest had little to do with him, either. He was a pariah, but +a very formidable one. Yet, no one, though many accused him, caught +him in a dishonest deal. +</P> + +<P> +On the other hand, Senator Henderson's party had the cloak of +respectability on its shoulders. His lieutenants were prominent +business men who went into politics as a light diversion, young men of +aristocratic families who were ambitious to go to Albany or +Washington, and lawyers. The senator was a shrewd politician, with an +unreadable face, clean-shaven but for a stubby mustache, and keen blue +eyes that saw everything. He was loyal to his party and above +dishonesty. +</P> + +<P> +This was the political situation in Herculaneum. +</P> + +<P> +One May evening the senator called up Warrington. He was told that Mr. +Warrington was at the club. The senator drove to the club forthwith. +He found the dramatist in the reading-room, and greeted him +pleasantly. +</P> + +<P> +"My boy, I want half an hour of your time." +</P> + +<P> +"You are welcome to an hour of it, Senator," replied Warrington, +curious to know what the senator had to say to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Come into a private dining-room, then." Once seated at the table, the +senator reached over and touched Warrington mysteriously on the arm. +"Young man, I heard you speak the other night at the Chamber of +Commerce banquet. You're a born orator, and what is better than that, +you've common sense and humor. How would you like to be mayor of +Herculaneum next fall?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mayor?" gasped Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd make a fine mayor," with forced laughter, but thinking rapidly. +"Aren't you jollying me, Senator?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm dead in earnest, Warrington. There is not another available man +in sight. By available I mean a man who can pull the party out of the +bog. There are a hundred I could nominate, but the nomination would be +as far as they could go. We want a man who is fresh and new to the +people, so far as politics goes; a man who can not be influenced by +money or political emoluments. There are thousands of voters who are +discontented, but they'd prefer to vote for Donnelly again rather than +to vote for some one they know would be no better. You are known the +world over. A good many people would never have known there was such a +place as Herculaneum but for you. It is the home of the distinguished +playwright." +</P> + +<P> +"But I know practically nothing about political machinery," Warrington +protested. +</P> + +<P> +"You can leave the machinery to me," said the senator wisely. "I'll +set the wheels going. It will be as easy as sliding down hill. I'll +give you my word, if you land in the City Hall, to send you to +Washington with the next Congress. Will you accept the nomination, in +case I swing it around to you in September? It's a big thing. All you +literary boys are breaking into politics. This is your chance." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take the night to think it over," said Warrington. He was vastly +flattered, but he was none the less cautious and non-committal. +</P> + +<P> +"Take a week, my boy; take a week. Another thing. You are intimate +with young Bennington. He's a hard-headed chap and doesn't countenance +politics in his shops. The two of you ought to bring the hands to +their senses. If we can line up the Bennington steel-mills, others +will fall in. Bennington owns the shops, but our friend McQuade owns +the men who work there. Take a week to think it over; I can rely on +your absolute secrecy." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be silent for half a dozen reasons," Warrington replied. "But +I shan't keep you waiting a week. Call me up by 'phone to-morrow at +any time between five and six. I shall say yes or no, direct." +</P> + +<P> +"I like to hear a man talk like that." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't get the idea into my head yet. I never expected to meddle +with politics in this town." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll do the meddling for you. Even if you accept, we shall require +silence till the convention. It will be a bomb in the enemy's camp. +You'll come around to the idea. Between five and six, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall have your answer ready. Good night." +</P> + +<P> +The senator took himself off, while Warrington ordered a bottle of +beer and drank it thoughtfully. Mayor! It would be a huge joke indeed +to come back to Herculaneum to rule it. He chuckled all the way home +that night; but when his head struck the pillow he saw the serious +side of the affair. He recalled the old days when they sneered at him +for selling vegetables; and here they were, coming to him with the +mayoralty. It was mighty gratifying. And there was the promise of +Washington. But he knew the world: political promises and pie-crusts. +What would the aunt say? What would Patty say? Somehow, he was always +thinking of Patty. He had not thought as yet to make any analysis of +his regard for Patty. He held her in the light of an agreeable +comrade, nothing more than that. Would she be pleased to see him mayor +of Herculaneum? Bah! He couldn't sleep. He got out of bed, found a +pipe and lighted it, and sat in the rocker by the window. Jove, +hearing him moving about the room, woke up and came trotting in to +inquire. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha, old boy, what do you think?" +</P> + +<P> +Jove laid his head on his master's knees. +</P> + +<P> +"They want to make a mayor out of me." +</P> + +<P> +Jove signified his approval. +</P> + +<P> +"They have forgiven us our daily vegetables. But shall I? Will it be +worth while? Well, we'll take a ride into the hills in the morning, +and we'll think it all out. Mayor of Herculaneum; sounds good, doesn't +it? Nothing like success, Jove." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington smoked till the fire in his pipe died. He turned in, and +this time he won sleep. +</P> + +<P> +Early the next morning he was off on his horse, and he did not return +till noon. But he had his answer. +</P> + +<P> +At three that afternoon he had callers. Patty and Kate had just run +over to see how the new play was getting on. Warrington confessed that +he was doing only desultory work, but promised to read the scenario to +them when it was done. +</P> + +<P> +"You are becoming lazy," said Kate rebukingly. +</P> + +<P> +"No; only a country gentleman." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, did you hear that? He calls Herculaneum a country village." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing of the sort. One may live in a city and be a countryman +still." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Warrington probably misses New York," said Patty. +</P> + +<P> +"Not the veriest particle," promptly. Certainly Patty was growing more +charming every day. +</P> + +<P> +The Angora cat, with feline caution, peeped into the room. Patty, who +loved cats, made a dash for the fluffy animal, which turned tail and +bolted for the kitchen, Patty a close second. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time since the marriage Kate and Warrington were alone +together. He gazed at her, mildly speculative. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what do you see?" she asked. +</P> + +<P> +"You are certainly one of the most beautiful women in the world," he +declared, sighing. +</P> + +<P> +"You say 'one of'?" frowning. "There was a time when it was not +general; you used the definite article." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there must be somebody else," quickly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not a marrying man," he said evasively. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it Patty, Dick? Oh, if it were only Patty!" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not good enough for Patty, Kate. The Lord knows, though, that I +wish I were. She embarrasses me at times with her implicit faith in my +goodness." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, Richard, what a terrible past yours was!" mockingly. "Nonsense!" +briskly. "You are guilty of nothing but innocuous villainies. If there +were fairies I should ask one to make you fall violently in love with +Patty." +</P> + +<P> +"No fairies need apply," ambiguously. "But you; you seem to be happy." +</P> + +<P> +"There can not be a happier woman in the world. Let me confess. The +confession may hurt your vanity. I love my husband better than I +dreamed I could love. He is so just, so tender and strong. And isn't +he handsome? I am madly jealous of every woman that comes near him. +And once upon a time I believed that I was in love with Mr. Richard." +There was no coquetry in this frank statement. +</P> + +<P> +"Any one can see that you are happy." +</P> + +<P> +"I want every one to see it. I want to tell everybody, too. You have +no idea how strong he is, Dick. Yesterday I was in the shops with him. +A rail was in the way; the men about did not see it; or refused to see +it. John stooped, picked it up with his bare hands, and dropped it to +one side. There are but two men in the shops who can do that. But I +have a horror of those great bars of twisting white iron. They terrify +me. I do not understand, but the men are always sullen when I am +there. John says it's my imagination." +</P> + +<P> +"It probably is. Perhaps the begrimed faces have something to do with +it." +</P> + +<P> +"I can read the human countenance too well," she said. "Is it because +I have been on the stage? Have these men a base opinion of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Impossible!" +</P> + +<P> +"And they seem to dislike John, too." +</P> + +<P> +"John can take care of himself. He'll wait a long while, but when he +moves forward nothing can stop him. Don't you ever miss the glare of +the lights?" he asked, his endeavor being to interest her in something +foreign to the shops. +</P> + +<P> +"Dick, I have almost forgotten that I ever acted. You will remember +that I refused to assist in the amateur theatricals last winter. Act? +I hate the word. It suggests the puppet, the living in other people's +worlds, parrot-wise, in imitation." +</P> + +<P> +"Come, come, Kate; it's the greatest gift of all and you know it. +Think! The power to make people laugh and cry, to make either +happiness or misery perfectly real!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, there was pleasure in it at times," she admitted reluctantly. "Do +you remember my gloves, Dick? John had them." +</P> + +<P> +"He knew you were in my rooms that night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I told him the simple truth, and he believed me. How could I +help loving a man as loyal as that?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is fine. But Jack was always a thorough man. I don't blame you for +loving him. I call him all sorts of names to Patty, and it is fun to +watch her eyes flash." +</P> + +<P> +Kate gave him a curious smile. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"You smiled." +</P> + +<P> +"I had a happy thought." +</P> + +<P> +"Probably about that house-broken John of yours." +</P> + +<P> +"Who's calling John house-broken?" Patty stood in the doorway, the +Angora struggling under her arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, isn't he house-broken?" asked Warrington with gentle malice. +"Gentle and warranted to stand?" +</P> + +<P> +Patty, for reasons of her own, permitted him to believe that he +succeeded in teasing her. +</P> + +<P> +"Kate, let us be going. I can not listen to Mr. Warrington's remarks +regarding my brother. He treats John as if he were a horse." +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you say, dear. We shall punish Mr. Warrington by not making +informal calls in the future." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait till I get my hat," cried Warrington, "and I'll walk over to the +house with you." +</P> + +<P> +"If you do that," said Patty, "we shall be compelled to ask you to +remain to dinner." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I should refuse. I've a telephone engagement between five and +six." +</P> + +<P> +"But we never serve dinner till seven," replied Patty, buttoning her +coat austerely. +</P> + +<P> +Kate laughed merrily. +</P> + +<P> +"If you will ask me over to dinner," said Warrington, "I'll tell you a +secret, a real dark political secret, one that I've promised not to +tell to a soul." +</P> + +<P> +The two women stopped abruptly. The cast was irresistible, and they +had to rise to it. +</P> + +<P> +Yet Patty murmured: "How like a woman he is!" +</P> + +<P> +"It simply shows what high regard I have for your discretion. It is a +secret some men would pay a comfortable fortune to learn." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you please come and dine with us this evening?" asked Patty. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be very happy." +</P> + +<P> +"And now, the secret," said Mrs. Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"Between five and six I expect a call on the phone from Senator +Henderson." +</P> + +<P> +"Senator Henderson!" exclaimed the women in unison. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall say but a single word. It will be yes." +</P> + +<P> +"But the secret! Mercy alive, you are keeping us waiting!" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington glanced around with mock caution. He went mysteriously to +the portieres and peered into the hall; he repeated this performance +at the dining-room door, then turned, a finger upon his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"Senator Henderson is looking for a candidate for mayor this fall. +Mind, not a word to a soul, not even to John," this warning addressed +principally to Mrs. Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"The Honorable Richard Warrington," said Patty, musing. She rolled the +words on her tongue as if testing the sound of them. +</P> + +<P> +"That's it," laughed Warrington. "The Honorable Richard +Warrington!—sounds like Lord Mayor of London!" +</P> + +<P> +Every Eden has its serpent, sooner or later. Thus, having futilely +tried the usual gates by which he enters Eden to destroy it, this +particular serpent found a breach in the gate of politics. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter VIII +</H3> + +<P> +McQuade and Martin entered a cafe popular for its noon lunches. It was +hot weather in July, and both were mopping their bald foreheads, their +faces and necks. The white bulldog trotted along behind, his tongue +lolling out of his mouth and his eyes heavy. The two men sat down in a +corner under an electric fan; the dog crawled under the table, +grateful for the cold stone tiling. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you know about this fellow Warrington?" asked McQuade, +tossing his hat on one of the unoccupied chairs. +</P> + +<P> +"The fellow who writes plays?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. What do you know about him?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he used to peddle vegetables and now he owns a swell place on +Williams Street." +</P> + +<P> +"Gamble?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not that I know of. I never go into Pete's myself. It wouldn't be +good business. But they tell me Warrington used to drop in once in a +while, when he was a reporter, and choke his salary to death over the +roulette table." +</P> + +<P> +"Doesn't gamble now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not in any of the joints around town." +</P> + +<P> +"Drink?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I guess he boozes a little; but he's hard-headed and knows how +to handle the stuff." +</P> + +<P> +"Women?—Roast beef, boiled potatoes and musty ale for two." +</P> + +<P> +"Actresses.—Say, make mine a beer.—A gay buck in New York, I +understand. Used to chase around after the Challoner woman who married +Bennington." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing here in town?" +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't paid any attention to him. I guess he's straight enough these +days." +</P> + +<P> +"Tip Pete off to-day. The police will make a raid Saturday night. The +ministers have been shouting again, and two or three losers have +whined." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. But what's all this about Warrington?" asked Martin, whose +curiosity was aroused. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll tell you later." The waiter returned with the platters of food, +and McQuade ate without further comment or question. +</P> + +<P> +Martin ate his meat in silence also, but he was busy wondering. +Warrington? What had interested the boss in that swell? Humph! +</P> + +<P> +These men ate quickly and digested slowly. McQuade took out two fat +black cigars and passed one to Martin, who tore off the end with his +teeth. +</P> + +<P> +"I want to find out all there is to know about Warrington. I can't +explain why just now; too many around." +</P> + +<P> +"Set Bolles after him. Bolles used to be with a private detective +bureau. If there's anything to learn, he'll learn it. There he is now. +Hey, waiter, ask that gentleman looking for a vacant table to come +over. Hello, Bolles!" +</P> + +<P> +"How do you do, Mr. Martin. Hot day, Mr. McQuade." +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down," said McQuade, with a nod of invitation toward the +remaining vacant chair. "Cigar or a drink?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bring me a little whisky—no, make it an old-fashioned cocktail. +That'll be about right." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. McQuade has a job for you, Bolles, if you're willing to undertake +it." +</P> + +<P> +"I've got some time on my hands just now," replied Bolles. "Contract +work?" +</P> + +<P> +"After a fashion," said McQuade grimly. "Eat your dinner and we'll go +up stairs to my office. What I have to say can't be said here." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Mr. McQuade. If it's dagos, I'll have plenty in hand in +November." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall want you to go to New York," said McQuade. +</P> + +<P> +"New York or San Francisco, so long as some one foots the bills." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll foot 'em," agreed McQuade. "Hustle your dinner. We'll wait for +you at the bar." +</P> + +<P> +Bolles ordered. A job for McQuade that took him to New York meant +money, money and a good time. There were no more contracts till +September, so the junket to New York wouldn't interfere with his +regular work. He had sublet his Italians. He was free. A few minutes +later he joined McQuade, and the trio went up stairs in a cloud of +tobacco smoke. McQuade nodded to the typewriter, who rose and left the +private office. The three men sat down, in what might be described as +a one-two-three attitude: domination, tacit acceptance of this +domination, and servility. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know Richard Warrington, the playwriter?" +</P> + +<P> +"That snob? Yes, I know who he is, and I'd like to punch his head for +him, too." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade smiled. This manifest rancor on Bolles' part would make things +easier than he thought. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, listen. I've just been tipped that big things are going to +happen this fall. That fool Donnelly has queered himself, and is +making a muddle of everything he touches. Senator Henderson is a +shrewd man, but he wasn't shrewd enough this time. He should have +conducted his little conspiracy in his own home and not at a club +where servants often find profit in selling what they hear. Henderson +is going to put Warrington up for mayor." +</P> + +<P> +"The hell he is!" said Bolles. +</P> + +<P> +Martin's jaw dropped, and the cigar ashes tumbled down his shirt +bosom. +</P> + +<P> +"It's no joke," went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. The +people are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the City +Hall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what that +means. Warrington must never get a chance to accept." +</P> + +<P> +Bolles looked at Martin. McQuade saw the look, and, interpreting it, +laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"These are no dime-novel days. We don't kill men to get 'em out of the +way. We take a look into their past and use it as a club." +</P> + +<P> +"I begin to see," said Martin. "Warrington must be side-tracked before +the convention. Good. That'll be simple." +</P> + +<P> +"Not very," McQuade admitted. "It's going to be a devilish hard job. +You, Bolles, pack up and go to New York. I want some information +regarding this young fellow's past in New York. It's up to you to get +it. No faking, mind you; good substantial evidence that can be backed +up by affidavits. Get the idea? Five hundred and expenses, if you +succeed; your expenses anyhow. Five hundred is a lot of money these +days. But if you go on a bat, I'll drop you like a hot brick, for good +and all. Think it over. Pack up to-night, if you want to. Here's a +hundred to start with. Remember this, now, there must be a woman." +</P> + +<P> +"A woman?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. A man has no past, if there isn't a woman in it." +</P> + +<P> +"I can land that five hundred," Bolles declared confidently. "I can +find the woman. I'll write you every other day." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, that's all. Good luck. No boozing while you're on the job +Afterward I don't care what you do. By-by." +</P> + +<P> +Bolles took his dismissal smilingly. Five hundred. It was easy. +</P> + +<P> +"If it's possible, he'll do it," said Martin. "But what's your +campaign?" +</P> + +<P> +"Donnelly must remain another term. After that, oblivion. There'll be +bids this fall. If Henderson's man wins, there'll be new aldermen. +These bids of mine must go through and gas must be kept at a +dollar-fifty. I'm a rich man, but at present I'm up to my neck in +southern contracts that aren't paying ten cents on the dollar. +Herculaneum's got to foot the bill." +</P> + +<P> +"How'd you find out about Henderson's coup?" +</P> + +<P> +"One of the waiters at his club said he had some information. I gave +him ten dollars for something I'd have given ten hundred for just as +quickly. If Henderson had sprung Warrington in September, we'd have +been swamped. Now we have a good chance to hang on." +</P> + +<P> +"Force him to back down and withdraw?" +</P> + +<P> +McQuade nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"It's simply got to be done. I didn't give Henderson credit for so +clever a move as this. A new man, famous and wealthy, under no +obligations to his party; the voters would follow him just for the +novelty of the thing. Besides, there are other reasons, but I'm +keeping them to myself. How about that pavement deal in John Street?" +</P> + +<P> +John Street possessed but three or four houses. The paving would be a +ten-thousand-dollar job. As a witty political speaker once said, they +paved Herculaneum in the concrete and in the abstract. +</P> + +<P> +"It will go through Monday night, smooth as butter." +</P> + +<P> +"Canvassed the boys?" +</P> + +<P> +"More than three-fourths vote. Sure." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm depending upon you." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you turn down Donnelly at the convention?" +</P> + +<P> +"I tell you he's got to run again. I'll bring him to order, after a +little heart-to-heart talk. He's the only man in sight." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not play the same game as Henderson?" +</P> + +<P> +"I've thought it all out. There's no one but Donnelly. Pick up +anything you can about Warrington." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. By the way, the boys want to know if you think we can pull +off those ten-round bouts this winter." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going down to the capital to see." +</P> + +<P> +Martin telephoned for his team, and twenty minutes later he was +driving countryward. McQuade dictated a few letters, one of which he +directed to be sent by messenger. Then he left the office and called +upon the editor of the Times. This conference lasted an hour. McQuade +was chief owner of the Times. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Warrington was greatly surprised when, at three-thirty, a message was +brought to him requesting him briefly and politely to do Mr. McQuade +the honor to call on him between four and five that afternoon. He had +met McQuade at the Chamber of Commerce dinner. The introduction had +been most formal. What the deuce did McQuade wish to see him about? +Should he go? A natural aversion to the man said no; but policy urged +him as well as curiosity. He went to the telephone and called up +McQuade's office. Mr. McQuade was not in, but would return at four. +Ah! It was the typewriter who spoke. Would she kindly notify Mr. +McQuade on his return that Mr. Warrington would be at his office at +four-thirty? She would. Thanks. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington smoked uneasily. He had no desire to meet McQuade. Their +ways were widely separated and reached nothing in common. But he +readily recognized the fact that McQuade was not a man such as one +might heedlessly antagonize. What could the politician want of the +literary man? McQuade dabbled in racing horses; perhaps he had a horse +to sell. In that event, they would meet on common ground. But his +belief in this possibility was only half-hearted. He filled his +pockets with cigars, whistled for the dog, and departed. Both of the +Bennington houses were closed; the two families were up north in the +woods. +</P> + +<P> +Promptly at four-thirty Warrington and his dog entered the elevator of +the McQuade Building and were dislodged on the third floor. They went +along the dim corridor, scrutinizing doors, each hunting for one of +his kind. Jove couldn't read, but he could smell. Finally Warrington +came to a stand. Upon the glass panel of the door he read: +</P> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +Daniel McQuade & Co. +<BR> +General Contractors +</H4> + +<BR> + +<P> +He did not knock. He opened the door and walked in. It is a sign of +weakness for a man to knock on the door of a business office, unless +it is marked private, Nevertheless, the dingy glass had known the +knock of many knuckles. A girl was hammering on the typewriting +machine. She ceased only when she completed the page. She looked up. +Her expression, on seeing who the visitor was, changed instantly. It +was not often that a man like this one entered the office of Daniel +McQuade and Company, General Contractors. +</P> + +<P> +"I have an appointment with Mr. McQuade," said Warrington pleasantly; +"would you mind announcing me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just a moment," answered the girl, rising and entering the private +office. She returned at once. "Mr. McQuade will see you." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington walked quietly into the lion's den. +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to see you, Mr. Warrington," said McQuade, pointing toward a +chair. He did not offer his hand; something told him not to make that +mistake. +</P> + +<P> +From under the desk McQuade's dog emerged, stiff and bristling. On his +side, Jove stood squarely on his legs, head on, as they say, his lips +writhing and quivering with rage. Warrington touched the chair that +had been offered him. Jove begged. But the master was obdurate. Jove +jumped up, but turned quickly. The white dog stopped. He recognized +that he was at a complete disadvantage. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade watched these proceedings with an amused twinkle. It was a +clever manoeuver. So far as he was concerned, a good dog fight would +not have been to his distaste. +</P> + +<P> +"It doesn't hurt the brutes to light once in a while. But, of course," +he added, "your dog is old." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing is old till it is useless." +</P> + +<P> +"An epigram from one of your plays?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; but it sounds good enough to use. Jove has strong teeth, however, +and he comes from a fighting family. But for my part, I had much +rather see two men pummel each other." +</P> + +<P> +"So would I, for that matter." McQuade pushed the match-box toward +Warrington, but Warrington drew out his own and struck a light. +McQuade shrugged. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. McQuade, I am interested to learn what is back of your note. +Horses?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; not horses." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade viewed the young man through half-closed eyes. The contractor +was a big hulk of a man, physically as strong as a bull, with reddish +hair, small twinkling eyes, a puffy nose mottled with veins, thin lips +shaded by a bristling red mustache, and a heavy jaw. The red fell of +hair on his hands reminded Warrington of a sow's back. Everything +about McQuade suggested strength and tensity of purpose. He had begun +work on a canal-boat. He had carried shovel and pick. From boss on a +railway section job he had become a brakeman. He took a turn at +lumbering, bought a tract of chestnuts and made a good penny in +railroad ties. He saved every dollar above his expenses. He bought a +small interest in a contracting firm, and presently he became its +head. There was ebb and tide to his fortunes but he hung on. A +lighting contract made him a rich man. Then he drifted into politics; +and now, at the age of fifty, he was a power in the state. The one +phase of sentiment in the man was the longing to possess all those +obstacles that had beset his path in the days of his struggles. He +bought the canal-boat and converted it into a house-boat; he broke the +man who had refused him a job at the start; he bought the block, the +sidewalk of which he had swept; every man who stood in his way he +removed this way or that. He was dishonest, but his dishonesty was of +a Napoleonic order. He was uneducated, but he possessed that exact +knowledge of mankind that makes leaders; and his shrewdness was the +result of caution and suspicion. But like all men of his breed, he +hated with peculiar venom the well-born; he loved to grapple with +them, to wrest their idleness from them, to compel them to work for a +living, to humiliate them. The fiber in McQuade was coarse; he +possessed neither generosity nor magnanimity; the very men who feared +him held him in secret contempt. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Mr. Warrington, I haven't any horses for sale to-day," he began. +"Not very long ago you met Senator Henderson at your club. He offered +you the nomination for mayor this fall, and you accepted it." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington could not repress a start of surprise. He had not quite +expected this. He was annoyed. +</P> + +<P> +"That is true. What mystifies me," he supplemented, "is how this +knowledge came to your ears." +</P> + +<P> +"I generally hear what's going on. My object in asking you to call is +to talk over the matter on a friendly basis." +</P> + +<P> +"I can not see what good that will do. Politically we have nothing in +common." +</P> + +<P> +"Politically or socially. But the point is this. What have you done +that you should merit this honor? I'll talk frankly. What have you +done toward the building up of your city? What have you done toward +its progress in manufacturing and building? You have done nothing but +buy a house on the fashionable street and pay the taxes." +</P> + +<P> +"You might add that I once peddled vegetables," said Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +It was McQuade's turn to be surprised. From what he had observed of +fashionable people, especially the new-rich, they endeavored to +submerge altogether the evidences of past manual and menial labor. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you are not ashamed of the fact that you sold vegetables?" +</P> + +<P> +"In truth, I'm rather proud of it. It was the first step in the fight. +And I tell you honestly, Mr. McQuade, that I have fought every inch of +the way. And I shall continue to fight, when there's anything worth +fighting for. I'm not a manufacturer or a builder, but I am none the +less eligible for public office. What little money I have was made +honestly, every penny of it. It was not built on political robbery and +the failures of others. But let us come to the point. You have +something to say." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I have. And it is this: I don't propose to have you meddle with +the politics of this city. I hope we can come to a peaceful +understanding. I don't want to war against you." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. McQuade, you talk like a man out of his senses. Who's going to +prevent me from accepting the nomination?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am," answered McQuade, bringing a fist down on his desk. +</P> + +<P> +The dogs growled. They seemed to realize that war of some kind was in +the air. +</P> + +<P> +"How?" asked Warrington. The man was a fool! +</P> + +<P> +"You will go to Senator Henderson and tell him that you have +reconsidered." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington laughed. "I believed I knew all phases, but this one +surpasses any I ever heard of. You have the nerve to ask me, of the +opposition party, to refuse the nomination for mayor?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid of me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not of you, my lad," McQuade answered sardonically, spreading out his +great hands. "Do I look like a man afraid of anything? But the thought +of a stranger becoming mayor of Herculaneum rather frightens me. Let +us have peace, Mr. Warrington." +</P> + +<P> +"I ask nothing better." +</P> + +<P> +"Withdraw." +</P> + +<P> +"I never withdraw. I am not afraid of anything. I even promise to be +good-natured enough to look upon this meeting as a colossal joke." +Warrington's cigar had gone out. He relighted it coolly. "If the +nomination is offered me, I shall accept it; and once having accepted +it, I'll fight, but honorably and in the open. Look here, McQuade, +don't be a fool. You've something against me personally. What is it? +If I recollect, I ran across you once or twice when I was a newspaper +man." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade's eyes narrowed again. +</P> + +<P> +"Personally, you are nothing to me," he replied; "politically, you are +a meddler, and you are in my way." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am in your way? That is to say, if I am elected, there'll be +too much honesty in the City Hall to suit your plans? I can readily +believe that. If you can convince me that I ought not to run for +mayor, do so. I can accept any reasonable argument. But bluster will +do no good. For a man of your accredited ability, you are making a +poor move, even a fatal one." +</P> + +<P> +"Will you withdraw?" +</P> + +<P> +"Emphatically no!" +</P> + +<P> +"All right. Whatever comes your way after this, don't blame me. I have +given you a fair warning." +</P> + +<P> +"You have threatened." +</P> + +<P> +"I can act also. And you can put this in your pipe, Mr. Warrington, +that before October comes round, when the Republican convention meets, +you will withdraw your name quickly enough. This is not a threat. It's +a warning. That's all. I'm sorry you can't see the matter from my +standpoint." +</P> + +<P> +"Come, boy," said Warrington to his dog. "You had better keep your +animal under the table." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade did not move or answer. So Warrington grasped Jove by the +collar and led him out of the private office. McQuade heard the +dramatist whistle on the way to the elevator. +</P> + +<P> +"So he'll fight, eh?" growled McQuade. "Well, I'll break him, or my +name's not McQuade. The damned meddling upstart, with his plays and +fine women! You're a hell of a dog, you are! Why the devil didn't you +kill his pup for him?" +</P> + +<P> +McQuade sent a kick at the dog, who dodged it successfully, trotted +out to the typewriter and crawled under the girl's skirts. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington went home, thoroughly angry with himself. To have bandied +words and threats with a man like McQuade! He had lowered himself to +the man's level. But there were times when he could not control his +tongue. Education and time had not tamed him any. Withdraw? It would +have to be something more tangible than threats. +</P> + +<P> +"Richard, you are not eating anything," said his aunt at dinner that +evening. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not hungry, Aunty. It's been one of those days when a man gets up +wrong." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm sorry. Doesn't the play go along smoothly?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not as smoothly as I should like." +</P> + +<P> +"There was a long-distance call for you this afternoon. The +Benningtons want you to come up at once instead of next week." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington brightened perceptibly. He went to work, but his heart +wasn't in it. The interview with McQuade insisted upon recurring. Why +hadn't he walked out without any comment whatever? Silence would have +crushed McQuade. He knew that McQuade could not back up this threat; +it was only a threat. Bah! Once more he flung himself into his work. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later the door-bell rang. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter IX +</H3> + +<P> +Character is a word from which have descended two meanings +diametrically opposed to each other. We say a man has a character, or +we say he is one; The first signifies respect; the second, a tolerant +contempt. There exists in all small communities, such as villages, +towns, and cities of the third class, what is known as a character. In +the cities he is found loafing in hotel lobbies or in the corridors of +the City Hall; in the hamlet he is usually the orator of the +post-office or the corner grocery. Invariably his wife takes in +washing, and once in a while he secures for her an extra order. If he +has any children, they live in the streets. He wears a collar, but +seldom adds a tie. He prides himself on being the friend of the +laboring man, and a necktie implies the worship of the golden calf. He +never denies himself a social glass. He never buys, but he always +manages to be introduced in time. After the first drink he calls his +new friend by his surname; after the second drink it is "Arthur" or +"John" or "Henry," as the case may be; then it dwindles into "Art" or +"Jack" or "Hank." No one ever objects to this progressive familiarity. +The stranger finds the character rather amusing. The character is +usually a harmless parasite, and his one ambition is to get a +political job such as entails no work. He is always pulling wires, as +they say; but those at the other end are not sensitive to the touch. +On dull days he loiters around the police court and looks mysterious. +Cub reporters at first glance believe him to be a detective in +disguise. +</P> + +<P> +Herculaneum had its character. He was a pompous little man to whom the +inelegant applied the term of runt. He never could have passed the +army examination, for he had no instep. He walked like a duck, +flat-footed, minus the waddle. He was pop-eyed, and the fumes of +strong drink had loosened the tear-ducts so that his eyes swam in a +perennial mist of tears. His wife still called him William, but down +town he was Bill. He knew everybody in town, and everybody in town +knew him. There was a time when he had been on intimate terms with so +distinguished a person as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. He will tell you to +this day how he was wont to dandle her on his knee. Bill was one of +those individuals of whom it is said: "He means well." In other words, +he was a do-nothing, a ne'er-do-well. He had been comparatively rich +once, but he had meant well with his money. One grand splurge, and it +was all over. Herculaneum still recollects that splurge. When in his +cups, Bill was always referring to those gorgeous days. Afterward, +Bill and his family lived from hand to mouth. Occasionally, at +Christmas, some of his old friends who felt sorry for him sent him a +purse. Did Bill purchase turkey and coal and potatoes? No, indeed. He +bought useless French toys for the children, who went hungry. Another +time, when heartless winter returned and the price of coal went up, a +church social was arranged for Bill's benefit. It netted him nearly a +hundred dollars. But Bill didn't pay his landlord and grocer; not he! +He came down town the following day with a shiny plug-hat and a +gold-headed cane. +</P> + +<P> +Bill was a first-class genealogist. He could tell you the history of +every leading family in town. It took Bill to expose the new-rich; he +did it handsomely. The way these breakfast millionaires lorded and +landaued it highly amused him. Who were they, anyhow? Coal-heavers, +hod-carriers, stock-speculators, riffraff, who possessed an ounce of +brains and a pound of luck. Why, they didn't even know how to spend +their money when they got it. But what could be expected of people who +put iron dogs and wooden deers on their front lawns? But the +Benningtons, the Haldenes, and the Winterflelds, and the Parkers,—they +had something to brag about. They were Bunker Hillers, they +were; they had always had money and social position. As for the +Millens, and the Deckers, and the McQuades—pah! +</P> + +<P> +Bill had a wonderful memory; he never forgot those who laughed at him +and those who nodded kindly. He was shiftless and lazy, but he had a +code of honor. Bill could have blackmailed many a careless man of +prominence, had he been so minded. But a man who had once dined a +governor of the state could do no wrong. His main fault was that he +had neglected to wean his former greatness; he still nursed it. Thus, +it was beneath his dignity to accept a position as a clerk in a store +or shop. The fact that his pristine glory was somewhat dimmed to the +eyes of his fellow citizens in no wise disturbed Bill. Sometimes, when +he was inclined to let loose the flood-gates of memory, his friends +would slip a quarter into his palm and bid him get a drink, this being +the easiest method of getting rid of him. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Bill marched into the Warrington place jauntily. He wore a tie. Jove +ran out and sniffed the frayed hems of his trousers. But like all men +of his ilk, he possessed the gift of making friends with dogs. He +patted Jove's broad head, spoke to him, and the dog wagged what there +was left of his tail. Bill proceeded to the front door and resolutely +rang the bell. The door opened presently. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Richard in?" Bill asked. He had had only two drinks that evening. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Warrington is in," answered the valet, with chilling dignity. +"What is your business?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mine!" thundered Bill, who had a democratic contempt for a +gentleman's gentleman. "I have important business to transact with +your master. Take this card in to him. He'll see me." +</P> + +<P> +The valet looked at the greasy card. The name was written in ink; the +card was of the kind one finds in hotels for the convenience of the +guests. +</P> + +<P> +"I will take the card to Mr. Warrington," the valet promised +reluctantly. There was, however, a barely perceptible grin struggling +at the corners of his mouth. He was not wholly devoid of the sense of +humor, as a gentleman's gentleman should at all times be. +</P> + +<P> +"William Osborne? What the deuce does he want here?" asked Warrington +impatiently. +</P> + +<P> +"He said his business was important, sir. If it is half as important +as he acts—" +</P> + +<P> +"No comments, please. Show Mr. Osborne in." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington turned all his mail face-downward. He knew Bill of +aforetime, in the old newspaper days. Bill had marvelously keen eyes, +for all that they were watery. The valet ushered him into the study. +He wore his usual blase expression. He sat down and drew up his chair +to the desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mr. Osborne, what's on your mind to-night?" Warrington leaned +back. +</P> + +<P> +"The truth is, Richard," began William, "I found this letter on the +pavement this afternoon. Guess you'd been down to the hotel this +afternoon, and dropped it. I found it out in front. There was no +envelope, so I couldn't help reading it." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington seized the letter eagerly. It was the only letter of its +kind in the world. It was enchanted. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Osborne, you've done me a real service. I would not take a small +fortune for this letter. I don't recollect how I came to lose it. Must +have taken it out and dropped it accidentally. Thanks." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't mention it, my boy." Very few called him Mr. Osborne. +</P> + +<P> +"It is worth a good deal to me. Would you be offended if I gave you +ten as a reward?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd feel hurt, Richard, but not offended," a twinkle in the watery +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington laughed, drew out his wallet and handed William a crisp, +crackly bank-note. It went, neatly creased, into William's sagging +vest-pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"Have a cigarette?" asked Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"Richard, there's one thing I never did, and that's smoke one of those +coffin-nails. Whisky and tobacco are all right, but I draw the line at +cigarettes." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington passed him a cigar. William bit off the end and lighted it. +He sniffed with evident relish. +</P> + +<P> +"Seems impossible, Richard, that only a few years ago you were a +reporter at the police station. But I always said that you'd get there +some day. You saw the dramatic side of the simplest case. I knew your +father. He was one of the best farmers in the county. But he didn't +know how to invest his savings. He ought to have left you rich." +</P> + +<P> +"But he didn't. After all, it's a fine thing to make for the good +things in life and win them yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"That's true. You're a different breed from some of these people who +are your neighbors. We're all mighty proud of you, here in +Herculaneum. What you want to do is to get into politics." Here Bill +winked mysteriously. "You've money and influence, and that's what +counts." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm seriously thinking the thing over," returned Warrington, not +quite understanding the wink. +</P> + +<P> +"Everything's on the bum in town; it wants a clean bill. McQuade must +go. The man never keeps a promise. Told me in the presence of +witnesses, last election, that he'd give me a job on the new police +board; and yet after election he put in one of those whipper-snappers +who know nothing. Of course, you've been in town long enough to know +that Donnelly is simply McQuade's creature. I never had any luck." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, it may change by and by." Warrington, at that moment, felt +genuinely sorry for the outcast. +</P> + +<P> +Bill twirled his hat. "You've never laughed at me, Richard; you've +always treated me like a gentleman, which I was once. I didn't mail +that letter because I wanted to see if you had changed any. If you had +become a snob, why, you could fight your blamed battles yourself; no +help from me. But you're just the same. I've brought something that'll +be of more use to you than that letter, and don't you forget it." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" asked Warrington skeptically. +</P> + +<P> +Suddenly Bill leaned forward, shading his voice with his hand. "I was +in Hanley's for a glass of beer this noon. I sat in a dark place. The +table next to me was occupied by Martin, McQuade, and a fellow named +Bolles." +</P> + +<P> +"Bolles?" +</P> + +<P> +"You've been away so long you haven't heard of him. He handles the +dagos during election. Well, McQuade was asking all sorts of questions +about you. Asked if you gambled, or drank, or ran around after women." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington no longer leaned back in his chair. His body assumed an +alert angle. +</P> + +<P> +"They all went up to McQuade's office. The typewriter is a niece of +mine. McQuade has heard that the senator is going to spring your name +at the caucus. But that's a small matter. McQuade is going to do you +some way or other." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you mean?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, he sees that his goose is cooked if you run. He's determined +that he won't let you." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington laughed; there was a note of battle in his laughter. "Go +on," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody knew anything about your habits. So McQuade has sent Bolles to +New York. He used to be a private detective, He's gone to New York to +look up your past there. I know Bolles; he'll stop at nothing. +McQuade, however, was wise enough to warn him not to fake, but to get +real facts." +</P> + +<P> +This time Warrington's laughter was genuine. +</P> + +<P> +"He's welcome to all he can find." +</P> + +<P> +"But this isn't all. I know a printer on the Times. To-morrow the +whole story about your accepting the senator's offer will come out. +They hope the senator will be forced to change his plans. They think +the public will lose interest in your campaign. Surprise is what the +public needs. I'll tell you something else. Morris, who died last +week, had just sold out his interest in the Telegraph to McQuade. This +means that McQuade has the controlling interest in every newspaper in +town. I never heard of such a thing before; five newspapers, +Democratic and Republican, owned by a Democratic boss." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington smoked thoughtfully. This man McQuade was something out of +the ordinary. And he had defied him. +</P> + +<P> +"I am very much obliged to you, Osborne. If I win out, on my word of +honor, I'll do something for you." +</P> + +<P> +"You aren't afraid of McQuade?" anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Mr. Osborne, I am not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'll +give this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles will +have his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my past +will be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed." +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade will try something else, then. He's sworn to stop you. I'm +glad you aren't afraid of him." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't thank you enough." +</P> + +<P> +"I wander about town a good deal; nobody pays much attention to me; so +lots of things fall under my notice. I'll let you know what I hear. +You'll find all the decent people on your side, surprise or no +surprise. They're tired of McQuade and Donnelly; Some of these paving +deals smell. Well, I'm keeping you from your work." Bill rose. +</P> + +<P> +"Help yourself to these cigars," said Warrington gratefully, passing +the box. +</P> + +<P> +Bill took three. +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, Richard." +</P> + +<P> +"Good night, Mr. Osborne. If by any good luck I become mayor of +Herculaneum, I'll not forget your service to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all that's necessary for me;" and Bill bowed himself out. He +layed his course for his familiar haunts. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington turned to his work again. But the news he had just received +disturbed all connected thought, so he put the manuscript away. So the +first gun had been fired! They had sent a man to hunt up his past in +New York. He looked back, searching this corner and that, but he could +not recall anything that would serve McQuade's purpose. No man is +totally free from folly. True, there was a time when he drank, but he +had stopped that idiocy nearly two years before. This could not be +tallied against him with effect. And, thank God, there had been no +women. His gambling had been of the innocuous kind. Well, let them +hunt; much good it would do them. +</P> + +<P> +He picked up the letter which Osborne had so fortunately come upon. He +was often amused at the fascination it held for him. He would never +meet the writer, and yet not a day passed that he did not strive to +conjure up an imaginative likeness. And he had nearly lost it. The +creases were beginning to show. He studied it thoroughly. He held it +toward the light. Ah, here was something that had hitherto escaped his +notice. It was a peculiar water-mark. He examined the folds. The sheet +had not been folded originally, letter-wise, but had been fiat, as if +torn from a tablet. He scrutinized the edges and found signs of +mucilage. Here was something, but it led him to no solution. The +post-office mark had been made in New York. To trace a letter in New +York would be as impracticable as subtracting gold from sea-water. It +was a tantalizing mystery, and it bothered him more than he liked to +confess. He put the letter in his wallet, and went into the +sewing-room, where his aunt was knitting. The dear old lady smiled at +him. +</P> + +<P> +"Aunty, I've got a secret to tell you." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, Richard?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm going to run for mayor." +</P> + +<P> +The old lady dropped her work and held up her hands in horror. +</P> + +<P> +"You are fooling, Richard!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am very serious, Aunty." +</P> + +<P> +"But politicians are such scamps, Richard." +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody's got to reform them." +</P> + +<P> +"But they'll reform you into one of their kind. You don't mean it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I do. I've promised, and I can't back down now." +</P> + +<P> +"No good will come of it," said the old lady prophetically, reaching +down for her work. "But if you are determined, I suppose it's no use +for me to talk. What will the Benningtons say?" +</P> + +<P> +"They rather approve of the idea. I'm going up there early to-morrow. +I'll be up before you're down. Good night." He lightly kissed the +wrinkled face. +</P> + +<P> +"Have a good time, Richard; and God bless my boy." +</P> + +<P> +He paused on the threshold and came back. Why, he did not know. But +having come back, he kissed her once again, his hands on her cheeks. +There were tears in her eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You're so kind and good to an old woman, Richard." +</P> + +<P> +"Pshaw! there's nobody your equal in all the world. Good night;" and +he stepped out into the hall. +</P> + +<P> +The next morning he left town for the Benningtons' bungalow in the +Adirondacks. He carried his fishing-rods, for Patty had told him that +their lake was alive with black bass. Warrington was an ardent angler. +Rain might deluge him, the sun scorch, but he would sit in a boat all +day for a possible strike. He arrived at two in the afternoon, and +found John, Kate and Patty at the village station. A buckboard took +them into the heart of the forest, and the penetrating, resinous +perfumes tingled Warrington's nostrils. He had been in the woods in +years gone by; not a tree or a shrub that he did not know. It was +nearly a two hours' drive to the lake, which was circled by lordly +mountains. +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't it beautiful?" asked Patty, with a kind of proprietary pride. +</P> + +<P> +"It is as fine as anything in the Alps," Warrington admitted. "Shall +we go a-fishing in the morning?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you can get up early enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Trust me!" enthusiastically. +</P> + +<P> +"I netted one this morning that weighed three pounds." +</P> + +<P> +"Fish grow more rapidly out of water than in," railingly. +</P> + +<P> +"John, didn't that bass weigh three pounds?" Patty appealed. +</P> + +<P> +"It weighed three and a half." +</P> + +<P> +"I apologize," said Warrington humbly. +</P> + +<P> +"How's the politician?" whispered Kate, eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"About to find himself in the heart of a great scandal. The enemy has +located us, and this afternoon the Times is to come out with a +broadside. I haven't the least idea what it will say, nor care." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the proper way to talk," replied Kate approvingly. "We climbed +that bald mountain yesterday. Patty took some beautiful photographs." +</P> + +<P> +"The tip of your nose is beginning to peel," said Warrington +irrelevantly. +</P> + +<P> +"It's horrid of you to mention it. I'm not used to the sun, but I love +it. Patty is teaching me how to bait a hook." +</P> + +<P> +"I'd like to see a photograph of that," Warrington cried. "Say, John, +is there any way of getting to-night's newspapers up here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing till to-morrow morning. The boat leaves the mail at night. +But what's this talk about politics?" John demanded. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington looked at Patty and Kate in honest amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you two mean to tell me," he asked, "that you have really kept the +news from John?" +</P> + +<P> +"You told us not to tell," said Kate reproachfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I see that I shall never get any nearer the truth about women. +I thought sure they'd tell you, Jack, that I'm going to run for mayor +this fall." +</P> + +<P> +"No!" +</P> + +<P> +"Truth. And it's going to be the fight of my life. I accepted in the +spirit of fun, but I am dead in earnest now. Whichever way it goes, it +will be a good fight. And you may lay to that, my lad, as our friend +Long John Silver used to say." +</P> + +<P> +He said nothing, however, of his interview with McQuade. That was one +of the things he thought best to keep to himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll harangue the boys in the shops," volunteered John, "though +there's a spirit of unrest I don't like. I've no doubt that before +long I shall have a fight on my hands. But I shall know exactly what +to do," grimly. "But hang business! These two weeks are going to be +totally outside the circle of business. I hope you'll win, Dick. We'll +burn all the stray barrels for you on election night." +</P> + +<P> +"There'll be plenty of them burning. But I shall be nervous till I see +the Times." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have it in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington sighed. Half an hour later the bungalow came into view. +</P> + +<P> +The elder Bennington knew the value of hygienic living. He kept his +children out of doors, summer and winter. He taught them how to ride, +to hunt, to fish; he was their partner in all out-of-door games; he +made sport interesting and imparted to them his own zest and vitality. +So they grew up strong and healthy. He left their mental instruction +to the mother, knowing full well that she would do as much on her side +as he had done on his. Only one law did he lay down: the children +should go to public schools till the time for higher education +arrived. Then they might choose whatever seat of learning they +desired. He had the sound belief that children sent to private schools +rarely become useful citizens. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The rosal glow of dawn tipped the mountains, and a russet haze lay on +the still bosom of the lake. Warrington made a successful cast not far +from the lily-pods. Zing! went the reel. But by the pressure of his +thumb he brought the runaway to a sudden halt. The tip of the rod +threatened to break! Hooked! Patty swung round the canoe, which action +gave the angler freer play. Ah, wasn't that beautiful! Two feet out of +the water! Here he comes, but not more swiftly than the reel can take +him. Off he goes again—take care for the unexpected slack. Another +leap, like a bronze flame, and then a dash for the shallow bottom. He +fought gallantly for his life and freedom. Patty reached for the net. +Inch by inch Warrington drew him in. Twice he leaped over the net, but +Patty was an old hand. The third effort landed him. +</P> + +<P> +"Two pounds," said Patty. "Plenty for breakfast now." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell you what, this is sport. How many have we?" +</P> + +<P> +"Seven in half an hour." Patty began using her paddle. +</P> + +<P> +"Finest sport in the world!" Warrington settled down on the cushion +and leisurely watched the brown arms of his guide. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a good fisherman. And I like to see a good fisherman get +excited. John is like a statue when he gets a strike; he reels them in +like a machine. He becomes angry if any one talks. But it's fun to +watch Kate. She nearly falls out of the boat, and screams when the +bass leaps. Isn't it beautiful?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a kind of Eden. But I'm so restless. I have to be wandering +from place to place. If I owned your bungalow, I should sell it the +second year. All the charm would go the first season. God has made so +many beautiful places in this world for man that man is the only +ungrateful creature in it. What's that smoke in the distance?" +</P> + +<P> +"That's the mail-boat, with your newspaper. It will be two hours yet +before it reaches our dock. It has to zigzag to and fro across the +lake. I'm hungry." +</P> + +<P> +"So am I. Let me take the paddle." +</P> + +<P> +The exchange was made, and he sent the canoe over the water rapidly. +Patty eyed him with frank admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything you can't do well?" +</P> + +<P> +"A good many things," he acknowledged. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to know what they are." +</P> + +<P> +Neither spoke again till the canoe glided around the dock and a +landing was made. Warrington strung the fish, and together he and +Patty went toward the kitchen. At seven-thirty the family sat down to +a breakfast of fried bass, and Patty told how the catch had been made. +</P> + +<P> +"He's a better fisherman than you, John." +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you say, Patty. I care not who catches bass, so long as I may +eat them," in humorous paraphrase. +</P> + +<P> +There was no little excitement over the arrival of the mail-boat. They +were all eager to see what the Times had to say. There was a column or +more on the first page, subheaded. Warrington's career was rather +accurately portrayed, but there were some pungent references to +cabbages. In the leader, on the editorial page, was the master-hand. +</P> + +<P> +"In brief, this young man is to be the Republican candidate for mayor. +Grown desperate these half-dozen years of ineffectual striving for +political pap, Senator Henderson resorts to such an expedient. But the +coup falls flat; there will be no surprise at the convention; the +senator loses the point he seeks to score. Personally, we have nothing +to say against the character of Mr. Warrington. After a fashion he is +a credit to his native town. But we reaffirm, he is not a citizen, he +is not eligible to the high office. If he accepts, after this +arraignment, he becomes nothing more than an impertinent meddler. What +has he done for the people of Herculaneum? Nothing. Who knows anything +about his character, his honor, his worth? Nobody. To hold one's +franchise as a citizen does not make that person a citizen in the +honest sense of the word. Let Mr. Warrington live among us half a +dozen years, and then we shall see. The senator, who is not without +some wisdom and experience, will doubtless withdraw this abortive +candidate. It's the only logical thing he can do. We dare say that the +dramatist accepted the honor with but one end in view: to find some +material for a new play. But Herculaneum declines to be so honored. He +is legally, but not morally, a citizen. He is a meddler, and +Herculaneum is already too well supplied with meddlers. Do the wise +thing, Mr. Warrington; withdraw. Otherwise your profit will be +laughter and ridicule; for the Republican party can never hope to win +under such equivocal leadership. That's all we have to say." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington, who had been reading the articles aloud, grinned and +thrust the paper into his pocket. +</P> + +<P> +"What shall you do?" asked John curiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Do? Go into the fight tooth and nail. They dub me a meddler; I'll +make the word good." +</P> + +<P> +"Hurrah!" cried Kate, clapping her hands. She caught Patty in her +arms, and the two waltzed around the dock. +</P> + +<P> +The two men shook hands, and presently all four were reading their +private letters. Warrington received but one. It was a brief note from +the senator. "Pay no attention to Times' story. Are you game for a +fight? Write me at once, and I'll start the campaign on the receipt of +your letter." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, where do you write letters?" he asked. He called her Patty +quite naturally. Patty was in no wise offended. +</P> + +<P> +"In the reading-room you will find a desk with paper and pens and ink. +Shall I go with you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. I've only a note to scribble to Senator Henderson." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington found the desk. Upon it lay a tablet. He wrote hurriedly: +</P> + +<P> +"Start your campaign; I am in it now to the last ditch." +</P> + +<P> +As he re-read it, he observed a blur in the grain of the paper. On +closer inspection he saw that it was a water-mark. He had seen one +similar, but where? His heart began thumping his ribs. He produced the +inevitable letter. The water-mark was identical. He even laid the +letter unfolded on the tablet. It fitted exactly. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty!" he murmured in a whisper. +</P> + +<P> +Patty had never written him a single line; whenever she had +communicated to him her commands, it had been by telephone. Patty +Bennington! The window was at his elbow. He looked out and followed +the sky-line of the hills as they rolled away to the south. Patty! It +was a very beautiful world, and this was a day of days. It all came to +him in that moment of discovery. He had drifted along toward it quite +unconsciously, as a river might idle toward the sea. Patty! The light +of this knowledge was blinding for a space. So Warrington came into +his own romance. It was not the grand passion, which is always +meteoric; it was rather like a new star, radiant, peaceful, eternal. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty!" He smiled. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter X +</H3> + +<P> +It was only when the whistle of the returning boat sounded close by +that he realized he had been sitting there for nearly an hour. He +roused himself, sealed and addressed his letter to the senator, and +hurried down to the dock. Patty was alone, mending some tackle. +</P> + +<P> +"It must be a long letter," she remarked, standing up and shaking her +skirts. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, this is only the beginning of it," he replied ambiguously. "It +is never going to end." +</P> + +<P> +"Mercy! It must be a postscript." +</P> + +<P> +He had no retort handy, so he contented himself with watching the +approach of the boat. +</P> + +<P> +"Some men are never satisfied," she said owlishly. "If I were a +successful dramatist, such as you are, a public office would look +rather tawdry." +</P> + +<P> +"But it's real, Patty; it's life and not mummery." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know," doubtfully; "from what I have read, there are more +puppets in and about a City Hall than ever dangled in the puppet +booth. Did I give you permission to call me Patty?" demurely. +</P> + +<P> +"Not that I recollect." The boat came sweeping up to the dock, and he +tossed the senator's letter to the boy. The boat went on with a +musical gurgle. "But when I especially like anything, I usually +appropriate it." +</P> + +<P> +"I can see that you will make a good politician." +</P> + +<P> +He laughed happily. +</P> + +<P> +"Evidently you like the name. You have applied it to me three times +this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Like it? Why, I think it is the most charming name I ever heard. It +smells of primroses, garden-walls, soldiers in ragged regimentals, of +the time when they built houses with big-columned porches." +</P> + +<P> +"My!" +</P> + +<P> +"May I not call you Patty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, if you ask my permission, you may." +</P> + +<P> +"I do." +</P> + +<P> +"That is better." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you ever look in your mirror?" +</P> + +<P> +"The idea! Of course I do. I look in it every morning and every night. +And as often as I find the time. Why?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing; only, I do not blame you." +</P> + +<P> +"What's all this leading to?" frowning. +</P> + +<P> +"Heaven knows! But I feel sentimental this morning. There is so much +beauty surrounding me that I feel impelled to voice my appreciation of +it." +</P> + +<P> +"There is no remedy, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +"None, save the agony of extemporization." +</P> + +<P> +"I have never heard you talk like this before. What IS the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps it is the exhilaration I feel for the coming fight. Would you +like to see me mayor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I should. Think of the circus tickets you'd have to give away +each year! You know they always give the mayor a handful for his +personal use. No, Mr. Warrington, I shall be very proud of you when +you are mayor." +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with your calling me Richard or Dick?" +</P> + +<P> +"We must not advance too suddenly." +</P> + +<P> +"Is there anything the matter with the name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, no; Richard is quite musical in its way. But I am always thinking +of the humpbacked king. If I called you anything it would be Dick." +</P> + +<P> +"Richard was not humpbacked. Moreover, he was a valiant king, greatly +maligned by Mr. Shakespeare." +</P> + +<P> +"I see that I shall not dare argue with you on the subject; but we can +not banish on so short a notice the early impressions of childhood. +Richard Third has always been a bugaboo to my mind. Some day, perhaps, +I'll get over it." +</P> + +<P> +"Make it Dick, as a compromise." +</P> + +<P> +"Some day, when I have known you a little longer. Has John ever told +you about Mr. McQuade?" +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade?" Warrington realized that he had been floating on a pleasant +sea. He came upon the hidden shore rather soundly. "McQuade?" he +repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He had the audacity to propose to mother shortly after father's +death. Think of it! John wrote to him very definitely that his +presence in the house would no longer be welcomed or tolerated. Father +had some slight business transactions with Mr. McQuade, and he came up +to the house frequently. He continued these visits after father's +death. We treated him decently, but we simply could not make him feel +welcome. The third time he called he proposed. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother left the room without even replying. He understood. A few +minutes afterward we heard the door slam. John wrote him the next +morning. Did you ever hear of anything to equal the cold-bloodedness +of it?" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington looked at her in absolute amazement. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, of all the nerve! Why the deuce didn't John punch his head?" +savagely. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. McQuade is not a gentleman; John is," simply. "But Mr. McQuade +hasn't forgotten; not he. He pays no attention to any of us; but that +is no sign that he does not think a good deal. However, we do not +worry. There is no possible chance for him to retaliate; at least John +declares there isn't. But sometimes I grow afraid when I think it all +over. To his mind I can see that he considers himself badly affronted; +and from what I know of his history, he never lets an affront pass +without striking back in some manner." +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you worry your head about McQuade. What do you think? He is so +anxious to get me out of the political arena that he has sent a man +down to New York to look into my past. Isn't that droll?" +</P> + +<P> +Patty stooped again to the fishing-tackle. +</P> + +<P> +"Such men as McQuade can invent. I should be very careful, if I were +you. Your own conscience may prove you guiltless of scandal, but there +are certain people who would rather believe bad than good—scandal +than truth; and these are always in the majority. Don't laugh, but +watch. That's my advice to you, Mr. Meddler." She smiled brightly at +him as she threaded the line through the guides of the rod. +</P> + +<P> +"I may not have lived as cleanly as I might have," he said soberly. "I +have been knocked about so much. There were times when I grew tired of +fighting. But I have never done anything that will not stand daylight. +There was a time, Patty, when I came near making a fool of myself." He +sat down, his legs swinging over the water. "I drank more than was +good for me." He stared into the brown water and watched the minnows as +they darted hither and thither. "I was alone; things went wrong, and I +was cowardly enough to fall into the habit. But it was only +periodically. You remember that letter I showed you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Patty's voice was low. +</P> + +<P> +"I believe I have read it a thousand times. It has caused me a great +many regrets. I should like, some day, to meet the writer and +disillusion her. One thing she may be sure of: I have never belittled +the talent God has given me. I have striven for the ideal; I have even +fought for it. That part of my life holds no stain." +</P> + +<P> +"But the habit?" hesitant. +</P> + +<P> +"It is gone, where all fool-habits go, when a man has will power to +rid himself of them. Pride has something to do with it; and I have my +share of pride. I shall never go back." +</P> + +<P> +His head was turned away, but she could see the muscles in the jaws +harden. +</P> + +<P> +"You will never go back, I am sure, Richard." +</P> + +<P> +That she had at last pronounced his given name did not stir him; in +fact, it passed over his head and hearing. Like a dragon-brood, he saw +in fancy his past follies springing up about him. Not yet could he +tell this clean-minded, gentle-bred girl that he loved her. He must +prove himself still further before he might utter what so thoroughly +filled his heart and mind. +</P> + +<P> +"Your brother's wife brought me to my senses. What I am to-day she in +part has made. That is why I think so much of her; that is why I am +happy to see that she is happy and has realized her heart's desire. +Heigh-ho! I believe I am making you my confessor." He turned his face +toward her now, and his smile was rather sad. "When I recall the worry +I have given my poor old aunt, who loves me so, I feel like a +contemptible scoundrel. How many countless sacrifices has she made for +me, in the days when we had nothing! But she shall have all the +comforts now, and all the love and kindness I am capable of giving +her. I shall never leave her again." +</P> + +<P> +There were tears in Patty's eyes. "It is never too late to mend; and +when a man is penitent, truly and honestly penitent, much shall be +forgiven him. It is only those who are by nature coarse who do not +eventually surmount temptation. What you have told me I have known +this long while." +</P> + +<P> +"You have known?" he cried with sinking heart. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. We live in a city where gossip travels quickly and thoroughly. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was telling mother one afternoon that you drank. +I suppose she felt it her duty." +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure," bitterly. "Was it while I have been living at home?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; when the rumor came that you were coming." +</P> + +<P> +He shrugged expressively. "I ought to have known." +</P> + +<P> +"But come; you are up here to be cheered, not lectured. Let us play +billiards. I can hear John and Kate playing now. We'll play sides; and +if we win against those two, I promise to call you Richard once a day +while you are up here. Or, would you rather I played and sang?" +</P> + +<P> +"Much rather," brightening up a bit. "There is always time to play +billiards. But first, I want you to come with me into the +reading-room. I have something to show you; I had almost forgotten." +</P> + +<P> +"The reading-room?" puzzled. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Will you come?" +</P> + +<P> +She nodded her assent, and the two entered the house. Warrington, +having arrived at the writing-desk, bade her sit down. He had an idea. +Patty sat down. +</P> + +<P> +"I want you to write something for me," he said, pushing the pen and +tablet toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with your hand?" she demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Then why do you want me to write?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have never seen your handwriting. I'm something of an expert in +that line. I'll read your future." +</P> + +<P> +"But I don't want my future read," rebelliously. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, your past." +</P> + +<P> +"Much less my past. Come; you are only beating about the bush. What is +it you want?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want to know," he said quietly, "why you have kept me in ignorance +all this while." He laid the letter on the desk, and placed a finger +on the water-mark. "It wasn't fair to let me compose panegyrics over +it all the while you were laughing in your sleeve. Ah, I've caught +you. You can't get away this time, Patty." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about." But she +looked at the letter and not at him. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see those water-marks?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You will find them in a thousand tablets like this. I bought a +dozen of them in New York; cheap and handy." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's confidence in his discovery began to shake. He braced +himself and took a bold course. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, you wrote that letter; you know you did. You wrote it in New +York, the day you bought the tablets." +</P> + +<P> +"I?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Confess." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear Mr. Warrington, you must prove it," lightly. "It would not be +proper for me to admit that I had been so foolish as to write a letter +like that." +</P> + +<P> +"But you've praised it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Simply because praising it would please you; for no other reason." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you, or did you not write it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Find out. You must prove that I wrote it. Certainly I have nothing to +confess." +</P> + +<P> +"You will not answer me one way or the other?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"If you had not written it you would." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe I shall sing this morning," rising. +</P> + +<P> +"And I have wondered a thousand times who could have written it. And +all the time it was you." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor play billiards," went on Patty. +</P> + +<P> +"If only I were all you hitherto believed me to be!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nor fish to-morrow morning." +</P> + +<P> +"This letter has been like an anchor. Immediately upon receiving it I +began to try to live better." +</P> + +<P> +"Nor fish the day after to-morrow." +</P> + +<P> +"And I had forgotten all about Jack's having a sister!" +</P> + +<P> +"Something I shall neither forget nor forgive. And if you persist in +accusing me of writing that letter, I promise not to fish again while +you are here." She walked toward the door, her chin held high. +</P> + +<P> +"You wrote it. Come and sing. I'll say nothing more about it. There's +nothing more to be said." He carelessly picked up a book and looked at +the fly-leaf. "From Sister Patty to Brother John," he read. There was +no mistake now. He laughed. Patty turned. "The writing is the same." +</P> + +<P> +"Is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Will you sing?" +</P> + +<P> +No answer. +</P> + +<P> +"Please." +</P> + +<P> +Patty stood between the door that led to the veranda and the door that +led to the music-room—between Charybdis and Scylla, as it were, for +she knew he would follow her whichever way she went. She turned into +the music-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks," he said. +</P> + +<P> +The days passed all too quickly for Warrington. He walked in the +golden glow of his first romance, that romance which never leaves us +till life itself departs. He spoke no word of his love, but at times +there was something in his voice that thrilled Patty and subdued her +elfish gaiety. Some girls would have understood at once, but Patty was +different. She was happy one moment, and troubled the next, not +knowing the reason. She was not analytical; there was no sophistry in +her young heart. She did not dream that this man loved her; she was +not vain enough for that. +</P> + +<P> +John and Kate watched them approvingly. They knew the worth of the +man; they were not at all worried over what was past. They saw their +own romance tenderly reflected. Mrs. Bennington was utterly oblivious. +Mothers never realize that their daughters and sons must some day +leave them; they refuse to accept this natural law; they lament over +it to-day as they lamented in the days of the Old Testament. The truth +is, children are always children to the parents; paternal and maternal +authority believes its right indefinite. +</P> + +<P> +By this time all the newspapers, save the Telegraph, had made readable +copy out of Warrington's candidacy. Why the Telegraph remained mute +was rather mystifying. Warrington saw the hand of McQuade in this. The +party papers had to defend the senator, but their defense was not so +strong as it might have been. Not a single sheet came out frankly for +Warrington. The young candidate smoked his pipe and said nothing, but +mentally he was rolling up his sleeves a little each day. He had not +yet pulled through the convention. Strong as the senator was, there +might yet be a hitch in the final adjustment. So far nothing had come +of Bolles' trip to New York. Occasionally newspapers from the nearby +towns fell into Warrington's hands. These spoke of his candidacy in +the highest terms, and belabored the editors of Herculaneum for not +accepting such a good chance of ridding itself of McQuadeism. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime, there was fishing, long trips into the heart of the forests, +dancing at the hotel at the head of the lake, billiards and music. +Warrington was already deeply tanned, and Patty's nose was liberally +sprinkled with golden freckles. +</P> + +<P> +One evening Kate and John sat on the veranda from where they could +easily watch Warrington and Patty in the music-room. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think of it, John?" +</P> + +<P> +"There's not a finer chap in the world. But I don't think Patty +realizes yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Dear Patty!" Kate reached over and took his hand in hers, laying it +against her cold cheek. "What is it, John? You have been worried all +day." +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing; nothing to bother you with." +</P> + +<P> +"The shops? It worries me when you don't confide in me in everything." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, dear, the trouble I've been expecting for months is about to +come. You know that young Chittenden, the English inventor, has been +experimenting with a machine that will do the work of five men. They +have been trying to force him to join the union, but he has refused, +having had too many examples of unionism in his own country to risk +his independence here. Well, I received a letter from the general +manager this morning. Either Chittenden must join or go; otherwise the +men will go out September first." +</P> + +<P> +"What shall you do?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall keep Chittenden. I am master there," striking the arm of his +chair; "master in everything. If they go out in September, it will be +for good. I shall tear down the shops and build model tenements." +</P> + +<P> +"John!" +</P> + +<P> +"I am sick and tired, dear. I have raised the wages all over the +district; my men work less than any other hands in town. I have built +a gymnasium for them, given them books, pool-tables, and games, to say +nothing of the swimming-tank. I have arranged the annual outings. I +have established a pension-list. But all this seems to have done no +good. I am at the end of the rope. Oh, the poor devils who work are +all right; it's the men outside who are raising all this trouble; it's +the union, not the men. There's no denying the power these men can +wield, for wrong or right. Ignorance can not resist the temptation to +use it at all times and for all purposes. But I am master at the +Bennington shops; injustice shall not dictate to me. They'll use it +politically, too. After all, I'm glad I've told you." +</P> + +<P> +"But, John, I'm afraid for you. They may hurt you." +</P> + +<P> +John answered with a sound that was more of a growl than a laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you worry about me, honey; I'm no weakling. I wish Dick could +be with me when the fight comes, but he will have his hands full, and +the strike will not help him any. Don't you worry. Father always felt +that there would be trouble some day. He held a large bundle of +bank-stock and railroad bonds, and the income from these alone will +take care of us very comfortably. There's a good deal of real estate, +too, that may be reckoned on. If the crash does come, we'll pack up, +take the mother, and go abroad for a year or so. But before I'm done +I'll teach local unionism a lesson it will not forget soon. Don't you +worry," he repeated again; "you just leave it to me." +</P> + +<P> +She did not speak, but kissed his hand. She knew that no pleading +could move him; and besides, he was in the right. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't understand the lukewarmness of the party papers," he said. +"They ought to hurrah over Dick. But perhaps the secret machinery is +being set to work, and they've been told that there will be trouble at +the convention. The senator never backs down, and I've never seen +anybody that could frighten Dick. There'll be some interesting events +this fall. Herculaneum will figure in the newspapers from Maine to +California, for everybody is familiar with Warrington's name and work. +It's a month yet before the delegates get together; either Warrington +will run or he won't. Calling him a meddler is good. If the Times +isn't a meddler, I never saw one and have misunderstood the meaning of +the word." +</P> + +<P> +In the music-room Patty was playing Grieg and MacDowell, and +Warrington was turning the pages. The chords, weird and melancholy, +seemed to permeate his whole being; sad, haunting music, that spoke of +toil, tears, death and division, failure and defeat, hapless love and +loveless happiness. After a polonaise, Patty stopped. +</P> + +<P> +"If music were only lasting, like a painting, a statue, a book," she +said; "but it isn't. Why these things haunt me every day, but I can +recollect nothing; I have to come back to the piano. It is elusive." +</P> + +<P> +"And the most powerful of all the arts that arouse the emotions. Hang +it! when I hear a great singer, a great violinist, half the time I +find an invisible hand clutching me by the throat ... Patty, honestly +now, didn't you write that letter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," looking him courageously in the eyes. "And I hope you were not +laughing when you said all those kind things about it." +</P> + +<P> +"Laughing? No," gravely, "I was not laughing. Play something lively; +Chaminade; I am blue to-night." +</P> + +<P> +So Patty played the light, enchanting sketches. In the midst of one of +them she stopped suddenly. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought I heard the boat's whistle. Listen. Yes, there it is. It +must be a telegram. They never come up to the head of the lake at +night for anything less. There goes John with a lantern." +</P> + +<P> +"Never mind the telegram," he said; "play." +</P> + +<P> +A quarter of an hour later John and Kate came in. +</P> + +<P> +"A telegram for you, Dick," John announced, sending the yellow +envelope skimming through the air. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington caught it deftly. He balanced it in his hand speculatively. +</P> + +<P> +"It is probably a hurry-call from the senator. I may have to go back +to town to-morrow. I have always hated telegrams." +</P> + +<P> +He opened it carelessly and read it. He read it again, slowly; and +Patty, who was nearest to him, saw his face turn gray under the tan +and his lips tremble. He looked from one to the other dumbly, then +back at the sheet in his hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Richard!" said Kate, with that quick intuition which leaps across +chasms of doubt and arrives definitely. +</P> + +<P> +"My aunt died this afternoon," he said, his voice breaking, for he had +not the power to control it. +</P> + +<P> +Nobody moved; a kind of paralysis touched them all. +</P> + +<P> +"She died this afternoon, and I wasn't there." There is something +terribly pathetic in a strong man's grief. +</P> + +<P> +"Dick!" John rushed to his side. "Dick, old man, there must be some +mistake." +</P> + +<P> +He seized the telegram from Warrington's nerveless fingers. There was +no mistake. The telegram was signed by the family physician. Then John +did the kindliest thing in his power. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish to be alone, Dick?" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington nodded. John laid the telegram on the table, and the three +of them passed out of the room. A gust of wind, coming down from the +mountains, carried the telegram gently to the floor. Warrington, +leaning against the table, stared down at it. +</P> + +<P> +What frightful things these missives are! Charged with success or +failure, riches or poverty, victory or defeat, births or deaths, they +fly to and fro around the great world hourly, on ominous and sinister +wings. A letter often fails to reach us, but a telegram, never. It is +the messenger of fate, whose emissaries never fail to arrive. +</P> + +<P> +Death had never before looked into Warrington's life; he had viewed it +with equanimity, with a tolerant pity for those who succumbed to it, +for those whose hearts it ravaged with loneliness and longing. He had +used it frequently in his business as a property by which to arouse +the emotions of his audiences. That it should some day stand at his +side, looking into his eyes, never occurred to him. He tried to think, +to beguile himself into the belief that he should presently awake to +find it a dream. Futile expedient! She was dead; that dear, kind, +loving heart was dead. Ah! and she had died alone! A great sob choked +him. He sank into a chair and buried his face in his arms. The past +rushed over him like a vast wave. How many times had he carelessly +wounded that heart which had beat solely for him! How many times had +he given his word, only to break it! He was alone, alone; death had +severed the single tie; he was alone. Death is kind to the dead, but +harsh to the living. Presently his sighs became less regular, and at +length they ceased entirely. +</P> + +<P> +The portiere rustled slightly, and Patty's face became visible. Her +eyes were wet. She had tried to keep away, but something drew her +irresistibly. Her heart swelled. If only she might touch his bowed +head, aye, kiss the touches of grey at the temples; if only she might +console him in this hour of darkness and grief. Poor boy, poor boy! +She knew not how long she watched him; it might have been minutes or +hours; she was without recollection of time. A hand touched her gently +on the arm. Kate stood by her side. +</P> + +<P> +"Come," she whispered; "come, Patty." +</P> + +<P> +Patty turned without question or remonstrance and followed her up +stairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Kate, dear Kate!" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, darling?" +</P> + +<P> +"He is all alone!" +</P> + +<P> +At midnight John tiptoed into the music-room. Warrington had not +moved. John tapped him on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"You mustn't stay here, old man. Come to bed." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stood up. +</P> + +<P> +"Would you like a drop of brandy?" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"It is terribly hard," said John, throwing his arm across the other's +shoulders. "I know; I understand. You are recalling all the mistakes, +all the broken promises, all the disappointments. That is but natural. +But in a few days all the little acts of kindness will return to your +memory; all the good times you two have had together, the thousand +little benefits that made her last days pleasant. These will soften +the blow, Dick." +</P> + +<P> +"I wasn't there," Warrington murmured dully. His mind could accept but +one fact: his aunt had died alone, without his being at the bedside. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +It rained in Herculaneum that night. The pavement in Williams Street +glistened sharply, for a wind was swinging the arc-lamps. The trees on +the Warrington lawn sighed incessantly; and drip, drip, drip, went the +rain on the leaves. Not a light shone anywhere in the house; total +darkness brooded over it. In one of the rooms a dog lay with his nose +against the threshold of the door. From time to time he whined +mournfully. In another room an Angora cat stalked restlessly back and +forth, sometimes leaping upon a chair, sometimes trotting round and +round, and again, wild-eyed and furtive, it stood motionless, as if +listening. Death had entered the house; and death, to the beast, is +not understandable. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XI +</H3> + +<P> +Everybody had gone down the winding road to the granite entrance of +the cemetery; the minister, the choir, the friends and those who had +come because they reveled in morbid scenes. These were curious to see +how Warrington was affected, if he showed his grief or contained it, +so that they might have something to talk about till some one else +died. There are some people in this merry world of ours who, when they +take up the evening paper, turn first to the day's death notices; who +see no sermons in the bright flowers, the birds and butterflies, the +misty blue hills, the sunshine, who read no lesson in beauty, who +recognize no message in the moon and the stars, in cheerfulness and +good humor. On the contrary, they seem to abhor the sunshine; they +keep their parlors for ever in musty darkness, a kind of tomb where +they place funeral wreaths under glass globes and enter but half a +dozen times a year. Well, even these had finally dragged themselves +away from the grave, and left Warrington standing alone beside the +brown roll of damp fresh earth. No carriage awaited him, for he had +signified his intention of walking home. +</P> + +<P> +All about him the great elms and maples and oaks showed crisp against +the pale summer sky. Occasionally a leaf fell. A red squirrel +chattered above him, and an oriole sang shrilly and joyously near by. +The sun was reddening in the west, and below, almost at his feet, the +valley swam in a haze of delicate amethyst. The curving stream +glittered. From where he stood he could see them bundling up the +sheaves of wheat. All these things told him mutely that the world was +going on the same as ever; nothing had changed. In the city men and +women were going about their affairs as usual; the smoke rolled up +from the great chimneys. When all is said, our griefs and joys are +wholly our own; the outsider does not participate. +</P> + +<P> +Yes, the world went on just the same. Death makes a vacancy, but the +Great Accountant easily fills it; and the summing up of balances goes +on. Let us thank God for the buoyancy of the human spirit, which, +however sorely tried, presently rises and assumes its normal interest +in life. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington looked dreamily at the grave, and the philosopher in him +speculated upon the mystery of it. Either the grave is Heaven or it is +nothing; one can proceed no farther. If there was a Heaven (and in the +secret corner of his heart he believed there was), a new star shone in +the sky at night, a gentle, peaceful star. Just now the pain came in +the knowledge that she was gone; later the actual absence would be +felt. For a month or so it would seem that she had gone on a journey; +he would find himself waiting and watching; but as the weeks and +months went by, and he heard not her step nor her voice, then would +come the real anguish. They tell us that these wounds heal; well, +maybe; but they open and reopen and open again till that day we +ourselves cease to take interest in worldly affairs. +</P> + +<P> +He stooped and picked up one of the roses which she had held in her +hand. Reverently he pressed his lips to it and put it away in his +wallet. Then he turned and went slowly down the hill. He had never +really known her till these last few months; not till now did he +realize how closely knit together had been their lives and affections. +He lighted a cigar, and with his hands behind his back and his chin in +his collar, he continued to the gates. The old care-taker opened and +closed the gates phlegmatically. Day by day they came, and one by one +they never went out again. To him there was neither joy nor grief; if +the grass grew thick and the trees leaved abundantly, that was all he +desired. +</P> + +<P> +It was a long walk to Williams Street, and he was tired when he +entered the house. Jove leaped upon him gladly. Warrington held the +dog's head in his hands and gazed into the brown eyes. Here was one +that loved him, wholly and without question. You will always find some +good in the man who retains the affection of his dog. In good times or +bad, they are stanch friends; and they are without self-interest, +which is more than human. In the living-room he found the Angora +curled up on a sofa-cushion. He smoothed her, and she stretched her +lithe body luxuriously and yawned. There is no other animal which so +completely interprets the word indifference. Warrington wondered what +he should do with her, for he was not very fond of cats. But his aunt +had loved her, so he passed on to the dining-room without deciding +what to do. +</P> + +<P> +It was a lonely supper. He kept his eyes on his plate as well as he +could; for whenever he saw the back of her chair, his food choked him. +He wondered why he did not take the decanter of whisky down from the +sideboard; a generous tumblerful. ... No. This was the first time in +months that the desire to drink deeply came to him. No; he would leave +it there. Supper done, he went to his den and took down a book. Could +he live here now? He doubted it, for it was a house of empty doors. He +settled himself in a chair and turned the pages of the book to a place +he loved well. It was where D'Artagnan, representing Planchet and +Company, returns to the grocer with the bags of English gold which, +for several good reasons, Charles Second has given him for General +Monk's sword. He was well along toward the fainting of the honest +Planchet on the money-bags, when the telephone rang. He took up the +receiver. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mama wants you to come over and spend the night with us. John and +Kate will be here, too." +</P> + +<P> +He recognized Patty's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be very glad to," he replied. "Good-by." He rang for Mary, +who came in, her eyes red and swollen; Poor soul, she had also lost +her best friend. "I am going over to the Benningtons' to spend the +night, Mary. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, sir; just as you think best." +</P> + +<P> +The Benningtons were very kind to him. They engaged his interest the +moment he entered the house. They talked of a thousand and one things +diverting: the foreign news, the political outlook, the September +horse-show at which Patty would ride and jump, what was contemplated +in society for the fall and winter, the ice-carnival, and the +engagements. +</P> + +<P> +"Why don't you enter your Irish hunter?" asked John, when the talk +veered around to horses again. +</P> + +<P> +"I ride for the mere pleasure of it," replied Warrington; "or, if you +will, I'm too lazy to learn the judges' catechism." +</P> + +<P> +Presently they had him telling how he had written his first play, and +how completely Mrs. Jack had fooled him on their first meeting. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I have not the slightest desire to return to the stage," said +Mrs. Jack, in answer to a casual inquiry made by Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"Not while I'm around," supplemented John. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, nothing could lure me back to it," Mrs. Jack declared +emphatically. "I am happy. I am very happy. I have nothing to wish +for, save that my happiness may endure." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bennington, who had long since grown to love her daughter-in-law, +smiled benignly. +</P> + +<P> +"You will always be happy, my dear; you were born to be. It is the +just reward for making those around you happy." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty," said Warrington, "would you like the Angora?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should love it dearly." +</P> + +<P> +"Then I'll send it over to you in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +And that was as near as they approached the subject they were tacitly +avoiding. +</P> + +<P> +At a quarter of nine, to the consternation of every one, Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was announced. +</P> + +<P> +"Take me up stairs to the billiard-room," said Warrington; "I am not +in the mood to meet that woman to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, then," cried John, willing enough. "There's the servants' +stairs. I'll give you a handicap of twenty in a hundred points." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll beat you at those odds." +</P> + +<P> +"That remains to be seen." +</P> + +<P> +And the two hurried up the stairs just as the hall-door closed. The +billiard-room was situated at the head of the front stairs. Warrington +won the bank, and he ran a score of ten. While he was chalking his cue +he heard voices. +</P> + +<P> +"It is very sad." It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene talking. "We shall miss +her in church work. It is a severe blow to Mr. Warrington." +</P> + +<P> +"That was a good draw, John. Three cushions this time. Good. You're +playing strong to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you think to bring over your pajamas?" John asked irrelevantly. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington smiled in spite of himself. +</P> + +<P> +"I forgot all about them," he admitted. +</P> + +<P> +"Thought you would, so I brought over two sets. We're about the same +size. Pshaw! that was an easy one, too." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington missed his shot; He heard voices again. +</P> + +<P> +"And I want you to help me." It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene again. "We +shall reorganize the Woman's Auxiliary Republican Club, and we shall +need you. It is principally for that that I came over." +</P> + +<P> +"I take very little interest in anything outside my home," replied +Mrs. Bennington. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you get that?" whispered John, as he drew back for a carom. +</P> + +<P> +"But this is very important for the city's welfare," pursued Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene. +</P> + +<P> +"I doubt it. So long as we do not vote—" +</P> + +<P> +"That's just it. We can't vote, but we can get together and control +the male vote in the family. That's something." +</P> + +<P> +John grinned at Warrington, who replied with a shrug. +</P> + +<P> +"And they all call me the meddler!" he said. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with your staying on here a few days, Dick?" +</P> + +<P> +"I should be nothing but a bother to you." +</P> + +<P> +"Rot! You can't stay alone over there." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have to; I can't leave those poor old souls alone. They are +broken-hearted. I sent her two hundred every month regularly, just for +pin-money; and what do you think she did with it? Hoarded it up and +willed something like two thousand to Mary and her husband. I'm all +in, Dick. But go on; I'll finish the game." +</P> + +<P> +"All right. But whenever you feel lonesome, come here or over to my +house. There'll always be a spare room for you in either house." +</P> + +<P> +"It's mighty kind of you, John. My shot?" Warrington ran four and +missed. +</P> + +<P> +Voices again. +</P> + +<P> +"I never believe what I hear, and only half of what I see." That was +Mrs. Jack speaking. +</P> + +<P> +Murmurs. The billiard-balls clicked sharply as John played for +position. +</P> + +<P> +"The stage doesn't appeal to you any more, then?" Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene. +</P> + +<P> +"Not in the least. It never did appeal to me. I am so far away from it +now that I am losing the desire to witness plays." +</P> + +<P> +"And for whom will Mr. Warrington write his plays now?" +</P> + +<P> +"The vacancy I made has long ago been filled. I was but one in a +thousand to interpret his characters. There is always a lack of plays, +but never of actors." +</P> + +<P> +"Excuse me for a moment." It was Patty this time. +</P> + +<P> +"Certainly, my dear." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington heard nothing more for several minutes. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it true what I hear about Patty and that rich young Mr. Whiteland, +of New York?" +</P> + +<P> +"What is it that you have heard?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, that their engagement is about to be announced." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stood perfectly still. Whiteland had been a guest at the +Adirondack bungalow earlier in the summer. He waited for the answer, +and it seemed to him that it would never come. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not engaged to any one, Mrs. Haldene, and I hope you will do me +the favor to deny the report whenever you come across it." Patty had +returned. "It seems incredible that a young man may not call upon a +young woman without their names becoming coupled matrimonially." +</P> + +<P> +"Nevertheless, he is regarded as extremely eligible." +</P> + +<P> +"I have often wondered over Haldene's regular Saturday night jag at +the club," said John, stringing his count, "but I wonder no longer. +They say she never goes out Saturdays." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington heard the words, but the sense of them passed by. He could +realize only one thing, and that was, he loved Patty better than all +the world. He could accept his own defeat with philosophy, but another +man's success!—could he accept that? How strangely everything had +changed in the last few days! He had never known real mental anguish; +heartaches in others had always afforded him mild amusement and +contempt. It was one thing, he reflected, to write about human +emotions; it was entirely another thing to live and act them. He saw +that his past had been full of egotism and selfishness, but he also +saw that his selfishness was of the kind that has its foundation in +indifference and not in calculation. The voices went on down stairs, +but he ceased to pay any attention to them. +</P> + +<P> +"John, there's been something in my mind for many months." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you recollect the night you came into my rooms in New York?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall never forget it," quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Your wife was there." +</P> + +<P> +"I know it. I found her gloves." He made a difficult masse. "She told +me all about it. At the time, however, I had a pretty bad case of +heart-trouble. But I understand. She was in the habit of dropping in +on you. Why not? Your cooperation made you both famous. A man in love +finds all sorts of excuses for jealousy. But I'm glad you've spoken. I +can readily understand how you felt when you found the gloves gone. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a good man, John," said Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"Kate loves me; it ought to make any man good to have a wife who loves +him. I have no use for a man who sees evil in everything and good in +nothing. Say no more about it, boy." +</P> + +<P> +"I hadn't seen you in so long that I was confused. If I had reflected +... But you see, I didn't know that you were engaged, or even that you +knew her. I never understood, until you were gone, why she wanted to +hide herself. I'm glad I've relieved my mind." Warrington sighed. +</P> + +<P> +"It's all right. There! I told you that I'd win even at those odds." +</P> + +<P> +Presently they heard a stir down stairs. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +going. The door closed. The family came up to the billiard-room. +Warrington looked at Patty, whose cheeks were flushed and whose eyes +flashed. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, what's the matter, Pat?" John asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Nothing." +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Haldene has been making herself useful as usual," said Mrs. +Jack, slipping her arm around Patty's waist. +</P> + +<P> +Patty was in a rage about something; nobody seemed to know what it +was. +</P> + +<P> +"You are not going to join the Auxiliary, are you, mother?" John +inquired, putting the cues in the rack. +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed I am not. The men in my family always used their own judgment +in politics. They have always been Whigs or Republicans." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you ever meet a woman, Dick, who was a Democrat?" laughed John. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps," was the reply, "but it has escaped my recollection." +</P> + +<P> +But he was thinking: after all, he had a right to win Patty if he +could. It was not what he had done in the past, it was what he was +capable of doing from now on that counted. +</P> + +<P> +"You're going to have a stiff fight at the convention," said John. +</P> + +<P> +"I know it. But a fight of any kind will keep my mind occupied. The +senator has assured me that I shall get the nomination." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +On the way home Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw the flutter of a white dress +on the Wilmington-Fairchilds' veranda. She couldn't resist, so she +crossed the lawn and mounted the veranda steps. She did not observe +her husband in the corner, smoking with the master of the house. +</P> + +<P> +"I've been over to the Benningtons'," she began, rather breathless. +</P> + +<P> +"What's the news?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is no truth in the report of Patty's engagement to young +Whiteland." +</P> + +<P> +"There isn't? Well, there ought to be, after the way they went around +together last winter." +</P> + +<P> +"She told me so herself," Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene declared emphatically. +"Do you know what I believe?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," truthfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I've an idea that Patty is inclined toward that fellow Warrington." +</P> + +<P> +"You don't mean it!" +</P> + +<P> +"He's always around there. He must have thought a great deal of his +aunt. She was buried to-day, and there he is, playing billiards with +John Bennington. If that isn't heartlessness!" +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want a man to do?" growled her husband from behind his +cigar. "Sit in a dark room and wring his hands all day, like a woman? +Men have other things to do in life than mourn the departed." +</P> + +<P> +"Franklyn? I didn't see you." +</P> + +<P> +"You seldom do." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene at once plunged into a discussion of fashion, +the one thing that left her husband high and dry, so far as his native +irony was concerned. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +That same night McQuade concluded some interesting business. He +possessed large interests in the local breweries. Breweries on the +average do not pay very good dividends on stock, so the brewer often +establishes a dozen saloons about town to help the business along. +McQuade owned a dozen or more of these saloons, some in the heart of +the city, some in the outlying wards of the town. He conducted the +business with his usual shrewdness. The saloons were all well managed +by Germans, who, as a drinking people, are the most orderly in the +world. It was not generally known that McQuade was interested in the +sale of liquors. His name was never mentioned in connection with the +saloons. +</P> + +<P> +One of these saloons was on a side street. The back door of it faced +the towpath. It did not have a very good reputation; and though, for +two years, no disturbances had occurred there, the police still kept +an eye on the place. It was on the boundary line of the two most +turbulent wards in the city. To the north was the Italian colony, to +the south was the Irish colony. Both were orderly and self-respecting +as a rule, though squalor and poverty abounded. But these two races +are at once the simplest and most quick-tempered, and whenever an +Irishman or an Italian crossed the boundary line there was usually a +hurry call for the patrol wagon, and some one was always more or less +battered up. +</P> + +<P> +Over this saloon was a series of small rooms which were called "wine +rooms," though nobody opened wine there. Beer was ten cents a glass up +stairs, and whisky twenty. Women were not infrequently seen climbing +the stairs to these rooms. But, as already stated, everybody behaved. +Schmuck, who managed the saloon, was a giant of a man, a Turnvereiner, +who could hold his own with any man in town. It will be understood +that the orderliness was therefore due to a respect for Schmuck's +strength, and not to any inclination to be orderly. +</P> + +<P> +On this night, then, at nine o'clock, a man entered and approached the +bar. He was sharp-eyed, lean-faced, with a heavy blue beard closely +shaven, saving the mustache, which was black and hung over the man's +lips. He wore good clothes. There was a large diamond on one of his +fingers and another in the bosom of his shirt, in which a white tie +was tucked carefully. They were yellow diamonds. But those among whom +this man moved did not know the difference between yellow stones and +white. Morrissy was accounted very well-to-do. +</P> + +<P> +"Hello, Schmuck!" he hailed. "Got the room up stairs in order?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Schmuck wiped the bar. "Der poss iss coming to-night, I see. +Huh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. He ought to be along now," replied Morrissy, glancing at his +watch, which was as conspicuous as his yellow diamonds. +</P> + +<P> +"How you getting along mit der poys?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we're coming along fine, all right." +</P> + +<P> +"Going to call 'em out uf der mills? Huh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps. When the boss comes, tell him I'm up stairs." +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy lighted a cigar, took the evening papers from the end of the +bar, and disappeared. Schmuck could hear him moving the chairs about. +Ten minutes later McQuade appeared. Schmuck nodded toward the stairs, +and without a word McQuade went up. +</P> + +<P> +"Good evening, Morrissy. I missed a car, or I'd have been here +earlier." +</P> + +<P> +"That's all right, Mr. McQuade; glad to wait for you." Morrissy threw +aside his papers and drew his chair to the table. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade closed the door and sat down. +</P> + +<P> +"You got my letter?" he began, wiping his forehead. +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, the boys will go out Monday morning. A committee will wait on +Bennington in the morning. He won't back down and discharge the +English inventor, so it's a sure thing they'll walk out, every +mother's son of them." +</P> + +<P> +"On the morning they go out, I'll send you my check for five hundred." +</P> + +<P> +"For the union?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll send it to you, and you can use it as you see fit. On Monday +morning, then." +</P> + +<P> +"Sure thing." +</P> + +<P> +They smoked for a while. Suddenly McQuade laid a bulky envelope on the +table, got up and went out. Morrissy weighed the envelope carefully, +thrust it into his pocket, and also departed. +</P> + +<P> +"Five hundred now, and five hundred on Monday. I can see him sending a +check. It will be bills. Bah! I should have called out the boys +anyhow." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade hurried home. He had another appointment, vastly more +important than the one he had just kept. Bolles had returned from New +York. It was easy enough to buy a labor union, but it was a different +matter to ruin a man of Warrington's note. Bolles had telegraphed that +he would be in Herculaneum that night. That meant that he had found +something worth while. Each time the car stopped to let passengers on +or off, McQuade stirred restlessly. He jumped from the car when it +reached his corner, and walked hurriedly down the street to his house, +a big pile of red granite and an architectural nightmare. He rushed up +the steps impatiently, applied his latch-key and pushed in the door. +He slammed it and went directly to his study. Bolles was asleep in a +chair. McQuade shook him roughly. Bolles opened his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"You've been on a drunk," said McQuade, quickly noting the puffed eyes +and haggard cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"But I've got what I went after, all the same," replied Bolles +truculently. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you got? If you've done any faking, I'll break every bone +in your body." +</P> + +<P> +"Now, look here, Mr. McQuade; don't talk to me like that." +</P> + +<P> +"What have you got, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I've got something that's worth five hundred; that's what. I +worked like a nigger for a month; pumped everybody that ever knew him. +Not a blame thing, till night before last I ran into the janitor of +the apartments where Warrington lived." +</P> + +<P> +"Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"He'd been fired, and I got him drunk. I asked him if any women had +ever gone up to Warrington's rooms. One. He was sitting in the +basement. It was a hot night, and he was sitting up because he could +not sleep. At midnight a coupe drove up, and Warrington and a woman +alighted. From the looks of things she was drunk, but he found out +afterward that she was very sick. The woman remained in Warrington's +apartments till the following morning." +</P> + +<P> +"When was all this?" +</P> + +<P> +"About four years ago. She left very early." +</P> + +<P> +"Hell!" roared McQuade, doubling his fists. "And I've been sending you +money every week for such news as this! I want something big, you +fool! What earthly use is this information to me? I couldn't frighten +Warrington with it." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't told you the woman's name yet," said Bolles, leering. +</P> + +<P> +"The woman's name? What's that got to do with it?" +</P> + +<P> +"A whole lot. It was Katherine Challoner, the actress, Bennington's +wife; that's who it was!" +</P> + +<P> +McQuade sat very still. So still, that he could hear the clock ticking +in the parlor. Bennington's wife! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XII +</H3> + +<P> +The death of his aunt gave Warrington a longing for action—swift +mental and physical action. To sit in that dark, empty house, to read +or to write, was utterly impossible; nor had he any desire to take +long rides into the country. His mind was never clearer than when he +rode alone, and what he wanted was confusion, noise, excitement, +struggle. So he made an appointment with Senator Henderson the next +morning. He left the Benningtons with the promise that he would return +that evening and dine with them. Warrington had become the senator's +hobby; he was going to do great things with this young man's future. +He would some day make an ambassador of him; it would be a pleasant +souvenir of his old age. Warrington was brilliant, a fine linguist, +was a born diplomat, had a good voice, and a fund of wit and repartee; +nothing more was required. He would give the name Warrington a high +place in the diplomatic history of the United States. Some of the most +capable diplomats this country had produced had been poets. +Warrington's being a playwright would add luster to the office. The +senator was going over these things, when a clerk announced that Mr. +Warrington was waiting to see him. +</P> + +<P> +"Send him right in." +</P> + +<P> +Immediately Warrington entered. He was simply dressed in a business +suit of dark blue. He wore a straw hat and a black tie. There was no +broad band of crape on his hat or his sleeve. He had the poet's horror +of parading grief, simply because it was considered fashionable to do +so. He sincerely believed that outward mourning was obsolete, a custom +of the Middle Ages. +</P> + +<P> +"Ha!" ejaculated the senator. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning. How goes the fight?" +</P> + +<P> +"Fine, my boy; I'll land you there next week; you see if I don't. The +main obstacle is the curious attitude of the press. You and I know the +reason well enough. McQuade is back of this influence. But the voter +doesn't know this, and will accept the surface indications only. Now +you know the newspaper fellows. Why not drop around to the offices and +find out something definite?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's a good idea, Senator. I'll do it this very morning." +</P> + +<P> +"Has McQuade any personal grudge against you?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not to my knowledge." +</P> + +<P> +"He's a bad enemy, and often a downright unscrupulous one. If it's +only politics, I'll have a chat with him myself. You pump the +newspapers. You leave it to me to swing the boys into line at the +convention." +</P> + +<P> +Then they proceeded to go over the ground thoroughly. Something must +be done with the newspapers. The delegates and minor bosses were +already grumbling. Had nothing appeared in the newspapers, +Warrington's nomination would have gone through without even minor +opposition. But the Republican machine was in sore straits. If +Donnelly won this time, it would mean years of Democratic rule in an +essentially Republican town. McQuade must be broken, his strong +barricades toppled; and now that there would be no surprise for the +public, the majority of the delegates began to look doubtfully upon +what they called the senator's coup. They wanted the City Hall, and +they did not care how they got there. Warrington was a fine chap, and +all that, but his acquaintanceship was limited. He could not go about +shaking hands like Donnelly, who knew everybody, high and low. The +laboring man knew nothing about Warrington, save that he was famous +for writing plays they had not seen, nor would have understood if they +had. Warrington was a "swell"; he had nothing in common with the man +who carried the dinner-pail. +</P> + +<P> +"And there the matter stands, my boy," concluded the senator, shifting +his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "If I can swing +the convention the rest will be plain sailing, once you start +speech-making. Oh, McQuade is clever. He knew that by exposing my hand +he would lessen your chances. But you tackle the newspapers and see +what can be done. And good luck to you." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade came down early that morning. The first thing he did was to +call on the editor of the Times. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's something," he said, tossing a few typewritten pages on the +editor's desk. "This'll settle Warrington's hash, Walford." +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" asked Walford. +</P> + +<P> +"Read it and see for yourself." McQuade sat down and picked up the +early New York papers. +</P> + +<P> +Walford read slowly. When he reached the last paragraph he returned to +the first and read the article through again. He laid it down and +faced his employer. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. McQuade, the Call and the Times are the only papers in town that +pay dividends. The Times as it stands to-day is a good, legitimate +business investment. Do you want the circulation to drop ten thousand +and the big advertisers to cancel their contracts?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter with the story? Isn't it all right?" +</P> + +<P> +"Frankly, it isn't." +</P> + +<P> +"It's true," said McQuade, his fist thudding on the desk; "it's true, +I tell you, every damned word of it." +</P> + +<P> +"The truth of it isn't the question. It's the advisability of +publishing it. I say to you that if you insist on this story's +publication, you'll kill the Times deader than a door-nail. I'll call +the business manager in." Walford whistled through a tube, and shortly +after the business manager appeared. "Read this," said Walford +briefly, "and give Mr. McQuade your honest opinion regarding its +publication. Mr. McQuade thinks it ought to run as local news." +</P> + +<P> +The business manager read it. +</P> + +<P> +"It makes good reading, Mr. McQuade, but if you want to kill the +Times, run it. There are some stories that can only be rumored, not +printed, and this is one of them. If this appears, you have my word +that every decent advertiser will cancel his contract forthwith." +</P> + +<P> +Walford looked at his employer in frank triumph. McQuade had great +confidence in these two men. He ripped the manuscript into squares and +filtered them through his fingers into the waste-basket. +</P> + +<P> +"You boys are probably right," he said reluctantly. "I have no desire +to see the paper lose its sound footing. But this would have killed +the man socially and politically, so far as this town is concerned." +</P> + +<P> +"Admitted," replied Walford, straightening out some proofs. "But we'll +topple him over in a legitimate way." +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead, then. I'm not particular how it's done so long as you do +it. Perhaps, after all, it's just as well. I've got another idea. I +can see that I've made a mistake." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade started down the stairs to the street and met Warrington +coming up. The two men paused for a moment, then went on. Once on the +sidewalk, McQuade turned and hesitated. No, he had nothing to say to +Mr. Warrington. He strode down the street toward his own offices. +</P> + +<P> +It will be seen that Warrington had gone directly into the enemy's +camp. He knew Walford of old; they were tolerably good friends. He +gave his card to the boy. Walford, on reading it, stuffed several +newspapers into the waste-basket and pressed his foot on them. He was +a bit shaken. +</P> + +<P> +"Send him in. Hello, Dick," he said. "How are you? You're the last man +I expected to see this morning. What can I do for you?" +</P> + +<P> +"You can tell your political reporter and your editorial man to let up +on me for a week," said Warrington directly. "What the devil have I +done to you chaps that you should light into me after this fashion?" +</P> + +<P> +"You have become rich and famous, Dick, and mediocrity can stand +anything but that." But there was a twinkle in Walford's eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, Wally, you know that isn't the truth." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, if you want the truth I'll give it to you. Answer me frankly +and honestly, do you consider that you have any moral right to accept +a nomination for the mayoralty of Herculaneum?" +</P> + +<P> +"Moral right. I'll pick up that phrase and carry it to your camp. I +have as much moral right as Donnelly, who, if he hasn't been caught, +is none the less culpable for breaking his oath of loyalty. You know +this as well as I do." +</P> + +<P> +Walford eyed the waste-basket thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, we'll turn to the legal side," continued Warrington. "I was born +here; I cast my first vote here; for several years I've been a +property owner and have paid my taxes without lying to the +tax-assessor. It is notorious that Donnelly is worth half a million, +and yet he is assessed upon a house worth about seven thousand. You +have called me a meddler; you apply the term every day. Now draw the +distinction, as to eligibility, between Donnelly and myself." +</P> + +<P> +Walford got up from his chair and closed the door. He returned and sat +down again. +</P> + +<P> +"Dick, politics is politics, and its ways are dark and mysterious, +like the heathen Chinee. If I had your talent—if I had your ability +to earn money, I'd walk out of this office this moment. But I am only +a poor devil of a newspaper man. I've a family. When I was twenty, +eighteen years ago, I was earning twelve a week; to-day it is forty; +when I am sixty it will return to twelve. You know the business; you +know the value they set on a man's brains in this city. And there's +always somebody waiting for your shoes. Now, listen. In the first +place I must live, and as honorably as environment permits me. By +conviction I am a Democrat; I believe in the Democratic principles. +Thus, I consider it my duty to thwart, if possible, any and all moves +the Republican party makes. I recognize your strength, and I shall do +what I can from my side of the barricade to defeat your nomination at +the Republican convention; for I believe you able, if once nominated, +to lead your party to success and victory. But I shall fight you +honestly, Dick. In all I have said so far, there has been no innuendo; +I've stood out in the open. I did you a good turn this morning, but +you will never be any the wiser. Personally, I like you; I have always +liked you, and I am glad to see one man of the craft rise above the +grubs and earn a splendid competence. It hasn't been easy, Dick; +you've had to fight for it, and that's what I admire. You're a good, +clean fighter. If I should rebel against continuing this attack +against you, the attack would go on, but I shouldn't. That would do +neither of us any good. McQuade might find a man with less scruples +than I have. And that's how the matter stands, Dick." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you're frank and honest about it, and I know you will at least +give me a square deal, in the event of my nomination." +</P> + +<P> +"You may reckon on that. Good luck to you and bad luck to your cause." +</P> + +<P> +They talked about the old days for a while, and then Warrington +departed and directed his steps to the office of the Journal, the +paper in which he had begun his career. Oh, here they were willing to +do anything in their power from now on. If he was really determined to +accept the nomination, they would aid him editorially. That evening +the editor made good his word, frankly indorsing Warrington as the +best possible choice for Republican nominee. The editor explained his +former attitude by setting forth his belief that Mr. Warrington's +candidacy was not serious. At the office of the Telegraph they treated +him cordially enough. They never meddled with politics till the fight +was on. Then they picked the candidate whose views most coincided with +their own. If Mr. Warrington was nominated, doubtless they would +support his ticket. The general manager had been a classmate of +Warrington's. He called on him and explained his errand. The manager +simply wrote on a pad: "McQuade owns fifty-five per cent. of the +shares," held it under Warrington's nose and then tore it up. +</P> + +<P> +"That's where our independence stands at this moment." +</P> + +<P> +"I had heard of this, but didn't quite believe it," Warrington said. +Bill Osborne evidently knew what was going on, then. "I'm sorry to +have troubled you." +</P> + +<P> +"None at all." +</P> + +<P> +On the street Warrington was stopped by Ben Jordan, the Telegraph's +star reporter, who had worked with Warrington on the Journal. +</P> + +<P> +"Say, Dick, I am glad to see you. I was going up to your house on +purpose to see you. Come over to Martin's a minute. I've got some news +that might interest you." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't like Martin's place," said Warrington. "Let's compromise on +Hanley's." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, my boy." +</P> + +<P> +They walked down to Hanley's, talking animatedly. +</P> + +<P> +"What will you have, Ben?" +</P> + +<P> +"Musty ale." +</P> + +<P> +"Two musty ales," Warrington ordered. "Well, Ben?" +</P> + +<P> +Ben took a deep swallow of ale. He was the best all-round reporter in +the city; he knew more people than Osborne knew. Murders, strikes, +fires, they were all the same to Ben. He knew where to start and where +to end. The city editor never sent Ben out on a hunt for scandal; he +knew better than to do that. Nine times out of ten, the other papers +got the scandal and Ben's behavior became one. The labor unions were +Ben's great stand-by. On dull days he could always get a story from +the unions. He attended their meetings religiously. They trusted him +implicitly, for Ben never broke his word to any one but his landlady. +He was short and wiry, with a head so large as to be almost a +deformity. On top of this head was a shock of brick-colored hair that +resembled a street-cleaner's broom. And Ben's heart was as big as his +head. His generosity was always getting him into financial trouble. +</P> + +<P> +"Dick, you're a friend of Bennington's. You can quietly tip him that +his men will go out Monday morning. There's only one thing that will +avert a strike, and that's the discharge of the Englishman." +</P> + +<P> +"Bennington will never discharge him." +</P> + +<P> +"So I understand. He'll have a long strike on his hands." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know the inside?" +</P> + +<P> +"Enough to say that the men will go out. They're a lot of sheep. +They've an idea they've been wronged. But you can't reason with them." +</P> + +<P> +"Ben, you go up to the shops yourself and tell Bennington what you +know." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know him. How'll he take it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tell him I sent you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do it, Dick. But if he kicks me out, the drinks will be on you. +What countermove will he make?" +</P> + +<P> +"Better ask him yourself. But if you have any influence among the +unions, tell them to go slow. They haven't sized up Bennington. Wait a +moment. I'll give you a note to him." He called for paper and +envelopes, and wrote: +</P> + +<P> +Dear John: +</P> + +<P> +This will introduce to you Mr. Jordan, a reporter in whom I have the +greatest confidence. Whatever you may tell him you may rest assured +that he will never repeat. I am sending him to you in hopes he may +suggest some plan by which to ward off the impending strike. There may +be a little self-interest on my side. A strike just now will raise the +devil in politics. You may trust Jordan fully. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +He pushed it across the table. "There, that will smooth the way." +</P> + +<P> +"Many thanks, my son. Where's he eat his lunch?" +</P> + +<P> +"Usually in the office." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'm off!" +</P> + +<P> +Ben always had his eye on the story of to-morrow, and he would face +all or any difficulties in pursuit of the end. If he could stop the +strike at the Bennington shops it would be a great thing for the +Telegraph and a great thing for Ben. So he hailed a car, serenely +unconscious that he was taking a position absolutely opposed to that +of his employer. He arrived at the shops some time before the noon +hour. His letter opened all doors. Bennington was in his private +office. He read the letter and offered Ben a chair. +</P> + +<P> +"I have never been interviewed," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"I am not here for an interview," said Ben. "Your men will go out +Monday." +</P> + +<P> +"Monday? How did you learn that?" +</P> + +<P> +"My business takes me among the unions. What shall you do in the event +of the strike?" +</P> + +<P> +"And I have no desire to be interviewed." +</P> + +<P> +"You read Mr. Warrington's letter. Perhaps, if I knew what stand you +will take, I could talk to the men myself. I have averted three or +four strikes in my time, simply because the boys know that I always +speak the truth, the plain truth. In this case I feel that you have +the right on your side. You haven't said anything yet. The union is +practically trying to bluff you into coming to its terms: the +discharge of the inventor, or a strike." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you representing the union?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am representing nobody but myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I may tell you, then, that I shall not discharge the inventor. Nor +will I, if the men go out, take a single one of them back." +</P> + +<P> +"The men will not believe that. They never do. They've been so +successful in Pennsylvania that they are attempting to repeat that +success all over the Country. They have grown pig-headed. I feel sorry +for the poor devils, who never realize when they are well off." +</P> + +<P> +"I feel sorry, too, Mr. Jordan," said Bennington. He played a tattoo +on his strong white teeth with his pencil. "Mr. Warrington seems to +know you well." +</P> + +<P> +"We began on the Journal together. You will not tell me what your plan +is, then?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'd rather not, for honestly, I can not see how it would better the +case." +</P> + +<P> +"It might be worth while to give me a chance." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington re-read Warrington's note. Then he studied the frank blue +eyes of the reporter. +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Ward, you may go," he said to the stenographer. "Now,"—when the +girl had gone,—"you will give me your word?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's all I have." +</P> + +<P> +"How can you convince the men without telling them?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I meant that whatever you tell me shall not see light in the +papers till I have your permission. There's a weekly meeting to-night. +They will decide finally at this meeting. To-morrow will be too late." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington was an accurate judge of men. He felt that he could trust +this shock-headed journalist. If without any loss of self-respect, if +without receding a single step from his position, he could avert the +crash, he would gladly do so. He had reached one determination, and +nothing on earth would swerve him. So he told Ben just exactly what +would happen if the men went out. Ben did not doubt him for a moment. +He, too, was something of a judge of men. This man would never back +down. +</P> + +<P> +"I give you this to show them, if your arguments do not prevail," +concluded Bennington, producing a folded paper. "They will hardly +doubt this." +</P> + +<P> +Ben opened it. It was a permit from the municipal government to tear +down a brick structure within the city limits. Ben stowed the permit +in his pocket. He looked with admiration at the man who could plan, +coolly and quietly, the destruction of a fortune that had taken a +quarter of a century to build. He was grave. There was a big +responsibility pressing on his shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Much obliged. You will never regret the confidence you repose in me. +Now I'll tell you something on my side. It is not the inventor, though +the men believe it is. The inventor is a pretext of Morrissy, the +union leader." +</P> + +<P> +"A pretext?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can't prove what I say, that's the trouble; but McQuade has his +hand in this. I wish to Heaven I could find solid proofs." +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade?" Bennington scowled. He could readily understand now. +McQuade! This was McQuade's revenge. He could wait patiently all this +while! +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do what I can, Mr. Bennington; I'll do what I can." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington ate no lunch that noon. Instead, he wandered about the +great smoky shops, sweeping his glance over the blast-furnaces, the +gutters into which the molten ore was poured, the giant trip-hammers, +the ponderous rolling-machines, the gas-furnaces for tempering fine +steel. The men moved aside. Only here and there a man, grown old in +the shops, touched his grimy cap. ... To tear it down! It would be +like rending a limb, for he loved every brick and stone and girder, as +his father before him had loved them. He squared his shoulders, and +his jaws hardened. No man, without justice on his side, should dictate +to him; no man should order him to hire this man or discharge that +one. He alone had that right; he alone was master. Bennington was not +a coward; he would not sell to another; he would not shirk the task +laid out for his hand. Unionism, such as it stood, must receive a +violent lesson. And McQuade? +</P> + +<P> +"Damn him!" he muttered, his fingers knotting. +</P> + +<P> +Education subdues or obliterates the best of fighting in the coward +only. The brave man is always masculine in these crises, and he will +fight with his bare hands when reason and intelligence fail. A great +longing rose up in Bennington's heart to have it out physically with +McQuade. To feel that gross bulk under his knees, to sink his fingers +into that brawny throat!—The men, eying him covertly, saw his arms go +outward and his hands open and shut convulsively. More than ever they +avoided his path. Once before they had witnessed a similar +abstraction. They had seen him fling to the ground a huge puddler who +had struck his apprentice without cause. The puddler, one of the +strongest men in the shops, struggled to his feet and rushed at his +assailant. Bennington had knocked him down again, and this time the +puddler remained on the ground, insensible. Bennington had gone back +to his office, shutting and opening his fists. Ay, they had long since +ceased calling him the dude. The man of brawn has a hearty respect for +spectacular exhibitions of strength. +</P> + +<P> +One o'clock. The trip-hammers began their intermittent thunder, the +rolling-machines shrieked, and the hot ore sputtered and crackled. +Bennington returned to his office and re-read the letter his father +had written to him on his death-bed. He would obey it to the final +line. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +That particular branch of the local unions which was represented in +the Bennington steel-mills met in the loft of one of the brick +buildings off the main street. The room was spacious, but ill +ventilated. That, night it was crowded. The men were noisy, and a haze +of rank tobacco-smoke drifted aimlessly about, vainly seeking egress. +Morrissy called the meeting to order at eight-thirty. He spoke briefly +of the injustice of the employers, locally and elsewhere, of the +burdens the laboring man had always borne and would always bear, so +long as he declined to demand his rights. The men cheered him. Many +had been drinking freely. Morrissy stated the case against Bennington. +He used his words adroitly and spoke with the air of a man who regrets +exceedingly a disagreeable duty. +</P> + +<P> +From his seat in the rear Jordan watched him, following each word +closely. He saw that Morrissy knew his business thoroughly. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll get what we want, men; we always do. It isn't a matter of +money; it's principle. If we back down, we are lost; if we surrender +this time, we'll have to surrender one thing at a time till we're away +back where we started from, slaves to enrich the oppressor. We've got +to fight for our rights. Here's an inventor who, if we permit him to +remain, will succeed in throwing two hundred men out of work. +Bennington is making enough money as things are now. There's no need +of improvement, such as will take bread and butter out of our mouths, +out of the mouths of our wives and children. We've got to strike. +That'll bring him to his senses." +</P> + +<P> +At the conclusion he was loudly applauded. +</P> + +<P> +Jordan stood up and waited till the noise had fully subsided. +Everybody knew him. They had seen him stand up before, and he always +said something worth listening to. +</P> + +<P> +"You all know me, boys," he began. +</P> + +<P> +"You bet!" +</P> + +<P> +"You're all right!" +</P> + +<P> +"Speech! Go ahead!" +</P> + +<P> +Jordan caught Morrissy's eye. Morrissy nodded with bad grace. Jordan +spoke for half an hour. He repeated word for word what Bennington had +told him. In the end he was greeted with laughter. +</P> + +<P> +"Very well, boys," he said, shrugging. "It's none of my business. +You've never caught me lying yet. You don't know this man Bennington. +I believe I do. He'll make good his threat. Wait and see." +</P> + +<P> +"How much were you paid to attend this meeting?" demanded Morrissy, +sneering. +</P> + +<P> +"A good deal less than you were, Mr. Morrissy." There was a dangerous +flush on Ben's cheeks, but the smoke was so dense that Morrissy failed +to observe it. The men laughed again, accepting Ben's retort as a +piece of banter. Ben went on doggedly: "I have in my pocket a permit +to tear down the shops. Bennington gave it to me to produce. Look at +it, if you doubt my word. There it is." +</P> + +<P> +The men passed it along the aisles. It came back presently, much the +worse for the wear. Some of the older men looked exceedingly grave, +but they were in the minority. +</P> + +<P> +"Anybody can get a permit to tear down his property," said Morrissy +scornfully. "It's a big bluff, men. What! tear down the golden goose? +Not in a thousand years! It's a plain bluff. And I'm sorry to see a +decent man like our newspaper friend on the enemy's side." +</P> + +<P> +"If I am on the enemy's side, Mr. Morrissy, it's because I'm a friend +of every man here, save one," significantly. "You men will vote a +strike. I can see that. But you'll regret it to your last day. I've +nothing more to say. I helped you once when old man Bennington was +alive, but I guess you've forgotten it." Ben sat down in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll proceed with the voting," said Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +Half an hour later there was a cheer. The men would go out Monday, if +the demands of the committee were not acceded to. The meeting broke +up, and many of the men flocked into the near-by saloons. Morrissy +approached Ben, who had waited for him. No one was within earshot. +</P> + +<P> +"What the hell do you mean by saying you were paid less than I was?" +he said, his jaw protruding at an ugly angle. +</P> + +<P> +"I mean, Morrissy," answered Ben fearlessly, "that you had better move +carefully in the future. If I were you, I wouldn't accept any +unstamped envelopes in Herculaneum It would be a good plan to go to +some other town for that." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, damn you!" Morrissy raised his fist. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay where you are," warned Ben, seizing a camp-chair "or I'll break +your head. Listen to me. I'm starting out from this night on to break +you, and, by God, I'll do it before the year is over. This is your +last strike, so make the most of it. You were at Schmuck's the other +night, you and McQuade. There was a friend of mine on the other side +of the partition. Unfortunately this friend was alone. I haven't got +any proofs, but I'll get them." +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy became yellower than his diamonds. Ben flung aside his chair +and left the hall. He went straight to Martin's saloon. He found Bill +Osborne alone at a table. +</P> + +<P> +"Will they strike, Ben?" he asked in a rough whisper. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I thought I might influence them, Bill, but I've only made an +ass of myself. Two whiskies," he ordered, "and make one of them stiff. +I told Morrissy." +</P> + +<P> +"You didn't mention my name, Ben? Don't say you told him that I was on +the other side of the partition!" Bill's eyes nearly stood out of his +head. +</P> + +<P> +"I told him nothing. How'd you happen to land in Schmuck's saloon, +anyhow? Why didn't you telephone me when you heard Morrissy come in?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh. Ben, I was drunk! If I hadn't been so drunk!" Bill's eyes +overflowed remorsefully. +</P> + +<P> +Ben swore. +</P> + +<P> +"And say, Ben, that fellow Bolles is back in town. He was in here a +few minutes ago, drunk as a lord. He flashed a roll of bills that +would have choked an ox." +</P> + +<P> +"Where is he now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Up stairs playing the wheel." +</P> + +<P> +Ben shook his head. He had his salary in his pocket, and he vividly +remembered what roulette had done to it a fortnight gone. +</P> + +<P> +"If Bolles is drunk, it wouldn't do any good to talk to him." Ben +sighed and drank his liquor neat. He was tired. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XIII +</H3> + +<P> +Regularly once a week Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene visited a hair-dresser. +This distinguished social leader employed a French maid who was very +adept at dressing hair, but the two never got along very well +verbally; Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene insisted on speaking in broken French +while the maid persisted in broken English. Such conversation is +naturally disjointed and leads nowhere. The particular hair-dresser +who received Mrs. Haldene's patronage possessed a lively imagination +together with an endless chain of gossip. Mrs. Haldene was superior to +gossiping with servants, but a hair-dresser is a little closer in +relation to life. Many visited her in the course of a week, and some +had the happy faculty of relieving their minds of what they saw and +heard regardless of the social status of the listener. Mrs. Haldene +never came away from the hair-dresser's empty-handed; in fact, she +carried away with her food for thought that took fully a week to +digest. +</P> + +<P> +Like most places of its kind, the establishment was located in the +boarding-house district; but this did not prevent fashionable +carriages from stopping at the door, nor the neighboring boarders from +sitting on their front steps and speculating as to whom this or that +carriage belonged. There was always a maid on guard in the hall; she +was very haughty and proportionately homely. It did not occur to the +proprietress that this maid was a living advertisement of her +incompetence to perform those wonders stated in the neat little +pamphlets piled on the card-table; nor did it impress the patrons, who +took it for granted that the maid, naturally enough, could not afford +to have the operation of beauty performed. +</P> + +<P> +A woman with wrinkles is always hopeful. +</P> + +<P> +A strange medley of persons visited this house, each seeking in her +own peculiar way the elixir of life, which is beauty, or the potion of +love, which is beauty's handmaiden. There were remedies plus remedies; +the same skin-food was warranted to create double-chins or destroy +them; the same tonic killed superfluous hair or made it grow on bald +spots. A freckle to eradicate, a wrinkle to remove, a moth-patch to +bleach, a grey hair to dye; nothing was impossible here, not even +credulity. It was but meet that the mistress should steal past the +servant, that the servant should dodge the mistress. Every woman +craves beauty, but she does not want the public to know that her +beauty is of the kind in which nature has no hand. No man is a hero to +his valet; no woman is a beauty to her maid. In and out, to and fro; +the social leader, the shop-girl, the maid, the woman of the town, the +actress, the thin old spinster and the fat matron, here might they be +found. +</P> + +<P> +At rare intervals a man was seen to ring the bell, but he was either a +bill-collector or a husband in search of his wife. +</P> + +<P> +The proprietress knew everybody intimately—by sight. She was squat, +dyed, rouged and penciled, badly, too. She was written down in the +city directory as Madame de Chevreuse, but she was emphatically not of +French extraction. In her alphabet there were generally but +twenty-five letters; there were frequent times when she had no idea +that there existed such a letter as "g." How she came to appropriate +so distinguished a name as De Chevreuse was a puzzle. Her husband—for +she had a husband—was always reading French history in English, +and doubtless this name appealed to his imagination and romance. +Nobody knew what Madame's real name was, nor that of her husband, for +he was always called "Monseer." +</P> + +<P> +The reception-room was decorated after the prevailing fashion. There +was gilt and pretense. There were numerous glass cases, filled with +lotions and skin-foods and other articles of toilet; there were +faceless heads adorned with all shades of hair, scalps, pompadours, +and wigs. A few false-faces grinned or scowled or smirked from frames +or corners where they were piled. There were tawdry masquerade +costumes, too, and theatrical make-up. Curtains divided the several +shampooing booths, and a screen cut off the general view of the +operation of beauty. However, there were chinks large enough for the +inquisitive, and everybody was inquisitive who patronized Madame de +Chevreuse, pronounced Chevroose. +</P> + +<P> +And always and ever there prevailed without regeneration the odor of +cheap perfumes and scented soaps. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left her carriage at the door, perfectly willing +that the neighborhood should see her alight. She climbed the steps, +stately and imposing. She was one of the few women who could overawe +the homely girl in the hallway. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Madame at liberty?" +</P> + +<P> +"She will be shortly, Mrs. Haldene." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene passed into the reception-room and sat down by +the manicure table. The screen was in position. Some one was being +beautified. From time to time she heard voices. +</P> + +<P> +"The make-up is taking splendidly to-day." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it didn't last week. I sweat pink beads all over my new +muslin." +</P> + +<P> +"It does peel in hot weather. I understand that Mrs. Welford is going +to Dakota." +</P> + +<P> +"He ought to have the first chance there, if what I've heard about her +is true. These society women make me tired." +</P> + +<P> +"They haven't much to occupy their time." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I don't know. They occupy their time in running around after the +other women's husbands." +</P> + +<P> +"And the husbands?" +</P> + +<P> +"The other men's wives." +</P> + +<P> +"You aren't very charitable." +</P> + +<P> +"Nobody's ever given me any charity, I'm sure." +</P> + +<P> +From one of the shampooing booths: +</P> + +<P> +"But you would look very well in the natural grey, ma'am." +</P> + +<P> +"My husband doesn't think so." +</P> + +<P> +"But his hair is grey." +</P> + +<P> +"That doesn't lessen his regard for brunettes." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shrugged her majestic shoulders and gazed again +into the street. She always regretted that Madame could not be induced +to make private visits. +</P> + +<P> +A white poodle, recently shampooed, dashed through the rooms. There is +always a watery-eyed, red-lidded poodle in an establishment of this +order. The masculine contempt for the pug has died. It took twenty +years to accomplish these obsequies. But the poodle, the poor poodle! +Call a man a thief, a wretch, a villain, and he will defend himself; +but call him a poodle, and he slinks out of sight. It is impossible to +explain definitely the cause of this supreme contempt for the poodle, +nor why it should be considered the epitome of opprobrium to be called +one. +</P> + +<P> +"Maime?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Madame!" replied the girl in the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Take Beauty into the kitchen and close the door. He's just been +washed, and I don't want him all speckled up with hair-dye." +</P> + +<P> +The girl drove the poodle out of the reception-room and caught him in +the hall. Presently the kitchen door slammed and the odor of onions in +soup no longer fought against the perfumes and soaps for supremacy. +</P> + +<P> +"There," said Madame behind the screen, "you have no rival in town now +for beauty." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll be here again next Tuesday." +</P> + +<P> +"Same time?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, in the morning." +</P> + +<P> +A woman emerged from behind the screen. She possessed a bold beauty, +the sort that appeals to men without intellect. She was dressed +extravagantly: too many furbelows, too many jewels, too many flowers. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene recognized her instantly and turned her head +toward the window. She heard the woman pass by her, enter the hall and +leave the house. She saw her walk quickly away, stop suddenly as if +she had forgotten something, open her large purse, turn its contents +inside out, replace them, and proceed. But a letter lay on the +sidewalk unnoticed. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene secretly hoped that it would +remain there till she made her departure. +</P> + +<P> +"Handsome woman, isn't she?" said Madame. "I don't know what it is, +but they are always good-looking." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who knew very well who the +woman was. +</P> + +<P> +"She is one of Mr. McQuade's lady friends." +</P> + +<P> +"Indeed?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." Madame was shrewd. She saw that it wouldn't do to tell Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene anything about a woman who could in no way be of use +to her. "Have you heard of the Sybil?" +</P> + +<P> +"The Sybil?" repeated Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. A new fortune-teller, and everybody says she's a wonder. I +haven't been to her yet, but I'm goin' just as soon as I get time." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you believe they know what they are talking about?" incredulously. +</P> + +<P> +"Know! I should say I did. Old Mother Danforth has told me lots of +things that have come true. She was the one who predicted the Spanish +war and the president's assassination. It is marvelous, but she done +it." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shuddered. With all her faults, she loved the +English language. +</P> + +<P> +"How do you want your hair fixed?" Madame inquired, seeing that her +patron's interest in mediums was not strong. +</P> + +<P> +"The same as usual. Last week you left a streak, and I am sure +everybody noticed it at the Gordon tea. Be careful to-day." +</P> + +<P> +Thereupon Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene constituted herself a martyr to the +cause. She was nervous and fidgety in the chair, for the picture of +that letter on the sidewalk kept recurring. In the meantime Madame +told her all that had happened and all that hadn't, which is equally +valuable. The toilet lasted an hour; and when Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +rose from the chair, Madame was as dry as a brook in August. Her +patron hurried to the street. The letter was still on the sidewalk. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene picked it up and quickly sought her carriage. +Pah! how the thing smelt of sachet-powder. Her aristocratic nose +wrinkled in disdain. But her curiosity surmounted her natural +repugnance. The address was written in a coarse masculine hand. The +carriage had gone two blocks before she found the necessary courage to +open the letter. The envelope had already been opened, so in reading +it her conscience suggested nothing criminal. +</P> + +<P> +Gossip began on the day Eve entered the Garden of Eden. To be sure, +there was little to gossip about, but that little Eve managed without +difficulty to collect. It is but human to take a harmless interest in +what our next-door neighbor is doing, has done, or may do. Primarily +gossip was harmless; to-day it is still harmless in some quarters. The +gossip of the present time is like the prude, always looking for the +worst and finding it. The real trouble with the gossip lies in the +fact that she has little else to do; her own affairs are so +uninteresting that she is perforce obliged to look into the affairs of +her neighbors. Then, to prove that she is well informed, she feels +compelled to repeat what she has seen or heard, more or less +accurately. From gossiping to meddling is but a trifling step. To back +up a bit of gossip, one often meddles. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +naturally a daughter of Eve; she was more than a gossip, she was a +prophetess. She foretold scandal. She would move Heaven and earth, so +the saying goes, to prove her gossip infallible. And when some +prophecy of hers went wrong, she did everything in her power to right +it. To have acquired the reputation of prophesying is one thing, +always to fulfil these prophecies is another. It never occurred to her +that she was destroying other people's peace of mind, that she was +constituting herself a Fate, that she was meddling with lives which in +no wise crossed or interfered with her own. She had no real enmity +either for Warrington or Mrs. Jack; simply, she had prophesied that +Warrington had taken up his residence in Herculaneum in order to be +near Katherine Challoner, John Bennington's wife. Here was a year +nearly gone, and the smoke of the prophecy had evaporated, showing +that there had been no fire below. +</P> + +<P> +Neither Warrington nor Mrs. Jack was in her thoughts when she opened +the letter, which was signed by McQuade's familiar appellation. +</P> + +<P CLASS="letter"> +Dear Girl—I've got them all this trip. I'll put Bennington on the +rack and wring Warrington's political neck, the snob, swelling it +around among decent people! What do you think? Why, Warrington used to +run after the Challoner woman before she was married; and I have proof +that she went to Warrington's room one night and never left till +morning. How's that sound? They stick up their noses at you, do they? +Wait! They won't look so swell when I'm through with them. If +Warrington's name is even mentioned at the Republican convention, I've +missed my guess. I got your bills this morning. You'd better go light +till I've settled with these meddlers. Then we'll pack up our duds and +take that trip to Paris I promised you. +<BR><BR> +Mac. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shivered. How horribly vulgar! She felt polluted +for a moment, and half wished she had let the missive lie where it had +fallen. But this sense of disgust wore off directly. She had been +right, then; there was something wrong; it was her duty, her duty to +society, to see that this thing went no further. And that flirtation +between Patty and the dramatist must be brought to a sudden halt. How? +Ah, she would now find the means. He was merely hoodwinking Patty; it +was a trick to be near Mrs. Jack. She had ignored her, had she? She +had always scorned to listen to the truth about people, had she? And +well she might! Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips tightened. Those friends +of hers who had doubted would presently doubt no more. She hadn't the +slightest idea how McQuade would use his information; she didn't even +care, so long as he used it. She grew indignant. The idea of that +woman's posing as she did! The idea of her dreaming to hold +permanently the footing she had gained in society! It was nothing +short of monstrous. The ever-small voice of conscience spoke, but she +refused to listen. She did not ask herself if what McQuade had in his +possession was absolute truth. Humanity believes most what it most +desires to believe. And aside from all this, it was a triumph, a +vindication of her foresight. +</P> + +<P> +"To the Western Union," she called to the groom. When the carriage +drew up before the telegraph office, she gave the letter to the groom. +"I found this on the sidewalk. Have them return it to the owner by +messenger." This was done. "Now, home," she ordered. +</P> + +<P> +That afternoon she attended a large reception. Her bland smile was as +bland as ever, but her eyes shone with suppressed excitement. The +Benningtons were there, but there was only a frigid nod when she +encountered Mrs. Jack and Patty. She wondered that she nodded at all. +She took her friend, Mrs. Fairchilds, into a corner. She simply had to +tell some one of her discovery, or at least a hint of it. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you recollect what I told you?" +</P> + +<P> +"About—?" Mrs. Fairchilds glanced quickly at Mrs. Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Every word was true, and there will be a great upheaval shortly. +But not a word to a soul. I never gossip, but in this instance I feel +it my duty to warn you. How and where I learned the truth is +immaterial. I have learned it, and that is sufficient. It is +frightful; it makes my blood boil when I think of it. And she goes +everywhere, as if she had a perfect right." +</P> + +<P> +"What have you found?" Mrs. Fairchilds could scarcely breathe, so +great was her curiosity. +</P> + +<P> +"You will learn soon enough without my telling you." And that was all +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene would say. +</P> + +<P> +But it was enough, enough for her purpose. Within an hour's time all +the old doubt had been stirred into life again, and the meddlers +gathered about for the feast. It is all so simple and easy. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Jack moved here and there, serenely beautiful, serenely happy, +serenely unconscious of the blow that was soon to strike at the very +heart of her life. Once in a while her brows would draw together +abstractedly. She was thinking of John, and of the heartaches he was +having over the action of the men at the shops. +</P> + +<P> +Patty was not gay. She seemed to be impatient to leave. Three or four +times she asked Mrs. Jack if she were ready to go; she was tired, the +people bored her, she wanted to go home. Finally Mrs. Jack +surrendered. +</P> + +<P> +That night at dinner John was very quiet and absent-minded. The shops, +the shops, he was thinking of them continuously. In his heart of +hearts he had no faith in the reporter's influence. The strike mania +had seized the men, and nothing now could hold them back. He knew they +would doubt his threat to tear down the buildings. Not till he sent +the builder's wrecking crew would they understand. Not a hair's +breadth, not the fraction of an inch; if they struck, it would be the +end. He gazed at his wife, the melting lights of love in his handsome +eyes. Hey-dey! She would always be with him, and together they would +go about the great world and forget the injustice and ingratitude of +men. But it was going to be hard. Strong men must have something to +lay their hands to. He knew that he could not remain idle very long; +he must be doing something. But out of the shops he felt that he would +be like a ship without steering apparatus—lost, aimless, purposeless. +</P> + +<P> +"John?" +</P> + +<P> +He woke from his dream, and forced a smile to his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't eaten anything." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not hungry, dear." +</P> + +<P> +"You haven't spoken half a dozen words since you came home." +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't I? I must have been thinking." +</P> + +<P> +"About the shops?" laying her hand on his and pressing it strongly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. I'm afraid, heart o' mine, that it's all over. If they do not +strike now, they will later on; if not on this pretext, on some +other." +</P> + +<P> +"Why not let him go, John?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." His jaws hardened. "It isn't a question of his going or staying; +it is simply a question of who is master, the employed or the +employer. The men say it's the principle of the thing; it shall be +fought out on those grounds. I'm going down to the club to-night with +Dick. I feel the need of getting out and breathing. Dick's not the +best company just now, but he'll understand what I need. Poor devil! +he's got his hands full, too." +</P> + +<P> +She understood his mood, and offered no objection. She raised his hand +and brushed it with her lips. +</P> + +<P> +"I love you, John." +</P> + +<P> +He smiled gratefully. +</P> + +<P> +"You go over to mother's for the evening, and I'll drop in on the way +home and pick you up." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Patty was in the music-room, so Mrs. Jack did not disturb her, but +started at her basket-work. Mrs. Bennington read till eight, and +retired. Patty played all the melancholy music she could think of. +When love first makes its entrance into the human heart, there is +neither joy nor gladness nor gaiety. On the contrary, there is a vast +shadow of melancholy, a painful sadness, doubt and cross-purpose, +boldness at one moment and timidity at the next, a longing for +solitude. Music and painting and poetry, these arts that only +attracted, now engage. +</P> + +<P> +So Patty played. +</P> + +<P> +Sometimes Mrs. Jack looked up from her work, wondering. She had never +heard Patty play so many haunting, dismal compositions. At nine the +telephone rang, and she dropped her work instantly, thinking the call +might be from John. Ah, if the men would only listen to reason! +</P> + +<P> +"Hello!" +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mrs. Bennington at home?" asked a voice, unfamiliar to her ears. +</P> + +<P> +"There are two. Which one do you wish?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. John Bennington." +</P> + +<P> +"This is Mrs. John Bennington speaking. What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause. +</P> + +<P> +"I have something very important to communicate to you. In the first +place, you must use your influence in making Mr. Warrington withdraw +his name as a candidate for nomination." +</P> + +<P> +"Who is this speaking?" she asked sharply. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. McQuade." +</P> + +<P> +The receiver nearly fell from her hand. McQuade? What in the world— +</P> + +<P> +"Did you get the name?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. But I fail to understand what you are talking about. I warn you +that I shall ring off immediately." +</P> + +<P> +"One moment, please. If you hang up the receiver, you will regret it. +I wish you no ill, Mrs. Bennington. If it were possible I should like +to talk with you personally, for this matter deeply concerns your +future happiness. I can not call; I have been ordered out of your +husband's house. It lies in your power to influence Warrington to drop +his political ambition. Information has come to my hand that would not +look very well in the newspapers. It is in my power to stop it, but I +promise not to lift a hand if you refuse." +</P> + +<P> +"I not only refuse, but I promise to repeat your conversation to my +husband this very night." With that Mrs. Jack hung up the receiver. +She rose, pale and terribly incensed. The low fellow! How dared he, +how dared he! "Patty!" The call brooked no dallying. +</P> + +<P> +The music ceased. Patty came out, blinking. +</P> + +<P> +"You called me, Kate?" +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, McQuade has been calling me up on the telephone." +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade, McQuade! He says that if I do not influence Mr. Warrington +to withdraw his name—Did you ever hear of such a thing? I am +furious! What can it mean? He says he has heard something about me +which he can suppress but will not if I—Why, Patty, what shall I do? +What shall I do?" She crushed her hands together wildly. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell John," said Patty sensibly. +</P> + +<P> +"John? He would thresh McQuade within an inch of his life." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell Warrington, then." +</P> + +<P> +"He would do the same as John. But what can the wretch have found? God +knows, Patty, I have always been a good, true woman. ... Think of that +man's telephoning me!" +</P> + +<P> +Patty ran to her side and flung her arms about her brother's wife. +Patty loved her. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you bother your head, darling. It can't be anything but a +political dodge; it can't be anything serious. McQuade is low enough +to frighten women, but don't let him frighten you. I know he lies," +said the loyal Patty. "And now that I think it over, it would be best +to say nothing to John or Richard. Fisticuffs would get into the +papers, and it's my opinion that's just what this man McQuade wants. +He could swear to a thousand lies, if the matter became public. But +oh!" clenching her hands fiercely, "I'd give a year of my life to see +John thresh him. But you say nothing; let us wait and see." +</P> + +<P> +Wise Patty! +</P> + +<P> +At that very moment McQuade sat swinging in his swivel-chair. There +was a smile of satisfaction on his face. +</P> + +<P> +"That'll bring 'em," he said aloud, though he was alone. "That'll +bring 'em both up here, roaring like lions. They'll muss up the +furniture, and then I can tell the reporters all about it. Even +Walford can't object this time." +</P> + +<P> +He rubbed his hands together like Shylock at the thought of his pound +of flesh. He had waited a long time. They had ordered him, McQuade. +who held the city in his hand—they had ordered him out of the house. +Not a grain of mercy, not half a grain. Two birds with one stone. He +was shrewd for all his illiteracy. He knew women passably well. This +one would tell her husband, who would seek for immediate vengeance. +</P> + +<P> +But sometimes chance overthrows the best-laid plans of cleverness and +foresight. And this remarkable plan of McQuade's was deranged by a +chance guess by Patty. +</P> + +<P> +Meantime at Martin's it was growing lively. The bar was crowded, the +restaurant was being liberally patronized, and persons went up the +stairs that did not return. Jordan paid the check, and he and Osborne +went out. +</P> + +<P> +"When'll they go out, Ben?" +</P> + +<P> +"Monday." +</P> + +<P> +"Too bad. I wish I'd been sober." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll break Morrissy's head one of these fine days. Let's go over to +Johnny's; there's music over there." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Ben." +</P> + +<P> +"And no more booze, mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you say." +</P> + +<P> +Up stairs the gambling-den was doing a good business. The annual +trotting meet had brought many sporting men to town. They were +standing around the faro table; the two roulette wheels were going, +and the Klondike machine spun ceaselessly. There were a dozen stacks +of chips in front of Bolles. He was smiling, flushed with triumph and +whisky. +</P> + +<P> +"Three hundred to the good, old boy!" he said to the man who spun the +ivory ball. "I'll break you fellows to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Bring Mr. Bolles another whisky," said the proprietor. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll take all you can bring." +</P> + +<P> +"You're a tank, sure." +</P> + +<P> +"You bet!" Bolles grinned. +</P> + +<P> +So did the banker, covertly. He had seen the comedy played a thousand +times. Few men ever took away their winnings, once they started in to +drink, and Bolles was already drunk. He lost his next bet. He doubled +and lost again. Then he stacked his favorite number. The ball rolled +into it, but jumped the compartment, wizard-wise, and dropped into +single-o. Bolles cursed the luck. Another whisky was placed at his +elbow. He drank it at a gulp. +</P> + +<P> +"Make the limit five," he cried. +</P> + +<P> +The banker nodded to the man at the wheel. +</P> + +<P> +Bolles made six bets. He lost them. A quarter of an hour later his +entire winnings had passed over the table. He swore, and drew out a +roll of bills. He threw a fifty on the black. Red won. He doubled on +black. Red won. He plunged. He could not win a single bet. He tried +numbers, odd and even, the dozens, splits, squares, column. Fortune +had withdrawn her favor. +</P> + +<P> +"Hell!" +</P> + +<P> +He played his last ten on black, and lost. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me have a hundred." +</P> + +<P> +The banker shook his head and pointed to the signs on the wall: +"Checks for money, money for checks, no mouth-bets." +</P> + +<P> +Bolles felt in his pockets and repeated the futile search. +</P> + +<P> +"Not a damned cent!" he shouted. "Cleaned out!" +</P> + +<P> +"Give Mr. Bolles a ten-spot," said the banker. "But you can't play it +here, Bolles," was the warning. +</P> + +<P> +Bolles stuffed the note in his pocket and rose. He was very drunk; he +himself did not realize how drunk he was till he started for the door. +He staggered and lurched against the sideboard. His hat rolled from +his head. An attendant quickly recovered it, and Bolles slapped it on +his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Get out o' the way! It's a snide game, anyhow. You've got wires on +the machine. You've got seven hundred o' my money, and you give me +ten! Hell!" +</P> + +<P> +They opened the door for him and he stumbled out into the dark, +unlighted hallway. He leaned against the wall, trying to think it out, +searching his pockets again and again. Why in hell hadn't he left some +of the money with the bartender? Broke, clean, flat broke! And he had +pushed his winnings up to three hundred! He became ugly, now that he +fully realized what had happened. He ground his teeth and cursed +loudly; he even kicked the door savagely. Then he swung rather than +walked down the stairs. He turned into the bar and bought three more +whiskies, and was then primed for any deviltry. He was very drunk, but +it was a wide-awake drunkenness, cruel and revengeful. He turned into +the alley and tried to think of some plan by which he could borrow +enough to make a new attempt at fickle fortune. To-morrow he could +strike McQuade again, but to-night McQuade wouldn't listen to him. +Every once in a while he would renew the searching of his pockets, but +there was only the remainder of the ten the banker had given him. +</P> + +<P> +John and Warrington had played an uninteresting game of billiards at +the club, then finally sought the night and tramped idly about the +streets. With Warrington it was sometimes his aunt, sometimes the new +life that beat in his heart when he saw Patty, sometimes this game he +was playing which had begun in jest and had turned to earnest. With +John it was the shops, the shops, always and ever the shops. When they +spoke it was in monosyllables. Nevertheless it was restful to each of +them to be so well understood that verbal expression was not +necessary. They had started toward Martin's on the way home, when +Warrington discovered that he was out of cigars. He ran back three or +four doors while John proceeded slowly. Just as he was about to cross +the alley-way a man suddenly lurched out into the light. He was +drunk, but not the maudlin, helpless intoxication that seeks and +invites sociability. He was murderously drunk, strong, nervous, +excited. He barred Bennington's way. +</P> + +<P> +"I thought it was you!" he said venomously. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington drew back and started to pass around the man. He did not +recognize him. He saw in the action only a man disorderly drunk. But +he hadn't taken two steps before the other's words stopped him +abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a millionaire, eh? Well, I'll soon fix you and your actress +and her lover. Take that as a starter!" +</P> + +<P> +He struck Bennington savagely on the cheek-bone. Bennington stumbled +back, but managed to save himself from falling. Instantly all the war +that was in his soul saw an outlet. He came back, swift as a panther +and as powerful. In an instant his assailant was on his back on the +pavement, the strong fingers tightening about the wretch's throat; +Bolles was a powerful man, but he had not the slightest chance. Not a +sound from either man. There were one or two pedestrians on the +opposite side of the street, but either these did not see or would +not. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington had made a hurried purchase. As he left the cigar store, he +saw the two men fall. He ran up quickly, wondering what the trouble +was. He had no idea that John was one of the men, but as he saw the +light grey suit, and the Panama lying on the ground, he knew. +</P> + +<P> +"For God's sake, John, what are you doing?" he cried. +</P> + +<P> +With a superhuman effort he dragged the enraged man from the prostrate +form in the road. It no longer struggled, but lay inert and without +motion. +</P> + +<P> +"Was I killing him, Dick?" said John, in a quavering voice. "He struck +me and—Am I mad, or has the world turned upside down in a minute?" +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say?" asked Warrington. He was badly frightened. He knelt +at the side of Bolles and felt of his heart. It still beat. +</P> + +<P> +"What did he say? Nothing, nothing!—Where's my hat? I'm going home— +Have I—?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, he's alive; but I came just in time." +</P> + +<P> +At this moment Bolles turned over and slowly struggled to a sitting +posture. His hands went feebly toward his throat. +</P> + +<P> +"He's all right," said Warrington. "We'd better light out. Now what +the devil—" +</P> + +<P> +"He struck me. He was drunk. I've been in a fighting mood all day. +Call that carriage." +</P> + +<P> +When Mrs. Jack saw him she screamed. +</P> + +<P> +"John!" +</P> + +<P> +"The asphalt was wet, girl, and I took a bad fall." But John lied with +ill grace. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XIV +</H3> + +<P> +The Bennington mills, or shops, were situated just inside the city +limits. Beyond was a beautiful undulating country of pastures and +wheat-fields, dotted frequently with fine country homes. The mills +were somewhat isolated from the general manufacturing settlement, but +had spurs of track that for practical purposes were much nearer the +main line of freight traffic than any of those manufacturing concerns +which posed as its rivals. It was a great quadrangle of brick, partly +surrounded by a prison-like wall. Within this wall was a court, +usually piled high with coke and coal and useless molds. The building +was, by turns, called foundry, mills and shops. The men who toiled +there called it the shops. Day and night, night and day, there was +clangor and rumbling and roaring and flashes of intense light. In the +daytime great volumes of smoke poured from the towering chimneys, and +at night flames shot up to the very walls of heaven, burnishing the +clouds. +</P> + +<P> +The elder Bennington was one of those men who, with a firm standing on +the present, lay admirable plans for the future. He had been in no +great hurry to get rich. He went leisurely about it, tantalizing +fortune, it might be said. His first venture had shown foresight. At +the beginning of the Civil War he had secured an option on many +thousand tons of coal. Without taking an actual penny from his +pockets, he had netted a comfortable fortune. Again, his foresight +recognized that the day would come when the whole continent would gird +itself in steel. With his ready money he bought ground and built a +small mill. This prospered. He borrowed from the banks, and went on +building. Ten years passed. The property was unencumbered; he had paid +both interest and principal. He did not believe in stock-holders. He +sold no stock. Every nail, bolt and screw was his; every brick, stone +and beam. There were no directors to meddle with his plans, no fool's +hand to block his progress, to thwart his vast projects. Slowly he +became rich, for every piece of steel that went out to the purchasers +was honest steel. Sagacity and loyalty overcame all obstacles. Many a +time he might have sold at a handsome profit. But selling wasn't his +idea; he had a son. Besides, this was his life-work, and he detested +the idle rich, which at that time were just coming into evidence. +</P> + +<P> +He never speculated; but he bought government bonds, railroad bonds, +municipal bonds, for he had great faith in his country. He had the +same faith in his native city, too, for he secured all the bank stock +that came his way. Out of every ten dollars he earned he invested +five, saved three, and spent two. He lived well, but not +ostentatiously. He never gave directly to charities, but he gave work +to hundreds, and made men self-reliant and independent, which is a far +nobler charity. He never denied himself a vacation; he believed that +no man should live and die at his desk. There was plenty of time for +work and plenty for play; but neither interfered with the other. He +was an ardent fisherman, a keen hunter, and a lover of horses. +</P> + +<P> +More than all these things, he was one of those rare individuals one +seldom meets—the born father. He made a man of his son and a woman of +his daughter. When he sent the boy to England, he knew that the boy +might change his clothes, but neither his character nor his +patriotism. He voted independently; he was never a party man; thus, +public office was never thrust in his way. Perhaps he was too frankly +honest. He never worried when his son reached the mating age. "Whoever +my boy marries will be the woman he loves, and he is too much his +father's son not to love among his equals." He was a college-bred man +besides, but few knew this. He had an eye for paintings, an ear for +music, and a heart for a good book. It is this kind of man whom nature +allows to be reproduced in his children. +</P> + +<P> +He was gruff, but this gruffness was simply a mask to keep at arm's +length those persons whom he did not desire for friends. +</P> + +<P> +When he died he left a will that was a model of its kind. There were +not a hundred lines in the document. He divided his fortune into three +parts, but he turned the shops over to his son John, without +stipulations, wholly and absolutely, to do with them as he pleased. +But he had written a letter in which he had set forth his desires. It +may be understood at once that these desires readily coincided with +those of the son. +</P> + +<P> +John had not begun in the office. On the contrary, during school +vacations he worked as a puddler's apprentice, as a molder's +apprentice, in the rail-shop, in the sheet-and wire-shops. He worked +with his hands, too, and drew his envelope on Saturday nights like the +rest of them. There was never any talk about John's joining the union; +the men looked upon his efforts good-naturedly and as a joke. The +father, with wisdom always at his elbow, never let the fishing trips +go by. John had his play. At the age of twenty he knew as much about +the manufacture of steel as the next one. He loved the night shifts, +when the whole place seethed and glowed like an inferno. This manual +education had done something else, too. It had broadened his +shoulders, deepened his chest, and flattened his back. Many a time the +old man used to steal out and watch the young Hercules, stripped to +the waist, drag rails to the cooling-room. When John entered college +athletics he was not closely confined to the training-tables. +</P> + +<P> +Under the guidance of such a father, then, there could not be as a +result anything less than a thorough man. +</P> + +<P> +On the following Monday morning succeeding the encounter with Bolles, +John boarded a car and went out to the shops as usual. He found +nothing changed. The clerks in the office were busy with huge ledgers, +though it is true that many a hand was less firm than on ordinary +days. Rumors were flying about, from clerk to clerk, but none knew +what the boss intended to do. From the shops themselves came the +roaring and hammering that had gone on these thirty years or more. +Bennington opened his mail and read each letter carefully. There were +orders for rails, wire rope and sheets for boilers. The business of +the concern always passed through his hands first. Even when he was +out of town, duplicates of all orders were sent to him. He laid each +letter in the flat basket; but this morning there was no "O. K.—J. +B." scrawled across the tops. There would be time enough for that +later. He rose and went to the window and looked down into the court. +His heart beat heavily. There was something besides the possibility of +a strike on his mind. But he flung this thought aside and returned to +the strike. Was it right or was it wrong? Should he follow out his +father's request, letter for letter? To punish two or three who were +guilty, would it be right to punish several hundred who were not? And +those clerks and assistants yonder, upon whom families depended, who +had nothing to do with unionism, one way or the other, what about +them? Fate strikes blindly; the innocent fall with the guilty. The +analysis of his own desires was quick enough. Surrender? Not much! Not +an inch, not a tenth part of an inch, would he move. If men permitted +themselves to be sheep in the hands of an unscrupulous man, so much +the worse. He promised himself this much: all those who appealed to +him honestly, for these he would find employment elsewhere. There were +other mills and shops in town that would be glad enough to employ a +Bennington man, which signified capability. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Bennington?" +</P> + +<P> +John turned. Chittenden, the young English inventor, stood +respectfully just within the door. +</P> + +<P> +"Good morning, Mr. Chittenden. How's the invention going? Did you get +that special pulley from Pittsburgh yet?" +</P> + +<P> +"The invention is going very well, sir. But it is not of that I wish +to speak." +</P> + +<P> +"Have you joined the union, then?" asked Bennington, with a shade of +irony which did not escape the keen-eyed Englishman. +</P> + +<P> +"No!" This was not spoken; it was more like a shout. "I have joined no +union, and my brain may rot before I do. The truth is, sir, I hear +that if the men go out you'll tear down the shops." He hesitated. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I do not want this to happen on my account. I am young; I can +wait; I'll take my tinkering elsewhere. You've been very good to me +sir, and I should hate to see you troubled." +</P> + +<P> +"Chittenden, you can't leave me now. If you do, I shall never forgive +you. You are a valuable piece of property just now. You are to be my +test case, as the lawyers say. If you go now the men will think I +weakened and forced you out. You gave me your word that you would stay +here till <I>I</I> told you to go." +</P> + +<P> +"There's nothing more to be said, sir. You may depend upon me." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks. The day you perfect your machine, on that day I shall find +the capital to promote it. Good morning." +</P> + +<P> +"The committee was coming up after me, sir," was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" Bennington's eyes flashed. "Then remain to hear what I have to +say to them." +</P> + +<P> +All this while the girl at the typewriter never paused. +Clickity-click! clickity-click! Suddenly all noises ceased, all but +the noise of the typewriter. The two men looked at each other quickly +and comprehensively. There was a tramping of feet on the stairs, and +presently a knock on the door. Clickity-click! +</P> + +<P> +"You may go," said Bennington to the girl. +</P> + +<P> +The girl gathered up her notes and passed into the main office. +</P> + +<P> +Again came the knock, more aggressive this time. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in." +</P> + +<P> +The committee, headed by Morrissy, entered with shuffling feet. +Morrissy saw the Englishman and scowled. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, gentlemen?" said Bennington, sitting on his desk and resting a +foot on his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"We have come to learn what you intend to do about this Britisher," +began Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't recollect your face," replied Bennington thoughtfully. "How +long have you been in the shops?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not in your shops," returned Morrissy blusteringly. +</P> + +<P> +"In that case," said Bennington mildly, "there's the door. I do not +see how this matter concerns you." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it does concern me, as you'll find soon," cried Morrissy, +choking with sudden rage. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll give you one minute to make the foot of the stairs. If you're +not there at the end of that time, I'll take you by the collar and +help you." Bennington drew out his watch. +</P> + +<P> +"He's the head of our union, Mr. Bennington," interposed one of the +men, shifting his feet uneasily. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Then he's the man who is really making all this trouble?" +Bennington nodded as if he had just arrived at a solution. +</P> + +<P> +"I'm here to see that my men have their rights." Morrissy failed to +understand this mild young man. "And it'll take a bigger man than you +to throw me out of here. This Britisher either joins the union or he +goes." +</P> + +<P> +"If he joins the union he'll be permitted to continue the perfecting +of his invention?" +</P> + +<P> +"His invention is not necessary at present. The output as it is meets +the demand." +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, Mr. Morrissy, I'll make you a proposition." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"You and I will go down to the molding-room and have it out with our +fists. If you win, Chittenden goes; if I win, he stays and the men +return to work." +</P> + +<P> +"This isn't no kid's play, Mr. Bennington. You've got a big strike +looking you in the face." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington laughed. "I'm afraid you're a coward. So Mr. Chittenden +must join the union or go. It isn't a question of wage scale or hours; +it simply revolves around Mr. Chittenden. Supposing he joins the +union, what will you give him to do?" Bennington's voice was that of a +man who wishes to know all sides of the question. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, he'll have to learn where they all started from." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Chittenden is an expert machinist." +</P> + +<P> +"Let him join the union, then, and there won't be any trouble here. I +want justice. This shop is union, and no non-union man can work here. +I want justice, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll get that all in good time, Mr.—ah—?" +</P> + +<P> +"Morrissy." +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Morrissy. Mr. Chittenden, are you willing to join the union?" +Bennington smiled as he plied this question. +</P> + +<P> +"Not I! My word, I'd as lief starve as become a union man, and under +such a master. I prize my manhood and independence above all things. I +have already refused to join. I never take back what I say." +</P> + +<P> +"Neither do I, Mr. Chittenden." Bennington stood up. +</P> + +<P> +"Then out he goes," said Morrissy, recovering his truculence. +</P> + +<P> +"On what authority?" Bennington's voice was growing milder and milder. +"On what authority?" he repeated. +</P> + +<P> +"On mine!" cried Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +"You are mistaken. I am master here. Mr. Chittenden will remain on the +pay-roll." +</P> + +<P> +"Then in ten minutes the men will walk out on my orders. You're making +a big mistake, Mr. Bennington." +</P> + +<P> +"That is for me to judge." +</P> + +<P> +"Ten minutes to make up your mind." Morrissy made a gesture toward his +watch. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't bother about the time, Mr. Morrissy. We'll spend the ten +minutes in the molding-room." +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy turned pale. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we shan't come to fisticuffs, Mr. Morrissy. I am a gentleman, and +you are not. Not a word!" as Morrissy clenched his fists. "Mr. +Shipley," said Bennington to one of the committee, "will you get all +the men together? I have a few words to say to them before this ten +minutes is up. I want to give the men a fair show." +</P> + +<P> +"You can have twenty minutes, my English-bred gentleman," snarled +Morrissy. At that moment he would have given a thousand dollars for +the strength to whip the man whose ruin he believed he was planning. +"I'm kind of anxious myself to hear what you've got to say. +</P> + +<P> +"In fact, I hope you will listen carefully to every word I say," +replied Bennington, with a nod toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +The committee went out solemnly. Morrissy was next to the last to go +down the stairs. Bennington followed closely behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"Some day I'll get a good chance at you, Mr. Morrissy, and the devil +take care of you when I do. I shall see to it that the law will be +found to fit your case." +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy shifted over to the balustrade, looking over his shoulder at +the speaker. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, you can't talk to me that way, Bennington." +</P> + +<P> +"Can't I? I'll proceed. In the first place, you're a damn scoundrel. +You've brought about this trouble simply to show that you have power +to injure me. Well, you can't injure me, Mr. Morrissy, but you will do +irreparable injury to these poor men who put their trust in you and +your kind. Chittenden? That's a pretty poor excuse. You've always +harbored a grudge against my father, and this seems to be your chance. +You've the idea that you can intimidate me. You can't intimidate me +any more than you could my father. More than all this, McQuade is back +of this move; and if I can prove that you accepted a bribe from him, +I'll have you both in court for conspiracy." +</P> + +<P> +"You're talking big. It won't do you any good." +</P> + +<P> +"Wait. I should be willing to wait ten years to call you a thief and a +blackguard in public. But I say to you now, privately, you are both a +thief and a blackguard." +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy stepped back, red in the face. But he recognized the +disadvantage of his position. He was one step lower than his accuser. +</P> + +<P> +"Go on," said Bennington, his voice now hard and metallic; "go on +down. There'll be no rough and tumble here. I won't give you that +satisfaction." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, you mark my words, I'll get satisfaction out of you shortly, +and then you'll talk on the other side of your mouth. This is business +now. When that's done, why, I'll make you eat every one of those +words." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington laughed sinisterly. He could crush the life out of this +flabby ruffian with one arm, easily. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing more was said, and the way to the great molding-room was +traversed silently. Shipley sent out orders, and in a few minutes the +men congregated to hear what the boss had to say. It was, to say the +least, an unusual proceeding, this of an employer delivering a speech +to his men after they had practically declared a strike. Morrissy now +regretted that he had given Bennington any grace at all, for it was +not to be doubted that there was only a small majority of the men who +had voted for a strike. And these were the young men; youth is always +so hot-headed and cock-sure of itself. The older men, the men who had +drawn their pay in the shops for twenty years or more, they were not +so confident. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington mounted a pile of molds and raised his hand. The murmur of +voices dwindled away into silence. The sun came in through the +spreading skylights, and Bennington stood in the center of the +radiance. He was a man, every inch of him, and not a man among them +could deny it. There are many things that are recognizable even to +crass minds, and one of these is a man. Genius they look upon with +contempt, but not strength and resolution; they can not comprehend +what is not visible to the eye. +</P> + +<P> +"Fire away, boss!" said a voice from the crowd. +</P> + +<P> +Many of the men smiled, but there was no answering smile on the face +of the man on the molds. +</P> + +<P> +"I have but few words to say to you men, and I trust for the sake of +your families that you will weigh carefully every word I utter." +Bennington took his father's letter from his pocket and unfolded it. +"You are about to take a step such as you all will live to regret. My +father never threatened; he acted. I shall follow his example. You are +on the verge of striking. I shall recognize the strike only at the +moment you decide to leave the shops. You will strike without cause, +without justice, simply because you are commanded to do so by your +leader." +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on, Mr. Bennington!" cried one of those nearest him. "We have +the right to vote, and we voted against your policy in hiring a +non-union man." +</P> + +<P> +"Put it that way if it pleases you," replied Bennington. "I say that +you strike simply to show how strong your power is. It is a fine thing +to have power, but it is finer by far to use it only when justice +makes a cause. But power is a terrible weapon in the hands of those +who can not direct it wisely. Let me come to facts. Your wages are the +highest in the city, five per cent. above the union scale; your hours +are the shortest; there is no Sunday-night shift; you have at your +pleasure a gymnasium and a swimming-pool; you are each of you given a +week's vacation in the summer on full pay, a thing no other concern of +the kind in the state does; all the machinery is flawless, minimizing +your chances of danger; in fact, you draw pay fifty-two weeks in the +year in the squarest shop in the world. If any man wishes to deny +these things, let him stand forth." +</P> + +<P> +But there was neither sound nor movement from the men. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington continued. "Men, you have no grievance. This man +Chittenden, the alleged cause of your striking, takes no food or pay +from your mouths or your pockets; he interferes with you in no manner +whatever. The contrivance he is trying to complete will not limit the +output, but will triple it, necessitating the employment of more men. +But your leader says that the present output is wholly sufficient, and +you are taking his word for it. Mr. Chittenden represents progress, +but you have taken it into your heads that you will have none of it. +He refuses to join the union, and I refuse to discharge him on that +ground. I do not say that this shall not be a union shop; I say that I +shall employ whom I will for any purpose I see fit. It is your say, so +say it; yours is the power; use it. ... Patience, just a little +longer. I have shown much of it during the past year." +</P> + +<P> +The men swayed restlessly, and then became still again when they saw +that he was going to read something. +</P> + +<P> +"I have here the last letter my father ever wrote me. As I received it +after his death, I might say that it is a voice from the grave. I will +read that part which affects the shops. +</P> + +<P> +"'And so, my son, I leave you this last request. Day after day, year +after year, I have toiled honestly, with the will and the foresight +God gave me. I die prosperous and contented, having acquired my riches +without ill to any and without obligation. I have never wronged any +man, though often the power to do so has been in my hands. But reason +always cools hot blood, and I have always kept a strong curb on all my +angry impulses. Some day the men will strike again, what about I know +not; but this I do know: it will be without justice. I have bent to +them nine out of ten times. Nine of their demands were not wholly +unreasonable, but the tenth was. And this demand was that I should +have no non-union men in the shops. This strike lasted four months. +You will recall it. I do not know how long it might have gone on, had +not the poor devil, who was the cause of it, died. I and the men came +together again. We patched up our differences, covertly, so to speak. +The men appeared at the gates one morning, and I let them in without +referring by a single word to what had taken place. The principle of +unionism is a noble thing, but ignoble men, like rust in girders, gnaw +rapidly into principles and quickly and treacherously nullify their +good. +</P> + +<P> +"'The destroyer is everywhere. The apple has its worm, the rose its +canker, the steel its rust. It is the ignorant and envious man who +misuses power that, rightly directed, moves toward the emancipation of +the human race. There are cruel and grasping and dishonest employers, +who grind the heart and soul out of men. The banding together of the +laboring men was done in self-defense; it was a case of survive or +perish. The man who inaugurated unionism was a great philanthropist. +The unions began well; that is because their leaders were honest, and +because there was no wolf in the fold to recognize the extent of +power. It was an ignorant man who first discovered it, and for the +most part ignorance still wears the crown and holds the scepter. The +men who put themselves under the guidance of a dishonest labor leader +are much to be pitied. The individual laboring man always had my right +hand, but I have never had any particular reason to admire the union +leader. +</P> + +<P> +"'There were two hundred and twelve strikes last year, of which only +six had cause. The others were brought about by politicians and greedy +unions. Dishonesty finds the line of least resistance in greed. Now, I +have studied the strike problem from beginning to end. There can be no +strike at the Bennington shops for a just cause. Had I lived long +enough, the shops would have been open-shop. My son, never surrender +once to injustice, for if you do you will establish a precedent, and +you will go on surrendering to the end of time. I leave the shops to +you. There is but one thing I demand, and that is that you shall never +sell the shops; Bennington or nothing. If you have difficulties with +the men, weigh them on the smallest scales. You will be master +there—you alone. It is a big responsibility, but I have the greatest +confidence in you. When the time comes, show that you are master, even +to the tearing down of every brick and stone that took me so long to +erect. I shall be where such disasters will not worry me in the +least.'" +</P> + +<P> +Bennington refolded the letter slowly. The men stood absolutely +motionless, waiting. +</P> + +<P> +"Men, if you go out this day, not one of you will ever find employment +here again. My sense of justice is large, and nothing but that shall +dictate to me. I shall employ and discharge whom I will; no man or +organization of men shall say to me that this or that shall be done +here. I am master, but perhaps you will understand this too late. Stay +or go; that is as you please. If you stay, nothing more will be said +on my part; if you go ... Well, I shall tear down these walls and sell +the machinery for scrap-iron!" +</P> + +<P> +For the first time he showed emotion. He brought his hands strongly +together, as a man puts the final blow to the nail, then buttoned up +his coat and stood erect, his chin aggressive and his mouth stern. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, which is it to be?" he demanded. +</P> + +<P> +"You are determined to keep Chittenden?" +</P> + +<P> +"Positively determined." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll go out, Mr. Bennington," said Shipley. +</P> + +<P> +"And what's more," added Morrissy, "we'll see that nobody else comes +in." +</P> + +<P> +He lighted a cigar, shoved his hands into his trousers pockets and +walked insolently toward the exit. The majority of the men were +grinning. Tear down this place? Kill the goose that laid the golden +egg? It was preposterous. Why, no man had ever done a thing like that. +It was to cut off one's nose to spite one's face. It was a case of +bluff, pure and simple. Winter was nearly three months off. By that +time this smart young man would be brought to his senses. So they +began filing out in twos and threes, their blouses and dinner-pails +tucked under their arms. Many were whistling lightly, many were +smoking their pipes, but there were some who passed forth silent and +grave. If this young man was a chip of the old block, they had best +start out at once in search of a new job. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington jumped down from his impromptu platform and closed the +ponderous doors. Then he hurried to the main office, where he notified +the clerks what had happened. He returned to his private office. He +arranged his papers methodically, closed the desk, and sat down. His +gaze wandered to the blue hills and rolling pastures, and his eyes +sparkled; but he forced back what had caused it, and presently his +eyes became dry and hard. +</P> + +<P> +"'You and your actress and her lover'," he murmured softly. "My God, I +am very unhappy!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XV +</H3> + +<P> +The anonymous letter is still being written. This is the weapon of the +cowardly and envious heart, so filled with venom and malice that it +has the courage or brazenness to go about piously proclaiming the word +duty. Beware of the woman who has ink-stains on her fingers and a duty +to perform; beware of her also who never complains of the lack of +time, but who is always harking on duty, duty. Some people live close +to the blinds. Oft on a stilly night one hears the blinds rattle never +so slightly. Is anything going on next door? Does a carriage stop +across the way at two o'clock of a morning? Trust the woman behind the +blinds to answer. Coming or going, little or nothing escapes this +vigilant eye that has a retina not unlike that of a horse, since it +magnifies the diameter of everything nine times. To hope for the worst +and to find it, that is the golden text of the busybody. The busybody +is always a prude; and prude signifies an evil-minded person who is +virtuous bodily. They are never without ink or soft lead-pencils. Ink +has accomplished more wonderful things than man can enumerate; though +just now a dissertation on ink in ink is ill-timed. +</P> + +<P> +To return again to the anonymous letter. Add and multiply the lives it +has wrecked, the wars brought about. Menelaus, King of the Greeks, +doubtless received one regarding Helen's fancy for that simpering son +of Priam, Paris. The anonymous letter was in force even in that remote +period, the age of myths. It is consistent, for nearly all anonymous +letters are myths. A wife stays out late; her actions may be quite +harmless, only indiscreet. There is, alack! always some intimate +friend who sees, who dabbles her pen in the ink-well and labors over a +backhand stroke. It is her bounden duty to inform the husband +forthwith. The letter may wreck two lives, but what is this beside +stern, implacable duty? When man writes an anonymous letter he is in +want of money; when woman writes one she is in want of a sensation. It +is easy to reject a demand for money, but we accept the lie and wrap +it to our bosoms, so quick are we to believe ill of those we love. +This is an aspect of human nature that eludes analysis, as quicksilver +eludes the pressure of the finger. The anonymous letter breeds +suspicion; suspicion begets tragedy. The greatest tragedy is not that +which kills, but that which prolongs mental agony. Honest men and +women, so we are told, pay no attention to anonymous letters. They +toss them into the waste-basket ... and brood over them in silence. +</P> + +<P> +Now, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was always considering her duty; her duty +to the church, to society, to charity, and, upon occasions, to her +lord and master. +</P> + +<P> +"Bennington's men have gone out, the fools!" said Haldene from over +the top of his paper. +</P> + +<P> +"Have they?" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene nibbled the tip of her pen. She +sighed, tore up what she had written and filtered it through her +fingers into the waste-basket. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, they've gone out. I don't know what the business world is coming +to. Why, the brick-layer gets—I don't say earns—more than the +average clerk. And Bennington's men go out simply because he refuses +to discharge that young English inventor. ... What are you writing and +tearing up so often?" he asked, his curiosity suddenly aroused. +</P> + +<P> +"A letter." +</P> + +<P> +"Thoughts clogged?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is a difficult letter to write." +</P> + +<P> +"Then there can't be any gossip in it." +</P> + +<P> +"I never concern myself with gossip, Franklyn. I wish I could make you +understand that." +</P> + +<P> +"I wish you could, too." He laid his paper down. "Well, I'm off to the +club, unless you are particularly in need of me." +</P> + +<P> +"You are always going to the club." +</P> + +<P> +"Or coming back." +</P> + +<P> +"Some husbands—" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know. But the men I play poker with are too much interested in +the draw to talk about other men's wives." +</P> + +<P> +"It's the talk of the town the way you men play cards." +</P> + +<P> +"Better the purse than the reputation." +</P> + +<P> +"I haven't any doubt that you are doing your best to deplete both," +coldly. +</P> + +<P> +Then she sighed profoundly. This man was a great disappointment to +her. He did not understand her at all. The truth was, if she but knew +it, he understood her only too well. She had married the handsomest +man in town because all the other belles had been after him; he had +married money, after a fashion. Such mistakes are frequent rather than +singular these days. The two had nothing in common. It is strange that +persons never find this out till after the honeymoon. Truly, marriage +is a voyage of discovery for which there are no relief expeditions. +</P> + +<P> +So Haldene went to the club, while his wife squared another sheet of +writing-paper and began again. Half an hour went by before she +completed her work with any degree of satisfaction. Even then she had +some doubts. She then took a pair of shears and snipped the crest from +the sheet and sealed it in a government envelope. Next she threw a +light wrap over her shoulders and stole down to the first letter-box, +where she deposited the trifle. The falling of the lid broke sharply +on the still night. She returned to the house, feeling that a great +responsibility had been shifted from hers to another's shoulders. +Indeed, she would have gone to any lengths to save Patty a life of +misery. And to think of that woman! To think of her assuming a +quasi-leadership in society, as if she were to the manner born! The +impudence of it all! Poor Mrs. Bennington, with her grey hairs; it +would break her heart when she found out (as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +determined she should) the sort of woman her son had married. She +straightened her shoulders and pressed her lips firmly and +contemplated a duty, painfully but rigorously performed. She cast the +scraps of paper into the grate and applied a match. It is not always +well that duty should leave any circumstantial evidence behind. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +The evening papers devoted a good deal of space to the strike at the +Bennington shops. They frankly upheld Bennington. They admitted that +employers had some individual rights. They berated the men for +quarreling over a matter so trivial as the employment of a single +non-union man, who was, to say the most, merely an experimenter. +However, they treated lightly Bennington's threat to demolish the +shops. No man in his right mind would commit so childish an act. It +would be revenge of a reactive order, fool matching fools, whereas +Bennington ought to be more magnanimous. The labor unions called +special meetings, and with one or two exceptions voted to stand by the +action of the men. +</P> + +<P> +There was positively no politics behind this strike; everybody +understood that; at least, everybody thought he understood. But there +were some who smiled mysteriously and wagged their heads. One thing +was certain; Bennington's friend, Warrington would lose many hundred +votes in November. For everybody knew which way the Republican +convention would go; there was nobody in sight but Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington and Mrs. Jack dined at the old home that evening. There was +plenty of gloom and forced gaiety around the board. John pretended +that he was well out of a bad job; he was not a dreamer nor a +socialist, not he; Utopia was not for the iron age. He told stories, +joked and laughed, and smoked frequently. No one but the mother had +the courage to ask if he really meant to tear down the mills. She came +around the table, smoothed his hair as she had done since he was a +boy, and leaned over his chair. +</P> + +<P> +"John?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, mother mine?" +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you really do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do what?" +</P> + +<P> +"Tear it down." +</P> + +<P> +He did not answer at once, and she waited, trembling. +</P> + +<P> +"You would not have me take back my words to the men, would you, +mother?" quietly. +</P> + +<P> +"Your father loved the place." +</P> + +<P> +"And do I not?" a note of strong passion in his voice. "I shall tear +it down, if I live. Do not ask me anything more about it. Has Dick +been over to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"He telephoned that he would be over after dinner. He wants you to go +to the speech-making to-night." Patty rose from her seat at the table. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty," said John, rather surprised at his discovery, "you are almost +a woman!" +</P> + +<P> +"You men never see anything quickly," said Mrs. Jack. "Patty has been +a beautiful woman for several months." +</P> + +<P> +Patty started, restrained the impulse to speak, and searched Mrs. +Jack's face. But Mrs. Jack had eyes for no one but John. Her thought +was far removed from her words. That telephone message rang in her +ears every hour of the day. One moment she was on the verge of telling +John, the next she dared not. What had that wretch found out? What +could he have found out? A lie; it could be nothing more nor less than +a lie; but the suspense and the waiting were killing her. Every beat +of her heart, every drop of her blood belonged to this man at her +side, and she would rather die than that doubt should mingle with his +love. She was miserable, miserable; she dared not confide in any one; +Patty was too young, for all her womanhood, to understand fully. Night +after night she forced her recollection through the dim past, but she +could find nothing but harmless, innocent follies. Alas, the +kaleidoscope of life has so many variant angles that no two eyes see +alike. What to her appeared perfectly innocent might appear evil in +the neighbors' eyes; what to her was sunshine, to another might be +shadow. +</P> + +<P> +"Think of it!" said John. "Patty will be marrying before long." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bennington looked at Patty and sighed. To rear up children and to +lose them, that was the mother's lot. To accept these aches with +resignation, to pass the days in reconciling what might be with what +shall be, that was the mother's portion. Yes, Patty must some day +marry. +</P> + +<P> +"When Patty marries, mother," said John, "you shall come and live with +Kate and me." +</P> + +<P> +"You are moving me around like a piece of useless furniture," replied +Patty, with some resentment. "I doubt if I shall ever marry." +</P> + +<P> +"Bosh!" laughed John. "There'll come some bold Lochinvar for you, one +of these days; and then off you'll go. There's the bell. That must be +Dick." +</P> + +<P> +Patty and Mrs. Jack crossed glances quickly. John went to the door +himself and brought Warrington back with him. +</P> + +<P> +"Won't you have a cup of tea, Mr. Warrington?" asked the mother. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, I will." Warrington stirred the tea, gazing pleasantly +from face to face. +</P> + +<P> +The lines in his face seemed deeper than usual; the under lids of the +eyes were dark, and the squareness of the jaw was more prominent. John +saw no change, but the three women did. Warrington looked careworn. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, John, I see that you have done it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm terribly sorry, but you couldn't back down now and live in town." +</P> + +<P> +"You see, mother?" John smiled sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my son. You will do what you think best and manliest." +</P> + +<P> +"How's the cat?" asked Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"It still wanders about, inconsolable," answered Patty. How careworn +he looked! +</P> + +<P> +"Poor beast! It is lucky to have fallen in such good hands." +</P> + +<P> +"When you are mayor," said Patty, "you must give me a permit to rescue +stray cats from the pound." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do more than that; I'll build a house of shelter for them." +</P> + +<P> +"What time does your speaker begin?" inquired John, lighting a fresh +cigar. +</P> + +<P> +"John, you are smoking too much," remonstrated Mrs. Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"I know it, honey." +</P> + +<P> +"Rudolph begins at nine; if we go then that will be soon enough. +You'll be amused. Have you been riding lately?" Warrington directed +this question to Patty. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, regularly every morning." Patty dallied with the crumbs at the +side of her plate. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what's the matter with me, but I find it wearies me to +climb on to a horse's back. I haven't got back to normal conditions +yet." +</P> + +<P> +"I was wondering where you were." +</P> + +<P> +"And how is Jove?" asked Mrs. Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"He's snoozing out on the veranda. I take him everywhere now." +</P> + +<P> +Presently they moved into the living-room. Warrington longed to sit +beside Patty, but of a sudden he had grown diffident. It amused him to +come into the knowledge that all his address and worldliness would not +stand him in good stead in the presence of Patty. Words were no longer +at his command; he was no longer at his ease. He was afraid of Patty; +and he was very, very lonely. That empty house over the way was no +longer home. There were moments when he regretted his plunge into +politics. He was not free to pack his luggage and speed away to lands +that urged his fancy. He had given his word, and he was too much of a +man to withdraw it. He must remain here and fight two battles. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Jack had taken the seat next to him, and was asking him about the +progress of the play. It was going on so indifferently that he was of +half a mind to destroy it, which he did later. His glance always came +back to Patty. She was bent over her basket-work. She was calling him +Mr. Warrington again. Had he offended her in any manner? The light +from the lamp sparkled in her hair. She was as fresh and beautiful as +a July rose. But Mrs. Jack was an artist. She knew how to draw him +out; and shortly he was talking animatedly. It was now that Patty's +eyes began to rove. +</P> + +<P> +John, his fingers meeting in an arch, one leg thrown restlessly across +the other, thoughtfully eyed his wife and his friend. ... It was a +lie; there was nothing in all the world so honest as Warrington's +hand, so truthful as his wife's eyes. Cursed be the doubt that had +wedged between these two he loved! +</P> + +<P> +Time passes quickly or slowly, according to the state of mind. To John +the time was long; to Patty and Warrington it was too short; to Mrs. +Jack it was neither long nor short, but suspended. +</P> + +<P> +"Time for us to go, John. You are not particular about a chair, are +you?" Warrington asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not I. I prefer to stand up in the rear of the hall. If I am bored I +can easily escape." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, the night will not be without some amusement." +</P> + +<P> +"Take good care of John," whispered Mrs. Jack in Warrington's ear; as +the two men were about to depart. +</P> + +<P> +"Trust me!" Warrington smiled. +</P> + +<P> +Patty and John observed this brief intercourse. The eyes of love are +sharp. Patty was not jealous, neither was John; but something had +entered into their lives that gave to all trivial things a ponderous +outline. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't let any reporters talk to John, Mr. Warrington," requested the +mother. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll surround him." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall we walk?" asked John. +</P> + +<P> +"We can see better on foot." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll walk, then." +</P> + +<P> +So the two men went down town on foot, and Jove galloped back and +forth joyously. At any and all times he was happy with his master. The +one bane of his existence was gone, the cat. He was monarch of the +house; he could sleep on sofa-pillows and roll on the rugs, and +nobody stole his bones. +</P> + +<P> +"Good dog," observed John. +</P> + +<P> +"Money couldn't buy him. I saw that fellow Bolles to-day," +tentatively. +</P> + +<P> +"Bolles?" John did not recollect the name. +</P> + +<P> +"The fellow you nearly throttled the other night," explained +Warrington. "He looked pretty well battered up. I never saw you lose +your temper so quickly before." +</P> + +<P> +"He struck me without provocation, at the wrong moment. Who is going +to speak to-night?" +</P> + +<P> +"Donnelly and Rudolph." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you think? Donnelly called me up by 'phone this afternoon. +Wants to know if I really intend to tear down the shops. I told him I +had nothing to say on the subject." +</P> + +<P> +"Tear them down. I should. You're a rich man." +</P> + +<P> +"Money isn't the question. The thing is, what shall I do? I'm not +fitted for anything else." +</P> + +<P> +"Tear down the shops and then build them up again, after a few years. +It will be a good lesson to these union leaders. And you could have +the fun of fighting to build up the trade your father left. You were +talking once of rebuilding entirely." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a bad idea, Dick. Only, I feel sorry for the men." +</P> + +<P> +"Why? Are they free men or are they not? It rested with them just as +much as it did with you. I am far removed from the principles of +unionism, as they stand to-day. I have no patience or sympathy with +men who can not, or will not, appreciate a liberal, honest employer." +</P> + +<P> +"Let's change the subject, Dick." +</P> + +<P> +For a block or so they proceeded in silence. +</P> + +<P> +"John, you're the head of the family. I love Patty better than +anything else on God's earth. Do you mind?" Warrington uttered these +words swiftly, before his courage, which he had suddenly urged to its +highest, dropped back. +</P> + +<P> +John swung round abruptly and brought his hands down heavily on +Warrington's shoulders. +</P> + +<P> +"Is that true, Dick?" +</P> + +<P> +"As I stand here. Oh, I know; I'm not good enough for Patty. I haven't +lived as decently as I might. I haven't gone through life as +circumspectly as you have. I drank; success made me dizzy. But I love +Patty—God bless her!—as I never hoped or dreamed of loving any +woman. You're a man, John; you will understand. I've been alone all my +life; buffeted here and there, living haphazard, without any +particular restraint on my desires. The dear old aunt was the only +tie, and that was delicate till I came home and found how good and +kind she was. I miss her; months from now I shall miss her a +hundredfold. I'm very lonely. You've all been so good to me. To be +alone, and to think of living alone for the rest of my days, is a +torture. My nature craves companionship, and this craving has led me +into plenty of mischief. I love Patty. What do you say, John?" +</P> + +<P> +"Say? Why, you are good enough for any woman alive. I am very glad, +Dick. Patty married to you! You old farmer," affectionately, "I've +always been mentally pairing off you two! Come on; let's hear what the +political windmill has to say. They're burning red fire in front of +the hall." +</P> + +<P> +But a moment gone their feet had dragged with each step; now there was +a lightness that was dancing. John knew that it was all a lie; and his +heart was as light as his feet. Kate, dear Kate! He was a wretch! He +slapped Warrington on the shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"To think of your marrying Patty, the little sister!" +</P> + +<P> +"Don't go too fast, John," said Warrington with less enthusiasm. "I +haven't said a word to Patty yet; and if she's a sensible young woman, +she'll give me my conge first-off." +</P> + +<P> +"By George, women are strange creatures. It's the truth, Dick; you +can't tell which way they'll go. But Patty's no fool." John hadn't +felt so good in many hours. +</P> + +<P> +"But I love her, and God knows I shall try to be worthy of her, even +if I lose her. ... Sky-rockets!" with an upward glance. "That's the +signal for Rudolph's arrival at the hall." +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, then!" +</P> + +<P> +Rudolph was the great Jeffersonian Democrat, not by excellence, rather +by newspaper courtesy, and that, to be specific, by his own newspaper. +He had come up from New York that day to deliver his already famous +speech. He was one of the many possibilities in the political arena +for the governorship. And as he was a multimillionaire, he was sure of +a great crowd. As an Englishman loves a lord, so does the American +love a millionaire. Rudolph's newspaper was the only one in the +metropolis that patted him on the back regularly each morning. He was +the laboring man's friend; he was the arch enemy of the monopolies +(not yet called trusts); and so forth and so on. For all that some +laughed at him, he was an able politician, and was perfectly honest in +all his political transactions, which is something of a paradox. So he +came up to Herculaneum to convert the doubting. The laboring party +greeted him en masse, and stormed the hall for choice seats. +</P> + +<P> +The hall was a low, rambling structure, bad for the voice, but capable +of seating a few thousands. The curbs glared with green and red fire, +and a band blared out the songs of freedom. The crowds surged back and +forth, grumbling and laughing and shouting. And the near-by saloons +did a land-office business. It was a great night for the man who had +nothing to do. All at once there was loud hurrahing. An open hack +drove up to the entrance, and the great Jeffersonian stood up, bowing, +bowing. The green light on one side and the red on the other gave to +his face a Gargantuan aspect rather than that of a Quixote, to whom he +was more often likened than to any other character in fiction. The +police cleared a pathway for the great man, and he hurried up the +steps. Another cheer, and another blast from the band. Great is +popularity, whose handmaiden is oblivion. +</P> + +<P> +"They'll be doing all this to you some day," John declared, as he and +Warrington elbowed through the crowd, the dog between their legs. +</P> + +<P> +"That's him!" cried a voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Who?" +</P> + +<P> +"The fellow that writes; Henderson's man." +</P> + +<P> +"Salt licks for him!" came in derision. +</P> + +<P> +"He'll give Donnelly a run for the money." +</P> + +<P> +"Not in a thousand years!" +</P> + +<P> +All this amused Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"How d' y' do, Mr. Warrington?" +</P> + +<P> +A hand touched the prospective candidate on the arm. Warrington saw +Osborne's rubicund nose. +</P> + +<P> +"So you're out, too, Mr. Osborne?" +</P> + +<P> +"I never let meetings go by, Richard. Good evening, Mr. Bennington. A +man with ten millions doesn't look any different from ordinary +mortals, does he? But he is different, or he wouldn't have that +barrel. A million is like a light-house; it attracts all sorts of +birds." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington laughed and went on. Once or twice he lost the dog, but +Jove managed to turn up each time. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll stand at the left," said John; "it's nearer the exits." +</P> + +<P> +"Just as you say. I wish I'd left the dog at home. He's a nuisance in +a crowd like this." +</P> + +<P> +They presently stood with their backs to the wall and looked toward +the stage. Donnelly was already speaking about the great man who was +that night to address them. +</P> + +<P> +"And," concluded the mayor, "Mr. Rudolph will lead us to a victory +such as the party in this state has not yet known." And half a hundred +more final words. Man approaches nearest woman's postscript when he +says: "And, gentlemen, just one word more!" +</P> + +<P> +Meantime Warrington's gaze wandered here and there. He saw many +familiar faces,—politicians, prominent merchants of both parties, and +the usual exuberant hundreds drawn thither only by curiosity. These +were willing to applaud anything and anybody, without knowing or +caring what about. Quiet one moment, roaring the next; murmur, murmur, +like angry waters on shingle. These make and unmake public men; they +have nothing, but they can give everything. Strong tobacco smoke +rolled ceilingward, and those on the stage became blurred and +nebulous. Once Warrington caught a glimpse of a battered face, but it +disappeared quickly. However, he said nothing to Bennington. Again, he +saw McQuade moving about, within fifty feet. From time to time McQuade +stooped, and Warrington knew that the white dog was present. +</P> + +<P> +"Gentlemen," concluded Donnelly, with a flourish, "William Henry +Rudolph, of New York, our next governor." +</P> + +<P> +And, to quote the sympathetic reporters, "tremendous applause shook +the rafters." Mr. Rudolph rose majestically, and smiled and bowed. +Heigh-ho! man accepts applause so easily; the noise, not the heart +behind it; the uproar, not the thought. Man usually fools himself when +he opens his ears to these sounds, often more empty than brass. But so +porous is man's vanity that it readily absorbs any kind of noise +arranged for its benefit. +</P> + +<P> +He began calmly. The orator always reserves his telling apostrophes +till that time when it is necessary to smite palm with fist. He spoke +of Jefferson, the simplicity of his life, the firmness of his purpose, +the height of his ideals. He forgot, as political speakers generally +forget who emulate their historic political forebears, that progress +rearranges principles and constitutions, that what passed as good +statesmanship in Jefferson's time is out of order in the present. Mr. +Rudolph paused in the middle of a metaphor. There was a sudden +commotion in the rear of the hall. Men were surging to and fro. +</P> + +<P> +"Stand back!" cried a firm, resonant voice, full of anger. +</P> + +<P> +The uproar increased. Those in the forward chairs craned their necks. +Some stood up to learn what the matter might be. Others mounted their +seats. A thousand absurd conjectures passed from mouth to mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"Somebody's dropped dead!" +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down in front! Sit down!" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where are the police?" +</P> + +<P> +"Put him out!" +</P> + +<P> +"A fight!" +</P> + +<P> +Blue helmets moved toward the scene of action slowly. Mr. Rudolph +still paused and moistened his lips impatiently. Men can give and take +away popularity in the same breath, but a dog fight is arranged by +occult forces, and must, like opportunity, be taken when it comes. We +are educated to accept oratory, but we need no education in the matter +of a dog fight. This red corpuscle was transmitted to us from the +Stone Age, and the primordial pleasures alone resist enlightenment. +</P> + +<P> +Two bulldogs, one tan, the other white, were fighting desperately, +near the exits. In between human legs, under chairs, this way and +that, snarling, snapping, dragging. Men called out, kicked, tried to +use canes and umbrellas, and some burned matches. The dogs were +impervious. Now the white dog was atop, now the tan. So many +interfered that there was no interference. +</P> + +<P> +It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been listening to the +orator; and Jove, smelling his enemy from afar, slyly crept out of his +master's reach. The white dog had also been on the watch. In the drop +of an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington instantly comprehended the +situation, when he saw McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog, +clear a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying wall of men and +commanded those in front to stand back. He was furious. He had no +objections to human beings fighting, but he detested these bloody +conflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove, but Jove was past +hearing; he had tasted his enemy's blood. Once Warrington succeeded in +parting the dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separation +complete. Instantly they were at it again. The police made superhuman +efforts to arrive before it was all over. The fight, however, came to +an end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found his grip. But for the +broad collar on McQuade's dog the animal would have been throttled +then and there. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade lost his temper and his discretion. He kicked Jove cruelly in +the side, at the very moment when Warrington had succeeded in breaking +the grip. Bennington thrust McQuade back violently, and he would have +fallen but for the dense pack bolstering him up. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll remember that kick, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, white in the +face. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think you'll be mayor of Herculaneum, Mr. Warrington," +replied McQuade, glaring venomously at the man who had brushed him +aside so easily. +</P> + +<P> +"Perhaps not, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington; "but at any rate there'll +be a reckoning for that kick. You've been trying for months to bring +these dogs together. You have finally succeeded, and your dog has been +licked soundly. You ought to be satisfied." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington took Jove under his arm and pressed toward the door, +followed by Bennington, who was also in a fine rage. The dog, bloody +and excited, still struggled, though the brutal kick had winded him. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade was no fool. He saw that if Warrington left this way the +impression would not be favorable to the boss contractor. So he made +haste to approach Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"Hold on there, Warrington. I apologize for kicking your dog. I admit +I was excited; and my dog was getting licked. I am sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"All right, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, who would have preferred +leaving, minus any apology. He understood perfectly well McQuade's +reason for bending. +</P> + +<P> +"By George!" whispered Bennington, "I'd give a thousand for one good +punch at that ruffian's head. Brute, double-dealing brute! Look out +for him after this, Dick." +</P> + +<P> +"I can take care of myself. Officer, will you kindly get a carriage +for me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sure, Mr. Warrington," said the policeman. +</P> + +<P> +The two managed to get out. In fact, everybody was moving toward the +exits. They had forgotten Mr. Rudolph, who completed his effort before +a two-thirds empty hall. They say that he went back to his hotel that +night disgusted with humanity and, mayhap, with the fact that the +fight had not occurred nearer the stage. Orators are human also. +</P> + +<P> +As Warrington followed Bennington into the carriage the door closed +and a head was thrust inside the open window. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't forget me when you're mayor, Mr. Warrington," said Bill +Osborne. +</P> + +<P> +"Well?" Warrington was in no mood for banalities. +</P> + +<P> +Bill glanced hastily from side to side, then said, in a stage whisper +that sent Bennington into a roar of laughter: +</P> + +<P> +"I sick'd 'em!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap16"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XVI +</H3> + +<P> +The Republican caucus or convention was uneventful. Warrington was +nominated for mayor of Herculaneum, with little or no opposition. +Everybody expected it. It was, in the phraseology of the day, cut and +dried. There was no surprise on the part of the public. Still, Senator +Henderson was jubilant; he had nominated his man. +</P> + +<P> +The young candidate's speech, accepting the nomination, was reproduced +in full in all the newspapers, whose editorial writers frankly +admitted that the speech was one of the best heard in Herculaneum in +years. Reporters raked up anecdotes and old photographs; they enlarged +upon the history of his early struggles and his ultimate success; and +long despatches flashed over the wires. The whole continent was more +or less interested in the sudden political ambition of one of its +favorite dramatic writers. +</P> + +<P> +It was true that Warrington's vanity was touched. It always touches +our vanity to be given something for which we have made no struggle +whatever. It was something to be followed by curious newsboys, to be +spoken to respectfully by Tom, Dick and Harry, who erstwhile hadn't +known of his existence. Warrington was human, and he laughed at his +vanity even as it was being gratified. +</P> + +<P> +On the other side the Democrats perfunctorily nominated Donnelly. It +was the best they could do, and Donnelly had nothing to learn. And so +the fight was on. Donnelly went everywhere; so did Warrington. If +Donnelly spoke in the German district, Warrington spoke to the +Italians and in their native tongue. Warrington soon learned how to +shake hands in the manner of a candidate,—to take the whole hand and +squeeze it soundly. The coal-heaver whose hand the dramatist grasped +thereupon returned to his friends with the report that the candidate +had a good grip, that there was nothing namby-pamby about him, for all +his dude clothes. It is the gift of Heaven to win friends and keep +them, and Warrington possessed this gift. His good-humored smile, his +ready persiflage, his ease in all environments, and his common +sense—these were his bucklers. He spoke in dingy halls, on saloon +bars, everywhere and anywhere and at all times. It was a great sight +to see him lightly mount a bar and expound his politics, his nostrils +assailed by cheap tobacco and kerosene lamps. If Donnelly opened a keg +of beer, Warrington opened two; if Donnelly gave a picnic, Warrington +gave two. And once he presented free matinee tickets to a thousand +women. This was a fine stroke of policy. When a man wins a woman to +his cause, he wins a valiant champion. Here, then, were a thousand +tongues in his service. +</P> + +<P> +His work put enthusiasm into the rank and file of the party, and soon +all half-heartedness disappeared and dissensions vanished. He +furnished foot-ball suits for the newsboys, torch-light regimentals +for the young men's Republican clubs; he spent his own money freely +but judiciously; and all the while Donnelly was not far behind. For +the first time in the history of local politics the two parties went +to work with solid ranks. It promised to be a great campaign. +Warrington's influence soon broke the local confines; and the +metropolitan newspapers began to prophesy that as Herculaneum went, so +would go the state. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington's theatrical manager came up from New York and said he +wanted that play at once. The dramatist declared that there would be +no play that season. The manager threatened a lawsuit; Warrington +remained unmoved. His first duty was to his party; after the first +Tuesday in November he would see. This argument found its way to +reportorial ears, with the result that it merely added to the young +candidate's growing popularity. +</P> + +<P> +It was only occasionally that he saw the Benningtons. His nights were +devoted to speech-making or conferences. Sometimes, however, on his +way home late at night, he would walk up as far as the old house and +look up at the windows; and if he saw a light in Patty's room he would +pause for a few minutes, then turn about, Jove limping at his heels. +Patty Bennington! The one idyl in his noisy life, the one uplifting +influence! He knew that he was not making this fight for clean +politics because his heart was in it, but because Patty's was. It is +thus that women make the world better, indirectly. Once or twice he +had seen Patty in the gallery at mass meetings; but, hurry as he +might, he never could get around to the entrance in time to speak to +her. +</P> + +<P> +As for McQuade, he knew that between him and that gentleman the war +had only begun. He was constantly wondering how McQuade would act; but +so far as he could see, McQuade had absolutely nothing to stand on. +McQuade would have to tunnel; he could not carry on the war above +ground. McQuade would never forgive the result of the dog fight. There +had been so much raillery in the newspapers that McQuade became +furious whenever it was mentioned. His dog was a professional fighter +and had made three kills, and here a "pet" had given him his first +licking. It rankled, and none of McQuade's friends dared refer to it. +So Warrington remained alert and watchful; it was all he could do. +</P> + +<P> +In more ways than one Herculaneum became widely known. Other cities +realized that there was a peculiar strike in progress, upon the +outcome of which depended the principles of unionism. Here was an +employer who was making preparations to destroy his shops, regardless +of financial loss, regardless of public opinion, regardless of +everything but his right to employ and discharge whom he willed. Every +great employer in the country focused his eye upon Herculaneum; every +union leader did likewise. The outcome would mean a kind of +revolution. +</P> + +<P> +At the shops the men had placed the usual sentinels around the limits, +ready to repel the expected army of non-union workmen. But a day +passed, two, three, four; a week, then ten days; a month. Not a single +strange man approached the gates. Not one man among them had any +information whatever as to the movements of their whilom employer. +Scab labor never showed its head above the horizon. The men began to +wonder; they began to grow restless. But Morrissy always pacified them +with the word "wait." +</P> + +<P> +"Vigilance, boys; that's the word," said the leader. "The moment we go +to sleep he'll have his men inside." +</P> + +<P> +So the men relaxed none of their watching, night and day. It was +rather pathetic to see the children bringing scanty meals to the +guarding men. They were being misled, that was all, but they had to +find that out themselves. The city's bill-boards were covered with +"Boycott" and "Unfair" paper. The men were careful. They made no +effort to injure anything; they made no attempt to enter the shops; +they had had a brush with the militia once, and they were wise. They +could beat the new men and maim them, but so long as they did not +touch property there would be no call for the militia. They waited. +Mean-time Morrissy wore a new diamond. +</P> + +<P> +One day a cry went up. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's the scabs! Here they come!" +</P> + +<P> +Word was sent immediately to the union's headquarters. +</P> + +<P> +A body of twenty-odd men, carrying shovels and pickaxes and +dinner-pails, moved toward the gates. At their head was Bennington +himself. He placed the great key in the lock and swung the gates +inward. The men passed in quickly. Bennington was last. He turned for +a moment and gazed calmly at the threatening faces of the strikers. An +impulse came to him. +</P> + +<P> +"Men," he said, "up to one o'clock this noon these gates will be open +to you. Each of you can take up your work where you left it, at the +same wages, at the same hours. This is the last chance. Later you will +learn that you have been betrayed." +</P> + +<P> +"How about Chittenden?" +</P> + +<P> +"Chittenden will return at the same time you do." +</P> + +<P> +"The hell he will! Let him show his British face here, and we'll +change it so his mother won't know it." +</P> + +<P> +Bennington went inside and shut the gates. There was nothing more to +be done. He did not slam the gates insolently, as some men would have +done; he simply shut them. +</P> + +<P> +This event was also reported at headquarters. That afternoon all the +strikers were out in force. They congregated in groups and talked +angrily. Two policemen patrolled up and down. Bennington had had some +difficulty in securing even these. The men waited for the first sign +of smoke from the chimneys, but none came. No one was lighting the +furnaces; there was nothing but silence inside the shops. There was no +possible excuse as yet for deeds of violence, though many of the more +turbulent element urged riot at once. What was the use of waiting? In +the afternoon there appeared some fifty more strange men. These +carried tool-bags. They were challenged. They ignored the challenge +and pushed on resolutely. For the first time blows were struck. The +leader whirled around. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, men, you're making a big mistake. Your fists won't help +you. We are going inside, and if we can't go in peaceably, why, we'll +break some heads to get in. We have all been sworn in legally as +deputy police, and if we start in to break heads we promise to do it +thoroughly." +</P> + +<P> +"What are you going to do in there?" demanded Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +"None of your business, for one thing," answered the burly spokesman +of the interlopers. "I'll add this much, if it will ease your minds: +nobody's going to step into your jobs; when you went out you left your +jobs behind." +</P> + +<P> +"So you fellows are what they call strike-breakers, are you?" asked +Morrissy wrathfully. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, we aren't going to break your strike, my friend. You can call +this a strike as long as you please, so far as we're concerned. We've +got work to do here, though, and we are going to do it." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you union men?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not so you'd notice it," was the cool reply. +</P> + +<P> +"All right. You fellows won't be here long." +</P> + +<P> +"Stop us if you can. Now, stand aside!" commanded the stranger +menacingly. +</P> + +<P> +"Let 'em by, men," cried Morrissy. "Don't touch 'em yet. You just +leave it to me. I know a way and a good one, too. You just leave it to +me." +</P> + +<P> +The angry strikers divided ranks and the strangers entered the shops. +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy directed his steps to McQuade's office, and together they +paid a visit to the mayor. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, Donnelly, did you permit Bennington to swear in deputy +police?" asked McQuade. +</P> + +<P> +"Deputy police? Bennington has no deputy police from this place," +answered Donnelly hotly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, all we know is that he has them," snapped Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +"Then he has gone directly to the governor." +</P> + +<P> +"The governor?" +</P> + +<P> +McQuade and Morrissy looked at each other blankly. +</P> + +<P> +"He has that prerogative," said Donnelly. +</P> + +<P> +"But he wouldn't dare!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, he would. It's his last term; he is without further +political ambition; he can act as he pleases, in the face of public +condemnation. There's one thing left, though." +</P> + +<P> +"What?" +</P> + +<P> +"Injunction," said Donnelly tersely. +</P> + +<P> +"With Republican judges on the benches?" replied McQuade ironically. +</P> + +<P> +"And you can't enjoin private property," added Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll send for Bennington," Donnelly volunteered. "Perhaps I can talk +him into reason." +</P> + +<P> +"It's up to you to block this move somehow," said McQuade. "It means +the labor vote. And we've got to have that." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll do the best I can. I can stop his permit to tear down the +building, if he really intends to do that." +</P> + +<P> +"It will be a good day's work for you." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll act this very afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +Once outside the mayor's office, McQuade turned to Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's that receipt you promised on oath?" +</P> + +<P> +"Haven't you got it?" asked Morrissy, feigning surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"No, and I doubt you sent it. But I want it at once, and no more +monkeying." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I sent it. I mailed it to your office. You've overlooked it." +</P> + +<P> +"Come over to my office now and make it out," McQuade insisted. +</P> + +<P> +"You've got plenty of grips on me without that," protested Morrissy +reproachfully. +</P> + +<P> +"But I want this one, and I'm going to have it." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll go to your office. Will Donnelly be game?" +</P> + +<P> +"He will if he knows which side his bread is buttered on," +contemptuously. +</P> + +<P> +The two went up to McQuade's office. It was deserted. +</P> + +<P> +"The girl's gone this afternoon," said McQuade, "but I can handle the +typewriter myself." +</P> + +<P> +"All I've got to say is that I mailed you a receipt. What do you want +it for?" with a final protest. +</P> + +<P> +"I've got an idea in my head, Morrissy. I want that receipt. Some day +you may take it into your head to testify that I offered you a +thousand to bring on the strike at Bennington's. That would put me in +and let you out, because I can't prove that I gave the cash to you. +Business is business." +</P> + +<P> +"Hell! Any one would think, to hear you talk, that I had threatened to +betray." +</P> + +<P> +"Every man to his own skin," replied McQuade philosophically. He then +sat down before the typewriter. There were two blank sheets in the +roller, with a carbon between. The girl had left her machine all ready +for the morrow's work. McQuade picked out his sentence laboriously. +</P> + +<P> +"There, sign that." +</P> + +<P> +The paper read: +</P> + +<P> +"I, James Morrissy, the undersigned, do hereby declare that I have +received $1,000, in two sums of $500 each, from Daniel McQuade, these +sums being payment agreed upon for my bringing about the strike at the +Bennington shops." +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Morrissy looked at the boss incredulously. +</P> + +<P> +"I say, Mac, have you gone crazy?" he cried. "Do you want evidence +like this lying around in your safe? It's the penitentiary for both of +us if any one finds that." +</P> + +<P> +"I know what I am doing," McQuade responded quietly, as indeed he did. +</P> + +<P> +"But look; you've got the strike and I've got the cash; that makes us +quits." +</P> + +<P> +"Sign it," was all McQuade replied to this argument. +</P> + +<P> +"All right. What's bad for me is bad for you," and without further ado +Morrissy affixed his fist to the sheet. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's the duplicate for you." +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy lighted a match and set fire to the sheet; he stamped on the +ashes with grim satisfaction. +</P> + +<P> +"Not for mine," with a laugh. "You're welcome to yours." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade folded his deliberately and put it away in the safe. The sheet +of carbon paper he crumpled into a ball and tossed into the waste-basket. +We all commit blunders at one time or another, and McQuade had +just committed his. +</P> + +<P> +"That's all, Morrissy. I think I can trust you fully. I mean no harm, +boy; 'tis only self-preservation." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, so long as your name's on it there's no kick coming from me; only +I never saw you do such a fool thing before. Anything else to-day?" +</P> + +<P> +"No. You might keep tab on that fool Bolles. He's been drunk ever +since he came back from New York. And he doesn't know how to keep his +mouth shut." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll keep an eye on him." +</P> + +<P> +"He's the only man we have who can handle the dagos. I'll see you up +at Dutch Hall to-night. Donnelly is making a speech there, and we'll +open a few kegs of beer for the boys." +</P> + +<P> +When Morrissy was gone McQuade laughed softly and went to the safe +again. He proceeded to do to his receipt exactly what Morrissy had +done to his—burn it. So long as Morrissy believed that McQuade held +his signature, so long might Morrissy be trusted. It was only an idea, +but it proved that the boss knew his lieutenants tolerably well. +</P> + +<P> +"The blackleg would sell the tomb off his father's grave," he mused, +brushing the ashes from his clothes. +</P> + +<P> +Let Bennington rip up his shops; all the better for Donnelly's chances +of reelection. The laboring party would be sure to desert Warrington's +standard, since he was a personal and intimate friend of Bennington +the oppressor. He laughed again sinisterly. Presently he would have +them all by the throats. He would watch them squirm, too. This young +fool Warrington; he was the first real obstacle he (McQuade) had +encountered in his checkered career. Threats could not move him. He +had believed at the start that he could scare him away from the +convention; but the fool wouldn't be scared. And his damned dog! +</P> + +<P> +"He'll never reach the City Hall, not while I live, damn his +impudence! That woman, though, is no fool. She's kept her mouth shut. +They don't always do that. Well, I can write more than receipts on the +machine. I'll ruin them both if I can. Ordered me out of the house, +and I honestly liked the woman! But I'll square accounts presently." +</P> + +<P> +Meanwhile Donnelly set the wires humming. He finally got Bennington at +the shops. +</P> + +<P> +"This is Mr. Bennington. Who is it and what is wanted?" +</P> + +<P> +"This is the mayor talking." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! Well, what is it, Mr. Donnelly?" +</P> + +<P> +"I must see you at once in my office. This is an urgent request. I +can't explain the matter over the wire. But you'll do yourself and me +a great favor if you'll come into town at once." +</P> + +<P> +"Very important?" +</P> + +<P> +"Extremely so." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be there at five o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks. I shall await you." Donnelly hung up the receiver, very well +satisfied. +</P> + +<P> +Bennington understood. Politics was going to take a hand in the game. +After all, it was best to take the bull by the horns at once and have +it over with. He knew how well he had fortified himself against any +political machinery. So, promptly at a quarter to five, he departed, +leaving explicit orders with his subordinates. The strikers moved +aside for him, muttering and grumbling, but they made no effort to +impede his progress. There were groans and catcalls, but that was all. +He looked neither to the right nor to the left, but presented his back +to them fearlessly. Chittenden, upon Bennington's advice, had gone to +New York. The strikers would have used him roughly, could they have +laid hands on him. +</P> + +<P> +Arriving in town, Bennington went at once to the City Hall and +straight to the mayor's private office. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Mr. Donnelly?" he began, his hat on his handsome head and his +cane behind his back, neither offensive nor defensive. +</P> + +<P> +Donnelly closed the door leading to the clerk's office and came back +to his desk. He waved his hand toward a chair. If he could bend this +young hot-head, it would be a victory worth while, politically. +</P> + +<P> +"In the first place, Mr. Bennington, aren't you going a little too +hard on the men?" +</P> + +<P> +"That was their lookout; they had every chance to think the matter +over, to examine all sides of the question." +</P> + +<P> +"You went personally to the governor for deputy police. Why didn't you +come to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"The governor is a personal friend of mine." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe that I have been found lacking in justice," said +Donnelly thoughtfully. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't say that you have. But I was in a hurry, and could not wait +for the local machinery to move." +</P> + +<P> +"You have placed armed men in your shops without a justifiable cause." +</P> + +<P> +"The men are mechanics, sworn in for their own self-protection." +</P> + +<P> +Donnelly saw that he was making no impression. +</P> + +<P> +"These men, then, are to tear down your shops?" not without +admiration. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, they are there to dismantle it." +</P> + +<P> +"That building must not go down, Mr. Bennington." +</P> + +<P> +"'Must not'? Do I understand you to say 'must not'?" +</P> + +<P> +"Those words exactly." +</P> + +<P> +"It is private property, Mr. Donnelly; it was not organized under +corporation laws." +</P> + +<P> +"You can not destroy even private property, in a city, without a legal +permit." +</P> + +<P> +"I have that." +</P> + +<P> +"And I shall call a special meeting of the Common Council to rescind +your permit." +</P> + +<P> +"Do so. I shall tear it down, nevertheless. I shall do what I please +with what is my own." Bennington balanced on his heels. +</P> + +<P> +"The law is there." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall break it, if need says must," urbanely. +</P> + +<P> +Donnelly surveyed the end of his dead cigar. +</P> + +<P> +"The men will become violent." +</P> + +<P> +"Their violence will in no wise hinder me, so long as they confine it +to the shops. Even then I shall call upon you for police protection." +</P> + +<P> +"And if I should not give it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Just now I am sure you will. For the mayor of Herculaneum to refuse +me my rights would be a nice morsel for the Republican party." +</P> + +<P> +Donnelly passed over this. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish to protect the rights of the workman, just as you wish to +protect yours." +</P> + +<P> +"What are the workman's rights?" +</P> + +<P> +Donnelly did not reply. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I'll reply for you, then. His right is to sell his labor to the +highest bidder; his right is to work where he pleases; for what hours +he desires; his right is to reject abusive employers and to find those +congenial; his right is to produce as little or as much as he thinks +best; his right is to think for himself, to act for himself, to live +for himself." +</P> + +<P> +"You admit all this, then?" asked Donnelly in astonishment. +</P> + +<P> +"I have never so much as denied a single right that belongs to the +workman." +</P> + +<P> +"Then what the devil is all this row about?" +</P> + +<P> +"If the workman has his rights, shall not the employer have his?" +</P> + +<P> +Donnelly mused. He would not be able to do anything with this +plain-spoken man. +</P> + +<P> +"But the workman steps beyond. He has no right to dictate to his +employer as to what HIS rights shall be. Where there is no amity +between capital and labor there is never any justice; one or the other +becomes a despot. The workman has his rights, but these end where the +other man's rights begin. He shall not say that another man shall not +seek work, shall not sell his labor for what he can get; he has no +right to forbid another man's choosing freedom; he has no right to say +that a manufacturer shall produce only so much." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I've only to say," said Donnelly, hedging before this clear +argument, "I've only to say, if the men become violent, look out for +yourself." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall appeal to you for civic or military protection; if you refuse +it, to the governor; if politics there interferes, I shall appeal to +Washington, where neither your arm nor McQuade's can reach. I +understand the causes back of this strike; they are personal, and I'm +man enough to look out for myself. But if politics starts to work, +there will be a trouble to settle in the courts. You may not know the +true cause of this strike, Mr. Donnelly, but I do. The poor deluded +men believe it to be the English inventor, but he is only a blind. Had +you really wished to do me a favor, you would have spoken to the men +before they went out on this silly strike. But I am master of what is +mine, and I shall tear down that building. I shall tolerate no +interference from any man. The workman has his rights; this is one of +my rights, and I intend to use it." +</P> + +<P> +"It's your business. If you are fool enough to kill a golden goose, +it's no affair of mine. But I shall rescind your permit, however. I +believe it to be my duty." +</P> + +<P> +"Call your Council together, Mr. Donnelly. You can not get a quorum +together earlier than to-morrow night; and by that time I shall have +the work done. You say you will not afford me protection. Very well; +if the men become violent and burn the shops, I shall be relieved of +the expense of tearing them down. Good afternoon." +</P> + +<P> +Donnelly sat in his chair for a quarter of an hour, silent and +thoughtful. Suddenly he slapped his thigh. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what McQuade has against that man, but, by the Lord! he +IS a man!" +</P> + +<P> +That night the strikers received several bottles of whisky and a keg +of beer. The source of these gifts was unknown. Some of the more +thoughtful were for smashing the stuff, but the turbulent majority +overruled them. They began to drink and jest. They did so with +impunity. For some reason the police had been withdrawn. The hammering +inside the shops puzzled them, but they still clung to the idea that +all this clamor was only a ruse to frighten them into surrendering. +From the interior the pounding gradually approached as far as the +walls of the courtyard. At midnight one of these walls went thundering +to the ground. A few minutes later another fell. The strikers grouped +together, dismayed. +</P> + +<P> +"By God, boys," one of them yelled, "he's tearing it down!" +</P> + +<P> +In that moment, and only then, did they realize that they had been +dealing with a man whose will and word were immutable. They saw all +their dreams of triumph vanish in the dust that rose from the +crumbling brick and plaster. And dismay gave way to insensate rage. It +would only be helping Bennington to riot and burn the shops, so now to +maim and kill the men who, at hire, were tearing down these walls. +</P> + +<P> +"Come on, boys! We'll help the scabs finish the work! Come on!" +</P> + +<P> +There was now a great breach in the wall. Men moving to and fro could +be seen. The strikers snatched up bricks and clubs and dashed toward +this. But ere they had set foot on the rubbish they stopped. Half a +dozen resolute men faced them. They were armed. +</P> + +<P> +"That's far enough, boys," warned a powerful voice. "I told you we +have all been sworn in as deputy police, with all the laws of the +state back of us. The first man that steps across that pile of bricks +will go to the hospital, the second man to the undertaker." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap17"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XVII +</H3> + +<P> +Ah, the vanity of Dawn! Like a Venus she rises from her bath of +opalescent mists and dons a gown of pearl. But this does not please +the coquette. Her fancy turns from pearl to green, to amber, to pink, +to blue and gold and rose, an inexhaustible wardrobe. She blushes, she +frowns, she hesitates; she is like a woman in love. She casts abroad +her dewy jewels on the leaves, the blades of grass, the tangled laces +of the spiders, the drab cold stones. She ruffles the clouds on the +face of the sleeping waters; she sweeps through the forests with a low +whispering sound, taking a tithe of the resinous perfumes. Always and +always she decks herself for the coming of Phoebus, but, woman-like, +at first sight of him turns and flies. +</P> + +<P> +Dawn is the most beautiful of all the atmospheric changes, but the +vision is a rarity to the majority of us. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington was up and away on his hunter before Phoebus sent his +warning flashing over the hills. He took the now familiar road, and +urged his animal vigorously. Fine! Not a bit of dust rose from the +road, dew-wet and brown. The rime of the slight frost shone from the +fences and grasses and stacked corn, like old age that strikes in a +single night. Here and there a farmer could be seen pottering about +the yards, or there was a pale curl of smoke rising from the chimney. +The horse, loving these chill, exhilarating October mornings, went +drumming along the road. Occasionally Warrington would rise in the +stirrups and gaze forward over this elevation or that, and sometimes +behind him. No. For three mornings he had ridden out this old familiar +way, but alone. The hunger in his eyes remained unsatisfied. +</P> + +<P> +For the first time in years he turned into a certain familiar fork in +the road, and all his youth came back to him as vividly as though it +had been but yesterday. Half a mile up this fork was the rambling old +farm-house. It was unchanged. The clapboards were still stained with +rust, the barns were still a dingy red, the stone and rail fences +needed the same repairs. Nothing had changed there but the masters. +And under that roof he had made his first feeble protest against life; +he had dreamed those valiant dreams of youth that never come true, no +matter how successful one may become in after life. Every waking means +an illusion gone, another twig pruned from the tree of ardent fancy; +and when one is old there is neither shade nor shelter. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stopped his horse. He had no desire to ride closer; he +could see everything well enough from where he sat. Rosy apples +twinkled in the orchard on the hill, and golden pumpkins glistened +afield, for by now Phoebus had come to his own. How many dawns had he +seen from yonder windows, in summer and winter, in autumn and spring? +How many times had he gone dreaming to the markets over this road? It +was beyond counting. Had any of those particular dreams come true? Not +that he could recollect, for he had never dreamed of being a +successful dramatist; that good fortune had been thrust upon him. He +tried to picture his father walking toward the fields; it was too +remote. His mother? Of her he could recollect positively nothing. But +the aunt, he saw her everywhere,—in the garden, in the doorway, in +the window, by the old well. Now she was culling hollyhocks along the +stone wall, now she was coming down the hill with an apron filled with +apples, now she was canning preserves and chili sauce in the hot +kitchen, or the steel-rimmed spectacles were shining over the worn +pages of the New Testament at night. +</P> + +<P> +What was the use? To-day is alien to yesterday; an hour separates as +definitely as eternity. There was nothing there for him; so he wheeled +and rode back toward the city, conning over a speech he was to make +that night. Since Patty had not ridden this way, the zest of the +morning's ride was gone. Which road did she take now? To the west, to +the south, to the north round the lake? Twice the night before he had +started for the telephone to inquire, but had not taken down the +receiver. Was he afraid? He could not say. And afraid of what? Still +less could he tell. Three months ago he had called her Patty, had +jested and laughed with her; and now he hesitated to call her up by +telephone. No, he was not afraid of Patty; he was simply afraid of +himself. For he realized this—that in the moment he spoke to her +alone his love would spring from his lips like a torrent; nothing +could stop it; and he was not of that supreme courage at present that +spurs the lover to put it to the touch to win or lose it all. +</P> + +<P> +So, then, he rode back to the city, hugging his doubt and his love, +with frequent lucid intervals that were devoted to his forthcoming +speech. When the battle was over, when he had won or lost, then he +would go to her and drink the cup, bitter or sweet. +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Patty had not spent the night in comfort; her head had rolled from one +pillow to another, and the cases were not always dry. Indeed, it had +been some time since she had pressed her cheek tranquilly upon a +pillow. Night is either sweetest or most wretched; one spends it +recounting one's joys or one's sorrows. Patty was unhappy; and leave +it to youth to gain the full meed of misery. Youth has not the +philosophy of matured age to cast into the balance. Satisfaction in +this workaday world is only momentary. One is never wholly satisfied; +there is always some hidden barb. The child wears the mother's skirts +enviously while the mother mourns her youth. Expectation leads us to +the dividing line of life, and from there retrospection carries us to +the end. Experience teaches us that fire burns and that water +quenches; beyond this we have learned but little. +</P> + +<P> +This morning Patty was up with the dawn. She did not trouble to wake +the groom, but saddled and bridled the horse herself. She mounted and +rode quietly into the street. She did not glance at Warrington's house +while approaching or passing it, but once she had left it in the rear +she turned quickly, flushing as if she had caught herself in some +weakness. She directed the horse toward the west, crossing the city +before she reached the open country. Here the west wind, young and +crisp, blew away the last vestige of heaviness from her eyes. She +urged the horse into a canter and maintained this gait for a mile or +more. Then she reined in to a walk. +</P> + +<P> +Three weeks! And all this time she had not even breathed a word of it, +but had hugged the viper to her heart in silence. She dropped the +reins on the neck of the horse and took a letter from the pocket of +her riding-coat. How many times had she read it? How many times had +fury and rage and despair flashed from her eyes as she read it? She +hated him; she hated her. There was neither honesty nor goodness in +the world; those who preached it lied. Yes, yes! There was one. John, +dear, noble John, he at any rate was honest. But it was all acting on +her part, acting, acting. She had married John as a convenience; she +had made use of his honest love as a cloak. The despicable creature! +And yet, when in her presence, so great was her charm and magnetism, +Patty doubted. After all, it was an anonymous letter, and nothing is +more vile. But who can say to this viper Doubt—"Vanish!" It goes, it +goes again and again; which is to say it always returns. Long ago she +would have confronted her brother's wife with this letter, had not +John been in the heart of his battle at the shops. For the present he +had enough trouble. And yet, to see that woman with John, an angel +might be deceived. To see her weep and laugh over him, to see her +touch him with her hands, to caress him with her eyes, to be tender +and strong at his side. ... Could anybody be so wicked? True, her +transgression had been made, according to this letter, before John had +married her; but this lessened the enormity of it none in Patty's +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I was so happy, and now I am so miserable!" murmured the girl, +pressing her hand to her throat, which seemed to stifle her. +</P> + +<P> +She read the letter again, through blurred vision. It was horrible. +</P> + +<P> +One who takes a deep interest in your future welfare finds it a duty +to warn you against Richard Warrington, for whom it is being said you +have developed a strong sentiment. It is well known that he drank +deeply at one time and lived the life of a debauchee. Beware of the +woman, also, whom you call sister. The writer does not offer anything +detrimental to her married life, but it is known that she was +practically Warrington's mistress before she married your splendid +brother. She was seen frequently to enter his apartments at night, and +the writer can furnish abundant proof that she was seen to leave his +apartments one morning. This is not penned with malice. It is simply +that the writer knows and admires you and can not stand passively by +and see you humiliated by the attentions of a man who is unworthy to +lace your shoes. As for your sister-in-law, I have no desire to +meddle. Confront both her and Warrington, if the truth of the above +statement is doubted by you. +</P> + +<P> +Upon these last words depended Patty's attitude. It must be true. +Whoever had written this abominable letter could write plain English, +despite the disguised hand. Patty recognized that it was disguised. +The capitals differed, so did the tails of the y's and f's; the +backhand slant was not always slanting, but frequently leaned toward +the opposite angle. She had but to confront them! It seemed simple; +but to bring herself to act upon it! She reviewed all the meetings +between Kate and Warrington. Never had her eyes discerned evidence of +anything other than frank good fellowship. She searched painfully; +there was not a single glance, a single smile upon which she could +build a guilty alliance. And yet this writer affirmed ... Oh, it was +monstrous! Those rumors she had heard months ago! The telephone call +from McQuade! Ah, that telephone call! Had Kate been guilty would she +have confided to her, Patty? She seemed to be pulled, now forward, now +backward. McQuade knew something, the wretch! but what? This letter +had never been written by him. A man would have used a pronoun, third +person, masculine; he would have shown some venom back of the +duplicity that affirmed an interest in her welfare. +</P> + +<P> +The tears dried quickly; the heat of her renewed rage burned them up. +She set about to do something she had not thought of doing +before—investigating. She held the note-paper to the sun. The +water-mark of a fashionable paper manufacturer was easily observable. +Men did not write on that brand. So much gained. Then she recalled a +French play in which a perfume had convicted a person of theft. She +held the envelope to her nose; nothing, not even tobacco. She tried +the letter itself. Ah, here was something tangible: heliotrope, vague, +but perceptible. Who among her friends used heliotrope on her +kerchief? She could not remember; in fact, any or all of them might +have worn it, so far as she could recall. She would go over her +invitations and visitors' cards; she would play detective; she would +ferret out as a spy who took this amiable interest in her future. This +determination brightened her considerably. And woe to the meddler if +Patty found her! If it was a baseless lie (and she hoped against hope +in her loyal little heart!) she would make a pariah of the writer of +this particular anonymous letter. True or not, what was it to her? +What right had she to interfere? She was cowardly; of that Patty was +certain. True friends are the last in the world to inflict sorrow upon +us. Kith and kin may stab us, but never the loyal friend. Now that she +thought it all over, she was glad that she had repeatedly fought the +impulse to lay the matter before her sister. She would trace this +letter home first; she would find out upon what authority it was +written; there would be time enough after that to confront Kate, or +Warrington, or John. Ah, if she had stepped forward in the dark, to +wreck her brother's life needlessly. ... Heliotrope! She would never +forget that particular odor, never. She had a good idea of justice, +and she recognized the fact that any act on her part, against either +Kate or Warrington, before she found the writer of the letter, would +be rank injustice. Persons can not defend themselves against anonymous +letters; they can only ignore them. +</P> + +<P> +She touched her horse again. She was now in feverish haste to get +home. She took the turn of the road which presently brought her in the +vicinity of the shops. It was practically in ruins. The courtyard +walls were all down, the building itself was totally empty of ore or +machinery. Bennington had disposed of these to Pennsylvanian concerns. +Patty rode up in time to see half a dozen urchins throwing stones at +the few window-panes that were still unbroken. She dispersed them +angrily, and they gathered at the side of the road, open-mouthed and +wide-eyed at the picture of this avenging angel. +</P> + +<P> +"How dare you throw stones at those windows? How dare you?" she cried +passionately. +</P> + +<P> +After a while one of the lads found his voice. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, nobody's in it. The man what owns it tored the insides outen it. +'Tain't no harm what we're doin'. Hey, fellers?" +</P> + +<P> +"Naw. The cops don't say nothin'. An' my old man used to work there." +</P> + +<P> +She saw that they were no more than ordinary boys to whom the panes of +glass in a deserted building were legitimate prey. +</P> + +<P> +"So your father was one of the strikers?" said Patty, her lips +thinning. "Why did he strike?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know; 'cause the others struck, I guess. They was an English +lobster workin' without bein' in my old man's union. Mebbe that was +it. Anyhow, we don't care; the old man's got another job." +</P> + +<P> +With this the boys climbed the fence and moved across the field, +mutely rebellious, like puppies baffled in their pursuit of a cat. +</P> + +<P> +Patty's eyes, moist and shining of a sudden, roved over the grim +ruins. Sparrows were chattering on the window ledges and swallows were +diving into the black mouths of the towering chimneys. The memory of +her father swelled her heart near to bursting. She could see his +iron-grey head bending over the desk; she could hear his rough but +kindly voice. Why, whenever he entered the house his splendid physical +energy seemed to radiate health and cheerfulness, infecting all those +about him. She could see the men, too, moving in the glow of ruddy +light; she could see again the brilliant sparks flying from under the +thundering trip-hammers, the cyclopean eyes that glared up at heaven +at night, the great rumbling drays, the freight moving to and from the +spur. Now there was no sound; nothing but silence, with the suggestion +of a tomb. +</P> + +<P> +The end of the strike had been a nine days' wonder, for it proved that +there had actually been no strike at all, since the owner had simply +closed down the shops, torn down a few walls, sold the machinery and +ore, and canceled all his business obligations. No sensation, however +vital, lasts very long these days; and after these nine days it turned +its attention to other things, this mutable public. Employers, +however, and union leaders, all over the continent, went about their +affairs thoughtfully. If one man could do this unheard-of thing, so +might others, now that an example had been set before them. The +dispersed men harbored no ill feeling toward Morrissy; he, as they +supposed, had acted in good faith for the welfare of the union. But +for the man who had had the courage to make good his threats, for him +they had nothing but bitterness and hate. +</P> + +<P> +Patty would always remember that final night of the strike when John +had come in early in the morning, his clothes torn, his hands bloody, +his hair matted to his forehead, and hatless. He had been last to +leave the shops, and he had, unarmed, run the gantlet of the maddened +strikers who had been held at bay for six long hours. Only his great +strength and physical endurance had pulled him out of the arms of +violent death. There had been no shot fired from the shops. The +strikers saw the utter futility of forcing armed men, so they had hung +about with gibe and ribald jeer, waiting for some one careless enough +to pass them alone. This Bennington did. His men had forgotten him. +Bennington's injuries had been rather trivial; it had been his +personal appearance that had terrified the women. He had fallen asleep +half an hour after reaching home, and he had slept till nine that +evening. Upon awakening he had begun at once to plan a trip to Europe, +to wander from capital to capital for a year or so. No one had +interrupted him; not even the mother, grown old in the past month, had +demurred at his plans. He would have none near him but Kate, and she +had hovered about him, ministering to his wants as a mother over a +sick child. ... Kate! It all came back with a rush. Kate! Oh, what was +she, Patty, to believe? That night she had loved Kate almost to +idolatry. She shuddered, turned away from the ruins, and set off at a +gallop till she came upon brick pavement. She rarely trotted upon +pavement, but this morning she had no thought for the horse; she +burned to be at work. She trotted rapidly into town, across the +principal thoroughfares, this way being the short cut. By this time +men were on the way to work. Many of them turned their heads to stare +at her. There was only one woman in town who sat a horse like this +one, and it could be no less a person than Patty Bennington. All the +men recognized her instantly. She had their good wishes, for all that +her brother had taken away the bread and butter of some of them. Many +touched their hats from mere force of habit. +</P> + +<P> +There was one man, however, who glared evilly at her from the curb. +She recognized him in spite of his discolored face, the result of a +long, uninterrupted debauch. It was Bolles. As he caught her eye he +smiled evilly and leered at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait, my beauty; wait. I'll kill that brother of yours one of these +fine days, damn him!" Bolles gave one more look at the swiftly-moving +figure on the horse, and shuffled away toward McQuade's office, to +await the arrival of that gentleman. Bolles needed money, and he knew +where to get it. +</P> + +<P> +As she reached the foot of Williams Street Patty glanced up the hill. +A horseman had just entered Warrington's. She recognized both man and +horse. It was Warrington. She knew at once that he had ridden out her +favorite route, perhaps in the hope of seeing her. Her heart tightened +strangely as she walked her horse up the hill, and she would have +passed home but for the intelligence of her animal, which turned in +toward the house quite naturally. Her mother was on the side veranda. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, you have worried us all. The stableman, when he found your +horse gone, came in with the cry of thieves. I was frightened, too, +till I went to your room and found you gone. You mustn't go without +notifying the stableman or the groom." +</P> + +<P> +"It was an impulse of the moment, mother. I couldn't sleep, and I saw +no need of waking up the boys in the stables." +</P> + +<P> +Patty ran up stairs for a bath and a change of clothes for breakfast. +She ate little, however; the ride had not put the usual edge on her +appetite. +</P> + +<P> +"Mr. Warrington made a fine speech last night," said the mother, +handing the morning paper to Patty. +</P> + +<P> +Patty accepted it mechanically. She had determined not to read the +paper. But she knew now, if she unfolded it, she would turn +immediately to the local pages and search for Warrington's speech. She +read it, and she hated herself for admiring it. The self-lie was not +among Patty's failings. There was no denying that Warrington's speech +was a good oratorical effort; every line of it rang sound and true; +but that might be a trick of the trade. He could make thieves and +villains on the stage speak glibly and plausibly; certainly he could +do as much for himself. One thing she could not deny him, and that was +frankness. He had confessed to her last summer that he was not, or had +not been, a good man in the strict sense of the word. She laid down +the paper and finished her coffee. She was glad that she did not have +to face Kate at each meal. She felt that she couldn't have trusted +herself; there were times when she spoke the first thought, and always +regretted it. Poor John, poor John! +</P> + +<P> +From the table she went directly to the Indian basket that held all +the cards and invitations. The mother, concerned with her household +duties, left her to herself. Patty would have found some difficulty at +that moment in answering any curious questions. One by one she drew +out the envelopes and cards. There was a permanent scent of sweet +grass. She discovered nothing; she realized that her discovering +anything depended solely upon hazard. Excitement ebbed, leaving +nothing but hopelessness. She threw the cards and invitations into the +basket. She might have known that visiting-cards and printed +invitations are generally odorless. She sought the garden. The Angora +was prowling around, watching the bees and butterflies hovering over +wind-fallen fruit. Patty called to her, but the cat ignored the call. +From the garden Patty went to the stables, from the stables she +returned to the house. She was at peace nowhere. Later her mother +found her dreaming in the window-seat. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, Mrs. Haldene left her shopping-bag here yesterday afternoon. I +had forgotten it. Would you mind taking it over to her, or shall I +have the maid do it?" +</P> + +<P> +"I have nothing to do, mother. I can take it over just as well as +not," said Patty listlessly. +</P> + +<P> +She slipped her arm through the handles of the bag and proceeded into +the hall for a hat. As she lifted the hat to her head the bag slipped +along her arm close to her nose. Instantly her figure became tense and +rigid, her face grim and colorless. +</P> + +<P> +Heliotrope! +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap18"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XVIII +</H3> + +<P> +There could be no doubt at all. The perfume on the letter and that on +the shopping-bag were identical. Indeed, she would take the bag over +to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene; she would be very glad to do her that +trifling service. Oh! Patty's rage choked her. During the past three +weeks Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene had called at least a dozen times, +doubtless to observe the effect of her interest in Patty's welfare. +She might have known! Well, this very morning she would ascertain from +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips where she had secured her information. +She would do more than that; she would make her prove every word of +it. +</P> + +<P> +So Patty marched toward the Haldene place, marched, because that verb +suggests something warlike, something belligerent. And there was war +a-plenty in Patty's heart. Each step she took sang out a sharp +"Meddler-gossip! meddler-gossip!" A delivery horse went past, drumming +an irritating "Busybody! busybody! busybody!" What had she or hers +ever done to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene that she should stoop to so base a +means of attack? An anonymous letter! War raged in Patty's heart; but +there was something warmer and clearer coursing through her +veins—hope! +</P> + +<P> +She went on. Not a particle of her courage deserted her as she mounted +the steps and pushed the bell. When Patty was genuinely roused in +anger she was afraid of little or nothing, animate or inanimate. A +maid answered the bell. As she recognized the caller she swung back +the door and nodded. +</P> + +<P> +"Is Mrs. Haldene at home?" Patty inquired. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Miss Patty." +</P> + +<P> +The maid led Patty into the library, where Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +busily engaged in making up an invitation list. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Patty, I am glad to see you," she cried, dropping her pen and +rising. But her curiosity rose at the same time. Patty here? +</P> + +<P> +"You left your shopping-bag when you called yesterday," said Patty, +ominously calm. "I have brought it to you." +</P> + +<P> +"It was very careless of me to forget it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it was," Patty assented, her heart beginning to throb violently. +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you. And I have been looking for it high and low." +</P> + +<P> +Patty passed the bag to her enemy. How to begin, how to begin! +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Haldene!" Patty's voice was high-pitched and quavering. +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Patty!" +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you write this base letter to me!"—exhibiting the letter +resolutely. "Do not deny that you wrote it. It smells of +heliotrope—your favorite perfume." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty Bennington, are you mad?" cried Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. "What +letter? What do you mean?" She knew very well, but she had not +practised the control of her nerves all these years for nothing. "A +letter? I demand to see it." +</P> + +<P> +But Patty reconsidered and withdrew her hand, concluding that Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene could destroy the letter as easily as she had written +it; more easily, had Patty but known it. +</P> + +<P> +"I prefer to read it to you." And Patty read, her tones sharp and +penetrating, finely tempered by anger. +</P> + +<P> +"I write such a thing as that? You accuse me of writing an anonymous +letter of that caliber? You are mad, distinctly mad, and if I did what +was right I should ask you to leave this house instantly." Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene rose to her full height, after the manner of +indignant persons on the stage. +</P> + +<P> +Patty was not overcome in the least. An idea, bold, unconventional, +and not over-scrupulous, shot into her head. With her eyes holding +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's, she stepped toward the desk; then, in a +flash, she seized one of the sheets of note-paper that lay scattered +about. Mrs. Franklyn Haldene made a desperate effort to intercept +Patty; but Patty was young, slender and agile. She ran quickly to the +nearest window and compared the written sheet with the blank. The +paper and grain were the same, only one showed that the top had been +cut off. There was no shadow of doubt. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a horrible woman," said Patty. +</P> + +<P> +"Leave this house instantly!" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was now +thoroughly alarmed. +</P> + +<P> +"Not till you have proved the truth of this letter," Patty declared. +</P> + +<P> +"I refuse to submit to such gross insults in my own house!" Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene's voice rose a key. She swept majestically toward the +door. +</P> + +<P> +Patty stepped bravely in front of her. +</P> + +<P> +"Have you no breeding?" the storm in Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's voice +gathering. +</P> + +<P> +"Who told you that my brother's wife was formerly—" +</P> + +<P> +"Stand aside!" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall not leave this house or your presence till you have +answered," replied the little paladin. "You wrote this letter to me, +trusting it would make me miserable. It has. But I have not done what +you expected,—shown it. Who told you this base lie?" +</P> + +<P> +"I refuse to answer your impudent questions. Will you stand aside?" +</P> + +<P> +"There is a way to force you. I will know, Mrs. Haldene, I will know. +If you refuse, I shall turn these two sheets over to my brother's +lawyers." +</P> + +<P> +"A lawyer?" with an hysterical laugh. "You would scarcely take a thing +like that to a lawyer, of all persons." +</P> + +<P> +"I declare to you that that is exactly what I shall do. You wrote this +letter; I can prove that you wrote it. Afraid of publicity? You do not +know me. What I demand to know is, who gave you this information? That +I will know." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw that Patty would do what she promised; so +she took her stand boldly. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, then, since you will have it. Yes, I wrote that letter, for I +could no longer stand the humiliation of meeting your sister-in-law in +decent houses, and that double hypocrite who pretends to be your +brother's friend and your admirer. Proof? I was at my hair-dresser's +one morning, when a woman who is an intimate of McQuade, the +politician, came in. She dropped a letter. McQuade had written it. It +told definitely the information you have in your hand." +</P> + +<P> +"You have that letter?" Patty was conscious of a strange numbness +stealing over her. +</P> + +<P> +"No, I haven't. I read it, and sent it to its owner. I consider myself +very fortunate. I always had my suspicions, and it was a relief to +find that they were not without foundation. You will now relieve me of +your unwelcome presence in this house." This time Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +leveled her arm toward the door; the right was with her. +</P> + +<P> +"In a moment," said a third voice, masculine. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's arm dropped. Patty turned with a low cry. She +had forgotten that there might be some one else in the house. +</P> + +<P> +Haldene entered through the door to the dining-room. His face was +hard and his eyes cold. +</P> + +<P> +"I must ask your pardon, both of you, but I could not help overhearing +your voices. They ran somewhat high." He bowed to Patty deferentially; +he merely glanced at his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Franklyn!" This phase of the situation was altogether too unexpected +and embarrassing for Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to accept it readily. +</P> + +<P> +"I have heard words about an anonymous letter; I have heard +names,—McQuade, your brother, his wife, Warrington, and my wife. I +should like to know—" +</P> + +<P> +"Franklyn!" his wife appealed. To be humiliated before this impudent +chit of a girl! +</P> + +<P> +"Patience, my dear." Haldene held up his hand. "Well, Patty?" +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Haldene has taken the trouble to meddle with my affairs by +writing me an anonymous letter concerning the conduct of my brother's +wife and his friend. I have traced the letter to Mrs. Haldene, and she +has confessed that she wrote it, also stating her reasons and the +source of her information." Patty spoke bravely, for she hadn't the +least idea whose side Mr. Haldene would take. She was not aware that, +for all his idle habits and failings, he had that quality of justice +which, upon occasions, makes a terrible judge of a just man. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you let me see that letter?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +Patty gave it to him without conditions. He read it slowly, but +neither woman could discover the slightest emotion on the man's face. +He studied it carefully. He even compared the false hand with the +true. Then he addressed his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"Did you write this?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I did. And if you have been listening, as you had the courage to +say you had, you already know my reasons for writing it." Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was recovering. +</P> + +<P> +"You must apologize," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Apologize? I think not. On my part there is nothing more to be said." +</P> + +<P> +"I see that I shall have to apologize for you. Patty, I am very sorry +that this has happened, and I can promise you that it shall end here. +Will you accept my apology?" +</P> + +<P> +After some hesitance, Patty nodded. She could not very well refuse. +She had always liked Mr. Haldene. As hitherto remarked, Patty's was an +impulsive heart. Suddenly she stretched out her hands toward the wife. +</P> + +<P> +"What have I or mine ever done to you that you should seek to injure +us so cruelly? Have we wronged you in thought or deed? What is it that +has made you my enemy?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am not your enemy, Patty," said the elder woman, melting ever so +slightly. "I have told you that I did not wish to see your life made +wretched by marrying a man of Warrington's loose habits, and that I +could not tolerate the woman who is your brother's wife." +</P> + +<P> +Patty held out her hand for the letter. She had no desire to remain +any longer. She wanted nothing but the privilege of being alone, that +she might weep the bitter, galling tears that were brimming her eyes.... +She had no recollection of gaining the street. It was true, it was +true! She did not even remember how she reached her room; but as her +blurred eyes saw the bed, she fell upon it in a stupor that for a long +while did not give any outlet to her tears. +</P> + +<P> +In the meantime Haldene faced his wife. +</P> + +<P> +"I am going down town presently," he said. "I shall send you up by +messenger several cabin-plans." +</P> + +<P> +"Cabin-plans?" amazed at this odd turn in affairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. You will spend the winter either in Egypt or Italy, as it +pleases you." +</P> + +<P> +"Europe? But my social obligations demand my presence here!" she +expostulated. +</P> + +<P> +"You will cancel them. You will go to Europe. Anonymous letters!" He +struck the desk violently. It was the first touch of this kind he had +ever exhibited in her presence, and it terrified her. "When I married +you, people said I married your money. As God is above us, I loved +you. Yes, I loved you. But how long was it permitted that this love +should live? Six slender months! You, you of all women, you write +anonymous letters?" He laughed, but it was laughter that had nothing +human in it. "Madam, when I die my deposit box at the bank will be +turned over to you. In it you will find six anonymous letters. They +have lain there sixteen years. I took the advice of one and followed +you. So I let them believe that I had married you for your money. I +meant to have my revenge after I was dead. Madam, you will go to +Europe. I shall not be home to lunch, but you may expect me at dinner. +I am curious to learn whether it will be in Egypt and the Holy Land, +or Italy, the land of the fig-tree and the vine. Good morning." +</P> + +<P> +When he was gone, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene realized, for the first time +in sixteen years, that she had married a man. Suddenly her knees gave +from under her, and she sank into her chair, staring at the floor with +unseeing eyes. For sixteen years! +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +That afternoon Warrington had a visit. His visitors were Jordan, the +reporter, and Osborne. They appeared to be in high spirits. +</P> + +<P> +"We've got him, Dick!" exclaimed Jordan, swinging his hat. +</P> + +<P> +"Got whom?" +</P> + +<P> +"Morrissy—Morrissy and McQuade," said Osborne, in his +whisky-roughened voice. "We've got 'em all right, Dick. Look at this," +tossing a wrinkled sheet of carbon-paper on Warrington's desk. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington spread it out. It took him but a minute to find out the +richness of his possession. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did you come across this?" he asked eagerly. +</P> + +<P> +"My niece found it in her waste-basket. I've sent her into the country +to visit relatives," said Osborne. "But if you use it, Dick, you'll +have to find the girl another job in some other town." +</P> + +<P> +"You leave that to me. This is worth a thousand to me and a thousand +more to John Bennington. Now, both of you go down to any restaurant in +town and order what you like, and as long as you like, and you have +them call me up if there's any question." +</P> + +<P> +The reporter and the semi-outcast smiled at each other. They saw their +appetites appeased to satiety. +</P> + +<P> +"Does a bottle go with the order, Dick?" asked Jordan. +</P> + +<P> +"Half a dozen!" laughed Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"I've put you in the City Hall, Dick," said Osborne. "And don't forget +me when you're there." +</P> + +<P> +"Will there be a story for me?" Jordan asked. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll have a page, Ben." +</P> + +<P> +"That's enough. Well, come on, Bill; we'll show the new mayor that we +can order like gentlemen." +</P> + +<P> +"I remember—" But Osborne never completed his reminiscence. Jordan +was already propelling him toward the door. +</P> + +<P> +Once the door had closed upon them, Warrington capered around the room +like a school-boy. The publication of this confederacy between +Morrissy and McQuade would swing the doubting element over to his side +and split the ranks of the labor party. +</P> + +<P> +Patty, Patty Bennington! He must see her. It was impossible to wait +another day. When was it he had seen her last? Patty, dark-eyed, +elfish, winsome, merry! Oh, yes, he must see her at once, this very +afternoon. He could no longer repress the tide of his love, which +surged at the flood-gates of his heart with mighty pressure. Patty! +Patty! +</P> + +<P> +"Patty is not feeling well," said Mrs. Bennington, as she welcomed +Warrington at the door, an hour later. "I will call her. I am sure she +will be glad to see you." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington went into the music-room, placed his hat on the piano, and +idled about impatiently. That morning he had not possessed the +courage; now he was willing to face lions and tigers, anything rather +than permit another day to pass without telling Patty that he loved +her. When she finally appeared she was pale, her eyes were red, but +her head was erect and her lips firm. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, are you ill?" hastening toward her. +</P> + +<P> +"I have a very bad headache," coldly. "You wished to see me?" +</P> + +<P> +Where were all the tender words he had planned to speak? Patty had +been weeping! +</P> + +<P> +"You have been crying. What has happened?" anxiously. +</P> + +<P> +"It can not interest you," wearily. Men! She would have a horror of +them for the rest of her days. +</P> + +<P> +"Not interest me? Don't you know, haven't you seen by this time, that +you interest me more than any other living being or any angel in +Heaven?" +</P> + +<P> +Patty caught at the portiere to steady herself. She had not expected +declarations of this kind. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you know," he hurried on, his voice gaining in passion and +tenderness, "don't you know that a pain to you means triple pain to +me? Don't you know that I love you? Patty, what is the trouble? You +are not a woman to weep over headaches." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you wish to know, then?" bitterly. She hated him! How could he +stand there telling her that he loved her? "Read this," presenting the +letter. "I despise you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Despise me? What in God's name is the matter?" +</P> + +<P> +"Read, read!" vehemently. +</P> + +<P> +Once the letter was in his hand, her arms dropped to her sides, tense. +It was best so, to have it over with at once. To crush the thought of +him out of her heart for ever, such a remedy was necessary. She +watched him. His hand fell slowly. It would have been difficult to say +which of the two was the whiter. +</P> + +<P> +"You speak of love to me?" +</P> + +<P> +He stood there, stunned. His silence spoke eloquently to her. He was +guilty. She leaped to this conclusion at once, not realizing that no +man can immediately defend himself when accused so abruptly. +</P> + +<P> +"You speak of love!" Her wrath seemed to scorch her lips. "My poor +brother!" +</P> + +<P> +Warrington straightened. "Do you believe this?" He threw the letter +aside, as if the touch contaminated him, caring not where it fell. +</P> + +<P> +"Is it true?" +</P> + +<P> +"An anonymous letter?" he replied, contemptuously. +</P> + +<P> +"I know who wrote it." +</P> + +<P> +"You know who wrote it? Who?" There was terrible anger in his voice +now. +</P> + +<P> +"I decline to answer." +</P> + +<P> +"So you give me not even the benefit of a doubt! You believe it!" +</P> + +<P> +Patty was less observant than usual. "Will you please go now? I do not +think there is anything more to be said." +</P> + +<P> +"No. I will go." He spoke quietly, but like a man who has received his +death-stroke. "One question more. Did McQuade write that letter?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +He picked up his hat. "So much for my dreams! Deny it? Deny calumny of +the anonymous order? No! Defend myself against such a lie? No!" +</P> + +<P> +He walked from the room, his head erect. He did not turn to look at +her again. The hall door closed. He was gone. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap19"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XIX +</H3> + +<P> +Tragedy was abroad that day, crossing and recrossing Williams Street. +Tragedy has the same prerogative as love and death—the right to enter +the palace or the hovel, into the heart of youth or age. It was not a +killing to-day, only a breaking of hearts, that is to say, the first +step. Tragedy never starts out on her rounds roughly; she seeks her +cause first; she seeks her anonymous letter, her idle hands, her lying +tongue; then she is ready. Tragedy does nothing hastily; she graduates +her victim. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington stumbled rather than walked home. When he reached the +opposite curb he slipped and fell, bruising his hands. ... Deny it? +Deny it when convicted without trial? There are never any proofs to +refute a letter written by an unknown enemy. There is never any guard +against the stab in the back. ... He and Kate! It was monstrous. And +John? Did John know? Did John see that letter? No, Patty surely had +not shown it to John. He knew John (or he believed he did); not all +the proofs or explanations Heaven or earth could give would convince +John, if that letter fell into his hands. ... And he was to speak at a +mass meeting that night! God! He stumbled up the steps to the door. He +was like a drunken man. ... Patty believed it; Patty, just and +merciful, believed it. If she believed, what would John, the jealous +husband, believe? There were so many trifling things that now in +John's eyes would assume immense proportions. ... In less than half an +hour the world had stopped, turned about, and gone another way. He +opened the door. As he did so a woman rushed into the hall. +</P> + +<P> +"Richard, Richard, I thought you would never come!" +</P> + +<P> +"You, and in this house alone?" His shoulders drooped. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Jack did not observe how white he was, how dull his eye, how +abject his whole attitude. She caught him by the sleeve and dragged +him into the living-room. +</P> + +<P> +"Richard, I am dying!" she cried. She loosened the collaret at her +throat. "What shall I do, what shall I do?" +</P> + +<P> +He realized then that he was not alone in misery. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it, girl?" stirring himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Listen, Dick!" She dropped into the old name unconsciously. She had +but one clear thought; this man could save her. "Some time ago—the +night you and John went down town together—I received a telephone +call from that vile wretch, McQuade." +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade?" Warrington's interest was thoroughly aroused by that name; +nothing else could have aroused it. +</P> + +<P> +"He said that if I did not persuade you to withdraw your name before +the convention met he would not oppose the publication of a certain +story concerning my past and yours. Horrible! What could I do? I +remained silent; it was Patty's advice. We were afraid that John would +kill McQuade if we told him." She let go of his arm and paced the +room, beating her hands together. "Think of the terror I have lived in +all these weeks! Half dead every evening when John came home; not +daring to read the papers; afraid of calling on my few friends! I have +never, in all my life, done an evil action, either in thought or deed. +What terrible gift is this that God gives to some people to make truth +half a truth and half a truth a lie? Read this!" +</P> + +<P> +It was a half-sheet of ordinary office paper, written on a typewriter. +Its purport was similar to the one he had read but a few minutes +since. Only it was bolder; there were no protestations about anybody's +welfare. It was addressed to John Bennington. +</P> + +<P> +"Great God! another anonymous letter! Do you know who sent this?" +</P> + +<P> +"I can think of no one but McQuade; no one!" frantically. "Save me, +Richard! I love him better than God, and this is my punishment. If +John sees this, I shall die; if he doesn't kill me I shall kill +myself! I opened it by mistake. I am so miserable. What has happened? +What have I done that this curse should fall on me? When I came to +this city I expected to find rest in the house of the man I loved. ... +Patty does not come over. ... What have I not suffered in silence and +with smiles? I have seen them whispering; I have seen covert smiles, +and nods, and shrugs. I knew. I was an actress. It seems that nothing +too bad or vile can be thought of her who honestly throws her soul +into the greatest gift given to woman. An actress! They speak of her +in the same tone they would use regarding a creature of the streets. +Well, because I loved my husband I have said nothing; I have let the +poison eat into my heart in silence. But this goes too far. I shall go +mad if this thing can not be settled here and now. It is both my love +and my honor. And you must do it, Richard; you must do it." +</P> + +<P> +"You say McQuade called you up by telephone?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +He struck his forehead. The carbon sheet! He ran to his desk, pulled +out all the drawers, tumbling the papers about till he found what he +sought. From the letter to the faint imprint on the carbon sheet and +back to the letter his eyes moved, searching, scrutinizing. +</P> + +<P> +"Look!" with a cry of triumph. +</P> + +<P> +"What is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Do you see that mutilated letter T?" He indicated with his finger on +the dim carbon sheet. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes!" +</P> + +<P> +"Compare it with the letter T in this note." +</P> + +<P> +She did so, her hands shaking pitifully. "I can't see, Richard." +</P> + +<P> +"That carbon sheet came from McQuade's office; so did that letter to +John. And now, by the Lord! now to pull out Mr. McQuade's fangs, and +slowly, too." He pocketed the two sheets. "Come!" His hat was still on +his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Where, Richard?" +</P> + +<P> +"To John." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! John?" +</P> + +<P> +"To him. We can not settle this matter underground. We must fight in +the open, in the light. John must know. You must be brave, girl. This +is no time for timidity and tears. You know and I know that right and +truth are on our side. We'll risk it in a single throw." Upon +determining to act thus, he was acting as only a man acts who has a +wide and definite knowledge of men and affairs. "Come; the sooner it +is over the better. John may flare up a little, but he is a just man. +Let us go to John." +</P> + +<P> +She put forth many arguments, but to each he shook his head. The +thought of losing a particle of John's love terrified her, who was +ordinarily a courageous woman. +</P> + +<P> +"We are losing time," said Warrington. "When John reads these two +documents he will understand. He knows McQuade is base enough to seek +revenge this way. He will recognize it for its worth. But if John +finds out that we have left him out of our confidence, he will have +some good reason to doubt. Come." +</P> + +<P> +So she followed him, her heart like lead, no thought coherent, her +will without energy. This was to be the end of all her dreams. They +crossed the street without speaking. He helped her down this curb and +up that. All this excitement lessened his own pain temporarily. But +who had written to Patty, if not McQuade? He could block any future +move of McQuade's but this other anonymous writer, whom Patty declared +she knew? He went on doggedly. One battle at a time. Together they +entered the house, together they passed from room to room in search of +John. They came upon him reading in the library. He rose to greet +them. There was no beating about the bush for Warrington. He went +straight into the heart of things. +</P> + +<P> +"John, read this." +</P> + +<P> +John glanced at the sheet, and his face darkened. The look he shot his +wife was indescribable. She watched him, twisting and knotting and +untwisting her gloves. +</P> + +<P> +"When did this thing come?" asked John, a slight tremor in his tone. +</P> + +<P> +"This morning," Mrs. Jack answered, her voice choking. +</P> + +<P> +"Why did you not bring it to me?" he asked. "Why did you take it to +Dick? You and he should not come to me; on the contrary, you and I +should have gone to him. But never mind now. I have carried in my +pocket a letter similar to this for several weeks," simply. +</P> + +<P> +"Catch her, John!" cried Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no! I am not fainting. I am just dizzy." +</P> + +<P> +The poor woman groped her way to the lounge and lay down. Her +shoulders were shaking with noiseless sobs. +</P> + +<P> +John crossed the room and put his hand on her head. The touch was +tender. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Dick?" +</P> + +<P> +"It is easy to distort truth into a lie, John." +</P> + +<P> +"But it is very hard to reverse the order again." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you believe the lie?" Warrington looked his friend squarely in the +eyes. +</P> + +<P> +A minute passed. The ticking of the clock was audible. +</P> + +<P> +"Believe it? I have had to struggle, I have had to fight hard and all +alone. I do not say that I don't believe it. I say that I WILL not!" +</P> + +<P> +A truly noble soul always overawes us. This generosity struck +Warrington dumb. But the woman found life in the words. She flung +herself before her husband and clasped his knees with a nervous +strength that provoked a sharp cry from his lips. +</P> + +<P> +"John, John!" +</P> + +<P> +He stooped and unwound her arms, gently drawing her up, up, till her +head lay against his shoulder. Then she became a dead weight. She had +fainted. He lifted her up in his strong arms and started for the +stairs. +</P> + +<P> +"Were she guilty of all the crimes chronicled in hell, I still should +love her. But between you and me, Dick, things must be explained." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall wait for you, John." +</P> + +<P> +John was not gone long. When he returned he found Warrington by the +bow-window that looked out upon the lawn. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, Dick, the truth, and nothing but the truth. Don't be afraid of +me; I am master of myself." +</P> + +<P> +"I'm not afraid of you. There is half a truth in that letter," began +Warrington, facing about. "Your wife did stay a night in my +apartments." +</P> + +<P> +John made no sign. +</P> + +<P> +"It was the first week of a new play. I had to be at the theater every +night. There were many changes being made. Near midnight we started +out for a bite to eat. She had been suffering with attacks of +neuralgia of the heart. As we entered the carriage, one of these +attacks came on. We drove to her apartments. We could not get in. Her +maid was out, the janitor could not be found, and unfortunately she +had left her keys at the theater. In a moment like that I accepted the +first thing that came into my head: my own apartments. She was not +there a quarter of an hour before a trained nurse and her own +physician were at her side. I slept in a chair. At six the following +morning she left for her own apartments. And that, John, is the truth, +God's truth. I see now that I should have taken her to a hotel. You +know that there was a time when I was somewhat dissipated. It was easy +to take that incident and enlarge upon it. Now, let me tell you where +this base slander originated. Compare the letter you have with the one +I gave you." +</P> + +<P> +John complied. He nodded. These two letters had come from the same +typewriter. +</P> + +<P> +"Next?" +</P> + +<P> +"Here is another document." It was the carbon sheet. +</P> + +<P> +John spread the sheet against the window-pane. The light behind +brought out the letters distinctly. He scarcely reached the final line +when he spun round, his face mobile with eagerness. +</P> + +<P> +"Where did this come from?" +</P> + +<P> +"Indirectly, out of McQuade's waste-basket." +</P> + +<P> +"Morrissy and McQuade; both of them! Oh, you have done me a service, +Dick." +</P> + +<P> +"But it can not be used, John. That and the letters were written on +McQuade's typewriter. So much for my political dreams! With that +carbon sheet I could pile up a big majority; without it I shall be +defeated. But don't let that bother you." +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade!" John slowly extended his arms and closed his fingers so +tightly that his whole body trembled. An arm inside those fingers +would have snapped like a pipe-stem. "McQuade! Damn him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Take care!" warned the other. "Don't injure those letters. When my +name was suggested by Senator Henderson as a possible candidate, +McQuade at once set about to see how he could injure my chances. He +was afraid of me. An honest man, young, new in politics, and therefore +unattached, was a menace to the success of his party, that is to say, +his hold on the city government. Among his henchmen was a man named +Bolles." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" grimly. +</P> + +<P> +"He sent this man to New York to look up my past. In order to earn his +money he brought back this lie, which is half a truth. Whether McQuade +believes it or not is of no matter; it serves his purpose. Now, John!" +</P> + +<P> +John made no reply. With his hands (one still clutching the letters) +behind his back he walked the length of the room and returned. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you take my word, which you have always found loyal, or the word +of a man who has written himself down as a rascal, a briber, and a +blackleg?" +</P> + +<P> +John put out his empty hand and laid it on Warrington's shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"You're a good man, Dick. Dissipation is sometimes a crucible that +separates the gold from the baser metals. It has done that to you. You +are a good man, an honorable man. In coming to me like this you have +shown yourself to be courageous as well. There was a moment when the +sight of you filled my heart with murder. It was the night after I +received that letter. I've been watching you, watching, watching. +Well, I would stake my chance of eternity on your honesty. I take your +word; I should have taken it, had you nothing to prove your case. That +night I ran into Bolles. ... Well, he uttered a vile insult, and I all +but throttled him. Here's my hand, Dick." +</P> + +<P> +The hand-grip that followed drew a gasp from Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"Not every man would be so good about it, John. What shall we do about +McQuade?" +</P> + +<P> +"I was about to say that I shall see McQuade within an hour," in a +tone that did not promise well for McQuade. +</P> + +<P> +"Wait a day or two, John. If you meet him now, I believe you will do +him bodily harm, and he has caused enough trouble, God knows." +</P> + +<P> +"But not to meet him! Not to cram this paper down his vile throat! I +had not considered that sacrifice. And I can not touch him by law, +either." +</P> + +<P> +"But you can silence him effectually. This business will end right +here." +</P> + +<P> +"You are right," said John with reluctance. "If I met him in this +rage. I should probably kill him." +</P> + +<P> +"Let us go and pay him a visit together, John," Warrington suggested. +"I can manage to keep in between you." +</P> + +<P> +"That's better. We'll go together." And John went for his hat. Then he +ran up stairs quickly. There was a loving heart up there that ached, +and he alone could soothe it. +</P> + +<P> +And then the two men left the house. As they strode down the street, +side by side, step by step, their thoughts were as separate as the two +poles. To the one his wife was still his wife, in all the word +implied; to the other there was only a long stretch of years that he +must pass through alone, alone,—not even the man at his side would +ever be quite the same to him, nor his wife. There was a shadow; it +would always walk between them. +</P> + +<P> +"Remember, Dick, Patty must never know anything of this. Nothing must +come between her and my wife." +</P> + +<P> +"I shall say nothing to any one, John." Who had written to Patty? +</P> + +<P> +It took them a quarter of an hour to reach McQuade's office. +Unfortunately for that gentleman, he was still in his office and +alone. The new typewriter and the two clerks had gone. He was still +wondering why Osborne's niece had resigned so unexpectedly. Probably +she was going to get married. They always did when they had saved a +penny or two. He laughed. He had been careless now and then, but +whatever she might have picked up in the way of business or political +secrets could not profit her. Boss McQuade felt secure. Warrington was +as good as beaten. He had had his long-delayed revenge on the man who +had turned him out of doors. +</P> + +<P> +It was dark outside by this time, and he turned on the drop-light over +his desk. He heard the door open and shut, but this was not unusual; +so he went on with his writing. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what's wanted?" he called, folding his letter, but not yet +turning his head. +</P> + +<P> +As no one answered, he sent his chair around with a push of his foot. +He saw two men, but he did not recognize them at once. By and by his +eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Instantly he was on his feet, +pressing the button connecting the wall-lights. There was no possible +exit save by that door, and these two men stood between. To do McQuade +justice, he was not a physical coward. His huge bulk and hardened +muscles gave him a ready courage. He forced a smile to his lips. After +all, he had expected one or the other of them sooner or later. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, gentlemen, I am highly honored. What can I do for you?" There +was a pretense of amiability. +</P> + +<P> +"For the present," said Warrington, "you may sit down. We propose to +do so." He drew out a chair from under the office table and placed it +close to the door. "You sit there, John." For himself, he sat on the +corner of the table. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade did not hesitate, but reseated himself. His thoughts were not +particularly lucid, however. +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade, you're as fine a blackleg as ever graced a prison," said +Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll have to take your word for it," was the reply. "But how is it +that I see you and Mr. Bennington together?" evilly. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll come to that presently. I had always given you credit for being +as astute as you were underhanded and treacherous." +</P> + +<P> +"Thanks." McQuade took a cigar from his pocket and fumbled around in +his vest for a match. +</P> + +<P> +"But," Warrington added, "I am pained to reverse my opinion. You are a +fool as well as a blackleg." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you make that out?" coolly. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bolles? Ah, I begin to see. What do you want of him?" +</P> + +<P> +"We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion," dryly. +</P> + +<P> +Bolles? McQuade smiled. He was only too glad to accommodate them. If +they wanted Bolles they should have him. Bolles would cut them in two. +He reached for the telephone and began to call up the familiar haunts +of his henchman. He located him at length in Martin's saloon. There +was evidently some reluctance on the part of Bolles. +</P> + +<P> +"Bolles, if you are not at my office inside of ten minutes, I'll break +you, and you know what I mean." McQuade hung up the receiver. "He'll +be right over. Now, what's all this mystery about?" +</P> + +<P> +"It regards some literary compositions of yours to which I have taken +exception." +</P> + +<P> +"Compositions?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. Two anonymous letters. But before we discuss them we'll wait for +our friend Bolles." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade signified that this was agreeable to him. All the same, he +glanced uneasily at the man near the door. Bennington had not made the +slightest sound after taking his chair. His arms were folded across +his breast, which rose and fell with deep intakes. His face, in the +shadow, was no more readable than that of the miniature sphinx +paper-weight that rested on McQuade's desk. But Bolles was coming. So +they waited. The end of McQuade's cigar waxed and waned according to +his inhalations. These inhalations were not quickly made, as by a man +whose heart is beating with excitement; they were slow and regular, it +might be said, contemplative. John's gaze never left the end of that +cigar. +</P> + +<P> +The lights in the tall building opposite began to twinkle from window +to window. Warrington slipped off the table and pulled down the +curtains. McQuade knocked the ashes from his cigar, contemplated the +coal, and returned it to the corner of his mouth. +</P> + +<P> +Ah! The three men heard steps in the hall. The door to the outer +office opened and banged. But the man who squeezed past Bennington was +not Bolles. +</P> + +<P> +"Morrissy?" cried Warrington. "Fine! Have a chair, Mr. Morrissy, have +a chair." Warrington was delighted. +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy's glance, somewhat bewildered, traveled from face to face. On +entering he had seen only McQuade's tranquil visage. He sat down, +disturbed and mystified. +</P> + +<P> +"What's this?" Morrissy demanded to know. +</P> + +<P> +"Hanged if I know!" said McQuade. "These two gentlemen presented +themselves a few moments ago and requested me to send for Bolles. Have +a cigar." +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy took the proffered weed, but he did not light it. He turned +it round and round in his teeth and chewed it. Well, so long as the +boss did not seem alarmed, the trouble could not be serious. Yet he +was not over-confident of Bennington's lowering face. +</P> + +<P> +"Been a fine day," said Morrissy, at haphazard. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, but there's going to be a storm to-night." Warrington resumed +his position on the table. +</P> + +<P> +Conversation died. And then Bolles came in. At the sight of Bennington +he recoiled. +</P> + +<P> +"Come in, come in!" said McQuade. "Mr. Warrington will offer you a +chair," facetiously. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Bolles, sit down." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, gentlemen, here's a quorum;" and McQuade began to rock in his +chair. Three against two; that would do very well. +</P> + +<P> +"I will go at once at the matter in hand. Those letters, John." +Warrington held out his hand. "I'll read one to you, McQuade." He read +slowly and distinctly. +</P> + +<P> +"What the hell is this?" said Morrissy. +</P> + +<P> +"It's up to Mr. Warrington to explain." McQuade grinned. That grin, +however, nearly cost him his life. +</P> + +<P> +"John, remember your promise!" cried Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +John sat down, seized with a species of vertigo. +</P> + +<P> +"McQuade, you wrote that." +</P> + +<P> +"Me? You're crazy!" +</P> + +<P> +"Not at all. Let me advise you. The next time you put your hand to +anonymous letters, examine the type of your machine. There may be some +bad letter." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know what you're driving at," McQuade declared. +</P> + +<P> +"I see that I must read this, then, to convince you." Warrington stood +up, his back toward Bennington. He unfolded the carbon sheet and began +to read. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade saw Medusa's head, little versed as he was in mythology. He +lowered his cigar. The blood in his face gradually receded. +</P> + +<P> +"'In two sums of five hundred each,'" Warrington went on. +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy, who suddenly saw visions of bars and stripes, made a quick, +desperate spring. Warrington struck him with full force on the side of +the head. Morrissy reeled, stumbled to the floor and lay there. The +others were on their feet instantly. +</P> + +<P> +"Stay where you are, John; I don't need any assistance. Now, McQuade, +I've got you where I want you." Warrington spoke with deadly calm now. +"This carbon was found in your waste-basket and brought to me. The +girl is where you can not find her. There are two courses open to +you." +</P> + +<P> +"What are they?" There was murder in McQuade's heart, but there was +reason in his head. He saw exactly where he stood. They had him. +</P> + +<P> +"One is state's prison; the other is a full retraction of this base +calumny. Take your choice." +</P> + +<P> +"Bolles?" +</P> + +<P> +"It's true, every damn word of it," said Bolles venomously. "Your +janitor in New York told me the facts. You know they're true." +</P> + +<P> +"Bolles, I nearly killed you one night. So help me, if you do not +withdraw that, I'll kill you here and now!" It was the first time +Bennington had spoken. +</P> + +<P> +"Bolles," said McQuade, "did you sell a lie to me?" +</P> + +<P> +Bolles eyed Bennington, who had pushed Warrington out of the way and +was moving toward him. He saw death on Bennington's face. Warrington +again interposed, but John swept him aside with ease. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there was a doctor and a nurse there all night with them. But +she was in Warrington's rooms all night. That seemed enough for me." +Bolles put the table between him and Bennington. He was genuinely +afraid. +</P> + +<P> +Morrissy turned over and sat up, rubbing his head. Presently he pulled +himself to his feet. He was dazed. Recollection of what had happened +returned to him. This dude had knocked him out. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll pay well for that," he said. +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down. It's only a marker for what I'll do to you if you make +another move. Now, McQuade, which is it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Go ahead and write your letter," McQuade snarled. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington proceeded. +</P> + +<P> +"Now sign it," he said. "Here, John, take care of this carbon. Bolles, +your signature." Bolles scrawled a shaking hand. Warrington put the +paper in his pocket. "Bite, both of you now, if you dare." +</P> + +<P> +"I'll trouble you for that carbon," said McQuade. +</P> + +<P> +"Hardly. But you have my word of honor that it shall not be used +against you unless you force me. It will repose in my deposit box at +the bank. But as for you, Morrissy, this climate doesn't suit your +abilities. The field is too small. Take my advice and clear out. That +is all, gentlemen. Come, John." +</P> + +<P> +When they were gone Morrissy turned savagely upon McQuade. +</P> + +<P> +"I told you you were a damn fool!" +</P> + +<P> +"Get out of here, both of you; and if you ever stick your heads in +this office again, I'll smash you." +</P> + +<P> +McQuade dropped into his chair, once more alone. He sat there for an +hour, thinking, ruminating, planning; but all his thinking and +ruminating and planning had but one result: they had him licked. +Morrissy was right; he was a fool. The girl! He would have liked her +throat in his fingers that moment, the sneaking, treacherous baggage! +Licked! To go about hereafter with that always menacing him! But there +was one ray of consolation. He knew something about human nature. +Bennington and Warrington would drift apart after this. Bennington had +cleared up the scandal, but he hadn't purged his heart of all doubt. +There was some satisfaction in this knowledge. And Warrington would +never enter the City Hall as Herculaneum's mayor. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap20"></A> +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +Chapter XX +</H3> + +<P> +By November John and his wife were on the way to Italy. There is +always a second honeymoon for those who have just passed the first +matrimonial Scylla and Charybdis; there is always a new courtship, +deeper and more understanding. Neither of them had surrendered a +particle of their affection for Warrington, but they agreed that it +would be easier for all concerned if there came a separation of +several months. +</P> + +<P> +"You are all I have," said Warrington, when they bade him good-by. "I +shall be very lonely without you. If I lose the election I shall go to +Japan." +</P> + +<P> +"There's always Patty and the mother," said John, smiling. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, there's always Patty and her mother. Good-by, and God bless you +both. You deserve all the happiness I can wish for you." +</P> + +<P> +Warrington plunged into the campaign. It would keep him occupied. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Bennington and Patty lived as usual, to all outward appearance. +But Patty was rarely seen in society. She took her long rides in the +afternoon now, always alone, brooding. Her young friends wondered, +questioned, then drifted away gradually. Poor little Patty! No one had +told her; the viper had not been shaken from her nest. Day after day +she waited for the blow to fall, for the tide of scandal to roll over +her and obliterate her. She was worldly enough to know that Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was not the kind of woman to keep such a scandal +under lock and key; others must know, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's +particular friends. So she avoided the possibility of meeting these +friends by declining all invitations of a formal character. Perhaps +after a time it would die of its own accord, to be recalled in after +years by another generation, as such things generally are. Patty +derived no comfort from the paragraph in the Sunday papers announcing +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's departure for Egypt, to remain for the +winter. +</P> + +<P> +She kept in touch with all that Warrington did. The sense of shame she +had at first experienced in reading his speeches was gone. Her pride +no longer urged her to cast aside the paper, to read it, to fling it +into the flames. Sometimes she saw him on the way home from his +morning rides. It seemed to her that he did not sit as erectly as +formerly. Why should he? she asked herself bitterly. When the heart is +heavy it needs a confidante, but Patty, brave and loyal, denied +herself the luxury of her mother's arms. Tell her this frightful +story? Bow that proud, handsome head? No. +</P> + +<P> +"It is very strange," mused her mother, one evening, "that Mr. +Warrington calls no more. I rather miss his cheerfulness, and John +thinks so much of him." +</P> + +<P> +Patty shivered. "He is very busy, mother. Election is only three days +off, and doubtless he hasn't a minute to call his own." +</P> + +<P> +Nor had he. Pulled this way and that, speaking every night, from one +end of the city to the other, he went over the same ground again and +again, with the same noise, the same fumes of tobacco and whisky and +kerosene, with his heart no longer behind his will. Yes, Warrington +was very busy. He was very unhappy, too. What did he care about the +making up of the slate? What was it to him that this man or that +wanted this or that berth? What were all these things? But he hid his +dissatisfaction admirably. His speeches lacked nothing. +</P> + +<P> +Election day came round finally, and a rare and beautiful day it was. +The ghost of summer had returned to view her past victories. A west +wind had cleared the skies, the sun shone warm and grateful, the +golden leaves shivered and fluttered to the ground. Nature had lent a +hand to bring voting humanity to the polls. Some men are such good +citizens that they will vote in the rain. But warmth and sunshine +bring out the lazy, the indifferent, and the uninterested. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington voted early in the morning, rode to the Country Club, made +an attempt to play golf over the partly frozen course, lounged round +till three in the afternoon, and then returned to town. There was not +a flutter in his heart. There was this truth, however, staring him in +the eyes: if he lost, he would become an indifferent citizen; if he +won, an in different mayor. He was not a man to falsify his accounts +for the inspection of his conscience. +</P> + +<P> +The voting was heavy throughout the day. Crowds lingered round the +polls, which, in greater part, were in the rear of shops, in barns and +sheds. There was a good deal of repeating in some of the districts, +and a dozen arrests had been made. Neither party was free from this +taint of dishonest politics. But no one could prophesy what the final +results of the day would be. +</P> + +<P> +Night came. It is the greatest spectacular night the American knows. +The noisy, good-natured crowds in the streets, the jostling, +snail-moving crowds; the illuminated canvas-sheets in front of the +newspaper offices; the blare of tin horns, the cries, the yells, the +hoots and hurrahs; the petty street fights; the stalled surface cars; +the swearing cabbies; the newsboys hawking their latest extras, men +carrying execrable posters of roosters. Hurrah! hurrah! A flash goes +over the canvas. +</P> + +<PRE> + In the 4th District + Donnelly 608 + Warrington. 302 +</PRE> + +<P> +A roar that rose and died suddenly, and a wailing of tin horns. +</P> + +<BR> + +<PRE> + In Seven Districts + Warrington 1,262 + Donnelly 1,196 +</PRE> + +<BR> + +<P> +Roars. It was, going to be close. Between times local advertisers used +the sheets, or there were pictures of presidents past and present, +crowned heads (always greeted with jeers), funny pictures, or returns +from other states. +</P> + +<BR> + +<PRE> + In Nine Districts + Donnelly 1,821 + Warrington 1,800 +</PRE> + +<BR> + +<P> +The crowds surged and billowed, and there was pandemonium. +</P> + +<P> +The newspaper offices were having a busy time. This period proves the +man; he is a newspaper man or he is not. There was a continuous coming +and going of messengers, bringing in returns. The reporters and +editors were in their shirt-sleeves, most of them collarless. Figures, +figures, thousands of figures to sift and resift. A fire-bell rings. +No one looks up save the fire reporter, and he is up and away at once. +Filtering through the various noises is the maddening rattle of the +telegraph instruments. Great drifts of waste-paper litter the floors. +A sandwich man serves coffee and cigars, and there is an occasional +bottle of beer. Everybody is writing, writing. +</P> + +<P> +McQuade and his cohorts haunted the city room of the Times. Things did +not look well at all. There were twelve more districts to hear from. +Donnelly seemed to be the coolest man in that office. +</P> + +<P> +Warrington started home at nine. Up to this time he had been +indifferent, but it was impossible not to catch the spirit of this +night. Win or lose, however, he wanted to be alone. So he went home, +lighted the fire in his working-room, called his dog, and sat there +dreaming. +</P> + +<P> +Down town the clamor was increasing. The great throngs round the +bulletins were gathering in force. Bonfires were flaring on corners. +</P> + +<BR> + +<PRE> + In 15 Districts + Warrington 9,782 + Donnelly 9,036 +</PRE> + +<BR> + +<P> +Close, terribly close. But those districts upon which the fight really +depended had not yet turned up. The big labor vote had not been +accounted for. +</P> + +<P> +The Call had notified its readers that when the returns were all in +and the battle decided, it would blow a whistle. If Warrington was +elected, five blasts; if Donnelly, ten. +</P> + +<P> +So Warrington waited, sunk in his chair, his legs sprawled, his chin +on his breast, and his eyes drawing phantoms in the burning wood fire. +... It was cruel that Patty could not know; and yet to leave John with +the belief that his sister knew nothing was a kindness, and only John +could convince Patty; and it was even a greater kindness to leave +Patty with the belief that John knew nothing. So there he stood; +friendship on the one side and love on the other. He recalled all the +charming ways Patty had, the color of her hair, the light music of her +laughter, the dancing shadows in her eyes, the transparent skin, the +springy step, and the vigor and life that were hers. And he had lost +her, not through any direct fault, but because he was known to have +been dissipated at one time; a shadow that would always be crossing +and recrossing his path. So long as he lived he would carry that +letter of hers, with its frank, girlish admiration. +</P> + +<P> +So, he mused, those dissipations of his, which, after all, had touched +him but lightly—these had, like chickens, come home to roost! And how +these chickens had multiplied and grown! On the way home it seemed +that everybody had striven to fatten them up a bit and add +surreptitiously a chicken or two of his own. Oh, these meddlers, these +idle tongues! None of them would set to work to wrong anybody, to +wreck anybody's life. They would shrink in horror from the thought, +let alone the deed. Yet, they must talk, they must exchange the day's +news, they must have news that no one else had; and this competition +is the cause of half the misery on earth. What if they exaggerate a +little here and a little there? No harm is meant. Human nature, having +found its speech, must have something to talk about; that which it has +neither seen nor heard, it invents. +</P> + +<P> +Who had written that letter to Patty? Some woman; man had not yet +acquired such finished cruelty. He could not understand its purpose, +well as he understood women. Who could possibly hate Patty, honest and +loyal as the day is long? McQuade's letters had their existence in +revenge. Patty had wronged no one; McQuade had. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, Jove, old man, you and I may have to pack up on the morrow. If +we are licked, you and I'll go to Japan. That's a country we've always +been wanting to see." +</P> + +<P> +Jove lifted his head, somewhat scarred, and gazed up at his master +with steadfast love in his red-brown eyes. A dog is better than a +horse, a horse is better than a cat, a cat is better than nothing. ... +Warrington sat up quickly, drawing in his legs. A whistle! He caught +his breath and counted. One—two—three—four—five—SIX! ... +Donnelly! He counted no more. Donnelly had won. +</P> + +<P> +His valet found him asleep in the chair the next morning, before a +dead fire. It was cold in the room. The valet touched him, but +Warrington did not move. It was only when he was roughly shaken that +he opened his eyes. A single glance explained the situation. He jumped +to his feet, rubbing his eyes. +</P> + +<P> +"Will you have the morning papers, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"What's the use?" Warrington shrugged indifferently. +</P> + +<P> +"The majority was only six hundred and eighty-two, sir." +</P> + +<P> +"Then we had them mightily scared for a time. Odd that the 'phone did +not wake me up." +</P> + +<P> +"I took it off the hook, sir, at midnight. I knew it would disturb +you." +</P> + +<P> +"Go down town and bring me up the sailing-lists and a few cabin-plans +for ships bound for Japan. I intend to start for that country just as +soon as I can dispose of the horses." +</P> + +<P> +"Shall you need me, sir?" +</P> + +<P> +"I couldn't get along without you, James." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you, sir. Breakfast is served, sir, if you wish it." +</P> + +<P> +The telephone rang. The valet raised his eyebrows inquiringly. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll answer it," said Warrington. "Who is it? Jordan? Oh! You can say +that I put up the best fight I knew how. ... No. Say nothing about the +influence of the strike. Let it stand as it is. ... My plans? You may +say that I shall sail in a few days for Japan. ... Oh, yes! This is my +home. I shall return in the spring. Change of scene, that's all. +Good-by." +</P> + +<P> +The defeated candidate ate a respectable breakfast, after which he put +his affairs in order. Trunks were brought down from the store-room, +and cases and steamer-rolls. Warrington always traveled comfortably. +He left the packing in charge of the valet. +</P> + +<P> +A ten-o'clock edition of the Telegraph was being hawked outside, but +Warrington had seen all he wanted of newspapers. By noon he had found +a purchaser for his stable. The old housekeeper and her husband were +to remain in care of the house. They were the only beings that loved +him, now that the aunt was gone. Heigh-ho! +</P> + +<P> +He declined lunch. He answered no more calls on the telephone. When +Senator Henderson called the interview was pleasant but short. +</P> + +<P> +"We'll try you again," said the senator genially. +</P> + +<P> +"I'll think it over," replied Warrington. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll win next time; you'll be stronger two years hence. You made a +great fight. Bennington lost the fight for you. If he hadn't been your +friend—" +</P> + +<P> +"I had rather have John Bennington my friend than be president," +laughing. +</P> + +<P> +"There were six thousand-odd labor votes against you, and yet +Donnelly's majority was only six hundred and eighty-two. Hope you'll +enjoy your trip to Japan. But McQuade's back again!" discouraged. +</P> + +<P> +"Senator, if he acts nasty in any way, go to him personally and tell +him that upon application at the bank you will open my deposit box. +He'll understand; he'll be as docile as a lamb. And thank all the boys +for their good work. I appreciate the honor that has been done me. To +have been a candidate is something." +</P> + +<P> +By three o'clock Warrington found time to sit down at his desk to +write three letters. One was addressed to McQuade, another to John, +Hotel de la Syrene, Sorrento, Italy. The third he began after some +deliberation: +</P> + +<P> +Patty: Presently I shall be on the way to Japan. I was going without a +word because I had given a promise to your brother John. But it is not +within human nature, at least mine, to leave without telling you again +that I love you better than life, and that I am innocent of the wrong +you were so ready to believe. Some day ask John; tell him that I have +broken my word; he will tell you how truth was made a lie. I realize +now that I ought to have stood my ground. I ought to have nailed the +lie then. But my proofs were not such as would do away with all +doubts. And besides, when I saw that you had believed without giving +me the benefit of a doubt, I was angry. And so I left you, refusing to +speak one way or the other. John will tell you. And if my cause is +still in your thought and you care to write, mail your letter to my +bankers. They will forward it. And if I should have the happiness to +be wanted, even if I am at the ends of the world, I shall come to you. +</P> + +<P> +He did not sign it, but he read it over carefully. There was nothing +to cut, nothing to add. He folded it, then laid his head on his +extended arms. A door opened and closed, but his ear was dull. Then +everything became still. Scientists have not yet fully explained what +it is that discovers to us a presence in the room, a presence that we +have neither seen nor heard enter. So it was with Warrington. There +was no train of collected thought in his mind, nothing but stray +snatches of this day and of that the picture of a smile, a turn in the +road, the sound of a voice. And all at once he became conscious that +something was compelling him to raise his head. He did so slowly. +</P> + +<P> +A woman was standing within a dozen feet of the desk. +</P> + +<P> +"Patty!" he cried, leaping to his feet bewildered. +</P> + +<P> +Patty did not move. Alas, she had left all her great bravery at the +threshold. What would he think of her? +</P> + +<P> +"Patty!" he repeated. "You are here?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." All the blood in her body seemed to congest in her throat. +"Are—is it true that you are going to Japan?" If he came a step +nearer she was positive that she would fall. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, Patty; it is as true as I love you. But let us not speak of +that," sadly. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes! Let us speak of it!" a wild despair in her voice and +gesture. "Let us speak of it, since I do nothing but think of it, +think of it, think of it! Oh! I am utterly shameless, but I can not +fight any longer. I have no longer any pride. I should despise you, +but I do not. I should hate you, but I can not ... No, no! Stay where +you are." +</P> + +<P> +"Patty, do you love me?" There was a note in his voice as vibrant as +the second string of a cello. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you still believe that I am a blackguard?" +</P> + +<P> +"I care not what you are or what you have been; nothing, nothing. It +is only what you have been to me and what you still are. Something is +wrong; something is terribly wrong; I know not what it is. Surely God +would not let me love you as I do if you were not worthy." +</P> + +<P> +"No," he replied gravely; "God would not do that." +</P> + +<P> +The tears rolled down Patty's cheeks, but there was no sound. +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Patty; read this letter which I was about to send you." +</P> + +<P> +She accepted it dumbly. Then, through her tears there came wonder and +joy and sunshine. When she had done, he held out his hand for the +letter; but she smiled and shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"No, Richard; this is my first love-letter." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<P CLASS="finis"> +The End +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Half a Rogue, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALF A ROGUE *** + +***** This file should be named 4790-h.htm or 4790-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/9/4790/ + +Produced by Duncan Harrod. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Half a Rogue + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Posting Date: September 11, 2009 [EBook #4790] +Release Date: December, 2003 +First Posted: March 20, 2002 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALF A ROGUE *** + + + + +Produced by Duncan Harrod. HTML version by Al Haines. + + + + + + + + + +Half A Rogue + + +By + +Harold MacGrath + + + + +To The Memory Of My Mother + + + + +Half A Rogue + + + + +Chapter I + + +It was Warrington's invariable habit--when no business or social +engagement pressed him to go elsewhere--to drop into a certain quaint +little restaurant just off Broadway for his dinners. It was out of the +way; the throb and rattle of the great commercial artery became like +the far-off murmur of the sea, restful rather than annoying. He always +made it a point to dine alone, undisturbed. The proprietor nor his +silent-footed waiters had the slightest idea who Warrington was. To +them he was simply a profitable customer who signified that he dined +there in order to be alone. His table was up stairs. Below, there was +always the usual dinner crowd till theater time; and the music had the +faculty of luring his thoughts astray, being, as he was, fonder of +music than of work. As a matter of fact, it was in this little +restaurant that he winnowed the day's ideas, revamped scenes, trimmed +the rough edges of his climaxes, revised this epigram or rejected this +or that line; all on the backs of envelopes and on the margins of +newspapers. In his den at his bachelor apartments, he worked; but here +he dreamed, usually behind the soothing, opalescent veil of Madame +Nicotine. + +What a marvelous thing a good after-dinner cigar is! In the smoke of +it the poor man sees his ships come in, the poet sees his muse +beckoning with hands full of largess, the millionaire reverts to his +early struggles, and the lover sees his divinity in a thousand +graceful poses. + +To-night, however, Warrington's cigar was without magic. He was out of +sorts. Things had gone wrong at the rehearsal that morning. The star +had demanded the removal of certain lines which gave the leading man +an opportunity to shine in the climax of the third act. He had labored +a whole month over this climax, and he revolted at the thought of +changing it to suit the whim of a capricious woman. + +Everybody had agreed that this climax was the best the young dramatist +had yet constructed. A critic who had been invited to a reading had +declared that it lacked little of being great. And at this late hour +the star wanted it changed in order to bring her alone in the +lime-light! It was preposterous. As Warrington was on the first wave +of popularity, the business manager and the stage manager both agreed +to leave the matter wholly in the dramatist's hands. He resolutely +declined to make a single alteration in the scene. There was a fine +storm. The star declared that if the change was not made at once she +would leave the company. In making this declaration she knew her +strength. Her husband was rich; a contract was nothing to her. There +was not another actress of her ability to be found; the season was too +late. There was not another woman available, nor would any other +manager lend one. As the opening performance was but two weeks hence, +you will realize why Warrington's mood this night was anything but +amiable. + +He scowled at his cigar. There was always something, some sacrifice to +make, and seldom for art's sake. It is all very well to witness a play +from the other side of the footlights; everything appears to work out +so smoothly, easily and without effort. To this phenomenon is due the +amateur dramatist--because it looks simple. A play is not written; it +is built, like a house. In most cases the dramatist is simply the +architect. The novelist has comparatively an easy road to travel. The +dramatist is beset from all sides, now the business manager--that is +to say, the box-office--now the stage manager, now the star, now the +leading man or woman. Jealousy's green eyes peer from behind every +scene. The dramatist's ideal, when finally presented to the public, +resembles those mutilated marbles that decorate the museums of Rome +and Naples. Only there is this difference: the public can easily +imagine what the sculptor was about, but seldom the dramatist. + +Warrington was a young man, tolerably good-looking, noticeably well +set up. When they have good features, a cleft chin and a generous +nose, clean-shaven men are good to look at. He had fine eyes, in the +corners of which always lurked mirth and mischief; for he possessed +above all things an inexhaustible fund of dry humor. His lines seldom +provoked rough laughter; rather, silent chuckles. + +Warrington's scowl abated none. In business, women were generally +nuisances; they were always taking impossible stands. He would find +some way out; he was determined not to submit to the imperious fancies +of an actress, however famous she might be. + +"Sir, will you aid a lady in distress?" The voice was tremulous, but +as rich in tone as the diapason of an organ. + +Warrington looked up from his cigar to behold a handsome young woman +standing at the side of his table. Her round, smooth cheeks were +flushed, and on the lower lids of her splendid dark eyes tears of +shame trembled and threatened to fall. Behind her stood a waiter, of +impassive countenance, who was adding up the figures on a check, his +movement full of suggestion. + +The dramatist understood the situation at once. The young lady had +ordered dinner, and, having eaten it, found that she could not pay for +it. It was, to say the least, a trite situation. But what can a man do +when a pretty woman approaches him and pleads for assistance? So +Warrington rose. + +"What may the trouble be?" he asked coldly, for all that he instantly +recognized her to be a person of breeding and refinement. + +"I--I have lost my purse, and I have no money to pay the waiter." She +made this confession bravely and frankly. + +He looked about. They were alone. She interpreted his glance rather +shrewdly. + +"There were no women to appeal to. The waiter refused to accept my +word, and I really can't blame him. I had not even the money to send a +messenger home." + +One of the trembling tears escaped and rolled down the blooming cheek. +Warrington surrendered. He saw that this was an exceptional case. The +girl was truly in distress. He knew his New York thoroughly; a man or +woman without funds is treated with the finished cruelty with which +the jovial Romans amused themselves with the Christians. Lack of money +in one person creates incredulity in another. A penniless person is +invariably a liar and a thief. Only one sort of person is pitied in +New York: the person who has more money than she or he can possibly +spend. + +The girl fumbled in her hand-bag and produced a card, which she gave +to Warrington--"Katherine Challoner." He looked from the card to the +girl and then back to the card. Somehow, the name was not wholly +unfamiliar, but at that moment he could not place it. + +"Waiter, let me see the check," he said. It amounted to two dollars +and ten cents. Warrington smiled. "Scarcely large enough to cause all +this trouble," he added reassuringly. "I will attend to it." + +The waiter bowed and withdrew. So long as the check was paid he did +not care who paid it. + +"Oh, it is so horribly embarrassing! What must you think of me?" She +twisted her gloves with a nervous strength which threatened to rend +them. + +"May I give you a bit of friendly advice?" he asked. + +She nodded, hiding the fall of the second tear. + +"Well, never dine alone in public; at any rate, in the evening. It is +not wise for a woman to do so. She subjects herself to any number of +embarrassments." + +She did not reply, and for a moment he believed that she was about to +break down completely. He aimlessly brushed the cigar ashes from the +tablecloth. He hated a scene in public. In the theater it was +different; it was a part of the petty round of business to have the +leading lady burst into tears when things didn't suit her. What fools +women are in general! But the girl surprised him by holding up +determinedly, and sinking her white teeth into her lips to smother the +sob which rose in her throat. + +"Be seated," he said, drawing out the opposite chair. + +A wave of alarm spread over her face. She clasped her hands. + +"Sir, if you are a gentleman--" + +Warrington interrupted her by giving her his card, which was +addressed. She glanced at it through a blur of tears, then sat down. +He shrugged his shoulders slightly; his vanity was touched. There was, +then, a young woman in New York who had not heard of Richard +Warrington. + +"In asking you to be seated," he explained, "it was in order that you +might wait in comfort while I despatched a messenger to your home. +Doubtless you have a brother, a father, or some male relative, who +will come at once to your assistance." Which proved that Warrington +was prudent. + +But instead of brightening as he expected she would, she straightened +in her chair, while her eyes widened with horror, as if she saw +something frightful in perspective. + +What the deuce could be the matter now? he wondered, as he witnessed +this inexplicable change. + +"No, no! You must not send a messenger!" she protested. + +"But--" + +"No, no!" tears welling into her beautiful eyes again. They were +beautiful, he was forced to admit. + +"But," he persisted, "you wished the waiter to do so. I do not +understand." His tone became formal again. + +"I have reasons. Oh, heavens! I am the most miserable woman in all the +world!" She suddenly bowed her head upon her hands and her shoulders +rose and fell with silent sobs. + +Warrington stared at her, dumfounded. NOW what? He glanced cautiously +around as if in search of some avenue of escape. The waiter, ever +watchful, assumed that he was wanted, and made as though to approach +the table; but Warrington warned him off. All distrust in the girl +vanished. Decidedly she was in great trouble of some sort, and it +wasn't because she could not pay a restaurant check. Women--and +especially New York women--do not shed tears when a stranger offers to +settle for their dinner checks. + +"If you will kindly explain to me what the trouble is," visibly +embarrassed, "perhaps I can help you. Have you run away from home?" +he asked. + +A negative nod. + +"Are you married?" + +Another negative nod. + +Warrington scratched his chin. "Have you done anything wrong?" + +A decided negative shake of the head. At any other time the +gesticulation of the ostrich plume, so close to his face, would have +amused him; but there was something eminently pathetic in the diapasm +which drifted toward him from the feather. + +"Come, come; you may trust me thoroughly. If you are afraid to return +home alone--" + +He was interrupted by an affirmative nod this time. Possibly, he +conjectured, the girl had started out to elope and had fortunately +paused at the brink. + +"Will it help you at all if I go home with you?" he asked. + +His ear caught a muffled "Yes." + +Warrington beckoned to the waiter. + +"Order a cab at once," he said. + +The waiter hurried away, with visions of handsome tips. + +Presently the girl raised her head and sat up. Her eyes, dark as +shadows in still waters, glistened. + +"Be perfectly frank with me; and if I can be of service to you, do not +hesitate to command me." He eyed her thoughtfully. Everything attached +to her person suggested elegance. Her skin was as fine as vellum; her +hair had a dash of golden bronze in it; her hands were white and +shapely, and the horn on the tips of the fingers shone rosily. Now, +what in the world was there to trouble a young woman who possessed +these favors, who wore jewels on her fingers and sable on her +shoulders? "Talk to me just as you would to a brother," he added +presently. + +"You will take this ring," she said irrelevantly. She slipped a fine +sapphire from one of her fingers and pushed it across the table. + +"And for what reason?" he cried. + +"Security for my dinner. I can not accept charity," with a hint of +hauteur which did not in the least displease him. + +"But, my dear young woman, I can not accept this ring. You have my +address. You may send the sum whenever you please. I see no reason +why, as soon as you arrive home, you can not refund the small sum of +two dollars and ten cents. It appears to me very simple." + +"There will be no one at home, not even the servants," wearily. + +Warrington's brows came together. Was the girl fooling him, after all? +But for what reason? + +"You have me confused," he admitted. "I can do nothing blindly. Tell +me what the trouble is." + +"How can I tell you, an absolute stranger? It is all so frightful, and +I am so young!" + +Frightful? Young? He picked up his half-finished cigar, but +immediately let it fall. He stole a look at his watch; it was seven. + +"Oh, I know what you must think of me," despairingly. "Nobody believes +in another's real misfortune in this horrid city. There are so many +fraudulent methods used to obtain people's sympathies that every one +has lost trust. I had no money when I entered here; but outside it was +so dark. Whenever I stopped, wondering where I should go, men turned +and stared at me. Once a policeman peered into my face suspiciously. +And I dared not return home, I dared not! No, no; I promise not to +embarrass you with any more tears." She brushed her eyes with a rapid +movement. + +Warrington's success as a dramatist was due largely to his interest in +all things that passed under his notice. Nothing was too trivial to +observe. The tragic threads of human life, which escaped the eyes of +the passing many or were ignored by them, always aroused his interest +and attention; and more than once he had picked up one of these +threads and followed it to the end. Out of these seemingly +insignificant things he often built one of those breathless, +nerve-gripping climaxes which had, in a few years' time, made him +famous. In the present case he believed that he had stumbled upon +something worthy his investigation. This handsome young woman, richly +dressed, who dared not go home, who had jewels but no money--there +was some mystery surrounding her, and he determined to find out what +it was. And then, besides, for all that he was worldly, he was young +and still believed in his Keats. + +"If, as you say, there is no one at your home, why do you fear to go +there?" he asked, with some remnant of caution. + +"It is the horror of the place," shuddering; "the horror!" And indeed, +at that moment, her face expressed horror. + +"Is it some one dead?" lowering his voice. + +"Dead?" with a flash of cold anger in her eyes. "Yes--to me, to truth, +to honor; dead to everything that should make life worth the living. +Oh, it is impossible to say more in this place, to tell you here what +has happened this day to rob me of all my tender illusions. This +morning I awoke happy, my heart was light; now, nothing but shame and +misery!" She hid her eyes for a space behind the back of her hand. + +"I will take you home," he said simply. + +"You trust me?" + +"Why not? I am a man, and can take care of myself." + +"Thank you!" + +What a voice! It possessed a marvelous quality, low and penetrating, +like the voices of great singers and actresses. Any woman with such a +voice ... + +Here the waiter returned to announce that a cab awaited them in the +street below. Warrington paid the two checks, dropped a liberal tip, +rose and got into his coat. The girl also rose, picked up his card, +glanced carelessly at it, and put it into her hand-bag--a little +gold-link affair worth many dinners. It was the voice and these +evidences of wealth, more than anything else, that determined +Warrington. Frauds were always perpetrated for money, and this +exquisite creature had a small fortune on her fingers. + +Silently they left the restaurant, entered the cab, and went rolling +out into Broadway. Warrington, repressing his curiosity, leaned back +against the cushions. The girl looked dully ahead. + +What manner of tragedy was about to unfold itself to his gaze? + +The house was situated in Central Park, West. It was of modern +architecture, a residence such as only rich men can afford to build. +It was in utter gloom; not a single light could be seen at any window. +It looked, indeed, as if tragedy sat enthroned within. Warrington's +spine wrinkled a bit as he got out of the cab and offered his hand to +the girl. + +Mute and mysterious as a sphinx, the girl walked to the steps, not +even looking around to see if he was coming after her. Perhaps she +knew the power of curiosity. Without hesitance she mounted the steps; +he followed, a step behind. At the door, however, she paused. He could +hear her breath coming in quick gasps. Oddly enough, the recollection +of some detective stories flashed through his mind. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Nothing, nothing; only I am afraid." + +She stooped; there was a grating sound, a click, and the door opened. +Warrington was a man of courage, but he afterward confessed that it +took all his nerve force to move his foot across the threshold. + +"Do not be frightened," she said calmly; "there is nothing but ghosts +here to frighten any one." + +"Ghosts?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you brought me here to tell me a ghost story?" with an effort at +lightness. What misery the girl's tones conveyed to his ears! + +"The ghosts of things that ought to, and should, have been; are not +those the most melancholy?" She pressed a button and flooded the +hallway with light. + +His keen eyes roving met nothing but signs of luxury. She led him into +the library and turned on the lights. Not a servant anywhere in sight; +the great house seemed absolutely empty. Not even the usual cat or dog +came romping inquisitively into the room. The shelves of books stirred +his sense of envy; what a den for a literary man to wander in! There +were beautiful marbles, splendid paintings, taste and refinement +visible everywhere. + +Warrington stood silently watching the girl as she took off her hat +and carelessly tossed it on the reading-table. The Russian sables were +treated with like indifference. The natural abundance of her hair +amazed him; and what a figure, so elegant, rounded, and mature! The +girl, without noticing him, walked the length of the room and back +several times. Once or twice she made a gesture. It was not addressed +to him, but to some conflict going on in her mind. + +He sat down on the edge of a chair and fell to twirling his hat, a +sign that he was not perfectly at his ease. + +"I am wondering where I shall begin," she said. + +Warrington turned down his coat-collar, and the action seemed to +relieve him of the sense of awkwardness. + +"Luxury!" she began, with a sweep of her hand which was full of +majesty and despair. "Why have I chosen you out of all the thousands? +Why should I believe that my story would interest you? Well, little as +I have seen of the world, I have learned that woman does not go to +woman in cases such as mine is." And then pathetically: "I know no +woman to whom I might go. Women are like daws; their sympathy comes +but to peck. Do you know what it is to be alone in a city? The desert +is not loneliness; it is only solitude. True loneliness is to be found +only in great communities. To be without a single friend or confidant, +when thousand of beings move about you; to pour your sorrows into +cold, unfeeling ears; to seek sympathy in blind eyes--that is +loneliness. That is the loneliness that causes the heart to break." + +Warrington's eyes never left hers; he was fascinated. + +"Luxury!" she repeated bitterly. "Surrounding me with all a woman +might desire--paintings that charm the eye, books that charm the mind, +music that charms the ear. Money!" + +"Philosophy in a girl!" thought Warrington. His hat became motionless. + +"It is all a lie, a lie!" The girl struck her hands together, impotent +in her wrath. + +It was done so naturally that Warrington, always the dramatist, made a +mental note of the gesture. + +"I was educated in Paris and Berlin; my musical education was +completed in Dresden. Like all young girls with music-loving souls, I +was something of a poet. I saw the beautiful in everything; sometimes +the beauty existed only in my imagination. I dreamed; I was happy. I +was told that I possessed a voice such as is given to few. I sang +before the Emperor of Austria at a private musicale. He complimented +me. The future was bright indeed. Think of it; at twenty I retained +all my illusions! I am now twenty-three, and not a single illusion is +left. I saw but little of my father and mother, which is not unusual +with children of wealthy parents. The first shock that came to my +knowledge was the news that my mother had ceased to live with my +father. I was recalled. There were no explanations. My father met me +at the boat. He greeted my effusive caresses--caresses that I had +saved for years!--with careless indifference. This was the second +shock. What did it all mean? Where was my mother? My father did not +reply. When I reached home I found that all the servants I had known +in my childhood days were gone. From the new ones I knew that I should +learn nothing of the mystery which, like a pall, had suddenly settled +down upon me." + +She paused, her arms hanging listless at her sides, her gaze riveted +upon a pattern in the rug at her feet. Warrington sat like a man of +stone; her voice had cast a spell upon him. + +"I do not know why I tell you these things. It may weary you. I do not +care. Madness lay in silence. I had to tell some one. This morning I +found out all. My mother left my father because he was ... a thief!" + +"A thief!" fell mechanically from Warrington's lips. + +"A thief, bold, unscrupulous; not the petty burglar, no. A man who has +stolen funds intrusted to him for years; a man who has plundered the +orphan and the widow, the most despicable of all men. My mother died +of shame, and I knew nothing. My father left last night for South +America, taking with him all the available funds, leaving me a curt +note of explanation. I have neither money, friends, nor home. The +newspapers as yet know nothing; but to-morrow, to-morrow! The banks +have seized everything." + +She continued her story. Sometimes she was superb in her wrath; at +others, abject in her misery. She seemed to pass through the whole +gamut of the passions. + +And all this while it ran through Warrington's head--"What a theme for +a play! What a voice!" + +He pitied the girl from the bottom of his heart; but what could he do +for her other than offer her cold sympathy? He was ill at ease in the +face of this peculiar tragedy. + +All at once the girl stopped and faced him, There was a smile on her +lips, a smile that might be likened to a flash of sunlight on a wintry +day. Directly the smile melted into a laugh, mellow, mischievous, +reverberating. + +Warrington sat up stiffly in his chair. + +"I beg your pardon!" he said. + +The girl sat down before a small writing-table. She reached among some +papers and finally found what she sought. + +"Mr. Warrington, all this has been in very bad taste; I frankly +confess it. There are two things you may do: leave the house in anger, +or remain to forgive me this imposition." + +"I fail to understand." He was not only angered, but bewildered. + +"I have deceived you." + +"You mean that you have lured me here by trick? That you have played +upon my sympathies to gratify ..." + +"Wait a moment," she interrupted proudly, her cheeks darkening richly. +"A trick, it is true; but there are extenuating circumstances. What I +have told you HAS happened, only it was not to-day nor yesterday. +Please remain seated till I have done. I AM poor; I WAS educated in +the cities I have named; I have to earn my living." + +She rose and came over to his chair. She gave him a letter. + +"Read this; you will fully understand." + +Warrington experienced a mild chill as he saw a letter addressed to +him, and his rude scribble at the bottom of it. + +Miss Challoner--I beg to state that I have neither the time nor the +inclination to bother with amateur actresses. Richard Warrington. + +"It was scarcely polite, was it?" she asked, with a tinge of irony. +"It was scarcely diplomatic, either, you will admit. I simply asked +you for work. Surely, an honest effort to obtain employment ought not +to be met with insolence." + +He stared dumbly at the evidence in his hand. He recalled distinctly +the rage that was in his heart when he penned this note. The stage +manager had lost some valuable manuscript that had to be rewritten +from memory, the notes having been destroyed. + +"For weeks," said the girl, "I have tried to get a hearing. Manager +after manager I sought; all refused to see me. I have suffered a +hundred affronts, all in silence. Your manager I saw, but he referred +me to you, knowing that probably I should never find you. But I was +determined. So I wrote; that was your answer. I confess that at the +time I was terribly angry, for courtesy is a simple thing and within +reach of every one." + +To receive a lesson in manners from a young woman, when that young +woman is handsome and talented, is not a very pleasant experience. But +Warrington was, a thorough gentleman, and he submitted with grace. + +"I know that you are a busy man, that you are besieged with +applications. You ought, at least, to have formal slips, such as +editors have. I have confidence in my ability to act, the confidence +which talent gives to all persons. After receiving your letter I was +more than ever determined to see you. So I resorted to this +subterfuge. It was all very distasteful to me; but I possess a vein of +wilfulness. This is not my home. It is the home of a friend who was +kind enough to turn it over to me this night, relying upon my wit to +bring about this meeting." + +"It was neatly done," was Warrington's comment. He was not angry now +at all. In fact, the girl interested him tremendously. "I am rather +curious to learn how you went about it." + +"You are not angry?" + +"I was." + +This seemed to satisfy her. + +"Well, first I learned where you were in the habit of dining. All day +long a messenger has been following you. A telephone brought me to the +restaurant. The rest you know. It was simple." + +"Very simple," laconically. + +"You listened and believed. I have been watching you. You believed +everything I have told you. You have even been calculating how this +scene might go in a play. Have I convinced you that I have the ability +to act?" + +Warrington folded the letter and balanced it on his palm. + +"You have fooled me completely; that ought to be sufficient +recommendation." + +"Thank you." But her eyes were eager with anxiety. + +"Miss Challoner, I apologize for this letter. I do more than that. I +promise not to leave this house till you agree to call at the theater +at ten to-morrow morning." He was smiling, and Warrington had a +pleasant smile. He had an idea besides. "Good fortune put it into my +head to follow you here. I see it all now, quite plainly. I am in a +peculiar difficulty, and I honestly believe that you can help me out +of it. How long would it take you to learn a leading part? In fact, +the principal part?" + +"A week." + +"Have you had any experience?" + +"A short season out west in a stock company." + +"Good!" + +"And I love work." + +"Do not build any great hopes," he warned, "for your chance depends +upon the whim of another woman. But you have my word and my good +offices that something shall be put in your way. You will come at +ten?" drawing on his gloves. + +"Promptly." + +"I believe that we both have been wise to-night; though it is true +that a man dislikes being a fool and having it made manifest." + +"And how about the woman scorned?" with an enchanting smile. + +"It is kismet," he acknowledged. + + + + +Chapter II + + +Warrington laid down his pen, brushed his smarting eyes, lighted his +pipe, and tilted back his chair. With his hands clasped behind his +head, he fell into a waking dream, that familiar pastime of the +creative mind. It was half after nine, and he had been writing +steadily since seven. The scenario was done; the villain had lighted +his last cigarette, the hero had put his arms protectingly around the +heroine, and the irascible rich uncle had been brought to terms. All +this, of course, figuratively speaking; for no one ever knew what the +plot of that particular play was, insomuch as Warrington never +submitted the scenario to his manager, an act which caused almost a +serious rupture between them. But to-night his puppets were moving +hither and thither across the stage, pulsing with life; they were +making entrances and exits; developing this climax and that; with wit +and satire, humor and pathos. It was all very real to the dreamer. + +The manuscript lay scattered about the top of his broad flat desk, and +the floor beside the waste-basket was flaked with the remains of +various futile lines and epigrams. The ash-pan was littered with burnt +matches, ends of cigars and pipe tobacco, while the ash-crumbs +speckled all dark objects, not excepting the green rug under his feet. +Warrington smoked incessantly while at work, now a cigarette, now a +cigar, now a pipe. Specialists declare with cold authoritative +positiveness that the use of tobacco blunts the thought, dulls the +edge of invention; but Warrington knew better. Many a night he had +thrown his coat over his smoking-jacket and dashed down the street to +the corner drug-store for a fresh supply of tobacco. He simply could +not work without it. I do not know that he saw his heroes and heroines +any plainer for the smoke; but I do know that when their creator held +a cigar between his teeth, they frowned less, and the spirit of malice +and irony, of which he was master, became subdued. + +Warrington was thirty-five now. The grey hair at the temples and the +freshness of his complexion gave him a singularly youthful appearance. +His mouth was even-lipped and rather pleasure-loving, which, without +the balance of a strong nose, would have appealed to you as +effeminate. Warrington's was what the wise phrenologists call the +fighting nose; not pugnacious, but the nose of a man who will fight +for what he believes to be right, fight bitterly and fearlessly. +To-day he was famous, but only yesterday he had been fighting, +retreating, throwing up this redoubt, digging this trench; fighting, +fighting. Poverty, ignorance and contempt he fought; fought +dishonesty, and vice, and treachery, and discouragement. + +Presently he leaned toward the desk and picked up a letter. He read it +thoughtfully, and his brows drew together. A smile, whimsically sad, +stirred his lips, and was gone. It was written by a girl or a very +young woman. There was no signature, no address, no veiled request for +an autograph. It was one of those letters which bring to the novelist +or dramatist, or any man of talent, a real and singular pleasure. It +is precious because honest and devoid of the tawdry gilt of flattery. + +Richard Warrington--You will smile, I know, when you read this letter, +doubtless so many like it are mailed to you day by day. You will toss +it into the waste-basket, too, as it deserves to be. But it had to be +written. However, I feel that I am not writing to a mere stranger, but +to a friend whom I know well. Three times you have entered into my +life, and on each occasion you have come by a different avenue. I was +ill at school when you first appeared to me. It was a poem in a +magazine. It was so full of the spirit of joyousness, so full of +kindliness, so rich in faith and hope, that I cried over it, cut it +out and treasured it, and re-read it often in the lonely hours when +things discouraged me,--things which mean so little to women but so +much to girls. Two years went by, and then came that brave book! It +was like coming across a half-forgotten friend. I actually ran home +with it, and sat up all night to complete it. It was splendid. It was +the poem matured, broadened, rounded. And finally your first play! How +I listened to every word, watched every move! I wrote you a letter +that night, but tore it up, not having the courage to send it to you. +How versatile you must be: a poem, a book, a play! I have seen all +your plays these five years, plays merry and gay, sad and grave. How +many times you have mysteriously told me to be brave! I envy and +admire you. What an exquisite thing it must be to hear one's thoughts +spoken across the footlights! Please do not laugh. It would hurt me to +know that you could laugh at my honest admiration. You won't laugh, +will you? I am sure you will value this letter for its honesty rather +than for its literary quality. I have often wondered what you were +like. But after all, that can not matter, since you are good and kind +and wise; for you can not be else, and write the lofty things you do. + +Warrington put the letter away, placed it carefully among the few +things he held of value. It would not be true to say that it left him +unaffected. There was an innocent barb in this girlish admiration, and +it pierced the quick of all that was good in him. + +"Good and kind and wise," he mused. "If only the child knew! Heigh-ho! +I am kind, sometimes I've been good, and often wise. Well, I can't +disillusion the child, happily; she has given me no address." + +He rose, wheeled his chair to a window facing the street, and opened +it. The cool fresh April air rushed in, clearing the room of its +opalescent clouds, cleansing his brain of the fever that beset it. He +leaned with his elbows on the sill and, breathed noisily, gratefully. +Above, heaven had decked her broad bosom with her flickering stars, +and from the million lamps of the great city rose and floated a +tarnished yellow haze. So many sounds go forth to make the voices of +the night: somewhere a child was crying fretfully, across the way the +faint tinkle of a piano, the far-off rattle of the elevated, a muffled +laugh from a window, above, the rat-tat of a cab-horse, the breeze in +the ivy clinging to the walls of the church next door, the quarrelsome +chirp of the sleepy sparrows; and then, recurrence. Only the poet or +the man in pain opens his ears to these sounds. + +Over on Broadway a child of his fertile brain was holding the rapt +attention of several hundred men and women; and across the broad land +that night four other dramas were being successfully acted. People +were discussing his theories, denouncing or approving his conception +of life. The struggle was past, his royalties were making him rich. +And here he was this night, drinking the cup of bitterness, of +unhappiness, the astringent draft of things that might and should have +been. The coveted grape was sour, the desired apple was withered. +Those who traverse the road with Folly as boon companion find only +emptiness. + +And so it was with Warrington. He had once been good, wholly good and +kind and wise, lofty as a rural poet who has seen nothing of life save +nature's pure and visible face. In the heat of battle he had been +strong, but success had subtly eaten into the fibers and loosed his +hold, and had swept him onward into that whirlpool out of which no man +emerges wholly undefiled. It takes a great and strong man to withstand +success, and Warrington was only a genius. It was not from lack of +will power; rather it was because he was easy-going and loved pleasure +for its own sake. He had fought and starved, and now for the jingle of +the guinea in his pocket and the junkets of the gay! The prodigality +of these creative beings is not fully understood by the laity, else +they would forgive more readily the transgressions. Besides, the +harbor of family ties is a man's moral bulwark; and Warrington drifted +hither and thither with no harbor in view at all. + +He had been an orphan since his birth; a mother meant simply a giver +of life, and a father meant, even less. Until he had read the reverse +and obverse sides of life, his sense of morality had lain dormant and +untilled. Such was his misfortune. The solitary relative he laid claim +to was an aged aunt, his father's sister. For her he had purchased a +beautiful place in the town of his birth, vaguely intending to live +out his old age there. + +There had been a fight for all he possessed. Good had not come easily, +as it does to some particularly favored mortals. There was no family, +aristocracy to back him up, no melancholy recollections of past +grandeur to add the interest of romance to his endeavors. His father +had been a poor man of the people, a farmer. And yet Warrington was by +no means plebeian. Somewhere there was a fine strain. It had been a +fierce struggle to complete a college education. In the summer-time he +had turned his hand to all sorts of things to pay his winter's +tuition. He had worked as clerk in summer hotels, as a surveyor's +assistant in laying street-railways, he had played at private +secretary, he had hawked vegetables about the streets at dawn. +Happily, he had no false pride. Chance moves quite as mysteriously as +the tides. On leaving college he had secured a minor position on one +of the daily newspapers, and had doggedly worked his way up to the +coveted position of star-reporter. Here the latent power of the +story-teller, the poet and the dramatist was awakened; in any other +pursuit the talent would have quietly died, as it has died in the +breasts of thousands who, singularly enough, have not stood in the +path of Chance. + +Socially, Warrington was one of the many nobodies; and if he ever +attended dinners and banquets and balls, it was in the capacity of +reporter. But his cynical humor, which was manifest even in his youth, +saved him the rancor and envy which is the portion of the outsider. + +At length the great city called him, and the lure was strong. He +answered, and the long battle was on. Sometimes he dined, sometimes he +slept; for there's an old Italian saying that he who sleeps dines. He +drifted from one paper to another, lived in prosperity one week and in +poverty the next; haggled with pawnbrokers and landladies, and +borrowed money and lent it. He never saved anything; the dreamer never +does. Then one day the end came to the long lane, as it always does to +those who keep on. A book was accepted and published; and then +followed the first play. + +By and by, when his name began to figure in the dramatic news items, +and home visitors in New York returned to boast about the Warrington +"first nights," the up-state city woke and began to recollect +things--what promise Warrington had shown in his youth, how clever he +was, and all that. Nothing succeeds like success, and nobody is so +interesting as the prophet who has shaken the dust of his own country +and found honor in another. Human nature can't help itself: the women +talked of his plays in the reading-clubs, the men speculated on the +backs of envelopes what his royalties were, and the newspaper that had +given him a bread-and-butter pittance for a man's work proudly took it +upon itself to say that its columns had fostered the genius in the +growing. This was not because the editors were really proud of their +townsman's success; rather it was because it made a neat little +advertisement of their own particular foresight, such as it was. In +fact, in his own town (because he had refused to live in it!) +Warrington was a lion of no small dimensions. + +Warrington's novel (the only one he ever wrote) was known to few. To +tell the truth, the very critics that were now praising the dramatist +had slashed the novelist cruelly. And thereby hangs a tale. A New York +theatrical manager sent for Warrington one day and told him that he +had read the book, and if the author would attempt a dramatic version, +the manager would give it a fair chance. Warrington, the bitterness of +failure in his soul, undertook the work, and succeeded. Praise would +have made an indifferent novelist of him, for he was a born dramatist. + +Regularly each year he visited his birthplace for a day or so, to pay +in person his taxes. For all that he labored in New York, he still +retained his right to vote in his native town. + + +A sudden desire seized him to-night to return to his home, to become a +citizen in fact and deed. It was now the time of year when the spring +torrents flood the lowlands, when the melting snows trickle down the +bleak hillsides, when the dead hand of winter lies upon the bosom of +awakening spring, and the seed is in travail. Heigh-ho! the world went +very well in the springs of old; care was in bondage, and all the many +gateways to the heart were bastioned and sentineled. + +"Sir, a lady wishes to see you." + +Warrington turned. His valet stood respectfully in the doorway. + +"The name?" Warrington rose impatiently. Nobody likes to have his +dreams disturbed. + +"Miss Challoner, sir." + +"Challoner!" in surprise; "and this time of night?" He stroked his +chin. A moment passed. Not that he hesitated to admit her; rather he +wished to make a final analysis of his heart before his eyes fell down +to worship her beauty. "Admit her at once." He brushed the ashes from +his jacket and smoothed his hair. The valet disappeared. "If I only +loved the woman, loved her honestly, boldly, fearlessly, what a +difference it would make! I don't love her, and I realize that I never +did. She never touched my heart, only my eye and mind. I may be +incapable of loving any one; perhaps that's it. But what can have +possessed her to leave the theater this time of night?" + +A swish of petticoats, a rush of cool air with which mingled an +indefinable perfume, and, like a bird taking momentary rest in the +passage, she stood poised on the threshold. A beautiful woman is a +tangible enchantment; and fame and fortune had made Katherine +Challoner beautiful, roguishly, daringly, puzzlingly beautiful. Her +eyes sparkled like stars on ruffled waters, the flame of health and +life burned in her cheeks, and the moist red mobile mouth expressed +emotions so rapidly and irregularly as to bewilder the man who +attempted to follow them. Ah, but she could act; comedy or tragedy, it +mattered not; she was always superb. + +There was a tableau of short duration. Her expression was one of +gentle inquiry, his was one of interest not unmixed with fascination. +He felt a quick touch of compassion, of embarrassment. There had been +times when yonder woman had seemed to show him the preference that is +given only to men who are loved. Even as the thought came to him, he +prayed that it was only his man's vanity that imagined it. As he +stared at her, there came the old thrill: beauty is a power +tremendous. + +"Dick, you do not say you are glad to see me." + +"Beauty striketh the sage dumb," he laughed. "What good fortune brings +you here to-night? What has happened? How could you find time between +the acts to run over?" + +"I am not acting to-night." + +"What?" + +"No. Nor shall I be to-morrow night, nor the thousand nights that +shall follow." + +"Why, girl!" he cried, pushing out a chair. He had not seen her for +two weeks. He had known nothing of her movements, save that her +splendid talents had saved a play from utter ruin. Her declaration was +like a thunderbolt. "Explain!" + +"Well, I am tired, Dick; I am tired." She sat down, and her gaze roved +about the familiar room with a veiled affection for everything she +saw. "The world is empty. I have begun to hate the fools who applaud +me. I hate the evil smells which hang about the theater. I hate the +overture and the man with the drums," whimsically. + +"What's he done to you?" + +"Nothing, only he makes more noise than the others. I'm tired. It is +not a definite reason; but a woman is never obliged to be definite." + +"No; I never could understand you, even when you took the trouble to +explain things." + +"Yes, I know." She drew off her gloves and rubbed her fingers, which +were damp and cold. + +"But, surely, this is only a whim. You can't seriously mean to give up +the stage when the whole world is watching you!" + +She did not answer him, but continued to rub her fingers. She wore +several rings, among which was a brilliant of unusual luster. +Warrington, however, had eyes for nothing but her face. For the past +six months he had noted a subtle change in her, a growing reserve, a +thoughtfulness that was slowly veiling or subduing her natural gaiety. +She now evaded him when he suggested one of their old romps in queer +little restaurants; she professed illness when he sent for her to join +him in some harmless junketing. She was slowly slipping away from him; +no, drifting, since he made no real effort to hold her. And why had he +made no real effort? Sometimes he thought he could answer this +question, and then again he knew that he could not. Ah, if he only +loved her! What a helpmeet: cheerful, resourceful, full of good humor +and practical philosophy, a brilliant wit, with all the finished +graces of a goddess. Ah, if indeed he only loved her! This thought +kept running through his mind persistently; it had done so for days; +but it had always led him back to the starting point. Love is not +always reasoning with itself. Perhaps--and the thought filled him with +regret--perhaps he was indeed incapable of loving any one as his +poet's fancy believed he ought to love. And this may account for the +truth of the statement that genius is rarely successful in love; the +ideal is so high that it is out of the reach of life as we, genius or +clod, live it. + +"Isn't this determination rather sudden?" he asked, when the pause +grew insupportable. + +"I have been thinking of it for some time," she replied, smiling. A +woman always finds herself at ease during such crises. "Only, I hadn't +exactly made up my mind. You were at work?" glancing at the desk. + +"Yes, but I'm through for the night. It's only a scenario, and I am +not entirely satisfied with it." + +She walked over to the desk and picked up a sheet at random. She was a +privileged person in these rooms. Warrington never had any nervous +dread when she touched his manuscript. + +"How is it going to end?" she asked. + +"Oh, they are going to marry and be happy ever after," he answered, +smiling. + +"Ah; then they are never going to have any children?" she said, with a +flash of her old-time mischief. + +"Will you have a cigarette?" lighting one and offering her the box. + +"No; I have a horror of cigarettes since that last play. To smoke in +public every night, perforce, took away the charm. I hated that part. +An adventuress! It was altogether too close to the quick; for I am +nothing more or less than an adventuress who has been successful. Why, +the very method I used to make your acquaintance years and years ago, +wasn't it?--proved the spirit. 'We hate two kinds of people,'" she +read, taking up another page of manuscript; "'the people we wrong and +the people who wrong us. Only, the hate for those we have wronged is +most enduring.' That isn't half bad, Dick. How do you think of all +these things?" + +She crossed over to the window to cool her hot face. She, too, heard +the voices of the night; not as the poet hears them, but as one in +pain. "He never loved me!" she murmured, so softly that even the +sparrows in the vine heard her not. And bitter indeed was the pain. +But of what use to struggle, or to sigh, or vainly to regret? As +things are written, so must they be read. She readily held him +guiltless; what she regretted most deeply was the lack of power to +have him and to hold him. Long before, she had realized the +hopelessness of it all. Knowing that he drank from the cup of +dissipation, she had even sought to hold him in contempt; but to her +he had never ceased to be a gentleman, tender, manly and kind. It is +contempt that casts the first spadeful in the grave of love. + +"Come, girl," he said, going to her side; "you have something to tell +me. What is it?" + +She turned to find his hand outstretched and a friendly look in his +eyes. Impulsively she gave him both her hands. He bowed over them with +the grave air of the days of powdered wigs. There was not a particle +of irony in the movement; rather it was a quiet acknowledgment that he +recollected the good influence she had at times worked upon him in +some dark days. As he brushed her fingers with his lips, he saw. His +head came up quickly. + +"Ah!" + +"Yes." Her voice was steady and her eyes were brave. + +He drew her to the lamp and studied the ring. The ruddy lights dartled +as he slowly turned the jewel around. + +"It is a beauty. No one but a rich man could have given a ring like +that. And on your finger it means but one thing." + +"I am to be married in June." + +"Do you love him?" + +"I respect him; he is noble and good and kind." + +Warrington did not press the question. He still retained the hand, +though he no longer gazed at the ring. + +"I have always wanted a home. The stage never really fascinated me; it +was bread and butter." + +"Is it necessary to marry in order to have a home?" he asked quietly, +letting the hand gently slide from his. "You are wealthy, after a +fashion; could you not build a home of your own?" + +"Always to be identified as the actress? To be looked at curiously, to +be annoyed by those who are not my equals, and only tolerated by those +who are? No! I want a man who will protect me from all these things, +who will help me to forget some needless follies and the memory that a +hundred different men have made play-love to me on the other side of +the footlights." + +"Some men marry actresses to gratify their vanity; does this man love +you?" + +"Yes; and he will make me what Heaven intended I should be--a woman. +Oh, I have uttered no deceit. This man will take me for what I am." + +"And you have come here to-night to ask me to forget, too?" There was +no bitterness in his tone, but there was a strong leaven of regret. +"Well, I promise to forget." + +"It was not necessary to ask you that," generously. "But I thought I +would come to you and tell you everything. I did not wish you to +misjudge me. For the world will say that I am marrying this good man +for his money; whereas, if he was a man of the most moderate +circumstances, I should still marry him." + +"And who might this lucky man be? To win a woman, such as I know you +to be, this man must have some extraordinary attributes." And all at +once a sense of infinite relief entered into his heart: if she were +indeed married, there would no longer be that tantalizing doubt on his +part, that peculiar attraction which at one time resembled love and at +another time was simply fascination. She would pass out of his life +definitely. He perfectly recognized the fact that he admired her above +all other women he knew; but it was also apparent that to see her day +by day, year by year, his partner in the commonplaces as well as in +the heights, romance would become threadbare quickly enough. "Who is +he?" he repeated. + +"That I prefer not to disclose to you just yet. What are you going to +call your new play?" with a wave of her hand toward the manuscript. + +"I had intended to call it Love and Money, but the very name presages +failure." + +"Yes, it needs the cement of compatibility to keep the two together." + +"Well, from my heart I wish you all the best luck in the world," he +said, the absence of any mental reservation in his eyes. "You would +make any man a good wife. If I weren't a born fool--" + +She leaned toward him, her face suddenly tense and eager. + +"--if I weren't a born fool," with a smile that was whimsical, "I'd +have married you myself, long ago. But fate has cut me out for a +bachelor." He knocked the ash from a cold pipe, filled and lighted it. +"By the way," he said, "I received a curious letter to-day." Its +production would relieve the awkwardness of the moment. "Would you +like to see it?" opening the drawer and handing the letter to her. +"It's one of the few letters of the sort I'm going to keep." + +She accepted the letter, but without any spirit of interest. For a +moment a thought had all but swept her off her feet; yet she realized +instantly that this thought was futile. Warrington did not love her; +and there was nothing to do but to follow out the course she had +planned. She had come to him that night with a single purpose in mind: +to plumb the very heart of this man who was an enigma to every woman +he met. She had plumbed it. Warrington loved nobody but Warrington and +pleasure. Oh, he was capable of the grand passion, she very well knew, +but the woman to arouse it had not yet crossed his path. + +"What do you think of it?" he asked. + +She came closer to the lamp. It was only pretense, but Warrington was +not aware of it. She had stared at the sheet, reading only her +miserable thoughts. Presently she smiled; the girlish exuberance +amused her. + +"She has put you quite out of reach. What a fine thing it must be to +have such faith in any man!" + +"And I'm not worth in her esteem an ounce to the pound." He was quite +frank with himself. "I would to Heaven I were!" + +"And this is the kind of woman that you will fall violently in love +with, some day, Dick. It will be your punishment." She had fully +recovered by now, and the old-time raillery was in the ascendant. "Oh, +she has read you fairly well. You are good and kind and wise, but +these virtues are not of equal weight. Your goodness and wisdom will +never catch up with your abundant kindness. I've a good deal to thank +you for, Dick; a good deal." + +"Nonsense! The shoe is on the other foot. You have made half my plays +what they are to-day." He rang and ordered some coffee. + +She dropped into his desk-chair and propped her chin in her palms, +viewing him through half-closed, speculative eyes. + +"We've had some jolly larks together," he said. "I shall miss you; how +much I shall know only when you are gone. Is he good-looking?" + +"Very. He is tall and straight, with a manly face, fine eyes, and a +good nose. You know that I'm always particular about a man's nose." + +"And young, of course?" not without some feeling of jealousy. + +"And young." + +"Tell me all about him," drawing up a chair and facing her. + +"He is a lucky chap," he summed up when she had done. + +"That remains to be seen," lightly. "I may prove the worst wife +possible. Perhaps, when I have burned my bridges, I shall be mad for +the very publicity I'm trying to escape. Women are like extinct +volcanos; they are most to be dreaded when written perfectly +harmless." + +Warrington shook his head and laughed. Here the coffee came in. He +dismissed his man, and poured the nectar himself. + +"You are the one man I know who never asks to sweeten my coffee," she +observed. + +"And yet I had to learn. You haven't taught this other fellow yet, I +see. Is he warranted house-broken, or will he have to be chained?" + +"He will not have to be chained; and a man who is a recluse seldom has +to be broken in." + +"A recluse? What's his hobby: butterflies, stones, stamps, or +coins?--No, girl; I don't mean that. I'm a little heavy to-night. Do +you recollect the night you donned a suit of mine, bundled your hair +under a felt hat, and visited the studios? What a romp! Not a soul +ever found out who you were; and if I hadn't been in the secret, I +shouldn't have known, either. I shall never forget how funny Dolman +looked when he started a certain popular story of his and you shut him +up. 'Gentlemen,' you said, 'neither listen to, nor repeat that kind of +story in the presence of ladies.' 'Ladies?' cried Dolman. 'I see no +ladies.' 'But there are gentlemen,' you added quickly. Later, Dolman +advised me not to bring any more of my Sunday-school friends to HIS +studio." + +The woman smiled, but the smile was only on the lips. All those happy +frolics were to be no more. Heigh-ho! Over the mantel there were +several photographs of herself. Like all celebrities of her kind, the +camera was a constant source of amusement. It was not necessarily +vanity. The rose is not vain, yet it repeats its singular beauty as +often as the seasons permit it. Across these pictures she had scrawled +numerous signatures, "Kate" and "Kit" and "Kitty" and "Katherine +Challoner," with here and there a phrase in French and Italian. + +"You wouldn't return those under any circumstances?" + +"No, indeed! That's all I'll have. And besides, you wouldn't ask me to +give them up?" + +Her answer remained unspoken. The valet appeared deferentially. + +"Well?" said Warrington. + +"A gentleman to see you, sir. He said he wouldn't need any card. Mr. +John Bennington, sir. + +"John Bennington!" Warrington sprang from his chair, his face joyous. +"Old John here to-night! Finest chap on earth, Kate; my roommate at +college, and the only chap in my town who was my friend when I was a +nobody. Old John ..." + +"Richard, you must hide me quickly. I mustn't be seen here. There is +no way of passing him the hall." + +"Good Lord!" He did not notice her pallor. "The butler's pantry," he +said hastily. + +She slipped out of sight noiselessly. Presently she heard sounds, +men's voices, a hearty greeting and for a moment the world seemed +gliding from under her feet. Her gloves! She had forgotten her gloves! + + + + +Chapter III + + +Men have a way of greeting which is all their own. It is unlike the +kiss and flutter of women, which may signify frankness or deceit, +generosity or selfishness, some favor to gain, some treachery to +forestall. Men's likes and dislikes are generally visible. The dog +wags his tail, or he warns you away with a growl; there is no +mistaking his attitude. On the other hand, the cat purrs and rubs +against your leg, and when you reach down to smooth her, as likely as +not she gives you a dig for your pains. True, there are always +exceptions to this rule. + +With their hands on each other's shoulders, at arm's length they +stood, a likely pair to look at, smiling frankly and joyfully into +each other's eyes. When it is without self-interest, friendship +between man and man is a fine and noble thing. It is known best in the +stress of storms, in the hour of sorrow and adversity. Friendship, to +be perfect, must be without any sense of obligation; for obligation +implies that one or the other is in debt, and the debtor is always +wondering when he will have to pay. Between these two men only the +slightest favors had been exchanged. They had grown up together, one +the son of a rich steel-mill owner, the other the son of a poor +farmer. The one had entered college to the sounding of golden cymbals, +the other had marched in with nothing but courage in his pocket. It is +impossible to describe how these great friendships come about; +generally they begin with some insignificant trifle, soon forgotten. +Warrington had licked Bennington in the boyhood days; why, I doubt +that the Recording Angel himself remembers. So the friendship began +with secret admiration on one side and good-natured toleration on the +other. One day Warrington broke a colt for Bennington, and later +Bennington found a passably good market for Warrington's vegetables. +Friendship, like constancy, finds strange niches. The Bennington +family were not very cordial to the young vegetable grower. On the +mother's side there was a long line of military ancestors. It is +impossible that a cabbage and a uniform should cohere. Warrington's +great-grandsires had won honors in the Revolution, but as this fact +did not make cabbages grow any faster he kept the faded glory to +himself. + +In college the two lads were as inseparable as La Mole and Coconnas; +they played on the same teams, rowed on the same crews and danced with +the same girls. The only material difference in their respective +talents lay in one thing: Bennington could not write a respectable +rhyme, and I'm not sure that he wasn't proud of it. It distinguished +him from the other members of his class. As for Warrington, there +wasn't a pretty girl in the whole college town who couldn't boast of +one or more of his impassioned stanzas. And you may be sure that when +Warrington became talked about these self-same halting verses were dug +up from the garret and hung in sundry parlors. + +Bennington was handsome, and, but for his father's blood, the idleness +of his forebears would have marked him with effeminateness. His head, +his face, the shape of his hands and feet, these proclaimed the +aristocrat. It was only in the eyes and the broad shoulders that you +recognized the iron-monger's breed. His eyes were as blue as his own +hammered steel; but, like the eyes of the eagle at peace, they were +mild and dreamy and deceptive to casual inspection. In the shops the +men knew all about those eyes and shoulders. They had been fooled +once, but only once. They had felt the iron in the velvet. + +"I'm mighty glad to see you, boy," said Warrington, dropping his arms. +"You haven't changed a bit." + +"Nor you, Dick; if anything you look younger." + +"How many years is it, John?" + +"Six or seven; not very long." + +"Time never seems long to a man who never has to wait for anything. I +have had to reckon time with hours full of suspense, and those hours +have aged me; perhaps not outwardly, but all the same, I'm an old man, +John." + +"Nonsense!" + +"When did you cross?" + +"About a year ago, when father died. I had given up the English end of +the concern two years before, and was just wandering about the +continent. I was dreadfully disappointed when I learned that you had +visited the shops in ninety-eight. That summer I was in Switzerland. +I had no idea there was going to be war, and never saw a newspaper +till it was nearly over. I should have enlisted. And another year we +passed within two days of each other." + +"No!" Bennington exclaimed. + +"Yes. It was in Italy, at Sorrento, that I learned of your nearness. +You were off for Amalfi and I had just come from there. For three days +I ran across your name in the hotel registers. I tried to find your +permanent address, but failed. Cook's nor the bankers in Naples knew +anything about you. I tell you what, it was discouraging." + +"What luck! I was having all my mail sent direct to Mentone, where I +spent the winter. Say, what do you think?" + +"About what?" + +"Won five thousand at Monte Carlo in one play." + +"Pounds?" exclaimed Bennington. + +"Lord, no!--dollars." + +"Ah! But of course you went back and lost it?" ironically. + +"On the contrary, I've never staked a dollar since. Gambling was never +a habit of mine, though I dare say the moral side of the subject would +not have held me back. Simply, I know that the gambler always loses, +and the banker always wins, in the end. Common sense told me to quit, +and I did. I brought my letter of credit home practically intact." + +"You used to play poker," dubiously. + +"Poker isn't gambling. It's surreptitiously lending money to your +friends." + +"You were always good at definitions," sighed Bennington. + +"I understand you've sold your holdings in the English shops?" + +"Yes. I was weary of the people and what they called their +conservatism, which is only a phase of stupidity. And then, besides, I +loved the old home up there. I've been living there about a year now." + +"It's a pity you couldn't have looked me up before this," Warrington +complained. + +Bennington only laughed affectionately. + +"Take a look around the room while I get the whisky and soda." + +"Don't bother, Dick." + +"Boy, I licked you once, and I'll do it again if you don't sit down. A +little extra attention won't hurt; and I'll guarantee the whisky." +Waving his arms toward all the desirable things in the room, he +vanished beyond the curtain. + +Bennington looked about leisurely. It was just the kind of room he had +always imagined; it was like the man who occupied it. Simplicity and +taste abounded; the artist and the collector, the poet and the +musician, were everywhere in evidence. He strolled over to the mantel +and took down one of the pictures signed "Kate." He smiled. It was not +an indulgent smile, nor the smile of a man who has stumbled upon +another man's secret. The smile was rather exultant. He leaned against +the mantel and studied the face in its varied expressions. He nodded +approvingly. It was a lovely face; it was more than lovely,--it was +tender and strong. Presently he returned to his chair and sat down, +the photograph still in his hand. And in this position Warrington +found him. + +"Ah, you sly dog!" he hailed, setting down the glasses and pouring out +a liberal bumper. "So I've caught you? Well, you're not the only man +who has been conquered by that very photograph." He had half a notion +to go in and bring her out; but then, women are such finicky beings! + +Bennington laid aside the photograph, a certain reverence in his +action that in ordinary times would not have escaped Warrington's +notice. + +"What's this to be?" asked Bennington, lifting his glass and stirring +the ice. + +"Immer und immer, as the German has it," Warrington replied. + +"For ever and ever, then!" + +And the two lightly touched glasses, with that peculiar gravity which +always accompanies such occasions. + +"When a man drinks your health in bad whisky, look out for him; but +this whisky is very good, Dick." Bennington set down his glass and +wiped his lips. "It is very good, indeed." + +"Well, how are things up in Herculaneum?" asked Warrington. "You know, +or ought to know, that I get up there only once a year." + +"Things are not very well. There's the devil to pay in politics, and +some day I may have a jolly long strike on my hands," grimly. "But I +shall know exactly what to do. That man McQuade owns about all the +town now. He controls congressmen, state senators and assemblymen, and +the majority of the Common Council is his, body and soul. Only +recently he gave the traction company a new right of way. Not a penny +went into the city's purse. And you know these street-railways; they +never pay their taxes. A franchise for ninety-nine years; think of +it!" + +"Why don't you men wake up and oust McQuade? I'll tell you right here, +Jack, you have no one to blame but yourself. Scoundrels like McQuade +are always in the minority; but they remain in power simply because +men like you think politics a dirty business and something for an +honest man to keep out of. Run for mayor yourself, if you want clean +politics. Rouse up an independent party." + +"Do you know what they call me up there?" Bennington laughed. + +"I confess to ignorance." + +"Well, the newspapers say covertly that I'm all but a naturalized +Englishman, a snob, when I'm only a recluse, a man who dresses every +night for dinner, who dines instead of eats. There are some things it +is impossible to understand, and one is the interest the newspapers +take in the private affairs of men. If they jumped on me as a +mill-owner, there might be some excuse, but they are always digging me +on the private-citizen side. Every man, in his own house, ought to be +allowed to do as he pleases. They never bothered the governor any, +when he was alive. I believe they were afraid of him." + +"I can explain all that, my boy. Buy your clothes of the local +tailors; get rid of your valet; forget that you have lived in England. +They'll come around to you, then. You may talk as much as you like +about the friendliness between the Englishman and the American. It is +simply a case of two masters who are determined that their dogs shall +be friendly. Let the masters drop out of sight for a moment, and you +will find the dogs at each other's throat. And the masters? The dollar +on this side and the sovereign on the other. There is a good deal of +friendship these days that is based upon three and a half per cent. +Get into politics, my boy." + +"Bah! I'd look nice running for mayor, wouldn't I? The newspapers +would howl calamity, and the demagogues would preach that I would soon +impose English wages in the shops, and all that tommyrot. No, thank +you; I'll take trouble as it comes, but I'm not looking for it." + +"I see that I shall have to go back there and start the ball myself," +said Warrington, jesting. + +"Why don't you? You are not a rank outsider. The people are proud of +you." + +"And always will be, so long as I have sense enough to remain here in +New York," dryly. "But if I lived there ...!" + +"You are not always going to live in New York?" + +"Not always." + +"You've a beautiful old home up there." + +"I bought that just to show the people I had the money," laughing. +"They may never forget my cabbages, but they'll forgive them." + +"Nevertheless, you ought to return." + +"Listen," said Warrington, lifting his hand. They became silent, and +presently the voice of the city came into the room. "I'm afraid I +could not live away from that. How many times have I stopped work to +listen to it! How many inspirations have I drawn from it! It is the +siren's music, I know, but I am no longer afraid of the reefs. Perhaps +I have become enamored with noise; it is quite possible." + +"I have lived in London. I thought it was going to be hard to break +away, but it wasn't." + +They lighted cigars, and Bennington took up the photograph again. + +"A lovely face," was his comment. + +"With a heart and a mind even more lovely," supplemented Warrington. +"She is one of the most brilliant women I have ever met, and what is +more, humorous and good-humored. My word for it, she may have equals, +but she has no superiors on this side of the ocean." + +Bennington looked up sharply. + +"Nothing serious?" he asked gently. + +"Serious? No. We are capital friends, but nothing more. There's been +too much comradeship to admit anything like sentimentality. Ah, boy, +you should see her act!" + +"I have. I saw her in London last season. She was playing your War of +Women. She appeared to me enchanting. But about these actresses ..." + +"I know, I know," interrupted Warrington. "Some of them are bad, but +some of them are the noblest creatures God ever put on earth; and +yonder is one of them. I remember. Often we were both in debt; plays +went wrong; sometimes I helped her out, sometimes she returned the +favor. We were more like two men. Without her help I shouldn't be +where I am to-day. I always read the scenario of a play to her first; +and often we've worked together half a night on one scene. I shall +miss her." + +"What! Is she going away?" + +"After a fashion. She has retired from the stage." + +"Do you believe she means it?" asked Bennington. "You know how +changeable actresses' moods are." + +"I think Miss Challoner will never act again. She has always been an +enigma to the majority of the show people. Never any trumpets, +jewelry, petty squabbles, lime-lights, and silks; she never read +criticisms, save those I sent her. Managers had to knock on her +dressing-room door. Oh, I do not say that she is an absolute paragon, +but I do say that she is a good woman, of high ideals, loyal, +generous, frank, and honest. And I have often wondered why the devil I +couldn't fall in love with her myself," moodily. + +Bennington was silent for a moment. Finally he said: "How does it feel +to be famous, to have plays produced simultaneously in New York and +London?" + +"After the first success there is never anything but hard work. A +failure once in a while acts like a tonic. And sometimes we get an +anonymous letter that refreshes us--a real admirer, who writes from +the heart and doesn't fish for a letter or an autograph in return. I +received one of these only a few days ago, and I want you to read it." +Warrington produced the missive and tossed it into Bennington's hands. +"Read that. It's worth while to get a letter like that one." + +Bennington took up the letter, smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. A +single glance at the graceful script, however, changed his expression. +He sat back and stared at Warrington. + +"What's the matter?" + +Bennington did not answer, but settled down to his task, reading +carefully and slowly. He did not look for any signature, for he knew +there would be none. He returned the letter, his face sober, but his +eyes dancing. + +"Now, what the deuce do you see that is so amusing?" + +"Oh, nothing." + +"Don't tell me there isn't any romance in the world. But, hang it, +Jack, I'm not worth a letter like that," earnestly. + +"Of course not." + +"I'm not jesting. I've sown wild oats, and God knows what the harvest +will be. There's a law that exacts payment. Retribution is the only +certain thing in this world." + +"Oh, you're no worse than the average man. But the average man is +jolly bad," Bennington added gravely. "But you, Dick; I'm not worrying +about you. Perhaps the writer of that letter sees good in you that you +can't see yourself; good that is in you but of which you are +unconscious. One thing, you have never besmirched the talents God gave +you. Everything you have done has been clean and wholesome--like +yourself." + +"I wish I could believe that! But I've had no ties, Jack, none. You +can't keep to a course without a compass. The real good in life, the +good that makes life worth while, is the toil for those you love. I +love nobody, not even myself. But this girl rather woke me up. I began +to look inward, as they say. So far I've not discovered much good. I'd +give a good deal to meet this writer." + +"Doubtless you will find her charming." + +Suddenly Warrington turned upon his friend. "But what I want to know +is, what brought you around here this time o' night? I never knew you +to do anything without a definite purpose." + +"That's precisely what I've been waiting for you to lead up to. The +truth is--" Bennington hesitated. His hand, idly trailing over the +desk, came into contact with something smooth and soft. It was a pair +of white kid gloves, a woman's. Absently he drew them through his +hand. He was only half conscious of his action, and he did not observe +Warrington's sudden agitation. "The truth is, I've gone and done it. +I'm going to be married in June, and I want you to be my best man." + +Warrington's hand went out impulsively. + +"Oh, I felt it in my bones when your card came in," he said, +rearranging the glasses. "Lucky woman! Long life to you, Jack, and +long happiness!" + +"Thank you, Dick." (Ceremonial recurrence of drinking a health.) + +"Now, out with it. Who is she, and all about her?" + +"Dick, I'm genuinely sorry, but I'm still under bond of silence." + +"More mysteries!" cried Warrington, with evident discontent. + +"Only for a week, when, if you say, we'll have breakfast here in these +very rooms. + +"Done. Only I must say you're a bit hard on me to-night. + +"I'm sorry." + +"Let me see; I'll describe her for you. Beautiful." + +"Yes." + +"Accomplished." + +"Very." + +"A woman who will be both wife and comrade." + +"Exactly." + +"An American." + +"In all things." + +"You make me envious." + +"Why don't you get married yourself?" + +"Bah!" Warrington went to the window and looked down upon the street. + +Bennington eyed his broad shoulders sympathetically. He looked down at +the limp, smooth skins in his hand, and sat up stiffly. From the +gloves to Warrington and back again to the gloves, his gaze traveled. +With an impulse rather mechanical he raised the gloves to his nose. +Quickly he dropped them on the desk, took up the photograph, rose and +replaced it on the mantel. Hearing him, Warrington turned. + +"No, Jack, I doubt if I shall ever be lucky enough to find the one +woman. I've been so busy that I've never had time to hunt for +happiness. And those who hunt for it never find it, and those who wait +for it can not see it standing at their side." + +Bennington wandered about, from object to object. Here he picked up a +dagger, there a turquoise in the matrix, and again some inlaid wood +from Sorrento. From these his interest traveled to and lingered over +some celebrated autographs. + +"Happiness is a peculiar thing," went on the dramatist. "It is far +less distinctive than fame or fortune. They sometimes knock at your +door, but happiness steals in without warning, and often leaves as +mysteriously as it comes." + +Bennington paused to examine a jade cigarette case, which he opened +and closed aimlessly. And there were queer little Japanese ash-trays +that arrested his attention. + +"Men like you and me, Jack, never marry unless we love. It is never a +business transaction." + +"It is love or nothing," said Bennington, turning his face toward +Warrington. The smile he gave was kindly. "Yes, true happiness can be +sought only in those we love. There is happiness even in loving some +one who does not love you." Bennington repressed a sigh. "But, Dick, +you'll be the best man?" + +"Depend upon me. What do you say to this day week for breakfast here?" + +"That will be wholly agreeable to me." + +Bennington's cigar had gone out. He leaned upon the desk and took his +light from the chimney. Men who have traveled widely never waste +matches. + +"Can't you bunk here for the night? There's plenty of room," said +Warrington. + +"Impossible, Dick. I leave at midnight for home. I must be there +to-morrow morning. I'm afraid of trouble in the shops. The unions are +determined to push me to the limit of my patience." + +"Why the deuce don't you get rid of the shops?" + +"They're the handiwork of my father, and I'm proud to follow his +steps." Bennington's eyes were no longer at peace; they sparkled with +defiance. "Half-past ten!" suddenly. "I must be going. My luggage is +still at the hotel. God bless you, Dick!" + +Their hands met once again. + +"You know, jack, that I love you best of all men." + +"You are sure there is no woman?" + +Warrington laughed easily. "Ah, if there was a woman! I expect to be +lonely some day." + +Bennington put on his hat and gloves, and Warrington followed him into +the hall. Once the prospective bridegroom paused, as if he had left +something unsaid; but he seemed to think the better of silence, and +went on. + +"Tuesday morning, then?" + +"Tuesday morning. Good night." + +"Good night, and luck attend you." + +The door closed, and Warrington went slowly back to his desk, his mind +filled with pleasant recollections of youth. He re-read the letter, +studied it thoroughly, in hopes that there might be an anagram. There +was nothing he could see, and he put it away, rather annoyed. He +arranged the sheets and notes of the scenario, marshaled the scattered +pencils, and was putting the glasses on the tray, when a sound in the +doorway caused him to lift his head. One of the glasses tumbled over +and rolled across the desk, leaving a trail of water which found its +level among the ash-trays. + +"It is quite evident that you forgot me," said the woman, a faint +mirthless smile stirring her lips. "It was very close in there, and I +could hear nothing." She placed a hand on her forehead, swayed, and +closed her eyes for a second. + +"You are faint!" he cried, springing toward her. + +"It is nothing," she replied, with a repelling gesture. "John +Bennington, was it not?" + +"Yes." His eyes grew round with wonder. + +"I was going to keep it secret as long as I could, but I see it is +useless. He is the man I have promised to marry." Her voice had a +singular quietness. + +Warrington retreated to his desk, leaning heavily against it. + +"Bennington? You are going to marry John Bennington?" dully. + +"Yes." + +He sat down abruptly and stared at her with the expression of one who +is suddenly confronted by some Medusa's head, as if in the straggling +wisps of hair that escaped from beneath her hat he saw the writhing +serpents. She was going to marry John Bennington! + +She stepped quickly up to the desk and began to scatter things about. +Her hands shook, she breathed rapidly, her delicate nostrils dilating +the while. + +"Look out!" he warned, at her side the same instant. "Your hat is +burning!" He smothered the incipient flame between his palms. + +"Never mind the hat. My gloves, Dick, my gloves! I left them here on +the desk." + +"Your gloves?" Then immediately he recollected that he had seen them +in Bennington's hands, but he was positive that the gloves meant +nothing to Bennington. He had picked them up just as he would have +picked up a paper-cutter, a pencil, a match-box, if any of these had +been within reach of his nervous fingers. Most men who are at times +mentally embarrassed find relief in touching small inanimate objects. +So he said reassuringly: "Don't let a pair of gloves worry you, girl." + +"He bought them for me this morning," a break in her voice. "I MUST +find them!" + +The situation assumed altogether a different angle. There was a hint +of tragedy in her eyes. More trivial things than a forgotten pair of +gloves have brought about death and division. Together they renewed +the search. They sifted the manuscripts, the books, the magazines, +burrowed into the drawers; and sometimes their hands touched, but they +neither noticed nor felt the contact. Warrington even dropped to his +knees and hunted under the desk, all the while "Jack Bennington, Jack +Bennington!" drumming in his ears. The search was useless. The gloves +were nowhere to be found. He stood up irresolute, dismayed and +anxious, keenly alive to her misery and to the inferences his best +friend might draw. The desk stood between them, but their faces were +within two spans of the hand. + +"I can't find them." + +"They are gone!" she whispered. + + + + +Chapter IV + + +When the pathfinders came into the territory which is now called the +Empire State, they carried muskets and tripods under one arm and Greek +dictionaries under the other. They surveyed all day and scanned all +night, skirmishing intermittently with prowling redskins. They knew +something about elementary geometry, too, and you will find evidences +of it everywhere, even in the Dutch settlements. The Dutchman always +made the beauty of geometry impossible. Thus, nowadays, one can not +move forward nor backward fifty miles in any direction without having +the classic memory jarred into activity. Behold Athens, Rome, Ithaca, +Troy; Homer, Virgil, Cicero; Pompey and Hannibal; cities and poets and +heroes! It was, in those early days, a liberal education to be born in +any one of these towns. Let us take Troy, for instance. When the young +mind learned to spell it, the young mind yearned to know what Troy +signified. Then came Homer, with his heroic fairy-story of gods, +demigods and mortals. Of one thing you may be reasonably sure: Helen +was kept religiously in the background. You will find no city named +after her; nor Sappho, nor Aspasia. The explorer and the geographer +have never given woman any recognition; it was left to the poets to +sing her praise. Even Columbus, fine old gentleman that he was, +absolutely ignored Isabella as a geographical name. + +The city of Herculaneum (so called in honor of one Hercules) was very +well named. To become immortal it had the same number of tasks to +perform as had old Hercules. The Augean Stables were in the City Hall; +and had Hercules lived in Herculaneum, he never would have sat with +the gods. The city lay in a pleasant valley, embraced by imposing +wooded hills. There was plenty of water about, a lake, a river, a +creek; none of these, however, was navigable for commercial purposes. +But this in nowise hindered the city's progress. On the tranquil bosom +of the Erie Canal rode the graceful barges of commerce straight and +slowly through the very heart of the town. Like its historic namesake, +the city lived under the eternal shadow of smoke, barring Sundays; but +its origin was not volcanic, only bituminous. True, year in and year +out the streets were torn up, presenting an aspect not unlike the +lava-beds of Vesuvius; but as this phase always implies, not +destruction, but construction, murmurs were only local and few. It was +a prosperous and busy city. It grew, it grows, and will grow. Long +life to it! Every year the city directory points with pride to its +growing bulk. A hundred thousand people; and, as Max O'Rell said--"All +alive and kicking!" Herculaneum held its neighbors in hearty contempt, +like the youth who has suddenly found his man's strength, and parades +round with a chip on his shoulder. + +Three railroad lines ran through the business section, bisecting the +principal thoroughfares. The passenger trains went along swiftly +enough, but often freights of almost interminable length drawled +through the squares. I say drawled advisedly. Surely the whuff-whuff +of the engine seems to me a kind of mechanical speech; and to this was +often added the sad lowing of cattle. From time to time some earnest +but misdirected young man would join the aldermanic body, and +immediately lift up his voice in protest. It was outrageous, and so +forth; the railroads must be brought to their senses, and so forth. +Presently a meeting would come and go without his voice being heard, +another, and yet another. By and by he would silently cast his vote +for the various businesses under hand, and go home. The old-timers +would smile. They understood. They rode on annuals themselves. + +All the same, Herculaneum was a beautiful city in parts. Great leafy +maples and elms arched the streets in the residential quarters, and +the streets themselves were broad and straight. There were several +dignified buildings of ten and twelve stories, many handsome banks, +several clubs, and two or three passable monuments. There were at that +time five enterprising newspapers, four frankly partizan and one +independent. Personalities entered freely into the editorials, which +often abounded in wit and scholarship. There were three theaters, and +many churches of many denominations; religion and amusement, to +thrive, must have variety. There were great steel shops, +machine-shops, factories and breweries. And there were a few people +who got in touch with one another, and invented society. + +Herculaneum has its counterpart in every state; each city is a +composite of all the others. A fashion in New York is immediately +reproduced in every other city on the continent. Conservatism, day by +day, becomes more and more retiring; presently it will exist only in +Webster, side by side with the word prehistoric. + + +It was Sunday in Herculaneum, a June Sunday, radiant with sunshine. +The broad green leaves of the maples shivered, lacing the streets with +amber and jade, and from a thousand emerald gardens rose the subtle, +fragrant incense of flowers. How still and beautiful this day seems to +us who have hurried hither and thither for six long days, sometimes in +anger, sometimes in exultation, failure or success! It breathes a +peace and quiet that is tonic. Upon this day there is truce between us +and the enemy. + +In Herculaneum they still went to church on a Sunday morning. Perhaps +it was merely habit, perhaps it was simply formality, perhaps it was +only to parade new clothes; anyhow, they went to church. At ten-thirty +the procession started; gentlemen in their tiles, ladies in their +furbelows, children stiffly starched. Some rode to church, but the +majority walked. There were many store-windows to preen before, as in +a mirror. Vanity has something to her credit, after all; it is due to +her that most of us make an effort to keep spruce and clean. + +Comment passed like the fall of dominoes. Some woman, +ultra-fashionable, would start the chatter. She NEVER saw anything +like the gowns Mrs. Jones wore; Mrs. Jones touched upon the impossible +feathers of Mrs. Smith's hat, and Mrs. Smith in turn questioned the +exquisite complexion of Mrs. Green, who thought Mrs. White's children +the homeliest in the city. (Can't you hear the dominoes going down?) + +The men nodded here and there, briefly. Saturday night in a provincial +town holds many recollections. + +The high church was a stately pile of granite, with lofty spire and +fine memorial windows. Doves fluttered about the eaves. Upon this +particular Sunday morning there seemed to be something in the air that +was not a component part of any of the elements. It was simply a bit +of news which the church-goers had read in the papers that morning. To +many a bud and belle it was a thunder-clap, a bolt from a cloudless +heaven. They whispered about it, lifted their eyebrows, and shrugged +their shoulders. But their mamas gave no sign. If the fox of +disappointment ate into their vitals, they determined, Spartan-like, +that none should know it. An actress! Men might marry actresses in +England, but Herculaneum still clung to the belief that actresses were +not eligible. + +Some of the men had seen Katherine Challoner act, and they sighed, +retrospectively and introspectively. + +"I feel for Mrs. Bennington and her daughter. It must be a great blow +to their pride." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene sat down in her pew-seat and +arranged her silk petticoats. Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds sat down +beside her. "You know I never meddle with scandal." + +Mrs. Fairchilds nodded brightly. + +"Never. I never repeat anything I hear. The Archibald affair was +enacted right under my very nose; but did I circulate what I saw? I +think not! That woman!--but there! I pray for her every night." + +"Was it really true, then?" asked Mrs. Fairchilds, breathless. She +knew something about the Archibald affair, but not enough. + +"I saw it all with these eyes," flatly. "But, as I said, I keep my +hands clean of scandal." Her hands were white and flabby. "I consider +it not only wicked to start a scandal, but positively bad taste. The +lightest word sometimes ruins a reputation." + +"Mrs. Archibald--" began Mrs. Fairchilds. + +"Not another word, my dear. I've said nothing at all; I haven't even +told you what I saw. But an actress is different. Think of it, my +dear! She will live among us and we shall have to meet her. Think of +the actors who have kissed her in their make-believe love affairs! It +is so horribly common. I have heard a good many things about her. She +has romped in studios in male attire and smokes cigarettes. I should +not want any son of mine to be seen with her. I'm not saying a single +word against her, mind you; not a single word. You know as well as I +do what a wild fellow Warrington is. Well, she has been going around +with him." + +"But they took him up in London," said Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds. + +"London! London society, indeed! It's the greatest jumble in the +world: nobility hobnobs with jockeys, piano-players, writers and +actors." + +Mrs. Fairchilds shook her head sadly. She had always believed London +society quite the proper thing, and she had followed the serials of +"The Duchess" with reverent awe. But Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene ought to +know; she had traveled in Europe several seasons. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +was one of the prominent social leaders, and Mrs. Fairchilds +had ambitions. The ready listener gets along very well in this old +world of ours. + +"I always knew that some time or other the plebeian Bennington blood +would crop out," went on Mrs. Haldene. "But we must not criticize the +dead," benignly. + +"We shall have to receive her." + +"After a fashion," replied Mrs. Haldene, opening her prayer-book. Her +tone implied that things would not go very smoothly for the +interloper. "All this comes from assimilating English ideas," she +added. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was one of those fortunate persons who always +have their names in the society columns of the Sunday newspapers. +Either she was among those present, or she gave a luncheon, or she +assisted at a reception, or was going out of town, or coming back. +Those who ran their husbands in debt to get into society always looked +to see what Mrs. Haldene had been doing the past week. The society +reporters, very often smug young women of aristocratic but +impoverished families, called her up by telephone every day in the +week. Mrs. Haldene pretended to demur, but the reporters found her an +inexhaustible mine of tittle-tattle. Sometimes they omitted some news +which she considered important; and, as the saying goes, the hair +flew. She found many contestants for the leadership; but her rivals +never lasted more than a month. She was president of hospital +societies, orphan asylums, and the auxiliary Republican Club, and +spoke at a bimonthly club on the servant question. Everybody was a +little afraid of her, with one exception. + +The society columns of the Sunday newspapers have become permanently +established. In every city and hamlet from New York to San Francisco, +you will find the society column. It is all tommyrot to the outsider; +but the proprietor is generally a shrewd business man and makes vanity +pay tribute to his exchequer. The column especially in early summer, +begins something like this: + +June will be a busy month for brides, and King Cupid and his gala +court will hold sway. The bridal processions will begin to move this +week in homes and churches. On Wednesday, at high noon, the marriage +of Miss Katherine Challoner, the well-known actress, and Mr. John +Bennington, of this city, will be solemnized in New York. Only the +immediate relatives will be present. Richard Warrington, our own +celebrated townsman, will act as best man. The announcement comes as a +great surprise to society, as Mr. Bennington was looked upon as a +confirmed bachelor. + +And again you will find something of this sort: + +April 22--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene leaves next week for Washington, where +she will be the guest of Senator Soandso's wife. + +April 29--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left yesterday for Washington. + +May 6--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who is visiting in Washington, will +return next week. + +May 13--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene has returned home from a delightful +visit in Washington. + +Sometimes, when there was no escape from it, Mr. Franklyn-Haldene's +name also appeared. + +From mundane things to the spiritual! + +"Yes, I feel for Mrs. Bennington," continued Mrs. Haldene. "We have to +submit to our boys' running around with actresses; but to marry them!" + +"And married life, I understand, seldom agrees with them. They +invariably return to the stage. I wonder if this woman has ever been +married before?" + +"I shouldn't be surprised. For my part, I'm very glad the ceremony +will not be performed in the church. Hush!" with a warning glance over +her shoulder. + +There was a sudden craning of necks, an agitation among the hats and +bonnets. Down the aisle came a handsome, dignified woman in widow's +weeds, a woman who was easily fifty-six, but who looked as if she had +just crossed the threshold of the forties. Her face was serene, the +half-smile on her lips was gentle and sweet her warm brown eyes viewed +the world peacefully. Ah, how well she knew that to-day this temple of +worship was but a den of jackals, ready to rend her if she so much as +hesitated, so much as faltered in look or speech! Never should they +feed themselves upon her sorrow. She went on, smiling here and there. +The low hum, the pallid lights, the murmur from the organ, all seemed +cruelly accented. Her pew was third from the chancel; she was but +half-way through the gantlet of curious eyes. + +Following her was a young girl of twenty. She was youth in all its +beauty and charm and fragrance. Many a young masculine heart throbbed +violently as she passed, and straightway determined to win fame and +fortune, if for no other purpose than to cast them at her feet. This +was Patty Bennington. + +The two reached their pew without mishap, and immediately rested their +heads reverently upon the rail in prayer. Presently the music ceased, +the rector mounted the pulpit, and the day's service began. I doubt if +many could tell you what the sermon was about that day. + +No other place offers to the speculative eye of the philosopher so +many varied phases of humanity as the church. In the open, during the +week-days, there is little pretense, one way or the other; but in +church, on Sunday, everybody, or nearly everybody, seems to have +donned a mask, a transparent mask, a smug mask, the mask of the known +hypocrite. The man who is a brute to his wife goes meekly to his seat; +the miser, who has six days pinched his tenants or evicted them, +passes the collection plate, his face benevolent; the woman whose +tongue is that of the liar and the gossip, who has done her best to +smirch the reputation of her nearest neighbor, lifts her eyes +heavenward and follows every word of a sermon she can not comprehend; +and the man or woman who has stepped aside actually believes that his +or her presence in church hoodwinks every one. Heigh-ho! and envy with +her brooding yellow eyes and hypocrisy with her eternal smirk sit side +by side in church. + +Oh, there are some good and kindly people in this ragged world of +ours, and they go to church with prayer in their hearts and goodness +on their lips and forgiveness in their hands. They wear no masks; +their hearts and minds go in and out of church unchanged. These are +the salt of the earth, and do not often have their names in the Sunday +papers, unless it is in the matter of their wills and codicils. Then +only do the worldly know that charity had walked among them and they +knew her not. + +Of such was Miss Anna Warrington, spinster-aunt of Richard. She +occupied the other half of the Bennington pew. Until half a dozen +years ago, when her boy had come into his own, she had known but +little save poverty and disillusion; and the good she always dreamed +of doing she was now doing in fact. Very quietly her withered old hand +stole over the low partition and pressed Mrs. Bennington's hand. The +clasp spoke mutely of courage and good-will. She knew nothing of awe, +kindly soul; the great and the small were all the same to her. She +remembered without rancor the time when Mrs. Bennington scarcely +noticed her; but sorrow had visited Mrs. Bennington and widened her +vision and broadened her heart; and the two met each other on a common +basis, the loss of dear ones. + +The clock is invariably hung in the rear of the church. The man who +originally selected this position was evidently a bit of a cynic. +Perhaps he wanted to impress the preacher with the fact that there +must be a limitation to all things, even good sermons; or perhaps he +wanted to test the patience and sincerity of the congregation. The +sermon was rather tedious this Sunday; shiny, well-worn platitudes are +always tedious. And many twisted in their seats to get a glimpse of +the clock. + +Whenever Patty looked around (for youth sits impatiently in church), +always she met eyes, eyes, eyes. But she was a brave lass, and more +than once she beat aside the curious gaze. How she hated them! She +knew what they were whispering, whispering. Her brother was going to +marry an actress. She was proud of her brother's choice. He was going +to marry a woman who was as brilliant as she was handsome, who counted +among her friends the great men and women of the time, who dwelt in a +world where mediocrity is unknown and likewise unwelcome. Mediocrity's +teeth are sharp only for those who fear them. + +Patty was nervous on her mother's account, not her own. It had been a +blow to the mother, who had always hoped to have her boy to herself as +long as she lived. He had never worried her with flirtations; there +had been no youthful affairs. The mother of the boy who is always +falling in love can meet the final blow half-way. Mrs. Bennington had +made an idol of the boy, but at the same time she had made a man of +him. From the time he could talk till he had entered man's estate, she +had been constant at his side, now with wisdom and learning, now with +laughter and wit, always and always with boundless and brooding love. +The first lesson had been on the horror of cruelty; the second, on the +power of truth; the third, on the good that comes from firmness. It is +very easy to make an idol and a fool of a boy; but Mrs. Bennington +always had the future in mind. It was hard, it was bitter, that +another should step in and claim the perfected man. She had been +lulled into the belief that now she would have him all her own till +the end of her days. But it was not to be. Her sense of justice was +evenly balanced; her son had the same right that his father had; it +was natural that he should desire a mate and a home of his own; but, +nevertheless, it was bitter. That his choice had been an actress +caused her no alarm. Her son was a gentleman; he would never marry +beneath him; it was love, not infatuation; and love is never love +unless it can find something noble and good to rest upon. It was not +the actress, no; the one great reiterating question was: did this +brilliant woman love her son? Was it the man or his money? She had +gone to New York to meet Miss Challoner. She had steeled her heart +against all those subtle advances, such as an actress knows how to +make. She had gone to conquer, but had been conquered. For when Kate +Challoner determined to charm she was not to be resisted. She had gone +up to the mother and daughter and put her arms around them. "I knew +that I should love you both. How could I help it? And please be kind +to me: God has been in giving me your son." Ah, if she had only said: +"I shall love you because I love him!" But there was doubt, haunting +doubt. If the glamour of married life wore out, and the craving for +publicity returned, this woman might easily wreck her son's life and +the lives of those who loved him. + +She was very glad when the service came to an end and the stir and +rustle announced the departure of the congregation. + +At the door she found Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She rather expected to +find her. They were enemies of old. + +"Shall I congratulate you?" asked the formidable person. + +Many of the congregation stopped. They hadn't the courage of Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene, but they lacked none of her curiosity. + +"You may, indeed," returned Mrs. Bennington serenely. She understood +perfectly well; but she was an old hand at woman's war. "My son is +very fortunate. I shall love my new daughter dearly, for she loves my +son." + +"She is just splendid!" said Patty, with sparkling eyes. How she +longed to scratch the powder from Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's beak-like +nose! Busybody, meddler! "I never suspected John had such good sense." + +"You are very fortunate," said Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She smiled, +nodded, and passed on into the street. A truce! + +Mr. Franklyn-Haldene, as he entered the carriage after his wife, +savagely bit off the end of a cigar. + +"What the devil's the matter with you women, anyhow?" he demanded. + +"Franklyn!" + +"Why couldn't you leave her alone? You're all a pack of buzzards, +waiting for some heart to peck at. Church!--bah!" + +It was only on rare occasions that Mr. Franklyn-Haldene voiced his +sentiments. On these occasions Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene rarely spoke. +There was a man in her husband she had no desire to rouse. Mr. Haldene +was the exception referred to; he was not afraid of his wife. + +They rode homeward in silence. As they passed the Warrington place, +Mr. Haldene again spoke. + +"Warrington is home over Sunday. Saw him on horseback this morning." + +"There's one thing I'm thankful for: the wedding will not be in +Herculaneum." + +"Humph!" + +"It's disgusting; and we shall have to receive her. But I do not envy +her her lot." + +"Neither do I," said Haldene. "You women have already mapped out a +nice little hell for her. Why should you be so vindictive simply +because she is an actress? If she is good and honest, what the deuce?" + +"There's no use arguing with you." + +"I'm glad you've found that out. You'd find out lots of other things +if you stayed home long enough. I shall treat the woman decently." + +"I dare say all you men will." + +"And you, Madam, shall be among the first to call on her. Mind that!" + +She looked at the man pityingly. Men never understood. Call on her? Of +course, she would call on her. For how could she make the woman +unhappy if she did not call on her? + + + + +Chapter V + + +Every city has its Fifth Avenue. That which we can not have as our own +we strive to imitate. Animal and vegetable life simply reproduces +itself; humanity does more than that, it imitates. Williams Street was +the Fifth Avenue of Herculaneum. It was broad, handsome, and climbed a +hill of easy incline. It was a street of which any city might be +justly proud. Only two or three houses jarred the artistic sense. +These were built by men who grew rich so suddenly and unexpectedly +that their sense of the grotesque became abnormal. It is an +interesting fact to note that the children of this class become +immediately seized with a species of insanity, an insanity which urges +them on the one hand to buy newspapers with dollar-bills, and on the +other to treat their parents with scant respect. Sudden riches have, +it would seem, but two generations: the parent who accumulates and the +son who spends. + +The Warrington home (manor was applied to but few houses in town) +stood back from the street two hundred feet or more, on a beautiful +natural terrace. The lawn was wide and crisp and green, and the oak +trees were the envy of many. The house itself had been built by one of +the early settlers, and Warrington had admired it since boyhood. It +was of wood, white, with green blinds and wide verandas, pillared +after the colonial style. Warrington had purchased it on a bank +foreclosure, and rather cheaply, considering the location. The +interior was simple but rich. The great fireplace was made of old +Roman bricks; there were exquisite paintings and marbles and rugs and +china, and books and books. Very few persons in Herculaneum had been +inside, but these few circulated the report that the old house had the +handsomest interior in town. Straightway Warrington's income became +four times as large as it really was. + +The old aunt and the "girl" kept the house scrupulously clean, for +there was no knowing when Richard might take it into his head to come +home. The "girl's" husband took care of the stables and exercised the +horses. And all went very well. + +Warrington seldom went to church. It was not because he was without +belief; there was a strong leaven of faith underlying his cynicism. +Frankly, sermons bored him. It was so easy for his imaginative mind to +reach out and take the thought from the preacher's mouth almost before +he uttered it. Thus, there was never any suspense, and suspense in +sermons, as in books and plays, is the only thing that holds captive +our interest. + +So he stayed at home and read the Sunday papers. That part not devoted +to society and foreign news was given up wholly to local politics. +Both the Democratic and Republican parties were in bad odor. In the +Common Council they were giving away street-railway franchises; +gambling-dens flourished undisturbed, and saloons closed only when +some member of the saloon-keeper's family died. The anti-gambling +league had succeeded in suppressing the slot machines for a fortnight; +this was the only triumph virtue could mark down for herself. There +were reformers in plenty, but their inordinate love of publicity +ruined the effectiveness of their work. A brass band will not move the +criminal half so quickly as a sudden pull at the scruff of his neck. +So the evil-doer lay low, or borrowed the most convenient halo and +posed as a deeply-wronged man. Warrington, as he read, smiled in +contempt. They had only one real man in town, scoundrel though he was. +There are certain phases of villainy that compel our admiration, and +the villainy of McQuade was of this order. The newspapers were +evidently subsidized, for their clamor was half-hearted and +hypocritical. Once or twice Warrington felt a sudden longing to take +off his coat and get into the fight; but the impulse was transitory. +He realized that he loved ease and comfort too well. + +Finally he tossed aside the sheets and signaled to the dog. It was a +bull terrier, old and scarred, and unchanging in his affections. He +loved this master of his, even if he saw him but once a year. They +understood each other perfectly. He was a peace-loving animal, but he +was a fighter at times--like his master. He had a beautiful head, +broad punishing jaws, and, for all his age, he had not run to fat, +which is the ignominious end of all athletes, men or dogs. + +"Old boy, this is a jolly bad world." + +Jove wagged his stump of a tail. + +"We should all be thieves if it were not for publicity and jail." + +Jove coughed deprecatingly. Perhaps he recollected purloined haunches +of aforetime. + +"Sometimes I've half a mind to pack up and light out to the woods, and +never look at a human being again." + +Jove thought this would be fine; his tail said so. + +"But I'm like a man at a good play; I've simply got to stay and see +how it ends, for the great Dramatist has me guessing." + +Warrington stared into the kind brown eyes and pulled the ragged ears. +There was a kind of guilt in the old dog's eyes, for dogs have +consciences. If only he dared tell his master! There was somebody else +now. True, this somebody else would never take the master's place; but +what was a poor dog to do when he was lonesome and never laid eyes on +his master for months and months? Nobody paid much attention to him in +this house when the master was away. He respected aunty (who had the +spinster's foolish aversion for dogs and the incomprehensible +affection for cats!) and for this reason never molested her +supercilious Angora cat. Could he be blamed if he sought (and found) +elsewhere affection and confidence? Why, these morning rides were as +good as a bone. She talked to him, told him her secrets (secrets he +swore on a dog's bible never to reveal!) and desires, and fed him +chicken, and cuddled him. There were times when he realized that old +age was upon him; some of these canters left him breathless and +groggy. + +"I've been thinking, boy," the master's voice went on. "New York isn't +so much, after all. I wasn't city born, and there are times when the +flowing gold of the fields and the cool woods call. Bah! There's +nothing now to hold me anywhere. I hope she'll make him happy; she can +do it if she tries. Heigh-ho! the ride this morning has made me +sleepy. To your rug, boy, to your rug." + +Warrington stretched himself on the lounge and fell asleep. And thus +the aunt found him on her return from church. She hated to wake him +but she simply could not hold back the news till luncheon. She touched +his arm, and he woke with the same smile that had dimpled his cheeks +when he was a babe in her arms. Those of us who have retained the good +disposition of youth never scowl upon being awakened. + +"Aha," he cried, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. + +"Richard, I wish you had gone to church this morning." + +"And watched the gossips and scandal-mongers twist their barbs in Mrs. +Bennington's heart? Hardly." + +She gazed at him, nonplussed. There was surely something uncanny in +this boy, who always seemed to know what people were doing, had done +or were going to do. + +"I wouldn't have believed it of my congregation," she said. + +"Oh, Mrs. Bennington is a woman of the world; she understands how to +make barbs harmless. But that's why I never go to church. It doesn't +soothe me as it ought to; I fall too easily into the habit of pulling +my neighbor's mind into pieces. Gossip and weddings and funerals; your +reputation in shreds, your best girl married, your best friend dead. I +find myself nearer Heaven when I'm alone in the fields. But I've been +thinking, Aunty." + +"About what?" + +"About coming home to stay." + +"Oh, Richard, if you only would!" sitting beside him and folding him +in her arms. "I'm so lonely. There's only you and I; all the others +I've loved are asleep on the hill. Do come home, Richard; you're all I +have." + +"I'm thinking it over." + +Here the Angora came in cautiously. She saw Jove and the dog saw her; +fur and hair bristled. Jove looked at his master beseechingly--"Say +the word, Dick, say the word, and I'll give you an entertainment." But +the word did not come. + +"There's your church-goers, Aunty; always ready to fly at each other. +In order to study humanity thoroughly, one must first learn the ways +of the beast." + +"I'm afraid your dog's a traitor." + +"A traitor?" + +"Yes. Half the time he runs over to the Benningtons' and stays all +night. I don't see why he should." + +"Maybe they pet him over there. Perhaps he wants a hand sometimes, +just like human beings when they're lonely. If you petted him once in +a while, one pat for every ten you give the cat, the old boy would be +tickled to death." + +"But I'm kind to him, Richard; he has the best meat I can buy. I'd pet +him, too, but I'm afraid of him. I'm always afraid of dogs. Besides, +his feet are always muddy and his hair falls out and sticks to +everything." + +"Who is his latest love?" + +"Patty Bennington. They go out riding together. I can always tell, for +his stomach is invariably caked with dried mud." + +"Patty Bennington? The old dog shows good taste. And I had forgotten +all about Bennington's having a sister. I was thunderstruck when I met +her the other week in New York. I had really forgotten her. She is +charming." + +"She is a dear young girl. Ah, Richard, if only you would find some +one like her." + +"Marriages are made in Heaven, Aunt, and I'm going to wait till I get +there. But I'll think it over about coming home to stay." + +"I'll be so happy!" the old lady cried. "I'm going right out into the +kitchen myself and make one of those cherry pies you used to rave +over." + +She disappeared; and Warrington laughed, rose and stretched the sleep +from his arms and legs, and went up stairs to dress. Yes, he would +think it over. There was nothing to hold him in New York, nothing but +the craving for noise and late hours. Why not settle down here? There +would be plenty to do. Besides, if he lived in Herculaneum he could +run over to the Bennington home at any time of day. His cheeks flushed +of a sudden. + +"Hang it, am I lying to myself about that girl? Is it the knowledge +that she'll be my neighbor that inclines me to live here? I know I +shall miss her if I stay in New York; I'm honest enough to admit that. +God knows I've nothing but honor in my heart for her. Why, I wouldn't +even kiss her hand without old Jack's consent. Well, well; the scene +in the church Wednesday will solve all doubts--if I have any." + +The Sunday luncheon passed uneventfully. The aunt said nothing more +about his coming home to stay. She knew her boy; urging would do more +harm than good; so she left him to decide freely. + +"Is the pie good, Richard?" she asked. + +"Fine! Can you spare me another piece?" + +"I'm glad you'll never be too proud to eat pie," she returned. + +"Not even when it's humble," laughed Warrington. + +"There are some folks roundabout who do not think pie is proper," +seriously. + +"Not proper? Tommyrot! Pie is an institution; it is as unassailable as +the Constitution of the country. I do not speak of the human +constitution. There are some folks so purse-proud that they call pies +tarts." + +She looked askance at him. There were times when she wasn't quite sure +of this boy of hers. He might be serious, and then again he might be +quietly laughing. But she saw with satisfaction that the pie +disappeared. + +"The world, Richard, isn't what it was in my time." + +"I dare say it isn't, Aunty; yet cherries are just as good as ever and +June as beautiful. It isn't the world, Aunt o' mine; it's the plaguy +people. Those who stay away from church ought to go, and those who go +ought to stay away. I'm going down to the club this afternoon. I shall +dine there, and later look up the Benningtons. So don't keep dinner +waiting for me." + +"Cheer her up, Richard; she needs cheering. It's been a blow to her to +lose her boy. If you'd only get married, too, Richard, I could die +content. What in the world shall you do when I am gone?" + +"Heaven knows!" The thought of losing this dear old soul gave a +serious tone to his voice. He kissed her on the cheek and went out +into the hall. Jove came waltzing after him. "Humph! What do you want, +sir? Want to go out with me, eh? Very well; but you must promise to +behave yourself. I'll have you talking to no poor-dog trash, mind." +Jove promised unutterable things. "Come on, then." + +He walked slowly down town, his cane behind his back, his chin in his +collar, deep in meditation. He knew instinctively that Mrs. Bennington +wanted to talk to him about the coming marriage. He determined to tell +her the truth, truth that would set her mother's heart at peace. + +Jove ran hither and thither importantly. It was good to be out with +the master. He ran into this yard and that, scared a cat up a tree, +chased the sparrows, and grumbled at the other dogs he saw. All at +once he paused, stiffened, each muscle tense. Warrington, catching the +pose, looked up. A handsome trotter was coming along at a walk. In the +light road-wagon sat a man and a white bulldog. It was easy for +Warrington to recognize McQuade, who in turn knew that this +good-looking young man must be the dramatist. The two glanced at each +other casually. They were unacquainted. Not so the dogs. They had met. +The white bull teetered on the seat. Jove bared his strong teeth. How +he hated that sleek white brute up there! He would have given his life +for one good hold on that broad throat. The white dog was thinking, +too. Some day, when the time came, he would clean the slate. Once he +had almost had the tan for his own. And he hated the girl who had +beaten him off with her heavy riding-crop. + +McQuade drove on, and Warrington resumed his interrupted study of the +sidewalk. McQuade thought nothing more about the fellow who wrote +plays, and the dramatist had no place in his mind for the petty +affairs of the politician. Fate, however, moves quite as certainly and +mysteriously as the cosmic law. The bitter feud between these two men +began with their dogs. + +At the club Warrington found a few lonely bachelors, who welcomed him +to the long table in the grill-room; but he was in no mood for gossip +and whisky. He ordered a lithia, drank it quickly, and escaped to the +reading-room to write some letters. + +Down in the grill-room they talked him over. + +"I don't know whether he boozes now, but he used to be tanked quite +regularly," said one. + +"Yes, and they say he writes best when half-seas over." + +"Evidently," said a third, "he doesn't drink unless he wants to; and +that's more than most of us can say." + +"Pshaw! Sunday's clearing-up day; nobody drinks much on Sunday. I +wonder that Warrington didn't marry Challoner himself. He went around +with her a lot." + +Everybody shrugged. You can shrug away a reputation a deal more safely +than you can talk it. + +"Oh, Bennington's no ass. She's a woman of brains, anyhow. It's +something better than marrying a little fool of a pretty chorus girl. +She'll probably make things lively for one iron-monger. If the hair +doesn't fly, the money will. He's a good sort of chap, but he wants a +snaffle and a curb on his high-stepper." + +Then the topic changed to poker and the marvelous hands held the night +before. + +Warrington finished his correspondence, dined alone, and at +seven-thirty started up the street to the Benningtons'. Jove, with the +assurance of one who knows he will be welcomed, approached the +inviting veranda at a gallop. His master, however, followed with a +sense of diffidence. He noted that there was a party of young people +on the veranda. He knew the severe and critical eye of youth, and he +was a bit afraid of himself. Evidently Miss Patty had no lack of +beaux. Miss Patty in person appeared at the top of the steps, and +smiled. + +"I was half expecting you," she said, offering a slim cool hand. + +Warrington clasped it in his own and gave it a friendly pressure. + +"Thank you," he replied. "Please don't disturb yourselves," he +remonstrated, as the young men rose reluctantly from their chairs. "Is +Mrs. Bennington at home?" + +"You will find her in the library." Then Patty introduced him. There +was some constraint on the part of the young men. They agreed that, +should the celebrity remain, he would become the center of attraction +at once, and all the bright things they had brought for the dazzlement +of Patty would have to pass unsaid. + +To youth, every new-corner is a possible rival; he wouldn't be human +if he didn't believe that each man who comes along is simply bound to +fall in love with the very girl HE has his eyes on. + +On the other hand, the young girls regretted that the great dramatist +wasn't going to sit beside them. There is a strange glamour about +these men and women who talk or write to us from over the footlights. +As Warrington disappeared into the hallway, the murmur and frequent +laughter was resumed. + +Mrs. Bennington was very glad to see him. She laid aside her book and +made room for him on the divan. They talked about the weather, the +changes that had taken place since the fall, a scrap of foreign travel +of mutual interest, each hoping that the other would be first to +broach the subject most vital to both. Finally, Mrs. Bennington +realized that she could fence no longer. + +"It was very good of you to come. I have so many things to ask you." + +"Yes." + +"My boy's determination to marry has been very sudden. I knew nothing +till a month ago. I love him so, and my whole heart hungers for one +thing--the assurance that he will be happy with the woman of his +choice." + +"My dear Mrs. Bennington, Jack will marry a woman who is as loyal and +honest as she is brilliant and beautiful. Miss Challoner is a woman +any family might be proud to claim. She numbers among her friends many +of the brilliant minds of the age; she compels their respect and +admiration by her intellect and her generosity. Oh, Jack is to be +envied. I can readily understand the deep-rooted antagonism the +actress still finds among the laity. It is a foolish prejudice. I can +point out many cases where the layman has married an actress and has +been happy and contented with his lot." + +"But on the obverse side?" with a smile that was sad and dubious. + +"Happiness is always in the minority of cases, in all walks of life. +Happiness depends wholly upon ourselves; environment has nothing to do +with it. Most of these theatrical marriages you have read about were +mere business contracts. John is in love." + +"But is he loved?" + +"Miss Challoner has a very comfortable fortune of her own. She would, +in my opinion, be the last person in the world to marry for money or +social position, the latter of which she already has." + +But she saw through his diplomacy. + +"Perhaps she may desire a home?" + +"That is probable; but it is quite evident to me that she wants John +with it." + +"There are persons in town who will do their best to make her +unhappy." + +"You will always find those persons; but I am confident Miss Challoner +will prove a match for any of them. There is no other woman in the +world who knows better than she the value of well-applied flattery." + +"She is certainly a charming woman; it is impossible not to admit that +frankly. But you, who are familiar with the stage, know how unstable +people of that sort are. Suppose she tires of John? It would break my +heart." + +"Ah, all that will depend upon Jack. Doubtless he knows the meaning of +'to have and to hold.' To hold any woman's love, a man must make +himself indispensable; he must be her partner in all things: her +comrade and husband when need be, her lover always. There can be no +going back to old haunts, so attractive to men; club life must become +merely an incident. Again, he must not be under her feet all the time. +Too much or too little will not do; it must be the happy between." + +"You are a very wise young man." + +Warrington laughed embarrassedly. "I have had to figure out all these +things." + +"But if she does not love him!" + +"How in the world can she help it?" + +She caught up his hand in a motherly clasp. + +"We mothers are vain in our love. We make our sons paragons; we blind +ourselves to their faults; we overlook their follies, and condone +their sins. And we build so many castles that one day tumble down +about our ears. Why is it a mother always wishes her boy to marry the +woman of her choice? What right has a mother to interfere with her +son's heart-desires? It may be that we fear the stranger will stand +between us. A mother holds, and always will hold, that no woman on +earth is good enough for her son. Now, as I recollect, I did not think +Mr. Bennington too good for me." She smiled drolly. + +Lucky Jack! If only he had had a mother like this! Warrington thought. + +"I dare say he thought that, too," he said. "Myself, I never knew a +mother's love. No doubt I should have been a better man. Yet, I've +often observed that a boy with a loving mother takes her love as a +matter of course, and never realizes his riches till he has lost them. +My aunt is the only mother I have known." + +"And a dear, kind, loving soul she is," said Mrs. Bennington. "She +loves you, if not with mother-love, at least with mother-instinct. +When we two get together, we have a time of it; I, lauding my boy; +she, praising hers. But I go round and round in a circle: my boy. Sons +never grow up, they are always our babies; they come to us with their +heartaches, at three or at thirty; there is ever one door open in the +storm, the mother's heart. If she loves my boy, nothing shall be too +good for her." + +"I feel reasonably sure that she does." Did she? he wondered. Did she +love Jack as he (Warrington) wanted some day to be loved? + +"As you say," the mother went on, "how can she help loving him? He is +a handsome boy; and this alone is enough to attract women. But he is +so kind and gentle, Richard; so manly and strong. He has his faults; +he is human, like his mother. John is terribly strong-willed, and this +would worry me, were I not sure that his sense of justice is equally +strong. He is like me in gentleness; but the man in him is the same +man I loved in my girlhood days. When John maps out a course to act +upon, if he believes he is right, nothing can swerve him--nothing. And +sometimes he has been innocently wrong. I told Miss Challoner all his +good qualities and his bad. She told me that she, too, has her faults. +She added that there was only one other man who could in any manner +compare with John, and that man is you." + +"I?" his face growing warm. + +"Yes. But she had no right to compare anybody with my boy," laughing. + +"There isn't any comparison whatever," admitted Warrington, laughing +too. "But it was very kind of Miss Challoner to say a good word for +me." And then upon impulse he related how, and under what +circumstances, he had first met the actress. + +"It reads like a story,--a versatile woman. This talk has done me much +good. I know the affection that exists between you and John, and I am +confident that you would not misrepresent anything. I shall sleep +easier to-night." + +The portieres rattled, and Patty stood in the doorway. + +"Everybody's gone; may I come in?" + +Warrington rose. "I really should be very glad to make your +acquaintance," gallantly. "It's so long a time since I've met young +people--" + +"Young people!" indignantly. "I am not young people; I am twenty, +going on twenty-one." + +"I apologize." Warrington sat down. + +Thereupon Miss Patty, who was a good sailor, laid her course close to +the wind, and with few tacks made her goal; which was the complete +subjugation of this brilliant man. She was gay, sad, witty and wise; +and there were moments when her mother looked at her in puzzled +surprise. As for Warrington, he went from one laugh into another. + +Oh, dazzling twenty; blissful, ignorant, confident twenty! Who among +you would not be twenty, when trouble passes like cloud-shadows in +April; when the door of the world first opens? Ay, who would not trade +the meager pittance, wrested from the grinding years, for one fleet, +smiling dream of twenty? + +"It is all over town, the reply you made to Mrs. Winthrop and that +little, sawed-off, witty daughter of hers." + +"Patty!" + +"Well, she is sawed-off and witty." + +"What did I say?" asked Warrington, blushing. He had forgotten the +incident. + +"Mrs. Winthrop asked you to make her daughter an epigram, and you +replied that Heaven had already done that." + +"By the way," said Warrington, when the laughter subsided, "I +understand that my old dog has been running away from home lately. I +hope he doesn't bother you." + +"Bother, indeed! I just love him," cried Patty. "He's such a lovable +animal. We have such good times on our morning rides. We had trouble +last week, though. A white bulldog sprang at him. Jove was so tired +that he would have been whipped had I not dismounted and beaten the +white dog off. Oh, Jove was perfectly willing to contest the right of +way. And when it was all over, who should come along but Mr. McQuade, +the politician. It was his dog. And he hadn't even the grace to make +an apology for his dog's ill manners." + +"May I not ride with you to-morrow morning?" he asked. He had intended +to leave Herculaneum at noon; but there were many later trains. + +"That will be delightful! I know so many beautiful roads; and we can +lunch at the Country Club. And Jove can go along, too." + +"Where is the traitor?" + +"He is sound asleep on the veranda rugs." + +"Well, it's long past his bedtime. I must be going." + +"Some time I hope you will come just to call on me." + +"I shall not need any urging." + +They followed him to the door, and good nights were said. + +"Oh, Patty, he has lifted so much doubt!" said the mother, as the two +returned to the library. "He has nothing but praise for Miss +Challoner. It is quite possible that John will be happy." + +"It is not only possible, mother darling, but probable. For my part, I +think her the most charming, most fascinating woman I ever met. And +she told me she rides. What jolly times we'll have together, when John +settles down in the new house!" + +"The new house!" repeated the mother, biting her lips. "How the word +hurts! Patty, why could they not come here? We'll be so lonely. Yet, +it is the law of Heaven that a man and his wife must live by and for +themselves." + +Warrington walked home, lightened in spirit. He swung his cane, gave +Jove a dozen love-taps and whistled operatic airs. What a charming +young creature it was, to be sure! The brain of a woman and the heart +of a child. And he had forgotten all about her. Now, of course, his +recollection became clear. He remembered a mite of a girl in short +frocks, wonder-eyes, and candy-smudged lips. How they grew, these +youngsters! + +He went into the house, still whistling. Jove ran out into the kitchen +to see if by some possible miracle there was another piece of steak in +his grub-pan. A dog's eyes are always close to his stomach. +Warrington, finding that everybody had gone to bed, turned out the +lights and went up stairs. He knocked on the door of his aunt's +bedroom. + +"Is that you, Richard?" + +"Yes. May I come in?" + +"Certainly." + +He entered quietly. The moonlight, pouring in through the window, lay +blue-white on the counterpane and the beloved old face. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her hands. + +"Aunty, old lady, I'm through thinking. I'm going to come home just as +soon as I can fix up things in New York." + +"Richard, my boy!" Her arms pulled him downward. "I knew it when you +came in. I've prayed so long for this. God has answered my prayers. +I'm so happy. Don't you remember how you used to tell me all your +plans, the plots of your stories, the funny things that had come to +you during the day? You used to come home late, but that didn't +matter; you'd always find some pie and cheese and a glass of milk on +the kitchen table--the old kitchen table. I'm so glad!" + +"It may be a month or so; for I'll have to sell some of the things. +But I'm coming home, I'm coming home." He bent swiftly and kissed her. +"Good night." + + + + +Chapter VI + + +Warrington was up and about at six the next morning. He had never +really outgrown the natural habit of waking at dawn, but he had fallen +upon the evil way of turning over and sleeping till half after nine. +He ate a light breakfast and went out to the stables and moved among +the stalls, talking affectionate nonsense to the horses. A man can not +talk baby-talk, that is the undisputed prerogative of the woman; but +he has a fashion of his own which serves. "Aha, old boy! handsome +beggar!" or--"How's the little lady this morning, eh?" or yet +again--"Rascal! you've been rubbing the hair off your tail!" In the +boxstall Warrington's thoroughbred Irish hunter nozzled his palm for +loaf-sugar, and whinnied with pleasure when he found it. One of the +first things Warrington had done, upon drawing his first big royalty +check, was to buy a horse. As a boy on the farm he had hungered for +the possession of one of those sleek, handsome animals which men call +thoroughbreds. Then for a while he bought, sold and traded horses, for +the mere pleasure it gave him to be near them. Finally he came to +Herculaneum with two such saddle-horses as made every millionaire in +town (and there were several in Herculaneum) offer fabulous sums +whenever they ran across the owner. Next, he added two carriage-horses, +in their way quite equal to the hunters. Men offered to buy these, +too, but Warrington was a property owner now, and he wanted the horses +for his own. In New York one of his wealthy friends had given him free +use of his stables: so Warrington rode, at home and abroad. His +income, ranging from twenty to thirty thousand the year, gave him that +financial independence which neither the clerk nor the millionaire +knew or understood. In the phraseology of the day, he carried his +business under his hat: in other words, he had no business cares or +responsibilities whatever. + +Warrington made it a rule to saddle and bridle his own horses; grooms +become careless. One or two men of his acquaintance had gone to their +death for the want of care and a firm buckle. Besides, he enjoyed the +work, and it accustomed the horses to his touch. He saddled his +favorite hunter and led the eager animal into the open. He mounted and +whistled for the dog; but Jove for once did not respond; doubtless he +was out of hearing. Thereupon Warrington started for the Benningtons' +and found Patty already in the saddle. It was not that the dramatist +was blase, but he had come into contact with so many beautiful women +that his pulse rarely stirred out of its healthy, measured beat. But +this morning he was conscious of a slight thrill. The girl was really +beautiful; more than that, she was fresh with youth and gaiety, gaiety +which older women find necessary to repress. She was dressed in a dark +grey riding-habit and wore a beaver cocked-hat. + +"Good morning," he said, touching his cap with his crop. "I hope I +haven't kept you waiting." + +"Only a moment." The truth is, she wanted to prove to him that there +was one woman who did not keep men waiting. "Shall I pick the going?" + +"I'm afraid I've lost track of the good country roads." + +"Follow me, then." + +They walked their horses to the city limits. You never saw either of +them galloping over brick or asphalt, which quickly ruins the +surest-footed horse; neither did they permit any fox-trotting, which, while +it shows off a spirited horse, decreases his value in the ring. All of +which is to say, these two, like their mounts, were thoroughbreds. + +"Where is Jove?" she asked presently. + +"The rogue is missing. I dare say he is gallivanting around some +neighbor's back yard. I haven't laid eyes on him this morning. I +believe he realizes that he will see me frequently hereafter, and has +not bothered his head to look me up." + +"Frequently?" She turned her head. + +"Yes. I am coming home to live. Of course, this is my place of +residence; my voter's bed, as the politicians say, is here in +Herculaneum. But I mean to live here now in deed as well as in +thought." + +"I am sure we shall be delighted to have you with us." This was said +gravely. A thought, which she would have repelled gladly, sprang into +being. "I know John will be glad. He's always talking about you and +your exploits at college." + +"Our exploits," he corrected, laughing. "Shall we give them a little +exercise now?" he asked, with a gesture toward the long brown road. + +She nodded, and they started off at a sharp trot, and presently broke +into a canter. So he was coming home to live? She felt a hot wave of +sudden anger sweep over her, and her hands tightened on the reins. It +was true, then? She loved her brother. What right had this man at her +side to threaten her brother's happiness? Had Katherine Challoner +signified her desire not to leave New York, would Warrington have +decided to return to Herculaneum? Her hands relaxed. What a silly +little fool she was! She, who despised and contemned gossip, was +giving it ready ear. Had she ever found gossip other than an errant, +cowardly liar? Gossip, gossip! Ah, if gossip, when she had made her +round, would not leave suspicion behind her; suspicion, hydra-headed! +What signified it that Warrington intended to come home to live? What +signified it that her brother's wife would live across the way? She +was ashamed of her evil thought; presently she would be no better than +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, or any of those women who get together to tear +somebody apart. As if Warrington could compare with her big, handsome, +manly brother! It was all impossible. She would punish herself for +even entertaining such a thought as had been hers but a moment gone. + +She stole a glance at Warrington. He was riding easily, his feet light +in the stirrups, his head thrown back, his eyes half closed, and was +breathing deeply of the cool air, which was heavy with the smell of +sweet clover and dew-wet earth. It was a good, clean, honest face. +Indeed, it was all impossible. Dissipation writes plainly upon the +human countenance, and it had left no visible sign on Warrington's +face. It may be that dissipation sometimes whimsically neglects to +write at all. + +They thundered over a wooden bridge. The spirit of the morning was in +the horses; they began to race. An unexpected curve in the road +discovered a road-builder and his gang of Italians. A low barrier ran +across the road. It was not exactly needed, as they were not digging, +but laying crushed stone. The obstruction was simply for the +convenience of the boss, who desired to work unhampered. + +"Shall we?" cried Warrington, mischief in his eyes. + +"Yes." There was no fear in this girl. + +On they went, in a cloud of dust. The Italians made for the ditches, +but the boss stood in the road and waved his arms in warning. +Presently he, too, ducked. + +Hep! and over the pair went, landing clean and sound on the other side +of the barrier. Before the surprised boss could express himself, they +were far down the road. A curse was hurled after them, but they heard +it not. They hadn't hurt the road at all, but the authority of the +boss had suffered. He knew the girl, little snob! He would find out +who the man was, soon enough. And if he had any influence in the City +Hall, as he believed he had, he would make it tolerably warm for +yonder vanishing parties. + +He had put up that barrier to signify that the road was closed; very +well, they'd see. Dirt under their feet, huh? All right. How he hated +them all, with their horses and carriages and dances and dinners and +clubs! Bah! He took a flask from his pocket and drank. Then he cursed +the laggard Italians, and mourned that a year and a half must pass +before he could sell their votes again. Bolles contracted for Italian +labor and controlled something more than eight hundred votes. McQuade +sublet various small contracts to him, and in return used the Italians +during elections. + +That jump, harmless enough in itself, was to prove a bad inspiration +on Warrington's part. But it is always these seemingly inconsequent +things that bear the heaviest reckoning. + +Half a mile onward they drew down to a walk, flushed and breathless. + +"Perhaps we oughtn't to have done that," she said doubtfully, working +the numbness from her fingers. "No thoroughfare" had hitherto been +religiously respected by her; this was her first transgression, and +she wasn't entirely satisfied with herself. + +"Pshaw! There's no harm done. There was no earthly reason why we +should have turned back to the fork and added two miles to our ride. +Don't let anything like that worry you; we went by too fast to be +recognized. Look! here's a big clover patch. I never pass clover +without wanting to get down and hunt for four-leaves. Shall we?" + +She was out of the saddle before the query had left his lips. + +"I believe it would be a good idea to arm ourselves against bad luck," +she replied, gently moving aside the clover heads with her crop. + +"You believe in four-leaf clover, then?" + +She nodded. + +"I do. I also am very careful," he added, "to catch the money-patches +on my coffee." + +She laughed. After all, there was something old-fashioned about this +man. "And I never think of plucking a five-leaf. That's bad luck." + +"The worst kind of bad luck. I remember, when I was a kid, I never +played hooky without first hunting up my four-leaved amulet. If I got +a licking when I returned home, why, I consoled myself with the +thought, that it might have been ten times worse but for the +four-leaf." + +They moved about, looking here and there, while the horses buried +their noses in the wet grass and threatened never to return to the +road again. After a diligent search Patty found a beautiful four-leaf +clover. She exhibited it in triumph. + +"You've better luck than I," said Warrington. "We shall have to go on +without my finding one." + +"You may have this one," she replied; "and I hope it will bring you +all sorts of good luck." + +He took out his card-case and made room for the little amulet. + +"It is impossible not to be fortunate now," he said, with a gravity +that was not assumed. + +She looked at him dubiously. No, there was no laughter in his eyes; he +was perfectly serious. + +They walked the horses over a small hill, then mounted. It was a very +pleasant morning for Warrington. It had been years since he had talked +to a young woman who was witty and unworldly. He had to readjust +himself. He had written down that all witty women were worldly, but +that all worldly women were not witty. But to be witty and +unsophisticated was altogether out of his calculations. + +At the Country Club they stabled the horses and wandered about the +golf links. Luncheon was served on the veranda; and presently +Warrington found himself confiding in this young girl as if he had +known her intimately all his life. The girl felt a thrill of +exultation. It flattered her young vanity to hear this celebrity +telling her about his ambitions. + +"Everything becomes monotonous after a while," he said. "And I have +just begun to grow weary of living alone. Day after day, the same +faces, the same places, the same arguments, the same work. I've grown +tired. I want to live like other human beings. Monotony leads very +quickly into folly, and I confess to many acts of folly. And no folly +is absolutely harmless." He stirred his tea and stared into the cup. + +"Why, I should think you ought to be the most contented of men," she +cried. "You are famous, wealthy, courted. And when you return to +Herculaneum, every girl in town will set her cap for you. I warn you +of this, because I've taken a friendly interest in you." + +"It is very good of you. Come," he said, draining his cup; "surely you +tell fortunes in tea-cups; tell mine." + +"Four-leaf clovers and tea-grounds," she mused. "You strike me as +being a very superstitious young man." + +"I am." + +She passed the cup back to him. "Pour a little fresh tea in, spill it +gently, turn the cup against the saucer and twirl it three times. +That's the incantation." + +He followed the directions carefully, and she extended her hand for +the cup. + +"There is always a woman in a man's tea-cup," she began. "There are +two in this one." + +"Good gracious!" + +"Yes. Do you see that?" pointing to a cluster of leaves. + +"Looks like a camel. Am I going to be thirsty?" + +"That always indicates scandal," she declared soberly. + +"Scandal?" He smiled skeptically. + +"Scandal and disappointment. But happily these do not appear as having +permanency." + +"Thanks," piously. "Disappointment? I can readily believe that. +Disappointment has always been my portion. But scandal has never +lifted her ugly head." + +"We are all far-sighted when scandal is in our immediate vicinity. +This cup says scandal. There is plenty of money about you. See that? +That means an enemy, strong, implacable. Disappointment and scandal +are in his zone, which means he will probably be the cause of all your +trouble. Have you an enemy?" + +"None that I know of, save myself. But don't you think something is +the matter with the tea? It seems impossible that those harmless +grounds ... Why, I shan't sleep o' nights after this." + +"You are laughing. Yet, this man is there. And here is a lie, too. +It's a very bad cup, Mr. Warrington. I'm sorry." + +"So am I," gaily. "By the way, when do you and your mother start for +New York?" + +"We leave to-night." + +"Good. Do you mind if I take the same train down?" + +"Mother and I'll be glad to have you with us." + +The servant cleared the table, and Warrington lighted a cigar. A +trolley-car rolled up in front of the club, and several golf +enthusiasts alighted. They knew Patty, and bowed; they weren't quite +certain who her escort was. + +At two o'clock they began the journey home. There wasn't much +loitering by the way. Patty had a tea; she must have time to rest and +dress. All told, it was an enjoyable day for Warrington. More than +ever he set his face against the great city and looked with +satisfaction on the hills of his childhood. It would be a pleasant +pastime to sit on Patty's veranda and talk, become, and act like one +of the young people. He was growing old; his youth must be renewed +soon, or he would lose it utterly. This young man had been surfeited +with noise and light, with the sham and glitter of hotels, clubs and +restaurants. He was not to the manner born; thus he could easily see +how palpably false life is in a great city. To those who have lived in +the abnormal glamour of city life, absolute quiet is a kind of new +excitement. + +Warrington found that he was a bit stiff from the long ride. + +Patty, however, rode nearly every day; so she was but slightly +fatigued. Nevertheless, she was conscious of not wanting to dress for +the tea. But there was a very good reason why she must attend the +function (as applied by the society reporter); they would naturally +discuss her brother's coming marriage, but if she was present, the +discussion would not rise above whispers. She wanted to meet the old +busybodies in the open; she wasn't afraid. As she dressed, she caught +herself doing aimless things, such as approaching the window and +watching the clouds, or thoughtfully studying her face in the mirror, +or patting the rug impatiently, or sighing. She shook herself +vehemently, and went resolutely about the intricate business known as +toilet. + +"I simply can't believe it. I know he isn't that kind of man. This +can't be such a wicked world. But if she dares to make John unhappy, I +shall hate her. Why must we hear these things that make us doubt and +ponder and hesitate?" + +At the tea the ladies greeted her sympathetically. Sympathy! +Hypocrites! Heads came together; she could see them from the corner of +her eyes. She saw Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, like a vast ship of the line, +manoeuvering toward her. There were several escapes, but Patty stood +her ground. + +"You are looking charming, my dear," said Mrs. Haldene. + +"Thank you." + +"You go to the wedding, of course." + +"Yes; mother and I leave to-night for New York. I am so excited over +it. To think of John's being married to a celebrity!" + +Patty was excited, but this excitement did not find its origin in +anything exultant. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene to mind her own business. There was something +primitive in Patty. Her second thoughts were due to cultivation, and +not from any inherent caution. + +Mrs. Haldene smiled and went on. It was a wonderful smile; it never +changed; it served for all emotions, anger, hate, love, envy and +malice. Mrs. Haldene never flew into passions or ecstasies. She was +indeed preserved; and from the puckering taste she left in her wake, +it might be suspected that she was pickled. + +Before Patty arrived, two things had been fully discussed: the +Bennington wedding and the report that Warrington was coming home to +live. Shrugs, knowing glances, hypocritical resignation. Too bad, too +bad! Warrington was coming home to live; young Mrs. Bennington would +live across the street. When two and two make four, what more need be +said? + +But Patty had her friends, and they stood by her loyally. + + +New York. Clamor, clamor; noise, noise; the calling of cabmen, the +clanging of street-cars, the rumbling of the elevated, the roaring of +the drays, the rattling of the carts; shouting, pushing, hurrying, +rushing, digging, streaming, pell-mell; the smell of coal-gas, of food +cooking, of good and bad tobacco, of wet pavements, of plaster; riches +and poverty jostling; romance and reality at war; monoliths of stone +and iron; shops, shops; signs, signs; hotels; the tower of Babel; all +the nations of the world shouldering one another; Jews and Gentiles, +Christians and Turks; jumble, jumble. This is New York. There is +nothing American about it; there is nothing English, French, German, +Latin or Oriental about it. It is cosmopolitan; that is to say, it +represents everything and nothing. + +Warrington, Patty and her mother alighted from the train in the +gloomy, smoky cavern called the Grand Central Station and walked +toward the gates. There was sunshine outside, but it was scarcely +noticeable through the blackened canopy overhead. + +"There's John!" cried Patty, seizing her mother's arm. "And Miss +Challoner, too!" + +A moment later the son was holding his mother in a fond embrace. Mrs. +Bennington gave the actress her hand, who ignored it, put her arms +around the mother and kissed her. There was not the slightest +affectation in the act; it was done naturally and sweetly. Mrs. +Bennington was well pleased. But Patty, Miss Challoner hugged Patty +and whispered: "My sister!" If Patty had any doubts, they disappeared +like summer mists in sunshine. + +"I'm a rank outsider," Warrington grumbled. + +"Surely you did not expect to be kissed!" Patty retorted. + +"A man never gives up hoping. Well, Benedick," to John, "I suppose +you've a nice breakfast waiting for us somewhere." + +"That I have!" John thwacked Warrington on the shoulder. "It was good +of you to come down with the folks." + +"No trouble at all." + +They all followed John, who announced that he had a carriage waiting, +large enough to carry them all comfortably. As they crossed over to +the street exit Warrington covertly glanced at Miss Challoner. She was +radiant; there was color on her cheeks and lips; she was happy. +Heigh-ho! Warrington sighed. She was gone, as completely as though she +had died. He grew angry at the heaviness of his heart. Was he always +to love no one but Warrington? It is fine to be a bachelor when one is +young; but when the years multiply, when there are no new junkets and +old ones grow stale, when scenes change, when friends drop out one by +one, when a younger generation usurps the primrose path of dalliance, +ah! the world becomes a dreary place. The old bachelor is the +loneliest and most pathetic of men. + +Once inside the carriage, the women began a light, friendly chatter; +smiles and laughter; little jests about Benedicks, about the servant +question, about coming home late o' nights; antenuptial persiflage. +There was little that was spontaneous; each jest was an effort; but it +sufficed to relieve what might have been awkward silence. + +"It's up to you, now, Dick," said John. "Think of the good times we +four could have together!" + +"And who'd marry an old man like me?" asked Warrington plaintively. + +"Bosh!" said John. + +"Nonsense!" said Patty. + +"You are a young man," said the mother. + +"There are plenty setting their caps for you, if you but knew it," +said Miss Challoner. + +"Aha! I smell a conspiracy!" laughed Warrington. "You are putting your +heads together to get me off your hands." + +The breakfast awaited them at Bennington's hotel. This passed off +smoothly. Then Warrington excused himself. He had a business +engagement down town. It was arranged, however, that they were to be +his guests that evening at dinner and a box-party at the summer opera. +On Wednesday, at ten, they were to breakfast in his apartment. From +his rooms they would go straight to the parson's, the "Little Church +Around the Corner." + +When Warrington had gone, John turned to his sister. + +"Isn't he the finest chap?" + +"He isn't to be compared with you," Patty answered. + +"Nobody is," said Miss Challoner. + +John colored with pleasure. + +"Mr. Warrington is a thorough gentleman, and I like him very much," +said Mrs. Bennington. "I have heard things about him; I can see that +there has been some exaggeration. I shall be very glad to have him for +a neighbor." + +"A neighbor?" said Miss Challoner. + +"Yes. He is coming back to Herculaneum to live." + +"That is news to me." The actress stirred her coffee and smiled at +Patty. "I understand you've been riding together. He is really a +splendid horseman." + +"He has the dearest old dog," replied Patty. + +The day passed quickly for all concerned: the dinner and box-party +left nothing to be desired. + +The wedding-breakfast would have provoked envy in the heart of +Lucullus; for Warrington was a man of the world, thoroughly polished; +there was nothing Stoic about him (though, in the early days he had +been a disciple of this cult perforce); he was a thoroughgoing epicure. + +Patty was delighted. Warrington guided her about the rooms on a tour +of inspection. He pointed out all the curios and told the history of +each. But the desk was the article which interested her most. + +"And this is where you write? Upon this desk plays have grown up? +Won't you give me a single sheet of manuscript to take home with me?" + +"I certainly shall." + +He pulled out a drawer and found some old manuscript. He selected a +sheet, signed it, and gave it to her. + +"I am rich!" the girl exclaimed. "Signed manuscript from a real live +author! I suppose that you receive tons of letters, some praising, +some arguing, some from mere autograph fiends." + +"It's a part of the day's work." His face brightened. He searched his +pockets. "Here is one out of the ordinary. It is unsigned, so I feel +no qualms of conscience in letting you read it." + +Patty took the envelope with suppressed eagerness. She drew out the +letter and read it slowly. + +"Do you receive many like that?" she asked, folding the letter and +returning it. + +"Very few; that's why I treasure it. I should like to meet the writer; +but that's impossible. I have read and re-read it fifty times." + +"Evidently it was written in good faith." Patty was not very +enthusiastic. + +"There's not the least doubt of that. I am glad of one thing: I can't +disillusion her." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, this young woman thinks I must be a paragon of virtues. I'm not; +I'm a miserable impostor. She takes it for granted that I am good and +kind and wise." + +"Aren't you?" asked Patty gravely. + +"As men go. I always try to be kind; sometimes I am good, and +sometimes I am wise." + +"I'm afraid you are one of those young men who try to be bad and +can't. They are hopeless." + +Warrington laughed. + +"But I am superstitious about that letter. I've carried it in my +pocket for weeks. It's a kind of mentor. Whenever some fool thing +comes into my head, I stop and think of the letter." + +"That is good. The writer hasn't wasted her time." + + +"I love you!" whispered John. + +Miss Challoner smiled into his eyes. The smile encouraged him, and he +raised her hand to his lips. + +Ah, if it were not for those gloves! Why did he not say something? She +was positive that he had them. To smile and laugh and talk; to face +the altar, knowing that he possessed those hateful gloves! To pretend +to deceive when she knew that he was not deceived! It was maddening. +It was not possible that Warrington had the gloves; he would never +have kept them all this while. What meant this man at her side? What +was he going to do? She recollected a play in which there was a pair +of gloves. The man had thrown them at the woman's feet, and, at the +very altar, turned and left her. But she knew that men did not do such +things in life. She was innocent of any wrong; this knowledge +sustained her. + +"A honeymoon in Switzerland: it has been the dream of my life." This +time he drew her arm through his and crossed the room to his mother's +side. "Mother mine, we shall be gone only three months; then we shall +come home to stay." + +"I shall miss you so; you have been away so much that I am hardly +acquainted with you." + +The woman who was to become her daughter suddenly dropped on her knees +beside the chair. + +"Please love me, too. I have been so lonely all my life." + +"My daughter!" Mrs. Bennington laid her hand on the splendid head. + +"I shall never marry," said Patty decidedly. + +"What? Young lady, don't let any one hear you make such a remark. One +of these fine days somebody will swoop you up and run off with you. I +don't know but that I could play the part fairly well." Warrington +laughed. + +"Indeed! You'd have a time of it." + +"I dare say. But there's the breakfast waiting." + +Toasts and good wishes, how easy they are to give! + +At the church the women cried a little. Women cry when they are happy, +they cry when they are not; their tears keep a man guessing year in +and year out. But this is no place for a dissertation on tears. +There's time enough for that. + +The bride and groom left immediately for Boston, from which city they +were to sail for Europe the following day. In the carriage John drew +his bride close to his heart. + +"Mine!" he said, kissing her. "God grant that I may make you happy, +girl." + +"John, you are the finest gentleman in the world!" + +His hand stole into his coat pocket and gently dropped something into +her lap. She looked down and saw through her tears a crumpled pair of +white kid gloves. Then she knew what manner of man was this at her +side. + +"It was not because I doubted you," he said softly: "it was because +they were yours." + + + + +Chapter VII + + +Spring came round again in Herculaneum. People began to go to the +tailor and the dress-maker and the hatter. There were witty +editorials in the newspapers on house-cleaning and about the man who +had the courage to wear the first straw hat. The season (referring to +the winter festivities) had been unusually lively. There had been two +charity balls by rival hospital boards, receptions, amateur dramatics, +dinners and dances, not to omit the announcement of several +engagements. + +The new Bennington mansion had its house-warming in November. The +reception, followed by a dinner-dance in the evening, was, according +to the society columns, "one of the social events of the season. The +handsomest house in town was a bower of smilax and hothouse roses." +Everybody went to the reception, for everybody was more or less +curious to meet the former celebrated actress. The society reporters, +waiting for their cues, were rather non-committal in their description +of the mistress. There was reason. They did not care, at this early +stage of the game, to offend the leader by too much praise of a +newcomer who had yet to establish herself. Besides, they realized how +little their paragraphs would mean to a woman whose portrait had +appeared in nearly all the illustrated magazines in the world. Thus, +the half-heartedness of the newspapers was equally due to +self-consciousness. Society itself, however, was greatly pleased with +the beautiful Mrs. Bennington, for she entered with zest into all +society's plans. In fact, she threatened to become very popular. The +younger element began to call her Mrs. Jack. + +Kate was in her element, for to live after this fashion was the one +ambition that had survived all seasons. She was like a child with some +wonderful new French doll. There was always a crowd of young married +people about her, which is a healthy sign. She and Patty became +inseparable comrades. They shopped together, went to the matinees, and +drove and rode together. + +Everything went along smoothly, too smoothly. Fate never permits +anything like this to prosper long. + +For the first time in her career Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw her +position menaced. The younger set no longer consulted her as formerly. +When, like Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, a woman has nothing more serious to +live for than to organize social affairs, the slightest defection from +her ranks is viewed in the light of a catastrophe. She had called on +Mrs. Bennington the second, armed with all those subtle cruelties +which women of her caliber know so well how to handle. And behold! she +met a fencer who quietly buttoned the foils before the bout began. She +had finally departed with smiles on her lips and rage in her heart. +This actress, whom she had thought to awe with the majesty of her +position in Herculaneum, was not awed at all. It was disconcerting; it +was humiliating. She had condescended to tolerate and was tolerated in +turn. Katherine adored Patty, and Patty had told her that she hated +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. Naturally Katherine assumed the defensive +whenever she met the common enemy. + +But Mrs. Haldene could wait. She had waited before this. She had made +certain prophecies, and it embittered her to learn that so far none of +these prophecies had come true. She could wait. Something was destined +to happen, sooner or later. She knew human nature too well not to be +expectant. To Mrs. Haldene the most gratifying phrase in the language +was: "I told you so!" Warrington had disappointed her, too. He behaved +himself. He did not run after young Mrs. Bennington; he never called +there alone; he was seen more frequently at the old Bennington place. +The truth is, Patty was busy reforming the wayward dramatist, and +Warrington was busy watching the result. There were those who nodded +and looked wise whenever they saw the two together. + +Oh, Herculaneum was a city to be desired, socially. Everybody was on +his or her best behavior. It was only from among the poor that scandal +gleaned her items for the newspapers. The shooting of such a man by +such a woman's husband aroused only the mildest comment. But that +class of people, don't you know, is so primeval. To kill a man from +jealousy! It was ridiculous. Why did they not go to court, like +civilized human beings? + +Of course there is always scandal in politics; everybody understands +that this is unavoidable. Another franchise had slipped out of the +Common Council into the transit company's pocket, and even the +partizan papers mildly belabored the aldermanic body. The Evening +Call, however slashed the ward representatives vigorously. It wound up +its editorial with the query: "How much longer will the public stand +this sort of thing?" The Call was the only independent sheet in town, +and did about as it pleased. + +Warrington found himself taking more than normal interest in the +situation. Occasionally, on Monday nights, he wandered into the City +Hall and listened to the impassioned speeches of the aldermen. Many a +tempestuous scene passed under his notice. Ordinances were passed or +blocked, pavement deals were rushed through or sidetracked. And once, +when the gas company was menaced with dollar-gas, the city pay-roll +was held up for two months by the lighting company's cohorts. Only +Heaven knows how much longer it might have been held back, had not an +assemblyman come to the mayor's help by rushing up to the capital and +railroading through a law that required only a two-thirds vote. + +The Democrats had remained in power for six years, and Herculaneum was +essentially a Republican city. On the Democratic side was McQuade, on +the Republican side was ex-Senator Henderson. These men were bosses of +no ordinary type. The first was from the mass, the second from the +class; and both were millionaires. The political arena was a pastime +for these two men; it was a huge complex game of chess in which +recently the senator had been worsted. The public paid, as it +invariably does, to watch this game on the checkerboard of wards. The +senator had been unfortunate in his candidates. He had tried young men +and old, lawyers and merchants; but he had failed to nominate a man +who was popular with class and mass. + +The present mayor was a shrewd Democrat who understood the diplomacy +of petty politics. He shook the grimy hand of toil in preference to +the gloved hand of idleness. He was thoroughly a politician. He never +disregarded public opinion openly. He never sailed close to the wind, +but spent his time in safe tacks to whatever harbor he desired. He was +McQuade's man just so long as McQuade made the business worth while. +He had opened up many new streets, abolished needless nuisances, and +these concessions gave him a strong hold on the independent voter. He +was a king over frogs which had changed much since Aesop's time, for +now they let well enough alone. + +Nevertheless, things were going from bad to worse. Three terms are +likely to cause a man to grow careless or indifferent, and Donnelly +was making frequent bad breaks. The senator, ever watchful, believed +he saw a chance to sweep McQuade off the board. + +McQuade had an able lieutenant in Alderman Martin, whom the sporting +fraternity followed loyally. Martin owned and ran the most +disreputable hotel in the city. It occupied a position of unusual +prominence on one of the principal business streets. There was a +saloon and a cheap restaurant on the ground floor. On the second floor +were wine-rooms and a notorious gambling-den. Above this was the +hotel. The guests stole in at midnight and stole out at dawn. + +This gambling-den was frequently the bone of contention between +energetic ministers of the gospel and the police department. Regularly +the police swore that gambling did not exist in town, and regularly +the ministers went on a still hunt for proofs. Singularly enough, they +never found any. A hint from headquarters, and the den would close up +till after the excitement was over. All the newspapers understood that +the police lied; but the editors were either afraid or indifferent; +and the farce was played over yearly for the benefit of the +ministerial association. + +The place was run honestly enough. When the stakes are small, the +professional gambler does not have to be dishonest. All the same, this +kind of gambler is the most despicable of men. He lures the wage of +the poor; clerks, bookkeepers, traveling salesmen, laborers, college +boys, men who drink too much of a Saturday night, all these come to +the net. Nobody ever wins anything; and if perchance one does make a +small winning, it goes quickly over the bar. Women wait and wonder at +home; it is their common lot. The spirit of the gambler is in us all, +and we might as well confess it here and now. It is in the corpuscles: +something for nothing, something for nothing! + +Martin was a power in the Common Council. He could block or put +through any measure. He always carried a roll of gold-bills in his +pockets--for what purpose no one had the temerity to inquire. His +following was large and turbulent; it came from the shops and the +factories and the streets. In his ward no candidate had ever defeated +him. "Nice people" had very little to do with Mr. Martin; the laborer +who was honest had little to do with him, either. He was a pariah, but +a very formidable one. Yet, no one, though many accused him, caught +him in a dishonest deal. + +On the other hand, Senator Henderson's party had the cloak of +respectability on its shoulders. His lieutenants were prominent +business men who went into politics as a light diversion, young men of +aristocratic families who were ambitious to go to Albany or +Washington, and lawyers. The senator was a shrewd politician, with an +unreadable face, clean-shaven but for a stubby mustache, and keen blue +eyes that saw everything. He was loyal to his party and above +dishonesty. + +This was the political situation in Herculaneum. + +One May evening the senator called up Warrington. He was told that Mr. +Warrington was at the club. The senator drove to the club forthwith. +He found the dramatist in the reading-room, and greeted him +pleasantly. + +"My boy, I want half an hour of your time." + +"You are welcome to an hour of it, Senator," replied Warrington, +curious to know what the senator had to say to him. + +"Come into a private dining-room, then." Once seated at the table, the +senator reached over and touched Warrington mysteriously on the arm. +"Young man, I heard you speak the other night at the Chamber of +Commerce banquet. You're a born orator, and what is better than that, +you've common sense and humor. How would you like to be mayor of +Herculaneum next fall?" + +"Mayor?" gasped Warrington. + +"Yes." + +"I'd make a fine mayor," with forced laughter, but thinking rapidly. +"Aren't you jollying me, Senator?" + +"I'm dead in earnest, Warrington. There is not another available man +in sight. By available I mean a man who can pull the party out of the +bog. There are a hundred I could nominate, but the nomination would be +as far as they could go. We want a man who is fresh and new to the +people, so far as politics goes; a man who can not be influenced by +money or political emoluments. There are thousands of voters who are +discontented, but they'd prefer to vote for Donnelly again rather than +to vote for some one they know would be no better. You are known the +world over. A good many people would never have known there was such a +place as Herculaneum but for you. It is the home of the distinguished +playwright." + +"But I know practically nothing about political machinery," Warrington +protested. + +"You can leave the machinery to me," said the senator wisely. "I'll +set the wheels going. It will be as easy as sliding down hill. I'll +give you my word, if you land in the City Hall, to send you to +Washington with the next Congress. Will you accept the nomination, in +case I swing it around to you in September? It's a big thing. All you +literary boys are breaking into politics. This is your chance." + +"I'll take the night to think it over," said Warrington. He was vastly +flattered, but he was none the less cautious and non-committal. + +"Take a week, my boy; take a week. Another thing. You are intimate +with young Bennington. He's a hard-headed chap and doesn't countenance +politics in his shops. The two of you ought to bring the hands to +their senses. If we can line up the Bennington steel-mills, others +will fall in. Bennington owns the shops, but our friend McQuade owns +the men who work there. Take a week to think it over; I can rely on +your absolute secrecy." + +"I shall be silent for half a dozen reasons," Warrington replied. "But +I shan't keep you waiting a week. Call me up by 'phone to-morrow at +any time between five and six. I shall say yes or no, direct." + +"I like to hear a man talk like that." + +"I can't get the idea into my head yet. I never expected to meddle +with politics in this town." + +"We'll do the meddling for you. Even if you accept, we shall require +silence till the convention. It will be a bomb in the enemy's camp. +You'll come around to the idea. Between five and six, then?" + +"I shall have your answer ready. Good night." + +The senator took himself off, while Warrington ordered a bottle of +beer and drank it thoughtfully. Mayor! It would be a huge joke indeed +to come back to Herculaneum to rule it. He chuckled all the way home +that night; but when his head struck the pillow he saw the serious +side of the affair. He recalled the old days when they sneered at him +for selling vegetables; and here they were, coming to him with the +mayoralty. It was mighty gratifying. And there was the promise of +Washington. But he knew the world: political promises and pie-crusts. +What would the aunt say? What would Patty say? Somehow, he was always +thinking of Patty. He had not thought as yet to make any analysis of +his regard for Patty. He held her in the light of an agreeable +comrade, nothing more than that. Would she be pleased to see him mayor +of Herculaneum? Bah! He couldn't sleep. He got out of bed, found a +pipe and lighted it, and sat in the rocker by the window. Jove, +hearing him moving about the room, woke up and came trotting in to +inquire. + +"Ha, old boy, what do you think?" + +Jove laid his head on his master's knees. + +"They want to make a mayor out of me." + +Jove signified his approval. + +"They have forgiven us our daily vegetables. But shall I? Will it be +worth while? Well, we'll take a ride into the hills in the morning, +and we'll think it all out. Mayor of Herculaneum; sounds good, doesn't +it? Nothing like success, Jove." + +Warrington smoked till the fire in his pipe died. He turned in, and +this time he won sleep. + +Early the next morning he was off on his horse, and he did not return +till noon. But he had his answer. + +At three that afternoon he had callers. Patty and Kate had just run +over to see how the new play was getting on. Warrington confessed that +he was doing only desultory work, but promised to read the scenario to +them when it was done. + +"You are becoming lazy," said Kate rebukingly. + +"No; only a country gentleman." + +"Patty, did you hear that? He calls Herculaneum a country village." + +"Nothing of the sort. One may live in a city and be a countryman +still." + +"Mr. Warrington probably misses New York," said Patty. + +"Not the veriest particle," promptly. Certainly Patty was growing more +charming every day. + +The Angora cat, with feline caution, peeped into the room. Patty, who +loved cats, made a dash for the fluffy animal, which turned tail and +bolted for the kitchen, Patty a close second. + +For the first time since the marriage Kate and Warrington were alone +together. He gazed at her, mildly speculative. + +"Well, what do you see?" she asked. + +"You are certainly one of the most beautiful women in the world," he +declared, sighing. + +"You say 'one of'?" frowning. "There was a time when it was not +general; you used the definite article." + +"I know it." + +"Then there must be somebody else," quickly. + +"I'm not a marrying man," he said evasively. + +"Is it Patty, Dick? Oh, if it were only Patty!" + +"I'm not good enough for Patty, Kate. The Lord knows, though, that I +wish I were. She embarrasses me at times with her implicit faith in my +goodness." + +"Ah, Richard, what a terrible past yours was!" mockingly. "Nonsense!" +briskly. "You are guilty of nothing but innocuous villainies. If there +were fairies I should ask one to make you fall violently in love with +Patty." + +"No fairies need apply," ambiguously. "But you; you seem to be happy." + +"There can not be a happier woman in the world. Let me confess. The +confession may hurt your vanity. I love my husband better than I +dreamed I could love. He is so just, so tender and strong. And isn't +he handsome? I am madly jealous of every woman that comes near him. +And once upon a time I believed that I was in love with Mr. Richard." +There was no coquetry in this frank statement. + +"Any one can see that you are happy." + +"I want every one to see it. I want to tell everybody, too. You have +no idea how strong he is, Dick. Yesterday I was in the shops with him. +A rail was in the way; the men about did not see it; or refused to see +it. John stooped, picked it up with his bare hands, and dropped it to +one side. There are but two men in the shops who can do that. But I +have a horror of those great bars of twisting white iron. They terrify +me. I do not understand, but the men are always sullen when I am +there. John says it's my imagination." + +"It probably is. Perhaps the begrimed faces have something to do with +it." + +"I can read the human countenance too well," she said. "Is it because +I have been on the stage? Have these men a base opinion of me?" + +"Impossible!" + +"And they seem to dislike John, too." + +"John can take care of himself. He'll wait a long while, but when he +moves forward nothing can stop him. Don't you ever miss the glare of +the lights?" he asked, his endeavor being to interest her in something +foreign to the shops. + +"Dick, I have almost forgotten that I ever acted. You will remember +that I refused to assist in the amateur theatricals last winter. Act? +I hate the word. It suggests the puppet, the living in other people's +worlds, parrot-wise, in imitation." + +"Come, come, Kate; it's the greatest gift of all and you know it. +Think! The power to make people laugh and cry, to make either +happiness or misery perfectly real!" + +"Oh, there was pleasure in it at times," she admitted reluctantly. "Do +you remember my gloves, Dick? John had them." + +"He knew you were in my rooms that night?" + +"Yes. I told him the simple truth, and he believed me. How could I +help loving a man as loyal as that?" + +"It is fine. But Jack was always a thorough man. I don't blame you for +loving him. I call him all sorts of names to Patty, and it is fun to +watch her eyes flash." + +Kate gave him a curious smile. + +"What's the matter?" + +"Nothing." + +"You smiled." + +"I had a happy thought." + +"Probably about that house-broken John of yours." + +"Who's calling John house-broken?" Patty stood in the doorway, the +Angora struggling under her arm. + +"Well, isn't he house-broken?" asked Warrington with gentle malice. +"Gentle and warranted to stand?" + +Patty, for reasons of her own, permitted him to believe that he +succeeded in teasing her. + +"Kate, let us be going. I can not listen to Mr. Warrington's remarks +regarding my brother. He treats John as if he were a horse." + +"Just as you say, dear. We shall punish Mr. Warrington by not making +informal calls in the future." + +"Wait till I get my hat," cried Warrington, "and I'll walk over to the +house with you." + +"If you do that," said Patty, "we shall be compelled to ask you to +remain to dinner." + +"Oh, I should refuse. I've a telephone engagement between five and +six." + +"But we never serve dinner till seven," replied Patty, buttoning her +coat austerely. + +Kate laughed merrily. + +"If you will ask me over to dinner," said Warrington, "I'll tell you a +secret, a real dark political secret, one that I've promised not to +tell to a soul." + +The two women stopped abruptly. The cast was irresistible, and they +had to rise to it. + +Yet Patty murmured: "How like a woman he is!" + +"It simply shows what high regard I have for your discretion. It is a +secret some men would pay a comfortable fortune to learn." + +"Will you please come and dine with us this evening?" asked Patty. + +"I shall be very happy." + +"And now, the secret," said Mrs. Jack. + +"Between five and six I expect a call on the phone from Senator +Henderson." + +"Senator Henderson!" exclaimed the women in unison. + +"I shall say but a single word. It will be yes." + +"But the secret! Mercy alive, you are keeping us waiting!" + +Warrington glanced around with mock caution. He went mysteriously to +the portieres and peered into the hall; he repeated this performance +at the dining-room door, then turned, a finger upon his lips. + +"Senator Henderson is looking for a candidate for mayor this fall. +Mind, not a word to a soul, not even to John," this warning addressed +principally to Mrs. Jack. + +"The Honorable Richard Warrington," said Patty, musing. She rolled the +words on her tongue as if testing the sound of them. + +"That's it," laughed Warrington. "The Honorable Richard +Warrington!--sounds like Lord Mayor of London!" + +Every Eden has its serpent, sooner or later. Thus, having futilely +tried the usual gates by which he enters Eden to destroy it, this +particular serpent found a breach in the gate of politics. + + + + +Chapter VIII + + +McQuade and Martin entered a cafe popular for its noon lunches. It was +hot weather in July, and both were mopping their bald foreheads, their +faces and necks. The white bulldog trotted along behind, his tongue +lolling out of his mouth and his eyes heavy. The two men sat down in a +corner under an electric fan; the dog crawled under the table, +grateful for the cold stone tiling. + +"What do you know about this fellow Warrington?" asked McQuade, +tossing his hat on one of the unoccupied chairs. + +"The fellow who writes plays?" + +"Yes. What do you know about him?" + +"Why, he used to peddle vegetables and now he owns a swell place on +Williams Street." + +"Gamble?" + +"Not that I know of. I never go into Pete's myself. It wouldn't be +good business. But they tell me Warrington used to drop in once in a +while, when he was a reporter, and choke his salary to death over the +roulette table." + +"Doesn't gamble now?" + +"Not in any of the joints around town." + +"Drink?" + +"Oh, I guess he boozes a little; but he's hard-headed and knows how +to handle the stuff." + +"Women?--Roast beef, boiled potatoes and musty ale for two." + +"Actresses.--Say, make mine a beer.--A gay buck in New York, I +understand. Used to chase around after the Challoner woman who married +Bennington." + +"Nothing here in town?" + +"Haven't paid any attention to him. I guess he's straight enough these +days." + +"Tip Pete off to-day. The police will make a raid Saturday night. The +ministers have been shouting again, and two or three losers have +whined." + +"All right. But what's all this about Warrington?" asked Martin, whose +curiosity was aroused. + +"I'll tell you later." The waiter returned with the platters of food, +and McQuade ate without further comment or question. + +Martin ate his meat in silence also, but he was busy wondering. +Warrington? What had interested the boss in that swell? Humph! + +These men ate quickly and digested slowly. McQuade took out two fat +black cigars and passed one to Martin, who tore off the end with his +teeth. + +"I want to find out all there is to know about Warrington. I can't +explain why just now; too many around." + +"Set Bolles after him. Bolles used to be with a private detective +bureau. If there's anything to learn, he'll learn it. There he is now. +Hey, waiter, ask that gentleman looking for a vacant table to come +over. Hello, Bolles!" + +"How do you do, Mr. Martin. Hot day, Mr. McQuade." + +"Sit down," said McQuade, with a nod of invitation toward the +remaining vacant chair. "Cigar or a drink?" + +"Bring me a little whisky--no, make it an old-fashioned cocktail. +That'll be about right." + +"Mr. McQuade has a job for you, Bolles, if you're willing to undertake +it." + +"I've got some time on my hands just now," replied Bolles. "Contract +work?" + +"After a fashion," said McQuade grimly. "Eat your dinner and we'll go +up stairs to my office. What I have to say can't be said here." + +"All right, Mr. McQuade. If it's dagos, I'll have plenty in hand in +November." + +"I shall want you to go to New York," said McQuade. + +"New York or San Francisco, so long as some one foots the bills." + +"I'll foot 'em," agreed McQuade. "Hustle your dinner. We'll wait for +you at the bar." + +Bolles ordered. A job for McQuade that took him to New York meant +money, money and a good time. There were no more contracts till +September, so the junket to New York wouldn't interfere with his +regular work. He had sublet his Italians. He was free. A few minutes +later he joined McQuade, and the trio went up stairs in a cloud of +tobacco smoke. McQuade nodded to the typewriter, who rose and left the +private office. The three men sat down, in what might be described as +a one-two-three attitude: domination, tacit acceptance of this +domination, and servility. + +"Do you know Richard Warrington, the playwriter?" + +"That snob? Yes, I know who he is, and I'd like to punch his head for +him, too." + +McQuade smiled. This manifest rancor on Bolles' part would make things +easier than he thought. + +"Well, listen. I've just been tipped that big things are going to +happen this fall. That fool Donnelly has queered himself, and is +making a muddle of everything he touches. Senator Henderson is a +shrewd man, but he wasn't shrewd enough this time. He should have +conducted his little conspiracy in his own home and not at a club +where servants often find profit in selling what they hear. Henderson +is going to put Warrington up for mayor." + +"The hell he is!" said Bolles. + +Martin's jaw dropped, and the cigar ashes tumbled down his shirt +bosom. + +"It's no joke," went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. The +people are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the City +Hall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what that +means. Warrington must never get a chance to accept." + +Bolles looked at Martin. McQuade saw the look, and, interpreting it, +laughed. + +"These are no dime-novel days. We don't kill men to get 'em out of the +way. We take a look into their past and use it as a club." + +"I begin to see," said Martin. "Warrington must be side-tracked before +the convention. Good. That'll be simple." + +"Not very," McQuade admitted. "It's going to be a devilish hard job. +You, Bolles, pack up and go to New York. I want some information +regarding this young fellow's past in New York. It's up to you to get +it. No faking, mind you; good substantial evidence that can be backed +up by affidavits. Get the idea? Five hundred and expenses, if you +succeed; your expenses anyhow. Five hundred is a lot of money these +days. But if you go on a bat, I'll drop you like a hot brick, for good +and all. Think it over. Pack up to-night, if you want to. Here's a +hundred to start with. Remember this, now, there must be a woman." + +"A woman?" + +"Yes. A man has no past, if there isn't a woman in it." + +"I can land that five hundred," Bolles declared confidently. "I can +find the woman. I'll write you every other day." + +"Well, then, that's all. Good luck. No boozing while you're on the job +Afterward I don't care what you do. By-by." + +Bolles took his dismissal smilingly. Five hundred. It was easy. + +"If it's possible, he'll do it," said Martin. "But what's your +campaign?" + +"Donnelly must remain another term. After that, oblivion. There'll be +bids this fall. If Henderson's man wins, there'll be new aldermen. +These bids of mine must go through and gas must be kept at a +dollar-fifty. I'm a rich man, but at present I'm up to my neck in +southern contracts that aren't paying ten cents on the dollar. +Herculaneum's got to foot the bill." + +"How'd you find out about Henderson's coup?" + +"One of the waiters at his club said he had some information. I gave +him ten dollars for something I'd have given ten hundred for just as +quickly. If Henderson had sprung Warrington in September, we'd have +been swamped. Now we have a good chance to hang on." + +"Force him to back down and withdraw?" + +McQuade nodded. + +"It's simply got to be done. I didn't give Henderson credit for so +clever a move as this. A new man, famous and wealthy, under no +obligations to his party; the voters would follow him just for the +novelty of the thing. Besides, there are other reasons, but I'm +keeping them to myself. How about that pavement deal in John Street?" + +John Street possessed but three or four houses. The paving would be a +ten-thousand-dollar job. As a witty political speaker once said, they +paved Herculaneum in the concrete and in the abstract. + +"It will go through Monday night, smooth as butter." + +"Canvassed the boys?" + +"More than three-fourths vote. Sure." + +"I'm depending upon you." + +"Will you turn down Donnelly at the convention?" + +"I tell you he's got to run again. I'll bring him to order, after a +little heart-to-heart talk. He's the only man in sight." + +"Why not play the same game as Henderson?" + +"I've thought it all out. There's no one but Donnelly. Pick up +anything you can about Warrington." + +"All right. By the way, the boys want to know if you think we can pull +off those ten-round bouts this winter." + +"I'm going down to the capital to see." + +Martin telephoned for his team, and twenty minutes later he was +driving countryward. McQuade dictated a few letters, one of which he +directed to be sent by messenger. Then he left the office and called +upon the editor of the Times. This conference lasted an hour. McQuade +was chief owner of the Times. + + +Warrington was greatly surprised when, at three-thirty, a message was +brought to him requesting him briefly and politely to do Mr. McQuade +the honor to call on him between four and five that afternoon. He had +met McQuade at the Chamber of Commerce dinner. The introduction had +been most formal. What the deuce did McQuade wish to see him about? +Should he go? A natural aversion to the man said no; but policy urged +him as well as curiosity. He went to the telephone and called up +McQuade's office. Mr. McQuade was not in, but would return at four. +Ah! It was the typewriter who spoke. Would she kindly notify Mr. +McQuade on his return that Mr. Warrington would be at his office at +four-thirty? She would. Thanks. + +Warrington smoked uneasily. He had no desire to meet McQuade. Their +ways were widely separated and reached nothing in common. But he +readily recognized the fact that McQuade was not a man such as one +might heedlessly antagonize. What could the politician want of the +literary man? McQuade dabbled in racing horses; perhaps he had a horse +to sell. In that event, they would meet on common ground. But his +belief in this possibility was only half-hearted. He filled his +pockets with cigars, whistled for the dog, and departed. Both of the +Bennington houses were closed; the two families were up north in the +woods. + +Promptly at four-thirty Warrington and his dog entered the elevator of +the McQuade Building and were dislodged on the third floor. They went +along the dim corridor, scrutinizing doors, each hunting for one of +his kind. Jove couldn't read, but he could smell. Finally Warrington +came to a stand. Upon the glass panel of the door he read: + +Daniel McQuade & Co. + +General Contractors + + +He did not knock. He opened the door and walked in. It is a sign of +weakness for a man to knock on the door of a business office, unless +it is marked private, Nevertheless, the dingy glass had known the +knock of many knuckles. A girl was hammering on the typewriting +machine. She ceased only when she completed the page. She looked up. +Her expression, on seeing who the visitor was, changed instantly. It +was not often that a man like this one entered the office of Daniel +McQuade and Company, General Contractors. + +"I have an appointment with Mr. McQuade," said Warrington pleasantly; +"would you mind announcing me?" + +"Just a moment," answered the girl, rising and entering the private +office. She returned at once. "Mr. McQuade will see you." + +Warrington walked quietly into the lion's den. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Warrington," said McQuade, pointing toward a +chair. He did not offer his hand; something told him not to make that +mistake. + +From under the desk McQuade's dog emerged, stiff and bristling. On his +side, Jove stood squarely on his legs, head on, as they say, his lips +writhing and quivering with rage. Warrington touched the chair that +had been offered him. Jove begged. But the master was obdurate. Jove +jumped up, but turned quickly. The white dog stopped. He recognized +that he was at a complete disadvantage. + +McQuade watched these proceedings with an amused twinkle. It was a +clever manoeuver. So far as he was concerned, a good dog fight would +not have been to his distaste. + +"It doesn't hurt the brutes to light once in a while. But, of course," +he added, "your dog is old." + +"Nothing is old till it is useless." + +"An epigram from one of your plays?" + +"No; but it sounds good enough to use. Jove has strong teeth, however, +and he comes from a fighting family. But for my part, I had much +rather see two men pummel each other." + +"So would I, for that matter." McQuade pushed the match-box toward +Warrington, but Warrington drew out his own and struck a light. +McQuade shrugged. + +"Mr. McQuade, I am interested to learn what is back of your note. +Horses?" + +"No; not horses." + +McQuade viewed the young man through half-closed eyes. The contractor +was a big hulk of a man, physically as strong as a bull, with reddish +hair, small twinkling eyes, a puffy nose mottled with veins, thin lips +shaded by a bristling red mustache, and a heavy jaw. The red fell of +hair on his hands reminded Warrington of a sow's back. Everything +about McQuade suggested strength and tensity of purpose. He had begun +work on a canal-boat. He had carried shovel and pick. From boss on a +railway section job he had become a brakeman. He took a turn at +lumbering, bought a tract of chestnuts and made a good penny in +railroad ties. He saved every dollar above his expenses. He bought a +small interest in a contracting firm, and presently he became its +head. There was ebb and tide to his fortunes but he hung on. A +lighting contract made him a rich man. Then he drifted into politics; +and now, at the age of fifty, he was a power in the state. The one +phase of sentiment in the man was the longing to possess all those +obstacles that had beset his path in the days of his struggles. He +bought the canal-boat and converted it into a house-boat; he broke the +man who had refused him a job at the start; he bought the block, the +sidewalk of which he had swept; every man who stood in his way he +removed this way or that. He was dishonest, but his dishonesty was of +a Napoleonic order. He was uneducated, but he possessed that exact +knowledge of mankind that makes leaders; and his shrewdness was the +result of caution and suspicion. But like all men of his breed, he +hated with peculiar venom the well-born; he loved to grapple with +them, to wrest their idleness from them, to compel them to work for a +living, to humiliate them. The fiber in McQuade was coarse; he +possessed neither generosity nor magnanimity; the very men who feared +him held him in secret contempt. + +"No, Mr. Warrington, I haven't any horses for sale to-day," he began. +"Not very long ago you met Senator Henderson at your club. He offered +you the nomination for mayor this fall, and you accepted it." + +Warrington could not repress a start of surprise. He had not quite +expected this. He was annoyed. + +"That is true. What mystifies me," he supplemented, "is how this +knowledge came to your ears." + +"I generally hear what's going on. My object in asking you to call is +to talk over the matter on a friendly basis." + +"I can not see what good that will do. Politically we have nothing in +common." + +"Politically or socially. But the point is this. What have you done +that you should merit this honor? I'll talk frankly. What have you +done toward the building up of your city? What have you done toward +its progress in manufacturing and building? You have done nothing but +buy a house on the fashionable street and pay the taxes." + +"You might add that I once peddled vegetables," said Warrington. + +It was McQuade's turn to be surprised. From what he had observed of +fashionable people, especially the new-rich, they endeavored to +submerge altogether the evidences of past manual and menial labor. + +"Then you are not ashamed of the fact that you sold vegetables?" + +"In truth, I'm rather proud of it. It was the first step in the fight. +And I tell you honestly, Mr. McQuade, that I have fought every inch of +the way. And I shall continue to fight, when there's anything worth +fighting for. I'm not a manufacturer or a builder, but I am none the +less eligible for public office. What little money I have was made +honestly, every penny of it. It was not built on political robbery and +the failures of others. But let us come to the point. You have +something to say." + +"Yes. I have. And it is this: I don't propose to have you meddle with +the politics of this city. I hope we can come to a peaceful +understanding. I don't want to war against you." + +"Mr. McQuade, you talk like a man out of his senses. Who's going to +prevent me from accepting the nomination?" + +"I am," answered McQuade, bringing a fist down on his desk. + +The dogs growled. They seemed to realize that war of some kind was in +the air. + +"How?" asked Warrington. The man was a fool! + +"You will go to Senator Henderson and tell him that you have +reconsidered." + +Warrington laughed. "I believed I knew all phases, but this one +surpasses any I ever heard of. You have the nerve to ask me, of the +opposition party, to refuse the nomination for mayor?" + +"I have." + +"Are you afraid of me?" + +"Not of you, my lad," McQuade answered sardonically, spreading out his +great hands. "Do I look like a man afraid of anything? But the thought +of a stranger becoming mayor of Herculaneum rather frightens me. Let +us have peace, Mr. Warrington." + +"I ask nothing better." + +"Withdraw." + +"I never withdraw. I am not afraid of anything. I even promise to be +good-natured enough to look upon this meeting as a colossal joke." +Warrington's cigar had gone out. He relighted it coolly. "If the +nomination is offered me, I shall accept it; and once having accepted +it, I'll fight, but honorably and in the open. Look here, McQuade, +don't be a fool. You've something against me personally. What is it? +If I recollect, I ran across you once or twice when I was a newspaper +man." + +McQuade's eyes narrowed again. + +"Personally, you are nothing to me," he replied; "politically, you are +a meddler, and you are in my way." + +"Oh, I am in your way? That is to say, if I am elected, there'll be +too much honesty in the City Hall to suit your plans? I can readily +believe that. If you can convince me that I ought not to run for +mayor, do so. I can accept any reasonable argument. But bluster will +do no good. For a man of your accredited ability, you are making a +poor move, even a fatal one." + +"Will you withdraw?" + +"Emphatically no!" + +"All right. Whatever comes your way after this, don't blame me. I have +given you a fair warning." + +"You have threatened." + +"I can act also. And you can put this in your pipe, Mr. Warrington, +that before October comes round, when the Republican convention meets, +you will withdraw your name quickly enough. This is not a threat. It's +a warning. That's all. I'm sorry you can't see the matter from my +standpoint." + +"Come, boy," said Warrington to his dog. "You had better keep your +animal under the table." + +McQuade did not move or answer. So Warrington grasped Jove by the +collar and led him out of the private office. McQuade heard the +dramatist whistle on the way to the elevator. + +"So he'll fight, eh?" growled McQuade. "Well, I'll break him, or my +name's not McQuade. The damned meddling upstart, with his plays and +fine women! You're a hell of a dog, you are! Why the devil didn't you +kill his pup for him?" + +McQuade sent a kick at the dog, who dodged it successfully, trotted +out to the typewriter and crawled under the girl's skirts. + +Warrington went home, thoroughly angry with himself. To have bandied +words and threats with a man like McQuade! He had lowered himself to +the man's level. But there were times when he could not control his +tongue. Education and time had not tamed him any. Withdraw? It would +have to be something more tangible than threats. + +"Richard, you are not eating anything," said his aunt at dinner that +evening. + +"I'm not hungry, Aunty. It's been one of those days when a man gets up +wrong." + +"I'm sorry. Doesn't the play go along smoothly?" + +"Not as smoothly as I should like." + +"There was a long-distance call for you this afternoon. The +Benningtons want you to come up at once instead of next week." + +Warrington brightened perceptibly. He went to work, but his heart +wasn't in it. The interview with McQuade insisted upon recurring. Why +hadn't he walked out without any comment whatever? Silence would have +crushed McQuade. He knew that McQuade could not back up this threat; +it was only a threat. Bah! Once more he flung himself into his work. + +Half an hour later the door-bell rang. + + + + +Chapter IX + + +Character is a word from which have descended two meanings +diametrically opposed to each other. We say a man has a character, or +we say he is one; The first signifies respect; the second, a tolerant +contempt. There exists in all small communities, such as villages, +towns, and cities of the third class, what is known as a character. In +the cities he is found loafing in hotel lobbies or in the corridors of +the City Hall; in the hamlet he is usually the orator of the +post-office or the corner grocery. Invariably his wife takes in +washing, and once in a while he secures for her an extra order. If he +has any children, they live in the streets. He wears a collar, but +seldom adds a tie. He prides himself on being the friend of the +laboring man, and a necktie implies the worship of the golden calf. He +never denies himself a social glass. He never buys, but he always +manages to be introduced in time. After the first drink he calls his +new friend by his surname; after the second drink it is "Arthur" or +"John" or "Henry," as the case may be; then it dwindles into "Art" or +"Jack" or "Hank." No one ever objects to this progressive familiarity. +The stranger finds the character rather amusing. The character is +usually a harmless parasite, and his one ambition is to get a +political job such as entails no work. He is always pulling wires, as +they say; but those at the other end are not sensitive to the touch. +On dull days he loiters around the police court and looks mysterious. +Cub reporters at first glance believe him to be a detective in +disguise. + +Herculaneum had its character. He was a pompous little man to whom the +inelegant applied the term of runt. He never could have passed the +army examination, for he had no instep. He walked like a duck, +flat-footed, minus the waddle. He was pop-eyed, and the fumes of +strong drink had loosened the tear-ducts so that his eyes swam in a +perennial mist of tears. His wife still called him William, but down +town he was Bill. He knew everybody in town, and everybody in town +knew him. There was a time when he had been on intimate terms with so +distinguished a person as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. He will tell you to +this day how he was wont to dandle her on his knee. Bill was one of +those individuals of whom it is said: "He means well." In other words, +he was a do-nothing, a ne'er-do-well. He had been comparatively rich +once, but he had meant well with his money. One grand splurge, and it +was all over. Herculaneum still recollects that splurge. When in his +cups, Bill was always referring to those gorgeous days. Afterward, +Bill and his family lived from hand to mouth. Occasionally, at +Christmas, some of his old friends who felt sorry for him sent him a +purse. Did Bill purchase turkey and coal and potatoes? No, indeed. He +bought useless French toys for the children, who went hungry. Another +time, when heartless winter returned and the price of coal went up, a +church social was arranged for Bill's benefit. It netted him nearly a +hundred dollars. But Bill didn't pay his landlord and grocer; not he! +He came down town the following day with a shiny plug-hat and a +gold-headed cane. + +Bill was a first-class genealogist. He could tell you the history of +every leading family in town. It took Bill to expose the new-rich; he +did it handsomely. The way these breakfast millionaires lorded and +landaued it highly amused him. Who were they, anyhow? Coal-heavers, +hod-carriers, stock-speculators, riffraff, who possessed an ounce of +brains and a pound of luck. Why, they didn't even know how to spend +their money when they got it. But what could be expected of people who +put iron dogs and wooden deers on their front lawns? But the +Benningtons, the Haldenes, and the Winterflelds, and the Parkers,--they +had something to brag about. They were Bunker Hillers, they +were; they had always had money and social position. As for the +Millens, and the Deckers, and the McQuades--pah! + +Bill had a wonderful memory; he never forgot those who laughed at him +and those who nodded kindly. He was shiftless and lazy, but he had a +code of honor. Bill could have blackmailed many a careless man of +prominence, had he been so minded. But a man who had once dined a +governor of the state could do no wrong. His main fault was that he +had neglected to wean his former greatness; he still nursed it. Thus, +it was beneath his dignity to accept a position as a clerk in a store +or shop. The fact that his pristine glory was somewhat dimmed to the +eyes of his fellow citizens in no wise disturbed Bill. Sometimes, when +he was inclined to let loose the flood-gates of memory, his friends +would slip a quarter into his palm and bid him get a drink, this being +the easiest method of getting rid of him. + + +Bill marched into the Warrington place jauntily. He wore a tie. Jove +ran out and sniffed the frayed hems of his trousers. But like all men +of his ilk, he possessed the gift of making friends with dogs. He +patted Jove's broad head, spoke to him, and the dog wagged what there +was left of his tail. Bill proceeded to the front door and resolutely +rang the bell. The door opened presently. + +"Is Richard in?" Bill asked. He had had only two drinks that evening. + +"Mr. Warrington is in," answered the valet, with chilling dignity. +"What is your business?" + +"Mine!" thundered Bill, who had a democratic contempt for a +gentleman's gentleman. "I have important business to transact with +your master. Take this card in to him. He'll see me." + +The valet looked at the greasy card. The name was written in ink; the +card was of the kind one finds in hotels for the convenience of the +guests. + +"I will take the card to Mr. Warrington," the valet promised +reluctantly. There was, however, a barely perceptible grin struggling +at the corners of his mouth. He was not wholly devoid of the sense of +humor, as a gentleman's gentleman should at all times be. + +"William Osborne? What the deuce does he want here?" asked Warrington +impatiently. + +"He said his business was important, sir. If it is half as important +as he acts--" + +"No comments, please. Show Mr. Osborne in." + +Warrington turned all his mail face-downward. He knew Bill of +aforetime, in the old newspaper days. Bill had marvelously keen eyes, +for all that they were watery. The valet ushered him into the study. +He wore his usual blase expression. He sat down and drew up his chair +to the desk. + +"Well, Mr. Osborne, what's on your mind to-night?" Warrington leaned +back. + +"The truth is, Richard," began William, "I found this letter on the +pavement this afternoon. Guess you'd been down to the hotel this +afternoon, and dropped it. I found it out in front. There was no +envelope, so I couldn't help reading it." + +Warrington seized the letter eagerly. It was the only letter of its +kind in the world. It was enchanted. + +"Mr. Osborne, you've done me a real service. I would not take a small +fortune for this letter. I don't recollect how I came to lose it. Must +have taken it out and dropped it accidentally. Thanks." + +"Don't mention it, my boy." Very few called him Mr. Osborne. + +"It is worth a good deal to me. Would you be offended if I gave you +ten as a reward?" + +"I'd feel hurt, Richard, but not offended," a twinkle in the watery +eyes. + +Warrington laughed, drew out his wallet and handed William a crisp, +crackly bank-note. It went, neatly creased, into William's sagging +vest-pocket. + +"Have a cigarette?" asked Warrington. + +"Richard, there's one thing I never did, and that's smoke one of those +coffin-nails. Whisky and tobacco are all right, but I draw the line at +cigarettes." + +Warrington passed him a cigar. William bit off the end and lighted it. +He sniffed with evident relish. + +"Seems impossible, Richard, that only a few years ago you were a +reporter at the police station. But I always said that you'd get there +some day. You saw the dramatic side of the simplest case. I knew your +father. He was one of the best farmers in the county. But he didn't +know how to invest his savings. He ought to have left you rich." + +"But he didn't. After all, it's a fine thing to make for the good +things in life and win them yourself." + +"That's true. You're a different breed from some of these people who +are your neighbors. We're all mighty proud of you, here in +Herculaneum. What you want to do is to get into politics." Here Bill +winked mysteriously. "You've money and influence, and that's what +counts." + +"I'm seriously thinking the thing over," returned Warrington, not +quite understanding the wink. + +"Everything's on the bum in town; it wants a clean bill. McQuade must +go. The man never keeps a promise. Told me in the presence of +witnesses, last election, that he'd give me a job on the new police +board; and yet after election he put in one of those whipper-snappers +who know nothing. Of course, you've been in town long enough to know +that Donnelly is simply McQuade's creature. I never had any luck." + +"Oh, it may change by and by." Warrington, at that moment, felt +genuinely sorry for the outcast. + +Bill twirled his hat. "You've never laughed at me, Richard; you've +always treated me like a gentleman, which I was once. I didn't mail +that letter because I wanted to see if you had changed any. If you had +become a snob, why, you could fight your blamed battles yourself; no +help from me. But you're just the same. I've brought something that'll +be of more use to you than that letter, and don't you forget it." + +"What?" asked Warrington skeptically. + +Suddenly Bill leaned forward, shading his voice with his hand. "I was +in Hanley's for a glass of beer this noon. I sat in a dark place. The +table next to me was occupied by Martin, McQuade, and a fellow named +Bolles." + +"Bolles?" + +"You've been away so long you haven't heard of him. He handles the +dagos during election. Well, McQuade was asking all sorts of questions +about you. Asked if you gambled, or drank, or ran around after women." + +Warrington no longer leaned back in his chair. His body assumed an +alert angle. + +"They all went up to McQuade's office. The typewriter is a niece of +mine. McQuade has heard that the senator is going to spring your name +at the caucus. But that's a small matter. McQuade is going to do you +some way or other." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, he sees that his goose is cooked if you run. He's determined +that he won't let you." + +Warrington laughed; there was a note of battle in his laughter. "Go +on," he said. + +"Nobody knew anything about your habits. So McQuade has sent Bolles to +New York. He used to be a private detective, He's gone to New York to +look up your past there. I know Bolles; he'll stop at nothing. +McQuade, however, was wise enough to warn him not to fake, but to get +real facts." + +This time Warrington's laughter was genuine. + +"He's welcome to all he can find." + +"But this isn't all. I know a printer on the Times. To-morrow the +whole story about your accepting the senator's offer will come out. +They hope the senator will be forced to change his plans. They think +the public will lose interest in your campaign. Surprise is what the +public needs. I'll tell you something else. Morris, who died last +week, had just sold out his interest in the Telegraph to McQuade. This +means that McQuade has the controlling interest in every newspaper in +town. I never heard of such a thing before; five newspapers, +Democratic and Republican, owned by a Democratic boss." + +Warrington smoked thoughtfully. This man McQuade was something out of +the ordinary. And he had defied him. + +"I am very much obliged to you, Osborne. If I win out, on my word of +honor, I'll do something for you." + +"You aren't afraid of McQuade?" anxiously. + +"My dear Mr. Osborne, I am not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'll +give this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles will +have his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my past +will be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed." + +"McQuade will try something else, then. He's sworn to stop you. I'm +glad you aren't afraid of him." + +"I can't thank you enough." + +"I wander about town a good deal; nobody pays much attention to me; so +lots of things fall under my notice. I'll let you know what I hear. +You'll find all the decent people on your side, surprise or no +surprise. They're tired of McQuade and Donnelly; Some of these paving +deals smell. Well, I'm keeping you from your work." Bill rose. + +"Help yourself to these cigars," said Warrington gratefully, passing +the box. + +Bill took three. + +"Good night, Richard." + +"Good night, Mr. Osborne. If by any good luck I become mayor of +Herculaneum, I'll not forget your service to-night." + +"That's all that's necessary for me;" and Bill bowed himself out. He +layed his course for his familiar haunts. + +Warrington turned to his work again. But the news he had just received +disturbed all connected thought, so he put the manuscript away. So the +first gun had been fired! They had sent a man to hunt up his past in +New York. He looked back, searching this corner and that, but he could +not recall anything that would serve McQuade's purpose. No man is +totally free from folly. True, there was a time when he drank, but he +had stopped that idiocy nearly two years before. This could not be +tallied against him with effect. And, thank God, there had been no +women. His gambling had been of the innocuous kind. Well, let them +hunt; much good it would do them. + +He picked up the letter which Osborne had so fortunately come upon. He +was often amused at the fascination it held for him. He would never +meet the writer, and yet not a day passed that he did not strive to +conjure up an imaginative likeness. And he had nearly lost it. The +creases were beginning to show. He studied it thoroughly. He held it +toward the light. Ah, here was something that had hitherto escaped his +notice. It was a peculiar water-mark. He examined the folds. The sheet +had not been folded originally, letter-wise, but had been fiat, as if +torn from a tablet. He scrutinized the edges and found signs of +mucilage. Here was something, but it led him to no solution. The +post-office mark had been made in New York. To trace a letter in New +York would be as impracticable as subtracting gold from sea-water. It +was a tantalizing mystery, and it bothered him more than he liked to +confess. He put the letter in his wallet, and went into the +sewing-room, where his aunt was knitting. The dear old lady smiled at +him. + +"Aunty, I've got a secret to tell you." + +"What is it, Richard?" + +"I'm going to run for mayor." + +The old lady dropped her work and held up her hands in horror. + +"You are fooling, Richard!" + +"I am very serious, Aunty." + +"But politicians are such scamps, Richard." + +"Somebody's got to reform them." + +"But they'll reform you into one of their kind. You don't mean it!" + +"Yes, I do. I've promised, and I can't back down now." + +"No good will come of it," said the old lady prophetically, reaching +down for her work. "But if you are determined, I suppose it's no use +for me to talk. What will the Benningtons say?" + +"They rather approve of the idea. I'm going up there early to-morrow. +I'll be up before you're down. Good night." He lightly kissed the +wrinkled face. + +"Have a good time, Richard; and God bless my boy." + +He paused on the threshold and came back. Why, he did not know. But +having come back, he kissed her once again, his hands on her cheeks. +There were tears in her eyes. + +"You're so kind and good to an old woman, Richard." + +"Pshaw! there's nobody your equal in all the world. Good night;" and +he stepped out into the hall. + +The next morning he left town for the Benningtons' bungalow in the +Adirondacks. He carried his fishing-rods, for Patty had told him that +their lake was alive with black bass. Warrington was an ardent angler. +Rain might deluge him, the sun scorch, but he would sit in a boat all +day for a possible strike. He arrived at two in the afternoon, and +found John, Kate and Patty at the village station. A buckboard took +them into the heart of the forest, and the penetrating, resinous +perfumes tingled Warrington's nostrils. He had been in the woods in +years gone by; not a tree or a shrub that he did not know. It was +nearly a two hours' drive to the lake, which was circled by lordly +mountains. + +"Isn't it beautiful?" asked Patty, with a kind of proprietary pride. + +"It is as fine as anything in the Alps," Warrington admitted. "Shall +we go a-fishing in the morning?" + +"If you can get up early enough." + +"Trust me!" enthusiastically. + +"I netted one this morning that weighed three pounds." + +"Fish grow more rapidly out of water than in," railingly. + +"John, didn't that bass weigh three pounds?" Patty appealed. + +"It weighed three and a half." + +"I apologize," said Warrington humbly. + +"How's the politician?" whispered Kate, eagerly. + +"About to find himself in the heart of a great scandal. The enemy has +located us, and this afternoon the Times is to come out with a +broadside. I haven't the least idea what it will say, nor care." + +"That's the proper way to talk," replied Kate approvingly. "We climbed +that bald mountain yesterday. Patty took some beautiful photographs." + +"The tip of your nose is beginning to peel," said Warrington +irrelevantly. + +"It's horrid of you to mention it. I'm not used to the sun, but I love +it. Patty is teaching me how to bait a hook." + +"I'd like to see a photograph of that," Warrington cried. "Say, John, +is there any way of getting to-night's newspapers up here?" + +"Nothing till to-morrow morning. The boat leaves the mail at night. +But what's this talk about politics?" John demanded. + +Warrington looked at Patty and Kate in honest amazement. + +"Do you two mean to tell me," he asked, "that you have really kept the +news from John?" + +"You told us not to tell," said Kate reproachfully. + +"Well, I see that I shall never get any nearer the truth about women. +I thought sure they'd tell you, Jack, that I'm going to run for mayor +this fall." + +"No!" + +"Truth. And it's going to be the fight of my life. I accepted in the +spirit of fun, but I am dead in earnest now. Whichever way it goes, it +will be a good fight. And you may lay to that, my lad, as our friend +Long John Silver used to say." + +He said nothing, however, of his interview with McQuade. That was one +of the things he thought best to keep to himself. + +"I'll harangue the boys in the shops," volunteered John, "though +there's a spirit of unrest I don't like. I've no doubt that before +long I shall have a fight on my hands. But I shall know exactly what +to do," grimly. "But hang business! These two weeks are going to be +totally outside the circle of business. I hope you'll win, Dick. We'll +burn all the stray barrels for you on election night." + +"There'll be plenty of them burning. But I shall be nervous till I see +the Times." + +"You'll have it in the morning." + +Warrington sighed. Half an hour later the bungalow came into view. + +The elder Bennington knew the value of hygienic living. He kept his +children out of doors, summer and winter. He taught them how to ride, +to hunt, to fish; he was their partner in all out-of-door games; he +made sport interesting and imparted to them his own zest and vitality. +So they grew up strong and healthy. He left their mental instruction +to the mother, knowing full well that she would do as much on her side +as he had done on his. Only one law did he lay down: the children +should go to public schools till the time for higher education +arrived. Then they might choose whatever seat of learning they +desired. He had the sound belief that children sent to private schools +rarely become useful citizens. + + +The rosal glow of dawn tipped the mountains, and a russet haze lay on +the still bosom of the lake. Warrington made a successful cast not far +from the lily-pods. Zing! went the reel. But by the pressure of his +thumb he brought the runaway to a sudden halt. The tip of the rod +threatened to break! Hooked! Patty swung round the canoe, which action +gave the angler freer play. Ah, wasn't that beautiful! Two feet out of +the water! Here he comes, but not more swiftly than the reel can take +him. Off he goes again--take care for the unexpected slack. Another +leap, like a bronze flame, and then a dash for the shallow bottom. He +fought gallantly for his life and freedom. Patty reached for the net. +Inch by inch Warrington drew him in. Twice he leaped over the net, but +Patty was an old hand. The third effort landed him. + +"Two pounds," said Patty. "Plenty for breakfast now." + +"Tell you what, this is sport. How many have we?" + +"Seven in half an hour." Patty began using her paddle. + +"Finest sport in the world!" Warrington settled down on the cushion +and leisurely watched the brown arms of his guide. + +"You're a good fisherman. And I like to see a good fisherman get +excited. John is like a statue when he gets a strike; he reels them in +like a machine. He becomes angry if any one talks. But it's fun to +watch Kate. She nearly falls out of the boat, and screams when the +bass leaps. Isn't it beautiful?" + +"It is a kind of Eden. But I'm so restless. I have to be wandering +from place to place. If I owned your bungalow, I should sell it the +second year. All the charm would go the first season. God has made so +many beautiful places in this world for man that man is the only +ungrateful creature in it. What's that smoke in the distance?" + +"That's the mail-boat, with your newspaper. It will be two hours yet +before it reaches our dock. It has to zigzag to and fro across the +lake. I'm hungry." + +"So am I. Let me take the paddle." + +The exchange was made, and he sent the canoe over the water rapidly. +Patty eyed him with frank admiration. + +"Is there anything you can't do well?" + +"A good many things," he acknowledged. + +"I should like to know what they are." + +Neither spoke again till the canoe glided around the dock and a +landing was made. Warrington strung the fish, and together he and +Patty went toward the kitchen. At seven-thirty the family sat down to +a breakfast of fried bass, and Patty told how the catch had been made. + +"He's a better fisherman than you, John." + +"Just as you say, Patty. I care not who catches bass, so long as I may +eat them," in humorous paraphrase. + +There was no little excitement over the arrival of the mail-boat. They +were all eager to see what the Times had to say. There was a column or +more on the first page, subheaded. Warrington's career was rather +accurately portrayed, but there were some pungent references to +cabbages. In the leader, on the editorial page, was the master-hand. + +"In brief, this young man is to be the Republican candidate for mayor. +Grown desperate these half-dozen years of ineffectual striving for +political pap, Senator Henderson resorts to such an expedient. But the +coup falls flat; there will be no surprise at the convention; the +senator loses the point he seeks to score. Personally, we have nothing +to say against the character of Mr. Warrington. After a fashion he is +a credit to his native town. But we reaffirm, he is not a citizen, he +is not eligible to the high office. If he accepts, after this +arraignment, he becomes nothing more than an impertinent meddler. What +has he done for the people of Herculaneum? Nothing. Who knows anything +about his character, his honor, his worth? Nobody. To hold one's +franchise as a citizen does not make that person a citizen in the +honest sense of the word. Let Mr. Warrington live among us half a +dozen years, and then we shall see. The senator, who is not without +some wisdom and experience, will doubtless withdraw this abortive +candidate. It's the only logical thing he can do. We dare say that the +dramatist accepted the honor with but one end in view: to find some +material for a new play. But Herculaneum declines to be so honored. He +is legally, but not morally, a citizen. He is a meddler, and +Herculaneum is already too well supplied with meddlers. Do the wise +thing, Mr. Warrington; withdraw. Otherwise your profit will be +laughter and ridicule; for the Republican party can never hope to win +under such equivocal leadership. That's all we have to say." + +Warrington, who had been reading the articles aloud, grinned and +thrust the paper into his pocket. + +"What shall you do?" asked John curiously. + +"Do? Go into the fight tooth and nail. They dub me a meddler; I'll +make the word good." + +"Hurrah!" cried Kate, clapping her hands. She caught Patty in her +arms, and the two waltzed around the dock. + +The two men shook hands, and presently all four were reading their +private letters. Warrington received but one. It was a brief note from +the senator. "Pay no attention to Times' story. Are you game for a +fight? Write me at once, and I'll start the campaign on the receipt of +your letter." + +"Patty, where do you write letters?" he asked. He called her Patty +quite naturally. Patty was in no wise offended. + +"In the reading-room you will find a desk with paper and pens and ink. +Shall I go with you?" + +"Not at all. I've only a note to scribble to Senator Henderson." + +Warrington found the desk. Upon it lay a tablet. He wrote hurriedly: + +"Start your campaign; I am in it now to the last ditch." + +As he re-read it, he observed a blur in the grain of the paper. On +closer inspection he saw that it was a water-mark. He had seen one +similar, but where? His heart began thumping his ribs. He produced the +inevitable letter. The water-mark was identical. He even laid the +letter unfolded on the tablet. It fitted exactly. + +"Patty!" he murmured in a whisper. + +Patty had never written him a single line; whenever she had +communicated to him her commands, it had been by telephone. Patty +Bennington! The window was at his elbow. He looked out and followed +the sky-line of the hills as they rolled away to the south. Patty! It +was a very beautiful world, and this was a day of days. It all came to +him in that moment of discovery. He had drifted along toward it quite +unconsciously, as a river might idle toward the sea. Patty! The light +of this knowledge was blinding for a space. So Warrington came into +his own romance. It was not the grand passion, which is always +meteoric; it was rather like a new star, radiant, peaceful, eternal. + +"Patty!" He smiled. + + + + +Chapter X + + +It was only when the whistle of the returning boat sounded close by +that he realized he had been sitting there for nearly an hour. He +roused himself, sealed and addressed his letter to the senator, and +hurried down to the dock. Patty was alone, mending some tackle. + +"It must be a long letter," she remarked, standing up and shaking her +skirts. + +"Why, this is only the beginning of it," he replied ambiguously. "It +is never going to end." + +"Mercy! It must be a postscript." + +He had no retort handy, so he contented himself with watching the +approach of the boat. + +"Some men are never satisfied," she said owlishly. "If I were a +successful dramatist, such as you are, a public office would look +rather tawdry." + +"But it's real, Patty; it's life and not mummery." + +"I don't know," doubtfully; "from what I have read, there are more +puppets in and about a City Hall than ever dangled in the puppet +booth. Did I give you permission to call me Patty?" demurely. + +"Not that I recollect." The boat came sweeping up to the dock, and he +tossed the senator's letter to the boy. The boat went on with a +musical gurgle. "But when I especially like anything, I usually +appropriate it." + +"I can see that you will make a good politician." + +He laughed happily. + +"Evidently you like the name. You have applied it to me three times +this morning." + +"Like it? Why, I think it is the most charming name I ever heard. It +smells of primroses, garden-walls, soldiers in ragged regimentals, of +the time when they built houses with big-columned porches." + +"My!" + +"May I not call you Patty?" + +"Oh, if you ask my permission, you may." + +"I do." + +"That is better." + +"Patty?" + +"Well." + +"Do you ever look in your mirror?" + +"The idea! Of course I do. I look in it every morning and every night. +And as often as I find the time. Why?" + +"Nothing; only, I do not blame you." + +"What's all this leading to?" frowning. + +"Heaven knows! But I feel sentimental this morning. There is so much +beauty surrounding me that I feel impelled to voice my appreciation of +it." + +"There is no remedy, I suppose." + +"None, save the agony of extemporization." + +"I have never heard you talk like this before. What IS the matter?" + +"Perhaps it is the exhilaration I feel for the coming fight. Would you +like to see me mayor?" + +"Indeed I should. Think of the circus tickets you'd have to give away +each year! You know they always give the mayor a handful for his +personal use. No, Mr. Warrington, I shall be very proud of you when +you are mayor." + +"What's the matter with your calling me Richard or Dick?" + +"We must not advance too suddenly." + +"Is there anything the matter with the name?" + +"Oh, no; Richard is quite musical in its way. But I am always thinking +of the humpbacked king. If I called you anything it would be Dick." + +"Richard was not humpbacked. Moreover, he was a valiant king, greatly +maligned by Mr. Shakespeare." + +"I see that I shall not dare argue with you on the subject; but we can +not banish on so short a notice the early impressions of childhood. +Richard Third has always been a bugaboo to my mind. Some day, perhaps, +I'll get over it." + +"Make it Dick, as a compromise." + +"Some day, when I have known you a little longer. Has John ever told +you about Mr. McQuade?" + +"McQuade?" Warrington realized that he had been floating on a pleasant +sea. He came upon the hidden shore rather soundly. "McQuade?" he +repeated. + +"Yes. He had the audacity to propose to mother shortly after father's +death. Think of it! John wrote to him very definitely that his +presence in the house would no longer be welcomed or tolerated. Father +had some slight business transactions with Mr. McQuade, and he came up +to the house frequently. He continued these visits after father's +death. We treated him decently, but we simply could not make him feel +welcome. The third time he called he proposed. + +"Mother left the room without even replying. He understood. A few +minutes afterward we heard the door slam. John wrote him the next +morning. Did you ever hear of anything to equal the cold-bloodedness +of it?" + +Warrington looked at her in absolute amazement. + +"Well, of all the nerve! Why the deuce didn't John punch his head?" +savagely. + +"Mr. McQuade is not a gentleman; John is," simply. "But Mr. McQuade +hasn't forgotten; not he. He pays no attention to any of us; but that +is no sign that he does not think a good deal. However, we do not +worry. There is no possible chance for him to retaliate; at least John +declares there isn't. But sometimes I grow afraid when I think it all +over. To his mind I can see that he considers himself badly affronted; +and from what I know of his history, he never lets an affront pass +without striking back in some manner." + +"Don't you worry your head about McQuade. What do you think? He is so +anxious to get me out of the political arena that he has sent a man +down to New York to look into my past. Isn't that droll?" + +Patty stooped again to the fishing-tackle. + +"Such men as McQuade can invent. I should be very careful, if I were +you. Your own conscience may prove you guiltless of scandal, but there +are certain people who would rather believe bad than good--scandal +than truth; and these are always in the majority. Don't laugh, but +watch. That's my advice to you, Mr. Meddler." She smiled brightly at +him as she threaded the line through the guides of the rod. + +"I may not have lived as cleanly as I might have," he said soberly. "I +have been knocked about so much. There were times when I grew tired of +fighting. But I have never done anything that will not stand daylight. +There was a time, Patty, when I came near making a fool of myself." He +sat down, his legs swinging over the water. "I drank more than was +good for me." He stared into the brown water and watched the minnows as +they darted hither and thither. "I was alone; things went wrong, and I +was cowardly enough to fall into the habit. But it was only +periodically. You remember that letter I showed you?" + +"Yes." Patty's voice was low. + +"I believe I have read it a thousand times. It has caused me a great +many regrets. I should like, some day, to meet the writer and +disillusion her. One thing she may be sure of: I have never belittled +the talent God has given me. I have striven for the ideal; I have even +fought for it. That part of my life holds no stain." + +"But the habit?" hesitant. + +"It is gone, where all fool-habits go, when a man has will power to +rid himself of them. Pride has something to do with it; and I have my +share of pride. I shall never go back." + +His head was turned away, but she could see the muscles in the jaws +harden. + +"You will never go back, I am sure, Richard." + +That she had at last pronounced his given name did not stir him; in +fact, it passed over his head and hearing. Like a dragon-brood, he saw +in fancy his past follies springing up about him. Not yet could he +tell this clean-minded, gentle-bred girl that he loved her. He must +prove himself still further before he might utter what so thoroughly +filled his heart and mind. + +"Your brother's wife brought me to my senses. What I am to-day she in +part has made. That is why I think so much of her; that is why I am +happy to see that she is happy and has realized her heart's desire. +Heigh-ho! I believe I am making you my confessor." He turned his face +toward her now, and his smile was rather sad. "When I recall the worry +I have given my poor old aunt, who loves me so, I feel like a +contemptible scoundrel. How many countless sacrifices has she made for +me, in the days when we had nothing! But she shall have all the +comforts now, and all the love and kindness I am capable of giving +her. I shall never leave her again." + +There were tears in Patty's eyes. "It is never too late to mend; and +when a man is penitent, truly and honestly penitent, much shall be +forgiven him. It is only those who are by nature coarse who do not +eventually surmount temptation. What you have told me I have known +this long while." + +"You have known?" he cried with sinking heart. + +"Yes. We live in a city where gossip travels quickly and thoroughly. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was telling mother one afternoon that you drank. +I suppose she felt it her duty." + +"To be sure," bitterly. "Was it while I have been living at home?" + +"No; when the rumor came that you were coming." + +He shrugged expressively. "I ought to have known." + +"But come; you are up here to be cheered, not lectured. Let us play +billiards. I can hear John and Kate playing now. We'll play sides; and +if we win against those two, I promise to call you Richard once a day +while you are up here. Or, would you rather I played and sang?" + +"Much rather," brightening up a bit. "There is always time to play +billiards. But first, I want you to come with me into the +reading-room. I have something to show you; I had almost forgotten." + +"The reading-room?" puzzled. + +"Yes. Will you come?" + +She nodded her assent, and the two entered the house. Warrington, +having arrived at the writing-desk, bade her sit down. He had an idea. +Patty sat down. + +"I want you to write something for me," he said, pushing the pen and +tablet toward her. + +"What's the matter with your hand?" she demanded. + +"Nothing." + +"Then why do you want me to write?" + +"I have never seen your handwriting. I'm something of an expert in +that line. I'll read your future." + +"But I don't want my future read," rebelliously. + +"Well, then, your past." + +"Much less my past. Come; you are only beating about the bush. What is +it you want?" + +"I want to know," he said quietly, "why you have kept me in ignorance +all this while." He laid the letter on the desk, and placed a finger +on the water-mark. "It wasn't fair to let me compose panegyrics over +it all the while you were laughing in your sleeve. Ah, I've caught +you. You can't get away this time, Patty." + +"I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about." But she +looked at the letter and not at him. + +"Do you see those water-marks?" he demanded. + +"Yes. You will find them in a thousand tablets like this. I bought a +dozen of them in New York; cheap and handy." + +Warrington's confidence in his discovery began to shake. He braced +himself and took a bold course. + +"Patty, you wrote that letter; you know you did. You wrote it in New +York, the day you bought the tablets." + +"I?" + +"Yes. Confess." + +"My dear Mr. Warrington, you must prove it," lightly. "It would not be +proper for me to admit that I had been so foolish as to write a letter +like that." + +"But you've praised it!" + +"Simply because praising it would please you; for no other reason." + +"Did you, or did you not write it?" + +"Find out. You must prove that I wrote it. Certainly I have nothing to +confess." + +"You will not answer me one way or the other?" + +"No." + +"If you had not written it you would." + +"I don't believe I shall sing this morning," rising. + +"And I have wondered a thousand times who could have written it. And +all the time it was you." + +"Nor play billiards," went on Patty. + +"If only I were all you hitherto believed me to be!" + +"Nor fish to-morrow morning." + +"This letter has been like an anchor. Immediately upon receiving it I +began to try to live better." + +"Nor fish the day after to-morrow." + +"And I had forgotten all about Jack's having a sister!" + +"Something I shall neither forget nor forgive. And if you persist in +accusing me of writing that letter, I promise not to fish again while +you are here." She walked toward the door, her chin held high. + +"You wrote it. Come and sing. I'll say nothing more about it. There's +nothing more to be said." He carelessly picked up a book and looked at +the fly-leaf. "From Sister Patty to Brother John," he read. There was +no mistake now. He laughed. Patty turned. "The writing is the same." + +"Is it?" + +"Will you sing?" + +No answer. + +"Please." + +Patty stood between the door that led to the veranda and the door that +led to the music-room--between Charybdis and Scylla, as it were, for +she knew he would follow her whichever way she went. She turned into +the music-room. + +"Thanks," he said. + +The days passed all too quickly for Warrington. He walked in the +golden glow of his first romance, that romance which never leaves us +till life itself departs. He spoke no word of his love, but at times +there was something in his voice that thrilled Patty and subdued her +elfish gaiety. Some girls would have understood at once, but Patty was +different. She was happy one moment, and troubled the next, not +knowing the reason. She was not analytical; there was no sophistry in +her young heart. She did not dream that this man loved her; she was +not vain enough for that. + +John and Kate watched them approvingly. They knew the worth of the +man; they were not at all worried over what was past. They saw their +own romance tenderly reflected. Mrs. Bennington was utterly oblivious. +Mothers never realize that their daughters and sons must some day +leave them; they refuse to accept this natural law; they lament over +it to-day as they lamented in the days of the Old Testament. The truth +is, children are always children to the parents; paternal and maternal +authority believes its right indefinite. + +By this time all the newspapers, save the Telegraph, had made readable +copy out of Warrington's candidacy. Why the Telegraph remained mute +was rather mystifying. Warrington saw the hand of McQuade in this. The +party papers had to defend the senator, but their defense was not so +strong as it might have been. Not a single sheet came out frankly for +Warrington. The young candidate smoked his pipe and said nothing, but +mentally he was rolling up his sleeves a little each day. He had not +yet pulled through the convention. Strong as the senator was, there +might yet be a hitch in the final adjustment. So far nothing had come +of Bolles' trip to New York. Occasionally newspapers from the nearby +towns fell into Warrington's hands. These spoke of his candidacy in +the highest terms, and belabored the editors of Herculaneum for not +accepting such a good chance of ridding itself of McQuadeism. + +Meantime, there was fishing, long trips into the heart of the forests, +dancing at the hotel at the head of the lake, billiards and music. +Warrington was already deeply tanned, and Patty's nose was liberally +sprinkled with golden freckles. + +One evening Kate and John sat on the veranda from where they could +easily watch Warrington and Patty in the music-room. + +"What do you think of it, John?" + +"There's not a finer chap in the world. But I don't think Patty +realizes yet." + +"Dear Patty!" Kate reached over and took his hand in hers, laying it +against her cold cheek. "What is it, John? You have been worried all +day." + +"Nothing; nothing to bother you with." + +"The shops? It worries me when you don't confide in me in everything." + +"Well, dear, the trouble I've been expecting for months is about to +come. You know that young Chittenden, the English inventor, has been +experimenting with a machine that will do the work of five men. They +have been trying to force him to join the union, but he has refused, +having had too many examples of unionism in his own country to risk +his independence here. Well, I received a letter from the general +manager this morning. Either Chittenden must join or go; otherwise the +men will go out September first." + +"What shall you do?" + +"I shall keep Chittenden. I am master there," striking the arm of his +chair; "master in everything. If they go out in September, it will be +for good. I shall tear down the shops and build model tenements." + +"John!" + +"I am sick and tired, dear. I have raised the wages all over the +district; my men work less than any other hands in town. I have built +a gymnasium for them, given them books, pool-tables, and games, to say +nothing of the swimming-tank. I have arranged the annual outings. I +have established a pension-list. But all this seems to have done no +good. I am at the end of the rope. Oh, the poor devils who work are +all right; it's the men outside who are raising all this trouble; it's +the union, not the men. There's no denying the power these men can +wield, for wrong or right. Ignorance can not resist the temptation to +use it at all times and for all purposes. But I am master at the +Bennington shops; injustice shall not dictate to me. They'll use it +politically, too. After all, I'm glad I've told you." + +"But, John, I'm afraid for you. They may hurt you." + +John answered with a sound that was more of a growl than a laugh. + +"Don't you worry about me, honey; I'm no weakling. I wish Dick could +be with me when the fight comes, but he will have his hands full, and +the strike will not help him any. Don't you worry. Father always felt +that there would be trouble some day. He held a large bundle of +bank-stock and railroad bonds, and the income from these alone will +take care of us very comfortably. There's a good deal of real estate, +too, that may be reckoned on. If the crash does come, we'll pack up, +take the mother, and go abroad for a year or so. But before I'm done +I'll teach local unionism a lesson it will not forget soon. Don't you +worry," he repeated again; "you just leave it to me." + +She did not speak, but kissed his hand. She knew that no pleading +could move him; and besides, he was in the right. + +"I don't understand the lukewarmness of the party papers," he said. +"They ought to hurrah over Dick. But perhaps the secret machinery is +being set to work, and they've been told that there will be trouble at +the convention. The senator never backs down, and I've never seen +anybody that could frighten Dick. There'll be some interesting events +this fall. Herculaneum will figure in the newspapers from Maine to +California, for everybody is familiar with Warrington's name and work. +It's a month yet before the delegates get together; either Warrington +will run or he won't. Calling him a meddler is good. If the Times +isn't a meddler, I never saw one and have misunderstood the meaning of +the word." + +In the music-room Patty was playing Grieg and MacDowell, and +Warrington was turning the pages. The chords, weird and melancholy, +seemed to permeate his whole being; sad, haunting music, that spoke of +toil, tears, death and division, failure and defeat, hapless love and +loveless happiness. After a polonaise, Patty stopped. + +"If music were only lasting, like a painting, a statue, a book," she +said; "but it isn't. Why these things haunt me every day, but I can +recollect nothing; I have to come back to the piano. It is elusive." + +"And the most powerful of all the arts that arouse the emotions. Hang +it! when I hear a great singer, a great violinist, half the time I +find an invisible hand clutching me by the throat ... Patty, honestly +now, didn't you write that letter?" + +"Yes," looking him courageously in the eyes. "And I hope you were not +laughing when you said all those kind things about it." + +"Laughing? No," gravely, "I was not laughing. Play something lively; +Chaminade; I am blue to-night." + +So Patty played the light, enchanting sketches. In the midst of one of +them she stopped suddenly. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"I thought I heard the boat's whistle. Listen. Yes, there it is. It +must be a telegram. They never come up to the head of the lake at +night for anything less. There goes John with a lantern." + +"Never mind the telegram," he said; "play." + +A quarter of an hour later John and Kate came in. + +"A telegram for you, Dick," John announced, sending the yellow +envelope skimming through the air. + +Warrington caught it deftly. He balanced it in his hand speculatively. + +"It is probably a hurry-call from the senator. I may have to go back +to town to-morrow. I have always hated telegrams." + +He opened it carelessly and read it. He read it again, slowly; and +Patty, who was nearest to him, saw his face turn gray under the tan +and his lips tremble. He looked from one to the other dumbly, then +back at the sheet in his hand. + +"Richard!" said Kate, with that quick intuition which leaps across +chasms of doubt and arrives definitely. + +"My aunt died this afternoon," he said, his voice breaking, for he had +not the power to control it. + +Nobody moved; a kind of paralysis touched them all. + +"She died this afternoon, and I wasn't there." There is something +terribly pathetic in a strong man's grief. + +"Dick!" John rushed to his side. "Dick, old man, there must be some +mistake." + +He seized the telegram from Warrington's nerveless fingers. There was +no mistake. The telegram was signed by the family physician. Then John +did the kindliest thing in his power. + +"Do you wish to be alone, Dick?" + +Warrington nodded. John laid the telegram on the table, and the three +of them passed out of the room. A gust of wind, coming down from the +mountains, carried the telegram gently to the floor. Warrington, +leaning against the table, stared down at it. + +What frightful things these missives are! Charged with success or +failure, riches or poverty, victory or defeat, births or deaths, they +fly to and fro around the great world hourly, on ominous and sinister +wings. A letter often fails to reach us, but a telegram, never. It is +the messenger of fate, whose emissaries never fail to arrive. + +Death had never before looked into Warrington's life; he had viewed it +with equanimity, with a tolerant pity for those who succumbed to it, +for those whose hearts it ravaged with loneliness and longing. He had +used it frequently in his business as a property by which to arouse +the emotions of his audiences. That it should some day stand at his +side, looking into his eyes, never occurred to him. He tried to think, +to beguile himself into the belief that he should presently awake to +find it a dream. Futile expedient! She was dead; that dear, kind, +loving heart was dead. Ah! and she had died alone! A great sob choked +him. He sank into a chair and buried his face in his arms. The past +rushed over him like a vast wave. How many times had he carelessly +wounded that heart which had beat solely for him! How many times had +he given his word, only to break it! He was alone, alone; death had +severed the single tie; he was alone. Death is kind to the dead, but +harsh to the living. Presently his sighs became less regular, and at +length they ceased entirely. + +The portiere rustled slightly, and Patty's face became visible. Her +eyes were wet. She had tried to keep away, but something drew her +irresistibly. Her heart swelled. If only she might touch his bowed +head, aye, kiss the touches of grey at the temples; if only she might +console him in this hour of darkness and grief. Poor boy, poor boy! +She knew not how long she watched him; it might have been minutes or +hours; she was without recollection of time. A hand touched her gently +on the arm. Kate stood by her side. + +"Come," she whispered; "come, Patty." + +Patty turned without question or remonstrance and followed her up +stairs. + +"Kate, dear Kate!" + +"What is it, darling?" + +"He is all alone!" + +At midnight John tiptoed into the music-room. Warrington had not +moved. John tapped him on the shoulder. + +"You mustn't stay here, old man. Come to bed." + +Warrington stood up. + +"Would you like a drop of brandy?" + +Warrington shook his head. + +"It is terribly hard," said John, throwing his arm across the other's +shoulders. "I know; I understand. You are recalling all the mistakes, +all the broken promises, all the disappointments. That is but natural. +But in a few days all the little acts of kindness will return to your +memory; all the good times you two have had together, the thousand +little benefits that made her last days pleasant. These will soften +the blow, Dick." + +"I wasn't there," Warrington murmured dully. His mind could accept but +one fact: his aunt had died alone, without his being at the bedside. + + +It rained in Herculaneum that night. The pavement in Williams Street +glistened sharply, for a wind was swinging the arc-lamps. The trees on +the Warrington lawn sighed incessantly; and drip, drip, drip, went the +rain on the leaves. Not a light shone anywhere in the house; total +darkness brooded over it. In one of the rooms a dog lay with his nose +against the threshold of the door. From time to time he whined +mournfully. In another room an Angora cat stalked restlessly back and +forth, sometimes leaping upon a chair, sometimes trotting round and +round, and again, wild-eyed and furtive, it stood motionless, as if +listening. Death had entered the house; and death, to the beast, is +not understandable. + + + + +Chapter XI + + +Everybody had gone down the winding road to the granite entrance of +the cemetery; the minister, the choir, the friends and those who had +come because they reveled in morbid scenes. These were curious to see +how Warrington was affected, if he showed his grief or contained it, +so that they might have something to talk about till some one else +died. There are some people in this merry world of ours who, when they +take up the evening paper, turn first to the day's death notices; who +see no sermons in the bright flowers, the birds and butterflies, the +misty blue hills, the sunshine, who read no lesson in beauty, who +recognize no message in the moon and the stars, in cheerfulness and +good humor. On the contrary, they seem to abhor the sunshine; they +keep their parlors for ever in musty darkness, a kind of tomb where +they place funeral wreaths under glass globes and enter but half a +dozen times a year. Well, even these had finally dragged themselves +away from the grave, and left Warrington standing alone beside the +brown roll of damp fresh earth. No carriage awaited him, for he had +signified his intention of walking home. + +All about him the great elms and maples and oaks showed crisp against +the pale summer sky. Occasionally a leaf fell. A red squirrel +chattered above him, and an oriole sang shrilly and joyously near by. +The sun was reddening in the west, and below, almost at his feet, the +valley swam in a haze of delicate amethyst. The curving stream +glittered. From where he stood he could see them bundling up the +sheaves of wheat. All these things told him mutely that the world was +going on the same as ever; nothing had changed. In the city men and +women were going about their affairs as usual; the smoke rolled up +from the great chimneys. When all is said, our griefs and joys are +wholly our own; the outsider does not participate. + +Yes, the world went on just the same. Death makes a vacancy, but the +Great Accountant easily fills it; and the summing up of balances goes +on. Let us thank God for the buoyancy of the human spirit, which, +however sorely tried, presently rises and assumes its normal interest +in life. + +Warrington looked dreamily at the grave, and the philosopher in him +speculated upon the mystery of it. Either the grave is Heaven or it is +nothing; one can proceed no farther. If there was a Heaven (and in the +secret corner of his heart he believed there was), a new star shone in +the sky at night, a gentle, peaceful star. Just now the pain came in +the knowledge that she was gone; later the actual absence would be +felt. For a month or so it would seem that she had gone on a journey; +he would find himself waiting and watching; but as the weeks and +months went by, and he heard not her step nor her voice, then would +come the real anguish. They tell us that these wounds heal; well, +maybe; but they open and reopen and open again till that day we +ourselves cease to take interest in worldly affairs. + +He stooped and picked up one of the roses which she had held in her +hand. Reverently he pressed his lips to it and put it away in his +wallet. Then he turned and went slowly down the hill. He had never +really known her till these last few months; not till now did he +realize how closely knit together had been their lives and affections. +He lighted a cigar, and with his hands behind his back and his chin in +his collar, he continued to the gates. The old care-taker opened and +closed the gates phlegmatically. Day by day they came, and one by one +they never went out again. To him there was neither joy nor grief; if +the grass grew thick and the trees leaved abundantly, that was all he +desired. + +It was a long walk to Williams Street, and he was tired when he +entered the house. Jove leaped upon him gladly. Warrington held the +dog's head in his hands and gazed into the brown eyes. Here was one +that loved him, wholly and without question. You will always find some +good in the man who retains the affection of his dog. In good times or +bad, they are stanch friends; and they are without self-interest, +which is more than human. In the living-room he found the Angora +curled up on a sofa-cushion. He smoothed her, and she stretched her +lithe body luxuriously and yawned. There is no other animal which so +completely interprets the word indifference. Warrington wondered what +he should do with her, for he was not very fond of cats. But his aunt +had loved her, so he passed on to the dining-room without deciding +what to do. + +It was a lonely supper. He kept his eyes on his plate as well as he +could; for whenever he saw the back of her chair, his food choked him. +He wondered why he did not take the decanter of whisky down from the +sideboard; a generous tumblerful. ... No. This was the first time in +months that the desire to drink deeply came to him. No; he would leave +it there. Supper done, he went to his den and took down a book. Could +he live here now? He doubted it, for it was a house of empty doors. He +settled himself in a chair and turned the pages of the book to a place +he loved well. It was where D'Artagnan, representing Planchet and +Company, returns to the grocer with the bags of English gold which, +for several good reasons, Charles Second has given him for General +Monk's sword. He was well along toward the fainting of the honest +Planchet on the money-bags, when the telephone rang. He took up the +receiver. + +"Well?" + +"Mama wants you to come over and spend the night with us. John and +Kate will be here, too." + +He recognized Patty's voice. + +"I shall be very glad to," he replied. "Good-by." He rang for Mary, +who came in, her eyes red and swollen; Poor soul, she had also lost +her best friend. "I am going over to the Benningtons' to spend the +night, Mary. + +"Very well, sir; just as you think best." + +The Benningtons were very kind to him. They engaged his interest the +moment he entered the house. They talked of a thousand and one things +diverting: the foreign news, the political outlook, the September +horse-show at which Patty would ride and jump, what was contemplated +in society for the fall and winter, the ice-carnival, and the +engagements. + +"Why don't you enter your Irish hunter?" asked John, when the talk +veered around to horses again. + +"I ride for the mere pleasure of it," replied Warrington; "or, if you +will, I'm too lazy to learn the judges' catechism." + +Presently they had him telling how he had written his first play, and +how completely Mrs. Jack had fooled him on their first meeting. + +"No, I have not the slightest desire to return to the stage," said +Mrs. Jack, in answer to a casual inquiry made by Warrington. + +"Not while I'm around," supplemented John. + +"Why, nothing could lure me back to it," Mrs. Jack declared +emphatically. "I am happy. I am very happy. I have nothing to wish +for, save that my happiness may endure." + +Mrs. Bennington, who had long since grown to love her daughter-in-law, +smiled benignly. + +"You will always be happy, my dear; you were born to be. It is the +just reward for making those around you happy." + +"Patty," said Warrington, "would you like the Angora?" + +"I should love it dearly." + +"Then I'll send it over to you in the morning." + +And that was as near as they approached the subject they were tacitly +avoiding. + +At a quarter of nine, to the consternation of every one, Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was announced. + +"Take me up stairs to the billiard-room," said Warrington; "I am not +in the mood to meet that woman to-night." + +"Come on, then," cried John, willing enough. "There's the servants' +stairs. I'll give you a handicap of twenty in a hundred points." + +"I'll beat you at those odds." + +"That remains to be seen." + +And the two hurried up the stairs just as the hall-door closed. The +billiard-room was situated at the head of the front stairs. Warrington +won the bank, and he ran a score of ten. While he was chalking his cue +he heard voices. + +"It is very sad." It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene talking. "We shall miss +her in church work. It is a severe blow to Mr. Warrington." + +"That was a good draw, John. Three cushions this time. Good. You're +playing strong to-night." + +"Did you think to bring over your pajamas?" John asked irrelevantly. + +Warrington smiled in spite of himself. + +"I forgot all about them," he admitted. + +"Thought you would, so I brought over two sets. We're about the same +size. Pshaw! that was an easy one, too." + +Warrington missed his shot; He heard voices again. + +"And I want you to help me." It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene again. "We +shall reorganize the Woman's Auxiliary Republican Club, and we shall +need you. It is principally for that that I came over." + +"I take very little interest in anything outside my home," replied +Mrs. Bennington. + +"Did you get that?" whispered John, as he drew back for a carom. + +"But this is very important for the city's welfare," pursued Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene. + +"I doubt it. So long as we do not vote--" + +"That's just it. We can't vote, but we can get together and control +the male vote in the family. That's something." + +John grinned at Warrington, who replied with a shrug. + +"And they all call me the meddler!" he said. + +"What's the matter with your staying on here a few days, Dick?" + +"I should be nothing but a bother to you." + +"Rot! You can't stay alone over there." + +"I'll have to; I can't leave those poor old souls alone. They are +broken-hearted. I sent her two hundred every month regularly, just for +pin-money; and what do you think she did with it? Hoarded it up and +willed something like two thousand to Mary and her husband. I'm all +in, Dick. But go on; I'll finish the game." + +"All right. But whenever you feel lonesome, come here or over to my +house. There'll always be a spare room for you in either house." + +"It's mighty kind of you, John. My shot?" Warrington ran four and +missed. + +Voices again. + +"I never believe what I hear, and only half of what I see." That was +Mrs. Jack speaking. + +Murmurs. The billiard-balls clicked sharply as John played for +position. + +"The stage doesn't appeal to you any more, then?" Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene. + +"Not in the least. It never did appeal to me. I am so far away from it +now that I am losing the desire to witness plays." + +"And for whom will Mr. Warrington write his plays now?" + +"The vacancy I made has long ago been filled. I was but one in a +thousand to interpret his characters. There is always a lack of plays, +but never of actors." + +"Excuse me for a moment." It was Patty this time. + +"Certainly, my dear." + +Warrington heard nothing more for several minutes. + +"Is it true what I hear about Patty and that rich young Mr. Whiteland, +of New York?" + +"What is it that you have heard?" + +"Why, that their engagement is about to be announced." + +Warrington stood perfectly still. Whiteland had been a guest at the +Adirondack bungalow earlier in the summer. He waited for the answer, +and it seemed to him that it would never come. + +"I am not engaged to any one, Mrs. Haldene, and I hope you will do me +the favor to deny the report whenever you come across it." Patty had +returned. "It seems incredible that a young man may not call upon a +young woman without their names becoming coupled matrimonially." + +"Nevertheless, he is regarded as extremely eligible." + +"I have often wondered over Haldene's regular Saturday night jag at +the club," said John, stringing his count, "but I wonder no longer. +They say she never goes out Saturdays." + +Warrington heard the words, but the sense of them passed by. He could +realize only one thing, and that was, he loved Patty better than all +the world. He could accept his own defeat with philosophy, but another +man's success!--could he accept that? How strangely everything had +changed in the last few days! He had never known real mental anguish; +heartaches in others had always afforded him mild amusement and +contempt. It was one thing, he reflected, to write about human +emotions; it was entirely another thing to live and act them. He saw +that his past had been full of egotism and selfishness, but he also +saw that his selfishness was of the kind that has its foundation in +indifference and not in calculation. The voices went on down stairs, +but he ceased to pay any attention to them. + +"John, there's been something in my mind for many months." + +"What is it?" + +"Do you recollect the night you came into my rooms in New York?" + +"I shall never forget it," quietly. + +"Your wife was there." + +"I know it. I found her gloves." He made a difficult masse. "She told +me all about it. At the time, however, I had a pretty bad case of +heart-trouble. But I understand. She was in the habit of dropping in +on you. Why not? Your cooperation made you both famous. A man in love +finds all sorts of excuses for jealousy. But I'm glad you've spoken. I +can readily understand how you felt when you found the gloves gone. + +"You're a good man, John," said Warrington. + +"Kate loves me; it ought to make any man good to have a wife who loves +him. I have no use for a man who sees evil in everything and good in +nothing. Say no more about it, boy." + +"I hadn't seen you in so long that I was confused. If I had reflected +... But you see, I didn't know that you were engaged, or even that you +knew her. I never understood, until you were gone, why she wanted to +hide herself. I'm glad I've relieved my mind." Warrington sighed. + +"It's all right. There! I told you that I'd win even at those odds." + +Presently they heard a stir down stairs. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +going. The door closed. The family came up to the billiard-room. +Warrington looked at Patty, whose cheeks were flushed and whose eyes +flashed. + +"Why, what's the matter, Pat?" John asked. + +"Nothing." + +"Mrs. Haldene has been making herself useful as usual," said Mrs. +Jack, slipping her arm around Patty's waist. + +Patty was in a rage about something; nobody seemed to know what it +was. + +"You are not going to join the Auxiliary, are you, mother?" John +inquired, putting the cues in the rack. + +"Indeed I am not. The men in my family always used their own judgment +in politics. They have always been Whigs or Republicans." + +"Did you ever meet a woman, Dick, who was a Democrat?" laughed John. + +"Perhaps," was the reply, "but it has escaped my recollection." + +But he was thinking: after all, he had a right to win Patty if he +could. It was not what he had done in the past, it was what he was +capable of doing from now on that counted. + +"You're going to have a stiff fight at the convention," said John. + +"I know it. But a fight of any kind will keep my mind occupied. The +senator has assured me that I shall get the nomination." + + +On the way home Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw the flutter of a white dress +on the Wilmington-Fairchilds' veranda. She couldn't resist, so she +crossed the lawn and mounted the veranda steps. She did not observe +her husband in the corner, smoking with the master of the house. + +"I've been over to the Benningtons'," she began, rather breathless. + +"What's the news?" + +"There is no truth in the report of Patty's engagement to young +Whiteland." + +"There isn't? Well, there ought to be, after the way they went around +together last winter." + +"She told me so herself," Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene declared emphatically. +"Do you know what I believe?" + +"No," truthfully. + +"I've an idea that Patty is inclined toward that fellow Warrington." + +"You don't mean it!" + +"He's always around there. He must have thought a great deal of his +aunt. She was buried to-day, and there he is, playing billiards with +John Bennington. If that isn't heartlessness!" + +"What do you want a man to do?" growled her husband from behind his +cigar. "Sit in a dark room and wring his hands all day, like a woman? +Men have other things to do in life than mourn the departed." + +"Franklyn? I didn't see you." + +"You seldom do." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene at once plunged into a discussion of fashion, +the one thing that left her husband high and dry, so far as his native +irony was concerned. + + +That same night McQuade concluded some interesting business. He +possessed large interests in the local breweries. Breweries on the +average do not pay very good dividends on stock, so the brewer often +establishes a dozen saloons about town to help the business along. +McQuade owned a dozen or more of these saloons, some in the heart of +the city, some in the outlying wards of the town. He conducted the +business with his usual shrewdness. The saloons were all well managed +by Germans, who, as a drinking people, are the most orderly in the +world. It was not generally known that McQuade was interested in the +sale of liquors. His name was never mentioned in connection with the +saloons. + +One of these saloons was on a side street. The back door of it faced +the towpath. It did not have a very good reputation; and though, for +two years, no disturbances had occurred there, the police still kept +an eye on the place. It was on the boundary line of the two most +turbulent wards in the city. To the north was the Italian colony, to +the south was the Irish colony. Both were orderly and self-respecting +as a rule, though squalor and poverty abounded. But these two races +are at once the simplest and most quick-tempered, and whenever an +Irishman or an Italian crossed the boundary line there was usually a +hurry call for the patrol wagon, and some one was always more or less +battered up. + +Over this saloon was a series of small rooms which were called "wine +rooms," though nobody opened wine there. Beer was ten cents a glass up +stairs, and whisky twenty. Women were not infrequently seen climbing +the stairs to these rooms. But, as already stated, everybody behaved. +Schmuck, who managed the saloon, was a giant of a man, a Turnvereiner, +who could hold his own with any man in town. It will be understood +that the orderliness was therefore due to a respect for Schmuck's +strength, and not to any inclination to be orderly. + +On this night, then, at nine o'clock, a man entered and approached the +bar. He was sharp-eyed, lean-faced, with a heavy blue beard closely +shaven, saving the mustache, which was black and hung over the man's +lips. He wore good clothes. There was a large diamond on one of his +fingers and another in the bosom of his shirt, in which a white tie +was tucked carefully. They were yellow diamonds. But those among whom +this man moved did not know the difference between yellow stones and +white. Morrissy was accounted very well-to-do. + +"Hello, Schmuck!" he hailed. "Got the room up stairs in order?" + +"Yes." Schmuck wiped the bar. "Der poss iss coming to-night, I see. +Huh?" + +"Yes. He ought to be along now," replied Morrissy, glancing at his +watch, which was as conspicuous as his yellow diamonds. + +"How you getting along mit der poys?" + +"Oh, we're coming along fine, all right." + +"Going to call 'em out uf der mills? Huh?" + +"Perhaps. When the boss comes, tell him I'm up stairs." + +Morrissy lighted a cigar, took the evening papers from the end of the +bar, and disappeared. Schmuck could hear him moving the chairs about. +Ten minutes later McQuade appeared. Schmuck nodded toward the stairs, +and without a word McQuade went up. + +"Good evening, Morrissy. I missed a car, or I'd have been here +earlier." + +"That's all right, Mr. McQuade; glad to wait for you." Morrissy threw +aside his papers and drew his chair to the table. + +McQuade closed the door and sat down. + +"You got my letter?" he began, wiping his forehead. + +Morrissy nodded. + +"Well?" + +"Well, the boys will go out Monday morning. A committee will wait on +Bennington in the morning. He won't back down and discharge the +English inventor, so it's a sure thing they'll walk out, every +mother's son of them." + +"On the morning they go out, I'll send you my check for five hundred." + +"For the union?" + +"I'll send it to you, and you can use it as you see fit. On Monday +morning, then." + +"Sure thing." + +They smoked for a while. Suddenly McQuade laid a bulky envelope on the +table, got up and went out. Morrissy weighed the envelope carefully, +thrust it into his pocket, and also departed. + +"Five hundred now, and five hundred on Monday. I can see him sending a +check. It will be bills. Bah! I should have called out the boys +anyhow." + +McQuade hurried home. He had another appointment, vastly more +important than the one he had just kept. Bolles had returned from New +York. It was easy enough to buy a labor union, but it was a different +matter to ruin a man of Warrington's note. Bolles had telegraphed that +he would be in Herculaneum that night. That meant that he had found +something worth while. Each time the car stopped to let passengers on +or off, McQuade stirred restlessly. He jumped from the car when it +reached his corner, and walked hurriedly down the street to his house, +a big pile of red granite and an architectural nightmare. He rushed up +the steps impatiently, applied his latch-key and pushed in the door. +He slammed it and went directly to his study. Bolles was asleep in a +chair. McQuade shook him roughly. Bolles opened his eyes. + +"You've been on a drunk," said McQuade, quickly noting the puffed eyes +and haggard cheeks. + +"But I've got what I went after, all the same," replied Bolles +truculently. + +"What have you got? If you've done any faking, I'll break every bone +in your body." + +"Now, look here, Mr. McQuade; don't talk to me like that." + +"What have you got, then?" + +"Well, I've got something that's worth five hundred; that's what. I +worked like a nigger for a month; pumped everybody that ever knew him. +Not a blame thing, till night before last I ran into the janitor of +the apartments where Warrington lived." + +"Go on." + +"He'd been fired, and I got him drunk. I asked him if any women had +ever gone up to Warrington's rooms. One. He was sitting in the +basement. It was a hot night, and he was sitting up because he could +not sleep. At midnight a coupe drove up, and Warrington and a woman +alighted. From the looks of things she was drunk, but he found out +afterward that she was very sick. The woman remained in Warrington's +apartments till the following morning." + +"When was all this?" + +"About four years ago. She left very early." + +"Hell!" roared McQuade, doubling his fists. "And I've been sending you +money every week for such news as this! I want something big, you +fool! What earthly use is this information to me? I couldn't frighten +Warrington with it." + +"I haven't told you the woman's name yet," said Bolles, leering. + +"The woman's name? What's that got to do with it?" + +"A whole lot. It was Katherine Challoner, the actress, Bennington's +wife; that's who it was!" + +McQuade sat very still. So still, that he could hear the clock ticking +in the parlor. Bennington's wife! + + + + +Chapter XII + + +The death of his aunt gave Warrington a longing for action--swift +mental and physical action. To sit in that dark, empty house, to read +or to write, was utterly impossible; nor had he any desire to take +long rides into the country. His mind was never clearer than when he +rode alone, and what he wanted was confusion, noise, excitement, +struggle. So he made an appointment with Senator Henderson the next +morning. He left the Benningtons with the promise that he would return +that evening and dine with them. Warrington had become the senator's +hobby; he was going to do great things with this young man's future. +He would some day make an ambassador of him; it would be a pleasant +souvenir of his old age. Warrington was brilliant, a fine linguist, +was a born diplomat, had a good voice, and a fund of wit and repartee; +nothing more was required. He would give the name Warrington a high +place in the diplomatic history of the United States. Some of the most +capable diplomats this country had produced had been poets. +Warrington's being a playwright would add luster to the office. The +senator was going over these things, when a clerk announced that Mr. +Warrington was waiting to see him. + +"Send him right in." + +Immediately Warrington entered. He was simply dressed in a business +suit of dark blue. He wore a straw hat and a black tie. There was no +broad band of crape on his hat or his sleeve. He had the poet's horror +of parading grief, simply because it was considered fashionable to do +so. He sincerely believed that outward mourning was obsolete, a custom +of the Middle Ages. + +"Ha!" ejaculated the senator. + +"Good morning. How goes the fight?" + +"Fine, my boy; I'll land you there next week; you see if I don't. The +main obstacle is the curious attitude of the press. You and I know the +reason well enough. McQuade is back of this influence. But the voter +doesn't know this, and will accept the surface indications only. Now +you know the newspaper fellows. Why not drop around to the offices and +find out something definite?" + +"It's a good idea, Senator. I'll do it this very morning." + +"Has McQuade any personal grudge against you?" + +"Not to my knowledge." + +"He's a bad enemy, and often a downright unscrupulous one. If it's +only politics, I'll have a chat with him myself. You pump the +newspapers. You leave it to me to swing the boys into line at the +convention." + +Then they proceeded to go over the ground thoroughly. Something must +be done with the newspapers. The delegates and minor bosses were +already grumbling. Had nothing appeared in the newspapers, +Warrington's nomination would have gone through without even minor +opposition. But the Republican machine was in sore straits. If +Donnelly won this time, it would mean years of Democratic rule in an +essentially Republican town. McQuade must be broken, his strong +barricades toppled; and now that there would be no surprise for the +public, the majority of the delegates began to look doubtfully upon +what they called the senator's coup. They wanted the City Hall, and +they did not care how they got there. Warrington was a fine chap, and +all that, but his acquaintanceship was limited. He could not go about +shaking hands like Donnelly, who knew everybody, high and low. The +laboring man knew nothing about Warrington, save that he was famous +for writing plays they had not seen, nor would have understood if they +had. Warrington was a "swell"; he had nothing in common with the man +who carried the dinner-pail. + +"And there the matter stands, my boy," concluded the senator, shifting +his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "If I can swing +the convention the rest will be plain sailing, once you start +speech-making. Oh, McQuade is clever. He knew that by exposing my hand +he would lessen your chances. But you tackle the newspapers and see +what can be done. And good luck to you." + +McQuade came down early that morning. The first thing he did was to +call on the editor of the Times. + +"Here's something," he said, tossing a few typewritten pages on the +editor's desk. "This'll settle Warrington's hash, Walford." + +"What is it?" asked Walford. + +"Read it and see for yourself." McQuade sat down and picked up the +early New York papers. + +Walford read slowly. When he reached the last paragraph he returned to +the first and read the article through again. He laid it down and +faced his employer. + +"Mr. McQuade, the Call and the Times are the only papers in town that +pay dividends. The Times as it stands to-day is a good, legitimate +business investment. Do you want the circulation to drop ten thousand +and the big advertisers to cancel their contracts?" + +"What's the matter with the story? Isn't it all right?" + +"Frankly, it isn't." + +"It's true," said McQuade, his fist thudding on the desk; "it's true, +I tell you, every damned word of it." + +"The truth of it isn't the question. It's the advisability of +publishing it. I say to you that if you insist on this story's +publication, you'll kill the Times deader than a door-nail. I'll call +the business manager in." Walford whistled through a tube, and shortly +after the business manager appeared. "Read this," said Walford +briefly, "and give Mr. McQuade your honest opinion regarding its +publication. Mr. McQuade thinks it ought to run as local news." + +The business manager read it. + +"It makes good reading, Mr. McQuade, but if you want to kill the +Times, run it. There are some stories that can only be rumored, not +printed, and this is one of them. If this appears, you have my word +that every decent advertiser will cancel his contract forthwith." + +Walford looked at his employer in frank triumph. McQuade had great +confidence in these two men. He ripped the manuscript into squares and +filtered them through his fingers into the waste-basket. + +"You boys are probably right," he said reluctantly. "I have no desire +to see the paper lose its sound footing. But this would have killed +the man socially and politically, so far as this town is concerned." + +"Admitted," replied Walford, straightening out some proofs. "But we'll +topple him over in a legitimate way." + +"Go ahead, then. I'm not particular how it's done so long as you do +it. Perhaps, after all, it's just as well. I've got another idea. I +can see that I've made a mistake." + +McQuade started down the stairs to the street and met Warrington +coming up. The two men paused for a moment, then went on. Once on the +sidewalk, McQuade turned and hesitated. No, he had nothing to say to +Mr. Warrington. He strode down the street toward his own offices. + +It will be seen that Warrington had gone directly into the enemy's +camp. He knew Walford of old; they were tolerably good friends. He +gave his card to the boy. Walford, on reading it, stuffed several +newspapers into the waste-basket and pressed his foot on them. He was +a bit shaken. + +"Send him in. Hello, Dick," he said. "How are you? You're the last man +I expected to see this morning. What can I do for you?" + +"You can tell your political reporter and your editorial man to let up +on me for a week," said Warrington directly. "What the devil have I +done to you chaps that you should light into me after this fashion?" + +"You have become rich and famous, Dick, and mediocrity can stand +anything but that." But there was a twinkle in Walford's eyes. + +"Come, Wally, you know that isn't the truth." + +"Well, if you want the truth I'll give it to you. Answer me frankly +and honestly, do you consider that you have any moral right to accept +a nomination for the mayoralty of Herculaneum?" + +"Moral right. I'll pick up that phrase and carry it to your camp. I +have as much moral right as Donnelly, who, if he hasn't been caught, +is none the less culpable for breaking his oath of loyalty. You know +this as well as I do." + +Walford eyed the waste-basket thoughtfully. + +"Now, we'll turn to the legal side," continued Warrington. "I was born +here; I cast my first vote here; for several years I've been a +property owner and have paid my taxes without lying to the +tax-assessor. It is notorious that Donnelly is worth half a million, +and yet he is assessed upon a house worth about seven thousand. You +have called me a meddler; you apply the term every day. Now draw the +distinction, as to eligibility, between Donnelly and myself." + +Walford got up from his chair and closed the door. He returned and sat +down again. + +"Dick, politics is politics, and its ways are dark and mysterious, +like the heathen Chinee. If I had your talent--if I had your ability +to earn money, I'd walk out of this office this moment. But I am only +a poor devil of a newspaper man. I've a family. When I was twenty, +eighteen years ago, I was earning twelve a week; to-day it is forty; +when I am sixty it will return to twelve. You know the business; you +know the value they set on a man's brains in this city. And there's +always somebody waiting for your shoes. Now, listen. In the first +place I must live, and as honorably as environment permits me. By +conviction I am a Democrat; I believe in the Democratic principles. +Thus, I consider it my duty to thwart, if possible, any and all moves +the Republican party makes. I recognize your strength, and I shall do +what I can from my side of the barricade to defeat your nomination at +the Republican convention; for I believe you able, if once nominated, +to lead your party to success and victory. But I shall fight you +honestly, Dick. In all I have said so far, there has been no innuendo; +I've stood out in the open. I did you a good turn this morning, but +you will never be any the wiser. Personally, I like you; I have always +liked you, and I am glad to see one man of the craft rise above the +grubs and earn a splendid competence. It hasn't been easy, Dick; +you've had to fight for it, and that's what I admire. You're a good, +clean fighter. If I should rebel against continuing this attack +against you, the attack would go on, but I shouldn't. That would do +neither of us any good. McQuade might find a man with less scruples +than I have. And that's how the matter stands, Dick." + +"Well, you're frank and honest about it, and I know you will at least +give me a square deal, in the event of my nomination." + +"You may reckon on that. Good luck to you and bad luck to your cause." + +They talked about the old days for a while, and then Warrington +departed and directed his steps to the office of the Journal, the +paper in which he had begun his career. Oh, here they were willing to +do anything in their power from now on. If he was really determined to +accept the nomination, they would aid him editorially. That evening +the editor made good his word, frankly indorsing Warrington as the +best possible choice for Republican nominee. The editor explained his +former attitude by setting forth his belief that Mr. Warrington's +candidacy was not serious. At the office of the Telegraph they treated +him cordially enough. They never meddled with politics till the fight +was on. Then they picked the candidate whose views most coincided with +their own. If Mr. Warrington was nominated, doubtless they would +support his ticket. The general manager had been a classmate of +Warrington's. He called on him and explained his errand. The manager +simply wrote on a pad: "McQuade owns fifty-five per cent. of the +shares," held it under Warrington's nose and then tore it up. + +"That's where our independence stands at this moment." + +"I had heard of this, but didn't quite believe it," Warrington said. +Bill Osborne evidently knew what was going on, then. "I'm sorry to +have troubled you." + +"None at all." + +On the street Warrington was stopped by Ben Jordan, the Telegraph's +star reporter, who had worked with Warrington on the Journal. + +"Say, Dick, I am glad to see you. I was going up to your house on +purpose to see you. Come over to Martin's a minute. I've got some news +that might interest you." + +"I don't like Martin's place," said Warrington. "Let's compromise on +Hanley's." + +"All right, my boy." + +They walked down to Hanley's, talking animatedly. + +"What will you have, Ben?" + +"Musty ale." + +"Two musty ales," Warrington ordered. "Well, Ben?" + +Ben took a deep swallow of ale. He was the best all-round reporter in +the city; he knew more people than Osborne knew. Murders, strikes, +fires, they were all the same to Ben. He knew where to start and where +to end. The city editor never sent Ben out on a hunt for scandal; he +knew better than to do that. Nine times out of ten, the other papers +got the scandal and Ben's behavior became one. The labor unions were +Ben's great stand-by. On dull days he could always get a story from +the unions. He attended their meetings religiously. They trusted him +implicitly, for Ben never broke his word to any one but his landlady. +He was short and wiry, with a head so large as to be almost a +deformity. On top of this head was a shock of brick-colored hair that +resembled a street-cleaner's broom. And Ben's heart was as big as his +head. His generosity was always getting him into financial trouble. + +"Dick, you're a friend of Bennington's. You can quietly tip him that +his men will go out Monday morning. There's only one thing that will +avert a strike, and that's the discharge of the Englishman." + +"Bennington will never discharge him." + +"So I understand. He'll have a long strike on his hands." + +"Do you know the inside?" + +"Enough to say that the men will go out. They're a lot of sheep. +They've an idea they've been wronged. But you can't reason with them." + +"Ben, you go up to the shops yourself and tell Bennington what you +know." + +"I don't know him. How'll he take it?" + +"Tell him I sent you." + +"I'll do it, Dick. But if he kicks me out, the drinks will be on you. +What countermove will he make?" + +"Better ask him yourself. But if you have any influence among the +unions, tell them to go slow. They haven't sized up Bennington. Wait a +moment. I'll give you a note to him." He called for paper and +envelopes, and wrote: + +Dear John: + +This will introduce to you Mr. Jordan, a reporter in whom I have the +greatest confidence. Whatever you may tell him you may rest assured +that he will never repeat. I am sending him to you in hopes he may +suggest some plan by which to ward off the impending strike. There may +be a little self-interest on my side. A strike just now will raise the +devil in politics. You may trust Jordan fully. + +Warrington. + +He pushed it across the table. "There, that will smooth the way." + +"Many thanks, my son. Where's he eat his lunch?" + +"Usually in the office." + +"Well, I'm off!" + +Ben always had his eye on the story of to-morrow, and he would face +all or any difficulties in pursuit of the end. If he could stop the +strike at the Bennington shops it would be a great thing for the +Telegraph and a great thing for Ben. So he hailed a car, serenely +unconscious that he was taking a position absolutely opposed to that +of his employer. He arrived at the shops some time before the noon +hour. His letter opened all doors. Bennington was in his private +office. He read the letter and offered Ben a chair. + +"I have never been interviewed," he said. + +"I am not here for an interview," said Ben. "Your men will go out +Monday." + +"Monday? How did you learn that?" + +"My business takes me among the unions. What shall you do in the event +of the strike?" + +"And I have no desire to be interviewed." + +"You read Mr. Warrington's letter. Perhaps, if I knew what stand you +will take, I could talk to the men myself. I have averted three or +four strikes in my time, simply because the boys know that I always +speak the truth, the plain truth. In this case I feel that you have +the right on your side. You haven't said anything yet. The union is +practically trying to bluff you into coming to its terms: the +discharge of the inventor, or a strike." + +"Are you representing the union?" + +"I am representing nobody but myself." + +"I may tell you, then, that I shall not discharge the inventor. Nor +will I, if the men go out, take a single one of them back." + +"The men will not believe that. They never do. They've been so +successful in Pennsylvania that they are attempting to repeat that +success all over the Country. They have grown pig-headed. I feel sorry +for the poor devils, who never realize when they are well off." + +"I feel sorry, too, Mr. Jordan," said Bennington. He played a tattoo +on his strong white teeth with his pencil. "Mr. Warrington seems to +know you well." + +"We began on the Journal together. You will not tell me what your plan +is, then?" + +"I'd rather not, for honestly, I can not see how it would better the +case." + +"It might be worth while to give me a chance." + +Bennington re-read Warrington's note. Then he studied the frank blue +eyes of the reporter. + +"Miss Ward, you may go," he said to the stenographer. "Now,"--when the +girl had gone,--"you will give me your word?" + +"It's all I have." + +"How can you convince the men without telling them?" + +"Oh, I meant that whatever you tell me shall not see light in the +papers till I have your permission. There's a weekly meeting to-night. +They will decide finally at this meeting. To-morrow will be too late." + +Bennington was an accurate judge of men. He felt that he could trust +this shock-headed journalist. If without any loss of self-respect, if +without receding a single step from his position, he could avert the +crash, he would gladly do so. He had reached one determination, and +nothing on earth would swerve him. So he told Ben just exactly what +would happen if the men went out. Ben did not doubt him for a moment. +He, too, was something of a judge of men. This man would never back +down. + +"I give you this to show them, if your arguments do not prevail," +concluded Bennington, producing a folded paper. "They will hardly +doubt this." + +Ben opened it. It was a permit from the municipal government to tear +down a brick structure within the city limits. Ben stowed the permit +in his pocket. He looked with admiration at the man who could plan, +coolly and quietly, the destruction of a fortune that had taken a +quarter of a century to build. He was grave. There was a big +responsibility pressing on his shoulders. + +"Much obliged. You will never regret the confidence you repose in me. +Now I'll tell you something on my side. It is not the inventor, though +the men believe it is. The inventor is a pretext of Morrissy, the +union leader." + +"A pretext?" + +"I can't prove what I say, that's the trouble; but McQuade has his +hand in this. I wish to Heaven I could find solid proofs." + +"McQuade?" Bennington scowled. He could readily understand now. +McQuade! This was McQuade's revenge. He could wait patiently all this +while! + +"I'll do what I can, Mr. Bennington; I'll do what I can." + +Bennington ate no lunch that noon. Instead, he wandered about the +great smoky shops, sweeping his glance over the blast-furnaces, the +gutters into which the molten ore was poured, the giant trip-hammers, +the ponderous rolling-machines, the gas-furnaces for tempering fine +steel. The men moved aside. Only here and there a man, grown old in +the shops, touched his grimy cap. ... To tear it down! It would be +like rending a limb, for he loved every brick and stone and girder, as +his father before him had loved them. He squared his shoulders, and +his jaws hardened. No man, without justice on his side, should dictate +to him; no man should order him to hire this man or discharge that +one. He alone had that right; he alone was master. Bennington was not +a coward; he would not sell to another; he would not shirk the task +laid out for his hand. Unionism, such as it stood, must receive a +violent lesson. And McQuade? + +"Damn him!" he muttered, his fingers knotting. + +Education subdues or obliterates the best of fighting in the coward +only. The brave man is always masculine in these crises, and he will +fight with his bare hands when reason and intelligence fail. A great +longing rose up in Bennington's heart to have it out physically with +McQuade. To feel that gross bulk under his knees, to sink his fingers +into that brawny throat!--The men, eying him covertly, saw his arms go +outward and his hands open and shut convulsively. More than ever they +avoided his path. Once before they had witnessed a similar +abstraction. They had seen him fling to the ground a huge puddler who +had struck his apprentice without cause. The puddler, one of the +strongest men in the shops, struggled to his feet and rushed at his +assailant. Bennington had knocked him down again, and this time the +puddler remained on the ground, insensible. Bennington had gone back +to his office, shutting and opening his fists. Ay, they had long since +ceased calling him the dude. The man of brawn has a hearty respect for +spectacular exhibitions of strength. + +One o'clock. The trip-hammers began their intermittent thunder, the +rolling-machines shrieked, and the hot ore sputtered and crackled. +Bennington returned to his office and re-read the letter his father +had written to him on his death-bed. He would obey it to the final +line. + + +That particular branch of the local unions which was represented in +the Bennington steel-mills met in the loft of one of the brick +buildings off the main street. The room was spacious, but ill +ventilated. That, night it was crowded. The men were noisy, and a haze +of rank tobacco-smoke drifted aimlessly about, vainly seeking egress. +Morrissy called the meeting to order at eight-thirty. He spoke briefly +of the injustice of the employers, locally and elsewhere, of the +burdens the laboring man had always borne and would always bear, so +long as he declined to demand his rights. The men cheered him. Many +had been drinking freely. Morrissy stated the case against Bennington. +He used his words adroitly and spoke with the air of a man who regrets +exceedingly a disagreeable duty. + +From his seat in the rear Jordan watched him, following each word +closely. He saw that Morrissy knew his business thoroughly. + +"We'll get what we want, men; we always do. It isn't a matter of +money; it's principle. If we back down, we are lost; if we surrender +this time, we'll have to surrender one thing at a time till we're away +back where we started from, slaves to enrich the oppressor. We've got +to fight for our rights. Here's an inventor who, if we permit him to +remain, will succeed in throwing two hundred men out of work. +Bennington is making enough money as things are now. There's no need +of improvement, such as will take bread and butter out of our mouths, +out of the mouths of our wives and children. We've got to strike. +That'll bring him to his senses." + +At the conclusion he was loudly applauded. + +Jordan stood up and waited till the noise had fully subsided. +Everybody knew him. They had seen him stand up before, and he always +said something worth listening to. + +"You all know me, boys," he began. + +"You bet!" + +"You're all right!" + +"Speech! Go ahead!" + +Jordan caught Morrissy's eye. Morrissy nodded with bad grace. Jordan +spoke for half an hour. He repeated word for word what Bennington had +told him. In the end he was greeted with laughter. + +"Very well, boys," he said, shrugging. "It's none of my business. +You've never caught me lying yet. You don't know this man Bennington. +I believe I do. He'll make good his threat. Wait and see." + +"How much were you paid to attend this meeting?" demanded Morrissy, +sneering. + +"A good deal less than you were, Mr. Morrissy." There was a dangerous +flush on Ben's cheeks, but the smoke was so dense that Morrissy failed +to observe it. The men laughed again, accepting Ben's retort as a +piece of banter. Ben went on doggedly: "I have in my pocket a permit +to tear down the shops. Bennington gave it to me to produce. Look at +it, if you doubt my word. There it is." + +The men passed it along the aisles. It came back presently, much the +worse for the wear. Some of the older men looked exceedingly grave, +but they were in the minority. + +"Anybody can get a permit to tear down his property," said Morrissy +scornfully. "It's a big bluff, men. What! tear down the golden goose? +Not in a thousand years! It's a plain bluff. And I'm sorry to see a +decent man like our newspaper friend on the enemy's side." + +"If I am on the enemy's side, Mr. Morrissy, it's because I'm a friend +of every man here, save one," significantly. "You men will vote a +strike. I can see that. But you'll regret it to your last day. I've +nothing more to say. I helped you once when old man Bennington was +alive, but I guess you've forgotten it." Ben sat down in silence. + +"We'll proceed with the voting," said Morrissy. + +Half an hour later there was a cheer. The men would go out Monday, if +the demands of the committee were not acceded to. The meeting broke +up, and many of the men flocked into the near-by saloons. Morrissy +approached Ben, who had waited for him. No one was within earshot. + +"What the hell do you mean by saying you were paid less than I was?" +he said, his jaw protruding at an ugly angle. + +"I mean, Morrissy," answered Ben fearlessly, "that you had better move +carefully in the future. If I were you, I wouldn't accept any +unstamped envelopes in Herculaneum It would be a good plan to go to +some other town for that." + +"Why, damn you!" Morrissy raised his fist. + +"Stay where you are," warned Ben, seizing a camp-chair "or I'll break +your head. Listen to me. I'm starting out from this night on to break +you, and, by God, I'll do it before the year is over. This is your +last strike, so make the most of it. You were at Schmuck's the other +night, you and McQuade. There was a friend of mine on the other side +of the partition. Unfortunately this friend was alone. I haven't got +any proofs, but I'll get them." + +Morrissy became yellower than his diamonds. Ben flung aside his chair +and left the hall. He went straight to Martin's saloon. He found Bill +Osborne alone at a table. + +"Will they strike, Ben?" he asked in a rough whisper. + +"Yes. I thought I might influence them, Bill, but I've only made an +ass of myself. Two whiskies," he ordered, "and make one of them stiff. +I told Morrissy." + +"You didn't mention my name, Ben? Don't say you told him that I was on +the other side of the partition!" Bill's eyes nearly stood out of his +head. + +"I told him nothing. How'd you happen to land in Schmuck's saloon, +anyhow? Why didn't you telephone me when you heard Morrissy come in?" + +"Oh. Ben, I was drunk! If I hadn't been so drunk!" Bill's eyes +overflowed remorsefully. + +Ben swore. + +"And say, Ben, that fellow Bolles is back in town. He was in here a +few minutes ago, drunk as a lord. He flashed a roll of bills that +would have choked an ox." + +"Where is he now?" + +"Up stairs playing the wheel." + +Ben shook his head. He had his salary in his pocket, and he vividly +remembered what roulette had done to it a fortnight gone. + +"If Bolles is drunk, it wouldn't do any good to talk to him." Ben +sighed and drank his liquor neat. He was tired. + + + + +Chapter XIII + + +Regularly once a week Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene visited a hair-dresser. +This distinguished social leader employed a French maid who was very +adept at dressing hair, but the two never got along very well +verbally; Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene insisted on speaking in broken French +while the maid persisted in broken English. Such conversation is +naturally disjointed and leads nowhere. The particular hair-dresser +who received Mrs. Haldene's patronage possessed a lively imagination +together with an endless chain of gossip. Mrs. Haldene was superior to +gossiping with servants, but a hair-dresser is a little closer in +relation to life. Many visited her in the course of a week, and some +had the happy faculty of relieving their minds of what they saw and +heard regardless of the social status of the listener. Mrs. Haldene +never came away from the hair-dresser's empty-handed; in fact, she +carried away with her food for thought that took fully a week to +digest. + +Like most places of its kind, the establishment was located in the +boarding-house district; but this did not prevent fashionable +carriages from stopping at the door, nor the neighboring boarders from +sitting on their front steps and speculating as to whom this or that +carriage belonged. There was always a maid on guard in the hall; she +was very haughty and proportionately homely. It did not occur to the +proprietress that this maid was a living advertisement of her +incompetence to perform those wonders stated in the neat little +pamphlets piled on the card-table; nor did it impress the patrons, who +took it for granted that the maid, naturally enough, could not afford +to have the operation of beauty performed. + +A woman with wrinkles is always hopeful. + +A strange medley of persons visited this house, each seeking in her +own peculiar way the elixir of life, which is beauty, or the potion of +love, which is beauty's handmaiden. There were remedies plus remedies; +the same skin-food was warranted to create double-chins or destroy +them; the same tonic killed superfluous hair or made it grow on bald +spots. A freckle to eradicate, a wrinkle to remove, a moth-patch to +bleach, a grey hair to dye; nothing was impossible here, not even +credulity. It was but meet that the mistress should steal past the +servant, that the servant should dodge the mistress. Every woman +craves beauty, but she does not want the public to know that her +beauty is of the kind in which nature has no hand. No man is a hero to +his valet; no woman is a beauty to her maid. In and out, to and fro; +the social leader, the shop-girl, the maid, the woman of the town, the +actress, the thin old spinster and the fat matron, here might they be +found. + +At rare intervals a man was seen to ring the bell, but he was either a +bill-collector or a husband in search of his wife. + +The proprietress knew everybody intimately--by sight. She was squat, +dyed, rouged and penciled, badly, too. She was written down in the +city directory as Madame de Chevreuse, but she was emphatically not of +French extraction. In her alphabet there were generally but +twenty-five letters; there were frequent times when she had no idea +that there existed such a letter as "g." How she came to appropriate +so distinguished a name as De Chevreuse was a puzzle. Her husband--for +she had a husband--was always reading French history in English, +and doubtless this name appealed to his imagination and romance. +Nobody knew what Madame's real name was, nor that of her husband, for +he was always called "Monseer." + +The reception-room was decorated after the prevailing fashion. There +was gilt and pretense. There were numerous glass cases, filled with +lotions and skin-foods and other articles of toilet; there were +faceless heads adorned with all shades of hair, scalps, pompadours, +and wigs. A few false-faces grinned or scowled or smirked from frames +or corners where they were piled. There were tawdry masquerade +costumes, too, and theatrical make-up. Curtains divided the several +shampooing booths, and a screen cut off the general view of the +operation of beauty. However, there were chinks large enough for the +inquisitive, and everybody was inquisitive who patronized Madame de +Chevreuse, pronounced Chevroose. + +And always and ever there prevailed without regeneration the odor of +cheap perfumes and scented soaps. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left her carriage at the door, perfectly willing +that the neighborhood should see her alight. She climbed the steps, +stately and imposing. She was one of the few women who could overawe +the homely girl in the hallway. + +"Is Madame at liberty?" + +"She will be shortly, Mrs. Haldene." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene passed into the reception-room and sat down by +the manicure table. The screen was in position. Some one was being +beautified. From time to time she heard voices. + +"The make-up is taking splendidly to-day." + +"Well, it didn't last week. I sweat pink beads all over my new +muslin." + +"It does peel in hot weather. I understand that Mrs. Welford is going +to Dakota." + +"He ought to have the first chance there, if what I've heard about her +is true. These society women make me tired." + +"They haven't much to occupy their time." + +"Oh, I don't know. They occupy their time in running around after the +other women's husbands." + +"And the husbands?" + +"The other men's wives." + +"You aren't very charitable." + +"Nobody's ever given me any charity, I'm sure." + +From one of the shampooing booths: + +"But you would look very well in the natural grey, ma'am." + +"My husband doesn't think so." + +"But his hair is grey." + +"That doesn't lessen his regard for brunettes." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shrugged her majestic shoulders and gazed again +into the street. She always regretted that Madame could not be induced +to make private visits. + +A white poodle, recently shampooed, dashed through the rooms. There is +always a watery-eyed, red-lidded poodle in an establishment of this +order. The masculine contempt for the pug has died. It took twenty +years to accomplish these obsequies. But the poodle, the poor poodle! +Call a man a thief, a wretch, a villain, and he will defend himself; +but call him a poodle, and he slinks out of sight. It is impossible to +explain definitely the cause of this supreme contempt for the poodle, +nor why it should be considered the epitome of opprobrium to be called +one. + +"Maime?" + +"Yes, Madame!" replied the girl in the hall. + +"Take Beauty into the kitchen and close the door. He's just been +washed, and I don't want him all speckled up with hair-dye." + +The girl drove the poodle out of the reception-room and caught him in +the hall. Presently the kitchen door slammed and the odor of onions in +soup no longer fought against the perfumes and soaps for supremacy. + +"There," said Madame behind the screen, "you have no rival in town now +for beauty." + +"I'll be here again next Tuesday." + +"Same time?" + +"Yes, in the morning." + +A woman emerged from behind the screen. She possessed a bold beauty, +the sort that appeals to men without intellect. She was dressed +extravagantly: too many furbelows, too many jewels, too many flowers. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene recognized her instantly and turned her head +toward the window. She heard the woman pass by her, enter the hall and +leave the house. She saw her walk quickly away, stop suddenly as if +she had forgotten something, open her large purse, turn its contents +inside out, replace them, and proceed. But a letter lay on the +sidewalk unnoticed. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene secretly hoped that it would +remain there till she made her departure. + +"Handsome woman, isn't she?" said Madame. "I don't know what it is, +but they are always good-looking." + +"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who knew very well who the +woman was. + +"She is one of Mr. McQuade's lady friends." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes." Madame was shrewd. She saw that it wouldn't do to tell Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene anything about a woman who could in no way be of use +to her. "Have you heard of the Sybil?" + +"The Sybil?" repeated Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. + +"Yes. A new fortune-teller, and everybody says she's a wonder. I +haven't been to her yet, but I'm goin' just as soon as I get time." + +"Do you believe they know what they are talking about?" incredulously. + +"Know! I should say I did. Old Mother Danforth has told me lots of +things that have come true. She was the one who predicted the Spanish +war and the president's assassination. It is marvelous, but she done +it." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shuddered. With all her faults, she loved the +English language. + +"How do you want your hair fixed?" Madame inquired, seeing that her +patron's interest in mediums was not strong. + +"The same as usual. Last week you left a streak, and I am sure +everybody noticed it at the Gordon tea. Be careful to-day." + +Thereupon Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene constituted herself a martyr to the +cause. She was nervous and fidgety in the chair, for the picture of +that letter on the sidewalk kept recurring. In the meantime Madame +told her all that had happened and all that hadn't, which is equally +valuable. The toilet lasted an hour; and when Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +rose from the chair, Madame was as dry as a brook in August. Her +patron hurried to the street. The letter was still on the sidewalk. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene picked it up and quickly sought her carriage. +Pah! how the thing smelt of sachet-powder. Her aristocratic nose +wrinkled in disdain. But her curiosity surmounted her natural +repugnance. The address was written in a coarse masculine hand. The +carriage had gone two blocks before she found the necessary courage to +open the letter. The envelope had already been opened, so in reading +it her conscience suggested nothing criminal. + +Gossip began on the day Eve entered the Garden of Eden. To be sure, +there was little to gossip about, but that little Eve managed without +difficulty to collect. It is but human to take a harmless interest in +what our next-door neighbor is doing, has done, or may do. Primarily +gossip was harmless; to-day it is still harmless in some quarters. The +gossip of the present time is like the prude, always looking for the +worst and finding it. The real trouble with the gossip lies in the +fact that she has little else to do; her own affairs are so +uninteresting that she is perforce obliged to look into the affairs of +her neighbors. Then, to prove that she is well informed, she feels +compelled to repeat what she has seen or heard, more or less +accurately. From gossiping to meddling is but a trifling step. To back +up a bit of gossip, one often meddles. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +naturally a daughter of Eve; she was more than a gossip, she was a +prophetess. She foretold scandal. She would move Heaven and earth, so +the saying goes, to prove her gossip infallible. And when some +prophecy of hers went wrong, she did everything in her power to right +it. To have acquired the reputation of prophesying is one thing, +always to fulfil these prophecies is another. It never occurred to her +that she was destroying other people's peace of mind, that she was +constituting herself a Fate, that she was meddling with lives which in +no wise crossed or interfered with her own. She had no real enmity +either for Warrington or Mrs. Jack; simply, she had prophesied that +Warrington had taken up his residence in Herculaneum in order to be +near Katherine Challoner, John Bennington's wife. Here was a year +nearly gone, and the smoke of the prophecy had evaporated, showing +that there had been no fire below. + +Neither Warrington nor Mrs. Jack was in her thoughts when she opened +the letter, which was signed by McQuade's familiar appellation. + +Dear Girl--I've got them all this trip. I'll put Bennington on the +rack and wring Warrington's political neck, the snob, swelling it +around among decent people! What do you think? Why, Warrington used to +run after the Challoner woman before she was married; and I have proof +that she went to Warrington's room one night and never left till +morning. How's that sound? They stick up their noses at you, do they? +Wait! They won't look so swell when I'm through with them. If +Warrington's name is even mentioned at the Republican convention, I've +missed my guess. I got your bills this morning. You'd better go light +till I've settled with these meddlers. Then we'll pack up our duds and +take that trip to Paris I promised you. + +Mac. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shivered. How horribly vulgar! She felt polluted +for a moment, and half wished she had let the missive lie where it had +fallen. But this sense of disgust wore off directly. She had been +right, then; there was something wrong; it was her duty, her duty to +society, to see that this thing went no further. And that flirtation +between Patty and the dramatist must be brought to a sudden halt. How? +Ah, she would now find the means. He was merely hoodwinking Patty; it +was a trick to be near Mrs. Jack. She had ignored her, had she? She +had always scorned to listen to the truth about people, had she? And +well she might! Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips tightened. Those friends +of hers who had doubted would presently doubt no more. She hadn't the +slightest idea how McQuade would use his information; she didn't even +care, so long as he used it. She grew indignant. The idea of that +woman's posing as she did! The idea of her dreaming to hold +permanently the footing she had gained in society! It was nothing +short of monstrous. The ever-small voice of conscience spoke, but she +refused to listen. She did not ask herself if what McQuade had in his +possession was absolute truth. Humanity believes most what it most +desires to believe. And aside from all this, it was a triumph, a +vindication of her foresight. + +"To the Western Union," she called to the groom. When the carriage +drew up before the telegraph office, she gave the letter to the groom. +"I found this on the sidewalk. Have them return it to the owner by +messenger." This was done. "Now, home," she ordered. + +That afternoon she attended a large reception. Her bland smile was as +bland as ever, but her eyes shone with suppressed excitement. The +Benningtons were there, but there was only a frigid nod when she +encountered Mrs. Jack and Patty. She wondered that she nodded at all. +She took her friend, Mrs. Fairchilds, into a corner. She simply had to +tell some one of her discovery, or at least a hint of it. + +"Do you recollect what I told you?" + +"About--?" Mrs. Fairchilds glanced quickly at Mrs. Jack. + +"Yes. Every word was true, and there will be a great upheaval shortly. +But not a word to a soul. I never gossip, but in this instance I feel +it my duty to warn you. How and where I learned the truth is +immaterial. I have learned it, and that is sufficient. It is +frightful; it makes my blood boil when I think of it. And she goes +everywhere, as if she had a perfect right." + +"What have you found?" Mrs. Fairchilds could scarcely breathe, so +great was her curiosity. + +"You will learn soon enough without my telling you." And that was all +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene would say. + +But it was enough, enough for her purpose. Within an hour's time all +the old doubt had been stirred into life again, and the meddlers +gathered about for the feast. It is all so simple and easy. + +Mrs. Jack moved here and there, serenely beautiful, serenely happy, +serenely unconscious of the blow that was soon to strike at the very +heart of her life. Once in a while her brows would draw together +abstractedly. She was thinking of John, and of the heartaches he was +having over the action of the men at the shops. + +Patty was not gay. She seemed to be impatient to leave. Three or four +times she asked Mrs. Jack if she were ready to go; she was tired, the +people bored her, she wanted to go home. Finally Mrs. Jack +surrendered. + +That night at dinner John was very quiet and absent-minded. The shops, +the shops, he was thinking of them continuously. In his heart of +hearts he had no faith in the reporter's influence. The strike mania +had seized the men, and nothing now could hold them back. He knew they +would doubt his threat to tear down the buildings. Not till he sent +the builder's wrecking crew would they understand. Not a hair's +breadth, not the fraction of an inch; if they struck, it would be the +end. He gazed at his wife, the melting lights of love in his handsome +eyes. Hey-dey! She would always be with him, and together they would +go about the great world and forget the injustice and ingratitude of +men. But it was going to be hard. Strong men must have something to +lay their hands to. He knew that he could not remain idle very long; +he must be doing something. But out of the shops he felt that he would +be like a ship without steering apparatus--lost, aimless, purposeless. + +"John?" + +He woke from his dream, and forced a smile to his lips. + +"You haven't eaten anything." + +"I'm not hungry, dear." + +"You haven't spoken half a dozen words since you came home." + +"Haven't I? I must have been thinking." + +"About the shops?" laying her hand on his and pressing it strongly. + +"Yes. I'm afraid, heart o' mine, that it's all over. If they do not +strike now, they will later on; if not on this pretext, on some +other." + +"Why not let him go, John?" + +"No." His jaws hardened. "It isn't a question of his going or staying; +it is simply a question of who is master, the employed or the +employer. The men say it's the principle of the thing; it shall be +fought out on those grounds. I'm going down to the club to-night with +Dick. I feel the need of getting out and breathing. Dick's not the +best company just now, but he'll understand what I need. Poor devil! +he's got his hands full, too." + +She understood his mood, and offered no objection. She raised his hand +and brushed it with her lips. + +"I love you, John." + +He smiled gratefully. + +"You go over to mother's for the evening, and I'll drop in on the way +home and pick you up." + + +Patty was in the music-room, so Mrs. Jack did not disturb her, but +started at her basket-work. Mrs. Bennington read till eight, and +retired. Patty played all the melancholy music she could think of. +When love first makes its entrance into the human heart, there is +neither joy nor gladness nor gaiety. On the contrary, there is a vast +shadow of melancholy, a painful sadness, doubt and cross-purpose, +boldness at one moment and timidity at the next, a longing for +solitude. Music and painting and poetry, these arts that only +attracted, now engage. + +So Patty played. + +Sometimes Mrs. Jack looked up from her work, wondering. She had never +heard Patty play so many haunting, dismal compositions. At nine the +telephone rang, and she dropped her work instantly, thinking the call +might be from John. Ah, if the men would only listen to reason! + +"Hello!" + +"Is Mrs. Bennington at home?" asked a voice, unfamiliar to her ears. + +"There are two. Which one do you wish?" + +"Mrs. John Bennington." + +"This is Mrs. John Bennington speaking. What is it?" + +There was a pause. + +"I have something very important to communicate to you. In the first +place, you must use your influence in making Mr. Warrington withdraw +his name as a candidate for nomination." + +"Who is this speaking?" she asked sharply. + +"Mr. McQuade." + +The receiver nearly fell from her hand. McQuade? What in the world-- + +"Did you get the name?" + +"Yes. But I fail to understand what you are talking about. I warn you +that I shall ring off immediately." + +"One moment, please. If you hang up the receiver, you will regret it. +I wish you no ill, Mrs. Bennington. If it were possible I should like +to talk with you personally, for this matter deeply concerns your +future happiness. I can not call; I have been ordered out of your +husband's house. It lies in your power to influence Warrington to drop +his political ambition. Information has come to my hand that would not +look very well in the newspapers. It is in my power to stop it, but I +promise not to lift a hand if you refuse." + +"I not only refuse, but I promise to repeat your conversation to my +husband this very night." With that Mrs. Jack hung up the receiver. +She rose, pale and terribly incensed. The low fellow! How dared he, +how dared he! "Patty!" The call brooked no dallying. + +The music ceased. Patty came out, blinking. + +"You called me, Kate?" + +"Patty, McQuade has been calling me up on the telephone." + +"Who?" + +"McQuade, McQuade! He says that if I do not influence Mr. Warrington +to withdraw his name--Did you ever hear of such a thing? I am +furious! What can it mean? He says he has heard something about me +which he can suppress but will not if I--Why, Patty, what shall I do? +What shall I do?" She crushed her hands together wildly. + +"Tell John," said Patty sensibly. + +"John? He would thresh McQuade within an inch of his life." + +"Tell Warrington, then." + +"He would do the same as John. But what can the wretch have found? God +knows, Patty, I have always been a good, true woman. ... Think of that +man's telephoning me!" + +Patty ran to her side and flung her arms about her brother's wife. +Patty loved her. + +"Don't you bother your head, darling. It can't be anything but a +political dodge; it can't be anything serious. McQuade is low enough +to frighten women, but don't let him frighten you. I know he lies," +said the loyal Patty. "And now that I think it over, it would be best +to say nothing to John or Richard. Fisticuffs would get into the +papers, and it's my opinion that's just what this man McQuade wants. +He could swear to a thousand lies, if the matter became public. But +oh!" clenching her hands fiercely, "I'd give a year of my life to see +John thresh him. But you say nothing; let us wait and see." + +Wise Patty! + +At that very moment McQuade sat swinging in his swivel-chair. There +was a smile of satisfaction on his face. + +"That'll bring 'em," he said aloud, though he was alone. "That'll +bring 'em both up here, roaring like lions. They'll muss up the +furniture, and then I can tell the reporters all about it. Even +Walford can't object this time." + +He rubbed his hands together like Shylock at the thought of his pound +of flesh. He had waited a long time. They had ordered him, McQuade. +who held the city in his hand--they had ordered him out of the house. +Not a grain of mercy, not half a grain. Two birds with one stone. He +was shrewd for all his illiteracy. He knew women passably well. This +one would tell her husband, who would seek for immediate vengeance. + +But sometimes chance overthrows the best-laid plans of cleverness and +foresight. And this remarkable plan of McQuade's was deranged by a +chance guess by Patty. + +Meantime at Martin's it was growing lively. The bar was crowded, the +restaurant was being liberally patronized, and persons went up the +stairs that did not return. Jordan paid the check, and he and Osborne +went out. + +"When'll they go out, Ben?" + +"Monday." + +"Too bad. I wish I'd been sober." + +"I'll break Morrissy's head one of these fine days. Let's go over to +Johnny's; there's music over there." + +"All right, Ben." + +"And no more booze, mind." + +"Just as you say." + +Up stairs the gambling-den was doing a good business. The annual +trotting meet had brought many sporting men to town. They were +standing around the faro table; the two roulette wheels were going, +and the Klondike machine spun ceaselessly. There were a dozen stacks +of chips in front of Bolles. He was smiling, flushed with triumph and +whisky. + +"Three hundred to the good, old boy!" he said to the man who spun the +ivory ball. "I'll break you fellows to-night." + +"Bring Mr. Bolles another whisky," said the proprietor. + +"I'll take all you can bring." + +"You're a tank, sure." + +"You bet!" Bolles grinned. + +So did the banker, covertly. He had seen the comedy played a thousand +times. Few men ever took away their winnings, once they started in to +drink, and Bolles was already drunk. He lost his next bet. He doubled +and lost again. Then he stacked his favorite number. The ball rolled +into it, but jumped the compartment, wizard-wise, and dropped into +single-o. Bolles cursed the luck. Another whisky was placed at his +elbow. He drank it at a gulp. + +"Make the limit five," he cried. + +The banker nodded to the man at the wheel. + +Bolles made six bets. He lost them. A quarter of an hour later his +entire winnings had passed over the table. He swore, and drew out a +roll of bills. He threw a fifty on the black. Red won. He doubled on +black. Red won. He plunged. He could not win a single bet. He tried +numbers, odd and even, the dozens, splits, squares, column. Fortune +had withdrawn her favor. + +"Hell!" + +He played his last ten on black, and lost. + +"Let me have a hundred." + +The banker shook his head and pointed to the signs on the wall: +"Checks for money, money for checks, no mouth-bets." + +Bolles felt in his pockets and repeated the futile search. + +"Not a damned cent!" he shouted. "Cleaned out!" + +"Give Mr. Bolles a ten-spot," said the banker. "But you can't play it +here, Bolles," was the warning. + +Bolles stuffed the note in his pocket and rose. He was very drunk; he +himself did not realize how drunk he was till he started for the door. +He staggered and lurched against the sideboard. His hat rolled from +his head. An attendant quickly recovered it, and Bolles slapped it on +his head. + +"Get out o' the way! It's a snide game, anyhow. You've got wires on +the machine. You've got seven hundred o' my money, and you give me +ten! Hell!" + +They opened the door for him and he stumbled out into the dark, +unlighted hallway. He leaned against the wall, trying to think it out, +searching his pockets again and again. Why in hell hadn't he left some +of the money with the bartender? Broke, clean, flat broke! And he had +pushed his winnings up to three hundred! He became ugly, now that he +fully realized what had happened. He ground his teeth and cursed +loudly; he even kicked the door savagely. Then he swung rather than +walked down the stairs. He turned into the bar and bought three more +whiskies, and was then primed for any deviltry. He was very drunk, but +it was a wide-awake drunkenness, cruel and revengeful. He turned into +the alley and tried to think of some plan by which he could borrow +enough to make a new attempt at fickle fortune. To-morrow he could +strike McQuade again, but to-night McQuade wouldn't listen to him. +Every once in a while he would renew the searching of his pockets, but +there was only the remainder of the ten the banker had given him. + +John and Warrington had played an uninteresting game of billiards at +the club, then finally sought the night and tramped idly about the +streets. With Warrington it was sometimes his aunt, sometimes the new +life that beat in his heart when he saw Patty, sometimes this game he +was playing which had begun in jest and had turned to earnest. With +John it was the shops, the shops, always and ever the shops. When they +spoke it was in monosyllables. Nevertheless it was restful to each of +them to be so well understood that verbal expression was not +necessary. They had started toward Martin's on the way home, when +Warrington discovered that he was out of cigars. He ran back three or +four doors while John proceeded slowly. Just as he was about to cross +the alley-way a man suddenly lurched out into the light. He was +drunk, but not the maudlin, helpless intoxication that seeks and +invites sociability. He was murderously drunk, strong, nervous, +excited. He barred Bennington's way. + +"I thought it was you!" he said venomously. + +Bennington drew back and started to pass around the man. He did not +recognize him. He saw in the action only a man disorderly drunk. But +he hadn't taken two steps before the other's words stopped him +abruptly. + +"You're a millionaire, eh? Well, I'll soon fix you and your actress +and her lover. Take that as a starter!" + +He struck Bennington savagely on the cheek-bone. Bennington stumbled +back, but managed to save himself from falling. Instantly all the war +that was in his soul saw an outlet. He came back, swift as a panther +and as powerful. In an instant his assailant was on his back on the +pavement, the strong fingers tightening about the wretch's throat; +Bolles was a powerful man, but he had not the slightest chance. Not a +sound from either man. There were one or two pedestrians on the +opposite side of the street, but either these did not see or would +not. + +Warrington had made a hurried purchase. As he left the cigar store, he +saw the two men fall. He ran up quickly, wondering what the trouble +was. He had no idea that John was one of the men, but as he saw the +light grey suit, and the Panama lying on the ground, he knew. + +"For God's sake, John, what are you doing?" he cried. + +With a superhuman effort he dragged the enraged man from the prostrate +form in the road. It no longer struggled, but lay inert and without +motion. + +"Was I killing him, Dick?" said John, in a quavering voice. "He struck +me and--Am I mad, or has the world turned upside down in a minute?" + +"What did he say?" asked Warrington. He was badly frightened. He knelt +at the side of Bolles and felt of his heart. It still beat. + +"What did he say? Nothing, nothing!--Where's my hat? I'm going home-- +Have I--?" + +"No, he's alive; but I came just in time." + +At this moment Bolles turned over and slowly struggled to a sitting +posture. His hands went feebly toward his throat. + +"He's all right," said Warrington. "We'd better light out. Now what +the devil--" + +"He struck me. He was drunk. I've been in a fighting mood all day. +Call that carriage." + +When Mrs. Jack saw him she screamed. + +"John!" + +"The asphalt was wet, girl, and I took a bad fall." But John lied with +ill grace. + + + + +Chapter XIV + + +The Bennington mills, or shops, were situated just inside the city +limits. Beyond was a beautiful undulating country of pastures and +wheat-fields, dotted frequently with fine country homes. The mills +were somewhat isolated from the general manufacturing settlement, but +had spurs of track that for practical purposes were much nearer the +main line of freight traffic than any of those manufacturing concerns +which posed as its rivals. It was a great quadrangle of brick, partly +surrounded by a prison-like wall. Within this wall was a court, +usually piled high with coke and coal and useless molds. The building +was, by turns, called foundry, mills and shops. The men who toiled +there called it the shops. Day and night, night and day, there was +clangor and rumbling and roaring and flashes of intense light. In the +daytime great volumes of smoke poured from the towering chimneys, and +at night flames shot up to the very walls of heaven, burnishing the +clouds. + +The elder Bennington was one of those men who, with a firm standing on +the present, lay admirable plans for the future. He had been in no +great hurry to get rich. He went leisurely about it, tantalizing +fortune, it might be said. His first venture had shown foresight. At +the beginning of the Civil War he had secured an option on many +thousand tons of coal. Without taking an actual penny from his +pockets, he had netted a comfortable fortune. Again, his foresight +recognized that the day would come when the whole continent would gird +itself in steel. With his ready money he bought ground and built a +small mill. This prospered. He borrowed from the banks, and went on +building. Ten years passed. The property was unencumbered; he had paid +both interest and principal. He did not believe in stock-holders. He +sold no stock. Every nail, bolt and screw was his; every brick, stone +and beam. There were no directors to meddle with his plans, no fool's +hand to block his progress, to thwart his vast projects. Slowly he +became rich, for every piece of steel that went out to the purchasers +was honest steel. Sagacity and loyalty overcame all obstacles. Many a +time he might have sold at a handsome profit. But selling wasn't his +idea; he had a son. Besides, this was his life-work, and he detested +the idle rich, which at that time were just coming into evidence. + +He never speculated; but he bought government bonds, railroad bonds, +municipal bonds, for he had great faith in his country. He had the +same faith in his native city, too, for he secured all the bank stock +that came his way. Out of every ten dollars he earned he invested +five, saved three, and spent two. He lived well, but not +ostentatiously. He never gave directly to charities, but he gave work +to hundreds, and made men self-reliant and independent, which is a far +nobler charity. He never denied himself a vacation; he believed that +no man should live and die at his desk. There was plenty of time for +work and plenty for play; but neither interfered with the other. He +was an ardent fisherman, a keen hunter, and a lover of horses. + +More than all these things, he was one of those rare individuals one +seldom meets--the born father. He made a man of his son and a woman of +his daughter. When he sent the boy to England, he knew that the boy +might change his clothes, but neither his character nor his +patriotism. He voted independently; he was never a party man; thus, +public office was never thrust in his way. Perhaps he was too frankly +honest. He never worried when his son reached the mating age. "Whoever +my boy marries will be the woman he loves, and he is too much his +father's son not to love among his equals." He was a college-bred man +besides, but few knew this. He had an eye for paintings, an ear for +music, and a heart for a good book. It is this kind of man whom nature +allows to be reproduced in his children. + +He was gruff, but this gruffness was simply a mask to keep at arm's +length those persons whom he did not desire for friends. + +When he died he left a will that was a model of its kind. There were +not a hundred lines in the document. He divided his fortune into three +parts, but he turned the shops over to his son John, without +stipulations, wholly and absolutely, to do with them as he pleased. +But he had written a letter in which he had set forth his desires. It +may be understood at once that these desires readily coincided with +those of the son. + +John had not begun in the office. On the contrary, during school +vacations he worked as a puddler's apprentice, as a molder's +apprentice, in the rail-shop, in the sheet-and wire-shops. He worked +with his hands, too, and drew his envelope on Saturday nights like the +rest of them. There was never any talk about John's joining the union; +the men looked upon his efforts good-naturedly and as a joke. The +father, with wisdom always at his elbow, never let the fishing trips +go by. John had his play. At the age of twenty he knew as much about +the manufacture of steel as the next one. He loved the night shifts, +when the whole place seethed and glowed like an inferno. This manual +education had done something else, too. It had broadened his +shoulders, deepened his chest, and flattened his back. Many a time the +old man used to steal out and watch the young Hercules, stripped to +the waist, drag rails to the cooling-room. When John entered college +athletics he was not closely confined to the training-tables. + +Under the guidance of such a father, then, there could not be as a +result anything less than a thorough man. + +On the following Monday morning succeeding the encounter with Bolles, +John boarded a car and went out to the shops as usual. He found +nothing changed. The clerks in the office were busy with huge ledgers, +though it is true that many a hand was less firm than on ordinary +days. Rumors were flying about, from clerk to clerk, but none knew +what the boss intended to do. From the shops themselves came the +roaring and hammering that had gone on these thirty years or more. +Bennington opened his mail and read each letter carefully. There were +orders for rails, wire rope and sheets for boilers. The business of +the concern always passed through his hands first. Even when he was +out of town, duplicates of all orders were sent to him. He laid each +letter in the flat basket; but this morning there was no "O. K.--J. +B." scrawled across the tops. There would be time enough for that +later. He rose and went to the window and looked down into the court. +His heart beat heavily. There was something besides the possibility of +a strike on his mind. But he flung this thought aside and returned to +the strike. Was it right or was it wrong? Should he follow out his +father's request, letter for letter? To punish two or three who were +guilty, would it be right to punish several hundred who were not? And +those clerks and assistants yonder, upon whom families depended, who +had nothing to do with unionism, one way or the other, what about +them? Fate strikes blindly; the innocent fall with the guilty. The +analysis of his own desires was quick enough. Surrender? Not much! Not +an inch, not a tenth part of an inch, would he move. If men permitted +themselves to be sheep in the hands of an unscrupulous man, so much +the worse. He promised himself this much: all those who appealed to +him honestly, for these he would find employment elsewhere. There were +other mills and shops in town that would be glad enough to employ a +Bennington man, which signified capability. + +"Mr. Bennington?" + +John turned. Chittenden, the young English inventor, stood +respectfully just within the door. + +"Good morning, Mr. Chittenden. How's the invention going? Did you get +that special pulley from Pittsburgh yet?" + +"The invention is going very well, sir. But it is not of that I wish +to speak." + +"Have you joined the union, then?" asked Bennington, with a shade of +irony which did not escape the keen-eyed Englishman. + +"No!" This was not spoken; it was more like a shout. "I have joined no +union, and my brain may rot before I do. The truth is, sir, I hear +that if the men go out you'll tear down the shops." He hesitated. + +"Go on." + +"Well, I do not want this to happen on my account. I am young; I can +wait; I'll take my tinkering elsewhere. You've been very good to me +sir, and I should hate to see you troubled." + +"Chittenden, you can't leave me now. If you do, I shall never forgive +you. You are a valuable piece of property just now. You are to be my +test case, as the lawyers say. If you go now the men will think I +weakened and forced you out. You gave me your word that you would stay +here till _I_ told you to go." + +"There's nothing more to be said, sir. You may depend upon me." + +"Thanks. The day you perfect your machine, on that day I shall find +the capital to promote it. Good morning." + +"The committee was coming up after me, sir," was the reply. + +"Ah!" Bennington's eyes flashed. "Then remain to hear what I have to +say to them." + +All this while the girl at the typewriter never paused. +Clickity-click! clickity-click! Suddenly all noises ceased, all but +the noise of the typewriter. The two men looked at each other quickly +and comprehensively. There was a tramping of feet on the stairs, and +presently a knock on the door. Clickity-click! + +"You may go," said Bennington to the girl. + +The girl gathered up her notes and passed into the main office. + +Again came the knock, more aggressive this time. + +"Come in." + +The committee, headed by Morrissy, entered with shuffling feet. +Morrissy saw the Englishman and scowled. + +"Well, gentlemen?" said Bennington, sitting on his desk and resting a +foot on his chair. + +"We have come to learn what you intend to do about this Britisher," +began Morrissy. + +"I don't recollect your face," replied Bennington thoughtfully. "How +long have you been in the shops?" + +"I'm not in your shops," returned Morrissy blusteringly. + +"In that case," said Bennington mildly, "there's the door. I do not +see how this matter concerns you." + +"Well, it does concern me, as you'll find soon," cried Morrissy, +choking with sudden rage. + +"I'll give you one minute to make the foot of the stairs. If you're +not there at the end of that time, I'll take you by the collar and +help you." Bennington drew out his watch. + +"He's the head of our union, Mr. Bennington," interposed one of the +men, shifting his feet uneasily. + +"Oh! Then he's the man who is really making all this trouble?" +Bennington nodded as if he had just arrived at a solution. + +"I'm here to see that my men have their rights." Morrissy failed to +understand this mild young man. "And it'll take a bigger man than you +to throw me out of here. This Britisher either joins the union or he +goes." + +"If he joins the union he'll be permitted to continue the perfecting +of his invention?" + +"His invention is not necessary at present. The output as it is meets +the demand." + +"Look here, Mr. Morrissy, I'll make you a proposition." + +"What?" + +"You and I will go down to the molding-room and have it out with our +fists. If you win, Chittenden goes; if I win, he stays and the men +return to work." + +"This isn't no kid's play, Mr. Bennington. You've got a big strike +looking you in the face." + +Bennington laughed. "I'm afraid you're a coward. So Mr. Chittenden +must join the union or go. It isn't a question of wage scale or hours; +it simply revolves around Mr. Chittenden. Supposing he joins the +union, what will you give him to do?" Bennington's voice was that of a +man who wishes to know all sides of the question. + +"Well, he'll have to learn where they all started from." + +"Mr. Chittenden is an expert machinist." + +"Let him join the union, then, and there won't be any trouble here. I +want justice. This shop is union, and no non-union man can work here. +I want justice, that's all." + +"You'll get that all in good time, Mr.--ah--?" + +"Morrissy." + +"Mr. Morrissy. Mr. Chittenden, are you willing to join the union?" +Bennington smiled as he plied this question. + +"Not I! My word, I'd as lief starve as become a union man, and under +such a master. I prize my manhood and independence above all things. I +have already refused to join. I never take back what I say." + +"Neither do I, Mr. Chittenden." Bennington stood up. + +"Then out he goes," said Morrissy, recovering his truculence. + +"On what authority?" Bennington's voice was growing milder and milder. +"On what authority?" he repeated. + +"On mine!" cried Morrissy. + +"You are mistaken. I am master here. Mr. Chittenden will remain on the +pay-roll." + +"Then in ten minutes the men will walk out on my orders. You're making +a big mistake, Mr. Bennington." + +"That is for me to judge." + +"Ten minutes to make up your mind." Morrissy made a gesture toward his +watch. + +"Don't bother about the time, Mr. Morrissy. We'll spend the ten +minutes in the molding-room." + +Morrissy turned pale. + +"Oh, we shan't come to fisticuffs, Mr. Morrissy. I am a gentleman, and +you are not. Not a word!" as Morrissy clenched his fists. "Mr. +Shipley," said Bennington to one of the committee, "will you get all +the men together? I have a few words to say to them before this ten +minutes is up. I want to give the men a fair show." + +"You can have twenty minutes, my English-bred gentleman," snarled +Morrissy. At that moment he would have given a thousand dollars for +the strength to whip the man whose ruin he believed he was planning. +"I'm kind of anxious myself to hear what you've got to say. + +"In fact, I hope you will listen carefully to every word I say," +replied Bennington, with a nod toward the door. + +The committee went out solemnly. Morrissy was next to the last to go +down the stairs. Bennington followed closely behind him. + +"Some day I'll get a good chance at you, Mr. Morrissy, and the devil +take care of you when I do. I shall see to it that the law will be +found to fit your case." + +Morrissy shifted over to the balustrade, looking over his shoulder at +the speaker. + +"Look here, you can't talk to me that way, Bennington." + +"Can't I? I'll proceed. In the first place, you're a damn scoundrel. +You've brought about this trouble simply to show that you have power +to injure me. Well, you can't injure me, Mr. Morrissy, but you will do +irreparable injury to these poor men who put their trust in you and +your kind. Chittenden? That's a pretty poor excuse. You've always +harbored a grudge against my father, and this seems to be your chance. +You've the idea that you can intimidate me. You can't intimidate me +any more than you could my father. More than all this, McQuade is back +of this move; and if I can prove that you accepted a bribe from him, +I'll have you both in court for conspiracy." + +"You're talking big. It won't do you any good." + +"Wait. I should be willing to wait ten years to call you a thief and a +blackguard in public. But I say to you now, privately, you are both a +thief and a blackguard." + +Morrissy stepped back, red in the face. But he recognized the +disadvantage of his position. He was one step lower than his accuser. + +"Go on," said Bennington, his voice now hard and metallic; "go on +down. There'll be no rough and tumble here. I won't give you that +satisfaction." + +"Well, you mark my words, I'll get satisfaction out of you shortly, +and then you'll talk on the other side of your mouth. This is business +now. When that's done, why, I'll make you eat every one of those +words." + +Bennington laughed sinisterly. He could crush the life out of this +flabby ruffian with one arm, easily. + +Nothing more was said, and the way to the great molding-room was +traversed silently. Shipley sent out orders, and in a few minutes the +men congregated to hear what the boss had to say. It was, to say the +least, an unusual proceeding, this of an employer delivering a speech +to his men after they had practically declared a strike. Morrissy now +regretted that he had given Bennington any grace at all, for it was +not to be doubted that there was only a small majority of the men who +had voted for a strike. And these were the young men; youth is always +so hot-headed and cock-sure of itself. The older men, the men who had +drawn their pay in the shops for twenty years or more, they were not +so confident. + +Bennington mounted a pile of molds and raised his hand. The murmur of +voices dwindled away into silence. The sun came in through the +spreading skylights, and Bennington stood in the center of the +radiance. He was a man, every inch of him, and not a man among them +could deny it. There are many things that are recognizable even to +crass minds, and one of these is a man. Genius they look upon with +contempt, but not strength and resolution; they can not comprehend +what is not visible to the eye. + +"Fire away, boss!" said a voice from the crowd. + +Many of the men smiled, but there was no answering smile on the face +of the man on the molds. + +"I have but few words to say to you men, and I trust for the sake of +your families that you will weigh carefully every word I utter." +Bennington took his father's letter from his pocket and unfolded it. +"You are about to take a step such as you all will live to regret. My +father never threatened; he acted. I shall follow his example. You are +on the verge of striking. I shall recognize the strike only at the +moment you decide to leave the shops. You will strike without cause, +without justice, simply because you are commanded to do so by your +leader." + +"Hold on, Mr. Bennington!" cried one of those nearest him. "We have +the right to vote, and we voted against your policy in hiring a +non-union man." + +"Put it that way if it pleases you," replied Bennington. "I say that +you strike simply to show how strong your power is. It is a fine thing +to have power, but it is finer by far to use it only when justice +makes a cause. But power is a terrible weapon in the hands of those +who can not direct it wisely. Let me come to facts. Your wages are the +highest in the city, five per cent. above the union scale; your hours +are the shortest; there is no Sunday-night shift; you have at your +pleasure a gymnasium and a swimming-pool; you are each of you given a +week's vacation in the summer on full pay, a thing no other concern of +the kind in the state does; all the machinery is flawless, minimizing +your chances of danger; in fact, you draw pay fifty-two weeks in the +year in the squarest shop in the world. If any man wishes to deny +these things, let him stand forth." + +But there was neither sound nor movement from the men. + +Bennington continued. "Men, you have no grievance. This man +Chittenden, the alleged cause of your striking, takes no food or pay +from your mouths or your pockets; he interferes with you in no manner +whatever. The contrivance he is trying to complete will not limit the +output, but will triple it, necessitating the employment of more men. +But your leader says that the present output is wholly sufficient, and +you are taking his word for it. Mr. Chittenden represents progress, +but you have taken it into your heads that you will have none of it. +He refuses to join the union, and I refuse to discharge him on that +ground. I do not say that this shall not be a union shop; I say that I +shall employ whom I will for any purpose I see fit. It is your say, so +say it; yours is the power; use it. ... Patience, just a little +longer. I have shown much of it during the past year." + +The men swayed restlessly, and then became still again when they saw +that he was going to read something. + +"I have here the last letter my father ever wrote me. As I received it +after his death, I might say that it is a voice from the grave. I will +read that part which affects the shops. + +"'And so, my son, I leave you this last request. Day after day, year +after year, I have toiled honestly, with the will and the foresight +God gave me. I die prosperous and contented, having acquired my riches +without ill to any and without obligation. I have never wronged any +man, though often the power to do so has been in my hands. But reason +always cools hot blood, and I have always kept a strong curb on all my +angry impulses. Some day the men will strike again, what about I know +not; but this I do know: it will be without justice. I have bent to +them nine out of ten times. Nine of their demands were not wholly +unreasonable, but the tenth was. And this demand was that I should +have no non-union men in the shops. This strike lasted four months. +You will recall it. I do not know how long it might have gone on, had +not the poor devil, who was the cause of it, died. I and the men came +together again. We patched up our differences, covertly, so to speak. +The men appeared at the gates one morning, and I let them in without +referring by a single word to what had taken place. The principle of +unionism is a noble thing, but ignoble men, like rust in girders, gnaw +rapidly into principles and quickly and treacherously nullify their +good. + +"'The destroyer is everywhere. The apple has its worm, the rose its +canker, the steel its rust. It is the ignorant and envious man who +misuses power that, rightly directed, moves toward the emancipation of +the human race. There are cruel and grasping and dishonest employers, +who grind the heart and soul out of men. The banding together of the +laboring men was done in self-defense; it was a case of survive or +perish. The man who inaugurated unionism was a great philanthropist. +The unions began well; that is because their leaders were honest, and +because there was no wolf in the fold to recognize the extent of +power. It was an ignorant man who first discovered it, and for the +most part ignorance still wears the crown and holds the scepter. The +men who put themselves under the guidance of a dishonest labor leader +are much to be pitied. The individual laboring man always had my right +hand, but I have never had any particular reason to admire the union +leader. + +"'There were two hundred and twelve strikes last year, of which only +six had cause. The others were brought about by politicians and greedy +unions. Dishonesty finds the line of least resistance in greed. Now, I +have studied the strike problem from beginning to end. There can be no +strike at the Bennington shops for a just cause. Had I lived long +enough, the shops would have been open-shop. My son, never surrender +once to injustice, for if you do you will establish a precedent, and +you will go on surrendering to the end of time. I leave the shops to +you. There is but one thing I demand, and that is that you shall never +sell the shops; Bennington or nothing. If you have difficulties with +the men, weigh them on the smallest scales. You will be master +there--you alone. It is a big responsibility, but I have the greatest +confidence in you. When the time comes, show that you are master, even +to the tearing down of every brick and stone that took me so long to +erect. I shall be where such disasters will not worry me in the +least.'" + +Bennington refolded the letter slowly. The men stood absolutely +motionless, waiting. + +"Men, if you go out this day, not one of you will ever find employment +here again. My sense of justice is large, and nothing but that shall +dictate to me. I shall employ and discharge whom I will; no man or +organization of men shall say to me that this or that shall be done +here. I am master, but perhaps you will understand this too late. Stay +or go; that is as you please. If you stay, nothing more will be said +on my part; if you go ... Well, I shall tear down these walls and sell +the machinery for scrap-iron!" + +For the first time he showed emotion. He brought his hands strongly +together, as a man puts the final blow to the nail, then buttoned up +his coat and stood erect, his chin aggressive and his mouth stern. + +"Well, which is it to be?" he demanded. + +"You are determined to keep Chittenden?" + +"Positively determined." + +"We'll go out, Mr. Bennington," said Shipley. + +"And what's more," added Morrissy, "we'll see that nobody else comes +in." + +He lighted a cigar, shoved his hands into his trousers pockets and +walked insolently toward the exit. The majority of the men were +grinning. Tear down this place? Kill the goose that laid the golden +egg? It was preposterous. Why, no man had ever done a thing like that. +It was to cut off one's nose to spite one's face. It was a case of +bluff, pure and simple. Winter was nearly three months off. By that +time this smart young man would be brought to his senses. So they +began filing out in twos and threes, their blouses and dinner-pails +tucked under their arms. Many were whistling lightly, many were +smoking their pipes, but there were some who passed forth silent and +grave. If this young man was a chip of the old block, they had best +start out at once in search of a new job. + +Bennington jumped down from his impromptu platform and closed the +ponderous doors. Then he hurried to the main office, where he notified +the clerks what had happened. He returned to his private office. He +arranged his papers methodically, closed the desk, and sat down. His +gaze wandered to the blue hills and rolling pastures, and his eyes +sparkled; but he forced back what had caused it, and presently his +eyes became dry and hard. + +"'You and your actress and her lover'," he murmured softly. "My God, I +am very unhappy!" + + + + +Chapter XV + + +The anonymous letter is still being written. This is the weapon of the +cowardly and envious heart, so filled with venom and malice that it +has the courage or brazenness to go about piously proclaiming the word +duty. Beware of the woman who has ink-stains on her fingers and a duty +to perform; beware of her also who never complains of the lack of +time, but who is always harking on duty, duty. Some people live close +to the blinds. Oft on a stilly night one hears the blinds rattle never +so slightly. Is anything going on next door? Does a carriage stop +across the way at two o'clock of a morning? Trust the woman behind the +blinds to answer. Coming or going, little or nothing escapes this +vigilant eye that has a retina not unlike that of a horse, since it +magnifies the diameter of everything nine times. To hope for the worst +and to find it, that is the golden text of the busybody. The busybody +is always a prude; and prude signifies an evil-minded person who is +virtuous bodily. They are never without ink or soft lead-pencils. Ink +has accomplished more wonderful things than man can enumerate; though +just now a dissertation on ink in ink is ill-timed. + +To return again to the anonymous letter. Add and multiply the lives it +has wrecked, the wars brought about. Menelaus, King of the Greeks, +doubtless received one regarding Helen's fancy for that simpering son +of Priam, Paris. The anonymous letter was in force even in that remote +period, the age of myths. It is consistent, for nearly all anonymous +letters are myths. A wife stays out late; her actions may be quite +harmless, only indiscreet. There is, alack! always some intimate +friend who sees, who dabbles her pen in the ink-well and labors over a +backhand stroke. It is her bounden duty to inform the husband +forthwith. The letter may wreck two lives, but what is this beside +stern, implacable duty? When man writes an anonymous letter he is in +want of money; when woman writes one she is in want of a sensation. It +is easy to reject a demand for money, but we accept the lie and wrap +it to our bosoms, so quick are we to believe ill of those we love. +This is an aspect of human nature that eludes analysis, as quicksilver +eludes the pressure of the finger. The anonymous letter breeds +suspicion; suspicion begets tragedy. The greatest tragedy is not that +which kills, but that which prolongs mental agony. Honest men and +women, so we are told, pay no attention to anonymous letters. They +toss them into the waste-basket ... and brood over them in silence. + +Now, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was always considering her duty; her duty +to the church, to society, to charity, and, upon occasions, to her +lord and master. + +"Bennington's men have gone out, the fools!" said Haldene from over +the top of his paper. + +"Have they?" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene nibbled the tip of her pen. She +sighed, tore up what she had written and filtered it through her +fingers into the waste-basket. + +"Yes, they've gone out. I don't know what the business world is coming +to. Why, the brick-layer gets--I don't say earns--more than the +average clerk. And Bennington's men go out simply because he refuses +to discharge that young English inventor. ... What are you writing and +tearing up so often?" he asked, his curiosity suddenly aroused. + +"A letter." + +"Thoughts clogged?" + +"It is a difficult letter to write." + +"Then there can't be any gossip in it." + +"I never concern myself with gossip, Franklyn. I wish I could make you +understand that." + +"I wish you could, too." He laid his paper down. "Well, I'm off to the +club, unless you are particularly in need of me." + +"You are always going to the club." + +"Or coming back." + +"Some husbands--" + +"Yes, I know. But the men I play poker with are too much interested in +the draw to talk about other men's wives." + +"It's the talk of the town the way you men play cards." + +"Better the purse than the reputation." + +"I haven't any doubt that you are doing your best to deplete both," +coldly. + +Then she sighed profoundly. This man was a great disappointment to +her. He did not understand her at all. The truth was, if she but knew +it, he understood her only too well. She had married the handsomest +man in town because all the other belles had been after him; he had +married money, after a fashion. Such mistakes are frequent rather than +singular these days. The two had nothing in common. It is strange that +persons never find this out till after the honeymoon. Truly, marriage +is a voyage of discovery for which there are no relief expeditions. + +So Haldene went to the club, while his wife squared another sheet of +writing-paper and began again. Half an hour went by before she +completed her work with any degree of satisfaction. Even then she had +some doubts. She then took a pair of shears and snipped the crest from +the sheet and sealed it in a government envelope. Next she threw a +light wrap over her shoulders and stole down to the first letter-box, +where she deposited the trifle. The falling of the lid broke sharply +on the still night. She returned to the house, feeling that a great +responsibility had been shifted from hers to another's shoulders. +Indeed, she would have gone to any lengths to save Patty a life of +misery. And to think of that woman! To think of her assuming a +quasi-leadership in society, as if she were to the manner born! The +impudence of it all! Poor Mrs. Bennington, with her grey hairs; it +would break her heart when she found out (as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +determined she should) the sort of woman her son had married. She +straightened her shoulders and pressed her lips firmly and +contemplated a duty, painfully but rigorously performed. She cast the +scraps of paper into the grate and applied a match. It is not always +well that duty should leave any circumstantial evidence behind. + + +The evening papers devoted a good deal of space to the strike at the +Bennington shops. They frankly upheld Bennington. They admitted that +employers had some individual rights. They berated the men for +quarreling over a matter so trivial as the employment of a single +non-union man, who was, to say the most, merely an experimenter. +However, they treated lightly Bennington's threat to demolish the +shops. No man in his right mind would commit so childish an act. It +would be revenge of a reactive order, fool matching fools, whereas +Bennington ought to be more magnanimous. The labor unions called +special meetings, and with one or two exceptions voted to stand by the +action of the men. + +There was positively no politics behind this strike; everybody +understood that; at least, everybody thought he understood. But there +were some who smiled mysteriously and wagged their heads. One thing +was certain; Bennington's friend, Warrington would lose many hundred +votes in November. For everybody knew which way the Republican +convention would go; there was nobody in sight but Warrington. + +Bennington and Mrs. Jack dined at the old home that evening. There was +plenty of gloom and forced gaiety around the board. John pretended +that he was well out of a bad job; he was not a dreamer nor a +socialist, not he; Utopia was not for the iron age. He told stories, +joked and laughed, and smoked frequently. No one but the mother had +the courage to ask if he really meant to tear down the mills. She came +around the table, smoothed his hair as she had done since he was a +boy, and leaned over his chair. + +"John?" + +"Well, mother mine?" + +"Shall you really do it?" + +"Do what?" + +"Tear it down." + +He did not answer at once, and she waited, trembling. + +"You would not have me take back my words to the men, would you, +mother?" quietly. + +"Your father loved the place." + +"And do I not?" a note of strong passion in his voice. "I shall tear +it down, if I live. Do not ask me anything more about it. Has Dick +been over to-day?" + +"He telephoned that he would be over after dinner. He wants you to go +to the speech-making to-night." Patty rose from her seat at the table. + +"Patty," said John, rather surprised at his discovery, "you are almost +a woman!" + +"You men never see anything quickly," said Mrs. Jack. "Patty has been +a beautiful woman for several months." + +Patty started, restrained the impulse to speak, and searched Mrs. +Jack's face. But Mrs. Jack had eyes for no one but John. Her thought +was far removed from her words. That telephone message rang in her +ears every hour of the day. One moment she was on the verge of telling +John, the next she dared not. What had that wretch found out? What +could he have found out? A lie; it could be nothing more nor less than +a lie; but the suspense and the waiting were killing her. Every beat +of her heart, every drop of her blood belonged to this man at her +side, and she would rather die than that doubt should mingle with his +love. She was miserable, miserable; she dared not confide in any one; +Patty was too young, for all her womanhood, to understand fully. Night +after night she forced her recollection through the dim past, but she +could find nothing but harmless, innocent follies. Alas, the +kaleidoscope of life has so many variant angles that no two eyes see +alike. What to her appeared perfectly innocent might appear evil in +the neighbors' eyes; what to her was sunshine, to another might be +shadow. + +"Think of it!" said John. "Patty will be marrying before long." + +Mrs. Bennington looked at Patty and sighed. To rear up children and to +lose them, that was the mother's lot. To accept these aches with +resignation, to pass the days in reconciling what might be with what +shall be, that was the mother's portion. Yes, Patty must some day +marry. + +"When Patty marries, mother," said John, "you shall come and live with +Kate and me." + +"You are moving me around like a piece of useless furniture," replied +Patty, with some resentment. "I doubt if I shall ever marry." + +"Bosh!" laughed John. "There'll come some bold Lochinvar for you, one +of these days; and then off you'll go. There's the bell. That must be +Dick." + +Patty and Mrs. Jack crossed glances quickly. John went to the door +himself and brought Warrington back with him. + +"Won't you have a cup of tea, Mr. Warrington?" asked the mother. + +"Thank you, I will." Warrington stirred the tea, gazing pleasantly +from face to face. + +The lines in his face seemed deeper than usual; the under lids of the +eyes were dark, and the squareness of the jaw was more prominent. John +saw no change, but the three women did. Warrington looked careworn. + +"Well, John, I see that you have done it." + +"Yes." + +"I'm terribly sorry, but you couldn't back down now and live in town." + +"You see, mother?" John smiled sadly. + +"Yes, my son. You will do what you think best and manliest." + +"How's the cat?" asked Warrington. + +"It still wanders about, inconsolable," answered Patty. How careworn +he looked! + +"Poor beast! It is lucky to have fallen in such good hands." + +"When you are mayor," said Patty, "you must give me a permit to rescue +stray cats from the pound." + +"I'll do more than that; I'll build a house of shelter for them." + +"What time does your speaker begin?" inquired John, lighting a fresh +cigar. + +"John, you are smoking too much," remonstrated Mrs. Jack. + +"I know it, honey." + +"Rudolph begins at nine; if we go then that will be soon enough. +You'll be amused. Have you been riding lately?" Warrington directed +this question to Patty. + +"Yes, regularly every morning." Patty dallied with the crumbs at the +side of her plate. + +"I don't know what's the matter with me, but I find it wearies me to +climb on to a horse's back. I haven't got back to normal conditions +yet." + +"I was wondering where you were." + +"And how is Jove?" asked Mrs. Jack. + +"He's snoozing out on the veranda. I take him everywhere now." + +Presently they moved into the living-room. Warrington longed to sit +beside Patty, but of a sudden he had grown diffident. It amused him to +come into the knowledge that all his address and worldliness would not +stand him in good stead in the presence of Patty. Words were no longer +at his command; he was no longer at his ease. He was afraid of Patty; +and he was very, very lonely. That empty house over the way was no +longer home. There were moments when he regretted his plunge into +politics. He was not free to pack his luggage and speed away to lands +that urged his fancy. He had given his word, and he was too much of a +man to withdraw it. He must remain here and fight two battles. + +Mrs. Jack had taken the seat next to him, and was asking him about the +progress of the play. It was going on so indifferently that he was of +half a mind to destroy it, which he did later. His glance always came +back to Patty. She was bent over her basket-work. She was calling him +Mr. Warrington again. Had he offended her in any manner? The light +from the lamp sparkled in her hair. She was as fresh and beautiful as +a July rose. But Mrs. Jack was an artist. She knew how to draw him +out; and shortly he was talking animatedly. It was now that Patty's +eyes began to rove. + +John, his fingers meeting in an arch, one leg thrown restlessly across +the other, thoughtfully eyed his wife and his friend. ... It was a +lie; there was nothing in all the world so honest as Warrington's +hand, so truthful as his wife's eyes. Cursed be the doubt that had +wedged between these two he loved! + +Time passes quickly or slowly, according to the state of mind. To John +the time was long; to Patty and Warrington it was too short; to Mrs. +Jack it was neither long nor short, but suspended. + +"Time for us to go, John. You are not particular about a chair, are +you?" Warrington asked. + +"Not I. I prefer to stand up in the rear of the hall. If I am bored I +can easily escape." + +"Oh, the night will not be without some amusement." + +"Take good care of John," whispered Mrs. Jack in Warrington's ear; as +the two men were about to depart. + +"Trust me!" Warrington smiled. + +Patty and John observed this brief intercourse. The eyes of love are +sharp. Patty was not jealous, neither was John; but something had +entered into their lives that gave to all trivial things a ponderous +outline. + +"Don't let any reporters talk to John, Mr. Warrington," requested the +mother. + +"I'll surround him." + +"Shall we walk?" asked John. + +"We can see better on foot." + +"We'll walk, then." + +So the two men went down town on foot, and Jove galloped back and +forth joyously. At any and all times he was happy with his master. The +one bane of his existence was gone, the cat. He was monarch of the +house; he could sleep on sofa-pillows and roll on the rugs, and +nobody stole his bones. + +"Good dog," observed John. + +"Money couldn't buy him. I saw that fellow Bolles to-day," +tentatively. + +"Bolles?" John did not recollect the name. + +"The fellow you nearly throttled the other night," explained +Warrington. "He looked pretty well battered up. I never saw you lose +your temper so quickly before." + +"He struck me without provocation, at the wrong moment. Who is going +to speak to-night?" + +"Donnelly and Rudolph." + +"What do you think? Donnelly called me up by 'phone this afternoon. +Wants to know if I really intend to tear down the shops. I told him I +had nothing to say on the subject." + +"Tear them down. I should. You're a rich man." + +"Money isn't the question. The thing is, what shall I do? I'm not +fitted for anything else." + +"Tear down the shops and then build them up again, after a few years. +It will be a good lesson to these union leaders. And you could have +the fun of fighting to build up the trade your father left. You were +talking once of rebuilding entirely." + +"Not a bad idea, Dick. Only, I feel sorry for the men." + +"Why? Are they free men or are they not? It rested with them just as +much as it did with you. I am far removed from the principles of +unionism, as they stand to-day. I have no patience or sympathy with +men who can not, or will not, appreciate a liberal, honest employer." + +"Let's change the subject, Dick." + +For a block or so they proceeded in silence. + +"John, you're the head of the family. I love Patty better than +anything else on God's earth. Do you mind?" Warrington uttered these +words swiftly, before his courage, which he had suddenly urged to its +highest, dropped back. + +John swung round abruptly and brought his hands down heavily on +Warrington's shoulders. + +"Is that true, Dick?" + +"As I stand here. Oh, I know; I'm not good enough for Patty. I haven't +lived as decently as I might. I haven't gone through life as +circumspectly as you have. I drank; success made me dizzy. But I love +Patty--God bless her!--as I never hoped or dreamed of loving any +woman. You're a man, John; you will understand. I've been alone all my +life; buffeted here and there, living haphazard, without any +particular restraint on my desires. The dear old aunt was the only +tie, and that was delicate till I came home and found how good and +kind she was. I miss her; months from now I shall miss her a +hundredfold. I'm very lonely. You've all been so good to me. To be +alone, and to think of living alone for the rest of my days, is a +torture. My nature craves companionship, and this craving has led me +into plenty of mischief. I love Patty. What do you say, John?" + +"Say? Why, you are good enough for any woman alive. I am very glad, +Dick. Patty married to you! You old farmer," affectionately, "I've +always been mentally pairing off you two! Come on; let's hear what the +political windmill has to say. They're burning red fire in front of +the hall." + +But a moment gone their feet had dragged with each step; now there was +a lightness that was dancing. John knew that it was all a lie; and his +heart was as light as his feet. Kate, dear Kate! He was a wretch! He +slapped Warrington on the shoulder. + +"To think of your marrying Patty, the little sister!" + +"Don't go too fast, John," said Warrington with less enthusiasm. "I +haven't said a word to Patty yet; and if she's a sensible young woman, +she'll give me my conge first-off." + +"By George, women are strange creatures. It's the truth, Dick; you +can't tell which way they'll go. But Patty's no fool." John hadn't +felt so good in many hours. + +"But I love her, and God knows I shall try to be worthy of her, even +if I lose her. ... Sky-rockets!" with an upward glance. "That's the +signal for Rudolph's arrival at the hall." + +"Come on, then!" + +Rudolph was the great Jeffersonian Democrat, not by excellence, rather +by newspaper courtesy, and that, to be specific, by his own newspaper. +He had come up from New York that day to deliver his already famous +speech. He was one of the many possibilities in the political arena +for the governorship. And as he was a multimillionaire, he was sure of +a great crowd. As an Englishman loves a lord, so does the American +love a millionaire. Rudolph's newspaper was the only one in the +metropolis that patted him on the back regularly each morning. He was +the laboring man's friend; he was the arch enemy of the monopolies +(not yet called trusts); and so forth and so on. For all that some +laughed at him, he was an able politician, and was perfectly honest in +all his political transactions, which is something of a paradox. So he +came up to Herculaneum to convert the doubting. The laboring party +greeted him en masse, and stormed the hall for choice seats. + +The hall was a low, rambling structure, bad for the voice, but capable +of seating a few thousands. The curbs glared with green and red fire, +and a band blared out the songs of freedom. The crowds surged back and +forth, grumbling and laughing and shouting. And the near-by saloons +did a land-office business. It was a great night for the man who had +nothing to do. All at once there was loud hurrahing. An open hack +drove up to the entrance, and the great Jeffersonian stood up, bowing, +bowing. The green light on one side and the red on the other gave to +his face a Gargantuan aspect rather than that of a Quixote, to whom he +was more often likened than to any other character in fiction. The +police cleared a pathway for the great man, and he hurried up the +steps. Another cheer, and another blast from the band. Great is +popularity, whose handmaiden is oblivion. + +"They'll be doing all this to you some day," John declared, as he and +Warrington elbowed through the crowd, the dog between their legs. + +"That's him!" cried a voice. + +"Who?" + +"The fellow that writes; Henderson's man." + +"Salt licks for him!" came in derision. + +"He'll give Donnelly a run for the money." + +"Not in a thousand years!" + +All this amused Warrington. + +"How d' y' do, Mr. Warrington?" + +A hand touched the prospective candidate on the arm. Warrington saw +Osborne's rubicund nose. + +"So you're out, too, Mr. Osborne?" + +"I never let meetings go by, Richard. Good evening, Mr. Bennington. A +man with ten millions doesn't look any different from ordinary +mortals, does he? But he is different, or he wouldn't have that +barrel. A million is like a light-house; it attracts all sorts of +birds." + +Warrington laughed and went on. Once or twice he lost the dog, but +Jove managed to turn up each time. + +"We'll stand at the left," said John; "it's nearer the exits." + +"Just as you say. I wish I'd left the dog at home. He's a nuisance in +a crowd like this." + +They presently stood with their backs to the wall and looked toward +the stage. Donnelly was already speaking about the great man who was +that night to address them. + +"And," concluded the mayor, "Mr. Rudolph will lead us to a victory +such as the party in this state has not yet known." And half a hundred +more final words. Man approaches nearest woman's postscript when he +says: "And, gentlemen, just one word more!" + +Meantime Warrington's gaze wandered here and there. He saw many +familiar faces,--politicians, prominent merchants of both parties, and +the usual exuberant hundreds drawn thither only by curiosity. These +were willing to applaud anything and anybody, without knowing or +caring what about. Quiet one moment, roaring the next; murmur, murmur, +like angry waters on shingle. These make and unmake public men; they +have nothing, but they can give everything. Strong tobacco smoke +rolled ceilingward, and those on the stage became blurred and +nebulous. Once Warrington caught a glimpse of a battered face, but it +disappeared quickly. However, he said nothing to Bennington. Again, he +saw McQuade moving about, within fifty feet. From time to time McQuade +stooped, and Warrington knew that the white dog was present. + +"Gentlemen," concluded Donnelly, with a flourish, "William Henry +Rudolph, of New York, our next governor." + +And, to quote the sympathetic reporters, "tremendous applause shook +the rafters." Mr. Rudolph rose majestically, and smiled and bowed. +Heigh-ho! man accepts applause so easily; the noise, not the heart +behind it; the uproar, not the thought. Man usually fools himself when +he opens his ears to these sounds, often more empty than brass. But so +porous is man's vanity that it readily absorbs any kind of noise +arranged for its benefit. + +He began calmly. The orator always reserves his telling apostrophes +till that time when it is necessary to smite palm with fist. He spoke +of Jefferson, the simplicity of his life, the firmness of his purpose, +the height of his ideals. He forgot, as political speakers generally +forget who emulate their historic political forebears, that progress +rearranges principles and constitutions, that what passed as good +statesmanship in Jefferson's time is out of order in the present. Mr. +Rudolph paused in the middle of a metaphor. There was a sudden +commotion in the rear of the hall. Men were surging to and fro. + +"Stand back!" cried a firm, resonant voice, full of anger. + +The uproar increased. Those in the forward chairs craned their necks. +Some stood up to learn what the matter might be. Others mounted their +seats. A thousand absurd conjectures passed from mouth to mouth. + +"Somebody's dropped dead!" + +"Sit down in front! Sit down!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"Where are the police?" + +"Put him out!" + +"A fight!" + +Blue helmets moved toward the scene of action slowly. Mr. Rudolph +still paused and moistened his lips impatiently. Men can give and take +away popularity in the same breath, but a dog fight is arranged by +occult forces, and must, like opportunity, be taken when it comes. We +are educated to accept oratory, but we need no education in the matter +of a dog fight. This red corpuscle was transmitted to us from the +Stone Age, and the primordial pleasures alone resist enlightenment. + +Two bulldogs, one tan, the other white, were fighting desperately, +near the exits. In between human legs, under chairs, this way and +that, snarling, snapping, dragging. Men called out, kicked, tried to +use canes and umbrellas, and some burned matches. The dogs were +impervious. Now the white dog was atop, now the tan. So many +interfered that there was no interference. + +It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been listening to the +orator; and Jove, smelling his enemy from afar, slyly crept out of his +master's reach. The white dog had also been on the watch. In the drop +of an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington instantly comprehended the +situation, when he saw McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog, +clear a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying wall of men and +commanded those in front to stand back. He was furious. He had no +objections to human beings fighting, but he detested these bloody +conflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove, but Jove was past +hearing; he had tasted his enemy's blood. Once Warrington succeeded in +parting the dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separation +complete. Instantly they were at it again. The police made superhuman +efforts to arrive before it was all over. The fight, however, came to +an end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found his grip. But for the +broad collar on McQuade's dog the animal would have been throttled +then and there. + +McQuade lost his temper and his discretion. He kicked Jove cruelly in +the side, at the very moment when Warrington had succeeded in breaking +the grip. Bennington thrust McQuade back violently, and he would have +fallen but for the dense pack bolstering him up. + +"I'll remember that kick, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, white in the +face. + +"I don't think you'll be mayor of Herculaneum, Mr. Warrington," +replied McQuade, glaring venomously at the man who had brushed him +aside so easily. + +"Perhaps not, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington; "but at any rate there'll +be a reckoning for that kick. You've been trying for months to bring +these dogs together. You have finally succeeded, and your dog has been +licked soundly. You ought to be satisfied." + +Warrington took Jove under his arm and pressed toward the door, +followed by Bennington, who was also in a fine rage. The dog, bloody +and excited, still struggled, though the brutal kick had winded him. + +McQuade was no fool. He saw that if Warrington left this way the +impression would not be favorable to the boss contractor. So he made +haste to approach Warrington. + +"Hold on there, Warrington. I apologize for kicking your dog. I admit +I was excited; and my dog was getting licked. I am sorry." + +"All right, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, who would have preferred +leaving, minus any apology. He understood perfectly well McQuade's +reason for bending. + +"By George!" whispered Bennington, "I'd give a thousand for one good +punch at that ruffian's head. Brute, double-dealing brute! Look out +for him after this, Dick." + +"I can take care of myself. Officer, will you kindly get a carriage +for me?" + +"Sure, Mr. Warrington," said the policeman. + +The two managed to get out. In fact, everybody was moving toward the +exits. They had forgotten Mr. Rudolph, who completed his effort before +a two-thirds empty hall. They say that he went back to his hotel that +night disgusted with humanity and, mayhap, with the fact that the +fight had not occurred nearer the stage. Orators are human also. + +As Warrington followed Bennington into the carriage the door closed +and a head was thrust inside the open window. + +"Don't forget me when you're mayor, Mr. Warrington," said Bill +Osborne. + +"Well?" Warrington was in no mood for banalities. + +Bill glanced hastily from side to side, then said, in a stage whisper +that sent Bennington into a roar of laughter: + +"I sick'd 'em!" + + + + +Chapter XVI + + +The Republican caucus or convention was uneventful. Warrington was +nominated for mayor of Herculaneum, with little or no opposition. +Everybody expected it. It was, in the phraseology of the day, cut and +dried. There was no surprise on the part of the public. Still, Senator +Henderson was jubilant; he had nominated his man. + +The young candidate's speech, accepting the nomination, was reproduced +in full in all the newspapers, whose editorial writers frankly +admitted that the speech was one of the best heard in Herculaneum in +years. Reporters raked up anecdotes and old photographs; they enlarged +upon the history of his early struggles and his ultimate success; and +long despatches flashed over the wires. The whole continent was more +or less interested in the sudden political ambition of one of its +favorite dramatic writers. + +It was true that Warrington's vanity was touched. It always touches +our vanity to be given something for which we have made no struggle +whatever. It was something to be followed by curious newsboys, to be +spoken to respectfully by Tom, Dick and Harry, who erstwhile hadn't +known of his existence. Warrington was human, and he laughed at his +vanity even as it was being gratified. + +On the other side the Democrats perfunctorily nominated Donnelly. It +was the best they could do, and Donnelly had nothing to learn. And so +the fight was on. Donnelly went everywhere; so did Warrington. If +Donnelly spoke in the German district, Warrington spoke to the +Italians and in their native tongue. Warrington soon learned how to +shake hands in the manner of a candidate,--to take the whole hand and +squeeze it soundly. The coal-heaver whose hand the dramatist grasped +thereupon returned to his friends with the report that the candidate +had a good grip, that there was nothing namby-pamby about him, for all +his dude clothes. It is the gift of Heaven to win friends and keep +them, and Warrington possessed this gift. His good-humored smile, his +ready persiflage, his ease in all environments, and his common +sense--these were his bucklers. He spoke in dingy halls, on saloon +bars, everywhere and anywhere and at all times. It was a great sight +to see him lightly mount a bar and expound his politics, his nostrils +assailed by cheap tobacco and kerosene lamps. If Donnelly opened a keg +of beer, Warrington opened two; if Donnelly gave a picnic, Warrington +gave two. And once he presented free matinee tickets to a thousand +women. This was a fine stroke of policy. When a man wins a woman to +his cause, he wins a valiant champion. Here, then, were a thousand +tongues in his service. + +His work put enthusiasm into the rank and file of the party, and soon +all half-heartedness disappeared and dissensions vanished. He +furnished foot-ball suits for the newsboys, torch-light regimentals +for the young men's Republican clubs; he spent his own money freely +but judiciously; and all the while Donnelly was not far behind. For +the first time in the history of local politics the two parties went +to work with solid ranks. It promised to be a great campaign. +Warrington's influence soon broke the local confines; and the +metropolitan newspapers began to prophesy that as Herculaneum went, so +would go the state. + +Warrington's theatrical manager came up from New York and said he +wanted that play at once. The dramatist declared that there would be +no play that season. The manager threatened a lawsuit; Warrington +remained unmoved. His first duty was to his party; after the first +Tuesday in November he would see. This argument found its way to +reportorial ears, with the result that it merely added to the young +candidate's growing popularity. + +It was only occasionally that he saw the Benningtons. His nights were +devoted to speech-making or conferences. Sometimes, however, on his +way home late at night, he would walk up as far as the old house and +look up at the windows; and if he saw a light in Patty's room he would +pause for a few minutes, then turn about, Jove limping at his heels. +Patty Bennington! The one idyl in his noisy life, the one uplifting +influence! He knew that he was not making this fight for clean +politics because his heart was in it, but because Patty's was. It is +thus that women make the world better, indirectly. Once or twice he +had seen Patty in the gallery at mass meetings; but, hurry as he +might, he never could get around to the entrance in time to speak to +her. + +As for McQuade, he knew that between him and that gentleman the war +had only begun. He was constantly wondering how McQuade would act; but +so far as he could see, McQuade had absolutely nothing to stand on. +McQuade would have to tunnel; he could not carry on the war above +ground. McQuade would never forgive the result of the dog fight. There +had been so much raillery in the newspapers that McQuade became +furious whenever it was mentioned. His dog was a professional fighter +and had made three kills, and here a "pet" had given him his first +licking. It rankled, and none of McQuade's friends dared refer to it. +So Warrington remained alert and watchful; it was all he could do. + +In more ways than one Herculaneum became widely known. Other cities +realized that there was a peculiar strike in progress, upon the +outcome of which depended the principles of unionism. Here was an +employer who was making preparations to destroy his shops, regardless +of financial loss, regardless of public opinion, regardless of +everything but his right to employ and discharge whom he willed. Every +great employer in the country focused his eye upon Herculaneum; every +union leader did likewise. The outcome would mean a kind of +revolution. + +At the shops the men had placed the usual sentinels around the limits, +ready to repel the expected army of non-union workmen. But a day +passed, two, three, four; a week, then ten days; a month. Not a single +strange man approached the gates. Not one man among them had any +information whatever as to the movements of their whilom employer. +Scab labor never showed its head above the horizon. The men began to +wonder; they began to grow restless. But Morrissy always pacified them +with the word "wait." + +"Vigilance, boys; that's the word," said the leader. "The moment we go +to sleep he'll have his men inside." + +So the men relaxed none of their watching, night and day. It was +rather pathetic to see the children bringing scanty meals to the +guarding men. They were being misled, that was all, but they had to +find that out themselves. The city's bill-boards were covered with +"Boycott" and "Unfair" paper. The men were careful. They made no +effort to injure anything; they made no attempt to enter the shops; +they had had a brush with the militia once, and they were wise. They +could beat the new men and maim them, but so long as they did not +touch property there would be no call for the militia. They waited. +Mean-time Morrissy wore a new diamond. + +One day a cry went up. + +"Here's the scabs! Here they come!" + +Word was sent immediately to the union's headquarters. + +A body of twenty-odd men, carrying shovels and pickaxes and +dinner-pails, moved toward the gates. At their head was Bennington +himself. He placed the great key in the lock and swung the gates +inward. The men passed in quickly. Bennington was last. He turned for +a moment and gazed calmly at the threatening faces of the strikers. An +impulse came to him. + +"Men," he said, "up to one o'clock this noon these gates will be open +to you. Each of you can take up your work where you left it, at the +same wages, at the same hours. This is the last chance. Later you will +learn that you have been betrayed." + +"How about Chittenden?" + +"Chittenden will return at the same time you do." + +"The hell he will! Let him show his British face here, and we'll +change it so his mother won't know it." + +Bennington went inside and shut the gates. There was nothing more to +be done. He did not slam the gates insolently, as some men would have +done; he simply shut them. + +This event was also reported at headquarters. That afternoon all the +strikers were out in force. They congregated in groups and talked +angrily. Two policemen patrolled up and down. Bennington had had some +difficulty in securing even these. The men waited for the first sign +of smoke from the chimneys, but none came. No one was lighting the +furnaces; there was nothing but silence inside the shops. There was no +possible excuse as yet for deeds of violence, though many of the more +turbulent element urged riot at once. What was the use of waiting? In +the afternoon there appeared some fifty more strange men. These +carried tool-bags. They were challenged. They ignored the challenge +and pushed on resolutely. For the first time blows were struck. The +leader whirled around. + +"Look here, men, you're making a big mistake. Your fists won't help +you. We are going inside, and if we can't go in peaceably, why, we'll +break some heads to get in. We have all been sworn in legally as +deputy police, and if we start in to break heads we promise to do it +thoroughly." + +"What are you going to do in there?" demanded Morrissy. + +"None of your business, for one thing," answered the burly spokesman +of the interlopers. "I'll add this much, if it will ease your minds: +nobody's going to step into your jobs; when you went out you left your +jobs behind." + +"So you fellows are what they call strike-breakers, are you?" asked +Morrissy wrathfully. + +"Oh, we aren't going to break your strike, my friend. You can call +this a strike as long as you please, so far as we're concerned. We've +got work to do here, though, and we are going to do it." + +"Are you union men?" + +"Not so you'd notice it," was the cool reply. + +"All right. You fellows won't be here long." + +"Stop us if you can. Now, stand aside!" commanded the stranger +menacingly. + +"Let 'em by, men," cried Morrissy. "Don't touch 'em yet. You just +leave it to me. I know a way and a good one, too. You just leave it to +me." + +The angry strikers divided ranks and the strangers entered the shops. + +Morrissy directed his steps to McQuade's office, and together they +paid a visit to the mayor. + +"Look here, Donnelly, did you permit Bennington to swear in deputy +police?" asked McQuade. + +"Deputy police? Bennington has no deputy police from this place," +answered Donnelly hotly. + +"Well, all we know is that he has them," snapped Morrissy. + +"Then he has gone directly to the governor." + +"The governor?" + +McQuade and Morrissy looked at each other blankly. + +"He has that prerogative," said Donnelly. + +"But he wouldn't dare!" + +"Oh, yes, he would. It's his last term; he is without further +political ambition; he can act as he pleases, in the face of public +condemnation. There's one thing left, though." + +"What?" + +"Injunction," said Donnelly tersely. + +"With Republican judges on the benches?" replied McQuade ironically. + +"And you can't enjoin private property," added Morrissy. + +"I'll send for Bennington," Donnelly volunteered. "Perhaps I can talk +him into reason." + +"It's up to you to block this move somehow," said McQuade. "It means +the labor vote. And we've got to have that." + +"I'll do the best I can. I can stop his permit to tear down the +building, if he really intends to do that." + +"It will be a good day's work for you." + +"I'll act this very afternoon." + +Once outside the mayor's office, McQuade turned to Morrissy. + +"Where's that receipt you promised on oath?" + +"Haven't you got it?" asked Morrissy, feigning surprise. + +"No, and I doubt you sent it. But I want it at once, and no more +monkeying." + +"Well, I sent it. I mailed it to your office. You've overlooked it." + +"Come over to my office now and make it out," McQuade insisted. + +"You've got plenty of grips on me without that," protested Morrissy +reproachfully. + +"But I want this one, and I'm going to have it." + +"I'll go to your office. Will Donnelly be game?" + +"He will if he knows which side his bread is buttered on," +contemptuously. + +The two went up to McQuade's office. It was deserted. + +"The girl's gone this afternoon," said McQuade, "but I can handle the +typewriter myself." + +"All I've got to say is that I mailed you a receipt. What do you want +it for?" with a final protest. + +"I've got an idea in my head, Morrissy. I want that receipt. Some day +you may take it into your head to testify that I offered you a +thousand to bring on the strike at Bennington's. That would put me in +and let you out, because I can't prove that I gave the cash to you. +Business is business." + +"Hell! Any one would think, to hear you talk, that I had threatened to +betray." + +"Every man to his own skin," replied McQuade philosophically. He then +sat down before the typewriter. There were two blank sheets in the +roller, with a carbon between. The girl had left her machine all ready +for the morrow's work. McQuade picked out his sentence laboriously. + +"There, sign that." + +The paper read: + +"I, James Morrissy, the undersigned, do hereby declare that I have +received $1,000, in two sums of $500 each, from Daniel McQuade, these +sums being payment agreed upon for my bringing about the strike at the +Bennington shops." + + +Morrissy looked at the boss incredulously. + +"I say, Mac, have you gone crazy?" he cried. "Do you want evidence +like this lying around in your safe? It's the penitentiary for both of +us if any one finds that." + +"I know what I am doing," McQuade responded quietly, as indeed he did. + +"But look; you've got the strike and I've got the cash; that makes us +quits." + +"Sign it," was all McQuade replied to this argument. + +"All right. What's bad for me is bad for you," and without further ado +Morrissy affixed his fist to the sheet. + +"Here's the duplicate for you." + +Morrissy lighted a match and set fire to the sheet; he stamped on the +ashes with grim satisfaction. + +"Not for mine," with a laugh. "You're welcome to yours." + +McQuade folded his deliberately and put it away in the safe. The sheet +of carbon paper he crumpled into a ball and tossed into the waste-basket. +We all commit blunders at one time or another, and McQuade had +just committed his. + +"That's all, Morrissy. I think I can trust you fully. I mean no harm, +boy; 'tis only self-preservation." + +"Oh, so long as your name's on it there's no kick coming from me; only +I never saw you do such a fool thing before. Anything else to-day?" + +"No. You might keep tab on that fool Bolles. He's been drunk ever +since he came back from New York. And he doesn't know how to keep his +mouth shut." + +"I'll keep an eye on him." + +"He's the only man we have who can handle the dagos. I'll see you up +at Dutch Hall to-night. Donnelly is making a speech there, and we'll +open a few kegs of beer for the boys." + +When Morrissy was gone McQuade laughed softly and went to the safe +again. He proceeded to do to his receipt exactly what Morrissy had +done to his--burn it. So long as Morrissy believed that McQuade held +his signature, so long might Morrissy be trusted. It was only an idea, +but it proved that the boss knew his lieutenants tolerably well. + +"The blackleg would sell the tomb off his father's grave," he mused, +brushing the ashes from his clothes. + +Let Bennington rip up his shops; all the better for Donnelly's chances +of reelection. The laboring party would be sure to desert Warrington's +standard, since he was a personal and intimate friend of Bennington +the oppressor. He laughed again sinisterly. Presently he would have +them all by the throats. He would watch them squirm, too. This young +fool Warrington; he was the first real obstacle he (McQuade) had +encountered in his checkered career. Threats could not move him. He +had believed at the start that he could scare him away from the +convention; but the fool wouldn't be scared. And his damned dog! + +"He'll never reach the City Hall, not while I live, damn his +impudence! That woman, though, is no fool. She's kept her mouth shut. +They don't always do that. Well, I can write more than receipts on the +machine. I'll ruin them both if I can. Ordered me out of the house, +and I honestly liked the woman! But I'll square accounts presently." + +Meanwhile Donnelly set the wires humming. He finally got Bennington at +the shops. + +"This is Mr. Bennington. Who is it and what is wanted?" + +"This is the mayor talking." + +"Oh! Well, what is it, Mr. Donnelly?" + +"I must see you at once in my office. This is an urgent request. I +can't explain the matter over the wire. But you'll do yourself and me +a great favor if you'll come into town at once." + +"Very important?" + +"Extremely so." + +"I shall be there at five o'clock." + +"Thanks. I shall await you." Donnelly hung up the receiver, very well +satisfied. + +Bennington understood. Politics was going to take a hand in the game. +After all, it was best to take the bull by the horns at once and have +it over with. He knew how well he had fortified himself against any +political machinery. So, promptly at a quarter to five, he departed, +leaving explicit orders with his subordinates. The strikers moved +aside for him, muttering and grumbling, but they made no effort to +impede his progress. There were groans and catcalls, but that was all. +He looked neither to the right nor to the left, but presented his back +to them fearlessly. Chittenden, upon Bennington's advice, had gone to +New York. The strikers would have used him roughly, could they have +laid hands on him. + +Arriving in town, Bennington went at once to the City Hall and +straight to the mayor's private office. + +"Well, Mr. Donnelly?" he began, his hat on his handsome head and his +cane behind his back, neither offensive nor defensive. + +Donnelly closed the door leading to the clerk's office and came back +to his desk. He waved his hand toward a chair. If he could bend this +young hot-head, it would be a victory worth while, politically. + +"In the first place, Mr. Bennington, aren't you going a little too +hard on the men?" + +"That was their lookout; they had every chance to think the matter +over, to examine all sides of the question." + +"You went personally to the governor for deputy police. Why didn't you +come to me?" + +"The governor is a personal friend of mine." + +"I don't believe that I have been found lacking in justice," said +Donnelly thoughtfully. + +"I can't say that you have. But I was in a hurry, and could not wait +for the local machinery to move." + +"You have placed armed men in your shops without a justifiable cause." + +"The men are mechanics, sworn in for their own self-protection." + +Donnelly saw that he was making no impression. + +"These men, then, are to tear down your shops?" not without +admiration. + +"Well, they are there to dismantle it." + +"That building must not go down, Mr. Bennington." + +"'Must not'? Do I understand you to say 'must not'?" + +"Those words exactly." + +"It is private property, Mr. Donnelly; it was not organized under +corporation laws." + +"You can not destroy even private property, in a city, without a legal +permit." + +"I have that." + +"And I shall call a special meeting of the Common Council to rescind +your permit." + +"Do so. I shall tear it down, nevertheless. I shall do what I please +with what is my own." Bennington balanced on his heels. + +"The law is there." + +"I shall break it, if need says must," urbanely. + +Donnelly surveyed the end of his dead cigar. + +"The men will become violent." + +"Their violence will in no wise hinder me, so long as they confine it +to the shops. Even then I shall call upon you for police protection." + +"And if I should not give it?" + +"Just now I am sure you will. For the mayor of Herculaneum to refuse +me my rights would be a nice morsel for the Republican party." + +Donnelly passed over this. + +"I wish to protect the rights of the workman, just as you wish to +protect yours." + +"What are the workman's rights?" + +Donnelly did not reply. + +"Well, I'll reply for you, then. His right is to sell his labor to the +highest bidder; his right is to work where he pleases; for what hours +he desires; his right is to reject abusive employers and to find those +congenial; his right is to produce as little or as much as he thinks +best; his right is to think for himself, to act for himself, to live +for himself." + +"You admit all this, then?" asked Donnelly in astonishment. + +"I have never so much as denied a single right that belongs to the +workman." + +"Then what the devil is all this row about?" + +"If the workman has his rights, shall not the employer have his?" + +Donnelly mused. He would not be able to do anything with this +plain-spoken man. + +"But the workman steps beyond. He has no right to dictate to his +employer as to what HIS rights shall be. Where there is no amity +between capital and labor there is never any justice; one or the other +becomes a despot. The workman has his rights, but these end where the +other man's rights begin. He shall not say that another man shall not +seek work, shall not sell his labor for what he can get; he has no +right to forbid another man's choosing freedom; he has no right to say +that a manufacturer shall produce only so much." + +"Well, I've only to say," said Donnelly, hedging before this clear +argument, "I've only to say, if the men become violent, look out for +yourself." + +"I shall appeal to you for civic or military protection; if you refuse +it, to the governor; if politics there interferes, I shall appeal to +Washington, where neither your arm nor McQuade's can reach. I +understand the causes back of this strike; they are personal, and I'm +man enough to look out for myself. But if politics starts to work, +there will be a trouble to settle in the courts. You may not know the +true cause of this strike, Mr. Donnelly, but I do. The poor deluded +men believe it to be the English inventor, but he is only a blind. Had +you really wished to do me a favor, you would have spoken to the men +before they went out on this silly strike. But I am master of what is +mine, and I shall tear down that building. I shall tolerate no +interference from any man. The workman has his rights; this is one of +my rights, and I intend to use it." + +"It's your business. If you are fool enough to kill a golden goose, +it's no affair of mine. But I shall rescind your permit, however. I +believe it to be my duty." + +"Call your Council together, Mr. Donnelly. You can not get a quorum +together earlier than to-morrow night; and by that time I shall have +the work done. You say you will not afford me protection. Very well; +if the men become violent and burn the shops, I shall be relieved of +the expense of tearing them down. Good afternoon." + +Donnelly sat in his chair for a quarter of an hour, silent and +thoughtful. Suddenly he slapped his thigh. + +"I don't know what McQuade has against that man, but, by the Lord! he +IS a man!" + +That night the strikers received several bottles of whisky and a keg +of beer. The source of these gifts was unknown. Some of the more +thoughtful were for smashing the stuff, but the turbulent majority +overruled them. They began to drink and jest. They did so with +impunity. For some reason the police had been withdrawn. The hammering +inside the shops puzzled them, but they still clung to the idea that +all this clamor was only a ruse to frighten them into surrendering. +From the interior the pounding gradually approached as far as the +walls of the courtyard. At midnight one of these walls went thundering +to the ground. A few minutes later another fell. The strikers grouped +together, dismayed. + +"By God, boys," one of them yelled, "he's tearing it down!" + +In that moment, and only then, did they realize that they had been +dealing with a man whose will and word were immutable. They saw all +their dreams of triumph vanish in the dust that rose from the +crumbling brick and plaster. And dismay gave way to insensate rage. It +would only be helping Bennington to riot and burn the shops, so now to +maim and kill the men who, at hire, were tearing down these walls. + +"Come on, boys! We'll help the scabs finish the work! Come on!" + +There was now a great breach in the wall. Men moving to and fro could +be seen. The strikers snatched up bricks and clubs and dashed toward +this. But ere they had set foot on the rubbish they stopped. Half a +dozen resolute men faced them. They were armed. + +"That's far enough, boys," warned a powerful voice. "I told you we +have all been sworn in as deputy police, with all the laws of the +state back of us. The first man that steps across that pile of bricks +will go to the hospital, the second man to the undertaker." + + + + +Chapter XVII + + +Ah, the vanity of Dawn! Like a Venus she rises from her bath of +opalescent mists and dons a gown of pearl. But this does not please +the coquette. Her fancy turns from pearl to green, to amber, to pink, +to blue and gold and rose, an inexhaustible wardrobe. She blushes, she +frowns, she hesitates; she is like a woman in love. She casts abroad +her dewy jewels on the leaves, the blades of grass, the tangled laces +of the spiders, the drab cold stones. She ruffles the clouds on the +face of the sleeping waters; she sweeps through the forests with a low +whispering sound, taking a tithe of the resinous perfumes. Always and +always she decks herself for the coming of Phoebus, but, woman-like, +at first sight of him turns and flies. + +Dawn is the most beautiful of all the atmospheric changes, but the +vision is a rarity to the majority of us. + +Warrington was up and away on his hunter before Phoebus sent his +warning flashing over the hills. He took the now familiar road, and +urged his animal vigorously. Fine! Not a bit of dust rose from the +road, dew-wet and brown. The rime of the slight frost shone from the +fences and grasses and stacked corn, like old age that strikes in a +single night. Here and there a farmer could be seen pottering about +the yards, or there was a pale curl of smoke rising from the chimney. +The horse, loving these chill, exhilarating October mornings, went +drumming along the road. Occasionally Warrington would rise in the +stirrups and gaze forward over this elevation or that, and sometimes +behind him. No. For three mornings he had ridden out this old familiar +way, but alone. The hunger in his eyes remained unsatisfied. + +For the first time in years he turned into a certain familiar fork in +the road, and all his youth came back to him as vividly as though it +had been but yesterday. Half a mile up this fork was the rambling old +farm-house. It was unchanged. The clapboards were still stained with +rust, the barns were still a dingy red, the stone and rail fences +needed the same repairs. Nothing had changed there but the masters. +And under that roof he had made his first feeble protest against life; +he had dreamed those valiant dreams of youth that never come true, no +matter how successful one may become in after life. Every waking means +an illusion gone, another twig pruned from the tree of ardent fancy; +and when one is old there is neither shade nor shelter. + +Warrington stopped his horse. He had no desire to ride closer; he +could see everything well enough from where he sat. Rosy apples +twinkled in the orchard on the hill, and golden pumpkins glistened +afield, for by now Phoebus had come to his own. How many dawns had he +seen from yonder windows, in summer and winter, in autumn and spring? +How many times had he gone dreaming to the markets over this road? It +was beyond counting. Had any of those particular dreams come true? Not +that he could recollect, for he had never dreamed of being a +successful dramatist; that good fortune had been thrust upon him. He +tried to picture his father walking toward the fields; it was too +remote. His mother? Of her he could recollect positively nothing. But +the aunt, he saw her everywhere,--in the garden, in the doorway, in +the window, by the old well. Now she was culling hollyhocks along the +stone wall, now she was coming down the hill with an apron filled with +apples, now she was canning preserves and chili sauce in the hot +kitchen, or the steel-rimmed spectacles were shining over the worn +pages of the New Testament at night. + +What was the use? To-day is alien to yesterday; an hour separates as +definitely as eternity. There was nothing there for him; so he wheeled +and rode back toward the city, conning over a speech he was to make +that night. Since Patty had not ridden this way, the zest of the +morning's ride was gone. Which road did she take now? To the west, to +the south, to the north round the lake? Twice the night before he had +started for the telephone to inquire, but had not taken down the +receiver. Was he afraid? He could not say. And afraid of what? Still +less could he tell. Three months ago he had called her Patty, had +jested and laughed with her; and now he hesitated to call her up by +telephone. No, he was not afraid of Patty; he was simply afraid of +himself. For he realized this--that in the moment he spoke to her +alone his love would spring from his lips like a torrent; nothing +could stop it; and he was not of that supreme courage at present that +spurs the lover to put it to the touch to win or lose it all. + +So, then, he rode back to the city, hugging his doubt and his love, +with frequent lucid intervals that were devoted to his forthcoming +speech. When the battle was over, when he had won or lost, then he +would go to her and drink the cup, bitter or sweet. + + +Patty had not spent the night in comfort; her head had rolled from one +pillow to another, and the cases were not always dry. Indeed, it had +been some time since she had pressed her cheek tranquilly upon a +pillow. Night is either sweetest or most wretched; one spends it +recounting one's joys or one's sorrows. Patty was unhappy; and leave +it to youth to gain the full meed of misery. Youth has not the +philosophy of matured age to cast into the balance. Satisfaction in +this workaday world is only momentary. One is never wholly satisfied; +there is always some hidden barb. The child wears the mother's skirts +enviously while the mother mourns her youth. Expectation leads us to +the dividing line of life, and from there retrospection carries us to +the end. Experience teaches us that fire burns and that water +quenches; beyond this we have learned but little. + +This morning Patty was up with the dawn. She did not trouble to wake +the groom, but saddled and bridled the horse herself. She mounted and +rode quietly into the street. She did not glance at Warrington's house +while approaching or passing it, but once she had left it in the rear +she turned quickly, flushing as if she had caught herself in some +weakness. She directed the horse toward the west, crossing the city +before she reached the open country. Here the west wind, young and +crisp, blew away the last vestige of heaviness from her eyes. She +urged the horse into a canter and maintained this gait for a mile or +more. Then she reined in to a walk. + +Three weeks! And all this time she had not even breathed a word of it, +but had hugged the viper to her heart in silence. She dropped the +reins on the neck of the horse and took a letter from the pocket of +her riding-coat. How many times had she read it? How many times had +fury and rage and despair flashed from her eyes as she read it? She +hated him; she hated her. There was neither honesty nor goodness in +the world; those who preached it lied. Yes, yes! There was one. John, +dear, noble John, he at any rate was honest. But it was all acting on +her part, acting, acting. She had married John as a convenience; she +had made use of his honest love as a cloak. The despicable creature! +And yet, when in her presence, so great was her charm and magnetism, +Patty doubted. After all, it was an anonymous letter, and nothing is +more vile. But who can say to this viper Doubt--"Vanish!" It goes, it +goes again and again; which is to say it always returns. Long ago she +would have confronted her brother's wife with this letter, had not +John been in the heart of his battle at the shops. For the present he +had enough trouble. And yet, to see that woman with John, an angel +might be deceived. To see her weep and laugh over him, to see her +touch him with her hands, to caress him with her eyes, to be tender +and strong at his side. ... Could anybody be so wicked? True, her +transgression had been made, according to this letter, before John had +married her; but this lessened the enormity of it none in Patty's +eyes. + +"Oh, I was so happy, and now I am so miserable!" murmured the girl, +pressing her hand to her throat, which seemed to stifle her. + +She read the letter again, through blurred vision. It was horrible. + +One who takes a deep interest in your future welfare finds it a duty +to warn you against Richard Warrington, for whom it is being said you +have developed a strong sentiment. It is well known that he drank +deeply at one time and lived the life of a debauchee. Beware of the +woman, also, whom you call sister. The writer does not offer anything +detrimental to her married life, but it is known that she was +practically Warrington's mistress before she married your splendid +brother. She was seen frequently to enter his apartments at night, and +the writer can furnish abundant proof that she was seen to leave his +apartments one morning. This is not penned with malice. It is simply +that the writer knows and admires you and can not stand passively by +and see you humiliated by the attentions of a man who is unworthy to +lace your shoes. As for your sister-in-law, I have no desire to +meddle. Confront both her and Warrington, if the truth of the above +statement is doubted by you. + +Upon these last words depended Patty's attitude. It must be true. +Whoever had written this abominable letter could write plain English, +despite the disguised hand. Patty recognized that it was disguised. +The capitals differed, so did the tails of the y's and f's; the +backhand slant was not always slanting, but frequently leaned toward +the opposite angle. She had but to confront them! It seemed simple; +but to bring herself to act upon it! She reviewed all the meetings +between Kate and Warrington. Never had her eyes discerned evidence of +anything other than frank good fellowship. She searched painfully; +there was not a single glance, a single smile upon which she could +build a guilty alliance. And yet this writer affirmed ... Oh, it was +monstrous! Those rumors she had heard months ago! The telephone call +from McQuade! Ah, that telephone call! Had Kate been guilty would she +have confided to her, Patty? She seemed to be pulled, now forward, now +backward. McQuade knew something, the wretch! but what? This letter +had never been written by him. A man would have used a pronoun, third +person, masculine; he would have shown some venom back of the +duplicity that affirmed an interest in her welfare. + +The tears dried quickly; the heat of her renewed rage burned them up. +She set about to do something she had not thought of doing +before--investigating. She held the note-paper to the sun. The +water-mark of a fashionable paper manufacturer was easily observable. +Men did not write on that brand. So much gained. Then she recalled a +French play in which a perfume had convicted a person of theft. She +held the envelope to her nose; nothing, not even tobacco. She tried +the letter itself. Ah, here was something tangible: heliotrope, vague, +but perceptible. Who among her friends used heliotrope on her +kerchief? She could not remember; in fact, any or all of them might +have worn it, so far as she could recall. She would go over her +invitations and visitors' cards; she would play detective; she would +ferret out as a spy who took this amiable interest in her future. This +determination brightened her considerably. And woe to the meddler if +Patty found her! If it was a baseless lie (and she hoped against hope +in her loyal little heart!) she would make a pariah of the writer of +this particular anonymous letter. True or not, what was it to her? +What right had she to interfere? She was cowardly; of that Patty was +certain. True friends are the last in the world to inflict sorrow upon +us. Kith and kin may stab us, but never the loyal friend. Now that she +thought it all over, she was glad that she had repeatedly fought the +impulse to lay the matter before her sister. She would trace this +letter home first; she would find out upon what authority it was +written; there would be time enough after that to confront Kate, or +Warrington, or John. Ah, if she had stepped forward in the dark, to +wreck her brother's life needlessly. ... Heliotrope! She would never +forget that particular odor, never. She had a good idea of justice, +and she recognized the fact that any act on her part, against either +Kate or Warrington, before she found the writer of the letter, would +be rank injustice. Persons can not defend themselves against anonymous +letters; they can only ignore them. + +She touched her horse again. She was now in feverish haste to get +home. She took the turn of the road which presently brought her in the +vicinity of the shops. It was practically in ruins. The courtyard +walls were all down, the building itself was totally empty of ore or +machinery. Bennington had disposed of these to Pennsylvanian concerns. +Patty rode up in time to see half a dozen urchins throwing stones at +the few window-panes that were still unbroken. She dispersed them +angrily, and they gathered at the side of the road, open-mouthed and +wide-eyed at the picture of this avenging angel. + +"How dare you throw stones at those windows? How dare you?" she cried +passionately. + +After a while one of the lads found his voice. + +"Why, nobody's in it. The man what owns it tored the insides outen it. +'Tain't no harm what we're doin'. Hey, fellers?" + +"Naw. The cops don't say nothin'. An' my old man used to work there." + +She saw that they were no more than ordinary boys to whom the panes of +glass in a deserted building were legitimate prey. + +"So your father was one of the strikers?" said Patty, her lips +thinning. "Why did he strike?" + +"I don't know; 'cause the others struck, I guess. They was an English +lobster workin' without bein' in my old man's union. Mebbe that was +it. Anyhow, we don't care; the old man's got another job." + +With this the boys climbed the fence and moved across the field, +mutely rebellious, like puppies baffled in their pursuit of a cat. + +Patty's eyes, moist and shining of a sudden, roved over the grim +ruins. Sparrows were chattering on the window ledges and swallows were +diving into the black mouths of the towering chimneys. The memory of +her father swelled her heart near to bursting. She could see his +iron-grey head bending over the desk; she could hear his rough but +kindly voice. Why, whenever he entered the house his splendid physical +energy seemed to radiate health and cheerfulness, infecting all those +about him. She could see the men, too, moving in the glow of ruddy +light; she could see again the brilliant sparks flying from under the +thundering trip-hammers, the cyclopean eyes that glared up at heaven +at night, the great rumbling drays, the freight moving to and from the +spur. Now there was no sound; nothing but silence, with the suggestion +of a tomb. + +The end of the strike had been a nine days' wonder, for it proved that +there had actually been no strike at all, since the owner had simply +closed down the shops, torn down a few walls, sold the machinery and +ore, and canceled all his business obligations. No sensation, however +vital, lasts very long these days; and after these nine days it turned +its attention to other things, this mutable public. Employers, +however, and union leaders, all over the continent, went about their +affairs thoughtfully. If one man could do this unheard-of thing, so +might others, now that an example had been set before them. The +dispersed men harbored no ill feeling toward Morrissy; he, as they +supposed, had acted in good faith for the welfare of the union. But +for the man who had had the courage to make good his threats, for him +they had nothing but bitterness and hate. + +Patty would always remember that final night of the strike when John +had come in early in the morning, his clothes torn, his hands bloody, +his hair matted to his forehead, and hatless. He had been last to +leave the shops, and he had, unarmed, run the gantlet of the maddened +strikers who had been held at bay for six long hours. Only his great +strength and physical endurance had pulled him out of the arms of +violent death. There had been no shot fired from the shops. The +strikers saw the utter futility of forcing armed men, so they had hung +about with gibe and ribald jeer, waiting for some one careless enough +to pass them alone. This Bennington did. His men had forgotten him. +Bennington's injuries had been rather trivial; it had been his +personal appearance that had terrified the women. He had fallen asleep +half an hour after reaching home, and he had slept till nine that +evening. Upon awakening he had begun at once to plan a trip to Europe, +to wander from capital to capital for a year or so. No one had +interrupted him; not even the mother, grown old in the past month, had +demurred at his plans. He would have none near him but Kate, and she +had hovered about him, ministering to his wants as a mother over a +sick child. ... Kate! It all came back with a rush. Kate! Oh, what was +she, Patty, to believe? That night she had loved Kate almost to +idolatry. She shuddered, turned away from the ruins, and set off at a +gallop till she came upon brick pavement. She rarely trotted upon +pavement, but this morning she had no thought for the horse; she +burned to be at work. She trotted rapidly into town, across the +principal thoroughfares, this way being the short cut. By this time +men were on the way to work. Many of them turned their heads to stare +at her. There was only one woman in town who sat a horse like this +one, and it could be no less a person than Patty Bennington. All the +men recognized her instantly. She had their good wishes, for all that +her brother had taken away the bread and butter of some of them. Many +touched their hats from mere force of habit. + +There was one man, however, who glared evilly at her from the curb. +She recognized him in spite of his discolored face, the result of a +long, uninterrupted debauch. It was Bolles. As he caught her eye he +smiled evilly and leered at her. + +"Wait, my beauty; wait. I'll kill that brother of yours one of these +fine days, damn him!" Bolles gave one more look at the swiftly-moving +figure on the horse, and shuffled away toward McQuade's office, to +await the arrival of that gentleman. Bolles needed money, and he knew +where to get it. + +As she reached the foot of Williams Street Patty glanced up the hill. +A horseman had just entered Warrington's. She recognized both man and +horse. It was Warrington. She knew at once that he had ridden out her +favorite route, perhaps in the hope of seeing her. Her heart tightened +strangely as she walked her horse up the hill, and she would have +passed home but for the intelligence of her animal, which turned in +toward the house quite naturally. Her mother was on the side veranda. + +"Patty, you have worried us all. The stableman, when he found your +horse gone, came in with the cry of thieves. I was frightened, too, +till I went to your room and found you gone. You mustn't go without +notifying the stableman or the groom." + +"It was an impulse of the moment, mother. I couldn't sleep, and I saw +no need of waking up the boys in the stables." + +Patty ran up stairs for a bath and a change of clothes for breakfast. +She ate little, however; the ride had not put the usual edge on her +appetite. + +"Mr. Warrington made a fine speech last night," said the mother, +handing the morning paper to Patty. + +Patty accepted it mechanically. She had determined not to read the +paper. But she knew now, if she unfolded it, she would turn +immediately to the local pages and search for Warrington's speech. She +read it, and she hated herself for admiring it. The self-lie was not +among Patty's failings. There was no denying that Warrington's speech +was a good oratorical effort; every line of it rang sound and true; +but that might be a trick of the trade. He could make thieves and +villains on the stage speak glibly and plausibly; certainly he could +do as much for himself. One thing she could not deny him, and that was +frankness. He had confessed to her last summer that he was not, or had +not been, a good man in the strict sense of the word. She laid down +the paper and finished her coffee. She was glad that she did not have +to face Kate at each meal. She felt that she couldn't have trusted +herself; there were times when she spoke the first thought, and always +regretted it. Poor John, poor John! + +From the table she went directly to the Indian basket that held all +the cards and invitations. The mother, concerned with her household +duties, left her to herself. Patty would have found some difficulty at +that moment in answering any curious questions. One by one she drew +out the envelopes and cards. There was a permanent scent of sweet +grass. She discovered nothing; she realized that her discovering +anything depended solely upon hazard. Excitement ebbed, leaving +nothing but hopelessness. She threw the cards and invitations into the +basket. She might have known that visiting-cards and printed +invitations are generally odorless. She sought the garden. The Angora +was prowling around, watching the bees and butterflies hovering over +wind-fallen fruit. Patty called to her, but the cat ignored the call. +From the garden Patty went to the stables, from the stables she +returned to the house. She was at peace nowhere. Later her mother +found her dreaming in the window-seat. + +"Patty, Mrs. Haldene left her shopping-bag here yesterday afternoon. I +had forgotten it. Would you mind taking it over to her, or shall I +have the maid do it?" + +"I have nothing to do, mother. I can take it over just as well as +not," said Patty listlessly. + +She slipped her arm through the handles of the bag and proceeded into +the hall for a hat. As she lifted the hat to her head the bag slipped +along her arm close to her nose. Instantly her figure became tense and +rigid, her face grim and colorless. + +Heliotrope! + + + + +Chapter XVIII + + +There could be no doubt at all. The perfume on the letter and that on +the shopping-bag were identical. Indeed, she would take the bag over +to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene; she would be very glad to do her that +trifling service. Oh! Patty's rage choked her. During the past three +weeks Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene had called at least a dozen times, +doubtless to observe the effect of her interest in Patty's welfare. +She might have known! Well, this very morning she would ascertain from +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips where she had secured her information. +She would do more than that; she would make her prove every word of +it. + +So Patty marched toward the Haldene place, marched, because that verb +suggests something warlike, something belligerent. And there was war +a-plenty in Patty's heart. Each step she took sang out a sharp +"Meddler-gossip! meddler-gossip!" A delivery horse went past, drumming +an irritating "Busybody! busybody! busybody!" What had she or hers +ever done to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene that she should stoop to so base a +means of attack? An anonymous letter! War raged in Patty's heart; but +there was something warmer and clearer coursing through her +veins--hope! + +She went on. Not a particle of her courage deserted her as she mounted +the steps and pushed the bell. When Patty was genuinely roused in +anger she was afraid of little or nothing, animate or inanimate. A +maid answered the bell. As she recognized the caller she swung back +the door and nodded. + +"Is Mrs. Haldene at home?" Patty inquired. + +"Yes, Miss Patty." + +The maid led Patty into the library, where Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +busily engaged in making up an invitation list. + +"Why, Patty, I am glad to see you," she cried, dropping her pen and +rising. But her curiosity rose at the same time. Patty here? + +"You left your shopping-bag when you called yesterday," said Patty, +ominously calm. "I have brought it to you." + +"It was very careless of me to forget it." + +"Yes, it was," Patty assented, her heart beginning to throb violently. + +"Thank you. And I have been looking for it high and low." + +Patty passed the bag to her enemy. How to begin, how to begin! + +"Mrs. Haldene!" Patty's voice was high-pitched and quavering. + +"Why, Patty!" + +"Why did you write this base letter to me!"--exhibiting the letter +resolutely. "Do not deny that you wrote it. It smells of +heliotrope--your favorite perfume." + +"Patty Bennington, are you mad?" cried Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. "What +letter? What do you mean?" She knew very well, but she had not +practised the control of her nerves all these years for nothing. "A +letter? I demand to see it." + +But Patty reconsidered and withdrew her hand, concluding that Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene could destroy the letter as easily as she had written +it; more easily, had Patty but known it. + +"I prefer to read it to you." And Patty read, her tones sharp and +penetrating, finely tempered by anger. + +"I write such a thing as that? You accuse me of writing an anonymous +letter of that caliber? You are mad, distinctly mad, and if I did what +was right I should ask you to leave this house instantly." Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene rose to her full height, after the manner of +indignant persons on the stage. + +Patty was not overcome in the least. An idea, bold, unconventional, +and not over-scrupulous, shot into her head. With her eyes holding +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's, she stepped toward the desk; then, in a +flash, she seized one of the sheets of note-paper that lay scattered +about. Mrs. Franklyn Haldene made a desperate effort to intercept +Patty; but Patty was young, slender and agile. She ran quickly to the +nearest window and compared the written sheet with the blank. The +paper and grain were the same, only one showed that the top had been +cut off. There was no shadow of doubt. + +"You are a horrible woman," said Patty. + +"Leave this house instantly!" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was now +thoroughly alarmed. + +"Not till you have proved the truth of this letter," Patty declared. + +"I refuse to submit to such gross insults in my own house!" Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene's voice rose a key. She swept majestically toward the +door. + +Patty stepped bravely in front of her. + +"Have you no breeding?" the storm in Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's voice +gathering. + +"Who told you that my brother's wife was formerly--" + +"Stand aside!" + +"I shall not leave this house or your presence till you have +answered," replied the little paladin. "You wrote this letter to me, +trusting it would make me miserable. It has. But I have not done what +you expected,--shown it. Who told you this base lie?" + +"I refuse to answer your impudent questions. Will you stand aside?" + +"There is a way to force you. I will know, Mrs. Haldene, I will know. +If you refuse, I shall turn these two sheets over to my brother's +lawyers." + +"A lawyer?" with an hysterical laugh. "You would scarcely take a thing +like that to a lawyer, of all persons." + +"I declare to you that that is exactly what I shall do. You wrote this +letter; I can prove that you wrote it. Afraid of publicity? You do not +know me. What I demand to know is, who gave you this information? That +I will know." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw that Patty would do what she promised; so +she took her stand boldly. + +"Well, then, since you will have it. Yes, I wrote that letter, for I +could no longer stand the humiliation of meeting your sister-in-law in +decent houses, and that double hypocrite who pretends to be your +brother's friend and your admirer. Proof? I was at my hair-dresser's +one morning, when a woman who is an intimate of McQuade, the +politician, came in. She dropped a letter. McQuade had written it. It +told definitely the information you have in your hand." + +"You have that letter?" Patty was conscious of a strange numbness +stealing over her. + +"No, I haven't. I read it, and sent it to its owner. I consider myself +very fortunate. I always had my suspicions, and it was a relief to +find that they were not without foundation. You will now relieve me of +your unwelcome presence in this house." This time Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +leveled her arm toward the door; the right was with her. + +"In a moment," said a third voice, masculine. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's arm dropped. Patty turned with a low cry. She +had forgotten that there might be some one else in the house. + +Haldene entered through the door to the dining-room. His face was +hard and his eyes cold. + +"I must ask your pardon, both of you, but I could not help overhearing +your voices. They ran somewhat high." He bowed to Patty deferentially; +he merely glanced at his wife. + +"Franklyn!" This phase of the situation was altogether too unexpected +and embarrassing for Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to accept it readily. + +"I have heard words about an anonymous letter; I have heard +names,--McQuade, your brother, his wife, Warrington, and my wife. I +should like to know--" + +"Franklyn!" his wife appealed. To be humiliated before this impudent +chit of a girl! + +"Patience, my dear." Haldene held up his hand. "Well, Patty?" + +"Mrs. Haldene has taken the trouble to meddle with my affairs by +writing me an anonymous letter concerning the conduct of my brother's +wife and his friend. I have traced the letter to Mrs. Haldene, and she +has confessed that she wrote it, also stating her reasons and the +source of her information." Patty spoke bravely, for she hadn't the +least idea whose side Mr. Haldene would take. She was not aware that, +for all his idle habits and failings, he had that quality of justice +which, upon occasions, makes a terrible judge of a just man. + +"Will you let me see that letter?" he asked. + +Patty gave it to him without conditions. He read it slowly, but +neither woman could discover the slightest emotion on the man's face. +He studied it carefully. He even compared the false hand with the +true. Then he addressed his wife. + +"Did you write this?" + +"Yes, I did. And if you have been listening, as you had the courage to +say you had, you already know my reasons for writing it." Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was recovering. + +"You must apologize," he said. + +"Apologize? I think not. On my part there is nothing more to be said." + +"I see that I shall have to apologize for you. Patty, I am very sorry +that this has happened, and I can promise you that it shall end here. +Will you accept my apology?" + +After some hesitance, Patty nodded. She could not very well refuse. +She had always liked Mr. Haldene. As hitherto remarked, Patty's was an +impulsive heart. Suddenly she stretched out her hands toward the wife. + +"What have I or mine ever done to you that you should seek to injure +us so cruelly? Have we wronged you in thought or deed? What is it that +has made you my enemy?" + +"I am not your enemy, Patty," said the elder woman, melting ever so +slightly. "I have told you that I did not wish to see your life made +wretched by marrying a man of Warrington's loose habits, and that I +could not tolerate the woman who is your brother's wife." + +Patty held out her hand for the letter. She had no desire to remain +any longer. She wanted nothing but the privilege of being alone, that +she might weep the bitter, galling tears that were brimming her eyes.... +She had no recollection of gaining the street. It was true, it was +true! She did not even remember how she reached her room; but as her +blurred eyes saw the bed, she fell upon it in a stupor that for a long +while did not give any outlet to her tears. + +In the meantime Haldene faced his wife. + +"I am going down town presently," he said. "I shall send you up by +messenger several cabin-plans." + +"Cabin-plans?" amazed at this odd turn in affairs. + +"Yes. You will spend the winter either in Egypt or Italy, as it +pleases you." + +"Europe? But my social obligations demand my presence here!" she +expostulated. + +"You will cancel them. You will go to Europe. Anonymous letters!" He +struck the desk violently. It was the first touch of this kind he had +ever exhibited in her presence, and it terrified her. "When I married +you, people said I married your money. As God is above us, I loved +you. Yes, I loved you. But how long was it permitted that this love +should live? Six slender months! You, you of all women, you write +anonymous letters?" He laughed, but it was laughter that had nothing +human in it. "Madam, when I die my deposit box at the bank will be +turned over to you. In it you will find six anonymous letters. They +have lain there sixteen years. I took the advice of one and followed +you. So I let them believe that I had married you for your money. I +meant to have my revenge after I was dead. Madam, you will go to +Europe. I shall not be home to lunch, but you may expect me at dinner. +I am curious to learn whether it will be in Egypt and the Holy Land, +or Italy, the land of the fig-tree and the vine. Good morning." + +When he was gone, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene realized, for the first time +in sixteen years, that she had married a man. Suddenly her knees gave +from under her, and she sank into her chair, staring at the floor with +unseeing eyes. For sixteen years! + + +That afternoon Warrington had a visit. His visitors were Jordan, the +reporter, and Osborne. They appeared to be in high spirits. + +"We've got him, Dick!" exclaimed Jordan, swinging his hat. + +"Got whom?" + +"Morrissy--Morrissy and McQuade," said Osborne, in his +whisky-roughened voice. "We've got 'em all right, Dick. Look at this," +tossing a wrinkled sheet of carbon-paper on Warrington's desk. + +Warrington spread it out. It took him but a minute to find out the +richness of his possession. + +"Where did you come across this?" he asked eagerly. + +"My niece found it in her waste-basket. I've sent her into the country +to visit relatives," said Osborne. "But if you use it, Dick, you'll +have to find the girl another job in some other town." + +"You leave that to me. This is worth a thousand to me and a thousand +more to John Bennington. Now, both of you go down to any restaurant in +town and order what you like, and as long as you like, and you have +them call me up if there's any question." + +The reporter and the semi-outcast smiled at each other. They saw their +appetites appeased to satiety. + +"Does a bottle go with the order, Dick?" asked Jordan. + +"Half a dozen!" laughed Warrington. + +"I've put you in the City Hall, Dick," said Osborne. "And don't forget +me when you're there." + +"Will there be a story for me?" Jordan asked. + +"You'll have a page, Ben." + +"That's enough. Well, come on, Bill; we'll show the new mayor that we +can order like gentlemen." + +"I remember--" But Osborne never completed his reminiscence. Jordan +was already propelling him toward the door. + +Once the door had closed upon them, Warrington capered around the room +like a school-boy. The publication of this confederacy between +Morrissy and McQuade would swing the doubting element over to his side +and split the ranks of the labor party. + +Patty, Patty Bennington! He must see her. It was impossible to wait +another day. When was it he had seen her last? Patty, dark-eyed, +elfish, winsome, merry! Oh, yes, he must see her at once, this very +afternoon. He could no longer repress the tide of his love, which +surged at the flood-gates of his heart with mighty pressure. Patty! +Patty! + +"Patty is not feeling well," said Mrs. Bennington, as she welcomed +Warrington at the door, an hour later. "I will call her. I am sure she +will be glad to see you." + +Warrington went into the music-room, placed his hat on the piano, and +idled about impatiently. That morning he had not possessed the +courage; now he was willing to face lions and tigers, anything rather +than permit another day to pass without telling Patty that he loved +her. When she finally appeared she was pale, her eyes were red, but +her head was erect and her lips firm. + +"Patty, are you ill?" hastening toward her. + +"I have a very bad headache," coldly. "You wished to see me?" + +Where were all the tender words he had planned to speak? Patty had +been weeping! + +"You have been crying. What has happened?" anxiously. + +"It can not interest you," wearily. Men! She would have a horror of +them for the rest of her days. + +"Not interest me? Don't you know, haven't you seen by this time, that +you interest me more than any other living being or any angel in +Heaven?" + +Patty caught at the portiere to steady herself. She had not expected +declarations of this kind. + +"Don't you know," he hurried on, his voice gaining in passion and +tenderness, "don't you know that a pain to you means triple pain to +me? Don't you know that I love you? Patty, what is the trouble? You +are not a woman to weep over headaches." + +"Do you wish to know, then?" bitterly. She hated him! How could he +stand there telling her that he loved her? "Read this," presenting the +letter. "I despise you!" + +"Despise me? What in God's name is the matter?" + +"Read, read!" vehemently. + +Once the letter was in his hand, her arms dropped to her sides, tense. +It was best so, to have it over with at once. To crush the thought of +him out of her heart for ever, such a remedy was necessary. She +watched him. His hand fell slowly. It would have been difficult to say +which of the two was the whiter. + +"You speak of love to me?" + +He stood there, stunned. His silence spoke eloquently to her. He was +guilty. She leaped to this conclusion at once, not realizing that no +man can immediately defend himself when accused so abruptly. + +"You speak of love!" Her wrath seemed to scorch her lips. "My poor +brother!" + +Warrington straightened. "Do you believe this?" He threw the letter +aside, as if the touch contaminated him, caring not where it fell. + +"Is it true?" + +"An anonymous letter?" he replied, contemptuously. + +"I know who wrote it." + +"You know who wrote it? Who?" There was terrible anger in his voice +now. + +"I decline to answer." + +"So you give me not even the benefit of a doubt! You believe it!" + +Patty was less observant than usual. "Will you please go now? I do not +think there is anything more to be said." + +"No. I will go." He spoke quietly, but like a man who has received his +death-stroke. "One question more. Did McQuade write that letter?" + +"No." + +He picked up his hat. "So much for my dreams! Deny it? Deny calumny of +the anonymous order? No! Defend myself against such a lie? No!" + +He walked from the room, his head erect. He did not turn to look at +her again. The hall door closed. He was gone. + + + + +Chapter XIX + + +Tragedy was abroad that day, crossing and recrossing Williams Street. +Tragedy has the same prerogative as love and death--the right to enter +the palace or the hovel, into the heart of youth or age. It was not a +killing to-day, only a breaking of hearts, that is to say, the first +step. Tragedy never starts out on her rounds roughly; she seeks her +cause first; she seeks her anonymous letter, her idle hands, her lying +tongue; then she is ready. Tragedy does nothing hastily; she graduates +her victim. + +Warrington stumbled rather than walked home. When he reached the +opposite curb he slipped and fell, bruising his hands. ... Deny it? +Deny it when convicted without trial? There are never any proofs to +refute a letter written by an unknown enemy. There is never any guard +against the stab in the back. ... He and Kate! It was monstrous. And +John? Did John know? Did John see that letter? No, Patty surely had +not shown it to John. He knew John (or he believed he did); not all +the proofs or explanations Heaven or earth could give would convince +John, if that letter fell into his hands. ... And he was to speak at a +mass meeting that night! God! He stumbled up the steps to the door. He +was like a drunken man. ... Patty believed it; Patty, just and +merciful, believed it. If she believed, what would John, the jealous +husband, believe? There were so many trifling things that now in +John's eyes would assume immense proportions. ... In less than half an +hour the world had stopped, turned about, and gone another way. He +opened the door. As he did so a woman rushed into the hall. + +"Richard, Richard, I thought you would never come!" + +"You, and in this house alone?" His shoulders drooped. + +Mrs. Jack did not observe how white he was, how dull his eye, how +abject his whole attitude. She caught him by the sleeve and dragged +him into the living-room. + +"Richard, I am dying!" she cried. She loosened the collaret at her +throat. "What shall I do, what shall I do?" + +He realized then that he was not alone in misery. + +"What is it, girl?" stirring himself. + +"Listen, Dick!" She dropped into the old name unconsciously. She had +but one clear thought; this man could save her. "Some time ago--the +night you and John went down town together--I received a telephone +call from that vile wretch, McQuade." + +"McQuade?" Warrington's interest was thoroughly aroused by that name; +nothing else could have aroused it. + +"He said that if I did not persuade you to withdraw your name before +the convention met he would not oppose the publication of a certain +story concerning my past and yours. Horrible! What could I do? I +remained silent; it was Patty's advice. We were afraid that John would +kill McQuade if we told him." She let go of his arm and paced the +room, beating her hands together. "Think of the terror I have lived in +all these weeks! Half dead every evening when John came home; not +daring to read the papers; afraid of calling on my few friends! I have +never, in all my life, done an evil action, either in thought or deed. +What terrible gift is this that God gives to some people to make truth +half a truth and half a truth a lie? Read this!" + +It was a half-sheet of ordinary office paper, written on a typewriter. +Its purport was similar to the one he had read but a few minutes +since. Only it was bolder; there were no protestations about anybody's +welfare. It was addressed to John Bennington. + +"Great God! another anonymous letter! Do you know who sent this?" + +"I can think of no one but McQuade; no one!" frantically. "Save me, +Richard! I love him better than God, and this is my punishment. If +John sees this, I shall die; if he doesn't kill me I shall kill +myself! I opened it by mistake. I am so miserable. What has happened? +What have I done that this curse should fall on me? When I came to +this city I expected to find rest in the house of the man I loved. ... +Patty does not come over. ... What have I not suffered in silence and +with smiles? I have seen them whispering; I have seen covert smiles, +and nods, and shrugs. I knew. I was an actress. It seems that nothing +too bad or vile can be thought of her who honestly throws her soul +into the greatest gift given to woman. An actress! They speak of her +in the same tone they would use regarding a creature of the streets. +Well, because I loved my husband I have said nothing; I have let the +poison eat into my heart in silence. But this goes too far. I shall go +mad if this thing can not be settled here and now. It is both my love +and my honor. And you must do it, Richard; you must do it." + +"You say McQuade called you up by telephone?" + +"Yes." + +He struck his forehead. The carbon sheet! He ran to his desk, pulled +out all the drawers, tumbling the papers about till he found what he +sought. From the letter to the faint imprint on the carbon sheet and +back to the letter his eyes moved, searching, scrutinizing. + +"Look!" with a cry of triumph. + +"What is it?" + +"Do you see that mutilated letter T?" He indicated with his finger on +the dim carbon sheet. + +"Yes, yes!" + +"Compare it with the letter T in this note." + +She did so, her hands shaking pitifully. "I can't see, Richard." + +"That carbon sheet came from McQuade's office; so did that letter to +John. And now, by the Lord! now to pull out Mr. McQuade's fangs, and +slowly, too." He pocketed the two sheets. "Come!" His hat was still on +his head. + +"Where, Richard?" + +"To John." + +"No, no! John?" + +"To him. We can not settle this matter underground. We must fight in +the open, in the light. John must know. You must be brave, girl. This +is no time for timidity and tears. You know and I know that right and +truth are on our side. We'll risk it in a single throw." Upon +determining to act thus, he was acting as only a man acts who has a +wide and definite knowledge of men and affairs. "Come; the sooner it +is over the better. John may flare up a little, but he is a just man. +Let us go to John." + +She put forth many arguments, but to each he shook his head. The +thought of losing a particle of John's love terrified her, who was +ordinarily a courageous woman. + +"We are losing time," said Warrington. "When John reads these two +documents he will understand. He knows McQuade is base enough to seek +revenge this way. He will recognize it for its worth. But if John +finds out that we have left him out of our confidence, he will have +some good reason to doubt. Come." + +So she followed him, her heart like lead, no thought coherent, her +will without energy. This was to be the end of all her dreams. They +crossed the street without speaking. He helped her down this curb and +up that. All this excitement lessened his own pain temporarily. But +who had written to Patty, if not McQuade? He could block any future +move of McQuade's but this other anonymous writer, whom Patty declared +she knew? He went on doggedly. One battle at a time. Together they +entered the house, together they passed from room to room in search of +John. They came upon him reading in the library. He rose to greet +them. There was no beating about the bush for Warrington. He went +straight into the heart of things. + +"John, read this." + +John glanced at the sheet, and his face darkened. The look he shot his +wife was indescribable. She watched him, twisting and knotting and +untwisting her gloves. + +"When did this thing come?" asked John, a slight tremor in his tone. + +"This morning," Mrs. Jack answered, her voice choking. + +"Why did you not bring it to me?" he asked. "Why did you take it to +Dick? You and he should not come to me; on the contrary, you and I +should have gone to him. But never mind now. I have carried in my +pocket a letter similar to this for several weeks," simply. + +"Catch her, John!" cried Warrington. + +"No, no! I am not fainting. I am just dizzy." + +The poor woman groped her way to the lounge and lay down. Her +shoulders were shaking with noiseless sobs. + +John crossed the room and put his hand on her head. The touch was +tender. + +"Well, Dick?" + +"It is easy to distort truth into a lie, John." + +"But it is very hard to reverse the order again." + +"Do you believe the lie?" Warrington looked his friend squarely in the +eyes. + +A minute passed. The ticking of the clock was audible. + +"Believe it? I have had to struggle, I have had to fight hard and all +alone. I do not say that I don't believe it. I say that I WILL not!" + +A truly noble soul always overawes us. This generosity struck +Warrington dumb. But the woman found life in the words. She flung +herself before her husband and clasped his knees with a nervous +strength that provoked a sharp cry from his lips. + +"John, John!" + +He stooped and unwound her arms, gently drawing her up, up, till her +head lay against his shoulder. Then she became a dead weight. She had +fainted. He lifted her up in his strong arms and started for the +stairs. + +"Were she guilty of all the crimes chronicled in hell, I still should +love her. But between you and me, Dick, things must be explained." + +"I shall wait for you, John." + +John was not gone long. When he returned he found Warrington by the +bow-window that looked out upon the lawn. + +"Now, Dick, the truth, and nothing but the truth. Don't be afraid of +me; I am master of myself." + +"I'm not afraid of you. There is half a truth in that letter," began +Warrington, facing about. "Your wife did stay a night in my +apartments." + +John made no sign. + +"It was the first week of a new play. I had to be at the theater every +night. There were many changes being made. Near midnight we started +out for a bite to eat. She had been suffering with attacks of +neuralgia of the heart. As we entered the carriage, one of these +attacks came on. We drove to her apartments. We could not get in. Her +maid was out, the janitor could not be found, and unfortunately she +had left her keys at the theater. In a moment like that I accepted the +first thing that came into my head: my own apartments. She was not +there a quarter of an hour before a trained nurse and her own +physician were at her side. I slept in a chair. At six the following +morning she left for her own apartments. And that, John, is the truth, +God's truth. I see now that I should have taken her to a hotel. You +know that there was a time when I was somewhat dissipated. It was easy +to take that incident and enlarge upon it. Now, let me tell you where +this base slander originated. Compare the letter you have with the one +I gave you." + +John complied. He nodded. These two letters had come from the same +typewriter. + +"Next?" + +"Here is another document." It was the carbon sheet. + +John spread the sheet against the window-pane. The light behind +brought out the letters distinctly. He scarcely reached the final line +when he spun round, his face mobile with eagerness. + +"Where did this come from?" + +"Indirectly, out of McQuade's waste-basket." + +"Morrissy and McQuade; both of them! Oh, you have done me a service, +Dick." + +"But it can not be used, John. That and the letters were written on +McQuade's typewriter. So much for my political dreams! With that +carbon sheet I could pile up a big majority; without it I shall be +defeated. But don't let that bother you." + +"McQuade!" John slowly extended his arms and closed his fingers so +tightly that his whole body trembled. An arm inside those fingers +would have snapped like a pipe-stem. "McQuade! Damn him!" + +"Take care!" warned the other. "Don't injure those letters. When my +name was suggested by Senator Henderson as a possible candidate, +McQuade at once set about to see how he could injure my chances. He +was afraid of me. An honest man, young, new in politics, and therefore +unattached, was a menace to the success of his party, that is to say, +his hold on the city government. Among his henchmen was a man named +Bolles." + +"Ah!" grimly. + +"He sent this man to New York to look up my past. In order to earn his +money he brought back this lie, which is half a truth. Whether McQuade +believes it or not is of no matter; it serves his purpose. Now, John!" + +John made no reply. With his hands (one still clutching the letters) +behind his back he walked the length of the room and returned. + +"Will you take my word, which you have always found loyal, or the word +of a man who has written himself down as a rascal, a briber, and a +blackleg?" + +John put out his empty hand and laid it on Warrington's shoulder. + +"You're a good man, Dick. Dissipation is sometimes a crucible that +separates the gold from the baser metals. It has done that to you. You +are a good man, an honorable man. In coming to me like this you have +shown yourself to be courageous as well. There was a moment when the +sight of you filled my heart with murder. It was the night after I +received that letter. I've been watching you, watching, watching. +Well, I would stake my chance of eternity on your honesty. I take your +word; I should have taken it, had you nothing to prove your case. That +night I ran into Bolles. ... Well, he uttered a vile insult, and I all +but throttled him. Here's my hand, Dick." + +The hand-grip that followed drew a gasp from Warrington. + +"Not every man would be so good about it, John. What shall we do about +McQuade?" + +"I was about to say that I shall see McQuade within an hour," in a +tone that did not promise well for McQuade. + +"Wait a day or two, John. If you meet him now, I believe you will do +him bodily harm, and he has caused enough trouble, God knows." + +"But not to meet him! Not to cram this paper down his vile throat! I +had not considered that sacrifice. And I can not touch him by law, +either." + +"But you can silence him effectually. This business will end right +here." + +"You are right," said John with reluctance. "If I met him in this +rage. I should probably kill him." + +"Let us go and pay him a visit together, John," Warrington suggested. +"I can manage to keep in between you." + +"That's better. We'll go together." And John went for his hat. Then he +ran up stairs quickly. There was a loving heart up there that ached, +and he alone could soothe it. + +And then the two men left the house. As they strode down the street, +side by side, step by step, their thoughts were as separate as the two +poles. To the one his wife was still his wife, in all the word +implied; to the other there was only a long stretch of years that he +must pass through alone, alone,--not even the man at his side would +ever be quite the same to him, nor his wife. There was a shadow; it +would always walk between them. + +"Remember, Dick, Patty must never know anything of this. Nothing must +come between her and my wife." + +"I shall say nothing to any one, John." Who had written to Patty? + +It took them a quarter of an hour to reach McQuade's office. +Unfortunately for that gentleman, he was still in his office and +alone. The new typewriter and the two clerks had gone. He was still +wondering why Osborne's niece had resigned so unexpectedly. Probably +she was going to get married. They always did when they had saved a +penny or two. He laughed. He had been careless now and then, but +whatever she might have picked up in the way of business or political +secrets could not profit her. Boss McQuade felt secure. Warrington was +as good as beaten. He had had his long-delayed revenge on the man who +had turned him out of doors. + +It was dark outside by this time, and he turned on the drop-light over +his desk. He heard the door open and shut, but this was not unusual; +so he went on with his writing. + +"Well, what's wanted?" he called, folding his letter, but not yet +turning his head. + +As no one answered, he sent his chair around with a push of his foot. +He saw two men, but he did not recognize them at once. By and by his +eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Instantly he was on his feet, +pressing the button connecting the wall-lights. There was no possible +exit save by that door, and these two men stood between. To do McQuade +justice, he was not a physical coward. His huge bulk and hardened +muscles gave him a ready courage. He forced a smile to his lips. After +all, he had expected one or the other of them sooner or later. + +"Well, gentlemen, I am highly honored. What can I do for you?" There +was a pretense of amiability. + +"For the present," said Warrington, "you may sit down. We propose to +do so." He drew out a chair from under the office table and placed it +close to the door. "You sit there, John." For himself, he sat on the +corner of the table. + +McQuade did not hesitate, but reseated himself. His thoughts were not +particularly lucid, however. + +"McQuade, you're as fine a blackleg as ever graced a prison," said +Warrington. + +"I'll have to take your word for it," was the reply. "But how is it +that I see you and Mr. Bennington together?" evilly. + +"We'll come to that presently. I had always given you credit for being +as astute as you were underhanded and treacherous." + +"Thanks." McQuade took a cigar from his pocket and fumbled around in +his vest for a match. + +"But," Warrington added, "I am pained to reverse my opinion. You are a +fool as well as a blackleg." + +"How do you make that out?" coolly. + +"Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?" + +"Bolles? Ah, I begin to see. What do you want of him?" + +"We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion," dryly. + +Bolles? McQuade smiled. He was only too glad to accommodate them. If +they wanted Bolles they should have him. Bolles would cut them in two. +He reached for the telephone and began to call up the familiar haunts +of his henchman. He located him at length in Martin's saloon. There +was evidently some reluctance on the part of Bolles. + +"Bolles, if you are not at my office inside of ten minutes, I'll break +you, and you know what I mean." McQuade hung up the receiver. "He'll +be right over. Now, what's all this mystery about?" + +"It regards some literary compositions of yours to which I have taken +exception." + +"Compositions?" + +"Yes. Two anonymous letters. But before we discuss them we'll wait for +our friend Bolles." + +McQuade signified that this was agreeable to him. All the same, he +glanced uneasily at the man near the door. Bennington had not made the +slightest sound after taking his chair. His arms were folded across +his breast, which rose and fell with deep intakes. His face, in the +shadow, was no more readable than that of the miniature sphinx +paper-weight that rested on McQuade's desk. But Bolles was coming. So +they waited. The end of McQuade's cigar waxed and waned according to +his inhalations. These inhalations were not quickly made, as by a man +whose heart is beating with excitement; they were slow and regular, it +might be said, contemplative. John's gaze never left the end of that +cigar. + +The lights in the tall building opposite began to twinkle from window +to window. Warrington slipped off the table and pulled down the +curtains. McQuade knocked the ashes from his cigar, contemplated the +coal, and returned it to the corner of his mouth. + +Ah! The three men heard steps in the hall. The door to the outer +office opened and banged. But the man who squeezed past Bennington was +not Bolles. + +"Morrissy?" cried Warrington. "Fine! Have a chair, Mr. Morrissy, have +a chair." Warrington was delighted. + +Morrissy's glance, somewhat bewildered, traveled from face to face. On +entering he had seen only McQuade's tranquil visage. He sat down, +disturbed and mystified. + +"What's this?" Morrissy demanded to know. + +"Hanged if I know!" said McQuade. "These two gentlemen presented +themselves a few moments ago and requested me to send for Bolles. Have +a cigar." + +Morrissy took the proffered weed, but he did not light it. He turned +it round and round in his teeth and chewed it. Well, so long as the +boss did not seem alarmed, the trouble could not be serious. Yet he +was not over-confident of Bennington's lowering face. + +"Been a fine day," said Morrissy, at haphazard. + +"Yes, but there's going to be a storm to-night." Warrington resumed +his position on the table. + +Conversation died. And then Bolles came in. At the sight of Bennington +he recoiled. + +"Come in, come in!" said McQuade. "Mr. Warrington will offer you a +chair," facetiously. + +"Yes, Bolles, sit down." + +"Well, gentlemen, here's a quorum;" and McQuade began to rock in his +chair. Three against two; that would do very well. + +"I will go at once at the matter in hand. Those letters, John." +Warrington held out his hand. "I'll read one to you, McQuade." He read +slowly and distinctly. + +"What the hell is this?" said Morrissy. + +"It's up to Mr. Warrington to explain." McQuade grinned. That grin, +however, nearly cost him his life. + +"John, remember your promise!" cried Warrington. + +John sat down, seized with a species of vertigo. + +"McQuade, you wrote that." + +"Me? You're crazy!" + +"Not at all. Let me advise you. The next time you put your hand to +anonymous letters, examine the type of your machine. There may be some +bad letter." + +"I don't know what you're driving at," McQuade declared. + +"I see that I must read this, then, to convince you." Warrington stood +up, his back toward Bennington. He unfolded the carbon sheet and began +to read. + +McQuade saw Medusa's head, little versed as he was in mythology. He +lowered his cigar. The blood in his face gradually receded. + +"'In two sums of five hundred each,'" Warrington went on. + +Morrissy, who suddenly saw visions of bars and stripes, made a quick, +desperate spring. Warrington struck him with full force on the side of +the head. Morrissy reeled, stumbled to the floor and lay there. The +others were on their feet instantly. + +"Stay where you are, John; I don't need any assistance. Now, McQuade, +I've got you where I want you." Warrington spoke with deadly calm now. +"This carbon was found in your waste-basket and brought to me. The +girl is where you can not find her. There are two courses open to +you." + +"What are they?" There was murder in McQuade's heart, but there was +reason in his head. He saw exactly where he stood. They had him. + +"One is state's prison; the other is a full retraction of this base +calumny. Take your choice." + +"Bolles?" + +"It's true, every damn word of it," said Bolles venomously. "Your +janitor in New York told me the facts. You know they're true." + +"Bolles, I nearly killed you one night. So help me, if you do not +withdraw that, I'll kill you here and now!" It was the first time +Bennington had spoken. + +"Bolles," said McQuade, "did you sell a lie to me?" + +Bolles eyed Bennington, who had pushed Warrington out of the way and +was moving toward him. He saw death on Bennington's face. Warrington +again interposed, but John swept him aside with ease. + +"Well, there was a doctor and a nurse there all night with them. But +she was in Warrington's rooms all night. That seemed enough for me." +Bolles put the table between him and Bennington. He was genuinely +afraid. + +Morrissy turned over and sat up, rubbing his head. Presently he pulled +himself to his feet. He was dazed. Recollection of what had happened +returned to him. This dude had knocked him out. + +"You'll pay well for that," he said. + +"Sit down. It's only a marker for what I'll do to you if you make +another move. Now, McQuade, which is it?" + +"Go ahead and write your letter," McQuade snarled. + +Warrington proceeded. + +"Now sign it," he said. "Here, John, take care of this carbon. Bolles, +your signature." Bolles scrawled a shaking hand. Warrington put the +paper in his pocket. "Bite, both of you now, if you dare." + +"I'll trouble you for that carbon," said McQuade. + +"Hardly. But you have my word of honor that it shall not be used +against you unless you force me. It will repose in my deposit box at +the bank. But as for you, Morrissy, this climate doesn't suit your +abilities. The field is too small. Take my advice and clear out. That +is all, gentlemen. Come, John." + +When they were gone Morrissy turned savagely upon McQuade. + +"I told you you were a damn fool!" + +"Get out of here, both of you; and if you ever stick your heads in +this office again, I'll smash you." + +McQuade dropped into his chair, once more alone. He sat there for an +hour, thinking, ruminating, planning; but all his thinking and +ruminating and planning had but one result: they had him licked. +Morrissy was right; he was a fool. The girl! He would have liked her +throat in his fingers that moment, the sneaking, treacherous baggage! +Licked! To go about hereafter with that always menacing him! But there +was one ray of consolation. He knew something about human nature. +Bennington and Warrington would drift apart after this. Bennington had +cleared up the scandal, but he hadn't purged his heart of all doubt. +There was some satisfaction in this knowledge. And Warrington would +never enter the City Hall as Herculaneum's mayor. + + + + +Chapter XX + + +By November John and his wife were on the way to Italy. There is +always a second honeymoon for those who have just passed the first +matrimonial Scylla and Charybdis; there is always a new courtship, +deeper and more understanding. Neither of them had surrendered a +particle of their affection for Warrington, but they agreed that it +would be easier for all concerned if there came a separation of +several months. + +"You are all I have," said Warrington, when they bade him good-by. "I +shall be very lonely without you. If I lose the election I shall go to +Japan." + +"There's always Patty and the mother," said John, smiling. + +"Yes, there's always Patty and her mother. Good-by, and God bless you +both. You deserve all the happiness I can wish for you." + +Warrington plunged into the campaign. It would keep him occupied. + +Mrs. Bennington and Patty lived as usual, to all outward appearance. +But Patty was rarely seen in society. She took her long rides in the +afternoon now, always alone, brooding. Her young friends wondered, +questioned, then drifted away gradually. Poor little Patty! No one had +told her; the viper had not been shaken from her nest. Day after day +she waited for the blow to fall, for the tide of scandal to roll over +her and obliterate her. She was worldly enough to know that Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was not the kind of woman to keep such a scandal +under lock and key; others must know, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's +particular friends. So she avoided the possibility of meeting these +friends by declining all invitations of a formal character. Perhaps +after a time it would die of its own accord, to be recalled in after +years by another generation, as such things generally are. Patty +derived no comfort from the paragraph in the Sunday papers announcing +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's departure for Egypt, to remain for the +winter. + +She kept in touch with all that Warrington did. The sense of shame she +had at first experienced in reading his speeches was gone. Her pride +no longer urged her to cast aside the paper, to read it, to fling it +into the flames. Sometimes she saw him on the way home from his +morning rides. It seemed to her that he did not sit as erectly as +formerly. Why should he? she asked herself bitterly. When the heart is +heavy it needs a confidante, but Patty, brave and loyal, denied +herself the luxury of her mother's arms. Tell her this frightful +story? Bow that proud, handsome head? No. + +"It is very strange," mused her mother, one evening, "that Mr. +Warrington calls no more. I rather miss his cheerfulness, and John +thinks so much of him." + +Patty shivered. "He is very busy, mother. Election is only three days +off, and doubtless he hasn't a minute to call his own." + +Nor had he. Pulled this way and that, speaking every night, from one +end of the city to the other, he went over the same ground again and +again, with the same noise, the same fumes of tobacco and whisky and +kerosene, with his heart no longer behind his will. Yes, Warrington +was very busy. He was very unhappy, too. What did he care about the +making up of the slate? What was it to him that this man or that +wanted this or that berth? What were all these things? But he hid his +dissatisfaction admirably. His speeches lacked nothing. + +Election day came round finally, and a rare and beautiful day it was. +The ghost of summer had returned to view her past victories. A west +wind had cleared the skies, the sun shone warm and grateful, the +golden leaves shivered and fluttered to the ground. Nature had lent a +hand to bring voting humanity to the polls. Some men are such good +citizens that they will vote in the rain. But warmth and sunshine +bring out the lazy, the indifferent, and the uninterested. + +Warrington voted early in the morning, rode to the Country Club, made +an attempt to play golf over the partly frozen course, lounged round +till three in the afternoon, and then returned to town. There was not +a flutter in his heart. There was this truth, however, staring him in +the eyes: if he lost, he would become an indifferent citizen; if he +won, an in different mayor. He was not a man to falsify his accounts +for the inspection of his conscience. + +The voting was heavy throughout the day. Crowds lingered round the +polls, which, in greater part, were in the rear of shops, in barns and +sheds. There was a good deal of repeating in some of the districts, +and a dozen arrests had been made. Neither party was free from this +taint of dishonest politics. But no one could prophesy what the final +results of the day would be. + +Night came. It is the greatest spectacular night the American knows. +The noisy, good-natured crowds in the streets, the jostling, +snail-moving crowds; the illuminated canvas-sheets in front of the +newspaper offices; the blare of tin horns, the cries, the yells, the +hoots and hurrahs; the petty street fights; the stalled surface cars; +the swearing cabbies; the newsboys hawking their latest extras, men +carrying execrable posters of roosters. Hurrah! hurrah! A flash goes +over the canvas. + + In the 4th District + Donnelly 608 + Warrington. 302 + +A roar that rose and died suddenly, and a wailing of tin horns. + + + In Seven Districts + Warrington 1,262 + Donnelly 1,196 + + +Roars. It was, going to be close. Between times local advertisers used +the sheets, or there were pictures of presidents past and present, +crowned heads (always greeted with jeers), funny pictures, or returns +from other states. + + + In Nine Districts + Donnelly 1,821 + Warrington 1,800 + + +The crowds surged and billowed, and there was pandemonium. + +The newspaper offices were having a busy time. This period proves the +man; he is a newspaper man or he is not. There was a continuous coming +and going of messengers, bringing in returns. The reporters and +editors were in their shirt-sleeves, most of them collarless. Figures, +figures, thousands of figures to sift and resift. A fire-bell rings. +No one looks up save the fire reporter, and he is up and away at once. +Filtering through the various noises is the maddening rattle of the +telegraph instruments. Great drifts of waste-paper litter the floors. +A sandwich man serves coffee and cigars, and there is an occasional +bottle of beer. Everybody is writing, writing. + +McQuade and his cohorts haunted the city room of the Times. Things did +not look well at all. There were twelve more districts to hear from. +Donnelly seemed to be the coolest man in that office. + +Warrington started home at nine. Up to this time he had been +indifferent, but it was impossible not to catch the spirit of this +night. Win or lose, however, he wanted to be alone. So he went home, +lighted the fire in his working-room, called his dog, and sat there +dreaming. + +Down town the clamor was increasing. The great throngs round the +bulletins were gathering in force. Bonfires were flaring on corners. + + + In 15 Districts + Warrington 9,782 + Donnelly 9,036 + + +Close, terribly close. But those districts upon which the fight really +depended had not yet turned up. The big labor vote had not been +accounted for. + +The Call had notified its readers that when the returns were all in +and the battle decided, it would blow a whistle. If Warrington was +elected, five blasts; if Donnelly, ten. + +So Warrington waited, sunk in his chair, his legs sprawled, his chin +on his breast, and his eyes drawing phantoms in the burning wood fire. +... It was cruel that Patty could not know; and yet to leave John with +the belief that his sister knew nothing was a kindness, and only John +could convince Patty; and it was even a greater kindness to leave +Patty with the belief that John knew nothing. So there he stood; +friendship on the one side and love on the other. He recalled all the +charming ways Patty had, the color of her hair, the light music of her +laughter, the dancing shadows in her eyes, the transparent skin, the +springy step, and the vigor and life that were hers. And he had lost +her, not through any direct fault, but because he was known to have +been dissipated at one time; a shadow that would always be crossing +and recrossing his path. So long as he lived he would carry that +letter of hers, with its frank, girlish admiration. + +So, he mused, those dissipations of his, which, after all, had touched +him but lightly--these had, like chickens, come home to roost! And how +these chickens had multiplied and grown! On the way home it seemed +that everybody had striven to fatten them up a bit and add +surreptitiously a chicken or two of his own. Oh, these meddlers, these +idle tongues! None of them would set to work to wrong anybody, to +wreck anybody's life. They would shrink in horror from the thought, +let alone the deed. Yet, they must talk, they must exchange the day's +news, they must have news that no one else had; and this competition +is the cause of half the misery on earth. What if they exaggerate a +little here and a little there? No harm is meant. Human nature, having +found its speech, must have something to talk about; that which it has +neither seen nor heard, it invents. + +Who had written that letter to Patty? Some woman; man had not yet +acquired such finished cruelty. He could not understand its purpose, +well as he understood women. Who could possibly hate Patty, honest and +loyal as the day is long? McQuade's letters had their existence in +revenge. Patty had wronged no one; McQuade had. + +"Well, Jove, old man, you and I may have to pack up on the morrow. If +we are licked, you and I'll go to Japan. That's a country we've always +been wanting to see." + +Jove lifted his head, somewhat scarred, and gazed up at his master +with steadfast love in his red-brown eyes. A dog is better than a +horse, a horse is better than a cat, a cat is better than nothing. ... +Warrington sat up quickly, drawing in his legs. A whistle! He caught +his breath and counted. One--two--three--four--five--SIX! ... +Donnelly! He counted no more. Donnelly had won. + +His valet found him asleep in the chair the next morning, before a +dead fire. It was cold in the room. The valet touched him, but +Warrington did not move. It was only when he was roughly shaken that +he opened his eyes. A single glance explained the situation. He jumped +to his feet, rubbing his eyes. + +"Will you have the morning papers, sir?" + +"What's the use?" Warrington shrugged indifferently. + +"The majority was only six hundred and eighty-two, sir." + +"Then we had them mightily scared for a time. Odd that the 'phone did +not wake me up." + +"I took it off the hook, sir, at midnight. I knew it would disturb +you." + +"Go down town and bring me up the sailing-lists and a few cabin-plans +for ships bound for Japan. I intend to start for that country just as +soon as I can dispose of the horses." + +"Shall you need me, sir?" + +"I couldn't get along without you, James." + +"Thank you, sir. Breakfast is served, sir, if you wish it." + +The telephone rang. The valet raised his eyebrows inquiringly. + +"I'll answer it," said Warrington. "Who is it? Jordan? Oh! You can say +that I put up the best fight I knew how. ... No. Say nothing about the +influence of the strike. Let it stand as it is. ... My plans? You may +say that I shall sail in a few days for Japan. ... Oh, yes! This is my +home. I shall return in the spring. Change of scene, that's all. +Good-by." + +The defeated candidate ate a respectable breakfast, after which he put +his affairs in order. Trunks were brought down from the store-room, +and cases and steamer-rolls. Warrington always traveled comfortably. +He left the packing in charge of the valet. + +A ten-o'clock edition of the Telegraph was being hawked outside, but +Warrington had seen all he wanted of newspapers. By noon he had found +a purchaser for his stable. The old housekeeper and her husband were +to remain in care of the house. They were the only beings that loved +him, now that the aunt was gone. Heigh-ho! + +He declined lunch. He answered no more calls on the telephone. When +Senator Henderson called the interview was pleasant but short. + +"We'll try you again," said the senator genially. + +"I'll think it over," replied Warrington. + +"You'll win next time; you'll be stronger two years hence. You made a +great fight. Bennington lost the fight for you. If he hadn't been your +friend--" + +"I had rather have John Bennington my friend than be president," +laughing. + +"There were six thousand-odd labor votes against you, and yet +Donnelly's majority was only six hundred and eighty-two. Hope you'll +enjoy your trip to Japan. But McQuade's back again!" discouraged. + +"Senator, if he acts nasty in any way, go to him personally and tell +him that upon application at the bank you will open my deposit box. +He'll understand; he'll be as docile as a lamb. And thank all the boys +for their good work. I appreciate the honor that has been done me. To +have been a candidate is something." + +By three o'clock Warrington found time to sit down at his desk to +write three letters. One was addressed to McQuade, another to John, +Hotel de la Syrene, Sorrento, Italy. The third he began after some +deliberation: + +Patty: Presently I shall be on the way to Japan. I was going without a +word because I had given a promise to your brother John. But it is not +within human nature, at least mine, to leave without telling you again +that I love you better than life, and that I am innocent of the wrong +you were so ready to believe. Some day ask John; tell him that I have +broken my word; he will tell you how truth was made a lie. I realize +now that I ought to have stood my ground. I ought to have nailed the +lie then. But my proofs were not such as would do away with all +doubts. And besides, when I saw that you had believed without giving +me the benefit of a doubt, I was angry. And so I left you, refusing to +speak one way or the other. John will tell you. And if my cause is +still in your thought and you care to write, mail your letter to my +bankers. They will forward it. And if I should have the happiness to +be wanted, even if I am at the ends of the world, I shall come to you. + +He did not sign it, but he read it over carefully. There was nothing +to cut, nothing to add. He folded it, then laid his head on his +extended arms. A door opened and closed, but his ear was dull. Then +everything became still. Scientists have not yet fully explained what +it is that discovers to us a presence in the room, a presence that we +have neither seen nor heard enter. So it was with Warrington. There +was no train of collected thought in his mind, nothing but stray +snatches of this day and of that the picture of a smile, a turn in the +road, the sound of a voice. And all at once he became conscious that +something was compelling him to raise his head. He did so slowly. + +A woman was standing within a dozen feet of the desk. + +"Patty!" he cried, leaping to his feet bewildered. + +Patty did not move. Alas, she had left all her great bravery at the +threshold. What would he think of her? + +"Patty!" he repeated. "You are here?" + +"Yes." All the blood in her body seemed to congest in her throat. +"Are--is it true that you are going to Japan?" If he came a step +nearer she was positive that she would fall. + +"Yes, Patty; it is as true as I love you. But let us not speak of +that," sadly. + +"Yes, yes! Let us speak of it!" a wild despair in her voice and +gesture. "Let us speak of it, since I do nothing but think of it, +think of it, think of it! Oh! I am utterly shameless, but I can not +fight any longer. I have no longer any pride. I should despise you, +but I do not. I should hate you, but I can not ... No, no! Stay where +you are." + +"Patty, do you love me?" There was a note in his voice as vibrant as +the second string of a cello. + +"Yes." + +"Do you still believe that I am a blackguard?" + +"I care not what you are or what you have been; nothing, nothing. It +is only what you have been to me and what you still are. Something is +wrong; something is terribly wrong; I know not what it is. Surely God +would not let me love you as I do if you were not worthy." + +"No," he replied gravely; "God would not do that." + +The tears rolled down Patty's cheeks, but there was no sound. + +"Here, Patty; read this letter which I was about to send you." + +She accepted it dumbly. Then, through her tears there came wonder and +joy and sunshine. When she had done, he held out his hand for the +letter; but she smiled and shook her head. + +"No, Richard; this is my first love-letter." + + + + +The End + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Half a Rogue, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALF A ROGUE *** + +***** This file should be named 4790.txt or 4790.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/4/7/9/4790/ + +Produced by Duncan Harrod. HTML version by Al Haines. + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You can also find out about how to make a +donation to Project Gutenberg, and how to get involved. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**eBooks Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*****These eBooks Were Prepared By Thousands of Volunteers!***** + + +Title: Half a Rogue + +Author: Harold MacGrath + +Release Date: December, 2003 [EBook #4790] +[Yes, we are more than one year ahead of schedule] +[This file was first posted on March 20, 2002] + +Edition: 10 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALF A ROGUE *** + + + + +This etext was produced by Duncan Harrod. + + + + + + + +Half A Rogue + + + +By +Harold MacGrath + + + +To The Memory Of My Mother + + + + +Half A Rogue + + + + +Chapter I + + + +It was Warrington's invariable habit--when no business or social +engagement pressed him to go elsewhere--to drop into a certain quaint +little restaurant just off Broadway for his dinners. It was out of the +way; the throb and rattle of the great commercial artery became like +the far-off murmur of the sea, restful rather than annoying. He always +made it a point to dine alone, undisturbed. The proprietor nor his +silent-footed waiters had the slightest idea who Warrington was. To +them he was simply a profitable customer who signified that he dined +there in order to be alone His table was up stairs. Below, there was +always the usual dinner crowd till theater time; and the music had the +faculty of luring his thoughts astray, being, as he was, fonder of +music than of work. As a matter of fact, it was in this little +restaurant that he winnowed the day's ideas, revamped scenes, trimmed +the rough edges of his climaxes, revised this epigram or rejected this +or that line; all on the backs of envelopes and on the margins of +newspapers. In his den at his bachelor apartments, he worked; but here +he dreamed, usually behind the soothing, opalescent veil of Madame +Nicotine. + +What a marvelous thing a good after-dinner cigar is! In the smoke of +it the poor man sees his ships come in, the poet sees his muse +beckoning with hands full of largess, the millionaire reverts to his +early struggles, and the lover sees his divinity in a thousand +graceful poses. + +To-night, however, Warrington's cigar was without magic. He was out of +sorts. Things had gone wrong at the rehearsal that morning. The star +had demanded the removal of certain lines which gave the leading man +an opportunity to shine in the climax of the third act. He had labored +a whole month over this climax, and he revolted at the thought of +changing it to suit the whim of a capricious woman. + +Everybody had agreed that this climax was the best the young dramatist +had yet constructed. A critic who had been invited to a reading had +declared that it lacked little of being great. And at this late hour +the star wanted it changed in order to bring her alone in the +lime-light! It was preposterous. As Warrington was on the first wave +of popularity, the business manager and the stage manager both agreed +to leave the matter wholly in the dramatist's hands. He resolutely +declined to make a single alteration in the scene. There was a fine +storm. The star declared that if the change was not made at once she +would leave the company. In making this declaration she knew her +strength. Her husband was rich; a contract was nothing to her. There +was not another actress of her ability to be found; the season was too +late. There was not another woman available, nor would any other +manager lend one. As the opening performance was but two weeks hence, +you will realize why Warrington's mood this night was anything but +amiable. + +He scowled at his cigar. There was always something, some sacrifice to +make, and seldom for art's sake. It is all very well to witness a play +from the other side of the footlights; everything appears to work out +so smoothly, easily and without effort. To this phenomenon is due the +amateur dramatist--because it looks simple. A play is not written; it +is built, like a house. In most cases the dramatist is simply the +architect. The novelist has comparatively an easy road to travel. The +dramatist is beset from all sides, now the business manager--that is +to say, the box-office--now the stage manager, now the star, now the +leading man or woman. Jealousy's green eyes peer from behind every +scene. The dramatist's ideal, when finally presented to the public, +resembles those mutilated marbles that decorate the museums of Rome +and Naples. Only there is this difference: the public can easily +imagine what the sculptor was about, but seldom the dramatist. + +Warrington was a young man, tolerably good-looking, noticeably well +set up. When they have good features, a cleft chin and a generous +nose, clean-shaven men are good to look at. He had fine eyes, in the +corners of which always lurked mirth and mischief; for he possessed +above all things an inexhaustible fund of dry humor. His lines seldom +provoked rough laughter; rather, silent chuckles. + +Warrington's scowl abated none. In business, women were generally +nuisances; they were always taking impossible stands. He would find +some way out; he was determined not to submit to the imperious fancies +of an actress, however famous she might be. + +"Sir, will you aid a lady in distress?" The voice was tremulous, but +as rich in tone as the diapason of an organ. + +Warrington looked up from his cigar to behold a handsome young woman +standing at the side of his table. Her round, smooth cheeks were +flushed, and on the lower lids of her splendid dark eyes tears of +shame trembled and threatened to fall. Behind her stood a waiter, of +impassive countenance, who was adding up the figures on a check, his +movement full of suggestion. + +The dramatist understood the situation at once. The young lady had +ordered dinner, and, having eaten it, found that she could not pay for +it. It was, to say the least, a trite situation. But what can a man do +when a pretty woman approaches him and pleads for assistance? So +Warrington rose. + +"What may the trouble be?" he asked coldly, for all that he instantly +recognized her to be a person of breeding and refinement. + +"I--I have lost my purse, and I have no money to pay the waiter." She +made this confession bravely and frankly. + +He looked about. They were alone. She interpreted his glance rather +shrewdly. + +"There were no women to appeal to. The waiter refused to accept my +word, and I really can't blame him. I had not even the money to send a +messenger home." + +One of the trembling tears escaped and rolled down the blooming cheek. +Warrington surrendered. He saw that this was an exceptional case. The +girl was truly in distress. He knew his New York thoroughly; a man or +woman without funds is treated with the finished cruelty with which +the jovial Romans amused themselves with the Christians. Lack of money +in one person creates incredulity in another. A penniless person is +invariably a liar and a thief. Only one sort of person is pitied in +New York: the person who has more money than she or he can possibly +spend. + +The girl fumbled in her hand-bag and produced a card, which she gave +to Warrington--"Katherine Challoner." He looked from the card to the +girl and then back to the card. Somehow, the name was not wholly +unfamiliar, but at that moment he could not place it. + +"Waiter, let me see the check," he said. It amounted to two dollars +and ten cents. Warrington smiled. "Scarcely large enough to cause all +this trouble," he added reassuringly. "I will attend to it." + +The waiter bowed and withdrew. So long as the check was paid he did +not care who paid it. + +"Oh, it is so horribly embarrassing! What must you think of me?" She +twisted her gloves with a nervous strength which threatened to rend +them. + +"May I give you a bit of friendly advice?" he asked. + +She nodded, hiding the fall of the second tear. + +"Well, never dine alone in public; at any rate, in the evening. It is +not wise for a woman to do so. She subjects herself to any number of +embarrassments." + +She did not reply, and for a moment he believed that she was about to +break down completely. He aimlessly brushed the cigar ashes from the +tablecloth. He hated a scene in public. In the theater it was +different; it was a part of the petty round of business to have the +leading lady burst into tears when things didn't suit her. What fools +women are in general! But the girl surprised him by holding up +determinedly, and sinking her white teeth into her lips to smother the +sob which rose in her throat. + +"Be seated," he said, drawing out the opposite chair. + +A wave of alarm spread over her face. She clasped her hands. + +"Sir, if you are a gentleman--" + +Warrington interrupted her by giving her his card, which was +addressed. She glanced at it through a blur of tears, then sat down. +He shrugged his shoulders slightly; his vanity was touched. There was, +then, a young woman in New York who had not heard of Richard +Warrington. + +"In asking you to be seated," he explained, "it was in order that you +might wait in comfort while I despatched a messenger to your home. +Doubtless you have a brother, a father, or some male relative, who +will come at once to your assistance." Which proved that Warrington +was prudent. + +But instead of brightening as he expected she would, she straightened +in her chair, while her eyes widened with horror, as if she saw +something frightful in perspective. + +What the deuce could be the matter now? he wondered, as he witnessed +this inexplicable change. + +"No, no! You must not send a messenger!" she protested. + +"But--" + +"No, no!" tears welling into her beautiful eyes again. They were +beautiful, he was forced to admit. + +"But," he persisted, "you wished the waiter to do so. I do not +understand." His tone became formal again. + +"I have reasons. Oh, heavens! I am the most miserable woman in all the +world!" She suddenly bowed her head upon her hands and her shoulders +rose and fell with silent sobs. + +Warrington stared at her, dumfounded. NOW what? He glanced cautiously +around as if in search of some avenue of escape. The waiter, ever +watchful, assumed that he was wanted, and made as though to approach +the table; but Warrington warned him off. All distrust in the girl +vanished. Decidedly she was in great trouble of some sort, and it +wasn't because she could not pay a restaurant check. Women--and +especially New York women--do not shed tears when a stranger offers to +settle for their dinner checks. + +"If you will kindly explain to me what the trouble is," visibly +embarrassed, "perhaps I can help you. Have you run away from borne?" +he asked. + +A negative nod. + +"Are you married?" + +Another negative nod. + +Warrington scratched his chin. "Have you done anything wrong?" + +A decided negative shake of the head. At any other time the +gesticulation of the ostrich plume, so close to his face, would have +amused him; but there was something eminently pathetic in the diapasm +which drifted toward him from the feather. + +"Come, come; you may trust me thoroughly. If you are afraid to return +home alone--" + +He was interrupted by an affirmative nod this time. Possibly, he +conjectured, the girl had started out to elope and had fortunately +paused at the brink. + +"Will it help you at all if I go home with you?" he asked. + +His ear caught a muffled "Yes." + +Warrington beckoned to the waiter. + +"Order a cab at once," he said. + +The waiter hurried away, with visions of handsome tips. + +Presently the girl raised her head and sat up. Her eyes, dark as +shadows in still waters, glistened. + +"Be perfectly frank with me; and if I can be of service to you, do not +hesitate to command me." He eyed her thoughtfully. Everything attached +to her person suggested elegance. Her skin was as fine as vellum; her +hair had a dash of golden bronze in it; her hands were white and +shapely, and the horn on the tips of the fingers shone rosily. Now, +what in the world was there to trouble a young woman who possessed +these favors, who wore jewels on her fingers and sable on her +shoulders? "Talk to me just as you would to a brother," he added +presently. + +"You will take this ring," she said irrelevantly. She slipped a fine +sapphire from one of her fingers and pushed it across the table. + +"And for what reason?" he cried. + +"Security for my dinner. I can not accept charity," with a hint of +hauteur which did not in the least displease him. + +"But, my dear young woman, I can not accept this ring. You have my +address. You may send the sum whenever you please. I see no reason +why, as soon as you arrive home, you can not refund the small sum of +two dollars and ten cents. It appears to me very simple." + +"There will be no one at home, not even the servants," wearily. + +Warrington's brows came together. Was the girl fooling him, after all? +But for what reason? + +"You have me confused," he admitted. "I can do nothing blindly. Tell +me what the trouble is." + +"How can I tell you, an absolute stranger? It is all so frightful, and +I am so young!" + +Frightful? Young? He picked up his half-finished cigar, but +immediately let it fall. He stole a look at his watch; it was seven. + +"Oh, I know what you must think of me," despairingly. "Nobody believes +in another's real misfortune in this horrid city. There are so many +fraudulent methods used to obtain people's sympathies that every one +has lost trust. I had no money when I entered here; but outside it was +so dark. Whenever I stopped, wondering where I should go, men turned +and stared at me. Once a policeman peered into my face suspiciously. +And I dared not return home, I dared not! No, no; I promise not to +embarrass you with any more tears." She brushed her eyes with a rapid +movement. + +Warrington's success as a dramatist was due largely to his interest in +all things that passed under his notice. Nothing was too trivial to +observe. The tragic threads of human life, which escaped the eyes of +the passing many or were ignored by them, always aroused his interest +and attention; and more than once he had picked up one of these +threads and followed it to the end. Out of these seemingly +insignificant things he often built one of those breathless, +nerve-gripping climaxes which had, in a few years' time, made him +famous. In the present case he believed that he had stumbled upon +something worthy his investigation. This handsome young woman, richly +dressed, who dared not go home, who had jewels but no money--there +was some mystery surrounding her, and he determined to find out what +it was. And then, besides, for all that he was worldly, he was young +and still believed in his Keats. + +"If, as you say, there is no one at your home, why do you fear to go +there?" he asked, with some remnant of caution. + +"It is the horror of the place," shuddering; "the horror!" And indeed, +at that moment, her face expressed horror. + +"Is it some one dead?" lowering his voice. + +"Dead?" with a flash of cold anger in her eyes. "Yes--to me, to truth, +to honor; dead to everything that should make life worth the living. +Oh, it is impossible to say more in this place, to tell you here what +has happened this day to rob me of all my tender illusions. This +morning I awoke happy, my heart was light; now, nothing but shame and +misery!" She hid her eyes for a space behind the back of her hand. + +"I will take you home," he said simply. + +"You trust me?" + +"Why not? I am a man, and can take care of myself." + +"Thank you!" + +What a voice! It possessed a marvelous quality, low and penetrating, +like the voices of great singers and actresses. Any woman with such a +voice ... + +Here the waiter returned to announce that a cab awaited them in the +street below. Warrington paid the two checks, dropped a liberal tip, +rose and got into his coat. The girl also rose, picked up his card, +glanced carelessly at it, and put it into her hand-bag--a little +gold-link affair worth many dinners. It was the voice and these +evidences of wealth, more than anything else, that determined +Warrington. Frauds were always perpetrated for money, and this +exquisite creature had a small fortune on her fingers. + +Silently they left the restaurant, entered the cab, and went rolling +out into Broadway. Warrington, repressing his curiosity, leaned back +against the cushions. The girl looked dully ahead. + +What manner of tragedy was about to unfold itself to his gaze? + +The house was situated in Central Park, West. It was of modern +architecture, a residence such as only rich men can afford to build. +It was in utter gloom; not a single light could be seen at any window. +It looked, indeed, as if tragedy sat enthroned within. Warrington's +spine wrinkled a bit as he got out of the cab and offered his hand to +the girl. + +Mute and mysterious as a sphinx, the girl walked to the steps, not +even looking around to see if he was coming after her. Perhaps she +knew the power of curiosity. Without hesitance she mounted the steps; +he followed, a step behind. At the door, however, she paused. He could +hear her breath coming in quick gasps. Oddly enough, the recollection +of some detective stories flashed through his mind. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"Nothing, nothing; only I am afraid." + +She stooped; there was a grating sound, a click, and the door opened. +Warrington was a man of courage, but he afterward confessed that it +took all his nerve force to move his foot across the threshold. + +"Do not be frightened," she said calmly; "there is nothing but ghosts +here to frighten any one." + +"Ghosts?" + +"Yes." + +"Have you brought me here to tell me a ghost story?" with an effort at +lightness. What misery the girl's tones conveyed to his ears! + +"The ghosts of things that ought to, and should, have been; are not +those the most melancholy?" She pressed a button and flooded the +hallway with light. + +His keen eyes roving met nothing but signs of luxury. She led him into +the library and turned on the lights. Not a servant anywhere in sight; +the great house seemed absolutely empty. Not even the usual cat or dog +came romping inquisitively into the room. The shelves of books stirred +his sense of envy; what a den for a literary man to wander in! There +were beautiful marbles, splendid paintings, taste and refinement +visible everywhere. + +Warrington stood silently watching the girl as she took off her hat +and carelessly tossed it on the reading-table. The Russian sables were +treated with like indifference. The natural abundance of her hair +amazed him; and what a figure, so elegant, rounded, and mature! The +girl, without noticing him, walked the length of the room and back +several times. Once or twice she made a gesture. It was not addressed +to him, but to some conflict going on in her mind. + +He sat down on the edge of a chair and fell to twirling his hat, a +sign that he was not perfectly at his ease. + +"I am wondering where I shall begin," she said. + +Warrington turned down his coat-collar, and the action seemed to +relieve him of the sense of awkwardness. + +"Luxury!" she began, with a sweep of her hand which was full of +majesty and despair. "Why have I chosen you out of all the thousands? +Why should I believe that my story would interest you? Well, little as +I have seen of the world, I have learned that woman does not go to +woman in cases such as mine is." And then pathetically: "I know no +woman to whom I might go. Women are like daws; their sympathy comes +but to peck. Do you know what it is to be alone in a city? The desert +is not loneliness; it is only solitude. True loneliness is to be found +only in great communities. To be without a single friend or confidant, +when thousand of beings move about you; to pour your sorrows into +cold, unfeeling ears; to seek sympathy in blind eyes--that is +loneliness. That is the loneliness that causes the heart to break." + +Warrington's eyes never left hers; he was fascinated. + +"Luxury!" she repeated bitterly. "Surrounding me with all a woman +might desire--paintings that charm the eye, books that charm the mind, +music that charms the ear. Money!" + +"Philosophy in a girl!" thought Warrington. His hat became motionless. + +"It is all a lie, a lie!" The girl struck her hands together, impotent +in her wrath. + +It was done so naturally that Warrington, always the dramatist, made a +mental note of the gesture. + +"I was educated in Paris and Berlin; my musical education was +completed in Dresden. Like all young girls with music-loving souls, I +was something of a poet. I saw the beautiful in everything; sometimes +the beauty existed only in my imagination. I dreamed; I was happy. I +was told that I possessed a voice such as is given to few. I sang +before the Emperor of Austria at a private musicale. He complimented +me. The future was bright indeed. Think of it; at twenty I retained +all my illusions! I am now twenty-three, and not a single illusion is +left. I saw but little of my father and mother, which is not unusual +with children of wealthy parents. The first shock that came to my +knowledge was the news that my mother had ceased to live with my +father. I was recalled. There were no explanations. My father met me +at the boat. He greeted my effusive caresses--caresses that I had +saved for years!--with careless indifference. This was the second +shock. What did it all mean? Where was my mother? My father did not +reply. When I reached home I found that all the servants I had known +in my childhood days were gone. From the new ones I knew that I should +learn nothing of the mystery which, like a pall, had suddenly settled +down upon me." + +She paused, her arms hanging listless at her sides, her gaze riveted +upon a pattern in the rug at her feet. Warrington sat like a man of +stone; her voice had cast a spell upon him. + +"I do not know why I tell you these things. It may weary you. I do not +care. Madness lay in silence. I had to tell some one. This morning I +found out all. My mother left my father because he was ... a thief!" + +"A thief!" fell mechanically from Warrington's lips. + +"A thief, bold, unscrupulous; not the petty burglar, no. A man who has +stolen funds intrusted to him for years; a man who has plundered the +orphan and the widow, the most despicable of all men. My mother died +of shame, and I knew nothing. My father left last night for South +America, taking with him all the available funds, leaving me a curt +note of explanation. I have neither money, friends, nor home. The +newspapers as yet know nothing; but to-morrow, to-morrow! The banks +have seized everything." + +She continued her story. Sometimes she was superb in her wrath; at +others, abject in her misery. She seemed to pass through the whole +gamut of the passions. + +And all this while it ran through Warrington's head--"What a theme for +a play! What a voice!" + +He pitied the girl from the bottom of his heart; but what could he do +for her other than offer her cold sympathy? He was ill at ease in the +face of this peculiar tragedy. + +All at once the girl stopped and faced him, There was a smile on her +lips, a smile that might be likened to a flash of sunlight on a wintry +day. Directly the smile melted into a laugh, mellow, mischievous, +reverberating. + +Warrington sat up stiffly in his chair. + +"I beg your pardon!" he said. + +The girl sat down before a small writing-table. She reached among some +papers and finally found what she sought. + +"Mr. Warrington, all this has been in very bad taste; I frankly +confess it. There are two things you may do: leave the house in anger, +or remain to forgive me this imposition." + +"I fail to understand." He was not only angered, but bewildered. + +"I have deceived you." + +"You mean that you have lured me here by trick? That you have played +upon my sympathies to gratify ..." + +"Wait a moment," she interrupted proudly, her cheeks darkening richly. +"A trick, it is true; but there are extenuating circumstances. What I +have told you HAS happened, only it was not to-day nor yesterday. +Please remain seated till I have done. I AM poor; I WAS educated in +the cities I have named; I have to earn my living." + +She rose and came over to his chair. She gave him a letter. + +"Read this; you will fully understand." + +Warrington experienced a mild chill as he saw a letter addressed to +him, and his rude scribble at the bottom of it. + +Miss Challoner--I beg to state that I have neither the time nor the +inclination to bother with amateur actresses. Richard Warrington. + +"It was scarcely polite, was it?" she asked, with a tinge of irony. +"It was scarcely diplomatic, either, you will admit. I simply asked +you for work. Surely, an honest effort to obtain employment ought not +to be met with insolence." + +He stared dumbly at the evidence in his hand. He recalled distinctly +the rage that was in his heart when he penned this note. The stage +manager had lost some valuable manuscript that had to be rewritten +from memory, the notes having been destroyed. + +"For weeks," said the girl, "I have tried to get a hearing. Manager +after manager I sought; all refused to see me. I have suffered a +hundred affronts, all in silence. Your manager I saw, but he referred +me to you, knowing that probably I should never find you. But I was +determined. So I wrote; that was your answer. I confess that at the +time I was terribly angry, for courtesy is a simple thing and within +reach of every one." + +To receive a lesson in manners from a young woman, when that young +woman is handsome and talented, is not a very pleasant experience. But +Warrington was, a thorough gentleman, and he submitted with grace. + +"I know that you are a busy man, that you are besieged with +applications. You ought, at least, to have formal slips, such as +editors have. I have confidence in my ability to act, the confidence +which talent gives to all persons. After receiving your letter I was +more than ever determined to see you. So I resorted to this +subterfuge. It was all very distasteful to me; but I possess a vein of +wilfulness. This is not my home. It is the home of a friend who was +kind enough to turn it over to me this night, relying upon my wit to +bring about this meeting." + +"It was neatly done," was Warrington's comment. He was not angry now +at all. In fact, the girl interested him tremendously. "I am rather +curious to learn how you went about it." + +"You are not angry?" + +"I was." + +This seemed to satisfy her. + +"Well, first I learned where you were in the habit of dining. All day +long a messenger has been following you. A telephone brought me to the +restaurant. The rest you know. It was simple." + +"Very simple," laconically. + +"You listened and believed. I have been watching you. You believed +everything I have told you. You have even been calculating how this +scene might go in a play. Have I convinced you that I have the ability +to act?" + +Warrington folded the letter and balanced it on his palm. + +"You have fooled me completely; that ought to be sufficient +recommendation." + +"Thank you." But her eyes were eager with anxiety. + +"Miss Challoner, I apologize for this letter. I do more than that. I +promise not to leave this house till you agree to call at the theater +at ten to-morrow morning." He was smiling, and Warrington had a +pleasant smile. He had an idea besides. "Good fortune put it into my +head to follow you here. I see it all now, quite plainly. I am in a +peculiar difficulty, and I honestly believe that you can help me out +of it. How long would it take you to learn a leading part? In fact, +the principal part?" + +"A week." + +"Have you had any experience?" + +"A short season out west in a stock company." + +"Good!" + +"And I love work." + +"Do not build any great hopes," he warned, "for your chance depends +upon the whim of another woman. But you have my word and my good +offices that something shall be put in your way. You will come at +ten?" drawing on his gloves. + +"Promptly." + +"I believe that we both have been wise to-night; though it is true +that a man dislikes being a fool and having it made manifest." + +"And how about the woman scorned?" with an enchanting smile. + +"It is kismet," he acknowledged. + + + + +Chapter II + + + +Warrington laid down his pen, brushed his smarting eyes, lighted his +pipe, and tilted back his chair. With his hands clasped behind his +head, he fell into a waking dream, that familiar pastime of the +creative mind. It was half after nine, and he had been writing +steadily since seven. The scenario was done; the villain had lighted +his last cigarette, the hero had put his arms protectingly around the +heroine, and the irascible rich uncle had been brought to terms. All +this, of course, figuratively speaking; for no one ever knew what the +plot of that particular play was, insomuch as Warrington never +submitted the scenario to his manager, an act which caused almost a +serious rupture between them. But to-night his puppets were moving +hither and thither across the stage, pulsing with life; they were +making entrances and exits; developing this climax and that; with wit +and satire, humor and pathos. It was all very real to the dreamer. + +The manuscript lay scattered about the top of his broad flat desk, and +the floor beside the waste-basket was flaked with the remains of +various futile lines and epigrams. The ash-pan was littered with burnt +matches, ends of cigars and pipe tobacco, while the ash-crumbs +speckled all dark objects, not excepting the green rug under his feet. +Warrington smoked incessantly while at work, now a cigarette, now a +cigar, now a pipe. Specialists declare with cold authoritative +positiveness that the use of tobacco blunts the thought, dulls the +edge of invention; but Warrington knew better. Many a night he had +thrown his coat over his smoking-jacket and dashed down the street to +the corner drug-store for a fresh supply of tobacco. He simply could +not work without it. I do not know that he saw his heroes and heroines +any plainer for the smoke; but I do know that when their creator held +a cigar between his teeth, they frowned less, and the spirit of malice +and irony, of which he was master, became subdued. + +Warrington was thirty-five now. The grey hair at the temples and the +freshness of his complexion gave him a singularly youthful appearance. +His mouth was even-lipped and rather pleasure-loving, which, without +the balance of a strong nose, would have appealed to you as +effeminate. Warrington's was what the wise phrenologists call the +fighting nose; not pugnacious, but the nose of a man who will fight +for what he believes to be right, fight bitterly and fearlessly. +To-day he was famous, but only yesterday he had been fighting, +retreating, throwing up this redoubt, digging this trench; fighting, +fighting. Poverty, ignorance and contempt he fought; fought +dishonesty, and vice, and treachery, and discouragement. + +Presently he leaned toward the desk and picked up a letter. He read it +thoughtfully, and his brows drew together. A smile, whimsically sad, +stirred his lips, and was gone. It was written by a girl or a very +young woman. There was no signature, no address, no veiled request for +an autograph. It was one of those letters which bring to the novelist +or dramatist, or any man of talent, a real and singular pleasure. It +is precious because honest and devoid of the tawdry gilt of flattery. + +Richard Warrington--You will smile, I know, when you read this letter, +doubtless so many like it are mailed to you day by day. You will toss +it into the waste-basket, too, as it deserves to be. But it had to be +written. However, I feel that I am not writing to a mere stranger, but +to a friend whom I know well. Three times you have entered into my +life, and on each occasion you have come by a different avenue. I was +ill at school when you first appeared to me. It was a poem in a +magazine. It was so full of the spirit of joyousness, so full of +kindliness, so rich in faith and hope, that I cried over it, cut it +out and treasured it, and re-read it often in the lonely hours when +things discouraged me,--things which mean so little to women but so +much to girls. Two years went by, and then came that brave book! It +was like coming across a half-forgotten friend. I actually ran home +with it, and sat up all night to complete it. It was splendid. It was +the poem matured, broadened, rounded. And finally your first play! How +I listened to every word, watched every move! I wrote you a letter +that night, but tore it up, not having the courage to send it to you. +How versatile you must be: a poem, a book, a play! I have seen all +your plays these five years, plays merry and gay, sad and grave. How +many times you have mysteriously told me to be brave! I envy and +admire you. What an exquisite thing it must be to hear one's thoughts +spoken across the footlights! Please do not laugh. It would hurt me to +know that you could laugh at my honest admiration. You won't laugh, +will you? I am sure you will value this letter for its honesty rather +than for its literary quality. I have often wondered what you were +like. But after all, that can not matter, since you are good and kind +and wise; for you can not be else, and write the lofty things you do. + +Warrington put the letter away, placed it carefully among the few +things he held of value. It would not be true to say that it left him +unaffected. There was an innocent barb in this girlish admiration, and +it pierced the quick of all that was good in him. + +"Good and kind and wise," he mused. "If only the child knew! Heigh-ho! +I am kind, sometimes I've been good, and often wise. Well, I can't +disillusion the child, happily; she has given me no address." + +He rose, wheeled his chair to a window facing the street, and opened +it. The cool fresh April air rushed in, clearing the room of its +opalescent clouds, cleansing his brain of the fever that beset it. He +leaned with his elbows on the sill and, breathed noisily, gratefully. +Above, heaven had decked her broad bosom with her flickering stars, +and from the million lamps of the great city rose and floated a +tarnished yellow haze. So many sounds go forth to make the voices of +the night: somewhere a child was crying fretfully, across the way the +faint tinkle of a piano, the far-off rattle of the elevated, a muffled +laugh from a window, above, the rat-tat of a cab-horse, the breeze in +the ivy clinging to the walls of the church next door, the quarrelsome +chirp of the sleepy sparrows; and then, recurrence. Only the poet or +the man in pain opens his ears to these sounds. + +Over on Broadway a child of his fertile brain was holding the rapt +attention of several hundred men and women; and across the broad land +that night four other dramas were being successfully acted. People +were discussing his theories, denouncing or approving his conception +of life. The struggle was past, his royalties were making him rich. +And here he was this night, drinking the cup of bitterness, of +unhappiness, the astringent draft of things that might and should have +been. The coveted grape was sour, the desired apple was withered. +Those who traverse the road with Folly as boon companion find only +emptiness. + +And so it was with Warrington. He had once been good, wholly good and +kind and wise, lofty as a rural poet who has seen nothing of life save +nature's pure and visible face. In the heat of battle he had been +strong, but success had subtly eaten into the fibers and loosed his +hold, and had swept him onward into that whirlpool out of which no man +emerges wholly undefiled. It takes a great and strong man to withstand +success, and Warrington was only a genius. It was not from lack of +will power; rather it was because he was easy-going and loved pleasure +for its own sake. He had fought and starved, and now for the jingle of +the guinea in his pocket and the junkets of the gay! The prodigality +of these creative beings is not fully understood by the laity, else +they would forgive more readily the transgressions. Besides, the +harbor of family ties is a man's moral bulwark; and Warrington drifted +hither and thither with no harbor in view at all. + +He had been an orphan since his birth; a mother meant simply a giver +of life, and a father meant, even less. Until he had read the reverse +and obverse sides of life, his sense of morality had lain dormant and +untilled. Such was his misfortune. The solitary relative he laid claim +to was an aged aunt, his father's sister. For her he had purchased a +beautiful place in the town of his birth, vaguely intending to live +out his old age there. + +There had been a fight for all he possessed. Good had not come easily, +as it does to some particularly favored mortals. There was no family, +aristocracy to back him up, no melancholy recollections of past +grandeur to add the interest of romance to his endeavors. His father +had been a poor man of the people, a farmer. And yet Warrington was by +no means plebeian. Somewhere there was a fine strain. It had been a +fierce struggle to complete a college education. In the summer-time he +had turned his hand to all sorts of things to pay his winter's +tuition. He had worked as clerk in summer hotels, as a surveyor's +assistant in laying street-railways, he had played at private +secretary, he had hawked vegetables about the streets at dawn. +Happily, he had no false pride. Chance moves quite as mysteriously as +the tides. On leaving college he had secured a minor position on one +of the daily newspapers, and had doggedly worked his way up to the +coveted position of star-reporter. Here the latent power of the +story-teller, the poet and the dramatist was awakened; in any other +pursuit the talent would have quietly died, as it has died in the +breasts of thousands who, singularly enough, have not stood in the +path of Chance. + +Socially, Warrington was one of the many nobodies; and if he ever +attended dinners and banquets and balls, it was in the capacity of +reporter. But his cynical humor, which was manifest even in his youth, +saved him the rancor and envy which is the portion of the outsider. + +At length the great city called him, and the lure was strong. He +answered, and the long battle was on. Sometimes he dined, sometimes he +slept; for there's an old Italian saying that he who sleeps dines. He +drifted from one paper to another, lived in prosperity one week and in +poverty the next; haggled with pawnbrokers and landladies, and +borrowed money and lent it. He never saved anything; the dreamer never +does. Then one day the end came to the long lane, as it always does to +those who keep on. A book was accepted and published; and then +followed the first play. + +By and by, when his name began to figure in the dramatic news items, +and home visitors in New York returned to boast about the Warrington +"first nights," the up-state city woke and began to recollect +things--what promise Warrington had shown in his youth, how clever he +was, and all that. Nothing succeeds like success, and nobody is so +interesting as the prophet who has shaken the dust of his own country +and found honor in another. Human nature can't help itself: the women +talked of his plays in the reading-clubs, the men speculated on the +backs of envelopes what his royalties were, and the newspaper that had +given him a bread-and-butter pittance for a man's work proudly took it +upon itself to say that its columns had fostered the genius in the +growing. This was not because the editors were really proud of their +townsman's success; rather it was because it made a neat little +advertisement of their own particular foresight, such as it was. In +fact, in his own town (because he had refused to live in it!) +Warrington was a lion of no small dimensions. + +Warrington's novel (the only one he ever wrote) was known to few. To +tell the truth, the very critics that were now praising the dramatist +had slashed the novelist cruelly. And thereby hangs a tale. A New York +theatrical manager sent for Warrington one day and told him that he +had read the book, and if the author would attempt a dramatic version, +the manager would give it a fair chance. Warrington, the bitterness of +failure in his soul, undertook the work, and succeeded. Praise would +have made an indifferent novelist of him, for he was a born dramatist. + +Regularly each year he visited his birthplace for a day or so, to pay +in person his taxes. For all that he labored in New York, he still +retained his right to vote in his native town. + + +A sudden desire seized him to-night to return to his home, to become a +citizen in fact and deed. It was now the time of year when the spring +torrents flood the lowlands, when the melting snows trickle down the +bleak hillsides, when the dead hand of winter lies upon the bosom of +awakening spring, and the seed is in travail. Heigh-ho! the world went +very well in the springs of old; care was in bondage, and all the many +gateways to the heart were bastioned and sentineled. + +"Sir, a lady wishes to see you." + +Warrington turned. His valet stood respectfully in the doorway. + +"The name?" Warrington rose impatiently. Nobody likes to have his +dreams disturbed. + +"Miss Challoner, sir." + +"Challoner!" in surprise; "and this time of night?" He stroked his +chin. A moment passed. Not that he hesitated to admit her; rather he +wished to make a final analysis of his heart before his eyes fell down +to worship her beauty. "Admit her at once." He brushed the ashes from +his jacket and smoothed his hair. The valet disappeared. "If I only +loved the woman, loved her honestly, boldly, fearlessly, what a +difference it would make! I don't love her, and I realize that I never +did. She never touched my heart, only my eye and mind. I may be +incapable of loving any one; perhaps that's it. But what can have +possessed her to leave the theater this time of night?" + +A swish of petticoats, a rush of cool air with which mingled an +indefinable perfume, and, like a bird taking momentary rest in the +passage, she stood poised on the threshold. A beautiful woman is a +tangible enchantment; and fame and fortune had made Katherine +Challoner beautiful, roguishly, daringly, puzzlingly beautiful. Her +eyes sparkled like stars on ruffled waters, the flame of health and +life burned in her cheeks, and the moist red mobile mouth expressed +emotions so rapidly and irregularly as to bewilder the man who +attempted to follow them. Ah, but she could act; comedy or tragedy, it +mattered not; she was always superb. + +There was a tableau of short duration. Her expression was one of +gentle inquiry, his was one of interest not unmixed with fascination. +He felt a quick touch of compassion, of embarrassment. There had been +times when yonder woman had seemed to show him the preference that is +given only to men who are loved. Even as the thought came to him, he +prayed that it was only his man's vanity that imagined it. As he +stared at her, there came the old thrill: beauty is a power +tremendous. + +"Dick, you do not say you are glad to see me." + +"Beauty striketh the sage dumb," he laughed. "What good fortune brings +you here to-night? What has happened? How could you find time between +the acts to run over?" + +"I am not acting to-night." + +"What?" + +"No. Nor shall I be to-morrow night, nor the thousand nights that +shall follow." + +"Why, girl!" he cried, pushing out a chair. He had not seen her for +two weeks. He had known nothing of her movements, save that her +splendid talents had saved a play from utter ruin. Her declaration was +like a thunderbolt. "Explain!" + +"Well, I am tired, Dick; I am tired." She sat down, and her gaze roved +about the familiar room with a veiled affection for everything she +saw. "The world is empty. I have begun to hate the fools who applaud +me. I hate the evil smells which hang about the theater. I hate the +overture and the man with the drums," whimsically. + +"What's he done to you?" + +"Nothing, only he makes more noise than the others. I'm tired. It is +not a definite reason; but a woman is never obliged to be definite." + +"No; I never could understand you, even when you took the trouble to +explain things." + +"Yes, I know." She drew off her gloves and rubbed her fingers, which +were damp and cold. + +"But, surely, this is only a whim. You can't seriously mean to give up +the stage when the whole world is watching you!" + +She did not answer him, but continued to rub her fingers. She wore +several rings, among which was a brilliant of unusual luster. +Warrington, however, had eyes for nothing but her face. For the past +six months he had noted a subtle change in her, a growing reserve, a +thoughtfulness that was slowly veiling or subduing her natural gaiety. +She now evaded him when he suggested one of their old romps in queer +little restaurants; she professed illness when he sent for her to join +him in some harmless junketing. She was slowly slipping away from him; +no, drifting, since he made no real effort to hold her. And why had he +made no real effort? Sometimes he thought he could answer this +question, and then again he knew that he could not. Ah, if he only +loved her! What a helpmeet: cheerful, resourceful, full of good humor +and practical philosophy, a brilliant wit, with all the finished +graces of a goddess. Ah, if indeed he only loved her! This thought +kept running through his mind persistently; it had done so for days; +but it had always led him back to the starting point. Love is not +always reasoning with itself. Perhaps--and the thought filled him with +regret--perhaps he was indeed incapable of loving any one as his +poet's fancy believed he ought to love. And this may account for the +truth of the statement that genius is rarely successful in love; the +ideal is so high that it is out of the reach of life as we, genius or +clod, live it. + +"Isn't this determination rather sudden?" he asked, when the pause +grew insupportable. + +"I have been thinking of it for some time," she replied, smiling. A +woman always finds herself at ease during such crises. "Only, I hadn't +exactly made up my mind. You were at work?" glancing at the desk. + +"Yes, but I'm through for the night. It's only a scenario, and I am +not entirely satisfied with it." + +She walked over to the desk and picked up a sheet at random. She was a +privileged person in these rooms. Warrington never had any nervous +dread when she touched his manuscript. + +"How is it going to end?" she asked. + +"Oh, they are going to marry and be happy ever after," he answered, +smiling. + +"Ah; then they are never going to have any children?" she said, with a +flash of her old-time mischief. + +"Will you have a cigarette?" lighting one and offering her the box. + +"No; I have a horror of cigarettes since that last play. To smoke in +public every night, perforce, took away the charm. I hated that part. +An adventuress! It was altogether too close to the quick; for I am +nothing more or less than an adventuress who has been successful. Why, +the very method I used to make your acquaintance years and years ago, +wasn't it?--proved the spirit. 'We hate two kinds of people,'" she +read, taking up another page of manuscript; "'the people we wrong and +the people who wrong us. Only, the hate for those we have wronged is +most enduring.' That isn't half bad, Dick. How do you think of all +these things?" + +She crossed over to the window to cool her hot face. She, too, heard +the voices of the night; not as the poet hears them, but as one in +pain. "He never loved me!" she murmured, so softly that even the +sparrows in the vine heard her not. And bitter indeed was the pain. +But of what use to struggle, or to sigh, or vainly to regret? As +things are written, so must they be read. She readily held him +guiltless; what she regretted most deeply was the lack of power to +have him and to hold him. Long before, she had realized the +hopelessness of it all. Knowing that he drank from the cup of +dissipation, she had even sought to hold him in contempt; but to her +he had never ceased to be a gentleman, tender, manly and kind. It is +contempt that casts the first spadeful in the grave of love. + +"Come, girl," he said, going to her side; "you have something to tell +me. What is it?" + +She turned to find his hand outstretched and a friendly look in his +eyes. Impulsively she gave him both her hands. He bowed over them with +the grave air of the days of powdered wigs. There was not a particle +of irony in the movement; rather it was a quiet acknowledgment that he +recollected the good influence she had at times worked upon him in +some dark days. As he brushed her fingers with his lips, he saw. His +head came up quickly. + +"Ah!" + +"Yes." Her voice was steady and her eyes were brave. + +He drew her to the lamp and studied the ring. The ruddy lights dartled +as he slowly turned the jewel around. + +"It is a beauty. No one but a rich man could have given a ring like +that. And on your finger it means but one thing." + +"I am to be married in June." + +"Do you love him?" + +"I respect him; he is noble and good and kind." + +Warrington did not press the question. He still retained the hand, +though he no longer gazed at the ring. + +"I have always wanted a home. The stage never really fascinated me; it +was bread and butter." + +"Is it necessary to marry in order to have a home?" he asked quietly, +letting the hand gently slide from his. "You are wealthy, after a +fashion; could you not build a home of your own?" + +"Always to be identified as the actress? To be looked at curiously, to +be annoyed by those who are not my equals, and only tolerated by those +who are? No! I want a man who will protect me from all these things, +who will help me to forget some needless follies and the memory that a +hundred different men have made play-love to me on the other side of +the footlights." + +"Some men marry actresses to gratify their vanity; does this man love +you?" + +"Yes; and he will make me what Heaven intended I should be--a woman. +Oh, I have uttered no deceit. This man will take me for what I am." + +"And you have come here to-night to ask me to forget, too?" There was +no bitterness in his tone, but there was a strong leaven of regret. +"Well, I promise to forget." + +"It was not necessary to ask you that," generously. "But I thought I +would come to you and tell you everything. I did not wish you to +misjudge me. For the world will say that I am marrying this good man +for his money; whereas, if he was a man of the most moderate +circumstances, I should still marry him." + +"And who might this lucky man be? To win a woman, such as I know you +to be, this man must have some extraordinary attributes." And all at +once a sense of infinite relief entered into his heart: if she were +indeed married, there would no longer be that tantalizing doubt on his +part, that peculiar attraction which at one time resembled love and at +another time was simply fascination. She would pass out of his life +definitely. He perfectly recognized the fact that he admired her above +all other women he knew; but it was also apparent that to see her day +by day, year by year, his partner in the commonplaces as well as in +the heights, romance would become threadbare quickly enough. "Who is +he?" he repeated. + +"That I prefer not to disclose to you just yet. What are you going to +call your new play?" with a wave of her hand toward the manuscript. + +"I had intended to call it Love and Money, but the very name presages +failure." + +"Yes, it needs the cement of compatibility to keep the two together." + +"Well, from my heart I wish you all the best luck in the world," he +said, the absence of any mental reservation in his eyes. "You would +make any man a good wife. If I weren't a born fool--" + +She leaned toward him, her face suddenly tense and eager. + +"--if I weren't a born fool," with a smile that was whimsical, "I'd +have married you myself, long ago. But fate has cut me out for a +bachelor." He knocked the ash from a cold pipe, filled and lighted it. +"By the way," he said, "I received a curious letter to-day." Its +production would relieve the awkwardness of the moment. "Would you +like to see it?" opening the drawer and handing the letter to her. +"It's one of the few letters of the sort I'm going to keep." + +She accepted the letter, but without any spirit of interest. For a +moment a thought had all but swept her off her feet; yet she realized +instantly that this thought was futile. Warrington did not love her; +and there was nothing to do but to follow out the course she had +planned. She had come to him that night with a single purpose in mind: +to plumb the very heart of this man who was an enigma to every woman +he met. She had plumbed it. Warrington loved nobody but Warrington and +pleasure. Oh, he was capable of the grand passion, she very well knew, +but the woman to arouse it had not yet crossed his path. + +"What do you think of it?" he asked. + +She came closer to the lamp. It was only pretense, but Warrington was +not aware of it. She had stared at the sheet, reading only her +miserable thoughts. Presently she smiled; the girlish exuberance +amused her. + +"She has put you quite out of reach. What a fine thing it must be to +have such faith in any man!" + +"And I'm not worth in her esteem an ounce to the pound." He was quite +frank with himself. "I would to Heaven I were!" + +"And this is the kind of woman that you will fall violently in love +with, some day, Dick. It will be your punishment." She had fully +recovered by now, and the old-time raillery was in the ascendant. "Oh, +she has read you fairly well. You are good and kind and wise, but +these virtues are not of equal weight. Your goodness and wisdom will +never catch up with your abundant kindness. I've a good deal to thank +you for, Dick; a good deal." + +"Nonsense! The shoe is on the other foot. You have made half my plays +what they are to-day." He rang and ordered some coffee. + +She dropped into his desk-chair and propped her chin in her palms, +viewing him through half-closed, speculative eyes. + +"We've had some jolly larks together," he said. "I shall miss you; how +much I shall know only when you are gone. Is he good-looking?" + +"Very. He is tall and straight, with a manly face, fine eyes, and a +good nose. You know that I'm always particular about a man's nose." + +"And young, of course?" not without some feeling of jealousy. + +"And young." + +"Tell me all about him," drawing up a chair and facing her. + +"He is a lucky chap," he summed up when she had done. + +"That remains to be seen," lightly. "I may prove the worst wife +possible. Perhaps, when I have burned my bridges, I shall be mad for +the very publicity I'm trying to escape. Women are like extinct +volcanos; they are most to be dreaded when written perfectly +harmless." + +Warrington shook his head and laughed. Here the coffee came in. He +dismissed his man, and poured the nectar himself. + +"You are the one man I know who never asks to sweeten my coffee," she +observed. + +"And yet I had to learn. You haven't taught this other fellow yet, I +see. Is he warranted house-broken, or will he have to be chained?" + +"He will not have to be chained; and a man who is a recluse seldom has +to be broken in." + +"A recluse? What's his hobby: butterflies, stones, stamps, or +coins?--No, girl; I don't mean that. I'm a little heavy to-night. Do +you recollect the night you donned a suit of mine, bundled your hair +under a felt hat, and visited the studios? What a romp! Not a soul +ever found out who you were; and if I hadn't been in the secret, I +shouldn't have known, either. I shall never forget how funny Dolman +looked when he started a certain popular story of his and you shut him +up. 'Gentlemen,' you said, 'neither listen to, nor repeat that kind of +story in the presence of ladies.' 'Ladies?' cried Dolman. 'I see no +ladies.' 'But there are gentlemen,' you added quickly. Later, Dolman +advised me not to bring any more of my Sunday-school friends to HIS +studio." + +The woman smiled, but the smile was only on the lips. All those happy +frolics were to be no more. Heigh-ho! Over the mantel there were +several photographs of herself. Like all celebrities of her kind, the +camera was a constant source of amusement. It was not necessarily +vanity. The rose is not vain, yet it repeats its singular beauty as +often as the seasons permit it. Across these pictures she had scrawled +numerous signatures, "Kate" and "Kit" and "Kitty" and "Katherine +Challoner," with here and there a phrase in French and Italian. + +"You wouldn't return those under any circumstances?" + +"No, indeed! That's all I'll have. And besides, you wouldn't ask me to +give them up?" + +Her answer remained unspoken. The valet appeared deferentially. + +"Well?" said Warrington. + +"A gentleman to see you, sir. He said he wouldn't need any card. Mr. +John Bennington, sir. + +"John Bennington!" Warrington sprang from his chair, his face joyous. +"Old John here to-night! Finest chap on earth, Kate; my roommate at +college, and the only chap in my town who was my friend when I was a +nobody. Old John ..." + +"Richard, you must hide me quickly. I mustn't be seen here. There is +no way of passing him the hall." + +"Good Lord!" He did not notice her pallor. "The butler's pantry," he +said hastily. + +She slipped out of sight noiselessly. Presently she heard sounds, +men's voices, a hearty greeting and for a moment the world seemed +gliding from under her feet. Her gloves! She had forgotten her gloves! + + + + +Chapter III + + + +Men have a way of greeting which is all their own. It is unlike the +kiss and flutter of women, which may signify frankness or deceit, +generosity or selfishness, some favor to gain, some treachery to +forestall. Men's likes and dislikes are generally visible. The dog +wags his tail, or he warns you away with a growl; there is no +mistaking his attitude. On the other hand, the cat purrs and rubs +against your leg, and when you reach down to smooth her, as likely as +not she gives you a dig for your pains. True, there are always +exceptions to this rule. + +With their hands on each other's shoulders, at arm's length they +stood, a likely pair to look at, smiling frankly and joyfully into +each other's eyes. When it is without self-interest, friendship +between man and man is a fine and noble thing. It is known best in the +stress of storms, in the hour of sorrow and adversity. Friendship, to +be perfect, must be without any sense of obligation; for obligation +implies that one or the other is in debt, and the debtor is always +wondering when he will have to pay. Between these two men only the +slightest favors had been exchanged. They had grown up together, one +the son of a rich steel-mill owner, the other the son of a poor +farmer. The one had entered college to the sounding of golden cymbals, +the other had marched in with nothing but courage in his pocket. It is +impossible to describe how these great friendships come about; +generally they begin with some insignificant trifle, soon forgotten. +Warrington had licked Bennington in the boyhood days; why, I doubt +that the Recording Angel himself remembers. So the friendship began +with secret admiration on one side and good-natured toleration on the +other. One day Warrington broke a colt for Bennington, and later +Bennington found a passably good market for Warrington's vegetables. +Friendship, like constancy, finds strange niches. The Bennington +family were not very cordial to the young vegetable grower. On the +mother's side there was a long line of military ancestors. It is +impossible that a cabbage and a uniform should cohere. Warrington's +great-grandsires had won honors in the Revolution, but as this fact +did not make cabbages grow any faster he kept the faded glory to +himself. + +In college the two lads were as inseparable as La Mole and Coconnas; +they played on the same teams, rowed on the same crews and danced with +the same girls. The only material difference in their respective +talents lay in one thing: Bennington could not write a respectable +rhyme, and I'm not sure that he wasn't proud of it. It distinguished +him from the other members of his class. As for Warrington, there +wasn't a pretty girl in the whole college town who couldn't boast of +one or more of his impassioned stanzas. And you may be sure that when +Warrington became talked about these self-same halting verses were dug +up from the garret and hung in sundry parlors. + +Bennington was handsome, and, but for his father's blood, the idleness +of his forebears would have marked him with effeminateness. His head, +his face, the shape of his hands and feet, these proclaimed the +aristocrat. It was only in the eyes and the broad shoulders that you +recognized the iron-monger's breed. His eyes were as blue as his own +hammered steel; but, like the eyes of the eagle at peace, they were +mild and dreamy and deceptive to casual inspection. In the shops the +men knew all about those eyes and shoulders. They had been fooled +once, but only once. They had felt the iron in the velvet. + +"I'm mighty glad to see you, boy," said Warrington, dropping his arms. +"You haven't changed a bit." + +"Nor you, Dick; if anything you look younger." + +"How many years is it, John?" + +"Six or seven; not very long." + +"Time never seems long to a man who never has to wait for anything. I +have had to reckon time with hours full of suspense, and those hours +have aged me; perhaps not outwardly, but all the same, I'm an old man, +John." + +"Nonsense!" + +"When did you cross?" + +"About a year ago, when father died. I had given up the English end of +the concern two years before, and was just wandering about the +continent. I was dreadfully disappointed when I learned that you had +visited the shops in ninety-eight. That summer I was in Switzerland. +I had no idea there was going to be war, and never saw a newspaper +till it was nearly over. I should have enlisted. And another year we +passed within two days of each other." + +"No!" Bennington exclaimed. + +"Yes. It was in Italy, at Sorrento, that I learned of your nearness. +You were off for Amalfi and I had just come from there. For three days +I ran across your name in the hotel registers. I tried to find your +permanent address, but failed. Cook's nor the bankers in Naples knew +anything about you. I tell you what, it was discouraging." + +"What luck! I was having all my mail sent direct to Mentone, where I +spent the winter. Say, what do you think?" + +"About what?" + +"Won five thousand at Monte Carlo in one play." + +"Pounds?" exclaimed Bennington. + +"Lord, no!--dollars." + +"Ah! But of course you went back and lost it?" ironically. + +"On the contrary, I've never staked a dollar since. Gambling was never +a habit of mine, though I dare say the moral side of the subject would +not have held me back. Simply, I know that the gambler always loses, +and the banker always wins, in the end. Common sense told me to quit, +and I did. I brought my letter of credit home practically intact." + +"You used to play poker," dubiously. + +"Poker isn't gambling. It's surreptitiously lending money to your +friends." + +"You were always good at definitions," sighed Bennington. + +"I understand you've sold your holdings in the English shops?" + +"Yes. I was weary of the people and what they called their +conservatism, which is only a phase of stupidity. And then, besides, I +loved the old home up there. I've been living there about a year now." + +"It's a pity you couldn't have looked me up before this," Warrington +complained. + +Bennington only laughed affectionately. + +"Take a look around the room while I get the whisky and soda." + +"Don't bother, Dick." + +"Boy, I licked you once, and I'll do it again if you don't sit down. A +little extra attention won't hurt; and I'll guarantee the whisky." +Waving his arms toward all the desirable things in the room, he +vanished beyond the curtain. + +Bennington looked about leisurely. It was just the kind of room he had +always imagined; it was like the man who occupied it. Simplicity and +taste abounded; the artist and the collector, the poet and the +musician, were everywhere in evidence. He strolled over to the mantel +and took down one of the pictures signed "Kate." He smiled. It was not +an indulgent smile, nor the smile of a man who has stumbled upon +another man's secret. The smile was rather exultant. He leaned against +the mantel and studied the face in its varied expressions. He nodded +approvingly. It was a lovely face; it was more than lovely,--it was +tender and strong. Presently he returned to his chair and sat down, +the photograph still in his hand. And in this position Warrington +found him. + +"Ah, you sly dog!" he hailed, setting down the glasses and pouring out +a liberal bumper. "So I've caught you? Well, you're not the only man +who has been conquered by that very photograph." He had half a notion +to go in and bring her out; but then, women are such finicky beings! + +Bennington laid aside the photograph, a certain reverence in his +action that in ordinary times would not have escaped Warrington's +notice. + +"What's this to be?" asked Bennington, lifting his glass and stirring +the ice. + +"Immer und immer, as the German has it," Warrington replied. + +"For ever and ever, then!" + +And the two lightly touched glasses, with that peculiar gravity which +always accompanies such occasions. + +"When a man drinks your health in bad whisky, look out for him; but +this whisky is very good, Dick." Bennington set down his glass and +wiped his lips. "It is very good, indeed." + +"Well, how are things up in Herculaneum?" asked Warrington. "You know, +or ought to know, that I get up there only once a year." + +"Things are not very well. There's the devil to pay in politics, and +some day I may have a jolly long strike on my hands," grimly. "But I +shall know exactly what to do. That man McQuade owns about all the +town now. He controls congressmen, state senators and assemblymen, and +the majority of the Common Council is his, body and soul. Only +recently he gave the traction company a new right of way. Not a penny +went into the city's purse. And you know these street-railways; they +never pay their taxes. A franchise for ninety-nine years; think of +it!" + +"Why don't you men wake up and oust McQuade? I'll tell you right here, +Jack, you have no one to blame but yourself. Scoundrels like McQuade +are always in the minority; but they remain in power simply because +men like you think politics a dirty business and something for an +honest man to keep out of. Run for mayor yourself, if you want clean +politics. Rouse up an independent party." + +"Do you know what they call me up there?" Bennington laughed. + +"I confess to ignorance." + +"Well, the newspapers say covertly that I'm all but a naturalized +Englishman, a snob, when I'm only a recluse, a man who dresses every +night for dinner, who dines instead of eats. There are some things it +is impossible to understand, and one is the interest the newspapers +take in the private affairs of men. If they jumped on me as a +mill-owner, there might be some excuse, but they are always digging me +on the private-citizen side. Every man, in his own house, ought to be +allowed to do as he pleases. They never bothered the governor any, +when he was alive. I believe they were afraid of him." + +"I can explain all that, my boy. Buy your clothes of the local +tailors; get rid of your valet; forget that you have lived in England. +They'll come around to you, then. You may talk as much as you like +about the friendliness between the Englishman and the American. It is +simply a case of two masters who are determined that their dogs shall +be friendly. Let the masters drop out of sight for a moment, and you +will find the dogs at each other's throat. And the masters? The dollar +on this side and the sovereign on the other. There is a good deal of +friendship these days that is based upon three and a half per cent. +Get into politics, my boy." + +"Bah! I'd look nice running for mayor, wouldn't I? The newspapers +would howl calamity, and the demagogues would preach that I would soon +impose English wages in the shops, and all that tommyrot. No, thank +you; I'll take trouble as it comes, but I'm not looking for it." + +"I see that I shall have to go back there and start the ball myself," +said Warrington, jesting. + +"Why don't you? You are not a rank outsider. The people are proud of +you." + +"And always will be, so long as I have sense enough to remain here in +New York," dryly. "But if I lived there ...!" + +"You are not always going to live in New York?" + +"Not always." + +"You've a beautiful old home up there." + +"I bought that just to show the people I had the money," laughing. +"They may never forget my cabbages, but they'll forgive them." + +"Nevertheless, you ought to return." + +"Listen," said Warrington, lifting his hand. They became silent, and +presently the voice of the city came into the room. "I'm afraid I +could not live away from that. How many times have I stopped work to +listen to it! How many inspirations have I drawn from it! It is the +siren's music, I know, but I am no longer afraid of the reefs. Perhaps +I have become enamored with noise; it is quite possible." + +"I have lived in London. I thought it was going to be hard to break +away, but it wasn't." + +They lighted cigars, and Bennington took up the photograph again. + +"A lovely face," was his comment. + +"With a heart and a mind even more lovely," supplemented Warrington. +"She is one of the most brilliant women I have ever met, and what is +more, humorous and good-humored. My word for it, she may have equals, +but she has no superiors on this side of the ocean." + +Bennington looked up sharply. + +"Nothing serious?" he asked gently. + +"Serious? No. We are capital friends, but nothing more. There's been +too much comradeship to admit anything like sentimentality. Ah, boy, +you should see her act!" + +"I have. I saw her in London last season. She was playing your War of +Women. She appeared to me enchanting. But about these actresses ..." + +"I know, I know," interrupted Warrington. "Some of them are bad, but +some of them are the noblest creatures God ever put on earth; and +yonder is one of them. I remember. Often we were both in debt; plays +went wrong; sometimes I helped her out, sometimes she returned the +favor. We were more like two men. Without her help I shouldn't be +where I am to-day. I always read the scenario of a play to her first; +and often we've worked together half a night on one scene. I shall +miss her." + +"What! Is she going away?" + +"After a fashion. She has retired from the stage." + +"Do you believe she means it?" asked Bennington. "You know how +changeable actresses' moods are." + +"I think Miss Challoner will never act again. She has always been an +enigma to the majority of the show people. Never any trumpets, +jewelry, petty squabbles, lime-lights, and silks; she never read +criticisms, save those I sent her. Managers had to knock on her +dressing-room door. Oh, I do not say that she is an absolute paragon, +but I do say that she is a good woman, of high ideals, loyal, +generous, frank, and honest. And I have often wondered why the devil I +couldn't fall in love with her myself," moodily. + +Bennington was silent for a moment. Finally he said: "How does it feel +to be famous, to have plays produced simultaneously in New York and +London?" + +"After the first success there is never anything but hard work. A +failure once in a while acts like a tonic. And sometimes we get an +anonymous letter that refreshes us--a real admirer, who writes from +the heart and doesn't fish for a letter or an autograph in return. I +received one of these only a few days ago, and I want you to read it." +Warrington produced the missive and tossed it into Bennington's hands. +"Read that. It's worth while to get a letter like that one." + +Bennington took up the letter, smiling at his friend's enthusiasm. A +single glance at the graceful script, however, changed his expression. +He sat back and stared at Warrington. + +"What's the matter?" + +Bennington did not answer, but settled down to his task, reading +carefully and slowly. He did not look for any signature, for he knew +there would be none. He returned the letter, his face sober, but his +eyes dancing. + +"Now, what the deuce do you see that is so amusing?" + +"Oh, nothing." + +"Don't tell me there isn't any romance in the world. But, hang it, +Jack, I'm not worth a letter like that," earnestly. + +"Of course not." + +"I'm not jesting. I've sown wild oats, and God knows what the harvest +will be. There's a law that exacts payment. Retribution is the only +certain thing in this world." + +"Oh, you're no worse than the average man. But the average man is +jolly bad," Bennington added gravely. "But you, Dick; I'm not worrying +about you. Perhaps the writer of that letter sees good in you that you +can't see yourself; good that is in you but of which you are +unconscious. 0ne thing, you have never besmirched the talents God gave +you. Everything you have done has been clean and wholesome--like +yourself." + +"I wish I could believe that! But I've had no ties, Jack, none. You +can't keep to a course without a compass. The real good in life, the +good that makes life worth while, is the toil for those you love. I +love nobody, not even myself. But this girl rather woke me up. I began +to look inward, as they say. So far I've not discovered much good. I'd +give a good deal to meet this writer." + +"Doubtless you will find her charming." + +Suddenly Warrington turned upon his friend. "But what I want to know +is, what brought you around here this time o' night? I never knew you +to do anything without a definite purpose." + +"That's precisely what I've been waiting for you to lead up to. The +truth is--" Bennington hesitated. His hand, idly trailing over the +desk, came into contact with something smooth and soft. It was a pair +of white kid gloves, a woman's. Absently he drew them through his +hand. He was only half conscious of his action, and he did not observe +Warrington's sudden agitation. "The truth is, I've gone and done it. +I'm going to be married in June, and I want you to be my best man." + +Warrington's hand went out impulsively. + +"Oh, I felt it in my bones when your card came in," he said, +rearranging the glasses. "Lucky woman! Long life to you, Jack, and +long happiness!" + +"Thank you, Dick." (Ceremonial recurrence of drinking a health.) + +"Now, out with it. Who is she, and all about her?" + +"Dick, I'm genuinely sorry, but I'm still under bond of silence." + +"More mysteries!" cried Warrington, with evident discontent. + +"Only for a week, when, if you say, we'll have breakfast here in these +very rooms. + +"Done. Only I must say you're a bit hard on me to-night. + +"I'm sorry." + +"Let me see; I'll describe her for you. Beautiful." + +"Yes." + +"Accomplished." + +"Very." + +"A woman who will be both wife and comrade." + +"Exactly." + +"An American." + +"In all things." + +"You make me envious." + +"Why don't you get married yourself?" + +"Bah!" Warrington went to the window and looked down upon the street. + +Bennington eyed his broad shoulders sympathetically. He looked down at +the limp, smooth skins in his hand, and sat up stiffly. From the +gloves to Warrington and back again to the gloves, his gaze traveled. +With an impulse rather mechanical he raised the gloves to his nose. +Quickly he dropped them on the desk, took up the photograph, rose and +replaced it on the mantel. Hearing him, Warrington turned. + +"No, Jack, I doubt if I shall ever be lucky enough to find the one +woman. I've been so busy that I've never had time to hunt for +happiness. And those who hunt for it never find it, and those who wait +for it can not see it standing at their side." + +Bennington wandered about, from object to object. Here he picked up a +dagger, there a turquoise in the matrix, and again some inlaid wood +from Sorrento. From these his interest traveled to and lingered over +some celebrated autographs. + +"Happiness is a peculiar thing," went on the dramatist. "It is far +less distinctive than fame or fortune. They sometimes knock at your +door, but happiness steals in without warning, and often leaves as +mysteriously as it comes." + +Bennington paused to examine a jade cigarette case, which he opened +and closed aimlessly. And there were queer little Japanese ash-trays +that arrested his attention. + +"Men like you and me, Jack, never marry unless we love. It is never a +business transaction." + +"It is love or nothing," said Bennington, turning his face toward +Warrington. The smile he gave was kindly. "Yes, true happiness can be +sought only in those we love. There is happiness even in loving some +one who does not love you." Bennington repressed a sigh. "But, Dick, +you'll be the best man?" + +"Depend upon me. What do you say to this day week for breakfast here?" + +"That will be wholly agreeable to me." + +Bennington's cigar had gone out. He leaned upon the desk and took his +light from the chimney. Men who have traveled widely never waste +matches. + +"Can't you bunk here for the night? There's plenty of room," said +Warrington. + +"Impossible, Dick. I leave at midnight for home. I must be there +to-morrow morning. I'm afraid of trouble in the shops. The unions are +determined to push me to the limit of my patience." + +"Why the deuce don't you get rid of the shops?" + +"They're the handiwork of my father, and I'm proud to follow his +steps." Bennington's eyes were no longer at peace; they sparkled with +defiance. "Half-past ten!" suddenly. "I must be going. My luggage is +still at the hotel. God bless you, Dick!" + +Their hands met once again. + +"You know, jack, that I love you best of all men." + +"You are sure there is no woman?" + +Warrington laughed easily. "Ah, if there was a woman! I expect to be +lonely some day." + +Bennington put on his hat and gloves, and Warrington followed him into +the hall. Once the prospective bridegroom paused, as if he had left +something unsaid; but he seemed to think the better of silence, and +went on. + +"Tuesday morning, then?" + +"Tuesday morning. Good night." + +"Good night, and luck attend you." + +The door closed, and Warrington went slowly back to his desk, his mind +filled with pleasant recollections of youth. He re-read the letter, +studied it thoroughly, in hopes that there might be an anagram. There +was nothing he could see, and he put it away, rather annoyed. He +arranged the sheets and notes of the scenario, marshaled the scattered +pencils, and was putting the glasses on the tray, when a sound in the +doorway caused him to lift his head. One of the glasses tumbled over +and rolled across the desk, leaving a trail of water which found its +level among the ash-trays. + +"It is quite evident that you forgot me," said the woman, a faint +mirthless smile stirring her lips. "It was very close in there, and I +could hear nothing." She placed a hand on her forehead, swayed, and +closed her eyes for a second. + +"You are faint!" he cried, springing toward her. + +"It is nothing," she replied, with a repelling gesture. "John +Bennington, was it not?" + +"Yes." His eyes grew round with wonder. + +"I was going to keep it secret as long as I could, but I see it is +useless. He is the man I have promised to marry." Her voice had a +singular quietness. + +Warrington retreated to his desk, leaning heavily against it. + +"Bennington? You are going to marry John Bennington?" dully. + +"Yes." + +He sat down abruptly and stared at her with the expression of one who +is suddenly confronted by some Medusa's head, as if in the straggling +wisps of hair that escaped from beneath her hat he saw the writhing +serpents. She was going to marry John Bennington! + +She stepped quickly up to the desk and began to scatter things about. +Her hands shook, she breathed rapidly, her delicate nostrils dilating +the while. + +"Look out!" he warned, at her side the same instant. "Your hat is +burning!" He smothered the incipient flame between his palms. + +"Never mind the hat. My gloves, Dick, my gloves! I left them here on +the desk." + +"Your gloves?" Then immediately he recollected that he had seen them +in Bennington's hands, but he was positive that the gloves meant +nothing to Bennington. He had picked them up just as he would have +picked up a paper-cutter, a pencil, a match-box, if any of these had +been within reach of his nervous fingers. Most men who are at times +mentally embarrassed find relief in touching small inanimate objects. +So he said reassuringly: "Don't let a pair of gloves worry you, girl." + +"He bought them for me this morning," a break in her voice. "I MUST +find them!" + +The situation assumed altogether a different angle. There was a hint +of tragedy in her eyes. More trivial things than a forgotten pair of +gloves have brought about death and division. Together they renewed +the search. They sifted the manuscripts, the books, the magazines, +burrowed into the drawers; and sometimes their hands touched, but they +neither noticed nor felt the contact. Warrington even dropped to his +knees and hunted under the desk, all the while "Jack Bennington, Jack +Bennington!" drumming in his ears. The search was useless. The gloves +were nowhere to be found. He stood up irresolute, dismayed and +anxious, keenly alive to her misery and to the inferences his best +friend might draw. The desk stood between them, but their faces were +within two spans of the hand. + +"I can't find them." + +"They are gone!" she whispered. + + + + +Chapter IV + + + +When the pathfinders came into the territory which is now called the +Empire State, they carried muskets and tripods under one arm and Greek +dictionaries under the other. They surveyed all day and scanned all +night, skirmishing intermittently with prowling redskins. They knew +something about elementary geometry, too, and you will find evidences +of it everywhere, even in the Dutch settlements. The Dutchman always +made the beauty of geometry impossible. Thus, nowadays, one can not +move forward nor backward fifty miles in any direction without having +the classic memory jarred into activity. Behold Athens, Rome, Ithaca, +Troy; Homer, Virgil, Cicero; Pompey and Hannibal; cities and poets and +heroes! It was, in those early days, a liberal education to be born in +any one of these towns. Let us take Troy, for instance. When the young +mind learned to spell it, the young mind yearned to know what Troy +signified. Then came Homer, with his heroic fairy-story of gods, +demigods and mortals. Of one thing you may be reasonably sure: Helen +was kept religiously in the background. You will find no city named +after her; nor Sappho, nor Aspasia. The explorer and the geographer +have never given woman any recognition; it was left to the poets to +sing her praise. Even Columbus, fine old gentleman that he was, +absolutely ignored Isabella as a geographical name. + +The city of Herculaneum (so called in honor of one Hercules) was very +well named. To become immortal it had the same number of tasks to +perform as had old Hercules. The Augean Stables were in the City Hall; +and had Hercules lived in Herculaneum, he never would have sat with +the gods. The city lay in a pleasant valley, embraced by imposing +wooded hills. There was plenty of water about, a lake, a river, a +creek; none of these, however, was navigable for commercial purposes. +But this in nowise hindered the city's progress. On the tranquil bosom +of the Erie Canal rode the graceful barges of commerce straight and +slowly through the very heart of the town. Like its historic namesake, +the city lived under the eternal shadow of smoke, barring Sundays; but +its origin was not volcanic, only bituminous. True, year in and year +out the streets were torn up, presenting an aspect not unlike the +lava-beds of Vesuvius; but as this phase always implies, not +destruction, but construction, murmurs were only local and few. It was +a prosperous and busy city. It grew, it grows, and will grow. Long +life to it! Every year the city directory points with pride to its +growing bulk. A hundred thousand people; and, as Max O'Rell said--"All +alive and kicking!" Herculaneum held its neighbors in hearty contempt, +like the youth who has suddenly found his man's strength, and parades +round with a chip on his shoulder. + +Three railroad lines ran through the business section, bisecting the +principal thoroughfares. The passenger trains went along swiftly +enough, but often freights of almost interminable length drawled +through the squares. I say drawled advisedly. Surely the whuff-whuff +of the engine seems to me a kind of mechanical speech; and to this was +often added the sad lowing of cattle. From time to time some earnest +but misdirected young man would join the aldermanic body, and +immediately lift up his voice in protest. It was outrageous, and so +forth; the railroads must be brought to their senses, and so forth. +Presently a meeting would come and go without his voice being heard, +another, and yet another. By and by he would silently cast his vote +for the various businesses under hand, and go home. The old-timers +would smile. They understood. They rode on annuals themselves. + +All the same, Herculaneum was a beautiful city in parts. Great leafy +maples and elms arched the streets in the residential quarters, and +the streets themselves were broad and straight. There were several +dignified buildings of ten and twelve stories, many handsome banks, +several clubs, and two or three passable monuments. There were at that +time five enterprising newspapers, four frankly partizan and one +independent. Personalities entered freely into the editorials, which +often abounded in wit and scholarship. There were three theaters, and +many churches of many denominations; religion and amusement, to +thrive, must have variety. There were great steel shops, +machine-shops, factories and breweries. And there were a few people +who got in touch with one another, and invented society. + +Herculaneum has its counterpart in every state; each city is a +composite of all the others. A fashion in New York is immediately +reproduced in every other city on the continent. Conservatism, day by +day, becomes more and more retiring; presently it will exist only in +Webster, side by side with the word prehistoric. + + +It was Sunday in Herculaneum, a June Sunday, radiant with sunshine. +The broad green leaves of the maples shivered, lacing the streets with +amber and jade, and from a thousand emerald gardens rose the subtle, +fragrant incense of flowers. How still and beautiful this day seems to +us who have hurried hither and thither for six long days, sometimes in +anger, sometimes in exultation, failure or success! It breathes a +peace and quiet that is tonic. Upon this day there is truce between us +and the enemy. + +In Herculaneum they still went to church on a Sunday morning. Perhaps +it was merely habit, perhaps it was simply formality, perhaps it was +only to parade new clothes; anyhow, they went to church. At ten-thirty +the procession started; gentlemen in their tiles, ladies in their +furbelows, children stiffly starched. Some rode to church, but the +majority walked. There were many store-windows to preen before, as in +a mirror. Vanity has something to her credit, after all; it is due to +her that most of us make an effort to keep spruce and clean. + +Comment passed like the fall of dominoes. Some woman, +ultra-fashionable, would start the chatter. She NEVER saw anything +like the gowns Mrs. Jones wore; Mrs. Jones touched upon the impossible +feathers of Mrs. Smith's hat, and Mrs. Smith in turn questioned the +exquisite complexion of Mrs. Green, who thought Mrs. White's children +the homeliest in the city. (Can't you hear the dominoes going down?) + +The men nodded here and there, briefly. Saturday night in a provincial +town holds many recollections. + +The high church was a stately pile of granite, with lofty spire and +fine memorial windows. Doves fluttered about the eaves. Upon this +particular Sunday morning there seemed to be something in the air that +was not a component part of any of the elements. It was simply a bit +of news which the church-goers had read in the papers that morning. To +many a bud and belle it was a thunder-clap, a bolt from a cloudless +heaven. They whispered about it, lifted their eyebrows, and shrugged +their shoulders. But their mamas gave no sign. If the fox of +disappointment ate into their vitals, they determined, Spartan-like, +that none should know it. An actress! Men might marry actresses in +England, but Herculaneum still clung to the belief that actresses were +not eligible. + +Some of the men had seen Katherine Challoner act, and they sighed, +retrospectively and introspectively. + +"I feel for Mrs. Bennington and her daughter. It must be a great blow +to their pride." Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene sat down in her pew-seat and +arranged her silk petticoats. Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds sat down +beside her. "You know I never meddle with scandal." + +Mrs. Fairchilds nodded brightly. + +"Never. I never repeat anything I hear. The Archibald affair was +enacted right under my very nose; but did I circulate what I saw? I +think not! That woman!--but there! I pray for her every night." + +"Was it really true, then?" asked Mrs. Fairchilds, breathless. She +knew something about the Archibald affair, but not enough. + +"I saw it all with these eyes," flatly. "But, as I said, I keep my +hands clean of scandal." Her hands were white and flabby. "I consider +it not only wicked to start a scandal, but positively bad taste. The +lightest word sometimes ruins a reputation." + +"Mrs. Archibald--" began Mrs. Fairchilds. + +"Not another word, my dear. I've said nothing at all; I haven't even +told you what I saw. But an actress is different. Think of it, my +dear! She will live among us and we shall have to meet her. Think of +the actors who have kissed her in their make-believe love affairs! It +is so horribly common. I have heard a good many things about her. She +has romped in studios in male attire and smokes cigarettes. I should +not want any son of mine to be seen with her. I'm not saying a single +word against her, mind you; not a single word. You know as well as I +do what a wild fellow Warrington is. Well, she has been going around +with him." + +"But they took him up in London," said Mrs. Wilmington-Fairchilds. + +"London! London society, indeed! It's the greatest jumble in the +world: nobility hobnobs with jockeys, piano-players, writers and +actors." + +Mrs. Fairchilds shook her head sadly. She had always believed London +society quite the proper thing, and she had followed the serials of +"The Duchess" with reverent awe. But Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene ought to +know; she had traveled in Europe several seasons. Mrs. Franklyn- +Haldene was one of the prominent social leaders, and Mrs. Fairchilds +had ambitions. The ready listener gets along very well in this old +world of ours. + +"I always knew that some time or other the plebeian Bennington blood +would crop out," went on Mrs. Haldene. "But we must not criticize the +dead," benignly. + +"We shall have to receive her." + +"After a fashion," replied Mrs. Haldene, opening her prayer-book. Her +tone implied that things would not go very smoothly for the +interloper. "All this comes from assimilating English ideas," she +added. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was one of those fortunate persons who always +have their names in the society columns of the Sunday newspapers. +Either she was among those present, or she gave a luncheon, or she +assisted at a reception, or was going out of town, or coming back. +Those who ran their husbands in debt to get into society always looked +to see what Mrs. Haldene had been doing the past week. The society +reporters, very often smug young women of aristocratic but +impoverished families, called her up by telephone every day in the +week. Mrs. Haldene pretended to demur, but the reporters found her an +inexhaustible mine of tittle-tattle. Sometimes they omitted some news +which she considered important; and, as the saying goes, the hair +flew. She found many contestants for the leadership; but her rivals +never lasted more than a month. She was president of hospital +societies, orphan asylums, and the auxiliary Republican Club, and +spoke at a bimonthly club on the servant question. Everybody was a +little afraid of her, with one exception. + +The society columns of the Sunday newspapers have become permanently +established. In every city and hamlet from New York to San Francisco, +you will find the society column. It is all tommyrot to the outsider; +but the proprietor is generally a shrewd business man and makes vanity +pay tribute to his exchequer. The column especially in early summer, +begins something like this: + +June will be a busy month for brides, and King Cupid and his gala +court will hold sway. The bridal processions will begin to move this +week in homes and churches. On Wednesday, at high noon, the marriage +of Miss Katherine Challoner, the well-known actress, and Mr. John +Bennington, of this city, will be solemnized in New York. Only the +immediate relatives will be present. Richard Warrington, our own +celebrated townsman, will act as best man. The announcement comes as a +great surprise to society, as Mr. Bennington was looked upon as a +confirmed bachelor. + +And again you will find something of this sort: + +April 22--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene leaves next week for Washington, where +she will be the guest of Senator Soandso's wife. + +April 29--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left yesterday for Washington. + +May 6--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who is visiting in Washington, will +return next week. + +May 13--Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene has returned home from a delightful +visit in Washington. + +Sometimes, when there was no escape from it, Mr. Franklyn-Haldene's +name also appeared. + +From mundane things to the spiritual! + +"Yes, I feel for Mrs. Bennington," continued Mrs. Haldene. "We have to +submit to our boys' running around with actresses; but to marry them!" + +"And married life, I understand, seldom agrees with them. They +invariably return to the stage. I wonder if this woman has ever been +married before?" + +"I shouldn't be surprised. For my part, I'm very glad the ceremony +will not be performed in the church. Hush!" with a warning glance over +her shoulder. + +There was a sudden craning of necks, an agitation among the hats and +bonnets. Down the aisle came a handsome, dignified woman in widow's +weeds, a woman who was easily fifty-six, but who looked as if she had +just crossed the threshold of the forties. Her face was serene, the +half-smile on her lips was gentle and sweet her warm brown eyes viewed +the world peacefully. Ah, how well she knew that to-day this temple of +worship was but a den of jackals, ready to rend her if she so much as +hesitated, so much as faltered in look or speech! Never should they +feed themselves upon her sorrow. She went on, smiling here and there. +The low hum, the pallid lights, the murmur from the organ, all seemed +cruelly accented. Her pew was third from the chancel; she was but +half-way through the gantlet of curious eyes. + +Following her was a young girl of twenty. She was youth in all its +beauty and charm and fragrance. Many a young masculine heart throbbed +violently as she passed, and straightway determined to win fame and +fortune, if for no other purpose than to cast them at her feet. This +was Patty Bennington. + +The two reached their pew without mishap, and immediately rested their +heads reverently upon the rail in prayer. Presently the music ceased, +the rector mounted the pulpit, and the day's service began. I doubt if +many could tell you what the sermon was about that day. + +No other place offers to the speculative eye of the philosopher so +many varied phases of humanity as the church. In the open, during the +week-days, there is little pretense, one way or the other; but in +church, on Sunday, everybody, or nearly everybody, seems to have +donned a mask, a transparent mask, a smug mask, the mask of the known +hypocrite. The man who is a brute to his wife goes meekly to his seat; +the miser, who has six days pinched his tenants or evicted them, +passes the collection plate, his face benevolent; the woman whose +tongue is that of the liar and the gossip, who has done her best to +smirch the reputation of her nearest neighbor, lifts her eyes +heavenward and follows every word of a sermon she can not comprehend; +and the man or woman who has stepped aside actually believes that his +or her presence in church hoodwinks every one. Heigh-ho! and envy with +her brooding yellow eyes and hypocrisy with her eternal smirk sit side +by side in church. + +Oh, there are some good and kindly people in this ragged world of +ours, and they go to church with prayer in their hearts and goodness +on their lips and forgiveness in their hands. They wear no masks; +their hearts and minds go in and out of church unchanged. These are +the salt of the earth, and do not often have their names in the Sunday +papers, unless it is in the matter of their wills and codicils. Then +only do the worldly know that charity had walked among them and they +knew her not. + +Of such was Miss Anna Warrington, spinster-aunt of Richard. She +occupied the other half of the Bennington pew. Until half a dozen +years ago, when her boy had come into his own, she had known but +little save poverty and disillusion; and the good she always dreamed +of doing she was now doing in fact. Very quietly her withered old hand +stole over the low partition and pressed Mrs. Bennington's hand. The +clasp spoke mutely of courage and good-will. She knew nothing of awe, +kindly soul; the great and the small were all the same to her. She +remembered without rancor the time when Mrs. Bennington scarcely +noticed her; but sorrow had visited Mrs. Bennington and widened her +vision and broadened her heart; and the two met each other on a common +basis, the loss of dear ones. + +The clock is invariably hung in the rear of the church. The man who +originally selected this position was evidently a bit of a cynic. +Perhaps he wanted to impress the preacher with the fact that there +must be a limitation to all things, even good sermons; or perhaps he +wanted to test the patience and sincerity of the congregation. The +sermon was rather tedious this Sunday; shiny, well-worn platitudes are +always tedious. And many twisted in their seats to get a glimpse of +the clock. + +Whenever Patty looked around (for youth sits impatiently in church), +always she met eyes, eyes, eyes. But she was a brave lass, and more +than once she beat aside the curious gaze. How she hated them! She +knew what they were whispering, whispering. Her brother was going to +marry an actress. She was proud of her brother's choice. He was going +to marry a woman who was as brilliant as she was handsome, who counted +among her friends the great men and women of the time, who dwelt in a +world where mediocrity is unknown and likewise unwelcome. Mediocrity's +teeth are sharp only for those who fear them. + +Patty was nervous on her mother's account, not her own. It had been a +blow to the mother, who had always hoped to have her boy to herself as +long as she lived. He had never worried her with flirtations; there +had been no youthful affairs. The mother of the boy who is always +falling in love can meet the final blow half-way. Mrs. Bennington had +made an idol of the boy, but at the same time she had made a man of +him. From the time he could talk till he had entered man's estate, she +had been constant at his side, now with wisdom and learning, now with +laughter and wit, always and always with boundless and brooding love. +The first lesson had been on the horror of cruelty; the second, on the +power of truth; the third, on the good that comes from firmness. It is +very easy to make an idol and a fool of a boy; but Mrs. Bennington +always had the future in mind. It was hard, it was bitter, that +another should step in and claim the perfected man. She had been +lulled into the belief that now she would have him all her own till +the end of her days. But it was not to be. Her sense of justice was +evenly balanced; her son had the same right that his father had; it +was natural that he should desire a mate and a home of his own; but, +nevertheless, it was bitter. That his choice had been an actress +caused her no alarm. Her son was a gentleman; he would never marry +beneath him; it was love, not infatuation; and love is never love +unless it can find something noble and good to rest upon. It was not +the actress, no; the one great reiterating question was: did this +brilliant woman love her son? Was it the man or his money? She had +gone to New York to meet Miss Challoner. She had steeled her heart +against all those subtle advances, such as an actress knows how to +make. She had gone to conquer, but had been conquered. For when Kate +Challoner determined to charm she was not to be resisted. She had gone +up to the mother and daughter and put her arms around them. "I knew +that I should love you both. How could I help it? And please be kind +to me: God has been in giving me your son." Ah, if she had only said: +"I shall love you because I love him!" But there was doubt, haunting +doubt. If the glamour of married life wore out, and the craving for +publicity returned, this woman might easily wreck her son's life and +the lives of those who loved him. + +She was very glad when the service came to an end and the stir and +rustle announced the departure of the congregation. + +At the door she found Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She rather expected to +find her. They were enemies of old. + +"Shall I congratulate you?" asked the formidable person. + +Many of the congregation stopped. They hadn't the courage of Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene, but they lacked none of her curiosity. + +"You may, indeed," returned Mrs. Bennington serenely. She understood +perfectly well; but she was an old hand at woman's war. "My son is +very fortunate. I shall love my new daughter dearly, for she loves my +son." + +"She is just splendid!" said Patty, with sparkling eyes. How she +longed to scratch the powder from Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's beak-like +nose! Busybody, meddler! "I never suspected John had such good sense." + +"You are very fortunate," said Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. She smiled, +nodded, and passed on into the street. A truce! + +Mr. Franklyn-Haldene, as he entered the carriage after his wife, +savagely bit off the end of a cigar. + +"What the devil's the matter with you women, anyhow?" he demanded. + +"Franklyn!" + +"Why couldn't you leave her alone? You're all a pack of buzzards, +waiting for some heart to peck at. Church!--bah!" + +It was only on rare occasions that Mr. Franklyn-Haldene voiced his +sentiments. On these occasions Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene rarely spoke. +There was a man in her husband she had no desire to rouse. Mr. Haldene +was the exception referred to; he was not afraid of his wife. + +They rode homeward in silence. As they passed the Warrington place, +Mr. Haldene again spoke. + +"Warrington is home over Sunday. Saw him on horseback this morning." + +"There's one thing I'm thankful for: the wedding will not be in +Herculaneum." + +"Humph!" + +"It's disgusting; and we shall have to receive her. But I do not envy +her her lot." + +"Neither do I," said Haldene. "You women have already mapped out a +nice little hell for her. Why should you be so vindictive simply +because she is an actress? If she is good and honest, what the deuce?" + +"There's no use arguing with you." + +"I'm glad you've found that out. You'd find out lots of other things +if you stayed home long enough. I shall treat the woman decently." + +"I dare say all you men will." + +"And you, Madam, shall be among the first to call on her. Mind that!" + +She looked at the man pityingly. Men never understood. Call on her? Of +course, she would call on her. For how could she make the woman +unhappy if she did not call on her? + + + + +Chapter V + + + +Every city has its Fifth Avenue. That which we can not have as our own +we strive to imitate. Animal and vegetable life simply reproduces +itself; humanity does more than that, it imitates. Williams Street was +the Fifth Avenue of Herculaneum. It was broad, handsome, and climbed a +hill of easy incline. It was a street of which any city might be +justly proud. Only two or three houses jarred the artistic sense. +These were built by men who grew rich so suddenly and unexpectedly +that their sense of the grotesque became abnormal. It is an +interesting fact to note that the children of this class become +immediately seized with a species of insanity, an insanity which urges +them on the one hand to buy newspapers with dollar-bills, and on the +other to treat their parents with scant respect. Sudden riches have, +it would seem, but two generations: the parent who accumulates and the +son who spends. + +The Warrington home (manor was applied to but few houses in town) +stood back from the street two hundred feet or more, on a beautiful +natural terrace. The lawn was wide and crisp and green, and the oak +trees were the envy of many. The house itself had been built by one of +the early settlers, and Warrington had admired it since boyhood. It +was of wood, white, with green blinds and wide verandas, pillared +after the colonial style. Warrington had purchased it on a bank +foreclosure, and rather cheaply, considering the location. The +interior was simple but rich. The great fireplace was made of old +Roman bricks; there were exquisite paintings and marbles and rugs and +china, and books and books. Very few persons in Herculaneum had been +inside, but these few circulated the report that the old house had the +handsomest interior in town. Straightway Warrington's income became +four times as large as it really was. + +The old aunt and the "girl" kept the house scrupulously clean, for +there was no knowing when Richard might take it into his head to come +home. The "girl's" husband took care of the stables and exercised the +horses. And all went very well. + +Warrington seldom went to church. It was not because he was without +belief; there was a strong leaven of faith underlying his cynicism. +Frankly, sermons bored him. It was so easy for his imaginative mind to +reach out and take the thought from the preacher's mouth almost before +he uttered it. Thus, there was never any suspense, and suspense in +sermons, as in books and plays, is the only thing that holds captive +our interest. + +So he stayed at home and read the Sunday papers. That part not devoted +to society and foreign news was given up wholly to local politics. +Both the Democratic and Republican parties were in bad odor. In the +Common Council they were giving away street-railway franchises; +gambling-dens flourished undisturbed, and saloons closed only when +some member of the saloon-keeper's family died. The anti-gambling +league had succeeded in suppressing the slot machines for a fortnight; +this was the only triumph virtue could mark down for herself. There +were reformers in plenty, but their inordinate love of publicity +ruined the effectiveness of their work. A brass band will not move the +criminal half so quickly as a sudden pull at the scruff of his neck. +So the evil-doer lay low, or borrowed the most convenient halo and +posed as a deeply-wronged man. Warrington, as he read, smiled in +contempt. They had only one real man in town, scoundrel though he was. +There are certain phases of villainy that compel our admiration, and +the villainy of McQuade was of this order. The newspapers were +evidently subsidized, for their clamor was half-hearted and +hypocritical. Once or twice Warrington felt a sudden longing to take +off his coat and get into the fight; but the impulse was transitory. +He realized that he loved ease and comfort too well. + +Finally he tossed aside the sheets and signaled to the dog. It was a +bull terrier, old and scarred, and unchanging in his affections. He +loved this master of his, even if he saw him but once a year. They +understood each other perfectly. He was a peace-loving animal, but he +was a fighter at times--like his master. He had a beautiful head, +broad punishing jaws, and, for all his age, he had not run to fat, +which is the ignominious end of all athletes, men or dogs. + +"Old boy, this is a jolly bad world." + +Jove wagged his stump of a tail. + +"We should all be thieves if it were not for publicity and jail." + +Jove coughed deprecatingly. Perhaps he recollected purloined haunches +of aforetime. + +"Sometimes I've half a mind to pack up and light out to the woods, and +never look at a human being again." + +Jove thought this would be fine; his tail said so. + +"But I'm like a man at a good play; I've simply got to stay and see +how it ends, for the great Dramatist has me guessing." + +Warrington stared into the kind brown eyes and pulled the ragged ears. +There was a kind of guilt in the old dog's eyes, for dogs have +consciences. If only he dared tell his master! There was somebody else +now. True, this somebody else would never take the master's place; but +what was a poor dog to do when he was lonesome and never laid eyes on +his master for months and months? Nobody paid much attention to him in +this house when the master was away. He respected aunty (who had the +spinster's foolish aversion for dogs and the incomprehensible +affection for cats!) and for this reason never molested her +supercilious Angora cat. Could he be blamed if he sought (and found) +elsewhere affection and confidence? Why, these morning rides were as +good as a bone. She talked to him, told him her secrets (secrets he +swore on a dog's bible never to reveal!) and desires, and fed him +chicken, and cuddled him. There were times when he realized that old +age was upon him; some of these canters left him breathless and +groggy. + +"I've been thinking, boy," the master's voice went on. "New York isn't +so much, after all. I wasn't city born, and there are times when the +flowing gold of the fields and the cool woods call. Bah! There's +nothing now to hold me anywhere. I hope she'll make him happy; she can +do it if she tries. Heigh-ho! the ride this morning has made me +sleepy. To your rug, boy, to your rug." + +Warrington stretched himself on the lounge and fell asleep. And thus +the aunt found him on her return from church. She hated to wake him +but she simply could not hold back the news till luncheon. She touched +his arm, and he woke with the same smile that had dimpled his cheeks +when he was a babe in her arms. Those of us who have retained the good +disposition of youth never scowl upon being awakened. + +"Aha," he cried, sitting up and rubbing his eyes. + +"Richard, I wish you had gone to church this morning." + +"And watched the gossips and scandal-mongers twist their barbs in Mrs. +Bennington's heart? Hardly." + +She gazed at him, nonplussed. There was surely something uncanny in +this boy, who always seemed to know what people were doing, had done +or were going to do. + +"I wouldn't have believed it of my congregation," she said. + +"Oh, Mrs. Bennington is a woman of the world; she understands how to +make barbs harmless. But that's why I never go to church. It doesn't +soothe me as it ought to; I fall too easily into the habit of pulling +my neighbor's mind into pieces. Gossip and weddings and funerals; your +reputation in shreds, your best girl married, your best friend dead. I +find myself nearer Heaven when I'm alone in the fields. But I've been +thinking, Aunty." + +"About what?" + +"About coming home to stay." + +"Oh, Richard, if you only would!" sitting beside him and folding him +in her arms. "I'm so lonely. There's only you and I; all the others +I've loved are asleep on the hill. Do come home, Richard; you're all I +have." + +"I'm thinking it over." + +Here the Angora came in cautiously. She saw Jove and the dog saw her; +fur and hair bristled. Jove looked at his master beseechingly--"Say +the word, Dick, say the word, and I'll give you an entertainment." But +the word did not come. + +"There's your church-goers, Aunty; always ready to fly at each other. +In order to study humanity thoroughly, one must first learn the ways +of the beast." + +"I'm afraid your dog's a traitor." + +"A traitor?" + +"Yes. Half the time he runs over to the Benningtons' and stays all +night. I don't see why he should." + +"Maybe they pet him over there. Perhaps he wants a hand sometimes, +just like human beings when they're lonely. If you petted him once in +a while, one pat for every ten you give the cat, the old boy would be +tickled to death." + +"But I'm kind to him, Richard; he has the best meat I can buy. I'd pet +him, too, but I'm afraid of him. I'm always afraid of dogs. Besides, +his feet are always muddy and his hair falls out and sticks to +everything." + +"Who is his latest love?" + +"Patty Bennington. They go out riding together. I can always tell, for +his stomach is invariably caked with dried mud." + +"Patty Bennington? The old dog shows good taste. And I had forgotten +all about Bennington's having a sister. I was thunderstruck when I met +her the other week in New York. I had really forgotten her. She is +charming." + +"She is a dear young girl. Ah, Richard, if only you would find some +one like her." + +"Marriages are made in Heaven, Aunt, and I'm going to wait till I get +there. But I'll think it over about coming home to stay." + +"I'll be so happy!" the old lady cried. "I'm going right out into the +kitchen myself and make one of those cherry pies you used to rave +over." + +She disappeared; and Warrington laughed, rose and stretched the sleep +from his arms and legs, and went up stairs to dress. Yes, he would +think it over. There was nothing to hold him in New York, nothing but +the craving for noise and late hours. Why not settle down here? There +would be plenty to do. Besides, if he lived in Herculaneum he could +run over to the Bennington home at any time of day. His cheeks flushed +of a sudden. + +"Hang it, am I lying to myself about that girl? Is it the knowledge +that she'll be my neighbor that inclines me to live here? I know I +shall miss her if I stay in New York; I'm honest enough to admit that. +God knows I've nothing but honor in my heart for her. Why, I wouldn't +even kiss her hand without old Jack's consent. Well, well; the scene +in the church Wednesday will solve all doubts--if I have any." + +The Sunday luncheon passed uneventfully. The aunt said nothing more +about his coming home to stay. She knew her boy; urging would do more +harm than good; so she left him to decide freely. + +"Is the pie good, Richard?" she asked. + +"Fine! Can you spare me another piece?" + +"I'm glad you'll never be too proud to eat pie," she returned. + +"Not even when it's humble," laughed Warrington. + +"There are some folks roundabout who do not think pie is proper," +seriously. + +"Not proper? Tommyrot! Pie is an institution; it is as unassailable as +the Constitution of the country. I do not speak of the human +constitution. There are some folks so purse-proud that they call pies +tarts." + +She looked askance at him. There were times when she wasn't quite sure +of this boy of hers. He might be serious, and then again he might be +quietly laughing. But she saw with satisfaction that the pie +disappeared. + +"The world, Richard, isn't what it was in my time." + +"I dare say it isn't, Aunty; yet cherries are just as good as ever and +June as beautiful. It isn't the world, Aunt o' mine; it's the plaguy +people. Those who stay away from church ought to go, and those who go +ought to stay away. I'm going down to the club this afternoon. I shall +dine there, and later look up the Benningtons. So don't keep dinner +waiting for me." + +"Cheer her up, Richard; she needs cheering. It's been a blow to her to +lose her boy. If you'd only get married, too, Richard, I could die +content. What in the world shall you do when I am gone?" + +"Heaven knows!" The thought of losing this dear old soul gave a +serious tone to his voice. He kissed her on the cheek and went out +into the hall. Jove came waltzing after him. "Humph! What do you want, +sir? Want to go out with me, eh? Very well; but you must promise to +behave yourself. I'll have you talking to no poor-dog trash, mind." +Jove promised unutterable things. "Come on, then." + +He walked slowly down town, his cane behind his back, his chin in his +collar, deep in meditation. He knew instinctively that Mrs. Bennington +wanted to talk to him about the coming marriage. He determined to tell +her the truth, truth that would set her mother's heart at peace. + +Jove ran hither and thither importantly. It was good to be out with +the master. He ran into this yard and that, scared a cat up a tree, +chased the sparrows, and grumbled at the other dogs he saw. All at +once he paused, stiffened, each muscle tense. Warrington, catching the +pose, looked up. A handsome trotter was coming along at a walk. In the +light road-wagon sat a man and a white bulldog. It was easy for +Warrington to recognize McQuade, who in turn knew that this +good-looking young man must be the dramatist. The two glanced at each +other casually. They were unacquainted. Not so the dogs. They had met. +The white bull teetered on the seat. Jove bared his strong teeth. How +he hated that sleek white brute up there! He would have given his life +for one good hold on that broad throat. The white dog was thinking, +too. Some day, when the time came, he would clean the slate. Once he +had almost had the tan for his own. And he hated the girl who had +beaten him off with her heavy riding-crop. + +McQuade drove on, and Warrington resumed his interrupted study of the +sidewalk. McQuade thought nothing more about the fellow who wrote +plays, and the dramatist had no place in his mind for the petty +affairs of the politician. Fate, however, moves quite as certainly and +mysteriously as the cosmic law. The bitter feud between these two men +began with their dogs. + +At the club Warrington found a few lonely bachelors, who welcomed him +to the long table in the grill-room; but he was in no mood for gossip +and whisky. He ordered a lithia, drank it quickly, and escaped to the +reading-room to write some letters. + +Down in the grill-room they talked him over. + +"I don't know whether he boozes now, but he used to be tanked quite +regularly," said one. + +"Yes, and they say he writes best when half-seas over." + +"Evidently," said a third, "he doesn't drink unless he wants to; and +that's more than most of us can say." + +"Pshaw! Sunday's clearing-up day; nobody drinks much on Sunday. I +wonder that Warrington didn't marry Challoner himself. He went around +with her a lot." + +Everybody shrugged. You can shrug away a reputation a deal more safely +than you can talk it. + +"Oh, Bennington's no ass. She's a woman of brains, anyhow. It's +something better than marrying a little fool of a pretty chorus girl. +She'll probably make things lively for one iron-monger. If the hair +doesn't fly, the money will. He's a good sort of chap, but he wants a +snaffle and a curb on his high-stepper." + +Then the topic changed to poker and the marvelous hands held the night +before. + +Warrington finished his correspondence, dined alone, and at +seven-thirty started up the street to the Benningtons'. Jove, with the +assurance of one who knows he will be welcomed, approached the +inviting veranda at a gallop. His master, however, followed with a +sense of diffidence. He noted that there was a party of young people +on the veranda. He knew the severe and critical eye of youth, and he +was a bit afraid of himself. Evidently Miss Patty had no lack of +beaux. Miss Patty in person appeared at the top of the steps, and +smiled. + +"I was half expecting you," she said, offering a slim cool hand. + +Warrington clasped it in his own and gave it a friendly pressure. + +"Thank you," he replied. "Please don't disturb yourselves," he +remonstrated, as the young men rose reluctantly from their chairs. "Is +Mrs. Bennington at home?" + +"You will find her in the library." Then Patty introduced him. There +was some constraint on the part of the young men. They agreed that, +should the celebrity remain, he would become the center of attraction +at once, and all the bright things they had brought for the dazzlement +of Patty would have to pass unsaid. + +To youth, every new-corner is a possible rival; he wouldn't be human +if he didn't believe that each man who comes along is simply bound to +fall in love with the very girl HE has his eyes on. + +On the other hand, the young girls regretted that the great dramatist +wasn't going to sit beside them. There is a strange glamour about +these men and women who talk or write to us from over the footlights. +As Warrington disappeared into the hallway, the murmur and frequent +laughter was resumed. + +Mrs. Bennington was very glad to see him. She laid aside her book and +made room for him on the divan. They talked about the weather, the +changes that had taken place since the fall, a scrap of foreign travel +of mutual interest, each hoping that the other would be first to +broach the subject most vital to both. Finally, Mrs. Bennington +realized that she could fence no longer. + +"It was very good of you to come. I have so many things to ask you." + +"Yes." + +"My boy's determination to marry has been very sudden. I knew nothing +till a month ago. I love him so, and my whole heart hungers for one +thing--the assurance that he will be happy with the woman of his +choice." + +"My dear Mrs. Bennington, Jack will marry a woman who is as loyal and +honest as she is brilliant and beautiful. Miss Challoner is a woman +any family might be proud to claim. She numbers among her friends many +of the brilliant minds of the age; she compels their respect and +admiration by her intellect and her generosity. Oh, Jack is to be +envied. I can readily understand the deep-rooted antagonism the +actress still finds among the laity. It is a foolish prejudice. I can +point out many cases where the layman has married an actress and has +been happy and contented with his lot." + +"But on the obverse side?" with a smile that was sad and dubious. + +"Happiness is always in the minority of cases, in all walks of life. +Happiness depends wholly upon ourselves; environment has nothing to do +with it. Most of these theatrical marriages you have read about were +mere business contracts. John is in love." + +"But is he loved?" + +"Miss Challoner has a very comfortable fortune of her own. She would, +in my opinion, be the last person in the world to marry for money or +social position, the latter of which she already has." + +But she saw through his diplomacy. + +"Perhaps she may desire a home?" + +"That is probable; but it is quite evident to me that she wants John +with it." + +"There are persons in town who will do their best to make her +unhappy." + +"You will always find those persons; but I am confident Miss Challoner +will prove a match for any of them. There is no other woman in the +world who knows better than she the value of well-applied flattery." + +"She is certainly a charming woman; it is impossible not to admit that +frankly. But you, who are familiar with the stage, know how unstable +people of that sort are. Suppose she tires of John? It would break my +heart." + +"Ah, all that will depend upon Jack. Doubtless he knows the meaning of +'to have and to hold.' To hold any woman's love, a man must make +himself indispensable; he must be her partner in all things: her +comrade and husband when need be, her lover always. There can be no +going back to old haunts, so attractive to men; club life must become +merely an incident. Again, he must not be under her feet all the time. +Too much or too little will not do; it must be the happy between." + +"You are a very wise young man." + +Warrington laughed embarrassedly. "I have had to figure out all these +things." + +"But if she does not love him!" + +"How in the world can she help it?" + +She caught up his hand in a motherly clasp. + +"We mothers are vain in our love. We make our sons paragons; we blind +ourselves to their faults; we overlook their follies, and condone +their sins. And we build so many castles that one day tumble down +about our ears. Why is it a mother always wishes her boy to marry the +woman of her choice? What right has a mother to interfere with her +son's heart-desires? It may be that we fear the stranger will stand +between us. A mother holds, and always will hold, that no woman on +earth is good enough for her son. Now, as I recollect, I did not think +Mr. Bennington too good for me." She smiled drolly. + +Lucky Jack! If only he had had a mother like this! Warrington thought. + +"I dare say he thought that, too," he said. "Myself, I never knew a +mother's love. No doubt I should have been a better man. Yet, I've +often observed that a boy with a loving mother takes her love as a +matter of course, and never realizes his riches till he has lost them. +My aunt is the only mother I have known." + +"And a dear, kind, loving soul she is," said Mrs. Bennington. "She +loves you, if not with mother-love, at least with mother-instinct. +When we two get together, we have a time of it; I, lauding my boy; +she, praising hers. But I go round and round in a circle: my boy. Sons +never grow up, they are always our babies; they come to us with their +heartaches, at three or at thirty; there is ever one door open in the +storm, the mother's heart. If she loves my boy, nothing shall be too +good for her." + +"I feel reasonably sure that she does." Did she? he wondered. Did she +love Jack as he (Warrington) wanted some day to be loved? + +"As you say," the mother went on, "how can she help loving him? He is +a handsome boy; and this alone is enough to attract women. But he is +so kind and gentle, Richard; so manly and strong. He has his faults; +he is human, like his mother. John is terribly strong-willed, and this +would worry me, were I not sure that his sense of justice is equally +strong. He is like me in gentleness; but the man in him is the same +man I loved in my girlhood days. When John maps out a course to act +upon, if he believes he is right, nothing can swerve him--nothing. And +sometimes he has been innocently wrong. I told Miss Challoner all his +good qualities and his bad. She told me that she, too, has her faults. +She added that there was only one other man who could in any manner +compare with John, and that man is you." + +"I?" his face growing warm. + +"Yes. But she had no right to compare anybody with my boy," laughing. + +"There isn't any comparison whatever," admitted Warrington, laughing +too. "But it was very kind of Miss Challoner to say a good word for +me." And then upon impulse he related how, and under what +circumstances, he had first met the actress. + +"It reads like a story,--a versatile woman. This talk has done me much +good. I know the affection that exists between you and John, and I am +confident that you would not misrepresent anything. I shall sleep +easier to-night." + +The portieres rattled, and Patty stood in the doorway. + +"Everybody's gone; may I come in?" + +Warrington rose. "I really should be very glad to make your +acquaintance," gallantly. "It's so long a time since I've met young +people--" + +"Young people!" indignantly. "I am not young people; I am twenty, +going on twenty-one." + +"I apologize." Warrington sat down. + +Thereupon Miss Patty, who was a good sailor, laid her course close to +the wind, and with few tacks made her goal; which was the complete +subjugation of this brilliant man. She was gay, sad, witty and wise; +and there were moments when her mother looked at her in puzzled +surprise. As for Warrington, he went from one laugh into another. + +Oh, dazzling twenty; blissful, ignorant, confident twenty! Who among +you would not be twenty, when trouble passes like cloud-shadows in +April; when the door of the world first opens? Ay, who would not trade +the meager pittance, wrested from the grinding years, for one fleet, +smiling dream of twenty? + +"It is all over town, the reply you made to Mrs. Winthrop and that +little, sawed-off, witty daughter of hers." + +"Patty!" + +"Well, she is sawed-off and witty." + +"What did I say?" asked Warrington, blushing. He had forgotten the +incident. + +"Mrs. Winthrop asked you to make her daughter an epigram, and you +replied that Heaven had already done that." + +"By the way," said Warrington, when the laughter subsided, "I +understand that my old dog has been running away from home lately. I +hope he doesn't bother you." + +"Bother, indeed! I just love him," cried Patty. "He's such a lovable +animal. We have such good times on our morning rides. We had trouble +last week, though. A white bulldog sprang at him. Jove was so tired +that he would have been whipped had I not dismounted and beaten the +white dog off. Oh, Jove was perfectly willing to contest the right of +way. And when it was all over, who should come along but Mr. McQuade, +the politician. It was his dog. And he hadn't even the grace to make +an apology for his dog's ill manners." + +"May I not ride with you to-morrow morning?" he asked. He had intended +to leave Herculaneum at noon; but there were many later trains. + +"That will be delightful! I know so many beautiful roads; and we can +lunch at the Country Club. And Jove can go along, too." + +"Where is the traitor?" + +"He is sound asleep on the veranda rugs." + +"Well, it's long past his bedtime. I must be going." + +"Some time I hope you will come just to call on me." + +"I shall not need any urging." + +They followed him to the door, and good nights were said. + +"Oh, Patty, he has lifted so much doubt!" said the mother, as the two +returned to the library. "He has nothing but praise for Miss +Challoner. It is quite possible that John will be happy." + +"It is not only possible, mother darling, but probable. For my part, I +think her the most charming, most fascinating woman I ever met. And +she told me she rides. What jolly times we'll have together, when John +settles down in the new house!" + +"The new house!" repeated the mother, biting her lips. "How the word +hurts! Patty, why could they not come here? We'll be so lonely. Yet, +it is the law of Heaven that a man and his wife must live by and for +themselves." + +Warrington walked home, lightened in spirit. He swung his cane, gave +Jove a dozen love-taps and whistled operatic airs. What a charming +young creature it was, to be sure! The brain of a woman and the heart +of a child. And he had forgotten all about her. Now, of course, his +recollection became clear. He remembered a mite of a girl in short +frocks, wonder-eyes, and candy-smudged lips. How they grew, these +youngsters! + +He went into the house, still whistling. Jove ran out into the kitchen +to see if by some possible miracle there was another piece of steak in +his grub-pan. A dog's eyes are always close to his stomach. +Warrington, finding that everybody had gone to bed, turned out the +lights and went up stairs. He knocked on the door of his aunt's +bedroom. + +"Is that you, Richard?" + +"Yes. May I come in?" + +"Certainly." + +He entered quietly. The moonlight, pouring in through the window, lay +blue-white on the counterpane and the beloved old face. + +"What is it?" she asked. + +He sat down on the edge of the bed and patted her hands. + +"Aunty, old lady, I'm through thinking. I'm going to come home just as +soon as I can fix up things in New York." + +"Richard, my boy!" Her arms pulled him downward. "I knew it when you +came in. I've prayed so long for this. God has answered my prayers. +I'm so happy. Don't you remember how you used to tell me all your +plans, the plots of your stories, the funny things that had come to +you during the day? You used to come home late, but that didn't +matter; you'd always find some pie and cheese and a glass of milk on +the kitchen table--the old kitchen table. I'm so glad!" + +"It may be a month or so; for I'll have to sell some of the things. +But I'm coming home, I'm coming home." He bent swiftly and kissed her. +"Good night." + + + + +Chapter VI + + + +Warrington was up and about at six the next morning. He had never +really outgrown the natural habit of waking at dawn, but he had fallen +upon the evil way of turning over and sleeping till half after nine. +He ate a light breakfast and went out to the stables and moved among +the stalls, talking affectionate nonsense to the horses. A man can not +talk baby-talk, that is the undisputed prerogative of the woman; but +he has a fashion of his own which serves. "Aha, old boy! handsome +beggar!" or--"How's the little lady this morning, eh?" or yet +again--"Rascal! you've been rubbing the hair off your tail!" In the +boxstall Warrington's thoroughbred Irish hunter nozzled his palm for +loaf-sugar, and whinnied with pleasure when he found it. One of the +first things Warrington had done, upon drawing his first big royalty +check, was to buy a horse. As a boy on the farm he had hungered for +the possession of one of those sleek, handsome animals which men call +thoroughbreds. Then for a while he bought, sold and traded horses, for +the mere pleasure it gave him to be near them. Finally he came to +Herculaneum with two such saddle-horses as made every millionaire in +town (and there were several in Herculaneum) offer fabulous sums +whenever they ran across the owner. Next, he added two carriage-horses, +in their way quite equal to the hunters. Men offered to buy these, +too, but Warrington was a property owner now, and he wanted the horses +for his own. In New York one of his wealthy friends had given him free +use of his stables: so Warrington rode, at home and abroad. His +income, ranging from twenty to thirty thousand the year, gave him that +financial independence which neither the clerk nor the millionaire +knew or understood. In the phraseology of the day, he carried his +business under his hat: in other words, he had no business cares or +responsibilities whatever. + +Warrington made it a rule to saddle and bridle his own horses; grooms +become careless. One or two men of his acquaintance had gone to their +death for the want of care and a firm buckle. Besides, he enjoyed the +work, and it accustomed the horses to his touch. He saddled his +favorite hunter and led the eager animal into the open. He mounted and +whistled for the dog; but Jove for once did not respond; doubtless he +was out of hearing. Thereupon Warrington started for the Benningtons' +and found Patty already in the saddle. It was not that the dramatist +was blase, but he had come into contact with so many beautiful women +that his pulse rarely stirred out of its healthy, measured beat. But +this morning he was conscious of a slight thrill. The girl was really +beautiful; more than that, she was fresh with youth and gaiety, gaiety +which older women find necessary to repress. She was dressed in a dark +grey riding-habit and wore a beaver cocked-hat. + +"Good morning," he said, touching his cap with his crop. "I hope I +haven't kept you waiting." + +"Only a moment." The truth is, she wanted to prove to him that there +was one woman who did not keep men waiting. "Shall I pick the going?" + +"I'm afraid I've lost track of the good country roads." + +"Follow me, then." + +They walked their horses to the city limits. You never saw either of +them galloping over brick or asphalt, which quickly ruins the surest- +footed horse; neither did they permit any fox-trotting, which, while +it shows off a spirited horse, decreases his value in the ring. All of +which is to say, these two, like their mounts, were thoroughbreds. + +"Where is Jove?" she asked presently. + +"The rogue is missing. I dare say he is gallivanting around some +neighbor's back yard. I haven't laid eyes on him this morning. I +believe he realizes that he will see me frequently hereafter, and has +not bothered his head to look me up." + +"Frequently?" She turned her head. + +"Yes. I am coming home to live. Of course, this is my place of +residence; my voter's bed, as the politicians say, is here in +Herculaneum. But I mean to live here now in deed as well as in +thought." + +"I am sure we shall be delighted to have you with us." This was said +gravely. A thought, which she would have repelled gladly, sprang into +being. "I know John will be glad. He's always talking about you and +your exploits at college." + +"Our exploits," he corrected, laughing. "Shall we give them a little +exercise now?" he asked, with a gesture toward the long brown road. + +She nodded, and they started off at a sharp trot, and presently broke +into a canter. So he was coming home to live? She felt a hot wave of +sudden anger sweep over her, and her hands tightened on the reins. It +was true, then? She loved her brother. What right had this man at her +side to threaten her brother's happiness? Had Katherine Challoner +signified her desire not to leave New York, would Warrington have +decided to return to Herculaneum? Her hands relaxed. What a silly +little fool she was! She, who despised and contemned gossip, was +giving it ready ear. Had she ever found gossip other than an errant, +cowardly liar? Gossip, gossip! Ah, if gossip, when she had made her +round, would not leave suspicion behind her; suspicion, hydra-headed! +What signified it that Warrington intended to come home to live? What +signified it that her brother's wife would live across the way? She +was ashamed of her evil thought; presently she would be no better than +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, or any of those women who get together to tear +somebody apart. As if Warrington could compare with her big, handsome, +manly brother! It was all impossible. She would punish herself for +even entertaining such a thought as had been hers but a moment gone. + +She stole a glance at Warrington. He was riding easily, his feet light +in the stirrups, his head thrown back, his eyes half closed, and was +breathing deeply of the cool air, which was heavy with the smell of +sweet clover and dew-wet earth. It was a good, clean, honest face. +Indeed, it was all impossible. Dissipation writes plainly upon the +human countenance, and it had left no visible sign on Warrington's +face. It may be that dissipation sometimes whimsically neglects to +write at all. + +They thundered over a wooden bridge. The spirit of the morning was in +the horses; they began to race. An unexpected curve in the road +discovered a road-builder and his gang of Italians. A low barrier ran +across the road. It was not exactly needed, as they were not digging, +but laying crushed stone. The obstruction was simply for the +convenience of the boss, who desired to work unhampered. + +"Shall we?" cried Warrington, mischief in his eyes. + +"Yes." There was no fear in this girl. + +On they went, in a cloud of dust. The Italians made for the ditches, +but the boss stood in the road and waved his arms in warning. +Presently he, too, ducked. + +Hep! and over the pair went, landing clean and sound on the other side +of the barrier. Before the surprised boss could express himself, they +were far down the road. A curse was hurled after them, but they heard +it not. They hadn't hurt the road at all, but the authority of the +boss had suffered. He knew the girl, little snob! He would find out +who the man was, soon enough. And if he had any influence in the City +Hall, as he believed he had, he would make it tolerably warm for +yonder vanishing parties. + +He had put up that barrier to signify that the road was closed; very +well, they'd see. Dirt under their feet, huh? All right. How he hated +them all, with their horses and carriages and dances and dinners and +clubs! Bah! He took a flask from his pocket and drank. Then he cursed +the laggard Italians, and mourned that a year and a half must pass +before he could sell their votes again. Bolles contracted for Italian +labor and controlled something more than eight hundred votes. McQuade +sublet various small contracts to him, and in return used the Italians +during elections. + +That jump, harmless enough in itself, was to prove a bad inspiration +on Warrington's part. But it is always these seemingly inconsequent +things that bear the heaviest reckoning. + +Half a mile onward they drew down to a walk, flushed and breathless. + +"Perhaps we oughtn't to have done that," she said doubtfully, working +the numbness from her fingers. "No thoroughfare" had hitherto been +religiously respected by her; this was her first transgression, and +she wasn't entirely satisfied with herself. + +"Pshaw! There's no harm done. There was no earthly reason why we +should have turned back to the fork and added two miles to our ride. +Don't let anything like that worry you; we went by too fast to be +recognized. Look! here's a big clover patch. I never pass clover +without wanting to get down and hunt for four-leaves. Shall we?" + +She was out of the saddle before the query had left his lips. + +"I believe it would be a good idea to arm ourselves against bad luck," +she replied, gently moving aside the clover heads with her crop. + +"You believe in four-leaf clover, then?" + +She nodded. + +"I do. I also am very careful," he added, "to catch the money-patches +on my coffee." + +She laughed. After all, there was something old-fashioned about this +man. "And I never think of plucking a five-leaf. That's bad luck." + +"The worst kind of bad luck. I remember, when I was a kid, I never +played hooky without first hunting up my four-leaved amulet. If I got +a licking when I returned home, why, I consoled myself with the +thought, that it might have been ten times worse but for the +four-leaf." + +They moved about, looking here and there, while the horses buried +their noses in the wet grass and threatened never to return to the +road again. After a diligent search Patty found a beautiful four-leaf +clover. She exhibited it in triumph. + +"You've better luck than I," said Warrington. "We shall have to go on +without my finding one." + +"You may have this one," she replied; "and I hope it will bring you +all sorts of good luck." + +He took out his card-case and made room for the little amulet. + +"It is impossible not to be fortunate now," he said, with a gravity +that was not assumed. + +She looked at him dubiously. No, there was no laughter in his eyes; he +was perfectly serious. + +They walked the horses over a small hill, then mounted. It was a very +pleasant morning for Warrington. It had been years since he had talked +to a young woman who was witty and unworldly. He had to readjust +himself. He had written down that all witty women were worldly, but +that all worldly women were not witty. But to be witty and +unsophisticated was altogether out of his calculations. + +At the Country Club they stabled the horses and wandered about the +golf links. Luncheon was served on the veranda; and presently +Warrington found himself confiding in this young girl as if he had +known her intimately all his life. The girl felt a thrill of +exultation. It flattered her young vanity to hear this celebrity +telling her about his ambitions. + +"Everything becomes monotonous after a while," he said. "And I have +just begun to grow weary of living alone. Day after day, the same +faces, the same places, the same arguments, the same work. I've grown +tired. I want to live like other human beings. Monotony leads very +quickly into folly, and I confess to many acts of folly. And no folly +is absolutely harmless." He stirred his tea and stared into the cup. + +"Why, I should think you ought to be the most contented of men," she +cried. "You are famous, wealthy, courted. And when you return to +Herculaneum, every girl in town will set her cap for you. I warn you +of this, because I've taken a friendly interest in you." + +"It is very good of you. Come," he said, draining his cup; "surely you +tell fortunes in tea-cups; tell mine." + +"Four-leaf clovers and tea-grounds," she mused. "You strike me as +being a very superstitious young man." + +"I am." + +She passed the cup back to him. "Pour a little fresh tea in, spill it +gently, turn the cup against the saucer and twirl it three times. +That's the incantation." + +He followed the directions carefully, and she extended her hand for +the cup. + +"There is always a woman in a man's tea-cup," she began. "There are +two in this one." + +"Good gracious!" + +"Yes. Do you see that?" pointing to a cluster of leaves. + +"Looks like a camel. Am I going to be thirsty?" + +"That always indicates scandal," she declared soberly. + +"Scandal?" He smiled skeptically. + +"Scandal and disappointment. But happily these do not appear as having +permanency." + +"Thanks," piously. "Disappointment? I can readily believe that. +Disappointment has always been my portion. But scandal has never +lifted her ugly head." + +"We are all far-sighted when scandal is in our immediate vicinity. +This cup says scandal. There is plenty of money about you. See that? +That means an enemy, strong, implacable. Disappointment and scandal +are in his zone, which means he will probably be the cause of all your +trouble. Have you an enemy?" + +"None that I know of, save myself. But don't you think something is +the matter with the tea? It seems impossible that those harmless +grounds ... Why, I shan't sleep o' nights after this." + +"You are laughing. Yet, this man is there. And here is a lie, too. +It's a very bad cup, Mr. Warrington. I'm sorry." + +"So am I," gaily. "By the way, when do you and your mother start for +New York?" + +"We leave to-night." + +"Good. Do you mind if I take the same train down?" + +"Mother and I'll be glad to have you with us." + +The servant cleared the table, and Warrington lighted a cigar. A +trolley-car rolled up in front of the club, and several golf +enthusiasts alighted. They knew Patty, and bowed; they weren't quite +certain who her escort was. + +At two o'clock they began the journey home. There wasn't much +loitering by the way. Patty had a tea; she must have time to rest and +dress. All told, it was an enjoyable day for Warrington. More than +ever he set his face against the great city and looked with +satisfaction on the hills of his childhood. It would be a pleasant +pastime to sit on Patty's veranda and talk, become, and act like one +of the young people. He was growing old; his youth must be renewed +soon, or he would lose it utterly. This young man had been surfeited +with noise and light, with the sham and glitter of hotels, clubs and +restaurants. He was not to the manner born; thus he could easily see +how palpably false life is in a great city. To those who have lived in +the abnormal glamour of city life, absolute quiet is a kind of new +excitement. + +Warrington found that he was a bit stiff from the long ride. + +Patty, however, rode nearly every day; so she was but slightly +fatigued. Nevertheless, she was conscious of not wanting to dress for +the tea. But there was a very good reason why she must attend the +function (as applied by the society reporter); they would naturally +discuss her brother's coming marriage, but if she was present, the +discussion would not rise above whispers. She wanted to meet the old +busybodies in the open; she wasn't afraid. As she dressed, she caught +herself doing aimless things, such as approaching the window and +watching the clouds, or thoughtfully studying her face in the mirror, +or patting the rug impatiently, or sighing. She shook herself +vehemently, and went resolutely about the intricate business known as +toilet. + +"I simply can't believe it. I know he isn't that kind of man. This +can't be such a wicked world. But if she dares to make John unhappy, I +shall hate her. Why must we hear these things that make us doubt and +ponder and hesitate?" + +At the tea the ladies greeted her sympathetically. Sympathy! +Hypocrites! Heads came together; she could see them from the corner of +her eyes. She saw Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, like a vast ship of the line, +manoeuvering toward her. There were several escapes, but Patty stood +her ground. + +"You are looking charming, my dear," said Mrs. Haldene. + +"Thank you." + +"You go to the wedding, of course." + +"Yes; mother and I leave to-night for New York. I am so excited over +it. To think of John's being married to a celebrity!" + +Patty was excited, but this excitement did not find its origin in +anything exultant. It was on the tip of her tongue to tell Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene to mind her own business. There was something +primitive in Patty. Her second thoughts were due to cultivation, and +not from any inherent caution. + +Mrs. Haldene smiled and went on. It was a wonderful smile; it never +changed; it served for all emotions, anger, hate, love, envy and +malice. Mrs. Haldene never flew into passions or ecstasies. She was +indeed preserved; and from the puckering taste she left in her wake, +it might be suspected that she was pickled. + +Before Patty arrived, two things had been fully discussed: the +Bennington wedding and the report that Warrington was coming home to +live. Shrugs, knowing glances, hypocritical resignation. Too bad, too +bad! Warrington was coming home to live; young Mrs. Bennington would +live across the street. When two and two make four, what more need be +said? + +But Patty had her friends, and they stood by her loyally. + + +New York. Clamor, clamor; noise, noise; the calling of cabmen, the +clanging of street-cars, the rumbling of the elevated, the roaring of +the drays, the rattling of the carts; shouting, pushing, hurrying, +rushing, digging, streaming, pell-mell; the smell of coal-gas, of food +cooking, of good and bad tobacco, of wet pavements, of plaster; riches +and poverty jostling; romance and reality at war; monoliths of stone +and iron; shops, shops; signs, signs; hotels; the tower of Babel; all +the nations of the world shouldering one another; Jews and Gentiles, +Christians and Turks; jumble, jumble. This is New York. There is +nothing American about it; there is nothing English, French, German, +Latin or Oriental about it. It is cosmopolitan; that is to say, it +represents everything and nothing. + +Warrington, Patty and her mother alighted from the train in the +gloomy, smoky cavern called the Grand Central Station and walked +toward the gates. There was sunshine outside, but it was scarcely +noticeable through the blackened canopy overhead. + +"There's John!" cried Patty, seizing her mother's arm. "And Miss +Challoner, too!" + +A moment later the son was holding his mother in a fond embrace. Mrs. +Bennington gave the actress her hand, who ignored it, put her arms +around the mother and kissed her. There was not the slightest +affectation in the act; it was done naturally and sweetly. Mrs. +Bennington was well pleased. But Patty, Miss Challoner hugged Patty +and whispered: "My sister!" If Patty had any doubts, they disappeared +like summer mists in sunshine. + +"I'm a rank outsider," Warrington grumbled. + +"Surely you did not expect to be kissed!" Patty retorted. + +"A man never gives up hoping. Well, Benedick," to John, "I suppose +you've a nice breakfast waiting for us somewhere." + +"That I have!" John thwacked Warrington on the shoulder. "It was good +of you to come down with the folks." + +"No trouble at all." + +They all followed John, who announced that he had a carriage waiting, +large enough to carry them all comfortably. As they crossed over to +the street exit Warrington covertly glanced at Miss Challoner. She was +radiant; there was color on her cheeks and lips; she was happy. +Heigh-ho! Warrington sighed. She was gone, as completely as though she +had died. He grew angry at the heaviness of his heart. Was he always +to love no one but Warrington? It is fine to be a bachelor when one is +young; but when the years multiply, when there are no new junkets and +old ones grow stale, when scenes change, when friends drop out one by +one, when a younger generation usurps the primrose path of dalliance, +ah! the world becomes a dreary place. The old bachelor is the +loneliest and most pathetic of men. + +Once inside the carriage, the women began a light, friendly chatter; +smiles and laughter; little jests about Benedicks, about the servant +question, about coming home late o' nights; antenuptial persiflage. +There was little that was spontaneous; each jest was an effort; but it +sufficed to relieve what might have been awkward silence. + +"It's up to you, now, Dick," said John. "Think of the good times we +four could have together!" + +"And who'd marry an old man like me?" asked Warrington plaintively. + +"Bosh!" said John. + +"Nonsense!" said Patty. + +"You are a young man," said the mother. + +"There are plenty setting their caps for you, if you but knew it," +said Miss Challoner. + +"Aha! I smell a conspiracy!" laughed Warrington. "You are putting your +heads together to get me off your hands." + +The breakfast awaited them at Bennington's hotel. This passed off +smoothly. Then Warrington excused himself. He had a business +engagement down town. It was arranged, however, that they were to be +his guests that evening at dinner and a box-party at the summer opera. +On Wednesday, at ten, they were to breakfast in his apartment. From +his rooms they would go straight to the parson's, the "Little Church +Around the Corner." + +When Warrington had gone, John turned to his sister. + +"Isn't he the finest chap?" + +"He isn't to be compared with you," Patty answered. + +"Nobody is," said Miss Challoner. + +John colored with pleasure. + +"Mr. Warrington is a thorough gentleman, and I like him very much," +said Mrs. Bennington. "I have heard things about him; I can see that +there has been some exaggeration. I shall be very glad to have him for +a neighbor." + +"A neighbor?" said Miss Challoner. + +"Yes. He is coming back to Herculaneum to live." + +"That is news to me." The actress stirred her coffee and smiled at +Patty. "I understand you've been riding together. He is really a +splendid horseman." + +"He has the dearest old dog," replied Patty. + +The day passed quickly for all concerned: the dinner and box-party +left nothing to be desired. + +The wedding-breakfast would have provoked envy in the heart of +Lucullus; for Warrington was a man of the world, thoroughly polished; +there was nothing Stoic about him (though, in the early days he had +been a disciple of this cult perforce); he was a thoroughgoing epicure. + +Patty was delighted. Warrington guided her about the rooms on a tour +of inspection. He pointed out all the curios and told the history of +each. But the desk was the article which interested her most. + +"And this is where you write? Upon this desk plays have grown up? +Won't you give me a single sheet of manuscript to take home with me?" + +"I certainly shall." + +He pulled out a drawer and found some old manuscript. He selected a +sheet, signed it, and gave it to her. + +"I am rich!" the girl exclaimed. "Signed manuscript from a real live +author! I suppose that you receive tons of letters, some praising, +some arguing, some from mere autograph fiends." + +"It's a part of the day's work." His face brightened. He searched his +pockets. "Here is one out of the ordinary. It is unsigned, so I feel +no qualms of conscience in letting you read it." + +Patty took the envelope with suppressed eagerness. She drew out the +letter and read it slowly. + +"Do you receive many like that?" she asked, folding the letter and +returning it. + +"Very few; that's why I treasure it. I should like to meet the writer; +but that's impossible. I have read and re-read it fifty times." + +"Evidently it was written in good faith." Patty was not very +enthusiastic. + +"There's not the least doubt of that. I am glad of one thing: I can't +disillusion her." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Oh, this young woman thinks I must be a paragon of virtues. I'm not; +I'm a miserable impostor. She takes it for granted that I am good and +kind and wise." + +"Aren't you?" asked Patty gravely. + +"As men go. I always try to be kind; sometimes I am good, and +sometimes I am wise." + +"I'm afraid you are one of those young men who try to be bad and +can't. They are hopeless." + +Warrington laughed. + +"But I am superstitious about that letter. I've carried it in my +pocket for weeks. It's a kind of mentor. Whenever some fool thing +comes into my head, I stop and think of the letter." + +"That is good. The writer hasn't wasted her time." + + +"I love you!" whispered John. + +Miss Challoner smiled into his eyes. The smile encouraged him, and he +raised her hand to his lips. + +Ah, if it were not for those gloves! Why did he not say something? She +was positive that he had them. To smile and laugh and talk; to face +the altar, knowing that he possessed those hateful gloves! To pretend +to deceive when she knew that he was not deceived! It was maddening. +It was not possible that Warrington had the gloves; he would never +have kept them all this while. What meant this man at her side? What +was he going to do? She recollected a play in which there was a pair +of gloves. The man had thrown them at the woman's feet, and, at the +very altar, turned and left her. But she knew that men did not do such +things in life. She was innocent of any wrong; this knowledge +sustained her. + +"A honeymoon in Switzerland: it has been the dream of my life." This +time he drew her arm through his and crossed the room to his mother's +side. "Mother mine, we shall be gone only three months; then we shall +come home to stay." + +"I shall miss you so; you have been away so much that I am hardly +acquainted with you." + +The woman who was to become her daughter suddenly dropped on her knees +beside the chair. + +"Please love me, too. I have been so lonely all my life." + +"My daughter!" Mrs. Bennington laid her hand on the splendid head. + +"I shall never marry," said Patty decidedly. + +"What? Young lady, don't let any one hear you make such a remark. One +of these fine days somebody will swoop you up and run off with you. I +don't know but that I could play the part fairly well." Warrington +laughed. + +"Indeed! You'd have a time of it." + +"I dare say. But there's the breakfast waiting." + +Toasts and good wishes, how easy they are to give! + +At the church the women cried a little. Women cry when they are happy, +they cry when they are not; their tears keep a man guessing year in +and year out. But this is no place for a dissertation on tears. +There's time enough for that. + +The bride and groom left immediately for Boston, from which city they +were to sail for Europe the following day. In the carriage John drew +his bride close to his heart. + +"Mine!" he said, kissing her. "God grant that I may make you happy, +girl." + +"John, you are the finest gentleman in the world!" + +His hand stole into his coat pocket and gently dropped something into +her lap. She looked down and saw through her tears a crumpled pair of +white kid gloves. Then she knew what manner of man was this at her +side. + +"It was not because I doubted you," he said softly: "it was because +they were yours." + + + + +Chapter VII + + + +Spring came round again in Herculaneum. People began to go to the +tailor and the dress-maker and the hatter. There were witty +editorials in the newspapers on house-cleaning and about the man who +had the courage to wear the first straw hat. The season (referring to +the winter festivities) had been unusually lively. There had been two +charity balls by rival hospital boards, receptions, amateur dramatics, +dinners and dances, not to omit the announcement of several +engagements. + +The new Bennington mansion had its house-warming in November. The +reception, followed by a dinner-dance in the evening, was, according +to the society columns, "one of the social events of the season. The +handsomest house in town was a bower of smilax and hothouse roses." +Everybody went to the reception, for everybody was more or less +curious to meet the former celebrated actress. The society reporters, +waiting for their cues, were rather non-committal in their description +of the mistress. There was reason. They did not care, at this early +stage of the game, to offend the leader by too much praise of a +newcomer who had yet to establish herself. Besides, they realized how +little their paragraphs would mean to a woman whose portrait had +appeared in nearly all the illustrated magazines in the world. Thus, +the half-heartedness of the newspapers was equally due to +self-consciousness. Society itself, however, was greatly pleased with +the beautiful Mrs. Bennington, for she entered with zest into all +society's plans. In fact, she threatened to become very popular. The +younger element began to call her Mrs. Jack. + +Kate was in her element, for to live after this fashion was the one +ambition that had survived all seasons. She was like a child with some +wonderful new French doll. There was always a crowd of young married +people about her, which is a healthy sign. She and Patty became +inseparable comrades. They shopped together, went to the matinees, and +drove and rode together. + +Everything went along smoothly, too smoothly. Fate never permits +anything like this to prosper long. + +For the first time in her career Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw her +position menaced. The younger set no longer consulted her as formerly. +When, like Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, a woman has nothing more serious to +live for than to organize social affairs, the slightest defection from +her ranks is viewed in the light of a catastrophe. She had called on +Mrs. Bennington the second, armed with all those subtle cruelties +which women of her caliber know so well how to handle. And behold! she +met a fencer who quietly buttoned the foils before the bout began. She +had finally departed with smiles on her lips and rage in her heart. +This actress, whom she had thought to awe with the majesty of her +position in Herculaneum, was not awed at all. It was disconcerting; it +was humiliating. She had condescended to tolerate and was tolerated in +turn. Katherine adored Patty, and Patty had told her that she hated +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. Naturally Katherine assumed the defensive +whenever she met the common enemy. + +But Mrs. Haldene could wait. She had waited before this. She had made +certain prophecies, and it embittered her to learn that so far none of +these prophecies had come true. She could wait. Something was destined +to happen, sooner or later. She knew human nature too well not to be +expectant. To Mrs. Haldene the most gratifying phrase in the language +was: "I told you so!" Warrington had disappointed her, too. He behaved +himself. He did not run after young Mrs. Bennington; he never called +there alone; he was seen more frequently at the old Bennington place. +The truth is, Patty was busy reforming the wayward dramatist, and +Warrington was busy watching the result. There were those who nodded +and looked wise whenever they saw the two together. + +Oh, Herculaneum was a city to be desired, socially. Everybody was on +his or her best behavior. It was only from among the poor that scandal +gleaned her items for the newspapers. The shooting of such a man by +such a woman's husband aroused only the mildest comment. But that +class of people, don't you know, is so primeval. To kill a man from +jealousy! It was ridiculous. Why did they not go to court, like +civilized human beings? + +Of course there is always scandal in politics; everybody understands +that this is unavoidable. Another franchise had slipped out of the +Common Council into the transit company's pocket, and even the +partizan papers mildly belabored the aldermanic body. The Evening +Call, however slashed the ward representatives vigorously. It wound up +its editorial with the query: "How much longer will the public stand +this sort of thing?" The Call was the only independent sheet in town, +and did about as it pleased. + +Warrington found himself taking more than normal interest in the +situation. Occasionally, on Monday nights, he wandered into the City +Hall and listened to the impassioned speeches of the aldermen. Many a +tempestuous scene passed under his notice. Ordinances were passed or +blocked, pavement deals were rushed through or sidetracked. And once, +when the gas company was menaced with dollar-gas, the city pay-roll +was held up for two months by the lighting company's cohorts. Only +Heaven knows how much longer it might have been held back, had not an +assemblyman come to the mayor's help by rushing up to the capital and +railroading through a law that required only a two-thirds vote. + +The Democrats had remained in power for six years, and Herculaneum was +essentially a Republican city. On the Democratic side was McQuade, on +the Republican side was ex-Senator Henderson. These men were bosses of +no ordinary type. The first was from the mass, the second from the +class; and both were millionaires. The political arena was a pastime +for these two men; it was a huge complex game of chess in which +recently the senator had been worsted. The public paid, as it +invariably does, to watch this game on the checkerboard of wards. The +senator had been unfortunate in his candidates. He had tried young men +and old, lawyers and merchants; but he had failed to nominate a man +who was popular with class and mass. + +The present mayor was a shrewd Democrat who understood the diplomacy +of petty politics. He shook the grimy hand of toil in preference to +the gloved hand of idleness. He was thoroughly a politician. He never +disregarded public opinion openly. He never sailed close to the wind, +but spent his time in safe tacks to whatever harbor he desired. He was +McQuade's man just so long as McQuade made the business worth while. +He had opened up many new streets, abolished needless nuisances, and +these concessions gave him a strong hold on the independent voter. He +was a king over frogs which had changed much since Aesop's time, for +now they let well enough alone. + +Nevertheless, things were going from bad to worse. Three terms are +likely to cause a man to grow careless or indifferent, and Donnelly +was making frequent bad breaks. The senator, ever watchful, believed +he saw a chance to sweep McQuade off the board. + +McQuade had an able lieutenant in Alderman Martin, whom the sporting +fraternity followed loyally. Martin owned and ran the most +disreputable hotel in the city. It occupied a position of unusual +prominence on one of the principal business streets. There was a +saloon and a cheap restaurant on the ground floor. On the second floor +were wine-rooms and a notorious gambling-den. Above this was the +hotel. The guests stole in at midnight and stole out at dawn. + +This gambling-den was frequently the bone of contention between +energetic ministers of the gospel and the police department. Regularly +the police swore that gambling did not exist in town, and regularly +the ministers went on a still hunt for proofs. Singularly enough, they +never found any. A hint from headquarters, and the den would close up +till after the excitement was over. All the newspapers understood that +the police lied; but the editors were either afraid or indifferent; +and the farce was played over yearly for the benefit of the +ministerial association. + +The place was run honestly enough. When the stakes are small, the +professional gambler does not have to be dishonest. All the same, this +kind of gambler is the most despicable of men. He lures the wage of +the poor; clerks, bookkeepers, traveling salesmen, laborers, college +boys, men who drink too much of a Saturday night, all these come to +the net. Nobody ever wins anything; and if perchance one does make a +small winning, it goes quickly over the bar. Women wait and wonder at +home; it is their common lot. The spirit of the gambler is in us all, +and we might as well confess it here and now. It is in the corpuscles: +something for nothing, something for nothing! + +Martin was a power in the Common Council. He could block or put +through any measure. He always carried a roll of gold-bills in his +pockets--for what purpose no one had the temerity to inquire. His +following was large and turbulent; it came from the shops and the +factories and the streets. In his ward no candidate had ever defeated +him. "Nice people" had very little to do with Mr. Martin; the laborer +who was honest had little to do with him, either. He was a pariah, but +a very formidable one. Yet, no one, though many accused him, caught +him in a dishonest deal. + +On the other hand, Senator Henderson's party had the cloak of +respectability on its shoulders. His lieutenants were prominent +business men who went into politics as a light diversion, young men of +aristocratic families who were ambitious to go to Albany or +Washington, and lawyers. The senator was a shrewd politician, with an +unreadable face, clean-shaven but for a stubby mustache, and keen blue +eyes that saw everything. He was loyal to his party and above +dishonesty. + +This was the political situation in Herculaneum. + +One May evening the senator called up Warrington. He was told that Mr. +Warrington was at the club. The senator drove to the club forthwith. +He found the dramatist in the reading-room, and greeted him +pleasantly. + +"My boy, I want half an hour of your time." + +"You are welcome to an hour of it, Senator," replied Warrington, +curious to know what the senator had to say to him. + +"Come into a private dining-room, then." Once seated at the table, the +senator reached over and touched Warrington mysteriously on the arm. +"Young man, I heard you speak the other night at the Chamber of +Commerce banquet. You're a born orator, and what is better than that, +you've common sense and humor. How would you like to be mayor of +Herculaneum next fall?" + +"Mayor?" gasped Warrington. + +"Yes." + +"I'd make a fine mayor," with forced laughter, but thinking rapidly. +"Aren't you jollying me, Senator?" + +"I'm dead in earnest, Warrington. There is not another available man +in sight. By available I mean a man who can pull the party out of the +bog. There are a hundred I could nominate, but the nomination would be +as far as they could go. We want a man who is fresh and new to the +people, so far as politics goes; a man who can not be influenced by +money or political emoluments. There are thousands of voters who are +discontented, but they'd prefer to vote for Donnelly again rather than +to vote for some one they know would be no better. You are known the +world over. A good many people would never have known there was such a +place as Herculaneum but for you. It is the home of the distinguished +playwright." + +"But I know practically nothing about political machinery," Warrington +protested. + +"You can leave the machinery to me," said the senator wisely. "I'll +set the wheels going. It will be as easy as sliding down hill. I'll +give you my word, if you land in the City Hall, to send you to +Washington with the next Congress. Will you accept the nomination, in +case I swing it around to you in September? It's a big thing. All you +literary boys are breaking into politics. This is your chance." + +"I'll take the night to think it over," said Warrington. He was vastly +flattered, but he was none the less cautious and non-committal. + +"Take a week, my boy; take a week. Another thing. You are intimate +with young Bennington. He's a hard-headed chap and doesn't countenance +politics in his shops. The two of you ought to bring the hands to +their senses. If we can line up the Bennington steel-mills, others +will fall in. Bennington owns the shops, but our friend McQuade owns +the men who work there. Take a week to think it over; I can rely on +your absolute secrecy." + +"I shall be silent for half a dozen reasons," Warrington replied. "But +I shan't keep you waiting a week. Call me up by 'phone to-morrow at +any time between five and six. I shall say yes or no, direct." + +"I like to hear a man talk like that." + +"I can't get the idea into my head yet. I never expected to meddle +with politics in this town." + +"We'll do the meddling for you. Even if you accept, we shall require +silence till the convention. It will be a bomb in the enemy's camp. +You'll come around to the idea. Between five and six, then?" + +"I shall have your answer ready. Good night." + +The senator took himself off, while Warrington ordered a bottle of +beer and drank it thoughtfully. Mayor! It would be a huge joke indeed +to come back to Herculaneum to rule it. He chuckled all the way home +that night; but when his head struck the pillow he saw the serious +side of the affair. He recalled the old days when they sneered at him +for selling vegetables; and here they were, coming to him with the +mayoralty. It was mighty gratifying. And there was the promise of +Washington. But he knew the world: political promises and pie-crusts. +What would the aunt say? What would Patty say? Somehow, he was always +thinking of Patty. He had not thought as yet to make any analysis of +his regard for Patty. He held her in the light of an agreeable +comrade, nothing more than that. Would she be pleased to see him mayor +of Herculaneum? Bah! He couldn't sleep. He got out of bed, found a +pipe and lighted it, and sat in the rocker by the window. Jove, +hearing him moving about the room, woke up and came trotting in to +inquire. + +"Ha, old boy, what do you think?" + +Jove laid his head on his master's knees. + +"They want to make a mayor out of me." + +Jove signified his approval. + +"They have forgiven us our daily vegetables. But shall I? Will it be +worth while? Well, we'll take a ride into the hills in the morning, +and we'll think it all out. Mayor of Herculaneum; sounds good, doesn't +it? Nothing like success, Jove." + +Warrington smoked till the fire in his pipe died. He turned in, and +this time he won sleep. + +Early the next morning he was off on his horse, and he did not return +till noon. But he had his answer. + +At three that afternoon he had callers. Patty and Kate had just run +over to see how the new play was getting on. Warrington confessed that +he was doing only desultory work, but promised to read the scenario to +them when it was done. + +"You are becoming lazy," said Kate rebukingly. + +"No; only a country gentleman." + +"Patty, did you hear that? He calls Herculaneum a country village." + +"Nothing of the sort. One may live in a city and be a countryman +still." + +"Mr. Warrington probably misses New York," said Patty. + +"Not the veriest particle," promptly. Certainly Patty was growing more +charming every day. + +The Angora cat, with feline caution, peeped into the room. Patty, who +loved cats, made a dash for the fluffy animal, which turned tail and +bolted for the kitchen, Patty a close second. + +For the first time since the marriage Kate and Warrington were alone +together. He gazed at her, mildly speculative. + +"Well, what do you see?" she asked. + +"You are certainly one of the most beautiful women in the world," he +declared, sighing. + +"You say 'one of'?" frowning. "There was a time when it was not +general; you used the definite article." + +"I know it." + +"Then there must be somebody else," quickly. + +"I'm not a marrying man," he said evasively. + +"Is it Patty, Dick? Oh, if it were only Patty!" + +"I'm not good enough for Patty, Kate. The Lord knows, though, that I +wish I were. She embarrasses me at times with her implicit faith in my +goodness." + +"Ah, Richard, what a terrible past yours was!" mockingly. "Nonsense!" +briskly. "You are guilty of nothing but innocuous villainies. If there +were fairies I should ask one to make you fall violently in love with +Patty." + +"No fairies need apply," ambiguously. "But you; you seem to be happy." + +"There can not be a happier woman in the world. Let me confess. The +confession may hurt your vanity. I love my husband better than I +dreamed I could love. He is so just, so tender and strong. And isn't +he handsome? I am madly jealous of every woman that comes near him. +And once upon a time I believed that I was in love with Mr. Richard." +There was no coquetry in this frank statement. + +"Any one can see that you are happy." + +"I want every one to see it. I want to tell everybody, too. You have +no idea how strong he is, Dick. Yesterday I was in the shops with him. +A rail was in the way; the men about did not see it; or refused to see +it. John stooped, picked it up with his bare hands, and dropped it to +one side. There are but two men in the shops who can do that. But I +have a horror of those great bars of twisting white iron. They terrify +me. I do not understand, but the men are always sullen when I am +there. John says it's my imagination." + +"It probably is. Perhaps the begrimed faces have something to do with +it." + +"I can read the human countenance too well," she said. "Is it because +I have been on the stage? Have these men a base opinion of me?" + +"Impossible!" + +"And they seem to dislike John, too." + +"John can take care of himself. He'll wait a long while, but when he +moves forward nothing can stop him. Don't you ever miss the glare of +the lights?" he asked, his endeavor being to interest her in something +foreign to the shops. + +"Dick, I have almost forgotten that I ever acted. You will remember +that I refused to assist in the amateur theatricals last winter. Act? +I hate the word. It suggests the puppet, the living in other people's +worlds, parrot-wise, in imitation." + +"Come, come, Kate; it's the greatest gift of all and you know it. +Think! The power to make people laugh and cry, to make either +happiness or misery perfectly real!" + +"Oh, there was pleasure in it at times," she admitted reluctantly. "Do +you remember my gloves, Dick? John had them." + +"He knew you were in my rooms that night?" + +"Yes. I told him the simple truth, and he believed me. How could I +help loving a man as loyal as that?" + +"It is fine. But Jack was always a thorough man. I don't blame you for +loving him. I call him all sorts of names to Patty, and it is fun to +watch her eyes flash." + +Kate gave him a curious smile. + +"What's the matter?" + +"Nothing." + +"You smiled." + +"I had a happy thought." + +"Probably about that house-broken John of yours." + +"Who's calling John house-broken?" Patty stood in the doorway, the +Angora struggling under her arm. + +"Well, isn't he house-broken?" asked Warrington with gentle malice. +"Gentle and warranted to stand?" + +Patty, for reasons of her own, permitted him to believe that he +succeeded in teasing her. + +"Kate, let us be going. I can not listen to Mr. Warrington's remarks +regarding my brother. He treats John as if he were a horse." + +"Just as you say, dear. We shall punish Mr. Warrington by not making +informal calls in the future." + +"Wait till I get my hat," cried Warrington, "and I'll walk over to the +house with you." + +"If you do that," said Patty, "we shall be compelled to ask you to +remain to dinner." + +"Oh, I should refuse. I've a telephone engagement between five and +six." + +"But we never serve dinner till seven," replied Patty, buttoning her +coat austerely. + +Kate laughed merrily. + +"If you will ask me over to dinner," said Warrington, "I'll tell you a +secret, a real dark political secret, one that I've promised not to +tell to a soul." + +The two women stopped abruptly. The cast was irresistible, and they +had to rise to it. + +Yet Patty murmured: "How like a woman he is!" + +"It simply shows what high regard I have for your discretion. It is a +secret some men would pay a comfortable fortune to learn." + +"Will you please come and dine with us this evening?" asked Patty. + +"I shall be very happy." + +"And now, the secret," said Mrs. Jack. + +"Between five and six I expect a call on the phone from Senator +Henderson." + +"Senator Henderson!" exclaimed the women in unison. + +"I shall say but a single word. It will be yes." + +"But the secret! Mercy alive, you are keeping us waiting!" + +Warrington glanced around with mock caution. He went mysteriously to +the portieres and peered into the hall; he repeated this performance +at the dining-room door, then turned, a finger upon his lips. + +"Senator Henderson is looking for a candidate for mayor this fall. +Mind, not a word to a soul, not even to John," this warning addressed +principally to Mrs. Jack. + +"The Honorable Richard Warrington," said Patty, musing. She rolled the +words on her tongue as if testing the sound of them. + +"That's it," laughed Warrington. "The Honorable Richard +Warrington!--sounds like Lord Mayor of London!" + +Every Eden has its serpent, sooner or later. Thus, having futilely +tried the usual gates by which he enters Eden to destroy it, this +particular serpent found a breach in the gate of politics. + + + + +Chapter VIII + + + +McQuade and Martin entered a cafe popular for its noon lunches. It was +hot weather in July, and both were mopping their bald foreheads, their +faces and necks. The white bulldog trotted along behind, his tongue +lolling out of his mouth and his eyes heavy. The two men sat down in a +corner under an electric fan; the dog crawled under the table, +grateful for the cold stone tiling. + +"What do you know about this fellow Warrington?" asked McQuade, +tossing his hat on one of the unoccupied chairs. + +"The fellow who writes plays?" + +"Yes. What do you know about him?" + +"Why, he used to peddle vegetables and now he owns a swell place on +Williams Street." + +"Gamble?" + +"Not that I know of. I never go into Pete's myself. It wouldn't be +good business. But they tell me Warrington used to drop in once in a +while, when he was a reporter, and choke his salary to death over the +roulette table." + +"Doesn't gamble now?" + +"Not in any of the joints around town." + +"Drink?" + +"Oh, I guess he boozes a little; but he's hard-headed and knows how +to handle the stuff." + +"Women?--Roast beef, boiled potatoes and musty ale for two." + +"Actresses.--Say, make mine a beer.--A gay buck in New York, I +understand. Used to chase around after the Challoner woman who married +Bennington." + +"Nothing here in town?" + +"Haven't paid any attention to him. I guess he's straight enough these +days." + +"Tip Pete off to-day. The police will make a raid Saturday night. The +ministers have been shouting again, and two or three losers have +whined." + +"All right. But what's all this about Warrington?" asked Martin, whose +curiosity was aroused. + +"I'll tell you later." The waiter returned with the platters of food, +and McQuade ate without further comment or question. + +Martin ate his meat in silence also, but he was busy wondering. +Warrington? What had interested the boss in that swell? Humph! + +These men ate quickly and digested slowly. McQuade took out two fat +black cigars and passed one to Martin, who tore off the end with his +teeth. + +"I want to find out all there is to know about Warrington. I can't +explain why just now; too many around." + +"Set Bolles after him. Bolles used to be with a private detective +bureau. If there's anything to learn, he'll learn it. There he is now. +Hey, waiter, ask that gentleman looking for a vacant table to come +over. Hello, Bolles!" + +"How do you do, Mr. Martin. Hot day, Mr. McQuade." + +"Sit down," said McQuade, with a nod of invitation toward the +remaining vacant chair. "Cigar or a drink?" + +"Bring me a little whisky--no, make it an old-fashioned cocktail. +That'll be about right." + +"Mr. McQuade has a job for you, Bolles, if you're willing to undertake +it." + +"I've got some time on my hands just now," replied Bolles. "Contract +work?" + +"After a fashion," said McQuade grimly. "Eat your dinner and we'll go +up stairs to my office. What I have to say can't be said here." + +"All right, Mr. McQuade. If it's dagos, I'll have plenty in hand in +November." + +"I shall want you to go to New York," said McQuade. + +"New York or San Francisco, so long as some one foots the bills." + +"I'll foot 'em," agreed McQuade. "Hustle your dinner. We'll wait for +you at the bar." + +Bolles ordered. A job for McQuade that took him to New York meant +money, money and a good time. There were no more contracts till +September, so the junket to New York wouldn't interfere with his +regular work. He had sublet his Italians. He was free. A few minutes +later he joined McQuade, and the trio went up stairs in a cloud of +tobacco smoke. McQuade nodded to the typewriter, who rose and left the +private office. The three men sat down, in what might be described as +a one-two-three attitude: domination, tacit acceptance of this +domination, and servility. + +"Do you know Richard Warrington, the playwriter?" + +"That snob? Yes, I know who he is, and I'd like to punch his head for +him, too." + +McQuade smiled. This manifest rancor on Bolles' part would make things +easier than he thought. + +"Well, listen. I've just been tipped that big things are going to +happen this fall. That fool Donnelly has queered himself, and is +making a muddle of everything he touches. Senator Henderson is a +shrewd man, but he wasn't shrewd enough this time. He should have +conducted his little conspiracy in his own home and not at a club +where servants often find profit in selling what they hear. Henderson +is going to put Warrington up for mayor." + +"The hell he is!" said Bolles. + +Martin's jaw dropped, and the cigar ashes tumbled down his shirt +bosom. + +"It's no joke," went on McQuade. "If he is nominated, he'll win. The +people are wanting a change. If the Henderson people get into the City +Hall, I stand to lose a fortune on contracts. You both know what that +means. Warrington must never get a chance to accept." + +Bolles looked at Martin. McQuade saw the look, and, interpreting it, +laughed. + +"These are no dime-novel days. We don't kill men to get 'em out of the +way. We take a look into their past and use it as a club." + +"I begin to see," said Martin. "Warrington must be side-tracked before +the convention. Good. That'll be simple." + +"Not very," McQuade admitted. "It's going to be a devilish hard job. +You, Bolles, pack up and go to New York. I want some information +regarding this young fellow's past in New York. It's up to you to get +it. No faking, mind you; good substantial evidence that can be backed +up by affidavits. Get the idea? Five hundred and expenses, if you +succeed; your expenses anyhow. Five hundred is a lot of money these +days. But if you go on a bat, I'll drop you like a hot brick, for good +and all. Think it over. Pack up to-night, if you want to. Here's a +hundred to start with. Remember this, now, there must be a woman." + +"A woman?" + +"Yes. A man has no past, if there isn't a woman in it." + +"I can land that five hundred," Bolles declared confidently. "I can +find the woman. I'll write you every other day." + +"Well, then, that's all. Good luck. No boozing while you're on the job +Afterward I don't care what you do. By-by." + +Bolles took his dismissal smilingly. Five hundred. It was easy. + +"If it's possible, he'll do it," said Martin. "But what's your +campaign?" + +"Donnelly must remain another term. After that, oblivion. There'll be +bids this fall. If Henderson's man wins, there'll be new aldermen. +These bids of mine must go through and gas must be kept at a +dollar-fifty. I'm a rich man, but at present I'm up to my neck in +southern contracts that aren't paying ten cents on the dollar. +Herculaneum's got to foot the bill." + +"How'd you find out about Henderson's coup?" + +"One of the waiters at his club said he had some information. I gave +him ten dollars for something I'd have given ten hundred for just as +quickly. If Henderson had sprung Warrington in September, we'd have +been swamped. Now we have a good chance to hang on." + +"Force him to back down and withdraw?" + +McQuade nodded. + +"It's simply got to be done. I didn't give Henderson credit for so +clever a move as this. A new man, famous and wealthy, under no +obligations to his party; the voters would follow him just for the +novelty of the thing. Besides, there are other reasons, but I'm +keeping them to myself. How about that pavement deal in John Street?" + +John Street possessed but three or four houses. The paving would be a +ten-thousand-dollar job. As a witty political speaker once said, they +paved Herculaneum in the concrete and in the abstract. + +"It will go through Monday night, smooth as butter." + +"Canvassed the boys?" + +"More than three-fourths vote. Sure." + +"I'm depending upon you." + +"Will you turn down Donnelly at the convention?" + +"I tell you he's got to run again. I'll bring him to order, after a +little heart-to-heart talk. He's the only man in sight." + +"Why not play the same game as Henderson?" + +"I've thought it all out. There's no one but Donnelly. Pick up +anything you can about Warrington." + +"All right. By the way, the boys want to know if you think we can pull +off those ten-round bouts this winter." + +"I'm going down to the capital to see." + +Martin telephoned for his team, and twenty minutes later he was +driving countryward. McQuade dictated a few letters, one of which he +directed to be sent by messenger. Then he left the office and called +upon the editor of the Times. This conference lasted an hour. McQuade +was chief owner of the Times. + + +Warrington was greatly surprised when, at three-thirty, a message was +brought to him requesting him briefly and politely to do Mr. McQuade +the honor to call on him between four and five that afternoon. He had +met McQuade at the Chamber of Commerce dinner. The introduction had +been most formal. What the deuce did McQuade wish to see him about? +Should he go? A natural aversion to the man said no; but policy urged +him as well as curiosity. He went to the telephone and called up +McQuade's office. Mr. McQuade was not in, but would return at four. +Ah! It was the typewriter who spoke. Would she kindly notify Mr. +McQuade on his return that Mr. Warrington would be at his office at +four-thirty? She would. Thanks. + +Warrington smoked uneasily. He had no desire to meet McQuade. Their +ways were widely separated and reached nothing in common. But he +readily recognized the fact that McQuade was not a man such as one +might heedlessly antagonize. What could the politician want of the +literary man? McQuade dabbled in racing horses; perhaps he had a horse +to sell. In that event, they would meet on common ground. But his +belief in this possibility was only half-hearted. He filled his +pockets with cigars, whistled for the dog, and departed. Both of the +Bennington houses were closed; the two families were up north in the +woods. + +Promptly at four-thirty Warrington and his dog entered the elevator of +the McQuade Building and were dislodged on the third floor. They went +along the dim corridor, scrutinizing doors, each hunting for one of +his kind. Jove couldn't read, but he could smell. Finally Warrington +came to a stand. Upon the glass panel of the door he read: + +Daniel McQuade & Co. + +General Contractors + + +He did not knock. He opened the door and walked in. It is a sign of +weakness for a man to knock on the door of a business office, unless +it is marked private, Nevertheless, the dingy glass had known the +knock of many knuckles. A girl was hammering on the typewriting +machine. She ceased only when she completed the page. She looked up. +Her expression, on seeing who the visitor was, changed instantly. It +was not often that a man like this one entered the office of Daniel +McQuade and Company, General Contractors. + +"I have an appointment with Mr. McQuade," said Warrington pleasantly; +"would you mind announcing me?" + +"Just a moment," answered the girl, rising and entering the private +office. She returned at once. "Mr. McQuade will see you." + +Warrington walked quietly into the lion's den. + +"Glad to see you, Mr. Warrington," said McQuade, pointing toward a +chair. He did not offer his hand; something told him not to make that +mistake. + +From under the desk McQuade's dog emerged, stiff and bristling. On his +side, Jove stood squarely on his legs, head on, as they say, his lips +writhing and quivering with rage. Warrington touched the chair that +had been offered him. Jove begged. But the master was obdurate. Jove +jumped up, but turned quickly. The white dog stopped. He recognized +that he was at a complete disadvantage. + +McQuade watched these proceedings with an amused twinkle. It was a +clever manoeuver. So far as he was concerned, a good dog fight would +not have been to his distaste. + +"It doesn't hurt the brutes to light once in a while. But, of course," +he added, "your dog is old." + +"Nothing is old till it is useless." + +"An epigram from one of your plays?" + +"No; but it sounds good enough to use. Jove has strong teeth, however, +and he comes from a fighting family. But for my part, I had much +rather see two men pummel each other." + +"So would I, for that matter." McQuade pushed the match-box toward +Warrington, but Warrington drew out his own and struck a light. +McQuade shrugged. + +"Mr. McQuade, I am interested to learn what is back of your note. +Horses?" + +"No; not horses." + +McQuade viewed the young man through half-closed eyes. The contractor +was a big hulk of a man, physically as strong as a bull, with reddish +hair, small twinkling eyes, a puffy nose mottled with veins, thin lips +shaded by a bristling red mustache, and a heavy jaw. The red fell of +hair on his hands reminded Warrington of a sow's back. Everything +about McQuade suggested strength and tensity of purpose. He had begun +work on a canal-boat. He had carried shovel and pick. From boss on a +railway section job he had become a brakeman. He took a turn at +lumbering, bought a tract of chestnuts and made a good penny in +railroad ties. He saved every dollar above his expenses. He bought a +small interest in a contracting firm, and presently he became its +head. There was ebb and tide to his fortunes but he hung on. A +lighting contract made him a rich man. Then he drifted into politics; +and now, at the age of fifty, he was a power in the state. The one +phase of sentiment in the man was the longing to possess all those +obstacles that had beset his path in the days of his struggles. He +bought the canal-boat and converted it into a house-boat; he broke the +man who had refused him a job at the start; he bought the block, the +sidewalk of which he had swept; every man who stood in his way he +removed this way or that. He was dishonest, but his dishonesty was of +a Napoleonic order. He was uneducated, but he possessed that exact +knowledge of mankind that makes leaders; and his shrewdness was the +result of caution and suspicion. But like all men of his breed, he +hated with peculiar venom the well-born; he loved to grapple with +them, to wrest their idleness from them, to compel them to work for a +living, to humiliate them. The fiber in McQuade was coarse; he +possessed neither generosity nor magnanimity; the very men who feared +him held him in secret contempt. + +"No, Mr. Warrington, I haven't any horses for sale to-day," he began. +"Not very long ago you met Senator Henderson at your club. He offered +you the nomination for mayor this fall, and you accepted it." + +Warrington could not repress a start of surprise. He had not quite +expected this. He was annoyed. + +"That is true. What mystifies me," he supplemented, "is how this +knowledge came to your ears." + +"I generally hear what's going on. My object in asking you to call is +to talk over the matter on a friendly basis." + +"I can not see what good that will do. Politically we have nothing in +common." + +"Politically or socially. But the point is this. What have you done +that you should merit this honor? I'll talk frankly. What have you +done toward the building up of your city? What have you done toward +its progress in manufacturing and building? You have done nothing but +buy a house on the fashionable street and pay the taxes." + +"You might add that I once peddled vegetables," said Warrington. + +It was McQuade's turn to be surprised. From what he had observed of +fashionable people, especially the new-rich, they endeavored to +submerge altogether the evidences of past manual and menial labor. + +"Then you are not ashamed of the fact that you sold vegetables?" + +"In truth, I'm rather proud of it. It was the first step in the fight. +And I tell you honestly, Mr. McQuade, that I have fought every inch of +the way. And I shall continue to fight, when there's anything worth +fighting for. I'm not a manufacturer or a builder, but I am none the +less eligible for public office. What little money I have was made +honestly, every penny of it. It was not built on political robbery and +the failures of others. But let us come to the point. You have +something to say." + +"Yes. I have. And it is this: I don't propose to have you meddle with +the politics of this city. I hope we can come to a peaceful +understanding. I don't want to war against you." + +"Mr. McQuade, you talk like a man out of his senses. Who's going to +prevent me from accepting the nomination?" + +"I am," answered McQuade, bringing a fist down on his desk. + +The dogs growled. They seemed to realize that war of some kind was in +the air. + +"How?" asked Warrington. The man was a fool! + +"You will go to Senator Henderson and tell him that you have +reconsidered." + +Warrington laughed. "I believed I knew all phases, but this one +surpasses any I ever heard of. You have the nerve to ask me, of the +opposition party, to refuse the nomination for mayor?" + +"I have." + +"Are you afraid of me?" + +"Not of you, my lad," McQuade answered sardonically, spreading out his +great hands. "Do I look like a man afraid of anything? But the thought +of a stranger becoming mayor of Herculaneum rather frightens me. Let +us have peace, Mr. Warrington." + +"I ask nothing better." + +"Withdraw." + +"I never withdraw. I am not afraid of anything. I even promise to be +good-natured enough to look upon this meeting as a colossal joke." +Warrington's cigar had gone out. He relighted it coolly. "If the +nomination is offered me, I shall accept it; and once having accepted +it, I'll fight, but honorably and in the open. Look here, McQuade, +don't be a fool. You've something against me personally. What is it? +If I recollect, I ran across you once or twice when I was a newspaper +man." + +McQuade's eyes narrowed again. + +"Personally, you are nothing to me," he replied; "politically, you are +a meddler, and you are in my way." + +"Oh, I am in your way? That is to say, if I am elected, there'll be +too much honesty in the City Hall to suit your plans? I can readily +believe that. If you can convince me that I ought not to run for +mayor, do so. I can accept any reasonable argument. But bluster will +do no good. For a man of your accredited ability, you are making a +poor move, even a fatal one." + +"Will you withdraw?" + +"Emphatically no!" + +"All right. Whatever comes your way after this, don't blame me. I have +given you a fair warning." + +"You have threatened." + +"I can act also. And you can put this in your pipe, Mr. Warrington, +that before October comes round, when the Republican convention meets, +you will withdraw your name quickly enough. This is not a threat. It's +a warning. That's all. I'm sorry you can't see the matter from my +standpoint." + +"Come, boy," said Warrington to his dog. "You had better keep your +animal under the table." + +McQuade did not move or answer. So Warrington grasped Jove by the +collar and led him out of the private office. McQuade heard the +dramatist whistle on the way to the elevator. + +"So he'll fight, eh?" growled McQuade. "Well, I'll break him, or my +name's not McQuade. The damned meddling upstart, with his plays and +fine women! You're a hell of a dog, you are! Why the devil didn't you +kill his pup for him?" + +McQuade sent a kick at the dog, who dodged it successfully, trotted +out to the typewriter and crawled under the girl's skirts. + +Warrington went home, thoroughly angry with himself. To have bandied +words and threats with a man like McQuade! He had lowered himself to +the man's level. But there were times when he could not control his +tongue. Education and time had not tamed him any. Withdraw? It would +have to be something more tangible than threats. + +"Richard, you are not eating anything," said his aunt at dinner that +evening. + +"I'm not hungry, Aunty. It's been one of those days when a man gets up +wrong." + +"I'm sorry. Doesn't the play go along smoothly?" + +"Not as smoothly as I should like." + +"There was a long-distance call for you this afternoon. The +Benningtons want you to come up at once instead of next week." + +Warrington brightened perceptibly. He went to work, but his heart +wasn't in it. The interview with McQuade insisted upon recurring. Why +hadn't he walked out without any comment whatever? Silence would have +crushed McQuade. He knew that McQuade could not back up this threat; +it was only a threat. Bah! Once more he flung himself into his work. + +Half an hour later the door-bell rang. + + + + +Chapter IX + + + +Character is a word from which have descended two meanings +diametrically opposed to each other. We say a man has a character, or +we say he is one; The first signifies respect; the second, a tolerant +contempt. There exists in all small communities, such as villages, +towns, and cities of the third class, what is known as a character. In +the cities he is found loafing in hotel lobbies or in the corridors of +the City Hall; in the hamlet he is usually the orator of the +post-office or the corner grocery. Invariably his wife takes in +washing, and once in a while he secures for her an extra order. If he +has any children, they live in the streets. He wears a collar, but +seldom adds a tie. He prides himself on being the friend of the +laboring man, and a necktie implies the worship of the golden calf. He +never denies himself a social glass. He never buys, but he always +manages to be introduced in time. After the first drink he calls his +new friend by his surname; after the second drink it is "Arthur" or +"John" or "Henry," as the case may be; then it dwindles into "Art" or +"Jack" or "Hank." No one ever objects to this progressive familiarity. +The stranger finds the character rather amusing. The character is +usually a harmless parasite, and his one ambition is to get a +political job such as entails no work. He is always pulling wires, as +they say; but those at the other end are not sensitive to the touch. +On dull days he loiters around the police court and looks mysterious. +Cub reporters at first glance believe him to be a detective in +disguise. + +Herculaneum had its character. He was a pompous little man to whom the +inelegant applied the term of runt. He never could have passed the +army examination, for he had no instep. He walked like a duck, +flat-footed, minus the waddle. He was pop-eyed, and the fumes of +strong drink had loosened the tear-ducts so that his eyes swam in a +perennial mist of tears. His wife still called him William, but down +town he was Bill. He knew everybody in town, and everybody in town +knew him. There was a time when he had been on intimate terms with so +distinguished a person as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. He will tell you to +this day how he was wont to dandle her on his knee. Bill was one of +those individuals of whom it is said: "He means well." In other words, +he was a do-nothing, a ne'er-do-well. He had been comparatively rich +once, but he had meant well with his money. One grand splurge, and it +was all over. Herculaneum still recollects that splurge. When in his +cups, Bill was always referring to those gorgeous days. Afterward, +Bill and his family lived from hand to mouth. Occasionally, at +Christmas, some of his old friends who felt sorry for him sent him a +purse. Did Bill purchase turkey and coal and potatoes? No, indeed. He +bought useless French toys for the children, who went hungry. Another +time, when heartless winter returned and the price of coal went up, a +church social was arranged for Bill's benefit. It netted him nearly a +hundred dollars. But Bill didn't pay his landlord and grocer; not he! +He came down town the following day with a shiny plug-hat and a +gold-headed cane. + +Bill was a first-class genealogist. He could tell you the history of +every leading family in town. It took Bill to expose the new-rich; he +did it handsomely. The way these breakfast millionaires lorded and +landaued it highly amused him. Who were they, anyhow? Coal-heavers, +hod-carriers, stock-speculators, riffraff, who possessed an ounce of +brains and a pound of luck. Why, they didn't even know how to spend +their money when they got it. But what could be expected of people who +put iron dogs and wooden deers on their front lawns? But the +Benningtons, the Haldenes, and the Winterflelds, and the Parkers, +--they had something to brag about. They were Bunker Hillers, they +were; they had always had money and social position. As for the +Millens, and the Deckers, and the McQuades--pah! + +Bill had a wonderful memory; he never forgot those who laughed at him +and those who nodded kindly. He was shiftless and lazy, but he had a +code of honor. Bill could have blackmailed many a careless man of +prominence, had he been so minded. But a man who had once dined a +governor of the state could do no wrong. His main fault was that he +had neglected to wean his former greatness; he still nursed it. Thus, +it was beneath his dignity to accept a position as a clerk in a store +or shop. The fact that his pristine glory was somewhat dimmed to the +eyes of his fellow citizens in no wise disturbed Bill. Sometimes, when +he was inclined to let loose the flood-gates of memory, his friends +would slip a quarter into his palm and bid him get a drink, this being +the easiest method of getting rid of him. + + +Bill marched into the Warrington place jauntily. He wore a tie. Jove +ran out and sniffed the frayed hems of his trousers. But like all men +of his ilk, he possessed the gift of making friends with dogs. He +patted Jove's broad head, spoke to him, and the dog wagged what there +was left of his tail. Bill proceeded to the front door and resolutely +rang the bell. The door opened presently. + +"Is Richard in?" Bill asked. He had had only two drinks that evening. + +"Mr. Warrington is in," answered the valet, with chilling dignity. +"What is your business?" + +"Mine!" thundered Bill, who had a democratic contempt for a +gentleman's gentleman. "I have important business to transact with +your master. Take this card in to him. He'll see me." + +The valet looked at the greasy card. The name was written in ink; the +card was of the kind one finds in hotels for the convenience of the +guests. + +"I will take the card to Mr. Warrington," the valet promised +reluctantly. There was, however, a barely perceptible grin struggling +at the corners of his mouth. He was not wholly devoid of the sense of +humor, as a gentleman's gentleman should at all times be. + +"William Osborne? What the deuce does he want here?" asked Warrington +impatiently. + +"He said his business was important, sir. If it is half as important +as he acts--" + +"No comments, please. Show Mr. Osborne in." + +Warrington turned all his mail face-downward. He knew Bill of +aforetime, in the old newspaper days. Bill had marvelously keen eyes, +for all that they were watery. The valet ushered him into the study. +He wore his usual blase expression. He sat down and drew up his chair +to the desk. + +"Well, Mr. Osborne, what's on your mind to-night?" Warrington leaned +back. + +"The truth is, Richard," began William, "I found this letter on the +pavement this afternoon. Guess you'd been down to the hotel this +afternoon, and dropped it. I found it out in front. There was no +envelope, so I couldn't help reading it." + +Warrington seized the letter eagerly. It was the only letter of its +kind in the world. It was enchanted. + +"Mr. Osborne, you've done me a real service. I would not take a small +fortune for this letter. I don't recollect how I came to lose it. Must +have taken it out and dropped it accidentally. Thanks." + +"Don't mention it, my boy." Very few called him Mr. Osborne. + +"It is worth a good deal to me. Would you be offended if I gave you +ten as a reward?" + +"I'd feel hurt, Richard, but not offended," a twinkle in the watery +eyes. + +Warrington laughed, drew out his wallet and handed William a crisp, +crackly bank-note. It went, neatly creased, into William's sagging +vest-pocket. + +"Have a cigarette?" asked Warrington. + +"Richard, there's one thing I never did, and that's smoke one of those +coffin-nails. Whisky and tobacco are all right, but I draw the line at +cigarettes." + +Warrington passed him a cigar. William bit off the end and lighted it. +He sniffed with evident relish. + +"Seems impossible, Richard, that only a few years ago you were a +reporter at the police station. But I always said that you'd get there +some day. You saw the dramatic side of the simplest case. I knew your +father. He was one of the best farmers in the county. But he didn't +know how to invest his savings. He ought to have left you rich." + +"But he didn't. After all, it's a fine thing to make for the good +things in life and win them yourself." + +"That's true. You're a different breed from some of these people who +are your neighbors. We're all mighty proud of you, here in +Herculaneum. What you want to do is to get into politics." Here Bill +winked mysteriously. "You've money and influence, and that's what +counts." + +"I'm seriously thinking the thing over," returned Warrington, not +quite understanding the wink. + +"Everything's on the bum in town; it wants a clean bill. McQuade must +go. The man never keeps a promise. Told me in the presence of +witnesses, last election, that he'd give me a job on the new police +board; and yet after election he put in one of those whipper-snappers +who know nothing. Of course, you've been in town long enough to know +that Donnelly is simply McQuade's creature. I never had any luck." + +"Oh, it may change by and by." Warrington, at that moment, felt +genuinely sorry for the outcast. + +Bill twirled his hat. "You've never laughed at me, Richard; you've +always treated me like a gentleman, which I was once. I didn't mail +that letter because I wanted to see if you had changed any. If you had +become a snob, why, you could fight your blamed battles yourself; no +help from me. But you're just the same. I've brought something that'll +be of more use to you than that letter, and don't you forget it." + +"What?" asked Warrington skeptically. + +Suddenly Bill leaned forward, shading his voice with his hand. "I was +in Hanley's for a glass of beer this noon. I sat in a dark place. The +table next to me was occupied by Martin, McQuade, and a fellow named +Bolles." + +"Bolles?" + +"You've been away so long you haven't heard of him. He handles the +dagos during election. Well, McQuade was asking all sorts of questions +about you. Asked if you gambled, or drank, or ran around after women." + +Warrington no longer leaned back in his chair. His body assumed an +alert angle. + +"They all went up to McQuade's office. The typewriter is a niece of +mine. McQuade has heard that the senator is going to spring your name +at the caucus. But that's a small matter. McQuade is going to do you +some way or other." + +"What do you mean?" + +"Why, he sees that his goose is cooked if you run. He's determined +that he won't let you." + +Warrington laughed; there was a note of battle in his laughter. "Go +on," he said. + +"Nobody knew anything about your habits. So McQuade has sent Bolles to +New York. He used to be a private detective, He's gone to New York to +look up your past there. I know Bolles; he'll stop at nothing. +McQuade, however, was wise enough to warn him not to fake, but to get +real facts." + +This time Warrington's laughter was genuine. + +"He's welcome to all he can find." + +"But this isn't all. I know a printer on the Times. To-morrow the +whole story about your accepting the senator's offer will come out. +They hope the senator will be forced to change his plans. They think +the public will lose interest in your campaign. Surprise is what the +public needs. I'll tell you something else. Morris, who died last +week, had just sold out his interest in the Telegraph to McQuade. This +means that McQuade has the controlling interest in every newspaper in +town. I never heard of such a thing before; five newspapers, +Democratic and Republican, owned by a Democratic boss." + +Warrington smoked thoughtfully. This man McQuade was something out of +the ordinary. And he had defied him. + +"I am very much obliged to you, Osborne. If I win out, on my word of +honor, I'll do something for you." + +"You aren't afraid of McQuade?" anxiously. + +"My dear Mr. Osborne, I am not afraid of the Old Nick himself. I'll +give this man McQuade the biggest fight he has ever had. Bolles will +have his pains for nothing. Any scandal he can rake up about my past +will be pure blackmail; and I know how to deal with that breed." + +"McQuade will try something else, then. He's sworn to stop you. I'm +glad you aren't afraid of him." + +"I can't thank you enough." + +"I wander about town a good deal; nobody pays much attention to me; so +lots of things fall under my notice. I'll let you know what I hear. +You'll find all the decent people on your side, surprise or no +surprise. They're tired of McQuade and Donnelly; Some of these paving +deals smell. Well, I'm keeping you from your work." Bill rose. + +"Help yourself to these cigars," said Warrington gratefully, passing +the box. + +Bill took three. + +"Good night, Richard." + +"Good night, Mr. Osborne. If by any good luck I become mayor of +Herculaneum, I'll not forget your service to-night." + +"That's all that's necessary for me;" and Bill bowed himself out. He +layed his course for his familiar haunts. + +Warrington turned to his work again. But the news he had just received +disturbed all connected thought, so he put the manuscript away. So the +first gun had been fired! They had sent a man to hunt up his past in +New York. He looked back, searching this corner and that, but he could +not recall anything that would serve McQuade's purpose. No man is +totally free from folly. True, there was a time when he drank, but he +had stopped that idiocy nearly two years before. This could not be +tallied against him with effect. And, thank God, there had been no +women. His gambling had been of the innocuous kind. Well, let them +hunt; much good it would do them. + +He picked up the letter which Osborne had so fortunately come upon. He +was often amused at the fascination it held for him. He would never +meet the writer, and yet not a day passed that he did not strive to +conjure up an imaginative likeness. And he had nearly lost it. The +creases were beginning to show. He studied it thoroughly. He held it +toward the light. Ah, here was something that had hitherto escaped his +notice. It was a peculiar water-mark. He examined the folds. The sheet +had not been folded originally, letter-wise, but had been fiat, as if +torn from a tablet. He scrutinized the edges and found signs of +mucilage. Here was something, but it led him to no solution. The +post-office mark had been made in New York. To trace a letter in New +York would be as impracticable as subtracting gold from sea-water. It +was a tantalizing mystery, and it bothered him more than he liked to +confess. He put the letter in his wallet, and went into the +sewing-room, where his aunt was knitting. The dear old lady smiled at +him. + +"Aunty, I've got a secret to tell you." + +"What is it, Richard?" + +"I'm going to run for mayor." + +The old lady dropped her work and held up her hands in horror. + +"You are fooling, Richard!" + +"I am very serious, Aunty." + +"But politicians are such scamps, Richard." + +"Somebody's got to reform them." + +"But they'll reform you into one of their kind. You don't mean it!" + +"Yes, I do. I've promised, and I can't back down now." + +"No good will come of it," said the old lady prophetically, reaching +down for her work. "But if you are determined, I suppose it's no use +for me to talk. What will the Benningtons say?" + +"They rather approve of the idea. I'm going up there early to-morrow. +I'll be up before you're down. Good night." He lightly kissed the +wrinkled face. + +"Have a good time, Richard; and God bless my boy." + +He paused on the threshold and came back. Why, he did not know. But +having come back, he kissed her once again, his hands on her cheeks. +There were tears in her eyes. + +"You're so kind and good to an old woman, Richard." + +"Pshaw! there's nobody your equal in all the world. Good night;" and +he stepped out into the hall. + +The next morning he left town for the Benningtons' bungalow in the +Adirondacks. He carried his fishing-rods, for Patty had told him that +their lake was alive with black bass. Warrington was an ardent angler. +Rain might deluge him, the sun scorch, but he would sit in a boat all +day for a possible strike. He arrived at two in the afternoon, and +found John, Kate and Patty at the village station. A buckboard took +them into the heart of the forest, and the penetrating, resinous +perfumes tingled Warrington's nostrils. He had been in the woods in +years gone by; not a tree or a shrub that he did not know. It was +nearly a two hours' drive to the lake, which was circled by lordly +mountains. + +"Isn't it beautiful?" asked Patty, with a kind of proprietary pride. + +"It is as fine as anything in the Alps," Warrington admitted. "Shall +we go a-fishing in the morning?" + +"If you can get up early enough." + +"Trust me!" enthusiastically. + +"I netted one this morning that weighed three pounds." + +"Fish grow more rapidly out of water than in," railingly. + +"John, didn't that bass weigh three pounds?" Patty appealed. + +"It weighed three and a half." + +"I apologize," said Warrington humbly. + +"How's the politician?" whispered Kate, eagerly. + +"About to find himself in the heart of a great scandal. The enemy has +located us, and this afternoon the Times is to come out with a +broadside. I haven't the least idea what it will say, nor care." + +"That's the proper way to talk," replied Kate approvingly. "We climbed +that bald mountain yesterday. Patty took some beautiful photographs." + +"The tip of your nose is beginning to peel," said Warrington +irrelevantly. + +"It's horrid of you to mention it. I'm not used to the sun, but I love +it. Patty is teaching me how to bait a hook." + +"I'd like to see a photograph of that," Warrington cried. "Say, John, +is there any way of getting to-night's newspapers up here?" + +"Nothing till to-morrow morning. The boat leaves the mail at night. +But what's this talk about politics?" John demanded. + +Warrington looked at Patty and Kate in honest amazement. + +"Do you two mean to tell me," he asked, "that you have really kept the +news from John?" + +"You told us not to tell," said Kate reproachfully. + +"Well, I see that I shall never get any nearer the truth about women. +I thought sure they'd tell you, Jack, that I'm going to run for mayor +this fall." + +"No!" + +"Truth. And it's going to be the fight of my life. I accepted in the +spirit of fun, but I am dead in earnest now. Whichever way it goes, it +will be a good fight. And you may lay to that, my lad, as our friend +Long John Silver used to say." + +He said nothing, however, of his interview with McQuade. That was one +of the things he thought best to keep to himself. + +"I'll harangue the boys in the shops," volunteered John, "though +there's a spirit of unrest I don't like. I've no doubt that before +long I shall have a fight on my hands. But I shall know exactly what +to do," grimly. "But hang business! These two weeks are going to be +totally outside the circle of business. I hope you'll win, Dick. We'll +burn all the stray barrels for you on election night." + +"There'll be plenty of them burning. But I shall be nervous till I see +the Times." + +"You'll have it in the morning." + +Warrington sighed. Half an hour later the bungalow came into view. + +The elder Bennington knew the value of hygienic living. He kept his +children out of doors, summer and winter. He taught them how to ride, +to hunt, to fish; he was their partner in all out-of-door games; he +made sport interesting and imparted to them his own zest and vitality. +So they grew up strong and healthy. He left their mental instruction +to the mother, knowing full well that she would do as much on her side +as he had done on his. Only one law did he lay down: the children +should go to public schools till the time for higher education +arrived. Then they might choose whatever seat of learning they +desired. He had the sound belief that children sent to private schools +rarely become useful citizens. + + +The rosal glow of dawn tipped the mountains, and a russet haze lay on +the still bosom of the lake. Warrington made a successful cast not far +from the lily-pods. Zing! went the reel. But by the pressure of his +thumb he brought the runaway to a sudden halt. The tip of the rod +threatened to break! Hooked! Patty swung round the canoe, which action +gave the angler freer play. Ah, wasn't that beautiful! Two feet out of +the water! Here he comes, but not more swiftly than the reel can take +him. Off he goes again--take care for the unexpected slack. Another +leap, like a bronze flame, and then a dash for the shallow bottom. He +fought gallantly for his life and freedom. Patty reached for the net. +Inch by inch Warrington drew him in. Twice he leaped over the net, but +Patty was an old hand. The third effort landed him. + +"Two pounds," said Patty. "Plenty for breakfast now." + +"Tell you what, this is sport. How many have we?" + +"Seven in half an hour." Patty began using her paddle. + +"Finest sport in the world!" Warrington settled down on the cushion +and leisurely watched the brown arms of his guide. + +"You're a good fisherman. And I like to see a good fisherman get +excited. John is like a statue when he gets a strike; he reels them in +like a machine. He becomes angry if any one talks. But it's fun to +watch Kate. She nearly falls out of the boat, and screams when the +bass leaps. Isn't it beautiful?" + +"It is a kind of Eden. But I'm so restless. I have to be wandering +from place to place. If I owned your bungalow, I should sell it the +second year. All the charm would go the first season. God has made so +many beautiful places in this world for man that man is the only +ungrateful creature in it. What's that smoke in the distance?" + +"That's the mail-boat, with your newspaper. It will be two hours yet +before it reaches our dock. It has to zigzag to and fro across the +lake. I'm hungry." + +"So am I. Let me take the paddle." + +The exchange was made, and he sent the canoe over the water rapidly. +Patty eyed him with frank admiration. + +"Is there anything you can't do well?" + +"A good many things," he acknowledged. + +"I should like to know what they are." + +Neither spoke again till the canoe glided around the dock and a +landing was made. Warrington strung the fish, and together he and +Patty went toward the kitchen. At seven-thirty the family sat down to +a breakfast of fried bass, and Patty told how the catch had been made. + +"He's a better fisherman than you, John." + +"Just as you say, Patty. I care not who catches bass, so long as I may +eat them," in humorous paraphrase. + +There was no little excitement over the arrival of the mail-boat. They +were all eager to see what the Times had to say. There was a column or +more on the first page, subheaded. Warrington's career was rather +accurately portrayed, but there were some pungent references to +cabbages. In the leader, on the editorial page, was the master-hand. + +"In brief, this young man is to be the Republican candidate for mayor. +Grown desperate these half-dozen years of ineffectual striving for +political pap, Senator Henderson resorts to such an expedient. But the +coup falls flat; there will be no surprise at the convention; the +senator loses the point he seeks to score. Personally, we have nothing +to say against the character of Mr. Warrington. After a fashion he is +a credit to his native town. But we reaffirm, he is not a citizen, he +is not eligible to the high office. If he accepts, after this +arraignment, he becomes nothing more than an impertinent meddler. What +has he done for the people of Herculaneum? Nothing. Who knows anything +about his character, his honor, his worth? Nobody. To hold one's +franchise as a citizen does not make that person a citizen in the +honest sense of the word. Let Mr. Warrington live among us half a +dozen years, and then we shall see. The senator, who is not without +some wisdom and experience, will doubtless withdraw this abortive +candidate. It's the only logical thing he can do. We dare say that the +dramatist accepted the honor with but one end in view: to find some +material for a new play. But Herculaneum declines to be so honored. He +is legally, but not morally, a citizen. He is a meddler, and +Herculaneum is already too well supplied with meddlers. Do the wise +thing, Mr. Warrington; withdraw. Otherwise your profit will be +laughter and ridicule; for the Republican party can never hope to win +under such equivocal leadership. That's all we have to say." + +Warrington, who had been reading the articles aloud, grinned and +thrust the paper into his pocket. + +"What shall you do?" asked John curiously. + +"Do? Go into the fight tooth and nail. They dub me a meddler; I'll +make the word good." + +"Hurrah!" cried Kate, clapping her hands. She caught Patty in her +arms, and the two waltzed around the dock. + +The two men shook hands, and presently all four were reading their +private letters. Warrington received but one. It was a brief note from +the senator. "Pay no attention to Times' story. Are you game for a +fight? Write me at once, and I'll start the campaign on the receipt of +your letter." + +"Patty, where do you write letters?" he asked. He called her Patty +quite naturally. Patty was in no wise offended. + +"In the reading-room you will find a desk with paper and pens and ink. +Shall I go with you?" + +"Not at all. I've only a note to scribble to Senator Henderson." + +Warrington found the desk. Upon it lay a tablet. He wrote hurriedly: + +"Start your campaign; I am in it now to the last ditch." + +As he re-read it, he observed a blur in the grain of the paper. On +closer inspection he saw that it was a water-mark. He had seen one +similar, but where? His heart began thumping his ribs. He produced the +inevitable letter. The water-mark was identical. He even laid the +letter unfolded on the tablet. It fitted exactly. + +"Patty!" he murmured in a whisper. + +Patty had never written him a single line; whenever she had +communicated to him her commands, it had been by telephone. Patty +Bennington! The window was at his elbow. He looked out and followed +the sky-line of the hills as they rolled away to the south. Patty! It +was a very beautiful world, and this was a day of days. It all came to +him in that moment of discovery. He had drifted along toward it quite +unconsciously, as a river might idle toward the sea. Patty! The light +of this knowledge was blinding for a space. So Warrington came into +his own romance. It was not the grand passion, which is always +meteoric; it was rather like a new star, radiant, peaceful, eternal. + +"Patty!" He smiled. + + + + +Chapter X + + + +It was only when the whistle of the returning boat sounded close by +that he realized he had been sitting there for nearly an hour. He +roused himself, sealed and addressed his letter to the senator, and +hurried down to the dock. Patty was alone, mending some tackle. + +"It must be a long letter," she remarked, standing up and shaking her +skirts. + +"Why, this is only the beginning of it," he replied ambiguously. "It +is never going to end." + +"Mercy! It must be a postscript." + +He had no retort handy, so he contented himself with watching the +approach of the boat. + +"Some men are never satisfied," she said owlishly. "If I were a +successful dramatist, such as you are, a public office would look +rather tawdry." + +"But it's real, Patty; it's life and not mummery." + +"I don't know," doubtfully; "from what I have read, there are more +puppets in and about a City Hall than ever dangled in the puppet +booth. Did I give you permission to call me Patty?" demurely. + +"Not that I recollect." The boat came sweeping up to the dock, and he +tossed the senator's letter to the boy. The boat went on with a +musical gurgle. "But when I especially like anything, I usually +appropriate it." + +"I can see that you will make a good politician." + +He laughed happily. + +"Evidently you like the name. You have applied it to me three times +this morning." + +"Like it? Why, I think it is the most charming name I ever heard. It +smells of primroses, garden-walls, soldiers in ragged regimentals, of +the time when they built houses with big-columned porches." + +"My!" + +"May I not call you Patty?" + +"Oh, if you ask my permission, you may." + +"I do." + +"That is better." + +"Patty?" + +"Well." + +"Do you ever look in your mirror?" + +"The idea! Of course I do. I look in it every morning and every night. +And as often as I find the time. Why?" + +"Nothing; only, I do not blame you." + +"What's all this leading to?" frowning. + +"Heaven knows! But I feel sentimental this morning. There is so much +beauty surrounding me that I feel impelled to voice my appreciation of +it." + +"There is no remedy, I suppose." + +"None, save the agony of extemporization." + +"I have never heard you talk like this before. What IS the matter?" + +"Perhaps it is the exhilaration I feel for the coming fight. Would you +like to see me mayor?" + +"Indeed I should. Think of the circus tickets you'd have to give away +each year! You know they always give the mayor a handful for his +personal use. No, Mr. Warrington, I shall be very proud of you when +you are mayor." + +"What's the matter with your calling me Richard or Dick?" + +"We must not advance too suddenly." + +"Is there anything the matter with the name?" + +"Oh, no; Richard is quite musical in its way. But I am always thinking +of the humpbacked king. If I called you anything it would be Dick." + +"Richard was not humpbacked. Moreover, he was a valiant king, greatly +maligned by Mr. Shakespeare." + +"I see that I shall not dare argue with you on the subject; but we can +not banish on so short a notice the early impressions of childhood. +Richard Third has always been a bugaboo to my mind. Some day, perhaps, +I'll get over it." + +"Make it Dick, as a compromise." + +"Some day, when I have known you a little longer. Has John ever told +you about Mr. McQuade?" + +"McQuade?" Warrington realized that he had been floating on a pleasant +sea. He came upon the hidden shore rather soundly. "McQuade?" he +repeated. + +"Yes. He had the audacity to propose to mother shortly after father's +death. Think of it! John wrote to him very definitely that his +presence in the house would no longer be welcomed or tolerated. Father +had some slight business transactions with Mr. McQuade, and he came up +to the house frequently. He continued these visits after father's +death. We treated him decently, but we simply could not make him feel +welcome. The third time he called he proposed. + +"Mother left the room without even replying. He understood. A few +minutes afterward we heard the door slam. John wrote him the next +morning. Did you ever hear of anything to equal the cold-bloodedness +of it?" + +Warrington looked at her in absolute amazement. + +"Well, of all the nerve! Why the deuce didn't John punch his head?" +savagely. + +"Mr. McQuade is not a gentleman; John is," simply. "But Mr. McQuade +hasn't forgotten; not he. He pays no attention to any of us; but that +is no sign that he does not think a good deal. However, we do not +worry. There is no possible chance for him to retaliate; at least John +declares there isn't. But sometimes I grow afraid when I think it all +over. To his mind I can see that he considers himself badly affronted; +and from what I know of his history, he never lets an affront pass +without striking back in some manner." + +"Don't you worry your head about McQuade. What do you think? He is so +anxious to get me out of the political arena that he has sent a man +down to New York to look into my past. Isn't that droll?" + +Patty stooped again to the fishing-tackle. + +"Such men as McQuade can invent. I should be very careful, if I were +you. Your own conscience may prove you guiltless of scandal, but there +are certain people who would rather believe bad than good--scandal +than truth; and these are always in the majority. Don't laugh, but +watch. That's my advice to you, Mr. Meddler." She smiled brightly at +him as she threaded the line through the guides of the rod. + +"I may not have lived as cleanly as I might have," he said soberly. "I +have been knocked about so much. There were times when I grew tired of +fighting. But I have never done anything that will not stand daylight. +There was a time, Patty, when I came near making a fool of myself." He +sat down, his legs swinging over the water. "I drank more than was +good for me. He stared into the brown water and watched the minnows as +they darted hither and thither. "I was alone; things went wrong, and I +was cowardly enough to fall into the habit. But it was only +periodically. You remember that letter I showed you?" + +"Yes." Patty's voice was low. + +"I believe I have read it a thousand times. It has caused me a great +many regrets. I should like, some day, to meet the writer and +disillusion her. One thing she may be sure of: I have never belittled +the talent God has given me. I have striven for the ideal; I have even +fought for it. That part of my life holds no stain." + +"But the habit?" hesitant. + +"It is gone, where all fool-habits go, when a man has will power to +rid himself of them. Pride has something to do with it; and I have my +share of pride. I shall never go back." + +His head was turned away, but she could see the muscles in the jaws +harden. + +"You will never go back, I am sure, Richard." + +That she had at last pronounced his given name did not stir him; in +fact, it passed over his head and hearing. Like a dragon-brood, he saw +in fancy his past follies springing up about him. Not yet could he +tell this clean-minded, gentle-bred girl that he loved her. He must +prove himself still further before he might utter what so thoroughly +filled his heart and mind. + +"Your brother's wife brought me to my senses. What I am to-day she in +part has made. That is why I think so much of her; that is why I am +happy to see that she is happy and has realized her heart's desire. +Heigh-ho! I believe I am making you my confessor." He turned his face +toward her now, and his smile was rather sad. "When I recall the worry +I have given my poor old aunt, who loves me so, I feel like a +contemptible scoundrel. How many countless sacrifices has she made for +me, in the days when we had nothing! But she shall have all the +comforts now, and all the love and kindness I am capable of giving +her. I shall never leave her again." + +There were tears in Patty's eyes. "It is never too late to mend; and +when a man is penitent, truly and honestly penitent, much shall be +forgiven him. It is only those who are by nature coarse who do not +eventually surmount temptation. What you have told me I have known +this long while." + +"You have known?" he cried with sinking heart. + +"Yes. We live in a city where gossip travels quickly and thoroughly. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was telling mother one afternoon that you drank. +I suppose she felt it her duty." + +"To be sure," bitterly. "Was it while I have been living at home?" + +"No; when the rumor came that you were coming." + +He shrugged expressively. "I ought to have known." + +"But come; you are up here to be cheered, not lectured. Let us play +billiards. I can hear John and Kate playing now. We'll play sides; and +if we win against those two, I promise to call you Richard once a day +while you are up here. Or, would you rather I played and sang?" + +"Much rather," brightening up a bit. "There is always time to play +billiards. But first, I want you to come with me into the +reading-room. I have something to show you; I had almost forgotten." + +"The reading-room?" puzzled. + +"Yes. Will you come?" + +She nodded her assent, and the two entered the house. Warrington, +having arrived at the writing-desk, bade her sit down. He had an idea. +Patty sat down. + +"I want you to write something for me," he said, pushing the pen and +tablet toward her. + +"What's the matter with your hand?" she demanded. + +"Nothing." + +"Then why do you want me to write?" + +"I have never seen your handwriting. I'm something of an expert in +that line. I'll read your future." + +"But I don't want my future read," rebelliously. + +"Well, then, your past." + +"Much less my past. Come; you are only beating about the bush. What is +it you want?" + +"I want to know," he said quietly, "why you have kept me in ignorance +all this while." He laid the letter on the desk, and placed a finger +on the water-mark. "It wasn't fair to let me compose panegyrics over +it all the while you were laughing in your sleeve. Ah, I've caught +you. You can't get away this time, Patty." + +"I haven't the slightest idea what you are talking about." But she +looked at the letter and not at him. + +"Do you see those water-marks?" he demanded. + +"Yes. You will find them in a thousand tablets like this. I bought a +dozen of them in New York; cheap and handy." + +Warrington's confidence in his discovery began to shake. He braced +himself and took a bold course. + +"Patty, you wrote that letter; you know you did. You wrote it in New +York, the day you bought the tablets." + +"I?" + +"Yes. Confess." + +"My dear Mr. Warrington, you must prove it," lightly. "It would not be +proper for me to admit that I had been so foolish as to write a letter +like that." + +"But you've praised it!" + +"Simply because praising it would please you; for no other reason." + +"Did you, or did you not write it?" + +"Find out. You must prove that I wrote it. Certainly I have nothing to +confess." + +"You will not answer me one way or the other?" + +"No." + +"If you had not written it you would." + +"I don't believe I shall sing this morning," rising. + +"And I have wondered a thousand times who could have written it. And +all the time it was you." + +"Nor play billiards," went on Patty. + +"If only I were all you hitherto believed me to be!" + +"Nor fish to-morrow morning." + +"This letter has been like an anchor. Immediately upon receiving it I +began to try to live better." + +"Nor fish the day after to-morrow." + +"And I had forgotten all about Jack's having a sister!" + +"Something I shall neither forget nor forgive. And if you persist in +accusing me of writing that letter, I promise not to fish again while +you are here." She walked toward the door, her chin held high. + +"You wrote it. Come and sing. I'll say nothing more about it. There's +nothing more to be said." He carelessly picked up a book and looked at +the fly-leaf. "From Sister Patty to Brother John," he read. There was +no mistake now. He laughed. Patty turned. "The writing is the same." + +"Is it?" + +"Will you sing?" + +No answer. + +"Please." + +Patty stood between the door that led to the veranda and the door that +led to the music-room--between Charybdis and Scylla, as it were, for +she knew he would follow her whichever way she went. She turned into +the music-room. + +"Thanks," he said. + +The days passed all too quickly for Warrington. He walked in the +golden glow of his first romance, that romance which never leaves us +till life itself departs. He spoke no word of his love, but at times +there was something in his voice that thrilled Patty and subdued her +elfish gaiety. Some girls would have understood at once, but Patty was +different. She was happy one moment, and troubled the next, not +knowing the reason. She was not analytical; there was no sophistry in +her young heart. She did not dream that this man loved her; she was +not vain enough for that. + +John and Kate watched them approvingly. They knew the worth of the +man; they were not at all worried over what was past. They saw their +own romance tenderly reflected. Mrs. Bennington was utterly oblivious. +Mothers never realize that their daughters and sons must some day +leave them; they refuse to accept this natural law; they lament over +it to-day as they lamented in the days of the Old Testament. The truth +is, children are always children to the parents; paternal and maternal +authority believes its right indefinite. + +By this time all the newspapers, save the Telegraph, had made readable +copy out of Warrington's candidacy. Why the Telegraph remained mute +was rather mystifying. Warrington saw the hand of McQuade in this. The +party papers had to defend the senator, but their defense was not so +strong as it might have been. Not a single sheet came out frankly for +Warrington. The young candidate smoked his pipe and said nothing, but +mentally he was rolling up his sleeves a little each day. He had not +yet pulled through the convention. Strong as the senator was, there +might yet be a hitch in the final adjustment. So far nothing had come +of Bolles' trip to New York. Occasionally newspapers from the nearby +towns fell into Warrington's hands. These spoke of his candidacy in +the highest terms, and belabored the editors of Herculaneum for not +accepting such a good chance of ridding itself of McQuadeism. + +Meantime, there was fishing, long trips into the heart of the forests, +dancing at the hotel at the head of the lake, billiards and music. +Warrington was already deeply tanned, and Patty's nose was liberally +sprinkled with golden freckles. + +One evening Kate and John sat on the veranda from where they could +easily watch Warrington and Patty in the music-room. + +"What do you think of it, John?" + +"There's not a finer chap in the world. But I don't think Patty +realizes yet." + +"Dear Patty!" Kate reached over and took his hand in hers, laying it +against her cold cheek. "What is it, John? You have been worried all +day." + +"Nothing; nothing to bother you with." + +"The shops? It worries me when you don't confide in me in everything." + +"Well, dear, the trouble I've been expecting for months is about to +come. You know that young Chittenden, the English inventor, has been +experimenting with a machine that will do the work of five men. They +have been trying to force him to join the union, but he has refused, +having had too many examples of unionism in his own country to risk +his independence here. Well, I received a letter from the general +manager this morning. Either Chittenden must join or go; otherwise the +men will go out September first." + +"What shall you do?" + +"I shall keep Chittenden. I am master there," striking the arm of his +chair; "master in everything. If they go out in September, it will be +for good. I shall tear down the shops and build model tenements." + +"John!" + +"I am sick and tired, dear. I have raised the wages all over the +district; my men work less than any other hands in town. I have built +a gymnasium for them, given them books, pool-tables, and games, to say +nothing of the swimming-tank. I have arranged the annual outings. I +have established a pension-list. But all this seems to have done no +good. I am at the end of the rope. Oh, the poor devils who work are +all right; it's the men outside who are raising all this trouble; it's +the union, not the men. There's no denying the power these men can +wield, for wrong or right. Ignorance can not resist the temptation to +use it at all times and for all purposes. But I am master at the +Bennington shops; injustice shall not dictate to me. They'll use it +politically, too. After all, I'm glad I've told you." + +"But, John, I'm afraid for you. They may hurt you." + +John answered with a sound that was more of a growl than a laugh. + +"Don't you worry about me, honey; I'm no weakling. I wish Dick could +be with me when the fight comes, but he will have his hands full, and +the strike will not help him any. Don't you worry. Father always felt +that there would be trouble some day. He held a large bundle of +bank-stock and railroad bonds, and the income from these alone will +take care of us very comfortably. There's a good deal of real estate, +too, that may be reckoned on. If the crash does come, we'll pack up, +take the mother, and go abroad for a year or so. But before I'm done +I'll teach local unionism a lesson it will not forget soon. Don't you +worry," he repeated again; "you just leave it to me." + +She did not speak, but kissed his hand. She knew that no pleading +could move him; and besides, he was in the right. + +"I don't understand the lukewarmness of the party papers," he said. +"They ought to hurrah over Dick. But perhaps the secret machinery is +being set to work, and they've been told that there will be trouble at +the convention. The senator never backs down, and I've never seen +anybody that could frighten Dick. There'll be some interesting events +this fall. Herculaneum will figure in the newspapers from Maine to +California, for everybody is familiar with Warrington's name and work. +It's a month yet before the delegates get together; either Warrington +will run or he won't. Calling him a meddler is good. If the Times +isn't a meddler, I never saw one and have misunderstood the meaning of +the word." + +In the music-room Patty was playing Grieg and MacDowell, and +Warrington was turning the pages. The chords, weird and melancholy, +seemed to permeate his whole being; sad, haunting music, that spoke of +toil, tears, death and division, failure and defeat, hapless love and +loveless happiness. After a polonaise, Patty stopped. + +"If music were only lasting, like a painting, a statue, a book," she +said; "but it isn't. Why these things haunt me every day, but I can +recollect nothing; I have to come back to the piano. It is elusive." + +"And the most powerful of all the arts that arouse the emotions. Hang +it! when I hear a great singer, a great violinist, half the time I +find an invisible hand clutching me by the throat ... Patty, honestly +now, didn't you write that letter?" + +"Yes," looking him courageously in the eyes. "And I hope you were not +laughing when you said all those kind things about it." + +"Laughing? No," gravely, "I was not laughing. Play something lively; +Chaminade; I am blue to-night." + +So Patty played the light, enchanting sketches. In the midst of one of +them she stopped suddenly. + +"What is it?" he asked. + +"I thought I heard the boat's whistle. Listen. Yes, there it is. It +must be a telegram. They never come up to the head of the lake at +night for anything less. There goes John with a lantern." + +"Never mind the telegram," he said; "play." + +A quarter of an hour later John and Kate came in. + +"A telegram for you, Dick," John announced, sending the yellow +envelope skimming through the air. + +Warrington caught it deftly. He balanced it in his hand speculatively. + +"It is probably a hurry-call from the senator. I may have to go back +to town to-morrow. I have always hated telegrams." + +He opened it carelessly and read it. He read it again, slowly; and +Patty, who was nearest to him, saw his face turn gray under the tan +and his lips tremble. He looked from one to the other dumbly, then +back at the sheet in his hand. + +"Richard!" said Kate, with that quick intuition which leaps across +chasms of doubt and arrives definitely. + +"My aunt died this afternoon," he said, his voice breaking, for he had +not the power to control it. + +Nobody moved; a kind of paralysis touched them all. + +"She died this afternoon, and I wasn't there." There is something +terribly pathetic in a strong man's grief. + +"Dick!" John rushed to his side. "Dick, old man, there must be some +mistake." + +He seized the telegram from Warrington's nerveless fingers. There was +no mistake. The telegram was signed by the family physician. Then John +did the kindliest thing in his power. + +"Do you wish to be alone, Dick?" + +Warrington nodded. John laid the telegram on the table, and the three +of them passed out of the room. A gust of wind, coming down from the +mountains, carried the telegram gently to the floor. Warrington, +leaning against the table, stared down at it. + +What frightful things these missives are! Charged with success or +failure, riches or poverty, victory or defeat, births or deaths, they +fly to and fro around the great world hourly, on ominous and sinister +wings. A letter often fails to reach us, but a telegram, never. It is +the messenger of fate, whose emissaries never fail to arrive. + +Death had never before looked into Warrington's life; he had viewed it +with equanimity, with a tolerant pity for those who succumbed to it, +for those whose hearts it ravaged with loneliness and longing. He had +used it frequently in his business as a property by which to arouse +the emotions of his audiences. That it should some day stand at his +side, looking into his eyes, never occurred to him. He tried to think, +to beguile himself into the belief that he should presently awake to +find it a dream. Futile expedient! She was dead; that dear, kind, +loving heart was dead. Ah! and she had died alone! A great sob choked +him. He sank into a chair and buried his face in his arms. The past +rushed over him like a vast wave. How many times had he carelessly +wounded that heart which had beat solely for him! How many times had +he given his word, only to break it! He was alone, alone; death had +severed the single tie; he was alone. Death is kind to the dead, but +harsh to the living. Presently his sighs became less regular, and at +length they ceased entirely. + +The portiere rustled slightly, and Patty's face became visible. Her +eyes were wet. She had tried to keep away, but something drew her +irresistibly. Her heart swelled. If only she might touch his bowed +head, aye, kiss the touches of grey at the temples; if only she might +console him in this hour of darkness and grief. Poor boy, poor boy! +She knew not how long she watched him; it might have been minutes or +hours; she was without recollection of time. A hand touched her gently +on the arm. Kate stood by her side. + +"Come," she whispered; "come, Patty." + +Patty turned without question or remonstrance and followed her up +stairs. + +"Kate, dear Kate!" + +"What is it, darling?" + +"He is all alone!" + +At midnight John tiptoed into the music-room. Warrington had not +moved. John tapped him on the shoulder. + +"You mustn't stay here, old man. Come to bed." + +Warrington stood up. + +"Would you like a drop of brandy?" + +Warrington shook his head. + +"It is terribly hard," said John, throwing his arm across the other's +shoulders. "I know; I understand. You are recalling all the mistakes, +all the broken promises, all the disappointments. That is but natural. +But in a few days all the little acts of kindness will return to your +memory; all the good times you two have had together, the thousand +little benefits that made her last days pleasant. These will soften +the blow, Dick." + +"I wasn't there," Warrington murmured dully. His mind could accept but +one fact: his aunt had died alone, without his being at the bedside. + + +It rained in Herculaneum that night. The pavement in Williams Street +glistened sharply, for a wind was swinging the arc-lamps. The trees on +the Warrington lawn sighed incessantly; and drip, drip, drip, went the +rain on the leaves. Not a light shone anywhere in the house; total +darkness brooded over it. In one of the rooms a dog lay with his nose +against the threshold of the door. From time to time he whined +mournfully. In another room an Angora cat stalked restlessly back and +forth, sometimes leaping upon a chair, sometimes trotting round and +round, and again, wild-eyed and furtive, it stood motionless, as if +listening. Death had entered the house; and death, to the beast, is +not understandable. + + + + +Chapter XI + + + +Everybody had gone down the winding road to the granite entrance of +the cemetery; the minister, the choir, the friends and those who had +come because they reveled in morbid scenes. These were curious to see +how Warrington was affected, if he showed his grief or contained it, +so that they might have something to talk about till some one else +died. There are some people in this merry world of ours who, when they +take up the evening paper, turn first to the day's death notices; who +see no sermons in the bright flowers, the birds and butterflies, the +misty blue hills, the sunshine, who read no lesson in beauty, who +recognize no message in the moon and the stars, in cheerfulness and +good humor. On the contrary, they seem to abhor the sunshine; they +keep their parlors for ever in musty darkness, a kind of tomb where +they place funeral wreaths under glass globes and enter but half a +dozen times a year. Well, even these had finally dragged themselves +away from the grave, and left Warrington standing alone beside the +brown roll of damp fresh earth. No carriage awaited him, for he had +signified his intention of walking home. + +All about him the great elms and maples and oaks showed crisp against +the pale summer sky. Occasionally a leaf fell. A red squirrel +chattered above him, and an oriole sang shrilly and joyously near by. +The sun was reddening in the west, and below, almost at his feet, the +valley swam in a haze of delicate amethyst. The curving stream +glittered. From where he stood he could see them bundling up the +sheaves of wheat. All these things told him mutely that the world was +going on the same as ever; nothing had changed. In the city men and +women were going about their affairs as usual; the smoke rolled up +from the great chimneys. When all is said, our griefs and joys are +wholly our own; the outsider does not participate. + +Yes, the world went on just the same. Death makes a vacancy, but the +Great Accountant easily fills it; and the summing up of balances goes +on. Let us thank God for the buoyancy of the human spirit, which, +however sorely tried, presently rises and assumes its normal interest +in life. + +Warrington looked dreamily at the grave, and the philosopher in him +speculated upon the mystery of it. Either the grave is Heaven or it is +nothing; one can proceed no farther. If there was a Heaven (and in the +secret corner of his heart he believed there was), a new star shone in +the sky at night, a gentle, peaceful star. Just now the pain came in +the knowledge that she was gone; later the actual absence would be +felt. For a month or so it would seem that she had gone on a journey; +he would find himself waiting and watching; but as the weeks and +months went by, and he heard not her step nor her voice, then would +come the real anguish. They tell us that these wounds heal; well, +maybe; but they open and reopen and open again till that day we +ourselves cease to take interest in worldly affairs. + +He stooped and picked up one of the roses which she had held in her +hand. Reverently he pressed his lips to it and put it away in his +wallet. Then he turned and went slowly down the hill. He had never +really known her till these last few months; not till now did he +realize how closely knit together had been their lives and affections. +He lighted a cigar, and with his hands behind his back and his chin in +his collar, he continued to the gates. The old care-taker opened and +closed the gates phlegmatically. Day by day they came, and one by one +they never went out again. To him there was neither joy nor grief; if +the grass grew thick and the trees leaved abundantly, that was all he +desired. + +It was a long walk to Williams Street, and he was tired when he +entered the house. Jove leaped upon him gladly. Warrington held the +dog's head in his hands and gazed into the brown eyes. Here was one +that loved him, wholly and without question. You will always find some +good in the man who retains the affection of his dog. In good times or +bad, they are stanch friends; and they are without self-interest, +which is more than human. In the living-room he found the Angora +curled up on a sofa-cushion. He smoothed her, and she stretched her +lithe body luxuriously and yawned. There is no other animal which so +completely interprets the word indifference. Warrington wondered what +he should do with her, for he was not very fond of cats. But his aunt +had loved her, so he passed on to the dining-room without deciding +what to do. + +It was a lonely supper. He kept his eyes on his plate as well as he +could; for whenever he saw the back of her chair, his food choked him. +He wondered why he did not take the decanter of whisky down from the +sideboard; a generous tumblerful. ... No. This was the first time in +months that the desire to drink deeply came to him. No; he would leave +it there. Supper done, he went to his den and took down a book. Could +he live here now? He doubted it, for it was a house of empty doors. He +settled himself in a chair and turned the pages of the book to a place +he loved well. It was where D'Artagnan, representing Planchet and +Company, returns to the grocer with the bags of English gold which, +for several good reasons, Charles Second has given him for General +Monk's sword. He was well along toward the fainting of the honest +Planchet on the money-bags, when the telephone rang. He took up the +receiver. + +"Well?" + +"Mama wants you to come over and spend the night with us. John and +Kate will be here, too." + +He recognized Patty's voice. + +"I shall be very glad to," he replied. "Good-by." He rang for Mary, +who came in, her eyes red and swollen; Poor soul, she had also lost +her best friend. "I am going over to the Benningtons' to spend the +night, Mary. + +"Very well, sir; just as you think best." + +The Benningtons were very kind to him. They engaged his interest the +moment he entered the house. They talked of a thousand and one things +diverting: the foreign news, the political outlook, the September +horse-show at which Patty would ride and jump, what was contemplated +in society for the fall and winter, the ice-carnival, and the +engagements. + +"Why don't you enter your Irish hunter?" asked John, when the talk +veered around to horses again. + +"I ride for the mere pleasure of it," replied Warrington; "or, if you +will, I'm too lazy to learn the judges' catechism." + +Presently they had him telling how he had written his first play, and +how completely Mrs. Jack had fooled him on their first meeting. + +"No, I have not the slightest desire to return to the stage," said +Mrs. Jack, in answer to a casual inquiry made by Warrington. + +"Not while I'm around," supplemented John. + +"Why, nothing could lure me back to it," Mrs. Jack declared +emphatically. "I am happy. I am very happy. I have nothing to wish +for, save that my happiness may endure." + +Mrs. Bennington, who had long since grown to love her daughter-in-law, +smiled benignly. + +"You will always be happy, my dear; you were born to be. It is the +just reward for making those around you happy." + +"Patty," said Warrington, "would you like the Angora?" + +"I should love it dearly." + +"Then I'll send it over to you in the morning." + +And that was as near as they approached the subject they were tacitly +avoiding. + +At a quarter of nine, to the consternation of every one, Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was announced. + +"Take me up stairs to the billiard-room," said Warrington; "I am not +in the mood to meet that woman to-night." + +"Come on, then," cried John, willing enough. "There's the servants' +stairs. I'll give you a handicap of twenty in a hundred points." + +"I'll beat you at those odds." + +"That remains to be seen." + +And the two hurried up the stairs just as the hall-door closed. The +billiard-room was situated at the head of the front stairs. Warrington +won the bank, and he ran a score of ten. While he was chalking his cue +he heard voices. + +"It is very sad." It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene talking. "We shall miss +her in church work. It is a severe blow to Mr. Warrington." + +"That was a good draw, John. Three cushions this time. Good. You're +playing strong to-night." + +"Did you think to bring over your pajamas?" John asked irrelevantly. + +Warrington smiled in spite of himself. + +"I forgot all about them," he admitted. + +"Thought you would, so I brought over two sets. We're about the same +size. Pshaw! that was an easy one, too." + +Warrington missed his shot; He heard voices again. + +"And I want you to help me." It was Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene again. "We +shall reorganize the Woman's Auxiliary Republican Club, and we shall +need you. It is principally for that that I came over." + +"I take very little interest in anything outside my home," replied +Mrs. Bennington. + +"Did you get that?" whispered John, as he drew back for a carom. + +"But this is very important for the city's welfare," pursued Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene. + +"I doubt it. So long as we do not vote--" + +"That's just it. We can't vote, but we can get together and control +the male vote in the family. That's something." + +John grinned at Warrington, who replied with a shrug. + +"And they all call me the meddler!" he said. + +"What's the matter with your staying on here a few days, Dick?" + +"I should be nothing but a bother to you." + +"Rot! You can't stay alone over there." + +"I'll have to; I can't leave those poor old souls alone. They are +broken-hearted. I sent her two hundred every month regularly, just for +pin-money; and what do you think she did with it? Hoarded it up and +willed something like two thousand to Mary and her husband. I'm all +in, Dick. But go on; I'll finish the game." + +"All right. But whenever you feel lonesome, come here or over to my +house. There'll always be a spare room for you in either house." + +"It's mighty kind of you, John. My shot?" Warrington ran four and +missed. + +Voices again. + +"I never believe what I hear, and only half of what I see." That was +Mrs. Jack speaking. + +Murmurs. The billiard-balls clicked sharply as John played for +position. + +"The stage doesn't appeal to you any more, then?" Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene. + +"Not in the least. It never did appeal to me. I am so far away from it +now that I am losing the desire to witness plays." + +"And for whom will Mr. Warrington write his plays now?" + +"The vacancy I made has long ago been filled. I was but one in a +thousand to interpret his characters. There is always a lack of plays, +but never of actors." + +"Excuse me for a moment." It was Patty this time. + +"Certainly, my dear." + +Warrington heard nothing more for several minutes. + +"Is it true what I hear about Patty and that rich young Mr. Whiteland, +of New York?" + +"What is it that you have heard?" + +"Why, that their engagement is about to be announced." + +Warrington stood perfectly still. Whiteland had been a guest at the +Adirondack bungalow earlier in the summer. He waited for the answer, +and it seemed to him that it would never come. + +"I am not engaged to any one, Mrs. Haldene, and I hope you will do me +the favor to deny the report whenever you come across it." Patty had +returned. "It seems incredible that a young man may not call upon a +young woman without their names becoming coupled matrimonially." + +"Nevertheless, he is regarded as extremely eligible." + +"I have often wondered over Haldene's regular Saturday night jag at +the club," said John, stringing his count, "but I wonder no longer. +They say she never goes out Saturdays." + +Warrington heard the words, but the sense of them passed by. He could +realize only one thing, and that was, he loved Patty better than all +the world. He could accept his own defeat with philosophy, but another +man's success!--could he accept that? How strangely everything had +changed in the last few days! He had never known real mental anguish; +heartaches in others had always afforded him mild amusement and +contempt. It was one thing, he reflected, to write about human +emotions; it was entirely another thing to live and act them. He saw +that his past had been full of egotism and selfishness, but he also +saw that his selfishness was of the kind that has its foundation in +indifference and not in calculation. The voices went on down stairs, +but he ceased to pay any attention to them. + +"John, there's been something in my mind for many months." + +"What is it?" + +"Do you recollect the night you came into my rooms in New York?" + +"I shall never forget it," quietly. + +"Your wife was there." + +"I know it. I found her gloves." He made a difficult masse. "She told +me all about it. At the time, however, I had a pretty bad case of +heart-trouble. But I understand. She was in the habit of dropping in +on you. Why not? Your cooperation made you both famous. A man in love +finds all sorts of excuses for jealousy. But I'm glad you've spoken. I +can readily understand how you felt when you found the gloves gone. + +"You're a good man, John," said Warrington. + +"Kate loves me; it ought to make any man good to have a wife who loves +him. I have no use for a man who sees evil in everything and good in +nothing. Say no more about it, boy." + +"I hadn't seen you in so long that I was confused. If I had reflected +... But you see, I didn't know that you were engaged, or even that you +knew her. I never understood, until you were gone, why she wanted to +hide herself. I'm glad I've relieved my mind." Warrington sighed. + +"It's all right. There! I told you that I'd win even at those odds." + +Presently they heard a stir down stairs. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +going. The door closed. The family came up to the billiard-room. +Warrington looked at Patty, whose cheeks were flushed and whose eyes +flashed. + +"Why, what's the matter, Pat?" John asked. + +"Nothing." + +"Mrs. Haldene has been making herself useful as usual," said Mrs. +Jack, slipping her arm around Patty's waist. + +Patty was in a rage about something; nobody seemed to know what it +was. + +"You are not going to join the Auxiliary, are you, mother?" John +inquired, putting the cues in the rack. + +"Indeed I am not. The men in my family always used their own judgment +in politics. They have always been Whigs or Republicans." + +"Did you ever meet a woman, Dick, who was a Democrat?" laughed John. + +"Perhaps," was the reply, "but it has escaped my recollection." + +But he was thinking: after all, he had a right to win Patty if he +could. It was not what he had done in the past, it was what he was +capable of doing from now on that counted. + +"You're going to have a stiff fight at the convention," said John. + +"I know it. But a fight of any kind will keep my mind occupied. The +senator has assured me that I shall get the nomination." + + +On the way home Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw the flutter of a white dress +on the Wilmington-Fairchilds' veranda. She couldn't resist, so she +crossed the lawn and mounted the veranda steps. She did not observe +her husband in the corner, smoking with the master of the house. + +"I've been over to the Benningtons'," she began, rather breathless. + +"What's the news?" + +"There is no truth in the report of Patty's engagement to young +Whiteland." + +"There isn't? Well, there ought to be, after the way they went around +together last winter." + +"She told me so herself," Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene declared emphatically. +"Do you know what I believe?" + +"No," truthfully. + +"I've an idea that Patty is inclined toward that fellow Warrington." + +"You don't mean it!" + +"He's always around there. He must have thought a great deal of his +aunt. She was buried to-day, and there he is, playing billiards with +John Bennington. If that isn't heartlessness!" + +"What do you want a man to do?" growled her husband from behind his +cigar. "Sit in a dark room and wring his hands all day, like a woman? +Men have other things to do in life than mourn the departed." + +"Franklyn? I didn't see you." + +"You seldom do." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene at once plunged into a discussion of fashion, +the one thing that left her husband high and dry, so far as his native +irony was concerned. + + +That same night McQuade concluded some interesting business. He +possessed large interests in the local breweries. Breweries on the +average do not pay very good dividends on stock, so the brewer often +establishes a dozen saloons about town to help the business along. +McQuade owned a dozen or more of these saloons, some in the heart of +the city, some in the outlying wards of the town. He conducted the +business with his usual shrewdness. The saloons were all well managed +by Germans, who, as a drinking people, are the most orderly in the +world. It was not generally known that McQuade was interested in the +sale of liquors. His name was never mentioned in connection with the +saloons. + +One of these saloons was on a side street. The back door of it faced +the towpath. It did not have a very good reputation; and though, for +two years, no disturbances had occurred there, the police still kept +an eye on the place. It was on the boundary line of the two most +turbulent wards in the city. To the north was the Italian colony, to +the south was the Irish colony. Both were orderly and self-respecting +as a rule, though squalor and poverty abounded. But these two races +are at once the simplest and most quick-tempered, and whenever an +Irishman or an Italian crossed the boundary line there was usually a +hurry call for the patrol wagon, and some one was always more or less +battered up. + +Over this saloon was a series of small rooms which were called "wine +rooms," though nobody opened wine there. Beer was ten cents a glass up +stairs, and whisky twenty. Women were not infrequently seen climbing +the stairs to these rooms. But, as already stated, everybody behaved. +Schmuck, who managed the saloon, was a giant of a man, a Turnvereiner, +who could hold his own with any man in town. It will be understood +that the orderliness was therefore due to a respect for Schmuck's +strength, and not to any inclination to be orderly. + +On this night, then, at nine o'clock, a man entered and approached the +bar. He was sharp-eyed, lean-faced, with a heavy blue beard closely +shaven, saving the mustache, which was black and hung over the man's +lips. He wore good clothes. There was a large diamond on one of his +fingers and another in the bosom of his shirt, in which a white tie +was tucked carefully. They were yellow diamonds. But those among whom +this man moved did not know the difference between yellow stones and +white. Morrissy was accounted very well-to-do. + +"Hello, Schmuck!" he hailed. "Got the room up stairs in order?" + +"Yes." Schmuck wiped the bar. "Der poss iss coming to-night, I see. +Huh?" + +"Yes. He ought to be along now," replied Morrissy, glancing at his +watch, which was as conspicuous as his yellow diamonds. + +"How you getting along mit der poys?" + +"Oh, we're coming along fine, all right." + +"Going to call 'em out uf der mills? Huh?" + +"Perhaps. When the boss comes, tell him I'm up stairs." + +Morrissy lighted a cigar, took the evening papers from the end of the +bar, and disappeared. Schmuck could hear him moving the chairs about. +Ten minutes later McQuade appeared. Schmuck nodded toward the stairs, +and without a word McQuade went up. + +"Good evening, Morrissy. I missed a car, or I'd have been here +earlier." + +"That's all right, Mr. McQuade; glad to wait for you." Morrissy threw +aside his papers and drew his chair to the table. + +McQuade closed the door and sat down. + +"You got my letter?" he began, wiping his forehead. + +Morrissy nodded. + +"Well?" + +"Well, the boys will go out Monday morning. A committee will wait on +Bennington in the morning. He won't back down and discharge the +English inventor, so it's a sure thing they'll walk out, every +mother's son of them." + +"On the morning they go out, I'll send you my check for five hundred." + +"For the union?" + +"I'll send it to you, and you can use it as you see fit. On Monday +morning, then." + +"Sure thing." + +They smoked for a while. Suddenly McQuade laid a bulky envelope on the +table, got up and went out. Morrissy weighed the envelope carefully, +thrust it into his pocket, and also departed. + +"Five hundred now, and five hundred on Monday. I can see him sending a +check. It will be bills. Bah! I should have called out the boys +anyhow." + +McQuade hurried home. He had another appointment, vastly more +important than the one he had just kept. Bolles had returned from New +York. It was easy enough to buy a labor union, but it was a different +matter to ruin a man of Warrington's note. Bolles had telegraphed that +he would be in Herculaneum that night. That meant that he had found +something worth while. Each time the car stopped to let passengers on +or off, McQuade stirred restlessly. He jumped from the car when it +reached his corner, and walked hurriedly down the street to his house, +a big pile of red granite and an architectural nightmare. He rushed up +the steps impatiently, applied his latch-key and pushed in the door. +He slammed it and went directly to his study. Bolles was asleep in a +chair. McQuade shook him roughly. Bolles opened his eyes. + +"You've been on a drunk," said McQuade, quickly noting the puffed eyes +and haggard cheeks. + +"But I've got what I went after, all the same," replied Bolles +truculently. + +"What have you got? If you've done any faking, I'll break every bone +in your body." + +"Now, look here, Mr. McQuade; don't talk to me like that." + +"What have you got, then?" + +"Well, I've got something that's worth five hundred; that's what. I +worked like a nigger for a month; pumped everybody that ever knew him. +Not a blame thing, till night before last I ran into the janitor of +the apartments where Warrington lived." + +"Go on." + +"He'd been fired, and I got him drunk. I asked him if any women had +ever gone up to Warrington's rooms. One. He was sitting in the +basement. It was a hot night, and he was sitting up because he could +not sleep. At midnight a coupe drove up, and Warrington and a woman +alighted. From the looks of things she was drunk, but he found out +afterward that she was very sick. The woman remained in Warrington's +apartments till the following morning." + +"When was all this?" + +"About four years ago. She left very early." + +"Hell!" roared McQuade, doubling his fists. "And I've been sending you +money every week for such news as this! I want something big, you +fool! What earthly use is this information to me? I couldn't frighten +Warrington with it." + +"I haven't told you the woman's name yet," said Bolles, leering. + +"The woman's name? What's that got to do with it?" + +"A whole lot. It was Katherine Challoner, the actress, Bennington's +wife; that's who it was!" + +McQuade sat very still. So still, that he could hear the clock ticking +in the parlor. Bennington's wife! + + + + +Chapter XII + + + +The death of his aunt gave Warrington a longing for action--swift +mental and physical action. To sit in that dark, empty house, to read +or to write, was utterly impossible; nor had he any desire to take +long rides into the country. His mind was never clearer than when he +rode alone, and what he wanted was confusion, noise, excitement, +struggle. So he made an appointment with Senator Henderson the next +morning. He left the Benningtons with the promise that he would return +that evening and dine with them. Warrington had become the senator's +hobby; he was going to do great things with this young man's future. +He would some day make an ambassador of him; it would be a pleasant +souvenir of his old age. Warrington was brilliant, a fine linguist, +was a born diplomat, had a good voice, and a fund of wit and repartee; +nothing more was required. He would give the name Warrington a high +place in the diplomatic history of the United States. Some of the most +capable diplomats this country had produced had been poets. +Warrington's being a playwright would add luster to the office. The +senator was going over these things, when a clerk announced that Mr. +Warrington was waiting to see him. + +"Send him right in." + +Immediately Warrington entered. He was simply dressed in a business +suit of dark blue. He wore a straw hat and a black tie. There was no +broad band of crape on his hat or his sleeve. He had the poet's horror +of parading grief, simply because it was considered fashionable to do +so. He sincerely believed that outward mourning was obsolete, a custom +of the Middle Ages. + +"Ha!" ejaculated the senator. + +"Good morning. How goes the fight?" + +"Fine, my boy; I'll land you there next week; you see if I don't. The +main obstacle is the curious attitude of the press. You and I know the +reason well enough. McQuade is back of this influence. But the voter +doesn't know this, and will accept the surface indications only. Now +you know the newspaper fellows. Why not drop around to the offices and +find out something definite?" + +"It's a good idea, Senator. I'll do it this very morning." + +"Has McQuade any personal grudge against you?" + +"Not to my knowledge." + +"He's a bad enemy, and often a downright unscrupulous one. If it's +only politics, I'll have a chat with him myself. You pump the +newspapers. You leave it to me to swing the boys into line at the +convention." + +Then they proceeded to go over the ground thoroughly. Something must +be done with the newspapers. The delegates and minor bosses were +already grumbling. Had nothing appeared in the newspapers, +Warrington's nomination would have gone through without even minor +opposition. But the Republican machine was in sore straits. If +Donnelly won this time, it would mean years of Democratic rule in an +essentially Republican town. McQuade must be broken, his strong +barricades toppled; and now that there would be no surprise for the +public, the majority of the delegates began to look doubtfully upon +what they called the senator's coup. They wanted the City Hall, and +they did not care how they got there. Warrington was a fine chap, and +all that, but his acquaintanceship was limited. He could not go about +shaking hands like Donnelly, who knew everybody, high and low. The +laboring man knew nothing about Warrington, save that he was famous +for writing plays they had not seen, nor would have understood if they +had. Warrington was a "swell"; he had nothing in common with the man +who carried the dinner-pail. + +"And there the matter stands, my boy," concluded the senator, shifting +his cigar from one corner of his mouth to the other. "If I can swing +the convention the rest will be plain sailing, once you start +speech-making. Oh, McQuade is clever. He knew that by exposing my hand +he would lessen your chances. But you tackle the newspapers and see +what can be done. And good luck to you." + +McQuade came down early that morning. The first thing he did was to +call on the editor of the Times. + +"Here's something," he said, tossing a few typewritten pages on the +editor's desk. "This'll settle Warrington's hash, Walford." + +"What is it?" asked Walford. + +"Read it and see for yourself." McQuade sat down and picked up the +early New York papers. + +Walford read slowly. When he reached the last paragraph he returned to +the first and read the article through again. He laid it down and +faced his employer. + +"Mr. McQuade, the Call and the Times are the only papers in town that +pay dividends. The Times as it stands to-day is a good, legitimate +business investment. Do you want the circulation to drop ten thousand +and the big advertisers to cancel their contracts?" + +"What's the matter with the story? Isn't it all right?" + +"Frankly, it isn't." + +"It's true," said McQuade, his fist thudding on the desk; "it's true, +I tell you, every damned word of it." + +"The truth of it isn't the question. It's the advisability of +publishing it. I say to you that if you insist on this story's +publication, you'll kill the Times deader than a door-nail. I'll call +the business manager in." Walford whistled through a tube, and shortly +after the business manager appeared. "Read this," said Walford +briefly, "and give Mr. McQuade your honest opinion regarding its +publication. Mr. McQuade thinks it ought to run as local news." + +The business manager read it. + +"It makes good reading, Mr. McQuade, but if you want to kill the +Times, run it. There are some stories that can only be rumored, not +printed, and this is one of them. If this appears, you have my word +that every decent advertiser will cancel his contract forthwith." + +Walford looked at his employer in frank triumph. McQuade had great +confidence in these two men. He ripped the manuscript into squares and +filtered them through his fingers into the waste-basket. + +"You boys are probably right," he said reluctantly. "I have no desire +to see the paper lose its sound footing. But this would have killed +the man socially and politically, so far as this town is concerned." + +"Admitted," replied Walford, straightening out some proofs. "But we'll +topple him over in a legitimate way." + +"Go ahead, then. I'm not particular how it's done so long as you do +it. Perhaps, after all, it's just as well. I've got another idea. I +can see that I've made a mistake." + +McQuade started down the stairs to the street and met Warrington +coming up. The two men paused for a moment, then went on. Once on the +sidewalk, McQuade turned and hesitated. No, he had nothing to say to +Mr. Warrington. He strode down the street toward his own offices. + +It will be seen that Warrington had gone directly into the enemy's +camp. He knew Walford of old; they were tolerably good friends. He +gave his card to the boy. Walford, on reading it, stuffed several +newspapers into the waste-basket and pressed his foot on them. He was +a bit shaken. + +"Send him in. Hello, Dick," he said. "How are you? You're the last man +I expected to see this morning. What can I do for you?" + +"You can tell your political reporter and your editorial man to let up +on me for a week," said Warrington directly. "What the devil have I +done to you chaps that you should light into me after this fashion?" + +"You have become rich and famous, Dick, and mediocrity can stand +anything but that." But there was a twinkle in Walford's eyes. + +"Come, Wally, you know that isn't the truth." + +"Well, if you want the truth I'll give it to you. Answer me frankly +and honestly, do you consider that you have any moral right to accept +a nomination for the mayoralty of Herculaneum?" + +"Moral right. I'll pick up that phrase and carry it to your camp. I +have as much moral right as Donnelly, who, if he hasn't been caught, +is none the less culpable for breaking his oath of loyalty. You know +this as well as I do." + +Walford eyed the waste-basket thoughtfully. + +"Now, we'll turn to the legal side," continued Warrington. "I was born +here; I cast my first vote here; for several years I've been a +property owner and have paid my taxes without lying to the +tax-assessor. It is notorious that Donnelly is worth half a million, +and yet he is assessed upon a house worth about seven thousand. You +have called me a meddler; you apply the term every day. Now draw the +distinction, as to eligibility, between Donnelly and myself." + +Walford got up from his chair and closed the door. He returned and sat +down again. + +"Dick, politics is politics, and its ways are dark and mysterious, +like the heathen Chinee. If I had your talent--if I had your ability +to earn money, I'd walk out of this office this moment. But I am only +a poor devil of a newspaper man. I've a family. When I was twenty, +eighteen years ago, I was earning twelve a week; to-day it is forty; +when I am sixty it will return to twelve. You know the business; you +know the value they set on a man's brains in this city. And there's +always somebody waiting for your shoes. Now, listen. In the first +place I must live, and as honorably as environment permits me. By +conviction I am a Democrat; I believe in the Democratic principles. +Thus, I consider it my duty to thwart, if possible, any and all moves +the Republican party makes. I recognize your strength, and I shall do +what I can from my side of the barricade to defeat your nomination at +the Republican convention; for I believe you able, if once nominated, +to lead your party to success and victory. But I shall fight you +honestly, Dick. In all I have said so far, there has been no innuendo; +I've stood out in the open. I did you a good turn this morning, but +you will never be any the wiser. Personally, I like you; I have always +liked you, and I am glad to see one man of the craft rise above the +grubs and earn a splendid competence. It hasn't been easy, Dick; +you've had to fight for it, and that's what I admire. You're a good, +clean fighter. If I should rebel against continuing this attack +against you, the attack would go on, but I shouldn't. That would do +neither of us any good. McQuade might find a man with less scruples +than I have. And that's how the matter stands, Dick." + +"Well, you're frank and honest about it, and I know you will at least +give me a square deal, in the event of my nomination." + +"You may reckon on that. Good luck to you and bad luck to your cause." + +They talked about the old days for a while, and then Warrington +departed and directed his steps to the office of the Journal, the +paper in which he had begun his career. Oh, here they were willing to +do anything in their power from now on. If he was really determined to +accept the nomination, they would aid him editorially. That evening +the editor made good his word, frankly indorsing Warrington as the +best possible choice for Republican nominee. The editor explained his +former attitude by setting forth his belief that Mr. Warrington's +candidacy was not serious. At the office of the Telegraph they treated +him cordially enough. They never meddled with politics till the fight +was on. Then they picked the candidate whose views most coincided with +their own. If Mr. Warrington was nominated, doubtless they would +support his ticket. The general manager had been a classmate of +Warrington's. He called on him and explained his errand. The manager +simply wrote on a pad: "McQuade owns fifty-five per cent. of the +shares," held it under Warrington's nose and then tore it up. + +"That's where our independence stands at this moment." + +"I had heard of this, but didn't quite believe it," Warrington said. +Bill Osborne evidently knew what was going on, then. "I'm sorry to +have troubled you." + +"None at all." + +On the street Warrington was stopped by Ben Jordan, the Telegraph's +star reporter, who had worked with Warrington on the Journal. + +"Say, Dick, I am glad to see you. I was going up to your house on +purpose to see you. Come over to Martin's a minute. I've got some news +that might interest you." + +"I don't like Martin's place," said Warrington. "Let's compromise on +Hanley's." + +"All right, my boy." + +They walked down to Hanley's, talking animatedly. + +"What will you have, Ben?" + +"Musty ale." + +"Two musty ales," Warrington ordered. "Well, Ben?" + +Ben took a deep swallow of ale. He was the best all-round reporter in +the city; he knew more people than Osborne knew. Murders, strikes, +fires, they were all the same to Ben. He knew where to start and where +to end. The city editor never sent Ben out on a hunt for scandal; he +knew better than to do that. Nine times out of ten, the other papers +got the scandal and Ben's behavior became one. The labor unions were +Ben's great stand-by. On dull days he could always get a story from +the unions. He attended their meetings religiously. They trusted him +implicitly, for Ben never broke his word to any one but his landlady. +He was short and wiry, with a head so large as to be almost a +deformity. On top of this head was a shock of brick-colored hair that +resembled a street-cleaner's broom. And Ben's heart was as big as his +head. His generosity was always getting him into financial trouble. + +"Dick, you're a friend of Bennington's. You can quietly tip him that +his men will go out Monday morning. There's only one thing that will +avert a strike, and that's the discharge of the Englishman." + +"Bennington will never discharge him." + +"So I understand. He'll have a long strike on his hands." + +"Do you know the inside?" + +"Enough to say that the men will go out. They're a lot of sheep. +They've an idea they've been wronged. But you can't reason with them." + +"Ben, you go up to the shops yourself and tell Bennington what you +know." + +"I don't know him. How'll he take it?" + +"Tell him I sent you." + +"I'll do it, Dick. But if he kicks me out, the drinks will be on you. +What countermove will he make?" + +"Better ask him yourself. But if you have any influence among the +unions, tell them to go slow. They haven't sized up Bennington. Wait a +moment. I'll give you a note to him." He called for paper and +envelopes, and wrote: + +Dear John: + +This will introduce to you Mr. Jordan, a reporter in whom I have the +greatest confidence. Whatever you may tell him you may rest assured +that he will never repeat. I am sending him to you in hopes he may +suggest some plan by which to ward off the impending strike. There may +be a little self-interest on my side. A strike just now will raise the +devil in politics. You may trust Jordan fully. + +Warrington. + +He pushed it across the table. "There, that will smooth the way." + +"Many thanks, my son. Where's he eat his lunch?" + +"Usually in the office." + +"Well, I'm off!" + +Ben always had his eye on the story of to-morrow, and he would face +all or any difficulties in pursuit of the end. If he could stop the +strike at the Bennington shops it would be a great thing for the +Telegraph and a great thing for Ben. So he hailed a car, serenely +unconscious that he was taking a position absolutely opposed to that +of his employer. He arrived at the shops some time before the noon +hour. His letter opened all doors. Bennington was in his private +office. He read the letter and offered Ben a chair. + +"I have never been interviewed," he said. + +"I am not here for an interview," said Ben. "Your men will go out +Monday." + +"Monday? How did you learn that?" + +"My business takes me among the unions. What shall you do in the event +of the strike?" + +"And I have no desire to be interviewed." + +"You read Mr. Warrington's letter. Perhaps, if I knew what stand you +will take, I could talk to the men myself. I have averted three or +four strikes in my time, simply because the boys know that I always +speak the truth, the plain truth. In this case I feel that you have +the right on your side. You haven't said anything yet. The union is +practically trying to bluff you into coming to its terms: the +discharge of the inventor, or a strike." + +"Are you representing the union?" + +"I am representing nobody but myself." + +"I may tell you, then, that I shall not discharge the inventor. Nor +will I, if the men go out, take a single one of them back." + +"The men will not believe that. They never do. They've been so +successful in Pennsylvania that they are attempting to repeat that +success all over the Country. They have grown pig-headed. I feel sorry +for the poor devils, who never realize when they are well off." + +"I feel sorry, too, Mr. Jordan," said Bennington. He played a tattoo +on his strong white teeth with his pencil. "Mr. Warrington seems to +know you well." + +"We began on the Journal together. You will not tell me what your plan +is, then?" + +"I'd rather not, for honestly, I can not see how it would better the +case." + +"It might be worth while to give me a chance." + +Bennington re-read Warrington's note. Then he studied the frank blue +eyes of the reporter. + +"Miss Ward, you may go," he said to the stenographer. "Now,"--when the +girl had gone,--"you will give me your word?" + +"It's all I have." + +"How can you convince the men without telling them?" + +"Oh, I meant that whatever you tell me shall not see light in the +papers till I have your permission. There's a weekly meeting to-night. +They will decide finally at this meeting. To-morrow will be too late." + +Bennington was an accurate judge of men. He felt that he could trust +this shock-headed journalist. If without any loss of self-respect, if +without receding a single step from his position, he could avert the +crash, he would gladly do so. He had reached one determination, and +nothing on earth would swerve him. So he told Ben just exactly what +would happen if the men went out. Ben did not doubt him for a moment. +He, too, was something of a judge of men. This man would never back +down. + +"I give you this to show them, if your arguments do not prevail," +concluded Bennington, producing a folded paper. "They will hardly +doubt this." + +Ben opened it. It was a permit from the municipal government to tear +down a brick structure within the city limits. Ben stowed the permit +in his pocket. He looked with admiration at the man who could plan, +coolly and quietly, the destruction of a fortune that had taken a +quarter of a century to build. He was grave. There was a big +responsibility pressing on his shoulders. + +"Much obliged. You will never regret the confidence you repose in me. +Now I'll tell you something on my side. It is not the inventor, though +the men believe it is. The inventor is a pretext of Morrissy, the +union leader." + +"A pretext?" + +"I can't prove what I say, that's the trouble; but McQuade has his +hand in this. I wish to Heaven I could find solid proofs." + +"McQuade?" Bennington scowled. He could readily understand now. +McQuade! This was McQuade's revenge. He could wait patiently all this +while! + +"I'll do what I can, Mr. Bennington; I'll do what I can." + +Bennington ate no lunch that noon. Instead, he wandered about the +great smoky shops, sweeping his glance over the blast-furnaces, the +gutters into which the molten ore was poured, the giant trip-hammers, +the ponderous rolling-machines, the gas-furnaces for tempering fine +steel. The men moved aside. Only here and there a man, grown old in +the shops, touched his grimy cap. ... To tear it down! It would be +like rending a limb, for he loved every brick and stone and girder, as +his father before him had loved them. He squared his shoulders, and +his jaws hardened. No man, without justice on his side, should dictate +to him; no man should order him to hire this man or discharge that +one. He alone had that right; he alone was master. Bennington was not +a coward; he would not sell to another; he would not shirk the task +laid out for his hand. Unionism, such as it stood, must receive a +violent lesson. And McQuade? + +"Damn him!" he muttered, his fingers knotting. + +Education subdues or obliterates the best of fighting in the coward +only. The brave man is always masculine in these crises, and he will +fight with his bare hands when reason and intelligence fail. A great +longing rose up in Bennington's heart to have it out physically with +McQuade. To feel that gross bulk under his knees, to sink his fingers +into that brawny throat!--The men, eying him covertly, saw his arms go +outward and his hands open and shut convulsively. More than ever they +avoided his path. Once before they had witnessed a similar +abstraction. They had seen him fling to the ground a huge puddler who +had struck his apprentice without cause. The puddler, one of the +strongest men in the shops, struggled to his feet and rushed at his +assailant. Bennington had knocked him down again, and this time the +puddler remained on the ground, insensible. Bennington had gone back +to his office, shutting and opening his fists. Ay, they had long since +ceased calling him the dude. The man of brawn has a hearty respect for +spectacular exhibitions of strength. + +One o'clock. The trip-hammers began their intermittent thunder, the +rolling-machines shrieked, and the hot ore sputtered and crackled. +Bennington returned to his office and re-read the letter his father +had written to him on his death-bed. He would obey it to the final +line. + + +That particular branch of the local unions which was represented in +the Bennington steel-mills met in the loft of one of the brick +buildings off the main street. The room was spacious, but ill +ventilated. That, night it was crowded. The men were noisy, and a haze +of rank tobacco-smoke drifted aimlessly about, vainly seeking egress. +Morrissy called the meeting to order at eight-thirty. He spoke briefly +of the injustice of the employers, locally and elsewhere, of the +burdens the laboring man had always borne and would always bear, so +long as he declined to demand his rights. The men cheered him. Many +had been drinking freely. Morrissy stated the case against Bennington. +He used his words adroitly and spoke with the air of a man who regrets +exceedingly a disagreeable duty. + +From his seat in the rear Jordan watched him, following each word +closely. He saw that Morrissy knew his business thoroughly. + +"We'll get what we want, men; we always do. It isn't a matter of +money; it's principle. If we back down, we are lost; if we surrender +this time, we'll have to surrender one thing at a time till we're away +back where we started from, slaves to enrich the oppressor. We've got +to fight for our rights. Here's an inventor who, if we permit him to +remain, will succeed in throwing two hundred men out of work. +Bennington is making enough money as things are now. There's no need +of improvement, such as will take bread and butter out of our mouths, +out of the mouths of our wives and children. We've got to strike. +That'll bring him to his senses." + +At the conclusion he was loudly applauded. + +Jordan stood up and waited till the noise had fully subsided. +Everybody knew him. They had seen him stand up before, and he always +said something worth listening to. + +"You all know me, boys," he began. + +"You bet!" + +"You're all right!" + +"Speech! Go ahead!" + +Jordan caught Morrissy's eye. Morrissy nodded with bad grace. Jordan +spoke for half an hour. He repeated word for word what Bennington had +told him. In the end he was greeted with laughter. + +"Very well, boys," he said, shrugging. "It's none of my business. +You've never caught me lying yet. You don't know this man Bennington. +I believe I do. He'll make good his threat. Wait and see." + +"How much were you paid to attend this meeting?" demanded Morrissy, +sneering. + +"A good deal less than you were, Mr. Morrissy." There was a dangerous +flush on Ben's cheeks, but the smoke was so dense that Morrissy failed +to observe it. The men laughed again, accepting Ben's retort as a +piece of banter. Ben went on doggedly: "I have in my pocket a permit +to tear down the shops. Bennington gave it to me to produce. Look at +it, if you doubt my word. There it is." + +The men passed it along the aisles. It came back presently, much the +worse for the wear. Some of the older men looked exceedingly grave, +but they were in the minority. + +"Anybody can get a permit to tear down his property," said Morrissy +scornfully. "It's a big bluff, men. What! tear down the golden goose? +Not in a thousand years! It's a plain bluff. And I'm sorry to see a +decent man like our newspaper friend on the enemy's side." + +"If I am on the enemy's side, Mr. Morrissy, it's because I'm a friend +of every man here, save one," significantly. "You men will vote a +strike. I can see that. But you'll regret it to your last day. I've +nothing more to say. I helped you once when old man Bennington was +alive, but I guess you've forgotten it." Ben sat down in silence. + +"We'll proceed with the voting," said Morrissy. + +Half an hour later there was a cheer. The men would go out Monday, if +the demands of the committee were not acceded to. The meeting broke +up, and many of the men flocked into the near-by saloons. Morrissy +approached Ben, who had waited for him. No one was within earshot. + +"What the hell do you mean by saying you were paid less than I was?" +he said, his jaw protruding at an ugly angle. + +"I mean, Morrissy," answered Ben fearlessly, "that you had better move +carefully in the future. If I were you, I wouldn't accept any +unstamped envelopes in Herculaneum It would be a good plan to go to +some other town for that." + +"Why, damn you!" Morrissy raised his fist. + +"Stay where you are," warned Ben, seizing a camp-chair "or I'll break +your head. Listen to me. I'm starting out from this night on to break +you, and, by God, I'll do it before the year is over. This is your +last strike, so make the most of it. You were at Schmuck's the other +night, you and McQuade. There was a friend of mine on the other side +of the partition. Unfortunately this friend was alone. I haven't got +any proofs, but I'll get them." + +Morrissy became yellower than his diamonds. Ben flung aside his chair +and left the hall. He went straight to Martin's saloon. He found Bill +Osborne alone at a table. + +"Will they strike, Ben?" he asked in a rough whisper. + +"Yes. I thought I might influence them, Bill, but I've only made an +ass of myself. Two whiskies," he ordered, "and make one of them stiff. +I told Morrissy." + +"You didn't mention my name, Ben? Don't say you told him that I was on +the other side of the partition!" Bill's eyes nearly stood out of his +head. + +"I told him nothing. How'd you happen to land in Schmuck's saloon, +anyhow? Why didn't you telephone me when you heard Morrissy come in?" + +"Oh. Ben, I was drunk! If I hadn't been so drunk!" Bill's eyes +overflowed remorsefully. + +Ben swore. + +"And say, Ben, that fellow Bolles is back in town. He was in here a +few minutes ago, drunk as a lord. He flashed a roll of bills that +would have choked an ox." + +"Where is he now?" + +"Up stairs playing the wheel." + +Ben shook his head. He had his salary in his pocket, and he vividly +remembered what roulette had done to it a fortnight gone. + +"If Bolles is drunk, it wouldn't do any good to talk to him." Ben +sighed and drank his liquor neat. He was tired. + + + + +Chapter XIII + + + +Regularly once a week Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene visited a hair-dresser. +This distinguished social leader employed a French maid who was very +adept at dressing hair, but the two never got along very well +verbally; Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene insisted on speaking in broken French +while the maid persisted in broken English. Such conversation is +naturally disjointed and leads nowhere. The particular hair-dresser +who received Mrs. Haldene's patronage possessed a lively imagination +together with an endless chain of gossip. Mrs. Haldene was superior to +gossiping with servants, but a hair-dresser is a little closer in +relation to life. Many visited her in the course of a week, and some +had the happy faculty of relieving their minds of what they saw and +heard regardless of the social status of the listener. Mrs. Haldene +never came away from the hair-dresser's empty-handed; in fact, she +carried away with her food for thought that took fully a week to +digest. + +Like most places of its kind, the establishment was located in the +boarding-house district; but this did not prevent fashionable +carriages from stopping at the door, nor the neighboring boarders from +sitting on their front steps and speculating as to whom this or that +carriage belonged. There was always a maid on guard in the hall; she +was very haughty and proportionately homely. It did not occur to the +proprietress that this maid was a living advertisement of her +incompetence to perform those wonders stated in the neat little +pamphlets piled on the card-table; nor did it impress the patrons, who +took it for granted that the maid, naturally enough, could not afford +to have the operation of beauty performed. + +A woman with wrinkles is always hopeful. + +A strange medley of persons visited this house, each seeking in her +own peculiar way the elixir of life, which is beauty, or the potion of +love, which is beauty's handmaiden. There were remedies plus remedies; +the same skin-food was warranted to create double-chins or destroy +them; the same tonic killed superfluous hair or made it grow on bald +spots. A freckle to eradicate, a wrinkle to remove, a moth-patch to +bleach, a grey hair to dye; nothing was impossible here, not even +credulity. It was but meet that the mistress should steal past the +servant, that the servant should dodge the mistress. Every woman +craves beauty, but she does not want the public to know that her +beauty is of the kind in which nature has no hand. No man is a hero to +his valet; no woman is a beauty to her maid. In and out, to and fro; +the social leader, the shop-girl, the maid, the woman of the town, the +actress, the thin old spinster and the fat matron, here might they be +found. + +At rare intervals a man was seen to ring the bell, but he was either a +bill-collector or a husband in search of his wife. + +The proprietress knew everybody intimately--by sight. She was squat, +dyed, rouged and penciled, badly, too. She was written down in the +city directory as Madame de Chevreuse, but she was emphatically not of +French extraction. In her alphabet there were generally but +twenty-five letters; there were frequent times when she had no idea +that there existed such a letter as "g." How she came to appropriate +so distinguished a name as De Chevreuse was a puzzle. Her husband +--for she had a husband--was always reading French history in English, +and doubtless this name appealed to his imagination and romance. +Nobody knew what Madame's real name was, nor that of her husband, for +he was always called "Monseer." + +The reception-room was decorated after the prevailing fashion. There +was gilt and pretense. There were numerous glass cases, filled with +lotions and skin-foods and other articles of toilet; there were +faceless heads adorned with all shades of hair, scalps, pompadours, +and wigs. A few false-faces grinned or scowled or smirked from frames +or corners where they were piled. There were tawdry masquerade +costumes, too, and theatrical make-up. Curtains divided the several +shampooing booths, and a screen cut off the general view of the +operation of beauty. However, there were chinks large enough for the +inquisitive, and everybody was inquisitive who patronized Madame de +Chevreuse, pronounced Chevroose. + +And always and ever there prevailed without regeneration the odor of +cheap perfumes and scented soaps. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene left her carriage at the door, perfectly willing +that the neighborhood should see her alight. She climbed the steps, +stately and imposing. She was one of the few women who could overawe +the homely girl in the hallway. + +"Is Madame at liberty?" + +"She will be shortly, Mrs. Haldene." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene passed into the reception-room and sat down by +the manicure table. The screen was in position. Some one was being +beautified. From time to time she heard voices. + +"The make-up is taking splendidly to-day." + +"Well, it didn't last week. I sweat pink beads all over my new +muslin." + +"It does peel in hot weather. I understand that Mrs. Welford is going +to Dakota." + +"He ought to have the first chance there, if what I've heard about her +is true. These society women make me tired." + +"They haven't much to occupy their time." + +"Oh, I don't know. They occupy their time in running around after the +other women's husbands." + +"And the husbands?" + +"The other men's wives." + +"You aren't very charitable." + +"Nobody's ever given me any charity, I'm sure." + +From one of the shampooing booths: + +"But you would look very well in the natural grey, ma'am." + +"My husband doesn't think so." + +"But his hair is grey." + +"That doesn't lessen his regard for brunettes." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shrugged her majestic shoulders and gazed again +into the street. She always regretted that Madame could not be induced +to make private visits. + +A white poodle, recently shampooed, dashed through the rooms. There is +always a watery-eyed, red-lidded poodle in an establishment of this +order. The masculine contempt for the pug has died. It took twenty +years to accomplish these obsequies. But the poodle, the poor poodle! +Call a man a thief, a wretch, a villain, and he will defend himself; +but call him a poodle, and he slinks out of sight. It is impossible to +explain definitely the cause of this supreme contempt for the poodle, +nor why it should be considered the epitome of opprobrium to be called +one. + +"Maime?" + +"Yes, Madame!" replied the girl in the hall. + +"Take Beauty into the kitchen and close the door. He's just been +washed, and I don't want him all speckled up with hair-dye." + +The girl drove the poodle out of the reception-room and caught him in +the hall. Presently the kitchen door slammed and the odor of onions in +soup no longer fought against the perfumes and soaps for supremacy. + +"There," said Madame behind the screen, "you have no rival in town now +for beauty." + +"I'll be here again next Tuesday." + +"Same time?" + +"Yes, in the morning." + +A woman emerged from behind the screen. She possessed a bold beauty, +the sort that appeals to men without intellect. She was dressed +extravagantly: too many furbelows, too many jewels, too many flowers. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene recognized her instantly and turned her head +toward the window. She heard the woman pass by her, enter the hall and +leave the house. She saw her walk quickly away, stop suddenly as if +she had forgotten something, open her large purse, turn its contents +inside out, replace them, and proceed. But a letter lay on the +sidewalk unnoticed. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene secretly hoped that it would +remain there till she made her departure. + +"Handsome woman, isn't she?" said Madame. "I don't know what it is, +but they are always good-looking." + +"Who is she?" asked Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene, who knew very well who the +woman was. + +"She is one of Mr. McQuade's lady friends." + +"Indeed?" + +"Yes." Madame was shrewd. She saw that it wouldn't do to tell Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene anything about a woman who could in no way be of use +to her. "Have you heard of the Sybil?" + +"The Sybil?" repeated Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. + +"Yes. A new fortune-teller, and everybody says she's a wonder. I +haven't been to her yet, but I'm goin' just as soon as I get time." + +"Do you believe they know what they are talking about?" incredulously. + +"Know! I should say I did. Old Mother Danforth has told me lots of +things that have come true. She was the one who predicted the Spanish +war and the president's assassination. It is marvelous, but she done +it." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shuddered. With all her faults, she loved the +English language. + +"How do you want your hair fixed?" Madame inquired, seeing that her +patron's interest in mediums was not strong. + +"The same as usual. Last week you left a streak, and I am sure +everybody noticed it at the Gordon tea. Be careful to-day." + +Thereupon Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene constituted herself a martyr to the +cause. She was nervous and fidgety in the chair, for the picture of +that letter on the sidewalk kept recurring. In the meantime Madame +told her all that had happened and all that hadn't, which is equally +valuable. The toilet lasted an hour; and when Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +rose from the chair, Madame was as dry as a brook in August. Her +patron hurried to the street. The letter was still on the sidewalk. +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene picked it up and quickly sought her carriage. +Pah! how the thing smelt of sachet-powder. Her aristocratic nose +wrinkled in disdain. But her curiosity surmounted her natural +repugnance. The address was written in a coarse masculine hand. The +carriage had gone two blocks before she found the necessary courage to +open the letter. The envelope had already been opened, so in reading +it her conscience suggested nothing criminal. + +Gossip began on the day Eve entered the Garden of Eden. To be sure, +there was little to gossip about, but that little Eve managed without +difficulty to collect. It is but human to take a harmless interest in +what our next-door neighbor is doing, has done, or may do. Primarily +gossip was harmless; to-day it is still harmless in some quarters. The +gossip of the present time is like the prude, always looking for the +worst and finding it. The real trouble with the gossip lies in the +fact that she has little else to do; her own affairs are so +uninteresting that she is perforce obliged to look into the affairs of +her neighbors. Then, to prove that she is well informed, she feels +compelled to repeat what she has seen or heard, more or less +accurately. From gossiping to meddling is but a trifling step. To back +up a bit of gossip, one often meddles. Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +naturally a daughter of Eve; she was more than a gossip, she was a +prophetess. She foretold scandal. She would move Heaven and earth, so +the saying goes, to prove her gossip infallible. And when some +prophecy of hers went wrong, she did everything in her power to right +it. To have acquired the reputation of prophesying is one thing, +always to fulfil these prophecies is another. It never occurred to her +that she was destroying other people's peace of mind, that she was +constituting herself a Fate, that she was meddling with lives which in +no wise crossed or interfered with her own. She had no real enmity +either for Warrington or Mrs. Jack; simply, she had prophesied that +Warrington had taken up his residence in Herculaneum in order to be +near Katherine Challoner, John Bennington's wife. Here was a year +nearly gone, and the smoke of the prophecy had evaporated, showing +that there had been no fire below. + +Neither Warrington nor Mrs. Jack was in her thoughts when she opened +the letter, which was signed by McQuade's familiar appellation. + +Dear Girl--I've got them all this trip. I'll put Bennington on the +rack and wring Warrington's political neck, the snob, swelling it +around among decent people! What do you think? Why, Warrington used to +run after the Challoner woman before she was married; and I have proof +that she went to Warrington's room one night and never left till +morning. How's that sound? They stick up their noses at you, do they? +Wait! They won't look so swell when I'm through with them. If +Warrington's name is even mentioned at the Republican convention, I've +missed my guess. I got your bills this morning. You'd better go light +till I've settled with these meddlers. Then we'll pack up our duds and +take that trip to Paris I promised you. + +Mac. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene shivered. How horribly vulgar! She felt polluted +for a moment, and half wished she had let the missive lie where it had +fallen. But this sense of disgust wore off directly. She had been +right, then; there was something wrong; it was her duty, her duty to +society, to see that this thing went no further. And that flirtation +between Patty and the dramatist must be brought to a sudden halt. How? +Ah, she would now find the means. He was merely hoodwinking Patty; it +was a trick to be near Mrs. Jack. She had ignored her, had she? She +had always scorned to listen to the truth about people, had she? And +well she might! Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips tightened. Those friends +of hers who had doubted would presently doubt no more. She hadn't the +slightest idea how McQuade would use his information; she didn't even +care, so long as he used it. She grew indignant. The idea of that +woman's posing as she did! The idea of her dreaming to hold +permanently the footing she had gained in society! It was nothing +short of monstrous. The ever-small voice of conscience spoke, but she +refused to listen. She did not ask herself if what McQuade had in his +possession was absolute truth. Humanity believes most what it most +desires to believe. And aside from all this, it was a triumph, a +vindication of her foresight. + +"To the Western Union," she called to the groom. When the carriage +drew up before the telegraph office, she gave the letter to the groom. +"I found this on the sidewalk. Have them return it to the owner by +messenger." This was done. "Now, home," she ordered. + +That afternoon she attended a large reception. Her bland smile was as +bland as ever, but her eyes shone with suppressed excitement. The +Benningtons were there, but there was only a frigid nod when she +encountered Mrs. Jack and Patty. She wondered that she nodded at all. +She took her friend, Mrs. Fairchilds, into a corner. She simply had to +tell some one of her discovery, or at least a hint of it. + +"Do you recollect what I told you?" + +"About--?" Mrs. Fairchilds glanced quickly at Mrs. Jack. + +"Yes. Every word was true, and there will be a great upheaval shortly. +But not a word to a soul. I never gossip, but in this instance I feel +it my duty to warn you. How and where I learned the truth is +immaterial. I have learned it, and that is sufficient. It is +frightful; it makes my blood boil when I think of it. And she goes +everywhere, as if she had a perfect right." + +"What have you found?" Mrs. Fairchilds could scarcely breathe, so +great was her curiosity. + +"You will learn soon enough without my telling you." And that was all +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene would say. + +But it was enough, enough for her purpose. Within an hour's time all +the old doubt had been stirred into life again, and the meddlers +gathered about for the feast. It is all so simple and easy. + +Mrs. Jack moved here and there, serenely beautiful, serenely happy, +serenely unconscious of the blow that was soon to strike at the very +heart of her life. Once in a while her brows would draw together +abstractedly. She was thinking of John, and of the heartaches he was +having over the action of the men at the shops. + +Patty was not gay. She seemed to be impatient to leave. Three or four +times she asked Mrs. Jack if she were ready to go; she was tired, the +people bored her, she wanted to go home. Finally Mrs. Jack +surrendered. + +That night at dinner John was very quiet and absent-minded. The shops, +the shops, he was thinking of them continuously. In his heart of +hearts he had no faith in the reporter's influence. The strike mania +had seized the men, and nothing now could hold them back. He knew they +would doubt his threat to tear down the buildings. Not till he sent +the builder's wrecking crew would they understand. Not a hair's +breadth, not the fraction of an inch; if they struck, it would be the +end. He gazed at his wife, the melting lights of love in his handsome +eyes. Hey-dey! She would always be with him, and together they would +go about the great world and forget the injustice and ingratitude of +men. But it was going to be hard. Strong men must have something to +lay their hands to. He knew that he could not remain idle very long; +he must be doing something. But out of the shops he felt that he would +be like a ship without steering apparatus--lost, aimless, purposeless. + +"John?" + +He woke from his dream, and forced a smile to his lips. + +"You haven't eaten anything." + +"I'm not hungry, dear." + +"You haven't spoken half a dozen words since you came home." + +"Haven't I? I must have been thinking." + +"About the shops?" laying her hand on his and pressing it strongly. + +"Yes. I'm afraid, heart o' mine, that it's all over. If they do not +strike now, they will later on; if not on this pretext, on some +other." + +"Why not let him go, John?" + +"No." His jaws hardened. "It isn't a question of his going or staying; +it is simply a question of who is master, the employed or the +employer. The men say it's the principle of the thing; it shall be +fought out on those grounds. I'm going down to the club to-night with +Dick. I feel the need of getting out and breathing. Dick's not the +best company just now, but he'll understand what I need. Poor devil! +he's got his hands full, too." + +She understood his mood, and offered no objection. She raised his hand +and brushed it with her lips. + +"I love you, John." + +He smiled gratefully. + +"You go over to mother's for the evening, and I'll drop in on the way +home and pick you up." + + +Patty was in the music-room, so Mrs. Jack did not disturb her, but +started at her basket-work. Mrs. Bennington read till eight, and +retired. Patty played all the melancholy music she could think of. +When love first makes its entrance into the human heart, there is +neither joy nor gladness nor gaiety. On the contrary, there is a vast +shadow of melancholy, a painful sadness, doubt and cross-purpose, +boldness at one moment and timidity at the next, a longing for +solitude. Music and painting and poetry, these arts that only +attracted, now engage. + +So Patty played. + +Sometimes Mrs. Jack looked up from her work, wondering. She had never +heard Patty play so many haunting, dismal compositions. At nine the +telephone rang, and she dropped her work instantly, thinking the call +might be from John. Ah, if the men would only listen to reason! + +"Hello!" + +"Is Mrs. Bennington at home?" asked a voice, unfamiliar to her ears. + +"There are two. Which one do you wish?" + +"Mrs. John Bennington." + +"This is Mrs. John Bennington speaking. What is it?" + +There was a pause. + +"I have something very important to communicate to you. In the first +place, you must use your influence in making Mr. Warrington withdraw +his name as a candidate for nomination." + +"Who is this speaking?" she asked sharply. + +"Mr. McQuade." + +The receiver nearly fell from her hand. McQuade? What in the world-- + +"Did you get the name?" + +"Yes. But I fail to understand what you are talking about. I warn you +that I shall ring off immediately." + +"One moment, please. If you hang up the receiver, you will regret it. +I wish you no ill, Mrs. Bennington. If it were possible I should like +to talk with you personally, for this matter deeply concerns your +future happiness. I can not call; I have been ordered out of your +husband's house. It lies in your power to influence Warrington to drop +his political ambition. Information has come to my hand that would not +look very well in the newspapers. It is in my power to stop it, but I +promise not to lift a hand if you refuse." + +"I not only refuse, but I promise to repeat your conversation to my +husband this very night." With that Mrs. Jack hung up the receiver. +She rose, pale and terribly incensed. The low fellow! How dared he, +how dared he! "Patty!" The call brooked no dallying. + +The music ceased. Patty came out, blinking. + +"You called me, Kate?" + +"Patty, McQuade has been calling me up on the telephone." + +"Who?" + +"McQuade, McQuade! He says that if I do not influence Mr. Warrington +to withdraw his name--Did you ever hear of such a thing? I am +furious! What can it mean? He says he has heard something about me +which he can suppress but will not if I--Why, Patty, what shall I do? +What shall I do?" She crushed her hands together wildly. + +"Tell John," said Patty sensibly. + +"John? He would thresh McQuade within an inch of his life." + +"Tell Warrington, then." + +"He would do the same as John. But what can the wretch have found? God +knows, Patty, I have always been a good, true woman. ... Think of that +man's telephoning me!" + +Patty ran to her side and flung her arms about her brother's wife. +Patty loved her. + +"Don't you bother your head, darling. It can't be anything but a +political dodge; it can't be anything serious. McQuade is low enough +to frighten women, but don't let him frighten you. I know he lies," +said the loyal Patty. "And now that I think it over, it would be best +to say nothing to John or Richard. Fisticuffs would get into the +papers, and it's my opinion that's just what this man McQuade wants. +He could swear to a thousand lies, if the matter became public. But +oh!" clenching her hands fiercely, "I'd give a year of my life to see +John thresh him. But you say nothing; let us wait and see." + +Wise Patty! + +At that very moment McQuade sat swinging in his swivel-chair. There +was a smile of satisfaction on his face. + +"That'll bring 'em," he said aloud, though he was alone. "That'll +bring 'em both up here, roaring like lions. They'll muss up the +furniture, and then I can tell the reporters all about it. Even +Walford can't object this time." + +He rubbed his hands together like Shylock at the thought of his pound +of flesh. He had waited a long time. They had ordered him, McQuade. +who held the city in his hand--they had ordered him out of the house. +Not a grain of mercy, not half a grain. Two birds with one stone. He +was shrewd for all his illiteracy. He knew women passably well. This +one would tell her husband, who would seek for immediate vengeance. + +But sometimes chance overthrows the best-laid plans of cleverness and +foresight. And this remarkable plan of McQuade's was deranged by a +chance guess by Patty. + +Meantime at Martin's it was growing lively. The bar was crowded, the +restaurant was being liberally patronized, and persons went up the +stairs that did not return. Jordan paid the check, and he and Osborne +went out. + +"When'll they go out, Ben?" + +"Monday." + +"Too bad. I wish I'd been sober." + +"I'll break Morrissy's head one of these fine days. Let's go over to +Johnny's; there's music over there." + +"All right, Ben." + +"And no more booze, mind." + +"Just as you say." + +Up stairs the gambling-den was doing a good business. The annual +trotting meet had brought many sporting men to town. They were +standing around the faro table; the two roulette wheels were going, +and the Klondike machine spun ceaselessly. There were a dozen stacks +of chips in front of Bolles. He was smiling, flushed with triumph and +whisky. + +"Three hundred to the good, old boy!" he said to the man who spun the +ivory ball. "I'll break you fellows to-night." + +"Bring Mr. Bolles another whisky," said the proprietor. + +"I'll take all you can bring." + +"You're a tank, sure." + +"You bet!" Bolles grinned. + +So did the banker, covertly. He had seen the comedy played a thousand +times. Few men ever took away their winnings, once they started in to +drink, and Bolles was already drunk. He lost his next bet. He doubled +and lost again. Then he stacked his favorite number. The ball rolled +into it, but jumped the compartment, wizard-wise, and dropped into +single-o. Bolles cursed the luck. Another whisky was placed at his +elbow. He drank it at a gulp. + +"Make the limit five," he cried. + +The banker nodded to the man at the wheel. + +Bolles made six bets. He lost them. A quarter of an hour later his +entire winnings had passed over the table. He swore, and drew out a +roll of bills. He threw a fifty on the black. Red won. He doubled on +black. Red won. He plunged. He could not win a single bet. He tried +numbers, odd and even, the dozens, splits, squares, column. Fortune +had withdrawn her favor. + +"Hell!" + +He played his last ten on black, and lost. + +"Let me have a hundred." + +The banker shook his head and pointed to the signs on the wall: +"Checks for money, money for checks, no mouth-bets." + +Bolles felt in his pockets and repeated the futile search. + +"Not a damned cent!" he shouted. "Cleaned out!" + +"Give Mr. Bolles a ten-spot," said the banker. "But you can't play it +here, Bolles," was the warning. + +Bolles stuffed the note in his pocket and rose. He was very drunk; he +himself did not realize how drunk he was till he started for the door. +He staggered and lurched against the sideboard. His hat rolled from +his head. An attendant quickly recovered it, and Bolles slapped it on +his head. + +"Get out o' the way! It's a snide game, anyhow. You've got wires on +the machine. You've got seven hundred o' my money, and you give me +ten! Hell!" + +They opened the door for him and he stumbled out into the dark, +unlighted hallway. He leaned against the wall, trying to think it out, +searching his pockets again and again. Why in hell hadn't he left some +of the money with the bartender? Broke, clean, flat broke! And he had +pushed his winnings up to three hundred! He became ugly, now that he +fully realized what had happened. He ground his teeth and cursed +loudly; he even kicked the door savagely. Then he swung rather than +walked down the stairs. He turned into the bar and bought three more +whiskies, and was then primed for any deviltry. He was very drunk, but +it was a wide-awake drunkenness, cruel and revengeful. He turned into +the alley and tried to think of some plan by which he could borrow +enough to make a new attempt at fickle fortune. To-morrow he could +strike McQuade again, but to-night McQuade wouldn't listen to him. +Every once in a while he would renew the searching of his pockets, but +there was only the remainder of the ten the banker had given him. + +John and Warrington had played an uninteresting game of billiards at +the club, then finally sought the night and tramped idly about the +streets. With Warrington it was sometimes his aunt, sometimes the new +life that beat in his heart when he saw Patty, sometimes this game he +was playing which had begun in jest and had turned to earnest. With +John it was the shops, the shops, always and ever the shops. When they +spoke it was in monosyllables. Nevertheless it was restful to each of +them to be so well understood that verbal expression was not +necessary. They had started toward Martin's on the way home, when +Warrington discovered that he was out of cigars. He ran back three or +four doors while John proceeded slowly. Just as he was about to cross +the alley-way a man suddenly lurched out into the light. He was +drunk, but not the maudlin, helpless intoxication that seeks and +invites sociability. He was murderously drunk, strong, nervous, +excited. He barred Bennington's way. + +"I thought it was you!" he said venomously. + +Bennington drew back and started to pass around the man. He did not +recognize him. He saw in the action only a man disorderly drunk. But +he hadn't taken two steps before the other's words stopped him +abruptly. + +"You're a millionaire, eh? Well, I'll soon fix you and your actress +and her lover. Take that as a starter!" + +He struck Bennington savagely on the cheek-bone. Bennington stumbled +back, but managed to save himself from falling. Instantly all the war +that was in his soul saw an outlet. He came back, swift as a panther +and as powerful. In an instant his assailant was on his back on the +pavement, the strong fingers tightening about the wretch's throat; +Bolles was a powerful man, but he had not the slightest chance. Not a +sound from either man. There were one or two pedestrians on the +opposite side of the street, but either these did not see or would +not. + +Warrington had made a hurried purchase. As he left the cigar store, he +saw the two men fall. He ran up quickly, wondering what the trouble +was. He had no idea that John was one of the men, but as he saw the +light grey suit, and the Panama lying on the ground, he knew. + +"For God's sake, John, what are you doing?" he cried. + +With a superhuman effort he dragged the enraged man from the prostrate +form in the road. It no longer struggled, but lay inert and without +motion. + +"Was I killing him, Dick?" said John, in a quavering voice. "He struck +me and--Am I mad, or has the world turned upside down in a minute?" + +"What did he say?" asked Warrington. He was badly frightened. He knelt +at the side of Bolles and felt of his heart. It still beat. + +"What did he say? Nothing, nothing!--Where's my hat? I'm going home-- +Have I--?" + +"No, he's alive; but I came just in time." + +At this moment Bolles turned over and slowly struggled to a sitting +posture. His hands went feebly toward his throat. + +"He's all right," said Warrington. "We'd better light out. Now what +the devil--" + +"He struck me. He was drunk. I've been in a fighting mood all day. +Call that carriage." + +When Mrs. Jack saw him she screamed. + +"John!" + +"The asphalt was wet, girl, and I took a bad fall." But John lied with +ill grace. + + + + +Chapter XIV + + + +The Bennington mills, or shops, were situated just inside the city +limits. Beyond was a beautiful undulating country of pastures and +wheat-fields, dotted frequently with fine country homes. The mills +were somewhat isolated from the general manufacturing settlement, but +had spurs of track that for practical purposes were much nearer the +main line of freight traffic than any of those manufacturing concerns +which posed as its rivals. It was a great quadrangle of brick, partly +surrounded by a prison-like wall. Within this wall was a court, +usually piled high with coke and coal and useless molds. The building +was, by turns, called foundry, mills and shops. The men who toiled +there called it the shops. Day and night, night and day, there was +clangor and rumbling and roaring and flashes of intense light. In the +daytime great volumes of smoke poured from the towering chimneys, and +at night flames shot up to the very walls of heaven, burnishing the +clouds. + +The elder Bennington was one of those men who, with a firm standing on +the present, lay admirable plans for the future. He had been in no +great hurry to get rich. He went leisurely about it, tantalizing +fortune, it might be said. His first venture had shown foresight. At +the beginning of the Civil War he had secured an option on many +thousand tons of coal. Without taking an actual penny from his +pockets, he had netted a comfortable fortune. Again, his foresight +recognized that the day would come when the whole continent would gird +itself in steel. With his ready money he bought ground and built a +small mill. This prospered. He borrowed from the banks, and went on +building. Ten years passed. The property was unencumbered; he had paid +both interest and principal. He did not believe in stock-holders. He +sold no stock. Every nail, bolt and screw was his; every brick, stone +and beam. There were no directors to meddle with his plans, no fool's +hand to block his progress, to thwart his vast projects. Slowly he +became rich, for every piece of steel that went out to the purchasers +was honest steel. Sagacity and loyalty overcame all obstacles. Many a +time he might have sold at a handsome profit. But selling wasn't his +idea; he had a son. Besides, this was his life-work, and he detested +the idle rich, which at that time were just coming into evidence. + +He never speculated; but he bought government bonds, railroad bonds, +municipal bonds, for he had great faith in his country. He had the +same faith in his native city, too, for he secured all the bank stock +that came his way. Out of every ten dollars he earned he invested +five, saved three, and spent two. He lived well, but not +ostentatiously. He never gave directly to charities, but he gave work +to hundreds, and made men self-reliant and independent, which is a far +nobler charity. He never denied himself a vacation; he believed that +no man should live and die at his desk. There was plenty of time for +work and plenty for play; but neither interfered with the other. He +was an ardent fisherman, a keen hunter, and a lover of horses. + +More than all these things, he was one of those rare individuals one +seldom meets--the born father. He made a man of his son and a woman of +his daughter. When he sent the boy to England, he knew that the boy +might change his clothes, but neither his character nor his +patriotism. He voted independently; he was never a party man; thus, +public office was never thrust in his way. Perhaps he was too frankly +honest. He never worried when his son reached the mating age. "Whoever +my boy marries will be the woman he loves, and he is too much his +father's son not to love among his equals." He was a college-bred man +besides, but few knew this. He had an eye for paintings, an ear for +music, and a heart for a good book. It is this kind of man whom nature +allows to be reproduced in his children. + +He was gruff, but this gruffness was simply a mask to keep at arm's +length those persons whom he did not desire for friends. + +When he died he left a will that was a model of its kind. There were +not a hundred lines in the document. He divided his fortune into three +parts, but he turned the shops over to his son John, without +stipulations, wholly and absolutely, to do with them as he pleased. +But he had written a letter in which he had set forth his desires. It +may be understood at once that these desires readily coincided with +those of the son. + +John had not begun in the office. On the contrary, during school +vacations he worked as a puddler's apprentice, as a molder's +apprentice, in the rail-shop, in the sheet-and wire-shops. He worked +with his hands, too, and drew his envelope on Saturday nights like the +rest of them. There was never any talk about John's joining the union; +the men looked upon his efforts good-naturedly and as a joke. The +father, with wisdom always at his elbow, never let the fishing trips +go by. John had his play. At the age of twenty he knew as much about +the manufacture of steel as the next one. He loved the night shifts, +when the whole place seethed and glowed like an inferno. This manual +education had done something else, too. It had broadened his +shoulders, deepened his chest, and flattened his back. Many a time the +old man used to steal out and watch the young Hercules, stripped to +the waist, drag rails to the cooling-room. When John entered college +athletics he was not closely confined to the training-tables. + +Under the guidance of such a father, then, there could not be as a +result anything less than a thorough man. + +On the following Monday morning succeeding the encounter with Bolles, +John boarded a car and went out to the shops as usual. He found +nothing changed. The clerks in the office were busy with huge ledgers, +though it is true that many a hand was less firm than on ordinary +days. Rumors were flying about, from clerk to clerk, but none knew +what the boss intended to do. From the shops themselves came the +roaring and hammering that had gone on these thirty years or more. +Bennington opened his mail and read each letter carefully. There were +orders for rails, wire rope and sheets for boilers. The business of +the concern always passed through his hands first. Even when he was +out of town, duplicates of all orders were sent to him. He laid each +letter in the flat basket; but this morning there was no "O. K.--J. +B." scrawled across the tops. There would be time enough for that +later. He rose and went to the window and looked down into the court. +His heart beat heavily. There was something besides the possibility of +a strike on his mind. But he flung this thought aside and returned to +the strike. Was it right or was it wrong? Should he follow out his +father's request, letter for letter? To punish two or three who were +guilty, would it be right to punish several hundred who were not? And +those clerks and assistants yonder, upon whom families depended, who +had nothing to do with unionism, one way or the other, what about +them? Fate strikes blindly; the innocent fall with the guilty. The +analysis of his own desires was quick enough. Surrender? Not much! Not +an inch, not a tenth part of an inch, would he move. If men permitted +themselves to be sheep in the hands of an unscrupulous man, so much +the worse. He promised himself this much: all those who appealed to +him honestly, for these he would find employment elsewhere. There were +other mills and shops in town that would be glad enough to employ a +Bennington man, which signified capability. + +"Mr. Bennington?" + +John turned. Chittenden, the young English inventor, stood +respectfully just within the door. + +"Good morning, Mr. Chittenden. How's the invention going? Did you get +that special pulley from Pittsburgh yet?" + +"The invention is going very well, sir. But it is not of that I wish +to speak." + +"Have you joined the union, then?" asked Bennington, with a shade of +irony which did not escape the keen-eyed Englishman. + +"No!" This was not spoken; it was more like a shout. "I have joined no +union, and my brain may rot before I do. The truth is, sir, I hear +that if the men go out you'll tear down the shops." He hesitated. + +"Go on." + +"Well, I do not want this to happen on my account. I am young; I can +wait; I'll take my tinkering elsewhere. You've been very good to me +sir, and I should hate to see you troubled." + +"Chittenden, you can't leave me now. If you do, I shall never forgive +you. You are a valuable piece of property just now. You are to be my +test case, as the lawyers say. If you go now the men will think I +weakened and forced you out. You gave me your word that you would stay +here till _I_ told you to go." + +"There's nothing more to be said, sir. You may depend upon me." + +"Thanks. The day you perfect your machine, on that day I shall find +the capital to promote it. Good morning." + +"The committee was coming up after me, sir," was the reply. + +"Ah!" Bennington's eyes flashed. "Then remain to hear what I have to +say to them." + +All this while the girl at the typewriter never paused. +Clickity-click! clickity-click! Suddenly all noises ceased, all but +the noise of the typewriter. The two men looked at each other quickly +and comprehensively. There was a tramping of feet on the stairs, and +presently a knock on the door. Clickity-click! + +"You may go," said Bennington to the girl. + +The girl gathered up her notes and passed into the main office. + +Again came the knock, more aggressive this time. + +"Come in." + +The committee, headed by Morrissy, entered with shuffling feet. +Morrissy saw the Englishman and scowled. + +"Well, gentlemen?" said Bennington, sitting on his desk and resting a +foot on his chair. + +"We have come to learn what you intend to do about this Britisher," +began Morrissy. + +"I don't recollect your face," replied Bennington thoughtfully. "How +long have you been in the shops?" + +"I'm not in your shops," returned Morrissy blusteringly. + +"In that case," said Bennington mildly, "there's the door. I do not +see how this matter concerns you." + +"Well, it does concern me, as you'll find soon," cried Morrissy, +choking with sudden rage. + +"I'll give you one minute to make the foot of the stairs. If you're +not there at the end of that time, I'll take you by the collar and +help you." Bennington drew out his watch. + +"He's the head of our union, Mr. Bennington," interposed one of the +men, shifting his feet uneasily. + +"Oh! Then he's the man who is really making all this trouble?" +Bennington nodded as if he had just arrived at a solution. + +"I'm here to see that my men have their rights." Morrissy failed to +understand this mild young man. "And it'll take a bigger man than you +to throw me out of here. This Britisher either joins the union or he +goes." + +"If he joins the union he'll be permitted to continue the perfecting +of his invention?" + +"His invention is not necessary at present. The output as it is meets +the demand." + +"Look here, Mr. Morrissy, I'll make you a proposition." + +"What?" + +"You and I will go down to the molding-room and have it out with our +fists. If you win, Chittenden goes; if I win, he stays and the men +return to work." + +"This isn't no kid's play, Mr. Bennington. You've got a big strike +looking you in the face." + +Bennington laughed. "I'm afraid you're a coward. So Mr. Chittenden +must join the union or go. It isn't a question of wage scale or hours; +it simply revolves around Mr. Chittenden. Supposing he joins the +union, what will you give him to do?" Bennington's voice was that of a +man who wishes to know all sides of the question. + +"Well, he'll have to learn where they all started from." + +"Mr. Chittenden is an expert machinist." + +"Let him join the union, then, and there won't be any trouble here. I +want justice. This shop is union, and no non-union man can work here. +I want justice, that's all." + +"You'll get that all in good time, Mr.--ah--?" + +"Morrissy." + +"Mr. Morrissy. Mr. Chittenden, are you willing to join the union?" +Bennington smiled as he plied this question. + +"Not I! My word, I'd as lief starve as become a union man, and under +such a master. I prize my manhood and independence above all things. I +have already refused to join. I never take back what I say." + +"Neither do I, Mr. Chittenden." Bennington stood up. + +"Then out he goes," said Morrissy, recovering his truculence. + +"On what authority?" Bennington's voice was growing milder and milder. +"On what authority?" he repeated. + +"On mine!" cried Morrissy. + +"You are mistaken. I am master here. Mr. Chittenden will remain on the +pay-roll." + +"Then in ten minutes the men will walk out on my orders. You're making +a big mistake, Mr. Bennington." + +"That is for me to judge." + +"Ten minutes to make up your mind." Morrissy made a gesture toward his +watch. + +"Don't bother about the time, Mr. Morrissy. We'll spend the ten +minutes in the molding-room." + +Morrissy turned pale. + +"Oh, we shan't come to fisticuffs, Mr. Morrissy. I am a gentleman, and +you are not. Not a word!" as Morrissy clenched his fists. "Mr. +Shipley," said Bennington to one of the committee, "will you get all +the men together? I have a few words to say to them before this ten +minutes is up. I want to give the men a fair show." + +"You can have twenty minutes, my English-bred gentleman," snarled +Morrissy. At that moment he would have given a thousand dollars for +the strength to whip the man whose ruin he believed he was planning. +"I'm kind of anxious myself to hear what you've got to say. + +"In fact, I hope you will listen carefully to every word I say," +replied Bennington, with a nod toward the door. + +The committee went out solemnly. Morrissy was next to the last to go +down the stairs. Bennington followed closely behind him. + +"Some day I'll get a good chance at you, Mr. Morrissy, and the devil +take care of you when I do. I shall see to it that the law will be +found to fit your case." + +Morrissy shifted over to the balustrade, looking over his shoulder at +the speaker. + +"Look here, you can't talk to me that way, Bennington." + +"Can't I? I'll proceed. In the first place, you're a damn scoundrel. +You've brought about this trouble simply to show that you have power +to injure me. Well, you can't injure me, Mr. Morrissy, but you will do +irreparable injury to these poor men who put their trust in you and +your kind. Chittenden? That's a pretty poor excuse. You've always +harbored a grudge against my father, and this seems to be your chance. +You've the idea that you can intimidate me. You can't intimidate me +any more than you could my father. More than all this, McQuade is back +of this move; and if I can prove that you accepted a bribe from him, +I'll have you both in court for conspiracy." + +"You're talking big. It won't do you any good." + +"Wait. I should be willing to wait ten years to call you a thief and a +blackguard in public. But I say to you now, privately, you are both a +thief and a blackguard." + +Morrissy stepped back, red in the face. But he recognized the +disadvantage of his position. He was one step lower than his accuser. + +"Go on," said Bennington, his voice now hard and metallic; "go on +down. There'll be no rough and tumble here. I won't give you that +satisfaction." + +"Well, you mark my words, I'll get satisfaction out of you shortly, +and then you'll talk on the other side of your mouth. This is business +now. When that's done, why, I'll make you eat every one of those +words." + +Bennington laughed sinisterly. He could crush the life out of this +flabby ruffian with one arm, easily. + +Nothing more was said, and the way to the great molding-room was +traversed silently. Shipley sent out orders, and in a few minutes the +men congregated to hear what the boss had to say. It was, to say the +least, an unusual proceeding, this of an employer delivering a speech +to his men after they had practically declared a strike. Morrissy now +regretted that he had given Bennington any grace at all, for it was +not to be doubted that there was only a small majority of the men who +had voted for a strike. And these were the young men; youth is always +so hot-headed and cock-sure of itself. The older men, the men who had +drawn their pay in the shops for twenty years or more, they were not +so confident. + +Bennington mounted a pile of molds and raised his hand. The murmur of +voices dwindled away into silence. The sun came in through the +spreading skylights, and Bennington stood in the center of the +radiance. He was a man, every inch of him, and not a man among them +could deny it. There are many things that are recognizable even to +crass minds, and one of these is a man. Genius they look upon with +contempt, but not strength and resolution; they can not comprehend +what is not visible to the eye. + +"Fire away, boss!" said a voice from the crowd. + +Many of the men smiled, but there was no answering smile on the face +of the man on the molds. + +"I have but few words to say to you men, and I trust for the sake of +your families that you will weigh carefully every word I utter." +Bennington took his father's letter from his pocket and unfolded it. +"You are about to take a step such as you all will live to regret. My +father never threatened; he acted. I shall follow his example. You are +on the verge of striking. I shall recognize the strike only at the +moment you decide to leave the shops. You will strike without cause, +without justice, simply because you are commanded to do so by your +leader." + +"Hold on, Mr. Bennington!" cried one of those nearest him. "We have +the right to vote, and we voted against your policy in hiring a +non-union man." + +"Put it that way if it pleases you," replied Bennington. "I say that +you strike simply to show how strong your power is. It is a fine thing +to have power, but it is finer by far to use it only when justice +makes a cause. But power is a terrible weapon in the hands of those +who can not direct it wisely. Let me come to facts. Your wages are the +highest in the city, five per cent. above the union scale; your hours +are the shortest; there is no Sunday-night shift; you have at your +pleasure a gymnasium and a swimming-pool; you are each of you given a +week's vacation in the summer on full pay, a thing no other concern of +the kind in the state does; all the machinery is flawless, minimizing +your chances of danger; in fact, you draw pay fifty-two weeks in the +year in the squarest shop in the world. If any man wishes to deny +these things, let him stand forth." + +But there was neither sound nor movement from the men. + +Bennington continued. "Men, you have no grievance. This man +Chittenden, the alleged cause of your striking, takes no food or pay +from your mouths or your pockets; he interferes with you in no manner +whatever. The contrivance he is trying to complete will not limit the +output, but will triple it, necessitating the employment of more men. +But your leader says that the present output is wholly sufficient, and +you are taking his word for it. Mr. Chittenden represents progress, +but you have taken it into your heads that you will have none of it. +He refuses to join the union, and I refuse to discharge him on that +ground. I do not say that this shall not be a union shop; I say that I +shall employ whom I will for any purpose I see fit. It is your say, so +say it; yours is the power; use it. ... Patience, just a little +longer. I have shown much of it during the past year." + +The men swayed restlessly, and then became still again when they saw +that he was going to read something. + +"I have here the last letter my father ever wrote me. As I received it +after his death, I might say that it is a voice from the grave. I will +read that part which affects the shops. + +"'And so, my son, I leave you this last request. Day after day, year +after year, I have toiled honestly, with the will and the foresight +God gave me. I die prosperous and contented, having acquired my riches +without ill to any and without obligation. I have never wronged any +man, though often the power to do so has been in my hands. But reason +always cools hot blood, and I have always kept a strong curb on all my +angry impulses. Some day the men will strike again, what about I know +not; but this I do know: it will be without justice. I have bent to +them nine out of ten times. Nine of their demands were not wholly +unreasonable, but the tenth was. And this demand was that I should +have no non-union men in the shops. This strike lasted four months. +You will recall it. I do not know how long it might have gone on, had +not the poor devil, who was the cause of it, died. I and the men came +together again. We patched up our differences, covertly, so to speak. +The men appeared at the gates one morning, and I let them in without +referring by a single word to what had taken place. The principle of +unionism is a noble thing, but ignoble men, like rust in girders, gnaw +rapidly into principles and quickly and treacherously nullify their +good. + +"'The destroyer is everywhere. The apple has its worm, the rose its +canker, the steel its rust. It is the ignorant and envious man who +misuses power that, rightly directed, moves toward the emancipation of +the human race. There are cruel and grasping and dishonest employers, +who grind the heart and soul out of men. The banding together of the +laboring men was done in self-defense; it was a case of survive or +perish. The man who inaugurated unionism was a great philanthropist. +The unions began well; that is because their leaders were honest, and +because there was no wolf in the fold to recognize the extent of +power. It was an ignorant man who first discovered it, and for the +most part ignorance still wears the crown and holds the scepter. The +men who put themselves under the guidance of a dishonest labor leader +are much to be pitied. The individual laboring man always had my right +hand, but I have never had any particular reason to admire the union +leader. + +"'There were two hundred and twelve strikes last year, of which only +six had cause. The others were brought about by politicians and greedy +unions. Dishonesty finds the line of least resistance in greed. Now, I +have studied the strike problem from beginning to end. There can be no +strike at the Bennington shops for a just cause. Had I lived long +enough, the shops would have been open-shop. My son, never surrender +once to injustice, for if you do you will establish a precedent, and +you will go on surrendering to the end of time. I leave the shops to +you. There is but one thing I demand, and that is that you shall never +sell the shops; Bennington or nothing. If you have difficulties with +the men, weigh them on the smallest scales. You will be master +there--you alone. It is a big responsibility, but I have the greatest +confidence in you. When the time comes, show that you are master, even +to the tearing down of every brick and stone that took me so long to +erect. I shall be where such disasters will not worry me in the +least.'" + +Bennington refolded the letter slowly. The men stood absolutely +motionless, waiting. + +"Men, if you go out this day, not one of you will ever find employment +here again. My sense of justice is large, and nothing but that shall +dictate to me. I shall employ and discharge whom I will; no man or +organization of men shall say to me that this or that shall be done +here. I am master, but perhaps you will understand this too late. Stay +or go; that is as you please. If you stay, nothing more will be said +on my part; if you go ... Well, I shall tear down these walls and sell +the machinery for scrap-iron!" + +For the first time he showed emotion. He brought his hands strongly +together, as a man puts the final blow to the nail, then buttoned up +his coat and stood erect, his chin aggressive and his mouth stern. + +"Well, which is it to be?" he demanded. + +"You are determined to keep Chittenden?" + +"Positively determined." + +"We'll go out, Mr. Bennington," said Shipley. + +"And what's more," added Morrissy, "we'll see that nobody else comes +in." + +He lighted a cigar, shoved his hands into his trousers pockets and +walked insolently toward the exit. The majority of the men were +grinning. Tear down this place? Kill the goose that laid the golden +egg? It was preposterous. Why, no man had ever done a thing like that. +It was to cut off one's nose to spite one's face. It was a case of +bluff, pure and simple. Winter was nearly three months off. By that +time this smart young man would be brought to his senses. So they +began filing out in twos and threes, their blouses and dinner-pails +tucked under their arms. Many were whistling lightly, many were +smoking their pipes, but there were some who passed forth silent and +grave. If this young man was a chip of the old block, they had best +start out at once in search of a new job. + +Bennington jumped down from his impromptu platform and closed the +ponderous doors. Then he hurried to the main office, where he notified +the clerks what had happened. He returned to his private office. He +arranged his papers methodically, closed the desk, and sat down. His +gaze wandered to the blue hills and rolling pastures, and his eyes +sparkled; but he forced back what had caused it, and presently his +eyes became dry and hard. + +"'You and your actress and her lover'," he murmured softly. "My God, I +am very unhappy!" + + + + +Chapter XV + + + +The anonymous letter is still being written. This is the weapon of the +cowardly and envious heart, so filled with venom and malice that it +has the courage or brazenness to go about piously proclaiming the word +duty. Beware of the woman who has ink-stains on her fingers and a duty +to perform; beware of her also who never complains of the lack of +time, but who is always harking on duty, duty. Some people live close +to the blinds. Oft on a stilly night one hears the blinds rattle never +so slightly. Is anything going on next door? Does a carriage stop +across the way at two o'clock of a morning? Trust the woman behind the +blinds to answer. Coming or going, little or nothing escapes this +vigilant eye that has a retina not unlike that of a horse, since it +magnifies the diameter of everything nine times. To hope for the worst +and to find it, that is the golden text of the busybody. The busybody +is always a prude; and prude signifies an evil-minded person who is +virtuous bodily. They are never without ink or soft lead-pencils. Ink +has accomplished more wonderful things than man can enumerate; though +just now a dissertation on ink in ink is ill-timed. + +To return again to the anonymous letter. Add and multiply the lives it +has wrecked, the wars brought about. Menelaus, King of the Greeks, +doubtless received one regarding Helen's fancy for that simpering son +of Priam, Paris. The anonymous letter was in force even in that remote +period, the age of myths. It is consistent, for nearly all anonymous +letters are myths. A wife stays out late; her actions may be quite +harmless, only indiscreet. There is, alack! always some intimate +friend who sees, who dabbles her pen in the ink-well and labors over a +backhand stroke. It is her bounden duty to inform the husband +forthwith. The letter may wreck two lives, but what is this beside +stern, implacable duty? When man writes an anonymous letter he is in +want of money; when woman writes one she is in want of a sensation. It +is easy to reject a demand for money, but we accept the lie and wrap +it to our bosoms, so quick are we to believe ill of those we love. +This is an aspect of human nature that eludes analysis, as quicksilver +eludes the pressure of the finger. The anonymous letter breeds +suspicion; suspicion begets tragedy. The greatest tragedy is not that +which kills, but that which prolongs mental agony. Honest men and +women, so we are told, pay no attention to anonymous letters. They +toss them into the waste-basket ... and brood over them in silence. + +Now, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was always considering her duty; her duty +to the church, to society, to charity, and, upon occasions, to her +lord and master. + +"Bennington's men have gone out, the fools!" said Haldene from over +the top of his paper. + +"Have they?" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene nibbled the tip of her pen. She +sighed, tore up what she had written and filtered it through her +fingers into the waste-basket. + +"Yes, they've gone out. I don't know what the business world is coming +to. Why, the brick-layer gets--I don't say earns--more than the +average clerk. And Bennington's men go out simply because he refuses +to discharge that young English inventor. ... What are you writing and +tearing up so often?" he asked, his curiosity suddenly aroused. + +"A letter." + +"Thoughts clogged?" + +"It is a difficult letter to write." + +"Then there can't be any gossip in it." + +"I never concern myself with gossip, Franklyn. I wish I could make you +understand that." + +"I wish you could, too." He laid his paper down. "Well, I'm off to the +club, unless you are particularly in need of me." + +"You are always going to the club." + +"Or coming back." + +"Some husbands--" + +"Yes, I know. But the men I play poker with are too much interested in +the draw to talk about other men's wives." + +"It's the talk of the town the way you men play cards." + +"Better the purse than the reputation." + +"I haven't any doubt that you are doing your best to deplete both," +coldly. + +Then she sighed profoundly. This man was a great disappointment to +her. He did not understand her at all. The truth was, if she but knew +it, he understood her only too well. She had married the handsomest +man in town because all the other belles had been after him; he had +married money, after a fashion. Such mistakes are frequent rather than +singular these days. The two had nothing in common. It is strange that +persons never find this out till after the honeymoon. Truly, marriage +is a voyage of discovery for which there are no relief expeditions. + +So Haldene went to the club, while his wife squared another sheet of +writing-paper and began again. Half an hour went by before she +completed her work with any degree of satisfaction. Even then she had +some doubts. She then took a pair of shears and snipped the crest from +the sheet and sealed it in a government envelope. Next she threw a +light wrap over her shoulders and stole down to the first letter-box, +where she deposited the trifle. The falling of the lid broke sharply +on the still night. She returned to the house, feeling that a great +responsibility had been shifted from hers to another's shoulders. +Indeed, she would have gone to any lengths to save Patty a life of +misery. And to think of that woman! To think of her assuming a +quasi-leadership in society, as if she were to the manner born! The +impudence of it all! Poor Mrs. Bennington, with her grey hairs; it +would break her heart when she found out (as Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +determined she should) the sort of woman her son had married. She +straightened her shoulders and pressed her lips firmly and +contemplated a duty, painfully but rigorously performed. She cast the +scraps of paper into the grate and applied a match. It is not always +well that duty should leave any circumstantial evidence behind. + + +The evening papers devoted a good deal of space to the strike at the +Bennington shops. They frankly upheld Bennington. They admitted that +employers had some individual rights. They berated the men for +quarreling over a matter so trivial as the employment of a single +non-union man, who was, to say the most, merely an experimenter. +However, they treated lightly Bennington's threat to demolish the +shops. No man in his right mind would commit so childish an act. It +would be revenge of a reactive order, fool matching fools, whereas +Bennington ought to be more magnanimous. The labor unions called +special meetings, and with one or two exceptions voted to stand by the +action of the men. + +There was positively no politics behind this strike; everybody +understood that; at least, everybody thought he understood. But there +were some who smiled mysteriously and wagged their heads. One thing +was certain; Bennington's friend, Warrington would lose many hundred +votes in November. For everybody knew which way the Republican +convention would go; there was nobody in sight but Warrington. + +Bennington and Mrs. Jack dined at the old home that evening. There was +plenty of gloom and forced gaiety around the board. John pretended +that he was well out of a bad job; he was not a dreamer nor a +socialist, not he; Utopia was not for the iron age. He told stories, +joked and laughed, and smoked frequently. No one but the mother had +the courage to ask if he really meant to tear down the mills. She came +around the table, smoothed his hair as she had done since he was a +boy, and leaned over his chair. + +"John?" + +"Well, mother mine?" + +"Shall you really do it?" + +"Do what?" + +"Tear it down." + +He did not answer at once, and she waited, trembling. + +"You would not have me take back my words to the men, would you, +mother?" quietly. + +"Your father loved the place." + +"And do I not?" a note of strong passion in his voice. "I shall tear +it down, if I live. Do not ask me anything more about it. Has Dick +been over to-day?" + +"He telephoned that he would be over after dinner. He wants you to go +to the speech-making to-night." Patty rose from her seat at the table. + +"Patty," said John, rather surprised at his discovery, "you are almost +a woman!" + +"You men never see anything quickly," said Mrs. Jack. "Patty has been +a beautiful woman for several months." + +Patty started, restrained the impulse to speak, and searched Mrs. +Jack's face. But Mrs. Jack had eyes for no one but John. Her thought +was far removed from her words. That telephone message rang in her +ears every hour of the day. One moment she was on the verge of telling +John, the next she dared not. What had that wretch found out? What +could he have found out? A lie; it could be nothing more nor less than +a lie; but the suspense and the waiting were killing her. Every beat +of her heart, every drop of her blood belonged to this man at her +side, and she would rather die than that doubt should mingle with his +love. She was miserable, miserable; she dared not confide in any one; +Patty was too young, for all her womanhood, to understand fully. Night +after night she forced her recollection through the dim past, but she +could find nothing but harmless, innocent follies. Alas, the +kaleidoscope of life has so many variant angles that no two eyes see +alike. What to her appeared perfectly innocent might appear evil in +the neighbors' eyes; what to her was sunshine, to another might be +shadow. + +"Think of it!" said John. "Patty will be marrying before long." + +Mrs. Bennington looked at Patty and sighed. To rear up children and to +lose them, that was the mother's lot. To accept these aches with +resignation, to pass the days in reconciling what might be with what +shall be, that was the mother's portion. Yes, Patty must some day +marry. + +"When Patty marries, mother," said John, "you shall come and live with +Kate and me." + +"You are moving me around like a piece of useless furniture," replied +Patty, with some resentment. "I doubt if I shall ever marry." + +"Bosh!" laughed John. "There'll come some bold Lochinvar for you, one +of these days; and then off you'll go. There's the bell. That must be +Dick." + +Patty and Mrs. Jack crossed glances quickly. John went to the door +himself and brought Warrington back with him. + +"Won't you have a cup of tea, Mr. Warrington?" asked the mother. + +"Thank you, I will." Warrington stirred the tea, gazing pleasantly +from face to face. + +The lines in his face seemed deeper than usual; the under lids of the +eyes were dark, and the squareness of the jaw was more prominent. John +saw no change, but the three women did. Warrington looked careworn. + +"Well, John, I see that you have done it." + +"Yes." + +"I'm terribly sorry, but you couldn't back down now and live in town." + +"You see, mother?" John smiled sadly. + +"Yes, my son. You will do what you think best and manliest." + +"How's the cat?" asked Warrington. + +"It still wanders about, inconsolable," answered Patty. How careworn +he looked! + +"Poor beast! It is lucky to have fallen in such good hands." + +"When you are mayor," said Patty, "you must give me a permit to rescue +stray cats from the pound." + +"I'll do more than that; I'll build a house of shelter for them." + +"What time does your speaker begin?" inquired John, lighting a fresh +cigar. + +"John, you are smoking too much," remonstrated Mrs. Jack. + +"I know it, honey." + +"Rudolph begins at nine; if we go then that will be soon enough. +You'll be amused. Have you been riding lately?" Warrington directed +this question to Patty. + +"Yes, regularly every morning." Patty dallied with the crumbs at the +side of her plate. + +"I don't know what's the matter with me, but I find it wearies me to +climb on to a horse's back. I haven't got back to normal conditions +yet." + +"I was wondering where you were." + +"And how is Jove?" asked Mrs. Jack. + +"He's snoozing out on the veranda. I take him everywhere now." + +Presently they moved into the living-room. Warrington longed to sit +beside Patty, but of a sudden he had grown diffident. It amused him to +come into the knowledge that all his address and worldliness would not +stand him in good stead in the presence of Patty. Words were no longer +at his command; he was no longer at his ease. He was afraid of Patty; +and he was very, very lonely. That empty house over the way was no +longer home. There were moments when he regretted his plunge into +politics. He was not free to pack his luggage and speed away to lands +that urged his fancy. He had given his word, and he was too much of a +man to withdraw it. He must remain here and fight two battles. + +Mrs. Jack had taken the seat next to him, and was asking him about the +progress of the play. It was going on so indifferently that he was of +half a mind to destroy it, which he did later. His glance always came +back to Patty. She was bent over her basket-work. She was calling him +Mr. Warrington again. Had he offended her in any manner? The light +from the lamp sparkled in her hair. She was as fresh and beautiful as +a July rose. But Mrs. Jack was an artist. She knew how to draw him +out; and shortly he was talking animatedly. It was now that Patty's +eyes began to rove. + +John, his fingers meeting in an arch, one leg thrown restlessly across +the other, thoughtfully eyed his wife and his friend. ... It was a +lie; there was nothing in all the world so honest as Warrington's +hand, so truthful as his wife's eyes. Cursed be the doubt that had +wedged between these two he loved! + +Time passes quickly or slowly, according to the state of mind. To John +the time was long; to Patty and Warrington it was too short; to Mrs. +Jack it was neither long nor short, but suspended. + +"Time for us to go, John. You are not particular about a chair, are +you?" Warrington asked. + +"Not I. I prefer to stand up in the rear of the hall. If I am bored I +can easily escape." + +"Oh, the night will not be without some amusement." + +"Take good care of John," whispered Mrs. Jack in Warrington's ear; as +the two men were about to depart. + +"Trust me!" Warrington smiled. + +Patty and John observed this brief intercourse. The eyes of love are +sharp. Patty was not jealous, neither was John; but something had +entered into their lives that gave to all trivial things a ponderous +outline. + +"Don't let any reporters talk to John, Mr. Warrington," requested the +mother. + +"I'll surround him." + +"Shall we walk?" asked John. + +"We can see better on foot." + +"We'll walk, then." + +So the two men went down town on foot, and Jove galloped back and +forth joyously. At any and all times he was happy with his master. The +one bane of his existence was gone, the cat. He was monarch of the +house; he could sleep on sofa-pillows and roll on the rugs, and +nobody stole his bones. + +"Good dog," observed John. + +"Money couldn't buy him. I saw that fellow Bolles to-day," +tentatively. + +"Bolles?" John did not recollect the name. + +"The fellow you nearly throttled the other night," explained +Warrington. "He looked pretty well battered up. I never saw you lose +your temper so quickly before." + +"He struck me without provocation, at the wrong moment. Who is going +to speak to-night?" + +"Donnelly and Rudolph." + +"What do you think? Donnelly called me up by 'phone this afternoon. +Wants to know if I really intend to tear down the shops. I told him I +had nothing to say on the subject." + +"Tear them down. I should. You're a rich man." + +"Money isn't the question. The thing is, what shall I do? I'm not +fitted for anything else." + +"Tear down the shops and then build them up again, after a few years. +It will be a good lesson to these union leaders. And you could have +the fun of fighting to build up the trade your father left. You were +talking once of rebuilding entirely." + +"Not a bad idea, Dick. Only, I feel sorry for the men." + +"Why? Are they free men or are they not? It rested with them just as +much as it did with you. I am far removed from the principles of +unionism, as they stand to-day. I have no patience or sympathy with +men who can not, or will not, appreciate a liberal, honest employer." + +"Let's change the subject, Dick." + +For a block or so they proceeded in silence. + +"John, you're the head of the family. I love Patty better than +anything else on God's earth. Do you mind?" Warrington uttered these +words swiftly, before his courage, which he had suddenly urged to its +highest, dropped back. + +John swung round abruptly and brought his hands down heavily on +Warrington's shoulders. + +"Is that true, Dick?" + +"As I stand here. Oh, I know; I'm not good enough for Patty. I haven't +lived as decently as I might. I haven't gone through life as +circumspectly as you have. I drank; success made me dizzy. But I love +Patty--God bless her!--as I never hoped or dreamed of loving any +woman. You're a man, John; you will understand. I've been alone all my +life; buffeted here and there, living haphazard, without any +particular restraint on my desires. The dear old aunt was the only +tie, and that was delicate till I came home and found how good and +kind she was. I miss her; months from now I shall miss her a +hundredfold. I'm very lonely. You've all been so good to me. To be +alone, and to think of living alone for the rest of my days, is a +torture. My nature craves companionship, and this craving has led me +into plenty of mischief. I love Patty. What do you say, John?" + +"Say? Why, you are good enough for any woman alive. I am very glad, +Dick. Patty married to you! You old farmer," affectionately, "I've +always been mentally pairing off you two! Come on; let's hear what the +political windmill has to say. They're burning red fire in front of +the hall." + +But a moment gone their feet had dragged with each step; now there was +a lightness that was dancing. John knew that it was all a lie; and his +heart was as light as his feet. Kate, dear Kate! He was a wretch! He +slapped Warrington on the shoulder. + +"To think of your marrying Patty, the little sister!" + +"Don't go too fast, John," said Warrington with less enthusiasm. "I +haven't said a word to Patty yet; and if she's a sensible young woman, +she'll give me my conge first-off." + +"By George, women are strange creatures. It's the truth, Dick; you +can't tell which way they'll go. But Patty's no fool." John hadn't +felt so good in many hours. + +"But I love her, and God knows I shall try to be worthy of her, even +if I lose her. ... Sky-rockets!" with an upward glance. "That's the +signal for Rudolph's arrival at the hall." + +"Come on, then!" + +Rudolph was the great Jeffersonian Democrat, not by excellence, rather +by newspaper courtesy, and that, to be specific, by his own newspaper. +He had come up from New York that day to deliver his already famous +speech. He was one of the many possibilities in the political arena +for the governorship. And as he was a multimillionaire, he was sure of +a great crowd. As an Englishman loves a lord, so does the American +love a millionaire. Rudolph's newspaper was the only one in the +metropolis that patted him on the back regularly each morning. He was +the laboring man's friend; he was the arch enemy of the monopolies +(not yet called trusts); and so forth and so on. For all that some +laughed at him, he was an able politician, and was perfectly honest in +all his political transactions, which is something of a paradox. So he +came up to Herculaneum to convert the doubting. The laboring party +greeted him en masse, and stormed the hall for choice seats. + +The hall was a low, rambling structure, bad for the voice, but capable +of seating a few thousands. The curbs glared with green and red fire, +and a band blared out the songs of freedom. The crowds surged back and +forth, grumbling and laughing and shouting. And the near-by saloons +did a land-office business. It was a great night for the man who had +nothing to do. All at once there was loud hurrahing. An open hack +drove up to the entrance, and the great Jeffersonian stood up, bowing, +bowing. The green light on one side and the red on the other gave to +his face a Gargantuan aspect rather than that of a Quixote, to whom he +was more often likened than to any other character in fiction. The +police cleared a pathway for the great man, and he hurried up the +steps. Another cheer, and another blast from the band. Great is +popularity, whose handmaiden is oblivion. + +"They'll be doing all this to you some day," John declared, as he and +Warrington elbowed through the crowd, the dog between their legs. + +"That's him!" cried a voice. + +"Who?" + +"The fellow that writes; Henderson's man." + +"Salt licks for him!" came in derision. + +"He'll give Donnelly a run for the money." + +"Not in a thousand years!" + +All this amused Warrington. + +"How d' y' do, Mr. Warrington?" + +A hand touched the prospective candidate on the arm. Warrington saw +Osborne's rubicund nose. + +"So you're out, too, Mr. Osborne?" + +"I never let meetings go by, Richard. Good evening, Mr. Bennington. A +man with ten millions doesn't look any different from ordinary +mortals, does he? But he is different, or he wouldn't have that +barrel. A million is like a light-house; it attracts all sorts of +birds." + +Warrington laughed and went on. Once or twice he lost the dog, but +Jove managed to turn up each time. + +"We'll stand at the left," said John; "it's nearer the exits." + +"Just as you say. I wish I'd left the dog at home. He's a nuisance in +a crowd like this." + +They presently stood with their backs to the wall and looked toward +the stage. Donnelly was already speaking about the great man who was +that night to address them. + +"And," concluded the mayor, "Mr. Rudolph will lead us to a victory +such as the party in this state has not yet known." And half a hundred +more final words. Man approaches nearest woman's postscript when he +says: "And, gentlemen, just one word more!" + +Meantime Warrington's gaze wandered here and there. He saw many +familiar faces,--politicians, prominent merchants of both parties, and +the usual exuberant hundreds drawn thither only by curiosity. These +were willing to applaud anything and anybody, without knowing or +caring what about. Quiet one moment, roaring the next; murmur, murmur, +like angry waters on shingle. These make and unmake public men; they +have nothing, but they can give everything. Strong tobacco smoke +rolled ceilingward, and those on the stage became blurred and +nebulous. Once Warrington caught a glimpse of a battered face, but it +disappeared quickly. However, he said nothing to Bennington. Again, he +saw McQuade moving about, within fifty feet. From time to time McQuade +stooped, and Warrington knew that the white dog was present. + +"Gentlemen," concluded Donnelly, with a flourish, "William Henry +Rudolph, of New York, our next governor." + +And, to quote the sympathetic reporters, "tremendous applause shook +the rafters." Mr. Rudolph rose majestically, and smiled and bowed. +Heigh-ho! man accepts applause so easily; the noise, not the heart +behind it; the uproar, not the thought. Man usually fools himself when +he opens his ears to these sounds, often more empty than brass. But so +porous is man's vanity that it readily absorbs any kind of noise +arranged for its benefit. + +He began calmly. The orator always reserves his telling apostrophes +till that time when it is necessary to smite palm with fist. He spoke +of Jefferson, the simplicity of his life, the firmness of his purpose, +the height of his ideals. He forgot, as political speakers generally +forget who emulate their historic political forebears, that progress +rearranges principles and constitutions, that what passed as good +statesmanship in Jefferson's time is out of order in the present. Mr. +Rudolph paused in the middle of a metaphor. There was a sudden +commotion in the rear of the hall. Men were surging to and fro. + +"Stand back!" cried a firm, resonant voice, full of anger. + +The uproar increased. Those in the forward chairs craned their necks. +Some stood up to learn what the matter might be. Others mounted their +seats. A thousand absurd conjectures passed from mouth to mouth. + +"Somebody's dropped dead!" + +"Sit down in front! Sit down!" + +"What's the matter?" + +"Where are the police?" + +"Put him out!" + +"A fight!" + +Blue helmets moved toward the scene of action slowly. Mr. Rudolph +still paused and moistened his lips impatiently. Men can give and take +away popularity in the same breath, but a dog fight is arranged by +occult forces, and must, like opportunity, be taken when it comes. We +are educated to accept oratory, but we need no education in the matter +of a dog fight. This red corpuscle was transmitted to us from the +Stone Age, and the primordial pleasures alone resist enlightenment. + +Two bulldogs, one tan, the other white, were fighting desperately, +near the exits. In between human legs, under chairs, this way and +that, snarling, snapping, dragging. Men called out, kicked, tried to +use canes and umbrellas, and some burned matches. The dogs were +impervious. Now the white dog was atop, now the tan. So many +interfered that there was no interference. + +It was Warrington who had cried out. He had been listening to the +orator; and Jove, smelling his enemy from afar, slyly crept out of his +master's reach. The white dog had also been on the watch. In the drop +of an eyelid the battle was on. Warrington instantly comprehended the +situation, when he saw McQuade, who had every confidence in his dog, +clear a circle. He pushed his way through the swaying wall of men and +commanded those in front to stand back. He was furious. He had no +objections to human beings fighting, but he detested these bloody +conflicts between dumb brutes. He called to Jove, but Jove was past +hearing; he had tasted his enemy's blood. Once Warrington succeeded in +parting the dogs, but the crush prevented his making the separation +complete. Instantly they were at it again. The police made superhuman +efforts to arrive before it was all over. The fight, however, came to +an end as suddenly as it had begun. Jove found his grip. But for the +broad collar on McQuade's dog the animal would have been throttled +then and there. + +McQuade lost his temper and his discretion. He kicked Jove cruelly in +the side, at the very moment when Warrington had succeeded in breaking +the grip. Bennington thrust McQuade back violently, and he would have +fallen but for the dense pack bolstering him up. + +"I'll remember that kick, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, white in the +face. + +"I don't think you'll be mayor of Herculaneum, Mr. Warrington," +replied McQuade, glaring venomously at the man who had brushed him +aside so easily. + +"Perhaps not, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington; "but at any rate there'll +be a reckoning for that kick. You've been trying for months to bring +these dogs together. You have finally succeeded, and your dog has been +licked soundly. You ought to be satisfied." + +Warrington took Jove under his arm and pressed toward the door, +followed by Bennington, who was also in a fine rage. The dog, bloody +and excited, still struggled, though the brutal kick had winded him. + +McQuade was no fool. He saw that if Warrington left this way the +impression would not be favorable to the boss contractor. So he made +haste to approach Warrington. + +"Hold on there, Warrington. I apologize for kicking your dog. I admit +I was excited; and my dog was getting licked. I am sorry." + +"All right, Mr. McQuade," said Warrington, who would have preferred +leaving, minus any apology. He understood perfectly well McQuade's +reason for bending. + +"By George!" whispered Bennington, "I'd give a thousand for one good +punch at that ruffian's head. Brute, double-dealing brute! Look out +for him after this, Dick." + +"I can take care of myself. Officer, will you kindly get a carriage +for me?" + +"Sure, Mr. Warrington," said the policeman. + +The two managed to get out. In fact, everybody was moving toward the +exits. They had forgotten Mr. Rudolph, who completed his effort before +a two-thirds empty hall. They say that he went back to his hotel that +night disgusted with humanity and, mayhap, with the fact that the +fight had not occurred nearer the stage. Orators are human also. + +As Warrington followed Bennington into the carriage the door closed +and a head was thrust inside the open window. + +"Don't forget me when you're mayor, Mr. Warrington," said Bill +Osborne. + +"Well?" Warrington was in no mood for banalities. + +Bill glanced hastily from side to side, then said, in a stage whisper +that sent Bennington into a roar of laughter: + +"I sick'd 'em!" + + + + +Chapter XVI + + + +The Republican caucus or convention was uneventful. Warrington was +nominated for mayor of Herculaneum, with little or no opposition. +Everybody expected it. It was, in the phraseology of the day, cut and +dried. There was no surprise on the part of the public. Still, Senator +Henderson was jubilant; he had nominated his man. + +The young candidate's speech, accepting the nomination, was reproduced +in full in all the newspapers, whose editorial writers frankly +admitted that the speech was one of the best heard in Herculaneum in +years. Reporters raked up anecdotes and old photographs; they enlarged +upon the history of his early struggles and his ultimate success; and +long despatches flashed over the wires. The whole continent was more +or less interested in the sudden political ambition of one of its +favorite dramatic writers. + +It was true that Warrington's vanity was touched. It always touches +our vanity to be given something for which we have made no struggle +whatever. It was something to be followed by curious newsboys, to be +spoken to respectfully by Tom, Dick and Harry, who erstwhile hadn't +known of his existence. Warrington was human, and he laughed at his +vanity even as it was being gratified. + +On the other side the Democrats perfunctorily nominated Donnelly. It +was the best they could do, and Donnelly had nothing to learn. And so +the fight was on. Donnelly went everywhere; so did Warrington. If +Donnelly spoke in the German district, Warrington spoke to the +Italians and in their native tongue. Warrington soon learned how to +shake hands in the manner of a candidate,--to take the whole hand and +squeeze it soundly. The coal-heaver whose hand the dramatist grasped +thereupon returned to his friends with the report that the candidate +had a good grip, that there was nothing namby-pamby about him, for all +his dude clothes. It is the gift of Heaven to win friends and keep +them, and Warrington possessed this gift. His good-humored smile, his +ready persiflage, his ease in all environments, and his common +sense--these were his bucklers. He spoke in dingy halls, on saloon +bars, everywhere and anywhere and at all times. It was a great sight +to see him lightly mount a bar and expound his politics, his nostrils +assailed by cheap tobacco and kerosene lamps. If Donnelly opened a keg +of beer, Warrington opened two; if Donnelly gave a picnic, Warrington +gave two. And once he presented free matinee tickets to a thousand +women. This was a fine stroke of policy. When a man wins a woman to +his cause, he wins a valiant champion. Here, then, were a thousand +tongues in his service. + +His work put enthusiasm into the rank and file of the party, and soon +all half-heartedness disappeared and dissensions vanished. He +furnished foot-ball suits for the newsboys, torch-light regimentals +for the young men's Republican clubs; he spent his own money freely +but judiciously; and all the while Donnelly was not far behind. For +the first time in the history of local politics the two parties went +to work with solid ranks. It promised to be a great campaign. +Warrington's influence soon broke the local confines; and the +metropolitan newspapers began to prophesy that as Herculaneum went, so +would go the state. + +Warrington's theatrical manager came up from New York and said he +wanted that play at once. The dramatist declared that there would be +no play that season. The manager threatened a lawsuit; Warrington +remained unmoved. His first duty was to his party; after the first +Tuesday in November he would see. This argument found its way to +reportorial ears, with the result that it merely added to the young +candidate's growing popularity. + +It was only occasionally that he saw the Benningtons. His nights were +devoted to speech-making or conferences. Sometimes, however, on his +way home late at night, he would walk up as far as the old house and +look up at the windows; and if he saw a light in Patty's room he would +pause for a few minutes, then turn about, Jove limping at his heels. +Patty Bennington! The one idyl in his noisy life, the one uplifting +influence! He knew that he was not making this fight for clean +politics because his heart was in it, but because Patty's was. It is +thus that women make the world better, indirectly. Once or twice he +had seen Patty in the gallery at mass meetings; but, hurry as he +might, he never could get around to the entrance in time to speak to +her. + +As for McQuade, he knew that between him and that gentleman the war +had only begun. He was constantly wondering how McQuade would act; but +so far as he could see, McQuade had absolutely nothing to stand on. +McQuade would have to tunnel; he could not carry on the war above +ground. McQuade would never forgive the result of the dog fight. There +had been so much raillery in the newspapers that McQuade became +furious whenever it was mentioned. His dog was a professional fighter +and had made three kills, and here a "pet" had given him his first +licking. It rankled, and none of McQuade's friends dared refer to it. +So Warrington remained alert and watchful; it was all he could do. + +In more ways than one Herculaneum became widely known. Other cities +realized that there was a peculiar strike in progress, upon the +outcome of which depended the principles of unionism. Here was an +employer who was making preparations to destroy his shops, regardless +of financial loss, regardless of public opinion, regardless of +everything but his right to employ and discharge whom he willed. Every +great employer in the country focused his eye upon Herculaneum; every +union leader did likewise. The outcome would mean a kind of +revolution. + +At the shops the men had placed the usual sentinels around the limits, +ready to repel the expected army of non-union workmen. But a day +passed, two, three, four; a week, then ten days; a month. Not a single +strange man approached the gates. Not one man among them had any +information whatever as to the movements of their whilom employer. +Scab labor never showed its head above the horizon. The men began to +wonder; they began to grow restless. But Morrissy always pacified them +with the word "wait." + +"Vigilance, boys; that's the word," said the leader. "The moment we go +to sleep he'll have his men inside." + +So the men relaxed none of their watching, night and day. It was +rather pathetic to see the children bringing scanty meals to the +guarding men. They were being misled, that was all, but they had to +find that out themselves. The city's bill-boards were covered with +"Boycott" and "Unfair" paper. The men were careful. They made no +effort to injure anything; they made no attempt to enter the shops; +they had had a brush with the militia once, and they were wise. They +could beat the new men and maim them, but so long as they did not +touch property there would be no call for the militia. They waited. +Mean-time Morrissy wore a new diamond. + +One day a cry went up. + +"Here's the scabs! Here they come!" + +Word was sent immediately to the union's headquarters. + +A body of twenty-odd men, carrying shovels and pickaxes and +dinner-pails, moved toward the gates. At their head was Bennington +himself. He placed the great key in the lock and swung the gates +inward. The men passed in quickly. Bennington was last. He turned for +a moment and gazed calmly at the threatening faces of the strikers. An +impulse came to him. + +"Men," he said, "up to one o'clock this noon these gates will be open +to you. Each of you can take up your work where you left it, at the +same wages, at the same hours. This is the last chance. Later you will +learn that you have been betrayed." + +"How about Chittenden?" + +"Chittenden will return at the same time you do." + +"The hell he will! Let him show his British face here, and we'll +change it so his mother won't know it." + +Bennington went inside and shut the gates. There was nothing more to +be done. He did not slam the gates insolently, as some men would have +done; he simply shut them. + +This event was also reported at headquarters. That afternoon all the +strikers were out in force. They congregated in groups and talked +angrily. Two policemen patrolled up and down. Bennington had had some +difficulty in securing even these. The men waited for the first sign +of smoke from the chimneys, but none came. No one was lighting the +furnaces; there was nothing but silence inside the shops. There was no +possible excuse as yet for deeds of violence, though many of the more +turbulent element urged riot at once. What was the use of waiting? In +the afternoon there appeared some fifty more strange men. These +carried tool-bags. They were challenged. They ignored the challenge +and pushed on resolutely. For the first time blows were struck. The +leader whirled around. + +"Look here, men, you're making a big mistake. Your fists won't help +you. We are going inside, and if we can't go in peaceably, why, we'll +break some heads to get in. We have all been sworn in legally as +deputy police, and if we start in to break heads we promise to do it +thoroughly." + +"What are you going to do in there?" demanded Morrissy. + +"None of your business, for one thing," answered the burly spokesman +of the interlopers. "I'll add this much, if it will ease your minds: +nobody's going to step into your jobs; when you went out you left your +jobs behind." + +"So you fellows are what they call strike-breakers, are you?" asked +Morrissy wrathfully. + +"Oh, we aren't going to break your strike, my friend. You can call +this a strike as long as you please, so far as we're concerned. We've +got work to do here, though, and we are going to do it." + +"Are you union men?" + +"Not so you'd notice it," was the cool reply. + +"All right. You fellows won't be here long." + +"Stop us if you can. Now, stand aside!" commanded the stranger +menacingly. + +"Let 'em by, men," cried Morrissy. "Don't touch 'em yet. You just +leave it to me. I know a way and a good one, too. You just leave it to +me." + +The angry strikers divided ranks and the strangers entered the shops. + +Morrissy directed his steps to McQuade's office, and together they +paid a visit to the mayor. + +"Look here, Donnelly, did you permit Bennington to swear in deputy +police?" asked McQuade. + +"Deputy police? Bennington has no deputy police from this place," +answered Donnelly hotly. + +"Well, all we know is that he has them," snapped Morrissy. + +"Then he has gone directly to the governor." + +"The governor?" + +McQuade and Morrissy looked at each other blankly. + +"He has that prerogative," said Donnelly. + +"But he wouldn't dare!" + +"Oh, yes, he would. It's his last term; he is without further +political ambition; he can act as he pleases, in the face of public +condemnation. There's one thing left, though." + +"What?" + +"Injunction," said Donnelly tersely. + +"With Republican judges on the benches?" replied McQuade ironically. + +"And you can't enjoin private property," added Morrissy. + +"I'll send for Bennington," Donnelly volunteered. "Perhaps I can talk +him into reason." + +"It's up to you to block this move somehow," said McQuade. "It means +the labor vote. And we've got to have that." + +"I'll do the best I can. I can stop his permit to tear down the +building, if he really intends to do that." + +"It will be a good day's work for you." + +"I'll act this very afternoon." + +Once outside the mayor's office, McQuade turned to Morrissy. + +"Where's that receipt you promised on oath?" + +"Haven't you got it?" asked Morrissy, feigning surprise. + +"No, and I doubt you sent it. But I want it at once, and no more +monkeying." + +"Well, I sent it. I mailed it to your office. You've overlooked it." + +"Come over to my office now and make it out," McQuade insisted. + +"You've got plenty of grips on me without that," protested Morrissy +reproachfully. + +"But I want this one, and I'm going to have it." + +"I'll go to your office. Will Donnelly be game?" + +"He will if he knows which side his bread is buttered on," +contemptuously. + +The two went up to McQuade's office. It was deserted. + +"The girl's gone this afternoon," said McQuade, "but I can handle the +typewriter myself." + +"All I've got to say is that I mailed you a receipt. What do you want +it for?" with a final protest. + +"I've got an idea in my head, Morrissy. I want that receipt. Some day +you may take it into your head to testify that I offered you a +thousand to bring on the strike at Bennington's. That would put me in +and let you out, because I can't prove that I gave the cash to you. +Business is business." + +"Hell! Any one would think, to hear you talk, that I had threatened to +betray." + +"Every man to his own skin," replied McQuade philosophically. He then +sat down before the typewriter. There were two blank sheets in the +roller, with a carbon between. The girl had left her machine all ready +for the morrow's work. McQuade picked out his sentence laboriously. + +"There, sign that." + +The paper read: + +"I, James Morrissy, the undersigned, do hereby declare that I have +received $1,000, in two sums of $500 each, from Daniel McQuade, these +sums being payment agreed upon for my bringing about the strike at the +Bennington shops." + + +Morrissy looked at the boss incredulously. + +"I say, Mac, have you gone crazy?" he cried. "Do you want evidence +like this lying around in your safe? It's the penitentiary for both of +us if any one finds that." + +"I know what I am doing," McQuade responded quietly, as indeed he did. + +"But look; you've got the strike and I've got the cash; that makes us +quits." + +"Sign it," was all McQuade replied to this argument. + +"All right. What's bad for me is bad for you," and without further ado +Morrissy affixed his fist to the sheet. + +"Here's the duplicate for you." + +Morrissy lighted a match and set fire to the sheet; he stamped on the +ashes with grim satisfaction. + +"Not for mine," with a laugh. "You're welcome to yours." + +McQuade folded his deliberately and put it away in the safe. The sheet +of carbon paper he crumpled into a ball and tossed into the waste- +basket. We all commit blunders at one time or another, and McQuade had +just committed his. + +"That's all, Morrissy. I think I can trust you fully. I mean no harm, +boy; 'tis only self-preservation." + +"Oh, so long as your name's on it there's no kick coming from me; only +I never saw you do such a fool thing before. Anything else to-day?" + +"No. You might keep tab on that fool Bolles. He's been drunk ever +since he came back from New York. And he doesn't know how to keep his +mouth shut." + +"I'll keep an eye on him." + +"He's the only man we have who can handle the dagos. I'll see you up +at Dutch Hall to-night. Donnelly is making a speech there, and we'll +open a few kegs of beer for the boys." + +When Morrissy was gone McQuade laughed softly and went to the safe +again. He proceeded to do to his receipt exactly what Morrissy had +done to his--burn it. So long as Morrissy believed that McQuade held +his signature, so long might Morrissy be trusted. It was only an idea, +but it proved that the boss knew his lieutenants tolerably well. + +"The blackleg would sell the tomb off his father's grave," he mused, +brushing the ashes from his clothes. + +Let Bennington rip up his shops; all the better for Donnelly's chances +of reelection. The laboring party would be sure to desert Warrington's +standard, since he was a personal and intimate friend of Bennington +the oppressor. He laughed again sinisterly. Presently he would have +them all by the throats. He would watch them squirm, too. This young +fool Warrington; he was the first real obstacle he (McQuade) had +encountered in his checkered career. Threats could not move him. He +had believed at the start that he could scare him away from the +convention; but the fool wouldn't be scared. And his damned dog! + +"He'll never reach the City Hall, not while I live, damn his +impudence! That woman, though, is no fool. She's kept her mouth shut. +They don't always do that. Well, I can write more than receipts on the +machine. I'll ruin them both if I can. Ordered me out of the house, +and I honestly liked the woman! But I'll square accounts presently." + +Meanwhile Donnelly set the wires humming. He finally got Bennington at +the shops. + +"This is Mr. Bennington. Who is it and what is wanted?" + +"This is the mayor talking." + +"Oh! Well, what is it, Mr. Donnelly?" + +"I must see you at once in my office. This is an urgent request. I +can't explain the matter over the wire. But you'll do yourself and me +a great favor if you'll come into town at once." + +"Very important?" + +"Extremely so." + +"I shall be there at five o'clock." + +"Thanks. I shall await you." Donnelly hung up the receiver, very well +satisfied. + +Bennington understood. Politics was going to take a hand in the game. +After all, it was best to take the bull by the horns at once and have +it over with. He knew how well he had fortified himself against any +political machinery. So, promptly at a quarter to five, he departed, +leaving explicit orders with his subordinates. The strikers moved +aside for him, muttering and grumbling, but they made no effort to +impede his progress. There were groans and catcalls, but that was all. +He looked neither to the right nor to the left, but presented his back +to them fearlessly. Chittenden, upon Bennington's advice, had gone to +New York. The strikers would have used him roughly, could they have +laid hands on him. + +Arriving in town, Bennington went at once to the City Hall and +straight to the mayor's private office. + +"Well, Mr. Donnelly?" he began, his hat on his handsome head and his +cane behind his back, neither offensive nor defensive. + +Donnelly closed the door leading to the clerk's office and came back +to his desk. He waved his hand toward a chair. If he could bend this +young hot-head, it would be a victory worth while, politically. + +"In the first place, Mr. Bennington, aren't you going a little too +hard on the men?" + +"That was their lookout; they had every chance to think the matter +over, to examine all sides of the question." + +"You went personally to the governor for deputy police. Why didn't you +come to me?" + +"The governor is a personal friend of mine." + +"I don't believe that I have been found lacking in justice," said +Donnelly thoughtfully. + +"I can't say that you have. But I was in a hurry, and could not wait +for the local machinery to move." + +"You have placed armed men in your shops without a justifiable cause." + +"The men are mechanics, sworn in for their own self-protection." + +Donnelly saw that he was making no impression. + +"These men, then, are to tear down your shops?" not without +admiration. + +"Well, they are there to dismantle it." + +"That building must not go down, Mr. Bennington." + +"'Must not'? Do I understand you to say 'must not'?" + +"Those words exactly." + +"It is private property, Mr. Donnelly; it was not organized under +corporation laws." + +"You can not destroy even private property, in a city, without a legal +permit." + +"I have that." + +"And I shall call a special meeting of the Common Council to rescind +your permit." + +"Do so. I shall tear it down, nevertheless. I shall do what I please +with what is my own." Bennington balanced on his heels. + +"The law is there." + +"I shall break it, if need says must," urbanely. + +Donnelly surveyed the end of his dead cigar. + +"The men will become violent." + +"Their violence will in no wise hinder me, so long as they confine it +to the shops. Even then I shall call upon you for police protection." + +"And if I should not give it?" + +"Just now I am sure you will. For the mayor of Herculaneum to refuse +me my rights would be a nice morsel for the Republican party." + +Donnelly passed over this. + +"I wish to protect the rights of the workman, just as you wish to +protect yours." + +"What are the workman's rights?" + +Donnelly did not reply. + +"Well, I'll reply for you, then. His right is to sell his labor to the +highest bidder; his right is to work where he pleases; for what hours +he desires; his right is to reject abusive employers and to find those +congenial; his right is to produce as little or as much as he thinks +best; his right is to think for himself, to act for himself, to live +for himself." + +"You admit all this, then?" asked Donnelly in astonishment. + +"I have never so much as denied a single right that belongs to the +workman." + +"Then what the devil is all this row about?" + +"If the workman has his rights, shall not the employer have his?" + +Donnelly mused. He would not be able to do anything with this +plain-spoken man. + +"But the workman steps beyond. He has no right to dictate to his +employer as to what HIS rights shall be. Where there is no amity +between capital and labor there is never any justice; one or the other +becomes a despot. The workman has his rights, but these end where the +other man's rights begin. He shall not say that another man shall not +seek work, shall not sell his labor for what he can get; he has no +right to forbid another man's choosing freedom; he has no right to say +that a manufacturer shall produce only so much." + +"Well, I've only to say," said Donnelly, hedging before this clear +argument, "I've only to say, if the men become violent, look out for +yourself." + +"I shall appeal to you for civic or military protection; if you refuse +it, to the governor; if politics there interferes, I shall appeal to +Washington, where neither your arm nor McQuade's can reach. I +understand the causes back of this strike; they are personal, and I'm +man enough to look out for myself. But if politics starts to work, +there will be a trouble to settle in the courts. You may not know the +true cause of this strike, Mr. Donnelly, but I do. The poor deluded +men believe it to be the English inventor, but he is only a blind. Had +you really wished to do me a favor, you would have spoken to the men +before they went out on this silly strike. But I am master of what is +mine, and I shall tear down that building. I shall tolerate no +interference from any man. The workman has his rights; this is one of +my rights, and I intend to use it." + +"It's your business. If you are fool enough to kill a golden goose, +it's no affair of mine. But I shall rescind your permit, however. I +believe it to be my duty." + +"Call your Council together, Mr. Donnelly. You can not get a quorum +together earlier than to-morrow night; and by that time I shall have +the work done. You say you will not afford me protection. Very well; +if the men become violent and burn the shops, I shall be relieved of +the expense of tearing them down. Good afternoon." + +Donnelly sat in his chair for a quarter of an hour, silent and +thoughtful. Suddenly he slapped his thigh. + +"I don't know what McQuade has against that man, but, by the Lord! he +IS a man!" + +That night the strikers received several bottles of whisky and a keg +of beer. The source of these gifts was unknown. Some of the more +thoughtful were for smashing the stuff, but the turbulent majority +overruled them. They began to drink and jest. They did so with +impunity. For some reason the police had been withdrawn. The hammering +inside the shops puzzled them, but they still clung to the idea that +all this clamor was only a ruse to frighten them into surrendering. +From the interior the pounding gradually approached as far as the +walls of the courtyard. At midnight one of these walls went thundering +to the ground. A few minutes later another fell. The strikers grouped +together, dismayed. + +"By God, boys," one of them yelled, "he's tearing it down!" + +In that moment, and only then, did they realize that they had been +dealing with a man whose will and word were immutable. They saw all +their dreams of triumph vanish in the dust that rose from the +crumbling brick and plaster. And dismay gave way to insensate rage. It +would only be helping Bennington to riot and burn the shops, so now to +maim and kill the men who, at hire, were tearing down these walls. + +"Come on, boys! We'll help the scabs finish the work! Come on!" + +There was now a great breach in the wall. Men moving to and fro could +be seen. The strikers snatched up bricks and clubs and dashed toward +this. But ere they had set foot on the rubbish they stopped. Half a +dozen resolute men faced them. They were armed. + +"That's far enough, boys," warned a powerful voice. "I told you we +have all been sworn in as deputy police, with all the laws of the +state back of us. The first man that steps across that pile of bricks +will go to the hospital, the second man to the undertaker." + + + + +Chapter XVII + + + +Ah, the vanity of Dawn! Like a Venus she rises from her bath of +opalescent mists and dons a gown of pearl. But this does not please +the coquette. Her fancy turns from pearl to green, to amber, to pink, +to blue and gold and rose, an inexhaustible wardrobe. She blushes, she +frowns, she hesitates; she is like a woman in love. She casts abroad +her dewy jewels on the leaves, the blades of grass, the tangled laces +of the spiders, the drab cold stones. She ruffles the clouds on the +face of the sleeping waters; she sweeps through the forests with a low +whispering sound, taking a tithe of the resinous perfumes. Always and +always she decks herself for the coming of Phoebus, but, woman-like, +at first sight of him turns and flies. + +Dawn is the most beautiful of all the atmospheric changes, but the +vision is a rarity to the majority of us. + +Warrington was up and away on his hunter before Phoebus sent his +warning flashing over the hills. He took the now familiar road, and +urged his animal vigorously. Fine! Not a bit of dust rose from the +road, dew-wet and brown. The rime of the slight frost shone from the +fences and grasses and stacked corn, like old age that strikes in a +single night. Here and there a farmer could be seen pottering about +the yards, or there was a pale curl of smoke rising from the chimney. +The horse, loving these chill, exhilarating October mornings, went +drumming along the road. Occasionally Warrington would rise in the +stirrups and gaze forward over this elevation or that, and sometimes +behind him. No. For three mornings he had ridden out this old familiar +way, but alone. The hunger in his eyes remained unsatisfied. + +For the first time in years he turned into a certain familiar fork in +the road, and all his youth came back to him as vividly as though it +had been but yesterday. Half a mile up this fork was the rambling old +farm-house. It was unchanged. The clapboards were still stained with +rust, the barns were still a dingy red, the stone and rail fences +needed the same repairs. Nothing had changed there but the masters. +And under that roof he had made his first feeble protest against life; +he had dreamed those valiant dreams of youth that never come true, no +matter how successful one may become in after life. Every waking means +an illusion gone, another twig pruned from the tree of ardent fancy; +and when one is old there is neither shade nor shelter. + +Warrington stopped his horse. He had no desire to ride closer; he +could see everything well enough from where he sat. Rosy apples +twinkled in the orchard on the hill, and golden pumpkins glistened +afield, for by now Phoebus had come to his own. How many dawns had he +seen from yonder windows, in summer and winter, in autumn and spring? +How many times had he gone dreaming to the markets over this road? It +was beyond counting. Had any of those particular dreams come true? Not +that he could recollect, for he had never dreamed of being a +successful dramatist; that good fortune had been thrust upon him. He +tried to picture his father walking toward the fields; it was too +remote. His mother? Of her he could recollect positively nothing. But +the aunt, he saw her everywhere,--in the garden, in the doorway, in +the window, by the old well. Now she was culling hollyhocks along the +stone wall, now she was coming down the hill with an apron filled with +apples, now she was canning preserves and chili sauce in the hot +kitchen, or the steel-rimmed spectacles were shining over the worn +pages of the New Testament at night. + +What was the use? To-day is alien to yesterday; an hour separates as +definitely as eternity. There was nothing there for him; so he wheeled +and rode back toward the city, conning over a speech he was to make +that night. Since Patty had not ridden this way, the zest of the +morning's ride was gone. Which road did she take now? To the west, to +the south, to the north round the lake? Twice the night before he had +started for the telephone to inquire, but had not taken down the +receiver. Was he afraid? He could not say. And afraid of what? Still +less could he tell. Three months ago he had called her Patty, had +jested and laughed with her; and now he hesitated to call her up by +telephone. No, he was not afraid of Patty; he was simply afraid of +himself. For he realized this--that in the moment he spoke to her +alone his love would spring from his lips like a torrent; nothing +could stop it; and he was not of that supreme courage at present that +spurs the lover to put it to the touch to win or lose it all. + +So, then, he rode back to the city, hugging his doubt and his love, +with frequent lucid intervals that were devoted to his forthcoming +speech. When the battle was over, when he had won or lost, then he +would go to her and drink the cup, bitter or sweet. + + +Patty had not spent the night in comfort; her head had rolled from one +pillow to another, and the cases were not always dry. Indeed, it had +been some time since she had pressed her cheek tranquilly upon a +pillow. Night is either sweetest or most wretched; one spends it +recounting one's joys or one's sorrows. Patty was unhappy; and leave +it to youth to gain the full meed of misery. Youth has not the +philosophy of matured age to cast into the balance. Satisfaction in +this workaday world is only momentary. One is never wholly satisfied; +there is always some hidden barb. The child wears the mother's skirts +enviously while the mother mourns her youth. Expectation leads us to +the dividing line of life, and from there retrospection carries us to +the end. Experience teaches us that fire burns and that water +quenches; beyond this we have learned but little. + +This morning Patty was up with the dawn. She did not trouble to wake +the groom, but saddled and bridled the horse herself. She mounted and +rode quietly into the street. She did not glance at Warrington's house +while approaching or passing it, but once she had left it in the rear +she turned quickly, flushing as if she had caught herself in some +weakness. She directed the horse toward the west, crossing the city +before she reached the open country. Here the west wind, young and +crisp, blew away the last vestige of heaviness from her eyes. She +urged the horse into a canter and maintained this gait for a mile or +more. Then she reined in to a walk. + +Three weeks! And all this time she had not even breathed a word of it, +but had hugged the viper to her heart in silence. She dropped the +reins on the neck of the horse and took a letter from the pocket of +her riding-coat. How many times had she read it? How many times had +fury and rage and despair flashed from her eyes as she read it? She +hated him; she hated her. There was neither honesty nor goodness in +the world; those who preached it lied. Yes, yes! There was one. John, +dear, noble John, he at any rate was honest. But it was all acting on +her part, acting, acting. She had married John as a convenience; she +had made use of his honest love as a cloak. The despicable creature! +And yet, when in her presence, so great was her charm and magnetism, +Patty doubted. After all, it was an anonymous letter, and nothing is +more vile. But who can say to this viper Doubt--"Vanish!" It goes, it +goes again and again; which is to say it always returns. Long ago she +would have confronted her brother's wife with this letter, had not +John been in the heart of his battle at the shops. For the present he +had enough trouble. And yet, to see that woman with John, an angel +might be deceived. To see her weep and laugh over him, to see her +touch him with her hands, to caress him with her eyes, to be tender +and strong at his side. ... Could anybody be so wicked? True, her +transgression had been made, according to this letter, before John had +married her; but this lessened the enormity of it none in Patty's +eyes. + +"Oh, I was so happy, and now I am so miserable!" murmured the girl, +pressing her hand to her throat, which seemed to stifle her. + +She read the letter again, through blurred vision. It was horrible. + +One who takes a deep interest in your future welfare finds it a duty +to warn you against Richard Warrington, for whom it is being said you +have developed a strong sentiment. It is well known that he drank +deeply at one time and lived the life of a debauchee. Beware of the +woman, also, whom you call sister. The writer does not offer anything +detrimental to her married life, but it is known that she was +practically Warrington's mistress before she married your splendid +brother. She was seen frequently to enter his apartments at night, and +the writer can furnish abundant proof that she was seen to leave his +apartments one morning. This is not penned with malice. It is simply +that the writer knows and admires you and can not stand passively by +and see you humiliated by the attentions of a man who is unworthy to +lace your shoes. As for your sister-in-law, I have no desire to +meddle. Confront both her and Warrington, if the truth of the above +statement is doubted by you. + +Upon these last words depended Patty's attitude. It must be true. +Whoever had written this abominable letter could write plain English, +despite the disguised hand. Patty recognized that it was disguised. +The capitals differed, so did the tails of the y's and f's; the +backhand slant was not always slanting, but frequently leaned toward +the opposite angle. She had but to confront them! It seemed simple; +but to bring herself to act upon it! She reviewed all the meetings +between Kate and Warrington. Never had her eyes discerned evidence of +anything other than frank good fellowship. She searched painfully; +there was not a single glance, a single smile upon which she could +build a guilty alliance. And yet this writer affirmed ... Oh, it was +monstrous! Those rumors she had heard months ago! The telephone call +from McQuade! Ah, that telephone call! Had Kate been guilty would she +have confided to her, Patty? She seemed to be pulled, now forward, now +backward. McQuade knew something, the wretch! but what? This letter +had never been written by him. A man would have used a pronoun, third +person, masculine; he would have shown some venom back of the +duplicity that affirmed an interest in her welfare. + +The tears dried quickly; the heat of her renewed rage burned them up. +She set about to do something she had not thought of doing +before--investigating. She held the note-paper to the sun. The +water-mark of a fashionable paper manufacturer was easily observable. +Men did not write on that brand. So much gained. Then she recalled a +French play in which a perfume had convicted a person of theft. She +held the envelope to her nose; nothing, not even tobacco. She tried +the letter itself. Ah, here was something tangible: heliotrope, vague, +but perceptible. Who among her friends used heliotrope on her +kerchief? She could not remember; in fact, any or all of them might +have worn it, so far as she could recall. She would go over her +invitations and visitors' cards; she would play detective; she would +ferret out as a spy who took this amiable interest in her future. This +determination brightened her considerably. And woe to the meddler if +Patty found her! If it was a baseless lie (and she hoped against hope +in her loyal little heart!) she would make a pariah of the writer of +this particular anonymous letter. True or not, what was it to her? +What right had she to interfere? She was cowardly; of that Patty was +certain. True friends are the last in the world to inflict sorrow upon +us. Kith and kin may stab us, but never the loyal friend. Now that she +thought it all over, she was glad that she had repeatedly fought the +impulse to lay the matter before her sister. She would trace this +letter home first; she would find out upon what authority it was +written; there would be time enough after that to confront Kate, or +Warrington, or John. Ah, if she had stepped forward in the dark, to +wreck her brother's life needlessly. ... Heliotrope! She would never +forget that particular odor, never. She had a good idea of justice, +and she recognized the fact that any act on her part, against either +Kate or Warrington, before she found the writer of the letter, would +be rank injustice. Persons can not defend themselves against anonymous +letters; they can only ignore them. + +She touched her horse again. She was now in feverish haste to get +home. She took the turn of the road which presently brought her in the +vicinity of the shops. It was practically in ruins. The courtyard +walls were all down, the building itself was totally empty of ore or +machinery. Bennington had disposed of these to Pennsylvanian concerns. +Patty rode up in time to see half a dozen urchins throwing stones at +the few window-panes that were still unbroken. She dispersed them +angrily, and they gathered at the side of the road, open-mouthed and +wide-eyed at the picture of this avenging angel. + +"How dare you throw stones at those windows? How dare you?" she cried +passionately. + +After a while one of the lads found his voice. + +"Why, nobody's in it. The man what owns it tored the insides outen it. +'Tain't no harm what we're doin'. Hey, fellers?" + +"Naw. The cops don't say nothin'. An' my old man used to work there." + +She saw that they were no more than ordinary boys to whom the panes of +glass in a deserted building were legitimate prey. + +"So your father was one of the strikers?" said Patty, her lips +thinning. "Why did he strike?" + +"I don't know; 'cause the others struck, I guess. They was an English +lobster workin' without bein' in my old man's union. Mebbe that was +it. Anyhow, we don't care; the old man's got another job." + +With this the boys climbed the fence and moved across the field, +mutely rebellious, like puppies baffled in their pursuit of a cat. + +Patty's eyes, moist and shining of a sudden, roved over the grim +ruins. Sparrows were chattering on the window ledges and swallows were +diving into the black mouths of the towering chimneys. The memory of +her father swelled her heart near to bursting. She could see his +iron-grey head bending over the desk; she could hear his rough but +kindly voice. Why, whenever he entered the house his splendid physical +energy seemed to radiate health and cheerfulness, infecting all those +about him. She could see the men, too, moving in the glow of ruddy +light; she could see again the brilliant sparks flying from under the +thundering trip-hammers, the cyclopean eyes that glared up at heaven +at night, the great rumbling drays, the freight moving to and from the +spur. Now there was no sound; nothing but silence, with the suggestion +of a tomb. + +The end of the strike had been a nine days' wonder, for it proved that +there had actually been no strike at all, since the owner had simply +closed down the shops, torn down a few walls, sold the machinery and +ore, and canceled all his business obligations. No sensation, however +vital, lasts very long these days; and after these nine days it turned +its attention to other things, this mutable public. Employers, +however, and union leaders, all over the continent, went about their +affairs thoughtfully. If one man could do this unheard-of thing, so +might others, now that an example had been set before them. The +dispersed men harbored no ill feeling toward Morrissy; he, as they +supposed, had acted in good faith for the welfare of the union. But +for the man who had had the courage to make good his threats, for him +they had nothing but bitterness and hate. + +Patty would always remember that final night of the strike when John +had come in early in the morning, his clothes torn, his hands bloody, +his hair matted to his forehead, and hatless. He had been last to +leave the shops, and he had, unarmed, run the gantlet of the maddened +strikers who had been held at bay for six long hours. Only his great +strength and physical endurance had pulled him out of the arms of +violent death. There had been no shot fired from the shops. The +strikers saw the utter futility of forcing armed men, so they had hung +about with gibe and ribald jeer, waiting for some one careless enough +to pass them alone. This Bennington did. His men had forgotten him. +Bennington's injuries had been rather trivial; it had been his +personal appearance that had terrified the women. He had fallen asleep +half an hour after reaching home, and he had slept till nine that +evening. Upon awakening he had begun at once to plan a trip to Europe, +to wander from capital to capital for a year or so. No one had +interrupted him; not even the mother, grown old in the past month, had +demurred at his plans. He would have none near him but Kate, and she +had hovered about him, ministering to his wants as a mother over a +sick child. ... Kate! It all came back with a rush. Kate! Oh, what was +she, Patty, to believe? That night she had loved Kate almost to +idolatry. She shuddered, turned away from the ruins, and set off at a +gallop till she came upon brick pavement. She rarely trotted upon +pavement, but this morning she had no thought for the horse; she +burned to be at work. She trotted rapidly into town, across the +principal thoroughfares, this way being the short cut. By this time +men were on the way to work. Many of them turned their heads to stare +at her. There was only one woman in town who sat a horse like this +one, and it could be no less a person than Patty Bennington. All the +men recognized her instantly. She had their good wishes, for all that +her brother had taken away the bread and butter of some of them. Many +touched their hats from mere force of habit. + +There was one man, however, who glared evilly at her from the curb. +She recognized him in spite of his discolored face, the result of a +long, uninterrupted debauch. It was Bolles. As he caught her eye he +smiled evilly and leered at her. + +"Wait, my beauty; wait. I'll kill that brother of yours one of these +fine days, damn him!" Bolles gave one more look at the swiftly-moving +figure on the horse, and shuffled away toward McQuade's office, to +await the arrival of that gentleman. Bolles needed money, and he knew +where to get it. + +As she reached the foot of Williams Street Patty glanced up the hill. +A horseman had just entered Warrington's. She recognized both man and +horse. It was Warrington. She knew at once that he had ridden out her +favorite route, perhaps in the hope of seeing her. Her heart tightened +strangely as she walked her horse up the hill, and she would have +passed home but for the intelligence of her animal, which turned in +toward the house quite naturally. Her mother was on the side veranda. + +"Patty, you have worried us all. The stableman, when he found your +horse gone, came in with the cry of thieves. I was frightened, too, +till I went to your room and found you gone. You mustn't go without +notifying the stableman or the groom." + +"It was an impulse of the moment, mother. I couldn't sleep, and I saw +no need of waking up the boys in the stables." + +Patty ran up stairs for a bath and a change of clothes for breakfast. +She ate little, however; the ride had not put the usual edge on her +appetite. + +"Mr. Warrington made a fine speech last night," said the mother, +handing the morning paper to Patty. + +Patty accepted it mechanically. She had determined not to read the +paper. But she knew now, if she unfolded it, she would turn +immediately to the local pages and search for Warrington's speech. She +read it, and she hated herself for admiring it. The self-lie was not +among Patty's failings. There was no denying that Warrington's speech +was a good oratorical effort; every line of it rang sound and true; +but that might be a trick of the trade. He could make thieves and +villains on the stage speak glibly and plausibly; certainly he could +do as much for himself. One thing she could not deny him, and that was +frankness. He had confessed to her last summer that he was not, or had +not been, a good man in the strict sense of the word. She laid down +the paper and finished her coffee. She was glad that she did not have +to face Kate at each meal. She felt that she couldn't have trusted +herself; there were times when she spoke the first thought, and always +regretted it. Poor John, poor John! + +From the table she went directly to the Indian basket that held all +the cards and invitations. The mother, concerned with her household +duties, left her to herself. Patty would have found some difficulty at +that moment in answering any curious questions. One by one she drew +out the envelopes and cards. There was a permanent scent of sweet +grass. She discovered nothing; she realized that her discovering +anything depended solely upon hazard. Excitement ebbed, leaving +nothing but hopelessness. She threw the cards and invitations into the +basket. She might have known that visiting-cards and printed +invitations are generally odorless. She sought the garden. The Angora +was prowling around, watching the bees and butterflies hovering over +wind-fallen fruit. Patty called to her, but the cat ignored the call. +From the garden Patty went to the stables, from the stables she +returned to the house. She was at peace nowhere. Later her mother +found her dreaming in the window-seat. + +"Patty, Mrs. Haldene left her shopping-bag here yesterday afternoon. I +had forgotten it. Would you mind taking it over to her, or shall I +have the maid do it?" + +"I have nothing to do, mother. I can take it over just as well as +not," said Patty listlessly. + +She slipped her arm through the handles of the bag and proceeded into +the hall for a hat. As she lifted the hat to her head the bag slipped +along her arm close to her nose. Instantly her figure became tense and +rigid, her face grim and colorless. + +Heliotrope! + + + + +Chapter XVIII + + + +There could be no doubt at all. The perfume on the letter and that on +the shopping-bag were identical. Indeed, she would take the bag over +to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene; she would be very glad to do her that +trifling service. Oh! Patty's rage choked her. During the past three +weeks Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene had called at least a dozen times, +doubtless to observe the effect of her interest in Patty's welfare. +She might have known! Well, this very morning she would ascertain from +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's lips where she had secured her information. +She would do more than that; she would make her prove every word of +it. + +So Patty marched toward the Haldene place, marched, because that verb +suggests something warlike, something belligerent. And there was war +a-plenty in Patty's heart. Each step she took sang out a sharp +"Meddler-gossip! meddler-gossip!" A delivery horse went past, drumming +an irritating "Busybody! busybody! busybody!" What had she or hers +ever done to Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene that she should stoop to so base a +means of attack? An anonymous letter! War raged in Patty's heart; but +there was something warmer and clearer coursing through her +veins--hope! + +She went on. Not a particle of her courage deserted her as she mounted +the steps and pushed the bell. When Patty was genuinely roused in +anger she was afraid of little or nothing, animate or inanimate. A +maid answered the bell. As she recognized the caller she swung back +the door and nodded. + +"Is Mrs. Haldene at home?" Patty inquired. + +"Yes, Miss Patty." + +The maid led Patty into the library, where Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was +busily engaged in making up an invitation list. + +"Why, Patty, I am glad to see you," she cried, dropping her pen and +rising. But her curiosity rose at the same time. Patty here? + +"You left your shopping-bag when you called yesterday," said Patty, +ominously calm. "I have brought it to you." + +"It was very careless of me to forget it." + +"Yes, it was," Patty assented, her heart beginning to throb violently. + +"Thank you. And I have been looking for it high and low." + +Patty passed the bag to her enemy. How to begin, how to begin! + +"Mrs. Haldene!" Patty's voice was high-pitched and quavering. + +"Why, Patty!" + +"Why did you write this base letter to me!"--exhibiting the letter +resolutely. "Do not deny that you wrote it. It smells of +heliotrope--your favorite perfume." + +"Patty Bennington, are you mad?" cried Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene. "What +letter? What do you mean?" She knew very well, but she had not +practised the control of her nerves all these years for nothing. "A +letter? I demand to see it." + +But Patty reconsidered and withdrew her hand, concluding that Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene could destroy the letter as easily as she had written +it; more easily, had Patty but known it. + +"I prefer to read it to you." And Patty read, her tones sharp and +penetrating, finely tempered by anger. + +"I write such a thing as that? You accuse me of writing an anonymous +letter of that caliber? You are mad, distinctly mad, and if I did what +was right I should ask you to leave this house instantly." Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene rose to her full height, after the manner of +indignant persons on the stage. + +Patty was not overcome in the least. An idea, bold, unconventional, +and not over-scrupulous, shot into her head. With her eyes holding +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's, she stepped toward the desk; then, in a +flash, she seized one of the sheets of note-paper that lay scattered +about. Mrs. Franklyn Haldene made a desperate effort to intercept +Patty; but Patty was young, slender and agile. She ran quickly to the +nearest window and compared the written sheet with the blank. The +paper and grain were the same, only one showed that the top had been +cut off. There was no shadow of doubt. + +"You are a horrible woman," said Patty. + +"Leave this house instantly!" Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene was now +thoroughly alarmed. + +"Not till you have proved the truth of this letter," Patty declared. + +"I refuse to submit to such gross insults in my own house!" Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene's voice rose a key. She swept majestically toward the +door. + +Patty stepped bravely in front of her. + +"Have you no breeding?" the storm in Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's voice +gathering. + +"Who told you that my brother's wife was formerly--" + +"Stand aside!" + +"I shall not leave this house or your presence till you have +answered," replied the little paladin. "You wrote this letter to me, +trusting it would make me miserable. It has. But I have not done what +you expected,--shown it. Who told you this base lie?" + +"I refuse to answer your impudent questions. Will you stand aside?" + +"There is a way to force you. I will know, Mrs. Haldene, I will know. +If you refuse, I shall turn these two sheets over to my brother's +lawyers." + +"A lawyer?" with an hysterical laugh. "You would scarcely take a thing +like that to a lawyer, of all persons." + +"I declare to you that that is exactly what I shall do. You wrote this +letter; I can prove that you wrote it. Afraid of publicity? You do not +know me. What I demand to know is, who gave you this information? That +I will know." + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene saw that Patty would do what she promised; so +she took her stand boldly. + +"Well, then, since you will have it. Yes, I wrote that letter, for I +could no longer stand the humiliation of meeting your sister-in-law in +decent houses, and that double hypocrite who pretends to be your +brother's friend and your admirer. Proof? I was at my hair-dresser's +one morning, when a woman who is an intimate of McQuade, the +politician, came in. She dropped a letter. McQuade had written it. It +told definitely the information you have in your hand." + +"You have that letter?" Patty was conscious of a strange numbness +stealing over her. + +"No, I haven't. I read it, and sent it to its owner. I consider myself +very fortunate. I always had my suspicions, and it was a relief to +find that they were not without foundation. You will now relieve me of +your unwelcome presence in this house." This time Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene +leveled her arm toward the door; the right was with her. + +"In a moment," said a third voice, masculine. + +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's arm dropped. Patty turned with a low cry. She +had forgotten that there might be some one else in the house. + +Haldene entered through the door to the dining-room. His face was +hard and his eyes cold. + +"I must ask your pardon, both of you, but I could not help overhearing +your voices. They ran somewhat high." He bowed to Patty deferentially; +he merely glanced at his wife. + +"Franklyn!" This phase of the situation was altogether too unexpected +and embarrassing for Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene to accept it readily. + +"I have heard words about an anonymous letter; I have heard +names,--McQuade, your brother, his wife, Warrington, and my wife. I +should like to know--" + +"Franklyn!" his wife appealed. To be humiliated before this impudent +chit of a girl! + +"Patience, my dear." Haldene held up his hand. "Well, Patty?" + +"Mrs. Haldene has taken the trouble to meddle with my affairs by +writing me an anonymous letter concerning the conduct of my brother's +wife and his friend. I have traced the letter to Mrs. Haldene, and she +has confessed that she wrote it, also stating her reasons and the +source of her information." Patty spoke bravely, for she hadn't the +least idea whose side Mr. Haldene would take. She was not aware that, +for all his idle habits and failings, he had that quality of justice +which, upon occasions, makes a terrible judge of a just man. + +"Will you let me see that letter?" he asked. + +Patty gave it to him without conditions. He read it slowly, but +neither woman could discover the slightest emotion on the man's face. +He studied it carefully. He even compared the false hand with the +true. Then he addressed his wife. + +"Did you write this?" + +"Yes, I did. And if you have been listening, as you had the courage to +say you had, you already know my reasons for writing it." Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was recovering. + +"You must apologize," he said. + +"Apologize? I think not. On my part there is nothing more to be said." + +"I see that I shall have to apologize for you. Patty, I am very sorry +that this has happened, and I can promise you that it shall end here. +Will you accept my apology?" + +After some hesitance, Patty nodded. She could not very well refuse. +She had always liked Mr. Haldene. As hitherto remarked, Patty's was an +impulsive heart. Suddenly she stretched out her hands toward the wife. + +"What have I or mine ever done to you that you should seek to injure +us so cruelly? Have we wronged you in thought or deed? What is it that +has made you my enemy?" + +"I am not your enemy, Patty," said the elder woman, melting ever so +slightly. "I have told you that I did not wish to see your life made +wretched by marrying a man of Warrington's loose habits, and that I +could not tolerate the woman who is your brother's wife." + +Patty held out her hand for the letter. She had no desire to remain +any longer. She wanted nothing but the privilege of being alone, that +she might weep the bitter, galling tears that were brimming her eyes. +... She had no recollection of gaining the street. It was true, it was +true! She did not even remember how she reached her room; but as her +blurred eyes saw the bed, she fell upon it in a stupor that for a long +while did not give any outlet to her tears. + +In the meantime Haldene faced his wife. + +"I am going down town presently," he said. "I shall send you up by +messenger several cabin-plans." + +"Cabin-plans?" amazed at this odd turn in affairs. + +"Yes. You will spend the winter either in Egypt or Italy, as it +pleases you." + +"Europe? But my social obligations demand my presence here!" she +expostulated. + +"You will cancel them. You will go to Europe. Anonymous letters!" He +struck the desk violently. It was the first touch of this kind he had +ever exhibited in her presence, and it terrified her. "When I married +you, people said I married your money. As God is above us, I loved +you. Yes, I loved you. But how long was it permitted that this love +should live? Six slender months! You, you of all women, you write +anonymous letters?" He laughed, but it was laughter that had nothing +human in it. "Madam, when I die my deposit box at the bank will be +turned over to you. In it you will find six anonymous letters. They +have lain there sixteen years. I took the advice of one and followed +you. So I let them believe that I had married you for your money. I +meant to have my revenge after I was dead. Madam, you will go to +Europe. I shall not be home to lunch, but you may expect me at dinner. +I am curious to learn whether it will be in Egypt and the Holy Land, +or Italy, the land of the fig-tree and the vine. Good morning." + +When he was gone, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene realized, for the first time +in sixteen years, that she had married a man. Suddenly her knees gave +from under her, and she sank into her chair, staring at the floor with +unseeing eyes. For sixteen years! + + +That afternoon Warrington had a visit. His visitors were Jordan, the +reporter, and Osborne. They appeared to be in high spirits. + +"We've got him, Dick!" exclaimed Jordan, swinging his hat. + +"Got whom?" + +"Morrissy--Morrissy and McQuade," said Osborne, in his +whisky-roughened voice. "We've got 'em all right, Dick. Look at this," +tossing a wrinkled sheet of carbon-paper on Warrington's desk. + +Warrington spread it out. It took him but a minute to find out the +richness of his possession. + +"Where did you come across this?" he asked eagerly. + +"My niece found it in her waste-basket. I've sent her into the country +to visit relatives," said Osborne. "But if you use it, Dick, you'll +have to find the girl another job in some other town." + +"You leave that to me. This is worth a thousand to me and a thousand +more to John Bennington. Now, both of you go down to any restaurant in +town and order what you like, and as long as you like, and you have +them call me up if there's any question." + +The reporter and the semi-outcast smiled at each other. They saw their +appetites appeased to satiety. + +"Does a bottle go with the order, Dick?" asked Jordan. + +"Half a dozen!" laughed Warrington. + +"I've put you in the City Hall, Dick," said Osborne. "And don't forget +me when you're there." + +"Will there be a story for me?" Jordan asked. + +"You'll have a page, Ben." + +"That's enough. Well, come on, Bill; we'll show the new mayor that we +can order like gentlemen." + +"I remember--" But Osborne never completed his reminiscence. Jordan +was already propelling him toward the door. + +Once the door had closed upon them, Warrington capered around the room +like a school-boy. The publication of this confederacy between +Morrissy and McQuade would swing the doubting element over to his side +and split the ranks of the labor party. + +Patty, Patty Bennington! He must see her. It was impossible to wait +another day. When was it he had seen her last? Patty, dark-eyed, +elfish, winsome, merry! Oh, yes, he must see her at once, this very +afternoon. He could no longer repress the tide of his love, which +surged at the flood-gates of his heart with mighty pressure. Patty! +Patty! + +"Patty is not feeling well," said Mrs. Bennington, as she welcomed +Warrington at the door, an hour later. "I will call her. I am sure she +will be glad to see you." + +Warrington went into the music-room, placed his hat on the piano, and +idled about impatiently. That morning he had not possessed the +courage; now he was willing to face lions and tigers, anything rather +than permit another day to pass without telling Patty that he loved +her. When she finally appeared she was pale, her eyes were red, but +her head was erect and her lips firm. + +"Patty, are you ill?" hastening toward her. + +"I have a very bad headache," coldly. "You wished to see me?" + +Where were all the tender words he had planned to speak? Patty had +been weeping! + +"You have been crying. What has happened?" anxiously. + +"It can not interest you," wearily. Men! She would have a horror of +them for the rest of her days. + +"Not interest me? Don't you know, haven't you seen by this time, that +you interest me more than any other living being or any angel in +Heaven?" + +Patty caught at the portiere to steady herself. She had not expected +declarations of this kind. + +"Don't you know," he hurried on, his voice gaining in passion and +tenderness, "don't you know that a pain to you means triple pain to +me? Don't you know that I love you? Patty, what is the trouble? You +are not a woman to weep over headaches." + +"Do you wish to know, then?" bitterly. She hated him! How could he +stand there telling her that he loved her? "Read this," presenting the +letter. "I despise you!" + +"Despise me? What in God's name is the matter?" + +"Read, read!" vehemently. + +Once the letter was in his hand, her arms dropped to her sides, tense. +It was best so, to have it over with at once. To crush the thought of +him out of her heart for ever, such a remedy was necessary. She +watched him. His hand fell slowly. It would have been difficult to say +which of the two was the whiter. + +"You speak of love to me?" + +He stood there, stunned. His silence spoke eloquently to her. He was +guilty. She leaped to this conclusion at once, not realizing that no +man can immediately defend himself when accused so abruptly. + +"You speak of love!" Her wrath seemed to scorch her lips. "My poor +brother!" + +Warrington straightened. "Do you believe this?" He threw the letter +aside, as if the touch contaminated him, caring not where it fell. + +"Is it true?" + +"An anonymous letter?" he replied, contemptuously. + +"I know who wrote it." + +"You know who wrote it? Who?" There was terrible anger in his voice +now. + +"I decline to answer." + +"So you give me not even the benefit of a doubt! You believe it!" + +Patty was less observant than usual. "Will you please go now? I do not +think there is anything more to be said." + +"No. I will go." He spoke quietly, but like a man who has received his +death-stroke. "One question more. Did McQuade write that letter?" + +"No." + +He picked up his hat. "So much for my dreams! Deny it? Deny calumny of +the anonymous order? No! Defend myself against such a lie? No!" + +He walked from the room, his head erect. He did not turn to look at +her again. The hall door closed. He was gone. + + + + +Chapter XIX + + + +Tragedy was abroad that day, crossing and recrossing Williams Street. +Tragedy has the same prerogative as love and death--the right to enter +the palace or the hovel, into the heart of youth or age. It was not a +killing to-day, only a breaking of hearts, that is to say, the first +step. Tragedy never starts out on her rounds roughly; she seeks her +cause first; she seeks her anonymous letter, her idle hands, her lying +tongue; then she is ready. Tragedy does nothing hastily; she graduates +her victim. + +Warrington stumbled rather than walked home. When he reached the +opposite curb he slipped and fell, bruising his hands. ... Deny it? +Deny it when convicted without trial? There are never any proofs to +refute a letter written by an unknown enemy. There is never any guard +against the stab in the back. ... He and Kate! It was monstrous. And +John? Did John know? Did John see that letter? No, Patty surely had +not shown it to John. He knew John (or he believed he did); not all +the proofs or explanations Heaven or earth could give would convince +John, if that letter fell into his hands. ... And he was to speak at a +mass meeting that night! God! He stumbled up the steps to the door. He +was like a drunken man. ... Patty believed it; Patty, just and +merciful, believed it. If she believed, what would John, the jealous +husband, believe? There were so many trifling things that now in +John's eyes would assume immense proportions. ... In less than half an +hour the world had stopped, turned about, and gone another way. He +opened the door. As he did so a woman rushed into the hall. + +"Richard, Richard, I thought you would never come!" + +"You, and in this house alone?" His shoulders drooped. + +Mrs. Jack did not observe how white he was, how dull his eye, how +abject his whole attitude. She caught him by the sleeve and dragged +him into the living-room. + +"Richard, I am dying!" she cried. She loosened the collaret at her +throat. "What shall I do, what shall I do?" + +He realized then that he was not alone in misery. + +"What is it, girl?" stirring himself. + +"Listen, Dick!" She dropped into the old name unconsciously. She had +but one clear thought; this man could save her. "Some time ago--the +night you and John went down town together--I received a telephone +call from that vile wretch, McQuade." + +"McQuade?" Warrington's interest was thoroughly aroused by that name; +nothing else could have aroused it. + +"He said that if I did not persuade you to withdraw your name before +the convention met he would not oppose the publication of a certain +story concerning my past and yours. Horrible! What could I do? I +remained silent; it was Patty's advice. We were afraid that John would +kill McQuade if we told him." She let go of his arm and paced the +room, beating her hands together. "Think of the terror I have lived in +all these weeks! Half dead every evening when John came home; not +daring to read the papers; afraid of calling on my few friends! I have +never, in all my life, done an evil action, either in thought or deed. +What terrible gift is this that God gives to some people to make truth +half a truth and half a truth a lie? Read this!" + +It was a half-sheet of ordinary office paper, written on a typewriter. +Its purport was similar to the one he had read but a few minutes +since. Only it was bolder; there were no protestations about anybody's +welfare. It was addressed to John Bennington. + +"Great God! another anonymous letter! Do you know who sent this?" + +"I can think of no one but McQuade; no one!" frantically. "Save me, +Richard! I love him better than God, and this is my punishment. If +John sees this, I shall die; if he doesn't kill me I shall kill +myself! I opened it by mistake. I am so miserable. What has happened? +What have I done that this curse should fall on me? When I came to +this city I expected to find rest in the house of the man I loved. ... +Patty does not come over. ... What have I not suffered in silence and +with smiles? I have seen them whispering; I have seen covert smiles, +and nods, and shrugs. I knew. I was an actress. It seems that nothing +too bad or vile can be thought of her who honestly throws her soul +into the greatest gift given to woman. An actress! They speak of her +in the same tone they would use regarding a creature of the streets. +Well, because I loved my husband I have said nothing; I have let the +poison eat into my heart in silence. But this goes too far. I shall go +mad if this thing can not be settled here and now. It is both my love +and my honor. And you must do it, Richard; you must do it." + +"You say McQuade called you up by telephone?" + +"Yes." + +He struck his forehead. The carbon sheet! He ran to his desk, pulled +out all the drawers, tumbling the papers about till he found what he +sought. From the letter to the faint imprint on the carbon sheet and +back to the letter his eyes moved, searching, scrutinizing. + +"Look!" with a cry of triumph. + +"What is it?" + +"Do you see that mutilated letter T?" He indicated with his finger on +the dim carbon sheet. + +"Yes, yes!" + +"Compare it with the letter T in this note." + +She did so, her hands shaking pitifully. "I can't see, Richard." + +"That carbon sheet came from McQuade's office; so did that letter to +John. And now, by the Lord! now to pull out Mr. McQuade's fangs, and +slowly, too." He pocketed the two sheets. "Come!" His hat was still on +his head. + +"Where, Richard?" + +"To John." + +"No, no! John?" + +"To him. We can not settle this matter underground. We must fight in +the open, in the light. John must know. You must be brave, girl. This +is no time for timidity and tears. You know and I know that right and +truth are on our side. We'll risk it in a single throw." Upon +determining to act thus, he was acting as only a man acts who has a +wide and definite knowledge of men and affairs. "Come; the sooner it +is over the better. John may flare up a little, but he is a just man. +Let us go to John." + +She put forth many arguments, but to each he shook his head. The +thought of losing a particle of John's love terrified her, who was +ordinarily a courageous woman. + +"We are losing time," said Warrington. "When John reads these two +documents he will understand. He knows McQuade is base enough to seek +revenge this way. He will recognize it for its worth. But if John +finds out that we have left him out of our confidence, he will have +some good reason to doubt. Come." + +So she followed him, her heart like lead, no thought coherent, her +will without energy. This was to be the end of all her dreams. They +crossed the street without speaking. He helped her down this curb and +up that. All this excitement lessened his own pain temporarily. But +who had written to Patty, if not McQuade? He could block any future +move of McQuade's but this other anonymous writer, whom Patty declared +she knew? He went on doggedly. One battle at a time. Together they +entered the house, together they passed from room to room in search of +John. They came upon him reading in the library. He rose to greet +them. There was no beating about the bush for Warrington. He went +straight into the heart of things. + +"John, read this." + +John glanced at the sheet, and his face darkened. The look he shot his +wife was indescribable. She watched him, twisting and knotting and +untwisting her gloves. + +"When did this thing come?" asked John, a slight tremor in his tone. + +"This morning," Mrs. Jack answered, her voice choking. + +"Why did you not bring it to me?" he asked. "Why did you take it to +Dick? You and he should not come to me; on the contrary, you and I +should have gone to him. But never mind now. I have carried in my +pocket a letter similar to this for several weeks," simply. + +"Catch her, John!" cried Warrington. + +"No, no! I am not fainting. I am just dizzy." + +The poor woman groped her way to the lounge and lay down. Her +shoulders were shaking with noiseless sobs. + +John crossed the room and put his hand on her head. The touch was +tender. + +"Well, Dick?" + +"It is easy to distort truth into a lie, John." + +"But it is very hard to reverse the order again." + +"Do you believe the lie?" Warrington looked his friend squarely in the +eyes. + +A minute passed. The ticking of the clock was audible. + +"Believe it? I have had to struggle, I have had to fight hard and all +alone. I do not say that I don't believe it. I say that I WILL not!" + +A truly noble soul always overawes us. This generosity struck +Warrington dumb. But the woman found life in the words. She flung +herself before her husband and clasped his knees with a nervous +strength that provoked a sharp cry from his lips. + +"John, John!" + +He stooped and unwound her arms, gently drawing her up, up, till her +head lay against his shoulder. Then she became a dead weight. She had +fainted. He lifted her up in his strong arms and started for the +stairs. + +"Were she guilty of all the crimes chronicled in hell, I still should +love her. But between you and me, Dick, things must be explained." + +"I shall wait for you, John." + +John was not gone long. When he returned he found Warrington by the +bow-window that looked out upon the lawn. + +"Now, Dick, the truth, and nothing but the truth. Don't be afraid of +me; I am master of myself." + +"I'm not afraid of you. There is half a truth in that letter," began +Warrington, facing about. "Your wife did stay a night in my +apartments." + +John made no sign. + +"It was the first week of a new play. I had to be at the theater every +night. There were many changes being made. Near midnight we started +out for a bite to eat. She had been suffering with attacks of +neuralgia of the heart. As we entered the carriage, one of these +attacks came on. We drove to her apartments. We could not get in. Her +maid was out, the janitor could not be found, and unfortunately she +had left her keys at the theater. In a moment like that I accepted the +first thing that came into my head: my own apartments. She was not +there a quarter of an hour before a trained nurse and her own +physician were at her side. I slept in a chair. At six the following +morning she left for her own apartments. And that, John, is the truth, +God's truth. I see now that I should have taken her to a hotel. You +know that there was a time when I was somewhat dissipated. It was easy +to take that incident and enlarge upon it. Now, let me tell you where +this base slander originated. Compare the letter you have with the one +I gave you." + +John complied. He nodded. These two letters had come from the same +typewriter. + +"Next?" + +"Here is another document." It was the carbon sheet. + +John spread the sheet against the window-pane. The light behind +brought out the letters distinctly. He scarcely reached the final line +when he spun round, his face mobile with eagerness. + +"Where did this come from?" + +"Indirectly, out of McQuade's waste-basket." + +"Morrissy and McQuade; both of them! Oh, you have done me a service, +Dick." + +"But it can not be used, John. That and the letters were written on +McQuade's typewriter. So much for my political dreams! With that +carbon sheet I could pile up a big majority; without it I shall be +defeated. But don't let that bother you." + +"McQuade!" John slowly extended his arms and closed his fingers so +tightly that his whole body trembled. An arm inside those fingers +would have snapped like a pipe-stem. "McQuade! Damn him!" + +"Take care!" warned the other. "Don't injure those letters. When my +name was suggested by Senator Henderson as a possible candidate, +McQuade at once set about to see how he could injure my chances. He +was afraid of me. An honest man, young, new in politics, and therefore +unattached, was a menace to the success of his party, that is to say, +his hold on the city government. Among his henchmen was a man named +Bolles." + +"Ah!" grimly. + +"He sent this man to New York to look up my past. In order to earn his +money he brought back this lie, which is half a truth. Whether McQuade +believes it or not is of no matter; it serves his purpose. Now, John!" + +John made no reply. With his hands (one still clutching the letters) +behind his back he walked the length of the room and returned. + +"Will you take my word, which you have always found loyal, or the word +of a man who has written himself down as a rascal, a briber, and a +blackleg?" + +John put out his empty hand and laid it on Warrington's shoulder. + +"You're a good man, Dick. Dissipation is sometimes a crucible that +separates the gold from the baser metals. It has done that to you. You +are a good man, an honorable man. In coming to me like this you have +shown yourself to be courageous as well. There was a moment when the +sight of you filled my heart with murder. It was the night after I +received that letter. I've been watching you, watching, watching. +Well, I would stake my chance of eternity on your honesty. I take your +word; I should have taken it, had you nothing to prove your case. That +night I ran into Bolles. ... Well, he uttered a vile insult, and I all +but throttled him. Here's my hand, Dick." + +The hand-grip that followed drew a gasp from Warrington. + +"Not every man would be so good about it, John. What shall we do about +McQuade?" + +"I was about to say that I shall see McQuade within an hour," in a +tone that did not promise well for McQuade. + +"Wait a day or two, John. If you meet him now, I believe you will do +him bodily harm, and he has caused enough trouble, God knows." + +"But not to meet him! Not to cram this paper down his vile throat! I +had not considered that sacrifice. And I can not touch him by law, +either." + +"But you can silence him effectually. This business will end right +here." + +"You are right," said John with reluctance. "If I met him in this +rage. I should probably kill him." + +"Let us go and pay him a visit together, John," Warrington suggested. +"I can manage to keep in between you." + +"That's better. We'll go together." And John went for his hat. Then he +ran up stairs quickly. There was a loving heart up there that ached, +and he alone could soothe it. + +And then the two men left the house. As they strode down the street, +side by side, step by step, their thoughts were as separate as the two +poles. To the one his wife was still his wife, in all the word +implied; to the other there was only a long stretch of years that he +must pass through alone, alone,--not even the man at his side would +ever be quite the same to him, nor his wife. There was a shadow; it +would always walk between them. + +"Remember, Dick, Patty must never know anything of this. Nothing must +come between her and my wife." + +"I shall say nothing to any one, John." Who had written to Patty? + +It took them a quarter of an hour to reach McQuade's office. +Unfortunately for that gentleman, he was still in his office and +alone. The new typewriter and the two clerks had gone. He was still +wondering why Osborne's niece had resigned so unexpectedly. Probably +she was going to get married. They always did when they had saved a +penny or two. He laughed. He had been careless now and then, but +whatever she might have picked up in the way of business or political +secrets could not profit her. Boss McQuade felt secure. Warrington was +as good as beaten. He had had his long-delayed revenge on the man who +had turned him out of doors. + +It was dark outside by this time, and he turned on the drop-light over +his desk. He heard the door open and shut, but this was not unusual; +so he went on with his writing. + +"Well, what's wanted?" he called, folding his letter, but not yet +turning his head. + +As no one answered, he sent his chair around with a push of his foot. +He saw two men, but he did not recognize them at once. By and by his +eyes grew accustomed to the dark. Instantly he was on his feet, +pressing the button connecting the wall-lights. There was no possible +exit save by that door, and these two men stood between. To do McQuade +justice, he was not a physical coward. His huge bulk and hardened +muscles gave him a ready courage. He forced a smile to his lips. After +all, he had expected one or the other of them sooner or later. + +"Well, gentlemen, I am highly honored. What can I do for you?" There +was a pretense of amiability. + +"For the present," said Warrington, "you may sit down. We propose to +do so." He drew out a chair from under the office table and placed it +close to the door. "You sit there, John." For himself, he sat on the +corner of the table. + +McQuade did not hesitate, but reseated himself. His thoughts were not +particularly lucid, however. + +"McQuade, you're as fine a blackleg as ever graced a prison," said +Warrington. + +"I'll have to take your word for it," was the reply. "But how is it +that I see you and Mr. Bennington together?" evilly. + +"We'll come to that presently. I had always given you credit for being +as astute as you were underhanded and treacherous." + +"Thanks." McQuade took a cigar from his pocket and fumbled around in +his vest for a match. + +"But," Warrington added, "I am pained to reverse my opinion. You are a +fool as well as a blackleg." + +"How do you make that out?" coolly. + +"Do you know where your man Bolles can be found?" + +"Bolles? Ah, I begin to see. What do you want of him?" + +"We want the esteemed honor of his company at this reunion," dryly. + +Bolles? McQuade smiled. He was only too glad to accommodate them. If +they wanted Bolles they should have him. Bolles would cut them in two. +He reached for the telephone and began to call up the familiar haunts +of his henchman. He located him at length in Martin's saloon. There +was evidently some reluctance on the part of Bolles. + +"Bolles, if you are not at my office inside of ten minutes, I'll break +you, and you know what I mean." McQuade hung up the receiver. "He'll +be right over. Now, what's all this mystery about?" + +"It regards some literary compositions of yours to which I have taken +exception." + +"Compositions?" + +"Yes. Two anonymous letters. But before we discuss them we'll wait for +our friend Bolles." + +McQuade signified that this was agreeable to him. All the same, he +glanced uneasily at the man near the door. Bennington had not made the +slightest sound after taking his chair. His arms were folded across +his breast, which rose and fell with deep intakes. His face, in the +shadow, was no more readable than that of the miniature sphinx +paper-weight that rested on McQuade's desk. But Bolles was coming. So +they waited. The end of McQuade's cigar waxed and waned according to +his inhalations. These inhalations were not quickly made, as by a man +whose heart is beating with excitement; they were slow and regular, it +might be said, contemplative. John's gaze never left the end of that +cigar. + +The lights in the tall building opposite began to twinkle from window +to window. Warrington slipped off the table and pulled down the +curtains. McQuade knocked the ashes from his cigar, contemplated the +coal, and returned it to the corner of his mouth. + +Ah! The three men heard steps in the hall. The door to the outer +office opened and banged. But the man who squeezed past Bennington was +not Bolles. + +"Morrissy?" cried Warrington. "Fine! Have a chair, Mr. Morrissy, have +a chair." Warrington was delighted. + +Morrissy's glance, somewhat bewildered, traveled from face to face. On +entering he had seen only McQuade's tranquil visage. He sat down, +disturbed and mystified. + +"What's this?" Morrissy demanded to know. + +"Hanged if I know!" said McQuade. "These two gentlemen presented +themselves a few moments ago and requested me to send for Bolles. Have +a cigar." + +Morrissy took the proffered weed, but he did not light it. He turned +it round and round in his teeth and chewed it. Well, so long as the +boss did not seem alarmed, the trouble could not be serious. Yet he +was not over-confident of Bennington's lowering face. + +"Been a fine day," said Morrissy, at haphazard. + +"Yes, but there's going to be a storm to-night." Warrington resumed +his position on the table. + +Conversation died. And then Bolles came in. At the sight of Bennington +he recoiled. + +"Come in, come in!" said McQuade. "Mr. Warrington will offer you a +chair," facetiously. + +"Yes, Bolles, sit down." + +"Well, gentlemen, here's a quorum;" and McQuade began to rock in his +chair. Three against two; that would do very well. + +"I will go at once at the matter in hand. Those letters, John." +Warrington held out his hand. "I'll read one to you, McQuade." He read +slowly and distinctly. + +"What the hell is this?" said Morrissy. + +"It's up to Mr. Warrington to explain." McQuade grinned. That grin, +however, nearly cost him his life. + +"John, remember your promise!" cried Warrington. + +John sat down, seized with a species of vertigo. + +"McQuade, you wrote that." + +"Me? You're crazy!" + +"Not at all. Let me advise you. The next time you put your hand to +anonymous letters, examine the type of your machine. There may be some +bad letter." + +"I don't know what you're driving at," McQuade declared. + +"I see that I must read this, then, to convince you." Warrington stood +up, his back toward Bennington. He unfolded the carbon sheet and began +to read. + +McQuade saw Medusa's head, little versed as he was in mythology. He +lowered his cigar. The blood in his face gradually receded. + +"'In two sums of five hundred each,'" Warrington went on. + +Morrissy, who suddenly saw visions of bars and stripes, made a quick, +desperate spring. Warrington struck him with full force on the side of +the head. Morrissy reeled, stumbled to the floor and lay there. The +others were on their feet instantly. + +"Stay where you are, John; I don't need any assistance. Now, McQuade, +I've got you where I want you." Warrington spoke with deadly calm now. +"This carbon was found in your waste-basket and brought to me. The +girl is where you can not find her. There are two courses open to +you." + +"What are they?" There was murder in McQuade's heart, but there was +reason in his head. He saw exactly where he stood. They had him. + +"One is state's prison; the other is a full retraction of this base +calumny. Take your choice." + +"Bolles?" + +"It's true, every damn word of it," said Bolles venomously. "Your +janitor in New York told me the facts. You know they're true." + +"Bolles, I nearly killed you one night. So help me, if you do not +withdraw that, I'll kill you here and now!" It was the first time +Bennington had spoken. + +"Bolles," said McQuade, "did you sell a lie to me?" + +Bolles eyed Bennington, who had pushed Warrington out of the way and +was moving toward him. He saw death on Bennington's face. Warrington +again interposed, but John swept him aside with ease. + +"Well, there was a doctor and a nurse there all night with them. But +she was in Warrington's rooms all night. That seemed enough for me." +Bolles put the table between him and Bennington. He was genuinely +afraid. + +Morrissy turned over and sat up, rubbing his head. Presently he pulled +himself to his feet. He was dazed. Recollection of what had happened +returned to him. This dude had knocked him out. + +"You'll pay well for that," he said. + +"Sit down. It's only a marker for what I'll do to you if you make +another move. Now, McQuade, which is it?" + +"Go ahead and write your letter," McQuade snarled. + +Warrington proceeded. + +"Now sign it," he said. "Here, John, take care of this carbon. Bolles, +your signature." Bolles scrawled a shaking hand. Warrington put the +paper in his pocket. "Bite, both of you now, if you dare." + +"I'll trouble you for that carbon," said McQuade. + +"Hardly. But you have my word of honor that it shall not be used +against you unless you force me. It will repose in my deposit box at +the bank. But as for you, Morrissy, this climate doesn't suit your +abilities. The field is too small. Take my advice and clear out. That +is all, gentlemen. Come, John." + +When they were gone Morrissy turned savagely upon McQuade. + +"I told you you were a damn fool!" + +"Get out of here, both of you; and if you ever stick your heads in +this office again, I'll smash you." + +McQuade dropped into his chair, once more alone. He sat there for an +hour, thinking, ruminating, planning; but all his thinking and +ruminating and planning had but one result: they had him licked. +Morrissy was right; he was a fool. The girl! He would have liked her +throat in his fingers that moment, the sneaking, treacherous baggage! +Licked! To go about hereafter with that always menacing him! But there +was one ray of consolation. He knew something about human nature. +Bennington and Warrington would drift apart after this. Bennington had +cleared up the scandal, but he hadn't purged his heart of all doubt. +There was some satisfaction in this knowledge. And Warrington would +never enter the City Hall as Herculaneum's mayor. + + + + +Chapter XX + + + +By November John and his wife were on the way to Italy. There is +always a second honeymoon for those who have just passed the first +matrimonial Scylla and Charybdis; there is always a new courtship, +deeper and more understanding. Neither of them had surrendered a +particle of their affection for Warrington, but they agreed that it +would be easier for all concerned if there came a separation of +several months. + +"You are all I have," said Warrington, when they bade him good-by. "I +shall be very lonely without you. If I lose the election I shall go to +Japan." + +"There's always Patty and the mother," said John, smiling. + +"Yes, there's always Patty and her mother. Good-by, and God bless you +both. You deserve all the happiness I can wish for you." + +Warrington plunged into the campaign. It would keep him occupied. + +Mrs. Bennington and Patty lived as usual, to all outward appearance. +But Patty was rarely seen in society. She took her long rides in the +afternoon now, always alone, brooding. Her young friends wondered, +questioned, then drifted away gradually. Poor little Patty! No one had +told her; the viper had not been shaken from her nest. Day after day +she waited for the blow to fall, for the tide of scandal to roll over +her and obliterate her. She was worldly enough to know that Mrs. +Franklyn-Haldene was not the kind of woman to keep such a scandal +under lock and key; others must know, Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's +particular friends. So she avoided the possibility of meeting these +friends by declining all invitations of a formal character. Perhaps +after a time it would die of its own accord, to be recalled in after +years by another generation, as such things generally are. Patty +derived no comfort from the paragraph in the Sunday papers announcing +Mrs. Franklyn-Haldene's departure for Egypt, to remain for the +winter. + +She kept in touch with all that Warrington did. The sense of shame she +had at first experienced in reading his speeches was gone. Her pride +no longer urged her to cast aside the paper, to read it, to fling it +into the flames. Sometimes she saw him on the way home from his +morning rides. It seemed to her that he did not sit as erectly as +formerly. Why should he? she asked herself bitterly. When the heart is +heavy it needs a confidante, but Patty, brave and loyal, denied +herself the luxury of her mother's arms. Tell her this frightful +story? Bow that proud, handsome head? No. + +"It is very strange," mused her mother, one evening, "that Mr. +Warrington calls no more. I rather miss his cheerfulness, and John +thinks so much of him." + +Patty shivered. "He is very busy, mother. Election is only three days +off, and doubtless he hasn't a minute to call his own." + +Nor had he. Pulled this way and that, speaking every night, from one +end of the city to the other, he went over the same ground again and +again, with the same noise, the same fumes of tobacco and whisky and +kerosene, with his heart no longer behind his will. Yes, Warrington +was very busy. He was very unhappy, too. What did he care about the +making up of the slate? What was it to him that this man or that +wanted this or that berth? What were all these things? But he hid his +dissatisfaction admirably. His speeches lacked nothing. + +Election day came round finally, and a rare and beautiful day it was. +The ghost of summer had returned to view her past victories. A west +wind had cleared the skies, the sun shone warm and grateful, the +golden leaves shivered and fluttered to the ground. Nature had lent a +hand to bring voting humanity to the polls. Some men are such good +citizens that they will vote in the rain. But warmth and sunshine +bring out the lazy, the indifferent, and the uninterested. + +Warrington voted early in the morning, rode to the Country Club, made +an attempt to play golf over the partly frozen course, lounged round +till three in the afternoon, and then returned to town. There was not +a flutter in his heart. There was this truth, however, staring him in +the eyes: if he lost, he would become an indifferent citizen; if he +won, an in different mayor. He was not a man to falsify his accounts +for the inspection of his conscience. + +The voting was heavy throughout the day. Crowds lingered round the +polls, which, in greater part, were in the rear of shops, in barns and +sheds. There was a good deal of repeating in some of the districts, +and a dozen arrests had been made. Neither party was free from this +taint of dishonest politics. But no one could prophesy what the final +results of the day would be. + +Night came. It is the greatest spectacular night the American knows. +The noisy, good-natured crowds in the streets, the jostling, +snail-moving crowds; the illuminated canvas-sheets in front of the +newspaper offices; the blare of tin horns, the cries, the yells, the +hoots and hurrahs; the petty street fights; the stalled surface cars; +the swearing cabbies; the newsboys hawking their latest extras, men +carrying execrable posters of roosters. Hurrah! hurrah! A flash goes +over the canvas. + + In the 4th District + Donnelly 608 + Warrington. 302 + +A roar that rose and died suddenly, and a wailing of tin horns. + + + In Seven Districts + Warrington 1,262 + Donnelly 1,196 + + +Roars. It was, going to be close. Between times local advertisers used +the sheets, or there were pictures of presidents past and present, +crowned heads (always greeted with jeers), funny pictures, or returns +from other states. + + + In Nine Districts + Donnelly 1,821 + Warrington 1,800 + + +The crowds surged and billowed, and there was pandemonium. + +The newspaper offices were having a busy time. This period proves the +man; he is a newspaper man or he is not. There was a continuous coming +and going of messengers, bringing in returns. The reporters and +editors were in their shirt-sleeves, most of them collarless. Figures, +figures, thousands of figures to sift and resift. A fire-bell rings. +No one looks up save the fire reporter, and he is up and away at once. +Filtering through the various noises is the maddening rattle of the +telegraph instruments. Great drifts of waste-paper litter the floors. +A sandwich man serves coffee and cigars, and there is an occasional +bottle of beer. Everybody is writing, writing. + +McQuade and his cohorts haunted the city room of the Times. Things did +not look well at all. There were twelve more districts to hear from. +Donnelly seemed to be the coolest man in that office. + +Warrington started home at nine. Up to this time he had been +indifferent, but it was impossible not to catch the spirit of this +night. Win or lose, however, he wanted to be alone. So he went home, +lighted the fire in his working-room, called his dog, and sat there +dreaming. + +Down town the clamor was increasing. The great throngs round the +bulletins were gathering in force. Bonfires were flaring on corners. + + + In 15 Districts + Warrington 9,782 + Donnelly 9,036 + + +Close, terribly close. But those districts upon which the fight really +depended had not yet turned up. The big labor vote had not been +accounted for. + +The Call had notified its readers that when the returns were all in +and the battle decided, it would blow a whistle. If Warrington was +elected, five blasts; if Donnelly, ten. + +So Warrington waited, sunk in his chair, his legs sprawled, his chin +on his breast, and his eyes drawing phantoms in the burning wood fire. +... It was cruel that Patty could not know; and yet to leave John with +the belief that his sister knew nothing was a kindness, and only John +could convince Patty; and it was even a greater kindness to leave +Patty with the belief that John knew nothing. So there he stood; +friendship on the one side and love on the other. He recalled all the +charming ways Patty had, the color of her hair, the light music of her +laughter, the dancing shadows in her eyes, the transparent skin, the +springy step, and the vigor and life that were hers. And he had lost +her, not through any direct fault, but because he was known to have +been dissipated at one time; a shadow that would always be crossing +and recrossing his path. So long as he lived he would carry that +letter of hers, with its frank, girlish admiration. + +So, he mused, those dissipations of his, which, after all, had touched +him but lightly--these had, like chickens, come home to roost! And how +these chickens had multiplied and grown! On the way home it seemed +that everybody had striven to fatten them up a bit and add +surreptitiously a chicken or two of his own. Oh, these meddlers, these +idle tongues! None of them would set to work to wrong anybody, to +wreck anybody's life. They would shrink in horror from the thought, +let alone the deed. Yet, they must talk, they must exchange the day's +news, they must have news that no one else had; and this competition +is the cause of half the misery on earth. What if they exaggerate a +little here and a little there? No harm is meant. Human nature, having +found its speech, must have something to talk about; that which it has +neither seen nor heard, it invents. + +Who had written that letter to Patty? Some woman; man had not yet +acquired such finished cruelty. He could not understand its purpose, +well as he understood women. Who could possibly hate Patty, honest and +loyal as the day is long? McQuade's letters had their existence in +revenge. Patty had wronged no one; McQuade had. + +"Well, Jove, old man, you and I may have to pack up on the morrow. If +we are licked, you and I'll go to Japan. That's a country we've always +been wanting to see." + +Jove lifted his head, somewhat scarred, and gazed up at his master +with steadfast love in his red-brown eyes. A dog is better than a +horse, a horse is better than a cat, a cat is better than nothing. ... +Warrington sat up quickly, drawing in his legs. A whistle! He caught +his breath and counted. One--two--three--four--five--SIX! ... +Donnelly! He counted no more. Donnelly had won. + +His valet found him asleep in the chair the next morning, before a +dead fire. It was cold in the room. The valet touched him, but +Warrington did not move. It was only when he was roughly shaken that +he opened his eyes. A single glance explained the situation. He jumped +to his feet, rubbing his eyes. + +"Will you have the morning papers, sir?" + +"What's the use?" Warrington shrugged indifferently. + +"The majority was only six hundred and eighty-two, sir." + +"Then we had them mightily scared for a time. Odd that the 'phone did +not wake me up." + +"I took it off the hook, sir, at midnight. I knew it would disturb +you." + +"Go down town and bring me up the sailing-lists and a few cabin-plans +for ships bound for Japan. I intend to start for that country just as +soon as I can dispose of the horses." + +"Shall you need me, sir?" + +"I couldn't get along without you, James." + +"Thank you, sir. Breakfast is served, sir, if you wish it." + +The telephone rang. The valet raised his eyebrows inquiringly. + +"I'll answer it," said Warrington. "Who is it? Jordan? Oh! You can say +that I put up the best fight I knew how. ... No. Say nothing about the +influence of the strike. Let it stand as it is. ... My plans? You may +say that I shall sail in a few days for Japan. ... Oh, yes! This is my +home. I shall return in the spring. Change of scene, that's all. +Good-by." + +The defeated candidate ate a respectable breakfast, after which he put +his affairs in order. Trunks were brought down from the store-room, +and cases and steamer-rolls. Warrington always traveled comfortably. +He left the packing in charge of the valet. + +A ten-o'clock edition of the Telegraph was being hawked outside, but +Warrington had seen all he wanted of newspapers. By noon he had found +a purchaser for his stable. The old housekeeper and her husband were +to remain in care of the house. They were the only beings that loved +him, now that the aunt was gone. Heigh-ho! + +He declined lunch. He answered no more calls on the telephone. When +Senator Henderson called the interview was pleasant but short. + +"We'll try you again," said the senator genially. + +"I'll think it over," replied Warrington. + +"You'll win next time; you'll be stronger two years hence. You made a +great fight. Bennington lost the fight for you. If he hadn't been your +friend--" + +"I had rather have John Bennington my friend than be president," +laughing. + +"There were six thousand-odd labor votes against you, and yet +Donnelly's majority was only six hundred and eighty-two. Hope you'll +enjoy your trip to Japan. But McQuade's back again!" discouraged. + +"Senator, if he acts nasty in any way, go to him personally and tell +him that upon application at the bank you will open my deposit box. +He'll understand; he'll be as docile as a lamb. And thank all the boys +for their good work. I appreciate the honor that has been done me. To +have been a candidate is something." + +By three o'clock Warrington found time to sit down at his desk to +write three letters. One was addressed to McQuade, another to John, +Hotel de la Syrene, Sorrento, Italy. The third he began after some +deliberation: + +Patty: Presently I shall be on the way to Japan. I was going without a +word because I had given a promise to your brother John. But it is not +within human nature, at least mine, to leave without telling you again +that I love you better than life, and that I am innocent of the wrong +you were so ready to believe. Some day ask John; tell him that I have +broken my word; he will tell you how truth was made a lie. I realize +now that I ought to have stood my ground. I ought to have nailed the +lie then. But my proofs were not such as would do away with all +doubts. And besides, when I saw that you had believed without giving +me the benefit of a doubt, I was angry. And so I left you, refusing to +speak one way or the other. John will tell you. And if my cause is +still in your thought and you care to write, mail your letter to my +bankers. They will forward it. And if I should have the happiness to +be wanted, even if I am at the ends of the world, I shall come to you. + +He did not sign it, but he read it over carefully. There was nothing +to cut, nothing to add. He folded it, then laid his head on his +extended arms. A door opened and closed, but his ear was dull. Then +everything became still. Scientists have not yet fully explained what +it is that discovers to us a presence in the room, a presence that we +have neither seen nor heard enter. So it was with Warrington. There +was no train of collected thought in his mind, nothing but stray +snatches of this day and of that the picture of a smile, a turn in the +road, the sound of a voice. And all at once he became conscious that +something was compelling him to raise his head. He did so slowly. + +A woman was standing within a dozen feet of the desk. + +"Patty!" he cried, leaping to his feet bewildered. + +Patty did not move. Alas, she had left all her great bravery at the +threshold. What would he think of her? + +"Patty!" he repeated. "You are here?" + +"Yes." All the blood in her body seemed to congest in her throat. +"Are--is it true that you are going to Japan?" If he came a step +nearer she was positive that she would fall. + +"Yes, Patty; it is as true as I love you. But let us not speak of +that," sadly. + +"Yes, yes! Let us speak of it!" a wild despair in her voice and +gesture. "Let us speak of it, since I do nothing but think of it, +think of it, think of it! Oh! I am utterly shameless, but I can not +fight any longer. I have no longer any pride. I should despise you, +but I do not. I should hate you, but I can not ... No, no! Stay where +you are." + +"Patty, do you love me?" There was a note in his voice as vibrant as +the second string of a cello. + +"Yes." + +"Do you still believe that I am a blackguard?" + +"I care not what you are or what you have been; nothing, nothing. It +is only what you have been to me and what you still are. Something is +wrong; something is terribly wrong; I know not what it is. Surely God +would not let me love you as I do if you were not worthy." + +"No," he replied gravely; "God would not do that." + +The tears rolled down Patty's cheeks, but there was no sound. + +"Here, Patty; read this letter which I was about to send you." + +She accepted it dumbly. Then, through her tears there came wonder and +joy and sunshine. When she had done, he held out his hand for the +letter; but she smiled and shook her head. + +"No, Richard; this is my first love-letter." + + +The End + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Half a Rogue, by Harold MacGrath + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK HALF A ROGUE *** + +This file should be named hlfrg10.txt or hlfrg10.zip +Corrected EDITIONS of our eBooks get a new NUMBER, hlfrg11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, hlfrg10a.txt + +This etext was produced by Duncan Harrod. + +Project Gutenberg eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the US +unless a copyright notice is included. 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