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- float: left; - margin-right: 1em } - -.align-right { clear: right; - float: right; - margin-left: 1em } - -.align-center { margin-left: auto; - margin-right: auto } - -div.shrinkwrap { display: table; } - -/* SECTIONS */ - -body { margin: 5% 10% 5% 10% } - -/* compact list items containing just one p */ -li p.pfirst { margin-top: 0; margin-bottom: 0 } - -.first { margin-top: 0 !important; - text-indent: 0 !important } -.last { margin-bottom: 0 !important } - -span.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.1em 0 0; line-height: 1 } -img.dropcap { float: left; margin: 0 0.5em 0 0; max-width: 25% } -span.dropspan { font-variant: small-caps } - -.no-page-break { page-break-before: avoid !important } - -/* PAGINATION */ - -.pageno { position: absolute; right: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.pageno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.lineno { position: absolute; left: 95%; font: medium sans-serif; text-indent: 0 } -.lineno:after { color: gray; content: '[' attr(title) ']' } -.toc-pageref { float: right } - -@media screen { - .coverpage, .frontispiece, .titlepage, .verso, .dedication, .plainpage - { margin: 10% 0; } - - div.clearpage, div.cleardoublepage - { margin: 10% 0; border: none; border-top: 1px solid gray; } - - .vfill { margin: 5% 10% } -} - -@media print { - div.clearpage { page-break-before: always; padding-top: 10% } - div.cleardoublepage { page-break-before: right; padding-top: 10% } - - .vfill { margin-top: 20% } - h2.title { margin-top: 20% } -} - -/* DIV */ -pre { font-family: monospace; font-size: 0.9em; white-space: pre-wrap } -</style> -<title>LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY</title> -<meta name="PG.Producer" content="Al Haines" /> -<meta name="DC.Title" content="Light-Fingered Gentry" /> -<meta name="PG.Id" content="48621" /> -<meta name="DC.Creator" content="David Graham Phillips" /> -<meta name="DC.Language" content="en" /> -<meta name="PG.Released" content="2015-03-31" /> -<meta name="PG.Rights" content="Public Domain" /> -<meta name="PG.Title" content="Light-Fingered Gentry" /> -<meta name="DC.Created" content="1907" /> -<link rel="coverpage" href="images/img-cover.jpg" /> - -<link href="http://purl.org/dc/terms/" rel="schema.DCTERMS" /> -<link href="http://id.loc.gov/vocabulary/relators/" rel="schema.MARCREL" /> -<meta content="Light-Fingered Gentry" name="DCTERMS.title" /> -<meta content="/home/ajhaines/gentry/gentry.rst" name="DCTERMS.source" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.RFC4646" content="en" name="DCTERMS.language" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-04-01T04:30:28.853055+00:00" name="DCTERMS.modified" /> -<meta content="Project Gutenberg" name="DCTERMS.publisher" /> -<meta content="Public Domain in the USA." name="DCTERMS.rights" /> -<link href="http://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/48621" rel="DCTERMS.isFormatOf" /> -<meta content="David Graham Phillips" name="DCTERMS.creator" /> -<meta scheme="DCTERMS.W3CDTF" content="2015-03-31" name="DCTERMS.created" /> -<meta content="width=device-width" name="viewport" /> -<meta content="Ebookmaker 0.4.0a5 by Marcello Perathoner <webmaster@gutenberg.org>" name="generator" /> -</head> -<body> -<div class="document" id="light-fingered-gentry"> -<h1 class="center document-title level-1 pfirst title"><span class="x-large">LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY</span></h1> - -<!-- this is the default PG-RST stylesheet --> -<!-- figure and image styles for non-image formats --> -<!-- default transition --> -<!-- default attribution --> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="clearpage"> -</div> -<!-- -*- encoding: utf-8 -*- --> -<div class="align-None container language-en pgheader" id="pg-header" xml:lang="en" lang="en"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States -and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no -restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it -under the terms of the </span><a class="reference internal" href="#project-gutenberg-license">Project Gutenberg License</a><span> included with -this ebook or online at </span><a class="reference external" href="http://www.gutenberg.org/license">http://www.gutenberg.org/license</a><span>. If you -are not located in the United States, you'll have to check the laws -of the country where you are located before using this ebook.</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<div class="align-None container" id="pg-machine-header"> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span>Title: Light-Fingered Gentry -<br /> -<br />Author: David Graham Phillips -<br /> -<br />Release Date: March 31, 2015 [EBook #48621] -<br /> -<br />Language: English -<br /> -<br />Character set encoding: UTF-8</span></p> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-start-line"><span>*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK </span><span>LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY</span><span> ***</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst" id="pg-produced-by"><span>Produced by Al Haines.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="noindent pfirst"><span></span></p> -</div> -<div class="align-None container frontispiece"> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 63%" id="figure-41"> -<span id="neva"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt="NEVA." src="images/img-front.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">NEVA.</span></div> -</div> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container titlepage"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold xx-large">LIGHT-FINGERED -<br />GENTRY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">BY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold large">DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">AUTHOR OF "THE SECOND GENERATION," ETC.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="medium">D. APPLETON AND COMPANY -<br />NEW YORK -<br />MCMVII</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<div class="align-None container verso"> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1907, BY -<br />D. APPLETON AND COMPANY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="small">COPYRIGHT, 1906, 1907, BY -<br />THE PEARSON PUBLISHING COMPANY</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><em class="italics small">Published, September, 1907</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">CONTENTS</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span class="small">CHAPTER</span></p> -<p class="noindent pnext"><span>I.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-matrimonial-mistake">A Matrimonial Mistake</a><span> -<br />II.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-feast-and-a-fiasco">A Feast and a Fiasco</a><span> -<br />III.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#only-cousin-neva">"Only Cousin Neva"</a><span> -<br />IV.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-fosdick-family">The Fosdick Family</a><span> -<br />V.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#narcisse-and-alois">Narcisse and Alois</a><span> -<br />VI.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#neva-goes-to-school">Neva Goes to School</a><span> -<br />VII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-woman-s-point-of-view">A Woman's Point of View</a><span> -<br />VIII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#in-neva-s-studio">In Neva's Studio</a><span> -<br />IX.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#master-and-man">Master and Man</a><span> -<br />X.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#amy-sweet-and-amy-sour">Amy Sweet and Amy Sour</a><span> -<br />XI.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#at-mrs-trafford-s">At Mrs. Trafford's</a><span> -<br />XII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#we-never-were">"We Never Were"</a><span> -<br />XIII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#overlook-lodge">Overlook Lodge</a><span> -<br />XIV.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#woman-s-distrustand-trust">Woman's Distrust—and Trust</a><span> -<br />XV.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#armstrong-swoops">Armstrong Swoops</a><span> -<br />XVI.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#hugo-shows-his-mettle">Hugo Shows His Mettle</a><span> -<br />XVII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#violette-s-tapestries">Violette's Tapestries</a><span> -<br />XVIII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#armstrong-proposes">Armstrong Proposes</a><span> -<br />XIX.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#two-telephone-talks">Two Telephone Talks</a><span> -<br />XX.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#boris-discloses-himself">Boris Discloses Himself</a><span> -<br />XXI.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-sensational-day">A Sensational Day</a><span> -<br />XXII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#a-duel-after-lunch">A Duel After Lunch</a><span> -<br />XXIII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#the-woman-boris-loved">"The Woman Boris Loved"</a><span> -<br />XXIV.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#neva-solves-a-riddle">Neva Solves a Riddle</a><span> -<br />XXV.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#two-women-intervene">Two Women Intervene</a><span> -<br />XXVI.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#trafford-as-a-dove-of-peace">Trafford as a Dove of Peace</a><span> -<br />XXVII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#breakfast-al-fresco">Breakfast al Fresco</a><span> -<br />XXVIII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#foraging-for-son-in-law">Foraging for Son-in-Law</a><span> -<br />XXIX.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#if-i-married-you">"If I Married You"</a><span> -<br />XXX.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#by-a-trick">By a Trick</a><span> -<br />XXXI.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#i-don-t-trust-him">"I Don't Trust Him"</a><span> -<br />XXXII.—</span><a class="reference internal" href="#armstrong-asks-a-favor">Armstrong Asks a Favor</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#neva">Neva</a><span> . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . </span><em class="italics">Frontispiece</em></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#she-was-giving-alois-a-free-hand-in-planning-surroundings">"She was giving Alois a free hand in planning surroundings"</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#i-felt-i-must-see-youmust-see-you-at-once">"'I felt I must see you—must see you at once'"</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><a class="reference internal" href="#you-are-my-life-the-light-on-my-path">"'You are my life, the light on my path'"</a></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-matrimonial-mistake"><span class="bold x-large">LIGHT-FINGERED GENTRY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">I</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A MATRIMONIAL MISTAKE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Toward noon on a stifling July day, a woman, a -young woman, left the main walk through the deserted -college grounds at Battle Field, and entered the path -that makes a faint tracing down the middle of Pine -Point. That fingerlike peninsula juts far into Otter -Lake; it is a thicket of white pines, primeval, odorous. -Not a ripple was breaking the lake's broad, burnished -reach. The snowy islets of summer cloud hung motionless, -like frescoes in an azure ceiling. But among -the pines it was cool, and even murmurously musical.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In dress the young woman was as somber as the -foliage above and around her. Her expression, also, -was somber—with the soberness of the ascetic, or of the -exceedingly shy, rather than of the sad. She seemed -to diffuse a chill, like the feel of a precious stone—the -absence of heat found both in those who have never -been kindled by the fire of life and in those in whom -that fire has burned itself out. There was not a trace -of coquetry in her appearance, no attempt to display to -advantage good points that ought to have been charms. -She was above the medium height, and seemed taller by -reason of the singular conformation of her face and -figure. Her face was long and slim, and also her body, -and her neck and arms; her hands, ungloved, and her -feet, revealed by her walking skirt, had the same -characteristic; the line from her throat to the curve of her -bosom was of unusual length, and also the line of her -back, of her waist, of her legs. Her hair was abundant, -but no one would have guessed how abundant, or how -varied its tints, so severely was it plaited and bound to -her head. Her eyes were of that long narrow kind -which most women, fortunate enough to possess them, -know how to use with an effect at once satanic and -angelic, at once provoking and rebuking passions -tempestuous. But this woman had somehow contrived to -reduce even those eyes to the apparently enforced -puritanism of the rest of her exterior. She had the -elements of beauty, of a rare beauty; yet beautiful she -was not. It was as if nature had molded her for love -and life, and then, in cruel freakishness, had failed to -breathe into her the vital breath. A close observer -might have wondered whether this exterior was not a -mask deliberately held immobile and severe over an -intense, insurgent heart and mind. But close observers -are few, and such a secret—if secret she had—would -pass unsuspected of mere shallow curiosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Within a few yards of the end of the peninsula she -lifted her gaze from the ground, on which it had been -steadily bent. Across her face drifted a slight -smile—cold, or was it merely shy? It revealed the even edge -of teeth of that blue-white which is beautiful only when -the complexion is clear and fine—and her complexion -was dull, sallow, as if from recent illness or much and -harassing worry. The smile was an acknowledgment of -the salutation of a man who had thrown away a half-finished -cigarette and had risen from the bench at the -water's edge.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'ye do, Neva," said he, politely enough, but -with look and tone no man addresses to a woman who -has for him the slightest sex interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How are you, Horace," said she, losing the faint -animation her smile had given her face. Somewhat -constrainedly, either from coldness or from -embarrassment, she gave him her hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They seated themselves on the bench with its many -carvings of initials and fraternity symbols. She took -advantage of his gaze out over the lake to look at him; -but her eyes were inscrutable. He was a big, -powerful-looking man—built on the large plan, within as well -as without, if the bold brow and eyes and the strong -mouth, unconcealed by his close-cropped fair mustache, -did not mislead. At first glance he seemed about -thirty; but there were in his features lines of -experience, of firmness, of formed character, of achievement, -that could not have come with many less than forty -years. He looked significant, successful, the man who -is much and shall be more. He was dressed more -fashionably than would be regarded as becoming in a man of -affairs, except in two or three of our largest cities. In -contrast with his vivid, aggressive personality—or, -was it simply because of shy, supersensitive shrinking -in his presence?—the young woman now seemed -colorless and even bleak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a silence which she was unable or unwilling to -break, he said, "This is very mysterious, Neva—this -sending for me to meet you—secretly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was afraid it might not be pleasant for you—at -the house," replied she hesitatingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His air of surprise was not quite sincere. "Why -not?" he inquired. "There isn't anyone I esteem -more highly than your father, and he likes me. If he -didn't he would not have done all the things that put -me under such a heavy debt of gratitude to him." His -tone suggested that he had to remind himself of the -debt often lest he should be guilty of the baseness of -forgetting it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was eighteen months yesterday," said she, -"since you were—at the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned at what he evidently regarded as a -disagreeable and therefore tactless reminder. "Really? -Time races for those who have something to do besides -watch the clock." Then, ashamed of his irritation, "I -suppose it's impossible, in an uneventful place like this, -to appreciate how the current of a city like Chicago -sweeps a man along and won't release him. There's so -much to think about, one has no time for anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Except the things that are important to one," -replied she. "Don't misunderstand, please. I'm only -stating a fact—not reproaching you—not at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, your father has turned against me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has said nothing. But his expression, when I -happened to speak of you the other day, told me it -would be better for you not to come to the house—at -least, until we had had a talk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, Neva, I don't feel I have any reason to -reproach myself. I'm not the sort of man who stands -about on the tail of his wife's dress or sits round the -house in slippers. I'm trying to make a career, and -that means work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Chicago is only six hours from Battle Field," she -said with curiously quiet persistence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I got the position in Chicago," he reminded -her with some asperity, "I asked you to go with me. -You refused."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you wish me to go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you wish to go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know you did not," he went on. "We had -been married nearly six years, and you cared no more -about me—" He paused to seek a comparison.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Than you cared for me," she suggested. Then, -with a little more energy and color, "I repeat, Horace, -I'm not reproaching you. All I want is that you be -frank. I asked you to come here to-day that we might -talk over our situation honestly. How can we be -honest with each other if you begin by pretending that -business is your reason for staying away?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He studied her unreadable, impassive face. In all -the years of their married life she had never shown such -energy or interest, except about her everlasting -painting, which she was always mussing with, shut away -from everybody; and never had she been so communicative. -But it was too late, far too late, for any sign of -personality, however alluringly suggestive of mystery -unexplored, to rouse him to interest in her. He was -looking at her merely because he wished to discover -what she was just now beating toward. "In the fall," -he said, "I'm going to New York to live. Of course, -that will mean even fewer chances of my -coming—here—coming home."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At the word "home," which she had avoided using, -a smile—her secret smile—flitted into her face, -instantly died away again. He colored.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I heard you were going to New York," said she. -"I saw it in the newspapers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> will not wish to—to leave your -father," he resumed cautiously, as if treading -dangerous ground.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you wish me to go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer. A prolonged silence which she -broke: "You see, Horace, I was right. We mustn't -any longer refuse to look our situation squarely in the -face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His heart leaped. When he got her letter with its -mysterious, urgent summons, a hope had sprung within -him; but he had quickly dismissed it as a mere offspring -of his longing for freedom—had there ever been an -instance of a woman's releasing a man who was on his -way up? But now, he began to hope again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ever since the baby was born—dead," she went -on, face and voice calm, but fingers fiercely interlocked -under a fold of her dress where he could not see, "I've -been thinking we ought not to let our mistake grow -into a tragedy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our mistake?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our marriage."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited until he could conceal his astonishment -before he said, "You, too, feel it was a mistake?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feared so, when we were marrying," she replied. -"I knew it, when I saw how hard you ere trying to do -your 'duty' as a husband—oh, yes, I saw. And, when -the baby and the suffering failed to bring us together, -only showed how far apart we were, I realized there -wasn't any hope. You would have told me, would have -asked for your freedom—yes, I saw that, too—if it -hadn't been for the feeling you had about father—and, -perhaps also—" She paused, then went bravely on, -"—because you were ashamed of having married me -for other reasons than love. Don't deny it, please. -To-day, we can speak the truth to each other without -bitterness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shan't deny," replied he. "I saw that your -father, who had done everything for me, had his heart -set on the marriage. And I'll even admit I was -dazzled by the fact that yours was one of the first and -richest families in the State—I, who was obscure and -poor. It wasn't difficult for me to deceive myself into -thinking my awe of you was the feeling a man ought to -have for the woman he marries." He seemed to have -forgotten she was there. "I had worked hard, too -hard, at college," he went on. "I was exhausted—without -courage. The obstacles to my getting where -I was determined to go staggered me. To marry you -seemed to promise a path level and straight to success."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," she said. Her voice startled -him back to complete consciousness of her presence. -"There was more excuse for you than for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it!" he cried. "What puzzles me, what -I've often asked myself is, 'Why did she marry me?'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not for the reason you think," evaded she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is that?" he asked, his tone not wholly easy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It wasn't because I thought you were going to -have a distinguished career."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This penetration disconcerted him, surprised him. -And he might have gone on to suspect he would do well -to revise his estimate of her, formed in the first months -of their married life and never since even questioned, -had not her next remark started a fresh train of -thought. "So," she said, with her faint smile, "you -see you've had no ground for the fear that, no matter -how plainly you might show me you wished to be free, -I'd hold on to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman might have other reasons than mere -sordidness for not freeing a man," replied he, on the -defensive.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She might </span><em class="italics">think</em><span> she had."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is cynical," said he, once more puzzled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth often is—as we both well know," -replied she. Then, abruptly, but with no surface trace -of effort: "You wish to be free. Well, you are free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean, Neva?" he demanded, -ashamed of the exultation that surged up in him, and -trying to conceal it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just what I say," was her quiet answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a pause, he asked with gentle consideration of -strong for weak that made her wince, "Neva, have you -consulted with anyone—with your father or brother?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't spoken to them about it. Why should -I? Are not our relations a matter between ourselves -alone? Who else could understand? Who could -advise?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you propose is a very grave matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again her secret smile, this time a gleam of irony in -it. "You do not wish to be free?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His expression showed how deeply he instantly -became alarmed. She smiled openly. "Don't pretend to -yourself that you are concerned about my interests," -she said; "frankness to-day—please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you don't realize what you are doing," -he felt compelled to insist. "And that is honest."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand me. You never did. You -never could, so long as I am your wife. That's the -way it is in marriage—if people begin wrong, as we -did. But, at least, believe me when I say I've thought -it all out—in these years of long, long days and weeks -and months when I've had no business to distract me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are right," he said. "We have never been -of the slightest use to each other. We are utterly out -of sympathy—like strangers."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Worse," she replied. "Strangers may come together, -but not the husband and wife whose interest in -each other has been killed." She gazed long out over -the lake toward the mist-veiled Wabash range before -adding, almost under her breath, "Or never was born."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have a naturally expansive temperament," he -went on, as if in her train of thought. "I need friendship, -affection. You are by nature reserved and cold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled enigmatically. "I doubt if you know -me well enough to judge."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At least, you've been cold and reserved with -me—always, from the very beginning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be a strange sort of woman, don't you -think, who would not be chilled by a man who regarded -everyone as a mere rung in his ladder—first for the -hand, then for the foot? Oh, I'm not criticising. I -understand and accept many things I was once foolishly -sensitive about. I see your point of view. You feel -you must get rid of whatever interferes with your -development. And you are right. We must be true to -ourselves. Worn-out clothes, worn-out friends, -worn-out ties of every kind—all must go to the rag -bag—relentlessly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not like it that she said these things so -placidly and without the least bitterness. He admitted -they were true; but her wisdom jarred upon him as -"unwomanly," as further proof of the essential -coldness of her nature; he would have accepted as natural -and proper the most unreasonable and most intemperate -reproaches and denunciations. He hardened his heart -and returned to the main question. "Then you really -wish to be free?" He liked to utter that last word, to -drink in the clarion sound of it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That has been settled," she replied. "We </span><em class="italics">are</em><span> free."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But there are many details——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the lawyers. We need not discuss them. -Besides, they are few and simple. I give you your -freedom; I receive mine—and that is all. I shall take -my own name. And we can both begin again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was looking at her now; for the first time in their -acquaintance he was beginning to wonder whether he -had not been mistaken in assigning her to that -background of neutral-colored masses against which the -few with positive personalities play the drama of life. -As he sat silent, confused, she still further amazed him -by rising and extending her hand. "Good-by," she -said. "You'll take the four-fifty train back to -Chicago?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It seemed to him they were not parting as should -two who had been so long and, in a sense, so intimately, -each in the other's life and thought. Yet, what was -there to be said or done? He rose, hesitated, -awkwardly touched her insistent hand, reluctantly released -it. "Good-by," he stammered. He had an uncomfortable -sense of being dismissed—and who likes summarily -to be dismissed, even by one of whose company -he is least glad?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Suddenly, upon a wave of color the beauty that -nature had all but given her, swept, triumphant and -glorious, into her face, into her figure. It was as -startling, as vivid, as dazzling as the fair, far-stretching -landscape the lightning flash conjures upon the -black curtain of night. While he was staring in dazed -amazement, the apparition vanished with the wave of -emotion that had brought it into view.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before he could decide whether he had seen or had -only imagined, she was gone, was making her way up -the path alone. A sudden melancholy shadowed him—the -melancholy of the closed chapter, of the thing that -has been and shall not be again, forever. But the -exhilarating fact of freedom soon dissipated this thin -shadow. With shoulders erect and firm, and confident -gait he strode toward the station, his mind gone ahead -of him to Chicago, to New York, to his future, his -career, his conquest of power. An hour after his train -left Battle Field, Neva Carlin was to Horace Armstrong -simply a memory, a filed document to be left -undisturbed under its mantle of dust.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-feast-and-a-fiasco"><span class="bold large">II</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A FEAST AND A FIASCO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"There'll be about six hundred of us," Fosdick -had said. "Do your best, and send in the bill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the best it certainly was, even for New York -with its profuse ideas as to dispensing the rivers of -other people's money that flood in upon it from the -whole country. The big banquet hall was walled with -flowers; there were great towering palms rising from -among the tables and so close together that their leaves -intermingled in a roof. Each table was an attempt at a -work of art; the table of honor was strewn and -festooned with orchids at a dollar and a half apiece; there -was music, of course, and it the costliest; there were -souvenirs—they alone absorbed upward of ten thousand -dollars. As for the dinner itself, the markets of the -East and the South and of the Pacific Coast had been -searched; the fish had come from France; the fruit -from English hothouses; four kinds of wine, but those -who preferred it could have champagne straight -through. The cigars cost a dollar apiece, the boutonnières -another dollar, the cigarettes were as expensive -as are the cigars of many men who are particular as to -their tobacco. Lucullus may have spent more on some -of his banquets, but he could have got no such results. -In fact, it was a "seventy-five a plate" dinner, though -Fosdick was not boasting it, as he would have liked; he -was mindful of the recent exposures of the prodigality -of managers of corporations with the investments of -"the widow and the orphan and the thrifty poor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick, presiding, with Shotwell on his right and -Armstrong on his left, swelled with pride in his own -generosity and taste as he gazed round. True, the -O.A.D. was to pay the bill; true, he had known nothing -about the arrangements for the banquet until he came -to preside at it. But was he not the enchanter who -evoked it all? He hadn't a doubt that his was the -glory, all the glory—just as, when he bought for a -large sum a picture with a famous name to it, he showed -himself to be greater than the painter. He prided -himself upon his good taste—did he not select the man -who selected the costly things for him; did he not sign -the checks? But most of all he prided himself on his -big heart. He loved to give—to his children, to his -friends, to servants—not high wages indeed, for that -would have been bad business, but tips and presents -which made a dazzling showing and flooded his heart -with the warm milk of human kindness, whereas a small -increase of wages would be insignificant, without -pleasurable sensation, and a permanent drain. Of all the -men who devote their lives to what some people call -finance—and others call reaping where another has -sown—he was the most generous. "A great, big, -beating human heart," was what you heard about Fosdick -everywhere. "A hard, wily fighter in finance, but a -man full of red blood, for all that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Having surveyed the magic scene his necromancy -and his generosity had created, he shifted his glance -patronizingly to the man at his right—the man for -whom he had done this generous act, the retiring -president of the O.A.D., to whom this dinner was a -testimonial. As Fosdick looked at Shotwell, his face -darkened. "The damned old ingrate," he muttered. "He -doesn't appreciate what I've done for him." And there -was no denying it. The old man was looking a sickly, -forlorn seventy-five, at least, though he was only -sixty-five, only two years older than Fosdick. He was -humped down in a sort of stupor, his big flat chin on his -crushed shirt bosom, his feeble, age-mottled hand -fumbling with his napkin, with his wineglass, with the -knives, forks, and spoons.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The boys are giving you a great send off," said -Fosdick. As Shotwell knew who alone was responsible -for the "magnificent and touching testimonial," -Fosdick risked nothing in this modesty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Shotwell, startled, wiped his mouth with his napkin.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," he said; "it's very nice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nice! And if Fosdick had chosen he could have -had Shotwell flung down and out in disgrace from the -exalted presidency of the O.A.D., instead of retiring -him thus gloriously. Nice! Fosdick almost wished he -had—almost. He would have quite wished it, if -retiring Shotwell in disgrace would not have injured the -great company, so absolutely dependent upon popular -confidence. Nice! Fosdick turned away in disgust. He -remembered how, when he had closed his trap upon -Shotwell—a superb stroke of business, that!—not a soul -had suspected until the jaws snapped and the O.A.D. was -his—he remembered how Shotwell had met his -demand for immediate resignation or immediate -disgrace, with shrieks of hate and cursing. "I suppose -he can't get over it," reflected Fosdick. "Men blind -themselves completely to the truth where vanity and -self-interest are concerned. He probably still hates -me, and can't see that I was foolishly generous with -him. Where's there another man in the financial district -who'd have allowed him a pension of half his salary -for life?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But such thoughts as these in this hour for -expansion and good will marred his enjoyment. Fosdick -turned to the man at his left, to young Armstrong, -whom he was generously lifting to the lofty seat from -which he had so forbearingly ejected the man at his -right. Armstrong—a huge, big fellow with one of -those large heads which show unmistakably that they -are of the rare kind of large head that holds a large -brain—was as abstracted as Shotwell. The food, the -wine before him, were untouched. He was staring into -his plate, with now and then a pull at his cropped, fair -mustache or a passing of his large, ruddy, well-shaped -hand over his fine brow. "What's the matter, -Horace?" said Fosdick; "chewing over the speech?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong straightened himself with a smile that -gave his face instantly the look of frankness and of -high, dauntless spirit. "No, I've got that down—and -mighty short it is," said he; "the fewer words I say -now, the fewer there'll be to rise up and mock me, if I -fail."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fail! Pooh! Nonsense! Cheer up!" cried Fosdick. -"It's a big job for a young fellow, but you're -bound to win. You've got </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> behind you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong looked uncomfortable rather than relieved. -"They've elected me president," said he, and -his quiet tone had the energy of an inflexible will. "I -intend to be president. No one can save me if I haven't -it in me to win out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick frowned, and pursed his lips until his harsh -gray mustache bristled. "Symptoms of swollen head -already," was his irritated inward comment. "He's -been in the job forty-eight hours, and he's ready to -forget who made him. But I'll soon remind him that I -could put him where I got him—and further down, -damn him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some one is signaling you from the box straight -ahead," said Armstrong. "I think it's your daughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the young woman was plainly visible and as -Armstrong knew her well, this caution of statement -could not have been quite sincere. But Fosdick did -not note it; he was bowing and smiling at the -occupants of that most conspicuous box. At the table of -honor to the right and left of him were the directors of -the O.A.D., the most representative of the leading -citizens of New York; they owned, so it was said, one -fifteenth and directly controlled about one half of the -entire wealth of the country; not a blade was harvested, -not a wheel was turned, not a pound of freight was -lifted from Maine to the Pacific but that they directly -or indirectly got a "rake off"—or, if you prefer, a -commission for graciously permitting the work to be -done. In the horseshoe of boxes, overlooking the -banquet, were the families of these high mightinesses, the -wives and daughters and sons who gave the mightiness -outward and visible expression in gorgeous display and -in painstaking reproduction of the faded old -aristocracies of birth beyond the Atlantic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick had insisted on this demonstration because -the banquet was to be not only a testimonial to Shotwell, -but also a formal installation of himself and his -daughter and son in the high society of the plutocracy. -Fosdick had long had power downtown; but he had -lacked respectability. Not that his reputation was not -good; on the contrary, it was spotless—as honest as -generous, as honorable as honest. Respectability, -however, has nothing to do with honesty, whether -reputed or real. It is a robe, an entitlement, a badge; it -comes from associating with the respectable, uptown -as well as down. Fosdick, grasping this fact, after -twenty years' residence in New York in ignorance of it, -had forthwith resolved to be respectable, to change the -dubious social status of his family into a structure as -firm and as imposing as his fortune. His business -associates had imagined themselves free, uptown at least, from -his vast and ever vaster power; at one stroke he showed -them the fatuous futility of their social coldness, of -their carefully drawn line between doing business with -him and being socially intimate with him, made it -amusingly apparent that their condescensions to his -daughter and son in the matter of occasional invitations were -as flimsily based as were their elaborate pretenses of -superior birth and breeding. He invited them to make -a social function of this business dinner; he made each -recipient of an invitation personally feel that it was -wise to accept, dangerous to refuse. The hope of -making money and the dread of losing it have ever been the -two all-powerful considerations in an aristocracy of any -kind. Respectability and fashion "accepted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So, Fosdick, looking across that resplendent scene, -at the radiant faces of his daughter and son, felt the -light and the warmth driving away the shadows of -Shotwell's ingratitude and Armstrong's lack of deference. -But just as he was expanding to the full girth of his -big heart, he chilled and shrunk again. There, beside -his daughter, sat old Shotwell's wife. She was as cold -as so much marble; the diamonds on her great white -shoulders and bosom seemed to give off a chill from -their light. She was there, it is true; but like a -dethroned queen in the triumphal procession of an upstart -conqueror. She was a rebuke, a damper, a spoiler of -the feast. She never had cared for old Shotwell; she -had married him because he was the best available catch -and could give her everything she wanted, everything -she could conceive a woman's wanting. She had -tolerated him as one of the disagreeable but necessary -incidents of the journey of life. But Shotwell's downfall -was hers, was their children's. It meant a lower rank -in the social hierarchy; it meant that she and hers must -bow before this "nobody from nowhere" and his children. -She sat there, beside Amy, in front of Hugo, -the embodiment of icy hate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This damn dinner is entirely too long," muttered -Fosdick, though he did not directly connect his -dissatisfaction with the cold stare from Shotwell's wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Mrs. Shotwell was not interfering with the -enjoyment of Amy and Hugo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Fosdick had planned with an inquisitor's cunning -to put her to the most exquisite torture, he could -not have been more successful. From his box she had -the best possible view of the whole scene; and, while -Shotwell had told her only the smallest part of the truth -about his "resignation," she had read the newspaper -reports of the investigation of the O.A.D. which had -preceded his downfall, and, though that investigation -had changed from an attack on him to an exoneration, -after he yielded to Fosdick, she had guessed enough of -the truth to know that this "testimonial" to him was -in fact a testimonial to Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo and Amy, the children of a rich man and -unmarried, had long been popular with all the women who -had unmarried sons and daughters; this evening they -roused enthusiasm. Everybody who hoped to make, or -feared to lose, money was impressed by their charms. -Amy, who was pretty, was declared beautiful; Hugo, -who looked as if he had brains, though in fact he had -not, was pronounced a marvel of serious intellectuality. -The young men flocked round Amy; Hugo's tour of the -boxes was an ovation. To an observant outsider, -looking beneath surfaces to realities, the scene would have -been ludicrous and pitiful; to those taking part, it -seemed elegant, kindly, charming. Mrs. Shotwell was -almost at the viewpoint of the outsider—not the -philosopher, but he who stands hungry and thirsty in -the cold and glowers through the window at the -revelers and denounces them for their selfish gluttony. -And by the way of chagrin and envy she reached the -philosopher's conclusion. "How coarse and low!" she -thought. "New York gets more vulgar every year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy, accustomed all her life to have anything and -everything she wanted, had been dissatisfied about the -family's social position and eager to improve it; but -the instant she realized they were at last "in the push," -securely there, she began to lose interest; after an hour -of the new adulation, she had enough, was looking -impatiently round for something else to want and to -strive for.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not so Hugo. Society had seemed a serious matter -to him from his earliest days at college, when he began -to try to get into the fashionable fraternities, and -failed. He had been invited wherever any marriageable -girls were on exhibition; but he had noted, and had -taken it quickly to heart, that he was not often invited -when such offerings were not being made. He had -gone heavily into a flirtation with a young married -woman, as dull as himself. It was in vain; she had -invited him, but her friends had not, unless she was to be -there to take care of him. He had attributed this in -part to his father, in part to his married sister—his -father, who made occasional slips in grammar and was -boisterous and dictatorial in conversation; his sister, -whose husband kept a big retail furniture store and -"looks the counter-jumper that he is," Hugo often -said to Amy in their daily discussions of their social -woes. Now, all this worriment was over; Hugo, -touring the boxes, felt he had reached the summit of -ambition. And it seemed to him he had himself brought -it about—his diplomatic assiduity in cultivating "the -right people," the steady, if gradual, permeation of his -physical and mental charms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy sent a note down to Armstrong, asking him to -come to the box a moment. As he entered, Hugo was -just leaving on another excursion for further whiffs of -the incense that was making him visibly as drunk, if in -a slightly different way, as the younger and obscurer -members of the staff of the O.A.D. downstairs. At -sight of Armstrong he put out his hand graciously and -said: "Ah—Horace—howdy?" in a tone that made -it difficult for Armstrong to refrain from laughing in -his face.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All right, Hugo," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo frowned. For him to address one of his -father's employees by his first name was natural and -proper and a mark of distinguished favor; for one of -those employees to retort in kind was a gross impertinence. -He did not see just how to show his indignation, -just how to set the impudent employee back in his -place. He put the problem aside for further thought, -and brushed haughtily by Armstrong, who, however, -had already forgotten him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just let Mr. Armstrong sit there, won't you?" -said Amy to the young man in the seat immediately -behind hers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man flushed; she had cut him off in the -middle of a sentence which was in the middle of the -climax of what he thought a most amusing story. He -gave place to Armstrong, hating him, since hatred of -an heiress was not to be thought of.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it you want so particularly to see me -about?" Armstrong said to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled with radiant coquetry. "Nothing at -all," she replied. "I put that in the note simply to -make sure you'd come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong laughed. "You're a spoiled one," said -he. And he got up, nodded friendlily to her, bowed to -her Arctic chaperon and departed, she so astonished -that she could think of nothing to say to detain him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her first impulse was rage—that </span><em class="italics">she</em><span> should be -treated thus! she whom </span><em class="italics">everybody</em><span> treated with -consideration! Then, her vanity, readiest and most tactful -of courtiers, suggested that he had done it to pique her, -to make himself more attractive in her eyes. That -mollified her, soon had her in good humor again. Yes, -he was as much part of her court as the others; only, -being shrewder, he pursued a different method. "And -he's got a right to hold himself dear," she said to -herself, as she watched him making his way to his seat at -the table of honor. Certainly he did look as if he -belonged at or near the head of the head table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon her father was standing, was rapping for -order. Handsome and distinguished, with his keen face -and tall lean figure, his iron-gray hair and mustache, he -spoke out like one who has something to say and will be -heard:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen and ladies!" he began. "We are -gathered here to-night to do honor to one of the men of -our time and country. His name is a household word." -(Applause.) "For forty years he has made comfortable -an ever increasing number of deathbeds, has stood -between the orphan and the pangs of want, has given -happy old age to countless thousands." (Applause. -Cries of "Good! Good!") "Ladies and gentlemen, -we honor ourselves in honoring this noble character. -Speaking for the directors, of whom I am one of the -oldest—in point of service"—(Laughter. Applause.)—"speaking -for the directors, I say, in all sincerity, it -is with the profoundest regret that we permit him to -partially sever his official connection with the great -institution he founded and has been so largely -instrumental in building up to its present magnificent -position. We would fain have him stay on where his name -is a guarantee of honesty, security and success." -(Cheers.) "But he has insisted that he must transfer -the great burden to younger shoulders. He has earned -the right to repose, ladies and gentlemen. We cannot -deny him what he has earned. But he leaves us his -spirit." (Wild applause.) "Wherever the O.A.D. is -known—and where is it not known?" (Cheers and -loud rattling of metal upon glass and china.)—"there -his name is written high as an inspiration to the young. -He has been faithful; he has been honest; he has -been diligent. By these virtues he has triumphed." -(Cheers.) "His triumph, ladies and gentlemen, is an -inspiration to us all." (Cheers. Cries of "Whoope-ee" -from several drunken men at the far tables.)</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let us rise, gentlemen, and drink to our honored, -our honorable chief!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The banqueters sprang to their feet, lifting their -glasses high. Old Shotwell, his face like wax, rose -feebly, stared into vacancy, passed one tremulous hand -over the big, flat, weak chin, sunk into his chair again. -Some one shouted, "Three cheers for Shotwell!" Floor -and boxes stood and cheered, with much waving of napkins -and handkerchiefs and clinking of glasses. It was -a thrilling scene, the exuberant homage of affairs to -virtue.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see, ladies and gentlemen, that my poor words -have been in the direction of your thoughts," continued -Fosdick. "And now devolves upon me the pleasant -duty of——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Here a beflowered hand truck, bearing a large rosewood -chest, was wheeled in front of the table of honor. -The attendants threw back the lid and disclosed a -wonderful service of solid gold plate. This apparition of -the god in visible, tangible form caused hysterical -excitement—cheers, shouts, frantic cranings and wavings -from floor and gallery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"—The pleasant duty of presenting this slight -token of appreciation from our staff to our retiring -president," ended Fosdick in a tremendous voice and -with a vast, magnanimous sweep of the arms.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Old Shotwell, dazed, lifted his chin from his shirt -bosom, stared stupidly at the chest, rose at a prod from -his neighbor, bowed, and sat down again. Fosdick -seated himself, nudged him under the table, whispered -hoarsely under cover of his mustache, "Get up. Get -up! Here's the time for your speech."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The old man fumbled in his breast pocket, drew out -a manuscript, rose uncertainly. As he got on his feet, -the manuscript dropped to the floor. Armstrong saw, -moved around between Shotwell and his neighbor, picked -up the manuscript, opened it, laid it on the table at -Shotwell's hand. "Ladies and gentlemen," quavered -Shotwell, in a weak voice and with an ashen face, "I -thank you. I—I—thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The diners rose again. "Three cheers for the old -chief!" was the cry, and out they rang. Tears were -in Shotwell's eyes; tears were rolling down Fosdick's -cheeks; some of the drunken were sobbing. As they -sang, "For he's a jolly good fellow," Fosdick's great -voice leading and his arm linked in Shotwell's, -Armstrong happened to glance down at the manuscript. -The opening sentence caught his eye—"</span><em class="italics">Fellow builders -of the Mutual Association Against Old Age and Death, -I come here to expose to you the infamous conspiracy -of which I have been the victim.</em><span>" Before Armstrong -could stop himself, he had been fascinated into reading -the second sentence: "</span><em class="italics">I purpose to expose to you, -without sparing myself, how Josiah Fosdick has seized -the O.A.D. to gamble with its assets, using his -unscrupulous henchman, Horace Armstrong, as a blind.</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong, white as his shirt, folded the manuscript -and held it in the grip a man gives that which is -between him and destruction. The singing finished, all -sat down again, Shotwell with the rest. Had his mind -given way, or his will? Armstrong could not tell; -certain it was, however, that he had abandoned the -intention of changing the banquet into about the most -sensational tragedy that had ever shaken and torn the -business world. Armstrong put the manuscript in his -pocket. "I'll mail it to him," he said to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But now Josiah was up again, was calling for a -"few words from my eminent young friend, whom the -directors of the O.A.D., in the wise discharge of the -trust imposed upon them by three quarters of a million -policy holders, have elected to the presidency. His -shoulders are young, gentlemen, but"—here he laid his -hand affectionately upon Armstrong—"as you can see -for yourselves, they are broad and strong." He -beamed benevolently down upon Armstrong's thick, -fair hair. "Young man, we want to hear your pledge -for your stewardship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Horace Armstrong, unnerved by the narrowly -averted catastrophe, drew several deep breaths before -he found voice. He glanced along first one line, -then the other, of the eminent and most respectable -directors, these men of much and dubious wealth which -yet somehow made them the uttermost reverse of -dubious, made them the bulwarks of character and law -and property—of all they had trodden under foot to -achieve "success." Then he gazed out upon the men -who were to take orders from him henceforth, the -superintendents, agents, officials of the O.A.D. "My -friends," said he, "we have charge of a great -institution. With God's help we will make it greater, the -greatest. It has been one of the mainstays of the -American home, the American family. It shall -remain so, if I have your coöperation and support."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he abruptly resumed his seat. There were -cheers, but not loud or hearty. His manner had been -nervous, his voice uncertain, unconvincing. But for -his presence—that big frame, those powerful -features—he would have made a distinctly bad impression. -As he sat, conscious of failure but content because he -had got through coherently, old Shotwell began -fumbling and muttering, "My speech! Where's my -speech! I've lost it. Somebody might find it. If -the newspapers should get it——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But the dinner was over. The boxes were emptying, -the intoxicated were being helped out by their -friends, the directors were looking uneasily at Fosdick -for permission to join their departing families. -Fosdick took Shotwell firmly by the arm and escorted him, -still mumbling, to the carriage entrance, there turning -him over to Mrs. Shotwell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's very precious to us all, madam," said Fosdick, -indifferent to her almost sneering coldness, and -giving the old man a patronizing clap on the shoulder. -"Take good care of him." To himself he added, "I'll -warrant she will, with that pension his for his lifetime -only."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he went home, to sleep the sleep of a good man -at the end of a good day.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="only-cousin-neva"><span class="bold large">III</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"ONLY COUSIN NEVA"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Letty Morris—"Mrs. Joe"—was late for her -Bohemian lunch. She called it Bohemian because she -had asked a painter, a piano player and an actress, -and was giving it in the restaurant of a studio building. -As her auto rolled up to the curb, she saw at the -entrance, just going away, a woman of whom her first -thought was "What strange, fascinating eyes!" then, -"Why, it's only Cousin Neva"; for, like most New -Yorkers, she was exceedingly wary of out-of-town -people, looking on them, with nothing to offer, as a -waste of time and money. As it was, on one of those -friendly impulses that are responsible for so much of the -good, and so much of the evil, in this world, she cried, -"Why, Genevieve Carlin! What are </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> doing </span><em class="italics">here</em><span>?" And -she descended from her auto and rushed up to Neva.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'ye do, Letty?" said Neva distantly. She -had startled, had distinctly winced, at the sound of -those affected accents and tones which the fashionable -governesses and schools are rapidly making the natural -language of "our set" and its fringes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why haven't you let me know?" she reproached. -As the words left her lips, up rose within herself an -answer which she instantly assumed was </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> answer. -The divorce, of course! She flushed with annoyance -at her tactlessness. Her first sensation in thinking of -divorce was always that it was scandalous, disgraceful, -immoral, a stain upon the woman and her family; but -quick upon that feeling, lingering remnant of -discarded childhood training, always came the recollection -that divorce was no longer unfashionable, was therefore -no longer either immoral or disgraceful, was scandalous -in a delightful, aristocratic way. "But," reflected -she, "probably Neva still feels about that sort of thing -as we all used to feel—at least, all the best people." She -was confirmed in this view by her cousin's embarrassed -expression. She hastened to her relief with -"Joe and I talk of you often. Only the other day I -started a note to you, asking you when you could -visit us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not believe, when Neva told the literal truth -in replying: "I came to work. I thought I wouldn't -disturb you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Disturb!" cried Mrs. Morris. "You are so -queer. How long have you been here?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Several weeks. I—I've an apartment in this house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How delightful!" exclaimed Letty absently. She -was herself again and was thinking rapidly. A new -man, even from "the provinces," might be fitted in to -advantage; but what could she do with another woman, -one more where there were already too many for the -men available for idling?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must let me see something of you," said she, -calmer but still cordial. "You must come to -dinner—Saturday night." That was Letty Morris's resting -night—a brief and early dinner, early to bed for a sleep -that would check the ravages of the New York season -in a beauty that must be husbanded, since she had -crossed the perilous line of thirty. "Yes—Saturday—at -half-past seven. And here's one of my cards to -remind you of the address. I must be going now. -I'm horribly late." And with a handshake and brush of -the lips on Neva's cheek, the small, brilliant, blonde -cousin was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a nuisance," she was saying to herself. -"Why </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> I let myself be surprised into attracting her -attention? Now, I'll have to do something for her—we're -really under obligations to her father—I don't -believe Joe has paid back the last of that loan yet. -Well, I can use her occasionally to take Joe off my -hands. She looks all right—really, it's amazing how -she has improved in dress. She seems to know how to -put on her clothes now. But she's too retiring to be -dangerous. A woman who's presentable yet not dangerous -is almost desirable, is as rare as an attractive man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delusion of our own importance is all but -universal—and everywhere most happy; but for it, would -not life's cynicism broaden from the half-hidden smirk -into a disheartening sneer? Among fashionable people, -narrow, and carefully educated only in class prejudice -and pretentious ignorance, this delusion becomes an -obsession. The whole hardworking, self-absorbed world -is watching them—so they delight in imagining—is -envying them, is imitating them. Letty assumed that -Neva had kept away through awe, and that she would -now take advantage of her politeness to cling to her -and get about in society; as Mrs. Morris thought of -nothing but society, she naturally felt that the whole -world must be similarly occupied. She would have been -astounded could she have seen into Neva's mind—seen -the debate going on there as to how to entrench herself -against annoyance from her cousin. "Shall I refuse -her invitation?" thought Neva. "Or, is it better to -go Saturday night, and have done with, since I must go -to her house once?" She reluctantly decided for -Saturday night. "And after that I can plead my work; -and soon she'll forget all about me. It's ridiculous that -people who wish to have nothing to do with each other -should be forced by a stupid conventionality to irritate -themselves and each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Saturday afternoon, each debated writing the other, -postponing the engagement. Neva had a savage -attack of the blues; at such times she shut herself in, -certain she could not get from the outside the cheer she -craved and too keen to be content with the cheer that -would offer shallow, wordy sympathy, or, worse still, -self-complacent pity. As for Letitia, she was quarreling -with her husband—about money as usual. She was -one of those doll-looking women who so often have -serpentine craft and wills of steel. Morris adored her, -after the habit of men with such women; she made him -feel so big and strong and intellectually superior; and -her childish, clinging ways were intoxicating, as she -had great physical charm, she so cool and smooth and -golden white and delicately perfumed. She always got -her own way with everyone; usually her husband, her -"master," yielded at the first onset. Once in a -while—and this happened to be of those times—he held out for -the pleasure of seeing her pout and weep and then, as -he yielded, burst into a radiance like sunshine through -summer rain. If she had had money of her own he -might have got a sudden and even shocking insight into -the internal machinery of that doll's head; as it was, -his delusion about the relative intelligence and strength -of himself and his Letty was intact.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Joe did not share his enthusiasm for these -"love-tilts"; she did not mind employing the "doll -game" in her dealings with the world, but she would -have liked to be her real self at home. This, however, -was impossible if she was to get the largest results in -the quickest and easiest way. So she wearily played on -at the farce, and at times grew heartsick with envy of -the comparatively few independent—which means -financially independent—women of her set, and disliked her -Joe when she was forced to think about him distinctly, -which was not often. In marriages where the spirit -has shriveled and died within the letter, habit soon -hardens a wife to an amazing degree toward practical -unconsciousness of the existence of her husband, even -though he be uxorious. Letty's married life bored -her; but she had no more sense of degradation in thus -making herself a pander, and for hire, than had her -husband, at the same business downtown. She saw so -many of the "very best" women doing just as she did, -using each the fittest form of cajolery and cozening to -wheedle money for extravagances out of their husbands, -that it seemed as much the proper and reputable -thing as going to bullfights seems to Spaniards, or -watching wild beasts devour men, women, and children -seemed to the "very best" people of imperial Rome. -For the same reason, her husband did not linger -upon the real meaning of the phrase "legal adviser" -whereunder the business of himself and his brother -lawyers was so snugly and smugly masked—the -business of helping respectable scoundrels glut bestial -appetites for other people's property without fear -of jail.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The quarrel had so far advanced that Saturday -night was the logical time for the climax in sentimental -reconciliation. However, Mrs. Morris decided to -endure a twenty-four hours' delay and "get Neva over -with." She repented the instant Neva appeared. "I -had no idea she could be so good looking," thought she, -in a panic at the prospect of rivalry, with desirable -available men wofully scarce. She swept Neva with a -searching, hostile glance. "She's really almost -beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, in fact, never before was Neva so good looking. -Vanity is an air plant not at all dependent upon -roots in realities for nourishment and growth. Thus, -she, born with rather less than the normal physical -vanity, had been unaffected by the charms she could not -but have seen had she looked at herself with vanity's -sprightly optimism. Nor was there any encouragement -in the atmosphere of old-fashioned Battle Field, -where the best people were still steeped in medieval -disdain of "foolishness" and regarded the modern passion -for the joy of life as sinful. Also, she was without -that aggressive instinct to please by physical charm -which even circumvents the regulations of a chapter of -cloistered nuns.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Until she came to New York, she had given her -personal appearance no attention whatever, beyond -instinctively trying to be as unobtrusive as possible; and -even in New York her concessions to what she regarded -as waste of time were really not concessions at all, were -merely the result of exercising in the most indifferent -fashion her natural good taste, in choosing the best -from New York's infinite variety as she had chosen the -best from Battle Field's meager and commonplace -stocks of goods for women. The dress she was -wearing that evening was not especially grand, seemed -quakerishly high in the neck in comparison with -Letty's; for Letty had a good back and was not one to -conceal a charm which it was permissible to display. -But Neva, in soft silver-gray; with her hair, bright, -yet neither gold nor red, but all the shades between, -framing her long oval face in a pompadour that merged -gracefully into a simple knot at the back of her small -head; with her regular features shown to that -advantage which regular features have only when shoulders -and neck are bared; and with her complexion cleared of -all sallowness and restored to its natural smooth pallor -by the healthful air and life of New York—Neva, thus -recreated, was more than distinguished looking, was -beautiful. "Who'd have thought it?" reflected Letty -crossly. "What a difference clothes do make!" But -Neva was slender—"thin, painfully thin," thought -Mrs. Morris, with swiftly recovering spirits. She -herself was plump and therefore thought "scrawniness" -hideous, though often, to draw attention to her rounded -charms, she wailed piteously that she was getting -"disgracefully fat."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neither of the men—her husband and Boris -Raphael, the painter—shared her poor opinion of Neva -after the first glance. Morris did not care for thin -women, but he thought Neva had a certain beauty—not -the kind he admired, but a kind, nevertheless. Boris -studied the young woman with an expression that made -Mrs. Joe redden with jealousy. "You think my cousin -pretty?" said she to him, as they went down to dinner -far enough ahead of Neva and Morris to be able to talk -freely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"More than that," replied Boris, "I think her -unusual."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you ever chance to see her in ordinary dress, -you'll change your mind, I'm sorry to say," said Letty -softly. "Poor Neva! Hers is a sad case. She's one -of the ought-to-bes-but-aren'ts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's my business to see things as they are," was the -painter's exasperating reply. "And I'd not in any -circumstances be blind to such a marvelous study in -long lines as she."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Marvelous!" Mrs. Morris laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Long face, long neck, long bust, long waist, long -legs, long hands and feet," explained he. "It's the -kind of beauty that has to be pointed out to ordinary -eyes before they see it. I can imagine her passing for -homely in a rude community, just as her expression of -calm might pass for coldness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Morris revised her opinion of Boris. She had -thought him a most tactful person; she knew the truth -now. A man who would praise one woman to another -could never be called tactful; to praise enthusiastically -was worse than tactless, it was boorish. "How impossible -it is," thought she, "for a man of low origin to -rise wholly above it." She said, "I'm delighted that my -cousin pleases you," as coldly as she could speak to a -man after whom everyone was running.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must paint her," he said, noting Letty's anger, -but indifferent to it. "If I succeed, everyone will see -what I see. If that woman were to love and be loved, -her face would become—divine! Divinely human, I -mean—for she's flesh and blood. The fire's -there—laid and ready for the match."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he and Morris were alone after dinner he -began on Neva again, unaffected by her seeming -incapacity to respond to his efforts to interest her. "I -could scarcely talk for watching her," he said. "She -puzzles me. I should not have believed a girl—an -unmarried woman—could have such an expression."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's not a girl," explained Morris. "She has -taken her maiden name again. She was Mrs. Armstrong—was -married until last summer to the chap that -was made president of the O.A.D. last October."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never heard of him," said the artist.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That shows how little you know about what's -going on downtown. When Galloway died—you've -heard of Galloway?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I painted him—an old eagle—or vulture."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We'll say eagle, as he's dead. When he died, -there was a split in the O.A.D., which he had dominated -and used for years—and mighty little he let old Shotwell -have, I understand, in return for doing the dirty -work. Well, Fosdick finally cooked up that investigation, -frightened everybody into fits, won out, beat down -the Galloway crowd, threw out Shotwell and put in this -young Western fellow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the O.A.D.?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must have seen the building, the advertisements -everywhere—knight in armor beating off specters -of want. It's an insurance company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought insurance companies were to insure people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," replied Morris. "That's what -people think they're for—just as they think steel -companies are to make steel, and coal companies to mine -coal, and railway companies to carry freight and -passengers. But all that, my dear fellow, is simply -incidental. They're really to mass big sums of money for -our great financiers to scramble for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How interesting," said Raphael in an uninterested -tone. "Some time I must try to learn about -those things. Then your cousin has divorced her -husband? That's the tragedy I saw in her face."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tragedy!" Morris laughed outright. "There -you go again, Boris. You're always turning your -imagination loose."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To explore the mysteries my eyes find, my dear -Joe," said Boris, unruffled. "You people—the great -mass of the human race—go through the world -blindfold—blindfolded by ignorance, by prejudice, -by letting your stupid brain tell your eyes what they -are seeing instead of letting your eyes tell your -brain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never heard there was much to Neva Carlin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally," replied Boris. "Not all the people -who have individuality, personality, mind and heart, -beat a drum and march in the middle of the street to -inform the world of the fact. As for emotions—real -emotions—they don't shriek and weep; they hide and -are dumb. I, who let my eyes see for themselves, look -at this woman and see beauty barefoot on the hot -plowshares. And you—do not look and, therefore, see -nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morris made no reply, but his expression showed he -was only silenced, not convinced. He knew his old -friend Boris was a great painter—the prices he got for -his portraits proved it; and the portraits themselves -were certainly interesting, had the air that irradiates -from every work of genius, whether one likes or -appreciates the work or not. He knew that the basis of -Raphael's genius was in his marvelous sight—"simply -seeing where others will not" was Boris's own description -of his gift. Yet when Boris reported to him what -he saw, he was incredulous. "An artist's wild -imagination," he said to himself. In the world of the blind, -the dim-eyed man is king, not the seeing man; the seeing -man—the "seer"—passes for mad, and the blind -follow those with not enough sight to rouse the distrust -of their flock.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the painter returned to the drawing-room -Neva was gone. As his sight did not fail him when he -watched the motions of his bright, blond little friend, -Mrs. Joe, he suspected her of having had a hand in -Neva's early departure. And she thought she had -herself. But, in fact, Neva left because she was too shy to -face again the man whose work she had so long -reverenced. She knew she ought to treat him as an -ordinary human being, but she could not; and she yielded -to the impulse to fly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must take me to sec your cousin," said he, -his chagrin plain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whenever you like," agreed Letty, with that -elaborate graciousness which raises a suspicion of -insincerity in the most innocent mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Boris. And to her surprise -and relief he halted there, without attempting to pin -her down to day and hour. "He asked simply to be -polite," decided she, "and perhaps to irritate me a -little. He's full of those feminine tricks."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-fosdick-family"><span class="bold large">IV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">THE FOSDICK FAMILY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In each of America's great cities, East, West, -South, Far West, a cliff of marble glistening down upon -the thoroughfare where the most thousands would see it -daily; armies of missionaries, so Fosdick liked to call -them, moving everywhere among the people; other -armies of officers and clerks, housed in the clifflike -palaces and garnering the golden harvests reaped by the -missionaries—such was the scene upon which Horace -Armstrong looked out from his aerie in the vastest of -the palaces o£ the O.A.D. And it inspired him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Institutions, like individuals, have a magnetism, a -power to attract and to hold, that is quite apart from -any analyzable quality or characteristic. Armstrong -had grown up in the O.A.D., had preached it as he -rose in its service until he had preached belief in it into -himself—a belief that was unshaken by the series of -damning exposures of its Wall Street owners and users, -and had survived his own discoveries, as the increasing -importance of his successive positions had forced the -"inside ring" to let him deeper and deeper into the -secrets. He had not been long in the presidency before -he saw that the whole system for gathering in more -and more policy holders, however beneficent incidental -results might be, had as its sole purpose the drawing of -more and more money within reach of greedy, unclean -hands. The fact lay upon the surface of the O.A.D. as -plain as a great green serpent sprawled upon the -ooze of a marsh. Why else would these multimillionaire -money hunters interest themselves in insurance? -And not a day passed without his having to condemn -and deplore—in his own mind—acts of the Fosdick -clique. But morals are to a great extent a matter of -period and class; Armstrong, busy, unanalytic, -"up-to-date" man of affairs, accepted without much -question the current moral standards of and for the man of -affairs. And when he saw the inside ring "going too -far," here and there, now and then, he no more thought -of denouncing it and abandoning his career than a -preacher would think of resigning a bishopric because -he found that his fellow bishops had not been made -more than human by the laying on of hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Where he could, Armstrong ignored; where he -could not ignore—he told himself that the end excused -the means.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The busy days fled. He had the feeling of being -caught in a revolving door that took him from -bedtime to bedtime again without letting him out to -accomplish anything; and he was soon so well accommodated -to the atmosphere of high finance that he was -breathing it with almost no sensation of strangeness. -When old Shotwell died—of "heart failure"—Armstrong -took out the undelivered speech.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The day after the "testimonial," he had decided -that to read that speech would be dangerously near to -the line between honor and dishonor; besides, it -probably contained many things which, whether true or -prejudiced, might affect his peace of mind, might -inflict upon his conscience unnecessary discomforts. A -wise man is careful not to admit to his valuable brain -space matters which do not help him in the accomplishment -of his purposes. Should he mail the manuscript -to Shotwell? No. That might tempt the old man to -a course of folly and disaster. Armstrong hid the -"stick of dynamite" among his private papers. But -now, Shotwell was dead; and—well, he still believed in -the O.A.D.—in the main; but many things had -happened in the months since he came on from the West, -many and disquieting things. He felt that he owed it -to himself, and to the O.A.D., to gather from any and -every source information about the Fosdick ring. He -unfolded the manuscript, spread it before him on the -desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Eleven typewritten pages, setting forth in detail -how Fosdick had slyly lured Shotwell into committing, -apparently alone, certain "indiscretions" for which -there happened to be legal penalties of one to ten years -in the penitentiary at hard labor; how Shotwell, thus -isolated, was trapped—though, as he proceeded to -show, he had done nothing morally or legally worse than -all the others had done, the Fosdick faction being -careful to entangle in each misdeed enough of the Galloway -faction to make itself secure. And all the offenses -were those "mere technicalities" which high finance -permits the law to condemn only because they, when -committed in lower circles, cease to be justifiable -exceptions to the rule and become those "grave infractions -of social order and of property rights" which Chamber -of Commerce dinners and bar associations of corporation -lawyers so strenuously lecture the people about. -And so, Shotwell had fallen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong read the document four times—the first -time, at a gallop; the second time, line by line; the third -time, with a long, thoughtful pause after each -paragraph; the fourth time, line by line again, with one -hand supporting his brow while the index finger of the -other traced under each separate word. Then he -leaned back and gazed from peak to peak of the -skyscrapers, stretching range on range toward harbor and -river. He was not thinking now of the wrongs, the -crimes against that mass of policy holders, so remote, -so abstract. He was listening to a different, a more -terrible sound than the vague wail of that vague mass; -he was hearing the ticking of a death-watch. For he -had discovered that Fosdick had him trapped in just -the same way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As a precaution? Or with the time of his downfall -definitely fixed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong began to pace the limits of his big -private room. For a turn or so it surprised him to find -that he could move freely about; for, with the thought -that he was in another man's power, had come a -physical sensation of actual chains and bolts and bars, of -dungeon walls and dungeon air. In another man's -power! In Fosdick's power! He, Horace Armstrong, -proud, intensely alive and passionately fond of -freedom, with inflexible ambition set upon being the master -of men—he, a slave, dependent for his place, for his -authority, for his very reputation. Dependent on the -nod of a fellow man. He straightened himself, shook -himself; he clenched his fists and his teeth until the -powerful muscles of his arms and shoulders and jaws -swelled to aching, until the blood beat in his skin like -flame against furnace wall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The door opened; he saw as he was turning that it -was Josiah Fosdick; he wheeled back toward the window -because he knew that if he should find himself full face -to this master of his before he got self-control, he would -spring at him and sink his fingers in his throat and -wring the life out of him. The will to kill! To feel -that creature under him, under his knees and fingers; to -see eyes and tongue burst out; to know that the brain -that dared conceive the thought of making a slave of -him was dead for its insolence!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good morning, my boy!" Josiah was saying in -that sonorous, cheery voice of his. He always wore -his square-crowned hard hat or his top hat well back -from his brow when he was under roof downtown; and -he was always nervously chewing at a cigar, which -sometimes was lighted and sometimes not. Just now it was -not lighted and the odor of it was to Armstrong the -sickening stench of the personality of his master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My master!" he muttered, and wiped the sweat -from his forehead; with eyes down and the look of the -lion cringing before the hot iron in its tamer's hand he -muttered a response.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to put my son Hugo in as one of the -fourth vice-presidents," continued the old man, seating -himself and cocking his trim feet on a corner of the -table. "He must be broken to the business, and I've -told him he's got to start at the bottom of the ladder."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong contrived to force a smile at this ironic -pleasantry of his master's. He instantly saw Josiah's -scheme—to have the young man inducted into the business; -presently to give him the dignity and honor of the -presidency, ejecting Armstrong, perhaps in discredit -to justify the change and to make it impossible for him -to build up in another company.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do what you can to teach him the ropes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Armstrong, at the window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick came up close to him, put his hand -affectionately on his shoulder. "You've grown into my -heart, Horace. I feel as if you were another son of -mine, as if Hugo were your younger brother. I want -you to regard him as such. I'm old; I'll soon be off the -boards. I like to think of you two young fellows -working together in harmony. It may be that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong had himself well within the harness now. -He looked calmly at Fosdick and saw a twinkle in those -good-natured, wicked eyes of his, a warning that he had -guessed Armstrong's suspicion and was about to counter -with something he flattered himself was particularly -shrewd.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It may be I'll want your present place for the -boy, after a few years. Perhaps it will be better not -to put him there; again it may be a good thing. If I -decide to do it, you'll have a better place—something -where there'll be an even bigger swing for your talents. -I'll see to that. I charge myself with your future."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong turned away, bringing his jaws together -with a snap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You trust me, don't you?" said Fosdick, not -quite certain that Armstrong had turned to hide an -overmastering emotion of gratitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd advise against making Hugo a vice-president -just at present," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" demanded Fosdick with a frown.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think such a step wouldn't be wise until after -this new policy holders' committee has quieted down."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick laughed and waved his arm. "Those -smelling committees! My boy, I'm used to them. -Every big corporation has one or more of 'em on hand -all the time. The little fellows are always getting -jealous of the men who control, are always trying to -scare them into paying larger interest—for that's what -it amounts to. We men who run things practically -borrow the public's money for use in our enterprises. -You can call it stocks or bonds or mortgages or what -not, but they're really lenders, though they think -they're shareholders and expect bigger interest than -mere money is worth. But we don't and won't give -much above the market rate. We keep the rest of the -profits—we're entitled to 'em. We'd play hob, wouldn't -we, lying awake of nights thinking out schemes to -enable John Jones and Tom Smith to earn thirty, forty, -fifty per cent on their money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this committee—" There Armstrong halted, -hesitating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't fret about it, young man. The chances -are it'll quiet down of itself. If it doesn't, if it -should have in it some sturdy beggar who persists, -why, we'll hear from him sooner or later. When we -get his figure, we can quiet him—put him on the pay -roll or give him a whack at our appropriation for legal -expenses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But this committee—" Armstrong stopped -short—why should he warn Fosdick? Why go out of -his way to be square with the man who had enslaved -him? Had he not done his whole duty when he had -refused to listen to the overtures of the new combination -against Fosdick? Indeed, was it more than a mere -suspicion that such a combination existed?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This committee—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You feel perfectly safe about it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It couldn't find out anything, if there was -anything to find out. And if it did find out anything, -what'd it do with it? No newspaper would publish -it—our advertising department takes care of that. The -State Government wouldn't notice it—our legal -department takes care of them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sometimes there's a slip-up. A few years ago——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," interrupted Fosdick; "it's true, once in a -while there's a big enough howl to frighten a few weak -brothers. But not Josiah Fosdick, and not the O.A.D. -We keep books better than we did before the big -clean-up. A lot of good those clean-ups did! As if -anybody could get up any scheme that would prevent -the men with brains from running things as they damn -please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're right there," said Armstrong. He had -thought out the beginnings of a new course. "Well, -if you put Hugo in, I suggest you give him my place -as chairman of the finance committee. My strong hold -is executive work. Let those that know finance attend -to taking care of the money. I want to devote myself -exclusively to getting it in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong saw this suggestion raised not the -shadow of a suspicion in Fosdick's mind that he was -trying to get rid of his share in the responsibility for -the main part of the "technically illegal" doings of -the controllers of the company. "You simply to -retain your </span><em class="italics">ex officio</em><span> membership?" said he reflectively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it," assented Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you urge it, I'll see that it is considered. Your -time ought all to be given to raking in new business and -holding on to the old. Yes, it's a good suggestion. -Of course, I'll see that you get your share of the profits -from our little side deals, just the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," said Armstrong. He concealed his -amusement. In the company there were rings within -rings, and the profits increased as the center was -approached. He knew that he himself had been put in a -ring well toward the outside. His profits were larger -than his salary, large though it was; but they were -trifling in comparison with the "melons" reserved for -the inner rings, were infinitesimal beside the big melon -Josiah reserved for himself, as his own share in addition -to a share in each ring's "rake off." The only ring -Josiah didn't put himself in was the outermost ring of -all—the ring of policy holders. There was another -feature in which insurance surpassed railways and -industrials. In them the controller sometimes had to lock -up a large part of his own personal resources in carrying -blocks of stock that paid a paltry four or five or -six per cent interest, never more than seven or eight, -often nothing at all. But in insurance, the controller -played his game wholly with other people's money. -Josiah, for instance, carried a policy of ten thousand -dollars, and that was the full extent of his investment; -he held his power over the millions of the masses simply -because the proxies of the policy holders were made out -in blank to his creatures, the general agents, whom he -made and, at the slightest sign of flagging personal -loyalty, deposed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick was still emitting compliment and promise -like a giant pinwheel's glittering shower when the boy -brought Armstrong a card. He controlled his face -better than he thought. "Your daughter," he said to -Fosdick, carelessly showing him the card. "I suppose -she's downtown to see you, and they told her you were -in my office."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amy!" exclaimed Fosdick, forgetting his manners -and snatching the card. "What the devil does -</span><em class="italics">she</em><span> want downtown? I'll just see—it must be important."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hurried out. In the second of Armstrong's -suite of three offices, he saw her, seated comfortably—a -fine exhibit of fashion, and not so unmindful of the -impression her elegance was making upon the furtively -glancing underlings as she seemed or imagined herself. -At sight of her father she colored, then tossed her head -defiantly. "What is it?" he demanded, with some -anxiety. "What has brought </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> downtown to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't come to see you," she replied. "I sent -my card to Mr. Armstrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what do you want of him?" said Josiah, regardless -of the presence of Armstrong's three secretaries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll explain that to </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll do nothing of the sort. I can't have my -children interrupting busy men. Come along with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came to see Mr. Armstrong, and I'm going to -see him," she retorted imperiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her father changed his tactics like the veteran -strategist that he was. "All right, all right. Come -in. Only, we're not going to stay long.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you," she said, laughing. "I want -him to show me over the building."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Lord bless my soul!" exclaimed Fosdick, winking -at the three smiling secretaries. "And he the -president! Did anybody ever hear the like!" And he took -her by the arm and led her in, saying as they came, -"This young lady, finding time heavy on her hands -uptown, has come to get you to show her over the -building."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong had risen to bow coldly. "I'm sorry, -but I really haven't time to-day," said he formally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick's brow reddened and his eyes flashed. He -had not expected Armstrong to offer to act as his -daughter's guide; but neither had he expected this tone -from an employee. "Don't be so serious, young man," -said he, roughness putting on the manner of good -nature. "Take my daughter round and bring her to -my office when you are through."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To give Armstrong time and the opportunity to -extricate himself from the impossible position into which -he had rushed, Amy said, "What grand, beautiful -offices these are! No wonder the men prefer it -downtown to the fussy, freaky houses the women get -together uptown. I haven't been here since the building -was opened. Papa made a great ceremony of that, -and we all came—I was nine. Now, Mr. Armstrong, -you can count up, if you're depraved enough, and know -exactly how old I am."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong had taken up his hat. "Whenever -you're ready, we'll start," said he, having concluded that -it would be impossible to refuse without seeming -ridiculous.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the two were in the elevator on their way to -the view from the top of the building, Amy glanced -mischievously up at him. "You see, I got my way," -said she. "I always do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong shrugged and smiled stolidly. "In -trifles. Willful people are always winning—in trifles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trifles are all that women deal in," rejoined she.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At the top, she sent one swift glance round the -overwhelming panorama of peak and precipice and -canon swept by icy January wind and ran back to the -tower, drawing her furs still closer about her. "I -didn't come to see this," she said. "I came to find out -why you don't—why you have cut me off your visiting -list. I've written you—I've tried to get you on the -telephone. Never did I humiliate myself so abjectly—in -fact, never before was I abject at all. It isn't like -you, to be as good friends as you and I have been, and -then, all at once, to act like this—unless there was a -reason. I haven't many friends. I haven't any I like -so well as you—that's frank, isn't it? I thought we -were going to be </span><em class="italics">such</em><span> friends." This nervously, with -an air of timidity that was the thin cover of perfect -self-possession and self-confidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So did I," said Armstrong, his eyes on hers with a -steadiness she could not withstand, "until I got at your -notion of friendship. You can have dogs and servants, -hangers-on, but not friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What did I do?" she asked innocently. "Gracious, -how touchy you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In his eyes there was an amused refusal to accept -her pretense. "You understand. Don't 'fake' with -me. I'm too old a bird for that snare."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I did anything to offend you, it was unconscious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps it was—at the time. You've got the -habit of ordering people about, of having everybody do -just what you wish. But, in thinking things over, -didn't you guess what discouraged me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She decided to admit what could not be denied. -"Yes—I did," said she. "And that is why I've -come to you. I forgot, and treated you like the -others. I did it several times, and disregarded the -danger signals you flew. Let's begin once more—will -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Armstrong, but without enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You aren't forgiving me," she exclaimed. "Or—was -there—something else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes shifted and he retreated a step. "You -mustn't expect much from me, you know," said he, -looking huge and unapproachable. "All my time is -taken up with business. You've no real use for a man -like me. What you want is somebody to idle about -with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's just what I don't want," she cried, gazing -admiringly up at him. And she was sad and reproachful -as she pleaded. "You oughtn't to desert me. I -know I can't do much for you, but— You found -me idle and oh, so bored. Why, I used to spend hours -in trying to think of trivial ways to pass the time. I'd -run to see pictures I didn't in the least care about, and -linger at the dressmakers' and the milliners' shops and -the jewelers'. I'd dress myself as slowly as possible. -You can't imagine—you who have to fight against -being overwhelmed with things to do. You can't -conceive what a time the women in our station have. And -one suggestion you made—that I study architecture -and fit myself to help in building our house—it changed -my whole life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was the obvious thing to do," said he, and she -saw he was not in the least flattered by her flattery -which she had thought would be irresistible.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget," replied she, "that we women of the -upper class are brought up not to put out our minds on -anything for very long, but to fly from one thing to -another. I'd never have had the persistence to keep at -architecture until the hard part of the reading was -finished. I'd have bought a lot of books, glanced at the -pictures, read a few pages and then dropped the whole -business. And it was really through you that I got -father to introduce me to Narcisse Siersdorf. I've -grown </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> fond of her! Why is it the women out -West, out where you come from, are so much more -capable than we are?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because they're educated in much the same way as -the men," replied he. "Also, I suppose the men out -there aren't rich enough yet to tempt the women to -become—odalisques. Here, every one of you is either an -odalisque or trying to get hold of some man with money -enough to make her one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is an odalisque? It's some kind of a woman, -isn't it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—it's of that sex."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think I'm very worthless, don't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To a man like me. For a man with time for -what they call the ornamental side of life, you'd -be—just right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was that why—the </span><em class="italics">real</em><span> reason why—you stopped -coming?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was looking at her, she at the floor, gathering -her courage to make a reply which instinct forbade and -vanity and desire urged. Hugo's head appeared in the -hatchway entrance to the tower room. As she was -facing it, she saw him immediately. "Hello, brother," -she cried, irritation in her voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer until he had emerged into the -room. Then he said with great dignity, "Amy, father -wants you. Come with me." This without a glance -at Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would you believe he is three years younger than -I?" said she to Armstrong with a laugh. "Run along, -Hugo, and tell papa we're coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo turned on Armstrong. "Will you kindly -descend?" he ordered, with the hauteur of a prince in a -novel or play.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do as your sister bids, Hugo," said Armstrong, -with a carelessness that bordered on contempt. He -was in no very good humor with the Fosdick family and -Hugo's impudence pushed him dangerously near to the -line where a self-respecting man casts aside politeness -and prudence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo drew himself up and stared coldly at the -"employee." "You will please not address me as Hugo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What then?" said Armstrong, with no overt intent -to offend. "Shall I whistle when I want you, or -snap my fingers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy increased Hugo's fury by laughing at him. -"You'd better behave, Hugo," she said. "Come -along." And she pushed him, less reluctant than he -seemed, toward the stairway.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The three descended in the elevator together, Amy -talking incessantly, Armstrong tranquil, Hugo sullen. -At the seventeenth floor, Armstrong had the elevator -stopped. "Good-by," he said to Amy, without offering -to shake hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good-by," responded she, extending her hand, -insistently. "Remember, we are friends again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With a slight noncommittal smile, he touched her -gloved fingers and went his way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was no one in Fosdick's private room; so, -Hugo was free to ease his mind. "What do you mean -by coming down here and making a scandal?" he burst -out. "It was bad enough for you to encourage the -fellow's attentions uptown—to flirt with him. -You—flirting with one of your father's employees!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy's eyes sparkled angrily. "Horace Armstrong -is my best friend," she said. "You must be -careful what you say to me about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The next thing, you'll be boasting you're in love -with him," sneered her brother.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I might do worse," retorted she. "I could -hardly do better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter, children?" cried their father, -entering suddenly by a door which had been ajar, and -by which they had not expected him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Hugo has been making a fool of himself before -Armstrong," said Amy. "Why did you send him -after me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I?" replied Fosdick. "I simply told him where -you were."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I suspected," said Hugo. "And, sure enough, -I found her flirting with him. I stopped it—that's all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick laughed boisterously—an unnatural laugh, -Amy thought. "Do light your cigar, father," she -said irritably. "It smells horrid."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick threw it away. "Horace is a mighty -attractive fellow," he said. "I don't blame you, -Mimi." Then, with good-humored seriousness, "But you must -be careful, girl, not to raise false hopes in him. Be -friendly, but don't place yourself in an unpleasant -position. You oughtn't to let him lose sight of the—the -gulf between you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What gulf?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know perfectly well he's not in our class," -exclaimed Hugo, helping out his somewhat embarrassed -father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is our class?" inquired Amy in her most -perverse mood.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shut up, Hugo!" commanded his father. "She understands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I do not," protested Amy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," replied her father, kissing her. "Be -careful—that's all. Now, I'll put you in your -carriage." On the way he said gravely, tenderly, "I'll -trust you with a secret—a part of one. I know -Armstrong better than you do. He's an adventurer, and I -fear he has got into serious trouble, very serious. -Keep this to yourself, Mimi. Trust your father's -judgment—at least, for a few months. Be most polite -to our fascinating friend, but keep him at a safe distance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick could be wonderfully moving and impressive -when he set himself to it; and he knew when to stop as -well as what to say. Amy made no reply; in silence -she let him tuck the robe about her and start her homeward.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="narcisse-and-alois"><span class="bold large">V</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NARCISSE AND ALOIS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Amy thought of her surroundings again, -she was within a few blocks of home. "I won't lunch -alone," she said. "I can't, with this on my -mind." Through the tube she bade the coachman turn back to -the Siersdorf offices.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few minutes, and her little victoria was at the curb -before a brownstone house that would have passed for a -residence had there not been, to the right of the -doorway, a small bronze sign bearing the words, "A. and -N. Siersdorf, Builders." Two women were together -on the sidewalk at the foot of the stoop. One, Amy -noted, had a curiously long face, a curiously narrow -figure; but she noted nothing further, as there was -nothing in her toilet to arrest the feminine eye, ever on -the rove for opportunities to learn something, or to -criticise something, in the appearance of other women. -The other was Narcisse Siersdorf—a strong figure, -somewhat below the medium height, like Amy herself; a -certain remote Teutonic suggestion in the oval features, -fair, fine skin and abundant fair hair; a quick, positive -manner, the dress of a highly prosperous working -woman, businesslike yet feminine and attractive in its -details. The short blue skirt, for example, escaped the -ground evenly, hung well and fitted well across the hips; -the blue jacket was cut for freedom of movement -without sacrificing grace of line; and her white gloves were -fresh. As Amy descended, she heard Narcisse say to -the other woman, "Now, please don't treat me as a -'foreign devil.' If I hadn't happened on you in the -street, I'd never have seen you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, I've intended to stop in, every time I -passed," said the other, moving away as she saw Amy -approaching. "Good-by. I'll send you a note as -soon as I get back—about a week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One of the girls from out West," Narcisse -explained. "We went to school together for a while. -She's as shy as a hermit thrush, but worth pursuing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're to lunch with me," said Amy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse shook her head. "No—and you're not -lunching with me, to-day. My brother's come, and -we've got to talk business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy frowned, remembering that those tactics were -of no avail with Narcisse. "Please! I want to meet -your brother—I really ought to meet him. And I'll -promise not to speak."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's a man; so he'd be unable to talk freely, with -a woman there," replied Narcisse. "You two would -be posing and trying to make an impression on each -other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were in the doorway, Narcisse blocking the -passage to the offices. "Good-by," she said. "You -mustn't push in between the poor and their bread and -butter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy was turning away. Her expression—forlorn, -hurt, and movingly genuine—was too much for Narcisse's -firmness. "You're not especially gay to-day," -said she, relentingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy, quick as a child to detect the yielding note, -brought her flitting mind back to Armstrong and her -troubles. "My faith in a person I was very fond of -has been—shaken." There was a break in her voice, -and her bright shallow eyes were misty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come in," said Narcisse, not wholly deceived, but -too soft-hearted not to give Amy the benefit of the -doubt, just as she gave to whining beggars, though she -knew they were "working" her. Anyhow, was not -Amy to be pitied on general principles, and dealt gently -with, as a victim of the blight of wealth?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy never entered those offices without a new -sensation of pleasure. The voluntary environment of a -human being is a projection, a reflection, of his inner -self, is the plain, undeceiving index to his real life—for, -is not the life within, the drama of thought, the real -life, and the drama of action but the imperfect, -distorted shadowgraph? The barest room can be most -significant of the personality of its tenant; his failure -to make any impression on his surroundings is -conclusive. The most crowded or the gaudiest room may -tell the same story as the barest. The Siersdorfs -conducted their business in five rooms, each a different -expression of the simplicity and sincerity which -characterized them and their work. There was the same -notable absence of the useless, of the merely -ornamental, the same making of every detail contributory -both to use and to beauty. One wearies of rooms that -are in any way ostentatious; proclamation of simplicity -is as tedious as proclamation of pretentiousness. Those -rooms seemed to diffuse serenity; they were like the -friends of whom one never tires because they always have -something new and interesting to offer. Especially did -there seem to be something miraculous about Narcisse's -own private office. It had few articles in it, and they -unobtrusive; yet, to sit in that room and look about was -to have as many differing impressions as one would get -in watching a beam of white light upon a plain of virgin -snow.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you do it!" Amy exclaimed, as she seated -herself. She almost always made the same remark in -the same circumstances. "But then," she went on, -"</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> are a miracle. Now, there's the dress you've got -on—it's a jacket, a blouse, a belt and a skirt. But -what have you done to it? How do you induce your -dressmaker to put together such things for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have to tell a dressmaker what to do," replied -Narcisse, "and then you have to tell her how to do it. -If she knew what to make and how, she'd not stop at -dressmaking long. As I get only a few things, I can -take pains with them. But you get so many that you -have to accept what somebody else has thought out, -and just as they've thought it out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And the result is, I look a frump," said Amy, half -believing it for the moment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You look the woman who has too many clothes to -have any that really belong to her," replied Narcisse, -greatly to Amy's secret irritation. "There's the curse -of wealth—too many clothes, to be well dressed; too -many servants, to be well served; too many and too big -houses, to be well housed; too much food, to be well -fed." Then to the office boy for whom she had rung, "Please -ask my brother if he's ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Soon Siersdorf appeared—about five years younger -than his sister, who seemed a scant thirty; in his dress -and way of wearing the hair and beard a suggestion of -Europe, of Paris, and of the artist—a mere suggestion, -just a touch of individuality—but not a trace of pose, -and no eccentricity. He was of the medium height, -very blond, with more sympathy than strength in his -features, but no defined weakness either. A boy-man -of fine instincts and tastes, you would have said; -indolent, yet capable of being spurred to toil; taking his -color from his surroundings, yet retaining his own fiber. -He was just back from a year abroad, where he had -been studying country houses with especial reference to -harmony between house and garden—for, the Siersdorfs -had a theory that a place should be designed in its -entirety and that the builder should be the designer. They -called themselves builders rather than architects, -because they thought that the separation of the two -inseparable departments was a ruinous piece of artistic -snobbishness—what is every kind of snobbishness in its -essence but the divorce of brain and hand? "No -self-respecting man," Siersdorf often said, "can look on his -trade as anything but a profession, or on his profession -as anything but a trade."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During lunch Amy all but forgot her father's -depressing hints against Armstrong in listening as the -brother and sister talked; and, as she listened, she -envied. They were so interested, and so interesting. -Their life revealed her own as drearily flat and wearily -empty. They knew so much, knew it so thoroughly. -"How could anyone else fail to get tired of me when I -get so horribly tired of myself?" she thought, at the -low ebb of depression about herself—an unusual mood, -for habitually she took it for granted that she must be -one of the most envied and most enviable persons in the -world.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse suddenly said to her brother, "Whom do -you think I met to-day? Neva Carlin." At that name -Amy, startled, became alert. "She's got a studio down -at the end of the block," Narcisse went on, "and is -taking lessons from Boris Raphael. That shows she has -real talent, unless—" She paused with a smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Probably," said Alois. "Boris is always in love -with some woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In love with love," corrected Narcisse. "Men -who are always in love care little about the particular -woman who happens to be the medium of the moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought she was well off," said Alois; and then -he looked slightly confused, as if he was trying not to -show that he had made a slip.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse seemed unconscious, though she replied -with, "There are people in the world who work when -they don't have to. And a few of them are women."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I thought she was married, too. It seems to -me I heard it somewhere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't ask questions," said Narcisse. "I never -do, when I meet anyone I haven't seen in a long time. -It's highly unsafe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With studied carelessness Amy now said: "I'd -like to know her. She's the woman you were talking -with at the door just now, isn't she?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Narcisse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She looked—unusual," continued Amy. "I wish -you'd take me to see her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be very glad to take you," Narcisse offered, on -impulse. "Perhaps she's really got talent and isn't -simply looking for a husband. Usually, when a woman -shows signs of industry it means she's looking for a -husband, whatever it may seem to mean. But, if -Neva's in earnest about her work and has talent, you -might put her in the way of an order or so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go, any day," said Amy. "Please don't forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She departed as soon as lunch was over, and the -brother and sister set out for their offices—not for -their work; it they never left. "Pretty, isn't she?" -said Alois. "And extremely intelligent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She is intelligent in a scrappy sort of way," -replied his sister. "But she neither said nor did -anything in your presence to-day to indicate it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, then—she's pretty enough to make a mere -man think she's intelligent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I saw you were beginning to fall in love with her," -said the sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I? Ridiculous!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I know you better than you know yourself in -some ways. You've been bent on marriage for several -years now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want children," said he, after a pause.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's it—children. But, instead of looking for -a mother for children, you've got eyes only for the sort -of women that either refuse to have children, or, if they -have them, abandon them to nurses. Let the Amy Fosdick -sort alone, Alois. A cane for a lounger; a staff -for a traveler."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're prejudiced."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm a woman, and I know women. And I have interest -enough in you to tell you the exact truth about -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No woman ever knows the side of another woman -that she shows only to the man she cares for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A very unimportant side. Its gilt hardly lasts -through the wedding ceremony. If you are going to -make the career you've got the talent for, you don't -want an Amy Fosdick. You'd be better off without -any wife, for that matter. You ought to have married -when you were poor, if you were going to do it. You're -too prosperous now. If you marry a poor woman, -you'll spoil her; if you marry a rich woman, she'll spoil -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're too harsh with your own sex, Narcisse," -said Alois. "If I didn't know you so well, I'd think -you were really hard. Who'd ever imagine, just -hearing you talk, that you are so tender-hearted you -have to be protected from your own sentimentality? -The real truth is you don't want me to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To marry foolishly—no. Tell me, 'Lois, what -could you gain by marrying—say, Amy Fosdick? In -what way could she possibly help you? She couldn't -make a home for you—she doesn't know the first thing -about housekeeping. The prosperous people nowadays -think their daughters are learning housekeeping -when they're learning to ruin servants by ordering them -about. You say I'm harsh with my sex, but, as a -matter of fact, I'm only just."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just!" Alois laughed. "That's the harshest -word the human tongue utters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've small patience with women, I will admit. -They amount to little, and they're sinking to less. -Girls used to dream of the man they'd marry. Now -it's not the man at all, but the establishment. Their -romance is of furniture and carriages and servants -and clothes. A man, any man, to support them in -luxury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've noticed that," admitted Alois.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's bad enough to look on marriage as a career," -continued Narcisse. "But, pass that over. What do -the women do to fit themselves for it? A man learns -his business—usually in a half-hearted sort of way, but -still he tries to learn a little something about it. A -woman affects to despise hers—and does shirk it. She -knows nothing about cooking, nothing about buying, -nothing about values or quantities or economy or health -or babies or— She rarely knows how to put on the -clothes she gets; you'll admit that most women show -plainly they haven't a notion what clothes they ought to -wear. Women don't even know enough to get together -respectably clever traps to catch the men with. -The men fall in; they aren't drawn in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet," said Alois, ironic and irritated, "the world -staggers on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Staggers," retorted Narcisse. "And the prosperous -classes—we're talking about them—don't even -stagger on. They stop and slide back—what can be -expected of the husbands of such wives, the sons and -daughters of such mothers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse was so intensely in earnest that her brother -laughed outright. "There, there, Cissy," said he, -"don't be alarmed—I'm not even engaged yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse made no reply. She knew the weak side of -her brother's character, knew its melancholy possibilities -of development; and she had guessed what was passing -in his mind as he and Amy were trying each to please -the other.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You yourself would be the better—the happier, -certainly—for falling in love," pursued Alois.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed I should," she assented with sincerity. -"But the man who comes for me—or whom I set my -snares for—must have something more than a pretty -face or a few sex-tricks that ought not to fool a girl -just out of the nursery."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No arrow penetrates a man's self-esteem more -deeply than an insinuation that he is easy game for -women. But Alois was no match for his sister at that -kind of warfare. He hid his irritation, and said -good-humoredly, "When you fall in love, my dear, it'll be -just like the rest of us—with your heart, not with your -head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse looked at him shrewdly, yet lovingly, too. -"I'm not afraid of your marrying because you've fallen -in love. What I'm agitated about is lest you'll fall in -love because you want to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois had an uncomfortable look that was confession.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="neva-goes-to-school"><span class="bold large">VI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NEVA GOES TO SCHOOL</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Boris let a week, nearly two weeks, pass before he -went to see Miss Carlin. He thought he was delaying -in hope that the impulse to investigate her would wane -and wink out. He had invariably had this same hope -about every such impulse, and invariably had been -disappointed. The truth was, whenever he happened upon -a woman with certain lines of figure and certain -expression of eyes—the lines and the expression that -struck the keynote of his masculine nerves for the -feminine—he pursued and paused not until he was satisfied, -sated, calm again—or hopelessly baffled. And as he -was attractive to women, and both adroit and reckless, -and not at all afraid of them, his failures were few.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In this particular case the cause of his long delay in -beginning was that he had just maneuvered his affair -with the famously beautiful Mrs. Coventry to the point -where each was trying to get rid of the other with full -and obvious credit for being the one to break off. -Mrs. Coventry was stupid; even her beauty, changelessly -lovely, bored and irritated him. But nature had given -her in default of brains a subtle craftiness; thus, she -had been able to meet Boris's every attempt to cast her -off with a move that put her in the position of seeming -to be the one who was doing the casting—and Boris had -a feminine vanity in those matters. At last, however, -his weariness of his tiresome professional beauty and -his impatience to begin a new adventure combined to -make him indifferent to what people might say and -think. Instead of sailing with Mrs. Coventry, as he -had intended, he abruptly canceled his passage; and -while she was descending the bay on the </span><em class="italics">Oceanic</em><span>, he -was moving toward Miss Carlin's studio.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have not forgotten me?" said he in that delightfully -ingenuous way of his, as he entered the large -studio and faced the shy, plainly dressed young woman -from the Western small town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed," replied she, obviously fluttered and -flattered by this utterly unexpected visit from the great -man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I come as a brother artist," he explained. He was -standing before her, handsome and picturesque in a -costume that was yet conventional. He diffused the -odor of a powerful, agreeable, distinctly feminine -perfume. The feminine details of his toilet made his -strong body and aggressive face seem the more masculine; -his face, his virile, clean, blond beard, his massive -shoulders, on the other hand, made his perfume, his -plaited shirt and flowing tie, his several gorgeous rings -and his too neat boots seem the more flauntingly -feminine. "What I saw of you," he proceeded, "and what -your cousin told me, roused my interest and my -curiosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At "curiosity" his clear, boyish eyes danced and his -smile showed even, very white teeth and part of the -interior of a too ruddy, too healthily red mouth. Like -everything about him that was characteristic, this smile -both fascinated and repelled. Evidently this man drew -an intense physical joy from life, had made of his -intellect an expert extractor of the last sweet drop of -pleasure that could be got from perfectly healthy, -monstrously acute nerves. When he used any nerve, -any of those trained servants of his sybarite passions, -it was no careless, ignorant performance such as -ordinary mortals are content with. It was a finished and -perfect work of art—and somehow suggestive of a -tiger licking its chops and fangs and claws and fur that -it might not lose a shred of its victim's flesh. But this -impression of repulsion was fleeting; the charm of the -personality carried off, where it did not conceal, the -sinister side. Because Boris understood his fellow -beings, especially the women, so thoroughly, they could -not but think him sympathetic, could not appreciate -that he lured them into exposing or releasing their -emotions solely for his own enjoyment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Neva was seeing the artist so vividly that she -was seeing the man not at all. Only those capable of -real enthusiasm can appreciate how keenly she both -suffered and enjoyed, in the presence of the Boris Raphael -who to her meant the incorporeal spirit of the art she -loved and served. He, to relieve her embarrassment -and to give her time to collect herself, turned his -whole attention to her work—a portrait of Molly, -the old servant she had brought with her from Battle -Field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seemed absorbed in the unfinished picture. In -fact, he was thinking only of her. By the infection to -which highly sensitive people are susceptible, he had -become as embarrassed as she. One of the chief sources -of his power with women was his ability to be in his own -person whatever the particular woman he was seeking -happened to be—foolish with the foolish, youthful with -the young, wise with the sensible, serpentine with the -crafty, coarse with the grossly material, spiritual with -the high-minded. He had all natures within himself and -could show whichever he pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he felt Neva's presence, felt the thrill of those -moving graces of her figure, the passion that those -mysterious veiled eyes of hers inspired, he was still -perfectly aware of her defects, all of them, all that must -be done before she should be ready to pluck and enjoy. -It was one of her bad mornings. Her skin was rather -sallow and her eyelids were too heavy. Since she had -been in New York, she had adopted saner habits of -regular eating and regular exercise than she had had, -or had even known about, in Battle Field. She was -beginning to understand why most people, especially most -women, go to pieces young; and for the sake of her -work, not at all because she hoped for or wished for -physical beauty, she was taking better care of herself. -But latterly she had been all but prostrate before a -violent attack of the blues, and had been eating and -sleeping irregularly, and not exercising. Thus, only -a Boris Raphael would have suspected her possibilities -as she stood there, slightly stooped, the sallowness of -her skin harmonizing drearily with her long, loose -dark-brown blouse, neutral in itself and a neutralizer. He -saw at a glance the secret of her having been able to -deceive everybody, to conceal herself, even from herself. -He felt the discoverer's thrill; his blood fired like -knight's at sight of secret, sleeping princess. But he -pretended to ignore her as a personality of the opposite -sex pole, knowing that to see her and know her as she -really was he must not let her suspect she was observed. -He reveled in such adventures upon soul privacy, not -the least disturbed because they bore a not remote -resemblance to that of the spy upon a nymph at the forest -pool. He justified himself by arguing that he made no -improper use of his discoveries, but laid them upon the -high and holy altars of art and love.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Far from being discouraged by the difficulties which -Neva was that morning making so obvious, he welcomed -the abrupt change from the monotonous beauty of -Doris Coventry. She had given him no opportunity for -the exercise of his peculiar talents. With her the -banquet was ready spread; with this woman practically -everything had to be prepared. And what a banquet -it would be! When he had developed her beauty, had -made her all that nature intended, had taught her -self-confidence and the value of externals and had given -her the courage to express the ideas and the emotions -that now shrank shyly behind those marvelous eyes of -hers— How poor, how paltry, how tedious seemed -such adventures as that with Doris Coventry beside this -he was now entering!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As if he were her teacher, he took up the palette and -with her long-handled brushes made a dozen light, swift -touches—what would have been an intolerable insolence -in a less than he. To be master was but asserting his -natural right; men hated him for it, but the women -liked him and it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she cried delightedly as she observed the -result of what he had done. Then, at the contrast -between his work and her own, cried "Oh," again, but -despondently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must let me teach you," said he, as if -addressing the talent revealed in her picture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think I could learn?" she asked wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He elevated his shoulders and brows. "We must -all push on until we reach our limit; and until we reach -it, we, nor no man, can say where it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I've no right to </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> time," she said reluctantly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I teach to learn. I teach only those from whom -I get more than I give. You see," with his engaging -boyish smile, "I have the mercantile instinct."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him doubtfully, searching for the -motive behind an offer, so curious, so improbable in and of -itself. She saw before her now the outward and visible -form of the genius she revered—a very handsome man, -a man whose knowledge how to make himself agreeable -to women must obviously have been got by much and -intimate experience; a man whose sensuous eyes and -obstreperous masculinity of thick waving hair and thick -crisp reddish beard, roused in her the distrust bred by -ages on ages of enforced female wariness of the male -that is ever on conquest bent and is never so completely -conqueror as when conquered. But this primordial -instinct, never developed in her by experience, was -feeble, was immediately silenced by the aspect of him -which she clearly understood—his look of breadth and -luminousness and simplicity, the master's eye and the -master's air—the great man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will teach me more than I you," he insisted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" she managed to object, wondering at her -own courage as much as at his condescension—for such -an offer from such a man was, she felt, indeed a -condescension.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you paint with your heart while I paint -rather with my head."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But that is the greater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. It is simply different. Neither is great."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neither?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only he is supremely great who works with both -heart and mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She showed how well she understood, by saying, -"Leonardo, for example?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris's face was the devotee's at mention of the god. -The worldliness, the aggressive animality vanished. -"Leonardo alone among painters," said he. "And he -reached the pinnacle in one picture only—the picture of -the woman he loved yet judged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her own expression had changed. The least -observant would have seen just then why Boris, -connoisseur, had paused before her. She had dropped her -mask, had come forth as the shy beauties of the field -lift their heads above the snow in response to the sun of -early spring. For the first time in her life she had met -a human being to whom life meant precisely what it -had meant to her. His own expression of exaltation -passed with the impulse that had given it birth; but she -did not see. He was for her Boris Raphael, artist -through and through. Instead of suspicion and -shrinking, her long narrow eyes, luminous, mysterious, now -expressed confidence; she would never again be afraid -of one who had in him what this man had revealed -to her. She had always seen it in his work; she -greeted it in the man himself as one greets an old, a -stanch friend, tested in moods and times of sorrow -and trial.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her, glanced hastily away lest she -should realize how close he had thus quickly got to her -soul, shy and graceful and resplendent as a flamingo. -"You will let me teach you?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand your asking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nor do I," replied he. "All I know is, I felt I -must come and offer my services. It only remains for -you to obey your impulse to accept."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without further hesitation she accepted; and there -was firmly established the intimate relations of master -workman and apprentice, with painting, and through -painting the whole of life, as the trade, to be learned. -For, the arts are a group of sister peaks commanding -the entire panorama of truth and beauty, of action and -repose; and to learn of a master at any one of them is -to be pupil to all wisdom.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Boris arranged with her to come three mornings a -week to the atelier, raftered and galleried, which he had -made of the top stories of two quaint old houses in -Chelsea's one remaining green square. Soon he was -seeing her several afternoons also, at her apartment; -and they were lunching and dining together, both alone -and in the company of artists and the sort of fashionable -serious-idle people who seek the society of artists. -The part of her shyness that was merely strangeness -did not long withstand his easy, sympathetic manner, -his simplicity, his adroitness at drawing out the best -in any person with whom he took pains to exert himself. -It required much clever maneuvering before he got her -rid of the shyness that came from lack of belief in her -power to interest others. The people out West, inexpert -in the social art, awkward and shy with each other, often -in intimate family life even, had without in the least -intending it, encouraged her and confirmed her in this -depressing disbelief. In all her life she had never been -so well acquainted with anyone as with Boris after a -week of the lessons; and with him, even after two -months of friendship, she would suddenly and unaccountably -close up like a sensitive plant, be embarrassed -and constrained, feel and act as if he were a stranger. -Self-confidence finally came through others, not at all -through him. Her new acquaintances, observant, -sympathetic, quickly saw what Boris pointed out to them; -and by their manner, by their many and urgent invitations -and similar delicate indirect compliments, they -made her feel without realizing it that she was not -merely tolerated for his sake, but was sought on her -own account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>We hear much of the effect of things internal, little -of the far more potent effect of externals. Boris, -frankly materialistic, was all for externals. For him the -external was not only the sign of what was within, but -also was actually its creator. He believed that -character was more accurately revealed in dress than in -conversation, in manners than in professions. "Show -me through a woman's living place," he often said, "and -I will tell you more about her soul than she could tell -her confessor." His one interest in Neva was her -physical beauty; his one object, to develop it to the utmost -of the possibilities he alone saw. But he was in no -hurry. He had the assiduous patience of genius that -works steadily and puts deliberate thought into every -stroke. He would not spoil his creation by haste; he -would not rob himself of a single one of the joys of -anticipation. And his pleasure was enhanced by the -knowledge that if she so much as suspected his real -design, or any design at all, she would shut herself away -beyond his reach.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you as a model," said he one day, in the -offhand manner he used with her to conceal direct -personal purpose. "But you've got to make changes in -your appearance—dress—way of wearing the hair—all -that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She alarmed him by coloring vividly; he had no -suspicion that it was because she had been secretly using -him as a model for several months. "I've hurt your -vanity?" said he. "Well, I never before knew you had -that sort of vanity. I fancied you gave the least -possible attention to your outside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be glad to help you in any way," she hastened -to assure him. "You're quite wrong about my reason -for not accepting at once. It wasn't wounded vanity.... -I don't know whether I have much vanity or -not. I've never thought about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "Well, you will have, when you've -seen the picture I'll make. What a queer, puritanic lot -you Westerners are!" He seated himself at ease -astride a chair, and gazed at her impersonally, as -artist at model in whom interest is severely professional. -"I suppose you don't know you are a very beautiful -woman—or could be if you half tried."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't," replied she indifferently. "What -do you wish me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To become beautiful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't tease me," said she curtly. "I hate my -looks. I never see myself if I can help it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took the master's tone with her. "You will -kindly keep this away from the personal," reprimanded -he. "I am discussing you as a model. I've no interest -in your vanity or lack of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She resumed her place as pupil with a meek "I beg -your pardon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"First, I want you to spend time in looking at -yourself in the glass and in thinking about yourself, -your personal appearance. I want you to do this, so -that you may be of use to me. But you really ought -to do it for your own sake. If you are to be an artist, -you must live. To live you must use to its fullest -capacity every advantage nature has given you. The -more you give others, the more you will receive. It is -not to your credit that you don't think about dress or -study yourself in the mirror. The reverse. If you -are homely, thought and attention will make you less -so. If you are beautiful, or could be— What a -crime to add to the unsightliness of the world when one -might add to its sightliness! And what an impertinence -to search for, to cry for beauty, and to refuse to -do your own part."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hadn't thought of it in that way," confessed she, -evidently impressed by this unanswerable logic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He eyed her professionally through the smoke of -his cigarette. "If you are to help me with the picture I -have in mind, you'll have to change your hair—for the -next few months. Your way of wearing it, I mean—though -that will change the color too—or, rather, -bring out the color."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva colored with embarrassment, remembered she -was but a model, braced herself resolutely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For my purposes— Just stand before that mirror -there." He indicated the great mirror which gave -him double the width of the atelier as perspective for -his work. "Now, you'll observe that by braiding your -hair and putting it on top of your head, you ruin the -lines I wish to bring out. The beautiful and the -grotesque are very close to each other. Your face and -figure ought to be notable as an exhibit of beautiful -lengths. But when you put your hair on top of your -head, you extend the long lines of neck and face too -far—at least, for my purposes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said she, herself quite forgotten; for, his -impersonal manner was completely convincing, and his -exposition of the principles of art was as important as -novel and interesting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do your hair well down toward the nape of the -neck—and loosely. Somewhat as it was that night at -the Morrises, only—more so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll try it," she said with what sounded hopefully -like the beginnings of acquiescence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's better!" exclaimed he, in approval of her -docile tone. "And keep on trying till you get it right. -You'll know. You've got good taste. If you hadn't, -it'd be useless to talk these things to you. The thing -is to bring out your natural good taste—to encourage, -to educate, instead of repressing it.... No, -don't turn away, yet. I want you to notice some color -effects. That dress you have on— You always wear -clothes that are severely somber, almost funereal—quite -funereal. One would think, to look at your garb, -that there was no laughter anywhere in you—no -possibilities of laughter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva's laughing face, looking at him by way of the -mirror, showed that she was now in just the mood he -wished. "I want to make a very human picture," he -went on. "And, while the dominant note of the human -aspect in repose is serious—pensive to tragic—it is -relieved by suggestions of laughter. Your dress makes -your sadness look depressed, resigned, chronic. Yet -you yourself are strong and cheerful and brave. You -do not whimper. Why look as if you did, and by -infection depress others? Don't you think we owe it to -a sad world to contribute whatever of lightness we can?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded. "I hadn't thought of that," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, don't you think it's about time you did? ... Now, -please observe that you wear clothes with -too many short lines in their making—lines that -contradict the long lines of your head and body."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She whirled away from the mirror, hung her head, -with color high and hands nervous. "Don't, please," -she said. "You are making me miserably self-conscious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, very well." He seemed offended, hurt. "I -see you've misunderstood. How can I get any good -out of you as a model unless you let me be frank? -Why drag self, your personal feelings, to the fore? -That is not art."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence, during which she watched him as -he scowled at his cigarette. "I'm sorry," she -exclaimed contritely. "I'm both ungracious and -ungrateful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vanity, I call it," he said, with pretended disdain. -"Plain vanity—and cheap, and altogether unworthy of -you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go on, please," she urged. "I'll not give you -further trouble." Then she added, to his secret -delight, "Only, </span><em class="italics">please</em><span> don't ask me to look at myself -before you—until—until—I've had a chance to improve -a little."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To go back to the hair again," pursued he, concealing -his satisfaction over his victory. "My notion—for -my picture—is much less severe than you are -habitually—in appearance, I mean. The hair must be -easy, graceful, loose. It must form a background for -the face, a crown for the figure. And I want all the -colors and shades you now hide away in those plaits." He -surveyed her absently. "I'm not sure whether I -shall paint you in high or low neck. Get both kinds -of dresses—along the lines I've indicated.... Have -them made; don't buy those ready-to-wear things you -waste money on now.... I want to be able to study -you at leisure. So, you'll have to put aside that prim, -puritanic costume for a while. You won't mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had her face turned away. She simply shook -her head in answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you despise these exterior things—so far -as you personally are concerned," he proceeded in a -kindlier tone. "I've no quarrel with that. My own -views are different. You pride yourself on being free -from all social ties or obligations——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," cried she. "Indeed, I'm not so -egotistical."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Egotism!" He waved it away. "A mere word. -It simply means human nature with the blinds up. And -modesty is human nature with the blinds down. We -are all egotists. How is it possible for us not to be? -Does not the universe begin when we are born and end -when we die? Certainly, you are an egotist. But you -are very short-sighted in your egotism, my friend."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes?" She was all attention now.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You want many things in the world—things you -can't get for yourself—things you must therefore look -to others to help you get. You want reputation, -friendship, love, to name the three principal wants, -bread being provided for you. Well—your problem is -how to get them in fullest measure and in the briefest -time—for, your wants are great and pressing, and life -is short."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I must have them by fair means and they -must be really mine. I don't want what mere externals -attract."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pish! Tush! Tommy rot!" Boris left the -chair, took the middle of the floor and the manner of -the instructor of a class. "To get them you must use -to the best advantage all the gifts nature has given -you—at least, you will, if you are wise, I think. Some -of these gifts are internal, some are external. We are -each of us encased in matter, and we get contact with -each other only by means of matter. Externals are -therefore important, are they not? To attract others, -those of the kind we like, we must develop our external -to be as pleasing as possible to them. In general, we -owe it to our fellow beings to be as sightly a part of -the view as we can. In particular, we owe it to -ourselves to make the best of our minds and bodies, for -our own pleasure and to attract those who are congenial -to us and can do us the most good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall have to think about that," said she, and he -saw that she was more than half converted. "I've -always been taught to regard those things as trivial."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trivial! Another word that means nothing. -Life—this life—is all we have. How can anything that -makes for its happiness or unhappiness be trivial? -You with your passion for beauty would have everything -beautiful, exquisite, except yourself! What -selfishness! You don't care about your own appearance -because you don't see it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed. "Really, am I so bad as all that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The trouble with you is, you haven't thought -about these things, but have accepted the judgment of -others about them. And what others? Why, sheep, -cattle, parrots—the doddering dolts who make public -opinion in any given place or at any given time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded slowly, thoughtfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Another point. You are trying to have a career. -Now, that's something new in the world—for women to -have careers. You face at best a hard enough struggle. -You must do very superior work indeed, to convince -anyone you are entitled to equal consideration with -men as a worker. Why handicap yourself by creating -an impression that you are eccentric, bizarre?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva looked astonished. "I don't understand," -said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is the normal mode for a woman? To be -feminine—careful of her looks, fond of dress, as -pleasing to the eye as possible. Do you strive to be normal -in every way but the one way of making a career, and -so force people to see you're a real woman, a -well-balanced human being?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva had the expression of one in the dark, toward -whom light is beginning to glimmer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman," proceeded he, the impersonal instructor, -"a woman going in for a career and so, laying -herself open to suspicion of being 'strong-minded' and -'masculine' and all sorts of hard, unsympathetic, -unfeminine things that are to the mutton-headed a sign of -want of balance—a woman should be careful to remove -that impression. How? By being ultra-feminine, most -fashionable in dress, most alluring in appearance— Do -you follow me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly," said Neva. "You've given me a great -deal to think about.... Why, how blind we are to -the obvious! Now that I see it, I feel like a fool."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Use the same good taste in your own appearance -that you use in bringing out beauty in your -surroundings. Note that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris paused abruptly; his passion was betraying -itself both in his eyes and in his voice. But he saw -that Neva had, as usual, forgotten the teacher in the -lesson. He felt relieved, yet irritated, too. Never -before had he found a woman who could maintain, -outwardly at least, the fiction of friendship unalloyed with -passion. "She acts exactly as if she were another -man," said he discontentedly to himself, "except when -she treats me as if I were another woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not return to the subject of her appearance. -And his judgment that he had said enough—and his -confidence in her good taste—were confirmed a few days -later. She came in a new hat, a new blouse, and with -her hair done as he had suggested. The changes were -in themselves slight; but now that her complexion had -been cleared and taken on its proper color—a healthy -pallor that made her eyes sparkle and glow, every little -change for the better wrought marvels. A good -complexion alone has redeemed many a woman from -downright ugliness; Neva's complexion now gave her -regular features and blue-white teeth and changeful, -mysterious eyes their opportunity. The new blouse, -one of the prettiest he had ever seen, took away the -pinched-in look across the shoulders to which he had -objected. As for her hair, it was no longer a </span><em class="italics">mélange</em><span> of -light brown and dark brown, but a halo of harmonizing -tints from deepest red to brightest gold, a merry -playground for sunbeams. He was astounded, startled. -"Why, she has really marvelous hair!" he muttered. -Then he laughed aloud; she, watching him for signs of -his opinion, wore an expression like a child's before its -sphinxlike teacher. She echoed his laugh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My advice about the mirror was not so bad, eh?" -said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, indeed," replied she, with the first gleam of -coquetry he had ever seen.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Puzzling over her seeming unconsciousness of the, -to him, all-important fact that she was a woman and he -a man, he decided that it must be a deliberately chosen -policy, the result of things she had heard about him. -He had always avoided talking of his conquests, though -he appreciated that it was the quick and easy road to a -fresh conquest; but it pleased him to feel that his -reputation as a rake, a man before whom women struck the -flag at the first sign from him, was as great as his fame -for painting. And it seemed to him that, if Neva had -heard, as she must, she could not but be in a receptive -state of mind. "That's why she's on her guard," he -concluded. "She's secretly at war with the old-fashioned -notions in which she was bred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He could not long keep silent. "Has somebody -been slandering me to my friend?" asked he abruptly, -one day, after they had both been silently at work for -nearly an hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused, glanced at him, shook her head—a -very charming head it was now, with the hair free -about her temples and ears and in a loose coil low upon -her neck. "No," said she, apparently with candor. "Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seemed to me you were peculiar of late—distant -with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, it isn't so. You know I'd not permit -anyone to speak against you to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—well, a man of my sort always has a lot of -stories going round about him—things not usually -regarded as discreditable—but you might not take so -lenient a view."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face turned toward her easel again, her -expression unreadably reserved.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not that I've been a saint," he went on. "We -who have the artistic temperament— What does that -temperament mean but abnormal sensibility of nerves, -all the nerves?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is true," assented she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then she was not so cold as she seemed! She -understood what it was to feel. "Of course," he -proceeded, "I appreciate your ideas on those subjects. At -least I assume you have the ideas of the people among -whom you were brought up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was silent for a moment. Then she said, as if -she were carefully choosing her words, "I've learned -that standards of morals, like standards of taste, are -individual. There are many things about human -nature as I see it in—in my friends—that I do not -understand. But I realize I deserve no credit for being -what I am when I have not the slightest temptation to -be otherwise."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence again, as he wondered whether her remark -was a chance shot or a subtle way of informing him -that, if he were thinking of her as a woman and a -possibility, he was wasting energy. "What I wished to -say," he finally ventured, "was that I had the right to -expect you to accept me for what I am to you. You -cannot judge of what I may or may not have been to -anyone else, of what others may or may not have been -to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What you are to me," replied she earnestly, -"I've no right, or wish, to go beyond that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And," pursued he with some raillery, "don't -forget we should be grateful for all varieties of human -nature—the valleys that make the peaks, the peaks that -make the abysses. What a world for suicide it would -be, if human nature were one vast prairie and life one -long Sunday in Battle Field.... What did you hear -about me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing that interested me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really?" He could not help showing pique.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing that would have changed me, if I had -believed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I warned you it might be true," he interrupted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True or false, it was not part of the Boris -Raphael I admire and respect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shifted his eyes, colored, was silenced. He did -not like her frank friendliness; he did not want her -respect, or the sort of admiration that goes with respect. -But he somehow felt cheap and mean and ashamed -before her, had a highly uncomfortable sense of being an -inferior before a superior. He was glad to drop the -subject. "At least," reflected he, "the longer the -delay, the richer the prize. She was meant for some -man. And what other has my chance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, meanwhile, following his instinct and his -custom, he showed her of his all-sided nature only what he -thought she would like to see; time enough to be what -he wished, when he should have got her where he -wished—a re-creation for the gratification of as many -sides of him as she had, or developed, capacity to -delight.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-woman-s-point-of-view"><span class="bold large">VII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A WOMAN'S POINT OF VIEW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Narcisse, summoned by a telephone message, went -to Fosdick's house. As she entered the imposing -arched entrance, Amy appeared, on the way to take her -dog for a drive. "It's father wants to see you," said -she. "I'll take you to him, and go. I'd send Zut -alone, but the coachman and footman object to driving -the carriage with no one but him in it. Fancy! -Aren't some people too silly in their snobbishness—and -the upper class isn't in it with the lower classes, is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't begin to know how amusing you are -sometimes," said Narcisse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'm always forgetting. You've got ideas like -Armstrong. You know him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've met him," said Narcisse indifferently. "You -say your father wants to see me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy looked disappointed. Her mind was full of -Armstrong, and she wished to talk about him with -Narcisse, to tell her all she thought and felt, or thought -she thought and felt. "There's been a good deal of -talk that he and I are engaged," she persisted. "You -had heard it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never hear things of that sort," said Narcisse -coldly. "I'm too busy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—there's nothing in it. We're simply friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm sorry," said Narcisse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy bridled. "Sorry! I'm sure </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> care nothing -about him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, I'm glad," said Narcisse. "I'm whatever -you like. Is your father waiting for me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse liked old Fosdick—his hearty voice, his -sturdy optimism, his genial tolerance of all human -weaknesses, even of crimes, his passion for the best of -everything, his careless generosity. "It's fine," she -often thought, "to see a man act about his own -hard-earned wealth as if he had found it in a lump in the -street or had won it in a lottery." He seemed in high -spirits that morning, though Narcisse observed that the -lines in his face looked heavier than usual. "Sorry to -drag you clear up here about such a little matter," said -he when they two were seated, with his big table desk -between them. "I just wanted to caution you and -your brother. Quite unnecessary, I know; still, it's my -habit to neglect nothing. I'm thinking of the two -buildings you are putting up for us—for the O.A.D. -How are they getting on? I've so much to attend to, I -don't often get round to details I know are in -perfectly safe hands."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We start the one in Chicago next month, and the -one here in May—I hope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good—splendid! Rush them along. You—you -and your brother—understand that everything about -them is absolutely private business. If any newspaper -reporter—or anybody—on any pretext whatever—comes -nosing round, you are to say nothing. Whatever -is given out about them, we'll give out ourselves -down at the main office."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see to that," said Narcisse. "I'm glad you -are cautioning us. We might have given out -something. Indeed, now that I think of it, a man was -talking with my brother about the buildings yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick leaned forward with sudden and astonishing -agitation. "What did he want?" he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Merely some specifications as to the cost of -similar buildings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did your brother give him what he asked for?" -demanded the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet. I believe he's to get the figures together -and give them to him to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick brought his fist down on the table and -laughed with a kind of savage joy. "The damned -scoundrels!" he exclaimed. Then, hastily, "Just step -to the telephone, Miss Siersdorf, and call up your -brother and tell him on no account to give that -information."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse hesitated. "But—that's a very common -occurrence in our business," objected she. "I don't -see how we can refuse—unless the man is a trifler. -Anyone who is building likes to have a concrete example to -go by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please do as I ask, Miss Siersdorf," said Fosdick. -"We'll discuss it afterwards."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse obeyed, and when she returned said, -"My brother will give out nothing more. But I find -I was mistaken. He gave the estimates yesterday -afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick sank back in his chair, his features contracted -in anger and anxiety. When she tried to speak, -he waved her imperiously into silence. "I must think," -he said curtly. "Don't interrupt!" She watched his -face, but could make nothing definite of its vague -reflections of his apparently dark and stormy thoughts. -Finally he said, in a nearer approach to his usual tone -and manner, "It's soon remedied. Your brother can -send for the man. You know who he was?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"His name was Delmar. He represented the -Howlands, the Chicago drygoods people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Um," grunted Fosdick, reflecting again; then, as -if he had found what he was searching for, "Yes—that's -the trail. Well, Miss Siersdorf, as I was saying, -your brother will send for Delmar and will tell him -there was a mistake. And he'll give him another -set of figures—say, doubling or trebling the first -set. He'll say he neglected to make allowance for finer -materials and details of stonework and woodwork—hardwood -floors, marble from Italy, and so forth and so -forth. You understand. He'll say he meant simply -the ordinary first-rate office building—and wasn't -calculating on such palaces as he's putting up for the -O.A.D."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse sat straight and silent, staring into her -lap. Fosdick's cigar had gone out. She had never -before objected especially to its odor; now she found it -almost insupportable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd better telephone him," continued Fosdick. -"No—I'll just have the butler telephone him to come -up here. We might as well make sure of getting it -straight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse did not stir while Fosdick was out of the -room, nor when he resumed his seat and went on, "All -this is too intricate to explain in detail, Miss Siersdorf, -but I'll give you an idea of it. It's a question of the -secrecy of our accounts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we know nothing of your company's accounts, -Mr. Fosdick," said she. "You will remember that, -under our contracts, we have nothing whatever to do -with the bills—that they go direct to your own people -and are paid by them. We warned you it was a -dangerous system, but you insisted on keeping to it. You -said it was your long established way, that a change -would upset your whole bookkeeping, that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—yes. I remember perfectly," interrupted -Fosdick, all good humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't hold us responsible. We don't even -know what payments have been made."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely—precisely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a stupid system, permit me to say. It allows -chances for no end of fraud on you—though I think the -people we employed are honest and won't take advantage -of it. And, if your auditors wanted to, they could -charge the company twice or three times or several times -what the building cost, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Exactly," interrupted Fosdick, an unpleasant -sharpness in his voice. "Let's not waste time discussing -that. Let me proceed. We wish no one to know -what our buildings cost."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But—you have to make reports—to your -stockholders—policy holders rather."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In a way—yes," admitted Fosdick. "But all the -men who have the direction and control of large enterprises -take a certain latitude. The average citizen is a -picayunish fellow, mean about small sums. He wouldn't -understand many of the expenditures necessary to the -conduct of large affairs. He even prefers not to be -irritated by knowing just where every dollar goes. -He's satisfied with the results."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But how does he know the results shown him are -the real results? Why, under that system, figures -might be juggled to cheat him out of nearly all the -profits."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The public is satisfied to get a reasonable return -for the money it invests—and </span><em class="italics">we</em><span> always guarantee -that," replied Fosdick grandly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse looked at him with startled eyes, as if a -sharp turn of the road had brought her to the brink of -a yawning abyss. It suddenly dawned on her—the -whole system of "finance." In one swift second a -thousand disconnected facts merged into a complete, -repulsive whole. So, </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> was where these enormous -fortunes came from! The big fellows inveigled the public -into enterprises by promises of equal shares; then they -juggled accounts, stole most of the profits, saddled all -the losses on the investors. And she had admired the -daring of these great financiers! Why, who wouldn't -be daring, with no conscience, no honor, and a free hand -to gamble with other people's money, without risking a -penny of his own! And she had admired their generosity, -their philanthropy, when it was simply the reckless -wastefulness of the thief, after one rich haul and -before another! She saw them, all over the world, -gathering in the mites of toiling millions as trust -funds, and stealing all but enough to encourage the -poor fools to continue sending in their mites! She read -it all in Josiah's face now, in the faces of her rich -clients; and she wondered how she could have been so -blind as not to see it before. That hungry look, -sometimes frankly there, again disguised by a slimy -over-layer of piety, again by whiskers or fat, but always -there. Face after face of her scores of acquaintances -among the powerful in finance rose beside Josiah's until -she shrank and paled. Under the slather of respectability, -what gross appetites, what repulsive passions! -But for the absence of the brutal bruisings of ignorance -and drink, these facts would seem exhibits in a -rogues' gallery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Josiah had no great opinion of the brains of his -fellow men. Women he regarded as mentally -deficient—were they not incapable of comprehending -business? So, while he saw that Narcisse was not accepting -his statement as the honorable, though practical, truth -he believed it to be, he was not disturbed. "I see you -don't quite follow me," he said with kindly condescension. -"Business is very complex. My point is, however, -that our accounts are for our own guidance, and -not for our rivals to get hold of and use in exciting a -lot of silly, ignorant people."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois Siersdorf now entered and was effusively -welcomed. "What's the matter?" he exclaimed. "Have -I made a mess of some sort?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all, my boy," said Fosdick, clapping him -on the back. "Our rivals have got up an investigating -committee—have set on some of our policy holders to -pretend to be dissatisfied with our management. I -thought until yesterday that the committee was simply -a haphazard affair, got together by some blackmailing -lawyer. Then I learned that it was a really serious -attempt of a rival of mine to take the company away -from me. They're smelling round for things to -'expose'—the old trick. They think this is a rare -good time to play it because the damn-fool public has -been liquored up with all sorts of brandy by reformers -and anarchists and socialists, trying to set it on to tear -down the social structure. No man's reputation is -safe. You know how it is in big affairs. It takes a -broad-gage man to understand them. A little fellow -thinks he sees thief and robber and swindler written -everywhere, if he gets a peep at the inside. I don't -know what we're coming to, with the masses being -educated just enough to imagine they know, and to try to -take the management of affairs out of the hands of the -substantial men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With lip curling Narcisse looked at her brother, -expecting to see in his face some sign of appreciation -of the disgusting comedy of Fosdick's cant; but he -seemed to be taking Josiah and his oration quite -seriously; to her amazement he said, "I often think of that, -Mr. Fosdick. We must have a stronger government, -and abolish universal suffrage. This thing of ignorant -men, with no respect for the class with brains and -property, having an equal voice with us has got to stop -or we'll have ruin."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A self-confessed thief trying to justify himself by -slandering those he had robbed, and angry with them -because they were not grateful to him for not having -taken all their property—and her brother applauding!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're right," said Fosdick, clapping him on the -knee. "I've been trying to explain to your -sister—though I'm afraid I don't make myself clear. The -ladies—even the smartest of them—are not very -attentive when we men talk of the business side of things. -However, I suggested to her that you recall those -specifications you gave my enemies——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it possible!" exclaimed Siersdorf, shocked. -"Yes—yes—I see—I understand. But I can straighten -it all out. I was rather vague with Delmar. I'll -send for him and tell him I was calculating on very -different kinds of buildings for him—something much -cheaper——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely!" cried Josiah. "Your brother's got -a quick mind, Miss Siersdorf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse turned away. Her brother had not even -waited for Fosdick to unfold his miserable chicane; his -own brain had instantly worked out the same idea; and, -instead of in shame suppressing it, he had uttered it as -if it were honest and honorable!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's another matter," continued Fosdick. He -no longer felt that he must advance cautiously. -Sometimes, persons not familiar with large affairs, not -accustomed to dealing under the conditions that compel -liberal interpretation of the moral code, had been known -to balk, unless approached gradually, unless led by -gentle stages above narrow ideas of the just and the -right. But clearly, the Siersdorfs, living in the -atmosphere of high finance, did not need to be acclimated. -"It may be this committee can get permission from the -State Government to pry into our affairs. I don't -think it can; indeed, I almost know it can't; we've got -the Government friendly to us and not at all -sympathetic with these plausible blackmailers and disguised -anarchists. Still, it's always well to provide for any -contingency. If you should get a tip that you were -likely to be wanted as witnesses you could arrange for -a few weeks abroad, and not leave anything—any books -or papers—for these scoundrels to nose into, couldn't -you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," assented Siersdorf, with great -alacrity. "You may be sure they'll get nothing out -of us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, that's settled," said Fosdick. "And now, -let's have lunch, and forget business. I want to hear -more about those plans for Amy's house down in Jersey. -She has told me a good deal, but not all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We can't stop to lunch," interposed Narcisse, -with a meaning look at her brother. "We must go -back to the office at once." And when she saw that -Fosdick was getting ready for a handshake, she moved -toward the door, keeping out of his range without -pointedly showing what she was about. In the street -with her brother she walked silently, moodily beside -him, selecting the softest words that would honestly -express the thoughts she felt she must not conceal from -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A great man, Fosdick," said Alois. "One of the -biggest men in the country—a splendid character, -strong, able and honorable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you say that just at this time?" asked -his sister.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois reddened a little, avoided meeting her glance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To convince yourself?" she went on. "To make -us seem less—less dishonest and cowardly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He flashed at her; his anger was suspiciously ready. -"I felt you were taking that view of it!" he cried. -"You are utterly unpractical. You want to run the -world by copybook morality."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I haven't thrown 'Thou shalt not steal' -overboard? Because I am ashamed, Alois, that we are -helping this man Fosdick to cover his cowardly thief -tracks?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand, Cissy," he remonstrated, -posing energetically as the superior male forbearing -with the inferior female. "You oughtn't to judge -what you haven't the knowledge to judge correctly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is a thief," retorted she bluntly. "And we -are making ourselves his accomplices."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois's smile was uncomfortable. With the manner -of a man near the limit of patience with folly, he -explained, "What you are giving those lurid names to -is nothing but the ordinary routine of business, -throughout the world. Do you suppose the man of -great financial intellect would do the work he does for -small wages? Do you imagine the little people he -works for and has to work through, the beneficiaries of -all those giant enterprises, would give him his just due -voluntarily? He's a man of affairs, and he works -practically, deals with human nature on human -principles—just as do all the great men of action."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse stopped short, gazed at him in amazement. -"Alois!" she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He disregarded her rebuke, her reminder of the time -when he had thought and talked very differently. -"Suppose," he persisted, "these great fortunes didn't -exist; suppose Fosdick were ass enough to take a salary -and divide up the profits; suppose all these people of -wealth we work for were to be honest according to your -definition of the word—what then? Why, millions of -people would get ten or twelve dollars a year, or -something like that, more than they now have, and there'd -be no great fortunes to encourage art, to employ people -like us, to endow colleges and make the higher and more -beautiful side of life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's too shallow to answer," said Narcisse -sternly. "You know better, Alois. You know it's -from the poor that intellect and art and all that's -genuine and great and progressive come—never from the -rich, from wealth. But even if it were not so, how can -</span><em class="italics">you</em><span> defend anything that means a sacrifice of -character?" She stopped in the street and looked at him. -"Alois, </span><em class="italics">what</em><span> has changed you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come," he urged rather shamefacedly. "People -are watching us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went on in silence, separated at the offices with -a few constrained words. They did not meet again -until the next morning—when he sought her. He -looked much as usual—fresh, handsome, supple in body -and mind. Her eyes were red round the edges of the -lids and her usually healthy skin had the paleness that -comes from a sleepless night. "Well," he said, with -his sweet, conciliatory smile—he had a perfect disposition, -while hers was often "difficult." "Do you still -think I'm wrong—and desperately wicked?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't changed my mind," she answered, avoiding -his gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned; his face showed the obstinacy that -passes current for will in a world of vacillators.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've always left business to me," he went on. -"Just continue to leave it. Rest assured I'll do -nothing to injure my honor in the opinion of any rational, -practical person—or the honor of the firm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was not deceived by the note of conciliation in -his voice; she knew he had his mind fixed. She was at -her desk, stiffly erect, gazing straight ahead. Her -expression brought out all the character in her features, -brought out that beauty of feminine strength which -the best of the Greeks have succeeded in giving their -sculptured heroines. Without warning she flung -herself forward, hid her face and burst into tears. "Oh, -I </span><em class="italics">hate</em><span> myself!" she cried. "I'm nothing but a woman, -after all—miserable, contemptible, weak creatures -that we are!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He settled himself on the arm of her chair and drew -her into his arm. "You're a finer person in every way -than I am," he said; "a better brain and a better -character. But, Cissy dear, don't judge in matters that -aren't within your scope."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do as you please," she replied brokenly. "I'm a -woman—and where's the woman that wouldn't sacrifice -anything and everything for love?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had, indeed, spent a night of horror. She felt -that what he had done was frightful dishonor—was -proof that he was losing his moral sense and, what -seemed to her worse, becoming a pander to the class for -which they did most of the work they especially prided -themselves upon. She felt that, for his sake no less -than for her own, she ought to join the issue squarely -and force him to choose the right road, or herself go -on in it alone. But she knew that he would let her go. -And she had only him. She loved him; she would not -break with him; she could not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know nothing about those buildings, anyhow," -he continued. "Just forget the whole business. -I'll take care of it. Isn't that fair?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Anything! Anything!" she sobbed. "Only, let -there be peace and love between us."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="in-neva-s-studio"><span class="bold large">VIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">IN NEVA'S STUDIO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Shown into the big workroom of Neva's apartment -with its light softened and diffused by skillfully -adjusted curtains and screens, Narcisse devoted the few -minutes before Neva came to that thorough inspection -which an intelligent workman always gives the habitat -of a fellow worker.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What a sensitive creature she is!" was the reminiscent -conclusion of the builder after the first glance -round. A less keen observer might have detected a -nature as delicately balanced as an aspen leaf in the -subtle appreciation of harmony and contrast, of light -and shade. And there were none of the showy, shallow -tricks of the poseur; for, the room was plain, as a -serious worker always insists on having his surroundings. -It appeared in the hanging of the few pictures, in the -colors of the few rugs and draperies, of walls, ceiling, -furniture, in the absence of anything that was not -pleasing; the things that are not in a room speak as -eloquently of its tenant as do the things that are -there.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a scrap of her own work," thought Narcisse, -with a smile for the shyness that omission hinted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon my keeping you waiting," apologized -Neva, entering in her long, brown blouse with stains of -paint. "I was at work when you were announced."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you had to hustle everything out of sight, so -I'd have no chance to see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva nodded smiling assent. "But I'm better than -I used to be. Really, I am. My point of view is -changing—rapidly—so rapidly that I wake up each -morning a different person from the one who went to -bed the night before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse was thinking that the Neva before her was -as unlike the Neva of their school days as a spring -landscape is unlike the same stretch in the bleak monotones -of winter. "Getting more confidence in yourself?" -suggested she aloud. "Or are you beginning to see -that the world is an old fraud whose judgments aren't -important enough to make anyone nervous?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Both," replied Neva. "But I can't honestly -claim to be self-made-over. Boris teaches me a great -deal beside painting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse changed expression. As they talked on -and on—of their work, of the West, of the college and -their friendship there, Neva felt that Narcisse had some -undercurrent of thought which she was striving with, -whether to suppress or express, she could not tell. -The conversation drifted back to New York, to Boris. -There was something of warning in Narcisse's face, and -something of another emotion less clearly defined as she -said with a brave effort at the rigidly judicial, "Boris -is a great man; but first of all a man. You know what -that means when a man is dealing with a woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva's lip curled slightly. "That side of human -nature doesn't interest me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse, watching her closely, could not but be -convinced that the indifference in her tone was not -simulated. "Not yet," she thought. Then, aloud, "That -side doesn't often interest a woman until she finds she -must choose between becoming interested in it and -losing the man altogether."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva looked at her with a strange, startled expression, -as if she were absorbing a new and vital truth, -self-evident, astonishing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Boris has lived a long time," continued Narcisse. -"And women have conquered him so often that they've -taught him how to conquer them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know much about him, beyond the painting," -said Neva. "And I don't care to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The silence that fell was constrained. It was with -tone and look of shyness more like Neva than like -herself that Narcisse presently went on, "I owe a great -deal to Boris. He made me what I am.... He -broke my heart."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva gave her a glance of wonder and fear—wonder -that she should be confiding such a secret, fear lest -the confidence would be repented. Narcisse's -expression, pensive but by no means tragic, not even -melancholy, reassured her. "You know," she proceeded, -"no one ever does anything real until his or her heart -has been broken."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva, startled, listened with curious, breathless -intentness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We learn only by experience. And the great -lesson comes only from the great experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Neva softly. She nodded absently. -"Yes," she repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When one's heart is broken ... then, one discovers -one's real self—the part that can be relied on -through everything and anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva, with studied carelessness, opened a drawer in -the stand beside her and began to examine the tips of a -handful of brushes. Her face was thus no longer -completely at the mercy of a possible searching glance from -her friend.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Show me anyone who has done anything worth -while," continued Narcisse, "and I'll show you a man -or a woman whose heart has been broken—and mended—made -strong.... It isn't always love that does the -breaking. In fact, it's usually something else—especially -with men. In my case it happened to be love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva's fingers had ceased to play with the brushes. -Her hands rested upon the edge of the drawer lightly, -yet their expression was somehow tense. Her eyes were -gazing into—Narcisse wondered what vision was -hypnotizing them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was ten years ago—when I was studying in -Paris. I can see how he might not be attractive to -some women, but he was to me." Narcisse laughed -slightly. "I don't know what might have happened, if -he hadn't been drawn away by a little Roumanian -singer, like an orchid waving in a perfumed breeze. All -Paris was quite mad about her, and Boris got her. She -thought she got him; but he survived, while she— When -she made her way back to Paris, she found it -perfectly calm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you still care for him?" said Neva gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse laughed healthily. "I mended my heart, -accepted my lesson.... Isn't it queer, how differently -one looks at a person one has cared for, after -one is cured?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," said Neva, in a slow, constrained -way. "I've never had the experience."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After a silence Narcisse went on, "I've no objection -to your repeating to him what I've said. It was a mere -reminiscence, not at all a confession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva shook her head. "That would bring up a -subject a woman should avoid with men. If it is never -opened, it remains closed; if it's ever opened, it can't be -shut again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse was struck by the penetration of this, and -proceeded to reëxamine Neva more thoroughly. Nothing -is more neglected than the revision from time to -time of our opinions of those about us. Though -character is as mobile as every other quantity in this -whirling kaleidoscope of a universe, we make up our -minds about our acquaintances and friends once for all, -and refuse to change unless forced by some cataclysm. -As their talk unfolded the Neva beneath the surface, it -soon appeared to Narcisse that either she or Neva had -become radically different since their intimacy of twelve -years before. "Probably both of us," she decided. -"I've learned to read character better, and she has more -character to read. I remember, I used to think she -was one of those who would develop late—even for a -woman."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was stupid of me," she said to Neva, "but I've -been assuming you are just as you were. Now it dawns -on me that you are as new to me as if you were an entire -stranger. You are different—outside and inside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Inside, I've certainly changed," admitted Neva. -"Don't you think we're, all of us, like the animals that -shed their skins? We live in a mental skin, and it -seems to be ours for good and all; but all the time a -new skin is forming underneath; and then, some fine -day, the old skin slips away, and we're quite new from -top to tip—apparently."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse's expression was encouraging.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That happened to me," continued Neva. "But I -didn't realize it—not completely—until the divorce was -over and I was settled here, in this huge wilderness -where the people can't find each other or even see each -other, for the crowd. It was the first time in my life. I -could look about me with the certainty I wasn't being -watched, peeped at, pressed in on all sides by curious -eyes—hostile eyes, for all curious eyes are hostile. -But you were born and brought up in a small town. -You know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Narcisse. "Everybody lives a public -life in a little town."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here I could, so to speak, stand in the sun naked -and let its light beat on my body, without fear of -peepers and pryers." She drew a long breath and -stretched out her arms in a gesture of enormous relief. -"I dare to be myself. Free! All my life I'd been shut -in, waiting and hoping some one would come and lead -me out where there was warmth and affection. Wasn't -that vanity! Now, I'm seeking what I want—the only -way to get it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse's face took on an expression of cynicism, -melancholy rather than bitter. "Don't seek among -your fellow beings. They're always off the right -temperature—they either burn you or freeze you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but I'm not trying to get warmth, but to give -it," replied Neva. "I'm not merchandising. I'm in a -business where the losses are the profits, the givings the -gains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The only businesses that really pay," said -Narcisse. "The returns from the others are like the -magician's money that seemed to be gold but was only -withered mulberry leaves. Won't you let me see some of -your work—anything?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva drew aside a curtain, wheeled out an easel, on -it her unfinished portrait of Raphael. At first -glance—and with most people the first glance is the final -verdict—there seemed only an elusive resemblance to -Raphael. It was one of those portraits that are -forthwith condemned as "poor likenesses." But Narcisse, -perhaps partly because she was sympathetically -interested in Neva's work and knew that Neva must put -intelligence into whatever she did, soon penetrated to the -deeper purpose. The human face is both a medium and -a mask; it both reveals and covers the personality -behind. It is more the mask and less the medium when -the personality is consciously facing the world. A -portrait that is a good likeness is, thus, often a meaningless -or misleading picture of the personality, because it -presents that personality when carefully posed for -conscious inspection. On the other hand, a portrait that -is hardly recognizable by those who know best, and -least, the person it purports to portray, may be in fact -a true, a profound, a perfect likeness—a faithful -reproduction of the face as a medium, with the mask -discarded. The problem the painter attempts, the -problem genius occasionally solves but mere talent rarely, -and then imperfectly, is to combine the medium and the -mask—to paint the mask so transparently that the -medium, the real face, shows through; yet not so -transparently that eyes which demand a "speaking -likeness" are disappointed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva, taught by Raphael to face and wrestle with -that problem, was in this secret unfinished portrait -striving for his "living likeness" only. She had learned -that painting the "speaking likeness" is an unimportant -matter to the artist as artist—however important -it may be to him as seeker of profitable orders or of -fame's brassy acclaim so vulgar yet so sweet. She was -not seeking fame, she was not dependent upon commissions; -she was free to grapple the ultimate mystery of -art. And this attempt to fix Raphael, the beautiful-ugly, -lofty-low, fine-coarse, kind-cruel personality that -walked the earth behind that gorgeous-grotesque -external of his, was her first essay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All things to all men—and all women, like the -genius that he is," said Narcisse, half to herself. Then -to Neva, "What does </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> think of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He hasn't seen it.... I doubt if I'll ever show -it to him—or to anybody, when it's finished."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does threaten to be an intrusion on his right of -privacy," said Narcisse. "No, he's not attracting you -in the least as a man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva looked amused. "Why did you say that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because the picture is so—so impersonal." She -laughed. "How angry it would make him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Narcisse, after a long, intimacy-renewing, -or, rather, intimacy-beginning, stop, rose to go, she -said, "I'm going to bring my friend, Amy Fosdick, -here some time soon. She has asked me and I've -promised her. She is very eager to meet you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instantly Neva made the first vivid show of her -old-time shy constraint. "I've a rule against meeting -people," stammered she. "I don't wish to seem -ungracious, but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" said Narcisse, embarrassed. "Very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An awkward silence; Narcisse moved toward the -door. "I fear I've offended you," Neva said wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," replied Narcisse, and she honestly -tried to be cordial in accepting denial. "You've the -right to do as you please, surely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In theory, yes," said Neva, with a faint melancholy -smile. "But only in theory."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now unconsciously and now consciously we are constantly -testing those about us, especially our friends, to -learn how far we can go in imposing our ever aggressive -wills upon them; and the stronger our own personalities -the more irritating it is to find ourselves flung back -from an unyielding surface where we had expected to -advance easily. In spite of her sense of justice, -Narcisse was irritated against Neva for refusing. But she -also realized she must get over this irritation, must -accept and profit by this timely hint that Neva's will -must be respected. Most friendship is mere selfishness -in masquerade—is mere seeking of advantage through -the supposedly blindly altruistic affections of friends. -Narcisse, having capacity for real friendship, was eager -for a real friend. She saw that Neva was worth the -winning. And now that Alois was breaking away— Stretching -out her hands appealingly, she said, "Please, -dear, don't draw away from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva understood, responded. Now that Narcisse -was not by clouded face and averted eye demanding -explanation as a right, she felt free to give it. "There's -a reason, Narcisse," said she, "a good reason why I -shan't let Miss Fosdick come here and gratify her -curiosity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Reason or no reason," exclaimed Narcisse, "forget -my—my impertinence.... I—I want—I need -your friendship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not more than I need yours," said Neva. "Not -so much. You have your brother, while I have no one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My brother!" Tears glistened in Narcisse's -eyes. "Yes—until he becomes some other woman's -lover." She embraced Neva, and departed hastily, -ashamed of her unwonted show of emotion, but not -regretting it.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="master-and-man"><span class="bold large">IX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">MASTER AND MAN</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Waller, the small, dark, discreet factotum to -Fosdick, came to Armstrong's office to ask him to go to -Mr. Fosdick "as soon as you conveniently can," -Armstrong knew something unusual was astir.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick rarely interfered in the insurance department -of the O.A.D. Like all his fellow financiers bearing -the courtesy title of "captains of industry," he -addressed himself entirely to so manipulating the sums -gathered in by his subordinates that he could retain as -much of them and their usufruct as his prudence, -compromising with his greediness, permitted. In the -insurance department he as a rule merely noted -totals—results. If he had suggestion or criticism to make, he -went to Armstrong. That fitted in with the fiction that -he was no more in the O.A.D. than an influential -director, that the Atlantic and Southwestern Trunk Line -was his chief occupation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong descended to the third floor—occupied -by the A.S.W.T.L. which was supposed to have no -connection with the purely philanthropic O.A.D., -"sustainer of old age and defender of the widow and -the orphan." He went directly through the suite of -offices there to Fosdick's own den. Fosdick had four -rooms. The outermost was for the reception of all -visitors and the final disposition of such of them as the -underlings there could attend to. Next came the office -of the mysterious, gravely smiling Waller, with his -large white teeth and pretty mustache and the folding -picture frame containing photographs of wife and son -and two daughters on his desk before him—what an air -of the home hovering over and sanctifying the office -diffused from that little panorama! Many callers -supposed that Waller's office was Fosdick's, that Fosdick -almost never came down there, that Waller was for all -practical purposes Fosdick. The third room was for -those who, having convinced the outer understrappers -that they ought to be admitted as far as Waller, -succeeded in convincing Waller that they must be personally -inspected and heard by the great man himself. In -this third room, there was no article of furniture but a -carpet. Waller would usher his visitor in and leave -him standing—standing, unless he chose to sit upon the -floor; for there was no chair to sit upon, no desk or -projection from the wall to lean against. Soon Fosdick -would abruptly and hurriedly enter—the man of -pressing affairs, pausing on his way from one supremely -important matter to another. Fosdick calculated that -this seatless private reception room saved him as much -time as the two outer visitor-sifters together; for not -a few of the men who had real business to bring before -him were garrulous; and to be received standing, to be -talked with standing, was a most effective encouragement -to pointedness and brevity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The fourth and innermost room was Fosdick's real -office—luxurious, magnificent even; the rugs and the -desk and chairs had cost the policy holders of the -O.A.D. nearly a hundred thousand dollars; the -pictures, the marble bust of Fosdick himself, the -statuary, the bookcases and other furnishings had cost -the shareholders of the A.S.W.T.L. almost as much more.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong found Fosdick talking with Morris, Joe -Morris, who was one of his minor personal counsel, and -was paid in part by a fixed annual retainer from the -A.S.W.T.L., in part from the elastic and generously -large legal fund of the O.A.D. As Armstrong -entered, Fosdick said: "Well, Joe, that's all. You -understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly," said Morris. And he bowed distantly -to Armstrong, bowed obsequiously to his employer and -departed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the matter between you and Joe Morris?" -asked Fosdick, whose quick eyes had noted the not at -all obvious constraint.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We know each other only slightly," replied -Armstrong. Then he added, "Mrs. Morris is a cousin of -my former wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—beg pardon for intruding," said Fosdick -carelessly. "Sit down, Horace," and he leaned -back in his chair and gazed reflectively out into -vacancy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong seated himself and waited with the -imperturbable, noncommittal expression which had -become habitual with him ever since his discovery that he -was Fosdick's prisoner, celled, sentenced, waiting to be -led to the block at Fosdick's good pleasure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At last Fosdick broke the silence. "You were -right about that committee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Apparently this did not interest Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That was a shrewd suspicion of yours," Fosdick -went on. "And I ought to have heeded it. How did -you happen to hit on it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just a guess, eh? I thought maybe you knew who -was back of these fellows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who is back of them?" asked Armstrong—a mere -colorless, uninterested inquiry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our friends of the Universal Life," replied -Fosdick, assuming that Armstrong's question was an -admission that he did not know. "They've plotted with -some of the old Galloway crowd in our directory to -throw me out and get control." Fosdick marched -round and round the room, puffing furiously at his -cigar. "They think they've bought the governor -away from me," he presently resumed. "They think—and -he thinks—he'll order the attorney-general to -entertain the complaints of that damned committee." Here -Fosdick paused and laughed—a harsh noise, a -gleaming of discolored, jagged teeth through heavy -fringe of mustache. "I've sent Morris up to Albany -to see him. When he finds out I've got a certain -canceled check with his name on the back of it, I guess—I -</span><em class="italics">rather</em><span> guess—he'll get down on that big belly of his -and come crawling back to me. I've sent Morris up -there to show him the knout."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Isn't that rather—raw?" said Armstrong, still stolid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course it's raw. But that's the way to deal -with fellows like him—with most fellows, nowadays." And -Fosdick resumed his march. Armstrong sat—stolid, -waiting, matching the fingers of his big, ruddy -hands.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what do you think?" demanded his master, -pausing, a note of irritated command in his voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong shrugged his shoulders. A disinterested -observer might have begun to suspect that he was -leading Fosdick on; but Fosdick, bent upon the game, -had no such suspicion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want your opinion. That's why I sent for you," -he cried impatiently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got your mind made up," said Armstrong. -"I've nothing to say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think my move settles it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No doubt, the governor'll squelch the investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Certainly</em><span> he will! And that means the end of -those fellows' attempt to make trouble for us through -our own policy holders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?" said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think so?" Fosdick dropped into his -chair. "I'm not quite satisfied," he said. "Give me -your views."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This committee has made a lot of public charges -against the management of the O.A.D. It may be -that when you try to smother the investigation, the -demand will simply break out worse than ever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pooh!" scoffed Fosdick. "That isn't worth -talking about. I was thinking only of what other -moves that gang could make. The public amounts to -nothing. The rank and file of our policy holders is -content. What have these fellows charged? Why, that -we've spent all kinds of money in all kinds of ways to -build up the company. Now, what does the average -investor say—not in public but to himself—when the -management of his company is attacked along that -line? Why, he says to himself, 'Better let well enough -alone. Maybe those fellows don't give me all my share; -but they do give me a good return for my money, as -much as most shareholders in most companies get.' No, -my dear Horace, even a rotten management needn't -be afraid of its public so long as it gives the returns its -public expects. Trouble comes only when the public -</span><em class="italics">gets less than it expected</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong did not withhold from this shrewdness -the tribute of an admiring look. "Still," he -persisted, "the public seems bent on an investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mere clamor, and no backing from the press except -those newspapers that it ain't worth while to stop -with a chunk of advertising. All the reputable press is -with us, is denouncing those blackmailers for throwing -mud at men of spotless reputation." Fosdick swelled -his chest. "The press, the public, know </span><em class="italics">us</em><span>, believe in -</span><em class="italics">us</em><span>. Our directory reads like a roll call of the best -citizens in the land. And the poor results from that last -big tear-up are still fresh in everybody's mind. Nobody -wants another."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pause, then Armstrong: "Still, it might be better -to have an investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" exclaimed Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say we've nothing to conceal. Why not -show the public so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course we haven't got anything to conceal," -cried Fosdick defiantly. "At least, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> haven't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not have an investigation, then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That reiterated word "investigation" acted on the -old financier like the touch of a red-hot iron. -"Because I don't want it!" he shouted. "Damn it, man, -ain't I above suspicion? Haven't I spent my life in -serving the public? Shall I degrade myself by noticing -these lying, slandering scoundrels? Shall I let 'em -open up my private business to the mob that would -misunderstand? Shall I let them roll </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> in the gutter? -No—sir—ree!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, you are against a policy of aggression? -You intend simply to sit back and content yourself with -ignoring attacks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick subsided, scowling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suppose you allowed an investigation——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to hear that word again!" said -Fosdick between his teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong slowly rose. "Any further business?" -he asked curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down, Horace. Don't get touchy. Damn it, -I want your advice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't any to offer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What'd you do if you were in my place?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was as weak as it sounded. In human societies -concentrations of power are always accidental, in the -sense that they do not result from deliberation; thus, -the men who happen to be in a position to seize and -wield the power are often ill-equipped to use it -intelligently. Fosdick had but one of the two qualities -necessary to greatness—he could attack. But he could not -defend. So long as his career was dependent for -success upon aggression, he went steadily ahead. It is not -so difficult as some would have us believe to seize the -belongings of people who do not know their own rights -and possessions, and live in the habitual careless, -unthinking human fashion. But now that his accumulations -were for the first time attracting the attention of -robbers as rich and as unscrupulous as himself, he was -in a parlous state. And, without admitting it to -himself, he was prey to uneasiness verging on terror. Our -modern great thieves are true to the characteristics of -the thief class—they have courage only when all the -odds are in their favor; let them but doubt their -absolute security, and they lose their insolent courage and -fall to quaking and to seeing visions of poverty and -prison.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What would you do?" Fosdick repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do your lawyers say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick sneered. "What do they always say? -They echo </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. I have to tell them what to do—and, -by God, I often have to show 'em how to do it." The -fact was that Fosdick, like almost all the admired -"captains of industry," was a mere helpless appetite with -only the courage of an insane and wholly unscrupulous -hunger; but for the lawyers, he would not have been -able to gratify it. In modern industrialism the lawyer -is the honeybird that leads the strong but stupid bear -to the forest hive—and the honeybird gets as a reward -only what the bear permits. "Give me your best judgment, -Horace," pursued Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In your place, I'd fight," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd order the governor to appoint an investigating -committee, made up of </span><em class="italics">reliable</em><span> men. I'd appoint one -of my lawyers as attorney to it—some chap who wasn't -supposed to be my lawyer. I'd let it investigate me, -make it give me a </span><em class="italics">reasonably, plausibly</em><span> clean bill of -health. Then, I'd set it on the other fellows, have it -tear 'em to pieces, make 'em too busy with home -repairs to have time to stick their noses over my back -fence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick listened, appreciated, and hated Armstrong -for having thought of that which was so obvious once it -was stated and yet had never occurred to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course," said Armstrong carelessly, "there are -risks in that course. But I don't believe you can stop -an investigation altogether. It's choice among evils."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, we'll see," said Fosdick. "There's no -occasion for hurry. This situation isn't as bad as you -seem to think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It had always been part of his basic policy to -minimize the value of his lieutenants—it kept them modest; -it moderated their demands for bigger pay and larger -participation in profits; it enabled him to feel that he -was "the whole show" and to preen himself upon his -liberality in giving so much to men actually worth so -little. He was finding it difficult to apply this policy -to Armstrong. For, the Westerner was of the sort of -man who not only makes it a point to be more necessary -to those he deals with than they are to him, but also -makes it a point to force them to see and to admit it. -Armstrong's quiet insistence upon his own value only -roused Fosdick to greater efforts to convince him, and -himself, that Armstrong was a mere cog in the machine. -He sent him away with a touch of superciliousness. -But—no sooner was he alone than he rang up Morris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come over at once," he ordered. "I've changed -my mind. I've got another message for you to take up -there with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It would have exasperated him to see Armstrong as -he returned to his own offices. The Westerner had lost -all in a moment that air of stolidity under which he had -been for several months masking his anxiety. He -moved along whistling softly; he joked with the elevator -boy; he shut himself in his private office, lit a cigar and -lay back in his chair and stared at the ceiling, his -expression that of a man whose thoughts are delightful -company.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="amy-sweet-and-amy-sour"><span class="bold large">X</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AMY SWEET AND AMY SOUR</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Now that Fosdick saw how he could clear himself, -and more, of those he had been variously describing as -pryers, peepers, ingrates, traitors and blackmailers, he -was chagrined that he had been so near to panic. He -couldn't understand it, so he assured himself; with -nothing to conceal, with hands absolutely clean, with not an -act on the record that was not legitimate, such as the -most respectable men in the most respectable circles not -only approved but did—with these the conditions, how -had he been so upset?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose," he reflected, "as a man gets older, he -becomes foolishly sensitive about his reputation. Then, -too, the world is eager to twist evil into everything—and -I have so many in my own class who are jealous of -me, of my standing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The silliest thing he had done, he decided, was that -talk with the Siersdorfs. Why, if they were at all -evil-minded, they might suspect he was using those -construction accounts for swindling purposes, instead -of making a perfectly legitimate convenience of them -to adjust the bookkeeping to the impossible requirements -of law and public opinion. "It's an outrage," -he thought, "that we can't have the laws fixed so it -would be possible to carry on business without having -to do things liable to misconstruction, if made -generally public. But we can't. As it is, look at the -swindlers who have taken advantage of the laws we -absolutely had to have the legislature make." Yes, it -was a blunder to take the Siersdorfs into his -confidence—though the young man did show that he had -brains enough to understand the elements of large -affairs. Still, he might some time make improper use -of the knowledge—unless——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick decided that thereafter the vouchers should -pass through Siersdorf's hands, should have Siersdorfs -O.K. "Then, if any question arises, it will -be to his interest to treat confidential matters -confidentially. Or, if he should turn against me, he'd be -unable to throw mud without miring himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now Fosdick saw why he had instantly jumped -for the Siersdorfs. They alone were not personally -involved in any of the "private business" of the O.A.D. -All the directors, all the officials, all the important -agents, were involved, and therefore would not dare -turn traitor if they should be vile enough to -contemplate it. But the Siersdorfs were independent, yet -perilously in possession of the means to make trouble.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must fix them," said Fosdick. "I must clinch them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it came about that within a week Alois was -helping the directors of the O.A.D. to keep their -accounts "adjusted"—was signing vouchers for many -times the amounts that were being actually expended -upon the building. He hesitated before writing the -firm name upon the first of these documents. On the -face of it, the act did look—peculiar. True, it was a -simple matter of bookkeeping; still, he'd rather not be -involved. There seemed no way out of it, however. -To refuse was to insult Fosdick—and that when -Fosdick was showing his confidence in and affection for him. -Also, it meant putting in jeopardy three big orders in -hand—the two office buildings and Overlook.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It'd break Narcisse's heart to have to give up -doing Overlook," he said to himself. Yes, he would -sign the vouchers; now that he felt he was acting, at -least in large part, for his dear sister's sake, he had no -qualms. Having passed the line, he looked back with -amusement. He debating as a moral question a matter -of business routine! A matter approved by such a -character, such a figure as Josiah Fosdick!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Some of these "technically inaccurate" vouchers -were before him when Narcisse happened into his office. -Though there was "nothing wrong with them—nothing -whatever," and though she would not have known it -if there had been, he instinctively slipped the blotting -pad over them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you hiding there?" she teased -innocently. "A love letter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned. "You've got that on the brain," he -retorted, with a constrained smile. "What do you -want—now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amy's here. Have you time to go over the plans?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—right away," said he, with quick complete -change of manner.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She winced. So sensitive had she become on the -subject of her brother and her friend that she was hurt -by the most casual suggestion from either of interest -in the other. Regarding her brother as irresistible, -she assumed that, should he ask Amy, he would be -snapped in, like fly by frog. "Yet," said she to -herself, "they're utterly unsuited. He'd realize it as soon -as he was married to her. Why can't a man ever see -through a woman until he's had an affair with her and -gotten over her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we look at the plans here or in your room?" -he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll send her here.... It won't be necessary for -me to come, will it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. We'll hardly get round to your part -to-day," said Alois. And Amy went in alone, and spent -the entire afternoon with Alois. And most attractive -he made himself to Amy. In his profession, he had -many elements of strength; he hated shams, had a -natural sense of the beautiful, unspoiled by the -conventionalities that reduce most architects to slavish -copyists. He did not think things fine simply because they -were old; neither did he think them ugly or stale for -that reason. He knew how to judge on merit alone; -and he had educated Amy Fosdick to the point where -she at least appreciated his views and ideas. When a -man gets a woman trained to that point, he thinks her -a marvel of independent intellect, with germs of -genius—if she is at all attractive to him physically. He -forgot that, until Amy had "taken up" the Siersdorfs, -she had been as enthusiastic about the barren -and conventional Whitbridge as she now was about -them. Appreciation is one of the most deceptive -qualities in the world, where it is genuine. Through -it we are all constantly disguising from ourselves and -from others our own mental poverty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Usually appreciation is little more than a liking for -the person whose ideas we think we understand and -share. In Amy's case, there was a good deal of real -understanding. She had much natural good taste, -enough to learn to share in the amusement of Narcisse -and Alois at the silly imitations of old-world palaces -her acquaintances were hastening to house themselves -in—palaces built for a forever departed era of the -human race, for a past people of a past and gone social -order; she also saw, when Alois pointed it out to her, -the silliness of the mania for antiques which in our day -is doing so much to suffocate originality and even good -taste. She learned to loathe the musty, fusty rags and -worm-eaten woods the crafty European dealers -manufacture, "plant," and work off on those Americans who -are bent upon the same snobbishness in art education -that they are determined to have in the other forms of -education. Encouraged by Narcisse and Alois, she -came boldly out against that which she had long in -secret doubted and disliked. She was more than willing -that they should build her a house suitable as a -habitation for a human being in the twentieth century—a -house that was ventilated and convenient and scientific. -And she was giving Alois a free hand in planning -surroundings of spontaneous beauty rather than of the -kind that pleased the narrower and more precise fancy -of a narrower age, to which the idea of freedom of any -sort was unknown.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 63%" id="figure-42"> -<span id="she-was-giving-alois-a-free-hand-in-planning-surroundings"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""She was giving Alois a free hand in planning surroundings."" src="images/img-120.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"She was giving Alois a free hand in planning surroundings."</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gracious! It's after half past four!" she exclaimed, -as if she had just become conscious of the fact, -when in truth she had been impatiently watching the -clock by way of a mirror for nearly an hour.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it is!" said Alois, immensely flattered by her -unconsciousness of time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to take these plans with me—to show them -to some one."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois felt that the "some one" was a man, and a -very particular friend—else, she would have spoken the -name. "Very well," he said, faintly sullen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be disturbed," was her absent reply. "I'll -take good care of them." She saw the change in him; -but, not thinking of him as a man, but as an intelligence -only, she did not grasp the cause. "Thank you so -much," she went on, "for being so patient with me. -How splendid it must be to have always with one a mind -like yours—or Narcisse's. Well, until to-morrow, or -next day." And, looking as charming as only a pretty -woman with a fortune can look to a man who wants -both her and her fortune, she left him desolate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The "some one" was indeed a man. But he—Armstrong—did -not arrive until half an hour after the appointed -time. She came into the small salon into which -he had been shown, her gloves, hat and wraps on and -the big roll of plans under her arm; and no one would -have suspected that she had been waiting for him since -ten minutes before five and had spent most of the time -in primping. "I'm all blown to pieces," she -apologized, as she entered. "Have I kept you waiting? I -really couldn't help it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I just got here," said Armstrong. "I, too, was -late—business, as always." Which was true enough; -but the whole truth would have been that he forgot the -appointment until its very hour. "I'll not keep you -long," he continued. "I've got to dress for an early -dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was so disappointed that she did not dare speak, -lest she should show her ill humor—and she knew -Armstrong detested a bad disposition in a woman. She -rang for tea; when the servants had brought it and -were gone, she began fussing with her coat. He, -preoccupied, did not see her hinted signals until she said, -"Please, do help me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he drew off the coat there floated to him a -delightful perfume, a mingling of feminine and flowers, -of freshness and delicacy, a stimulating suggestion of -the sensuous refinements which a woman with taste and -the means can employ as powerful allies in her siege of -man. She looked up at him—her eyes were, save her -teeth, her best feature. She just brushed his arm in -one of those seemingly unconscious, affectionate-friendly -gestures which are intended to be encouraging -without being "unwomanly." "How is my friend -to-day?" she inquired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So-so," replied he, taking her advances at their -face value.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You never come here unless I send for you, and -you always have some excuse for going soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled good-natured raillery. "How sure of -yourself you feel!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you say that?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your remark. You are always making that kind -of remarks. They're never made except by women who -feel sure."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I don't," protested she. "On the contrary, -I'm very humble—where you're concerned." She gave -him a long look. "And you know that's true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed at her with his eyes. "No. I shan't -do it. You'll have only your trouble for your pains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She colored. "What </span><em class="italics">do</em><span> you mean?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That I won't propose to you. You've been trying -to inveigle me into it for nearly a year now. But -you'll have to do without my scalp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The big Westerner's jesting manner carried his -remark, despite its almost insolent frankness. Besides, -what with Amy's content with herself and partiality for -him, it would have been difficult for him to offend her. -Never before had she been able to lure him so near to -the one subject she wished to discuss with him. "What -conceit," cried she, all smiles. "You fancy I've been -flirting with you. I might have known! Men always -misunderstand a woman's friendship. I suppose you -imagine I'm in love with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not in the least. No more than I with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked crestfallen at this. Whether a woman -has much or little to give a man, whether she wants his -love or not, she always wishes to feel that it is there -waiting for her. "Why do you imagine I wish you to -ask me to marry you?" she asked, swiftly recovering -and not believing him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer that. Instead he said: "You -came very near to getting your way about a year ago. -I had about made up my mind to marry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To marry me," she echoed ironically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To marry you," he repeated in his attractive, -downright fashion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—why didn't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I decided I didn't need you," said he, most -matter-of-fact. "I saw I'd be repeating the blunder I made -when I married before. When I got out of college, I -was so discouraged by the prospect, I felt so weak -without money or influence, that I let myself drift into a -great folly—for it is a folly to imagine that money or -influence are of any value in making a career. They're -the results of a career, not its cause. Once more, when -I faced the big battle here in New York, I was fooled -for a while in spite of myself by the same old delusion. -I saw that the successful men all had great wealth, and -I made the same old shallow mistake of supposing their -wealth gave them their success. But I got back to the -sensible point of view very quickly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so—I—escaped."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Escaped is the word for it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are flattering—to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That sarcasm because I did not so much as speak -of your charms, I suppose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You might have said I was personally a little of a -temptation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why go into that?" rejoined he, with an intonation -that gave her a chance to be flattered, if she chose. -"Of course, if I had decided I needed you in my career, -I'd have flung myself over ears into love. As it was, -don't you think my keeping away from you complimentary?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was the nearest he had ever come to an admission -that she was attractive to him; she straightway -exaggerated it into a declaration of love. Very few -women make or even understand a man's clear distinction -between physical attraction and love; Amy thought -them one and the same.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are so hard!" said she. "I wonder at myself -for liking you." As she spoke, she rapidly thought it -out with the aid of her vanity; men and women, in their -relations with each other, always end by taking counsel -of vanity. He wanted her; he had taken this subtle -means to get within her defenses and, without running -the risk of a refusal, find out whether he could get her, -whether a woman of her wealth and position would -condescend to him. It was with her sweetest, candidest -smile that she went on, "Now it is all settled. You -don't want to marry me; you aren't in love with me. I -need not be afraid of any designs, mercenary or -otherwise. At last, we can be real friends."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reflected, then said with a judicial, impersonal -air, "No matter how well a man plays the game of man -and man, he usually plays the game of man and woman -badly. Why? Because he thinks the conditions are -different. He is deceived by woman's air of guilelessness -into imagining he has the game all his own way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What has that got to do with what I said to -you?" asked she, her color a confession that the -question was unnecessary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He again laughed at her with his eyes. "Why did -you think it had?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She pouted. "You are in a horrible mood to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rose. "Thanks for the hint."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She began to unroll the plans.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, </span><em class="italics">there's</em><span> the man for you," said he, with a -gesture toward her bundle of blue prints.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Siersdorf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I had to choose, I'd prefer—even you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Siersdorf is adaptable and appreciative. He's -good to look at, has a good all-round mind, is -extraordinary in his specialty. You couldn't do better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want him," she cried impatiently. "I -prefer to suit myself in marrying." She stood before -him, her hands behind her, the pretty face tilted -daringly upward. "Are you trying to make me dislike you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked down at her; there was not a hint in his -expression that her dare was a temptation. "I must -be going," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Tears gathered in her eyes, made them brilliant, -took away much of their natural hardness. "Won't -you be friends?" she appealed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He continued to look straight into her eyes until -her expression told him she knew he was not deceived -by her maneuverings and strategies. Then he said, -"No," with terse directness of manner as well as of -speech. "No, because you do not want friends. You -want victims."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In sudden anger she flung off her mask. "I am a -good hater," she warned. "You don't want me to turn -against you, do you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face became sad and somewhat bitter. There -had been a time when such a menace from a source so -near his career would have alarmed him, would have set -him to debating conciliation. But his self-confidence -had developed beyond that stage, had reached the point -where a man feels that, if any force from without can -injure him, the sooner he finds it out, the more quickly -he will be able to make a career founded upon the only -unshakable ground, his own single strength.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've taken a great deal off you," she went on in a -menacing tone, a tone intended to remind him that he -was an employee. "You ought to be more careful. -I'm not all sweetness. I can be hard and unforgiving -when I cease to like."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed unpleasantly as vanity thus easily -divested itself of its mask of love. "And to cross you -is all that's necessary to rouse your dislike."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all," said she. And now she looked like -her father in his rare exhibitions of his true self. She -had never deceived Armstrong altogether. But he was -too masculine not to have lingerings of the universal -male delusion that feminine always and necessarily -means at least something of sweetness and tenderness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall we be friends?" she demanded sharply, -imperiously. At bottom, she could not believe anyone -would stand against the power that gave her a -scepter—the power of wealth. "Friends, or—not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you please," replied he, bowing coldly. And -he went, his last look altogether calm, not without a -tinge of contempt. He realized that he had come there -to put an end to his flirtation with her, to assert his own -independence, to free himself from the entanglement -which his temporary weakness of the first days in -overwhelming New York had led him into. The swimmer, -used only to pond or narrow river, is unnerved for a -moment when he finds himself in the sea; but if he knows -his art, he is soon reassured, because he discovers that -no more skill is needed for sea than for pond, only a -little more self-confidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was not clear of the house when she was saying -to herself, "Hugo is right about him. Father must -take him in hand. He shall be taught his place."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="at-mrs-trafford-s"><span class="bold large">XI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">AT MRS. TRAFFORD'S</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Armstrong felt that he had regained his liberty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The principal feature of every adequate defense is -vigorous attack; and, so long as Amy was pretending -to be and was thinking herself his friend, was in fact as -much his friend as it was possible for one to be who had -been bred to self-worship, Armstrong could take only -lame, passive measures against Fosdick. But now— In -the oncoming struggle in which he would get no quarter, -he need give none. Several times, as he was dressing -for dinner, a cynical smile played over his features. -What a queer game life was! In other circumstances, -that might easily have come about, he and Amy would -have plunged into a romantic love affair; they would -have been standing by each other against all the world, -the stronger in their love and devotion for the opposition. -A few words, and off flies her mask of sweetness, -so deceptive that it almost deceived herself, and away -goes her pretense of friendship; the friends become -enemies, liking becomes hate. No real change in either -of them; each just as likable as before; yet, what a -difference! It amused him. It saddened him. "Probably -at this very moment she's edging her father on to -destroy me," he thought. But that disturbed him not -at all. He had no fear of enemies; he knew that they -fling themselves against the gates in vain, unless there -are traitors within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This break with Amy was most opportune. He -was dining at the Traffords that evening; he could tell -Trafford he would accept without any reservations the -long-standing invitation to enter the Atwater-Trafford -plot to seize the O.A.D.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford was one of the rising stars in finance. He -originated in a village in southern New Jersey where he -was first a school teacher, then a lawyer. He spent -many years in studying the problem of success—success, -of course, meaning the getting of a vast fortune. -He discovered that there were two ways to enormous -wealth—by seizing an accumulation amassed by some -one else; by devising a trap that would deceive or -compel a multitude of people to contribute each his mite of -a few dimes or dollars. The first way was the quicker, -of course; but Trafford saw that the number of -multi-millionaires incapable of defending at least the bulk of -their wealth was extremely limited, and that, of them, -few indeed kept their wealth together so that one swoop -could scoop it all. His mind turned to the other way. -After carefully examining the various forms of trap, -he was delighted to discover that the one that was easiest -to use was also the best. Insurance! To get several -hundred thousand people to make you absolute trustee -of their savings, asking no real accounting; and all you -had to do was to keep a certain part of the money safely -invested so that, when anybody died, you could pay his -heirs about what he had paid you, with simple interest, -or less, added. Trafford studied the life insurance -tables, and he was amazed that nobody had ever taken -the trouble to expose the business. He stood astounded -before the revelation that the companies must be -earning, on "risks" alone, from ten to thirty per cent, -this in addition to what clever fellows on the inside must -be doing in the way of speculation; that policy holders -got back in so-called dividends less than five, usually -less than four, often less than three per cent!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford's fingers twitched. Rich? Why, he would -be worth millions!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made choice among the different kinds of -insurance. The object was to get a company that would -draw in the greatest number of "beneficiaries" and -would have to pay the smallest proportion of -"benefits." The greatest number were obviously the very -poor; and, by happy coincidence, the very poor could -also be exploited more easily and more thoroughly and -with less outcry than any other class. So, Trafford -made burial insurance his "graft." He would play -upon the horror the poor have of Potter's Field.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He began in a small way in Trenton; he presently -had several thousand policy holders, each paying ten -cents a week to his agent-collectors. As soon as a -policy of this kind has run for several months, it is to the -advantage of both agent and company for it to lapse. -Thus, Trafford's policies, obscurely worded, -unintelligible to any but a lawyer, read that the weekly -payments must be made at the office of the company; that -an omission promptly to pay a single month's dues made -the policy lapse; that a lapsed policy had no surrender -value. He was too greedy at first, and Trenton was -too small a place. When it became "too hot to hold -him," he went to New York—New York with its vast, -ignorant, careless tenement population, with its -corrupt government, with its superb opportunities for -floating and expanding a respectable grafting scheme.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he had stayed in Trenton, he would probably -have gone to the penitentiary. But in New York he -became ever richer, ever more respectable; he attracted -about him a group of eminently respectable sustainers -of church and society, always eager to get their noses -into a large, new trough of swill. The Home and -Hearth Mutual Defense Company soon dwelt in a -palace, built at a cost of many millions, every penny -of it picked from the pockets of ragged trousers -and skirts; Trafford himself dwelt in another and -even more costly palace farther uptown, built with -the same kind of money. He was a vestryman in -the fashionable Church of the Holy Family, a -subscriber to all the fashionable charities, an -authority on the fashionable theories as to the tenement -house question and other sociological problems -relating to the slums. And he thought as well of -himself as did his neighbors. Was it </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> business if the -company's collectors forgot to be accommodating and -to relieve the poor of the necessity of making their -payments at the offices? Was it </span><em class="italics">his</em><span> business if policies -lapsed by the thousands, by the tens of thousands, -through the carelessness or ignorance of the policy -holders? Look at the hundreds of thousands whose -funeral expenses were provided by the Home and -Hearth! Look at the charities he subscribed to; listen -to the speeches in behalf of charity and philanthropy -he made! Did he not give the policy holders all that -was legally theirs?—at least, all that was </span><em class="italics">rightfully</em><span> -theirs under the accepted business code; certainly, more -than the law would have allowed them, if laws could be -made so that the good could carry on "practical" -business and yet the wicked not get undue license. -Trafford had never been a moral theorist. He had -accepted the code known as legal morals—"the world's -working compromise with utopianism," he sonorously -called it. As he expanded financially, he expanded -morally; by the time he became a high financier, he was -ready for the broader code known as financial morals—wherein -allowances are made for all those moral difficulties -which the legal code, being of necessity of wider -application, cannot take into account.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A fine man was Trafford, with a face that the -women and the clergy called "sweet" and "spiritual," -with a full gray beard, young eyes, bright blue and -smiling, iron-gray hair that waved a little, and the dress -of the substantial citizen.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His home life was beautiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had made his first and false start with a school -teacher—she had had the first grade in the school where -he taught the sixth grade. She was of about his own -age, and indolent, and had never heard that a married -woman ought to keep herself up to the mark; she was, -therefore, old at thirty-two, and he still a mere boy in -looks and in feeling. She said rather severe things -when he so narrowly escaped disgrace during his -apprenticeship at Trenton; they quarreled, they -separated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the boarding house where he first stopped in -New York there was a serious, shrewd, pretty girl, the -daughter of the landlady and the niece of one of the -high dignitaries of the church. Trafford induced his -wife to divorce him—before she discovered how swiftly -and luxuriantly he was putting forth bough and leaf in -congenial New York. He married the niece of the -church dignitary in the parlor of the boarding house; -a "most elegant function" it was pronounced by the -boarders—and, as they read all the "fashionable -intelligence" and claimed kinship with various fashionable -people, they ought to have known. The wedding was -like the bright dawn of a bright day—a somewhat -cool, even frosty day, but brilliant. Neither Trafford -nor the second Mrs. Trafford had much affection in -them. Who knows, perhaps the marriage was the -more cloudless for that. Instead of exploiting each -other, as loving couples too often do, they exploited -their fellow beings, he downtown, she up. As he grew, -she grew. As he became rich, she became fashionable; -ten years after that wedding, hardy indeed would have -been the person who would have dared remind her that -she had once lived in a boarding house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Conventionally, it is man's chief business to get -rich, woman's chief business to keep young looking; -the Traffords were nothing if not conventional. -Mrs. Trafford appreciated that she lived in a land where -beauty in a woman counts more than seventy-five points -in the hundred, that she lived in a city where it counts -at least ninety points in the hundred. She had no use -for her charms beyond mere show—show, the sole -purpose of all she did and thought and was. She took -herself in hand, after the true New York fashion, at -Time's first sign of malice. She had herself cared for -from top to toe, and that intelligently—no credulous -prey to fake beautifiers was Lily Trafford. When -Trafford was fifty-two, though he did not look so much -by half a dozen years, his wife was thirty-eight, and -looked less than thirty.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor had she neglected her other duties as woman -and wife. Her husband was rich; she had learned how -to spend money. The theory among those who have -no money "to speak of," and never had, is that -everyone is born with the knowledge how to spend money. -In fact, there are thousands who know how to make -money where there are ten who know how to spend it. -The whole mercantile class fattens on the ignorance -of this neglected science—fattens by selling at high -prices to those who do not know what they want or -how much they should pay. Mrs. Trafford knew -exactly what she wanted—she wanted to be fashionable. -She had fashion as an instinct, as a passion. She -wanted the "latest thing" in mental and material -furnishings. She cared nothing for knowledge; she was -determined to have culture, because culture was -fashionable. She had no ideas of her own, and wanted -none; she followed the accepted standards. It was the -fashion to go to church; she went to church. It was -the fashion to be a little skeptical; she was cautiously -skeptical. It was the fashion to live in a palace; in -a palace she lived. She went to the fashionable -dressmakers and art stores and book stores. She filled her -house with things recommended by the fashionable -architects. She had the plainest personal tastes in -food, but she ate three fashionable meals a day; and, -though she loved coffee with cream, took it with hot -milk in the mornings and black after lunch and dinner, -because cream was unfashionable. Yes, Mrs. Trafford -knew how to spend money. The science of spending -money is getting what you want at as low a price as -anybody can get it. Mrs. Trafford got exactly what -she wanted, and got it with no more waste than is -inevitable in spending large sums with people who lie -awake of nights plotting to get more than they are -entitled to.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Armstrong looked round the salon into which -he was shown, it seemed to him he had never seen -anything so magnificent or so stiff. Trafford was housed -exactly like a king—and, like a king, he had the air -of being a temporary tenant of the magnificence about -him. It was the typical great house—a crude, barbaric -structure, an exhibition of wealth with no individuality, -no originality, ludicrous to the natural eye, yet -melancholy; for, from every exhibit of how little wealth buys -there protrudes the suggestion of how much it has -deprived how many. In such displays the absence of -price marks is a doubtful concession to canons of taste -which in no wise apply; the price mark would at once -answer the only question that forms in the mind as the -glance roams. The Traffords, however, were as -content as royalty in their uncomfortable and unsightly -surroundings; they had attained the upper class -heaven.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So glad you could come," said Mrs. Trafford -graciously to Armstrong. Her toilet was the extreme -of the fashion, and without a glimmer of individual -taste. "This is my small daughter." And she smiled -up at the thin, pretty young woman beside her in -diaphanous white over palest yellow. "We are to be -six this evening," she went on. "And Boris is -coming—you know Boris Raphael?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never heard of him," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Trafford smiled broadly. Mrs. Trafford was -pained, and showed it—not at her daughter's smile, for -it she did not see, but at Armstrong's ignorance of so -important a fact in the current fashionable fund of -information. Ignorance of literature, science, art, -politics, of everything of importance in the great -world, would not have disturbed Mrs. Trafford; but -ignorance of any of the trivialities it was fashionable -to know—what vulgarity, what humiliation! "He -is </span><em class="italics">the</em><span> painter of portraits," she explained. "Everyone -has him. He gets really fabulous prices."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An American?" inquired Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I believe he was born here. But, of course, he -has spent his life abroad. We are so commercial. No -artist could develop here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is there any place on earth where they don't take -all they can get?" asked Armstrong. "Does Raphael -refuse 'fabulous prices'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Miss Trafford laughed. Mrs. Trafford looked -pained again. "Oh—but the spirit is different over -there," she replied vaguely.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where the men won't marry unless the girl -brings a dowry?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The customs are different from ours," said -Mrs. Trafford, patiently and pleasantly. "Raphael has -done me a great honor. He has asked to paint me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally, he's on the lookout for all the jobs -he can get," said Armstrong, his mind really on his -impending treaty with her husband—arranging the -articles, what he would give, what demand in exchange. -The instant the words were out he realized their -inexcusable rudeness. He reddened and looked -awkwardly big and piteously apologetic.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford, who had been stroking the huge deerhound -on the tiger skin before the fire, now burst in. -"What's that about Raphael? Did my wife tell you -she has at last persuaded him to paint her picture?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A miserable silence. Miss Trafford had to turn -away to restrain her laughter. Mrs. Trafford became -white, then scarlet, then white again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The airs he's putting on!" continued Trafford, -unconscious. "Why, they tell me his father was a -banana peddler and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Raphael," announced the butler, holding -aside one of the ten-thousand-dollar portières.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—Raphael!" exclaimed Trafford, with enthusiasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So glad you could come," said Mrs. Trafford, -gracious and sweet.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Carlin," announced the butler.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong, studying Raphael's face, which -instantly attracted him, wheeled toward the door at the -sound of this name as if he had been shot at from -that direction. He might not have been noted, had -he not straightway got a far greater shock. In -abandon of sheer amazement he stared at the figure in the -doorway—Neva, completely transformed in the two -years since he saw her. The revolution in her whole -mode of life and thought had produced results as -striking inwardly as outwardly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In America, transformations usually cause, at -most, only momentary surprise; for almost everyone -above the grade of day laborer, and not a few there, -changes his environment completely, not once but -several times in the lifetime, readjusting himself to -his better or worse circumstances. After an interval -one sees the man or the woman he has known as poor -and obscure; success has come in that interval, and -with it all the external and internal results of -success. Or, failure has come, and with it that general -sloughing away and decay which is the inevitable -consequence of profound discouragement; the American, -most adaptable of human beings, accepts defeat as -facilely as victory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In Neva's case, however, the phenomenon was somewhat -different. It is not often that circumstance -drags an obstinately retiring person into -activity, breaks the shell and compels that which was -hidden to become open, to develop, to dominate. The -transformation of Neva seemed somewhat as if a -violet had become a tall-stemmed rose; it was, in fact, -no miracle of transubstantiation, but one of those -perfectly natural marvels, like the metamorphosis of -grub into butterfly. Armstrong had seen the chrysalis, -all unsuspicious of its true nature; now, with no -knowledge of the stages between, he was seeing the -ethereal beauty the chrysalis had so securely concealed. -It must be said, however, that Boris, though he had -seen the day-to-day change, the gradual unfolding of -wing and color and grace, was almost as startled as -the big, matter-of-fact Westerner. In the evolution -of every living thing, there comes a definite moment -when the old vanishes and the new bursts forth in full -splendor—when bud ceases to be bud and is in a -twinkling leaf or bloom, when awkward boy or girl is all -at once graceful youth, full panoplied. Neva, -knowing she was to see Armstrong that night, had put -forth the last crucial effort, had for the first time -spread wide to the light her new plumage of body -and soul. And there stood in the doorway of -Trafford's salon the woman grown, radiant in that -luminous envelope which crowns certain kinds of beauty -with the supreme charm of mystery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She paused an instant before Armstrong's stare, -which was disconcerting the whole company. In spite -of her forewarned self-control, her eyes sparkled -and her cheeks flushed; that stare of his was the -triumph of which she had dreamed. She came on to -her hostess and extended her hand. Mrs. Trafford, -who prided herself on being the "complete hostess," -equal to any emergency, for once almost lost her head; -something in Armstrong's face, in his eyes, raised in -her the dread of a scene, and she showed it. But Neva -restored her—Neva, tranquil and graceful, a "study -in lengths" to delight the least observant eye now, -her faintly shimmering evening dress of pale gray -leaving bare her beautiful arms and shoulders and -neck, and giving full opportunity to the poise of her -small head with its bright brown crown of thick, vital -hair; and her eyes, gleaming from the long, narrow -lids, seemed at once to offer and refuse the delights -such words as youth and passion conjure.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't wonder you can't keep from staring," -said Miss Trafford in an undertone to Armstrong, with -intent to recall him to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With that, he did contrive to get himself together; -Mrs. Trafford introduced him to Neva, not without a -nervous flutter in her voice. Neva put her hand out -to him. "How d'ye do, Horace?" she said, with a -faint smile, neither friendly nor cold.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong took her hand without being able to -speak. Mrs. Trafford was about to say, "You have -met before," when it occurred to her that this might -precipitate the scene. Dinner was announced; she -paired her guests—Lona with Armstrong, Neva with -Trafford, she herself taking Boris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you see him stare at her?" she asked, on -the way to the dining room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris laughed unpleasantly. "And so should I, -in the circumstance," replied he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What circumstance?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Seeing such a beautiful woman so suddenly," he -said, after just an instant's hesitation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford looked shrewdly at him. "Is it a -scandal?" she asked, at the same time sending a -beaming glance at Armstrong who was entering the door at -the other end of the room with her daughter on his arm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," replied Boris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The dinner went placidly enough. Raphael had -been almost as startled as Armstrong when Neva -appeared in the door of the salon, though he did not -show it. Expert in women's ways, he knew it was for -some specific reason that she had thus taken -unprecedented pains with her toilet. Why had she striven -to outshine herself? Obviously because she wished to -punish the man who had so stupidly failed to -appreciate her. A perfectly natural desire, a perfectly -natural seizing of a not to be neglected opportunity -for revenge. Still—Boris could not but wish she -had shown some such desire to dazzle him; he would -have preferred that she had been absolutely indifferent -to the man of whom he often thought with twinges -of rakish jealousy. He affected high spirits, was -never more brilliant, and helped Neva to shine by -giving her every encouragement and chance to talk and -talk well.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In contrast to them, Armstrong was morosely -silent; occasionally he ventured a glance across the -table at Neva, and each time into his face came the -expression that suggested he was suspecting his eyes -or his mind of playing him a wildly fantastic trick. -So far as he could judge, Neva was not at all -disturbed by his presence. Raphael went upstairs soon -after the women; he refused to be bored with the -business conversation into which Trafford had drawn -Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," said Trafford, the moment Boris was out -of the way, "what have you decided to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll go in with you," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford rubbed his hands and his eyes sparkled—like -a hungry circuit rider at sight of the heaping -platter of fried chicken. "Good! Splendid!" he -exclaimed. He glanced at butler and waiters busy -clearing the sideboard; but they took no hints that -would delay their freedom, and Trafford did not dare -give an order that would put them out of humor and -the domestic machinery out of gear. "No matter," -said he. "This isn't the time to talk business. We'll -arrange the details to-morrow. Or, shall we adjourn -to my study?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come to you in a few days when I have my -plans formed," said Armstrong. "Wait till you hear -from me." He tossed his cigar into a plate. "Let's -go upstairs. I must leave soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Meanwhile, Raphael, in the salon, had bent over -Neva and had said in an undertone, "You would like -to leave? You can have my cab—it's waiting. I'll -take yours when it comes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, no," answered Neva. "I'm not the least -in a hurry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her tone ruffled him. His ears had been sentinels -and his eyes scouts from the instant he knew who -Armstrong was and with one expert glance took his -measure mentally and physically. He appreciated that the -female method in judging men is not at all like the -male method, is wholly beyond the comprehension of -a man; still, he could not believe that any man of the -material, commercial type would attract a sincerely -artistic, delicate, spiritual woman like Neva Carlin. He -could not, as an expert in mankind, deny to Armstrong -a certain charm of the force that in repose is like the -mountain and in action is like the river. "But," -reasoned he, "she knows him through and through, -knows him as he is. For her, he's a commonplace tale -that is told."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Armstrong entered, his glance darted for Neva. -It had first to meet Raphael smiling friendlily and -suggesting anything but the man on guard, every nerve -alert. Armstrong frowned frank dislike. He felt at -a disadvantage before this superelegantly dressed and -delicately perfumed personage. While he was not -without experience with women, he had known only -those who had sought him; his expertness was, thus, -wholly in receiving advances and turning them to such -advantage as suited his fancy, not at all in making -overtures or laying siege. He saw at once that Boris -was a master at the entire game of man and woman; -he recalled Neva's passion for things artistic, her -reverence for those great in artistic achievement; despite -his prejudice against Boris, he measured him as a man -of distinction and force. It seemed to him that this -handsome master-painter, so masculine in feature and -figure, so effeminately dandified in dress and manner, -this fascinating specimen of the artistic sex that is -the quintessence of both sexes, must have hypnotized -his wife. Yes, his wife! For, now that Neva's -revealed personality inspired in him wonder, awe, desire, -he began to think of her as his property. He had -quit title under a misapprehension; he had been -cheated, none the less because the cheater happened to -be himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris, ignoring his unfriendliness, advanced, -engaged him, drew in Lona Trafford. Before he could -contrive a move toward Neva, Boris had him securely -trapped in a far corner of the salon with Lona as -his watchful keeper, and was himself retreated in -triumph to sit beside Neva. So thoroughly had Boris -executed the maneuver, Armstrong was seated at such -an angle that he could not even see Neva without -rudely twisting away from Miss Trafford. He did not -appreciate that he was the victim of a deliberate -strategy. But Miss Trafford did; and when she found -herself unable to fix his attention, she took a -vengeful pleasure in keeping him trapped, enjoying his -futile struggles, his ill-concealed wrath, his -unconcealed jealousy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was a miserable half hour he passed; Lona -talked of the painter and Neva—"his latest flame—you -know, he's very inconstant—has the most dreadful -reputation. Mamma wouldn't let him speak half a -dozen words to me, unless she was there. They do -say that Miss Carlin is making a saint of him—though, -no doubt it's a disguise that'll be thrown off as soon -as— I don't admire that sort of man, do you, -Mr. Armstrong? I like a simple, honest man—" This -with a look that said she regarded Armstrong as -such—"a man that doesn't understand feminine tricks -and the ways to circumvent women." There her -cynical eyes smiled amusement at Armstrong's ruddy, -lip-biting jealousy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's rather cold, so far from the fire," said -Armstrong, rising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lona rose also; she saw that Neva was about to -go. "Just a minute," said she. "Miss Carlin is -leaving. You can take the sofa as soon as she's out -of the way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong wheeled, left Miss Trafford precipitately. -He was barely in time to intercept Neva, on -her way to the door with Trafford. "Good night, -Horace," she said. He could only stand and stare. -For the first time she looked directly at him, her eyes -full upon his. He remembered that in the old days, -when their eyes occasionally met thus, hers had made -him vaguely uncomfortable; he understood why, now. -What was the meaning of this look she was giving -him—this look from long, narrow lids, this look that -searched him out, thrilled him with longing and with -fear? He could not fathom it; he only knew that -never before in his entire singly intent, ambitious life -had the thought occurred to him that there might be -some other worth while game than the big green tables -of finance, some other use for human beings than as -pawns in that game. She drew her hand away from -his confused, detaining grasp, and was gone, leaving -him an embarrassed, depressed, ludicrous figure, to be -later the jeer of his own sense of humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Before Trafford had time to return from escorting -her to her cab, Armstrong took leave. A brief -silence in the salon; then Mrs. Trafford said to -Raphael, "There is some mystery here, which I feel -compelled to ask you to explain. You introduced -Miss Carlin to me." She noted her daughter listening -eagerly. "Lona, you would better go. Good night, -my child."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris looked the amusement this affectation -roused in him. "Don't send her away, Mrs. Trafford. -The mystery is quite respectable. Miss Carlin used -to be Mrs. Armstrong. As there were no children, -she took her own name, when it became once more -the only name she was entitled to."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He divorced her!" exclaimed Mrs. Trafford, -rearing. "And you brought her to </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> house!" She -held it axiomatic that no woman would divorce a -well-appearing breadwinner of the highest efficiency.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">She</em><span> divorced </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>," corrected Raphael.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't believe it," replied Mrs. Trafford. "If -she did, he let her, to avoid scandal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," protested Boris. "They come from -a state which has queer, sentimental divorce laws, -made for honest people instead of for hypocrites. -They didn't get on well; so, the law let them go their -separate ways—since God had obviously not joined -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must look into it," said Mrs. Trafford, with -a frown at Raphael and a significant side glance -toward Lona. "People in our position can't afford -to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have the honor to wish you good evening," said -Boris with a formal bow. And before she could -recover herself, he was gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You </span><em class="italics">have</em><span> made a mess, mamma!" exclaimed Lona.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford seemed on the verge of hysterics. -"Was there </span><em class="italics">ever</em><span> a more unfortunate evening!" she -cried. Then: "But he'd not have been so touchy, if -there wasn't something wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford came sauntering in and she explained the -situation to him. He flamed in alarm and anger, -impatiently cut off her explanations with, "You've got -to straighten this, Lily. If Armstrong should hear -of it, and be offended, it'd cost me—I can't tell you -how much!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford looked as miserable as she felt. -"I'll send off a note apologizing to Raphael this very -night," she said. "And in the morning I'll ask her -to the opera. Why didn't you warn me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Warn!" exclaimed Trafford, bustling up and -down, and plucking at his neat little beard. "How -was I to know? But I supposed you'd understand that -we never have anybody—any man—here unless he's of -use. It's all very well to be strict, Lily; but——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's not talk about it," wailed his wife. "I'll -do my best to straighten it. I shan't sleep a wink -to-night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Lona—"the child"—slipped away, a smile on her -lips—a cynical smile which testified that the lesson in -life as it is lived in the full stench of "respectability," -had not failed to impress her.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="we-never-were"><span class="bold large">XII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"WE NEVER WERE"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>For the first time in Armstrong's career, it was -imperative that he concentrate his whole mind; and, -for the first time, he could not. In the midst of -conferences with Trafford, with Atwater even, his -attention would wander; forgetful of his surroundings, he -would stare dazedly at a slim, yet not thin, figure, -framed in the heavy purple and gold curtains of a -doorway—the figure of his former wife, of the -recreated Neva, on the threshold of Mrs. Trafford's -salon. He had the habit of judging himself impartially, -and this newly developed weakness of character, -as strange in its way as the metamorphosis of Neva, -roused angry self-contempt; but the apparition persisted, -and also his inability to keep his thoughts off it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Passion he understood, but not its compulsion, still -less its tyranny. Love—except love of mother and -child—he regarded as a myth that foozled only the -foolish. He had sometimes thought he would like a -home, a family; but a glance at the surface of the -lives of his associates was enough to put such -sentimentalities out of his head. He saw the imbecilities -of extravagance and pretense into which the wife and -daughters plunged as soon as the wealth of the head -of the family permitted, the follies into which they -dragged the "old man"—how, in his own home, just -as downtown, he was not a man but a purse. No, -Armstrong had no disposition to become the drudge -and dupe of a fashionable family. So, in his life he -had put woman in what he regarded as her proper -place of merest incident. He spent a great deal of -time with women—that is, a great deal for so busy -a man. He liked women better than he liked men -because with them he was able to relax and lower his -guard, where with men he always had the sense of -the game. For intelligence in women he cared not at -all. Beauty and a good disposition—those were the -requirements. It was not as at a woman that he looked -at this unbanishable figure—not with the longing, -thought he, or even the admiration of the masculine -for the feminine—simply with wonder, a stupid stare, -an endless repetition of the query, </span><em class="italics">Who</em><span> is it?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His vanity of self-poise was even more hard pressed -to explain why he always saw, in sinister background -to the apparition of Neva, the handsome, dandified -face of Boris, strong, sensual, triumphant. He -recalled what Lona Trafford had said of the painter. -Yes, that explained it. Neva, guileless, inexperienced -in the ways of the world, was being ensnared, all -unsuspicious, by this rake. And, even though she might, -probably would, have the virtuous fiber to stand out -against him, still she would lose her reputation. -Already people must be talking about her; so far as -he could learn, no woman could associate with Raphael -without it being assumed that she was not wasting -his time. "The scented scoundrel!" muttered -Armstrong. "Such men should be shot like mad dogs." This -with perfect sincerity; with not a mocking suggestion -that he himself had been as active in the same -way as his time and inclination had permitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, somebody ought to warn her," was naturally -the next step. "What the devil do her people -mean by letting her come here alone?" Yes, -somebody ought to warn her. Of course, he couldn't -undertake the office; his motive might be misunderstood. -Still, it ought to be done. But— "Maybe, he's -really in love with her—wants to marry her." This -reflection so enraged him that he was in grave danger -of discovering to himself the truth about his own state -of mind. "Why not?" he hastily retorted upon -himself. "What do I care? I must be crazy, to spend -any time at all in thinking about matters that are -nothing to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he ordered the subject out of his mind. He -was not surprised to discover that it had not obeyed -him. Now, hatred of Boris became a sort of obsession -with him. He found in, or imagined into, his -memory picture of the painter's face, many repellant -evidences of bad character. Whenever he heard -Raphael's name, or saw it in a newspaper, he paused -irritably upon it; he was soon in the habit of -thinking of him as "that damned hound." Nor did this -development unsettle his confidence in his freedom -from heart interest in Neva; he was sure his antipathy -toward the painter was the natural feeling of the -normal man toward the abnormal. "Where's the man -that wouldn't despise a creature who decks himself -out with jewelry and wears rolling collars because he -wants to show off his throat, and scents himself like -a man-chasing woman?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The longer he revolved it, the more clearly he -saw the necessity that she be warned—and the -certainty that his warning would be misunderstood. "I -couldn't speak of him without showing my feelings, -and women always misinterpret that sort of thing." He -looked up her address; and, as he was walking -to his hotel from the office in the late afternoon, or -was strolling about after dinner, developing his vast -and complex scheme to pile high the ruins of his -enemies that he might rise the higher upon them, he -would find himself almost or quite at the entrance -to the apartment house where she lived. "I think -I must be going crazy," he said to himself one night, -when he had twice within two hours drawn himself -from before her door. Then a brilliant idea came -to him: "I'll go to see her, and end this. To put a -woman out of mind, all that's necessary is to give -her a thorough, impartial look-over. Also, in ten -minutes' talk with her I can judge whether it would -be worth while to warn her against that damned -hound."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And at five the very next day he sent up his card. -"She'll send down word she isn't at home," he decided.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was astonished when the boy asked him into -the elevator; he was confused when he faced at her -door old Molly who had lived with them out in Battle -Field. "Step in, sir," she said stiffly, as if he were -a stranger, and an unwelcome one. He entered with -his head lowered and a pink spot on either cheek. -"What the devil am I doing here?" he muttered. -"Yes, I'm losing my mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He heard indistinctly a man's voice in the room -shut off by the curtains at the far end of the -hall—evidently she had a caller. He went in that direction. -"Is this the right way?" he called, hesitating at the -curtain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, here," came in Neva's voice. Had he not -been expecting it, he would hardly have recognized it, -so vibrant now with life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He entered—found her and Boris. "I might have -known </span><em class="italics">he'd</em><span> be here," he said to himself. "No doubt -he's </span><em class="italics">always</em><span> here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ignored Boris; Boris stared coldly at him. -"You two have met before?" said Neva, with a glance -from one to the other, her eyes like those of a nymph -smiling from the dark, dense foliage round a forest -pool. "Yes, I remember. Let me give you some tea, -Horace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke that name, Boris set down his cup -abruptly. He debated whether he should defy -politeness and outsit the Westerner. He decided that to -do so would be doubly unwise—would rouse resentment -in Neva, who had had the chance to ask him to spare -her being left alone with her former husband and had -not; would give him an appearance of regarding the -Westerner as an important, a dangerous person. -With a look in his eyes that belied the smile on his -lips, he shook hands with her. "Until Thursday," he -said. "Don't forget you're to come half an hour -earlier." And Armstrong was alone with her, was entirely -free to give her the "thorough, impartial lookover."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw his imagination had not tricked him at -Trafford's—his imagination and her dress. The -change in her was real, was radical, miraculous, -incredible. It was, he realized, in part, in large part, -a matter of dress, of tasteful details of toilet—hair -and hands and skin not merely clean and neat but -thoroughly cared for. This change, however, was -evidently permanent, was outward sign of a new order -of thought and action, and not the accident of one -evening's effort as he had been telling himself. Their -eyes met and his glance hastily departed upon a slow -tour of the room; in what contrast was it to his own -apartment, which cost so much and sheltered him so -cheerlessly. "You are very comfortable here," said -he. "That, and a great deal more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The Siersdorfs built this house," replied she. -"They have ideas—especially Narcisse." He thought -her wonderfully, exasperatingly self-possessed; his -own blood was throbbing fiercely and her physical -charms gave him the delicious, terrifying tremors of -a boy on the brink of his first love leap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it that women"—he went on, surprised -by the steadiness of his voice, "</span><em class="italics">some</em><span> women—do to -four walls, a floor, and ceiling, and a few pieces of -furniture to get a result like this? It isn't a question -of money. The more one spends in trying to get it, -the worse off he is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me," said she, "that, in arranging a -place to live, the one thing to consider is that it's not -for show or for company, but to live in—day and -night, in all kinds of weather, and in all kinds of -moods. Make it to suit yourself, and then it'll fit you -and be like you—and those who care for you can't -but be pleased with it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It does resemble you—here," said he. "And it -doesn't suggest a palace or an antique store or a model -room in a furniture display, or an auction room.... -You work hard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His glance had come back to her, to linger on the -graceful lines of her throat and slim, pallid neck, -revealed by the rounding out of her tea-gown. Never -before had he been drawn to note the details of a -woman's costume. He would not have believed -garments could be surcharged with all that is magnetic -in feminine to masculine as was this dress of cream -white edged with narrow bands of sable.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It would be impossible not to work, with Raphael -to spur one on," was her reply. Her accent in -pronouncing that name gave him the desire to grind -something to powder between his strong, white teeth. -"The better I know him, the more wonderful he -seems," continued she, a gleam in her eyes that would -have made a Raphael suspect she was not unaware of -the emotion Armstrong was trying to conceal. "I -used to think his work was great; but now it seems a -feeble expression of him—of ideas he, nor no man, -could ever materialize for a coarse sense like sight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't like his work, then?" said Armstrong, -pleased.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva looked indignant. "He's the best we have—one -of the best that ever lived," exclaimed she. "I -didn't mean his work by itself wasn't great, but that -it seemed inadequate, compared with the man. When -one meets most so-called great men—your great men -downtown for example—one realizes that they owe -almost everything to their slyness, that they steal the -labor of the hands and brains of others who are -superior to them in every way but craft and -unscrupulousness. A truly great man, a man like Boris -Raphael, dwarfs his reputation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong suspected a personal thrust, a contrast -between him and Boris, and was accordingly uncomfortable. -"I'd like to see some of </span><em class="italics">your</em><span> work," said -he, to shift the subject.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to-day. I don't feel in the mood."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean, you think I wouldn't care about it—that -I never was interested in that sort of thing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps," she admitted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "There's truth in that." He was -about to say, "I'm still just as much of a Philistine -as I used to be"; but he refrained—something in her -atmosphere forbade reminiscence or hint of any -connection whatever between their present and their past.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're like Boris in one respect," she went on. -"Nothing interests you but what is immediately useful -to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's over head in love with you—isn't he?" Armstrong -blurted.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face did not change by so much as a shade. -She gave not an outward hint that she knew he had -rudely flung himself against the barrier between them, -to enter her inmost life on his own ruthless terms of -masculine intolerance of feminine equality of right. -She continued to look tranquilly at him, and, as if she -had not heard his question, said, "You don't go out -home often?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The rebuke—the severest, the completest, a woman -can give a man—flooded his face with scarlet to the -line of his hair. "Not—not often," he stammered. -"That is, not at all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father and I visit with each other every few -weeks," she continued. "And I take the home paper." She -nodded toward a copy of the Battle Field </span><em class="italics">Banner</em><span>, -conspicuous on the table beside him. "Even the -advertisements interest me—'The first strawberries now -on sale at Blodgett's'—you remember Blodgett, with -his pale red hair and pale red eyes and pale red skin, -and always in his shirt sleeves, with a tooth-brush, -bristle-end up, in his vest pocket? And I read that -Sam Warfield and his sister Mattie 'Sundayed' at -Rabbit's Run, as if I knew and loved the Warfields."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This connecting of her present self with her past -had the effect of restoring him somewhat. It -established the bond of fellow-townsmen between them. "I -too take the </span><em class="italics">Banner</em><span>," said he. "It's like a visit at -home. I walk the streets and shake hands with the -people. I'm glad I come from there—but I'm glad I came."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he could not get his ease. It seemed incredible, -not, as he would have expected, that they were such -utter strangers, but that they had ever been even -acquaintances. Not the present, but the past, seemed -a trick of the imagination upon his sober senses. His -feeling toward her reminded him of how he used to -regard her when he, delivering parcels from his -father's little store, came upon her, so vividly -representing to him her father's power and position in -the community that he could not see her as a person. -While she continued to talk, pleasantly, courteously, -as to an acquaintance from the same town, he tried -to brace himself by recalling in intimate detail all they -had been to each other; but by no stretch of fancy -could he convince himself of the truth. No, it was -not this woman who had been his wife, who had dressed -and undressed before him in the intimacy of old-fashioned -married life, who had accepted his embraces, who -had borne him a child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he rose to go, it was with obvious consciousness -of his hands and feet; and he more than suspected -her of deliberately preventing him from recovering -himself. "She's determined I shan't fail to learn my -lesson," he thought, as he stood in the outer hall, -waiting for the elevator, and recovering from his -awkward exit.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>A week, almost to the minute, and he came -again. She received him exactly as before—like an -old acquaintance. She had to do the talking; he could -only look and listen and marvel. "I certainly wasn't -so stupid," he said to himself, "that I wouldn't have -noticed her if she had had eyes like these, or such teeth, -or that form, or that beautiful hair." He would have -suspected that she had been at work with the beauty -specialists who, he had heard, were doing a smashing -business among the women, had he not seen that her -manners, her speech, the use of her voice, everything -about her was in keeping with her new physical -appearance; she had expanded as symmetrically as a -well-placed sapling. The change had clearly come from -within. There was a new tenant who had made over -the whole house, within and without.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>What seemed to him miracle was, like all the -miracles, mysterious only because the long chain of -causes and effects between beginning and end was not -visible. There probably never lived a human being to -whom fate permitted a full development of all his -possibilities—there never was a perfect season from -seed-time to harvest. The world is one vast exhibit of -imperfect developments, physical, mental, moral; and to -get the standard, the perfection that might be, we have -to take from a thousand specimens their best qualities -and put them together into an impossible ideal—impossible -as yet. For one fairly well-rounded human being, -satisfying to eye and mind and heart, we find ten -thousand stunted, blighted, blasted. Each of us knows -that, in other, in more favorable, in less unfavorable -circumstances, he would have been far more than he -is or ever can be. But for Boris, Neva might have -gone through life, not indeed as stunted a development -as she had been under the blight of her unfortunate -marriage, but far from the rounded personality, -presenting all sides to the influences that make for growth -and responding to them eagerly. Heart, and his -younger brother, Mind, are two newcomers in a -universe of force. They fare better than formerly; they -will fare better hereafter; but they are still like -infants exposed in the wilderness. Some fine natures -have enough of the tough fiber successfully to make -the fight; others, though they lack it, persist and -prevail by chance—for the brute pressure of force is -not malign; it crushes or spares at haphazard. Again, -there are fine natures—who knows? perhaps the finest -of all, the best minds, the best hearts—that either -cannot or will not conform to the conditions. They -wither and die—not of weakness, since in this world -of the survival of the fittest, the fit are often the weak, -the unfit the strong. All around us they are withering, -dying, like the good seed cast on stony ground—the -good minds, the good hearts, the men and women -needing only love and appreciation and encouragement, -to shine forth in mental, moral, and physical -beauty. Of these had been Neva.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris, with eyes that penetrated all kinds of human -surfaces and revealed to him the realities, had seen at -first glance what she was, what she could be, what she -was longing and striving to be against the wellnigh -hopeless handicaps of shyness and inexperience and -solitude. For his own sybarite purposes, material and -selfish, from mere wanton appetite, he set his noble -genius to helping her; and the creative genius finds -nothing comparable in interest to the development of -the human plant, to watching it sprout and put forth -leaves, blossoms, flowers, perfume, spread into an -individuality.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Every day there was some progress; and now and -then, as in all nature, there were days when overnight -a marvelous beautiful change had occurred. In scores -on scores of daily conversations, between suggestions -or instructions as to painting, much of the time -consciously, most effectively and most often unconsciously, -never with patronage or pedantry, he encouraged and -trained her to learn herself, the world, the inner -meaning of character and action—all that distinguishes fine -senses from coarse, the living from the numb, all that -most of us pass by as we pass a bank of wild flowers—with -no notion of the enchanting history each petal -spreads for whoever will read. Boris cleared away the -weeds; he softened the soil; he gave the light and the -air access. And she grew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Armstrong had no suspicion of this. Indeed, -if he had been told that Boris Raphael, cynic and -rake, had been about such an apparently innocent -enterprise, he would have refused to believe it; for the -Raphael temperament, the temperament that is soft -and savage, sympathetic to the uttermost refinement of -delicacy and appreciation, and hard and cruel as -death, was quite beyond his comprehension. Armstrong, -looking at Neva, saw only the results, not the -processes; and he could scarcely speak for marvel, as -he sat, watching and listening. "May I come again?" -he asked, when he felt he must stay no longer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm usually at home after five."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her tone was conventional—alarmingly so. With -a pleading gesture of both hands outstretched and a -youthful flush and frank blue eyes entreating, he burst -out, "I have no friends—only people who want to get -something out of me—or whom I want to get -something out of. Can't you and I be friends?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned abruptly away to the window. It was -so long before she answered that he nerved himself for -an overwhelming refusal of his complete, even abject -surrender with its apology for the past, the stronger -and sincerer that it was implied and did not dare -narrow itself to words. When she answered with a -hesitating, "We might try," he felt as happy as if she -had granted all he was concealing behind that request -to be tolerated. He continued in the same tone of -humility, "But your life is very different from mine. -I feared— And you yourself— I can't believe we -were ever—anything to each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was her opportunity; she did not let it slip. -She looked straight into his eyes. "We never were," -she said, and her eyes piercing him from their long, -narrow lids and deep shadowing lashes forbade him -ever to forget it again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He returned her gaze as if mesmerized. Finally, -"No, we never were," he slowly repeated after her. -And again, "We never were," as if he were learning -a magic password to treasures beyond those of the -Forty Thieves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He drew a long breath, bowed with formal constraint, -and went; and as he walked homeward he kept -repeating dazedly, "We never were—never!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="overlook-lodge"><span class="bold large">XIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">OVERLOOK LODGE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Overlook Lodge was Amy's first real success at -amusing those interminable hours of hers that were like -a nursery full of spoiled children on a rainy day. -Every previous device, however well it had begun, had -soon been withered and killed by boredom, nemesis of -idlers. Overlook was a success that grew. It began -tediously; to a person unaccustomed to fixing the mind -for longer than a few minutes, the technical part of -architecture comes hard. But before many months -Overlook had crowded out all the routine distractions; -instead of its being a mere stop-gap between them, -they became an irritating interruption to its absorbing -interest. It even took the sharp edge off her -discomfiture with Armstrong; for interest is the mental -cure-all. She dreaded a return of her former state, -when an empty hour would make her walk the floor, -racking her brains for something to do; she spun this -occupation out and out. Narcisse Siersdorf lost all -patience; the patience of feminine with feminine, or -of masculine with masculine, is less than infinite. -"We'll never get anywhere," she protested. "You -linger over the smallest details for weeks, and you make -all sorts of absurd changes that you know can't stand, -when you order them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse did not comprehend the situation. Who -with so much to do that the months fairly flash by, can -sympathize with the piteous plight of those who have -nothing to do and all the time in the world to do it? -Alois was not so unsympathetic. When the Overlook -plans were begun, he was away; but, soon after his -return, Amy fastened upon him, and presently he had -abandoned all other business of the firm to his sister, -that he might devote himself to making this work -"really great."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Concentration's the thing," said he to Narcisse, -in excusing himself to her—and to himself. "Miss -Fosdick has the true artistic spirit. She is willing to -let me give full play to my imagination, and she interferes -only to help and to stimulate. I feel I can afford -to devote an unusual amount of time and thought. -When the work is done, it'll be a monument to us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse gave him a queer glance, and her laugh -was as queer as her eyes. He colored and frowned—and -continued to dawdle with Amy over the plans. -It was not his fault, nor hers, that the actual work -finally did begin; it was the teasing of her father and -Hugo about these endless elaborations of preparation. -"When Overlook is begun" became the family synonym -for never. She and Alois suddenly started the -work, and pushed it furiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The site selected had nothing to recommend it but -a view that was far and away the most extensive and -varied in that beautiful part of New Jersey—mountains, -hills, plains, rivers, lakes, wildernesses, villages, -farms, two cities—a vast sweep of country, like a -miniature summary of the earth's whole surface. But -Overlook Hill was in itself barren and shapeless. -Many times, rich men in search of places where they -could see and be seen had taken it under -consideration; but always the natural difficulties and the -expense had discouraged them. Fosdick had bought the -site before investigating; he had been about to sell, -when Amy took Narcisse out there. The builder -instantly saw, and unfolded to Amy, a plan for making -the hill as wonderful in itself as in its prospect; and -that original inspiration of hers was the basis of all -that was done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Amy and Alois did set to work, they at once -put into motion thousands of arms and wheels. The day -came when the whole hill swarmed with men and carts, -with engines and hoisting machines and steam diggers -and blasting apparatus; and the quiet valley resounded -with the uproar of the labor. Amy took rooms at the -little hotel in the village, had them costlily refurnished, -moved in with a cook and staff of servants; Alois came -out every morning, even Sundays. The country people -watched the performance in stupefaction; it was their -first acquaintance with the audacities upon nature -which modern science has made possible. And -presently they saw a rugged cliff rise where there had -been a commonplace steep, saw great terraces, slopes, -levels, gentle grades, supersede the northern ascents of -Overlook. The army of workmen laid hold of that -huge upheaval of earth and rock and shaped it as if -it had been a handful of potter's clay.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Near the base of the cliff ran the river; barges -laden with stone began to arrive—stone from Vermont -and from Georgia, from Indiana, from Italy. A -funicular clambered up the surface of the cliff; soon its -cars were moving all day, bearing the stone to the -lofty top of the hill; and there appeared the -beginnings of foundations—not of a house alone, but of a -dozen buildings, widely separated, and of terraces and -lake bottoms and bridges—for a torrent, with several -short falls and one long leap, was part of the plans. -At the same time, other barges, laden with earth and -with great uprooted living trees, arrived in interminable -procession, and upon bare heights and slopes now -began to appear patches of green, clumps of wood. -And where full-grown transplanted trees were not set -out, saplings were being planted by the hundreds. As -the stone walls rose, sod was brought—acres of grass -of various kinds; and creepers and all manner of wild -growing things to produce wilderness effects in those -parts of the park which were not to be constructed -with all the refinements of civilization. These marvels -of nature-manufacture were carried on in privacy; -for the very first work had been to enclose the hill, -from cliff edge round to cliff edge on the other side, -with a high stone wall, pierced by only two entrances—one, -the main entrance with wrought-iron gates from -France, and a lodge; the other, the farm or service -entrance, nearer the village and the river.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy and Alois had begun as soon as the frost was -out of the ground. By June they had almost all the -trees planted. The following spring, and the -transformation was complete. Overlook Hill, as it had been -for ages, was gone; in its place was a graceful height, -clad in a thousand shades of green and capped by a -glistening white bastionlike building half hid among -trees that looked as if they had been there a century -at least. Indeed, except the buildings, nothing seemed -new, everything seemed to belong where it was, to have -been there always. The sod, the tangle of creepers -and underbrush on the cliff and in the ravines, the cliff -and the ravines themselves, all looked like the product -of nature's slow processes. The masonry, the roads, -the drives—signs of age and of long use. One would -have said that the Fosdicks were building on an old -place, a house better suited to modern conditions than -some structure, dating from Revolutionary days at -least, which must have stood in those venerable -surroundings and had been torn down to make room for -the new.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The buildings are going to look too new," said -Alois. And he proceeded to have them more artfully -weather-stained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse had preached the superiority of small -houses to Amy until she had convinced her. So, -Overlook Lodge, while not so small as it looked, was -still within the sane limits for a private house. And -the interior arrangements—the distribution of large -rooms and less, of sunny rooms, of windows, of -stairways, of closets—were most ingenious. No space was -wasted; no opportunity for good views from the windows -or for agreeable lines, without or within, was -neglected. Through and through it was a house to be -lived in, a house whose comfort obtruded and whose -luxury retired.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the woodwork, in the finishing of walls and ceilings, -in the furniture, Alois followed out the general -scheme of the appearance of an old-established -residence, a family homestead that had sent forth many -generations. Before a stone had been blasted at -Overlook, the furniture and the woven stuffs were designed -and manufacturing. While the outer walls of the -house were finishing, the rooms were beginning to look -as if they had been lived in long. There was nothing -new-looking anywhere except the plumbing; nothing -old-looking, either. The air was that of things created -full grown, things which have not had a shiny, -awkward youth and could not have a musty, rickety, rotten -old age.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There came a day when the last rubbish was -cleared, when the last creeper was in leaf, the last -flower in bloom, when the grass and the trees seemed -green with their hundredth summer, when the settees -and chairs and hammocks were on the verandas and -porticos as if they had been there for many a year, -when no odor of fresh paint or varnish or look of -newness could be detected anywhere about the -house—and the "work of art" was finished. Alois and -Amy, in an automobile, went over every part of the -grounds, examined them from without and from -within; then they made a tour of the house, noting -everything. Changes, improvements, could be made, -would be made; but the work as a work was finished. -They seated themselves on a veranda overlooking the -valley, and listened to the rush of the torrent, -descending through the ravines, in banks of moss and wild -flowers, to spring from the edge of the cliff. Amy -burst into tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're very tired, aren't you!" said Alois -sympathetically. There were tears in his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, that isn't it," she answered, her face hidden—she -knew she didn't look at all well when she was -crying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand," said he. "There's something -tragic about finishing anything. It's like bringing up -a child, and having it marry and go away." He -sighed. "Yes, we're done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel horribly lonely," she cried. "I've lost my -occupation. It's the first great real sorrow of my -life. I wish we hadn't been in such a hurry! We might -have made it last a year or two longer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish we had!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't wish it as I do. You will go on and -build other houses. You have a career. It seems to -me that </span><em class="italics">I've</em><span> come to the very end."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't realize," he said hesitatingly, "that -it was the personal element in this that gave—that -gives it its whole meaning, to me. I was working with -you and—for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at her eagerly, but with a certain -timidity, for some sign that would encourage him. A -hundred times at least, in those months when he had -spent the whole of almost every day with her, he had -been on the point of telling her what was in his heart, -why he was so tireless and so absorbed in their task. -But he had never had the courage to begin. By what -he regarded as a malicious fatality, she had always -shifted the conversation to something with which -sentiment would not have harmonized at all. Apparently -she was quite unconscious that he was a man; and how -she could be, when he was so acutely alive to her as a -woman, he could not understand. Sometimes he -thought she was fond of him—"as fond as a nice girl -is likely to be, before the man declares himself." Again, -it seemed to him she cared nothing about him -except as an architect. Her wealth put around her, -not only physically but also mentally, a halo of -superiority. He could not judge her as just a woman. -He always saw in her the supernal sheen of her -father's millions. He knew he had great talent; he was -inordinately vain about it in a way—as talented people -are apt to be, where they stop short of genius, -which—usually, not always—has a true sense of proportion -and gets no pleasure from contrasting itself with its -inferiors. He would have been as swift as the next -man to deny, with honest scorn, that he was a wealth -worshiper; and as he was artist enough to worship -it only where it took on graceful forms, he could have -made out a plausible case for himself. Amy, for -example, was not homely or vulgar—or petty. She had -good ideas and good taste and concealed the ugly part -of her nature as dexterously as by the arrangement -of her hair she concealed the fact that it was neither -very long nor very thick. Besides, in her intercourse -with Alois, there was no reason why any but the best -side of her should ever show.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse gave over trying to make him sensible -where Amy was concerned, as soon as she saw upon -what he was bent. "He wouldn't think of her seriously -if she weren't rich," she said to herself. "But, -since he is determined to take her seriously, it's -better that he should be able to delude himself into -believing he loves her. And maybe he does. Isn't love -always nine tenths delusion of some sort?" So, she -left him free to go on with Amy, to love her, to win -her love if he could. But—could he? He feared -not. That so wonderful a creature, one who might -marry more millions and blaze, the brightest star in -the heavens of fashionable New York, should take -him—it seemed unlikely. "She ought to prefer -congeniality to wealth," thought he, "but"—with an -unconscious inward glance—"it's not in human nature -to do it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they sat there together in the midst of their -completed work, he waiting for some hopeful sign, she -at least did not change the subject. "Hasn't what -we've been doing had any—personal interest for -you?" he urged.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded. "Yes, I owe my interest in it to -you," she conceded. But she went on to discourage -him with, "We have been </span><em class="italics">such</em><span> friends. Usually, a -young man and a young woman can't be together, as -have we, without trying to marry each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true," assented he, much dejected. Then, -desperately, "That's why I've put off saying what I'm -going to say until the work should be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Don't say it, please—not now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must have known," he pleaded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never thought of it," replied she with an air -of frankness that convinced him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—won't you think of it—now?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to-day," was her answer, in the tone a -woman uses when she is uncertain and wishes to convince -herself that she is certain. She rose and crossed -to the edge of the veranda.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In such circumstances, when the woman turns her -back on the man, it is usually to signify that she has -a traitor within, willing to yield to a surprise that -which could not be won by a direct assault; and, had -Alois's love been founded in passion instead of in -interest, he would not have followed her hesitatingly, -doing nothing, simply saying stumblingly: "I don't -wish to annoy you. But let me say one thing—Amy—I -love you, and to get you means life to me, -and not to get you means the death of all that is really -me. I think I could make you happy—you who are -so interested in what is my life work. It must be our -life work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've thought of that," responded she softly. -"But, not to-day—not to-day." A pause during -which she was hoping, in spite of herself, that he would -at least insist. When he remained silent and -respectful, she went on: "Don't you think we may let father -and Hugo come?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By all means. Everything is ready." And they -went back to talking of the work—of the surprise -awaiting Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick had gratified her and delighted himself by -playing the fondly indulgent father throughout the -building of Overlook. He had put the widest limits on -expense, he had asked no questions; he had let her -keep him ignorant of all that was being done. It was -a remarkable and most characteristic display of -generosity. When a man earns a fortune by his own -efforts, by risking his own property again and again, -he is rarely "princely" in his generosity. But with -the men who grow rich by risking other people's -money in campaigns against rival captains of finance -and industry who are also submitting to the fortunes -of commercial war little or nothing that is rightfully -theirs, then the princely qualities come out—the -generosity with which the prince wastes the substance of -his subjects in luxury, in largesse, and in wars. -Fosdick felt most princely in relation to the properties -he controlled. Whatever he did, if it was merely -eating his breakfast or consulting a physician when -he was ill, he did it for the benefit of the multitude -whose money was invested in his various enterprises. -Thus, when he took, he could take only his own; when -he gave, he was "graciously pleased" to give up his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This simple, easy, and most natural theory reduced -all divisions of profits, losses, expenses, to mere -matters of bookkeeping. If his losses or expenses were -heavy, the dividends to policy holders and stockholders -must be small—clearly, he who had done his best and -had acted only for the good of others ought not to -cripple or hamper his future unselfish endeavors. If -the profits were large—why dribble them out to -several hundred thousand people who had done nothing to -make them, who did not deserve, did not expect, and -would not appreciate? No; the extra profits to the -war-chest—which was naturally and of necessity and -of right in the secure possession of the commander-in-chief. -So, Fosdick, after the approved and customary -manner of the princely industrial successors to the -princely aristocratic parasites on mankind, was able to -indulge himself in the luxury of generosity without -inflicting any hardship upon his conscience or upon his -purse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The distribution of the cost of the new house had -presented many nice problems in bookkeeping. Some -of the expense—for raw materials, notably—was -merged into the construction accounts of the -O.A.D. and two railway systems; but the largest part was -covered by the results of two big bond deals and a -stock manipulation. This part appeared on the -records as an actual payment by Fosdick out of his own -private fortune; but on the other side of the ledger -stood corresponding profits from the enterprises -mentioned, and these profits, on careful analysis, were seen -to have come from the fact that, when profits were -to be distributed, Fosdick the private person was in -no way distinguishable from Fosdick the trustee of -the multitude.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If the old man had not had confidence in his -daughter's good sense and good taste and in Siersdorf's -ability, he would not have given them the absolutely -free hand. It was, therefore, with the liveliest -expectations that he took the train for Overlook. -As he and Hugo descended at the station, they looked -toward Overlook Hill, so amazingly transformed. -"Well, you've certainly done </span><em class="italics">something</em><span>!" he -exclaimed to Amy, as she came forward to meet him. -"Why, I'd not have known the place. Splendid! -Superb!" And he kissed her and shook hands warmly -with Alois.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the way through the village in the auto, he -gushed a stream of enthusiasm and comment. "That -cliff, now—what a fine idea! And the cascade—why, -you've doubled the value of real estate throughout this -region. I must quietly gather in some land round -here— You are in on that, Siersdorf. The railway -station must be improved. I'll see Thorne—he's -president of the road and a good friend of mine—he'll put -up a proper building—you must draw the plans, Siersdorf. -This village—it's unsightly. We must either -wipe it out or make it into a model."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His enthusiasm continued at the boiling point until -they ascended the hill and had the first full view of -the house. Then his face lengthened and he lapsed -into silence. Hugo was not so considerate. "Do you -mean to tell me </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> is the house?" demanded he of -Amy. "Why, it's a cottage. How ridiculous to put -such a climax to all these preparations!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy's eyes flashed and she tossed her head scornfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo continued to look and began to laugh. -"Ridiculous!" he repeated. "Don't you think so, -father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is hardly what I expected," confessed Fosdick. -"It isn't done yet, is it, Amy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it's done," she said angrily. "And it's the -best thing about the place. I don't want you to say -anything more until you've gone over it. The trouble -with you and Hugo is that your taste has been -corrupted by the vulgarity in New York. You don't -appreciate the difference between beauty and ostentation. -Mr. Siersdorf has built a house for a gentleman, -not for a multimillionaire."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That silenced them; and in silence she led the way -into and through the house, by a route that would -present all its charms and comforts in effective -succession. She made no comments; she simply regulated -the speed of the tour, trusting to their eyes to show -them what she could not believe any eyes could fail -to see. At the veranda commanding the most magnificent -of the many views, she brought the tour to an -end. The luncheon table was there, and she ordered -the servants to bring lunch. And a delicious lunch it -was, ending with wonderful English strawberries, -crimson, huge, pink-white within and sweet as their own -fragrance—"grown on the place," explained Amy, -"and this cream is from our own dairy down there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I take it all back," said Fosdick. "You and -Siersdorf were right. Eh, Hugo?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's better than I thought," conceded Hugo. -"There certainly is a—a tone about the house that -I've not often seen on this side of the water."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And there's a comfort you've never seen on the -other side," said Amy. "You are satisfied, father?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Satisfied!" exclaimed Fosdick. "I'm overwhelmed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And when they had had coffee, which, Hugo said, -reminded him of the Café Anglais at Paris, Siersdorf -took them for a second tour of the house, pointing out -the conveniences, the luxuries, the evidences of good -taste, expanding upon them, eulogizing them, feeling -as he talked that he had created them. "A gentleman's -home!" he cried again and again. "It'll be a rebuke -to all these vulgarians who are trying to show how -much money they've got. Why, you never think, as -you walk around here, 'How much this cost,' but only, -'How beautiful it is, and how comfortable.' A house -for a gentleman. A gentleman's </span><em class="italics">home</em><span>—that's what I -call it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At each burst of enthusiasm from her father, Amy -beamed on Alois. And Alois was dizzy with happiness -and hope.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="woman-s-distrustand-trust"><span class="bold large">XIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">WOMAN'S DISTRUST—AND TRUST</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Having got what she wanted of Alois, Amy now -permitted her better nature to reproach her for -having absorbed him so long and so completely. She -assumed Narcisse was blaming, was disliking, her for it; -and, indeed, Narcisse had been watching the -performance with some anger and more disgust. Before -Alois came upon the scene, and while Amy was still -in the first flush of enthusiasm for her new friend, -Narcisse had begun to draw back. She saw that Amy, -like everyone who has always had his own way and so -has been made capricious, was without capacity for -real friendship. If she had thought Amy worth while, -she would have held her—for Narcisse was many-sided -and could make herself so interesting that few -indeed would not have seemed tame and dull after her. -But she decided that Amy was not worth while; and -to cut short Amy's constant attempts to interfere -between her and her work, she emphasized her positive, -even aggressive, individuality, instead of softening it. -Servants, fortune-hunters, flatterers, the army of -parasites that gathers to swoop upon anyone with -anything to give, had made Amy intolerant of the least -self-assertiveness; and to be a very porcupine of prickly -points; Narcisse had only to give way to her natural -bent for the candid.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For example, Narcisse had common sense—like -most people of good taste; for, is not sound sense the -basis of sound taste, indeed the prime factor in all -sound development of whatever kind? Now, there is -nothing more inflammatory than steadfast good sense. -It rebukes and mocks us, making us seem as stupid -and as foolish as we fear we are. Narcisse would not -eat things that did not agree with her; it irritated -self-indulgent Amy against her, when they lunched -together and she refused to eat as foolishly as did Amy. -Again, Narcisse would not drive when she could walk, -because driving was as bad for health and looks as -walking was good for them. Amy knew that, with her -tendency to fat, she ought never to drive. But she -was lazy, doted on the superiority driving seemed to -give, was nervous about the inferiority "the best -people" attached to a woman's walking. So she persisted -in driving, and ruffled at Narcisse for being equally -persistent in the sensible course. It is the common -conception of friendship that one's friend must do what -one wishes and is no friend if he does not; Amy felt -that way about it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois had come back from abroad just in time to -save the Fosdick architectural trade to the firm. -Narcisse would soon have alienated it—and would have -been glad to see it go; in fact, since she had realized -where the Fosdick money came from, she with the -greatest difficulty restrained herself from bursting -forth to Alois in "impractical sentimentalities" which -she knew would move him only against herself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy expected Narcisse's enthusiasm toward Overlook -to be very, very restrained indeed. "She must -be jealous," thought Amy, "because she has had so -little to do with it, and I so much." But she had -to admit that she had misjudged the builder. It is -not easy satisfactorily to praise to anyone a person -or a thing he has in his heart; the most ardent praise -is likely to seem cold, and any lapse in discrimination -rouses a suspicion of insincerity. If Narcisse had not -felt the beauty of what her brother and Amy had done, -she could not have made Amy's enthusiasm for her -flame afresh, as it did. Before Narcisse finished, Amy -thought that she herself had not half appreciated how -well she and Alois had wrought. "But it would never -have been anything like so satisfactory," said she in -a burst of impulsive generosity, "if you hadn't -started it all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could feel that I had some part in it," -said Narcisse, "but I can't, in honesty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she meant it. Those who have fertile, luxuriant -minds rarely keep account of the ideas they are -constantly and prodigally pouring out. Narcisse had -forgotten—though Amy had not—that it was she who -was inspired by that site to dream the dream that her -brother and Amy had realized. It was on the tip of -Amy's tongue to say this; but she decided to refrain. -"I probably exaggerate the influence of what she -said," she thought. "We saw it together and talked it -over together, and no doubt each of us borrowed from -the other"—let him who dares, criticise this, in a -world that shines altogether by reflected lights.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As the two young women talked on, the builder -gradually returned to her constrained attitude. She -saw that Amy was taking to herself the whole credit -for Overlook, was looking on Alois as simply a -stimulant to her own great magnetism and artistic sense, -was patronizing him as a capable and satisfactory -agent for transmitting them into action. And this -made her angry, not with Amy but with Alois. "Amy -isn't to blame," she said to herself. "It's his fault. -To please her he has been exaggerating her importance -to herself, and he has succeeded in convincing her. -She has ended up just where people always end up, -when you encourage them to give their vanity its -head." She tried to devise some way of helping her -brother, of reminding Amy that he was entitled to -credit for some small part of the success; but she could -think of nothing to say that Amy would not misinterpret -into jealousy either for herself or for her brother. -When she got back to the offices, she said to him:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were you, I'd not let a certain young woman -imagine she has </span><em class="italics">all</em><span> the brains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you mean?" said he, clouding at once. -He showed annoyance nowadays whenever she -mentioned the Fosdicks.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She'll soon be thinking you couldn't get along -without her to give you ideas," replied Narcisse. -"It's bad all round—bad for the woman, bad for the -man—when he gets her too crazy about herself. She's -likely to overlook his merits entirely in her excitement -about her own."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are prejudiced against her, Narcisse," said -Alois angrily. "And it isn't a bit like you to be so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse, not being an angel, flared. "I'm not -half as prejudiced against her as you'd be three -months after you married her," she cried. "But -you'll not get her, if you keep on as you're going now. -Instead of showing her how awed you are by her, you'd -better be teaching her that she ought to be in awe -of you, that it's what </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> give her that makes her -shine so bright."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she fled to her own office, fuming against the -folly of men and the silliness of women, and -thoroughly miserable over the whole situation; for, at -bottom she believed that such a woman as Amy must have -feminine instinct enough fairly to jump at such a -man as Alois, if there was a chance to attach him -permanently; and, the prospect of Alois marrying a -woman who could do him no good, who was all take -and no give, put her into such a frame of mind that -she wished she had the mean streak necessary to -intriguing him and her apart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was on one of the bluest of her blue days of -forebodings about Alois and Amy that Neva came in -to see her; and a glance at Neva's face was sufficient -to convince her that bad news was imminent. "What -is it, Neva?" she demanded. "I've felt all the -morning that something rotten was on the way. Now, I -know it's here. Tell me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you recall Mrs. Ranier? She was at my place -one afternoon——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perfectly," interrupted Narcisse, "Amy Fosdick's sister."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She took a great fancy to you. And when she -heard something she thought you ought to know, she -came to me and asked me to tell you. She said she -knew you'd be discreet—that you could be trusted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I liked her, too," said Narcisse. "I think she -can trust me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's about—about—those insurance buildings," -continued Neva, painfully embarrassed. "I'm afraid -I'm rather incoherent. It's the first time I ever -interfered in anyone else's business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," urged Narcisse. "I suppose it's -something painful. But I'm good and tough—-speak -straight out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mrs. Ranier's husband is in the furniture business, -and through that he found out there's a scandal -coming. She says those people downtown will drag -you and your brother in, will probably try to hide -themselves behind you. She heard last night, and -came early this morning. 'Tell her,' she said, 'not to -let her brother reassure her, but to look into it—clear -to the bottom.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse was motionless, her eyes strained, her face -haggard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all," said Neva, rising. "I shouldn't have -come, shouldn't have said anything to you, if I had not -known that Mrs. Ranier has the best heart in the -world, and isn't an alarmist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse faced Neva and pressed her hands, without -looking at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there is anything I can do, you have only to -ask," said Neva, going. She had too human an -instinct to linger and offer sympathy to pride in its hour -of abasement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's one thing you can do," said Narcisse, -nervous and intensely embarrassed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva came back. "Don't hesitate. I meant just -what I said—anything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse blurted it out: "Is Horace Armstrong a -man who can be trusted? Is he straight?" Then, as -Neva did not answer immediately, she hastened on, -"Please forget what I asked you. It really doesn't -matter, and——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva interrupted her with a frank, friendly smile. -"Don't be uneasy," she said. "He and I are excellent -friends. He calls often. I don't know a thing about -him in a business way. But— Well, Narcisse, I'm -sure he'd not do anything small and mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's all I wished to know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few minutes after Neva left, Narcisse, white but -calm, sent for her brother. "How deeply have you -entangled yourself in those fraudulent vouchers?" she -asked, when they were shut in together.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lifted his head haughtily. "What do you -mean, Narcisse?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As we are equal partners, I have the right to -know all the affairs of the firm. I want to see the -accounts of those insurance buildings, at once—and to -know the exact truth about them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You left that matter entirely to me," replied he, -sullen but uneasy. "I haven't time to-day to go into -a mass of details. It'd be useless, anyhow. But—I -do not like that word you used—fraudulent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waved her hand impatiently. "It's the word -the public will use, whatever nice, agreeable expression -for it you men of affairs may have among yourselves. -Have you signed vouchers, as you said you were going -to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly. And, I may add, I shall continue to -sign them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Haven't you heard that that investigation is coming?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gave a superior, knowing smile. "Those -things are always fixed up. There's a public side, but -it's as unreal as a stage play. Fosdick controls this -particular show."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I hear," said she, with bitter irony. "And he -purposes to throw you to the wild beasts—you and me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Siersdorf laughed indulgently. "My dear sister," -he said, "don't bother your head about it." The idea -seemed absurd to him: Fosdick sacrifice him, when they -were such friends!—it was an insult to Fosdick to -entertain the suspicion. "When the proper time comes," -he continued, "I shall be away on business—and the -matter will be sidetracked, and nothing more will be -said about me. Trust me. I know what I am about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you will be away," cried she, suddenly -enlightened. "And the whole thing will be exposed, and -they'll have their accounts so cooked that the guilt will -all be on you. And before you can get back and clear -yourself, you will be ruined—disgraced—dishonored."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The situation she thus blackly outlined was within -the possibilities; her tone of certainty had carrying -power. A chill went through him. "Ridiculous!" he -protested loudly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have put your honor in another man's keeping," -she went on. "And that man is a thief."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Narcisse!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thief!" she repeated with emphasis. "They -don't call each other thieves downtown. They've -agreed to call themselves respectabilities and -financiers and all sorts of high-flown names. But thieves -they are, because they're loaded down with what don't -belong to them, money they got away from other -people by lying and swindling. Is your honor </span><em class="italics">quite</em><span> safe -in the keeping of a thief?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Narcisse!" repeated Alois, wincing again at that -terse, plain word, rough and harsh, an allopathic dose -of moral medicine, undiluted, uncoated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't think so," she pursued. "What precautions -do you purpose to take?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her helplessly. "If I say anything -to Fosdick," said he, "he will be justified in getting -furiously angry. He might think he had the right -to act as you accuse him of plotting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you must do something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head. "I have trusted Fosdick," said -he. "I still think it was wise. But, however that may -be, the wise course now certainly is to continue to -trust him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Trust him!" exclaimed Narcisse bitterly. "I -might trust a thief who wasn't a hypocrite—he might -not squeal on a pal to save himself. But not a -Fosdick. A respectable thief has neither the honor of -honest men nor the honor of thieves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Prejudice! Always prejudice, Narcisse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will do nothing?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing." And he tried to look calm and firm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She went into her dressing room with the air of -one bent on decisive action. He could but wait. When -she came back she was dressed for the street.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are you going?" he demanded in alarm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To save myself and—you," she replied with a -certain sternness. It was unlike her to put herself first -in speech—she who always considered herself last.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Narcisse, I forbid you to interfere in this affair. -I forbid you to go crazily on to compromising us both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked straight into his eyes. "The time has -come when I must use my own judgment," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, with that, she went; he knew her, knew when -it was idle to oppose her. Besides—what if she should -be right? In all their years together, as children, as -youths, as workers, he had always respected her -judgment, because it had always been based upon a common -sense clearer than his own, freer from those passions -which rise from the stronger appetites of men to -befog their reason, to make what they wish to be the -truth seem actually the truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's wrong," he said to himself. "But she'll -not do anything foolish. She's the kind that can go -in safety along the wrong road, because they always -keep a line of retreat open." And that reflection -somewhat reassured him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse went direct to Fosdick at his office. As -there was only one caller ahead of her, she did not -have long to wait in the anteroom guarded by Waller -of the stealthy, glistening smile. "Mr. Fosdick is -very busy this morning," explained he. It was the -remark he always made to callers as he passed them -along; it helped Fosdick to cut them short. "The big -railway consolidation, you know?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't know," replied Narcisse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—you artists! You live quite apart from our -world of affairs. But I supposed news of a thing -of such tremendous public benefit would have reached -everybody."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse smiled faintly. She could not imagine -any of these gentlemen, roosted so high and with eyes -training in every direction in search of prey, occupying -themselves for one instant with a thing that was -a public benefit, except in the hope of changing it into -a "private snap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's marvelous," continued Waller, "how Fosdick -and these other men of enormous wealth go on working -for their fellow men when they might be taking their -ease and amusing themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amusing themselves—how?" asked she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—in a thousand ways."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid they'd find it hard to pass the time, -if they didn't have their work," said she. "The world -isn't a very amusing place unless one happens to have -work that interests him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's something in that—there's something in -that," said Waller, in as good an imitation as he could -give of his master's tone and manner. It had never -before occurred to him to question the current theory -that, while poor men toiled for bread and selfishness, -rich men refrained from boring themselves to death in -idling about, only because they passionately yearned -to serve their fellow beings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you still teach a class in Mr. Fosdick's Sunday school?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm assistant superintendent now," replied he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's good," said she, as if she really meant it. -She was feeling sorry for him. He had worked so long -and so hard, and had striven so diligently to please -Fosdick in every way; Fosdick had got from him -service that money could not have bought. And the -worst of it was, Fosdick had never tried to find a -money expression for it that was anything like -adequate, but had ingeniously convinced poor Waller he -was more than well paid in the honor of serving in -such an intimate capacity such a great and generous -man. The mitigating circumstance was that Fosdick -firmly believed this himself—but Narcisse that -day was not in the humor to see the mitigations of -Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now Fosdick himself came hurrying in, eyes -alight, strong face smiling—"Miss Siersdorf—this is -a surprise! I don't believe I ever before saw you -downtown—though, of course, you must have come." He -looked at her with an admiration that was genuine. -"Excuse an old man for saying it, but you are -so beautifully dressed—as always—and handsome—that -goes without saying. Come right in. You can -have all the time you want. I know you—know you -are a business woman. Now, that man who was just -with me—Bishop Knowlton—a fine, noble man, with a -heart full of love for God and his fellows—but not -an idea of the value of a business man's time. Finally -I had to say to him, 'I'll give you what you ask—and -I'll double it if you don't say another word but go -at once.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were now in the innermost room, and Fosdick -had bowed her into a chair and had seated himself. "I -came to see you," said Narcisse, formal to coldness, -"about the two office buildings—about the accounts -our firm has been approving."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, but you needn't fret about them," said Fosdick, -in his bluff, hearty, offhand manner. "Your -brother is looking after them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then they are all right?" she said, fixing her -gaze on him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, certainly, certainly. I have absolute confidence -in your brother. Have you seen Overlook? Yes—of -course—my daughter told me. You delighted -her by what you said. It is beautiful——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To keep to the accounts, Mr. Fosdick," Narcisse -interrupted, "I am not satisfied with our firm's -position in the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear young lady, talk to your brother about -that. I've a thousand and one matters. I really know -nothing of details, and, as you are perhaps aware, my -interest in the O.A.D. is largely philanthropic. I can -give but little of my time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've come," said Narcisse, as he paused for -breath, "to get from you a statement relieving us -from all responsibility as to those accounts, and -authorizing us to sign them as a mere formality, to -expedite their progress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick laughed. "I'd like to do anything to -oblige you," said he, "but really, I couldn't do -that. You must know that I have nothing to do with -the buildings—with the details of the affairs of the -O.A.D."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You gave us the contracts," said Narcisse.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pardon me, </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> did not give you the contracts. -They were not mine to give. What you mean to say -is that I used for you what influence I have. It was -out of friendship for you and your brother."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There he touched her. "We had every reason to -believe that we got the contracts solely because our -plans were the most satisfactory," said she coldly. -"If we had suspected that friendship had anything to -do with it, we should certainly have withdrawn. I -assure you, sir, we feel under no obligation—and my -present purpose is to prevent you from putting -yourself under obligation to us."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't quite follow you," said Fosdick, most -conciliatory.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There has been some kind of—'bookkeeping,' -I believe you call it—in connection with the payments -for the work on those buildings. If we were to aid -you in your—'bookkeeping,' you would certainly be -under heavy obligations to us. We cannot permit that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick laughed with the utmost good nature. "I -see you misunderstood some remarks I made to you and -your brother one day at my house. However, anything -to keep peace among friends. I'll do as you -wish."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His manner was so frank and so friendly, and his -concession so unreserved, that Narcisse was surprised -into being ashamed of her suspicions. "I believe 'Lois -is right," she said to herself. "I've been led astray -by my prejudice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Those shrewd old eyes of Fosdick's could not have -missed an opportunity for advantage so plain as was -written on her honest face. He hastened to score. -"I'll dictate it to Waller," said he, rising, "when he -comes in to round up the day. You'll get it in the -early morning mail. Good-by. You don't come to -see us up at the house nearly often enough—at least, -not when I'm there." He had opened the door. -"Waller, conduct Miss Siersdorf to the elevator. -Good-by, again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With nods and smiles he had cleared himself of her, -easily, without abruptness, rather as if she were -hurrying him than he her. And Waller, quick to take his -cue, had passed her into the elevator before she was -quite aware what was happening. Not until she was -on the ground floor and walking toward the door did -her mind recover. "What have you </span><em class="italics">got</em><span>?" it said, and -promptly answered, "Nothing—for, what is a promise -from Josiah Fosdick?" That seemed cynical, unjust; -as Fosdick not only was by reputation a man of his -word, but also had always kept his word with her. But -she stopped short and debated; and it was impossible -for her to shake her conviction that the man meant -treachery. "He'll sacrifice us," she said to herself, -"if it's necessary to save intact the name and fame of -Josiah Fosdick—or even if he should think it would -be helpful." What were two insignificant mere -ordinary mortals in comparison with that name and fame, -that inspiration to honesty and fidelity for the youth -of the land, that bulwark of respectability and religion—for, -as all the world knows, the eternal verities are -kept alive solely by the hypocrites who preach and -profess them; if those "shining examples" were -exposed and disgraced, down would crash truth and -honor. No, Josiah Fosdick was not one to hesitate -before the danger of such a cataclysm. Further, she felt -that he had been plotting while he and she were -talking and had found some way to pinion her and her -brother during the day he had gained. "To-morrow -morning," she decided, "I'll not get the paper, and -it'll be useless to try to get it. Something must be -done, and at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned back, reëntered the elevator. "To -Mr. Armstrong," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong, whom she knew but slightly, received -her with great courtesy, and an evident interest that -in turn roused her curiosity. "It's as if he knew about -our affairs," she thought. To him she said, "I want -to see you a few minutes alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her into his inner room. "Well, what -is it?" he asked, with the sort of abruptness that -invites confidence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had liked what she had seen of him; her good -impression was now strengthened. She thought there -was courage and honesty in his face, along with that -look of experience and capacity which is rarely seen -in young faces, except in America with its group of -young men who have already risen to positions of great -responsibility. There was bigness about him, -too-bigness of body and of brow and of hands, and the -eyes that go with large ways of judging and -acting—eyes at once keen and good-humored. A man to -turn a shrewd trick, perhaps; but it would be exceedingly -shrewd, and only against a foe who was using -the same tactics. Half confidences are worse than -none, are the undoing weakness of the timid who, -though they know they must play and play desperately, -yet cannot bring themselves to play in the one -way that could win. Narcisse flung all her cards upon -the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to trust somebody," she said. "My best -judgment is that that somebody is you. Here is my -position." And she related fully, rapidly, everything -except the source of her warning against Fosdick. -She told all she knew about the unwarranted vouchers -A. & N. Siersdorf had been approving—"at least, I -think they are unwarranted," she said. "We know -nothing about them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why do you come to </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>?" said Armstrong -when he had the whole affair before him from the first -interview with Fosdick to and including the last -interview.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because you are president of the O.A.D.," she -replied. "We have nothing to conceal. You are the -responsible executive officer. If you do not know -about these things, you ought to be told. And I am -determined that our firm shall not remain in its present -false position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong sat back in his chair, his face heavy -and expressionless, as if the mind that usually -animated it had left it a lifeless mask and had withdrawn -and concentrated upon something within. No one ever -got an inkling of what Armstrong was turning over -in his mind until he was ready to expose it in speech. -When he came back to the surface, he turned his chair -until he was facing her squarely. His scrutiny seemed -to satisfy him, for presently he said, "I see that you -trust me," in his friendliest way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a great gift—a great advantage," he went -on, "to make up one's mind to trust and then to do -it without reserve.... I think you will not falter, no -matter what happens."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—you came to just the right person. I -don't understand it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Woman's instinct, perhaps."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He shook his head. "I doubt it. That's simply a -phrase to get round a mystery. No, your judgment -guided you somehow. Judgment is the only guide."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse had been debating; she could not see how -it could possibly do any harm to mention Neva. -"Before I came downtown," said she, "it drifted into my -mind that I might have to come to you. So I asked -Neva Carlin about you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Armstrong settled back in his chair -abruptly and masked his face. "And what did she say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That she was sure you wouldn't do anything -small or mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The big Westerner suddenly beamed upon her. -"Well, she ought to know," said he with a blush and a -hearty, boyish laugh. Then earnestly: "I think I can -do more for you than anyone else in this matter—and -I will. You must say nothing, and do nothing. Let -everything go on as if you had no suspicion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, when Mr. Fosdick does not send me the -authorization?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait a few days; write, reminding him; then let -the matter drop."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She reflected; the business seemed finished so far as -she could finish it. She rose and put out her hand. -"Thank you," she said simply, and again, with a fine -look in her fine eyes, "Thank you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You owe me nothing," he replied. "In the first -place, I've done nothing, and I can't promise -absolutely that I can do anything. In the second place, -you have given me some extremely valuable information. -In return I merely engage not to use it to as -great advantage as I might in some circumstances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the entrance hall once more, she wondered at -the complete change in her state of mind. She now -felt content; yet she had nothing tangible, apparently -less than at the end of her interview with Fosdick—for -he had promised something definite, while Armstrong -had merely said, "I'll do my best." She -wondered at her content, at her absolute inability to -have misgiving or doubt.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="armstrong-swoops"><span class="bold large">XV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ARMSTRONG SWOOPS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>About an hour after Narcisse left Fosdick, he -sent for Westervelt, the venerable comptroller of the -O.A.D. But Westervelt came before the message -could possibly have reached him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt's position—chief financial officer of one -of the greatest fiduciary institutions of a world whose -fiduciary institutions have become more important than -its governments—would have made him in any event -important and conspicuous; but he was a figure in -finance large out of all proportion to his office. He -was one of the stock "shining examples" of Wall -Street. If industry was talked of, what more natural -than to point to old Westervelt, for fifty years at his -desk early and late, without ever taking a vacation? -If honesty was being discussed, where a better instance -of it than honest old Bill Westervelt, who had handled -billions yet was worth only a modest three or four -millions? If fidelity was the theme, there again was -old Bill with his long white whiskers, refusing offer -after offer of high stations because he was loyal to the -O.A.D. Why, he had even refused the financial place -in the Cabinet! If anyone had been unkind enough to -suggest, in partial mitigation of this almost oppressive -saintliness, that old Bill had no less than ninety-six -relatives by blood and marriage in good to splendid -berths in the O.A.D.; that he had put his brother, -his two sons and his three sons-in-law in positions -where they had made fortunes as dealers in securities -for the O.A.D. and its allied institutions; that a -Cabinet position at eight thousand a year, where such -duties as were not clerical consisted in obeying the -"advice" of the big financial lords, would have small -charm for a man so placed that he was a real influence -in the real financial councils of the nation—if such -suggestions as these had been made, the person who -made them would have been denounced as a cynic, -gangrened with envy. If anyone had ventured to hint -that, in view of the truly monstrous increase in the -expenses of the O.A.D., old Bill's industry seemed to -be bearing rather strange fruit for so vaunted a tree, -and that his fidelity ought to have a vacation while -expert accountants verified it—such insinuations would -have been repelled as sheer slander, an attempt to -undermine the confidence of mankind in the reality of -virtue. So great was Westervelt's virtue that he himself -had come to revere it as profoundly as did the rest of -the world; it seemed to him that one so wholly right -could do no wrong; that evil itself, passing through -the crucible of that white soul of his, emerged as good.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick simply glanced at his old friend and -associate as he entered. "Hello, Bill," he exclaimed. -"I was just going to send for you. I want the -Siersdorfs suspended from charge of those new buildings. -And give the head bookkeeper of the real estate -department a six months' vacation—say, for a tour of -the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Westervelt had not heard. He had dropped -into a chair, and was white as his whiskers, and the -hand with which he was stroking them was shaking. -As he did not reply, Fosdick looked at him. "Why, -Bill, what's the matter?" he cried, friendly alarm in -voice and face. "Not sick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been—suspended," gasped Westervelt. "I—suspended!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Josiah stared at him. "What are you talking about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Armstrong has just suspended me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Armstrong!" cried Fosdick. "Why, you're -crazy, man! He's got no more authority over you -than he has over me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He sent for me just now," said Westervelt, "and -when I came in he looked savagely at me and said, -'Mr. Westervelt, you will take a vacation until -further notice. I put it in that way to keep the scandal -from becoming public. You can say you have become -suddenly ill. You will leave the offices at once, and -not return until I send for you.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick was listening like a man watching the -fantastic procession of a dream which not even the wild -imagination of a sleeper could credit. "You're crazy, -Bill," he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I laughed at him," continued Westervelt. "And -then he said—it seems to me I must really be crazy—but, -no, he said it—'We have reason to believe that -the books are in wild, in criminal disorder,' he said. -'I have telegraphed for Brownell. He will be here -in the morning to take charge.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick bounded to his feet. "Brownell! Why, -he's Armstrong's old side-partner in Chicago. -Brownell!" Fosdick's face grew purple, and he jerked at his -collar and swung his head and rolled his eyes and -mouthed as if he were about to have a stroke. Then -he rushed to his bell and leaned upon the button. -Waller came into the room, terror in his face. -"Armstrong!" cried Fosdick. "Bring him here—instantly!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was full ten minutes before Waller could -find and bring him. In that time Fosdick's mind -asserted itself, beat his passion into its kennel where it -could be kept barred in or released, as events might -determine. "Caution—caution!" he said to Westervelt. -"Let </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> do all the talking."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young president entered deliberately, with -impassive countenance. He looked calmly at Westervelt, -then at Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you know what I want to see you -about, Horace," Fosdick began. "Sit down. There -seems to be some sort of misunderstanding between you -and Westervelt—eh?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong simply sat, the upper part of his big -frame resting by the elbows upon the arms of his chair, -a position which gave him an air of impenetrable -stolidity and immovable solidity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Fosdick saw that Armstrong was determined -to hold his guard, he went on, "It won't do for you -two to quarrel. At any price we must have peace, -must face the world, united and loyal. I want to make -peace between you two. Westervelt has told me his -side of the story. Now, you tell me yours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suspended him, pending a private investigation—that's -all," said Armstrong. And his lips closed as -if that were all he purposed to say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick's eyes gleamed dangerously. "You know, -you have no authority to suspend the comptroller?" -he said quietly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then he is not suspended."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, he is," said Armstrong. "And on my way -down here I looked in at his department and told them -he was ill and wouldn't be back to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt started up. "How dare you!" he -shrilled in the undignified fury of the old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bill, Bill!" warned Fosdick. Then to Armstrong, -"The way to settle it is for Bill to go home -for to-day. In the morning, he will return to his work -as usual."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brownell will be here, will be in charge," said -Armstrong. "If Westervelt returns, I'll have him put -out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Will you permit me to ask the why of all this?" -inquired Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The man's been up to some queer business," -replied Armstrong. "The books have got to be -straightened out, and it looks as if he'd have to -disgorge some pretty big sums."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt groaned and fell heavily back into his -chair. "That I should live to hear such insults to -me!" he cried, and the tears rolled down his cheeks. -Armstrong simply looked at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are mistaken, terribly mistaken, Horace," -said Fosdick smoothly. "You have been woefully -misled." He did not know what to do. He dared not -break with Westervelt, the chief stay of his power over -the staff of the O.A.D.; yet neither did he dare, just -then and over just that matter, break with Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If Westervelt is innocent," replied Armstrong, -"he ought to be laughing at me—for, if he's innocent, -I have ruined myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you have no honor, no pride," cried -Westervelt. "But have you no sense of what honor and -pride are? After all my years of service, after -building high my name in this community, to be insulted -by an adventurer like you! How do I know what you -would cook up against me, if you had control of the -books? Fosdick, we'll have the board together this -afternoon, and suspend him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick saw the look in Armstrong's face at this. -"No, no, Bill," he said. "We must sleep on this. By -morning a way out will be found."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By morning!" exclaimed Westervelt. "I'll not -see the sun go down with a cloud shadowing my -reputation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Leave me alone with my old friend for a few -minutes, Horace," said Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," agreed Armstrong, rising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come up to see you presently," Fosdick called -after him, as he was closing the door. The two -veterans were alone. Fosdick said, "That young man is -a very ugly customer, Westervelt. We must go slowly -if we are to get rid of him without scandal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All we've got to do is to throw him out," replied -Westervelt. "What reputable man or newspaper -would listen to him? And if he has hold of the books -for a few weeks, a few days even, he can twist and -turn them so that he will at least be stronger than he -is now. The stupendous impudence of the man! Why -did you ever let him get into the company?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bad judgment," said Fosdick gloomily. "I had -no idea he was so short-sighted or so swollen with his -own importance. I saw only his ability. But we'll -soon be rid of him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can it be that he has gotten wind of our plans -about him?" said Westervelt uneasily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick waved his hand. "Nobody knows them -but you and I. Impossible. I haven't even let Morris -into that secret yet. Armstrong's quite sure of his -ground—and he must be kept sure. When he goes, -it must be with a brand on him that will make him -as harmless a creature as there is in the world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the books—he must not get hold of the -books," persisted Westervelt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll see to that. Can you suggest any way to -keep him quiet, except pretending to give him his head -at present?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt reflected. Suddenly he cried out, "No, -Josiah; I can't let him—anyone—handle those books. -They're my reputation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you have got them into good shape for the -legislative investigation, haven't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—certainly. But there are the private books!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Um," grunted Fosdick. "How many of them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Three—beside the one I slipped into my pocket -on my way down here. They're too big to take away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They must be destroyed," said Fosdick. "Go -now and get them. Have them carried down here at -once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt hurried away. As he entered his office, -he was astounded at seeing Armstrong seated at a side -desk, dictating to a stenographer. At sight of -Westervelt, Armstrong started up and went to meet him. -"You ought not to be lingering here, Mr. Westervelt," -he said, so that all the clerks could hear. "You -owe it to yourself to take no such risk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I forgot a little matter," explained Westervelt -confusedly. And he went uncertainly into his private -office, had his secretary put the three ledgers and -account books together and wrap them up. "Now," said -he, "take the package down to Mr. Fosdick's office. -I'll go with you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As they emerged into the outer room, he glanced -furtively and nervously at Armstrong; Armstrong -seemed safely absorbed in his dictation. Just as the -two reached the hall door, Armstrong, without looking -up, called, "Oh, by the way, Mr. Westervelt—just a -moment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt jumped. "Go on with the books," said -he in an undertone to his secretary. "I'll come -directly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong was looking at the secretary now. -"Just put down the package, please," he said carelessly. -"I wish to speak to the comptroller about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The young man, all unsuspicious of what was below -the smooth surface, obediently put down the package. -Armstrong drew Westervelt aside. "You are taking -those three books, and the one I see bulging in your -pocket, down to Mr. Fosdick, aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," said Westervelt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Take my advice," said Armstrong. "Don't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's merely a little matter I wish to go over with -him—a few minutes," stammered Westervelt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand perfectly," said Armstrong. "But -is it wise for you to put yourself in </span><em class="italics">anybody's</em><span> power? -Don't hand all your weapons to a man who could use -them against you—and, as you well know, would do -it if he felt compelled. I could stop you from making -off with those books. I'm tempted to do it—curiously -enough, for your own sake. </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> don't need them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt was studying Armstrong's frank -countenance in amazement. "He expects me," he -suggested uncertainly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't leave the books with him," repeated -Armstrong. "Don't put yourself in his power." He -looked at Westervelt with an expression like that of -a man measuring a leap before taking it. "Take the -books home," he went on boldly. "Fosdick has been -cheating you for years. I will come to see you at your -house to-morrow morning." And he returned to his -dictation, leaving the old man hesitating in the -doorway, thoughtfully fumbling in his long white whiskers -with slow, stealthy fingers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the corridor, Westervelt said to his secretary, -"I think I'll work over the matter at home. I'm not -so sick as they seem to imagine. Jump into a cab -and drive up to my house, and give the package to -my wife. Tell her to take care of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Fosdick saw him empty-handed, he was -instantly ablaze. "Has that scoundrel——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, no," explained his old friend, "I got the -books, all right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where are they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I sent them uptown—up to my house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What the hell did you do that for?" cried Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought it best to have them where I could -personally take care of them," said Westervelt, his -heart bounding with delight. For Fosdick's -unguarded tone had set flaming in him that suspicion -which thoroughly respectable men always have latent -for each other, in circles where respectability rests -entirely upon deeds that in the less respectable or on -a less magnificent scale would seem quite the reverse -of respectable. They know how dear reputation is, -how great sacrifices of friendship and honor even the -most honorable and generous men will make to -safeguard it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," said Fosdick, heaving but oily of -surface, and not daring to pursue the subject lest -Westervelt should suspect him. "You sent them by safe -hands?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By my secretary, and to my wife," said Westervelt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They kept up a rather strained conversation for -half an hour, chiefly devoted to abuse of Armstrong—Westervelt's -abuse was curiously lacking in heartiness, -though Fosdick was too busy with his own thoughts -to note it. He suddenly interrupted himself to say: -"Oh, I forgot. Excuse me a moment." And he went -into the next room. He was gone three quarters of -an hour. When he came back, he said, with not very -convincing carelessness, "While I was out there talking -with Waller, it occurred to me that, on the whole, -the books'd be safer in my vaults. So I took the -liberty of sending him up to get them. Your wife knows -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Westervelt smiled in such a way that his white hair -and beard and patriarchal features combined in an -aspect of beautiful benevolence. "I fear he won't get -them, Josiah," said he, chuckling softly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you'd better telephone her," said Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have, Josiah," said his old pal, with a glance -at the telephone on Fosdick's desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The veterans looked each at the other, Josiah -reproachfully. "Billy, you don't trust even me," he said -sadly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I trust no one but the Lord, Josiah," replied -Westervelt.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="hugo-shows-his-mettle"><span class="bold large">XVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">HUGO SHOWS HIS METTLE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Fosdick did not go up to parley with the insurgent -until after lunch, until he had thought out his -game. He went prepared for peace, for a truce, or -for war. "Horace," he began, "there are many -phases to an enterprise as vast as this. You can't -run it as you would a crossroads grocery. You have -got to use all sorts of men and measures, to adapt -yourself to them, to be broad and tolerant—and -diplomatic. Above all, diplomatic." And he went on for -some time in this strain of commercial commonplaces, -feeling his way carefully. "Now, it may be true—I -don't know, but it may be true," he ended, "that -Westervelt, in conducting his part of the affairs, has taken -wider latitude than perhaps might be tolerated in a -man of less strength and standing. We must consider -only results. On the other hand, it is just as well -that we should know precisely what his methods have -been."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this Armstrong's impassive face showed a -gleam of interest. "That's what </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> thought," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But it wouldn't do—it wouldn't do at all, Horace, -for us to let an outsider like Brownell, at one jump, -into the secrets of the company. Why, there's no -telling what he would do. He might blackmail us, or -sell us out to one of our rivals."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What have you to propose?" said Armstrong, -impatient of these puerile preliminaries. Fosdick was -as clever at trickery as is the cleverest; but at its best -the best trickery is puerile, once the onlooker, or even -the intended victim, is on the alert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must give the accounts a thorough overhauling," -answered Fosdick. "But it must be done by -our own people. I propose the ordinary procedure -for that sort of thing—different men doing different -parts of it piecemeal, and sending their reports to one -central man who collates them. In that way, only the -one man knows what is going on or what is found out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who's the man?" asked Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It struck me that Hugo, being one of the fourth -vice-presidents and so in touch with the comptroller's -department, would most naturally step into -Westervelt's place while he was away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Armstrong cordially. "Hugo's -the very person."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick had not dismissed Westervelt's suggestion -that Armstrong might be countermining so summarily -as he had led Westervelt to believe; he did dismiss it -now, however. "The young fool," he decided, "just -wanted to show his authority." To Armstrong he said, -"You and Hugo can work together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, leave it to Hugo," said Armstrong. "I am -content so long as it is definitely understood that I -am not responsible. Let the Executive Committee meet -and put Hugo formally in charge during Westervelt's -absence."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick went up to Westervelt's house to see him -a few days later; to his surprise the old bulwark of -public and private virtue seemed completely restored. -And Fosdick, with a blindness which he never could -account for, was content with his explanation that he -had been thinking it over and had reached the conclusion -that his interests were perfectly secure, so long -as he had the four books. Without a protest he -acquiesced in the appointment of Hugo. And so it -came peacefully about that Hugo, convinced that no -one had ever undertaken quite so important a task -as this of his, set himself to investigating the whole -financial department of the O.A.D. That is to say, -he issued the orders suggested by his father, issued -them to subordinates suggested by his father, and -brought to his father the reports they made to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the third or fourth day of Westervelt's -"illness," Fosdick caught a cold which laid him up with -a ferocious attack of the gout. Most of the reports -which the subordinates brought to Hugo he did not -understand; but he felt that it was his duty to -examine them, and spent about three of the four hours -he gave to business each day in marching his eye -solemnly down the columns of figures and explanations. -And thus it came about that he discovered Armstrong's -"crime"—twenty-five thousand dollars, which had -been paid to Horace Armstrong on his own -order and never accounted for; a few months later, -a second item of the same size and mystery; a -few months later, a third; a fourth, a fifth, a sixth -and so on, until in all Armstrong had got from -the company on his own order no less than three -hundred and fifty thousand dollars for which he never -accounted. "A thief!" exclaimed Hugo. "I might -have known! These low-born fellows of no breeding, -that rise by impudence and cunning, always steal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo did not go to his father with his startling -discovery of this shameful raid on the sacred funds -of the widows and orphans of the O.A.D. "I'll not -worry the governor when he's ill," he reasoned. -"Besides, he's far too gentle and easygoing with -Armstrong. No, this is a matter for me to attend to, -myself. When it's all over, the governor'll thank me. -Anyhow, it's time I showed these people downtown that -I understand the game and can play it." And Hugo -sent for Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not to come to him at his office; but to call on -him at his apartment on the way downtown: "Dear -Sir—Mr. Hugo Fosdick wishes you to call on him -at the above address at nine to-morrow morning"—this -on his private letter paper and signed by his secretary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo had taken an apartment in a fashionable -bachelor flathouse a few months after he became a -fourth vice-president. He was not ready to get -married. There were only a few women—nine girls and -two widows—in the class he deemed eligible, that is, -having the looks, the family, and the large fortune, -all of which would be indispensable to an aspirant for -his hand. And of these eleven, none had as yet shown a -sufficient degree of appreciation. Four treated him as -they did the other men in their set—with no -distinguishing recognition of his superiority of mind and -body. Five were more appreciative, but they were, -curiously and unfortunately enough, the least pleasing -in the three vital respects. However, while he must -put off marriage until he should find his affinity, there -was no reason why he should continue in the paternal -leading strings; so, he set up an establishment befitting -his rank and wealth. He took the large flat with its -three almost huge general rooms; and, of course he -furnished it in that comfortless splendor in which live -those of the civilized and semicivilized world in whom -prosperity smothers all originality or desire for -originality. For Hugo was most careful to do everything -and anything expected of his "set" by the sly middle-class -purveyors who think out the luxuries and fashions -by which they live off the vanities and -conventionalities of the rich.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Armstrong appeared, Hugo had been shaved -and bathed and massaged and manicured and perfumed -and dressed; he was seated at a little breakfast table -drawn near the open fire in the dining room, two men -servants in attendance—a third had ushered -Armstrong in. He was arrayed in a gray silk house suit, -with facings of a deeper gray, over it a long grayish-purple -silk and eiderdown robe. He was in the act of -lighting a cigarette at the cut glass and gold lamp -which his butler was holding respectfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah—Armstrong!" he said, with that high-pitched -voice and affected accent which makes the person -who uses it seem to say, "You will note that I am -a real aristocrat." Then to the butler, "I wish to -be alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir," said the butler, with a bow. The other -servant bowed also, and they left the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what is it, Fosdick?" said Armstrong, -seating himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo frowned at that familiarity, aggravated by -the curt tone. "I shall not detain you long enough -for you to be at the trouble of seating yourself," said -he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong reflected on this an instant before he -grasped what Hugo was driving at. Then he smiled. -"Go on—what is it?" he said, settling himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I directed you to come here," said Hugo, -"because I wished to avoid every possibility of scandal. -I assume you understood, as soon as you got my note?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong looked at him quizzically. "And I -came," said he, "because I assumed you had some -important, very private, message from your father. I -thought perhaps your father would be here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father knows nothing of this," said Hugo. -"I thought it more humane to spare him the pain of -discovering that a servant he regarded as faithful had -shamefully betrayed him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I might have known!" exclaimed Armstrong -with good-natured disgust, rising. "So you brought -me here to discuss some trifle about your servants. -Some day, if I get the leisure, my young friend, I'll -tell you what I think of you. But not to-day. Good -morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Stop!" commanded Hugo. As Armstrong did -not stop, he said, "I have discovered your thefts from -the company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong wheeled, blanched. He looked hard at -young Fosdick; then he slowly returned to his chair. -"I understand," he said, in a voice most unlike his own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I sent for you," continued Hugo triumphantly, -"to tell you I will permit you quietly to resign. -You will write out your resignation at the desk -in the next room. I shall present it to the Board, -and shall see that it is accepted without scandal or -question. Of course, so far as you are able, you must -make good your shortage. But I shall not be hard -on you. I appreciate that chaps like you are often -tempted beyond their powers of resistance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time Armstrong was smiling so broadly -that Hugo, absorbed though he was in his own rôle of -the philosophic gentleman, had to see it. He broke off, -reddened, rose and drew himself to his full height—and -a very elegant figure he was. Armstrong looked -up at him from his indolent lounge in the big chair. -"Did you pose that before a cheval glass, Hugo?" -he said, in a pleasant, contemptuous tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will force me to the alternative," cried -Hugo furiously.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong got up. "Go ahead, old man," he said. -"Do whatever you please. Better talk to your father -first, though." He glanced round. "You're very -gorgeous here—too gorgeous for the hard-working, -poor people who pay for it. I'll have to interfere." He -smiled at Hugo again, but there was an unpleasant -glitter in his eyes. "You are suspended from the -fourth vice-presidency," he went on tranquilly. "And -you will vacate these premises before noon to-day. See -that you take nothing with you that belongs to the -O.A.D. If you do, I'll have you in a police court. Be -out before noon. Brownell will be up at that hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo stood staring. This effrontery was unbelievable. -Before he could recover himself, Armstrong -was gone. He sat down and slowly thought it out. -Yes, it was true, the flat had been taken nominally as -an uptown branch of the O.A.D. home office; much of -the furniture had been paid for by the company; -several of the servants were on the pay roll as clerks and -laborers; yes, he had even let the O.A.D. pay grocery -and wine bills—was he not like his father—did not -everything he did, everything he ate and drank, -contribute to the glory and stability of the O.A.D.? He -was but following the established usage among the -powers that deigned to guard the financial interests -of the people. Perhaps, he carried the system a little -further, more frankly further, than some; but logically, -legitimately. Still, Armstrong was president, -had nominally the authority to make things unpleasant -for him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at the clock—it was ten; no time to lose. -He rushed into his clothes, darted into his waiting -brougham and drove home. The doctor was with his -father; he had to wait, pacing and fuming, until nearly -eleven before he could get admission. The old man, -haggard and miserable, was stretched on a sofa-bed -before the fire in his sitting room. "Well, what do you -want?" he said sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo did not pause to choose words. "I found -in the books," said he, "where Armstrong had taken -three hundred and fifty thousand dollars from -us—from the company. I thought I'd not worry you with -it. So I sent for him to come to my rooms."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" yelled Fosdick, getting his breath which -had gone at the first shock. "What the damnation! -You sprung </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> trap! You </span><em class="italics">fool</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ordered him to resign," Hugo hastened on. -"And he refused, and ordered me to vacate my rooms -before noon—because the lease stands in the name of -the company. And he suspended me as vice-president."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good, good!" shouted Fosdick, his thin, wire-like -hair, his gaunt face, his whole lean body streaming -fury. "Why has God cursed me with such a son as -this! How dare you! You wretched idiot! You have -ruined us all!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo cowered. Making full allowance for his -father's physical pain and violent temper, there was -still that in the old man's face which convinced Hugo -he had made a frightful blunder. "I'll vacate," he -said, near to whimpering, "I'll do whatever you say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give me that telephone!" ordered the old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick got the O.A.D. building and Armstrong's -office. And soon Armstrong's voice came over the wire. -"Is that you, Armstrong—Horace—? Yes, I recognize -your voice. This is Fosdick. That fool boy of -mine has just told me what he did."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," came in Armstrong's noncommittal voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to say you did perfectly right in ordering -him to vacate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll be out by the time you set. His resignation -as vice-president is on the way downtown. I'm -sending him to apologize to you. I want to do -everything, anything to show my deep humiliation, my deep -regret."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No answer from the other end of the wire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you there, Horace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have I made myself clear? Is there anything -I can do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing. Is that all?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can you come up here? It's impossible for me -to leave my bedroom—simply out of the question."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm too busy this morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This afternoon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to-day. Good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The ring-off sounded mockingly in the old man's -ear. With an oath he caught up the telephone -apparatus and flung it at Hugo's head. "Ass! Ass!" -he shouted, shaking his cane at his son, who had barely -dodged the heavy instrument. "Vacate that apartment! -Take the first steamer for Europe! And don't -you show up in town again until I give you leave. -Hide yourself! Ass! Ass!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo scudded like a swallow before a tempest. -"Is there any depth," he said when he felt at a safe -distance, "</span><em class="italics">any</em><span> depth to which father wouldn't descend, -for the sake of money—and drag us down with him?" He -admitted that perhaps he had not acted altogether -discreetly. "I oughtn't to have roused Armstrong's -envy by letting him see my rooms." Still, that could -have been easily repaired. Certainly, it wasn't -necessary to grovel before an employee—"and a damned -thief at that." By the time he reached his apartments, -he was quite restored to favor with himself. He -hurried the servants away, telephoned for a firm of -packers and movers to come at once. As he rang off, a -call came for him. He recognized the voice of -Armstrong's secretary.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that Mr. Hugo Fosdick? Well, Mr. Armstrong -asks me to say that it won't be necessary for -you to give up those offices uptown to-day, that you -can keep them as long as you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aha!" thought Hugo, triumphant again. "He -has come to his senses. I knew it—I knew he -would!" To the secretary he simply said, "Very well," and -rang up his father. It was nearly half an hour -before he could get him; the wire was busy. At his first -word, the old man said, "Ring off there! I don't -want to hear or see you. You take that steamer to-morrow!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Armstrong has weakened, father," cried Hugo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What!" answered the old man, not less savage, -but instantly eager.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has just telephoned, practically apologizing, -and asking me not to disturb myself about the -apartment. I knew he'd come down when he thought it -over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silence, then his father said in a milder tone: -"Well—you keep away from the office. Don't touch -business, don't go near it, until I tell you to. And -don't come near me till I send for you. What else -did Armstrong say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just what I told you—nothing more. But when -I see him, he'll apologize, no doubt."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"See that you don't see him," snapped the old man. -"Keep away from anybody that knows anything of -business. Keep to that crowd of empty-heads you -travel with. Do you understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, father," said Hugo, in the respectful tone -he never, in his most supercilious mood, forgot to use -toward the custodian and arbiter of his prospects.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="violette-s-tapestries"><span class="bold large">XVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">VIOLETTE'S TAPESTRIES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Armstrong would not have protested Raphael's -favorite fling at the financial district as "a wallow of -dishonor"; and Boris's description of him as reeking -the slime of the wallow was no harsher than what he -was daily thinking about himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The newspapers were shrieking for a "real cleaning -of the Augean stables of finance"; the political -figureheads of "the interests" were solemnly and -sonorously declaiming that there must be no repetition -of former fiascos and fizzles, when nobody had been -punished, though everybody had been caught black-handed. -The prosecuting officers were protesting that -the plea of the guilty that they were "gentlemen" and -"respectable" would not again avail. So, Wall -Street's wise knew that the struggle between Fosdick -and Atwater was near its crisis. Throughout the -"wallow" banks and trust companies, bond houses and -bucket shops, all the eminent respectabilities, were -"hustling" to get weathertight. Everyone appreciated -that Fosdick and Atwater, prudent men, patron -saints of "stability," would be careful to confine the -zone of war strictly. But—what would they regard -as the prudent and proper limits of this release and -use of public anger? Neither faction was afraid of -law, of serious criminal prosecution; however the -authorities might be compelled to side, they would not -yield to popular clamor—beyond making the usual -bluff necessary to fool the public until it forgot. But -these exposures which had now become a regular part -of the raids of the great men on each other's -preserves always tended to make the public shy for a while; -and the royalty, nobility, and gentry of the fashionable -hierarchy, had to meet the enormous expenses of -their families, their establishments, and their retinues -of dependents, never less, ever more. They could ill -afford any cessation or marked slackening of the -inflow of wealth from the industrious and confiding, -or covetous, masses—covetous rather than confiding, -since the passion of the average man for gambling, for -getting something for nothing, is an even larger -factor in the successful swindling operations of enthroned -respectability than is his desire for a safe, honest -investment of his surplus. Finally, the uneasy upper -classes remembered that usually these exposures -resulted in the sacrifice of some of them; an unlucky -financier or group of financiers was loaded down with -the blame for the corruption and, amid the execration -of the crowd and the noisy denunciation of fellow -financiers, was sent away into the wilderness, disgraced -so far as a man can be disgraced in the eyes of -money-worshipers when he still has his wealth. Rarely did -the sacrifice extend further than disgrace; still, that -was no light matter, as it meant lessened opportunities -to share in the looting which was soon resumed with -increased energy and success. The disgraced financier -had to live on what he had acquired before his -disgrace, instead of keeping that intact, and paying his -expenses, and adding to his fortune, too, out of fresh -loot.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Altogether, it was wise to get good and ready—to -"dress" the shelves and the back of the shop as -well as the windows and front cases; to destroy or -hide suspicious books and memoranda; to shift -confidential clerks; to distribute vacations to Europe -among employees, open and secret, with dangerous -information and a tendency toward hysterical and loose -talking under cross-examination; to retain all the able -lawyers, and all those related by blood, marriage, or -business to legislators, prosecuting officers, and -powerful politicians; to confer discreetly as to the exact -facts of certain transactions, "so that we may not -make any blunders and apparent contradictions on the -witness stand." And the lawyers—how busy they -were! The aristocrats of the legal profession were -as brisk as are their humbler fellows on the eve of a -"tipped-off" raid on a den of "swell crooks." In -fact, the whole business had the air of a very cheap -and vulgar kind of crookedness; and the doings of -the great men were strange indeed, in view of their -pose as leaders by virtue of superiority in honest skill. -An impartial observer might have been led to wonder -whether honest men had not been driven from leadership -because they would not stoop to the vilenesses -by which "success" was gained, and not because they -were less in brain. As for such conduct in men lauded -as "bold," "brave," "courageous beyond the power -to quail"—it was simply inexplicable. The -"dare-devil leaders" were acting like a pack of shifty -cowards engaged in robbing a safe and just hearing -the heavy, regular tread of a police patrol under the -windows.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong was too absorbed in the game for much -analysis or theorizing; still, his lip did curl at the -spectacle—and in part his sneer was self-contempt. "It's -disgusting," said he to himself, "that to keep alive -among these scoundrels and guard the interests one is -intrusted with, one must do or tolerate so many -despicable things." As that view of the matter was the -one which every man in the district was taking, each -to excuse himself to himself, there was not an -uncomfortable conscience or a shame-reddened cheek or a -slinking eye. Once a man becomes convinced that his -highest duty is not to himself, but to his fellow man, -the rest is easy; the greater his "self-sacrifice" of -honesty, decency, and self-respect for the sake of the -public good—for country or religion or "stability" -or "to keep the workingman's family from starving"—the -more sympathetic and enthusiastic is his conscience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When the financial district was at the height of -its activity in getting weathertight for the approaching -investigation, Fosdick shook off his savage enemy, -the gout, and got downtown again. He went direct -from his carriage to Armstrong's offices. He greeted -his "man" as cordially as if he had not just been -completing the arrangements by which he expected -to make Armstrong himself the first conspicuous -victim of the investigation. And Armstrong received -and returned the greeting with no change in his -usual phlegmatic manner to hint his feelings or his -plans.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About Hugo—" began Josiah.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong made a gesture of dismissal. "That's -a closed incident. Any news of the committee?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Josiah accepted the finality of Armstrong's manner. -"You show yourself a man in ignoring the flappings -and squawkings of that young cockatoo," said -he cheerfully. "As for the committee— What do -you think of Morris for counsel?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've decided on him?" said Armstrong. His -eyes wandered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Fosdick was not subtle, and thought nothing -of that slight but, in one so close, most significant -sign of a concealing mind. "It's settled," replied he. -"Joe's an honorable man. Also, he's tied fast to us, -and at the same time the public can't charge that he's -one of our lawyers. I know, you and he—" There -Fosdick stopped. He prided himself on a most -gentlemanly delicacy in family matters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'll take orders?" said Armstrong, with no -suggestion that he either saw cause for "delicacy" or -appreciated it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose he would, if it were necessary. But, -thank God, Horace, it isn't. As I told him at my -house last night, after the governor and I had decided -on him—I said to him: 'Joe, go ahead and make a -reputation for yourself. We fear nothing—we've got -nothing to hide that the public has a right to know. -Tear the mask off those damned scoundrels who are -trying to seize the O.A.D. and change it from a great -bulwark of public safety into a feeder for their -reckless gambling.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what did he say?" inquired Armstrong—a -simple inquiry, with no hint of the cynical amusement -it veiled.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He was moved to tears, almost," replied Fosdick, -damp of eye himself at the recollection. "And he -said: 'Thank you, Mr. Fosdick, and you, Governor -Hartwell. I'll regard this commission as a sacred -trust. I'll be careful not to give encouragement to -calumny or to make the public uneasy and suspicious -where there is no just reason for uneasiness and -suspicion; and at the same time I'll expose these men who -have been prostituting the name of financier.' You -really ought to have heard him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>An inarticulate sound came from behind the -Westerner's armor of stolid apathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horace, he's a noble fellow," continued Fosdick, -assuming that his "man" was sympathetic. "And he -knows the law from cover to cover. He has drawn -some of our best statutes, and whenever I've got into -a place where it looked as if the howling of the mob -was going to stop business, I've always called on him -to get up a statute that would make the mob happy -and not interfere with us, and he has never failed me. -By the time he's fifty, he'll be one of the strongest men -in the country—the kind of man the business interests -'d like to see in the White House. If it weren't -for that fool wife of his! Do you know her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick decided that "delicacy" was unnecessary, -as Armstrong was out of the Carlin family. "It's all -very well," said he, "for a young fellow to go crazy -about a girl when he's courting. But to keep on being -crazy about her after they've got used to each other -and settled down—it's past me. It defeats the whole -object of marriage, which is to steady a man, to take -woman off his mind, and give him peace for his work. -In my opinion, there's too much talk about love -nowadays. It ain't decent—it ain't </span><em class="italics">decent</em><span>! And it's -setting the women crazy, with so much idle time on their -hands. Morris is stark mad about that wife of his, -and all he gets out of it is what a man usually gets -when he makes a fool of himself for a woman. She -thinks of nothing but spending money, and she keeps -him poor. The faster he earns, the wilder she spends. -I suppose he thinks she cares for him—when working -him is simply a business with her."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Fosdick had known what Mrs. Morris was about -at that very hour, there would have been even more -energy in his denunciation of her. As soon as her -husband had got home the previous night, he had confided -to her the whole of his new and dazzling opportunity—not -only all that his secret employer expected him -to make of it but all that he purposed to make of it. -She was not a discreet woman; so, it was fortunate -for him that her listening when he talked "shop," as -she called his career, was a pretense. She gathered -only what was important to her—that he felt sure of -making a great deal out of the new venture.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He meant reputation; she assumed that he meant -money. She began to spend it the very next day. -Even as Josiah Fosdick was denouncing her, she was -in an art store negotiating for a set of medieval -tapestries for her salon. As antiques, the tapestries were -wonderful—wonderful, like so large a part of the -antiques that multimillionaires have brought over for -their houses and for the museums—wonderful as -specimens of the ingenuity of European handicraftsmen at -forgery. As works of art, the tapestries were atrocious; -as household articles, they were dangerous—filthy, -dust- and germ-laden rags. But "everybody" -was getting antique tapestries; Mrs. Morris must have -them. She was an interesting and much-admired -representative of the American woman who goes in -</span><em class="italics">seriously</em><span> for art. To go in </span><em class="italics">seriously</em><span> for art does not -mean to cultivate one's sense of the beautiful, to learn -to discriminate with candor among good, not so good, -not so bad, and bad. It means to keep in touch with -the European dealers in things artistic, real and -reputed; to be the first to follow them when, a particular -fad having been mined to its last dollar, they and -their subsidized critics and connoisseurs come out -excitedly for some new period or style or school. -Mrs. Morris was regarded as one of the first authorities in -fashionable New York on matters of art. Her house -was enormously admired; she was known to every -dealer from Moscow to the tip of the Iberian peninsula; -and incredible were the masses of trash they had -worked off upon her and, through her recommendations, -upon her friends.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her "amazing artistic discernment"—so Sunnywall, -the most fashionable of the fashionable architects, -described it—was the bulwark of her social position. -Whenever a voice lifted against the idle lives of -fashionable people, how conclusive to reply, "Look at -Mrs. Joe Morris—she's typical. She devotes her life to -art. It's incalculable what she has done toward -interesting the American people in art." She even -had fame in a certain limited way. Her name -was spoken with respect from Maine to California -in those small but conspicuous circles where -possession of more or less wealth and a great deal of -empty time has impelled the women to occupy themselves -with books, pictures, statuary, furniture they -think they ought to like. To what fantastic climaxes -prosperity has brought the old American passion for -self-development! The men, to shrewd and shameless -prostitution in the market-places; the women, to the -stupefying ignorance of the culture that consists in -the mindless repetitions of the slang and cant and -nonsense of intellectual fakirs.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Morris told her husband about the new -tapestries at dinner. That was her regular time for -imparting to him anything she knew he would be -"troublesome" about; and it was rapidly ruining his -digestion. She chose dinner because the presence of -the servants made it impossible for him to burst out -until the fact that the thing was done and could not -be undone had time to batter down his wrath. Usually -she spoke between soup and fish—she spoke thus early -that she might gain as much time as possible. So -often did she have these upsetting communications to -make that he got in the habit of dreading those two -courses as a transatlantic captain dreads the Devil's -Hole; and on evenings when the fish had come and gone -with nothing upsetting from her, he had a sudden, -often exuberant rush of high spirits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I dropped in at Violette's to-day for another -look at those tapestries," she began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At "Violette's" he paused in lifting the spoon to -his lips; at "tapestries" he pricked his ears—one of -the greatest trials of his wife's married life was that -independent motion of his ears, "just like one of the -lower animals or something in a side show," she often -complained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I simply couldn't resist," she ended, looking -like a happy, spoiled child. He dropped the spoon -with a splash.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do be careful, Joe," she remonstrated sweetly. -"We can't change the dinner-cloth every night, -and such frequent washing is </span><em class="italics">ruinous</em><span>. I had them -sent home, and you'll be entranced when you see them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you give Violette his original price?" he -demanded, as his color, having reached an apoplectic -blue-red, began to pale toward the normal.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He wouldn't come down a cent. And I don't -blame him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morris glowered at the butler and the footman. -They went about their business as if quite unconscious -of the work of peace they were doing—and were -expected by their mistress to do. Mrs. Morris talked on -and on, pretending to assume that he was as delighted -with her purchase as was she. She discoursed of these -particular tapestries, of tapestries in general, of the -atmosphere they brought into a house—"the suggestion, -the very spirit of the old, beautiful life of the -upper classes in the Middle Ages." By the time -dinner was over she had talked herself so far away from -the sordid things of life that the coarsest nature would -have shrunk from intruding them. But on that -evening Morris was angry through and through. When -they left the dining room, she said, "Now, come and -look at them, dear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said savagely. He threw open the door -of his study. "Come in here. I want to talk to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hesitated. A glance at his fury-blanched face -convinced her that, if she made it necessary, he would -seize her and thrust her in. As the door closed on -them with a bang, the butler said to the footman, -"Letty's done it once too often."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The footman tiptoed toward the door. The butler -stopped him with, "You couldn't hear bloody murder -through that study door, and the keyhole's no good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why didn't he take her to her boudoir?" grumbled -the footman.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had indeed "done it once too often." As soon -as Morris had the door locked he blazed down at her—she -fresh and innocent, with her fluffy golden hair -and sweet blue eyes and dimples on either side of her -pretty mouth. "Damn you!" he exclaimed through -his set teeth. "You want to ruin me, body and -soul—you vampire!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two big slow tears drenched her eyes. "Oh, -Joe!" she implored. "What have I done! Don't be -angry with me. It kills me!" And she caught her -breath like a child trying bravely not to cry and -put out her rosy arms toward him, her round, rosy -shoulders and bosom rising and falling in a rhythmic -swell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't touch me!" he all but shouted. "That's -part of your infernal game. Oh, you think I'm a -fool—and so I am—so I am! But not the kind you -imagine. It hasn't been your cleverness that has made -me play the idiot, but my own weakness." He caught -her by the shoulders. "What is it?" he cried furiously, -shaking her. "What's the infernal spell I get -under whenever you touch me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You love me," she pleaded, "as I love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Love!" he jeered. "Well, call it that—no -matter. Those tapestries have got to go back—do you -hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you needn't shout, dear. Certainly they'll -go back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You say 'certainly,' but you've no intention of -sending them back. You think this'll blow over, that -you'll wheedle me round as you have a hundred times. -But I tell you, </span><em class="italics">this</em><span> time, what I say </span><em class="italics">goes</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the trouble, Joe? You were never like -this before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was gnawing at his thin gray mustache and -was breathing heavily. "When I married you I was -a decent sort of fellow. I had a sense of honor and -a disposition to be honest. You—you've made me into -a bawd. I tell you, not the lowest creature that -parades the streets of the slums is viler than I. That's -what you and love—love!—have done for me. My -wife and love! God, woman, what you have made me -do to get money for those greedy hands of yours! -Now, listen to me. You evidently didn't listen last -night when I told you my plans. No matter. Here's -the point. I'm going to sell out once more—going to -play the traitor for as big stakes as ever tempted a -man. Then, I'll make the career I once dreamed of -making, and you will be second to no woman in the -land. But, no more extravagance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I always knew you'd be rich and famous," she -cried, clasping her hands and looking the radiant -child.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Famous, but not rich. I'm not playing for -money this time. And we're not going to have much -money hereafter. I've thought it all out. We're -going to move into a smaller house; all your junk is -to be sold, and what little money it'll bring we'll put -by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to be freezing. The baby look died out -of her face. Her eyes became hard, her mouth cruel. -"I don't understand," she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you do, madam," he retorted. "You need -not waste time in scheming or in working your -schemes. I've thought it all out. You were driving -me straight to ruin; and, when you got me there, -if I hadn't conveniently died or blown my brains out, -you'd have divorced me and fastened on some one else. -I think that, like me, you used to be decent. You've -been led on and on until you've come pretty near to -losing all human feeling. Well, it's to be a right -about, this instant. I'm going back—and you've got -to go back with me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a note in his voice, an expression in his -eyes that disquieted her; but she had ruled him so -long, had softened him from the appearance of -strength into plastic weakness so often, that she saw -before her simply a harder task than usual, perhaps -the hardest task she had yet had.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll be very busy the next few months," he went -on. "You must go away—to your mother—or -abroad—anywhere, so that I shan't be tempted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want to leave you!" she cried. "I want -to stay and help you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His smile was sardonic. "No! You shall go. I've -an offer for this house, as it stands. In fact, I've sold -it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stared wildly. "Joe!" she screamed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've sold it," he repeated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To whom?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes shifted, and he flushed. "To Trafford," -he replied, with a sullenness, a shamefacedness that -would not have escaped her had she not been -internally in such a commotion that nothing from the -outside could impress her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you couldn't get a tenth what the things -are worth, selling that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I got a good price," said he, his eyes averted. -"Never mind what it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, the Traffords would have no use for this -house. They've got a palace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He bought it," said Morris doggedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He bought it; and I want you to tell everybody -we sold at a loss—a big loss. You can say we're -thinking of living in the country. Not a word to -anyone that'd indicate there's any mystery about the -sale." This without looking up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She studied his face—the careworn but still handsome -features, the bad lines about the eyes and mouth, -the splendid intellectuality of the brow, a confused but -on the whole disagreeable report upon the life and -character within. "I think I do understand," she said -slowly. Then, like a vicious jab, "At least, as much -as I want to understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She strolled toward the door, sliding one soft, -jeweled hand reflectively over her bare shoulders. She -paused before a statuette and inspected it carefully, -her hands behind her back, her fingers slowly locking -and unlocking. Presently she gave a queer little laugh -and said, "It wasn't the house, it was </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> Trafford -bought."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pause, then he: "He </span><em class="italics">thinks</em><span> so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Again a pause, she smiling softly up at the statuette. -Without facing him she said, "I must have my -share, Joe."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waited a few minutes, repeated, "</span><em class="italics">I</em><span> must have -my share."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he replied.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pause; then, "Are you coming up to bed?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I shall sleep here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had passively despised him, whenever she had -thought about him at all in those years of his -subservience to her. For the first time she was looking -at him with a feeling akin to respect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," she murmured sweetly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Good night," curtly from him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The watching servants were astonished at her -expression of buoyant good humor, were astounded when -she said with careless cheerfulness to the butler, -"Thomas, telephone Violette the first thing in the -morning to come for those tapestries he brought -to-day. Tell him I'll call and explain."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="armstrong-proposes"><span class="bold large">XVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ARMSTRONG PROPOSES</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Armstrong lingered in the entrance to the apartment -house where Neva lived, dejection and irritation -plain upon his features. At no time since he met her -at Trafford's had he so longed to see her; and the -elevator boy had just told him she was out. The boy's -manner was convincing, but Armstrong was supersensitive -about Neva.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had received him often, and was always -friendly; but always with a reserve, the more disquieting -for its elusiveness. And whenever he tried to see -her and failed, he suspected her of being unwilling to -admit him. Sometimes the suspicion took the form -of a belief it was a </span><em class="italics">tête-à-tête</em><span> with the painter which -she would not let him interrupt. Again, he feared she -had decided not to admit him any more. It would -be difficult to say which made him the gloomier—the -feeling that he was, at best, a distant second, or the -feeling that he was not placed at all. Never before -in his relation with any human being, man or woman, -had he been so exasperatingly at a disadvantage as -with her. The fact that they had been married, which -apparently ought to have made it impossible for her -to maintain any barrier of reserve against him, once -she had accepted him as a friend, was somehow just -the circumstance that prevented him from making any -progress whatever with her. And this was highly -exasperating to a man of his instinct and passion and -ability for conquest and dominion over all about him, -men as well as women.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm making a fool of myself. I'm letting her -make a fool of me," he thought angrily, as he stood -in the entrance. "I'll not come again." But he had -made this same decision each time he was met with -"Not at home," and had nevertheless reappeared at -her door after a few weeks of self-denial. So, he -mocked himself even as he was bravely resolving. He -gazed up and down the street. His face brightened. -Far down the long block, toward Fifth Avenue, he saw -a slim, singularly narrow figure, thin yet nowhere -angular; beautiful shoulders and bust, narrow hips; a -fascinating simple dress of brown, a sable stole and -muff, a graceful brown hat with three plumes. -"Distinguished" was the word that seemed to him to -describe what he could see, thus far. As she drew near, -he noted how her clear skin, her eyes, her hair all had -the sheen that proclaims health and vivid life. "But -she would never have looked like this, or have been -what she is, if she had not got rid of me," he said -to himself by way of consolation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you take a walk?" he asked, when they -met half way between the two avenues. The friendliness -of her greeting dispelled his ill humor; sometimes -that same mere friendliness was the cause of a stinging -irritation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come back with me," she replied. "I'm always -in at this time. Besides, to-day I have an engagement—no, -not just yet—not until Boris comes. Then, he -and I are going out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—Raphael! Always Raphael."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Almost always," said she. "Almost every day—often -twice a day, sometimes three times a day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His dealings with women had been in disregard and -disdain of their "feminine" methods; but he did know -the men who use that same indirection to which women -are compelled because nature and the human societies -modeled upon its savage laws decree that woman shall -deal with men in the main through their passions. He, -therefore, suspected that Neva's frank declaration was -not without intent to incite. But, to suspect woman's -motive rarely helps man; in his relations with her he -is dominated by a force more powerful than reason, -a force which compels him to acts of which his reason, -though conscious and watchful, is a helpless spectator. -Armstrong's feeling that Neva was not unwilling to -give herself the pleasure of seeing him jealous of -Raphael did not help him toward the self-control necessary -to disappoint her. Silent before his rising storm, -he accompanied her to the studio. Alone with her -there, he said abruptly:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think any human being could fall in love -with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She examined him as if impartially balancing -merits and demerits. "Why not?" she finally said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've sometimes thought there was a hardness in -me that repels."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps you're right," she admitted. "You'll -probably never know until you yourself fall in love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your objection to me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mine?" She seemed to reflect before answering. -"The principal one, I think, is your tyranny. -You crush out every individuality in your neighborhood. -You seem to want a monopoly of the light and air."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was that what used to make you so silent and -shut up in yourself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded. "I simply couldn't begin to grow. -You wouldn't have it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But now?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She smiled absently. "It often amuses me to see -how it irritates you that you can't—crowd me. You -do so firmly believe that a woman has no right to -individuality."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was not really listening. He was absorbed in -watching her slowly take off her long gloves; as her -white forearms, her small wrists, her hands, emerged -little by little, his blood burned with an exhilaration -like the sting of a sharp wind upon a healthy -skin——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neva, will you marry me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So far as he could see, she had not heard. She -kept on at the gloves until they were off, were lying -in her lap. She began to remove her hat pins; her -arms, bare to the elbows, were at their best in that -position.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A year ago, two years ago," he went on, "I -thought we had never been married. I know now that -we have never been unmarried."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And when did you make that interesting discovery?" -inquired she, still apparently giving her hat her -attention.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I saw how I felt toward Raphael. You -think I am jealous of him. But it is not jealousy. I -know you couldn't fall in love with a fellow that rigs -himself out like a peacock."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The delicate line of Neva's eyebrows lifted. "Boris -dresses to suit himself," said she. "I never think of -it—nor, I fancy, does he."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Besides," continued Armstrong, "you could no -more fall in love with him than you could at any other -place step over the line between a nice woman and the -other kind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—really!" he retorted, showing as much anger -as he dared. "My feeling about Raphael is that -he has no right to hang about another man's wife as -he does. And you feel the same way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>With graceful, sure fingers she was arranging her -hair where it had been pressed down by her hat. -"That is amusing," she said tranquilly. "You must -either change your idea of what 'nice woman' means -or change your idea of me. I haven't the slightest -sense of having been married to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible!" he maintained.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know why you say that—why men think that. -But I assure you, my friend, I have no more the -feeling that I am married than that I am still sick -because I had a severe illness once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His mind had been much occupied by memories of -their married days; their dead child so long, so -completely forgotten by him and never thought of as -a tie between him and his wife, had suddenly -become a thing of vividness, the solemn and eternal -sealing of its mother to him. Her calm repudiation of -him and his rights now seemed to him as unwomanly -as would have seemed any attempt on her part to claim -him, had he not begun to care for her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't say those things," he protested angrily. -"You don't mean them, and they sound horrible."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked at him satirically. "You men!" she -mocked. "You men, with your coarse, narrow ideas -of us women that encourage all that is least -self-respecting in us! I do not attach the same importance -to the physical side of myself that you do. I try -to flatter myself there is more to me than merely my -sex. I admit, nature intended only that. But we are -trying to improve on nature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you think you have made me ashamed -because I am still in a state of nature," he rejoined. -"But you haven't. No matter what any man may -pretend, he will care for you in the natural way as long -as you look as you do." And his glance swept her in -bold admiration. "As I said a while ago, I'm not -jealous of Raphael. I'm jealous of all men. -Sometimes I get to thinking about you—that you are -somewhere—with some man, several men—their heads full -of the ideas that steam in my head whenever I look at -you—and I walk the floor and grind my teeth in fury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The color was in her cheeks, though her eyes were -mocking. "Go on," she said. "This is interesting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—it must be interesting, and amusing, in view -of the way I used to act. But that was your fault. -You hid yourself from me then. You cheated me. -You let me make a fool of myself, and throw away the -best there was in my life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You forget your career," said she. "You aren't -a human being. You are a career."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you—a woman—would prefer an obscurity, -a nobody, provided he were a sentimental, -Harry-hug-the-hearth."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so," she said. "A nobody with a heart -rather than the greatest somebody on earth without -one. Heart is so much the most important thing in -the world. You'll find that out some day, when you're -not so strong and self-reliant and successful."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have found it out," replied he. "And that is -why I ask you to marry me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask me to become an incident in your career."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. To become joint, equal partner in our career."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head. "You couldn't, wouldn't have -a partner, male or female—not yet. Besides it would -be impossible for me to interest myself in getting rich -or taking care of riches or distributing them among -a crowd of sycophants."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not getting rich," replied he. "I'm making -a good salary, and spending it almost all. But I'm -not making much, outside."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had heard otherwise. They tell me your sort -of business is about the best 'graft'—isn't that the -word?—downtown, and that you are where you can get -as much as you care to carry away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I </span><em class="italics">could</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you don't? I knew it!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her belief in his honesty made him uncomfortable. -"I didn't say I was different from the others—really -different," he said hesitatingly. That very morning -he had been forced to listen to a long series of reports -on complaints of O.A.D. policy holders—how some -had been swindled by false promises of agents whom he -must shield; how others had been cheated on lapsed -or surrendered policies; how, in a score of sly ways, -the "gang" in control were stealing from their wards, -their trusting and helpless victims. "I can't, and -don't purpose to, deny," he went on to her, "that I'm -part of the system of inducing some other fellow to -sow, and then reaping his harvest, or most of it. I -don't put it in my own barn, but I do help at the -reaping. Oh, everything's perfectly proper and -respectable—at least, on the surface. But—well, -sometimes I get desperately sick of it all. Just now, I'm -in that mood; it brought me here to-day. There's a -row on down there, and it's plot and counterplot, move -and check, all very exciting, but I—hate it! Nobody's -to blame. It's simply a system that's grown up. And -if one plays the game, why, he's got to conform to -the rules."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">If</em><span> one plays the game."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's a man to do? Go back to the farm and -become a slave to a railroad company or a mortgage? -We can't all be painters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She glanced at him quickly with a sudden narrowing -of the eyelids that seemed to concentrate her gaze -like a burning glass. "I hadn't thought of that," said -she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had to be either a sheep or a shearer, -which would you choose?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that how it is?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Pretty nearly," was his gloomy reply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long silence, he staring at the floor, she watching -him. At last she said, "Haven't they—got—something -on you—something they can use against you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He startled. "Where did you hear that? What -did you hear?" he demanded, with an astonished look -at her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was lunching to-day with some people who -know we used to be married, but they don't know we're -good friends. They supposed I'd be glad to hear of -any misfortune to you. And they said a mine was -going to blow up under you, and that you'd disappear -and never be heard of again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can't tell me who told you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—unless it's absolutely necessary. It has -something to do with an investigating committee. -You're to be called quite suddenly and something is -to come out—something you did that will look -bad—" She came to a full stop.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face cleared. "Oh—I know about that. I've -arranged for it." His mind was free to consider her -manner. "And you assumed I was guilty?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't know," she replied. "I was sure you -were no worse than the rest of them. If you hadn't -come to-day, I'd have sent you warning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes lighted; he smiled triumphantly. "I told -you!" he cried. "You see, you still feel that we're -married, that our interests are the same."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She colored, but he could not be sure whether her -irritation was against herself or against him. "You -are very confident of yourself—and of me," said she -ironically, and her eyes were laughing at him. "And -this is the man," she mocked, "who less than three brief -years ago was so eager to be rid of me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he admitted, with a brave and not unsuccessful -effort at brazening out what could not be denied -or explained away. "But you were not the same -person then that you are now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And whose fault was that?" retorted she. "You -married me when I was a mere child. You could have -made of me what you pleased. Instead, you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I admit it all," he interrupted. "I married -you—from a base motive, though I can plead that I -glamoured it over to myself. Still, I owed it to myself -and to you to have done my level best with and for -you. And I shirked and skulked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not show the appreciation of this abjectness -which he had, perhaps unconsciously, expected. -Instead, she laughed satirically, but with entire good -humor. "How clever you think yourself, Horace," -said she, "and how stupid you think me. That's a -very old trick, to try to make a crime into a virtue -by confessing it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He hung his head, convicted. "At least," he said -humbly, "I love you now. If you will give me -another chance——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You had as good a chance as a man could ask," -she reminded him, without the anger that would have -made him feel sure of her. "How you used to -exasperate me! You assumed I had neither intelligence -nor feeling. You were so selfish, so self-centered. I -don't see how you can hope to be trusted, even as a -friend. You shake me off; you see me again; find I -have been somewhat improved by a stay in New York; -find I am not wholly unattractive to others. Your -jealousy is roused. No, please don't protest. You -see, I understand you perfectly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I deserve it," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do you think a woman would be showing even -the small good sense you concede women, if she were -to trust a man whose interest in her was based upon -jealousy of another man?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not jealous of that damned, scented foreigner, -with his rings and his jeweled canes and his -hand-kissing. I know it must make your honest American -flesh creep to have him touch his lips to the back -of your hand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva blazed at him. "How dare you!" she cried, -rising in her wrath. "How dare </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> stand in my -house, in my presence, and insult thus the best friend -I ever had—the only friend!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Friend!" sneered Armstrong. "I know all -about the sort of friendship that rake is capable of."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva was facing him with a look that blanched -his face. "You will withdraw those insults to Boris," -she said, in that low, even voice which is wrath's -deadliest form of expression, "and you will apologize to -me, or you will leave here, never to return."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I beg your pardon," he responded instantly. "I -am ashamed of having said those things. I—I ... It -was jealousy. I love you, and I can't bear to think -of the possibility of rivalry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are swift with apologies. In the future, -be less swift with impertinence and insult," she -answered, showing in manner, as well, that she was far -from mollified. "As between Boris's friendship and -professions of love from a man who only a little while -ago neglected and abandoned and forgot me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For God's sake, Neva," he pleaded. "I've been -paying for that. And now that you have shown me -how little hope there is for me, I shall continue to -suffer. Be a little merciful!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His agitation, where usually there was absolute -self-control, convinced and silenced her. Presently he -said, "Will you be friends again—if I'll behave myself?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded with her humorous smile and flash of -the eyes. "</span><em class="italics">If</em><span> you behave yourself," replied she. -"We were talking of—of Fosdick, was it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fosdick!" He made a gesture of disgust. -"That name! I never hear it or think of it except -in connection with something repulsive. It's always -like a whiff from a sewer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you were about to marry his daughter!" -said she, with a glance of raillery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He reddened; anything that was past for him was -so completely shut out and forgotten that, until she -reminded him, the sentimental episode with Amy was -as if it had not been. "Where did you hear that?" -he asked, his guilty eyes lowering; for he felt she -must have suspected why he had thought of -marrying Amy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everybody was talking about it when I came to -New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was silent for a moment. "Well," he finally -continued, "she and I are not even friends." Into -his eyes came the steely, ruthless look. "Within a -week I'm going to destroy Josiah Fosdick." Then, in -comment on her swiftly changing expression, "I see -you don't like that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," she replied bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going to do a public service," said he, absolutely -unconscious of the real reason why his threat -so jarred upon her. "I ought to have a vote of -thanks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She could not tell him that it was not his -condemnation of Josiah but his merciless casting out of -his friendship with Amy that revolted and angered and -saddened her. If she did tell him, he, so self-absorbed -and so bent upon his own inflexible purposes that he -was quite blind to his own brutality, would merely -think her jealous. Besides, she began to feel that her -real ground for anger against him ought to be Josiah's -fate, even if her femininity made the personal reason -the stronger. She accordingly said, "You just got -through telling me it was a system, and not any one -man's fault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong dismissed that with a shrug. "I'm in -his way, he's in mine. One or the other has to go -down. I'm seeing to it that it's not I." Then, -angered by her expression, and by the sense of accusing -himself in making what sounded like excuse, he cried, -"Say it! You despise me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't a judgment," she answered; "it's a feeling."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you don't know what the man has done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"One should not ask himself, What has the other -man done? but, What will my self-respect let me do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ignored this. "Let me tell you," he said, with -a return of the imperious manner that was second -nature to him nowadays. "This man brought me to New -York because he found I knew how to manage the -agents so that they would lure in the most suckers—that's -the only word for it. When I came, I believed -the O.A.D. was a big philanthropic institution—yes, -I did, really! Of course I knew men made money out -of it. I was making money out of it, myself. But I -thought that, in the main, the object was to give -people a chance to provide against old age and death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I remember," she said. "You used to talk -about what a grand thing it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed. "Well, we do give 'em </span><em class="italics">some</em><span> return -for their money—if they aren't careless and don't give -us a chance to cheat them out of part or all of it, -under the laws we've been fixing up against them. But -we never give anything like what's their due. I found -I was little more than a puller-in for a den of -respectable thieves—that life insurance is simply -another of the devices of these oily rascals here in New -York—like all their big stock companies and bonding -schemes and the rest of it—a trick to get hold of -money and use it for their own benefit. Ours is the -vilest trick of all, though—it seems to me. For we -play on people's heart strings, while the other swindles -appeal chiefly to cupidity." He took a magazine from -the table. "Look here!" He pointed to an illustrated -advertisement. "It's the 'ad' of one of our -rivals—same business as ours. See the widow with the -tears streaming down her cheeks, and the three little -children clinging to her; see the heap of furniture on -the sidewalk—that means they've ejected her for not -paying the rent. And the type says, 'This wouldn't -have happened if the father had been insured in the -Universal.' Clever, isn't it? Well, the men back of -that company and those back of ours and, worst of all, -Trafford's infamous gang, all get rich by stealing -from poor old people, from widows and orphans. -That is Fosdick's business—robbing dead bodies, -picking the pockets of calico mourning dresses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It gave him relief and a sense of doing penance, -to utter these truths about himself and his associates -that had been rankling in him. As he believed she knew -nothing of business and as he thought her sex did not -reason but only felt, he assumed she would accept his -own lenient view of his personal part in the infamy, -of his own deviations from the "ideal" standards. -Her expression disquieted him. "The most respectable -people in the country are in it, in some branch -of it," he hastened to explain, without admitting to -himself that he was explaining. "You must read the -list of our directors."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her silence alarmed him. He wished he had not -been so frank. Recalling his words he was appalled by -their brutality; he could not deny to himself that they -stated the truth, and he wondered that he had not -seen that truth in its full repulsiveness until now. -"Of course, they don't look at it that way," he went -on. "A man can get his conscience to applaud almost -anything he's making money out of—the more money, -the easier."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then they do these things quite openly?" said -Neva, in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Openly? Certainly not," replied Armstrong, -with a slight smile at her innocence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If they don't do them openly, they know just -what they're about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said, imperious and impatient. "You -don't understand human nature. You don't appreciate -how men delude themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His tone, its reminder of his intolerance of any -independence of thought in a woman, or in anyone -around him for that matter, brought the color to her -cheeks. "A man who does wrong, but thinks he is -doing right, is not ashamed," she answered. "If he -shuffles and conceals, you may be sure he does not -deceive himself, no matter how completely his pretense -deceives you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There seemed to be no answer to this. It made -ridiculous nonsense of the familiar excuse for reputable -rascality, the excuse he had heard a thousand times, -and had accepted without question. But it also -somehow seemed a home thrust through his own armor. -With anger that was what he would have called -feminine in its unreasonableness, he demanded, "Then you -don't think I have the right to tear Fosdick down?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you are going to tear them all down, and -yourself, too," was her answer, slowly spoken, but -firm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed ironically. "That's practical!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does a thing have to be dishonorable and -dishonest, to be practical?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"From your standpoint, yes," he replied. "At -this very moment Fosdick is chuckling over the scheme -he thinks will surely disgrace me forever! And you -are urging me to let him disgrace me. Is that what -you call friendship? Is that your idea of 'heart'?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She flushed, but rejoined undaunted, "You can -juggle with your conscience all you please, Horace—just -like the other men downtown. But you know the -truth, in the bottom of your heart, just as they do. -And if you rise by the way you've planned, you know -that, when you've risen, you'll do just as he was -doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then," said he, "your test of me is whether I'll -let you beg off this old buzzard, Fosdick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made a gesture of denial and appeal. "On the -contrary, I'd despise a man who did for a woman what -he wouldn't do for his own self-respect." She was -pale, but all the will in her character was showing -itself in her face. "What is Fosdick to me? Now that -you've told me about him, I think it's frightful to send -men to jail for stealing bread, and leave such a -creature at large. But—as to you—" Her bosom was -rising and falling swiftly—"as to you, I'm not -indifferent. You have stood for strength and courage, for -pride—for manliness. I thought you hard and cold—but -brave—really brave—too brave to steal, at least -from the helpless, or to assassinate even an assassin. -Now, I see that you've changed. Your ambition is -dragging you down, as ambition always does. And -what an ambition! To be the best, the most successful, -at cheating the helpless, at robbing the dead!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As she spoke, his expression of anger faded. When -she ended, with unsteady voice and fighting back the -tears, he did not attempt to reply. He had made of -his face an impassive mask. They were still silent, he -standing at the window, she sitting and gazing into -the fire, when Molly entered to announce Raphael. He -threw his coat over his arm, took up his hat. She -searched his face for some indication of his thoughts, -but could find none. He simply said, "I'll think it over."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="two-telephone-talks"><span class="bold large">XIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TWO TELEPHONE TALKS</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Armstrong, at Fosdick's house, was waiting in -a small reception room just off the front hall, he -heard the old man on the stairs, storming as he -descended. "It's a conspiracy," he was shouting. "You -all want to kill me. You've heard the doctor say I'll -die if I don't stop driving, and walk. Yet, there's that -damned carriage always at the door. I can't step out -that it isn't waiting for me, and you know I can't -resist if I see it. It's murder, that's what it is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Shall I send the carriage away, sir?" Armstrong -heard the butler say.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No!" cried Fosdick, rapping the floor with his -cane. "No! You know I won't send it away. I've -got to get some air, and it seems to me I can't walk."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>By this time he was at the door of the reception -room. "Good morning, Armstrong," he said with -surly politeness. "I'm sick to-day. I suppose you -heard me talking to this butler here. I tell you, things -to drive in are the ruin of the prosperous classes. Sell -that damn motor of yours. Never take a cab, if you -can help it. They're killing me with that carriage -of mine. Yes—and there's that infernal cook—chef, -as they call him. He's trying to earn his salary, and -he's killing me doing it. I eat the poison stuff—I can't -get anything else. No wonder I have indigestion and -gout. No wonder my head feels as if it was on fire -every morning. And my temper—I used to have a -good disposition. I'm getting to be a devil. It's a -conspiracy to murder me." There Fosdick noted -Armstrong's expression. He dropped his private woes -abruptly and said, with his wonted suavity, "But -what can I do for you to-day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I came to ask you to do an act of justice," -replied the Westerner, looking even huger and more -powerful than usual, in contrast with the other, whom -age and self-indulgence were rapidly shriveling.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong's calm was aggressive, would better -have become a dictator than a suitor. It was highly -offensive to Fosdick, who was rapidly reaching the -state of mind in which obsequiousness alone is tolerable -and manliness seems insolence. But he reined in his -temper and said, smoothly enough, "You can always -count on me to do justice."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to give me a letter, explaining that -those three hundred and fifty thousand dollars were -drawn by me and paid over, at your order."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick stared blankly at him. "What three -hundred and fifty thousand dollars?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong's big hands clenched into fists and he -set his teeth together sharply. Each man looked the -other full in the eyes. Armstrong said, "Will you -give me the letter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what you're talking about," replied -Fosdick steadily. "And don't explain. I can't talk -business to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've come to you, Mr. Fosdick," continued Armstrong, -"not on my own account, but on yours. I -ask you to give me the letter, because, if you do not, -the consequences will be unfortunate—not for me, but -for you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My dear Armstrong," said Fosdick, with wheedling -familiarity of elder to younger, "I don't know -what you're talking about, and I don't want to know. -Look at me, and spare me. Come for a drive. I'll -set you down anywhere you say. Don't be foolish, -young man. Don't use language to me that suggests -threats."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is your final answer? Is it quite useless to -discuss the matter with you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm too sick to wrangle with business to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you refuse to give me the letter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If my doctor knew I had let anybody mention -business to me, he'd desert me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Without a further word Armstrong turned, left -the room and the house. Fosdick did not follow -immediately. Instead, he seated himself to puzzle at this -development. "Hugo stirred him up about that, and -he's simply trying to get ready for the committee," -he decided. "If he knew, or even suspected, he'd act -very differently. He's having his heart broken none -too soon. I've never seen a worse case of swollen head. -I pushed him up too fast. I'm really to blame; I'm -always doing hasty, generous things, and getting -myself into trouble, and those I meant to help. Poor -fool. I'm sorry for him. I suppose once I get him -down in his place, I'll be soft enough to relent and -give him something. He's got talent. I can use him, -once I have him broken to the bit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In came Amy, the color high in her cheeks from -her morning walk. She kissed him on both cheeks. -"Well, well, what do </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> want?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you know I want anything?" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In the first place, because nobody ever comes near -me except to get something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Just as you never go near anybody except to -take something," she retorted, with a pull at his -mustache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick was amused. "In the second place," he -went on, "because you are affectionate—which not -only means that you want something, but also that the -something is a thing you feel I won't give. And you're -no doubt right."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What are you in such a good humor about?" said -she. "You were cross as a bear in a swarm of bees, -at breakfast."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not in a good humor," he protested. "I'm -depressed. I'm looking forward to doing a very -unpleasant duty to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His daughter laughed at him. "You may be trying -to persuade yourself it's unpleasant. But the -truth is, you're delighted. Papa, I've been thinking -about the entrance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Keep on thinking, but don't speak about it," -retorted he, frowning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really—it's an eyesore—so small, so out of -proportion, so cheap——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Cheap!" exclaimed Fosdick. "Why, those -bronze doors alone cost seventeen thousand dollars."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is </span><em class="italics">that</em><span> all!" scoffed his daughter. "Trafford's -cost forty thousand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I'm not a thief like Trafford. And let me -tell you, my child, seventeen thousand dollars at four -per cent would produce each year a larger sum than -the income of the average American family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I've often heard you say the common people -have entirely too much money, more than they know -how to spend. Now—about the entrance. Alois and I——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you marry Fred Roebuck, I'll let you -build yourself any kind of town house you like," -interrupted her father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She perched on the arm of his chair. "Now, -really, father, you know you wouldn't let me marry a -man it makes me shudder to shake hands with?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nonsense—a mere notion. You try to feel that -way because you know you ought to marry him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Never—never—</span><em class="italics">never</em><span>!" cried Amy, kissing him -at each "never." "Besides, he's engaged to Sylvia -Barrow. He got tired of waiting for me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick pushed away from her. "I'm bitterly -disappointed in you," he said, scowling at her. "I've -been assuming that you would come to your senses. -What would become of you, if I had as little regard -for your wishes as you have for mine?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fred Roebuck was a nobody," she pleaded. -"You despised him yourself. Now, papa dear, I'm -thinking of marrying a somebody, a man who really -amounts to something in himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who?" demanded Fosdick, bristling for battle.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alois Siersdorf."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick sprang up, caught her roughly by the -arm. "What!" he shouted. "</span><em class="italics">What!</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A man you like and admire," Amy went on, getting -her tears ready. "He </span><em class="italics">looks</em><span> distinguished, and -he </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> distinguished, and is certain to be more so. -Besides, what's the use of being rich, if one can't please -herself when it comes to taking a husband? I want -somebody I won't be ashamed of, somebody I can live -near without shuddering." And the tears descended -in floods.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her father turned his rage against Alois. "The -impudence of a fellow like that aspiring to a girl in -your position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he hasn't been impudent. He's been very -humble and backward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Josiah was busy with his own rage. "Why, he's -got </span><em class="italics">nothing</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing but brains."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Brains!" Fosdick snorted contemptuously. -"Why, they're a drug on the market. I can buy -brains by the hundred. Men with brains are falling -over each other downtown, trying to sell out for a -song."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not brains like his," she protested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Better—a hundred times better. Why, his brain -belongs to me. I've bought it. I have it whenever and -for whatever I want."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I—I love him, father," she sobbed, hiding her -face in his shoulder. "I've tried my best not to. But -I can't live without him. I—I—</span><em class="italics">love</em><span> him!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick was profoundly moved. There were tears -in his eyes, and he gently stroked her hair. She -reached out for his hand, took it, kissed it, and put -it under her cheek—she hated to have anyone touch -her hair, which was most troublesome to arrange to -her liking. "Listen to me, child," said the old man. -"You remember when Armstrong was trying to -impose on your tender heart? You remember what I -said? Was I not right? Aren't you glad you took -my advice?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I never loved him—really," said Amy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you don't love Alois. You couldn't love one -of our dependents. You have too much pride for that. -But, again I want to warn you. There's a -reason—the best of reasons—why you must not be even friendly -with—this young Siersdorf. I can't explain to you. -He's an adventurer like Armstrong. Wait a few -days—a very few days, Amy. He has been careful to let -you see only the one side of him. There's another side. -When you see that, you'll be ashamed you ever thought -of him, even in jest. You'll see why I want you to be -safely established as the wife of some substantial man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me what it is, father."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I tell nothing," replied Fosdick. "Wait, and -you will see."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it something to his discredit? If so, I can -tell you right now it isn't true."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Wait—that's all. Wait."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, father—after all he's done for us, isn't it -only fair to warn him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Warn him of what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of what you say is going to happen."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you want to do yourself and me the greatest -possible damage, you'll hint to him what I've said. Do -you understand?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't fair not to warn him," she insisted. And -she released herself from his arms and faced him -defiantly. "I tell you, I love him, father!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Was ever parent so cursed in his children!" cried -Fosdick. "I'm in the house of my enemies. I tell -you, Amy, you are to keep your mouth </span><em class="italics">shut</em><span>!" He -struck the floor sharply with his cane. "I will be -obeyed, do you hear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And I tell you, father," retorted Amy, "that I'm -going to warn him. He's straight and honest, and -he loves me and he has done things for me, for us, -that make us his debtor."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick threw up his arms in angry impotence. -"Do your damnedest!" he cried. "After all, what can -you tell him? You can only throw him into a fever -and put him in a worse plight. But I warn you that, -if you disobey me, I'll make you pay for it. I'll cut -off your allowance. I'll teach you what it means to -love and respect a father." And he raged out of the -house.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Even as her father went, Amy felt in the foundation -of her defiance the first tremors of impending -collapse. She rushed upstairs to the telephone; she would -not let this impulse to do the generous, no, simply the -decent, thing ooze away as her impulses of that sort -usually did, if she had or took time to calculate the -personal inconvenience from executing them. After a -rather common and most pleasing human habit, she -regarded herself as generous, and was so regarded, -because she had generous impulses; to execute them was, -therefore, more or less superfluous. In this particular -instance, however, she felt that impulse was not -enough; there must be action.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it you?" came in Alois's voice, just in time -to stimulate her flagging energy. "I was about to -call </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must see you at once," said Amy, with feverish -eagerness. "I've got something very, very important -to say to you." She hesitated, decided that she -must commit herself beyond possibility of -evasion—"something about an attempt to do you a great -injury."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" His tone was curiously constrained; it -seemed to her that there was terror, guilt, in it. -"Shall I come up? I've just found out I must sail -for Europe at noon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"At noon! </span><em class="italics">To-day?</em><span>"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In about two hours. And I must say good-by -to you. It's very sudden. I haven't even told my -sister yet, though she's in the next room, here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll come down—that is—I'll try to." Amy felt -weak, sick, sinking, suffocating in a whirl of doubts -and fears. "You are going on business?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," came the answer in a voice that rang false. -"On business. I'll be away only a few weeks, I think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I shouldn't be able to come—good-by," said Amy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I hope— Let me come— Wouldn't that be better?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Not a word about what she had said, when it ought -to have put him into a quiver of anxiety; certainly, -his going abroad looked like knowledge, guilt, flight. -"No—no—you mustn't come," she commanded. "I'll -do my best to get to you." And she added, "We -might simply miss each other, if you didn't wait there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please—Amy!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shivered. How far she had gone with him! -And her father was right! "Good-by," she faltered, -hastily ringing off.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>If she could have seen him, her worst suspicions -would have been confirmed; for his hair was mussed -and damp with sweat, his skin looked as if he were -in a garish light. He tried to compose himself, went -in where his sister was at work—absorbed in making -the drawings of a new kind of chimney-piece she had -been thinking out. "Cis," he said, in an uncertain -voice, "I'm off for Europe at noon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She wheeled on him. "Fosdick?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded. "His secretary, Waller, was just here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few seconds during which he could feel the -energy of her swift thoughts. Then, "Wait!" she -commanded, and darted into her private office, closing -the door.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was gone twenty minutes. "The person I was -calling up hadn't got in," she explained, when she -returned. "I had to wait for him. You are to stay -here—you are not to go in any circumstances."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must go," was his answer in a dreary tone. "I -promised Fosdick, and I daren't offend him. -Besides—well, it's prudent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'Lois," said Narcisse earnestly, "I give you my -word of honor, it would be the very worst step you -could take, to obey Fosdick and go. I promise you -that, if you stay, all will be well. If you go, you would -better throw yourself into the sea, midway, for you -will ruin your reputation—ours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He dropped into a chair. "My instinct is against -going," he confessed. "I've done nothing. I haven't -got a cent that doesn't belong to me honestly. But, -Cis, I simply mustn't offend Fosdick."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because of Amy?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you go, you'll have no more chance for her -than—than a convict in a penitentiary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know something you are not telling me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do. Something I can't tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He supported his aching head with his hands and -stared long at the floor. "I'll not go!" he exclaimed, -springing to his feet suddenly. "I've done nothing -wrong. I'll not run away."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse had been watching him as if she were -seeing him struggling for his life in deep water before -her very eyes. At his words, at his expression, like -his own self, the brother she had brought up and -guarded and loved with the love that is deeper than -any love which passion ever kindled—at this proclamation -of the victory of his better self, she burst into -tears. "'Lois! 'Lois!" she sobbed. "Now I can be -happy again. If you had gone it would have killed -me." And the tone in which she said it made him -realize that she was speaking the literal truth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The natural color was coming back to his face. He -patted her on the shoulder. "I'm not a weak, damn -fool clear through, Cissy," cried he, "though, I must -say, I've got a big, broad streak of it. You are sure -of your ground?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Absolutely," she assured him, radiant now, and -so beautiful that even he noted and admired. But -then, he was in the mood to appreciate her. So long -as the way was smooth, he could neglect her and put -aside her love, as we all have the habit of neglecting -and taking for granted, in fair weather, the things -that are securely ours. But, let the storms come, and -how quickly we show that we knew all the time, in our -hearts, whom we could count on, could draw upon for -strength and courage—the few, real friends—perhaps, -only one—and one is quite enough, is legion, if it be -the right one.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not trusting to somebody else?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course I am. But he's a real somebody, one -I'd stake my life on. 'Lois, I know."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That settles it," said he. "But even if you -weren't sure, even if I were certain the worst would -overtake me, I'd not budge out of this town. As for -Amy, if she's what I think her, she'll stand the test. -If not— After all, I don't need anybody but you, -Cissy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he embraced and kissed her, and went back to -his own part of the offices, head high and step firm. -He stirred round there uneasily for a while, then shut -himself in with the telephone and called up Fosdick's -house. "I wish to speak to Miss Fosdick," he said. -Presently he heard Amy's voice. "Well, Hugo?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It isn't your brother," said Alois. "It's I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh!" Her tone was very different—and he did -not like it, though he could not have said why. "The -servant," she explained, "said she thought it was -Hugo."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've changed my mind about going abroad. You -said you wanted to see me about some matter. I -think—in fact, I'm sure—I know what you mean. Don't -trouble; I'll come out all right. By the way, please -tell your father I'm not going, will you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Father!" she exclaimed. "Did </span><em class="italics">he</em><span> want you to go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather not talk about that. It's a matter -of business. Please don't give him the impression I -told you anything. Really, I haven't—have I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did father want you to go abroad?" insisted Amy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't talk about it over the telephone. I'll tell -you when I see you—all about it—if you think you'd -be interested."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Please answer my one question," she pleaded. -"Then I'll not bother you any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—yes." He waited for her next remark, -but it did not come. "Are you still there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," came her answer, faint and strange.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it?" he cried. "What's the matter?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing. Good-by—and—I'm </span><em class="italics">so</em><span> glad you're -not going—oh, I can't express how glad—</span><em class="italics">Alois</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not give him the chance to reply.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="boris-discloses-himself"><span class="bold large">XX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BORIS DISCLOSES HIMSELF</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Hugo, sitting to Boris for the portrait afterward -locally famous as "The Young Ass," fell into the habit -of expatiating upon Armstrong. His mind was full -of the big Westerner, the author of the most abject -humiliation of his life, the only one he could not explain -away, to his own satisfaction, as wholly some one else's -fault. Boris humored him, by discreetly sympathetic -response even encouraged him to talk freely; nor was -Boris's sole reason the undeniable fact that when Hugo -was babbling about Armstrong, his real personality -disported itself unrestrained in the features the -painter was striving to portray. The wisest parent -never takes a just measure of his child; and, while the -paternal passion is tardier in beginning than the -maternal, it is full as deluding once it lays hold. Fosdick -thought he regarded Hugo as a fool; also he had fresh -in mind proof that Hugo was highly dangerous to -any delicate enterprise. Yet he confided in him that -they would both be soon signally revenged upon the -impudent upstart. He did not tell how or when; but -Hugo guessed that it would be at the coming "investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A very few days after his father had told him, he -told Boris. What possible danger could there be in -telling a painter who hadn't the slightest interest in -business matters, and who hadn't the intellect to -understand them? For Hugo had for the intellect of -the painter the measureless contempt of the -contemptible. Also, Boris patterned his dress after the -Continental fashions for which Hugo, severely and -slavishly English in dress, had the Englishman's -derisive disdain. Boris listened to Hugo's confidence with -no sign, of interest or understanding, and Hugo -babbled on. Soon, Boris knew more than did Hugo of -the impending catastrophe to the one man in the whole -world whom he did the honor of hating.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hate is an unusual emotion in a man so tolerant, -so cynical, at once superior and conscious of it. But, -watching Armstrong with Neva, watching Neva when -Armstrong was about, Raphael had come to feel rather -than to see that there was some tie between them. He -had no difficulty in imagining the nature of this tie. -A man and a woman who have lived together may, -often do, remain entire strangers; but however -constrained and shy and unreal their intimacy may have -been, still that intimacy has become an integral part -of their secret selves. It is the instinctive realization -of this, rather than physical jealousy, that haunts and -harrows the man who knows his wife or mistress did -not come to him virgin, and that does not leave him -until the former husband or lover is dead. Boris did -not for an instant believe Neva could by any -possibility fall in love with Armstrong—what could she, -the artistic and refined, have in common with Armstrong, -crude, coarse, unappreciative of all that meant -life to her? A man could care without mental or heart -sympathy, and a certain kind of woman; but not a -Neva, whose delicacy was so sensitive that he, with all -his expert delicacy of touch, all his trained softness -of reassuring approach, was still far from her. No, -Neva could never love Armstrong. But why did she -not detest him? Why did she tolerate a presence that -must remind her of repulsive hours, of moments of -horror too intense even to quiver? "It is the feminine, -the feline in her," he reflected. "She is avenging -herself in the pleasure of watching his torment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was logical, was consoling. However, Boris -was wishing she would get her fill of vengeance and send -the intruder about his stupid, vulgar business. Hugo's -news thrilled him. "I hope the hulk will have to fly -the country," he said to himself. He did not hope, as -did Hugo, that Armstrong would have to go to the -penitentiary. Such was his passion for liberty, for -the free air and sunshine, that he could not think with -pleasure of even an enemy's being behind bolts and -bars and the dank dusk of high, thick prison walls. -As several weeks passed without Armstrong's calling—he -always felt it when Armstrong had been there—he -became as cheerful, as gay, and confident as of old.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he soon began to note that Neva was not up -to the mark. "What is it?" he at once asked -himself in alarm whose deep, hidden causes he did not -suspect, so slow are men of his kind to accuse -themselves of harboring so vanity-depressing a passion as -jealousy. "Has he got wind of his danger? Has he -been trying to work on her sympathies?" He -proceeded to find out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's wrong, my dear?" asked he, in his gentle, -caressing, master-to-pupil way. "You aren't as -interested as you were. This sunshine doesn't reflect -from your face and your voice as it should."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been worried about a friend of mine," -confessed she. "There's no real cause for worry, but I -can't shake off a foreboding."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me," urged he. "It'll do you good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's nothing I can talk about. Really, I'm not -so upset as you seem to imagine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But a few moments later he heard a deep sigh. He -glanced at her; she was staring into vacancy, her face -sad, her eyes tragic. In one of these irresistible gusts -of passion, he flung down his brushes, strode up to her. -"What has that scoundrel been saying to you?" he -demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She startled, rose, faced him in amazement.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Boris!" she cried breathlessly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The body that is molded upon a spirit such as -his—or hers—becomes as mobile to its changes as cloud -to sun and wind. Boris's good looks always had a -suggestion of the superhuman, as if the breath of life -in him were a fiercer, more enduring flame than in -ordinary mortals. That superhuman look it was that -had made Neva, the sensitive, the appreciative, unable -ever quite to shake off all the awe of him she had -originally felt. The man before her now had never looked -so superhuman; but it was the superhumanness of the -fiend. She shrank in fascinated terror. His sensuous -features were sensuality personified; his rings, his -jeweled watch guard, his odor of powerful perfume, -all fitted in with his expression, where theretofore they -had seemed incongruous. "Boris!" she repeated. -"Is that </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her face brought him immediately back to himself, -or rather to his normal combination of cynical -good-humored actuality and cynical good-humored pose. -The vision had vanished from her eyes, so utterly, so -swiftly, that she might have thought she had been -dreaming, had it not remained indelibly upon her -mind—especially his eyes, like hunger, like thirst, like -passion insatiable, like menace of mortal peril. It is -one thing to suspect what is behind a mask; it is quite -another matter to see, with the mask dropped and the -naked soul revealed. As she, too, recovered herself, her -terror faded; but the fascination remained, and a -certain delight and pride in herself that she was the -conjurer of such a passion as that. For women never -understand that they are no more the authors of the -passions they evoke than the spark is the author of -the force in the dynamite it explodes or of the ensuing -destruction; if the dynamite is there, any spark, -rightly placed, will do the work.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it's I," replied Raphael, rather confusedly. -He was as much disconcerted by what he had himself -seen of himself, as by having shown it to her. A storm -that involves one's whole being stirs up from the -bottom and lifts to the surface many a strange secret of -weakness and of wickedness, none stranger than the -secrets of one's real feelings and beliefs, so different -from one's professions to others and to himself. -Raphael had seen two of these secrets—first, that he was -insanely jealous of Armstrong; second, that he was in -love with Neva. Not the jealousy and the love that -yet leave a man master of himself, but the jealousy -and the love that enslave. In the silence that followed -this scene of so few words and so strong emotions, -while Neva was hanging fascinated over the discovery -of his passion for her, he was gazing furtively at her, -the terror that had been hers now his.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had been fancying he was leading her along the -flower-walled path he had trod so often with some -passing embodiment of his passing fancy, was luring -her to the bower where he had so often taught what -he called and thought "the great lesson." Instead, -he was himself being whirled through space—whither? -"I love her!" he said to himself, tears in his eyes and -tears and fears in his heart. "This is not like the -others—not at all—not at all. I love her, and I am -afraid." And then there came to him a memory—a -vision—a girl whom he had taught "the great lesson" -years before; she had disappeared when he grew -tired—or, perhaps it would be more accurate to say, when -he had exhausted for the time the capacity of his -nerves; for how can a man grow tired of what he never -had?—and the rake kills the bird for the one feather -in its crest. At any rate, he sent her away; he was -seeing now the look in her eyes, as she went without -a murmur or a sigh. And he was understanding at -last what that look meant. In the anguish of an -emotion like remorse, yet too selfish, perhaps, too -self-pitying for remorse, he muttered, "Forgive me. I -didn't know what I was doing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The vision faded back to the oblivion from which it -had so curiously emerged. He glanced at Neva again, -with critical eyes, like a surgeon diagnosing stolidly his -own desperate wound. She was, or seemed to be, busy -at her easel. He could study her, without interruption. -He made slow, lingering inventory of her physical -charms—beauties of hair and skin and contour, -beauties of bosom's swell and curve of arm and slant -of hip and leg. No, it was not in any of these, this -supreme charm of her for him. Where then?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For the first time he saw it. He had been assuming -he was regarding her as he had regarded every -other woman in the long chain his memory was weaving -from his experiences and was coiling away to beguile -his days of the almond tree and the bated sound of -the grinding. And he had esteemed these women at -their own valuation. It was the fashion for women to -profess to esteem themselves, and to expect to be -esteemed, for reasons other than their physical charms. -But Boris, searcher into realities, held that only those -women who by achievement earn independence as a man -earns it, have title to count as personalities, to be taken -seriously in their professions. He saw that the women -he knew made only the feeblest pretense to real -personal value other than physical; they based themselves -upon their bodies alone. So, women had been to him -what they were to themselves—mere animate flesh.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He attached no more importance—beyond polite -fiction—than did they themselves to what they thought -and felt; it was what men thought of their persons, -what feelings their persons roused in men—that is, in -him. And he meted out to them the fate they expected, -respected him the more for giving them; when they -ceased to serve their sole purpose of ornament or -plaything he flung them away, with more ceremony, -perhaps, but with no less indifference than the emptied -bottles of the scent he imported in quantity and -drenched himself with.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he saw the truth about Neva now—saw why, -after the few first weeks of their acquaintance, he had -not even been made impatient by her bad days—the -days when her skin clouded, her eyes dimmed, her hair -lost its luster, and the color, leaving her lips, seemed -to take with it the dazzling charm of her blue-white -teeth. Why? Because her appeal to his senses was -not so strong as her appeal to— He could not tell -what it was in him this inner self of hers appealed -to. Heart? Hardly; that meant her physical beauty. -Intellect? Certainly not that; intellect rather wearied -him than otherwise, and the sincerest permanent longing -of his life was to cease from thinking, to feel, only -to feel—birds, flowers, perfumed airs, the thrill of -winds among grasses and leaves, sunshine, the play of -light upon women's hair, the ecstasy of touch drifting -over their smooth, magnetic bodies. No, it was neither -her intellect nor her heart, any more than it was her -loveliness. Or, rather, it was all three, and that -something more which makes a man happy he knows not -why and cares not to know why.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I would leave anyone else to come to her," he said -to himself. "And if anyone else lured me away from -her, it would be only for the moment; I would know I -should have to return to her, as a dog to its -master." He repeated bitterly, mockingly, "As a dog to its -master. That's what it means to be artist—more -woman than man, and more feminine than any woman -ever was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stood behind her, looking at her work. "You'd -better stop for to-day," he said presently. "You're -only spoiling what you did yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So I am," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She put down palette and brushes with a sigh and -a shrug. When she turned, he stood his ground and -looked into her eyes. "I've been letting outside things -come between me and my work," she went on, pretending -to ignore his gaze.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You guessed my secret a few minutes ago?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded, and it half amused, half hurt him to -note that she was physically on guard, lest he should -seize her unawares.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His smile broadened. "You needn't be alarmed," -said he, clasping his hands behind his back. "I've no -intention of doing it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was smiling now, also. "Well," she said. -"What next?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why are you afraid?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am not afraid." She clasped her hands behind -her, like his, looked at him with laughing, level eyes; -for he and she were of the same height. "Not a bit."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why were you afraid?" he corrected. "You -never were before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed to reflect. "No, I never was," she -admitted. Her gaze dropped and her color came.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neva," he said gently, "do you love me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She lifted her eyes, studied him with the characteristic -half closing of the lids that made her gaze -so intense and so alluring. He could not decide -whether that gaze was coquetry, as he hoped, or simply -sincere inquiry, as he feared. "I do not know," she -said. "I admire and respect you above all men."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed, carefully concealing how her words -had stung him. "Admire! Respect!" He made a -mocking little bow. "I thank you, madam. But—in -old age—after death—is soon enough for that cold -grandeur."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not know," she repeated. "I had never -thought about it until a while ago—when you—when -your expression—" She dropped her gaze again. "I -can't explain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Coquetry or shyness? He could not tell. "Neva, -do you love anyone else?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think—not," replied she, very low.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His eyes were like a tiger peering through a -flower-freighted bush. "You love Armstrong," he urged, -softly as the purr before the spring.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was gazing steadily at him now. "We were -talking of you and me," rejoined she, her voice clear -and positive. "If I loved you, it would not be -because I did not love some other man. If I did not -love you it would not be because I did love some -other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There might be evasion in that reply, but there -could be no lack of sincerity. "I beg your pardon," -he apologized. "I forgot. The idea that there could -be such a woman as you is very new to me. A few -minutes ago, I made a discovery as startling as when -I first saw you—there at the Morrises."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much I owe you!" she exclaimed, and her -whole face lighted up.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But his shadowed; for he remembered that of all -the emotions gratitude is least akin to love. "I made -a startling discovery," he went on. "I discovered -you—a you I had never suspected. And I discovered a -me I had never dreamed of. Neva, I love you. I -have never loved before."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She grew very pale, and he thought she was trembling. -But when, with her returning color, her eyes -lifted to his, they were mocking. "Why, your tone -was even better than I should have anticipated. -You—love?" scoffed she. "Do you think I could study -you this long and not find out at least that about you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you," he insisted, earnestly enough, though -his eyes were echoing her mockery.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You could not love," affirmed she. "You have -given yourself out little by little—here and there. -You have really nothing left to give."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A man of less vision, of slower mind would have -been able to protest. But Boris instantly saw what -she meant, felt the truth in her verdict. "Nothing left -to give?" he repeated. "Do you think so?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know it," replied she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There are some words that sound like the tolling -of the bells of fate; those words of hers sounded thus -to him. "Nothing left to give," he repeated. Had -he indeed wasted his whole self upon trifles? Had -he lit his lamps so long before the feast that now, -with the bride come, they were quite burned out? He -looked at her and, like the vague yet vivid visions -music shows us and snatches away before we have seen -more than just that they were there, he caught a -haunting glimpse of the beauty supernal which he -loved and longed for, but with his tired, blunted senses -could not hope to realize or attain.... The blasphemer's -fate!—to kiss the dust before the god he -had reviled.... He burst out laughing, his hearty, -sensuous, infectious laughter. "I'm getting senile," -said he. With a flash of angrily reluctant awe, "Or -rather, you have bewitched me." He got ready to -depart. "So, my lady of joy and pain, you do not -love me—yet?" he inquired jestingly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She shook her head with a smile which the gleam -of her eyes from their narrow lids and the sweeping -lashes made coquettish. "Not yet," replied she, in -his own tone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, don't try. Love doesn't come for must. -To-morrow? Yes. A new day, a new deal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They shook hands warmly, looked at each other -with laughing eyes, no shadow of seriousness either in -him or in her. "You are the first woman I ever loved," -said he. "And you shall be the last. I do not like -this love, now that I am acquainted with it." The -sunlight pouring upon his head made him beautiful -like a Bacchus, with color and life glittering in his -crisp, reddish hair and virile, close-cropped beard. "I -do not feel safe when my soul's center of gravity is -in another person." He kissed her hand. "Till to-morrow."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was smiling, coloring, trying to hide the smile; -but he could not tell whether it was because she was -more moved than she cared to have him see, or merely -because his curious but highly effective form of -adoration pleased her vanity and she did not wish him to -see it. "To-morrow," echoed she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He bowed himself out, still smiling, as if once -beyond the door he might burst into laughter at himself -or at her—or might wearily drop his merry mask. -Her last look that he saw was covertly inquiring, -doubtful—as if she might be wondering, Is he in -earnest, does he really care, or was he only imagining -love and exaggerating the fancy to amuse himself and me?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Outside the door, he did drop his mask of comedy -to reveal a face not without the tragic touch in its -somberness. "Does she care?" he muttered. And he -answered himself, "After all my experience! ... -Experience! It simply puts hope on its mettle. Do I -not know that if she loved she would not hesitate? -And yet— Hope! You Jack-o'-lantern, luring man -deeper and deeper into the slough of despond. I know -you for the trickster you are, Hope. But, lead on!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he went his way, humming the "March of the -Toreadors" and swinging his costly, showy, -tortoise-shell cane gayly.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-sensational-day"><span class="bold large">XXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A SENSATIONAL DAY</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Fosdick, summoned by telephone, entered -the august presence of the august committee of the -august legislature of the august "people of the State -of New York, by the grace of God free and independent," -there were, save the reporters, a scant dozen -spectators. The purpose of the committee had been -dwindled to "a technical inquiry with a view further -to improve the excellent laws under which the purified -and at last really honest managements of insurance -companies and banks had brought them to such a high -state of honest strength." So, the announcement in -the morning papers that the committee was to begin -its labors for the public good attracted attention only -among those citizens who keep themselves informed of -loafing places that are comfortable in the cold weather. -Fosdick bowed with dignified deference to the -committee; the committee bowed to Fosdick—respectfully -but nervously. There were five in the row seated -behind the long oak table on the rostrum under the -colossal figure of Justice. Furthest to the left sat -Williams, in the Legislature by grace of the liquor -interests; next him, Tomlinson, representing certain -up-the-country traction and power interests; to the right -of the chairman were Perry and Nottingham, the -creatures of two railway systems. The -chairman—Kenworthy, of Buffalo—had been in the Assembly -nearly twenty years, for the insurance interests. He -was a serious, square-bearded, pop-eyed little old man, -most neat and respectable, and without a suspicion -that he was not the most honorable person in the world, -doing his full duty when he did precisely what the -great men bade. Since the great capitalists were the -makers and maintainers of prosperity, whatever they -wanted must be for the good of all. The fact that -he was on the private pay rolls of five companies and -got occasional liberal "retainers" from seven others, -was simply the clinching proof of the fitness of the -great men to direct—they knew how properly to -reward their helpers in taking care of the people. There -are good men who are more dangerous than the slyest -of the bad. Kenworthy was one of them.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The committee did not know what it was assembled -for. It is not the habit of the men who "run things" -to explain their orders to understrappers. Smelling -committees are of four kinds: There is the committee -the boss sets at doing nothing industriously because -the people are clamoring that something be done. -There is the committee the boss sends to "jack up" -some interest or interests that have failed to "cash -down" properly. There is the committee that is sent -into doubtful districts, just before election, to pretend -to expose the other side—and sometimes, if there has -been a quarrel between the bosses, this kind of -committee acts almost as if it were sincere. Finally, there -is the committee the boss sends out to destroy the rivals -of his employers in some department of finance or -commerce. This particular smelling committee suspected -it was to have some of the shortcomings of the -rivals of the O.A.D. put under its nostrils by its -counsel, Morris; it knew the late Galloway had owned -the governor and the dominant boss, and that -Fosdick was supposed to have inherited them, along with -sundry other items of old Galloway's power. Again, -the object might be purely defensive. There had been, -of late, a revival of popular clamor against insurance -companies, which the previous investigation, started by -a quarrel among the interests and called off when that -quarrel was patched up, had left unquieted. This -committee might be simply a blindfold for the eyes -of the ass—said ass being the public with its loud -bray and its long ears and its infinite patience.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As Fosdick seated himself, after taking the oath, -he noted for the first time the look on all faces—as -if one exciting act of a drama had just ended and -another were about to begin. Out of the corner of -his eye he saw Westervelt and Armstrong, seated side -by side—Westervelt, fumbling with his long white -beard, his eyes upon the twenty-thousand-dollar sable -overcoat lying across Fosdick's knees; Armstrong, -huge and stolid, gazing straight at Fosdick's face with -an expression inscrutable beyond its perfect calm. -"He's taking his medicine well," thought Fosdick. -"For Westervelt must have testified, and then, of -course, he had his turn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morris, a few feet in front of him, was busy with -papers and books that rustled irritatingly in the tense -silence. Fosdick watched him tranquilly, as free from -anxiety as to what he would do as a showman about -his marionette. Morris straightened himself and -advanced toward Fosdick. They eyed each the other -steadily; Fosdick admired his servant—the broad, -intelligent brow, the pallor of the student, the keen eyes -of the man of affairs, the sensitive mouth. The fact -that he looked the very opposite of a bondman, at -least to unobservant eyes, was not the smallest of his -assets for Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Fosdick," began the lawyer, in his rather -high-pitched, but flexible and agreeable tenor voice, -"we will take as little of your time as possible. We -know you are an exceedingly busy man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you, sir," said Fosdick, with a dignified -bend of the head. A very respectable figure he made, -sitting there in expensive looking linen and well cut -dark suit, the sable overcoat across his knee and over -one arm, a top hat in his other hand. "My time is -at your disposal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In examining some of the books of the O.A.D.—you -are a director of the O.A.D.?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, sir. I have been for forty-two years."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And very influential in its management?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They frequently call on me for advice, and, as -the institution is a philanthropy, I feel it my duty -always to respond."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick noted that a smile, discreet but unmistakably -derisive, ran round the room. Morris's face was -sober, but the smile was in his eyes. Fosdick sat still -straighter and frowned slightly. He highly disapproved -of cynicism directed at himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In looking at some of the books with Mr. Westervelt -a while ago," continued Morris, "we came upon -a matter—several items—which we thought ought to -be explained at once. We wish no public -misapprehensions to arise through any inadvertence of ours. -So we have turned aside from the regular course of the -investigation, to complete the matter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick's face betrayed his satisfaction—all had -gone well; Armstrong was in the trap; it only -remained for him to close it. Morris now took up a -thin, well-worn account book which Fosdick recognized -as the chief of Westervelt's four treasures. "I find -here," he continued, "fourteen entries of twenty-five -thousand dollars each—three hundred and fifty -thousand dollars, in all—drawn by the President of the -O.A.D., Mr. Armstrong here. Will you kindly tell -us all you know about those items?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mr. Fosdick smiled slightly. "Really, Mr. Morris," -replied he, with the fluency of the well-rehearsed -actor, "I cannot answer that question, as you put it. -Even if I knew all about the items, I might not -recognize them from your too scanty description."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We have just had Mr. Armstrong on the stand," -said the lawyer. "He testified that he drew the money -under your direction and paid it—the most of it—in -your presence to Benjamin Sigourney, who looked -after political matters for your company."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick's expression of sheer amazement was -sincerity itself. He looked from Morris to Armstrong. -With his eyes and Armstrong's meeting, he said -energetically, "I know of no such transaction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You do not recall any of the </span><em class="italics">fourteen</em><span> transactions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not recall them, because they never occurred. -So far as I know, the legislative business of the -O.A.D. is looked after by the legal department exclusively. -I have been led to believe, and I do believe that, since -the reforms in the O.A.D. and the new management -of which Mr. Shotwell was the first head, the former -reprehensible methods have been abandoned. It is -impossible that Mr. Armstrong should have drawn such -amounts for that purpose. You must—pardon me—have -misunderstood his testimony."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let the stenographer read—only Mr. Armstrong's -last long reply," said Morris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The stenographer read: "Mr. Armstrong: 'Mr. Fosdick -explained to me that the bills would practically -put us out of business, except straight life -policies, and that they would pass unless we submitted to -the blackmail. As he was in control of the O.A.D., -when he directed me to draw the money, I did so. All -but two, I think, perhaps three, of the payments were -made to Sigourney in his presence.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will do—thank you," said Morris to the -stenographer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pause, a silence so profound that -it seemed a suffocating force. Morris's clear, -sharp tones breaking it, startled everyone, even -Fosdick. "You see, Mr. Fosdick, Mr. Armstrong was -definite."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am at a loss to understand," replied Fosdick, -gray with emotion, but firm of eye and voice. "I am -profoundly shocked—I can only say that, so far as I -am concerned, no such transaction occurred. And I -regret exceedingly to have to add that if any such -moneys were taken from the O.A.D. they must have -gone for other purposes than to influence the Legislature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, you wish to inform the committee that to -the best of your recollection you did not authorize or -suggest those drafts, and did not and do not know -anything about them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know nothing about them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Mr. Fosdick," continued Morris slowly, -"we have had Mr. Westervelt on the stand, and he has -testified that he was present on more than half a -dozen occasions when you told Mr. Armstrong to -draw the money, and that on one occasion you yourself -took the money when Mr. Armstrong brought it -from the cash department."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick stiffened as if an electric shock had passed -through him. For the first time he lowered his eyes. -Behind that veil, his brain was swiftly restoring order -in the wild confusion which this exploding bomb had -made. There was no time to consider how or why -Westervelt had failed him, or how Morris had been stupid -enough to permit such a situation. He could only -make choice between standing to the original -programme and retreating behind a pretense of bad -memory. "I can always plead bad memory," he reflected. -"Perhaps the day can be saved—Morris would have -sent me a warning if it couldn't be." So he swept -the faces of the committeemen and the few spectators -with a glance like an unscathed battery. "I am -astounded, Mr. Morris," said he steadily. "In search -of an explanation, I happen to remember that Mr. Armstrong -was recently compelled to relieve Mr. Westervelt -from duty because of his failing health—failing -faculties." His eyes turned to Westervelt with an -apologetic look in them—and Westervelt was, indeed, -a pitiful figure, suggesting one broken and distraught. -Fosdick saw in the faces of committeemen and -spectators that he had scored heavily. "I repeat," said -he boldly, "it is impossible that any such transactions -should have occurred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was addressing Morris's back; the lawyer had -turned to the table behind him and was examining the -papers there with great deliberation. Not a sound in -the room; all eyes on Fosdick, who was quietly -waiting. "Ah!" exclaimed Morris, wheeling suddenly like -a duelist at the end of the ten paces.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick startled at the explosive note in his -servant's voice, then instantly recovered himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This letter—is it in your handwriting?" Fosdick -took the extended paper, put on his nose-glasses, -and calmly fixed his eyes upon it. His hand began to -shake, over his face a dreadful, unsteady pallor, as -if the flame of life, sick and dying, were flaring and -sinking in the last flickerings before the final going-out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it your writing?" repeated Morris, his voice -like the bay of the hound before the cornered fox.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick's hand dropped to his lap. His eyes -sought Morris's face and from them blazed such a -blast of fury that Morris drew back a step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morris was daunted only for a second. He said -evenly, "It is your handwriting, is it not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick looked round—-at Westervelt, whose -wrinkled hand had paused on his beard midway between its -yellowed end and his shrunken, waxen face; at -Armstrong, stolid, statuelike; at the reporters, with -pencils suspended and eyes glistening. He drew a long -breath and straightened himself again. "It is," he -said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Morris extended his hand for the letter. "Thank -you," he said with grave courtesy, as Fosdick gave it -to him. "I will read—'Dear Bill—Tell A to draw -three times this week—the usual amounts and give -them to S.' Bill—that is Mr. Westervelt, is it not? -And does not A stand for Armstrong? And is not S, -Sigourney, at that time the O.A.D.'s representative -in legislative and general political matters?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Obviously," said Fosdick, promptly and easily. -"I see my memory has played me a disgraceful trick. -I am getting old." He smiled benevolently at Morris, -then toward Westervelt. "I, too, am losing my -faculties." Then, looking at Armstrong, and not changing -from kindly smile and tone, "But my teeth are still -good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You now remember these transactions?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I do not. But I frankly admit I must have been -mistaken in denying that they ever occurred."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I trust, Mr. Fosdick," said Morris, "your memory -will not fail you to the extent that you will -forget you are on oath."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The muscles in Fosdick's spare jaws could be seen -working violently. Morris was going too far, entirely -too far, in realism for the benefit of the public. "Is -it part of your privilege as examiner," said he, with -more than a suggestion of master-to-servant, "to -insult an old man upon his failing mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As none of these transactions was of older date -than three years ago," replied Morris coldly, "and -as the note bore date of only six months ago—the -week before Sigourney died—it was not unnatural that -I should be anxious about your testimony. We do -not wish false ideas, detrimental to the standing of -so notable and reputable a man as yourself, to get -abroad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A titter ran around the room; Fosdick flushed and -the storm veins in his temples swelled. He evidently -thought his examination was over, for he took a -better hold on his coat and was rising from the chair. -"Just a few minutes more," said Morris. "In the -course of Mr. Westervelt's testimony another -matter was accidentally touched on. We feel that it -should not go out to the public without your -explanation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick sank back. Until now, he had been -assuming that by some accident his plan to destroy -Armstrong had miscarried, that Morris and Westervelt, -to save the day, had by some mischance been forced -into a position where they were compelled to involve -him. But now, it came to him that Morris's icily -sarcastic tone was more, far more, arrogant and -insolent than could possibly be necessary for -appearances with the public. The lawyer's next words -changed suspicion into certainty. "We found several -other items, Mr. Fosdick, which we requested Mr. Westervelt -to explain—payments of large sums to your -representatives—so Mr. Westervelt testifies they -are—and to your secretary, Mr. Waller, and to your -son—Hugo Fosdick. He is one of the four vice-presidents -of the O.A.D., is he not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is," said Fosdick, and his voice was that of -a sick old man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It was on your O.K. that one hundred thousand -dollars were paid out to furnish his apartment?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean the uptown branch of the O.A.D.?" -said Fosdick wearily, his blue-black eyelids drooped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh! We will inquire into that, later. But—take -last year, Mr. Fosdick. Take this omnibus lease, -turning over to corporations you control properties in -Boston and Chicago which cost the O.A.D. a sum, -two per cent. interest on which would be double the -rental they are getting from you. Mr. Westervelt -informs us that he knows you get seventeen times the -income from the properties that you pay the -O.A.D. under the leases they executed to you—you practically -making the leases, as an officer of the company, -to yourself as another corporation. My question is -somewhat involved, but I hope it is clear?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand you—in the main," replied Fosdick. -"But you will have to excuse me from answering any -more questions to-day. I did not come prepared. My -connection with the O.A.D. has been philanthropic, -rather than businesslike. Naturally, though perhaps -wrongly, I have not kept myself informed of all details."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He frowned down the smiles, the beginnings of -laughter. "But the record is sound!" he went on in -a ringing voice. "The O.A.D. has cost me much -time and thought. I have given more of both to it -than I have to purely commercial enterprises. But -moneymaking isn't everything—and I feel more than -rewarded."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We all know you, Mr. Fosdick," said Morris, -with an air of satiric respect.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I ask you to excuse me to-day," continued the -old man, in his impressive manner. "I wish to prepare -myself. To-morrow, or, at most, in two or three days, -I shall </span><em class="italics">demand</em><span> that you let me resume the stand. I -have nothing to conceal. Errors of judgment I may -have committed. But my record is clear." He raised -his head and his eyes flashed. "It is a record with -which I shall soon fearlessly face my God!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Josiah Fosdick felt that he was himself again. His -eyes looked out with the expression of a good man -standing his ground unafraid. And he smiled -contemptuously at the faint sarcasm in Morris's cold -voice, saying, "That is quite satisfactory—most -satisfactory."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The committee rose; the reporters surrounded Fosdick. -He was courteous but firm in his refusal to say -a word either as to the testimony he had given or -as to that he would give. A dozen eager hands helped -him on with his coat, and he marched away, sure that -he was completely reëstablished—in the public esteem; -his self-esteem had not been shaken for an instant. -The good man doubts himself; not the self-deceiving -hypocrite. There was triumph in the long look he -gave Morris—a look which Morris returned with the -tranquil shine of a satisfied revenge, a revenge of -payment with interest for slights, humiliations, insults -which the old tyrant had put upon him. Long -trafficking upon the cupidity and timidity of men gives -the ruling class a false notion of the discernment of -mankind and of their own mental superiority, as well -as moral. It was natural that Fosdick should believe -himself above censure, above criticism even. He -returned to his office, like a king upon whom the vulgar -have sought to put indignities. His teeth fairly -ached for the moment when they could close upon the -bones of these "insolent curs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until he set out for lunch that another -view of the situation came in sight. As he was -crossing Waller's office, he was halted by that faithful -servant's expression, the more impressive because it was -persisting in spite of hysterical efforts to conceal it -and to look serenely worshipful as usual. "What is -it, Waller?" he demanded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing at all, sir," said Waller, as -with a clumsy effort at pretended carelessness he tossed -into the wastebasket a newspaper which Fosdick had -surprised him at reading.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that an afternoon paper?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Waller stammered inarticulately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick shot a quick, sharp glance at him. "Let -me see it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Waller took the paper out of the basket, as if -he were handling something vile to sight, touch and -smell. "These sensational sheets are very impudent -and untruthful," he said, as he gave it to his -master.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick spread the paper. He sprang back as if -he had been struck. "God!" he cried. "God in -heaven!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the committee room, after the first unpleasantness, -all had been smooth, and there was not to -his self-complacent security of the divine right -monarch the remotest suggestion of impending disgrace. -Now—from the front page of this newspaper, -flying broadcast through the city, through the country, -shrieked, "Fosdick Perjures Himself! The eminent -financier and churchman caught on the witness stand. -Denies knowledge of political bribery funds and is -trapped! Evades accusations of gigantic swindles and -thefts."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Disgrace, like all the other strong tragic words, -conveys little of its real meaning to anyone until it -becomes personal. Fosdick would have said beforehand -that the publication of an attack on him in the -low newspapers would not trouble him so much as the -buzzing of a fly about his bald spot. He would have -said that there was in him—in his conscience, in his -confidence in the approval of his God—a tower of -righteous strength that would stand against any -attack, as unimperiled as a skyscraper by a summer -breeze. But, with these huge, coarse voices of the -all-pervading press shrieking and screaming "Perjurer. -Swindler! Thief!" he shook as with the ague and -turned gray and groaned. He sat down that he might -not fall.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"God! God in heaven!" he muttered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's infamous," cried Waller, tears in his eyes and -anger in his voice. "No man, no matter how upright -or high, is safe from those wretches."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick gripped his head between his hands. "It -hurts, Waller—it </span><em class="italics">hurts</em><span>," he moaned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nobody will pay the slightest attention to it," -said Waller. "We all know you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Fosdick was not listening. He was wondering -how he had been able to delude himself, how he had -failed to realize the construction that could, and by -the public would, be put upon his testimony. Many's -the thing that sounds and looks and seems right and -proper in privacy and before a few sympathetic -witnesses, and that shudders in the full livery of shame -when exposed before the world. Here was an instance—and -he, the shrewd, the lifelong dealer in public -opinion, had been tricked at his own trade as he had -never been able to trick anyone else in half a century -of chicane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to die, Waller," he said feebly. "Help -me back into my office. I can't face anybody."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Into Armstrong's sitting room, toward ten that -night, Fosdick came limping and shuffling. Even had -Armstrong been a "good hater" he could hardly have -withstood the pathos of that abject figure. Being too -broadly intelligent for more than a spasm of that -ugliest and most ignorant of passions, he felt as if -the broken man before him were the wronged and he -himself the wronger. "But this man made a shameful, -treacherous, unprovoked attempt to disgrace me," -he reminded himself, in the effort to keep a just point -of view for prudence's sake. It was useless. That -ghastly, sunken face, those frightened, dim old eyes, -the trembling step— If a long life of -soul-prostitution had left Josiah Fosdick enough of natural human -generosity to appreciate the meaning of Armstrong's -expression, he might have been able to change his -crushing defeat into what in the circumstances would -have been the triumph of a drawn battle. But, except -possibly the creative geniuses, men must measure their -fellows throughout by themselves. Fosdick knew what -he would do, were he in Armstrong's place. He -clutched at Armstrong's hand with a cringing hypocrisy -of deference that made Armstrong ashamed for -him—and that warned him he dared not yet drop his guard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've been trying to get you since three o'clock -this afternoon," said Fosdick. "I had to see you -before I went to bed." He sank into a chair and sat -breathing heavily. He looked horribly old. "You -don't believe I deliberately lied about that money, do -you, Horace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is it necessary to discuss that, Mr. Fosdick? -Hadn't we better get right at what you've come to -see me about?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've wired the governor. He don't answer. -Morris refuses to see me. Westervelt—it's useless to -see him—he has betrayed me—sold me out—he on -whom I have showered a thousand benefits. I made -that man, Horace, and he has rewarded me. That's -human nature!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong recalled that, when he was winning over -Westervelt by convincing him of Fosdick's perfidy to -him, Westervelt had made the same remark, had cried -out that he loaned Fosdick the first five hundred -dollars he ever possessed and had got him into the O.A.D. -"It seems to me, Mr. Fosdick, that recriminations -are idle," said he. "I assume you have something to -ask or to propose. Am I right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horace, you and I are naturally friends. Why -should we fight each other?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have come to propose a peace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want us to continue to work together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That can be arranged," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hoped so!" Fosdick exclaimed. "I hoped so!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But," proceeded Armstrong, seeing the drift of -the thought behind that quick elation, "let us have no -misunderstanding. You were permitted to leave the -witness stand when you did to-day because I wished -you to have one more chance to save yourself. That -chance will be withdrawn if you begin to act on the -notion that my forbearance is proof of my weakness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All I want is peace—peace and quiet," said Fosdick, -with his new revived hope and craft better hid. -But Armstrong saw that it was temperamentally -impossible for Fosdick to believe any man would of his -own accord drop the sword from the throat of a -beaten foe.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can have peace," continued Armstrong, -"peace with honor, provided you give a guarantee. -You cannot expect me to trust you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What guarantee do you want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Control of the O.A.D."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick's feebleness fell from him. He sprang -erect, eyes flashing, fists shaking. "Never!" he -shouted. "So help me God, never! It's mine. It's -part of my children's patrimony. I'll keep it, in spite -of hell!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will lose it in any event," said Armstrong, -as calm as Fosdick was tempestuous. "You have -choice of turning it over to me or having it snatched -from you by Atwater and Trafford and Langdon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Atwater!" exclaimed Fosdick.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When I found you had arranged to destroy me," -explained Armstrong, "I formed a counter-arrangement, -as I wasn't strong enough to fight you alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You sold me out!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong winced. Fosdick's phrase was unjust, -but since his talk with Neva he was critical and -sensitive in the matter of self-respect; and, while his -campaign of self-defense, of "fighting the devil with fire," -still seemed necessary and legitimate, it also seemed -lacking in courage. If Fosdick had crept and crawled -up on him, had he not also crawled and crept up on -Fosdick? "I defended myself in the only way you -left me," replied Armstrong. "I formed an alliance -with the one man who could successfully attack you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, it is Atwater who has bought the governor—and -Morris—yes, and that ingrate, Westervelt!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"However that may be," replied Armstrong, "you -will be destroyed and Atwater will take the -O.A.D. unless you meet my terms." He was flushing deep -red before Fosdick's look of recognition of a brother -in chicane.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He knew Atwater was simply using him, would -destroy him or reduce him to dependence, as soon as -Fosdick was stripped and ruined. He felt he was as -fully justified in eluding the tiger by strategy as he -had been in procuring the tiger to defeat and destroy -the lion that had been about to devour him. Still, -the business was not one a man would preen himself -upon in a company of honest men and women. And -Fosdick's look, which said, "This man, having sold me -out, is now about to sell out his allies," hit home and -hit hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he must carry his project through, or fall -victim to Atwater; he must not let this melting mood -which Neva had brought about enfeeble his judgment -and disarm his courage. "If you refuse my offer," -he said to Fosdick, "the investigation will go on, and -Atwater will get the O.A.D. and take from you every -shred of your character and much of your fortune—perhaps -all. If you accept my offer, the investigation -will stop and you will retire from the O.A.D. peaceably -and without having to face proceedings to -compel you to make restitution."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do I know you can keep your bargain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have the governor and Morris with me," -replied Armstrong, frankly exposing his whole hand. -"They, no more than myself, wish to become the -puppets of the Atwater-Langdon-Trafford crowd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick reflected. Now that he knew the precise -situation, he felt less feeble. Before Armstrong -explained, he had been like a man fighting in a pitch dark -room against foes he could not even number. Now, -the light was on; he knew just how many, just who -they were; and, appalling though the discovery was, it -was not so appalling as that struggle in the pitch -dark. "You evidently think I'm powerless," he said -at last. "But if you press me too far, you will see -that I am not. For instance, you </span><em class="italics">need</em><span> me. You must -have me or fall into Atwater's clutches. You see, I -am far from powerless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you forget," replied Armstrong, "you are -heavily handicapped by your reputation. A man who -has to fight for his good name is like a soldier in -battle with a baby on his arm and a woman clinging -to his neck. How can you fight without losing your -reputation? The committee is against you. At Monday's -session, if you let matters take their course, all -that Westervelt's books show of your profits from the -O.A.D. will be exposed—even the way you made it -pay for the carpets on your floors, for the sheets on -your beds, for towels and soap and matches."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong would not have believed there was in -Fosdick's whole body so much red blood as showed in -his face. "It's a custom that's grown up," he -muttered shufflingly. "They all do it—in every big -company, more or less, directly or indirectly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True enough," said Armstrong. "But you'll be -the only one on trial. If you accept my offer, you'll -be let alone. Cancel the worst of those leases, settle -the ugliest accounts, all at comparatively trifling cost, -and the public will soon forget."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And what guarantee do you give that the agreement -would be carried out?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My pledge—that's all," replied Armstrong—and -again he flushed. He had avoided specifically giving -his word to the Atwater crowd when he formed alliance -with them; still, his "my pledge" had a hollow, -jeering echo. "It's the only possible guarantee -in the circumstances—and, as you are solely responsible -for the circumstances, Mr. Fosdick, I do not see -how you can complain."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick again reflected; the awful, deathly pallor, -the deep scams, the palsylike trembling came back. -After a long wait, with Armstrong avoiding the sight -of him, he quavered, "Horace, I'll agree to anything -except giving up the O.A.D." There he broke down -and wept. "You don't know what that institution -means to me. It's my child. It's my heart. It's my -reason for being alive."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it has been a source of enormous profit to -you, Mr. Fosdick," said Armstrong calmly, for his -own strengthening more than to get Fosdick back to -facts. "I appreciate how hard it must be to give up -such a source of easy wealth. But it must be done."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You don't understand," mourned the old man. -"You have no sentiment. You do not </span><em class="italics">feel</em><span> those -hundreds of thousands, those millions of helpless -people—how they look up to me, how they pray for me -and are full of gratitude to me. Do you think I could -coldly turn over their interests to strangers? Why, -who knows what might not be done with those sacred -trust funds?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you persist in letting Atwater get control," -said Armstrong, "I fear those sacred trust funds will -soon be larger by about two thirds of what you -regard as your private fortune. I do not like to say -these things; you compel me, Mr. Fosdick. It is waste -of time and breath to cant to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Fosdick had had anything less at stake than -his fortune, he would have broken then and there with -Armstrong. As it was, his prudence could not -smother down the geyser of fury that boiled and -spouted up from his vanity. "I must be mad," he -cried, "to imagine that such matters of conscience -would make an impression on you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong laughed slightly. "When a man is in -the jungle, is fighting with wild beasts, he has to put -forward the beast in him. You tried to ruin me—a -more infamous, causeless attack never was made on a -man. You have failed; you are in the pit you dug -for me. I am letting you off lightly." And now -Armstrong's blue eyes had the green gray of steel -and flashed with that furious temper which he had been -compelled to learn to rule because, once beyond -control, it would have been a free force of sheer -destruction. "If you had not been interceded for, you -would now be a pariah, with no wealth to buy you the -semblance of respect. Don't try me too far! I do not -love you. I have the normal instinct about reptiles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that very moment Fosdick was looking the -reptile. "Yes, I did try to tear you down," he hissed. -"And I'll tell you why. Because I saw your ambition—saw -you would never rest until you had robbed me -and mine of that which you coveted. Was I not right?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong could not deny it. He had never -definitely formed such an ambition; but he realized, as -Fosdick was accusing him, that had he been permitted -to go peacefully on as president, the day would have -come when he would have reached out for real power.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick went on, with more repression and dignity, -but no less energy of feeling, "I cannot but believe -that God in His justice will yet hurl you to ruin. You -are robbing me, but as sure as there is a God, Horace -Armstrong, He will bring you low!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well as Armstrong knew him, he was for the -moment impressed. The only born monsters are the -insane criminals; the monstrous among our powerful and -eminent and most respectable are by long and -deliberate indulgence in self-deception manufactured into -monsters, protected from public exposure by their -position, wealth, and respectability. We do not realize -any more than they do themselves, that they have -become insane criminals like the monsters-born. There -is a majesty in the trappings of virtue that does not -altogether leave them even when a hypocrite wears -them; also, Armstrong was more than half disarmed -by his new-sprung doubts whether he was wholly -justified in meeting treachery with treachery. He -surprised Fosdick by breaking the silence with an almost -deprecating, "I said more than I intended. What you -have done, what I have done, is all part of the game. -Let us continue to leave God and morals—honesty and -honor—out of it. Let us be practical, businesslike. -You wish to save your reputation and your fortune. -I can save them for you. I have given you my condition—it -is the least I will ask, or can ask. What do -you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I must have time to think it over," replied -Fosdick. "I cannot decide so important a matter in -haste."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Quite right," Armstrong readily assented. "It -will not be necessary to have your decision before noon -to-morrow. The committee has adjourned until -Monday. That will give us half of Saturday and Sunday -to settle the plans that hang on your decision."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow noon," said Fosdick, sunk into a -stupor. "To-morrow noon." And he moved vaguely -to the door, one trembling hand out before him as -if he were blind and feeling his way. And, so -all-powerful are appearances with us, Armstrong hung -his head and did not dare look at the pitiful spectacle -of age and feebleness and misery. "He's a villain," -said the young man to himself, "as nearly a -through-and-through villain as walks the earth. But he's still -a man, with a heart and pride and the power to -suffer. And what am I that I should judge him? In -his place, with his chances, would I have been any -different? Was I not hell-bent by the same route? -Am I not, still?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He walked beside Fosdick to the elevator, waited -with him for the car. "Good night," he said in a -tone of gentlest courtesy. And it hurt him that the -old man did not seem to hear, did not respond. He -wished that Fosdick had offered to shake hands with -him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went to Morris, expecting him at a club across -the way, and related the substance of the interview. -Morris, who had both imagination and sensibility, -guessed the cause of his obvious yet apparently -unprovoked depression, guessed why he had been so -tender with Fosdick. Nevertheless he twitted him on his -soft-heartedness: "The old bunco-steerer hasn't -disgorged yet, has he?—and hasn't the remotest -intention of disgorging. So, my tears are altogether for -the policy holders he has been milking these forty -years." Then he added, "Though, why careless damn -fools should get any sympathy in their misfortunes -does not clearly appear. As between knaves and fools, -I incline toward knaves. At least, they are teachers -of wisdom in the school of experience, while fools -avail nothing, are simply provokers and purveyors to -knavery."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="a-duel-after-lunch"><span class="bold large">XXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">A DUEL AFTER LUNCH</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the respectable morning newspaper the Fosdicks -took in, the facts of Josiah's latest public appearance -were presented with those judicious omissions and -modifications which the respectable editor feels it his -duty to make, that the lower classes may not be led -to distrust and deride the upper classes. Thus, Amy, -glancing at headlines in search of the only important -news—the doings of "our set"—got the impression -that her father had had an annoying lapse of memory -in testifying about something or other before -somebody or other. But the servants took in a newspaper -that had no mission to safeguard the name and fame -and influence of the upper classes; probably not by -chance, this newspaper was left where its vulgar but -vivid headlines caught her eye.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She read, punctuating each paragraph with explosions -of indignation. But when she had finished, she -reread—and began to think. As most of us have -learned by experience in great matters or small, truth -is rubberlike—it offers small resistance to the blows of -prejudice, and, as soon as the blow passes, it straightway -springs back to its original form and place. Amy -downfaced a thousand little facts of her own -knowledge as to where the money came from—facts which -tried to tell her that the "low, lying sheet" had -revealed only a trifling part of the truth. But, when -she saw her father, saw how he had suddenly broken, -his very voice emasculate and thin, she gave up the -struggle to deceive herself. There is a notion that -a man's family is the last to believe the disagreeable -truth about his relations with the outside world. This -is part of the theory that a man has two characters, -that he can be a saint at six o'clock in the morning -and a scoundrel at six o'clock in the evening, that he -is honest at a certain street and number and a liar and -a thief at another street and number. But the fact -is that character is the most closely woven and -homogeneous of fabrics, and, though a man's family do not -admit it publicly when the truth about him is exposed, -they know him all the time for what he really is. -Amy knew; her father's appearance, indicating not -that he was guilty but that he was found out and was -in an agony of dread of the consequences, threw her -into a hysteria of shame and terror. She avoided the -servants; she startled each time the door bell rang; it -might mean the bursting of the real disgrace, for, in -her ignorance of political conditions, she assumed that -arrest and imprisonment would follow the detection of -her father and probably Hugo in grave crimes. She -dared not face any of the few that called; she would -not even see Hugo.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On Sunday morning came a note from Alois—a -love letter, begging to see her. She read it with tears -flowing and with a heart swelling with gratitude. "He -does love me!" she said. "He must know we are about -to be disgraced, yet he has only been strengthened in -his love." Though the actual state of the family's -affairs was vastly different from what she imagined, -though she would have been little disturbed had she -known that publicity was the only punishment likely -to overtake persons so respectable as Fosdick and his -son, still the crisis was none the less real to Amy. In -such crises the best qualities of human nature rise in -all their grandeur and exert all their power. She sent -off an immediate answer—"Thank you, Alois—I need -you— Come at three o'clock. Yours, Amy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he came, she let him see what she wanted; -how, with all she had valued and had thought valuable -transforming into trash and slipping away from her, -she had turned to him, to the only reality—to the love -that welcomes the storm which gives it the opportunity -to show how strong it is, how firmly rooted. With -his first stammering, ardent protestations, she flung -herself into his arms. "I have loved you from the -beginning," she sobbed. "But I didn't realize it until -I looked round for some one to turn to. You do love me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am here," he said simply, and there is nothing -finer than was the look in his eyes, the feeling in his -heart. "And we must be married soon. We must be -together, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes—soon—at once," she agreed. "And -you will take me away, won't you? Ah, I love you—I -love you, Alois. I will show you how a woman can -love." And never had she been so beautiful, both -without and within.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As soon as you please," said he. He was not -inclined to interrogate his happiness; but he was -surprised at her sudden and unconditional surrender. He -guessed that some quarrel about him with her father -or with Hugo had roused her to assert what he was -quite ready to believe had been in her heart all the -time; or, it might be that she wished to make amends -for her father's having planned to send him away when -honor commanded him to stay and guard his reputation. -Had the cause of her hysteria been real, or had -he known why she was so clinging and so eager, he -would not have changed—for he loved her and was -never half-hearted in any emotion. Though her money -and her position were originally her greatest attractions -for him, his ideal of his own self-respect was too -high and too real for him to rest content until he -had forced love to put him under its spell.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he left her she sent for Hugo and told him. -Hugo went off like a charge at the snap of the spark. -"You must be mad!" he shouted. "Why, such a -marriage is beneath you—is almost as bad as your -sister's. It's your duty to bring a gentleman into the -family."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She would not argue that; she would at any cost -be forbearing with Hugo, who must be in torture, if -he was not altogether a fool—and sometimes she -thought he was. She restrained herself to saying -gently, "You don't seem to appreciate our changed -position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What 'changed position'? What are you talking -about?" demanded Hugo, rearing and beginning -to stride the length of the room.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer; answer seemed unnecessary, -when Hugo was so obviously blustering to hide his real -state of mind.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean father's testimony?" he said. "What -rot! Why, nobody that is anybody pays the slightest -attention to that. Everyone understands how -things are in finance and how vital it is to guard the -secrets from lying demagogues and the mob. There -isn't a man of consequence, of high respectability, on -Manhattan Island, or in big affairs anywhere in the -country, who wouldn't be in as difficult or more difficult -a position, if he happened to be cornered. Everyone -whose opinion we care anything about is in the -game, and this attack on us is simply a move of our -enemies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Deceive yourself, if you want to," replied Amy. -"But I know I can't get married any too soon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And marrying a nobody, a mere architect, whose -sister works for a living. You haven't even the -excuse of caring for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be too sure about that! In the last -twenty-four hours I've learned a great deal about life, -about people. Everybody talks of love, and of -wanting love. But nobody knows what it really means, -until he has suffered. Oh, Hugo, don't be so hard! -I need Alois!" And there were tears in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo tossed his head; but he was not unimpressed. -"I'm sorry to see you so weak," said he in a tone -that was merely surly and therefore, by contrast, -kindly. "Of course, it's none of </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> business. But -I don't approve it, I want you distinctly to understand."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won't be disagreeable to Alois?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't blame </span><em class="italics">him</em><span>," said Hugo. "It's natural -he should be crazy to marry you. And, in his way, he -isn't a bad sort. He's been about in our set long -enough to get something of an air." Hugo was -thinking that Amy had now lost young Roebuck, the -only eligible in her train; that, after all, since he -himself was to be the principal heir to his father's -estate, she was not exactly a first-class matrimonial -offering and might have to take something even less -satisfactory than Alois, if she continued to wait for -the husband he could warm to. "Go ahead, if you -must," was his final remark. "I'll not interfere."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>This was equivalent to approval, and Amy, -strengthened, moved upon her father. To her astonishment, -he listened without interest. She had to say -pointedly, "And I've come to find out whether you -approve," before he roused himself to respond.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do as you like," he said wearily, not lifting his -eyes from the sheet of paper on which he had been -making aimless markings, when she interrupted him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't object if I married—soon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't bother me," he flamed out. "Do as you -please. Only, don't fret me. And, no splurge! I'm -sick. I want quiet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus it came about that on the Thursday following -the engagement, a week almost to the hour from -Fosdick's tumble into his own carefully and deeply -dug pit, Amy married Alois Siersdorf, "with only the -two families present, because of Mr. Fosdick's age and -illness"; and at noon they sailed away on the almost -empty </span><em class="italics">Deutschland</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois did not let his perplexity before Amy's -astounding docility interfere with his happiness. He -saw that, whatever the cause, she was in love with him, -so deeply in love that she had descended from the -pedestal, had lifted him from his knees, had set him -upon it, and had fallen down meekly to worship. -There were a few of "our people" on the steamer—half -a dozen families or parts of families, of "the -push," who were on their way to freeze and sneeze in -the "warm" Riviera for the sake of fashion. Alois -was delighted that Amy was so absorbed in him that -she would have nothing to do with them—this for the -first three days. He had not believed her capable of -the passion and the tenderness she was lavishing upon -him. She made him hold her in his arms hours at a -time; she developed amazing skill at those coquetries -of intimacy so much more difficult than the enticements -that serve to make the period of the engagement -attractive. And he found her more beautiful, too, -than he had thought. She was one of those women who -are not at their best when on public or semipublic view, -but reserve for intimacy a charm which explains the -otherwise inexplicable hold they get upon the man to -whom they fully reveal and abandon themselves.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And Alois, in love with the woman herself now -rather than with what she represented to his rather -material imagination, surprised her in turn. She had -thought him somewhat stilted, a distinctly professional -man, with too little lightness of mind—interesting, -satisfactory beyond the prosy and commonplace and -patterned run of men she knew; but still with a -tendency to be wearisome if taken in too large doses. She -had to confess that she had misjudged him. He was -no longer under the nervous strain of trying to win -her, was no longer handicapped by a vague but -potent notion that he would get more than he gave in -a marriage with her. He revealed his real -self—light-hearted, varied, most adaptable; thoroughgoing -masculine, yet with a femininity, a knowledge of and -interest in matters purely feminine, that made -companionship as easy as it was delightful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They were in the full rapture of these agreeable -surprises each about the other when the representatives -of "our set" began to insist upon associating -with them. Amy shrank from the first advances; this -only made the bored fashionables the more determined. -Even in her morbidness about the lost reputation and -the menace of prison, she could not deceive herself as -to the meaning of their persistent friendliness. And -soon she was delighted by a third surprise. She found -that Hugo had been right, and she absurdly wrong, -about public opinion. There might be, probably was, -a public opinion that misunderstood her father and -judged him by provincial, old-fashioned standards. -But it was not </span><em class="italics">her</em><span> public opinion. All the people of -her set were more or less involved, directly or through -their relations by blood and marriage, in enterprises -that necessitated what in the masses—the "lower -classes" and the "criminal classes"—would be called -lying, swindling, and stealing; they, therefore, had no -fault to find with Fosdick. Had he not his fortune -still? And was he not impregnable against the mob -howling that he be treated as a common malefactor? -Where, then, was the occasion for Phariseeism? Was -it not the plain duty of respectable people to stand -firmly by the Fosdicks and show the mob that respectability -was solidly against demagogism, against attempts -to judge the upper class by lower class standards? Yes; -that was the wise course, and the safe course. Why, -even the public prosecutor, a suspiciously demagogical -shouter for "equal justice"—respectability appreciated -that he had to get the suffrages of the mob, but -thought he went a little too far in demagogic -speech—why, even he had shown that the gentleman was -stronger in him than the politician. Had he not, after -a few days of silence, come out boldly rebuking "the -attempt to defame and persecute one of the country's -most public-spirited and useful citizens, in advance of -judicial inquiry"?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Amy was amazed that she had been so preposterously -unnerved by what she now saw was literally -nothing at all, a mere morbid phantasy. But at the -same time, she was devoutly thankful that she had been -deluded. "But for that," said she to herself, "I -might not have married 'Lois, might have stifled the -best, the most beautiful emotion of my life, might have -missed happiness entirely." This thought so moved her -that she rose—it was in the dead of night—and went -into his room and bent over him, asleep, and kissed him -softly. And she stood, admiring in the dim light the -manliness and the beauty of his head, his waving hair, -his small, becoming blond beard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I love you," she murmured passionately. "No -price would have been too dear to pay for you."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Meanwhile Fosdick was settling to the new conditions -with a facility that admirably illustrated the -infinite adaptability of the human animal. The inevitable, -however cruel, is usually easy to accept. It is always -mitigated by such reflections as that it could not have -been avoided and that it might have been worse. The -more intelligent the victim, the shorter his idle -bewailings and the quicker his readjustment—and Fosdick -was certainly intelligent. Also, among "practical" -men, as youth with its ardent courage and its enthusiasms -retreats and old age advances, there is a steady -decay of self-respect, a rapid decline of belief that in -life, so brief, so unsatisfactory at best, so fundamentally -sordid, anything which interferes with comfort, -personal comfort, is worth fighting for; where a young -man will challenge an almost fanciful infringement of -his self-respect, an old man will accept with a resigned -and cynical shrug the most degrading conditions, if -only they leave him material comfort and peace.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To aid old Fosdick in making the best of it, the -sensational but influential part of the press each -morning and each afternoon girded at him, at Morris and -at the authorities, asking the most impertinent -questions, making the most disgusting demands. Thus, the -old man was not permitted to lose sight or sound of -the foaming-jowled bloodhounds Armstrong was -protecting him from. And when he gave full weight to -the fact that Armstrong was also saving him from the -Atwater-Langdon-Trafford crowd, he ceased to hate -him, began to look on him as a friend and ally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Now that Fosdick and Armstrong were on a basis -on which he was compelled to respect the young man, -each began to take a more favorable view of the other -than he had ever taken before. Rarely indeed is any -human being—any living being—altogether or even -chiefly bad. If the evil is the predominant force in a -man's life, it is usually because of some system of which -he is the victim, some system whose appeal to -appetite or vanity, or, often, to sheer necessities, is too -strong for the natural instincts of the peaceful, -patient human animal. And even the man who lives -wholly by outrages upon his fellow men lives so that -all but a very few of his daily acts are either not bad, -or positively good. The mad beasts of creation, high -and low, are few—and they are mad. All Fosdick's -strongest instincts—except those for power and -wealth—were decent, and some of them were fine. It was -not surprising that, with so much of the genuinely -good in him, he was able to delude himself into -believing there was reality behind his reputation as a -philanthropic business man.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The hard part of his readjustment was requesting -those through whom he had controlled the O.A.D. to -transfer their allegiance to Armstrong. It is a -tribute to Armstrong's diplomacy—and where was -there ever successful diplomat who was not at bottom -a good fellow, a sympathetic appreciator of human -nature?—it is a tribute to Armstrong's diplomatic skill -that Fosdick came to look on this transfer—and to -hasten it and to make it complete—as the best, the -only means of checking that "infamous Atwater-Trafford -gang." He felt he was simply retreating -one step further into that shadow behind the throne -of power in which he had always been careful to keep -himself pretty well concealed. He felt—so considerate -and delicate was Armstrong—that he would still be a -power in the councils of the O.A.D. He himself -suggested that Hugo should retire from the fourth -vice-presidency "as soon as this thing blows over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The public knew nothing of the transfer. Even -when one gang bursts open the doors to fling another -gang out, the public gets no more than a hasty and -shallow glimpse behind the façade of the great -institutions that exploit it and administer its affairs. It -was not let into the secret that for the first time in -the history of the O.A.D. its president did preside, -and that he not only presided but ruled as -autocratically as Fosdick had ruled, as some one man -always does rule sooner or later in any human -institution. But the Atwater-Langdon-Trafford "gang" -soon heard what was occurring, and, as Armstrong had -known that they must hear, he awaited results with -not a little anxiety. Of Trafford he was not at all -afraid—Trafford's tricks were the familiar common-places -by which most men who get on in the world -of chicane achieve their success. About Langdon, he -was somewhat more unquiet; but Atwater was the one -he dreaded. What was Atwater doing, now that he -realized—as he must realize—that he had been duped, -that Armstrong had used him to conquer Fosdick and -was now facing him, armed with Fosdick's weapons -and with youth and energy and astuteness; that Morris -and the governor were not his tools, as he had been -imagining, but Armstrong's allies; that, instead of -being about to absorb the O.A.D., he might, should -Armstrong force the fighting, lose the great Universal, -the greater Gibraltar Mutual, and the Hearth and -Home, which gathered in, and kept, the pennies of -poverty?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few days before the committee was to reassemble, -Atwater telephoned Armstrong, asking him to come to -lunch with him. Armstrong accepted and drew a long -breath of relief. He knew that Atwater's agents had -been sounding both the governor and Morris, had -"persuaded" little Kenworthy to pretend to be ill, -and to put off the reassembling of the committee. So, -this invitation, this request for a face-to-face talk, -must mean that neither the governor nor Morris had -yielded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Armstrong and Atwater met, each looked the -other over genially but thoroughly. "I congratulate -you, my young friend," said Atwater heartily. "I -can admire a stroke of genius, even though it cuts my -own plans."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>No reference from Armstrong to the fact that -Atwater had planned to destroy him as soon as he had -used him to get the O.A.D.; no reference from -Atwater, beyond this smiling and friendly hint, to the -fact that Armstrong had allied himself with Atwater -ostensibly to destroy Fosdick, and had shifted just in -time to outgeneral his ally. Atwater was a fine, -strong-looking man of sixty and odd years, with the -kindest eyes in the world, and the wickedest jaw—in -repose. When he smiled, his whole face was like his -eyes. He had a peculiarly agreeable voice, and so -much magnetism that his enemies liked him when with -him. He was a man of audacious financial dreams, -which he carried out with dazzling boldness—at least, -carried out to the point where he himself could "get -from under" with a huge profit and could shift the -responsibility of collapse to others. He was a born -pirate, the best-natured of pirates, the most chivalrous -and generous. He was of a type that has recurred -in the world each time the diffusion of intelligence and -of liberty has released the energy of man and given it -a chance to play freely. Such men were the distinction -of Athens in the heyday of its democracy; of -Rome in the period between the austere and cruel -republic of the patricians and the ferocious tyranny of -Cæsardom; of Bagdad and Cordova after the Moslems -became liberalized and before they became degenerate; -of Italy in the period of the renaissance; of France -after the Revolution and before Friedland infatuated -Napoleon into megalomania.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the lunch the two men talked racing and -automobile and pictures—Atwater had a good eye for -line and color. They would have gone on to talk -music, had there been time—for Atwater loved music -and sang well and played the violin amazingly, though -he practiced only about two hours a day, and that -not every day. But they did not get round to music; -the coffee and cigars were brought, and the waiters -withdrew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is your committee going to do, when it gets -together, day after to-morrow?" said Atwater, the -instant the door closed on the head waiter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'll have to see Morris, to find out that," -replied Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater smiled and waved his hand. "Bother!" -he retorted. "What's your programme?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Morris is the man to see," repeated Armstrong. -"I wouldn't give up his secrets, if I knew them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our man up at Buffalo wires," continued Atwater, -"that you have got Kenworthy out of bed and -completely cured. So, you are going on. And I -know you are not the man to wait in the trenches. -Now, it happens that Langdon and I have several -matters on at this time—as much as we can conveniently -look after. Besides, what's to be gained by tearing up -the public again, just when it was settling down to -confidence? I like a fight as well as any man; but I -don't believe in fighting for mere fighting's sake, when -there are so many chances for a scrimmage with something -to be gained. It ain't good business. The first -thing we know, the public is going to have some things -impressed on it so deeply that even its rotten bad -memory will hold the stamp."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I agree with you," said Armstrong. "I love -peace, myself. But I don't believe in laying down -arms while the other fellow is armed to the teeth, and -hiding in the bushes before my very door."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That means me, eh?" inquired Atwater cheerfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That means you," said Armstrong. "And it -isn't of any use for you to call out from the bushes -that you've gone away and are back at your plowing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I haven't gone away," replied Atwater; "I'm -still in the bushes. However, I'm willing to go.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"On what condition?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Give us the two first vice-presidents of the O.A.D. -and the chairmanship of the Finance Committee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That meant practical control. Armstrong knew -that his worst anticipations were none too gloomy. -"And if we don't?" said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Our people have been collecting inside facts -about the O.A.D., about its management ever since -you came on to take old Shotwell's place—poor old -Shotwell! If we are not put in a position where we -can bring about reforms in your management and a -better state of affairs, we'll have to take the only other -alternative. We have the arrangements made to fire -a broadside from four newspapers to-morrow morning. -And we've got it so fixed that any return fire you -might make would get into the columns of only two -newspapers—and one of them would discredit you -editorially. Also, we will at the same time expose -your committee." Atwater set out this programme -with the frankness of a large man of large affairs -to one of his own class, one with whom evasions, -concealments, and circumlocutions would be waste of -time.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong smiled slightly. "Then it's war?" he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you insist."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know we've got the governor and the -attorney-general?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we've got the press, practically all respectability, -and a better chance with the Grand Jury and -the judges."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong gazed reflectively into space. "A -good fight!" he said judicially. "If I were a very -rich man I should hesitate to precipitate it. But, -having nothing but my salary—and a </span><em class="italics">good, clean, -personal</em><span> record—I think I'll enjoy myself. I'll not try -to steal the credit of making the fight, Mr. Atwater. -I'll see that you get all the glory that comes from -kicking the cover off hell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Speaking of your personal record," said Atwater -absently. "Let me see, you were in the A. & P. bond -syndicate, in the little steel syndicate last spring, in -two stock syndicates a couple of months ago. Your -profits were altogether $72,356—I forget the odd -cents. And they tell me you've sworn to three reports -that won't stand examination."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong lifted his eyebrows, drew at his cigar -awhile. "I see you've been looking me up," he said, -unruffled apparently. "Of course," he went on, "I -shouldn't expect to escape an occasional shot. But -they'd hardly be noted in the general fusillade. The -Universal has been a mere shell ever since you used -it, in that traction reorganization which failed—I've -got a safe full of facts about it. And Morris tells me -he can have mobs trying to hang Trafford and his -board of directors for their doings in the Home Defender."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater smiled grimly. "I'm sorry to say, -Armstrong, we'd concentrate on you. Several of the -strong men look on you as a dangerous person. They -don't like new faces down in this part of the town, -unless they wear a more deferential expression than -yours does. Personally, I'd miss you. You're the kind -of man I like as friend or as foe. But I couldn't -let my personal feelings influence me or oppose the -advice of the leading men of finance."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Naturally not," assented Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've got to be off now," continued Atwater, rising.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So have I," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went to the street door of the building, -Atwater holding Armstrong by the arm. There, -Armstrong put out his hand. "Good-by, Mr. Atwater," -he said; "I'll meet you at Philippi."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Think it over, young man, think it over," said -Atwater, a friendly, sad expression in his handsome, -kind eyes. "I don't want to see you come a nasty -cropper—one that'll make you crawl about with a -broken back the rest of your life. Put off your -ambitions—or, better still, come in with us. We'll do -more for you than you can do for yourself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thank you," replied Armstrong ironically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Consult with your people. The governor has almost -weakened, and I'm sure Morris will fall in line -with whatever you do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've got my answer," said Armstrong, unruffled -in his easy good nature. "And I'll tell you, -Mr. Atwater, that if you do take the cover off hell, -I'll see that it isn't put on again until you've had a -look-in, at least."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know the situation too well to imagine you -can win," urged Atwater. "You must be thinking I'm -bluffing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Frankly, I don't know," replied Armstrong. -"As you will lose so much and I so little, I rather -believe you are."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Put that idea out of your mind," said Atwater; -and now his face, especially his eyes, gave Armstrong -a look full into the true man, the reckless and -relentless tyrant, with whom tyranny was an instinct -stronger than reason.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have," was Armstrong's quiet answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then—you agree?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong shook his head, without taking his eyes -off Atwater's.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater shrugged his shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Fallen women have been known to reform," said -Armstrong. "But there's no recorded case of a fallen -man's reforming. I find nothing to attract me, -Atwater, in the lot of the most splendid of these male -Messalinas you and your kind maintain in such luxury -as officials, public and private. I belong to -myself—and I shall continue to belong to myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater's smile was cynical; but there was the cordiality -of respect in the hand clasp he abruptly forced -on Armstrong, as he parted from him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="the-woman-boris-loved"><span class="bold large">XXIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"THE WOMAN BORIS LOVED"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>At last Neva had made a portrait she could look -at without becoming depressed. For the free -workman there is always the joy of the work itself—the -mingling of the pain which is happiness and the -happiness which is pain, that resembles nothing so much -as what a woman experiences in becoming a mother. -But, with the mother, birth is a climax; with the -artist, an anti-climax. The mother always sees that her -creation is good; her critical faculty is the docile echo -of her love. With the artist, the critical faculty must -be never so mercilessly just as when he is judging -the offspring of his own soul; he looks upon the -finished work, only to see its imperfections; how woefully -it falls short of what he strove and hoped. The joy -of life is the joy of work—the prize withers in its -winner's hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>After her first year under Raphael, Neva's portraits -had been successful—more successful, perhaps, -than they would have been if she had had to succeed -in order to live. She suspected that her work was -overpraised; Raphael said not, and thought not, and -his critical faculty was so just that neither vanity nor -love could trick it. But when she finished the -portrait of Narcisse—Narcisse at her drawing table, her -face illumined from within—her eyes full of dreams, -one capable yet womanly hand against her smooth, -round cheek, the background a hazed, mysterious -mirage of fairylike structures—when this portrait was -done, Neva looked on it and knew that it was good. -"It might be better," said she. "It is far, far from -best—even </span><em class="italics">my</em><span> best, I hope. But it is good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not let her master see it until she had made -the last stroke. Theretofore he had always said some -word of encouragement the moment he looked at any -of her work submitted to him. Now, he stood silent, -his eyes searching for flaws, instead of for merits. -There was no mistaking the meaning of that criticism; -Neva thrilled until she trembled. It was the happiest -moment of her life.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess you've hit it, this time," he said at length. -"Worse work than that has lived—on its merits."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid I'll never be able to do it again," she -sighed. "It seems to me an accident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And so it was," replied he. "So is all inspired -work. Yes, it's an accident—but that kind of -accidents happen again and again to those who keep good -and ready for good luck." He turned and, almost -forgetting the woman in the artist, put his hand -affectionately, admiringly, on her shoulder. "And -you—my dear—you have worked well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not so well as I shall hereafter," replied she. -"I've been discouraged. This will put heart into me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He smiled with melancholy. "Yes—you'll work -better. But not because you're less discouraged. This -picture gives you pleasure now. Six months hence it -will be a source of pain every time you think of it. -There's a picture I did about twelve years ago that has -stretched me on the rack a thousand times. I never -think of it without a twinge. Why? Because I feel -I've never equaled it since. They say I have—say it's -far inferior to my later work. But I know—and it galls."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The bell rang and presently Molly appeared with -Raphael's man-of-all-work carrying a large canvas, -covered. "Ah—here it is!" cried Boris, and when the -two servants were gone, he said to Neva: "Now, shut -your eyes, and don't open them till I tell you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few seconds, then he cried laughingly, "Behold!" She -looked; it was a full-length portrait of -herself. She was entering a room, was holding aside a -dark purple curtain that was in daring, exquisite contrast -with her soft, clinging, silver-white dress, and the -whiteness of her slender, long, bare arms. The darkness -in which her figure, long and slim and slight, was -framed, the flooding light upon it as if from it, the -exceeding beauty of her slender face, of her dreaming, -dazzled eyes, all combining to suggest a soul, newly -awakened from a long, long sleep, and entering life, -full equipped for all that life has for a mind that can -think and a heart that can love and laugh and -weep— It was Neva at her best, Boris at his best.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked from the portrait to her, and back -again. "Not right," he muttered discontentedly. -"not yet. However, I'll touch it up here." Then to -her, "I want a few sittings, if you'll take the trouble -to get out that dress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was gazing at his work with awe; it did not -seem to her to be herself. "It is finished, now," said -she to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It will never be finished," he replied. "I shall -keep it by me and work at it from time to time." He -stood off and looked at it lovingly. "You're mine, -there," he went on. "All mine, young woman." And -he took one of her long brushes and scrawled "Boris" -across the lower left corner of the canvas. "It shall -be my bid for immortality for us both. When you've -ceased to belong to yourself or anyone, when you shall -have passed away and are lost forever in the abyss of -forgotten centuries, Boris's Neva will still be Boris's. -And men and women of races we never dreamed of will -stand before her and say, 'She—oh, I forget her name, -but she's the woman Boris loved.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A note in his mock-serious tone, a gleam in his -smiling gaze made the tears well into her eyes; and -he saw them, and the omen put him in a glow. In -his own light tone, she corrected, "</span><em class="italics">A</em><span> woman Boris -</span><em class="italics">fancied</em><span>."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">The</em><span> woman Boris </span><em class="italics">loved</em><span>," he repeated. "The -woman he was never separated from, the woman he -never let out of his sight. There are two of you, -now. And I have the immortal one. What do </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> -think of it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing left for the mortal one but to -get and to stay out of sight. No one that once -saw your Neva would take much interest in mine."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a portrait that's a likeness," said he. "With -you, the outside happens to be an adequate reflection -of the inside." And he smiled at her simplicity, which -he knew was as unaffected as it always is with those -who think little about themselves, much about their -surroundings.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could see it," she said wistfully.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You can see it in the face of any man who -happens to be looking at you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But she had turned to her portrait of Narcisse -and was eying it disdainfully. "I must hide that," -she went on, "as long as yours is in this room. How -clumsy my work looks—how painstaking and -'talented.'" She wheeled it behind a curtain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None of that! None of that!" he protested -severely. "Never depreciate your own work to -yourself. You can't be like me, nor I like you. Each -flower its own perfume, each bird its own song. You -are a painter born; so am I. No one can be more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know," she apologized. "I'm not as -foolishly self-effacing as when you first took me in -hand, am I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You make a braver front," replied he, "but -sometimes I suspect it's only a front. Will you give -me a sitting this afternoon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll change to that dress, and tell Molly not to let -anyone in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had been gone about ten minutes when the bell -rang again. Boris continued to busy himself with -paints and brushes until he caught Armstrong's voice. -He frowned, paused in his preparations, and listened.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is Miss Genevieve at home?" Armstrong was saying.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To Boris's astonishment, he heard the old woman -answer, in a tone which did not conceal her dislike for -the man she was addressing, "Yes, sir. Go into the -studio. She will be in shortly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong entered, to find himself facing Raphael's -most irritating expression—an amused disdain, -the more penetrating for a polite pretense of -concealment. "Come in, Mr. Armstrong," cried he. "But -you mustn't stay long, as we're at work."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How d'ye do," said Armstrong, all but ignoring -him. "Sorry to annoy you. But don't mind me. Go -right on." And he began to wander about the -room—Raphael had thrown a drape over his picture of -Neva. The minutes dragged; the silence was oppressive. -Finally Armstrong said, "Miss Carlin must be -dressing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Beg pardon?" asked Boris, as if he had not heard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," replied Armstrong. "Perhaps I was -thinking aloud."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Silence again, until Raphael, in the hope of inducing -this untimely visitor to depart, said, "Miss Carlin -is getting ready for a sitting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are painting her portrait?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That will be interesting. I'd like to see how it's -done. I'll sit by quite quietly. You won't mind me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm afraid you'll have to go," replied the painter. -"I'd not be disturbed, but a spectator has a disastrous -effect on the sitter."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see," said Armstrong. "Well, I'll wait until -she comes. Are you just beginning?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied Raphael curtly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Is that the portrait?" asked Armstrong, indicating -the covered canvas.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris hesitated, suddenly flung off the cover.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah!" exclaimed Armstrong, under his breath, -drawing back a step.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He gazed with an expression that interested Boris -the lover even more than Boris the student and painter -of human nature. Since the talk with Atwater, -Armstrong had been casting this way and that, night and -day, for some means, any means, to escape from the -sentence the grandee of finance had fixed upon him; -for he had not even considered the alternative—to -strike his flag in surrender. But escape he could not -contrive, and it had pressed in upon him that he must -go down, down to the bottom. He might drag many -with him, perhaps Atwater himself; but, in the depths, -under the whole mass of wreckage would be himself—dead -beyond resurrection. At thirty a man's reputation -can be shot all to pieces, and heal, with hardly a -scar; but not at forty. Still young, with less than half -his strength of manhood run, he would be of the -living that are dead. And he had come to see Neva for -the last time, after fighting in vain against the folly -of the longing—of yielding to the longing, when -yielding could mean only pain, more pain.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now that he had weakly yielded, here was this -creation of the genius who loved her, to put him quite -down. He was like one waking to the sanity of reality -from a dream in which he has figured as all that he -is not but longs to be. "Even if there had been no -one else seeking her," he said to himself, "what hope -was there for me? And with this man loving her— Whether -she loves him as yet or not, she will, she must, -sooner or later." Beside the power to evoke such -enchantment as that which lived and breathed before him, -his own skill at cheating and lying in order to shift the -position of sundry bags of tawny dirt seemed to him -so mean and squalid that he felt as if he were -shrinking in stature and Raphael were towering. At last, -he was learning the lesson of humility—the lesson that -is the beginning of character.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not wait," said he, in a voice that smote the -heart of Boris, the fellow being sensitive to feeling's -faintest, finest note. "Say, please, that I had to go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Raphael astonished himself by having an impulse of -compassion. But he checked it. "He'd better go," -he said to himself. "Seeing her would only increase -his misery." And he silently watched Armstrong move -heavily toward the door into the hall. The big -Westerner's hand was on the portière and his sad gray eyes -were taking a last look at the picture. The faint -rustle of her approach made him hesitate. Before he -could go, she entered. She was not in the silver-white -evening dress Raphael expected, but in the house dress -she was wearing when he came.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm just going," Armstrong explained. "I -shan't interrupt your sitting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, that's off for to-day," replied she. "Now -that I've had the trouble of changing twice on your -account, you'll have to stop awhile. Morning is better -for a sitting, anyhow. We shouldn't have had more -than half an hour of good light."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris was tranquilly acquiescent. "To-morrow -morning!" he said, with not a trace of irritation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you can come at noon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He covered the picture, which had been quite -forgotten by all three in the stress of the meeting of -living personalities. He had a queer ironic smile as he -pushed it back against the wall, took up his hat and -coat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not going," she objected.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His face shadowed at her tone, which seemed to him -to betray a feeling the opposite of objection. "Yes," -said he—"since I can't do this, I must do something -else. I haven't the time to idle about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She colored at this subtle reflection upon her own -devotion to work. All she said was, "At noon -to-morrow, then. And I'll be dressed and ready."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he heard the outer door close Armstrong -said, "I understand now why you like him." He was -looking at the draped easel with eyes that expressed -all he was thinking about Neva, and about Neva and -Boris.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You liked the picture?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," he replied. And there he stopped; his -expression made her glance away and color faintly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What's the trouble?" she inquired with friendly -satire. "Have you lost a few dollars?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lowered his head. "Don't," he said humbly. -"Please—not to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he sat staring at the floor and looking somewhat -shorn, yet a shorn Samson, she watched him, her -expression like a veil not thick enough to hide the fact -that there is emotion behind it, yet not thin enough -to reveal what, or even what kind of, emotion. -Presently she went toward the curtain behind which she -had put her portrait of Narcisse. "I don't think I've -ever shown you any of my work, have I?" said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I've seen—almost everything."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why, you never spoke of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said. Then he added, "I've always hated -your work—not because it was bad, but because it -was good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped her hand from the curtain she had -been about to draw aside.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me see it," said he. "All that doesn't -matter, now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She brought out the portrait. He looked in -silence—he had hid himself behind that impenetrable -stolidity which made him seem not only emotionless but -incapable of emotion. When he took his gaze from the -picture, it was to stare into vacancy. She watched -him with eyes shining softly and sadly. As he -became vaguely conscious of the light upon the dark -path and stirred, she said with irresistible gentleness, -"What is it, Horace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Blues—only the blues," replied he, rousing -himself and rising heavily from his chair. "I must go. -I'll end by making you as uncomfortable as I am -myself. In the mood I'm in to-day, a man should hide -in his bed and let no one come near him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sit down—please," said she, touching his arm in -a gesture of appeal. She smiled with a trace of her -old raillery. "You are more nearly human than I've -ever seen you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He yielded to the extent of seating himself -tentatively on the arm of a chair. "Human? Yes—that's -it. I've sunk down to where I think I'd almost be -grateful even for pity." The spell of good luck, of -prosperity without reverse, that had held him a mere -incarnate ambition, was broken, was dissolving.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seated herself opposite, leaned toward him. -"Horace," she said, "can I help you?" And so -soothing was her tone that her offer could not have -smarted upon the wound even of a proud man less -humbled than he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's nothing in which you could be of the slightest -assistance," replied he. "I've got myself in a -mess—who was ever in a mess that wasn't of his own -making? I jumped in, and I find there's no jumping -out. I might crawl out—but I never learned that -way of traveling, and at my age it can't be learned."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever it is," she said, very slow and deliberate, -"you must let me help you bear it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the silence that followed, the possible meaning -of her words penetrated to him. He looked at her in -a dazed way. "What did you say—just now?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No matter what it is," she repeated, "we can -and will bear it together."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Does that mean you </span><em class="italics">care</em><span> for me?" he asked, as -if stunned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It means I am giving you the friendship you -once asked," was her answer, in the same slow, earnest -way.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," he said. Then, as she colored and shrank, -"I didn't mean to hurt you. Yes, I want your friendship. -It's all—it's more than I've the right to ask, -now. You did well to refuse me, when I wanted you -and thought I had something to give in return."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You didn't want </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>," she replied. "You wanted -only what almost any man wants of almost any woman. -And you had nothing to give me in return—for, -I don't want from any man only what you think -is all a man ought to give a woman, or could give -her. I am like you, in one way. I want all or -nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—you'd get nothing, now, from me," said he -with stolid bitterness. "I'm done for. I wouldn't -drag you down with me, even if you'd let me." And -he seized his hat and strode toward the door. But -she was before him, barring the way. "Drag me -down!" she exclaimed. "A few months ago, when you -asked me to marry you—then you did want to drag -me down. The name of wife doesn't cover the shame -of the plaything of passion. Now——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His stern face relaxed. He looked down at her -doubtfully, longingly. It seemed to him that, if he -were to try now, if he were to ask of her pity what -she had denied to his passion in his strength and pride, -he might get it. The perfume of her bright brown -hair intoxicated him; his whole body was inhaling her -beauty, which seemed to be flowing like the fumes of -ecstasy itself through her delicate, almost diaphanous -draperies of lace and silk and linen. She had offered -only friendship, but passion was urging that she would -yield all if he would but ask. All! And what would -be the price? Why, merely yielding to Atwater. He -need not tell her until he had made terms with him, -had secured something of a future materially, -perhaps a great future, for he could make himself most -useful to Atwater——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No matter what it is," she said, "you can count on me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>—Yes, most useful to Atwater; and all would be -well. Trick her into marrying him—then, compromise -with Atwater—and all would be well. He thought he -was about to stretch out his arms to take her, when -suddenly up started within him the will that was his -real self. "I can't do it," he cried roughly. "Stand -away from the door!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't—do—what?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Can't give in to Atwater." Rapidly he gave -her an outline of the situation. Partly because he -abhorred cant, partly because he was determined not -to say anything sounding like an appeal for her -admiration and sympathy, he carefully concealed the real -reasons of pride and self-respect that forbade him to -make terms with Atwater. "I won't bend to any -man," he ended. "I may be, shall be, struck down. -But I'll never kneel down!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She seemed bewildered by the marshy maze of -trickery through which his explanation had been -taking her. "It seems to me," she urged, "that if you -don't make terms with Mr. Atwater, don't return to -what you originally agreed to do, it'll mean disgrace -you don't deserve, and injury to the men who have -stood by you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So it will," was his answer in a monotonous, -exasperating way. "Nevertheless—" He shrugged his -shoulders—"I can't do it. I've always been that -way. I don't know, myself, till the test comes, what -I may do and what I may not do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her eyes lowered, but he thought he could see and -feel her contempt. She left the door, seated herself, -resting her head on her arms. He shifted awkwardly -from one leg to the other. He felt he had accomplished -his purpose, had done what was the only decent -thing in the circumstances—had disgusted her. It was -time to go. But he lingered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She startled him by suddenly straightening herself -and saying, or rather beginning, "If you really loved -me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He, stung with furious anger, made a scornful -gesture. "Delilah!" he cried. "It's always the same -story. Love robs a man of his strength. You would -use love to tempt me to be a traitor to myself. Yes, -a traitor. I haven't much morality, or that sort of -thing. But I've got a standard, and to it I must hold. -If I yielded to Atwater, I should go straight to hell."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ah," she exclaimed, as if the clouds had suddenly -opened, "then you are right, Horace. You must not -yield! Why did you frighten me? Why didn't you -say that before? Why did you pretend it was mere -stubbornness?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because that's what it is—mere stubbornness. -Stubbornness—that's my manhood—all the manhood -I've got. I grant terms—I do not accept them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His manner chilled, where his words would have had -small effect. And it conveyed no impression of being -an assumed manner; on the contrary, the cold, -immovable man before her seemed more like the -Armstrong she had known than the man of tenderness and -passion. Her words were braver than her manner, and -more hopeful, as she said, "You can't deceive me, -Horace. It must be that it is impossible to make honorable -terms with Atwater."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are, for some reason, trying to drive away -my friendship. Your pride in your own -self-sufficience——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You force me to be perfectly frank," he interrupted. -"My love for you is nothing but a passion. -It has been tempting me to play the traitor to myself. -I caught myself in time. I stand or fall alone. You -would merely burden and weaken me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She sat still and white and cold. Without looking -at her, he, in a stolid, emotionless way, and with -a deliberation that seemed to have no reluctance in it, -left her alone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horace!" she cried, starting up, as the portière -dropped behind him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The only answer was the click of the closing -outside door. She sank back, stared in a stupor at the -shrine which the god had visited after so many -years—had visited only to profane and destroy.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="neva-solves-a-riddle"><span class="bold large">XXIV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">NEVA SOLVES A RIDDLE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Next morning she sent Boris a note asking him -not to come until afternoon. When he entered the -studio he found her before the blazing logs in the big -fireplace, weary, depressed, bearing the unbecoming -signs of a sleepless night and a day crouched down in -the house. "We must go and walk this off," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," replied she listlessly. "Nothing could induce -me to dress."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He lit a cigarette, stretched himself at ease in a big -chair opposite her. "You have had bad news—very -bad news."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel as if I had been ill—on the operating -table—and the cocaine were wearing off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Armstrong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her answer was the silence of assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you told Molly not to let anyone in, yesterday, -you excepted him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I thought it over afterwards and decided that -must be so." Several reflective puffs at the cigarette. -Then, not interrogating, but positively, "You care for -him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do I?" she said, as if the matter were doubtful -and in any event not interesting.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris drew a long breath. "That's why I've been -unable to make a beginning with you. I ought to have -seen it long ago, but I didn't—not until yesterday—not -until I had solved the riddle of his being able to -get in."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's rather a strong conclusion from such a -trifling incident."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Proof is proof enough—to a discerning mind," -replied he. A pause, she staring into the fire, he -studying her. "Strange!" he went on, suspiciously -abstract and judicial. "He's a man I'd have said you -couldn't care for."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So should I," said she, to herself rather than to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was more astonished and interested than he let -appear. "There's no accounting for caprices of the -heart," he pursued. "But it's a fairly good rule that -indifference is always and hugely inflammatory—provided -it conveys the idea that if it were to take fire, -there would be a flame worth the trouble of the -making."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made no comment.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you came on here to win him back?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A woman always does everything with a view to -some man." He smiled in cheerful self-mockery. -"And I deluded myself into believing you thought -only of art. Yes, I believed it. Well—now what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing," she said drearily. "Nothing."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You won, and then discovered you didn't care?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No." She made a gesture that suggested to him -utter emptiness. "I lost," she said, as her hands -dropped listlessly back to her lap.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris winced. Usually a woman makes a confession -so humiliating to vanity, only to one whom, -however she may trust and like him, she yet has not the -slightest desire to attract. Then he remembered that -it might have a different significance, coming from her, -with her pride so large and so free from petty vanity -that the simple truth about a personal defeat gave her -no sense of humiliation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know what to do next," she continued, -thinking aloud. "I seem to have no desire to go on, -and, if I had, there doesn't seem to be any path to go -on upon. You say I care for him. I don't know. I -only know I seem to have needed him—his friendship—or, -rather, my friendship for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris smiled cynically. But her words impressed -him. True friendship was, as a rule, impossible -between women and men; but every rule has exceptions, -and this woman was in so many other ways an exception -to all the rules that it might be just possible -she had not fallen in love with Armstrong's strength -of body and of feature and of will. At any rate, here -was a wound, and a wound that was opportunity. The -sorer the heart, the more eagerly it accepts any -medicine that offers. So Boris suggested, with no -apparent guile in his sympathy, "Why not go abroad for -a year—two years? We can work there, and perhaps—I -can help you to forget." Her expression made him -hasten to add, "Oh, I understand. I'm merely the -artist to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Merely</em><span> the artist! It's because you are 'merely -the artist' that I could not look on you as just a man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris's smile was sardonic. "The women the men -respect too highly to love! The men the women -revere too deeply for passion! Poor wretches." The -smile was still upon his lips as he added, "Poor, lonely -wretches!" But in his eyes she saw a pain that made -her own pain throb in sympathy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We are, all, alone—always," said she. "But -only those like you are great enough to realize it. I -can deceive myself at times. I can dream of perfect -companionship—or the possibility of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But not with me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't trust you—in that way," she replied. -"I estimate your fancy for me at its true value. You -see, I know a good deal of your history, and that -has helped me to take you—not too seriously as a -lover."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How you have misread!" said he, and no one -could have been sure whether he was in earnest or not -under the manner he wore to aid him in avoiding what -he called the colossal stupidity of taking oneself -solemnly. "I'm astonished at your not appreciating -that a man who lives in and upon his imagination can't -be like your sober, calculating, bourgeois friends who -deal in the tangible only. Besides, since I've had you -as a standard, my imagination has been unable to cheat -me. I've even begun to fear I'll never be able to put -you far enough into the background to become -interested again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he thus brought sharply into view the line of -cleavage between their conceptions of the relations of -men and women, she drew back coldly. "I don't -understand your ideas there," said she, "and I don't like -them. Anyone who lives on your theory fritters away -his emotions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all. He makes heavy investments in education. -He accumulates a store of experience, of -appreciation, of discrimination. He learns to -distinguish pearl from paste. It's the habit of women of -your kind to become offended if men tell them the -honest truth.... Doubtless, Armstrong——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't! I don't care to hear."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You interrupt too quickly. I question whether -women interest him at all, he's so busy with his -gambling. Sensible man, happy man—to have a passion -for inanimate things. What I was about to say is -that you women, with all your admiration for strength, -are piqued and angered by the discovery that a man -who is worth while is stronger than any of his -passions, even the strongest, even love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When a woman gives, she gives all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a woman such as you are. And that's why -I know you will recover, will go on, the stronger and, -some day, the happier for it. The broken bone, when -it has healed, is stronger than one that has never been -broken—and the broken heart also. The world owes its -best to strong hearts that have been broken and have -healed." He let her reflect on this before he repeated, -"You should go abroad."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not yet—not just yet."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Soon," said he. "It will be painful for you to -stay here—especially as the truth about him is coming -out now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The truth!" she exclaimed. Her look, like a deer -that has just caught the first faint scent and sound -of alarm, warned him he had blundered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, nothing new," replied he carelessly. "You -know the life of shame they lead, downtown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But what of him?" she insisted. She was sitting -up in her chair now, her face, her whole body, alert.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hear he went too far—or put a paw on prey -that belonged to some one of the lions. So, he's going -to get his deserts. Not that he's any worse than the -others. In fact, he's the superior of most of -them—unless you choose to think a man who has remnants -of decent instinct left and goes against them is worse -than the fellow who is rotten through and through and -doesn't know any better." Raphael realized he was -floundering in deeper and deeper with every word; but -he dared not stop, and so went floundering on, more -and more confused. "You'll not sympathize with him, -when the facts are revealed. It's all his own fault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A long pause, with him watching her in dread as -she sat lost in thought. Presently she came back, drew -a long breath, said, "Yes, all and altogether his own -fault."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He felt enormously relieved. "Come abroad!" he -cried. "Yours is simply a case of a woman's being -irritated by indifference into some emotion which, for -lack of another name, she calls love. Come abroad and -forget it all. Come abroad! Art is there, and -dreams! Paris—Italy—flowers—light—and love, -perhaps. Come—Neva! Do you want fame? Art will -give you that. Do you want love?" Her quickened -breath, her widening, wistful eyes made him boldly -abandon the pretense that he was lingering with her -in friendship's by-path, made him strike into the main -road, the great highway. "I will give you love, if -you'll not shut your heart against me. You and I -have been happy together, haven't we—in our -work—happy many an hour, many a day?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," she admitted. "I owe you all the real -happiness I've ever had."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Over there, with all this far away and vague—over -there, you would quite forget. And happiness -would come. What pictures we would paint! What -thoughts! What dreams! You still have youth—all -of the summer, all of the autumn, and a long, long -Indian summer. But no one has youth enough to waste -any of it. Come, Neva. Life is holding the brimming, -sparkling glass to your lips. Drink!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he spoke, he seemed Life itself embodied; she -could not but feel as if soft light and sweet sound -and the intoxicating odor of summer were flooding, -billow on billow, into the sick chamber where her heart -lay aching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I can," she said. And her glance made him -think of morning sunbeams on leaping waters. "If -I can.... What a strange, stubborn thing a sense -of duty is!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're really just as far from your father here -as you would be there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't explain," said she. "I'll think it over."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he saw he would have to be content with that -for the present.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>About eleven that night Armstrong, his nerves on -edge from long, incessant pacing of the cage in which -Atwater had him securely entrapped, was irritated by -a knock at his door. "Come in!" he called sharply.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He heard the door, which was behind him, open and -close with less noise than the hall boy ever made. Then -nothing but the profound silence again.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, what is it?" he demanded, turning in his -chair—he was sitting before an open fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He started up, instantly recognized her, though -her figure was swathed in an opera wrap, and the lace -scarf over and about her head concealed her features -without suggesting intent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was at the opera," she began. "All at -once—just before the last act—I felt I must see you—must -see you to-night. I knew you'd not come to me. So, -I had to come to you." And she advanced to the -middle of the room. As he made no movement toward her, -said nothing, she flung aside the scarf and opened her -wrap with a single graceful gesture. She was in -evening dress, and the upturned ermine of the collar -of her wrap made a beautiful setting for those slender -white shoulders, the firm round throat, the small, -lightly poised head, crowned with masses of bright -brown hair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took her hand. It was ice. "Come to the -fire," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm cold—with fright," she explained. And then -he noted how pale she was. "It wasn't easy to induce -the hall boy to let me up unannounced. I told him -you were expecting me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She stretched one hand, one slender, round, bare -arm toward the flames. She put one foot on the -fender, and his glance, dropping from the allurement of -the slim fingers, was caught by the narrow pale-gray -slipper, its big buckle of brilliants, the web of -pale-gray translucent silk over her instep——</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've no business here," he said angrily. "You -must go at once."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not until I am warm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked as helpless as he was.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Won't you smoke—please?" she asked, after a -brief silence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He took a cigarette from the box on the table, in -mechanical obedience. As he was lighting it, he felt -that to smoke would somehow be a concession. He -tossed the cigarette into the fire. "You simply can't -stay here," he cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I simply can't go," she replied, "until I am warm."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In his nervousness he forgot, lit a cigarette, felt -he would look absurd if he threw it away, continued -to smoke—sullen, impatient.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ever since you left, yesterday," she went on, -"I've been thinking of what you said, or, rather, of -how you said it. And to-night, sitting there with the -Morrises, I saw through your pretenses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned upon her to make rude denial. But her -eyes stopped him, made him turn hastily away in -confusion; for they gave him a sense that she had been -reading his inmost thoughts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horace," she said, "you came to say good-by."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ridiculous," he scoffed, red and awkward.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horace, look at me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>His gaze slowly moved until it was almost upon -hers, and there it rested.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have made up your mind to get out of the -world, if they defeat you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He laughed noisily. "Absurd! I'm not a romantic -person, like your friend Boris. I'm a plain man of -business. We don't do melodramatic things.... -Come!" He took her scarf from the chair where she -had dropped it. "You must go."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>For answer she slipped off the cloak, deliberately -lined a chair with it, and seated herself. "I shall stay," -said she, "until I have your promise not to be a coward."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked at her with measuring eyes. She was -very pale and seemed slight and frail; her skin was -transparent, her expression ethereal. But the curve of -her chin, though oval and soft, was as resolute as his -own.</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 62%" id="figure-43"> -<span id="i-felt-i-must-see-youmust-see-you-at-once"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'I felt I must see you—must see you at once.'"" src="images/img-332.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'I felt I must see you—must see you at once.'"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You asked for my friendship," she continued. -"I gave it. Now, the time has come for me to show -that my words were not an empty phrase.... -Horace, you are in no condition to judge of your own -affairs. You live alone. You have no one you can -trust, no one you can talk things over with."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He nodded in assent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must tell me the whole story. Bring it out -of the darkness where you've been brooding over it. -You can trust me. Just talking about it will give -you a new, a clearer point of view."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To-morrow—perhaps I'll come to you," he said, -his voice hushed and strained. "But you mustn't stay -here. You've come on impulse——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Where her reputation's concerned a woman never -acts on impulse. You might not come to-morrow. It -must be to-night." Her voice was as strange as his -had been, was so low that its distinctness seemed weird -and ghostly. "Come, Horace, drop your silly -melodramatics—for it's you that are acting melodrama. -Can't you see, can't you feel, that I am indeed your -friend?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He seated himself and reflected, she watching him. -The stillness had the static terror of a room where a -soul is about to leave or about to enter the world. -It was not her words and her manner that had moved -him, direct and convincing though they were; it was -the far subtler revelation of her inmost self, and, -through that, of a whole vast area of human nature -which he had not believed to exist. Suddenly, with -a look in his eyes which had never been there before, -he reached out and took her hand. "You don't know -what this means to me," he said in a slow, quiet voice. -And he released her hand and went to lean his -forehead against the tall shelf of the chimney-piece, his -face hidden from her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not interrupt his thoughts and his emotions -until he was lighting a fresh cigarette at the -table. Then she said, "Now, tell me—won't you, -please?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a long story," he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't try to make it short," urged she. And she -settled herself comfortably.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It took him an hour to tell it; they discussed it for -an hour and a half afterwards. Whenever he became -uneasy about the time, she quieted him by questions or -comments that made him feel her interest and forget -the clock. At the last quarter before two, he rose -determinedly. "I'm going to put you into a cab," said -he. "You have accomplished all you came for—and -more—a great deal more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made no attempt to stay on longer. He helped -her into her cloak, helped her to adjust the scarf so -that it would conceal her face. They were both -hysterically happy, laughing much at little or nothing. -He rang for the elevator, then they dashed down the -stairs and escaped into the street before the car could -ascend and descend again. At the corner where there -was a cab stand, he drew her into the deep shadow of -the entrance to the church, took both her hands -between his. "It will be a very different fight from the -one I was planning when you came," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And you'll win," asserted she confidently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, I'll win. At least, I'll not lose—thanks to -you, Neva." He laughed quietly. "When I'm old, -I'll be able to tell how once the sun shone at -midnight and summer burst out of the icy heart of -January."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded gayly. "Pretty good for a plain business -man," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another moment and she was in the cab and away, -he standing at the curb watching with an expression -that made the two remaining cabmen grin and wink -at each other by the light of the street lamp.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="two-women-intervene"><span class="bold large">XXV</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TWO WOMEN INTERVENE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"If I could find some way of detaching Trafford -from Atwater," Armstrong had said to her as he was -explaining. "But," he had added, "that's hopeless. -He's more afraid of Atwater than of anybody or -anything on earth—and well he may be." Neva seized -upon the chance remark, without saying anything to -him. She knew the Traffords well, knew therefore that -there was one person of whom his fear was greater -than of Atwater, and whose influence over him was -absolute. Early the following morning she called the -Traffords on the telephone. Mrs. Trafford was in the -country, she learned, but would be home in the afternoon. -Neva left a message that she wished particularly -to see her; at five o'clock she was shown into the -truly palatial room in which Mrs. Trafford always had tea.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Narcisse has just left," said Mrs. Trafford. -"She's been rummaging for me in Letty Morris's rag -bag—you know, my husband bought it. She has -found a few things, but not much. Still, Letty wasn't -cheated any worse than most people. The trash! The -trash!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva was too intent upon her purpose to think of -her surroundings that day; but she had often before -been moved to a variety of emotions, none of them -approaching admiration or approval or even tolerance, -by Mrs. Trafford's procession of halls and rooms in -gilt and carving and brocade, by the preposterous -paintings, the glaring proclamation from every wall -and every floor and every ceiling of the alternately -arid and atrocious taste of the fashionable architects -and connoisseurs to whom Mrs. Trafford had trusted. -As in all great houses, the beauties were incidental and -isolated, deformed by the general effect of coarse -appeal to barbaric love of the thing that is gaudy and -looks costly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You aren't going to move into Letty's house?" -said Neva absently. She was casting about for some -not too abrupt beginning.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Heavens, no!" protested Mrs. Trafford, in horror -and indignation. "John bought it—some time ago. -I don't know why." She laughed. "But I do know -he wishes he hadn't now. He wouldn't tell me the price -he paid. I suspect he found out that he had made a -bad bargain as soon as it was too late. There's some -mystery about his buying that house. I -don't—" Mrs. Trafford broke off. Well as she knew Neva, and -intimate and confidential though she was with her, -despite Neva's reserve—indeed, perhaps because of -it—still, she was careful about Trafford's business. And -Neva and Letty were cousins—not intimates or -especially friendly, but nevertheless blood relations. "I -suppose he's ashamed of not having consulted me," -she ended.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How is Mr. Trafford?" asked Neva. "I haven't -seen him for months. He must be working very hard?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He </span><em class="italics">thinks</em><span> he is. But, my dear, I found the men -out long, long ago, in their pretense of hard work. -They talk a great deal downtown, and smoke and eat -a great deal. But they work very little—even those -that have the reputation of working the hardest. -Business—with the upper class men—is a good deal -like fishing, I guess. They spread their nets or drop -their hooks and wait for fish. My husband is killing -himself, eating directors' lunches. You know, they -provide a lunch for the directors, for those that meet -every day—and give them a ten- or twenty-dollar gold -piece for eating it. It's a huge dinner—a banquet, -and all that have any digestion left stuff themselves. -No wonder the women hold together so much better -than the men. If the men had to wear our clothes, -what sights they would be!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva returned to the business about which she had -come. "They're having an investigating committee -down there now, aren't they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not to investigate their diet," said Mrs. Trafford. -"There'd be some sense in that. I suppose it's -another of those schemes of the people who haven't -anything, to throw discredit on the men who do the -work of the world. Universal suffrage is a great -mistake. Only the propertied class ought to be -allowed to vote, don't you think so? Mr. Trafford -says it's getting positively dreadful, the corruption -good men have to resort to, with the legislatures -and with buying elections, all because everybody can -vote."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've not given the subject much thought," said -Neva. "I heard— Some one was talking about the -investigating committee—and said it was the -beginning of another war downtown."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford looked amused. "I didn't dream -you had any interest in that sort of thing. I don't -see how you can be interested. I never let my -husband talk business to me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Usually I'm not interested," said Neva, now -fairly embarked and at ease. "But this particular -thing was—different. It seems, there are two factions -fighting for control of some insurance companies, and -each is getting ready to accuse the other of the most -dreadful things. Mr. Atwater's faction is going to -expose Mr. Fosdick's, and Mr. Fosdick's is going to -expose Mr. Atwater's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford's expression had changed. "Neva, -you've got a reason for telling me this," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," frankly admitted Neva.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I thought you—Mr. Trafford—ought -to be warned of what's coming."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What </span><em class="italics">is</em><span> coming?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know all the details. But, among other -things, there's to be a frightful personal attack on -Mr. Trafford because he is one of Mr. Atwater's -allies. Mr. Atwater thinks, or pretends, he can prevent -it; but he can't. The attack is sure to come."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They couldn't truthfully say anything against -Mr. Trafford," said his wife, with a heat that was -genuine, yet perfunctory, too. "He's human, of -course. But I who have lived with him all these years -can honestly say that he spends his whole life in -trying to do good. He slaves for the poor people who -have their little all invested with his company." Neva -had not smiled, but Mrs. Trafford went on, as if she -had: "I suppose you're thinking that sounds familiar. -Oh, I know every man downtown pretends he is -working only for the good of others, to keep business -going, and to give labor steady employment, when of -course he's really working to get rich, and— Well, -</span><em class="italics">somebody</em><span> must be losing all this money that's piling -up in the hands of a few people who spend it in silly, -wicked luxury. Now, we have always frowned on that -sort of thing. We—Mr. Trafford and I—set our -faces against extravagance and simply live comfortably. -He often says, 'I don't know what the country's -coming to. The men downtown, the leaders, seem -to have gone mad. They have no sense of responsibility. -They aren't content with legitimate profits, -but grab, grab, until I wonder people don't rise -up.' And he says they will, though, of course, that -wouldn't do any good, as things'd just settle back and -the same old round would begin all over again. If -people won't look after their own property, they can't -expect to keep it, can they?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," assented Neva. "Still—I sometimes wonder -that the robbing should be done by the class of -men that does it. One would think he wouldn't need -to protect himself against those who claim to be the -leaders in honesty and honor. It's as if one should -have to lock up all the valuables if the bishop came -to spend the night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's the shame of it!" exclaimed Mrs. Trafford. -"Sometimes Trafford tells me about the men -that come here, the really fine, distinguished, gentlemanly -ones—well, if I could repeat some of the things -to you!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should think," suggested Neva, "it would be -dangerous to have business dealings with such men. -If trouble came, people might not discriminate."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford caught the under-meaning in Neva's -words and tone. She reflected a moment—thoughts -that made her curiously serious—before replying, -"Sometimes I'm afraid my husband will get himself -into just that sort of miserable mess. He is so -generous and confiding, and he believes so implicitly in -some of those men whom I don't believe in at all. Tell -me, Neva, are you sure—about that attack, and about -Mr. Atwater's being mistaken?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There isn't a doubt of it," replied Neva. -"Mr. Trafford ought not to let anything anyone says to -the contrary influence him." And Mrs. Trafford's -opinion of her directness and honesty gave her words -the greatest possible weight.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm ever so much obliged to you, dear," said she. -"It isn't often one gets a proof of real friendship in -this walk of life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't do it altogether for your sake," replied -Neva. "It seemed to me, from what I heard, that the -men downtown were rushing on to do things that -would result in no good and much harm and—unhappiness. -I suppose, if evil has been done, it ought to -be exposed; but I think, too, that no good comes of -malicious and vengeful exposures."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Especially exposures that tend to make the lower -classes suspicious and unruly," said Mrs. Trafford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva colored and glanced at the two strapping -men-servants who were removing the tea table. But -Mrs. Trafford was quite unconscious. A few years -before, when the English foreign habit of thinking and -talking about "lower classes" was first introduced, she -had indulged in it sparingly and nervously. But, -falling in with the fashion of her set, she had become as -bold as the rest of these spoiled children of democracy -in spitting upon the parents and grandparents. It no -longer ever occurred to her to question the meaning -of the glib, smug, ignorant phrase; and, like the rest, -she did not even restrain herself before the "lower -classes" themselves. It was a settled conviction with -her that she was of different clay from the working -people, the doers of manual labor, that their very -minds and souls were different; the fact that they -seemed to think and act in much the same way as the -"upper classes" would have struck her, had she -thought about it at all, as a phenomenon not unlike -the almost human performances of a well-trained, -unusually intelligent monkey. Indeed, she often said, -without being aware of the full implication of the -speech, "In how many ways our servants are like us!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva went away, dissatisfied, depressed, as if she -were retreating in defeat. She felt that she had gained -her point; she understood Mrs. Trafford, knew that -her dominant passion of spotless respectability had -been touched, that the fears which would stir her most -deeply had been aroused; Mrs. Trafford, worldly -shrewd, would put her husband through a cross-examination -which would reveal to her the truth, and would -result in her bringing to bear all her authority over -him. And she knew that Mrs. Trafford could compel -her husband, where no force which Armstrong could -have brought to bear downtown would have the least -effect upon him. "I think I've won," Neva said to -herself; but her spirits continued to descend. Before -the victory, she had thought only about winning, not -at all about what she was struggling for. Now she -could think only of that—the essential.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Like almost all women and all but a few men, Neva -was densely ignorant of and wholly uninterested in -business—the force that has within a few decades -become titanic and has revolutionized the internal as well -as the external basis of life as completely as if we -had been whisked away to another planet. She still -talked and tried to think in the old traditional lines -in which the books, grave and light, are still written -and education is still restricted—although those lines -have as absolutely ceased to bear upon our real life -as have the gods of the classic world. It had never -occurred to her that what the men did when they went -to their offices involved the whole of society in all its -relations, touched her life more intimately than even -her painting. But, without her realizing it, the idea -had gradually formed in her mind that the proceedings -downtown were morally not unlike the occupation of -coal-heaver or scavenger physically. How strong this -impression was she did not know until she had almost -reached home, revolving the whole way the thoughts -that had started as Trafford's bronze doors closed -behind her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She recalled all Armstrong and others had told her -about the sources of Trafford's wealth—Trafford, -with his smooth, plausible personality that left upon -the educated palate an after taste like machine oil. -From Trafford her thoughts hastened on to hover and -cluster about the real perplexity—Armstrong himself—what -he had confessed to her; worse still, what he -had told her as matter-of-course, had even boasted as -evidence of his ability at this game which more and -more clearly appeared to her as a combination of -sneak-thieving and burglary. And heavier and heavier -grew her heart. "I have done a shameful thing," she -said to herself, as the whole repulsive panorama -unrolled before her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was in the studio building, was going up in the -elevator. Just as it was approaching her landing, -Thomas, the elevator boy, gave a sigh so penetrating -that she was roused to look at him, to note his -expression.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What is it, Thomas?" she asked. "Can I do -anything for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Nothing—nothing—thank you," said Thomas. -"It's all over now. I was just thinking back over it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She saw a band of crape round his sleeve. "You -have lost some one?" she said gently.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father," replied the boy. "He died day -before yesterday. And we had to have the money for -the funeral. We're all insured to provide for that. -And my mother went down to collect father's insurance. -It was for a hundred and twenty-five dollars. -We'd paid in a hundred and forty on the policy, it -had been running so long. And when my mother went -to collect, they told her they couldn't get it through -and pay it for about three weeks—and she had to have -the money right away. So, they told her to go down -to some offices on the floor below—it was a firm that's -in cahoots with them insurance sharks. And she went, -and they give her eighty-two dollars for the policy—and -she had to take it because we had to bury father -right away. Only, they didn't give her cash. They -gave her a credit with an undertaker—he's in cahoots, -too. And it took all the eighty-two dollars, and father -was buried like a pauper, at that. I tell you, Miss -Carlin, it's mighty hard." His voice broke. "Them -rich people make a fellow pay for being poor and -having no pull. That's the way we get it soaked to us, -right and left, especially in sickness or hard luck or -death."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva lingered, though she could not trust herself -to speak.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You wouldn't think," Thomas went on, "that -such things'd be done by such a company as——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't!" cried Neva, pressing her hands hysterically -to her ears. "I mustn't hear what company it was!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And she rushed from the car and fled into her -apartment, all unstrung. At last, at last, she not -merely knew but felt, and felt with all her sensitive -heart, the miseries of thousands, of hundreds of -thousands, out of which those "great men" wrought their -careers—those "great men" of whom her friend -Armstrong was one!</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Trafford reached home at half past six and, -following his custom, went directly to his dressing room. -Instead of his valet, he found his wife—seated before -the fire, evidently waiting for him. "Is the door -closed?" she said. "And you'd better draw the -curtain over it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, well," he cried, all cheerfulness. "What -now? Have the servants left in a body?" It had been -a banner day downtown, with several big nets he had -helped to set filled to overflowing, and the fish running -well at all his nets, seines, lines, and trap-ponds. -He felt the jolly fisherman, at peace with God and -man, brimming generosity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to talk to you about that investigation," -said his wife in a tone that cleared his face instantly -of all its sparkling good humor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Whatever started you in that direction?" he -exclaimed. "Don't bother your head about it, my dear. -There'll be no investigation. Not that I was afraid -of it. Thank God, I've always tried to live as if each -moment were to be my last."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Atwater is going to attack Mr. Fosdick, isn't he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford showed his amazement. "Why, where did -you hear </span><em class="italics">that</em><span>?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And he thinks Mr. Fosdick and his friends won't -be able to retort," continued Mrs. Trafford. "Well, -he's mistaken. They are going to retort. And you -are the man they'll attack the most furiously."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford sat down abruptly. All the men who are -able to declare for themselves and their families such -splendid dividends in cash upon a life of self-sacrifice -to humanity, are easily perturbed by question or threat -of question. Trafford, with about as much courage as -a white rabbit, had only to imagine the possibility of -being looked at sharply, to be thrown into inward -tremors like the beginnings of sea-sickness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It don't matter," continued his wife, "whether -you are innocent or not. They are going to hold -you up to public shame."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Who told you this?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neva."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She must have got it from the Morrises—or Armstrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She came here especially to tell me, and she would -not have come if she did not know it was serious."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They sent her here to frighten me," said Trafford. -"Yes, that's it!" And he rose and paced the -floor, repeating now aloud and now to himself, "That's -it! That's undoubtedly it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Tell me the whole story," commanded his wife, -when the limit of her patience with his childishness had -been reached. "You need an outside point of view."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had told Neva she never permitted Trafford to -talk business with her. In fact, he consulted her at -every crisis, both to get courage and to get advice. -He now hastened to comply. "It's very simple. Some -time ago, a few of us who like to see things run -on safe, conservative lines, decided that Fosdick's and -Armstrong's management of the O.A.D. was a -menace to stability. Armstrong and Fosdick had -quarreled. It was Armstrong who came to us and -suggested our interfering. I thought the man was -honest, and I did everything I could to help him and -Morris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Including buying Morris's house," interjected -Mrs. Trafford, to prevent him from so covering the -truth with cant that it would be invisible to her.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That did figure in it," admitted Trafford, in -some confusion. "Then, we found out they were -simply using us to get control of the O.A.D. for -themselves. So we—Atwater and Langdon and -I—arranged quietly to drop them into their own trap. -We've done it—that's all. Next week we're going to -expose them and their false committee; and the policy -holders of the O.A.D. will be glad to put their -interests in the hands of men we can keep in order. -Fosdick and Armstrong can't retaliate. We've got the -press with us, and have made every arrangement. -Anything they say will be branded at once as malicious -lies."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What kind of malicious lies will they tell?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How should I know?" And Trafford preened, -with his small, precisely clad figure at its straightest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you do know," said Mrs. Trafford slowly and -with acidlike significance.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford made no reply in words. His face, however, -was eloquent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been hypnotized by Atwater," pursued -Mrs. Trafford. "You think him more powerful than -he is. And—he isn't in any insurance company -directly, is he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Langdon?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—they keep in the background." Trafford's -upper lip was trembling so that she could see it despite -his mustache.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you'll be right out in front of the guns. -You—alone."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There aren't any guns."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm surprised at you!" exclaimed his wife. -"Don't you know Horace Armstrong better than that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The treacherous hound!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He has his bad side, I suppose, like everybody -else," said Mrs. Trafford, who felt that it was not wise -to humor him in his prejudices that evening. "His -character isn't important just now. It's his ability -you've got to consider."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Atwater's got him helpless."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Impossible!" declared Mrs. Trafford, in a voice -that would have been convincing to him, had her words -and his own doubts been far less strong. "You may -count on it that there's to be a frightful attack on you -next week. Neva Carlin knew what she was about."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's nothing they can say—nothing that -anybody'd believe." His whiskers and his hair were -combed to give him a resolute, courageous air. The -contrast between this artificial bold front and the look -and voice now issuing from it was ludicrous and pitiful.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford flashed scorn at him. "What nonsense!" -she exclaimed. "I never heard of a big -business that could stand it to have the doors thrown open -and the public invited to look where it pleased. I -doubt if yours is an exception, whatever you may -think."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But the doors won't be thrown open," he pleaded -rather than protested. "Our private business will -remain private."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Armstrong is going to attack you, I tell you. -He's not the man to fire unless he has a shot in his -gun—and powder behind it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he can't. He knows nothing against me." And -Trafford seated himself as if he were squelching -his own doubts and fears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He knows as much about the inside of your company -as you know about the inside of his. You can -assume that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford shifted miserably in his chair.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What reason have you to suppose that as keen a -man as he is would not make it his business to find -out all about his rivals?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What if he does know?" blustered Trafford. -"To hear you talk, my dear, you'd think I ran some -sort of—of a"—with a nervous little laugh—"an -unlawful resort."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know you wouldn't do anything you thought -was wrong," replied his wife, in a strained, insincere -voice. "But—sometimes the public doesn't judge -things fairly."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"People who have risen to our position must -expect calumny." He was of the color of fear and his -fingers and his mouth and his eyelids were twitching.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What difference would it make to Atwater and -Langdon, if you were disgraced?" she urged. -"Mightn't they even profit by it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At this he jumped up, and began to pace the floor. -"You ought to be ashamed of yourself!" he cried. -"To put suspicion in my head against these honorable men!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want you to protect yourself and your family," -she retorted crushingly. "The temptation to make -a little more money, or a good deal more, ought not -to lead you to risk your reputation. Look at the men -that were disgraced by that last investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But they had done wrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"They don't think so, do they? How do you know -what some of the things you've done will look like -when they're blazoned in the newspapers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm not afraid!" declaimed Trafford, fright in -his eyes and in his noisy voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," said his wife soothingly. "Of course, -you've done nothing wrong. You needn't tell </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> that. -But it's just as bad to be misunderstood as to be -guilty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>During the silence which fell he paced the floor -like a man running away, and she gazed thoughtfully -into the fire. When she spoke again it was with a -subdued, nervous manner and as if she were telling -him something which she wished him to think she did -not understand. "One day I was driving in the East -Side, looking after some of my poor. There was a -block—in the Hester Street market. A crowd got -around the carriage, and a man—a dreadful, dirty, -crazy-eyed creature—called out, 'There's the wife of -the blood-sucker Trafford, that swindles the poor on -burial insurance!' And the crowd hissed and hooted -at me, and shook their fists. And a woman spat into -the carriage." Mrs. Trafford paused before going -on: "I get a great many anonymous letters. I never -have worried you about these things. You have your -troubles, and I knew it was all false. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her voice ceased. For several minutes, oppressive -and menacing silence brooded over that ostentatious -room. Its costly comforts and costlier luxuries -weighed upon the husband and wife, so far removed -from the squalor of those whose earnings had been -filched to create this pitiful, yet admired, flaunting of -vanity. Finally he said, speaking almost under his -breath, "What would you advise me to do?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Although she had long had ready her answer to -that inevitable question, she waited before replying. -"Not to pull Atwater's chestnuts out of the fire for -him," said she slowly. "Stop the attack. I've an -instinct that evil will come of it—evil to us. Let -Armstrong alone. If he's not managing his business -right, what concern is it of yours? And if you try -to get it, what if, instead of making money, you lose -your reputation—maybe, more? What does Atwater -risk? Nothing. What does Langdon risk? Nothing. -What do you risk? Everything. That's not sensible, -is it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But I can't go back on Atwater," he objected in -the tone that begs to be overruled. "Armstrong -would attack me, anyhow, and I'd simply have both -sides against me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She turned upon him, amazed, terrified. "Do you -mean to say you've got no hold on Atwater?" she -exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am a gentleman, dealing with gentlemen," said -he, with dignity.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made a gesture of contempt. "But suppose -Atwater should prove not to be a gentleman—what -then?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He'd hesitate to play fast and loose with me," -Trafford now confessed. "He owes our allied -institutions too many millions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," she said, relieved. Then—"And what -precaution has he taken against your deserting him?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None, so far as I know, except that he would -probably join in Armstrong's attack. But, my dear, -you entirely misunderstand. Atwater and I have the -same interests. We——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know, I know," she interrupted impatiently. -"What I'm trying to get at is how you can induce -him to come to an agreement with Armstrong. Can -you think of no way?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had never contemplated this emergency," he -replied apologetically. His conduct now seemed to -him to have been headlong, imbecile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You must do something this very night," said -his wife. "There might be a change of plan on one -side or the other. You must see that your position, -unprotected among these howling beasts, is perilous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At that, Trafford fell to trembling so violently -that, ashamed though he was to have any human being, -even his wife, see the coward in him, he yet could not -steady himself. "I can offer Armstrong peace and -a voice in our company. If he accepts, I can stop -Atwater. I can frankly show him that I am not -prepared to withstand an attack and that it is surely -coming. He will not refuse. He won't dare. -Besides—" He stopped suddenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Besides—what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is upon me—upon my men—that Atwater -relies to make the attack. He hasn't the necessary -information—at least, I don't think he has."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Mrs. Trafford gave a long sigh of relief. "Why -didn't you say that at first?" she cried. "All you -have to do is to put Atwater off and make terms with -Armstrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Atwater is a very dangerous man to have as an enemy."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he's not a fool. He'll never blame you for -saving yourself from destruction."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neither seemed to realize how much of their secret -thought—thought not clearly admitted even to their -secret selves—was revealed in her using that terrible -word, and in his accepting it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He glanced at his watch. "I think I'll go now."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, indeed," said she. "This is the best time to -catch them. They'll be dressing for dinner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he hurried away.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="trafford-as-a-dove-of-peace"><span class="bold large">XXVI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">TRAFFORD AS DOVE OF PEACE</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Trafford sprang from his cab at Armstrong's -hotel, Armstrong was just entering the door. -"Mr. Armstrong! Mr. Armstrong!" he cried, hastening -after him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The big, easy-going-looking Westerner—still the -Westerner, though his surface was thoroughly -Easternized—turned and glanced quizzically down at the -small, prim-looking Trafford. "Hello! What do you -want?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To see you for a few minutes, if it is quite -convenient," replied Trafford, still more nervous before -Armstrong's good-natured contempt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A very few minutes," conceded the big man. -"I've a pressing engagement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>They went up to his apartment. As he opened the -door, he saw a note on the threshold. "Excuse me," -he said, picking it up, and so precipitate that he did -not stand aside to let Trafford enter first. In the -sitting room he turned on the light, tore open the -note and read; and Trafford noted with dismay that, -as he read, his face darkened. It was a note from -Neva, saying that she had just got a telegram from -home, that her father was ill; she had scrawled the -note as she and Molly were rushing away to catch the -train. He glanced up, saw Trafford. "Oh—beg -pardon—sit down." And he read the note again; and -again his mind wandered away into the gloom. Once -more, after a moment or two, his eyes reminded him -of Trafford. "Beg pardon—a most annoying -message— Do sit down. Have a cigar?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at present, thank you," said Trafford in his -precise way, reminiscent of the far days when he had -taught school.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well—what can I do for you?" inquired Armstrong, -adding to himself, "This is Atwater's first -move." But he was not interested; his mind was on -Neva, on the note that had chilled him—"unreasonably," -he muttered, "yet, she might have put in just -the one word—or something."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford saw that he had no part of Armstrong's -attention. He coughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you can give me—" he began.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, yes," said Armstrong impatiently. "What -is it? You can't expect me to be enthusiastic, -exactly, about you, you know. I didn't expect anything -of the others; but I was idiot enough to think you -weren't altogether shameless—you, the principal owner -of the Hearth and Home!" Armstrong's sarcasm was -savage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are evidently laboring under some misapprehension, -Mr. Armstrong," cried Trafford, pulling at -his neat little beard, while one of his neat little feet -tapped the carpet agitatedly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Bosh!" said Armstrong. "I know all about you. -Don't lie to me. What do you want? Come to the -point!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There was a pink spot in each of Trafford's cheeks. -"I have been much distressed," said he, "at the -confusion downtown, at the strained relations between -interests that ought to be working together in harmony -for the general good." Armstrong's frown hastened -him. "I have come to see if it isn't possible to bring -about good feeling and peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You come from Atwater?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—that is—Frankly, no."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong rose with a gesture of dismissal. -"We're wasting time. Atwater is the man. Unless -you have some authority from him, I'll not detain you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, my dear sir," cried Trafford, in a ferment -to the very depths now, because convinced by -Armstrong's manner that he was not dealing with a beaten -man but with one champing for the fray. "You do -not seem to hear me," he implored. "I tell you I can -make terms. In this matter Atwater is dependent -upon me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've come about the attack he's going to make -on the O.A.D.?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Precisely. I've come to arrange to stop it, to -say I wish to make no attack."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You mean, you don't wish to be attacked," -rejoined Armstrong with a cold laugh that made -Trafford's flesh creep. "By the time Morris gets through -with you, I don't see how you can possibly be kept -out of the penitentiary. He has all the necessary -facts. I think he can compel you to disgorge at least -two thirds of what you've stolen and salted away. I -don't see where you got the courage to go into a fight, -when you're such an easy target. The wonder is you -weren't caught and sent up years ago."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is strange language, very strange language," -said Trafford in an injured tone, and not -daring to pretend or to feel insulted. "I am -surprised, Mr. Armstrong, that you should use it in your -own house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I didn't ask you here. You thrust yourself in," -Armstrong reminded him, but his manner was less -savage.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"True, I did come of my own accord. And I still -venture to hope that you will see the advantages of -a peaceful solution."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What do you propose?—in as few words as possible," -said Armstrong, still believing Trafford was -trying to trifle with him, for some hidden purpose.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To call off our attack," Trafford answered, -"provided you will agree to call off yours. To give -you a liberal representation in our board of -directors, including a member of the executive committee."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong was astounded. He could not believe -that Trafford's humble, eager manner was simulated. -Yet, these terms, this humiliating surrender of assured -victory—it was incredible. "You will have to explain -just how you happened to come here," said he, "or -I shall be unable to believe you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The pink spots which had faded from Trafford's -cheeks reappeared. "It was my wife," he replied. -"She heard there was to be a scandal. She has a -horror of notoriety—you know how refined and sensitive -she is. She would not let me rest until I had -promised to do what I could to bring about peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong was secretly scorning his own stupidity. -He had spent days, weeks on just this problem -of breaking up the combination against him, of -separating Trafford or Langdon from Atwater; and the -simple, easy, obvious way to do it had never occurred -to him, who dealt only with the men and disregarded -the women as negligible factors in affairs. To -Trafford he said, "You've not seen Atwater?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, but I shall go to him as soon as I have some -assurance from you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater—there was the rub. Armstrong felt that -the time to hope had not yet come. Still he would not -discourage Trafford. He simply said, "I can't give -any assurance until I consult Morris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, as I understand it—at least, his original -motive was simply a political ambition. We can easily -gratify that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He wants fireworks—something that'll make the -popular heart warm up to him. He has a long head. -He wants some basis, at least, in popularity, so that -he won't be quite at the mercy of you gentlemen, -should you turn against him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see—I see," said Trafford. "He was counting -on the reputation he would make as an inquisitor. Yes, -that would give him quite a push. But—there ought -to be plenty of other matters he might safely and -even, perhaps, beneficially, inquire into. For instance, -there is the Bee Hive Mutual—a really infamous -swindle. I've had dealings with many unattractive -characters in the course of my long business career, -Mr. Armstrong, but with none so repellent in every way -as Dillworthy. He has made that huge institution a -private graft for himself and his family. He is shocking, -even in this day of loose conceptions of honesty -and responsibility."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Have you any facts?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Some, and they are at Mr. Morris's disposal. -But all he needs to do is to send for the books of the -Bee Hive. I am credibly informed—you can rely on -it—that the Dillworthys have got so bold that they do -not even look to the books. The grafting in that -company is quite as extensive and as open as in our -large industrial and railway corporations—and, you -know, they haven't profited by the lesson we in the -insurance companies had in the great investigation."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Your proposal will content Morris, I think," -Armstrong now said. "As the Dillworthys aren't -entangled with any of the other large interests, -showing them up will not cause a spreading agitation." He -laughed. "There's a sermon against selfishness! -If old Dillworthy hadn't been so greedy, so determined -to keep it all in the family, he wouldn't be in this -position."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There will be general satisfaction over his exposure," -replied Trafford. "And it will greatly benefit, -tone up, the whole business world."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Really, it's our Christian duty to concentrate on -the Busy Bee, isn't it?" said Armstrong sardonically. -"Well— Can you see Atwater to-night?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm going direct to his house. But where shall I -find you? You said you had an engagement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong winced as if a wound had been roughly -set to aching. "I'll be here," he said gruffly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We might dine together, perhaps? Atwater may -be able to come, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No—can't do it," was Armstrong's reply. "But -I'll be here from half past eight on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford, so much encouraged that he was almost -serene again, sped away to Atwater's palace in Madison -Avenue. The palace was a concession to Mrs. Atwater -and the daughters. They loved display and had the -tastes that always accompany that passion; they, -therefore, lived in the unimaginative and uncomfortable -splendor of the upper class heaven that is -provided by the makers of houses and furniture, whose -one thought, naturally, is to pile on the cost and thus -multiply the profits.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Atwater had part of the house set aside for -and dedicated to his own personal satisfaction. With -the same sense of surprise that one has at the abrupt -transition of a dream from one phantasy to another -resembling it in no way except as there is a resemblance -in flat contradictions, one passed out of the great, -garish, price-encrusted entrance hall, through a door -to the left into a series of really beautiful rooms—spacious, -simple, solidly furnished; with quiet harmonies -of color, with no suggestions of mere ornamentation -anywhere. The Siersdorfs had built and -furnished the whole house, and its double triumph was -their first success. With the palace part they had -pleased the Atwater women and the crowd of rich -eager to display; with the part sacred to Atwater, they -had delighted him and such people as formed their -ideas of beauty upon beauty itself and not upon -fashion or tradition or outlay. Trafford was shown into -a music room where Atwater was playing on the piano, -as he did almost every evening for an hour before -dinner. It was a vast room, walls and ceilings paneled -in rosewood; there were no hangings, except at the -windows valances of velvet of a rosewood tint, relieved -by a broad, dull gold stripe; a few simple articles of -furniture; Boris Raphael's famous "Music" on the -wall opposite the piano, and no other picture; a huge -vase of red and gold chrysanthemums at the opposite -side of the room to balance the painting; Atwater at -the piano, in a dark red, velvet house suit, over it a -silk robe of a somewhat lighter shade of red, as the -room was not heated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Business?" he said, pausing in his playing, with -a careless, unfriendly glance at Trafford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll only trouble you a moment," apologized the -intruder. His prim, strait-laced appearance gave -those surroundings, made sensuous by Boris's -intoxicatingly sensuous picture, an air of impropriety, of -immorality—like a woman in Quaker dress among the -bare shoulders, backs, and bosoms of a ballroom.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Business!" exclaimed Atwater, rising. "Not in -this room, if you please."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He led the way to a smaller room with a billiard -table in the center and great leather seats and benches -round the walls. "Do you play, Trafford? Music, I -mean."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I regret to say, I do not," replied Trafford.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you ought to get a mechanical piano. -Music in the evening is like a bath after a day in the -trenches. Try it. It'll soothe you, put you into a -better condition for the next day's bout. What can I -do for you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've come about the O.A.D. matter. Atwater, -don't you think we might lose more than we stand to -gain?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater concealed his satisfaction. Since his talk -with Armstrong, he had been remeasuring with more -care that young man's character, and had come to the -conclusion that he was entering upon a much stiffer -campaign than he had anticipated. Atwater's dealings -were, and for years had been, with men of large -fortune—industrial "kings," great bankers, huge -investors. Such men are as timid as a hen with a brood. -They will fight fiercely—if they must—for their brood -of millions. But they would rather run than fight, and -much rather go clucking and strutting along -peacefully with their brood securely about them. To -manage such men, after one has shown he knows where the -worms are and how they may be got, all that is -necessary is inflexible, tyrannical firmness. Their minds, -their hearts, their all, is centered in the brood; -personal emotions, they have none—that is, none that need -be taken into account. Atwater ruled, autocratic, -undisputed. Who would dare quarrel with such a liberal -provider of the best worms?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Armstrong's personality presented another -proposition. Here was a man with no fortune, not -even enough to have roused into a fierce passion the -universal craving for wealth. He had a will, a brain, -courage—and nothing to lose. And he, still comparatively -poor, had succeeded in lifting himself to a position -of not merely nominal but actual power. The -misgivings of Atwater had been growing steadily. -The price of pulling down this man might too easily -be far, far beyond its profits. "We shall have to come -together for a finish fight sooner or later—if I live," -reasoned Atwater. "But this is not the best time I -could have chosen. He isn't deeply enough involved. -He isn't helpless enough. I'm breaking my rule never -to fight until I'm ready and the other fellow isn't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Instead of answering Trafford's pointed and -anxious question, Atwater was humming softly. "I can't -get that movement out of my head," he broke off to -explain. "I'm very fond of Grieg—aren't you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I know about music only in the most general way. -My wife——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You let your women attend to the family -culture, eh?" interrupted Atwater. "You originally -suggested this war on Fosdick and Armstrong. By -the way, you heard the news this afternoon? -Armstrong has thrown out the whole executive staff of the -O.A.D.—at one swoop—and has put in his own -crowd."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford leaped in the great leather chair in which -his small body was all but swallowed up. "Impossible!" -he cried. "Why, such a thing would be -illegal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Undoubtedly. But—how many years would it -be before a court can pass on it—pass on it finally? -Meanwhile, Armstrong is in possession."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That completely alters the situation," said Trafford, -in dismay. "Atwater, it would be folly—madness!—for -us to go on, if we could make a treaty with -Armstrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't agree with you," said Atwater, with -perfect assurance now that he saw that Trafford would -not call his bluff by acquiescing. "Trafford, I'm -surprised; you're losing your nerve."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Using sound business judgment is not cowardice," -retorted Trafford. "I owe it to my family, to -the stability of business, not to encourage a senseless, -a calamitous war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater shrugged his shoulders. "As you please. -I feel that, in this affair, your wishes are -paramount. But, at the same time, Trafford, I tell you -frankly, I don't like to be trifled with. Nor does -Langdon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Perhaps Morris and Armstrong might be induced -to turn their attention elsewhere—say, to the Busy -Bee. Would you not feel compensated by getting -control there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not a bad idea," mused Atwater aloud. "Not -by any means a bad idea." He reflected in silence. -"If you could arrange that, it would be even better -than the plan you ask me to abandon at the eleventh -hour."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you agree?" said Trafford, quivering with -eagerness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If we can get the Busy Bee. I've had an eye -on that chap Dillworthy, for some time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am much relieved," said Trafford, rising. His -face was beaming; there was once more harmony between -his expression and the aggressive, unbending cut -of his hair and whiskers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Atwater looked at him sharply. "You've seen -Armstrong," he jerked out.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford hesitated. "I thought," he said apologetically, -"it would be best to have a general talk with -Armstrong first—just to sound him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand." Atwater laughed sarcastically. -"And may I ask, if it wasn't the news of the upset -in the O.A.D., what was it that set you to running -about so excitedly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford gave a nervous cough. "My wife—you -know how refined and sensitive she is— She got wind -of the impending scandal, and, being very tender-hearted -and also having a horror of notoriety, she -urged me to try to find a peaceful way out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Petticoats!" said Atwater, with derision, but -tolerant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not that I would have—" Trafford began to protest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No apology necessary. I comprehend. I've got -them in the house."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Trafford laughed, relieved. "The ladies are -difficult at times," said he, "but, how would we do -without them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know, I'm sure," said Atwater dryly. -"I never had the good fortune of the opportunity to -try it. What did Armstrong say, when you sounded -him? I believe you called it 'sounding,' though I -suspect— No matter. What did he say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think you may safely assume the matter is -settled. In fact, Armstrong has shown a willingness -to make peace."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Rather!" said Atwater, edging his visitor toward -the door. "Good night," he added in the same breath; -and he was rid of Trafford. He went slowly back to -the piano, and resumed the interrupted symphony -softly, saying every now and then, in a half -sympathetic, half cynical undertone, "Poor Dillworthy! -Poor devil!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="breakfast-al-fresco"><span class="bold large">XXVII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BREAKFAST AL FRESCO</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Armstrong sent Neva a prompt telegram of -sympathy and inquiry. He got a telegraphed reply—her -thanks and the statement that her father was desperately -ill, but apparently not in immediate danger. He -wrote her about the highly satisfactory turn in his -affairs; to help him to ease, he tried to dismiss herself -and himself, but at every sentence he had to stem again -the feeling that this letter would be read where he was -remembered as the sort of person it made him hot -with shame to think he had ever been. He waited two -weeks; no answer. Again he wrote—a lover's appeal -for news of her. Ten days, and she answered, ignoring -the personal side of his letter, simply telling how ill -her father was, what a long struggle at best it would -be to save him. Armstrong saw that nursing and -anxiety were absorbing all her time and thought and -strength. He wrote a humble apology for having -annoyed her, asked her to write him whenever she could, -if it was only a line or so.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Two more increasingly restless weeks, and he -telegraphed that he was coming. She telegraphed an -absolute veto, and in the first mail came a letter that -was the more crushing because it was calm and free -from bitterness. "In this quiet town," wrote she, -"where so little happens, you know how they -remember and brood and become bitter. What is past and -forgotten for us is still very vivid to him and magnified -out of all proportion. Please do not write again, -until you hear from me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Thus, he learned that his worst fears were justified. -If she had shown that, in the home atmosphere again, -she was seeing him as formerly, he could have -protested, argued, appealed. But how strive against her -duty to her sick, her dying father whose generous -friendship he had ruthlessly betrayed and whose life -he had embittered? He debated going to Battle Field -and seeing Mr. Carlin and asking forgiveness. But -such an agitating interview would probably hasten -death, even if he could get admittance; besides, he -remembered that Frederic Carlin, slow to condemn, never -forgave once he had condemned. "He feels toward -me as I'd feel in the same circumstances. I have got -only what I deserve." No judgments are so terrible -as those that are just.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The state of Armstrong's mind so preyed upon -him that it affected even his giant strength and health, -and his friends urged him to take a vacation. He -worked only the harder, because in work alone could -he get any relief whatever from the torments of his -remorse and his baffled love. He became morose, given -to bursts of unreasonable anger. "Success is turning -his head," was the general opinion. "He's getting to -be a tyrant, like the others." In some moods, he saw -the lessons of gentleness and forbearance in the fate -his selfish arrogance had brought upon him; but it is -not in the nature of men of strong individuality and -unbroken will to practice such lessons. The keener his -sufferings, the bitterer, the harder he became. And -soon he began to feel that there was nearly if not -quite a quittance of the balance between him and the -man he had wronged. He convinced himself that, if -Neva's father were dead, he could speedily win her. -"Meanwhile," he reflected, "I must take my punishment"; -and with the stolid, unwhimpering endurance -of those whose ancestors have through countless -generations been schooled in the fields, the forests, and the -camps, he waited for the news that would mean the end -of his expiation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Raphael, taking his walk in Fifth Avenue late one -afternoon instead of in Central Park, saw him in a -closed motor in the halted mass of vehicles at the -Forty-second Street crossing. Boris happened to be -in his happiest mood. Always the philosopher, he was -too catholic in his interests and tastes to permit -disappointment in any one direction or even in many -directions to close the other avenues to the joy of life. -There were times when he could not quite banish -the shadows which the thought of death cast over -him—death, so exasperating to men of pride and imagination -because, of all their adversaries, it alone cannot -be challenged or compromised. But on that day, -Boris had only the sense of life, life at its best, with -the sun bright and not too warm, with the new garb -of nature and of womankind radiantly fresh, and the -whole world laughing because the winter had been -vanquished once more. As his all-observing eyes noted -Armstrong's profile, his face darkened. There was for -him, in that profile, rugged, stern, inflexible, a -challenge of the basis of his happiness.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In all his willful life Boris had never wanted -anything so intensely, so exclusively as he wanted Neva. -Every man who falls in love with a woman feels that -he is her discoverer, that he has a property right -securely based upon discovery. Raphael's sense of his -right to Neva was far stronger; it was the creator's -sense. Had he not said, "Let there be beauty and -light and capacity to give and receive love"? And -had not these wonders sprung into existence before his -magic? True, the beauty and the light and the power -to give and to receive were different both in kind and -in degree from what he had commanded. But that did -not alter his right. And this Armstrong, this coarse -savage who would take away his Galatea to serve in a -vulgar, sooty tent of barbaric commerce— The very -sight of Armstrong set all his senses on edge, as if each -were being assailed by its own particular abhorrence.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That day the stern, inflexible profile somehow -struck into him the same chill that always came at the -thought of death with its undebatable "must." Yet -there was in his pocket, at the very moment, warming -his heart like a flagon of old port, a long letter -from Neva, a confidential letter, full of friendly, -intimate things about herself, her anxieties, her hopes, -and fears; and she asked him to stop off on his way -to or from his lectures before the Chicago art -students. "Narcisse is here," she wrote. "She will be -leaving about that time, she says, and if you stop on -your way, she and you can go back together. How -I wish I could go, too! Not until I settled down here -did I appreciate what you—and New York—had done -for me. Yet I had thought I did. Do stop off here. -It will be so good to see you, Boris."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As he looked at Armstrong's profile, he laid his -hand on his coat over the letter and remembered that -sentence—"It will be so good to see you." But the -shadow would not depart. That profile persisted; he -could not banish it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he descended from the train at the Battle -Field station and saw Neva, with Narcisse beside her -in a touring car, he saw that ominous profile, plain -as if Armstrong were there, too. This, though Neva's -welcome was radiantly bright. "What's the matter, -Boris?" cried Narcisse, climbing to the seat beside the -chauffeur before Neva could prevent. "Get in -beside your hostess and cheer up. You ought to look -like a clear sunrise. The lecture was a triumph. I -read two whole columns of it aloud to Neva and her -father this morning. No cant. No hypocrisy. They -agreed with me that your art ideas are like an island -in the boundless ocean of flap-doodle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"My father used to sell bananas from a cart in -Chicago," said Boris, "and we lived in the cellar where -he ripened them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva glanced at him with quick sympathetic -interest. It was the first time he had happened to -speak of his origin. "I always thought you were -born abroad," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think not," replied he. "I really don't know -at exactly what point I broke into the world. Those -things matter so little. Countries, governments, -races—they mean nothing to me. I meet my fellow beings -as individuals."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There he caught Neva studying him with an expression -so curious that he paused. She forestalled -his question by plunging into an animated talk about -his lecture. He was well content to listen, enjoying -now the surroundings and now the beauty of the -woman beside him. Both were wonderfully soothing -to him, filled him with innocent, virtuous thoughts, -made him envy, and half delude himself into fancying -he wished for himself, the joys of somnolescent, -corpulent, middle-class life—the life obviously led by -the people dwelling in these flower-embedded houses -on either side of these shady streets. He sighed; -Neva laughed. And he saw that she was laughing at him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, why not?" he demanded, knowing she -understood his sigh. But before she could answer he -was laughing at himself. "Still, I like it, for a -change," said he. "And—" he was speaking now in -an undertone—"with you I could be happy in such -a place—always. Just with you; not if we let these -stupid burghers in to fret me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She laughed outright. "I understand you better -than you understand yourself," said she. "Change -and contrast are as necessary to you as air. If you -had to live here, you would commit suicide or become -commonplace.... And so should I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not with a husband you loved and children you -adored and a home you had created yourself. As the -world expands, it contracts; as it contracts, it -expands. From end to end the universe is not so vast -as such a love."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva, coloring deeply and profoundly moved, -leaned forward. "I'm sorry you're missing this," -said she, lightly to Narcisse. "Boris is sentimentalizing -about the vine-clad cottage with children clambering."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's about time you quit and came in to settle -down," called Narcisse. "A few years more and -you'll cease to be romantic. An old beau is -ridiculous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Boris gave Neva a triumphant look. "Narcisse -votes yes," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But they were arriving at the house. As the motor -ran up the drive under the elms toward the gorgeous -masses of forsythia about the entrance steps, Boris's -eyes were so busy that he scarcely heard, while Neva -explained that her father was too weak to withstand -the excitement of visitors—"especially anyone -distinguished. We're not telling him you're here. He would -feel it his duty to exert himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Distinguished!" he exclaimed. "In presence of -these elms and this house built for all time, and these -eternal colors, how could mere mortal be distinguished?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not until the next morning that he had a -chance to talk with her alone. He rose early and went -out before breakfast. He strolled through the woods -back of the house until he came to a pavilion with a -creek rushing steeply down past it toward Otter Lake. -In the pavilion he found Neva with a great heap of -roses in her lap, another on the table, another on the -bench. On her bright hair was a huge garden hat, its -broad streamers of pink ribbon flowing upon her -shoulders.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She dropped her shears and watched him with the -expression in her eyes that he had surprised there, as -they were coming from the station in the motor. -"May I ask," said he, "what is the meaning of that -look?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you sleep well?" parried she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Without a dream."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know," replied she—"Let us have breakfast -here—you and I.... Washington!" she called.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There rose from a copse below, near the brim of -the creek, a small colored boy, barefooted, bareheaded, -with no garments but a blue shirt and a pair of blue -cotton jean trousers. She sent him off to the house -to tell them to bring breakfast. And soon a maid -appeared with a tray whose chief burden was a -heating apparatus for coffee and milk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've heard you say you detested cold coffee," said -Neva. "Your frown when I suggested breakfast out -here was premature."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She scattered and heaped the roses into an odorous, -dew-sprinkled mat of green and pink and white, -in the center of the rustic table. Then she served the -coffee. It was real coffee, and the milk was what is -called cream in many parts of the world. "Brother -Tom has a model farm," she explained. "These eggs -were laid this morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So they were," exclaimed Boris, as he broke one. -His eyes were sparkling; all that was best in his looks -and in his nature was irradiating from him. Her -sweet, lovely face, her delicate fresh costume, the sight -and odor of the roses, of the forest all round them, -the melody of the descending waters, and the superb -coffee, crisp rolls, and freshest of fresh eggs— "You -criticise me for my appreciation of the sensuous side -of life, my dear friend," said he. "But, tell me, is -there anywhere anything more delicious, more -inspiring than this breakfast?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I never criticised you for loving the joys of the -senses," cried she. "Never! We are too much alike -there."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What happiness we could have!" exclaimed he. -"For do we not know how to make life smooth and -comfortable and beautiful, you and I?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Only too well," confessed she. "I often think -of it. But——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waited for her to continue. When he saw that -she would not, but was lost in a reverie, he said, "You -promised you would think about our going abroad. -Have you thought?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will go?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She slowly shook her head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I want to, but—I can't."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had paused in buttering a bit of roll. Anyone -coming up just then would have thought he was looking -at her, awaiting an answer to an inquiry after salt -or something like that. She said: "Because I do not -love you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He waved his knife in airy dismissal. "A trifle! -And so easily overcome."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I cannot love you, my dear." She looked -at him affectionately.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He balanced the bit of bread before his lips. "Not -that brotherly look, please," said he. "It—it -hurts!" He put the bread in his mouth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She leaned forward and laid her hand on his. "We -are too much alike. You are too subtle, too nervous, -too appreciative, too changeable. You would soon -cease to fancy you loved me. I—it so happens—have -never begun to fancy I loved you. That is fortunate -for us both."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Armstrong!" he exclaimed. And suddenly, despite -his ruddy coloring, he suggested a dark Sicilian -hate peering from an ambush, stiletto in impatient -hand.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't show me that side of you, Boris," she -entreated. "Whether it is Armstrong or not, did I not -say the fact that I don't fancy I love you is fortunate -for us both?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You love Armstrong," he insisted sullenly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you know that, when I don't know it -myself?" replied she. "As I told you once before, -the only matter that concerns you is that I do not -love you." She spoke sharply. Knowing him so well, -she had small patience with his childish, barbaric -moods; she could not bear pettiness in a man really -and almost entirely great. "Will you be yourself?" -she demanded, earnest beneath her smiling manner. -"How can I talk to you seriously if you act like a -spoiled, bad boy? If you'll only think about the -matter, as I've been compelled to think about it, you'll see -that you don't really love me—that I'm not the woman -for you at all. We'd aggravate each other's worst. -What you need is a woman like Narcisse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You are most kind," he said sarcastically.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As she told you yesterday, you've got to settle -down within a few years or become absurd. And -she——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is because of the women I have known that you -will not give me yourself," he said. "Oh, Neva, I -have never loved but you." And in his agitation he -clasped her hands and, dropping into French, cried -with flaming eyes, "I adore you. You are my life, -the light on my path—my star shining through the -storm. You make me tremble with passion and with -fear. Neva, my love, my soul——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She snatched her hands away. She tried to look -at him mockingly, but could not.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neva, my girl," he said in English again. "Do -not wither my heart!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Boris," she answered gently, "I've tried to care -for you as you wish me to care. I sent for you because -I thought I had begun to succeed. But when I saw -you again— I liked you, admired you, more than -ever, more than anyone. But my dear, dear friend, I -cannot give you what you ask. It simply will not -yield."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He became calm as abruptly as he had burst into -passion. Taking his heavily jeweled and engraved -gold cigarette case from his pocket, he slowly -extracted a cigarette, lighted it with great deliberation, -blew out the match, blew out the lamp of the portable -stove. "Why?" he said in a tone of pleasant -bantering inquiry. "Please tell me why you do not and -cannot love me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She colored in confusion.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do not fear lest you will offend," urged he. -"I ask impersonally. Feminine psychology is interesting."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'd rather not talk about it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let me help you," he persisted amiably, so -amiably that she had to remind herself of the sort -of nature she knew he had, to quell a suspicion of -treachery under his smoothness. "Because I am -too—feminine?" he went on.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She nodded hesitatingly. Then, encouraged by -his cynical, good-humored laugh, "Though feminine -doesn't quite express it. There isn't enough of the -primitive man left in you for a woman of my -temperament. You have been superrefined, Boris. You are -too understanding, too sympathetic for a feminine -woman like me. There are two persons to you—one -that feels, one that reasons—criticises—analyzes—laughs. -I couldn't for a moment forget the one that -laughs—at yourself, at any who respond to the you -that feels. I suppose you don't understand. I'm sure -I don't."</span></p> -<div class="align-center auto-scaled figure margin" style="width: 60%" id="figure-44"> -<span id="you-are-my-life-the-light-on-my-path"></span><img class="align-center block" style="display: block; width: 100%" alt=""'You are my life, the light on my path.'"" src="images/img-376.jpg" /> -<div class="caption centerleft figure-caption margin"> -<span class="italics">"'You are my life, the light on my path.'"</span></div> -</div> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Vaguely," said he, somewhat absently. "Who'd -suspect it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Suspect what?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That there was this—this coarse streak in </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>—this -craving for the ultramasculine, the rude, rough, -aggressive male, inconsiderate, brutal, masterful?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A coarse streak," she repeated, half in assent, -half in mere reflection.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He surveyed impersonally her delicately feminine -charms, suggesting fragility even. "And yet," he -mused aloud, "I should have seen it. What else could -be the meaning of those sharp, even teeth—of the long -slits through which your green-gray-brown-blue eyes -look. And your long, slim, sensitive lines——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The impersonal faded into the personal, the Boris -that analyzed into the Boris that felt. The appeal of -her beauty to his senses swept over and submerged his -pose of philosopher. His eyes shone and swam, like -lights seen afar through a mist; the fingers that held -the cigarette trembled. But, as he realized long -afterwards, he showed then and there how right she was as -to his masculinity. For, his was the passive intensity -of the feminine, not the aggressive intensity of the -male; instead of forgetting her in the fury of his own -baffled desire and seizing her, to crush her until he -had wrung some sensation, no matter what, from those -unmoved nerves of hers, he restrained himself, hid his -emotion as swiftly as he could, turned it off with a -jest—"And I've let my coffee grow cold!" He was -once more Boris of the boyish vanity that feared, more -than ridicule, the triumph of a woman over him. He -would rather have risked losing her than have given -her the opportunity to see and perhaps enjoy her power.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Presently Narcisse came into view. The lamp was -relighted; the three talked together; he was not alone -with Neva again, made no attempt to be.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That afternoon, just before the time for him and -Narcisse to depart, Neva took her in to say good-by -to her father—a mere shadow of a wreck of a man, -whose remnant of vitality was ebbing almost breath by -breath. As they came from his room, it suddenly -struck Narcisse how profoundly Neva was being affected -by her father's life, now that his mortal illness -was bringing it vividly before her. A truly noble -character moves so tranquilly and unobtrusively that -it is often unobserved, perhaps, rather, taken for -granted, unless some startling event compels attention -to it. Neva was appreciating her father at last; and -Narcisse saw what there was to appreciate. No human -being can live in one place for half a century without -indelibly impressing himself upon his surroundings; -Narcisse felt in the very atmosphere of the rooms he -had frequented a personality that revealed itself -altogether by example, not at all by precept; a human -being that loved nature and his fellow beings, lived in -justice and mercy.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How much it means to have a father like yours!" -she exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva did not reply for some time. When she did, -the expression of her eyes, of her mouth, made -Narcisse realize that her words had some deeper, some -hidden meaning: "If ever I have children," she said, -"they shall have that same inheritance from their -father." And presently she went on, "I often, -nowadays, contrast my father with the leading men -there in New York. What dreadful faces they have! -What tyranny and meanness and trickery! And, how -wretched! It is hard to know whether most to pity -or to despise them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse knew instinctively that she meant Armstrong, -and perhaps, to a certain extent, Boris also. -"We've no right to condemn them," said she. "They -are the victims of circumstances too strong for them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">You</em><span> have the right," insisted Neva. "You have -been tempted; yet, you are not like them. You have -not let New York enslave you, but have made it your -servant."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The temptations that would have reached my -weaknesses didn't happen to offer," replied she. And -there she sighed, for she felt the ache of her -wound—Alois.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But it was time to go. Neva took them to the -station; at the parting Boris kissed her hand in -foreign fashion, after his habit, with not a hint of -anything but self-control and ease at heart and mind, -not even such a hint as Neva alone would have -understood. She bore up bravely until they were gone; -then solitude and melancholy suddenly enveloped her -in their black fog, and she went back home like a -traveler in a desert, alone and aimless. "He didn't -really care," she thought bitterly, indifferent to her -own display of selfishness in having secretly and -furtively wished for a love that would only have brought -unhappiness to him, since, try however hard, she could -not return it. "Does anyone care about anyone but -himself? ... If I could only have loved him enough to -deceive myself. He's so much more worth while than—than -any other man I ever knew or ever shall know."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="foraging-for-son-in-law"><span class="bold large">XXVIII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">FORAGING FOR SON-IN-LAW</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Narcisse had gone to Neva at Battle Field to get -as well as to give sympathy and companionship; to -get the strength to tread alone the path in which she -had always had her brother to help her—and he had -helped her most of all by getting help from her. She -had assumed that her brother would marry some day; -she herself looked forward to marrying, as she grew -older and appreciated why children are something -beside a source of annoyance and anxiety. But she had -also assumed that he would marry a woman with whom -she would be friends, a woman in real sympathy with -his career. Instead, he married Amy, stunted in mind -and warped in character and withered in heart by the -environment of the idle rich. She knew that the end -of the old life had come; and it was to get away from -the melancholy spectacle of her new brother that, two -months after his return from the honeymoon, she went -West for that visit with Neva.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Amy has ruined him," she said, when she had been -at Battle Field long enough to feel free to open her -heart wide. "It's only a question of time; he will -give up his career entirely."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And, like the beginning of the fulfillment of her -prophecy, there soon came a letter from him which she -showed Neva. With much beating round the bush, -he hinted dissolution of partnership. It gave Neva the -heartache to read, and she hardly dared look at -Narcisse. "I'm afraid you were right in your suspicions," -she had to admit.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly I was right," replied Narcisse. "But -I'm not really so cut up as you think. Nothing comes -unannounced in this world, thank heaven. I've been -getting ready for this ever since he told me they were -engaged."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How brave you are!" exclaimed Neva. "I know -what you must feel, yet you can hide it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm hiding nothing," Narcisse assured her. -"I've lived a long time—much longer than my -birthdays show. I've been making my own living since I -was thirteen—and it wasn't easy until the last few -years. But I've learned to take life as I take weather. -There are sunny seasons, and stormy seasons, and -middling seasons. When the sun shines, I don't -enjoy it less, but rather more, because I know foul -weather is certain to come. And when it does come, -I know it won't last forever." There were tears in -her eyes, but through them she smiled dauntlessly. -"And the sun </span><em class="italics">will</em><span> shine again—warm and bright and -streaming happiness."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva's own heart was suddenly buoyant. "It -will—it surely will!" she cried.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And," proceeded Narcisse, "my troubles are -trifles compared with Alois's. I know him; I know -he's unhappy. If ever there was a man cheated in a -marriage, that man is my poor brother. And he must -realize it by this time."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had guessed close to the truth. Alois and his -bride had not been honeymooning many weeks before -he confessed to himself that he had overestimated—or, -perhaps, misestimated—her intellect. Not that she was -stupid or ignorant; no, merely, that she lacked the -originality he had attributed to her. He had pictured -himself doing great work under her inspiration, his -own skill supplemented by her taste and cleverness in -suggesting and designing. He found that she knew -only what he or some book had told her, that her -enthusiasm for architecture was in large part one -of those amiable pretenses wherewith the female aids -the passions of the male to beguile him to her will.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But this discovery did not depress him. No man -ever was depressed by finding out that his wife was -his mental inferior, though many a man has been -pitched headlong into permanent dejection by the -discovery of the reverse. She was more beautiful than -he had thought, more loving and more lovable—and -those compensations more than made good the -vanished dream of companionship. Soon, however, her -intense affection began to wear upon him. Not that -he liked it less or loved her less; but he saw with the -beginnings of alarm that he was on the way to being -engulfed, that he either must devote himself entirely to -being Amy's husband or must expect to lose her. It -was fascinating, intoxicating, to be thus encradled in -love; but it was not exactly his notion of what was -manly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He talked of the work "they" would do, of the -fame "they" would win; she responded with rapidly -decreasing enthusiasm, finally listened without -comment. Once, when he was expanding upon this subject, -with some projected public buildings at Washington -as the text, she suddenly threw herself into his arms, -and cried, "Oh, let Narcisse take care of those things. -We—you and I, dearest—have got only a little while -to live. Let us be happy—happy—</span><em class="italics">happy</em><span>!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you forget, you've married a poor man," he -protested. "We've got our living to make."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh—of course," said she. "I'd hate for you -to be anything but independent."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If I were, you'd soon lose respect for me, as I -should for myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you must work," she conceded. "But not -too hard. You mustn't crowd </span><em class="italics">me</em><span> aside." She clasped -her arms more tightly about his neck. "I'd </span><em class="italics">hate</em><span> you, -if you made me second to anybody or anything. I'm -horribly jealous, and I know I'd end by hating you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The way to reassure her, for the moment, was -obvious and easy; and he took it. They talked no more -of "our" work until they got back to New York. -There, it was hard for him to find time to go to the -office; for she was always wanting him to do -something with her, and as luck would have it, the things -he really couldn't get out of doing without offending -her always somehow came in office hours. Sometimes -he had a business appointment he dared not break; he -would explain to her, and she would try to be -"sensible." But she felt irritated—was he not her husband, -and is not a husband's first duty to his wife?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you make so many appointments just -when you know I'll need you?" she demanded. "I -believe you do it on purpose!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He showed her how unreasonable this was, and she -laughed at herself. But her feeling at bottom was -unchanged. After much casting about for some one to -blame for this, to her, obvious conspiracy to estrange -her husband from her, she fixed upon Narcisse. "She -hates me because I took him away from her," she -thought; and when she had thought it often enough, -she was convinced. Yes, Narcisse was trying to drift -them apart. And she ought to be doubly ashamed of -herself, because what would the firm of A. & N. Siersdorf -amount to but for Alois? Narcisse was, no doubt, -clever in a way—but almost anybody who had to work -and kept at it for years, could do as well. "Why, I, -with no experience at all, did wonders down at -Overlook—better than Narcisse ever did anywhere." Indeed, -had Narcisse really ever done anything alone? -"She has been living off Alois's brains, and she's -trying to get him back."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>That was all quite clear; also, a loving and watchful -wife's duty in the circumstances. She gave Alois -no rest until he had agreed to break partnership and -take offices alone. "When you've got your own -offices," she cried, "what work we shall do! You must -go down early and stay late, and I'll have an office -there, too."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>So weak is man before woman on her knees and -worshipful, Alois began dimly to believe that his wife -was, in a measure, right; that Narcisse had been -something—not much, but something—of a handicap to -his genius; that her prudence and everyday practicality -had chained down his soaring imagination. He -had no illusions as to the help Amy would give him; -there, she had not his vanity to aid her in deluding -him. But he felt he owed it to himself to free -himself from the partnership. Anyhow, something was -wrong; something was preventing him from doing -good work—and it was just as well to see if that -something was his sister. "The sooner I discover just what -I am, the better," he reasoned. And he had no -misgivings as to the event.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse made the break easy for him. When she -came back from Neva's, she met him in her usual -friendly way, and herself opened the subject. "I -think we'd better each go it alone," said she, as if she -had not penetrated the meaning of his letter. "You've -reached the point where you don't want to be bothered -with the kind of things I do best. What do you say?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I had thought of that, too," confessed he. "But -I— Do you really want it, Cis?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No sentiment in business," replied she in her -most offhand manner. "If each of us can do better -alone, it'd be silly not to separate. Anyhow, where's -the harm in trying?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was going to suggest that we take offices a little -further uptown," he went on. "We might do that, -and keep on as we are for a while."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No. You move; let me keep these offices. I'm -like a cat; I get attached to places."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And so it was settled. "Narcisse Siersdorf, Builder," -appeared where "A. & N. Siersdorf, Builders," -had been. "Alois Siersdorf, Architect," appeared -upon the offices, spacious and most imposing, in a small -but extravagantly luxurious bank building in Fifth -Avenue, within a few blocks of home—"home" being -Josiah Fosdick's house.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Amy insisted on their living "at home" because -her father couldn't be left quite alone; and Alois sat -rent and food free; he had made a vigorous fight for -complete independence in financial matters, but -nothing had come of it—he felt that it was ridiculous -solemnly to give Amy each month a sum which would -hardly pay for her dresses. "You are too funny -about money," she said. "Why attach so much -importance to it? We put it all in together, and no -doubt some months you pay more than our share, other -months less—but what of that? You can't expect me -to bother my head with horrid accounts. And I simply -won't have you talking such matters with the -housekeeper—and who else is there?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Alois grumbled, but gradually yielded. He consoled -himself with the reflection that presently his -business would pay hugely, and then the equilibrium -would be restored. And after a while—an extremely -short while—he thought no more about the matter. -This, in face of the fact that the business did not -expand as he had dreamed. He was offered plenty to -do at first, for he had reputation and the rich were -eager for his services. But he simply could not find -time to attend to business; he had to leave everything, -even the making of plans, to assistants. There were -all sorts of entertainments to which he must go with -Amy—rides, coaching expeditions, luncheons, afternoon -bridge parties, week-end visits. And often he was -up until very late at balls; she loved to dance, and he -found balls amusing, too. Indeed, he was well pleased -with all the gayety. Everybody paid court to him; the -husband of an heiress, and a distinguished, a successful, -a famous man, one whose opinions in professional -matters were quoted with respect. And as everybody -talked and acted as if he were doing well, were rising -steadily higher and higher, he could not but talk and -act and feel so, himself—most of the time. He knew, -as a matter of theory, that success of any kind, except -in being rich, and that exception only for the -enormously rich, is harder to keep than to win, must be -won all over again each day. But in those -surroundings he could not feel this; he seemed secure, -permanent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was not long before all their world, except only -her and him, knew he had practically given up the -profession of architect for that of husband. The -outward forms of deference to the famous young -architect deceived him, enabled him to deceive himself; but -his friends, in his very presence, and just out of -earshot, often in undertones at his father-in-law's table, -were sneering or, what is usually the same thing, -moralizing. "Poor Siersdorf! How he has fagged -out. Well, was there as much to him as some -people said? And they tell me he is living off his wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When matters reach this pass, and when the man -is really a man, the explosion is not far off. It came -with the first bitter quarrel he and Amy had. She -wished him to go away with her for two months; he -wished to go, and it infuriated him against himself that -he had so far lost his pride that he could even -consider leaving his business when it needed him -imperatively. He curtly refused to go; by degrees their -discussion became a wrangle, a quarrel, a pitched -battle. She was the first completely to lose control of -temper. She cast about for some missile that would -hit hard.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What does this business of yours amount to, -anyhow?" she jeered. "Sometimes, I can't help -wondering what would have become of you if you hadn't -married me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She didn't mean it; she was hardly conscious that -she was saying it until the words were out. She grew -white and shrank before the damage she knew she must -have done. He did not, could not, answer immediately. -When he did, it was a release of all that had been -poisoning him for months.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You think that, do you?" he cried. "I might -have known! You dare to think that, when you are -responsible!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's manly," she retorted, eager to extricate -herself by putting him in the wrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He strode to her; he was shaking with fury. -"We'll not talk about what's manly or womanly. -Let's look at the facts. I loved you, and you took -advantage of it to ruin my career, to make it -impossible for me to work, to drive away my clients. You -have taken my reputation, my brain, my energy. And -you dare to taunt me! Men have killed women for less."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Alois!" she sobbed. "Don't frighten me. Don't -look—speak—like that! Oh, I'm not responsible for -what I say. I know I've been selfish—it's all my fault. -But what does anything matter except our happiness? -Forgive me. You know why I'm so bad tempered -now—so different from my usual self." And the sobs -merged into a flood of hysterical tears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The reference to her condition, to their expectations, -softened him, caused his anger at once to begin -to change into bitter shame, a shame to be concealed, -to eat, acidlike, in and in and make a wound that -would never heal, but would grow in venom until it -would torture him without ceasing.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't want you to work," she wept. "I want -you all to myself. Ah, Alois, some time you'll appreciate -my love; you'll realize that love is better than a -career. And for you"—sob—"to reproach me"—sob, -sob—"when I thought you were as happy as I!" A -wild outburst of grief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he was consoling her, had her in his arms, was -lulling her and himself in the bright waves of the -passion which she could always evoke in him, as he in her. -Never again did she speak of his dependent position; -it always made her flesh creep and chill to remember -what she had said. But from that time she was -distinctly conscious that he was a dependent—and she -no longer respected him. From that time, he clearly -recognized his own position. He thought it out, -decided to make a bold stand; but he felt he could not -begin at once. In her condition she must not be -crossed; he must go away with her, since go she must -and go alone she could not. He would make a new -beginning as soon as the baby was born.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Meanwhile, his office expenses were heavy, and the -money he had saved before he was married was gone. -He went into debt fast, terrifyingly fast. He -borrowed two thousand dollars of Narcisse; he hoped it -would last, as usually Amy's bills were all paid by her -father. But they were away from Fosdick's house, -and she, thinking and knowing nothing about money, -continued to spend as usual. He got everything on -credit that did not have to be paid for at once; but -in spite of all his contriving, when they reached New -York again he was really penniless. He went to -Narcisse's office; she was out of town. In desperation he -borrowed five hundred dollars from his brother-in-law.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Hugo loaned the money as if the transaction were -a trifle that was making no impression on him. Like -all those who think of nothing but money, he affected -to think nothing of it. He noted Alois's nervousness, -then his thin and harassed look. "How do Amy and -Alois live?" he asked his father.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Live? What do you mean?" said Josiah. -"Why, they're perfectly happy. What put such -nonsense in your head?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, bother!" exclaimed Hugo. "Certainly -they're happy. Amy'd be a fool not to be happy with -as decent a chap as he is. I mean, how do they get -along about money?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's got a good business," said Fosdick. "You -know it as well as I do."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He used to have," replied Hugo. "But he's too -busy with Amy to be doing much else. He's always -standing on her dress. And he has no partner."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't know anything about it," said Fosdick. -"If Amy needed money, she'd come to me." Fosdick -recalled that he had been paying even heavier bills for -her since she was married; but he had no mind to speak -of it to Hugo, as he did not wish Hugo to misunderstand. -"You attend to your own affairs, boy," he -continued. "Those two are all right." And he -beamed benevolently. He delighted in Amy's -happiness, felt that he was entirely responsible for it.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But Hugo was not to be put off. "Believe me, -father, Alois is down to bed-rock. He can't speak to -Amy about it, or to you. He's a gentleman. It's up -to you to do something for him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I guess looking after Amy does keep his time -pretty well filled up," chuckled the old man, much -amused. "I'll fix him a place in the O.A.D.—something -that'll give him a good income and not take his -mind entirely off his job."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why not get Armstrong to make him supervising -architect? A big public institution like that ought to -pay more attention to cultivating the artistic side. He -could think out and carry out some general plan that'd -harmonize to high standards all the buildings, especially -the dwelling and apartment houses they own in the -provinces." Hugo spoke of the O.A.D. as "they" -nowadays, though he still thought of it as "we."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a good idea, Hugo, as good as any other. -I'll see Armstrong to-day. I oughtn't to have -neglected putting Alois on the pay rolls. I'll give him -something in the railway, too. We'll fix him up -handsomely. He's a fine young fellow, and he has made -Amy happy. You don't appreciate that, you young -scoundrel, as we of the older generation do." And -Hugo had to listen patiently to a discourse on -decaying virtue and honor and family life; for, like all -decaying men, Fosdick mistook internal symptoms -for an exterior and universal phenomenon, just as a -man who is going blind cries, "The light is getting dim!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick did not forget. Now that his attention -was upon the matter, he reproached himself severely -for his oversight. "I've been taking care of scores -of people, and neglecting my own. But I'll make up -for it." He ordered the president of the railway to -put Alois on the pay rolls at once with a salary of -twelve thousand a year. "You need somebody to -supervise the stations. Everybody's going in for art, -nowadays, and we want the best. Mail him his first -check to-day, with the notice of his appointment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the full glow of generosity, he went up to -see Armstrong. They were great friends nowadays. -Since the peace, not a trace of cloud had come -between them; he was careful to keep his hands entirely -off the O.A.D.; Armstrong, on his side, gave the -Fosdick railway and industrial enterprises the same -"courtesies" they had always enjoyed, except that he -charged them the current rate of interest, instead of -the old special rate.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Horace," he began, "I suppose you'll soon be -organizing the construction department on broader -lines. I've come to put in a good word for my -son-in-law. I don't need to say anything about his merits -as an architect. As you know, there's none better."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"None," said Armstrong heartily. "Anything we -want in his line, he'll get."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks. Thanks. My idea, though, was a little -more definite. I was thinking you might want a man -to pass on all buildings, plans, improvements. He -could raise the value of the company's -property—particularly the dwelling and apartment houses."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a valuable suggestion," said Armstrong. -"And Siersdorf would be just the man for the place. -But will he take it?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But he'd have to be traveling about, most of the -time. He'd be in the West and South, where we're -trying to get back the ground lost in those big exposés. -I shouldn't think he'd care for that sort of life."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick was disconcerted. "I suppose that could -be arranged. You wouldn't expect a man of Siersdorf's -caliber to go chasing about the country like a -retail drummer. He'd have assistants for that, and -drawings and pictures and those sort of things could -be forwarded to him here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That would hardly do," replied Armstrong, like -a man advancing cautiously, but determined to -advance. "Then, there's the matter of pay. The work -would take all of his time, and we couldn't afford much -of a salary. I should say the job was rather for some -talented young fellow, trying to get a start."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You'd simply waste whatever money you paid -such a man," Fosdick objected with a restraint of tone -and manner that astonished himself. "No, what you -want is a high-class, a first-class, man at a good -salary—a first-class man's salary."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Say—how much?" inquired Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was thinking twenty thousand a year—or, -perhaps fifteen." The lower figure was an amendment -suggested by the tightening of Armstrong's lips.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong saw the point. What Fosdick was -after was a sinecure; a soft berth for his son-in-law -to luxuriate idly in; another and a portly addition -to the O.A.D's vast family of "fixed charges." "I'd -like to oblige you, Mr. Fosdick," said he, with the -reluctance of a man taking a new road where the -passage looks doubtful and may be dangerous. "And I -hate to deprive the O.A.D. of the chance to get -Siersdorf's services at what is undoubtedly a bargain. But, -as you may perhaps have heard, I'm directing all my -efforts to lopping off expenses. I'm trying to get the -O.A.D. on a basis where we can pay the policy holders -a larger share of the profits we make on their money. -Perhaps, later on, I can take the matter up. But I -hope you won't press it at present."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The words were careful, the tone was most courteously -regretful. But the refusal was none the less -a slap in the face to a man like Fosdick. "As you -please, as you please," he said hurriedly, and with -averted eyes. "I just thought it was a good -arrangement all around.... Everything going smoothly?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So-so."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, good day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he went, with a friendly nod and handshake -that did not deceive Armstrong. He drove to the -magnificent Hearth and Home Defender building which -Trafford and his pals had built for their own profit -out of their stealings from millions of working men -and women and children of the poorest, most ignorant -class. Trafford received his fellow adept in the art -of exploiting as Fosdick loved to be received; he did -not let him finish his request before granting it. "An -excellent idea, Fosdick," he cried. "I understand -perfectly. I'll see that we get Siersdorf at once. Would -fifteen thousand be too small?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"About right, as a starter, I should say," was -Fosdick's judicial answer. "You see, the thing's more -or less an experiment."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But certain to succeed," said Trafford confidently. -"And, of course, we'll accept any arrangements -Mr. Siersdorf may make about assistants. We -can't expect him to give us all his time. We'll be quite -content with his advice and judgment. You've put me -under obligations to you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Fosdick's eyes sparkled. As he went away, he -said to himself, "Now, there's a big man, a gentleman, -one who knows how to do business, how to treat -another gentleman. I must put him in on something -good."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And he did.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="if-i-married-you"><span class="bold large">XXIX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"IF I MARRIED YOU"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>When Armstrong saw the announcement of Frederic -Carlin's death, he assumed Neva would soon be in -New York, to escape the loneliness of Battle Field. He -let three weeks pass, after her brief but gentle and -friendly answer to his telegram of condolence. Then, -he wrote her he was going to Chicago and wished to -stop at Battle Field; she replied that she would be -glad to see him. He took the first Westbound express—the -through limited which, at his request, dropped -him at the little town it had always before rushed past -at disdainful speed. The respect with which he was -treated, the deference of those who recognized him at -the station, the smallness and simplicity of the old -town, all combined to put the now triumphant and -autocratic president of the mighty O.A.D. in the -mood to appreciate every inch of the dizzy depth down -from where he now blazed in glory to where he had -begun, a barefoot boy in jeans, delivering groceries -at back doors and alley gates. It was not in -Armstrong to condescend; but it is in the sanest of us -poor mortals, with our dim sense of proportion and -our feeble sense of humor where we ourselves are the -joke, to build up a grandiose mood upon less -foundation of vanity of achievement than had Armstrong. -The mood gave him a feeling of confidence, of conquest -impending, as he strode in at the gate beside the drive -into the Carlin place a full hour before he was -expected. Memory was busy—not by any means -altogether unpleasantly—as he went more slowly up the -narrow walk to the old square stone house, with its -walls all but hidden under the ivy, with its verandas -draped in honeysuckle, and its peaceful, dignified -foreground of primeval elms. The past was not quite -forgotten; but he felt that it was completely expiated. -He had paid for his ingratitude, his selfishness, his -blindness, his folly—had paid in full, with interest.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He ascended to the veranda before the big oak -front doors. The only life in view was a hummingbird -flitting and balancing like a sprite among the -honeysuckle blooms. The doors, the windows on either -side, were open wide; he looked in with the -future-focused eyes of the practical man of affairs. His -past did not advance from those familiar rooms to -abash him. On the contrary his eager gaze entered, -searching for his future.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must have, will have, a place like this near -New York," thought he. "Why not in New York? -I can afford it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He rang several times at long intervals; it was -Neva herself who finally came—Neva, all in black and, -so it seemed to him, more beautiful than ever. That -she was glad, more than glad, at sight of him was -plain to be seen in the color which submerged her -pallor, in the swift lighting up of her eyes, like the -first flash of stars in the night sky. But there was -in her manner, as well as in her garb, a denial of -the impulse of his impetuous passion; the doubts that -had tormented him began to bore into his mood of -self-confidence. She took him to the west veranda, with its -luminous green curtains of morning-glory. She made -him seat himself in the largest and laziest chair there, -all the while covering the constraint with the neutral -conversation which women command the more freely, -the more difficult the situation. When the pause came -he felt that she had permitted it, that she was ready -to hear—and to speak. The doubts had made such -inroads upon his assurance that his tone was less -conclusive than he would have liked, as he began:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neva, I've come to take you back to New York."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Her expression, her manner brought vividly back -to him that crucial talk of theirs at the lake shore. -Only, now the advantage was wholly with her, where -then it had been so distinctly on his side that he had -pitied her, had felt almost cowardly. He looked at her -impassive face, impossible to read, and there rose in -him a feeling of fear—the fear every man at times has -of the woman into whose hands his love has given his -destiny.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Everything is waiting on you," he went on. -"The way lies smooth before us. You have brought -me good fortune, Neva. My future—our future—is -secure. With you to help me I shall go to the top. -So—come, Neva!" And his heart filled his eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She waited a moment before answering. "If we -should fail this time, it would be the end, wouldn't it?" -she said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we can't fail!" he protested. He was strong -in his assurance once more; did not her question imply -that she loved him?</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We failed before, and we were younger and more -adaptable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But now we understand each other."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Do we?" she said, her eyes gravely upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How can you ask that!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because so much depends on our seeing the truth -exactly. The rest of our lives is at stake."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. I can't go on without you. Can </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> go -on without me?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Each of us," she replied, "can go on without -the other. I can paint pictures; you can make money. -The question is, what will we mean to each other if -we go on together? We aren't children any more, -Horace. We are a man and a woman full grown, -experienced, unable to blind ourselves even in our follies. -And we aren't simply rushing into an episode of -passion that will rage and die out. If it were merely -that, I shouldn't be asking you and myself questions. -When the end came, we could resume our separate lives; -and, even if our experience had cost us dear instead of -helping us, still we could recover, would in time be -stronger and better for having had it. But you offer -me your whole self, your whole life, and you ask me -to give you mine. You ask me to marry you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not understand this; woman meant to him -only sex, and the difference between love and passion -was a marriage ceremony. He felt that in what she -said there lurked traces of the immorality of the -woman who tries to think for herself instead of -properly selecting a proper man and letting him do the -thinking for both. "I love you," said he, "and there's -the whole story. Love doesn't reason; it feels."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then it ought never to get married," she said. -"We tried marriage once on the basis of husband and -wife being absolute strangers to each other, and at -cross purposes." She paused; he did not suspect it -was to steady her constantly endangered self-control. -"And," she added, "I shall never try that kind of -marriage again. Passion is a better kindler than -worldliness, but it is just as poor fuel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Neva!" he exclaimed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I couldn't be merely your mistress, Horace. I'd -want </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, and I'd want you to take me, all of me. -I'd want it to be our life, and not merely an episode -in our life. Can't you see what would come -afterwards—when you had grown calm about me—and I about -you? Can't you see that you'd turn back to your -business and prostitute yourself for money, while I'd -turn perhaps to luxury and show and prostitute -myself to you for the means to exhibit myself? Don't -you see it on every side, there in New York—the traffic -in the souls of men and women viler than any on the -sidewalks at night—the brazen faces of the men, -flaunting their shame, the brazen faces of the women, -the so-called wives, flaunting </span><em class="italics">their</em><span> shame?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you could never be like them," he protested. "Never!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As strong women as I, stronger, have been -dragged down. No human being can resist the slow, -steady, insidious seduction of his daily surroundings."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't understand this at all, Neva," he said, -though his ill-concealed anger showed that he did. -Indeed, so angry was he that he was almost forgetting -his own warnings to himself of the injustice of holding -her responsible for anything she said in her obviously -unstrung condition. He asked, "What have you to -do with that sort of woman?" He hesitated, forced -himself to go boldly on. "Why do you compare me -to those men? </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> do not degrade myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer immediately, but looked away -across the beds of blooming flowers. When she began -again, she seemed calmer, under better control. "All -the time I was in New York," she said, "the life -there—the real life of money getting and money -spending—never touched me personally until toward the last. -Then—I saw what it really meant, saw it so plainly -that I can't ever again hide the truth from myself. -And since I came away—out here—where it's calm, and -one thinks of things as they are—where father and -the other way of living and acting toward one's fellow -beings, took strong hold of me——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But, Neva—you——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"</span><em class="italics">Please</em><span>, let me finish," she begged, all excitement -once more. "It's so hard to say—so much harder -than you think. But I must—must—</span><em class="italics">must</em><span> let you see -what kind of woman I am, who it is you've asked to -be your wife. As I remember my acquaintances in -New York, </span><em class="italics">our</em><span> friends, do you know what I always -feel? I remember their palaces, their swarms of -servants, their jewels, their luxuries, the food they eat, -the wine they drink, all of it; and I wonder just whose -dollar was stolen to help pay for this or that luxury, -just who is in want, how many are in want, that that -carriage might roll or the other automobile go darting -about. You </span><em class="italics">know</em><span> the men steal it; they don't know -from whom, and so they can brazen it out to themselves."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is harsh—too harsh, Neva!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not heed his interruption. "They can -brazen it out," she went on, "because no one can or -will come forward and say, 'Take off that new string -of pearls. Your husband stole the money from me -to-day to buy it.' He did steal it, but not that day, -not directly from one person, but indirectly from -many who hardly, if at all, knew they were being -robbed. That is what New York has come to mean -to me these last few weeks—my New York and -yours—the people we know best."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But we need not know </span><em class="italics">them</em><span>. Have what friends -you please." He took an air of gentleness, of forbearance -with her. He reminded himself that she was overwrought -by her father's illness and death, that she was -not in condition to see things normally and practically; -such hysterical ideas as these of hers naturally bred -and flourished in the miasmatic soil and atmosphere of -the fresh grave.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you see it?" she cried desperately. "I -mean you—Horace—</span><em class="italics">you</em><span>, that ask me to be your wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Me!" His amazement was wholly genuine.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—you!" And she lost all control of herself, -was seized and swept away by the emotions that had -grown stronger and stronger during her father's -illness, and since his death had dominated her day and -night in her loneliness. The scarlet of fever was in -her cheeks, its flame in her eyes.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, you, Horace," she repeated. "Can't you see -I'd be worse than uneasy about everything we bought, -about every dollar we spent? When you left me to go -downtown in the morning, I'd be thinking, 'Who is -the man I love going to rob to-day?' And when you -came back at night, when your hands touched mine, -I'd be shuddering—for there might be blood on -them!" She covered her face. "There </span><em class="italics">would</em><span> be -blood on them. Happiness! Why, I should be in -hell! And soon you'd hate me for what I would be -thinking of you, would despise me for living a life I -thought degrading."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If he had been self-analytic, he would have -suspected the origin of the furious anger that surged up -in him. "I see!" said he, his voice hard. "If these -notions," he sneered, "were to prevail among the -women, about all the strongest men in the country -would lose their wives."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That is not the question," she answered, maddened -by his manner. "I'm only trying to make </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> -acquainted with </span><em class="italics">me</em><span>. I don't understand, as I look at -it, now that my eyes have opened, how a woman can -live with a man who kills hundreds, thousands with his -railway, to make dividends, or who lets thousands live -in hovels and toil all the daylight hours and half starve -part of the year that he may have a bigger income. -Oh, I don't know the morals of it or the practical -business side of it. And I don't want to know. My -instinct tells me it's wrong, </span><em class="italics">wrong</em><span>. And I dare not -have anything to do with it, Horace, or I'd become like -those women, those so-called respectable women, one -sees driving every afternoon in Fifth Avenue, with -their hard, selfish faces. Ah, I see blood on their -carriage wheels, the blood of their brothers and -sisters who paid for carriage and furs and liveries and -jewels. It would be dreadful enough for the intelligent -and strong—for men like you, Horace—to take -from the ignorant and weak to buy the necessities of -life. But to snatch bread and shelter and warmth -and education from their fellow beings to buy -vanities— It isn't American—it isn't decent—it isn't -brave!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw that it would be idle to argue with her. -Indeed, he began to feel, rather than to see, that -beneath her hysteria there was something he would have -to explore, something she was terribly in earnest -about. There was a long silence, she slowly calming, -he hidden behind the mask of that handsome, rugged -face in which strength yielded so little for grace. -"Well, what are you going to do about it?" he said -unemotionally.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"All I can," she replied. "I can refuse to live -that sort of life, to live on human flesh and blood. I -know good people do it, people who are better than -I. And if it seems right to them, why, I don't judge -them. Only, it doesn't seem right to me. I wish it -did. I wish I could shut my eyes again. But—I can't. -My father won't let me!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He made a movement that suggested shrinking. -But he said presently, "I still don't see where I come -in. In our business we don't get money that way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How do you get it?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He stared, stolid and silent, at the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You told me once that——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"In some moods I say things I don't altogether -mean.... I don't moon about the miseries I can't -possibly cure," he went on. "I don't quibble; I act. -I don't criticise life; I live. I don't create the world -or make the law of the survival of the fittest; I simply -accept conditions I could not change. As for this -so-called stealing, even the worst of the big men take -only what's everybody's property and therefore anybody's."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems to me," said she, "the question always -is, 'Does this property belong to me?' and if the -answer is 'No,' then to take it is—" She paused -before the word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"To steal," he said bluntly.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made no comment. Finally he went on: "Let -us understand each other. You refuse to marry me -unless I abandon my career, and sink down to a position -of no influence—become a nobody. For, of course, -I can't play the game unless I play it under the -rules. At least, I can think of no way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see I didn't express myself well," she replied. -"I've not tried to make conditions. I've simply shown -you what kind of woman you were asking to marry -you—and that you don't want her—that you want -only the part of me that for the moment appeals to -your senses. If I had married you without telling you -what was in my mind and heart would it have been -fair to you?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He did not answer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Would it have been fair, Horace?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No," he said—a simple negative.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You see that you do not want me—that you -would find me more, far more, of a drag on your -career than I was before—a force pulling back -instead of merely a dead weight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He was looking at her—was looking from behind -his impenetrable mask. He looked for a long time, -she now meeting his gaze and now glancing away. At -last he said, with slow deliberateness: "I see that I came -seeking a mistress. Whether I want her as a wife, I -don't know. Whether she wants me as a husband—I -don't know." He relapsed into thought which she did -not interrupt.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he rose to go, he did not see how she flushed -and trembled, and fought down the longing to say -the things that would have meant retreat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I feel," said he with a faint smile, "like a man -who goes down to the pier thinking he is about to take -an outing for the day, and finds that if he goes aboard -he will be embarked for a life journey into new lands -and will never come back. I never before really -grasped what marriage means."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She had always been fascinated by his eyes, which -seemed to her to contain the essence of all that -attracted and thrilled and compelled her in the idea, -man. As she stood touching the hand he extended, -she had never felt his eyes so deeply; never before had -there been in them this manly gentleness of respect and -consideration. And her faltering courage took heart.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am going back to New York," he said. "I -want to look about me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She looked straight and calm; but, through her -hand, he felt that she was vibrating like a struck, tense -violin string. "Some men want a mistress when they -marry," she went on, smiling-serious, "and some want -a housekeeper, and some a parlor ornament, and some -a mother for their children. But very few want a -wife. And I"—she sighed. "I couldn't do anything -at any of the other parts, unless I were also the -wife."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I understand—at last," he said. "Or rather, I -begin to understand. You have thought it out. I -haven't—and I must."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She hoped he would kiss her; but he did not. He -reluctantly released her hand, gave her a lingering -look which she had not the vanity or the buoyance -rightly to interpret, then gazed slowly round the -gardens, brilliant, alluring, warm. She stood motionless -and tense, watching his big form, his strong shoulders -and forcefully set head as he crossed the gardens, went -down the walk and through the gate, to be hidden by -the hedge between the lawns and the street. When the -last echo of his firm step had ceased in her ears, she -collapsed into the chair in which he had sat, and was -all passion and tenderness and tears and longings and -fears.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He thinks me cold! He thinks me cold!" she -cried. "Oh, Father, why won't You let me be weak? -Why can't I take less than all? Why can't I trust -him, when I love him so!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="by-a-trick"><span class="bold large">XXX</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">BY A TRICK</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By itself, Armstrong's insult to Fosdick in refusing -to "take care of" his son-in-law would have been -of small consequence, unpleasant reminder of his shorn -power and rude check to his benevolent instincts though -it was. Fosdick was not likely, at least soon, to -forget his lesson in the wisdom of letting the big -Westerner alone. Also, Armstrong was useful to him—not -so useful as a tool in the same position would have -been; still, far more useful than a representative of -some hostile interest. But this insult was the latest -and the rashest of a series of similar insults which -Armstrong had been distributing right and left with an -ever freer, ever bolder hand. While he was "thinking -over" Neva's plain talk with him, he, by more than -mere coincidence, was experimenting with a new policy -which was in the general direction of the one he had -adopted as soon as he got control of the O.A.D. It -was a policy of "anti-graft"; and once he had -inaugurated it, once he had begun to look about him in -the O.A.D. for opportunities to stop the plundering, -and the pilfering as well, he had pushed on far beyond -where he originally intended to halt—as a strong man -always does, whatever the course he chooses.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Everyone belongs to some section or class. He -may quarrel with individuals in that class, he may -quarrel with individuals in another class, or with the -whole of it; but he may not break with the whole -of his own class. Be he cracksman or financier or -preacher or carpenter or lawyer or what not, he must -be careful not to get his own class, as a class, against -him. If he does, he will find himself alone, defenseless, -doomed. Armstrong belonged to the class financier; -he had been in finance all his grown-up life. He -stood for the idea financier in the minds of financiers, -in his own mind, in the public mind. His battles with -his fellow-financiers, being within the class lines, had -strengthened him, had given him clear title to -recognition as a power in finance; he had been like the -politician who fights his way through and over his -fellow politicians to a nomination or a boss-ship, -like the preacher who bears off the bishopric from his -rivals, the doctor who absorbs the patronage of the -rich, the lawyer who succeeds in the competition among -lawyers for the position of chief pander to the -plutocratic appetite for making and breaking laws.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But this new policy of Armstrong's was a policy -of war on his own class. Cutting down commissions, -cutting out "good things," lopping off sinecures, -bisecting salaries—why, he was hacking away at the -very foundations of the dominance of his class! No -privileges, no parasitism, no consideration for -gentlemen, no "soft snaps," no ornaments on the pay -rolls—where were the profits to come from, the profits that -enabled the big fellows to fatten, that filled the crib -for their business and social hangers-on? Reform, -economy, stoppage of waste, all these were excellent -to talk about; and, within limits that recognized the -rights of the dominant classes, even might be practiced -without offense, especially by a fellow trying to -make a reputation and judiciously doing it at the -expense of financiers who had lost their grip and so could -expect no quarter. But to raise the banner of "anti-graft" -for a serious campaign— Anarchy, socialism, chaos!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong had inaugurated and was pressing a -war on his own class. And for whose benefit? Not -for his own; he wasn't enriching himself—and therein -was a Phariseeism, an effort to pose as a censor of -his class, that alone would have made him a suspicious -character. He was fighting his own class, was -making traitorous, familicidal war for the benefit of the -common enemy—the vast throng of the people who -hated the upper classes, as everybody knew, and were -impudently restless in their God-appointed position of -hewers of wood and drawers of water for the financial -aristocracy. Were not the people weakening dangerously -in reverence for and gratitude to their superiors, -the great and good men who provided them with work, -took care of their savings for them, supported the -church that guarded their souls and the medical -profession that healed their bodies, paid all the taxes, -undertook all the large responsibilities—and did -this truly godlike work, supported this Atlantean -burden, in exchange for a trivial commission that -brought no benefit but the sorrows of luxury? These -were the ignoramuses Armstrong was inflating, these -the ingrates he was encouraging. Already he had -doubled the dividends of the O.A.D., had made them -a seeming rebuke to the other insurance companies. -Competition—yes! But not the cutthroat, wicked, -ruinous competition that would destroy his own class, -its profits and its power. If he were permitted to -persist, the clamor for so-called "honesty" might -spread from policy holders to stockholders, to wage -earners, to the whole mass of the wards of high -finance. And they might compel the upper class to -grant them more money to waste in drink and in -wicked imitation of the luxury of their betters!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong was expelling himself from his own -class—into what? Except in finance, high finance, -what career was there for him? He would be like a -politician without a party, like a general without an -army, like a preacher without a parish, like a disbarred -lawyer. His reputation would be gone—for morality -is a relative word, and by his conduct he was -convincing the only class important to him as a man of -action that he had not the morality of his class, that -he could not be trusted with its interests. Every era, -every race, every class has its own morality, its own -practical application of the general moral code to its -peculiar needs. The class financier, in the peculiar -circumstances surrounding life in the new era, had its -code of what was honest and what dishonest, what -respectable and what disreputable, what loyal and -what disloyal. Under that code his new course was -disloyal, disreputable, was positively dishonest. It -would avail him nothing, should other classes vaguely -approve; if his own class condemned, he was damned.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A hell of a mess I'm getting into," reflected he, -"with trying to play one game by the rules of -another." He saw his situation clearly, but he had no -disposition to turn back. "All in a lifetime!" he -concluded with a shrug. "I'll just see what comes of -it. Anything but monotony." To him monotony, the -monotony of simply taking in and putting away for -his own use money confided to him, was the dullest of -lives—and it was beginning to seem the most -contemptible—"like going through the pockets of sleepers," -said he to himself.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He saw the storm coming. Not that there were -any clouds or gusty winds; the great storms, the -cyclones, don't come that way. No, his sky was serene -all round; everything looked bright, brilliant. But -there was an ominous stillness in the air—that dead, -dead calm which fills an experienced weather expert -with misgivings. Before the great storms that -explode out of those utter calms, the domestic animals -always act queerly; and, in this case, that sign was -not lacking. The big fellows beamed on him, were -most polite, most eager for his friendship. Not so -the little fellows—the underlings, both in the -O.A.D. and in its allied banks and in the institutions of -high finance into which Armstrong happened to go. -At sight of him they became agitated, nervous, stood -aloof, watched him furtively.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>But he went his new way steadily, as if he did not -know what was impending. It secretly amused him -greatly to observe his directors. The new board he -had selected was composed of men of substantial -fortune, who were just outside high finance—business -men, trained in business methods. But they had been -agitated by what they had seen and heard and read -of the financiers—of the vast fortunes quickly made, -of the huge mysterious profits, of the great enterprises -where the financier risked only other people's money, -and stood to lose nothing if the venture failed, kept -all the profits if it succeeded. They longed for these -fairylike lands where money grew on bushes and the -rivers ran gold. And when they were invited into -the directory of the O.A.D., they thought they were -at last sweeping through the gates from the real world -of business to the Hesperian Gardens of finance. As -they sat at the meetings, hearing Armstrong and his -lieutenants give accounts of economies and safe investments -and profits for the policy holders, each felt like -a child who had been led to believe it was going to -a Christmas festival and finds that it has been lured -into a regular session of the Sunday school. Why, the -honor and the director's fees were all there was in it!</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then there were the agents, the officials, the staff -of the company, high and low, far and near. To the -easy-going, golden days of finance had succeeded these -sober days of business. Instead of generosity, free -flinging about of the money that came in so easily, -there was now the most rigid economy—"regular, -damn, pinch-penny honesty," complained Duncan, the -magnificent agent at Chicago. "I tell you frankly, -Armstrong, I'm going to get out. It isn't worth the -while of a man of my ability to work for what the -company now allows."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Sorry to lose you, old man," said Armstrong, -"but we can't allow any secret rake-offs."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>It was Duncan who precipitated the cyclone. A -cyclone at its start is a little eddy of air which -happens to be set whirling by a chance twist of a -sunbeam glancing from a cloud. Millions of these eddies -occur every hour everywhere. Only when conditions -are just right does a cyclone result, does the eddy -continue to whirl, draw more and more air in -commotion, get a forward impulse that increases, until in -an incredibly short space of time destruction is -raging over the land. The conditions in the O.A.D. were -just right. Armstrong was hated by the whole -personnel, at home and abroad, and hated as only the -man is hated who cuts his fellows off from "easy -money." And he had not a friend. Throughout high -finance, he was hated and feared; at any moment, as -the result of his doings, some other big institution, -all other big institutions might have to adopt his -policy. Directors, presidents, officials great and small, -all the recipients of the profits from the system of -using other people's money as if it were your own, -regarded him as a personal enemy. When Duncan said -to one of his fellow agents, "We must get that chap -out," the right eddy had been started.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Within two weeks, Duncan was at the head of an -association of agents gathering proxies from the -policy holders to oust the Armstrong régime. Duncan -and his fellow conspirators sent out a circular, calling -attention to the recent rise in the profits to policy -holders. "It is evident," said the circular, "that -there has been mismanagement of our interests, and -that the present powers have been frightened into -giving us a little larger part of our own. We ought to -have it all! Send your proxies to the undersigned, that -the O.A.D. may be reorganized upon an honest, -democratic basis. A new broom, a clean sweep!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duncan in person came to Armstrong with one of -the circulars. "There's nothing underhand about -me," said he as he handed it to the president. "Here's -our declaration of war."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong glanced at it, smiled satirically. -"You've sent copies to the newspapers also, haven't -you?" replied he. "As you couldn't possibly keep -the matter secret, I can't get excited about your -candor." And he tossed the circular on his desk.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"When you read it, you'll see we're fighting fair," -said Duncan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I've read it," was Armstrong's answer. "One of -my friends among the agents sent me a copy a week -ago—the day you drew it up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duncan began to "hedge." "I don't want you to -have any hard feelings toward me," said he. "All the -boys were hot for this thing, and I had to go in with -them."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You were displaced as general Western agent -this morning," said Armstrong tranquilly. "I -telegraphed your assistant to take charge. I also -telephoned him a memorandum of what you owe the -company, with instructions to bring suit unless you -paid up in three days."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It ain't fair to single me out this way," cried -Duncan. "It's persecution."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I haven't singled you out," said Armstrong. "I -bounced the whole crowd of you at the same time, and -in the same way. You charge me with extravagance. -Well, you see, I've admitted the charge and have -begun to retrench."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duncan's fat, round face was purple and his brown -eyes were glittering. "You think you've done us up," -said he, with a nasty laugh. "But you're not as -'cute' as you imagine. We provided against just that -move."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I see that your committee of policy holders to -receive proxies are dummies," replied Armstrong. "I -know all about your arrangements."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you know we're going to win."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong looked indifferent. "That remains to -be seen," said he. "Good morning."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When Duncan had got himself out of the room, -Armstrong laid the circular beside the one he himself -had written and sent to each of the seven hundred -thousand policy holders. His circular was a -straight-forward statement of the facts—of how and why his -policy of economy had stirred up all the plunderers of -the company, great and small. It ended with a -request that proxies be sent direct to him, by those who -wished the new order to persist and did not wish a -return to the old order with its long-standing and -grave abuses. He compared the two circulars and -laughed at himself. "Mine's the unvarnished truth," -thought he. "But it doesn't sound as probable, as -reasonable, as Duncan's lies. If the policy holders do -stand by me, it'll be because most people are fools -and hit it right by accident. Most of us are never so -wrong as in our way of being right. The wise thing is -always to assume that the crowd that's in is crooked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If Armstrong had been a reformer, with the passion -to reorganize the world on his own private plan, -and in the event of the world's failure to recognize -his commission as vice-regent of the Almighty, ready -to denounce it as a hopeless case—if Armstrong had -been a professional regenerator, those would have -been trying days for him. The measures he took that -were the most honest and the most honorable were the -very measures that made the other side strong. He -had weeded out a multitude of grafters and had shown -an inflexible purpose to weed out the rest; and so -he had organized and made powerful the conspiracy -to restore graft. He had attacked the men—the big -agents—who were using their influence with the policy -holders to enable them to rob freely; and so he had -stirred up those traitors still further to cozen their -victims. He had cut down the enormous subsidies to -the press, had cut off the graft of the great financiers -who were the powers behind the great organs of public -opinion; and so he had enlisted the press as an open -and most helpful ally of the conspirators. The policy -holders were told by agents—whom they knew -personally and regarded as their representatives—that -Armstrong was the "thieving tool of the Wall Street -crowd"; the policy holders read in their newspapers -that "on the whole the O.A.D. would probably -benefit by a new management selected by the body of the -policy holders themselves." It was ridiculous, it was -tragic. Armstrong laughed, with a heavy and at -times a bitter heart. "I don't blame the poor devils," -he said. "How are they to know? I'm the damn -fool, not they—I who, dealing with men all these years, -have put myself in a position where I am appealing -from the men who run the people to the people, who -always have been run and always will be."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Still, he began to hope against hope, as the proxies -rolled in for him—by hundreds, by thousands, by tens -of thousands. Most of the letters accompanying the -proxies justified his cynical opinion that the average -man is never so wrong as when he is right; the writers -gave the most absurd reasons for supporting him, not -a few of them frankly saying that it was to the best -interest of the company to leave the control to the -man who was in with the powers of Wall Street! But -there were letters, hundreds of them, from men and -women who showed that they understood the situation; -and, curiously enough, most of these letters were badly -written, badly spelled, letters from so-called ignorant -people. It was a striking exhibit of how little -education has to do with brains. "I've always said," -thought Armstrong, "that our rotten system of education -is responsible for most of the fools and all the -damn fools, but I never before knew how true it was."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And the weeks passed, and the annual meeting -and election drew nearer and nearer. Instead of -Armstrong's agitation increasing, it disappeared entirely. -Within, he was as calm as he had all along seemed at -the surface. It was an unexpected reward for trying -to do the square thing. He was eminently practical in -his morals, was the last man in the world to turn the -other cheek, was disposed to return a blow both in -kind and in degree. But he knew, also, that the calm -he now felt was due to the changed course, could never -have been his in the old course.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On the morning of the great day, he stopped shaving -to look into his own eyes reflected in the glass. -"Old man," said he aloud, "there's much to be said -for being clean—reasonably, humanly clean. It begins -to have compensations sooner than the preachers seem -to think."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>As Armstrong entered the splendid assembly chamber -of the new O.A.D. building, the first figure his -eyes hit upon was that of Hugo Fosdick, entering at -the opposite door. To look at him was like hearing a -good joke. He was walking as if upon air, head -rearing, lofty brow corrugated, eyes rolling and serious, -shoulders squared as if bearing lightly a ponderous -burden. Of all the trifles that flash and wink out upon -the expanse of the infinite, the physically vain man -seems the most trivial. The so-called upper classes, -being condemned to think about themselves almost all -the time, furnish to the drama of life the most of -the low comedy, with their struttings and swellings -and posings. Those who in addition to class vanity -have physical vanity are the clowns of the great show. -Hugo was of the clowns—and he dressed the part, -that day. He had on a tremendously loud tweed suit, -a billycock hat of a peculiar shade of brown to match, -a huge plaid overcoat; he was wearing a big, rough-looking -chrysanthemum that seemed of a piece with his -tie; he diffused perfume like a woman who wishes to -be known by the scent she uses. As he drew off his -big, thick driving gloves, he gazed grandly around. -His eyes met Armstrong's, and his haughty lip curled -in a supercilious smile.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Did you come down in an auto?" some one asked him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, not in an auto," he said in a voice intended -to be heard by all. "I drove down. I've dropped -the auto—it's become vulgar, like the bicycle. It was -merely a fad, and the best people soon exhausted it. -There's no chance for individual taste in those -mechanical things, as there is in horses. Anyone can -get together the best there is going in automobiles; -but how many men can provide themselves with well -turned out traps—horses, harness, the men on the box, -just as a gentleman's turnout should be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>One of the Western men laughed behind his hand, -and said, "Wot t' hell!" But most of the assembly -gazed rather awedly at Hugo. They would have -thought him ridiculous had he been presented to them -as a laugh-provoker; but, as he was presented as a -representative of the "top notch" of New York, they -were respectfully silent and obediently impressed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And now, with Randall, a Duncan man, in the -chair, the meeting began—formalities, reading of -reports to which nobody listened, making of motions in -which nobody was interested. Half an hour of this, -with the tension increasing. Duncan had dry-smoked -three cigars, and the corners of his fat mouth were -yellow with tobacco stains; Hugo, struggling hard for -a gentleman's </span><em class="italics">sang froid</em><span>, had half torn out the sweat -band of his pot hat, had bit his lip till it bled. He -was watching Armstrong, was hating him and envying -him—for the big Westerner sat at the right of the -chairman with no more trace of excitement on his -face than there is in the features of a bronze Buddha -who has been staring cross-legged into Nirvana for -twenty-five centuries.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nor did he rouse himself when the election began, -though a nervous shiver like an electric shock visibly -shook every other man in the room. His lieutenants -proposed his list of candidates; Duncan's men -proposed the "Popular" list; the voting began. Barry, -for Armstrong, cast sixty-two thousand four -hundred and fifteen votes—the proxies that had come in -for Armstrong in answer to his appeal and also the -uncanceled proxies of those he had had since the -beginning of his term. Duncan and his crowd burst into -a cheer, and in rapid succession nine of them cast -forty-three thousand and eleven votes. Then they turned -anxious eyes on Hugo. Armstrong, too, looked at -him. He could not understand. Hugo's name was not -on the Duncan list of persons to whom the "new -broom" proxies were to be sent. Hugo, pale and -trembling, rose. He fixed revengeful, triumphant, -gloating eyes upon Armstrong and addressed him, as -he said to the chairman, "For Mr. Wolcott here, I -cast for the Popular, or anti-Armstrong ticket, the -proxies of ninety thousand six hundred and four -policy holders."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong looked at Hugo as if he were not seeing -him; indeed, he seemed almost oblivious of his -surroundings, as if he were absorbed in some tranquil, -interesting mental problem. Silence followed Hugo's -announcement, and the porters brought in and piled -upon the huge table, over against the now insignificant -bundles of Armstrong's proxies, the packages which -were the tangible demonstration of the overwhelming -force and power of his foes. As the porters completed -their task, the spectacle became so inspiring to -Duncan and his friends that they forgot their dignity, and -gave way to their feelings. They yelled, they tossed -their hats; they embraced, shook hands, gave each -other resounding slaps upon the shoulders. Hugo -condescended to join in their jubilations, never -taking his eyes off Armstrong's face. Armstrong and -Barry and Driggs sat silent, Armstrong impassive, -Barry frowning, Driggs gnawing his mustache. -Armstrong's gaze went from face to face of these "policy -holders"; on each he saw written the basest -emotions—emotions from the jungle, emotions of tusk and -claw. The O.A.D. with all its vast treasures was -theirs to despoil—and they were clashing their fangs -and licking their savage chops in anticipation of the -feast. The vast majority of the policy holders had -been too indifferent to respond to the appeal of either -side—this, though the future of their widows and their -orphans was at stake! Of those who had responded, -the overwhelming majority had declared against Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He had long known it would be so and had -resolved to accept the "popular mandate." But the -gleam of those greedy eyes, the grate of that greedy, -gloating laughter, was too horrible. "I </span><em class="italics">can't</em><span> let -things go to hell like this!" he muttered—and he -leaned toward Driggs and said in an undertone, "I've -changed my mind. Carry out my original programme."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Driggs suddenly straightened himself, and his -face changed from gloom to delight, then sobered into -alert calmness. Gradually the victors quieted down. -"Close the polls!" called Duncan. "Nobody else is -going to vote."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before closing the polls, Mr. Chairman," said -Driggs, "or, rather, before the proxies offered by -Mr. Fosdick are accepted, I wish to ask Mr. Wolcott -a question." And he turned toward young Wolcott, -a distant relative and henchman of Duncan's and one -of the three men in whose names stood all the -"new-broom" proxies.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"How old are you, Mr. Wolcott, please?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Wolcott stared at him, glanced at Hugo, at Duncan, -grinned. "None of your business," drawled he. -"I may say none of your damn business."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Driggs smiled blandly, turned to the chairman. -"As a policy holder in the O.A.D.," he said gently, -"I ask that all the proxies on which the name of -Howard C. Wolcott appears be thrown out."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duncan and Hugo sprang up. "What kind of -trick is this?" shouted Duncan at Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong seemed not to be listening, was idly -twisting his slender gold watch guard round his -forefinger.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"By the constitution of the association," proceeded -Driggs, "proxies given to anyone under thirty -years of age or to any committee any of whose members -is under thirty years are invalid. I refer you to -Article nine, Section five."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But Wolcott's over thirty," bawled Duncan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'm thirty-one—thirty-two the sixth of next -month," blustered Wolcott. "I demand to be sworn."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Driggs drew several papers from his pocket. "I -have here," he pursued, "an official copy of Wolcott's -application for a marriage license, in which he gives -the date of his birth. Also the sworn statement of -the physician who presided over his entrance into this -wicked world. Also, an official copy of Wolcott's -statement to the election registrars of Peoria, where -he lives. All these documents agree that Mr. Wolcott -is not yet twenty-nine." Driggs leaned back and -smiled benevolently at Wolcott. "I think Mr. Wolcott's -own testimony would be superfluous."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is infamous—infamous!" cried Hugo, hysterically -menacing Armstrong with his billycock hat -and big driving gloves and crimson-fronted head.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of all the outrages ever attempted, this is the -most brazen!" shouted Duncan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Chairman," said Driggs, in that same gentle -voice, not unlike the purring of a stroked cat, "I -believe the Constitution is self-executing. As I -understand it, all the proxies collected for the -Duncan-Fosdick party are on the same form—the one -authorizing Wolcott and two others to cast the vote. Thus, -the only legal votes cast are those for the regular -ticket."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The election must be postponed!" Duncan -screamed, waving his fists and then beating them upon -the table. "This outrage must not go on."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The chairman, Randall, had been a Duncan man. -He now fled to the victors. "There is no legal way -to postpone, Mr. Duncan," he responded coldly. -"No other votes offering, I declare the polls closed. -Shall we adjourn until this day week, gentlemen, -according to custom, so that the tellers may have time -to examine the vote and report?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong spoke for the first time. "Move we -adjourn," he said, rising like a man who is weary from -sitting too long in the same position. Barry seconded; -the meeting stood adjourned. Armstrong, followed by -Barry and Driggs, withdrew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>As soon as they had gone, Hugo blazed on Duncan. -"You are responsible for this!" he cried. -"You damn fool!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Duncan stared stupidly. Then, by a reflex action -of the muscles rather than as the result of any order -from his dazed brain, his great, fat-cushioned fist -swung into Hugo's face and Hugo was flat upon his -back on the floor.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Come on, boys," said Duncan. "Let's go have -a drink and feel ourselves for broken bones."</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="i-don-t-trust-him"><span class="bold large">XXXI</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">"I DON'T TRUST HIM"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Armstrong was now the man of the hour, the one -tenant of the public pillories who was sure of a fling -from every passer. The press shrieked at him, the -pulpit thundered; the policy holders organized into -state associations and threatened. Those who had sent -him proxies wrote revoking them and denouncing him -as having betrayed their confidence. Those who had -given the Duncan crowd their proxies wrote excoriating -him for taking advantage of a technicality to cheat -them out of their rights and to gain one year more -of power to plunder.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It's a blistering shame!" cried Barry, wrought -up over some particularly vicious attack. "It's so -infernally unjust!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't agree with you," replied Armstrong, as -judicial as his friend was infuriate. "The people are -right; they simply are right in the wrong way. They -think I'm part of the system of wholesale, respectable -pocket-picking that has grown up in this country. -You can't blame 'em. And it does look ugly, my using -that technical point to save myself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suppose you wish you had stuck to your first -scheme," said Barry, sarcastic, "and had let the -Duncan broom sweep the safes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I don't repent," replied Armstrong. -"When I decided to save the policy holders in spite -of themselves, I knew this was coming. When you -try to save a mule from a burning stable, you're a -fool to be surprised if you get kicked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You're not going to pay any attention to these -yells for you to resign?" Barry asked, even more -alarmed than he showed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"No, I'll not resign," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you ought to do something, ought to meet -these charges. You ought to fight back." Barry had -been waiting for three weeks in daily expectation; but -Armstrong had not moved, had given no sign that -he was aware of the attack.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes, it is about time, I guess," said he. -"Beginning to-day, I am going to clean out of the -O.A.D. all that's left of the old gang."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry looked at him as if he thought he had gone -crazy. "Why, Horace, that'll simply raise hell!" he -said. "We'll be put out by force. You know what -everybody'll say."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong leaned back in his chair, put his big -hands behind his head and beamed on his first lieutenant. -"It wouldn't surprise me if we had to call on the -police for protection before the end of next week."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The governor'll be forced to act," urged Barry. -"As it is, he's catching it for keeping his hands off."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't be alarmed. Morris understands the -situation. We had a talk last night—met on a corner -and walked round in quiet streets for two hours."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He sent for you, did he?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes. He was weakening. But he's all right again."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I don't see the advantage in this new move, -in making a bad matter worse."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The worse it gets, the quicker it'll improve when -the turn comes," Armstrong answered. "I've got to -get rid of the old gang—you know that. They were -brought up on graft. They look on it as legitimate. -They never'll be right again, and if a single one of -them stays, he'll rot our new force. So out they all -go. Now, as it's got to be done, the best time is right -now, and have it over with. I tell you, Jim," and -Armstrong brought his fist down on the desk, "I'm -going to put this company in order if I'm thrown -into jail the day after I've done it! But I ain't going -to jail. I'm going to stay right here, and, inside of -six months, the crowd that's howling loudest for my -blood will be sending me proxies and praying that I'll -live forever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish I could think so," muttered Barry gloomily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So you've lost confidence in me, too?" Armstrong -said this with more mockery than reproach. -"It's lucky I don't rely on confidence in me to get -results, isn't it? Well, Jim——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh, I'll stand by you, Armstrong, faith or no -faith," interrupted Barry.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks," said Armstrong, somewhat dryly. -"But I'm bound to tell you that the result will be -just the same, whether you do or not. If you want to -accept Trafford's offer that you have taken under -consideration, don't hesitate on my account."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Barry was scarlet. "It was on account of my -family," he stammered. "My wife's been at me to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Of course she has," said Armstrong. "Don't -say any more."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"She's like all the women," Barry insisted on -saying. "She likes luxury and all that, and she's afraid -I'll lose my hold, and she knows how generous Trafford is."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes," drawled Armstrong. "This country is -full of that kind of generosity nowadays—generosity -with other people's money."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The women don't think about that side of it," -said Barry. "They think that as pretty much -everybody's doing that sort of thing—everybody that is -anybody—why, it must be all right. And, by gad, -Horace, sometimes it almost seems to me I'm a fool, -a dumb one, to stick to the old-fashioned ways. Why -be so particular about not taking people's property -when they leave it around and don't look after it -themselves, and when somebody else'll take it, if I -don't—somebody who won't make as good use of it -as I would?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The question isn't whose property it is, but whose -property it isn't," said Armstrong. "And, when it -isn't ours, why—I guess 'hands off' is honest—and -decent." And then he colored and his eyes shifted, -as if the other could read in them the source of this -idea which he had thought and spoken as if it were his -own.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's my notion, too," said Barry. "I suppose -I'll never be rich. But—" His face became -splendidly earnest—"by heaven, Armstrong, I'll never -leave my children a dollar that wasn't honestly got."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We're rowing against the tide, Jim. You can't -even console yourself that your children would rather -have had the heritage of an honest name than the -millions. And if you don't leave 'em rich, they'll either -have to plunge in and steal a fortune or become the -servants of some rich man or go to farming. No, even -independent farming won't be open by the time they -grow up."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well, I'm going to keep on," replied Barry. -"And so are you."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong laughed silently. "Guess you're -right," said he. "God knows, I tried hard enough to -turn my boat round and row the other way. But she -would swing back. Queer about that sort of thing, -isn't it? I wonder, Jim, how many of the men most -of us look on as obscurities and failures are in the -background or down because there was that queer -something in them that wouldn't let them subscribe -to this code of sneak, stab, and steal? We're in luck -not to have been trampled clean under—and our luck -may not hold."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A few days, and Barry decided that their luck was -in the last tailings. Armstrong's final move produced -results that made the former tempests seem mere fresh -weather. The petty grafters and parasites he now -dislodged in a body were insignificant as individuals; but -each man had his coterie of friends; each was of a -large group in each city or town, a group of people -similarly dependent upon small salaries and grafting -from large corporations. The whole solidarity burst -into an uproar. Armstrong was getting rid of all the -honest men; he was putting his creatures in their -places, so that there might be no check on the flow -of plunder from the pockets of policy holders into -his own private pocket. The man was the greediest as -well as the most insolent of thieves! This was the -cry in respectable circles throughout the country—for -his "victims" were all of "good" families, were -the relatives, friends, dependents of the leading -citizens, each in his own city or town.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't you think you'd better stop until things -have quieted down a bit?" asked Barry, when the work -was about half done.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Go right on!" said Armstrong. "Tear up the -last root. We must stand or fall by this policy. If -we try to compromise now, we're lost. The way to -cut off a leg is to cut it off. There's a chance to -survive a clean cut, but not a bungle."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A fortnight, and all but a few of his personal -friends in the board of directors resigned after the -board had, with only nine negative votes, passed a -resolution requesting him to resign. And finally, the -policy holders held a national convention at Chicago, -and appointed a committee of five to go to New York -and "investigate the O.A.D. from garret to cellar, -especially cellar."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now!" cried Armstrong jubilantly, when the -telegram containing the news was laid before him.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>On a Thursday morning the newspapers told the -whole country about the convention, the committee, the -impending capture of "the bandit." On Saturday -toward noon, Armstrong got a note: "I am stopping -with Narcisse. Won't you come to see me this -afternoon, or to-morrow—any time?—Neva."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He read the note twice, then tore it into small -pieces and tossed them into the wastebasket. "Not -I!" said he aloud, with a frown at the bits of violet -note paper. Through all those weeks he had been -hoping for, expecting, a message from her—something -that would help him to feel there was in this world of -enemies and timid, self-interested friends, at least the -one person who understood and sympathized. But not -a word had come; and his heart, so hard when it was -hard, and so sensitive when it was touched at all, was -sore and bitter.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Nevertheless, it was he and none other who appeared -at five that afternoon, less than a block from -Narcisse's house; and he wandered in wide circles -about the neighborhood for at least an hour before -his pride could shame him into dragging himself away. -At three the next afternoon he rang Narcisse's bell. -The man servant showed him into her small oval gray -and dull gold salon which Raphael once said was -probably the most perfect room in the modern world. -Adjoining it was a conservatory, the two rooms being -separated only by an alternation of mirrors and -lattices, the lattices overrun with pink rambler in full -bloom—and in the mirrors and through the opposite -windows Armstrong saw the snow falling and lying -white upon the trees and the lawns of the Park. In -the center of the room was an open fire, its flue -descending from the ceiling, but so constructed that it -and its oval chimney-piece added to the effect of the -room almost as much as the glimpses of the conservatory, -seen through the rambler-grown lattices. And -the scent of-growing flowers perfumed the air. These -surroundings, this sudden summer bursting and beaming -through the snow and ice of winter, had their -inevitable effect upon Armstrong. He was beginning to -look favorably upon several possible excuses for Neva. -"She may not have heard of my troubles," he reflected. -"She doesn't read the newspapers, and people wouldn't -talk to her of anything concerning me."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came in hurriedly, swathed in a coat of black -broadtail, made very simply, its lines following her -long, slim figure. The color was high in her cheeks; -from her garments diffused the freshness of the -winter air. "I shouldn't have been out," she explained, -"but I had to go to see some one—Mrs. Trafford, -who is ill."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Then he noted that her face was thinner than when -he last saw it, that the look out of the eyes was weary. -And for the moment he forgot his bitterness over her -"utter desertion" of him when he really needed the -cheer only a friend, a real friend, one beyond the -suspicion of a possibility of self-interest, can give; -deserted him in troubles which she herself had edged him -on to precipitate. "When did you come?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yesterday—yesterday morning. You see I sent -you word immediately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He looked ironic. "I saw in the newspaper this -morning that Raphael landed yesterday."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He dined here last night," replied she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He turned as if about to go. "I can't imagine -why you bothered to send for me," he said.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She showed that she was astonished and hurt. -"Horace," she appealed, "why do you say that? I -read about all those troubles."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So, you did know!" He gave an abrupt, grim -laugh. "And as you were coming on to see Raphael, -why, you thought you'd do an act of Christian charity. -Well, I wish I could oblige, but really, I don't need -charity."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She made no answer, simply sighed and drooped. -When the country was ringing with denunciations of -him, "He will see the truth now," she had said to -herself, "now that the whole world is showing it to him -instead of only one person and she a woman." Then, -with the bursting of the great storm over his single -head, she dismissed all but the one central truth, that -she loved him, and came straightway to New York.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Well, here they were face to face; and as she looked -at him in his strength and haughtiness, she saw in his -face, as if etched in steel, inflexible determination to -persist in the course that was making him an object -of public infamy, justly, she had to admit. "The -madness for money and for crushing down his fellow -beings has him fast," she thought. "There isn't -anything left in him for his good instincts to work -on." She seated herself wearily.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Let's talk no more about it," she said to him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You've been reading the papers?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yes—I read—all."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It must have been painful to you," said he with -stolid sarcasm.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She did not answer. In this mood of what seemed -to her the most shameless defiance of all that a human -being would respect if he had even a remnant of -self-respect, he was almost repellent.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"So," he went on, in that same stolid way, "you -sent for me to revel in that self-righteousness you -paraded the last time I saw you. Well, it will chagrin -you, I fear, to learn that the </span><em class="italics">scoundrel</em><span> you tried to -redeem will escape from the toils again, and resume his -wicked way."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I wish you would go," she entreated. "I can't -bear it to-day."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She was taking off her hat now, was having great -difficulty in finding its pins; its black fur brought out -all the beauty of her bright brown hair. The graceful, -fascinating movements of her head, her arms, her -fingers, put that into his fury which made it take the -bit in its teeth.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Are you and Raphael going to marry?" he demanded -so roughly that she, startled, stood straight -up, facing him. "Yes, I see that you are," he rushed -on. "And it puts me beside myself with jealousy. -But you would be mistaken if you thought I meant -I would have you, even if I could get you. What you -said the last time I saw you, interpreted by what -you've done since, has revealed you to me as what I -used to think you—a woman incapable of love—not -a woman at all. You are of this new type—the woman -that uses her brain. Give me the old-fashioned -kind—the kind that loved, without question."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She blazed out at him—at his savage, sneering -voice and eyes. "Without question," she retorted, -"and whether he was on the right side or the wrong. -Loved the man who won, so long as he won; was -gladly a mere part of the spoils of victory—that was -the feature of her the poets and the novel writers -neglect to mention. But it was important. You like that, -however—you who think only of fighting, as you call -it—though that's rather a brave name for the game -you play, as you yourself have described it to me and -as the whole world now knows you play it. You'd -have no use for the woman who really loves, the woman -who would be proud to bear a man's name if she -loved him, though it were black with dishonor, provided -he said, 'Help me make this name clean and bright -again.' Why should not a woman be as jealous of -dishonor in her husband as he is of it in her?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse entered, hesitated; then, seeing Armstrong -hat in hand and apparently going, she came on. -"Hello," said she, shaking hands with him. She took -a cigarette from the big silver box on the table, lit -it, held the box toward Armstrong. "Smoke, and -cheer up. The devil is said to be dying."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Thanks, no, I must be off," replied Armstrong. -He took a long look round the room, ending at the -rambler-grown lattices. He bowed to Narcisse. His -eyes rested upon Neva; but she was not looking at him, -lest love should win a shameful victory over -self-respect and over her feeling of what was the right -course toward him if there was any meaning in the -words woman and wife.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When he was gone, Narcisse stretched herself out, -extended her feet toward the flames. "What a -handsome, big man he is," said she, sending up a great -cloud of cigarette smoke. "How tremendously a man. -If he had some of Boris's temperament, or Boris some -of his, either would be perfect."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A pause, with both women looking into the fire.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"After you left us last night," Narcisse continued, -"Boris asked me to marry him."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva was startled out of her brooding.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I refused," proceeded Narcisse. Another -silence, then, "You don't ask why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because he's in love with </span><em class="italics">you</em><span>. He told me so. -He made quite an interesting proposition. He -suggested that, as we were both alone and got on so well -together and worked along lines that were sympathetic -yet could not cross and cause clashes, that—as the -only way we could be friends without a scandal was -by marrying—why, we ought to marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It seems unanswerable," said Neva.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had been married, </span><em class="italics">and</em><span> in love with your -husband, I think I'd have accepted."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What nonsense!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Not at all," replied Narcisse. "I don't trust any -man, least of all a Boris Raphael; and I don't trust -any woman—not even you. The time might come when -you would change your mind. Then, where should </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> be?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll not change my mind."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's beyond your control," retorted Narcisse. -"But—when you marry, I may risk it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva's thoughts went back to Armstrong. Presently -she vaguely heard Narcisse saying, "I've got -to put up a stiffer fight against this loneliness. Do -you ever think of suicide?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I don't believe any sane person ever does."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But who is sane? Solitary confinement will upset -the steadiest brain." She gazed strangely at Neva. -"Look out, my dear. Don't </span><em class="italics">you</em><span> act so that you'll -sentence yourself to a life of solitary confinement. -Some people are lucky enough not to be discriminating. -They can be just as happy with imitation friendship -and paste love as if they had the real thing. But not -you—or I."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There's worse than being alone," said Neva.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Another silence; then Narcisse, still in the same -train of thought, went on, "Several years ago we made -a house for a couple up on the West Side—a good-looking -young husband and wife devoted to each other -and to their two little children. He lavished everything -on her. I got to know her pretty well. She was -an intelligent woman—witty, with the streak of -melancholy that always goes with wit and the other keen -sensibilities. I soon saw she was more than unhappy, -that she was wretched. I couldn't understand it. A -year or so passed, and the husband was arrested, sent -to the 'pen'—he made his money at a disreputable -business. Then I understood. Another year or so, -and I met her in Twenty-third Street. She was radiant—I -never saw such a change. 'My husband is to be -released next month,' said she, quite simply, like a -natural human being who assumes that everybody -understands and sympathizes. 'And,' she went on, -'he has made up his mind to live straight. We're -going away, and we'll take a nice, new name, and be -happy.'"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva had so changed her position that Narcisse -could not see her slow, hot tears that are the sweat of -a heart in torment. To Narcisse, the reason for that -wife's wretchedness was an ever-present terror lest the -husband should be exposed. But Neva, more acutely -sensitive, or perhaps, because of what she had passed -through, saw, or fancied she saw, a deeper cause—beneath -material terror of "appearances" the horror of -watching the manhood she loved shrivel and blacken, -the horror of knowing that the lover who lay in her -arms would rise up and go forth to prey, a crawling, -stealthy beast.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>To understand a human being at all in any of his -or her aspects, however far removed from the apparently -material, it is necessary to understand how that -man or woman comes by the necessities of life—food, -clothing, shelter. To study human nature either in -the broad or in detail, leaving those matters out of -account, is as if an anatomist were to try to -understand the human body, having first taken away the -vital organs and the arteries and veins. It is the -method of the man's income that determines the man; -and his paradings and posings, his loves, hatreds, -generosities, meannesses, all are either unimportant or are -but the surface signs of the deep, the real emotions -that constitute the vital nucleus of the real man. In -the material relations of a man or a woman, in the -material relations of husband and wife, of parents and -children, lie the ultimate, the true explanations of -human conduct. This has always been so, in all ages -and classes; and it will be so until the chief concern -of the human animal, and therefore its chief compelling -motive, ceases to be the pursuit of the necessities -and luxuries that enable it to live from day to day and -that safeguard it in old age. The filling and emptying -and filling again of the purse perform toward the -mental and moral life a function as vital as the filling -and emptying and refilling of heart or lungs performs -in the life of the body.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse suspected Neva had turned away to hide -some sad heart secret; but it did not occur to her -to seek a clew to it in the story she had told. She -had never taken into account, in her estimate of -Armstrong, his life downtown—the foundations and -framework of his whole being. This though, under her -very eyes, to the torture of her loving heart, just those -"merely material" considerations had determined her -brother's downfall, while her own refusal of whatever -had not been earned in honor and with full measure of -service rendered had determined her salvation.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>In the "Arabian Nights" there is the story of a -man who marries a woman, beautiful as she in Solomon's -Song. He is happy in his love for her and her -love for him until he wakens one night, as she is -stealing from his side. He follows; she joins a ghoul -at a ghoul's orgy in a graveyard. Next morning -there she lies by his side, in stainless beauty. Since -her father's death, not even when Armstrong was -before Neva and his magnetism was exerting its full -power over her, not even then could she quite forget -the other Armstrong whom she had surprised at his -"business." She could no longer think of that -"business" merely as "doing what everybody has to do, -to get on." She had seen what "finance" meant; she -could not picture Armstrong without the stains of the -ghoul orgy upon him.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And now," she thought despairingly, "he has -broken finally and altogether with honor and -self-respect; has flung me out of his life—forever!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>That night Narcisse took her to a concert at the -Metropolitan. Her mind was full of the one thought, -the one hatred and horror, and she could not endure -the spectacle. The music struck upon her morbid -senses like the wailing and moaning of the poverty and -suffering of millions that had been created to enable -those smiling, flashing hundreds to assemble in -splendor. "I must go!" she exclaimed at the first -intermission. "I can think only of those jewels and -dresses, this shameless flaunting of stolen -goods—bread and meat snatched from the poor. You know -these women round us in the boxes. You know whose -wives and daughters they are. Where did the money -come from?" She was talking rapidly, her eyes -shining, her voice quivering. "Do you see the Atwaters -there with Lona Trafford in their box? Do you know -that Atwater just robbed a hundred thousand more -people of their savings by lying about an issue of -bonds? Do you know that Trafford steals outright -one-third of every dollar the poor people, the day -laborers, intrust to him as insurance for their old age -and for their orphans? Do you know that Langdon -there robs a million farmers of their earnings and -drives them to the mortgage and the tax sale and -pauperism and squalor—all so that the Langdons may -have palaces and carriages and the means to degrade -thousands into dependence and to steal more and more -money from more and more people?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Narcisse's eyes traveled slowly round the circle, -then rested in wonder on Neva. "What set you to -thinking of these things?" she asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"What always sets a </span><em class="italics">woman</em><span> to thinking?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>When they reached home, Narcisse broke the silence -to say, "After all, it's nobody's fault. It's a system -and they're the victims of it."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because one has the chance to steal—that's no -excuse for his stealing," replied Neva, with a certain -sternness in her face that curiously reminded Narcisse -of Armstrong. "Nor is it any excuse that everyone -is doing it, and so making it respectable. I'm -going back home—back where at least I shan't be -tormented by seeing these things with my very eyes."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>On impulse, perhaps tinged with selfishness, Narcisse -exclaimed, "Neva, why don't you marry Armstrong?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because I don't trust him," replied she. "One -may love without trust, but not marry."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Yet," said Narcisse, "I'd marry Boris, though -I never could trust him—never!"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If you had been married, you wouldn't do it," -replied Neva. Then, "But every case is individual, -and everyone must judge for himself."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You know best—about Armstrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I should say I did!" exclaimed Neva bitterly. -"There's no excuse for my folly—none!"</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst" id="armstrong-asks-a-favor"><span class="bold large">XXXII</span></p> -<p class="center pnext"><span class="bold medium">ARMSTRONG ASKS A FAVOR</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Neva, arranging to go West on the afternoon -express, was stopped by a note from Armstrong:</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I hope you will come to my office at eleven to-morrow. -I beg you not to refuse this, the greatest -favor, except one, that I have ever asked."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>At eleven the next morning she entered the ante-room -to his office. He and his secretary were alone -there, he walking up and down with a nervousness -Morton had never seen in him. At sight of her, his -manner abruptly changed. "I was afraid something -would happen to prevent your coming," he said as -they shook hands. He avoided her glance. "Thank -you. Thank you." And he took her into his inner -office. "I have an engagement—a meeting that will -keep me a few minutes," he went on. "It's only in -the next room here."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Don't hurry on my account," said she.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I'll just put you at this desk here," he continued, -with a curious elaborateness of manner. "There are -the morning's papers—and some magazines. I shall -be back—as soon as possible. You are sure you don't -mind?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Indeed, no," she replied, seating herself. "This -is most comfortable."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>There were sounds of several persons entering -the adjoining room. "I'll go now," said he. "The -sooner I go, the sooner I shall be free. You will -wait?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Here," she assured him, wondering that he would -not let his eyes meet hers even for an instant.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>He went into the next room, leaving the door ajar, -but not widely enough for her to see or to be seen. -She took up a magazine, began a story. The sound -of the voices disturbed her. She heard enough to -gather that some kind of business meeting was going -on, resumed the story. Suddenly she heard Armstrong's -voice. She listened. He, all of them, were -so near that she could hear every word.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You will probably be surprised to learn, gentlemen," -he was saying, loudly, clearly, "that I have been -impatiently awaiting your coming. And now that you -are here, I shall not only give you every opportunity -to examine the affairs of the O.A.D., but I shall -insist upon your taking advantage of it to the -fullest. I look to you, gentlemen, to end the campaign -of calumny against your association and its management."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Neva's magazine had dropped into her lap. She -knew now why he had asked her to come. If only -she could see! But no—that was impossible; she must -be content with hearing. She sat motionless, eager, -yet in dread too; for she knew that Armstrong had -summoned her to his trial, that she was to hear with -her own ears the truth, the whole truth about him. -The truth! Would it seem to her as it evidently -seemed to him? No matter; she believed in him -again. "At least," she said, "he </span><em class="italics">thinks</em><span> he's right, -and the best man can get no nearer right than that."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>If she could have looked into the next room, she -would have seen two large tables, men grouped about -each. At one were Armstrong and the five committee-men, -and the lawyer, Drew, whom they had brought -with them from Chicago to conduct the examination -and cross-examinations. At the other sat a dozen -reporters from the newspapers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have told the gentlemen of the press," said -Armstrong, "that my impression was that the sessions -of the committee were to be public. It is, of course, -for you to decide."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drew rubbed his long lean jaw reflectively. "I see, -Mr. Armstrong," said he, in a slow, bantering tone, -"that you are disposed to assist us to the extent of -taking charge of the investigation. Now, I came -with the notion that </span><em class="italics">I</em><span> was to do that, to whatever -extent the committee needed leading."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you do not wish the investigation to be -public?" said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Public, yes," replied Drew. "But I doubt if we -can conduct it so thoroughly or so calmly, if our every -move is made under the limelight."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Before we go any further," said Armstrong, -"there is a matter I wish to bring to the attention of -the committee, which it might, perhaps, seem better to -you to keep from the press. If so, will you ask the -reporters to retire for a few minutes?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now, </span><em class="italics">there's</em><span> just the kind of matter I think the -press ought to hear," said Drew. "</span><em class="italics">We</em><span> haven't any -secrets, Mr. Armstrong."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very well," said Armstrong. "The matter is -this: The campaign against the O.A.D. and against -me was instigated and has been kept up by Mr. Atwater -and several of his associates, owners and -exploiters of our rivals in the insurance business. In -view of that fact, I think the committee will see the -gross impropriety, the danger, the disaster, I may say, -of having as its counsel, as its guide, one of -Mr. Atwater's personal lawyers?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"That's a lie," drawled Drew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong did not change countenance. He -rested his gaze calmly on the lawyer. "Where did you -dine last night, Mr. Drew?" he asked.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is the most impertinent performance I was -ever the amused victim of," said Drew. "You are on -trial here, sir, not I. Of course, I shall not answer -your questions."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Farthest from Drew and facing him sat the chairman -of the committee, its youngest member, Roberts -of Denver—a slender, tall man, with sinews like steel -wires enwrapping his bones, and nothing else beneath -a skin tanned by the sun into leather. He had eyes -that suggested the full-end view of the barrel of a -cocked revolver. "Speak your questions to me, -Mr. Armstrong," now said this quiet, dry, dangerous-looking -person, "and I'll put 'em to our counsel. -Where </span><em class="italics">did</em><span> you dine last night, Mr. Drew?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drew glanced into those eyes and glanced away. -"It is evidently Mr. Armstrong's intention to foment -dissension in the committee," said he. "I trust you -gentlemen will not fall headlong into his trap."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Why do you object to telling us where you dined -last night?" asked Roberts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can see no relevancy to our mission in the -fact that I dined with my old friend, Judge Bimberger."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask him how long he has known Judge Bimberger," -said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have known him for years," said Drew. "But -I have not seen much of him lately."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then, ask him," said Armstrong to Roberts, -"why it was necessary for Mr. Atwater to give Bimberger -a letter of introduction to him, a letter which -the judge sent up with his card at the Manhattan -Hotel at four o'clock yesterday afternoon."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drew smiled contemptuously, without looking at -either Armstrong or the chairman. "It was not a -letter of introduction. It was a friendly note -Mr. Atwater asked the judge to deliver."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It had 'Introducing Judge Bimberger' on the -envelope," said Armstrong. "There it is." And he -tossed an envelope on the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drew sprang to his feet, sank back with a ghastly -grin. "You see, we have a very clever man to deal -with, gentlemen," said he, "a man who stops at -nothing, and is never so at ease as when he is stooping."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask him," pursued Armstrong tranquilly, "how -much he made in counsel fees from Atwater, from the -Universal Life, from the Hearth and Home Defender, -last year."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I am counsel to a great many men and corporations," -cried Drew, ruffled. "You will not find a -lawyer of my standing who has not practically all the -conspicuous interests as his clients."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Probably not," said Roberts dryly. "That's the -hell of it for us common folks."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask him," said Armstrong, "what arrangements -he made with Bimberger to pervert the investigation, -to make it simply a slaughter of its present -management, to——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Gentlemen, I appeal to you!" exclaimed Drew -with great dignity. "I did not come here to be -insulted. I have too high a position at the bar to be -brought into question. I protest. I demand that this -cease."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Ask him," said Armstrong, "what he and Bimberger -and Atwater and Langdon talked about at the -dinner last night."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You have heard my protest, gentlemen," said -Drew coldly. "I am awaiting your answer."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>A silence of perhaps twenty seconds that seemed -as many minutes. Then Roberts spoke: "Well, -Mr. Drew, in view of the fact that the reporters are -present——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Involuntarily Drew wheeled toward the reporters' -table, wild terror in his eyes. He had forgotten that -the press was there; all in a rush, he realized what -those silent, almost effaced dozen young men meant—the -giant of the brazen lungs who would in a few brief -hours be shrieking into every ear, from ocean to -ocean, the damning insinuations of Armstrong. He -tried to speak, but only a rattling sound issued from -his throat.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As the reporters are present," Roberts went on -pitilessly—he had seen too much of the tragic side -of life in his years as Indian fighter and cowboy to -be moved simply by tragedy without regard to its -cause—"I think, and I believe the rest of the -committee think, that you will have to answer -Mr. Armstrong's grave charges."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drew collected himself. "I doubt if a reputable -counsel has ever been subjected to such indignities," -said he in his slow, dignified way. "I not only -decline to enter into a degrading controversy, I also -decline to serve longer as counsel to a committee which -has so frankly put itself in a position to have its work -discredited from the outset."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Then you admit," said Roberts, "that you have -entered into improper negotiations with parties -interested to queer this investigation?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Such a charge is preposterous," replied Drew.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"You admit that you deceived us a few moments -ago as to your relations with this judge?" pursued -Roberts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Drew made no answer. He was calmly gathering -together his papers.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I suggest that some one move that Mr. Drew's -resignation be not accepted, but that he be dismissed."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I so move," said Reed, the attorney-general of Iowa.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Second," said Bissell, a San Franciscan.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The motion was carried, as Drew, head in the air, -and features inscrutably calm behind his dark, rough -skin, marched from the room, followed by several of -the reporters.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"As there are two lawyers on the committee," said -Roberts, "it seems to me we had better make no more -experiments with outside counsel."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>The others murmured assent. "Let Mr. Reed -do the questioning," suggested Mulholland. It was -agreed, and Reed took the chair which Drew had occupied, -as it was conveniently opposite to that in which -Armstrong was seated. The reporters who had -pursued Drew now returned; one of them said in an -audible undertone to his fellow—"He wouldn't -talk—not a word," and they all laughed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Now—Mr. Armstrong," said Reed, in a sharp, -businesslike voice.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I was summoned," began Armstrong, "as the -first witness, I assume. I should like to preface my -examination with a brief statement."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Certainly," said Reed. Roberts nodded. He had -his pistol-barrel eyes trained upon Armstrong. It was -evident that Armstrong's exposure of Drew, far from -lessening Roberts's conviction that he was a bandit, -had strengthened it, had made him feel that here was -an even wilier, more resourceful, more dangerous man -than he had anticipated.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"For the past year and a half, gentlemen," said -Armstrong, "I have been engaged in rooting out a -system of graft which had so infected the O.A.D. that -it had ceased to be an insurance company and had -become, like most of our great corporations, a device -for enabling a few insiders to gather in the money -of millions of people, to keep permanently a large -part of it, to take that part which could not be -appropriated and use it in gambling operations in which -the gamblers got most of the profits and the people -whose money supplied the stakes bore all the losses. As -the inevitable result of my effort to snatch the O.A.D. from -these parasites and dependents, who filled all the -positions, high and low, far and near, there has been -a determined and exceedingly plausible campaign to -oust me. Latterly, instead of fighting these plotters -and those whom they misled, I have been silent, have -awaited this moment—when a committee of the policy -holders would appear. Naturally, I took every -precaution to prevent that committee from becoming the -unconscious tool of the enemies of the O.A.D."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong's eyes now rested upon the fifth member -of the committee, De Brett, of Ohio. De Brett's -eyes slowly lowered until they were studying the dark -leather veneer of the top of the table.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think," continued Armstrong, "that I have -gone far enough in protecting the O.A.D. and myself -and my staff which has aided me in the big task -of expelling the grafters. I have here——"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong lifted a large bundle of typewritten -manuscript and let it fall with a slight crash. De -Brett jumped.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I have here," said Armstrong, "a complete account -of my stewardship."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>De Brett drew a cautious but profound breath of -relief.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It shows who have been dismissed, why they were -dismissed, each man accounted for in detail; what -extravagances I found, how I have cut them off; the -contrast of the published and the actual conditions -of the company when I became its president, the -present condition—which I may say is flourishing, with -the expenses vastly cut down and the profits for the -policy holders vastly increased. As soon as your -committee shall have vindicated the management, the -O.A.D. will start upon a new era of prosperity and -will soon distance, if not completely put out of -business, its rivals, loaded down, as they are, with -grafters."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Armstrong took up the bundle of typewriting and -handed it to Reed. "Before you give that document -to the press," he went on, "I want to make one -suggestion. The men who have been feeding on the -O.A.D. are, of course, personally responsible—but only in -a sense. They are, rather, the product of a system. -No law, no safeguards will ever be devised for -protecting a man in the possession of anything which he -himself neglects and leaves open as a temptation to -the appetites of the less scrupulous of his fellow men. -These ravagers of your property, of our property, -are like a swarm of locusts. They came; they found -the fields green and unprotected; they ate. They have -passed on. They are simply one of a myriad of similar -swarms. If we leave our property unguarded again, -they will return. If we guard it, they will never -bother us again. The question is whether we—you—would -or would not do well to publish the names and -the records of these men. Will it do any good -beyond supplying the newspapers with sensations for a -few days? Will the good be overbalanced by the -harm, by the—if I may say so—the injustice? For -is it not unjust to single out these few hundreds of -men, themselves the victims of a system, many of them -the unconscious victims—to single them out, when, all -over the land, wherever there is a great unguarded -property, their like and worse go unscathed, and will -be free to swell the chorus of more or less hypocritical -denunciations of them?"</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We shall let no guilty man escape," said Roberts, -eying Armstrong sternly, "not even you, Mr. Armstrong, -if we find you guilty."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"If there is any member of the committee who -can, after searching his own life, find no time when -he has directly or indirectly grafted or aided and -abetted graft or profits by grafting—or spared -relatives or friends when he caught them in the devious -but always more or less respectable ways of the -grafter—if there is such a one, then—" Armstrong -smiled—"I withdraw my suggestion."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must recover what has been stolen! We must -send the thieves to the penitentiary!" exclaimed Mulholland.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"But you can do neither," said Armstrong.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"And why not?" demanded Reed.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Because they have too many powerful friends. -They own the departments of justice here and at -Washington. We should only waste the money of the -O.A.D., send good money after bad. As you will -see in my statement there, I have recovered several -millions. That is all we shall ever get back. -However, I shall say no more. I am ready to answer any -questions. My staff is ready. The books are all at -your disposal."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I think we had better adjourn now," said Reed, -"and examine the papers Mr. Armstrong has -submitted—adjourn, say until Thursday morning. And -in the meanwhile, we will hold the document, if the -rest of the committee please, and not give it to the -press. We must not give out anything that has not -been absolutely verified."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"I can't offer the committee lunch here," said -Armstrong. "We have cut off the lunch account of -the O.A.D.—a saving of forty thousand a year -toward helping the policy holders buy their lunches." And -he bowed to the chairman, and withdrew by the -door by which he had entered.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A smooth citizen," said Roberts, when the -reporters were gone.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Very," said De Brett, at whom he was looking.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He's that—and more," said Mulholland. "He's -an honest man."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"We must be careful about hasty conclusions," -replied Roberts.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"He is probably laughing at us, even now," said -De Brett.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>Roberts turned the pistol-barrel upon him again. -"We've got to be a damned sight more careful about -prejudice against him," said he.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>And De Brett hastily and eagerly assented.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In the next room the man who "is probably laughing -at us, even now" was standing before a woman -who could not lift her burning face to meet his gaze. -But he, looking long at her, thought he saw that there -was no hope for him, and shut himself in behind his -stolidity of the Indian and the pioneer.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Well," he said, "you don't believe. I was afraid -it'd be so. Why should you? I hardly believe in -myself as yet." And he turned to stare out of the -window.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>She came hesitatingly, slid her arm timidly through -his. She entreated softly, earnestly, "Forgive me, -Horace." Then in response to his quick glance, -"Forgive me, I won't again, ever."</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Oh," was all he said. But his tone was like the -arm he put round her shoulders to draw her close -against his broad chest, the rampart of a dauntless -soul. And as with one pair of eyes, not his nor hers, -but theirs, they gazed serenely down upon the vast -panorama of snow-draped skyscrapers, plumed like -volcanoes and lifting grandly in the sparkling air.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>THE END</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 4em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">By DAVID GRAHAM PHILLIPS.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Second Generation.</strong></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"The Second Generation" is a double-decked romance -in one volume, telling the two love-stories of a young -American and his sister, reared in luxury and suddenly left -without means by their father, who felt that money was -proving their ruination and disinherited them for their own -sakes. Their struggle for life, love and happiness makes a -powerful love-story of the middle West.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"The book equals the best of the great story tellers of all -time."—</span><em class="italics">Cleveland Plain Dealer</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The Second Generation,' by David Graham Phillips, is not -only the most important novel of the new year, but it is one of the -most important ones of a number of years past."—</span><em class="italics">Philadelphia -Inquirer</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"A thoroughly American book is 'The Second Generation.' -... The characters are drawn with force and -discrimination."—</span><em class="italics">St. Louis Globe Democrat</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Phillips' book is thoughtful, well conceived, admirably -written and intensely interesting. The story 'works out' well, -and though it is made to sustain the theory of the writer it does -so in a very natural and stimulating manner. In the writing of the -'problem novel' Mr. Phillips has won a foremost place among our -younger American authors."—</span><em class="italics">Boston Herald</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The Second Generation' promises to become one of the notable -novels of the year. It will be read and discussed while a less -vigorous novel will be forgotten within a week."—</span><em class="italics">Springfield -Union</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"David Graham Phillips has a way, a most clever and convincing -way, of cutting through the veneer of snobbishness and bringing -real men and women to the surface. He strikes at shams, yet has -a wholesome belief in the people behind them, and he forces them -to justify his good opinions."—</span><em class="italics">Kansas City Times</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">THE LEADING NOVEL OF TODAY.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Fighting Chance.</strong></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By ROBERT W. CHAMBERS. Illustrated by A. B. Wenzell. -12mo. Ornamental Cloth, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>In "The Fighting Chance" Mr. Chambers has taken -for his hero, a young fellow who has inherited with his -wealth a craving for liquor. The heroine has inherited a -certain rebelliousness and dangerous caprice. The two, -meeting on the brink of ruin, fight out their battles, two -weaknesses joined with love to make a strength. It is -refreshing to find a story about the rich in which all the -women are not sawdust at heart, nor all the men satyrs. -The rich have their longings, their ideals, their regrets, -as well as the poor; they have their struggles and inherited -evils to combat. It is a big subject, painted with a big -brush and a big heart.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"After 'The House of Mirth' a New York society novel -has to be very good not to suffer fearfully by comparison. -'The Fighting Chance' is very good and it does not -suffer."—</span><em class="italics">Cleveland Plain Dealer</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"There is no more adorable person in recent fiction -than Sylvia Landis."—</span><em class="italics">New York Evening Sun</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Drawn with a master hand."—</span><em class="italics">Toledo Blade</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"An absorbing tale which claims the reader's interest -to the end."—</span><em class="italics">Detroit Free Press</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Mr. Chambers has written many brilliant stories, but -this is his masterpiece."—</span><em class="italics">Pittsburg Chronicle Telegraph</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">A MASTERPIECE OF FICTION.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Guarded Flame.</strong></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By W. B. MAXWELL, Author of "Vivien." Cloth, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"'The Guarded Flame, by W. B. Maxwell, is a book -to challenge the attention of the reading public as a -remarkable study of moral law and its infraction. Mr. Maxwell -is the son of Miss M. E. Braddon (Mrs. John Maxwell), -whose novels were famous a generation ago, and his first -book 'Vivien' made the English critics herald him as a -new force in the world of letters. 'The Guarded Flame' -is an even more astonishing production, a big book that -takes rank with the most important fiction of the year. -It is not a book for those who read to be amused or to be -entertained. It touches the deepest issues of life and -death."—</span><em class="italics">Albany Argus</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The most powerfully written book of the year."—</span><em class="italics">The -Independent</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"'The Guarded Flame' is receiving high praise from -the critics everywhere."—</span><em class="italics">Chicago Record-Herald</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"This is a book which cannot fail to make its -mark."—</span><em class="italics">Detroit News</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Great novels are few and the appearance of one at -any period must give the early reviewer a thrill of discovery. -Such a one has come unheralded; but from a source whence -it might have been confidently expected. The author is -W. B. Maxwell, son of the voluminous novelist known to -the world as Miss Braddon. His novel is entitled 'The -Guarded Flame.'"—</span><em class="italics">Philadelphia Press</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"The books of W. B. Maxwell are essentially for -thinkers."—</span><em class="italics">St. Louis Post-Dispatch</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>* * * * *</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span class="bold large">A ROMANCE OF THE CIVIL WAR.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><strong class="bold">The Victory.</strong></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 1em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>By MOLLY ELLIOTT SEAWELL, author of "The -Chateau of Montplaisir," "The Sprightly Romance -of Marsac," etc. Illustrated. Cloth, $1.50.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 2em"> -</div> -<p class="pfirst"><span>"With so delicate a touch and appreciation of the detail -of domestic and plantation life, with so wise comprehension -of the exalted and sometimes stilted notions of Southern -honor and with humorous depiction of African fidelity and -bombast to interest and amuse him, it only gradually dawns -on a reader that 'The Victory' is the truest and most -tragic presentation yet before us of the rending of home -ties, the awful passions, the wounded affections personal -and national, and the overwhelming questions of honor -which weighed down a people in the war of son against -father and brother against brother."—</span><em class="italics">Hartford Courant</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Among the many romances written recently about the -Civil War, this one by Miss Seawell takes a high place.... -Altogether, 'The Victory,' a title significant in several -ways, makes a strong appeal to the lover of a good -tale."—</span><em class="italics">The Outlook</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Miss Seawell's narrative is not only infused with a -tender and sympathetic spirit of romance and surcharged -with human interests, but discloses, in addition, careful and -minute study of local conditions and characteristic -mannerisms. It is an intimate study of life on a Virginia -plantation during an emergent and critical period of -American history."—</span><em class="italics">Philadelphia North American</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"It is one of the romances that make, by spirit as well as -letter, for youth and high feeling. It embodies, perhaps, the -best work this author yet has done."—</span><em class="italics">Chicago Record-Herald</em><span>.</span></p> -<p class="pnext"><span>"Aside from the engaging story itself and the excellent -manner in which it is told there is much of historic interest -in this vivid word-picture of the customs and manners of a -period which has formed the background of much -fiction."—</span><em class="italics">Brooklyn Citizen</em><span>.</span></p> -<div class="vspace" style="height: 3em"> -</div> -<p class="center pfirst"><span>D. 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